d about it," said Campany, "is--that
book they found in the man's suit-case at the Mitre. I'm not a
detective--but there's a clue!"

CHAPTER VI. BY MISADVENTURE

Old Simpson Harker, who sat near the librarian's table, his hands
folded on the crook of his stout walking stick, glanced out of a pair
of unusually shrewd and bright eyes at Bryce as he crossed the room and
approached the pair of gossipers.

"I think the doctor was there when that book you're speaking of was
found," he remarked. "So I understood from Mitchington."

"Yes, I was there," said Bryce, who was not unwilling to join in the
talk. He turned to Campany. "What makes you think there's a clue--in
that?" he asked.

"Why this," answered the librarian. "Here's a man in possession of
an old history of Barthorpe. Barthorpe is a small market-town in the
Midlands--Leicestershire, I believe, of no particular importance that I
know of, but doubtless with a story of its own. Why should any one but a
Barthorpe man, past or present, be interested in that story so far as to
carry an old account of it with him? Therefore, I conclude this stranger
was a Barthorpe man. And it's at Barthorpe that I should make inquiries
about him."

Simpson Harker made no remark, and Bryce remembered what Mr. Dellingham
had said when the book was found.

"Oh, I don't know!" he replied carelessly. "I don't see that
that follows. I saw the book--a curious old binding and queer old
copper-plates. The man may have picked it up for that reason--I've
bought old books myself for less."

"All the same," retorted Campany, "I should make inquiry at Barthorpe.
You've got to go on probabilities. The probabilities in this case are
that the man was interested in the book because it dealt with his own
town."

Bryce turned away towards a wall on which hung a number of charts and
plans of Wrychester Cathedral and its precincts--it was to inspect one
of these that he had come to the Library. But suddenly remembering that
there was a question which he could ask without exciting any suspicion
or surmise, he faced round again on the librarian.

"Isn't there a register of burials within the Cathedral?" he inquired.
"Some book in which they're put down? I was looking in the Memorials of
Wrychester the other day, and I saw some names I want to trace."

Campany lifted his quill pen and pointed to a case of big leather-bound
volumes in a far corner of the room.

"Third shelf from the bottom,