liot. "Supposing that all you
say is true about--about past matters? Nothing can prove--nothing!--that
I ever met Braden that morning. On the other hand, I can prove, easily,
that I never did meet him; I can account for every minute of my time
that day. As to the other affair--not an ounce of direct evidence!"

"Then--it was the other man!" exclaimed Bryce. "Now then, who is he?"

Folliot replied with a shrewd glance.

"A man who by giving away another man gave himself away would be a
damned fool!" he answered. "If there is another man--"

"As if there must be!" interrupted Bryce.

"Then he's safe!" concluded Folliot. "You'll get nothing from me about
him!"

"And nobody can get at you except through him?" asked Bryce.

"That's about it," assented Folliot laconically.

Bryce laughed cynically.

"A pretty coil!" he said with a sneer. "Here! You talked about my price.
I'm quite content to hold my tongue if you'd tell me something about
what happened seventeen years ago."

"What?" asked Folliot.

"You knew Brake, you must have known his family affairs," said Bryce.
"What became of Brake's wife and children when he went to prison?"

Folliot shook his head, and it was plain to Bryce that his gesture of
dissent was genuine.

"You're wrong," he answered. "I never at any time knew anything of
Brake's family affairs. So little indeed, that I never even knew he was
married."

Bryce rose to his feet and stood staring.

"What!" he exclaimed. "You mean to tell me that, even now, you don't
know that Brake had two children, and that--that--oh, it's incredible!"

"What's incredible?" asked Folliot. "What are you talking about?"

Bryce in his eagerness and surprise grasped Folliot's arm and shook it.

"Good heavens, man!" he said. "Those two wards of Ransford's are Brake's
girl and boy! Didn't you know that, didn't you?"

"Never!" answered Folliot. "Never! And who's Ransford, then? I never
heard Brake speak of any Ransford! What game is all this? What--"

Before Bryce could reply, Folliot suddenly started, thrust his companion
aside and went to one of the windows. A sharp exclamation from him took
Bryce to his side. Folliot lifted a shaking hand and pointed into the
garden.

"There!" he whispered. "Hell and--What's this mean?"

Bryce looked in the direction pointed out. Behind the pergola of rambler
roses the figures of men were coming towards the old well-house led by
one of Folliot's gardeners. Suddenly they