“Not alive!” replied Harker. “I saw him dead--and I held my tongue, and have held it. But--something happened that day. After I heard of the accident, I went into the Crown and Cushion tavern--the fact was, I went to get a taste of whisky, for the news had upset me. And in that long bar of theirs, I saw a man whom I knew--a man whom I knew, for a fact, to have been a fellow convict of Brake's. Name of Glassdale--forgery. He got the same sentence that Brake got, about the same time, was in the same convict prison with Brake, and he and Brake would be released about the same date. There was no doubt about his identity--I never forget a face, even after thirty years I'd tell one. I saw him in that bar before he saw me, and I took a careful look at him. He, too, like Brake, was very well dressed, and very prosperous looking. He turned as he set down his glass, and caught sight of me--and he knew me. Mind you, he'd been through my hands in times past! And he instantly moved to a side-door and--vanished. I went out and looked up and down--he'd gone. I found out afterwards, by a little quiet inquiry, that he'd gone straight to the station, boarded the first train--there was one just giving out, to the junction--and left the city. But I can lay hands on him!” “You've kept this quiet, too?” asked Bryce. “Just so--I've my own game to play,” replied Harker. “This talk with you is part of it--you come in, now--I'll tell you why, presently. But first, as you know, I went to Barthorpe. For, though Brake was dead, I felt I must go--for this reason. I was certain that he wanted that information for himself--the man in Australia was a fiction. I went, then--and learned nothing. Except that this Falkiner Wraye had been, as Brake said, a Barthorpe man, years ago. He'd left the town eighteen years since, and nobody knew anything about him. So I came home. And now then, doctor--your turn! What were you after, down there at Barthorpe?” Bryce meditated his answer for a good five minutes. He had always intended to play the game off his own bat, but he had heard and seen enough since entering Harker's little room to know that he was in company with an intellect which was keener and more subtle than his, and that it would be all to his advantage to go in with the man who had vast and deep experience. And so he made a clean breast of all he had done in the way of investigation, leaving his motive completely aside. “You've got a theory, of course?” observed Harker, after listening quietly to all that Bryce could tell. “Naturally, you have! You couldn't accumulate all that without getting one.” “Well,” admitted Bryce, “honestly, I can't say that I have. But I can see what theory there might be. This--that Ransford was the man who deceived Brake, that he ran away with Brake's wife, that she's dead, and that he's brought up the children in ignorance of all that--and therefore--”