referred to that time except in the way I told you--that he
hadn't a penny of the money, himself and that he'd himself refunded it."

Bryce meditated awhile. He was somewhat puzzled by certain points in the
old detective's story, and he saw now that there was much more mystery
in the Braden affair than he had at first believed.

"Well," he asked, after a while, "did you see him again?"

"Not alive!" replied Harker. "I saw him dead--and I held my tongue, and
have held it. But--something happened that day. After I heard of the
accident, I went into the Crown and Cushion tavern--the fact was, I went
to get a taste of whisky, for the news had upset me. And in that long
bar of theirs, I saw a man whom I knew--a man whom I knew, for a fact,
to have been a fellow convict of Brake's. Name of Glassdale--forgery.
He got the same sentence that Brake got, about the same time, was in the
same convict prison with Brake, and he and Brake would be released about
the same date. There was no doubt about his identity--I never forget a
face, even after thirty years I'd tell one. I saw him in that bar before
he saw me, and I took a careful look at him. He, too, like Brake, was
very well dressed, and very prosperous looking. He turned as he set down
his glass, and caught sight of me--and he knew me. Mind you, he'd been
through my hands in times past! And he instantly moved to a side-door
and--vanished. I went out and looked up and down--he'd gone. I found out
afterwards, by a little quiet inquiry, that he'd gone straight to the
station, boarded the first train--there was one just giving out, to the
junction--and left the city. But I can lay hands on him!"

"You've kept this quiet, too?" asked Bryce.

"Just so--I've my own game to play," replied Harker. "This talk with
you is part of it--you come in, now--I'll tell you why, presently. But
first, as you know, I went to Barthorpe. For, though Brake was dead,
I felt I must go--for this reason. I was certain that he wanted that
information for himself--the man in Australia was a fiction. I went,
then--and learned nothing. Except that this Falkiner Wraye had been,
as Brake said, a Barthorpe man, years ago. He'd left the town eighteen
years since, and nobody knew anything about him. So I came home. And now
then, doctor--your turn! What were you after, down there at Barthorpe?"

Bryce meditated his answer for a good five minutes. He had always
intended to play the game off his own bat, but he h