NIGHT WORK
From the little colony of new houses at the foot of the Shawl to the
police station at the end of the High Street was only a few minutes'
walk. Mallalieu was a quick walker, and he covered this distance at his
top speed. But during those few minutes he came to a conclusion, for he
was as quick of thought as in the use of his feet.
Of course, Cotherstone had killed Kitely. That was certain. He had begun
to suspect that as soon as he heard of the murder; he became convinced
of it as soon as young Bent mentioned that Cotherstone had left his
guests for an hour after supper. Without a doubt Cotherstone had lost
his head and done this foolish thing! And now Cotherstone must be
protected, safe-guarded; heaven and earth must be moved lest suspicion
should fall on him. For nothing could be done to Cotherstone without
effect upon himself--and of himself--and of himself Mallalieu meant to
take very good care. Never mind what innocent person suffered,
Cotherstone must go free.
And the first thing to do was to assume direction of the police, to pull
strings, to engineer matters. No matter how much he believed in
Harborough's innocence, Harborough was the man to go for--at present.
Attention must be concentrated on him, and on him only.
Anything--anything, at whatever cost of morals and honesty to divert
suspicion from that fool of a Cotherstone!--if it were not already too
late. It was the desire to make sure that it was not too late, the
desire to be beforehand, that made Mallalieu hasten to the police. He
knew his own power, he had a supreme confidence in his ability to manage
things, and he was determined to give up the night to the scheme already
seething in his fertile brain rather than that justice should enter upon
what he would consider a wrong course.
While he sat silently and intently listening to Bent's story of the
crime, Mallalieu, who could think and listen and give full attention to
both mental processes without letting either suffer at the expense of
the other, had reconstructed the murder. He knew Cotherstone--nobody
knew him half as well. Cotherstone was what Mallalieu called deep--he
was ingenious, resourceful, inventive. Cotherstone, in the early hours
of the evening, had doubtless thought the whole thing out. He would be
well acquainted with his prospective victim's habits. He would know
exactly when and where to waylay Kitely. The filching of the piece of
cord from the wall of Harborough's shed was a clever thing--infernally
clever, thought Mallalieu, who had a designing man's whole-hearted
admiration for any sort of cleverness in his own particular line. It
would be an easy thing to do--and what a splendidly important thing! Of
course Cotherstone knew all about Harborough's arrangements--he would
often pass the pig-killer's house--from the hedge of the garden he would
have seen the coils of greased rope hanging from their nails under the
verandah roof, aye, a thousand times. Nothing easier than to slip into
Harborough's garden from the adjacent wood, cut off a length of the
cord, use it--and leave it as a first bit of evidence against a man
whose public record was uncertain. Oh, very clever indeed!--if only
Cotherstone could carry things off, and not allow his conscience to
write marks on his face. And he must help--and innocent as he felt
Harborough to be, he must set things going against Harborough--his life
was as naught, against the Mallalieu-Cotherstone safety.
Mallalieu walked into the police-station, to find the sergeant just
returned and in consultation with the superintendent, whom he had
summoned to hear his report. Both turned inquiringly on the Mayor.
"I've heard all about it," said Mallalieu, bustling forward. "Mr. Bent
told me. Now then, where's that cord they talk about?"
The sergeant pointed to the coil and the severed piece, which lay on a
large sheet of brown paper on a side-table, preparatory to being sealed
up. Mallalieu crossed over and made a short examination of these
exhibits; then he turned to the superintendent with an air of decision.
"Aught been done?" he demanded.
"Not yet, Mr. Mayor," answered the superintendent. "We were just
consulting as to what's best to be done."
"I should think that's obvious," replied Mallalieu. "You must get to
work! Two things you want to do just now. Ring up Norcaster for one
thing, and High Gill Junction for another. Give 'em a description of
Harborough--he'll probably have made for one place or another, to get
away by train. And ask 'em at Norcaster to lend you a few plain-clothes
men, and to send 'em along here at once by motor--there's no train till
morning. Then, get all your own men out--now!--and keep folk off the
paths in that wood, and put a watch on Harborough's house, in case he
should put a bold face on it and come back--he's impudence enough--and
of course, if he comes, they'll take him. Get to all that now--at once!"
"You think it's Harborough, then?" said the superintendent.
"I think there's what the law folks call a prymer facy case against
him," replied Mallalieu. "It's your duty to get him, anyway, and if he
can clear himself, why, let him. Get busy with that telephone, and be
particular about help from Norcaster--we're under-staffed here as it
is."
The superintendent hurried out of his office and Mallalieu turned to the
sergeant.
"I understood from Mr. Bent," he said, "that that housekeeper of
Kitely's said the old fellow had been to the bank at noon today, to draw
some money? That so?"
"So she said, your Worship," answered the sergeant. "Some allowance, or
something of that sort, that he drew once a quarter. She didn't know how
much."
"But she thought he'd have it on him when he was attacked?" asked
Mallalieu.
"She said he was a man for carrying his money on him always," replied
the sergeant. "We understood from her it was his habit. She says he
always had a good bit on him--as a rule. And of course, if he'd drawn
more today, why, he might have a fair lot."
"We'll soon find that out," remarked Mallalieu. "I'll step round to the
bank manager and rouse him. Now you get your men together--this is no
time for sleeping. You ought to have men up at the Shawl now."
"I've left one man at Kitely's cottage, sir, and another about
Harborough's--in case Harborough should come back during the night,"
said the sergeant. "We've two more constables close by the station. I'll
get them up."
"Do it just now," commanded Mallalieu. "I'll be back in a while."
He hurried out again and went rapidly down the High Street to the
old-fashioned building near the Town Hall in which the one bank of the
little town did its business, and in which the bank manager lived. There
was not a soul about in the street, and the ringing of the bell at the
bank-house door, and the loud knock which Mallalieu gave in supplement
to it, seemed to wake innumerable echoes. And proof as he believed
himself to be against such slight things, the sudden opening of a window
above his head made him jump.
The startled bank-manager, hurrying down to his midnight visitor in his
dressing-gown and slippers, stood aghast when he had taken the Mayor
within and learned his errand.
"Certainly!" he said. "Kitely was in the bank today, about noon--I
attended to him myself. That's the second time he's been here since he
came to the town. He called here a day or two after he first took that
house from Mr. Cotherstone--to cash a draft for his quarter's pension.
He told me then who he was. Do you know?"
"Not in the least," replied Mallalieu, telling the lie all the more
readily because he had been fully prepared for the question to which it
was an answer. "I knew naught about him."
"He was an ex-detective," said the bank-manager. "Pensioned off, of
course: a nice pension. He told me he'd had--I believe it was getting on
to forty years' service in the police force. Dear, dear, this is a sad
business--and I'm afraid I can tell you a bit more about it."
"What?" demanded Mallalieu, showing surprise in spite of himself.
"You mentioned Harborough," said the bank-manager, shaking his head.
"Well?" said Mallalieu. "What then?"
"Harborough was at the counter when Kitely took his money," answered the
bank-manager. "He had called in to change a five-pound note."
The two men looked at each other in silence for a time. Then the
bank-manager shook his head again.
"You wouldn't think that a man who has a five-pound note of his own to
change would be likely, to murder another man for what he could get," he
went on. "But Kitely had a nice bit of money to carry away, and he wore
a very valuable gold watch and chain, which he was rather fond of
showing in the town, and----eh?"
"It's a suspicious business," said Mallalieu. "You say Harborough saw
Kitely take his money?"
"Couldn't fail," replied the bank-manager. "He was standing by him. The
old man put it--notes and gold--in a pocket that he had inside his
waistcoat."
Mallalieu lingered, as if in thought, rubbing his chin and staring at
the carpet. "Well, that's a sort of additional clue," he remarked at
last. "It looks very black against Harborough."
"We've the numbers of the notes that I handed to Kitely," observed the
bank-manager. "They may be useful if there's any attempt to change any
note, you know."
Mallalieu shook his head.
"Aye, just so," he answered. "But I should say there won't be--just yet.
It's a queer business, isn't it--but, as I say, there's evidence against
this fellow, and we must try to get him."
He went out then and crossed the street to the doctor's house--while he
was about it, he wanted to know all he could. And with the doctor he
stopped much longer than he had stopped at the bank, and when he left
him he was puzzled. For the doctor said to him what he had said to
Cotherstone and to Bent and to the rest of the group in the wood--that
whoever had strangled Kitely had had experience in that sort of grim
work before--or else he was a sailorman who had expert knowledge of
tying knots. Now Mallalieu was by that time more certain than ever that
Cotherstone was the murderer, and he felt sure that Cotherstone had no
experience of that sort of thing.
"Done with a single twist and a turn!" he muttered to himself as he
walked back to the police-station. "Aye--aye!--that seems to show
knowledge. But it's not my business to follow that up just now--I know
what my business is--nobody better."
The superintendent and the sergeant were giving orders to two
sleepy-eyed policemen when Mallalieu rejoined them. He waited until the
policemen had gone away to patrol the Shawl and then took the
superintendent aside.
"I've heard a bit more incriminatory news against Harborough," he said.
"He was in the bank this morning--or yesterday morning, as it now
is--when Kitely drew his money. There may be naught in that--and there
may be a lot. Anyway, he knew the old man had a goodish bit on him."
The superintendent nodded, but his manner was doubtful.
"Well, of course, that's evidence--considering things," he said, "but
you know as well as I do, Mr. Mayor, that Harborough's not a man that's
ever been in want of money. It's the belief of a good many folks in the
town that he has money of his own: he's always been a bit of a mystery
ever since I can remember. He could afford to give that daughter of his
a good education--good as a young lady gets--and he spends plenty, and I
never heard of him owing aught. Of course, he's a queer lot--we know
he's a poacher and all that, but he's so skilful about it that we've
never been able to catch him. I can't think he's the guilty party--and
yet----"
"You can't get away from the facts," said Mallalieu. "He'll have to be
sought for. If he's made himself scarce--if he doesn't come home----"
"Ah, that 'ud certainly be against him!" agreed the superintendent.
"Well, I'm doing all I can. We've got our own men out, and there's three
officers coming over from Norcaster by motor--they're on the way now."
"Send for me if aught turns up," said Mallalieu.
He walked slowly home, his brain still busy with possibilities and
eventualities. And within five minutes of his waking at his usual hour
of six it was again busy--and curious. For he and Cotherstone, both keen
business men who believed in constant supervision of their workmen, were
accustomed to meet at the yard at half-past six every morning, summer or
winter, and he was wondering what his partner would say and do--and look
like.
Cotherstone was in the yard when Mallalieu reached it. He was giving
some orders to a carter, and he finished what he was doing before coming
up to Mallalieu. In the half light of the morning he looked pretty much
as usual--but Mallalieu noticed a certain worn look under his eyes and
suppressed nervousness in his voice. He himself remained silent and
observant, and he let Cotherstone speak first.
"Well?" said Cotherstone, coming close to him as they stood in a vacant
space outside the office. "Well?"
"Well?" responded Mallalieu.
Cotherstone began to fidget with some account books and papers that he
had brought from his house. He eyed his partner with furtive glances;
Mallalieu eyed him with steady and watchful ones.
"I suppose you've heard all about it?" said Cotherstone, after an
awkward silence.
"Aye!" replied Mallalieu, drily. "Aye, I've heard."
Cotherstone looked round. There was no one near him, but he dropped his
voice to a whisper.
"So long as nobody but him knew," he muttered, giving Mallalieu another
side glance, "so long as he hadn't said aught to anybody--and I don't
think he had--we're--safe."
Mallalieu was still staring quietly at Cotherstone. And Cotherstone
began to grow restless under that steady, questioning look.
"Oh?" observed Mallalieu, at last. "Aye? You think so? Ah!"
"Good God--don't you!" exclaimed Cotherstone, roused to a sudden anger.
"Why----"
But just then a policeman came out of the High Street into the yard,
caught sight of the two partners, and came over to them, touching his
helmet.
"Can your Worship step across the way?" he asked. "They've brought
Harborough down, and the Super wants a word with you."