ter—you'll convince him. Now, then, we must do it in a fashion that won't excite any suspicion. Thus—in a few days—say next week—you'll insert in the Barford papers—all three of them—the advertisement I'm going to dictate to you. We'll put it in the usual, formal phraseology. Write this down, if you please, Mrs. Mallathorpe."
He dictated an advertisement, setting forth the requirements of which he had spoken, and Mrs. Mallathorpe obeyed him and wrote. She hated Pratt more than ever at that moment—there was a quiet, steadfast implacability about him that made her feel helpless. But she restrained all sign of it, and when she had done his bidding she looked at him as calmly as he looked at her.
"I am to insert this in the Barford papers next week," she said. "And—what then?"
"Then you'll get a lot of applications for the job," chuckled Pratt. "There'll be mine amongst them. You can throw most of 'em in the fire. Keep a few for form's sake. Profess to discuss them with Mr. Harper—but let the discussion be all on your side. I'll send two or three good testimonials—you'll incline to me from the first. You'll send for me. Your interview with me will be highly satisfactory. And you'll give me the appointment."
"And—your terms?" asked Mrs. Mallathorpe. Now that her own scheme had failed, she seemed quite placable to all Pratt's proposals—a sure sign of danger to him if he had only known it. "Better let me know them now—and have done with it."
