George MacDonald - "Weighed and Wanting"

Marie Corelli - "Ziska"

Thomas de Quincey - "Theological Essays and Other Papers v2"

Harriet Annie Wilkins - "Victor Roy, A Masonic Poem"

The Paradise Mystery

J >> J. S. Fletcher >> The Paradise Mystery




"I was going to your house, Dr. Ransford," he remarked
quietly. "I don't want to force my presence on you, now or at
any time--but I think you'd better give me a few minutes."

They were at Ransford's garden gate by that time, and Ransford
flung it open and motioned Bryce to follow. He led the way
into the dining-room, closed the door on the three, and looked
at Bryce. Bryce took the glance as a question, and put
another, in words.

"You've heard of what's happened during the day?" he said.

"About Collishaw--yes," answered Ransford. "Miss Bewery has
just told me--what her brother told her. What of it?"

"I have just come from the police-station," said Bryce.
"Coates and Everest have carried out an autopsy this
afternoon. Mitchington told me the result."

"Well?" demanded Ransford, with no attempt to conceal his
impatience. "And what then?"

"Collishaw was poisoned," replied Bryce, watching Ransford
with a closeness which Mary did not fail to observe. "H.C.N.
No doubt at all about it."

"Well--and what then?" asked Ransford, still more impatiently.
"To be explicit--what's all this to do with me?"

"I came here to do you a service," answered Bryce. "Whether
you like to take it or not is your look-out. You may as well
know it you're in danger. Collishaw is the man who hinted--as
you heard yesterday in my rooms--that he could say something
definite about the Braden affair--if he liked."

"Well?" said Ransford.

"It's known--to the police--that you were at Collishaw's house
early this morning," said Bryce. "Mitchington knows it."

Ransford laughed.

"Does Mitchington know that I overheard what he said to you,
yesterday afternoon?" he inquired.

"No, he doesn't," answered Bryce. "He couldn't possibly know
unless I told him. I haven't told him--I'm not going to tell
him. But--he's suspicious already."

"Of me, of course," suggested Ransford, with another laugh.
He took a turn across the room and suddenly faced round on
Bryce, who had remained standing near the door. "Do you
really mean to tell me that Mitchington is such a fool as to
believe that I would poison a poor working man--and in that
clumsy fashion?" he burst out. "Of course you don't."

"I never said I did," answered Bryce. "I'm only telling you
what Mitchington thinks his grounds for suspecting. He
confided in me because--well, it was I who found Collishaw.
Mitchington is in possession of a box of digestive pills which
you evidently gave Collishaw."

"Bah!" exclaimed Ransford. "The man's a fool! Let him come
and talk to me."

"He won't do that--yet," said Bryce. "But--I'm afraid he'll
bring all this out at the inquest. The fact is--he's
suspicious--what with one thing or another--about the former
affair. He thinks you concealed the truth--whatever it may
be--as regards any knowledge of Braden which you may or mayn't
have."

"I'll tell you what it is!" said Ransford suddenly. "It just
comes to this--I'm suspected of having had a hand--the hand,
if you like!--in Braden's death, and now of getting rid of
Collishaw because Collishaw could prove that I had that hand.
That's about it!"

"A clear way of putting it, certainly," assented Bryce. "But
--there's a very clear way, too, of dissipating any such
ideas."

"What way?" demanded Ransford.

"If you do know anything about the Braden affair--why not
reveal it, and be done with the whole thing," suggested Bryce.
"That would finish matters."

Ransford took a long, silent look at his questioner. And
Bryce looked steadily back--and Mary Bewery anxiously watched
both men.

"That's my business," said Ransford at last. "I'm neither to
be coerced, bullied, or cajoled. I'm obliged to you for
giving me a hint of my--danger, I suppose! And--I don't
propose to say any more."

"Neither do I," said Bryce. "I only came to tell you."

And therewith, having successfully done all that he wanted to
do, he walked out of the room and the house, and Ransford,
standing in the window, his hands thrust in his pockets,
watched him go away across the Close.

"Guardian!" said Mary softly.

Ransford turned sharply.

"Wouldn't it be best," she continued, speaking nervously, "if
--if you do know anything about that unfortunate man--if you
told it? Why have this suspicion fastening itself on you?
You!"

Ransford made an effort to calm himself. He was furiously
angry--angry with Bryce, angry with Mitchington, angry with
the cloud of foolishness and stupidity that seemed to be
gathering.

"Why should I--supposing that I do know something, which I
don't admit--why should I allow myself to be coerced and
frightened by these fools?" he asked. "No man can prevent
suspicion falling on him--it's my bad luck in this instance.
Why should I rush to the police-station and say, 'Here--I'll
blurt out all I know--everything!' Why?"

"Wouldn't that be better than knowing that people are saying
things?" she asked.

"As to that," replied Ransford, "you can't prevent people
saying things--especially in a town like this. If it hadn't
been for the unfortunate fact that Braden came to the surgery
door, nothing would have been said. But what of that?--I have
known hundreds of men in my time--aye, and forgotten them!
No!--I am not going to fall a victim to this device--it all
springs out of curiosity. As to this last affair--it's all
nonsense!"

"But--if the man was really poisoned?" suggested Mary.

"Let the police find the poisoner!" said Ransford, with a grim
smile. "That's their job."

Mary said nothing for a moment, and Ransford moved restlessly
about the room.

"I don't trust that fellow Bryce," he said suddenly. "He's up
to something. I don't forget what he said when I bundled him
out that morning."

"What?" she asked.

"That he would be a bad enemy," answered Ransford. "He's
posing now as a friend--but a man's never to be so much
suspected as when he comes doing what you may call unnecessary
acts of friendship. I'd rather that anybody was mixed up in
my affairs--your affairs--than Pemberton Bryce!"

"So would I!" she said. "But--"

She paused there a moment and then looked appealingly at
Ransford.

"I do wish you'd tell me--what you promised to tell me," she
said. "You know what I mean--about me and Dick. Somehow--I
don't quite know how or why--I've an uneasy feeling that Bryce
knows something, and that he's mixing it all up with--this!
Why not tell me--please!"

Ransford, who was still marching about the room, came to a
halt, and leaning his hands on the table between them, looked
earnestly at her.

"Don't ask that--now!" he said. "I can't--yet. The fact is,
I'm waiting for something--some particulars. As soon as I get
them, I'll speak to you--and to Dick. In the meantime--don't
ask me again--and don't be afraid. And as to this affair,
leave it to me--and if you meet Bryce again, refuse to discuss
any thing with him. Look here!--there's only one reason why
he professes friendliness and a desire to save me annoyance.
He thinks he can ingratiate himself with--you!"

"Mistaken!" murmured Mary, shaking her head. "I don't trust
him. And--less than ever because of yesterday. Would an
honest man have done what he did? Let that police inspector
talk freely, as he did, with people concealed behind a
curtain? And--he laughed about it! I hated myself for being
there--yet could we help it?"

"I'm not going to hate myself on Pemberton Bryce's account,"
said Ransford. "Let him play his game--that he has one, I'm
certain."

Bryce had gone away to continue his game--or another line of
it. The Collishaw matter had not made him forget the Richard
Jenkins tomb, and now, after leaving Ransford's house, he
crossed the Close to Paradise with the object of doing a
little more investigation. But at the archway of the ancient
enclosure he met old Simpson Harker, pottering about in his
usual apparently aimless fashion. Harker smiled at sight of
Bryce.

"Ah, I was wanting to have a word with you, doctor!" he said.
"Something important. Have you got a minute or two to spare,
sir? Come round to my little place, then--we shall be quiet
there."

Bryce had any amount of time to spare for an interesting
person like Harker, and he followed the old man to his house
--a tiny place set in a nest of similar old-world buildings
behind the Close. Harker led him into a little parlour,
comfortable and snug, wherein were several shelves of books of
a curiously legal and professional-looking aspect, some old
pictures, and a cabinet of odds and ends, stowed away in of
dark corner. The old man motioned him to an easy chair, and
going over to a cupboard, produced a decanter of whisky and a
box of cigars.

"We can have a peaceful and comfortable talk here, doctor," he
remarked, as he sat down near Bryce, after fetching glasses
and soda-water. "I live all alone, like a hermit--my bit of
work's done by a woman who only looks in of a morning. So
we're all by ourselves. Light your cigar!--same as that I
gave you at Barthorpe. Um--well, now," he continued, as Bryce
settled down to listen. "There's a question I want to put to
you--strictly between ourselves--strictest of confidence, you
know. It was you who was called to Braden by Varner, and you
were left alone with Braden's body?"

"Well?" admitted Bryce, suddenly growing suspicious. "What of
it?"

Harker edged his chair a little closer to his guest's, and
leaned towards him.

"What," he asked in a whisper, "what have you done with that
scrap of paper that you took out of Braden's purse?"




CHAPTER XIV

FROM THE PAST


If any remarkably keen and able observer of the odd
characteristics of humanity had been present in Harker's
little parlour at that moment, watching him and his visitor,
he would have been struck by what happened when the old man
put this sudden and point-blank question to the young one.
For Harker put the question, though in a whisper, in no more
than a casual, almost friendlily-confidential way, and Bryce
never showed by the start of a finger or the flicker of an
eyelash that he felt it to be what he really knew it to be
--the most surprising and startling question he had ever had
put to him. Instead, he looked his questioner calmly in the
eyes, and put a question in his turn.

"Who are you, Mr. Harker?" asked Bryce quietly.

Harker laughed--almost gleefully.

"Yes, you've a right to ask that!" he said. "Of course!--glad
you take it that way. You'll do!"

"I'll qualify it, then," added Bryce. "It's not who--it's
what are you!"

Harker waved his cigar at the book-shelves in front of which
his visitor sat.

"Take a look at my collection of literature, doctor," he said.
"What d'ye think of it?"

Bryce turned and leisurely inspected one shelf after another.

"Seems to consist of little else but criminal cases and legal
handbooks," he remarked quietly. "I begin to suspect you, Mr.
Harker. They say here in Wrychester that you're a retired
tradesman. I think you're a retired policeman--of the
detective branch."

Harker laughed again.

"No Wrychester man has ever crossed my threshold since I came
to settle down here," he said. "You're the first person I've
ever asked in--with one notable exception. I've never even
had Campany, the librarian, here. I'm a hermit."

"But--you were a detective?" suggested Bryce.

"Aye, for a good five-and-twenty years!" replied Harker. "And
pretty well known, too, sir. But--my question, doctor. All
between ourselves!"

"I'll ask you one, then," said Bryce. "How do you know I took
a scrap of paper from Braden's purse?"

"Because I know that he had such a paper in his purse the
night he came to the Mitre," answered Harker, "and was certain
to have it there next morning, and because I also know that
you were left alone with the body for some minutes after
Varner fetched you to it, and that when Braden's clothing and
effects were searched by Mitchington, the paper wasn't there.
So, of course, you took it! Doesn't matter to me that ye did
--except that I know, from knowing that, that you're on a
similar game to my own--which is why you went down to
Leicestershire."

"You knew Braden?" asked Bryce.

"I knew him!" answered Harker.

"You saw him--spoke with him--here in Wrychester?" suggested
Bryce.

"He was here--in this room--in that chair--from five minutes
past nine to close on ten o'clock the night before his death,"
replied Harker.

Bryce, who was quietly appreciating the Havana cigar which the
old man had given him, picked up his glass, took a drink, and
settled himself in his easy chair as if he meant to stay there
awhile.

"I think we'd better talk confidentially, Mr. Harker," he
said.

"Precisely what we are doing, Dr. Bryce," replied Harker.

"All right, my friend," said Bryce, laconically. "Now we
understand each other. So--do you know who John Braden really
was?"

"Yes!" replied Harker, promptly. "He was in reality John
Brake, ex-bank manager, ex-convict."

"Do you know if he's any relatives here in Wrychester?"
inquired Bryce.

"Yes," said Harker. "The boy and girl who live with Ransford
--they're Brake's son and daughter."

"Did Brake know that--when he came here?" continued Bryce.

"No, he didn't--he hadn't the least idea of it," responded
Harker.

"Had you--then?" asked Bryce.

"No--not until later--a little later," replied Harker.

"You found it out at Barthorpe?" suggested Bryce.

"Not a bit of it; I worked it out here--after Brake was dead,"
said Harker. "I went to Barthorpe on quite different
business--Brake's business."

"Ah!" said Bryce. He looked the old detective quietly in the
eyes. "You'd better tell me all about it," he added.

"If we're both going to tell each other--all about it,"
stipulated Harker.

"That's settled," assented Bryce.

Harker smoked thoughtfully for a moment and seemed to be
thinking.

"I'd better go back to the beginning," he said. "But, first
--what do you know about Brake? I know you went down to
Barthorpe to find out what you could--how far did your
searches take you?"

"I know that Brake married a girl from Braden Medworth, that
he took her to London, where he was manager of a branch bank,
that he got into trouble, and was sentenced to ten years'
penal servitude," answered Bryce, "together with some small
details into which we needn't go at present."

"Well, as long as you know all that, there's a common basis
and a common starting-point," remarked Harker, "so I'll begin
at Brake's trial. It was I who arrested Brake. There was no
trouble, no bother. He'd been taken unawares, by an inspector
of the bank. He'd a considerable deficiency--couldn't make
it good--couldn't or wouldn't explain except by half-sullen
hints that he'd been cruelly deceived. There was no defence
--couldn't be. His counsel said that he could--"

"I've read the account of the trial," interrupted Bryce.

"All right--then you know as much as I can tell you on that
point," said Harker. "He got, as you say, ten years. I saw
him just before he was removed and asked him if there was
anything I could do for him about his wife and children. I'd
never seen them--I arrested him at the bank, and, of course,
he was never out of custody after that. He answered in a
queer, curt way that his wife and children were being looked
after. I heard, incidentally, that his wife had left home, or
was from home--there was something mysterious about it--either
as soon as he was arrested or before. Anyway, he said
nothing, and from that moment I never set eyes on him again
until I met him in the street here in Wrychester, the other
night, when he came to the Mitre. I knew him at once--and he
knew me. We met under one of those big standard lamps in the
Market Place--I was following my usual practice of having an
evening walk, last thing before going to bed. And we stopped
and stared at each other. Then he came forward with his hand
out, and we shook hands. 'This is an odd thing!' he said.
'You're the very man I wanted to find! Come somewhere, where
it's quiet, and let me have a word with you.' So--I brought
him here."

Bryce was all attention now--for once he was devoting all his
faculties to tense and absorbed concentration on what another
man could tell, leaving reflections and conclusions on what he
heard until all had been told.

"I brought him here," repeated Harker. "I told him I'd been
retired and was living here, as he saw, alone. I asked him no
questions about himself--I could see he was a well-dressed,
apparently well-to-do man. And presently he began to tell me
about himself. He said that after he'd finished his term he
left England and for some time travelled in Canada and the
United States, and had gone then--on to New Zealand and
afterwards to Australia, where he'd settled down and begun
speculating in wool. I said I hoped he'd done well. Yes, he
said, he'd done very nicely--and then he gave me a quiet dig
in the ribs. 'I'll tell you one thing I've done, Harker,' he
said. 'You were very polite and considerate to me when I'd my
trouble, so I don't mind telling you. I paid the bank every
penny of that money they lost through my foolishness at that
time--every penny, four years ago, with interest, and I've got
their receipt.' 'Delighted to hear it, Mr.--Is it the same
name still?' I said. 'My name ever since I left England,' he
said, giving me a look, 'is Braden--John Braden.' 'Yes,' he
went on, 'I paid 'em--though I never had one penny of the
money I was fool enough to take for the time being--not one
halfpenny!' 'Who had it, Mr. Braden?' I asked him, thinking
that he'd perhaps tell after all that time. 'Never mind, my
lad!' he answered. 'It'll come out--yet. Never mind that,
now. I'll tell you why I wanted to see you. The fact is,
I've only been a few hours in England, so to speak, but I'd
thought of you, and wondered where I could get hold of you
--you're the only man of your profession I ever met, you see,'
he added, with a laugh. 'And I want a bit of help in that
way.' 'Well, Mr. Braden,' I said, 'I've retired, but if it's
an easy job--' 'It's one you can do, easy enough,' he said.
'It's just this--I met a man in Australia who's extremely
anxious to get some news of another man, named Falkiner Wraye,
who hails from Barthorpe, in Leicestershire. I promised to
make inquiries for him. Now, I have strong reasons why I
don't want to go near Barthorpe--Barthorpe has unpleasant
memories and associations for me, and I don't want to be seen
there. But this thing's got to be personal investigation
--will you go here, for me? I'll make it worth your while.
All you've got to do,' he went on, 'is to go there--see the
police authorities, town officials, anybody that knows the
place, and ask them if they can tell you anything of one
Falkiner Wraye, who was at one time a small estate agent in
Barthorpe, left the place about seventeen years ago--maybe
eighteen--and is believed to have recently gone back to the
neighbourhood. That's all. Get what information you can, and
write it to me, care of my bankers in London. Give me a sheet
of paper and I'll put down particulars for you.'"

Harker paused at this point and nodded his head at an old
bureau which stood in a corner of his room.

"The sheet of paper's there," he said. "It's got on it, in
his writing, a brief memorandum of what he wanted and the
address of his bankers. When he'd given it to me, he put his
hand in his pocket and pulled out a purse in which I could see
he was carrying plenty of money. He took out some notes.
'Here's five-and-twenty pounds on account, Harker,' he said.
'You might have to spend a bit. Don't be afraid--plenty more
where that comes from. You'll do it soon?' he asked. 'Yes,
I'll do it, Mr. Braden,' I answered. 'It'll be a bit of a
holiday for me.' 'That's all right,' he said. 'I'm delighted
I came across you.' 'Well, you couldn't be more delighted
than I was surprised,' I said. 'I never thought to see you
in Wrychester. What brought you here, if one may ask
--sight-seeing?' He laughed at that, and he pulled out his
purse again. 'I'll show you something--a secret,' he said,
and he took a bit of folded paper out of his purse. 'What
do you make of that?' he asked. 'Can you read Latin?' 'No
--except a word or two,' I said, 'but I know a man who can.'
'Ah, never mind,' said he. 'I know enough Latin for this--and
it's a secret. However, it won't be a secret long, and you'll
hear all about it.' And with that he put the bit of paper in
his purse again, and we began talking about other matters, and
before long he said he'd promised to have a chat with a
gentleman at the Mitre whom he'd come along with in the train,
and away he went, saying he'd see me before be left the town."

"Did he say how long he was going to stop here?" asked Bryce.

"Two or three days," replied Harker.

"Did he mention Ransford?" inquired Bryce.

"Never!" said Harker.

"Did he make any reference to his wife and children?"

"Not the slightest!"

"Nor to the hint that his counsel threw out at the trial?"

"Never referred to that time except in the way I told you
--that he hadn't a penny of the money, himself and that he'd
himself refunded it."

Bryce meditated awhile. He was somewhat puzzled by certain
points in the old detective's story, and he saw now that there
was much more mystery in the Braden affair than he had at
first believed.

"Well," he asked, after a while, "did you see him again?"

"Not alive!" replied Harker. "I saw him dead--and I held my
tongue, and have held it. But--something happened that day.
After I heard of the accident, I went into the Crown and
Cushion tavern--the fact was, I went to get a taste of whisky,
for the news had upset me. And in that long bar of theirs, I
saw a man whom I knew--a man whom I knew, for a fact, to have
been a fellow convict of Brake's. Name of Glassdale--forgery.
He got the same sentence that Brake got, about the same time,
was in the same convict prison with Brake, and he and Brake
would be released about the same date. There was no doubt
about his identity--I never forget a face, even after thirty
years I'd tell one. I saw him in that bar before he saw me,
and I took a careful look at him. He, too, like Brake, was
very well dressed, and very prosperous looking. He turned as
he set down his glass, and caught sight of me--and he knew me.
Mind you, he'd been through my hands in times past! And he
instantly moved to a side-door and--vanished. I went out and
looked up and down--he'd gone. I found out afterwards, by a
little quiet inquiry, that he'd gone straight to the station,
boarded the first train--there was one just giving out, to the
junction--and left the city. But I can lay hands on him!"

"You've kept this quiet, too?" asked Bryce.

"Just so--I've my own game to play," replied Harker. "This
talk with you is part of it--you come in, now--I'll tell you
why, presently. But first, as you know, I went to Barthorpe.
For, though Brake was dead, I felt I must go--for this reason.
I was certain that he wanted that information for himself--the
man in Australia was a fiction. I went, then--and learned
nothing. Except that this Falkiner Wraye had been, as Brake
said, a Barthorpe man, years ago. He'd left the town eighteen
years since, and nobody knew anything about him. So I came
home. And now then, doctor--your turn! What were you after,
down there at Barthorpe?"

Bryce meditated his answer for a good five minutes. He had
always intended to play the game off his own bat, but he had
heard and seen enough since entering Harker's little room to
know that he was in company with an intellect which was keener
and more subtle than his, and that it would be all to his
advantage to go in with the man who had vast and deep
experience. And so he made a clean breast of all he had done
in the way of investigation, leaving his motive completely
aside.

"You've got a theory, of course?" observed Harker, after
listening quietly to all that Bryce could tell. "Naturally,
you have! You couldn't accumulate all that without getting
one."

"Well," admitted Bryce, "honestly, I can't say that I have.
But I can see what theory there might be. This--that Ransford
was the man who deceived Brake, that he ran away with Brake's
wife, that she's dead, and that he's brought up the children
in ignorance of all that--and therefore--"

"And therefore," interrupted Harker with a smile, "that when
he and Brake met--as you seem to think they did--Ransford
flung Brake through that open doorway; that Collishaw
witnessed it, that Ransford's found out about Collishaw, and
that Collishaw has been poisoned by Ransford. Eh?"

"That's a theory that seems to be supported by facts," said
Bryce.

"It's a theory that would doubtless suit men like
Mitchington," said the old detective, with another smile.
"But--not me, sir! Mind you, I don't say there isn't
something in it--there's doubtless a lot. But--the mystery's
a lot thicker than just that. And Brake didn't come here to
find Ransford. He came because of the secret in that scrap of
paper. And as you've got it, doctor--out with it!"

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