LITMIR.BIZ

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spent a sleepless night, resolving all sorts of plans; she resolved more plans and schemes during the day which followed. But they all ended at the same point—Pratt. All the future depended upon—Pratt. And by the end of the day it had come to this—she must make a determined effort to buy Pratt clean out, so that she could get the will into her own possession and destroy it. She knew that she could easily find the necessary money—Harper Mallathorpe had such a natural dislike of all business matters and was so little fitted to attend to them that he was only too well content to leave everything relating to the estate and the mill at Barford to his mother. Up to that time Mrs. Mallathorpe had managed the affairs of both, and she had large sums at her disposal, out of which she could pay Pratt without even Harper being aware that she was paying him anything. And surely no young man in Pratt's position—a mere clerk, earning a few pounds a week—would refuse a big sum of ready money! It seemed incredible to her—and she went into Barford towards evening hoping that by the time she returned the will would have been burned to grey ashes.

      Mrs. Mallathorpe used some ingenuity in making her visit to Pratt. Giving out that she was going to see a friend in Barford, of whose illness she had just heard, she drove into the town, and on arriving near the Town Hall dismissed her carriage, with orders to the coachman to put up his horses at a certain livery stable, and to meet her at the same place at a specified time. Then she went away on foot, and drew a thick veil over her face before hiring a cab in which she drove up to the outskirt on which Pratt had his lodging. She was still veiled when Pratt's landlady showed her into the clerk's sitting-room.

      "Is it safe here?" she asked at once. "Is there no fear of anybody hearing what we may say?"

      "None!" answered Pratt reassuringly. "I know these folks—I've lived here several years. And nobody could hear however much they put their ears to the keyhole. Good thick old walls, these, Mrs. Mallathorpe, and a solid door. We're as safe here as we were in your study last night."

      Mrs. Mallathorpe sat down in the chair which Pratt politely drew near his fire. She raised her veil and looked at him, and the clerk saw at once how curious and eager she was.

      "That—will!" she said, in a low voice. "Let me see it—first."

      "One moment," answered Pratt. "First—you understand that I'm not going to let you handle it. I'll hold it before you, so you can read it. Second—you give me your promise—I'm trusting you—that you'll make no attempt to seize it. It's not going out of my hands."

      "I'm only a woman—and you're a strong man," she retorted sullenly.

      "Quite so," said Pratt. "But women have a trick of snatching at things. And—if you please—you'll do exactly what I tell you to do. Put your hands behind you! If I see you make the least movement with them—back goes the will into my pocket!"

      If Pratt had looked more closely at her just then, he would have taken warning from the sudden flash of hatred and resentment which swept across Mrs. Mallathorpe's face—it would have told him that he was dealing with a dangerous woman who would use her wits to circumvent and beat him—if not now, then later. But he was moving the gas bracket over the mantelpiece, and he did not see.

      "Very well—but I had no intention of touching it," said Mrs. Mallathorpe. "All I want is to see it—and read it."

      She obediently followed out Pratt's instructions, and standing in front of her he produced the will, unfolded it, and held it at a convenient distance before her eyes. He watched her closely, as she read it, and he saw her grow very pale.

      "Take your time—read it over two or three times," he said quietly. "Get it well into your mind, Mrs. Mallathorpe."

      She nodded her head at last, and Pratt stepped back, folded up the will, and turning to a heavy box which lay open on the table, placed it within, under lock and key. And that done, he turned back and took a chair, close to his visitor.

      "Safe there, Mrs. Mallathorpe," he said with a glance that was both reassuring and cunning. "But only for the night. I keep a few securities of my own at one of the banks in the town—never mind which—and that will shall be deposited with them tomorrow morning."

      Mrs. Mallathorpe shook her head.

      "No!" she said. "Because—you'll come to terms with me."

      Pratt shook his head, too, and he laughed.

      "Of course I shall come to terms with you," he answered. "But they'll be my terms—and they don't include any giving up of that document. That's flat, Mrs. Mallathorpe!"

      "Not if I make it worth your while?" she asked. "Listen!—you don't know what ready money I can command. Ready money, I tell you—cash down, on the spot!"

      "I've a pretty good notion," responded Pratt. "It's generally understood in the town that your son's a mere figure-head, and that you're the real boss of the whole show. I know that you're at the mill four times a week, and that the managers are under your thumb. I know that you manage everything connected with the estate. So, of course, I know you've lots of ready money at your disposal."

      "And I know that you don't earn more than four or five pounds a week, at the outside," said Mrs. Mallathorpe quietly. "Come, now—just think what a nice, convenient thing it would be to a young man of your age to have—a capital. Capital! It would be the making of you. You could go right away—to London, say, and start out on whatever you liked. Be sensible—sell me that paper—and be done with the whole thing."

      "No!" replied Pratt.

      Mrs. Mallathorpe looked at him for a full moment. She was a shrewd judge of character, and she felt that Pratt was one of those men who are hard to stir from a position once adopted. But she had to make her effort—and she made it in what she thought the most effective way.

      "I'll give you five thousand pounds—cash—for it," she said. "Meet me with it tomorrow—anywhere you like in the town—any time you like—and I'll hand you the money—in notes."

      "No!" said Pratt. "No!"

      Once more she looked at him. And Pratt looked back—and smiled.

      "When I say no, I mean no," he went on. "And I never meant 'No' more firmly than I do now."

      "I don't believe you," she answered, affecting a doubt which she certainly did not feel. "You're only holding out for more money."

      "If I were holding out for more money, Mrs. Mallathorpe," replied Pratt, "if I meant to sell you that will for cash payment, I should have stated my terms to you last night. I should have said precisely how much I wanted—and I shouldn't have budged from the amount. Mrs. Mallathorpe!—it's no good. I've got my own schemes, and my own ideas—and I'm going to carry 'em out. I want you to appoint me steward to your property, your affairs, for life."

      "Life!" she exclaimed. "Life!"

      "My life," answered Pratt. "And let me tell you—you'll find me a first-class man—a good, faithful, honest servant. I'll do well by you and yours. You'll never regret it as long as you live. It'll be the best day's work you've ever done. I'll look after your son's interests—everybody's interests—as if they were my own. As indeed," he added, with a sly glance, "they will be."

      Mrs. Mallathorpe realized the finality, the resolve, in all this—but she made one more attempt.

      "Ten thousand!" she said. "Come, now!—think what ten thousand pounds in cash would mean to you!"

      "No—nor twenty thousand," replied Pratt. "I've made up my mind. I'll have my own terms. It's no use—not one bit of use—haggling or discussing matters further. I'm in possession of the will—and therefore of the situation, Mrs. Mallathorpe, you've just got to do what I tell you!"

      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. But the look had gone when he turned again, and he noticed nothing as he handed over

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