"What did he want?" Mrs. Mallathorpe hesitated and frowned a little. And Pratt hastened to reassure her. "I'm using no idle words, Mrs. Mallathorpe, when I say it's for your own good. It is! What did he come for?" "He came to ask what there was in a letter which his grandfather wrote to me yesterday afternoon." "Antony Bartle had written to you, had he? And what did he say, Mrs. Mallathorpe? For that is important!" "No more than that he wanted me to call on him today, if I happened to be in Barford." "Nothing more?" "Nothing more--not a word." "Nothing as to--why he wanted to see you?" "No! I thought that he probably wanted to see me about buying some books of the late Mr. Mallathorpe's." "Did you tell Collingwood that?" asked Pratt, eagerly. "Yes--of course." "Did it satisfy him?" Mrs. Mallathorpe frowned again. "Why shouldn't I?" she demanded. "It was the only explanation I could possibly give him. How do I know what the old man really wanted?" Pratt drew his chair still nearer to the desk. His voice dropped to a whisper and his eyes were full of meaning. "I'll tell you what he wanted!" he said speaking very slowly. "It's what I've come for. Listen! Antony Bartle came to our office soon after five yesterday afternoon. I was alone--everybody else had gone. I took him into Eldrick's room. He told me that in turning over one of the books which he had bought from Mallathorpe Mill, some short time ago, he had found--what do you think?" Mrs. Mallathorpe's cheek had flushed at the mention of the books from the Mill. Now, at Pratt's question, and under his searching eye, she turned very pale, and the clerk saw her fingers tighten on the arms of her chair. "What?" she asked. "What?" "John Mallathorpe's will!" he answered. "Do you understand? His--will!" The woman glanced quickly about her--at the doors, the uncurtained window. "Safe enough here," whispered Pratt. "I made sure of that. Don't be afraid--no one knows--but me." But Mrs. Mallathorpe seemed to find some difficulty in speaking, and when she at last got out a word her voice sounded hoarse. "Impossible!" "It's a fact!" said Pratt. "Nothing was ever more a fact as you'll see. But let me finish my story. The old man told me how he'd found the will--only half an hour before--and he asked me to ring up Eldrick, so that we might all read it together. I went to the telephone--when I came back, Bartle was dead--just dead. And--I took the will out of his pocket." Mrs. Mallathorpe made an involuntary gesture with her right hand. And Pratt smiled, craftily, and shook his head.