If Bryce had risen earlier next morning, and had taken the trouble to track old Harker’s movements, he would have learnt something that would have made him still more suspicious.  But Bryce, seeing no reason for hurry, lay in bed till well past nine o’clock, and did not present himself in the coffee-room until nearly half-past ten.  And at that hour Simpson Harker, who had breakfasted before nine, was in close consultation with his friend—­that friend being none other than the local superintendent of police, who was confidentially closeted with the old man in his private house, whither Harker, by previous arrangement, had repaired as soon as his breakfast was over.  Had Bryce been able to see through walls or hear through windows, he would have been surprised to find that the Harker of this consultation was not the quiet, easy-going, gossipy old gentleman of Wrychester, but an eminently practical and business-like man of affairs.

“And now as regards this young fellow who’s staying across there at the Peacock,” he was saying in conclusion, at the very time that Bryce was leisurely munching his second mutton chop in the Peacock coffee-room, “he’s after something or other—­his talk about coming here to see after a practice is all lies!—­and you’ll keep an eye on him while he’s in your neighbourhood.  Put your best plainclothes man on to him at once—­he’ll easily know him from the description I gave you —­and let him shadow him wherever he goes.  And then let me know of his movement—­he’s certainly on the track of something, and what he does may be useful to me—­I can link it up with my own work.  And as regards the other matter—­keep me informed if you come on anything further.  Now I’ll go out by your garden and down the back of the town to the station.  Let me know, by the by, when this young man at the Peacock leaves here, and, if possible—­and you can find out—­for where.”

Bryce was all unconscious that any one was interested in his movements when he strolled out into Barthorpe market-place just after eleven.  He had asked a casual question of the waiter and found that the old gentleman had departed—­he accordingly believed himself free from observation.  And forthwith he set about his work of inquiry in his own fashion.  He was not going to draw any attention to himself by asking questions of present-day inhabitants, whose curiosity might then be aroused; he knew better methods than that.  Every town, said Bryce to himself, possesses public records—­parish registers, burgess rolls, lists of voters; even small towns have directories which are more or less complete—­he could search these for any mention or record of anybody or any family of the name of Braden.  And he spent all that day in that search, inspecting numerous documents and registers and books, and when evening came he had a very complete acquaintance with the family nomenclature of Barthorpe, and he was prepared to bet odds against any one of the name of Braden having lived there during the past half-century.  In all his searching he had not once come across the name.