There was an equally deep silence within the room--and
for a moment she glanced a little fearfully at the recumbent figure in
the old, deep-backed chair. Pratt had stretched himself fully in his
easy quarters---his legs lay extended across the moth-eaten hearth-rug;
his head and shoulders were thrown far back against the faded tapestry,
and he was so still that he might have been supposed to be dead. But
Esther Mawson had tried the effect of that particular drug on a good
many people, and she knew that the victim in this instance was merely
plunged in a sleep from which nothing whatever could wake him yet
awhile. And after one searching glance at him, and one lifting of an
eyelid by a practised finger, she went rapidly and thoroughly through
Pratt's pockets, and within a few minutes of entering the room had
cleared them of everything they contained. The sealed packet which he
had taken from his safe that morning; the bank-notes which Mrs.
Murgatroyd had returned in her indignant letter; another roll of notes,
of considerable value, in a note-case; a purse containing notes and gold
to a large amount--all those she laid one by one on a dust-covered
table. And finally--and as calmly as if she were sorting linen--she
swept bank-notes, gold, and purse into her steel-chained bag, and tore
open the sealed envelope.
There were five documents in that envelope--Esther examined each with
meticulous care.
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