“You've none!” retorted Mary, gathering up her work and moving towards the door. “I've no more intention of marrying Mr. Sackville Bonham than of eloping with the Bishop! The idea's too absurd to--even be thought of!” Five minutes later Mrs. Folliot, heightened in colour, had gone. And presently Mary, glancing after her across the Close, saw Bryce approaching the gate of the garden. CHAPTER XXIII. THE UNEXPECTED Mary's first instinct on seeing the approach of Pemberton Bryce, the one man she least desired to see, was to retreat to the back of the house and send the parlourmaid to the door to say her mistress was not at home. But she had lately become aware of Bryce's curiously dogged persistence in following up whatever he had in view, and she reflected that if he were sent away then he would be sure to come back and come back until he had got whatever it was that he wanted. And after a moment's further consideration, she walked out of the front door and confronted him resolutely in the garden. “Dr. Ransford is away,” she said with almost unnecessary brusqueness. “He's away until evening.” “I don't want him,” replied Bryce just as brusquely. “I came to see you.” Mary hesitated. She continued to regard Bryce steadily, and Bryce did not like the way in which she was looking at him. He made haste to speak before she could either leave or dismiss him. “You'd better give me a few minutes,” he said, with a note of warning. “I'm here in your interests--or in Ransford's. I may as well tell you, straight out, Ransford's in serious and imminent danger! That's a fact.” “Danger of what?” she demanded. “Arrest--instant arrest!” replied Bryce. “I'm telling you the truth. He'll probably be arrested tonight, on his return. There's no imagination in all this--I'm speaking of what I know. I've--curiously enough--got mixed up with these affairs, through no seeking of my own, and I know what's behind the scenes. If it were known that I'm letting out secrets to you, I should get into trouble. But, I want to warn you!” Mary stood before him on the path, hesitating. She knew enough to know that Bryce was telling some sort of truth: it was plain that he had been mixed up in the recent mysteries, and there was a ring of conviction in his voice which impressed her. And suddenly she had visions of Ransford's arrest, of his being dragged off to prison to meet a cruel accusation, of the shame and disgrace, and she hesitated further. “But if that's so,” she said at last, “what's the good of coming to me? I can't do anything!” “I can!” said Bryce significantly. “I know more--much more--than the police know--more than anybody knows. I can save Ransford. Understand that!” “What do you want now?” she asked. “To talk to you--to tell you how things are,” answered Bryce. “What harm is there in that? To make you see how matters stand, and then to show you what I can do to put things right.”