Therefore the man who paid Collishaw fifty pounds took care to provide himself with gold. Now then--how many men are there in a small place like this who are likely to carry fifty pounds in gold in their pockets, or to have it at hand?"

"Not many," agreed Mitchington.

"Just so--and therefore I've been doing a bit of secret inquiry amongst the bankers, as to who supplied himself with gold about that date,"

continued Jettison. "I'd to convince 'em of the absolute necessity of information, too, before I got any! But I got some--at the third attempt. On the day previous to that on which Collishaw handed that fifty pounds to Stebbing, a certain Wrychester man drew fifty pounds in gold at his bank. Who do you think he was?"

"Who--who?" demanded Mitchington.

Jettison leaned half-across the desk.

"Bryce!" he said in a whisper. "Bryce!"

Mitchington sat up in his chair and opened his mouth in sheer astonishment.

"Good heavens!" he muttered after a moment's silence. "You don't mean it?"

"Fact!" answered Jettison. "Plain, incontestable fact, my lad. Dr. Bryce keeps an account at the Wrychester bank. On the day I'm speaking of he cashed a cheque to self for fifty pounds and took it all in gold."

The two men looked at each other as if each were asking his companion a question.

"Well?" said Mitchington at last. "You're a cut above me, Jettison. What do you make of it?"

"I said last night that the young man was playing a deep game,"

replied Jettison. "But--what game? What's he building up? For mark you, Mitchington, if--I say if, mind!--if that fifty pounds which he drew in gold is the identical fifty paid to Collishaw, Bryce didn't pay it as hush-money!"

"Think not?" said Mitchington, evidently surprised. "Now, that was my first impression. If it wasn't hush-money--"

"It wasn't hush-money, for this reason," interrupted Jettison. "We know that whatever else he knew, Bryce didn't know of the accident to Braden until Varner fetched him to Braden. That's established--on what you've put before me. Therefore, whatever Collishaw saw, before or at the time that accident happened, it wasn't Bryce who was mixed up in it.

Therefore, why should Bryce pay Collishaw hush-money?"

Mitchington, who had evidently been thinking, suddenly pulled out a drawer in his desk and took some papers from it which he began to turn over.

"Wait a minute," he said. "I've an abstract here--of what the foreman at the Cathedral mason's yard told me of what he knew as to where Collishaw was working that morning when the accident happened--I made a note of it when I questioned him after Collishaw's death. Here you are:

'Foreman says that on morning of Braden's accident, Collishaw was at work in the north gallery of the clerestory, clearing away some timber which the carpenters had left there. Collishaw was certainly thus engaged from nine o'clock until past eleven that morning. Mem. Have investigated this myself.

From the exact spot where C. was clearing the timber, there is an uninterrupted view of the gallery on the south side of the nave, and of the arched doorway at the head of St. Wrytha's Stair.'"

"'Well," observed Jettison, "that proves what I'm saying. It wasn't hush-money. For whoever it was that Collishaw saw lay hands on Braden, it wasn't Bryce--Bryce, we know, was at that time coming across the Close or crossing that path through the part you call Paradise: Varner's evidence proves that. So--if the fifty pounds wasn't paid for hush-money, what was it paid for?"

"Do you suggest anything?" asked Mitchington.

"I've thought of two or three things," answered the detective. "One's this--was the fifty pounds paid for information? If so, and Bryce has that information, why doesn't he show his hand more plainly? If he bribed Collishaw with fifty pounds: to tell him who Braden's a.s.sailant was, he now knows!--so why doesn't he let it out, and have done with it?"

"Part of his game--if that theory's right," murmured Mitchington.

"It mayn't be right," said Jettison. "But it's one. And there's another--supposing he paid Collishaw that money on behalf of somebody else? I've thought this business out right and left, top-side and bottom-side, and hang me if I don't feel certain there is somebody else!

What did Ransford tell us about Bryce and this old Harker--think of that! And yet, according to Bryce, Harker is one of our old Yard men!--and therefore ought to be above suspicion."

Mitchington suddenly started as if an idea had occurred to him.

"I say, you know!" he exclaimed. "We've only Bryce's word for it that Harker is an ex-detective. I never heard that he was--if he is, he's kept it strangely quiet. You'd have thought that he'd have let us know, here, of his previous calling--I never heard of a policeman of any rank who didn't like to have a bit of talk with his own sort about professional matters."

"Nor me," a.s.sented 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 pa.s.sed it to his companion who read it aloud.

"Meet me with Jettison Wrychester Station on arrival of five-twenty express from London mystery cleared up guilty men known--Ransford."

Jettison handed the telegram back.

"A man of his word!" he said. "He mentioned two days--he's done it in one! And now, my lad--do you notice?--he says men, not man! It's as I said--there's been more than one of 'em in this affair. Now then--who are they?"

CHAPTER XXI. THE SAXONSTEADE ARMS

Bryce had ridden away on his bicycle from Wrychester that morning intent on a new piece of diplomacy. He had sat up thinking for some time after the two police officials had left him at midnight, and it had occurred to him that there was a man from whom information could be had of whose services he had as yet made no use but who must be somewhere in the neighbourhood--the man Gla.s.sdale. Gla.s.sdale had been in Wrychester the previous evening; he could scarcely be far away now; there was certainly one person who would know where he could be found, and that person was the Duke of Saxonsteade. Bryce knew the Duke to be an extremely approachable man, a talkative, even a garrulous man, given to holding converse with anybody about anything, and he speedily made up his mind to ride over to Saxonsteade, invent a plausible excuse for his call, and get some news out of his Grace. Even if Gla.s.sdale had left the neighbourhood, there might be fragments of evidence to pick up from the Duke, for Gla.s.sdale, he knew, had given his former employer the information about the stolen jewels and would, no doubt, have added more about his acquaintance with Braden. And before Bryce came to his dreamed-of master-stroke in that matter, there were one or two things he wanted to clear up, to complete his double net, and he had an idea that an hour's chat with Gla.s.sdale would yield all that he desired.

The active brain that had stood Bryce in good stead while he spun his meshes and devised his schemes was more active than ever that early summer morning. It was a ten-mile ride through woods and valleys to Saxonsteade, and there were sights and beauties of nature on either side of him which any other man would have lingered to admire and most men would have been influenced by. But Bryce had no eyes for the clouds over the copper-crowned hills or the mystic shadows in the deep valleys or the new buds in the hedgerows, and no thought for the rustic folk whose cottages he pa.s.sed here and there in a spa.r.s.ely populated country. All his thoughts were fixed on his schemes, almost as mechanically as his eyes followed the white road in front of his wheel. Ever since he had set out on his campaign he had regularly taken stock of his position; he was for ever reckoning it up. And now, in his opinion, everything looked very promising. He had--so far as he was aware--created a definite atmosphere of suspicion around and against Ransford--it needed only a little more suggestion, perhaps a little more evidence to bring about Ransford's arrest. And the only question which at all troubled Bryce was--should he let matters go to that length before putting his ultimatum before Mary Bewery, or should he show her his hand first? For Bryce had so worked matters that a word from him to the police would d.a.m.n Ransford or save him--and now it all depended, so far as Bryce himself was concerned, on Mary Bewery as to which word should be said.

Elaborate as the toils were which he had laid out for Ransford to the police, he could sweep them up and tear them away with a sentence of added knowledge--if Mary Bewery made it worth his while. But first--before coming to the critical point--there was yet certain information which he desired to get, and he felt sure of getting it if he could find Gla.s.sdale. For Gla.s.sdale, according to all accounts, had known Braden intimately of late years, and was most likely in possession of facts about him--and Bryce had full confidence in himself as an interviewer of other men and a supreme belief that he could wheedle a secret out of anybody with whom he could procure an hour's quiet conversation.

As luck would have it, Bryce had no need to make a call upon the approachable and friendly Duke. Outside the little village at Saxonsteade, on the edge of the deep woods which fringed the ducal park, stood an old wayside inn, a relic of the coaching days, which bore on its sign the ducal arms. Into its old stone hall marched Bryce to refresh himself after his ride, and as he stood at the bow-windowed bar, he glanced into the garden beyond and there saw, comfortably smoking his pipe and reading the newspaper, the very man he was looking for.

Bryce had no spice of bashfulness, no want of confidence anywhere in his nature; he determined to attack Gla.s.sdale there and then. But he took a good look at his man before going out into the garden to him. A plain and ordinary sort of fellow, he thought; rather over middle age, with a tinge of grey in his hair and moustache; prosperous looking and well-dressed, and at that moment of the appearance of what he was probably taken for by the inn people--a tourist. Whether he was the sort who would be communicative or not, Bryce could not tell from outward signs, but he was going to try, and he presently found his card-case, took out a card, and strolling down the garden to the shady spot in which Gla.s.sdale sat, a.s.sumed 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?"

Gla.s.sdale cast a swift glance of surprise, not unmingled with suspicion, at the intruder--the sort of glance that a man used to watchfulness would throw at anybody, thought Bryce. But his face cleared as he read the card, though it was still doubtful as he lifted it again.

"You've the advantage of me, sir," he said. "Dr. Bryce, I see. But--"

Bryce smiled and dropped into a garden chair at Gla.s.sdale's side.

"You needn't be afraid of talking to me," he answered. "I'm well known in Wrychester. The Duke," he went on, nodding his head in the direction of the great house which lay behind the woods at the foot of the garden, "knows me well enough--in fact, I was on my way to see his Grace now, to ask him if he could tell me where you could be found. The fact is, I'm aware of what happened last night--the jewel affair, you know--Mitchington told me--and of your friendship with Braden, and I want to ask you a question or two about Braden."

Gla.s.sdale, who had looked somewhat mystified at the beginning of this address, seemed to understand matters better by the end of it.

"Oh, well, of course, doctor," he said, "if that's it--but, of course--a word first!--these folk here at the inn don't know who I am or that I've any connection with the Duke on that affair. I'm Mr. Gordon here--just staying for a bit."

"That's all right," answered Bryce with a smile of understanding. "All this is between ourselves. I saw you with the Duke and the rest of them last night, and I recognized you just now. And all I want is a bit of talk about Braden. You knew him pretty well of late years?"

"Knew him for a good many years," replied Gla.s.sdale. He looked narrowly at his visitor. "I suppose you know his story--and mine?" he asked.

"Bygone affairs, eh?"

"Yes, yes!" answered Bryce rea.s.suringly. "No need to go into that--that's all done with."

"Aye--well, we both put things right," said Gla.s.sdale. "Made rest.i.tution--both of us, you understand. So that is done with? And you know, then, of course, who Braden really was?"