"Will you finish your story, if you please?" she asked.
"In my own way—in my own time," answered Pratt. "I now come to—your mother. On the Friday noon, the late Mr. Harper Mallathorpe went to Barford to visit a friend—young Stemthwaite, at the Hollies. He was to stay the night there, and was not expected home until Saturday evening. He did stay the night, and remained in Barford until noon on Saturday; but he—unexpectedly—returned to the house at half past two. And almost as soon as he'd got in, he picked up a gun and strolled out—into the gardens and the north shrubbery. And, as you know, he went to the foot-bridge. You see, Miss Mallathorpe, your mother, clever as she was, had forgotten one detail—the gates of that footbridge were merely low, four-barred things, and there was nothing to prevent an active young man from climbing them. She forgot another thing, too—that warning had not been given at the house that the bridge was dangerous. And, of course, she'd never, never calculated that your brother would return sooner than he was expected, or that, on his return, he'd go where he did. And so—but I'll spare you any reference to what happened. Only—you know now how it was that Mrs. Mallathorpe was found by her son's body. She'd been waiting about—for me! But—the fate she'd meant for me was dealt out to—him!"
In spite of herself Nesta gave way to a slight cry.
"I can't bear any more of that!" she said. "Have you finished?"
"There's not much more to say—now at any rate," replied Pratt. "And what I have to say shall be to the point. I'm sorry enough to have been obliged to say all that I have said. But, you know, you forced me to it! You threatened me. The real truth, Miss Mallathorpe, is just this—you don't understand me at all. You come here—excuse my plain speech—hectoring and bullying me with talk about the police, and blackmail, and I don't know what! It's I who ought to go to the police! I could have your mother arrested, and put in the dock, on a charge of attempted murder, this very day! I've got all the proofs."
"I suppose you held that out as a threat to her when you forced her to sign that power of attorney?" observed Nesta.
For the first time since her arrival Pratt looked at his visitor in an unfriendly fashion. His expression changed and his face flushed a little.
"You think that, do you?" he said. "Well, you're wrong. I'm not a fool. I held out no such threat. I didn't even tell your mother what I'd found out. I wasn't going to show her my hand all at once—though I've shown you a good deal of it."
"Not all?" she asked quickly.
"Not all," answered Pratt with a meaning glance. "To use more metaphors—I've several cards up my sleeve, Miss Mallathorpe. But you're utterly wrong about the threats. I'll tell you—I don't mind that—how I got the authority you're speaking about. Your mother had promised me that stewardship—for life. I'd have been a good steward. But we recognized that your brother's death had altered things—that you, being, as she said, a self-willed young woman—you see how plain I am—would insist on looking after your own affairs. So she gave me—another post. I'll discharge its duties honestly."