"I should have thought that a man who had come into an estate like this would have found plenty of occupation," he remarked. "What is there, beside the house and this park?"
Nesta, who had busied herself with some fancy-work since Collingwood's entrance, laid it down and came to the windows. She pointed to certain roofs and gables in the valley.
"There's the whole village of Normandale," she said. "A busy place, no doubt, but it's all Harper's—he's lord of the manor. He's patron of the living, too. It's all his—farms, cottages, everything. And the woods, and the park, and this house, and a stretch of the moors, as well. Of course, he ought to find a lot to do—but he doesn't. Perhaps because my mother does everything. She really is a business woman."
Collingwood looked out over the area which Nesta had indicated. Harper Mallathorpe, he calculated, must be possessed of some three or four thousand acres.
"A fine property!" he said. "He's a very fortunate fellow!"
Just then this very fortunate fellow came in. His face, dull enough as he entered, lighted up at sight of a visitor, and fell again when Collingwood explained that his visit was a mere flying one, and that he was returning to London that night. Collingwood led him on to the project which he had mentioned at his previous visit—the making of golf links in the park, and pointed out, as a devotee of the sport, what a fine course could be made. Before he left he had succeeded in arousing like interest in Harper—he promised to go into the matter, and to employ a man whom Collingwood recommended as an expert in laying out golf courses.
"You'll have got your greens in something like order by this time next year, if you start operations soon," said Collingwood. "And then, if I settle down at Barford, I'll come out now and then, if you'll let me."
"Let you!" exclaimed Harper. "By Jove!—we're only too glad to have anybody out here—aren't we, Nesta?"
"We shall always be glad to see Mr. Collingwood," said Nesta.
Collingwood went away with that last intimation warm in his memory. He had an idea that the girl meant what she said—and for a moment he was sorry that he was going to India. He might have settled down at Barford there and then, and—but at that he laughed at himself.
"A young woman with several thousands a year of her own!" he said. "Of course, she'll marry some big pot in the county. They feel a little lonely, those two, just now, because everything's new to them, and they're new to their changed circumstances. But when I get back—ah!—I guess they'll have got plenty of people around them."
And he determined, being a young man of sense, not to think any more—for already he had thought a good deal of Nesta Mallathorpe, until he returned from his Indian travels. Let him attend to his business, and leave possibilities until they came nearer.
"All the same." he mused, as he drew near the town again, "I'm pretty sure I shall come back here next spring—I feel like it."
He called in at Eldrick's office on his way to the hotel, to take some documents which had been preparing for him. It was then late in the afternoon, and no one but Pratt was there—Pratt, indeed, had been waiting until Collingwood called.
"Going back to town, Mr. Collingwood?" asked Pratt as he handed over a big envelope. "When shall we have the pleasure of seeing you again, sir?"
Something in the clerk's tone made Collingwood think—he could not tell why—that Pratt was fishing for information. And—also for reasons which he could not explain—Collingwood had taken a curious dislike to Pratt, and was not inclined to give him any confidence.
"I don't know," he answered, a little icily. "I am leaving for India next week."
He bade the clerk a formal farewell and went off, and Pratt locked the office door and slowly followed him downstairs.
"To India!" he said to himself, watching the young barrister's retreating figure. "To India, eh? For a time—or for—what?"
Anyway, that was good news, Pratt had seen in Collingwood a possible rival.
Collingwood's return to London was made on a Friday evening: next day he began the final preparations for his departure to India on the following Thursday. He was looking forward to his journey and his stay in India with keen expectation. He would have the society of a particularly clever and brilliant man; they were to break their journey in Italy and in Egypt; he would enjoy exceptional facilities for seeing the native life of India; he would gain valuable experience. It was a chance at which any young man would have jumped, and Collingwood had been greatly envied when it was known that Sir John Standridge had offered it to him. And yet he was conscious that if he could have done precisely what he desired, he would have stayed longer at Barford, in order to see more of Nesta Mallathorpe. Already it seemed a long time to the coming spring, when he would be back—and free to go North again.
But Collingwood was fated to go North once more much sooner than he had dreamed of. As he sat at breakfast in his rooms on the Monday morning after his departure from Barford, turning over his newspaper with no particular aim or interest, his attention was suddenly and sharply arrested by a headline. Even that headline might not have led him to read what lay beneath. But in the same instant in which he saw it he also saw a name—Mallathorpe. In the next he knew that heavy trouble had fallen on Normandale Grange, the very day after he had left it.
This is what Collingwood read as he sat, coffee-cup in one hand, newspaper in the other—staring at the lines of unleaded type:
"A fatal accident, of a particularly sad and disturbing nature, occurred near Barford, Yorkshire, on Saturday. About four o'clock on Saturday afternoon, Mr. Linford Pratt, managing clerk to Messrs. Eldrick & Pascoe, Solicitors, of Barford, who was crossing the grounds of Normandale Grange on his way to a business appointment, discovered the dead body of Mr. H. J. Mallathorpe, the owner of the Normandale Estate, lying in a roadway which at that point is spanned, forty feet above, by a narrow foot-bridge. The latter is an ancient construction of wood, and there is no doubt that it was in extremely bad repair, and had given way when the unfortunate young gentleman, who was out shooting in his park, stepped upon it. Mr. Mallathorpe, who was only twenty-four years of age, succeeded to the Normandale estates, one of the finest properties in the neighbourhood of Barford, about two years ago, under somewhat romantic—and also tragic—circumstances, their previous owner, his uncle, Mr. John Mallathorpe, a well-known Barford manufacturer, meeting a sudden death by the falling of his mill chimney—a catastrophe which also caused the deaths of several of his employees. Mr. John Mallathorpe died intestate, and the estate at Normandale passed to the young gentleman who met such a sad fate on Saturday afternoon. Mr. H.J. Mallathorpe was unmarried, and it is understood that Normandale (which includes the village of that name, the advowson of the living, and about four thousand acres of land) now becomes the property of his sister, Miss Nesta Mallathorpe."
Collingwood set down his cup, and dropped the newspaper. He was but half way through his breakfast, but all his appetite had vanished. All that he was conscious of was that here was trouble and grief for a girl in whom—it was useless to deny it—he had already begun to take a warm interest. And suddenly he started from his chair and snatched up a railway guide. As he turned over its pages, he thought rapidly. The preparations for his journey to India were almost finished—what was not done he could do in a few hours. He had no further appointment with Sir John Standridge until nine o'clock on Thursday morning, when he was to meet him at the train for Dover and Paris. Monday—Tuesday—Wednesday—he had three days—ample time to hurry down to Normandale, to do what he could to help there, and to get back in time to make his own last arrangements. He glanced at his watch—he had forty minutes in which to catch an express from King's Cross to Barford. Without further delay he picked up a suit-case which was already packed and set out for the station.
He was in Barford soon after two o'clock—in Eldrick's office by half-past two. Eldrick shook his head at sight of him.
"I can guess what's brought you down, Collingwood," he said. "Good of you, of course—I don't think they've many friends out there."
"I can scarcely call myself that—yet," answered Collingwood. "But—I thought I might be of some use. I'll drive out there presently. But first—how was it?"
Eldrick shook his head.
"Don't know much more than what the papers say," he answered. "There's an old foot-bridge there that spans a road in the park—road cut through a ravine. They say it was absolutely rotten, and the poor chap's weight was evidently too much for it. And there was a drop of forty feet into a hard road. Extraordinary thing that nobody on the estate seems to have known of the dangerous condition of that bridge!—but they say it was little used—simply a link between one plantation and another. However;—it's done, now. Our clerk—Pratt, you know—found the body. Hadn't been dead five minutes, Pratt says."
"What was Pratt doing there?" asked Collingwood.
"Oh, business of his own," replied Eldrick. "Not ours. There was an advertisement in Saturday's papers which set out that a steward was wanted for the Normandale estate, and Pratt mentioned it to me in the morning that he thought of applying for the job if we'd give him a good testimonial. I suppose he'd gone out there to see about the preliminaries. Anyway, he was walking through the park when he found young Mallathorpe's body. I understand he made himself very useful, too, and I've sent him out there again today, to do anything he can—smart chap, Pratt!"
"Possibly, then, there is nothing I can do," remarked Collingwood.
"I should say you'll do a lot by merely going there," answered Eldrick. "As I said just now, they've few friends, and no relations, and I hear that Mrs. Mallathorpe is absolutely knocked over. Go, by all means—a bit of sympathy goes a long way on these occasions. I say!—what a regular transformation an affair of this sort produces. Do you know, that young fellow, just like his uncle, had not made any will! Fact!—I had it from Robson, their solicitor, this very morning. The whole of the estate comes to the sister, of course—she and the mother will share the personal property. By that lad's death, Nesta Mallathorpe becomes one of the wealthiest young women in Yorkshire!"
Collingwood made no reply to this communication. But as he drove off to Normandale Grange, it was fresh in his mind. And it was not very pleasant to him. One of the wealthiest young women in Yorkshire!—and he was already realizing that he would like to make Nesta Mallathorpe his wife: it was because he felt what he did for her that he had rushed down to do anything he could that would be of help. Supposing—only supposing—that people—anybody—said that he was fortune-hunting! Somewhat unduly sensitive, proud, almost to a fault, he felt his cheek redden at the thought, and for a moment he wished that old John Mallathorpe's wealth had never passed to his niece. But then he sneered at himself for his presumption.
"Ass!" he said. "She's never even thought of me—in that way, most likely! Anyway, I'm a stupid fool for thinking of these things at present."
But he knew, within a few minutes of entering the big, desolate-looking house, that Nesta had been thinking of him. She came to him in the room where they had first met, and quietly gave him her hand.
"I was not surprised when they told me you were here," she said. "I was thinking about you—or, rather, expecting to hear from you."
"I came at once," answered Collingwood, who had kept her hand in his. "I—well, I couldn't stop away. I thought, perhaps, I could do something—be of some use."
"It's a great deal of use to have just—come," she said. "Thank you!But—I suppose you'll have to go?"
"Not for two days, anyway," he replied. "What can I do?"
"I don't know that you can actually do anything," she answered. "Everything is being done. Mr. Eldrick sent his clerk, Mr. Pratt—who found Harper—he's been most kind and useful. He—and our own solicitor—are making all arrangements. There's got to be an inquest. No—I don't know that you can do actual things. But—while you're here—you can look in when you like. My mother is very ill—she has scarcely spoken since Saturday."
"I'll tell you what I will do," said Collingwood determinedly. "I noticed in coming through the village just now that there's quite a decent inn there. I'll go down and arrange to stay there until Wednesday evening—then I shall be close by—if you should need me."
He saw by her look of quick appreciation and relief that this suggestion pleased her. She pressed his hand and withdrew her own. "Thank you again!" she said. "Do you know—I can't quite explain—I should be glad if you were close at hand? Everybody has been very kind—but I do feel that there is nobody I can talk to. If you arrange this, will you come in again this evening?"
"I shall arrange it," answered Collingwood. "I'll see to it now. Tell your people I am to be brought in whenever I call. And—I'll be close by whenever you want me."
It seemed little to say, little to do, but he left her feeling that he was being of some use. And as he went off to make his arrangements at the inn he encountered Pratt, who was talking to the butler in the outer hall.
The clerk looked at Collingwood with an unconcern and a composure which he was able to assume because he had already heard of his presence in the house. Inwardly, he was malignantly angry that the young barrister was there, but his voice was suave, and polite enough when he spoke.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Collingwood," he said quietly. "Very sad occasion on which we meet again, sir. Come to offer your sympathy, Mr. Collingwood, of course—very kind of you."
"I came," answered Collingwood, who was not inclined to bandy phrases with Pratt, "to see if I could be of any practical use."
"Just so, sir," said Pratt. "Mr. Eldrick sent me here for the same purpose. There's really not much to do—beyond the necessary arrangements, which are already pretty forward. Going back to town, sir?" he went on, following Collingwood out to his motor-car, which stood waiting in the drive.
"No!" replied Collingwood. "I'm going to send this man to Barford to fetch my bag to the inn down there in the village, where I'm going to stay for a few days. Did you hear that?" he continued, turning to the driver. "Go back to Barford—get my bag from theStation Hotelthere—bring it to theNormandale Arms—I'll meet you there on your return."
The car went off, and Collingwood, with a nod to Pratt, was about to turn down a side path towards the village. But Pratt stopped him.
"Would you care to see the place where the accident happened, Mr.Collingwood?" he said. "It's close by—won't take five minutes."
Collingwood hesitated a moment; then he turned back. It might be well, he reflected, if he made himself acquainted with all the circumstances of this case, simple as they seemed.
"Thank you," he said. "If it's so near."
"This way, sir," responded Pratt. He led his companion along the front of the house, through the shrubberies at the end of a wing, and into a plantation by a path thickly covered with pine needles. Presently they emerged upon a similar track, at right angles to that by which they had come, and leading into a denser part of the woods. And at the end of a hundred yards of it they came to a barricade, evidently of recent construction, over which Pratt stretched a hand. "There!" he said. "That's the bridge, sir." Collingwood looked over the barricade. He saw that he and Pratt were standing at the edge of one thick plantation of fir and pine; the edge of a similar plantation stretched before them some ten yards away. But between the two lay a deep, dark ravine, which, immediately in front of the temporary barricade, was spanned by a narrow rustic bridge—a fragile-looking thing of planks, railed in by boughs of trees. And in the middle was a jagged gap in both floor and side-rails, showing where the rotten wood had given way.
"I'll explain, Mr. Collingwood," said the clerk presently. "I knew this park, sir—I knew it well, before the late Mr. John Mallathorpe bought the property. That path at the other end of the bridge makes a short cut down to the station in the valley—through the woods and the lower part of the park. I came up that path, from the station, on Saturday afternoon, intending to cross this bridge and go on to the house, where I had private business. When I got to the other end of the bridge, there, I saw the gap in the middle. And then I looked down into the cut—there's a road—a paved road—down there, and I saw—him! And so I made shift to scramble down—stiff job it was!—to get to him. But he was dead, Mr. Collingwood—stone dead, sir!—though I'm certain he hadn't been dead five minutes. And——"
"Aye, an' he'd never ha' been dead at all, wouldn't young Squire, if only his ma had listened to what I telled her!" interrupted a voice behind them. "He'd ha' been alive at this minute, he would, if his ma had done what I said owt to be done—now then!"
Collingwood turned sharply—to confront an old man, evidently one of the woodmen on the estate who had come up behind them unheard on the thick carpeting of pine needles. And Pratt turned, too—with a keen look and a direct question.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "What are you talking about?"
"I know what I'm talking about, young gentleman," said the man doggedly. "I ain't worked, lad and man, on this one estate nine-and-forty years—and happen more—wi'out knowin' all about it. I tell'd Mrs. Mallathorpe on Friday noon 'at that there owd brig 'ud fall in afore long if it worn't mended. I met her here, at this very place where we're standin', and I showed her 'at it worn't safe to cross it. I tell'd her 't she owt to have it fastened up theer an' then. It's been rottin' for many a year, has this owd brig—why, I mind when it wor last repaired, and that wor years afore owd Mestur Mallathorpe bowt this estate!"
"When do you say you told Mrs. Mallathorpe all that?" asked Pratt.
"Friday noon it were, sir," answered the woodman. "When I were on my way home—dinner time. 'Cause I met the missis here, and I made bold to tell her what I'd noticed. That there owd brig!—lor' bless yer, gentlemen! it were black rotten i' the middle, theer where poor young maister he fell through it. 'Ye mun hev' that seen to at once, missis,' I says. 'Sartin sure, 'tain't often as it's used,' I says, 'but surely sartin 'at if it ain't mended, or closed altogether,' I says, 'summun 'll be going through and brekkin' their necks,' I says. An' reight, too, gentlemen—forty feet it is down to that road. An' a mortal hard road, an' all, paved wi' granite stone all t' way to t' stable-yard."
"You're sure it was Friday noon?" repeated Pratt.
"As sure as that I see you," answered the woodman. "An' Mrs. Mallathorpe she said she'd hev it seen to. Dear-a-me!—it should ha' been closed!"
The old man shook his head and went off amongst the trees, and Pratt, giving his vanishing figure a queer look, turned silently back along the path, followed by Collingwood. At the point where the other path led to the house, he glanced over his shoulder at the young barrister.
"If you keep straight on, Mr. Collingwood," he said, "you'll get straight down to the village and the inn. I must go this way."
He went off rapidly, and Collingwood walked on through the plantation towards theNormandale Arms—wondering, all the way, why Pratt was so anxious to know exactly when it was that Mrs. Mallathorpe had been warned about the old bridge.
Until that afternoon Collingwood had never been in the village to which he was now bending his steps; on that and his previous visits to the Grange he had only passed the end of its one street. Now, descending into it from the slopes of the park, he found it to be little more than a hamlet—a church, a farmstead or two, a few cottages in their gardens, all clustering about a narrow stream spanned by a high-arched bridge of stone. TheNormandale Arms, a roomy, old-fashioned place, stood at one end of the bridge, and from the windows of the room into which Collingwood was presently shown he could look out on the stream itself and on the meadows beyond it. A peaceful, pretty, quiet place—but the gloom which was heavy at the big house or the hill seemed to have spread to everybody that he encountered.
"Bad job, this, sir!" said the landlord, an elderly, serious-faced man, to whom Collingwood had made known his wants, and who had quickly formed the opinion that his guest was of the legal profession. "And a queer one, too! Odd thing, sir, that our old squire, and now the young one, should both have met their deaths in what you might term violent fashion."
"Accident—in both cases," remarked Collingwood.
The landlord nodded his head—and then shook it in a manner which seemed to indicate that while he agreed with this proposition in one respect he entertained some sort of doubt about it in others.
"Ay, well!" he answered. "Of course, a mill chimney falling, without notice, as it were, and a bridge giving way—them's accidents, to be sure. But it's a very strange thing about this foot-bridge, up yonder at the Grange—very strange indeed! There's queer talk about it, already."
"What sort of talk?" asked Collingwood. Ever since the old woodman had come up to him and Pratt, as they stood looking at the foot-bridge, he had been aware of a curious sense of mystery, and the landlord's remark tended to deepen it. "What are people talking about?"
"Nay—it's only one or two," replied the landlord. "There's been two men in here since the affair happened that crossed that bridge Friday afternoon—and both of 'em big, heavy men. According to what one can learn that there bridge wasn't used much by the Grange people—it led to nowhere in particular for them. But there is a right of way across that part of the park, and these two men as I'm speaking of—they made use of it on Friday—getting towards dark. I know 'em well—they'd both of 'em weigh four times as much—together—as young Squire Mallathorpe, and yet it didn't give way under them. And then—only a few hours later, as you might say, down it goes with him!"
"I don't think you can form any opinion from that!" said Collingwood. "These things, these old structures, often give way quite suddenly and unexpectedly."
"Ay, well, they did admit, these men too, that it seemed a bit tottery, like," remarked the landlord. "Talking it over, between themselves, in here, they agreed, to be sure, that it felt to give a bit. All the same, there's them as says that it's a queer thing it should ha' given altogether when young squire walked on it."
Collingwood clinched matters with a straight question.
"You don't mean to say that people are suggesting that the foot-bridge had been tampered with?" he asked.
"There is them about as wouldn't be slow to say as much," answered the landlord. "Folks will talk! You see, sir—nobody saw what happened. And when country folk doesn't see what takes place, with their own eyes, then they——"
"Make mysteries out of it," interrupted Collingwood, a little impatiently. "I don't think there's any mystery here, landlord—I understood that this foot-bridge was in a very unsafe condition. No! I'm afraid the whole affair was only too simple."
But he was conscious, as he said this, that he was not precisely voicing his own sentiments. He himself was mystified. He was still wondering why Pratt had been so pertinacious in asking the old woodman when, precisely, he had told Mrs. Mallathorpe about the unsafe condition of the bridge—still wondering about a certain expression which had come into Pratt's face when the old man told them what he did—still wondering at the queer look which Pratt had given the information as he went off into the plantation. Was there, then, something—some secret which was being kept back by—somebody?
He was still pondering over these things when he went back to the Grange, later in the evening—but he was resolved not to say anything about them to Nesta. And he saw Nesta only for a few minutes. Her mother, she said, was very ill indeed—the doctor was with her then, and she must go back to them. Since her son's death, Mrs. Mallathorpe had scarcely spoken, and the doctor, knowing that her heart was not strong, was somewhat afraid of a collapse.
"If there is anything that I can do,—or if you should want me, during the night," said Collingwood, earnestly, "promise me that you'll send at once to the inn!"
"Yes," answered Nesta. "I will. But—I don't think there will be any need. We have two nurses here, and the doctor will stop. There is something I should be glad if you would do tomorrow," she went on, looking at him a little wistfully, "You know about—the inquest?"
"Yes," said Collingwood.
"They say we—that is I, because, of course, my mother couldn't—that I need not be present," she continued. "Mr. Robson—our solicitor—says it will be a very short, formal affair. He will be there, of course,—but—would you mind being there, too!—so that you can—afterwards—tell me all about it?"
"Will you tell me something—straight out?" answered Collingwood, looking intently at her. "Have you any doubt of any description about the accepted story of your brother's death? Be plain with me!"
Nesta hesitated for awhile before answering.
"Not of the actual circumstances," she replied at last,—"none at all of what you call the accepted story. The fact is, I'm not a good hand at explaining anything, and perhaps I can't convey to you what I mean. But I've a feeling—an impression—that there is—or was some mystery on Saturday which might have—and might not have—oh, I can't make it clear, even to myself.
"If you would be at the inquest tomorrow, and listen carefully to everything—and then tell me afterwards—do you understand?"
"I understand," answered Collingwood. "Leave it to me."
Whether he expected to hear anything unusual at the inquest, whether he thought any stray word, hint, or suggestion would come up during the proceedings, Collingwood was no more aware than Nesta was certain of her vague ideas. But he was very soon assured that there was going to be nothing beyond brevity and formality. He had never previously been present at an inquest—his legal mind was somewhat astonished at the way in which things were done. It was quickly evident to him that the twelve good men and true of the jury—most of them cottagers and labourers living on the estate—were quite content to abide by the directions of the coroner, a Barford solicitor, whose one idea seemed to be to get through the proceedings as rapidly and smoothly as possible. And Collingwood felt bound to admit that, taking the evidence as it was brought forward, no simpler or more straightforward cause of investigation could be adduced. It was all very simple indeed—as it appeared there and then.
The butler, a solemn-faced, respectable type of the old family serving-man, spoke as to his identification of the dead master's body, and gave his evidence in a few sentences. Mr. Mallathorpe, he said, had gone out of the front door of the Grange at half-past two on Saturday afternoon, carrying a gun, and had turned into the road leading towards the South Shrubbery. At about three o'clock Mr. Pratt had come running up the drive to the house, and told him and Miss Mallathorpe that he had just found Mr. Mallathorpe lying dead in the sunken cut between the South and North Shrubbery. Nobody had any question to ask the butler. Nor were any questions asked of Pratt—the one really important witness.
Pratt gave his evidence tersely and admirably. On Saturday morning he had seen an advertisement in the Barford newspapers which stated that a steward and agent was wanted for the Normandale Estate, and all applications were to be made to Mrs. Mallathorpe. Desirous of applying for the post, he had written out a formal letter during Saturday morning, had obtained a testimonial from his present employers, Messrs. Eldrick & Pascoe, and, anxious to present his application as soon as possible, had decided to take it to Normandale Grange himself, that afternoon. He had left Barford by the two o'clock train, which arrived at Normandale at two-thirty-five. Knowing the district well, he had taken the path through the plantations. Arrived at the foot-bridge, he had at once noticed that part of it had fallen in. Looking into the cutting, he had seen a man lying in the roadway beneath—motionless. He had scrambled down the side of the cutting, discovered that the man was Mr. Harper Mallathorpe, and that he was dead, and had immediately hurried up the road to the house, where he had informed the last witness and Miss Mallathorpe.
A quite plain story, evidently thought everybody—no questions needed. Nor were there any questions needed in the case of the only other witnesses—the estate carpenter who said that the foot-bridge was very old, but that he had not been aware that it was in quite so bad a condition, and who gave it as his opinion that the recent heavy rains had had something to do with the matter; and the doctor who testified that the victim had suffered injuries which would produce absolutely instantaneous death. A clear case—nothing could be clearer, said the coroner to his obedient jury, who presently returned the only verdict—one of accidental death—which, on the evidence, was possible.
Collingwood heard no comments on the inquest from those who were present. But that evening, as he sat in his parlour at theNormandale Arms, the landlord, coming in on pretence of attending to the fire, approached him with an air of mystery and jerked his thumb in the direction of the regions which he had just quitted.
"You remember what we were talking of this afternoon when you come in, sir?" he whispered. "There's some of 'em—regular nightly customers, village folk, you understand—talking of the same thing now, and of this here inquest. And if you'd like to hear a bit of what you may call local opinion—and especially one man's—I'll put you where you can hear it, without being seen. It's worth hearing, anyway."
Collingwood, curious to know what the village wiseacres had to say, rose, and followed the landlord into a small room at the back of the bar-parlour.
An open hatchment in the wall, covered by a thin curtain, allowed him to hear every word which came from what appeared to be a full company. But it was quickly evident that in that company there was one man who either was, or wished to be dictator and artifex—a man of loud voice and domineering tone, who was laying down the law to the accompaniment of vigorous thumpings of the table at which he sat. "What I say is—and I say it agen—-I reckon nowt at all o' crowners' quests!" he was affirming, as Collingwood and his guide drew near the curtained opening. "What is a crowner's quest, anyway? It's nowt but formality—all form and show—it means nowt. All them 'at sits on t' jury does and says just what t' crowner tells 'em to say and do. They nivver ax no questions out o' their own mouths—they're as dumb as sheep—that's what yon jury wor this mornin'—now then!"
"That's James Stringer, the blacksmith," whispered the landlord, coming close to Collingwood's elbow. "He thinks he knows everything!"
"And pray, what would you ha' done, Mestur Stringer, if you'd been on yon jury?" inquired a milder voice. "I suppose ye'd ha' wanted to know a bit more, what?" "Mestur Stringer 'ud ha' wanted to know a deal more," observed another voice. "He would do!"
"There's a many things I want to know," continued the blacksmith, with a stout thump of the table. "They all tak' it for granted 'at young squire walked on to yon bridge, an' 'at it theer and then fell to pieces. Who see'd it fall to pieces? Who was theer to see what did happen?"
"What else did happen or could happen nor what were testified to?" asked a new voice. "Theer wor what they call circumstantial evidence to show how all t' affair happened!"
"Circumstantial evidence be blowed!" sneered the blacksmith heartily. "I reckon nowt o' circumstantial evidence! Look ye here! How do you know—how does anybody know 'at t' young squire worn't thrown off that bridge, and 'at t' bridge collapsed when he wor thrown? He might ha' met somebody on t' bridge, and quarrelled wi' 'em, and whoivver it wor might ha' been t' strongest man, and flung him into t' road beneath!"
"Aye, but i' that case t' other feller—t' assailant—'ud ha' fallen wi' him," objected somebody.
"Nowt o' t' sort!" retorted the blacksmith. "He'd be safe on t' sound part o' t' bridge—it's only a piece on 't that gave way. I say that theer idea wants in-quirin' into. An' theer's another thing—what wor that lawyer-clerk chap fro' Barford—Pratt—doin' about theer? What reight had he to be prowlin' round t' neighbourhood o' that bridge, and at that time? Come, now!—theer's a tickler for somebody."
"He telled that," exclaimed several voices. "He had business i' t' place. He had some papers to 'liver."
"Then why didn't he go t' nearest way to t' house t' 'liver 'em?" demanded Stringer. "T' shortest way to t' house fro' t' railway station is straight up t' carriage drive—not through them plantations. I ax agen—what wor that feller doin' theer? It's important."
"Why, ye don't suspect him of owt, do yer, Mestur Stringer?" asked somebody. "A respectable young feller like that theer—come!"
"I'm sayin' nowt about suspectin' nobody!" vociferated the blacksmith. "I'm doin' nowt but puttin' a case, as t' lawyers 'ud term it. I say 'at theer's a lot o' things 'at owt to ha' comed out. I'll tell ye one on 'em—how is it 'at nowt—not a single word—wor said at yon inquest about Mrs. Mallathorpe and t' affair? Not one word!"
A sudden silence fell on the company, and the landlord tappedCollingwood's arm and took the liberty of winking at him.
"Why," inquired somebody, at last, "what about Mrs. Mallathorpe and t' affair? What had she to do wi' t' affair?"
The blacksmith's voice became judicial in its solemnity.
"Ye listen to me!" he said with emphasis. "I know what I'm talking about. Ye know what came out at t' inquest. When this here Pratt ran to tell t' news at t' house he returned to what they term t' fatal spot i' company wi' t' butler, and a couple of footmen, and Dan Scholes, one o' t' grooms. Now theer worn't a word said at t' inquest about what that lot—five on em, mind yer—found when they reached t' dead corpse—not one word! But I know—Dan Scholes tell'd me!"
"What did they find, then, Mestur Stringer?" asked an eager member of the assemblage. "What wor it?"
The blacksmith's voice sank to a mysterious whisper.
"I'll tell yer!" he replied. "They found Mrs. Mallathorpe, lyin' i' a dead faint—close by! And they say 'at she's nivver done nowt but go out o' one faint into another, ivver since. So, of course, she's nivver been able to tell if she saw owt or knew owt! And what I say is," he concluded, with a heavy thump of the table, "that theer crowner's quest owt to ha' been what they term adjourned, until Mrs. Mallathorpe could tell if she did see owt, or if she knew owt, or heer'd owt! She mun ha' been close by—or else they wo'dn't ha' found her lyin' theer aside o' t' corpse. What did she see? What did she hear? Does she know owt? I tell ye 'at theer's questions 'at wants answerin'—and theer's trouble ahead for somebody if they aren't answered—now then!"
Collingwood went away from his retreat, beckoning the landlord to follow. In the parlour he turned to him.
"Have you heard anything of what Stringer said just now?" he asked. "I mean—about Mrs. Mallathorpe?"
"Heard just the same—and from the same chap, Scholes, the groom, sir," replied the landlord. "Oh, yes! Of course, people will wonder why they didn't get some evidence from Mrs. Mallathorpe—just as Stringer says."
Collingwood sat a long time that night, thinking over the things he had heard. He came to the conclusion that the domineering blacksmith was right in one of his dogmatic assertions—there was trouble ahead. And next morning, before going up to the Grange, he went to the nearest telegraph office, and sent Sir John Standridge a lengthy message in which he resigned the appointment that would have taken him to India.
Collingwood had many things to think over as he walked across Normandale Park that morning. He had deliberately given up his Indian appointment for Nesta's sake, so that he might be near her in case the trouble which he feared arose suddenly. But it was too soon yet to let her know that she was the cause of his altered arrangements—in any case, that was not the time to tell her that it was on her account that he had altered them.
He must make some plausible excuse: then he must settle down in Barford, according to Eldrick's suggestion. He would then be near at hand—and if the trouble, whatever it might be, took tangible form, he would be able to help. But he was still utterly in the dark as to what that possible trouble might be—yet, of one thing he felt convinced—it would have some connection with Pratt.
He remembered, as he walked along, that he had formed some queer, uneasy suspicion about Pratt when he first hurried down to Barford on hearing of Antony Bartle's death: that feeling, subsequently allayed to some extent, had been revived. There might be nothing in it, he said to himself, over and over again; everything that seemed strange might be easily explained; the evidence of Pratt at the inquest had appeared absolutely truthful and straightforward, and yet the blunt, rough, downright question of the blacksmith, crudely voiced as it was, found a ready agreement in Collingwood's mind. As he drew near the house he found himself repeating Stringer's broad Yorkshire—"What wor that lawyer-clerk chap fro' Barford—Pratt—doin' about theer? What reight had he to be prowlin' round t' neighbourhood o' that bridge, and at that time? Come, now—theer's a tickler for somebody!" And even as he smiled at the remembrance of the whole rustic conversation of the previous evening, and thought that the blacksmith's question certainly might be a ticklish one—for somebody—he looked up from the frosted grass at his feet, and saw Pratt.
Pratt, a professional-looking bag in his hand, a morning newspaper under the other arm, was standing at the gate of one of the numerous shrubberies which flanked the Grange, talking to a woman who leaned over it. Collingwood recognized her as a person whom he had twice seen in the house during his visits on the day before—-a middle-aged, slightly built woman, neatly dressed in black, and wearing a sort of nurse's cap which seemed to denote some degree of domestic servitude. She was a woman who had once been pretty, and who still retained much of her good looks; she was also evidently of considerable shrewdness and intelligence and possessed a pair of remarkably quick eyes—the sort of eyes, thought Collingwood, that see everything that happens within their range of vision. And she had a firm chin and a mouth which expressed determination; he had seen all that as she exchanged some conversation with the old butler in Collingwood's presence—a noticeable woman altogether. She was evidently in close conference with Pratt at that moment—but as Collingwood drew near she turned and went slowly in the direction of the house, while Pratt, always outwardly polite, stepped towards the interrupter of this meeting, and lifted his hat.
"Good morning, Mr. Collingwood," he said. "A fine, sharp morning, sir! I was just asking Mrs. Mallathorpe's maid how her mistress is this morning—she was very ill when I left last night. Better, sir, I'm glad to say—Mrs. Mallathorpe has had a much better night."
"I'm very pleased to hear it," replied Collingwood. He was going towards the front of the Grange, and Pratt walked at his side, evidently in the same direction. "I am afraid she has had a great shock. You are still here, then?" he went on, feeling bound to make some remark, and saying the first obvious thing. "Still busy?"
"Mr. Eldrick has lent me—so to speak—until the funeral's over, tomorrow," answered Pratt. "There are a lot of little things in which I can be useful, you know, Mr. Collingwood. I suppose your arrangements—you said you were sailing for India—won't permit of your being present tomorrow, sir?"
Collingwood was not sure if the clerk was fishing for information. Pratt's manner was always polite, his questions so innocently put, that it was difficult to know what he was actually after. But he was not going to give him any information—either then, or at any time.
"I don't quite know what my arrangements may be," he answered. And just then they came to the front entrance, and Collingwood was taken off in one direction by a footman, while Pratt, who already seemed to be fully acquainted with the house and its arrangements, took himself and his bag away in another.
Nesta came to Collingwood looking less anxious than when he had left her at his last call the night before. He had already told her what his impressions of the inquest were, and he was now wondering whether to tell her of the things he had heard said at the village inn. But remembering that he was now going to stay in the neighbourhood, he decided to say nothing at that time—if there was anything in these vague feelings and suspicions it would come out, and could be dealt with when it arose. At present he had need of a little diplomacy.
"Oh!—I wanted to tell you," he said, after talking to her awhile about Mrs. Mallathorpe. "I—there's a change in my arrangements, I'm not going to India, after all."
He was not prepared for the sudden flush that came over the girl's face. It took him aback. It also told him a good deal that he was glad to know—and it was only by a strong effort of will that he kept himself from taking her hands and telling her the truth. But he affected not to see anything, and he went on talking rapidly. "Complete change in the arrangements at the last minute," he said. "I've just been writing about it. So—as that's off, I think I shall follow Eldrick's advice, and take chambers in Barford for a time, and see how things turn out. I'm going into Barford now, to see Eldrick about all that."
Nesta, who was conscious of her betrayal of more than she cared to show just then, tried to speak calmly.
"But—isn't it an awful disappointment?" she said. "You were looking forward so to going there, weren't you?"
"Can't be helped," replied Collingwood. "All these affairs are—provisional. I thought I'd tell you at once, however—so that you'll know—if you ever want me—that I shall be somewhere round about. In fact, as it's quite comfortable there, I shall stop at the inn until I've got rooms in the town."
Then, not trusting himself to remain longer, he went off to Barford, certain that he was now definitely pledged in his own mind to Nesta Mallathorpe, and not much less that when the right time came she would not be irresponsive to him. And on that, like a cold douche, came the remembrance of her actual circumstances—she was what Eldrick had said, one of the wealthiest young women in Yorkshire. The thought of her riches made Collingwood melancholy for a while—he possessed a curious sort of pride which made him hate and loathe the notion of being taken for a fortune-hunter. But suddenly, and with a laugh, he remembered that he had certain possessions of his own—ability, knowledge, and perseverance. Before he reached Eldrick's office, he had had a vision of the Woolsack.
Eldrick received Collingwood's news with evident gratification. He immediately suggested certain chambers in an adjacent building; he volunteered information as to where the best rooms in the town were to be had. And in proof of his practical interest in Collingwood's career, he there and then engaged his professional services for two cases which were to be heard at a local court within the following week.
"Pratt shall deliver the papers to you at once," he said. "That is, as soon as he's back from Normandale this afternoon. I sent him there again to make himself useful."
"I saw him this morning," remarked Collingwood. "He appears to be a very useful person."
"Clever chap," asserted Eldrick, carelessly. "I don't know what'll be done about that stewardship that he was going to apply for. Everything will be altered now that young Mallathorpe's dead. Of course, I, personally, shouldn't have thought that Pratt would have done for a job like that, but Pratt has enough self-assurance and self-confidence for a dozen men, and he thought he would do, and I couldn't refuse him a testimonial. And as he's made himself very useful out there, it may be that if this steward business goes forward, Pratt will get the appointment. As I say, he's a smart chap."
Collingwood offered no comment. But he was conscious that it would not be at all pleasing to him to know that Linford Pratt held any official position at Normandale. Foolish as it might be, mere inspiration though it probably was, he could not get over his impression that Eldrick's clerk was not precisely trustworthy. And yet, he reflected, he himself could do nothing—it would be utter presumption on his part to offer any gratuitous advice to Nesta Mallathorpe in business matters. He was very certain of what he eventually meant to say to her about his own personal hopes, some time hence, when all the present trouble was over, but in the meantime, as regarded anything else, he could only wait and watch, and be of service to her if she asked him to render any.
Some time went by before Collingwood was asked to render service of any sort. At Normandale Grange, events progressed in apparently ordinary and normal fashion. Harper Mallathorpe was buried; his mother began to make some recovery from the shock of his death; the legal folk were busied in putting Nesta in possession of the estate, and herself and her mother in proprietorship of the mill and the personal property. In Barford, things went on as usual, too. Pratt continued his round of duties at Eldrick & Pascoe's; no more was heard—by outsiders, at any rate—of the stewardship at Normandale. As for Collingwood, he settled down in chambers and lodgings and, as Eldrick had predicted, found plenty of work. And he constantly went out to Normandale Grange, and often met Nesta elsewhere, and their knowledge of each other increased, and as the winter passed away and spring began to show on the Normandale woods and moors, Collingwood felt that the time was coming when he might speak. He was professionally engaged in London for nearly three weeks in the early part of that spring—when he returned, he had made up his mind to tell Nesta the truth, at once. He had faced it for himself—he was by that time so much in love with her that he was not going to let monetary considerations prevent him from telling her so.
But Collingwood found something else than love to talk about when he presented himself at Normandale Grange on the morning after his arrival from his three weeks' absence in town. As soon as he met her, he saw that Nesta was not only upset and troubled, but angry.
"I am glad you have come," she said, when they were alone. "I want some advice. Something has happened—something that bothers—and puzzles—me very, very much! I'm dreadfully bothered."
"Tell me," suggested Collingwood.
Nesta frowned—at some recollection or thought.
"Yesterday afternoon," she answered, "I was obliged to go into Barford, on business. I left my mother fairly well—-she has been recovering fast lately, and she only has one nurse now. Unfortunately, she, too, was out for the afternoon. I came back to find my mother ill and much upset—-and there's no use denying it—she'd all the symptoms of having been—well, frightened. I can't think of any other term than that—frightened. And then I learned that, in my absence, Mr. Eldrick's clerk, Mr. Pratt—you know him—had been here, and had been with her for quite an hour. I am furiously angry!"
Collingwood had expected this announcement as soon as she began to explain. So—the trouble was beginning!
"How came Pratt to be admitted to your mother?" he asked.
"That makes me angry, too," answered Nesta. "Though I confess I ought to be angry with myself for not giving stricter orders. I left the house about two—he came about three, and asked to see my mother's maid, Esther Mawson. He told her that it was absolutely necessary for him to see my mother on business, and she told my mother he was there. My mother consented to see him—and he was taken up. And as I say, I found her ill—and frightened—and that's not the worst of it!"
"What is the worst of it?" asked Collingwood, anxiously. "Better tell me!—I may be able to do something."
"The worst of it," she said, "is just this—my mother won't tell me what that man came about! She flatly refuses to tell me anything! She will only say that it was business of her own. She won't trust me with it, you see!—her own daughter! What business can that man have with her?—or she with him? Eldrick & Pascoe are not our solicitors! There's some secret and——"
"Will you answer one or two questions?" said Collingwood quietly. He had never seen Nesta angry before, and he now realized that she had certain possibilities of temper and determination which would be formidable when roused. "First of all, is that maid you speak of, Esther Mawson, reliable?"
"I don't know!" answered Nesta. "My mother has had her two years—she's a Barford woman. Sometimes I think she's sly and cunning. But I've given her such strict orders now that she'll never dare to let any one see my mother again without my consent."
"The other question's this," said Collingwood. "Have you any idea, any suspicion of why Pratt wanted to see your mother?"
"Not unless it was about that stewardship," replied Nesta. "But—how could that frighten her? Besides, all that's over. Normandale is mine!—and if I have a steward, or an estate agent, I shall see to the appointment myself. No!—I do not know why he should have come here! But—there's some mystery. The curious thing is——"
"What?" asked Collingwood, as she paused.
"Why," she said, shaking her head wonderingly, "that I'm absolutely certain that my mother never even knew this man Pratt—I don't I think she even knew his name—until quite recently. I know when she got to know him, too. It was just about the time that you first called here—at the time of Mr. Bartle's death. Our butler told me this morning that Pratt came here late one evening—just about that time!—and asked to see my mother, and was with her for some time in the study. Oh! what is it all about?—and why doesn't she tell me?"
Collingwood stood silently staring out of the window. At the time ofAntony Bartle's death? An evening visit?—evidently of a secret nature.And why paid to Mrs. Mallathorpe at that particular time? He suddenlyturned to Nesta.
"What do you wish me to do?" he asked.
"Will you speak to Mr. Eldrick?" she said. "Tell him that his clerk must not call upon, or attempt to see, my mother. I will not have it!"
Collingwood went off to Barford, and straight to Eldrick's office. He noticed as he passed through the outer rooms that Pratt was not in his accustomed place—as a rule, it was impossible to get at either Eldrick or Pascoe without first seeing Pratt.
"Hullo!" said Eldrick. "Just got in from town? That's lucky—I've got a big case for you."
"I got in last night," replied Collingwood. "But I went out to Normandale first thing this morning: I've just come back from there. I say, Eldrick, here's an unpleasant matter to tell you of"; and he told the solicitor all that Nesta had just told him, and also of Pratt's visit to Mrs. Mallathorpe about the time of Antony Bartle's death. "Whatever it is," he concluded sternly, "it's got to stop! If you've any influence over your clerk——"
Eldrick made a grimace and waved his hand.
"He's our clerk no longer!" he said. "He left us the week after you went up to town, Collingwood. He was only a weekly servant, and he took advantage of that to give me a week's notice. Now, what game is Master Pratt playing? He's smart, and he's deep, too. He——"
Just then an office-boy announced Mr. Robson, the Mallathorpe family solicitor, a bustling, rather rough-and-ready type of man, who came into Eldrick's room looking not only angry but astonished. He nodded to Collingwood, and flung himself into a chair at the side of Eldrick's desk.
"Look here, Eldrick!" he exclaimed. "What on earth has that clerk of yours, Pratt, got to do with Mrs. Mallathorpe? Do you know what Mrs. Mallathorpe has done? Hang it, she must be out of her senses,—or—or there's something I can't fathom. She's given your clerk, Linford Pratt, a power of attorney to deal with all her affairs and all her property! Oh, it's all right, I tell you! Pratt's been to my office, and exhibited it to me as if—as if he were the Lord Chancellor!"
Eldrick turned to Collingwood, and Collingwood to Eldrick—and then both turned to Robson.
The Mallathorpe family solicitor shook his head impatiently under those questioning glances.
"It's not a bit of use appealing to me to know what it means!" he exclaimed. "I know no more than what I've told you. That chap walked into my office as bold as brass, half an hour ago, and exhibited to me a power of attorney, all duly drawn up and stamped, executed in his favour by Mrs. Mallathorpe yesterday. And as Mrs. Mallathorpe is, as far as I know, in her senses,—why—there you are!"
"What is it?" asked Eldrick. "A general power? Or a special?"
"General!" answered Robson, with an air of disgust. "Authorizes him to act for her in all business matters. It means, of course, that that fellow now has full control over—why, a tremendous amount of money! The estate, of course, is Miss Mallathorpe's—he can't interfere with that. But Mrs. Mallathorpe shares equally with her daughter as regards the personal property of Harper Mallathorpe—his share in the business, and all that he left, and what's more, Mrs. Mallathorpe is administratrix of the personal property. She's simply placed in Pratt's hands an enormous power! And—for what reason? Who on earth is Pratt—what right, title, age, or qualification, has he to be entrusted with such a big affair? I never knew of such a business in the whole course of my professional experiences!"
"Nor I!" agreed Eldrick. "But there's one thing in which you're mistaken, Robson. You ask what qualification Pratt has for a post of that sort? Pratt's a very smart, clever, managing chap!"
"Oh, of course! He's your clerk!" retorted Robson, a little sneeringly."Naturally, you've a big idea of his abilities. But——"
"He's not our clerk any longer," said Eldrick. "He left us about a week ago. I heard this morning that he's set up an office in Market Street—in the Atlas Building—and I wondered for what purpose."
"Purpose of fleecing Mrs. Mallathorpe, I should say!" grumbled Robson. "Of course, everything of hers must pass through his hands. What on earth can her daughter have been thinking of to allow——"
"Stop a bit!" interrupted Eldrick. "Collingwood came in to tell me about that—he's just come from Normandale Grange. Miss Mallathorpe complains that Pratt called there yesterday in her absence. That's probably when this power of attorney was signed. But Miss Mallathorpe doesn't know anything of it—she insists that Pratt shall not visit her mother."
Robson stirred impatiently in his chair.
"That's all bosh!" he said. "She can't prevent it. I saw Mrs. Mallathorpe myself three days ago—she's recovering very well, and she's in her right senses, and she's capable of doing business. Her daughter can't prevent her from doing anything she likes! And if she did what she liked yesterday when she signed that document—why, everybody's powerless—except Pratt."
"There's the question of how the document was obtained," remarkedCollingwood. "There may have been undue influence."
The two solicitors looked at each other. Then Eldrick rose from his chair. "I'll tell you what I'll do," he said. "It's no affair of mine, but we employed Pratt for years, and he'll confide in me. I'll go and see him, and ask him what it's all about. Wait here a while, you two."
He went out of his office and across into Market Street, where the Atlas Building, a modern range of offices and chambers, towered above the older structures at its foot. In the entrance hall a man was gilding the name of a new tenant on the address board—that name was Pratt's, and Eldrick presently found himself ascending in the lift to Pratt's quarters on the fifth floor. Within five minutes of leaving Collingwood and Robson, he was closeted with Pratt in a well-furnished and appointed little office of two rooms, the inner one of which was almost luxurious in its fittings. And Pratt himself looked extremely well satisfied, and confident—and quite at his ease. He wheeled forward an easy chair for his visitor, and pushed a box of cigarettes towards him.
"Glad to see you, Mr. Eldrick," he said, with a cordial politeness which suggested, however, somehow, that he and the solicitor were no longer master and servant. "How do you like my little place of business?"
"You're making a comfortable nest of it, anyhow, Pratt," answered Eldrick, looking round. "And—what sort of business are you going to do, pray?"
"Agency," replied Pratt, promptly. "It struck me some little time ago that a smart man,—like myself, eh?—could do well here in Barford as an agent in a new sort of fashion—attending to things for people who aren't fitted or inclined to do 'em for themselves—or are rich enough to employ somebody to look after their affairs. Of course, that Normandale stewardship dropped out when young Harper died, and I don't suppose the notion 'll be revived now that his sister's come in. But I've got one good job to go on with—-Mrs. Mallathorpe's given me her affairs to look after."
Eldrick took one of the cigarettes and lighted it—as a sign of his peaceable and amicable intentions.
"Pratt!" he said. "That's just what I've come to see you about. Unofficially, mind—in quite a friendly way. It's like this"; and he went on to tell Pratt of what had just occurred at his own office. "So—there you are," he concluded. "I'm saying nothing, you know, it's no affair of mine—but if these people begin to say that you've used any undue influence——"
"Mr. Collingwood, and Mr. Robson, and Miss Mallathorpe—and anybody," answered Pratt, slowly and firmly, "had better mind what they are saying, Mr. Eldrick. There's such a thing as slander, as you're well aware. I'm not the man to be slandered, or libelled, or to have my character defamed—without fighting for my rights. There has been no undue influence! I went to see Mrs. Mallathorpe yesterday at her own request. The arrangement between me and her is made with her approval and free will. If her daughter found her a bit upset, it's because she'd such a shock at the time of her son's death. I did nothing to frighten her, not I! The fact is, Miss Mallathorpe doesn't know that her mother and I have had a bit of business together of late. And all that Mrs. Mallathorpe has entrusted to me is the power to look after her affairs for her. And why not? You know that I'm a good man of business, a really good hand at commercial accountancy, and well acquainted with the trade of this town. You know too, Mr. Eldrick, that I'm scrupulously honest—I've had many and many a thousand pounds of yours and your partner's through my hands! Who's got anything to say against me? I'm only trying to earn an honest living."
"Well, well!" said Eldrick, who, being an easy-going and kindly-dispositioned man, was somewhat inclined to side with his old clerk. "I suppose Mr. Robson thinks that if Mrs. Mallathorpe wished to put her affairs in anybody's hands, she should have put them in his. He's their family solicitor, you know, Pratt, while you're a young man with no claim on Mrs. Mallathorpe."
Pratt smiled—a queer, knowing smile—and reached out his hand to some papers which lay on his desk.
"You're wrong there, Mr. Eldrick," he said. "But of course, you don'tknow. I didn't know myself, nor did Mrs. Mallathorpe, until lately. ButI have a claim—and a good one—to get a business lift from Mrs.Mallathorpe. I'm a relation."
"What—of the Mallathorpe family?" exclaimed Eldrick, whose legal mind was at once bitten by notion of kinship and succession, and who knew that Harper Mallathorpe was supposed to have no male relatives at all, of any degree. "You don't mean it?"
"No!—but of hers, Mrs. Mallathorpe," answered Pratt. "My mother was her cousin. I found that out by mere chance, and when I'd found it, I worked out the facts from our parish church register. They're all here—fairly copied—Mrs. Mallathorpe has seen them. So I have some claim—even if it's only that of a poor relation."
Eldrick took the sheets of foolscap which Pratt handed to him, and looked them over with interest and curiosity. He was something of an expert in such matters, and had helped to edit a print more than once of the local parish registers. He soon saw from a hasty examination of the various entries of marriages and births that Pratt was quite right in what he said.
"I call it a poor—and a mean—game," remarked Pratt, while his old master was thus occupied, "a very mean game indeed, of well-to-do folk like Mr. Collingwood and Mr. Robson to want to injure me in a matter which is no business of theirs. I shall do my duty by Mrs. Mallathorpe—you yourself know I'm fully competent to do it—and I shall fully earn the percentage that she'll pay me. What right have these people—what right has her daughter—to come between me and my living?"
"Oh, well, well!" said Eldrick, as he handed back the papers and rose. "It's one of those matters that hasn't been understood. You made a mistake, you know, Pratt, when you went to see Mrs. Mallathorpe yesterday in her daughter's absence. You shouldn't have done that."
Pratt pulled open a drawer and, after turning over some loose papers, picked out a letter.
"Do you know Mrs. Mallathorpe's handwriting?" he asked. "Very well—there it is! Isn't that a request from her that I should call on her yesterday afternoon? Very well then!"
Eldrick looked at the letter with some surprise. He had a good memory, and he remembered that Collingwood had told him that Nesta had said that Pratt had gone to Normandale Grange, seen Esther Mawson, and told her that it was absolutely necessary for him to see Mrs. Mallathorpe. And though Eldrick was naturally unsuspicious, an idea flashed across his mind—had Pratt got Mrs. Mallathorpe to write that letter while he was there—yesterday—and brought it away with him?
"I think there's a good deal of misunderstanding," he said. "Mr. Collingwood says that you went there and told her maid that it was absolutely necessary for you to see her mistress—sort of forced yourself in, you see, Pratt."
"Nothing of the sort!" retorted Pratt. He flourished the letter in his hand. "Doesn't it say there, in Mrs. Mallathorpe's own handwriting, that she particularly desires to see me at three o'clock? It does! Then it was absolutely necessary for me to see her. Come, now! And Mr. Collingwood had best attend to his own business. What's he got to do with all this? After Miss Mallathorpe and her money, I should think!—that's about it!"
Eldrick said another soothing word or two, and went back to his own office. He was considerably mystified by certain things, but inclined to be satisfied about others, and in giving an account of what had just taken place he unconsciously seemed to take Pratt's side—much to Robson's disgust, and to Collingwood's astonishment.
"You can't get over this, you know, Robson," said Eldrick. "Pratt went there yesterday by appointment—went at Mrs. Mallathorpe's own express desire, made in her own handwriting. And it's quite certain that what he says about the relationship is true—-I examined the proof myself. It's not unnatural that Mrs. Mallathorpe should desire to do something for her own cousin's son."
"To that extent?" sneered Robson. "Bless me, you talk as if it were no more than presenting him with a twenty pound note, instead of its being what it is—giving him the practical control of many a thousand pounds every year. There'll be more heard of this—yet!"
He went away angrier than when he came, and Eldrick looked atCollingwood and shook his head.
"I don't see what more there is to do," he said. "So far as I can make out, or see, Pratt is within his rights. If Mrs. Mallathorpe liked to entrust her business to him, what is to prevent it? I see nothing at all strange in that. But there is a fact which does seem uncommonly strange to me! It's this—how is it that Mrs. Mallathorpe doesn't consult, hasn't consulted—doesn't inform, hasn't informed—her daughter about all this?"
"That," answered Collingwood, "is precisely what strikes me—and I can't give any explanation. Nor, I believe, can Miss Mallathorpe."
He felt obliged to go back to Normandale, and tell Nesta the result of the afternoon's proceedings. And having seen during his previous visit how angry she could be, he was not surprised to see her become angrier and more determined than ever.
"I will not have Mr. Pratt coming here!" she exclaimed. "He shall not see my mother—under my roof, at any rate. I don't believe she sent for him."
"Mr. Eldrick saw her letter!" interrupted Collingwood quietly.
"Then that man made her write it while he was here!" exclaimed Nesta. "As to the relationship—it may be so. I never heard of it. But I don't care what relation he is to my mother—he is not going to interfere with her affairs!"
"The strange thing," said Collingwood, as pointedly as was consistent with kindness, "is that your mother—just now, at any rate—doesn't seem to be taking you into her confidence."
Nesta looked steadily at him for a moment, without speaking. When she did speak it was with decision.
"Quite so!" she said. "She is keeping something from me! And if she won't tell me things—well, I must find them out for myself."
She would say no more than that, and Collingwood left her. And as he went back to Barford he cursed Linford Pratt soundly for a deep and underhand rogue who was most certainly playing some fine game.
But Pratt himself was quite satisfied—up to that point. He had won his first trick and he had splendid cards still left in his hand. And he was reckoning his chances on them one morning a little later when a ring at his bell summoned him to his office door—whereat stood Nesta Mallathorpe, alone.