Mallathorpe--you know what that means!"
Mrs. Mallathorpe suddenly rose from her chair.
"I know this!" she said. "I'll discuss nothing, and do nothing, till
I've seen that will!"
Pratt rose, too, nodding his head as if quite satisfied. He took up the
copy, tore it in two pieces, and carefully dropped them into the glowing
fire.
"I shall be at my lodgings at any time after five-thirty tomorrow
evening," he answered quietly. "Call there. You have the address. And
you can then read the will with your own eyes. I shan't bring it here.
The game's in my hands, Mrs. Mallathorpe."
Within a few minutes he was out in the park again, and making his way to
the little railway station in the valley below. He felt triumphant--he
knew that the woman he had just left was at his mercy and would accede
to his terms. And all the way back to town, and through the town to his
lodgings, he considered and perfected the scheme he was going to suggest
to Mrs. Mallathorpe on the morrow.
Pratt lived in a little hamlet of old houses on the very outskirts of
Barford--on the edge of a stretch of Country honeycombed by
stone-quarries, some in use, some already worked out. It was a lonely
neighbourhood, approached from the nearest tramway route by a narrow,
high-walled lane. He was half-way along that lane when a stealthy foot
stole to his side, and a hand was laid on his arm--just as stealthily
came the voice of one of his fellow-clerks at Eldrick & Pascoe's.
Pages:
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70