CHAPTER XXVI. THE OTHER MAN
It was close on five o'clock when Glassdale, leaving Folliot at hisgarden door, turned the corner into the quietness of the Precincts. Hewalked about there a while, staring at the queer old houses with eyeswhich saw neither fantastic gables nor twisted chimneys. Glassdalewas thinking. And the result of his reflections was that he suddenlyexchanged his idle sauntering for brisker steps and walked sharply roundto the police-station, where he asked to see Mitchington.
Mitchington and the detective were just about to walk down to therailway-station to meet Ransford, in accordance with his telegram. Atsight of Glassdale they went back into the inspector's office. Glassdaleclosed the door and favoured them with a knowing smile.
"Something else for you, inspector!" he said. "Mixed up a bit with lastnight's affair, too. About these mysteries--Braden and Collishaw--I cantell you one man who's in them."
"Who, then?" demanded Mitchington.
Glassdale went a step nearer to the two officials and lowered his voice.
"The man who's known here as Stephen Folliot," he answered. "That's afact!"
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Mitchington. Then he laughed incredulously. "Can'tbelieve it!" he continued. "Mr. Folliot! Must be some mistake!"
"No mistake," replied Glassdale. "Besides, Folliot's only an assumedname. That man is really one Falkiner Wraye, the man Braden, or Brake,was seeking for many a year, the man who cheated Brake and got him intotrouble. I tell you it's a fact! He's admitted it, or as good as doneso, to me just now."
"To you? And--let you come away and spread it?" exclaimed Mitchington."That's incredible! more astonishing than the other!"
Glassdale laughed.
"Ah, but I let him think I could be squared, do you see?" he said."Hush-money, you know. He's under the impression that I'm to go back tohim this evening to settle matters. I knew so much--identified him, asa matter of fact--that he'd no option. I tell you he's been in at boththese affairs--certain! But--there's another man."
"Who's he?" demanded Mitchington.
"Can't say, for I don't know, though I've an idea he'll be a fellow thatBrake was also wanting to find," replied Glassdale. "But anyhow, Iknow what I'm talking about when I tell you of Folliot. You'd better dosomething before he suspects me."
Mitchington glanced at the clock.
"Come with us down to the station," he said. "Dr. Ransford's coming inon this express from town; he's got news for us. We'd better hear thatfirst. Folliot!--good Lord!--who'd have believed or even dreamed it!"
"You'll see," said Glassdale as they went out.
"Maybe Dr. Ransford's got the same information." Ransford was out ofthe train as soon as it ran in, and hurried to where Mitchington andhis companions were standing. And behind him, to Mitchington's surprise,came old Simpson Harker, who had evidently travelled with him. Witha silent gesture Mitchington beckoned the whole party into an emptywaiting-room and closed its door on them.
"Now then, inspector," said Ransford without preface or ceremony,"you've got to act quickly! You got my wire--a few words will explainit. I went up to town this morning in answer to a message from the bankwhere Braden lodged his money when he returned to England. To tell youthe truth, the managers there and myself have, since Braden's death,been carrying to a conclusion an investigation which I began on Braden'sbehalf--though he never knew of it--years ago. At the bank I met Mr.Harker here, who had called to find something out for himself. NowI'll sum things up in a nutshell: for years Braden, or Brake, had beenwanting to find two men who cheated him. The name of one is Wraye, ofthe other, Flood. I've been trying to trace them, too. At last we've gotthem. They're in this town, and without doubt the deaths of both Bradenand Collishaw are at their door! You know both well enough. Wraye is-"
"Mr. Folliot!" interrupted Mitchington, pointing to Glassdale. "So he'sjust told us; he's identified him as Wraye. But the other--who's he,doctor?"
Ransford glanced at Glassdale as if he wished to question him, butinstead he answered Mitchington's question.
"The other man," he said, "the man Flood, is also a well-known man toyou. Fladgate!"
Mitchington started, evidently more astonished than by the first news.
"What!" he exclaimed. "The verger! You don't say!"
"Do you remember," continued Ransford, "that Folliot got Fladgate hisappointment as verger not so very long after he himself came here? Hedid, anyway, and Fladgate is Flood. We've traced everything throughFlood. Wraye has been a difficult man to trace, because of his residenceabroad for a long time and his change of name, and so on, and it wasonly recently that my agents struck on a line through Flood. Butthere's the fact. And the probability is that when Braden came here herecognized and was recognized by these two, and that one or otherof them is responsible for his death and for Collishaw's too.Circumstantial evidence, all of it, no doubt, but irresistible! Now,what do you propose to do?"
Mitchington considered matters for a moment.
"Fladgate first, certainly," he said. "He lives close by here; we'll goround to his cottage. If he sees he's in a tight place he may let thingsout. Let's go there at once."
He led the whole party out of the station and down the High Street untilthey came to a narrow lane of little houses which ran towards the Close.At its entrance a policeman was walking his beat. Mitchington stopped toexchange a few words with him.
"This man Fladgate," he said, rejoining the others, "lives alone--fifthcottage down here. He'll be about having his tea; we shall take him bysurprise." Presently the group stood around a door at which Mitchingtonknocked gently, and it was on their grave and watchful faces that atall, clean-shaven, very solemn-looking man gazed in astonishment ashe opened the door, and started back. He went white to the lips and hishand fell trembling from the latch as Mitchington strode in and the restcrowded behind.
"Now then, Fladgate!" said Mitchington, going straight to the point andwatching his man narrowly, while the detective approached him closely onthe other side. "I want you and a word with you at once. Your real nameis Flood! What have you to say to that? And--it's no use beating aboutthe bush--what have you to say about this Braden affair, and your sharewith Folliot in it, whose real name is Wraye. It's all come out aboutthe two of you. If you've anything to say, you'd better say it."
The verger, whose black gown lay thrown across the back of a chair,looked from one face to another with frightened eyes. It was veryevident that the suddenness of the descent had completely unnerved him.Ransford's practised eyes saw that he was on the verge of a collapse.
"Give him time, Mitchington," he said. "Pull yourself together,"he added, turning to the man. "Don't be frightened; answer thesequestions!"
"For God's sake, gentlemen!" grasped the verger. "What--what is it? Whatam I to answer? Before God, I'm as innocent as--as any of you--about Mr.Brake's death! Upon my soul and honour I am!"
"You know all about it;" insisted Mitchington.
"Come, now, isn't it true that you're Flood, and that Folliot's Wraye,the two men whose trick on him got Brake convicted years ago? Answerthat!"
Flood looked from one side to the other. He was leaning against histea-table, set in the middle of his tidy living room. From the hearthhis kettle sent out a pleasant singing that sounded strangely incontrast with the grim situation.
"Yes, that's true," he said at last. "But in that affair I--I wasn'tthe principal. I was only--only Wraye's agent, as it were: I wasn'tresponsible. And when Mr. Brake came here, when I met him thatmorning--"
He paused, still looking from one to another of his audience as ifentreating their belief.
"As sure as I'm a living man, gentlemen!" he suddenly burst out, "I'd nowilling hand in Mr. Brake's death! I'll tell you the exact truth; I'lltake my oath of it whenever you like. I'd have been thankful to tell,many a time, but for--for Wraye. He wouldn't let me at first, andafterwards it got complicated. It was this way. That morning--when Mr.Brake was found dead--I had occasion to go up into that gallery underthe cleres
tory. I suddenly came on him face to face. He recognized me.And--I'm telling you the solemn, absolute truth, gentlemen!--he'd nosooner recognized me than he attacked me, seizing me by the arm. Ihadn't recognized him at first, I did when he laid hold of me. I triedto shake him off, tried to quiet him; he struggled--I don't know whathe wanted to do--he began to cry out--it was a wonder he wasn't heard inthe church below, and he would have been only the organ was being playedrather loudly. And in the struggle he slipped--it was just by that opendoorway--and before I could do more than grasp at him, he shot throughthe opening and fell! It was sheer, pure accident, gentlemen! Upon mysoul, I hadn't the least intention of harming him."
"And after that?" asked Mitchington, at the end of a brief silence.
"I saw Mr. Folliot--Wraye," continued Flood. "Just afterwards, that was.I told him; he bade me keep silence until we saw how things went. Laterhe forced me to be silent. What could I do? As things were, Wraye couldhave disclaimed me--I shouldn't have had a chance. So I held my tongue."
"Now, then, Collishaw?" demanded Mitchington. "Give us the truth aboutthat. Whatever the other was, that was murder!"
Flood lifted his hand and wiped away the perspiration that had gatheredon his face.
"Before God, gentlemen!" he answered. "I know no more--at least, littlemore--about that than you do! I'll tell you all I do know. Wraye and I,of course, met now and then and talked about this. It got to our earsat last that Collishaw knew something. My own impression is that hesaw what occurred between me and Mr. Brake--he was working somewhere upthere. I wanted to speak to Collishaw. Wraye wouldn't let me, he bademe leave it to him. A bit later, he told me he'd squared Collishaw withfifty pounds--"
Mitchington and the detective exchanged looks.
"Wraye--that's Folliot--paid Collishaw fifty pounds, did he?" asked thedetective.
"He told me so," replied Flood. "To hold his tongue. But I'd scarcelyheard that when I heard of Collishaw's sudden death. And as to how thathappened, or who--who brought it about--upon my soul, gentlemen, Iknow nothing! Whatever I may have thought, I never mentioned it toWraye--never! I--I daren't! You don't know what a man Wraye is! I'vebeen under his thumb most of my life and--and what are you going to dowith me, gentlemen?"
Mitchington exchanged a word or two with the detective, and then,putting his head out of the door beckoned to the policeman to whom hehad spoken at the end of the lane and who now appeared in company with afellow-constable. He brought both into the cottage.
"Get your tea," he said sharply to the verger. "These men will stop withyou--you're not to leave this room." He gave some instructions to thetwo policemen in an undertone and motioned Ransford and the others tofollow him. "It strikes me," he said, when they were outside in thenarrow lane, "that what we've just heard is somewhere about the truth.And now we'll go on to Folliot's--there's a way to his house roundhere."
Mrs. Folliot was out, Sackville Bonham was still where Bryce hadleft him, at the golf-links, when the pursuers reached Folliot's. Aparlourmaid directed them to the garden; a gardener volunteered thesuggestion that his master might be in the old well-house and showed theway. And Folliot and Bryce saw them coming and looked at each other.
"Glassdale!" exclaimed Bryce. "By heaven, man!--he's told on you!"
Folliot was still staring through the window. He saw Ransford and Harkerfollowing the leading figures. And suddenly he turned to Bryce.
"You've no hand in this?" he demanded.
"I?" exclaimed Bryce. "I never knew till just now!"
Folliot pointed to the door.
"Go down!" he said. "Let 'em in, bid 'em come up! I'll--I'll settle with'em. Go!"
Bryce hurried down to the lower apartment. He was filled withexcitement--an unusual thing for him--but in the midst of it, as he madefor the outer door, it suddenly struck him that all his schemings andplottings were going for nothing. The truth was at hand, and it was notgoing to benefit him in the slightest degree. He was beaten.
But that was no time for philosophic reflection; already those outsidewere beating at the door. He flung it open, and the foremost menstarted in surprise at the sight of him. But Bryce bent forward toMitchington--anxious to play a part to the last.
"He's upstairs!" he whispered. "Up there! He'll bluff it out if he can,but he's just admitted to me--"
Mitchington thrust Bryce aside, almost roughly.
"We know all about that!" he said. "I shall have a word or two for youlater! Come on, now--"
The men crowded up the stairway into Folliot's snuggery, Bryce,wondering at the inspector's words and manner, following closely behindhim and the detective and Glassdale, who led the way. Folliot wasstanding in the middle of the room, one hand behind his back, the otherin his pocket. And as the leading three entered the place he broughthis concealed hand sharply round and presenting a revolver at Glassdalefired point-blank at him.
But it was not Glassdale who fell. He, wary and watching, started asideas he saw Folliot's movement, and the bullet, passing between his armand body, found its billet in Bryce, who fell, with little more than agroan, shot through the heart. And as he fell, Folliot, scarcely lookingat what he had done, drew his other hand from his pocket, slippedsomething into his mouth and sat down in the big chair behind him... and within a moment the other men in the room were looking withhorrified faces from one dead face to another.
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