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Updated: May 31, 2025
And before Bryce came to his dreamed-of master-stroke in that matter, there were one or two things he wanted to clear up, to complete his double net, and he had an idea that an hour's chat with Glassdale would yield all that he desired. The active brain that had stood Bryce in good stead while he spun his meshes and devised his schemes was more active than ever that early summer morning.
He got wrong, somehow, and he forged the Duke's name to a cheque. Now, then, considering who Glassdale is, and that he was certainly a fellow-convict of Brake's, and that I myself saw him here in Wrychester on the day of Brake's death what's the conclusion to be drawn? That Brake wanted to see the Duke on some business of Glassdale's! Without a doubt!
He pointed to a copy of the weekly newspaper, lying on his desk, and to a formal account of the discovery of the Saxonsteade jewels which had been furnished to the press, at the Duke's request, by Mitchington. Glassdale glanced at it unconcernedly. "The same," he answered. "But I didn't call here on that matter though what I did call about is certainly relative to it.
"Never!" said Glassdale. "Never mentioned such a man!" Bryce reflected again, and suddenly determined to be explicit. "John Brake, the bank manager," he said, "was married at a place called Braden Medworth, in Leicestershire, to a girl named Mary Bewery. He had two children, who would be, respectively, about four and one years of age when his we'll call it misfortune happened. That's a fact!"
Had he remained in that garden he would have seen Glassdale, after reading both the handbills, go into the house and have heard him ask the landlady at the bar to get him a trap and a good horse in it as soon as possible; he, too, now wanted to go to Wrychester and at once. But Bryce was riding down the road, muttering certain words to himself over and over again.
He turned and quietly inspected his visitor once more. "Aye!" he said quietly. "So you're after that thousand pound reward, eh?" "I should have no objection to it, Mr. Folliot," replied Glassdale. "I dare say not," remarked Folliot, dryly. "I dare say not! And which are you, now? one of those who think they can tell something, or one that really can tell? Eh?"
He saw at once that Glassdale had, or believed he had, something to tell and was disposed to be unusually cautious about telling it. "Well," he replied, after a pause. "I believe in fact, it's an open secret that the offer of five hundred pounds is made by Dr. Ransford." "And yours?" inquired Glassdale. "Who's at the back of yours a thousand?" The solicitor smiled.
Who wouldn't?" "And he'd tracked 'em down, eh?" asked Folliot. "There are questions I can answer, and there are questions I can't answer," responded Glassdale. "That's one of the questions I've no reply to. For I don't know! But I can say this. He hadn't tracked 'em down the day before he came to Wrychester!" "You're sure of that?" asked Folliot. "He didn't come here on that account?"
It was not Lord Talbot who came forth and stood upon his own end of the bridge, gazing haughtily across the space which divided them; but it was a notable soldier, whom the French called Classidas, though I have been told that his real name was Sir William Glassdale.
"There are two rewards offered," he remarked. "Are they entirely independent of each other?" "We know nothing of the other," answered the solicitor. "Except, of course, that it exists. They're quite independent." "Who's offering the five hundred pound one?" asked Glassdale. The solicitor paused, looking his man over.
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