STRICT BUSINESS LINES
Mr. Christopher Pett, warned by the uplifted finger of his aunt,
tip-toed into the living-room, and setting down his small travelling bag
on the table proceeded to divest himself of a thick overcoat, a warm
muffler, woollen gloves, and a silk hat. And Miss Pett, having closed
the outer and inner doors, came in and glanced inquiringly at him.
"Which way did you come, this time?" she inquired.
"High Gill," replied Christopher. "Got an afternoon express that stopped
there. Jolly cold it was crossing those moors of yours, too, I can tell
you!--I can do with a drop of something. I say--is there anything afoot
about here?--anything going on?"
"Why?" asked Miss Pett, producing the whisky and the lemons. "And how do
you mean?"
Christopher pulled an easy chair to the fire and stretched his hands to
the blaze.
"Up there, on the moor," he answered. "There's fellows going about with
lights--lanterns, I should say. I didn't see 'em close at hand--there
were several of 'em crossing about--like fire-flies--as if the chaps
who carried 'em were searching for something."
Miss Pett set the decanter and the materials for toddy on the table at
her nephew's side, and took a covered plate from the cupboard in the
corner.
"Them's potted meat sandwiches," she said. "Very toothsome you'll find
'em--I didn't prepare much, for I knew you'd get your dinner on the
train. Yes, well, there is something afoot--they are searching. Not for
something, though, but for somebody. Mallalieu!"
Christopher, his mouth full of sandwiches, and his hand laid on the
decanter, lifted a face full of new and alert interest.
"The Mayor!" he exclaimed.
"Quite so," assented Miss Pett. "Anthony Mallalieu, Esquire, Mayor of
Highmarket. They want him, does the police--bad!"
Christopher still remained transfixed. The decanter was already tilted
in his hand, but he tilted it no further; the sandwich hung bulging in
his cheek.
"Good Lord!" he said. "Not for----" he paused, nodding his head towards
the front of the cottage where the wood lay "--not for--that? They ain't
suspicioning _him_?"
"No, but for killing his clerk, who'd found something out," replied Miss
Pett. "The clerk was killed Sunday; they took up Mallalieu and his
partner today, and tried 'em, and Mallalieu slipped the police somehow,
after the case was adjourned, and escaped. And--he's here!"
Christopher had begun to pour the whisky into his glass. In his
astonishment he rattled the decanter against the rim.
"What!" he exclaimed. "Here? In this cottage?"
"In there," answered Miss Pett. "In Kitely's room. Safe and sound.
There's no danger. He'll not wake. I mixed him a glass of toddy before
he went to bed, and neither earthquakes nor fire-alarms 'ull wake him
before nine o'clock tomorrow morning."
"Whew!" said Christopher. "Um! it's a dangerous game--it's harbouring,
you know. However, they'd suspect that he'd come here. Whatever made him
come here?"
"I made him come here," replied Miss Pett. "I caught him in the wood
outside there, as I was coming back from the Town Hall, so I made him
come in. It'll pay very well, Chris."
Mr. Pett, who was lifting his glass to his lips, arrested it in mid-air,
winked over its rim at his aunt, and smiled knowingly.
"You're a good hand at business, I must say, old lady!" he remarked
admiringly. "Of course, of course, if you're doing a bit of business out
of it----"
"That'll come tomorrow," said Miss Pett, seating herself at the table
and glancing at her nephew's bag. "We'll do our own business tonight.
Well, how have you come on?"
Christopher munched and drank for a minute or two. Then he nodded, with
much satisfaction in his manner.
"Very well," he answered. "I got what I consider a very good price. Sold
the whole lot to another Brixton property-owner, got paid, and have
brought you the money. All of it--ain't even taken my costs, my
expenses, and my commission out of it--yet."
"How much did you sell for?" asked Miss Pett.
Christopher pulled his bag to his side and took a bundle of red-taped
documents from it.
"You ought to think yourself jolly lucky," he said, wagging his head
admonitorily at his aunt. "I see a lot of the state of the property
market, and I can assure you I did uncommonly well for you. I shouldn't
have got what I did if it had been sold by auction. But the man I sold
to was a bit keen, 'cause he's already got adjacent property, and he
gave rather more than he would ha' done in other circumstances. I got,"
he continued, consulting the topmost of his papers, "I got, in round
figures, three thousand four hundred--to be exact, three thousand four
hundred, seventeen, five, eleven."
"Where's the money?" demanded Miss Pett.
"It's here," answered Christopher, tapping his breast. "In my
pocket-book. Notes, big and little--so that we can settle up."
Miss Pett stretched out her hand.
"Hand it over!" she said.
Christopher gave his aunt a sidelong glance.
"Hadn't we better reckon up my costs and commission first?" he
suggested. "Here's an account of the costs--the commission, of course,
was to be settled between you and me."
"We'll settle all that when you've handed the money over," said Miss
Pett. "I haven't counted it yet."
There was a certain unwillingness in Christopher Pett's manner as he
slowly produced a stout pocket-book and took from it a thick wad of
bank-notes. He pushed this across to his aunt, with a tiny heap of
silver and copper.
"Well, I'm trusting to you, you know," he said a little doubtfully.
"Don't forget that I've done well for you."
Miss Pett made no answer. She had taken a pair of spectacles from her
pocket, and with these perched on the bridge of her sharp nose she
proceeded to count the notes, while her nephew alternately sipped at his
toddy and stroked his chin, meanwhile eyeing his relative's proceedings
with somewhat rueful looks.
"Three thousand, four hundred and seventeen pounds, five shillings and
elevenpence," and Miss Pett calmly. "And them costs, now, and the
expenses--how much do they come to, Chris?"
"Sixty-one, two, nine," answered Christopher, passing one of his papers
across the table with alacrity. "You'll find it quite right--I did it as
cheap as possible for you."
Miss Pett set her elbow on her heap of bank-notes while she examined the
statement. That done, she looked over the tops of her spectacles at the
expectant Christopher.
"Well, about that commission," she said. "Of course, you know, Chris,
you oughtn't to charge me what you'd charge other folks. You ought to do
it very reasonable indeed for me. What were you thinking of, now?"
"I got the top price," remarked Christopher reflectively. "I got you
quite four hundred more than the market price. How would--how would five
per cent. be, now?"
Miss Pett threw up the gay turban with a toss of surprise.
"Five per cent!" she ejaculated. "Christopher Pett!--whatever are you
talking about? Why, that 'ud be a hundred and seventy pound! Eh,
dear!--nothing of the sort--it 'ud be as good as robbery. I'm astonished
at you."
"Well, how much, then?" growled Christopher. "Hang it all!--don't be
close with your own nephew."
"I'll give you a hundred pounds--to include the costs," said Miss Pett
firmly. "Not a penny more--but," she added, bending forward and nodding
her head towards that half of the cottage wherein Mallalieu slumbered so
heavily, "I'll give you something to boot--an opportunity of feathering
your nest out of--him!"
Christopher's face, which had clouded heavily, lightened somewhat at
this, and he too glanced at the door.
"Will it be worth it?" he asked doubtfully. "What is there to be got out
of him if he's flying from justice? He'll carry naught--and he can't get
at anything that he has, either."
Miss Pett gave vent to a queer, dry chuckle; the sound of her laughter
always made her nephew think of the clicking of machinery that badly
wanted oiling.
"He's heaps o' money on him!" she whispered. "After he dropped off
tonight I went through his pockets. We've only got to keep a tight hold
on him to get as much as ever we like! So--put your hundred in your
pocket, and we'll see about the other affair tomorrow."
"Oh, well, of course, in that case!" said Christopher. He picked up the
banknote which his aunt pushed towards him and slipped it into his
purse. "We shall have to play on his fears a bit, you know," he
remarked.
"I think we shall be equal to it--between us," answered Miss Pett drily.
"Them big, flabby men's easy frightened."
Mallalieu was certainly frightened when he woke suddenly next morning to
find Miss Pett standing at the side of his bed. He glared at her for one
instant of wild alarm and started up on his pillows. Miss Pett laid one
of her claw-like hands on his shoulder.
"Don't alarm yourself, mister," she said. "All's safe, and here's
something that'll do you good--a cup of nice hot coffee--real Mocha, to
which the late Kitely was partial--with a drop o'rum in it. Drink
it--and you shall have your breakfast in half an hour. It's past nine
o'clock."
"I must have slept very sound," said Mallalieu, following his gaoler's
orders. "You say all's safe? Naught heard or seen?"
"All's safe, all's serene," replied Miss Pett. "And you're in luck's
way, for there's my nephew Christopher arrived from London, to help me
about settling my affairs and removing my effects from this place, and
he's a lawyer and'll give you good advice."
Mallalieu growled a little. He had seen Mr. Christopher Pett and he was
inclined to be doubtful of him.
"Is he to be trusted?" he muttered. "I expect he'll have to be squared,
too!"
"Not beyond reason," replied Miss Pett. "We're not unreasonable people,
our family. He's a very sensible young man, is Christopher. The late
Kitely had a very strong opinion of his abilities."
Mallalieu had no doubt of Mr. Christopher Pett's abilities in a certain
direction after he had exchanged a few questions and answers with that
young gentleman. For Christopher was shrewd, sharp, practical and
judicial.
"It's a very dangerous and--you'll excuse plain speaking under the
circumstances, sir--very foolish thing that you've done, Mr. Mallalieu,"
he said, as he and the prisoner sat closeted together in the still
shuttered and curtained parlour-bedroom. "The mere fact of your making
your escape, sir, is what some would consider a proof of guilt--it is
indeed! And of course my aunt--and myself, in my small way--we're
running great risks, Mr. Mallalieu--we really are--great risks!"
"Now then, you'll not lose by me," said Mallalieu. "I'm not a man of
straw."
"All very well, sir," replied Christopher, "but even if you were a
millionaire and recompensed us on what I may term a princely scale--not
that we shall expect it, Mr. Mallalieu--the risks would be
extraordinary--ahem! I mean will be extraordinary. For you see, Mr.
Mallalieu, there's two or three things that's dead certain. To start
with, sir, it's absolutely impossible for you to get away from here by
yourself--you can't do it!"
"Why not?" growled Mallalieu. "I can get away at nightfall."
"No, sir," affirmed Christopher stoutly. "I saw the condition of the
moors last night. Patrolled, Mr. Mallalieu, patrolled! By men with
lights. That patrolling, sir, will go on for many a night. Make up your
mind, Mr. Mallalieu, that if you set foot out of this house, you'll see
the inside of Norcaster Gaol before two hours is over!"
"What do you advise, then?" demanded Mallalieu. "Here!--I'm fairly in
for it, so I'll tell you what my notion was. If I can once get to a
certain part of Norcaster, I'm safe. I can get away to the Continent
from there."
"Then, sir," replied Christopher, "the thing is to devise a plan by
which you can be conveyed to Norcaster without suspicion. That'll have
to be arranged between me and my aunt--hence our risks on your behalf."
"Your aunt said she'd a plan," remarked Mallalieu.
"Not quite matured, sir," said Christopher. "It needs a little
reflection and trimming, as it were. Now what I advise, Mr. Mallalieu,
is this--you keep snug here, with my aunt as sentinel--she assures me
that even if the police--don't be frightened, sir!--did come here, she
could hide you quite safely before ever she opened the door to them. As
for me, I'll go, casual-like, into the town, and do a bit of quiet
looking and listening. I shall be able to find out how the land lies,
sir--and when I return I'll report to you, and the three of us will put
our heads together."
Leaving the captive in charge of Miss Pett, Christopher, having brushed
his silk hat and his overcoat and fitted on a pair of black kid gloves,
strolled solemnly into Highmarket. He was known to a few people there,
and he took good care to let those of his acquaintance who met him hear
that he had come down to arrange his aunt's affairs, and to help in the
removal of the household goods bequeathed to her by the deceased Kitely.
In proof of this he called in at the furniture remover's, to get an
estimate of the cost of removal to Norcaster Docks--thence, said
Christopher, the furniture could be taken by sea to London, where Miss
Pett intended to reside in future. At the furniture remover's, and in
such other shops as he visited, and in the bar-parlour of the Highmarket
Arms, where he stayed an hour or so, gossiping with the loungers, and
sipping a glass or two of dry sherry, Christopher picked up a great deal
of information. And at noon he returned to the cottage, having learned
that the police and everybody in Highmarket firmly believed that
Mallalieu had got clear and clean away the night before, and was already
far beyond pursuit. The police theory was that there had been collusion,
and that immediately on his escape he had been whirled off by some
person to whose identity there was as yet no clue.
But Christopher Pett told a very different story to Mallalieu. The
moors, he said, were being patrolled night and day: it was believed the
fugitive was in hiding in one of the old quarries. Every road and
entrance to Norcaster, and to all the adjacent towns and stations, was
watched and guarded. There was no hope for Mallalieu but in the kindness
and contrivance of the aunt and the nephew, and Mallalieu recognized the
inevitable and was obliged to yield himself to their tender mercies.