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Updated: June 5, 2025
Mitchington suddenly checked himself, with a glance at Dick Bewery. "I remember now," said Bryce. "The mason's labourer! So this is the man, eh? Well, Mitchington, he's dead! I found him dead, just now. I should say he'd been dead five to ten minutes not more. You'd better get help and I'd like another medical man to see him before he's removed." Mitchington looked again at Dick.
"Has he begun asking questions?" demanded Ransford hastily. "Once or twice, lately yes," replied Mary. "It's only natural." She laughed a little a forced laugh. "They say," she went on, "that it doesn't matter, nowadays, if you can't tell who your grandfather was but, just think, we don't know who our father was except that his name was John Bewery. That doesn't convey much."
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.
She would do anything that seemed good to Ransford but all the same she wondered at this somewhat unusual show of interest in a total stranger. She put it down at last to Ransford's undoubted sentimentality the man's sad fate had impressed him. And that afternoon the sexton at St. Wigbert's pointed out the new grave to Miss Bewery and Mr.
Sackville, chancing to encounter Mary at the florist's, whither he had repaired to execute a commission for his mother, had heard her business, and had been so struck by the notion or by a desire to ingratiate himself with Miss Bewery that he had immediately bought flowers himself to be put down to her account and insisted on accompanying Mary to the churchyard.
It was in accordance with his views of human nature that Mary Bewery would accede to his terms: he had not known her and Ransford for nothing, and he was aware that she had a profound gratitude for her guardian, which might even be akin to a yet unawakened warmer feeling.
"I'm sorry to say what I must say," he began. "But you've brought it on yourself. I gave you a hint some time ago that your attentions were not welcome to Miss Bewery." Bryce made no immediate response.
As he walked out of the surgery by the side entrance, Mary Bewery, who had just parted from young Bonham in the garden and was about to visit her dogs in the stable yard, came along: she and Bryce met, face to face. The girl flushed, not so much from embarrassment as from vexation; Bryce, cool as ever, showed no sign of any embarrassment.
"Miss Bewery has just told me what her brother told her. What of it?" "I have just come from the police-station," said Bryce. "Coates and Everest have carried out an autopsy this afternoon. Mitchington told me the result." "Well?" demanded Ransford, with no attempt to conceal his impatience. "And what then?"
But the follower, knowing his man was safe for an hour, was in the bar outside eating bread and cheese and drinking ale, and Bryce's surprise was witnessed by no one. Yet he had been so much surprised that if all Wrychester had been there he could not, despite his self-training in watchfulness, have kept back either start or exclamation. Bewery!
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