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Updated: May 20, 2025
"Cool in summer warm in winter modern fire-grate, you notice. Come here when I want to do a bit of quiet thinking, what?" "Good place for that certainly," agreed Bryce. Folliot pointed his visitor to one of the big chairs and turning to a cabinet brought out some glasses, a syphon of soda-water, and a heavy cut-glass decanter.
And there, as he expected, he found small groups discussing the morning's tragedy, and he joined one of them, in which was Sackville Bonham, his presumptive rival, who was busily telling three or four other young men what his stepfather, Mr. Folliot, had to say about the event.
Dear me why, nobody knows who the man was!" "Except his bank-manager," remarked Bryce, "who says he's holding ten thousand pounds of his." "That," admitted Mrs. Folliot gravely, "is certainly a consideration. But then, who knows? the money may have been stolen. Now, really, did you ever hear of a quite respectable man who hadn't even a visiting-card or a letter upon him?
Lord Lyttleton chooses to follow the authority of a manuscript letter, or rather manifesto, of Folliot, Bishop of London, which is addressed to Becket himself, at the time when the bishop appealed to the pope from the excommunication pronounced against him by his primate.
In its midst, set flush with the floor, was what was evidently a trap-door, furnished with a heavy iron ring. To this Folliot pointed, with a glance of significant interest. "Deepest well in all Wrychester under that," he remarked. "You'd never think it it's a hundred feet deep and more! Dry now water gave out some years ago. Some people would have pulled this old well-house down but not me!
"Anything that seems to relate to his death and the mystery about it?" inquired Folliot. "I think so," said Glassdale. "Upon consideration, I think so!" "Ah and what might it be, now?" continued Folliot. He gave Glassdale a look which seemed to denote and imply several things. "It might be to your advantage to explain a bit, you know," he added. "One has to be a little vague, eh?"
"I don't understand it I only know what the doctor told me to come and tell you. Look here, it's pretty bad. Folliot and Bryce are both dead!" In spite of herself Mary started back as from a great shock and clutched at the table by which they were standing. "Dead!" she exclaimed. "Why Bryce was here, speaking to me, not an hour ago!" "Maybe," said Dick. "But he's dead now.
We'd better hear that first. Folliot! good Lord! who'd have believed or even dreamed it!" "You'll see," said Glassdale as they went out. "Maybe Dr. Ransford's got the same information." Ransford was out of the train as soon as it ran in, and hurried to where Mitchington and his companions were standing.
The only hope lay in the possibility of some hindrance preventing the return of either Forder or Folliot; and in the meantime the Mays anxiously thought over Leonard's prospects. His remaining at home was evidently too great a trial for both brothers, and without a scholarship he could not go to the University.
She saw him go away and cross the Close." "Did she tell you that?" demanded Mary, who knew Mrs. Deramore for a gossip. "Between ourselves," said Bryce, "she did not! She told Mrs. Folliot Mrs. Folliot told me." "So it is talked about!" exclaimed Mary. "I said so," assented Bryce. "You know what Mrs. Folliot's tongue is." "Then Dr. Ransford will get to hear of it," said Mary.
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