"He came to ask what there was in a letter which his grandfather wrote to me yesterday afternoon."
"Antony Bartle had written to you, had he? And what did he say, Mrs. Mallathorpe? For that is important!"
"No more than that he wanted me to call on him today, if I happened to be in Barford."
"Nothing more?"
"Nothing more—not a word."
"Nothing as to—why he wanted to see you?"
"No! I thought that he probably wanted to see me about buying some books of the late Mr. Mallathorpe's."
"Did you tell Collingwood that?" asked Pratt, eagerly.
"Yes—of course."
"Did it satisfy him?"
Mrs. Mallathorpe frowned again.
"Why shouldn't I?" she demanded. "It was the only explanation I could possibly give him. How do I know what the old man really wanted?"
Pratt drew his chair still nearer to the desk. His voice dropped to a whisper and his eyes were full of meaning.
"I'll tell you what he wanted!" he said speaking very slowly. "It's what I've come for. Listen! Antony Bartle came to our office soon after five yesterday afternoon. I was alone—everybody else had gone. I took him into Eldrick's room. He told me that in turning over one of the books which he had bought from Mallathorpe Mill, some short time ago, he had found—what do you think?"
