It's impossible. You get that
letter off--at once--to Liverpool, with that money inside it, and you're
as safe as houses--and your hundred pounds as well. Get it done! And if
those chaps come asking any more questions, tell 'em you're not going to
answer a single one! Mind you!--do what I tell you, and you're safe!"
With that Pratt walked out of the shop and went off towards the centre
of the town, inwardly raging and disturbed. It was very evident that
these people meant to find Parrawhite, alive or dead; evident, too, that
they had called in the aid of the Barford police. And in spite of all
his assurances to the watchmaker and his suggestion for the next move,
Pratt was far from easy about the whole matter. He would have been
easier if he had known who Prydale's companion was--probably he was, as
Murgatroyd had suggested, a London detective who might have been making
inquiries in the town for some time and knew much more than he, Pratt,
could surmise. That was the devil of the whole thing!--in Pratt's
opinion. Adept himself in working underground, he feared people who
adopted the same tactics. What was this stranger chap after? What did he
know? What was he doing? Had he let Eldrick know anything? Was there a
web of detectives already being spun around himself? Was that silly,
unfortunate affair with Parrawhite being slowly brought to light--to
wreck him on the very beginning of what he meant to be a brilliant
career? He cursed Parrawhite again and again as he left Peel Row behind
him.
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