|
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 18
"Well, there's no papers here, anyway," said Mitchington, who
had now emptied the suit-case. "Nothing to show who he was.
Nothing here, you see, in the way of paper but this old
book--what is it'd' History of Barthorpe."
"He showed me that in the train," remarked Mr. Dellingham.
"I'm interested in antiquities and archaeology, and anybody
who's long in my society finds it out. We got talking of such
things, and he pulled out that book, and told me with great
pride, that he'd picked it up from a book-barrow in the
street, somewhere in London, for one-and-six. I think," he
added musingly, "that what attracted him in it was the old
calf binding and the steel frontispiece--I'm sure he'd no
great knowledge of antiquities."
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. And it was
on the tip of his tongue to say that if the dead man had no
particular interest in antiquities and archaeology, it was
somewhat strange that he should have bought a book which was
mainly antiquarian, and that it might be that he had so bought
it because of a connection between Barthorpe and himself. But
he remembered that it was his own policy to keep pertinent
facts for his own private consideration, so he said nothing.
And Mitchington presently remarking that there was no more to
be done there, and ascertaining from Mr. Dellingham that it
was his intention to remain in Wrychester for at any rate a
few days, they went downstairs again, and Bryce and the
inspector crossed over to the police-station.
The news had spread through the heart of the city, and at the
police-station doors a crowd had gathered. Just inside two
or three principal citizens were talking to the Superintendent
--amongst them was Mr. Stephen Folliot, the stepfather of
young Bonham--a big, heavy-faced man who had been a resident
in the Close for some years, was known to be of great wealth,
and had a reputation as a grower of rare roses. He was
telling the Superintendent something--and the Superintendent
beckoned to Mitchington.
"Mr. Folliot says he saw this gentleman in the Cathedral," he
said. "Can't have been so very long before the accident
happened, Mr. Folliot, from what you say."
"As near as I can reckon, it would be five minutes to ten,"
answered Mr. Folliot. "I put it at that because I'd gone in
for the morning service, which is at ten. I saw him go up the
inside stair to the clerestory gallery--he was looking about
him. Five minutes to ten--and it must have happened
immediately afterwards."
Bryce heard this and turned away, making a calculation for
himself. It had been on the stroke of ten when he saw
Ransford hurrying out of the west porch. There was a stairway
from the gallery down to that west porch. What, then, was the
inference? But for the moment he drew none--instead, he went
home to his rooms in Friary Lane, and shutting himself up,
drew from his pocket the scrap of paper he had taken from the
dead man.
CHAPTER V
THE SCRAP OF PAPER
When Bryce, in his locked room, drew that bit of paper from
his pocket, it was with the conviction that in it he held a
clue to the secret of the morning's adventure. He had only
taken a mere glance at it as he withdrew it from the dead
man's purse, but he had seen enough of what was written on it
to make him certain that it was a document--if such a mere
fragment could be called a document--of no ordinary
importance. And now be unfolded and laid it flat on his table
and looked at it carefully, asking himself what was the real
meaning of what he saw.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|