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Page 84
"Nothing of the sort!" answered Pratt scornfully. "Don't be a fool!
You're all right. You listen to me. You write--straight off--to the
Royal Atlantic. Tell 'em you had some inquiry made about a man named
Parsons, who booked a passage with you for New York last November. Say
that on looking up your books you found that you unaccountably forgot to
send them the forms for him and his passage money. Make out a form for
that date, and crumple it up--as if it had been left lying in a drawer.
Enclose the money in it--here, I'll give you ten pounds to cover it," he
went on, drawing a bank-note from his purse. "Get it off at once--you've
time now--plenty--to catch the night-mail at the General. And then, d'ye
see, you're all right. It's only a case then--as far as you're
concerned--of forgetfulness. What's that?--we all forget something in
business, now and then. They'll overlook that--when they get the money."
"Aye, but you're forgetting something now!" remarked Murgatroyd. "You're
forgetting this--no such passenger ever went! They'll know that by their
passenger lists."
"What the devil has that to do with it?" snarled Pratt impatiently.
"What the devil do we care whether any such passenger went or not? All
that you're concerned about is to prove that you issued a ticket to
Parrawhite, under the name of Parsons. What's it matter to you where
Parrawhite, _alias_ Parsons, went, when he'd once left your shop? You
naturally thought he'd go straight to the Lancashire and Yorkshire
Station, on his way to Liverpool and New York! But, for aught you know,
he may have fallen down a drain pipe in the next street! Don't you see,
man? There's nothing, there's nobody, not all the detectives in London
and Barford, can prove that you didn't issue a ticket to Parrawhite on
that date? It isn't up to you to prove that you did!--it's up to them to
prove that you didn't! And--they can't. It's impossible. You get that
letter off--at once--to Liverpool, with that money inside it, and you're
as safe as houses--and your hundred pounds as well. Get it done! And if
those chaps come asking any more questions, tell 'em you're not going to
answer a single one! Mind you!--do what I tell you, and you're safe!"
With that Pratt walked out of the shop and went off towards the centre
of the town, inwardly raging and disturbed. It was very evident that
these people meant to find Parrawhite, alive or dead; evident, too, that
they had called in the aid of the Barford police. And in spite of all
his assurances to the watchmaker and his suggestion for the next move,
Pratt was far from easy about the whole matter. He would have been
easier if he had known who Prydale's companion was--probably he was, as
Murgatroyd had suggested, a London detective who might have been making
inquiries in the town for some time and knew much more than he, Pratt,
could surmise. That was the devil of the whole thing!--in Pratt's
opinion. Adept himself in working underground, he feared people who
adopted the same tactics. What was this stranger chap after? What did he
know? What was he doing? Had he let Eldrick know anything? Was there a
web of detectives already being spun around himself? Was that silly,
unfortunate affair with Parrawhite being slowly brought to light--to
wreck him on the very beginning of what he meant to be a brilliant
career? He cursed Parrawhite again and again as he left Peel Row behind
him.
The events of the day had made Pratt cautious as well as anxious. He
decided to keep away from his lodgings that night, and when he reached
the centre of the town he took a room at a quiet hotel. He was up early
next morning; he had breakfasted by eight o'clock; by half-past eight he
was at his office. And in his letter-box he found one letter--a thickish
package which had not come by post, but had been dropped in by hand, and
was merely addressed to Mr. Pratt.
Pratt tore that package open with a conviction of imminent disaster. He
pulled out a sheet of cheap note-paper--and a wad of bank-notes. His
face worked curiously as he read a few lines, scrawled in illiterate,
female handwriting.
"MR PRATT,--My husband and me don't want any more to do with
either you or your money which it is enclosed. Been honest up to
now though poor, and intending to remain so our purpose is to
make a clean breast of everything to the police first thing
tomorrow morning for which you have nobody but yourself to blame
for wickedness in tempting poor people to do wrong.
"Yours, MRS. MURGATROYD."
CHAPTER XXV
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