The Paradise MysteryFletcher, J. S. (Joseph Smith)
General
The Paradise Mystery
Fletcher, J. S. (Joseph Smith)
Detective and mystery stories
“Maybe,” said Dick. “But he's dead now. The fact is, Folliot shot him
with a revolver--killed him on the spot. And then Folliot poisoned
himself--took the same stuff, the doctor said, that finished that chap
Collishaw, and died instantly. It was in Folliot's old well-house. The
doctor was there and the police.”
“What does it all mean?” asked Mary.
“Don't know. Except this,” added Dick; “they've found out about those
other affairs--the Braden and the Collishaw affairs. Folliot was
concerned in them; and who do you think the other was? You'd never
guess! That man Fladgate, the verger. Only that isn't his proper name
at all. He and Folliot finished Braden and Collishaw, anyway. The police
have got Fladgate, and Folliot shot Bryce and killed himself just when
they were going to take him.”
“The doctor told you all this?” asked Mary.
“Yes,” replied Dick. “Just that and no more. He called me in as I was
passing Folliot's door. He's coming over as soon as he can. Whew! I say,
won't there be some fine talk in the town! Anyway, things'll be cleared
up now. What did Bryce want here?”
“Never mind; I can't talk of it, now,” answered Mary. She was already
thinking of how Bryce had stood before her, active and alive, only an
hour earlier; she was thinking, too, of her warning to him. “It's all
too dreadful! too awful to understand!”
“Here's the doctor coming now,” said Dick, turning to the window. “He'll
tell more.”
Mary looked anxiously at Ransford as he came hastening in. He looked
like a man who has just gone through a crisis and yet she was somehow
conscious that there was a certain atmosphere of relief about him, as
though some great weight had suddenly been lifted. He closed the door
and looked straight at her.
“Dick has told you?” he asked.
“All that you told me,” said Dick.
Ransford pulled off his gloves and flung them on the table with
something of a gesture of weariness. And at that Mary hastened to speak.
“Don't tell any more--don't say anything--until you feel able,” she
said. “You're tired.”
“No!” answered Ransford. “I'd rather say what I have to say now--just
now! I've wanted to tell both of you what all this was, what it meant,
everything about it, and until today, until within the last few hours,
it was impossible, because I didn't know everything. Now I do! I even
know more than I did an hour ago. Let me tell you now and have done with
it. Sit down there, both of you, and listen.”
He pointed to a sofa near the hearth, and the brother and sister sat
down, looking at him wonderingly. Instead of sitting down himself he
leaned against the edge of the table, looking down at them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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