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+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
+
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