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diff --git a/5308-h/5308-h.htm b/5308-h/5308-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1abff6e --- /dev/null +++ b/5308-h/5308-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10961 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Paradise Mystery, by J. S. Fletcher + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paradise Mystery, by J. S. Fletcher + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Paradise Mystery + +Author: J. S. Fletcher + +Release Date: June 11, 2009 [EBook #5308] +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARADISE MYSTERY *** + + +Produced by and Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE PARADISE MYSTERY + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By J. S. Fletcher + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> ONLY THE + GUARDIAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> MAKING + AN ENEMY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> ST. + WRYTHA'S STAIR <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> THE + ROOM AT THE MITRE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> THE + SCRAP OF PAPER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> BY + MISADVENTURE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> THE + DOUBLE TRAIL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> THE + BEST MAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> THE + HOUSE OF HIS FRIEND <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> DIPLOMACY + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> THE BACK + ROOM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> MURDER + OF THE MASON'S LABOURER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER + XIII. </a> BRYCE IS ASKED A QUESTION <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> FROM THE PAST <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> THE DOUBLE OFFER + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> BEFOREHAND + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> TO BE + SHADOWED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> SURPRISE + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> THE + SUBTLETY OF THE DEVIL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. + </a> JETTISON TAKES A HAND <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> + CHAPTER XXI. </a> THE SAXONSTEADE ARMS <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> OTHER PEOPLE'S + NOTIONS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> THE + UNEXPECTED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> FINESSE + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> THE OLD + WELL HOUSE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> THE + OTHER MAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> THE + GUARDED SECRET <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. ONLY THE GUARDIAN + </h2> + <p> + American tourists, sure appreciators of all that is ancient and + picturesque in England, invariably come to a halt, holding their breath in + a sudden catch of wonder, as they pass through the half-ruinous gateway + which admits to the Close of Wrychester. Nowhere else in England is there + a fairer prospect of old-world peace. There before their eyes, set in the + centre of a great green sward, fringed by tall elms and giant beeches, + rises the vast fabric of the thirteenth-century Cathedral, its high spire + piercing the skies in which rooks are for ever circling and calling. The + time-worn stone, at a little distance delicate as lacework, is transformed + at different hours of the day into shifting shades of colour, varying from + grey to purple: the massiveness of the great nave and transepts contrasts + impressively with the gradual tapering of the spire, rising so high above + turret and clerestory that it at last becomes a mere line against the + ether. In morning, as in afternoon, or in evening, here is a perpetual + atmosphere of rest; and not around the great church alone, but in the + quaint and ancient houses which fence in the Close. Little less old than + the mighty mass of stone on which their ivy-framed windows look, these + houses make the casual observer feel that here, if anywhere in the world, + life must needs run smoothly. Under those high gables, behind those + mullioned windows, in the beautiful old gardens lying between the stone + porches and the elm-shadowed lawn, nothing, one would think, could + possibly exist but leisured and pleasant existence: even the busy streets + of the old city, outside the crumbling gateway, seem, for the moment, far + off. + </p> + <p> + In one of the oldest of these houses, half hidden behind trees and shrubs + in a corner of the Close, three people sat at breakfast one fine May + morning. The room in which they sat was in keeping with the old house and + its surroundings—a long, low-ceilinged room, with oak panelling + around its walls, and oak beams across its roof—a room of old + furniture, and, old pictures, and old books, its antique atmosphere + relieved by great masses of flowers, set here and there in old china + bowls: through its wide windows, the casements of which were thrown wide + open, there was an inviting prospect of a high-edged flower garden, and, + seen in vistas through the trees and shrubberies, of patches of the west + front of the Cathedral, now sombre and grey in shadow. But on the garden + and into this flower-scented room the sun was shining gaily through the + trees, and making gleams of light on the silver and china on the table and + on the faces of the three people who sat around it. + </p> + <p> + Of these three, two were young, and the third was one of those men whose + age it is never easy to guess—a tall, clean-shaven, bright-eyed, + alert-looking man, good-looking in a clever, professional sort of way, a + man whom no one could have taken for anything but a member of one of the + learned callings. In some lights he looked no more than forty: a strong + light betrayed the fact that his dark hair had a streak of grey in it, and + was showing a tendency to whiten about the temples. A strong, + intellectually superior man, this, scrupulously groomed and well-dressed, + as befitted what he really was—a medical practitioner with an + excellent connection amongst the exclusive society of a cathedral town. + Around him hung an undeniable air of content and prosperity—as he + turned over a pile of letters which stood by his plate, or glanced at the + morning newspaper which lay at his elbow, it was easy to see that he had + no cares beyond those of the day, and that they—so far as he knew + then—were not likely to affect him greatly. Seeing him in these + pleasant domestic circumstances, at the head of his table, with abundant + evidences of comfort and refinement and modest luxury about him, any one + would have said, without hesitation, that Dr. Mark Ransford was undeniably + one of the fortunate folk of this world. + </p> + <p> + The second person of the three was a boy of apparently seventeen—a + well-built, handsome lad of the senior schoolboy type, who was devoting + himself in business-like fashion to two widely-differing pursuits—one, + the consumption of eggs and bacon and dry toast; the other, the study of a + Latin textbook, which he had propped up in front of him against the + old-fashioned silver cruet. His quick eyes wandered alternately between + his book and his plate; now and then he muttered a line or two to himself. + His companions took no notice of these combinations of eating and + learning: they knew from experience that it was his way to make up at + breakfast-time for the moments he had stolen from his studies the night + before. + </p> + <p> + It was not difficult to see that the third member of the party, a girl of + nineteen or twenty, was the boy's sister. Each had a wealth of brown hair, + inclining, in the girl's case to a shade that had tints of gold in it; + each had grey eyes, in which there was a mixture of blue; each had a + bright, vivid colour; each was undeniably good-looking and eminently + healthy. No one would have doubted that both had lived a good deal of an + open-air existence: the boy was already muscular and sinewy: the girl + looked as if she was well acquainted with the tennis racket and the + golf-stick. Nor would any one have made the mistake of thinking that these + two were blood relations of the man at the head of the table—between + them and him there was not the least resemblance of feature, of colour, or + of manner. + </p> + <p> + While the boy learnt the last lines of his Latin, and the doctor turned + over the newspaper, the girl read a letter—evidently, from the large + sprawling handwriting, the missive of some girlish correspondent. She was + deep in it when, from one of the turrets of the Cathedral, a bell began to + ring. At that, she glanced at her brother. + </p> + <p> + “There's Martin, Dick!” she said. “You'll have to hurry.” + </p> + <p> + Many a long year before that, in one of the bygone centuries, a worthy + citizen of Wrychester, Martin by name, had left a sum of money to the Dean + and Chapter of the Cathedral on condition that as long as ever the + Cathedral stood, they should cause to be rung a bell from its smaller + bell-tower for three minutes before nine o'clock every morning, all the + year round. What Martin's object had been no one now knew—but this + bell served to remind young gentlemen going to offices, and boys going to + school, that the hour of their servitude was near. And Dick Bewery, + without a word, bolted half his coffee, snatched up his book, grabbed at a + cap which lay with more books on a chair close by, and vanished through + the open window. The doctor laughed, laid aside his newspaper, and handed + his cup across the table. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think you need bother yourself about Dick's ever being late, + Mary,” he said. “You are not quite aware of the power of legs that are + only seventeen years old. Dick could get to any given point in just about + one-fourth of the time that I could, for instance—moreover, he has a + cunning knowledge of every short cut in the city.” + </p> + <p> + Mary Bewery took the empty cup and began to refill it. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like him to be late,” she remarked. “It's the beginning of bad + habits.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” said Ransford indulgently. “He's pretty free from anything of + that sort, you know. I haven't even suspected him of smoking, yet.” + </p> + <p> + “That's because he thinks smoking would stop his growth and interfere with + his cricket,” answered Mary. “He would smoke if it weren't for that.” + </p> + <p> + “That's giving him high praise, then,” said Ransford. “You couldn't give + him higher! Know how to repress his inclinations. An excellent thing—and + most unusual, I fancy. Most people—don't!” + </p> + <p> + He took his refilled cup, rose from the table, and opened a box of + cigarettes which stood on the mantelpiece. And the girl, instead of + picking up her letter again, glanced at him a little doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “That reminds me of—of something I wanted to say to you,” she said. + “You're quite right about people not repressing their inclinations. I—I + wish some people would!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford turned quickly from the hearth and gave her a sharp look, beneath + which her colour heightened. Her eyes shifted their gaze away to her + letter, and she picked it up and began to fold it nervously. And at that + Ransford rapped out a name, putting a quick suggestion of meaning inquiry + into his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Bryce?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The girl nodded her face showing distinct annoyance and dislike. Before + saying more, Ransford lighted a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “Been at it again?” he said at last. “Since last time?” + </p> + <p> + “Twice,” she answered. “I didn't like to tell you—I've hated to + bother you about it. But—what am I to do? I dislike him intensely—I + can't tell why, but it's there, and nothing could ever alter the feeling. + And though I told him—before—that it was useless—he + mentioned it again—yesterday—at Mrs. Folliot's garden-party.” + </p> + <p> + “Confound his impudence!” growled Ransford. “Oh, well!—I'll have to + settle with him myself. It's useless trifling with anything like that. I + gave him a quiet hint before. And since he won't take it—all right!” + </p> + <p> + “But—what shall you do?” she asked anxiously. “Not—send him + away?” + </p> + <p> + “If he's any decency about him, he'll go—after what I say to him,” + answered Ransford. “Don't you trouble yourself about it—I'm not at + all keen about him. He's a clever enough fellow, and a good assistant, but + I don't like him, personally—never did.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to think that anything that I say should lose him his + situation—or whatever you call it,” she remarked slowly. “That would + seem—” + </p> + <p> + “No need to bother,” interrupted Ransford. “He'll get another in two + minutes—so to speak. Anyway, we can't have this going on. The fellow + must be an ass! When I was young—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped short at that, and turning away, looked out across the garden + as if some recollection had suddenly struck him. + </p> + <p> + “When you were young—which is, of course, such an awfully long time + since!” said the girl, a little teasingly. “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Only that if a woman said No—unmistakably—once, a man took it + as final,” replied Ransford. “At least—so I was always given to + believe. Nowadays—” + </p> + <p> + “You forget that Mr. Pemberton Bryce is what most people would call a very + pushing young man,” said Mary. “If he doesn't get what he wants in this + world, it won't be for not asking for it. But—if you must speak to + him—and I really think you must!—will you tell him that he is + not going to get—me? Perhaps he'll take it finally from you—as + my guardian.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know if parents and guardians count for much in these degenerate + days,” said Ransford. “But—I won't have him annoying you. And—I + suppose it has come to annoyance?” + </p> + <p> + “It's very annoying to be asked three times by a man whom you've told + flatly, once for all, that you don't want him, at any time, ever!” she + answered. “It's—irritating!” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Ransford quietly. “I'll speak to him. There's going to + be no annoyance for you under this roof.” + </p> + <p> + The girl gave him a quick glance, and Ransford turned away from her and + picked up his letters. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said. “But—there's no need to tell me that, because + I know it already. Now I wonder if you'll tell me something more?” + </p> + <p> + Ransford turned back with a sudden apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he asked brusquely. “What?” + </p> + <p> + “When are you going to tell me all about—Dick and myself?” she + asked. “You promised that you would, you know, some day. And—a whole + year's gone by since then. And—Dick's seventeen! He won't be + satisfied always—just to know no more than that our father and + mother died when we were very little, and that you've been guardian—and + all that you have been!—to us. Will he, now?” + </p> + <p> + Ransford laid down his letters again, and thrusting his hands in his + pockets, squared his shoulders against the mantelpiece. “Don't you think + you might wait until you're twenty-one?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” she said, with a laugh. “I'm just twenty—do you really think + I shall be any wiser in twelve months? Of course I shan't!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know that,” he replied. “You may be—a great deal wiser.” + </p> + <p> + “But what has that got to do with it?” she persisted. “Is there any reason + why I shouldn't be told—everything?” + </p> + <p> + She was looking at him with a certain amount of demand—and Ransford, + who had always known that some moment of this sort must inevitably come, + felt that she was not going to be put off with ordinary excuses. He + hesitated—and she went on speaking. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” she continued, almost pleadingly. “We don't know anything—at + all. I never have known, and until lately Dick has been too young to care—” + </p> + <p> + “Has he begun asking questions?” demanded Ransford hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Once or twice, lately—yes,” replied Mary. “It's only natural.” She + laughed a little—a forced laugh. “They say,” she went on, “that it + doesn't matter, nowadays, if you can't tell who your grandfather was—but, + just think, we don't know who our father was—except that his name + was John Bewery. That doesn't convey much.” + </p> + <p> + “You know more,” said Ransford. “I told you—always have told you—that + he was an early friend of mine, a man of business, who, with your mother, + died young, and I, as their friend, became guardian to you and Dick. Is—is + there anything much more that I could tell?” + </p> + <p> + “There's something I should very much like to know—personally,” she + answered, after a pause which lasted so long that Ransford began to feel + uncomfortable under it. “Don't be angry—or hurt—if I tell you + plainly what it is. I'm quite sure it's never even occurred to Dick—but + I'm three years ahead of him. It's this—have we been dependent on + you?” + </p> + <p> + Ransford's face flushed and he turned deliberately to the window, and for + a moment stood staring out on his garden and the glimpses of the + Cathedral. And just as deliberately as he had turned away, he turned back. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he said. “Since you ask me, I'll tell you that. You've both got + money—due to you when you're of age. It—it's in my hands. Not + a great lot—but sufficient to—to cover all your expenses. + Education—everything. When you're twenty-one, I'll hand over yours—when + Dick's twenty-one, his. Perhaps I ought to have told you all that before, + but—I didn't think it necessary. I—I dare say I've a tendency + to let things slide.” + </p> + <p> + “You've never let things slide about us,” she replied quickly, with a + sudden glance which made him turn away again. “And I only wanted to know—because + I'd got an idea that—well, that we were owing everything to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not from me!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “No—that would never be!” she said. “But—don't you understand? + I—wanted to know—something. Thank you. I won't ask more now.” + </p> + <p> + “I've always meant to tell you—a good deal,” remarked Ransford, + after another pause. “You see, I can scarcely—yet—realize that + you're both growing up! You were at school a year ago. And Dick is still + very young. Are—are you more satisfied now?” he went on anxiously. + “If not—” + </p> + <p> + “I'm quite satisfied,” she answered. “Perhaps—some day—you'll + tell me more about our father and mother?—but never mind even that + now. You're sure you haven't minded my asking—what I have asked?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not—of course not!” he said hastily. “I ought to have + remembered. And—but we'll talk again. I must get into the surgery—and + have a word with Bryce, too.” + </p> + <p> + “If you could only make him see reason and promise not to offend again,” + she said. “Wouldn't that solve the difficulty?” + </p> + <p> + Ransford shook his head and made no answer. He picked up his letters again + and went out, and down a long stone-walled passage which led to his + surgery at the side of the house. He was alone there when he had shut the + door—and he relieved his feelings with a deep groan. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven help me if the lad ever insists on the real truth and on having + proofs and facts given to him!” he muttered. “I shouldn't mind telling + her, when she's a bit older—but he wouldn't understand as she would. + Anyway, thank God I can keep up the pleasant fiction about the money + without her ever knowing that I told her a deliberate lie just now. But—what's + in the future? Here's one man to be dismissed already, and there'll be + others, and one of them will be the favoured man. That man will have to be + told! And—so will she, then. And—my God! she doesn't see, and + mustn't see, that I'm madly in love with her myself! She's no idea of it—and + she shan't have; I must—must continue to be—only the + guardian!” + </p> + <p> + He laughed a little cynically as he laid his letters down on his desk and + proceeded to open them—in which occupation he was presently + interrupted by the opening of the side-door and the entrance of Mr. + Pemberton Bryce. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. MAKING AN ENEMY + </h2> + <p> + It was characteristic of Pemberton Bryce that he always walked into a room + as if its occupant were asleep and he was afraid of waking him. He had a + gentle step which was soft without being stealthy, and quiet movements + which brought him suddenly to anybody's side before his presence was + noticed. He was by Ransford's desk ere Ransford knew he was in the surgery—and + Ransford's sudden realization of his presence roused a certain feeling of + irritation in his mind, which he instantly endeavoured to suppress—it + was no use getting cross with a man of whom you were about to rid + yourself, he said to himself. And for the moment, after replying to his + assistant's greeting—a greeting as quiet as his entrance—he + went on reading his letters, and Bryce turned off to that part of the + surgery in which the drugs were kept, and busied himself in making up some + prescription. Ten minutes went by in silence; then Ransford pushed his + correspondence aside, laid a paper-weight on it, and twisting his chair + round, looked at the man to whom he was going to say some unpleasant + things. Within himself he was revolving a question—how would Bryce + take it? + </p> + <p> + He had never liked this assistant of his, although he had then had him in + employment for nearly two years. There was something about Pemberton Bryce + which he did not understand and could not fathom. He had come to him with + excellent testimonials and good recommendations; he was well up to his + work, successful with patients, thoroughly capable as a general + practitioner—there was no fault to be found with him on any + professional grounds. But to Ransford his personality was objectionable—why, + he was not quite sure. Outwardly, Bryce was rather more than presentable—a + tall, good-looking man of twenty-eight or thirty, whom some people—women + especially—would call handsome; he was the sort of young man who + knows the value of good clothes and a smart appearance, and his + professional manner was all that could be desired. But Ransford could not + help distinguishing between Bryce the doctor and Bryce the man—and + Bryce the man he did not like. Outside the professional part of him, Bryce + seemed to him to be undoubtedly deep, sly, cunning—he conveyed the + impression of being one of those men whose ears are always on the stretch, + who take everything in and give little out. There was a curious air of + watchfulness and of secrecy about him in private matters which was as + repellent—to Ransford's thinking—as it was hard to explain. + Anyway, in private affairs, he did not like his assistant, and he liked + him less than ever as he glanced at him on this particular occasion. + </p> + <p> + “I want a word with you,” he said curtly. “I'd better say it now.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who was slowly pouring some liquid from one bottle into another, + looked quietly across the room and did not interrupt himself in his work. + Ransford knew that he must have recognized a certain significance in the + words just addressed to him—but he showed no outward sign of it, and + the liquid went on trickling from one bottle to the other with the same + uniform steadiness. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Bryce inquiringly. “One moment.” + </p> + <p> + He finished his task calmly, put the corks in the bottles, labelled one, + restored the other to a shelf, and turned round. Not a man to be easily + startled—not easily turned from a purpose, this, thought Ransford as + he glanced at Bryce's eyes, which had a trick of fastening their gaze on + people with an odd, disconcerting persistency. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry to say what I must say,” he began. “But—you've brought it + on yourself. I gave you a hint some time ago that your attentions were not + welcome to Miss Bewery.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made no immediate response. Instead, leaning almost carelessly and + indifferently against the table at which he had been busy with drugs and + bottles, he took a small file from his waistcoat pocket and began to + polish his carefully cut nails. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” he said, after a pause. “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “In spite of it,” continued Ransford, “you've since addressed her again on + the matter—not merely once, but twice.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce put his file away, and thrusting his hands in his pockets, crossed + his feet as he leaned back against the table—his whole attitude + suggesting, whether meaningly or not, that he was very much at his ease. + </p> + <p> + “There's a great deal to be said on a point like this,” he observed. “If a + man wishes a certain young woman to become his wife, what right has any + other man—or the young woman herself, for that matter to say that he + mustn't express his desires to her?” + </p> + <p> + “None,” said Ransford, “provided he only does it once—and takes the + answer he gets as final.” + </p> + <p> + “I disagree with you entirely,” retorted Bryce. “On the last particular, + at any rate. A man who considers any word of a woman's as being final is a + fool. What a woman thinks on Monday she's almost dead certain not to think + on Tuesday. The whole history of human relationship is on my side there. + It's no opinion—it's a fact.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford stared at this frank remark, and Bryce went on, coolly and + imperturbably, as if he had been discussing a medical problem. + </p> + <p> + “A man who takes a woman's first answer as final,” he continued, “is, I + repeat, a fool. There are lots of reasons why a woman shouldn't know her + own mind at the first time of asking. She may be too surprised. She mayn't + be quite decided. She may say one thing when she really means another. + That often happens. She isn't much better equipped at the second time of + asking. And there are women—young ones—who aren't really + certain of themselves at the third time. All that's common sense.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what it is!” suddenly exclaimed Ransford, after remaining + silent for a moment under this flow of philosophy. “I'm not going to + discuss theories and ideas. I know one young woman, at any rate, who is + certain of herself. Miss Bewery does not feel any inclination to you—now, + nor at any time to be! She's told you so three times. And—you should + take her answer and behave yourself accordingly!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce favoured his senior with a searching look. + </p> + <p> + “How does Miss Bewery know that she mayn't be inclined to—in the + future?” he asked. “She may come to regard me with favour.” + </p> + <p> + “No, she won't!” declared Ransford. “Better hear the truth, and be done + with it. She doesn't like you—and she doesn't want to, either. Why + can't you take your answer like a man?” + </p> + <p> + “What's your conception of a man?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “That!—and a good one,” exclaimed Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “May satisfy you—but not me,” said Bryce. “Mine's different. My + conception of a man is of a being who's got some perseverance. You can get + anything in this world—anything!—by pegging away for it.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not going to get my ward,” suddenly said Ransford. “That's flat! + She doesn't want you—and she's now said so three times. And—I + support her.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you against me?” asked Bryce calmly. “If, as you say, you + support her in her resolution not to listen to my proposals, you must have + something against me. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “That's a question you've no right to put,” replied Ransford, “for it's + utterly unnecessary. So I'm not going to answer it. I've nothing against + you as regards your work—nothing! I'm willing to give you an + excellent testimonial.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” remarked Bryce quietly. “That means—you wish me to go away?” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly think it would be best,” said Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” continued Bryce, more coolly than ever, “I shall certainly + want to know what you have against me—or what Miss Bewery has + against me. Why am I objected to as a suitor? You, at any rate, know who I + am—you know that my father is of our own profession, and a man of + reputation and standing, and that I myself came to you on high + recommendation. Looked at from my standpoint, I'm a thoroughly eligible + young man. And there's a point you forget—there's no mystery about + me!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford turned sharply in his chair as he noticed the emphasis which + Bryce put on his last word. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “What I've just said,” replied Bryce. “There's no mystery attaching to me. + Any question about me can be answered. Now, you can't say that as regards + your ward. That's a fact, Dr. Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford, in years gone by, had practised himself in the art of + restraining his temper—naturally a somewhat quick one. And he made a + strong effort in that direction now, recognizing that there was something + behind his assistant's last remark, and that Bryce meant him to know it + was there. + </p> + <p> + “I'll repeat what I've just said,” he answered. “What do you mean by + that?” + </p> + <p> + “I hear things,” said Bryce. “People will talk—even a doctor can't + refuse to hear what gossiping and garrulous patients say. Since she came + to you from school, a year ago, Wrychester people have been much + interested in Miss Bewery, and in her brother, too. And there are a good + many residents of the Close—you know their nice, inquisitive ways!—who + want to know who the sister and brother really are—and what your + relationship is to them!” + </p> + <p> + “Confound their impudence!” growled Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “By all means,” agreed Bryce. “And—for all I care—let them be + confounded, too. But if you imagine that the choice and select coteries of + a cathedral town, consisting mainly of the relicts of deceased deans, + canons, prebendaries and the like, and of maiden aunts, elderly spinsters, + and tea-table-haunting curates, are free from gossip—why, you're a + singularly innocent person!” + </p> + <p> + “They'd better not begin gossiping about my affairs,” said Ransford. + “Otherwise—” + </p> + <p> + “You can't stop them from gossiping about your affairs,” interrupted Bryce + cheerfully. “Of course they gossip about your affairs; have gossiped about + them; will continue to gossip about them. It's human nature!” + </p> + <p> + “You've heard them?” asked Ransford, who was too vexed to keep back his + curiosity. “You yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “As you are aware, I am often asked out to tea,” replied Bryce, “and to + garden-parties, and tennis-parties, and choice and cosy functions + patronized by curates and associated with crumpets. I have heard—with + these ears. I can even repeat the sort of thing I have heard. 'That dear, + delightful Miss Bewery—what a charming girl! And that good-looking + boy, her brother—quite a dear! Now I wonder who they really are? + Wards of Dr. Ransford, of course! Really, how very romantic!—and + just a little—eh?—unusual? Such a comparatively young man to + have such a really charming girl as his ward! Can't be more than + forty-five himself, and she's twenty—how very, very romantic! + Really, one would think there ought to be a chaperon!'” + </p> + <p> + “Damn!” said Ransford under his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Just so,” agreed Bryce. “But—that's the sort of thing. Do you want + more? I can supply an unlimited quantity in the piece if you like. But + it's all according to sample.” + </p> + <p> + “So—in addition to your other qualities,” remarked Ransford, “you're + a gossiper?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce smiled slowly and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied. “I'm a listener. A good one, too. But do you see my + point? I say—there's no mystery about me. If Miss Bewery will honour + me with her hand, she'll get a man whose antecedents will bear the + strictest investigation.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you inferring that hers won't?” demanded Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not inferring anything,” said Bryce. “I am speaking for myself, of + myself. Pressing my own claim, if you like, on you, the guardian. You + might do much worse than support my claims, Dr. Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “Claims, man!” retorted Ransford. “You've got no claims! What are you + talking about? Claims!” + </p> + <p> + “My pretensions, then,” answered Bryce. “If there is a mystery—as + Wrychester people say there is—about Miss Bewery, it would be safe + with me. Whatever you may think, I'm a thoroughly dependable man—when + it's in my own interest.” + </p> + <p> + “And—when it isn't?” asked Ransford. “What are you then?—as + you're so candid.” + </p> + <p> + “I could be a very bad enemy,” replied Bryce. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's silence, during which the two men looked attentively + at each other. + </p> + <p> + “I've told you the truth,” said Ransford at last. “Miss Bewery flatly + refuses to entertain any idea whatever of ever marrying you. She earnestly + hopes that that eventuality may never be mentioned to her again. Will you + give me your word of honour to respect her wishes?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” answered Bryce. “I won't!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Ransford, with a faint show of anger. “A woman's wishes!” + </p> + <p> + “Because I may consider that I see signs of a changed mind in her,” said + Bryce. “That's why.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll never see any change of mind,” declared Ransford. “That's certain. + Is that your fixed determination?” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” answered Bryce. “I'm not the sort of man who is easily repelled.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, in that case,” said Ransford, “we had better part company.” He rose + from his desk, and going over to a safe which stood in a corner, unlocked + it and took some papers from an inside drawer. He consulted one of these + and turned to Bryce. “You remember our agreement?” he continued. “Your + engagement was to be determined by a three months' notice on either side, + or, at my will, at any time by payment of three months' salary?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right,” agreed Bryce. “I remember, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll give you a cheque for three months' salary—now,” said + Ransford, and sat down again at his desk. “That will settle matters + definitely—and, I hope, agreeably.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made no reply. He remained leaning against the table, watching + Ransford write the cheque. And when Ransford laid the cheque down at the + edge of the desk he made no movement towards it. + </p> + <p> + “You must see,” remarked Ransford, half apologetically, “that it's the + only thing I can do. I can't have any man who's not—not welcome to + her, to put it plainly—causing any annoyance to my ward. I repeat, + Bryce—you must see it!” + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to do with what you see,” answered Bryce. “Your opinions + are not mine, and mine aren't yours. You're really turning me away—as + if I were a dishonest foreman!—because in my opinion it would be a + very excellent thing for her and for myself if Miss Bewery would consent + to marry me. That's the plain truth.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford allowed himself to take a long and steady look at Bryce. The + thing was done now, and his dismissed assistant seemed to be taking it + quietly—and Ransford's curiosity was aroused. + </p> + <p> + “I can't make you out!” he exclaimed. “I don't know whether you're the + most cynical young man I ever met, or whether you're the most obtuse—” + </p> + <p> + “Not the last, anyway,” interrupted Bryce. “I assure you of that!” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you see for yourself, then, man, that the girl doesn't want you!” + said Ransford. “Hang it!—for anything you know to the contrary, she + may have—might have—other ideas!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who had been staring out of a side window for the last minute or + two, suddenly laughed, and, lifting a hand, pointed into the garden. And + Ransford turned—and saw Mary Bewery walking there with a tall lad, + whom he recognized as one Sackville Bonham, stepson of Mr. Folliot, a + wealthy resident of the Close. The two young people were laughing and + chatting together with evident great friendliness. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” remarked Bryce quietly, “her ideas run in—that direction? + In which case, Dr. Ransford, you'll have trouble. For Mrs. Folliot, mother + of yonder callow youth, who's the apple of her eye, is one of the + inquisitive ladies of whom I've just told you, and if her son unites + himself with anybody, she'll want to know exactly who that anybody is. + You'd far better have supported me as an aspirant! However—I suppose + there's no more to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!” answered Ransford. “Except to say good-day—and good-bye + to you. You needn't remain—I'll see to everything. And I'm going out + now. I think you'd better not exchange any farewells with any one.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce nodded silently, and Ransford, picking up his hat and gloves, left + the surgery by the side door. A moment later, Bryce saw him crossing the + Close. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. ST. WRYTHA'S STAIR + </h2> + <p> + The summarily dismissed assistant, thus left alone, stood for a moment in + evident deep thought before he moved towards Ransford's desk and picked up + the cheque. He looked at it carefully, folded it neatly, and put it away + in his pocket-book; after that he proceeded to collect a few possessions + of his own, instruments, books from various drawers and shelves. He was + placing these things in a small hand-bag when a gentle tap sounded on the + door by which patients approached the surgery. + </p> + <p> + “Come in!” he called. + </p> + <p> + There was no response, although the door was slightly ajar; instead, the + knock was repeated, and at that Bryce crossed the room and flung the door + open. + </p> + <p> + A man stood outside—an elderly, slight-figured, quiet-looking man, + who looked at Bryce with a half-deprecating, half-nervous air; the air of + a man who was shy in manner and evidently fearful of seeming to intrude. + Bryce's quick, observant eyes took him in at a glance, noting a much worn + and lined face, thin grey hair and tired eyes; this was a man, he said to + himself, who had seen trouble. Nevertheless, not a poor man, if his + general appearance was anything to go by—he was well and even + expensively dressed, in the style generally affected by well-to-do + merchants and city men; his clothes were fashionably cut, his silk hat was + new, his linen and boots irreproachable; a fine diamond pin gleamed in his + carefully arranged cravat. Why, then, this unmistakably furtive and + half-frightened manner—which seemed to be somewhat relieved at the + sight of Bryce? + </p> + <p> + “Is this—is Dr. Ransford within?” asked the stranger. “I was told + this is his house.” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Ransford is out,” replied Bryce. “Just gone out—not five + minutes ago. This is his surgery. Can I be of use?” + </p> + <p> + The man hesitated, looking beyond Bryce into the room. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” he said at last. “I—no, I don't want professional + services—I just called to see Dr. Ransford—I—the fact + is, I once knew some one of that name. It's no matter—at present.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce stepped outside and pointed across the Close. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Ransford,” he said, “went over there—I rather fancy he's gone + to the Deanery—he has a case there. If you went through Paradise, + you'd very likely meet him coming back—the Deanery is the big house + in the far corner yonder.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger followed Bryce's outstretched finger. + </p> + <p> + “Paradise?” he said, wonderingly. “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce pointed to a long stretch of grey wall which projected from the + south wall of the Cathedral into the Close. + </p> + <p> + “It's an enclosure—between the south porch and the transept,” he + said. “Full of old tombs and trees—a sort of wilderness—why + called Paradise I don't know. There's a short cut across it to the Deanery + and that part of the Close—through that archway you see over there. + If you go across, you're almost sure to meet Dr. Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm much obliged to you,” said the stranger. “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away in the direction which Bryce had indicated, and Bryce went + back—only to go out again and call after him. + </p> + <p> + “If you don't meet him, shall I say you'll call again?” he asked. “And—what + name?” + </p> + <p> + The stranger shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It's immaterial,” he answered. “I'll see him—somewhere—or + later. Many thanks.” + </p> + <p> + He went on his way towards Paradise, and Bryce returned to the surgery and + completed his preparations for departure. And in the course of things, he + more than once looked through the window into the garden and saw Mary + Bewery still walking and talking with young Sackville Bonham. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he muttered to himself. “I won't trouble to exchange any farewells—not + because of Ransford's hint, but because there's no need. If Ransford + thinks he's going to drive me out of Wrychester before I choose to go he's + badly mistaken—it'll be time enough to say farewell when I take my + departure—and that won't be just yet. Now I wonder who that old chap + was? Knew some one of Ransford's name once, did he? Probably Ransford + himself—in which case he knows more of Ransford than anybody in + Wrychester knows—for nobody in Wrychester knows anything beyond a + few years back. No, Dr. Ransford!—no farewells—to anybody! A + mere departure—till I turn up again.” + </p> + <p> + But Bryce was not to get away from the old house without something in the + nature of a farewell. As he walked out of the surgery by the side + entrance, Mary Bewery, who had just parted from young Bonham in the garden + and was about to visit her dogs in the stable yard, came along: she and + Bryce met, face to face. The girl flushed, not so much from embarrassment + as from vexation; Bryce, cool as ever, showed no sign of any + embarrassment. Instead, he laughed, tapping the hand-bag which he carried + under one arm. + </p> + <p> + “Summarily turned out—as if I had been stealing the spoons,” he + remarked. “I go—with my small belongings. This is my first reward—for + devotion.” + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to say to you,” answered Mary, sweeping by him with a + highly displeased glance. “Except that you have brought it on yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “A very feminine retort!” observed Bryce. “But—there is no malice in + it? Your anger won't last more than—shall we say a day?” + </p> + <p> + “You may say what you like,” she replied. “As I just said, I have nothing + to say—now or at any time.” + </p> + <p> + “That remains to be proved,” remarked Bryce. “The phrase is one of much + elasticity. But for the present—I go!” + </p> + <p> + He walked out into the Close, and without as much as a backward look + struck off across the sward in the direction in which, ten minutes before, + he had sent the strange man. He had rooms in a quiet lane on the farther + side of the Cathedral precinct, and his present intention was to go to + them to leave his bag and make some further arrangements. He had no idea + of leaving Wrychester—he knew of another doctor in the city who was + badly in need of help: he would go to him—would tell him, if need + be, why he had left Ransford. He had a multiplicity of schemes and ideas + in his head, and he began to consider some of them as he stepped out of + the Close into the ancient enclosure which all Wrychester folk knew by its + time-honoured name of Paradise. This was really an outer court of the old + cloisters; its high walls, half-ruinous, almost wholly covered with ivy, + shut in an expanse of turf, liberally furnished with yew and cypress and + studded with tombs and gravestones. In one corner rose a gigantic elm; in + another a broken stairway of stone led to a doorway set high in the walls + of the nave; across the enclosure itself was a pathway which led towards + the houses in the south-east corner of the Close. It was a curious, gloomy + spot, little frequented save by people who went across it rather than + follow the gravelled paths outside, and it was untenanted when Bryce + stepped into it. But just as he walked through the archway he saw + Ransford. Ransford was emerging hastily from a postern door in the west + porch—so hastily that Bryce checked himself to look at him. And + though they were twenty yards apart, Bryce saw that Ransford's face was + very pale, almost to whiteness, and that he was unmistakably agitated. + Instantly he connected that agitation with the man who had come to the + surgery door. + </p> + <p> + “They've met!” mused Bryce, and stopped, staring after Ransford's + retreating figure. “Now what is it in that man's mere presence that's + upset Ransford? He looks like a man who's had a nasty, unexpected shock—a + bad 'un!” + </p> + <p> + He remained standing in the archway, gazing after the retreating figure, + until Ransford had disappeared within his own garden; still wondering and + speculating, but not about his own affairs, he turned across Paradise at + last and made his way towards the farther corner. There was a little + wicket-gate there, set in the ivied wall; as Bryce opened it, a man in the + working dress of a stone-mason, whom he recognized as being one of the + master-mason's staff, came running out of the bushes. His face, too, was + white, and his eyes were big with excitement. And recognizing Bryce, he + halted, panting. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Varner?” asked Bryce calmly. “Something happened?” + </p> + <p> + The man swept his hand across his forehead as if he were dazed, and then + jerked his thumb over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “A man!” he gasped. “Foot of St. Wrytha's Stair there, doctor. Dead—or + if not dead, near it. I saw it!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce seized Varner's arm and gave it a shake. + </p> + <p> + “You saw—what?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Saw him—fall. Or rather—flung!” panted Varner. “Somebody—couldn't + see who, nohow—flung him right through yon doorway, up there. He + fell right over the steps—crash!” Bryce looked over the tops of the + yews and cypresses at the doorway in the clerestory to which Varner + pointed—a low, open archway gained by the half-ruinous stair. It was + forty feet at least from the ground. + </p> + <p> + “You saw him—thrown!” he exclaimed. “Thrown—down there? + Impossible, man!” + </p> + <p> + “Tell you I saw it!” asserted Varner doggedly. “I was looking at one of + those old tombs yonder—somebody wants some repairs doing—and + the jackdaws were making such a to-do up there by the roof I glanced up at + them. And I saw this man thrown through that door—fairly flung + through it! God!—do you think I could mistake my own eyes?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you see who flung him?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “No; I saw a hand—just for one second, as it might be—by the + edge of the doorway,” answered Varner. “I was more for watching him! He + sort of tottered for a second on the step outside the door, turned over + and screamed—I can hear it now!—and crashed down on the flags + beneath.” + </p> + <p> + “How long since?” demanded Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Five or six minutes,” said Varner. “I rushed to him—I've been doing + what I could. But I saw it was no good, so I was running for help—” + </p> + <p> + Bryce pushed him towards the bushes by which they were standing. + </p> + <p> + “Take me to him,” he said. “Come on!” + </p> + <p> + Varner turned back, making a way through the cypresses. He led Bryce to + the foot of the great wall of the nave. There in the corner formed by the + angle of nave and transept, on a broad pavement of flagstones, lay the + body of a man crumpled up in a curiously twisted position. And with one + glance, even before he reached it, Bryce knew what body it was—that + of the man who had come, shyly and furtively, to Ransford's door. + </p> + <p> + “Look!” exclaimed Varner, suddenly pointing. “He's stirring!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, whose gaze was fastened on the twisted figure, saw a slight + movement which relaxed as suddenly as it had occurred. Then came + stillness. “That's the end!” he muttered. “The man's dead! I'll guarantee + that before I put a hand on him. Dead enough!” he went on, as he reached + the body and dropped on one knee by it. “His neck's broken.” + </p> + <p> + The mason bent down and looked, half-curiously, half-fearfully, at the + dead man. Then he glanced upward—at the open door high above them in + the walls. + </p> + <p> + “It's a fearful drop, that, sir,” he said. “And he came down with such + violence. You're sure it's over with him?” + </p> + <p> + “He died just as we came up,” answered Bryce. “That movement we saw was + the last effort—involuntary, of course. Look here, Varner!—you'll + have to get help. You'd better fetch some of the cathedral people—some + of the vergers. No!” he broke off suddenly, as the low strains of an organ + came from within the great building. “They're just beginning the morning + service—of course, it's ten o'clock. Never mind them—go + straight to the police. Bring them back—I'll stay here.” + </p> + <p> + The mason turned off towards the gateway of the Close, and while the + strains of the organ grew louder, Bryce bent over the dead man, wondering + what had really happened. Thrown from an open doorway in the clerestory + over St. Wrytha's Stair?—it seemed almost impossible! But a sudden + thought struck him: supposing two men, wishing to talk in privacy + unobserved, had gone up into the clerestory of the Cathedral—as they + easily could, by more than one door, by more than one stair—and + supposing they had quarrelled, and one of them had flung or pushed the + other through the door above—what then? And on the heels of that + thought hurried another—this man, now lying dead, had come to the + surgery, seeking Ransford, and had subsequently gone away, presumably in + search of him, and Bryce himself had just seen Ransford, obviously + agitated and pale of cheek, leaving the west porch; what did it all mean? + what was the apparently obvious inference to be drawn? Here was the + stranger dead—and Varner was ready to swear that he had seen him + thrown, flung violently, through the door forty feet above. That was—murder! + Then—who was the murderer? + </p> + <p> + Bryce looked carefully and narrowly around him. Now that Varner had gone + away, there was not a human being in sight, nor anywhere near, so far as + he knew. On one side of him and the dead man rose the grey walls of nave + and transept; on the other, the cypresses and yews rising amongst the old + tombs and monuments. Assuring himself that no one was near, no eye + watching, he slipped his hand into the inner breast pocket of the dead + man's smart morning coat. Such a man must carry papers—papers would + reveal something. And Bryce wanted to know anything—anything that + would give information and let him into whatever secret there might be + between this unlucky stranger and Ransford. + </p> + <p> + But the breast pocket was empty; there was no pocket-book there; there + were no papers there. Nor were there any papers elsewhere in the other + pockets which he hastily searched: there was not even a card with a name + on it. But he found a purse, full of money—banknotes, gold, silver—and + in one of its compartments a scrap of paper folded curiously, after the + fashion of the cocked-hat missives of another age in which envelopes had + not been invented. Bryce hurriedly unfolded this, and after one glance at + its contents, made haste to secrete it in his own pocket. He had only just + done this and put back the purse when he heard Varner's voice, and a + second later the voice of Inspector Mitchington, a well-known police + official. And at that Bryce sprang to his feet, and when the mason and his + companions emerged from the bushes was standing looking thoughtfully at + the dead man. He turned to Mitchington with a shake of the head. + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” he said in a hushed voice. “Died as we got to him. Broken—all + to pieces, I should say—neck and spine certainly. I suppose Varner's + told you what he saw.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington, a sharp-eyed, dark-complexioned man, quick of movement, + nodded, and after one glance at the body, looked up at the open doorway + high above them. + </p> + <p> + “That the door?” he asked, turning to Varner. “And—it was open?” + </p> + <p> + “It's always open,” answered Varner. “Least-ways, it's been open, like + that, all this spring, to my knowledge.” + </p> + <p> + “What is there behind it?” inquired Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Sort of gallery, that runs all round the nave,” replied Varner. + “Clerestory gallery—that's what it is. People can go up there and + walk around—lots of 'em do—tourists, you know. There's two or + three ways up to it—staircases in the turrets.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington turned to one of the two constables who had followed him. + </p> + <p> + “Let Varner show you the way up there,” he said. “Go quietly—don't + make any fuss—the morning service is just beginning. Say nothing to + anybody—just take a quiet look around, along that gallery, + especially near the door there—and come back here.” He looked down + at the dead man again as the mason and the constable went away. “A + stranger, I should think, doctor—tourist, most likely. But—thrown + down! That man Varner is positive. That looks like foul play.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there's no doubt of that!” asserted Bryce. “You'll have to go into + that pretty deeply. But the inside of the Cathedral's like a + rabbit-warren, and whoever threw the man through that doorway no doubt + knew how to slip away unobserved. Now, you'll have to remove the body to + the mortuary, of course—but just let me fetch Dr. Ransford first. + I'd like some other medical man than myself to see him before he's moved—I'll + have him here in five minutes.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away through the bushes and emerging upon the Close ran across + the lawns in the direction of the house which he had left not twenty + minutes before. He had but one idea as he ran—he wanted to see + Ransford face to face with the dead man—wanted to watch him, to + observe him, to see how he looked, how he behaved. Then he, Bryce, would + know—something. + </p> + <p> + But he was to know something before that. He opened the door of the + surgery suddenly, but with his usual quietness of touch. And on the + threshold he paused. Ransford, the very picture of despair, stood just + within, his face convulsed, beating one hand upon the other. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE ROOM AT THE MITRE + </h2> + <p> + In the few seconds which elapsed before Ransford recognized Bryce's + presence, Bryce took a careful, if swift, observation of his late + employer. That Ransford was visibly upset by something was plain enough to + see; his face was still pale, he was muttering to himself, one clenched + fist was pounding the open palm of the other hand—altogether, he + looked like a man who is suddenly confronted with some fearful difficulty. + And when Bryce, having looked long enough to satisfy his wishes, coughed + gently, he started in such a fashion as to suggest that his nerves had + become unstrung. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?—what are you doing there?” he demanded almost fiercely. + “What do you mean by coming in like that?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce affected to have seen nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I came to fetch you,” he answered. “There's been an accident in Paradise—man + fallen from that door at the head of St. Wrytha's Stair. I wish you'd come—but + I may as well tell you that he's past help—dead!” + </p> + <p> + “Dead! A man?” exclaimed Ransford. “What man? A workman?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had already made up his mind about telling Ransford of the + stranger's call at the surgery. He would say nothing—at that time at + any rate. It was improbable that any one but himself knew of the call; the + side entrance to the surgery was screened from the Close by a shrubbery; + it was very unlikely that any passer-by had seen the man call or go away. + No—he would keep his knowledge secret until it could be made better + use of. + </p> + <p> + “Not a workman—not a townsman—a stranger,” he answered. “Looks + like a well-to-do tourist. A slightly-built, elderly man—grey-haired.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford, who had turned to his desk to master himself, looked round with + a sudden sharp glance—and for the moment Bryce was taken aback. For + he had condemned Ransford—and yet that glance was one of apparently + genuine surprise, a glance which almost convinced him, against his will, + against only too evident facts, that Ransford was hearing of the Paradise + affair for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “An elderly man—grey-haired—slightly built?” said Ransford. + “Dark clothes—silk hat?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” replied Bryce, who was now considerably astonished. “Do you + know him?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw such a man entering the Cathedral, a while ago,” answered Ransford. + “A stranger, certainly. Come along, then.” + </p> + <p> + He had fully recovered his self-possession by that time, and he led the + way from the surgery and across the Close as if he were going on an + ordinary professional visit. He kept silence as they walked rapidly + towards Paradise, and Bryce was silent, too. He had studied Ransford a + good deal during their two years' acquaintanceship, and he knew Ransford's + power of repressing and commanding his feelings and concealing his + thoughts. And now he decided that the look and start which he had at first + taken to be of the nature of genuine astonishment were cunningly assumed, + and he was not surprised when, having reached the group of men gathered + around the body, Ransford showed nothing but professional interest. + </p> + <p> + “Have you done anything towards finding out who this unfortunate man is?” + asked Ransford, after a brief examination, as he turned to Mitchington. + “Evidently a stranger—but he probably has papers on him.” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing on him—except a purse, with plenty of money in it,” + answered Mitchington. “I've been through his pockets myself: there isn't a + scrap of paper—not even as much as an old letter. But he's evidently + a tourist, or something of the sort, and so he'll probably have stayed in + the city all night, and I'm going to inquire at the hotels.” + </p> + <p> + “There'll be an inquest, of course,” remarked Ransford mechanically. “Well—we + can do nothing, Mitchington. You'd better have the body removed to the + mortuary.” He turned and looked up the broken stairway at the foot of + which they were standing. “You say he fell down that?” he asked. “Whatever + was he doing up there?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington looked at Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't you told Dr. Ransford how it was?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Bryce. He glanced at Ransford, indicating Varner, who had + come back with the constable and was standing by. “He didn't fall,” he + went on, watching Ransford narrowly. “He was violently flung out of that + doorway. Varner here saw it.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford's cheek flushed, and he was unable to repress a slight start. He + looked at the mason. + </p> + <p> + “You actually saw it!” he exclaimed. “Why, what did you see?” + </p> + <p> + “Him!” answered Varner, nodding at the dead man. “Flung, head and heels, + clean through that doorway up there. Hadn't a chance to save himself, he + hadn't! Just grabbed at—nothing!—and came down. Give a year's + wages if I hadn't seen it—and heard him scream.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford was watching Varner with a set, concentrated look. + </p> + <p> + “Who—flung him?” he asked suddenly. “You say you saw!” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, sir, but not as much as all that!” replied the mason. “I just saw a + hand—and that was all. But,” he added, turning to the police with a + knowing look, “there's one thing I can swear to—it was a gentleman's + hand! I saw the white shirt cuff and a bit of a black sleeve!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford turned away. But he just as suddenly turned back to the + inspector. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to let the Cathedral authorities know, Mitchington,” he said. + “Better get the body removed, though, first—do it now before the + morning service is over. And—let me hear what you find out about his + identity, if you can discover anything in the city.” + </p> + <p> + He went away then, without another word or a further glance at the dead + man. But Bryce had already assured himself of what he was certain was a + fact—that a look of unmistakable relief had swept across Ransford's + face for the fraction of a second when he knew that there were no papers + on the dead man. He himself waited after Ransford had gone; waited until + the police had fetched a stretcher, when he personally superintended the + removal of the body to the mortuary outside the Close. And there a + constable who had come over from the police-station gave a faint hint as + to further investigation. + </p> + <p> + “I saw that poor gentleman last night, sir,” he said to the inspector. “He + was standing at the door of the Mitre, talking to another gentleman—a + tallish man.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll go across there,” said Mitchington. “Come with me, if you like, + Dr. Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + This was precisely what Bryce desired—he was already anxious to + acquire all the information he could get. And he walked over the way with + the inspector, to the quaint old-world inn which filled almost one side of + the little square known as Monday Market, and in at the courtyard, where, + looking out of the bow window which had served as an outer bar in the + coaching days, they found the landlady of the Mitre, Mrs. Partingley. + Bryce saw at once that she had heard the news. + </p> + <p> + “What's this, Mr. Mitchington?” she demanded as they drew near across the + cobble-paved yard. “Somebody's been in to say there's been an accident to + a gentleman, a stranger—I hope it isn't one of the two we've got in + the house?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say it is, ma'am,” answered the inspector. “He was seen outside + here last night by one of our men, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + The landlady uttered an expression of distress, and opening a side-door, + motioned them to step into her parlour. + </p> + <p> + “Which of them is it?” she asked anxiously. “There's two—came + together last night, they did—a tall one and a short one. Dear, dear + me!—is it a bad accident, now, inspector?” + </p> + <p> + “The man's dead, ma'am,” replied Mitchington grimly. “And we want to know + who he is. Have you got his name—and the other gentleman's?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Partingley uttered another exclamation of distress and astonishment, + lifting her plump hands in horror. But her business faculties remained + alive, and she made haste to produce a big visitors' book and to spread it + open before her callers. + </p> + <p> + “There it is!” she said, pointing to the two last entries. “That's the + short gentleman's name—Mr. John Braden, London. And that's the tall + one's—Mr. Christopher Dellingham—also London. Tourists, of + course—we've never seen either of them before.” + </p> + <p> + “Came together, you say, Mrs. Partingley?” asked Mitchington. “When was + that, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Just before dinner, last night,” answered the landlady. “They'd evidently + come in by the London train—that gets in at six-forty, as you know. + They came here together, and they'd dinner together, and spent the evening + together. Of course, we took them for friends. But they didn't go out + together this morning, though they'd breakfast together. After breakfast, + Mr. Dellingham asked me the way to the old Manor Mill, and he went off + there, so I concluded. Mr. Braden, he hung about a bit, studying a local + directory I'd lent him, and after a while he asked me if he could hire a + trap to take him out to Saxonsteade this afternoon. Of course, I said he + could, and he arranged for it to be ready at two-thirty. Then he went out, + and across the market towards the Cathedral. And that,” concluded Mrs. + Partingley, “is about all I know, gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + “Saxonsteade, eh?” remarked Mitchington. “Did he say anything about his + reasons for going there?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, he did,” replied the landlady. “For he asked me if I thought + he'd be likely to find the Duke at home at that time of day. I said I knew + his Grace was at Saxonsteade just now, and that I should think the middle + of the afternoon would be a good time.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't tell you his business with the Duke?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Not a word!” said the landlady. “Oh, no!—just that, and no more. + But—here's Mr. Dellingham.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered, bearded man pass the window—the + door opened and he walked in, to glance inquisitively at the inspector. He + turned at once to Mrs. Partingley. + </p> + <p> + “I hear there's been an accident to that gentleman I came in with last + night?” he said. “Is it anything serious? Your ostler says—” + </p> + <p> + “These gentlemen have just come about it, sir,” answered the landlady. She + glanced at Mitchington. “Perhaps you'll tell—” she began. + </p> + <p> + “Was he a friend of yours, sir?” asked Mitchington. “A personal friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Never saw him in my life before last night!” replied the tall man. “We + just chanced to meet in the train coming down from London, got talking, + and discovered we were both coming to the same place—Wrychester. So—we + came to this house together. No—no friend of mine—not even an + acquaintance—previous, of course, to last night. Is—is it + anything serious?” + </p> + <p> + “He's dead, sir,” replied Mitchington. “And now we want to know who he + is.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless my soul! Dead? You don't say so!” exclaimed Mr. Dellingham. + “Dear, dear! Well, I can't help you—don't know him from Adam. + Pleasant, well-informed man—seemed to have travelled a great deal in + foreign countries. I can tell you this much, though,” he went on, as if a + sudden recollection had come to him; “I gathered that he'd only just + arrived in England—in fact, now I come to think of it, he said as + much. Made some remark in the train about the pleasantness of the English + landscape, don't you know?—I got an idea that he'd recently come + from some country where trees and hedges and green fields aren't much in + evidence. But—if you want to know who he is, officer, why don't you + search him? He's sure to have papers, cards, and so on about him.” + </p> + <p> + “We have searched him,” answered Mitchington. “There isn't a paper, a + letter, or even a visiting card on him.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dellingham looked at the landlady. + </p> + <p> + “Bless me!” he said. “Remarkable! But he'd a suit-case, or something of + the sort—something light—which he carried up from the railway + station himself. Perhaps in that—” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see whatever he had,” said Mitchington. “We'd better + examine his room, Mrs. Partingley.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce presently followed the landlady and the inspector upstairs—Mr. + Dellingham followed him. All four went into a bedroom which looked out on + Monday Market. And there, on a side-table, lay a small leather suit-case, + one which could easily be carried, with its upper half thrown open and + back against the wall behind. + </p> + <p> + The landlady, Mr. Dellingham and Bryce stood silently by while the + inspector examined the contents of this the only piece of luggage in the + room. There was very little to see—what toilet articles the visitor + brought were spread out on the dressing-table—brushes, combs, a case + of razors, and the like. And Mitchington nodded side-wise at them as he + began to take the articles out of the suit-case. + </p> + <p> + “There's one thing strikes me at once,” he said. “I dare say you gentlemen + notice it. All these things are new! This suit-case hasn't been in use + very long—see, the leather's almost unworn—and those things on + the dressing-table are new. And what there is here looks new, too. There's + not much, you see—he evidently had no intention of a long stop. An + extra pair of trousers—some shirts—socks—collars—neckties—slippers—handkerchiefs—that's + about all. And the first thing to do is to see if the linen's marked with + name or initials.” + </p> + <p> + He deftly examined the various articles as he took them out, and in the + end shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No name—no initials,” he said. “But look here—do you see, + gentlemen, where these collars were bought? Half a dozen of them, in a + box. Paris! There you are—the seller's name, inside the collar, just + as in England. Aristide Pujol, 82, Rue des Capucines. And—judging by + the look of 'em—I should say these shirts were bought there, too—and + the handkerchiefs—and the neckwear—they all have a foreign + look. There may be a clue in that—we might trace him in France if we + can't in England. Perhaps he is a Frenchman.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take my oath he isn't!” exclaimed Mr. Dellingham. “However long he'd + been out of England he hadn't lost a North-Country accent! He was some + sort of a North-Countryman—Yorkshire or Lancashire, I'll go bail. No + Frenchman, officer—not he!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's no papers here, anyway,” said Mitchington, who had now + emptied the suit-case. “Nothing to show who he was. Nothing here, you see, + in the way of paper but this old book—what is it—History of + Barthorpe.” + </p> + <p> + “He showed me that in the train,” remarked Mr. Dellingham. “I'm interested + in antiquities and archaeology, and anybody who's long in my society finds + it out. We got talking of such things, and he pulled out that book, and + told me with great pride, that he'd picked it up from a book-barrow in the + street, somewhere in London, for one-and-six. I think,” he added musingly, + “that what attracted him in it was the old calf binding and the steel + frontispiece—I'm sure he'd no great knowledge of antiquities.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington laid the book down, and Bryce picked it up, examined the + title-page, and made a mental note of the fact that Barthorpe was a + market-town in the Midlands. And it was on the tip of his tongue to say + that if the dead man had no particular interest in antiquities and + archaeology, it was somewhat strange that he should have bought a book + which was mainly antiquarian, and that it might be that he had so bought + it because of a connection between Barthorpe and himself. But he + remembered that it was his own policy to keep pertinent facts for his own + private consideration, so he said nothing. And Mitchington presently + remarking that there was no more to be done there, and ascertaining from + Mr. Dellingham that it was his intention to remain in Wrychester for at + any rate a few days, they went downstairs again, and Bryce and the + inspector crossed over to the police-station. + </p> + <p> + The news had spread through the heart of the city, and at the + police-station doors a crowd had gathered. Just inside two or three + principal citizens were talking to the Superintendent—amongst them + was Mr. Stephen Folliot, the stepfather of young Bonham—a big, + heavy-faced man who had been a resident in the Close for some years, was + known to be of great wealth, and had a reputation as a grower of rare + roses. He was telling the Superintendent something—and the + Superintendent beckoned to Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Folliot says he saw this gentleman in the Cathedral,” he said. “Can't + have been so very long before the accident happened, Mr. Folliot, from + what you say.” + </p> + <p> + “As near as I can reckon, it would be five minutes to ten,” answered Mr. + Folliot. “I put it at that because I'd gone in for the morning service, + which is at ten. I saw him go up the inside stair to the clerestory + gallery—he was looking about him. Five minutes to ten—and it + must have happened immediately afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce heard this and turned away, making a calculation for himself. It had + been on the stroke of ten when he saw Ransford hurrying out of the west + porch. There was a stairway from the gallery down to that west porch. + What, then, was the inference? But for the moment he drew none—instead, + he went home to his rooms in Friary Lane, and shutting himself up, drew + from his pocket the scrap of paper he had taken from the dead man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. THE SCRAP OF PAPER + </h2> + <p> + When Bryce, in his locked room, drew that bit of paper from his pocket, it + was with the conviction that in it he held a clue to the secret of the + morning's adventure. He had only taken a mere glance at it as he withdrew + it from the dead man's purse, but he had seen enough of what was written + on it to make him certain that it was a document—if such a mere + fragment could be called a document—of no ordinary importance. And + now he unfolded and laid it flat on his table and looked at it carefully, + asking himself what was the real meaning of what he saw. + </p> + <p> + There was not much to see. The scrap of paper itself was evidently a + quarter of a leaf of old-fashioned, stoutish notepaper, somewhat yellow + with age, and bearing evidence of having been folded and kept flat in the + dead man's purse for some time—the creases were well-defined, the + edges were worn and slightly stained by long rubbing against the leather. + And in its centre were a few words, or, rather abbreviations of words, in + Latin, and some figures: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In Para. Wrycestr. juxt. tumb. + Ric. Jenk. ex cap. xxiii. xv. +</pre> + <p> + Bryce at first sight took them to be a copy of some inscription but his + knowledge of Latin told him, a moment later, that instead of being an + inscription, it was a direction. And a very plain direction, too!—he + read it easily. In Paradise, at Wrychester, next to, or near, the tomb of + Richard Jenkins, or, possibly, Jenkinson, from, or behind, the head, + twenty-three, fifteen—inches, most likely. There was no doubt that + there was the meaning of the words. What, now, was it that lay behind the + tomb of Richard Jenkins, or Jenkinson, in Wrychester Paradise?—in + all probability twenty-three inches from the head-stone, and fifteen + inches beneath the surface. That was a question which Bryce immediately + resolved to find a satisfactory answer to; in the meantime there were + other questions which he set down in order on his mental tablets. They + were these: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1. Who, really, was the man who had registered at the + Mitre under the name of John Braden? + + 2. Why did he wish to make a personal call on the + Duke of Saxonsteade? + + 3. Was he some man who had known Ransford in time + past—and whom Ransford had no desire to meet again? + + 4. Did Ransford meet him—in the Cathedral? + + 5. Was it Ransford who flung him to his death down + St. Wrytha's Stair? + + 6. Was that the real reason of the agitation in which + he, Bryce, had found Ransford a few moments after + the discovery of the body? +</pre> + <p> + There was plenty of time before him for the due solution of these + mysteries, reflected Bryce—and for solving another problem which + might possibly have some relationship to them—that of the exact + connection between Ransford and his two wards. Bryce, in telling Ransford + that morning of what was being said amongst the tea-table circles of the + old cathedral city, had purposely only told him half a tale. He knew, and + had known for months, that the society of the Close was greatly exercised + over the position of the Ransford menage. Ransford, a bachelor, a + well-preserved, active, alert man who was certainly of no more than middle + age and did not look his years, had come to Wrychester only a few years + previously, and had never shown any signs of forsaking his single state. + No one had ever heard him mention his family or relations; then, suddenly, + without warning, he had brought into his house Mary Bewery, a handsome + young woman of nineteen, who was said to have only just left school, and + her brother Richard, then a boy of sixteen, who had certainly been at a + public school of repute and was entered at the famous Dean's School of + Wrychester as soon as he came to his new home. Dr. Ransford spoke of these + two as his wards, without further explanation; the society of the Close + was beginning to want much more explanation. Who were they—these two + young people? Was Dr. Ransford their uncle, their cousin—what was he + to them? In any case, in the opinion of the elderly ladies who set the + tone of society in Wrychester, Miss Bewery was much too young, and far too + pretty, to be left without a chaperon. But, up to then, no one had dared + to say as much to Dr. Ransford—instead, everybody said it freely + behind his back. + </p> + <p> + Bryce had used eyes and ears in relation to the two young people. He had + been with Ransford a year when they arrived; admitted freely to their + company, he had soon discovered that whatever relationship existed between + them and Ransford, they had none with anybody else—that they knew + of. No letters came for them from uncles, aunts, cousins, grandfathers, + grandmothers. They appeared to have no memories or reminiscences of + relatives, nor of father or mother; there was a curious atmosphere of + isolation about them. They had plenty of talk about what might be called + their present—their recent schooldays, their youthful experiences, + games, pursuits—but none of what, under any circumstances, could + have been a very far-distant past. Bryce's quick and attentive ears + discovered things—for instance that for many years past Ransford had + been in the habit of spending his annual two months' holiday with these + two. Year after year—at any rate since the boy's tenth year—he + had taken them travelling; Bryce heard scraps of reminiscences of tours in + France, and in Switzerland, and in Ireland, and in Scotland—even as + far afield as the far north of Norway. It was easy to see that both boy + and girl had a mighty veneration for Ransford; just as easy to see that + Ransford took infinite pains to make life something more than happy and + comfortable for both. And Bryce, who was one of those men who firmly + believe that no man ever does anything for nothing and that self-interest + is the mainspring of Life, asked himself over and over again the question + which agitated the ladies of the Close: Who are these two, and what is the + bond between them and this sort of fairy-godfather-guardian? + </p> + <p> + And now, as he put away the scrap of paper in a safely-locked desk, Bryce + asked himself another question: Had the events of that morning anything to + do with the mystery which hung around Dr. Ransford's wards? If it had, + then all the more reason why he should solve it. For Bryce had made up his + mind that, by hook or by crook, he would marry Mary Bewery, and he was + only too eager to lay hands on anything that would help him to achieve + that ambition. If he could only get Ransford into his power—if he + could get Mary Bewery herself into his power—well and good. Once he + had got her, he would be good enough to her—in his way. + </p> + <p> + Having nothing to do, Bryce went out after a while and strolled round to + the Wrychester Club—an exclusive institution, the members of which + were drawn from the leisured, the professional, the clerical, and the + military circles of the old city. And there, as he expected, he found + small groups discussing the morning's tragedy, and he joined one of them, + in which was Sackville Bonham, his presumptive rival, who was busily + telling three or four other young men what his stepfather, Mr. Folliot, + had to say about the event. + </p> + <p> + “My stepfather says—and I tell you he saw the man,” said Sackville, + who was noted in Wrychester circles as a loquacious and forward youth; “he + says that whatever happened must have happened as soon as ever the old + chap got up into that clerestory gallery. Look here!—it's like this. + My stepfather had gone in there for the morning service—strict old + church-goer he is, you know—and he saw this stranger going up the + stairway. He's positive, Mr. Folliot, that it was then five minutes to + ten. Now, then, I ask you—isn't he right, my stepfather, when he + says that it must have happened at once—immediately? + </p> + <p> + “Because that man, Varner, the mason, says he saw the man fall before ten. + What?” + </p> + <p> + One of the group nodded at Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I should think Bryce knows what time it happened as well as anybody,” he + said. “You were first on the spot, Bryce, weren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “After Varner,” answered Bryce laconically. “As to the time—I could + fix it in this way—the organist was just beginning a voluntary or + something of the sort.” + </p> + <p> + “That means ten o'clock—to the minute—when he was found!” + exclaimed Sackville triumphantly. “Of course, he'd fallen a minute or two + before that—which proves Mr. Folliot to be right. Now what does that + prove? Why, that the old chap's assailant, whoever he was, dogged him + along that gallery as soon as he entered, seized him when he got to the + open doorway, and flung him through! Clear as—as noonday!” + </p> + <p> + One of the group, a rather older man than the rest, who was leaning back + in a tilted chair, hands in pockets, watching Sackville Bonham smilingly, + shook his head and laughed a little. + </p> + <p> + “You're taking something for granted, Sackie, my son!” he said. “You're + adopting the mason's tale as true. But I don't believe the poor man was + thrown through that doorway at all—not I!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned sharply on this speaker—young Archdale, a member of a + well-known firm of architects. + </p> + <p> + “You don't?” he exclaimed. “But Varner says he saw him thrown!” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely,” answered Archdale. “But it would all happen so quickly that + Varner might easily be mistaken. I'm speaking of something I know. I know + every inch of the Cathedral fabric—ought to, as we're always going + over it, professionally. Just at that doorway, at the head of St. Wrytha's + Stair, the flooring of the clerestory gallery is worn so smooth that it's + like a piece of glass—and it slopes! Slopes at a very steep angle, + too, to the doorway itself. A stranger walking along there might easily + slip, and if the door was open, as it was, he'd be shot out and into space + before he knew what was happening.” + </p> + <p> + This theory produced a moment's silence—broken at last by Sackville + Bonham. + </p> + <p> + “Varner says he saw—saw!—a man's hand, a gentleman's hand,” + insisted Sackville. “He saw a white shirt cuff, a bit of the sleeve of a + coat. You're not going to get over that, you know. He's certain of it!” + </p> + <p> + “Varner may be as certain of it as he likes,” answered Archdale, almost + indifferently, “and still he may be mistaken. The probability is that + Varner was confused by what he saw. He may have had a white shirt cuff and + the sleeve of a black coat impressed upon him, as in a flash—and + they were probably those of the man who was killed. If, as I suggest, the + man slipped, and was shot out of that open doorway, he would execute some + violent and curious movements in the effort to save himself in which his + arms would play an important part. For one thing, he would certainly throw + out an arm—to clutch at anything. That's what Varner most probably + saw. There's no evidence whatever that the man was flung down.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned away from the group of talkers to think over Archdale's + suggestion. If that suggestion had a basis of fact, it destroyed his own + theory that Ransford was responsible for the stranger's death. In that + case, what was the reason of Ransford's unmistakable agitation on leaving + the west porch, and of his attack—equally unmistakable—of + nerves in the surgery? But what Archdale had said made him inquisitive, + and after he had treated himself—in celebration of his freedom—to + an unusually good lunch at the Club, he went round to the Cathedral to + make a personal inspection of the gallery in the clerestory. + </p> + <p> + There was a stairway to that gallery in the corner of the south transept, + and Bryce made straight for it—only to find a policeman there, who + pointed to a placard on the turret door. “Closed, doctor—by order of + the Dean and Chapter,” he announced. “Till further orders. The fact was, + sir,” he went on confidentially, “after the news got out, so many people + came crowding in here and up to that gallery that the Dean ordered all the + entrances to be shut up at once—nobody's been allowed up since + noon.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you haven't heard anything of any strange person being seen + lurking about up there this morning?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. But I've had a bit of a talk with some of the vergers,” replied + the policeman, “and they say it's a most extraordinary thing that none of + them ever saw this strange gentleman go up there, nor even heard any + scuffle. They say—the vergers—that they were all about at the + time, getting ready for the morning service, and they neither saw nor + heard. Odd, sir, ain't it?” + </p> + <p> + “The whole thing's odd,” agreed Bryce, and left the Cathedral. He walked + round to the wicket gate which admitted to that side of Paradise—to + find another policeman posted there. “What!—is this closed, too?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “And time, sir,” said the man. “They'd ha' broken down all the shrubs in + the place if orders hadn't been given! They were mad to see where the + gentleman fell—came in crowds at dinnertime.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce nodded, and was turning away, when Dick Bewery came round a corner + from the Deanery Walk, evidently keenly excited. With him was a girl of + about his own age—a certain characterful young lady whom Bryce knew + as Betty Campany, daughter of the librarian to the Dean and Chapter and + therefore custodian of one of the most famous cathedral libraries in the + country. She, too, was apparently brimming with excitement, and her pretty + and vivacious face puckered itself into a frown as the policeman smiled + and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, what's that for?” exclaimed Dick Bewery. “Shut up?—what + a lot of rot! I say!—can't you let us go in—just for a + minute?” + </p> + <p> + “Not for a pension, sir!” answered the policeman good-naturedly. “Don't + you see the notice? The Dean 'ud have me out of the force by tomorrow if I + disobeyed orders. No admittance, nowhere, nohow! But lor' bless yer!” he + added, glancing at the two young people. “There's nothing to see—nothing!—as + Dr. Bryce there can tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Dick, who knew nothing of the recent passages between his guardian and the + dismissed assistant, glanced at Bryce with interest. + </p> + <p> + “You were on the spot first, weren't you?” he asked: “Do you think it + really was murder?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what it was,” answered Bryce. “And I wasn't first on the + spot. That was Varner, the mason—he called me.” He turned from the + lad to glance at the girl, who was peeping curiously over the gate into + the yews and cypresses. “Do you think your father's at the Library just + now?” he asked. “Shall I find him there?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think he is,” answered Betty Campany. “He generally goes down + about this time.” She turned and pulled Dick Bewery's sleeve. “Let's go up + in the clerestory,” she said. “We can see that, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Also closed, miss,” said the policeman, shaking his head. “No admittance + there, neither. The public firmly warned off—so to speak. 'I won't + have the Cathedral turned into a peepshow!' that's precisely what I heard + the Dean say with my own ears. So—closed!” + </p> + <p> + The boy and the girl turned away and went off across the Close, and the + policeman looked after them and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Lively young couple, that, sir!” he said. “What they call healthy + curiosity, I suppose? Plenty o' that knocking around in the city today.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who had half-turned in the direction of the Library, at the other + side of the Close, turned round again. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know if your people are doing anything about identifying the dead + man?” he asked. “Did you hear anything at noon?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing but that there'll be inquiries through the newspapers, sir,” + replied the policeman. “That's the surest way of finding something out. + And I did hear Inspector Mitchington say that they'd have to ask the Duke + if he knew anything about the poor man—I suppose he'd let fall + something about wanting to go over to Saxonsteade.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce went off in the direction of the Library thinking. The newspapers?—yes, + no better channel for spreading the news. If Mr. John Braden had relations + and friends, they would learn of his sad death through the newspapers, and + would come forward. And in that case— + </p> + <p> + “But it wouldn't surprise me,” mused Bryce, “if the name given at the + Mitre is an assumed name. I wonder if that theory of Archdale's is a + correct one?—however, there'll be more of that at the inquest + tomorrow. And in the meantime—let me find out something about the + tomb of Richard Jenkins, or Jenkinson—whoever he was.” + </p> + <p> + The famous Library of the Dean and Chapter of Wrychester was housed in an + ancient picturesque building in one corner of the Close, wherein, day in + and day out, amidst priceless volumes and manuscripts, huge folios and + weighty quartos, old prints, and relics of the mediaeval ages, Ambrose + Campany, the librarian, was pretty nearly always to be found, ready to + show his treasures to the visitors and tourists who came from all parts of + the world to see a collection well known to bibliophiles. And Ambrose + Campany, a cheery-faced, middle-aged man, with booklover and antiquary + written all over him, shockheaded, blue-spectacled, was there now, talking + to an old man whom Bryce knew as a neighbour of his in Friary Lane—one + Simpson Barker, a quiet, meditative old fellow, believed to be a retired + tradesman who spent his time in gentle pottering about the city. Bryce, as + he entered, caught what Campany was just then saying. + </p> + <p> + “The most important thing I've heard about it,” said Campany, “is—that + book they found in the man's suit-case at the Mitre. I'm not a detective—but + there's a clue!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. BY MISADVENTURE + </h2> + <p> + Old Simpson Harker, who sat near the librarian's table, his hands folded + on the crook of his stout walking stick, glanced out of a pair of + unusually shrewd and bright eyes at Bryce as he crossed the room and + approached the pair of gossipers. + </p> + <p> + “I think the doctor was there when that book you're speaking of was + found,” he remarked. “So I understood from Mitchington.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was there,” said Bryce, who was not unwilling to join in the talk. + He turned to Campany. “What makes you think there's a clue—in that?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why this,” answered the librarian. “Here's a man in possession of an old + history of Barthorpe. Barthorpe is a small market-town in the Midlands—Leicestershire, + I believe, of no particular importance that I know of, but doubtless with + a story of its own. Why should any one but a Barthorpe man, past or + present, be interested in that story so far as to carry an old account of + it with him? Therefore, I conclude this stranger was a Barthorpe man. And + it's at Barthorpe that I should make inquiries about him.” + </p> + <p> + Simpson Harker made no remark, and Bryce remembered what Mr. Dellingham + had said when the book was found. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know!” he replied carelessly. “I don't see that that follows. + I saw the book—a curious old binding and queer old copper-plates. + The man may have picked it up for that reason—I've bought old books + myself for less.” + </p> + <p> + “All the same,” retorted Campany, “I should make inquiry at Barthorpe. + You've got to go on probabilities. The probabilities in this case are that + the man was interested in the book because it dealt with his own town.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned away towards a wall on which hung a number of charts and + plans of Wrychester Cathedral and its precincts—it was to inspect + one of these that he had come to the Library. But suddenly remembering + that there was a question which he could ask without exciting any + suspicion or surmise, he faced round again on the librarian. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't there a register of burials within the Cathedral?” he inquired. + “Some book in which they're put down? I was looking in the Memorials of + Wrychester the other day, and I saw some names I want to trace.” + </p> + <p> + Campany lifted his quill pen and pointed to a case of big leather-bound + volumes in a far corner of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Third shelf from the bottom, doctor,” he replied. “You'll see two books + there—one's the register of all burials within the Cathedral itself + up to date: the other's the register of those in Paradise and the + cloisters. What names are you wanting to trace?” + </p> + <p> + But Bryce affected not to hear the last question; he walked over to the + place which Campany had indicated, and taking down the second book carried + it to an adjacent table. Campany called across the room to him. + </p> + <p> + “You'll find useful indexes at the end,” he said. “They're all brought up + to the present time—from four hundred years ago, nearly.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned to the index at the end of his book—an index written + out in various styles of handwriting. And within a minute he found the + name he wanted—there it was plainly before him—Richard + Jenkins, died March 8th, 1715: buried, in Paradise, March 10th. He nearly + laughed aloud at the ease with which he was tracing out what at first had + seemed a difficult matter to investigate. But lest his task should seem + too easy, he continued to turn over the leaves of the big folio, and in + order to have an excuse if the librarian should ask him any further + questions, he memorized some of the names which he saw. And after a while + he took the book back to its shelf, and turned to the wall on which the + charts and maps were hung. There was one there of Paradise, whereon was + marked the site and names of all the tombs and graves in that ancient + enclosure; from it he hoped to ascertain the exact position and + whereabouts of Richard Jenkins's grave. + </p> + <p> + But here Bryce met his first check. Down each side of the old chart—dated + 1850—there was a tabulated list of the tombs in Paradise. The names + of families and persons were given in this list—against each name + was a number corresponding with the same number, marked on the various + divisions of the chart. And there was no Richard Jenkins on that list—he + went over it carefully twice, thrice. It was not there. Obviously, if the + tomb of Richard Jenkins, who was buried in Paradise in 1715, was still + there, amongst the cypresses and yew trees, the name and inscription on it + had vanished, worn away by time and weather, when that chart had been + made, a hundred and thirty-five years later. And in that case, what did + the memorandum mean which Bryce had found in the dead man's purse? + </p> + <p> + He turned away at last from the chart, at a loss—and Campany glanced + at him. + </p> + <p> + “Found what you wanted?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” replied Bryce, primed with a ready answer. “I just wanted to + see where the Spelbanks were buried—quite a lot of them, I see.” + </p> + <p> + “Southeast corner of Paradise,” said Campany. “Several tombs. I could have + spared you the trouble of looking.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a regular encyclopaedia about the place,” laughed Bryce. “I + suppose you know every spout and gargoyle!” + </p> + <p> + “Ought to,” answered the librarian. “I've been fed on it, man and boy, for + five-and-forty years.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made some fitting remark and went out and home to his rooms—there + to spend most of the ensuing evening in trying to puzzle out the various + mysteries of the day. He got no more light on them then, and he was still + exercising his brains on them when he went to the inquest next morning—to + find the Coroner's court packed to the doors with an assemblage of + townsfolk just as curious as he was. And as he sat there, listening to the + preliminaries, and to the evidence of the first witnesses, his active and + scheming mind figured to itself, not without much cynical amusement, how a + word or two from his lips would go far to solve matters. He thought of + what he might tell—if he told all the truth. He thought of what he + might get out of Ransford if he, Bryce, were Coroner, or solicitor, and + had Ransford in that witness-box. He would ask him on his oath if he knew + that dead man—if he had had dealings with him in times past—if + he had met and spoken to him on that eventful morning—he would ask + him, point-blank, if it was not his hand that had thrown him to his death. + But Bryce had no intention of making any revelations just then—as + for himself he was going to tell just as much as he pleased and no more. + And so he sat and heard—and knew from what he heard that everybody + there was in a hopeless fog, and that in all that crowd there was but one + man who had any real suspicion of the truth, and that that man was + himself. + </p> + <p> + The evidence given in the first stages of the inquiry was all known to + Bryce, and to most people in the court, already. Mr. Dellingham told how + he had met the dead man in the train, journeying from London to + Wrychester. Mrs. Partingley told how he had arrived at the Mitre, + registered in her book as Mr. John Braden, and had next morning asked if + he could get a conveyance for Saxonsteade in the afternoon, as he wished + to see the Duke. Mr. Folliot testified to having seen him in the + Cathedral, going towards one of the stairways leading to the gallery. + Varner—most important witness of all up to that point—told of + what he had seen. Bryce himself, followed by Ransford, gave medical + evidence; Mitchington told of his examination of the dead man's clothing + and effects in his room at the Mitre. And Mitchington added the first + information which was new to Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “In consequence of finding the book about Barthorpe in the suit-case,” + said Mitchington, “we sent a long telegram yesterday to the police there, + telling them what had happened, and asking them to make the most careful + inquiries at once about any townsman of theirs of the name of John Braden, + and to wire us the result of such inquiries this morning. This is their + reply, received by us an hour ago. Nothing whatever is known at Barthorpe—which + is a very small town—of any person of that name.” + </p> + <p> + So much for that, thought Bryce. He turned with more interest to the next + witness—the Duke of Saxonsteade, the great local magnate, a big, + bluff man who had been present in court since the beginning of the + proceedings, in which he was manifestly highly interested. It was possible + that he might be able to tell something of moment—he might, after + all, know something of this apparently mysterious stranger, who, for + anything that Mrs. Partingley or anybody else could say to the contrary, + might have had an appointment and business with him. + </p> + <p> + But his Grace knew nothing. He had never heard the name of John Braden in + his life—so far as he remembered. He had just seen the body of the + unfortunate man and had looked carefully at the features. He was not a man + of whom he had any knowledge whatever—he could not recollect ever + having seen him anywhere at any time. He knew literally nothing of him—could + not think of any reason at all why this Mr. John Braden should wish to see + him. + </p> + <p> + “Your Grace has, no doubt, had business dealings with a good many people + at one time or another,” suggested the Coroner. “Some of them, perhaps, + with men whom your Grace only saw for a brief space of time—a few + minutes, possibly. You don't remember ever seeing this man in that way?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm credited with having an unusually good memory for faces,” answered + the Duke. “And—if I may say so—rightly. But I don't remember + this man at all—in fact, I'd go as far as to say that I'm positive + I've never—knowingly—set eyes on him in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Can your Grace suggest any reason at all why he should wish to call on + you?” asked the Coroner. + </p> + <p> + “None! But then,” replied the Duke, “there might be many reasons—unknown + to me, but at which I can make a guess. If he was an antiquary, there are + lots of old things at Saxonsteade which he might wish to see. Or he might + be a lover of pictures—our collection is a bit famous, you know. + Perhaps he was a bookman—we have some rare editions. I could go on + multiplying reasons—but to what purpose?” + </p> + <p> + “The fact is, your Grace doesn't know him and knows nothing about him,” + observed the Coroner. + </p> + <p> + “Just so—nothing!” agreed the Duke and stepped down again. + </p> + <p> + It was at this stage that the Coroner sent the jurymen away in charge of + his officer to make a careful personal inspection of the gallery in the + clerestory. And while they were gone there was some commotion caused in + the court by the entrance of a police official who conducted to the + Coroner a middle-aged, well-dressed man whom Bryce at once set down as a + London commercial magnate of some quality. Between the new arrival and the + Coroner an interchange of remarks was at once made, shared in presently by + some of the officials at the table. And when the jury came back the + stranger was at once ushered into the witness-box, and the Coroner turned + to the jury and the court. + </p> + <p> + “We are unexpectedly able to get some evidence of identity, gentlemen,” he + observed. “The gentleman who has just stepped into the witness-box is Mr. + Alexander Chilstone, manager of the London & Colonies Bank, in + Threadneedle Street. Mr. Chilstone saw particulars of this matter in the + newspapers this morning, and he at once set off to Wrychester to tell us + what he knows of the dead man. We are very much obliged to Mr. Chilstone—and + when he has been sworn he will perhaps kindly tell us what he can.” + </p> + <p> + In the midst of the murmur of sensation which ran round the court, Bryce + indulged himself with a covert look at Ransford who was sitting opposite + to him, beyond the table in the centre of the room. He saw at once that + Ransford, however strenuously he might be fighting to keep his face under + control, was most certainly agitated by the Coroner's announcement. His + cheeks had paled, his eyes were a little dilated, his lips parted as he + stared at the bank-manager—altogether, it was more than mere + curiosity that was indicated on his features. And Bryce, satisfied and + secretly elated, turned to hear what Mr. Alexander Chilstone had to tell. + </p> + <p> + That was not much—but it was of considerable importance. Only two + days before, said Mr. Chilstone—that was, on the day previous to his + death—Mr. John Braden had called at the London & Colonies Bank, + of which he, Mr. Chilstone, was manager, and introducing himself as having + just arrived in England from Australia, where, he said, he had been living + for some years, had asked to be allowed to open an account. He produced + some references from agents of the London & Colonies Bank, in + Melbourne, which were highly satisfactory; the account being opened, he + paid into it a sum of ten thousand pounds in a draft at sight drawn by one + of those agents. He drew nothing against this, remarking casually that he + had plenty of money in his pocket for the present: he did not even take + the cheque-book which was offered him, saying that he would call for it + later. + </p> + <p> + “He did not give us any address in London, nor in England,” continued the + witness. “He told me that he had only arrived at Charing Cross that very + morning, having travelled from Paris during the night. He said that he + should settle down for a time at some residential hotel in London, and in + the meantime he had one or two calls, or visits, to make in the country: + when he returned from them, he said, he would call on me again. He gave me + very little information about himself: it was not necessary, for his + references from our agents in Australia were quite satisfactory. But he + did mention that he had been out there for some years, and had speculated + in landed property—he also said that he was now going to settle in + England for good. That,” concluded Mr. Chilstone, “is all I can tell of my + own knowledge. But,” he added, drawing a newspaper from his pocket, “here + is an advertisement which I noticed in this morning's Times as I came + down. You will observe,” he said, as he passed it to the Coroner, “that it + has certainly been inserted by our unfortunate customer.” + </p> + <p> + The Coroner glanced at a marked passage in the personal column of the + Times, and read it aloud: + </p> + <p> + “The advertisement is as follows,” he announced. “'If this meets the eye + of old friend Marco, he will learn that Sticker wishes to see him again. + Write J. Braden, c/o London & Colonies Bank, Threadneedle Street, + London.'” + </p> + <p> + Bryce was keeping a quiet eye on Ransford. Was he mistaken in believing + that he saw him start; that he saw his cheek flush as he heard the + advertisement read out? He believed he was not mistaken—but if he + was right, Ransford the next instant regained full control of himself and + made no sign. And Bryce turned again to Coroner and witness. + </p> + <p> + But the witness had no more to say—except to suggest that the bank's + Melbourne agents should be cabled to for information, since it was + unlikely that much more could be got in England. And with that the middle + stage of the proceedings ended—and the last one came, watched by + Bryce with increasing anxiety. For it was soon evident, from certain + remarks made by the Coroner, that the theory which Archdale had put + forward at the club in Bryce's hearing the previous day had gained favour + with the authorities, and that the visit of the jurymen to the scene of + the disaster had been intended by the Coroner to predispose them in behalf + of it. And now Archdale himself, as representing the architects who held a + retaining fee in connection with the Cathedral, was called to give his + opinion—and he gave it in almost the same words which Bryce had + heard him use twenty-four hours previously. After him came the + master-mason, expressing the same decided conviction—that the real + truth was that the pavement of the gallery had at that particular place + become so smooth, and was inclined towards the open doorway at such a + sharp angle, that the unfortunate man had lost his footing on it, and + before he could recover it had been shot out of the arch and over the + broken head of St. Wrytha's Stair. And though, at a juryman's wish, Varner + was recalled, and stuck stoutly to his original story of having seen a + hand which, he protested, was certainly not that of the dead man, it soon + became plain that the jury shared the Coroner's belief that Varner in his + fright and excitement had been mistaken, and no one was surprised when the + foreman, after a very brief consultation with his fellows, announced a + verdict of death by misadventure. + </p> + <p> + “So the city's cleared of the stain of murder!” said a man who sat next to + Bryce. “That's a good job, anyway! Nasty thing, doctor, to think of a + murder being committed in a cathedral. There'd be a question of sacrilege, + of course—and all sorts of complications.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made no answer. He was watching Ransford, who was talking to the + Coroner. And he was not mistaken now—Ransford's face bore all the + signs of infinite relief. From—what? Bryce turned, to leave the + stuffy, rapidly-emptying court. And as he passed the centre table he saw + old Simpson Harker, who, after sitting in attentive silence for three + hours had come up to it, picked up the “History of Barthorpe” which had + been found in Braden's suit-case and was inquisitively peering at its + title-page. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE DOUBLE TRAIL + </h2> + <p> + Pemberton Bryce was not the only person in Wrychester who was watching + Ransford with keen attention during these events. Mary Bewery, a young + woman of more than usual powers of observation and penetration, had been + quick to see that her guardian's distress over the affair in Paradise was + something out of the common. She knew Ransford for an exceedingly + tender-hearted man, with a considerable spice of sentiment in his + composition: he was noted for his more than professional interest in the + poorer sort of his patients and had gained a deserved reputation in the + town for his care of them. But it was somewhat surprising, even to Mary, + that he should be so much upset by the death of a total stranger as to + lose his appetite, and, for at any rate a couple of days, be so restless + that his conduct could not fail to be noticed by herself and her brother. + His remarks on the tragedy were conventional enough—a most + distressing affair—a sad fate for the poor fellow—most + unexplainable and mysterious, and so on—but his concern obviously + went beyond that. He was ill at ease when she questioned him about the + facts; almost irritable when Dick Bewery, schoolboy-like, asked him + concerning professional details; she was sure, from the lines about his + eyes and a worn look on his face, that he had passed a restless night when + he came down to breakfast on the morning of the inquest. But when he + returned from the inquest she noticed a change—it was evident, to + her ready wits, that Ransford had experienced a great relief. He spoke of + relief, indeed, that night at dinner, observing that the verdict which the + jury had returned had cleared the air of a foul suspicion; it would have + been no pleasant matter, he said, if Wrychester Cathedral had gained an + unenviable notoriety as the scene of a murder. + </p> + <p> + “All the same,” remarked Dick, who knew all the talk of the town, “Varner + persists in sticking to what he's said all along. Varner says—said + this afternoon, after the inquest was over—that he's absolutely + certain of what he saw, and that he not only saw a hand in a white cuff + and black coat sleeve, but that he saw the sun gleam for a second on the + links in the cuff, as if they were gold or diamonds. Pretty stiff evidence + that, sir, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “In the state of mind in which Varner was at that moment,” replied + Ransford, “he wouldn't be very well able to decide definitely on what he + really did see. His vision would retain confused images. Probably he saw + the dead man's hand—he was wearing a black coat and white linen. The + verdict was a most sensible one.” + </p> + <p> + No more was said after that, and that evening Ransford was almost himself + again. But not quite himself. Mary caught him looking very grave, in + evident abstraction, more than once; more than once she heard him sigh + heavily. But he said no more of the matter until two days later, when, at + breakfast, he announced his intention of attending John Braden's funeral, + which was to take place that morning. + </p> + <p> + “I've ordered the brougham for eleven,” he said, “and I've arranged with + Dr. Nicholson to attend to any urgent call that comes in between that and + noon—so, if there is any such call, you can telephone to him. A few + of us are going to attend this poor man's funeral—it would be too + bad to allow a stranger to go to his grave unattended, especially after + such a fate. There'll be somebody representing the Dean and Chapter, and + three or four principal townsmen, so he'll not be quite neglected. And”—here + he hesitated and looked a little nervously at Mary, to whom he was telling + all this, Dick having departed for school—“there's a little matter I + wish you'd attend to—you'll do it better than I should. The man + seems to have been friendless; here, at any rate—no relations have + come forward, in spite of the publicity—so—don't you think it + would be rather—considerate, eh?—to put a wreath, or a cross, + or something of that sort on his grave—just to show—you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Very kind of you to think of it,” said Mary. “What do you wish me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “If you'd go to Gardales', the florists, and order—something + fitting, you know,” replied Ransford, “and afterwards—later in the + day—take it to St. Wigbert's Churchyard—he's to be buried + there—take it—if you don't mind—yourself, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” answered Mary. “I'll see that it's done.” + </p> + <p> + She would do anything that seemed good to Ransford—but all the same + she wondered at this somewhat unusual show of interest in a total + stranger. She put it down at last to Ransford's undoubted sentimentality—the + man's sad fate had impressed him. And that afternoon the sexton at St. + Wigbert's pointed out the new grave to Miss Bewery and Mr. Sackville + Bonham, one carrying a wreath and the other a large bunch of lilies. + Sackville, chancing to encounter Mary at the florist's, whither he had + repaired to execute a commission for his mother, had heard her business, + and had been so struck by the notion—or by a desire to ingratiate + himself with Miss Bewery—that he had immediately bought flowers + himself—to be put down to her account—and insisted on + accompanying Mary to the churchyard. + </p> + <p> + Bryce heard of this tribute to John Braden next day—from Mrs. + Folliot, Sackville Bonham's mother, a large lady who dominated certain + circles of Wrychester society in several senses. Mrs. Folliot was one of + those women who have been gifted by nature with capacity—she was + conspicuous in many ways. Her voice was masculine; she stood nearly six + feet in her stoutly-soled shoes; her breadth corresponded to her height; + her eyes were piercing, her nose Roman; there was not a curate in + Wrychester who was not under her thumb, and if the Dean himself saw her + coming, he turned hastily into the nearest shop, sweating with fear lest + she should follow him. Endued with riches and fortified by assurance, Mrs. + Folliot was the presiding spirit in many movements of charity and + benevolence; there were people in Wrychester who were unkind enough to say—behind + her back—that she was as meddlesome as she was most undoubtedly + autocratic, but, as one of her staunchest clerical defenders once pointed + out, these grumblers were what might be contemptuously dismissed as + five-shilling subscribers. Mrs. Folliot, in her way, was undoubtedly a + power—and for reasons of his own Pemberton Bryce, whenever he met + her—which was fairly often—was invariably suave and polite. + </p> + <p> + “Most mysterious thing, this, Dr. Bryce,” remarked Mrs. Folliot in her + deepest tones, encountering Bryce, the day after the funeral, at the + corner of a back street down which she was about to sail on one of her + charitable missions, to the terror of any of the women who happened to be + caught gossiping. “What, now, should make Dr. Ransford cause flowers to be + laid on the grave of a total stranger? A sentimental feeling? + Fiddle-de-dee! There must be some reason.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Mrs. Folliot,” + answered Bryce, whose ears had already lengthened. “Has Dr. Ransford been + laying flowers on a grave?—I didn't know of it. My engagement with + Dr. Ransford terminated two days ago—so I've seen nothing of him.” + </p> + <p> + “My son, Mr. Sackville Bonham,” said Mrs. Folliot, “tells me that + yesterday Miss Bewery came into Gardales' and spent a sovereign—actually + a sovereign!—on a wreath, which, she told Sackville, she was about + to carry, at her guardian's desire, to this strange man's grave. + Sackville, who is a warm-hearted boy, was touched—he, too, bought + flowers and accompanied Miss Bewery. Most extraordinary! A perfect + stranger! Dear me—why, nobody knows who the man was!” + </p> + <p> + “Except his bank-manager,” remarked Bryce, “who says he's holding ten + thousand pounds of his.” + </p> + <p> + “That,” admitted Mrs. Folliot gravely, “is certainly a consideration. But + then, who knows?—the money may have been stolen. Now, really, did + you ever hear of a quite respectable man who hadn't even a visiting-card + or a letter upon him? And from Australia, too!—where all the people + that are wanted run away to! I have actually been tempted to wonder, Dr. + Bryce, if Dr. Ransford knew this man—in years gone by? He might + have, you know, he might have—certainly! And that, of course, would + explain the flowers.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a great deal in the matter that requires explanation, Mrs. + Folliot,” said Bryce. He was wondering if it would be wise to instil some + minute drop of poison into the lady's mind, there to increase in potency + and in due course to spread. “I—of course, I may have been mistaken—I + certainly thought Dr. Ransford seemed unusually agitated by this affair—it + appeared to upset him greatly.” + </p> + <p> + “So I have heard—from others who were at the inquest,” responded + Mrs. Folliot. “In my opinion our Coroner—a worthy man otherwise—is + not sufficiently particular. I said to Mr. Folliot this morning, on + reading the newspaper, that in my view that inquest should have been + adjourned for further particulars. Now I know of one particular that was + never mentioned at the inquest!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh?” said Bryce. “And what?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Deramore, who lives, as you know, next to Dr. Ransford,” replied + Mrs. Folliot, “told me this morning that on the morning of the accident, + happening to look out of one of her upper windows, she saw a man whom, + from the description given in the newspapers, was, Mrs. Deramore feels + assured, was the mysterious stranger, crossing the Close towards the + Cathedral in, Mrs. Deramore is positive, a dead straight line from Dr. + Ransford's garden—as if he had been there. Dr. Bryce!—a direct + question should have been asked of Dr. Ransford—had he ever seen + that man before?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but you see, Mrs. Folliot, the Coroner didn't know what Mrs. Deramore + saw, so he couldn't ask such a question, nor could any one else,” remarked + Bryce, who was wondering how long Mrs. Deramore remained at her upper + window and if she saw him follow Braden. “But there are circumstances, no + doubt, which ought to be inquired into. And it's certainly very curious + that Dr. Ransford should send a wreath to the grave of—a stranger.” + </p> + <p> + He went away convinced that Mrs. Folliot's inquisitiveness had been + aroused, and that her tongue would not be idle: Mrs. Folliot, left to + herself, had the gift of creating an atmosphere, and if she once got it + into her head that there was some mysterious connection between Dr. + Ransford and the dead man, she would never rest until she had spread her + suspicions. But as for Bryce himself, he wanted more than suspicions—he + wanted facts, particulars, data. And once more he began to go over the sum + of evidence which had accrued. + </p> + <p> + The question of the scrap of paper found in Braden's purse, and of the + exact whereabouts of Richard Jenkins's grave in Paradise, he left for the + time being. What was now interesting him chiefly was the advertisement in + the Times to which the bank-manager from London had drawn attention. He + had made haste to buy a copy of the Times and to cut out the + advertisement. There it was—old friend Marco was wanted by + (presumably old friend) Sticker, and whoever Sticker might be he could + certainly be found under care of J. Braden. It had never been in doubt a + moment, in Bryce's mind, that Sticker was J. Braden himself. Who, now, was + Marco? Who—a million to one on it!—but Ransford, whose + Christian name was Mark? + </p> + <p> + He reckoned up his chances of getting at the truth of the affair anew that + night. As things were, it seemed unlikely that any relations of Braden + would now turn up. The Wrychester Paradise case, as the reporters had + aptly named it, had figured largely in the newspapers, London and + provincial; it could scarcely have had more publicity—yet no one, + save this bank-manager, had come forward. If there had been any one to + come forward the bank-manager's evidence would surely have proved an + incentive to speed—for there was a sum of ten thousand pounds + awaiting John Braden's next-of-kin. In Bryce's opinion the chance of + putting in a claim to ten thousand pounds is not left waiting forty-eight + hours—whoever saw such a chance would make instant use of telegraph + or telephone. But no message from anybody professing relationship with the + dead man had so far reached the Wrychester police. + </p> + <p> + When everything had been taken into account, Bryce saw no better clue for + the moment than that suggested by Ambrose Campany—Barthorpe. Ambrose + Campany, bookworm though he was, was a shrewd, sharp fellow, said Bryce—a + man of ideas. There was certainly much in his suggestion that a man wasn't + likely to buy an old book about a little insignificant town like Barthorpe + unless he had some interest in it—Barthorpe, if Campany's theory + were true, was probably the place of John Braden's origin. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, information about Braden, leading to knowledge of his + association or connection with Ransford, might be found at Barthorpe. + True, the Barthorpe police had already reported that they could tell + nothing about any Braden, but that, in Bryce's opinion, was neither here + nor there—he had already come to the conclusion that Braden was an + assumed name. And if he went to Barthorpe, he was not going to trouble the + police—he knew better methods than that of finding things out. Was + he going?—was it worth his while? A moment's reflection decided that + matter—anything was worth his while which would help him to get a + strong hold on Mark Ransford. And always practical in his doings, he + walked round to the Free Library, obtained a gazeteer, and looked up + particulars of Barthorpe. There he learnt that Barthorpe was an ancient + market-town of two thousand inhabitants in the north of Leicestershire, + famous for nothing except that it had been the scene of a battle at the + time of the Wars of the Roses, and that its trade was mainly in + agriculture and stocking-making—evidently a slow, sleepy old place. + </p> + <p> + That night Bryce packed a hand-bag with small necessaries for a few days' + excursion, and next morning he took an early train to London; the end of + that afternoon found him in a Midland northern-bound express, looking out + on the undulating, green acres of Leicestershire. And while his train was + making a three minutes' stop at Leicester itself, the purpose of his + journey was suddenly recalled to him by hearing the strident voices of the + porters on the platform. + </p> + <p> + “Barthorpe next stop!—next stop Barthorpe!” + </p> + <p> + One of two other men who shared a smoking compartment with Bryce turned to + his companion as the train moved off again. + </p> + <p> + “Barthorpe?” he remarked. “That's the place that was mentioned in + connection with that very queer affair at Wrychester, that's been reported + in the papers so much these last few days. The mysterious stranger who + kept ten thousand in a London bank, and of whom nobody seems to know + anything, had nothing on him but a history of Barthorpe. Odd! And yet, + though you'd think he'd some connection with the place, or had known it, + they say nobody at Barthorpe knows anything about anybody of his name.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know that there is anything so very odd about it, after + all,” replied the other man. “He may have picked up that old book for one + of many reasons that could be suggested. No—I read all that case in + the papers, and I wasn't so much impressed by the old book feature of it. + But I'll tell you what—there was a thing struck me. I know this + Barthorpe district—we shall be in it in a few minutes—I've + been a good deal over it. This strange man's name was given in the papers + as John Braden. Now close to Barthorpe—a mile or two outside it, + there's a village of that name—Braden Medworth. That's a curious + coincidence—and taken in conjunction with the man's possession of an + old book about Barthorpe—why, perhaps there's something in it—possibly + more than I thought for at first.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—it's an odd case—a very odd case,” said the first + speaker. “And—as there's ten thousand pounds in question, more will + be heard of it. Somebody'll be after that, you may be sure!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce left the train at Barthorpe thanking his good luck—the man in + the far corner had unwittingly given him a hint. He would pay a visit to + Braden Medworth—the coincidence was too striking to be neglected. + But first Barthorpe itself—a quaint old-world little market-town, in + which some of even the principal houses still wore roofs of thatch, and + wherein the old custom of ringing the curfew bell was kept up. He found an + old-fashioned hotel in the marketplace, under the shadow of the parish + church, and in its oak-panelled dining-room, hung about with portraits of + masters of foxhounds and queer old prints of sporting and coaching days, + he dined comfortably and well. + </p> + <p> + It was too late to attempt any investigations that evening, and when Bryce + had finished his leisurely dinner he strolled into the smoking-room—an + even older and quainter apartment than that which he had just left. It was + one of those rooms only found in very old houses—a room of nooks and + corners, with a great open fireplace, and old furniture and old pictures + and curiosities—the sort of place to which the old-fashioned + tradesmen of the small provincial towns still resort of an evening rather + than patronize the modern political clubs. There were several men of this + sort in the room when Bryce entered, talking local politics amongst + themselves, and he found a quiet corner and sat down in it to smoke, + promising himself some amusement from the conversation around him; it was + his way to find interest and amusement in anything that offered. But he + had scarcely settled down in a comfortably cushioned elbow chair when the + door opened again and into the room walked old Simpson Harker. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. THE BEST MAN + </h2> + <p> + Old Harker's shrewd eyes, travelling round the room as if to inspect the + company in which he found himself, fell almost immediately on Bryce—but + not before Bryce had had time to assume an air and look of innocent and + genuine surprise. Harker affected no surprise at all—he looked the + astonishment he felt as the younger man rose and motioned him to the + comfortable easy-chair which he himself had just previously taken. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” he exclaimed, nodding his thanks. “I'd no idea that I should + meet you in these far-off parts, Dr. Bryce! This is a long way from + Wrychester, sir, for Wrychester folk to meet in.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd no idea of meeting you, Mr. Harker,” responded Bryce. “But it's a + small world, you know, and there are a good many coincidences in it. + There's nothing very wonderful in my presence here, though—I ran + down to see after a country practice—I've left Dr. Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + He had the lie ready as soon as he set eyes on Harker, and whether the old + man believed it or not, he showed no sign of either belief or disbelief. + He took the chair which Bryce drew forward and pulled out an old-fashioned + cigar-case, offering it to his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Will you try one, doctor?” he asked. “Genuine stuff that, sir—I've + a friend in Cuba who remembers me now and then. No,” he went on, as Bryce + thanked him and took a cigar, “I didn't know you'd finished with the + doctor. Quietish place this to practise in, I should think—much + quieter even than our sleepy old city.” + </p> + <p> + “You know it?” inquired Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I've a friend lives here—old friend of mine,” answered Harker. “I + come down to see him now and then—I've been here since yesterday. He + does a bit of business for me. Stopping long, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Only just to look round,” answered Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I'm off tomorrow morning—eleven o'clock,” said Harker. “It's a + longish journey to Wrychester—for old bones like mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you're all right!—worth half a dozen younger men,” responded + Bryce. “You'll see a lot of your contemporaries out, Mr. Harker. Well—as + you've treated me to a very fine cigar, now you'll let me treat you to a + drop of whisky?—they generally have something of pretty good quality + in these old-fashioned establishments, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + The two travellers sat talking until bedtime—but neither made any + mention of the affair which had recently set all Wrychester agog with + excitement. But Bryce was wondering all the time if his companion's story + of having a friend at Barthorpe was no more than an excuse, and when he + was alone in his own bedroom and reflecting more seriously he came to the + conclusion that old Harker was up to some game of his own in connection + with the Paradise mystery. + </p> + <p> + “The old chap was in the Library when Ambrose Campany said that there was + a clue in that Barthorpe history,” he mused. “I saw him myself examining + the book after the inquest. No, no, Mr. Harker!—the facts are too + plain—the evidences too obvious. And yet—what interest has a + retired old tradesman of Wrychester got in this affair? I'd give a good + deal to know what Harker really is doing here—and who his Barthorpe + friend is.” + </p> + <p> + If Bryce had risen earlier next morning, and had taken the trouble to + track old Harker's movements, he would have learnt something that would + have made him still more suspicious. But Bryce, seeing no reason for + hurry, lay in bed till well past nine o'clock, and did not present himself + in the coffee-room until nearly half-past ten. And at that hour Simpson + Harker, who had breakfasted before nine, was in close consultation with + his friend—that friend being none other than the local + superintendent of police, who was confidentially closeted with the old man + in his private house, whither Harker, by previous arrangement, had + repaired as soon as his breakfast was over. Had Bryce been able to see + through walls or hear through windows, he would have been surprised to + find that the Harker of this consultation was not the quiet, easy-going, + gossipy old gentleman of Wrychester, but an eminently practical and + business-like man of affairs. + </p> + <p> + “And now as regards this young fellow who's staying across there at the + Peacock,” he was saying in conclusion, at the very time that Bryce was + leisurely munching his second mutton chop in the Peacock coffee-room, + “he's after something or other—his talk about coming here to see + after a practice is all lies!—and you'll keep an eye on him while + he's in your neighbourhood. Put your best plainclothes man on to him at + once—he'll easily know him from the description I gave you—and + let him shadow him wherever he goes. And then let me know of his movement—he's + certainly on the track of something, and what he does may be useful to me—I + can link it up with my own work. And as regards the other matter—keep + me informed if you come on anything further. Now I'll go out by your + garden and down the back of the town to the station. Let me know, by the + by, when this young man at the Peacock leaves here, and, if possible—and + you can find out—for where.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce was all unconscious that any one was interested in his movements + when he strolled out into Barthorpe market-place just after eleven. He had + asked a casual question of the waiter and found that the old gentleman had + departed—he accordingly believed himself free from observation. And + forthwith he set about his work of inquiry in his own fashion. He was not + going to draw any attention to himself by asking questions of present-day + inhabitants, whose curiosity might then be aroused; he knew better methods + than that. Every town, said Bryce to himself, possesses public records—parish + registers, burgess rolls, lists of voters; even small towns have + directories which are more or less complete—he could search these + for any mention or record of anybody or any family of the name of Braden. + And he spent all that day in that search, inspecting numerous documents + and registers and books, and when evening came he had a very complete + acquaintance with the family nomenclature of Barthorpe, and he was + prepared to bet odds against any one of the name of Braden having lived + there during the past half-century. In all his searching he had not once + come across the name. + </p> + <p> + The man who had spent a very lazy day in keeping an eye on Bryce, as he + visited the various public places whereat he made his researches, was also + keeping an eye upon him next morning, when Bryce, breakfasting earlier + than usual, prepared for a second day's labours. He followed his quarry + away from the little town: Bryce was walking out to Braden Medworth. In + Bryce's opinion, it was something of a wild-goose chase to go there, but + the similarity in the name of the village and of the dead man at + Wrychester might have its significance, and it was but a two miles' stroll + from Barthorpe. He found Braden Medworth a very small, quiet, and + picturesque place, with an old church on the banks of a river which + promised good sport to anglers. And there he pursued his tactics of the + day before and went straight to the vicarage and its vicar, with a request + to be allowed to inspect the parish registers. The vicar, having no + objection to earning the resultant fees, hastened to comply with Bryce's + request, and inquired how far back he wanted to search and for what + particular entry. + </p> + <p> + “No particular entry,” answered Bryce, “and as to period—fairly + recent. The fact is, I am interested in names. I am thinking”—here + he used one more of his easily found inventions—“of writing a book + on English surnames, and am just now inspecting parish registers in the + Midlands for that purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I can considerably simplify your labours,” said the vicar, taking + down a book from one of his shelves. “Our parish registers have been + copied and printed, and here is the volume—everything is in there + from 1570 to ten years ago, and there is a very full index. Are you + staying in the neighbourhood—or the village?” + </p> + <p> + “In the neighbourhood, yes; in the village, no longer than the time I + shall spend in getting some lunch at the inn yonder,” answered Bryce, + nodding through an open window at an ancient tavern which stood in the + valley beneath, close to an old stone bridge. “Perhaps you will kindly + lend me this book for an hour?—then, if I see anything very + noteworthy in the index, I can look at the actual registers when I bring + it back.” + </p> + <p> + The vicar replied that that was precisely what he had been about to + suggest, and Bryce carried the book away. And while he sat in the inn + parlour awaiting his lunch, he turned to the carefully-compiled index, + glancing it through rapidly. On the third page he saw the name Bewery. + </p> + <p> + If the man who had followed Bryce from Barthorpe to Braden Medworth had + been with him in the quiet inn parlour he would have seen his quarry + start, and heard him let a stifled exclamation escape his lips. But the + follower, knowing his man was safe for an hour, was in the bar outside + eating bread and cheese and drinking ale, and Bryce's surprise was + witnessed by no one. Yet he had been so much surprised that if all + Wrychester had been there he could not, despite his self-training in + watchfulness, have kept back either start or exclamation. + </p> + <p> + Bewery! A name so uncommon that here—here, in this out-of-the-way + Midland village!—there must be some connection with the object of + his search. There the name stood out before him, to the exclusion of all + others—Bewery—with just one entry of figures against it. He + turned to page 387 with a sense of sure discovery. + </p> + <p> + And there an entry caught his eye at once—and he knew that he had + discovered more than he had ever hoped for. He read it again and again, + gloating over his wonderful luck. + </p> + <p> + June 19th, 1891. John Brake, bachelor, of the parish of St. Pancras, + London, to Mary Bewery, spinster, of this parish, by the Vicar. Witnesses, + Charles Claybourne, Selina Womersley, Mark Ransford. + </p> + <p> + Twenty-two years ago! The Mary Bewery whom Bryce knew in Wrychester was + just about twenty—this Mary Bewery, spinster, of Braden Medworth, + was, then, in all probability, her mother. But John Brake who married that + Mary Bewery—who was he? Who indeed, laughed Bryce, but John Braden, + who had just come by his death in Wrychester Paradise? And there was the + name of Mark Ransford as witness. What was the further probability? That + Mark Ransford had been John Brake's best man; that he was the Marco of the + recent Times advertisement; that John Braden, or Brake, was the Sticker of + the same advertisement. Clear!—clear as noonday! And—what did + it all mean, and imply, and what bearing had it on Braden or Brake's + death? + </p> + <p> + Before he ate his cold beef, Bryce had copied the entry from the reprinted + register, and had satisfied himself that Ransford was not a name known to + that village—Mark Ransford was the only person of the name mentioned + in the register. And his lunch done, he set off for the vicarage again, + intent on getting further information, and before he reached the vicarage + gates noticed, by accident, a place whereat he was more likely to get it + than from the vicar—who was a youngish man. At the end of the few + houses between the inn and the bridge he saw a little shop with the name + Charles Claybourne painted roughly above its open window. In that open + window sat an old, cheery-faced man, mending shoes, who blinked at the + stranger through his big spectacles. + </p> + <p> + Bryce saw his chance and turned in—to open the book and point out + the marriage entry. + </p> + <p> + “Are you the Charles Claybourne mentioned there?” he asked, without + ceremony. + </p> + <p> + “That's me, sir!” replied the old shoemaker briskly, after a glance. “Yes—right + enough!” + </p> + <p> + “How came you to witness that marriage?” inquired Bryce. + </p> + <p> + The old man nodded at the church across the way. + </p> + <p> + “I've been sexton and parish clerk two-and-thirty years, sir,” he said. + “And I took it on from my father—and he had the job from his + father.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember this marriage?” asked Bryce, perching himself on the + bench at which the shoemaker was working. “Twenty-two years since, I see.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, as if it was yesterday!” answered the old man with a smile. “Miss + Bewery's marriage?—why, of course!” + </p> + <p> + “Who was she?” demanded Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Governess at the vicarage,” replied Claybourne. “Nice, sweet young lady.” + </p> + <p> + “And the man she married?—Mr. Brake,” continued Bryce. “Who was he?” + </p> + <p> + “A young gentleman that used to come here for the fishing, now and then,” + answered Claybourne, pointing at the river. “Famous for our trout we are + here, you know, sir. And Brake had come here for three years before they + were married—him and his friend Mr. Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “You remember him, too?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Remember both of 'em very well indeed,” said Claybourne, “though I never + set eyes on either after Miss Mary was wed to Mr. Brake. But I saw plenty + of 'em both before that. They used to put up at the inn there—that I + saw you come out of just now. They came two or three times a year—and + they were a bit thick with our parson of that time—not this one: his + predecessor—and they used to go up to the vicarage and smoke their + pipes and cigars with him—and of course, Mr. Brake and the governess + fixed it up. Though, you know, at one time it was considered it was going + to be her and the other young gentleman, Mr. Ransford—yes! But, in + the end, it was Brake—and Ransford stood best man for him.” + </p> + <p> + Bruce assimilated all this information greedily—and asked for more. + </p> + <p> + “I'm interested in that entry,” he said, tapping the open book. “I know + some people of the name of Bewery—they may be relatives.” + </p> + <p> + The shoemaker shook his head as if doubtful. + </p> + <p> + “I remember hearing it said,” he remarked, “that Miss Mary had no + relations. She'd been with the old vicar some time, and I don't remember + any relations ever coming to see her, nor her going away to see any.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what Brake was?” asked Bryce. “As you say he came here for a + good many times before the marriage, I suppose you'd hear something about + his profession, or trade, or whatever it was?” + </p> + <p> + “He was a banker, that one,” replied Claybourne. “A banker—that was + his trade, sir. T'other gentleman, Mr. Ransford, he was a doctor—I + mind that well enough, because once when him and Mr. Brake were fishing + here, Thomas Joynt's wife fell downstairs and broke her leg, and they + fetched him to her—he'd got it set before they'd got the reg'lar + doctor out from Barthorpe yonder.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had now got all the information he wanted, and he made the old + parish clerk a small present and turned to go. But another question + presented itself to his mind and he reentered the little shop. + </p> + <p> + “Your late vicar?” he said. “The one in whose family Miss Bewery was + governess—where is he now? Dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Can't say whether he's dead or alive, sir,” replied Claybourne. “He left + this parish for another—a living in a different part of England—some + years since, and I haven't heard much of him from that time to this—he + never came back here once, not even to pay us a friendly visit—he + was a queerish sort. But I'll tell you what, sir,” he added, evidently + anxious to give his visitor good value for his half-crown, “our present + vicar has one of those books with the names of all the clergymen in 'em, + and he'd tell you where his predecessor is now, if he's alive—name + of Reverend Thomas Gilwaters, M.A.—an Oxford college man he was, and + very high learned.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce went back to the vicarage, returned the borrowed book, and asked to + look at the registers for the year 1891. He verified his copy and turned + to the vicar. + </p> + <p> + “I accidentally came across the record of a marriage there in which I'm + interested,” he said as he paid the search fees. “Celebrated by your + predecessor, Mr. Gilwaters. I should be glad to know where Mr. Gilwaters + is to be found. Do you happen to possess a clerical directory?” + </p> + <p> + The vicar produced a “Crockford”, and Bryce turned over its pages. Mr. + Gilwaters, who from the account there given appeared to be an elderly man + who had now retired, lived in London, in Bayswater, and Bryce made a note + of his address and prepared to depart. + </p> + <p> + “Find any names that interested you?” asked the vicar as his caller left. + “Anything noteworthy?” + </p> + <p> + “I found two or three names which interested me immensely,” answered Bryce + from the foot of the vicarage steps. “They were well worth searching for.” + </p> + <p> + And without further explanation he marched off to Barthorpe duly followed + by his shadow, who saw him safely into the Peacock an hour later—and, + an hour after that, went to the police superintendent with his report. + </p> + <p> + “Gone, sir,” he said. “Left by the five-thirty express for London.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. THE HOUSE OF HIS FRIEND + </h2> + <p> + Bryce found himself at eleven o'clock next morning in a small book-lined + parlour in a little house which stood in a quiet street in the + neighbourhood of Westbourne Grove. Over the mantelpiece, amongst other + odds and ends of pictures and photographs, hung a water-colour drawing of + Braden Medworth—and to him presently entered an old, silver-haired + clergyman whom he at once took to be Braden Medworth's former vicar, and + who glanced inquisitively at his visitor and then at the card which Bryce + had sent in with a request for an interview. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Bryce?” he said inquiringly. “Dr. Pemberton Bryce?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made his best bow and assumed his suavest and most ingratiating + manner. + </p> + <p> + “I hope I am not intruding on your time, Mr. Gilwaters?” he said. “The + fact is, I was referred to you, yesterday, by the present vicar of Braden + Medworth—both he, and the sexton there, Claybourne, whom you, of + course, remember, thought you would be able to give me some information on + a subject which is of great importance—to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know the present vicar,” remarked Mr. Gilwaters, motioning Bryce + to a chair, and taking another close by. “Clayborne, of course, I remember + very well indeed—he must be getting an old man now—like + myself! What is it you want to know, now?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to take you into my confidence,” replied Bryce, who had + carefully laid his plans and prepared his story, “and you, I am sure, Mr. + Gilwaters, will respect mine. I have for two years been in practice at + Wrychester, and have there made the acquaintance of a young lady whom I + earnestly desire to marry. She is the ward of the man to whom I have been + assistant. And I think you will begin to see why I have come to you when I + say that this young lady's name is—Mary Bewery.” + </p> + <p> + The old clergyman started, and looked at his visitor with unusual + interest. He grasped the arm of his elbow chair and leaned forward. + </p> + <p> + “Mary Bewery!” he said in a low whisper. “What—what is the name of + the man who is her—guardian?” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Mark Ransford,” answered Bryce promptly. + </p> + <p> + The old man sat upright again, with a little toss of his head. + </p> + <p> + “Bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “Mark Ransford! Then—it must have + been as I feared—and suspected!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made no remark. He knew at once that he had struck on something, and + it was his method to let people take their own time. Mr. Gilwaters had + already fallen into something closely resembling a reverie: Bryce sat + silently waiting and expectant. And at last the old man leaned forward + again, almost eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it you want to know?” he asked, repeating his first question. “Is—is + there some—some mystery?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” replied Bryce. “A mystery that I want to solve, sir. And I dare say + that you can help me, if you'll be so good. I am convinced—in fact, + I know!—that this young lady is in ignorance of her parentage, that + Ransford is keeping some fact, some truth back from her—and I want + to find things out. By the merest chance—accident, in fact—I + discovered yesterday at Braden Medworth that some twenty-two years ago you + married one Mary Bewery, who, I learnt there, was your governess, to a + John Brake, and that Mark Ransford was John Brake's best man and a witness + of the marriage. Now, Mr. Gilwaters, the similarity in names is too + striking to be devoid of significance. So—it's of the utmost + importance to me!—can or will you tell me—who was the Mary + Bewery you married to John Brake? Who was John Brake? And what was Mark + Ransford to either, or to both?” + </p> + <p> + He was wondering, all the time during which he reeled off these questions, + if Mr. Gilwaters was wholly ignorant of the recent affair at Wrychester. + He might be—a glance round his book-filled room had suggested to + Bryce that he was much more likely to be a bookworm than a newspaper + reader, and it was quite possible that the events of the day had small + interest for him. And his first words in reply to Bryce's questions + convinced Bryce that his surmise was correct and that the old man had read + nothing of the Wrychester Paradise mystery, in which Ransford's name had, + of course, figured as a witness at the inquest. + </p> + <p> + “It is nearly twenty years since I heard any of their names,” remarked Mr. + Gilwaters. “Nearly twenty years—a long time! But, of course, I can + answer you. Mary Bewery was our governess at Braden Medworth. She came to + us when she was nineteen—she was married four years later. She was a + girl who had no friends or relatives—she had been educated at a + school in the North—I engaged her from that school, where, I + understood, she had lived since infancy. Now then, as to Brake and + Ransford. They were two young men from London, who used to come fishing in + Leicestershire. Ransford was a few years the younger—he was either a + medical student in his last year, or he was an assistant somewhere in + London. Brake—was a bank manager in London—of a branch of one + of the big banks. They were pleasant young fellows, and I used to ask them + to the vicarage. Eventually, Mary Bewery and John Brake became engaged to + be married. My wife and I were a good deal surprised—we had + believed, somehow, that the favoured man would be Ransford. However, it + was Brake—and Brake she married, and, as you say, Ransford was best + man. Of course, Brake took his wife off to London—and from the day + of her wedding, I never saw her again.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever see Brake again?” asked Bryce. The old clergyman shook his + head. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” he said sadly. “I did see Brake again—under grievous, + grievous circumstances!” + </p> + <p> + “You won't mind telling me what circumstances?” suggested Bryce. “I will + keep your confidence, Mr. Gilwaters.” + </p> + <p> + “There is really no secret in it—if it comes to that,” answered the + old man. “I saw John Brake again just once. In a prison cell!” + </p> + <p> + “A prison cell!” exclaimed Bryce. “And he—a prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “He had just been sentenced to ten years' penal servitude,” replied Mr. + Gilwaters. “I had heard the sentence—I was present. I got leave to + see him. Ten years' penal servitude!—a terrible punishment. He must + have been released long ago—but I never heard more.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce reflected in silence for a moment—reckoning and calculating. + </p> + <p> + “When was this—the trial?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “It was five years after the marriage—seventeen years ago,” replied + Mr. Gilwaters. + </p> + <p> + “And—what had he been doing?” inquired Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Stealing the bank's money,” answered the old man. “I forget what the + technical offence was—embezzlement, or something of that sort. There + was not much evidence came out, for it was impossible to offer any + defence, and he pleaded guilty. But I gathered from what I heard that + something of this sort occurred. Brake was a branch manager. He was, as it + were, pounced upon one morning by an inspector, who found that his cash + was short by two or three thousand pounds. The bank people seemed to have + been unusually strict and even severe—Brake, it was said, had some + explanation, but it was swept aside and he was given in charge. And the + sentence was as I said just now—a very savage one, I thought. But + there had recently been some bad cases of that sort in the banking world, + and I suppose the judge felt that he must make an example. Yes—a + most trying affair!—I have a report of the case somewhere, which I + cut out of a London newspaper at the time.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gilwaters rose and turned to an old desk in the corner of his room, + and after some rummaging of papers in a drawer, produced a + newspaper-cutting book and traced an insertion in its pages. He handed the + book to his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “There is the account,” he said. “You can read it for yourself. You will + notice that in what Brake's counsel said on his behalf there are one or + two curious and mysterious hints as to what might have been said if it had + been of any use or advantage to say it. A strange case!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned eagerly to the faded scrap of newspaper. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BANK MANAGER'S DEFALCATION. + + At the Central Criminal Court yesterday, John Brake, + thirty-three, formerly manager of the Upper Tooting + branch of the London & Home Counties Bank, Ltd., + pleaded guilty to embezzling certain sums, the + property of his employers. + + Mr. Walkinshaw, Q.C., addressing the court on behalf + of the prisoner, said that while it was impossible + for his client to offer any defence, there were + circumstances in the case which, if it had been worth + while to put them in evidence, would have shown that + the prisoner was a wronged and deceived man. To use + a Scriptural phrase, Brake had been wounded in the + house of his friend. The man who was really guilty + in this affair had cleverly escaped all consequences, + nor would it be of the least use to enter into any + details respecting him. Not one penny of the money + in question had been used by the prisoner for his own + purposes. It was doubtless a wrong and improper thing + that his client had done, and he had pleaded guilty and + would submit to the consequences. But if everything in + connection with the case could have been told, if it + would have served any useful purpose to tell it, it + would have been seen that what the prisoner really was + guilty of was a foolish and serious error of judgment. + He himself, concluded the learned counsel, would go so + far as to say that, knowing what he did, knowing what + had been told him by his client in strict confidence, + the prisoner, though technically guilty, was morally + innocent. + + His Lordship, merely remarking that no excuse of any + sort could be offered in a case of this sort, sentenced + the prisoner to ten years' penal servitude. +</pre> + <p> + Bryce read this over twice before handing back the book. + </p> + <p> + “Very strange and mysterious, Mr. Gilwaters,” he remarked. “You say that + you saw Brake after the case was over. Did you learn anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing whatever!” answered the old clergyman. “I got permission to see + him before he was taken away. He did not seem particularly pleased or + disposed to see me. I begged him to tell me what the real truth was. He + was, I think, somewhat dazed by the sentence—but he was also sullen + and morose. I asked him where his wife and two children—one, a mere + infant—were. For I had already been to his private address and had + found that Mrs. Brake had sold all the furniture and disappeared—completely. + No one—thereabouts, at any rate—knew where she was, or would + tell me anything. On my asking this, he refused to answer. I pressed him—he + said finally that he was only speaking the truth when he replied that he + did not know where his wife was. I said I must find her. He forbade me to + make any attempt. Then I begged him to tell me if she was with friends. I + remember very well what he replied.—'I'm not going to say one word + more to any man living, Mr. Gilwaters,' he answered determinedly. 'I shall + be dead to the world—only because I've been a trusting fool!—for + ten years or thereabouts, but, when I come back to it, I'll let the world + see what revenge means! Go away!' he concluded. 'I won't say one word + more.' And—I left him.” + </p> + <p> + “And—you made no more inquiries?—about the wife?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I did what I could,” replied Mr. Gilwaters. “I made some inquiry in the + neighbourhood in which they had lived. All I could discover was that Mrs. + Brake had disappeared under extraordinarily mysterious circumstances. + There was no trace whatever of her. And I speedily found that things were + being said—the usual cruel suspicions, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Such as—what?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “That the amount of the defalcations was much larger than had been allowed + to appear,” replied Mr. Gilwaters. “That Brake was a very clever rogue who + had got the money safely planted somewhere abroad, and that his wife had + gone off somewhere—Australia, or Canada, or some other far-off + region—to await his release. Of course, I didn't believe one word of + all that. But there was the fact—she had vanished! And eventually, I + thought of Ransford, as having been Brake's great friend, so I tried to + find him. And then I found that he, too, who up to that time had been + practising in a London suburb—Streatham—had also disappeared. + Just after Brake's arrest, Ransford had suddenly sold his practice and + gone—no one knew where, but it was believed—abroad. I couldn't + trace him, anyway. And soon after that I had a long illness, and for two + or three years was an invalid, and—well, the thing was over and done + with, and, as I said just now, I have never heard anything of any of them + for all these years. And now!—now you tell me that there is a Mary + Bewery who is a ward of a Dr. Mark Ransford at—where did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “At Wrychester,” answered Bryce. “She is a young woman of twenty, and she + has a brother, Richard, who is between seventeen and eighteen.” + </p> + <p> + “Without a doubt those are Brake's children!” exclaimed the old man. “The + infant I spoke of was a boy. Bless me!—how extraordinary. How long + have they been at Wrychester?” + </p> + <p> + “Ransford has been in practice there some years—a few years,” + replied Bryce. “These two young people joined him there definitely two + years ago. But from what I have learnt, he has acted as their guardian + ever since they were mere children.” + </p> + <p> + “And—their mother?” asked Mr. Gilwaters. + </p> + <p> + “Said to be dead—long since,” answered Bryce. “And their father, + too. They know nothing. Ransford won't tell them anything. But, as you say—I've + no doubt of it myself now—they must be the children of John Brake.” + </p> + <p> + “And have taken the name of their mother!” remarked the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Had it given to them,” said Bryce. “They don't know that it isn't their + real name. Of course, Ransford has given it to them! But now—the + mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, the mother!” said Mr. Gilwaters. “Our old governess! Dear me!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to put a question to you,” continued Bryce, leaning nearer and + speaking in a low, confidential tone. “You must have seen much of the + world, Mr. Gilwaters—men of your profession know the world, and + human nature, too. Call to mind all the mysterious circumstances, the + veiled hints, of that trial. Do you think—have you ever thought—that + the false friend whom the counsel referred to was—Ransford? Come, + now!” + </p> + <p> + The old clergyman lifted his hands and let them fall on his knees. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what to say!” he exclaimed. “To tell you the truth, I have + often wondered if—if that was what really did happen. There is the + fact that Brake's wife disappeared mysteriously—that Ransford made a + similar mysterious disappearance about the same time—that Brake was + obviously suffering from intense and bitter hatred when I saw him after + the trial—hatred of some person on whom he meant to be revenged—and + that his counsel hinted that he had been deceived and betrayed by a + friend. Now, to my knowledge, he and Ransford were the closest of friends—in + the old days, before Brake married our governess. And I suppose the + friendship continued—certainly Ransford acted as best man at the + wedding! But how account for that strange double disappearance?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had already accounted for that, in his own secret mind. And now, + having got all that he wanted out of the old clergyman, he rose to take + his leave. + </p> + <p> + “You will regard this interview as having been of a strictly private + nature, Mr. Gilwaters?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly!” responded the old man. “But—you mentioned that you + wished to marry the daughter? Now that you know about her father's past—for + I am sure she must be John Brake's child—you won't allow that to—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Not for a moment!” answered Bryce, with a fair show of magnanimity. “I am + not a man of that complexion, sir. No!—I only wished to clear up + certain things, you understand.” + </p> + <p> + “And—since she is apparently—from what you say—in + ignorance of her real father's past—what then?” asked Mr. Gilwaters + anxiously. “Shall you—” + </p> + <p> + “I shall do nothing whatever in any haste,” replied Bryce. “Rely upon me + to consider her feelings in everything. As you have been so kind, I will + let you know, later, how matters go.” + </p> + <p> + This was one of Pemberton Bryce's ready inventions. He had not the least + intention of ever seeing or communicating with the late vicar of Braden + Medworth again; Mr. Gilwaters had served his purpose for the time being. + He went away from Bayswater, and, an hour later, from London, highly + satisfied. In his opinion, Mark Ransford, seventeen years before, had + taken advantage of his friend's misfortunes to run away with his wife, and + when Brake, alias Braden, had unexpectedly turned up at Wrychester, he had + added to his former wrong by the commission of a far greater one. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. DIPLOMACY + </h2> + <p> + Bryce went back to Wrychester firmly convinced that Mark Ransford had + killed John Braden. He reckoned things up in his own fashion. Some years + must have elapsed since Braden, or rather Brake's release. He had probably + heard, on his release, that Ransford and his, Brake's, wife had gone + abroad—in that case he would certainly follow them. He might have + lost all trace of them; he might have lost his original interest in his + first schemes of revenge; he might have begun a new life for himself in + Australia, whence he had undoubtedly come to England recently. But he had + come, at last, and he had evidently tracked Ransford to Wrychester—why, + otherwise, had he presented himself at Ransford's door on that eventful + morning which was to witness his death? Nothing, in Bryce's opinion, could + be clearer. Brake had turned up. He and Ransford had met—most likely + in the precincts of the Cathedral. Ransford, who knew all the quiet + corners of the old place, had in all probability induced Brake to walk up + into the gallery with him, had noticed the open doorway, had thrown Brake + through it. All the facts pointed to that conclusion—it was a theory + which, so far as Bryce could see, was perfect. It ought to be enough—proved—to + put Ransford in a criminal dock. Bryce resolved it in his own mind over + and over again as he sped home to Wrychester—he pictured the police + listening greedily to all that he could tell them if he liked. There was + only one factor in the whole sum of the affair which seemed against him—the + advertisement in the Times. If Brake desired to find Ransford in order to + be revenged on him, why did he insert that advertisement, as if he were + longing to meet a cherished friend again? But Bryce gaily surmounted that + obstacle—full of shifts and subtleties himself, he was ever ready to + credit others with trading in them, and he put the advertisement down as a + clever ruse to attract, not Ransford, but some person who could give + information about Ransford. Whatever its exact meaning might have been, + its existence made no difference to Bryce's firm opinion that it was Mark + Ransford who flung John Brake down St. Wrytha's Stair and killed him. He + was as sure of that as he was certain that Braden was Brake. And he was + not going to tell the police of his discoveries—he was not going to + tell anybody. The one thing that concerned him was—how best to make + use of his knowledge with a view to bringing about a marriage between + himself and Mark Ransford's ward. He had set his mind on that for twelve + months past, and he was not a man to be baulked of his purpose. By fair + means, or foul—he himself ignored the last word and would have + substituted the term skilful for it—Pemberton Bryce meant to have + Mary Bewery. + </p> + <p> + Mary Bewery herself had no thought of Bryce in her head when, the morning + after that worthy's return to Wrychester, she set out, alone, for the + Wrychester Golf Club. It was her habit to go there almost every day, and + Bryce was well acquainted with her movements and knew precisely where to + waylay her. And empty of Bryce though her mind was, she was not surprised + when, at a lonely place on Wrychester Common, Bryce turned the corner of a + spinny and met her face to face. + </p> + <p> + Mary would have passed on with no more than a silent recognition—she + had made up her mind to have no further speech with her guardian's + dismissed assistant. But she had to pass through a wicket gate at that + point, and Bryce barred the way, with unmistakable purpose. It was plain + to the girl that he had laid in wait for her. She was not without a temper + of her own, and she suddenly let it out on the offender. + </p> + <p> + “Do you call this manly conduct, Dr. Bryce?” she demanded, turning an + indignant and flushed face on him. “To waylay me here, when you know that + I don't want to have anything more to do with you. Let me through, please—and + go away!” + </p> + <p> + But Bryce kept a hand on the little gate, and when he spoke there was that + in his voice which made the girl listen in spite of herself. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not here on my own behalf,” he said quickly. “I give you my word I + won't say a thing that need offend you. It's true I waited here for you—it's + the only place in which I thought I could meet you, alone. I want to speak + to you. It's this—do you know your guardian is in danger?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had the gift of plausibility—he could convince people, against + their instincts, even against their wills, that he was telling the truth. + And Mary, after a swift glance, believed him. + </p> + <p> + “What danger?” she asked. “And if he is, and if you know he is—why + don't you go direct to him?” + </p> + <p> + “The most fatal thing in the world to do!” exclaimed Bryce. “You know him—he + can be nasty. That would bring matters to a crisis. And that, in his + interest, is just what mustn't happen.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand you,” said Mary. + </p> + <p> + Bryce leaned nearer to her—across the gate. + </p> + <p> + “You know what happened last week,” he said in a low voice. “The strange + death of that man—Braden.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she asked, with a sudden look of uneasiness. “What of it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's being rumoured—whispered—in the town that Dr. Ransford + had something to do with that affair,” answered Bryce. “Unpleasant—unfortunate—but + it's a fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” exclaimed Mary with a heightening colour. “What could he + have to do with it? What could give rise to such foolish—wicked—rumours?” + </p> + <p> + “You know as well as I do how people talk, how they will talk,” said + Bryce. “You can't stop them, in a place like Wrychester, where everybody + knows everybody. There's a mystery around Braden's death—it's no use + denying it. Nobody knows who he was, where he came from, why he came. And + it's being hinted—I'm only telling you what I've gathered—that + Dr. Ransford knows more than he's ever told. There are, I'm afraid, + grounds.” + </p> + <p> + “What grounds?” demanded Mary. While Bryce had been speaking, in his usual + slow, careful fashion, she had been reflecting—and remembering + Ransford's evident agitation at the time of the Paradise affair—and + his relief when the inquest was over—and his sending her with + flowers to the dead man's grave and she began to experience a sense of + uneasiness and even of fear. “What grounds can there be?” she added. “Dr. + Ransford didn't know that man—had never seen him!” + </p> + <p> + “That's not certain,” replied Bryce. “It's said—remember, I'm only + repeating things—it's said that just before the body was discovered, + Dr. Ransford was seen—seen, mind you!—leaving the west porch + of the Cathedral, looking as if he had just been very much upset. Two + persons saw this.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are they?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + “That I'm not allowed to tell you,” said Bryce, who had no intention of + informing her that one person was himself and the other imaginary. “But I + can assure you that I am certain—absolutely certain!—that + their story is true. The fact is—I can corroborate it.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “I!” replied Bryce. “I will tell you something that I have never told + anybody—up to now. I shan't ask you to respect my confidence—I've + sufficient trust in you to know that you will, without any asking. Listen!—on + that morning, Dr. Ransford went out of the surgery in the direction of the + Deanery, leaving me alone there. A few minutes later, a tap came at the + door. I opened it—and found—a man standing outside!” + </p> + <p> + “Not—that man?” asked Mary fearfully. + </p> + <p> + “That man—Braden,” replied Bryce. “He asked for Dr. Ransford. I said + he was out—would the caller leave his name? He said no—he had + called because he had once known a Dr. Ransford, years before. He added + something about calling again, and he went away—across the Close + towards the Cathedral. I saw him again—not very long afterwards—lying + in the corner of Paradise—dead!” + </p> + <p> + Mary Bewery was by this time pale and trembling—and Bryce continued + to watch her steadily. She stole a furtive look at him. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you tell all this at the inquest?” she asked in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Because I knew how damning it would be to—Ransford,” replied Bryce + promptly. “It would have excited suspicion. I was certain that no one but + myself knew that Braden had been to the surgery door—therefore, I + thought that if I kept silence, his calling there would never be known. + But—I have since found that I was mistaken. Braden was seen—going + away from Dr. Ransford's.” + </p> + <p> + “By—whom?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Deramore—at the next house,” answered Bryce. “She happened to + be looking out of an upstairs window. She saw him go away and cross the + Close.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she tell you that?” demanded Mary, who knew Mrs. Deramore for a + gossip. + </p> + <p> + “Between ourselves,” said Bryce, “she did not! She told Mrs. Folliot—Mrs. + Folliot told me.” + </p> + <p> + “So—it is talked about!” exclaimed Mary. + </p> + <p> + “I said so,” assented Bryce. “You know what Mrs. Folliot's tongue is.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Dr. Ransford will get to hear of it,” said Mary. + </p> + <p> + “He will be the last person to get to hear of it,” affirmed Bryce. “These + things are talked of, hole-and-corner fashion, a long time before they + reach the ears of the person chiefly concerned.” + </p> + <p> + Mary hesitated a moment before she asked her next question. + </p> + <p> + “Why have you told me all this?” she demanded at last. + </p> + <p> + “Because I didn't want you to be suddenly surprised,” answered Bryce. + “This—whatever it is—may come to a sudden head—of an + unpleasant sort. These rumours spread—and the police are still keen + about finding out things concerning this dead man. If they once get it + into their heads that Dr. Ransford knew him—” + </p> + <p> + Mary laid her hand on the gate between them—and Bryce, who had done + all he wished to do at that time, instantly opened it, and she passed + through. + </p> + <p> + “I am much obliged to you,” she said. “I don't know what it all means—but + it is Dr. Ransford's affair—if there is any affair, which I doubt. + Will you let me go now, please?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce stood aside and lifted his hat, and Mary, with no more than a nod, + walked on towards the golf club-house across the Common, while Bryce + turned off to the town, highly elated with his morning's work. He had sown + the seeds of uneasiness and suspicion broadcast—some of them, he + knew, would mature. + </p> + <p> + Mary Bewery played no golf that morning. In fact, she only went on to the + club-house to rid herself of Bryce, and presently she returned home, + thinking. And indeed, she said to herself, she had abundant food for + thought. Naturally candid and honest, she did not at that moment doubt + Bryce's good faith; much as she disliked him in most ways she knew that he + had certain commendable qualities, and she was inclined to believe him + when he said that he had kept silence in order to ward off consequences + which might indirectly be unpleasant for her. But of him and his news she + thought little—what occupied her mind was the possible connection + between the stranger who had come so suddenly and disappeared so suddenly—and + for ever!—and Mark Ransford. Was it possible—really possible—that + there had been some meeting between them in or about the Cathedral + precincts that morning? She knew, after a moment's reflection, that it was + very possible—why not? And from that her thoughts followed a natural + trend—was the mystery surrounding this man connected in any way with + the mystery about herself and her brother?—that mystery of which (as + it seemed to her) Ransford was so shy of speaking. And again—and for + the hundredth time—she asked herself why he was so reticent, so + evidently full of dislike of the subject, why he could not tell her and + Dick whatever there was to tell, once for all? + </p> + <p> + She had to pass the Folliots' house in the far corner of the Close on her + way home—a fine old mansion set in well-wooded grounds, enclosed by + a high wall of old red brick. A door in that wall stood open, and inside + it, talking to one of his gardeners, was Mr. Folliot—the vistas + behind him were gay with flowers and rich with the roses which he passed + all his days in cultivating. He caught sight of Mary as she passed the + open doorway and called her back. + </p> + <p> + “Come in and have a look at some new roses I've got,” he said. “Beauties! + I'll give you a handful to carry home.” + </p> + <p> + Mary rather liked Mr. Folliot. He was a big, half-asleep sort of man, who + had few words and could talk about little else than his hobby. But he was + a passionate lover of flowers and plants, and had a positive genius for + rose-culture, and was at all times highly delighted to take flower-lovers + round his garden. She turned at once and walked in, and Folliot led her + away down the scented paths. + </p> + <p> + “It's an experiment I've been trying,” he said, leading her up to a + cluster of blooms of a colour and size which she had never seen before. + “What do you think of the results?” + </p> + <p> + “Magnificent!” exclaimed Mary. “I never saw anything so fine!” + </p> + <p> + “No!” agreed Folliot, with a quiet chuckle. “Nor anybody else—because + there's no such rose in England. I shall have to go to some of these + learned parsons in the Close to invent me a Latin name for this—it's + the result of careful experiments in grafting—took me three years to + get at it. And see how it blooms,—scores on one standard.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled out a knife and began to select a handful of the finest blooms, + which he presently pressed into Mary's hand. + </p> + <p> + “By the by,” he remarked as she thanked him and they turned away along the + path, “I wanted to have a word with you—or with Ransford. Do you + know—does he know—that that confounded silly woman who lives + near to your house—Mrs. Deramore—has been saying some things—or + a thing—which—to put it plainly—might make some + unpleasantness for him?” + </p> + <p> + Mary kept a firm hand on her wits—and gave him an answer which was + true enough, so far as she was aware. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure he knows nothing,” she said. “What is it, Mr. Folliot?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know what happened last week,” continued Folliot, glancing + knowingly at her. “The accident to that stranger. This Mrs. Deramore, + who's nothing but an old chatterer, has been saying, here and there, that + it's a very queer thing Dr. Ransford doesn't know anything about him, and + can't say anything, for she herself, she says, saw the very man going away + from Dr. Ransford's house not so long before the accident.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not aware that he ever called at Dr. Ransford's,” said Mary. “I + never saw him—and I was in the garden, about that very time, with + your stepson, Mr. Folliot.” + </p> + <p> + “So Sackville told me,” remarked Folliot. “He was present—and so was + I—when Mrs. Deramore was tattling about it in our house yesterday. + He said, then, that he'd never seen the man go to your house. You never + heard your servants make any remark about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” answered Mary. + </p> + <p> + “I told Mrs. Deramore she'd far better hold her tongue,” continued + Folliot. “Tittle-tattle of that sort is apt to lead to unpleasantness. And + when it came to it, it turned out that all she had seen was this stranger + strolling across the Close as if he'd just left your house. If—there's + always some if! But I'll tell you why I mentioned it to you,” he + continued, nudging Mary's elbow and glancing covertly first at her and + then at his house on the far side of the garden. “Ladies that are—getting + on a bit in years, you know—like my wife, are apt to let their + tongues wag, and between you and me, I shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Folliot + has repeated what Mrs. Deramore said—eh? And I don't want the doctor + to think that—if he hears anything, you know, which he may, and, + again, he might—to think that it originated here. So, if he should + ever mention it to you, you can say it sprang from his next-door + neighbour. Bah!—they're a lot of old gossips, these Close ladies!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Mary. “But—supposing this man had been to our + house—what difference would that make? He might have been for half a + dozen reasons.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot looked at her out of his half-shut eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Some people would want to know why Ransford didn't tell that—at the + inquest,” he answered. “That's all. When there's a bit of mystery, you + know—eh?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded—as if reassuringly—and went off to rejoin his + gardener, and Mary walked home with her roses, more thoughtful than ever. + Mystery?—a bit of mystery? There was a vast and heavy cloud of + mystery, and she knew she could have no peace until it was lifted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. THE BACK ROOM + </h2> + <p> + In the midst of all her perplexity at that moment, Mary Bewery was certain + of one fact about which she had no perplexity nor any doubt—it would + not be long before the rumours of which Bryce and Mr. Folliot had spoken. + Although she had only lived in Wrychester a comparatively short time she + had seen and learned enough of it to know that the place was a hotbed of + gossip. Once gossip was started there, it spread, widening in circle after + circle. And though Bryce was probably right when he said that the person + chiefly concerned was usually the last person to hear what was being + whispered, she knew well enough that sooner or later this talk about + Ransford would come to Ransford's own ears. But she had no idea that it + was to come so soon, nor from her own brother. + </p> + <p> + Lunch in the Ransford menage was an informal meal. At a quarter past one + every day, it was on the table—a cold lunch to which the three + members of the household helped themselves as they liked, independent of + the services of servants. Sometimes all three were there at the same + moment; sometimes Ransford was half an hour late; the one member who was + always there to the moment was Dick Bewery, who fortified himself + sedulously after his morning's school labours. On this particular day all + three met in the dining-room at once, and sat down together. And before + Dick had eaten many mouthfuls of a cold pie to which he had just liberally + helped himself he bent confidentially across the table towards his + guardian. + </p> + <p> + “There's something I think you ought to be told about, sir,” he remarked + with a side-glance at Mary. “Something I heard this morning at school. You + know, we've a lot of fellows—town boys—who talk.” + </p> + <p> + “I daresay,” responded Ransford dryly. “Following the example of their + mothers, no doubt. Well—what is it?” + </p> + <p> + He, too, glanced at Mary—and the girl had her work set to look + unconscious. + </p> + <p> + “It's this,” replied Dick, lowering his voice in spite of the fact that + all three were alone. “They're saying in the town that you know something + which you won't tell about that affair last week. It's being talked of.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford laughed—a little cynically. + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite sure, my boy, that they aren't saying that I daren't tell?” + he asked. “Daren't is a much more likely word than won't, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—about that, sir,” acknowledged Dick. “Comes to that, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “And what are their grounds?” inquired Ransford. “You've heard them, I'll + be bound!” + </p> + <p> + “They say that man—Braden—had been here—here, to the + house!—that morning, not long before he was found dead,” answered + Dick. “Of course, I said that was all bosh!—I said that if he'd been + here and seen you, I'd have heard of it, dead certain.” + </p> + <p> + “That's not quite so dead certain, Dick, as that I have no knowledge of + his ever having been here,” said Ransford. “But who says he came here?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Deramore,” replied Dick promptly. “She says she saw him go away from + the house and across the Close, a little before ten. So Jim Deramore says, + anyway—and he says his mother's eyes are as good as another's.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless!” assented Ransford. He looked at Mary again, and saw that she + was keeping hers fixed on her plate. “Well,” he continued, “if it will + give you any satisfaction, Dick, you can tell the gossips that Dr. + Ransford never saw any man, Braden or anybody else, at his house that + morning, and that he never exchanged a word with Braden. So much for that! + But,” he added, “you needn't expect them to believe you. I know these + people—if they've got an idea into their heads they'll ride it to + death. Nevertheless, what I say is a fact.” + </p> + <p> + Dick presently went off—and once more Ransford looked at Mary. And + this time, Mary had to meet her guardian's inquiring glance. + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard anything of this?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “That there was a rumour—yes,” she replied without hesitation. “But—not + until just now—this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you of it?” inquired Ransford. + </p> + <p> + Mary hesitated. Then she remembered that Mr. Folliot, at any rate, had not + bound her to secrecy. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Folliot,” she replied. “He called me into his garden, to give me + those roses, and he mentioned that Mrs. Deramore had said these things to + Mrs. Folliot, and as he seemed to think it highly probable that Mrs. + Folliot would repeat them, he told me because he didn't want you to think + that the rumour had originally arisen at his house.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good of him, I'm sure,” remarked Ransford dryly. “They all like to + shift the blame from one to another! But,” he added, looking searchingly + at her, “you don't know anything about—Braden's having come here?” + </p> + <p> + He saw at once that she did, and Mary saw a slight shade of anxiety come + over his face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do!” she replied. “That morning. But—it was told to me, only + today, in strict confidence.” + </p> + <p> + “In strict confidence!” he repeated. “May I know—by whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Bryce,” she answered. “I met him this morning. And I think you ought + to know. Only—it was in confidence.” She paused for a moment, + looking at him, and her face grew troubled. “I hate to suggest it,” she + continued, “but—will you come with me to see him, and I'll ask him—things + being as they are—to tell you what he told me. I can't—without + his permission.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford shook his head and frowned. + </p> + <p> + “I dislike it!” he said. “It's—it's putting ourselves in his power, + as it were. But—I'm not going to be left in the dark. Put on your + hat, then.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, ever since his coming to Wrychester, had occupied rooms in an old + house in Friary Lane, at the back of the Close. He was comfortably lodged. + Downstairs he had a double sitting-room, extending from the front to the + back of the house; his front window looked out on one garden, his back + window on another. He had just finished lunch in the front part of his + room, and was looking out of his window, wondering what to do with himself + that afternoon, when he saw Ransford and Mary Bewery approaching. He + guessed the reason of their visit at once, and went straight to the front + door to meet them, and without a word motioned them to follow him into his + own quarters. It was characteristic of him that he took the first word—before + either of his visitors could speak. + </p> + <p> + “I know why you've come,” he said, as he closed the door and glanced at + Mary. “You either want my permission that you should tell Dr. Ransford + what I told you this morning, or, you want me to tell him myself. Am I + right?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be glad if you would tell him,” replied Mary. “The rumour you + spoke of has reached him—he ought to know what you can tell. I have + respected your confidence, so far.” + </p> + <p> + The two men looked at each other. And this time it was Ransford who spoke + first. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” he said, “that there is no great reason for privacy. If + rumours are flying about in Wrychester, there is an end of privacy. Dick + tells me they are saying at the school that it is known that Braden called + on me at my house shortly before he was found dead. I know nothing + whatever of any such call! But—I left you in my surgery that + morning. Do you know if he came there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” answered Bryce. “He did come. Soon after you'd gone out.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you keep that secret?” demanded Ransford. “You could have told it + to the police—or to the Coroner—or to me. Why didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + Before Bryce could answer, all three heard a sharp click of the front + garden gate, and looking round, saw Mitchington coming up the walk. + </p> + <p> + “Here's one of the police, now,” said Bryce calmly. “Probably come to + extract information. I would much rather he didn't see you here—but + I'd also like you to hear what I shall say to him. Step inside there,” he + continued, drawing aside the curtains which shut off the back room. “Don't + stick at trifles!—you don't know what may be afoot.” + </p> + <p> + He almost forced them away, drew the curtains again, and hurrying to the + front door, returned almost immediately with Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Hope I'm not disturbing you, doctor,” said the inspector, as Bryce + brought him in and again closed the door. “Not? All right, then—I + came round to ask you a question. There's a queer rumour getting out in + the town, about that affair last week. Seems to have sprung from some of + those old dowagers in the Close.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” said Bryce. He was mixing a whisky-and-soda for his caller, + and his laugh mingled with the splash of the siphon. “Of course! I've + heard it.” + </p> + <p> + “You've heard?” remarked Mitchington. “Um! Good health, sir!—heard, + of course, that—” + </p> + <p> + “That Braden called on Dr. Ransford not long before the accident, or + murder, or whatever it was, happened,” said Bryce. “That's it—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Something of that sort,” agreed Mitchington. “It's being said, anyway, + that Braden was at Ransford's house, and presumably saw him, and that + Ransford, accordingly, knows something about him which he hasn't told. Now—what + do you know? Do you know if Ransford and Braden did meet that morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at Ransford's house, anyway,” answered Bryce promptly. “I can prove + that. But since this rumour has got out, I'll tell you what I do know, and + what the truth is. Braden did come to Ransford's—not to the house, + but to the surgery. He didn't see Ransford—Ransford had gone out, + across the Close. Braden saw—me!” + </p> + <p> + “Bless me!—I didn't know that,” remarked Mitchington. “You never + mentioned it.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll not wonder that I didn't,” said Bryce, laughing lightly, “when I + tell you what the man wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he want, then?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Merely to be told where the Cathedral Library was,” answered Bryce. + </p> + <p> + Ransford, watching Mary Bewery, saw her cheeks flush, and knew that Bryce + was cheerfully telling lies. But Mitchington evidently had no suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “That all?” he asked. “Just a question?” + </p> + <p> + “Just a question—that question,” replied Bryce. “I pointed out the + Library—and he walked away. I never saw him again until I was + fetched to him—dead. And I thought so little of the matter that—well, + it never even occurred to me to mention it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—though he did call—he never saw Ransford?” asked the + inspector. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you Ransford was already gone out,” answered Bryce. “He saw no one + but myself. Where Mrs. Deramore made her mistake—I happen to know, + Mitchington, that she started this rumour—was in trying to make two + and two into five. She saw this man crossing the Close, as if from + Ransford's house and she at once imagined he'd seen and been talking with + Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “Old fool!” said Mitchington. “Of course, that's how these tales get + about. However, there's more than that in the air.” + </p> + <p> + The two listeners behind the curtains glanced at each other. Ransford's + glance showed that he was already chafing at the unpleasantness of his + position—but Mary's only betokened apprehension. And suddenly, as if + she feared that Ransford would throw the curtains aside and walk into the + front room, she laid a hand on his arm and motioned him to be patient—and + silent. + </p> + <p> + “Oh?” said Bryce. “More in the air? About that business?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so,” assented Mitchington. “To start with, that man Varner, the + mason, has never ceased talking. They say he's always at it—to the + effect that the verdict of the jury at the inquest was all wrong, and that + his evidence was put clean aside. He persists that he did see—what + he swore he saw.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll persist in that to his dying day,” said Bryce carelessly. “If + that's all there is—” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't,” interrupted the inspector. “Not by a long chalk! But Varner's + is a direct affirmation—the other matter's a sort of ugly hint. + There's a man named Collishaw, a townsman, who's been employed as a + mason's labourer about the Cathedral of late. This Collishaw, it seems, + was at work somewhere up in the galleries, ambulatories, or whatever they + call those upper regions, on the very morning of the affair. And the other + night, being somewhat under the influence of drink, and talking the matter + over with his mates at a tavern, he let out some dark hints that he could + tell something if he liked. Of course, he was pressed to tell them—and + wouldn't. Then—so my informant tells me—he was dared to tell, + and became surlily silent. That, of course, spread, and got to my ears. + I've seen Collishaw.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I believe the man does know something,” answered Mitchington. “That's the + impression I carried away, anyhow. But—he won't speak. I charged him + straight out with knowing something—but it was no good. I told him + of what I'd heard. All he would say was that whatever he might have said + when he'd got a glass of beer or so too much, he wasn't going to say + anything now neither for me nor for anybody!” + </p> + <p> + “Just so!” remarked Bryce. “But—he'll be getting a glass too much + again, some day, and then—then, perhaps he'll add to what he said + before. And—you'll be sure to hear of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not certain of that,” answered Mitchington. “I made some inquiry and + I find that Collishaw is usually a very sober and retiring sort of chap—he'd + been lured on to drink when he let out what he did. Besides, whether I'm + right or wrong, I got the idea into my head that he'd already been—squared!” + </p> + <p> + “Squared!” exclaimed Bryce. “Why, then, if that affair was really murder, + he'd be liable to being charged as an accessory after the fact!” + </p> + <p> + “I warned him of that,” replied Mitchington. “Yes, I warned him solemnly.” + </p> + <p> + “With no effect?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “He's a surly sort of man,” said Mitchington. “The sort that takes refuge + in silence. He made no answer beyond a growl.” + </p> + <p> + “You really think he knows something?” suggested Bryce. “Well—if + there is anything, it'll come out—in time.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it'll come out!” assented Mitchington. “I'm by no means satisfied + with that verdict of the coroner's inquiry. I believe there was foul play—of + some sort. I'm still following things up—quietly. And—I'll + tell you something—between ourselves—I've made an important + discovery. It's this. On the evening of Braden's arrival at the Mitre he + was out, somewhere, for a whole two hours—by himself.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought we learned from Mrs. Partingley that he and the other man, + Dellingham, spent the evening together?” said Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “So we did—but that was not quite so,” replied Mitchington. “Braden + went out of the Mitre just before nine o'clock and he didn't return until + a few minutes after eleven. Now, then, where did he go?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you're trying to find that out?” asked Bryce, after a pause, + during which the listeners heard the caller rise and make for the door. + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” replied Mitchington, with a confident laugh. “And—I + shall! Keep it to yourself, doctor.” + </p> + <p> + When Bryce had let the inspector out and returned to his sitting-room, + Ransford and Mary had come from behind the curtains. He looked at them and + shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “You heard—a good deal, you see,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” said Ransford peremptorily. “You put that man off about the + call at my surgery. You didn't tell him the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right,” assented Bryce. “I didn't. Why should I?” + </p> + <p> + “What did Braden ask you?” demanded Ransford. “Come, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Merely if Dr. Ransford was in,” answered Bryce, “remarking that he had + once known a Dr. Ransford. That was—literally—all. I replied + that you were not in.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford stood silently thinking for a moment or two. Then he moved + towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see that any good will come of more talk about this,” he said. + “We three, at any rate, know this—I never saw Braden when he came to + my house.” + </p> + <p> + Then he motioned Mary to follow him, and they went away, and Bryce, having + watched them out of sight, smiled at himself in his mirror—with full + satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. MURDER OF THE MASON'S LABOURER + </h2> + <p> + It was towards noon of the very next day that Bryce made a forward step in + the matter of solving the problem of Richard Jenkins and his tomb in + Paradise. Ever since his return from Barthorpe he had been making attempts + to get at the true meaning of this mystery. He had paid so many visits to + the Cathedral Library that Ambrose Campany had asked him jestingly if he + was going in for archaeology; Bryce had replied that having nothing to do + just then he saw no reason why he shouldn't improve his knowledge of the + antiquities of Wrychester. But he was scrupulously careful not to let the + librarian know the real object of his prying and peeping into the old + books and documents. Campany, as Bryce was very well aware, was a walking + encyclopaedia of information about Wrychester Cathedral: he was, in fact, + at that time, engaged in completing a history of it. And it was through + that history that Bryce accidentally got his precious information. For on + the day following the interview with Mary Bewery and Ransford, Bryce being + in the library was treated by Campany to an inspection of certain drawings + which the librarian had made for illustrating his work-drawings, most of + them, of old brasses, coats of arms, and the like,—And at the foot + of one of these, a drawing of a shield on which was sculptured three + crows, Bryce saw the name Richard Jenkins, armiger. It was all he could + do to repress a start and to check his tongue. But Campany, knowing + nothing, quickly gave him the information he wanted. + </p> + <p> + “All these drawings,” he said, “are of old things in and about the + Cathedral. Some of them, like that, for instance, that Jenkins shield, are + of ornamentations on tombs which are so old that the inscriptions have + completely disappeared—tombs in the Cloisters, and in Paradise. Some + of those tombs can only be identified by these sculptures and ornaments.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know, for instance, that any particular tomb or monument is, + we'll say, Jenkins's?” asked Bryce, feeling that he was on safe ground. + “Must be a matter of doubt if there's no inscription left, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” replied Campany. “No doubt at all. In that particular case, there's + no doubt that a certain tomb out there in the corner of Paradise, near the + east wall of the south porch, is that of one Richard Jenkins, because it + bears his coat-of-arms, which, as you see, bore these birds—intended + either as crows or ravens. The inscription's clean gone from that tomb—which + is why it isn't particularized in that chart of burials in Paradise—the + man who prepared that chart didn't know how to trace things as we do + nowadays. Richard Jenkins was, as you may guess, a Welshman, who settled + here in Wrychester in the seventeenth century: he left some money to St. + Hedwige's Church, outside the walls, but he was buried here. There are + more instances—look at this, now—this coat-of-arms—that's + the only means there is of identifying another tomb in Paradise—that + of Gervase Tyrrwhit. You see his armorial bearings in this drawing? Now + those—” + </p> + <p> + Bryce let the librarian go on talking and explaining, and heard all he had + to say as a man hears things in a dream—what was really active in + his own mind was joy at this unexpected stroke of luck: he himself might + have searched for many a year and never found the last resting-place of + Richard Jenkins. And when, soon after the great clock of the Cathedral had + struck the hour of noon, he left Campany and quitted the Library, he + walked over to Paradise and plunged in amongst its yews and cypresses, + intent on seeing the Jenkins tomb for himself. No one could suspect + anything from merely seeing him there, and all he wanted was one glance at + the ancient monument. + </p> + <p> + But Bryce was not to give even one look at Richard Jenkins's tomb that + day, nor the next, nor for many days—death met him in another form + before he had taken many steps in the quiet enclosure where so much of + Wrychester mortality lay sleeping. + </p> + <p> + From over the topmost branches of the old yew trees a great shaft of + noontide sunlight fell full on a patch of the grey walls of the + high-roofed nave. At the foot of it, his back comfortably planted against + the angle of a projecting buttress, sat a man, evidently fast asleep in + the warmth of those powerful rays. His head leaned down and forward over + his chest, his hands were folded across his waist, his whole attitude was + that of a man who, having eaten and drunken in the open air, has dropped + off to sleep. That he had so dropped off while in the very act of smoking + was evident from the presence of a short, well-blackened clay pipe which + had fallen from his lips and lay in the grass beside him. Near the pipe, + spread on a coloured handkerchief, were the remains of his dinner—Bryce's + quick eye noticed fragments of bread, cheese, onions. And close by stood + one of those tin bottles in which labouring men carry their drink; its + cork, tied to the neck by a piece of string, dangled against the side. A + few yards away, a mass of fallen rubbish and a shovel and wheelbarrow + showed at what the sleeper had been working when his dinner-hour and time + for rest had arrived. + </p> + <p> + Something unusual, something curiously noticeable—yet he could not + exactly tell what—made Bryce go closer to the sleeping man. There + was a strange stillness about him—a rigidity which seemed to suggest + something more than sleep. And suddenly, with a stifled exclamation, he + bent forward and lifted one of the folded hands. It dropped like a leaden + weight when Bryce released it, and he pushed back the man's face and + looked searchingly into it. And in that instant he knew that for the + second time within a fortnight he had found a dead man in Wrychester + Paradise. + </p> + <p> + There was no doubt whatever that the man was dead. His hands and body were + warm enough—but there was not a flicker of breath; he was as dead as + any of the folk who lay six feet beneath the old gravestones around him. + And Bryce's practised touch and eye knew that he was only just dead—and + that he had died in his sleep. Everything there pointed unmistakably to + what had happened. The man had eaten his frugal dinner, washed it down + from his tin bottle, lighted his pipe, leaned back in the warm sunlight, + dropped asleep—and died as quietly as a child taken from its play to + its slumbers. + </p> + <p> + After one more careful look, Bryce turned and made through the trees to + the path which crossed the old graveyard. And there, going leisurely home + to lunch, was Dick Bewery, who glanced at the young doctor inquisitively. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” he exclaimed with the freedom of youth towards something not much + older. “You there? Anything on?” + </p> + <p> + Then he looked more clearly, seeing Bryce to be pale and excited. Bryce + laid a hand on the lad's arm. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” he said. “There's something wrong—again!—in here. + Run down to the police-station—get hold of Mitchington—quietly, + you understand!—bring him here at once. If he's not there, bring + somebody else—any of the police. But—say nothing to anybody + but them.” + </p> + <p> + Dick gave him another swift look, turned, and ran. And Bryce went back to + the dead man—and picked up the tin bottle, and making a cup of his + left hand poured out a trickle of the contents. Cold tea!—and, as + far as he could judge, nothing else. He put the tip of his little finger + into the weak-looking stuff, and tasted—it tasted of nothing but a + super-abundance of sugar. + </p> + <p> + He stood there, watching the dead man until the sound of footsteps behind + him gave warning of the return of Dick Bewery, who, in another minute, + hurried through the bushes, followed by Mitchington. The boy stared in + silence at the still figure, but the inspector, after a hasty glance, + turned a horrified face on Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” he gasped. “It's Collishaw!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce for the moment failed to comprehend this, and Mitchington shook his + head. + </p> + <p> + “Collishaw!” he repeated. “Collishaw, you know! The man I told you about + yesterday afternoon. The man that said—” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington suddenly checked himself, with a glance at Dick Bewery. + </p> + <p> + “I remember—now,” said Bryce. “The mason's labourer! So—this + is the man, eh? Well, Mitchington, he's dead!—I found him dead, just + now. I should say he'd been dead five to ten minutes—not more. You'd + better get help—and I'd like another medical man to see him before + he's removed.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington looked again at Dick. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you'd fetch Dr. Ransford, Mr—Richard?” he asked. “He's + nearest.” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Ransford's not at home,” said Dick. “He went to Highminster—some + County Council business or other—at ten this morning, and he won't + be back until four—I happen to know that. Shall I run for Dr. + Coates?” + </p> + <p> + “If you wouldn't mind,” said Mitchington, “and as it's close by, drop in + at the station again and tell the sergeant to come here with a couple of + men. I say!” he went on, when the boy had hurried off, “this is a queer + business, Dr. Bryce! What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I think this,” answered Bryce. “That man!—look at him!—a + strong, healthy-looking fellow, in the very prime of life—that man + has met his death by foul means. You take particular care of those dinner + things of his—the remains of his dinner, every scrap—and of + that tin bottle. That, especially. Take all these things yourself, + Mitchington, and lock them up—they'll be wanted for examination.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington glanced at the simple matters which Bryce indicated. And + suddenly he turned a half-frightened glance on his companion. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say that—that you suspect he's been poisoned?” he + asked. “Good Lord, if that is so—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think you'll find that there's much doubt about it,” answered + Bryce. “But that's a point that will soon be settled. You'd better tell + the Coroner at once, Mitchington, and he'll issue a formal order to Dr. + Coates to make a post-mortem. And,” he added significantly, “I shall be + surprised if it isn't as I say—poison!” + </p> + <p> + “If that's so,” observed Mitchington, with a grim shake of his head, “if + that really is so, then I know what I shall think! This!” he went on, + pointing to the dead man, “this is—a sort of sequel to the other + affair. There's been something in what the poor chap said—he did + know something against somebody, and that somebody's got to hear of it—and + silenced him. But, Lord, doctor, how can it have been done?” + </p> + <p> + “I can see how it can have been done, easy enough,” said Bryce. “This man + has evidently been at work here, by himself, all the morning. He of course + brought his dinner with him. He no doubt put his basket and his bottle + down somewhere, while he did his work. What easier than for some one to + approach through these trees and shrubs while the man's back was turned, + or he was busy round one of these corners, and put some deadly poison into + that bottle? Nothing!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” remarked Mitchington, “if that's so, it proves something else—to + my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that whoever it was who did it was somebody who had a knowledge of + poison!” answered Mitchington. “And I should say there aren't many people + in Wrychester who have such knowledge outside yourselves and the chemists. + It's a black business, this!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce nodded silently. He waited until Dr. Coates, an elderly man who was + the leading practitioner in the town, arrived, and to him he gave a + careful account of his discovery. And after the police had taken the body + away, and he had accompanied Mitchington to the police-station and seen + the tin bottle and the remains of Collishaw's dinner safely locked up, he + went home to lunch, and to wonder at this strange development. The + inspector was doubtless right in saying that Collishaw had been done to + death by somebody who wanted to silence him—but who could that + somebody be? Bryce's thoughts immediately turned to the fact that Ransford + had overheard all that Mitchington had said, in that very room in which + he, Bryce, was then lunching—Ransford! Was it possible that Ransford + had realized a danger in Collishaw's knowledge, and had— + </p> + <p> + He was interrupted at this stage by Mitchington, who came hurriedly in + with a scared face. + </p> + <p> + “I say, I say!” he whispered as soon as Bryce's landlady had shut the door + on them. “Here's a fine business! I've heard something—something I + can hardly credit—but it's true. I've been to tell Collishaw's + family what's happened. And—I'm fairly dazed by it—yet it's + there—it is so!” + </p> + <p> + “What's so?” demanded Bryce. “What is it that's true?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington bent closer over the table. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Ransford was fetched to Collishaw's cottage at six o'clock this + morning!” he said. “It seems that Collishaw's wife has been in a poor way + about her health of late, and Dr. Ransford has attended her, off and on. + She had some sort of a seizure this morning—early—and Ransford + was sent for. He was there some little time—and I've heard some + queer things.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of queer things?” demanded Bryce. “Don't be afraid of speaking + out, man!—there's no one to hear but myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, things that look suspicious, on the face of it,” continued + Mitchington, who was obviously much upset. “As you'll acknowledge when you + hear them. I got my information from the next-door neighbour, Mrs. Batts. + Mrs. Batts says that when Ransford—who'd been fetched by Mrs. + Batts's eldest lad—came to Collishaw's house, Collishaw was putting + up his dinner to take to his work—” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth made Mrs. Batts tell you that?” interrupted Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, to tell you the truth, I put a few questions to her as to what + went on while Ransford was in the house,” answered Mitchington. “When I'd + once found that he had been there, you know, I naturally wanted to know + all I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Collishaw, I say, was putting up his dinner to take to his work,” + continued Mitchington. “Mrs. Batts was doing a thing or two about the + house. Ransford went upstairs to see Mrs. Collishaw. After a while he came + down and said he would have to remain a little. Collishaw went up to speak + to his wife before going out. And then Ransford asked Mrs. Batts for + something—I forget what—some small matter which the + Collishaw's hadn't got and she had, and she went next door to fetch it. + Therefore—do you see?—Ransford was left alone with—Collishaw's + tin bottle!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who had been listening attentively, looked steadily at the + inspector. + </p> + <p> + “You're suspecting Ransford already!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mitchington shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “What's it look like?” he answered, almost appealingly. “I put it to you, + now!—what does it look like? Here's this man been poisoned without a + doubt—I'm certain of it. And—there were those rumours—it's + idle to deny that they centred in Ransford. And—this morning + Ransford had the chance!” + </p> + <p> + “That's arguing that Ransford purposely carried a dose of poison to put + into Collishaw's tin bottle!” said Bryce half-sneeringly. “Not very + probable, you know, Mitchington.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington spread out his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there it is!” he said. “As I say, there's no denying the suspicious + look of it. If I were only certain that those rumours about what Collishaw + hinted he could say had got to Ransford's ears!—why, then—” + </p> + <p> + “What's being done about that post-mortem?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Coates and Dr. Everest are going to do it this afternoon,” replied + Mitchington. “The Coroner went to them at once, as soon as I told him.” + </p> + <p> + “They'll probably have to call in an expert from London,” said Bryce. + “However, you can't do anything definite, you know, until the result's + known. Don't say anything of this to anybody. I'll drop in at your place + later and hear if Coates can say anything really certain.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington went away, and Bryce spent the rest of the afternoon + wondering, speculating and scheming. If Ransford had really got rid of + this man who knew something—why, then, it was certainly Ransford who + killed Braden. + </p> + <p> + He went round to the police-station at five o'clock. Mitchington drew him + aside. + </p> + <p> + “Coates says there's no doubt about it!” he whispered. “Poisoned! + Hydrocyanic acid!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. BRYCE IS ASKED A QUESTION + </h2> + <p> + Mitchington stepped aside into a private room, motioning Bryce to follow + him. He carefully closed the door, and looking significantly at his + companion, repeated his last words, with a shake of the head. + </p> + <p> + “Poisoned!—without the very least doubt,” he whispered. “Hydrocyanic + acid—which, I understand, is the same thing as what's commonly + called prussic acid. They say then hadn't the least difficulty in finding + that out! so there you are.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what Coates has told you, of course?” asked Bryce. “After the + autopsy?” + </p> + <p> + “Both of 'em told me—Coates, and Everest, who helped him,” replied + Mitchington. “They said it was obvious from the very start. And—I + say!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't in that tin bottle, anyway,” remarked Mitchington, who was + evidently greatly weighted with mystery. + </p> + <p> + “No!—of course it wasn't!” affirmed Bryce. “Good Heavens, man—I + know that!” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Because I poured a few drops from that bottle into my hand when I first + found Collishaw and tasted the stuff,” answered Bryce readily. “Cold tea! + with too much sugar in it. There was no H.C.N. in that besides, wherever + it is, there's always a smell stronger or fainter—of bitter almonds. + There was none about that bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you were very anxious that we should take care of the bottle?” + observed Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Of course!—because I suspected the use of some much rarer poison + than that,” retorted Bryce. “Pooh!—it's a clumsy way of poisoning + anybody!—quick though it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's where it is!” said Mitchington. “That'll be the medical + evidence at the inquest, anyway. That's how it was done. And the question + now is—” + </p> + <p> + “Who did it?” interrupted Bryce. “Precisely! Well—I'll say this much + at once, Mitchington. Whoever did it was either a big bungler—or + damned clever! That's what I say!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand you,” said Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Plain enough—my meaning,” replied Bryce, smiling. “To finish + anybody with that stuff is easy enough—but no poison is more easily + detected. It's an amateurish way of poisoning anybody—unless you can + do it in such a fashion that no suspicion can attach you to. And in this + case it's here—whoever administered that poison to Collishaw must + have been certain—absolutely certain, mind you!—that it was + impossible for any one to find out that he'd done so. Therefore, I say + what I said—the man must be damned clever. Otherwise, he'd be found + out pretty quick. And all that puzzles me is—how was it + administered?” + </p> + <p> + “How much would kill anybody—pretty quick?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “How much? One drop would cause instantaneous death!” answered Bryce. + “Cause paralysis of the heart, there and then, instantly!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington remained silent awhile, looking meditatively at Bryce. Then he + turned to a locked drawer, produced a key, and took something out of the + drawer—a small object, wrapped in paper. + </p> + <p> + “I'm telling you a good deal, doctor,” he said. “But as you know so much + already, I'll tell you a bit more. Look at this!” + </p> + <p> + He opened his hand and showed Bryce a small cardboard pill-box, across the + face of which a few words were written—One after meals—Mr. + Collishaw. + </p> + <p> + “Whose handwriting's that?” demanded Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + Bryce looked closer, and started. + </p> + <p> + “Ransford's!” he muttered. “Ransford—of course!” + </p> + <p> + “That box was in Collishaw's waistcoat pocket,” said Mitchington. “There + are pills inside it, now. See!” He took off the lid of the box and + revealed four sugar-coated pills. “It wouldn't hold more than six, this,” + he observed. + </p> + <p> + Bryce extracted a pill and put his nose to it, after scratching a little + of the sugar coating away. + </p> + <p> + “Mere digestive pills,” he announced. + </p> + <p> + “Could—it!—have been given in one of these?” asked + Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Possible,” replied Bryce. He stood thinking for a moment. “Have you shown + those things to Coates and Everest?” he asked at last. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” replied Mitchington. “I wanted to find out, first, if Ransford + gave this box to Collishaw, and when. I'm going to Collishaw's house + presently—I've certain inquiries to make. His widow'll know about + these pills.” + </p> + <p> + “You're suspecting Ransford,” said Bryce. “That's certain!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington carefully put away the pill-box and relocked the drawer. + </p> + <p> + “I've got some decidedly uncomfortable ideas—which I'd much rather + not have—about Dr. Ransford,” he said. “When one thing seems to fit + into another, what is one to think. If I were certain that that rumour + which spread, about Collishaw's knowledge of something—you know, had + got to Ransford's ears—why, I should say it looked very much as if + Ransford wanted to stop Collishaw's tongue for good before it could say + more—and next time, perhaps, something definite. If men once begin + to hint that they know something, they don't stop at hinting. Collishaw + might have spoken plainly before long—to us!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce asked a question about the holding of the inquest and went away. And + after thinking things over, he turned in the direction of the Cathedral, + and made his way through the Cloisters to the Close. He was going to make + another move in his own game, while there was a good chance. Everything at + this juncture was throwing excellent cards into his hand—he would be + foolish, he thought, not to play them to advantage. And so he made + straight for Ransford's house, and before he reached it, met Ransford and + Mary Bewery, who were crossing the Close from another point, on their way + from the railway station, whither Mary had gone especially to meet her + guardian. They were in such deep conversation that Bryce was close upon + them before they observed his presence. When Ransford saw his late + assistant, he scowled unconsciously—Bryce, and the interview of the + previous afternoon, had been much in his thoughts all day, and he had an + uneasy feeling that Bryce was playing some game. Bryce was quick to see + that scowl—and to observe the sudden start which Mary could not + repress—and he was just as quick to speak. + </p> + <p> + “I was going to your house, Dr. Ransford,” he remarked quietly. “I don't + want to force my presence on you, now or at any time—but I think + you'd better give me a few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + They were at Ransford's garden gate by that time, and Ransford flung it + open and motioned Bryce to follow. He led the way into the dining-room, + closed the door on the three, and looked at Bryce. Bryce took the glance + as a question, and put another, in words. + </p> + <p> + “You've heard of what's happened during the day?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “About Collishaw—yes,” answered Ransford. “Miss Bewery has just told + me—what her brother told her. What of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I have just come from the police-station,” said Bryce. “Coates and + Everest have carried out an autopsy this afternoon. Mitchington told me + the result.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” demanded Ransford, with no attempt to conceal his impatience. “And + what then?” + </p> + <p> + “Collishaw was poisoned,” replied Bryce, watching Ransford with a + closeness which Mary did not fail to observe. “H.C.N. No doubt at all + about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—and what then?” asked Ransford, still more impatiently. “To be + explicit—what's all this to do with me?” + </p> + <p> + “I came here to do you a service,” answered Bryce. “Whether you like to + take it or not is your look-out. You may as well know it you're in danger. + Collishaw is the man who hinted—as you heard yesterday in my rooms—that + he could say something definite about the Braden affair—if he + liked.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “It's known—to the police—that you were at Collishaw's house + early this morning,” said Bryce. “Mitchington knows it.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Does Mitchington know that I overheard what he said to you, yesterday + afternoon?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “No, he doesn't,” answered Bryce. “He couldn't possibly know unless I told + him. I haven't told him—I'm not going to tell him. But—he's + suspicious already.” + </p> + <p> + “Of me, of course,” suggested Ransford, with another laugh. He took a turn + across the room and suddenly faced round on Bryce, who had remained + standing near the door. “Do you really mean to tell me that Mitchington is + such a fool as to believe that I would poison a poor working man—and + in that clumsy fashion?” he burst out. “Of course you don't.” + </p> + <p> + “I never said I did,” answered Bryce. “I'm only telling you what + Mitchington thinks his grounds for suspecting. He confided in me because—well, + it was I who found Collishaw. Mitchington is in possession of a box of + digestive pills which you evidently gave Collishaw.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” exclaimed Ransford. “The man's a fool! Let him come and talk to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “He won't do that—yet,” said Bryce. “But—I'm afraid he'll + bring all this out at the inquest. The fact is—he's suspicious—what + with one thing or another—about the former affair. He thinks you + concealed the truth—whatever it may be—as regards any + knowledge of Braden which you may or mayn't have.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what it is!” said Ransford suddenly. “It just comes to this—I'm + suspected of having had a hand—the hand, if you like!—in + Braden's death, and now of getting rid of Collishaw because Collishaw + could prove that I had that hand. That's about it!” + </p> + <p> + “A clear way of putting it, certainly,” assented Bryce. “But—there's + a very clear way, too, of dissipating any such ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “What way?” demanded Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “If you do know anything about the Braden affair—why not reveal it, + and be done with the whole thing,” suggested Bryce. “That would finish + matters.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford took a long, silent look at his questioner. And Bryce looked + steadily back—and Mary Bewery anxiously watched both men. + </p> + <p> + “That's my business,” said Ransford at last. “I'm neither to be coerced, + bullied, or cajoled. I'm obliged to you for giving me a hint of my—danger, + I suppose! And—I don't propose to say any more.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I,” said Bryce. “I only came to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + And therewith, having successfully done all that he wanted to do, he + walked out of the room and the house, and Ransford, standing in the + window, his hands thrust in his pockets, watched him go away across the + Close. + </p> + <p> + “Guardian!” said Mary softly. + </p> + <p> + Ransford turned sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't it be best,” she continued, speaking nervously, “if—if you + do know anything about that unfortunate man—if you told it? Why have + this suspicion fastening itself on you? You!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford made an effort to calm himself. He was furiously angry—angry + with Bryce, angry with Mitchington, angry with the cloud of foolishness + and stupidity that seemed to be gathering. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I—supposing that I do know something, which I don't + admit—why should I allow myself to be coerced and frightened by + these fools?” he asked. “No man can prevent suspicion falling on him—it's + my bad luck in this instance. Why should I rush to the police-station and + say, 'Here—I'll blurt out all I know—everything!' Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't that be better than knowing that people are saying things?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “As to that,” replied Ransford, “you can't prevent people saying things—especially + in a town like this. If it hadn't been for the unfortunate fact that + Braden came to the surgery door, nothing would have been said. But what of + that?—I have known hundreds of men in my time—aye, and + forgotten them! No!—I am not going to fall a victim to this device—it + all springs out of curiosity. As to this last affair—it's all + nonsense!” + </p> + <p> + “But—if the man was really poisoned?” suggested Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Let the police find the poisoner!” said Ransford, with a grim smile. + “That's their job.” + </p> + <p> + Mary said nothing for a moment, and Ransford moved restlessly about the + room. + </p> + <p> + “I don't trust that fellow Bryce,” he said suddenly. “He's up to + something. I don't forget what he said when I bundled him out that + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “That he would be a bad enemy,” answered Ransford. “He's posing now as a + friend—but a man's never to be so much suspected as when he comes + doing what you may call unnecessary acts of friendship. I'd rather that + anybody was mixed up in my affairs—your affairs—than Pemberton + Bryce!” + </p> + <p> + “So would I!” she said. “But—” + </p> + <p> + She paused there a moment and then looked appealingly at Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “I do wish you'd tell me—what you promised to tell me,” she said. + “You know what I mean—about me and Dick. Somehow—I don't quite + know how or why—I've an uneasy feeling that Bryce knows something, + and that he's mixing it all up with—this! Why not tell me—please!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford, who was still marching about the room, came to a halt, and + leaning his hands on the table between them, looked earnestly at her. + </p> + <p> + “Don't ask that—now!” he said. “I can't—yet. The fact is, I'm + waiting for something—some particulars. As soon as I get them, I'll + speak to you—and to Dick. In the meantime—don't ask me again—and + don't be afraid. And as to this affair, leave it to me—and if you + meet Bryce again, refuse to discuss any thing with him. Look here!—there's + only one reason why he professes friendliness and a desire to save me + annoyance. He thinks he can ingratiate himself with—you!” + </p> + <p> + “Mistaken!” murmured Mary, shaking her head. “I don't trust him. And—less + than ever because of yesterday. Would an honest man have done what he did? + Let that police inspector talk freely, as he did, with people concealed + behind a curtain? And—he laughed about it! I hated myself for being + there—yet could we help it?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to hate myself on Pemberton Bryce's account,” said + Ransford. “Let him play his game—that he has one, I'm certain.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had gone away to continue his game—or another line of it. The + Collishaw matter had not made him forget the Richard Jenkins tomb, and + now, after leaving Ransford's house, he crossed the Close to Paradise with + the object of doing a little more investigation. But at the archway of the + ancient enclosure he met old Simpson Harker, pottering about in his usual + apparently aimless fashion. Harker smiled at sight of Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I was wanting to have a word with you, doctor!” he said. “Something + important. Have you got a minute or two to spare, sir? Come round to my + little place, then—we shall be quiet there.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had any amount of time to spare for an interesting person like + Harker, and he followed the old man to his house—a tiny place set in + a nest of similar old-world buildings behind the Close. Harker led him + into a little parlour, comfortable and snug, wherein were several shelves + of books of a curiously legal and professional-looking aspect, some old + pictures, and a cabinet of odds and ends, stowed away in of dark corner. + The old man motioned him to an easy chair, and going over to a cupboard, + produced a decanter of whisky and a box of cigars. + </p> + <p> + “We can have a peaceful and comfortable talk here, doctor,” he remarked, + as he sat down near Bryce, after fetching glasses and soda-water. “I live + all alone, like a hermit—my bit of work's done by a woman who only + looks in of a morning. So we're all by ourselves. Light your cigar!—same + as that I gave you at Barthorpe. Um—well, now,” he continued, as + Bryce settled down to listen. “There's a question I want to put to you—strictly + between ourselves—strictest of confidence, you know. It was you who + was called to Braden by Varner, and you were left alone with Braden's + body?” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” admitted Bryce, suddenly growing suspicious. “What of it?” + </p> + <p> + Harker edged his chair a little closer to his guest's, and leaned towards + him. + </p> + <p> + “What,” he asked in a whisper, “what have you done with that scrap of + paper that you took out of Braden's purse?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. FROM THE PAST + </h2> + <p> + If any remarkably keen and able observer of the odd characteristics of + humanity had been present in Harker's little parlour at that moment, + watching him and his visitor, he would have been struck by what happened + when the old man put this sudden and point-blank question to the young + one. For Harker put the question, though in a whisper, in no more than a + casual, almost friendlily-confidential way, and Bryce never showed by the + start of a finger or the flicker of an eyelash that he felt it to be what + he really knew it to be—the most surprising and startling question + he had ever had put to him. Instead, he looked his questioner calmly in + the eyes, and put a question in his turn. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you, Mr. Harker?” asked Bryce quietly. + </p> + <p> + Harker laughed—almost gleefully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you've a right to ask that!” he said. “Of course!—glad you + take it that way. You'll do!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll qualify it, then,” added Bryce. “It's not who—it's what are + you!” + </p> + <p> + Harker waved his cigar at the book-shelves in front of which his visitor + sat. + </p> + <p> + “Take a look at my collection of literature, doctor,” he said. “What d'ye + think of it?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned and leisurely inspected one shelf after another. + </p> + <p> + “Seems to consist of little else but criminal cases and legal handbooks,” + he remarked quietly. “I begin to suspect you, Mr. Harker. They say here in + Wrychester that you're a retired tradesman. I think you're a retired + policeman—of the detective branch.” + </p> + <p> + Harker laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “No Wrychester man has ever crossed my threshold since I came to settle + down here,” he said. “You're the first person I've ever asked in—with + one notable exception. I've never even had Campany, the librarian, here. + I'm a hermit.” + </p> + <p> + “But—you were a detective?” suggested Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, for a good five-and-twenty years!” replied Harker. “And pretty well + known, too, sir. But—my question, doctor. All between ourselves!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll ask you one, then,” said Bryce. “How do you know I took a scrap of + paper from Braden's purse?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I know that he had such a paper in his purse the night he came to + the Mitre,” answered Harker, “and was certain to have it there next + morning, and because I also know that you were left alone with the body + for some minutes after Varner fetched you to it, and that when Braden's + clothing and effects were searched by Mitchington, the paper wasn't there. + So, of course, you took it! Doesn't matter to me that ye did—except + that I know, from knowing that, that you're on a similar game to my own—which + is why you went down to Leicestershire.” + </p> + <p> + “You knew Braden?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I knew him!” answered Harker. + </p> + <p> + “You saw him—spoke with him—here in Wrychester?” suggested + Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “He was here—in this room—in that chair—from five + minutes past nine to close on ten o'clock the night before his death,” + replied Harker. + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who was quietly appreciating the Havana cigar which the old man had + given him, picked up his glass, took a drink, and settled himself in his + easy chair as if he meant to stay there awhile. + </p> + <p> + “I think we'd better talk confidentially, Mr. Harker,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely what we are doing, Dr. Bryce,” replied Harker. + </p> + <p> + “All right, my friend,” said Bryce, laconically. “Now we understand each + other. So—do you know who John Braden really was?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” replied Harker, promptly. “He was in reality John Brake, ex-bank + manager, ex-convict.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know if he's any relatives here in Wrychester?” inquired Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Harker. “The boy and girl who live with Ransford—they're + Brake's son and daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Did Brake know that—when he came here?” continued Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “No, he didn't—he hadn't the least idea of it,” responded Harker. + </p> + <p> + “Had you—then?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “No—not until later—a little later,” replied Harker. + </p> + <p> + “You found it out at Barthorpe?” suggested Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it; I worked it out here—after Brake was dead,” said + Harker. “I went to Barthorpe on quite different business—Brake's + business.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Bryce. He looked the old detective quietly in the eyes. “You'd + better tell me all about it,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “If we're both going to tell each other—all about it,” stipulated + Harker. + </p> + <p> + “That's settled,” assented Bryce. + </p> + <p> + Harker smoked thoughtfully for a moment and seemed to be thinking. + </p> + <p> + “I'd better go back to the beginning,” he said. “But, first—what do + you know about Brake? I know you went down to Barthorpe to find out what + you could—how far did your searches take you?” + </p> + <p> + “I know that Brake married a girl from Braden Medworth, that he took her + to London, where he was manager of a branch bank, that he got into + trouble, and was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude,” answered Bryce, + “together with some small details into which we needn't go at present.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as long as you know all that, there's a common basis and a common + starting-point,” remarked Harker, “so I'll begin at Brake's trial. It was + I who arrested Brake. There was no trouble, no bother. He'd been taken + unawares, by an inspector of the bank. He'd a considerable deficiency—couldn't + make it good—couldn't or wouldn't explain except by half-sullen + hints that he'd been cruelly deceived. There was no defence—couldn't + be. His counsel said that he could—” + </p> + <p> + “I've read the account of the trial,” interrupted Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “All right—then you know as much as I can tell you on that point,” + said Harker. “He got, as you say, ten years. I saw him just before he was + removed and asked him if there was anything I could do for him about his + wife and children. I'd never seen them—I arrested him at the bank, + and, of course, he was never out of custody after that. He answered in a + queer, curt way that his wife and children were being looked after. I + heard, incidentally, that his wife had left home, or was from home—there + was something mysterious about it—either as soon as he was arrested + or before. Anyway, he said nothing, and from that moment I never set eyes + on him again until I met him in the street here in Wrychester, the other + night, when he came to the Mitre. I knew him at once—and he knew me. + We met under one of those big standard lamps in the Market Place—I + was following my usual practice of having an evening walk, last thing + before going to bed. And we stopped and stared at each other. Then he came + forward with his hand out, and we shook hands. 'This is an odd thing!' he + said. 'You're the very man I wanted to find! Come somewhere, where it's + quiet, and let me have a word with you.' So—I brought him here.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce was all attention now—for once he was devoting all his + faculties to tense and absorbed concentration on what another man could + tell, leaving reflections and conclusions on what he heard until all had + been told. + </p> + <p> + “I brought him here,” repeated Harker. “I told him I'd been retired and + was living here, as he saw, alone. I asked him no questions about himself—I + could see he was a well-dressed, apparently well-to-do man. And presently + he began to tell me about himself. He said that after he'd finished his + term he left England and for some time travelled in Canada and the United + States, and had gone then—on to New Zealand and afterwards to + Australia, where he'd settled down and begun speculating in wool. I said I + hoped he'd done well. Yes, he said, he'd done very nicely—and then + he gave me a quiet dig in the ribs. 'I'll tell you one thing I've done, + Harker,' he said. 'You were very polite and considerate to me when I'd my + trouble, so I don't mind telling you. I paid the bank every penny of that + money they lost through my foolishness at that time—every penny, + four years ago, with interest, and I've got their receipt.' 'Delighted to + hear it, Mr.—Is it the same name still?' I said. 'My name ever since + I left England,' he said, giving me a look, 'is Braden—John Braden.' + 'Yes,' he went on, 'I paid 'em—though I never had one penny of the + money I was fool enough to take for the time being—not one + halfpenny!' 'Who had it, Mr. Braden?' I asked him, thinking that he'd + perhaps tell after all that time. 'Never mind, my lad!' he answered. + 'It'll come out—yet. Never mind that, now. I'll tell you why I + wanted to see you. The fact is, I've only been a few hours in England, so + to speak, but I'd thought of you, and wondered where I could get hold of + you—you're the only man of your profession I ever met, you see,' he + added, with a laugh. 'And I want a bit of help in that way.' 'Well, Mr. + Braden,' I said, 'I've retired, but if it's an easy job—' 'It's one + you can do, easy enough,' he said. 'It's just this—I met a man in + Australia who's extremely anxious to get some news of another man, named + Falkiner Wraye, who hails from Barthorpe, in Leicestershire. I promised to + make inquiries for him. Now, I have strong reasons why I don't want to go + near Barthorpe—Barthorpe has unpleasant memories and associations + for me, and I don't want to be seen there. But this thing's got to be + personal investigation—will you go here, for me? I'll make it worth + your while. All you've got to do,' he went on, 'is to go there—see + the police authorities, town officials, anybody that knows the place, and + ask them if they can tell you anything of one Falkiner Wraye, who was at + one time a small estate agent in Barthorpe, left the place about seventeen + years ago—maybe eighteen—and is believed to have recently gone + back to the neighbourhood. That's all. Get what information you can, and + write it to me, care of my bankers in London. Give me a sheet of paper and + I'll put down particulars for you.'” + </p> + <p> + Harker paused at this point and nodded his head at an old bureau which + stood in a corner of his room. + </p> + <p> + “The sheet of paper's there,” he said. “It's got on it, in his writing, a + brief memorandum of what he wanted and the address of his bankers. When + he'd given it to me, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a purse + in which I could see he was carrying plenty of money. He took out some + notes. 'Here's five-and-twenty pounds on account, Harker,' he said. 'You + might have to spend a bit. Don't be afraid—plenty more where that + comes from. You'll do it soon?' he asked. 'Yes, I'll do it, Mr. Braden,' I + answered. 'It'll be a bit of a holiday for me.' 'That's all right,' he + said. 'I'm delighted I came across you.' 'Well, you couldn't be more + delighted than I was surprised,' I said. 'I never thought to see you in + Wrychester. What brought you here, if one may ask—sight-seeing?' He + laughed at that, and he pulled out his purse again. 'I'll show you + something—a secret,' he said, and he took a bit of folded paper out + of his purse. 'What do you make of that?' he asked. 'Can you read Latin?' + 'No—except a word or two,' I said, 'but I know a man who can.' 'Ah, + never mind,' said he. 'I know enough Latin for this—and it's a + secret. However, it won't be a secret long, and you'll hear all about it.' + And with that he put the bit of paper in his purse again, and we began + talking about other matters, and before long he said he'd promised to have + a chat with a gentleman at the Mitre whom he'd come along with in the + train, and away he went, saying he'd see me before be left the town.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he say how long he was going to stop here?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Two or three days,” replied Harker. + </p> + <p> + “Did he mention Ransford?” inquired Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Never!” said Harker. + </p> + <p> + “Did he make any reference to his wife and children?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the slightest!” + </p> + <p> + “Nor to the hint that his counsel threw out at the trial?” + </p> + <p> + “Never referred to that time except in the way I told you—that he + hadn't a penny of the money, himself and that he'd himself refunded it.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce meditated awhile. He was somewhat puzzled by certain points in the + old detective's story, and he saw now that there was much more mystery in + the Braden affair than he had at first believed. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he asked, after a while, “did you see him again?” + </p> + <p> + “Not alive!” replied Harker. “I saw him dead—and I held my tongue, + and have held it. But—something happened that day. After I heard of + the accident, I went into the Crown and Cushion tavern—the fact was, + I went to get a taste of whisky, for the news had upset me. And in that + long bar of theirs, I saw a man whom I knew—a man whom I knew, for a + fact, to have been a fellow convict of Brake's. Name of Glassdale—forgery. + He got the same sentence that Brake got, about the same time, was in the + same convict prison with Brake, and he and Brake would be released about + the same date. There was no doubt about his identity—I never forget + a face, even after thirty years I'd tell one. I saw him in that bar before + he saw me, and I took a careful look at him. He, too, like Brake, was very + well dressed, and very prosperous looking. He turned as he set down his + glass, and caught sight of me—and he knew me. Mind you, he'd been + through my hands in times past! And he instantly moved to a side-door and—vanished. + I went out and looked up and down—he'd gone. I found out afterwards, + by a little quiet inquiry, that he'd gone straight to the station, boarded + the first train—there was one just giving out, to the junction—and + left the city. But I can lay hands on him!” + </p> + <p> + “You've kept this quiet, too?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Just so—I've my own game to play,” replied Harker. “This talk with + you is part of it—you come in, now—I'll tell you why, + presently. But first, as you know, I went to Barthorpe. For, though Brake + was dead, I felt I must go—for this reason. I was certain that he + wanted that information for himself—the man in Australia was a + fiction. I went, then—and learned nothing. Except that this Falkiner + Wraye had been, as Brake said, a Barthorpe man, years ago. He'd left the + town eighteen years since, and nobody knew anything about him. So I came + home. And now then, doctor—your turn! What were you after, down + there at Barthorpe?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce meditated his answer for a good five minutes. He had always intended + to play the game off his own bat, but he had heard and seen enough since + entering Harker's little room to know that he was in company with an + intellect which was keener and more subtle than his, and that it would be + all to his advantage to go in with the man who had vast and deep + experience. And so he made a clean breast of all he had done in the way of + investigation, leaving his motive completely aside. + </p> + <p> + “You've got a theory, of course?” observed Harker, after listening quietly + to all that Bryce could tell. “Naturally, you have! You couldn't + accumulate all that without getting one.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” admitted Bryce, “honestly, I can't say that I have. But I can see + what theory there might be. This—that Ransford was the man who + deceived Brake, that he ran away with Brake's wife, that she's dead, and + that he's brought up the children in ignorance of all that—and + therefore—” + </p> + <p> + “And therefore,” interrupted Harker with a smile, “that when he and Brake + met—as you seem to think they did—Ransford flung Brake through + that open doorway; that Collishaw witnessed it, that Ransford's found out + about Collishaw, and that Collishaw has been poisoned by Ransford. Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “That's a theory that seems to be supported by facts,” said Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “It's a theory that would doubtless suit men like Mitchington,” said the + old detective, with another smile. “But—not me, sir! Mind you, I + don't say there isn't something in it—there's doubtless a lot. But—the + mystery's a lot thicker than just that. And Brake didn't come here to find + Ransford. He came because of the secret in that scrap of paper. And as + you've got it, doctor—out with it!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce saw no reason for concealment and producing the scrap of paper laid + it on the table between himself and his host. Harker peered inquisitively + at it. + </p> + <p> + “Latin!” he said. “You can read it, of course. What does it say?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce repeated a literal translation. + </p> + <p> + “I've found the place,” he added. “I found it this morning. Now, what do + you suppose this means?” + </p> + <p> + Harker was looking hard at the two lines of writing. + </p> + <p> + “That's a big question, doctor,” he answered. “But I'll go so far as to + say this—when we've found out what it does mean, we shall know a lot + more than we know now!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. THE DOUBLE OFFER + </h2> + <p> + Bryce, who was deriving a considerable and peculiar pleasure from his + secret interview with the old detective, smiled at Harker's last remark. + </p> + <p> + “That's a bit of a platitude, isn't it?” he suggested. “Of course we shall + know a lot more—when we do know a lot more!” + </p> + <p> + “I set store by platitudes, sir,” retorted Harker. “You can't repeat an + established platitude too often—it's got the hallmark of good use on + it. But now, till we do know more—you've no doubt been thinking a + lot about this matter, Dr. Bryce—hasn't it struck you that there's + one feature in connection with Brake, or Braden's visit to Wrychester to + which nobody's given any particular attention up to now—so far as we + know, at any rate?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” demanded Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “This,” replied Harker. “Why did he wish to see the Duke of Saxonsteade? + He certainly did want to see him—and as soon as possible. You'll + remember that his Grace was questioned about that at the inquest and could + give no explanation—he knew nothing of Brake, and couldn't suggest + any reason why Brake should wish to have an interview with him. But—I + can!” + </p> + <p> + “You?” exclaimed Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I,” answered Harker. “And it's this—I spoke just now of that man + Glassdale. Now you, of course; have no knowledge of him, and as you don't + keep yourself posted in criminal history, you don't know what his offence + was?” + </p> + <p> + “You said—forgery?” replied Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Just so—forgery,” assented Harker. “And the signature that he + forged was—the Duke of Saxonsteade's! As a matter of fact, he was + the Duke's London estate agent. He got wrong, somehow, and he forged the + Duke's name to a cheque. Now, then, considering who Glassdale is, and that + he was certainly a fellow-convict of Brake's, and that I myself saw him + here in Wrychester on the day of Brake's death—what's the conclusion + to be drawn? That Brake wanted to see the Duke on some business of + Glassdale's! Without a doubt! It may have been that he and Glassdale + wanted to visit the Duke, together.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce silently considered this suggestion for awhile. + </p> + <p> + “You said, just now, that Glassdale could be traced?” he remarked at last. + </p> + <p> + “Traced—yes,” replied Harker. “So long as he's in England.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not set about it?” suggested Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” said Harker. “There's things to do before that. And the first + thing is—let's get to know what the mystery of that scrap of paper + is. You say you've found Richard Jenkins's tomb? Very well—then the + thing to do is to find out if anything is hidden there. Try it tomorrow + night. Better go by yourself—after dark. If you find anything, let + me know. And then—then we can decide on a next step. But between now + and then, there'll be the inquest on this man Collishaw. And, about that—a + word in your ear! Say as little as ever you can!—after all, you know + nothing beyond what you saw. And—we mustn't meet and talk in public—after + you've done that bit of exploring in Paradise tomorrow night, come round + here and we'll consider matters.” + </p> + <p> + There was little that Bryce could say or could be asked to say at the + inquest on the mason's labourer next morning. Public interest and + excitement was as keen about Collishaw's mysterious death as about + Braden's, for it was already rumoured through the town that if Braden had + not met with his death when he came to Wrychester, Collishaw would still + be alive. The Coroner's court was once more packed; once more there was + the same atmosphere of mystery. But the proceedings were of a very + different nature to those which had attended the inquest on Braden. The + foreman under whose orders Collishaw had been working gave particulars of + the dead man's work on the morning of his death. He had been instructed to + clear away an accumulation of rubbish which had gathered at the foot of + the south wall of the nave in consequence of some recent repairs to the + masonry—there was a full day's work before him. All day he would be + in and out of Paradise with his barrow, wheeling away the rubbish he + gathered up. The foreman had looked in on him once or twice; he had seen + him just before noon, when he appeared to be in his usual health—he + had made no complaint, at any rate. Asked if he had happened to notice + where Collishaw had set down his dinner basket and his tin bottle while he + worked, he replied that it so happened that he had—he remembered + seeing both bottle and basket and the man's jacket deposited on one of the + box-tombs under a certain yew-tree—which he could point out, if + necessary. + </p> + <p> + Bryce's account of his finding of Collishaw amounted to no more than a + bare recital of facts. Nor was much time spent in questioning the two + doctors who had conducted the post-mortem examination. Their evidence, + terse and particular, referred solely to the cause of death. The man had + been poisoned by a dose of hydrocyanic acid, which, in their opinion, had + been taken only a few minutes before his body was discovered by Dr. Bryce. + It had probably been a dose which would cause instantaneous death. There + were no traces of the poison in the remains of his dinner, nor in the + liquid in his tin bottle, which was old tea. But of the cause of his + sudden death there was no more doubt than of the effects. Ransford had + been in the court from the outset of the proceedings, and when the medical + evidence had been given he was called. Bryce, watching him narrowly, saw + that he was suffering from repressed excitement—and that that + excitement was as much due to anger as to anything else. His face was set + and stern, and he looked at the Coroner with an expression which portended + something not precisely clear at that moment. Bryce, trying to analyse it, + said to himself that he shouldn't be surprised if a scene followed—Ransford + looked like a man who is bursting to say something in no unmistakable + fashion. But at first he answered the questions put to him calmly and + decisively. + </p> + <p> + “When this man's clothing was searched,” observed the Coroner, “a box of + pills was found, Dr. Ransford, on which your writing appears. Had you been + attending him—professionally?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Ransford. “Both Collishaw and his wife. Or, rather, to be + exact, I had been in attendance on the wife, for some weeks. A day or two + before his death, Collishaw complained to me of indigestion, following on + his meals. I gave him some digestive pills—the pills you speak of, + no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “These?” asked the Coroner, passing over the box which Mitchington had + found. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely!” agreed Ransford. “That, at any rate, is the box, and I + suppose those to be the pills.” + </p> + <p> + “You made them up yourself?” inquired the Coroner. + </p> + <p> + “I did—I dispense all my own medicines.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible that the poison we have beard of, just now, could get into + one of those pills—by accident?” + </p> + <p> + “Utterly impossible!—under my hands, at any rate,” answered + Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “Still, I suppose, it could have been administered in a pill?” suggested + the Coroner. + </p> + <p> + “It might,” agreed Ransford. “But,” he added, with a significant glance at + the medical men who had just given evidence. “It was not so administered + in this case, as the previous witnesses very well know!” + </p> + <p> + The Coroner looked round him, and waited a moment. + </p> + <p> + “You are at liberty to explain—that last remark,” he said at last. + “That is—if you wish to do so.” “Certainly!” answered Ransford, with + alacrity. “Those pills are, as you will observe, coated, and the man would + swallow them whole—immediately after his food. Now, it would take + some little time for a pill to dissolve, to disintegrate, to be digested. + If Collishaw took one of my pills as soon as he had eaten his dinner, + according to instructions, and if poison had been in that pill, he would + not have died at once—as he evidently did. Death would probably have + been delayed some little time until the pill had dissolved. But, according + to the evidence you have had before you, he died quite suddenly while + eating his dinner—or immediately after it. I am not legally + represented here—I don't consider it at all necessary—but I + ask you to recall Dr. Coates and to put this question to him: Did he find + one of those digestive pills in this man's stomach?” + </p> + <p> + The Coroner turned, somewhat dubiously, to the two doctors who had + performed the autopsy. But before he could speak, the superintendent of + police rose and began to whisper to him, and after a conversation between + them, he looked round at the jury, every member of which had evidently + been much struck by Ransford's suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “At this stage,” he said, “it will be necessary to adjourn. I shall + adjourn the inquiry for a week, gentlemen. You will—” Ransford, + still standing in the witness-box, suddenly lost control of himself. He + uttered a sharp exclamation and smote the ledge before him smartly with + his open hand. + </p> + <p> + “I protest against that!” he said vehemently. “Emphatically, I protest! + You first of all make a suggestion which tells against me—then, when + I demand that a question shall be put which is of immense importance to my + interests, you close down the inquiry—even if only for the moment. + That is grossly unfair and unjust!” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken,” said the Coroner. “At the adjourned inquiry, the two + medical men can be recalled, and you will have the opportunity—or + your solicitor will have—of asking any questions you like for the + present—” + </p> + <p> + “For the present you have me under suspicion!” interrupted Ransford hotly. + “You know it—I say this with due respect to your office—as + well as I do. Suspicion is rife in the city against me. Rumour is being + spread—secretly—and, I am certain—from the police, who + ought to know better. And—I will not be silenced, Mr. Coroner!—I + take this public opportunity, as I am on oath, of saying that I know + nothing whatever of the causes of the deaths of either Collishaw or of + Braden—upon my solemn oath!” + </p> + <p> + “The inquest is adjourned to this day week,” said the Coroner quietly. + </p> + <p> + Ransford suddenly stepped down from the witness-box and without word or + glance at any one there, walked with set face and determined look out of + the court, and the excited spectators, gathering into groups, immediately + began to discuss his vigorous outburst and to take sides for and against + him. + </p> + <p> + Bryce, judging it advisable to keep away from Mitchington just then, and, + for similar reasons, keeping away from Harker also, went out of the + crowded building alone—to be joined in the street outside by + Sackville Bonham, whom he had noticed in court, in company with his + stepfather, Mr. Folliot. + </p> + <p> + Folliot, Bryce had observed, had stopped behind, exchanging some + conversation with the Coroner. Sackville came up to Bryce with a knowing + shake of the hand. He was one of those very young men who have a habit of + suggesting that their fund of knowledge is extensive and peculiar, and + Bryce waited for a manifestation. + </p> + <p> + “Queer business, all that, Bryce!” observed Sackville confidentially. “Of + course, Ransford is a perfect ass!” + </p> + <p> + “Think so?” remarked Bryce, with an inflection which suggested that + Sackville's opinion on anything was as valuable as the Attorney-General's. + “That's how it strikes you, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible that it could strike one in any other way, you know,” answered + Sackville with fine and lofty superiority. “Ransford should have taken + immediate steps to clear himself of any suspicion. It's ridiculous, + considering his position—guardian to—to Miss Bewery, for + instance—that he should allow such rumours to circulate. By God, + sir, if it had been me, I'd have stopped 'em!—before they left the + parish pump!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah?” said Bryce. “And—how?” + </p> + <p> + “Made an example of somebody,” replied Sackville, with emphasis. “I + believe there's law in this country, isn't there?—law against libel + and slander, and that sort of thing, eh? Oh, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Not been much time for that—yet,” remarked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Piles of time,” retorted Sackville, swinging his stick vigorously. “No, + sir, Ransford is an ass! However, if a man won't do things for himself, + well, his friends must do something for him. Ransford, of course, must be + pulled—dragged!—out of this infernal hole. Of course he's + suspected! But my stepfather—he's going to take a hand. And my + stepfather, Bryce, is a devilish cute old hand at a game of this sort!” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody doubts Mr. Folliot's abilities, I'm sure,” said Bryce. “But—you + don't mind saying—how is he going to take a hand?” + </p> + <p> + “Stir things towards a clearing-up,” announced Sackville promptly. “Have + the whole thing gone into—thoroughly. There are matters that haven't + been touched on, yet. You'll see, my boy!” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to hear it,” said Bryce. “But—why should Mr. Folliot be so + particular about clearing Ransford?” + </p> + <p> + Sackville swung his stick, and pulled up his collar, and jerked his nose a + trifle higher. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well,” he said. “Of course, it's—it's a pretty well understood + thing, don't you know—between myself and Miss Bewery, you know—and + of course, we couldn't have any suspicions attaching to her guardian, + could we, now? Family interest, don't you know—Caesar's wife, and + all that sort of thing, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” answered Bryce, quietly,—“sort of family arrangement. With + Ransford's consent and knowledge, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “Ransford won't even be consulted,” said Sackville, airily. “My stepfather—sharp + man, that, Bryce!—he'll do things in his own fashion. You look out + for sudden revelations!” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” replied Bryce. “By-bye!” + </p> + <p> + He turned off to his rooms, wondering how much of truth there was in the + fatuous Sackville's remarks. And—was there some mystery still + undreamt of by himself and Harker? There might be—he was still under + the influence of Ransford's indignant and dramatic assertion of his + innocence. Would Ransford have allowed himself an outburst of that sort if + he had not been, as he said, utterly ignorant of the immediate cause of + Braden's death? Now Bryce, all through, was calculating, for his own + purposes, on Ransford's share, full or partial, in that death—if + Ransford really knew nothing whatever about it, where did his, Bryce's + theory, come in—and how would his present machinations result? And, + more—if Ransford's assertion were true, and if Varner's story of the + hand, seen for an instant in the archway, were also true—and Varner + was persisting in it—then, who was the man who flung Braden to his + death that morning? He realized that, instead of straightening out, things + were becoming more and more complicated. + </p> + <p> + But he realized something else. On the surface, there was a strong case of + suspicion against Ransford. It had been suggested that very morning before + a coroner and his jury; it would grow; the police were already permeated + with suspicion and distrust. Would it not pay him, Bryce, to encourage, to + help it? He had his own score to pay off against Ransford; he had his own + schemes as regards Mary Bewery. Anyway, he was not going to share in any + attempts to clear the man who had bundled him out of his house + unceremoniously—he would bide his time. And in the meantime there + were other things to be done—one of them that very night. + </p> + <p> + But before Bryce could engage in his secret task of excavating a small + portion of Paradise in the rear of Richard Jenkins's tomb, another strange + development came. As the dark fell over the old city that night and he was + thinking of setting out on his mission, Mitchington came in, carrying two + sheets of paper, obviously damp from the press, in his hand. He looked at + Bryce with an expression of wonder. + </p> + <p> + “Here's a queer go!” he said. “I can't make this out at all! Look at these + big handbills—but perhaps you've seen 'em? They're being posted all + over the city—we've had a bundle of 'em thrown in on us.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't been out since lunch,” remarked Bryce. “What are they?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington spread out the two papers on the table, pointing from one to + the other. + </p> + <p> + “You see?” he said. “Five Hundred Pounds Reward!—One Thousand Pounds + Reward! And—both out at the same time, from different sources!” + </p> + <p> + “What sources?” asked Bryce, bending over the bills. “Ah—I see. One + signed by Phipps & Maynard, the other by Beachcroft. Odd, certainly!” + </p> + <p> + “Odd?” exclaimed Mitchington. “I should think so! But, do you see, doctor? + that one—five hundred reward—is offered for information of any + nature relative to the deaths of John Braden and James Collishaw, both or + either. That amount will be paid for satisfactory information by Phipps + & Maynard. And Phipps & Maynard are Ransford's solicitors! That + bill, sir, comes from him! And now the other, the thousand pound one, that + offers the reward to any one who can give definite information as to the + circumstances attending the death of John Braden—to be paid by Mr. + Beachcroft. And he's Mr. Folliot's solicitor! So—that comes from Mr. + Folliot. What has he to do with it? And are these two putting their heads + together—or are these bills quite independent of each other? Hang me + if I understand it!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce read and re-read the contents of the two bills. And then he thought + for awhile before speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said at last, “there's probably this in it—the Folliots + are very wealthy people. Mrs. Folliot, it's pretty well known, wants her + son to marry Miss Bewery—Dr. Ransford's ward. Probably she doesn't + wish any suspicion to hang over the family. That's all I can suggest. In + the other case, Ransford wants to clear himself. For don't forget this, + Mitchington!—somewhere, somebody may know something! Only something. + But that something might clear Ransford of the suspicion that's + undoubtedly been cast upon him. If you're thinking to get a strong case + against Ransford, you've got your work set. He gave your theory a nasty + knock this morning by his few words about that pill. Did Coates and + Everest find a pill, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at liberty to say, sir,” answered Mitchington. “At present, anyway. + Um! I dislike these private offers of reward—it means that those who + make 'em get hold of information which is kept back from us, d'you see! + They're inconvenient.” + </p> + <p> + Then he went away, and Bryce, after waiting awhile, until night had + settled down, slipped quietly out of the house and set off for the gloom + of Paradise. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. BEFOREHAND + </h2> + <p> + In accordance with his undeniable capacity for contriving and scheming, + Bryce had made due and careful preparations for his visit to the tomb of + Richard Jenkins. Even in the momentary confusion following upon his + discovery of Collishaw's dead body, he had been sufficiently alive to his + own immediate purposes to notice that the tomb—a very ancient and + dilapidated structure—stood in the midst of a small expanse of stone + pavement between the yew-trees and the wall of the nave; he had noticed + also that the pavement consisted of small squares of stone, some of which + bore initials and dates. A sharp glance at the presumed whereabouts of the + particular spot which he wanted, as indicated in the scrap of paper taken + from Braden's purse, showed him that he would have to raise one of those + small squares—possibly two or three of them. And so he had furnished + himself with a short crowbar of tempered steel, specially purchased at the + iron-monger's, and with a small bull's-eye lantern. Had he been arrested + and searched as he made his way towards the cathedral precincts he might + reasonably have been suspected of a design to break into the treasury and + appropriate the various ornaments for which Wrychester was famous. But + Bryce feared neither arrest nor observation. During his residence in + Wrychester he had done a good deal of prowling about the old city at + night, and he knew that Paradise, at any time after dark, was a deserted + place. Folk might cross from the close archway to the wicket-gate by the + outer path, but no one would penetrate within the thick screen of yew and + cypress when night had fallen. And now, in early summer, the screen of + trees and bushes was so thick in leaf, that once within it, foliage on one + side, the great walls of the nave on the other, there was little + likelihood of any person overlooking his doings while he made his + investigation. He anticipated a swift and quiet job, to be done in a few + minutes. + </p> + <p> + But there was another individual in Wrychester who knew just as much of + the geography of Paradise as Pemberton Bryce knew. Dick Bewery and Betty + Campany had of late progressed out of the schoolboy and schoolgirl + hail-fellow-well-met stage to the first dawnings of love, and in spite of + their frequent meetings had begun a romantic correspondence between each + other, the joy and mystery of which was increased a hundredfold by a + secret method of exchange of these missives. Just within the wicket-gate + entrance of Paradise there was an old monument wherein was a convenient + cavity—Dick Bewery's ready wits transformed this into love's + post-office. In it he regularly placed letters for Betty: Betty stuffed + into it letters for him. And on this particular evening Dick had gone to + Paradise to collect a possible mail, and as Bryce walked leisurely up the + narrow path, enclosed by trees and old masonry which led from Friary Lane + to the ancient enclosure, Dick turned a corner and ran full into him. In + the light of the single lamp which illumined the path, the two recovered + themselves and looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” said Bryce. “What's your hurry, young Bewery?” + </p> + <p> + Dick, who was panting for breath, more from excitement than haste, drew + back and looked at Bryce. Up to then he knew nothing much against Bryce, + whom he had rather liked in the fashion in which boys sometimes like their + seniors, and he was not indisposed to confide in him. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” he replied. “I say! Where are you off to?” + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere!—strolling round,” answered Bryce. “No particular purpose, + why?” + </p> + <p> + “You weren't going in—there?” asked Dick, jerking a thumb towards + Paradise. + </p> + <p> + “In—there!” exclaimed Bryce. “Good Lord, no!—dreary enough in + the daytime! What should I be going in there for?” + </p> + <p> + Dick seized Bryce's coat-sleeve and dragged him aside. + </p> + <p> + “I say!” he whispered. “There's something up in there—a search of + some sort!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce started in spite of an effort to keep unconcerned. + </p> + <p> + “A search? In there?” he said. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Dick pointed amongst the trees, and Bryce saw the faint glimmer of a + light. + </p> + <p> + “I was in there—just now,” said Dick. “And some men—three or + four—came along. They're in there, close up by the nave, just where + you found that chap Collishaw. They're—digging—or something of + that sort!” + </p> + <p> + “Digging!” muttered Bryce. “Digging?”' + </p> + <p> + “Something like it, anyhow,” replied Dick. “Listen.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce heard the ring of metal on stone. And an unpleasant conviction stole + over him that he was being forestalled, that somebody was beforehand with + him, and he cursed himself for not having done the previous night what he + had left undone till this night. + </p> + <p> + “Who are they?” he asked. “Did you see them—their faces?” + </p> + <p> + “Not their faces,” answered Dick. “Only their figures in the gloom. But I + heard Mitchington's voice.” + </p> + <p> + “Police, then!” said Bryce. “What on earth are they after?” + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” whispered Dick, pulling at Bryce's arm again. “Come on! I + know how to get in there without their seeing us. You follow me.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce followed readily, and Dick stepping through the wicket-gate, seized + his companion's wrist and led him amongst the bushes in the direction of + the spot from whence came the metallic sounds. He walked with the step of + a cat, and Bryce took pains to follow his example. And presently from + behind a screen of cypresses they looked out on the expanse of flagging in + the midst of which stood the tomb of Richard Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + Round about that tomb were five men whose faces were visible enough in the + light thrown by a couple of strong lamps, one of which stood on the tomb + itself, while the other was set on the ground. Four out of the five the + two watchers recognized at once. One, kneeling on the flags, and busy with + a small crowbar similar to that which Bryce carried inside his overcoat, + was the master-mason of the cathedral. Another, standing near him, was + Mitchington. A third was a clergyman—one of the lesser dignitaries + of the Chapter. A fourth—whose presence made Bryce start for the + second time that evening—was the Duke of Saxonsteade. But the fifth + was a stranger—a tall man who stood between Mitchington and the + Duke, evidently paying anxious attention to the master-mason's + proceedings. He was no Wrychester man—Bryce was convinced of that. + </p> + <p> + And a moment later he was convinced of another equally certain fact. + Whatever these five men were searching for, they had no clear or accurate + idea of its exact whereabouts. The master-mason was taking up the small + squares of flagstone with his crowbar one by one, from the outer edge of + the foot of the old box-tomb; as he removed each, he probed the earth + beneath it. And Bryce, who had instinctively realized what was happening, + and knew that somebody else than himself was in possession of the secret + of the scrap of paper, saw that it would be some time before they arrived + at the precise spot indicated in the Latin directions. He quietly drew + back and tugged at Dick Bewery. + </p> + <p> + “Stop here, and keep quiet!” he whispered when they had retreated out of + all danger of being overheard. “Watch 'em! I want to fetch somebody—want + to know who that stranger is. You don't know him?” + </p> + <p> + “Never seen him before,” replied Dick. “I say!—come quietly back—don't + give it away. I want to know what it's all about.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce squeezed the lad's arm by way of assurance and made his way back + through the bushes. He wanted to get hold of Harker, and at once, and he + hurried round to the old man's house and without ceremony walked into his + parlour. Harker, evidently expecting him, and meanwhile amusing himself + with his pipe and book, rose from his chair as the younger man entered. + </p> + <p> + “Found anything?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “We're done!” answered Bryce. “I was a fool not to go last night! We're + forestalled, my friend!—that's about it!” + </p> + <p> + “By—whom?” inquired Harker. + </p> + <p> + “There are five of them at it, now,” replied Bryce. “Mitchington, a mason, + one of the cathedral clergy, a stranger, and the Duke of Saxonsteade! What + do you think of that?” + </p> + <p> + Harker suddenly started as if a new light had dawned on him. + </p> + <p> + “The Duke!” he exclaimed. “You don't say so! My conscience!—now, I + wonder if that can really be? Upon my word, I'd never thought of it!” + </p> + <p> + “Thought of what?” demanded Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind! tell you later,” said Harker. “At present, is there any + chance of getting a look at them?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I came for,” retorted Bryce. “I've been watching them, with + young Bewery. He put me up to it. Come on! I want to see if you know the + man who's a stranger.” + </p> + <p> + Harker crossed the room to a chest of drawers, and after some rummaging + pulled something out. + </p> + <p> + “Here!” he said, handing some articles to Bryce. “Put those on over your + boots. Thick felt overshoes—you could walk round your own mother's + bedroom in those and she'd never hear you. I'll do the same. A stranger, + you say? Well, this is a proof that somebody knows the secret of that + scrap of paper besides us, doctor!” + </p> + <p> + “They don't know the exact spot,” growled Bryce, who was chafing at having + been done out of his discovery. “But, they'll find it, whatever may be + there.” + </p> + <p> + He led Harker back to Paradise and to the place where he had left Dick + Bewery, whom they approached so quietly that Bryce was by the lad's side + before Dick knew he was there. And Harker, after one glance at the ring of + faces, drew Bryce back and put his lips close to his ear and breathed a + name in an almost imperceptible yet clear whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Glassdale!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce started for the third time. Glassdale!—the man whom Harker had + seen in Wrychester within an hour or so of Braden's death: the ex-convict, + the forger, who had forged the Duke of Saxonsteade's name! And there! + standing, apparently quite at his ease, by the Duke's side. What did it + all mean? + </p> + <p> + There was no explanation of what it meant to be had from the man whom + Bryce and Harker and Dick Bewery secretly watched from behind the screen + of cypress trees. Four of them watched in silence, or with no more than a + whispered word now and then while the fifth worked. This man worked + methodically, replacing each stone as he took it up and examined the soil + beneath it. So far nothing had resulted, but he was by that time working + at some distance from the tomb, and Bryce, who had an exceedingly accurate + idea of where the spot might be, as indicated in the measurements on the + scrap of paper, nudged Harker as the master-mason began to take up the + last of the small flags. And suddenly there was a movement amongst the + watchers, and the master-mason looked up from his job and motioned + Mitchington to pass him a trowel which lay at a little distance. + </p> + <p> + “Something here!” he said, loudly enough to reach the ears of Bryce and + his companions. “Not so deep down, neither, gentlemen!” + </p> + <p> + A few vigorous applications of the trowel, a few lumps of earth cast out + of the cavity, and the master-mason put in his hand and drew forth a small + parcel, which in the light of the lamp held close to it by Mitchington + looked to be done up in coarse sacking, secured by great blotches of black + sealing wax. And now it was Harker who nudged Bryce, drawing his attention + to the fact that the parcel, handed by the master-mason to Mitchington was + at once passed on by Mitchington to the Duke of Saxonsteade, who, it was + very plain to see, appeared to be as much delighted as surprised at + receiving it. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go to your office, inspector,” he said. “We'll examine the + contents there. Let us all go at once!” + </p> + <p> + The three figures behind the cypress trees remained immovable and silent + until the five searchers had gone away with their lamps and tools and the + sound of their retreating footsteps in Friary Lane had died out. Then Dick + Bewery moved and began to slip off, and Bryce reached out a hand and took + him by the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Bewery!” he said. “Going to tell all that?” + </p> + <p> + Harker got in a word before Dick could answer. + </p> + <p> + “No matter if he does, doctor,” he remarked quietly. “Whatever it is, the + whole town'll know of it by tomorrow. They'll not keep it back.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce let Dick go, and the boy immediately darted off in the direction of + the close, while the two men went towards Harker's house. Neither spoke + until they were safe in the old detective's little parlour, then Harker, + turning up his lamp, looked at Bryce and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It's a good job I've retired!” he said, almost sadly. “I'm getting too + old for my trade, doctor. Once upon a time I should have been fit to kick + myself for not having twigged the meaning of this business sooner than I + have done!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you twigged it?” demanded Bryce, almost scornfully. “You're a good + deal cleverer than I am if you have. For hang me if I know what it means!” + </p> + <p> + “I do!” answered Harker. He opened a drawer in his desk and drew out a + scrap-book, filled, as Bryce saw a moment later, with cuttings from + newspapers, all duly arranged and indexed. The old man glanced at the + index, turned to a certain page, and put his finger on an entry. “There + you are!” he said. “And that's only one—there are several more. + They'll tell you in detail what I can tell you in a few words and what I + ought to have remembered. It's fifteen years since the famous robbery at + Saxonsteade which has never been accounted for—robbery of the + Duchess's diamonds—one of the cleverest burglaries ever known, + doctor. They were got one night after a grand ball there; no arrest was + ever made, they were never traced. And I'll lay all I'm worth to a + penny-piece that the Duke and those men are gladding their eyes with the + sight of them just now!—in Mitchington's office—and that the + information that they were where they've just been found was given to the + Duke by—Glassdale!” + </p> + <p> + “Glassdale! That man!” exclaimed Bryce, who was puzzling his brain over + possible developments. + </p> + <p> + “That man, sir!” repeated Harker. “That's why Glassdale was in Wrychester + the day of Braden's death. And that's why Braden, or Brake, came to + Wrychester at all. He and Glassdale, of course, had somehow come into + possession of the secret, and no doubt meant to tell the Duke together, + and get the reward—there was 95,000 offered! And as Brake's dead, + Glassdale's spoken, but”—here the old man paused and gave his + companion a shrewd look—“the question still remains: How did Brake + come to his end?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. TO BE SHADOWED + </h2> + <p> + Dick Bewery burst in upon his sister and Ransford with a budget of news + such as it rarely fell to the lot of romance-loving seventeen to tell. + Secret and mysterious digging up of grave-yards by night—discovery + of sealed packets, the contents of which might only be guessed at—the + whole thing observed by hidden spectators—these were things he had + read of in fiction, but had never expected to have the luck to see in real + life. And being gifted with some powers of imagination and of narrative, + he made the most of his story to a pair of highly attentive listeners, + each of whom had his, and her, own reasons for particular attention. + </p> + <p> + “More mystery!” remarked Mary when Dick's story had come to an end. “What + a pity they didn't open the parcel!” She looked at Ransford, who was + evidently in deep thought. “I suppose it will all come out?” she + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Sure to!” he answered, and turned to Dick. “You say Bryce fetched old + Harker—after you and Bryce had watched these operations a bit? Did + he say why he fetched him?” + </p> + <p> + “Never said anything as to his reasons,” answered Dick. “But, I rather + guessed, at the end, that Bryce wanted me to keep quiet about it, only old + Harker said there was no need.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford made no comment on this, and Dick, having exhausted his stock of + news, presently went off to bed. + </p> + <p> + “Master Bryce,” observed Ransford, after a period of silence, “is playing + a game! What it is, I don't know—but I'm certain of it. Well, we + shall see! You've been much upset by all this,” he went on, after another + pause, “and the knowledge that you have has distressed me beyond measure! + But just have a little—a very little—more patience, and things + will be cleared—I can't tell all that's in my mind, even to you.” + </p> + <p> + Mary, who had been sewing while Ransford, as was customary with him in an + evening, read the Times to her, looked down at her work. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't care, if only these rumours in the town—about you—could + be crushed!” she said. “It's so cruel, so vile, that such things—” + </p> + <p> + Ransford snapped his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care that about the rumours!” he answered, contemptuously. + “They'll be crushed out just as suddenly as they arose—and then, + perhaps, I'll let certain folk in Wrychester know what I think of them. + And as regards the suspicion against me, I know already that the only + people in the town for whose opinion I care fully accept what I said + before the Coroner. As to the others, let them talk! If the thing comes to + a head before its due time—” + </p> + <p> + “You make me think that you know more—much more!—than you've + ever told me!” interrupted Mary. + </p> + <p> + “So I do!” he replied. “And you'll see in the end why I've kept silence. + Of course, if people who don't know as much will interfere—” + </p> + <p> + He was interrupted there by the ringing of the front door bell, at the + sound of which he and Mary looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Who can that be?” said Mary. “It's past ten o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford offered no suggestion. He sat silently waiting, until the + parlourmaid entered. + </p> + <p> + “Inspector Mitchington would be much obliged if you could give him a few + minutes, sir,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Ransford got up from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Take Inspector Mitchington into the study,” he said. “Is he alone?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir—there's a gentleman with him,” replied the girl. + </p> + <p> + “All right—I'll be with them presently,” answered Ransford. “Take + them both in there and light the gas. Police!” he went on, when the + parlourmaid had gone. “They get hold of the first idea that strikes them, + and never even look round for another, You're not frightened?” + </p> + <p> + “Frightened—no! Uneasy—yes!” replied Mary. “What can they + want, this time of night?” + </p> + <p> + “Probably to tell me something about this romantic tale of Dick's,” + answered Ransford, as he left the room. “It'll be nothing more serious, I + assure you.” + </p> + <p> + But he was not so sure of that. He was very well aware that the Wrychester + police authorities had a definite suspicion of his guilt in the Braden and + Collishaw matters, and he knew from experience that police suspicion is a + difficult matter to dissipate. And before he opened the door of the little + room which he used as a study he warned himself to be careful—and + silent. + </p> + <p> + The two visitors stood near the hearth—Ransford took a good look at + them as he closed the door behind him. Mitchington he knew well enough; he + was more interested in the other man, a stranger. A quiet-looking, very + ordinary individual, who might have been half a dozen things—but + Ransford instantly set him down as a detective. He turned from this man to + the inspector. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said, a little brusquely. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry to intrude so late, Dr. Ransford,” answered Mitchington, “but I + should be much obliged if you would give us a bit of information—badly + wanted, doctor, in view of recent events,” he added, with a smile which + was meant to be reassuring. “I'm sure you can—if you will.” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down,” said Ransford, pointing to chairs. He took one himself and + again glanced at the stranger. “To whom am I speaking, in addition to + yourself, Inspector?” he asked. “I'm not going to talk to strangers.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” said Mitchington, a little awkwardly. “Of course, doctor, + we've had to get a bit of professional help in these unpleasant matters. + This gentleman's Detective-Sergeant Jettison, from the Yard.” + </p> + <p> + “What information do you want?” asked Ransford. + </p> + <p> + Mitchington glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “I may as well tell + you, doctor,” he said confidentially, “there's been a most extraordinary + discovery made tonight, which has a bearing on the Braden case. I dare say + you've heard of the great jewel robbery which took place at the Duke of + Saxonsteade's some years ago, which has been a mystery to this very day?” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of it,” answered Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “Very well—tonight those jewels—the whole lot!—have been + discovered in Paradise yonder, where they'd been buried, at the time of + the robbery, by the thief,” continued Mitchington. “They've just been + examined, and they're now in the Duke's own hands again—after all + these years! And—I may as well tell you—we now know that the + object of Braden's visit to Wrychester was to tell the Duke where those + jewels were hidden. Braden—and another man—had learned the + secret, from the real thief, who's dead in Australia. All that I may tell + you, doctor—for it'll be public property tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Ransford. + </p> + <p> + Mitchington hesitated a moment, as if searching for his next words. He + glanced at the detective; the detective remained immobile; he glanced at + Ransford; Ransford gave him no encouragement. + </p> + <p> + “Now look here, doctor!” he exclaimed, suddenly. “Why not tell us + something? We know now who Braden really was! That's settled. Do you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Who was he, then?” asked Ransford, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “He was one John Brake, some time manager of a branch of a London bank, + who, seventeen years ago, got ten years' penal servitude for + embezzlement,” answered Mitchington, watching Ransford steadily. “That's + dead certain—we know it! The man who shared this secret with him + about the Saxonsteade jewels has told us that much, today. John Brake!” + </p> + <p> + “What have you come here for?” asked Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “To ask you—between ourselves—if you can tell us anything + about Brake's earlier days—antecedents—that'll help us,” + replied Mitchington. “It may be—Jettison here—a man of + experience—thinks it'll be found to be—that Brake, or Braden + as we call him—was murdered because of his possession of that secret + about the jewels. Our informant tells us that Braden certainly had on him, + when he came to Wrychester, a sort of diagram showing the exact location + of the spot where the jewels were hidden—that diagram was most + assuredly not found on Braden when we examined his clothing and effects. + It may be that it was wrested from him in the gallery of the clerestory + that morning, and that his assailant, or assailants—for there may + have been two men at the job—afterwards pitched him through that + open doorway, after half-stifling him. And if that theory's correct—and + I, personally, am now quite inclined to it—it'll help a lot if + you'll tell us what you know of Braden's—Brake's—antecedents. + Come now, doctor!—you know very well that Braden, or Brake, did come + to your surgery that morning and said to your assistant that he'd known a + Dr. Ransford in times past! Why not speak?” + </p> + <p> + Ransford, instead of answering Mitchington's evidently genuine appeal, + looked at the New Scotland Yard man. + </p> + <p> + “Is that your theory?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Jettison nodded his head, with a movement indicative of conviction. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir!” he replied. “Having regard to all the circumstances of the + case, as they've been put before me since I came here, and with special + regard to the revelations which have resulted in the discovery of these + jewels, it is! Of course, today's events have altered everything. If it + hadn't been for our informant—” + </p> + <p> + “Who is your informant?” inquired Ransford. + </p> + <p> + The two callers looked at each other—the detective nodded at the + inspector. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” said Mitchington. “No harm in telling you, doctor. A man named + Glassdale—once a fellow-convict with Brake. It seems they left + England together after their time was up, emigrated together, prospered, + even went so far—both of 'em!—as to make good the money they'd + appropriated, and eventually came back together—in possession of + this secret. Brake came specially to Wrychester to tell the Duke—Glassdale + was to join him on the very morning Brake met his death. Glassdale did + come to the town that morning—and as soon as he got here, heard of + Brake's strange death. That upset him—and he went away—only to + come back today, go to Saxonsteade, and tell everything to the Duke—with + the result we've told you of.” + </p> + <p> + “Which result,” remarked Ransford, steadily regarding Mitchington, “has + apparently altered all your ideas about—me!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington laughed a little awkwardly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, come, now, doctor!” he said. “Why, yes—frankly, I'm + inclined to Jettison's theory—in fact, I'm certain that's the + truth.” + </p> + <p> + “And your theory,” inquired Ransford, turning to the detective, “is—put + it in a few words.” + </p> + <p> + “My theory—and I'll lay anything it's the correct one!—is + this,” replied Jettison. “Brake came to Wrychester with his secret. That + secret wasn't confined to him and Glassdale—either he let it out to + somebody, or it was known to somebody. I understand from Inspector + Mitchington here that on the evening of his arrival Brake was away from + the Mitre Hotel for two hours. During that time, he was somewhere—with + whom? Probably with somebody who got the secret out of him, or to whom he + communicated it. For, think!—according to Glassdale, who, we are + quite sure, has told the exact truth about everything, Brake had on him a + scrap of paper, on which were instructions, in Latin, for finding the + exact spot whereat the missing Saxonsteade jewels had been hidden, years + before, by the actual thief—who, I may tell you, sir, never had the + opportunity of returning to re-possess himself of them. Now, after Brake's + death, the police examined his clothes and effects—they never found + that scrap of paper! And I work things out this way. Brake was followed + into that gallery—a lonely, quiet place—by the man or men who + had got possession of the secret; he was, I'm told, a slightly-built, not + over-strong man—he was seized and robbed of that paper and flung to + his death. And all that fits in with the second mystery of Collishaw—who + probably knew, if not everything, then something, of the exact + circumstances of Brake's death, and let his knowledge get to the ears of—Brake's + assailant!—who cleverly got rid of him. That's my notion,” concluded + the detective. “And—I shall be surprised if it isn't a correct one!” + </p> + <p> + “And, as I've said, doctor,” chimed in Mitchington, “can't you give us a + bit of information, now? You see the line we're on? Now, as it's evident + you once knew Braden, or Brake—” + </p> + <p> + “I have never said so!” interrupted Ransford sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Well—we infer it, from the undoubted fact that he called here,” + remarked Mitchington. “And if—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait!” said Ransford. He had been listening with absorbed attention to + Jettison's theory, and he now rose from his chair and began to pace the + room, hands in pockets, as if in deep thought. Suddenly he paused and + looked at Mitchington. “This needs some reflection,” he said. “Are you + pressed for time?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least,” answered Mitchington, readily. “Our time's yours, sir. + Take as long as you like.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford touched a bell and summoning the parlourmaid told her to fetch + whisky, soda, and cigars. He pressed these things on the two men, lighted + a cigar himself, and for a long time continued to walk up and down his end + of the room, smoking and evidently in very deep thought. The visitors left + him alone, watching him curiously now and then—until, when quite ten + minutes had gone by, he suddenly drew a chair close to them and sat down + again. + </p> + <p> + “Now, listen to me!” he said. “If I give my confidence to you, as police + officials, will you give me your word that you won't make use of my + information until I give you leave—or until you have consulted me + further? I shall rely on your word, mind!” + </p> + <p> + “I say yes to that, doctor,” answered Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “The same here, sir,” said the detective. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” continued Ransford. “Then—this is between ourselves, + until such time as I say something more about it. First of all, I am not + going to tell you anything whatever about Braden's antecedents—at + present! Secondly—I am not sure that your theory, Mr. Jettison, is + entirely correct, though I think it is by way of coming very near to the + right one—which is sure to be worked out before long. But—on + the understanding of secrecy for the present I can tell you something + which I should not have been able to tell you but for the events of + tonight, which have made me put together certain facts. Now attention! To + begin with, I know where Braden was for at any rate some time on the + evening of the day on which he came to Wrychester. He was with the old man + whom we all know as Simpson Harker.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington whistled; the detective, who knew nothing of Simpson Harker, + glanced at him as if for information. But Mitchington nodded at Ransford, + and Ransford went on. + </p> + <p> + “I know this for this reason,” he continued. “You know where Harker lives. + I was in attendance for nearly two hours that evening on a patient in a + house opposite—I spent a good deal of time in looking out of the + window. I saw Harker take a man into his house: I saw the man leave the + house nearly an hour later: I recognized that man next day as the man who + met his death at the Cathedral. So much for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” muttered Mitchington. “Good! Explains a lot.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” continued Ransford, “what I have to tell you now is of a much more + serious—and confidential—nature. Now, do you know—but, + of course, you don't!—that your proceedings tonight were watched?” + </p> + <p> + “Watched!” exclaimed Mitchington. “Who watched us?” + </p> + <p> + “Harker, for one,” answered Ransford. “And—for another—my late + assistant, Mr. Pemberton Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington's jaw dropped. + </p> + <p> + “God bless my soul!” he said. “You don't mean it, doctor! Why, how did you—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute,” interrupted Ransford. He left the room, and the two + callers looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “This chap knows more than you think,” observed Jettison in a whisper. + “More than he's telling now!” + </p> + <p> + “Let's get all we can, then,” said Mitchington, who was obviously much + surprised by Ransford's last information. “Get it while he's in the mood.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him take his own time,” advised Jettison. “But—you mark me!—he + knows a lot! This is only an instalment.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford came back—with Dick Bewery, clad in a loud patterned and + gaily coloured suit of pyjamas. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Dick,” said Ransford. “Tell Inspector Mitchington precisely what + happened this evening, within your own knowledge.” + </p> + <p> + Dick was nothing loth to tell his story for the second time—especially + to a couple of professional listeners. And he told it in full detail, from + the moment of his sudden encounter with Bryce to that in which he parted + with Bryce and Harker. Ransford, watching the official faces, saw what it + was in the story that caught the official attention and excited the + official mind. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Bryce went off at once to fetch Harker, did he?” asked Mitchington, + when Dick had made a end. + </p> + <p> + “At once,” answered Dick. “And was jolly quick back with him!” + </p> + <p> + “And Harker said it didn't matter about your telling as it would be public + news soon enough?” continued Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Just that,” said Dick. + </p> + <p> + Mitchington looked at Ransford, and Ransford nodded to his ward. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Dick,” he said. “That'll do.” + </p> + <p> + The boy went off again, and Mitchington shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Queer!” he said. “Now what have those two been up to?—something, + that's certain. Can you tell us more, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Under the same conditions—yes,” answered Ransford, taking his seat + again. “The fact is, affairs have got to a stage where I consider it my + duty to tell you more. Some of what I shall tell you is hearsay—but + it's hearsay that you can easily verify for yourselves when the right + moment comes. Mr. Campany, the librarian, lately remarked to me that my + old assistant, Mr. Bryce, seemed to be taking an extraordinary interest in + archaeological matters since he left me—he was now, said Campany, + always examining documents about the old tombs and monuments of the + Cathedral and its precincts.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah—just so!” exclaimed Mitchington. “To be sure!—I'm + beginning to see!” + </p> + <p> + “And,” continued Ransford, “Campany further remarked, as a matter for + humorous comment, that Bryce was also spending much time looking round our + old tombs. Now you made this discovery near an old tomb, I understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Close by one—yes,” assented the inspector. + </p> + <p> + “Then let me draw your attention to one or two strange facts—which + are undoubted facts,” continued Ransford. “Bryce was left alone with the + dead body of Braden for some minutes, while Varner went to fetch the + police. That's one.” + </p> + <p> + “That's true,” muttered Mitchington. “He was—several minutes!” + </p> + <p> + “Bryce it was who discovered Collishaw—in Paradise,” said Ransford. + “That's fact two. And fact three—Bryce evidently had a motive in + fetching Harker tonight—to overlook your operations. What was his + motive? And taking things altogether; what are, or have been, these secret + affairs which Bryce and Harker have evidently been engaged in?” + </p> + <p> + Jettison suddenly rose, buttoning his light overcoat. The action seemed to + indicate a newly-formed idea, a definite conclusion. He turned sharply to + Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “There's one thing certain, inspector,” he said. “You'll keep an eye on + those two from this out! From—just now!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall!” assented Mitchington. “I'll have both of 'em shadowed wherever + they go or are, day or night. Harker, now, has always been a bit of a + mystery, but Bryce—hang me if I don't believe he's been having me! + Double game!—but, never mind. There's no more, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” replied Ransford. “And I don't know the real meaning or value + of what I have told you. But—in two days from now, I can tell you + more. In the meantime—remember your promise!” + </p> + <p> + He let his visitors out then, and went back to Mary. + </p> + <p> + “You'll not have to wait long for things to clear,” he said. “The + mystery's nearly over!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. SURPRISE + </h2> + <p> + Mitchington and the man from New Scotland Yard walked away in silence from + Ransford's house and kept the silence up until they were in the middle of + the Close and accordingly in solitude. Then Mitchington turned to his + companion. + </p> + <p> + “What d'ye think of that?” he asked, with a half laugh. “Different + complexion it puts on things, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I think just what I said before—in there,” replied the detective. + “That man knows more than he's told, even now!” + </p> + <p> + “Why hasn't he spoken sooner, then?” demanded Mitchington. “He's had two + good chances—at the inquests.” + </p> + <p> + “From what I saw of him, just now,” said Jettison, “I should say he's the + sort of man who can keep his own counsel till he considers the right time + has come for speaking. Not the sort of man who'll care twopence whatever's + said about him, you understand? I should say he's known a good lot all + along, and is just keeping it back till he can put a finishing touch to + it. Two days, didn't he say? Aye, well, a lot can happen in two days!” + </p> + <p> + “But about your theory?” questioned Mitchington. “What do you think of it + now—in relation to what we've just heard?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what I can see,” answered Jettison. “I can see how one bit + of this puzzle fits into another—in view of what Ransford has just + told us. Of course, one's got to do a good deal of supposing it's + unavoidable in these cases. Now supposing Braden let this man Harker into + the secret of the hidden jewels that night, and supposing that Harker and + Bryce are in collusion—as they evidently are, from what that boy + told us—and supposing they between them, together or separately, had + to do with Braden's death, and supposing that man Collishaw saw some thing + that would incriminate one or both—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Bryce is a medical man,” observed Jettison. “It would be an easy thing + for a medical man to get rid of Collishaw as he undoubtedly was got rid + of. Do you see my point?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye—and I can see that Bryce is a clever hand at throwing dust in + anybody's eyes!” muttered Mitchington. “I've had some dealings with him + over this affair and I'm beginning to think—only now!—that + he's been having me for the mug! He's evidently a deep 'un—and so's + the other man.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to ask you that,” said Jettison. “Now, exactly who are these + two?—tell me about them—both.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so much to tell,” answered Mitchington. “Harker's a quiet old chap + who lives in a little house over there—just off that far corner of + this Close. Said to be a retired tradesman, from London. Came here a few + years ago, to settle down. Inoffensive, pleasant old chap. Potters about + the town—puts in his time as such old chaps do—bit of reading + at the libraries—bit of gossip here and—there you know the + sort. Last man in the world I should have thought would have been mixed up + in an affair of this sort!” + </p> + <p> + “And therefore all the more likely to be!” said Jettison. “Well—the + other?” + </p> + <p> + “Bryce was until the very day of Braden's appearance, Ransford's + assistant,” continued Mitchington. “Been with Ransford about two years. + Clever chap, undoubtedly, but certainly deep and, in a way, reserved, + though he can talk plenty if he's so minded and it's to his own advantage. + He left Ransford suddenly—that very morning. I don't know why. Since + then he's remained in the town. I've heard that he's pretty keen on + Ransford's ward—sister of that lad we saw tonight. I don't know + myself, if it's true—but I've wondered if that had anything to do + with his leaving Ransford so suddenly.” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely,” said Jettison. They had crossed the Close by that time and + come to a gas-lamp which stood at the entrance, and the detective pulled + out his watch and glanced at it. “Ten past eleven,” he said. “You say you + know this Bryce pretty well? Now, would it be too late—if he's up + still—to take a look at him! If you and he are on good terms, you + could make an excuse. After what I've heard, I'd like to get at close + quarters with this gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “Easy enough,” assented Mitchington. “I've been there as late as this—he's + one of the sort that never goes to bed before midnight. Come on!—it's + close by. But—not a word of where we've been. I'll say I've dropped + in to give him a bit of news. We'll tell him about the jewel business—and + see how he takes it. And while we're there—size him up!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington was right in his description of Bryce's habits—Bryce + rarely went to bed before one o'clock in the morning. He liked to sit up, + reading. His favourite mental food was found in the lives of statesmen and + diplomatists, most of them of the sort famous for trickery and chicanery—he + not only made a close study of the ways of these gentry but wrote down + notes and abstracts of passages which particularly appealed to him. His + lamp was burning when Mitchington and Jettison came in view of his windows—but + that night Bryce was doing no thinking about statecraft: his mind was + fixed on his own affairs. He had lighted his fire on going home and for an + hour had sat with his legs stretched out on the fender, carefully weighing + things up. The event of the night had convinced him that he was at a + critical phase of his present adventure, and it behoved him, as a good + general, to review his forces. + </p> + <p> + The forestalling of his plans about the hiding-place in Paradise had upset + Bryce's schemes—he had figured on being able to turn that secret, + whatever it was, to his own advantage. It struck him now, as he meditated, + that he had never known exactly what he expected to get out of that secret—but + he had hoped that it would have been something which would make a few more + considerable and tightly-strung meshes in the net which he was + endeavouring to weave around Ransford. Now he was faced by the fact that + it was not going to yield anything in the way of help—it was a + secret no longer, and it had yielded nothing beyond the mere knowledge + that John Braden, who was in reality John Brake, had carried the secret to + Wrychester—to reveal it in the proper quarter. That helped Bryce in + no way—so far as he could see. And therefore it was necessary to + re-state his case to himself; to take stock; to see where he stood—and + more than all, to put plainly before his own mind exactly what he wanted. + </p> + <p> + And just before Mitchington and the detective came up the path to his + door, Bryce had put his notions into clear phraseology. His aim was + definite—he wanted to get Ransford completely into his power, + through suspicion of Ransford's guilt in the affairs of Braden and + Collishaw. He wanted, at the same time, to have the means of exonerating + him—whether by fact or by craft—so that, as an ultimate method + of success for his own projects he would be able to go to Mary Bewery and + say “Ransford's very life is at my mercy: if I keep silence, he's lost: if + I speak, he's saved: it's now for you to say whether I'm to speak or hold + my tongue—and you're the price I want for my speaking to save him!” + It was in accordance with his views of human nature that Mary Bewery would + accede to his terms: he had not known her and Ransford for nothing, and he + was aware that she had a profound gratitude for her guardian, which might + even be akin to a yet unawakened warmer feeling. The probability was that + she would willingly sacrifice herself to save Ransford—and Bryce + cared little by what means he won her, fair or foul, so long as he was + successful. So now, he said to himself, he must make a still more definite + move against Ransford. He must strengthen and deepen the suspicions which + the police already had: he must give them chapter and verse and supply + them with information, and get Ransford into the tightest of corners, + solely that, in order to win Mary Bewery, he might have the credit of + pulling him out again. That, he felt certain, he could do—if he + could make a net in which to enclose Ransford he could also invent a + two-edged sword which would cut every mesh of that net into fragments. + That would be—child's play—mere statecraft—elementary + diplomacy. But first—to get Ransford fairly bottled up—that + was the thing! He determined to lose no more time—and he was + thinking of visiting Mitchington immediately after breakfast next morning + when Mitchington knocked at his door. + </p> + <p> + Bryce was rarely taken back, and on seeing Mitchington and a companion, he + forthwith invited them into his parlour, put out his whisky and cigars, + and pressed both on them as if their late call were a matter of usual + occurrence. And when he had helped both to a drink, he took one himself, + and tumbler in hand, dropped into his easy chair again. + </p> + <p> + “We saw your light, doctor—so I took the liberty of dropping into + tell you a bit of news,” observed the inspector. “But I haven't introduced + my friend—this is Detective-Sergeant Jettison, of the Yard—we've + got him down about this business—must have help, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce gave the detective a half-sharp, half-careless look and nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Jettison will have abundant opportunities for the exercise of his + talents!” he observed in his best cynical manner. “I dare say he's found + that out already.” + </p> + <p> + “Not an easy affair, sir, to be sure,” assented Jettison. “Complicated!” + </p> + <p> + “Highly so!” agreed Bryce. He yawned, and glanced at the inspector. + “What's your news, Mitchington?” he asked, almost indifferently. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” answered Mitchington. “As the Herald's published tomorrow + you'll see it in there, doctor—I've supplied an account for this + week's issue; just a short one—but I thought you'd like to know. + You've heard of the famous jewel robbery at the Duke's, some years ago? + Yes?—well, we've found all the whole bundle tonight—buried in + Paradise! And how do you think the secret came out?” + </p> + <p> + “No good at guessing,” said Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “It came out,” continued Mitchington, “through a man who, with Braden—Braden, + mark you!—got in possession of it—it's a long story—and, + with Braden, was going to reveal it to the Duke that very day Braden was + killed. This man waited until this very morning and then told his Grace—his + Grace came with him to us this afternoon, and tonight we made a search and + found—everything! Buried—there in Paradise! Dug 'em up, + doctor!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce showed no great interest. He took a leisurely sip at his liquor and + set down the glass and pulled out his cigarette case. The two men, + watching him narrowly, saw that his fingers were steady as rocks as he + struck the match. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said as he threw the match away. “I saw you busy.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of himself Mitchington could not repress a start nor a glance at + Jettison. But Jettison was as imperturbable as Bryce himself, and + Mitchington raised a forced laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You did!” he said, incredulously. “And we thought we had it all to + ourselves! How did you come to know, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Young Bewery told me what was going on,” replied Bryce, “so I took a look + at you. And I fetched old Harker to take a look, too. We all watched you—the + boy, Harker, and I—out of sheer curiosity, of course. We saw you get + up the parcel. But, naturally, I didn't know what was in it—till + now.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington, thoroughly taken aback by this candid statement, was at a + loss for words, and again he glanced at Jettison. But Jettison gave no + help, and Mitchington fell back on himself. + </p> + <p> + “So you fetched old Harker?” he said. “What—what for, doctor? If one + may ask, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made a careless gesture with his cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—old Harker's deeply interested in what's going on,” he answered. + “And as young Bewery drew my attention to your proceedings, why, I thought + I'd draw Harker's. And Harker was—interested.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington hesitated before saying more. But eventually he risked a + leading question. + </p> + <p> + “Any special reason why he should be, doctor?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Bryce put his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and looked + half-lazily at his questioner. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who old Harker really is?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “No!” answered Mitchington. “I know nothing about him—except that + he's said to be a retired tradesman, from London, who settled down here + some time ago.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce suddenly turned on Jettison. + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I, sir!” exclaimed Jettison. “I don't know this gentleman—at all!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce laughed—with his usual touch of cynical sneering. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you—now—who old Harker is, Mitchington,” he said. + “You may as well know. I thought Mr. Jettison might recognize the name. + Harker is no retired London tradesman—he's a retired member of your + profession, Mr. Jettison. He was in his day one of the smartest men in the + service of your department. Only he's transposed his name—ask them + at the Yard if they remember Harker Simpson? That seems to startle you, + Mitchington! Well, as you're here, perhaps I'd better startle you a bit + more.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. THE SUBTLETY OF THE DEVIL + </h2> + <p> + There was a sudden determination and alertness in Bryce's last words which + contrasted strongly, and even strangely, with the almost cynical + indifference that had characterized him since his visitors came in, and + the two men recognized it and glanced questioningly at each other. There + was an alteration, too, in his manner; instead of lounging lazily in his + chair, as if he had no other thought than of personal ease, he was now + sitting erect, looking sharply from one man to the other; his whole + attitude, bearing, speech seemed to indicate that he had suddenly made up + his mind to adopt some definite course of action. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you more!” he repeated. “And, since you're here—now!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington, who felt a curious uneasiness, gave Jettison another glance. + And this time it was Jettison who spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I should say,” he remarked quietly, “knowing what I've gathered of the + matter, that we ought to be glad of any information Dr. Bryce can give + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, to be sure!” assented Mitchington. “You know more, then, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce motioned his visitors to draw their chairs nearer to his, and when + he spoke it was in the low, concentrated tones of a man who means business—and + confidential business. + </p> + <p> + “Now look here, Mitchington,” he said, “and you, too, Mr. Jettison, as + you're on this job—I'm going to talk straight to both of you. And to + begin with, I'll make a bold assertion—I know more of this + Wrychester Paradise mystery—involving the deaths of both Braden and + Collishaw, than any man living—because, though you don't know it, + Mitchington, I've gone right into it. And I'll tell you in confidence why + I went into it—I want to marry Dr. Ransford's ward, Miss Bewery!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce accompanied this candid admission with a look which seemed to say: + Here we are, three men of the world, who know what things are—we + understand each other! And while Jettison merely nodded comprehendingly, + Mitchington put his thoughts into words. + </p> + <p> + “To be sure, doctor, to be sure!” he said. “And accordingly—what's + their affair, is yours! Of course!” + </p> + <p> + “Something like that,” assented Bryce. “Naturally no man wishes to marry + unless he knows as much as he can get to know about the woman he wants, + her family, her antecedents—and all that. Now, pretty nearly + everybody in Wrychester who knows them, knows that there's a mystery about + Dr. Ransford and his two wards—it's been talked of, no end, amongst + the old dowagers and gossips of the Close, particularly—you know + what they are! Miss Bewery herself, and her brother, young Dick, in a + lesser degree, know there's a mystery. And if there's one man in the world + who knows the secret, it's Ransford. And, up to now, Ransford won't tell—he + won't even tell Miss Bewery. I know that she's asked him—he keeps up + an obstinate silence. And so—I determined to find things out for + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye—and when did you start on that little game, now, doctor?” asked + Mitchington. “Was it before, or since, this affair developed?” + </p> + <p> + “In a really serious way—since,” replied Bryce. “What happened on + the day of Braden's death made me go thoroughly into the whole matter. + Now, what did happen? I'll tell you frankly, now, Mitchington, that when + we talked once before about this affair, I didn't tell you all I might + have told. I'd my reasons for reticence. But now I'll give you full + particulars of what happened that morning within my knowledge—pay + attention, both of you, and you'll see how one thing fits into another. + That morning, about half-past nine, Ransford left his surgery and went + across the Close. Not long after he'd gone, this man Braden came to the + door, and asked me if Dr. Ransford was in? I said he wasn't—he'd + just gone out, and I showed the man in which direction. He said he'd once + known a Dr. Ransford, and went away. A little later, I followed. Near the + entrance of Paradise, I saw Ransford leaving the west porch of the + Cathedral. He was undeniably in a state of agitation—pale, nervous. + He didn't see me. I went on and met Varner, who told me of the accident. I + went with him to the foot of St. Wrytha's Stair and found the man who had + recently called at the surgery. He died just as I reached him. I sent for + you. When you came, I went back to the surgery—I found Ransford + there in a state of most unusual agitation—he looked like a man who + has had a terrible shock. So much for these events. Put them together.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce paused awhile, as if marshalling his facts. + </p> + <p> + “Now, after that,” he continued presently, “I began to investigate matters + myself—for my own satisfaction. And very soon I found out certain + things—which I'll summarize, briefly, because some of my facts are + doubtless known to you already. First of all—the man who came here + as John Braden was, in reality, one John Brake. He was at one time manager + of a branch of a well-known London banking company. He appropriated money + from them under apparently mysterious circumstances of which I, as yet, + knew nothing; he was prosecuted, convicted, and sentenced to ten years' + penal servitude. And those two wards of Ransford's, Mary and Richard + Bewery, as they are called, are, in reality, Mary and Richard Brake—his + children.” + </p> + <p> + “You've established that as a fact?” asked Jettison, who was listening + with close attention. “It's not a surmise on your part?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce hesitated before replying to this question. After all, he reflected, + it was a surmise. He could not positively prove his assertion. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he answered after a moment's thought, “I'll qualify that by saying + that from the evidence I have, and from what I know, I believe it to be an + indisputable fact. What I do know of fact, hard, positive fact, is this:—John + Brake married a Mary Bewery at the parish church of Braden Medworth, near + Barthorpe, in Leicestershire: I've seen the entry in the register with my + own eyes. His best man, who signed the register as a witness, was Mark + Ransford. Brake and Ransford, as young men, had been in the habit of going + to Braden Medworth to fish; Mary Bewery was governess at the vicarage + there. It was always supposed she would marry Ransford; instead, she + married Brake, who, of course, took her off to London. Of their married + life, I know nothing. But within a few years, Brake was in trouble, for + the reason I have told you. He was arrested—and Harker was the man + who arrested him.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” exclaimed Mitchington. “Now, if I'd only known—” + </p> + <p> + “You'll know a lot before I'm through,” said Bryce. “Now, Harker, of + course, can tell a lot—yet it's unsatisfying. Brake could make no + defence—but his counsel threw out strange hints and suggestions—all + to the effect that Brake had been cruelly and wickedly deceived—in + fact, as it were, trapped into doing what he did. And—by a man whom + he'd trusted as a close friend. So much came to Harker's ears—but no + more, and on that particular point I've no light. Go on from that to + Brake's private affairs. At the time of his arrest he had a wife and two + very young children. Either just before, or at, or immediately after his + arrest they completely disappeared—and Brake himself utterly refused + to say one single word about them. Harker asked if he could do anything—Brake's + answer was that no one was to concern himself. He preserved an obstinate + silence on that point. The clergyman in whose family Mrs. Brake had been + governess saw Brake, after his conviction—Brake would say nothing to + him. Of Mrs. Brake, nothing more is known—to me at any rate. What + was known at the time is this—Brake communicated to all who came in + contact with him, just then, the idea of a man who has been cruelly + wronged and deceived, who takes refuge in sullen silence, and who is + already planning and cherishing—revenge!” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, aye!” muttered Mitchington. “Revenge?—just So!” + </p> + <p> + “Brake, then,” continued Bryce, “goes off to his term of penal servitude, + and so disappears—until he reappears here in Wrychester. Leave him + for a moment, and go back. And—it's a going back, no doubt, to + supposition and to theory—but there's reason in what I shall + advance. We know—beyond doubt—that Brake had been tricked and + deceived, in some money matter, by some man—some mysterious man—whom + he referred to as having been his closest friend. We know, too, that there + was extraordinary mystery in the disappearance of his wife and children. + Now, from all that has been found out, who was Brake's closest friend? + Ransford! And of Ransford, at that time, there's no trace. He, too, + disappeared—that's a fact which I've established. Years later, he + reappears—here at Wrychester, where he's bought a practice. + Eventually he has two young people, who are represented as his wards, come + to live with him. Their name is Bewery. The name of the young woman whom + John Brake married was Bewery. What's the inference? That their mother's + dead—that they're known under her maiden name: that they, without a + shadow of doubt, are John Brake's children. And that leads up to my theory—which + I'll now tell you in confidence—if you wish for it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's what I particularly wish for,” observed Jettison quietly. “The very + thing!” + </p> + <p> + “Then, it's this,” said Bryce. “Ransford was the close friend who tricked + and deceived Brake: + </p> + <p> + “He probably tricked him in some money affair, and deceived him in his + domestic affairs. I take it that Ransford ran away with Brake's wife, and + that Brake, sooner than air all his grievance to the world, took it + silently and began to concoct his ideas of revenge. I put the whole thing + this way. Ransford ran away with Mrs. Brake and the two children—mere + infants—and disappeared. Brake, when he came out of prison, went + abroad—possibly with the idea of tracking them. Meanwhile, as is + quite evident, he engaged in business and did well. He came back to + England as John Braden, and, for the reason of which you're aware, he paid + a visit to Wrychester, utterly unaware that any one known to him lived + here. Now, try to reconstruct what happened. He looks round the Close that + morning. He sees the name of Dr. Mark Ransford on the brass plate of a + surgery door. He goes to the surgery, asks a question, makes a remark, + goes away. What is the probable sequence of events? He meets Ransford near + the Cathedral—where Ransford certainly was. They recognize each + other—most likely they turn aside, go up to that gallery as a quiet + place, to talk—there is an altercation—blows—somehow or + other, probably from accident, Braden is thrown through that open doorway, + to his death. And—Collishaw saw what happened!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce was watching his listeners, turning alternately from one to the + other. But it needed little attention on his part to see that theirs was + already closely strained; each man was eagerly taking in all that he said + and suggested. And he went on emphasizing every point as he made it. + </p> + <p> + “Collishaw saw what happened?” he repeated. “That, of course, is theory—supposition. + But now we pass from theory back to actual fact. I'll tell you something + now, Mitchington, which you've never heard of, I'm certain. I made it in + my way, after Collishaw's death, to get some information, secretly, from + his widow, who's a fairly shrewd, intelligent woman for her class. Now, + the widow, in looking over her husband's effects, in a certain drawer in + which he kept various personal matters, came across the deposit book of a + Friendly Society of which Collishaw had been a member for some years. It + appears that he, Collishaw, was something of a saving man, and every year + he managed to put by a bit of money out of his wages, and twice or thrice + in the year he took these savings—never very much; merely a pound or + two—to this Friendly Society, which, it seems, takes deposits in + that way from its members. Now, in this book is an entry—I saw it—which + shows that only two days before his death, Collishaw paid fifty pounds—fifty + pounds, mark you!—into the Friendly Society. Where should Collishaw + get fifty pounds, all of a sudden! He was a mason's labourer, earning at + the very outside twenty-six or eight shillings a week. According to his + wife, there was no one to leave him a legacy. She never heard of his + receipt of this money from any source. But—there's the fact! What + explains it? My theory—that the rumour that Collishaw, with a pint + too much ale in him, had hinted that he could say something about Braden's + death if he chose, had reached Braden's assailant; that he had made it his + business to see Collishaw and had paid him that fifty pounds as hush-money—and, + later, had decided to rid himself of Collishaw altogether, as he + undoubtedly did, by poison.” + </p> + <p> + Once more Bryce paused—and once more the two listeners showed their + attention by complete silence. + </p> + <p> + “Now we come to the question—how was Collishaw poisoned?” continued + Bryce. “For poisoned he was, without doubt. Here we go back to theory and + supposition once more. I haven't the least doubt that the hydrocyanic acid + which caused his death was taken by him in a pill—a pill that was in + that box which they found on him, Mitchington, and showed me. But that + particular pill, though precisely similar in appearance, could not be made + up of the same ingredients which were in the other pills. It was probably + a thickly coated pill which contained the poison;—in solution of + course. The coating would melt almost as soon as the man had swallowed it—and + death would result instantaneously. Collishaw, you may say, was condemned + to death when he put that box of pills in his waistcoat pocket. It was + mere chance, mere luck, as to when the exact moment of death came to him. + There had been six pills in that box—there were five left. So + Collishaw picked out the poisoned pill—first! It might have been + delayed till the sixth dose, you see—but he was doomed.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington showed a desire to speak, and Bryce paused. + </p> + <p> + “What about what Ransford said before the Coroner?” asked Mitchington. “He + demanded certain information about the post-mortem, you know, which, he + said, ought to have shown that there was nothing poisonous in those + pills.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh!” exclaimed Bryce contemptuously. “Mere bluff! Of such a pill as + that I've described there'd be no trace but the sugar coating—and + the poison. I tell you, I haven't the least doubt that that was how the + poison was administered. It was easy. And—who is there that would + know how easily it could be administered but—a medical man?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington and Jettison exchanged glances. Then Jettison leaned nearer to + Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “So your theory is that Ransford got rid of both Braden and Collishaw—murdered + both of them, in fact?” he suggested. “Do I understand that's what it + really comes to—in plain words?” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite,” replied Bryce. “I don't say that Ransford meant to kill + Braden—my notion is that they met, had an altercation, probably a + struggle, and that Braden lost his life in it. But as regards Collishaw—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't forget!” interrupted Mitchington. “Varner swore that he saw Braden + flung through that doorway! Flung out! He saw a hand.” + </p> + <p> + “For everything that Varner could prove to the contrary,” answered Bryce, + “the hand might have been stretched out to pull Braden back. No—I + think there may have been accident in that affair. But, as regards + Collishaw—murder, without doubt—deliberate!” + </p> + <p> + He lighted another cigarette, with the air of a man who had spoken his + mind, and Mitchington, realizing that he had said all he had to say, got + up from his seat. + </p> + <p> + “Well—it's all very interesting and very clever, doctor,” he said, + glancing at Jettison. “And we shall keep it all in mind. Of course, you've + talked all this over with Harker? I should like to know what he has to + say. Now that you've told us who he is, I suppose we can talk to him?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to wait a few days, then,” said Bryce. “He's gone to town—by + the last train tonight—on this business. I've sent him. I had some + information today about Ransford's whereabouts during the time of + disappearance, and I've commissioned Harker to examine into it. When I + hear what he's found out, I'll let you know.” + </p> + <p> + “You're taking some trouble,” remarked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “I've told you the reason,” answered Bryce. + </p> + <p> + Mitchington hesitated a little; then, with a motion of his head towards + the door, beckoned Jettison to follow him. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said. “There's plenty for us to see into, I'm thinking!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce laughed and pointed to a shelf of books near the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what Napoleon Bonaparte once gave as sound advice to police?” + he asked. “No! Then I'll tell you. 'The art of the police,' he said, 'is + not to see that which it is useless for it to see.' Good counsel, + Mitchington!” + </p> + <p> + The two men went away through the midnight streets, and kept silence until + they were near the door of Jettison's hotel. Then Mitchington spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” he said. “We've had a couple of tales, anyhow! What do you think + of things, now?” + </p> + <p> + Jettison threw back his head with a dry laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Never been better puzzled in all my time!” he said. “Never! But—if + that young doctor's playing a game—then, by the Lord Harry, + inspector, it's a damned deep 'un! And my advice is—watch the lot!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. JETTISON TAKES A HAND + </h2> + <p> + By breakfast time next morning the man from New Scotland Yard had + accomplished a series of meditations on the confidences made to him and + Mitchington the night before and had determined on at least one course of + action. But before entering upon it he had one or two important letters to + write, the composition of which required much thought and trouble, and by + the time he had finished them, and deposited them by his own hand in the + General Post Office, it was drawing near to noon—the great bell of + the Cathedral, indeed, was proclaiming noontide to Wrychester as Jettison + turned into the police-station and sought Mitchington in his office. + </p> + <p> + “I was just coming round to see if you'd overslept yourself,” said + Mitchington good-humouredly. “We were up pretty late last night, or, + rather, this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I've had letters to write,” said Jettison. He sat down and picked up a + newspaper and cast a casual glance over it. “Got anything fresh?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this much,” answered Mitchington. “The two gentlemen who told us so + much last night are both out of town. I made an excuse to call on them + both early this morning—just on nine o'clock. Dr. Ransford went up + to London by the eight-fifteen. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Bryce, says his landlady, went out on his bicycle at half-past eight—where, + she didn't know, but, she fancied, into the country. However, I + ascertained that Ransford is expected back this evening, and Bryce gave + orders for his usual dinner to be ready at seven o'clock, and so—” + </p> + <p> + Jettison flung away the newspaper and pulled out his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't think they'll run away—either of 'em,” he remarked + indifferently. “They're both too cock-sure of their own ways of looking at + things.” + </p> + <p> + “You looked at 'em any more?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Done a bit of reflecting—yes,” replied the detective. “Complicated + affair, my lad! More in it than one would think at first sight. I'm + certain of this quite apart from whatever mystery there is about the + Braden affair and the Collishaw murder, there's a lot of scheming and + contriving been going on—and is going on!—somewhere, by + somebody. Underhand work, you understand? However, my particular job is + the Collishaw business—and there's a bit of information I'd like to + get hold of at once. Where's the office of that Friendly Society we heard + about last night?” + </p> + <p> + “That'll be the Wrychester Second Friendly,” answered Mitchington. “There + are two such societies in the town—the first's patronized by small + tradesmen and the like; the second by workingmen. The second does take + deposits from its members. The office is in Fladgate—secretary's + name outside—Mr. Stebbing. What are you after?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell you later,” said Jettison. “Just an idea.” + </p> + <p> + He went leisurely out and across the market square and into the narrow, + old-world street called Fladgate, along which he strolled as if doing no + more than looking about him until he came to an ancient shop which had + been converted into an office, and had a wire blind over the lower half of + its front window, wherein was woven in conspicuous gilt letters Wrychester + Second Friendly Society—George Stebbing, Secretary. Nothing + betokened romance or mystery in that essentially humble place, but it was + in Jettison's mind that when he crossed its threshold he was on his way to + discovering something that would possibly clear up the problem on which he + was engaged. + </p> + <p> + The staff of the Second Friendly was inconsiderable in numbers—an + outer office harboured a small boy and a tall young man; an inner one + accommodated Mr. Stebbing, also a young man, sandy-haired and freckled, + who, having inspected Detective-Sergeant Jettison's professional card, + gave him the best chair in the room and stared at him with a mingling of + awe and curiosity which plainly showed that he had never entertained a + detective before. And as if to show his visitor that he realized the + seriousness of the occasion, he nodded meaningly at his door. + </p> + <p> + “All safe, here, sir!” he whispered. “Well fitting doors in these old + houses—knew how to make 'em in those days. No chance of being + overheard here—what can I do for you, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you—much obliged to you,” said Jettison. “No objection to my + pipe, I suppose? Just so. Ah!—well, between you and me, Mr. + Stebbing, I'm down here in connection with that Collishaw case—you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, sir—poor fellow!” said the secretary. “Cruel thing, sir, if + the man was put an end to. One of our members, was Collishaw, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “So I understand,” remarked Jettison. “That's what I've come about. Bit of + information, on the quiet, eh? Strictly between our two selves—for + the present.” + </p> + <p> + Stebbing nodded and winked, as if he had been doing business with + detectives all his life. “To be sure, sir, to be sure!” he responded with + alacrity. “Just between you and me and the door post!—all right. Anything + I can do, Mr. Jettison, shall be done. But it's more in the way of what I + can tell, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Something of that sort,” replied Jettison in his slow, easy-going + fashion. “I want to know a thing or two. Yours is a working-man's society, + I think? Aye—and I understand you've a system whereby such a man can + put his bits of savings by in your hands?” + </p> + <p> + “A capital system, too!” answered the secretary, seizing on a pamphlet and + pushing it into his visitor's hand. “I don't believe there's better in + England! If you read that—” + </p> +<p> +“I'll take a look at it some time,” said Jettison, putting the pamphlet +in his pocket. “Well, now, I also understand that Collishaw was in the +habit of bringing you a bit of saved money now and then a sort of saving +fellow, wasn't he?” Stebbing nodded assent and reached for a ledger +which lay on the farther side of his desk. +</p> +<p> +“Collishaw,” he answered, “had been a member of our society +ever since it started—fourteen years ago. And he'd been putting in +savings for some eight or nine years. Not much, you'll understand. Say, +as an average, two to three pounds every half-year—never more. But, +just before his death, or murder, or whatever you like to call it, he +came in here one day with fifty pounds! Fairly astounded me, sir! Fifty +pounds—all in a lump!” + </p> + <p> + “It's about that fifty pounds I want to know something,” said Jettison. + “He didn't tell you how he'd come by it? Wasn't a legacy, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't say anything but that he'd had a bit of luck,” answered + Stebbing. “I asked no questions. Legacy, now?—no, he didn't mention + that. Here it is,” he continued, turning over the pages of the ledger. + “There! 50 pounds. You see the date—that 'ud be two days before his + death.” + </p> + <p> + Jettison glanced at the ledger and resumed his seat. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, Mr. Stebbing, I want you to tell me something very definite,” + he said. “It's not so long since this happened, so you'll not have to tag + your memory to any great extent. In what form did Collishaw pay that fifty + pounds to you?” + </p> + <p> + “That's easy answered, sir,” said the secretary. “It was in gold. Fifty + sovereigns—he had 'em in a bit of a bag.” Jettison reflected on this + information for a moment or two. Then he rose. + </p> + <p> + “Much obliged to you, Mr. Stebbing,” he said. “That's something worth + knowing. Now there's something else you can tell me as long as I'm here—though, + to be sure, I could save you the trouble by using my own eyes. How many + banks are there in this little city of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Three,” answered Stebbing promptly. “Old Bank, in Monday Market; Popham + & Hargreaves, in the Square; Wrychester Bank, in Spurriergate. That's + the lot.” + </p> + <p> + “Much obliged,” said Jettison. “And—for the present—not a word + of what we've talked about. You'll be hearing more—later.” + </p> + <p> + He went away, memorizing the names of the three banking establishments—ten + minutes later he was in the private parlour of the first, in serious + conversation with its manager. Here it was necessary to be more secret, + and to insist on more secrecy than with the secretary of the Second + Friendly, and to produce all his credentials and give all his reasons. But + Jettison drew that covert blank, and the next, too, and it was not until + he had been closeted for some time with the authorities of the third bank + that he got the information he wanted. And when he had got it, he + impressed secrecy and silence on his informants in a fashion which showed + them that however easy-going his manner might be, he knew his business as + thoroughly as they knew theirs. + </p> + <p> + It was by that time past one o'clock, and Jettison turned into the small + hotel at which he had lodged himself. He thought much and gravely while he + ate his dinner; he thought still more while he smoked his after-dinner + pipe. And his face was still heavy with thought when, at three o'clock, he + walked into Mitchington's office and finding the inspector alone shut the + door and drew a chair to Mitchington's desk. + </p> + <p> + “Now then,” he said. “I've had a rare morning's work, and made a + discovery, and you and me, my lad, have got to have about as serious a bit + of talk as we've had since I came here.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington pushed his papers aside and showed his keen attention. + </p> + <p> + “You remember what that young fellow told us last night about that man + Collishaw paying in fifty pounds to the Second Friendly two days before + his death,” said Jettison. “Well, I thought over that business a lot, + early this morning, and I fancied I saw how I could find something out + about it. So I have—on the strict quiet. That's why I went to the + Friendly Society. The fact was—I wanted to know in what form + Collishaw handed in that fifty pounds. I got to know. Gold!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington, whose work hitherto had not led him into the mysteries of + detective enterprise, nodded delightedly. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” he said. “Rare idea! I should never have thought of it! And—what + do you make out of that, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” replied Jettison. “But—a good deal out of what I've + learned since that bit of a discovery. Now, put it to yourself—whoever + it was that paid Collishaw that fifty pounds in gold did it with a motive. + More than one motive, to be exact—but we'll stick to one, to begin + with. The motive for paying in gold was—avoidance of discovery. A + cheque can be readily traced. So can banknotes. But gold is not easily + traced. Therefore the man who paid Collishaw fifty pounds took care to + provide himself with gold. Now then—how many men are there in a + small place like this who are likely to carry fifty pounds in gold in + their pockets, or to have it at hand?” + </p> + <p> + “Not many,” agreed Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Just so—and therefore I've been doing a bit of secret inquiry + amongst the bankers, as to who supplied himself with gold about that + date,” continued Jettison. “I'd to convince 'em of the absolute necessity + of information, too, before I got any! But I got some—at the third + attempt. On the day previous to that on which Collishaw handed that fifty + pounds to Stebbing, a certain Wrychester man drew fifty pounds in gold at + his bank. Who do you think he was?” + </p> + <p> + “Who—who?” demanded Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + Jettison leaned half-across the desk. + </p> + <p> + “Bryce!” he said in a whisper. “Bryce!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington sat up in his chair and opened his mouth in sheer + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” he muttered after a moment's silence. “You don't mean it?” + </p> + <p> + “Fact!” answered Jettison. “Plain, incontestable fact, my lad. Dr. Bryce + keeps an account at the Wrychester bank. On the day I'm speaking of he + cashed a cheque to self for fifty pounds and took it all in gold.” + </p> + <p> + The two men looked at each other as if each were asking his companion a + question. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Mitchington at last. “You're a cut above me, Jettison. What + do you make of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I said last night that the young man was playing a deep game,” replied + Jettison. “But—what game? What's he building up? For mark you, + Mitchington, if—I say if, mind!—if that fifty pounds which he + drew in gold is the identical fifty paid to Collishaw, Bryce didn't pay it + as hush-money!” + </p> + <p> + “Think not?” said Mitchington, evidently surprised. “Now, that was my + first impression. If it wasn't hush-money—” + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't hush-money, for this reason,” interrupted Jettison. “We know + that whatever else he knew, Bryce didn't know of the accident to Braden + until Varner fetched him to Braden. That's established—on what + you've put before me. Therefore, whatever Collishaw saw, before or at the + time that accident happened, it wasn't Bryce who was mixed up in it. + Therefore, why should Bryce pay Collishaw hush-money?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington, who had evidently been thinking, suddenly pulled out a drawer + in his desk and took some papers from it which he began to turn over. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute,” he said. “I've an abstract here—of what the foreman + at the Cathedral mason's yard told me of what he knew as to where + Collishaw was working that morning when the accident happened—I made + a note of it when I questioned him after Collishaw's death. Here you are: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Foreman says that on morning of Braden's accident, + Collishaw was at work in the north gallery of the + clerestory, clearing away some timber which the + carpenters had left there. Collishaw was certainly + thus engaged from nine o'clock until past eleven + that morning. Mem. Have investigated this myself. + From the exact spot where C. was clearing the timber, + there is an uninterrupted view of the gallery on the + south side of the nave, and of the arched doorway at + the head of St. Wrytha's Stair.'” + </pre> + <p> + “'Well,” observed Jettison, “that proves what I'm saying. It wasn't + hush-money. For whoever it was that Collishaw saw lay hands on Braden, it + wasn't Bryce—Bryce, we know, was at that time coming across the + Close or crossing that path through the part you call Paradise: Varner's + evidence proves that. So—if the fifty pounds wasn't paid for + hush-money, what was it paid for?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suggest anything?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “I've thought of two or three things,” answered the detective. “One's this—was + the fifty pounds paid for information? If so, and Bryce has that + information, why doesn't he show his hand more plainly? If he bribed + Collishaw with fifty pounds: to tell him who Braden's assailant was, he + now knows!—so why doesn't he let it out, and have done with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Part of his game—if that theory's right,” murmured Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “It mayn't be right,” said Jettison. “But it's one. And there's another—supposing + he paid Collishaw that money on behalf of somebody else? I've thought this + business out right and left, top-side and bottom-side, and hang me if I + don't feel certain there is somebody else! What did Ransford tell us about + Bryce and this old Harker—think of that! And yet, according to + Bryce, Harker is one of our old Yard men!—and therefore ought to be + above suspicion.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington suddenly started as if an idea had occurred to him. + </p> + <p> + “I say, you know!” he exclaimed. “We've only Bryce's word for it that + Harker is an ex-detective. I never heard that he was—if he is, he's + kept it strangely quiet. You'd have thought that he'd have let us know, + here, of his previous calling—I never heard of a policeman of any + rank who didn't like to have a bit of talk with his own sort about + professional matters.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor me,” assented Jettison. “And as you say, we've only Bryce's word. + And, the more I think of it, the more I'm convinced there's somebody—some + man of whom you don't seem to have the least idea—who's in this. And + it may be that Bryce is in with him. However—here's one thing I'm + going to do at once. Bryce gave us that information about the fifty + pounds. Now I'm going to tell Bryce straight out that I've gone into that + matter in my own fashion—a fashion he evidently never thought of—and + ask him to explain why he drew a similar amount in gold. Come on round to + his rooms.” + </p> + <p> + But Bryce was not to be found at his rooms—had not been back to his + rooms, said his landlady, since he had ridden away early in the morning: + all she knew was that he had ordered his dinner to be ready at his usual + time that evening. With that the two men had to be content, and they went + back to the police-station still discussing the situation. And they were + still discussing it an hour later when a telegram was handed to + Mitchington, who tore it open, glanced over its contents and passed it to + his companion who read it aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Meet me with Jettison Wrychester Station on arrival of five-twenty + express from London mystery cleared up guilty men known—Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + Jettison handed the telegram back. + </p> + <p> + “A man of his word!” he said. “He mentioned two days—he's done it in + one! And now, my lad—do you notice?—he says men, not man! It's + as I said—there's been more than one of 'em in this affair. Now then—who + are they?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. THE SAXONSTEADE ARMS + </h2> + <p> + Bryce had ridden away on his bicycle from Wrychester that morning intent + on a new piece of diplomacy. He had sat up thinking for some time after + the two police officials had left him at midnight, and it had occurred to + him that there was a man from whom information could be had of whose + services he had as yet made no use but who must be somewhere in the + neighbourhood—the man Glassdale. Glassdale had been in Wrychester + the previous evening; he could scarcely be far away now; there was + certainly one person who would know where he could be found, and that + person was the Duke of Saxonsteade. Bryce knew the Duke to be an extremely + approachable man, a talkative, even a garrulous man, given to holding + converse with anybody about anything, and he speedily made up his mind to + ride over to Saxonsteade, invent a plausible excuse for his call, and get + some news out of his Grace. Even if Glassdale had left the neighbourhood, + there might be fragments of evidence to pick up from the Duke, for + Glassdale, he knew, had given his former employer the information about + the stolen jewels and would, no doubt, have added more about his + acquaintance with Braden. And before Bryce came to his dreamed-of + master-stroke in that matter, there were one or two things he wanted to + clear up, to complete his double net, and he had an idea that an hour's + chat with Glassdale would yield all that he desired. + </p> + <p> + The active brain that had stood Bryce in good stead while he spun his + meshes and devised his schemes was more active than ever that early summer + morning. It was a ten-mile ride through woods and valleys to Saxonsteade, + and there were sights and beauties of nature on either side of him which + any other man would have lingered to admire and most men would have been + influenced by. But Bryce had no eyes for the clouds over the + copper-crowned hills or the mystic shadows in the deep valleys or the new + buds in the hedgerows, and no thought for the rustic folk whose cottages + he passed here and there in a sparsely populated country. All his thoughts + were fixed on his schemes, almost as mechanically as his eyes followed the + white road in front of his wheel. Ever since he had set out on his + campaign he had regularly taken stock of his position; he was for ever + reckoning it up. And now, in his opinion, everything looked very + promising. He had—so far as he was aware—created a definite + atmosphere of suspicion around and against Ransford—it needed only a + little more suggestion, perhaps a little more evidence to bring about + Ransford's arrest. And the only question which at all troubled Bryce was—should + he let matters go to that length before putting his ultimatum before Mary + Bewery, or should he show her his hand first? For Bryce had so worked + matters that a word from him to the police would damn Ransford or save him—and + now it all depended, so far as Bryce himself was concerned, on Mary Bewery + as to which word should be said. Elaborate as the toils were which he had + laid out for Ransford to the police, he could sweep them up and tear them + away with a sentence of added knowledge—if Mary Bewery made it worth + his while. But first—before coming to the critical point—there + was yet certain information which he desired to get, and he felt sure of + getting it if he could find Glassdale. For Glassdale, according to all + accounts, had known Braden intimately of late years, and was most likely + in possession of facts about him—and Bryce had full confidence in + himself as an interviewer of other men and a supreme belief that he could + wheedle a secret out of anybody with whom he could procure an hour's quiet + conversation. + </p> + <p> + As luck would have it, Bryce had no need to make a call upon the + approachable and friendly Duke. Outside the little village at Saxonsteade, + on the edge of the deep woods which fringed the ducal park, stood an old + wayside inn, a relic of the coaching days, which bore on its sign the + ducal arms. Into its old stone hall marched Bryce to refresh himself after + his ride, and as he stood at the bow-windowed bar, he glanced into the + garden beyond and there saw, comfortably smoking his pipe and reading the + newspaper, the very man he was looking for. + </p> + <p> + Bryce had no spice of bashfulness, no want of confidence anywhere in his + nature; he determined to attack Glassdale there and then. But he took a + good look at his man before going out into the garden to him. A plain and + ordinary sort of fellow, he thought; rather over middle age, with a tinge + of grey in his hair and moustache; prosperous looking and well-dressed, + and at that moment of the appearance of what he was probably taken for by + the inn people—a tourist. Whether he was the sort who would be + communicative or not, Bryce could not tell from outward signs, but he was + going to try, and he presently found his card-case, took out a card, and + strolling down the garden to the shady spot in which Glassdale sat, + assumed his politest and suavest manner and presented himself. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me, sir,” he said, carefully abstaining from any mention of names. + “May I have the pleasure of a few minutes' conversation with you?” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale cast a swift glance of surprise, not unmingled with suspicion, + at the intruder—the sort of glance that a man used to watchfulness + would throw at anybody, thought Bryce. But his face cleared as he read the + card, though it was still doubtful as he lifted it again. + </p> + <p> + “You've the advantage of me, sir,” he said. “Dr. Bryce, I see. But—” + </p> + <p> + Bryce smiled and dropped into a garden chair at Glassdale's side. + </p> + <p> + “You needn't be afraid of talking to me,” he answered. “I'm well known in + Wrychester. The Duke,” he went on, nodding his head in the direction of + the great house which lay behind the woods at the foot of the garden, + “knows me well enough—in fact, I was on my way to see his Grace now, + to ask him if he could tell me where you could be found. The fact is, I'm + aware of what happened last night—the jewel affair, you know—Mitchington + told me—and of your friendship with Braden, and I want to ask you a + question or two about Braden.” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale, who had looked somewhat mystified at the beginning of this + address, seemed to understand matters better by the end of it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, of course, doctor,” he said, “if that's it—but, of course—a + word first!—these folk here at the inn don't know who I am or that + I've any connection with the Duke on that affair. I'm Mr. Gordon here—just + staying for a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” answered Bryce with a smile of understanding. “All + this is between ourselves. I saw you with the Duke and the rest of them + last night, and I recognized you just now. And all I want is a bit of talk + about Braden. You knew him pretty well of late years?” + </p> + <p> + “Knew him for a good many years,” replied Glassdale. He looked narrowly at + his visitor. “I suppose you know his story—and mine?” he asked. + “Bygone affairs, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” answered Bryce reassuringly. “No need to go into that—that's + all done with.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye—well, we both put things right,” said Glassdale. “Made + restitution—both of us, you understand. So that is done with? And + you know, then, of course, who Braden really was?” + </p> + <p> + “John Brake, ex bank-manager,” answered Bryce promptly. “I know all about + it. I've been deeply interested and concerned in his death. And I'll tell + you why. I want to marry his daughter.” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale turned and stared at his companion. + </p> + <p> + “His daughter!” he exclaimed. “Brake's daughter! God bless my soul! I + never knew he had a daughter!” + </p> + <p> + It was Bryce's turn to stare now. He looked at Glassdale incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me that you knew Brake all those years and that he + never mentioned his children?” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Never a word of 'em!” replied Glassdale. “Never knew he had any!” + </p> + <p> + “Did he never speak of his past?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Not in that respect,” answered Glassdale. “I'd no idea that he was—or + had been—a married man. He certainly never mentioned wife nor + children to me, sir, and yet I knew Brake about as intimately as two men + can know each other for some years before we came back to England.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce fell into one of his fits of musing. What could be the meaning of + this extraordinary silence on Brake's part? Was there still some hidden + secret, some other mystery at which he had not yet guessed? + </p> + <p> + “Odd!” he remarked at last after a long pause during which Glassdale had + watched him curiously. “But, did he ever speak to you of an old friend of + his named Ransford—a doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” said Glassdale. “Never mentioned such a man!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce reflected again, and suddenly determined to be explicit. + </p> + <p> + “John Brake, the bank manager,” he said, “was married at a place called + Braden Medworth, in Leicestershire, to a girl named Mary Bewery. He had + two children, who would be, respectively, about four and one years of age + when his—we'll call it misfortune—happened. That's a fact!” + </p> + <p> + “First I ever heard of it, then,” said Glassdale. “And that's a fact, + too!” + </p> + <p> + “He'd also a very close friend named Ransford—Mark Ransford,” + continued Bryce. “This Ransford was best man at Brake's wedding.” + </p> + <p> + “Never heard him speak of Ransford, nor of any wedding!” affirmed + Glassdale. “All news to me, doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “This Ransford is now in practice in Wrychester,” said Bryce. “And he has + two young people living with him as his wards—a girl of twenty, a + boy of seventeen—who are, without doubt, John Brake's children. It + is the daughter that I want to marry.” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale shook his head as if in sheer perplexity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, all I can say is, you surprise me!” he remarked. “I'd no idea of + any such thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think Brake came to Wrychester because of that?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “How can I answer that, sir, when I tell you that I never heard him + breathe one word of any children?” exclaimed Glassdale. “No! I know his + reason for coming to Wrychester. It was wholly and solely—as far as + I know—to tell the Duke here about that jewel business, the secret + of which had been entrusted to Brake and me by a man on his death-bed in + Australia. Brake came to Wrychester by himself—I was to join him + next morning: we were then to go to see the Duke together. When I got to + Wrychester, I heard of Brake's accident, and being upset by it, I went + away again and waited some days until yesterday, when I made up my mind to + tell the Duke myself, as I did, with very fortunate results. No, that's + the only reason I know of why Brake came this way. I tell you I knew + nothing at all of his family affairs! He was a very close man, Brake, and + apart from his business matters, he'd only one idea in his head, and that + was lodged there pretty firmly, I can assure you!” + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “He wanted to find a certain man—or, rather, two men—who'd + cruelly deceived and wronged him, but one of 'em in particular,” answered + Glassdale. “The particular one he believed to be in Australia, until near + the end, when he got an idea that he'd left for England; as for the other, + he didn't bother much about him. But the man that he did want!—ah, + he wanted him badly!” + </p> + <p> + “Who was that man?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “A man of the name of Falkiner Wraye,” answered Glassdale promptly. “A man + he'd known in London. This Wraye, together with his partner, a man called + Flood, tricked Brake into lending 'em several thousands pounds—bank's + money, of course—for a couple of days—no more—and then + clean disappeared, leaving him to pay the piper! He was a fool, no doubt, + but he'd been mixed up with them; he'd done it before, and they'd always + kept their promises, and he did it once too often. He let 'em have some + thousands; they disappeared, and the bank inspector happened to call at + Brake's bank and ask for his balances. And—there he was. And—that's + why he'd Falkiner Wraye on his mind—as his one big idea. T'other man + was a lesser consideration, Wraye was the chief offender.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd tell me all you know about Brake,” said Bryce after a pause + during which he had done some thinking. “Between ourselves, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—I don't know that there's so much secrecy!” replied Glassdale + almost indifferently. “Of course, I knew him first when we were both + inmates of—you understand where; no need for particulars. But after + we left that place, I never saw him again until we met in Australia a few + years ago. We were both in the same trade—speculating in wool. We + got pretty thick and used to see each other a great deal, and of course, + grew confidential. He told me in time about his affair, and how he'd + traced this Wraye to the United States, and then, I think, to New Zealand, + and afterwards to Australia, and as I was knocking about the country a + great deal buying up wool, he asked me to help him, and gave me a + description of Wraye, of whom, he said, he'd certainly heard something + when he first landed at Sydney, but had never been able to trace + afterwards. But it was no good—I never either saw or heard of Wraye—and + Brake came to the conclusion he'd left Australia. And I know he hoped to + get news of him, somehow, when we returned to England.” + </p> + <p> + “That description, now?—what was it?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Glassdale. “I can't remember it all, now—big man, clean + shaven, nothing very particular except one thing. Wraye, according to + Brake, had a bad scar on his left jaw and had lost the middle finger of + his left hand—all from a gun accident. He—what's the matter, + sir?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had suddenly let his pipe fall from his lips. He took some time in + picking it up. When he raised himself again his face was calm if a little + flushed from stooping. + </p> + <p> + “Bit my pipe on a bad tooth!” he muttered. “I must have that tooth seen + to. So you never heard or saw anything of this man?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” answered Glassdale. “But I've wondered since this Wrychester + affair if Brake accidentally came across one or other of those men, and if + his death arose out of it. Now, look here, doctor! I read the accounts of + the inquest on Brake—I'd have gone to it if I'd dared, but just then + I hadn't made up my mind about seeing the Duke; I didn't know what to do, + so I kept away, and there's a thing has struck me that I don't believe the + police have ever taken the slightest, notice of.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” demanded Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Why, this!” answered Glassdale. “That man who called himself Dellingham—who + came with Brake to the Mitre Hotel at Wrychester—who is he? Where + did Brake meet him? Where did he go? Seems to me the police have been + strangely negligent about that! According to the accounts I've read, + everybody just accepted this Dellingham's first statement, took his word, + and let him—vanish! No one, as far as I know, ever verified his + account of himself. A stranger!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who was already in one of his deep moods of reflection, got up from + his chair as if to go. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “There maybe something in your suggestion. They certainly + did take his word without inquiry. It's true—he mightn't be what he + said he was.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, and from what I read, they never followed his movements that + morning!” observed Glassdale. “Queer business altogether! Isn't there some + reward offered, doctor? I heard of some placards or something, but I've + never seen them; of course, I've only been here since yesterday morning.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce silently drew some papers from his pocket. From them he extracted + the two handbills which Mitchington had given him and handed them over. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I must go,” he said. “I shall no doubt see you again in Wrychester, + over this affair. For the present, all this is between ourselves, of + course?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course, doctor!” answered Glassdale. “Quite so!” Bryce went off + and got his bicycle and rode away in the direction of Wrychester. Had he + remained in that garden he would have seen Glassdale, after reading both + the handbills, go into the house and have heard him ask the landlady at + the bar to get him a trap and a good horse in it as soon as possible; he, + too, now wanted to go to Wrychester and at once. But Bryce was riding down + the road, muttering certain words to himself over and over again. + </p> + <p> + “The left jaw—and the left hand!” he repeated. “Left hand—left + jaw! Unmistakable!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. OTHER PEOPLE'S NOTIONS + </h2> + <p> + The great towers of Wrychester Cathedral had come within Bryce's view + before he had made up his mind as to the next step in this last stage of + his campaign. He had ridden away from the Saxonsteade Arms feeling that he + had got to do something at once, but he was not quite clear in his mind as + to what that something exactly was. But now, as he topped a rise in the + road, and saw Wrychester lying in its hollow beneath him, the summer sun + shining on its red roofs and grey walls, he suddenly came to a decision, + and instead of riding straight ahead into the old city he turned off at a + by-road, made a line across the northern outskirts, and headed for the + golf-links. He was almost certain to find Mary Bewery there at that hour, + and he wanted to see her at once. The time for his great stroke had come. + </p> + <p> + But Mary Bewery was not there—had not been there that morning said + the caddy-master. There were only a few players out. In one of them, + coming towards the club-house, Bryce recognized Sackville Bonham. And at + sight of Sackville, Bryce had an inspiration. Mary Bewery would not come + up to the links now before afternoon; he, Bryce, would lunch there and + then go towards Wrychester to meet her by the path across the fields on + which he had waylaid her after his visit to Leicestershire. And meanwhile + he would inveigle Sackville Bonham into conversation. Sackville fell + readily into Bryce's trap. He was the sort of youth who loves to talk, + especially in a hinting and mysterious fashion. And when Bryce, after + treating him to an appetizer in the bar of the club-house, had suggested + that they should lunch together and got him into a quiet corner of the + dining-room, he launched forth at once on the pertinent matter of the day. + </p> + <p> + “Heard all about this discovery of those missing Saxonsteade diamonds?” he + asked as he and Bryce picked up their knives and forks. “Queer business + that, isn't it? Of course, it's got to do with those murders!” + </p> + <p> + “Think so?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Can anybody think anything else?” said Sackville in his best dogmatic + manner. “Why, the thing's plain. From what's been let out—not much, + certainly, but enough—it's quite evident.” + </p> + <p> + “What's your theory?” inquired Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “My stepfather—knowing old bird he is, too!—sums the whole + thing up to a nicety,” answered Sackville. “That old chap, Braden, you + know, is in possession of that secret. He comes to Wrychester about it. + But somebody else knows. That somebody gets rid of Braden. Why? So that + the secret'll be known then only to one—the murderer! See! And why? + Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why?” repeated Bryce. “Don't see, so far.” + </p> + <p> + “You must be dense, then,” said Sackville with the lofty superiority of + youth. “Because of the reward, of course! Don't you know that there's been + a standing offer—never withdrawn!—of five thousand pounds for + news of those jewels?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't,” answered Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Fact, sir—pure fact,” continued Sackville. “Now, five thousand, + divided in two, is two thousand five hundred each. But five thousand, + undivided, is—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Five thousand—apparently,” said Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Just so! And,” remarked Sackville knowingly, “a man'll do a lot for five + thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “Or—according to your argument—for half of it,” said Bryce. + “What you—or your stepfather's—aiming at comes to this, that + suspicion rests on Braden's sharer in the secret. That it?” + </p> + <p> + “And why not?” asked Sackville. “Look at what we know—from the + account in the paper this morning. This other chap, Glassdale, waits a bit + until the first excitement about Braden is over, then he comes forward and + tells the Duke where the Duchess's diamonds are planted. Why? So that he + can get the five thousand pound reward! Plain as a pikestaff! Only, the + police are such fools.” + </p> + <p> + “And what about Collishaw?” asked Bryce, willing to absorb all his + companion's ideas. + </p> + <p> + “Part of the game,” declared Sackville. “Same man that got rid of Braden + got rid of that chap! Probably Collishaw knew a bit and had to be + silenced. But, whether that Glassdale did it all off his own bat or + whether he's somebody in with him, that's where the guilt'll be fastened + in the end, my stepfather says. And—it'll be so. Stands to reason!” + </p> + <p> + “Anybody come forward about that reward your stepfather offered?” asked + Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not permitted to say,” answered Sackville. “But,” he added, leaning + closer to his companion across the table, “I can tell you this—there's + wheels within wheels! You understand! And things'll be coming out. Got to! + We can't—as a family—let Ransford lie under that cloud, don't + you know. We must clear him. That's precisely why Mr. Folliot offered his + reward. Ransford, of course, you know, Bryce, is very much to blame—he + ought to have done more himself. And, of course, as my mother and my + stepfather say, if Ransford won't do things for himself, well, we must do + 'em for him! We couldn't think of anything else.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good of you all, I'm sure,” assented Bryce. “Very thoughtful and + kindly.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” said Sackville, who was incapable of perceiving a sneer or of + knowing when older men were laughing at him. “It's one of those things + that one's got to do—under the circumstances. Of course, Miss Bewery + isn't Dr. Ransford's daughter, but she's his ward, and we can't allow + suspicion to rest on her guardian. You leave it to me, my boy, and you'll + see how things will be cleared!” + </p> + <p> + “Doing a bit underground, eh?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a bit!” answered Sackville with a knowing wink. “It's the least + expected that happens—what?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce replied that Sackville was no doubt right, and began to talk of + other matters. He hung about the club-house until past three o'clock, and + then, being well acquainted with Mary Bewery's movements from long + observation of them, set out to walk down towards Wrychester, leaving his + bicycle behind him. If he did not meet Mary on the way, he meant to go to + the house. Ransford would be out on his afternoon round of calls; Dick + Bewery would be at school; he would find Mary alone. And it was necessary + that he should see her alone, and at once, for since morning an entirely + new view of affairs had come to him, based on added knowledge, and he now + saw a chance which he had never seen before. True, he said to himself, as + he walked across the links and over the country which lay between their + edge and Wrychester, he had not, even now, the accurate knowledge as to + the actual murderer of either Braden or Collishaw that he would have + liked, but he knew something that would enable him to ask Mary Bewery + point-blank whether he was to be friend or enemy. And he was still + considering the best way of putting his case to her when, having failed to + meet her on the way, he at last turned into the Close, and as he + approached Ransford's house, saw Mrs. Folliot leaving it. + </p> + <p> + Mary Bewery, like Bryce, had been having a day of events. To begin with, + Ransford had received a wire from London, first thing in the morning, + which had made him run, breakfastless, to catch the next express. He had + left Mary to make arrangements about his day's work, for he had not yet + replaced Bryce, and she had been obliged to seek out another practitioner + who could find time from his own duties to attend to Ransford's urgent + patients. Then she had had to see callers who came to the surgery + expecting to find Ransford there; and in the middle of a busy morning, Mr. + Folliot had dropped in, to bring her a bunch of roses, and, once admitted, + had shown unmistakable signs of a desire to gossip. + </p> + <p> + “Ransford out?” he asked as he sat down in the dining-room. “Suppose he + is, this time of day.” + </p> + <p> + “He's away,” replied Mary. “He went to town by the first express, and I + have had a lot of bother arranging about his patients.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he hear about this discovery of the Saxonsteade jewels before he + went?” asked Folliot. “Suppose he wouldn't though—wasn't known until + the weekly paper came out this morning. Queer business! You've heard, of + course?” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Short told me,” answered Mary. “I don't know any details.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot looked meditatively at her a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Got something to do with those other matters, you know,” he remarked. “I + say! What's Ransford doing about all that?” + </p> + <p> + “About all what, Mr. Folliot?” asked Mary, at once on her guard. “I don't + understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “You know—all that suspicion—and so on,” said Folliot. “Bad + position for a professional man, you know—ought to clear himself. + Anybody been applying for that reward Ransford offered?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know anything about it,” replied Mary. “Dr. Ransford is very well + able to take care of himself, I think. Has anybody applied for yours?” + </p> + <p> + Folliot rose from his chair again, as if he had changed his mind about + lingering, and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Can't say what my solicitors may or may not have heard—or done,” he + answered. “But—queer business, you know—and ought to be + settled. Bad for Ransford to have any sort of a cloud over him. Sorry to + see it.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that why you came forward with a reward?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + But to this direct question Folliot made no answer. He muttered something + about the advisability of somebody doing something and went away, to + Mary's relief. She had no desire to discuss the Paradise mysteries with + anybody, especially after Ransford's assurance of the previous evening. + But in the middle of the afternoon in walked Mrs. Folliot, a rare caller, + and before she had been closeted with Mary five minutes brought up the + subject again. + </p> + <p> + “I want to speak to you on a very serious matter, my dear Miss Bewery,” + she said. “You must allow me to speak plainly on account of—of + several things. My—my superiority in—in age, you know, and all + that!” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Mrs. Folliot?” asked Mary, steeling herself against + what she felt sure was coming. “Is it—very serious? And—pardon + me—is it about what Mr. Folliot mentioned to me this morning? + Because if it is, I'm not going to discuss that with you or with anybody!” + </p> + <p> + “I had no idea that my husband had been here this morning,” answered Mrs. + Folliot in genuine surprise. “What did he want to talk about?” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, what do you want to talk about?” asked Mary. “Though that + doesn't mean that I'm going to talk about it with you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Folliot made an effort to understand this remark, and after + inspecting her hostess critically for a moment, proceeded in her most + judicial manner. + </p> + <p> + “You must see, my dear Miss Bewery, that it is highly necessary that some + one should use the utmost persuasion on Dr. Ransford,” she said. “He is + placing all of you—himself, yourself, your young brother—in + most invidious positions by his silence! In society such as—well, + such as you get in a cathedral town, you know, no man of reputation can + afford to keep silence when his—his character is affected.” + </p> + <p> + Mary picked up some needlework and began to be much occupied with it. + </p> + <p> + “Is Dr. Ransford's character affected?” she asked. “I wasn't aware of it, + Mrs. Folliot.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, you can't be quite so very—so very, shall we say + ingenuous?—as all that!” exclaimed Mrs. Folliot. “These rumours!—of + course, they are very wicked and cruel ones, but you know they have + spread. Dear me!—why, they have been common talk!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think my guardian cares twopence for common talk, Mrs. Folliot,” + answered Mary. “And I am quite sure I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “None of us—especially people in our position—can afford to + ignore rumours and common talk,” said Mrs. Folliot in her loftiest manner. + “If we are, unfortunately, talked about, then it is our solemn, bounden + duty to put ourselves right in the eyes of our friends—and of + society. If I for instance, my dear, heard anything affecting my—let + me say, moral-character, I should take steps, the most stringent, drastic, + and forceful steps, to put matters to the test. I would not remain under a + stigma—no, not for one minute!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will never have occasion to rehabilitate your moral character, + Mrs. Folliot,” remarked Mary, bending closely over her work. “Such a + necessity would indeed be dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you do not insist—yes, insist!—on Dr. Ransford's + taking strong steps to clear himself!” exclaimed Mrs. Folliot. “Now that, + indeed, is a dreadful necessity!” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Ransford,” answered Mary, “is quite able to defend and to take care + of himself. It is not for me to tell him what to do, or even to advise him + what to do. And—since you will talk of this matter, I tell you + frankly, Mrs. Folliot, that I don't believe any decent person in + Wrychester has the least suspicion or doubt of Dr. Ransford. His denial of + any share or complicity in those sad affairs—the mere idea of it as + ridiculous as it's wicked—was quite sufficient. You know very well + that at that second inquest he said—on oath, too—that he knew + nothing of these affairs. I repeat, there isn't a decent soul in the city + doubts that!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you're quite wrong!” said Mrs. Folliot, hurriedly. “Quite wrong, + I assure you, my dear. Of course, everybody knows what Dr. Ransford said—very + excitedly, poor man, I'm given to understand on the occasion you refer to, + but then, what else could he have said in his own interest? What people + want is the proof of his innocence. I could—but I won't—tell + you of many of the very best people who are—well, very much + exercised over the matter—I could indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you count yourself among them?” asked Mary in a cold fashion which + would have been a warning to any one but her visitor. “Am I to understand + that, Mrs. Folliot?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, my dear,” answered Mrs. Folliot promptly. “Otherwise I + should not have done what I have done towards establishing the foolish + man's innocence!” + </p> + <p> + Mary dropped her work and turned a pair of astonished eyes on Mrs. + Folliot's large countenance. + </p> + <p> + “You!” she exclaimed. “To establish—Dr. Ransford's innocence? Why, + Mrs. Folliot, what have you done?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Folliot toyed a little with the jewelled head of her sunshade. Her + expression became almost coy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” she answered after a brief spell of indecision. “Perhaps it is + as well that you should know, Miss Bewery. Of course, when all this sad + trouble was made far worse by that second affair—the working-man's + death, you know, I said to my husband that really one must do something, + seeing that Dr. Ransford was so very, very obdurate and wouldn't speak. + And as money is nothing—at least as things go—to me or to Mr. + Folliot, I insisted that he should offer a thousand pounds reward to have + the thing cleared up. He's a generous and open-handed man, and he agreed + with me entirely, and put the thing in hand through his solicitors. And + nothing would please us more, my dear, than to have that thousand pounds + claimed! For of course, if there is to be—as I suppose there is—a + union between our families, it would be utterly impossible that any cloud + could rest on Dr. Ransford, even if he is only your guardian. My son's + future wife cannot, of course—” + </p> + <p> + Mary laid down her work again and for a full minute stared Mrs. Folliot in + the face. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Folliot!” she said at last. “Are you under the impression that I'm + thinking of marrying your son?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I've every good reason for believing it!” replied Mrs. Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “You've none!” retorted Mary, gathering up her work and moving towards the + door. “I've no more intention of marrying Mr. Sackville Bonham than of + eloping with the Bishop! The idea's too absurd to—even be thought + of!” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later Mrs. Folliot, heightened in colour, had gone. And + presently Mary, glancing after her across the Close, saw Bryce approaching + the gate of the garden. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. THE UNEXPECTED + </h2> + <p> + Mary's first instinct on seeing the approach of Pemberton Bryce, the one + man she least desired to see, was to retreat to the back of the house and + send the parlourmaid to the door to say her mistress was not at home. But + she had lately become aware of Bryce's curiously dogged persistence in + following up whatever he had in view, and she reflected that if he were + sent away then he would be sure to come back and come back until he had + got whatever it was that he wanted. And after a moment's further + consideration, she walked out of the front door and confronted him + resolutely in the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Ransford is away,” she said with almost unnecessary brusqueness. + “He's away until evening.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want him,” replied Bryce just as brusquely. “I came to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Mary hesitated. She continued to regard Bryce steadily, and Bryce did not + like the way in which she was looking at him. He made haste to speak + before she could either leave or dismiss him. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better give me a few minutes,” he said, with a note of warning. + “I'm here in your interests—or in Ransford's. I may as well tell + you, straight out, Ransford's in serious and imminent danger! That's a + fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Danger of what?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Arrest—instant arrest!” replied Bryce. “I'm telling you the truth. + He'll probably be arrested tonight, on his return. There's no imagination + in all this—I'm speaking of what I know. I've—curiously enough—got + mixed up with these affairs, through no seeking of my own, and I know + what's behind the scenes. If it were known that I'm letting out secrets to + you, I should get into trouble. But, I want to warn you!” + </p> + <p> + Mary stood before him on the path, hesitating. She knew enough to know + that Bryce was telling some sort of truth: it was plain that he had been + mixed up in the recent mysteries, and there was a ring of conviction in + his voice which impressed her. And suddenly she had visions of Ransford's + arrest, of his being dragged off to prison to meet a cruel accusation, of + the shame and disgrace, and she hesitated further. + </p> + <p> + “But if that's so,” she said at last, “what's the good of coming to me? I + can't do anything!” + </p> + <p> + “I can!” said Bryce significantly. “I know more—much more—than + the police know—more than anybody knows. I can save Ransford. + Understand that!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want now?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “To talk to you—to tell you how things are,” answered Bryce. “What + harm is there in that? To make you see how matters stand, and then to show + you what I can do to put things right.” + </p> + <p> + Mary glanced at an open summer-house which stood beneath the beech trees + on one side of the garden. She moved towards it and sat down there, and + Bryce followed her and seated himself. + </p> + <p> + “Well—” she said. + </p> + <p> + Bryce realized that his moment had arrived. He paused, endeavouring to + remember the careful preparations he had made for putting his case. + Somehow, he was not so clear as to his line of attack as he had been ten + minutes previously—he realized that he had to deal with a young + woman who was not likely to be taken in nor easily deceived. And suddenly + he plunged into what he felt to be the thick of things. + </p> + <p> + “Whether you, or whether Ransford—whether both or either of you, + know it or not,” he said, “the police have been on to Ransford ever since + that Collishaw affair! Underground work, you know. Mitchington has been + digging into things ever since then, and lately he's had a London + detective helping him.” + </p> + <p> + Mary, who had carried her work into the garden, had now resumed it, and as + Bryce began to talk she bent over it steadily stitching. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” continued Bryce. “Has it never struck you—it must have + done!—that there's considerable mystery about Ransford? But whether + it has struck you or not, it's there, and it's struck the police forcibly. + Mystery connected with him before—long before—he ever came + here. And associated, in some way, with that man Braden. Not of late—in + years past. And, naturally, the police have tried to find out what that + was.” + </p> + <p> + “What have they found out?” asked Mary quietly. + </p> + <p> + “That I'm not at liberty to tell,” replied Bryce. “But I can tell you this—they + know, Mitchington and the London man, that there were passages between + Ransford and Braden years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “How many years ago?” interrupted Mary. + </p> + <p> + Bryce hesitated a moment. He had a suspicion that this self-possessed + young woman who was taking everything more quietly than he had + anticipated, might possibly know more than he gave her credit for knowing. + He had been watching her fingers since they sat down in the summer-house, + and his sharp eyes saw that they were as steady as the spire of the + cathedral above the trees—he knew from that that she was neither + frightened nor anxious. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well—seventeen to twenty years ago,” he answered. “About that + time. There were passages, I say, and they were of a nature which suggests + that the re-appearance of Braden on Ransford's present stage of life would + be, extremely unpleasant and unwelcome to Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “Vague!” murmured Mary. “Extremely vague!” + </p> + <p> + “But quite enough,” retorted Bryce, “to give the police the suggestion of + motive. I tell you the police know quite enough to know that Braden was, + of all men in the world, the last man Ransford desired to see cross his + path again. And—on that morning on which the Paradise affair + occurred—Braden did cross his path. Therefore, in the conventional + police way of thinking and looking at things, there's motive.” + </p> + <p> + “Motive for what?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + Bryce arrived here at one of his critical stages, and he paused a moment + in order to choose his words. + </p> + <p> + “Don't get any false ideas or impressions,” he said at last. “I'm not + accusing Ransford of anything. I'm only telling you what I know the police + think and are on the very edge of accusing him of. To put it plainly—of + murder. They say he'd a motive for murdering Braden—and with them + motive is everything. It's the first thing they seem to think of; they + first question they ask themselves. 'Why should this man have murdered + that man?'—do you see! 'What motive had he?—that's the point. + And they think—these chaps like Mitchington and the London man—that + Ransford certainly had a motive for getting rid of Braden when they met.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the motive?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + “They've found out something—perhaps a good deal—about what + happened between Braden and Ransford some years ago,” replied Bryce. “And + their theory is—if you want to know the truth—that Ransford + ran away with Braden's wife, and that Braden had been looking for him ever + since.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had kept his eyes on Mary's hands, and now at last he saw the girl's + fingers tremble. But her voice was steady enough when she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Is that mere conjecture on their part, or is it based on any fact?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not in full knowledge of all their secrets,” answered Bryce, “but + I've heard enough to know that there's a basis of undeniable fact on which + they're going. I know for instance, beyond doubt, that Braden and Ransford + were bosom friends, years ago, that Braden was married to a girl whom + Ransford had wanted to marry, that Braden's wife suddenly left him, + mysteriously, a few years later, and that, at the same time, Ransford made + an equally mysterious disappearance. The police know all that. What is the + inference to be drawn? What inference would any one—you yourself, + for example—draw?” + </p> + <p> + “None, till I've heard what Dr. Ransford had to say,” replied Mary. + </p> + <p> + Bryce disliked that ready retort. He was beginning to feel that he was + being met by some force stronger than his own. + </p> + <p> + “That's all very well,” he remarked. “I don't say that I wouldn't do the + same. But I'm only explaining the police position, and showing you the + danger likely to arise from it. The police theory is this, as far as I can + make it out: Ransford, years ago, did Braden a wrong, and Braden certainly + swore revenge when he could find him. Circumstances prevented Braden from + seeking him closely for some time; at last they met here, by accident. + Here the police aren't decided. One theory is that there was an + altercation, blows, a struggle, in the course of which Braden met his + death; the other is that Ransford deliberately took Braden up into the + gallery and flung him through that open doorway—” + </p> + <p> + “That,” observed Mary, with something very like a sneer, “seems so likely + that I should think it would never occur to anybody but the sort of people + you're telling me of! No man of any real sense would believe it for a + minute!” + </p> + <p> + “Some people of plain common sense do believe it for all that!” retorted + Bryce. “For it's quite possible. But as I say, I'm only repeating. And of + course, the rest of it follows on that. The police theory is that + Collishaw witnessed Braden's death at Ransford's hands, that Ransford got + to know that Collishaw knew of that, and that he therefore quietly removed + Collishaw. And it is on all that that they're going, and will go. Don't + ask me if I think they're right or wrong! I'm only telling you what I know + so as to show you what danger Ransford is in.” + </p> + <p> + Mary made no immediate answer, and Bryce sat watching her. Somehow—he + was at a loss to explain it to himself—things were not going as he + had expected. He had confidently believed that the girl would be + frightened, scared, upset, ready to do anything that he asked or + suggested. But she was plainly not frightened. And the fingers which + busied themselves with the fancy-work had become steady again, and her + voice had been steady all along. + </p> + <p> + “Pray,” she asked suddenly, and with a little satirical inflection of + voice which Brice was quick to notice, “pray, how is it that you—not + a policeman, not a detective!—come to know so much of all this? + Since when were you taken into the confidence of Mitchington and the + mysterious person from London?” + </p> + <p> + “You know as well as I do that I have been dragged into the case against + my wishes,” answered Bryce almost sullenly. “I was fetched to Braden—I + saw him die. It was I who found Collishaw—dead. Of course, I've been + mixed up, whether I would or not, and I've had to see a good deal of the + police, and naturally I've learnt things.” + </p> + <p> + Mary suddenly turned on him with a flash of the eye which might have + warned Bryce that he had signally failed in the main feature of his + adventure. + </p> + <p> + “And what have you learnt that makes you come here and tell me all this?” + she exclaimed. “Do you think I'm a simpleton, Dr. Bryce? You set out by + saying that Dr. Ransford is in danger from the police, and that you know + more—much more than the police! what does that mean? Shall I tell + you? It means that you—you!—know that the police are wrong, + and that if you like you can prove to them that they are wrong! Now, then + isn't that so?” + </p> + <p> + “I am in possession of certain facts,” began Bryce. “I—” + </p> + <p> + Mary stopped him with a look. + </p> + <p> + “My turn!” she said. “You're in possession of certain facts. Now isn't it + the truth that the facts you are in possession of are proof enough to you + that Dr. Ransford is as innocent as I am? It's no use your trying to + deceive me! Isn't that so?” + </p> + <p> + “I could certainly turn the police off his track,” admitted Bryce, who was + growing highly uncomfortable. “I could divert—” + </p> + <p> + Mary gave him another look and dropping her needlework continued to watch + him steadily. + </p> + <p> + “Do you call yourself a gentleman?” she asked quietly. “Or we'll leave the + term out. Do you call yourself even decently honest? For, if you do, how + can you have the sheer impudence—more, insolence!—to come here + and tell me all this when you know that the police are wrong and that you + could—to use your own term, which is your way of putting it—turn + them off the wrong track? Whatever sort of man are you? Do you want to + know my opinion of you in plain words?” + </p> + <p> + “You seem very anxious to give it, anyway,” retorted Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I will give it, and it will perhaps put an end to this,” answered Mary. + “If you are in possession of anything in the way of evidence which would + prove Dr. Ransford's innocence and you are wilfully suppressing it, you + are bad, wicked, base, cruel, unfit for any decent being's society! And,” + she added, as she picked up her work and rose, “you're not going to have + any more of mine!” + </p> + <p> + “A moment!” said Bryce. He was conscious that he had somehow played all + his cards badly, and he wanted another opening. “You're misunderstanding + me altogether! I never said—never inferred—that I wouldn't + save Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, if there's need, which I don't admit, you acknowledge that you + could save him?” she exclaimed sharply. “Just as I thought. Then, if + you're an honest man, a man with any pretensions to honour, why don't you + at once! Any man who had such feelings as those I've just mentioned + wouldn't hesitate one second. But you—you!—you come and—talk + about it! As if it were a game! Dr. Bryce, you make me feel sick, + mentally, morally sick.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had risen to his feet when Mary rose, and he now stood staring at + her. Ever since his boyhood he had laughed and sneered at the mere idea of + the finer feelings—he believed that every man has his price—and + that honesty and honour are things useful as terms but of no real + existence. And now he was wondering—really wondering—if this + girl meant the things she said: if she really felt a mental loathing of + such minds and purposes as he knew his own were, or if it were merely + acting on her part. Before he could speak she turned on him again more + fiercely than before. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you something else in plain language?” she asked. “You + evidently possess a very small and limited knowledge—if you have any + at all!—of women, and you apparently don't rate their mental + qualities at any high standard. Let me tell you that I am not quite such a + fool as you seem to think me! You came here this afternoon to bargain with + me! You happen to know how much I respect my guardian and what I owe him + for the care he has taken of me and my brother. You thought to trade on + that! You thought you could make a bargain with me; you were to save Dr. + Ransford, and for reward you were to have me! You daren't deny it. Dr. + Bryce—I can see through you!” + </p> + <p> + “I never said it, at any rate,” answered Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Once more, I say, I'm not a fool!” exclaimed Mary. “I saw through you all + along. And you've failed! I'm not in the least frightened by what you've + said. If the police arrest Dr. Ransford, Dr. Ransford knows how to defend + himself. And you're not afraid for him! You know you aren't. It wouldn't + matter twopence to you if he were hanged tomorrow, for you hate him. But + look to yourself! Men who cheat, and scheme, and plot, and plan as you do + come to bad ends. Mind yours! Mind the wheel doesn't come full circle. And + now, if you please, go away and don't dare to come near me again!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made no answer. He had listened, with an attempt at a smile, to all + this fiery indignation, but as Mary spoke the last words he was suddenly + aware of something that drew his attention from her and them. Through an + opening in Ransford's garden hedge he could see the garden door of the + Folliots' house across the Close. And at that moment out of it emerge + Folliot himself in conversation with Glassdale! + </p> + <p> + Without a word, Bryce snatched up his hat from the table of the + summer-house, and went swiftly away—a new scheme, a new idea in his + mind. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. FINESSE + </h2> + <p> + Glassdale, journeying into Wrychester half an hour after Bryce had left + him at the Saxonsteade Arms, occupied himself during his ride across + country in considering the merits of the two handbills which Bryce had + given him. One announced an offer of five hundred pounds reward for + information in the Braden-Collishaw matter; the other, of a thousand + pounds. It struck him as a curious thing that two offers should be made—it + suggested, at once, that more than one person was deeply interested in + this affair. But who were they?—no answer to that question appeared + on the handbills, which were, in each case, signed by Wrychester + solicitors. To one of these Glassdale, on arriving in the old city, + promptly proceeded—selecting the offerer of the larger reward. He + presently found himself in the presence of an astute-looking man who, + having had his visitor's name sent in to him, regarded Glassdale with very + obvious curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Glassdale?” he said inquiringly, as the caller took an offered chair. + “Are you, by any chance, the Mr. Glassdale whose name is mentioned in + connection with last night's remarkable affair?” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to a copy of the weekly newspaper, lying on his desk, and to a + formal account of the discovery of the Saxonsteade jewels which had been + furnished to the press, at the Duke's request, by Mitchington. Glassdale + glanced at it—unconcernedly. + </p> + <p> + “The same,” he answered. “But I didn't call here on that matter—though + what I did call about is certainly relative to it. You've offered a reward + for any information that would lead to the solution of that mystery about + Braden—and the other man, Collishaw.” + </p> + <p> + “Of a thousand pounds—yes!” replied the solicitor, looking at his + visitor with still more curiosity, mingled with expectancy. “Can you give + any?” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale pulled out the two handbills which he had obtained from Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “There are two rewards offered,” he remarked. “Are they entirely + independent of each other?” + </p> + <p> + “We know nothing of the other,” answered the solicitor. “Except, of + course, that it exists. They're quite independent.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's offering the five hundred pound one?” asked Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + The solicitor paused, looking his man over. He saw at once that Glassdale + had, or believed he had, something to tell—and was disposed to be + unusually cautious about telling it. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he replied, after a pause. “I believe—in fact, it's an open + secret—that the offer of five hundred pounds is made by Dr. + Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “And—yours?” inquired Glassdale. “Who's at the back of yours—a + thousand?” + </p> + <p> + The solicitor smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't answered my question, Mr. Glassdale,” he observed. “Can you + give any information?” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale threw his questioner a significant glance. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever information I might give,” he said, “I'd only give to a + principal—the principal. From what I've seen and known of all this, + there's more in it than is on the surface. I can tell something. I knew + John Braden—who, of course, was John Brake—very well, for some + years. Naturally, I was in his confidence.” + </p> + <p> + “About more than the Saxonsteade jewels, you mean?” asked the solicitor. + </p> + <p> + “About more than that,” assented Glassdale. “Private matters. I've no + doubt I can throw some light—some!—on this Wrychester Paradise + affair. But, as I said just now, I'll only deal with the principal. I + wouldn't tell you, for instance—as your principal's solicitor.” + </p> + <p> + The solicitor smiled again. + </p> + <p> + “Your ideas, Mr. Glassdale, appear to fit in with our principal's,” he + remarked. “His instructions—strict instructions—to us are that + if anybody turns up who can give any information, it's not to be given to + us, but to—himself!” + </p> + <p> + “Wise man!” observed Glassdale. “That's just what I feel about it. It's a + mistake to share secrets with more than one person.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a secret, then!” asked the solicitor, half slyly. + </p> + <p> + “Might be,” replied Glassdale. “Who's your client?” + </p> + <p> + The solicitor pulled a scrap of paper towards him and wrote a few words on + it. He pushed it towards his caller, and Glassdale picked it up and read + what had been written—Mr. Stephen Folliot, The Close. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better go and see him,” said the solicitor, suggestively. “You'll + find him reserved enough.” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale read and re-read the name—as if he were endeavouring to + recollect it, or connect it with something. + </p> + <p> + “What particular reason has this man for wishing to find this out?” he + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Can't say, my good sir!” replied the solicitor, with a smile. “Perhaps + he'll tell you. He hasn't told me.” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale rose to take his leave. But with his hand on the door he turned. + </p> + <p> + “Is this gentleman a resident in the place?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “A well-known townsman,” replied the solicitor. “You'll easily find his + house in the Close—everybody knows it.” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale went away then—and walked slowly towards the Cathedral + precincts. On his way he passed two places at which he was half inclined + to call—one was the police-station; the other, the office of the + solicitors who were acting on behalf of the offerer of five hundred + pounds. He half glanced at the solicitor's door—but on reflection + went forward. A man who was walking across the Close pointed out the + Folliot residence—Glassdale entered by the garden door, and in + another minute came face to face with Folliot himself, busied, as usual, + amongst his rose-trees. + </p> + <p> + Glassdale saw Folliot and took stock of him before Folliot knew that a + stranger was within his gates. Folliot, in an old jacket which he kept for + his horticultural labours, was taking slips from a standard; he looked as + harmless and peaceful as his occupation. A quiet, inoffensive, somewhat + benevolent elderly man, engaged in work, which suggested leisure and + peace. + </p> + <p> + But Glassdale, after a first quick, searching glance, took another and + longer one—and went nearer with a discreet laugh. + </p> + <p> + Folliot turned quietly, and seeing the stranger, showed no surprise. He + had a habit of looking over the top rims of his spectacles at people, and + he looked in this way at Glassdale, glancing him up and down calmly. + Glassdale lifted his slouch hat and advanced. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Folliot, I believe, sir?” he said. “Mr. Stephen Folliot?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, just so!” responded Folliot. “But I don't know you. Who may you be, + now?” + </p> + <p> + “My name, sir, is Glassdale,” answered the other. “I've just come from + your solicitor's. I called to see him this afternoon—and he told me + that the business I called about could only be dealt with—or + discussed—with you. So—I came here.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot, who had been cutting slips off a rose-tree, closed his knife and + put it away in his old jacket. He turned and quietly inspected his visitor + once more. + </p> + <p> + “Aye!” he said quietly. “So you're after that thousand pound reward, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I should have no objection to it, Mr. Folliot,” replied Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say not,” remarked Folliot, dryly. “I dare say not! And which are + you, now?—one of those who think they can tell something, or one + that really can tell? Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll know that better when we've had a bit of talk, Mr. Folliot,” + answered Glassdale, accompanying his reply with a direct glance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, now then, I've no objection to a bit of talk—none + whatever!” said Folliot. “Here!—we'll sit down on that bench, + amongst the roses. Quite private here—nobody about. And now,” he + continued, as Glassdale accompanied him to a rustic bench set beneath a + pergola of rambler roses, “who are you, like? I read a queer account in + this morning's local paper of what happened in the Cathedral grounds + yonder last night, and there was a person of your name mentioned. Are you + that Glassdale?” + </p> + <p> + “The same, Mr. Folliot,” answered the visitor, promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Then you knew Braden—the man who lost his life here?” asked + Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “Very well indeed,” replied Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + “For how long?” demanded Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “Some years—as a mere acquaintance, seen now and then,” said + Glassdale. “A few years, recently, as what you might call a close friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell you any of his secrets?” asked Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he did!” answered Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + “Anything that seems to relate to his death—and the mystery about + it?” inquired Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” said Glassdale. “Upon consideration, I think so!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah—and what might it be, now?” continued Folliot. He gave Glassdale + a look which seemed to denote and imply several things. “It might be to + your advantage to explain a bit, you know,” he added. “One has to be a + little—vague, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “There was a certain man that Braden was very anxious to find,” said + Glassdale. “He'd been looking for him for a good many years.” + </p> + <p> + “A man?” asked Folliot. “One?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as a matter of fact, there were two,” admitted Glassdale, “but + there was one in particular. The other—the second—so Braden + said, didn't matter; he was or had been, only a sort of cat's-paw of the + man he especially wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Folliot. He pulled out a cigar case and offered a cigar to + his visitor, afterwards lighting one himself. “And what did Braden want + that man for?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Glassdale waited until his cigar was in full going order before he + answered this question. Then he replied in one word. + </p> + <p> + “Revenge!” + </p> + <p> + Folliot put his thumbs in the armholes of his buff waistcoat and leaning + back, seemed to be admiring his roses. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said at last. “Revenge, now? A sort of vindictive man, was he? + Wanted to get his knife into somebody, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “He wanted to get something of his own back from a man who'd done him,” + answered Glassdale, with a short laugh. “That's about it!” + </p> + <p> + For a minute or two both men smoked in silence. Then Folliot—still + regarding his roses—put a leading question. + </p> + <p> + “Give you any details?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Enough,” said Glassdale. “Braden had been done—over a money + transaction—by these men—one especially, as head and front of + the affair—and it had cost him—more than anybody would think! + Naturally, he wanted—if he ever got the chance—his revenge. + Who wouldn't?” + </p> + <p> + “And he'd tracked 'em down, eh?” asked Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “There are questions I can answer, and there are questions I can't + answer,” responded Glassdale. “That's one of the questions I've no reply + to. For—I don't know! But—I can say this. He hadn't tracked + 'em down the day before he came to Wrychester!” + </p> + <p> + “You're sure of that?” asked Folliot. “He—didn't come here on that + account?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm sure he didn't!” answered Glassdale, readily. “If he had, I + should have known. I was with him till noon the day he came here—in + London—and when he took his ticket at Victoria for Wrychester, he'd + no more idea than the man in the moon as to where those men had got to. He + mentioned it as we were having a bit of lunch together before he got into + the train. No—he didn't come to Wrychester for any such purpose as + that! But—” + </p> + <p> + He paused and gave Folliot a meaning glance out of the corner of his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Aye—what?” asked Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “I think he met at least one of 'em here,” said Glassdale, quietly. “And—perhaps + both.” + </p> + <p> + “Leading to—misfortune for him?” suggested Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “If you like to put it that way—yes,” assented Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + Folliot smoked a while in more reflective silence. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, well!” he said at last. “I suppose you haven't put these ideas of + yours before anybody, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Present ideas?” asked Glassdale, sharply. “Not to a soul! I've not had + 'em—very long.” + </p> + <p> + “You're the sort of man that another man can do a deal with, I suppose?” + suggested Folliot. “That is, if it's made worth your while, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't wonder,” replied Glassdale. “And—if it is made worth my + while.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot mused a little. Then he tapped Glassdale's elbow. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he said, confidentially, “it might be, you know, that I had a + little purpose of my own in offering that reward. It might be that it was + a very particular friend of mine that had the misfortune to have incurred + this man Braden's hatred. And I might want to save him, d'ye see, from—well, + from the consequence of what's happened, and to hear about it first if + anybody came forward, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “As I've done,” said Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + “As—you've done,” assented Folliot. “Now, perhaps it would be in the + interest of this particular friend of mine if he made it worth your while + to—say no more to anybody, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much worth his while, Mr. Folliot,” declared Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, well,” continued Folliot. “This very particular friend would just + want to know, you know, how much you really, truly know! Now, for + instance, about these two men—and one in particular—that + Braden was after? Did—did he name 'em?” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale leaned a little nearer to his companion on the rose-screened + bench. + </p> + <p> + “He named them—to me!” he said in a whisper. “One was a man called + Falkiner Wraye, and the other man was a man named Flood. Is that enough?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you'd better come and see me this evening,” answered Folliot. + “Come just about dusk to that door—I'll meet you there. Fine roses + these of mine, aren't they?” he continued, as they rose. “I occupy myself + entirely with 'em.” + </p> + <p> + He walked with Glassdale to the garden door, and stood there watching his + visitor go away up the side of the high wall until he turned into the path + across Paradise. And then, as Folliot was retreating to his roses, he saw + Bryce coming over the Close—and Bryce beckoned to him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. THE OLD WELL HOUSE + </h2> + <p> + When Bryce came hurrying up to him, Folliot was standing at his garden + door with his hands thrust under his coat-tails—the very picture of + a benevolent, leisured gentleman who has nothing to do and is disposed to + give his time to anybody. He glanced at Bryce as he had glanced at + Glassdale—over the tops of his spectacles, and the glance had no + more than mild inquiry in it. But if Bryce had been less excited, he would + have seen that Folliot, as he beckoned him inside the garden, swept a + sharp look over the Close and ascertained that there was no one about, + that Bryce's entrance was unobserved. Save for a child or two, playing + under the tall elms near one of the gates, and for a clerical figure that + stalked a path in the far distance, the Close was empty of life. And there + was no one about, either, in that part of Folliot's big garden. + </p> + <p> + “I want a bit of talk with you,” said Bryce as Folliot closed the door and + turned down a side-path to a still more retired region. “Private talk. + Let's go where it's quiet.” + </p> + <p> + Without replying in words to this suggestion, Folliot led the way through + his rose-trees to a far corner of his grounds, where an old building of + grey stone, covered with ivy, stood amongst high trees. He turned the key + of a doorway and motioned Bryce to enter. + </p> + <p> + “Quiet enough in here, doctor,” he observed. “You've never seen this place—bit + of a fancy of mine.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, absorbed as he was in the thoughts of the moment, glanced cursorily + at the place into which Folliot had led him. It was a square building of + old stone, its walls unlined, unplastered; its floor paved with much worn + flags of limestone, evidently set down in a long dead age and now polished + to marble-like smoothness. In its midst, set flush with the floor, was + what was evidently a trap-door, furnished with a heavy iron ring. To this + Folliot pointed, with a glance of significant interest. + </p> + <p> + “Deepest well in all Wrychester under that,” he remarked. “You'd never + think it—it's a hundred feet deep—and more! Dry now—water + gave out some years ago. Some people would have pulled this old well-house + down—but not me! I did better—I turned it to good account.” He + raised a hand and pointed upward to an obviously modern ceiling of strong + oak timbers. “Had that put in,” he continued, “and turned the top of the + building into a little snuggery. Come up!” + </p> + <p> + He led the way to a flight of steps in one corner of the lower room, + pushed open a door at their head, and showed his companion into a small + apartment arranged and furnished in something closely approaching to + luxury. The walls were hung with thick fabrics; the carpeting was equally + thick; there were pictures, books, and curiosities; the two or three + chairs were deep and big enough to lie down in; the two windows commanded + pleasant views of the Cathedral towers on one side and of the Close on the + other. + </p> + <p> + “Nice little place to be alone in, d'ye see?” said Folliot. “Cool in + summer—warm in winter—modern fire-grate, you notice. Come here + when I want to do a bit of quiet thinking, what?” + </p> + <p> + “Good place for that—certainly,” agreed Bryce. + </p> + <p> + Folliot pointed his visitor to one of the big chairs and turning to a + cabinet brought out some glasses, a syphon of soda-water, and a heavy + cut-glass decanter. He nodded at a box of cigars which lay open on a table + at Bryce's elbow as he began to mix a couple of drinks. + </p> + <p> + “Help yourself,” he said. “Good stuff, those.” + </p> + <p> + Not until he had given Bryce a drink, and had carried his own glass to + another easy chair did Folliot refer to any reason for Bryce's visit. But + once settled down, he looked at him speculatively. + </p> + <p> + “What did you want to see me about?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who had lighted a cigar, looked across its smoke at the + imperturbable face opposite. + </p> + <p> + “You've just had Glassdale here,” he observed quietly. “I saw him leave + you.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot nodded—without any change of expression. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, doctor,” he said. “And—what do you know about Glassdale, now?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who would have cheerfully hobnobbed with a man whom he was about to + conduct to the scaffold, lifted his glass and drank. + </p> + <p> + “A good deal,” he answered as he set the glass down. “The fact is—I + came here to tell you so!—I know a good deal about everything.” + </p> + <p> + “A wide term!” remarked Folliot. “You've got some limitation to it, I + should think. What do you mean by—everything?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean about recent matters,” replied Bryce. “I've interested myself in + them—for reasons of my own. Ever since Braden was found at the foot + of those stairs in Paradise, and I was fetched to him, I've interested + myself. And—I've discovered a great deal—more, much more + than's known to anybody.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot threw one leg over the other and began to jog his foot. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said after a pause. “Dear me! And—what might you know, now, + doctor? Aught you can tell me eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Lots!” answered Bryce. “I came to tell you—on seeing that Glassdale + had been with you. Because—I was with Glassdale this morning.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot made no answer. But Bryce saw that his cool, almost indifferent + manner was changing—he was beginning, under the surface, to get + anxious. + </p> + <p> + “When I left Glassdale—at noon,” continued Bryce, “I'd no idea—and + I don't think he had—that he was coming to see you. But I know what + put the notion into his head. I gave him copies of those two reward bills. + He no doubt thought he might make a bit—and so he came in to town, + and—to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't wonder,” remarked Bryce, reflectively, and almost as if + speaking to himself, “I shouldn't at all wonder if Glassdale's the sort of + man who can be bought. He, no doubt, has his price. But all that Glassdale + knows is nothing—to what I know.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot had allowed his cigar to go out. He threw it away, took a fresh + one from the box, and slowly struck a match and lighted it. + </p> + <p> + “What might you know, now?” he asked after another pause. + </p> + <p> + “I've a bit of a faculty for finding things out,” answered Bryce boldly. + “And I've developed it. I wanted to know all about Braden—and about + who killed him—and why. There's only one way of doing all that sort + of thing, you know. You've got to go back—a long way back—to + the very beginnings. I went back—to the time when Braden was + married. Not as Braden, of course—but as who he really was—John + Brake. That was at a place called Braden Medworth, near Barthorpe, in + Leicestershire.” + </p> + <p> + He paused there, watching Folliot. But Folliot showed no more than close + attention, and Bryce went on. + </p> + <p> + “Not much in that—for the really important part of the story,” he + continued. “But Brake had other associations with Barthorpe—a bit + later. He got to know—got into close touch with a Barthorpe man who, + about the time of Brake's marriage, left Barthorpe and settled in London. + Brake and this man began to have some secret dealings together. There was + another man in with them, too—a man who was a sort of partner of the + Barthorpe man's. Brake had evidently a belief in these men, and he trusted + them—unfortunately for himself he sometimes trusted the bank's money + to them. I know what happened—he used to let them have money for + short financial transactions—to be refunded within a very brief + space. But—he went to the fire too often, and got his fingers burned + in the end. The two men did him—one of them in particular—and + cleared out. He had to stand the racket. He stood it—to the tune of + ten years' penal servitude. And, naturally, when he'd finished his time, + he wanted to find those two men—and began a long search for them. + Like to know the names of the men, Mr. Folliot?” + </p> + <p> + “You might mention 'em—if you know 'em,” answered Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “The name of the particular one was Wraye—Falkiner Wraye,” replied + Bryce promptly. “Of the other—the man of lesser importance—Flood.” + </p> + <p> + The two men looked quietly at each other for a full moment's silence. And + it was Bryce who first spoke with a ring of confidence in his tone which + showed that he knew he had the whip hand. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you something about Falkiner Wraye?” he asked. “I will!—it's + deeply interesting. Mr. Falkiner Wraye, after cheating and deceiving + Brake, and leaving him to pay the penalty of his over-trustfulness, + cleared out of England and carried his money-making talents to foreign + parts. He succeeded in doing well—he would!—and eventually he + came back and married a rich widow and settled himself down in an + out-of-the-world English town to grow roses. You're Falkiner Wraye, you + know, Mr. Folliot!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce laughed as he made this direct accusation, and sitting forward in + his chair, pointed first to Folliot's face and then to his left hand. + </p> + <p> + “Falkiner Wraye,” he said, “had an unfortunate gun accident in his youth + which marked him for life. He lost the middle finger of his left hand, and + he got a bad scar on his left jaw. There they are, those marks! Fortunate + for you, Mr. Folliot, that the police don't know all that I know, for if + they did, those marks would have done for you days ago!” For a minute or + two Folliot sat joggling his leg—a bad sign in him of rising temper + if Bryce had but known it. While he remained silent he watched Bryce + narrowly, and when he spoke, his voice was calm as ever. + </p> + <p> + “And what use do you intend to put your knowledge to, if one may ask?” he + inquired, half sneeringly. “You said just now that you'd no doubt that man + Glassdale could be bought, and I'm inclining to think that you're one of + those men that have their price. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “We've not come to that,” retorted Bryce. “You're a bit mistaken. If I + have my price, it's not in the same commodity that Glassdale would want. + But before we do any talking about that sort of thing, I want to add to my + stock of knowledge. Look here! We'll be candid. I don't care a snap of my + fingers that Brake, or Braden's dead, or that Collishaw's dead, nor if one + had his neck broken and the other was poisoned, but—whose hand was + that which the mason, Varner, saw that morning, when Brake was flung out + of that doorway? Come, now!—whose?” + </p> + <p> + “Not mine, my lad!” answered Folliot, confidently. “That's a fact?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce hesitated, giving Folliot a searching look. And Folliot nodded + solemnly. “I tell you, not mine!” he repeated. “I'd naught to do with it!” + </p> + <p> + “Then who had?” demanded Bryce. “Was it the other man—Flood? And if + so, who is Flood?” + </p> + <p> + Folliot got up from his chair and, cigar between his lips and hands under + the tails of his old coat, walked silently about the quiet room for + awhile. He was evidently thinking deeply, and Bryce made no attempt to + disturb him. Some minutes went by before Folliot took the cigar from his + lips and leaning against the chimneypiece looked fixedly at his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, my lad!” he said, earnestly. “You're no doubt, as you say, a + good hand at finding things out, and you've doubtless done a good bit of + ferreting, and done it well enough in your own opinion. But there's one + thing you can't find out, and the police can't find out either, and that's + the precise truth about Braden's death. I'd no hand in it—it + couldn't be fastened on to me, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce looked up and interjected one word. + </p> + <p> + “Collishaw?” + </p> + <p> + “Nor that, neither,” answered Folliot, hastily. “Maybe I know something + about both, but neither you nor the police nor anybody could fasten me to + either matter! Granting all you say to be true, where's the positive + truth?” + </p> + <p> + “What about circumstantial evidence,” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “You'd have a job to get it,” retorted Folliot. “Supposing that all you + say is true about—about past matters? Nothing can prove—nothing!—that + I ever met Braden that morning. On the other hand, I can prove, easily, + that I never did meet him; I can account for every minute of my time that + day. As to the other affair—not an ounce of direct evidence!” + </p> + <p> + “Then—it was the other man!” exclaimed Bryce. “Now then, who is he?” + </p> + <p> + Folliot replied with a shrewd glance. + </p> + <p> + “A man who by giving away another man gave himself away would be a damned + fool!” he answered. “If there is another man—” + </p> + <p> + “As if there must be!” interrupted Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Then he's safe!” concluded Folliot. “You'll get nothing from me about + him!” + </p> + <p> + “And nobody can get at you except through him?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “That's about it,” assented Folliot laconically. + </p> + <p> + Bryce laughed cynically. + </p> + <p> + “A pretty coil!” he said with a sneer. “Here! You talked about my price. + I'm quite content to hold my tongue if you'd tell me something about what + happened seventeen years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “You knew Brake, you must have known his family affairs,” said Bryce. + “What became of Brake's wife and children when he went to prison?” + </p> + <p> + Folliot shook his head, and it was plain to Bryce that his gesture of + dissent was genuine. + </p> + <p> + “You're wrong,” he answered. “I never at any time knew anything of Brake's + family affairs. So little indeed, that I never even knew he was married.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce rose to his feet and stood staring. + </p> + <p> + “What!” he exclaimed. “You mean to tell me that, even now, you don't know + that Brake had two children, and that—that—oh, it's + incredible!” + </p> + <p> + “What's incredible?” asked Folliot. “What are you talking about?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce in his eagerness and surprise grasped Folliot's arm and shook it. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, man!” he said. “Those two wards of Ransford's are Brake's + girl and boy! Didn't you know that, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” answered Folliot. “Never! And who's Ransford, then? I never heard + Brake speak of any Ransford! What game is all this? What—” + </p> + <p> + Before Bryce could reply, Folliot suddenly started, thrust his companion + aside and went to one of the windows. A sharp exclamation from him took + Bryce to his side. Folliot lifted a shaking hand and pointed into the + garden. + </p> + <p> + “There!” he whispered. “Hell and—What's this mean?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce looked in the direction pointed out. Behind the pergola of rambler + roses the figures of men were coming towards the old well-house led by one + of Folliot's gardeners. Suddenly they emerged into full view, and in front + of the rest was Mitchington and close behind him the detective, and behind + him—Glassdale! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. THE OTHER MAN + </h2> + <p> + It was close on five o'clock when Glassdale, leaving Folliot at his garden + door, turned the corner into the quietness of the Precincts. He walked + about there a while, staring at the queer old houses with eyes which saw + neither fantastic gables nor twisted chimneys. Glassdale was thinking. And + the result of his reflections was that he suddenly exchanged his idle + sauntering for brisker steps and walked sharply round to the + police-station, where he asked to see Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + Mitchington and the detective were just about to walk down to the + railway-station to meet Ransford, in accordance with his telegram. At + sight of Glassdale they went back into the inspector's office. Glassdale + closed the door and favoured them with a knowing smile. + </p> + <p> + “Something else for you, inspector!” he said. “Mixed up a bit with last + night's affair, too. About these mysteries—Braden and Collishaw—I + can tell you one man who's in them.” + </p> + <p> + “Who, then?” demanded Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + Glassdale went a step nearer to the two officials and lowered his voice. + </p> + <p> + “The man who's known here as Stephen Folliot,” he answered. “That's a + fact!” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” exclaimed Mitchington. Then he laughed incredulously. “Can't + believe it!” he continued. “Mr. Folliot! Must be some mistake!” + </p> + <p> + “No mistake,” replied Glassdale. “Besides, Folliot's only an assumed name. + That man is really one Falkiner Wraye, the man Braden, or Brake, was + seeking for many a year, the man who cheated Brake and got him into + trouble. I tell you it's a fact! He's admitted it, or as good as done so, + to me just now.” + </p> + <p> + “To you? And—let you come away and spread it?” exclaimed + Mitchington. “That's incredible! more astonishing than the other!” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but I let him think I could be squared, do you see?” he said. + “Hush-money, you know. He's under the impression that I'm to go back to + him this evening to settle matters. I knew so much—identified him, + as a matter of fact—that he'd no option. I tell you he's been in at + both these affairs—certain! But—there's another man.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's he?” demanded Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Can't say, for I don't know, though I've an idea he'll be a fellow that + Brake was also wanting to find,” replied Glassdale. “But anyhow, I know + what I'm talking about when I tell you of Folliot. You'd better do + something before he suspects me.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington glanced at the clock. + </p> + <p> + “Come with us down to the station,” he said. “Dr. Ransford's coming in on + this express from town; he's got news for us. We'd better hear that first. + Folliot!—good Lord!—who'd have believed or even dreamed it!” + </p> + <p> + “You'll see,” said Glassdale as they went out. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe Dr. Ransford's got the same information.” Ransford was out of the + train as soon as it ran in, and hurried to where Mitchington and his + companions were standing. And behind him, to Mitchington's surprise, came + old Simpson Harker, who had evidently travelled with him. With a silent + gesture Mitchington beckoned the whole party into an empty waiting-room + and closed its door on them. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, inspector,” said Ransford without preface or ceremony, “you've + got to act quickly! You got my wire—a few words will explain it. I + went up to town this morning in answer to a message from the bank where + Braden lodged his money when he returned to England. To tell you the + truth, the managers there and myself have, since Braden's death, been + carrying to a conclusion an investigation which I began on Braden's behalf—though + he never knew of it—years ago. At the bank I met Mr. Harker here, + who had called to find something out for himself. Now I'll sum things up + in a nutshell: for years Braden, or Brake, had been wanting to find two + men who cheated him. The name of one is Wraye, of the other, Flood. I've + been trying to trace them, too. At last we've got them. They're in this + town, and without doubt the deaths of both Braden and Collishaw are at + their door! You know both well enough. Wraye is-” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Folliot!” interrupted Mitchington, pointing to Glassdale. “So he's + just told us; he's identified him as Wraye. But the other—who's he, + doctor?” + </p> + <p> + Ransford glanced at Glassdale as if he wished to question him, but instead + he answered Mitchington's question. + </p> + <p> + “The other man,” he said, “the man Flood, is also a well-known man to you. + Fladgate!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington started, evidently more astonished than by the first news. + </p> + <p> + “What!” he exclaimed. “The verger! You don't say!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember,” continued Ransford, “that Folliot got Fladgate his + appointment as verger not so very long after he himself came here? He did, + anyway, and Fladgate is Flood. We've traced everything through Flood. + Wraye has been a difficult man to trace, because of his residence abroad + for a long time and his change of name, and so on, and it was only + recently that my agents struck on a line through Flood. But there's the + fact. And the probability is that when Braden came here he recognized and + was recognized by these two, and that one or other of them is responsible + for his death and for Collishaw's too. Circumstantial evidence, all of it, + no doubt, but irresistible! Now, what do you propose to do?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington considered matters for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Fladgate first, certainly,” he said. “He lives close by here; we'll go + round to his cottage. If he sees he's in a tight place he may let things + out. Let's go there at once.” + </p> + <p> + He led the whole party out of the station and down the High Street until + they came to a narrow lane of little houses which ran towards the Close. + At its entrance a policeman was walking his beat. Mitchington stopped to + exchange a few words with him. + </p> + <p> + “This man Fladgate,” he said, rejoining the others, “lives alone—fifth + cottage down here. He'll be about having his tea; we shall take him by + surprise.” Presently the group stood around a door at which Mitchington + knocked gently, and it was on their grave and watchful faces that a tall, + clean-shaven, very solemn-looking man gazed in astonishment as he opened + the door, and started back. He went white to the lips and his hand fell + trembling from the latch as Mitchington strode in and the rest crowded + behind. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, Fladgate!” said Mitchington, going straight to the point and + watching his man narrowly, while the detective approached him closely on + the other side. “I want you and a word with you at once. Your real name is + Flood! What have you to say to that? And—it's no use beating about + the bush—what have you to say about this Braden affair, and your + share with Folliot in it, whose real name is Wraye. It's all come out + about the two of you. If you've anything to say, you'd better say it.” + </p> + <p> + The verger, whose black gown lay thrown across the back of a chair, looked + from one face to another with frightened eyes. It was very evident that + the suddenness of the descent had completely unnerved him. Ransford's + practised eyes saw that he was on the verge of a collapse. + </p> + <p> + “Give him time, Mitchington,” he said. “Pull yourself together,” he added, + turning to the man. “Don't be frightened; answer these questions!” + </p> + <p> + “For God's sake, gentlemen!” grasped the verger. “What—what is it? + What am I to answer? Before God, I'm as innocent as—as any of you—about + Mr. Brake's death! Upon my soul and honour I am!” + </p> + <p> + “You know all about it;” insisted Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Come, now, isn't it true that you're Flood, and that Folliot's Wraye, the + two men whose trick on him got Brake convicted years ago? Answer that!” + </p> + <p> + Flood looked from one side to the other. He was leaning against his + tea-table, set in the middle of his tidy living room. From the hearth his + kettle sent out a pleasant singing that sounded strangely in contrast with + the grim situation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's true,” he said at last. “But in that affair I—I wasn't + the principal. I was only—only Wraye's agent, as it were: I wasn't + responsible. And when Mr. Brake came here, when I met him that morning—” + </p> + <p> + He paused, still looking from one to another of his audience as if + entreating their belief. + </p> + <p> + “As sure as I'm a living man, gentlemen!” he suddenly burst out, “I'd no + willing hand in Mr. Brake's death! I'll tell you the exact truth; I'll + take my oath of it whenever you like. I'd have been thankful to tell, many + a time, but for—for Wraye. He wouldn't let me at first, and + afterwards it got complicated. It was this way. That morning—when + Mr. Brake was found dead—I had occasion to go up into that gallery + under the clerestory. I suddenly came on him face to face. He recognized + me. And—I'm telling you the solemn, absolute truth, gentlemen!—he'd + no sooner recognized me than he attacked me, seizing me by the arm. I + hadn't recognized him at first, I did when he laid hold of me. I tried to + shake him off, tried to quiet him; he struggled—I don't know what he + wanted to do—he began to cry out—it was a wonder he wasn't + heard in the church below, and he would have been only the organ was being + played rather loudly. And in the struggle he slipped—it was just by + that open doorway—and before I could do more than grasp at him, he + shot through the opening and fell! It was sheer, pure accident, gentlemen! + Upon my soul, I hadn't the least intention of harming him.” + </p> + <p> + “And after that?” asked Mitchington, at the end of a brief silence. + </p> + <p> + “I saw Mr. Folliot—Wraye,” continued Flood. “Just afterwards, that + was. I told him; he bade me keep silence until we saw how things went. + Later he forced me to be silent. What could I do? As things were, Wraye + could have disclaimed me—I shouldn't have had a chance. So I held my + tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, Collishaw?” demanded Mitchington. “Give us the truth about + that. Whatever the other was, that was murder!” + </p> + <p> + Flood lifted his hand and wiped away the perspiration that had gathered on + his face. + </p> + <p> + “Before God, gentlemen!” he answered. “I know no more—at least, + little more—about that than you do! I'll tell you all I do know. + Wraye and I, of course, met now and then and talked about this. It got to + our ears at last that Collishaw knew something. My own impression is that + he saw what occurred between me and Mr. Brake—he was working + somewhere up there. I wanted to speak to Collishaw. Wraye wouldn't let me, + he bade me leave it to him. A bit later, he told me he'd squared Collishaw + with fifty pounds—” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington and the detective exchanged looks. + </p> + <p> + “Wraye—that's Folliot—paid Collishaw fifty pounds, did he?” + asked the detective. + </p> + <p> + “He told me so,” replied Flood. “To hold his tongue. But I'd scarcely + heard that when I heard of Collishaw's sudden death. And as to how that + happened, or who—who brought it about—upon my soul, gentlemen, + I know nothing! Whatever I may have thought, I never mentioned it to Wraye—never! + I—I daren't! You don't know what a man Wraye is! I've been under his + thumb most of my life and—and what are you going to do with me, + gentlemen?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington exchanged a word or two with the detective, and then, putting + his head out of the door beckoned to the policeman to whom he had spoken + at the end of the lane and who now appeared in company with a + fellow-constable. He brought both into the cottage. + </p> + <p> + “Get your tea,” he said sharply to the verger. “These men will stop with + you—you're not to leave this room.” He gave some instructions to the + two policemen in an undertone and motioned Ransford and the others to + follow him. “It strikes me,” he said, when they were outside in the narrow + lane, “that what we've just heard is somewhere about the truth. And now + we'll go on to Folliot's—there's a way to his house round here.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Folliot was out, Sackville Bonham was still where Bryce had left him, + at the golf-links, when the pursuers reached Folliot's. A parlourmaid + directed them to the garden; a gardener volunteered the suggestion that + his master might be in the old well-house and showed the way. And Folliot + and Bryce saw them coming and looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Glassdale!” exclaimed Bryce. “By heaven, man!—he's told on you!” + </p> + <p> + Folliot was still staring through the window. He saw Ransford and Harker + following the leading figures. And suddenly he turned to Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “You've no hand in this?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I?” exclaimed Bryce. “I never knew till just now!” + </p> + <p> + Folliot pointed to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Go down!” he said. “Let 'em in, bid 'em come up! I'll—I'll settle + with 'em. Go!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce hurried down to the lower apartment. He was filled with excitement—an + unusual thing for him—but in the midst of it, as he made for the + outer door, it suddenly struck him that all his schemings and plottings + were going for nothing. The truth was at hand, and it was not going to + benefit him in the slightest degree. He was beaten. + </p> + <p> + But that was no time for philosophic reflection; already those outside + were beating at the door. He flung it open, and the foremost men started + in surprise at the sight of him. But Bryce bent forward to Mitchington—anxious + to play a part to the last. + </p> + <p> + “He's upstairs!” he whispered. “Up there! He'll bluff it out if he can, + but he's just admitted to me—” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington thrust Bryce aside, almost roughly. + </p> + <p> + “We know all about that!” he said. “I shall have a word or two for you + later! Come on, now—” + </p> + <p> + The men crowded up the stairway into Folliot's snuggery, Bryce, wondering + at the inspector's words and manner, following closely behind him and the + detective and Glassdale, who led the way. Folliot was standing in the + middle of the room, one hand behind his back, the other in his pocket. And + as the leading three entered the place he brought his concealed hand + sharply round and presenting a revolver at Glassdale fired point-blank at + him. + </p> + <p> + But it was not Glassdale who fell. He, wary and watching, started aside as + he saw Folliot's movement, and the bullet, passing between his arm and + body, found its billet in Bryce, who fell, with little more than a groan, + shot through the heart. And as he fell, Folliot, scarcely looking at what + he had done, drew his other hand from his pocket, slipped something into + his mouth and sat down in the big chair behind him ... and within a moment + the other men in the room were looking with horrified faces from one dead + face to another. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. THE GUARDED SECRET + </h2> + <p> + When Bryce had left her, Mary Bewery had gone into the house to await + Ransford's return from town. She meant to tell him of all that Bryce had + said and to beg him to take immediate steps to set matters right, not only + that he himself might be cleared of suspicion but that Bryce's intrigues + might be brought to an end. She had some hope that Ransford would bring + back satisfactory news; she knew that his hurried visit to London had some + connection with these affairs; and she also remembered what he had said on + the previous night. And so, controlling her anger at Bryce and her + impatience of the whole situation she waited as patiently as she could + until the time drew near when Ransford might be expected to be seen coming + across the Close. She knew from which direction he would come, and she + remained near the dining-room window looking out for him. But six o'clock + came and she had seen no sign of him; then, as she was beginning to think + that he had missed the afternoon train she saw him, at the opposite side + of the Close, talking earnestly to Dick, who presently came towards the + house while Ransford turned back into Folliot's garden. + </p> + <p> + Dick Bewery came hurriedly in. His sister saw at once that he had just + heard news which had had a sobering effect on his usually effervescent + spirits. He looked at her as if he wondered exactly how to give her his + message. + </p> + <p> + “I saw you with the doctor just now,” she said, using the term by which + she and her brother always spoke of their guardian. “Why hasn't he come + home?” + </p> + <p> + Dick came close to her, touching her arm. + </p> + <p> + “I say!” he said, almost whispering. “Don't be frightened—the + doctor's all right—but there's something awful just happened. At + Folliot's.” + </p> + <p> + “What” she demanded. “Speak out, Dick! I'm not frightened. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + Dick shook his head as if he still scarcely realized the full significance + of his news. + </p> + <p> + “It's all a licker to me yet!” he answered. “I don't understand it—I + only know what the doctor told me—to come and tell you. Look here, + it's pretty bad. Folliot and Bryce are both dead!” + </p> + <p> + In spite of herself Mary started back as from a great shock and clutched + at the table by which they were standing. + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” she exclaimed. “Why—Bryce was here, speaking to me, not an + hour ago!” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe,” said Dick. “But he's dead now. The fact is, Folliot shot him with + a revolver—killed him on the spot. And then Folliot poisoned himself—took + the same stuff, the doctor said, that finished that chap Collishaw, and + died instantly. It was in Folliot's old well-house. The doctor was there + and the police.” + </p> + <p> + “What does it all mean?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Don't know. Except this,” added Dick; “they've found out about those + other affairs—the Braden and the Collishaw affairs. Folliot was + concerned in them; and who do you think the other was? You'd never guess! + That man Fladgate, the verger. Only that isn't his proper name at all. He + and Folliot finished Braden and Collishaw, anyway. The police have got + Fladgate, and Folliot shot Bryce and killed himself just when they were + going to take him.” + </p> + <p> + “The doctor told you all this?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Dick. “Just that and no more. He called me in as I was + passing Folliot's door. He's coming over as soon as he can. Whew! I say, + won't there be some fine talk in the town! Anyway, things'll be cleared up + now. What did Bryce want here?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind; I can't talk of it, now,” answered Mary. She was already + thinking of how Bryce had stood before her, active and alive, only an hour + earlier; she was thinking, too, of her warning to him. “It's all too + dreadful! too awful to understand!” + </p> + <p> + “Here's the doctor coming now,” said Dick, turning to the window. “He'll + tell more.” + </p> + <p> + Mary looked anxiously at Ransford as he came hastening in. He looked like + a man who has just gone through a crisis and yet she was somehow conscious + that there was a certain atmosphere of relief about him, as though some + great weight had suddenly been lifted. He closed the door and looked + straight at her. + </p> + <p> + “Dick has told you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “All that you told me,” said Dick. + </p> + <p> + Ransford pulled off his gloves and flung them on the table with something + of a gesture of weariness. And at that Mary hastened to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell any more—don't say anything—until you feel able,” + she said. “You're tired.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” answered Ransford. “I'd rather say what I have to say now—just + now! I've wanted to tell both of you what all this was, what it meant, + everything about it, and until today, until within the last few hours, it + was impossible, because I didn't know everything. Now I do! I even know + more than I did an hour ago. Let me tell you now and have done with it. + Sit down there, both of you, and listen.” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to a sofa near the hearth, and the brother and sister sat down, + looking at him wonderingly. Instead of sitting down himself he leaned + against the edge of the table, looking down at them. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to tell you some sad things,” he said diffidently. “The only + consolation is that it's all over now, and certain matters are, or can be, + cleared and you'll have no more secrets. Nor shall I! I've had to keep + this one jealously guarded for seventeen years! And I never thought it + could be released as it has been, in this miserable and terrible fashion! + But that's done now, and nothing can help it. And now, to make everything + plain, just prepare yourselves to hear something that, at first, sounds + very trying. The man whom you've heard of as John Braden, who came to his + death—by accident, as I now firmly believe—there in Paradise, + was, in reality, John Brake—your father!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford looked at his two listeners anxiously as he told this. But he met + no sign of undue surprise or emotion. Dick looked down at his toes with a + little frown, as if he were trying to puzzle something out; Mary continued + to watch Ransford with steady eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Your father—John Brake,” repeated Ransford, breathing more freely + now that he had got the worst news out. “I must go back to the beginning + to make things clear to you about him and your mother. He was a close + friend of mine when we were young men in London; he a bank manager; I, + just beginning my work. We used to spend our holidays together in + Leicestershire. There we met your mother, whose name was Mary Bewery. He + married her; I was his best man. They went to live in London, and from + that time I did not see so much of them, only now and then. During those + first years of his married life Brake made the acquaintance of a man who + came from the same part of Leicestershire that we had met your mother in—a + man named Falkiner Wraye. I may as well tell you that Falkiner Wraye and + Stephen Folliot were one and the same person.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford paused, observing that Mary wished to ask a question. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you known that?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not until today,” replied Ransford promptly. “Never had the ghost of a + notion of it! If I only had known—but, I hadn't! However, to go back—this + man Wraye, who appears always to have been a perfect master of + plausibility, able to twist people round his little finger, somehow got + into close touch with your father about financial matters. Wraye was at + that time a sort of financial agent in London, engaging in various doings + which, I should imagine, were in the nature of gambles. He was assisted in + these by a man who was either a partner with him or a very confidential + clerk or agent, one Flood, who is identical with the man you have known + lately as Fladgate, the verger. Between them, these two appear to have + cajoled or persuaded your father at times to do very foolish and + injudicious things which were, to put it briefly and plainly, the lendings + of various sums of money as short loans for their transactions. For some + time they invariably kept their word to him, and the advances were always + repaid promptly. But eventually, when they had borrowed from him a + considerable sum—some thousands of pounds—for a deal which was + to be carried through within a couple of days, they decamped with the + money, and completely disappeared, leaving your father to bear the + consequences. You may easily understand what followed. The money which + Brake had lent them was the bank's money. The bank unexpectedly came down + on him for his balance, the whole thing was found out, and he was + prosecuted. He had no defence—he was, of course, technically guilty—and + he was sent to penal servitude.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford had dreaded the telling of this but Mary made no sign, and Dick + only rapped out a sharp question. + </p> + <p> + “He hadn't meant to rob the bank for himself, anyway, had he?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, no! not at all!” replied Ransford hastily. “It was a bad error of + judgment on his part, Dick, but he—he'd relied on these men, more + particularly on Wraye, who'd been the leading spirit. Well, that was your + father's sad fate. Now we come to what happened to your mother and + yourselves. Just before your father's arrest, when he knew that all was + lost, and that he was helpless, he sent hurriedly for me and told me + everything in your mother's presence. He begged me to get her and you two + children right away at once. She was against it; he insisted. I took you + all to a quiet place in the country, where your mother assumed her maiden + name. There, within a year, she died. She wasn't a strong woman at any + time. After that—well, you both know pretty well what has been the + run of things since you began to know anything. We'll leave that, it's + nothing to do with the story. I want to go back to your father. I saw him + after his conviction. When I had satisfied him that you and your mother + were safe, he begged me to do my best to find the two men who had ruined + him. I began that search at once. But there was not a trace of them—they + had disappeared as completely as if they were dead. I used all sorts of + means to trace them—without effect. And when at last your father's + term of imprisonment was over and I went to see him on his release, I had + to tell him that up to that point all my efforts had been useless. I urged + him to let the thing drop, and to start life afresh. But he was + determined. Find both men, but particularly Wraye, he would! He refused + point-blank to even see his children until he had found these men and had + forced them to acknowledge their misdeeds as regards him, for that, of + course, would have cleared him to a certain extent. And in spite of + everything I could say, he there and then went off abroad in search of + them—he had got some clue, faint and indefinite, but still there, as + to Wraye's presence in America, and he went after him. From that time + until the morning of his death here in Wrychester I never saw him again!” + </p> + <p> + “You did see him that morning?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + “I saw him, of course, unexpectedly,” answered Ransford. “I had been + across the Close—I came back through the south aisle of the + Cathedral. Just before I left the west porch I saw Brake going up the + stairs to the galleries. I knew him at once. He did not see me, and I + hurried home much upset. Unfortunately, I think, Bryce came in upon me in + that state of agitation. I have reason to believe that he began to suspect + and to plot from that moment. And immediately on hearing of Brake's death, + and its circumstances, I was placed in a terrible dilemma. For I had made + up my mind never to tell you two of your father's history until I had been + able to trace these two men and wring out of them a confession which would + have cleared him of all but the technical commission of the crime of which + he was convicted. Now I had not the least idea that the two men were close + at hand, nor that they had had any hand in his death, and so I kept + silence, and let him be buried under the name he had taken—John + Braden.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford paused and looked at his two listeners as if inviting question or + comment. But neither spoke, and he went on. + </p> + <p> + “You know what happened after that,” he continued. “It soon became evident + to me that sinister and secret things were going on. There was the death + of the labourer—Collishaw. There were other matters. But even then I + had no suspicion of the real truth—the fact is, I began to have some + strange suspicions about Bryce and that old man Harker—based upon + certain evidence which I got by chance. But, all this time, I had never + ceased my investigations about Wraye and Flood, and when the bank-manager + on whom Brake had called in London was here at the inquest, I privately + told him the whole story and invited his co-operation in a certain line + which I was then following. That line suddenly ran up against the man + Flood—otherwise Fladgate. It was not until this very week, however, + that my agents definitely discovered Fladgate to be Flood, and that—through + the investigations about Flood—Folliot was found to be Wraye. Today, + in London, where I met old Harker at the bank at which Brake had lodged + the money he had brought from Australia, the whole thing was made clear by + the last agent of mine who has had the searching in hand. And it shows how + men may easily disappear from a certain round of life, and turn up in + another years after! When those two men cheated your father out of that + money, they disappeared and separated—each, no doubt, with his + share. Flood went off to some obscure place in the North of England; Wraye + went over to America. He evidently made a fortune there; knocked about the + world for awhile; changed his name to Folliot, and under that name married + a wealthy widow, and settled down here in Wrychester to grow roses! How + and where he came across Flood again is not exactly clear, but we knew + that a few years ago Flood was in London, in very poor circumstances, and + the probability is that it was then when the two men met again. What we do + know is that Folliot, as an influential man here, got Flood the post which + he has held, and that things have resulted as they have. And that's all!—all + that I need tell you at present. There are details, but they're of no + importance.” + </p> + <p> + Mary remained silent, but Dick got up with his hands in his pockets. + </p> + <p> + “There's one thing I want to know,” he said. “Which of those two chaps + killed my father? You said it was accident—but was it? I want to + know about that! Are you saying it was accident just to let things down a + bit? Don't! I want to know the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it was accident,” answered Ransford. “I listened most carefully + just now to Fladgate's account of what happened. I firmly believe the man + was telling the truth. But I haven't the least doubt that Folliot poisoned + Collishaw—not the least. Folliot knew that if the least thing came + out about Fladgate, everything would come out about himself.” + </p> + <p> + Dick turned away to leave the room. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Folliot's done for!” he remarked. “I don't care about him, but I + wanted to know for certain about the other.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + When Dick had gone, and Ransford and Mary were left alone, a deep silence + fell on the room. Mary was apparently deep in thought, and Ransford, after + a glance at her, turned away and looked out of the window at the sunlit + Close, thinking of the tragedy he had just witnessed. And he had become so + absorbed in his thoughts of it that he started at feeling a touch on his + arm and looking round saw Mary standing at his side. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to say anything now,” she said, “about what you have just + told us. Some of it I had half-guessed, some of it I had conjectured. But + why didn't you tell me! Before! It wasn't that you hadn't confidence?” + </p> + <p> + “Confidence!” he exclaimed. “There was only one reason—I wanted to + get your father's memory cleared—as far as possible—before + ever telling you anything. I've been wanting to tell you! Hadn't you seen + that I hated to keep silent?” + </p> + <p> + “Hadn't you seen that I wanted to share all your trouble about it?” she + asked. “That was what hurt me—because I couldn't!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford drew a long breath and looked at her. Then he put his hands on + her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Mary!” he said. “You—you don't mean to say—be plain!—you + don't mean that you can care for an old fellow like me?” + </p> + <p> + He was holding her away from him, but she suddenly smiled and came closer + to him. + </p> + <p> + “You must have been very blind not to have seen that for a long time!” she + answered. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paradise Mystery, by J. S. 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