He paused and gave Folliot a meaning glance out of the corner of his eyes. “Aye--what?” asked Folliot. “I think he met at least one of 'em here,” said Glassdale, quietly. “And--perhaps both.” “Leading to--misfortune for him?” suggested Folliot. “If you like to put it that way--yes,” assented Glassdale. Folliot smoked a while in more reflective silence. “Aye, well!” he said at last. “I suppose you haven't put these ideas of yours before anybody, now?” “Present ideas?” asked Glassdale, sharply. “Not to a soul! I've not had 'em--very long.” “You're the sort of man that another man can do a deal with, I suppose?” suggested Folliot. “That is, if it's made worth your while, of course?” “I shouldn't wonder,” replied Glassdale. “And--if it is made worth my while.” Folliot mused a little. Then he tapped Glassdale's elbow. “You see,” he said, confidentially, “it might be, you know, that I had a little purpose of my own in offering that reward. It might be that it was a very particular friend of mine that had the misfortune to have incurred this man Braden's hatred. And I might want to save him, d'ye see, from--well, from the consequence of what's happened, and to hear about it first if anybody came forward, eh?” “As I've done,” said Glassdale. “As--you've done,” assented Folliot. “Now, perhaps it would be in the interest of this particular friend of mine if he made it worth your while to--say no more to anybody, eh?” “Very much worth his while, Mr. Folliot,” declared Glassdale. “Aye, well,” continued Folliot. “This very particular friend would just want to know, you know, how much you really, truly know! Now, for instance, about these two men--and one in particular--that Braden was after? Did--did he name 'em?” Glassdale leaned a little nearer to his companion on the rose-screened bench. “He named them--to me!” he said in a whisper. “One was a man called Falkiner Wraye, and the other man was a man named Flood. Is that enough?” “I think you'd better come and see me this evening,” answered Folliot. “Come just about dusk to that door--I'll meet you there. Fine roses these of mine, aren't they?” he continued, as they rose. “I occupy myself entirely with 'em.” He walked with Glassdale to the garden door, and stood there watching his visitor go away up the side of the high wall until he turned into the path across Paradise. And then, as Folliot was retreating to his roses, he saw Bryce coming over the Close--and Bryce beckoned to him. CHAPTER XXV. THE OLD WELL HOUSE