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Page 27
"So the city's cleared of the stain of murder!" said a man who
sat next to Bryce. "That's a good job, anyway! Nasty thing,
doctor, to think of a murder being committed in a cathedral.
There'd be a question of sacrilege, of course--and all sorts
of complications."
Bryce made no answer. He was watching Ransford, who was
talking to the Coroner. And he was not mistaken now
--Ransford's face bore all the signs of infinite relief.
From--what? Bryce turned, to leave the stuffy,
rapidly-emptying court. 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.
CHAPTER VII
THE DOUBLE TRAIL
Pemberton Bryce was not the only person in Wrychester who was
watching Ransford with keen attention during these events.
Mary Bewery, a young woman of more than usual powers of
observation and penetration, had been quick to see that her
guardian's distress over the affair in Paradise was something
out of the common. She knew Ransford for an exceedingly
tender-hearted man, with a considerable spice of sentiment in
his composition: he was noted for his more than professional
interest in the poorer sort of his patients and had gained a
deserved reputation in the town for his care of them. But it
was somewhat surprising, even to Mary, that he should be so
much upset by the death of a total stranger as to lose his
appetite, and, for at any rate a couple of days, be so
restless that his conduct could not fail to be noticed by
herself and her brother. His remarks on the tragedy were
conventional enough--a most distressing affair--a sad fate
for the poor fellow--most unexplainable and mysterious, and
so on--but his concern obviously went beyond that. He was
ill at ease when she questioned him about the facts; almost
irritable when Dick Bewery, schoolboy-like, asked him
concerning professional details; she was sure, from the lines
about his eyes and a worn look on his face, that he had passed
a restless night when he came down to breakfast on the morning
of the inquest. But when he returned from the inquest she
noticed a change--it was evident, to her ready wits, that
Ransford had experienced a great relief. He spoke of relief,
indeed, that night at dinner, observing that the verdict which
the jury had returned had cleared the air of a foul suspicion;
it would have been no pleasant matter, he said, if Wrychester
Cathedral had gained an unenviable notoriety as the scene of a
murder.
"All the same," remarked Dick, who knew all the talk of the
town, "Varner persists in sticking to what he's said all
along. Varner says--said this afternoon, after the inquest
was over--that he's absolutely certain of what he saw, and
that he not only saw a hand in a white cuff and black coat
sleeve, but that he saw the sun gleam for a second on the
links in the cuff, as if they were gold or diamonds. Pretty
stiff evidence that, sir, isn't it?"
"In the state of mind in which Varner was at that moment,"
replied Ransford, "he wouldn't be very well able to decide
definitely on what he really did see. His vision would retain
confused images. Probably he saw the dead man's hand--he was
wearing a black coat and white linen. The verdict was a most
sensible one."
No more was said after that, and that evening Ransford was
almost himself again. But not quite himself. Mary caught him
looking very grave, in evident abstraction, more than once;
more than once she heard him sigh heavily. But he said no
more of the matter until two days later, when, at breakfast,
he announced his intention of attending John Braden's funeral,
which was to take place that morning.
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