The Talleyrand Maxim by J. S. Fletcher (important of reading books TXT) 📕

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the wasted hand which had dropped helplessly at his side. He had evidently died without a sound or a movement--died as quietly as he would have gone to sleep. Indeed, he looked as if he had just laid his old head against the padding of the chair and dropped asleep, and Pratt, who had seen death before, knew that he would never wake again. He waited a moment, listening in the silence. Once he touched the old man's hand; once, he bent nearer, still listening. And then, without hesitation, and with fingers that remained as steady as if nothing had happened, he unbuttoned Antony Bartle's coat, and drew a folded paper from the inner pocket.

CHAPTER II

IN TRUST

As quietly and composedly as if he were discharging the most ordinary of his daily duties, Pratt unfolded the document, and went close to the solitary gas jet above Eldrick's desk. What he held in his hand was a half-sheet of ruled foolscap paper, closely covered with writing,

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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 of

Antony Bartle’s death? An evening visit?—evidently of a secret nature.

And why paid to Mrs. Mallathorpe at that particular time? He suddenly

turned 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.

CHAPTER XIII

THE FIRST TRICK

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,” remarked

Collingwood. “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

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