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Updated: May 20, 2025
"None of us especially people in our position can afford to ignore rumours and common talk," said Mrs. Folliot in her loftiest manner. "If we are, unfortunately, talked about, then it is our solemn, bounden duty to put ourselves right in the eyes of our friends and of society.
Stephen Folliot, the stepfather of young Bonham a big, heavy-faced man who had been a resident in the Close for some years, was known to be of great wealth, and had a reputation as a grower of rare roses. He was telling the Superintendent something and the Superintendent beckoned to Mitchington. "Mr. Folliot says he saw this gentleman in the Cathedral," he said.
Not as Braden, of course but as who he really was John Brake. That was at a place called Braden Medworth, near Barthorpe, in Leicestershire." He paused there, watching Folliot. But Folliot showed no more than close attention, and Bryce went on. "Not much in that for the really important part of the story," he continued. "But Brake had other associations with Barthorpe a bit later.
Deramore has been saying some things or a thing which to put it plainly might make some unpleasantness for him?" Mary kept a firm hand on her wits and gave him an answer which was true enough, so far as she was aware. "I'm sure he knows nothing," she said. "What is it, Mr. Folliot?" "Why, you know what happened last week," continued Folliot, glancing knowingly at her.
During those first years of his married life Brake made the acquaintance of a man who came from the same part of Leicestershire that we had met your mother in a man named Falkiner Wraye. I may as well tell you that Falkiner Wraye and Stephen Folliot were one and the same person." Ransford paused, observing that Mary wished to ask a question. "How long have you known that?" she asked.
My son's future wife cannot, of course " Mary laid down her work again and for a full minute stared Mrs. Folliot in the face. "Mrs. Folliot!" she said at last. "Are you under the impression that I'm thinking of marrying your son?" "I think I've every good reason for believing it!" replied Mrs. Folliot. "You've none!" retorted Mary, gathering up her work and moving towards the door.
Anybody been applying for that reward Ransford offered?" "I don't know anything about it," replied Mary. "Dr. Ransford is very well able to take care of himself, I think. Has anybody applied for yours?" Folliot rose from his chair again, as if he had changed his mind about lingering, and shook his head. "Can't say what my solicitors may or may not have heard or done," he answered.
He had listened, with an attempt at a smile, to all this fiery indignation, but as Mary spoke the last words he was suddenly aware of something that drew his attention from her and them. Through an opening in Ransford's garden hedge he could see the garden door of the Folliots' house across the Close. And at that moment out of it emerge Folliot himself in conversation with Glassdale!
Folliot put his thumbs in the armholes of his buff waistcoat and leaning back, seemed to be admiring his roses. "Ah!" he said at last. "Revenge, now? A sort of vindictive man, was he? Wanted to get his knife into somebody, eh?" "He wanted to get something of his own back from a man who'd done him," answered Glassdale, with a short laugh. "That's about it!"
"There was a certain man that Braden was very anxious to find," said Glassdale. "He'd been looking for him for a good many years." "A man?" asked Folliot. "One?" "Well, as a matter of fact, there were two," admitted Glassdale, "but there was one in particular. The other the second so Braden said, didn't matter; he was or had been, only a sort of cat's-paw of the man he especially wanted."
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