Glassdale pulled out the two handbills which he had obtained from Bryce. “There are two rewards offered,” he remarked. “Are they entirely independent of each other?” “We know nothing of the other,” answered the solicitor. “Except, of course, that it exists. They're quite independent.” “Who's offering the five hundred pound one?” asked Glassdale. The solicitor paused, looking his man over. He saw at once that Glassdale had, or believed he had, something to tell--and was disposed to be unusually cautious about telling it. “Well,” he replied, after a pause. “I believe--in fact, it's an open secret--that the offer of five hundred pounds is made by Dr. Ransford.” “And--yours?” inquired Glassdale. “Who's at the back of yours--a thousand?” The solicitor smiled. “You haven't answered my question, Mr. Glassdale,” he observed. “Can you give any information?” Glassdale threw his questioner a significant glance. “Whatever information I might give,” he said, “I'd only give to a principal--the principal. From what I've seen and known of all this, there's more in it than is on the surface. I can tell something. I knew John Braden--who, of course, was John Brake--very well, for some years. Naturally, I was in his confidence.” “About more than the Saxonsteade jewels, you mean?” asked the solicitor. “About more than that,” assented Glassdale. “Private matters. I've no doubt I can throw some light--some!--on this Wrychester Paradise affair. But, as I said just now, I'll only deal with the principal. I wouldn't tell you, for instance--as your principal's solicitor.” The solicitor smiled again. “Your ideas, Mr. Glassdale, appear to fit in with our principal's,” he remarked. “His instructions--strict instructions--to us are that if anybody turns up who can give any information, it's not to be given to us, but to--himself!” “Wise man!” observed Glassdale. “That's just what I feel about it. It's a mistake to share secrets with more than one person.” “There is a secret, then!” asked the solicitor, half slyly. “Might be,” replied Glassdale. “Who's your client?” The solicitor pulled a scrap of paper towards him and wrote a few words on it. He pushed it towards his caller, and Glassdale picked it up and read what had been written--Mr. Stephen Folliot, The Close. “You'd better go and see him,” said the solicitor, suggestively. “You'll find him reserved enough.” Glassdale read and re-read the name--as if he were endeavouring to recollect it, or connect it with something. “What particular reason has this man for wishing to find this out?” he inquired. “Can't say, my good sir!” replied the solicitor, with a smile. “Perhaps he'll tell you. He hasn't told me.” Glassdale rose to take his leave. But with his hand on the door he turned. “Is this gentleman a resident in the place?” he asked. “A well-known townsman,” replied the solicitor. “You'll easily find his house in the Close--everybody knows it.”