LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

continued Jettison. “I’d to convince ‘em of the absolute necessity of information, too, before I got any! But I got some—at the third attempt. On the day previous to that on which Collishaw handed that fifty pounds to Stebbing, a certain Wrychester man drew fifty pounds in gold at his bank. Who do you think he was?”

      “Who—who?” demanded Mitchington.

      Jettison leaned half-across the desk.

      “Bryce!” he said in a whisper. “Bryce!”

      Mitchington sat up in his chair and opened his mouth in sheer astonishment.

      “Good heavens!” he muttered after a moment’s silence. “You don’t mean it?”

      “Fact!” answered Jettison. “Plain, incontestable fact, my lad. Dr. Bryce keeps an account at the Wrychester bank. On the day I’m speaking of he cashed a cheque to self for fifty pounds and took it all in gold.”

      The two men looked at each other as if each were asking his companion a question.

      “Well?” said Mitchington at last. “You’re a cut above me, Jettison. What do you make of it?”

      “I said last night that the young man was playing a deep game,” replied Jettison. “But—what game? What’s he building up? For mark you, Mitchington, if—I say if, mind!—if that fifty pounds which he drew in gold is the identical fifty paid to Collishaw, Bryce didn’t pay it as hush-money!”

      “Think not?” said Mitchington, evidently surprised. “Now, that was my first impression. If it wasn’t hush-money—”

      “It wasn’t hush-money, for this reason,” interrupted Jettison. “We know that whatever else he knew, Bryce didn’t know of the accident to Braden until Varner fetched him to Braden. That’s established—on what you’ve put before me. Therefore, whatever Collishaw saw, before or at the time that accident happened, it wasn’t Bryce who was mixed up in it. Therefore, why should Bryce pay Collishaw hush-money?”

      Mitchington, who had evidently been thinking, suddenly pulled out a drawer in his desk and took some papers from it which he began to turn over.

      “Wait a minute,” he said. “I’ve an abstract here—of what the foreman at the Cathedral mason’s yard told me of what he knew as to where Collishaw was working that morning when the accident happened—I made a note of it when I questioned him after Collishaw’s death. Here you are:

      ‘Foreman says that on morning of Braden’s accident,

       Collishaw was at work in the north gallery of the

       clerestory, clearing away some timber which the

       carpenters had left there. Collishaw was certainly

       thus engaged from nine o’clock until past eleven

       that morning. Mem. Have investigated this myself.

       From the exact spot where C. was clearing the timber,

       there is an uninterrupted view of the gallery on the

       south side of the nave, and of the arched doorway at

       the head of St. Wrytha’s Stair.’”

      “‘Well,” observed Jettison, “that proves what I’m saying. It wasn’t hush-money. For whoever it was that Collishaw saw lay hands on Braden, it wasn’t Bryce—Bryce, we know, was at that time coming across the Close or crossing that path through the part you call Paradise: Varner’s evidence proves that. So—if the fifty pounds wasn’t paid for hush-money, what was it paid for?”

      “Do you suggest anything?” asked Mitchington.

      “I’ve thought of two or three things,” answered the detective. “One’s this—was the fifty pounds paid for information? If so, and Bryce has that information, why doesn’t he show his hand more plainly? If he bribed Collishaw with fifty pounds: to tell him who Braden’s assailant was, he now knows!—so why doesn’t he let it out, and have done with it?”

      “Part of his game—if that theory’s right,” murmured Mitchington.

      “It mayn’t be right,” said Jettison. “But it’s one. And there’s another—supposing he paid Collishaw that money on behalf of somebody else? I’ve thought this business out right and left, top-side and bottom-side, and hang me if I don’t feel certain there is somebody else! What did Ransford tell us about Bryce and this old Harker—think of that! And yet, according to Bryce, Harker is one of our old Yard men!—and therefore ought to be above suspicion.”

      Mitchington suddenly started as if an idea had occurred to him.

      “I say, you know!” he exclaimed. “We’ve only Bryce’s word for it that Harker is an ex-detective. I never heard that he was—if he is, he’s kept it strangely quiet. You’d have thought that he’d have let us know, here, of his previous calling—I never heard of a policeman of any rank who didn’t like to have a bit of talk with his own sort about professional matters.”

      “Nor me,” assented Jettison. “And as you say, we’ve only Bryce’s word. And, the more I think of it, the more I’m convinced there’s somebody—some man of whom you don’t seem to have the least idea—who’s in this. And it may be that Bryce is in with him. However—here’s one thing I’m going to do at once. Bryce gave us that information about the fifty pounds. Now I’m going to tell Bryce straight out that I’ve gone into that matter in my own fashion—a fashion he evidently never thought of—and ask him to explain why he drew a similar amount in gold. Come on round to his rooms.”

      But Bryce was not to be found at his rooms—had not been back to his rooms, said his landlady, since he had ridden away early in the morning: all she knew was that he had ordered his dinner to be ready at his usual time that evening. With that the two men had to be content, and they went back to the police-station still discussing the situation. And they were still discussing it an hour later when a telegram was handed to Mitchington, who tore it open, glanced over its contents and passed it to his companion who read it aloud.

      “Meet me with Jettison Wrychester Station on arrival of five-twenty express from London mystery cleared up guilty men known—Ransford.”

      Jettison handed the telegram back.

      “A man of his word!” he said. “He mentioned two days—he’s done it in one! And now, my lad—do you notice?—he says men, not man! It’s as I said—there’s been more than one of ‘em in this affair. Now then—who are they?”

Chapter XXI. The Saxonsteade Arms

       Table of Contents

      Bryce had ridden away on his bicycle from Wrychester that morning intent on a new piece of diplomacy. He had sat up thinking for some time after the two police officials had left him at midnight, and it had occurred to him that there was a man from whom information could be had of whose services he had as yet made no use but who must be somewhere in the neighbourhood—the man Glassdale. Glassdale had been in Wrychester the previous evening; he could scarcely be far away now; there was certainly one person who would know where he could be found, and that person was the Duke of Saxonsteade. Bryce knew the Duke to be an extremely approachable man, a talkative, even a garrulous man, given to holding converse with anybody about anything, and he speedily made up his mind to ride over to Saxonsteade, invent a plausible excuse for his call, and get some news out of his Grace. Even if Glassdale had left the neighbourhood, there might be fragments of evidence to pick up from the Duke, for Glassdale, he knew, had given his former employer the information about the stolen jewels and would, no doubt, have added more about his acquaintance with Braden. And before Bryce came to his dreamed-of master-stroke in that matter, there were one or two things he wanted to clear up, to complete his double net, and he had an idea that an hour’s chat with Glassdale would yield all that he desired.

      The active brain that had stood Bryce in good stead while

Скачать книгу