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1





~


THE
PARADISE
MYSTERY


THE BORZOI
MYSTERY STORIES
“These “mystery’ books are about
the best of their kind in circulation.”
III.
IV.
Wi.
Wii.
Wiii.
IX.
– Knickerbocker Press.
THE WHITE ROOK
By J. B. Harris-Burland
. The SOLITARY HOUSE
By E. R. Punshort
THE SHADOW OF MALREWARD
By J. B. Harris-Burland
THE MIDDLe TEMPLE MURDER
By J. S. Fletcher
. THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM
By J. S. Fletcher
The PATHWAY OF ADVENTURE
By Ross Tyrell.
THE PARADISE MYStery
By J. S. Fletcher
THE WHISPERING DEAD
By Alfred Ganachilly
[In Preparation]
DEAD MEN's Money
By J. S. Fletcher
. THE CHESTERMARKE INSTINCT
By J. S. Fletcher


THE
PARADISE
MYSTERY
BY
J. S. FLETCHER
!

NEW YORK
ALFRED • A • KNOPF
MCMXX
J
W*


COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY
TTtE NEW VOPvK
public librae:
272733A
ALFRED A. KNOPF, IN0.
acTOK, LENOX AND
TU.DEN FOUNDATIONS
R 1929
PBINTOB m; THE UNITED STATES OP AMERICA


{
º*:
XI
XII
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
CONTENTS
ONLY THE GUARDIAN
MAKING AN ENEMY
ST. WRYTHA's STAIR,
THE ROOM AT THE MITRE
THE SCRAP OF PAPER •
BY MISADVENTURE
THE DOUBLE TRAIL
THE BEST MAN
THE HOUSE OF HIS FRIEND.
DIPLOMACY
THE BACK ROOM -
MURDER OF THE MASON'S LABOURER
BRYCE IS ASKED A QUESTION
FROM THE PAST
THE DOUBLE OFFER
BEFOREHAND
TO BE SHADOWED ~
SURPRISE
THE SUBTILTY OF THE DEVIL
JETTISON TAKES A HAND
20
31
42
54
66
77
88
99
110
121
132
143
154
165
177
187
201
210
222


CONTENTS
XXI
XXII
XXIII
xxIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
THE SAXONSTEADE ARMS
OTHER PEOPLE'S NOTIONS
THE UNEXPECTED
FINESSE
THE OLD WELL HOUSE
THE OTHER MAN
THE GUARDED SECRET.
234
245
256
266
276
286
296


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 lace-
work, is transformed at different hours of the day into
shifting shades of colour, varying from grey to pur-
ple: 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
9


10 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
i
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 gar-
den, and, seen in vistas through the trees and shrub-
beries, 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 bis dark hair had a streak of


ONLY THE GUARDIAN 11
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 appar-
ently 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 be-
tween his book and his plate; now and then he mut-
tered 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


12 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 un-
deniably 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 ac-
quainted 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 hand-
writing, 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


ONLY THE GUARDIAN 13
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 re-
fill 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 Rans-
ford. "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 mantel-
piece. 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


14 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 annoy-
ance 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—afte-
what I say to him," answered Ransford. "Don't you
trouble yourself about it—I'm not at all keen ahout
him. He's a clever enough fellow, and a good


ONLY THE GUARDIAN 15
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 sud-
denly 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. Nowa-
days—"
"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 guard-
ian."
"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


16 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 he 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 per-
sisted. '' Is there any reason why I shouldn 't be told
—everything?"


ONLY THE GUARDIAN 17
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 Rans-
ford 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 un-
comfortable 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


18 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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. Edu-
cation—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 re-
plied 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—some-
thing. Thank you. I won't ask more now.''
"I've always meant to tell you—a good deal," re-
marked 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?"


ONLY THE GUARDIAN 19
"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 mate 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
Bhe'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 any-
body'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 hins-
self in making up some prescription. Ten minutes
went by in silence; then Ransford pushed his corre-
spondence aside, laid a paper-weight on it, and twist-
ing 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 lever liked this assistant of his, although
he had then had him in employment for nearly two
years. There was something about Pemberton Bryce
20


MAKING AN ENEMY 21
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 Rans-
ford 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 dis-
tinguishing 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 signi-
ficance in the words just addressed to him—but he


22 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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
pottles, labelled one, restored the other to a shelf, and
,a.urned 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, discon-
certing 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 wel-
come to Miss Bewery.''
Bryce made no immediate response. Instead, lean-
ing 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
jnan—or the young woman herself, for that matter—


MAKING AN ENEMY 88
to say that he mustn't express his desires to herf"
"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 •
fool. What a woman thinks on Monday she's almr
dead certain not to think on Tuesday. The whoio
history of human relationship is on my side there.
It's no opinion—it's a fact."
Hansford 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 sur-
prised. 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—
yon should take her answer and behave yourself
accordingly!''
Bryce favoured his senior with a searching look.


24 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"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 re-
gards 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.


MAKING AN ENEMY 25
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 stand-
ing, and that I myself came to you on high recom-
mendation. 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 1


*6 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
care—let them be confounded, too. But if you im-
agine 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-haunt-
ing curates, are free from gossip—why, you're a sin-
gularly innocent person!"
"They'd better not begin gossiping about my af-
fairs," 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 hu-
man nature!"
"You've heard them?" asked Ransford, who was
too vexed to keep back his curiosity. "You your-
self?"
"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.


MAKING AN ENEMY «7
"Just so," agreed Bryce. "But—that's the sort
of thing. Do you want more? I can supply an un-
limited quantity in the piece if you like. But it's all
according to sample."
'' So—in addition to your other qualities,'' remarked
Ransf ord, '' 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. Rans-
ford."
'' 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 depend-
able 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


28 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 de-
termination ?''
"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 goinr,
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. "You'
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.


MAKING AN ENEMY 29
"You must see," remarked Ransford, half apolo-
getically, "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," an-
swered 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 Bryee. 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 Rans-
ford 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.


80 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"Perhaps," remarked Bryce quietly, "her ideas
run in—that direction? In which case, Dr. Rans-
ford, 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 pro-
ceeded to collect a few possessions of his own, instru-
ments, hooks 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
81


82 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 CIokp.
"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


ST. WRYTHA'S STAIR 33
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 prepara-
tions 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 talk-
ing 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 Wry-
chester knows—for nobody in Wrychester knows
anything beyond a few years back. No, Dr. Rans-
ford !—no farewells—to anybody! A mere departure
—till I turn up again."
But Bryce was not to get away from the old house


84 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 Bon-
ham 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 em-
barrassment 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 pres
ent intention was to go to them to leave his bag and
make some further arrangements. He had no idea of
leaving Wry Chester—he knew of another doctor in the


ST. WRYTHA'S STAIR 85
city who was badly in need of help: he would go to
him—would tell him, if need be, why he had left
Ransf ord. 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 en-
closure whiclvall Wrychester folk knew by its time-
honoured name of Paradise. This was really an outer
court of the old cloisters; its high walls, half-ruinous,
almost wholly covered with ivy, shut in an expanse
of turf, literally furnished with yew and cypress and
studded with tombs and gravestones. In one corner
rose a gigantic elm; in another a broken stairway of
stone led to a doorway set high in the walls of the
nave; across the enclosure itself was a pathway which
led towards the houses in the south-east corner of
the Close. It was a curious, gloomy spot, little fre-
quented save by people who went across it rather than
follow the gravelled paths outside, and it was un-
tenanted when Bryce stepped into it. But just as he
walked through the archway he saw Ransford. Rans-
ford 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 agi-
tated. 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


36 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
the retreating figure, until Ransford had disappeared
within his own garden; still wondering and specu-
lating, 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 run-
ning 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. '' Some-
thing 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 Var-
ner. "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


ST. WRYTHA'S STAIR 37
was looking at one of those old tombs yonder—some-
body 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 flag-
stones, lay the body of a man crumpled up in a curi-
ously 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


38 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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—involun-
tary, 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 sud-
denly, 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 un-
observed, 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


ST. WRYTHA'S STAIR S9
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, presum-
ably 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 T
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—mur-
der! 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
s


40 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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.


ST. WRYTHA'S STAIR 41
'' Let Varner show you the way up there,'' he said.
'' Go quietly—don't make any f uss—the morning serv-
ice 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 hiip, 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.
V


CHAPTER IV
THE BOOM 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 Rans-
ford 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 diffi-
culty. 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 be-
come unstrung.
"What is it?—what are you doing there?" he de-
manded almost fiercely. "What do you mean by com-
ing 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. Wrytba'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
42


THE ROOM AT THE MITRE 48
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
I —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 1''
"Precisely," replied Bryce, who was now consider-
ably 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 profes-
sional 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 conceal-
ing his thoughts. And now he decided that the look


THE ROOM AT THE MITRE 45
Ransford's cheek flushed, and he was unable to re-
press 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, concen-
trated 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 re-
moved, 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 fur-
ther 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


46 THE.PARADISE MYSTERY
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 al-
ready 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. '' Some-
body '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 inspec-
tor. "He was seen outside here last night by one of
our men, anyway."
The landlady uttered an expression of distress, and


THE ROOM AT THE MITRE 47
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 dis-
tress 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


48 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
me if he could hire a trap to take him out to Saxon-
steade 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 any-
thing 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 Mitching-
ton. "A personal friend?"
'' Never saw him in my life before last night!" re-
plied the tall man. "We just chanced to meet in the
train coming down from London, got talking, and


THE ROOM AT THE MITRE 49
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. Pleas-
ant, 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 recollec-
tion 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 him-
self. Perhaps in that—"
"I should like to see whatever he had," said Mitch-
ington. "We'd better examine his room, Mrs. Part-
ingley.''


50 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
Bryce presently followed the landlady and the in-
spector upstairs—Mr. Dellingham followed him. All
four went into a bedroom which looked out on Mon-
day 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
Mitehington 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-—lie
evidently had no intention of a long stop. An ext :a
pair of trousers—some shirts—socks—collars—neck-
ties—slippers—handkerchiefs—that's about all. Ai d
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 Capucir.es.


THE ROOM AT THE MITRE $3
And—judging by the look of 'em—I should say theses
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."
"Ill take my oath he isn't!" exclaimed Mr. Delling-
ham. "However long he'd been out of England he
hadn't lost a North-Country accent! He was some
sort of a North-Country man—Yorkshire or Lanca-
shire, 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 an-
tiquities and archaeology, it was somewhat strange
that he should have bought a book which was mainly


5^
THE PARADISE MYSTERY
/*
0
antiquarian, and that it might be that he had so bought
it because of a connection between Barthorpe and him-
self. But he remembered that it was his own policy to
keep pertinent facts for his own private considera-
tion, 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. Ste-
phen 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 Super-
intendent 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 imme-
diately afterwards."
Bryce heard this and turned away, making a cal-
"■"■-. culation for himself. It had been on the stroke of ten
X


THE ROOM AT THE MITRE 53
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 OP 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 frag-
ment could be called a document—of no ordinary im-
portance. And now be 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 note-paper, 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 abbre-
viations of words, in Latin, and some figures:—
In Para. Wryeestr. juxt. tumb.
Kic. 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
54


THE SCRAP OF PAPER 55
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 probabil-
ity twenty-three inches from the head-stone, and fif-
teen inches beneath the surface. That was a ques-
tion which Bryce immediately resolved to find a satis-
factory 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 connec-
tion between Ransford and his two wards. Bryce,


56 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
in telling Ransford that morning of what was beinjj
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 singie
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, with-
out 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 ease, 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 com-
pany, he had soon discovered that whatever relation-


THE SCRAP OF PAPER 57
ship existed between them and Ransford, they had
none with anybody else—that they knew of. No let-
ters came for them from uncles, aunts, cousins,• grand-
fathers, 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 spend-
ing 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 ven-
eration for Ransford; just as easy to see that Rans-
ford 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 ques-
tion: Had the events of that morning anything to


58 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
do with the mystery which hung around Dr. Rans-
f ord '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 Bew-
ery, and he was only too eager to lay hands on any-
thing 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 ex-
clusive 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 gal-
lery. 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!


THE SCRAP OF PAPER 59
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 hap-
pened 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 pock-
ets, 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 Arch-
dale, 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 mis-
taken. I'm speaking of something I know. I know


THE SCRAP OF PAPER CI
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 un-
mistakable agitation on leaving the west porch, and
of his attack—equally unmistakable—of nerves in the
surgery? But what Archdale had said made him in-
quisitive, and after he had treated himself—in cele-
bration 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 Chap-
ter," 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 en-
trances 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 morn-
ing service, and they neither saw nor heard. Odd,
sir, ain't it?"
"The whole thing's odd," agreed Bryce, and left
^


62 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
the Cathedral. He walked round to the wicket gate
which admitted to that side of Paradise—to find an-
other 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 dinner-time.''
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 Bew-
ery. '' 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 be-
tween his guardian and the dismissed assistant, glanced
at Bryce with interest.
"You were on the spot first, weren't you?" he


THE SCRAP OF PAPER 63
asked: "Do you think it really was murderf"
"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 pub-
lic firmly warned off—so to speak. 'I won't have the
Cathedral turned into a peep-show!' 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


64 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 think-
ing. 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 Jen-
kinson—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 manu-
scripts, 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 collec-
tion well known to bibliophiles. And Ambrose Cam-
pany, a cheery-faced, middle-aged man, with book-
lover and antiquary written all over him, shock-
headed, blue-spectacled, was there now, talking to an
old man whom Bryce knew as a neighbour of his in
Friary Lane—one Simpson Harker, a quiet, meditative
-
k


THE SCRAP OF PAPER 65
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 6tout walk-
ing 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 under-
stood from Mitchington."
"Yes, I was there," said Bryce, who was not un-
willing 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 Bar-
thorpe that I should make inquiries about him.''
Simpson Harker made no remark, and Bryce re-
membered what Mr. Dellingham had said when the
book was found.
60


BY MISADVENTURE 67
"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 probabili-
ties. 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 Cathe-
dral and its precincts—it was to inspect one of these
that he had come to the Library. But suddenly re-
membering 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 Cathe-
dral?" he inquired. "Some book in which they're
put down? I was looking in the Memorials of Wry-
chester 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 in-
dicated, and taking down the second book carried it


BY MISADVENTURE 69
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 memo-
randum 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 en-
suing evening in trying to puzzle out the various mys-
teries 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 assem-
blage 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


70 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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.


BY MISADVENTURE 71
"In consequence of finding the book about Bar-
thorpe 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 towns-
man 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. Noth-
ing 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 Saxon-
steade, 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 in-
terested. It was possible that he might be able to tell
something of moment—he might, after all, know some-
thing of this apparently mysterious stranger, who,
for anything that Mrs. Partingley or anybody else
could say to the contrary, might have had an appoint-
ment and business with himr—
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 un-
fortunate man and had looked carefully at the fea-
tures. He was not a man of whom he had any knowl-
edge 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
r


72 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 mem-
ory 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 Couoner.
"Just no—nothing!" agreed the Duke and stepped
down again.
It was at this stage that the Coroner sent the jury-
men 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 Lon-
don 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



BY MISADVENTURE 78
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. Alex-
ander Chilstone, manager of the London & Colonies
Bank, in Threadneedle Street. Mr. Chilstone saw par-
ticulars 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 Bansford who was sitting opposite to him, be-
yond 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 cer-
tainly 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—alto-
gether, it was more than mere curiosity that was indi-
cated 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 im-
portance. 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


74 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 it
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. Chil-
stone, '' 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
certainty been inserted by our unfortunate customer.''
The Coroner glanced at a marked passage in the
personal column of the Times, and read it aloud.


BY MISADVENTURE 75
"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, Thread-
needle 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 sug-
gest 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 pre-
vious day had gained favour with the authorities, and
that the visit of the jurymen to the scene of the dis-
aster 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, ex-
pressing the same decided conviction—that the real
truth was that the pavement of the gallery had at
fhat particular place become so smooth, and was in-


76 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
clined 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 mis-
taken, and no one was surprised when the foreman,
after a very brief consultation with his fellows, an-
nounced 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 ques-
tion of sacrilege, of course—and all sorts of complica-
tions. ''
Bryce made no answer. He was watching Rans-
ford, 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 Wry-
chester who was watching Ransford with keen atten-
tion 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 exceed-
ingly 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 unex-
plainable 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 concern-
ing 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
77


THE DOUBLE TRAIL 79
"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 Chap-
ter, 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 tell-
ing 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 1''
"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 Rans-
ford—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 sentimen-
tality—the man's sad fate had impressed him. And
s


80 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
that afternoon the sexton at St. Wigbert's pointed out
the new grave to Miss Bewery and Mr. Sackville Bon-
ham, 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 exe-
cute a commission for his mother, had heard her busi-
ness, 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 Wry-
chester 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 con-
temptuously dismissed as five-shilling subscribers.
Mrs, Folliot, in her way, was undoubtedly a power


THE DOUBLE TRAIL 81
—and for reasons of his own Pemberton Bryce, when-
ever he met her—which was fairly often—was invari-
ably 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 chari-
table 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 feel-
ing? 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 engage-
ment 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 Gar-
dales' 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 stran-
ger! 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 cer-
tainly a consideration. But then, who knows?—the
money may have been stolen. Now, really, did you


82 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 won-
der, 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 won-
dering 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 suf-
ficiently particular. I said to Mr. Folliot this morn-
ing, on reading the newspaper, that in my view that
inquest should have been adjourned for further par-
ticulars. 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, happen-
ing to look out of one of her upper windows, she saw
a man whom, from the description given in the news-
papers, was, Mrs. Deramore feels assured, was the
mysterious stranger, crossing the Close towards the
Cathedral in, Mrs. Deramore is positive, a dead


THE DOUBLE TRAIL 88
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 cer-
tainly very curious that Dr. Bansford should send a
wreath to the grave of—a stranger.''
He went away convinced that Mrs. Folliot's in-
quisitiveness 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 sus-
picions. 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 evi-
dence which had accrued.
The question of the scrap of paper found in Bra-
den'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 adver-
tisement 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 advertise-
ment. There it was—old friend Marco was wanted by
(presumably old friend) Sticker, and whoever Sticker


84 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 thou-
sand 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 any-
body 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. Am-
brose 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.
v
k


THE DOUBLE TRAIL 85
Therefore, information about Braden, leading to
knowledge of his association or connection with Hans-
ford, might be found at Barthorpe. True, the Bai*-
thorpe police had already reported that they could tell
nothing about any Braden, but that, in Bryce's opin-
ion, 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 mat-
ter—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 Bar-
thorpe 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 stocki lg-making
—evidently a slow, sleepy old place.
That night Bryce packed a hand-bag with small
necessaries for a few days' excursion, and next morn-
ing 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


86 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 mys-
terious 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 aD 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. Some,
body 'll be after that, you may be sure!''


THE DOUBLE TRAIL 87
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 market-
place, under the shadow of the parish church, and in
its oak-panelled dining-room, hung about with por-
traits 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 pic-
tures 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 any-
thing 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 pre-
viously 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 Wry-
chester, sir, for Wrychester folk to meet in."
"I'd no idea of meeting you, Mr. Harker," re-
sponded 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
88


THE BEST MAN 89
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," an-
swered 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 com-
panion'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
^


90 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 rea-
son 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 Har-
ker, 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 stay-
ing 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
X


THE BEST MAN 91
neighbourhood. Put your best plainclothes man on to
him at once—he'll easily know him from the descrip-
tion I gave you—and let him shadow him wherever
he goes. And then let me know of his movements—
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 inter-
ested in his movements when he strolled out into Bar-
thorpe 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


92 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 la-
bours. 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


THE BEST MAN 99,
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
s


94 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 Wom-
ersley, 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 Rans-
ford 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 adver-
tisement. 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,


THE BEST MAN 95
he set off for the vicarage again, intent on getting
further information, and before he reached the vicar-
age 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 be-
tween 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?" in-
quired 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," con-
tinued Bryce. "Who was he?"


96 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"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. Mr. 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 Bansford stood best man for him."
Bryce 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


CHAPTER IX
THE HOUSE OP 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 West-
bourne 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. Pember-
ton Bryce?"
Bryce made his best bow and assumed his suavest
and most ingratiating manner.
'' I hope I am not intruding on your time, Mr. Gil-
waters?" 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. "Claybourne, of course, I remem-
ber very well indeed—he must be getting an old man
99


100 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
now—like myself! What is it you want to know,
now?"
"I shall have to take you into my confidence," re-
plied Bryce, who had carefully laid his plans and pre-
pared his story, "and you, I am sure, Mr. Gilwaters,
will respect mine. I have for two years heen in prac-
tice at Wrychester, and have there made the acquaint-
ance of a young lady whom I earnestly desire to
marry. She is the ward of the man to whom I have
heen 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—guard-
ian?"
"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, repeat-
ing his first question. "Is—is there some—some
mystery ?''


102 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
Med worth. 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 Lon-
don—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?"


THE HOUSE OF HIS FRIEND 103
"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—em-
bezzlement, 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 oc-
curred. 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


104 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 news-
paper.
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 Ban^ 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 im-
possible 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 re-
specting 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


106 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
swer. 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 con-
cluded. '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 mys-
terious 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


THE HOUSE OF HIS FRIEND 107
him. And then I found that he, too, who up to that
time had been practising in a London suburb—Streat-
ham—had also disappeared. Just after Brake's ar-
rest, 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 any-
thing 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, Rich-
ard, who is between seventeen and eighteen."
"Without a doubt those are Brake's children!" ex-
claimed 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 guard-
ian 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. Rans-
ford won't tell them anything. But, as you say—
I 've no doubt of it myself now—they must be the chil-
dren of John Brake."
"And have taken the name of their mother!" re-
marked the old man.


108 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"Had it given to them," Baid Bryce. "They don't
know that it isn't their real name. Of course, Rans-
ford has given it to them! But now—the mother?"
'' Ah, yes, the mother!'' said Mr. Gil waters. '' Our
old governess! Dear me!"
"I'm going to put a question to you," continued
Bryce, leaning nearer and speaking in a low, confi-
dential 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 Rans-
ford 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


THE HOUSE OF HIS FRIEND 109
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 com-
plexion, 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 inven-
tions. He had not the least intention of ever seeing
or communicating with the late vicar of Braden Med-
worth 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
gpeater 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 re-
lease. 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 Aus-
tralia, whence he had undoubtedly come to England
recently. But he had come, at last, and he had evi-
dently tracked Ransford to Wrychester—why, other-
wise, 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
no


DIPLOMACY 111
he sped home to Wryehester—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 advertise-
ment 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 cher-
ished friend again 1 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 at-
tract, not Ransford, but some person who could give
information about Ransford. Whatever its exact
meaning might have been, its existence made no dif-
ference to Bryee's firm opinion that it was Mark Rans-
ford 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 Wryehester, she set out, alone, for the Wryehester
Golf Club. It was her habit to go there almost every
day, and Bryce was well acquainted with her move-


112 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
ments and knew precisely where to waylay her. And
empty of Bryce though her mind was, she was not sur-
prised 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 as-
sistant. But she had to pass through a wicket gate at
that point, and Bryce barred the way, with unmistak-
able 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 con-
vince 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 ?''
■■


DIPLOMACY 115
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 my-
self knew that Braden had been to the surgery door
—therefore, I thought that if I kept silence, his call-
ing 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 up-
stairs 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,"


116 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 sur-
prised," 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


DIPLOMACY 117
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 be-
tween 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 mys-
tery surrounding this man connected in any way with
the mystery about herself and her brother?—that mys-
tery 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. Fol-
liot—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
S


11.8 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 pas-
sionate 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 Eng-
land. 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 graft-
ing—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 next to your house—Mrs. Deramore—has been
saying some things—or a thing—which—to put it
plainly—might make some unpleasantness for him?"


DIPLOMACY 119
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," con-
tinued Folliot, glancing knowingly at her. "The ac-
cident 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 any-
thing, 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. Rans-
ford'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


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 hot-bed 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
121


THE BACK ROOM 128
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 with-
out hesitation. '' But—not until just now—this morn-
ing."
"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—


124 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 hav-
ing 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. Bul^-
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 morn-
ing. 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 sug-
gest 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 our-
selves 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 Wryehester, 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,


126 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 al-
most 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. "Dm!
Good health, sir!—heard, of course, that—"
"That Braden called on Dr. Hansford not long be-
fore 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 Rans-
ford 's house, and presumably saw him, and that Rans-
ford, accordingly, knows something about him which
he hasn't told. Now—what do you know? Do you


THE BACK ROOM 127
know if Ransford and Braden did meet that morn-
ing?"
"Not at Ransford's house, anyway," answered
Bryee 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 Mitch-
ington. "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 Rans-
ford?" asked the inspector.
"I tell you Ransford was already gone out," an-
swered 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


128 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 talk-
ing. 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 per-
sists 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 em-
ployed as a mason's labourer about the Cathedral of
late. This Collishaw, it seems, was at work some-
where up in the galleries, ambulatories, or whatever
they call those upper regions, on the very morning


THE BACK ROOM 129
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," an-
swered Mitchington. "That's the impression I car-
ried 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 get-
ting 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."


130 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"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 cor-
oner'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


THE BACK ROOM 131
put that man off about the call at my surgery. You
didn't tell him the truth."
"Quite right," assented Bryee. "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 satis-
faction.


CHAPTER XII
MURDER OP 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 knowl-
edge 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 informa-
tion 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 follow-
ing the interview with Mary Bewery and Ransford,
Bryce being in the library was treated by Campany
to an inspection of certain drawings which the li-
brarian 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
132


MURDER OF THE LABOURER 133
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 ornamenta-
tions 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 par-
ticular 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 Jen-
kins, 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 nowa-
days. Richard Jenkins was, as you may guess, a
Welshman, who settled here in Wrychester in the sev-
enteenth 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 identi-


MURDER OF THE LABOURER 135
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 still-
ness 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 in-
stant he knew that for the second time within a fort-
night he had found a dead man in Wrychester Para-
dise.
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 grave-
stones 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 un-
mistakably 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 sun-


136 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
light, 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. Kun down to the police-station—
get hold of Mitchington—quietly, you understand!—
bring him here at once. If he's not there, bring some-
body 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, hur-
ried 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.


MURDER OF THE LABOURER 13^
"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, Mitching-
ton, 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


138 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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? Noth-
ing!"


MURDER OF THE LABOURER 139
"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 some-
body who had a knowledge of poison!" answered
Mitchington. "And I should say there aren't many
people in Wrychester who have such knowledge—out-
side yourselves and the chemists. It's a black busi-
ness, 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 ac-
count of his discovery. And after the police had
taken the body away, and he had accompanied Mitch-
ington 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 some-
body 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 Mitch-
ington 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 knowl-
edge, 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 Colli-


140 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
shaw'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 ques-
tions 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 natu-
rally wanted to know all I could."
"Well?" asked Bryce.
'' Collishaw, I say, was putting up his dinner to take


MURDER OF THE LABOURER 141
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 ?—Rans-
ford 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 appeal-
ingly. "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.


142 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"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 any-
thing 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 schem-
ing. If Ransford had really got rid of this man who
knew something—why, then, it was certainly Rans-
ford 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 whis-
pered. "Poisoned! Hydrocyanic acid!"


CHAPTER XIII
BRYCE IS ASKED A QUESTION
Mitchington stepped aside into a private room, mo-
tioning Bryce to follow him. He carefully closed the
door, and looking significantly at his companion, re-
peated his last words, with a shake of the head.
"Poisoned!—without the very least doubt," he
whispered. "Hydrocyanic acid—which, I under-
stand, is the same thing as what's commonly called
prussic acid. They say then hadn't the least diffi-
culty 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—:
S
143


144 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 1'' 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, any-
way. 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. Who-
ever 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, smil-
ing. "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 admin-
istered that poison to Collishaw must have been cer-
tain—absolutely certain, mind you!—that it was im-
possible 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 adminis-
tered?"
"How much would kill anybody—pretty quick?"
asked Mitchington.
'' How much? One drop would cause instantaneous


146 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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. Rans-
ford," 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 knowl-
edge 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. Col-
lishaw 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 an-
other point, on their way from the railway station,
whither Mary had gone especially to meet her guard-
ian. They were in such deep conversation that Bryce


148 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"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. Colli-
shaw 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 Col-
lishaw'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 an-
other laugh. He took a turn across the room and sud-
denly faced round on Bryce, who had remained stand-
ing 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."


150 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
thrust in his pockets, watched him go away across the
Close. ,
'' Guardian!'' said Mary softly.
Ransford turned sharply.
"Wouldn't it he best," she continued, speaking
nervously, "if—if you do know anything about that
unfortunate man—if you told it? Why have this sus-
picion 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 some-
thing, which I don't admit—why should I allow my-
self 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.


BRYCE IS ASKED A QUESTION 151
"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 Rans-
ford. "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 appeal-
ingly 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 some-
thing, 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 particu-
lars. 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-


152 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 investi-
gation. 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


BRYCE IS ASKED A QUESTION 153
legal and professional-looking aspect, some old pic-
tures, and a cabinet of odds and ends, stowed away in
a dark corner. The old man motioned him to an easy-
chair, and going over to a cupboard, produced a de-
canter 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. Urn—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 sus-
picious. "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
PROM 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 ques-
tion 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 V'
Bryce turned and leisurely inspected on<? shelf after
another.
154


FROM THE PAST 155
'' 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 Wrycb.es-
ter 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 thres-
hold 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 Har-
ker, "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 Wryches-
ter?" suggested Bryce.


156 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"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 Wry-
chester?" 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?" con-
tinued Bryce.
"No, he didn't—he hadn't the least idea of it," re-
sponded 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


FROM THE PAST 157
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 1 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 servi-
tude," 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 com-
mon 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—


158 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 myste-
rious about it—either as soon as he was arrested or be-
fore. Anyway, he said nothing, and from that mo-
ment I never set eyes on him again until I met him in
the street here in Wryehester, 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 some-
where, 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 de-
voting all his faculties to tense and absorbed concen-
tration on what another man could tell, leaving reflec-
tions 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 him-
self. 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 thence to New Zealand


FROM THE PAST 159
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 inter-
est, 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 associa-


160 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
tions 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


FROM THE PAST 161
he pulled out his purse again. 'I'll show you some-
thing—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 be-
fore 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 he 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 Hansford?" inquired Bryce.
"Never!" said Harker.
"Did he make any reference to his wife and chil-
dren?"
"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?"


162 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"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
going 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


FROM THE PAST 163
himself—the man in Australia was a fiction. I went,
then—and learned nothing. Except that this Falk-
iner 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 igno-
rance 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?"


164 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"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 produc-
ing 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 de-
tective, smiled at Harker 's last remark.
"That's a bit of a platitude, isn't it?" he sug-
gested. "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 think-
ing 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 no-
body'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 remem-
ber that his Grace was questioned about that at the
inquest and could give no explanation—he knew noth-
ing of Brake, and couldn't suggest any reason why
Brake should wish to have an interview with him.
But—lean!"
"You?" exclaimed Bryce.
"I," answered Harker. "And it's this—I spoke
165


166 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 Saxon-
steade'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 cer-
tainly 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, to-
gether. ''
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 in-


THE DOUBLE OFFER 167
quest 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 tomor-
row night, come round here and we'll consider mat-
ters."
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 work-
ing 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 Col-
lishaw had set down his dinner basket and his tin
bottle while he worked, he replied that it so happened


THE DOUBLE OFFER 169
served the Coroner, "a box of pills was found, Dr.
Eansford, 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 at-
tendance on the wife, for some weeks. A day or two
before his death, Collishaw complained to me of in-
digestion, 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 Coro-
ner.
"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 acci-
dent?"
"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 mo-
ment.
'' 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.


170 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"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 con-
versation 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, sud-
denly lost control of himself. He uttered a sharp ex-
clamation 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 de-


THE DOUBLE OFFER 171
maud that a question shall be put which is of immense
importance to my interests, you close down the in-
quiry—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 re-
called, 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 oppor-
tunity, as I am on oath, of saying that I know nothing
whatever of the causes of the deaths of either Colli-
shaw 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 out-
burst 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 out-
side by Sackville Bonham, whom he had noticed in
court, in company with his stepfather, Mr. Folliot.


172 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
Folliot, Bryce had observed, had stopped behind, ex-
changing some conversation with the Coroner. Saek-
ville 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 Sack-
ville confidentially. "Of course, Ransford is a per-
fect 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 im-
mediate 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 Sack-
ville, 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! How-
ever, if a man won't do things for himself, well, his


THE DOUBLE OFFER 173
friends must do something for him. Ransford, of
course, must be pulled—dragged!—out of this in-
fernal hole. Of course he's suspected! But my step-
father—he's going to take a hand. And my step-
father, 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 1''
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 my-
self and Miss Bewery, you know—and of course, we
couldn 't have any suspicions attaching to her guard-
ian, could we, now?" Family interest, don't you
know—Caesar's wife, and all that sort of thing, eh?"
"I see," answered Bryce, quietly. "Ah!—sort of
family arrangement. With Ransford•s consent and
knowledge, of course ?''
"Ransford won't even be consulted," said Sack-
ville, 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.


174 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
And—was there some mystery still undreamt of by
himself and Harker? There might be—he was still
under the influence of Ransf ord 's indignant and dra-
matic assertion of his innocence. Would Ransf ord
have allowed himself an outburst of that sort if he
had not been, as he said, utterly ignorant of the im-
mediate cause of Braden's death? Now Bryce, all
through, was calculating, for his own purposes, on
Ransf ord'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. Any-
way, 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


THE DOUBLE OFFER 175
of Richard Jenkins's tomb, another strange develop-
ment came. As the dark fell over the old city that
night and he was thinking of setting out on his mis-
sion, 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 Re-
ward!—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 & Mayn-
ard, 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 rela-
tive to the deaths of John Braden and James Colli-
shaw, 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 circum-
stances attending the death of John Braden—to be
paid by Mr. Beachcroft. And he's Mr. Folliot's so-
licitor! So—that comes from Mr. Folliot. What has


CHAPTER XVI
BEFOREHAND
In accordance with his undeniable capacity for con-
triving and scheming, Bryce had made due and care-
ful 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 dilapi-
dated 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 pre-
sumed 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 lan-
tern. Had he been arrested and searched as he made
his way towards the cathedral precincts he might rea-
sonably 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 Para-
177


BEFOREHAND 179
'' Hullo!" said Bryce. '' What's your hurry, young
Bewery?"
Dick, who was panting for breath, more from excite-
ment 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, jerk-
ing 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 uncon-
cerned.
"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 some-
thing of that sort!''
"Digging!" muttered Bryce. "Digging?"


180 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"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 pre-
vious 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,


BEFOREHAND 181
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 Chap-
ter. A fourth—whose presence made Bryce start for
the second time that evening—was the Duke of Saxon-
steade. 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 pro-
ceedings. 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 over-
heard. "Watch 'em! I want to fetch somebody—
I 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
-
j


182 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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.
"Mitehington, 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. "Yon 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


184 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
ingly accurate idea of where the spot might be, as in-
dicated 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 Mitching-
ton 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 de-
lighted 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.


BEFOREHAND 185
"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 my-
self for not having twigged the meaning of this busi-
ness 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


186 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 Mitching-
ton'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 £5,000 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?"


188 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
ing 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 an-
swered, contemptuously. "They'll be crushed out
just as suddenly as they arose—and then, perhaps,
I'll let certain folk in Wrychester know what 1 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


TO BE SHADOWED 189
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.
Eansford got up from his chair.
"Take Inspector Mitchington into the study," he
said. ^s 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 Col-
lishaw 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


190 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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, poinding 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 pro-
fessional help in these unpleasant matters. This gen-
tleman'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 confi-
dentially, "there's been a most extraordinary dis-
covery made tonight, which has a bearing on the Bra-
den 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?"


TO BE SHADOWED 191
'' 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 exam-
ined, 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 Ransf ord.
Mitchington hestitated a moment, as if searching
for his next words. He glanced at the detective;
the detective remained immobile; he glanced at Rans-
ford; 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 under-
stand?"
"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," an-
swered 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


TO BE SHADOWED 193
altered everything. If it hadn't been for our in-
formant—"
"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 tell-
ing you, doctor. A man named Olassdale—once a fel-
low-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 re-
garding 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 con-
fined to him and Glassdale—either he let it out to


194 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
somebody, or it was known to somebody. I under-
stand from Inspector Mitehington here that on the
evening of his arrival Brake was away from the Mitre
Hotel for two hours. During that time, he was some-
where—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 hid-
den, 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,'' con-
cluded the detective. "And—I shall be surprised if
it isn 't a correct one!''
"And, as I've said, doctor," chimed in Mitehing-
ton, "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—"


TO BE SHADOWED 195
"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 par-
lourmaid 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 evi-
dently 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 con-
fidence 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 fur-
ther? 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 some-
thing more about it. First of all, I am not going to


196 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
tell you anything whatever about Braden's antece-
dents—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 atten-
tion! 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 noth-
ing of Simpson Harker, glanced at him as if for in-
formation. 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! Ex-
plains a lot.''
"But," continued Ransford, "what I have to tell
you now is of a much more serious—and confiden-
tial—nature. Now, do you know—but, of course,
you don't!—that your proceedings tonight were
watched?"


TO BE SHADOWED 199
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. '' Bryee 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 Para-
dise," said Ransford. "That's fact two. And fact
three—Bryce evidently had a motive in fetching Har-
ker 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 Mitching-
ton.
"There's one thing certain, inspector," he said.
"You'll keep an eye on those two from this out!
Prom—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.


200 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 Mitch-
ington 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 Jetti-
son, "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?"
201


202 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"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 Mitch-
ington. "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


SURPRISE 203
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 appear-
ance, Ransford's assistant," continued Mitchington.
'' Been with Ransford about two years. Clever chap,
undoubtedly, but certainly deep and, in a way, re-
served, though he can talk plenty if he's so minded
and it's to his own advantage. He left Ransf ord sud-
denly—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!"


204 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 states-
men 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 Mitch-
ington 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, care-
fully 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 fig-
ured 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


206 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 frag-
ments. 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 Mitch-
ington 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 mat-
ter 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 in—to 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!''


THE SUBTILTY OF THE DEVIL 211
"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 Wry-
chester 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 under-
stand 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. "Natu-
rally 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. Rans-
ford 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 de-
gree, know there's a mystery. And if there's one
man in the world who knows the secret, it's Rans-
ford. And, up to now, Ransford won't tell—he won't
even tell Miss Bewery. I know that she's asked him


212 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
—he keeps up an obstinate silence. And so—I deter-
mined 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, nerv-
ous. 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."


THE SUBTILTY OF THE DEVIL 213
Bryce paused awhile, as if marshalling his facts.
"Now, after that," he continued presently, "I be-
gan to investigate matters myself—for my own satis-
faction. 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 bank-
ing 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 Hansford'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 Jetti-
son, 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 indis-
putable 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 Bar-
thorpe, 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


214 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 Lon-
don. Of their married life, I know nothing. But
within a few years, Brake was in trouble, for the rea-
son 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 sug-
gestions—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 Barker'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 imme-
diately after his arrest they completely disappeared—
and Brake himself utterly refused to say one single
word about them. Harker asked if he could do any-
thing—Brake's answer was that no one was to con-
cern himself. He preserved an obstinate silence on
that point. The clergyman in whose family Mrs.
Brake had been governess saw Brake, after his convic-
tion—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 communi-
cated to all who came in contact with him, just then,
the idea of a man who has been cruelly wronged and


THE SUBTILTY OF THE DEVIL 215
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 mo-
ment, 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 reap-
pears—here at Wrychester, where he's bought a prac-
tice. 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 Jetti-
son quietly. "The very thing!"
"Then, it's this," said Bryce. "Ransford was
the close friend who tricked and deceived Brake.


216 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 re-
construct what happened. He looks round the Close
that morning. He sees the name of Dr. Mark Rans-
ford 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 alter-
nately from one to the other. But it needed little at-
tention 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 em-
phasizing every point as he made it.


THE SUBTILTY OF THE DEVIL 217
"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 Colli-
shaw '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 ex-
plains it? My theory—that the rumour that Colli-
shaw, 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


218 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
him that fifty pounds as hush-money—and, later, had
decided to rid himself of Collishaw altogether, as lie
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 sup-
position 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 in-
gredients which were in the other pills. It was prob-
ably a thickly coated bill which contained the poison
—in solution of course. The coating would melt al-
most 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 chanee,
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 Cor-
oner?" 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."


THE SUBTILTY OF THE DEVIL 219
'' 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 Bansford 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. "Var-
ner 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—deliber-
ate!"
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


220 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 Mitching-
ton.
"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 coun-
sel, 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


THE SUBTILTY OF THE DEVIL 221
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 l”


CHAPTER XX
JETTISON TAKES A HAND
By breakfast time next morning the man from New
Scotland Yard had accomplished a series of medita-
tions 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 draw-
ing 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 morn-
ing."
"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
222


JETTISON TAKES A HAND 223
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 detec-
tive. '' 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 infor-
mation 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," an-
swered Mitchington. "There are two such societies
in the town—the first's patronized by small trades-
men 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 look-


JETTISON TAKES A HAND 225 \
"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


226 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
—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 some-
thing," 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. 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 tax your
memory to any great extent. In what form did Colli-
shaw 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


JETTISON TAKES A HAND 227
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 conversa-
tion 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 Jetti-
son 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 in-
formation 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 thor-
oughly 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."


228 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 de-
lightedly.
"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 mo-
tive. More than one motive, to be exact—but we'll
stick to one, to begin with. The motive for pay-
ing in gold was—avoidance of discovery. A cheque
can be readily traced. So can bank-notes. 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.


JETTISON TAKES A HAND 229
"Just so—and therefore I've been doing a bit of
secret inquiry amongst the bankers, as to who sup-
plied himself with gold about that date," continued
Jettison. "I'd to convince 'em of the absolute ne-
cessity of information, too, before I got any! But
I got some—at the third attempt. On the day pre-
vious 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 Wry-
chester 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, Mitching-
ton, 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 sur-


230 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
prised. "Now, that was my first impression. If it
wa3n't hush-money—"
"It wasn't hush-money, for this reason," inter-
rupted 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 estab-
lished—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, sud-
denly 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 Col-
lishaw's death. Here you are—
'Foreman says that on morning of Braden's
accident, Collishaw was at work in the north gal-
lery of the clerestory, clearing away some tim-
ber which the carpenters had left there. Colli-
shaw was certainly thus engaged from nine
o'elock 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


JETTISON TAKES A HAND 231
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—was1 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," mur-
mured 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 some-
body else! What did Ransford tell us about Bryce
and this old Harker?—think of that! And yet, ac-
cording 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 oc-
curred 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


232 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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—Rans-
ford."
Jettison handed the telegram back.


THE SAXONSTEADE ARMS 235
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 morn-
ing. 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 mys-
tic 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 fol-
lowed 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 sugges-
tion, perhaps a little more evidence to bring about
Ransford '& 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
y*


286 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 con-
fidence anywhere in his nature; he determined to at-
tack 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


THE SAXONSTEADE ARMS 237
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 out-
ward 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 Glass-
dale 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 un-
mingled 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 an-
swered. "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


238 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 connec-
tion 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 Glass-
dale. He looked narrowly at his visitor. "I sup-
pose 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 Glass-
dale. '' 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 daugh-
ter! God bless my soul! I never knew he had a
daughter!''
It was Bryce's turn to stare now. He looked at
Glassdale incredulously.


240 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"He'd also a very close friend named Ransford
—Mark Ransford," continued Bryce. "This Rans-
ford 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 re-
marked. "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 yes-
terday, 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 fam-
ily affairs! He was a very close man, Brake, and


THE SAXONSTEADE ARMS 241
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 thou-
sands pounds—bank's money, of course—for a couple
of days—no more—and then clean disappeared, leav-
ing him to pay the piper! He was a fool, no doubt,
but he'd been mixed up with them; he'd done it be-
fore, and they'd always kept their promises, and he
did it once too often. He let 'em have some thou-
sands; they disappeared, and the bank inspector hap-
pened 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!"


«42 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 some-
thing 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


THE SAXONSTEADE ARMS 243
must have that tooth seen to. So you never heard or
saw anything of this man?"
"Never!" answered Glassdale. "But I've won-
dered since this Wryehester 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 Wryehester—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, every-
body 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 may be something in your
suggestion. They certainly did take his word without
inquiry. It's true—he mightn't be what he said ho
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 some-


244 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
thing, 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 XXIT
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 cam-
paign. 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 north-
ern 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
245


246 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 to-
gether and got him into a quiet corner of the dining-
room, he launched forth at once on the pertinent mat-
ter 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 Sack-
ville in his best dogmatic manner. '' Why, the thing's
plain. From what's been let out—not much, cer-
tainly, 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 Sack-
ville. "That old chap, Braden, you know, is in pos-
session 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 re-
ward, of course! Don't you know that there's been


OTHER PEOPLE'S NOTIONS 247
a standing offer—never withdrawn!—of five thou-
sand 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—aim-
ing 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 morn-
ing. 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, will-
ing 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 co-me forward about that reward your
stepfather offered?" asked Bryce.


CHAPTER XXIII
THE UNEXPECTED
Mary's first instinct on seeing the approach of Pem-
berton Bryce, the one man she least desired to see, was
to retreat to the back of the house and send the par-
lourmaid 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 reso-
lutely in the garden.
"Dr. Ransford is away," she said with almost un-
necessary 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 be-
fore 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.
256


THE UNEXPECTED 257
"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—curi-
ously 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 any-
body knows. I can save Hansford. Understand
that!"
"What do you want—now?" she asked.
"To talk to you—to tell you how things are," an-
swered 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 fol-
lowed her and seated himself.
"Well?" she said.


258 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
Bryce realized that his moment had arrived. He
paused, endeavouring to remember the careful prepa-
rations 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 consider-
able 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.


THE UNEXPECTED 259
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 un-
welcome 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 every-


260 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
thing. It's the first thing they seem to think of; the
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 Mitehington 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 Bra-
den 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 Bra-
den 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 dis-
appearance. 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.


362 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 ex-
pected. He had confidently believed that the girl
would be frightened, scared, upset, ready to do any-
thing that he asked or suggested. But she was plainly
not frightened. And the fingers which busied them-
selves with the fancy-work had become steady again,
and her voice had been steady all along.
'' Pray,'' she asked suddenly, and with a little satiri-
cal inflection of voice which Brice was quick to no-
tice, "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 Mitching-
ton and the mysterious person from London?"
'' You know as well as I do that I have been dragged
into the case against my wisbes," answered Bryce al-
most 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 adven-
ture.
"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


THE UNEXPECTED 263
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.
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 uncomfort-
able. "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," re-
torted 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 sup-
pressing it, you are bad, wicked, base, cruel, unfit for
any decent being's society! And," she added, as she


264 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 feel-
ings 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


THE UNEXPECTED 265
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 emerged
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.


FINESSE 267
'' The same,'' he answered. '' But I didn 't call here
on that matter—though what I did call about is cer-
tainly 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, Colli-
shaw.''
"Of a thousand pounds—yes!" replied the solici-
tor, 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 hun-
dred 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. Glass-
dale," he observed. "Can you give any informa-
tion?"
Glassdale threw his questioner a significant glance.
"Whatever information I might give," he said,


270 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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. Ste-
phen 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 busi-
ness I called about could only be dealt with—or dis-
cussed—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


FINESSE 273
"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 Wry-
chester!".
"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 Wry-
chester, 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 Wry-
chester 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


FINESSE 275
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 dis-
posed 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 ex-
cited, 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 Fol-
liot'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, Fol-
liot 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.
276


278 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"Nice little place to be alone in, d'ye see?" said
Folliot. '' Cool in summer—warm in winter—modern
firegrate, you notice. Come here when I want to do
a bit of quiet thinking, what?"
"Good place for that—certainly," agreed Bryee.
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.
lie 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?"


280 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"What might you know, now?" he asked after an-
other 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 do-
ing 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 Liecestershire."
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 an-
other man in with them, too—a man who was a sort
of partner of the Barthorpe man's. Brake had evi-
dently 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 trans-
actions—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


THE OLD WELL HOUSE 281
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," an-
swered 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 suc-
ceeded in doing well—he would!—and eventually he
came back and married a rich widow and settled him-
self 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 Fol-
liot'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,


THE OLD WELL HOUSE 283
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 be-
fore 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.
.-•


284 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"A man who by giving away another man gave
himself away would be a damned fool!" he answered.
"If there is another man—"
"As 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 Fol-
liot's arm and shook it.
'' Good heavens, man!" he said. '' Those two wards


THE OLD WELL HOUSE 285
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
Bansford! 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 Fol-
liot'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—Glass-
dale!


288 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"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 Mitching-
ton 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 him-
self. 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 with-
out 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 289
"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 every-
thing 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 Colli-
shaw'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. Mitching-
ton 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


290 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 hack. 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 any-
thing 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 1 am!''
"You know all about it,•" insisted Mitchington.
"Come, now, isn't it true that you're Flood, and


THE OTHER MAN 291
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 morn-
ing-"
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 sud-
denly 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


292 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 perspira-
tion 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 be-
tween 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


THE OTHER MAN 295
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 some-
thing 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.


298 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 has-
tening 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.


300 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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, en-
gaging 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


THE GUARDED SECRET 301
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 ap-
pear 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 com-
pletely disappeared, leaving your father to bear the
consequences. You may easily understand what fol-
lowed. 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 de-
fence—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, any-
way, 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,


302 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
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 hrm 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 com-
pletely 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 par-
ticularly 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 in-
definite, but still there, as to Wraye's presence in
America, and he went after him. From that time


306 THE PARADISE MYSTERY
"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 sud-
denly smiled and came closer to him.
"You must have been very blind not to have seen
that for a long time!" she answered.
THE END
*J





JUL 18 1928