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Mallathorpe's explanation of the letter was doubtless the right one: Collingwood, little as he had seen of Antony Bartle, knew what a veritable sleuth-hound the old man was where rare books or engravings were concerned. Yet why the sudden exclamation on finding that paper? Why the immediate writing of the letter to Mrs. Mallathorpe?
That was one reason why we took this old place it's a deal better air here nor what it is in the town." "So your husband is at Mallathorpe's Mill, eh?" asked Collingwood. "Been there in the counting-house boy and man, over thirty years, sir," replied Mrs. Cobcroft. "Did he see that terrible affair then was it two years ago?" The landlady shook her head and let out a weighty sigh.
It had not taken much to convince her that the clerk knew what he was talking about. She had no doubt whatever that he was right when he said that the production of John Mallathorpe's will would mean dispossession to her children, and through them to herself. Nor had she any doubt, either, of Pratt's intention to profit by his discovery.
First of all, the will was a good will. Nothing could upset it. It was absolutely valid. It was not couched in the terms which a solicitor would have employed, but it clearly and plainly expressed John Mallathorpe's intentions and meanings in respect to the disposal of his property. Nothing could be clearer. The properly appointed trustees were to realize his estate.
John Mallathorpe's drawers or safes or anywhere, though they turned things upside down at the office, and, I heard, at his house as well. Of course, you see, sir, supposing that to have been a will why, the only two men who could possibly have proved it was were dead and gone! They were killed with him.
Pratt unbuttoned his overcoat, plunged a hand into the inner pocket, drew out a sheet of paper, unfolded it and laid it on the desk. "An exact copy," he said tersely. "Read it for yourself." In spite of the determined effort which she made to be calm, Mrs. Mallathorpe's fingers still trembled as she took up the sheet on which Pratt had made a fair copy of the will.
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."
John Mallathorpe's private office, ye'll understand, sir, opened out of our counting-house as it does still the present manager, Mr. Horsfall, has it, just as it was. Well, now, on one occasion, when I went in there, to take a ledger back to the safe, Mr. Mallathorpe had his manager and cashier, Gaukrodger and Marshall in with him. Mr.
He got up from his chair, and going over to a side-table took from it a blotting-pad, some writing paper and a pencil. For the moment his back was turned and again he did not see the look of almost murderous hatred which came into his visitor's eyes; had he seen and understood it, he might even then have reconsidered matters and taken Mrs. Mallathorpe's last offer.
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.
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