The Paradise Mystery | Page 8

evident great friendliness.
"Perhaps," remarked Bryce quietly, "her ideas run in--that direction? In
which case, Dr. Ransford, you'll have trouble. For Mrs. Folliot, mother
of yonder callow youth, who's the apple of her eye, is one of the
inquisitive ladies of whom I've just told you, and if her son unites
himself with anybody, she'll want to know exactly who that anybody is.
You'd far better have supported me as an aspirant! However --I suppose
there's no more to say."
"Nothing!" answered Ransford. "Except to say good-day--and
good-bye to you. You needn't remain--I'll see to everything. And I'm
going out now. I think you'd better not exchange any farewells with any
one."
Bryce nodded silently, and Ransford, picking up his hat and gloves, left
the surgery by the side door. A moment later, Bryce saw him crossing
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