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Page 113
"Get your tea," he said sharply to the verger. "These men
will stop with you--you're not to leave this room." He gave
some instructions to the two policemen in an undertone and
motioned Ransford and the others to follow him. "It strikes
me," he said, when they were outside in the narrow lane, "that
what we've just heard is somewhere about the truth. And now
we'll go on to Folliot's--there's a way to his house round
here."
Mrs. Folliot was out, Sackville Bonham was still where Bryce
had left him, at the golf-links, when the pursuers reached
Folliot's. A parlourmaid directed them to the garden; a
gardener volunteered the suggestion that his master might be
in the old well-house and showed the way. 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.
"Go down!" he said. "Let 'em in, bid 'em come up! I'll--I'll
settle with 'em. Go!"
Bryce hurried down to the lower apartment. He was filled with
excitement--an unusual thing for him--but in the midst of it,
as he made for the outer door, it suddenly struck him that all
his schemings and plottings were going for nothing. The truth
was at hand, and it was not going to benefit him in the
slightest degree. He was beaten.
But that was no time for philosophic reflection; already those
outside were beating at the door. He flung it open, and the
foremost men started in surprise at the sight of him. But
Bryce bent forward to Mitchington--anxious to play a part to
the last.
"He's upstairs!" he whispered. "Up there! 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. 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. He, wary and watching,
started aside as he saw Folliot's movement, and the bullet,
passing between his arm and body, found its billet in Bryce,
who fell, with little more than a groan, shot through the
heart. And as he fell, Folliot, scarcely looking at what he
had done, drew his other hand from his pocket, slipped
something into his mouth and sat down in the big chair behind
him ... and within a moment the other men in the room were
looking with horrified faces from one dead face to another.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE GUARDED SECRET
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