Collected works of j s f.., p.484
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 484
“Who was he, then?” asked Ransford, quietly.
“He was one John Brake, some time manager of a branch of a London bank, who, seventeen years ago, got ten years’ penal servitude for embezzlement,” answered Mitchington, watching Ransford steadily. “That’s dead certain — we know it! The man who shared this secret with him about the Saxonsteade jewels has told us that much, today. John Brake!”
“What have you come here for?” asked Ransford.
“To ask you — between ourselves — if you can tell us anything about Brake’s earlier days — antecedents — that’ll help us,” replied Mitchington. “It may be — Jettison here — a man of experience — thinks it’ll be found to be — that Brake, or Braden as we call him — was murdered because of his possession of that secret about the jewels. Our informant tells us that Braden certainly had on him, when he came to Wrychester, a sort of diagram showing the exact location of the spot where the jewels were hidden — that diagram was most assuredly not found on Braden when we examined his clothing and effects. It may be that it was wrested from him in the gallery of the clerestory that morning, and that his assailant, or assailants — for there may have been two men at the job — afterwards pitched him through that open doorway, after half-stifling him. And if that theory’s correct — and I, personally, am now quite inclined to it — it’ll help a lot if you’ll tell us what you know of Braden’s — Brake’s — antecedents. Come now, doctor! — you know very well that Braden, or Brake, did come to your surgery that morning and said to your assistant that he’d known a Dr. Ransford in times past! Why not speak?”
Ransford, instead of answering Mitchington’s evidently genuine appeal, looked at the New Scotland Yard man.
“Is that your theory?” he asked.
Jettison nodded his head, with a movement indicative of conviction.
“Yes, sir!” he replied. “Having regard to all the circumstances of the case, as they’ve been put before me since I came here, and with special regard to the revelations which have resulted in the discovery of these jewels, it is! Of course, today’s events have altered everything. If it hadn’t been for our informant—”
“Who is your informant?” inquired Ransford.
The two callers looked at each other — the detective nodded at the inspector.
“Oh, well!” said Mitchington. “No harm in telling you, doctor. A man named Glassdale — once a fellow-convict with Brake. It seems they left England together after their time was up, emigrated together, prospered, even went so far — both of ’em! — as to make good the money they’d appropriated, and eventually came back together — in possession of this secret. Brake came specially to Wrychester to tell the Duke — Glassdale was to join him on the very morning Brake met his death. Glassdale did come to the town that morning — and as soon as he got here, heard of Brake’s strange death. That upset him — and he went away — only to come back today, go to Saxonsteade, and tell everything to the Duke — with the result we’ve told you of.”
“Which result,” remarked Ransford, steadily regarding Mitchington, “has apparently altered all your ideas about — me!”
Mitchington laughed a little awkwardly.
“Oh, well, come, now, doctor!” he said. “Why, yes — frankly, I’m inclined to Jettison’s theory — in fact, I’m certain that’s the truth.”
“And your theory,” inquired Ransford, turning to the detective, “is — put it in a few words.”
“My theory — and I’ll lay anything it’s the correct one! — is this,” replied Jettison. “Brake came to Wrychester with his secret. That secret wasn’t confined to him and Glassdale — either he let it out to somebody, or it was known to somebody. I understand from Inspector Mitchington here that on the evening of his arrival Brake was away from the Mitre Hotel for two hours. During that time, he was somewhere — with whom? Probably with somebody who got the secret out of him, or to whom he communicated it. For, think! — according to Glassdale, who, we are quite sure, has told the exact truth about everything, Brake had on him a scrap of paper, on which were instructions, in Latin, for finding the exact spot whereat the missing Saxonsteade jewels had been hidden, years before, by the actual thief — who, I may tell you, sir, never had the opportunity of returning to re-possess himself of them. Now, after Brake’s death, the police examined his clothes and effects — they never found that scrap of paper! And I work things out this way. Brake was followed into that gallery — a lonely, quiet place — by the man or men who had got possession of the secret; he was, I’m told, a slightly-built, not over-strong man — he was seized and robbed of that paper and flung to his death. And all that fits in with the second mystery of Collishaw — who probably knew, if not everything, then something, of the exact circumstances of Brake’s death, and let his knowledge get to the ears of — Brake’s assailant! — who cleverly got rid of him. That’s my notion,” concluded the detective. “And — I shall be surprised if it isn’t a correct one!”
“And, as I’ve said, doctor,” chimed in Mitchington, “can’t you give us a bit of information, now? You see the line we’re on? Now, as it’s evident you once knew Braden, or Brake—”
“I have never said so!” interrupted Ransford sharply.
“Well — we infer it, from the undoubted fact that he called here,” remarked Mitchington. “And if—”
“Wait!” said Ransford. He had been listening with absorbed attention to Jettison’s theory, and he now rose from his chair and began to pace the room, hands in pockets, as if in deep thought. Suddenly he paused and looked at Mitchington. “This needs some reflection,” he said. “Are you pressed for time?”
“Not in the least,” answered Mitchington, readily. “Our time’s yours, sir. Take as long as you like.”
Ransford touched a bell and summoning the parlourmaid told her to fetch whisky, soda, and cigars. He pressed these things on the two men, lighted a cigar himself, and for a long time continued to walk up and down his end of the room, smoking and evidently in very deep thought. The visitors left him alone, watching him curiously now and then — until, when quite ten minutes had gone by, he suddenly drew a chair close to them and sat down again.
“Now, listen to me!” he said. “If I give my confidence to you, as police officials, will you give me your word that you won’t make use of my information until I give you leave — or until you have consulted me further? I shall rely on your word, mind!”
“I say yes to that, doctor,” answered Mitchington.
“The same here, sir,” said the detective.
“Very well,” continued Ransford. “Then — this is between ourselves, until such time as I say something more about it. First of all, I am not going to tell you anything whatever about Braden’s antecedents — at present! Secondly — I am not sure that your theory, Mr. Jettison, is entirely correct, though I think it is by way of coming very near to the right one — which is sure to be worked out before long. But — on the understanding of secrecy for the present I can tell you something which I should not have been able to tell you but for the events of tonight, which have made me put together certain facts. Now attention! To begin with, I know where Braden was for at any rate some time on the evening of the day on which he came to Wrychester. He was with the old man whom we all know as Simpson Harker.”
Mitchington whistled; the detective, who knew nothing of Simpson Harker, glanced at him as if for information. But Mitchington nodded at Ransford, and Ransford went on.
“I know this for this reason,” he continued. “You know where Harker lives. I was in attendance for nearly two hours that evening on a patient in a house opposite — I spent a good deal of time in looking out of the window. I saw Harker take a man into his house: I saw the man leave the house nearly an hour later: I recognized that man next day as the man who met his death at the Cathedral. So much for that.”
“Good!” muttered Mitchington. “Good! Explains a lot.”
“But,” continued Ransford, “what I have to tell you now is of a much more serious — and confidential — nature. Now, do you know — but, of course, you don’t! — that your proceedings tonight were watched?”
“Watched!” exclaimed Mitchington. “Who watched us?”
“Harker, for one,” answered Ransford. “And — for another — my late assistant, Mr. Pemberton Bryce.”
Mitchington’s jaw dropped.
“God bless my soul!” he said. “You don’t mean it, doctor! Why, how did you—”
“Wait a minute,” interrupted Ransford. He left the room, and the two callers looked at each other.
“This chap knows more than you think,” observed Jettison in a whisper. “More than he’s telling now!”
“Let’s get all we can, then,” said Mitchington, who was obviously much surprised by Ransford’s last information. “Get it while he’s in the mood.”
“Let him take his own time,” advised Jettison. “But — you mark me! — he knows a lot! This is only an instalment.”
Ransford came back — with Dick Bewery, clad in a loud patterned and gaily coloured suit of pyjamas.
“Now, Dick,” said Ransford. “Tell Inspector Mitchington precisely what happened this evening, within your own knowledge.”
Dick was nothing loth to tell his story for the second time — especially to a couple of professional listeners. And he told it in full detail, from the moment of his sudden encounter with Bryce to that in which he parted with Bryce and Harker. Ransford, watching the official faces, saw what it was in the story that caught the official attention and excited the official mind.
“Dr. Bryce went off at once to fetch Harker, did he?” asked Mitchington, when Dick had made a end.
“At once,” answered Dick. “And was jolly quick back with him!”
“And Harker said it didn’t matter about your telling as it would be public news soon enough?” continued Mitchington.
“Just that,” said Dick.
Mitchington looked at Ransford, and Ransford nodded to his ward.
“All right, Dick,” he said. “That’ll do.”
The boy went off again, and Mitchington shook his head.
“Queer!” he said. “Now what have those two been up to? — something, that’s certain. Can you tell us more, doctor?”
“Under the same conditions — yes,” answered Ransford, taking his seat again. “The fact is, affairs have got to a stage where I consider it my duty to tell you more. Some of what I shall tell you is hearsay — but it’s hearsay that you can easily verify for yourselves when the right moment comes. Mr. Campany, the librarian, lately remarked to me that my old assistant, Mr. Bryce, seemed to be taking an extraordinary interest in archaeological matters since he left me — he was now, said Campany, always examining documents about the old tombs and monuments of the Cathedral and its precincts.”
“Ah — just so!” exclaimed Mitchington. “To be sure! — I’m beginning to see!”
“And,” continued Ransford, “Campany further remarked, as a matter for humorous comment, that Bryce was also spending much time looking round our old tombs. Now you made this discovery near an old tomb, I understand?”
“Close by one — yes,” assented the inspector.
“Then let me draw your attention to one or two strange facts — which are undoubted facts,” continued Ransford. “Bryce was left alone with the dead body of Braden for some minutes, while Varner went to fetch the police. That’s one.”
“That’s true,” muttered Mitchington. “He was — several minutes!”
“Bryce it was who discovered Collishaw — in Paradise,” said Ransford. “That’s fact two. And fact three — Bryce evidently had a motive in fetching Harker tonight — to overlook your operations. What was his motive? And taking things altogether; what are, or have been, these secret affairs which Bryce and Harker have evidently been engaged in?”
Jettison suddenly rose, buttoning his light overcoat. The action seemed to indicate a newly-formed idea, a definite conclusion. He turned sharply to Mitchington.
“There’s one thing certain, inspector,” he said. “You’ll keep an eye on those two from this out! From — just now!”
“I shall!” assented Mitchington. “I’ll have both of ’em shadowed wherever they go or are, day or night. Harker, now, has always been a bit of a mystery, but Bryce — hang me if I don’t believe he’s been having me! Double game! — but, never mind. There’s no more, doctor?”
“Not yet,” replied Ransford. “And I don’t know the real meaning or value of what I have told you. But — in two days from now, I can tell you more. In the meantime — remember your promise!”
He let his visitors out then, and went back to Mary.
“You’ll not have to wait long for things to clear,” he said. “The mystery’s nearly over!”
CHAPTER XVIII. SURPRISE
MITCHINGTON AND THE man from New Scotland Yard walked away in silence from Ransford’s house and kept the silence up until they were in the middle of the Close and accordingly in solitude. Then Mitchington turned to his companion.
“What d’ye think of that?” he asked, with a half laugh. “Different complexion it puts on things, eh?”
“I think just what I said before — in there,” replied the detective. “That man knows more than he’s told, even now!”
“Why hasn’t he spoken sooner, then?” demanded Mitchington. “He’s had two good chances — at the inquests.”
“From what I saw of him, just now,” said Jettison, “I should say he’s the sort of man who can keep his own counsel till he considers the right time has come for speaking. Not the sort of man who’ll care twopence whatever’s said about him, you understand? I should say he’s known a good lot all along, and is just keeping it back till he can put a finishing touch to it. Two days, didn’t he say? Aye, well, a lot can happen in two days!”
“But about your theory?” questioned Mitchington. “What do you think of it now — in relation to what we’ve just heard?”
“I’ll tell you what I can see,” answered Jettison. “I can see how one bit of this puzzle fits into another — in view of what Ransford has just told us. Of course, one’s got to do a good deal of supposing it’s unavoidable in these cases. Now supposing Braden let this man Harker into the secret of the hidden jewels that night, and supposing that Harker and Bryce are in collusion — as they evidently are, from what that boy told us — and supposing they between them, together or separately, had to do with Braden’s death, and supposing that man Collishaw saw some thing that would incriminate one or both — eh?”
“Well?” asked Mitchington.
“Bryce is a medical man,” observed Jettison. “It would be an easy thing for a medical man to get rid of Collishaw as he undoubtedly was got rid of. Do you see my point?”
“Aye — and I can see that Bryce is a clever hand at throwing dust in anybody’s eyes!” muttered Mitchington. “I’ve had some dealings with him over this affair and I’m beginning to think — only now! — that he’s been having me for the mug! He’s evidently a deep ‘un — and so’s the other man.”
“I wanted to ask you that,” said Jettison. “Now, exactly who are these two? — tell me about them — both.”
“Not so much to tell,” answered Mitchington. “Harker’s a quiet old chap who lives in a little house over there — just off that far corner of this Close. Said to be a retired tradesman, from London. Came here a few years ago, to settle down. Inoffensive, pleasant old chap. Potters about the town — puts in his time as such old chaps do — bit of reading at the libraries — bit of gossip here and — there you know the sort. Last man in the world I should have thought would have been mixed up in an affair of this sort!”
“And therefore all the more likely to be!” said Jettison. “Well — the other?”
“Bryce was until the very day of Braden’s appearance, Ransford’s assistant,” continued Mitchington. “Been with Ransford about two years. Clever chap, undoubtedly, but certainly deep and, in a way, reserved, though he can talk plenty if he’s so minded and it’s to his own advantage. He left Ransford suddenly — that very morning. I don’t know why. Since then he’s remained in the town. I’ve heard that he’s pretty keen on Ransford’s ward — sister of that lad we saw tonight. I don’t know myself, if it’s true — but I’ve wondered if that had anything to do with his leaving Ransford so suddenly.”
“Very likely,” said Jettison. They had crossed the Close by that time and come to a gas-lamp which stood at the entrance, and the detective pulled out his watch and glanced at it. “Ten past eleven,” he said. “You say you know this Bryce pretty well? Now, would it be too late — if he’s up still — to take a look at him! If you and he are on good terms, you could make an excuse. After what I’ve heard, I’d like to get at close quarters with this gentleman.”
“Easy enough,” assented Mitchington. “I’ve been there as late as this — he’s one of the sort that never goes to bed before midnight. Come on! — it’s close by. But — not a word of where we’ve been. I’ll say I’ve dropped in to give him a bit of news. We’ll tell him about the jewel business — and see how he takes it. And while we’re there — size him up!”
Mitchington was right in his description of Bryce’s habits — Bryce rarely went to bed before one o’clock in the morning. He liked to sit up, reading. His favourite mental food was found in the lives of statesmen and diplomatists, most of them of the sort famous for trickery and chicanery — he not only made a close study of the ways of these gentry but wrote down notes and abstracts of passages which particularly appealed to him. His lamp was burning when Mitchington and Jettison came in view of his windows — but that night Bryce was doing no thinking about statecraft: his mind was fixed on his own affairs. He had lighted his fire on going home and for an hour had sat with his legs stretched out on the fender, carefully weighing things up. The event of the night had convinced him that he was at a critical phase of his present adventure, and it behoved him, as a good general, to review his forces.
