The Paradise Mystery | Page 8

the Close.

CHAPTER III
ST. WRYTHA'S STAIR
The summarily dismissed assistant, thus left alone, stood for a moment in evident deep thought before he moved towards Ransford's desk and picked up the cheque. He looked at it carefully, folded it neatly, and put it away in his pocket-book; after that he proceeded to collect a few possessions of his own, instruments, hooks from various drawers and shelves. He was placing these things in a small hand-bag when a gentle tap sounded on the door by which patients approached the surgery.
"Come in!" he called.
There was no response, although the door was slightly ajar; instead, the knock was repeated, and at that Bryce crossed the room and flung the door open.
A man stood outside--an elderly, slight-figured, quiet-looking man, who looked at Bryce with a half-deprecating, half-nervous air; the air of a man who was shy in manner and evidently fearful of seeming to intrude. Bryce's quick, observant eyes took him in at a glance, noting a much worn and lined face, thin grey hair and tired eyes; this was a man, he said to himself, who had seen trouble. Nevertheless, not a poor man, if his general appearance was anything to go by--he was well and even expensively dressed, in the style generally affected by well-to-do merchants and city men; his clothes were fashionably cut, his silk hat was new, his linen and boots irreproachable; a fine diamond pin gleamed in his carefully arranged cravat. Why, then, this unmistakably furtive and half-frightened manner--which seemed to be somewhat relieved at the sight of Bryce?
"Is this--is Dr. Ransford within?" asked the stranger. "I was told this is his house."
"Dr. Ransford is out," replied Bryce. "Just gone out--not five minutes ago. This is his surgery. Can I be of use?"
The man hesitated, looking beyond Bryce into the room.
"No, thank you," he said at last. "I--no, I don't want professional services--I just called to see Dr. Ransford--I --the fact is, I once knew some one of that name. It's no matter--at present."
Bryce stepped outside and pointed across the Close.
"Dr. Ransford," he said, "went over there--I rather fancy he's gone to the Deanery--he has a case there. If you went through Paradise, you'd very likely meet him coming back--the Deanery is the big house in the far corner yonder."
The stranger followed Bryce's outstretched finger.
"Paradise?" he said, wonderingly. "What's that?"
Bryce pointed to a long stretch of grey wall which projected from the south wall of the Cathedral into the Close.
"It's an enclosure--between the south porch and the transept," he said. "Full of old tombs and trees--a sort of wilderness --why called Paradise I don't know. There's a short cut across it to the Deanery and that part of the Close--through that archway you see over there. If you go across, you're almost sure to meet Dr. Ransford."
"I'm much obliged to you," said the stranger. "Thank you."
He turned away in the direction which Bryce had indicated, and Bryce went back--only to go out again and call after him.
"If you don't meet him, shall I say you'll call again?" he asked. "And--what name?"
The stranger shook his head.
"It's immaterial," he answered. "I'll see him--somewhere--or later. Many thanks."
He went on his way towards Paradise, and Bryce returned to the surgery and completed his preparations for departure. And in the course of things, he more than once looked through the window into the garden and saw Mary Bewery still walking and talking with young Sackville Bonham.
"No," he muttered to himself. "I won't trouble to exchange any farewells--not because of Ransford's hint, but because there's no need. If Ransford thinks he's going to drive me out of Wrychester before I choose to go he's badly mistaken --it'll be time enough to say farewell when I take my departure--and that won't be just yet. Now I wonder who that old chap was? Knew some one of Ransford's name once, did he? Probably Ransford himself--in which case he knows more of Ransford than anybody in Wrychester knows--for nobody in Wrychester knows anything beyond a few years back. No, Dr. Ransford!--no farewells--to anybody! A mere departure--till I turn up again."
But Bryce was not to get away from the old house without something in the nature of a farewell. As he walked out of the surgery by the side entrance, Mary Bewery, who had just parted from young Bonham in the garden and was about to visit her dogs in the stable yard, came along: she and Bryce met, face to face. The girl flushed, not so much from embarrassment as from vexation; Bryce, cool as ever, showed no sign of any embarrassment. Instead, he laughed, tapping the hand-bag which he carried under one arm.
"Summarily turned out--as if I had been stealing the spoons," he remarked. "I go--with my, small belongings. This is my first reward--for devotion."
"I have nothing to say