at
the time, getting ready for the morning service, and they neither saw
nor heard. Odd, sir, ain't it?"

"The whole thing's odd," agreed Bryce, and left the Cathedral. He walked
round to the wicket gate which admitted to that side of Paradise--to
find another policeman posted there. "What!--is this closed, too?" he
asked.

"And time, sir," said the man. "They'd ha' broken down all the shrubs
in the place if orders hadn't been given! They were mad to see where the
gentleman fell--came in crowds at dinnertime."

Bryce nodded, and was turning away, when Dick Bewery came round a corner
from the Deanery Walk, evidently keenly excited. With him was a girl of
about his own age--a certain characterful young lady whom Bryce knew
as Betty Campany, daughter of the librarian to the Dean and Chapter and
therefore custodian of one of the most famous cathedral libraries in
the country. She, too, was apparently brimming with excitement, and her
pretty and vivacious face puckered itself into a frown as the policeman
smiled and shook his head.

"Oh, I say, what's that for?" exclaimed Dick Bewery. "Shut up?--what a
lot of rot! I say!--can't you let us go in--just for a minute?"

"Not for a pension, sir!" answered the policeman good-naturedly. "Don't
you see the notice? The Dean 'ud have me out of the force by tomorrow if
I disobeyed orders. No admittance, nowhere, nohow! But lor' bless
yer!" he added, glancing at the two young people. "There's nothing to
see--nothing!--as Dr. Bryce there can tell you."

Dick, who knew nothing of the recent passages between his guardian and
the dismissed assistant, glanced at Bryce with interest.

"You were on the spot first, weren't you?" he asked: "Do you think it
really was murder?"

"I don't know what it was," answered Bryce. "And I wasn't first on the
spot. That was Varner, the mason--he called me." He turned from the lad
to glance at the girl, who was peeping curiously over the gate into
the yews and cypresses. "Do you think your father's at the Library just
now?" he asked. "Shall I find him there?"

"I should think he is," answered Betty Campany. "He generally goes down
about this time." She turned and pulled Dick Bewery's sleeve. "Let's go
up in the clerestory," she said. "We can see that, anyway."

"Also closed, miss," said the policeman, shaking his head. "No
admittance there, neither. The public firmly warned off--so to speak. 'I
won't have the Cathedral turned into a peepshow!' tha