The Paradise Mystery | Page 9

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 to you," answered Mary, sweeping by him with a
highly displeased lance. "Except that you have brought it on yourself."
"A very feminine retort!" observed Bryce. "But--there is no malice in it?
Your anger won't last more than--shall we say a day?"
"You may say what you like," she replied. "As I just said, I have
nothing to say--now or at any time."
"That remains to be proved," remarked Bryce. "The phrase is one of
much elasticity. But for the present--I go!"
He walked out into the Close, and without as much as a backward look

struck off across the sward in the direction in which, ten minutes before,
he had sent the strange man. He had rooms in a quiet lane on the farther
side of the Cathedral precinct, and his present intention was to go to
them to leave his bag and make some further arrangements. He had no
idea of leaving Wrychester--he knew of another doctor in the city who
was badly in need of help: he would go to him--would tell him, if need
be, why he had left Ransford. He had a multiplicity of schemes and
ideas in his head, and he began to consider some of them as he stepped
out of the Close into the ancient enclosure which all Wrychester folk
knew by its time-honoured name of Paradise. This was really an outer
court of the old cloisters; its high walls, half-ruinous, almost wholly
covered with ivy, shut in an expanse of turf, literally furnished with
yew and cypress and studded with tombs and gravestones. In one
corner rose a gigantic elm; in another a broken stairway of stone led to
a doorway set high in the walls of the nave; across the enclosure itself
was a pathway which led towards the houses in the south-east corner of
the Close. It was a curious, gloomy spot, little frequented save by
people who went across it rather than follow the gravelled paths outside,
and it was untenanted when Bryce stepped into it. But just as he walked
through the archway he saw Ransford. Ransford was emerging hastily
from a postern door in the west porch--so hastily that Bryce checked
himself to look at him. And though they were twenty yards apart, Bryce
saw that Ransford's face was very pale, almost to whiteness, and that he
was unmistakably agitated. Instantly he connected that agitation with
the man who had come to the surgery door.
"They've met!" mused Bryce, and stopped, staring after Ransford's
retreating figure. "Now what is it in that man's mere presence that's
upset Ransford? He looks like a man who's had a nasty, unexpected
shock--a bad 'un!"
He remained standing in the archway, gazing after the retreating figure,
until Ransford had disappeared within his own garden; still wondering
and speculating, but not about his own affairs, he turned across
Paradise at last and made his way towards the farther corner. There was
a little wicket-gate there, set in the ivied wall; as Bryce opened it, a
man in the working dress of a stone-mason, whom he recognized as

being one of the master-mason's staff, came running out of the bushes.
His face, too, was white, and his eyes were big with excitement. And
recognizing Bryce, he halted, panting.
"What is it, Varner?" asked Bryce calmly. "Something happened?"
The man swept his hand across his forehead as if he were dazed, and
then jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
"A man!" he gasped. "Foot of St. Wrytha's Stair there, doctor. Dead--or
if not dead, near it. I saw it!"
Bryce seized Varner's arm and gave it a shake.
"You saw--what?" he demanded.
"Saw him--fall. Or rather--flung!" panted Varner. "Somebody--couldn't
see who, nohow--flung him right through yon doorway, up there. He
fell right over the steps--crash!" Bryce looked over the tops of the yews
and