nglers. And there he pursued his tactics
of the day before and went straight to the vicarage and its vicar, with
a request to be allowed to inspect the parish registers. The vicar,
having no objection to earning the resultant fees, hastened to comply
with Bryce's request, and inquired how far back he wanted to search and
for what particular entry.

"No particular entry," answered Bryce, "and as to period--fairly recent.
The fact is, I am interested in names. I am thinking"--here he used
one more of his easily found inventions--"of writing a book on English
surnames, and am just now inspecting parish registers in the Midlands
for that purpose."

"Then I can considerably simplify your labours," said the vicar, taking
down a book from one of his shelves. "Our parish registers have been
copied and printed, and here is the volume--everything is in there from
1570 to ten years ago, and there is a very full index. Are you staying
in the neighbourhood--or the village?"

"In the neighbourhood, yes; in the village, no longer than the time I
shall spend in getting some lunch at the inn yonder," answered Bryce,
nodding through an open window at an ancient tavern which stood in the
valley beneath, close to an old stone bridge. "Perhaps you will kindly
lend me this book for an hour?--then, if I see anything very noteworthy
in the index, I can look at the actual registers when I bring it back."

The vicar replied that that was precisely what he had been about to
suggest, and Bryce carried the book away. And while he sat in the inn
parlour awaiting his lunch, he turned to the carefully-compiled index,
glancing it through rapidly. On the third page he saw the name Bewery.

If the man who had followed Bryce from Barthorpe to Braden Medworth had
been with him in the quiet inn parlour he would have seen his quarry
start, and heard him let a stifled exclamation escape his lips. But the
follower, knowing his man was safe for an hour, was in the bar outside
eating bread and cheese and drinking ale, and Bryce's surprise was
witnessed by no one. Yet he had been so much surprised that if all
Wrychester had been there he could not, despite his self-training in
watchfulness, have kept back either start or exclamation.

Bewery! A name so uncommon that here--here, in this out-of-the-way
Midland village!--there must be some connection with the object of his
search. There the name stood out before him, to the exclusion of all
others--Bewery--wit