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Page 94
"What's all this?" asked Eldrick, taking the situation into his own
hands. "What's the matter? Why did you send for the police?"
"Mrs. Mallathorpe's orders, sir," answered the butler, with an
apologetic glance at his young mistress. "Really, sir, I don't
know--exactly--what is the matter! We are all so confused! What happened
was, that not very long after Miss Mallathorpe had left for town in the
carriage, Esther Mawson, the maid, came downstairs from Mrs.
Mallathorpe's room, and was crossing the lower part of the hall, when
Mrs. Mallathorpe suddenly appeared up there and called to me and James
to stop her and lock her up, as she'd stolen money and jewels! We were
to lock her up and telephone for the police, sir, and to add that Mr.
Pratt was here."
"Well?" demanded Eldrick.
"We did lock her up, sir! She's in my pantry," continued the butler,
ruefully. "We've got her in there because there are bars to the
windows--she can't get out of that. A terrible time we had, too,
sir--she fought us like--like a maniac, protesting all the time that
Mrs. Mallathorpe had given her what she had on her. Of course, sir, we
don't know what she may have on her--we simply obeyed Mrs. Mallathorpe."
"Where is Mrs. Mallathorpe?" asked Collingwood. "Is she safe?"
"Oh, quite safe, sir!" replied the butler. "She returned to her room
after giving those orders. Mrs. Mallathorpe appeared to be--quite calm,
sir."
Prydale pushed himself forward--unceremoniously and insistently.
"Keep that woman locked up!" he said. "First of all--where's Pratt?"
"Mrs. Mallathorpe said he would be found in a room in the old part of
the house," answered the butler, shaking his head as if he were
thoroughly mystified. "She said you would find him fast asleep--Mawson
had drugged him!"
Prydale looked at Byner and at his fellow-detectives. Then he turned to
the butler.
"Come on!" he said brusquely. "Take us there at once!" He glanced at
Eldrick. "I'm beginning to see through it, Mr. Eldrick!" he whispered.
"This maid's caught Pratt for us. Let's hope he's still----"
But before he could say more, and just as the butler opened a door which
led into a corridor at the rear of the hall, a sharp crack which was
unmistakably that of a revolver, rang through the house, waking equally
sharp echoes in the silent room. And at that, Nesta hurried up the
stairway to her mother's apartment, and the men, after a hurried glance
at each other, ran along the corridor after the butler and the footmen.
Pratt came out of his stupor much sooner than Esther Mawson had reckoned
on. According to her previous experiments with the particular drug which
she had administered to him, he ought to have remained in a profound and
an undisturbed slumber until at least five o'clock. But he woke at
four--woke suddenly, sharply, only conscious at first of a terrible pain
in his head, which kept him groaning and moaning in his chair for a
minute or two before he fairly realized where he was and what had
happened. As the pain became milder and gave way to a dull throbbing and
a general sense of discomfort, he looked round out of aching eyes and
saw the bottle of sherry. And so dull were his wits that his only
thought at first was that the wine had been far stronger than he had
known, and that he had drunk far too much of it, and that it had sent
him to sleep--and just then his wandering glance fell on some papers
which Esther Mawson had taken from one of his pockets and thrown aside
as of no value.
He leapt to his feet, trembling and sweating. His hands, shaking as if
smitten with a sudden palsy, went to his pockets--he tore off his coat
and turned his pockets out, as if touch and feeling were not to be
believed, and his eyes must see that there was really nothing there.
Then he snatched up the papers on the floor and found nothing but
letters, and odd scraps of unimportant memoranda. He stamped his feet on
those things, and began to swear and curse, and finally to sob and
whine. The shock of his discovery had driven all his stupefaction away
by that time, and he knew what had happened. And his whining and sobbing
was not that of despair, but the far worse and fiercer sobbing and
whining of rage and terrible anger. If the woman who had tricked him had
been there he would have torn her limb from limb, and have glutted
himself with revenge. But--he was alone.
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