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Folliot was standing in the middle of the room, one hand behind his back, the other in his pocket. And as the leading three entered the place he brought his concealed hand sharply round and presenting a revolver at Glassdale fired point-blank at him. But it was not Glassdale who fell.
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!"
And Folliot and Bryce saw them coming and looked at each other. "Glassdale!" exclaimed Bryce. "By heaven, man! he's told on you!" Folliot was still staring through the window. He saw Ransford and Harker following the leading figures. And suddenly he turned to Bryce. "You've no hand in this?" he demanded. "I?" exclaimed Bryce. "I never knew till just now!" Folliot pointed to the door.
"You'll know that better when we've had a bit of talk, Mr. Folliot," answered Glassdale, accompanying his reply with a direct glance. "Oh, well, now then, I've no objection to a bit of talk none whatever!" said Folliot. "Here! we'll sit down on that bench, amongst the roses. Quite private here nobody about.
Glassdale rose to take his leave. But with his hand on the door he turned. "Is this gentleman a resident in the place?" he asked. "A well-known townsman," replied the solicitor. "You'll easily find his house in the Close everybody knows it." Glassdale went away then and walked slowly towards the Cathedral precincts.
"May I have the pleasure of a few minutes' conversation with you?" Glassdale cast a swift glance of surprise, not unmingled with suspicion, at the intruder the sort of glance that a man used to watchfulness would throw at anybody, thought Bryce. But his face cleared as he read the card, though it was still doubtful as he lifted it again. "You've the advantage of me, sir," he said. "Dr.
I want to marry his daughter." Glassdale turned and stared at his companion. "His daughter!" he exclaimed. "Brake's daughter! God bless my soul! I never knew he had a daughter!" It was Bryce's turn to stare now. He looked at Glassdale incredulously. "Do you mean to tell me that you knew Brake all those years and that he never mentioned his children?" he exclaimed.
And what might you know, now, doctor? Aught you can tell me eh?" "Lots!" answered Bryce. "I came to tell you on seeing that Glassdale had been with you. Because I was with Glassdale this morning." Folliot made no answer. But Bryce saw that his cool, almost indifferent manner was changing he was beginning, under the surface, to get anxious.
Folliot, in an old jacket which he kept for his horticultural labours, was taking slips from a standard; he looked as harmless and peaceful as his occupation. A quiet, inoffensive, somewhat benevolent elderly man, engaged in work, which suggested leisure and peace. But Glassdale, after a first quick, searching glance, took another and longer one and went nearer with a discreet laugh.
Into its old stone hall marched Bryce to refresh himself after his ride, and as he stood at the bow-windowed bar, he glanced into the garden beyond and there saw, comfortably smoking his pipe and reading the newspaper, the very man he was looking for. Bryce had no spice of bashfulness, no want of confidence anywhere in his nature; he determined to attack Glassdale there and then.
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