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Updated: June 2, 2025
Bryce, I see. But " Bryce smiled and dropped into a garden chair at Glassdale's side. "You needn't be afraid of talking to me," he answered. "I'm well known in Wrychester.
From what's been let out not much, certainly, but enough it's quite evident." "What's your theory?" inquired Bryce. "My stepfather knowing old bird he is, too! sums the whole thing up to a nicety," answered Sackville. "That old chap, Braden, you know, is in possession of that secret. He comes to Wrychester about it. But somebody else knows. That somebody gets rid of Braden. Why?
Without a word, Bryce snatched up his hat from the table of the summer-house, and went swiftly away a new scheme, a new idea in his mind. Glassdale, journeying into Wrychester half an hour after Bryce had left him at the Saxonsteade Arms, occupied himself during his ride across country in considering the merits of the two handbills which Bryce had given him.
Had Bryce been able to see through walls or hear through windows, he would have been surprised to find that the Harker of this consultation was not the quiet, easy-going, gossipy old gentleman of Wrychester, but an eminently practical and business-like man of affairs.
And in spite of everything I could say, he there and then went off abroad in search of them he had got some clue, faint and indefinite, but still there, as to Wraye's presence in America, and he went after him. From that time until the morning of his death here in Wrychester I never saw him again!" "You did see him that morning?" asked Mary.
By fair means, or foul he himself ignored the last word and would have substituted the term skilful for it Pemberton Bryce meant to have Mary Bewery. Mary Bewery herself had no thought of Bryce in her head when, the morning after that worthy's return to Wrychester, she set out, alone, for the Wrychester Golf Club.
"The left jaw and the left hand!" he repeated. "Left hand left jaw! Unmistakable!" The great towers of Wrychester Cathedral had come within Bryce's view before he had made up his mind as to the next step in this last stage of his campaign.
And as he passed the centre table he saw old Simpson Harker, who, after sitting in attentive silence for three hours had come up to it, picked up the "History of Barthorpe" which had been found in Braden's suit-case and was inquisitively peering at its title-page. Pemberton Bryce was not the only person in Wrychester who was watching Ransford with keen attention during these events.
"Well," remarked Mitchington, "if that's so, it proves something else to my mind." "What!" asked Bryce. "Why, that whoever it was who did it was somebody who had a knowledge of poison!" answered Mitchington. "And I should say there aren't many people in Wrychester who have such knowledge outside yourselves and the chemists. It's a black business, this!" Bryce nodded silently. He waited until Dr.
Ransford, a bachelor, a well-preserved, active, alert man who was certainly of no more than middle age and did not look his years, had come to Wrychester only a few years previously, and had never shown any signs of forsaking his single state.
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