race came with him to us this afternoon,
and tonight we made a search and found--everything! Buried--there in
Paradise! Dug 'em up, doctor!"

Bryce showed no great interest. He took a leisurely sip at his liquor
and set down the glass and pulled out his cigarette case. The two men,
watching him narrowly, saw that his fingers were steady as rocks as he
struck the match.

"Yes," he said as he threw the match away. "I saw you busy."

In spite of himself Mitchington could not repress a start nor a glance
at Jettison. But Jettison was as imperturbable as Bryce himself, and
Mitchington raised a forced laugh.

"You did!" he said, incredulously. "And we thought we had it all to
ourselves! How did you come to know, doctor?"

"Young Bewery told me what was going on," replied Bryce, "so I took
a look at you. And I fetched old Harker to take a look, too. We all
watched you--the boy, Harker, and I--out of sheer curiosity, of course.
We saw you get up the parcel. But, naturally, I didn't know what was in
it--till now."

Mitchington, thoroughly taken aback by this candid statement, was at a
loss for words, and again he glanced at Jettison. But Jettison gave no
help, and Mitchington fell back on himself.

"So you fetched old Harker?" he said. "What--what for, doctor? If one
may ask, you know."

Bryce made a careless gesture with his cigarette.

"Oh--old Harker's deeply interested in what's going on," he answered.
"And as young Bewery drew my attention to your proceedings, why, I
thought I'd draw Harker's. And Harker was--interested."

Mitchington hesitated before saying more. But eventually he risked a
leading question.

"Any special reason why he should be, doctor?" he asked.

Bryce put his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat and looked
half-lazily at his questioner.

"Do you know who old Harker really is?" he inquired.

"No!" answered Mitchington. "I know nothing about him--except that he's
said to be a retired tradesman, from London, who settled down here some
time ago."

Bryce suddenly turned on Jettison.

"Do you?" he asked.

"I, sir!" exclaimed Jettison. "I don't know this gentleman--at all!"

Bryce laughed--with his usual touch of cynical sneering.

"I'll tell you--now--who old Harker is, Mitchington," he said. "You may
as well know. I thought Mr. Jettison might recognize the name. Harker is
no retired London tradesman--he's a retired member of your profession,
Mr. Jettison. He was in his day one of