If any remarkably keen and able observer of the odd characteristics of
humanity had been present in Harker's little parlour at that moment,
watching him and his visitor, he would have been struck by what happened
when the old man put this sudden and point-blank question to the young
one. For Harker put the question, though in a whisper, in no more than
a casual, almost friendlily-confidential way, and Bryce never showed by
the start of a finger or the flicker of an eyelash that he felt it to be
what he really knew it to be--the most surprising and startling question
he had ever had put to him. Instead, he looked his questioner calmly in
the eyes, and put a question in his turn.
“Who are you, Mr. Harker?” asked Bryce quietly.
Harker laughed--almost gleefully.
“Yes, you've a right to ask that!” he said. “Of course!--glad you take
it that way. You'll do!”
“I'll qualify it, then,” added Bryce. “It's not who--it's what are you!”
Harker waved his cigar at the book-shelves in front of which his visitor
sat.
“Take a look at my collection of literature, doctor,” he said. “What
d'ye think of it?”
Bryce turned and leisurely inspected one shelf after another.
“Seems to consist of little else but criminal cases and legal
handbooks,” he remarked quietly. “I begin to suspect you, Mr. Harker.
They say here in Wrychester that you're a retired tradesman. I think
you're a retired policeman--of the detective branch.”
Harker laughed again.
“No Wrychester man has ever crossed my threshold since I came to settle
down here,” he said. “You're the first person I've ever asked in--with
one notable exception. I've never even had Campany, the librarian, here.
I'm a hermit.”
“But--you were a detective?” suggested Bryce.
“Aye, for a good five-and-twenty years!” replied Harker. “And pretty
well known, too, sir. But--my question, doctor. All between ourselves!”
“I'll ask you one, then,” said Bryce. “How do you know I took a scrap of
paper from Braden's purse?”
“Because I know that he had such a paper in his purse the night he came
to the Mitre,” answered Harker, “and was certain to have it there next
morning, and because I also know that you were left alone with the body
for some minutes after Varner fetched you to it, and that when Braden's
clothing and effects were searched by Mitchington, the paper wasn't
there. So, of course, you took it! Doesn't matter to me that ye
did--except that I know, from knowing that, that you're on a similar
game to my own--which is why you went down to Leicestershire.”
“You knew Braden?” asked Bryce.
“I knew him!” answered Harker.
“You saw him--spoke with him--here in Wrychester?” suggested Bryce.
“He was here--in this room--in that chair--from five minutes past nine
to close on ten o'clock the night before his death,” replied Harker.
Bryce, who was quietly appreciating the Havana cigar which the old man
had given him, picked up his glass, took a drink, and settled himself in
his easy chair as if he meant to stay there awhile.
“I think we'd better talk confidentially, Mr. Harker,” he said.
“Precisely what we are doing, Dr. Bryce,” replied Harker.
“All right, my friend,” said Bryce, laconically. “Now we understand each
other. So--do you know who John Braden really was?”
“Yes!” replied Harker, promptly. “He was in reality John Brake, ex-bank
manager, ex-convict.”
“Do you know if he's any relatives here in Wrychester?” inquired Bryce.
“Yes,” said Harker. “The boy and girl who live with Ransford--they're
Brake's son and daughter.”
“Did Brake know that--when he came here?” continued Bryce.
“No, he didn't--he hadn't the least idea of it,” responded Harker.
“Had you--then?” asked Bryce.
“No--not until later--a little later,” replied Harker.
“You found it out at Barthorpe?” suggested Bryce.
“Not a bit of it; I worked it out here--after Brake was dead,” said
Harker. “I went to Barthorpe on quite different business--Brake's
business.”
“Ah!” said Bryce. He looked the old detective quietly in the eyes.
“You'd better tell me all about it,” he added.
“If we're both going to tell each other--all about it,” stipulated
Harker.
“That's settled,” assented Bryce.
Harker smoked thoughtfully for a moment and seemed to be thinking.
“I'd better go back to the beginning,” he said. “But, first--what do you
know about Brake? I know you went down to Barthorpe to find out what you
could--how far did your searches take you?”
“I know that Brake married a girl from Braden Medworth, that he took
her to London, where he was manager of a branch bank, that he got into
trouble, and was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude,” answered
Bryce, “together with some small details into which we needn't go at
present.”
“Well, as long as you know all that, there's a common basis and a common
starting-point,” remarked Harker, “so I'll begin at Brake's trial. It
was I who arrested Brake. There was no trouble, no bother. He'd been
taken unawares, by an inspector of the bank. He'd a considerable
deficiency--couldn't make it good--couldn't or wouldn't explain except
by half-sullen hints that he'd been cruelly deceived. There was no
defence--couldn't be. His counsel said that he could--”
“I've read the account of the trial,” interrupted Bryce.
“All right--then you know as much as I can tell you on that point,” said
Harker. “He got, as you say, ten years. I saw him just before he was
removed and asked him if there was anything I could do for him about his
wife and children. I'd never seen them--I arrested him at the bank,
and, of course, he was never out of custody after that. He answered in
a queer, curt way that his wife and children were being looked after.
I heard, incidentally, that his wife had left home, or was from
home--there was something mysterious about it--either as soon as he
was arrested or before. Anyway, he said nothing, and from that moment
I never set eyes on him again until I met him in the street here in
Wrychester, the other night, when he came to the Mitre. I knew him at
once--and he knew me. We met under one of those big standard lamps in
the Market Place--I was following my usual practice of having an evening
walk, last thing before going to bed. And we stopped and stared at each
other. Then he came forward with his hand out, and we shook hands. 'This
is an odd thing!' he said. 'You're the very man I wanted to find! Come
somewhere, where it's quiet, and let me have a word with you.' So--I
brought him here.”
Bryce was all attention now--for once he was devoting all his faculties
to tense and absorbed concentration on what another man could tell,
leaving reflections and conclusions on what he heard until all had been
told.
“I brought him here,” repeated Harker. “I told him I'd been retired
and was living here, as he saw, alone. I asked him no questions about
himself--I could see he was a well-dressed, apparently well-to-do man.
And presently he began to tell me about himself. He said that after he'd
finished his term he left England and for some time travelled in
Canada and the United States, and had gone then--on to New Zealand and
afterwards to Australia, where he'd settled down and begun speculating
in wool. I said I hoped he'd done well. Yes, he said, he'd done very
nicely--and then he gave me a quiet dig in the ribs. 'I'll tell you one
thing I've done, Harker,' he said. 'You were very polite and considerate
to me when I'd my trouble, so I don't mind telling you. I paid the
bank every penny of that money they lost through my foolishness at that
time--every penny, four years ago, with interest, and I've got their
receipt.' 'Delighted to hear it, Mr.--Is it the same name still?' I
said. 'My name ever since I left England,' he said, giving me a look,
'is Braden--John Braden.' 'Yes,' he went on, 'I paid 'em--though I
never had one penny of the money I was fool enough to take for the
time being--not one halfpenny!' 'Who had it, Mr. Braden?' I asked him,
thinking that he'd perhaps tell after all that time. 'Never mind, my
lad!' he answered. 'It'll come out--yet. Never mind that, now. I'll tell
you why I wanted to see you. The fact is, I've only been a few hours in
England, so to speak, but I'd thought of you, and wondered where I could
get hold of you--you're the only man of your profession I ever met, you
see,' he added, with a laugh. 'And I want a bit of help in that way.'
'Well, Mr. Braden,' I said, 'I've retired, but if it's an easy job--'
'It's one you can do, easy enough,' he said. 'It's just this--I met a
man in Australia who's extremely anxious to get some news of another
man, named Falkiner Wraye, who hails from Barthorpe, in Leicestershire.
I promised to make inquiries for him. Now, I have strong reasons why I
don't want to go near Barthorpe--Barthorpe has unpleasant memories and
associations for me, and I don't want to be seen there. But this thing's
got to be personal investigation--will you go here, for me? I'll make
it worth your while. All you've got to do,' he went on, 'is to go
there--see the police authorities, town officials, anybody that knows
the place, and ask them if they can tell you anything of one Falkiner
Wraye, who was at one time a small estate agent in Barthorpe, left the
place about seventeen years ago--maybe eighteen--and is believed to
have recently gone back to the neighbourhood. That's all. Get what
information you can, and write it to me, care of my bankers in London.
Give me a sheet of paper and I'll put down particulars for you.'”
Harker paused at this point and nodded his head at an old bureau which
stood in a corner of his room.
“The sheet of paper's there,” he said. “It's got on it, in his writing,
a brief memorandum of what he wanted and the address of his bankers.
When he'd given it to me, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a
purse in which I could see he was carrying plenty of money. He took out
some notes. 'Here's five-and-twenty pounds on account, Harker,' he said.
'You might have to spend a bit. Don't be afraid--plenty more where that
comes from. You'll do it soon?' he asked. 'Yes, I'll do it, Mr. Braden,'
I answered. 'It'll be a bit of a holiday for me.' 'That's all right,'
he said. 'I'm delighted I came across you.' 'Well, you couldn't be more
delighted than I was surprised,' I said. 'I never thought to see you
in Wrychester. What brought you here, if one may ask--sight-seeing?'
He laughed at that, and he pulled out his purse again. 'I'll show you
something--a secret,' he said, and he took a bit of folded paper out of
his purse. 'What do you make of that?' he asked. 'Can you read Latin?'
'No--except a word or two,' I said, 'but I know a man who can.' 'Ah,
never mind,' said he. 'I know enough Latin for this--and it's a secret.
However, it won't be a secret long, and you'll hear all about it.'
And with that he put the bit of paper in his purse again, and we began
talking about other matters, and before long he said he'd promised to
have a chat with a gentleman at the Mitre whom he'd come along with
in the train, and away he went, saying he'd see me before be left the
town.”
“Did he say how long he was going to stop here?” asked Bryce.
“Two or three days,” replied Harker.
“Did he mention Ransford?” inquired Bryce.
“Never!” said Harker.
“Did he make any reference to his wife and children?”
“Not the slightest!”
“Nor to the hint that his counsel threw out at the trial?”
“Never referred to that time except in the way I told you--that he
hadn't a penny of the money, himself and that he'd himself refunded it.”
Bryce meditated awhile. He was somewhat puzzled by certain points in the
old detective's story, and he saw now that there was much more mystery
in the Braden affair than he had at first believed.
“Well,” he asked, after a while, “did you see him again?”
“Not alive!” replied Harker. “I saw him dead--and I held my tongue, and
have held it. But--something happened that day. After I heard of the
accident, I went into the Crown and Cushion tavern--the fact was, I went
to get a taste of whisky, for the news had upset me. And in that long
bar of theirs, I saw a man whom I knew--a man whom I knew, for a fact,
to have been a fellow convict of Brake's. Name of Glassdale--forgery.
He got the same sentence that Brake got, about the same time, was in the
same convict prison with Brake, and he and Brake would be released about
the same date. There was no doubt about his identity--I never forget a
face, even after thirty years I'd tell one. I saw him in that bar before
he saw me, and I took a careful look at him. He, too, like Brake, was
very well dressed, and very prosperous looking. He turned as he set down
his glass, and caught sight of me--and he knew me. Mind you, he'd been
through my hands in times past! And he instantly moved to a side-door
and--vanished. I went out and looked up and down--he'd gone. I found out
afterwards, by a little quiet inquiry, that he'd gone straight to the
station, boarded the first train--there was one just giving out, to the
junction--and left the city. But I can lay hands on him!”
“You've kept this quiet, too?” asked Bryce.
“Just so--I've my own game to play,” replied Harker. “This talk with
you is part of it--you come in, now--I'll tell you why, presently. But
first, as you know, I went to Barthorpe. For, though Brake was dead,
I felt I must go--for this reason. I was certain that he wanted that
information for himself--the man in Australia was a fiction. I went,
then--and learned nothing. Except that this Falkiner Wraye had been,
as Brake said, a Barthorpe man, years ago. He'd left the town eighteen
years since, and nobody knew anything about him. So I came home. And now
then, doctor--your turn! What were you after, down there at Barthorpe?”
Bryce meditated his answer for a good five minutes. He had always
intended to play the game off his own bat, but he had heard and seen
enough since entering Harker's little room to know that he was in
company with an intellect which was keener and more subtle than his, and
that it would be all to his advantage to go in with the man who had vast
and deep experience. And so he made a clean breast of all he had done in
the way of investigation, leaving his motive completely aside.
“You've got a theory, of course?” observed Harker, after listening
quietly to all that Bryce could tell. “Naturally, you have! You couldn't
accumulate all that without getting one.”
“Well,” admitted Bryce, “honestly, I can't say that I have. But I can
see what theory there might be. This--that Ransford was the man who
deceived Brake, that he ran away with Brake's wife, that she's dead,
and that he's brought up the children in ignorance of all that--and
therefore--”
“And therefore,” interrupted Harker with a smile, “that when he and
Brake met--as you seem to think they did--Ransford flung Brake through
that open doorway; that Collishaw witnessed it, that Ransford's found
out about Collishaw, and that Collishaw has been poisoned by Ransford.
Eh?”
“That's a theory that seems to be supported by facts,” said Bryce.
“It's a theory that would doubtless suit men like Mitchington,” said the
old detective, with another smile. “But--not me, sir! Mind you, I don't
say there isn't something in it--there's doubtless a lot. But--the
mystery's a lot thicker than just that. And Brake didn't come here to
find Ransford. He came because of the secret in that scrap of paper. And
as you've got it, doctor--out with it!”
Bryce saw no reason for concealment and producing the scrap of paper
laid it on the table between himself and his host. Harker peered
inquisitively at it.
“Latin!” he said. “You can read it, of course. What does it say?”
Bryce repeated a literal translation.
“I've found the place,” he added. “I found it this morning. Now, what do
you suppose this means?”
Harker was looking hard at the two lines of writing.
“That's a big question, doctor,” he answered. “But I'll go so far as to
say this--when we've found out what it does mean, we shall know a lot
more than we know now!”