his house and ask him to run back here?"

"Certainly," replied Pratt. "He mayn't be there, though. But I can try.
You haven't shown it to anybody else?"

"Neither shown it to anybody, nor mentioned it to a soul," said Bartle.
"I tell you it's not much more 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