The Borough Treasurer Page 16

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE LONELY MOOR

  During the three hours which had elapsed since his departure fromDarlington, Stoner had been thinking things over. He had seen his friendMyler again that morning; they had had a drink or two together at thestation refreshment room before Stoner's train left, and Myler had oncemore urged upon Stoner to use his fortunately acquired knowledge in theproper way. No doubt, said Myler, he could get Mallalieu and Cotherstoneto square him; no doubt they would cheerfully pay thousands where thereward only came to hundreds--but, when everything was considered, wasit worth while? No!--a thousand times, no, said Myler. The mere factthat Stoner had found out all this was a dead sure proof that somebodyelse might find it out. The police had a habit, said Myler, of workinglike moles--underground. How did Stoner know that some of the Norcasterand London detectives weren't on the job already? They knew by that timethat old Kitely was an ex-detective; they'd be sure to hark back on hispast doings, in the effort to trace some connexion between one or otherof them and his murder. Far away as it was, that old Wilchester affairwould certainly come up again. And when it came up--ah, well, observedMyler, with force and earnestness, it would be a bad job for Stoner ifit were found out that he'd accepted hush-money from his masters. Infact--Myler gave it as his decided opinion, though, as he explained, hewasn't a lawyer--he didn't know but what Stoner, in that case, would bedrawn in as an accessory after the fact.

  "Keep to the law, Bert, old man!" counselled Myler, as they parted."You'll be all right then. Stick to my advice--see Tallington atonce--this very afternoon!--and put in for the five hundred. You'll besafe as houses in doing that--but there'd be an awful risk aboutt'other, Bert. Be wise!--you'll get no better counsel."

  Stoner knew that his sagacious friend was right, and he was prepared toabide by his counsel--as long as Myler was at his elbow. But when he hadgot away from him, his mind began to wobble. Five hundred pounds!--whatwas it in comparison with what he might get by a little skilful playingof his cards? He knew Mallalieu and he knew Cotherstone--knew much moreabout both of them than they had any idea of. He knew that they wererich men--very rich men. They had been making money for years, and oflate certain highly successful and profitable contracts had increasedtheir wealth in a surprising fashion. Everything had gone right withthem--every contract they had taken up had turned out a gold mine. Fivethousand pounds would be nothing to them singly--much less jointly. InStoner's opinion, he had only to ask in order to have. He firmlybelieved that they would pay--pay at once, in good cash. And if theydid--well, he would take good care that no evil chances came to him! Ifhe laid hands on five thousand pounds, he would be out of Highmarketwithin five hours, and half-way across the Atlantic within five days.No--Dave Myler was a good sort--one of the best--but he was a bitstraight-laced, and old-fashioned--especially since he had taken awife--and after all, every man has a right to do his best for himself.And so, when Stoner came face to face with Mallalieu, on the lonely moorbetween High Gill and Highmarket, his mind was already made up toblackmail.

  The place in which they met was an appropriate one--for Stoner'spurpose. He had crossed the high ground between the railway and thelittle moorland town by no definite track, but had come in a bee-lineacross ling and bracken and heather. All around stretched miles uponmiles of solitude--nothing but the undulating moors, broken up by greatmasses of limestone rock and occasional clumps and coverts of fir andpine; nothing but the blue line of the hills in the west; nothing butthe grey northern skies overhead; nothing but the cry of the curlew andthe bleating of the mountain sheep. It was in the midst of this that hemet his senior employer--at the corner of a thin spinney which ran alongthe edge of a disused quarry. Mallalieu, as Stoner well knew, was agreat man for walking on these moors, and he always walked alone. Hetook these walks to keep his flesh down; here he came, swinging hisheavy oak walking-stick, intent on his own thoughts, and he and Stoner,neither hearing the other's footfall on the soft turf, almost ran intoeach other. Stoner, taken aback, flushed with the sudden surprise.

  But Mallalieu, busied with his own reflections, had no thought of Stonerin his mind, and consequently showed no surprise at meeting him. He madea point of cultivating friendly relations with all who worked for him,and he grinned pleasantly at his clerk.

  "Hullo!" he exclaimed cordially. "Taking your walks alone, eh? Now Ishould ha' thought a young fellow like you would ha' been taking one o'Miss Featherby's little milliners out for a dander, like--down theriver-side, what?"

  Stoner smiled--not as Mallalieu smiled. He was in no mood forpersiflage; if he smiled it was because he thought that things werecoming his way, that the game was being played into his hands. Andsuddenly he made up his mind.

  "Something better to do than that, Mr. Mallalieu," he answered pertly."I don't waste my time on dress-makers' apprentices. Something better tothink of than that, sir."

  "Oh!" said Mallalieu. "Ah! I thought you looked pretty deep inreflection. What might it be about, like?"

  Something within Stoner was urging him on to go straight to the point.No fencing, said this inward monitor, no circumlocution--get to it,straight out. And Stoner thrust his hand into his pocket, and pulled outa copy of the reward bill. He opened it before his employer, watchingMallalieu's face.

  "That!" he said. "Just that, Mr. Mallalieu."

  Mallalieu glanced at the handbill, started a little, and lookedhalf-sharply, half-angrily, at his clerk.

  "What about it?" he growled. His temper, as Stoner well knew, wasquickly roused, and it showed signs of awakening now. "What're youshowing me that bit o' paper for? Mind your manners, young man!"

  "No offence meant," retorted Stoner, coolly. He looked round him,noticed some convenient railings, old and worn, which fenced in thequarry, and stepping back to them, calmly leaned against the top one,put his hands in his pockets and looked at Mallalieu with a glance whichwas intended to show that he felt himself top dog in any encounter thatmight come. "I want a word or two with you, Mr. Mallalieu," he said.

  Mallalieu, who was plainly amazed by this strange conduct, glared atStoner.

  "You want a word--or two--with--me?" he exclaimed. "For why, pray?--andwhy here?"

  "Here's a convenient spot," said Stoner, with a nasty laugh. "We're allalone. Not a soul near us. You wouldn't like anybody to overhear whatI've got to say."

  Mallalieu stared at the clerk during a full minute's silence. He had atrick of silently staring people out of countenance. But he found thatStoner was not to be stared down, and eventually he spoke.

  "I'll tell you what it is, my lad!" he said. "I don't know whetheryou've been drinking, or if you've some bee in your bonnet, but I don'tallow nobody, and especially a man as I pay wages to, to speak in themtones to me! What d'ye mean by it?"

  "I'll tell you what I mean, Mr. Mallalieu," replied Stoner, stillregarding his man fixedly, and nerving himself for the contest. "I meanthis--I know who killed Kitely!"

  Mallalieu felt himself start again; he felt his face flush warm. But hemanaged to show a fairly controlled front, and he made shift to sneer.

  "Oh, indeed," he said, twisting his mouth in derision. "Do you now?Deary me!--it's wonderful how clever some young folks is! So you knowwho killed Kitely, do you, my lad? Ah! And who did kill Kitely, now?Let's be knowing! Or happen you'd rather keep such a grand secret toyourself--till you can make something out of it?"

  "I can make something out of it now," retorted Stoner, who was sharpenough to see through Mallalieu's affectation of scorn. "Just yourealize the importance of what I'm saying. I tell you once again--I knowwho killed Kitely!"

  "And who did kill him, then?" demanded Mallalieu. "Psha!--you knownaught about it!"

  Stoner laughed, looked round, and then leaned his head forward.

  "Don't I?" he said, with a sneer that exceeded his employer's insignificance and meaning. "But you're wrong--I do! Kitely was murderedby either you or Cotherstone! How's that, Mr. Mallalieu?"

  Mallalieu again regarded his clerk in s
ilence. He knew by that time thatthis fellow was in possession of some information, and hischaracteristic inclination was to fence with him. And he made a greateffort to pull himself together, so as to deal better with whatevermight be in store.

  "Either me or Mr. Cotherstone!" he repeated sarcastically. "Oh! Nowwhich on us would you be inclined to fix it on, Mr. Stoner? Eh?"

  "May have been one, may have been the other, may have been both, foraught I know," retorted Stoner. "But you're both guilty, any way! It'sno use, Mr. Mallalieu--I know you killed him. And--I know why!"

  Again there was silence, and again a duel of staring eyes. And at itsend Mallalieu laughed again, still affecting sneering and increduloussentiments.

  "Aye?--and why did one or t'other or both--have it which way youwill--murder this here old gentleman?" he demanded. "Why, Mr.Sharp-nose?"

  "I'll tell you--and then you'll know what I know," answered Stoner."Because the old gentleman was an ex-detective, who was present when youand Cotherstone, under your proper names of Mallows and Chidforth, weretried for fraud at Wilchester Assizes, thirty years ago, and sentencedto two years! That's why, Mr. Mallalieu. The old chap knew it, and helet you know that he knew it, and you killed him to silence him. Youdidn't want it to get out that the Mayor and Borough Treasurer ofHighmarket, so respected, so much thought of, are--a couple of oldgaol-birds!"

  Mallalieu's hot temper, held very well in check until then, flamed up asStoner spat out the last contemptuous epithet. He had stood with hisright hand behind him, grasping his heavy oaken stick--now, as his ragesuddenly boiled, he swung hand and stick round in a savage blow at histormentor, and the crook of the stick fell crashing against Stoner'stemples. So quick was the blow, so sudden the assault, that the clerkhad time to do no more than throw up an arm. And as he threw it up, andas the heavy blow fell, the old, rotten railing against which Stoner hadleant so nonchalantly, gave way, and he fell back through it, and acrossthe brow of the quarry--and without a sound. Mallalieu heard the crashof his stick on his victim's temples; he heard the rending and cracklingof the railings--but he heard neither cry, nor sigh, nor groan fromStoner. Stoner fell backward and disappeared--and then (it seemed an agein coming) Mallalieu's frightened senses were aware of a dull thudsomewhere far down in the depths into which he had fallen. Then camesilence--deep, heavy silence--broken at last by the cry of a curlewflying across the lonely moor.

  Mallalieu was seized with a trembling fit. He began to shake. His heavyframe trembled as if under the effects of a bad ague; the hand which hadstruck the blow shook so violently that the stick dropped from it. AndMallalieu looked down at the stick, and in a sudden overwhelming ragekicked it away from him over the brink of the quarry. He lifted his fistand shook it--and just as suddenly dropped it. The trembling passed, andhe broke out into a cold sweat of fear.

  "God ha' mercy!" he muttered. "If--if he's killed? He shouldn't ha'plagued me--he shouldn't ha' dared me! It was more than flesh and bloodcould stand, and--Lord ha' mercy, what's to be done?"

  The autumn twilight was creeping over the moor. The sun had set behindthe far-off western hills just before Mallalieu and Stoner had met, andwhile they talked dusk had come on. The moorlands were now growing darkand vague, and it seemed to Mallalieu that as the light failed thesilence increased. He looked round him, fearful lest any of theshepherds of the district had come up to take a Sunday glance at theirflocks. And once he thought he saw a figure at a little distance awayalong the edge of the trees, and he strained and strained his eyes inits direction--and concluded it was nothing. Presently he strained hiseyes in another way--he crept cautiously to the edge of the quarry, andlooked over the broken railing, and far down on the limestone rocksbeneath he saw Stoner, lying on his back, motionless.

  Long experience of the moorlands and their nooks and crannies enabledMallalieu to make his way down to the bottom of the quarry by a descentthrough a brake of gorse and bramble. He crept along by the undergrowthto where the body lay, and fearfully laid a hand on the still figure.One touch was sufficient--he stood up trembling and shaking more thanever.

  "He's dead--dead!" he muttered. "Must ha' broken his neck--it's a goodfifty feet down here. Was ever aught so unfortunate! And--whatever shallI say and do about it?"

  Inspiration came to him quickly--as quickly as the darkness came intothat place of death. He made an effort, and regained his composure, andpresently was able to think and to decide. He would say and donothing--nothing whatever. No one had witnessed the meeting betweenStoner and himself. No one had seen the blow. No one had seen Stoner'sfall. Far better to say nothing, do nothing--far best to go away and letthings take their course. Stoner's body would be found, next day, theday after, some day--and when it was found, people would say that Stonerhad been sitting on those rotten railings, and they had given way, andhe had fallen--and whatever marks there were on him would be attributedto the fall down the sharp edges of the old quarry.

  So Mallalieu presently went away by another route, and made his way backto Highmarket in the darkness of the evening, hiding himself behindhedges and walls until he reached his own house. And it was not until helay safe in bed that night that he remembered the loss of his stick.