The Greatest Works of J. S. Fletcher (64+ Titles in One Illustrated Edition). J. S. Fletcher

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СКАЧАТЬ asked if he could do anything—Brake’s answer was that no one was to concern himself. He preserved an obstinate silence on that point. The clergyman in whose family Mrs. Brake had been governess saw Brake, after his conviction—Brake would say nothing to him. Of Mrs. Brake, nothing more is known—to me at any rate. What was known at the time is this—Brake communicated to all who came in contact with him, just then, the idea of a man who has been cruelly wronged and deceived, who takes refuge in sullen silence, and who is already planning and cherishing—revenge!”

      “Aye, aye!” muttered Mitchington. “Revenge?—just So!”

      “Brake, then,” continued Bryce, “goes off to his term of penal servitude, and so disappears—until he reappears here in Wrychester. Leave him for a moment, and go back. And—it’s a going back, no doubt, to supposition and to theory—but there’s reason in what I shall advance. We know—beyond doubt—that Brake had been tricked and deceived, in some money matter, by some man—some mysterious man—whom he referred to as having been his closest friend. We know, too, that there was extraordinary mystery in the disappearance of his wife and children. Now, from all that has been found out, who was Brake’s closest friend? Ransford! And of Ransford, at that time, there’s no trace. He, too, disappeared—that’s a fact which I’ve established. Years later, he reappears—here at Wrychester, where he’s bought a practice. Eventually he has two young people, who are represented as his wards, come to live with him. Their name is Bewery. The name of the young woman whom John Brake married was Bewery. What’s the inference? That their mother’s dead—that they’re known under her maiden name: that they, without a shadow of doubt, are John Brake’s children. And that leads up to my theory—which I’ll now tell you in confidence—if you wish for it.”

      “It’s what I particularly wish for,” observed Jettison quietly. “The very thing!”

      “Then, it’s this,” said Bryce. “Ransford was the close friend who tricked and deceived Brake:

      “He probably tricked him in some money affair, and deceived him in his domestic affairs. I take it that Ransford ran away with Brake’s wife, and that Brake, sooner than air all his grievance to the world, took it silently and began to concoct his ideas of revenge. I put the whole thing this way. Ransford ran away with Mrs. Brake and the two children—mere infants—and disappeared. Brake, when he came out of prison, went abroad—possibly with the idea of tracking them. Meanwhile, as is quite evident, he engaged in business and did well. He came back to England as John Braden, and, for the reason of which you’re aware, he paid a visit to Wrychester, utterly unaware that any one known to him lived here. Now, try to reconstruct what happened. He looks round the Close that morning. He sees the name of Dr. Mark Ransford on the brass plate of a surgery door. He goes to the surgery, asks a question, makes a remark, goes away. What is the probable sequence of events? He meets Ransford near the Cathedral—where Ransford certainly was. They recognize each other—most likely they turn aside, go up to that gallery as a quiet place, to talk—there is an altercation—blows—somehow or other, probably from accident, Braden is thrown through that open doorway, to his death. And—Collishaw saw what happened!”

      Bryce was watching his listeners, turning alternately from one to the other. But it needed little attention on his part to see that theirs was already closely strained; each man was eagerly taking in all that he said and suggested. And he went on emphasizing every point as he made it.

      “Collishaw saw what happened?” he repeated. “That, of course, is theory—supposition. But now we pass from theory back to actual fact. I’ll tell you something now, Mitchington, which you’ve never heard of, I’m certain. I made it in my way, after Collishaw’s death, to get some information, secretly, from his widow, who’s a fairly shrewd, intelligent woman for her class. Now, the widow, in looking over her husband’s effects, in a certain drawer in which he kept various personal matters, came across the deposit book of a Friendly Society of which Collishaw had been a member for some years. It appears that he, Collishaw, was something of a saving man, and every year he managed to put by a bit of money out of his wages, and twice or thrice in the year he took these savings—never very much; merely a pound or two—to this Friendly Society, which, it seems, takes deposits in that way from its members. Now, in this book is an entry—I saw it—which shows that only two days before his death, Collishaw paid fifty pounds—fifty pounds, mark you!—into the Friendly Society. Where should Collishaw get fifty pounds, all of a sudden! He was a mason’s labourer, earning at the very outside twenty-six or eight shillings a week. According to his wife, there was no one to leave him a legacy. She never heard of his receipt of this money from any source. But—there’s the fact! What explains it? My theory—that the rumour that Collishaw, with a pint too much ale in him, had hinted that he could say something about Braden’s death if he chose, had reached Braden’s assailant; that he had made it his business to see Collishaw and had paid him that fifty pounds as hush-money—and, later, had decided to rid himself of Collishaw altogether, as he undoubtedly did, by poison.”

      Once more Bryce paused—and once more the two listeners showed their attention by complete silence.

      “Now we come to the question—how was Collishaw poisoned?” continued Bryce. “For poisoned he was, without doubt. Here we go back to theory and supposition once more. I haven’t the least doubt that the hydrocyanic acid which caused his death was taken by him in a pill—a pill that was in that box which they found on him, Mitchington, and showed me. But that particular pill, though precisely similar in appearance, could not be made up of the same ingredients which were in the other pills. It was probably a thickly coated pill which contained the poison;—in solution of course. The coating would melt almost as soon as the man had swallowed it—and death would result instantaneously. Collishaw, you may say, was condemned to death when he put that box of pills in his waistcoat pocket. It was mere chance, mere luck, as to when the exact moment of death came to him. There had been six pills in that box—there were five left. So Collishaw picked out the poisoned pill—first! It might have been delayed till the sixth dose, you see—but he was doomed.”

      Mitchington showed a desire to speak, and Bryce paused.

      “What about what Ransford said before the Coroner?” asked Mitchington. “He demanded certain information about the post-mortem, you know, which, he said, ought to have shown that there was nothing poisonous in those pills.”

      “Pooh!” exclaimed Bryce contemptuously. “Mere bluff! Of such a pill as that I’ve described there’d be no trace but the sugar coating—and the poison. I tell you, I haven’t the least doubt that that was how the poison was administered. It was easy. And—who is there that would know how easily it could be administered but—a medical man?”

      Mitchington and Jettison exchanged glances. Then Jettison leaned nearer to Bryce.

      “So your theory is that Ransford got rid of both Braden and Collishaw—murdered both of them, in fact?” he suggested. “Do I understand that’s what it really comes to—in plain words?”

      “Not quite,” replied Bryce. “I don’t say that Ransford meant to kill Braden—my notion is that they met, had an altercation, probably a struggle, and that Braden lost his life in it. But as regards Collishaw—”

      “Don’t forget!” interrupted Mitchington. “Varner swore that he saw Braden flung through that doorway! Flung out! He saw a hand.”

      “For everything that Varner could prove to the contrary,” answered Bryce, “the hand might have been stretched out to pull Braden back. No—I think there may have been accident in that affair. But, as regards Collishaw—murder, without doubt—deliberate!”

      He lighted another cigarette, with the air of a man who had spoken his mind, and Mitchington, realizing that he had said all he had to say, got up from his СКАЧАТЬ