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Page 44
Mary kept a firm hand on her wits--and gave him an answer
which was true enough, so far as she was aware.
"I'm sure he knows nothing," she said. "What is it, Mr.
Folliot?"
"Why, you know what happened last week," continued Folliot,
glancing knowingly at her. "The accident to that stranger.
This Mrs. Deramore, who's nothing but an old chatterer, has
been saying, here and there, that it's a very queer thing Dr.
Ransford doesn't know anything about him, and can't say
anything, for she herself, she says, saw the very man going
away from Dr. Ransford's house not so long before the
accident."
"I am not aware that he ever called at Dr. Ransford's," said
Mary. "I never saw him--and I was in the garden, about that
very time, with your stepson, Mr. Folliot."
"So Sackville told me," remarked Folliot. "He was present
--and so was I--when Mrs. Deramore was tattling about it in
our house yesterday. He said, then, that he'd never seen the
man go to your house. You never heard your servants make any
remark about it?"
"Never!" answered Mary.
"I told Mrs. Deramore she'd far better hold her tongue,"
continued Folliot. "Tittle-tattle of that sort is apt to lead
to unpleasantness. And when it came to it, it turned out that
all she had seen was this stranger strolling across the Close
as if he'd just left your house. If--there's always some if!
But I'll tell you why I mentioned it to you," he continued,
nudging Mary's elbow and glancing covertly first at her and
then at his house on the far side of the garden. "Ladies that
are--getting on a bit in years, you know--like my wife, are
apt to let their tongues wag, and between you and me, I
shouldn't wonder if Mrs. Folliot has repeated what Mrs.
Deramore said--eh? And I don't want the doctor to think that
--if he hears anything, you know, which he may, and, again,
he might--to think that it originated here. So, if he
should ever mention it to you, you can say it sprang from his
next-door neighbour. Bah!--they're a lot of old gossips,
these Close ladies!"
"Thank you," said Mary. "But--supposing this man had been to
our house--what difference would that make? He might have
been for half a dozen reasons."
Folliot looked at her out of his half-shut eyes.
"Some people would want to know why Ransford didn't tell that
--at the inquest," he answered. "That's all. When there's a
bit of mystery, you know--eh?"
He nodded--as if reassuringly--and went off to rejoin his
gardener, and Mary walked home with her roses, more thoughtful
than ever. Mystery?--a bit of mystery? There was a vast and
heavy cloud of mystery, and she knew she could have no peace
until it was lifted.
CHAPTER XI
THE BACK ROOM
In the midst of all her perplexity at that moment, Mary Bewery
was certain of one fact about which she had no perplexity nor
any doubt--it would not be long before the rumours of which
Bryce and Mr. Folliot had spoken. Although she had only lived
in Wrychester a comparatively short time she had seen and
learned enough of it to know that the place was a hotbed of
gossip. Once gossip was started there, it spread, widening in
circle after circle. And though Bryce was probably right when
he said that the person chiefly concerned was usually the last
person to hear what was being whispered, she knew well enough
that sooner or later this talk about Ransford would come to
Ransford's own ears. But she had no idea that it was to come
so soon, nor from her own brother.
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