t's precisely what
I heard the Dean say with my own ears. So--closed!"

The boy and the girl turned away and went off across the Close, and the
policeman looked after them and laughed.

"Lively young couple, that, sir!" he said. "What they call healthy
curiosity, I suppose? Plenty o' that knocking around in the city today."

Bryce, who had half-turned in the direction of the Library, at the other
side of the Close, turned round again.

"Do you know if your people are doing anything about identifying the
dead man?" he asked. "Did you hear anything at noon?"

"Nothing but that there'll be inquiries through the newspapers, sir,"
replied the policeman. "That's the surest way of finding something out.
And I did hear Inspector Mitchington say that they'd have to ask the
Duke if he knew anything about the poor man--I suppose he'd let fall
something about wanting to go over to Saxonsteade."

Bryce went off in the direction of the Library thinking. The
newspapers?--yes, no better channel for spreading the news. If Mr. John
Braden had relations and friends, they would learn of his sad death
through the newspapers, and would come forward. And in that case--

"But it wouldn't surprise me," mused Bryce, "if the name given at the
Mitre is an assumed name. I wonder if that theory of Archdale's is a
correct one?--however, there'll be more of that at the inquest tomorrow.
And in the meantime--let me find out something about the tomb of Richard
Jenkins, or Jenkinson--whoever he was."

The famous Library of the Dean and Chapter of Wrychester was housed in
an ancient picturesque building in one corner of the Close, wherein, day
in and day out, amidst priceless volumes and manuscripts, huge folios
and weighty quartos, old prints, and relics of the mediaeval ages,
Ambrose Campany, the librarian, was pretty nearly always to be found,
ready to show his treasures to the visitors and tourists who came from
all parts of the world to see a collection well known to bibliophiles.
And Ambrose Campany, a cheery-faced, middle-aged man, with booklover and
antiquary written all over him, shockheaded, blue-spectacled, was there
now, talking to an old man whom Bryce knew as a neighbour of his
in Friary Lane--one Simpson Barker, a quiet, meditative old fellow,
believed to be a retired tradesman who spent his time in gentle
pottering about the city. Bryce, as he entered, caught what Campany was
just then saying.

"The most important thing I've hear