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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paradise Mystery, by J. S. Fletcher
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+Title: The Paradise Mystery
+
+Author: J. S. Fletcher
+
+Release Date: March, 2004 [EBook #5308]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on June 27, 2002]
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+[Date last updated: April 16, 2005]
+Edition: 10
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+Language: English
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+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARADISE MYSTERY ***
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+The Paradise Mystery
+by J. S. Fletcher
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+ONLY THE GUARDIAN
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"There's Martin, Dick!" she said.  "You'll have to hurry."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Mary Bewery took the empty cup and began to refill it.
+
+"I don't like him to be late," she remarked.  "It's the
+beginning of bad habits."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Bryce?" he asked.
+
+The girl nodded her face showing distinct annoyance and
+dislike.  Before saying more, Ransford lighted a cigarette.
+
+"Been at it again?" he said at last.  "Since last time?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"But--what shall you do?" she asked anxiously.  "Not--send him
+away?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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--"
+
+He stopped short at that, and turning away, looked out across
+the garden as if some recollection had suddenly struck him.
+
+"When you were young--which is, of course, such an awfully
+long time since!" said the girl, a little teasingly.  "What?"
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"All right," said Ransford quietly.  "I'll speak to him.
+There's going to be no annoyance for you under this roof."
+
+The girl gave him a quick glance, and Ransford turned away
+from her and picked up his letters.
+
+"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?"
+
+Ransford turned back with a sudden apprehension.
+
+"Well?" he asked brusquely.  "What?"
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"You don't know that," he replied.  "You may be--a great deal
+wiser."
+
+"But what has that got to do with it?" she persisted.  "Is
+there any reason why I shouldn't be told--everything?"
+
+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.
+
+"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--"
+
+"Has he begun asking questions?" demanded Ransford hastily.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Not from me!" he exclaimed.
+
+"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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"If you could only make him see reason and promise not to
+offend again," she said.  "Wouldn't that solve the
+difficulty?"
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+MAKING AN ENEMY
+
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+"I want a word with you," he said curtly.  "I'd better say it
+now."
+
+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.
+
+"Yes?" said Bryce inquiringly.  "One moment."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Yes?" he said, after a pause.  "Well?"
+
+"In spite of it," continued Ransford, "you've since addressed
+her again on the matter--not merely once, but twice."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"None," said Ransford, "provided he only does it once--and
+takes the answer he gets as final."
+
+"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."
+
+Ransford stared at this frank remark, and Bryce went on,
+coolly and imperturbably, as if he had been discussing a
+medical problem.
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+Bryce favoured his senior with a searching look.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"What's your conception of a man?" asked Bryce.
+
+"That!--and a good one," exclaimed Ransford.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh!" remarked Bryce quietly.  "That means--you wish me to go
+away?"
+
+"I certainly think it would be best," said Ransford.
+
+"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!"
+
+Ransford turned sharply in his chair as he noticed the
+emphasis which Bryce put on his last word.
+
+"What do you mean?" he demanded.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"I'll repeat what I've just said," he answered.  "What do you
+mean by that?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Confound their impudence!" growled Ransford.
+
+"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!"
+
+"They'd better not begin gossiping about my affairs," said
+Ransford.  "Otherwise--"
+
+"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!"
+
+"You've heard them?" asked Ransford, who was too vexed to keep
+back his curiosity.  "You yourself?"
+
+"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!'"
+
+"Damn!" said Ransford under his breath.
+
+"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."
+
+"So--in addition to your other qualities," remarked Ransford,
+"you're a gossiper?"
+
+Bryce smiled slowly and shook his head.
+
+"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."
+
+"Are you inferring that hers won't?" demanded Ransford.
+
+"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."
+
+"Claims, man!" retorted Ransford.  "You've got no claims!
+What are you talking about? Claims!"
+
+"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."
+
+"And--when it isn't?" asked Ransford.  "What are you then?--as
+you're so candid."
+
+"I could be a very bad enemy," replied Bryce.
+
+There was a moment's silence, during which the two men looked
+attentively at each other.
+
+"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?"
+
+"No!" answered Bryce.  "I won't!"
+
+"Why not?" asked Ransford, with a faint show of anger.  "A
+woman's wishes!"
+
+"Because I may consider that I see signs of a changed mind in
+her," said Bryce.  "That's why."
+
+"You'll never see any change of mind," declared Ransford.
+"That's certain.  Is that your fixed determination?"
+
+"It is," answered Bryce.  "I'm not the sort of man who is
+easily repelled."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Quite right," agreed Bryce.  "I remember, of course."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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--"
+
+"Not the last, anyway," interrupted Bryce.  "I assure you of
+that!"
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+ST. WRYTHA'S STAIR
+
+
+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.
+
+"Come in!" he called.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+"Is this--is Dr. Ransford within?" asked the stranger.  "I was
+told this is his house."
+
+"Dr. Ransford is out," replied Bryce.  "Just gone out--not
+five minutes ago.  This is his surgery.  Can I be of use?"
+
+The man hesitated, looking beyond Bryce into the room.
+
+"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."
+
+Bryce stepped outside and pointed across the Close.
+
+"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."
+
+The stranger followed Bryce's outstretched finger.
+
+"Paradise?" he said, wonderingly.  "What's that?"
+
+Bryce pointed to a long stretch of grey wall which projected
+from the south wall of the Cathedral into the Close.
+
+"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."
+
+"I'm much obliged to you," said the stranger.  "Thank you."
+
+He turned away in the direction which Bryce had indicated, and
+Bryce went back--only to go out again and call after him.
+
+"If you don't meet him, shall I say you'll call again?" he
+asked.  "And--what name?"
+
+The stranger shook his head.
+
+"It's immaterial," he answered.  "I'll see him--somewhere--or
+later.  Many thanks."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"I have nothing to say to you," answered Mary, sweeping by him
+with a highly displeased lance.  "Except that you have brought
+it on yourself."
+
+"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?"
+
+"You may say what you like," she replied.  "As I just said, I
+have nothing to say--now or at any time."
+
+"That remains to be proved," remarked Bryce.  "The phrase is
+one of much elasticity.  But for the present--I go!"
+
+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, literally 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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"What is it, Varner?" asked Bryce calmly.  "Something
+happened?"
+
+The man swept his hand across his forehead as if he were
+dazed, and then jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
+
+"A man!" he gasped.  "Foot of St. Wrytha's Stair there,
+doctor.  Dead--or if not dead, near it.  I saw it!"
+
+Bryce seized Varner's arm and gave it a shake.
+
+"You saw--what?" he demanded.
+
+"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.
+
+"You saw him--thrown!" he exclaimed.  "Thrown--down there?
+Impossible, man!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Did you see who flung him?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+"How long since?" demanded Bryce.
+
+"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--"
+
+Bryce pushed him towards the bushes by which they were
+standing.
+
+"Take me to him," he said.  "Come on!"
+
+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.
+
+"Look!" exclaimed Varner, suddenly pointing.  "He's stirring!"
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"It's a fearful drop, that, sir," he said.  "And he came down
+with such violence.  You're sure it's over with him?"
+
+"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."
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"That the door?" he asked, turning to Varner.  "And--it was
+open?"
+
+"It's always open," answered Varner.  "Least-ways, it's been
+open, like that, all this spring, to my knowledge."
+
+"What is there behind it?" inquired Mitchington.
+
+"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."
+
+Mitchington turned to one of the two constables who had
+followed him.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE ROOM AT THE MITRE
+
+
+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.
+
+"What is it?--what are you doing there?" he demanded almost
+fiercely.  "What do you mean by coming in like that?"
+
+Bryce affected to have seen nothing.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Dead!  A man?" exclaimed Ransford.  "What man?  A workman?"
+
+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.
+
+"Not a workman--not a townsman--a stranger," he answered.
+"Looks like a well-to-do tourist.  A slightly-built, elderly
+man--grey-haired."
+
+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.
+
+"An elderly man--grey-haired--slightly built?" said Ransford.
+"Dark clothes--silk hat?"
+
+"Precisely," replied Bryce, who was now considerably
+astonished.  "Do you know him?"
+
+"I saw such a man entering the Cathedral, a while ago,"
+answered Ransford.  "A stranger, certainly.  Come along,
+then."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+Mitchington looked at Bryce.
+
+"Haven't you told Dr. Ransford how it was?" he asked.
+
+"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."
+
+Ransford's cheek flushed, and he was unable to repress a
+slight start.  He looked at the mason.
+
+"You actually saw it!" he exclaimed.  "Why, what did you see?"
+
+"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."
+
+Ransford was watching Varner with a set, concentrated look.
+
+"Who--flung him?" he asked suddenly.  "You say you saw!"
+
+"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!"
+
+Ransford turned away.  But he just as suddenly turned back to
+the inspector.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Then I'll go across there," said Mitchington.  "Come with me,
+if you like, Dr. Bryce."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I should say it is, ma'am," answered the inspector.  "He was
+seen outside here last night by one of our men, anyway."
+
+The landlady uttered an expression of distress, and opening a
+side-door, motioned them to step into her parlour.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Came together, you say, Mrs. Partingley?" asked Mitchington.
+"When was that, now?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Saxonsteade, eh?" remarked Mitchington.  "Did he say anything
+about his reasons for going there?"
+
+"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."
+
+"He didn't tell you his business with the Duke?" asked
+Mitchington.
+
+"Not a word!" said the landlady.  "Oh, no!--just that, and no
+more.  But--here's Mr. Dellingham."
+
+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.
+
+"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--"
+
+"These gentlemen have just come about it, sir," answered
+the landlady.  She glanced at Mitchington.  "Perhaps you'll
+tell--" she began.
+
+"Was he a friend of yours, sir?" asked Mitchington.  "A
+personal friend?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"He's dead, sir," replied Mitchington.  "And now we want to
+know who he is."
+
+"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."
+
+"We have searched him," answered Mitchington.  "There isn't a
+paper, a letter, or even a visiting card on him."
+
+Mr. Dellingham looked at the landlady.
+
+"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--"
+
+"I should like to see whatever he had," said Mitchington.
+"We'd better examine his room, Mrs. Partingley."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+He deftly examined the various articles as he took them out,
+and in the end shook his head.
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+THE SCRAP OF PAPER
+
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+          In Para.  Wrycestr.  juxt.  tumb.
+          Ric. Jenk. ex cap.  xxiii. xv.
+
+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:
+
+ 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?
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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? 
+
+"Because that man, Varner, the mason, says he saw the man fall
+before ten.  What?"
+
+One of the group nodded at Bryce.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+Bryce turned sharply on this speaker--young Archdale, a member
+of a well-known firm of architects.
+
+"You don't?" he exclaimed.  "But Varner says he saw him
+thrown!"
+
+"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."
+
+This theory produced a moment's silence--broken at last by
+Sackville Bonham.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+"I suppose you haven't heard anything of any strange person
+being seen lurking about up there this morning?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+Dick, who knew nothing of the recent passages between his
+guardian and the dismissed assistant, glanced at Bryce with
+interest.
+
+"You were on the spot first, weren't you?" he asked: "Do you
+think it really was murder?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+The boy and the girl turned away and went off across the
+Close, and the policeman looked after them and laughed.
+
+"Lively young couple, that, sir!" he said.  "What they call
+healthy curiosity, I suppose?  Plenty o' that knocking around
+in the city today."
+
+Bryce, who had half-turned in the direction of the Library, at
+the other side of the Close, turned round again.
+
+"Do you know if your people are doing anything about
+identifying the dead man?" he asked.  "Did you hear anything
+at noon?"
+
+"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."
+
+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--
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+BY MISADVENTURE
+
+
+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.
+
+"I think the doctor was there when that book you're speaking
+of was found," he remarked.  "So I understood from
+Mitchington."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+Simpson Harker made no remark, and Bryce remembered what Mr.
+Dellingham had said when the book was found.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Campany lifted his quill pen and pointed to a case of big
+leather-bound volumes in a far corner of the room.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+He turned away at last from the chart, at a loss--and Campany
+glanced at him.
+
+"Found what you wanted?" he asked.
+
+"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."
+
+"Southeast corner of Paradise," said Campany.  "Several tombs.
+I could have spared you the trouble of looking."
+
+"You're a regular encyclopaedia about the place," laughed
+Bryce.  "I suppose you know every spout and gargoyle!"
+
+"Ought to," answered the librarian.  "I've been fed on it, man
+and boy, for five-and-forty years."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Can your Grace suggest any reason at all why he should wish
+to call on you?" asked the Coroner.
+
+"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?"
+
+"The fact is, your Grace doesn't know him and knows nothing
+about him," observed the Coroner.
+
+"Just no--nothing!" agreed the Duke and stepped down again.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+The Coroner glanced at a marked passage in the personal column
+of the Times, and read it aloud:
+
+"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, a/o London &
+Colonies Bank, Threadneedle Street, London.'"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE DOUBLE TRAIL
+
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Very kind of you to think of it," said Mary.  "What do you
+wish me to do?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Certainly," answered Mary.  "I'll see that it's done."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"Except his bank-manager," remarked Bryce, "who says he's
+holding ten thousand pounds of his."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"Oh?" said Bryce.  "And what?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Barthorpe next stop!--next stop Barthorpe!"
+
+One of two other men who shared a smoking compartment with
+Bryce turned to his companion as the train moved off again.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+THE BEST MAN
+
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"You know it?" inquired Bryce.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Only just to look round," answered Bryce.
+
+"I'm off tomorrow morning--eleven o'clock," said Harker.
+"It's a longish journey to Wrychester--for old bones like
+mine."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+Bryce saw his chance and turned in--to open the book and point
+out the marriage entry.
+
+"Are you the Charles Claybourne mentioned there?" he asked,
+without ceremony.
+
+"That's me, sir!" replied the old shoemaker briskly, after a
+glance.  "Yes--right enough!"
+
+"How came you to witness that marriage?" inquired Bryce.
+
+The old man nodded at the church across the way.
+
+"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."
+
+"Do you remember this marriage?" asked Bryce, perching himself
+on the bench at which the shoemaker was working.  "Twenty-two
+years since, I see."
+
+"Aye, as if it was yesterday!" answered the old man with a
+smile.  "Miss Bewery's marriage?--why, of course!"
+
+"Who was she?" demanded Bryce.
+
+"Governess at the vicarage," replied Claybourne.  "Nice, sweet
+young lady."
+
+"And the man she married?--Mr. Brake," continued Bryce.  "Who
+was he?"
+
+"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."
+
+"You remember him, too?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+Bruce assimilated all this information greedily--and asked for
+more.
+
+"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."
+
+The shoemaker shook his head as if doubtful.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Your late vicar?" he said.  "The one in whose family Miss
+Bewery was governess--where is he now? Dead?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"Find any names that interested you?" asked the vicar as his
+caller left.  "Anything noteworthy?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Gone, sir," he said.  "Left by the five-thirty express for
+London."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+THE HOUSE OF HIS FRIEND
+
+
+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.
+
+"Dr. Bryce?" he said inquiringly.  "Dr. Pemberton Bryce?"
+
+Bryce made his best bow and assumed his suavest and most
+ingratiating manner.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+The old clergyman started, and looked at his visitor with
+unusual interest.  He grasped the arm of his elbow chair and
+leaned forward.
+
+"Mary Bewery!" he said in a low whisper.  "What--what is the
+name of the man who is her--guardian?"
+
+"Dr. Mark Ransford," answered Bryce promptly.
+
+The old man sat upright again, with a little toss of his head.
+
+"Bless my soul!" he exclaimed.  "Mark Ransford!  Then--it must
+have been as I feared--and suspected!"
+
+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.
+
+"What is it you want to know?" he asked, repeating his first
+question.  "Is--is there some--some mystery?"
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Did you ever see Brake again?" asked Bryce.  The old
+clergyman shook his head.
+
+"Yes!" he said sadly.  "I did see Brake again--under grievous,
+grievous circumstances!"
+
+"You won't mind telling me what circumstances?" suggested
+Bryce.  "I will keep your confidence, Mr. Gilwaters."
+
+"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!"
+
+"A prison cell!" exclaimed Bryce.  "And he--a prisoner?"
+
+"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."
+
+Bryce reflected in silence for a moment--reckoning and
+calculating.
+
+"When was this--the trial?" he asked.
+
+"It was five years after the marriage--seventeen years ago,"
+replied Mr. Gilwaters.
+
+"And--what had he been doing?" inquired Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+Bryce turned eagerly to the faded scrap of newspaper.
+
+
+              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.
+
+Bryce read this over twice before handing back the book.
+
+"Very strange and mysterious, Mr. Gilwaters," he remarked.
+"You say that you saw Brake after the case was over.  Did you
+learn anything?"
+
+"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."
+
+"And--you made no more inquiries?--about the wife?" asked
+Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+"Such as--what?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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?"
+
+"At Wrychester," answered Bryce.  "She is a young woman of
+twenty, and she has a brother, Richard, who is between
+seventeen and eighteen."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"And--their mother?" asked Mr. Gilwaters.
+
+"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."
+
+"And have taken the name of their mother!" remarked the old
+man.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Ah, yes, the mother!" said Mr. Gilwaters.  "Our old
+governess!  Dear me!"
+
+"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!"
+
+The old clergyman lifted his hands and let them fall on his
+knees.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"You will regard this interview as having been of a strictly
+private nature, Mr. Gilwaters?" he said.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+DIPLOMACY
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"What danger?" she asked.  "And if he is, and if you know he
+is--why don't you go direct to him?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I don't understand you," said Mary.
+
+Bryce leaned nearer to her--across the gate.
+
+"You know what happened last week," he said in a low voice.
+"The strange death of that man--Braden."
+
+"Well?" she asked, with a sudden look of uneasiness.  "What of
+it?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Impossible!" exclaimed Mary with a heightening colour.  "What
+could he have to do with it?  What could give rise to such
+foolish--wicked--rumours?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Who are they?" asked Mary.
+
+"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."
+
+"You!" she exclaimed.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Not--that man?" asked Mary fearfully.
+
+"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!"
+
+Mary Bewery was by this time pale and trembling--and Bryce
+continued to watch her steadily.  She stole a furtive look at
+him.
+
+"Why didn't you tell all this at the inquest?" she asked in a
+whisper.
+
+"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."
+
+"By--whom?" asked Mary.
+
+"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."
+
+"Did she tell you that?" demanded Mary, who knew Mrs. Deramore
+for a gossip.
+
+"Between ourselves," said Bryce, "she did not!  She told Mrs.
+Folliot--Mrs. Folliot told me."
+
+"So--it is talked about!" exclaimed Mary.
+
+"I said so," assented Bryce.  "You know what Mrs. Folliot's
+tongue is."
+
+"Then Dr. Ransford will get to hear of it," said Mary.
+
+"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."
+
+Mary hesitated a moment before she asked her next question.
+
+"Why have you told me all this?" she demanded at last.
+
+"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--"
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Magnificent!" exclaimed Mary.  "I never saw anything so
+fine!"
+
+"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."
+
+He pulled out a knife and began to select a handful of the
+finest blooms, which he presently pressed into Mary's hand.
+
+"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?"
+
+Mary kept a firm hand on her wits--and gave him an answer
+which was true enough, so far as she was aware.
+
+"I'm sure he knows nothing," she said.  "What is it, Mr.
+Folliot?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Never!" answered Mary.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+Folliot looked at her out of his half-shut eyes.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+THE BACK ROOM
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"I daresay," responded Ransford dryly.  "Following the example
+of their mothers, no doubt.  Well--what is it?"
+
+He, too, glanced at Mary--and the girl had her work set to
+look unconscious.
+
+"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."
+
+Ransford laughed--a little cynically.
+
+"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."
+
+"Well--about that, sir," acknowledged Dick.  "Comes to that,
+anyhow."
+
+"And what are their grounds?" inquired Ransford.  "You've
+heard them, I'll be bound!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+Dick presently went off--and once more Ransford looked at
+Mary.  And this time, Mary had to meet her guardian's
+inquiring glance.
+
+"Have you heard anything of this?" he asked.
+
+"That there was a rumour--yes," she replied without
+hesitation.  "But--not until just now--this morning."
+
+"Who told you of it?" inquired Ransford.
+
+Mary hesitated.  Then she remembered that Mr. Folliot, at any
+rate, had not bound her to secrecy.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+He saw at once that she did, and Mary saw a slight shade of
+anxiety come over his face.
+
+"Yes, I do!" she replied.  "That morning.  But--it was told to
+me, only today, in strict confidence."
+
+"In strict confidence!" he repeated.  "May I know--by whom?"
+
+"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."
+
+Ransford shook his head and frowned.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+The two men looked at each other.  And this time it was
+Ransford who spoke first.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Yes!" answered Bryce.  "He did come.  Soon after you'd gone
+out."
+
+"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?"
+
+Before Bryce could answer, all three heard a sharp click of
+the front garden gate, and looking round, saw Mitchington
+coming up the walk.
+
+"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."
+
+He almost forced them away, drew the curtains again, and
+hurrying to the front door, returned almost immediately with
+Mitchington.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"You've heard?" remarked Mitchington.  "Um!  Good health,
+sir!--heard, of course, that--"
+
+"That Braden called on Dr. Ransford not long before the
+accident, or murder, or whatever it was, happened," said
+Bryce.  "That's it--eh?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Bless me!--I didn't know that," remarked Mitchington.  "You
+never mentioned it."
+
+"You'll not wonder that I didn't," said Bryce, laughing
+lightly, "when I tell you what the man wanted."
+
+"What did he want, then?" asked Mitchington.
+
+"Merely to be told where the Cathedral Library was," answered
+Bryce.
+
+Ransford, watching Mary Bewery, saw her cheeks flush, and knew
+that Bryce was cheerfully telling lies.  But Mitchington
+evidently had no suspicion.
+
+"That all?" he asked.  "Just a question?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Then--though he did call--he never saw Ransford?" asked the
+inspector.
+
+"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."
+
+"Old fool!" said Mitchington.  "Of course, that's how these
+tales get about.  However, there's more than that in the air."
+
+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.
+
+"Oh?" said Bryce.  "More in the air?  About that business?"
+
+"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."
+
+"He'll persist in that to his dying day," said Bryce
+carelessly.  "If that's all there is--"
+
+"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."
+
+"Well?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"Squared!" exclaimed Bryce.  "Why, then, if that affair was
+really murder, he'd be liable to being charged as an accessory
+after the fact!"
+
+"I warned him of that," replied Mitchington.  "Yes, I warned
+him solemnly."
+
+"With no effect?" asked Bryce.
+
+"He's a surly sort of man," said Mitchington.  "The sort that
+takes refuge in silence.  He made no answer beyond a growl."
+
+"You really think he knows something?" suggested Bryce.
+"Well--if there is anything, it'll come out--in time."
+
+"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."
+
+"I thought we learned from Mrs. Partingley that he and the
+other man, Dellingham, spent the evening together?" said
+Bryce.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"Of course!" replied Mitchington, with a confident laugh.
+"And--I shall!  Keep it to yourself, doctor."
+
+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.
+
+"You heard--a good deal, you see," he observed.
+
+"Look here!" said Ransford peremptorily.  "You put that man
+off about the call at my surgery.  You didn't tell him the
+truth."
+
+"Quite right," assented Bryce.  "I didn't.  Why should I?"
+
+"What did Braden ask you?" demanded Ransford.  "Come, now?"
+
+"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."
+
+Ransford stood silently thinking for a moment or two.  Then he
+moved towards the door.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+MURDER OF THE MASON'S LABOURER
+
+
+It was towards noon of the very neat 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.
+
+"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."
+
+"How do you know, for instance, that any particular tomb or
+monument is, we'll say, Jerkins'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?"
+
+"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--"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Hullo!" he exclaimed with the freedom of youth towards
+something not much older.  "You there?  Anything on?"
+
+Then he looked more clearly, seeing Bryce to be pale and
+excited.  Bryce laid a hand on the lad's arm.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Good Lord!" he gasped.  "It's Collishaw!"
+
+Bryce for the moment failed to comprehend this, and
+Mitchington shook his head.
+
+"Collishaw!" he repeated.  "Collishaw, you know!  The man I
+told you about yesterday afternoon.  The man that said--"
+
+Mitchington suddenly checked himself, with a glance at Dick
+Bewery.
+
+"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."
+
+Mitchington looked again at Dick.
+
+"Perhaps you'd fetch Dr. Ransford, Mr--Richard?" he asked.
+"He's nearest."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+Mitchington glanced at the simple matters which Bryce
+indicated.  And suddenly he turned a half-frightened glance on
+his companion.
+
+"You don't mean to say that--that you suspect he's been
+poisoned?" he asked.  "Good Lord, if that is so--"
+
+"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!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Well," remarked Mitchington, "if that's so, it proves
+something else--to my mind."
+
+"What!" asked Bryce.
+
+"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!"
+
+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--
+
+He was interrupted at this stage by Mitchington, who came
+hurriedly in with a scared face.
+
+"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!"
+
+"What's so?" demanded Bryce.  "What is it that's true?"
+
+Mitchington bent closer over the table.
+
+"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."
+
+"What sort of queer things?" demanded Bryce.  "Don't be afraid
+of speaking out, man!--there's no one to hear but myself."
+
+"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--"
+
+"What on earth made Mrs. Batts tell you that?" interrupted
+Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+"Well?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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!"
+
+Bryce, who had been listening attentively, looked steadily at
+the inspector.
+
+"You're suspecting Ransford already!" he said.
+
+Mitchington shook his head.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+Mitchington spread out his hands.
+
+"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--"
+
+"What's being done about that post-mortem?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+He went round to the police-station at five o'clock.
+Mitchington drew him aside.
+
+"Coates says there's no doubt about it!" he whispered.
+"Poisoned!  Hydrocyanic acid!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+BRYCE IS ASKED A QUESTION
+
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"That's what Coates has told you, of course?" asked Bryce.
+"After the autopsy?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Well?" said Bryce.
+
+"It wasn't in that tin bottle, anyway," remarked Mitchington,
+who was evidently greatly weighted with mystery.
+
+"No!--of course it wasn't!" affirmed Bryce.  "Good Heavens,
+man--I know that!"
+
+"How do you know?" asked Mitchington.
+
+"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."
+
+"Yet you were very anxious that we should take care of the
+bottle?" observed Mitchington.
+
+"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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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!"
+
+"I don't understand you," said Mitchington.
+
+"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?"
+
+"How much would kill anybody--pretty quick?" asked
+Mitchington.
+
+"How much? One drop would cause instantaneous death!" answered
+Bryce.  "Cause paralysis of the heart, there and then,
+instantly!"
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Whose handwriting's that?" demanded Mitchington.
+
+Bryce looked closer, and started.
+
+"Ransford's!" he muttered.  "Ransford--of course!"
+
+"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.
+
+Bryce extracted a pill and put his nose to it, after
+scratching a little of the sugar coating away.
+
+"Mere digestive pills," he announced.
+
+"Could--it!--have been given in one of these?" asked
+Mitchington.
+
+"Possible," replied Bryce.  He stood thinking for a moment.
+"Have you shown those things to Coates and Everest?" he asked
+at last.
+
+"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."
+
+"You're suspecting Ransford," said Bryce.  "That's certain!"
+
+Mitchington carefully put away the pill-box and relocked the
+drawer.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"You've heard of what's happened during the day?" he said.
+
+"About Collishaw--yes," answered Ransford.  "Miss Bewery has
+just told me--what her brother told her.  What of it?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Well?" demanded Ransford, with no attempt to conceal his
+impatience.  "And what then?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Well--and what then?" asked Ransford, still more impatiently.
+"To be explicit--what's all this to do with me?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Well?" said Ransford.
+
+"It's known--to the police--that you were at Collishaw's house
+early this morning," said Bryce.  "Mitchington knows it."
+
+Ransford laughed.
+
+"Does Mitchington know that I overheard what he said to you,
+yesterday afternoon?" he inquired.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Bah!" exclaimed Ransford.  "The man's a fool!  Let him come
+and talk to me."
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"A clear way of putting it, certainly," assented Bryce.  "But
+--there's a very clear way, too, of dissipating any such
+ideas."
+
+"What way?" demanded Ransford.
+
+"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."
+
+Ransford took a long, silent look at his questioner.  And
+Bryce looked steadily back--and Mary Bewery anxiously watched
+both men.
+
+"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."
+
+"Neither do I," said Bryce.  "I only came to tell you."
+
+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.
+
+"Guardian!" said Mary softly.
+
+Ransford turned sharply.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Wouldn't that be better than knowing that people are saying
+things?" she asked.
+
+"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!"
+
+"But--if the man was really poisoned?" suggested Mary.
+
+"Let the police find the poisoner!" said Ransford, with a grim
+smile.  "That's their job."
+
+Mary said nothing for a moment, and Ransford moved restlessly
+about the room.
+
+"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."
+
+"What?" she asked.
+
+"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!"
+
+"So would I!" she said.  "But--"
+
+She paused there a moment and then looked appealingly at
+Ransford.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Well?" admitted Bryce, suddenly growing suspicious.  "What of
+it?"
+
+Harker edged his chair a little closer to his guest's, and
+leaned towards him.
+
+"What," he asked in a whisper, "what have you done with that
+scrap of paper that you took out of Braden's purse?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+FROM THE PAST
+
+
+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.
+
+"Who are you, Mr. Harker?" asked Bryce quietly.
+
+Harker laughed--almost gleefully.
+
+"Yes, you've a right to ask that!" he said.  "Of course!--glad
+you take it that way.  You'll do!"
+
+"I'll qualify it, then," added Bryce.  "It's not who--it's
+what are you!"
+
+Harker waved his cigar at the book-shelves in front of which
+his visitor sat.
+
+"Take a look at my collection of literature, doctor," he said.
+"What d'ye think of it?"
+
+Bryce turned and leisurely inspected one shelf after another.
+
+"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."
+
+Harker laughed again.
+
+"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."
+
+"But--you were a detective?" suggested Bryce.
+
+"Aye, for a good five-and-twenty years!" replied Harker.  "And
+pretty well known, too, sir.  But--my question, doctor.  All
+between ourselves!"
+
+"I'll ask you one, then," said Bryce.  "How do you know I took
+a scrap of paper from Braden's purse?"
+
+"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."
+
+"You knew Braden?" asked Bryce.
+
+"I knew him!" answered Harker.
+
+"You saw him--spoke with him--here in Wrychester?" suggested
+Bryce.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"I think we'd better talk confidentially, Mr. Harker," he
+said.
+
+"Precisely what we are doing, Dr. Bryce," replied Harker.
+
+"All right, my friend," said Bryce, laconically.  "Now we
+understand each other.  So--do you know who John Braden really
+was?"
+
+"Yes!" replied Harker, promptly.  "He was in reality John
+Brake, ex-bank manager, ex-convict."
+
+"Do you know if he's any relatives here in Wrychester?"
+inquired Bryce.
+
+"Yes," said Harker.  "The boy and girl who live with Ransford
+--they're Brake's son and daughter."
+
+"Did Brake know that--when he came here?" continued Bryce.
+
+"No, he didn't--he hadn't the least idea of it," responded
+Harker.
+
+"Had you--then?" asked Bryce.
+
+"No--not until later--a little later," replied Harker.
+
+"You found it out at Barthorpe?" suggested Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+"Ah!" said Bryce.  He looked the old detective quietly in the
+eyes.  "You'd better tell me all about it," he added.
+
+"If we're both going to tell each other--all about it,"
+stipulated Harker.
+
+"That's settled," assented Bryce.
+
+Harker smoked thoughtfully for a moment and seemed to be
+thinking.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"I've read the account of the trial," interrupted Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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.'"
+
+Harker paused at this point and nodded his head at an old
+bureau which stood in a corner of his room.
+
+"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."
+
+"Did he say how long he was going to stop here?" asked Bryce.
+
+"Two or three days," replied Harker.
+
+"Did he mention Ransford?" inquired Bryce.
+
+"Never!" said Harker.
+
+"Did he make any reference to his wife and children?"
+
+"Not the slightest!"
+
+"Nor to the hint that his counsel threw out at the trial?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Well," he asked, after a while, "did you see him again?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"You've kept this quiet, too?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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?"
+
+"That's a theory that seems to be supported by facts," said
+Bryce.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Latin!" he said.  "You can read it, of course.  What does it
+say?"
+
+Bryce repeated a literal translation.
+
+"I've found the place," he added.  "I found it this morning.
+Now, what do you suppose this means?"
+
+Harker was looking hard at the two lines of writing.
+
+"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!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+THE DOUBLE OFFER
+
+
+Bryce, who was deriving a considerable and peculiar pleasure
+from his secret interview with the old detective, smiled at
+Harker's last remark.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"What?" demanded Bryce.
+
+"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!"
+
+"You?" exclaimed Bryce.
+
+"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?"
+
+"You said--forgery?" replied Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+Bryce silently considered this suggestion for awhile.
+
+"You said, just now, that Glassdale could be traced?" he
+remarked at last.
+
+"Traced--yes," replied Harker.  "So long as he's in England."
+
+"Why not set about it?" suggested Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"These?" asked the Coroner, passing over the box which
+Mitchington had found.
+
+"Precisely!" agreed Ransford.  "That, at any rate, is the box,
+and I suppose those to be the pills."
+
+"You made them up yourself?" inquired the Coroner.
+
+"I did--I dispense all my own medicines."
+
+"Is it possible that the poison we have beard of, just now,
+could get into one of those pills--by accident?"
+
+"Utterly impossible!--under my hands, at any rate," answered
+Ransford.
+
+"Still, I suppose, it could have been administered in a pill?"
+suggested the Coroner.
+
+"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!"
+
+The Coroner looked round him, and waited a moment.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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--"
+
+"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!"
+
+"The inquest is adjourned to this day week," said the Coroner
+quietly.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Queer business, all that, Bryce!" observed Sackville
+confidentially.  "Of course, Ransford is a perfect ass!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Ah?" said Bryce.  "And--how?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Not been much time for that--yet," remarked Bryce.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Glad to hear it," said Bryce.  "But--why should Mr. Folliot
+be so particular about clearing Ransford?"
+
+Sackville swung his stick, and pulled up his collar, and
+jerked his nose a trifle higher.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I see," answered Bryce, quietly,--"sort of family arrangement.
+With Ransford's consent and knowledge, of course?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"I will," replied Bryce.  "By-bye!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"I haven't been out since lunch," remarked Bryce.  "What are
+they?"
+
+Mitchington spread out the two papers on the table, pointing
+from one to the other.
+
+"You see?" he said.  "Five Hundred Pounds Reward!--One
+Thousand Pounds Reward!  And--both out at the same time, from
+different sources!"
+
+"What sources?" asked Bryce, bending over the bills.  "Ah--I
+see.  One signed by Phipps & Maynard, the other by Beachcroft.
+Odd, certainly!"
+
+"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!"
+
+Bryce read and re-read the contents of the two bills.  And
+then he thought for awhile before speaking.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+BEFOREHAND
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Hullo!" said Bryce.  "What's your hurry, young Bewery?"
+
+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.
+
+"Hullo!" he replied.  "I say!  Where are you off to?"
+
+"Nowhere!--strolling round," answered Bryce.  "No particular
+purpose, why?"
+
+"You weren't going in--there?" asked Dick, jerking a thumb
+towards Paradise.
+
+"In--there!" exclaimed Bryce.  "Good Lord, no!--dreary enough
+in the daytime!  What should I be going in there for?"
+
+Dick seized Bryce's coat-sleeve and dragged him aside.
+
+"I say!" he whispered.  "There's something up in there--a
+search of some sort!"
+
+Bryce started in spite of an effort to keep unconcerned.
+
+"A search? In there?" he said.  "What do you mean?"
+
+Dick pointed amongst the trees, and Bryce saw the faint
+glimmer of a light.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Digging!" muttered Bryce.  "Digging?"'
+
+"Something like it, anyhow," replied Dick.  "Listen."
+
+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.
+
+"Who are they?" he asked.  "Did you see them--their faces?"
+
+"Not their faces," answered Dick.  "Only their figures in the
+gloom.  But I heard Mitchington's voice."
+
+"Police, then!" said Bryce.  "What on earth are they after?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Found anything?" he asked.
+
+"We're done!" answered Bryce.  "I was a fool not to go last
+night!  We're forestalled, my friend!--that's about it!"
+
+"By--whom?" inquired Harker.
+
+"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?"
+
+Harker suddenly started as if a new light had dawned on him.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Thought of what?" demanded Bryce.
+
+"Never mind!  tell you later," said Harker.  "At present, is
+there any chance of getting a look at them?"
+
+"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."
+
+Harker crossed the room to a chest of drawers, and after some
+rummaging pulled something out.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Glassdale!"
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+"Something here!" he said, loudly enough to reach the ears of
+Bryce and his companions.  "Not so deep down, neither,
+gentlemen!"
+
+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.
+
+"Let us go to your office, inspector," he said.  "We'll
+examine the contents there.  Let us all go at once!"
+
+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.
+
+"I say, Bewery!" he said.  "Going to tell all that?"
+
+Harker got in a word before Dick could answer.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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!"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Glassdale!  That man!" exclaimed Bryce, who was puzzling his
+brain over possible developments.
+
+"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?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+TO BE SHADOWED
+
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+Ransford made no comment on this, and Dick, having exhausted
+his stock of news, presently went off to bed.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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--"
+
+Ransford snapped his fingers.
+
+"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--"
+
+"You make me think that you know more--much more!--than you've
+ever told me!" interrupted Mary.
+
+"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--"
+
+He was interrupted there by the ringing of the front door
+bell, at the sound of which he and Mary looked at each other.
+
+"Who can that be?" said Mary.  "It's past ten o'clock."
+
+Ransford offered no suggestion.  He sat silently waiting,
+until the parlourmaid entered.
+
+"Inspector Mitchington would be much obliged if you could give
+him a few minutes, sir," she said.
+
+Ransford got up from his chair.
+
+"Take Inspector Mitchington into the study," he said.  "Is he
+alone?"
+
+"No, sir--there's a gentleman with him," replied the girl.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Frightened--no!  Uneasy--yes!" replied Mary.  "What can they
+want, this time of night?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Well?" he said, a little brusquely.  "What is it?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"What information do you want?" asked Ransford.
+
+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?"
+
+"I have heard of it," answered Ransford.
+
+"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."
+
+"Well?" said Ransford.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Who was he, then?" asked Ransford, quietly.
+
+"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!"
+
+"What have you come here for?" asked Ransford.
+
+"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?"
+
+Ransford, instead of answering Mitchington's evidently genuine
+appeal, looked at the New Scotland Yard man.
+
+"Is that your theory?" he asked.
+
+Jettison nodded his head, with a movement indicative of
+conviction.
+
+"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--"
+
+"Who is your informant?" inquired Ransford.
+
+The two callers looked at each other--the detective nodded at
+the inspector.
+
+"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."
+
+"Which result," remarked Ransford, steadily regarding
+Mitchington, "has apparently altered all your ideas about
+--me!"
+
+Mitchington laughed a little awkwardly.
+
+"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."
+
+"And your theory," inquired Ransford, turning to the
+detective, "is--put it in a few words."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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--"
+
+"I have never said so!" interrupted Ransford sharply.
+
+"Well--we infer it, from the undoubted fact that he called
+here," remarked Mitchington.  "And if--"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Not in the least," answered Mitchington, readily.  "Our
+time's yours, sir.  Take as long as you like."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"I say yes to that, doctor," answered Mitchington.
+
+"The same here, sir," said the detective.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Good!" muttered Mitchington.  "Good!  Explains a lot."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Watched!" exclaimed Mitchington.  "Who watched us?"
+
+"Harker, for one," answered Ransford.  "And--for another--my
+late assistant, Mr. Pemberton Bryce."
+
+Mitchington's jaw dropped.
+
+"God bless my soul!" he said.  "You don't mean it, doctor!
+Why, how did you--"
+
+"Wait a minute," interrupted Ransford.  He left the room, and
+the two callers looked at each other.
+
+"This chap knows more than you think," observed Jettison in a
+whisper.  "More than he's telling now!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Let him take his own time," advised Jettison.  "But--you mark
+me!--he knows a lot!  This is only an instalment."
+
+Ransford came back--with Dick Bewery, clad in a loud patterned
+and gaily coloured suit of pyjamas.
+
+"Now, Dick," said Ransford.  "Tell Inspector Mitchington
+precisely what happened this evening, within your own
+knowledge."
+
+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.
+
+"Dr. Bryce went off at once to fetch Harker, did he?" asked
+Mitchington, when Dick had made a end.
+
+"At once," answered Dick.  "And was jolly quick back with
+him!"
+
+"And Harker said it didn't matter about your telling as it
+would be public news soon enough?" continued Mitchington.
+
+"Just that," said Dick.
+
+Mitchington looked at Ransford, and Ransford nodded to his
+ward.
+
+"All right, Dick," he said.  "That'll do."
+
+The boy went off again, and Mitchington shook his head.
+
+"Queer!" he said.  "Now what have those two been up to?
+--something, that's certain.  Can you tell us more, doctor?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Ah--just so!" exclaimed Mitchington.  "To be sure!--I'm
+beginning to see!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Close by one--yes," assented the inspector.
+
+"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."
+
+"That's true," muttered Mitchington.  "He was--several
+minutes!"
+
+"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?"
+
+Jettison suddenly rose, buttoning his light overcoat.  The
+action seemed to indicate a newly-formed idea, a definite
+conclusion.  He turned sharply to Mitchington.
+
+"There's one thing certain, inspector," he said.  "You'll keep
+an eye on those two from this out!  From--just now!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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!"
+
+He let his visitors out then, and went back to Mary.
+
+"You'll not have to wait long for things to clear," he said.
+"The mystery's nearly over!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+SURPRISE
+
+
+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.
+
+"What d'ye think of that?" he asked, with a half laugh.
+"Different complexion it puts on things, eh?"
+
+"I think just what I said before--in there," replied the
+detective.  "That man knows more than he's told, even now!"
+
+"Why hasn't he spoken sooner, then?" demanded Mitchington.
+"He's had two good chance--at the inquests."
+
+"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!"
+
+"But about your theory?" questioned Mitchington.  "What do you
+think of it now--in relation to what we've just heard?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Well?" asked Mitchington.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I wanted to ask you that," said Jettison.  "Now, exactly who
+are these two?--tell me about them--both."
+
+"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!"
+
+"And therefore all the more likely to be!" said Jettison.
+"Well--the other?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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 Warchester--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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Bryce gave the detective a half-sharp, half-careless look and
+nodded.
+
+"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."
+
+"Not an easy affair, sir, to be sure," assented Jettison.
+"Complicated!"
+
+"Highly so!" agreed Bryce.  He yawned, and glanced at the
+inspector.  "What's your news, Mitchington?" he asked, almost
+indifferently.
+
+"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?"
+
+"No good at guessing," said Bryce.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Yes," he said as he threw the match away.  "I saw you busy."
+
+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.
+
+"You did!" he said, incredulously.  "And we thought we had it
+all to ourselves!  How did you come to know, doctor?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"So you fetched old Harker?" he said.  "What--what for,
+doctor?  If one may ask, you know."
+
+Bryce made a careless gesture with his cigarette.
+
+"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."
+
+Mitchington hesitated before saying more.  But eventually he
+risked a leading question.
+
+"Any special reason why he should be, doctor?" he asked.
+
+Bryce put his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and
+looked half-lazily at his questioner.
+
+"Do you know who old Harker really is?" he inquired.
+
+"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."
+
+Bryce suddenly turned on Jettison.
+
+"Do you?" he asked.
+
+"I, sir!" exclaimed Jettison.  "I don't know this gentleman
+--at all!"
+
+Bryce laughed--with his usual touch of cynical sneering.
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+THE SUBTLETY OF THE DEVIL
+
+
+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.
+
+"I'll tell you more!" he repeated.  "And, since you're here
+--now!"
+
+Mitchington, who felt a curious uneasiness, gave Jettison
+another glance.  And this time it was Jettison who spoke.
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh, to be sure!" assented Mitchington.  "You know more, then,
+doctor?"
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"To be sure, doctor, to be sure!" he said.  "And accordingly
+--what's their affair, is yours!  Of course!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Aye--and when did you start on that little game, now,
+doctor?" asked Mitchington.  "Was it before, or since, this
+affair developed?"
+
+"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."
+
+Bryce paused awhile, as if marshalling his facts.
+
+"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."
+
+"You've established that as a fact?" asked Jettison, who was
+listening with close attention.  "It's not a surmise on your
+part?"
+
+Bryce hesitated before replying to this question.  After all,
+he reflected, it was a surmise.  He could not positively prove
+his assertion.
+
+"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."
+
+"Dear me!" exclaimed Mitchington.  "Now, if I'd only known--"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Aye, aye!" muttered Mitchington.  "Revenge?--just So!"
+
+"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."
+
+"It's what I particularly wish for," observed Jettison
+quietly.  "The very thing!"
+
+"Then, it's this," said Bryce.  "Ransford was the close friend
+who tricked and deceived Brake:
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Once more Bryce paused--and once more the two listeners showed
+their attention by complete silence.
+
+"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."
+
+Mitchington showed a desire to speak, and Bryce paused.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+Mitchington and Jettison exchanged glances.  Then Jettison
+leaned nearer to Bryce.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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--"
+
+"Don't forget!" interrupted Mitchington.  "Varner swore that
+he saw Braden flung through that doorway!  Flung out!  He saw
+a hand."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"You're taking some trouble," remarked Mitchington.
+
+"I've told you the reason," answered Bryce.
+
+Mitchington hesitated a little; then, with a motion of his
+head towards the door, beckoned Jettison to follow him.
+
+"All right," he said.  "There's plenty for us to see into, I'm
+thinking!"
+
+Bryce laughed and pointed to a shelf of books near the
+fireplace.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Well!" he said.  "We've had a couple of tales, anyhow!  What
+do you think of things, now?"
+
+Jettison threw back his head with a dry laugh.
+
+"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!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+JETTISON TAKES A HAND
+
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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--"
+
+Jettison flung away the newspaper and pulled out his pipe.
+
+"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."
+
+"You looked at 'em any more?" asked Mitchington.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Tell you later," said Jettison.  "Just an idea."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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--"
+
+"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.
+
+ "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!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+Jettison glanced at the ledger and resumed his seat.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Three," answered Stebbing promptly.  "Old Bank, in Monday
+Market; Popham & Hargreaves, in the Square; Wrychester Bank,
+in Spurriergate.  That's the lot."
+
+"Much obliged," said Jettison.  "And--for the present--not a
+word of what we've talked about.  You'll be hearing more
+--later."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Mitchington pushed his papers aside and showed his keen
+attention.
+
+"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!"
+
+Mitchington, whose work hitherto had not led him into the
+mysteries of detective enterprise, nodded delightedly.
+
+"Good!" he said.  "Rare idea!  I should never have thought of
+it!  And--what do you make out of that, now?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Not many," agreed Mitchington.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Who--who?" demanded Mitchington.
+
+Jettison leaned half-across the desk.
+
+"Bryce!" he said in a whisper.  "Bryce!"
+
+Mitchington sat up in his chair and opened his mouth in sheer
+astonishment.
+
+"Good heavens!" he muttered after a moment's silence.  "You
+don't mean it?"
+
+"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."
+
+The two men looked at each other as if each were asking his
+companion a question.
+
+"Well?" said Mitchington at last.  "You're a cut above me,
+Jettison.  What do you make of it?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Think not?" said Mitchington, evidently surprised.  "Now,
+that was my first impression.  If it wasn't hush-money--"
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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:
+
+  '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.'"
+
+"'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?"
+
+"Do you suggest anything?" asked Mitchington.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Part of his game--if that theory's right," murmured
+Mitchington.
+
+"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."
+
+Mitchington suddenly started as if an idea had occurred to
+him.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Meet me with Jettison Wrychester Station on arrival of
+five-twenty express from London mystery cleared up guilty men
+known--Ransford."
+
+Jettison handed the telegram back.
+
+"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?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+THE SAXONSTEADE ARMS
+
+
+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
+thins 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Allow me, sir," he said, carefully abstaining from any
+mention of names.  "May I have the pleasure of a few minutes'
+conversation with you?"
+
+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.
+
+"You've the advantage of me, sir," he said.  "Dr. Bryce, I
+see.  But--"
+
+Bryce smiled and dropped into a garden chair at Glassdale's
+side.
+
+"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."
+
+Glassdale, who had looked somewhat mystified at the beginning
+of this address, seemed to understand matters better by the
+end of it.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Yes, yes!" answered Bryce reassuringly.  "No need to go into
+that--that's all done with."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+Glassdale turned and stared at his companion.
+
+"His daughter!" he exclaimed.  "Brake's daughter!  God bless
+my soul!  I never knew he had a daughter!"
+
+It was Bryce's turn to stare now.  He looked at Glassdale
+incredulously.
+
+"Do you mean to tell me that you knew Brake all those years
+and that he never mentioned his children?" he exclaimed.
+
+"Never a word of 'em!" replied Glassdale.  "Never knew he had
+any!"
+
+"Did he never speak of his past?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+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?
+
+"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?"
+
+"Never!" said Glassdale.  "Never mentioned such a man!"
+
+Bryce reflected again, and suddenly determined to be explicit.
+
+"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!"
+
+"First I ever heard of it, then," said Glassdale.  "And that's
+a fact, too!"
+
+"He'd also a very close friend named Ransford--Mark Ransford,"
+continued Bryce.  "This Ransford was best man at Brake's
+wedding."
+
+"Never heard him speak of Ransford, nor of any wedding!"
+affirmed Glassdale.  "All news to me, doctor."
+
+"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."
+
+Glassdale shook his head as if in sheer perplexity.
+
+"Well, all I can say is, you surprise me!" he remarked.  "I'd
+no idea of any such thing."
+
+"Do you think Brake came to Wrychester because of that?" asked
+Bryce.
+
+"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!"
+
+"What was it?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Who was that man?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"That description, now?--what was it?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"What's that?" demanded Bryce.
+
+"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!"
+
+Bryce, who was already in one of his deep moods of reflection,
+got up from his chair as if to go.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+Bryce silently drew some papers from his pocket.  From them he
+extracted the two handbills which Mitchington had given him
+and handed them over.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"The left jaw--and the left hand!" he repeated.  "Left hand
+--left jaw!  Unmistakable!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+OTHER PEOPLE'S NOTIONS
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Think so?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+"What's your theory?" inquired Bryce.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Well, why?" repeated Bryce.  "Don't see, so far."
+
+"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?"
+
+"No, I didn't," answered Bryce.
+
+"Fact, sir--pure fact," continued Sackville.  "Now, five
+thousand, divided in two, is two thousand five hundred each.
+But five thousand, undivided, is--what?"
+
+"Five thousand--apparently," said Bryce.
+
+"Just so!  And," remarked Sackville knowingly, "a man'll do a
+lot for five thousand."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"And what about Collishaw?" asked Bryce, willing to absorb all
+his companion's ideas.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Anybody come forward about that reward your stepfather
+offered?" asked Bryce.
+
+"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."
+
+"Very good of you all, I'm sure," assented Bryce.  "Very
+thoughtful and kindly."
+
+"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!"
+
+"Doing a bit underground, eh?" asked Bryce.
+
+"Wait a bit!" answered Sackville with a knowing wink.  "It's
+the least expected that happens--what?"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Ransford out?" he asked as he sat down in the dining-room.
+"Suppose he is, this time of day."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Dr. Short told me," answered Mary.  "I don't know any
+details."
+
+Folliot looked meditatively at her a moment.
+
+"Got something to do with those other matters, you know," he
+remarked.  "I say!  What's Ransford doing about all that?"
+
+"About all what, Mr. Folliot?" asked Mary, at once on her
+guard.  "I don't understand you."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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?"
+
+Folliot rose from his chair again, as if he had changed his
+mind about lingering, and shook his head.
+
+"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."
+
+"Is that why you came forward with a reward?" asked Mary.
+
+But to this direct question Folliot made no answer.  Ile
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+Mrs. Folliot made an effort to understand this remark, and
+after inspecting her hostess critically for a moment,
+proceeded in her most judicial manner.
+
+"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."
+
+Mary picked up some needlework and began to be much occupied
+with it.
+
+"Is Dr. Ransford's character affected?" she asked.  "I wasn't
+aware of it, Mrs. Folliot."
+
+"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!"
+
+"I don't think my guardian cares twopence for common talk,
+Mrs. Folliot," answered Mary.  "And I am quite sure I don't."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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!"
+
+"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!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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!"
+
+Mary dropped her work and turned a pair of astonished eyes on
+Mrs. Folliot's large countenance.
+
+"You!" she exclaimed.  "To establish--Dr. Ransford's
+innocence?  Why, Mrs. Folliot, what have you done?"
+
+Mrs. Folliot toyed a little with the jewelled head of her
+sunshade.  Her expression became almost coy.
+
+"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--"
+
+Mary laid down her work again and for a full minute stared
+Mrs. Folliot in the face.
+
+"Mrs. Folliot!" she said at last.  "Are you under the
+impression that I'm thinking of marrying your son?"
+
+"I think I've every good reason for believing it!" replied
+Mrs. Folliot.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+THE UNEXPECTED
+
+
+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.
+
+"Dr. Ransford is away," she said with almost unnecessary
+brusqueness.  "He's away until evening."
+
+"I don't want him," replied Bryce just as brusquely.  "I came
+to see you."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Danger of what?" she demanded.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"But if that's so," she said at last, "what's the good of
+coming to me?  I can't do anything!"
+
+"I can!" said Bryce significantly.  "I know more--much more
+--than the police know--more than anybody knows.  I can save
+Ransford.  Understand that!"
+
+"What do you want now?" she asked.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Well--" she said.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Well?" she said.
+
+"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."
+
+"What have they found out?" asked Mary quietly.
+
+"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."
+
+"How many years ago?" interrupted Mary.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Vague!" murmured Mary.  "Extremely vague!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Motive for what?" asked Mary.
+
+Bryce arrived here at one of his critical stages, and he
+paused a moment in order to choose his words.
+
+"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."
+
+"What was the motive?" asked Mary.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Is that mere conjecture on their part, or is it based on any
+fact?" she asked.
+
+"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?"
+
+"None, till I've heard what Dr. Ransford had to say," replied
+Mary.
+
+Bryce disliked that ready retort.  He was beginning to feel
+that he was being met by some force stronger that his own.
+
+"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--"
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I am in possession of certain facts," began Bryce.  "I--"
+
+Mary stopped him with a look.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I could certainly turn the police off his track," admitted
+Bryce, who was growing highly uncomfortable.  "I could
+divert--"
+
+Mary gave him another look and dropping her needlework
+continued to watch him steadily.
+
+"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?"
+
+"You seem very anxious to give it, anyway," retorted Bryce.
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"I never said it, at any rate," answered Bryce.
+
+"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!"
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+FINESSE
+
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Of a thousand pounds--yes!" replied the solicitor, looking at
+his visitor with still more curiosity, mingled with
+expectancy.  "Can you give any?"
+
+Glassdale pulled out the two handbills which he had obtained
+from Bryce.
+
+"There are two rewards offered," he remarked.  "Are they
+entirely independent of each other?"
+
+"We know nothing of the other," answered the solicitor.
+"Except, of course, that it exists.  They're quite
+independent."
+
+"Who's offering the five hundred pound one?" asked Glassdale.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"And--yours?" inquired Glassdale.  "Who's at the back of
+yours--a thousand?"
+
+The solicitor smiled.
+
+"You haven't answered my question, Mr. Glassdale," he
+observed.  "Can you give any information?"
+
+Glassdale threw his questioner a significant glance.
+
+"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."
+
+"About more than the Saxonsteade jewels, you mean?" asked the
+solicitor.
+
+"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."
+
+The solicitor smiled again.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Wise man!" observed Glassdale.  "That's just what I feel
+about it.  It's a mistake to share secrets with more than one
+person."
+
+"There is a secret, then!" asked the solicitor, half slyly.
+
+"Might be," replied Glassdale.  "Who's your client?"
+
+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.
+
+"You'd better go and see him," said the solicitor,
+suggestively.  "You'll find him reserved enough."
+
+Glassdale read and re-read the name--as if he were
+endeavouring to recollect it, or connect it with something.
+
+"What particular reason has this man for wishing to find this
+out?" he inquired.
+
+"Can't say, my good sir!" replied the solicitor, with a smile.
+"Perhaps he'll tell you.  He hasn't told me."
+
+Glassdale rose to take his leave.  But with his hand on the
+door he turned.
+
+"Is this gentleman a resident in the place?" he asked.
+
+"A well-known townsman," replied the solicitor.  "You'll
+easily find his house in the Close--everybody knows it."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+But Glassdale, after a first quick, searching glance,
+took another and longer one--and went nearer with
+a discreet laugh.
+
+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.
+
+"Mr. Folliot, I believe, sir?" he said.  "Mr. Stephen
+Folliot?"
+
+"Aye, just so!" responded Folliot.  "But I don't know you.
+Who may you be, now?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Aye!" he said quietly.  "So you're after that thousand pound
+reward, eh?"
+
+"I should have no objection to it, Mr. Folliot," replied
+Glassdale.
+
+"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?"
+
+"You'll know that better when we've had a bit of talk, Mr.
+Folliot," answered Glassdale, accompanying his reply with a
+direct glance.
+
+"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?"
+
+"The same, Mr. Folliot," answered the visitor, promptly.
+
+"Then you knew Braden--the man who lost his life here?" asked
+Folliot.
+
+"Very well indeed," replied Glassdale.
+
+"For how long?" demanded Folliot.
+
+"Some years--as a mere acquaintance, seen now and then," said
+Glassdale.  "A few years, recently, as what you might call a
+close friend."
+
+"Tell you any of his secrets?" asked Folliot.
+
+"Yes, he did!" answered Glassdale.
+
+"Anything that seems to relate to his death--and the mystery
+about it?" inquired Folliot.
+
+"I think so," said Glassdale.  "Upon consideration, I think
+so!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"A man?" asked Folliot.  "One?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+Glassdale waited until his cigar was in full going order
+before he answered this question.  Then he replied in one
+word.
+
+"Revenge!"
+
+Folliot put his thumbs in the armholes of his buff waistcoat
+and leaning back, seemed to be admiring his roses.
+
+"Ah!" he said at last.  "Revenge, now?  A sort of vindictive
+man, was he?  Wanted to get his knife into somebody, eh?"
+
+"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!"
+
+For a minute or two both men smoked in silence.  Then Folliot
+--still regarding his roses--put a leading question.
+
+"Give you any details?" he asked.
+
+"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?"
+
+"And he'd tracked 'em down, eh?" asked Folliot.
+
+"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!"
+
+"You're sure of that?" asked Folliot.  "He--didn't come here
+on that account?"
+
+"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--"
+
+He paused and gave Folliot a meaning glance out of the corner
+of his eyes.
+
+"Aye--what?" asked Folliot.
+
+"I think he met at least one of 'em here," said Glassdale,
+quietly.  "And--perhaps both."
+
+"Leading to--misfortune for him?" suggested Folliot.
+
+"If you like to put it that way--yes," assented Glassdale.
+
+Folliot smoked a while in more reflective silence.
+
+"Aye, well!" he said at last.  "I suppose you haven't put
+these ideas of yours before anybody, now?"
+
+"Present ideas?" asked Glassdale, sharply.  "Not to a soul!
+I've not had 'em--very long."
+
+"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?"
+
+"I shouldn't wonder," replied Glassdale.  "And--if it is made
+worth my while."
+
+Folliot mused a little.  Then he tapped Glassdale's elbow.
+
+"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?"
+
+"As I've done," said Glassdale.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Very much worth his while, Mr. Folliot," declared Glassdale.
+
+"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?"
+
+Glassdale leaned a little nearer to his companion on the
+rose-screened bench.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+THE OLD WELL HOUSE
+
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Quiet enough in here, doctor," he observed.  "You've never
+seen this place--bit of a fancy of mine."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Good place for that--certainly," agreed Bryce.
+
+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.
+
+"Help yourself," he said.  "Good stuff, those."
+
+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.
+
+"What did you want to see me about?" he asked.
+
+Bryce, who had lighted a cigar, looked across its smoke at the
+imperturbable face opposite.
+
+"You've just had Glassdale here," he observed quietly.  "I saw
+him leave you."
+
+Folliot nodded--without any change of expression.
+
+"Aye, doctor," he said.  "And--what do you know about
+Glassdale, now?"
+
+Bryce, who would have cheerfully hobnobbed with a man whom he
+was about to conduct to the scaffold, lifted his glass and
+drank.
+
+"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."
+
+"A wide term!" remarked Folliot.  "You've got some limitation
+to it, I should think.  What do you mean by--everything?"
+
+"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."
+
+Folliot threw one leg over the other and began to jog his
+foot.
+
+"Oh!" he said after a pause.  "Dear me!  And--what might you
+know, now, doctor?  Aught you can tell me eh?"
+
+"Lots!" answered Bryce.  "I came to tell you--on seeing that
+Glassdale had been with you.  Because--I was with Glassdale
+this morning."
+
+Folliot made no answer.  But Bryce saw that his cool, almost
+indifferent manner was changing--he was beginning, under the
+surface, to get anxious.
+
+"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."
+
+"Well?" asked Folliot.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"What might you know, now?" he asked after another pause.
+
+"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."
+
+He paused there, watching Folliot.  But Folliot showed no more
+than close attention, and Bryce went on.
+
+"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 end 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?"
+
+"You might mention 'em--if you know 'em," answered Folliot.
+
+"The name of the particular one was Wraye--Falkiner Wraye,"
+replied Bryce promptly.  "Of the other--the man of lesser
+importance--Flood."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Not mine, my lad!" answered Folliot, confidently.  "That's a
+fact?"
+
+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!"
+
+"Then who had?" demanded Bryce.  "Was it the other man--Flood?
+And if so, who is Flood?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Bryce looked up and interjected one word.
+
+"Collishaw?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"What about circumstantial evidence," asked Bryce.
+
+"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!"
+
+"Then--it was the other man!" exclaimed Bryce.  "Now then, who
+is he?"
+
+Folliot replied with a shrewd glance.
+
+"A man who by giving away another man gave himself away would
+be a damned fool!" he answered.  "If there is another man--"
+
+"As if there must be!" interrupted Bryce.
+
+"Then he's safe!" concluded Folliot.  "You'll get nothing from
+me about him!"
+
+"And nobody can get at you except through him?" asked Bryce.
+
+"That's about it," assented Folliot laconically.
+
+Bryce laughed cynically.
+
+"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."
+
+"What?" asked Folliot.
+
+"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?"
+
+Folliot shook his head, and it was plain to Bryce that his
+gesture of dissent was genuine.
+
+"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."
+
+Bryce rose to his feet and stood staring.
+
+"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!"
+
+"What's incredible?" asked Folliot.  "What are you talking
+about?"
+
+Bryce in his eagerness and surprise grasped Folliot's arm and
+shook it.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Never!" answered Folliot.  "Never!  And who's Ransford, then?
+I never heard Brake speak of any Ransford!  What game is all
+this? What--"
+
+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.
+
+"There!" he whispered.  "Hell and--What's this mean?"
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+THE OTHER MAN
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Who, then?" demanded Mitchington.
+
+Glassdale went a step nearer to the two officials and lowered
+his voice.
+
+"The man who's known here as Stephen Folliot," he answered.
+"That's a fact!"
+
+"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mitchington.  Then he laughed
+incredulously.  "Can't believe it!" he continued.  "Mr.
+Folliot!  Must be some mistake!"
+
+"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."
+
+"To you?  And--let you come away and spread it?" exclaimed
+Mitchington.  "That's incredible! more astonishing than the
+other!"
+
+Glassdale laughed.
+
+"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."
+
+"Who's he?" demanded Mitchington.
+
+"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."
+
+Mitchington glanced at the clock.
+
+"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!"
+
+"You'll see," said Glassdale as they went out.
+
+"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.
+
+"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-"
+
+"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?"
+
+Ransford glanced at Glassdale as if he wished to question him,
+but instead he answered Mitchington's question.
+
+"The other man," he said, "the man Flood, is also a well-known
+man to you.  Fladgate!"
+
+Mitchington started, evidently more astonished than by the
+first news.
+
+"What!" he exclaimed.  "The verger!  You don't say!"
+
+"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?"
+
+Mitchington considered matters for a moment.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Give him time, Mitchington," he said.  "Pull yourself
+together," he added, turning to the man.  "Don't be
+frightened; answer these questions!"
+
+"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!"
+
+"You know all about it;" insisted Mitchington.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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--"
+
+He paused, still looking from one to another of his audience
+as if entreating their belief.
+
+"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."
+
+"And after that?" asked Mitchington, at the end of a brief
+silence.
+
+"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."
+
+"Now, then, Collishaw?" demanded Mitchington.  "Give us the
+truth about that.  Whatever the other was, that was murder!"
+
+Flood lifted his hand and wiped away the perspiration that had
+gathered on his face.
+
+"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--"
+
+Mitchington and the detective exchanged looks.
+
+"Wraye--that's Folliot--paid Collishaw fifty pounds, did he?"
+asked the detective.
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Glassdale!" exclaimed Bryce.  "By heaven, man!--he's told on
+you!"
+
+Folliot was still staring through the window.  He saw Ransford
+and Harker following the leading figures.  And suddenly he
+turned to Bryce.
+
+"You've no hand in this?" he demanded.
+
+"I?" exclaimed Bryce.  "I never knew till just now!"
+
+Folliot pointed to the door.
+
+"Go down!" he said.  "Let 'em in, bid 'em come up!  I'll--I'll
+settle with 'em.  Go!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"He's upstairs!" he whispered.  "Up there!  He'll bluff it out
+if he can, but he's just admitted to me--"
+
+Mitchington thrust Bryce aside, almost roughly.
+
+"We know all about that!" he said.  "I shall have a word or
+two for you later!  Come on, now--"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+THE GUARDED SECRET
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+Dick came close to her, touching her arm.
+
+"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."
+
+"What" she demanded.  "Speak out, Dick!  I'm not frightened.
+What is it?"
+
+Dick shook his head as if he still scarcely realized the full
+significance of his news.
+
+"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!"
+
+In spite of herself Mary started back as from a great shock
+and clutched at the table by which they were standing.
+
+"Dead!" she exclaimed.  "Why--Bryce was here, speaking to me,
+not an hour ago!"
+
+"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."
+
+"What does it all mean?" asked Mary.
+
+"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."
+
+"The doctor told you all this?" asked Mary.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"Here's the doctor coming now," said Dick, turning to the
+window.  "He'll tell more."
+
+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.
+
+"Dick has told you?" he asked.
+
+"All that you told me," said Dick.
+
+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.
+
+"Don't tell any more--don't say anything--until you feel
+able," she said.  "You're tired."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Ransford paused, observing that Mary wished to ask a question.
+
+"How long have you known that?" she asked.
+
+"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."
+
+Ransford had dreaded the telling of this but Mary made no
+sign, and Dick only rapped out a sharp question.
+
+"He hadn't meant to rob the bank for himself, anyway, had he?"
+he asked.
+
+"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!"
+
+"You did see him that morning?" asked Mary.
+
+"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."
+
+Ransford paused and looked at his two listeners as if inviting
+question or comment.  But neither spoke, and he went on.
+
+"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."
+
+Mary remained silent, but Dick got up with his hands in his
+pockets.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+Dick turned away to leave the room.
+
+"Well, Folliot's done for!" he remarked.  "I don't care about
+him, but I wanted to know for certain about the other."
+
+        *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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!"
+
+Ransford drew a long breath and looked at her.  Then he put
+his hands on her shoulders.
+
+"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?"
+
+He was holding her away from him, but she suddenly smiled and
+came closer to him.
+
+"You must have been very blind not to have seen that for a
+long time!" she answered.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paradise Mystery, by J. S. Fletcher
+
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