And--by whom do you think?"
"I--don't know!" replied Nesta faintly. This merciless piling up of
details was beginning to frighten her--already she felt as if she
herself were some criminal, forced to listen from the dock to the
opening address of a prosecuting counsel. "How should I know?--how can I
think?"
"It was handed in for registration by your mother's maid, Esther
Mawson," said Pratt with a dark look. "I've got her evidence, anyway!
And that was all part of a plan--just as a certain something that was
enclosed was a part of the same plan--a plot. And now I'll read you the
letter--and you'll bear it in mind that I got it by first post that
Saturday morning. This is what it--what your mother--says:--
"I particularly wish to see you again, at once, about the matter
between us and to have another look at _that document_. Can you
come here, bringing it with you, tomorrow, Saturday afternoon,
by the train which leaves soon after two o'clock? As I am most
anxious that your visit should be private and unknown to any one
here, do not come to the house. Take the path across the park to
the shrubberies near the house, so that if you are met people
would think you were taking a near cut to the village. I will
meet you in the shrubbery on the house side of the little
foot-bridge. The gates--'"
Pratt suddenly paused, and before proceeding looked hard at his visitor.
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