lonely, quiet place—­by the man or men who had got possession of the secret; he was, I’m told, a slightly-built, not over-strong man—­he was seized and robbed of that paper and flung to his death.  And all that fits in with the second mystery of Collishaw—­who probably knew, if not everything, then something, of the exact circumstances of Brake’s death, and let his knowledge get to the ears of—­Brake’s assailant! —­who cleverly got rid of him.  That’s my notion,” concluded the detective.  “And—­I shall be surprised if it isn’t a correct one!”

“And, as I’ve said, doctor,” chimed in Mitchington, “can’t you give us a bit of information, now?  You see the line we’re on?  Now, as it’s evident you once knew Braden, or Brake—­”

“I have never said so!” interrupted Ransford sharply.

“Well—­we infer it, from the undoubted fact that he called here,” remarked Mitchington.  “And if—­”

“Wait!” said Ransford.  He had been listening with absorbed attention to Jettison’s theory, and he now rose from his chair and began to pace the room, hands in pockets, as if in deep thought.  Suddenly he paused and looked at Mitchington.  “This needs some reflection,” he said.  “Are you pressed for time?”

“Not in the least,” answered Mitchington, readily.  “Our time’s yours, sir.  Take as long as you like.”

Ransford touched a bell and summoning the parlourmaid told her to fetch whisky, soda, and cigars.  He pressed these things on the two men, lighted a cigar himself, and for a long time continued to walk up and down his end of the room, smoking and evidently in very deep thought.  The visitors left him alone, watching him curiously now and then—­until, when quite ten minutes had gone by, he suddenly drew a chair close to them and sat down again.

“Now, listen to me!” he said.  “If I give my confidence to you, as police officials, will you give me your word that you won’t make use of my information until I give you leave—­or until you have consulted me further?  I shall rely on your word, mind!”

“I say yes to that, doctor,” answered Mitchington.

“The same here, sir,” said the detective.

“Very well,” continued Ransford.  “Then—­this is between ourselves, until such time as I say something more about it.  First of all, I am not going to tell you anything whatever about Braden’s antecedents—­at present!  Secondly—­I am not sure that your theory, Mr. Jettison, is entirely correct, though I think it is by way of coming very near to the right one—­which is sure to be worked out before long.  But—­on the understanding of secrecy for the present I can tell you something which I should not have been able to tell you but for the events of tonight, which have made me put together certain facts.  Now attention!  To begin with, I know where Braden was for at any rate some time on the evening of the day on which he came to Wrychester.  He was with the old man whom we all know as Simpson Harker.”