THE UNEXPECTED
Pratt started when he heard that voice and felt the arresting hand. He
knew well enough to whom they belonged--they were those of one James
Parrawhite, a little, weedy, dissolute chap who had been in Eldrick &
Pascoe's employ for about a year. It had always been a mystery to him
and the other clerks that Parrawhite had been there at all, and that
being there he was allowed to stop. He was not a Barford man. Nobody
knew anything whatever about him, though his occasional references to it
seemed to indicate that he knew London pretty thoroughly. Pratt shrewdly
suspected that he was a man whom Eldrick had known in other days,
possibly a solicitor who had been struck off the rolls, and to whom
Eldrick, for old times' sake, was disposed to extend a helping hand.
All that any of them knew was that one morning some fifteen months
previously, Parrawhite, a complete stranger, had walked into the office,
asked to see Eldrick, had remained closeted with him half an hour, and
had been given a job at two pounds a week, there and then. That he was a
clever and useful clerk no one denied, but no one liked him.
He was always borrowing half-crowns. He smelt of rum. He was altogether
undesirable. It was plain to the clerks that Pascoe disliked him. But he
was evidently under Eldrick's protection, and he did his work and did it
well, and there was no doubt that he knew more law than either of the
partners, and was better up in practice than Pratt himself. But--he was
not desirable ... and Pratt never desired him less than on this
occasion.
"What are you after--coming on a man like that!" growled Pratt.
"You," replied Parrawhite. "I knew you'd got to come up this lane, so I
waited for you. I've something to say."
"Get it said, then!" retorted Pratt.
"Not here," answered Parrawhite. "Come down by the quarry--nobody about
there."
"And suppose I don't?" asked Pratt.
"Then you'll be very sorry for yourself--tomorrow," replied Parrawhite.
"That's all!"
Pratt had already realized that this fellow knew something. Parrawhite's
manner was not only threatening but confident. He spoke as a man speaks
who has got the whip hand. And so, still growling, and inwardly raging
and anxious, he turned off with his companion into a track which lay
amongst the stone quarries. It was a desolate, lonely place; no house
was near; they were as much alone as if they had been in the middle of
one of the great moors outside the town, the lights of which they could
see in the valley below them. In the grey sky above, a waning moon gave
them just sufficient light to see their immediate surroundings--a
grass-covered track, no longer used, and the yawning mouths of the old
quarries, no longer worked, the edges of which were thick with gorse and
bramble. It was the very place for secret work, and Pratt was certain
that secret work was at hand.
"Now then!" he said, when they had walked well into the wilderness.
"What is it? And no nonsense!"
"You'll get no nonsense from me," sneered Parrawhite. "I'm not that
sort. This is what I want to say. I was in Eldrick's office last night
all the time you were there with old Bartle."
This swift answer went straight through Pratt's defences. He was
prepared to hear something unpleasant and disconcerting, but not that.
And he voiced the first thought that occurred to him.
"That's a lie!" he exclaimed. "There was nobody there!"
"No lie," replied Parrawhite. "I was there. I was behind the curtain of
that recess--you know. And since I know what you did, I don't mind
telling you--we're in the same boat, my lad!--what I was going to do.
You thought I'd gone--with the others. But I hadn't. I'd merely done
what I've done several times without being found out--slipped in
there--to wait until you'd gone. Why? Because friend Eldrick, as you
know, is culpably careless about leaving loose cash in the unlocked
drawer of his desk, culpably careless, too, about never counting it.
And--a stray sovereign or half-sovereign is useful to a man who only
gets two quid a week. Understand?"
"So you're a thief?" said Pratt bitterly.
"I'm precisely what you are--a thief!" retorted Parrawhite. "You stole
John Mallathorpe's will last night. I heard everything, I tell you!--and
saw everything. I heard the whole business--what the old man said--what
you, later, said to Eldrick. I saw old Bartle die--I saw you take the
will from his pocket, read it, and put it in your pocket. I know
all!--except the terms of the will. But--I've a pretty good idea of what
those terms are. Do you know why? Because I watched you set off to
Normandale by the eight-twenty train tonight!"
"Hang you for a dirty sneak!" growled Pratt.
Parrawhite laughed, and flourished a heavy stick which he carried.
"Not a bit of it!" he said, almost pleasantly. "I thought you were more
of a philosopher--I fancied I'd seen gleams--mere gleams--of philosophy
in you at times. Fortunes of war, my boy! Come now--you've seen enough
of me to know I'm an adventurer. This is an adventure of the sort I
love. Go into it heart and soul, man! Own up!--you've found out that the
will leaves the property away from the present holders, and you've been
to Normandale to--bargain? Come, now!"
"What then!" demanded Pratt.
"Then, of course, I come in at the bargaining," answered Parrawhite.
"I'm going to have my share. That's a certainty. You'd better take my
advice. Because you're absolutely in my power. I've nothing to do but to
tell Eldrick tomorrow morning."
"Suppose I tell Eldrick tomorrow morning of what you've told me?"
interjected Pratt.
"Eldrick will believe me before you," retorted Parrawhite,
imperturbably. "I'm a much cleverer, more plausible man than you are, my
friend--I've had an experience of the world which you haven't, I can
easily invent a fine excuse for being in that room. For two pins I'll
incriminate you! See? Be reasonable--for if it comes to a contest of
brains, you haven't a rabbit's chance against a fox. Tell me all about
the will--and what you've done. You've got to--for, by the Lord
Harry!--I'm going to have my share. Come, now!"
Pratt stood, in a little hollow wherein they had paused, and thought,
rapidly and angrily. There was no doubt about it--he was trapped. This
fearful scoundrel at his side, who boasted of his cleverness, would
stick to him like a leach--he would have to share. All his own smart
schemes for exploiting Mrs. Mallathorpe, for ensuring himself a
competence for life, were knocked on the head. There was no helping
it--he would have to tell--and to share. And so, sullenly, resentfully,
he told.
Parrawhite listened in silence, taking in every point. Pratt, knowing
that concealment was useless, told the truth about everything,
concisely, but omitting nothing.
"All right!" remarked Parrawhite at the end, "Now, then, what terms do
you mean to insist on?"
"What's the good of going into that?" growled Pratt. "Now that you've
stuck your foot in it, what do my terms matter?"
"Quite right," agreed Parrawhite, "They don't. What matter is--our
terms. Now let me suggest--no, insist on--what they must be. Cash! Do
you know why I insist on that? No? Then I'll tell you. Because this
young barrister chap, Collingwood, has evidently got some suspicion
of--something."
"I can't see it," said Pratt uneasily. "He was only curious to know what
that letter was about."
"Never mind," continued Parrawhite. "He had some suspicion--or he
wouldn't have gone out there almost as soon as he reached Barford after
his grandfather's death. And even if suspicion is put to sleep for
awhile, it can easily be reawakened, so--cash! We must profit at
once--before any future risk arises. But--what terms were you thinking
of?"
"Stewardship of this estate for life," muttered Pratt gloomily.
"With the risk of some discovery being made, some time, any time!"
sneered Parrawhite. "Where are your brains, man? The old fellow, John
Mallathorpe, probably made a draft or two of that will before he did his
fair copy--he may have left those drafts among his papers."
"If he did, Mrs. Mallathorpe 'ud find 'em," said Pratt slowly. "I don't
believe there's the slightest risk. I've figured everything out. I don't
believe there's any danger from Collingwood or from anybody--it's
impossible! And if we take cash now--we're selling for a penny what we
ought to get pounds for."
"The present is much more important than the future, my friend,"
answered Parrawhite. "To me, at any rate. Now, then, this is my
proposal. I'll be with you when this lady calls at your place tomorrow
evening. We'll offer her the will, to do what she likes with, for ten
thousand pounds. She can find that--quickly. When she pays--as she
will!--we share, equally, and then--well, you can go to the devil! I
shall go--somewhere else. So that's settled."
"No!" said Pratt.
Parrawhite turned sharply, and Pratt saw a sinister gleam in his eyes.
"Did you say no?" he asked.
"I said--no!" replied Pratt. "I'm not going to take five thousand pounds
for a chance that's worth fifty thousand. Hang you!--if you hadn't been
a black sneak-thief, as you are, I'd have had the whole thing to myself!
And I don't know that I will give way to you. If it comes to it, my
word's as good as yours--and I don't believe Eldrick would believe you
before me. Pascoe wouldn't anyway. You've got a past!--in quod, I should
think--my past's all right. I've a jolly good mind to let you do your
worst--after all, I've got the will. And by george! now I come to think
of it, you can do your worst! Tell what you like tomorrow morning. I
shall tell 'em what you are--a scoundrel."
He turned away at that--and as he turned, Parrawhite, with a queer cry
of rage that might have come from some animal which saw its prey
escaping, struck out at him with the heavy stick. The blow missed
Pratt's head, but it grazed the tip of his ear, and fell slantingly on
his left shoulder. And then the anger that had been boiling in Pratt
ever since the touch on his arm in the dark lane, burst out in activity,
and he turned on his assailant, gripped him by the throat before
Parrawhite could move, and after choking and shaking him until his teeth
rattled and his breath came in jerking sobs, flung him violently against
the masses of stone by which they had been standing.
Pratt was of considerable physical strength. He played cricket and
football; he visited a gymnasium thrice a week. His hands had the grip
of a blacksmith; his muscles were those of a prize-fighter. He had put
more strength than he was aware of into his fierce grip on Parrawhite's
throat; he had exerted far more force than he knew he was exerting, when
he flung him away. He heard a queer cracking sound as the man struck
something, and for the moment he took no notice of it--the pain of that
glancing blow on his shoulder was growing acute, and he began to rub it
with his free hand and to curse its giver.
"Get up, you fool, and I'll give you some more!" he growled. "I'll teach
you to----"
He suddenly noticed the curiously still fashion in which Parrawhite was
lying where he had flung him--noticed, too, as a cloud passed the moon
and left it unveiled, how strangely white the man's face was. And just
as suddenly Pratt forgot his own injury, and dropped on his knees beside
his assailant. An instant later, and he knew that he was once more
confronting death. For Parrawhite was as dead as Antony Bartle--violent
contact of his head with a rock had finished what Pratt had nearly
completed with that vicious grip. There was no questioning it, no
denying it--Pratt was there in that lonely place, staring half
consciously, half in terror, at a dead man.
He stood up at last, cursing Parrawhite with the anger of despair. He
had not one scrap of pity for him. All his pity was for himself. That he
should have been brought into this!--that this vile little beast,
perfect scum that he was, should have led him to what might be the utter
ruin of his career!--it was shameful, it was abominable, it was cruel!
He felt as if he could cheerfully tear Parrawhite's dead body to pieces.
But even as these thoughts came, others of a more important nature
crowded on them. For--there lay a dead man, who was not to be put in
one's pocket, like a will. It was necessary to hide that thing from the
light--ever that light. Within a few hours, morning would break, and
lonely and deserted as that place was nowadays, some one might pass that
way. Out of sight with him, then!--and quickly.
Pratt was very well acquainted with the spot at which he stood. Those
old quarries had a certain picturesqueness. They had become grass-grown;
ivy, shrubs, trees had clustered about them--the people who lived in the
few houses half a mile away, sometimes walked around them; the children
made a playground of the place: Pratt himself had often gone into some
quiet corner to read and smoke. And now his quick mind immediately
suggested a safe hiding place for this thing that he could not carry
away with him, and dare not leave to the morning sun--close by was a
pit, formerly used for some quarrying purpose, which was filled, always
filled, with water. It was evidently of considerable depth; the water
was black in it; the mouth was partly obscured by a maze of shrub and
bramble. It had been like that ever since Pratt came to lodge in that
part of the district--ten or twelve years before; it would probably
remain like that for many a long year to come. That bit of land was
absolutely useless and therefore neglected, and as long as rain fell and
water drained, that pit would always be filled to its brim.
He remembered something else: also close by where he stood--a heap of
old iron things--broken and disused picks, smashed rails, fragments
thrown aside when the last of the limestone had been torn out of the
quarries. Once more luck was playing into his hands--those odds and ends
might have been put there for the very purpose to which he now meant to
turn them. And being certain that he was alone, and secure, Pratt
proceeded to go about his unpleasant task skilfully and methodically. He
fetched a quantity of the iron, fastened it to the dead man's clothing,
drew the body, thus weighted, to the edge of the pit, and prepared to
slide it into the black water. But there an idea struck him. While he
made these preparations he had had hosts of ideas as to his operations
next morning--this idea was supplementary to them. Quickly and
methodically he removed the contents of Parrawhite's pockets to his
own--everything: money, watch and chain, even a ring which the dead man
had been evidently vain of. Then he let Parrawhite glide into the
water--and after him he sent the heavy stick, carefully fastened to a
bar of iron.
Five minutes later, the surface of the water in that pit was as calm and
unruffled as ever--not a ripple showed that it had been disturbed. And
Pratt made his way out of the wilderness, swearing that he would never
enter it again.