“Of course!” replied Mitchington, with a confident laugh. “And—I shall! Keep it to yourself, doctor.”
When Bryce had let the inspector out and returned to his sitting-room, Ransford and Mary had come from behind the curtains. He looked at them and shook his head.
“You heard—a good deal, you see,” he observed.
“Look here!” said Ransford peremptorily. “You put that man off about the call at my surgery. You didn't tell him the truth.”
“Quite right,” assented Bryce. “I didn't. Why should I?”
“What did Braden ask you?” demanded Ransford. “Come, now?”
“Merely if Dr. Ransford was in,” answered Bryce, “remarking that he had once known a Dr. Ransford. That was—literally—all. I replied that you were not in.”
Ransford stood silently thinking for a moment or two. Then he moved towards the door.
“I don't see that any good will come of more talk about this,” he said. “We three, at any rate, know this—I never saw Braden when he came to my house.”
Then he motioned Mary to follow him, and they went away, and Bryce, having watched them out of sight, smiled at himself in his mirror—with full satisfaction.