“They've met!” mused Bryce, and stopped, staring after Ransford's retreating figure. “Now what is it in that man's mere presence that's upset Ransford? He looks like a man who's had a nasty, unexpected shock--a bad 'un!” He remained standing in the archway, gazing after the retreating figure, until Ransford had disappeared within his own garden; still wondering and speculating, but not about his own affairs, he turned across Paradise at last and made his way towards the farther corner. There was a little wicket-gate there, set in the ivied wall; as Bryce opened it, a man in the working dress of a stone-mason, whom he recognized as being one of the master-mason's staff, came running out of the bushes. His face, too, was white, and his eyes were big with excitement. And recognizing Bryce, he halted, panting. “What is it, Varner?” asked Bryce calmly. “Something happened?” The man swept his hand across his forehead as if he were dazed, and then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “A man!” he gasped. “Foot of St. Wrytha's Stair there, doctor. Dead--or if not dead, near it. I saw it!” Bryce seized Varner's arm and gave it a shake. “You saw--what?” he demanded. “Saw him--fall. Or rather--flung!” panted Varner. “Somebody--couldn't see who, nohow--flung him right through yon doorway, up there. He fell right over the steps--crash!” Bryce looked over the tops of the yews and cypresses at the doorway in the clerestory to which Varner pointed--a low, open archway gained by the half-ruinous stair. It was forty feet at least from the ground. “You saw him--thrown!” he exclaimed. “Thrown--down there? Impossible, man!” “Tell you I saw it!” asserted Varner doggedly. “I was looking at one of those old tombs yonder--somebody wants some repairs doing--and the jackdaws were making such a to-do up there by the roof I glanced up at them. And I saw this man thrown through that door--fairly flung through it! God!--do you think I could mistake my own eyes?” “Did you see who flung him?” asked Bryce. “No; I saw a hand--just for one second, as it might be--by the edge of the doorway,” answered Varner. “I was more for watching him! He sort of tottered for a second on the step outside the door, turned over and screamed--I can hear it now!--and crashed down on the flags beneath.” “How long since?” demanded Bryce. “Five or six minutes,” said Varner. “I rushed to him--I've been doing what I could. But I saw it was no good, so I was running for help--” Bryce pushed him towards the bushes by which they were standing. “Take me to him,” he said. “Come on!”