THE VIRTUES OF SUSPICION
During that week Mallalieu was to learn by sad experience that it is a
very poor thing to acquire information at second hand. There he was, a
strictly-guarded--if a cosseted and pampered--prisoner, unable to put
his nose outside the cottage, and entirely dependent on Chris Pett for
any and all news of the world which lay so close at hand and was just
then so deeply and importantly interesting to him. Time hung very
heavily on his hands. There were books enough on the shelves of his
prison-parlour, but the late Kitely's taste had been of a purely
professional nature, and just then Mallalieu had no liking for murder
cases, criminal trials, and that sort of gruesomeness. He was constantly
asking for newspapers, and was skilfully put off--it was not within
Christopher's scheme of things to let Mallalieu get any accurate notion
of what was really going on. Miss Pett did not take in a newspaper;
Christopher invariably forgot to bring one in when he went to the town;
twice, being pressed by Mallalieu to remember, he brought back _The
Times_ of the day before--wherein, of course, Mallalieu failed to find
anything about himself. And it was about himself that he so wanted to
hear, about how things were, how people talked of him, what the police
said, what was happening generally, and his only source of information
was Chris.
Mr. Pett took good care to represent everything in his own fashion. He
was assiduous in assuring Mallalieu that he was working in his interest
with might and main; jealous in proclaiming his own and his aunt's
intention to get him clear away to Norcaster. But he also never ceased
dilating on the serious nature of that enterprise, never wearied in
protesting how much risk he and Miss Pett were running; never refrained
from showing the captive how very black things were, and how much
blacker they would be if it were not for his present gaolers' goodness.
And when he returned to the cottage after the inquest on Stoner, his
face was unusually long and grave as he prepared to tell Mallalieu the
news.
"Things are looking in a very bad way for you, Mr. Mallalieu," he
whispered, when he was closeted with Mallalieu in the little room which
the captive now hated fiercely and loathingly. "They look in a very bad
way indeed, sir! If you were in any other hands than ours, Mr.
Mallalieu, I don't know what you'd do. We're running the most fearful
risks on your behalf, we are indeed. Things is--dismal!"
Mallalieu's temper, never too good, and all the worse for his enforced
confinement, blazed up.
"Hang it! why don't you speak out plain?" he snarled. "Say what you
mean, and be done with it! What's up now, like? Things are no worse than
they were, I reckon."
Christopher slowly drew off one of the black kid gloves, and blew into
it before laying it on the table.
"No need to use strong language, Mr. Mallalieu," he said deprecatingly,
as he calmly proceeded to divest the other hand. "No need at all,
sir--between friends and gentlemen, Mr. Mallalieu!--things are a lot
worse. The coroner's jury has returned a verdict of wilful
murder--against you!"
Mallalieu's big face turned of a queer grey hue--that word murder was
particularly distasteful to him.
"Against me!" he muttered. "Why me particularly? There were two of us
charged. What about Cotherstone?"
"I'm talking about the inquest" said Christopher. "They don't charge
anybody at inquests--they only inquire in general. The verdict's against
you, and you only. And--it was Cotherstone's evidence that did it!"
"Cotherstone!" exclaimed Mallalieu. "Evidence against me! He's a liar
if----"
"I'll tell you--all in due order," interrupted Chris. "Be calm, Mr.
Mallalieu, and listen--be judicial."
But in spite of this exhortation, Mallalieu fumed and fretted, and when
Christopher had told him everything he looked as if it only required a
little resolution on his part to force himself to action.
"I've a good mind to go straight out o' this place and straight down to
the police!" he growled. "I have indeed!--a great mind to go and give
myself up, and have things proved."
"Do!" said Christopher, heartily. "I wish you would, sir. It 'ud save me
and my poor aunt a world of trouble. Only--it's my duty as a duly
qualified solicitor of the High Court to inform you that every step you
take from this haven of refuge will be a step towards the--gallows!"
Mallalieu shrank back in his chair and stared at Mr. Pett's sharp
features. His own blanched once more.
"You're sure of that?" he demanded hoarsely.
"Certain!" replied Christopher. "No doubt of it, sir. I know!"
"What's to be done, then?" asked the captive.
Christopher assumed his best consultation-and-advice manner.
"What," he said at last, "in my opinion, is the best thing is to wait
and see what happens when Cotherstone's brought up before the bench next
Tuesday. You're safe enough until then--so long as you do what we tell
you. Although all the country is being watched and searched, there's not
the ghost of a notion that you're in Highmarket. So remain as content as
you can, Mr. Mallalieu, and as soon as we learn what takes place next
Tuesday, we'll see about that plan of ours."
"Let's be knowing what it is," grumbled Mallalieu.
"Not quite matured, sir, yet," said Christopher as he rose and picked up
the silk hat and the kid gloves. "But when it is, you'll say--ah, you'll
say it's a most excellent one!"
So Mallalieu had to wait until the next Tuesday came round. He did the
waiting impatiently and restlessly. He ate, he drank, he slept--slept as
he had never slept in his life--but he knew that he was losing flesh
from anxiety. It was with real concern that he glanced at Christopher
when that worthy returned from the adjourned case on the Tuesday
afternoon. His face fell when he saw that Christopher was gloomier than
ever.
"Worse and worse, Mr. Mallalieu!" whispered Christopher mysteriously
when he had shut the door. "Everything's against you, sir. It's all
centring and fastening on you. What do you think happened? Cotherstone's
discharged!"
"What!" exclaimed Mallalieu, jumping in his chair. "Discharged! Why,
then, they'd have discharged me!"
Christopher laid his finger on the side of his nose.
"Would they?" he said with a knowing wink. "Not much they wouldn't.
Cotherstone's let loose--to give evidence against you. When you're
caught!"
Mallalieu's small eyes began to bulge, and a dull red to show on his
cheek. He looked as if he were bursting with words which he could not
get out, and Christopher Pett hastened to improve the occasion.
"It's my opinion it's all a plant!" he said. "A conspiracy, if you like,
between Cotherstone and the authorities. Cotherstone, he's got the
smartest solicitor in Norcaster and the shrewdest advocate on this
circuit--you know 'em, Mr. Mallalieu--Stilby's the solicitor, and
Gradston the barrister--and it strikes me it's a put-up job. D'ye see
through it? First of all, Cotherstone gives evidence at that inquest: on
his evidence a verdict of murder is returned against--you! Now
Cotherstone's discharged by the magistrates--no further evidence being
offered against him. Why? So that he can give evidence before the
magistrates and at the Assizes against--you! That is--when you're
caught."
"They've got to catch me yet," growled Mallalieu. "Now then--what about
this plan of yours? For I'm going to wait no longer. Either you tell me
what you're going to do for me, or I shall walk out o' that door as soon
as it's dark tonight and take my chances. D'ye hear that?"
Christopher rose, opened the door, and softly called Miss Pett. And Miss
Pett came, took a seat, folded her thin arms, and looked attentively at
her learned nephew.
"Yes, sir," said Christopher, resuming the conversation, "I hear
that--and we are now ready to explain plans and discuss terms. You will,
of course, recompense us, Mr. Mallalieu?"
"I've said all along that you'd not lose by me," retorted Mallalieu.
"Aught in reason, I'll pay. But--this plan o' yours? I'm going to know
what it is before we come to any question of paying. So out with it!"
"Well, it's an excellent plan," responded Christopher. "You say that
you'll be safe if you're set down in a certain part of Norcaster--near
the docks. Now that will suit our plans exactly. You're aware, of
course, Mr. Mallalieu, that my aunt here is about to remove her goods
and chattels--bequeathed by Mr. Kitely, deceased--from this house? Very
well--the removal's to take place tomorrow. I have already arranged with
Mr. Strawson, furniture remover, to send up a couple of vans tomorrow
morning, very early. Into those vans the furniture will be placed, and
the vans will convey it to Norcaster, whence they will be transshipped
bodily to London, by sea. Mr. Mallalieu--you'll leave here, sir, in one
of those vans!"
Mallalieu listened, considered, began to see possibilities.
"Aye!" he said, with a cunning glance. "Aye!--that's not a bad notion. I
can see my way in that respect. But--how am I going to get into a van
here, and got out of it there, without the vanmen knowing?"
"I've thought it all out," answered Christopher. "You must keep snug in
this room until afternoon. We'll get the first van off in the
morning--say by noon. I'll so contrive that the second van won't be
ready to start until after it's dusk. When it is ready the men'll go
down to fetch their horses--I'll give 'em something to get themselves a
drink before they come back--that'll delay 'em a bit longer. And while
they're away, we'll slip you into the van--and I shall go with that van
to Norcaster. And when we get to the shed at Norcaster where the vans
are to be left, the two men will go away with their horses--and I shall
let you out. It's a good plan, Mr. Mallalieu."
"It'll do, anyhow," agreed Mallalieu, who felt heartily relieved. "We'll
try it. But you must take all possible care until I'm in, and we're off.
The least bit of a slip----"
Mr. Pett drily remarked that if any slips occurred they would not be of
his making--after which both he and his aunt coughed several times and
looked at the guest-prisoner in a fashion which seemed to invite speech
from him.
"All right then," said Mallalieu. "Tomorrow, you say? All right--all
right!"
Miss Pett coughed again and began to make pleats in her apron.
"Of course, Christopher," she said, addressing her nephew as if there
were no other person present, "of course, Mr. Mallalieu has not yet
stated his terms."
"Oh!--ah!--just so!" replied Christopher, starting as from a pensive
reverie. "Ah, to be sure. Now, what would you say, Mr. Mallalieu? How do
you feel disposed, sir?"
Mallalieu looked fixedly from aunt to nephew, from nephew to aunt. Then
his face became hard and rigid.
"Fifty pound apiece!" he said. "That's how I'm disposed. And you don't
get an offer like that every day, I know. Fifty pound apiece!"
Miss Pett inclined her turbaned head towards her right shoulder and
sighed heavily: Mr. Pett folded his hands, looked at the ceiling, and
whistled.
"We don't get an offer like that every day!" he murmured. "No!--I should
think we didn't! Fifty pound apiece!--a hundred pound altogether--for
saving a fellow-creature from the gallows! Oh, Mr. Mallalieu!"
"Hang it!--how much money d'ye think I'm likely to carry on me?--me!--in
my unfortunate position!" snarled Mallalieu. "D'ye think----"
"Christopher," observed Miss Pett, rising and making for the door, "I
should suggest that Mr. Mallalieu is left to consider matters. Perhaps
when he's reflected a bit----"
She and her nephew went out, leaving Mallalieu fuming and grumbling. And
once in the living-room she turned to Christopher with a shake of the
head.
"What did I tell you?" she said. "Mean as a miser! My plan's much the
best. We'll help ourselves--and then we can snap our fingers at him.
I'll give him an extra strong nightcap tonight, and then...."
But before the close of that evening came Mallalieu's notions underwent
a change. He spent the afternoon in thinking. He knew that he was in the
power of two people who, if they could, would skin him. And the more he
thought, the more he began to be suspicious--and suddenly he wondered
why he slept so heavily at night, and all of a sudden he saw the reason.
Drugged!--that old she-devil was drugging his drink. That was it, of
course--but it had been for the last time: she shouldn't do it again.
That night when Miss Pett brought the hot toddy, mixed according to the
recipe of the late Kitely, Mallalieu took it at his door, saying he was
arrayed for sleep, and would drink it when in bed. After which he
carefully poured it into a flower-pot that graced his room, and when he
presently lay down it was with eyes and ears open and his revolver ready
to his right hand.