go!” he said. “I can’t make this out at all! Look at these big handbills—but perhaps you’ve seen ‘em? They’re being posted all over the city—we’ve had a bundle of ‘em thrown in on us.”
“I haven’t been out since lunch,” remarked Bryce. “What are they?”
Mitchington spread out the two papers on the table, pointing from one to the other.
“You see?” he said. “Five Hundred Pounds Reward!—One Thousand Pounds Reward! And—both out at the same time, from different sources!”
“What sources?” asked Bryce, bending over the bills. “Ah—I see. One signed by Phipps & Maynard, the other by Beachcroft. Odd, certainly!”
“Odd?” exclaimed Mitchington. “I should think so! But, do you see, doctor? that one—five hundred reward—is offered for information of any nature relative to the deaths of John Braden and James Collishaw, both or either. That amount will be paid for satisfactory information by Phipps & Maynard. And Phipps & Maynard are Ransford’s solicitors! That bill, sir, comes from him! And now the other, the thousand pound one, that offers the reward to any one who can give definite information as to the circumstances attending the death of John Braden—to be paid by Mr. Beachcroft. And he’s Mr. Folliot’s solicitor! So—that comes from Mr. Folliot. What has he to do with it? And are these two putting their heads together—or are these bills quite independent of each other? Hang me if I understand it!”
Bryce read and re-read the contents of the two bills. And then he thought for awhile before speaking.
“Well,” he said at last, “there’s probably this in it—the Folliots are very wealthy people. Mrs. Folliot, it’s pretty well known, wants her son to marry Miss Bewery—Dr. Ransford’s ward. Probably she doesn’t wish any suspicion to hang over the family. That’s all I can suggest. In the other case, Ransford wants to clear himself. For don’t forget this, Mitchington!—somewhere, somebody may know something! Only something. But that something might clear Ransford of the suspicion that’s undoubtedly been cast upon him. If you’re thinking to get a strong case against Ransford, you’ve got your work set. He gave your theory a nasty knock this morning by his few words about that pill. Did Coates and Everest find a pill, now?”
“Not at liberty to say, sir,” answered Mitchington. “At present, anyway. Um! I dislike these private offers of reward—it means that those who make ‘em get hold of information which is kept back from us, d’you see! They’re inconvenient.”
Then he went away, and Bryce, after waiting awhile, until night had settled down, slipped quietly out of the house and set off for the gloom of Paradise.
Chapter XVI. Beforehand
In accordance with his undeniable capacity for contriving and scheming, Bryce had made due and careful preparations for his visit to the tomb of Richard Jenkins. Even in the momentary confusion following upon his discovery of Collishaw’s dead body, he had been sufficiently alive to his own immediate purposes to notice that the tomb—a very ancient and dilapidated structure—stood in the midst of a small expanse of stone pavement between the yew-trees and the wall of the nave; he had noticed also that the pavement consisted of small squares of stone, some of which bore initials and dates. A sharp glance at the presumed whereabouts of the particular spot which he wanted, as indicated in the scrap of paper taken from Braden’s purse, showed him that he would have to raise one of those small squares—possibly two or three of them. And so he had furnished himself with a short crowbar of tempered steel, specially purchased at the iron-monger’s, and with a small bull’s-eye lantern. Had he been arrested and searched as he made his way towards the cathedral precincts he might reasonably have been suspected of a design to break into the treasury and appropriate the various ornaments for which Wrychester was famous. But Bryce feared neither arrest nor observation. During his residence in Wrychester he had done a good deal of prowling about the old city at night, and he knew that Paradise, at any time after dark, was a deserted place. Folk might cross from the close archway to the wicket-gate by the outer path, but no one would penetrate within the thick screen of yew and cypress when night had fallen. And now, in early summer, the screen of trees and bushes was so thick in leaf, that once within it, foliage on one side, the great walls of the nave on the other, there was little likelihood of any person overlooking his doings while he made his investigation. He anticipated a swift and quiet job, to be done in a few minutes.
But there was another individual in Wrychester who knew just as much of the geography of Paradise as Pemberton Bryce knew. Dick Bewery and Betty Campany had of late progressed out of the schoolboy and schoolgirl hail-fellow-well-met stage to the first dawnings of love, and in spite of their frequent meetings had begun a romantic correspondence between each other, the joy and mystery of which was increased a hundredfold by a secret method of exchange of these missives. Just within the wicket-gate entrance of Paradise there was an old monument wherein was a convenient cavity—Dick Bewery’s ready wits transformed this into love’s post-office. In it he regularly placed letters for Betty: Betty stuffed into it letters for him. And on this particular evening Dick had gone to Paradise to collect a possible mail, and as Bryce walked leisurely up the narrow path, enclosed by trees and old masonry which led from Friary Lane to the ancient enclosure, Dick turned a corner and ran full into him. In the light of the single lamp which illumined the path, the two recovered themselves and looked at each other.
“Hullo!” said Bryce. “What’s your hurry, young Bewery?”
Dick, who was panting for breath, more from excitement than haste, drew back and looked at Bryce. Up to then he knew nothing much against Bryce, whom he had rather liked in the fashion in which boys sometimes like their seniors, and he was not indisposed to confide in him.
“Hullo!” he replied. “I say! Where are you off to?”
“Nowhere!—strolling round,” answered Bryce. “No particular purpose, why?”
“You weren’t going in—there?” asked Dick, jerking a thumb towards Paradise.
“In—there!” exclaimed Bryce. “Good Lord, no!—dreary enough in the daytime! What should I be going in there for?”
Dick seized Bryce’s coat-sleeve and dragged him aside.
“I say!” he whispered. “There’s something up in there—a search of some sort!”
Bryce started in spite of an effort to keep unconcerned.
“A search? In there?” he said. “What do you mean?”
Dick pointed amongst the trees, and Bryce saw the faint glimmer of a light.
“I was in there—just now,” said Dick. “And some men—three or four—came along. They’re in there, close up by the nave, just where you found that chap Collishaw. They’re—digging—or something of that sort!”
“Digging!” muttered Bryce. “Digging?”’
“Something like it, anyhow,” replied Dick. “Listen.”
Bryce heard the ring of metal on stone. And an unpleasant conviction stole over him that he was being forestalled, that somebody was beforehand with him, and he cursed himself for not having done the previous night what he had left undone till this night.
“Who are they?” he asked. “Did you see them—their
