would have liked, but he knew something that would
enable him to ask Mary Bewery point-blank whether he was to be friend or
enemy. And he was still considering the best way of putting his case to
her when, having failed to meet her on the way, he at last turned into
the Close, and as he approached Ransford's house, saw Mrs. Folliot
leaving it.

Mary Bewery, like Bryce, had been having a day of events. To begin with,
Ransford had received a wire from London, first thing in the morning,
which had made him run, breakfastless, to catch the next express. He had
left Mary to make arrangements about his day's work, for he had not
yet replaced Bryce, and she had been obliged to seek out another
practitioner who could find time from his own duties to attend to
Ransford's urgent patients. Then she had had to see callers who came
to the surgery expecting to find Ransford there; and in the middle of a
busy morning, Mr. Folliot had dropped in, to bring her a bunch of roses,
and, once admitted, had shown unmistakable signs of a desire to gossip.

"Ransford out?" he asked as he sat down in the dining-room. "Suppose he
is, this time of day."

"He's away," replied Mary. "He went to town by the first express, and I
have had a lot of bother arranging about his patients."

"Did he hear about this discovery of the Saxonsteade jewels before he
went?" asked Folliot. "Suppose he wouldn't though--wasn't known until
the weekly paper came out this morning. Queer business! You've heard, of
course?"

"Dr. Short told me," answered Mary. "I don't know any details."

Folliot looked meditatively at her a moment.

"Got something to do with those other matters, you know," he remarked.
"I say! What's Ransford doing about all that?"

"About all what, Mr. Folliot?" asked Mary, at once on her guard. "I
don't understand you."

"You know--all that suspicion--and so on," said Folliot. "Bad position
for a professional man, you know--ought to clear himself. Anybody been
applying for that reward Ransford offered?"

"I don't know anything about it," replied Mary. "Dr. Ransford is very
well able to take care of himself, I think. Has anybody applied for
yours?"

Folliot rose from his chair again, as if he had changed his mind about
lingering, and shook his head.

"Can't say what my solicitors may or may not have heard--or done," he
answered. "But--queer business, you know--and ought to be settled. Bad
for Ransford to have any sort of a cloud over him.