The Talleyrand Maxim | Page 4

than half an hour since I found it. It's not
a long document. Do you know how it is that it's never come out?" he
went on, turning eagerly to Pratt, who had risen again. "It's easily
explained. The will's witnessed by those two men who were killed at
the same time as John Mallathorpe! So, of course, there was nobody to
say that it was in evidence. My notion is that he and those two
men--Gaukrodger and Marshall, his manager and cashier--had signed it
not long before the accident, and that Mallathorpe had popped it into
the pocket of that book before going out into the yard. Eh? But see if
you can get Mr. Eldrick down here, and we'll read it together. And I
say--this office seems uncommonly stuffy--can you open the window a
bit or something?--I feel oppressed, like."
Pratt opened a window which looked out on the street. He glanced at
the old man for a moment and saw that his face, always pallid, was
even paler than usual.
"You've been talking too much," he said. "Rest yourself, Mr. Bartle,
while I ring up Mr. Eldrick's house. If he isn't there, I'll try his club--he

often turns in there for an hour before going home."
He went out by a private door to the telephone box, which stood in a
lobby used by various occupants of the building. And when he had
rung up Eldrick's private house and was waiting for the answer, he
asked himself what this discovery would mean to the present holders of
the Mallathorpe property, and his curiosity--a strongly developed
quality in him--became more and more excited. If Eldrick was not at
home, if he could not get in touch with him, he would persuade old
Bartle to let him see his find--he would cheerfully go late to his dinner
if he could only get a peep at this strangely discovered document.
Romance! Why, this indeed was romance; and it might be--what else?
Old Bartle had already chuckled about topsy-turvydom: did that mean
that--
The telephone bell rang: Eldrick had not yet reached his house. Pratt
got on to the club: Eldrick had not been there. He rang off, and went
back to the private room.
"Can't get hold of him, Mr. Bartle," he began, as he closed the door.
"He's not at home, and he's not at the club. I say!--you might as well let
me have a look at----"
Pratt suddenly stopped. There was a strange silence in the room: the old
man's wheezy breathing was no longer heard. And the clerk moved
forward quickly and looked round the high back of the easy chair....
He knew at once what had happened--knew that old Bartle was dead
before he laid a finger on the wasted hand which had dropped
helplessly at his side. He had evidently died without a sound or a
movement--died as quietly as he would have gone to sleep. Indeed, he
looked as if he had just laid his old head against the padding of the
chair and dropped asleep, and Pratt, who had seen death before, knew
that he would never wake again. He waited a moment, listening in the
silence. Once he touched the old man's hand; once, he bent nearer, still
listening. And then, without hesitation, and with fingers that remained
as steady as if nothing had happened, he unbuttoned Antony Bartle's
coat, and drew a folded paper from the inner pocket.

CHAPTER II
IN TRUST
As quietly and composedly as if he were discharging the most ordinary
of his daily duties, Pratt unfolded the document, and went close to the
solitary gas jet above Eldrick's desk. What he held in his hand was a
half-sheet of ruled foolscap paper, closely covered with writing, which
he at once recognized as that of the late John Mallathorpe. He was
familiar with that writing--he had often seen it. It was an old-fashioned
writing--clear, distinct, with every letter well and fully formed.
"Made it himself!" muttered Pratt. "Um!--looks as if he wanted to keep
the terms secret. Well----"
He read the will through--rapidly, but with care, murmuring the
phraseology half aloud.
"This is the last will of me, John Mallathorpe, of Normandale Grange,
in the parish of Normandale, in the West Riding of the County of York.
I appoint Martin William Charlesworth, manufacturer, of Holly Lodge,
Barford, and Arthur James Wyatt, chartered accountant, of 65, Beck
Street, Barford, executors and trustees of this my will. I give and devise
all my estate and effects real and personal of which I may die possessed
or entitled to unto the said Martin William Charlesworth and Arthur
James Wyatt upon trust for the following purposes to be carried out by
them under the following instructions, namely:--As soon after my death
as is