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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.

"I see," said Folliot. He pulled out a cigar case and offered a cigar to his visitor, afterwards lighting one himself. "And what did Braden want that man for?" he asked. Glassdale waited until his cigar was in full going order before he answered this question. Then he replied in one word. "Revenge!"

And now," he continued, as Glassdale accompanied him to a rustic bench set beneath a pergola of rambler roses, "who are you, like? I read a queer account in this morning's local paper of what happened in the Cathedral grounds yonder last night, and there was a person of your name mentioned. Are you that Glassdale?" "The same, Mr. Folliot," answered the visitor, promptly.

Folliot!" Bryce laughed as he made this direct accusation, and sitting forward in his chair, pointed first to Folliot's face and then to his left hand. "Falkiner Wraye," he said, "had an unfortunate gun accident in his youth which marked him for life. He lost the middle finger of his left hand, and he got a bad scar on his left jaw. There they are, those marks! Fortunate for you, Mr.

"I shouldn't wonder," replied Glassdale. "And if it is made worth my while." Folliot mused a little. Then he tapped Glassdale's elbow. "You see," he said, confidentially, "it might be, you know, that I had a little purpose of my own in offering that reward. It might be that it was a very particular friend of mine that had the misfortune to have incurred this man Braden's hatred.

Folliot made an effort to understand this remark, and after inspecting her hostess critically for a moment, proceeded in her most judicial manner. "You must see, my dear Miss Bewery, that it is highly necessary that some one should use the utmost persuasion on Dr. Ransford," she said. "He is placing all of you himself, yourself, your young brother in most invidious positions by his silence!

The fact is, Folliot shot him with a revolver killed him on the spot. And then Folliot poisoned himself took the same stuff, the doctor said, that finished that chap Collishaw, and died instantly. It was in Folliot's old well-house. The doctor was there and the police." "What does it all mean?" asked Mary. "Don't know.

But he was a passionate lover of flowers and plants, and had a positive genius for rose-culture, and was at all times highly delighted to take flower-lovers round his garden. She turned at once and walked in, and Folliot led her away down the scented paths. "It's an experiment I've been trying," he said, leading her up to a cluster of blooms of a colour and size which she had never seen before.

How and where he came across Flood again is not exactly clear, but we knew that a few years ago Flood was in London, in very poor circumstances, and the probability is that it was then when the two men met again. What we do know is that Folliot, as an influential man here, got Flood the post which he has held, and that things have resulted as they have.

Folliot's large countenance. "You!" she exclaimed. "To establish Dr. Ransford's innocence? Why, Mrs. Folliot, what have you done?" Mrs. Folliot toyed a little with the jewelled head of her sunshade. Her expression became almost coy. "Oh, well!" she answered after a brief spell of indecision. "Perhaps it is as well that you should know, Miss Bewery.