when he knew that there were no papers on the dead man. He
himself waited after Ransford had gone; waited until the
police had fetched a stretcher, when he personally
superintended the removal of the body to the mortuary outside
the Close. And there a constable who had come over from the
police-station gave a faint hint as to further investigation.

"I saw that poor gentleman last night, sir," he said to the
inspector. "He was standing at the door of the Mitre, talking
to another gentleman--a tallish man."

"Then I'll go across there," said Mitchington. "Come with me,
if you like, Dr. Bryce."

This was precisely what Bryce desired--he was already anxious
to acquire all the information he could get. And he walked
over the way with the inspector, to the quaint old-world inn
which filled almost one side of the little square known as
Monday Market, and in at the courtyard, where, looking out of
the bow window which had served as an outer bar in the
coaching days, they found the landlady of the Mitre, Mrs.
Partingley. Bryce saw at once that she had heard the news.

"What's this, Mr. Mitchington?" she demanded as they drew near
across the cobble-paved yard. "Somebody's been in to say
there's been an accident to a gentleman, a stranger--I hope it
isn't one of the two we've got in the house?"

"I should say it is, ma'am," answered the inspector. "He was
seen outside here last night by one of our men, anyway."