"Never mind," continued Parrawhite. "He had some suspicion--or he wouldn't have gone out there almost as soon as he reached Barford after his grandfather's death. And even if suspicion is put to sleep for awhile, it can easily be reawakened, so--cash! We must profit at once--before any future risk arises. But--what terms were you thinking of?" "Stewardship of this estate for life," muttered Pratt gloomily. "With the risk of some discovery being made, some time, any time!" sneered Parrawhite. "Where are your brains, man? The old fellow, John Mallathorpe, probably made a draft or two of that will before he did his fair copy--he may have left those drafts among his papers." "If he did, Mrs. Mallathorpe 'ud find 'em," said Pratt slowly. "I don't believe there's the slightest risk. I've figured everything out. I don't believe there's any danger from Collingwood or from anybody--it's impossible! And if we take cash now--we're selling for a penny what we ought to get pounds for." "The present is much more important than the future, my friend," answered Parrawhite. "To me, at any rate. Now, then, this is my proposal. I'll be with you when this lady calls at your place tomorrow evening. We'll offer her the will, to do what she likes with, for ten thousand pounds. She can find that--quickly. When she pays--as she will!--we share, equally, and then--well, you can go to the devil! I shall go--somewhere else. So that's settled." "No!" said Pratt. Parrawhite turned sharply, and Pratt saw a sinister gleam in his eyes. "Did you say no?" he asked. "I said--no!" replied Pratt. "I'm not going to take five thousand pounds for a chance that's worth fifty thousand. Hang you!--if you hadn't been a black sneak-thief, as you are, I'd have had the whole thing to myself! And I don't know that I will give way to you. If it comes to it, my word's as good as yours--and I don't believe Eldrick would believe you before me. Pascoe wouldn't anyway. You've got a past!--in quod, I should think--my past's all right. I've a jolly good mind to let you do your worst--after all, I've got the will. And by george! now I come to think of it, you can do your worst! Tell what you like tomorrow morning. I shall tell 'em what you are--a scoundrel." He turned away at that--and as he turned, Parrawhite, with a queer cry of rage that might have come from some animal which saw its prey escaping, struck out at him with the heavy stick. The blow missed Pratt's head, but it grazed the tip of his ear, and fell slantingly on his left shoulder. And then the anger that had been boiling in Pratt ever since the touch on his arm in the dark lane, burst out in activity, and he turned on his assailant, gripped him by the throat before Parrawhite could move, and after choking and shaking him until his teeth rattled and his breath came in jerking sobs, flung him violently against the masses of stone by which they had been standing.