Detective Story Magazine/The Secret of the Quarry/Part 4

by J. S. Fletcher

SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS.

When Antony Bartle dies in the law office of Eldrick & Pascoe, of Barford, England, Linwood Pratt, the senior clerk, takes from Bartle's pocket the will of John Mallathorpe, which Bartle had just found in an old book. Pratt uses it to intimidate Mrs. Mallathorpe, sister-in-law of the deceased John Mallathorpe, whose property passed to her children, Mallathorpe's nephew and niece, Harper and Nesta. The lost will leaves the bulk of the property for founding a school, and by its provisions, Mrs. Mallathorpe sees Harper and Nesta poorly taken care of. Pratt is returning from an interview with Mrs. Mallathorpe, when he meets a fellow clerk, Parrawhite, who tells him he was hidden in the office and overheard Bartle's story, A fight ensues, and Pratt kills Parrawhite, throwing his body into a quarry pit. To explain Parrawhite's disappearance, Pratt takes money from a drawer of Eldrick's desk, together with several blank checks. Before Pratt can induce Mrs. Mallathorpe to appoint him steward of the estate, Harper Mallathorpe is killed by a bridge which collapses in the grounds of their estate. Pratt then secures his appointment as Mrs. Mallathorpe's attorney. Nesta, who succeeds to the property, suspects Pratt of undue influence on her mother, Bartle's grandson, a young lawyer from London, Bartle Collingwood, shares her suspicions. When Nesta accuses Pratt of blackmail, he retorts by accusing her mother of trying to kill him by neglecting to care for the bridge which killed Harper. He admits he has a document which her mother wants. Nesta informs Collingwood and Eldrick of Pratt's insinuations. Gerald Byner, a detective from London, comes down to find Parrawhite and agrees to help the two lawyers. The landlord of an inn in the vicinity of Pratt's lodgings, discloses the fact that Parrawhite went to meet Pratt to get some money on the night he disappeared. Collingwood learns from Cobcroft, an old employee of John Mallathorpe, that Mallathorpe was engaged with some papers just before his death—undoubtedly the will—and he heard Mallathorpe speak of “a duplicate copy.” Collingwood sets out to find this copy.

 

CHAPTER XX.

Byner Finds the Shaft.

When he had taken his firm's advertisement for Parrawhite to the three Barford newspaper offices, Byner had done so with a special design; he wanted Pratt to see that a serious wish to discover Parrawhite was alive in more quarters than one. He knew that Pratt was almost certain to see Eldrick's advertisement in his own name. Now he wanted Pratt to see another advertisement of the same nature in another name. Already he had some suspicion that Pratt had not told Eldrick the truth about Parrawhite, and that nothing would suit him so well as that Parrawhite should never be heard of or mentioned again. Now he wished Pratt to learn that Parrawhite was much wanted and was likely to be much mentioned, wherefore the supplementary advertisements with Halstead & Byner's name attached. It was extremely unlikely that Pratt could fail to see those advertisements in the three different papers. And, if he had also seen Eldrick's similar advertisement, he would begin to think, and then——

“Why, then,” mused Byner, ruminating over his design, “then we will see what he will do.”

Meantime there was something he himself wanted to do, and, on the morning following his arrival in the town, he set out to do it. Byner had been much struck by Pickard's account of his dealings with James Parrawhite on the evening which appeared to be the very last on which Parrawhite was seen alive. He had observed the landlord of the Green Man, as he told his story, and had set him down for an honest, if somewhat sly and lumpish soul, who was telling a plain tale to the best of his ability. Byner believed that Parrawhite, when he told Pickard that he would find him two hundred and fifty dollars that evening or early next day, meant to keep his word. In the circumstances, as far as Byner could reckon them up from what he had gathered, it would not have paid Parrawhite to do otherwise. Byner put the question to himself in this fashion: Pratt had got hold of some secret which was being, or could be made to be, highly profitable to him; Parrawhite had discovered this and was in a position to blackmail Pratt; therefore, Parrawhite would not wish to leave Pratt's neighborhood; so long as there was money to be got out of Pratt, Parrawhite would stick to him like a leech. But, if Parrawhite was to abide peaceably in Barford, he must pay Pickard that little matter of two hundred and fifty or three hundred dollars.

Accordingly, in Byner's opinion, Parrawhite had every honest intention of returning to the Green Man on the evening of the twenty-third of November, after having seen Pratt. And, in Byner's further and very seriously considered opinion, the whole problem for solution—possibly involving the solution of other and more important problems—was this: Did Parrawhite meet Pratt that night, and, if he did, what took place between them which prevented Parrawhite from returning to Pickard?

In an endeavor to get at some first stage of a solution of this problem, Byner, having breakfasted at the Central Hotel on his second day in the town, went out immediately afterward, asked his way to Whitcliffe, and was directed to a trolley which started from the Town Hall Square and, after running through a district of tall warehouses and squat weaving sheds, began a long and steady climb to the heights above the town. When he left it he found himself in a district eminently characteristic of that part of the country. The trolley set him down at the crossroads on a high ridge of land. Beneath him lay Barford, its towers and spires and the gables of its tall buildings showing among the smoke of its many chimneys. All about him lay open ground, broken by the numerous stone quarries of which Eldrick had spoken, and, at a little distance along one of the four roads, at the intersection of which he stood, he saw a few houses and cottages, one of which, taller and bigger than the rest, was distinguished by a pole planted in front of its stone porch and bearing a swinging sign, whereon was rudely painted the figure of a man in Lincoln green. Byner walked on to this, entered a flagged hall, and found himself confronting Pickard, who, at sight of him, motioned him into a little parlor behind the bar.

“Mornin', mister,” said he. “You'll be all right in here, for there's nobody about just now. If my missus or any o' t' sarvant lasses sees yer, they'll tak' yer for a brewer's traveler or summat o' that sort. Come to hev a look round like, what?”

“I want to have a look at the place where you told me Parrawhite was to meet Pratt that night,” replied Byner. “I thought you would perhaps be kind enough to show me where it is.”

“I will an' all wi' pleasure,” said the landlord; “but ye mun hev a drop o' summat first. Try a glass o' our ale,” he went on, with true Yorkshire hospitality. “I hev some bitter beer i' my cellar such as I'll lay out ye couldn't get t' likes on down yonder i' Barford—no, nor i' London neyther. I'll just draw a jug.”

Byner submitted to this evidence of friendliness, and Pickard, after disappearing into a dark archway and down some deeply worn stone steps, came back with a foaming jug, the sight of which seemed to give him great delight. He gazed admiringly at the liquor, which he presently poured into two tumblers and drew his visitor's attention to its color.

“Reight stuff that, mister—what?” he said. “I nobbut tapped that barrel two days since, and I'd been keepin' it twelvemonth, so you've come in for it at what they call t' opportune moment. I say,” he went on, after pledging Byner and smacking his lips over the ale, “I heard summat last night 'at might be useful to you and Lawyer Eldrick, about this here Parrawhite affair.”

“Oh,” said Byner, at once interested. “What now?”

“You'll ha' noticed, as you come along t' road just now, 'at there's a deal o' stone quarries i' this neighborhood,” replied Pickard. “Well, of course, some o' t' quarrymen comes in here. Last night theer wor sev'ral on 'em i' t' bar theer, talkin', and one on 'em wor readin' t' evenin' newspaper, t', Barford Dispatch. An' he read out that theer advertisement about Parrawhite, wi' your address i' London at t' foot on it. Well, theer wor nowt said except summat about advertisin' for disappeared folk, but later on a young man come to me, privatelike. 'I say, Pickard,' he says, 'between you an' me, worn't t' name o' that man, 'at used to come in here of a Sunday sometimes, Parrawhite? It runs i' my mind 't I've heerd you call him by that name.' 'Well, an' what if it wor?' says I. 'Nay, nowt much,' he says, 'but I see fro' t' Dispatch 'at he's wanted, and I could tell a bit about him,' he says. 'What could ye tell?' says I, just like that theer. 'Why,' he says, 'this much: One night t' last back-end he——”

“Stop a bit, Mr. Pickard,” interrupted Byner. “What does that mean—that term 'back-end?'”

“Why, it means t' end o' t' year,” answered the landlord. “What some folks call autumn, d'ye understand? 'One night t' last back-end,' says this young feller, 'I wor hengin' about on t' quiet at t' en' o' Stubbs Lane. I wor waitin' for a word wi' a young woman 'at lives i' that terrace at t' top o' the lane. She wor goin' to come out and meet me for half an hour or so. I see'd that theer feller, 'at I think I've heerd you call Parrawhite, come out o' Stubbs Lane wi' that lawyer chap 'at lives i' t' terrace—Pratt. I know Pratt—cause them 'at he works for—Eldrick's—once did a bit o' law business for me.' 'Where did you see 'em go to, then?' says I. 'I see'd 'em cross t' road into t' owd quarry ground,' he says. 'I see'd 'em plain enough, tho' they didn't see me. I wor keepin' snug agen t' wall. It wor a moonlit night, that,' he says. 'Well,' I says, 'an' what now?' 'Why,' he says, 'd'yer think I could get owt o' this reward for tellin' that theer?' So I thowt pretty sharp, then, d'ye see, mister. 'I'll tell yer what, my lad,' I says. 'Say nowt to nobody; keep yer tongue still, and I'll tell yer to-morrow night what you can do. I shall see a man 'at's on that job, 'tween now and then,' I says. So there it is,” concluded Pickard, looking hard at Byner. “D'yer think this chap's evidence ud be i' your line?”

“Decidedly I do,” replied Byner. “Where is he to be found?”

“I couldn't say wheer he lives,” answered the landlord. “But it'll be somewhere close about; anyway, he'll be in here to-night. Bill Thomson t' feller's name is—decent young feller enough.”

“I must contrive to see him, certainly,” said Byner. “Well, now, can you show me this Stubbs Lane and the neighborhood?”

“Just step along t' road a bit, and I'll join you in a few minutes,” assented Pickard. “W'd best not be seen comin' fro' t' house together, or our folk'll think it's a put-up job. Walk forrard a piece.”

Byner strolled along the road a little way and leaned over a wall until Mr. Pickard, wearing his white billycock hat, and accompanied by a fine fox terrier, lounged up with his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat. Together they went a little farther along.

“Now, then!” said the landlord, crossing the road toward the entrance of a narrow lane which ran between two high stone walls. “This here is Stubbs Lane—so called, I believe, 'cause an owd gentleman named similar, used to hev' a house here 'at's been pulled down. Ye see, it runs fr' this highroad yon several o' houses. Folks hereabouts calls that terrace T' World's End, 'cause they're t' last houses afore ye get on to t' open moorlands. Now, that night 'at Parrawhite wor aimin' to meet Pratt, it wor i' this very lane. Pratt, when he left t' trolley, t' other side o' my place, ud come up t' lane, 'at Bill Thomson see'd Pratt and Parrawhite cross into what Bill called t'owd quarry ground.”

“Can we go into that?” asked Byner.

“Nowt easier,” said Pickard. “It's a sort of open space where t' childer goes and plays about. They hevn't worked no stone theer for many a long year—all t' stone's exhausted like.”

He led Byner along the lane to its farther end, pointed out the place where Thomson said he had seen Pratt and Parrawhite, and indicated the terrace of houses in which Pratt lived. Then he crossed toward the old quarries.

“Don't know what they should want to come in here for, unless it wor to talk very confidential,” said Pickard. “But, lor' bless yer, it 'ud be quiet enough anywheer about this neighborhood at that time o' neet. However, this is wheer Bill Thomson says he see'd 'em come.”

He led the way among the disused quarries, and Byner, following him, climbed on a mound, now grown over with grass and weeds, and looked about him. To his town eyes the place was something novel. He had never seen such a place before. Gradually he began to understand it. The stones had been torn out of the earth, sometimes in square pits, sometimes in semicircular ones, until the various veins and strata had become exhausted. Then, when men went away, nature had stepped in to assert her rights. All over the despoiled region she had spread a new clothing of green. Turf had grown on the flooring of the quarries, ivy and bramble had covered the deep scars, bushes had sprung up, trees were already springing.

“Dangerous place that there,” said Pickard suddenly. “If I'd known o' that, I shouldn't ha' let me young uns come to play about here. They might be tumblin' in and drownin' theirsens! I mun tell my missis to keep 'em away.”

Byner turned to find the landlord pointing at the old shaft, which had gradually become filled with water. In the morning sunlight its surface glittered like a plane of burnished metal, but, when the two men went nearer and gazed at it from its edge, the water was black and unfathomable to the eye.

“Goodish thirty feet o' watter in that there,” surmised Pickard. “It's none safe for childer to play about; theer's nowt to protect 'em. Next time I see Mestur Shephard, I shall mak it my business to tell him 'at he owt either to drain that watter off or put a fence round it.”

“Is Mr. Shephard the property owner?” asked Byner.

“Aye, it's all his, this land,” answered Pickard. He pointed to a low-roofed house set amid the moor. “Lives theer, does Mestur Shephard. Varry well-to-do man, he is.”

“How would that water be drained off?” asked Byner, with assumed carelessness.

“Easy enough,” replied Pickard. “Cut through yon edge, and let it run into t' far quarry there. A couple o' men 'ud do that job in a day.”

Byner made no further remark. He and Pickard strolled back to the Green Man together. Declining the landlord's invitation to step inside and take another glass, but promising to see him again very soon, the inquiry agent walked on to the trolley and rode down to Barford, to keep his appointment with Eldrick and Collingwood at the barrister's chambers.

CHAPTER XXI.

Two and Two.

While Byner was pursuing his investigations in the neighborhood of the Green Man, Collingwood was at Normandage Grange discussing certain matters with Nesta Mallathorpe. He had not only thought long and deeply over his conversation with Cobcroft the previous evening, but he had begun to think about the crucial point of the clerk's story, as soon as he awoke in the morning, and the result of his meditations was that he rose early, intercepted Cobcroft before he started for Mallathorpe mill, and asked his permission to retell the story to Miss Mallathorpe. Cobcroft raised no objection. When Collingwood had been to his chambers and seen his letters, he chartered a car and rode out to Normandale, when he told Nesta of what he had learned and of his own conclusions. And Nesta, having listened carefully to all he had to tell, put a direct question to him.

“You think this document, which Pratt told me he holds, is my late uncle's will,” she said. “What do you suppose are its terms?”

“Frankly, these, or something like these,” replied Collingwood. “And I get at my conclusions in this way: Your uncle died intestate, consequently everything in the shape of real estate came to your brother, and everything in personal property to your brother and yourself. Now, supposing that the document, which Pratt boasts of holding, is the will, one fact is very certain: the property, real or personal, is not disposed of according to the will's provisions. He probably disposed of it in quite another fashion. Why do I think that? Because the probability is that Pratt said to your mother, 'I have got John Mallathorpe's will. It doesn't leave his property to your son and daughter. Therefore I have all of you at my mercy. Make it worth my while, or I will bring the will forward.' Do you see that situation?”

“Then,” replied Nesta, after a moment's reflection, “you do think that my mother was very anxious to get that document or will from Pratt?”

“I think your mother would naturally be very anxious to secure such a document,” he said. “You must remember that, according to Pratt's story to you, she tried to buy it from him, just as you did yourself, though you, of course, had no idea of what it was you wanted to buy.”

“What I wanted to buy,” she answered readily, “was security from further interference. But is there no way of compelling Pratt to give up that document, whatever it is? Can't he be made to give it up?”

“A way may be found,” replied Collingwood. “At present matters are vague. One couldn't go to Pratt and demand something whose existence, after all, one is only surmising. Your mother, of course, would deny that she knows what it is that Pratt holds. But there is the possibility of the duplicate to which Cobcroft referred. Now, I want to put this question straight to you: Supposing that duplicate will can be found, and supposing, to put it plainly, its terms dispossess you of all your considerable property, what then?”

“Do you want the exact truth?” she asked. “Well, then, I should just welcome anything that cleared up all this mystery. What is it at present, this situation, but utterly intolerable?”

“Answer me a plain question,” said Collingwood. “Is your mother fond of money. position, all that sort of thing?”

“She 1s fond of power,” replied Nesta. “It pleased her greatly, when we came into all this wealth, to know that she was the virtual administrator.”

“Oh, it's natural enough,” agreed Collingwood. “But if things are as I think, Pratt would be an incubus, a millstone forever. Anyway, I came here to tell you what I've learned, what I have an idea may be the truth, and, above all, to get your definite opinion. You want the Pratt influence out of the way, at any cost?”

“At any cost,” she affirmed. “Even if I have to go back to earning my own living.”

“Pratt,” answered Collingwood, “he's the shadow, with his deep schemes. However, as I said, there may be developing at this moment another way of getting at Pratt. Gentlemen like Pratt, born schemers, invariably forget one very important factor in life—the unexpected. Even the cleverest and most subtle schemer may have his delicate machinery broken to pieces by a chance bit of dust getting into it at an unexpected turn of the wheels. And, to turn to plainer language, I'm going back to Barford to hear what another man has to say concerning certain of Pratt's recent movements.”

Eldrick was already waiting when Collingwood reached his chambers. Byner came there a few minutes later. Within half an hour the barrister had told his story of Cobcroft, and Byner reported his visit to the Green Man and the quarries. Eldrick listened quietly and attentively to both, and in the end turned to Collingwood.

“I'll withdraw my opinion about the nature of the document which Pratt's got hold of,” he said. “What he's got is what you think, John Mallathorpe's will.”

“If I may venture an opinion,” remarked Byner, “that's dead certain.”

“And now,” continued Eldrick, “we're forced into a nice situation. Don't either of you forget this fact—not out of willingness on her part, but because she's got to do it—Mrs. Mallathorpe and Pratt are partners in the affair. He's got the will, but she knows its contents. She'll pay any price to Pratt to keep them from becoming known or operative. But, as I say, don't you forget something?”

“What?” asked Collingwood.

Eldrick tapped the edge of the table, emphasizing his words as he spoke them. “They can destroy that will whenever they like,” he said, “and, once destroyed, nothing can absolutely prove that it ever existed.”

“The duplicate?” suggested Collingwood.

“Nothing to give us the faintest idea as to its existence,” said Eldrick.

“We might advertise,” said Collingwood.

“Lots of advertising was done when John Mallathorpe died,” replied the solicitor. “No. If any person had had it in his possession it would have turned up then. It may be, probably is, possibly must be, somewhere, and may yet come to light. But there's another way now of getting at Pratt—through this Parrawhite affair. Pratt most likely has not the least notion that he would ever hear of Parrawhite again. He is going to hear of Parrawhite again! I am convinced now that Parrawhite knew something about this, and that Pratt squared him and got him away. Aren't you?” he asked, turning to Byner.

But Byner smiled quietly and shook his head. “No,” he answered, “I am not, Mr. Eldrick.”

“You're not?” exclaimed Eldrick, surprised and wondering that anybody could fail to agree with him. “Why not, then?”

“Because,' replied Byner, “I am certain that Pratt murdered Parrawhite on the night of November twenty-third last. That's why. He didn't square him. He didn't get him away. He killed him!”

Eldrick turned to the inquiry agent almost impatiently. “Murder!” he exclaimed. “Oh, come! I—really, that's rather a stiff order.”

Byner moved his head in Collingwood's direction, and Eldrick turned and looked anxiously at Collingwood, who, finding the eyes of both men on him, opened his hitherto tight-shut lips. “I think it quite likely,” he said.

Byner laughed softly and looked at the solicitor. “Just listen to me a minute or two, Mr. Eldrick,” he said. “I'll sum up my own ideas on this matter, got from the various details that have been supplied to me since I came to Barford. Just consider my points one by one. Let's take them separately and see how they fit in. Mr. Bartle is seen by his shop boy to take a certain paper from a book, which came from the late John Mallathorpe's office at Mallathorpe mill. He puts that paper in his pocket. Immediately afterward Mr. Bartle goes to your office. Nobody is there but Pratt, as far as Pratt knows. Bartle dies suddenly, after telling Pratt that the paper is John Mallathorpe's will. Pratt steals the will. And the probability is that Parrawhite, unknown to Pratt, was in that office and saw him steal it. Why is that probable? Because next night Parrawhite, who is being pressed for money by Pickard, tells Pickard that he can get it out of Pratt, over whom he had a hold. What hold? We can imagine what hold. Anyway, Parrawhite leaves Pickard to meet Pratt. He did meet Pratt in Stubbs Lane. He was seen to go with Pratt into the disused quarry. And there, in my opinion, Pratt killed him and disposed of his body. What does Pratt do next? He goes to your office first thing next morning and removes certain moneys, which you say you carelessly left in your desk the night before, and tears out certain check forms from your book. When Parrawhite never turns up that morning, you and Pratt conclude that he's the thief and that he's run away. If you want some proof of the correctness of the last suggestion, you'll find it in the fact that no use has ever been made of those blank checks, and that, in all probability, the stolen bank notes have never been presented. On that last point I'm making inquiry, but my belief is that Pratt destroyed both checks and bank notes when he stole them. This man Parrawhite out of the way, Pratt has a clear field. He's got the will; he's already acquainted Mrs. Mallathorpe with that fact and with the terms of the will, whatever they may be. We may be sure, however, that they are of such a nature as to make her willing to agree to his demands upon her, and, incidentally, to go to any lengths—upon which we needn't touch at present—toward getting possession of the will from him. And the present situation, from Pratt's standpoint of yesterday, is this: He's so sure of his own safety that he doesn't mind revealing to the daughter that the mother's in his power. Why? Because Pratt, like most of his sort, cannot believe that self-interest is not paramount with everybody; it's beyond him to conceive it possible that Miss Mallathorpe would do anything that might lose her ten or fifteen thousand a year. He argued, 'So long as I hold that will, nobody and nothing can make me give it up, nor divulge its contents. But I can bleed one person who benefits by it, Mrs. Mallathorpe, and for the mother's sake I can keep the daughter quiet.' And, in all such schemes as Pratt's, the schemer invariably forgets something. Pratt forgot that there might arise what actually has arisen—inquiry for Parrawhite. The search for Parrawhite is afoot, and, if you want to get at Pratt, it will have to be through what I firmly believe to be a fact, his murder of Parrawhite, and his disposal of Parrawhite's body. That's all, Mr. Eldrick,” concluded Byner, who had spoken with much emphasis throughout. “It all seems very clear to me, and,” he added, with a glance at Collingwood, “I think Mr. Collingwood is inclined to agree with most of what I've said.”

“Pretty nearly all, if not all,” assented Collingwood. “I think you've put into clear language precisely what I feel. I don't believe there's a shadow of doubt that Pratt killed Parrawhite, and we can and must get at him in that way.”

“First of all,” said Byner, “we mustn't arouse any suspicion on Pratt's part. Let us work behind the scenes. But I have an idea as to how he disposed of Parrawhite, and I'm going to follow it up this very day. My first duty, you know, is toward the people who want Parrawhite, or proof of his death. I propose to——”

Just then Collingwood's clerk came in with a telegram. “Sent on from the Central Hotel, sir,” he announced. “They said Mr. Black would be found here.”

“That's mine,” said Byner. “I left word at the hotel that they were to send to your chambers if any wire came for me. Allow me.” He opened the telegram, looked it over, and, waiting until the clerk had gone, turned to his companions, “Here's a message from my partner, Mr. Halstead. Listen to what he wires:

“Wire just received from Murgatroyd, shipping agent, Peel Row, Barford. He says Parrawhite left that town for America on November 24th last, and offers further information. Let me know what to reply.”

Byner laid the message before Eldrick and Collingwood without further comment.

CHAPTER XXII.

Parsons' Passage.

On the evening of the day whereon Nesta Mallathorpe had paid him the visit, which had resulted in so much plain speech on both sides, Pratt employed his leisure in a calm review of the situation. He was by no means dissatisfied. It seemed to him that everything was going very well for his purposes. He was not at all sorry that Nesta had been to see him; far from it. He regretted nothing that he had said to her. In his deliberate opinion, his own position was much stronger when she left him than when he had opened his office door to her.

She now knew, said Pratt, with what a strong and resourceful man she had to deal. She would respect him and have a better idea of him, now that she was aware of his impregnable position. Herein Pratt's innate vanity and his ignorance showed themselves. He had little knowledge of modern young women, and few ideas about them; and such ideas as he possessed were usually mistaken ones. But one was that it is always necessary to keep a firm hand on women. Let them see and feel your power, said Pratt.

He had been secretly delighted to acquaint Nesta Mallathorpe with his power, to drive it into her that he had the whip hand of her mother, and, through her mother, of Nesta herself. He had seen that Nesta was much upset and alarmed by what he told her. And, though she certainly seemed to recover her spirits at the end of the interview, and even refused to shake hands with him, he cherished the notion that in the war of words he had come off a decided victor. He did not believe that Nesta would utter to any other soul one word of what had passed between them. She would be too much afraid of calling down his vengeance on her mother. What he did believe was that as time went by, and all prospered smoothly, Nesta would come to face and accept facts. She would find him honest and hard-working in his dealings with Mrs. Mallathorpe—as he fully intended to be, from purely personal and selfish motives—and she herself would begin to tolerate, and then trust him, and eventually—well, who knew what might or might not happen? What said the great Talleyrand? “With time and patience, the mulberry leaf is turned into satin.”

But Pratt's self-complacency received a shock next morning. When he picked up the Barford morning journal and saw Eldrick's advertisement for Parrawhite in a prominent place, he literally started from sheer surprise, not unmingled with alarm. It was as if he were the occupant of a strong position, duly fortified, who suddenly finds a shell dropped into his outworks from a totally unexpected quarter.

Parrawhite! Advertised for by Eldrick! Why? For what reason, for what purpose, with what idea? Parrawhite, of all men in the world! Parrawhite, of whom he had never wanted to hear again!

Parrawhite wanted! And in two separate quarters. Wanted by Eldrick, wanted by some London people! What in the name of all that's evil did it mean? At any rate, he must see to it himself. One thing was certain, no search for Parrawhite must be permitted in Barford.

That evening, instead of going home to dinner, Pratt remained in town and dined at a quiet restaurant. While he dined he thought and planned and schemed. And after treating himself very well in the matter of food and drink, he lighted a cigar, returned to his new offices, opened a safe which he had just set up, and took from a drawer in it five hundred dollars in bank notes. With them in his pocketbook he went off to a quiet part of the town, the part in which James Parrawhite had lodged during his stay in Barford.

Pratt turned into a mean and shabby street, a street of small, poor-class shops. He went forward among them until he came to one which, if anything, was meaner and shabbier than the others and bore over its windows the name Reuben Murgatroyd, watch-maker and jeweler. There were few signs of jewelry in Reuben Murgatroyd's window, merely some cheap clocks and some foreign-made watches. At these things Pratt cast no more than a contemptuous glance. But he looked with interest at the upper part of the window, in which were displayed numerous gayly colored handbills and small posters relating to shipping, chiefly in the way of assisted passages to various parts of the globe. At the foot of each you were invited to apply for further information to Mr. R. Murgatroyd, agent, within. And Pratt pushed open the shop door and walked inside.

An untidy, careworn, anxious-looking man came forward from a parlor at the rear of the shop. At sight of Pratt, who in the course of business had once served him with a writ, his pale face flushed, then whitened, and Pratt hastened to assure him of his peaceful errand.

“All right, Mr. Murgatroyd,” he said, “nothing to be alarmed about. I'm out of that line now; no papers of that sort to-night. I've a bit of business I can put in your hands—profitable business. Look here, have you got a quarter of an hour to spare?”

“I was just going to put the shutters up and sit down to a bite of supper, Mr. Pratt,” he answered. “Will you come in, sir?”

“No; you come out with me,” said Pratt. “Come round to the Coach and Horses and have a drink, where we can talk. You'll have a better appetite for your supper when you come back,” he added, with a wink. “I've a profitable job for you.”

“Glad to hear it, sir,” replied Murgatroyd. “I can do with aught of that sort, I assure you.”

He led Murgatroyd to a corner tavern, into a side door of which Pratt turned, as if he were well acquainted with the geography of the place. Walking into a small parlor, at that moment untenanted, he pointed to a seat in the corner and rang the bell. Having provided Murgatroyd with rum and water and a cigar, he turned on him with a direct question.

“Look here,” he said in a low voice, “would five hundred dollars be any use to you?”

Murgatroyd's thin cheeks flushed. “It 'ud be a fortune!” he answered fervently. “Five hundred dollars! Lor' bless you, Mr. Pratt, it's many a year since I saw five hundred of my own, all in one lump!”

Pratt pulled out his roll of bank notes, fluttered it in his companion's face, laid it on the table, and set an ash tray on it.

“There's five hundred there,” he said. “It's yours to pick up if you'll do a little job for me. Easy job, too! You'll never earn five hundred so easily in your life.”

Murgatroyd pricked up his ears. “So long as it's a straight job,” he said. “I don't want——”

“Straight enough—as straight as it's easy,” answered Pratt. “It may seem a bit mysterious, but there's reasons for that. I give you my word it's all right, all a mere bit of diplomacy, and that nobody'll ever know you're in it—that is, beyond a certain stage—and that there's no danger to you.”

“What is it?” asked Murgatroyd, still uneasy and doubtful.

Pratt pulled the evening paper out of his pocket and showed Murgatroyd the advertisement signed Halstead & Byner.

“You see that?” he said. “Information wanted about Parrawhite. Do you remember Parrawhite? He once served you with some papers in that affair we were against you in.”

“I remember him,” answered Murgatroyd. “I've seen him in here, now and again. So he's wanted, is he? I didn't know he'd left the town.”

“Left last November,” said Pratt. “And there are folks—influential folks, as you can guess, seeing that they can throw five hundred away—who don't want any inquiries made for him in Barford. They don't mind, those folks, how many inquiries and searches are made for him anywhere else, but not here!”

“Well?” asked Murgatroyd anxiously.

“This is it,” Pratt replied. “You do a bit now and then as agent for some of these shipping firms. You book passages for emigrants and for other people going to New Zealand or Canada or Timbuktu; never mind where. Now, then, couldn't you remember—I'm sure you could—that you booked a passage for Parrawhite to America last November? Come! It's an easy thing to remember, is that, for five hundred dollars.

Murgatroyd's thin fingers trembled a little as he picked up his glass. “What do you want me to do exactly?” he asked.

“This,” said Pratt. “I want you, to-morrow morning early, to send a telegram to these people, Halstead & Byner, St. Martin's Chambers, London, just saying that James Parrawhite left Barford for America on November 24th last, and that you can give further information if necessary.”

“And what if it is necessary?” inquired Murgatroyd.

“Then, in answer to any letter or telegram of inquiry, you'll just say that you knew Parrawhite by sight, as a clerk at Eldrick & Pascoe's in this town, that on November 23d he told you that he was going to emigrate to America, that next day you booked him his passage, for which he paid you whatever it was, and that he thereupon set off for Liverpool. See?”

“It's all lies, you know,” muttered Murgatroyd.

“Nobody can find 'em out, anyway,” replied Pratt. “That's the one important thing to consider. You're safe.”

He pointed to the little wad of bank notes, and the man sitting at his side followed the pointing finger with hungry eyes. Murgatroyd wanted money badly.

“You're sure there's naught wrong in it, Mr. Pratt?” he asked abruptly and anxiously. “It 'ud be a bad job for my family if anything happened to me, you know.”

“There's nothing that could happen,” answered Pratt confidently. “Who on earth can contradict you? Who knows what people you sell passages to, but yourself?”

“There's the folks themselves,” replied Murgatroyd. “Suppose Parrawhite turns up?”

“He won't!” exclaimed Pratt.

“You know where he is?” suggested Murgatroyd.

“Not exactly,” said Pratt. “But he's left this country for another—farther off than America. That's certain. And the folks I referred to don't want any inquiry about him here.”

“If I am asked questions later, am I to say he booked in his own name?” inquired Murgatroyd.

“No; name of Parsons,” responded Pratt. “Here' I'll write down for you exactly what I want you to say in the telegram to Halstead & Byner, and I'll make a few memoranda for you, to post you up in case they write for further information.”

“I haven't said that I'll do it,” remarked Murgatroyd. “I don't like the looks of it. It's all a pack of lies.”

Pratt paid no heed to this moral reflection. He found some loose paper in his pocket and scribbled on it for a while. Then, as if accidentally, he moved the ash tray, and the bank notes beneath it, all new, gave forth a crisp, rustling sound.

“Here you are,” said Pratt, pushing notes and memoranda toward his companion. “Take the money, man—you don't get a job like that every day.”

Murgatroyd put the money in his pocket and presently went home, persuading himself that everything would be all right.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Pratt Keeps His Nerve.

As Eldrick and Collingwood bent over Halstead's telegram, Byner watched them inquisitively. He was not surprised when Collingwood merely nodded in silence, nor when Eldrick turned excitedly in his own direction.

“There! What did I tell you?” he exclaimed. “There's been no murder. The man left the town. Probably Pratt helped him off. Couldn't have better proof than that wire.”

“What do you take that wire to prove, then, Mr. Eldrick?” asked Byner.

“Take it to prove?” answered Eldrick. “Why, that Parrawhite booked a passage to America with this man Murgatroyd, last November. Clear enough, that.”

During the morning Eldrick visited Murgatroyd and returned to Byner at the Central Hotel.

“I've seen Murgatroyd,” said Eldrick as he took an adjacent chair. “Decent, honest enough man; very poor, I should say. He told me that Parrawhite mentioned to him on November 23d that he wanted to go to America at once, and that very early the next morning he paid for his passage under the name of Parsons and went off en route for Liverpool, of course. So there you are!”

“That all Murgatroyd could tell?” inquired Byner.

“That's all he knows,” answered Eldrick.

Byner smoked in silence for a while. “Do you know what I think, Mr. Eldrick?” he said at last. “I think Pratt put Murgatroyd up to sending that telegram to us in London, this morning.”

At Byner's suggestion Eldrick went off on his second mission. Within a few minutes he was in Pratt's office, talking over some unimportant matters of business which he had invented, as he went along. It was not until he was on the point of departure that he referred to the real reason of the Parrawhite advertisement.

Pratt was ready for this, had been ready ever since Eldrick walked in. He affected a fine surprise.

“Parrawhite!” he exclaimed. “Had any response, Mr, Eldrick? Any one come forward?”

“Yes,” answered Eldrick, watching Pratt narrowly without seeming to do so. “This morning a man named Murgatroyd, of Peel Row, who does a bit of shipping agency, wired to Halstead & Byner to say that he booked Parrawhite to New York, last November. Of course, they at once communicated with me, and I've just been to see Murgatroyd. He's that man, a watchmaker, we had some proceedings against last year.

“Oh, that man!” said Pratt. “Thought his name was familiar. I remember him. And what does he say?”

“Just about as much as and little more than he said in his wire to London,” replied Eldrick. “Booked Parrawhite to America November 24th last and believes he left for Liverpool there and then.”

“Ah!” remarked Pratt. “That explains why he took that money out of your desk. What's he wanted for?” he asked, as unconcernedly as possible. “Been up to something?”

“No,” answered Eldrick, as he turned on his heel. “A relation has left him twenty thousand pounds.” He gave Pratt another quick glance and left him.

“And he didn't turn a hair!” he remarked, after he had given Byner and Collingwood an account of the interview. “Cool as a cucumber all through! If your theory is correct, Pratt's a cleverer hand than I ever took him for.”

“Now, Mr. Eldrick,” said Byner, “the police. That's my next move. Who is the best local detective?”

“Prydale's the man,” said Eldrick. “Detective Sergeant Prydale. I've had reason to employ him more than once. I'll give you a note to him and one to Superintendent Waterson.”

Pratt was very much perturbed, deeply moved, not a little frightened; but soon he began to think. He left his office early and betook himself to Peel Row. He must see Murgatroyd again, at once.

Halfway along Peel Row Pratt stopped suddenly. Out of a side street emerged a man whom he knew very well indeed—Detective Sergeant Prydale. He was accompanied by a dapper-looking, much younger man, whom Pratt remembered to have seen in Beck Street that afternoon, a stranger to him and to Barford. As he watched these two he crossed the narrow roadway and walked into Murgatroyd's shop.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Mrs. Murgatroyd.

Under the warming influence of two glasses of rum and water and lulled by Pratt's assurances that all would be well, Murgatroyd had carried home his five hundred dollars with a feeling of uplifted satisfaction. He ate his supper with a keen appetite and slept more satisfactorily than usual. Next morning he went to the nearest telegraph office and sent off the stipulated telegram to Halstead & Byner in London. Shortly after noon Eldrick called upon Murgatroyd, and the latter emerged from that ordeal very satisfactorily. But by evening he received a rude shock, when he found himself confronting one man whom he certainly knew to be a detective, and another who might be one. Do what he would, he could not conceal some agitation, and Detective Sergeant Prydale noticed it and affected not to see.

“Evening, Mr. Murgatroyd,” he said cheerily. “We've come to see if you can give us a bit of information. You've had Mr. Eldrick, the lawyer, here to-day on the same business. You know this affair of an old clerk of his, Parrawhite?”

“I told Mr. Eldrick all I know,” said Murgatroyd.

“Oh, there's a great deal that Mr. Eldrick didn't ask,” said Prydale. “Mr. Eldrick just skirted round things. We want to know something more. This Parrawhite's got to be found, d'ye see, Mr. Murgatroyd, and as you seem to be the last man who had aught to do with him in Barford, why naturally we come to you. Now, to start with, you say he came to you about getting a passage to America? Just so. Now, when would that be?”

“Day before he did get it,” answered Murgatroyd, rapidly thinking over the memoranda which Pratt had jotted down for his benefit.

“That,” said Prydale, “would be on the 23d?”

“Yes,” replied Murgatroyd.

“What time, now, on the 23d?” asked the detective.

“Time?” said Murgatroyd. “Oh, in the evening.”

“What time in the evening?”

“As near as I can recollect,” replied Murgatroyd, “it 'ud be just about half past eight. I was thinking of closing.”

“Ah!” said Prydale, with a glance at Byner, who had already told him of Parrawhite's presence at the Green Man on the other side of the town, a good two miles away, at the hour which Murgatroyd mentioned. “Ah! He was in your shop at half past eight on the evening of November twenty-third last? Asking about a ticket for America, and he came next morning and bought one?”

“I told Mr. Eldrick that,” said Murgatroyd sullenly.

“How much did it cost?” inquired Prydale.

“Eighty dollars,” replied Murgatroyd, “usual price.”

“What did he pay for it in?” continued Prydale.

“He gave me a hundred-dollar bank note.”

“Just so,” assented Prydale. “Now, what line might that be by?”

“It was—er—the Royal Atlantic,” he answered at last. “I've an agency for them.”

“So I noticed by the bills and posters in your window,” observed the detective. “And, of course, you issue these tickets on this paper. I've seen 'em before. You fill up particulars on a form and a counterfoil, don't you, and you send a copy of these particulars to the Royal Atlantic offices at Liverpool?”

Murgatroyd nodded silently. This was more than he had bargained for, and he did not know how much further it was going. Prydale gave him a sudden, searching look. “Can you show me the counterfoil in this instance?” he asked.

Murgatroyd flushed, but he managed to get out a fairly quick reply. “No, I can't,” he answered. “I sent that book back at the end of the year.”

“Oh, well, they'll have it at Liverpool,” observed Prydale. “We can look at it there. Of course, they'll have your record of the entire transaction. He'd be down on that passenger list, under the name of Parsons, I think, Mr. Murgatroyd?”

“He gave me that name,” said Murgatroyd.

Prydale gave Byner a look, and both rose. “I think that's about all,” said the detective. “Of course, our next inquiries will be at Liverpool, at the Royal Atlantic. Thank you, Mr. Murgatroyd; much obliged.”

Before the watchmaker could collect himself sufficiently to say or ask more, Prydale and his companion had walked out of the shop and gone away. And then Murgatroyd realized what he was in for.

Mrs. Murgatroyd, a sharp-featured woman, whose wits had been sharpened by a ten years' daily acquaintance with poverty, looked searchingly at her husband. “What did them fellows want?” she demanded. “I know one of 'em—Prydale, the detective.”

Murgatroyd hesitated a moment. Then he told his wife the whole story, concealing nothing.

“You should ha' had naught to do wi' that Pratt!' exclaimed Mrs. Murgatroyd. “A worthless feller, to come and tempt poor folk to do his dirty work! Where's the money?”

“Locked up,” answered Murgatroyd.

Just then the shop door opened, and Pratt walked in. “Well?” he said to the watchmaker. “You've just had Prydale here, and you'd Eldrick this morning. Of course, you knew what to say to both °”

“I wish we'd never had you here last night, young man!” exclaimed Mrs. Murgatroyd.

“Just let your husband speak,” interrupted Pratt insolently. “It's you that's making all the trouble or noise, anyhow. That's naught to fuss about, missus. What's upset you, Murgatroyd?”

“They're going to the Royal Atlantic people,” declared the watchmaker.

Pratt's keen wits at once set to work. “What's the system?” he asked quickly. “Tell me what's done when you book anybody like that? Come on, explain quick!”

Murgatroyd turned to a drawer and pulled out a book and some papers and proceeded to explain. “This'll lose me what bit of business I've done with yon shipping firm.”

“Nothing of the sort,” answered Pratt scornfully. “Don't be a fool! You're all right. You listen to me. You write straight off to the Royal Atlantic. Tell 'em you had some inquiry made about a man named Parsons, who booked a passage with you for New York last November. Say that on looking at your books you find that you unaccountably forgot to send them the form for him and his passage money. Make out a form for that date and crumple it up a bit, as if it had been left lying about in a drawer. Inclose the money in it. Here, I'll give you a hundred to cover it,” he went on, drawing a bank note from his purse. “Do what I tell you, and you're safe!”

With that Pratt walked out of the shop and went off toward the center of the town, inwardly raging and disturbed.

Here he took a room at a quiet hotel. He was up early next morning and had breakfast by eight o'clock, and by half past eight was in his office. In his letter box he found one letter, a thickish package which had not come by post, but had been dropped in by hand, and was merely addressed to Mr. Pratt.

Pratt tore that packet open with a conviction of imminent disaster. He pulled out a sheet of cheap note paper and a wad of bank notes. His face worked curiously, as he read a few lines from Mrs. Murgatroyd, returning the five hundred dollars and promising to make a clean breast of everything to the police.

CHAPTER XXV.

Sandwiches With Sherry.

He wasted no time in cursing Mrs. Murgatroyd. There would be plenty of opportunity for such relief to his feelings, later on. Just then Pratt had other matters to occupy him fully. Within five minutes he had taken from his safe a sealed packet, which he placed in an inside pocket of his coat, and had left his office—for the last time, as he knew very well.

He had made ready for flight, but he was not going empty-handed, as he had a considerable amount of Mrs. Mallathorpe's money in his possession. By getting her signature to one or two documents, he could easily obtain much more in London, at an hour's notice. Now there was nothing to do but to get to Normandale Grange, see Mrs. Mallathorpe, and vanish.

Pratt began his flight in methodical fashion. Locking up his office, he left the building by a back entrance, which took him into a network of courts and alleys, at the rear of the business part of Barford. Thence he made his way on a bicycle to a village which was certainly not on the way to Normandale. And there, at the post office, he wrote out and dispatched a telegram. It was a brief message containing but three words, “One as usual,” and it was addressed “Esther Mawson, The Grange, Normandale.” This done, he re-mounted his bicycle, rode out of the village, and turned across country in quite a different direction.

At an early stage of his operations Pratt had found that even the cleverest of schemers cannot work unaided, He had found the necessary tool in the person of Esther Mawson, who, as Mrs. Mallathorpe's maid, had opportunities which he at once recognized as being of the greatest value to him. He had soon come to an understanding with her and made her a willing accomplice in certain of his schemes, without letting her know their full meaning and extent. Esther Mawson was in constant touch with her mistress, and, little by little, the mistress began to confide in the maid, and before long Esther Mawson knew the secret, and thenceforward she played a double game.

Pratt arrived at the boundary of Normandale Park at a point far away from the house. There he dismounted, hid his bicycle in a hedge, wherein he had often left it before, and went on toward the house through the woods and plantations. Just as one o'clock chimed from the clock over the stables, he came to a quiet spot in the shrubberies behind the house, and found Esther Mawson waiting for him in an old summer house, in which they had met on previous similar occasions.

Clever as Pratt was at concealing his feelings, Esther was cleverer in seeing small signs. She saw that this was no ordinary visit. “Anything wrong?” she asked at once.

“Bit of bother, nothing much; it'll blow over,” answered Pratt, who knew that a certain amount of candor was necessary in dealing with this woman. “But I shall have to be away for a week or two.”

“You want to see her?” inquired Esther.

“Of course. I've some papers for her to sign,” replied Pratt. “How do things stand? Coast clear?”

“Miss Mallathorpe's going into Barford after lunch,” answered Esther. “You can see her as soon as Miss Mallathorpe goes. You'd better come into the house. I've got the key of the tower door, and all's clear—the servants are at dinner.”

“I could do with something myself,” observed Pratt.

“I'll manage it,” she answered. “Come on now.”

Esther Mawson led the way until she and Pratt came to a tower in the gray walls, in the lower story of which a massive oaken door, heavily clamped with iron, gave entrance to a winding staircase within. She opened this door with a key which she produced from her pocket, locked it from inside, when she and Pratt had entered, and preceded her companion up the stairs and across one or two empty and dust-covered chambers to a small room, in which a few pieces of ancient furniture were slowly dropping to decay.

“I want something to drink, above everything,” he remarked. “What can you get?”

“Nothing but wine,” answered Esther Mawson. “As much as you like of that, because I've a stock that's kept up in Mrs. Mallathorpe's rooms. I can get wine and sandwiches without anybody knowing.”

“That'll do,” said Pratt. “Bring a bottle of it. I want a good drink.”

She went straightway to a certain store closet and took from it a bottle of old dry sherry. Carrying it to her own room, she drew the cork and poured a little of the wine away. That done, she unlocked a small box, which stood on a corner of her dressing table, and took from it a glass vial half full of a colorless liquid. With steady hands and sure fingers she dropped some of that liquid into the wine, carefully counting the drops.

Carrying a plate of sandwiches in one hand, and the bottle of sherry and a glass in the other, she stole quietly back to the disused part of the house and set the things before her caller. Pratt poured out a glassful of the sherry and drank it eagerly.

“Good stuff, that!” he remarked.

“Well, I shall have to go,” said Esther. “You'll be all right until I come back?”

She locked Pratt in the old room and went off, and the willing prisoner ate his sandwiches and drank his sherry and looked out of a mullioned window, on the wide stretch of park beyond. He indulged in some reflections not wholly devoid of sentiment. He had cherished dreams of becoming the virtual owner of Normandale. Now, all that seemed utterly impossible.

But before long Pratt indulged in no more reflections, sentimental or practical. He had eaten all his sandwiches; he had drunk three-quarters of the bottle of sherry, when, suddenly, he felt unusually drowsy and laid his head back in his big chair and fell sound asleep.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Closing the Net.

If Pratt had only known what was going on in the old quarries at Whitcliffe, about the very time he was riding slowly out of Barford on his bicycle, he would have exchanged bicycle for railroad train, as quickly as possible. But Pratt knew nothing of what Byner had done. He was unconscious of Byner's visit to the Green Man. He did not know what Pickard had been told by Bill Thomson. He was unaware of anything which Pickard had told Byner on the previous evening. As soon as Byner and Prydale had left Murgatroyd's shop, they hailed the first cab they met and ordered its driver to go to Whitcliffe Moor.

“It's the quickest thing to do. If my theory's correct, I shall be surprised if we don't find Parrawhite at the bottom of that water,” observed Byner, as they drove along. “This Mr. Shephard'll make no objection, I suppose?”

“Objection! Lor' bless you, he'll love it!” exclaimed Prydale.

Shephard, a retired quarry owner, who lived in a picturesque old stone house in the middle of Whitcliffe Moor, with nothing to occupy his attention but the growing of roses and vegetables and an occasional glance at the local newspapers, listened to Prydale's request with gradually rising curiosity. Byner had at once seen that their call was welcome to this bluff and hearty Yorkshireman, who, without any question as to their business, had immediately welcomed them to his hearth and pressed liquor and cigars on them.

“A dead man i' that old shaft i' one o' my worked-out quarries!” he exclaimed. “Ye don't mean to say so! An' how long d'yer think he might ha' been there, Mr. Prydale:”

“Some months, Mr. Shephard,” replied the detective.

“I'll tell you what I'll do,” observed Shephard. “You leave t' job to me. I'll get two or three men first thing to-morrer morning, and we'll do it reight. Say no more. T' mystery shall be cleared up.”

“One other matter,” remarked Prydale. “We want things kept quiet.”

“Leave it to me,” answered Shephard. “There'll be me and three men and yourselves and a pair o' grappin'-irons. We'll do it quiet and comfortable and we'll do it reight.”

“Odd character,” remarked Byner, when he and Prydale went away. “What about Pratt?”

“Keeping an eye on him?” said Prydale.

“Just so. But that's no reason why he shouldn't be looked after to-morrow morning,” answered Byner.

“All right. I'll put a man on to shadow him from the time he leaves his lodgings.”

Next day about noon Byner walked into Eldrick's private room, where Collingwood then was. He closed the door and gave the two men an informing glance. “Parrawhite's body has been found,” he announced quietly.

Eldrick started in his chair, and Collingwood looked a sharp inquiry.

“Little doubt about his having been murdered, just as I conjectured,” continued Byner.

Eldrick got out the first question. “Pratt!”

“Prydale's after him,” answered Byner. “I expect we shall hear something in a few minutes, if he's in town. Because, when Prydale and I got from Whitcliffe half an hour ago, where the body's now lying at the Green Man, awaiting the inquest, we found Murgatroyd hanging about the police station. He'd come to make a clean breast of it. It unfortunately turns out that Pratt saw Prydale and me go to Murgatroyd's shop last night, and afterward he went in there himself.”

“Why unfortunately?” asked Collingwood.

“Because that would warn Pratt that something was afoot,” said Byner. “And he may have disappeared during the night. He——”

Just then Prydale came in, shaking his head. 'I'm afraid he's off!” he announced. “I'd a man watching for him outside his lodgings from an early hour this morning, but he never came out. His office is closed.”

“What steps are you taking?” asked Byner.

“I've got men all over the place already,” replied Prydale.

Eldrick and Collingwood had arranged to lunch together that day, and, as they were returning along the street, Byner came running up to them.

“Prydale's just had a telephone message from the butler at Normandale!” he announced. “Pratt is there, and something extraordinary is going on. The butler wants the police. We're off at once. There's Prydale in a motor, waiting for me. Will you follow?”

He darted away again, and Eldrick, looking round for a car, suddenly recognized the Mallathorpe livery.

“Great Scott!” he said. “There's Miss Mallathorpe, just driving in. Better tell her.”

A moment later he and Collingwood had joined Nesta in her carriage, and the horses' heads were turned in the direction toward which Byner and Prydale were already hastening.

 

Esther Mawson, leaving Pratt to enjoy his sherry and sandwiches at his leisure, went away through the house, out into the gardens, and across to the stables. The coachman and grooms were at dinner, with the exception of one man, who lived in a cottage at the entrance to the stable yard. This was the very man she wanted to see.

“Mrs. Mallathorpe wants me to go over to Scaleby on an errand for her this afternoon,” she said. “Can you have the dogeart ready at the south garden gate at three o'clock sharp, without saying anything to the coachman? It's a private errand.”

Of late this particular groom had received several commissions of this sort, and, being a sharp fellow, he had observed that they were generally given to him when Miss Mallathorpe was out.

“All right,” he answered. “The young missus is going out in the carriage at half past two. South garden gate, then—three sharp. Anybody but you?”

“Only me,” replied Esther.

Everything was in readiness by twenty minutes past two, and she took up her position in a window from which she could see the front door of the house. At half past two the carriage and its two fine bay horses with Nesta Mallathorpe was whirling through the park in the direction of Barford. Then Esther moved from the window and went off in the direction of the room where she had left Pratt.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Esther Plays Her Cards.

No one ever went near those old rooms except on some special errand or business, and there was a dead silence all round Esther, as she turned the key in the lock and slipped inside the door. Pratt had stretched himself fully in his easy quarters. He was so still that he might have been supposed to be dead. After one searching glance at him, and one lifting of an eyelid by a practiced finger, Esther went rapidly and thoroughly through Pratt's pockets and cleared them of everything they contained. The sealed packet which he had taken from his safe that morning, the bank notes which Mrs. Murgatroyd had returned in her indignant letter, another roll of notes in a notecase, a purse containing notes and gold to a large amount—all these she laid one by one on a dust-covered table. Finally she swept bank notes, gold, and purse into her steel-chained bag and tore open the sealed envelope.

There were five documents in that envelope. Esther examined each with meticulous care. The first was an authority to Linford Pratt to sell certain shares standing in the name of Ann Mallathorpe. The second was a smaller document relating to other shares. Each was complete, save for Ann Mallathorpe's signature. The third document was the power of attorney which Ann Mallathorpe had given Linford Pratt; the fourth was the letter which she had written to him on the evening before the fatal accident to Harper. And the fifth was John Mallathorpe's will.

She was a woman of quick and understanding mind, and she had read the will through and grasped its significance as swiftly as her eyes ran over it. She would not follow Pratt's example and play for too high a stake. No, better, far better, one good bird in the hand than a score of possible good birds in the bush. Without so much as a glance at Pratt, she turned the key in the door and left the room. And now she went straight to a certain room where Mrs. Mallathorpe sat at an open window, wearily gazing out on the park.

She turned slowly, as the maid came in and carefully closed the door behind her, and her voice was irritable and querulous as she at once began to complain. “You've never been near me for two hours,” she said.

“I've had something else to do for you!” retorted Esther, coming close to her mistress. “Listen, now. I've got it!”

Mrs. Mallathorpe's attitude and manner suddenly changed. She caught sight of the packet of papers in the woman's hand and at once sprang to her feet, white and trembling, instinctively holding out her hands.

“No, no!” exclaimed Esther. “No handling of anything yet. You were ready enough to bargain with Pratt, now you'll have to bargin with me. But I'm not such a fool as he was. I'll take cash down and be done with it.”

“Is it—is it really the will?” Mrs. Mallathorpe asked hoarsely.

Esther drew out the documents one by one and held them up. “The will,” she said, “your letter to Pratt, the power of attorney, two papers that he brought for you to sign. That's the lot. And now, as I said, we'll bargain.”

“Where is he?” asked Mrs, Mallathorpe.

“If you want to know, he's safe and sound asleep in one of the rooms in the old part of the house,” answered Esther. “I drugged him. There's something afoot. And so I took the chance. Now, then, what are you going to give me?”

“I've nothing to give,” cried Mrs. Mallathorpe. “You know very well he's had the management of everything. I don't know how things are——”

“Stuff!” exclaimed Esther. “You've a lot of ready money in that desk there. You know you drew a lot out of the bank some time ago, and it's there now. You kept it for a contingency—the contingency's here. And you've your rings—the diamond and ruby rings. I know what they are worth. Come on, now! I mean to have the whole lot, so it's no use hesitating.”

“You'll give up everything?” Mrs. Mallathorpe asked nervously.

“Put those bank notes and the rings on the table between us,” answered Esther, “and I'll hand over these papers on the instant. I'm not going to be such a fool as to keep them—not I!”

Mrs. Mallathorpe drew a small bunch of keys from her gown, went over to the desk which Esther had pointed to, and within a minute she was back again at the table, a roll of bank notes in one hand, half a dozen magnificent rings in the other. She put both hands halfway across and unclasped them.

Esther Mawson, with a light laugh, threw the papers over the table, and hastily swept their price into her hand bag.

Mrs. Mallathorpe's nerves suddenly became steady. With a deep sigh she caught up the various documents, looked them quickly and thoroughly over, tore them into fragments, flung the fragments in the fire, and, as they blazed up, she turned and looked at Esther Mawson in a way which made Esther shrink a little. But Esther was already at the door. She walked out and down the stairs.

She was halfway across the hall beneath, where the butler and one of the footmen were idly talking, when a sharp cry from above made them look up.

“Stop that woman, you men!” cried Mrs. Mallathorpe. “Seize her! Fasten her up! Lock the door wherever you put her. She's stolen my rings and a lot of money out of my desk. Telephone instantly to Barford and tell them to send the police here at once!”

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The End of His Tether.

The carriage of Nesta Mallathorpe had just arrived in Barford when Eldrick caught sight of her. She was seriously startled, as he and Collingwood came running up to her. The solicitor entered it without ceremony or explanation, and, turning to the coachman, bade him drive back to Normandale as fast as he could. Meanwhile Collingwood turned to Nesta.

“Don't be alarmed,” he said. “Something is happening at the house. Your mother has telephoned to the police to go there at once. There they are, in front of us in that car!”

“Did my mother say if she was in danger?” demanded Nesta.

“She can't be!” exclaimed Eldrick. “Pratt's there—but, of course, you don't know the police want Pratt. He's wanted for murder!”

“Don't frighten Miss Mallathorpe,” said Collingwood. “The murder has nothing to do with present events,” he went on reassuringly. “It's something that happened some time ago.”

“I can't help feeling anxious if Pratt is there,” she answered. “This is all some of Esther Mawson's work!”

“Eldrick,” said Collingwood, as the carriage came abreast of the Central Station and a long line of motor cabs, “stop the coachman! Let's get one of those cars. We shall get to Normandale twice as quickly. Now,” he went on, as they hastily left the carriage and transferred themselves to a car, “tell the driver to go as fast as he can. The other car's not very far in front. Tell him to catch up with it.”

Eldrick leaned over and gave his orders. “Now, Miss Mallathorpe, don't you bother. This is probably going to be the clearing-up point of everything. One fact's certain, at any rate: Pratt has reached the end of his tether!”

None of the three spoke again until the car pulled up suddenly at the gates of Normandale Park. The lodge keeper approached the door of the car on seeing Nesta within.

“There's a young woman just gone up to the house that wants to see you very particular, miss,” he said. “She's going across the park there, crossin' yon path.”

“Who can she be?” said Nesta musingly. “A woman from a long way to see me?”

“She'll get to the house soon after we reach it,” said Eldrick. “Let's attend to the more pressing business first.”

But it was somewhat difficult to make out or to discover what really afoot. The car stopped at the hall door. The second car came close behind it. Nesta, Collingwood, Eldrick, Byner, and the detectives poured into the hall.

“What's all this?” asked Eldrick, taking the initiative into his own hands. “What's the matter? Why did you send for the police?”

“Mrs. Mallathorpe's orders, sir,” answered the butler, with an apologetic glance at his young mistress. “Really, sir, I don't know exactly what is the matter. We are all so confused. What happened was, that not very long after Miss Mallathorpe had left for town in the carriage, Esther Mawson, the maid, came down from Mrs. Mallathorpe's room and was crossing the lower part of the hall, when Mrs. Mallathorpe suddenly called to me and James to stop her and lock her up, as she had stolen money and jewels.

“Well?” demanded Eldrick.

“We did lock her up, sir. She's in my pantry,” continued the butler ruefully. “She fought us like—like a maniac, protesting all the time that Mrs. Mallathorpe had given her what she had on her.”

“Where is Mrs. Mallathorpe?” asked Collingwood. “Is she safe?”

“Oh, quite safe, sir,” replied the butler. “She returned to her room after giving those orders.”

Prydale pushed himself forward unceremoniously and insistently. “Keep that woman locked up!” he said. “First of all, where's Pratt?”

“Mrs. Mallathorpe said he would be found in the old part of the house,” answered the butler. “She said you would find him fast asleep. Mawson had drugged him.”

Prydale looked at Byner and at his fellow detectives. Then he turned to the butler. “Come on,” he said brusquely. “Take me there at once.” He glanced at Eldrick. “I'm beginning to see through it, Mr. Eldrick,” he whispered. “This maid's caught Pratt for us. Let's hope he's still——”

But before he could say more, and just as the butler opened a door which led into a corridor at the rear of the hall, a sharp crack, which was unmistakably that of a revolver, rang through the house, waking equally sharp echoes in the silent room.

 

Pratt came out of his stupor much sooner than Esther Mawson had reckoned on. He woke suddenly, sharply, only conscious at first of a terrible pain in his head, which kept him groaning and moaning in his chair for a minute or two, before he fairly realized where he was, and what had happened. Just then his wandering glance fell on some papers which Esther Mawson had taken from one of his pockets and thrown aside, as of no value.

He leaped to his feet, in nervous apprehension. He tore at his pockets, he took off his coat and turned the pockets out, as if touch and feeling were not to be believed. The shock of his discovery had driven all his stupefaction away by that time, and he knew what had happened. He regained some composure and glared about him for means of escape. He went to the door and tried it; nothing but a crowbar would break that down. Then he turned to the mullioned window, set in a deep recess. The window commanded a full view of the hall door, and he had seen Prydale and two other detectives and the stranger from London, whom he believed to be a detective, hurrying from their motor car into the house.

There was but one thing for it now. In his hip pocket Esther had left a revolver, which Pratt for some time had carried, always loaded. Without the least hesitation he drew it out and sent a bullet through his brain.

 

Eldrick and Collingwood, returning to the hall from the room in which they and the detectives had found Pratt's dead body, stood in earnest conversation with Prydale, who had just come there from an interview with Esther Mawson.

Nesta Mallathorpe suddenly called to them from the stairs. Eldrick and Collingwood exchanged glances and followed Nesta into her mother's sitting room. Instead of the semi-invalid whom they had expected to find, they saw a woman who had evidently regained not only her vivacity and her spirits, but her sense of authority, and her inclination to exercise it.

“I am sorry that you gentlemen should have been drawn into all this wretched business!” she said. “Everything must seem very strange, and, indeed, have seemed so for some time. But I have been the victim of as bad a scoundrel as ever lived. I only wish he'd met his proper fate—on the scaffold. I don't know what you may have heard or gathered, but I wanted to tell you, Mr. Eldrick, and you, Mr. Collingwood, that Pratt invented a most abominable plot against me, which, of course, hadn't a word of truth in it——”

Eldrick suddenly raised his head. “Mrs. Mallathorpe,” he said quietly, “I think you had better let me speak before you go any farther. Perhaps we know more than you think. Don't trifle, Mrs. Mallathorpe. What have you done with John Mallathorpe's will?”

“What do you mean—John Mallathorpe's will!” she exclaimed. “What do I know of John Mallathorpe's will? There never was——”

“Mrs. Mallathorpe,” interrupted Eldrick, “don't commit yourself. I'm speaking in your interest. There was a will, made on the morning of John Mallathorpe's death. It was found by Mr. Collingwood's late grandfather, Antony Bartle; when he died suddenly in my office, it fell into Pratt's hands. That is the document which Pratt held over you, and, not an hour ago, Esther Mawson took it from Pratt and she gave it to you. Again I ask you what have you done with it?”

Mrs. Mallathorpe hesitated a moment. Then she suddenly faced Eldrick with a defiant look. “Let them, let anybody do what they like!” she exclaimed. “It's burned! I threw it in the fire as soon as I got it! And now——”

Nesta interrupted her mother. “Does any one know the terms of that will?” she asked.

“Yes,” answered Eldrick. 'Esther Mawson knows them. She told Prydale just now what they were. With the exception of three legacies of fifty thousand dollars each to your mother, your brother, and yourself, John Mallathorpe left everything he possessed to the town of Barford, for an educational trust.”

“Then,” asked Nesta quietly, as she made a peremptory sign to her mother to be silent, “we never had any right to be here at all?”

“I'm afraid not,” replied Eldrick.

“Then, of course, we shall go,” said Nesta. “That's my decision. It's final.”

“You can do what you like,” retorted Mrs. Mallathorpe sullenly. “I am not going to be frightened by anything that Esther Mawson says. Nor by what you say,” she continued, turning on Eldrick. “All that has got to be proved. Who can prove it? What can prove it? No one can bring forward a will that doesn't exist. And what concern is it of yours, Mr. Eldrick?”

“You are quite right, Mrs. Mallathorpe,” said Eldrick. “It is no concern of mine. And so——”

He turned to the door to admit the old butler, who looked apologetically at Nesta as he stepped forward. “A Mrs. Gaukrodger wishes to see you on very particular business,” he murmured. “Something, she says, about some papers she has just found belonging to the late Mr. John Mallathorpe.”

Collingwood, who was standing close to Nesta, caught all that the butler said. “Gaukrodger!” he exclaimed, with a quick glance at Eldrick. “That was the name of the manager—a witness. See this woman at once,” he whispered to Nesta.

“Bring Mrs. Gaukrodger here, Dickinson,” said Nesta. “Stay, I'll come with you and bring her in myself.”

She returned a moment later with a slightly built, rather careworn woman, dressed in deep mourning—the woman in black, whom they had seen crossing the park.

“What is it you have for me, Mrs. Gaukrodger?” asked Nesta. “Papers belonging to the late Mr. John Mallathorpe? Where did you get them?”

Mrs. Gaukrodger drew a large envelope from under her cloak. “Here, miss,” she answered. “One paper, I only found it this morning. When my husband was killed, along with Mr. John Mallathorpe, they, of course, brought home the clothes he was wearing. There were a lot of papers in the pockets of the coat. I hadn't heart or courage to look at them at that time, miss, I couldn't. I never looked at them at all until this very day; but this morning I happened to open that box and I saw them, and I thought I'd see what they were. And this was one, you see, in a plain envelope. It was sealed, but there's no writing on it. I cut the envelope open and drew this paper out. I saw at once it was Mr. John Mallathorpe's will, so I came straight to you with it.”

She handed the envelope over to Nesta, who at once gave it to Eldrick. The solicitor hastily drew out the inclosure, glanced it over, and turned sharply to Collingwood.

“That man Cobcroft was right! There was a duplicate. And here it is!”

Mrs. Mallathorpe had come nearer. The sight of the half sheet of foolscap in Eldrick's hands seemed to fascinate her, and the expression of her face as she came close to his side was so curious that the solicitor involuntarily folded up the will and hastily put it behind his back. He had not only seen that expression, but had caught sight of Mrs. Mallathorpe's twitching fingers.

“Is—that—that—another will?” she asked. “John Mallathorpe's?”

“Precisely the same—another copy, duly signed and witnessed,” answered Eldrick firmly. “What you foolishly did was done for nothing. And it's the most fortunate thing in the world, Mrs. Mallathorpe, that this has turned up—most fortunate for you.”

Mrs. Mallathorpe steadied herself on the edge of the table and looked at him fixedly. “Everything'll have to be given up?” she asked.

“The terms of this will will be carried out,” answered Eldrick.

“Will—will they make us give up what we've saved?” she whispered.

“Mother!” said Nesta appealingly. “Don't! Come away somewhere and let me talk to you. Come.”

But Mrs. Mallathorpe shook off her daughter's hand and turned again to Eldrick. “Will they?” she demanded.

“I don't think you'll find the trustees at all hard when it comes to a question of an account,” answered Eldrick. “They'll probably take matters over from now and ignore anything that's happened during the past two years.”

“And will the police give me what they found on that woman?” she continued.

“I have no doubt they will,” replied Eldrick. “It's yours.”

Eldrick turned to Nesta. “I'm sorry for her and for you.”

But Nesta made a sign of dissent. “There's no need to be sorry for me, Mr. Eldrick,” she answered. “It's a greater relief than you can realize.” She turned from him and went to Mrs. Gaukrodger, who had watched this scene without fully comprehending it. “Come with me,” she said. “You look very tired. You must have some tea and rest a while. Come now.”

Eldrick and Collingwood, left alone, looked at each other in silence for a moment, then the solicitor shook his head expressively. “Well, that's over!” exclaimed Eldrick. “I must get back and hand this will over to the two trustees. But you, Collingwood, had better remain here. If ever that girl needs company and help it's now.”

“I'm not leaving,” said Collingwood.

 

He remained for a time where Eldrick left him. At last he went down to the hall and out into the garden. Presently Nesta came to him there, and, as if with a mutual understanding, they walked away into the nearer stretches of the park. Normandale had never looked more beautiful than it did that afternoon, and, in the midst of a silence which up to then neither of them had cared to break, Collingwood suddenly turned to the girl who had just lost it.

“Are you sure that you won't miss this greatly?” he asked. “Just think.”

“I'd rather lose more than this, however much I've grown to like it, than go through what I've gone through lately,” she answered frankly. “Do you know what I want to do?”

“No, I think not,” he said. “What?”

“If it's possible, to forget all about this,” she replied. “And, if that's also possible, to help mother to forget.”

“I'm sorry for her. But is it too soon to talk about the future?” said Collingwood.

Nesta looked at him in a way which showed him that she only half comprehended his question. But there was sufficient comprehension in her eyes to warrant him in taking her hands in his.

“You know why I didn't go to India?” he said, bending his face to hers.

“I guessed,” she answered shyly.

Then Collingwood, at this suddenly arrived supreme moment, became curiously bereft of speech. After a period of silence, during which a grove of beech trees kindly concealed them from the rest of the world, they held each other's hands, and all that he could find to say was one word—”Well?”

Nesta laughed. “Well, what?” she whispered.

“It's no good,” he said. “I've often thought of what I'd say to you—and now I've forgotten it all. Shall I say it all at once?”

“Wouldn't it be best?” she murmured with another laugh.

“Then you're going to marry me?” he asked.

“Am I to answer all at once?” she said.

“One word will do!” he exclaimed.

“Ah!” she whispered, as she lifted her face to his. “I couldn't say it all in one word. But we've lots of time before us!”

THE END.