But Bryce kept a hand on the little gate, and when he spoke there was that in his voice which made the girl listen in spite of herself.
“I'm not here on my own behalf,” he said quickly. “I give you my word I won't say a thing that need offend you. It's true I waited here for you—it's the only place in which I thought I could meet you, alone. I want to speak to you. It's this—do you know your guardian is in danger?”
Bryce had the gift of plausibility—he could convince people, against their instincts, even against their wills, that he was telling the truth. And Mary, after a swift glance, believed him.
“What danger?” she asked. “And if he is, and if you know he is—why don't you go direct to him?”
“The most fatal thing in the world to do!” exclaimed Bryce. “You know him—he can be nasty. That would bring matters to a crisis. And that, in his interest, is just what mustn't happen.”
“I don't understand you,” said Mary.
Bryce leaned nearer to her—across the gate.
“You know what happened last week,” he said in a low voice. “The strange death of that man—Braden.”
“Well?” she asked, with a sudden look of uneasiness. “What of it?”
“It's being rumoured—whispered—in the town that Dr. Ransford had something to do with that affair,” answered Bryce. “Unpleasant—unfortunate—but it's a fact.”