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Page 89
The active brain that had stood Bryce in good stead while he
spun his meshes and devised his schemes was more active than
ever that early summer morning. It was a ten-mile ride
through woods and valleys to Saxonsteade, and there were
sights and beauties of nature on either side of him which any
other man would have lingered to admire and most men would
have been influenced by. But Bryce had no eyes for the clouds
over the copper-crowned hills or the mystic shadows in the
deep valleys or the new buds in the hedgerows, and no thought
for the rustic folk whose cottages he passed here and there in
a sparsely populated country. All his thoughts were fixed on
his schemes, almost as mechanically as his eyes followed the
white road in front of his wheel. Ever since he had set out
on his campaign he had regularly taken stock of his position;
he was for ever reckoning it up. And now, in his opinion,
everything looked very promising. He had--so far as he was
aware--created a definite atmosphere of suspicion around and
against Ransford--it needed only a little more suggestion,
perhaps a little more evidence to bring about Ransford's
arrest. And the only question which at all troubled Bryce
was--should he let matters go to that length before putting
his ultimatum before Mary Bewery, or should he show her his
hand first? For Bryce had so worked matters that a word from
him to the police would damn Ransford or save him--and now it
all depended, so far as Bryce himself was concerned, on Mary
Bewery as to which word should be said. Elaborate as the
toils were which he had laid out for Ransford to the police,
he could sweep them up and tear them away with a sentence of
added knowledge--if Mary Bewery made it worth his while. But
first--before coming to the critical point--there was yet
certain information which he desired to get, and he felt sure
of getting it if he could find Glassdale. For Glassdale,
according to all accounts, had known Braden intimately of
late years, and was most likely in possession of facts about
him--and Bryce had full confidence in himself as an
interviewer of other men and a supreme belief that he could
wheedle a secret out of anybody with whom he could procure an
hour's quiet conversation.
As luck would have it, Bryce had no need to make a call upon
the approachable and friendly Duke. Outside the little
village at Saxonsteade, on the edge of the deep woods which
fringed the ducal park, stood an old wayside inn, a relic of
the coaching days, which bore on its sign the ducal arms.
Into its old stone hall marched Bryce to refresh himself after
his ride, and as he stood at the bow-windowed bar, he glanced
into the garden beyond and there saw, comfortably smoking his
pipe and reading the newspaper, the very man he was looking
for.
Bryce had no spice of bashfulness, no want of confidence
anywhere in his nature; he determined to attack Glassdale
there and then. But he took a good look at his man before
going out into the garden to him. A plain and ordinary sort
of fellow, he thought; rather over middle age, with a tinge
of grey in his hair and moustache; prosperous looking and
well-dressed, and at that moment of the appearance of what he
was probably taken for by the inn people--a tourist. Whether
he was the sort who would be communicative or not, Bryce could
not tell from outward signs, but he was going to try, and he
presently found his card-case, took out a card, and strolling
down the garden to the shady spot in which Glassdale sat,
assumed his politest and suavest manner and presented himself.
"Allow me, sir," he said, carefully abstaining from any
mention of names. "May I have the pleasure of a few minutes'
conversation with you?"
Glassdale cast a swift glance of surprise, not unmingled with
suspicion, at the intruder--the sort of glance that a man used
to watchfulness would throw at anybody, thought Bryce. But
his face cleared as he read the card, though it was still
doubtful as he lifted it again.
"You've the advantage of me, sir," he said. "Dr. Bryce, I
see. But--"
Bryce smiled and dropped into a garden chair at Glassdale's
side.
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