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Page 31
"Well--it's an odd case--a very odd case," said the first
speaker. "And--as there's ten thousand pounds in question,
more will be heard of it. Somebody'll be after that, you may
be sure!"
Bryce left the train at Barthorpe thanking his good luck--the
man in the far corner had unwittingly given him a hint. He
would pay a visit to Braden Medworth--the coincidence was too
striking to be neglected. But first Barthorpe itself--a
quaint old-world little market-town, in which some of even the
principal houses still wore roofs of thatch, and wherein the
old custom of ringing the curfew bell was kept up. He found
an old-fashioned hotel in the marketplace, under the shadow of
the parish church, and in its oak-panelled dining-room, hung
about with portraits of masters of foxhounds and queer old
prints of sporting and coaching days, he dined comfortably and
well.
It was too late to attempt any investigations that evening,
and when Bryce had finished his leisurely dinner he strolled
into the smoking-room--an even older and quainter apartment
than that which he had just left. It was one of those rooms
only found in very old houses--a room of nooks and corners,
with a great open fireplace, and old furniture and old
pictures and curiosities--the sort of place to which the
old-fashioned tradesmen of the small provincial towns still
resort of an evening rather than patronize the modern
political clubs. There were several men of this sort in the
room when Bryce entered, talking local politics amongst
themselves, and he found a quiet corner and sat down in it to
smoke, promising himself some amusement from the conversation
around him it was his way to find interest and amusement in
anything that offered. But he had scarcely settled down in a
comfortably cushioned elbow chair when the door opened again
and into the room walked old Simpson Harker.
CHAPTER VIII
THE BEST MAN
Old Harker's shrewd eyes, travelling round the room as if to
inspect the company in which he found himself, fell almost
immediately on Bryce--but not before Bryce had had time to
assume an air and look of innocent and genuine surprise.
Harker affected no surprise at all--he looked the astonishment
he felt as the younger man rose and motioned him to the
comfortable easy-chair which he himself had just previously
taken.
"Dear me!" he exclaimed, nodding his thanks. "I'd no idea
that I should meet you in these far-off parts, Dr. Bryce!
This is a long way from Wrychester, sir, for Wrychester folk
to meet in."
"I'd no idea of meeting you, Mr. Harker," responded Bryce.
"But it's a small world, you know, and there are a good many
coincidences in it. There's nothing very wonderful in my
presence here, though--I ran down to see after a country
practice--I've left Dr. Ransford."
He had the lie ready as soon as he set eyes on Harker, and
whether the old man believed it or not, he showed no sign of
either belief or disbelief. He took the chair which Bryce
drew forward and pulled out an old-fashioned cigar-case,
offering it to his companion.
"Will you try one, doctor?" he asked. "Genuine stuff that,
sir--I've a friend in Cuba who remembers me now and then.
No," he went on, as Bryce thanked him and took a cigar, "I
didn't know you'd finished with the doctor. Quietish place
this to practise in, I should think--much quieter even than
our sleepy old city."
"You know it?" inquired Bryce.
"I've a friend lives here--old friend of mine," answered
Harker. "I come down to see him now and then--I've been here
since yesterday. He does a bit of business for me. Stopping
long, doctor?"
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