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Updated: June 12, 2025
"However long he'd been out of England he hadn't lost a North-Country accent! He was some sort of a North-Countryman Yorkshire or Lancashire, I'll go bail. No Frenchman, officer not he!" "Well, there's no papers here, anyway," said Mitchington, who had now emptied the suit-case. "Nothing to show who he was.
He almost forced them away, drew the curtains again, and hurrying to the front door, returned almost immediately with Mitchington. "Hope I'm not disturbing you, doctor," said the inspector, as Bryce brought him in and again closed the door. "Not? All right, then I came round to ask you a question. There's a queer rumour getting out in the town, about that affair last week.
Bryce himself, followed by Ransford, gave medical evidence; Mitchington told of his examination of the dead man's clothing and effects in his room at the Mitre. And Mitchington added the first information which was new to Bryce.
Mitchington laid the book down, and Bryce picked it up, examined the title-page, and made a mental note of the fact that Barthorpe was a market-town in the Midlands.
If Ransford had really got rid of this man who knew something why, then, it was certainly Ransford who killed Braden. He went round to the police-station at five o'clock. Mitchington drew him aside. "Coates says there's no doubt about it!" he whispered. "Poisoned! Hydrocyanic acid!" Mitchington stepped aside into a private room, motioning Bryce to follow him.
On the day previous to that on which Collishaw handed that fifty pounds to Stebbing, a certain Wrychester man drew fifty pounds in gold at his bank. Who do you think he was?" "Who who?" demanded Mitchington. Jettison leaned half-across the desk. "Bryce!" he said in a whisper. "Bryce!" Mitchington sat up in his chair and opened his mouth in sheer astonishment.
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.
I didn't know that," remarked Mitchington. "You never mentioned it." "You'll not wonder that I didn't," said Bryce, laughing lightly, "when I tell you what the man wanted." "What did he want, then?" asked Mitchington. "Merely to be told where the Cathedral Library was," answered Bryce. Ransford, watching Mary Bewery, saw her cheeks flush, and knew that Bryce was cheerfully telling lies.
"Whether you, or whether Ransford whether both or either of you, know it or not," he said, "the police have been on to Ransford ever since that Collishaw affair! Underground work, you know. Mitchington has been digging into things ever since then, and lately he's had a London detective helping him."
He'll bluff it out if he can, but he's just admitted to me " Mitchington thrust Bryce aside, almost roughly. "We know all about that!" he said. "I shall have a word or two for you later! Come on, now " The men crowded up the stairway into Folliot's snuggery, Bryce, wondering at the inspector's words and manner, following closely behind him and the detective and Glassdale, who led the way.
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