The Talleyrand Maxim by J. S. Fletcher (book reader for pc .TXT) đ
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believe thereâs the slightest risk. Iâve figured everything out. I donât
believe thereâs any danger from Collingwood or from anybodyâitâs
impossible! And if we take cash nowâweâre selling for a penny what we
ought to get pounds for.â
âThe present is much more important than the future, my friend,â
answered Parrawhite. âTo me, at any rate. Now, then, this is my
proposal. Iâll be with you when this lady calls at your place tomorrow
evening. Weâll offer her the will, to do what she likes with, for ten
thousand pounds. She can find thatâquickly. When she paysâas she
will!âwe share, equally, and thenâwell, you can go to the devil! I
shall goâsomewhere else. So thatâs settled.â
âNo!â said Pratt.
Parrawhite turned sharply, and Pratt saw a sinister gleam in his eyes.
âDid you say no?â he asked.
âI saidâno!â replied Pratt. âIâm not going to take five thousand pounds
for a chance thatâs worth fifty thousand. Hang you!âif you hadnât been
a black sneak-thief, as you are, Iâd have had the whole thing to myself!
And I donât know that I will give way to you. If it comes to it, my
wordâs as good as yoursâand I donât believe Eldrick would believe you
before me. Pascoe wouldnât anyway. Youâve got a past!âin quod, I should
thinkâmy pastâs all right. Iâve a jolly good mind to let you do your
worstâafter all, Iâve 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 âem what you areâa scoundrel.â
He turned away at thatâand 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
Prattâs 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 Parrawhiteâs
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 itâthe 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.
âGet up, you fool, and Iâll give you some more!â he growled. âIâll teach
you toâ-â
He suddenly noticed the curiously still fashion in which Parrawhite was
lying where he had flung himânoticed, too, as a cloud passed the moon
and left it unveiled, how strangely white the manâs 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 Bartleâviolent
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 itâPratt 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!âthat this vile little beast,
perfect scum that he was, should have led him to what might be the utter
ruin of his career!âit was shameful, it was abominable, it was cruel!
He felt as if he could cheerfully tear Parrawhiteâs dead body to pieces.
But even as these thoughts came, others of a more important nature
crowded on them. Forâthere lay a dead man, who was not to be put in
oneâs pocket, like a will. It was necessary to hide that thing from the
lightâever 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!âand 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 themâthe 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 sunâclose 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 districtâten 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 stoodâa heap of
old iron thingsâbroken 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 handsâthose 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 manâs 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 morningâthis idea was supplementary to them. Quickly and
methodically he removed the contents of Parrawhiteâs pockets to his
ownâeverything: money, watch and chain, even a ring which the dead man
had been evidently vain of. Then he let Parrawhite glide into the
waterâand 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 everânot 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.
THE SUPREME INDUCEMENT
Pratt was in Eldrick & Pascoeâs office soon after half-past eight next
morning, and for nearly forty minutes he had the place entirely to
himself. But it took only a few of those minutes for him to do what he
had carefully planned before he went to bed the previous night. Shutting
himself into Eldrickâs private room, and making sure that he was alone
that time, he immediately opened the drawer in the senior partnerâs
desk, wherein Eldrick, culpably enough, as Parrawhite had sneeringly
remarked, was accustomed to put loose money. Eldrick was strangely
careless in that way: he would throw money into that drawer in presence
of his clerksânotes, gold, silver. If it happened to occur to him, he
would take the money out at the end of the afternoon and hand it to
Pratt to lock up in the safe; but as often as not, it did not occur.
Pratt had more than once ventured on a hint which was almost a
remonstrance, and Eldrick had paid no attention to him. He was a
careless, easy-going man in many respects, Eldrick, and liked to do
things in his own way. And after all, as Pratt had decided, when he
found that his hints were not listened to, it was Eldrickâs own affair
if he liked to leave the money lying about.
There was money lying about in that drawer when Pratt drew it open; it
was never locked, day or night, or, if it was, the key was left in it.
As soon as he opened it, he saw goldâtwo or three sovereignsâand
silverâa little pile of it. And, under a letter weight, four banknotes
of ten pounds each. But this was precisely what Pratt had expected to
see; he himself had handed banknotes, gold, and silver to Eldrick the
previous evening, just after receiving them from a client who had called
to pay his bill. And he had seen Eldrick place them in the drawer, as
usual, and soon afterwards Eldrick had walked out, saying he was going
to the club, and he had never returned.
What Pratt now did was done as the result of careful thought and
deliberation. There was a chequebook lying on top of some papers in the
drawer; he took it up and tore three cheques out of it. Then he picked
up the banknotes, tore them and the abstracted blank cheques into
pieces, and dropped the pieces in the fire recently lighted by the
caretaker. He watched these fragments burn, and then he put the gold and
silver in his hip-pocket, where he already carried a good deal of his
own, and walked out.
Nine oâclock brought the office-boy; a quarter-past nine brought the
clerks; at ten oâclock Eldrick walked in. According to custom, Pratt
went into Eldrickâs room with the letters, and went through them with
him. One of them contained a legal document over which the solicitor
frowned a little.
âAsk Parrawhiteâs opinion about that,â he said presently, indicating a
marked paragraph.
âParrawhite has not come in this morning, sir,â observed Pratt,
gathering up letters and papers. âIâll draw his attention to it when he
arrives.â
He went into the outer office, only to be summoned back to Eldrick a few
minutes later. The senior partner was standing by his desk, looking a
little concerned, and, thought Pratt, decidedly uncomfortable. He
motioned the clerk to close the door.
âHas Parrawhite come?â he asked.
âNo,â replied Pratt, âNot yet, Mr. Eldrick.â
âIsâis he usually late?â inquired Eldrick.
âUsually quite punctualâhalf-past nine,â said Pratt.
Eldrick glanced at his watch; then at his clerk.
âDidnât you give me some cash last night?â he asked.
âForty-three pounds nine,â answered Pratt. âThompsonâs bill of costsâhe
paid it yesterday afternoon.â
Eldrick looked more uncomfortable than ever.
âWellâthe fact is,â he said, âIâI meant to hand it to you to put in
the safe, Pratt, but I didnât come back from the club. Andâitâs gone!â
Pratt simulated concernâbut not astonishment. And Eldrick pulled open
the drawer, and waved a hand over it.
âI put it down there,â he said. âVery careless of me, no doubtâbut
nothing of this sort has ever happened before, andâhowever, thereâs the
unpleasant fact, Pratt. The moneyâs gone!â
Pratt, who had hastily turned over the papers and other contents of the
drawer, shook his head
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