To
such a man, a hundred pounds meant relief, comfort, the lifting of
pressure.
"You're sure there's naught wrong in it, Mr. Pratt," he asked abruptly
and assiduously. "It 'ud be a bad job for my family if anything happened
to me, you know."
"There's naught that will happen," answered Pratt confidently. "Who on
earth can contradict you? Who knows what people you sell passages
to--but yourself?"
"There's the folks themselves," replied Murgatroyd. "Suppose Parrawhite
turns up?"
"He won't!" exclaimed Pratt.
"You know where he is?" suggested Murgatroyd.
"Not exactly," said Pratt, "But--he's left this country for
another--further off than America. That's certain! And--the folks I
referred to don't want any inquiry about him here."
"If I am asked questions--later--am I to say he booked in his own name?"
inquired Murgatroyd.
"No--name of Parsons," responded Pratt. "Here, I'll write down for you
exactly what I want you to say in the telegram to Halstead & Byner, and
I'll make a few memoranda for you--to post you up in case they write for
further information."
"I haven't said that I'll do it," remarked Murgatroyd. "I don't like the
looks of it. It's all a pack of lies."
Pratt paid no heed to this moral reflection. He found some loose paper
in his pocket and scribbled on it for a while. Then, as if accidentally,
he moved the ash-tray, and the bank-notes beneath it, all new, gave
forth a crisp, rustling sound.
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