"

Bryce silently drew some papers from his pocket. From them he extracted
the two handbills which Mitchington had given him and handed them over.

"Well, I must go," he said. "I shall no doubt see you again in
Wrychester, over this affair. For the present, all this is between
ourselves, of course?"

"Oh, of course, doctor!" answered Glassdale. "Quite so!" Bryce went off
and got his bicycle and rode away in the direction of Wrychester. Had he
remained in that garden he would have seen Glassdale, after reading both
the handbills, go into the house and have heard him ask the landlady at
the bar to get him a trap and a good horse in it as soon as possible;
he, too, now wanted to go to Wrychester and at once. But Bryce was
riding down the road, muttering certain words to himself over and over
again.

"The left jaw--and the left hand!" he repeated. "Left hand--left jaw!
Unmistakable!"

CHAPTER XXII. OTHER PEOPLE'S NOTIONS

The great towers of Wrychester Cathedral had come within Bryce's view
before he had made up his mind as to the next step in this last stage of
his campaign. He had ridden away from the Saxonsteade Arms feeling that
he had got to do something at once, but he was not quite clear in his
mind as to what that something exactly was. But now, as he topped a rise
in the road, and saw Wrychester lying in its hollow beneath him, the
summer sun shining on its red roofs and grey walls, he suddenly came to
a decision, and instead of riding straight ahead into the old city he
turned off at a by-road, made a line across the northern outskirts, and
headed for the golf-links. He was almost certain to find Mary Bewery
there at that hour, and he wanted to see her at once. The time for his
great stroke had come.

But Mary Bewery was not there--had not been there that morning said the
caddy-master. There were only a few players out. In one of them, coming
towards the club-house, Bryce recognized Sackville Bonham. And at sight
of Sackville, Bryce had an inspiration. Mary Bewery would not come up to
the links now before afternoon; he, Bryce, would lunch there and then go
towards Wrychester to meet her by the path across the fields on which
he had waylaid her after his visit to Leicestershire. And meanwhile
he would inveigle Sackville Bonham into conversation. Sackville fell
readily into Bryce's trap. He was the sort of youth who loves to talk,
especially in a hinting and mysterious fashion. And when Bryce, after