cerned, on Mary Bewery as to which word should be said.
Elaborate as the toils were which he had laid out for Ransford to the
police, he could sweep them up and tear them away with a sentence
of added knowledge--if Mary Bewery made it worth his while. But
first--before coming to the critical point--there was yet certain
information which he desired to get, and he felt sure of getting it if
he could find Glassdale. For Glassdale, according to all accounts, had
known Braden intimately of late years, and was most likely in possession
of facts about him--and Bryce had full confidence in himself as an
interviewer of other men and a supreme belief that he could wheedle
a secret out of anybody with whom he could procure an hour's quiet
conversation.

As luck would have it, Bryce had no need to make a call upon the
approachable and friendly Duke. Outside the little village at
Saxonsteade, on the edge of the deep woods which fringed the ducal park,
stood an old wayside inn, a relic of the coaching days, which bore
on its sign the ducal arms. Into its old stone hall marched Bryce to
refresh himself after his ride, and as he stood at the bow-windowed bar,
he glanced into the garden beyond and there saw, comfortably smoking his
pipe and reading the newspaper, the very man he was looking for.

Bryce had no spice of bashfulness, no want of confidence anywhere in his
nature; he determined to attack Glassdale there and then. But he took
a good look at his man before going out into the garden to him. A plain
and ordinary sort of fellow, he thought; rather over middle age, with
a tinge of grey in his hair and moustache; prosperous looking and
well-dressed, and at that moment of the appearance of what he was
probably taken for by the inn people--a tourist. Whether he was the sort
who would be communicative or not, Bryce could not tell from outward
signs, but he was going to try, and he presently found his card-case,
took out a card, and strolling down the garden to the shady spot
in which Glassdale sat, assumed his politest and suavest manner and
presented himself.

"Allow me, sir," he said, carefully abstaining from any mention of
names. "May I have the pleasure of a few minutes' conversation with
you?"

Glassdale cast a swift glance of surprise, not unmingled with suspicion,
at the intruder--the sort of glance that a man used to watchfulness
would throw at anybody, thought Bryce. But his face cleared as he read
the card, though it