that doorway up there. Hadn't a chance to save himself, he
hadn't! Just grabbed at--nothing!--and came down. Give a year's wages if
I hadn't seen it--and heard him scream."

Ransford was watching Varner with a set, concentrated look.

"Who--flung him?" he asked suddenly. "You say you saw!"

"Aye, sir, but not as much as all that!" replied the mason. "I just saw
a hand--and that was all. But," he added, turning to the police with a
knowing look, "there's one thing I can swear to--it was a gentleman's
hand! I saw the white shirt cuff and a bit of a black sleeve!"

Ransford turned away. But he just as suddenly turned back to the
inspector.

"You'll have to let the Cathedral authorities know, Mitchington," he
said. "Better get the body removed, though, first--do it now before the
morning service is over. And--let me hear what you find out about his
identity, if you can discover anything in the city."

He went away then, without another word or a further glance at the dead
man. But Bryce had already assured himself of what he was certain was
a fact--that a look of unmistakable relief had swept across Ransford's
face for the fraction of a second when he knew that there were no papers
on the dead man. He himself waited after Ransford had gone; waited until
the police had fetched a stretcher, when he personally superintended
the removal of the body to the mortuary outside the Close. And there a
constable who had come over from the police-station gave a faint hint as
to further investigation.

"I saw that poor gentleman last night, sir," he said to the inspector.
"He was standing at the door of the Mitre, talking to another
gentleman--a tallish man."

"Then I'll go across there," said Mitchington. "Come with me, if you
like, Dr. Bryce."

This was precisely what Bryce desired--he was already anxious to acquire
all the information he could get. And he walked over the way with the
inspector, to the quaint old-world inn which filled almost one side
of the little square known as Monday Market, and in at the courtyard,
where, looking out of the bow window which had served as an outer bar
in the coaching days, they found the landlady of the Mitre, Mrs.
Partingley. Bryce saw at once that she had heard the news.

"What's this, Mr. Mitchington?" she demanded as they drew near across
the cobble-paved yard. "Somebody's been in to say there's been an
accident to a gentleman, a stranger--I hope it isn't one of the two
we've got in