Ransford, who had turned to his desk to master himself, looked round with a sudden sharp glance--and for the moment Bryce was taken aback. For he had condemned Ransford--and yet that glance was one of apparently genuine surprise, a glance which almost convinced him, against his will, against only too evident facts, that Ransford was hearing of the Paradise affair for the first time. “An elderly man--grey-haired--slightly built?” said Ransford. “Dark clothes--silk hat?” “Precisely,” replied Bryce, who was now considerably astonished. “Do you know him?” “I saw such a man entering the Cathedral, a while ago,” answered Ransford. “A stranger, certainly. Come along, then.” He had fully recovered his self-possession by that time, and he led the way from the surgery and across the Close as if he were going on an ordinary professional visit. He kept silence as they walked rapidly towards Paradise, and Bryce was silent, too. He had studied Ransford a good deal during their two years' acquaintanceship, and he knew Ransford's power of repressing and commanding his feelings and concealing his thoughts. And now he decided that the look and start which he had at first taken to be of the nature of genuine astonishment were cunningly assumed, and he was not surprised when, having reached the group of men gathered around the body, Ransford showed nothing but professional interest. “Have you done anything towards finding out who this unfortunate man is?” asked Ransford, after a brief examination, as he turned to Mitchington. “Evidently a stranger--but he probably has papers on him.” “There's nothing on him--except a purse, with plenty of money in it,” answered Mitchington. “I've been through his pockets myself: there isn't a scrap of paper--not even as much as an old letter. But he's evidently a tourist, or something of the sort, and so he'll probably have stayed in the city all night, and I'm going to inquire at the hotels.” “There'll be an inquest, of course,” remarked Ransford mechanically. “Well--we can do nothing, Mitchington. You'd better have the body removed to the mortuary.” He turned and looked up the broken stairway at the foot of which they were standing. “You say he fell down that?” he asked. “Whatever was he doing up there?” Mitchington looked at Bryce. “Haven't you told Dr. Ransford how it was?” he asked. “No,” answered Bryce. He glanced at Ransford, indicating Varner, who had come back with the constable and was standing by. “He didn't fall,” he went on, watching Ransford narrowly. “He was violently flung out of that doorway. Varner here saw it.” Ransford's cheek flushed, and he was unable to repress a slight start. He looked at the mason. “You actually saw it!” he exclaimed. “Why, what did you see?”