The Talleyrand Maxim

THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM
BY J. S. FLETCHER
1920

CONTENTS
I DEATH BRINGS OPPORTUNITY
II IN TRUST
III THE SHOP-BOY
IV THE FORTUNATE POSSESSORS
V POINT-BLANK
VI THE UNEXPECTED
VII THE SUPREME INDUCEMENT
VIII TERMS
IX UNTIL NEXT SPRING
X THE FOOT-BRIDGE
XI THE PREVALENT ATMOSPHERE
XII THE POWER OF ATTORNEY
XIII THE FIRST TRICK

XIV CARDS ON THE TABLE
XV PRATT OFFERS A HAND
XVI A HEADQUARTERS CONFERENCE
XVII ADVERTISEMENT
XVIII THE CONFIDING LANDLORD
XIX THE EYE-WITNESS
XX THE Green Man
XXI THE DIRECT CHARGE
XXII THE CAT'SPAW
XXIII SMOOTH FACE AND ANXIOUS BRAIN
XXIV THE BETTER HALF
XXV DRY SHERRY
XXVI THE TELEPHONE MESSAGE
XXVII RESTORED TO ENERGY
XXVIII THE WOMAN IN BLACK

THE TALLEYRAND MAXIM
CHAPTER I
DEATH BRINGS OPPORTUNITY
Linford Pratt, senior clerk to Eldrick & Pascoe, solicitors, of Barford, a
young man who earnestly desired to get on in life, by hook or by crook,

with no objection whatever to crookedness, so long as it could be
performed in safety and secrecy, had once during one of his periodical
visits to the town Reference Library, lighted on a maxim of that other
unscrupulous person, Prince Talleyrand, which had pleased him greatly.
"With time and patience," said Talleyrand, "the mulberry leaf is turned
into satin." This seemed to Linford Pratt one of the finest and soundest
pieces of wisdom which he had ever known put into words.
A mulberry leaf is a very insignificant thing, but a piece of satin is a
highly marketable commodity, with money in it. Henceforth, he
regarded himself as a mulberry leaf which his own wit and skill must
transform into satin: at the same time he knew that there is another
thing, in addition to time and patience, which is valuable to young men
of his peculiar qualities, a thing also much beloved by
Talleyrand--opportunity. He could find the patience, and he had the
time--but it would give him great happiness if opportunity came along
to help in the work. In everyday language, Linford Pratt wanted a
chance--he waited the arrival of the tide in his affairs which would lead
him on to fortune.
Leave him alone--he said to himself--to be sure to take it at the flood. If
Pratt had only known it, as he stood in the outer office of Eldrick &
Pascoe at the end of a certain winter afternoon, opportunity was slowly
climbing the staircase outside--not only opportunity, but temptation,
both assisted by the Devil. They came at the right moment, for Pratt
was alone; the partners had gone: the other clerks had gone: the
office-boy had gone: in another minute Pratt would have gone, too: he
was only looking round before locking up for the night. Then these
things came--combined in the person of an old man, Antony Bartle,
who opened the door, pushed in a queer, wrinkled face, and asked in a
quavering voice if anybody was in.
"I'm in, Mr. Bartle," answered Pratt, turning up a gas jet which he had
just lowered. "Come in, sir. What can I do for you?"
Antony Bartle came in, wheezing and coughing. He was a very, very
old man, feeble and bent, with little that looked alive about him but his
light, alert eyes. Everybody knew him--he was one of the institutions of

Barford--as well known as the Town Hall or the Parish Church. For
fifty years he had kept a second-hand bookshop in Quagg Alley, the
narrow passage-way which connected Market Street with Beck Street.
It was not by any means a common or ordinary second-hand bookshop:
its proprietor styled himself an "antiquarian bookseller"; and he had a
reputation in two Continents, and dealt with millionaire buyers and
virtuosos in both.
Barford people sometimes marvelled at the news that Mr. Antony
Bartle had given two thousand guineas for a Book of Hours, and had
sold a Missal for twice that amount to some American collector; and
they got a hazy notion that the old man must be well-to-do--despite his
snuffiness and shabbiness, and that his queer old shop, in the window
of which there was rarely anything to be seen but a few ancient tomes,
and two or three rare engravings, contained much that he could turn at
an hour's notice into gold. All that was surmise--but Eldrick &
Pascoe--which term included Linford Pratt--knew all about Antony
Bartle, being his solicitors: his will was safely deposited in their
keeping, and Pratt had been one of the attesting witnesses.
The old man, having slowly walked into the outer office, leaned against
a table, panting a little. Pratt hastened to open an inner door.
"Come into Mr. Eldrick's room, Mr. Bartle," he said. "There's a nice
easy chair there--come and sit down in it. Those stairs are a bit trying,
aren't they? I often wish we were on the