"Then I wish you would make him acknowledge the loan," said Leo, petulantly. Marton started and looked at the young man. "Does he not do so?" "No. He is in love with Miss Tempest, who is engaged to me, and he says he will deny the loan if I do not give her up." "And marry his sister, I suppose!" interposed the curate, whereat Leo nodded. "Humph!" said Marton, thoughtfully, caressing his chin. "It seems to me, Mr Haverleigh, that you have been made a tool of by unscrupulous people. But I'll give my attention to this to-morrow. I'll get the truth out of this Hale! He don't dare to palter with me. Leave yourself and your reputation in my hands, Haverleigh." "Very gladly," said Leo, heartily; "but what about Pratt?" Marton reflected, and took a sip of whisky and water. "He's gone. I do not think he will appear again in Colester." "But he has left his house and all these beautiful things behind him," put in Raston, with a glance around. "I see he has made himself comfortable," said Marton, with a shrug; "it was always his way! This is not the first time he has furnished a house, settled down. He has been driven out of every burrow, however. This time I discovered his hiding-place by accident. Colester was about the best place in the whole of England he could have chosen. No one would have thought of looking for him here. I daresay he expected to settle down and die in the odour of sanctity, surrounded by his ill-gotten gains. But he has not gone empty-handed, Haverleigh. He is too clever for that, and is always prepared for an emergency." "But _who_ is Pratt?" "Well; you are asking me a hard question. I understand he is a workhouse brat of sorts. He himself claims to be the illegitimate son of a nobleman. Certainly, he has a very gentlemanly appearance. He has been working for at least thirty years, and has always contrived to evade the English police. I believe he was laid by the heels in America." "He has travelled a great deal." "I believe you! He knows the whole world and all the scoundrels in it. A king of crime! That is what Pratt is. The generality of thieves adore him, for he has his good points, and he is generous. Well, we have talked enough for to-night. I'll sleep here, Haverleigh. Raston?" "I'll return to my own place," said the curate, rising to go. And this he did, but Marton, having found the burrow of Pratt, _alias_ Angel, did not intend to leave it. He was quite as clever as the man he was hunting. CHAPTER XIII AN INTERESTING DOCUMENT