For a full moment of tense silence Nesta and Pratt looked at each other across the letter which he held in his outstretched hand--looked steadily and with a certain amount of stern inquiry. And it was Nesta's eyes which first gave way--beaten by the certainty in Pratt's. She looked aside; her cheeks flamed; she felt as if something were rising in her throat--to choke her. "I can't believe that!" she muttered. "You're--mistaken! Oh--utterly mistaken!" "No mistake!" said Pratt confidently. "I tell you your mother meant me--me!--to meet my death at that bridge. Here's the proof in this letter! I'll tell you, first, when I received it: then I'll read you what's in it, and if you doubt my reading of it, you shall read it yourself--but it won't go out of my hands! And first as to my getting it, for that's important. It reached me, by registered post, mind you, on the Saturday morning on which your brother met his death. It was handed in at Normandale village post-office for registration late on the Friday afternoon. And--by whom do you think?" "I--don't know!" replied Nesta faintly. This merciless piling up of details was beginning to frighten her--already she felt as if she herself were some criminal, forced to listen from the dock to the opening address of a prosecuting counsel. "How should I know?--how can I think?" "It was handed in for registration by your mother's maid, Esther Mawson," said Pratt with a dark look. "I've got her evidence, anyway! And that was all part of a plan--just as a certain something that was enclosed was a part of the same plan--a plot. And now I'll read you the letter--and you'll bear it in mind that I got it by first post that Saturday morning. This is what it--what your mother--says:-- "I particularly wish to see you again, at once, about the matter between us and to have another look at _that document_. Can you come here, bringing it with you, tomorrow, Saturday afternoon, by the train which leaves soon after two o'clock? As I am most anxious that your visit should be private and unknown to any one here, do not come to the house. Take the path across the park to the shrubberies near the house, so that if you are met people would think you were taking a near cut to the village. I will meet you in the shrubbery on the house side of the little foot-bridge. The gates--'" Pratt suddenly paused, and before proceeding looked hard at his visitor. "Now listen to what follows--and bear in mind what your mother knew, and had done, at the time she wrote this letter. This is how the letter goes on---let every word fix itself in your mind, Miss Mallathorpe!" "'The gates of the foot-bridge are locked, but the enclosed keys will open them. I will meet you amongst the trees on the further side. Be sure to come and to bring _that document_--I have something to say about it on seeing it again.'"