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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.
All that I may tell you, doctor for it'll be public property tomorrow." "Well?" said Ransford. Mitchington hesitated a moment, as if searching for his next words. He glanced at the detective; the detective remained immobile; he glanced at Ransford; Ransford gave him no encouragement. "Now look here, doctor!" he exclaimed, suddenly. "Why not tell us something? We know now who Braden really was!
"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."
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. "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.
"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 moment, 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.
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 Ransford 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.
Coates, an elderly man who was the leading practitioner in the town, arrived, and to him he gave a careful account of his discovery. And after the police had taken the body away, and he had accompanied Mitchington 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.
One, kneeling on the flags, and busy with a small crowbar similar to that which Bryce carried inside his overcoat, was the master-mason of the cathedral. Another, standing near him, was Mitchington. A fourth whose presence made Bryce start for the second time that evening was the Duke of Saxonsteade.
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 Ransford." Jettison handed the telegram back. "A man of his word!" he said.
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 everything through Flood.
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