Part 34 (1/2)

”Well, as a matter of fact, there were two,” admitted Gla.s.sdale, ”but there was one in particular. The other--the second--so Braden said, didn't matter; he was or had been, only a sort of cat's-paw of the man he especially wanted.”

”I see,” said Folliot. He pulled out a cigar case and offered a cigar to his visitor, afterwards lighting one himself. ”And what did Braden want that man for?” he asked.

Gla.s.sdale waited until his cigar was in full going order before he answered this question. Then he replied in one word.

”Revenge!”

Folliot put his thumbs in the armholes of his buff waistcoat and leaning back, seemed to be admiring his roses.

”Ah!” he said at last. ”Revenge, now? A sort of vindictive man, was he?

Wanted to get his knife into somebody, eh?”

”He wanted to get something of his own back from a man who'd done him,”

answered Gla.s.sdale, with a short laugh. ”That's about it!”

For a minute or two both men smoked in silence. Then Folliot--still regarding his roses--put a leading question.

”Give you any details?” he asked.

”Enough,” said Gla.s.sdale. ”Braden had been done--over a money transaction--by these men--one especially, as head and front of the affair--and it had cost him--more than anybody would think! Naturally, he wanted--if he ever got the chance--his revenge. Who wouldn't?”

”And he'd tracked 'em down, eh?” asked Folliot.

”There are questions I can answer, and there are questions I can't answer,” responded Gla.s.sdale. ”That's one of the questions I've no reply to. For--I don't know! But--I can say this. He hadn't tracked 'em down the day before he came to Wrychester!”

”You're sure of that?” asked Folliot. ”He--didn't come here on that account?”

”No, I'm sure he didn't!” answered Gla.s.sdale, readily. ”If he had, I should have known. I was with him till noon the day he came here--in London--and when he took his ticket at Victoria for Wrychester, he'd no more idea than the man in the moon as to where those men had got to.

He mentioned it as we were having a bit of lunch together before he got into the train. No--he didn't come to Wrychester for any such purpose as that! But--”

He paused and gave Folliot a meaning glance out of the corner of his eyes.

”Aye--what?” asked Folliot.

”I think he met at least one of 'em here,” said Gla.s.sdale, quietly.

”And--perhaps both.”

”Leading to--misfortune for him?” suggested Folliot.

”If you like to put it that way--yes,” a.s.sented Gla.s.sdale.

Folliot smoked a while in more reflective silence.

”Aye, well!” he said at last. ”I suppose you haven't put these ideas of yours before anybody, now?”

”Present ideas?” asked Gla.s.sdale, sharply. ”Not to a soul! I've not had 'em--very long.”