scaffold, lifted his glass and drank.

"A good deal," he answered as he set the glass down. "The fact is--I
came here to tell you so!--I know a good deal about everything."

"A wide term!" remarked Folliot. "You've got some limitation to it, I
should think. What do you mean by--everything?"

"I mean about recent matters," replied Bryce. "I've interested myself in
them--for reasons of my own. Ever since Braden was found at the foot
of those stairs in Paradise, and I was fetched to him, I've interested
myself. And--I've discovered a great deal--more, much more than's known
to anybody."

Folliot threw one leg over the other and began to jog his foot.

"Oh!" he said after a pause. "Dear me! And--what might you know, now,
doctor? Aught you can tell me eh?"

"Lots!" answered Bryce. "I came to tell you--on seeing that Glassdale
had been with you. Because--I was with Glassdale this morning."

Folliot made no answer. But Bryce saw that his cool, almost indifferent
manner was changing--he was beginning, under the surface, to get
anxious.

"When I left Glassdale--at noon," continued Bryce, "I'd no idea--and I
don't think he had--that he was coming to see you. But I know what put
the notion into his head. I gave him copies of those two reward bills.
He no doubt thought he might make a bit--and so he came in to town,
and--to you."

"Well?" asked Folliot.

"I shouldn't wonder," remarked Bryce, reflectively, and almost as if
speaking to himself, "I shouldn't at all wonder if Glassdale's the sort
of man who can be bought. He, no doubt, has his price. But all that
Glassdale knows is nothing--to what I know."

Folliot had allowed his cigar to go out. He threw it away, took a fresh
one from the box, and slowly struck a match and lighted it.

"What might you know, now?" he asked after another pause.

"I've a bit of a faculty for finding things out," answered Bryce boldly.
"And I've developed it. I wanted to know all about Braden--and about
who killed him--and why. There's only one way of doing all that sort
of thing, you know. You've got to go back--a long way back--to the very
beginnings. I went back--to the time when Braden was married. Not as
Braden, of course--but as who he really was--John Brake. That was at a
place called Braden Medworth, near Barthorpe, in Leicestershire."

He paused there, watching Folliot. But Folliot showed no more than close
attention, and Bryce went on.

"Not much in that--for the really impor