Mrs. Mallathorpe used some ingenuity in making her visit to Pratt. Giving out that she was going to see a friend in Barford, of whose illness she had just heard, she drove into the town, and on arriving near the Town Hall dismissed her carriage, with orders to the coachman to put up his horses at a certain livery stable, and to meet her at the same place at a specified time. Then she went away on foot, and drew a thick veil over her face before hiring a cab in which she drove up to the outskirt on which Pratt had his lodging. She was still veiled when Pratt’s landlady showed her into the clerk’s sitting-room.
“Is it safe here?” she asked at once. “Is there no fear of anybody hearing what we may say?”
“None!” answered Pratt reassuringly. “I know these folks—I’ve lived here several years. And nobody could hear however much they put their ears to the keyhole. Good thick old walls, these, Mrs. Mallathorpe, and a solid door. We’re as safe here as we were in your study last night.”
Mrs. Mallathorpe sat down in the chair which Pratt politely drew near his fire. She raised her veil and looked at him, and the clerk saw at once how curious and eager she was.
“That—will!” she said, in a low voice. “Let me see it—first.”
“One moment,” answered Pratt. “First—you understand that I’m not going to let you handle it. I’ll hold it before you, so you can read it. Second—you give me your promise—I’m trusting you—that you’ll make no attempt to seize it. It’s not going out of my hands.”
“I’m only a woman—and you’re a strong man,” she retorted sullenly.
“Quite so,” said Pratt. “But women have a trick of snatching at things. And—if you please—you’ll do exactly what I tell you to do. Put your hands behind you! If I see you make the least movement with them—back goes the will into my pocket!”
If Pratt had looked more closely at her just then, he would have taken warning from the sudden flash of hatred and resentment which swept across Mrs. Mallathorpe’s face—it would have told him that he was dealing with a dangerous woman who would use her wits to circumvent and beat him—if not now, then later. But he was moving the gas bracket over the mantelpiece, and he did not see.
“Very well—but I had no intention of touching it,” said Mrs. Mallathorpe. “All I want is to see it—and read it.”
She obediently followed out Pratt’s instructions, and standing in front of her he produced the will, unfolded it, and held it at a convenient distance before her eyes. He watched her closely, as she read it, and he saw her grow very pale.
“Take your time—read it over two or three times,” he said quietly. “Get it well into your mind, Mrs. Mallathorpe.”
She nodded her head at last, and Pratt stepped back, folded up the will, and turning to a heavy box which lay open on the table, placed it within, under lock and key. And that done, he turned back and took a chair, close to his visitor.
“Safe there, Mrs. Mallathorpe,” he said with a glance that was both reassuring and cunning. “But only for the night. I keep a few securities of my own at one of the banks in the town—never mind which—and that will shall be deposited with them tomorrow morning.”
Mrs. Mallathorpe shook her head.
“No!” she said. “Because—you’ll come to terms with me.”
Pratt shook his head, too, and he laughed.
“Of course I shall come to terms with you,” he answered. “But they’ll be my terms—and they don’t include any giving up of that document. That’s flat, Mrs. Mallathorpe!”
“Not if I make it worth your while?” she asked. “Listen!—you don’t know what ready money I can command. Ready money, I tell you—cash down, on the spot!”
“I’ve a pretty good notion,” responded Pratt. “It’s generally understood in the town that your son’s a mere figurehead, and that you’re the real boss of the whole show. I know that you’re at the mill four times a week, and that the managers are under your thumb. I know that you manage everything connected with the estate. So, of course, I know you’ve lots of ready money at your disposal.”
“And I know that you don’t earn more than four or five pounds a week, at the outside,” said Mrs. Mallathorpe quietly. “Come, now—just think what a nice, convenient thing it would be to a young man of your age to have—a capital. Capital! It would be the making of you. You could go right away—to London, say, and start out on whatever you liked. Be sensible—sell me that paper—and be done with the whole thing.”
“No!” replied Pratt.
Mrs. Mallathorpe looked at him for a full moment. She was a shrewd judge of character, and she felt that Pratt was one of those men who are hard to stir from a position once adopted. But she had to make
