“Dr. Short told me,” answered Mary. “I don't know any details.”
Folliot looked meditatively at her a moment.
“Got something to do with those other matters, you know,” he remarked. “I say! What's Ransford doing about all that?”
“About all what, Mr. Folliot?” asked Mary, at once on her guard. “I don't understand you.”
“You know—all that suspicion—and so on,” said Folliot. “Bad position for a professional man, you know—ought to clear himself. Anybody been applying for that reward Ransford offered?”
“I don't know anything about it,” replied Mary. “Dr. Ransford is very well able to take care of himself, I think. Has anybody applied for yours?”
Folliot rose from his chair again, as if he had changed his mind about lingering, and shook his head.
“Can't say what my solicitors may or may not have heard—or done,” he answered. “But—queer business, you know—and ought to be settled. Bad for Ransford to have any sort of a cloud over him. Sorry to see it.”
“Is that why you came forward with a reward?” asked Mary.
But to this direct question Folliot made no answer. He muttered something about the advisability of somebody doing something and went away, to Mary's relief. She had no desire to discuss the Paradise mysteries with anybody, especially after Ransford's assurance of the previous evening. But in the middle of the afternoon in walked Mrs. Folliot, a rare caller, and before she had been closeted with Mary five minutes brought up the subject again.