|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 14
But he was to know something before that. He opened the door
of the surgery suddenly, but with his usual quietness of
touch. And on the threshold he paused. Ransford, the very
picture of despair, stood just within, his face convulsed,
beating one hand upon the other.
CHAPTER IV
THE ROOM AT THE MITRE
In the few seconds which elapsed before Ransford recognized
Bryce's presence, Bryce took a careful, if swift, observation
of his late employer. That Ransford was visibly upset by
something was plain enough to see; his face was still pale, he
was muttering to himself, one clenched fist was pounding the
open palm of the other hand--altogether, he looked like a man
who is suddenly confronted with some fearful difficulty. And
when Bryce, having looked long enough to satisfy his wishes,
coughed gently, he started in such a fashion as to suggest
that his nerves had become unstrung.
"What is it?--what are you doing there?" he demanded almost
fiercely. "What do you mean by coming in like that?"
Bryce affected to have seen nothing.
"I came to fetch you," he answered. "There's been an accident
in Paradise--man fallen from that door at the head of St.
Wrytha's Stair. I wish you'd come--but I may as well tell you
that he's past help--dead!"
"Dead! A man?" exclaimed Ransford. "What man? A workman?"
Bryce had already made up his mind about telling Ransford of
the stranger's call at the surgery. He would say nothing--at
that time at any rate. It was improbable that any one but
himself knew of the call; the side entrance to the surgery was
screened from the Close by a shrubbery; it was very unlikely
that any passer-by had seen the man call or go away. No--he
would keep his knowledge secret until it could be made better
use of.
"Not a workman--not a townsman--a stranger," he answered.
"Looks like a well-to-do tourist. A slightly-built, elderly
man--grey-haired."
Ransford, who had turned to his desk to master himself, looked
round with a sudden sharp glance--and for the moment Bryce was
taken aback. For he had condemned Ransford--and yet that
glance was one of apparently genuine surprise, a glance which
almost convinced him, against his will, against only too
evident facts, that Ransford was hearing of the Paradise
affair for the first time.
"An elderly man--grey-haired--slightly built?" said Ransford.
"Dark clothes--silk hat?"
"Precisely," replied Bryce, who was now considerably
astonished. "Do you know him?"
"I saw such a man entering the Cathedral, a while ago,"
answered Ransford. "A stranger, certainly. Come along,
then."
He had fully recovered his self-possession by that time, and
he led the way from the surgery and across the Close as if he
were going on an ordinary professional visit. He kept silence
as they walked rapidly towards Paradise, and Bryce was silent,
too. He had studied Ransford a good deal during their two
years' acquaintanceship, and he knew Ransford's power of
repressing and commanding his feelings and concealing his
thoughts. And now he decided that the look and start which he
had at first taken to be of the nature of genuine astonishment
were cunningly assumed, and he was not surprised when, having
reached the group of men gathered around the body, Ransford
showed nothing but professional interest.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|