“I should say,” answered Collingwood, regarding the solicitor earnestly, and speaking with great gravity of manner, “that that would make an admirable line of defence to any charge which Pratt was wicked enough to prefer.”
“You don’t think my mother meant—meant to—” exclaimed Nesta, eagerly turning from one man to the other. “You—don’t?”
“There is no evidence worth twopence against your mother!” replied Eldrick soothingly. “Put everything that Pratt has said against her clear out of your mind. Put all recent events out of your mind! Don’t interfere with Pratt—just now. The thing to be done about Pratt is this—and it’s the only thing. We must find out—exactly, as secretly as possible—what this secret is of which he speaks. What is this hold on Mrs. Mallathorpe? What is this document to which he refers? In other words, we must work back to some point which at present we can’t see. At least, I can’t see it. But—we may discover it. What do you say, Collingwood?”
“I agree entirely,” answered Collingwood. “Let Pratt rest in his fancied security. The thing is, certainly, to go back. But—to what point?”
“That we must consider later,” said Eldrick. “Now—for the present, Miss Mallathorpe—you are, I suppose, going back home?”
“Yes, at once,” answered Nesta. “I have my car at the Crown Hotel.”
“I should just like to know something,” continued Eldrick again, looking at Collingwood as if for approval. “That is—Mrs. Mallathorpe’s present disposition towards affairs in general and Pratt in particular. Miss Mallathorpe!—just do something which I will now suggest to you. When you reach home, see your mother—she is still, I understand, an invalid, though evidently able to transact business. Just approach her gently and kindly, and tell her that you are a little—should we say uncomfortable?—about certain business arrangements which you hear she has made with Mr. Pratt, and ask her, if she won’t talk them over with you, and give you her full confidence. It’s now half-past twelve,” continued Eldrick, looking at his watch. “You’ll be home before lunch. See your mother early in the afternoon, and then telephone, briefly, the result to me, here, at four o’clock. Then—Mr. Collingwood and I will have a consultation.”
He motioned Collingwood to remain where he was, and himself saw Nesta down to the street. When he came back to his room he shook his head at the young barrister.
“Collingwood!” he said. “There’s some dreadful business afloat in all this! And it’s all the worse because of the fashion in which Pratt talked to that girl. She’s evidently a very good memory—she narrated that conversation clearly and fully. Pratt must be very sure of his hand if he showed her his cards in that way—his very confidence in himself shows what a subtle network he’s either made or is making. I question if he’d very much care if he knew that we know. But he mustn’t know that—yet. We must reply to his mine with a countermine!”
“What do you think of Pratt’s charge against Mrs. Mallathorpe?” asked Collingwood.
Eldrick made a wry face.
“Looks bad!—very, very bad, Collingwood!” he answered. “Art and scheme of a desperate woman, of course. But—we mustn’t let her daughter think we believe it. Let her stick to the suggestion I made—which, as you remarked, would certainly make a very good line of defence, supposing Pratt even did accuse her. But now—what on earth is this document that’s been mentioned—this paper of which Pratt has possession? Has Mrs. Mallathorpe at some time committed forgery—or bigamy—or—what is it? One thing’s sure, however—we’ve got to work quietly. We mustn’t let Pratt know that we’re working. I hope he doesn’t know that Miss Mallathorpe came here. Will you come back about four and hear what message she sends me? After that, we could consult.”
Collingwood went away to his chambers. He was much occupied just then, and had little time to think of anything but the work in hand. But as he ate his lunch at the club which he had joined on settling in Barford, he tried to get at some notion of the state of things, and once more his mind reverted to the time of his grandfather’s death, and his own suspicions about Pratt at that period. Clearly that was a point to which they must hark back—he himself must make more inquiries about the circumstances of Antony Bartle’s last hours. For this affair would not have to rest where it was—it was intolerable that Nesta Mallathorpe should in any way be under Pratt’s power. He went back to Eldrick at four o’clock with a suggestion or two in his mind. And at the sight of him Eldrick shook his head.
“I’ve had that telephone message from Normandale,” he said, “five minutes ago. Pretty much what I expected—at this juncture, anyway. Mrs. Mallathorpe absolutely declines to talk business with even her daughter at present—and earnestly desires that Mr. Linford Pratt may be left alone.”
“Well?” asked Collingwood after a pause. “What now?”
“We must do what we can—secretly, privately, for the daughter’s sake,” said Eldrick. “I confess I don’t quite see a beginning, but—”
Just then the private door opened, and Pascoe, a somewhat lackadaisical-mannered man, who always looked half-asleep, and was in reality remarkably wide-awake, lounged in, nodded to Collingwood, and threw a newspaper in front of his partner.
“I say, Eldrick,” he drawled, as he removed a newly-lighted cigar from his lips. “There’s an advertisement here which seems to refer to that precious protégé of yours, who left you with such scant ceremony. Same name, anyhow!”
Eldrick snatched up the paper, glanced at it and read a few words aloud.
Information wanted about James Parrawhite, at
