The Talleyrand Maxim, J. S. Fletcher [books to read fiction TXT] 📗

the park to

the shrubberies near the house, so that if you are met people

would think you were taking a near cut to the village. I will

meet you in the shrubbery on the house side of the little

footbridge. The gates—’”

 

Pratt suddenly paused, and before proceeding looked hard at his visitor.

 

“Now listen to what follows—and bear in mind what your mother knew, and

had done, at the time she wrote this letter. This is how the letter goes

on–let every word fix itself in your mind, Miss Mallathorpe!”

 

“‘The gates of the footbridge are locked, but the enclosed keys

will open them. I will meet you amongst the trees on the further

side. Be sure to come and to bring that document—I have

something to say about it on seeing it again.’”

 

Pratt turned to the drawer from which he had taken the letter and took

out two small keys, evidently belonging to patent padlocks. He held them

up before Nesta.

 

“There they are!” he said triumphantly. “Been in my possession ever

since—and will remain there. Now—do you wish to read the letter? I’ve

read it to you word for word. You don’t? Very good—back it goes in

there, with these keys. And now then,” he continued, having replaced

letter and keys in his drawer, and turned to her again, “now then, you

see what a diabolical scheme it was that was in your mother’s mind

against me. She meant me to meet with the fate which overtook her own

son! She meant me to fall through that bridge. Why? She hoped that I

should break my neck—as he did! She wanted to silence me—but she also

wanted more—she wanted to take from my dead body, or my unconscious

body, the certain something which she was so anxious I should bring with

me, which she referred to as that document. She was willing to risk

anything—even to murder!—to get hold of that. And now you know why I

went to Normandale Grange that Saturday—you know, now, the real reason.

I told a deliberate lie at the inquest, for your mother’s sake—for your

sake, if you know it. I did not go there to hand in my application for

the stewardship—I went in response to the letter I’ve just read. Is all

this clear to you?”

 

Nesta could only move her head in silent acquiescence. She was already

convinced, that whether all this was entirely true or not, there was

truth of some degree in what Pratt had told her. And she was thinking of

her mother—and of the trap which she certainly appeared to have

laid—and of her brother’s fate—and for the moment she felt sick and

beaten. But Pratt went on in that cold, calculating voice, telling his

story point by point.

 

“Now I come to what happened that Saturday afternoon,” he said. “I may

as well tell you that in my own interest I have carefully collected

certain evidence which never came out at the inquest—which, indeed, has

nothing to do with the exact matter of the inquest. Now, that Saturday,

your mother and you had lunch together—your brother, as we shall see in

a moment, being away—at your lunch time—a quarter to two. About twenty

minutes past two your mother left the house. She went out into the

gardens. She left the gardens for the shubberies. And at twenty-five

minutes to three, she was seen by one of your gardeners, Featherstone,

in what was, of course, hiding, amongst the trees at the end of the

north shrubbery. What was she doing there, Miss Mallathorpe? She was

waiting!—waiting until a certain hoped-for accident happened—to me.

Then she would come out of her hiding-place in the hope of getting that

document from my pocket! Do you see how cleverly she’d laid her

plans—murderous plans?”

 

Nesta was making a great effort to be calm. She knew now that she was

face to face with some awful mystery which could only be solved by

patience and strenuous endeavour. She knew, too, that she must show no

sign of fear before this man!

 

“Will you finish your story, if you please?” she asked.

 

“In my own way—in my own time,” answered Pratt. “I now come to—your

mother. On the Friday noon, the late Mr. Harper Mallathorpe went to

Barford to visit a friend—young Stemthwaite, at the Hollies. He was to

stay the night there, and was not expected home until Saturday evening.

He did stay the night, and remained in Barford until noon on Saturday;

but he—unexpectedly—returned to the house at half past two. And almost

as soon as he’d got in, he picked up a gun and strolled out—into the

gardens and the north shrubbery. And, as you know, he went to the

footbridge. You see, Miss Mallathorpe, your mother, clever as she was,

had forgotten one detail—the gates of that footbridge were merely low,

four-barred things, and there was nothing to prevent an active young man

from climbing them. She forgot another thing, too—that warning had not

been given at the house that the bridge was dangerous. And, of course,

she’d never, never calculated that your brother would return sooner than

he was expected, or that, on his return, he’d go where he did. And

so—but I’ll spare you any reference to what happened. Only—you know

now how it was that Mrs. Mallathorpe was found by her son’s body. She’d

been waiting about—for me! But—the fate she’d meant for me was dealt

out to—him!”

 

In spite of herself Nesta gave way to a slight cry.

 

“I can’t bear any more of that!” she said. “Have you finished?”

 

“There’s not much more to say—now at any rate,” replied Pratt. “And

what I have to say shall be to the point. I’m sorry enough to have been

obliged to say all that I have said. But, you know, you forced me to it!

You threatened me. The real truth, Miss Mallathorpe, is just this—you

don’t understand me at all. You come here—excuse my plain

speech—hectoring and bullying me with talk about the police, and

blackmail, and I don’t know what! It’s I who ought to go to the police!

I could have your mother arrested, and put in the dock, on a charge of

attempted murder, this very day! I’ve got all the proofs.”

 

“I suppose you held that out as a threat to her when you forced her to

sign that power of attorney?” observed Nesta.

 

For the first time since her arrival Pratt looked at his visitor in an

unfriendly fashion. His expression changed and his face flushed a

little.

 

“You think that, do you?” he said. “Well, you’re wrong. I’m not a fool.

I held out no such threat. I didn’t even tell your mother what I’d found

out. I wasn’t going to show her my hand all at once—though I’ve shown

you a good deal of it.”

 

“Not all?” she asked quickly.

 

“Not all,” answered Pratt with a meaning glance. “To use more

metaphors—I’ve several cards up my sleeve, Miss Mallathorpe. But you’re

utterly wrong about the threats. I’ll tell you—I don’t mind that—how I

got the authority you’re speaking about. Your mother had promised me

that stewardship—for life. I’d have been a good steward. But we

recognized that your brother’s death had altered things—that you,

being, as she said, a self-willed young woman—you see how plain I

am—would insist on looking after your own affairs. So she gave

me—another post. I’ll discharge its duties honestly.”

 

“Yes,” said Nesta, “but you’ve already told me that you’d a hold on my

mother before any of these recent events happened, and that you possess

some document which she was anxious to get into her hands. So it comes

to this—you’ve a double hold on her, according to your story.”

 

“Just so,” agreed Pratt. “You’re right, I have—a double hold.”

 

Nesta looked at him silently for a while: Pratt looked at her.

 

“Very well,” she said at last. “How much do you want—to be bought out?”

 

Pratt laughed.

 

“I thought that would be the end of it!” he remarked. “Yes—I thought

so!”

 

“Name your price!” said Nesta.

 

“Miss Mallathorpe!” answered Pratt, bending forward and speaking with a

new earnestness. “Just listen to me. It’s no good. I’m not to be bought

out. Your mother tried that game with me before. She offered me first

five, then ten thousand pounds—cash down—for that document, when she

came to see me at my rooms. I dare say she’d have gone to twenty

thousand—and found the money there and then. But I said no then—and I

say no to you! I’m not to be purchased in that way. I’ve my own ideas,

my own plans, my own ambitions, my own—hopes. It’s not any use at all

for you to dangle your money before me. But—I’ll suggest something

else—that you can do.”

 

Nesta made no answer. She continued to look steadily at the man who

evidently had her mother in his power, and Pratt, who was watching her

intently, went on speaking quietly but with some intensity of tone.

 

“You can do this,” he said. “To start with—and it’ll go a long

way—just try and think better of me. I told you, you don’t understand

me. Try to! I’m not a bad lot. I’ve great abilities. I’m a hard worker.

Eldrick & Pascoe could tell you that I’m scrupulously honest in money

matters. You’ll see that I’ll look after your mother’s affairs in a

fashion that’ll commend itself to any firm of auditors and accountants

who may look into my accounts every year. I’m only taking the salary

from her that I was to have had for the stewardship. So—why not leave

it at that? Let things be! Perhaps—in time you’ll come to see that—I’m

to be trusted.”

 

“How can I trust a man who deliberately tells me that he holds a secret

and a document over a woman’s head?” demanded Nesta. “You’ve admitted a

previous hold on my mother. You say you’re in possession of a secret

that would ruin her—quite apart from recent events. Is that honest?”

 

“It was none of my seeking,” retorted Pratt. “I gained the knowledge by

accident.”

 

“You’re giving yourself away,” said Nesta. “Or you’ve some mental twist

or defect which prevents you from seeing things straight. It’s not how

you got your knowledge, but the use you’re making of it that’s the

important thing! You’re using it to force my mother to–-”

 

“Excuse me!” interrupted Pratt with a queer smile. “It’s you who don’t

see things straight. I’m using my knowledge to protect—all of you. Let

your mind go back to what was said at first—to what I said at first. I

said that I’d discovered a secret which, if revealed, would ruin your

mother and injure—you! So it would—more than ever, now. So, you see,

in keeping it, I’m taking care, not only of her interests, but

of—yours!”

 

Nesta rose. She realized that there was no more to be said—or done. And

Pratt rose, too, and looked at her almost appealingly.

 

“I wish you’d try to see things as I’ve put them, Miss Mallathorpe,” he

said. “I don’t bear malice against your mother for that scheme she

contrived—I’m willing to put it clear out of my head. Why not accept

things as they are? I’ll keep that secret for ever—no one shall ever

know about it. Why not be friends, now—why not shake hands?”

 

He held out his hand as he spoke. But Nesta drew back.

 

“No!” she said. “My opinion is just what it was when I came here.”

 

Before Pratt could move she had turned swiftly to the door and let

herself out, and in another minute she was amongst the crowds in