What is it, Varner? asked Bryce calmly. Something happened? The man swept his hand across his forehead as if he were dazed, and then jerked his thumb over his shoulder. A man! he gasped. Foot of St. Wrytha’s Stair there, doctor. Dead – or if not dead, near it. I saw it! Bryce seized Varner’s arm and gave it a shake. You saw – what? he demanded. Saw him – fall. Or rather – flung! panted Varner. Somebody – couldn’t see who, nohow – flung him right through yon doorway, up there. He fell right over the steps – crash! Bryce looked over the tops of the yews and cypresses at the doorway in the clerestory to which Varner pointed – a low, open archway gained by the half-ruinous stair. It was forty feet at least from the ground. You saw him – thrown! he exclaimed. Thrown – down there? Impossible, man!
Tell you I saw it! asserted Varner doggedly. I was looking at one of those old tombs yonder – somebody wants some repairs doing – and the jackdaws were making such a to-do up there by the roof I glanced up at them. And I saw this man thrown through that door – fairly flung through it! God! – do you think I could mistake my own eyes?

Did you see who flung him? asked Bryce. No; I saw a hand – just for one second, as it might be – by the edge of the doorway.