CHAPTER XVIII. SURPRISE
Mitchington and the man from New Scotland Yard walked away in silencefrom Ransford's house and kept the silence up until they were in themiddle of the Close and accordingly in solitude. Then Mitchington turnedto his companion.
"What d'ye think of that?" he asked, with a half laugh. "Differentcomplexion it puts on things, eh?"
"I think just what I said before--in there," replied the detective."That man knows more than he's told, even now!"
"Why hasn't he spoken sooner, then?" demanded Mitchington. "He's had twogood chances--at the inquests."
"From what I saw of him, just now," said Jettison, "I should say he'sthe sort of man who can keep his own counsel till he considers the righttime has come for speaking. Not the sort of man who'll care twopencewhatever's said about him, you understand? I should say he's knowna good lot all along, and is just keeping it back till he can put afinishing touch to it. Two days, didn't he say? Aye, well, a lot canhappen in two days!"
"But about your theory?" questioned Mitchington. "What do you think ofit now--in relation to what we've just heard?"
"I'll tell you what I can see," answered Jettison. "I can see how onebit of this puzzle fits into another--in view of what Ransford hasjust told us. Of course, one's got to do a good deal of supposing it'sunavoidable in these cases. Now supposing Braden let this man Harkerinto the secret of the hidden jewels that night, and supposing thatHarker and Bryce are in collusion--as they evidently are, from what thatboy told us--and supposing they between them, together or separately,had to do with Braden's death, and supposing that man Collishaw saw something that would incriminate one or both--eh?"
"Well?" asked Mitchington.
"Bryce is a medical man," observed Jettison. "It would be an easy thingfor a medical man to get rid of Collishaw as he undoubtedly was got ridof. Do you see my point?"
"Aye--and I can see that Bryce is a clever hand at throwing dust inanybody's eyes!" muttered Mitchington. "I've had some dealings with himover this affair and I'm beginning to think--only now!--that he's beenhaving me for the mug! He's evidently a deep 'un--and so's the otherman."
"I wanted to ask you that," said Jettison. "Now, exactly who are thesetwo?--tell me about them--both."
"Not so much to tell," answered Mitchington. "Harker's a quiet old chapwho lives in a little house over there--just off that far corner ofthis Close. Said to be a retired tradesman, from London. Came here a fewyears ago, to settle down. Inoffensive, pleasant old chap. Potters aboutthe town--puts in his time as such old chaps do--bit of reading at thelibraries--bit of gossip here and--there you know the sort. Last man inthe world I should have thought would have been mixed up in an affair ofthis sort!"
"And therefore all the more likely to be!" said Jettison. "Well--theother?"
"Bryce was until the very day of Braden's appearance, Ransford'sassistant," continued Mitchington. "Been with Ransford about two years.Clever chap, undoubtedly, but certainly deep and, in a way, reserved,though he can talk plenty if he's so minded and it's to his ownadvantage. He left Ransford suddenly--that very morning. I don't knowwhy. Since then he's remained in the town. I've heard that he's prettykeen on Ransford's ward--sister of that lad we saw tonight. I don't knowmyself, if it's true--but I've wondered if that had anything to do withhis leaving Ransford so suddenly."
"Very likely," said Jettison. They had crossed the Close by that timeand come to a gas-lamp which stood at the entrance, and the detectivepulled out his watch and glanced at it. "Ten past eleven," he said. "Yousay you know this Bryce pretty well? Now, would it be too late--if he'sup still--to take a look at him! If you and he are on good terms, youcould make an excuse. After what I've heard, I'd like to get at closequarters with this gentleman."
"Easy enough," assented Mitchington. "I've been there as late asthis--he's one of the sort that never goes to bed before midnight. Comeon!--it's close by. But--not a word of where we've been. I'll say I'vedropped in to give him a bit of news. We'll tell him about the jewelbusiness--and see how he takes it. And while we're there--size him up!"
Mitchington was right in his description of Bryce's habits--Bryce rarelywent to bed before one o'clock in the morning. He liked to sit up,reading. His favourite mental food was found in the lives of statesmenand diplomatists, most of them of the sort famous for trickery andchicanery--he not only made a close study of the ways of these gentrybut wrote down notes and abstracts of passages which particularlyappealed to him. His lamp was burning when Mitchington and Jettison camein view of his windows--but that night Bryce was doing no thinking aboutstatecraft: his mind was fixed on his own affairs. He had lighted hisfire on going home and for an hour had sat with his legs stretched outon the fender, carefully weighing things up. The event of the night hadconvinced him that he was at a critical phase of his present adventure,and it behoved him, as a good general, to review his forces.
The forestalling of his plans about the hiding-place in Paradise hadupset Bryce's schemes--he had figured on being able to turn thatsecret, whatever it was, to his own advantage. It struck him now, as hemeditated, that he had never known exactly what he expected to get outof that secret--but he had hoped that it would have been something whichwould make a few more considerable and tightly-strung meshes in the netwhich he was endeavouring to weave around Ransford. Now he was faced bythe fact that it was not going to yield anything in the way of help--itwas a secret no longer, and it had yielded nothing beyond the mereknowledge that John Braden, who was in reality John Brake, had carriedthe secret to Wrychester--to reveal it in the proper quarter. Thathelped Bryce in no way--so far as he could see. And therefore it wasnecessary to re-state his case to himself; to take stock; to see wherehe stood--and more than all, to put plainly before his own mind exactlywhat he wanted.
And just before Mitchington and the detective came up the path to hisdoor, Bryce had put his notions into clear phraseology. His aim wasdefinite--he wanted to get Ransford completely into his power, throughsuspicion of Ransford's guilt in the affairs of Braden and Collishaw. Hewanted, at the same time, to have the means of exonerating him--whetherby fact or by craft--so that, as an ultimate method of success for hisown projects he would be able to go to Mary Bewery and say "Ransford'svery life is at my mercy: if I keep silence, he's lost: if I speak,he's saved: it's now for you to say whether I'm to speak or hold mytongue--and you're the price I want for my speaking to save him!" Itwas in accordance with his views of human nature that Mary Bewery wouldaccede to his terms: he had not known her and Ransford for nothing, andhe was aware that she had a profound gratitude for her guardian, whichmight even be akin to a yet unawakened warmer feeling. The probabilitywas that she would willingly sacrifice herself to save Ransford--andBryce cared little by what means he won her, fair or foul, so long ashe was successful. So now, he said to himself, he must make a stillmore definite move against Ransford. He must strengthen and deepen thesuspicions which the police already had: he must give them chapterand verse and supply them with information, and get Ransford into thetightest of corners, solely that, in order to win Mary Bewery, he mighthave the credit of pulling him out again. That, he felt certain, hecould do--if he could make a net in which to enclose Ransford he couldalso invent a two-edged sword which would cut every mesh of that netinto fragments. That would be--child's play--mere statecraft--elementarydiplomacy. But first--to get Ransford fairly bottled up--that wasthe thing! He determined to lose no more time--and he was thinkingof visiting Mitchington immediately after breakfast next morning whenMitchington knocked at his door.
Bryce was rarely taken back, and on seeing Mitchington and a companion,he forthwith invited them into his parlour, put out his whisky andcigars, and pressed both on them as if their late call were a matter ofusual occurrence. And when he had helped both to a drink, he took onehimself, and tumbler in hand, dropped into his easy chair again.
"We saw your light, doctor--so I took the liberty of dropping into tellyou a bit of news," observed the inspector. "But I haven't introd
uced myfriend--this is Detective-Sergeant Jettison, of the Yard--we've got himdown about this business--must have help, you know."
Bryce gave the detective a half-sharp, half-careless look and nodded.
"Mr. Jettison will have abundant opportunities for the exercise of histalents!" he observed in his best cynical manner. "I dare say he's foundthat out already."
"Not an easy affair, sir, to be sure," assented Jettison. "Complicated!"
"Highly so!" agreed Bryce. He yawned, and glanced at the inspector."What's your news, Mitchington?" he asked, almost indifferently.
"Oh, well!" answered Mitchington. "As the Herald's published tomorrowyou'll see it in there, doctor--I've supplied an account for this week'sissue; just a short one--but I thought you'd like to know. You've heardof the famous jewel robbery at the Duke's, some years ago? Yes?--well,we've found all the whole bundle tonight--buried in Paradise! And how doyou think the secret came out?"
"No good at guessing," said Bryce.
"It came out," continued Mitchington, "through a man who, withBraden--Braden, mark you!--got in possession of it--it's a longstory--and, with Braden, was going to reveal it to the Duke that veryday Braden was killed. This man waited until this very morning andthen told his Grace--his Grace came with him to us this afternoon,and tonight we made a search and found--everything! Buried--there inParadise! Dug 'em up, doctor!"
Bryce showed no great interest. He took a leisurely sip at his liquorand set down the glass and pulled out his cigarette case. The two men,watching him narrowly, saw that his fingers were steady as rocks as hestruck the match.
"Yes," he said as he threw the match away. "I saw you busy."
In spite of himself Mitchington could not repress a start nor a glanceat Jettison. But Jettison was as imperturbable as Bryce himself, andMitchington raised a forced laugh.
"You did!" he said, incredulously. "And we thought we had it all toourselves! How did you come to know, doctor?"
"Young Bewery told me what was going on," replied Bryce, "so I tooka look at you. And I fetched old Harker to take a look, too. We allwatched you--the boy, Harker, and I--out of sheer curiosity, of course.We saw you get up the parcel. But, naturally, I didn't know what was init--till now."
Mitchington, thoroughly taken aback by this candid statement, was at aloss for words, and again he glanced at Jettison. But Jettison gave nohelp, and Mitchington fell back on himself.
"So you fetched old Harker?" he said. "What--what for, doctor? If onemay ask, you know."
Bryce made a careless gesture with his cigarette.
"Oh--old Harker's deeply interested in what's going on," he answered."And as young Bewery drew my attention to your proceedings, why, Ithought I'd draw Harker's. And Harker was--interested."
Mitchington hesitated before saying more. But eventually he risked aleading question.
"Any special reason why he should be, doctor?" he asked.
Bryce put his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and lookedhalf-lazily at his questioner.
"Do you know who old Harker really is?" he inquired.
"No!" answered Mitchington. "I know nothing about him--except that he'ssaid to be a retired tradesman, from London, who settled down here sometime ago."
Bryce suddenly turned on Jettison.
"Do you?" he asked.
"I, sir!" exclaimed Jettison. "I don't know this gentleman--at all!"
Bryce laughed--with his usual touch of cynical sneering.
"I'll tell you--now--who old Harker is, Mitchington," he said. "You mayas well know. I thought Mr. Jettison might recognize the name. Harker isno retired London tradesman--he's a retired member of your profession,Mr. Jettison. He was in his day one of the smartest men in the serviceof your department. Only he's transposed his name--ask them at the Yardif they remember Harker Simpson? That seems to startle you, Mitchington!Well, as you're here, perhaps I'd better startle you a bit more."