“You found it out at Barthorpe?” suggested Bryce.
“Not a bit of it; I worked it out here—after Brake was dead,” said Harker. “I went to Barthorpe on quite different business—Brake's business.”
“Ah!” said Bryce. He looked the old detective quietly in the eyes. “You'd better tell me all about it,” he added.
“If we're both going to tell each other—all about it,” stipulated Harker.
“That's settled,” assented Bryce.
Harker smoked thoughtfully for a moment and seemed to be thinking.
“I'd better go back to the beginning,” he said. “But, first—what do you know about Brake? I know you went down to Barthorpe to find out what you could—how far did your searches take you?”
“I know that Brake married a girl from Braden Medworth, that he took her to London, where he was manager of a branch bank, that he got into trouble, and was sentenced to ten years' penal servitude,” answered Bryce, “together with some small details into which we needn't go at present.”
“Well, as long as you know all that, there's a common basis and a common starting-point,” remarked Harker, “so I'll begin at Brake's trial. It was I who arrested Brake. There was no trouble, no bother. He'd been taken unawares, by an inspector of the bank. He'd a considerable deficiency—couldn't make it good—couldn't or wouldn't explain except by half-sullen hints that he'd been cruelly deceived. There was no defence—couldn't be. His counsel said that he could—”
“I've read the account of the trial,” interrupted Bryce.