|
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 67
Bryce read and re-read the contents of the two bills. And
then he thought for awhile before speaking.
"Well," he said at last, "there's probably this in it--the
Folliots are very wealthy people. Mrs. Folliot, it's pretty
well known, wants her son to marry Miss Bewery--Dr. Ransford's
ward. Probably she doesn't wish any suspicion to hang over
the family. That's all I can suggest. In the other case,
Ransford wants to clear himself. For don't forget this,
Mitchington!--somewhere, somebody may know something! Only
something. But that something might clear Ransford of the
suspicion that's undoubtedly been cast upon him. If you're
thinking to get a strong case against Ransford, you've got
your work set. He gave your theory a nasty knock this morning
by his few words about that pill. Did Coates and Everest find
a pill, now?"
"Not at liberty to say, sir," answered Mitchington. "At
present, anyway. Um! I dislike these private offers of
reward--it means that those who make 'em get hold of
information which is kept back from us, d'you see! They're
inconvenient."
Then he went away, and Bryce, after waiting awhile, until
night had settled down, slipped quietly out of the house and
set off for the gloom of Paradise.
CHAPTER XVI
BEFOREHAND
In accordance with his undeniable capacity for contriving and
scheming, Bryce had made due and careful preparations for his
visit to the tomb of Richard Jenkins. Even in the momentary
confusion following upon his discovery of Collishaw's dead
body, he had been sufficiently alive to his own immediate
purposes to notice that the tomb--a very ancient and
dilapidated structure--stood in the midst of a small expanse
of stone pavement between the yew-trees and the wall of the
nave; he had noticed also that the pavement consisted of small
squares of stone, some of which bore initials and dates. A
sharp glance at the presumed whereabouts of the particular
spot which he wanted, as indicated in the scrap of paper taken
from Braden's purse, showed him that he would have to raise
one of those small squares--possibly two or three of them.
And so he had furnished himself with a short crowbar of
tempered steel, specially purchased at the iron-monger's, and
with a small bull's-eye lantern. Had he been arrested and
searched as he made his way towards the cathedral precincts he
might reasonably have been suspected of a design to break into
the treasury and appropriate the various ornaments for which
Wrychester was famous. But Bryce feared neither arrest nor
observation. During his residence in Wrychester he had done a
good deal of prowling about the old city at night, and he knew
that Paradise, at any time after dark, was a deserted place.
Folk might cross from the close archway to the wicket-gate by
the outer path, but no one would penetrate within the thick
screen of yew and cypress when night had fallen. And now, in
early summer, the screen of trees and bushes was so thick in
leaf, that once within it, foliage on one side, the great
walls of the nave on the other, there was little likelihood of
any person overlooking his doings while he made his
investigation. He anticipated a swift and quiet job, to be
done in a few minutes.
But there was another individual in Wrychester who knew just
as much of the geography of Paradise as Pemberton Bryce knew.
Dick Bewery and Betty Campany had of late progressed out of
the schoolboy and schoolgirl hail-fellow-well-met stage to the
first dawnings of love, and in spite of their frequent
meetings had begun a romantic correspondence between each
other, the joy and mystery of which was increased a
hundredfold by a secret method of exchange of these missives.
Just within the wicket-gate entrance of Paradise there was an
old monument wherein was a convenient cavity--Dick Bewery's
ready wits transformed this into love's post-office. In it he
regularly placed letters for Betty: Betty stuffed into it
letters for him. And on this particular evening Dick had gone
to Paradise to collect a possible mail, and as Bryce walked
leisurely up the narrow path, enclosed by trees and old
masonry which led from Friary Lane to the ancient enclosure,
Dick turned a corner and ran full into him. In the light of
the single lamp which illumined the path, the two recovered
themselves and looked at each other.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|