"Not a word more, Mr. Collingwood," answered Pratt. "He--well, it was just as if he had dropped off to sleep. Of course, at first I thought he'd fainted, but I soon saw what it was--it so happens that I've seen a death just as sudden as that, once before--my landlady's husband died in a very similar fashion, in my presence. There was nothing I could do, Mr. Collingwood--except ring up Mr. Eldrick, and the doctor, and the police." "Mr. Pratt made himself very useful last night in making arrangements," remarked Eldrick, looking at Collingwood. "As it is, there is very little to do. There will be no need for any inquest; Melrose has given his certificate. So--there are only the funeral arrangements. We can help you with that matter, of course. But first you'd no doubt like to go to your grandfather's place and look through his papers? We have his will here, you know--and I've already told you its effect." "I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Pratt," said Collingwood, turning to the clerk. He turned again to Eldrick. "All right," he went on. "I'll go over to Quagg Alley. Bye-the-bye, Mr. Pratt--my grandfather didn't tell you anything of the reason of his call here?" "Not a word, sir," replied Pratt. "Merely said he wanted Mr. Eldrick." "Had he any legal business in process?" asked Collingwood. Eldrick and his clerk both shook their heads. No, Mr. Bartle had no business of that sort that they knew of. Nothing--but there again Pratt was prepared. "It might have been about the lease of that property in Horsebridge Land, sir," he said, glancing at his principal. "He did mention that, you know, when he was in here a few weeks ago." "Just so," agreed Eldrick. "Well, you'll let me know if we can be of use," he went on, as Collingwood turned away. "Pratt can be at your disposal, any time." Collingwood thanked him and went off. He had travelled down from London by the earliest morning train, and leaving his portmanteau at the hotel of the Barford terminus, had gone straight to Eldrick & Pascoe's office; accordingly this was his first visit to the shop in Quagg Alley. But he knew the shop and its surroundings well enough, though he had not been in Barford for some time; he also knew Antony Bartle's old housekeeper, Mrs. Clough, a rough and ready Yorkshirewoman, who had looked after the old man as long as he, Collingwood, could remember. She received him as calmly as if he had merely stepped across the street to inquire after his grandfather's health. "I thowt ye'd be down here first thing, Mestur Collingwood," she said, as he walked into the parlor at the back of the shop. "Of course, there's naught to be done except to see after yer grandfather's burying. I don't know if ye were surprised or no when t' lawyers tellygraphed to yer last night? I weren't surprised to hear what had happened. I'd been expecting summat o' that sort this last month or two." "You mean--he was failing?" asked Collingwood.