diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5308-0.txt | 9139 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5308-0.zip | bin | 0 -> 169744 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5308-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 179949 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5308-h/5308-h.htm | 10961 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5308.txt | 9139 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 5308.zip | bin | 0 -> 168782 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/tprdm10.txt | 10248 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/tprdm10.zip | bin | 0 -> 168944 bytes |
11 files changed, 39503 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/5308-0.txt b/5308-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f491721 --- /dev/null +++ b/5308-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9139 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paradise Mystery, by J. S. Fletcher + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Paradise Mystery + +Author: J. S. Fletcher + +Release Date: March, 2004 [EBook #5308] +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS 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 glance. “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, liberally furnished with yew and +cypress and studded with tombs and gravestones. In one corner rose a +gigantic elm; in another a broken stairway of stone led to a doorway set +high in the walls of the nave; across the enclosure itself was a pathway +which led towards the houses in the south-east corner of the Close. It +was a curious, gloomy spot, little frequented save by people who went +across it rather than follow the gravelled paths outside, and it was +untenanted when Bryce stepped into it. But just as he walked through the +archway he saw Ransford. Ransford was emerging hastily from a postern +door in the west porch--so hastily that Bryce checked himself to look at +him. And though they were twenty yards apart, Bryce saw that Ransford's +face was very pale, almost to whiteness, and that he was unmistakably +agitated. Instantly he connected that agitation with the man who had +come to the surgery door. + +“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 so--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, c/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 next day that Bryce made a forward step +in the matter of solving the problem of Richard Jenkins and his tomb +in Paradise. Ever since his return from Barthorpe he had been making +attempts to get at the true meaning of this mystery. He had paid so +many visits to the Cathedral Library that Ambrose Campany had asked him +jestingly if he was going in for archaeology; Bryce had replied that +having nothing to do just then he saw no reason why he shouldn't improve +his knowledge of the antiquities of Wrychester. But he was scrupulously +careful not to let the librarian know the real object of his prying and +peeping into the old books and documents. Campany, as Bryce was very +well aware, was a walking encyclopaedia of information about Wrychester +Cathedral: he was, in fact, at that time, engaged in completing a +history of it. And it was through that history that Bryce accidentally +got his precious information. For on the day following the interview +with Mary Bewery and Ransford, Bryce being in the library was treated +by Campany to an inspection of certain drawings which the librarian had +made for illustrating his work-drawings, most of them, of old brasses, +coats of arms, and the like,--And at the foot of one of these, a drawing +of a shield on which was sculptured three crows, Bryce saw the name +Richard Jenkins, armiger. It was all he could do to repress a start and +to check his tongue. But Campany, knowing nothing, quickly gave him the +information he wanted. + +“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, Jenkins's?” asked Bryce, feeling that he was on safe ground. +“Must be a matter of doubt if there's no inscription left, isn't it?” + +“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 chances--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 Wrychester--to reveal it in the proper quarter. That +helped Bryce in no way--so far as he could see. And therefore it was +necessary to re-state his case to himself; to take stock; to see where +he stood--and more than all, to put plainly before his own mind exactly +what he wanted. + +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 things he +wanted to clear up, to complete his double net, and he had an idea that +an hour's chat with Glassdale would yield all that he desired. + +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. He muttered +something about the advisability of somebody doing something and went +away, to Mary's relief. She had no desire to discuss the Paradise +mysteries with anybody, especially after Ransford's assurance of the +previous evening. But in the middle of the afternoon in walked Mrs. +Folliot, a rare caller, and before she had been closeted with Mary five +minutes brought up the subject again. + +“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 than 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 and settled in +London. Brake and this man began to have some secret dealings together. +There was another man in with them, too--a man who was a sort of partner +of the Barthorpe man's. Brake had evidently a belief in these men, and +he trusted them--unfortunately for himself he sometimes trusted the +bank's money to them. I know what happened--he used to let them have +money for short financial transactions--to be refunded within a very +brief space. But--he went to the fire too often, and got his fingers +burned in the end. The two men did him--one of them in particular--and +cleared out. He had to stand the racket. He stood it--to the tune of ten +years' penal servitude. And, naturally, when he'd finished his time, he +wanted to find those two men--and began a long search for them. Like to +know the names of the men, Mr. Folliot?” + +“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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARADISE MYSTERY *** + +***** This file should be named 5308-0.txt or 5308-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/0/5308/ + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/5308-0.zip b/5308-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a0ff8b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/5308-0.zip diff --git a/5308-h.zip b/5308-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b19e568 --- /dev/null +++ b/5308-h.zip diff --git a/5308-h/5308-h.htm b/5308-h/5308-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1abff6e --- /dev/null +++ b/5308-h/5308-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10961 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Paradise Mystery, by J. S. Fletcher + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paradise Mystery, by J. S. Fletcher + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Paradise Mystery + +Author: J. S. Fletcher + +Release Date: June 11, 2009 [EBook #5308] +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARADISE MYSTERY *** + + +Produced by and Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE PARADISE MYSTERY + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By J. S. Fletcher + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> ONLY THE + GUARDIAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> MAKING + AN ENEMY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> ST. + WRYTHA'S STAIR <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> THE + ROOM AT THE MITRE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> THE + SCRAP OF PAPER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> BY + MISADVENTURE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> THE + DOUBLE TRAIL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> THE + BEST MAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> THE + HOUSE OF HIS FRIEND <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> DIPLOMACY + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> THE BACK + ROOM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> MURDER + OF THE MASON'S LABOURER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER + XIII. </a> BRYCE IS ASKED A QUESTION <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> FROM THE PAST <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> THE DOUBLE OFFER + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> BEFOREHAND + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> TO BE + SHADOWED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> SURPRISE + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> THE + SUBTLETY OF THE DEVIL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. + </a> JETTISON TAKES A HAND <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> + CHAPTER XXI. </a> THE SAXONSTEADE ARMS <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> OTHER PEOPLE'S + NOTIONS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> THE + UNEXPECTED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> FINESSE + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> THE OLD + WELL HOUSE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> THE + OTHER MAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> THE + GUARDED SECRET <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. ONLY THE GUARDIAN + </h2> + <p> + American tourists, sure appreciators of all that is ancient and + picturesque in England, invariably come to a halt, holding their breath in + a sudden catch of wonder, as they pass through the half-ruinous gateway + which admits to the Close of Wrychester. Nowhere else in England is there + a fairer prospect of old-world peace. There before their eyes, set in the + centre of a great green sward, fringed by tall elms and giant beeches, + rises the vast fabric of the thirteenth-century Cathedral, its high spire + piercing the skies in which rooks are for ever circling and calling. The + time-worn stone, at a little distance delicate as lacework, is transformed + at different hours of the day into shifting shades of colour, varying from + grey to purple: the massiveness of the great nave and transepts contrasts + impressively with the gradual tapering of the spire, rising so high above + turret and clerestory that it at last becomes a mere line against the + ether. In morning, as in afternoon, or in evening, here is a perpetual + atmosphere of rest; and not around the great church alone, but in the + quaint and ancient houses which fence in the Close. Little less old than + the mighty mass of stone on which their ivy-framed windows look, these + houses make the casual observer feel that here, if anywhere in the world, + life must needs run smoothly. Under those high gables, behind those + mullioned windows, in the beautiful old gardens lying between the stone + porches and the elm-shadowed lawn, nothing, one would think, could + possibly exist but leisured and pleasant existence: even the busy streets + of the old city, outside the crumbling gateway, seem, for the moment, far + off. + </p> + <p> + In one of the oldest of these houses, half hidden behind trees and shrubs + in a corner of the Close, three people sat at breakfast one fine May + morning. The room in which they sat was in keeping with the old house and + its surroundings—a long, low-ceilinged room, with oak panelling + around its walls, and oak beams across its roof—a room of old + furniture, and, old pictures, and old books, its antique atmosphere + relieved by great masses of flowers, set here and there in old china + bowls: through its wide windows, the casements of which were thrown wide + open, there was an inviting prospect of a high-edged flower garden, and, + seen in vistas through the trees and shrubberies, of patches of the west + front of the Cathedral, now sombre and grey in shadow. But on the garden + and into this flower-scented room the sun was shining gaily through the + trees, and making gleams of light on the silver and china on the table and + on the faces of the three people who sat around it. + </p> + <p> + Of these three, two were young, and the third was one of those men whose + age it is never easy to guess—a tall, clean-shaven, bright-eyed, + alert-looking man, good-looking in a clever, professional sort of way, a + man whom no one could have taken for anything but a member of one of the + learned callings. In some lights he looked no more than forty: a strong + light betrayed the fact that his dark hair had a streak of grey in it, and + was showing a tendency to whiten about the temples. A strong, + intellectually superior man, this, scrupulously groomed and well-dressed, + as befitted what he really was—a medical practitioner with an + excellent connection amongst the exclusive society of a cathedral town. + Around him hung an undeniable air of content and prosperity—as he + turned over a pile of letters which stood by his plate, or glanced at the + morning newspaper which lay at his elbow, it was easy to see that he had + no cares beyond those of the day, and that they—so far as he knew + then—were not likely to affect him greatly. Seeing him in these + pleasant domestic circumstances, at the head of his table, with abundant + evidences of comfort and refinement and modest luxury about him, any one + would have said, without hesitation, that Dr. Mark Ransford was undeniably + one of the fortunate folk of this world. + </p> + <p> + The second person of the three was a boy of apparently seventeen—a + well-built, handsome lad of the senior schoolboy type, who was devoting + himself in business-like fashion to two widely-differing pursuits—one, + the consumption of eggs and bacon and dry toast; the other, the study of a + Latin textbook, which he had propped up in front of him against the + old-fashioned silver cruet. His quick eyes wandered alternately between + his book and his plate; now and then he muttered a line or two to himself. + His companions took no notice of these combinations of eating and + learning: they knew from experience that it was his way to make up at + breakfast-time for the moments he had stolen from his studies the night + before. + </p> + <p> + It was not difficult to see that the third member of the party, a girl of + nineteen or twenty, was the boy's sister. Each had a wealth of brown hair, + inclining, in the girl's case to a shade that had tints of gold in it; + each had grey eyes, in which there was a mixture of blue; each had a + bright, vivid colour; each was undeniably good-looking and eminently + healthy. No one would have doubted that both had lived a good deal of an + open-air existence: the boy was already muscular and sinewy: the girl + looked as if she was well acquainted with the tennis racket and the + golf-stick. Nor would any one have made the mistake of thinking that these + two were blood relations of the man at the head of the table—between + them and him there was not the least resemblance of feature, of colour, or + of manner. + </p> + <p> + While the boy learnt the last lines of his Latin, and the doctor turned + over the newspaper, the girl read a letter—evidently, from the large + sprawling handwriting, the missive of some girlish correspondent. She was + deep in it when, from one of the turrets of the Cathedral, a bell began to + ring. At that, she glanced at her brother. + </p> + <p> + “There's Martin, Dick!” she said. “You'll have to hurry.” + </p> + <p> + Many a long year before that, in one of the bygone centuries, a worthy + citizen of Wrychester, Martin by name, had left a sum of money to the Dean + and Chapter of the Cathedral on condition that as long as ever the + Cathedral stood, they should cause to be rung a bell from its smaller + bell-tower for three minutes before nine o'clock every morning, all the + year round. What Martin's object had been no one now knew—but this + bell served to remind young gentlemen going to offices, and boys going to + school, that the hour of their servitude was near. And Dick Bewery, + without a word, bolted half his coffee, snatched up his book, grabbed at a + cap which lay with more books on a chair close by, and vanished through + the open window. The doctor laughed, laid aside his newspaper, and handed + his cup across the table. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think you need bother yourself about Dick's ever being late, + Mary,” he said. “You are not quite aware of the power of legs that are + only seventeen years old. Dick could get to any given point in just about + one-fourth of the time that I could, for instance—moreover, he has a + cunning knowledge of every short cut in the city.” + </p> + <p> + Mary Bewery took the empty cup and began to refill it. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like him to be late,” she remarked. “It's the beginning of bad + habits.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” said Ransford indulgently. “He's pretty free from anything of + that sort, you know. I haven't even suspected him of smoking, yet.” + </p> + <p> + “That's because he thinks smoking would stop his growth and interfere with + his cricket,” answered Mary. “He would smoke if it weren't for that.” + </p> + <p> + “That's giving him high praise, then,” said Ransford. “You couldn't give + him higher! Know how to repress his inclinations. An excellent thing—and + most unusual, I fancy. Most people—don't!” + </p> + <p> + He took his refilled cup, rose from the table, and opened a box of + cigarettes which stood on the mantelpiece. And the girl, instead of + picking up her letter again, glanced at him a little doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “That reminds me of—of something I wanted to say to you,” she said. + “You're quite right about people not repressing their inclinations. I—I + wish some people would!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford turned quickly from the hearth and gave her a sharp look, beneath + which her colour heightened. Her eyes shifted their gaze away to her + letter, and she picked it up and began to fold it nervously. And at that + Ransford rapped out a name, putting a quick suggestion of meaning inquiry + into his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Bryce?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The girl nodded her face showing distinct annoyance and dislike. Before + saying more, Ransford lighted a cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “Been at it again?” he said at last. “Since last time?” + </p> + <p> + “Twice,” she answered. “I didn't like to tell you—I've hated to + bother you about it. But—what am I to do? I dislike him intensely—I + can't tell why, but it's there, and nothing could ever alter the feeling. + And though I told him—before—that it was useless—he + mentioned it again—yesterday—at Mrs. Folliot's garden-party.” + </p> + <p> + “Confound his impudence!” growled Ransford. “Oh, well!—I'll have to + settle with him myself. It's useless trifling with anything like that. I + gave him a quiet hint before. And since he won't take it—all right!” + </p> + <p> + “But—what shall you do?” she asked anxiously. “Not—send him + away?” + </p> + <p> + “If he's any decency about him, he'll go—after what I say to him,” + answered Ransford. “Don't you trouble yourself about it—I'm not at + all keen about him. He's a clever enough fellow, and a good assistant, but + I don't like him, personally—never did.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to think that anything that I say should lose him his + situation—or whatever you call it,” she remarked slowly. “That would + seem—” + </p> + <p> + “No need to bother,” interrupted Ransford. “He'll get another in two + minutes—so to speak. Anyway, we can't have this going on. The fellow + must be an ass! When I was young—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped short at that, and turning away, looked out across the garden + as if some recollection had suddenly struck him. + </p> + <p> + “When you were young—which is, of course, such an awfully long time + since!” said the girl, a little teasingly. “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Only that if a woman said No—unmistakably—once, a man took it + as final,” replied Ransford. “At least—so I was always given to + believe. Nowadays—” + </p> + <p> + “You forget that Mr. Pemberton Bryce is what most people would call a very + pushing young man,” said Mary. “If he doesn't get what he wants in this + world, it won't be for not asking for it. But—if you must speak to + him—and I really think you must!—will you tell him that he is + not going to get—me? Perhaps he'll take it finally from you—as + my guardian.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know if parents and guardians count for much in these degenerate + days,” said Ransford. “But—I won't have him annoying you. And—I + suppose it has come to annoyance?” + </p> + <p> + “It's very annoying to be asked three times by a man whom you've told + flatly, once for all, that you don't want him, at any time, ever!” she + answered. “It's—irritating!” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Ransford quietly. “I'll speak to him. There's going to + be no annoyance for you under this roof.” + </p> + <p> + The girl gave him a quick glance, and Ransford turned away from her and + picked up his letters. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said. “But—there's no need to tell me that, because + I know it already. Now I wonder if you'll tell me something more?” + </p> + <p> + Ransford turned back with a sudden apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he asked brusquely. “What?” + </p> + <p> + “When are you going to tell me all about—Dick and myself?” she + asked. “You promised that you would, you know, some day. And—a whole + year's gone by since then. And—Dick's seventeen! He won't be + satisfied always—just to know no more than that our father and + mother died when we were very little, and that you've been guardian—and + all that you have been!—to us. Will he, now?” + </p> + <p> + Ransford laid down his letters again, and thrusting his hands in his + pockets, squared his shoulders against the mantelpiece. “Don't you think + you might wait until you're twenty-one?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” she said, with a laugh. “I'm just twenty—do you really think + I shall be any wiser in twelve months? Of course I shan't!” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know that,” he replied. “You may be—a great deal wiser.” + </p> + <p> + “But what has that got to do with it?” she persisted. “Is there any reason + why I shouldn't be told—everything?” + </p> + <p> + She was looking at him with a certain amount of demand—and Ransford, + who had always known that some moment of this sort must inevitably come, + felt that she was not going to be put off with ordinary excuses. He + hesitated—and she went on speaking. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” she continued, almost pleadingly. “We don't know anything—at + all. I never have known, and until lately Dick has been too young to care—” + </p> + <p> + “Has he begun asking questions?” demanded Ransford hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Once or twice, lately—yes,” replied Mary. “It's only natural.” She + laughed a little—a forced laugh. “They say,” she went on, “that it + doesn't matter, nowadays, if you can't tell who your grandfather was—but, + just think, we don't know who our father was—except that his name + was John Bewery. That doesn't convey much.” + </p> + <p> + “You know more,” said Ransford. “I told you—always have told you—that + he was an early friend of mine, a man of business, who, with your mother, + died young, and I, as their friend, became guardian to you and Dick. Is—is + there anything much more that I could tell?” + </p> + <p> + “There's something I should very much like to know—personally,” she + answered, after a pause which lasted so long that Ransford began to feel + uncomfortable under it. “Don't be angry—or hurt—if I tell you + plainly what it is. I'm quite sure it's never even occurred to Dick—but + I'm three years ahead of him. It's this—have we been dependent on + you?” + </p> + <p> + Ransford's face flushed and he turned deliberately to the window, and for + a moment stood staring out on his garden and the glimpses of the + Cathedral. And just as deliberately as he had turned away, he turned back. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he said. “Since you ask me, I'll tell you that. You've both got + money—due to you when you're of age. It—it's in my hands. Not + a great lot—but sufficient to—to cover all your expenses. + Education—everything. When you're twenty-one, I'll hand over yours—when + Dick's twenty-one, his. Perhaps I ought to have told you all that before, + but—I didn't think it necessary. I—I dare say I've a tendency + to let things slide.” + </p> + <p> + “You've never let things slide about us,” she replied quickly, with a + sudden glance which made him turn away again. “And I only wanted to know—because + I'd got an idea that—well, that we were owing everything to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not from me!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “No—that would never be!” she said. “But—don't you understand? + I—wanted to know—something. Thank you. I won't ask more now.” + </p> + <p> + “I've always meant to tell you—a good deal,” remarked Ransford, + after another pause. “You see, I can scarcely—yet—realize that + you're both growing up! You were at school a year ago. And Dick is still + very young. Are—are you more satisfied now?” he went on anxiously. + “If not—” + </p> + <p> + “I'm quite satisfied,” she answered. “Perhaps—some day—you'll + tell me more about our father and mother?—but never mind even that + now. You're sure you haven't minded my asking—what I have asked?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not—of course not!” he said hastily. “I ought to have + remembered. And—but we'll talk again. I must get into the surgery—and + have a word with Bryce, too.” + </p> + <p> + “If you could only make him see reason and promise not to offend again,” + she said. “Wouldn't that solve the difficulty?” + </p> + <p> + Ransford shook his head and made no answer. He picked up his letters again + and went out, and down a long stone-walled passage which led to his + surgery at the side of the house. He was alone there when he had shut the + door—and he relieved his feelings with a deep groan. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven help me if the lad ever insists on the real truth and on having + proofs and facts given to him!” he muttered. “I shouldn't mind telling + her, when she's a bit older—but he wouldn't understand as she would. + Anyway, thank God I can keep up the pleasant fiction about the money + without her ever knowing that I told her a deliberate lie just now. But—what's + in the future? Here's one man to be dismissed already, and there'll be + others, and one of them will be the favoured man. That man will have to be + told! And—so will she, then. And—my God! she doesn't see, and + mustn't see, that I'm madly in love with her myself! She's no idea of it—and + she shan't have; I must—must continue to be—only the + guardian!” + </p> + <p> + He laughed a little cynically as he laid his letters down on his desk and + proceeded to open them—in which occupation he was presently + interrupted by the opening of the side-door and the entrance of Mr. + Pemberton Bryce. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. MAKING AN ENEMY + </h2> + <p> + It was characteristic of Pemberton Bryce that he always walked into a room + as if its occupant were asleep and he was afraid of waking him. He had a + gentle step which was soft without being stealthy, and quiet movements + which brought him suddenly to anybody's side before his presence was + noticed. He was by Ransford's desk ere Ransford knew he was in the surgery—and + Ransford's sudden realization of his presence roused a certain feeling of + irritation in his mind, which he instantly endeavoured to suppress—it + was no use getting cross with a man of whom you were about to rid + yourself, he said to himself. And for the moment, after replying to his + assistant's greeting—a greeting as quiet as his entrance—he + went on reading his letters, and Bryce turned off to that part of the + surgery in which the drugs were kept, and busied himself in making up some + prescription. Ten minutes went by in silence; then Ransford pushed his + correspondence aside, laid a paper-weight on it, and twisting his chair + round, looked at the man to whom he was going to say some unpleasant + things. Within himself he was revolving a question—how would Bryce + take it? + </p> + <p> + He had never liked this assistant of his, although he had then had him in + employment for nearly two years. There was something about Pemberton Bryce + which he did not understand and could not fathom. He had come to him with + excellent testimonials and good recommendations; he was well up to his + work, successful with patients, thoroughly capable as a general + practitioner—there was no fault to be found with him on any + professional grounds. But to Ransford his personality was objectionable—why, + he was not quite sure. Outwardly, Bryce was rather more than presentable—a + tall, good-looking man of twenty-eight or thirty, whom some people—women + especially—would call handsome; he was the sort of young man who + knows the value of good clothes and a smart appearance, and his + professional manner was all that could be desired. But Ransford could not + help distinguishing between Bryce the doctor and Bryce the man—and + Bryce the man he did not like. Outside the professional part of him, Bryce + seemed to him to be undoubtedly deep, sly, cunning—he conveyed the + impression of being one of those men whose ears are always on the stretch, + who take everything in and give little out. There was a curious air of + watchfulness and of secrecy about him in private matters which was as + repellent—to Ransford's thinking—as it was hard to explain. + Anyway, in private affairs, he did not like his assistant, and he liked + him less than ever as he glanced at him on this particular occasion. + </p> + <p> + “I want a word with you,” he said curtly. “I'd better say it now.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who was slowly pouring some liquid from one bottle into another, + looked quietly across the room and did not interrupt himself in his work. + Ransford knew that he must have recognized a certain significance in the + words just addressed to him—but he showed no outward sign of it, and + the liquid went on trickling from one bottle to the other with the same + uniform steadiness. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Bryce inquiringly. “One moment.” + </p> + <p> + He finished his task calmly, put the corks in the bottles, labelled one, + restored the other to a shelf, and turned round. Not a man to be easily + startled—not easily turned from a purpose, this, thought Ransford as + he glanced at Bryce's eyes, which had a trick of fastening their gaze on + people with an odd, disconcerting persistency. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry to say what I must say,” he began. “But—you've brought it + on yourself. I gave you a hint some time ago that your attentions were not + welcome to Miss Bewery.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made no immediate response. Instead, leaning almost carelessly and + indifferently against the table at which he had been busy with drugs and + bottles, he took a small file from his waistcoat pocket and began to + polish his carefully cut nails. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” he said, after a pause. “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “In spite of it,” continued Ransford, “you've since addressed her again on + the matter—not merely once, but twice.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce put his file away, and thrusting his hands in his pockets, crossed + his feet as he leaned back against the table—his whole attitude + suggesting, whether meaningly or not, that he was very much at his ease. + </p> + <p> + “There's a great deal to be said on a point like this,” he observed. “If a + man wishes a certain young woman to become his wife, what right has any + other man—or the young woman herself, for that matter to say that he + mustn't express his desires to her?” + </p> + <p> + “None,” said Ransford, “provided he only does it once—and takes the + answer he gets as final.” + </p> + <p> + “I disagree with you entirely,” retorted Bryce. “On the last particular, + at any rate. A man who considers any word of a woman's as being final is a + fool. What a woman thinks on Monday she's almost dead certain not to think + on Tuesday. The whole history of human relationship is on my side there. + It's no opinion—it's a fact.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford stared at this frank remark, and Bryce went on, coolly and + imperturbably, as if he had been discussing a medical problem. + </p> + <p> + “A man who takes a woman's first answer as final,” he continued, “is, I + repeat, a fool. There are lots of reasons why a woman shouldn't know her + own mind at the first time of asking. She may be too surprised. She mayn't + be quite decided. She may say one thing when she really means another. + That often happens. She isn't much better equipped at the second time of + asking. And there are women—young ones—who aren't really + certain of themselves at the third time. All that's common sense.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what it is!” suddenly exclaimed Ransford, after remaining + silent for a moment under this flow of philosophy. “I'm not going to + discuss theories and ideas. I know one young woman, at any rate, who is + certain of herself. Miss Bewery does not feel any inclination to you—now, + nor at any time to be! She's told you so three times. And—you should + take her answer and behave yourself accordingly!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce favoured his senior with a searching look. + </p> + <p> + “How does Miss Bewery know that she mayn't be inclined to—in the + future?” he asked. “She may come to regard me with favour.” + </p> + <p> + “No, she won't!” declared Ransford. “Better hear the truth, and be done + with it. She doesn't like you—and she doesn't want to, either. Why + can't you take your answer like a man?” + </p> + <p> + “What's your conception of a man?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “That!—and a good one,” exclaimed Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “May satisfy you—but not me,” said Bryce. “Mine's different. My + conception of a man is of a being who's got some perseverance. You can get + anything in this world—anything!—by pegging away for it.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not going to get my ward,” suddenly said Ransford. “That's flat! + She doesn't want you—and she's now said so three times. And—I + support her.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you against me?” asked Bryce calmly. “If, as you say, you + support her in her resolution not to listen to my proposals, you must have + something against me. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “That's a question you've no right to put,” replied Ransford, “for it's + utterly unnecessary. So I'm not going to answer it. I've nothing against + you as regards your work—nothing! I'm willing to give you an + excellent testimonial.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” remarked Bryce quietly. “That means—you wish me to go away?” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly think it would be best,” said Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” continued Bryce, more coolly than ever, “I shall certainly + want to know what you have against me—or what Miss Bewery has + against me. Why am I objected to as a suitor? You, at any rate, know who I + am—you know that my father is of our own profession, and a man of + reputation and standing, and that I myself came to you on high + recommendation. Looked at from my standpoint, I'm a thoroughly eligible + young man. And there's a point you forget—there's no mystery about + me!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford turned sharply in his chair as he noticed the emphasis which + Bryce put on his last word. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “What I've just said,” replied Bryce. “There's no mystery attaching to me. + Any question about me can be answered. Now, you can't say that as regards + your ward. That's a fact, Dr. Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford, in years gone by, had practised himself in the art of + restraining his temper—naturally a somewhat quick one. And he made a + strong effort in that direction now, recognizing that there was something + behind his assistant's last remark, and that Bryce meant him to know it + was there. + </p> + <p> + “I'll repeat what I've just said,” he answered. “What do you mean by + that?” + </p> + <p> + “I hear things,” said Bryce. “People will talk—even a doctor can't + refuse to hear what gossiping and garrulous patients say. Since she came + to you from school, a year ago, Wrychester people have been much + interested in Miss Bewery, and in her brother, too. And there are a good + many residents of the Close—you know their nice, inquisitive ways!—who + want to know who the sister and brother really are—and what your + relationship is to them!” + </p> + <p> + “Confound their impudence!” growled Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “By all means,” agreed Bryce. “And—for all I care—let them be + confounded, too. But if you imagine that the choice and select coteries of + a cathedral town, consisting mainly of the relicts of deceased deans, + canons, prebendaries and the like, and of maiden aunts, elderly spinsters, + and tea-table-haunting curates, are free from gossip—why, you're a + singularly innocent person!” + </p> + <p> + “They'd better not begin gossiping about my affairs,” said Ransford. + “Otherwise—” + </p> + <p> + “You can't stop them from gossiping about your affairs,” interrupted Bryce + cheerfully. “Of course they gossip about your affairs; have gossiped about + them; will continue to gossip about them. It's human nature!” + </p> + <p> + “You've heard them?” asked Ransford, who was too vexed to keep back his + curiosity. “You yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “As you are aware, I am often asked out to tea,” replied Bryce, “and to + garden-parties, and tennis-parties, and choice and cosy functions + patronized by curates and associated with crumpets. I have heard—with + these ears. I can even repeat the sort of thing I have heard. 'That dear, + delightful Miss Bewery—what a charming girl! And that good-looking + boy, her brother—quite a dear! Now I wonder who they really are? + Wards of Dr. Ransford, of course! Really, how very romantic!—and + just a little—eh?—unusual? Such a comparatively young man to + have such a really charming girl as his ward! Can't be more than + forty-five himself, and she's twenty—how very, very romantic! + Really, one would think there ought to be a chaperon!'” + </p> + <p> + “Damn!” said Ransford under his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Just so,” agreed Bryce. “But—that's the sort of thing. Do you want + more? I can supply an unlimited quantity in the piece if you like. But + it's all according to sample.” + </p> + <p> + “So—in addition to your other qualities,” remarked Ransford, “you're + a gossiper?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce smiled slowly and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he replied. “I'm a listener. A good one, too. But do you see my + point? I say—there's no mystery about me. If Miss Bewery will honour + me with her hand, she'll get a man whose antecedents will bear the + strictest investigation.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you inferring that hers won't?” demanded Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not inferring anything,” said Bryce. “I am speaking for myself, of + myself. Pressing my own claim, if you like, on you, the guardian. You + might do much worse than support my claims, Dr. Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “Claims, man!” retorted Ransford. “You've got no claims! What are you + talking about? Claims!” + </p> + <p> + “My pretensions, then,” answered Bryce. “If there is a mystery—as + Wrychester people say there is—about Miss Bewery, it would be safe + with me. Whatever you may think, I'm a thoroughly dependable man—when + it's in my own interest.” + </p> + <p> + “And—when it isn't?” asked Ransford. “What are you then?—as + you're so candid.” + </p> + <p> + “I could be a very bad enemy,” replied Bryce. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's silence, during which the two men looked attentively + at each other. + </p> + <p> + “I've told you the truth,” said Ransford at last. “Miss Bewery flatly + refuses to entertain any idea whatever of ever marrying you. She earnestly + hopes that that eventuality may never be mentioned to her again. Will you + give me your word of honour to respect her wishes?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” answered Bryce. “I won't!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Ransford, with a faint show of anger. “A woman's wishes!” + </p> + <p> + “Because I may consider that I see signs of a changed mind in her,” said + Bryce. “That's why.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll never see any change of mind,” declared Ransford. “That's certain. + Is that your fixed determination?” + </p> + <p> + “It is,” answered Bryce. “I'm not the sort of man who is easily repelled.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, in that case,” said Ransford, “we had better part company.” He rose + from his desk, and going over to a safe which stood in a corner, unlocked + it and took some papers from an inside drawer. He consulted one of these + and turned to Bryce. “You remember our agreement?” he continued. “Your + engagement was to be determined by a three months' notice on either side, + or, at my will, at any time by payment of three months' salary?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right,” agreed Bryce. “I remember, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll give you a cheque for three months' salary—now,” said + Ransford, and sat down again at his desk. “That will settle matters + definitely—and, I hope, agreeably.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made no reply. He remained leaning against the table, watching + Ransford write the cheque. And when Ransford laid the cheque down at the + edge of the desk he made no movement towards it. + </p> + <p> + “You must see,” remarked Ransford, half apologetically, “that it's the + only thing I can do. I can't have any man who's not—not welcome to + her, to put it plainly—causing any annoyance to my ward. I repeat, + Bryce—you must see it!” + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to do with what you see,” answered Bryce. “Your opinions + are not mine, and mine aren't yours. You're really turning me away—as + if I were a dishonest foreman!—because in my opinion it would be a + very excellent thing for her and for myself if Miss Bewery would consent + to marry me. That's the plain truth.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford allowed himself to take a long and steady look at Bryce. The + thing was done now, and his dismissed assistant seemed to be taking it + quietly—and Ransford's curiosity was aroused. + </p> + <p> + “I can't make you out!” he exclaimed. “I don't know whether you're the + most cynical young man I ever met, or whether you're the most obtuse—” + </p> + <p> + “Not the last, anyway,” interrupted Bryce. “I assure you of that!” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you see for yourself, then, man, that the girl doesn't want you!” + said Ransford. “Hang it!—for anything you know to the contrary, she + may have—might have—other ideas!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who had been staring out of a side window for the last minute or + two, suddenly laughed, and, lifting a hand, pointed into the garden. And + Ransford turned—and saw Mary Bewery walking there with a tall lad, + whom he recognized as one Sackville Bonham, stepson of Mr. Folliot, a + wealthy resident of the Close. The two young people were laughing and + chatting together with evident great friendliness. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” remarked Bryce quietly, “her ideas run in—that direction? + In which case, Dr. Ransford, you'll have trouble. For Mrs. Folliot, mother + of yonder callow youth, who's the apple of her eye, is one of the + inquisitive ladies of whom I've just told you, and if her son unites + himself with anybody, she'll want to know exactly who that anybody is. + You'd far better have supported me as an aspirant! However—I suppose + there's no more to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!” answered Ransford. “Except to say good-day—and good-bye + to you. You needn't remain—I'll see to everything. And I'm going out + now. I think you'd better not exchange any farewells with any one.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce nodded silently, and Ransford, picking up his hat and gloves, left + the surgery by the side door. A moment later, Bryce saw him crossing the + Close. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. ST. WRYTHA'S STAIR + </h2> + <p> + The summarily dismissed assistant, thus left alone, stood for a moment in + evident deep thought before he moved towards Ransford's desk and picked up + the cheque. He looked at it carefully, folded it neatly, and put it away + in his pocket-book; after that he proceeded to collect a few possessions + of his own, instruments, books from various drawers and shelves. He was + placing these things in a small hand-bag when a gentle tap sounded on the + door by which patients approached the surgery. + </p> + <p> + “Come in!” he called. + </p> + <p> + There was no response, although the door was slightly ajar; instead, the + knock was repeated, and at that Bryce crossed the room and flung the door + open. + </p> + <p> + A man stood outside—an elderly, slight-figured, quiet-looking man, + who looked at Bryce with a half-deprecating, half-nervous air; the air of + a man who was shy in manner and evidently fearful of seeming to intrude. + Bryce's quick, observant eyes took him in at a glance, noting a much worn + and lined face, thin grey hair and tired eyes; this was a man, he said to + himself, who had seen trouble. Nevertheless, not a poor man, if his + general appearance was anything to go by—he was well and even + expensively dressed, in the style generally affected by well-to-do + merchants and city men; his clothes were fashionably cut, his silk hat was + new, his linen and boots irreproachable; a fine diamond pin gleamed in his + carefully arranged cravat. Why, then, this unmistakably furtive and + half-frightened manner—which seemed to be somewhat relieved at the + sight of Bryce? + </p> + <p> + “Is this—is Dr. Ransford within?” asked the stranger. “I was told + this is his house.” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Ransford is out,” replied Bryce. “Just gone out—not five + minutes ago. This is his surgery. Can I be of use?” + </p> + <p> + The man hesitated, looking beyond Bryce into the room. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” he said at last. “I—no, I don't want professional + services—I just called to see Dr. Ransford—I—the fact + is, I once knew some one of that name. It's no matter—at present.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce stepped outside and pointed across the Close. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Ransford,” he said, “went over there—I rather fancy he's gone + to the Deanery—he has a case there. If you went through Paradise, + you'd very likely meet him coming back—the Deanery is the big house + in the far corner yonder.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger followed Bryce's outstretched finger. + </p> + <p> + “Paradise?” he said, wonderingly. “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce pointed to a long stretch of grey wall which projected from the + south wall of the Cathedral into the Close. + </p> + <p> + “It's an enclosure—between the south porch and the transept,” he + said. “Full of old tombs and trees—a sort of wilderness—why + called Paradise I don't know. There's a short cut across it to the Deanery + and that part of the Close—through that archway you see over there. + If you go across, you're almost sure to meet Dr. Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm much obliged to you,” said the stranger. “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away in the direction which Bryce had indicated, and Bryce went + back—only to go out again and call after him. + </p> + <p> + “If you don't meet him, shall I say you'll call again?” he asked. “And—what + name?” + </p> + <p> + The stranger shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It's immaterial,” he answered. “I'll see him—somewhere—or + later. Many thanks.” + </p> + <p> + He went on his way towards Paradise, and Bryce returned to the surgery and + completed his preparations for departure. And in the course of things, he + more than once looked through the window into the garden and saw Mary + Bewery still walking and talking with young Sackville Bonham. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he muttered to himself. “I won't trouble to exchange any farewells—not + because of Ransford's hint, but because there's no need. If Ransford + thinks he's going to drive me out of Wrychester before I choose to go he's + badly mistaken—it'll be time enough to say farewell when I take my + departure—and that won't be just yet. Now I wonder who that old chap + was? Knew some one of Ransford's name once, did he? Probably Ransford + himself—in which case he knows more of Ransford than anybody in + Wrychester knows—for nobody in Wrychester knows anything beyond a + few years back. No, Dr. Ransford!—no farewells—to anybody! A + mere departure—till I turn up again.” + </p> + <p> + But Bryce was not to get away from the old house without something in the + nature of a farewell. As he walked out of the surgery by the side + entrance, Mary Bewery, who had just parted from young Bonham in the garden + and was about to visit her dogs in the stable yard, came along: she and + Bryce met, face to face. The girl flushed, not so much from embarrassment + as from vexation; Bryce, cool as ever, showed no sign of any + embarrassment. Instead, he laughed, tapping the hand-bag which he carried + under one arm. + </p> + <p> + “Summarily turned out—as if I had been stealing the spoons,” he + remarked. “I go—with my small belongings. This is my first reward—for + devotion.” + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to say to you,” answered Mary, sweeping by him with a + highly displeased glance. “Except that you have brought it on yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “A very feminine retort!” observed Bryce. “But—there is no malice in + it? Your anger won't last more than—shall we say a day?” + </p> + <p> + “You may say what you like,” she replied. “As I just said, I have nothing + to say—now or at any time.” + </p> + <p> + “That remains to be proved,” remarked Bryce. “The phrase is one of much + elasticity. But for the present—I go!” + </p> + <p> + He walked out into the Close, and without as much as a backward look + struck off across the sward in the direction in which, ten minutes before, + he had sent the strange man. He had rooms in a quiet lane on the farther + side of the Cathedral precinct, and his present intention was to go to + them to leave his bag and make some further arrangements. He had no idea + of leaving Wrychester—he knew of another doctor in the city who was + badly in need of help: he would go to him—would tell him, if need + be, why he had left Ransford. He had a multiplicity of schemes and ideas + in his head, and he began to consider some of them as he stepped out of + the Close into the ancient enclosure which all Wrychester folk knew by its + time-honoured name of Paradise. This was really an outer court of the old + cloisters; its high walls, half-ruinous, almost wholly covered with ivy, + shut in an expanse of turf, liberally furnished with yew and cypress and + studded with tombs and gravestones. In one corner rose a gigantic elm; in + another a broken stairway of stone led to a doorway set high in the walls + of the nave; across the enclosure itself was a pathway which led towards + the houses in the south-east corner of the Close. It was a curious, gloomy + spot, little frequented save by people who went across it rather than + follow the gravelled paths outside, and it was untenanted when Bryce + stepped into it. But just as he walked through the archway he saw + Ransford. Ransford was emerging hastily from a postern door in the west + porch—so hastily that Bryce checked himself to look at him. And + though they were twenty yards apart, Bryce saw that Ransford's face was + very pale, almost to whiteness, and that he was unmistakably agitated. + Instantly he connected that agitation with the man who had come to the + surgery door. + </p> + <p> + “They've met!” mused Bryce, and stopped, staring after Ransford's + retreating figure. “Now what is it in that man's mere presence that's + upset Ransford? He looks like a man who's had a nasty, unexpected shock—a + bad 'un!” + </p> + <p> + He remained standing in the archway, gazing after the retreating figure, + until Ransford had disappeared within his own garden; still wondering and + speculating, but not about his own affairs, he turned across Paradise at + last and made his way towards the farther corner. There was a little + wicket-gate there, set in the ivied wall; as Bryce opened it, a man in the + working dress of a stone-mason, whom he recognized as being one of the + master-mason's staff, came running out of the bushes. His face, too, was + white, and his eyes were big with excitement. And recognizing Bryce, he + halted, panting. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Varner?” asked Bryce calmly. “Something happened?” + </p> + <p> + The man swept his hand across his forehead as if he were dazed, and then + jerked his thumb over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “A man!” he gasped. “Foot of St. Wrytha's Stair there, doctor. Dead—or + if not dead, near it. I saw it!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce seized Varner's arm and gave it a shake. + </p> + <p> + “You saw—what?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Saw him—fall. Or rather—flung!” panted Varner. “Somebody—couldn't + see who, nohow—flung him right through yon doorway, up there. He + fell right over the steps—crash!” Bryce looked over the tops of the + yews and cypresses at the doorway in the clerestory to which Varner + pointed—a low, open archway gained by the half-ruinous stair. It was + forty feet at least from the ground. + </p> + <p> + “You saw him—thrown!” he exclaimed. “Thrown—down there? + Impossible, man!” + </p> + <p> + “Tell you I saw it!” asserted Varner doggedly. “I was looking at one of + those old tombs yonder—somebody wants some repairs doing—and + the jackdaws were making such a to-do up there by the roof I glanced up at + them. And I saw this man thrown through that door—fairly flung + through it! God!—do you think I could mistake my own eyes?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you see who flung him?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “No; I saw a hand—just for one second, as it might be—by the + edge of the doorway,” answered Varner. “I was more for watching him! He + sort of tottered for a second on the step outside the door, turned over + and screamed—I can hear it now!—and crashed down on the flags + beneath.” + </p> + <p> + “How long since?” demanded Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Five or six minutes,” said Varner. “I rushed to him—I've been doing + what I could. But I saw it was no good, so I was running for help—” + </p> + <p> + Bryce pushed him towards the bushes by which they were standing. + </p> + <p> + “Take me to him,” he said. “Come on!” + </p> + <p> + Varner turned back, making a way through the cypresses. He led Bryce to + the foot of the great wall of the nave. There in the corner formed by the + angle of nave and transept, on a broad pavement of flagstones, lay the + body of a man crumpled up in a curiously twisted position. And with one + glance, even before he reached it, Bryce knew what body it was—that + of the man who had come, shyly and furtively, to Ransford's door. + </p> + <p> + “Look!” exclaimed Varner, suddenly pointing. “He's stirring!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, whose gaze was fastened on the twisted figure, saw a slight + movement which relaxed as suddenly as it had occurred. Then came + stillness. “That's the end!” he muttered. “The man's dead! I'll guarantee + that before I put a hand on him. Dead enough!” he went on, as he reached + the body and dropped on one knee by it. “His neck's broken.” + </p> + <p> + The mason bent down and looked, half-curiously, half-fearfully, at the + dead man. Then he glanced upward—at the open door high above them in + the walls. + </p> + <p> + “It's a fearful drop, that, sir,” he said. “And he came down with such + violence. You're sure it's over with him?” + </p> + <p> + “He died just as we came up,” answered Bryce. “That movement we saw was + the last effort—involuntary, of course. Look here, Varner!—you'll + have to get help. You'd better fetch some of the cathedral people—some + of the vergers. No!” he broke off suddenly, as the low strains of an organ + came from within the great building. “They're just beginning the morning + service—of course, it's ten o'clock. Never mind them—go + straight to the police. Bring them back—I'll stay here.” + </p> + <p> + The mason turned off towards the gateway of the Close, and while the + strains of the organ grew louder, Bryce bent over the dead man, wondering + what had really happened. Thrown from an open doorway in the clerestory + over St. Wrytha's Stair?—it seemed almost impossible! But a sudden + thought struck him: supposing two men, wishing to talk in privacy + unobserved, had gone up into the clerestory of the Cathedral—as they + easily could, by more than one door, by more than one stair—and + supposing they had quarrelled, and one of them had flung or pushed the + other through the door above—what then? And on the heels of that + thought hurried another—this man, now lying dead, had come to the + surgery, seeking Ransford, and had subsequently gone away, presumably in + search of him, and Bryce himself had just seen Ransford, obviously + agitated and pale of cheek, leaving the west porch; what did it all mean? + what was the apparently obvious inference to be drawn? Here was the + stranger dead—and Varner was ready to swear that he had seen him + thrown, flung violently, through the door forty feet above. That was—murder! + Then—who was the murderer? + </p> + <p> + Bryce looked carefully and narrowly around him. Now that Varner had gone + away, there was not a human being in sight, nor anywhere near, so far as + he knew. On one side of him and the dead man rose the grey walls of nave + and transept; on the other, the cypresses and yews rising amongst the old + tombs and monuments. Assuring himself that no one was near, no eye + watching, he slipped his hand into the inner breast pocket of the dead + man's smart morning coat. Such a man must carry papers—papers would + reveal something. And Bryce wanted to know anything—anything that + would give information and let him into whatever secret there might be + between this unlucky stranger and Ransford. + </p> + <p> + But the breast pocket was empty; there was no pocket-book there; there + were no papers there. Nor were there any papers elsewhere in the other + pockets which he hastily searched: there was not even a card with a name + on it. But he found a purse, full of money—banknotes, gold, silver—and + in one of its compartments a scrap of paper folded curiously, after the + fashion of the cocked-hat missives of another age in which envelopes had + not been invented. Bryce hurriedly unfolded this, and after one glance at + its contents, made haste to secrete it in his own pocket. He had only just + done this and put back the purse when he heard Varner's voice, and a + second later the voice of Inspector Mitchington, a well-known police + official. And at that Bryce sprang to his feet, and when the mason and his + companions emerged from the bushes was standing looking thoughtfully at + the dead man. He turned to Mitchington with a shake of the head. + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” he said in a hushed voice. “Died as we got to him. Broken—all + to pieces, I should say—neck and spine certainly. I suppose Varner's + told you what he saw.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington, a sharp-eyed, dark-complexioned man, quick of movement, + nodded, and after one glance at the body, looked up at the open doorway + high above them. + </p> + <p> + “That the door?” he asked, turning to Varner. “And—it was open?” + </p> + <p> + “It's always open,” answered Varner. “Least-ways, it's been open, like + that, all this spring, to my knowledge.” + </p> + <p> + “What is there behind it?” inquired Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Sort of gallery, that runs all round the nave,” replied Varner. + “Clerestory gallery—that's what it is. People can go up there and + walk around—lots of 'em do—tourists, you know. There's two or + three ways up to it—staircases in the turrets.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington turned to one of the two constables who had followed him. + </p> + <p> + “Let Varner show you the way up there,” he said. “Go quietly—don't + make any fuss—the morning service is just beginning. Say nothing to + anybody—just take a quiet look around, along that gallery, + especially near the door there—and come back here.” He looked down + at the dead man again as the mason and the constable went away. “A + stranger, I should think, doctor—tourist, most likely. But—thrown + down! That man Varner is positive. That looks like foul play.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there's no doubt of that!” asserted Bryce. “You'll have to go into + that pretty deeply. But the inside of the Cathedral's like a + rabbit-warren, and whoever threw the man through that doorway no doubt + knew how to slip away unobserved. Now, you'll have to remove the body to + the mortuary, of course—but just let me fetch Dr. Ransford first. + I'd like some other medical man than myself to see him before he's moved—I'll + have him here in five minutes.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away through the bushes and emerging upon the Close ran across + the lawns in the direction of the house which he had left not twenty + minutes before. He had but one idea as he ran—he wanted to see + Ransford face to face with the dead man—wanted to watch him, to + observe him, to see how he looked, how he behaved. Then he, Bryce, would + know—something. + </p> + <p> + But he was to know something before that. He opened the door of the + surgery suddenly, but with his usual quietness of touch. And on the + threshold he paused. Ransford, the very picture of despair, stood just + within, his face convulsed, beating one hand upon the other. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. THE ROOM AT THE MITRE + </h2> + <p> + In the few seconds which elapsed before Ransford recognized Bryce's + presence, Bryce took a careful, if swift, observation of his late + employer. That Ransford was visibly upset by something was plain enough to + see; his face was still pale, he was muttering to himself, one clenched + fist was pounding the open palm of the other hand—altogether, he + looked like a man who is suddenly confronted with some fearful difficulty. + And when Bryce, having looked long enough to satisfy his wishes, coughed + gently, he started in such a fashion as to suggest that his nerves had + become unstrung. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?—what are you doing there?” he demanded almost fiercely. + “What do you mean by coming in like that?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce affected to have seen nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I came to fetch you,” he answered. “There's been an accident in Paradise—man + fallen from that door at the head of St. Wrytha's Stair. I wish you'd come—but + I may as well tell you that he's past help—dead!” + </p> + <p> + “Dead! A man?” exclaimed Ransford. “What man? A workman?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had already made up his mind about telling Ransford of the + stranger's call at the surgery. He would say nothing—at that time at + any rate. It was improbable that any one but himself knew of the call; the + side entrance to the surgery was screened from the Close by a shrubbery; + it was very unlikely that any passer-by had seen the man call or go away. + No—he would keep his knowledge secret until it could be made better + use of. + </p> + <p> + “Not a workman—not a townsman—a stranger,” he answered. “Looks + like a well-to-do tourist. A slightly-built, elderly man—grey-haired.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford, who had turned to his desk to master himself, looked round with + a sudden sharp glance—and for the moment Bryce was taken aback. For + he had condemned Ransford—and yet that glance was one of apparently + genuine surprise, a glance which almost convinced him, against his will, + against only too evident facts, that Ransford was hearing of the Paradise + affair for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “An elderly man—grey-haired—slightly built?” said Ransford. + “Dark clothes—silk hat?” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” replied Bryce, who was now considerably astonished. “Do you + know him?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw such a man entering the Cathedral, a while ago,” answered Ransford. + “A stranger, certainly. Come along, then.” + </p> + <p> + He had fully recovered his self-possession by that time, and he led the + way from the surgery and across the Close as if he were going on an + ordinary professional visit. He kept silence as they walked rapidly + towards Paradise, and Bryce was silent, too. He had studied Ransford a + good deal during their two years' acquaintanceship, and he knew Ransford's + power of repressing and commanding his feelings and concealing his + thoughts. And now he decided that the look and start which he had at first + taken to be of the nature of genuine astonishment were cunningly assumed, + and he was not surprised when, having reached the group of men gathered + around the body, Ransford showed nothing but professional interest. + </p> + <p> + “Have you done anything towards finding out who this unfortunate man is?” + asked Ransford, after a brief examination, as he turned to Mitchington. + “Evidently a stranger—but he probably has papers on him.” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing on him—except a purse, with plenty of money in it,” + answered Mitchington. “I've been through his pockets myself: there isn't a + scrap of paper—not even as much as an old letter. But he's evidently + a tourist, or something of the sort, and so he'll probably have stayed in + the city all night, and I'm going to inquire at the hotels.” + </p> + <p> + “There'll be an inquest, of course,” remarked Ransford mechanically. “Well—we + can do nothing, Mitchington. You'd better have the body removed to the + mortuary.” He turned and looked up the broken stairway at the foot of + which they were standing. “You say he fell down that?” he asked. “Whatever + was he doing up there?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington looked at Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't you told Dr. Ransford how it was?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Bryce. He glanced at Ransford, indicating Varner, who had + come back with the constable and was standing by. “He didn't fall,” he + went on, watching Ransford narrowly. “He was violently flung out of that + doorway. Varner here saw it.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford's cheek flushed, and he was unable to repress a slight start. He + looked at the mason. + </p> + <p> + “You actually saw it!” he exclaimed. “Why, what did you see?” + </p> + <p> + “Him!” answered Varner, nodding at the dead man. “Flung, head and heels, + clean through that doorway up there. Hadn't a chance to save himself, he + hadn't! Just grabbed at—nothing!—and came down. Give a year's + wages if I hadn't seen it—and heard him scream.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford was watching Varner with a set, concentrated look. + </p> + <p> + “Who—flung him?” he asked suddenly. “You say you saw!” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, sir, but not as much as all that!” replied the mason. “I just saw a + hand—and that was all. But,” he added, turning to the police with a + knowing look, “there's one thing I can swear to—it was a gentleman's + hand! I saw the white shirt cuff and a bit of a black sleeve!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford turned away. But he just as suddenly turned back to the + inspector. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to let the Cathedral authorities know, Mitchington,” he said. + “Better get the body removed, though, first—do it now before the + morning service is over. And—let me hear what you find out about his + identity, if you can discover anything in the city.” + </p> + <p> + He went away then, without another word or a further glance at the dead + man. But Bryce had already assured himself of what he was certain was a + fact—that a look of unmistakable relief had swept across Ransford's + face for the fraction of a second when he knew that there were no papers + on the dead man. He himself waited after Ransford had gone; waited until + the police had fetched a stretcher, when he personally superintended the + removal of the body to the mortuary outside the Close. And there a + constable who had come over from the police-station gave a faint hint as + to further investigation. + </p> + <p> + “I saw that poor gentleman last night, sir,” he said to the inspector. “He + was standing at the door of the Mitre, talking to another gentleman—a + tallish man.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll go across there,” said Mitchington. “Come with me, if you like, + Dr. Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + This was precisely what Bryce desired—he was already anxious to + acquire all the information he could get. And he walked over the way with + the inspector, to the quaint old-world inn which filled almost one side of + the little square known as Monday Market, and in at the courtyard, where, + looking out of the bow window which had served as an outer bar in the + coaching days, they found the landlady of the Mitre, Mrs. Partingley. + Bryce saw at once that she had heard the news. + </p> + <p> + “What's this, Mr. Mitchington?” she demanded as they drew near across the + cobble-paved yard. “Somebody's been in to say there's been an accident to + a gentleman, a stranger—I hope it isn't one of the two we've got in + the house?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say it is, ma'am,” answered the inspector. “He was seen outside + here last night by one of our men, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + The landlady uttered an expression of distress, and opening a side-door, + motioned them to step into her parlour. + </p> + <p> + “Which of them is it?” she asked anxiously. “There's two—came + together last night, they did—a tall one and a short one. Dear, dear + me!—is it a bad accident, now, inspector?” + </p> + <p> + “The man's dead, ma'am,” replied Mitchington grimly. “And we want to know + who he is. Have you got his name—and the other gentleman's?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Partingley uttered another exclamation of distress and astonishment, + lifting her plump hands in horror. But her business faculties remained + alive, and she made haste to produce a big visitors' book and to spread it + open before her callers. + </p> + <p> + “There it is!” she said, pointing to the two last entries. “That's the + short gentleman's name—Mr. John Braden, London. And that's the tall + one's—Mr. Christopher Dellingham—also London. Tourists, of + course—we've never seen either of them before.” + </p> + <p> + “Came together, you say, Mrs. Partingley?” asked Mitchington. “When was + that, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Just before dinner, last night,” answered the landlady. “They'd evidently + come in by the London train—that gets in at six-forty, as you know. + They came here together, and they'd dinner together, and spent the evening + together. Of course, we took them for friends. But they didn't go out + together this morning, though they'd breakfast together. After breakfast, + Mr. Dellingham asked me the way to the old Manor Mill, and he went off + there, so I concluded. Mr. Braden, he hung about a bit, studying a local + directory I'd lent him, and after a while he asked me if he could hire a + trap to take him out to Saxonsteade this afternoon. Of course, I said he + could, and he arranged for it to be ready at two-thirty. Then he went out, + and across the market towards the Cathedral. And that,” concluded Mrs. + Partingley, “is about all I know, gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + “Saxonsteade, eh?” remarked Mitchington. “Did he say anything about his + reasons for going there?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, he did,” replied the landlady. “For he asked me if I thought + he'd be likely to find the Duke at home at that time of day. I said I knew + his Grace was at Saxonsteade just now, and that I should think the middle + of the afternoon would be a good time.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't tell you his business with the Duke?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Not a word!” said the landlady. “Oh, no!—just that, and no more. + But—here's Mr. Dellingham.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered, bearded man pass the window—the + door opened and he walked in, to glance inquisitively at the inspector. He + turned at once to Mrs. Partingley. + </p> + <p> + “I hear there's been an accident to that gentleman I came in with last + night?” he said. “Is it anything serious? Your ostler says—” + </p> + <p> + “These gentlemen have just come about it, sir,” answered the landlady. She + glanced at Mitchington. “Perhaps you'll tell—” she began. + </p> + <p> + “Was he a friend of yours, sir?” asked Mitchington. “A personal friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Never saw him in my life before last night!” replied the tall man. “We + just chanced to meet in the train coming down from London, got talking, + and discovered we were both coming to the same place—Wrychester. So—we + came to this house together. No—no friend of mine—not even an + acquaintance—previous, of course, to last night. Is—is it + anything serious?” + </p> + <p> + “He's dead, sir,” replied Mitchington. “And now we want to know who he + is.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless my soul! Dead? You don't say so!” exclaimed Mr. Dellingham. + “Dear, dear! Well, I can't help you—don't know him from Adam. + Pleasant, well-informed man—seemed to have travelled a great deal in + foreign countries. I can tell you this much, though,” he went on, as if a + sudden recollection had come to him; “I gathered that he'd only just + arrived in England—in fact, now I come to think of it, he said as + much. Made some remark in the train about the pleasantness of the English + landscape, don't you know?—I got an idea that he'd recently come + from some country where trees and hedges and green fields aren't much in + evidence. But—if you want to know who he is, officer, why don't you + search him? He's sure to have papers, cards, and so on about him.” + </p> + <p> + “We have searched him,” answered Mitchington. “There isn't a paper, a + letter, or even a visiting card on him.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dellingham looked at the landlady. + </p> + <p> + “Bless me!” he said. “Remarkable! But he'd a suit-case, or something of + the sort—something light—which he carried up from the railway + station himself. Perhaps in that—” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see whatever he had,” said Mitchington. “We'd better + examine his room, Mrs. Partingley.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce presently followed the landlady and the inspector upstairs—Mr. + Dellingham followed him. All four went into a bedroom which looked out on + Monday Market. And there, on a side-table, lay a small leather suit-case, + one which could easily be carried, with its upper half thrown open and + back against the wall behind. + </p> + <p> + The landlady, Mr. Dellingham and Bryce stood silently by while the + inspector examined the contents of this the only piece of luggage in the + room. There was very little to see—what toilet articles the visitor + brought were spread out on the dressing-table—brushes, combs, a case + of razors, and the like. And Mitchington nodded side-wise at them as he + began to take the articles out of the suit-case. + </p> + <p> + “There's one thing strikes me at once,” he said. “I dare say you gentlemen + notice it. All these things are new! This suit-case hasn't been in use + very long—see, the leather's almost unworn—and those things on + the dressing-table are new. And what there is here looks new, too. There's + not much, you see—he evidently had no intention of a long stop. An + extra pair of trousers—some shirts—socks—collars—neckties—slippers—handkerchiefs—that's + about all. And the first thing to do is to see if the linen's marked with + name or initials.” + </p> + <p> + He deftly examined the various articles as he took them out, and in the + end shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No name—no initials,” he said. “But look here—do you see, + gentlemen, where these collars were bought? Half a dozen of them, in a + box. Paris! There you are—the seller's name, inside the collar, just + as in England. Aristide Pujol, 82, Rue des Capucines. And—judging by + the look of 'em—I should say these shirts were bought there, too—and + the handkerchiefs—and the neckwear—they all have a foreign + look. There may be a clue in that—we might trace him in France if we + can't in England. Perhaps he is a Frenchman.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take my oath he isn't!” exclaimed Mr. Dellingham. “However long he'd + been out of England he hadn't lost a North-Country accent! He was some + sort of a North-Countryman—Yorkshire or Lancashire, I'll go bail. No + Frenchman, officer—not he!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's no papers here, anyway,” said Mitchington, who had now + emptied the suit-case. “Nothing to show who he was. Nothing here, you see, + in the way of paper but this old book—what is it—History of + Barthorpe.” + </p> + <p> + “He showed me that in the train,” remarked Mr. Dellingham. “I'm interested + in antiquities and archaeology, and anybody who's long in my society finds + it out. We got talking of such things, and he pulled out that book, and + told me with great pride, that he'd picked it up from a book-barrow in the + street, somewhere in London, for one-and-six. I think,” he added musingly, + “that what attracted him in it was the old calf binding and the steel + frontispiece—I'm sure he'd no great knowledge of antiquities.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington laid the book down, and Bryce picked it up, examined the + title-page, and made a mental note of the fact that Barthorpe was a + market-town in the Midlands. And it was on the tip of his tongue to say + that if the dead man had no particular interest in antiquities and + archaeology, it was somewhat strange that he should have bought a book + which was mainly antiquarian, and that it might be that he had so bought + it because of a connection between Barthorpe and himself. But he + remembered that it was his own policy to keep pertinent facts for his own + private consideration, so he said nothing. And Mitchington presently + remarking that there was no more to be done there, and ascertaining from + Mr. Dellingham that it was his intention to remain in Wrychester for at + any rate a few days, they went downstairs again, and Bryce and the + inspector crossed over to the police-station. + </p> + <p> + The news had spread through the heart of the city, and at the + police-station doors a crowd had gathered. Just inside two or three + principal citizens were talking to the Superintendent—amongst them + was Mr. Stephen Folliot, the stepfather of young Bonham—a big, + heavy-faced man who had been a resident in the Close for some years, was + known to be of great wealth, and had a reputation as a grower of rare + roses. He was telling the Superintendent something—and the + Superintendent beckoned to Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Folliot says he saw this gentleman in the Cathedral,” he said. “Can't + have been so very long before the accident happened, Mr. Folliot, from + what you say.” + </p> + <p> + “As near as I can reckon, it would be five minutes to ten,” answered Mr. + Folliot. “I put it at that because I'd gone in for the morning service, + which is at ten. I saw him go up the inside stair to the clerestory + gallery—he was looking about him. Five minutes to ten—and it + must have happened immediately afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce heard this and turned away, making a calculation for himself. It had + been on the stroke of ten when he saw Ransford hurrying out of the west + porch. There was a stairway from the gallery down to that west porch. + What, then, was the inference? But for the moment he drew none—instead, + he went home to his rooms in Friary Lane, and shutting himself up, drew + from his pocket the scrap of paper he had taken from the dead man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. THE SCRAP OF PAPER + </h2> + <p> + When Bryce, in his locked room, drew that bit of paper from his pocket, it + was with the conviction that in it he held a clue to the secret of the + morning's adventure. He had only taken a mere glance at it as he withdrew + it from the dead man's purse, but he had seen enough of what was written + on it to make him certain that it was a document—if such a mere + fragment could be called a document—of no ordinary importance. And + now he unfolded and laid it flat on his table and looked at it carefully, + asking himself what was the real meaning of what he saw. + </p> + <p> + There was not much to see. The scrap of paper itself was evidently a + quarter of a leaf of old-fashioned, stoutish notepaper, somewhat yellow + with age, and bearing evidence of having been folded and kept flat in the + dead man's purse for some time—the creases were well-defined, the + edges were worn and slightly stained by long rubbing against the leather. + And in its centre were a few words, or, rather abbreviations of words, in + Latin, and some figures: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In Para. Wrycestr. juxt. tumb. + Ric. Jenk. ex cap. xxiii. xv. +</pre> + <p> + Bryce at first sight took them to be a copy of some inscription but his + knowledge of Latin told him, a moment later, that instead of being an + inscription, it was a direction. And a very plain direction, too!—he + read it easily. In Paradise, at Wrychester, next to, or near, the tomb of + Richard Jenkins, or, possibly, Jenkinson, from, or behind, the head, + twenty-three, fifteen—inches, most likely. There was no doubt that + there was the meaning of the words. What, now, was it that lay behind the + tomb of Richard Jenkins, or Jenkinson, in Wrychester Paradise?—in + all probability twenty-three inches from the head-stone, and fifteen + inches beneath the surface. That was a question which Bryce immediately + resolved to find a satisfactory answer to; in the meantime there were + other questions which he set down in order on his mental tablets. They + were these: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1. Who, really, was the man who had registered at the + Mitre under the name of John Braden? + + 2. Why did he wish to make a personal call on the + Duke of Saxonsteade? + + 3. Was he some man who had known Ransford in time + past—and whom Ransford had no desire to meet again? + + 4. Did Ransford meet him—in the Cathedral? + + 5. Was it Ransford who flung him to his death down + St. Wrytha's Stair? + + 6. Was that the real reason of the agitation in which + he, Bryce, had found Ransford a few moments after + the discovery of the body? +</pre> + <p> + There was plenty of time before him for the due solution of these + mysteries, reflected Bryce—and for solving another problem which + might possibly have some relationship to them—that of the exact + connection between Ransford and his two wards. Bryce, in telling Ransford + that morning of what was being said amongst the tea-table circles of the + old cathedral city, had purposely only told him half a tale. He knew, and + had known for months, that the society of the Close was greatly exercised + over the position of the Ransford menage. Ransford, a bachelor, a + well-preserved, active, alert man who was certainly of no more than middle + age and did not look his years, had come to Wrychester only a few years + previously, and had never shown any signs of forsaking his single state. + No one had ever heard him mention his family or relations; then, suddenly, + without warning, he had brought into his house Mary Bewery, a handsome + young woman of nineteen, who was said to have only just left school, and + her brother Richard, then a boy of sixteen, who had certainly been at a + public school of repute and was entered at the famous Dean's School of + Wrychester as soon as he came to his new home. Dr. Ransford spoke of these + two as his wards, without further explanation; the society of the Close + was beginning to want much more explanation. Who were they—these two + young people? Was Dr. Ransford their uncle, their cousin—what was he + to them? In any case, in the opinion of the elderly ladies who set the + tone of society in Wrychester, Miss Bewery was much too young, and far too + pretty, to be left without a chaperon. But, up to then, no one had dared + to say as much to Dr. Ransford—instead, everybody said it freely + behind his back. + </p> + <p> + Bryce had used eyes and ears in relation to the two young people. He had + been with Ransford a year when they arrived; admitted freely to their + company, he had soon discovered that whatever relationship existed between + them and Ransford, they had none with anybody else—that they knew + of. No letters came for them from uncles, aunts, cousins, grandfathers, + grandmothers. They appeared to have no memories or reminiscences of + relatives, nor of father or mother; there was a curious atmosphere of + isolation about them. They had plenty of talk about what might be called + their present—their recent schooldays, their youthful experiences, + games, pursuits—but none of what, under any circumstances, could + have been a very far-distant past. Bryce's quick and attentive ears + discovered things—for instance that for many years past Ransford had + been in the habit of spending his annual two months' holiday with these + two. Year after year—at any rate since the boy's tenth year—he + had taken them travelling; Bryce heard scraps of reminiscences of tours in + France, and in Switzerland, and in Ireland, and in Scotland—even as + far afield as the far north of Norway. It was easy to see that both boy + and girl had a mighty veneration for Ransford; just as easy to see that + Ransford took infinite pains to make life something more than happy and + comfortable for both. And Bryce, who was one of those men who firmly + believe that no man ever does anything for nothing and that self-interest + is the mainspring of Life, asked himself over and over again the question + which agitated the ladies of the Close: Who are these two, and what is the + bond between them and this sort of fairy-godfather-guardian? + </p> + <p> + And now, as he put away the scrap of paper in a safely-locked desk, Bryce + asked himself another question: Had the events of that morning anything to + do with the mystery which hung around Dr. Ransford's wards? If it had, + then all the more reason why he should solve it. For Bryce had made up his + mind that, by hook or by crook, he would marry Mary Bewery, and he was + only too eager to lay hands on anything that would help him to achieve + that ambition. If he could only get Ransford into his power—if he + could get Mary Bewery herself into his power—well and good. Once he + had got her, he would be good enough to her—in his way. + </p> + <p> + Having nothing to do, Bryce went out after a while and strolled round to + the Wrychester Club—an exclusive institution, the members of which + were drawn from the leisured, the professional, the clerical, and the + military circles of the old city. And there, as he expected, he found + small groups discussing the morning's tragedy, and he joined one of them, + in which was Sackville Bonham, his presumptive rival, who was busily + telling three or four other young men what his stepfather, Mr. Folliot, + had to say about the event. + </p> + <p> + “My stepfather says—and I tell you he saw the man,” said Sackville, + who was noted in Wrychester circles as a loquacious and forward youth; “he + says that whatever happened must have happened as soon as ever the old + chap got up into that clerestory gallery. Look here!—it's like this. + My stepfather had gone in there for the morning service—strict old + church-goer he is, you know—and he saw this stranger going up the + stairway. He's positive, Mr. Folliot, that it was then five minutes to + ten. Now, then, I ask you—isn't he right, my stepfather, when he + says that it must have happened at once—immediately? + </p> + <p> + “Because that man, Varner, the mason, says he saw the man fall before ten. + What?” + </p> + <p> + One of the group nodded at Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I should think Bryce knows what time it happened as well as anybody,” he + said. “You were first on the spot, Bryce, weren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “After Varner,” answered Bryce laconically. “As to the time—I could + fix it in this way—the organist was just beginning a voluntary or + something of the sort.” + </p> + <p> + “That means ten o'clock—to the minute—when he was found!” + exclaimed Sackville triumphantly. “Of course, he'd fallen a minute or two + before that—which proves Mr. Folliot to be right. Now what does that + prove? Why, that the old chap's assailant, whoever he was, dogged him + along that gallery as soon as he entered, seized him when he got to the + open doorway, and flung him through! Clear as—as noonday!” + </p> + <p> + One of the group, a rather older man than the rest, who was leaning back + in a tilted chair, hands in pockets, watching Sackville Bonham smilingly, + shook his head and laughed a little. + </p> + <p> + “You're taking something for granted, Sackie, my son!” he said. “You're + adopting the mason's tale as true. But I don't believe the poor man was + thrown through that doorway at all—not I!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned sharply on this speaker—young Archdale, a member of a + well-known firm of architects. + </p> + <p> + “You don't?” he exclaimed. “But Varner says he saw him thrown!” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely,” answered Archdale. “But it would all happen so quickly that + Varner might easily be mistaken. I'm speaking of something I know. I know + every inch of the Cathedral fabric—ought to, as we're always going + over it, professionally. Just at that doorway, at the head of St. Wrytha's + Stair, the flooring of the clerestory gallery is worn so smooth that it's + like a piece of glass—and it slopes! Slopes at a very steep angle, + too, to the doorway itself. A stranger walking along there might easily + slip, and if the door was open, as it was, he'd be shot out and into space + before he knew what was happening.” + </p> + <p> + This theory produced a moment's silence—broken at last by Sackville + Bonham. + </p> + <p> + “Varner says he saw—saw!—a man's hand, a gentleman's hand,” + insisted Sackville. “He saw a white shirt cuff, a bit of the sleeve of a + coat. You're not going to get over that, you know. He's certain of it!” + </p> + <p> + “Varner may be as certain of it as he likes,” answered Archdale, almost + indifferently, “and still he may be mistaken. The probability is that + Varner was confused by what he saw. He may have had a white shirt cuff and + the sleeve of a black coat impressed upon him, as in a flash—and + they were probably those of the man who was killed. If, as I suggest, the + man slipped, and was shot out of that open doorway, he would execute some + violent and curious movements in the effort to save himself in which his + arms would play an important part. For one thing, he would certainly throw + out an arm—to clutch at anything. That's what Varner most probably + saw. There's no evidence whatever that the man was flung down.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned away from the group of talkers to think over Archdale's + suggestion. If that suggestion had a basis of fact, it destroyed his own + theory that Ransford was responsible for the stranger's death. In that + case, what was the reason of Ransford's unmistakable agitation on leaving + the west porch, and of his attack—equally unmistakable—of + nerves in the surgery? But what Archdale had said made him inquisitive, + and after he had treated himself—in celebration of his freedom—to + an unusually good lunch at the Club, he went round to the Cathedral to + make a personal inspection of the gallery in the clerestory. + </p> + <p> + There was a stairway to that gallery in the corner of the south transept, + and Bryce made straight for it—only to find a policeman there, who + pointed to a placard on the turret door. “Closed, doctor—by order of + the Dean and Chapter,” he announced. “Till further orders. The fact was, + sir,” he went on confidentially, “after the news got out, so many people + came crowding in here and up to that gallery that the Dean ordered all the + entrances to be shut up at once—nobody's been allowed up since + noon.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you haven't heard anything of any strange person being seen + lurking about up there this morning?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. But I've had a bit of a talk with some of the vergers,” replied + the policeman, “and they say it's a most extraordinary thing that none of + them ever saw this strange gentleman go up there, nor even heard any + scuffle. They say—the vergers—that they were all about at the + time, getting ready for the morning service, and they neither saw nor + heard. Odd, sir, ain't it?” + </p> + <p> + “The whole thing's odd,” agreed Bryce, and left the Cathedral. He walked + round to the wicket gate which admitted to that side of Paradise—to + find another policeman posted there. “What!—is this closed, too?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “And time, sir,” said the man. “They'd ha' broken down all the shrubs in + the place if orders hadn't been given! They were mad to see where the + gentleman fell—came in crowds at dinnertime.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce nodded, and was turning away, when Dick Bewery came round a corner + from the Deanery Walk, evidently keenly excited. With him was a girl of + about his own age—a certain characterful young lady whom Bryce knew + as Betty Campany, daughter of the librarian to the Dean and Chapter and + therefore custodian of one of the most famous cathedral libraries in the + country. She, too, was apparently brimming with excitement, and her pretty + and vivacious face puckered itself into a frown as the policeman smiled + and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, what's that for?” exclaimed Dick Bewery. “Shut up?—what + a lot of rot! I say!—can't you let us go in—just for a + minute?” + </p> + <p> + “Not for a pension, sir!” answered the policeman good-naturedly. “Don't + you see the notice? The Dean 'ud have me out of the force by tomorrow if I + disobeyed orders. No admittance, nowhere, nohow! But lor' bless yer!” he + added, glancing at the two young people. “There's nothing to see—nothing!—as + Dr. Bryce there can tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Dick, who knew nothing of the recent passages between his guardian and the + dismissed assistant, glanced at Bryce with interest. + </p> + <p> + “You were on the spot first, weren't you?” he asked: “Do you think it + really was murder?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what it was,” answered Bryce. “And I wasn't first on the + spot. That was Varner, the mason—he called me.” He turned from the + lad to glance at the girl, who was peeping curiously over the gate into + the yews and cypresses. “Do you think your father's at the Library just + now?” he asked. “Shall I find him there?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think he is,” answered Betty Campany. “He generally goes down + about this time.” She turned and pulled Dick Bewery's sleeve. “Let's go up + in the clerestory,” she said. “We can see that, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Also closed, miss,” said the policeman, shaking his head. “No admittance + there, neither. The public firmly warned off—so to speak. 'I won't + have the Cathedral turned into a peepshow!' that's precisely what I heard + the Dean say with my own ears. So—closed!” + </p> + <p> + The boy and the girl turned away and went off across the Close, and the + policeman looked after them and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Lively young couple, that, sir!” he said. “What they call healthy + curiosity, I suppose? Plenty o' that knocking around in the city today.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who had half-turned in the direction of the Library, at the other + side of the Close, turned round again. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know if your people are doing anything about identifying the dead + man?” he asked. “Did you hear anything at noon?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing but that there'll be inquiries through the newspapers, sir,” + replied the policeman. “That's the surest way of finding something out. + And I did hear Inspector Mitchington say that they'd have to ask the Duke + if he knew anything about the poor man—I suppose he'd let fall + something about wanting to go over to Saxonsteade.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce went off in the direction of the Library thinking. The newspapers?—yes, + no better channel for spreading the news. If Mr. John Braden had relations + and friends, they would learn of his sad death through the newspapers, and + would come forward. And in that case— + </p> + <p> + “But it wouldn't surprise me,” mused Bryce, “if the name given at the + Mitre is an assumed name. I wonder if that theory of Archdale's is a + correct one?—however, there'll be more of that at the inquest + tomorrow. And in the meantime—let me find out something about the + tomb of Richard Jenkins, or Jenkinson—whoever he was.” + </p> + <p> + The famous Library of the Dean and Chapter of Wrychester was housed in an + ancient picturesque building in one corner of the Close, wherein, day in + and day out, amidst priceless volumes and manuscripts, huge folios and + weighty quartos, old prints, and relics of the mediaeval ages, Ambrose + Campany, the librarian, was pretty nearly always to be found, ready to + show his treasures to the visitors and tourists who came from all parts of + the world to see a collection well known to bibliophiles. And Ambrose + Campany, a cheery-faced, middle-aged man, with booklover and antiquary + written all over him, shockheaded, blue-spectacled, was there now, talking + to an old man whom Bryce knew as a neighbour of his in Friary Lane—one + Simpson Barker, a quiet, meditative old fellow, believed to be a retired + tradesman who spent his time in gentle pottering about the city. Bryce, as + he entered, caught what Campany was just then saying. + </p> + <p> + “The most important thing I've heard about it,” said Campany, “is—that + book they found in the man's suit-case at the Mitre. I'm not a detective—but + there's a clue!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. BY MISADVENTURE + </h2> + <p> + Old Simpson Harker, who sat near the librarian's table, his hands folded + on the crook of his stout walking stick, glanced out of a pair of + unusually shrewd and bright eyes at Bryce as he crossed the room and + approached the pair of gossipers. + </p> + <p> + “I think the doctor was there when that book you're speaking of was + found,” he remarked. “So I understood from Mitchington.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I was there,” said Bryce, who was not unwilling to join in the talk. + He turned to Campany. “What makes you think there's a clue—in that?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why this,” answered the librarian. “Here's a man in possession of an old + history of Barthorpe. Barthorpe is a small market-town in the Midlands—Leicestershire, + I believe, of no particular importance that I know of, but doubtless with + a story of its own. Why should any one but a Barthorpe man, past or + present, be interested in that story so far as to carry an old account of + it with him? Therefore, I conclude this stranger was a Barthorpe man. And + it's at Barthorpe that I should make inquiries about him.” + </p> + <p> + Simpson Harker made no remark, and Bryce remembered what Mr. Dellingham + had said when the book was found. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know!” he replied carelessly. “I don't see that that follows. + I saw the book—a curious old binding and queer old copper-plates. + The man may have picked it up for that reason—I've bought old books + myself for less.” + </p> + <p> + “All the same,” retorted Campany, “I should make inquiry at Barthorpe. + You've got to go on probabilities. The probabilities in this case are that + the man was interested in the book because it dealt with his own town.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned away towards a wall on which hung a number of charts and + plans of Wrychester Cathedral and its precincts—it was to inspect + one of these that he had come to the Library. But suddenly remembering + that there was a question which he could ask without exciting any + suspicion or surmise, he faced round again on the librarian. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't there a register of burials within the Cathedral?” he inquired. + “Some book in which they're put down? I was looking in the Memorials of + Wrychester the other day, and I saw some names I want to trace.” + </p> + <p> + Campany lifted his quill pen and pointed to a case of big leather-bound + volumes in a far corner of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Third shelf from the bottom, doctor,” he replied. “You'll see two books + there—one's the register of all burials within the Cathedral itself + up to date: the other's the register of those in Paradise and the + cloisters. What names are you wanting to trace?” + </p> + <p> + But Bryce affected not to hear the last question; he walked over to the + place which Campany had indicated, and taking down the second book carried + it to an adjacent table. Campany called across the room to him. + </p> + <p> + “You'll find useful indexes at the end,” he said. “They're all brought up + to the present time—from four hundred years ago, nearly.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned to the index at the end of his book—an index written + out in various styles of handwriting. And within a minute he found the + name he wanted—there it was plainly before him—Richard + Jenkins, died March 8th, 1715: buried, in Paradise, March 10th. He nearly + laughed aloud at the ease with which he was tracing out what at first had + seemed a difficult matter to investigate. But lest his task should seem + too easy, he continued to turn over the leaves of the big folio, and in + order to have an excuse if the librarian should ask him any further + questions, he memorized some of the names which he saw. And after a while + he took the book back to its shelf, and turned to the wall on which the + charts and maps were hung. There was one there of Paradise, whereon was + marked the site and names of all the tombs and graves in that ancient + enclosure; from it he hoped to ascertain the exact position and + whereabouts of Richard Jenkins's grave. + </p> + <p> + But here Bryce met his first check. Down each side of the old chart—dated + 1850—there was a tabulated list of the tombs in Paradise. The names + of families and persons were given in this list—against each name + was a number corresponding with the same number, marked on the various + divisions of the chart. And there was no Richard Jenkins on that list—he + went over it carefully twice, thrice. It was not there. Obviously, if the + tomb of Richard Jenkins, who was buried in Paradise in 1715, was still + there, amongst the cypresses and yew trees, the name and inscription on it + had vanished, worn away by time and weather, when that chart had been + made, a hundred and thirty-five years later. And in that case, what did + the memorandum mean which Bryce had found in the dead man's purse? + </p> + <p> + He turned away at last from the chart, at a loss—and Campany glanced + at him. + </p> + <p> + “Found what you wanted?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes!” replied Bryce, primed with a ready answer. “I just wanted to + see where the Spelbanks were buried—quite a lot of them, I see.” + </p> + <p> + “Southeast corner of Paradise,” said Campany. “Several tombs. I could have + spared you the trouble of looking.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a regular encyclopaedia about the place,” laughed Bryce. “I + suppose you know every spout and gargoyle!” + </p> + <p> + “Ought to,” answered the librarian. “I've been fed on it, man and boy, for + five-and-forty years.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made some fitting remark and went out and home to his rooms—there + to spend most of the ensuing evening in trying to puzzle out the various + mysteries of the day. He got no more light on them then, and he was still + exercising his brains on them when he went to the inquest next morning—to + find the Coroner's court packed to the doors with an assemblage of + townsfolk just as curious as he was. And as he sat there, listening to the + preliminaries, and to the evidence of the first witnesses, his active and + scheming mind figured to itself, not without much cynical amusement, how a + word or two from his lips would go far to solve matters. He thought of + what he might tell—if he told all the truth. He thought of what he + might get out of Ransford if he, Bryce, were Coroner, or solicitor, and + had Ransford in that witness-box. He would ask him on his oath if he knew + that dead man—if he had had dealings with him in times past—if + he had met and spoken to him on that eventful morning—he would ask + him, point-blank, if it was not his hand that had thrown him to his death. + But Bryce had no intention of making any revelations just then—as + for himself he was going to tell just as much as he pleased and no more. + And so he sat and heard—and knew from what he heard that everybody + there was in a hopeless fog, and that in all that crowd there was but one + man who had any real suspicion of the truth, and that that man was + himself. + </p> + <p> + The evidence given in the first stages of the inquiry was all known to + Bryce, and to most people in the court, already. Mr. Dellingham told how + he had met the dead man in the train, journeying from London to + Wrychester. Mrs. Partingley told how he had arrived at the Mitre, + registered in her book as Mr. John Braden, and had next morning asked if + he could get a conveyance for Saxonsteade in the afternoon, as he wished + to see the Duke. Mr. Folliot testified to having seen him in the + Cathedral, going towards one of the stairways leading to the gallery. + Varner—most important witness of all up to that point—told of + what he had seen. Bryce himself, followed by Ransford, gave medical + evidence; Mitchington told of his examination of the dead man's clothing + and effects in his room at the Mitre. And Mitchington added the first + information which was new to Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “In consequence of finding the book about Barthorpe in the suit-case,” + said Mitchington, “we sent a long telegram yesterday to the police there, + telling them what had happened, and asking them to make the most careful + inquiries at once about any townsman of theirs of the name of John Braden, + and to wire us the result of such inquiries this morning. This is their + reply, received by us an hour ago. Nothing whatever is known at Barthorpe—which + is a very small town—of any person of that name.” + </p> + <p> + So much for that, thought Bryce. He turned with more interest to the next + witness—the Duke of Saxonsteade, the great local magnate, a big, + bluff man who had been present in court since the beginning of the + proceedings, in which he was manifestly highly interested. It was possible + that he might be able to tell something of moment—he might, after + all, know something of this apparently mysterious stranger, who, for + anything that Mrs. Partingley or anybody else could say to the contrary, + might have had an appointment and business with him. + </p> + <p> + But his Grace knew nothing. He had never heard the name of John Braden in + his life—so far as he remembered. He had just seen the body of the + unfortunate man and had looked carefully at the features. He was not a man + of whom he had any knowledge whatever—he could not recollect ever + having seen him anywhere at any time. He knew literally nothing of him—could + not think of any reason at all why this Mr. John Braden should wish to see + him. + </p> + <p> + “Your Grace has, no doubt, had business dealings with a good many people + at one time or another,” suggested the Coroner. “Some of them, perhaps, + with men whom your Grace only saw for a brief space of time—a few + minutes, possibly. You don't remember ever seeing this man in that way?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm credited with having an unusually good memory for faces,” answered + the Duke. “And—if I may say so—rightly. But I don't remember + this man at all—in fact, I'd go as far as to say that I'm positive + I've never—knowingly—set eyes on him in my life.” + </p> + <p> + “Can your Grace suggest any reason at all why he should wish to call on + you?” asked the Coroner. + </p> + <p> + “None! But then,” replied the Duke, “there might be many reasons—unknown + to me, but at which I can make a guess. If he was an antiquary, there are + lots of old things at Saxonsteade which he might wish to see. Or he might + be a lover of pictures—our collection is a bit famous, you know. + Perhaps he was a bookman—we have some rare editions. I could go on + multiplying reasons—but to what purpose?” + </p> + <p> + “The fact is, your Grace doesn't know him and knows nothing about him,” + observed the Coroner. + </p> + <p> + “Just so—nothing!” agreed the Duke and stepped down again. + </p> + <p> + It was at this stage that the Coroner sent the jurymen away in charge of + his officer to make a careful personal inspection of the gallery in the + clerestory. And while they were gone there was some commotion caused in + the court by the entrance of a police official who conducted to the + Coroner a middle-aged, well-dressed man whom Bryce at once set down as a + London commercial magnate of some quality. Between the new arrival and the + Coroner an interchange of remarks was at once made, shared in presently by + some of the officials at the table. And when the jury came back the + stranger was at once ushered into the witness-box, and the Coroner turned + to the jury and the court. + </p> + <p> + “We are unexpectedly able to get some evidence of identity, gentlemen,” he + observed. “The gentleman who has just stepped into the witness-box is Mr. + Alexander Chilstone, manager of the London & Colonies Bank, in + Threadneedle Street. Mr. Chilstone saw particulars of this matter in the + newspapers this morning, and he at once set off to Wrychester to tell us + what he knows of the dead man. We are very much obliged to Mr. Chilstone—and + when he has been sworn he will perhaps kindly tell us what he can.” + </p> + <p> + In the midst of the murmur of sensation which ran round the court, Bryce + indulged himself with a covert look at Ransford who was sitting opposite + to him, beyond the table in the centre of the room. He saw at once that + Ransford, however strenuously he might be fighting to keep his face under + control, was most certainly agitated by the Coroner's announcement. His + cheeks had paled, his eyes were a little dilated, his lips parted as he + stared at the bank-manager—altogether, it was more than mere + curiosity that was indicated on his features. And Bryce, satisfied and + secretly elated, turned to hear what Mr. Alexander Chilstone had to tell. + </p> + <p> + That was not much—but it was of considerable importance. Only two + days before, said Mr. Chilstone—that was, on the day previous to his + death—Mr. John Braden had called at the London & Colonies Bank, + of which he, Mr. Chilstone, was manager, and introducing himself as having + just arrived in England from Australia, where, he said, he had been living + for some years, had asked to be allowed to open an account. He produced + some references from agents of the London & Colonies Bank, in + Melbourne, which were highly satisfactory; the account being opened, he + paid into it a sum of ten thousand pounds in a draft at sight drawn by one + of those agents. He drew nothing against this, remarking casually that he + had plenty of money in his pocket for the present: he did not even take + the cheque-book which was offered him, saying that he would call for it + later. + </p> + <p> + “He did not give us any address in London, nor in England,” continued the + witness. “He told me that he had only arrived at Charing Cross that very + morning, having travelled from Paris during the night. He said that he + should settle down for a time at some residential hotel in London, and in + the meantime he had one or two calls, or visits, to make in the country: + when he returned from them, he said, he would call on me again. He gave me + very little information about himself: it was not necessary, for his + references from our agents in Australia were quite satisfactory. But he + did mention that he had been out there for some years, and had speculated + in landed property—he also said that he was now going to settle in + England for good. That,” concluded Mr. Chilstone, “is all I can tell of my + own knowledge. But,” he added, drawing a newspaper from his pocket, “here + is an advertisement which I noticed in this morning's Times as I came + down. You will observe,” he said, as he passed it to the Coroner, “that it + has certainly been inserted by our unfortunate customer.” + </p> + <p> + The Coroner glanced at a marked passage in the personal column of the + Times, and read it aloud: + </p> + <p> + “The advertisement is as follows,” he announced. “'If this meets the eye + of old friend Marco, he will learn that Sticker wishes to see him again. + Write J. Braden, c/o London & Colonies Bank, Threadneedle Street, + London.'” + </p> + <p> + Bryce was keeping a quiet eye on Ransford. Was he mistaken in believing + that he saw him start; that he saw his cheek flush as he heard the + advertisement read out? He believed he was not mistaken—but if he + was right, Ransford the next instant regained full control of himself and + made no sign. And Bryce turned again to Coroner and witness. + </p> + <p> + But the witness had no more to say—except to suggest that the bank's + Melbourne agents should be cabled to for information, since it was + unlikely that much more could be got in England. And with that the middle + stage of the proceedings ended—and the last one came, watched by + Bryce with increasing anxiety. For it was soon evident, from certain + remarks made by the Coroner, that the theory which Archdale had put + forward at the club in Bryce's hearing the previous day had gained favour + with the authorities, and that the visit of the jurymen to the scene of + the disaster had been intended by the Coroner to predispose them in behalf + of it. And now Archdale himself, as representing the architects who held a + retaining fee in connection with the Cathedral, was called to give his + opinion—and he gave it in almost the same words which Bryce had + heard him use twenty-four hours previously. After him came the + master-mason, expressing the same decided conviction—that the real + truth was that the pavement of the gallery had at that particular place + become so smooth, and was inclined towards the open doorway at such a + sharp angle, that the unfortunate man had lost his footing on it, and + before he could recover it had been shot out of the arch and over the + broken head of St. Wrytha's Stair. And though, at a juryman's wish, Varner + was recalled, and stuck stoutly to his original story of having seen a + hand which, he protested, was certainly not that of the dead man, it soon + became plain that the jury shared the Coroner's belief that Varner in his + fright and excitement had been mistaken, and no one was surprised when the + foreman, after a very brief consultation with his fellows, announced a + verdict of death by misadventure. + </p> + <p> + “So the city's cleared of the stain of murder!” said a man who sat next to + Bryce. “That's a good job, anyway! Nasty thing, doctor, to think of a + murder being committed in a cathedral. There'd be a question of sacrilege, + of course—and all sorts of complications.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made no answer. He was watching Ransford, who was talking to the + Coroner. And he was not mistaken now—Ransford's face bore all the + signs of infinite relief. From—what? Bryce turned, to leave the + stuffy, rapidly-emptying court. And as he passed the centre table he saw + old Simpson Harker, who, after sitting in attentive silence for three + hours had come up to it, picked up the “History of Barthorpe” which had + been found in Braden's suit-case and was inquisitively peering at its + title-page. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE DOUBLE TRAIL + </h2> + <p> + Pemberton Bryce was not the only person in Wrychester who was watching + Ransford with keen attention during these events. Mary Bewery, a young + woman of more than usual powers of observation and penetration, had been + quick to see that her guardian's distress over the affair in Paradise was + something out of the common. She knew Ransford for an exceedingly + tender-hearted man, with a considerable spice of sentiment in his + composition: he was noted for his more than professional interest in the + poorer sort of his patients and had gained a deserved reputation in the + town for his care of them. But it was somewhat surprising, even to Mary, + that he should be so much upset by the death of a total stranger as to + lose his appetite, and, for at any rate a couple of days, be so restless + that his conduct could not fail to be noticed by herself and her brother. + His remarks on the tragedy were conventional enough—a most + distressing affair—a sad fate for the poor fellow—most + unexplainable and mysterious, and so on—but his concern obviously + went beyond that. He was ill at ease when she questioned him about the + facts; almost irritable when Dick Bewery, schoolboy-like, asked him + concerning professional details; she was sure, from the lines about his + eyes and a worn look on his face, that he had passed a restless night when + he came down to breakfast on the morning of the inquest. But when he + returned from the inquest she noticed a change—it was evident, to + her ready wits, that Ransford had experienced a great relief. He spoke of + relief, indeed, that night at dinner, observing that the verdict which the + jury had returned had cleared the air of a foul suspicion; it would have + been no pleasant matter, he said, if Wrychester Cathedral had gained an + unenviable notoriety as the scene of a murder. + </p> + <p> + “All the same,” remarked Dick, who knew all the talk of the town, “Varner + persists in sticking to what he's said all along. Varner says—said + this afternoon, after the inquest was over—that he's absolutely + certain of what he saw, and that he not only saw a hand in a white cuff + and black coat sleeve, but that he saw the sun gleam for a second on the + links in the cuff, as if they were gold or diamonds. Pretty stiff evidence + that, sir, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “In the state of mind in which Varner was at that moment,” replied + Ransford, “he wouldn't be very well able to decide definitely on what he + really did see. His vision would retain confused images. Probably he saw + the dead man's hand—he was wearing a black coat and white linen. The + verdict was a most sensible one.” + </p> + <p> + No more was said after that, and that evening Ransford was almost himself + again. But not quite himself. Mary caught him looking very grave, in + evident abstraction, more than once; more than once she heard him sigh + heavily. But he said no more of the matter until two days later, when, at + breakfast, he announced his intention of attending John Braden's funeral, + which was to take place that morning. + </p> + <p> + “I've ordered the brougham for eleven,” he said, “and I've arranged with + Dr. Nicholson to attend to any urgent call that comes in between that and + noon—so, if there is any such call, you can telephone to him. A few + of us are going to attend this poor man's funeral—it would be too + bad to allow a stranger to go to his grave unattended, especially after + such a fate. There'll be somebody representing the Dean and Chapter, and + three or four principal townsmen, so he'll not be quite neglected. And”—here + he hesitated and looked a little nervously at Mary, to whom he was telling + all this, Dick having departed for school—“there's a little matter I + wish you'd attend to—you'll do it better than I should. The man + seems to have been friendless; here, at any rate—no relations have + come forward, in spite of the publicity—so—don't you think it + would be rather—considerate, eh?—to put a wreath, or a cross, + or something of that sort on his grave—just to show—you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Very kind of you to think of it,” said Mary. “What do you wish me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “If you'd go to Gardales', the florists, and order—something + fitting, you know,” replied Ransford, “and afterwards—later in the + day—take it to St. Wigbert's Churchyard—he's to be buried + there—take it—if you don't mind—yourself, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” answered Mary. “I'll see that it's done.” + </p> + <p> + She would do anything that seemed good to Ransford—but all the same + she wondered at this somewhat unusual show of interest in a total + stranger. She put it down at last to Ransford's undoubted sentimentality—the + man's sad fate had impressed him. And that afternoon the sexton at St. + Wigbert's pointed out the new grave to Miss Bewery and Mr. Sackville + Bonham, one carrying a wreath and the other a large bunch of lilies. + Sackville, chancing to encounter Mary at the florist's, whither he had + repaired to execute a commission for his mother, had heard her business, + and had been so struck by the notion—or by a desire to ingratiate + himself with Miss Bewery—that he had immediately bought flowers + himself—to be put down to her account—and insisted on + accompanying Mary to the churchyard. + </p> + <p> + Bryce heard of this tribute to John Braden next day—from Mrs. + Folliot, Sackville Bonham's mother, a large lady who dominated certain + circles of Wrychester society in several senses. Mrs. Folliot was one of + those women who have been gifted by nature with capacity—she was + conspicuous in many ways. Her voice was masculine; she stood nearly six + feet in her stoutly-soled shoes; her breadth corresponded to her height; + her eyes were piercing, her nose Roman; there was not a curate in + Wrychester who was not under her thumb, and if the Dean himself saw her + coming, he turned hastily into the nearest shop, sweating with fear lest + she should follow him. Endued with riches and fortified by assurance, Mrs. + Folliot was the presiding spirit in many movements of charity and + benevolence; there were people in Wrychester who were unkind enough to say—behind + her back—that she was as meddlesome as she was most undoubtedly + autocratic, but, as one of her staunchest clerical defenders once pointed + out, these grumblers were what might be contemptuously dismissed as + five-shilling subscribers. Mrs. Folliot, in her way, was undoubtedly a + power—and for reasons of his own Pemberton Bryce, whenever he met + her—which was fairly often—was invariably suave and polite. + </p> + <p> + “Most mysterious thing, this, Dr. Bryce,” remarked Mrs. Folliot in her + deepest tones, encountering Bryce, the day after the funeral, at the + corner of a back street down which she was about to sail on one of her + charitable missions, to the terror of any of the women who happened to be + caught gossiping. “What, now, should make Dr. Ransford cause flowers to be + laid on the grave of a total stranger? A sentimental feeling? + Fiddle-de-dee! There must be some reason.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, Mrs. Folliot,” + answered Bryce, whose ears had already lengthened. “Has Dr. Ransford been + laying flowers on a grave?—I didn't know of it. My engagement with + Dr. Ransford terminated two days ago—so I've seen nothing of him.” + </p> + <p> + “My son, Mr. Sackville Bonham,” said Mrs. Folliot, “tells me that + yesterday Miss Bewery came into Gardales' and spent a sovereign—actually + a sovereign!—on a wreath, which, she told Sackville, she was about + to carry, at her guardian's desire, to this strange man's grave. + Sackville, who is a warm-hearted boy, was touched—he, too, bought + flowers and accompanied Miss Bewery. Most extraordinary! A perfect + stranger! Dear me—why, nobody knows who the man was!” + </p> + <p> + “Except his bank-manager,” remarked Bryce, “who says he's holding ten + thousand pounds of his.” + </p> + <p> + “That,” admitted Mrs. Folliot gravely, “is certainly a consideration. But + then, who knows?—the money may have been stolen. Now, really, did + you ever hear of a quite respectable man who hadn't even a visiting-card + or a letter upon him? And from Australia, too!—where all the people + that are wanted run away to! I have actually been tempted to wonder, Dr. + Bryce, if Dr. Ransford knew this man—in years gone by? He might + have, you know, he might have—certainly! And that, of course, would + explain the flowers.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a great deal in the matter that requires explanation, Mrs. + Folliot,” said Bryce. He was wondering if it would be wise to instil some + minute drop of poison into the lady's mind, there to increase in potency + and in due course to spread. “I—of course, I may have been mistaken—I + certainly thought Dr. Ransford seemed unusually agitated by this affair—it + appeared to upset him greatly.” + </p> + <p> + “So I have heard—from others who were at the inquest,” responded + Mrs. Folliot. “In my opinion our Coroner—a worthy man otherwise—is + not sufficiently particular. I said to Mr. Folliot this morning, on + reading the newspaper, that in my view that inquest should have been + adjourned for further particulars. Now I know of one particular that was + never mentioned at the inquest!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh?” said Bryce. “And what?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Deramore, who lives, as you know, next to Dr. Ransford,” replied + Mrs. Folliot, “told me this morning that on the morning of the accident, + happening to look out of one of her upper windows, she saw a man whom, + from the description given in the newspapers, was, Mrs. Deramore feels + assured, was the mysterious stranger, crossing the Close towards the + Cathedral in, Mrs. Deramore is positive, a dead straight line from Dr. + Ransford's garden—as if he had been there. Dr. Bryce!—a direct + question should have been asked of Dr. Ransford—had he ever seen + that man before?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but you see, Mrs. Folliot, the Coroner didn't know what Mrs. Deramore + saw, so he couldn't ask such a question, nor could any one else,” remarked + Bryce, who was wondering how long Mrs. Deramore remained at her upper + window and if she saw him follow Braden. “But there are circumstances, no + doubt, which ought to be inquired into. And it's certainly very curious + that Dr. Ransford should send a wreath to the grave of—a stranger.” + </p> + <p> + He went away convinced that Mrs. Folliot's inquisitiveness had been + aroused, and that her tongue would not be idle: Mrs. Folliot, left to + herself, had the gift of creating an atmosphere, and if she once got it + into her head that there was some mysterious connection between Dr. + Ransford and the dead man, she would never rest until she had spread her + suspicions. But as for Bryce himself, he wanted more than suspicions—he + wanted facts, particulars, data. And once more he began to go over the sum + of evidence which had accrued. + </p> + <p> + The question of the scrap of paper found in Braden's purse, and of the + exact whereabouts of Richard Jenkins's grave in Paradise, he left for the + time being. What was now interesting him chiefly was the advertisement in + the Times to which the bank-manager from London had drawn attention. He + had made haste to buy a copy of the Times and to cut out the + advertisement. There it was—old friend Marco was wanted by + (presumably old friend) Sticker, and whoever Sticker might be he could + certainly be found under care of J. Braden. It had never been in doubt a + moment, in Bryce's mind, that Sticker was J. Braden himself. Who, now, was + Marco? Who—a million to one on it!—but Ransford, whose + Christian name was Mark? + </p> + <p> + He reckoned up his chances of getting at the truth of the affair anew that + night. As things were, it seemed unlikely that any relations of Braden + would now turn up. The Wrychester Paradise case, as the reporters had + aptly named it, had figured largely in the newspapers, London and + provincial; it could scarcely have had more publicity—yet no one, + save this bank-manager, had come forward. If there had been any one to + come forward the bank-manager's evidence would surely have proved an + incentive to speed—for there was a sum of ten thousand pounds + awaiting John Braden's next-of-kin. In Bryce's opinion the chance of + putting in a claim to ten thousand pounds is not left waiting forty-eight + hours—whoever saw such a chance would make instant use of telegraph + or telephone. But no message from anybody professing relationship with the + dead man had so far reached the Wrychester police. + </p> + <p> + When everything had been taken into account, Bryce saw no better clue for + the moment than that suggested by Ambrose Campany—Barthorpe. Ambrose + Campany, bookworm though he was, was a shrewd, sharp fellow, said Bryce—a + man of ideas. There was certainly much in his suggestion that a man wasn't + likely to buy an old book about a little insignificant town like Barthorpe + unless he had some interest in it—Barthorpe, if Campany's theory + were true, was probably the place of John Braden's origin. + </p> + <p> + Therefore, information about Braden, leading to knowledge of his + association or connection with Ransford, might be found at Barthorpe. + True, the Barthorpe police had already reported that they could tell + nothing about any Braden, but that, in Bryce's opinion, was neither here + nor there—he had already come to the conclusion that Braden was an + assumed name. And if he went to Barthorpe, he was not going to trouble the + police—he knew better methods than that of finding things out. Was + he going?—was it worth his while? A moment's reflection decided that + matter—anything was worth his while which would help him to get a + strong hold on Mark Ransford. And always practical in his doings, he + walked round to the Free Library, obtained a gazeteer, and looked up + particulars of Barthorpe. There he learnt that Barthorpe was an ancient + market-town of two thousand inhabitants in the north of Leicestershire, + famous for nothing except that it had been the scene of a battle at the + time of the Wars of the Roses, and that its trade was mainly in + agriculture and stocking-making—evidently a slow, sleepy old place. + </p> + <p> + That night Bryce packed a hand-bag with small necessaries for a few days' + excursion, and next morning he took an early train to London; the end of + that afternoon found him in a Midland northern-bound express, looking out + on the undulating, green acres of Leicestershire. And while his train was + making a three minutes' stop at Leicester itself, the purpose of his + journey was suddenly recalled to him by hearing the strident voices of the + porters on the platform. + </p> + <p> + “Barthorpe next stop!—next stop Barthorpe!” + </p> + <p> + One of two other men who shared a smoking compartment with Bryce turned to + his companion as the train moved off again. + </p> + <p> + “Barthorpe?” he remarked. “That's the place that was mentioned in + connection with that very queer affair at Wrychester, that's been reported + in the papers so much these last few days. The mysterious stranger who + kept ten thousand in a London bank, and of whom nobody seems to know + anything, had nothing on him but a history of Barthorpe. Odd! And yet, + though you'd think he'd some connection with the place, or had known it, + they say nobody at Barthorpe knows anything about anybody of his name.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know that there is anything so very odd about it, after + all,” replied the other man. “He may have picked up that old book for one + of many reasons that could be suggested. No—I read all that case in + the papers, and I wasn't so much impressed by the old book feature of it. + But I'll tell you what—there was a thing struck me. I know this + Barthorpe district—we shall be in it in a few minutes—I've + been a good deal over it. This strange man's name was given in the papers + as John Braden. Now close to Barthorpe—a mile or two outside it, + there's a village of that name—Braden Medworth. That's a curious + coincidence—and taken in conjunction with the man's possession of an + old book about Barthorpe—why, perhaps there's something in it—possibly + more than I thought for at first.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—it's an odd case—a very odd case,” said the first + speaker. “And—as there's ten thousand pounds in question, more will + be heard of it. Somebody'll be after that, you may be sure!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce left the train at Barthorpe thanking his good luck—the man in + the far corner had unwittingly given him a hint. He would pay a visit to + Braden Medworth—the coincidence was too striking to be neglected. + But first Barthorpe itself—a quaint old-world little market-town, in + which some of even the principal houses still wore roofs of thatch, and + wherein the old custom of ringing the curfew bell was kept up. He found an + old-fashioned hotel in the marketplace, under the shadow of the parish + church, and in its oak-panelled dining-room, hung about with portraits of + masters of foxhounds and queer old prints of sporting and coaching days, + he dined comfortably and well. + </p> + <p> + It was too late to attempt any investigations that evening, and when Bryce + had finished his leisurely dinner he strolled into the smoking-room—an + even older and quainter apartment than that which he had just left. It was + one of those rooms only found in very old houses—a room of nooks and + corners, with a great open fireplace, and old furniture and old pictures + and curiosities—the sort of place to which the old-fashioned + tradesmen of the small provincial towns still resort of an evening rather + than patronize the modern political clubs. There were several men of this + sort in the room when Bryce entered, talking local politics amongst + themselves, and he found a quiet corner and sat down in it to smoke, + promising himself some amusement from the conversation around him; it was + his way to find interest and amusement in anything that offered. But he + had scarcely settled down in a comfortably cushioned elbow chair when the + door opened again and into the room walked old Simpson Harker. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. THE BEST MAN + </h2> + <p> + Old Harker's shrewd eyes, travelling round the room as if to inspect the + company in which he found himself, fell almost immediately on Bryce—but + not before Bryce had had time to assume an air and look of innocent and + genuine surprise. Harker affected no surprise at all—he looked the + astonishment he felt as the younger man rose and motioned him to the + comfortable easy-chair which he himself had just previously taken. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” he exclaimed, nodding his thanks. “I'd no idea that I should + meet you in these far-off parts, Dr. Bryce! This is a long way from + Wrychester, sir, for Wrychester folk to meet in.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd no idea of meeting you, Mr. Harker,” responded Bryce. “But it's a + small world, you know, and there are a good many coincidences in it. + There's nothing very wonderful in my presence here, though—I ran + down to see after a country practice—I've left Dr. Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + He had the lie ready as soon as he set eyes on Harker, and whether the old + man believed it or not, he showed no sign of either belief or disbelief. + He took the chair which Bryce drew forward and pulled out an old-fashioned + cigar-case, offering it to his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Will you try one, doctor?” he asked. “Genuine stuff that, sir—I've + a friend in Cuba who remembers me now and then. No,” he went on, as Bryce + thanked him and took a cigar, “I didn't know you'd finished with the + doctor. Quietish place this to practise in, I should think—much + quieter even than our sleepy old city.” + </p> + <p> + “You know it?” inquired Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I've a friend lives here—old friend of mine,” answered Harker. “I + come down to see him now and then—I've been here since yesterday. He + does a bit of business for me. Stopping long, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Only just to look round,” answered Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I'm off tomorrow morning—eleven o'clock,” said Harker. “It's a + longish journey to Wrychester—for old bones like mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you're all right!—worth half a dozen younger men,” responded + Bryce. “You'll see a lot of your contemporaries out, Mr. Harker. Well—as + you've treated me to a very fine cigar, now you'll let me treat you to a + drop of whisky?—they generally have something of pretty good quality + in these old-fashioned establishments, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + The two travellers sat talking until bedtime—but neither made any + mention of the affair which had recently set all Wrychester agog with + excitement. But Bryce was wondering all the time if his companion's story + of having a friend at Barthorpe was no more than an excuse, and when he + was alone in his own bedroom and reflecting more seriously he came to the + conclusion that old Harker was up to some game of his own in connection + with the Paradise mystery. + </p> + <p> + “The old chap was in the Library when Ambrose Campany said that there was + a clue in that Barthorpe history,” he mused. “I saw him myself examining + the book after the inquest. No, no, Mr. Harker!—the facts are too + plain—the evidences too obvious. And yet—what interest has a + retired old tradesman of Wrychester got in this affair? I'd give a good + deal to know what Harker really is doing here—and who his Barthorpe + friend is.” + </p> + <p> + If Bryce had risen earlier next morning, and had taken the trouble to + track old Harker's movements, he would have learnt something that would + have made him still more suspicious. But Bryce, seeing no reason for + hurry, lay in bed till well past nine o'clock, and did not present himself + in the coffee-room until nearly half-past ten. And at that hour Simpson + Harker, who had breakfasted before nine, was in close consultation with + his friend—that friend being none other than the local + superintendent of police, who was confidentially closeted with the old man + in his private house, whither Harker, by previous arrangement, had + repaired as soon as his breakfast was over. Had Bryce been able to see + through walls or hear through windows, he would have been surprised to + find that the Harker of this consultation was not the quiet, easy-going, + gossipy old gentleman of Wrychester, but an eminently practical and + business-like man of affairs. + </p> + <p> + “And now as regards this young fellow who's staying across there at the + Peacock,” he was saying in conclusion, at the very time that Bryce was + leisurely munching his second mutton chop in the Peacock coffee-room, + “he's after something or other—his talk about coming here to see + after a practice is all lies!—and you'll keep an eye on him while + he's in your neighbourhood. Put your best plainclothes man on to him at + once—he'll easily know him from the description I gave you—and + let him shadow him wherever he goes. And then let me know of his movement—he's + certainly on the track of something, and what he does may be useful to me—I + can link it up with my own work. And as regards the other matter—keep + me informed if you come on anything further. Now I'll go out by your + garden and down the back of the town to the station. Let me know, by the + by, when this young man at the Peacock leaves here, and, if possible—and + you can find out—for where.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce was all unconscious that any one was interested in his movements + when he strolled out into Barthorpe market-place just after eleven. He had + asked a casual question of the waiter and found that the old gentleman had + departed—he accordingly believed himself free from observation. And + forthwith he set about his work of inquiry in his own fashion. He was not + going to draw any attention to himself by asking questions of present-day + inhabitants, whose curiosity might then be aroused; he knew better methods + than that. Every town, said Bryce to himself, possesses public records—parish + registers, burgess rolls, lists of voters; even small towns have + directories which are more or less complete—he could search these + for any mention or record of anybody or any family of the name of Braden. + And he spent all that day in that search, inspecting numerous documents + and registers and books, and when evening came he had a very complete + acquaintance with the family nomenclature of Barthorpe, and he was + prepared to bet odds against any one of the name of Braden having lived + there during the past half-century. In all his searching he had not once + come across the name. + </p> + <p> + The man who had spent a very lazy day in keeping an eye on Bryce, as he + visited the various public places whereat he made his researches, was also + keeping an eye upon him next morning, when Bryce, breakfasting earlier + than usual, prepared for a second day's labours. He followed his quarry + away from the little town: Bryce was walking out to Braden Medworth. In + Bryce's opinion, it was something of a wild-goose chase to go there, but + the similarity in the name of the village and of the dead man at + Wrychester might have its significance, and it was but a two miles' stroll + from Barthorpe. He found Braden Medworth a very small, quiet, and + picturesque place, with an old church on the banks of a river which + promised good sport to anglers. And there he pursued his tactics of the + day before and went straight to the vicarage and its vicar, with a request + to be allowed to inspect the parish registers. The vicar, having no + objection to earning the resultant fees, hastened to comply with Bryce's + request, and inquired how far back he wanted to search and for what + particular entry. + </p> + <p> + “No particular entry,” answered Bryce, “and as to period—fairly + recent. The fact is, I am interested in names. I am thinking”—here + he used one more of his easily found inventions—“of writing a book + on English surnames, and am just now inspecting parish registers in the + Midlands for that purpose.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I can considerably simplify your labours,” said the vicar, taking + down a book from one of his shelves. “Our parish registers have been + copied and printed, and here is the volume—everything is in there + from 1570 to ten years ago, and there is a very full index. Are you + staying in the neighbourhood—or the village?” + </p> + <p> + “In the neighbourhood, yes; in the village, no longer than the time I + shall spend in getting some lunch at the inn yonder,” answered Bryce, + nodding through an open window at an ancient tavern which stood in the + valley beneath, close to an old stone bridge. “Perhaps you will kindly + lend me this book for an hour?—then, if I see anything very + noteworthy in the index, I can look at the actual registers when I bring + it back.” + </p> + <p> + The vicar replied that that was precisely what he had been about to + suggest, and Bryce carried the book away. And while he sat in the inn + parlour awaiting his lunch, he turned to the carefully-compiled index, + glancing it through rapidly. On the third page he saw the name Bewery. + </p> + <p> + If the man who had followed Bryce from Barthorpe to Braden Medworth had + been with him in the quiet inn parlour he would have seen his quarry + start, and heard him let a stifled exclamation escape his lips. But the + follower, knowing his man was safe for an hour, was in the bar outside + eating bread and cheese and drinking ale, and Bryce's surprise was + witnessed by no one. Yet he had been so much surprised that if all + Wrychester had been there he could not, despite his self-training in + watchfulness, have kept back either start or exclamation. + </p> + <p> + Bewery! A name so uncommon that here—here, in this out-of-the-way + Midland village!—there must be some connection with the object of + his search. There the name stood out before him, to the exclusion of all + others—Bewery—with just one entry of figures against it. He + turned to page 387 with a sense of sure discovery. + </p> + <p> + And there an entry caught his eye at once—and he knew that he had + discovered more than he had ever hoped for. He read it again and again, + gloating over his wonderful luck. + </p> + <p> + June 19th, 1891. John Brake, bachelor, of the parish of St. Pancras, + London, to Mary Bewery, spinster, of this parish, by the Vicar. Witnesses, + Charles Claybourne, Selina Womersley, Mark Ransford. + </p> + <p> + Twenty-two years ago! The Mary Bewery whom Bryce knew in Wrychester was + just about twenty—this Mary Bewery, spinster, of Braden Medworth, + was, then, in all probability, her mother. But John Brake who married that + Mary Bewery—who was he? Who indeed, laughed Bryce, but John Braden, + who had just come by his death in Wrychester Paradise? And there was the + name of Mark Ransford as witness. What was the further probability? That + Mark Ransford had been John Brake's best man; that he was the Marco of the + recent Times advertisement; that John Braden, or Brake, was the Sticker of + the same advertisement. Clear!—clear as noonday! And—what did + it all mean, and imply, and what bearing had it on Braden or Brake's + death? + </p> + <p> + Before he ate his cold beef, Bryce had copied the entry from the reprinted + register, and had satisfied himself that Ransford was not a name known to + that village—Mark Ransford was the only person of the name mentioned + in the register. And his lunch done, he set off for the vicarage again, + intent on getting further information, and before he reached the vicarage + gates noticed, by accident, a place whereat he was more likely to get it + than from the vicar—who was a youngish man. At the end of the few + houses between the inn and the bridge he saw a little shop with the name + Charles Claybourne painted roughly above its open window. In that open + window sat an old, cheery-faced man, mending shoes, who blinked at the + stranger through his big spectacles. + </p> + <p> + Bryce saw his chance and turned in—to open the book and point out + the marriage entry. + </p> + <p> + “Are you the Charles Claybourne mentioned there?” he asked, without + ceremony. + </p> + <p> + “That's me, sir!” replied the old shoemaker briskly, after a glance. “Yes—right + enough!” + </p> + <p> + “How came you to witness that marriage?” inquired Bryce. + </p> + <p> + The old man nodded at the church across the way. + </p> + <p> + “I've been sexton and parish clerk two-and-thirty years, sir,” he said. + “And I took it on from my father—and he had the job from his + father.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember this marriage?” asked Bryce, perching himself on the + bench at which the shoemaker was working. “Twenty-two years since, I see.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, as if it was yesterday!” answered the old man with a smile. “Miss + Bewery's marriage?—why, of course!” + </p> + <p> + “Who was she?” demanded Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Governess at the vicarage,” replied Claybourne. “Nice, sweet young lady.” + </p> + <p> + “And the man she married?—Mr. Brake,” continued Bryce. “Who was he?” + </p> + <p> + “A young gentleman that used to come here for the fishing, now and then,” + answered Claybourne, pointing at the river. “Famous for our trout we are + here, you know, sir. And Brake had come here for three years before they + were married—him and his friend Mr. Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “You remember him, too?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Remember both of 'em very well indeed,” said Claybourne, “though I never + set eyes on either after Miss Mary was wed to Mr. Brake. But I saw plenty + of 'em both before that. They used to put up at the inn there—that I + saw you come out of just now. They came two or three times a year—and + they were a bit thick with our parson of that time—not this one: his + predecessor—and they used to go up to the vicarage and smoke their + pipes and cigars with him—and of course, Mr. Brake and the governess + fixed it up. Though, you know, at one time it was considered it was going + to be her and the other young gentleman, Mr. Ransford—yes! But, in + the end, it was Brake—and Ransford stood best man for him.” + </p> + <p> + Bruce assimilated all this information greedily—and asked for more. + </p> + <p> + “I'm interested in that entry,” he said, tapping the open book. “I know + some people of the name of Bewery—they may be relatives.” + </p> + <p> + The shoemaker shook his head as if doubtful. + </p> + <p> + “I remember hearing it said,” he remarked, “that Miss Mary had no + relations. She'd been with the old vicar some time, and I don't remember + any relations ever coming to see her, nor her going away to see any.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what Brake was?” asked Bryce. “As you say he came here for a + good many times before the marriage, I suppose you'd hear something about + his profession, or trade, or whatever it was?” + </p> + <p> + “He was a banker, that one,” replied Claybourne. “A banker—that was + his trade, sir. T'other gentleman, Mr. Ransford, he was a doctor—I + mind that well enough, because once when him and Mr. Brake were fishing + here, Thomas Joynt's wife fell downstairs and broke her leg, and they + fetched him to her—he'd got it set before they'd got the reg'lar + doctor out from Barthorpe yonder.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had now got all the information he wanted, and he made the old + parish clerk a small present and turned to go. But another question + presented itself to his mind and he reentered the little shop. + </p> + <p> + “Your late vicar?” he said. “The one in whose family Miss Bewery was + governess—where is he now? Dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Can't say whether he's dead or alive, sir,” replied Claybourne. “He left + this parish for another—a living in a different part of England—some + years since, and I haven't heard much of him from that time to this—he + never came back here once, not even to pay us a friendly visit—he + was a queerish sort. But I'll tell you what, sir,” he added, evidently + anxious to give his visitor good value for his half-crown, “our present + vicar has one of those books with the names of all the clergymen in 'em, + and he'd tell you where his predecessor is now, if he's alive—name + of Reverend Thomas Gilwaters, M.A.—an Oxford college man he was, and + very high learned.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce went back to the vicarage, returned the borrowed book, and asked to + look at the registers for the year 1891. He verified his copy and turned + to the vicar. + </p> + <p> + “I accidentally came across the record of a marriage there in which I'm + interested,” he said as he paid the search fees. “Celebrated by your + predecessor, Mr. Gilwaters. I should be glad to know where Mr. Gilwaters + is to be found. Do you happen to possess a clerical directory?” + </p> + <p> + The vicar produced a “Crockford”, and Bryce turned over its pages. Mr. + Gilwaters, who from the account there given appeared to be an elderly man + who had now retired, lived in London, in Bayswater, and Bryce made a note + of his address and prepared to depart. + </p> + <p> + “Find any names that interested you?” asked the vicar as his caller left. + “Anything noteworthy?” + </p> + <p> + “I found two or three names which interested me immensely,” answered Bryce + from the foot of the vicarage steps. “They were well worth searching for.” + </p> + <p> + And without further explanation he marched off to Barthorpe duly followed + by his shadow, who saw him safely into the Peacock an hour later—and, + an hour after that, went to the police superintendent with his report. + </p> + <p> + “Gone, sir,” he said. “Left by the five-thirty express for London.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. THE HOUSE OF HIS FRIEND + </h2> + <p> + Bryce found himself at eleven o'clock next morning in a small book-lined + parlour in a little house which stood in a quiet street in the + neighbourhood of Westbourne Grove. Over the mantelpiece, amongst other + odds and ends of pictures and photographs, hung a water-colour drawing of + Braden Medworth—and to him presently entered an old, silver-haired + clergyman whom he at once took to be Braden Medworth's former vicar, and + who glanced inquisitively at his visitor and then at the card which Bryce + had sent in with a request for an interview. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Bryce?” he said inquiringly. “Dr. Pemberton Bryce?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made his best bow and assumed his suavest and most ingratiating + manner. + </p> + <p> + “I hope I am not intruding on your time, Mr. Gilwaters?” he said. “The + fact is, I was referred to you, yesterday, by the present vicar of Braden + Medworth—both he, and the sexton there, Claybourne, whom you, of + course, remember, thought you would be able to give me some information on + a subject which is of great importance—to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know the present vicar,” remarked Mr. Gilwaters, motioning Bryce + to a chair, and taking another close by. “Clayborne, of course, I remember + very well indeed—he must be getting an old man now—like + myself! What is it you want to know, now?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to take you into my confidence,” replied Bryce, who had + carefully laid his plans and prepared his story, “and you, I am sure, Mr. + Gilwaters, will respect mine. I have for two years been in practice at + Wrychester, and have there made the acquaintance of a young lady whom I + earnestly desire to marry. She is the ward of the man to whom I have been + assistant. And I think you will begin to see why I have come to you when I + say that this young lady's name is—Mary Bewery.” + </p> + <p> + The old clergyman started, and looked at his visitor with unusual + interest. He grasped the arm of his elbow chair and leaned forward. + </p> + <p> + “Mary Bewery!” he said in a low whisper. “What—what is the name of + the man who is her—guardian?” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Mark Ransford,” answered Bryce promptly. + </p> + <p> + The old man sat upright again, with a little toss of his head. + </p> + <p> + “Bless my soul!” he exclaimed. “Mark Ransford! Then—it must have + been as I feared—and suspected!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made no remark. He knew at once that he had struck on something, and + it was his method to let people take their own time. Mr. Gilwaters had + already fallen into something closely resembling a reverie: Bryce sat + silently waiting and expectant. And at last the old man leaned forward + again, almost eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “What is it you want to know?” he asked, repeating his first question. “Is—is + there some—some mystery?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” replied Bryce. “A mystery that I want to solve, sir. And I dare say + that you can help me, if you'll be so good. I am convinced—in fact, + I know!—that this young lady is in ignorance of her parentage, that + Ransford is keeping some fact, some truth back from her—and I want + to find things out. By the merest chance—accident, in fact—I + discovered yesterday at Braden Medworth that some twenty-two years ago you + married one Mary Bewery, who, I learnt there, was your governess, to a + John Brake, and that Mark Ransford was John Brake's best man and a witness + of the marriage. Now, Mr. Gilwaters, the similarity in names is too + striking to be devoid of significance. So—it's of the utmost + importance to me!—can or will you tell me—who was the Mary + Bewery you married to John Brake? Who was John Brake? And what was Mark + Ransford to either, or to both?” + </p> + <p> + He was wondering, all the time during which he reeled off these questions, + if Mr. Gilwaters was wholly ignorant of the recent affair at Wrychester. + He might be—a glance round his book-filled room had suggested to + Bryce that he was much more likely to be a bookworm than a newspaper + reader, and it was quite possible that the events of the day had small + interest for him. And his first words in reply to Bryce's questions + convinced Bryce that his surmise was correct and that the old man had read + nothing of the Wrychester Paradise mystery, in which Ransford's name had, + of course, figured as a witness at the inquest. + </p> + <p> + “It is nearly twenty years since I heard any of their names,” remarked Mr. + Gilwaters. “Nearly twenty years—a long time! But, of course, I can + answer you. Mary Bewery was our governess at Braden Medworth. She came to + us when she was nineteen—she was married four years later. She was a + girl who had no friends or relatives—she had been educated at a + school in the North—I engaged her from that school, where, I + understood, she had lived since infancy. Now then, as to Brake and + Ransford. They were two young men from London, who used to come fishing in + Leicestershire. Ransford was a few years the younger—he was either a + medical student in his last year, or he was an assistant somewhere in + London. Brake—was a bank manager in London—of a branch of one + of the big banks. They were pleasant young fellows, and I used to ask them + to the vicarage. Eventually, Mary Bewery and John Brake became engaged to + be married. My wife and I were a good deal surprised—we had + believed, somehow, that the favoured man would be Ransford. However, it + was Brake—and Brake she married, and, as you say, Ransford was best + man. Of course, Brake took his wife off to London—and from the day + of her wedding, I never saw her again.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever see Brake again?” asked Bryce. The old clergyman shook his + head. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” he said sadly. “I did see Brake again—under grievous, + grievous circumstances!” + </p> + <p> + “You won't mind telling me what circumstances?” suggested Bryce. “I will + keep your confidence, Mr. Gilwaters.” + </p> + <p> + “There is really no secret in it—if it comes to that,” answered the + old man. “I saw John Brake again just once. In a prison cell!” + </p> + <p> + “A prison cell!” exclaimed Bryce. “And he—a prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “He had just been sentenced to ten years' penal servitude,” replied Mr. + Gilwaters. “I had heard the sentence—I was present. I got leave to + see him. Ten years' penal servitude!—a terrible punishment. He must + have been released long ago—but I never heard more.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce reflected in silence for a moment—reckoning and calculating. + </p> + <p> + “When was this—the trial?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “It was five years after the marriage—seventeen years ago,” replied + Mr. Gilwaters. + </p> + <p> + “And—what had he been doing?” inquired Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Stealing the bank's money,” answered the old man. “I forget what the + technical offence was—embezzlement, or something of that sort. There + was not much evidence came out, for it was impossible to offer any + defence, and he pleaded guilty. But I gathered from what I heard that + something of this sort occurred. Brake was a branch manager. He was, as it + were, pounced upon one morning by an inspector, who found that his cash + was short by two or three thousand pounds. The bank people seemed to have + been unusually strict and even severe—Brake, it was said, had some + explanation, but it was swept aside and he was given in charge. And the + sentence was as I said just now—a very savage one, I thought. But + there had recently been some bad cases of that sort in the banking world, + and I suppose the judge felt that he must make an example. Yes—a + most trying affair!—I have a report of the case somewhere, which I + cut out of a London newspaper at the time.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Gilwaters rose and turned to an old desk in the corner of his room, + and after some rummaging of papers in a drawer, produced a + newspaper-cutting book and traced an insertion in its pages. He handed the + book to his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “There is the account,” he said. “You can read it for yourself. You will + notice that in what Brake's counsel said on his behalf there are one or + two curious and mysterious hints as to what might have been said if it had + been of any use or advantage to say it. A strange case!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned eagerly to the faded scrap of newspaper. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + BANK MANAGER'S DEFALCATION. + + At the Central Criminal Court yesterday, John Brake, + thirty-three, formerly manager of the Upper Tooting + branch of the London & Home Counties Bank, Ltd., + pleaded guilty to embezzling certain sums, the + property of his employers. + + Mr. Walkinshaw, Q.C., addressing the court on behalf + of the prisoner, said that while it was impossible + for his client to offer any defence, there were + circumstances in the case which, if it had been worth + while to put them in evidence, would have shown that + the prisoner was a wronged and deceived man. To use + a Scriptural phrase, Brake had been wounded in the + house of his friend. The man who was really guilty + in this affair had cleverly escaped all consequences, + nor would it be of the least use to enter into any + details respecting him. Not one penny of the money + in question had been used by the prisoner for his own + purposes. It was doubtless a wrong and improper thing + that his client had done, and he had pleaded guilty and + would submit to the consequences. But if everything in + connection with the case could have been told, if it + would have served any useful purpose to tell it, it + would have been seen that what the prisoner really was + guilty of was a foolish and serious error of judgment. + He himself, concluded the learned counsel, would go so + far as to say that, knowing what he did, knowing what + had been told him by his client in strict confidence, + the prisoner, though technically guilty, was morally + innocent. + + His Lordship, merely remarking that no excuse of any + sort could be offered in a case of this sort, sentenced + the prisoner to ten years' penal servitude. +</pre> + <p> + Bryce read this over twice before handing back the book. + </p> + <p> + “Very strange and mysterious, Mr. Gilwaters,” he remarked. “You say that + you saw Brake after the case was over. Did you learn anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing whatever!” answered the old clergyman. “I got permission to see + him before he was taken away. He did not seem particularly pleased or + disposed to see me. I begged him to tell me what the real truth was. He + was, I think, somewhat dazed by the sentence—but he was also sullen + and morose. I asked him where his wife and two children—one, a mere + infant—were. For I had already been to his private address and had + found that Mrs. Brake had sold all the furniture and disappeared—completely. + No one—thereabouts, at any rate—knew where she was, or would + tell me anything. On my asking this, he refused to answer. I pressed him—he + said finally that he was only speaking the truth when he replied that he + did not know where his wife was. I said I must find her. He forbade me to + make any attempt. Then I begged him to tell me if she was with friends. I + remember very well what he replied.—'I'm not going to say one word + more to any man living, Mr. Gilwaters,' he answered determinedly. 'I shall + be dead to the world—only because I've been a trusting fool!—for + ten years or thereabouts, but, when I come back to it, I'll let the world + see what revenge means! Go away!' he concluded. 'I won't say one word + more.' And—I left him.” + </p> + <p> + “And—you made no more inquiries?—about the wife?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I did what I could,” replied Mr. Gilwaters. “I made some inquiry in the + neighbourhood in which they had lived. All I could discover was that Mrs. + Brake had disappeared under extraordinarily mysterious circumstances. + There was no trace whatever of her. And I speedily found that things were + being said—the usual cruel suspicions, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Such as—what?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “That the amount of the defalcations was much larger than had been allowed + to appear,” replied Mr. Gilwaters. “That Brake was a very clever rogue who + had got the money safely planted somewhere abroad, and that his wife had + gone off somewhere—Australia, or Canada, or some other far-off + region—to await his release. Of course, I didn't believe one word of + all that. But there was the fact—she had vanished! And eventually, I + thought of Ransford, as having been Brake's great friend, so I tried to + find him. And then I found that he, too, who up to that time had been + practising in a London suburb—Streatham—had also disappeared. + Just after Brake's arrest, Ransford had suddenly sold his practice and + gone—no one knew where, but it was believed—abroad. I couldn't + trace him, anyway. And soon after that I had a long illness, and for two + or three years was an invalid, and—well, the thing was over and done + with, and, as I said just now, I have never heard anything of any of them + for all these years. And now!—now you tell me that there is a Mary + Bewery who is a ward of a Dr. Mark Ransford at—where did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “At Wrychester,” answered Bryce. “She is a young woman of twenty, and she + has a brother, Richard, who is between seventeen and eighteen.” + </p> + <p> + “Without a doubt those are Brake's children!” exclaimed the old man. “The + infant I spoke of was a boy. Bless me!—how extraordinary. How long + have they been at Wrychester?” + </p> + <p> + “Ransford has been in practice there some years—a few years,” + replied Bryce. “These two young people joined him there definitely two + years ago. But from what I have learnt, he has acted as their guardian + ever since they were mere children.” + </p> + <p> + “And—their mother?” asked Mr. Gilwaters. + </p> + <p> + “Said to be dead—long since,” answered Bryce. “And their father, + too. They know nothing. Ransford won't tell them anything. But, as you say—I've + no doubt of it myself now—they must be the children of John Brake.” + </p> + <p> + “And have taken the name of their mother!” remarked the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Had it given to them,” said Bryce. “They don't know that it isn't their + real name. Of course, Ransford has given it to them! But now—the + mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes, the mother!” said Mr. Gilwaters. “Our old governess! Dear me!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to put a question to you,” continued Bryce, leaning nearer and + speaking in a low, confidential tone. “You must have seen much of the + world, Mr. Gilwaters—men of your profession know the world, and + human nature, too. Call to mind all the mysterious circumstances, the + veiled hints, of that trial. Do you think—have you ever thought—that + the false friend whom the counsel referred to was—Ransford? Come, + now!” + </p> + <p> + The old clergyman lifted his hands and let them fall on his knees. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know what to say!” he exclaimed. “To tell you the truth, I have + often wondered if—if that was what really did happen. There is the + fact that Brake's wife disappeared mysteriously—that Ransford made a + similar mysterious disappearance about the same time—that Brake was + obviously suffering from intense and bitter hatred when I saw him after + the trial—hatred of some person on whom he meant to be revenged—and + that his counsel hinted that he had been deceived and betrayed by a + friend. Now, to my knowledge, he and Ransford were the closest of friends—in + the old days, before Brake married our governess. And I suppose the + friendship continued—certainly Ransford acted as best man at the + wedding! But how account for that strange double disappearance?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had already accounted for that, in his own secret mind. And now, + having got all that he wanted out of the old clergyman, he rose to take + his leave. + </p> + <p> + “You will regard this interview as having been of a strictly private + nature, Mr. Gilwaters?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly!” responded the old man. “But—you mentioned that you + wished to marry the daughter? Now that you know about her father's past—for + I am sure she must be John Brake's child—you won't allow that to—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Not for a moment!” answered Bryce, with a fair show of magnanimity. “I am + not a man of that complexion, sir. No!—I only wished to clear up + certain things, you understand.” + </p> + <p> + “And—since she is apparently—from what you say—in + ignorance of her real father's past—what then?” asked Mr. Gilwaters + anxiously. “Shall you—” + </p> + <p> + “I shall do nothing whatever in any haste,” replied Bryce. “Rely upon me + to consider her feelings in everything. As you have been so kind, I will + let you know, later, how matters go.” + </p> + <p> + This was one of Pemberton Bryce's ready inventions. He had not the least + intention of ever seeing or communicating with the late vicar of Braden + Medworth again; Mr. Gilwaters had served his purpose for the time being. + He went away from Bayswater, and, an hour later, from London, highly + satisfied. In his opinion, Mark Ransford, seventeen years before, had + taken advantage of his friend's misfortunes to run away with his wife, and + when Brake, alias Braden, had unexpectedly turned up at Wrychester, he had + added to his former wrong by the commission of a far greater one. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. DIPLOMACY + </h2> + <p> + Bryce went back to Wrychester firmly convinced that Mark Ransford had + killed John Braden. He reckoned things up in his own fashion. Some years + must have elapsed since Braden, or rather Brake's release. He had probably + heard, on his release, that Ransford and his, Brake's, wife had gone + abroad—in that case he would certainly follow them. He might have + lost all trace of them; he might have lost his original interest in his + first schemes of revenge; he might have begun a new life for himself in + Australia, whence he had undoubtedly come to England recently. But he had + come, at last, and he had evidently tracked Ransford to Wrychester—why, + otherwise, had he presented himself at Ransford's door on that eventful + morning which was to witness his death? Nothing, in Bryce's opinion, could + be clearer. Brake had turned up. He and Ransford had met—most likely + in the precincts of the Cathedral. Ransford, who knew all the quiet + corners of the old place, had in all probability induced Brake to walk up + into the gallery with him, had noticed the open doorway, had thrown Brake + through it. All the facts pointed to that conclusion—it was a theory + which, so far as Bryce could see, was perfect. It ought to be enough—proved—to + put Ransford in a criminal dock. Bryce resolved it in his own mind over + and over again as he sped home to Wrychester—he pictured the police + listening greedily to all that he could tell them if he liked. There was + only one factor in the whole sum of the affair which seemed against him—the + advertisement in the Times. If Brake desired to find Ransford in order to + be revenged on him, why did he insert that advertisement, as if he were + longing to meet a cherished friend again? But Bryce gaily surmounted that + obstacle—full of shifts and subtleties himself, he was ever ready to + credit others with trading in them, and he put the advertisement down as a + clever ruse to attract, not Ransford, but some person who could give + information about Ransford. Whatever its exact meaning might have been, + its existence made no difference to Bryce's firm opinion that it was Mark + Ransford who flung John Brake down St. Wrytha's Stair and killed him. He + was as sure of that as he was certain that Braden was Brake. And he was + not going to tell the police of his discoveries—he was not going to + tell anybody. The one thing that concerned him was—how best to make + use of his knowledge with a view to bringing about a marriage between + himself and Mark Ransford's ward. He had set his mind on that for twelve + months past, and he was not a man to be baulked of his purpose. By fair + means, or foul—he himself ignored the last word and would have + substituted the term skilful for it—Pemberton Bryce meant to have + Mary Bewery. + </p> + <p> + Mary Bewery herself had no thought of Bryce in her head when, the morning + after that worthy's return to Wrychester, she set out, alone, for the + Wrychester Golf Club. It was her habit to go there almost every day, and + Bryce was well acquainted with her movements and knew precisely where to + waylay her. And empty of Bryce though her mind was, she was not surprised + when, at a lonely place on Wrychester Common, Bryce turned the corner of a + spinny and met her face to face. + </p> + <p> + Mary would have passed on with no more than a silent recognition—she + had made up her mind to have no further speech with her guardian's + dismissed assistant. But she had to pass through a wicket gate at that + point, and Bryce barred the way, with unmistakable purpose. It was plain + to the girl that he had laid in wait for her. She was not without a temper + of her own, and she suddenly let it out on the offender. + </p> + <p> + “Do you call this manly conduct, Dr. Bryce?” she demanded, turning an + indignant and flushed face on him. “To waylay me here, when you know that + I don't want to have anything more to do with you. Let me through, please—and + go away!” + </p> + <p> + But Bryce kept a hand on the little gate, and when he spoke there was that + in his voice which made the girl listen in spite of herself. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not here on my own behalf,” he said quickly. “I give you my word I + won't say a thing that need offend you. It's true I waited here for you—it's + the only place in which I thought I could meet you, alone. I want to speak + to you. It's this—do you know your guardian is in danger?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had the gift of plausibility—he could convince people, against + their instincts, even against their wills, that he was telling the truth. + And Mary, after a swift glance, believed him. + </p> + <p> + “What danger?” she asked. “And if he is, and if you know he is—why + don't you go direct to him?” + </p> + <p> + “The most fatal thing in the world to do!” exclaimed Bryce. “You know him—he + can be nasty. That would bring matters to a crisis. And that, in his + interest, is just what mustn't happen.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand you,” said Mary. + </p> + <p> + Bryce leaned nearer to her—across the gate. + </p> + <p> + “You know what happened last week,” he said in a low voice. “The strange + death of that man—Braden.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she asked, with a sudden look of uneasiness. “What of it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's being rumoured—whispered—in the town that Dr. Ransford + had something to do with that affair,” answered Bryce. “Unpleasant—unfortunate—but + it's a fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” exclaimed Mary with a heightening colour. “What could he + have to do with it? What could give rise to such foolish—wicked—rumours?” + </p> + <p> + “You know as well as I do how people talk, how they will talk,” said + Bryce. “You can't stop them, in a place like Wrychester, where everybody + knows everybody. There's a mystery around Braden's death—it's no use + denying it. Nobody knows who he was, where he came from, why he came. And + it's being hinted—I'm only telling you what I've gathered—that + Dr. Ransford knows more than he's ever told. There are, I'm afraid, + grounds.” + </p> + <p> + “What grounds?” demanded Mary. While Bryce had been speaking, in his usual + slow, careful fashion, she had been reflecting—and remembering + Ransford's evident agitation at the time of the Paradise affair—and + his relief when the inquest was over—and his sending her with + flowers to the dead man's grave and she began to experience a sense of + uneasiness and even of fear. “What grounds can there be?” she added. “Dr. + Ransford didn't know that man—had never seen him!” + </p> + <p> + “That's not certain,” replied Bryce. “It's said—remember, I'm only + repeating things—it's said that just before the body was discovered, + Dr. Ransford was seen—seen, mind you!—leaving the west porch + of the Cathedral, looking as if he had just been very much upset. Two + persons saw this.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are they?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + “That I'm not allowed to tell you,” said Bryce, who had no intention of + informing her that one person was himself and the other imaginary. “But I + can assure you that I am certain—absolutely certain!—that + their story is true. The fact is—I can corroborate it.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “I!” replied Bryce. “I will tell you something that I have never told + anybody—up to now. I shan't ask you to respect my confidence—I've + sufficient trust in you to know that you will, without any asking. Listen!—on + that morning, Dr. Ransford went out of the surgery in the direction of the + Deanery, leaving me alone there. A few minutes later, a tap came at the + door. I opened it—and found—a man standing outside!” + </p> + <p> + “Not—that man?” asked Mary fearfully. + </p> + <p> + “That man—Braden,” replied Bryce. “He asked for Dr. Ransford. I said + he was out—would the caller leave his name? He said no—he had + called because he had once known a Dr. Ransford, years before. He added + something about calling again, and he went away—across the Close + towards the Cathedral. I saw him again—not very long afterwards—lying + in the corner of Paradise—dead!” + </p> + <p> + Mary Bewery was by this time pale and trembling—and Bryce continued + to watch her steadily. She stole a furtive look at him. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you tell all this at the inquest?” she asked in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Because I knew how damning it would be to—Ransford,” replied Bryce + promptly. “It would have excited suspicion. I was certain that no one but + myself knew that Braden had been to the surgery door—therefore, I + thought that if I kept silence, his calling there would never be known. + But—I have since found that I was mistaken. Braden was seen—going + away from Dr. Ransford's.” + </p> + <p> + “By—whom?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Deramore—at the next house,” answered Bryce. “She happened to + be looking out of an upstairs window. She saw him go away and cross the + Close.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she tell you that?” demanded Mary, who knew Mrs. Deramore for a + gossip. + </p> + <p> + “Between ourselves,” said Bryce, “she did not! She told Mrs. Folliot—Mrs. + Folliot told me.” + </p> + <p> + “So—it is talked about!” exclaimed Mary. + </p> + <p> + “I said so,” assented Bryce. “You know what Mrs. Folliot's tongue is.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Dr. Ransford will get to hear of it,” said Mary. + </p> + <p> + “He will be the last person to get to hear of it,” affirmed Bryce. “These + things are talked of, hole-and-corner fashion, a long time before they + reach the ears of the person chiefly concerned.” + </p> + <p> + Mary hesitated a moment before she asked her next question. + </p> + <p> + “Why have you told me all this?” she demanded at last. + </p> + <p> + “Because I didn't want you to be suddenly surprised,” answered Bryce. + “This—whatever it is—may come to a sudden head—of an + unpleasant sort. These rumours spread—and the police are still keen + about finding out things concerning this dead man. If they once get it + into their heads that Dr. Ransford knew him—” + </p> + <p> + Mary laid her hand on the gate between them—and Bryce, who had done + all he wished to do at that time, instantly opened it, and she passed + through. + </p> + <p> + “I am much obliged to you,” she said. “I don't know what it all means—but + it is Dr. Ransford's affair—if there is any affair, which I doubt. + Will you let me go now, please?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce stood aside and lifted his hat, and Mary, with no more than a nod, + walked on towards the golf club-house across the Common, while Bryce + turned off to the town, highly elated with his morning's work. He had sown + the seeds of uneasiness and suspicion broadcast—some of them, he + knew, would mature. + </p> + <p> + Mary Bewery played no golf that morning. In fact, she only went on to the + club-house to rid herself of Bryce, and presently she returned home, + thinking. And indeed, she said to herself, she had abundant food for + thought. Naturally candid and honest, she did not at that moment doubt + Bryce's good faith; much as she disliked him in most ways she knew that he + had certain commendable qualities, and she was inclined to believe him + when he said that he had kept silence in order to ward off consequences + which might indirectly be unpleasant for her. But of him and his news she + thought little—what occupied her mind was the possible connection + between the stranger who had come so suddenly and disappeared so suddenly—and + for ever!—and Mark Ransford. Was it possible—really possible—that + there had been some meeting between them in or about the Cathedral + precincts that morning? She knew, after a moment's reflection, that it was + very possible—why not? And from that her thoughts followed a natural + trend—was the mystery surrounding this man connected in any way with + the mystery about herself and her brother?—that mystery of which (as + it seemed to her) Ransford was so shy of speaking. And again—and for + the hundredth time—she asked herself why he was so reticent, so + evidently full of dislike of the subject, why he could not tell her and + Dick whatever there was to tell, once for all? + </p> + <p> + She had to pass the Folliots' house in the far corner of the Close on her + way home—a fine old mansion set in well-wooded grounds, enclosed by + a high wall of old red brick. A door in that wall stood open, and inside + it, talking to one of his gardeners, was Mr. Folliot—the vistas + behind him were gay with flowers and rich with the roses which he passed + all his days in cultivating. He caught sight of Mary as she passed the + open doorway and called her back. + </p> + <p> + “Come in and have a look at some new roses I've got,” he said. “Beauties! + I'll give you a handful to carry home.” + </p> + <p> + Mary rather liked Mr. Folliot. He was a big, half-asleep sort of man, who + had few words and could talk about little else than his hobby. But he was + a passionate lover of flowers and plants, and had a positive genius for + rose-culture, and was at all times highly delighted to take flower-lovers + round his garden. She turned at once and walked in, and Folliot led her + away down the scented paths. + </p> + <p> + “It's an experiment I've been trying,” he said, leading her up to a + cluster of blooms of a colour and size which she had never seen before. + “What do you think of the results?” + </p> + <p> + “Magnificent!” exclaimed Mary. “I never saw anything so fine!” + </p> + <p> + “No!” agreed Folliot, with a quiet chuckle. “Nor anybody else—because + there's no such rose in England. I shall have to go to some of these + learned parsons in the Close to invent me a Latin name for this—it's + the result of careful experiments in grafting—took me three years to + get at it. And see how it blooms,—scores on one standard.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled out a knife and began to select a handful of the finest blooms, + which he presently pressed into Mary's hand. + </p> + <p> + “By the by,” he remarked as she thanked him and they turned away along the + path, “I wanted to have a word with you—or with Ransford. Do you + know—does he know—that that confounded silly woman who lives + near to your house—Mrs. Deramore—has been saying some things—or + a thing—which—to put it plainly—might make some + unpleasantness for him?” + </p> + <p> + Mary kept a firm hand on her wits—and gave him an answer which was + true enough, so far as she was aware. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure he knows nothing,” she said. “What is it, Mr. Folliot?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know what happened last week,” continued Folliot, glancing + knowingly at her. “The accident to that stranger. This Mrs. Deramore, + who's nothing but an old chatterer, has been saying, here and there, that + it's a very queer thing Dr. Ransford doesn't know anything about him, and + can't say anything, for she herself, she says, saw the very man going away + from Dr. Ransford's house not so long before the accident.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not aware that he ever called at Dr. Ransford's,” said Mary. “I + never saw him—and I was in the garden, about that very time, with + your stepson, Mr. Folliot.” + </p> + <p> + “So Sackville told me,” remarked Folliot. “He was present—and so was + I—when Mrs. Deramore was tattling about it in our house yesterday. + He said, then, that he'd never seen the man go to your house. You never + heard your servants make any remark about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” answered Mary. + </p> + <p> + “I told Mrs. Deramore she'd far better hold her tongue,” continued + Folliot. “Tittle-tattle of that sort is apt to lead to unpleasantness. And + when it came to it, it turned out that all she had seen was this stranger + strolling across the Close as if he'd just left your house. If—there's + always some if! But I'll tell you why I mentioned it to you,” he + continued, nudging Mary's elbow and glancing covertly first at her and + then at his house on the far side of the garden. “Ladies that are—getting + on a bit in years, you know—like my wife, are apt to let their + tongues wag, and between you and me, I shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Folliot + has repeated what Mrs. Deramore said—eh? And I don't want the doctor + to think that—if he hears anything, you know, which he may, and, + again, he might—to think that it originated here. So, if he should + ever mention it to you, you can say it sprang from his next-door + neighbour. Bah!—they're a lot of old gossips, these Close ladies!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Mary. “But—supposing this man had been to our + house—what difference would that make? He might have been for half a + dozen reasons.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot looked at her out of his half-shut eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Some people would want to know why Ransford didn't tell that—at the + inquest,” he answered. “That's all. When there's a bit of mystery, you + know—eh?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded—as if reassuringly—and went off to rejoin his + gardener, and Mary walked home with her roses, more thoughtful than ever. + Mystery?—a bit of mystery? There was a vast and heavy cloud of + mystery, and she knew she could have no peace until it was lifted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. THE BACK ROOM + </h2> + <p> + In the midst of all her perplexity at that moment, Mary Bewery was certain + of one fact about which she had no perplexity nor any doubt—it would + not be long before the rumours of which Bryce and Mr. Folliot had spoken. + Although she had only lived in Wrychester a comparatively short time she + had seen and learned enough of it to know that the place was a hotbed of + gossip. Once gossip was started there, it spread, widening in circle after + circle. And though Bryce was probably right when he said that the person + chiefly concerned was usually the last person to hear what was being + whispered, she knew well enough that sooner or later this talk about + Ransford would come to Ransford's own ears. But she had no idea that it + was to come so soon, nor from her own brother. + </p> + <p> + Lunch in the Ransford menage was an informal meal. At a quarter past one + every day, it was on the table—a cold lunch to which the three + members of the household helped themselves as they liked, independent of + the services of servants. Sometimes all three were there at the same + moment; sometimes Ransford was half an hour late; the one member who was + always there to the moment was Dick Bewery, who fortified himself + sedulously after his morning's school labours. On this particular day all + three met in the dining-room at once, and sat down together. And before + Dick had eaten many mouthfuls of a cold pie to which he had just liberally + helped himself he bent confidentially across the table towards his + guardian. + </p> + <p> + “There's something I think you ought to be told about, sir,” he remarked + with a side-glance at Mary. “Something I heard this morning at school. You + know, we've a lot of fellows—town boys—who talk.” + </p> + <p> + “I daresay,” responded Ransford dryly. “Following the example of their + mothers, no doubt. Well—what is it?” + </p> + <p> + He, too, glanced at Mary—and the girl had her work set to look + unconscious. + </p> + <p> + “It's this,” replied Dick, lowering his voice in spite of the fact that + all three were alone. “They're saying in the town that you know something + which you won't tell about that affair last week. It's being talked of.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford laughed—a little cynically. + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite sure, my boy, that they aren't saying that I daren't tell?” + he asked. “Daren't is a much more likely word than won't, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—about that, sir,” acknowledged Dick. “Comes to that, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “And what are their grounds?” inquired Ransford. “You've heard them, I'll + be bound!” + </p> + <p> + “They say that man—Braden—had been here—here, to the + house!—that morning, not long before he was found dead,” answered + Dick. “Of course, I said that was all bosh!—I said that if he'd been + here and seen you, I'd have heard of it, dead certain.” + </p> + <p> + “That's not quite so dead certain, Dick, as that I have no knowledge of + his ever having been here,” said Ransford. “But who says he came here?” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Deramore,” replied Dick promptly. “She says she saw him go away from + the house and across the Close, a little before ten. So Jim Deramore says, + anyway—and he says his mother's eyes are as good as another's.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless!” assented Ransford. He looked at Mary again, and saw that she + was keeping hers fixed on her plate. “Well,” he continued, “if it will + give you any satisfaction, Dick, you can tell the gossips that Dr. + Ransford never saw any man, Braden or anybody else, at his house that + morning, and that he never exchanged a word with Braden. So much for that! + But,” he added, “you needn't expect them to believe you. I know these + people—if they've got an idea into their heads they'll ride it to + death. Nevertheless, what I say is a fact.” + </p> + <p> + Dick presently went off—and once more Ransford looked at Mary. And + this time, Mary had to meet her guardian's inquiring glance. + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard anything of this?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “That there was a rumour—yes,” she replied without hesitation. “But—not + until just now—this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you of it?” inquired Ransford. + </p> + <p> + Mary hesitated. Then she remembered that Mr. Folliot, at any rate, had not + bound her to secrecy. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Folliot,” she replied. “He called me into his garden, to give me + those roses, and he mentioned that Mrs. Deramore had said these things to + Mrs. Folliot, and as he seemed to think it highly probable that Mrs. + Folliot would repeat them, he told me because he didn't want you to think + that the rumour had originally arisen at his house.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good of him, I'm sure,” remarked Ransford dryly. “They all like to + shift the blame from one to another! But,” he added, looking searchingly + at her, “you don't know anything about—Braden's having come here?” + </p> + <p> + He saw at once that she did, and Mary saw a slight shade of anxiety come + over his face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do!” she replied. “That morning. But—it was told to me, only + today, in strict confidence.” + </p> + <p> + “In strict confidence!” he repeated. “May I know—by whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Bryce,” she answered. “I met him this morning. And I think you ought + to know. Only—it was in confidence.” She paused for a moment, + looking at him, and her face grew troubled. “I hate to suggest it,” she + continued, “but—will you come with me to see him, and I'll ask him—things + being as they are—to tell you what he told me. I can't—without + his permission.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford shook his head and frowned. + </p> + <p> + “I dislike it!” he said. “It's—it's putting ourselves in his power, + as it were. But—I'm not going to be left in the dark. Put on your + hat, then.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, ever since his coming to Wrychester, had occupied rooms in an old + house in Friary Lane, at the back of the Close. He was comfortably lodged. + Downstairs he had a double sitting-room, extending from the front to the + back of the house; his front window looked out on one garden, his back + window on another. He had just finished lunch in the front part of his + room, and was looking out of his window, wondering what to do with himself + that afternoon, when he saw Ransford and Mary Bewery approaching. He + guessed the reason of their visit at once, and went straight to the front + door to meet them, and without a word motioned them to follow him into his + own quarters. It was characteristic of him that he took the first word—before + either of his visitors could speak. + </p> + <p> + “I know why you've come,” he said, as he closed the door and glanced at + Mary. “You either want my permission that you should tell Dr. Ransford + what I told you this morning, or, you want me to tell him myself. Am I + right?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be glad if you would tell him,” replied Mary. “The rumour you + spoke of has reached him—he ought to know what you can tell. I have + respected your confidence, so far.” + </p> + <p> + The two men looked at each other. And this time it was Ransford who spoke + first. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” he said, “that there is no great reason for privacy. If + rumours are flying about in Wrychester, there is an end of privacy. Dick + tells me they are saying at the school that it is known that Braden called + on me at my house shortly before he was found dead. I know nothing + whatever of any such call! But—I left you in my surgery that + morning. Do you know if he came there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” answered Bryce. “He did come. Soon after you'd gone out.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you keep that secret?” demanded Ransford. “You could have told it + to the police—or to the Coroner—or to me. Why didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + Before Bryce could answer, all three heard a sharp click of the front + garden gate, and looking round, saw Mitchington coming up the walk. + </p> + <p> + “Here's one of the police, now,” said Bryce calmly. “Probably come to + extract information. I would much rather he didn't see you here—but + I'd also like you to hear what I shall say to him. Step inside there,” he + continued, drawing aside the curtains which shut off the back room. “Don't + stick at trifles!—you don't know what may be afoot.” + </p> + <p> + He almost forced them away, drew the curtains again, and hurrying to the + front door, returned almost immediately with Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Hope I'm not disturbing you, doctor,” said the inspector, as Bryce + brought him in and again closed the door. “Not? All right, then—I + came round to ask you a question. There's a queer rumour getting out in + the town, about that affair last week. Seems to have sprung from some of + those old dowagers in the Close.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” said Bryce. He was mixing a whisky-and-soda for his caller, + and his laugh mingled with the splash of the siphon. “Of course! I've + heard it.” + </p> + <p> + “You've heard?” remarked Mitchington. “Um! Good health, sir!—heard, + of course, that—” + </p> + <p> + “That Braden called on Dr. Ransford not long before the accident, or + murder, or whatever it was, happened,” said Bryce. “That's it—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Something of that sort,” agreed Mitchington. “It's being said, anyway, + that Braden was at Ransford's house, and presumably saw him, and that + Ransford, accordingly, knows something about him which he hasn't told. Now—what + do you know? Do you know if Ransford and Braden did meet that morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at Ransford's house, anyway,” answered Bryce promptly. “I can prove + that. But since this rumour has got out, I'll tell you what I do know, and + what the truth is. Braden did come to Ransford's—not to the house, + but to the surgery. He didn't see Ransford—Ransford had gone out, + across the Close. Braden saw—me!” + </p> + <p> + “Bless me!—I didn't know that,” remarked Mitchington. “You never + mentioned it.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll not wonder that I didn't,” said Bryce, laughing lightly, “when I + tell you what the man wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he want, then?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Merely to be told where the Cathedral Library was,” answered Bryce. + </p> + <p> + Ransford, watching Mary Bewery, saw her cheeks flush, and knew that Bryce + was cheerfully telling lies. But Mitchington evidently had no suspicion. + </p> + <p> + “That all?” he asked. “Just a question?” + </p> + <p> + “Just a question—that question,” replied Bryce. “I pointed out the + Library—and he walked away. I never saw him again until I was + fetched to him—dead. And I thought so little of the matter that—well, + it never even occurred to me to mention it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—though he did call—he never saw Ransford?” asked the + inspector. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you Ransford was already gone out,” answered Bryce. “He saw no one + but myself. Where Mrs. Deramore made her mistake—I happen to know, + Mitchington, that she started this rumour—was in trying to make two + and two into five. She saw this man crossing the Close, as if from + Ransford's house and she at once imagined he'd seen and been talking with + Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “Old fool!” said Mitchington. “Of course, that's how these tales get + about. However, there's more than that in the air.” + </p> + <p> + The two listeners behind the curtains glanced at each other. Ransford's + glance showed that he was already chafing at the unpleasantness of his + position—but Mary's only betokened apprehension. And suddenly, as if + she feared that Ransford would throw the curtains aside and walk into the + front room, she laid a hand on his arm and motioned him to be patient—and + silent. + </p> + <p> + “Oh?” said Bryce. “More in the air? About that business?” + </p> + <p> + “Just so,” assented Mitchington. “To start with, that man Varner, the + mason, has never ceased talking. They say he's always at it—to the + effect that the verdict of the jury at the inquest was all wrong, and that + his evidence was put clean aside. He persists that he did see—what + he swore he saw.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll persist in that to his dying day,” said Bryce carelessly. “If + that's all there is—” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't,” interrupted the inspector. “Not by a long chalk! But Varner's + is a direct affirmation—the other matter's a sort of ugly hint. + There's a man named Collishaw, a townsman, who's been employed as a + mason's labourer about the Cathedral of late. This Collishaw, it seems, + was at work somewhere up in the galleries, ambulatories, or whatever they + call those upper regions, on the very morning of the affair. And the other + night, being somewhat under the influence of drink, and talking the matter + over with his mates at a tavern, he let out some dark hints that he could + tell something if he liked. Of course, he was pressed to tell them—and + wouldn't. Then—so my informant tells me—he was dared to tell, + and became surlily silent. That, of course, spread, and got to my ears. + I've seen Collishaw.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I believe the man does know something,” answered Mitchington. “That's the + impression I carried away, anyhow. But—he won't speak. I charged him + straight out with knowing something—but it was no good. I told him + of what I'd heard. All he would say was that whatever he might have said + when he'd got a glass of beer or so too much, he wasn't going to say + anything now neither for me nor for anybody!” + </p> + <p> + “Just so!” remarked Bryce. “But—he'll be getting a glass too much + again, some day, and then—then, perhaps he'll add to what he said + before. And—you'll be sure to hear of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not certain of that,” answered Mitchington. “I made some inquiry and + I find that Collishaw is usually a very sober and retiring sort of chap—he'd + been lured on to drink when he let out what he did. Besides, whether I'm + right or wrong, I got the idea into my head that he'd already been—squared!” + </p> + <p> + “Squared!” exclaimed Bryce. “Why, then, if that affair was really murder, + he'd be liable to being charged as an accessory after the fact!” + </p> + <p> + “I warned him of that,” replied Mitchington. “Yes, I warned him solemnly.” + </p> + <p> + “With no effect?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “He's a surly sort of man,” said Mitchington. “The sort that takes refuge + in silence. He made no answer beyond a growl.” + </p> + <p> + “You really think he knows something?” suggested Bryce. “Well—if + there is anything, it'll come out—in time.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it'll come out!” assented Mitchington. “I'm by no means satisfied + with that verdict of the coroner's inquiry. I believe there was foul play—of + some sort. I'm still following things up—quietly. And—I'll + tell you something—between ourselves—I've made an important + discovery. It's this. On the evening of Braden's arrival at the Mitre he + was out, somewhere, for a whole two hours—by himself.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought we learned from Mrs. Partingley that he and the other man, + Dellingham, spent the evening together?” said Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “So we did—but that was not quite so,” replied Mitchington. “Braden + went out of the Mitre just before nine o'clock and he didn't return until + a few minutes after eleven. Now, then, where did he go?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you're trying to find that out?” asked Bryce, after a pause, + during which the listeners heard the caller rise and make for the door. + </p> + <p> + “Of course!” replied Mitchington, with a confident laugh. “And—I + shall! Keep it to yourself, doctor.” + </p> + <p> + When Bryce had let the inspector out and returned to his sitting-room, + Ransford and Mary had come from behind the curtains. He looked at them and + shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “You heard—a good deal, you see,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” said Ransford peremptorily. “You put that man off about the + call at my surgery. You didn't tell him the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right,” assented Bryce. “I didn't. Why should I?” + </p> + <p> + “What did Braden ask you?” demanded Ransford. “Come, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Merely if Dr. Ransford was in,” answered Bryce, “remarking that he had + once known a Dr. Ransford. That was—literally—all. I replied + that you were not in.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford stood silently thinking for a moment or two. Then he moved + towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see that any good will come of more talk about this,” he said. + “We three, at any rate, know this—I never saw Braden when he came to + my house.” + </p> + <p> + Then he motioned Mary to follow him, and they went away, and Bryce, having + watched them out of sight, smiled at himself in his mirror—with full + satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. MURDER OF THE MASON'S LABOURER + </h2> + <p> + It was towards noon of the very next day that Bryce made a forward step in + the matter of solving the problem of Richard Jenkins and his tomb in + Paradise. Ever since his return from Barthorpe he had been making attempts + to get at the true meaning of this mystery. He had paid so many visits to + the Cathedral Library that Ambrose Campany had asked him jestingly if he + was going in for archaeology; Bryce had replied that having nothing to do + just then he saw no reason why he shouldn't improve his knowledge of the + antiquities of Wrychester. But he was scrupulously careful not to let the + librarian know the real object of his prying and peeping into the old + books and documents. Campany, as Bryce was very well aware, was a walking + encyclopaedia of information about Wrychester Cathedral: he was, in fact, + at that time, engaged in completing a history of it. And it was through + that history that Bryce accidentally got his precious information. For on + the day following the interview with Mary Bewery and Ransford, Bryce being + in the library was treated by Campany to an inspection of certain drawings + which the librarian had made for illustrating his work-drawings, most of + them, of old brasses, coats of arms, and the like,—And at the foot + of one of these, a drawing of a shield on which was sculptured three + crows, Bryce saw the name Richard Jenkins, armiger. It was all he could + do to repress a start and to check his tongue. But Campany, knowing + nothing, quickly gave him the information he wanted. + </p> + <p> + “All these drawings,” he said, “are of old things in and about the + Cathedral. Some of them, like that, for instance, that Jenkins shield, are + of ornamentations on tombs which are so old that the inscriptions have + completely disappeared—tombs in the Cloisters, and in Paradise. Some + of those tombs can only be identified by these sculptures and ornaments.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know, for instance, that any particular tomb or monument is, + we'll say, Jenkins's?” asked Bryce, feeling that he was on safe ground. + “Must be a matter of doubt if there's no inscription left, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” replied Campany. “No doubt at all. In that particular case, there's + no doubt that a certain tomb out there in the corner of Paradise, near the + east wall of the south porch, is that of one Richard Jenkins, because it + bears his coat-of-arms, which, as you see, bore these birds—intended + either as crows or ravens. The inscription's clean gone from that tomb—which + is why it isn't particularized in that chart of burials in Paradise—the + man who prepared that chart didn't know how to trace things as we do + nowadays. Richard Jenkins was, as you may guess, a Welshman, who settled + here in Wrychester in the seventeenth century: he left some money to St. + Hedwige's Church, outside the walls, but he was buried here. There are + more instances—look at this, now—this coat-of-arms—that's + the only means there is of identifying another tomb in Paradise—that + of Gervase Tyrrwhit. You see his armorial bearings in this drawing? Now + those—” + </p> + <p> + Bryce let the librarian go on talking and explaining, and heard all he had + to say as a man hears things in a dream—what was really active in + his own mind was joy at this unexpected stroke of luck: he himself might + have searched for many a year and never found the last resting-place of + Richard Jenkins. And when, soon after the great clock of the Cathedral had + struck the hour of noon, he left Campany and quitted the Library, he + walked over to Paradise and plunged in amongst its yews and cypresses, + intent on seeing the Jenkins tomb for himself. No one could suspect + anything from merely seeing him there, and all he wanted was one glance at + the ancient monument. + </p> + <p> + But Bryce was not to give even one look at Richard Jenkins's tomb that + day, nor the next, nor for many days—death met him in another form + before he had taken many steps in the quiet enclosure where so much of + Wrychester mortality lay sleeping. + </p> + <p> + From over the topmost branches of the old yew trees a great shaft of + noontide sunlight fell full on a patch of the grey walls of the + high-roofed nave. At the foot of it, his back comfortably planted against + the angle of a projecting buttress, sat a man, evidently fast asleep in + the warmth of those powerful rays. His head leaned down and forward over + his chest, his hands were folded across his waist, his whole attitude was + that of a man who, having eaten and drunken in the open air, has dropped + off to sleep. That he had so dropped off while in the very act of smoking + was evident from the presence of a short, well-blackened clay pipe which + had fallen from his lips and lay in the grass beside him. Near the pipe, + spread on a coloured handkerchief, were the remains of his dinner—Bryce's + quick eye noticed fragments of bread, cheese, onions. And close by stood + one of those tin bottles in which labouring men carry their drink; its + cork, tied to the neck by a piece of string, dangled against the side. A + few yards away, a mass of fallen rubbish and a shovel and wheelbarrow + showed at what the sleeper had been working when his dinner-hour and time + for rest had arrived. + </p> + <p> + Something unusual, something curiously noticeable—yet he could not + exactly tell what—made Bryce go closer to the sleeping man. There + was a strange stillness about him—a rigidity which seemed to suggest + something more than sleep. And suddenly, with a stifled exclamation, he + bent forward and lifted one of the folded hands. It dropped like a leaden + weight when Bryce released it, and he pushed back the man's face and + looked searchingly into it. And in that instant he knew that for the + second time within a fortnight he had found a dead man in Wrychester + Paradise. + </p> + <p> + There was no doubt whatever that the man was dead. His hands and body were + warm enough—but there was not a flicker of breath; he was as dead as + any of the folk who lay six feet beneath the old gravestones around him. + And Bryce's practised touch and eye knew that he was only just dead—and + that he had died in his sleep. Everything there pointed unmistakably to + what had happened. The man had eaten his frugal dinner, washed it down + from his tin bottle, lighted his pipe, leaned back in the warm sunlight, + dropped asleep—and died as quietly as a child taken from its play to + its slumbers. + </p> + <p> + After one more careful look, Bryce turned and made through the trees to + the path which crossed the old graveyard. And there, going leisurely home + to lunch, was Dick Bewery, who glanced at the young doctor inquisitively. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” he exclaimed with the freedom of youth towards something not much + older. “You there? Anything on?” + </p> + <p> + Then he looked more clearly, seeing Bryce to be pale and excited. Bryce + laid a hand on the lad's arm. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” he said. “There's something wrong—again!—in here. + Run down to the police-station—get hold of Mitchington—quietly, + you understand!—bring him here at once. If he's not there, bring + somebody else—any of the police. But—say nothing to anybody + but them.” + </p> + <p> + Dick gave him another swift look, turned, and ran. And Bryce went back to + the dead man—and picked up the tin bottle, and making a cup of his + left hand poured out a trickle of the contents. Cold tea!—and, as + far as he could judge, nothing else. He put the tip of his little finger + into the weak-looking stuff, and tasted—it tasted of nothing but a + super-abundance of sugar. + </p> + <p> + He stood there, watching the dead man until the sound of footsteps behind + him gave warning of the return of Dick Bewery, who, in another minute, + hurried through the bushes, followed by Mitchington. The boy stared in + silence at the still figure, but the inspector, after a hasty glance, + turned a horrified face on Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” he gasped. “It's Collishaw!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce for the moment failed to comprehend this, and Mitchington shook his + head. + </p> + <p> + “Collishaw!” he repeated. “Collishaw, you know! The man I told you about + yesterday afternoon. The man that said—” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington suddenly checked himself, with a glance at Dick Bewery. + </p> + <p> + “I remember—now,” said Bryce. “The mason's labourer! So—this + is the man, eh? Well, Mitchington, he's dead!—I found him dead, just + now. I should say he'd been dead five to ten minutes—not more. You'd + better get help—and I'd like another medical man to see him before + he's removed.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington looked again at Dick. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you'd fetch Dr. Ransford, Mr—Richard?” he asked. “He's + nearest.” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Ransford's not at home,” said Dick. “He went to Highminster—some + County Council business or other—at ten this morning, and he won't + be back until four—I happen to know that. Shall I run for Dr. + Coates?” + </p> + <p> + “If you wouldn't mind,” said Mitchington, “and as it's close by, drop in + at the station again and tell the sergeant to come here with a couple of + men. I say!” he went on, when the boy had hurried off, “this is a queer + business, Dr. Bryce! What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I think this,” answered Bryce. “That man!—look at him!—a + strong, healthy-looking fellow, in the very prime of life—that man + has met his death by foul means. You take particular care of those dinner + things of his—the remains of his dinner, every scrap—and of + that tin bottle. That, especially. Take all these things yourself, + Mitchington, and lock them up—they'll be wanted for examination.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington glanced at the simple matters which Bryce indicated. And + suddenly he turned a half-frightened glance on his companion. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say that—that you suspect he's been poisoned?” he + asked. “Good Lord, if that is so—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think you'll find that there's much doubt about it,” answered + Bryce. “But that's a point that will soon be settled. You'd better tell + the Coroner at once, Mitchington, and he'll issue a formal order to Dr. + Coates to make a post-mortem. And,” he added significantly, “I shall be + surprised if it isn't as I say—poison!” + </p> + <p> + “If that's so,” observed Mitchington, with a grim shake of his head, “if + that really is so, then I know what I shall think! This!” he went on, + pointing to the dead man, “this is—a sort of sequel to the other + affair. There's been something in what the poor chap said—he did + know something against somebody, and that somebody's got to hear of it—and + silenced him. But, Lord, doctor, how can it have been done?” + </p> + <p> + “I can see how it can have been done, easy enough,” said Bryce. “This man + has evidently been at work here, by himself, all the morning. He of course + brought his dinner with him. He no doubt put his basket and his bottle + down somewhere, while he did his work. What easier than for some one to + approach through these trees and shrubs while the man's back was turned, + or he was busy round one of these corners, and put some deadly poison into + that bottle? Nothing!” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” remarked Mitchington, “if that's so, it proves something else—to + my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Why, that whoever it was who did it was somebody who had a knowledge of + poison!” answered Mitchington. “And I should say there aren't many people + in Wrychester who have such knowledge outside yourselves and the chemists. + It's a black business, this!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce nodded silently. He waited until Dr. Coates, an elderly man who was + the leading practitioner in the town, arrived, and to him he gave a + careful account of his discovery. And after the police had taken the body + away, and he had accompanied Mitchington to the police-station and seen + the tin bottle and the remains of Collishaw's dinner safely locked up, he + went home to lunch, and to wonder at this strange development. The + inspector was doubtless right in saying that Collishaw had been done to + death by somebody who wanted to silence him—but who could that + somebody be? Bryce's thoughts immediately turned to the fact that Ransford + had overheard all that Mitchington had said, in that very room in which + he, Bryce, was then lunching—Ransford! Was it possible that Ransford + had realized a danger in Collishaw's knowledge, and had— + </p> + <p> + He was interrupted at this stage by Mitchington, who came hurriedly in + with a scared face. + </p> + <p> + “I say, I say!” he whispered as soon as Bryce's landlady had shut the door + on them. “Here's a fine business! I've heard something—something I + can hardly credit—but it's true. I've been to tell Collishaw's + family what's happened. And—I'm fairly dazed by it—yet it's + there—it is so!” + </p> + <p> + “What's so?” demanded Bryce. “What is it that's true?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington bent closer over the table. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Ransford was fetched to Collishaw's cottage at six o'clock this + morning!” he said. “It seems that Collishaw's wife has been in a poor way + about her health of late, and Dr. Ransford has attended her, off and on. + She had some sort of a seizure this morning—early—and Ransford + was sent for. He was there some little time—and I've heard some + queer things.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of queer things?” demanded Bryce. “Don't be afraid of speaking + out, man!—there's no one to hear but myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, things that look suspicious, on the face of it,” continued + Mitchington, who was obviously much upset. “As you'll acknowledge when you + hear them. I got my information from the next-door neighbour, Mrs. Batts. + Mrs. Batts says that when Ransford—who'd been fetched by Mrs. + Batts's eldest lad—came to Collishaw's house, Collishaw was putting + up his dinner to take to his work—” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth made Mrs. Batts tell you that?” interrupted Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, to tell you the truth, I put a few questions to her as to what + went on while Ransford was in the house,” answered Mitchington. “When I'd + once found that he had been there, you know, I naturally wanted to know + all I could.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Collishaw, I say, was putting up his dinner to take to his work,” + continued Mitchington. “Mrs. Batts was doing a thing or two about the + house. Ransford went upstairs to see Mrs. Collishaw. After a while he came + down and said he would have to remain a little. Collishaw went up to speak + to his wife before going out. And then Ransford asked Mrs. Batts for + something—I forget what—some small matter which the + Collishaw's hadn't got and she had, and she went next door to fetch it. + Therefore—do you see?—Ransford was left alone with—Collishaw's + tin bottle!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who had been listening attentively, looked steadily at the + inspector. + </p> + <p> + “You're suspecting Ransford already!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mitchington shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “What's it look like?” he answered, almost appealingly. “I put it to you, + now!—what does it look like? Here's this man been poisoned without a + doubt—I'm certain of it. And—there were those rumours—it's + idle to deny that they centred in Ransford. And—this morning + Ransford had the chance!” + </p> + <p> + “That's arguing that Ransford purposely carried a dose of poison to put + into Collishaw's tin bottle!” said Bryce half-sneeringly. “Not very + probable, you know, Mitchington.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington spread out his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there it is!” he said. “As I say, there's no denying the suspicious + look of it. If I were only certain that those rumours about what Collishaw + hinted he could say had got to Ransford's ears!—why, then—” + </p> + <p> + “What's being done about that post-mortem?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Coates and Dr. Everest are going to do it this afternoon,” replied + Mitchington. “The Coroner went to them at once, as soon as I told him.” + </p> + <p> + “They'll probably have to call in an expert from London,” said Bryce. + “However, you can't do anything definite, you know, until the result's + known. Don't say anything of this to anybody. I'll drop in at your place + later and hear if Coates can say anything really certain.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington went away, and Bryce spent the rest of the afternoon + wondering, speculating and scheming. If Ransford had really got rid of + this man who knew something—why, then, it was certainly Ransford who + killed Braden. + </p> + <p> + He went round to the police-station at five o'clock. Mitchington drew him + aside. + </p> + <p> + “Coates says there's no doubt about it!” he whispered. “Poisoned! + Hydrocyanic acid!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. BRYCE IS ASKED A QUESTION + </h2> + <p> + Mitchington stepped aside into a private room, motioning Bryce to follow + him. He carefully closed the door, and looking significantly at his + companion, repeated his last words, with a shake of the head. + </p> + <p> + “Poisoned!—without the very least doubt,” he whispered. “Hydrocyanic + acid—which, I understand, is the same thing as what's commonly + called prussic acid. They say then hadn't the least difficulty in finding + that out! so there you are.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what Coates has told you, of course?” asked Bryce. “After the + autopsy?” + </p> + <p> + “Both of 'em told me—Coates, and Everest, who helped him,” replied + Mitchington. “They said it was obvious from the very start. And—I + say!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't in that tin bottle, anyway,” remarked Mitchington, who was + evidently greatly weighted with mystery. + </p> + <p> + “No!—of course it wasn't!” affirmed Bryce. “Good Heavens, man—I + know that!” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Because I poured a few drops from that bottle into my hand when I first + found Collishaw and tasted the stuff,” answered Bryce readily. “Cold tea! + with too much sugar in it. There was no H.C.N. in that besides, wherever + it is, there's always a smell stronger or fainter—of bitter almonds. + There was none about that bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet you were very anxious that we should take care of the bottle?” + observed Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Of course!—because I suspected the use of some much rarer poison + than that,” retorted Bryce. “Pooh!—it's a clumsy way of poisoning + anybody!—quick though it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's where it is!” said Mitchington. “That'll be the medical + evidence at the inquest, anyway. That's how it was done. And the question + now is—” + </p> + <p> + “Who did it?” interrupted Bryce. “Precisely! Well—I'll say this much + at once, Mitchington. Whoever did it was either a big bungler—or + damned clever! That's what I say!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand you,” said Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Plain enough—my meaning,” replied Bryce, smiling. “To finish + anybody with that stuff is easy enough—but no poison is more easily + detected. It's an amateurish way of poisoning anybody—unless you can + do it in such a fashion that no suspicion can attach you to. And in this + case it's here—whoever administered that poison to Collishaw must + have been certain—absolutely certain, mind you!—that it was + impossible for any one to find out that he'd done so. Therefore, I say + what I said—the man must be damned clever. Otherwise, he'd be found + out pretty quick. And all that puzzles me is—how was it + administered?” + </p> + <p> + “How much would kill anybody—pretty quick?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “How much? One drop would cause instantaneous death!” answered Bryce. + “Cause paralysis of the heart, there and then, instantly!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington remained silent awhile, looking meditatively at Bryce. Then he + turned to a locked drawer, produced a key, and took something out of the + drawer—a small object, wrapped in paper. + </p> + <p> + “I'm telling you a good deal, doctor,” he said. “But as you know so much + already, I'll tell you a bit more. Look at this!” + </p> + <p> + He opened his hand and showed Bryce a small cardboard pill-box, across the + face of which a few words were written—One after meals—Mr. + Collishaw. + </p> + <p> + “Whose handwriting's that?” demanded Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + Bryce looked closer, and started. + </p> + <p> + “Ransford's!” he muttered. “Ransford—of course!” + </p> + <p> + “That box was in Collishaw's waistcoat pocket,” said Mitchington. “There + are pills inside it, now. See!” He took off the lid of the box and + revealed four sugar-coated pills. “It wouldn't hold more than six, this,” + he observed. + </p> + <p> + Bryce extracted a pill and put his nose to it, after scratching a little + of the sugar coating away. + </p> + <p> + “Mere digestive pills,” he announced. + </p> + <p> + “Could—it!—have been given in one of these?” asked + Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Possible,” replied Bryce. He stood thinking for a moment. “Have you shown + those things to Coates and Everest?” he asked at last. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” replied Mitchington. “I wanted to find out, first, if Ransford + gave this box to Collishaw, and when. I'm going to Collishaw's house + presently—I've certain inquiries to make. His widow'll know about + these pills.” + </p> + <p> + “You're suspecting Ransford,” said Bryce. “That's certain!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington carefully put away the pill-box and relocked the drawer. + </p> + <p> + “I've got some decidedly uncomfortable ideas—which I'd much rather + not have—about Dr. Ransford,” he said. “When one thing seems to fit + into another, what is one to think. If I were certain that that rumour + which spread, about Collishaw's knowledge of something—you know, had + got to Ransford's ears—why, I should say it looked very much as if + Ransford wanted to stop Collishaw's tongue for good before it could say + more—and next time, perhaps, something definite. If men once begin + to hint that they know something, they don't stop at hinting. Collishaw + might have spoken plainly before long—to us!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce asked a question about the holding of the inquest and went away. And + after thinking things over, he turned in the direction of the Cathedral, + and made his way through the Cloisters to the Close. He was going to make + another move in his own game, while there was a good chance. Everything at + this juncture was throwing excellent cards into his hand—he would be + foolish, he thought, not to play them to advantage. And so he made + straight for Ransford's house, and before he reached it, met Ransford and + Mary Bewery, who were crossing the Close from another point, on their way + from the railway station, whither Mary had gone especially to meet her + guardian. They were in such deep conversation that Bryce was close upon + them before they observed his presence. When Ransford saw his late + assistant, he scowled unconsciously—Bryce, and the interview of the + previous afternoon, had been much in his thoughts all day, and he had an + uneasy feeling that Bryce was playing some game. Bryce was quick to see + that scowl—and to observe the sudden start which Mary could not + repress—and he was just as quick to speak. + </p> + <p> + “I was going to your house, Dr. Ransford,” he remarked quietly. “I don't + want to force my presence on you, now or at any time—but I think + you'd better give me a few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + They were at Ransford's garden gate by that time, and Ransford flung it + open and motioned Bryce to follow. He led the way into the dining-room, + closed the door on the three, and looked at Bryce. Bryce took the glance + as a question, and put another, in words. + </p> + <p> + “You've heard of what's happened during the day?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “About Collishaw—yes,” answered Ransford. “Miss Bewery has just told + me—what her brother told her. What of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I have just come from the police-station,” said Bryce. “Coates and + Everest have carried out an autopsy this afternoon. Mitchington told me + the result.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” demanded Ransford, with no attempt to conceal his impatience. “And + what then?” + </p> + <p> + “Collishaw was poisoned,” replied Bryce, watching Ransford with a + closeness which Mary did not fail to observe. “H.C.N. No doubt at all + about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—and what then?” asked Ransford, still more impatiently. “To be + explicit—what's all this to do with me?” + </p> + <p> + “I came here to do you a service,” answered Bryce. “Whether you like to + take it or not is your look-out. You may as well know it you're in danger. + Collishaw is the man who hinted—as you heard yesterday in my rooms—that + he could say something definite about the Braden affair—if he + liked.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “It's known—to the police—that you were at Collishaw's house + early this morning,” said Bryce. “Mitchington knows it.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Does Mitchington know that I overheard what he said to you, yesterday + afternoon?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “No, he doesn't,” answered Bryce. “He couldn't possibly know unless I told + him. I haven't told him—I'm not going to tell him. But—he's + suspicious already.” + </p> + <p> + “Of me, of course,” suggested Ransford, with another laugh. He took a turn + across the room and suddenly faced round on Bryce, who had remained + standing near the door. “Do you really mean to tell me that Mitchington is + such a fool as to believe that I would poison a poor working man—and + in that clumsy fashion?” he burst out. “Of course you don't.” + </p> + <p> + “I never said I did,” answered Bryce. “I'm only telling you what + Mitchington thinks his grounds for suspecting. He confided in me because—well, + it was I who found Collishaw. Mitchington is in possession of a box of + digestive pills which you evidently gave Collishaw.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” exclaimed Ransford. “The man's a fool! Let him come and talk to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “He won't do that—yet,” said Bryce. “But—I'm afraid he'll + bring all this out at the inquest. The fact is—he's suspicious—what + with one thing or another—about the former affair. He thinks you + concealed the truth—whatever it may be—as regards any + knowledge of Braden which you may or mayn't have.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what it is!” said Ransford suddenly. “It just comes to this—I'm + suspected of having had a hand—the hand, if you like!—in + Braden's death, and now of getting rid of Collishaw because Collishaw + could prove that I had that hand. That's about it!” + </p> + <p> + “A clear way of putting it, certainly,” assented Bryce. “But—there's + a very clear way, too, of dissipating any such ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “What way?” demanded Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “If you do know anything about the Braden affair—why not reveal it, + and be done with the whole thing,” suggested Bryce. “That would finish + matters.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford took a long, silent look at his questioner. And Bryce looked + steadily back—and Mary Bewery anxiously watched both men. + </p> + <p> + “That's my business,” said Ransford at last. “I'm neither to be coerced, + bullied, or cajoled. I'm obliged to you for giving me a hint of my—danger, + I suppose! And—I don't propose to say any more.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I,” said Bryce. “I only came to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + And therewith, having successfully done all that he wanted to do, he + walked out of the room and the house, and Ransford, standing in the + window, his hands thrust in his pockets, watched him go away across the + Close. + </p> + <p> + “Guardian!” said Mary softly. + </p> + <p> + Ransford turned sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't it be best,” she continued, speaking nervously, “if—if you + do know anything about that unfortunate man—if you told it? Why have + this suspicion fastening itself on you? You!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford made an effort to calm himself. He was furiously angry—angry + with Bryce, angry with Mitchington, angry with the cloud of foolishness + and stupidity that seemed to be gathering. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I—supposing that I do know something, which I don't + admit—why should I allow myself to be coerced and frightened by + these fools?” he asked. “No man can prevent suspicion falling on him—it's + my bad luck in this instance. Why should I rush to the police-station and + say, 'Here—I'll blurt out all I know—everything!' Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't that be better than knowing that people are saying things?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “As to that,” replied Ransford, “you can't prevent people saying things—especially + in a town like this. If it hadn't been for the unfortunate fact that + Braden came to the surgery door, nothing would have been said. But what of + that?—I have known hundreds of men in my time—aye, and + forgotten them! No!—I am not going to fall a victim to this device—it + all springs out of curiosity. As to this last affair—it's all + nonsense!” + </p> + <p> + “But—if the man was really poisoned?” suggested Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Let the police find the poisoner!” said Ransford, with a grim smile. + “That's their job.” + </p> + <p> + Mary said nothing for a moment, and Ransford moved restlessly about the + room. + </p> + <p> + “I don't trust that fellow Bryce,” he said suddenly. “He's up to + something. I don't forget what he said when I bundled him out that + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “That he would be a bad enemy,” answered Ransford. “He's posing now as a + friend—but a man's never to be so much suspected as when he comes + doing what you may call unnecessary acts of friendship. I'd rather that + anybody was mixed up in my affairs—your affairs—than Pemberton + Bryce!” + </p> + <p> + “So would I!” she said. “But—” + </p> + <p> + She paused there a moment and then looked appealingly at Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “I do wish you'd tell me—what you promised to tell me,” she said. + “You know what I mean—about me and Dick. Somehow—I don't quite + know how or why—I've an uneasy feeling that Bryce knows something, + and that he's mixing it all up with—this! Why not tell me—please!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford, who was still marching about the room, came to a halt, and + leaning his hands on the table between them, looked earnestly at her. + </p> + <p> + “Don't ask that—now!” he said. “I can't—yet. The fact is, I'm + waiting for something—some particulars. As soon as I get them, I'll + speak to you—and to Dick. In the meantime—don't ask me again—and + don't be afraid. And as to this affair, leave it to me—and if you + meet Bryce again, refuse to discuss any thing with him. Look here!—there's + only one reason why he professes friendliness and a desire to save me + annoyance. He thinks he can ingratiate himself with—you!” + </p> + <p> + “Mistaken!” murmured Mary, shaking her head. “I don't trust him. And—less + than ever because of yesterday. Would an honest man have done what he did? + Let that police inspector talk freely, as he did, with people concealed + behind a curtain? And—he laughed about it! I hated myself for being + there—yet could we help it?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to hate myself on Pemberton Bryce's account,” said + Ransford. “Let him play his game—that he has one, I'm certain.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had gone away to continue his game—or another line of it. The + Collishaw matter had not made him forget the Richard Jenkins tomb, and + now, after leaving Ransford's house, he crossed the Close to Paradise with + the object of doing a little more investigation. But at the archway of the + ancient enclosure he met old Simpson Harker, pottering about in his usual + apparently aimless fashion. Harker smiled at sight of Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I was wanting to have a word with you, doctor!” he said. “Something + important. Have you got a minute or two to spare, sir? Come round to my + little place, then—we shall be quiet there.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had any amount of time to spare for an interesting person like + Harker, and he followed the old man to his house—a tiny place set in + a nest of similar old-world buildings behind the Close. Harker led him + into a little parlour, comfortable and snug, wherein were several shelves + of books of a curiously legal and professional-looking aspect, some old + pictures, and a cabinet of odds and ends, stowed away in of dark corner. + The old man motioned him to an easy chair, and going over to a cupboard, + produced a decanter of whisky and a box of cigars. + </p> + <p> + “We can have a peaceful and comfortable talk here, doctor,” he remarked, + as he sat down near Bryce, after fetching glasses and soda-water. “I live + all alone, like a hermit—my bit of work's done by a woman who only + looks in of a morning. So we're all by ourselves. Light your cigar!—same + as that I gave you at Barthorpe. Um—well, now,” he continued, as + Bryce settled down to listen. “There's a question I want to put to you—strictly + between ourselves—strictest of confidence, you know. It was you who + was called to Braden by Varner, and you were left alone with Braden's + body?” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” admitted Bryce, suddenly growing suspicious. “What of it?” + </p> + <p> + Harker edged his chair a little closer to his guest's, and leaned towards + him. + </p> + <p> + “What,” he asked in a whisper, “what have you done with that scrap of + paper that you took out of Braden's purse?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. FROM THE PAST + </h2> + <p> + If any remarkably keen and able observer of the odd characteristics of + humanity had been present in Harker's little parlour at that moment, + watching him and his visitor, he would have been struck by what happened + when the old man put this sudden and point-blank question to the young + one. For Harker put the question, though in a whisper, in no more than a + casual, almost friendlily-confidential way, and Bryce never showed by the + start of a finger or the flicker of an eyelash that he felt it to be what + he really knew it to be—the most surprising and startling question + he had ever had put to him. Instead, he looked his questioner calmly in + the eyes, and put a question in his turn. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you, Mr. Harker?” asked Bryce quietly. + </p> + <p> + Harker laughed—almost gleefully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you've a right to ask that!” he said. “Of course!—glad you + take it that way. You'll do!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll qualify it, then,” added Bryce. “It's not who—it's what are + you!” + </p> + <p> + Harker waved his cigar at the book-shelves in front of which his visitor + sat. + </p> + <p> + “Take a look at my collection of literature, doctor,” he said. “What d'ye + think of it?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce turned and leisurely inspected one shelf after another. + </p> + <p> + “Seems to consist of little else but criminal cases and legal handbooks,” + he remarked quietly. “I begin to suspect you, Mr. Harker. They say here in + Wrychester that you're a retired tradesman. I think you're a retired + policeman—of the detective branch.” + </p> + <p> + Harker laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “No Wrychester man has ever crossed my threshold since I came to settle + down here,” he said. “You're the first person I've ever asked in—with + one notable exception. I've never even had Campany, the librarian, here. + I'm a hermit.” + </p> + <p> + “But—you were a detective?” suggested Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, for a good five-and-twenty years!” replied Harker. “And pretty well + known, too, sir. But—my question, doctor. All between ourselves!” + </p> + <p> + “I'll ask you one, then,” said Bryce. “How do you know I took a scrap of + paper from Braden's purse?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I know that he had such a paper in his purse the night he came to + the Mitre,” answered Harker, “and was certain to have it there next + morning, and because I also know that you were left alone with the body + for some minutes after Varner fetched you to it, and that when Braden's + clothing and effects were searched by Mitchington, the paper wasn't there. + So, of course, you took it! Doesn't matter to me that ye did—except + that I know, from knowing that, that you're on a similar game to my own—which + is why you went down to Leicestershire.” + </p> + <p> + “You knew Braden?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I knew him!” answered Harker. + </p> + <p> + “You saw him—spoke with him—here in Wrychester?” suggested + Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “He was here—in this room—in that chair—from five + minutes past nine to close on ten o'clock the night before his death,” + replied Harker. + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who was quietly appreciating the Havana cigar which the old man had + given him, picked up his glass, took a drink, and settled himself in his + easy chair as if he meant to stay there awhile. + </p> + <p> + “I think we'd better talk confidentially, Mr. Harker,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely what we are doing, Dr. Bryce,” replied Harker. + </p> + <p> + “All right, my friend,” said Bryce, laconically. “Now we understand each + other. So—do you know who John Braden really was?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” replied Harker, promptly. “He was in reality John Brake, ex-bank + manager, ex-convict.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know if he's any relatives here in Wrychester?” inquired Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Harker. “The boy and girl who live with Ransford—they're + Brake's son and daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Did Brake know that—when he came here?” continued Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “No, he didn't—he hadn't the least idea of it,” responded Harker. + </p> + <p> + “Had you—then?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “No—not until later—a little later,” replied Harker. + </p> + <p> + “You found it out at Barthorpe?” suggested Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it; I worked it out here—after Brake was dead,” said + Harker. “I went to Barthorpe on quite different business—Brake's + business.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Bryce. He looked the old detective quietly in the eyes. “You'd + better tell me all about it,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “If we're both going to tell each other—all about it,” stipulated + Harker. + </p> + <p> + “That's settled,” assented Bryce. + </p> + <p> + Harker smoked thoughtfully for a moment and seemed to be thinking. + </p> + <p> + “I'd better go back to the beginning,” he said. “But, first—what do + you know about Brake? I know you went down to Barthorpe to find out what + you could—how far did your searches take you?” + </p> + <p> + “I know that Brake married a girl from Braden Medworth, that he took her + to London, where he was manager of a branch bank, that he got into + trouble, and was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude,” answered Bryce, + “together with some small details into which we needn't go at present.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as long as you know all that, there's a common basis and a common + starting-point,” remarked Harker, “so I'll begin at Brake's trial. It was + I who arrested Brake. There was no trouble, no bother. He'd been taken + unawares, by an inspector of the bank. He'd a considerable deficiency—couldn't + make it good—couldn't or wouldn't explain except by half-sullen + hints that he'd been cruelly deceived. There was no defence—couldn't + be. His counsel said that he could—” + </p> + <p> + “I've read the account of the trial,” interrupted Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “All right—then you know as much as I can tell you on that point,” + said Harker. “He got, as you say, ten years. I saw him just before he was + removed and asked him if there was anything I could do for him about his + wife and children. I'd never seen them—I arrested him at the bank, + and, of course, he was never out of custody after that. He answered in a + queer, curt way that his wife and children were being looked after. I + heard, incidentally, that his wife had left home, or was from home—there + was something mysterious about it—either as soon as he was arrested + or before. Anyway, he said nothing, and from that moment I never set eyes + on him again until I met him in the street here in Wrychester, the other + night, when he came to the Mitre. I knew him at once—and he knew me. + We met under one of those big standard lamps in the Market Place—I + was following my usual practice of having an evening walk, last thing + before going to bed. And we stopped and stared at each other. Then he came + forward with his hand out, and we shook hands. 'This is an odd thing!' he + said. 'You're the very man I wanted to find! Come somewhere, where it's + quiet, and let me have a word with you.' So—I brought him here.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce was all attention now—for once he was devoting all his + faculties to tense and absorbed concentration on what another man could + tell, leaving reflections and conclusions on what he heard until all had + been told. + </p> + <p> + “I brought him here,” repeated Harker. “I told him I'd been retired and + was living here, as he saw, alone. I asked him no questions about himself—I + could see he was a well-dressed, apparently well-to-do man. And presently + he began to tell me about himself. He said that after he'd finished his + term he left England and for some time travelled in Canada and the United + States, and had gone then—on to New Zealand and afterwards to + Australia, where he'd settled down and begun speculating in wool. I said I + hoped he'd done well. Yes, he said, he'd done very nicely—and then + he gave me a quiet dig in the ribs. 'I'll tell you one thing I've done, + Harker,' he said. 'You were very polite and considerate to me when I'd my + trouble, so I don't mind telling you. I paid the bank every penny of that + money they lost through my foolishness at that time—every penny, + four years ago, with interest, and I've got their receipt.' 'Delighted to + hear it, Mr.—Is it the same name still?' I said. 'My name ever since + I left England,' he said, giving me a look, 'is Braden—John Braden.' + 'Yes,' he went on, 'I paid 'em—though I never had one penny of the + money I was fool enough to take for the time being—not one + halfpenny!' 'Who had it, Mr. Braden?' I asked him, thinking that he'd + perhaps tell after all that time. 'Never mind, my lad!' he answered. + 'It'll come out—yet. Never mind that, now. I'll tell you why I + wanted to see you. The fact is, I've only been a few hours in England, so + to speak, but I'd thought of you, and wondered where I could get hold of + you—you're the only man of your profession I ever met, you see,' he + added, with a laugh. 'And I want a bit of help in that way.' 'Well, Mr. + Braden,' I said, 'I've retired, but if it's an easy job—' 'It's one + you can do, easy enough,' he said. 'It's just this—I met a man in + Australia who's extremely anxious to get some news of another man, named + Falkiner Wraye, who hails from Barthorpe, in Leicestershire. I promised to + make inquiries for him. Now, I have strong reasons why I don't want to go + near Barthorpe—Barthorpe has unpleasant memories and associations + for me, and I don't want to be seen there. But this thing's got to be + personal investigation—will you go here, for me? I'll make it worth + your while. All you've got to do,' he went on, 'is to go there—see + the police authorities, town officials, anybody that knows the place, and + ask them if they can tell you anything of one Falkiner Wraye, who was at + one time a small estate agent in Barthorpe, left the place about seventeen + years ago—maybe eighteen—and is believed to have recently gone + back to the neighbourhood. That's all. Get what information you can, and + write it to me, care of my bankers in London. Give me a sheet of paper and + I'll put down particulars for you.'” + </p> + <p> + Harker paused at this point and nodded his head at an old bureau which + stood in a corner of his room. + </p> + <p> + “The sheet of paper's there,” he said. “It's got on it, in his writing, a + brief memorandum of what he wanted and the address of his bankers. When + he'd given it to me, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a purse + in which I could see he was carrying plenty of money. He took out some + notes. 'Here's five-and-twenty pounds on account, Harker,' he said. 'You + might have to spend a bit. Don't be afraid—plenty more where that + comes from. You'll do it soon?' he asked. 'Yes, I'll do it, Mr. Braden,' I + answered. 'It'll be a bit of a holiday for me.' 'That's all right,' he + said. 'I'm delighted I came across you.' 'Well, you couldn't be more + delighted than I was surprised,' I said. 'I never thought to see you in + Wrychester. What brought you here, if one may ask—sight-seeing?' He + laughed at that, and he pulled out his purse again. 'I'll show you + something—a secret,' he said, and he took a bit of folded paper out + of his purse. 'What do you make of that?' he asked. 'Can you read Latin?' + 'No—except a word or two,' I said, 'but I know a man who can.' 'Ah, + never mind,' said he. 'I know enough Latin for this—and it's a + secret. However, it won't be a secret long, and you'll hear all about it.' + And with that he put the bit of paper in his purse again, and we began + talking about other matters, and before long he said he'd promised to have + a chat with a gentleman at the Mitre whom he'd come along with in the + train, and away he went, saying he'd see me before be left the town.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he say how long he was going to stop here?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Two or three days,” replied Harker. + </p> + <p> + “Did he mention Ransford?” inquired Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Never!” said Harker. + </p> + <p> + “Did he make any reference to his wife and children?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the slightest!” + </p> + <p> + “Nor to the hint that his counsel threw out at the trial?” + </p> + <p> + “Never referred to that time except in the way I told you—that he + hadn't a penny of the money, himself and that he'd himself refunded it.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce meditated awhile. He was somewhat puzzled by certain points in the + old detective's story, and he saw now that there was much more mystery in + the Braden affair than he had at first believed. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he asked, after a while, “did you see him again?” + </p> + <p> + “Not alive!” replied Harker. “I saw him dead—and I held my tongue, + and have held it. But—something happened that day. After I heard of + the accident, I went into the Crown and Cushion tavern—the fact was, + I went to get a taste of whisky, for the news had upset me. And in that + long bar of theirs, I saw a man whom I knew—a man whom I knew, for a + fact, to have been a fellow convict of Brake's. Name of Glassdale—forgery. + He got the same sentence that Brake got, about the same time, was in the + same convict prison with Brake, and he and Brake would be released about + the same date. There was no doubt about his identity—I never forget + a face, even after thirty years I'd tell one. I saw him in that bar before + he saw me, and I took a careful look at him. He, too, like Brake, was very + well dressed, and very prosperous looking. He turned as he set down his + glass, and caught sight of me—and he knew me. Mind you, he'd been + through my hands in times past! And he instantly moved to a side-door and—vanished. + I went out and looked up and down—he'd gone. I found out afterwards, + by a little quiet inquiry, that he'd gone straight to the station, boarded + the first train—there was one just giving out, to the junction—and + left the city. But I can lay hands on him!” + </p> + <p> + “You've kept this quiet, too?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Just so—I've my own game to play,” replied Harker. “This talk with + you is part of it—you come in, now—I'll tell you why, + presently. But first, as you know, I went to Barthorpe. For, though Brake + was dead, I felt I must go—for this reason. I was certain that he + wanted that information for himself—the man in Australia was a + fiction. I went, then—and learned nothing. Except that this Falkiner + Wraye had been, as Brake said, a Barthorpe man, years ago. He'd left the + town eighteen years since, and nobody knew anything about him. So I came + home. And now then, doctor—your turn! What were you after, down + there at Barthorpe?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce meditated his answer for a good five minutes. He had always intended + to play the game off his own bat, but he had heard and seen enough since + entering Harker's little room to know that he was in company with an + intellect which was keener and more subtle than his, and that it would be + all to his advantage to go in with the man who had vast and deep + experience. And so he made a clean breast of all he had done in the way of + investigation, leaving his motive completely aside. + </p> + <p> + “You've got a theory, of course?” observed Harker, after listening quietly + to all that Bryce could tell. “Naturally, you have! You couldn't + accumulate all that without getting one.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” admitted Bryce, “honestly, I can't say that I have. But I can see + what theory there might be. This—that Ransford was the man who + deceived Brake, that he ran away with Brake's wife, that she's dead, and + that he's brought up the children in ignorance of all that—and + therefore—” + </p> + <p> + “And therefore,” interrupted Harker with a smile, “that when he and Brake + met—as you seem to think they did—Ransford flung Brake through + that open doorway; that Collishaw witnessed it, that Ransford's found out + about Collishaw, and that Collishaw has been poisoned by Ransford. Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “That's a theory that seems to be supported by facts,” said Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “It's a theory that would doubtless suit men like Mitchington,” said the + old detective, with another smile. “But—not me, sir! Mind you, I + don't say there isn't something in it—there's doubtless a lot. But—the + mystery's a lot thicker than just that. And Brake didn't come here to find + Ransford. He came because of the secret in that scrap of paper. And as + you've got it, doctor—out with it!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce saw no reason for concealment and producing the scrap of paper laid + it on the table between himself and his host. Harker peered inquisitively + at it. + </p> + <p> + “Latin!” he said. “You can read it, of course. What does it say?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce repeated a literal translation. + </p> + <p> + “I've found the place,” he added. “I found it this morning. Now, what do + you suppose this means?” + </p> + <p> + Harker was looking hard at the two lines of writing. + </p> + <p> + “That's a big question, doctor,” he answered. “But I'll go so far as to + say this—when we've found out what it does mean, we shall know a lot + more than we know now!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. THE DOUBLE OFFER + </h2> + <p> + Bryce, who was deriving a considerable and peculiar pleasure from his + secret interview with the old detective, smiled at Harker's last remark. + </p> + <p> + “That's a bit of a platitude, isn't it?” he suggested. “Of course we shall + know a lot more—when we do know a lot more!” + </p> + <p> + “I set store by platitudes, sir,” retorted Harker. “You can't repeat an + established platitude too often—it's got the hallmark of good use on + it. But now, till we do know more—you've no doubt been thinking a + lot about this matter, Dr. Bryce—hasn't it struck you that there's + one feature in connection with Brake, or Braden's visit to Wrychester to + which nobody's given any particular attention up to now—so far as we + know, at any rate?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” demanded Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “This,” replied Harker. “Why did he wish to see the Duke of Saxonsteade? + He certainly did want to see him—and as soon as possible. You'll + remember that his Grace was questioned about that at the inquest and could + give no explanation—he knew nothing of Brake, and couldn't suggest + any reason why Brake should wish to have an interview with him. But—I + can!” + </p> + <p> + “You?” exclaimed Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I,” answered Harker. “And it's this—I spoke just now of that man + Glassdale. Now you, of course; have no knowledge of him, and as you don't + keep yourself posted in criminal history, you don't know what his offence + was?” + </p> + <p> + “You said—forgery?” replied Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Just so—forgery,” assented Harker. “And the signature that he + forged was—the Duke of Saxonsteade's! As a matter of fact, he was + the Duke's London estate agent. He got wrong, somehow, and he forged the + Duke's name to a cheque. Now, then, considering who Glassdale is, and that + he was certainly a fellow-convict of Brake's, and that I myself saw him + here in Wrychester on the day of Brake's death—what's the conclusion + to be drawn? That Brake wanted to see the Duke on some business of + Glassdale's! Without a doubt! It may have been that he and Glassdale + wanted to visit the Duke, together.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce silently considered this suggestion for awhile. + </p> + <p> + “You said, just now, that Glassdale could be traced?” he remarked at last. + </p> + <p> + “Traced—yes,” replied Harker. “So long as he's in England.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not set about it?” suggested Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” said Harker. “There's things to do before that. And the first + thing is—let's get to know what the mystery of that scrap of paper + is. You say you've found Richard Jenkins's tomb? Very well—then the + thing to do is to find out if anything is hidden there. Try it tomorrow + night. Better go by yourself—after dark. If you find anything, let + me know. And then—then we can decide on a next step. But between now + and then, there'll be the inquest on this man Collishaw. And, about that—a + word in your ear! Say as little as ever you can!—after all, you know + nothing beyond what you saw. And—we mustn't meet and talk in public—after + you've done that bit of exploring in Paradise tomorrow night, come round + here and we'll consider matters.” + </p> + <p> + There was little that Bryce could say or could be asked to say at the + inquest on the mason's labourer next morning. Public interest and + excitement was as keen about Collishaw's mysterious death as about + Braden's, for it was already rumoured through the town that if Braden had + not met with his death when he came to Wrychester, Collishaw would still + be alive. The Coroner's court was once more packed; once more there was + the same atmosphere of mystery. But the proceedings were of a very + different nature to those which had attended the inquest on Braden. The + foreman under whose orders Collishaw had been working gave particulars of + the dead man's work on the morning of his death. He had been instructed to + clear away an accumulation of rubbish which had gathered at the foot of + the south wall of the nave in consequence of some recent repairs to the + masonry—there was a full day's work before him. All day he would be + in and out of Paradise with his barrow, wheeling away the rubbish he + gathered up. The foreman had looked in on him once or twice; he had seen + him just before noon, when he appeared to be in his usual health—he + had made no complaint, at any rate. Asked if he had happened to notice + where Collishaw had set down his dinner basket and his tin bottle while he + worked, he replied that it so happened that he had—he remembered + seeing both bottle and basket and the man's jacket deposited on one of the + box-tombs under a certain yew-tree—which he could point out, if + necessary. + </p> + <p> + Bryce's account of his finding of Collishaw amounted to no more than a + bare recital of facts. Nor was much time spent in questioning the two + doctors who had conducted the post-mortem examination. Their evidence, + terse and particular, referred solely to the cause of death. The man had + been poisoned by a dose of hydrocyanic acid, which, in their opinion, had + been taken only a few minutes before his body was discovered by Dr. Bryce. + It had probably been a dose which would cause instantaneous death. There + were no traces of the poison in the remains of his dinner, nor in the + liquid in his tin bottle, which was old tea. But of the cause of his + sudden death there was no more doubt than of the effects. Ransford had + been in the court from the outset of the proceedings, and when the medical + evidence had been given he was called. Bryce, watching him narrowly, saw + that he was suffering from repressed excitement—and that that + excitement was as much due to anger as to anything else. His face was set + and stern, and he looked at the Coroner with an expression which portended + something not precisely clear at that moment. Bryce, trying to analyse it, + said to himself that he shouldn't be surprised if a scene followed—Ransford + looked like a man who is bursting to say something in no unmistakable + fashion. But at first he answered the questions put to him calmly and + decisively. + </p> + <p> + “When this man's clothing was searched,” observed the Coroner, “a box of + pills was found, Dr. Ransford, on which your writing appears. Had you been + attending him—professionally?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Ransford. “Both Collishaw and his wife. Or, rather, to be + exact, I had been in attendance on the wife, for some weeks. A day or two + before his death, Collishaw complained to me of indigestion, following on + his meals. I gave him some digestive pills—the pills you speak of, + no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “These?” asked the Coroner, passing over the box which Mitchington had + found. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely!” agreed Ransford. “That, at any rate, is the box, and I + suppose those to be the pills.” + </p> + <p> + “You made them up yourself?” inquired the Coroner. + </p> + <p> + “I did—I dispense all my own medicines.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible that the poison we have beard of, just now, could get into + one of those pills—by accident?” + </p> + <p> + “Utterly impossible!—under my hands, at any rate,” answered + Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “Still, I suppose, it could have been administered in a pill?” suggested + the Coroner. + </p> + <p> + “It might,” agreed Ransford. “But,” he added, with a significant glance at + the medical men who had just given evidence. “It was not so administered + in this case, as the previous witnesses very well know!” + </p> + <p> + The Coroner looked round him, and waited a moment. + </p> + <p> + “You are at liberty to explain—that last remark,” he said at last. + “That is—if you wish to do so.” “Certainly!” answered Ransford, with + alacrity. “Those pills are, as you will observe, coated, and the man would + swallow them whole—immediately after his food. Now, it would take + some little time for a pill to dissolve, to disintegrate, to be digested. + If Collishaw took one of my pills as soon as he had eaten his dinner, + according to instructions, and if poison had been in that pill, he would + not have died at once—as he evidently did. Death would probably have + been delayed some little time until the pill had dissolved. But, according + to the evidence you have had before you, he died quite suddenly while + eating his dinner—or immediately after it. I am not legally + represented here—I don't consider it at all necessary—but I + ask you to recall Dr. Coates and to put this question to him: Did he find + one of those digestive pills in this man's stomach?” + </p> + <p> + The Coroner turned, somewhat dubiously, to the two doctors who had + performed the autopsy. But before he could speak, the superintendent of + police rose and began to whisper to him, and after a conversation between + them, he looked round at the jury, every member of which had evidently + been much struck by Ransford's suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “At this stage,” he said, “it will be necessary to adjourn. I shall + adjourn the inquiry for a week, gentlemen. You will—” Ransford, + still standing in the witness-box, suddenly lost control of himself. He + uttered a sharp exclamation and smote the ledge before him smartly with + his open hand. + </p> + <p> + “I protest against that!” he said vehemently. “Emphatically, I protest! + You first of all make a suggestion which tells against me—then, when + I demand that a question shall be put which is of immense importance to my + interests, you close down the inquiry—even if only for the moment. + That is grossly unfair and unjust!” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken,” said the Coroner. “At the adjourned inquiry, the two + medical men can be recalled, and you will have the opportunity—or + your solicitor will have—of asking any questions you like for the + present—” + </p> + <p> + “For the present you have me under suspicion!” interrupted Ransford hotly. + “You know it—I say this with due respect to your office—as + well as I do. Suspicion is rife in the city against me. Rumour is being + spread—secretly—and, I am certain—from the police, who + ought to know better. And—I will not be silenced, Mr. Coroner!—I + take this public opportunity, as I am on oath, of saying that I know + nothing whatever of the causes of the deaths of either Collishaw or of + Braden—upon my solemn oath!” + </p> + <p> + “The inquest is adjourned to this day week,” said the Coroner quietly. + </p> + <p> + Ransford suddenly stepped down from the witness-box and without word or + glance at any one there, walked with set face and determined look out of + the court, and the excited spectators, gathering into groups, immediately + began to discuss his vigorous outburst and to take sides for and against + him. + </p> + <p> + Bryce, judging it advisable to keep away from Mitchington just then, and, + for similar reasons, keeping away from Harker also, went out of the + crowded building alone—to be joined in the street outside by + Sackville Bonham, whom he had noticed in court, in company with his + stepfather, Mr. Folliot. + </p> + <p> + Folliot, Bryce had observed, had stopped behind, exchanging some + conversation with the Coroner. Sackville came up to Bryce with a knowing + shake of the hand. He was one of those very young men who have a habit of + suggesting that their fund of knowledge is extensive and peculiar, and + Bryce waited for a manifestation. + </p> + <p> + “Queer business, all that, Bryce!” observed Sackville confidentially. “Of + course, Ransford is a perfect ass!” + </p> + <p> + “Think so?” remarked Bryce, with an inflection which suggested that + Sackville's opinion on anything was as valuable as the Attorney-General's. + “That's how it strikes you, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible that it could strike one in any other way, you know,” answered + Sackville with fine and lofty superiority. “Ransford should have taken + immediate steps to clear himself of any suspicion. It's ridiculous, + considering his position—guardian to—to Miss Bewery, for + instance—that he should allow such rumours to circulate. By God, + sir, if it had been me, I'd have stopped 'em!—before they left the + parish pump!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah?” said Bryce. “And—how?” + </p> + <p> + “Made an example of somebody,” replied Sackville, with emphasis. “I + believe there's law in this country, isn't there?—law against libel + and slander, and that sort of thing, eh? Oh, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Not been much time for that—yet,” remarked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Piles of time,” retorted Sackville, swinging his stick vigorously. “No, + sir, Ransford is an ass! However, if a man won't do things for himself, + well, his friends must do something for him. Ransford, of course, must be + pulled—dragged!—out of this infernal hole. Of course he's + suspected! But my stepfather—he's going to take a hand. And my + stepfather, Bryce, is a devilish cute old hand at a game of this sort!” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody doubts Mr. Folliot's abilities, I'm sure,” said Bryce. “But—you + don't mind saying—how is he going to take a hand?” + </p> + <p> + “Stir things towards a clearing-up,” announced Sackville promptly. “Have + the whole thing gone into—thoroughly. There are matters that haven't + been touched on, yet. You'll see, my boy!” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to hear it,” said Bryce. “But—why should Mr. Folliot be so + particular about clearing Ransford?” + </p> + <p> + Sackville swung his stick, and pulled up his collar, and jerked his nose a + trifle higher. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well,” he said. “Of course, it's—it's a pretty well understood + thing, don't you know—between myself and Miss Bewery, you know—and + of course, we couldn't have any suspicions attaching to her guardian, + could we, now? Family interest, don't you know—Caesar's wife, and + all that sort of thing, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” answered Bryce, quietly,—“sort of family arrangement. With + Ransford's consent and knowledge, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “Ransford won't even be consulted,” said Sackville, airily. “My stepfather—sharp + man, that, Bryce!—he'll do things in his own fashion. You look out + for sudden revelations!” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” replied Bryce. “By-bye!” + </p> + <p> + He turned off to his rooms, wondering how much of truth there was in the + fatuous Sackville's remarks. And—was there some mystery still + undreamt of by himself and Harker? There might be—he was still under + the influence of Ransford's indignant and dramatic assertion of his + innocence. Would Ransford have allowed himself an outburst of that sort if + he had not been, as he said, utterly ignorant of the immediate cause of + Braden's death? Now Bryce, all through, was calculating, for his own + purposes, on Ransford's share, full or partial, in that death—if + Ransford really knew nothing whatever about it, where did his, Bryce's + theory, come in—and how would his present machinations result? And, + more—if Ransford's assertion were true, and if Varner's story of the + hand, seen for an instant in the archway, were also true—and Varner + was persisting in it—then, who was the man who flung Braden to his + death that morning? He realized that, instead of straightening out, things + were becoming more and more complicated. + </p> + <p> + But he realized something else. On the surface, there was a strong case of + suspicion against Ransford. It had been suggested that very morning before + a coroner and his jury; it would grow; the police were already permeated + with suspicion and distrust. Would it not pay him, Bryce, to encourage, to + help it? He had his own score to pay off against Ransford; he had his own + schemes as regards Mary Bewery. Anyway, he was not going to share in any + attempts to clear the man who had bundled him out of his house + unceremoniously—he would bide his time. And in the meantime there + were other things to be done—one of them that very night. + </p> + <p> + But before Bryce could engage in his secret task of excavating a small + portion of Paradise in the rear of Richard Jenkins's tomb, another strange + development came. As the dark fell over the old city that night and he was + thinking of setting out on his mission, Mitchington came in, carrying two + sheets of paper, obviously damp from the press, in his hand. He looked at + Bryce with an expression of wonder. + </p> + <p> + “Here's a queer go!” he said. “I can't make this out at all! Look at these + big handbills—but perhaps you've seen 'em? They're being posted all + over the city—we've had a bundle of 'em thrown in on us.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't been out since lunch,” remarked Bryce. “What are they?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington spread out the two papers on the table, pointing from one to + the other. + </p> + <p> + “You see?” he said. “Five Hundred Pounds Reward!—One Thousand Pounds + Reward! And—both out at the same time, from different sources!” + </p> + <p> + “What sources?” asked Bryce, bending over the bills. “Ah—I see. One + signed by Phipps & Maynard, the other by Beachcroft. Odd, certainly!” + </p> + <p> + “Odd?” exclaimed Mitchington. “I should think so! But, do you see, doctor? + that one—five hundred reward—is offered for information of any + nature relative to the deaths of John Braden and James Collishaw, both or + either. That amount will be paid for satisfactory information by Phipps + & Maynard. And Phipps & Maynard are Ransford's solicitors! That + bill, sir, comes from him! And now the other, the thousand pound one, that + offers the reward to any one who can give definite information as to the + circumstances attending the death of John Braden—to be paid by Mr. + Beachcroft. And he's Mr. Folliot's solicitor! So—that comes from Mr. + Folliot. What has he to do with it? And are these two putting their heads + together—or are these bills quite independent of each other? Hang me + if I understand it!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce read and re-read the contents of the two bills. And then he thought + for awhile before speaking. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said at last, “there's probably this in it—the Folliots + are very wealthy people. Mrs. Folliot, it's pretty well known, wants her + son to marry Miss Bewery—Dr. Ransford's ward. Probably she doesn't + wish any suspicion to hang over the family. That's all I can suggest. In + the other case, Ransford wants to clear himself. For don't forget this, + Mitchington!—somewhere, somebody may know something! Only something. + But that something might clear Ransford of the suspicion that's + undoubtedly been cast upon him. If you're thinking to get a strong case + against Ransford, you've got your work set. He gave your theory a nasty + knock this morning by his few words about that pill. Did Coates and + Everest find a pill, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at liberty to say, sir,” answered Mitchington. “At present, anyway. + Um! I dislike these private offers of reward—it means that those who + make 'em get hold of information which is kept back from us, d'you see! + They're inconvenient.” + </p> + <p> + Then he went away, and Bryce, after waiting awhile, until night had + settled down, slipped quietly out of the house and set off for the gloom + of Paradise. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. BEFOREHAND + </h2> + <p> + In accordance with his undeniable capacity for contriving and scheming, + Bryce had made due and careful preparations for his visit to the tomb of + Richard Jenkins. Even in the momentary confusion following upon his + discovery of Collishaw's dead body, he had been sufficiently alive to his + own immediate purposes to notice that the tomb—a very ancient and + dilapidated structure—stood in the midst of a small expanse of stone + pavement between the yew-trees and the wall of the nave; he had noticed + also that the pavement consisted of small squares of stone, some of which + bore initials and dates. A sharp glance at the presumed whereabouts of the + particular spot which he wanted, as indicated in the scrap of paper taken + from Braden's purse, showed him that he would have to raise one of those + small squares—possibly two or three of them. And so he had furnished + himself with a short crowbar of tempered steel, specially purchased at the + iron-monger's, and with a small bull's-eye lantern. Had he been arrested + and searched as he made his way towards the cathedral precincts he might + reasonably have been suspected of a design to break into the treasury and + appropriate the various ornaments for which Wrychester was famous. But + Bryce feared neither arrest nor observation. During his residence in + Wrychester he had done a good deal of prowling about the old city at + night, and he knew that Paradise, at any time after dark, was a deserted + place. Folk might cross from the close archway to the wicket-gate by the + outer path, but no one would penetrate within the thick screen of yew and + cypress when night had fallen. And now, in early summer, the screen of + trees and bushes was so thick in leaf, that once within it, foliage on one + side, the great walls of the nave on the other, there was little + likelihood of any person overlooking his doings while he made his + investigation. He anticipated a swift and quiet job, to be done in a few + minutes. + </p> + <p> + But there was another individual in Wrychester who knew just as much of + the geography of Paradise as Pemberton Bryce knew. Dick Bewery and Betty + Campany had of late progressed out of the schoolboy and schoolgirl + hail-fellow-well-met stage to the first dawnings of love, and in spite of + their frequent meetings had begun a romantic correspondence between each + other, the joy and mystery of which was increased a hundredfold by a + secret method of exchange of these missives. Just within the wicket-gate + entrance of Paradise there was an old monument wherein was a convenient + cavity—Dick Bewery's ready wits transformed this into love's + post-office. In it he regularly placed letters for Betty: Betty stuffed + into it letters for him. And on this particular evening Dick had gone to + Paradise to collect a possible mail, and as Bryce walked leisurely up the + narrow path, enclosed by trees and old masonry which led from Friary Lane + to the ancient enclosure, Dick turned a corner and ran full into him. In + the light of the single lamp which illumined the path, the two recovered + themselves and looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” said Bryce. “What's your hurry, young Bewery?” + </p> + <p> + Dick, who was panting for breath, more from excitement than haste, drew + back and looked at Bryce. Up to then he knew nothing much against Bryce, + whom he had rather liked in the fashion in which boys sometimes like their + seniors, and he was not indisposed to confide in him. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” he replied. “I say! Where are you off to?” + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere!—strolling round,” answered Bryce. “No particular purpose, + why?” + </p> + <p> + “You weren't going in—there?” asked Dick, jerking a thumb towards + Paradise. + </p> + <p> + “In—there!” exclaimed Bryce. “Good Lord, no!—dreary enough in + the daytime! What should I be going in there for?” + </p> + <p> + Dick seized Bryce's coat-sleeve and dragged him aside. + </p> + <p> + “I say!” he whispered. “There's something up in there—a search of + some sort!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce started in spite of an effort to keep unconcerned. + </p> + <p> + “A search? In there?” he said. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Dick pointed amongst the trees, and Bryce saw the faint glimmer of a + light. + </p> + <p> + “I was in there—just now,” said Dick. “And some men—three or + four—came along. They're in there, close up by the nave, just where + you found that chap Collishaw. They're—digging—or something of + that sort!” + </p> + <p> + “Digging!” muttered Bryce. “Digging?”' + </p> + <p> + “Something like it, anyhow,” replied Dick. “Listen.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce heard the ring of metal on stone. And an unpleasant conviction stole + over him that he was being forestalled, that somebody was beforehand with + him, and he cursed himself for not having done the previous night what he + had left undone till this night. + </p> + <p> + “Who are they?” he asked. “Did you see them—their faces?” + </p> + <p> + “Not their faces,” answered Dick. “Only their figures in the gloom. But I + heard Mitchington's voice.” + </p> + <p> + “Police, then!” said Bryce. “What on earth are they after?” + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” whispered Dick, pulling at Bryce's arm again. “Come on! I + know how to get in there without their seeing us. You follow me.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce followed readily, and Dick stepping through the wicket-gate, seized + his companion's wrist and led him amongst the bushes in the direction of + the spot from whence came the metallic sounds. He walked with the step of + a cat, and Bryce took pains to follow his example. And presently from + behind a screen of cypresses they looked out on the expanse of flagging in + the midst of which stood the tomb of Richard Jenkins. + </p> + <p> + Round about that tomb were five men whose faces were visible enough in the + light thrown by a couple of strong lamps, one of which stood on the tomb + itself, while the other was set on the ground. Four out of the five the + two watchers recognized at once. One, kneeling on the flags, and busy with + a small crowbar similar to that which Bryce carried inside his overcoat, + was the master-mason of the cathedral. Another, standing near him, was + Mitchington. A third was a clergyman—one of the lesser dignitaries + of the Chapter. A fourth—whose presence made Bryce start for the + second time that evening—was the Duke of Saxonsteade. But the fifth + was a stranger—a tall man who stood between Mitchington and the + Duke, evidently paying anxious attention to the master-mason's + proceedings. He was no Wrychester man—Bryce was convinced of that. + </p> + <p> + And a moment later he was convinced of another equally certain fact. + Whatever these five men were searching for, they had no clear or accurate + idea of its exact whereabouts. The master-mason was taking up the small + squares of flagstone with his crowbar one by one, from the outer edge of + the foot of the old box-tomb; as he removed each, he probed the earth + beneath it. And Bryce, who had instinctively realized what was happening, + and knew that somebody else than himself was in possession of the secret + of the scrap of paper, saw that it would be some time before they arrived + at the precise spot indicated in the Latin directions. He quietly drew + back and tugged at Dick Bewery. + </p> + <p> + “Stop here, and keep quiet!” he whispered when they had retreated out of + all danger of being overheard. “Watch 'em! I want to fetch somebody—want + to know who that stranger is. You don't know him?” + </p> + <p> + “Never seen him before,” replied Dick. “I say!—come quietly back—don't + give it away. I want to know what it's all about.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce squeezed the lad's arm by way of assurance and made his way back + through the bushes. He wanted to get hold of Harker, and at once, and he + hurried round to the old man's house and without ceremony walked into his + parlour. Harker, evidently expecting him, and meanwhile amusing himself + with his pipe and book, rose from his chair as the younger man entered. + </p> + <p> + “Found anything?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “We're done!” answered Bryce. “I was a fool not to go last night! We're + forestalled, my friend!—that's about it!” + </p> + <p> + “By—whom?” inquired Harker. + </p> + <p> + “There are five of them at it, now,” replied Bryce. “Mitchington, a mason, + one of the cathedral clergy, a stranger, and the Duke of Saxonsteade! What + do you think of that?” + </p> + <p> + Harker suddenly started as if a new light had dawned on him. + </p> + <p> + “The Duke!” he exclaimed. “You don't say so! My conscience!—now, I + wonder if that can really be? Upon my word, I'd never thought of it!” + </p> + <p> + “Thought of what?” demanded Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind! tell you later,” said Harker. “At present, is there any + chance of getting a look at them?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I came for,” retorted Bryce. “I've been watching them, with + young Bewery. He put me up to it. Come on! I want to see if you know the + man who's a stranger.” + </p> + <p> + Harker crossed the room to a chest of drawers, and after some rummaging + pulled something out. + </p> + <p> + “Here!” he said, handing some articles to Bryce. “Put those on over your + boots. Thick felt overshoes—you could walk round your own mother's + bedroom in those and she'd never hear you. I'll do the same. A stranger, + you say? Well, this is a proof that somebody knows the secret of that + scrap of paper besides us, doctor!” + </p> + <p> + “They don't know the exact spot,” growled Bryce, who was chafing at having + been done out of his discovery. “But, they'll find it, whatever may be + there.” + </p> + <p> + He led Harker back to Paradise and to the place where he had left Dick + Bewery, whom they approached so quietly that Bryce was by the lad's side + before Dick knew he was there. And Harker, after one glance at the ring of + faces, drew Bryce back and put his lips close to his ear and breathed a + name in an almost imperceptible yet clear whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Glassdale!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce started for the third time. Glassdale!—the man whom Harker had + seen in Wrychester within an hour or so of Braden's death: the ex-convict, + the forger, who had forged the Duke of Saxonsteade's name! And there! + standing, apparently quite at his ease, by the Duke's side. What did it + all mean? + </p> + <p> + There was no explanation of what it meant to be had from the man whom + Bryce and Harker and Dick Bewery secretly watched from behind the screen + of cypress trees. Four of them watched in silence, or with no more than a + whispered word now and then while the fifth worked. This man worked + methodically, replacing each stone as he took it up and examined the soil + beneath it. So far nothing had resulted, but he was by that time working + at some distance from the tomb, and Bryce, who had an exceedingly accurate + idea of where the spot might be, as indicated in the measurements on the + scrap of paper, nudged Harker as the master-mason began to take up the + last of the small flags. And suddenly there was a movement amongst the + watchers, and the master-mason looked up from his job and motioned + Mitchington to pass him a trowel which lay at a little distance. + </p> + <p> + “Something here!” he said, loudly enough to reach the ears of Bryce and + his companions. “Not so deep down, neither, gentlemen!” + </p> + <p> + A few vigorous applications of the trowel, a few lumps of earth cast out + of the cavity, and the master-mason put in his hand and drew forth a small + parcel, which in the light of the lamp held close to it by Mitchington + looked to be done up in coarse sacking, secured by great blotches of black + sealing wax. And now it was Harker who nudged Bryce, drawing his attention + to the fact that the parcel, handed by the master-mason to Mitchington was + at once passed on by Mitchington to the Duke of Saxonsteade, who, it was + very plain to see, appeared to be as much delighted as surprised at + receiving it. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go to your office, inspector,” he said. “We'll examine the + contents there. Let us all go at once!” + </p> + <p> + The three figures behind the cypress trees remained immovable and silent + until the five searchers had gone away with their lamps and tools and the + sound of their retreating footsteps in Friary Lane had died out. Then Dick + Bewery moved and began to slip off, and Bryce reached out a hand and took + him by the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Bewery!” he said. “Going to tell all that?” + </p> + <p> + Harker got in a word before Dick could answer. + </p> + <p> + “No matter if he does, doctor,” he remarked quietly. “Whatever it is, the + whole town'll know of it by tomorrow. They'll not keep it back.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce let Dick go, and the boy immediately darted off in the direction of + the close, while the two men went towards Harker's house. Neither spoke + until they were safe in the old detective's little parlour, then Harker, + turning up his lamp, looked at Bryce and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It's a good job I've retired!” he said, almost sadly. “I'm getting too + old for my trade, doctor. Once upon a time I should have been fit to kick + myself for not having twigged the meaning of this business sooner than I + have done!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you twigged it?” demanded Bryce, almost scornfully. “You're a good + deal cleverer than I am if you have. For hang me if I know what it means!” + </p> + <p> + “I do!” answered Harker. He opened a drawer in his desk and drew out a + scrap-book, filled, as Bryce saw a moment later, with cuttings from + newspapers, all duly arranged and indexed. The old man glanced at the + index, turned to a certain page, and put his finger on an entry. “There + you are!” he said. “And that's only one—there are several more. + They'll tell you in detail what I can tell you in a few words and what I + ought to have remembered. It's fifteen years since the famous robbery at + Saxonsteade which has never been accounted for—robbery of the + Duchess's diamonds—one of the cleverest burglaries ever known, + doctor. They were got one night after a grand ball there; no arrest was + ever made, they were never traced. And I'll lay all I'm worth to a + penny-piece that the Duke and those men are gladding their eyes with the + sight of them just now!—in Mitchington's office—and that the + information that they were where they've just been found was given to the + Duke by—Glassdale!” + </p> + <p> + “Glassdale! That man!” exclaimed Bryce, who was puzzling his brain over + possible developments. + </p> + <p> + “That man, sir!” repeated Harker. “That's why Glassdale was in Wrychester + the day of Braden's death. And that's why Braden, or Brake, came to + Wrychester at all. He and Glassdale, of course, had somehow come into + possession of the secret, and no doubt meant to tell the Duke together, + and get the reward—there was 95,000 offered! And as Brake's dead, + Glassdale's spoken, but”—here the old man paused and gave his + companion a shrewd look—“the question still remains: How did Brake + come to his end?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. TO BE SHADOWED + </h2> + <p> + Dick Bewery burst in upon his sister and Ransford with a budget of news + such as it rarely fell to the lot of romance-loving seventeen to tell. + Secret and mysterious digging up of grave-yards by night—discovery + of sealed packets, the contents of which might only be guessed at—the + whole thing observed by hidden spectators—these were things he had + read of in fiction, but had never expected to have the luck to see in real + life. And being gifted with some powers of imagination and of narrative, + he made the most of his story to a pair of highly attentive listeners, + each of whom had his, and her, own reasons for particular attention. + </p> + <p> + “More mystery!” remarked Mary when Dick's story had come to an end. “What + a pity they didn't open the parcel!” She looked at Ransford, who was + evidently in deep thought. “I suppose it will all come out?” she + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Sure to!” he answered, and turned to Dick. “You say Bryce fetched old + Harker—after you and Bryce had watched these operations a bit? Did + he say why he fetched him?” + </p> + <p> + “Never said anything as to his reasons,” answered Dick. “But, I rather + guessed, at the end, that Bryce wanted me to keep quiet about it, only old + Harker said there was no need.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford made no comment on this, and Dick, having exhausted his stock of + news, presently went off to bed. + </p> + <p> + “Master Bryce,” observed Ransford, after a period of silence, “is playing + a game! What it is, I don't know—but I'm certain of it. Well, we + shall see! You've been much upset by all this,” he went on, after another + pause, “and the knowledge that you have has distressed me beyond measure! + But just have a little—a very little—more patience, and things + will be cleared—I can't tell all that's in my mind, even to you.” + </p> + <p> + Mary, who had been sewing while Ransford, as was customary with him in an + evening, read the Times to her, looked down at her work. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't care, if only these rumours in the town—about you—could + be crushed!” she said. “It's so cruel, so vile, that such things—” + </p> + <p> + Ransford snapped his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care that about the rumours!” he answered, contemptuously. + “They'll be crushed out just as suddenly as they arose—and then, + perhaps, I'll let certain folk in Wrychester know what I think of them. + And as regards the suspicion against me, I know already that the only + people in the town for whose opinion I care fully accept what I said + before the Coroner. As to the others, let them talk! If the thing comes to + a head before its due time—” + </p> + <p> + “You make me think that you know more—much more!—than you've + ever told me!” interrupted Mary. + </p> + <p> + “So I do!” he replied. “And you'll see in the end why I've kept silence. + Of course, if people who don't know as much will interfere—” + </p> + <p> + He was interrupted there by the ringing of the front door bell, at the + sound of which he and Mary looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Who can that be?” said Mary. “It's past ten o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford offered no suggestion. He sat silently waiting, until the + parlourmaid entered. + </p> + <p> + “Inspector Mitchington would be much obliged if you could give him a few + minutes, sir,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Ransford got up from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Take Inspector Mitchington into the study,” he said. “Is he alone?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir—there's a gentleman with him,” replied the girl. + </p> + <p> + “All right—I'll be with them presently,” answered Ransford. “Take + them both in there and light the gas. Police!” he went on, when the + parlourmaid had gone. “They get hold of the first idea that strikes them, + and never even look round for another, You're not frightened?” + </p> + <p> + “Frightened—no! Uneasy—yes!” replied Mary. “What can they + want, this time of night?” + </p> + <p> + “Probably to tell me something about this romantic tale of Dick's,” + answered Ransford, as he left the room. “It'll be nothing more serious, I + assure you.” + </p> + <p> + But he was not so sure of that. He was very well aware that the Wrychester + police authorities had a definite suspicion of his guilt in the Braden and + Collishaw matters, and he knew from experience that police suspicion is a + difficult matter to dissipate. And before he opened the door of the little + room which he used as a study he warned himself to be careful—and + silent. + </p> + <p> + The two visitors stood near the hearth—Ransford took a good look at + them as he closed the door behind him. Mitchington he knew well enough; he + was more interested in the other man, a stranger. A quiet-looking, very + ordinary individual, who might have been half a dozen things—but + Ransford instantly set him down as a detective. He turned from this man to + the inspector. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said, a little brusquely. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry to intrude so late, Dr. Ransford,” answered Mitchington, “but I + should be much obliged if you would give us a bit of information—badly + wanted, doctor, in view of recent events,” he added, with a smile which + was meant to be reassuring. “I'm sure you can—if you will.” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down,” said Ransford, pointing to chairs. He took one himself and + again glanced at the stranger. “To whom am I speaking, in addition to + yourself, Inspector?” he asked. “I'm not going to talk to strangers.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” said Mitchington, a little awkwardly. “Of course, doctor, + we've had to get a bit of professional help in these unpleasant matters. + This gentleman's Detective-Sergeant Jettison, from the Yard.” + </p> + <p> + “What information do you want?” asked Ransford. + </p> + <p> + Mitchington glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “I may as well tell + you, doctor,” he said confidentially, “there's been a most extraordinary + discovery made tonight, which has a bearing on the Braden case. I dare say + you've heard of the great jewel robbery which took place at the Duke of + Saxonsteade's some years ago, which has been a mystery to this very day?” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of it,” answered Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “Very well—tonight those jewels—the whole lot!—have been + discovered in Paradise yonder, where they'd been buried, at the time of + the robbery, by the thief,” continued Mitchington. “They've just been + examined, and they're now in the Duke's own hands again—after all + these years! And—I may as well tell you—we now know that the + object of Braden's visit to Wrychester was to tell the Duke where those + jewels were hidden. Braden—and another man—had learned the + secret, from the real thief, who's dead in Australia. All that I may tell + you, doctor—for it'll be public property tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Ransford. + </p> + <p> + Mitchington hesitated a moment, as if searching for his next words. He + glanced at the detective; the detective remained immobile; he glanced at + Ransford; Ransford gave him no encouragement. + </p> + <p> + “Now look here, doctor!” he exclaimed, suddenly. “Why not tell us + something? We know now who Braden really was! That's settled. Do you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Who was he, then?” asked Ransford, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “He was one John Brake, some time manager of a branch of a London bank, + who, seventeen years ago, got ten years' penal servitude for + embezzlement,” answered Mitchington, watching Ransford steadily. “That's + dead certain—we know it! The man who shared this secret with him + about the Saxonsteade jewels has told us that much, today. John Brake!” + </p> + <p> + “What have you come here for?” asked Ransford. + </p> + <p> + “To ask you—between ourselves—if you can tell us anything + about Brake's earlier days—antecedents—that'll help us,” + replied Mitchington. “It may be—Jettison here—a man of + experience—thinks it'll be found to be—that Brake, or Braden + as we call him—was murdered because of his possession of that secret + about the jewels. Our informant tells us that Braden certainly had on him, + when he came to Wrychester, a sort of diagram showing the exact location + of the spot where the jewels were hidden—that diagram was most + assuredly not found on Braden when we examined his clothing and effects. + It may be that it was wrested from him in the gallery of the clerestory + that morning, and that his assailant, or assailants—for there may + have been two men at the job—afterwards pitched him through that + open doorway, after half-stifling him. And if that theory's correct—and + I, personally, am now quite inclined to it—it'll help a lot if + you'll tell us what you know of Braden's—Brake's—antecedents. + Come now, doctor!—you know very well that Braden, or Brake, did come + to your surgery that morning and said to your assistant that he'd known a + Dr. Ransford in times past! Why not speak?” + </p> + <p> + Ransford, instead of answering Mitchington's evidently genuine appeal, + looked at the New Scotland Yard man. + </p> + <p> + “Is that your theory?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Jettison nodded his head, with a movement indicative of conviction. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir!” he replied. “Having regard to all the circumstances of the + case, as they've been put before me since I came here, and with special + regard to the revelations which have resulted in the discovery of these + jewels, it is! Of course, today's events have altered everything. If it + hadn't been for our informant—” + </p> + <p> + “Who is your informant?” inquired Ransford. + </p> + <p> + The two callers looked at each other—the detective nodded at the + inspector. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” said Mitchington. “No harm in telling you, doctor. A man named + Glassdale—once a fellow-convict with Brake. It seems they left + England together after their time was up, emigrated together, prospered, + even went so far—both of 'em!—as to make good the money they'd + appropriated, and eventually came back together—in possession of + this secret. Brake came specially to Wrychester to tell the Duke—Glassdale + was to join him on the very morning Brake met his death. Glassdale did + come to the town that morning—and as soon as he got here, heard of + Brake's strange death. That upset him—and he went away—only to + come back today, go to Saxonsteade, and tell everything to the Duke—with + the result we've told you of.” + </p> + <p> + “Which result,” remarked Ransford, steadily regarding Mitchington, “has + apparently altered all your ideas about—me!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington laughed a little awkwardly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, come, now, doctor!” he said. “Why, yes—frankly, I'm + inclined to Jettison's theory—in fact, I'm certain that's the + truth.” + </p> + <p> + “And your theory,” inquired Ransford, turning to the detective, “is—put + it in a few words.” + </p> + <p> + “My theory—and I'll lay anything it's the correct one!—is + this,” replied Jettison. “Brake came to Wrychester with his secret. That + secret wasn't confined to him and Glassdale—either he let it out to + somebody, or it was known to somebody. I understand from Inspector + Mitchington here that on the evening of his arrival Brake was away from + the Mitre Hotel for two hours. During that time, he was somewhere—with + whom? Probably with somebody who got the secret out of him, or to whom he + communicated it. For, think!—according to Glassdale, who, we are + quite sure, has told the exact truth about everything, Brake had on him a + scrap of paper, on which were instructions, in Latin, for finding the + exact spot whereat the missing Saxonsteade jewels had been hidden, years + before, by the actual thief—who, I may tell you, sir, never had the + opportunity of returning to re-possess himself of them. Now, after Brake's + death, the police examined his clothes and effects—they never found + that scrap of paper! And I work things out this way. Brake was followed + into that gallery—a lonely, quiet place—by the man or men who + had got possession of the secret; he was, I'm told, a slightly-built, not + over-strong man—he was seized and robbed of that paper and flung to + his death. And all that fits in with the second mystery of Collishaw—who + probably knew, if not everything, then something, of the exact + circumstances of Brake's death, and let his knowledge get to the ears of—Brake's + assailant!—who cleverly got rid of him. That's my notion,” concluded + the detective. “And—I shall be surprised if it isn't a correct one!” + </p> + <p> + “And, as I've said, doctor,” chimed in Mitchington, “can't you give us a + bit of information, now? You see the line we're on? Now, as it's evident + you once knew Braden, or Brake—” + </p> + <p> + “I have never said so!” interrupted Ransford sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Well—we infer it, from the undoubted fact that he called here,” + remarked Mitchington. “And if—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait!” said Ransford. He had been listening with absorbed attention to + Jettison's theory, and he now rose from his chair and began to pace the + room, hands in pockets, as if in deep thought. Suddenly he paused and + looked at Mitchington. “This needs some reflection,” he said. “Are you + pressed for time?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least,” answered Mitchington, readily. “Our time's yours, sir. + Take as long as you like.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford touched a bell and summoning the parlourmaid told her to fetch + whisky, soda, and cigars. He pressed these things on the two men, lighted + a cigar himself, and for a long time continued to walk up and down his end + of the room, smoking and evidently in very deep thought. The visitors left + him alone, watching him curiously now and then—until, when quite ten + minutes had gone by, he suddenly drew a chair close to them and sat down + again. + </p> + <p> + “Now, listen to me!” he said. “If I give my confidence to you, as police + officials, will you give me your word that you won't make use of my + information until I give you leave—or until you have consulted me + further? I shall rely on your word, mind!” + </p> + <p> + “I say yes to that, doctor,” answered Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “The same here, sir,” said the detective. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” continued Ransford. “Then—this is between ourselves, + until such time as I say something more about it. First of all, I am not + going to tell you anything whatever about Braden's antecedents—at + present! Secondly—I am not sure that your theory, Mr. Jettison, is + entirely correct, though I think it is by way of coming very near to the + right one—which is sure to be worked out before long. But—on + the understanding of secrecy for the present I can tell you something + which I should not have been able to tell you but for the events of + tonight, which have made me put together certain facts. Now attention! To + begin with, I know where Braden was for at any rate some time on the + evening of the day on which he came to Wrychester. He was with the old man + whom we all know as Simpson Harker.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington whistled; the detective, who knew nothing of Simpson Harker, + glanced at him as if for information. But Mitchington nodded at Ransford, + and Ransford went on. + </p> + <p> + “I know this for this reason,” he continued. “You know where Harker lives. + I was in attendance for nearly two hours that evening on a patient in a + house opposite—I spent a good deal of time in looking out of the + window. I saw Harker take a man into his house: I saw the man leave the + house nearly an hour later: I recognized that man next day as the man who + met his death at the Cathedral. So much for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” muttered Mitchington. “Good! Explains a lot.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” continued Ransford, “what I have to tell you now is of a much more + serious—and confidential—nature. Now, do you know—but, + of course, you don't!—that your proceedings tonight were watched?” + </p> + <p> + “Watched!” exclaimed Mitchington. “Who watched us?” + </p> + <p> + “Harker, for one,” answered Ransford. “And—for another—my late + assistant, Mr. Pemberton Bryce.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington's jaw dropped. + </p> + <p> + “God bless my soul!” he said. “You don't mean it, doctor! Why, how did you—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute,” interrupted Ransford. He left the room, and the two + callers looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “This chap knows more than you think,” observed Jettison in a whisper. + “More than he's telling now!” + </p> + <p> + “Let's get all we can, then,” said Mitchington, who was obviously much + surprised by Ransford's last information. “Get it while he's in the mood.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him take his own time,” advised Jettison. “But—you mark me!—he + knows a lot! This is only an instalment.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford came back—with Dick Bewery, clad in a loud patterned and + gaily coloured suit of pyjamas. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Dick,” said Ransford. “Tell Inspector Mitchington precisely what + happened this evening, within your own knowledge.” + </p> + <p> + Dick was nothing loth to tell his story for the second time—especially + to a couple of professional listeners. And he told it in full detail, from + the moment of his sudden encounter with Bryce to that in which he parted + with Bryce and Harker. Ransford, watching the official faces, saw what it + was in the story that caught the official attention and excited the + official mind. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Bryce went off at once to fetch Harker, did he?” asked Mitchington, + when Dick had made a end. + </p> + <p> + “At once,” answered Dick. “And was jolly quick back with him!” + </p> + <p> + “And Harker said it didn't matter about your telling as it would be public + news soon enough?” continued Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Just that,” said Dick. + </p> + <p> + Mitchington looked at Ransford, and Ransford nodded to his ward. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Dick,” he said. “That'll do.” + </p> + <p> + The boy went off again, and Mitchington shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Queer!” he said. “Now what have those two been up to?—something, + that's certain. Can you tell us more, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Under the same conditions—yes,” answered Ransford, taking his seat + again. “The fact is, affairs have got to a stage where I consider it my + duty to tell you more. Some of what I shall tell you is hearsay—but + it's hearsay that you can easily verify for yourselves when the right + moment comes. Mr. Campany, the librarian, lately remarked to me that my + old assistant, Mr. Bryce, seemed to be taking an extraordinary interest in + archaeological matters since he left me—he was now, said Campany, + always examining documents about the old tombs and monuments of the + Cathedral and its precincts.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah—just so!” exclaimed Mitchington. “To be sure!—I'm + beginning to see!” + </p> + <p> + “And,” continued Ransford, “Campany further remarked, as a matter for + humorous comment, that Bryce was also spending much time looking round our + old tombs. Now you made this discovery near an old tomb, I understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Close by one—yes,” assented the inspector. + </p> + <p> + “Then let me draw your attention to one or two strange facts—which + are undoubted facts,” continued Ransford. “Bryce was left alone with the + dead body of Braden for some minutes, while Varner went to fetch the + police. That's one.” + </p> + <p> + “That's true,” muttered Mitchington. “He was—several minutes!” + </p> + <p> + “Bryce it was who discovered Collishaw—in Paradise,” said Ransford. + “That's fact two. And fact three—Bryce evidently had a motive in + fetching Harker tonight—to overlook your operations. What was his + motive? And taking things altogether; what are, or have been, these secret + affairs which Bryce and Harker have evidently been engaged in?” + </p> + <p> + Jettison suddenly rose, buttoning his light overcoat. The action seemed to + indicate a newly-formed idea, a definite conclusion. He turned sharply to + Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “There's one thing certain, inspector,” he said. “You'll keep an eye on + those two from this out! From—just now!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall!” assented Mitchington. “I'll have both of 'em shadowed wherever + they go or are, day or night. Harker, now, has always been a bit of a + mystery, but Bryce—hang me if I don't believe he's been having me! + Double game!—but, never mind. There's no more, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet,” replied Ransford. “And I don't know the real meaning or value + of what I have told you. But—in two days from now, I can tell you + more. In the meantime—remember your promise!” + </p> + <p> + He let his visitors out then, and went back to Mary. + </p> + <p> + “You'll not have to wait long for things to clear,” he said. “The + mystery's nearly over!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. SURPRISE + </h2> + <p> + Mitchington and the man from New Scotland Yard walked away in silence from + Ransford's house and kept the silence up until they were in the middle of + the Close and accordingly in solitude. Then Mitchington turned to his + companion. + </p> + <p> + “What d'ye think of that?” he asked, with a half laugh. “Different + complexion it puts on things, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I think just what I said before—in there,” replied the detective. + “That man knows more than he's told, even now!” + </p> + <p> + “Why hasn't he spoken sooner, then?” demanded Mitchington. “He's had two + good chances—at the inquests.” + </p> + <p> + “From what I saw of him, just now,” said Jettison, “I should say he's the + sort of man who can keep his own counsel till he considers the right time + has come for speaking. Not the sort of man who'll care twopence whatever's + said about him, you understand? I should say he's known a good lot all + along, and is just keeping it back till he can put a finishing touch to + it. Two days, didn't he say? Aye, well, a lot can happen in two days!” + </p> + <p> + “But about your theory?” questioned Mitchington. “What do you think of it + now—in relation to what we've just heard?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what I can see,” answered Jettison. “I can see how one bit + of this puzzle fits into another—in view of what Ransford has just + told us. Of course, one's got to do a good deal of supposing it's + unavoidable in these cases. Now supposing Braden let this man Harker into + the secret of the hidden jewels that night, and supposing that Harker and + Bryce are in collusion—as they evidently are, from what that boy + told us—and supposing they between them, together or separately, had + to do with Braden's death, and supposing that man Collishaw saw some thing + that would incriminate one or both—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Bryce is a medical man,” observed Jettison. “It would be an easy thing + for a medical man to get rid of Collishaw as he undoubtedly was got rid + of. Do you see my point?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye—and I can see that Bryce is a clever hand at throwing dust in + anybody's eyes!” muttered Mitchington. “I've had some dealings with him + over this affair and I'm beginning to think—only now!—that + he's been having me for the mug! He's evidently a deep 'un—and so's + the other man.” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to ask you that,” said Jettison. “Now, exactly who are these + two?—tell me about them—both.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so much to tell,” answered Mitchington. “Harker's a quiet old chap + who lives in a little house over there—just off that far corner of + this Close. Said to be a retired tradesman, from London. Came here a few + years ago, to settle down. Inoffensive, pleasant old chap. Potters about + the town—puts in his time as such old chaps do—bit of reading + at the libraries—bit of gossip here and—there you know the + sort. Last man in the world I should have thought would have been mixed up + in an affair of this sort!” + </p> + <p> + “And therefore all the more likely to be!” said Jettison. “Well—the + other?” + </p> + <p> + “Bryce was until the very day of Braden's appearance, Ransford's + assistant,” continued Mitchington. “Been with Ransford about two years. + Clever chap, undoubtedly, but certainly deep and, in a way, reserved, + though he can talk plenty if he's so minded and it's to his own advantage. + He left Ransford suddenly—that very morning. I don't know why. Since + then he's remained in the town. I've heard that he's pretty keen on + Ransford's ward—sister of that lad we saw tonight. I don't know + myself, if it's true—but I've wondered if that had anything to do + with his leaving Ransford so suddenly.” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely,” said Jettison. They had crossed the Close by that time and + come to a gas-lamp which stood at the entrance, and the detective pulled + out his watch and glanced at it. “Ten past eleven,” he said. “You say you + know this Bryce pretty well? Now, would it be too late—if he's up + still—to take a look at him! If you and he are on good terms, you + could make an excuse. After what I've heard, I'd like to get at close + quarters with this gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “Easy enough,” assented Mitchington. “I've been there as late as this—he's + one of the sort that never goes to bed before midnight. Come on!—it's + close by. But—not a word of where we've been. I'll say I've dropped + in to give him a bit of news. We'll tell him about the jewel business—and + see how he takes it. And while we're there—size him up!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington was right in his description of Bryce's habits—Bryce + rarely went to bed before one o'clock in the morning. He liked to sit up, + reading. His favourite mental food was found in the lives of statesmen and + diplomatists, most of them of the sort famous for trickery and chicanery—he + not only made a close study of the ways of these gentry but wrote down + notes and abstracts of passages which particularly appealed to him. His + lamp was burning when Mitchington and Jettison came in view of his windows—but + that night Bryce was doing no thinking about statecraft: his mind was + fixed on his own affairs. He had lighted his fire on going home and for an + hour had sat with his legs stretched out on the fender, carefully weighing + things up. The event of the night had convinced him that he was at a + critical phase of his present adventure, and it behoved him, as a good + general, to review his forces. + </p> + <p> + The forestalling of his plans about the hiding-place in Paradise had upset + Bryce's schemes—he had figured on being able to turn that secret, + whatever it was, to his own advantage. It struck him now, as he meditated, + that he had never known exactly what he expected to get out of that secret—but + he had hoped that it would have been something which would make a few more + considerable and tightly-strung meshes in the net which he was + endeavouring to weave around Ransford. Now he was faced by the fact that + it was not going to yield anything in the way of help—it was a + secret no longer, and it had yielded nothing beyond the mere knowledge + that John Braden, who was in reality John Brake, had carried the secret to + Wrychester—to reveal it in the proper quarter. That helped Bryce in + no way—so far as he could see. And therefore it was necessary to + re-state his case to himself; to take stock; to see where he stood—and + more than all, to put plainly before his own mind exactly what he wanted. + </p> + <p> + And just before Mitchington and the detective came up the path to his + door, Bryce had put his notions into clear phraseology. His aim was + definite—he wanted to get Ransford completely into his power, + through suspicion of Ransford's guilt in the affairs of Braden and + Collishaw. He wanted, at the same time, to have the means of exonerating + him—whether by fact or by craft—so that, as an ultimate method + of success for his own projects he would be able to go to Mary Bewery and + say “Ransford's very life is at my mercy: if I keep silence, he's lost: if + I speak, he's saved: it's now for you to say whether I'm to speak or hold + my tongue—and you're the price I want for my speaking to save him!” + It was in accordance with his views of human nature that Mary Bewery would + accede to his terms: he had not known her and Ransford for nothing, and he + was aware that she had a profound gratitude for her guardian, which might + even be akin to a yet unawakened warmer feeling. The probability was that + she would willingly sacrifice herself to save Ransford—and Bryce + cared little by what means he won her, fair or foul, so long as he was + successful. So now, he said to himself, he must make a still more definite + move against Ransford. He must strengthen and deepen the suspicions which + the police already had: he must give them chapter and verse and supply + them with information, and get Ransford into the tightest of corners, + solely that, in order to win Mary Bewery, he might have the credit of + pulling him out again. That, he felt certain, he could do—if he + could make a net in which to enclose Ransford he could also invent a + two-edged sword which would cut every mesh of that net into fragments. + That would be—child's play—mere statecraft—elementary + diplomacy. But first—to get Ransford fairly bottled up—that + was the thing! He determined to lose no more time—and he was + thinking of visiting Mitchington immediately after breakfast next morning + when Mitchington knocked at his door. + </p> + <p> + Bryce was rarely taken back, and on seeing Mitchington and a companion, he + forthwith invited them into his parlour, put out his whisky and cigars, + and pressed both on them as if their late call were a matter of usual + occurrence. And when he had helped both to a drink, he took one himself, + and tumbler in hand, dropped into his easy chair again. + </p> + <p> + “We saw your light, doctor—so I took the liberty of dropping into + tell you a bit of news,” observed the inspector. “But I haven't introduced + my friend—this is Detective-Sergeant Jettison, of the Yard—we've + got him down about this business—must have help, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce gave the detective a half-sharp, half-careless look and nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Jettison will have abundant opportunities for the exercise of his + talents!” he observed in his best cynical manner. “I dare say he's found + that out already.” + </p> + <p> + “Not an easy affair, sir, to be sure,” assented Jettison. “Complicated!” + </p> + <p> + “Highly so!” agreed Bryce. He yawned, and glanced at the inspector. + “What's your news, Mitchington?” he asked, almost indifferently. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” answered Mitchington. “As the Herald's published tomorrow + you'll see it in there, doctor—I've supplied an account for this + week's issue; just a short one—but I thought you'd like to know. + You've heard of the famous jewel robbery at the Duke's, some years ago? + Yes?—well, we've found all the whole bundle tonight—buried in + Paradise! And how do you think the secret came out?” + </p> + <p> + “No good at guessing,” said Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “It came out,” continued Mitchington, “through a man who, with Braden—Braden, + mark you!—got in possession of it—it's a long story—and, + with Braden, was going to reveal it to the Duke that very day Braden was + killed. This man waited until this very morning and then told his Grace—his + Grace came with him to us this afternoon, and tonight we made a search and + found—everything! Buried—there in Paradise! Dug 'em up, + doctor!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce showed no great interest. He took a leisurely sip at his liquor and + set down the glass and pulled out his cigarette case. The two men, + watching him narrowly, saw that his fingers were steady as rocks as he + struck the match. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said as he threw the match away. “I saw you busy.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of himself Mitchington could not repress a start nor a glance at + Jettison. But Jettison was as imperturbable as Bryce himself, and + Mitchington raised a forced laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You did!” he said, incredulously. “And we thought we had it all to + ourselves! How did you come to know, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Young Bewery told me what was going on,” replied Bryce, “so I took a look + at you. And I fetched old Harker to take a look, too. We all watched you—the + boy, Harker, and I—out of sheer curiosity, of course. We saw you get + up the parcel. But, naturally, I didn't know what was in it—till + now.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington, thoroughly taken aback by this candid statement, was at a + loss for words, and again he glanced at Jettison. But Jettison gave no + help, and Mitchington fell back on himself. + </p> + <p> + “So you fetched old Harker?” he said. “What—what for, doctor? If one + may ask, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made a careless gesture with his cigarette. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—old Harker's deeply interested in what's going on,” he answered. + “And as young Bewery drew my attention to your proceedings, why, I thought + I'd draw Harker's. And Harker was—interested.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington hesitated before saying more. But eventually he risked a + leading question. + </p> + <p> + “Any special reason why he should be, doctor?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Bryce put his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and looked + half-lazily at his questioner. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who old Harker really is?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “No!” answered Mitchington. “I know nothing about him—except that + he's said to be a retired tradesman, from London, who settled down here + some time ago.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce suddenly turned on Jettison. + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I, sir!” exclaimed Jettison. “I don't know this gentleman—at all!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce laughed—with his usual touch of cynical sneering. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you—now—who old Harker is, Mitchington,” he said. + “You may as well know. I thought Mr. Jettison might recognize the name. + Harker is no retired London tradesman—he's a retired member of your + profession, Mr. Jettison. He was in his day one of the smartest men in the + service of your department. Only he's transposed his name—ask them + at the Yard if they remember Harker Simpson? That seems to startle you, + Mitchington! Well, as you're here, perhaps I'd better startle you a bit + more.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. THE SUBTLETY OF THE DEVIL + </h2> + <p> + There was a sudden determination and alertness in Bryce's last words which + contrasted strongly, and even strangely, with the almost cynical + indifference that had characterized him since his visitors came in, and + the two men recognized it and glanced questioningly at each other. There + was an alteration, too, in his manner; instead of lounging lazily in his + chair, as if he had no other thought than of personal ease, he was now + sitting erect, looking sharply from one man to the other; his whole + attitude, bearing, speech seemed to indicate that he had suddenly made up + his mind to adopt some definite course of action. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you more!” he repeated. “And, since you're here—now!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington, who felt a curious uneasiness, gave Jettison another glance. + And this time it was Jettison who spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I should say,” he remarked quietly, “knowing what I've gathered of the + matter, that we ought to be glad of any information Dr. Bryce can give + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, to be sure!” assented Mitchington. “You know more, then, doctor?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce motioned his visitors to draw their chairs nearer to his, and when + he spoke it was in the low, concentrated tones of a man who means business—and + confidential business. + </p> + <p> + “Now look here, Mitchington,” he said, “and you, too, Mr. Jettison, as + you're on this job—I'm going to talk straight to both of you. And to + begin with, I'll make a bold assertion—I know more of this + Wrychester Paradise mystery—involving the deaths of both Braden and + Collishaw, than any man living—because, though you don't know it, + Mitchington, I've gone right into it. And I'll tell you in confidence why + I went into it—I want to marry Dr. Ransford's ward, Miss Bewery!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce accompanied this candid admission with a look which seemed to say: + Here we are, three men of the world, who know what things are—we + understand each other! And while Jettison merely nodded comprehendingly, + Mitchington put his thoughts into words. + </p> + <p> + “To be sure, doctor, to be sure!” he said. “And accordingly—what's + their affair, is yours! Of course!” + </p> + <p> + “Something like that,” assented Bryce. “Naturally no man wishes to marry + unless he knows as much as he can get to know about the woman he wants, + her family, her antecedents—and all that. Now, pretty nearly + everybody in Wrychester who knows them, knows that there's a mystery about + Dr. Ransford and his two wards—it's been talked of, no end, amongst + the old dowagers and gossips of the Close, particularly—you know + what they are! Miss Bewery herself, and her brother, young Dick, in a + lesser degree, know there's a mystery. And if there's one man in the world + who knows the secret, it's Ransford. And, up to now, Ransford won't tell—he + won't even tell Miss Bewery. I know that she's asked him—he keeps up + an obstinate silence. And so—I determined to find things out for + myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye—and when did you start on that little game, now, doctor?” asked + Mitchington. “Was it before, or since, this affair developed?” + </p> + <p> + “In a really serious way—since,” replied Bryce. “What happened on + the day of Braden's death made me go thoroughly into the whole matter. + Now, what did happen? I'll tell you frankly, now, Mitchington, that when + we talked once before about this affair, I didn't tell you all I might + have told. I'd my reasons for reticence. But now I'll give you full + particulars of what happened that morning within my knowledge—pay + attention, both of you, and you'll see how one thing fits into another. + That morning, about half-past nine, Ransford left his surgery and went + across the Close. Not long after he'd gone, this man Braden came to the + door, and asked me if Dr. Ransford was in? I said he wasn't—he'd + just gone out, and I showed the man in which direction. He said he'd once + known a Dr. Ransford, and went away. A little later, I followed. Near the + entrance of Paradise, I saw Ransford leaving the west porch of the + Cathedral. He was undeniably in a state of agitation—pale, nervous. + He didn't see me. I went on and met Varner, who told me of the accident. I + went with him to the foot of St. Wrytha's Stair and found the man who had + recently called at the surgery. He died just as I reached him. I sent for + you. When you came, I went back to the surgery—I found Ransford + there in a state of most unusual agitation—he looked like a man who + has had a terrible shock. So much for these events. Put them together.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce paused awhile, as if marshalling his facts. + </p> + <p> + “Now, after that,” he continued presently, “I began to investigate matters + myself—for my own satisfaction. And very soon I found out certain + things—which I'll summarize, briefly, because some of my facts are + doubtless known to you already. First of all—the man who came here + as John Braden was, in reality, one John Brake. He was at one time manager + of a branch of a well-known London banking company. He appropriated money + from them under apparently mysterious circumstances of which I, as yet, + knew nothing; he was prosecuted, convicted, and sentenced to ten years' + penal servitude. And those two wards of Ransford's, Mary and Richard + Bewery, as they are called, are, in reality, Mary and Richard Brake—his + children.” + </p> + <p> + “You've established that as a fact?” asked Jettison, who was listening + with close attention. “It's not a surmise on your part?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce hesitated before replying to this question. After all, he reflected, + it was a surmise. He could not positively prove his assertion. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he answered after a moment's thought, “I'll qualify that by saying + that from the evidence I have, and from what I know, I believe it to be an + indisputable fact. What I do know of fact, hard, positive fact, is this:—John + Brake married a Mary Bewery at the parish church of Braden Medworth, near + Barthorpe, in Leicestershire: I've seen the entry in the register with my + own eyes. His best man, who signed the register as a witness, was Mark + Ransford. Brake and Ransford, as young men, had been in the habit of going + to Braden Medworth to fish; Mary Bewery was governess at the vicarage + there. It was always supposed she would marry Ransford; instead, she + married Brake, who, of course, took her off to London. Of their married + life, I know nothing. But within a few years, Brake was in trouble, for + the reason I have told you. He was arrested—and Harker was the man + who arrested him.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” exclaimed Mitchington. “Now, if I'd only known—” + </p> + <p> + “You'll know a lot before I'm through,” said Bryce. “Now, Harker, of + course, can tell a lot—yet it's unsatisfying. Brake could make no + defence—but his counsel threw out strange hints and suggestions—all + to the effect that Brake had been cruelly and wickedly deceived—in + fact, as it were, trapped into doing what he did. And—by a man whom + he'd trusted as a close friend. So much came to Harker's ears—but no + more, and on that particular point I've no light. Go on from that to + Brake's private affairs. At the time of his arrest he had a wife and two + very young children. Either just before, or at, or immediately after his + arrest they completely disappeared—and Brake himself utterly refused + to say one single word about them. Harker asked if he could do anything—Brake's + answer was that no one was to concern himself. He preserved an obstinate + silence on that point. The clergyman in whose family Mrs. Brake had been + governess saw Brake, after his conviction—Brake would say nothing to + him. Of Mrs. Brake, nothing more is known—to me at any rate. What + was known at the time is this—Brake communicated to all who came in + contact with him, just then, the idea of a man who has been cruelly + wronged and deceived, who takes refuge in sullen silence, and who is + already planning and cherishing—revenge!” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, aye!” muttered Mitchington. “Revenge?—just So!” + </p> + <p> + “Brake, then,” continued Bryce, “goes off to his term of penal servitude, + and so disappears—until he reappears here in Wrychester. Leave him + for a moment, and go back. And—it's a going back, no doubt, to + supposition and to theory—but there's reason in what I shall + advance. We know—beyond doubt—that Brake had been tricked and + deceived, in some money matter, by some man—some mysterious man—whom + he referred to as having been his closest friend. We know, too, that there + was extraordinary mystery in the disappearance of his wife and children. + Now, from all that has been found out, who was Brake's closest friend? + Ransford! And of Ransford, at that time, there's no trace. He, too, + disappeared—that's a fact which I've established. Years later, he + reappears—here at Wrychester, where he's bought a practice. + Eventually he has two young people, who are represented as his wards, come + to live with him. Their name is Bewery. The name of the young woman whom + John Brake married was Bewery. What's the inference? That their mother's + dead—that they're known under her maiden name: that they, without a + shadow of doubt, are John Brake's children. And that leads up to my theory—which + I'll now tell you in confidence—if you wish for it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's what I particularly wish for,” observed Jettison quietly. “The very + thing!” + </p> + <p> + “Then, it's this,” said Bryce. “Ransford was the close friend who tricked + and deceived Brake: + </p> + <p> + “He probably tricked him in some money affair, and deceived him in his + domestic affairs. I take it that Ransford ran away with Brake's wife, and + that Brake, sooner than air all his grievance to the world, took it + silently and began to concoct his ideas of revenge. I put the whole thing + this way. Ransford ran away with Mrs. Brake and the two children—mere + infants—and disappeared. Brake, when he came out of prison, went + abroad—possibly with the idea of tracking them. Meanwhile, as is + quite evident, he engaged in business and did well. He came back to + England as John Braden, and, for the reason of which you're aware, he paid + a visit to Wrychester, utterly unaware that any one known to him lived + here. Now, try to reconstruct what happened. He looks round the Close that + morning. He sees the name of Dr. Mark Ransford on the brass plate of a + surgery door. He goes to the surgery, asks a question, makes a remark, + goes away. What is the probable sequence of events? He meets Ransford near + the Cathedral—where Ransford certainly was. They recognize each + other—most likely they turn aside, go up to that gallery as a quiet + place, to talk—there is an altercation—blows—somehow or + other, probably from accident, Braden is thrown through that open doorway, + to his death. And—Collishaw saw what happened!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce was watching his listeners, turning alternately from one to the + other. But it needed little attention on his part to see that theirs was + already closely strained; each man was eagerly taking in all that he said + and suggested. And he went on emphasizing every point as he made it. + </p> + <p> + “Collishaw saw what happened?” he repeated. “That, of course, is theory—supposition. + But now we pass from theory back to actual fact. I'll tell you something + now, Mitchington, which you've never heard of, I'm certain. I made it in + my way, after Collishaw's death, to get some information, secretly, from + his widow, who's a fairly shrewd, intelligent woman for her class. Now, + the widow, in looking over her husband's effects, in a certain drawer in + which he kept various personal matters, came across the deposit book of a + Friendly Society of which Collishaw had been a member for some years. It + appears that he, Collishaw, was something of a saving man, and every year + he managed to put by a bit of money out of his wages, and twice or thrice + in the year he took these savings—never very much; merely a pound or + two—to this Friendly Society, which, it seems, takes deposits in + that way from its members. Now, in this book is an entry—I saw it—which + shows that only two days before his death, Collishaw paid fifty pounds—fifty + pounds, mark you!—into the Friendly Society. Where should Collishaw + get fifty pounds, all of a sudden! He was a mason's labourer, earning at + the very outside twenty-six or eight shillings a week. According to his + wife, there was no one to leave him a legacy. She never heard of his + receipt of this money from any source. But—there's the fact! What + explains it? My theory—that the rumour that Collishaw, with a pint + too much ale in him, had hinted that he could say something about Braden's + death if he chose, had reached Braden's assailant; that he had made it his + business to see Collishaw and had paid him that fifty pounds as hush-money—and, + later, had decided to rid himself of Collishaw altogether, as he + undoubtedly did, by poison.” + </p> + <p> + Once more Bryce paused—and once more the two listeners showed their + attention by complete silence. + </p> + <p> + “Now we come to the question—how was Collishaw poisoned?” continued + Bryce. “For poisoned he was, without doubt. Here we go back to theory and + supposition once more. I haven't the least doubt that the hydrocyanic acid + which caused his death was taken by him in a pill—a pill that was in + that box which they found on him, Mitchington, and showed me. But that + particular pill, though precisely similar in appearance, could not be made + up of the same ingredients which were in the other pills. It was probably + a thickly coated pill which contained the poison;—in solution of + course. The coating would melt almost as soon as the man had swallowed it—and + death would result instantaneously. Collishaw, you may say, was condemned + to death when he put that box of pills in his waistcoat pocket. It was + mere chance, mere luck, as to when the exact moment of death came to him. + There had been six pills in that box—there were five left. So + Collishaw picked out the poisoned pill—first! It might have been + delayed till the sixth dose, you see—but he was doomed.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington showed a desire to speak, and Bryce paused. + </p> + <p> + “What about what Ransford said before the Coroner?” asked Mitchington. “He + demanded certain information about the post-mortem, you know, which, he + said, ought to have shown that there was nothing poisonous in those + pills.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh!” exclaimed Bryce contemptuously. “Mere bluff! Of such a pill as + that I've described there'd be no trace but the sugar coating—and + the poison. I tell you, I haven't the least doubt that that was how the + poison was administered. It was easy. And—who is there that would + know how easily it could be administered but—a medical man?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington and Jettison exchanged glances. Then Jettison leaned nearer to + Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “So your theory is that Ransford got rid of both Braden and Collishaw—murdered + both of them, in fact?” he suggested. “Do I understand that's what it + really comes to—in plain words?” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite,” replied Bryce. “I don't say that Ransford meant to kill + Braden—my notion is that they met, had an altercation, probably a + struggle, and that Braden lost his life in it. But as regards Collishaw—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't forget!” interrupted Mitchington. “Varner swore that he saw Braden + flung through that doorway! Flung out! He saw a hand.” + </p> + <p> + “For everything that Varner could prove to the contrary,” answered Bryce, + “the hand might have been stretched out to pull Braden back. No—I + think there may have been accident in that affair. But, as regards + Collishaw—murder, without doubt—deliberate!” + </p> + <p> + He lighted another cigarette, with the air of a man who had spoken his + mind, and Mitchington, realizing that he had said all he had to say, got + up from his seat. + </p> + <p> + “Well—it's all very interesting and very clever, doctor,” he said, + glancing at Jettison. “And we shall keep it all in mind. Of course, you've + talked all this over with Harker? I should like to know what he has to + say. Now that you've told us who he is, I suppose we can talk to him?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to wait a few days, then,” said Bryce. “He's gone to town—by + the last train tonight—on this business. I've sent him. I had some + information today about Ransford's whereabouts during the time of + disappearance, and I've commissioned Harker to examine into it. When I + hear what he's found out, I'll let you know.” + </p> + <p> + “You're taking some trouble,” remarked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “I've told you the reason,” answered Bryce. + </p> + <p> + Mitchington hesitated a little; then, with a motion of his head towards + the door, beckoned Jettison to follow him. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said. “There's plenty for us to see into, I'm thinking!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce laughed and pointed to a shelf of books near the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what Napoleon Bonaparte once gave as sound advice to police?” + he asked. “No! Then I'll tell you. 'The art of the police,' he said, 'is + not to see that which it is useless for it to see.' Good counsel, + Mitchington!” + </p> + <p> + The two men went away through the midnight streets, and kept silence until + they were near the door of Jettison's hotel. Then Mitchington spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” he said. “We've had a couple of tales, anyhow! What do you think + of things, now?” + </p> + <p> + Jettison threw back his head with a dry laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Never been better puzzled in all my time!” he said. “Never! But—if + that young doctor's playing a game—then, by the Lord Harry, + inspector, it's a damned deep 'un! And my advice is—watch the lot!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. JETTISON TAKES A HAND + </h2> + <p> + By breakfast time next morning the man from New Scotland Yard had + accomplished a series of meditations on the confidences made to him and + Mitchington the night before and had determined on at least one course of + action. But before entering upon it he had one or two important letters to + write, the composition of which required much thought and trouble, and by + the time he had finished them, and deposited them by his own hand in the + General Post Office, it was drawing near to noon—the great bell of + the Cathedral, indeed, was proclaiming noontide to Wrychester as Jettison + turned into the police-station and sought Mitchington in his office. + </p> + <p> + “I was just coming round to see if you'd overslept yourself,” said + Mitchington good-humouredly. “We were up pretty late last night, or, + rather, this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I've had letters to write,” said Jettison. He sat down and picked up a + newspaper and cast a casual glance over it. “Got anything fresh?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, this much,” answered Mitchington. “The two gentlemen who told us so + much last night are both out of town. I made an excuse to call on them + both early this morning—just on nine o'clock. Dr. Ransford went up + to London by the eight-fifteen. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Bryce, says his landlady, went out on his bicycle at half-past eight—where, + she didn't know, but, she fancied, into the country. However, I + ascertained that Ransford is expected back this evening, and Bryce gave + orders for his usual dinner to be ready at seven o'clock, and so—” + </p> + <p> + Jettison flung away the newspaper and pulled out his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't think they'll run away—either of 'em,” he remarked + indifferently. “They're both too cock-sure of their own ways of looking at + things.” + </p> + <p> + “You looked at 'em any more?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Done a bit of reflecting—yes,” replied the detective. “Complicated + affair, my lad! More in it than one would think at first sight. I'm + certain of this quite apart from whatever mystery there is about the + Braden affair and the Collishaw murder, there's a lot of scheming and + contriving been going on—and is going on!—somewhere, by + somebody. Underhand work, you understand? However, my particular job is + the Collishaw business—and there's a bit of information I'd like to + get hold of at once. Where's the office of that Friendly Society we heard + about last night?” + </p> + <p> + “That'll be the Wrychester Second Friendly,” answered Mitchington. “There + are two such societies in the town—the first's patronized by small + tradesmen and the like; the second by workingmen. The second does take + deposits from its members. The office is in Fladgate—secretary's + name outside—Mr. Stebbing. What are you after?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell you later,” said Jettison. “Just an idea.” + </p> + <p> + He went leisurely out and across the market square and into the narrow, + old-world street called Fladgate, along which he strolled as if doing no + more than looking about him until he came to an ancient shop which had + been converted into an office, and had a wire blind over the lower half of + its front window, wherein was woven in conspicuous gilt letters Wrychester + Second Friendly Society—George Stebbing, Secretary. Nothing + betokened romance or mystery in that essentially humble place, but it was + in Jettison's mind that when he crossed its threshold he was on his way to + discovering something that would possibly clear up the problem on which he + was engaged. + </p> + <p> + The staff of the Second Friendly was inconsiderable in numbers—an + outer office harboured a small boy and a tall young man; an inner one + accommodated Mr. Stebbing, also a young man, sandy-haired and freckled, + who, having inspected Detective-Sergeant Jettison's professional card, + gave him the best chair in the room and stared at him with a mingling of + awe and curiosity which plainly showed that he had never entertained a + detective before. And as if to show his visitor that he realized the + seriousness of the occasion, he nodded meaningly at his door. + </p> + <p> + “All safe, here, sir!” he whispered. “Well fitting doors in these old + houses—knew how to make 'em in those days. No chance of being + overheard here—what can I do for you, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you—much obliged to you,” said Jettison. “No objection to my + pipe, I suppose? Just so. Ah!—well, between you and me, Mr. + Stebbing, I'm down here in connection with that Collishaw case—you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, sir—poor fellow!” said the secretary. “Cruel thing, sir, if + the man was put an end to. One of our members, was Collishaw, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “So I understand,” remarked Jettison. “That's what I've come about. Bit of + information, on the quiet, eh? Strictly between our two selves—for + the present.” + </p> + <p> + Stebbing nodded and winked, as if he had been doing business with + detectives all his life. “To be sure, sir, to be sure!” he responded with + alacrity. “Just between you and me and the door post!—all right. Anything + I can do, Mr. Jettison, shall be done. But it's more in the way of what I + can tell, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Something of that sort,” replied Jettison in his slow, easy-going + fashion. “I want to know a thing or two. Yours is a working-man's society, + I think? Aye—and I understand you've a system whereby such a man can + put his bits of savings by in your hands?” + </p> + <p> + “A capital system, too!” answered the secretary, seizing on a pamphlet and + pushing it into his visitor's hand. “I don't believe there's better in + England! If you read that—” + </p> +<p> +“I'll take a look at it some time,” said Jettison, putting the pamphlet +in his pocket. “Well, now, I also understand that Collishaw was in the +habit of bringing you a bit of saved money now and then a sort of saving +fellow, wasn't he?” Stebbing nodded assent and reached for a ledger +which lay on the farther side of his desk. +</p> +<p> +“Collishaw,” he answered, “had been a member of our society +ever since it started—fourteen years ago. And he'd been putting in +savings for some eight or nine years. Not much, you'll understand. Say, +as an average, two to three pounds every half-year—never more. But, +just before his death, or murder, or whatever you like to call it, he +came in here one day with fifty pounds! Fairly astounded me, sir! Fifty +pounds—all in a lump!” + </p> + <p> + “It's about that fifty pounds I want to know something,” said Jettison. + “He didn't tell you how he'd come by it? Wasn't a legacy, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't say anything but that he'd had a bit of luck,” answered + Stebbing. “I asked no questions. Legacy, now?—no, he didn't mention + that. Here it is,” he continued, turning over the pages of the ledger. + “There! 50 pounds. You see the date—that 'ud be two days before his + death.” + </p> + <p> + Jettison glanced at the ledger and resumed his seat. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, Mr. Stebbing, I want you to tell me something very definite,” + he said. “It's not so long since this happened, so you'll not have to tag + your memory to any great extent. In what form did Collishaw pay that fifty + pounds to you?” + </p> + <p> + “That's easy answered, sir,” said the secretary. “It was in gold. Fifty + sovereigns—he had 'em in a bit of a bag.” Jettison reflected on this + information for a moment or two. Then he rose. + </p> + <p> + “Much obliged to you, Mr. Stebbing,” he said. “That's something worth + knowing. Now there's something else you can tell me as long as I'm here—though, + to be sure, I could save you the trouble by using my own eyes. How many + banks are there in this little city of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Three,” answered Stebbing promptly. “Old Bank, in Monday Market; Popham + & Hargreaves, in the Square; Wrychester Bank, in Spurriergate. That's + the lot.” + </p> + <p> + “Much obliged,” said Jettison. “And—for the present—not a word + of what we've talked about. You'll be hearing more—later.” + </p> + <p> + He went away, memorizing the names of the three banking establishments—ten + minutes later he was in the private parlour of the first, in serious + conversation with its manager. Here it was necessary to be more secret, + and to insist on more secrecy than with the secretary of the Second + Friendly, and to produce all his credentials and give all his reasons. But + Jettison drew that covert blank, and the next, too, and it was not until + he had been closeted for some time with the authorities of the third bank + that he got the information he wanted. And when he had got it, he + impressed secrecy and silence on his informants in a fashion which showed + them that however easy-going his manner might be, he knew his business as + thoroughly as they knew theirs. + </p> + <p> + It was by that time past one o'clock, and Jettison turned into the small + hotel at which he had lodged himself. He thought much and gravely while he + ate his dinner; he thought still more while he smoked his after-dinner + pipe. And his face was still heavy with thought when, at three o'clock, he + walked into Mitchington's office and finding the inspector alone shut the + door and drew a chair to Mitchington's desk. + </p> + <p> + “Now then,” he said. “I've had a rare morning's work, and made a + discovery, and you and me, my lad, have got to have about as serious a bit + of talk as we've had since I came here.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington pushed his papers aside and showed his keen attention. + </p> + <p> + “You remember what that young fellow told us last night about that man + Collishaw paying in fifty pounds to the Second Friendly two days before + his death,” said Jettison. “Well, I thought over that business a lot, + early this morning, and I fancied I saw how I could find something out + about it. So I have—on the strict quiet. That's why I went to the + Friendly Society. The fact was—I wanted to know in what form + Collishaw handed in that fifty pounds. I got to know. Gold!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington, whose work hitherto had not led him into the mysteries of + detective enterprise, nodded delightedly. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” he said. “Rare idea! I should never have thought of it! And—what + do you make out of that, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” replied Jettison. “But—a good deal out of what I've + learned since that bit of a discovery. Now, put it to yourself—whoever + it was that paid Collishaw that fifty pounds in gold did it with a motive. + More than one motive, to be exact—but we'll stick to one, to begin + with. The motive for paying in gold was—avoidance of discovery. A + cheque can be readily traced. So can banknotes. But gold is not easily + traced. Therefore the man who paid Collishaw fifty pounds took care to + provide himself with gold. Now then—how many men are there in a + small place like this who are likely to carry fifty pounds in gold in + their pockets, or to have it at hand?” + </p> + <p> + “Not many,” agreed Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Just so—and therefore I've been doing a bit of secret inquiry + amongst the bankers, as to who supplied himself with gold about that + date,” continued Jettison. “I'd to convince 'em of the absolute necessity + of information, too, before I got any! But I got some—at the third + attempt. On the day previous to that on which Collishaw handed that fifty + pounds to Stebbing, a certain Wrychester man drew fifty pounds in gold at + his bank. Who do you think he was?” + </p> + <p> + “Who—who?” demanded Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + Jettison leaned half-across the desk. + </p> + <p> + “Bryce!” he said in a whisper. “Bryce!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington sat up in his chair and opened his mouth in sheer + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” he muttered after a moment's silence. “You don't mean it?” + </p> + <p> + “Fact!” answered Jettison. “Plain, incontestable fact, my lad. Dr. Bryce + keeps an account at the Wrychester bank. On the day I'm speaking of he + cashed a cheque to self for fifty pounds and took it all in gold.” + </p> + <p> + The two men looked at each other as if each were asking his companion a + question. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Mitchington at last. “You're a cut above me, Jettison. What + do you make of it?” + </p> + <p> + “I said last night that the young man was playing a deep game,” replied + Jettison. “But—what game? What's he building up? For mark you, + Mitchington, if—I say if, mind!—if that fifty pounds which he + drew in gold is the identical fifty paid to Collishaw, Bryce didn't pay it + as hush-money!” + </p> + <p> + “Think not?” said Mitchington, evidently surprised. “Now, that was my + first impression. If it wasn't hush-money—” + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't hush-money, for this reason,” interrupted Jettison. “We know + that whatever else he knew, Bryce didn't know of the accident to Braden + until Varner fetched him to Braden. That's established—on what + you've put before me. Therefore, whatever Collishaw saw, before or at the + time that accident happened, it wasn't Bryce who was mixed up in it. + Therefore, why should Bryce pay Collishaw hush-money?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington, who had evidently been thinking, suddenly pulled out a drawer + in his desk and took some papers from it which he began to turn over. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute,” he said. “I've an abstract here—of what the foreman + at the Cathedral mason's yard told me of what he knew as to where + Collishaw was working that morning when the accident happened—I made + a note of it when I questioned him after Collishaw's death. Here you are: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Foreman says that on morning of Braden's accident, + Collishaw was at work in the north gallery of the + clerestory, clearing away some timber which the + carpenters had left there. Collishaw was certainly + thus engaged from nine o'clock until past eleven + that morning. Mem. Have investigated this myself. + From the exact spot where C. was clearing the timber, + there is an uninterrupted view of the gallery on the + south side of the nave, and of the arched doorway at + the head of St. Wrytha's Stair.'” + </pre> + <p> + “'Well,” observed Jettison, “that proves what I'm saying. It wasn't + hush-money. For whoever it was that Collishaw saw lay hands on Braden, it + wasn't Bryce—Bryce, we know, was at that time coming across the + Close or crossing that path through the part you call Paradise: Varner's + evidence proves that. So—if the fifty pounds wasn't paid for + hush-money, what was it paid for?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suggest anything?” asked Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “I've thought of two or three things,” answered the detective. “One's this—was + the fifty pounds paid for information? If so, and Bryce has that + information, why doesn't he show his hand more plainly? If he bribed + Collishaw with fifty pounds: to tell him who Braden's assailant was, he + now knows!—so why doesn't he let it out, and have done with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Part of his game—if that theory's right,” murmured Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “It mayn't be right,” said Jettison. “But it's one. And there's another—supposing + he paid Collishaw that money on behalf of somebody else? I've thought this + business out right and left, top-side and bottom-side, and hang me if I + don't feel certain there is somebody else! What did Ransford tell us about + Bryce and this old Harker—think of that! And yet, according to + Bryce, Harker is one of our old Yard men!—and therefore ought to be + above suspicion.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington suddenly started as if an idea had occurred to him. + </p> + <p> + “I say, you know!” he exclaimed. “We've only Bryce's word for it that + Harker is an ex-detective. I never heard that he was—if he is, he's + kept it strangely quiet. You'd have thought that he'd have let us know, + here, of his previous calling—I never heard of a policeman of any + rank who didn't like to have a bit of talk with his own sort about + professional matters.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor me,” assented Jettison. “And as you say, we've only Bryce's word. + And, the more I think of it, the more I'm convinced there's somebody—some + man of whom you don't seem to have the least idea—who's in this. And + it may be that Bryce is in with him. However—here's one thing I'm + going to do at once. Bryce gave us that information about the fifty + pounds. Now I'm going to tell Bryce straight out that I've gone into that + matter in my own fashion—a fashion he evidently never thought of—and + ask him to explain why he drew a similar amount in gold. Come on round to + his rooms.” + </p> + <p> + But Bryce was not to be found at his rooms—had not been back to his + rooms, said his landlady, since he had ridden away early in the morning: + all she knew was that he had ordered his dinner to be ready at his usual + time that evening. With that the two men had to be content, and they went + back to the police-station still discussing the situation. And they were + still discussing it an hour later when a telegram was handed to + Mitchington, who tore it open, glanced over its contents and passed it to + his companion who read it aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Meet me with Jettison Wrychester Station on arrival of five-twenty + express from London mystery cleared up guilty men known—Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + Jettison handed the telegram back. + </p> + <p> + “A man of his word!” he said. “He mentioned two days—he's done it in + one! And now, my lad—do you notice?—he says men, not man! It's + as I said—there's been more than one of 'em in this affair. Now then—who + are they?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. THE SAXONSTEADE ARMS + </h2> + <p> + Bryce had ridden away on his bicycle from Wrychester that morning intent + on a new piece of diplomacy. He had sat up thinking for some time after + the two police officials had left him at midnight, and it had occurred to + him that there was a man from whom information could be had of whose + services he had as yet made no use but who must be somewhere in the + neighbourhood—the man Glassdale. Glassdale had been in Wrychester + the previous evening; he could scarcely be far away now; there was + certainly one person who would know where he could be found, and that + person was the Duke of Saxonsteade. Bryce knew the Duke to be an extremely + approachable man, a talkative, even a garrulous man, given to holding + converse with anybody about anything, and he speedily made up his mind to + ride over to Saxonsteade, invent a plausible excuse for his call, and get + some news out of his Grace. Even if Glassdale had left the neighbourhood, + there might be fragments of evidence to pick up from the Duke, for + Glassdale, he knew, had given his former employer the information about + the stolen jewels and would, no doubt, have added more about his + acquaintance with Braden. And before Bryce came to his dreamed-of + master-stroke in that matter, there were one or two things he wanted to + clear up, to complete his double net, and he had an idea that an hour's + chat with Glassdale would yield all that he desired. + </p> + <p> + The active brain that had stood Bryce in good stead while he spun his + meshes and devised his schemes was more active than ever that early summer + morning. It was a ten-mile ride through woods and valleys to Saxonsteade, + and there were sights and beauties of nature on either side of him which + any other man would have lingered to admire and most men would have been + influenced by. But Bryce had no eyes for the clouds over the + copper-crowned hills or the mystic shadows in the deep valleys or the new + buds in the hedgerows, and no thought for the rustic folk whose cottages + he passed here and there in a sparsely populated country. All his thoughts + were fixed on his schemes, almost as mechanically as his eyes followed the + white road in front of his wheel. Ever since he had set out on his + campaign he had regularly taken stock of his position; he was for ever + reckoning it up. And now, in his opinion, everything looked very + promising. He had—so far as he was aware—created a definite + atmosphere of suspicion around and against Ransford—it needed only a + little more suggestion, perhaps a little more evidence to bring about + Ransford's arrest. And the only question which at all troubled Bryce was—should + he let matters go to that length before putting his ultimatum before Mary + Bewery, or should he show her his hand first? For Bryce had so worked + matters that a word from him to the police would damn Ransford or save him—and + now it all depended, so far as Bryce himself was concerned, on Mary Bewery + as to which word should be said. Elaborate as the toils were which he had + laid out for Ransford to the police, he could sweep them up and tear them + away with a sentence of added knowledge—if Mary Bewery made it worth + his while. But first—before coming to the critical point—there + was yet certain information which he desired to get, and he felt sure of + getting it if he could find Glassdale. For Glassdale, according to all + accounts, had known Braden intimately of late years, and was most likely + in possession of facts about him—and Bryce had full confidence in + himself as an interviewer of other men and a supreme belief that he could + wheedle a secret out of anybody with whom he could procure an hour's quiet + conversation. + </p> + <p> + As luck would have it, Bryce had no need to make a call upon the + approachable and friendly Duke. Outside the little village at Saxonsteade, + on the edge of the deep woods which fringed the ducal park, stood an old + wayside inn, a relic of the coaching days, which bore on its sign the + ducal arms. Into its old stone hall marched Bryce to refresh himself after + his ride, and as he stood at the bow-windowed bar, he glanced into the + garden beyond and there saw, comfortably smoking his pipe and reading the + newspaper, the very man he was looking for. + </p> + <p> + Bryce had no spice of bashfulness, no want of confidence anywhere in his + nature; he determined to attack Glassdale there and then. But he took a + good look at his man before going out into the garden to him. A plain and + ordinary sort of fellow, he thought; rather over middle age, with a tinge + of grey in his hair and moustache; prosperous looking and well-dressed, + and at that moment of the appearance of what he was probably taken for by + the inn people—a tourist. Whether he was the sort who would be + communicative or not, Bryce could not tell from outward signs, but he was + going to try, and he presently found his card-case, took out a card, and + strolling down the garden to the shady spot in which Glassdale sat, + assumed his politest and suavest manner and presented himself. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me, sir,” he said, carefully abstaining from any mention of names. + “May I have the pleasure of a few minutes' conversation with you?” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale cast a swift glance of surprise, not unmingled with suspicion, + at the intruder—the sort of glance that a man used to watchfulness + would throw at anybody, thought Bryce. But his face cleared as he read the + card, though it was still doubtful as he lifted it again. + </p> + <p> + “You've the advantage of me, sir,” he said. “Dr. Bryce, I see. But—” + </p> + <p> + Bryce smiled and dropped into a garden chair at Glassdale's side. + </p> + <p> + “You needn't be afraid of talking to me,” he answered. “I'm well known in + Wrychester. The Duke,” he went on, nodding his head in the direction of + the great house which lay behind the woods at the foot of the garden, + “knows me well enough—in fact, I was on my way to see his Grace now, + to ask him if he could tell me where you could be found. The fact is, I'm + aware of what happened last night—the jewel affair, you know—Mitchington + told me—and of your friendship with Braden, and I want to ask you a + question or two about Braden.” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale, who had looked somewhat mystified at the beginning of this + address, seemed to understand matters better by the end of it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, of course, doctor,” he said, “if that's it—but, of course—a + word first!—these folk here at the inn don't know who I am or that + I've any connection with the Duke on that affair. I'm Mr. Gordon here—just + staying for a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right,” answered Bryce with a smile of understanding. “All + this is between ourselves. I saw you with the Duke and the rest of them + last night, and I recognized you just now. And all I want is a bit of talk + about Braden. You knew him pretty well of late years?” + </p> + <p> + “Knew him for a good many years,” replied Glassdale. He looked narrowly at + his visitor. “I suppose you know his story—and mine?” he asked. + “Bygone affairs, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” answered Bryce reassuringly. “No need to go into that—that's + all done with.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye—well, we both put things right,” said Glassdale. “Made + restitution—both of us, you understand. So that is done with? And + you know, then, of course, who Braden really was?” + </p> + <p> + “John Brake, ex bank-manager,” answered Bryce promptly. “I know all about + it. I've been deeply interested and concerned in his death. And I'll tell + you why. I want to marry his daughter.” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale turned and stared at his companion. + </p> + <p> + “His daughter!” he exclaimed. “Brake's daughter! God bless my soul! I + never knew he had a daughter!” + </p> + <p> + It was Bryce's turn to stare now. He looked at Glassdale incredulously. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me that you knew Brake all those years and that he + never mentioned his children?” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Never a word of 'em!” replied Glassdale. “Never knew he had any!” + </p> + <p> + “Did he never speak of his past?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Not in that respect,” answered Glassdale. “I'd no idea that he was—or + had been—a married man. He certainly never mentioned wife nor + children to me, sir, and yet I knew Brake about as intimately as two men + can know each other for some years before we came back to England.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce fell into one of his fits of musing. What could be the meaning of + this extraordinary silence on Brake's part? Was there still some hidden + secret, some other mystery at which he had not yet guessed? + </p> + <p> + “Odd!” he remarked at last after a long pause during which Glassdale had + watched him curiously. “But, did he ever speak to you of an old friend of + his named Ransford—a doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” said Glassdale. “Never mentioned such a man!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce reflected again, and suddenly determined to be explicit. + </p> + <p> + “John Brake, the bank manager,” he said, “was married at a place called + Braden Medworth, in Leicestershire, to a girl named Mary Bewery. He had + two children, who would be, respectively, about four and one years of age + when his—we'll call it misfortune—happened. That's a fact!” + </p> + <p> + “First I ever heard of it, then,” said Glassdale. “And that's a fact, + too!” + </p> + <p> + “He'd also a very close friend named Ransford—Mark Ransford,” + continued Bryce. “This Ransford was best man at Brake's wedding.” + </p> + <p> + “Never heard him speak of Ransford, nor of any wedding!” affirmed + Glassdale. “All news to me, doctor.” + </p> + <p> + “This Ransford is now in practice in Wrychester,” said Bryce. “And he has + two young people living with him as his wards—a girl of twenty, a + boy of seventeen—who are, without doubt, John Brake's children. It + is the daughter that I want to marry.” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale shook his head as if in sheer perplexity. + </p> + <p> + “Well, all I can say is, you surprise me!” he remarked. “I'd no idea of + any such thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think Brake came to Wrychester because of that?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “How can I answer that, sir, when I tell you that I never heard him + breathe one word of any children?” exclaimed Glassdale. “No! I know his + reason for coming to Wrychester. It was wholly and solely—as far as + I know—to tell the Duke here about that jewel business, the secret + of which had been entrusted to Brake and me by a man on his death-bed in + Australia. Brake came to Wrychester by himself—I was to join him + next morning: we were then to go to see the Duke together. When I got to + Wrychester, I heard of Brake's accident, and being upset by it, I went + away again and waited some days until yesterday, when I made up my mind to + tell the Duke myself, as I did, with very fortunate results. No, that's + the only reason I know of why Brake came this way. I tell you I knew + nothing at all of his family affairs! He was a very close man, Brake, and + apart from his business matters, he'd only one idea in his head, and that + was lodged there pretty firmly, I can assure you!” + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “He wanted to find a certain man—or, rather, two men—who'd + cruelly deceived and wronged him, but one of 'em in particular,” answered + Glassdale. “The particular one he believed to be in Australia, until near + the end, when he got an idea that he'd left for England; as for the other, + he didn't bother much about him. But the man that he did want!—ah, + he wanted him badly!” + </p> + <p> + “Who was that man?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “A man of the name of Falkiner Wraye,” answered Glassdale promptly. “A man + he'd known in London. This Wraye, together with his partner, a man called + Flood, tricked Brake into lending 'em several thousands pounds—bank's + money, of course—for a couple of days—no more—and then + clean disappeared, leaving him to pay the piper! He was a fool, no doubt, + but he'd been mixed up with them; he'd done it before, and they'd always + kept their promises, and he did it once too often. He let 'em have some + thousands; they disappeared, and the bank inspector happened to call at + Brake's bank and ask for his balances. And—there he was. And—that's + why he'd Falkiner Wraye on his mind—as his one big idea. T'other man + was a lesser consideration, Wraye was the chief offender.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd tell me all you know about Brake,” said Bryce after a pause + during which he had done some thinking. “Between ourselves, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—I don't know that there's so much secrecy!” replied Glassdale + almost indifferently. “Of course, I knew him first when we were both + inmates of—you understand where; no need for particulars. But after + we left that place, I never saw him again until we met in Australia a few + years ago. We were both in the same trade—speculating in wool. We + got pretty thick and used to see each other a great deal, and of course, + grew confidential. He told me in time about his affair, and how he'd + traced this Wraye to the United States, and then, I think, to New Zealand, + and afterwards to Australia, and as I was knocking about the country a + great deal buying up wool, he asked me to help him, and gave me a + description of Wraye, of whom, he said, he'd certainly heard something + when he first landed at Sydney, but had never been able to trace + afterwards. But it was no good—I never either saw or heard of Wraye—and + Brake came to the conclusion he'd left Australia. And I know he hoped to + get news of him, somehow, when we returned to England.” + </p> + <p> + “That description, now?—what was it?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said Glassdale. “I can't remember it all, now—big man, clean + shaven, nothing very particular except one thing. Wraye, according to + Brake, had a bad scar on his left jaw and had lost the middle finger of + his left hand—all from a gun accident. He—what's the matter, + sir?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had suddenly let his pipe fall from his lips. He took some time in + picking it up. When he raised himself again his face was calm if a little + flushed from stooping. + </p> + <p> + “Bit my pipe on a bad tooth!” he muttered. “I must have that tooth seen + to. So you never heard or saw anything of this man?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” answered Glassdale. “But I've wondered since this Wrychester + affair if Brake accidentally came across one or other of those men, and if + his death arose out of it. Now, look here, doctor! I read the accounts of + the inquest on Brake—I'd have gone to it if I'd dared, but just then + I hadn't made up my mind about seeing the Duke; I didn't know what to do, + so I kept away, and there's a thing has struck me that I don't believe the + police have ever taken the slightest, notice of.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” demanded Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Why, this!” answered Glassdale. “That man who called himself Dellingham—who + came with Brake to the Mitre Hotel at Wrychester—who is he? Where + did Brake meet him? Where did he go? Seems to me the police have been + strangely negligent about that! According to the accounts I've read, + everybody just accepted this Dellingham's first statement, took his word, + and let him—vanish! No one, as far as I know, ever verified his + account of himself. A stranger!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who was already in one of his deep moods of reflection, got up from + his chair as if to go. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “There maybe something in your suggestion. They certainly + did take his word without inquiry. It's true—he mightn't be what he + said he was.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, and from what I read, they never followed his movements that + morning!” observed Glassdale. “Queer business altogether! Isn't there some + reward offered, doctor? I heard of some placards or something, but I've + never seen them; of course, I've only been here since yesterday morning.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce silently drew some papers from his pocket. From them he extracted + the two handbills which Mitchington had given him and handed them over. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I must go,” he said. “I shall no doubt see you again in Wrychester, + over this affair. For the present, all this is between ourselves, of + course?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course, doctor!” answered Glassdale. “Quite so!” Bryce went off + and got his bicycle and rode away in the direction of Wrychester. Had he + remained in that garden he would have seen Glassdale, after reading both + the handbills, go into the house and have heard him ask the landlady at + the bar to get him a trap and a good horse in it as soon as possible; he, + too, now wanted to go to Wrychester and at once. But Bryce was riding down + the road, muttering certain words to himself over and over again. + </p> + <p> + “The left jaw—and the left hand!” he repeated. “Left hand—left + jaw! Unmistakable!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. OTHER PEOPLE'S NOTIONS + </h2> + <p> + The great towers of Wrychester Cathedral had come within Bryce's view + before he had made up his mind as to the next step in this last stage of + his campaign. He had ridden away from the Saxonsteade Arms feeling that he + had got to do something at once, but he was not quite clear in his mind as + to what that something exactly was. But now, as he topped a rise in the + road, and saw Wrychester lying in its hollow beneath him, the summer sun + shining on its red roofs and grey walls, he suddenly came to a decision, + and instead of riding straight ahead into the old city he turned off at a + by-road, made a line across the northern outskirts, and headed for the + golf-links. He was almost certain to find Mary Bewery there at that hour, + and he wanted to see her at once. The time for his great stroke had come. + </p> + <p> + But Mary Bewery was not there—had not been there that morning said + the caddy-master. There were only a few players out. In one of them, + coming towards the club-house, Bryce recognized Sackville Bonham. And at + sight of Sackville, Bryce had an inspiration. Mary Bewery would not come + up to the links now before afternoon; he, Bryce, would lunch there and + then go towards Wrychester to meet her by the path across the fields on + which he had waylaid her after his visit to Leicestershire. And meanwhile + he would inveigle Sackville Bonham into conversation. Sackville fell + readily into Bryce's trap. He was the sort of youth who loves to talk, + especially in a hinting and mysterious fashion. And when Bryce, after + treating him to an appetizer in the bar of the club-house, had suggested + that they should lunch together and got him into a quiet corner of the + dining-room, he launched forth at once on the pertinent matter of the day. + </p> + <p> + “Heard all about this discovery of those missing Saxonsteade diamonds?” he + asked as he and Bryce picked up their knives and forks. “Queer business + that, isn't it? Of course, it's got to do with those murders!” + </p> + <p> + “Think so?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Can anybody think anything else?” said Sackville in his best dogmatic + manner. “Why, the thing's plain. From what's been let out—not much, + certainly, but enough—it's quite evident.” + </p> + <p> + “What's your theory?” inquired Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “My stepfather—knowing old bird he is, too!—sums the whole + thing up to a nicety,” answered Sackville. “That old chap, Braden, you + know, is in possession of that secret. He comes to Wrychester about it. + But somebody else knows. That somebody gets rid of Braden. Why? So that + the secret'll be known then only to one—the murderer! See! And why? + Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why?” repeated Bryce. “Don't see, so far.” + </p> + <p> + “You must be dense, then,” said Sackville with the lofty superiority of + youth. “Because of the reward, of course! Don't you know that there's been + a standing offer—never withdrawn!—of five thousand pounds for + news of those jewels?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't,” answered Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Fact, sir—pure fact,” continued Sackville. “Now, five thousand, + divided in two, is two thousand five hundred each. But five thousand, + undivided, is—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Five thousand—apparently,” said Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Just so! And,” remarked Sackville knowingly, “a man'll do a lot for five + thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “Or—according to your argument—for half of it,” said Bryce. + “What you—or your stepfather's—aiming at comes to this, that + suspicion rests on Braden's sharer in the secret. That it?” + </p> + <p> + “And why not?” asked Sackville. “Look at what we know—from the + account in the paper this morning. This other chap, Glassdale, waits a bit + until the first excitement about Braden is over, then he comes forward and + tells the Duke where the Duchess's diamonds are planted. Why? So that he + can get the five thousand pound reward! Plain as a pikestaff! Only, the + police are such fools.” + </p> + <p> + “And what about Collishaw?” asked Bryce, willing to absorb all his + companion's ideas. + </p> + <p> + “Part of the game,” declared Sackville. “Same man that got rid of Braden + got rid of that chap! Probably Collishaw knew a bit and had to be + silenced. But, whether that Glassdale did it all off his own bat or + whether he's somebody in with him, that's where the guilt'll be fastened + in the end, my stepfather says. And—it'll be so. Stands to reason!” + </p> + <p> + “Anybody come forward about that reward your stepfather offered?” asked + Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not permitted to say,” answered Sackville. “But,” he added, leaning + closer to his companion across the table, “I can tell you this—there's + wheels within wheels! You understand! And things'll be coming out. Got to! + We can't—as a family—let Ransford lie under that cloud, don't + you know. We must clear him. That's precisely why Mr. Folliot offered his + reward. Ransford, of course, you know, Bryce, is very much to blame—he + ought to have done more himself. And, of course, as my mother and my + stepfather say, if Ransford won't do things for himself, well, we must do + 'em for him! We couldn't think of anything else.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good of you all, I'm sure,” assented Bryce. “Very thoughtful and + kindly.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” said Sackville, who was incapable of perceiving a sneer or of + knowing when older men were laughing at him. “It's one of those things + that one's got to do—under the circumstances. Of course, Miss Bewery + isn't Dr. Ransford's daughter, but she's his ward, and we can't allow + suspicion to rest on her guardian. You leave it to me, my boy, and you'll + see how things will be cleared!” + </p> + <p> + “Doing a bit underground, eh?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a bit!” answered Sackville with a knowing wink. “It's the least + expected that happens—what?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce replied that Sackville was no doubt right, and began to talk of + other matters. He hung about the club-house until past three o'clock, and + then, being well acquainted with Mary Bewery's movements from long + observation of them, set out to walk down towards Wrychester, leaving his + bicycle behind him. If he did not meet Mary on the way, he meant to go to + the house. Ransford would be out on his afternoon round of calls; Dick + Bewery would be at school; he would find Mary alone. And it was necessary + that he should see her alone, and at once, for since morning an entirely + new view of affairs had come to him, based on added knowledge, and he now + saw a chance which he had never seen before. True, he said to himself, as + he walked across the links and over the country which lay between their + edge and Wrychester, he had not, even now, the accurate knowledge as to + the actual murderer of either Braden or Collishaw that he would have + liked, but he knew something that would enable him to ask Mary Bewery + point-blank whether he was to be friend or enemy. And he was still + considering the best way of putting his case to her when, having failed to + meet her on the way, he at last turned into the Close, and as he + approached Ransford's house, saw Mrs. Folliot leaving it. + </p> + <p> + Mary Bewery, like Bryce, had been having a day of events. To begin with, + Ransford had received a wire from London, first thing in the morning, + which had made him run, breakfastless, to catch the next express. He had + left Mary to make arrangements about his day's work, for he had not yet + replaced Bryce, and she had been obliged to seek out another practitioner + who could find time from his own duties to attend to Ransford's urgent + patients. Then she had had to see callers who came to the surgery + expecting to find Ransford there; and in the middle of a busy morning, Mr. + Folliot had dropped in, to bring her a bunch of roses, and, once admitted, + had shown unmistakable signs of a desire to gossip. + </p> + <p> + “Ransford out?” he asked as he sat down in the dining-room. “Suppose he + is, this time of day.” + </p> + <p> + “He's away,” replied Mary. “He went to town by the first express, and I + have had a lot of bother arranging about his patients.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he hear about this discovery of the Saxonsteade jewels before he + went?” asked Folliot. “Suppose he wouldn't though—wasn't known until + the weekly paper came out this morning. Queer business! You've heard, of + course?” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Short told me,” answered Mary. “I don't know any details.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot looked meditatively at her a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Got something to do with those other matters, you know,” he remarked. “I + say! What's Ransford doing about all that?” + </p> + <p> + “About all what, Mr. Folliot?” asked Mary, at once on her guard. “I don't + understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “You know—all that suspicion—and so on,” said Folliot. “Bad + position for a professional man, you know—ought to clear himself. + Anybody been applying for that reward Ransford offered?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know anything about it,” replied Mary. “Dr. Ransford is very well + able to take care of himself, I think. Has anybody applied for yours?” + </p> + <p> + Folliot rose from his chair again, as if he had changed his mind about + lingering, and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Can't say what my solicitors may or may not have heard—or done,” he + answered. “But—queer business, you know—and ought to be + settled. Bad for Ransford to have any sort of a cloud over him. Sorry to + see it.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that why you came forward with a reward?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + But to this direct question Folliot made no answer. He muttered something + about the advisability of somebody doing something and went away, to + Mary's relief. She had no desire to discuss the Paradise mysteries with + anybody, especially after Ransford's assurance of the previous evening. + But in the middle of the afternoon in walked Mrs. Folliot, a rare caller, + and before she had been closeted with Mary five minutes brought up the + subject again. + </p> + <p> + “I want to speak to you on a very serious matter, my dear Miss Bewery,” + she said. “You must allow me to speak plainly on account of—of + several things. My—my superiority in—in age, you know, and all + that!” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Mrs. Folliot?” asked Mary, steeling herself against + what she felt sure was coming. “Is it—very serious? And—pardon + me—is it about what Mr. Folliot mentioned to me this morning? + Because if it is, I'm not going to discuss that with you or with anybody!” + </p> + <p> + “I had no idea that my husband had been here this morning,” answered Mrs. + Folliot in genuine surprise. “What did he want to talk about?” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, what do you want to talk about?” asked Mary. “Though that + doesn't mean that I'm going to talk about it with you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Folliot made an effort to understand this remark, and after + inspecting her hostess critically for a moment, proceeded in her most + judicial manner. + </p> + <p> + “You must see, my dear Miss Bewery, that it is highly necessary that some + one should use the utmost persuasion on Dr. Ransford,” she said. “He is + placing all of you—himself, yourself, your young brother—in + most invidious positions by his silence! In society such as—well, + such as you get in a cathedral town, you know, no man of reputation can + afford to keep silence when his—his character is affected.” + </p> + <p> + Mary picked up some needlework and began to be much occupied with it. + </p> + <p> + “Is Dr. Ransford's character affected?” she asked. “I wasn't aware of it, + Mrs. Folliot.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear, you can't be quite so very—so very, shall we say + ingenuous?—as all that!” exclaimed Mrs. Folliot. “These rumours!—of + course, they are very wicked and cruel ones, but you know they have + spread. Dear me!—why, they have been common talk!” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think my guardian cares twopence for common talk, Mrs. Folliot,” + answered Mary. “And I am quite sure I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “None of us—especially people in our position—can afford to + ignore rumours and common talk,” said Mrs. Folliot in her loftiest manner. + “If we are, unfortunately, talked about, then it is our solemn, bounden + duty to put ourselves right in the eyes of our friends—and of + society. If I for instance, my dear, heard anything affecting my—let + me say, moral-character, I should take steps, the most stringent, drastic, + and forceful steps, to put matters to the test. I would not remain under a + stigma—no, not for one minute!” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will never have occasion to rehabilitate your moral character, + Mrs. Folliot,” remarked Mary, bending closely over her work. “Such a + necessity would indeed be dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you do not insist—yes, insist!—on Dr. Ransford's + taking strong steps to clear himself!” exclaimed Mrs. Folliot. “Now that, + indeed, is a dreadful necessity!” + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Ransford,” answered Mary, “is quite able to defend and to take care + of himself. It is not for me to tell him what to do, or even to advise him + what to do. And—since you will talk of this matter, I tell you + frankly, Mrs. Folliot, that I don't believe any decent person in + Wrychester has the least suspicion or doubt of Dr. Ransford. His denial of + any share or complicity in those sad affairs—the mere idea of it as + ridiculous as it's wicked—was quite sufficient. You know very well + that at that second inquest he said—on oath, too—that he knew + nothing of these affairs. I repeat, there isn't a decent soul in the city + doubts that!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you're quite wrong!” said Mrs. Folliot, hurriedly. “Quite wrong, + I assure you, my dear. Of course, everybody knows what Dr. Ransford said—very + excitedly, poor man, I'm given to understand on the occasion you refer to, + but then, what else could he have said in his own interest? What people + want is the proof of his innocence. I could—but I won't—tell + you of many of the very best people who are—well, very much + exercised over the matter—I could indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you count yourself among them?” asked Mary in a cold fashion which + would have been a warning to any one but her visitor. “Am I to understand + that, Mrs. Folliot?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, my dear,” answered Mrs. Folliot promptly. “Otherwise I + should not have done what I have done towards establishing the foolish + man's innocence!” + </p> + <p> + Mary dropped her work and turned a pair of astonished eyes on Mrs. + Folliot's large countenance. + </p> + <p> + “You!” she exclaimed. “To establish—Dr. Ransford's innocence? Why, + Mrs. Folliot, what have you done?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Folliot toyed a little with the jewelled head of her sunshade. Her + expression became almost coy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” she answered after a brief spell of indecision. “Perhaps it is + as well that you should know, Miss Bewery. Of course, when all this sad + trouble was made far worse by that second affair—the working-man's + death, you know, I said to my husband that really one must do something, + seeing that Dr. Ransford was so very, very obdurate and wouldn't speak. + And as money is nothing—at least as things go—to me or to Mr. + Folliot, I insisted that he should offer a thousand pounds reward to have + the thing cleared up. He's a generous and open-handed man, and he agreed + with me entirely, and put the thing in hand through his solicitors. And + nothing would please us more, my dear, than to have that thousand pounds + claimed! For of course, if there is to be—as I suppose there is—a + union between our families, it would be utterly impossible that any cloud + could rest on Dr. Ransford, even if he is only your guardian. My son's + future wife cannot, of course—” + </p> + <p> + Mary laid down her work again and for a full minute stared Mrs. Folliot in + the face. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Folliot!” she said at last. “Are you under the impression that I'm + thinking of marrying your son?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I've every good reason for believing it!” replied Mrs. Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “You've none!” retorted Mary, gathering up her work and moving towards the + door. “I've no more intention of marrying Mr. Sackville Bonham than of + eloping with the Bishop! The idea's too absurd to—even be thought + of!” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later Mrs. Folliot, heightened in colour, had gone. And + presently Mary, glancing after her across the Close, saw Bryce approaching + the gate of the garden. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. THE UNEXPECTED + </h2> + <p> + Mary's first instinct on seeing the approach of Pemberton Bryce, the one + man she least desired to see, was to retreat to the back of the house and + send the parlourmaid to the door to say her mistress was not at home. But + she had lately become aware of Bryce's curiously dogged persistence in + following up whatever he had in view, and she reflected that if he were + sent away then he would be sure to come back and come back until he had + got whatever it was that he wanted. And after a moment's further + consideration, she walked out of the front door and confronted him + resolutely in the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Ransford is away,” she said with almost unnecessary brusqueness. + “He's away until evening.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want him,” replied Bryce just as brusquely. “I came to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Mary hesitated. She continued to regard Bryce steadily, and Bryce did not + like the way in which she was looking at him. He made haste to speak + before she could either leave or dismiss him. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better give me a few minutes,” he said, with a note of warning. + “I'm here in your interests—or in Ransford's. I may as well tell + you, straight out, Ransford's in serious and imminent danger! That's a + fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Danger of what?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Arrest—instant arrest!” replied Bryce. “I'm telling you the truth. + He'll probably be arrested tonight, on his return. There's no imagination + in all this—I'm speaking of what I know. I've—curiously enough—got + mixed up with these affairs, through no seeking of my own, and I know + what's behind the scenes. If it were known that I'm letting out secrets to + you, I should get into trouble. But, I want to warn you!” + </p> + <p> + Mary stood before him on the path, hesitating. She knew enough to know + that Bryce was telling some sort of truth: it was plain that he had been + mixed up in the recent mysteries, and there was a ring of conviction in + his voice which impressed her. And suddenly she had visions of Ransford's + arrest, of his being dragged off to prison to meet a cruel accusation, of + the shame and disgrace, and she hesitated further. + </p> + <p> + “But if that's so,” she said at last, “what's the good of coming to me? I + can't do anything!” + </p> + <p> + “I can!” said Bryce significantly. “I know more—much more—than + the police know—more than anybody knows. I can save Ransford. + Understand that!” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want now?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “To talk to you—to tell you how things are,” answered Bryce. “What + harm is there in that? To make you see how matters stand, and then to show + you what I can do to put things right.” + </p> + <p> + Mary glanced at an open summer-house which stood beneath the beech trees + on one side of the garden. She moved towards it and sat down there, and + Bryce followed her and seated himself. + </p> + <p> + “Well—” she said. + </p> + <p> + Bryce realized that his moment had arrived. He paused, endeavouring to + remember the careful preparations he had made for putting his case. + Somehow, he was not so clear as to his line of attack as he had been ten + minutes previously—he realized that he had to deal with a young + woman who was not likely to be taken in nor easily deceived. And suddenly + he plunged into what he felt to be the thick of things. + </p> + <p> + “Whether you, or whether Ransford—whether both or either of you, + know it or not,” he said, “the police have been on to Ransford ever since + that Collishaw affair! Underground work, you know. Mitchington has been + digging into things ever since then, and lately he's had a London + detective helping him.” + </p> + <p> + Mary, who had carried her work into the garden, had now resumed it, and as + Bryce began to talk she bent over it steadily stitching. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” continued Bryce. “Has it never struck you—it must have + done!—that there's considerable mystery about Ransford? But whether + it has struck you or not, it's there, and it's struck the police forcibly. + Mystery connected with him before—long before—he ever came + here. And associated, in some way, with that man Braden. Not of late—in + years past. And, naturally, the police have tried to find out what that + was.” + </p> + <p> + “What have they found out?” asked Mary quietly. + </p> + <p> + “That I'm not at liberty to tell,” replied Bryce. “But I can tell you this—they + know, Mitchington and the London man, that there were passages between + Ransford and Braden years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “How many years ago?” interrupted Mary. + </p> + <p> + Bryce hesitated a moment. He had a suspicion that this self-possessed + young woman who was taking everything more quietly than he had + anticipated, might possibly know more than he gave her credit for knowing. + He had been watching her fingers since they sat down in the summer-house, + and his sharp eyes saw that they were as steady as the spire of the + cathedral above the trees—he knew from that that she was neither + frightened nor anxious. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well—seventeen to twenty years ago,” he answered. “About that + time. There were passages, I say, and they were of a nature which suggests + that the re-appearance of Braden on Ransford's present stage of life would + be, extremely unpleasant and unwelcome to Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “Vague!” murmured Mary. “Extremely vague!” + </p> + <p> + “But quite enough,” retorted Bryce, “to give the police the suggestion of + motive. I tell you the police know quite enough to know that Braden was, + of all men in the world, the last man Ransford desired to see cross his + path again. And—on that morning on which the Paradise affair + occurred—Braden did cross his path. Therefore, in the conventional + police way of thinking and looking at things, there's motive.” + </p> + <p> + “Motive for what?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + Bryce arrived here at one of his critical stages, and he paused a moment + in order to choose his words. + </p> + <p> + “Don't get any false ideas or impressions,” he said at last. “I'm not + accusing Ransford of anything. I'm only telling you what I know the police + think and are on the very edge of accusing him of. To put it plainly—of + murder. They say he'd a motive for murdering Braden—and with them + motive is everything. It's the first thing they seem to think of; they + first question they ask themselves. 'Why should this man have murdered + that man?'—do you see! 'What motive had he?—that's the point. + And they think—these chaps like Mitchington and the London man—that + Ransford certainly had a motive for getting rid of Braden when they met.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the motive?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + “They've found out something—perhaps a good deal—about what + happened between Braden and Ransford some years ago,” replied Bryce. “And + their theory is—if you want to know the truth—that Ransford + ran away with Braden's wife, and that Braden had been looking for him ever + since.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had kept his eyes on Mary's hands, and now at last he saw the girl's + fingers tremble. But her voice was steady enough when she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Is that mere conjecture on their part, or is it based on any fact?” she + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not in full knowledge of all their secrets,” answered Bryce, “but + I've heard enough to know that there's a basis of undeniable fact on which + they're going. I know for instance, beyond doubt, that Braden and Ransford + were bosom friends, years ago, that Braden was married to a girl whom + Ransford had wanted to marry, that Braden's wife suddenly left him, + mysteriously, a few years later, and that, at the same time, Ransford made + an equally mysterious disappearance. The police know all that. What is the + inference to be drawn? What inference would any one—you yourself, + for example—draw?” + </p> + <p> + “None, till I've heard what Dr. Ransford had to say,” replied Mary. + </p> + <p> + Bryce disliked that ready retort. He was beginning to feel that he was + being met by some force stronger than his own. + </p> + <p> + “That's all very well,” he remarked. “I don't say that I wouldn't do the + same. But I'm only explaining the police position, and showing you the + danger likely to arise from it. The police theory is this, as far as I can + make it out: Ransford, years ago, did Braden a wrong, and Braden certainly + swore revenge when he could find him. Circumstances prevented Braden from + seeking him closely for some time; at last they met here, by accident. + Here the police aren't decided. One theory is that there was an + altercation, blows, a struggle, in the course of which Braden met his + death; the other is that Ransford deliberately took Braden up into the + gallery and flung him through that open doorway—” + </p> + <p> + “That,” observed Mary, with something very like a sneer, “seems so likely + that I should think it would never occur to anybody but the sort of people + you're telling me of! No man of any real sense would believe it for a + minute!” + </p> + <p> + “Some people of plain common sense do believe it for all that!” retorted + Bryce. “For it's quite possible. But as I say, I'm only repeating. And of + course, the rest of it follows on that. The police theory is that + Collishaw witnessed Braden's death at Ransford's hands, that Ransford got + to know that Collishaw knew of that, and that he therefore quietly removed + Collishaw. And it is on all that that they're going, and will go. Don't + ask me if I think they're right or wrong! I'm only telling you what I know + so as to show you what danger Ransford is in.” + </p> + <p> + Mary made no immediate answer, and Bryce sat watching her. Somehow—he + was at a loss to explain it to himself—things were not going as he + had expected. He had confidently believed that the girl would be + frightened, scared, upset, ready to do anything that he asked or + suggested. But she was plainly not frightened. And the fingers which + busied themselves with the fancy-work had become steady again, and her + voice had been steady all along. + </p> + <p> + “Pray,” she asked suddenly, and with a little satirical inflection of + voice which Brice was quick to notice, “pray, how is it that you—not + a policeman, not a detective!—come to know so much of all this? + Since when were you taken into the confidence of Mitchington and the + mysterious person from London?” + </p> + <p> + “You know as well as I do that I have been dragged into the case against + my wishes,” answered Bryce almost sullenly. “I was fetched to Braden—I + saw him die. It was I who found Collishaw—dead. Of course, I've been + mixed up, whether I would or not, and I've had to see a good deal of the + police, and naturally I've learnt things.” + </p> + <p> + Mary suddenly turned on him with a flash of the eye which might have + warned Bryce that he had signally failed in the main feature of his + adventure. + </p> + <p> + “And what have you learnt that makes you come here and tell me all this?” + she exclaimed. “Do you think I'm a simpleton, Dr. Bryce? You set out by + saying that Dr. Ransford is in danger from the police, and that you know + more—much more than the police! what does that mean? Shall I tell + you? It means that you—you!—know that the police are wrong, + and that if you like you can prove to them that they are wrong! Now, then + isn't that so?” + </p> + <p> + “I am in possession of certain facts,” began Bryce. “I—” + </p> + <p> + Mary stopped him with a look. + </p> + <p> + “My turn!” she said. “You're in possession of certain facts. Now isn't it + the truth that the facts you are in possession of are proof enough to you + that Dr. Ransford is as innocent as I am? It's no use your trying to + deceive me! Isn't that so?” + </p> + <p> + “I could certainly turn the police off his track,” admitted Bryce, who was + growing highly uncomfortable. “I could divert—” + </p> + <p> + Mary gave him another look and dropping her needlework continued to watch + him steadily. + </p> + <p> + “Do you call yourself a gentleman?” she asked quietly. “Or we'll leave the + term out. Do you call yourself even decently honest? For, if you do, how + can you have the sheer impudence—more, insolence!—to come here + and tell me all this when you know that the police are wrong and that you + could—to use your own term, which is your way of putting it—turn + them off the wrong track? Whatever sort of man are you? Do you want to + know my opinion of you in plain words?” + </p> + <p> + “You seem very anxious to give it, anyway,” retorted Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “I will give it, and it will perhaps put an end to this,” answered Mary. + “If you are in possession of anything in the way of evidence which would + prove Dr. Ransford's innocence and you are wilfully suppressing it, you + are bad, wicked, base, cruel, unfit for any decent being's society! And,” + she added, as she picked up her work and rose, “you're not going to have + any more of mine!” + </p> + <p> + “A moment!” said Bryce. He was conscious that he had somehow played all + his cards badly, and he wanted another opening. “You're misunderstanding + me altogether! I never said—never inferred—that I wouldn't + save Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, if there's need, which I don't admit, you acknowledge that you + could save him?” she exclaimed sharply. “Just as I thought. Then, if + you're an honest man, a man with any pretensions to honour, why don't you + at once! Any man who had such feelings as those I've just mentioned + wouldn't hesitate one second. But you—you!—you come and—talk + about it! As if it were a game! Dr. Bryce, you make me feel sick, + mentally, morally sick.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce had risen to his feet when Mary rose, and he now stood staring at + her. Ever since his boyhood he had laughed and sneered at the mere idea of + the finer feelings—he believed that every man has his price—and + that honesty and honour are things useful as terms but of no real + existence. And now he was wondering—really wondering—if this + girl meant the things she said: if she really felt a mental loathing of + such minds and purposes as he knew his own were, or if it were merely + acting on her part. Before he could speak she turned on him again more + fiercely than before. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you something else in plain language?” she asked. “You + evidently possess a very small and limited knowledge—if you have any + at all!—of women, and you apparently don't rate their mental + qualities at any high standard. Let me tell you that I am not quite such a + fool as you seem to think me! You came here this afternoon to bargain with + me! You happen to know how much I respect my guardian and what I owe him + for the care he has taken of me and my brother. You thought to trade on + that! You thought you could make a bargain with me; you were to save Dr. + Ransford, and for reward you were to have me! You daren't deny it. Dr. + Bryce—I can see through you!” + </p> + <p> + “I never said it, at any rate,” answered Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Once more, I say, I'm not a fool!” exclaimed Mary. “I saw through you all + along. And you've failed! I'm not in the least frightened by what you've + said. If the police arrest Dr. Ransford, Dr. Ransford knows how to defend + himself. And you're not afraid for him! You know you aren't. It wouldn't + matter twopence to you if he were hanged tomorrow, for you hate him. But + look to yourself! Men who cheat, and scheme, and plot, and plan as you do + come to bad ends. Mind yours! Mind the wheel doesn't come full circle. And + now, if you please, go away and don't dare to come near me again!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce made no answer. He had listened, with an attempt at a smile, to all + this fiery indignation, but as Mary spoke the last words he was suddenly + aware of something that drew his attention from her and them. Through an + opening in Ransford's garden hedge he could see the garden door of the + Folliots' house across the Close. And at that moment out of it emerge + Folliot himself in conversation with Glassdale! + </p> + <p> + Without a word, Bryce snatched up his hat from the table of the + summer-house, and went swiftly away—a new scheme, a new idea in his + mind. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. FINESSE + </h2> + <p> + Glassdale, journeying into Wrychester half an hour after Bryce had left + him at the Saxonsteade Arms, occupied himself during his ride across + country in considering the merits of the two handbills which Bryce had + given him. One announced an offer of five hundred pounds reward for + information in the Braden-Collishaw matter; the other, of a thousand + pounds. It struck him as a curious thing that two offers should be made—it + suggested, at once, that more than one person was deeply interested in + this affair. But who were they?—no answer to that question appeared + on the handbills, which were, in each case, signed by Wrychester + solicitors. To one of these Glassdale, on arriving in the old city, + promptly proceeded—selecting the offerer of the larger reward. He + presently found himself in the presence of an astute-looking man who, + having had his visitor's name sent in to him, regarded Glassdale with very + obvious curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Glassdale?” he said inquiringly, as the caller took an offered chair. + “Are you, by any chance, the Mr. Glassdale whose name is mentioned in + connection with last night's remarkable affair?” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to a copy of the weekly newspaper, lying on his desk, and to a + formal account of the discovery of the Saxonsteade jewels which had been + furnished to the press, at the Duke's request, by Mitchington. Glassdale + glanced at it—unconcernedly. + </p> + <p> + “The same,” he answered. “But I didn't call here on that matter—though + what I did call about is certainly relative to it. You've offered a reward + for any information that would lead to the solution of that mystery about + Braden—and the other man, Collishaw.” + </p> + <p> + “Of a thousand pounds—yes!” replied the solicitor, looking at his + visitor with still more curiosity, mingled with expectancy. “Can you give + any?” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale pulled out the two handbills which he had obtained from Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “There are two rewards offered,” he remarked. “Are they entirely + independent of each other?” + </p> + <p> + “We know nothing of the other,” answered the solicitor. “Except, of + course, that it exists. They're quite independent.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's offering the five hundred pound one?” asked Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + The solicitor paused, looking his man over. He saw at once that Glassdale + had, or believed he had, something to tell—and was disposed to be + unusually cautious about telling it. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he replied, after a pause. “I believe—in fact, it's an open + secret—that the offer of five hundred pounds is made by Dr. + Ransford.” + </p> + <p> + “And—yours?” inquired Glassdale. “Who's at the back of yours—a + thousand?” + </p> + <p> + The solicitor smiled. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't answered my question, Mr. Glassdale,” he observed. “Can you + give any information?” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale threw his questioner a significant glance. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever information I might give,” he said, “I'd only give to a + principal—the principal. From what I've seen and known of all this, + there's more in it than is on the surface. I can tell something. I knew + John Braden—who, of course, was John Brake—very well, for some + years. Naturally, I was in his confidence.” + </p> + <p> + “About more than the Saxonsteade jewels, you mean?” asked the solicitor. + </p> + <p> + “About more than that,” assented Glassdale. “Private matters. I've no + doubt I can throw some light—some!—on this Wrychester Paradise + affair. But, as I said just now, I'll only deal with the principal. I + wouldn't tell you, for instance—as your principal's solicitor.” + </p> + <p> + The solicitor smiled again. + </p> + <p> + “Your ideas, Mr. Glassdale, appear to fit in with our principal's,” he + remarked. “His instructions—strict instructions—to us are that + if anybody turns up who can give any information, it's not to be given to + us, but to—himself!” + </p> + <p> + “Wise man!” observed Glassdale. “That's just what I feel about it. It's a + mistake to share secrets with more than one person.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a secret, then!” asked the solicitor, half slyly. + </p> + <p> + “Might be,” replied Glassdale. “Who's your client?” + </p> + <p> + The solicitor pulled a scrap of paper towards him and wrote a few words on + it. He pushed it towards his caller, and Glassdale picked it up and read + what had been written—Mr. Stephen Folliot, The Close. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better go and see him,” said the solicitor, suggestively. “You'll + find him reserved enough.” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale read and re-read the name—as if he were endeavouring to + recollect it, or connect it with something. + </p> + <p> + “What particular reason has this man for wishing to find this out?” he + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Can't say, my good sir!” replied the solicitor, with a smile. “Perhaps + he'll tell you. He hasn't told me.” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale rose to take his leave. But with his hand on the door he turned. + </p> + <p> + “Is this gentleman a resident in the place?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “A well-known townsman,” replied the solicitor. “You'll easily find his + house in the Close—everybody knows it.” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale went away then—and walked slowly towards the Cathedral + precincts. On his way he passed two places at which he was half inclined + to call—one was the police-station; the other, the office of the + solicitors who were acting on behalf of the offerer of five hundred + pounds. He half glanced at the solicitor's door—but on reflection + went forward. A man who was walking across the Close pointed out the + Folliot residence—Glassdale entered by the garden door, and in + another minute came face to face with Folliot himself, busied, as usual, + amongst his rose-trees. + </p> + <p> + Glassdale saw Folliot and took stock of him before Folliot knew that a + stranger was within his gates. Folliot, in an old jacket which he kept for + his horticultural labours, was taking slips from a standard; he looked as + harmless and peaceful as his occupation. A quiet, inoffensive, somewhat + benevolent elderly man, engaged in work, which suggested leisure and + peace. + </p> + <p> + But Glassdale, after a first quick, searching glance, took another and + longer one—and went nearer with a discreet laugh. + </p> + <p> + Folliot turned quietly, and seeing the stranger, showed no surprise. He + had a habit of looking over the top rims of his spectacles at people, and + he looked in this way at Glassdale, glancing him up and down calmly. + Glassdale lifted his slouch hat and advanced. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Folliot, I believe, sir?” he said. “Mr. Stephen Folliot?” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, just so!” responded Folliot. “But I don't know you. Who may you be, + now?” + </p> + <p> + “My name, sir, is Glassdale,” answered the other. “I've just come from + your solicitor's. I called to see him this afternoon—and he told me + that the business I called about could only be dealt with—or + discussed—with you. So—I came here.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot, who had been cutting slips off a rose-tree, closed his knife and + put it away in his old jacket. He turned and quietly inspected his visitor + once more. + </p> + <p> + “Aye!” he said quietly. “So you're after that thousand pound reward, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I should have no objection to it, Mr. Folliot,” replied Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say not,” remarked Folliot, dryly. “I dare say not! And which are + you, now?—one of those who think they can tell something, or one + that really can tell? Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll know that better when we've had a bit of talk, Mr. Folliot,” + answered Glassdale, accompanying his reply with a direct glance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, now then, I've no objection to a bit of talk—none + whatever!” said Folliot. “Here!—we'll sit down on that bench, + amongst the roses. Quite private here—nobody about. And now,” he + continued, as Glassdale accompanied him to a rustic bench set beneath a + pergola of rambler roses, “who are you, like? I read a queer account in + this morning's local paper of what happened in the Cathedral grounds + yonder last night, and there was a person of your name mentioned. Are you + that Glassdale?” + </p> + <p> + “The same, Mr. Folliot,” answered the visitor, promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Then you knew Braden—the man who lost his life here?” asked + Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “Very well indeed,” replied Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + “For how long?” demanded Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “Some years—as a mere acquaintance, seen now and then,” said + Glassdale. “A few years, recently, as what you might call a close friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell you any of his secrets?” asked Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he did!” answered Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + “Anything that seems to relate to his death—and the mystery about + it?” inquired Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “I think so,” said Glassdale. “Upon consideration, I think so!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah—and what might it be, now?” continued Folliot. He gave Glassdale + a look which seemed to denote and imply several things. “It might be to + your advantage to explain a bit, you know,” he added. “One has to be a + little—vague, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “There was a certain man that Braden was very anxious to find,” said + Glassdale. “He'd been looking for him for a good many years.” + </p> + <p> + “A man?” asked Folliot. “One?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as a matter of fact, there were two,” admitted Glassdale, “but + there was one in particular. The other—the second—so Braden + said, didn't matter; he was or had been, only a sort of cat's-paw of the + man he especially wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Folliot. He pulled out a cigar case and offered a cigar to + his visitor, afterwards lighting one himself. “And what did Braden want + that man for?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Glassdale waited until his cigar was in full going order before he + answered this question. Then he replied in one word. + </p> + <p> + “Revenge!” + </p> + <p> + Folliot put his thumbs in the armholes of his buff waistcoat and leaning + back, seemed to be admiring his roses. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said at last. “Revenge, now? A sort of vindictive man, was he? + Wanted to get his knife into somebody, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “He wanted to get something of his own back from a man who'd done him,” + answered Glassdale, with a short laugh. “That's about it!” + </p> + <p> + For a minute or two both men smoked in silence. Then Folliot—still + regarding his roses—put a leading question. + </p> + <p> + “Give you any details?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Enough,” said Glassdale. “Braden had been done—over a money + transaction—by these men—one especially, as head and front of + the affair—and it had cost him—more than anybody would think! + Naturally, he wanted—if he ever got the chance—his revenge. + Who wouldn't?” + </p> + <p> + “And he'd tracked 'em down, eh?” asked Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “There are questions I can answer, and there are questions I can't + answer,” responded Glassdale. “That's one of the questions I've no reply + to. For—I don't know! But—I can say this. He hadn't tracked + 'em down the day before he came to Wrychester!” + </p> + <p> + “You're sure of that?” asked Folliot. “He—didn't come here on that + account?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm sure he didn't!” answered Glassdale, readily. “If he had, I + should have known. I was with him till noon the day he came here—in + London—and when he took his ticket at Victoria for Wrychester, he'd + no more idea than the man in the moon as to where those men had got to. He + mentioned it as we were having a bit of lunch together before he got into + the train. No—he didn't come to Wrychester for any such purpose as + that! But—” + </p> + <p> + He paused and gave Folliot a meaning glance out of the corner of his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Aye—what?” asked Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “I think he met at least one of 'em here,” said Glassdale, quietly. “And—perhaps + both.” + </p> + <p> + “Leading to—misfortune for him?” suggested Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “If you like to put it that way—yes,” assented Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + Folliot smoked a while in more reflective silence. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, well!” he said at last. “I suppose you haven't put these ideas of + yours before anybody, now?” + </p> + <p> + “Present ideas?” asked Glassdale, sharply. “Not to a soul! I've not had + 'em—very long.” + </p> + <p> + “You're the sort of man that another man can do a deal with, I suppose?” + suggested Folliot. “That is, if it's made worth your while, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't wonder,” replied Glassdale. “And—if it is made worth my + while.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot mused a little. Then he tapped Glassdale's elbow. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he said, confidentially, “it might be, you know, that I had a + little purpose of my own in offering that reward. It might be that it was + a very particular friend of mine that had the misfortune to have incurred + this man Braden's hatred. And I might want to save him, d'ye see, from—well, + from the consequence of what's happened, and to hear about it first if + anybody came forward, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “As I've done,” said Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + “As—you've done,” assented Folliot. “Now, perhaps it would be in the + interest of this particular friend of mine if he made it worth your while + to—say no more to anybody, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much worth his while, Mr. Folliot,” declared Glassdale. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, well,” continued Folliot. “This very particular friend would just + want to know, you know, how much you really, truly know! Now, for + instance, about these two men—and one in particular—that + Braden was after? Did—did he name 'em?” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale leaned a little nearer to his companion on the rose-screened + bench. + </p> + <p> + “He named them—to me!” he said in a whisper. “One was a man called + Falkiner Wraye, and the other man was a man named Flood. Is that enough?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you'd better come and see me this evening,” answered Folliot. + “Come just about dusk to that door—I'll meet you there. Fine roses + these of mine, aren't they?” he continued, as they rose. “I occupy myself + entirely with 'em.” + </p> + <p> + He walked with Glassdale to the garden door, and stood there watching his + visitor go away up the side of the high wall until he turned into the path + across Paradise. And then, as Folliot was retreating to his roses, he saw + Bryce coming over the Close—and Bryce beckoned to him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. THE OLD WELL HOUSE + </h2> + <p> + When Bryce came hurrying up to him, Folliot was standing at his garden + door with his hands thrust under his coat-tails—the very picture of + a benevolent, leisured gentleman who has nothing to do and is disposed to + give his time to anybody. He glanced at Bryce as he had glanced at + Glassdale—over the tops of his spectacles, and the glance had no + more than mild inquiry in it. But if Bryce had been less excited, he would + have seen that Folliot, as he beckoned him inside the garden, swept a + sharp look over the Close and ascertained that there was no one about, + that Bryce's entrance was unobserved. Save for a child or two, playing + under the tall elms near one of the gates, and for a clerical figure that + stalked a path in the far distance, the Close was empty of life. And there + was no one about, either, in that part of Folliot's big garden. + </p> + <p> + “I want a bit of talk with you,” said Bryce as Folliot closed the door and + turned down a side-path to a still more retired region. “Private talk. + Let's go where it's quiet.” + </p> + <p> + Without replying in words to this suggestion, Folliot led the way through + his rose-trees to a far corner of his grounds, where an old building of + grey stone, covered with ivy, stood amongst high trees. He turned the key + of a doorway and motioned Bryce to enter. + </p> + <p> + “Quiet enough in here, doctor,” he observed. “You've never seen this place—bit + of a fancy of mine.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, absorbed as he was in the thoughts of the moment, glanced cursorily + at the place into which Folliot had led him. It was a square building of + old stone, its walls unlined, unplastered; its floor paved with much worn + flags of limestone, evidently set down in a long dead age and now polished + to marble-like smoothness. In its midst, set flush with the floor, was + what was evidently a trap-door, furnished with a heavy iron ring. To this + Folliot pointed, with a glance of significant interest. + </p> + <p> + “Deepest well in all Wrychester under that,” he remarked. “You'd never + think it—it's a hundred feet deep—and more! Dry now—water + gave out some years ago. Some people would have pulled this old well-house + down—but not me! I did better—I turned it to good account.” He + raised a hand and pointed upward to an obviously modern ceiling of strong + oak timbers. “Had that put in,” he continued, “and turned the top of the + building into a little snuggery. Come up!” + </p> + <p> + He led the way to a flight of steps in one corner of the lower room, + pushed open a door at their head, and showed his companion into a small + apartment arranged and furnished in something closely approaching to + luxury. The walls were hung with thick fabrics; the carpeting was equally + thick; there were pictures, books, and curiosities; the two or three + chairs were deep and big enough to lie down in; the two windows commanded + pleasant views of the Cathedral towers on one side and of the Close on the + other. + </p> + <p> + “Nice little place to be alone in, d'ye see?” said Folliot. “Cool in + summer—warm in winter—modern fire-grate, you notice. Come here + when I want to do a bit of quiet thinking, what?” + </p> + <p> + “Good place for that—certainly,” agreed Bryce. + </p> + <p> + Folliot pointed his visitor to one of the big chairs and turning to a + cabinet brought out some glasses, a syphon of soda-water, and a heavy + cut-glass decanter. He nodded at a box of cigars which lay open on a table + at Bryce's elbow as he began to mix a couple of drinks. + </p> + <p> + “Help yourself,” he said. “Good stuff, those.” + </p> + <p> + Not until he had given Bryce a drink, and had carried his own glass to + another easy chair did Folliot refer to any reason for Bryce's visit. But + once settled down, he looked at him speculatively. + </p> + <p> + “What did you want to see me about?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who had lighted a cigar, looked across its smoke at the + imperturbable face opposite. + </p> + <p> + “You've just had Glassdale here,” he observed quietly. “I saw him leave + you.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot nodded—without any change of expression. + </p> + <p> + “Aye, doctor,” he said. “And—what do you know about Glassdale, now?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce, who would have cheerfully hobnobbed with a man whom he was about to + conduct to the scaffold, lifted his glass and drank. + </p> + <p> + “A good deal,” he answered as he set the glass down. “The fact is—I + came here to tell you so!—I know a good deal about everything.” + </p> + <p> + “A wide term!” remarked Folliot. “You've got some limitation to it, I + should think. What do you mean by—everything?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean about recent matters,” replied Bryce. “I've interested myself in + them—for reasons of my own. Ever since Braden was found at the foot + of those stairs in Paradise, and I was fetched to him, I've interested + myself. And—I've discovered a great deal—more, much more + than's known to anybody.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot threw one leg over the other and began to jog his foot. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said after a pause. “Dear me! And—what might you know, now, + doctor? Aught you can tell me eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Lots!” answered Bryce. “I came to tell you—on seeing that Glassdale + had been with you. Because—I was with Glassdale this morning.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot made no answer. But Bryce saw that his cool, almost indifferent + manner was changing—he was beginning, under the surface, to get + anxious. + </p> + <p> + “When I left Glassdale—at noon,” continued Bryce, “I'd no idea—and + I don't think he had—that he was coming to see you. But I know what + put the notion into his head. I gave him copies of those two reward bills. + He no doubt thought he might make a bit—and so he came in to town, + and—to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't wonder,” remarked Bryce, reflectively, and almost as if + speaking to himself, “I shouldn't at all wonder if Glassdale's the sort of + man who can be bought. He, no doubt, has his price. But all that Glassdale + knows is nothing—to what I know.” + </p> + <p> + Folliot had allowed his cigar to go out. He threw it away, took a fresh + one from the box, and slowly struck a match and lighted it. + </p> + <p> + “What might you know, now?” he asked after another pause. + </p> + <p> + “I've a bit of a faculty for finding things out,” answered Bryce boldly. + “And I've developed it. I wanted to know all about Braden—and about + who killed him—and why. There's only one way of doing all that sort + of thing, you know. You've got to go back—a long way back—to + the very beginnings. I went back—to the time when Braden was + married. Not as Braden, of course—but as who he really was—John + Brake. That was at a place called Braden Medworth, near Barthorpe, in + Leicestershire.” + </p> + <p> + He paused there, watching Folliot. But Folliot showed no more than close + attention, and Bryce went on. + </p> + <p> + “Not much in that—for the really important part of the story,” he + continued. “But Brake had other associations with Barthorpe—a bit + later. He got to know—got into close touch with a Barthorpe man who, + about the time of Brake's marriage, left Barthorpe and settled in London. + Brake and this man began to have some secret dealings together. There was + another man in with them, too—a man who was a sort of partner of the + Barthorpe man's. Brake had evidently a belief in these men, and he trusted + them—unfortunately for himself he sometimes trusted the bank's money + to them. I know what happened—he used to let them have money for + short financial transactions—to be refunded within a very brief + space. But—he went to the fire too often, and got his fingers burned + in the end. The two men did him—one of them in particular—and + cleared out. He had to stand the racket. He stood it—to the tune of + ten years' penal servitude. And, naturally, when he'd finished his time, + he wanted to find those two men—and began a long search for them. + Like to know the names of the men, Mr. Folliot?” + </p> + <p> + “You might mention 'em—if you know 'em,” answered Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “The name of the particular one was Wraye—Falkiner Wraye,” replied + Bryce promptly. “Of the other—the man of lesser importance—Flood.” + </p> + <p> + The two men looked quietly at each other for a full moment's silence. And + it was Bryce who first spoke with a ring of confidence in his tone which + showed that he knew he had the whip hand. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you something about Falkiner Wraye?” he asked. “I will!—it's + deeply interesting. Mr. Falkiner Wraye, after cheating and deceiving + Brake, and leaving him to pay the penalty of his over-trustfulness, + cleared out of England and carried his money-making talents to foreign + parts. He succeeded in doing well—he would!—and eventually he + came back and married a rich widow and settled himself down in an + out-of-the-world English town to grow roses. You're Falkiner Wraye, you + know, Mr. Folliot!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce laughed as he made this direct accusation, and sitting forward in + his chair, pointed first to Folliot's face and then to his left hand. + </p> + <p> + “Falkiner Wraye,” he said, “had an unfortunate gun accident in his youth + which marked him for life. He lost the middle finger of his left hand, and + he got a bad scar on his left jaw. There they are, those marks! Fortunate + for you, Mr. Folliot, that the police don't know all that I know, for if + they did, those marks would have done for you days ago!” For a minute or + two Folliot sat joggling his leg—a bad sign in him of rising temper + if Bryce had but known it. While he remained silent he watched Bryce + narrowly, and when he spoke, his voice was calm as ever. + </p> + <p> + “And what use do you intend to put your knowledge to, if one may ask?” he + inquired, half sneeringly. “You said just now that you'd no doubt that man + Glassdale could be bought, and I'm inclining to think that you're one of + those men that have their price. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “We've not come to that,” retorted Bryce. “You're a bit mistaken. If I + have my price, it's not in the same commodity that Glassdale would want. + But before we do any talking about that sort of thing, I want to add to my + stock of knowledge. Look here! We'll be candid. I don't care a snap of my + fingers that Brake, or Braden's dead, or that Collishaw's dead, nor if one + had his neck broken and the other was poisoned, but—whose hand was + that which the mason, Varner, saw that morning, when Brake was flung out + of that doorway? Come, now!—whose?” + </p> + <p> + “Not mine, my lad!” answered Folliot, confidently. “That's a fact?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce hesitated, giving Folliot a searching look. And Folliot nodded + solemnly. “I tell you, not mine!” he repeated. “I'd naught to do with it!” + </p> + <p> + “Then who had?” demanded Bryce. “Was it the other man—Flood? And if + so, who is Flood?” + </p> + <p> + Folliot got up from his chair and, cigar between his lips and hands under + the tails of his old coat, walked silently about the quiet room for + awhile. He was evidently thinking deeply, and Bryce made no attempt to + disturb him. Some minutes went by before Folliot took the cigar from his + lips and leaning against the chimneypiece looked fixedly at his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, my lad!” he said, earnestly. “You're no doubt, as you say, a + good hand at finding things out, and you've doubtless done a good bit of + ferreting, and done it well enough in your own opinion. But there's one + thing you can't find out, and the police can't find out either, and that's + the precise truth about Braden's death. I'd no hand in it—it + couldn't be fastened on to me, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce looked up and interjected one word. + </p> + <p> + “Collishaw?” + </p> + <p> + “Nor that, neither,” answered Folliot, hastily. “Maybe I know something + about both, but neither you nor the police nor anybody could fasten me to + either matter! Granting all you say to be true, where's the positive + truth?” + </p> + <p> + “What about circumstantial evidence,” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “You'd have a job to get it,” retorted Folliot. “Supposing that all you + say is true about—about past matters? Nothing can prove—nothing!—that + I ever met Braden that morning. On the other hand, I can prove, easily, + that I never did meet him; I can account for every minute of my time that + day. As to the other affair—not an ounce of direct evidence!” + </p> + <p> + “Then—it was the other man!” exclaimed Bryce. “Now then, who is he?” + </p> + <p> + Folliot replied with a shrewd glance. + </p> + <p> + “A man who by giving away another man gave himself away would be a damned + fool!” he answered. “If there is another man—” + </p> + <p> + “As if there must be!” interrupted Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “Then he's safe!” concluded Folliot. “You'll get nothing from me about + him!” + </p> + <p> + “And nobody can get at you except through him?” asked Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “That's about it,” assented Folliot laconically. + </p> + <p> + Bryce laughed cynically. + </p> + <p> + “A pretty coil!” he said with a sneer. “Here! You talked about my price. + I'm quite content to hold my tongue if you'd tell me something about what + happened seventeen years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Folliot. + </p> + <p> + “You knew Brake, you must have known his family affairs,” said Bryce. + “What became of Brake's wife and children when he went to prison?” + </p> + <p> + Folliot shook his head, and it was plain to Bryce that his gesture of + dissent was genuine. + </p> + <p> + “You're wrong,” he answered. “I never at any time knew anything of Brake's + family affairs. So little indeed, that I never even knew he was married.” + </p> + <p> + Bryce rose to his feet and stood staring. + </p> + <p> + “What!” he exclaimed. “You mean to tell me that, even now, you don't know + that Brake had two children, and that—that—oh, it's + incredible!” + </p> + <p> + “What's incredible?” asked Folliot. “What are you talking about?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce in his eagerness and surprise grasped Folliot's arm and shook it. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, man!” he said. “Those two wards of Ransford's are Brake's + girl and boy! Didn't you know that, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” answered Folliot. “Never! And who's Ransford, then? I never heard + Brake speak of any Ransford! What game is all this? What—” + </p> + <p> + Before Bryce could reply, Folliot suddenly started, thrust his companion + aside and went to one of the windows. A sharp exclamation from him took + Bryce to his side. Folliot lifted a shaking hand and pointed into the + garden. + </p> + <p> + “There!” he whispered. “Hell and—What's this mean?” + </p> + <p> + Bryce looked in the direction pointed out. Behind the pergola of rambler + roses the figures of men were coming towards the old well-house led by one + of Folliot's gardeners. Suddenly they emerged into full view, and in front + of the rest was Mitchington and close behind him the detective, and behind + him—Glassdale! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. THE OTHER MAN + </h2> + <p> + It was close on five o'clock when Glassdale, leaving Folliot at his garden + door, turned the corner into the quietness of the Precincts. He walked + about there a while, staring at the queer old houses with eyes which saw + neither fantastic gables nor twisted chimneys. Glassdale was thinking. And + the result of his reflections was that he suddenly exchanged his idle + sauntering for brisker steps and walked sharply round to the + police-station, where he asked to see Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + Mitchington and the detective were just about to walk down to the + railway-station to meet Ransford, in accordance with his telegram. At + sight of Glassdale they went back into the inspector's office. Glassdale + closed the door and favoured them with a knowing smile. + </p> + <p> + “Something else for you, inspector!” he said. “Mixed up a bit with last + night's affair, too. About these mysteries—Braden and Collishaw—I + can tell you one man who's in them.” + </p> + <p> + “Who, then?” demanded Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + Glassdale went a step nearer to the two officials and lowered his voice. + </p> + <p> + “The man who's known here as Stephen Folliot,” he answered. “That's a + fact!” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” exclaimed Mitchington. Then he laughed incredulously. “Can't + believe it!” he continued. “Mr. Folliot! Must be some mistake!” + </p> + <p> + “No mistake,” replied Glassdale. “Besides, Folliot's only an assumed name. + That man is really one Falkiner Wraye, the man Braden, or Brake, was + seeking for many a year, the man who cheated Brake and got him into + trouble. I tell you it's a fact! He's admitted it, or as good as done so, + to me just now.” + </p> + <p> + “To you? And—let you come away and spread it?” exclaimed + Mitchington. “That's incredible! more astonishing than the other!” + </p> + <p> + Glassdale laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but I let him think I could be squared, do you see?” he said. + “Hush-money, you know. He's under the impression that I'm to go back to + him this evening to settle matters. I knew so much—identified him, + as a matter of fact—that he'd no option. I tell you he's been in at + both these affairs—certain! But—there's another man.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's he?” demanded Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Can't say, for I don't know, though I've an idea he'll be a fellow that + Brake was also wanting to find,” replied Glassdale. “But anyhow, I know + what I'm talking about when I tell you of Folliot. You'd better do + something before he suspects me.” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington glanced at the clock. + </p> + <p> + “Come with us down to the station,” he said. “Dr. Ransford's coming in on + this express from town; he's got news for us. We'd better hear that first. + Folliot!—good Lord!—who'd have believed or even dreamed it!” + </p> + <p> + “You'll see,” said Glassdale as they went out. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe Dr. Ransford's got the same information.” Ransford was out of the + train as soon as it ran in, and hurried to where Mitchington and his + companions were standing. And behind him, to Mitchington's surprise, came + old Simpson Harker, who had evidently travelled with him. With a silent + gesture Mitchington beckoned the whole party into an empty waiting-room + and closed its door on them. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, inspector,” said Ransford without preface or ceremony, “you've + got to act quickly! You got my wire—a few words will explain it. I + went up to town this morning in answer to a message from the bank where + Braden lodged his money when he returned to England. To tell you the + truth, the managers there and myself have, since Braden's death, been + carrying to a conclusion an investigation which I began on Braden's behalf—though + he never knew of it—years ago. At the bank I met Mr. Harker here, + who had called to find something out for himself. Now I'll sum things up + in a nutshell: for years Braden, or Brake, had been wanting to find two + men who cheated him. The name of one is Wraye, of the other, Flood. I've + been trying to trace them, too. At last we've got them. They're in this + town, and without doubt the deaths of both Braden and Collishaw are at + their door! You know both well enough. Wraye is-” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Folliot!” interrupted Mitchington, pointing to Glassdale. “So he's + just told us; he's identified him as Wraye. But the other—who's he, + doctor?” + </p> + <p> + Ransford glanced at Glassdale as if he wished to question him, but instead + he answered Mitchington's question. + </p> + <p> + “The other man,” he said, “the man Flood, is also a well-known man to you. + Fladgate!” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington started, evidently more astonished than by the first news. + </p> + <p> + “What!” he exclaimed. “The verger! You don't say!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember,” continued Ransford, “that Folliot got Fladgate his + appointment as verger not so very long after he himself came here? He did, + anyway, and Fladgate is Flood. We've traced everything through Flood. + Wraye has been a difficult man to trace, because of his residence abroad + for a long time and his change of name, and so on, and it was only + recently that my agents struck on a line through Flood. But there's the + fact. And the probability is that when Braden came here he recognized and + was recognized by these two, and that one or other of them is responsible + for his death and for Collishaw's too. Circumstantial evidence, all of it, + no doubt, but irresistible! Now, what do you propose to do?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington considered matters for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Fladgate first, certainly,” he said. “He lives close by here; we'll go + round to his cottage. If he sees he's in a tight place he may let things + out. Let's go there at once.” + </p> + <p> + He led the whole party out of the station and down the High Street until + they came to a narrow lane of little houses which ran towards the Close. + At its entrance a policeman was walking his beat. Mitchington stopped to + exchange a few words with him. + </p> + <p> + “This man Fladgate,” he said, rejoining the others, “lives alone—fifth + cottage down here. He'll be about having his tea; we shall take him by + surprise.” Presently the group stood around a door at which Mitchington + knocked gently, and it was on their grave and watchful faces that a tall, + clean-shaven, very solemn-looking man gazed in astonishment as he opened + the door, and started back. He went white to the lips and his hand fell + trembling from the latch as Mitchington strode in and the rest crowded + behind. + </p> + <p> + “Now then, Fladgate!” said Mitchington, going straight to the point and + watching his man narrowly, while the detective approached him closely on + the other side. “I want you and a word with you at once. Your real name is + Flood! What have you to say to that? And—it's no use beating about + the bush—what have you to say about this Braden affair, and your + share with Folliot in it, whose real name is Wraye. It's all come out + about the two of you. If you've anything to say, you'd better say it.” + </p> + <p> + The verger, whose black gown lay thrown across the back of a chair, looked + from one face to another with frightened eyes. It was very evident that + the suddenness of the descent had completely unnerved him. Ransford's + practised eyes saw that he was on the verge of a collapse. + </p> + <p> + “Give him time, Mitchington,” he said. “Pull yourself together,” he added, + turning to the man. “Don't be frightened; answer these questions!” + </p> + <p> + “For God's sake, gentlemen!” grasped the verger. “What—what is it? + What am I to answer? Before God, I'm as innocent as—as any of you—about + Mr. Brake's death! Upon my soul and honour I am!” + </p> + <p> + “You know all about it;” insisted Mitchington. + </p> + <p> + “Come, now, isn't it true that you're Flood, and that Folliot's Wraye, the + two men whose trick on him got Brake convicted years ago? Answer that!” + </p> + <p> + Flood looked from one side to the other. He was leaning against his + tea-table, set in the middle of his tidy living room. From the hearth his + kettle sent out a pleasant singing that sounded strangely in contrast with + the grim situation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's true,” he said at last. “But in that affair I—I wasn't + the principal. I was only—only Wraye's agent, as it were: I wasn't + responsible. And when Mr. Brake came here, when I met him that morning—” + </p> + <p> + He paused, still looking from one to another of his audience as if + entreating their belief. + </p> + <p> + “As sure as I'm a living man, gentlemen!” he suddenly burst out, “I'd no + willing hand in Mr. Brake's death! I'll tell you the exact truth; I'll + take my oath of it whenever you like. I'd have been thankful to tell, many + a time, but for—for Wraye. He wouldn't let me at first, and + afterwards it got complicated. It was this way. That morning—when + Mr. Brake was found dead—I had occasion to go up into that gallery + under the clerestory. I suddenly came on him face to face. He recognized + me. And—I'm telling you the solemn, absolute truth, gentlemen!—he'd + no sooner recognized me than he attacked me, seizing me by the arm. I + hadn't recognized him at first, I did when he laid hold of me. I tried to + shake him off, tried to quiet him; he struggled—I don't know what he + wanted to do—he began to cry out—it was a wonder he wasn't + heard in the church below, and he would have been only the organ was being + played rather loudly. And in the struggle he slipped—it was just by + that open doorway—and before I could do more than grasp at him, he + shot through the opening and fell! It was sheer, pure accident, gentlemen! + Upon my soul, I hadn't the least intention of harming him.” + </p> + <p> + “And after that?” asked Mitchington, at the end of a brief silence. + </p> + <p> + “I saw Mr. Folliot—Wraye,” continued Flood. “Just afterwards, that + was. I told him; he bade me keep silence until we saw how things went. + Later he forced me to be silent. What could I do? As things were, Wraye + could have disclaimed me—I shouldn't have had a chance. So I held my + tongue.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, Collishaw?” demanded Mitchington. “Give us the truth about + that. Whatever the other was, that was murder!” + </p> + <p> + Flood lifted his hand and wiped away the perspiration that had gathered on + his face. + </p> + <p> + “Before God, gentlemen!” he answered. “I know no more—at least, + little more—about that than you do! I'll tell you all I do know. + Wraye and I, of course, met now and then and talked about this. It got to + our ears at last that Collishaw knew something. My own impression is that + he saw what occurred between me and Mr. Brake—he was working + somewhere up there. I wanted to speak to Collishaw. Wraye wouldn't let me, + he bade me leave it to him. A bit later, he told me he'd squared Collishaw + with fifty pounds—” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington and the detective exchanged looks. + </p> + <p> + “Wraye—that's Folliot—paid Collishaw fifty pounds, did he?” + asked the detective. + </p> + <p> + “He told me so,” replied Flood. “To hold his tongue. But I'd scarcely + heard that when I heard of Collishaw's sudden death. And as to how that + happened, or who—who brought it about—upon my soul, gentlemen, + I know nothing! Whatever I may have thought, I never mentioned it to Wraye—never! + I—I daren't! You don't know what a man Wraye is! I've been under his + thumb most of my life and—and what are you going to do with me, + gentlemen?” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington exchanged a word or two with the detective, and then, putting + his head out of the door beckoned to the policeman to whom he had spoken + at the end of the lane and who now appeared in company with a + fellow-constable. He brought both into the cottage. + </p> + <p> + “Get your tea,” he said sharply to the verger. “These men will stop with + you—you're not to leave this room.” He gave some instructions to the + two policemen in an undertone and motioned Ransford and the others to + follow him. “It strikes me,” he said, when they were outside in the narrow + lane, “that what we've just heard is somewhere about the truth. And now + we'll go on to Folliot's—there's a way to his house round here.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Folliot was out, Sackville Bonham was still where Bryce had left him, + at the golf-links, when the pursuers reached Folliot's. A parlourmaid + directed them to the garden; a gardener volunteered the suggestion that + his master might be in the old well-house and showed the way. And Folliot + and Bryce saw them coming and looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Glassdale!” exclaimed Bryce. “By heaven, man!—he's told on you!” + </p> + <p> + Folliot was still staring through the window. He saw Ransford and Harker + following the leading figures. And suddenly he turned to Bryce. + </p> + <p> + “You've no hand in this?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I?” exclaimed Bryce. “I never knew till just now!” + </p> + <p> + Folliot pointed to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Go down!” he said. “Let 'em in, bid 'em come up! I'll—I'll settle + with 'em. Go!” + </p> + <p> + Bryce hurried down to the lower apartment. He was filled with excitement—an + unusual thing for him—but in the midst of it, as he made for the + outer door, it suddenly struck him that all his schemings and plottings + were going for nothing. The truth was at hand, and it was not going to + benefit him in the slightest degree. He was beaten. + </p> + <p> + But that was no time for philosophic reflection; already those outside + were beating at the door. He flung it open, and the foremost men started + in surprise at the sight of him. But Bryce bent forward to Mitchington—anxious + to play a part to the last. + </p> + <p> + “He's upstairs!” he whispered. “Up there! He'll bluff it out if he can, + but he's just admitted to me—” + </p> + <p> + Mitchington thrust Bryce aside, almost roughly. + </p> + <p> + “We know all about that!” he said. “I shall have a word or two for you + later! Come on, now—” + </p> + <p> + The men crowded up the stairway into Folliot's snuggery, Bryce, wondering + at the inspector's words and manner, following closely behind him and the + detective and Glassdale, who led the way. Folliot was standing in the + middle of the room, one hand behind his back, the other in his pocket. And + as the leading three entered the place he brought his concealed hand + sharply round and presenting a revolver at Glassdale fired point-blank at + him. + </p> + <p> + But it was not Glassdale who fell. He, wary and watching, started aside as + he saw Folliot's movement, and the bullet, passing between his arm and + body, found its billet in Bryce, who fell, with little more than a groan, + shot through the heart. And as he fell, Folliot, scarcely looking at what + he had done, drew his other hand from his pocket, slipped something into + his mouth and sat down in the big chair behind him ... and within a moment + the other men in the room were looking with horrified faces from one dead + face to another. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. THE GUARDED SECRET + </h2> + <p> + When Bryce had left her, Mary Bewery had gone into the house to await + Ransford's return from town. She meant to tell him of all that Bryce had + said and to beg him to take immediate steps to set matters right, not only + that he himself might be cleared of suspicion but that Bryce's intrigues + might be brought to an end. She had some hope that Ransford would bring + back satisfactory news; she knew that his hurried visit to London had some + connection with these affairs; and she also remembered what he had said on + the previous night. And so, controlling her anger at Bryce and her + impatience of the whole situation she waited as patiently as she could + until the time drew near when Ransford might be expected to be seen coming + across the Close. She knew from which direction he would come, and she + remained near the dining-room window looking out for him. But six o'clock + came and she had seen no sign of him; then, as she was beginning to think + that he had missed the afternoon train she saw him, at the opposite side + of the Close, talking earnestly to Dick, who presently came towards the + house while Ransford turned back into Folliot's garden. + </p> + <p> + Dick Bewery came hurriedly in. His sister saw at once that he had just + heard news which had had a sobering effect on his usually effervescent + spirits. He looked at her as if he wondered exactly how to give her his + message. + </p> + <p> + “I saw you with the doctor just now,” she said, using the term by which + she and her brother always spoke of their guardian. “Why hasn't he come + home?” + </p> + <p> + Dick came close to her, touching her arm. + </p> + <p> + “I say!” he said, almost whispering. “Don't be frightened—the + doctor's all right—but there's something awful just happened. At + Folliot's.” + </p> + <p> + “What” she demanded. “Speak out, Dick! I'm not frightened. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + Dick shook his head as if he still scarcely realized the full significance + of his news. + </p> + <p> + “It's all a licker to me yet!” he answered. “I don't understand it—I + only know what the doctor told me—to come and tell you. Look here, + it's pretty bad. Folliot and Bryce are both dead!” + </p> + <p> + In spite of herself Mary started back as from a great shock and clutched + at the table by which they were standing. + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” she exclaimed. “Why—Bryce was here, speaking to me, not an + hour ago!” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe,” said Dick. “But he's dead now. The fact is, Folliot shot him with + a revolver—killed him on the spot. And then Folliot poisoned himself—took + the same stuff, the doctor said, that finished that chap Collishaw, and + died instantly. It was in Folliot's old well-house. The doctor was there + and the police.” + </p> + <p> + “What does it all mean?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Don't know. Except this,” added Dick; “they've found out about those + other affairs—the Braden and the Collishaw affairs. Folliot was + concerned in them; and who do you think the other was? You'd never guess! + That man Fladgate, the verger. Only that isn't his proper name at all. He + and Folliot finished Braden and Collishaw, anyway. The police have got + Fladgate, and Folliot shot Bryce and killed himself just when they were + going to take him.” + </p> + <p> + “The doctor told you all this?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Dick. “Just that and no more. He called me in as I was + passing Folliot's door. He's coming over as soon as he can. Whew! I say, + won't there be some fine talk in the town! Anyway, things'll be cleared up + now. What did Bryce want here?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind; I can't talk of it, now,” answered Mary. She was already + thinking of how Bryce had stood before her, active and alive, only an hour + earlier; she was thinking, too, of her warning to him. “It's all too + dreadful! too awful to understand!” + </p> + <p> + “Here's the doctor coming now,” said Dick, turning to the window. “He'll + tell more.” + </p> + <p> + Mary looked anxiously at Ransford as he came hastening in. He looked like + a man who has just gone through a crisis and yet she was somehow conscious + that there was a certain atmosphere of relief about him, as though some + great weight had suddenly been lifted. He closed the door and looked + straight at her. + </p> + <p> + “Dick has told you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “All that you told me,” said Dick. + </p> + <p> + Ransford pulled off his gloves and flung them on the table with something + of a gesture of weariness. And at that Mary hastened to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Don't tell any more—don't say anything—until you feel able,” + she said. “You're tired.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” answered Ransford. “I'd rather say what I have to say now—just + now! I've wanted to tell both of you what all this was, what it meant, + everything about it, and until today, until within the last few hours, it + was impossible, because I didn't know everything. Now I do! I even know + more than I did an hour ago. Let me tell you now and have done with it. + Sit down there, both of you, and listen.” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to a sofa near the hearth, and the brother and sister sat down, + looking at him wonderingly. Instead of sitting down himself he leaned + against the edge of the table, looking down at them. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to tell you some sad things,” he said diffidently. “The only + consolation is that it's all over now, and certain matters are, or can be, + cleared and you'll have no more secrets. Nor shall I! I've had to keep + this one jealously guarded for seventeen years! And I never thought it + could be released as it has been, in this miserable and terrible fashion! + But that's done now, and nothing can help it. And now, to make everything + plain, just prepare yourselves to hear something that, at first, sounds + very trying. The man whom you've heard of as John Braden, who came to his + death—by accident, as I now firmly believe—there in Paradise, + was, in reality, John Brake—your father!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford looked at his two listeners anxiously as he told this. But he met + no sign of undue surprise or emotion. Dick looked down at his toes with a + little frown, as if he were trying to puzzle something out; Mary continued + to watch Ransford with steady eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Your father—John Brake,” repeated Ransford, breathing more freely + now that he had got the worst news out. “I must go back to the beginning + to make things clear to you about him and your mother. He was a close + friend of mine when we were young men in London; he a bank manager; I, + just beginning my work. We used to spend our holidays together in + Leicestershire. There we met your mother, whose name was Mary Bewery. He + married her; I was his best man. They went to live in London, and from + that time I did not see so much of them, only now and then. During those + first years of his married life Brake made the acquaintance of a man who + came from the same part of Leicestershire that we had met your mother in—a + man named Falkiner Wraye. I may as well tell you that Falkiner Wraye and + Stephen Folliot were one and the same person.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford paused, observing that Mary wished to ask a question. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you known that?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not until today,” replied Ransford promptly. “Never had the ghost of a + notion of it! If I only had known—but, I hadn't! However, to go back—this + man Wraye, who appears always to have been a perfect master of + plausibility, able to twist people round his little finger, somehow got + into close touch with your father about financial matters. Wraye was at + that time a sort of financial agent in London, engaging in various doings + which, I should imagine, were in the nature of gambles. He was assisted in + these by a man who was either a partner with him or a very confidential + clerk or agent, one Flood, who is identical with the man you have known + lately as Fladgate, the verger. Between them, these two appear to have + cajoled or persuaded your father at times to do very foolish and + injudicious things which were, to put it briefly and plainly, the lendings + of various sums of money as short loans for their transactions. For some + time they invariably kept their word to him, and the advances were always + repaid promptly. But eventually, when they had borrowed from him a + considerable sum—some thousands of pounds—for a deal which was + to be carried through within a couple of days, they decamped with the + money, and completely disappeared, leaving your father to bear the + consequences. You may easily understand what followed. The money which + Brake had lent them was the bank's money. The bank unexpectedly came down + on him for his balance, the whole thing was found out, and he was + prosecuted. He had no defence—he was, of course, technically guilty—and + he was sent to penal servitude.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford had dreaded the telling of this but Mary made no sign, and Dick + only rapped out a sharp question. + </p> + <p> + “He hadn't meant to rob the bank for himself, anyway, had he?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, no! not at all!” replied Ransford hastily. “It was a bad error of + judgment on his part, Dick, but he—he'd relied on these men, more + particularly on Wraye, who'd been the leading spirit. Well, that was your + father's sad fate. Now we come to what happened to your mother and + yourselves. Just before your father's arrest, when he knew that all was + lost, and that he was helpless, he sent hurriedly for me and told me + everything in your mother's presence. He begged me to get her and you two + children right away at once. She was against it; he insisted. I took you + all to a quiet place in the country, where your mother assumed her maiden + name. There, within a year, she died. She wasn't a strong woman at any + time. After that—well, you both know pretty well what has been the + run of things since you began to know anything. We'll leave that, it's + nothing to do with the story. I want to go back to your father. I saw him + after his conviction. When I had satisfied him that you and your mother + were safe, he begged me to do my best to find the two men who had ruined + him. I began that search at once. But there was not a trace of them—they + had disappeared as completely as if they were dead. I used all sorts of + means to trace them—without effect. And when at last your father's + term of imprisonment was over and I went to see him on his release, I had + to tell him that up to that point all my efforts had been useless. I urged + him to let the thing drop, and to start life afresh. But he was + determined. Find both men, but particularly Wraye, he would! He refused + point-blank to even see his children until he had found these men and had + forced them to acknowledge their misdeeds as regards him, for that, of + course, would have cleared him to a certain extent. And in spite of + everything I could say, he there and then went off abroad in search of + them—he had got some clue, faint and indefinite, but still there, as + to Wraye's presence in America, and he went after him. From that time + until the morning of his death here in Wrychester I never saw him again!” + </p> + <p> + “You did see him that morning?” asked Mary. + </p> + <p> + “I saw him, of course, unexpectedly,” answered Ransford. “I had been + across the Close—I came back through the south aisle of the + Cathedral. Just before I left the west porch I saw Brake going up the + stairs to the galleries. I knew him at once. He did not see me, and I + hurried home much upset. Unfortunately, I think, Bryce came in upon me in + that state of agitation. I have reason to believe that he began to suspect + and to plot from that moment. And immediately on hearing of Brake's death, + and its circumstances, I was placed in a terrible dilemma. For I had made + up my mind never to tell you two of your father's history until I had been + able to trace these two men and wring out of them a confession which would + have cleared him of all but the technical commission of the crime of which + he was convicted. Now I had not the least idea that the two men were close + at hand, nor that they had had any hand in his death, and so I kept + silence, and let him be buried under the name he had taken—John + Braden.” + </p> + <p> + Ransford paused and looked at his two listeners as if inviting question or + comment. But neither spoke, and he went on. + </p> + <p> + “You know what happened after that,” he continued. “It soon became evident + to me that sinister and secret things were going on. There was the death + of the labourer—Collishaw. There were other matters. But even then I + had no suspicion of the real truth—the fact is, I began to have some + strange suspicions about Bryce and that old man Harker—based upon + certain evidence which I got by chance. But, all this time, I had never + ceased my investigations about Wraye and Flood, and when the bank-manager + on whom Brake had called in London was here at the inquest, I privately + told him the whole story and invited his co-operation in a certain line + which I was then following. That line suddenly ran up against the man + Flood—otherwise Fladgate. It was not until this very week, however, + that my agents definitely discovered Fladgate to be Flood, and that—through + the investigations about Flood—Folliot was found to be Wraye. Today, + in London, where I met old Harker at the bank at which Brake had lodged + the money he had brought from Australia, the whole thing was made clear by + the last agent of mine who has had the searching in hand. And it shows how + men may easily disappear from a certain round of life, and turn up in + another years after! When those two men cheated your father out of that + money, they disappeared and separated—each, no doubt, with his + share. Flood went off to some obscure place in the North of England; Wraye + went over to America. He evidently made a fortune there; knocked about the + world for awhile; changed his name to Folliot, and under that name married + a wealthy widow, and settled down here in Wrychester to grow roses! How + and where he came across Flood again is not exactly clear, but we knew + that a few years ago Flood was in London, in very poor circumstances, and + the probability is that it was then when the two men met again. What we do + know is that Folliot, as an influential man here, got Flood the post which + he has held, and that things have resulted as they have. And that's all!—all + that I need tell you at present. There are details, but they're of no + importance.” + </p> + <p> + Mary remained silent, but Dick got up with his hands in his pockets. + </p> + <p> + “There's one thing I want to know,” he said. “Which of those two chaps + killed my father? You said it was accident—but was it? I want to + know about that! Are you saying it was accident just to let things down a + bit? Don't! I want to know the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it was accident,” answered Ransford. “I listened most carefully + just now to Fladgate's account of what happened. I firmly believe the man + was telling the truth. But I haven't the least doubt that Folliot poisoned + Collishaw—not the least. Folliot knew that if the least thing came + out about Fladgate, everything would come out about himself.” + </p> + <p> + Dick turned away to leave the room. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Folliot's done for!” he remarked. “I don't care about him, but I + wanted to know for certain about the other.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + When Dick had gone, and Ransford and Mary were left alone, a deep silence + fell on the room. Mary was apparently deep in thought, and Ransford, after + a glance at her, turned away and looked out of the window at the sunlit + Close, thinking of the tragedy he had just witnessed. And he had become so + absorbed in his thoughts of it that he started at feeling a touch on his + arm and looking round saw Mary standing at his side. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to say anything now,” she said, “about what you have just + told us. Some of it I had half-guessed, some of it I had conjectured. But + why didn't you tell me! Before! It wasn't that you hadn't confidence?” + </p> + <p> + “Confidence!” he exclaimed. “There was only one reason—I wanted to + get your father's memory cleared—as far as possible—before + ever telling you anything. I've been wanting to tell you! Hadn't you seen + that I hated to keep silent?” + </p> + <p> + “Hadn't you seen that I wanted to share all your trouble about it?” she + asked. “That was what hurt me—because I couldn't!” + </p> + <p> + Ransford drew a long breath and looked at her. Then he put his hands on + her shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Mary!” he said. “You—you don't mean to say—be plain!—you + don't mean that you can care for an old fellow like me?” + </p> + <p> + He was holding her away from him, but she suddenly smiled and came closer + to him. + </p> + <p> + “You must have been very blind not to have seen that for a long time!” she + answered. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paradise Mystery, by J. S. Fletcher + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARADISE MYSTERY *** + +***** This file should be named 5308-h.htm or 5308-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/0/5308/ + +Produced by and Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> diff --git a/5308.txt b/5308.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6850b1e --- /dev/null +++ b/5308.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9139 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paradise Mystery, by J. S. Fletcher + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Paradise Mystery + +Author: J. S. Fletcher + +Release Date: March, 2004 [EBook #5308] +Posting Date: June 11, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS 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 glance. "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, liberally furnished with yew and +cypress and studded with tombs and gravestones. In one corner rose a +gigantic elm; in another a broken stairway of stone led to a doorway set +high in the walls of the nave; across the enclosure itself was a pathway +which led towards the houses in the south-east corner of the Close. It +was a curious, gloomy spot, little frequented save by people who went +across it rather than follow the gravelled paths outside, and it was +untenanted when Bryce stepped into it. But just as he walked through the +archway he saw Ransford. Ransford was emerging hastily from a postern +door in the west porch--so hastily that Bryce checked himself to look at +him. And though they were twenty yards apart, Bryce saw that Ransford's +face was very pale, almost to whiteness, and that he was unmistakably +agitated. Instantly he connected that agitation with the man who had +come to the surgery door. + +"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 so--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, c/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 next day that Bryce made a forward step +in the matter of solving the problem of Richard Jenkins and his tomb +in Paradise. Ever since his return from Barthorpe he had been making +attempts to get at the true meaning of this mystery. He had paid so +many visits to the Cathedral Library that Ambrose Campany had asked him +jestingly if he was going in for archaeology; Bryce had replied that +having nothing to do just then he saw no reason why he shouldn't improve +his knowledge of the antiquities of Wrychester. But he was scrupulously +careful not to let the librarian know the real object of his prying and +peeping into the old books and documents. Campany, as Bryce was very +well aware, was a walking encyclopaedia of information about Wrychester +Cathedral: he was, in fact, at that time, engaged in completing a +history of it. And it was through that history that Bryce accidentally +got his precious information. For on the day following the interview +with Mary Bewery and Ransford, Bryce being in the library was treated +by Campany to an inspection of certain drawings which the librarian had +made for illustrating his work-drawings, most of them, of old brasses, +coats of arms, and the like,--And at the foot of one of these, a drawing +of a shield on which was sculptured three crows, Bryce saw the name +Richard Jenkins, armiger. It was all he could do to repress a start and +to check his tongue. But Campany, knowing nothing, quickly gave him the +information he wanted. + +"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, Jenkins's?" asked Bryce, feeling that he was on safe ground. +"Must be a matter of doubt if there's no inscription left, isn't it?" + +"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 chances--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 Wrychester--to reveal it in the proper quarter. That +helped Bryce in no way--so far as he could see. And therefore it was +necessary to re-state his case to himself; to take stock; to see where +he stood--and more than all, to put plainly before his own mind exactly +what he wanted. + +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 things he +wanted to clear up, to complete his double net, and he had an idea that +an hour's chat with Glassdale would yield all that he desired. + +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. He muttered +something about the advisability of somebody doing something and went +away, to Mary's relief. She had no desire to discuss the Paradise +mysteries with anybody, especially after Ransford's assurance of the +previous evening. But in the middle of the afternoon in walked Mrs. +Folliot, a rare caller, and before she had been closeted with Mary five +minutes brought up the subject again. + +"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 than 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 and settled in +London. Brake and this man began to have some secret dealings together. +There was another man in with them, too--a man who was a sort of partner +of the Barthorpe man's. Brake had evidently a belief in these men, and +he trusted them--unfortunately for himself he sometimes trusted the +bank's money to them. I know what happened--he used to let them have +money for short financial transactions--to be refunded within a very +brief space. But--he went to the fire too often, and got his fingers +burned in the end. The two men did him--one of them in particular--and +cleared out. He had to stand the racket. He stood it--to the tune of ten +years' penal servitude. And, naturally, when he'd finished his time, he +wanted to find those two men--and began a long search for them. Like to +know the names of the men, Mr. Folliot?" + +"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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARADISE MYSTERY *** + +***** This file should be named 5308.txt or 5308.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/0/5308/ + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/5308.zip b/5308.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d6df537 --- /dev/null +++ b/5308.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..957c8b2 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #5308 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5308) diff --git a/old/tprdm10.txt b/old/tprdm10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..af9c5f4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tprdm10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10248 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Paradise Mystery, by J. S. Fletcher + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +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] + +[Date last updated: April 16, 2005] +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +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 + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARADISE MYSTERY *** + +This file should be named tprdm10.txt or tprdm10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, tprdm11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, tprdm10a.txt + + + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +We are now trying to release all our eBooks one year in advance +of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing. +Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections, +even years after the official publication date. + +Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg eBooks is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. + +Most people start at our Web sites at: +http://gutenberg.net or +http://promo.net/pg + +These Web sites include award-winning information about Project +Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new +eBooks, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!). + + +Those of you who want to download any eBook before announcement +can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is +also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the +indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an +announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter. + +http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or +ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03 + +Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90 + +Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want, +as it appears in our Newsletters. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours +to get any eBook selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour in 2002 as we release over 100 new text +files per month: 1240 more eBooks in 2001 for a total of 4000+ +We are already on our way to trying for 2000 more eBooks in 2002 +If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total +will reach over half a trillion eBooks given away by year's end. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away 1 Trillion eBooks! +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users. + +Here is the briefest record of our progress (* means estimated): + +eBooks Year Month + + 1 1971 July + 10 1991 January + 100 1994 January + 1000 1997 August + 1500 1998 October + 2000 1999 December + 2500 2000 December + 3000 2001 November + 4000 2001 October/November + 6000 2002 December* + 9000 2003 November* +10000 2004 January* + + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created +to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +As of February, 2002, contributions are being solicited from people +and organizations in: Alabama, Alaska, Arkansas, Connecticut, +Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Illinois, +Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, +Michigan, Mississippi, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New +Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Ohio, +Oklahoma, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South +Dakota, Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West +Virginia, Wisconsin, and Wyoming. + +We have filed in all 50 states now, but these are the only ones +that have responded. + +As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list +will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states. +Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state. + +In answer to various questions we have received on this: + +We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally +request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and +you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have, +just ask. + +While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are +not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting +donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to +donate. + +International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about +how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made +deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are +ways. + +Donations by check or money order may be sent to: + +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +PMB 113 +1739 University Ave. +Oxford, MS 38655-4109 + +Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment +method other than by check or money order. + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by +the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN +[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are +tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fund-raising +requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be +made and fund-raising will begin in the additional states. + +We need your donations more than ever! + +You can get up to date donation information online at: + +http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html + + +*** + +If you can't reach Project Gutenberg, +you can always email directly to: + +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message. + +We would prefer to send you information by email. + + +**The Legal Small Print** + + +(Three Pages) + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this eBook, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you may distribute copies of this eBook if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS EBOOK +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +eBook, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this eBook by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this eBook on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM EBOOKS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBooks, +is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor Michael S. Hart +through the Project Gutenberg Association (the "Project"). +Among other things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this eBook +under the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +Please do not use the "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark to market +any commercial products without permission. + +To create these eBooks, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's eBooks and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other eBook medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] Michael Hart and the Foundation (and any other party you may +receive this eBook from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm eBook) disclaims +all liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this eBook within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS EBOOK IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE EBOOK OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold Michael Hart, the Foundation, +and its trustees and agents, and any volunteers associated +with the production and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +texts harmless, from all liability, cost and expense, including +legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of the +following that you do or cause: [1] distribution of this eBook, +[2] alteration, modification, or addition to the eBook, +or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this eBook electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + eBook or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this eBook in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word + processing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The eBook, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The eBook may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the eBook (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + eBook in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the eBook refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Foundation of 20% of the + gross profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation" + the 60 days following each date you prepare (or were + legally required to prepare) your annual (or equivalent + periodic) tax return. Please contact us beforehand to + let us know your plans and to work out the details. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +Project Gutenberg is dedicated to increasing the number of +public domain and licensed works that can be freely distributed +in machine readable form. + +The Project gratefully accepts contributions of money, time, +public domain materials, or royalty free copyright licenses. +Money should be paid to the: +"Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +If you are interested in contributing scanning equipment or +software or other items, please contact Michael Hart at: +hart@pobox.com + +[Portions of this eBook's header and trailer may be reprinted only +when distributed free of all fees. Copyright (C) 2001, 2002 by +Michael S. Hart. Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be +used in any sales of Project Gutenberg eBooks or other materials be +they hardware or software or any other related product without +express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN EBOOKS*Ver.02/11/02*END* + + diff --git a/old/tprdm10.zip b/old/tprdm10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f9bcaa3 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tprdm10.zip |