that,” said Dick.
Mitchington looked at Ransford, and Ransford nodded to his ward.
“All right, Dick,” he said. “That’ll do.”
The boy went off again, and Mitchington shook his head.
“Queer!” he said. “Now what have those two been up to?—something, that’s certain. Can you tell us more, doctor?”
“Under the same conditions—yes,” answered Ransford, taking his seat again. “The fact is, affairs have got to a stage where I consider it my duty to tell you more. Some of what I shall tell you is hearsay—but it’s hearsay that you can easily verify for yourselves when the right moment comes. Mr. Campany, the librarian, lately remarked to me that my old assistant, Mr. Bryce, seemed to be taking an extraordinary interest in archaeological matters since he left me—he was now, said Campany, always examining documents about the old tombs and monuments of the Cathedral and its precincts.”
“Ah—just so!” exclaimed Mitchington. “To be sure!—I’m beginning to see!”
“And,” continued Ransford, “Campany further remarked, as a matter for humorous comment, that Bryce was also spending much time looking round our old tombs. Now you made this discovery near an old tomb, I understand?”
“Close by one—yes,” assented the inspector.
“Then let me draw your attention to one or two strange facts—which are undoubted facts,” continued Ransford. “Bryce was left alone with the dead body of Braden for some minutes, while Varner went to fetch the police. That’s one.”
“That’s true,” muttered Mitchington. “He was—several minutes!”
“Bryce it was who discovered Collishaw—in Paradise,” said Ransford. “That’s fact two. And fact three—Bryce evidently had a motive in fetching Harker tonight—to overlook your operations. What was his motive? And taking things altogether; what are, or have been, these secret affairs which Bryce and Harker have evidently been engaged in?”
Jettison suddenly rose, buttoning his light overcoat. The action seemed to indicate a newly-formed idea, a definite conclusion. He turned sharply to Mitchington.
“There’s one thing certain, inspector,” he said. “You’ll keep an eye on those two from this out! From—just now!”
“I shall!” assented Mitchington. “I’ll have both of ‘em shadowed wherever they go or are, day or night. Harker, now, has always been a bit of a mystery, but Bryce—hang me if I don’t believe he’s been having me! Double game!—but, never mind. There’s no more, doctor?”
“Not yet,” replied Ransford. “And I don’t know the real meaning or value of what I have told you. But—in two days from now, I can tell you more. In the meantime—remember your promise!”
He let his visitors out then, and went back to Mary.
“You’ll not have to wait long for things to clear,” he said. “The mystery’s nearly over!”
Chapter XVIII. Surprise
Mitchington and the man from New Scotland Yard walked away in silence from Ransford’s house and kept the silence up until they were in the middle of the Close and accordingly in solitude. Then Mitchington turned to his companion.
“What d’ye think of that?” he asked, with a half laugh. “Different complexion it puts on things, eh?”
“I think just what I said before—in there,” replied the detective. “That man knows more than he’s told, even now!”
“Why hasn’t he spoken sooner, then?” demanded Mitchington. “He’s had two good chances—at the inquests.”
“From what I saw of him, just now,” said Jettison, “I should say he’s the sort of man who can keep his own counsel till he considers the right time has come for speaking. Not the sort of man who’ll care twopence whatever’s said about him, you understand? I should say he’s known a good lot all along, and is just keeping it back till he can put a finishing touch to it. Two days, didn’t he say? Aye, well, a lot can happen in two days!”
“But about your theory?” questioned Mitchington. “What do you think of it now—in relation to what we’ve just heard?”
“I’ll tell you what I can see,” answered Jettison. “I can see how one bit of this puzzle fits into another—in view of what Ransford has just told us. Of course, one’s got to do a good deal of supposing it’s unavoidable in these cases. Now supposing Braden let this man Harker into the secret of the hidden jewels that night, and supposing that Harker and Bryce are in collusion—as they evidently are, from what that boy told us—and supposing they between them, together or separately, had to do with Braden’s death, and supposing that man Collishaw saw some thing that would incriminate one or both—eh?”
“Well?” asked Mitchington.
“Bryce is a medical man,” observed Jettison. “It would be an easy thing for a medical man to get rid of Collishaw as he undoubtedly was got rid of. Do you see my point?”
“Aye—and I can see that Bryce is a clever hand at throwing dust in anybody’s eyes!” muttered Mitchington. “I’ve had some dealings with him over this affair and I’m beginning to think—only now!—that he’s been having me for the mug! He’s evidently a deep ‘un—and so’s the other man.”
“I wanted to ask you that,” said Jettison. “Now, exactly who are these two?—tell me about them—both.”
“Not so much to tell,” answered Mitchington. “Harker’s a quiet old chap who lives in a little house over there—just off that far corner of this Close. Said to be a retired tradesman, from London. Came here a few years ago, to settle down. Inoffensive, pleasant old chap. Potters about the town—puts in his time as such old chaps do—bit of reading at the libraries—bit of gossip here and—there you know the sort. Last man in the world I should have thought would have been mixed up in an affair of this sort!”
“And therefore all the more likely to be!” said Jettison. “Well—the other?”
“Bryce was until the very day of Braden’s appearance, Ransford’s assistant,” continued Mitchington. “Been with Ransford about two years. Clever chap, undoubtedly, but certainly deep and, in a way, reserved, though he can talk plenty if he’s so minded and it’s to his own advantage. He left Ransford suddenly—that very morning. I don’t know why. Since then he’s remained in the town. I’ve heard that he’s pretty keen on Ransford’s ward—sister of that lad we saw tonight. I don’t know myself, if it’s true—but I’ve wondered if that had anything to do with his leaving Ransford so suddenly.”
“Very likely,” said Jettison. They had crossed the Close by that time and come to a gas-lamp which stood at the entrance, and the detective pulled out his watch and glanced at it. “Ten past eleven,” he said. “You say you know this Bryce pretty well? Now, would it be too late—if he’s up still—to take a look at him! If you and he are on good terms, you could make an excuse. After what I’ve heard, I’d like
