Pratt was very much perturbed, deeply
moved, not a little frightened. He had so schooled himself to keep a
straight and ever blank expression of countenance in any sudden change
of events that he had shown nothing to Eldrick--but he was none the less
upset by the solicitor's last announcement. Twenty thousand pounds was
lying to be picked up by Parrawhite--or by Parrawhite's next-of-kin!
What an unhappy turn of fortune! For the next-of-kin would never rest
until either Parrawhite came to light, or it was satisfactorily
established that he was dead--and if search begun to be made in Barford,
where might not that search end? Unmoved?--cool?--if Eldrick had turned
back, he would have found that Pratt had suddenly given way to a fit of
nerves.
But that soon passed, and Pratt began to think. He left his office
early, and betook himself to his favourite gymnasium. Exercise did him
good--he thought a lot while he was exercising. And once more, instead
of going home to dinner, he dined in town, and he sat late over his
dinner in a snug corner of the restaurant, and he thought and planned
and schemed--and after twilight had fallen on Barford, he went out and
made his way to Peel Row. He must see Murgatroyd again--at once.
Half-way along Peel Row, Pratt stopped, suddenly--and with sudden fear.
Out of a side street emerged a man, a quiet ordinary-looking man whom he
knew very well indeed--Detective-Sergeant Prydale.
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