The Talleyrand Maxim, J. S. Fletcher [books to read fiction TXT] 📗
- Author: J. S. Fletcher
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accident occurred?” asked Collingwood.
“It ‘ud be twelve or fifteen minutes, as near as I can recollect,”
replied Cobcroft. “A few minutes after I’d left the private office,
Gaukrodger came out of it, alone, and stood at the door leading into the
yard, looking up at the chimney. The steeplejack was just coming down,
and his mate was waiting for him at the bottom. Gaukrodger turned back
to the private office and called Mr. Mallathorpe out. All three of ‘em,
Mallathorpe, Gaukrodger, Marshall, went out and walked across the yard
to the chimney foot. They stood there talking a bit—and then—down it
came!”
Collingwood thought matters over. Supposing that the document which
Cobcroft spoke of as being in process of execution before him were
indeed duplicate copies of a will. What could have been done with them,
in the few minutes which elapsed between the signing and the catastrophe
to the chimney? It was scarcely likely that John Mallathorpe would have
sent them away by post. If they had been deposited in his own pocket,
they would have been found when his clothing was removed and examined.
If they were in the private office when the three men left it–-
“You’re sure the drawers, safe and so on in Mr. Mallathorpe’s room were
thoroughly searched—after his death?” he asked.
“I should think they were!” answered Cobcroft laconically. “I helped at
that, myself. There wasn’t as much as an old invoice that was not well
fingered and turned over. No!—I came to the conclusion that what I’d
seen signed was some contract or something—sent off there and then by
the lad to post.”
Collingwood made no further remark and asked no more questions. But he
thought long and seriously that night, and he came to certain
conclusions. First: what Cobcroft had seen signed was John Mallathorpe’s
will. Second: John Mallathorpe had made it himself and had taken the
unusual course of making a duplicate copy. Third: John Mallathorpe had
probably slipped the copy into the History of Barford which was in his
private office when he went out to speak to the steeplejack. Fourth:
that copy had come into Linford Pratt’s hands through Antony Bartle.
And now arose two big questions. What were the terms of that will?
And—where was the duplicate copy? He was still putting these to himself
when noon of the next day came and brought Eldrick and Byner for the
promised serious consultation.
THE GREEN MAN
Byner, in taking his firm’s advertisement for Parrawhite to the three
Barford newspaper offices, had done so with a special design—he wanted
Pratt to see that a serious wish to discover Parrawhite was alive in
more quarters than one. He knew that Pratt was almost certain to see
Eldrick’s advertisement in his own name; now he wanted Pratt to see
another advertisement of the same nature in another name. Already he had
some suspicion that Pratt had not told Eldrick the truth about
Parrawhite, and that nothing would suit him so well as that Parrawhite
should never be heard of or mentioned again: now he wished Pratt to
learn that Parrawhite was much wanted, and was likely to be much
mentioned—wherefore the supplementary advertisements with Halstead &
Byner’s name attached. It was extremely unlikely that Pratt could fail
to see those advertisements.
There were three newspapers in Barford: one a morning journal of large
circulation throughout the county; the other two, evening journals,
which usually appeared in three or four editions. As Byner stipulated
for large type, and a prominent position, in the personal column of
each, it was scarcely within the bounds of probability that a townsman
like Pratt would miss seeing the advertisement. Most likely he would see
it in all three newspapers. And if he had also seen Eldrick’s similar
advertisement, he would begin to think, and then–-
“Why, then,” mused Byner, ruminating on his design, “then we will see
what he will do!”
Meanwhile, there was something he himself wanted to do, and on the
morning following his arrival in the town, he set out to do it. Byner
had been much struck by Pickard’s account of his dealings with James
Parrawhite on the evening which appeared to be the very last wherein
Parrawhite was ever seen. He had watched the landlord of the Green Man
closely as he told his story, and had set him down for an honest, if
somewhat sly and lumpish soul, who was telling a plain tale to the best
of his ability. Byner believed all the details of that story—he even
believed that when Parrawhite told Pickard that he would find him fifty
pounds that evening, or early next day, he meant to keep his word. In
the circumstances—as far as Byner could reckon them up from what he had
gathered—it would not have paid Parrawhite to do otherwise. Byner put
the situation to himself in this fashion—Pratt had got hold of some
secret which was being, or could be made to be, highly profitable to
him. Parrawhite had discovered this, and was in a position to blackmail
Pratt. Therefore Parrawhite would not wish to leave Pratt’s
neighbourhood—so long as there was money to be got out of Pratt,
Parrawhite would stick to him like a leech. But if Parrawhite was to
abide peaceably in Barford, he must pay Pickard that little matter of
between fifty and sixty pounds. Accordingly, in Byner’s opinion,
Parrawhite had every honest intention of returning to the Green Man on
the evening of the twenty-third of November after having seen Pratt.
And, in Byner’s further—and very seriously considered—opinion, the
whole problem for solution—possibly involving the solution of other and
more important problems—was this: Did Parrawhite meet Pratt that night,
and if he did what took place between them which prevented Parrawhite
from returning to Pickard?
It was in an endeavour to get at some first stage of a solution of this
problem that Byner, having breakfasted at the Central Hotel on his
second day in the town, went out immediately afterwards, asked his way
to Whitcliffe, and was directed to an electric tram which started from
the Town Hall Square, and after running through a district of tall
warehouses and squat weaving-sheds, began a long and steady climb to the
heights along the town. When he left it, he found himself in a district
eminently characteristic of that part of the country. The tram set him
down at a cross-roads on a high ridge of land. Beneath him lay Barford,
its towers and spires and the gables of its tall buildings showing
amongst the smoke of its many chimneys. All about him lay open ground,
broken by the numerous stone quarries of which Eldrick had spoken, and
at a little distance along one of the four roads at the intersection of
which he stood, he saw a few houses and cottages, one of which, taller
and bigger than the rest, was distinguished by a pole, planted in front
of its stone porch and bearing a swinging sign whereon was rudely
painted the figure of a man in Lincoln green. Byner walked on to this,
entered a flagged hall, and found himself confronting Pickard, who at
sight of him, motioned him into a little parlour behind the bar.
“Mornin’, mister,” said he. “You’ll be all right in here—there’s nobody
about just now, and if my missis or any o’ t’ servant lasses sees yer,
they’ll tak’ yer for a brewer’s traveller, or summat o’ that sort. Come
to hev a look round, like—what?”
“I want to have a look at the place where you told us Parrawhite was to
meet Pratt that night,” replied Byner. “I thought you would perhaps be
kind enough to show me where it is.”
“I will, an’ all—wi’ pleasure,” said the landlord, “but ye mun hev a
drop o’ summat first—try a glass o’ our ale,” he went on, with true
Yorkshire hospitality. “I hev some bitter beer i’ my cellar such as I’ll
lay owt ye couldn’t get t’ likes on down yonder i’ Barford—no, nor i’
London neyther!—I’ll just draw a jug.”
Byner submitted to this evidence of friendliness, and Pickard, after
disappearing into a dark archway and down some deeply worn stone steps,
came back with a foaming jug, the sight of which seemed to give him
great delight. He gazed admiringly at the liquor which he presently
poured into two tumblers, and drew his visitor’s attention to its
colour.
“Reight stuff that, mister—what?” he said. “I nobbut tapped that barril
two days since, and I’d been keepin’ it twelve month, so you’ve come in
for it at what they call t’ opportune moment. I say!” he went on, after
pledging Byner and smacking his lips over the ale. “I heard summat last
night ‘at might be useful to you and Lawyer Eldrick—about this here
Parrawhite affair.”
“Oh!” said Byner, at once interested. “What now?”
“You’ll ha’ noticed, as you come along t’ road just now, ‘at there’s a
deal o’ stone quarries i’ this neighbourhood?” replied Pickard. “Well,
now, of course, some o’ t’ quarry men comes in here. Last night theer
wor sev’ral on ‘em i’ t’ bar theer, talkin’, and one on ‘em wor readin’
t’ evenin’ newspaper—t’ Barford Dispatch. An’ he read out that theer
advertisement about Parrawhite—wi’ your address i’ London at t’ foot on
it. Well, theer wor nowt said, except summat about advertisin’ for
disappeared folk, but later on, one o’ t’ men, a young man, come to me,
private like. ‘I say, Pickard,’ he says, ‘between you an’ me, worrn’t t’
name o’ that man ‘at used to come in here on a Sunday sometimes,
Parrawhite? It runs a’ my mind,’ he says, ”at I’ve heerd you call him
by that name.’ ‘Well, an’ what if it wor?’ I says. ‘Nay, nowt much,’ he
says, ‘but I see fro’ t’ Dispatch ‘at he’s wanted, and I could tell a
bit about him,’ he says. ‘What could ye tell?’ says I—just like that
theer. ‘Why,’ he says, ‘this much—one night t’ last back-end–-’”
“Stop a bit, Mr. Pickard,” interrupted Byner. “What does that mean—that
term ‘back-end’?”
“Why, it means t’ end o’ t’ year!” answered the landlord. “What some
folks call autumn, d’ye understand? ‘One night t’ last back-end,’ says
this young fellow, ‘I wor hengin’ about on t’ quiet at t’ end o’ Stubbs’
Lane,’ he says: ‘T’ truth wor,’ he says, ‘I wor waitin’ for a word wi’ a
young woman ‘at lives i’ that terrace at t’ top o’ Stubbs’ Lane—she wor
goin’ to come out and meet me for half an hour or so. An,’ he says, ‘I
see’d that theer feller ‘at I think I’ve heerd you call Parrawhite, come
out o’ Stubbs’ Lane wi’ that lawyer chap ‘at lives i’ t’ Terrace—Pratt.
I know Pratt,’ he says, ”cause them ‘at he works for—Eldricks—once
did a bit o’ law business for me.’ ‘Where did you see ‘em go to, then?’
says I. ‘I see’d ‘em cross t’ road into t’ owd quarry ground,’ he says.
‘I see’d ‘em plain enough, tho’ they didn’t see me—I wor keepin’ snug
agen ‘t wall—it wor a moonlit night, that,’ he says. ‘Well,’ I says,
‘an’ what now?’ ‘Why,’ he says, ‘d’yer think I could get owt o’ this
reward for tellin that theer?’ So I thowt pretty sharp then, d’ye see,
mister. ‘I’ll tell yer what, mi lad,’ I says. ‘Say nowt to nobody—keep
your tongue still—and I’ll tell ye tomorrow night what ye can do—I
shall see a man ‘at’s on that job ‘tween now and then,’ I says. So theer
it is,” concluded Pickard, looking hard at Byner. “D’yer think this
chap’s evidence ‘ud be i’ your
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