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Page 77
"Well?" asked Murgatroyd anxiously.
"This is it," replied Pratt. "You do a bit now and then as agent for
some of these shipping lines. You book passages for emigrants--and for
other people, going to New Zealand or Canada or Timbuctoo--never mind
where. Now then--couldn't you remember--I'm sure you could--that you
booked a passage for Parrawhite to America last November? Come! It's an
easy matter to remember is that--for a hundred pounds."
Murgatroyd's thin fingers trembled a little as he picked up his glass.
"What do you want me to do--exactly?" he asked.
"This!" said Pratt. "I want you, tomorrow morning, early, to send a
telegram to these people, Halstead & Byner, St. Martin's Chambers,
London, just saying that James Parrawhite left Barford for America on
November 24th last, and that you can give further information if
necessary."
"And what if it is necessary?" inquired Murgatroyd.
"Then--in answer to any letter or telegram of inquiry--you'll just say
that you knew Parrawhite by sight as a clerk at Eldrick & Pascoe's in
this town, that on November 23rd he told you that he was going to
emigrate to America, that next day you booked him his passage, for which
he paid you whatever it was, and that he thereupon set off for
Liverpool. See?"
"It's all lies, you know," muttered Murgatroyd.
"Nobody can find 'em out, anyway," replied Pratt. "That's the one
important thing to consider. You're safe! And if you're cursed with a
conscience and it's tender--well, that'll make a good plaister for it!"
He pointed to the little wad of bank-notes--and the man sitting at his
side followed the pointing finger with hungry eyes. Murgatroyd wanted
money badly. His business, always poor, was becoming worse: his shipping
agency rarely produced any result: his rent was in arrears: he owed
money to his neighbour-tradesmen: he had a wife and young children. To
such a man, a hundred pounds meant relief, comfort, the lifting of
pressure.
"You're sure there's naught wrong in it, Mr. Pratt," he asked abruptly
and assiduously. "It 'ud be a bad job for my family if anything happened
to me, you know."
"There's naught that will happen," answered Pratt confidently. "Who on
earth can contradict you? Who knows what people you sell passages
to--but yourself?"
"There's the folks themselves," replied Murgatroyd. "Suppose Parrawhite
turns up?"
"He won't!" exclaimed Pratt.
"You know where he is?" suggested Murgatroyd.
"Not exactly," said Pratt, "But--he's left this country for
another--further off than America. That's certain! And--the folks I
referred to don't want any inquiry about him here."
"If I am asked questions--later--am I to say he booked in his own name?"
inquired Murgatroyd.
"No--name of Parsons," responded Pratt. "Here, I'll write down for you
exactly what I want you to say in the telegram to Halstead & Byner, and
I'll make a few memoranda for you--to post you up in case they write for
further information."
"I haven't said that I'll do it," remarked Murgatroyd. "I don't like the
looks of it. It's all a pack of lies."
Pratt paid no heed to this moral reflection. He found some loose paper
in his pocket and scribbled on it for a while. Then, as if accidentally,
he moved the ash-tray, and the bank-notes beneath it, all new, gave
forth a crisp, rustling sound.
"Here you are!" said Pratt, pushing notes and memoranda towards his
companion. "Take the brass, man!--you don't get a job like that every
day."
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