Some time went by before Collingwood was asked to render service of any sort. At Normandale Grange, events progressed in apparently ordinary and normal fashion. Harper Mallathorpe was buried; his mother began to make some recovery from the shock of his death; the legal folk were busied in putting Nesta in possession of the estate, and herself and her mother in proprietorship of the mill and the personal property. In Barford, things went on as usual, too. Pratt continued his round of duties at Eldrick & Pascoe's; no more was heard—by outsiders, at any rate—of the stewardship at Normandale. As for Collingwood, he settled down in chambers and lodgings and, as Eldrick had predicted, found plenty of work. And he constantly went out to Normandale Grange, and often met Nesta elsewhere, and their knowledge of each other increased, and as the winter passed away and spring began to show on the Normandale woods and moors, Collingwood felt that the time was coming when he might speak. He was professionally engaged in London for nearly three weeks in the early part of that spring—when he returned, he had made up his mind to tell Nesta the truth, at once. He had faced it for himself—he was by that time so much in love with her that he was not going to let monetary considerations prevent him from telling her so.

But Collingwood found something else than love to talk about when he presented himself at Normandale Grange on the morning after his arrival from his three weeks' absence in town. As soon as he met her, he saw that Nesta was not only upset and troubled, but angry.

"I am glad you have come," she said, when they were alone. "I want some advice. Something has happened—something that bothers—and puzzles—me very, very much! I'm dreadfully bothered."

"Tell me," suggested Collingwood.

Nesta frowned—at some recollection or thought.

"Yesterday afternoon," she answered, "I was obliged to go into Barford, on business. I left my mother fairly well—-she has been recovering fast lately, and she only has one nurse now. Unfortunately, she, too, was out for the afternoon. I came back to find my mother ill and much upset—-and there's no use denying it—she'd all the symptoms of having been—well, frightened. I can't think of any other term than that—frightened. And then I learned that, in my absence, Mr. Eldrick's clerk, Mr. Pratt—you know him—had been here, and had been with her for quite an hour. I am furiously angry!"

Collingwood had expected this announcement as soon as she began to explain. So—the trouble was beginning!

"How came Pratt to be admitted to your mother?" he asked.

"That makes me angry, too," answered Nesta. "Though I confess I ought to be angry with myself for not giving stricter orders. I left the house about two—he came about three, and asked to see my mother's maid, Esther Mawson. He told her that it was absolutely necessary for him to see my mother on business, and she told my mother he was there. My mother consented to see him—and he was taken up. And as I say, I found her ill—and frightened—and that's not the worst of it!"

"What is the worst of it?" asked Collingwood, anxiously. "Better tell me!—I may be able to do something."

"The worst of it," she said, "is just this—my mother won't tell me what that man came about! She flatly refuses to tell me anything! She will only say that it was business of her own. She won't trust me with it, you see!—her own daughter! What business can that man have with her?—or she with him? Eldrick & Pascoe are not our solicitors! There's some secret and——"

"Will you answer one or two questions?" said Collingwood quietly. He had never seen Nesta angry before, and he now realized that she had certain possibilities of temper and determination which would be formidable when roused. "First of all, is that maid you speak of, Esther Mawson, reliable?"

"I don't know!" answered Nesta. "My mother has had her two years—she's a Barford woman. Sometimes I think she's sly and cunning. But I've given her such strict orders now that she'll never dare to let any one see my mother again without my consent."

"The other question's this," said Collingwood. "Have you any idea, any suspicion of why Pratt wanted to see your mother?"

"Not unless it was about that stewardship," replied Nesta. "But—how could that frighten her? Besides, all that's over. Normandale is mine!—and if I have a steward, or an estate agent, I shall see to the appointment myself. No!—I do not know why he should have come here! But—there's some mystery. The curious thing is——"

"What?" asked Collingwood, as she paused.

"Why," she said, shaking her head wonderingly, "that I'm absolutely certain that my mother never even knew this man Pratt—I don't I think she even knew his name—until quite recently. I know when she got to know him, too. It was just about the time that you first called here—at the time of Mr. Bartle's death. Our butler told me this morning that Pratt came here late one evening—just about that time!—and asked to see my mother, and was with her for some time in the study. Oh! what is it all about?—and why doesn't she tell me?"

Collingwood stood silently staring out of the window. At the time of Antony Bartle's death? An evening visit?—evidently of a secret nature. And why paid to Mrs. Mallathorpe at that particular time? He suddenly turned to Nesta.

"What do you wish me to do?" he asked.

"Will you speak to Mr. Eldrick?" she said. "Tell him that his clerk must not call upon, or attempt to see, my mother. I will not have it!"

Collingwood went off to Barford, and straight to Eldrick's office. He noticed as he passed through the outer rooms that Pratt was not in his accustomed place—as a rule, it was impossible to get at either Eldrick or Pascoe without first seeing Pratt.

"Hullo!" said Eldrick. "Just got in from town? That's lucky—I've got a big case for you."

"I got in last night," replied Collingwood. "But I went out to Normandale first thing this morning: I've just come back from there. I say, Eldrick, here's an unpleasant matter to tell you of"; and he told the solicitor all that Nesta had just told him, and also of Pratt's visit to Mrs. Mallathorpe about the time of Antony Bartle's death. "Whatever it is," he concluded sternly, "it's got to stop! If you've any influence over your clerk——"

Eldrick made a grimace and waved his hand.

"He's our clerk no longer!" he said. "He left us the week after you went up to town, Collingwood. He was only a weekly servant, and he took advantage of that to give me a week's notice. Now, what game is Master Pratt playing? He's smart, and he's deep, too. He——"

Just then an office-boy announced Mr. Robson, the Mallathorpe family solicitor, a bustling, rather rough-and-ready type of man, who came into Eldrick's room looking not only angry but astonished. He nodded to Collingwood, and flung himself into a chair at the side of Eldrick's desk.

"Look here, Eldrick!" he exclaimed. "What on earth has that clerk of yours, Pratt, got to do with Mrs. Mallathorpe? Do you know what Mrs. Mallathorpe has done? Hang it, she must be out of her senses,—or—or there's something I can't fathom. She's given your clerk, Linford Pratt, a power of attorney to deal with all her affairs and all her property! Oh, it's all right, I tell you! Pratt's been to my office, and exhibited it to me as if—as if he were the Lord Chancellor!"

Eldrick turned to Collingwood, and Collingwood to Eldrick—and then both turned to Robson.



CHAPTER XIII

THE FIRST TRICK

The Mallathorpe family solicitor shook his head impatiently under those questioning glances.

"It's not a bit of use appealing to me to know what it means!" he exclaimed. "I know no more than what I've told you. That chap walked into my office as bold as brass, half an hour ago, and exhibited to me a power of attorney, all duly drawn up and stamped, executed in his favour by Mrs. Mallathorpe yesterday. And as Mrs. Mallathorpe is, as far as I know, in her senses,—why—there you are!"

"What is it?" asked Eldrick. "A general power? Or a special?"

"General!" answered Robson, with an air of disgust. "Authorizes him to act for her in all business matters. It means, of course, that that fellow now has full control over—why, a tremendous amount of money! The estate, of course, is Miss Mallathorpe's—he can't interfere with that. But Mrs. Mallathorpe shares equally with her daughter as regards the personal property of Harper Mallathorpe—his share in the business, and all that he left, and what's more, Mrs. Mallathorpe is administratrix of the personal property. She's simply placed in Pratt's hands an enormous power! And—for what reason? Who on earth is Pratt—what right, title, age, or qualification, has he to be entrusted with such a big affair? I never knew of such a business in the whole course of my professional experiences!"

"Nor I!" agreed Eldrick. "But there's one thing in which you're mistaken, Robson. You ask what qualification Pratt has for a post of that sort? Pratt's a very smart, clever, managing chap!"

"Oh, of course! He's your clerk!" retorted Robson, a little sneeringly. "Naturally, you've a big idea of his abilities. But——"

"He's not our clerk any longer," said Eldrick. "He left us about a week ago. I heard this morning that he's set up an office in Market Street—in the Atlas Building—and I wondered for what purpose."

"Purpose of fleecing Mrs. Mallathorpe, I should say!" grumbled Robson. "Of course, everything of hers must pass through his hands. What on earth can her daughter have been thinking of to allow——"

"Stop a bit!" interrupted Eldrick. "Collingwood came in to tell me about that—he's just come from Normandale Grange. Miss Mallathorpe complains that Pratt called there yesterday in her absence. That's probably when this power of attorney was signed. But Miss Mallathorpe doesn't know anything of it—she insists that Pratt shall not visit her mother."

Robson stirred impatiently in his chair.

"That's all bosh!" he said. "She can't prevent it. I saw Mrs. Mallathorpe myself three days ago—she's recovering very well, and she's in her right senses, and she's capable of doing business. Her daughter can't prevent her from doing anything she likes! And if she did what she liked yesterday when she signed that document—why, everybody's powerless—except Pratt."

"There's the question of how the document was obtained," remarked Collingwood. "There may have been undue influence."

The two solicitors looked at each other. Then Eldrick rose from his chair. "I'll tell you what I'll do," he said. "It's no affair of mine, but we employed Pratt for years, and he'll confide in me. I'll go and see him, and ask him what it's all about. Wait here a while, you two."

He went out of his office and across into Market Street, where the Atlas Building, a modern range of offices and chambers, towered above the older structures at its foot. In the entrance hall a man was gilding the name of a new tenant on the address board—that name was Pratt's, and Eldrick presently found himself ascending in the lift to Pratt's quarters on the fifth floor. Within five minutes of leaving Collingwood and Robson, he was closeted with Pratt in a well-furnished and appointed little office of two rooms, the inner one of which was almost luxurious in its fittings. And Pratt himself looked extremely well satisfied, and confident—and quite at his ease. He wheeled forward an easy chair for his visitor, and pushed a box of cigarettes towards him.

"Glad to see you, Mr. Eldrick," he said, with a cordial politeness which suggested, however, somehow, that he and the solicitor were no longer master and servant. "How do you like my little place of business?"

"You're making a comfortable nest of it, anyhow, Pratt," answered Eldrick, looking round. "And—what sort of business are you going to do, pray?"

"Agency," replied Pratt, promptly. "It struck me some little time ago that a smart man,—like myself, eh?—could do well here in Barford as an agent in a new sort of fashion—attending to things for people who aren't fitted or inclined to do 'em for themselves—or are rich enough to employ somebody to look after their affairs. Of course, that Normandale stewardship dropped out when young Harper died, and I don't suppose the notion 'll be revived now that his sister's come in. But I've got one good job to go on with—-Mrs. Mallathorpe's given me her affairs to look after."

Eldrick took one of the cigarettes and lighted it—as a sign of his peaceable and amicable intentions.

"Pratt!" he said. "That's just what I've come to see you about. Unofficially, mind—in quite a friendly way. It's like this"; and he went on to tell Pratt of what had just occurred at his own office. "So—there you are," he concluded. "I'm saying nothing, you know, it's no affair of mine—but if these people begin to say that you've used any undue influence——"

"Mr. Collingwood, and Mr. Robson, and Miss Mallathorpe—and anybody," answered Pratt, slowly and firmly, "had better mind what they are saying, Mr. Eldrick. There's such a thing as slander, as you're well aware. I'm not the man to be slandered, or libelled, or to have my character defamed—without fighting for my rights. There has been no undue influence! I went to see Mrs. Mallathorpe yesterday at her own request. The arrangement between me and her is made with her approval and free will. If her daughter found her a bit upset, it's because she'd such a shock at the time of her son's death. I did nothing to frighten her, not I! The fact is, Miss Mallathorpe doesn't know that her mother and I have had a bit of business together of late. And all that Mrs. Mallathorpe has entrusted to me is the power to look after her affairs for her. And why not? You know that I'm a good man of business, a really good hand at commercial accountancy, and well acquainted with the trade of this town. You know too, Mr. Eldrick, that I'm scrupulously honest—I've had many and many a thousand pounds of yours and your partner's through my hands! Who's got anything to say against me? I'm only trying to earn an honest living."

"Well, well!" said Eldrick, who, being an easy-going and kindly-dispositioned man, was somewhat inclined to side with his old clerk. "I suppose Mr. Robson thinks that if Mrs. Mallathorpe wished to put her affairs in anybody's hands, she should have put them in his. He's their family solicitor, you know, Pratt, while you're a young man with no claim on Mrs. Mallathorpe."

Pratt smiled—a queer, knowing smile—and reached out his hand to some papers which lay on his desk.

"You're wrong there, Mr. Eldrick," he said. "But of course, you don't know. I didn't know myself, nor did Mrs. Mallathorpe, until lately. But I have a claim—and a good one—to get a business lift from Mrs. Mallathorpe. I'm a relation."

"What—of the Mallathorpe family?" exclaimed Eldrick, whose legal mind was at once bitten by notion of kinship and succession, and who knew that Harper Mallathorpe was supposed to have no male relatives at all, of any degree. "You don't mean it?"

"No!—but of hers, Mrs. Mallathorpe," answered Pratt. "My mother was her cousin. I found that out by mere chance, and when I'd found it, I worked out the facts from our parish church register. They're all here—fairly copied—Mrs. Mallathorpe has seen them. So I have some claim—even if it's only that of a poor relation."

Eldrick took the sheets of foolscap which Pratt handed to him, and looked them over with interest and curiosity. He was something of an expert in such matters, and had helped to edit a print more than once of the local parish registers. He soon saw from a hasty examination of the various entries of marriages and births that Pratt was quite right in what he said.

"I call it a poor—and a mean—game," remarked Pratt, while his old master was thus occupied, "a very mean game indeed, of well-to-do folk like Mr. Collingwood and Mr. Robson to want to injure me in a matter which is no business of theirs. I shall do my duty by Mrs. Mallathorpe—you yourself know I'm fully competent to do it—and I shall fully earn the percentage that she'll pay me. What right have these people—what right has her daughter—to come between me and my living?"

"Oh, well, well!" said Eldrick, as he handed back the papers and rose. "It's one of those matters that hasn't been understood. You made a mistake, you know, Pratt, when you went to see Mrs. Mallathorpe yesterday in her daughter's absence. You shouldn't have done that."

Pratt pulled open a drawer and, after turning over some loose papers, picked out a letter.

"Do you know Mrs. Mallathorpe's handwriting?" he asked. "Very well—there it is! Isn't that a request from her that I should call on her yesterday afternoon? Very well then!"

Eldrick looked at the letter with some surprise. He had a good memory, and he remembered that Collingwood had told him that Nesta had said that Pratt had gone to Normandale Grange, seen Esther Mawson, and told her that it was absolutely necessary for him to see Mrs. Mallathorpe. And though Eldrick was naturally unsuspicious, an idea flashed across his mind—had Pratt got Mrs. Mallathorpe to write that letter while he was there—yesterday—and brought it away with him?

"I think there's a good deal of misunderstanding," he said. "Mr. Collingwood says that you went there and told her maid that it was absolutely necessary for you to see her mistress—sort of forced yourself in, you see, Pratt."

"Nothing of the sort!" retorted Pratt. He flourished the letter in his hand. "Doesn't it say there, in Mrs. Mallathorpe's own handwriting, that she particularly desires to see me at three o'clock? It does! Then it was absolutely necessary for me to see her. Come, now! And Mr. Collingwood had best attend to his own business. What's he got to do with all this? After Miss Mallathorpe and her money, I should think!—that's about it!"

Eldrick said another soothing word or two, and went back to his own office. He was considerably mystified by certain things, but inclined to be satisfied about others, and in giving an account of what had just taken place he unconsciously seemed to take Pratt's side—much to Robson's disgust, and to Collingwood's astonishment.

"You can't get over this, you know, Robson," said Eldrick. "Pratt went there yesterday by appointment—went at Mrs. Mallathorpe's own express desire, made in her own handwriting. And it's quite certain that what he says about the relationship is true—-I examined the proof myself. It's not unnatural that Mrs. Mallathorpe should desire to do something for her own cousin's son."

"To that extent?" sneered Robson. "Bless me, you talk as if it were no more than presenting him with a twenty pound note, instead of its being what it is—giving him the practical control of many a thousand pounds every year. There'll be more heard of this—yet!"

He went away angrier than when he came, and Eldrick looked at Collingwood and shook his head.

"I don't see what more there is to do," he said. "So far as I can make out, or see, Pratt is within his rights. If Mrs. Mallathorpe liked to entrust her business to him, what is to prevent it? I see nothing at all strange in that. But there is a fact which does seem uncommonly strange to me! It's this—how is it that Mrs. Mallathorpe doesn't consult, hasn't consulted—doesn't inform, hasn't informed—her daughter about all this?"

"That," answered Collingwood, "is precisely what strikes me—and I can't give any explanation. Nor, I believe, can Miss Mallathorpe."

He felt obliged to go back to Normandale, and tell Nesta the result of the afternoon's proceedings. And having seen during his previous visit how angry she could be, he was not surprised to see her become angrier and more determined than ever.

"I will not have Mr. Pratt coming here!" she exclaimed. "He shall not see my mother—under my roof, at any rate. I don't believe she sent for him."

"Mr. Eldrick saw her letter!" interrupted Collingwood quietly.

"Then that man made her write it while he was here!" exclaimed Nesta. "As to the relationship—it may be so. I never heard of it. But I don't care what relation he is to my mother—he is not going to interfere with her affairs!"

"The strange thing," said Collingwood, as pointedly as was consistent with kindness, "is that your mother—just now, at any rate—doesn't seem to be taking you into her confidence."

Nesta looked steadily at him for a moment, without speaking. When she did speak it was with decision.

"Quite so!" she said. "She is keeping something from me! And if she won't tell me things—well, I must find them out for myself."

She would say no more than that, and Collingwood left her. And as he went back to Barford he cursed Linford Pratt soundly for a deep and underhand rogue who was most certainly playing some fine game.

But Pratt himself was quite satisfied—up to that point. He had won his first trick and he had splendid cards still left in his hand. And he was reckoning his chances on them one morning a little later when a ring at his bell summoned him to his office door—whereat stood Nesta Mallathorpe, alone.



CHAPTER XIV

CARDS ON THE TABLE

Had any third person been present, closely to observe the meeting of these two young people, he would have seen that the one to whom it was unexpected and a surprise was outwardly as calm and self-possessed as if the other had come there to keep an ordinary business appointment.

Nesta Mallathorpe, looking very dignified and almost stately in her mourning, was obviously angry, indignant, and agitated. But Pratt was as cool and as fully at his ease as if he were back in Eldrick's office, receiving the everyday ordinary client. He swept his door open and executed his politest bow—and was clever enough to pretend that he saw nothing of his visitor's agitation. Yet deep within himself he felt more tremors than one, and it needed all his powers of dissimulation to act and speak as if this were the most usual of occurrences.

"Good morning, Miss Mallathorpe!" he said. "You wish to see me? Come into my private office, if you please. I haven't fixed on a clerk yet," he went on, as he led his visitor through the outer room, and to the easy chair by his desk. "I have several applications from promising aspirants, but I have to be careful, you know, Miss Mallathorpe—it's a position of confidence. And now," he concluded, as he closed the door upon Nesta and himself, "how is Mrs. Mallathorpe today? Improving, I hope?"

Nesta made no reply to these remarks, or to the question. And instead of taking the easy chair which Eldrick had found so comfortable, she went to one which stood against the wall opposite Pratt's desk and seated herself in it in as upright a position as the wall behind her.

"I wish to speak to you—plainly!" she said, as Pratt, who now regarded her somewhat doubtfully, realizing that he was in for business of a serious nature, sat down at his desk. "I want to ask you a plain question—and I expect a plain answer. Why are you blackmailing my mother?"

Pratt shook his head—as if he felt more sorrow than anger. He glanced deprecatingly at his visitor.

"I think you'll be sorry—on reflection—that you said that, Miss Mallathorpe," he answered. "You're a little—shall we say—upset? A little—shall we say—angry? If you were calmer, you wouldn't say such things—you wouldn't use such a term as—blackmailing. It's—dear me, I dare say you don't know it!—it's actionable. If I were that sort of man, Miss Mallathorpe, and you said that of me before witnesses—ah! I don't know what mightn't happen. However—I'm not that sort of man. But—don't say it again, if you please!"

"If you don't answer my question—and at once," said Nesta, whose cheeks were pale with angry determination, "I shall say it again in a fashion you won't like—not to you, but to the police!"

Pratt smiled—a quiet, strange smile which made his visitor feel a sudden sense of fear. And again he shook his head, slowly and deprecatingly.

"Oh, no!" he said gently. "That's a bigger mistake than the other, Miss Mallathorpe! The police! Oh, not the police, I think, Miss Mallathorpe. You see—other people than you might go to the police—about something else."

Nesta's anger cooled down under that scarcely veiled threat. The sight of Pratt, of his self-assurance, his comfortable offices, his general atmosphere of almost sleek satisfaction, had roused her temper, already strained to breaking point. But that smile, and the quiet look which accompanied his last words, warned her that anger was mere foolishness, and that she was in the presence of a man who would have to be dealt with calmly if the dealings were to be successful. Yet—she repeated her words, but this time in a different tone.

"I shall certainly go to the police authorities," she said, "unless I get some proper explanation from you. I shall have no option. You are forcing—or have forced—my mother to enter into some strange arrangements with you, and I can't think it is for anything but what I say—blackmail. You've got—or you think you've got—some hold on her. Now what is it? I mean to know, one way or another!"

"Miss Mallathorpe," said Pratt. "You're taking a wrong course—with me. Now who advised you to come here and speak to me like this, as if I were a common criminal? Mr. Collingwood, no doubt? Or perhaps Mr. Robson? Now if either——"

"Neither Mr. Robson nor Mr. Collingwood know anything whatever about my coming here!" retorted Nesta. "No one knows! I am quite competent to manage my own affairs—of this sort. I want to know why my mother has been forced into that arrangement with you—for I am sure you have forced her! If you will not tell me why—then I shall do what I said."

"You'll go to the police authorities?" asked Pratt. "Ah!—but let us consider things a little, Miss Mallathorpe. Now, to start with, who says there has been any forcing? I know one person who won't say so—and that's your mother herself!"

Nesta felt unable to answer that assertion. And Pratt smiled triumphantly and went on.

"She'll tell you—Mrs. Mallathorpe'll tell you—that she's very pleased indeed to have my poor services," he said. "She knows that I shall serve her well. She's glad to do a kind service to a poor relation. And since I am your mother's relation, Miss Mallathorpe, I'm yours, too. I'm some degree of cousin to you. You might think rather better, rather more kindly, of me!"

"Are you going to tell me anything more than that?" asked Nesta steadily. Pratt shrugged his shoulders and waved his hands.

"What more can I tell?" he asked. "The fact is, there's a business arrangement between me and your mother—and you object to it. Well—I'm sorry, but I've my own interests to consider."

"Are you going to tell me what it was that induced my mother to sign that paper you got from her the other day?" asked Nesta.

"Can I say more than that it was—a business arrangement?" pleaded Pratt. "There's nothing unusual in one party in a business arrangement giving a power of attorney to another party. Nothing!"

"Very well!" said Nesta, rising from the straight-backed chair, and looking very rigid herself as she stood up. "You won't tell me anything! So—I am now going to the police. I don't know what they'll do. I don't know what they can do. But—I can tell them what I think and feel about this, at any rate. For as sure as I am that I see you, there's something wrong! And I'll know what it is."

Pratt recognized that she had passed beyond the stage of mere anger to one of calm determination. And as she marched towards the door he called her back—as the result of a second's swift thought on his part.

"Miss Mallathorpe," he said. "Oblige me by sitting down again. I'm not in the least afraid of your going to the police. But my experience is that if one goes to them on errands of this sort, it sets all sorts of things going—scandal, and suspicion, and I don't know what! You don't want any scandal. Sit down, if you please, and let us think for a moment. And I'll see if I can tell you—what you want to know."

Nesta already had a hand on the door. But after looking at him for a second or two, she turned back, and sat down in her old position. And Pratt, still seated at his desk, plunged his hands in his trousers pockets, tilted back his chair, and for five minutes stared with knitted brows at his blotting pad. A queer silence fell on the room. The windows were double-sashed; no sound came up from the busy street below. But on the mantelpiece a cheap Geneva clock ticked and ticked, and Nesta felt at last that if it went on much longer, without the accompaniment of a human voice, she should suddenly snatch it up, and hurl it—anywhere.

Pratt was in the position of the card-player, who, confronted by a certain turn in the course of a game which he himself feels sure he is bound to win, wonders whether he had better not expedite matters by laying his cards on the table, and asking his opponent if he can possibly beat their values and combination. He had carefully reckoned up his own position more than once during the progress of recent events, and the more carefully he calculated it the more he felt convinced that he had nothing to fear. He had had to alter his ground in consequence of the death of Harper Mallathorpe, and he had known that he would have to fight Nesta. But he had not anticipated that hostilities would come so soon, or begin with such evident determination on her part. How would it be, then, at this first stage to make such a demonstration in force that she would recognize his strength?

He looked up at last and saw Nesta regarding him sternly. But Pratt smiled—the quiet smile which made her uneasy.

"Miss Mallathorpe!" he said. "I was thinking of two things just then—a game at cards—and the science of warfare. In both it's a good thing sometimes to let your adversary see what a strong hand you've got. Now, then, a question, if you please—are you and I adversaries?"

"Yes!" answered Nesta unflinchingly. "You're acting like an enemy—you are an enemy!"

"I've hoped that you and I would be friends—good friends," said Pratt, with something like a sigh. "And if I may say so, I've no feeling of enmity towards you. When I speak of us being adversaries, I mean it in—well, let's say a sort of legal sense. But now I'll show you my hand—that is, as far as I please. Will you listen quietly to me?"

"I've no choice," replied Nesta bluntly. "And I came here to know what you've got to say for yourself. Say it!"

Pratt moved his chair a little nearer to his visitor.

"Now," he said, speaking very quietly and deliberately, "I'll go through what I have to say to you carefully, point by point. I shall ask you to go back a little way. It is now some time since I discovered a secret about your mother, Mrs. Mallathorpe. Ah, you start!—it may be with indignation, but I assure you I'm telling you, and am going to tell you, the absolute truth. I say—a secret! No one knows it but myself—not one living soul! Except, of course, your mother. I shall not reveal it to you—under any consideration, or in any circumstances—but I can tell you this—if that secret were revealed, your mother would be ruined for life—and you yourself would suffer in more ways than one."

Nesta looked at him incredulously—and yet she began to feel he was telling some truth. And Pratt shook his head at the incredulous expression.

"It's quite so!" he said. "You'll begin to believe it—-from other things. Now, it was in connection with this that I paid a visit to Normandale Grange one evening some months ago. Perhaps you never heard of that? I was alone with your mother for some time in the study."

"I have heard of it," she answered.

"Very good," said Pratt. "But you haven't heard that your mother came to see me at my rooms here in Barford—my lodgings—the very next night! On the same business, of course. But she did—I know how she came, too. Secretly—heavily veiled—naturally, she didn't want anybody to know. Are you beginning to see something in it, Miss Mallathorpe?"

"Go on with your—story," answered Nesta.

"I go on, then, to the day before your brother's death," continued Pratt. "Namely, a certain Friday. Now, if you please, I'll invite you to listen carefully to certain facts—which are indisputable, which I can prove, easily. On that Friday, the day before your brother's death, Mrs. Mallathorpe was in the shrubbery at Normandale Grange which is near the north end of the old foot-bridge. She was approached by Hoskins, an old woodman, who has been on the estate a great many years—you know him well enough. Hoskins told Mrs. Mallathorpe that the foot-bridge between the north and south shrubberies, spanning the cut which was made there a long time since so that a nearer road could be made to the stables, was in an extremely dangerous condition—so dangerous, in fact, that in his opinion, it would collapse under even a moderate weight. I impress this fact upon you strongly."

"Well?" said Nesta.

"Hoskins," Pratt went on, "urged upon Mrs. Mallathorpe the necessity of having the bridge closed at once, or barricaded. He pointed out to her from where they stood certain places in the bridge, and in the railing on one side of it, which already sagged in such a fashion, that he, as a man of experience, knew that planks and railings were literally rotten with damp. Now what did Mrs. Mallathorpe do? She said nothing to Hoskins, except that she'd have the thing seen to. But she immediately went to the estate carpenter's shop, and there she procured two short lengths of chain, and two padlocks, and she herself went back to the foot-bridge and secured its wicket gates at both ends. I beg you will bear that in mind, too, Miss Mallathorpe."

"I am bearing everything in mind," said Nesta resolutely. "Don't be afraid that I shall forget one word that you say."

"I hear that sneer in your voice," answered Pratt, as he turned, unlocked a drawer, and drew out some papers. "But I think you will soon learn that the sneer at what I'm telling you is foolish. Mrs. Mallathorpe had a set purpose in locking up those gates—as you will see presently. You will see it from what I am now going to tell you. Oblige me, if you please, by looking at that letter. Do you recognize your mother's handwriting?"

"Yes!" admitted Nesta, with a sudden feeling of apprehension. "That is her writing."

"Very good," said Pratt. "Then before I read it to you, I'll just tell you what this letter is. It formed, when it was written, an invitation from Mrs. Mallathorpe to me—an invitation to walk, innocently, into what she knew—knew, mind you!—to be a death-trap! She meant me to fall through the bridge!"



CHAPTER XV

PRATT OFFERS A HAND

For a full moment of tense silence Nesta and Pratt looked at each other across the letter which he held in his outstretched hand—looked steadily and with a certain amount of stern inquiry. And it was Nesta's eyes which first gave way—beaten by the certainty in Pratt's. She looked aside; her cheeks flamed; she felt as if something were rising in her throat—to choke her.

"I can't believe that!" she muttered. "You're—mistaken! Oh—utterly mistaken!"

"No mistake!" said Pratt confidently. "I tell you your mother meant me—me!—to meet my death at that bridge. Here's the proof in this letter! I'll tell you, first, when I received it: then I'll read you what's in it, and if you doubt my reading of it, you shall read it yourself—but it won't go out of my hands! And first as to my getting it, for that's important. It reached me, by registered post, mind you, on the Saturday morning on which your brother met his death. It was handed in at Normandale village post-office for registration late on the Friday afternoon. And—by whom do you think?"

"I—don't know!" replied Nesta faintly. This merciless piling up of details was beginning to frighten her—already she felt as if she herself were some criminal, forced to listen from the dock to the opening address of a prosecuting counsel. "How should I know?—how can I think?"

"It was handed in for registration by your mother's maid, Esther Mawson," said Pratt with a dark look. "I've got her evidence, anyway! And that was all part of a plan—just as a certain something that was enclosed was a part of the same plan—a plot. And now I'll read you the letter—and you'll bear it in mind that I got it by first post that Saturday morning. This is what it—what your mother—says:—

"I particularly wish to see you again, at once, about the matter between us and to have another look at that document. Can you come here, bringing it with you, tomorrow, Saturday afternoon, by the train which leaves soon after two o'clock? As I am most anxious that your visit should be private and unknown to any one here, do not come to the house. Take the path across the park to the shrubberies near the house, so that if you are met people would think you were taking a near cut to the village. I will meet you in the shrubbery on the house side of the little foot-bridge. The gates—'"

Pratt suddenly paused, and before proceeding looked hard at his visitor.

"Now listen to what follows—and bear in mind what your mother knew, and had done, at the time she wrote this letter. This is how the letter goes on—-let every word fix itself in your mind, Miss Mallathorpe!"

"'The gates of the foot-bridge are locked, but the enclosed keys will open them. I will meet you amongst the trees on the further side. Be sure to come and to bring that document—I have something to say about it on seeing it again.'"

Pratt turned to the drawer from which he had taken the letter and took out two small keys, evidently belonging to patent padlocks. He held them up before Nesta.

"There they are!" he said triumphantly. "Been in my possession ever since—and will remain there. Now—do you wish to read the letter? I've read it to you word for word. You don't? Very good—back it goes in there, with these keys. And now then," he continued, having replaced letter and keys in his drawer, and turned to her again, "now then, you see what a diabolical scheme it was that was in your mother's mind against me. She meant me to meet with the fate which overtook her own son! She meant me to fall through that bridge. Why? She hoped that I should break my neck—as he did! She wanted to silence me—but she also wanted more—she wanted to take from my dead body, or my unconscious body, the certain something which she was so anxious I should bring with me, which she referred to as that document. She was willing to risk anything—even to murder!—to get hold of that. And now you know why I went to Normandale Grange that Saturday—you know, now, the real reason. I told a deliberate lie at the inquest, for your mother's sake—for your sake, if you know it. I did not go there to hand in my application for the stewardship—I went in response to the letter I've just read. Is all this clear to you?"

Nesta could only move her head in silent acquiescence. She was already convinced, that whether all this was entirely true or not, there was truth of some degree in what Pratt had told her. And she was thinking of her mother—and of the trap which she certainly appeared to have laid—and of her brother's fate—and for the moment she felt sick and beaten. But Pratt went on in that cold, calculating voice, telling his story point by point.

"Now I come to what happened that Saturday afternoon," he said. "I may as well tell you that in my own interest I have carefully collected certain evidence which never came out at the inquest—which, indeed, has nothing to do with the exact matter of the inquest. Now, that Saturday, your mother and you had lunch together—your brother, as we shall see in a moment, being away—at your lunch time—a quarter to two. About twenty minutes past two your mother left the house. She went out into the gardens. She left the gardens for the shrubberies. And at twenty-five minutes to three, she was seen by one of your gardeners, Featherstone, in what was, of course, hiding, amongst the trees at the end of the north shrubbery. What was she doing there, Miss Mallathorpe? She was waiting!—waiting until a certain hoped-for accident happened—to me. Then she would come out of her hiding-place in the hope of getting that document from my pocket! Do you see how cleverly she'd laid her plans—murderous plans?"

Nesta was making a great effort to be calm. She knew now that she was face to face with some awful mystery which could only be solved by patience and strenuous endeavour. She knew, too, that she must show no sign of fear before this man!

"Will you finish your story, if you please?" she asked.

"In my own way—in my own time," answered Pratt. "I now come to—your mother. On the Friday noon, the late Mr. Harper Mallathorpe went to Barford to visit a friend—young Stemthwaite, at the Hollies. He was to stay the night there, and was not expected home until Saturday evening. He did stay the night, and remained in Barford until noon on Saturday; but he—unexpectedly—returned to the house at half past two. And almost as soon as he'd got in, he picked up a gun and strolled out—into the gardens and the north shrubbery. And, as you know, he went to the foot-bridge. You see, Miss Mallathorpe, your mother, clever as she was, had forgotten one detail—the gates of that footbridge were merely low, four-barred things, and there was nothing to prevent an active young man from climbing them. She forgot another thing, too—that warning had not been given at the house that the bridge was dangerous. And, of course, she'd never, never calculated that your brother would return sooner than he was expected, or that, on his return, he'd go where he did. And so—but I'll spare you any reference to what happened. Only—you know now how it was that Mrs. Mallathorpe was found by her son's body. She'd been waiting about—for me! But—the fate she'd meant for me was dealt out to—him!"

In spite of herself Nesta gave way to a slight cry.

"I can't bear any more of that!" she said. "Have you finished?"

"There's not much more to say—now at any rate," replied Pratt. "And what I have to say shall be to the point. I'm sorry enough to have been obliged to say all that I have said. But, you know, you forced me to it! You threatened me. The real truth, Miss Mallathorpe, is just this—you don't understand me at all. You come here—excuse my plain speech—hectoring and bullying me with talk about the police, and blackmail, and I don't know what! It's I who ought to go to the police! I could have your mother arrested, and put in the dock, on a charge of attempted murder, this very day! I've got all the proofs."

"I suppose you held that out as a threat to her when you forced her to sign that power of attorney?" observed Nesta.

For the first time since her arrival Pratt looked at his visitor in an unfriendly fashion. His expression changed and his face flushed a little.

"You think that, do you?" he said. "Well, you're wrong. I'm not a fool. I held out no such threat. I didn't even tell your mother what I'd found out. I wasn't going to show her my hand all at once—though I've shown you a good deal of it."

"Not all?" she asked quickly.

"Not all," answered Pratt with a meaning glance. "To use more metaphors—I've several cards up my sleeve, Miss Mallathorpe. But you're utterly wrong about the threats. I'll tell you—I don't mind that—how I got the authority you're speaking about. Your mother had promised me that stewardship—for life. I'd have been a good steward. But we recognized that your brother's death had altered things—that you, being, as she said, a self-willed young woman—you see how plain I am—would insist on looking after your own affairs. So she gave me—another post. I'll discharge its duties honestly."

"Yes," said Nesta, "but you've already told me that you'd a hold on my mother before any of these recent events happened, and that you possess some document which she was anxious to get into her hands. So it comes to this—you've a double hold on her, according to your story."

"Just so," agreed Pratt. "You're right, I have—a double hold."

Nesta looked at him silently for a while: Pratt looked at her.

"Very well," she said at last. "How much do you want—to be bought out?"

Pratt laughed.

"I thought that would be the end of it!" he remarked. "Yes—I thought so!"

"Name your price!" said Nesta.

"Miss Mallathorpe!" answered Pratt, bending forward and speaking with a new earnestness. "Just listen to me. It's no good. I'm not to be bought out. Your mother tried that game with me before. She offered me first five, then ten thousand pounds—cash down—for that document, when she came to see me at my rooms. I dare say she'd have gone to twenty thousand—and found the money there and then. But I said no then—and I say no to you! I'm not to be purchased in that way. I've my own ideas, my own plans, my own ambitions, my own—hopes. It's not any use at all for you to dangle your money before me. But—I'll suggest something else—that you can do."

Nesta made no answer. She continued to look steadily at the man who evidently had her mother in his power, and Pratt, who was watching her intently, went on speaking quietly but with some intensity of tone.

"You can do this," he said. "To start with—and it'll go a long way—just try and think better of me. I told you, you don't understand me. Try to! I'm not a bad lot. I've great abilities. I'm a hard worker. Eldrick & Pascoe could tell you that I'm scrupulously honest in money matters. You'll see that I'll look after your mother's affairs in a fashion that'll commend itself to any firm of auditors and accountants who may look into my accounts every year. I'm only taking the salary from her that I was to have had for the stewardship. So—why not leave it at that? Let things be! Perhaps—in time you'll come to see that—I'm to be trusted."

"How can I trust a man who deliberately tells me that he holds a secret and a document over a woman's head?" demanded Nesta. "You've admitted a previous hold on my mother. You say you're in possession of a secret that would ruin her—quite apart from recent events. Is that honest?"

"It was none of my seeking," retorted Pratt. "I gained the knowledge by accident."

"You're giving yourself away," said Nesta. "Or you've some mental twist or defect which prevents you from seeing things straight. It's not how you got your knowledge, but the use you're making of it that's the important thing! You're using it to force my mother to——"

"Excuse me!" interrupted Pratt with a queer smile. "It's you who don't see things straight. I'm using my knowledge to protect—all of you. Let your mind go back to what was said at first—to what I said at first. I said that I'd discovered a secret which, if revealed, would ruin your mother and injure—you! So it would—more than ever, now. So, you see, in keeping it, I'm taking care, not only of her interests, but of—yours!"

Nesta rose. She realized that there was no more to be said—or done. And Pratt rose, too, and looked at her almost appealingly.

"I wish you'd try to see things as I've put them, Miss Mallathorpe," he said. "I don't bear malice against your mother for that scheme she contrived—I'm willing to put it clear out of my head. Why not accept things as they are? I'll keep that secret for ever—no one shall ever know about it. Why not be friends, now—why not shake hands?"

He held out his hand as he spoke. But Nesta drew back.

"No!" she said. "My opinion is just what it was when I came here."

Before Pratt could move she had turned swiftly to the door and let herself out, and in another minute she was amongst the crowds in the street below. For a few minutes she walked in the direction of Robson's offices, but when she had nearly reached them, she turned, and went deliberately to those of Eldrick & Pascoe.



CHAPTER XVI

A HEADQUARTERS CONFERENCE

By the time she had been admitted to Eldrick's private room, Nesta had regained her composure; she had also had time to think, and her present action was the result of at any rate a part of her thoughts. She was calm and collected enough when she took the chair which the solicitor drew forward.

"I called on you for two reasons, Mr. Eldrick," she said. "First, to thank you for your kindness and thoughtfulness at the time of my brother's death, in sending your clerk to help in making the arrangements."

"Very glad he was of any assistance, Miss Mallathorpe," answered Eldrick. "I thought, of course, that as he had been on the spot, as it were, when the accident happened, he could do a few little things——"

"He was very useful in that way," said Nesta. "And I was very much obliged to him. But the second reason for my call is—I want to speak to you about him."

"Yes?" responded Eldrick. He had already formed some idea as to what was in his visitor's mind, and he was secretly glad of the opportunity of talking to her. "About Pratt, eh? What about him, Miss Mallathorpe?"

"He was with you for some years, I believe?" she asked.

"A good many years," answered Eldrick. "He came to us as office-boy, and was head-clerk when he left us."

"Then you ought to know him—well," she suggested.

"As to that," replied Eldrick, "there are some people in this world whom other people never could know well—that's to say, really well. I know Pratt well enough for what he was—our clerk. Privately, I know little about him. He's clever—he's ability—he's a chap who reads a good deal—he's got ambitions. And I should say he is a bit—subtle."

"Deceitful?" she asked.

"I couldn't say that," replied Eldrick. "It wouldn't be true if I said so. I think he's possibilities of strategy in him. But so far as we're concerned, we found him hardworking, energetic, truthful, dependable and honest, and absolutely to be trusted in money matters. He's had many and many a thousand pounds of ours through his hands."

"I believe you're unaware that my mother, for some reason or other, unknown to me, has put him in charge of her affairs?" asked Nesta.

"Yes—Mr. Collingwood told me so," answered Eldrick. "So, too, did your own solicitor, Mr. Robson—who's very angry about it."

"And you?" she said, putting a direct question. "What do you think? Do please, tell me!"

"It's difficult to say, Miss Mallathorpe," replied Eldrick, with a smile and a shake of the head. "If your mother—who, of course, is quite competent to decide for herself—wishes to have somebody to look after her affairs, I don't see what objection can be taken to her procedure. And if she chooses to put Linford Pratt in that position—why not? As I tell you, I, as his last—and only—employer, am quite convinced of his abilities and probity. I suppose that as your mother's agent, he'll supervise her property, collect money due to her, advise her in investments, and so on. Well, I should say—personally, mind—he's quite competent to do all that, and that he'll do it honestly, I should certainly say so."

"But—why should he do it at all?" asked Nesta.

Eldrick waved his hands.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "Now you ask me a very different question! But—I understand—in fact, I know—that Pratt turns out to be a relation of yours—distant, but it's there. Perhaps your mother—who, of course, is much better off since your brother's sad death—is desirous of benefiting Pratt—as a relation."

"Do you advise anything?" asked Nesta.

"Well, you know, Miss Mallathorpe," replied Eldrick, smiling. "I'm not your legal adviser. What about Mr. Robson?"

"Mr. Robson is so very angry about all this—with my mother," said Nesta, "that I don't even want to ask his advice. What I really do want is the advice, counsel, of somebody—perhaps more as a friend than as a solicitor."

"Delighted to give you any help I can—either professionally or as a friend," exclaimed Eldrick. "But—let me suggest something. And first of all—is there anything—something—in all this that you haven't told to anybody yet?"

"Yes—much!" she answered. "A great deal!"

"Then," said Eldrick, "let me advise a certain counsel. Two heads are better than one. Let me ask Mr. Collingwood to come here."

He was watching his visitor narrowly as he said this, and he saw a faint rise of colour in her cheeks. But for the moment she did not answer, and Eldrick saw that she was thinking.

"I can get him across from his chambers in a few minutes," he said. "He's sure to be in just now."

"Can I have a few minutes to decide?" asked Nesta.

Eldrick jumped up.

"Of course!" he said. "I'll leave you a while. It so happens I want to see my partner, I'll go up to his room, and return to you presently."

Nesta, left alone, gave herself up to deep thought, and to a careful reckoning of her position. She was longing to confide in some trustworthy person or persons, for Pratt's revelations had plunged her into a maze of perplexity. But her difficulties were many. First of all, she would have to tell all about the terrible charge brought by Pratt against her mother. Then about the second which he professed to—or probably did—hold. What sort of a secret could it be? And supposing her advisers suggested strong measures against Pratt—what then, about the danger to her mother, in a twofold direction?

Would it be better, wiser, if she kept all this to herself at present, and waited for events to develop? But at the mere thought of that, she shrank, feeling mentally and physically afraid—to keep all that knowledge to herself, to brood over it in secret, to wonder what it all meant, what lay beneath, what might develop, that was more than she felt able to bear. And when Eldrick came back she looked at him and nodded.

"I should like to talk to you and Mr. Collingwood," she said quietly.

Collingwood came across to Eldrick's office at once. And to these two Nesta unbosomed herself of every detail that she could remember of her interview with Pratt—and as she went on, from one thing to another, she saw the men's faces grow graver and graver, and realized that this was a more anxious matter than she had thought.

"That's all," she said in the end. "I don't think I've forgotten anything. And even now, I don't know if I've done right to tell you all this. But—I don't think I could have faced it—alone!"

"My dear Miss Mallathorpe!" said Eldrick earnestly. "You've done the wisest thing you probably ever did in your life! Now," he went on, looking at Collingwood, "just let us all three realize what is to me a more important fact. Nobody would be more astonished than Pratt to know that you have taken the wise step you have. You agree, Collingwood?"

"Yes!" answered Collingwood, after a moment's reflection. "I think so."

"Miss Mallathorpe doesn't quite see what we mean," said Eldrick, turning to Nesta. "We mean that Pratt firmly believed, when he told you what he did, that for your mother's sake and your own, you would keep his communication a dead secret. He firmly believed that you would never dare to tell anybody what he told you. Most people—in your position—wouldn't have told. They'd have let the secret eat their lives out. You're a wise and a sensible young woman! And the thing is—we must let Pratt remain under the impression that you are keeping your knowledge to yourself. Let him continue to believe that you'll remain silent under fear. And let us meet his secret policy with a secret strategy of our own!"

Again he glanced at Collingwood, and again Collingwood nodded assent.

"Now," continued Eldrick, "just let us consider matters for a few minutes from the position which has newly arisen. To begin with. Pratt's account of your mother's dealings about the foot-bridge is a very clever and plausible one. I can see quite well that it has caused you great pain; so before I go any further, just let me say this to you—don't you attach one word of importance to it!"

Nesta uttered a heartfelt cry of relief.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "If you knew how thankful I should be to know that it's all lies—that he was lying! Can I really think that—after what I saw?"

"I won't ask you to think that he's telling lies—just now," answered Eldrick, with a glance at Collingwood, "but I'll ask you to believe that your mother could put a totally different aspect and complexion on all her actions and words in connection with the entire affair. My impression, of course," he went on, with something very like a wink at Collingwood, "is that Mrs. Mallathorpe, when she wrote that letter to Pratt, intended to have the bridge mended first thing next morning, and that something prevented that being done, and that when she was seen about the shrubberies in the afternoon, she was on her way to meet Pratt before he could reach the dangerous point, so that she could warn him. What do you say, Collingwood?"

"I should say," answered Collingwood, regarding the solicitor earnestly, and speaking with great gravity of manner, "that that would make an admirable line of defence to any charge which Pratt was wicked enough to prefer."

"You don't think my mother meant—meant to——" exclaimed Nesta, eagerly turning from one man to the other. "You—don't?"

"There is no evidence worth twopence against your mother!" replied Eldrick soothingly. "Put everything that Pratt has said against her clear out of your mind. Put all recent events out of your mind! Don't interfere with Pratt—just now. The thing to be done about Pratt is this—and it's the only thing. We must find out—exactly, as secretly as possible—what this secret is of which he speaks. What is this hold on Mrs. Mallathorpe? What is this document to which he refers? In other words, we must work back to some point which at present we can't see. At least, I can't see it. But—we may discover it. What do you say, Collingwood?"

"I agree entirely," answered Collingwood. "Let Pratt rest in his fancied security. The thing is, certainly, to go back. But—to what point?"

"That we must consider later," said Eldrick. "Now—for the present, Miss Mallathorpe,—you are, I suppose, going back home?"

"Yes, at once," answered Nesta. "I have my car at the Crown Hotel."

"I should just like to know something," continued Eldrick again, looking at Collingwood as if for approval. "That is—Mrs. Mallathorpe's present disposition towards affairs in general and Pratt in particular. Miss Mallathorpe!—just do something which I will now suggest to you. When you reach home, see your mother—she is still, I understand, an invalid, though evidently able to transact business. Just approach her gently and kindly, and tell her that you are a little—should we say uncomfortable?—about certain business arrangements which you hear she has made with Mr. Pratt, and ask her, if she won't talk them over with you, and give you her full confidence. It's now half-past twelve," continued Eldrick, looking at his watch. "You'll be home before lunch. See your mother early in the afternoon, and then telephone, briefly, the result to me, here, at four o'clock. Then—Mr. Collingwood and I will have a consultation."

He motioned Collingwood to remain where he was, and himself saw Nesta down to the street. When he came back to his room he shook his head at the young barrister.

"Collingwood!" he said. "There's some dreadful business afloat in all this! And it's all the worse because of the fashion in which Pratt talked to that girl. She's evidently a very good memory—she narrated that conversation clearly and fully. Pratt must be very sure of his hand if he showed her his cards in that way—his very confidence in himself shows what a subtle network he's either made or is making. I question if he'd very much care if he knew that we know. But he mustn't know that—yet. We must reply to his mine with a counter-mine!"

"What do you think of Pratt's charge against Mrs. Mallathorpe?" asked Collingwood.

Eldrick made a wry face.

"Looks bad!—very, very bad, Collingwood!" he answered. "Art and scheme of a desperate woman, of course. But—we mustn't let her daughter think we believe it. Let her stick to the suggestion I made—which, as you remarked, would certainly make a very good line of defence, supposing Pratt even did accuse her. But now—what on earth is this document that's been mentioned—this paper of which Pratt has possession? Has Mrs. Mallathorpe at some time committed forgery—or bigamy—or—what is it? One thing's sure, however—we've got to work quietly. We mustn't let Pratt know that we're working. I hope he doesn't know that Miss Mallathorpe came here. Will you come back about four and hear what message she sends me? After that, we could consult."

Collingwood went away to his chambers. He was much occupied just then, and had little time to think of anything but the work in hand. But as he ate his lunch at the club which he had joined on settling in Barford, he tried to get at some notion of the state of things, and once more his mind reverted to the time of his grandfather's death, and his own suspicions about Pratt at that period. Clearly that was a point to which they must hark back—he himself must make more inquiries about the circumstances of Antony Bartle's last hours. For this affair would not have to rest where it was—it was intolerable that Nesta Mallathorpe should in any way be under Pratt's power. He went back to Eldrick at four o'clock with a suggestion or two in his mind. And at the sight of him Eldrick shook his head.

"I've had that telephone message from Normandale," he said, "five minutes ago. Pretty much what I expected—at this juncture, anyway. Mrs. Mallathorpe absolutely declines to talk business with even her daughter at present—and earnestly desires that Mr. Linford Pratt may be left alone."

"Well?" asked Collingwood after a pause. "What now?"

"We must do what we can—secretly, privately, for the daughter's sake," said Eldrick. "I confess I don't quite see a beginning, but——"

Just then the private door opened, and Pascoe, a somewhat lackadaisical-mannered man, who always looked half-asleep, and was in reality remarkably wide-awake, lounged in, nodded to Collingwood, and threw a newspaper in front of his partner.

"I say, Eldrick," he drawled, as he removed a newly-lighted cigar from his lips. "There's an advertisement here which seems to refer to that precious protege of yours, who left you with such scant ceremony. Same name, anyhow!"

Eldrick snatched up the paper, glanced at it and read a few words aloud.

"INFORMATION WANTED about James Parrawhite, at one time in practice as a solicitor."



CHAPTER XVII

ADVERTISEMENT

Eldrick looked up at his partner with a sharp, confirmatory glance.

"That's our Parrawhite, of course!" he said. "Who's after him, now?" And he went on to read the rest of the advertisement, murmuring its phraseology half-aloud: "'in practice as a solicitor at Nottingham and who left that town six years ago. If the said James Parrawhite will communicate with the undersigned he will hear something greatly to his advantage. Any person able to give information as to his whereabouts will be suitably rewarded. Apply to Halstead & Byner, 56B, St. Martin's Chambers, London, W.C.' Um!—Pascoe, hand over that Law List."

Collingwood looked on in silence while Eldrick turned over the pages of the big book which his partner took down from a shelf. He wondered at Eldrick's apparent and almost eager interest.

"Halstead & Byner are not solicitors," announced Eldrick presently. "They must be inquiry agents or something of that sort. Anyway, I'll write to them, Pascoe, at once."

"You don't know where the fellow is," said Pascoe. "What's the good?"

"No—but we know where he last was," retorted Eldrick. He turned to Collingwood as the junior partner sauntered out of the room. "Rather odd that Pascoe should draw my attention to that just now," he remarked. "This man Parrawhite was, in a certain sense, mixed up with Pratt—at least, Pratt and I are the only two people who know the secret of Parrawhite's disappearance from these offices. That was just about the time of your grandfather's death."

Collingwood immediately became attentive. His first suspicions of Pratt were formed at the time of which Eldrick spoke, and any reference to events contemporary excited his interest.

"Who was or is—this man you're talking of?" he asked.

"Bad lot—very!" answered Eldrick, shaking his head. "He and I were articled together, at the same time, to the same people: we saw a lot of each other as fellow articled clerks. He afterwards practised in Nottingham, and he held some good appointments. But he'd a perfect mania for gambling—the turf—and he went utterly wrong, and misappropriated clients' money, and in the end he got into prison, and was, of course, struck off the rolls. I never heard anything of him for years, and then one day, some time ago, he turned up here and begged me to give him a job. I did—and I'll do him the credit to say that he earned his money. But—in the end, his natural badness broke out. One afternoon—I'm careless about some things—I left some money lying in this drawer—about forty pounds in notes and gold—and next morning Parrawhite never came to business. We've never seen or heard of him since."

"You mentioned Pratt," said Collingwood.

"Only Pratt and I know—about the money," replied Eldrick. "We kept it secret—I didn't want Pascoe to know I'd been so careless. Pascoe didn't like Parrawhite—and he doesn't know his record. I only told him that Parrawhite was a chap I'd known in better circumstances and wanted to give a hand to."

"You said it was about the time of my grandfather's death?" asked Collingwood.

"It was just about then—between his death and his funeral I should say," answered Eldrick, "The two events are associated in my mind. Anyway, I'd like to know what it is that these people want Parrawhite for. If it's money that's come to him, it'll be of no advantage—it'll only go where all the rest's gone."

Collingwood lost interest in Parrawhite. Parrawhite appeared to have nothing to do with the affairs in which he was interested. He sat down and began to tell Eldrick about his own suspicions of Pratt at the time of Antony Bartle's death; of what Jabey Naylor had told him about the paper taken from the History of Barford; of the lad's account of the old man's doings immediately afterwards; and of his own proceedings which had led him to believe for the time being that his suspicions were groundless.

"But now," he went on, "a new idea occurs to me. Suppose that that paper, found by my grandfather in a book which had certainly belonged to the late John Mallathorpe, was something important relating to Mrs. Mallathorpe? Suppose that my grandfather brought it across here to you? Suppose that finding you out, he showed it to Pratt? As my grandfather died suddenly, with nobody but Pratt there, what was there to prevent Pratt from appropriating that paper if he saw that it would give him a hold over Mrs. Mallathorpe? We know now that he has some document in his possession which does give him a hold—may it not be that of which the boy Naylor told me?"

"Might be," agreed Eldrick. "But—my opinion is, taking things all together, that the paper which Antony Bartle found was the one you yourself discovered later—the list of books. No—I'll tell you what I think. I believe that the document which Pratt told Miss Mallathorpe he holds, and to which her mother referred in the letter asking Pratt to meet her, is probably—most probably!—one which he discovered in searching out his relationship to Mrs. Mallathorpe. He's a cute chap—and he may have found some document which—well, I'll tell you what it might be—something which would upset the rights of Harper Mallathorpe to his uncle's estates. No other relatives came forward, or were heard of, or were discoverable when John Mallathorpe was killed in that chimney accident; but there may be some—there may be one in particular. That's my notion!—and I intend, in the first place, to make a personal search of the parish registers from which Pratt got his information. He may have discovered something there which he's keeping to himself."

"You think that is the course to adopt?" asked Collingwood, after a moment's reflection.

"At present—yes," replied Eldrick. "And while I'm making it—I'll do it myself—we'll just go on outwardly—as if nothing had happened. If I meet Pratt—as I shall—I shall not let him see that I know anything. Do you go on in just the usual way. Go out to Normandale Grange now and then—and tell Miss Mallathorpe to think no more of her interview with Pratt until we've something to talk to her about. You talk to her about—something else."

When Collingwood had left him Eldrick laid a telegram form on his plotting pad, and after a brief interval of thought wrote out a message addressed to the people whose advertisement had attracted Pascoe's attention.

"HALSTEAD & BYNER, 56B, St. Martin's Chambers, London, W.C.

"I can give you definite information concerning James Parrawhite if you will send representative to see me personally.

"CHARLES ELDRICK, Eldrick & Pascoe, Solicitors, Barford."

After Eldrick had sent off a clerk with this message to the nearest telegraph office, he sat thinking for some time. And at the close of his meditations, and after some turning over of a diary which lay on his desk, he picked up pen and paper, and drafted an advertisement of his own.

"TEN POUNDS REWARD will be paid to any person who can give reliable and useful information as to James Parrawhite, who until November last was a clerk in the employ of Messrs. Eldrick & Pascoe, Solicitors, Barford, and who is believed to have left the town on the evening of November 23.—Apply to Mr. CHARLES ELDRICK, of the above firm."

"Worth risking ten pounds on—anyway," muttered Eldrick. "Whether these London people will cover it or not. Here!" he went on, turning to a clerk who had just entered the room. "Make three copies of this advertisement, and take one to each of the three newspaper offices, and tell 'em to put it in their personal column tonight."

He sat musing for some time after he was left alone again, and when he at last rose, it was with a shake of the head.

"I wonder if Pratt told me the truth that morning?" he said to himself. "Anyway, he's now being proved to be even deeper than I'd ever considered him. Well—other folk than Pratt are possessed of pretty good wits."

Before he left the office that evening Eldrick was handed a telegram from Messrs. Halstead & Byner, of St. Martin's Chambers, informing him that their Mr. Byner would travel to Barford by the first express next morning, and would call upon him at eleven o'clock.

"Then they have some important news for Parrawhite," mused Eldrick, as he put the message in his pocket and went off to his club. "Inquiry agents don't set off on long journeys at a moment's notice for a matter of a trifling agency. But—where is Parrawhite?"

He awaited the arrival of Mr. Byner next morning with considerable curiosity. And soon after eleven there was shown in to him, a smart, well-dressed, alert-looking young man, who, having introduced himself as Mr. Gerald Byner, immediately plunged into business.

"You can tell me something of James Parrawhite, Mr. Eldrick?" he began. "We shall be glad—we've been endeavouring to trace him for some months. It's odd that you didn't see our advertisement before."

"I don't look at that sort of advertisement," replied Eldrick. "I believe it was by mere accident that my partner saw yours yesterday afternoon. But now, a question or two first. What are you—inquiry agents?"

"Just so, sir—inquiry agents—with a touch of private detective business," answered Mr. Gerald Byner with a smile. "We undertake to find people, to watch people, to recover lost property, and so on. In this case we're acting for Messrs. Vickers, Marshall & Hebbleton, Solicitors, of Cannon Street. They want James Parrawhite badly."

"Why?" asked Eldrick.

"Because," replied Byner with a dry laugh, "there's about twenty thousand pounds waiting for him, in their hands."

Eldrick whistled with astonishment.

"Whew!" he said. "Twenty thousand—for Parrawhite! My good sir—if that's so, and if, as you say, you've been advertising——"

"Advertising in several papers," interrupted Byner. "Dailies, weeklies, provincials. Never had one reply, till your wire."

"Then—Parrawhite must be dead!" said Eldrick. "Or—in gaol, under another name. Twenty thousand pounds—waiting for Parrawhite! If Parrawhite was alive, man, or at liberty, he wouldn't let twenty thousand pence wait five minutes! I know him!"

"What can you tell me, Mr. Eldrick?" asked the inquiry agent.

Eldrick told all he knew—concealing nothing. And Byner listened silently and eagerly.

"There's something strikes me at once," he said. "You say that with him disappeared three or four ten-pound notes of yours. Have you the numbers of those notes?"

"I can't say," replied Eldrick, doubtfully. "I haven't, certainly. But—they were paid in to our head-clerk, Pratt, and I think he used to enter such things in a sort of day-ledger. I'll get it."

He went into the clerks' office and presently returned with an oblong, marble-backed book which he began to turn over.

"This may be what you ask about," he said at last. "Here, under date November 23, are some letters and figures which obviously refer to bank-notes. You can copy them if you like."

"Another question, Mr. Eldrick," remarked Byner as he made a note of the entries. "You say some cheque forms were abstracted from a book of yours at the same time. Have you ever heard of any of these cheque forms being made use of?"

"Never!" replied Eldrick.

"No forgery of your name or anything?" suggested the caller.

"No," said Eldrick. "There's been nothing of that sort."

"I can soon ascertain if these bank-notes have reached the Bank of England," said Byner. "That's a simple matter. Now suppose they haven't!"

"Well?" asked Eldrick.

"You know, of course," continued Byner, "that it doesn't take long for a Bank of England note, once issued, to get back to the Bank? You know, too, that it's never issued again. Now if those notes haven't been presented at the Bank—where are they? And if no use has been made of your stolen cheques—where are they?"

"Good!" agreed Eldrick. "I see that you ought to do well in your special line of business. Now—are you going to pursue inquiries for Parrawhite here in Barford, after what I've told you?"

"Certainly!" said Byner. "I came down prepared to stop awhile. It's highly important that this man should be found—highly important," he added smiling, "to other people than Parrawhite himself."

"In what way?" asked Eldrick.

"Why," replied Byner, "if he's dead—as he may be—this money goes to somebody else—a relative. The relative would be very glad to hear he is dead! But—definite news will be welcome, in any case. Oh, yes, now that I've got down here, I shall do my best to trace him. You have the address of the woman he lodged with, you say. I shall go there first, of course. Then I must try to find out what he did with himself in his spare time. But, from all you tell me, it's my impression he's dead—unless, as you say, he's got into prison again—possibly under another name. It seems impossible that he should not have seen our advertisements."

"You never advertised in any Yorkshire newspapers?" asked Eldrick.

"No," said Byner. "Because we'd no knowledge of his having come so far North. We advertised in the Midland papers. But then, all the London papers, daily and weekly, that we used come down to Yorkshire."

"Parrawhite," said Eldrick reflectively, "was a big newspaper reader. He used to go to the Free Library reading-room a great deal. I begin to think he must certainly be dead—or locked up. However, in supplement of your endeavours, I did a little work of my own last night. There you are!" he went on, picking up the local papers and handing them over. "I put that in—we'll see if any response comes. But now a word, Mr. Byner, since you've come to me. You have heard me mention my late clerk—Pratt?"

"Yes," answered Byner.

"Pratt has left us, and is in business as a sort of estate agent in the next street," continued Eldrick. "Now I have particular reasons—most particular reasons!—why Pratt should remain in absolute ignorance of your presence in the town. If you should happen to come across him—as you may, for though there are a quarter of a million of us here, it's a small place, compared with London—don't let him know your business."

"I'm not very likely to do that, Mr. Eldrick," remarked Byner quietly.

"Aye, but you don't take my meaning," said Eldrick eagerly. "I mean this—it's just possible that Pratt may see that advertisement of yours, and that he may write to your firm. In that case, as he's here, and you're here, your partner would send his letter to you. Don't deal with it—here. Don't—if you should come across Pratt, even let him know your name!"

"When I've a job of this sort," replied Byner, "I don't let anybody know my name—except people like you. When I register at one of your hotels presently, I shall be Mr. Black of London. But—if this Pratt wanted to give any information about Parrawhite, he'd give it to you, surely, now that you've advertised."

"No, he wouldn't!" asserted Eldrick. "Why? Because he's told me all he knows—or says he knows—already!"

The inquiry agent looked keenly at the solicitor for a moment during which they both kept silence. Then Byner smiled.

"You said—'or says he knows,'" he remarked. "Do you think he didn't tell the truth about Parrawhite?"

"I should say—now—it's quite likely he didn't," answered Eldrick. "The truth is, I'm making some inquiry myself about Pratt—and I don't want this to interfere with it. You keep me informed of what you find out, and I'll help you all I can while you're here. It may be——"

A clerk came into the room and looked at his master.

"Mr. George Pickard, of the Green Man at Whitcliffe, sir," he said.

"Well?" asked Eldrick.

"Wants to see you about that advertisement in the paper this morning, sir," continued the clerk.

Eldrick looked at Byner and smiled significantly. Then he turned towards the door.

"Bring Mr. Pickard in," he said.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE CONFIDING LANDLORD

The clerk presently ushered in a short, thick-set, round-faced man, apparently of thirty to thirty-five years of age, whose chief personal characteristics lay in a pair of the smallest eyes ever set in a human countenance and a mere apology for a nose. But both nose and eyes combined somehow to communicate an idea of profound inquiry as the round face in which they were placed turned from the solicitor to the man from London, and a podgy forefinger was lifted to a red forehead.

"Servant, gentlemen," said the visitor. "Fine morning for the time of year!"

"Take a chair, Mr. Pickard," replied Eldrick. "Let me see—from the Green Man, at Whitcliffe, I believe?"

"Landlord, sir—had that house a many years," answered Pickard, as he took a seat near the wall. "Seven year come next Michaelmas, any road."

"Just so—and you want to see me about the advertisement in this morning's paper?" continued Eldrick. "What about it—now?"

The landlord looked at Eldrick and then at Eldrick's companion. The solicitor understood that look: it meant that what his caller had to say was of a private nature.

"It's all right, Mr. Pickard," he remarked reassuringly. "This gentleman is here on just the same business—whatever you say will be treated as confidential—it'll go no further. You've something to tell about my late clerk, James Parrawhite."

Pickard, who had been nervously fingering a white billycock hat, now put it down on the floor and thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers as if to keep them safe while he talked.

"It's like this here," he answered. "When I saw that there advertisement in the paper this mornin', says I to my missus, 'I'll away,' I says, 'an' see Lawyer Eldrick about that there, this very day!' 'Cause you see, Mr. Eldrick, there is summat as I can tell about yon man 'at you mention—James Parrawhite. I've said nowt about it to nobody, up to now, 'cause it were private business atween him and me, as it were, but I lost money over it, and of course, ten pound is ten pound, gentlemen."

"Quite so," agreed Eldrick, "And you shall have your ten pounds if you can tell anything useful."

"I don't know owt about it's being useful, sir, nor what use is to be made on it," said Pickard, "but I can tell you a bit o' truth, and you can do what you like wi' what I tell. But," he went on, lowering his voice and glancing at the door by which he had just entered, "there's another name 'at 'll have to be browt in—private, like. Name, as it so happens, o' one o' your clerks—t' head clerk, I'm given to understand—Mr. Pratt."

Eldrick showed no sign of surprise. But he continued to look significantly at Byner as he turned to the landlord.

"Mr. Pratt has left me," he said. "Left me three weeks ago. So you needn't be afraid, Mr. Pickard—say anything you like."

"Oh, I didn't know," remarked Pickard. "It's not oft that I come down in t' town, and we don't hear much Barford news up our way. Well, it's this here, Mr. Eldrick—you know where my place is, of course?"

Eldrick nodded, and turned to Byner.

"I'd better explain to you," he said. "Whitcliffe is an outlying part of the town, well up the hills—a sort of wayside hamlet with a lot of our famous stone quarries in its vicinity. The Green Man, of which our friend here is the landlord, is an old-fashioned tavern by the roadside—where people are rather fond of dropping in on a Sunday, I fancy, eh, Mr. Pickard?"

"You're right, sir," replied the landlord. "It makes a nice walk out on a Sunday. And it were on a Sunday, too, 'at I got to know this here James Parrawhite as you want to know summat about. He began coming to my place of a Sunday evenin', d'ye see, gentlemen?—he'd walk across t' valley up there to Whitcliffe and stop an hour or two, enjoyin' hisself. Well, now, as you're no doubt well aweer, Mr. Eldrick, he were a reight hand at talkin', were yon Parrawhite—he'd t' gift o' t' gab reight enough, and talked well an' all. And of course him an' me, we hed bits o' conversation at times, 'cause he come to t' house reg'lar and sometimes o' week-nights an' all. An' he tell'd me 'at he'd had a deal o' experience i' racin' matters—whether it were true or not, I couldn't say, but——"

"True enough!" said Eldrick. "He had."

"Well, so he said," continued Pickard, "and he was allus tellin' me 'at he could make a pile o' brass on t' turf if he only had capital. An' i' t' end, he persuaded me to start what he called investin' money with him i' that way—i' plain language, it meant givin' him brass to put on horses 'at he said was goin' to win, d'ye understand?"

"Perfectly," replied Eldrick. "You gave him various amounts which he was to stake for you."

"Just so, sir! And at first," said Pickard, with a shake of the head, "at first I'd no great reason to grumble. He cert'ny wor a good hand at spottin' a winner. But as time went on, I' t' greatest difficulty in gettin' a settlement wi' him, d'ye see? He wor just as good a hand at makin' excuses as he wor at pickin' out winners—better, I think! I nivver knew wheer I was wi' him—he'd pay up, and then he'd persuade me to go in for another do wi' t' brass I'd won, and happen we should lose that time, and then of course we had to hev another investment to get back what we'd dropped, and so it went on. But t' end wor this here—last November theer wor about fifty to sixty pound o' mine i' his hands, and I wanted it. I'd a spirit merchant's bill to settle, and I wanted t' brass badly for that. I knew Parrawhite had been paid, d'ye see, by t' turf agent, 'at he betted wi', and I plagued him to hand t' brass over to me. He made one excuse and then another—howsumivver, it come to that very day you're talkin' about i' your advertisement, Mr. Eldrick—the twenty-third o' November——"

"Stop a minute, Mr. Pickard," interrupted Eldrick. "Now, how do you know—for a certainty—that this day you're going to talk about was the twenty-third of November?"

The landlord, who had removed his hands from his pockets, and was now twiddling a pair of fat thumbs as he talked, chuckled slyly.

"For a very good reason," he answered. "I had to pay that spirit bill I tell'd about just now on t' twenty-fourth, and that I'm going to tell you happened t' night afore t' twenty-fourth, so of course it were t' twenty-third. D'ye see?"

"I see," asserted Eldrick. "That'll do! And now—what did happen?"

"This here," replied Pickard. "On that night—t' twenty-third November—Parrawhite came into t' Green Man at about, happen, half-past eight. He come into t' little private parlour to me, bold as brass—as indeed, he allers wor. 'Ye're a nice un!' I says. 'I've written yer three letters durin' t' last week, and ye've nivver answered one o' 'em!' 'I've come to answer i' person,' he says. 'There's nobbut one answer I want,' says I. 'Wheer's my money?' 'Now then, be quiet a bit,' he says. 'You shall have your money before the evening's over,' he says. 'Or, if not, as soon as t' banks is open tomorrow mornin',' he says. 'Wheer's it coomin' from?' says I. 'Now, never you mind,' he says. 'It's safe!' 'I don't believe a word you're sayin',' says I. 'Ye're havin' me for t' mug!—that's about it.' An' I went on so at him, 'at i' t' end he tell'd me 'at he wor presently goin' to meet Pratt, and 'at he could get t' brass out o' Pratt an' as much more as iwer he liked to ax for. Well, I don't believe that theer, and I said so. 'What brass has Pratt?' says I. 'Pratt's nowt but a clerk, wi' happen three or four pound a week!' 'That's all you know,' he says. 'Pratt's become a gold mine, and I'm going to dig in it a bit. What's it matter to you,' he says, 'so long as you get your brass?' Well, of course, that wor true enough—all 'at I wanted just then were to handle my brass. And I tell'd him so. 'I'll brek thy neck, Parrawhite,' I says, 'if thou doesn't bring me that theer money eyther to-night or t' first thing tomorrow—so now!' 'Don't talk rot!' he says. 'I've told you!' And he had money wi' him then—'nough to pay for drinks and cigars, any road, and we had a drink or two, and a smoke or two, and then he went out, sayin' he wor goin' to meet Pratt, and he'd be back at my place before closin' time wi' either t' cash or what 'ud be as good. An' I waited—and waited after closin' time, an' all. But I've nivver seen Parrawhite from that day to this—-nor heerd tell on him neither!"