The Paradise Mystery

tration, had been quick to see that her guardian's distress over the affair in Paradise was something out of the common. She knew Ransford for an exceedingly tender-hearted man, with a considerable

rious, and so on-but his concern obviously went beyond that. He was ill at ease when she questioned him about the facts; almost irritable when Dick Bewery, schoolboy-like, asked him concerning professional details; she was sure, from the lines about his eyes and a worn look on his face, that he had passed a restless night when he came down to breakfast on the morning of the inquest. But when he ret

ternoon, after the inquest was over-that he's absolutely certain of what he saw, and that he not only saw a hand in a white cuff and black coat slee

le to decide definitely on what he really did see. His vision would retain confused images. Probably he s

grave, in evident abstraction, more than once; more than once she heard him sigh heavily. But he said no more of the matter until two

ve unattended, especially after such a fate. There'll be somebody representing the Dean and Chapter, and three or four principal townsmen, so he'll not be quite neglected. And"-here he hesitated and looked a little nervously at Mary, to whom he was telling all this, Dick having departed for school-"there's a little matt

nk of it," said Mary. "W

" replied Ransford, "and afterwards-later in the day-take it to St. Wigbert's C

red Mary. "I'll se

on the sexton at St. Wigbert's pointed out the new grave to Miss Bewery and Mr. Sackville Bonham, one carrying a wreath and the other a large bunch of lilies. Sackville, chancing to encounter Mary at the florist's, whither he had repaired to execute a commissio

er eyes were piercing, her nose Roman; there was not a curate in Wrychester who was not under her thumb, and if the Dean himself saw her coming, he turned hastily into the nearest shop, sweating with fear lest she should follow him. Endued with riches and fortified by assurance, Mrs. Folliot was the presiding spirit in many movements of charity and benevolence; there were people in Wrychester who were unkind enoug

ck street down which she was about to sail on one of her charitable missions, to the terror of any of the women who happened to be caught gossiping. "What

rs had already lengthened. "Has Dr. Ransford been laying flowers on a grave?-I didn't know

on a wreath, which, she told Sackville, she was about to carry, at her guardian's desire, to this strange man's grave. Sackville, who is a warm-hearted

rked Bryce, "who says he's hold

ectable man who hadn't even a visiting-card or a letter upon him? And from Australia, too!-where all the people that are wanted run away to! I have actually been tempted

instil some minute drop of poison into the lady's mind, there to increase in potency and in due course to spread. "I-of course, I

wise-is not sufficiently particular. I said to Mr. Folliot this morning, on reading the newspaper, that in my view that inqu

d Bryce.

ows, she saw a man whom, from the description given in the newspapers, was, Mrs. Deramore feels assured, was the mysterious stranger, crossing the Close towards the Cathedral in, Mrs. Deramo

arked Bryce, who was wondering how long Mrs. Deramore remained at her upper window and if she saw him follow Braden. "But there are circumstance

tmosphere, and if she once got it into her head that there was some mysterious connection between Dr. Ransford and the dead man, she would never rest until she had spread her s

h the bank-manager from London had drawn attention. He had made haste to buy a copy of the Times and to cut out the advertisement. There it was-old friend Marco was wanted by (presumably old friend) Sticker, and whoever Sticker might be

t could scarcely have had more publicity-yet no one, save this bank-manager, had come forward. If there had been any one to come forward the bank-manager's evidence would surely have proved an incentive to speed-for there was a sum of ten thousand pounds awaiting John Braden's next-of-kin. In B

ough he was, was a shrewd, sharp fellow, said Bryce-a man of ideas. There was certainly much in his suggestion that a man wasn't likely to buy an old book about a

went to Barthorpe, he was not going to trouble the police-he knew better methods than that of finding things out. Was he going?-was it worth his while? A moment's reflection decided that matter-anything was worth his while which would help him to get a strong hold on Mark Ransford. And always practical in his doings, he walked round to the Free Library, obtained a g

ternoon found him in a Midland northern-bound express, looking out on the undulating, green acres of Leicestershire. And while his train was making a thre

t stop!-next s

ng compartment with Bryce turned to his

ese last few days. The mysterious stranger who kept ten thousand in a London bank, and of whom nobody seems to know anything, had nothing on him but a history of Bar

old book feature of it. But I'll tell you what-there was a thing struck me. I know this Barthorpe district-we shall be in it in a few minutes-I've been a good deal over it. This strange man's name was given in the papers as John Braden. Now close to Barthorpe-a

er. "And-as there's ten thousand pounds in question, more wil

rpe itself-a quaint old-world little market-town, in which some of even the principal houses still wore roofs of thatch, and wherein the old custom of ringing the curfew bell was kept up. He found an old-fashioned hotel in

d old furniture and old pictures and curiosities-the sort of place to which the old-fashioned tradesmen of the small provincial towns still resort of an evening rather than patronize the modern political clubs. There were several men of this sort in the room when Bryce entered, talking local politics amongst themselves, and he f