Part 32 (1/2)

And they think--these chaps like Mitchington and the London man--that Ransford certainly had a motive for getting rid of Braden when they met.”

”What was the motive?” asked Mary.

”They've found out something--perhaps a good deal--about what happened between Braden and Ransford some years ago,” replied Bryce. ”And their theory is--if you want to know the truth--that Ransford ran away with Braden's wife, and that Braden had been looking for him ever since.”

Bryce had kept his eyes on Mary's hands, and now at last he saw the girl's fingers tremble. But her voice was steady enough when she spoke.

”Is that mere conjecture on their part, or is it based on any fact?” she asked.

”I'm not in full knowledge of all their secrets,” answered Bryce, ”but I've heard enough to know that there's a basis of undeniable fact on which they're going. I know for instance, beyond doubt, that Braden and Ransford were bosom friends, years ago, that Braden was married to a girl whom Ransford had wanted to marry, that Braden's wife suddenly left him, mysteriously, a few years later, and that, at the same time, Ransford made an equally mysterious disappearance. The police know all that. What is the inference to be drawn? What inference would any one--you yourself, for example--draw?”

”None, till I've heard what Dr. Ransford had to say,” replied Mary.

Bryce disliked that ready retort. He was beginning to feel that he was being met by some force stronger that his own.

”That's all very well,” he remarked. ”I don't say that I wouldn't do the same. But I'm only explaining the police position, and showing you the danger likely to arise from it. The police theory is this, as far as I can make it out: Ransford, years ago, did Braden a wrong, and Braden certainly swore revenge when he could find him. Circ.u.mstances prevented Braden from seeking him closely for some time; at last they met here, by accident. Here the police aren't decided. One theory is that there was an altercation, blows, a struggle, in the course of which Braden met his death; the other is that Ransford deliberately took Braden up into the gallery and flung him through that open doorway--”

”That,” observed Mary, with something very like a sneer, ”seems so likely that I should think it would never occur to anybody but the sort of people you're telling me of! No man of any real sense would believe it for a minute!”

”Some people of plain common sense do believe it for all that!” retorted Bryce. ”For it's quite possible. But as I say, I'm only repeating. And of course, the rest of it follows on that. The police theory is that Collishaw witnessed Braden's death at Ransford's hands, that Ransford got to know that Collishaw knew of that, and that he therefore quietly removed Collishaw. And it is on all that that they're going, and will go. Don't ask me if I think they're right or wrong! I'm only telling you what I know so as to show you what danger Ransford is in.”

Mary made no immediate answer, and Bryce sat watching her. Somehow--he was at a loss to explain it to himself--things were not going as he had expected. He had confidently believed that the girl would be frightened, scared, upset, ready to do anything that he asked or suggested. But she was plainly not frightened. And the fingers which busied themselves with the fancy-work had become steady again, and her voice had been steady all along.

”Pray,” she asked suddenly, and with a little satirical inflection of voice which Brice was quick to notice, ”pray, how is it that you--not a policeman, not a detective!--come to know so much of all this?

Since when were you taken into the confidence of Mitchington and the mysterious person from London?”

”You know as well as I do that I have been dragged into the case against my wishes,” answered Bryce almost sullenly. ”I was fetched to Braden--I saw him die. It was I who found Collishaw--dead. Of course, I've been mixed up, whether I would or not, and I've had to see a good deal of the police, and naturally I've learnt things.”

Mary suddenly turned on him with a flash of the eye which might have warned Bryce that he had signally failed in the main feature of his adventure.

”And what have you learnt that makes you come here and tell me all this?” she exclaimed. ”Do you think I'm a simpleton, Dr. Bryce? You set out by saying that Dr. Ransford is in danger from the police, and that you know more--much more than the police! what does that mean? Shall I tell you? It means that you--you!--know that the police are wrong, and that if you like you can prove to them that they are wrong! Now, then isn't that so?”

”I am in possession of certain facts,” began Bryce. ”I--”

Mary stopped him with a look.

”My turn!” she said. ”You're in possession of certain facts. Now isn't it the truth that the facts you are in possession of are proof enough to you that Dr. Ransford is as innocent as I am? It's no use your trying to deceive me! Isn't that so?”

”I could certainly turn the police off his track,” admitted Bryce, who was growing highly uncomfortable. ”I could divert--”

Mary gave him another look and dropping her needlework continued to watch him steadily.

”Do you call yourself a gentleman?” she asked quietly. ”Or we'll leave the term out. Do you call yourself even decently honest? For, if you do, how can you have the sheer impudence--more, insolence!--to come here and tell me all this when you know that the police are wrong and that you could--to use your own term, which is your way of putting it--turn them off the wrong track? Whatever sort of man are you? Do you want to know my opinion of you in plain words?”

”You seem very anxious to give it, anyway,” retorted Bryce.

”I will give it, and it will perhaps put an end to this,” answered Mary.

”If you are in possession of anything in the way of evidence which would prove Dr. Ransford's innocence and you are wilfully suppressing it, you are bad, wicked, base, cruel, unfit for any decent being's society!

And,” she added, as she picked up her work and rose, ”you're not going to have any more of mine!”