The Paradise Mystery

him that you and your mother were safe, he begged me to do my best to find the two men who had ruined him. I began that search at once. But there was not a trace of them⁠—they had disappeared as completely as if they were dead. I used all sorts of means to trace them⁠—without effect. And when at last your father’s term of imprisonment was over and I went to see him on his release, I had to tell him that up to that point all my efforts had been useless. I urged him to let the thing drop, and to start life afresh. But he was determined. Find both men, but particularly Wraye, he would! He refused point-blank to even see his children until he had found these men and had forced them to acknowledge their misdeeds as regards him, for that, of course, would have cleared him to a certain extent. And in spite of everything I could say, he there and then went off abroad in search of them⁠—he had got some clue, faint and indefinite, but still there, as to Wraye’s presence in America, and he went after him. From that time until the morning of his death here in Wrychester I never saw him again!”

“You did see him that morning?” asked Mary.

“I saw him, of course, unexpectedly,” answered Ransford. “I had been across the Close⁠—I came back through the south aisle of the Cathedral. Just before I left the west porch I saw Brake going up the stairs to the galleries. I knew him at once. He did not see me, and I hurried home much upset. Unfortunately, I think, Bryce came in upon me in that state of agitation. I have reason to believe that he began to suspect and to plot from that moment. And immediately on hearing of Brake’s death, and its circumstances, I was placed in a terrible dilemma. For I had made up my mind never to tell you two of your father’s history until I had been able to trace these two men and wring out of them a confession which would have cleared him of all but the technical commission of the crime of which he was convicted. Now I had not the least idea that the two men were close at hand, nor that they had had any hand in his death, and so I kept silence, and let him be buried under the name he had taken⁠—John Braden.”

Ransford paused and looked at his two listeners as if inviting question or comment. But neither spoke, and he went on.

“You know what happened after that,” he continued. “It soon became evident to me that sinister and secret things were going on. There was the death of the labourer⁠—Collishaw. There were other matters. But even then I had no suspicion of the real truth⁠—the fact is, I began to have some strange suspicions about Bryce and that old man Harker⁠—based upon certain evidence which I got by chance. But, all this time, I had never ceased my investigations about Wraye and Flood, and when the bank-manager on whom Brake had called in London was here at the inquest, I privately told him the whole story and invited his cooperation in a certain line which I was then following. That line suddenly ran up against the man Flood⁠—otherwise Fladgate. It was not until this very week, however, that my agents definitely discovered Fladgate to be Flood, and that⁠—through the investigations about Flood⁠—Folliot was found to be Wraye. Today, in London, where I met old Harker at the bank at which Brake had lodged the money he had brought from Australia, the whole thing was made clear by the last agent of mine who has had the searching in hand. And it shows how men may easily disappear from a certain round of life, and turn up in another years after! When those two men cheated your father out of that money, they disappeared and separated⁠—each, no doubt, with his share. Flood went off to some obscure place in the North of England; Wraye went over to America. He evidently made a fortune there; knocked about the world for awhile; changed his name to Folliot, and under that name married a wealthy widow, and settled down here in Wrychester to grow roses! How and where he came across Flood again is not exactly clear, but we knew that a few years ago Flood was in London, in very poor circumstances, and the probability is that it was then when the two men met again. What we do know is that Folliot, as an influential man here, got Flood the post which he has held, and that things have resulted as they have. And that’s all!⁠—all that I need tell you at present. There are details, but they’re of no importance.”

Mary remained silent, but Dick got up with his hands in his pockets.

“There’s one thing I want to know,” he said. “Which of those two chaps killed my father? You said it was accident⁠—but was it? I want to know about that! Are you saying it was accident just to let things down a bit? Don’t! I want to know the truth.”

“I believe it was accident,” answered Ransford. “I listened most carefully just now to Fladgate’s account of what happened. I firmly believe the man was telling the truth. But I haven’t the least doubt that Folliot poisoned Collishaw⁠—not the least. Folliot knew that if the least thing came out about Fladgate, everything would come out about himself.”

Dick turned away to leave the room.

“Well, Folliot’s done for!” he remarked. “I don’t care about him, but I wanted to know for certain about the other.”

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When Dick had gone, and Ransford and Mary were left alone, a deep silence fell on the room. Mary was apparently deep in thought, and Ransford, after a glance at her, turned away and looked out of the window at the sunlit Close, thinking of the tragedy