was new, his linen and boots irreproachable; a fine diamond pin gleamed
in his carefully arranged cravat. Why, then, this unmistakably furtive
and half-frightened manner--which seemed to be somewhat relieved at the
sight of Bryce?

"Is this--is Dr. Ransford within?" asked the stranger. "I was told this
is his house."

"Dr. Ransford is out," replied Bryce. "Just gone out--not five minutes
ago. This is his surgery. Can I be of use?"

The man hesitated, looking beyond Bryce into the room.

"No, thank you," he said at last. "I--no, I don't want professional
services--I just called to see Dr. Ransford--I--the fact is, I once knew
some one of that name. It's no matter--at present."

Bryce stepped outside and pointed across the Close.

"Dr. Ransford," he said, "went over there--I rather fancy he's gone to
the Deanery--he has a case there. If you went through Paradise, you'd
very likely meet him coming back--the Deanery is the big house in the
far corner yonder."

The stranger followed Bryce's outstretched finger.

"Paradise?" he said, wonderingly. "What's that?"

Bryce pointed to a long stretch of grey wall which projected from the
south wall of the Cathedral into the Close.

"It's an enclosure--between the south porch and the transept," he said.
"Full of old tombs and trees--a sort of wilderness--why called Paradise
I don't know. There's a short cut across it to the Deanery and that part
of the Close--through that archway you see over there. If you go across,
you're almost sure to meet Dr. Ransford."

"I'm much obliged to you," said the stranger. "Thank you."

He turned away in the direction which Bryce had indicated, and Bryce
went back--only to go out again and call after him.

"If you don't meet him, shall I say you'll call again?" he asked.
"And--what name?"

The stranger shook his head.

"It's immaterial," he answered. "I'll see him--somewhere--or later. Many
thanks."

He went on his way towards Paradise, and Bryce returned to the surgery
and completed his preparations for departure. And in the course of
things, he more than once looked through the window into the garden and
saw Mary Bewery still walking and talking with young Sackville Bonham.

"No," he muttered to himself. "I won't trouble to exchange any
farewells--not because of Ransford's hint, but because there's no need.
If Ransford thinks he's going to drive me out of Wrychester before I
choose to go he's badly mistaken--it'll be time enough