"My fault—all my fault!" he said. "Look here!—keep it quiet. But—do you know where Parrawhite has lived—lodged?"
"No!" replied Pratt. "Some of the others may, though!"
"Try to find out—quickly," continued Eldrick. "Then, make some excuse to go out—take papers somewhere, or something—and find if he's left his lodgings. I—I don't want to set the police on him. He was a decent fellow, once. See what you can make out, Pratt. In strict secrecy, you know—I do not want this to go further."
Pratt could have danced for joy when he presently went out into the town. There would be no hue-and-cry after Parrawhite—none! Eldrick would accept the fact that Parrawhite had robbed him and flown—and Parrawhite would never be heard of—never mentioned again. It was the height of good luck for him. Already he had got rid of any small scraps of regret or remorse about the killing of his fellow-clerk. Why should he be sorry? The scoundrel had tried to murder him, thinking no doubt that he had the will on him. And he had not meant to kill him—what he had done, he had done in self-defence. No—everything was working most admirably—Parrawhite's previous bad record, Eldrick's carelessness and his desire to shut things up: it was all good. From that day forward, Parrawhite would be as if he had never been. Pratt was not even afraid of the body being discovered—though he believed that it would remain where it was for ever—for the probability was that
