CHAPTER III
THE SHOP-BOY
When Pratt arrived at Eldrick & Pascoe's office at his usual hour ofnine next morning, he found the senior partner already there. And withhim was a young man whom the clerk at once set down as Mr. BartleCollingwood, and looked at with considerable interest and curiosity. Hehad often heard of Mr. Bartle Collingwood, but had never seen him. Heknew that he was the only son of old Antony Bartle's only child--adaughter who had married a London man; he knew, too, that Collingwood'sparents were both dead, and that the old bookseller had left their soneverything he possessed--a very nice little fortune, as Eldrick hadobserved last night. And since last night he had known that Collingwoodhad just been called to the Bar, and was on the threshold of whatEldrick, who evidently knew all about it, believed to be a promisingcareer. Well, there he was in the flesh; and Pratt, who was a bornobserver of men and events, took a good look at him as he stood justwithin the private room, talking to Eldrick.
A good-looking fellow; what most folk would call handsome; dark,clean-shaven, tall, with a certain air of reserve about his well-cutfeatures, firm lips, and steady eyes that suggested strength anddetermination. He would look very well in wig and gown, decided Pratt,viewing matters from a professional standpoint; he was just the sortthat clients would feel a natural confidence in, and that juries wouldlisten to. Another of the lucky ones, too; for Pratt knew the contentsof Antony Bartle's will, and that the young man at whom he was lookinghad succeeded to a cool five-and-twenty thousand pounds, at least,through his grandfather's death.
"Here is Pratt," said Eldrick, glancing into the outer office as theclerk entered it. "Pratt, come in here--here is Mr. Bartle Collingwood,He would like you to tell him the facts about Mr. Bartle's death."
Pratt walked in--armed and prepared. He was a clever hand at foreseeingthings, and he had known all along that he would have to answerquestions about the event of the previous night.
"There's very little to tell, sir," he said, with a politeacknowledgment of Collingwood's greeting. "Mr. Bartle came up here justas I was leaving--everybody else had left. He wanted to see Mr. Eldrick.Why, he didn't say. He was coughing a good deal when he came in, and hecomplained of the fog outside, and of the stairs. He saidsomething--just a mere mention--about his heart being bad. I lighted thegas in here, and helped him into the chair. He just sat down, laid hishead back, and died."
"Without saying anything further?" asked Collingwood.
"Not a word more, Mr. Collingwood," answered Pratt. "He--well, it wasjust as if he had dropped off to sleep. Of course, at first I thoughthe'd fainted, but I soon saw what it was--it so happens that I've seen adeath just as sudden as that, once before--my landlady's husband died ina very similar fashion, in my presence. There was nothing I could do,Mr. Collingwood--except ring up Mr. Eldrick, and the doctor, and thepolice."
"Mr. Pratt made himself very useful last night in making arrangements,"remarked Eldrick, looking at Collingwood. "As it is, there is verylittle to do. There will be no need for any inquest; Melrose has givenhis certificate. So--there are only the funeral arrangements. We canhelp you with that matter, of course. But first you'd no doubt like togo to your grandfather's place and look through his papers? We have hiswill here, you know--and I've already told you its effect."
"I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Pratt," said Collingwood, turning to theclerk. He turned again to Eldrick. "All right," he went on. "I'll goover to Quagg Alley. Bye-the-bye, Mr. Pratt--my grandfather didn't tellyou anything of the reason of his call here?"
"Not a word, sir," replied Pratt. "Merely said he wanted Mr. Eldrick."
"Had he any legal business in process?" asked Collingwood.
Eldrick and his clerk both shook their heads. No, Mr. Bartle had nobusiness of that sort that they knew of. Nothing--but there again Prattwas prepared.
"It might have been about the lease of that property in HorsebridgeLand, sir," he said, glancing at his principal. "He did mention that,you know, when he was in here a few weeks ago."
"Just so," agreed Eldrick. "Well, you'll let me know if we can be ofuse," he went on, as Collingwood turned away. "Pratt can be at yourdisposal, any time."
Collingwood thanked him and went off. He had travelled down from Londonby the earliest morning train, and leaving his portmanteau at the hotelof the Barford terminus, had gone straight to Eldrick & Pascoe's office;accordingly this was his first visit to the shop in Quagg Alley. But heknew the shop and its surroundings well enough, though he had not beenin Barford for some time; he also knew Antony Bartle's old housekeeper,Mrs. Clough, a rough and ready Yorkshirewoman, who had looked after theold man as long as he, Collingwood, could remember. She received him ascalmly as if he had merely stepped across the street to inquire afterhis grandfather's health.
"I thowt ye'd be down here first thing, Mestur Collingwood," she said,as he walked into the parlor at the back of the shop. "Of course,there's naught to be done except to see after yer grandfather's burying.I don't know if ye were surprised or no when t' lawyers tellygraphed toyer last night? I weren't surprised to hear what had happened. I'd beenexpecting summat o' that sort this last month or two."
"You mean--he was failing?" asked Collingwood.
"He were gettin' feebler and feebler every day," said the housekeeper."But nobody dare say so to him, and he wouldn't admit it his-self. Hewere that theer high-spirited 'at he did things same as if he were ayoung man. But I knew how it 'ud be in the end--and so it has been--Iknew he'd go off all of a sudden. And of course I had all inreadiness--when they brought him back last night there was naught to dobut lay him out. Me and Mrs. Thompson next door, did it, i' no time.Wheer will you be for buryin' him, Mestur Collingwood?"
"We must think that over," answered Collingwood.
"Well, an' theer's all ready for that, too," responded Mrs. Clough."He's had his grave all ready i' the cemetery this three year--Iremember when he bowt it--it's under a yew-tree, and he told me 'at he'dordered his monnyment an' all. So yer an' t' lawyers'll have no greattrouble about them matters. Mestur Eldrick, he gev' orders for t' coffinlast night."
Collingwood left these gruesome details--highly pleasing to theirnarrator--and went up to look at his dead grandfather. He had never seenmuch of him, but they had kept up a regular correspondence, and alwaysbeen on terms of affection, and he was sorry that he had not been withthe old man at the last. He remained looking at the queer, quiet, oldface for a while; when he went down again, Mrs. Clough was talking to asharp-looking lad, of apparently sixteen or seventeen years, who stoodat the door leading into the shop, and who glanced at Collingwood withkeen interest and speculation.
"Here's Jabey Naylor wants to know if he's to do aught, Mestur," saidthe housekeeper. "Of course, I've telled him 'at we can't have the shopopen till the burying's over--so I don't know what theer is that he cando."
"Oh, well, let him come into the shop with me," answered Collingwood. Hemotioned the lad to follow him out of the parlour. "So you were Mr.Bartle's assistant, eh?" he asked. "Had he anybody else?"
"Nobody but me, sir," replied the lad. "I've been with him a year."
"And your name's what?" inquired Collingwood.
"Jabez Naylor, sir, but everybody call me Jabey."
"I see--Jabey for short, eh?" said Collingwood good-humouredly. Hewalked into the shop, followed by the boy, and closed the door. Theouter door into Quagg Alley was locked: a light blind was drawn over theone window; the books and engravings on the shelves and in the presseswere veiled in a half-gloom. "Well, as Mrs. Clough says, we can't do anybusiness for a few days, Jabey--after that we must see what can be done.You shall have your wages just the same, of course, and you may look inevery day to see if there's anything you can do. You were hereyesterday, of course? Were you in the shop when Mr. Bartle went out?"
"Yes, sir," replied the lad. "I'd been in with him all the afternoon. Iwas here when he went out--and here when they came to say he'd died atMr. Eldrick's."
Collingwood sat down in his gr
andfather's chair, at a big table, piledhigh with books and papers, which stood in the middle of the floor.
"Did my grandfather seem at all unwell when he went out?" he asked.
"No, sir. He had been coughing a bit more than usual--that was all.There was a fog came on about five o'clock, and he said it botheredhim."
"What had he been doing during the afternoon? Anything particular?"
"Nothing at all particular before half-past four or so, sir."
Collingwood took a closer look at Jabez Naylor. He saw that he was anobservant lad, evidently of superior intelligence--a good specimen ofthe sharp town lad, well trained in a modern elementary school.
"Oh?" he said. "Nothing particular before half-past four, eh? Did he dosomething particular after half-past four?"
"There was a post came in just about then, sir," answered Jabey. "Therewas an American letter--that's it, sir--just in front of you. Mr. Bartleread it, and asked me if we'd got a good clear copy of Hopkinson's_History of Barford_. I reminded him that there was a copy amongst thebooks that had been bought from Mallathorpe's Mill some time ago."
"Books that had belonged to Mr. John Mallathorpe, who was killed?" askedCollingwood, who was fully acquainted with the chimney accident.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Bartle bought a lot of books that Mr. Mallathorpe had atthe Mill--local books. They're there in that corner: they were put therewhen I fetched them, and he'd never looked over them since,particularly."
"Well--and this _History of Barford_? You reminded him of it?"
"I got it out for him, sir. He sat down--where you're sitting--and beganto examine it. He said something about it being a nice copy, and he'dget it off that night--that's it, sir: I didn't read it, of course. Andthen he took some papers out of a pocket that's inside it, and I heardhim say 'Bless my soul--who'd have thought it!'"
Collingwood picked up the book which the boy indicated--a thick,substantially bound volume, inside one cover of which was a linenpocket, wherein were some loose maps and plans of Barford.
"These what he took out?" he asked, holding them up.
"Yes, sir, but there was another paper, with writing on it--a biggishsheet of paper--written all over."
"Did you see what the writing was? Did you see any of it?"
"No, sir--only that it was writing, I was dusting those shelves out,over there; when I heard Mr. Bartle say what he did. I just lookedround, over my shoulder--that was all."
"Was he reading this paper that you speak of?"
"Yes, sir--he was holding it up to the gas, reading it."
"Do you know what he did with it?"
"Yes, sir--he folded it up and put it in his pocket."
"Did he say any more--make any remark?"
"No, sir. He wrote a letter then."
"At once?"
"Yes, sir--straight off. But he wasn't more than a minute writing it.Then he sent me to post it at the pillar-box, at the end of the Alley."
"Did you read the address?"
The lad turned to a book which stood with others in a rack over thechimney-piece, and tapped it with his finger.
"Yes, sir--because Mr. Bartle gave orders when I first came here that aregister of every letter sent out was to be kept--I've always enteredthem in this book."
"And this letter you're talking about--to whom was it addressed?"
"Miss Mallathorpe, Normandale Grange, sir."
"You went and posted it at once?"
"That very minute, sir."
"Was it soon afterwards that Mr. Bartle went out?"
"He went out as soon as I came back, sir."
"And you never saw him again?"
Jabey shook his head.
"Not alive, sir," he answered. "I saw him when they brought him back."
"How long had he been out when you heard he was dead?"
"About an hour, sir--just after six it was when they told Mrs. Cloughand me. He went out at ten minutes past five."
Collingwood got up. He gave the lad's shoulder a friendly squeeze.
"All right!" he said. "Now you seem a smart, intelligent lad--don'tmention a word to any one of what we've been talking about. You have notmentioned it before, I suppose? Not a word? That's right--don't. Come inagain tomorrow morning to see if I want you to be here as usual. I'mgoing to put a manager into this shop."
When the boy had gone Collingwood locked up the shop from the houseside, put the key in his pocket, and went into the kitchen.
"Mrs. Clough," he said. "I want to see the clothes which my grandfatherwas wearing when he was brought home last night. Where are they?"
"They're in that little room aside of his bed-chamber, MesturCollingwood," replied the housekeeper. "I laid 'em all there, on theclothes-press, just as they were taken off of him, by Lawyer Eldrick'sorders--he said they hadn't been examined, and wasn't to be, till youcame. Nobody whatever's touched 'em since."
Collingwood went upstairs and into the little room--a sort of box-roomopening out of that in which the old man lay. There were the clothes; hewent through the pockets of every garment. He found such things as keys,a purse, loose money, a memorandum book, a bookseller's catalogue ortwo, two or three letters of a business sort--but there was no bigfolded paper, covered with writing, such as Jabey Naylor had described.
The mention of that paper had excited Collingwood's curiosity. Herapidly summed up what he had learned. His grandfather had found apaper, closely written upon, in a book which had been the property ofJohn Mallathorpe, deceased. The discovery had surprised him, for he hadgiven voice to an exclamation of what was evidently astonishment. He hadput the paper in his pocket. Then he had written a letter--to Mrs.Mallathorpe of Normandale Grange. When his shop-boy had posted thatletter, he himself had gone out--to his solicitor. What, askedCollingwood, was the reasonable presumption? The old man had gone toEldrick to show him the paper which he had found.
He lingered in the little room for a few minutes, thinking. No one butPratt had been with Antony Bartle at the time of his seizure and suddendeath. What sort of a fellow was Pratt? Was he honest? Was his word tobe trusted? Had he told the precise truth about the old man's death? Hewas evidently a suave, polite, obliging sort of fellow, this clerk, butit was a curious thing that if Antony Bartle had that paper, whatever itwas--in his pocket when he went to Eldrick's office it should not be inhis pocket still--if his clothing had really remained untouched. Alreadysuspicion was in Collingwood's mind--vague and indefinable, but there.
He was half inclined to go straight back to Eldrick & Pascoe's and tellEldrick what Jabey Naylor had just told him. But he reflected that whileNaylor went out to post the letter, the old bookseller might have putthe paper elsewhere; locked it up in his safe, perhaps. One thing,however, he, Collingwood, could do at once--he could ask Mrs.Mallathorpe if the letter referred to the paper. He was fully acquaintedwith all the facts of the Mallathorpe history; old Bartle, knowing theywould interest his grandson, had sent him the local newspaper accountsof its various episodes. It was only twelve miles to NormandaleGrange--a motor-car would carry him there within the hour. He glanced athis watch--just ten o 'clock.
An hour later, Collingwood found himself standing in a fine oak-panelledroom, the windows of which looked out on a romantic valley whose thicklywooded sides were still bright with the red and yellow tints of autumn.A door opened--he turned, expecting to see Mrs. Mallathorpe. Instead, hefound himself looking at a girl, who glanced inquiringly at him, andfrom him to the card which he had sent in on his arrival.