himself, who had seen trouble. Nevertheless, not a poor man,
if his general appearance was anything to go by--he was well
and even expensively dressed, in the style generally affected
by well-to-do merchants and city men; his clothes were
fashionably cut, his silk hat was new, his linen and boots
irreproachable; a fine diamond pin gleamed in his carefully
arranged cravat. Why, then, this unmistakably furtive and
half-frightened manner--which seemed to be somewhat relieved
at the sight of Bryce?

"Is this--is Dr. Ransford within?" asked the stranger. "I was
told this is his house."

"Dr. Ransford is out," replied Bryce. "Just gone out--not
five minutes ago. This is his surgery. Can I be of use?"

The man hesitated, looking beyond Bryce into the room.

"No, thank you," he said at last. "I--no, I don't want
professional services--I just called to see Dr. Ransford--I
--the fact is, I once knew some one of that name. It's no
matter--at present."

Bryce stepped outside and pointed across the Close.

"Dr. Ransford," he said, "went over there--I rather fancy he's
gone to the Deanery--he has a case there. If you went through
Paradise, you'd very likely meet him coming back--the Deanery
is the big house in the far corner yonder."