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 p