d Mr. Folliot be so
particular about clearing Ransford?"

Sackville swung his stick, and pulled up his collar, and jerked his nose
a trifle higher.

"Oh, well," he said. "Of course, it's--it's a pretty well understood
thing, don't you know--between myself and Miss Bewery, you know--and of
course, we couldn't have any suspicions attaching to her guardian, could
we, now? Family interest, don't you know--Caesar's wife, and all that
sort of thing, eh?"

"I see," answered Bryce, quietly,--"sort of family arrangement. With
Ransford's consent and knowledge, of course?"

"Ransford won't even be consulted," said Sackville, airily. "My
stepfather--sharp man, that, Bryce!--he'll do things in his own fashion.
You look out for sudden revelations!"

"I will," replied Bryce. "By-bye!"

He turned off to his rooms, wondering how much of truth there was in the
fatuous Sackville's remarks. And--was there some mystery still undreamt
of by himself and Harker? There might be--he was still under the
influence of Ransford's indignant and dramatic assertion of his
innocence. Would Ransford have allowed himself an outburst of that sort
if he had not been, as he said, utterly ignorant of the immediate cause
of Braden's death? Now Bryce, all through, was calculating, for his
own purposes, on Ransford's share, full or partial, in that death--if
Ransford really knew nothing whatever about it, where did his, Bryce's
theory, come in--and how would his present machinations result? And,
more--if Ransford's assertion were true, and if Varner's story of the
hand, seen for an instant in the archway, were also true--and Varner was
persisting in it--then, who was the man who flung Braden to his death
that morning? He realized that, instead of straightening out, things
were becoming more and more complicated.

But he realized something else. On the surface, there was a strong case
of suspicion against Ransford. It had been suggested that very morning
before a coroner and his jury; it would grow; the police were already
permeated with suspicion and distrust. Would it not pay him, Bryce, to
encourage, to help it? He had his own score to pay off against Ransford;
he had his own schemes as regards Mary Bewery. Anyway, he was not going
to share in any attempts to clear the man who had bundled him out of his
house unceremoniously--he would bide his time. And in the meantime there
were other things to be done--one of them that very night.

But before Bryce