The Borough Treasurer Read online

  CHAPTER II

  CRIME--AND SUCCESS

  For some moments after Kitely had left him, Cotherstone stood vacantlystaring at the chair in which the blackmailer had sat. As yet he couldnot realize things. He was only filled with a queer, vague amazementabout Kitely himself. He began to look back on his relations withKitely. They were recent--very recent, only of yesterday, as you mightsay. Kitely had come to him, one day about three months previously, toldhim that he had come to these parts for a bit of a holiday, taken afancy to a cottage which he, Cotherstone, had to let, and inquired itsrent. He had mentioned, casually, that he had just retired frombusiness, and wanted a quiet place wherein to spend the rest of hisdays. He had taken the cottage, and given his landlord satisfactoryreferences as to his ability to pay the rent--and Cotherstone, always abusy man, had thought no more about him. Certainly he had neveranticipated such an announcement as that which Kitely had just made tohim--never dreamed that Kitely had recognized him and Mallalieu as menhe had known thirty years ago.

  It had been Cotherstone's life-long endeavour to forget all about theevent of thirty years ago, and to a large extent he had succeeded indulling his memory. But Kitely had brought it all back--and noweverything was fresh to him. His brows knitted and his face grew dark ashe thought of one thing in his past of which Kitely had spoken so easilyand glibly--the dock. He saw himself in that dock again--and Mallalieustanding by him. They were not called Mallalieu and Cotherstone then, ofcourse. He remembered what their real names were--he remembered, too,that, until a few minutes before, he had certainly not repeated them,even to himself, for many a long year. Oh, yes--he rememberedeverything--he saw it all again. The case had excited plenty ofattention in Wilchester at the time--Wilchester, that for thirty yearshad been so far away in thought and in actual distance that it mighthave been some place in the Antipodes. It was not a nice case--even now,looking back upon it from his present standpoint, it made him blush tothink of. Two better-class young working-men, charged with embezzlingthe funds of a building society to which they had acted as treasurer andsecretary!--a bad case. The Court had thought it a bad case, and theculprits had been sentenced to two years' imprisonment. And nowCotherstone only remembered that imprisonment as one remembers aparticularly bad dream. Yes--it had been real.

  His eyes, moody and brooding, suddenly shifted their gaze from the easychair to his own hands--they were shaking. Mechanically he took up thewhisky decanter from his desk, and poured some of its contents into hisglass--the rim of the glass tinkled against the neck of the decanter.Yes--that had been a shock, right enough, he muttered to himself, andnot all the whisky in the world would drive it out of him. But adrink--neat and stiff--would pull his nerves up to pitch, and so hedrank, once, twice, and sat down with the glass in his hand--to thinkstill more.

  That old Kitely was shrewd--shrewd! He had at once hit on a fact whichthose Wilchester folk of thirty years ago had never suspected. It hadbeen said at the time that the two offenders had lost the buildingsociety's money in gambling and speculation, and there had been groundsfor such a belief. But that was not so. Most of the money had beenskilfully and carefully put where the two conspirators could lay handson it as soon as it was wanted, and when the term of imprisonment wasover they had nothing to do but take possession of it for their ownpurposes. They had engineered everything very well--Cotherstone'sessentially constructive mind, regarding their doings from the vantageground of thirty years' difference, acknowledged that they had beencute, crafty, and cautious to an admirable degree of perfection. Quietlyand unobtrusively they had completely disappeared from their owndistrict in the extreme South of England, when their punishment wasover. They had let it get abroad that they were going to anothercontinent, to retrieve the past and start a new life; it was even knownthat they repaired to Liverpool, to take ship for America. But inLiverpool they had shuffled off everything of the past--names,relations, antecedents. There was no reason why any one should watchthem out of the country, but they had adopted precautions against suchwatching. They separated, disappeared, met again in the far North, in asparsely-populated, lonely country of hill and dale, led there by anadvertisement which they had seen in a local newspaper, met with bysheer chance in a Liverpool hotel. There was an old-established businessto sell as a going concern, in the dale town of Highmarket: the twoex-convicts bought it. From that time they were Anthony Mallalieu andMilford Cotherstone, and the past was dead.

  During the thirty years in which that past had been dead, Cotherstonehad often heard men remark that this world of ours is a very small one,and he had secretly laughed at them. To him and to his partner the worldhad been wide and big enough. They were now four hundred miles away fromthe scene of their crime. There was nothing whatever to bring Wilchesterpeople into that northern country, nothing to take Highmarket folkanywhere near Wilchester. Neither he nor Mallalieu ever went farafield--London they avoided with particular care, lest they should meetany one there who had known them in the old days. They had stopped athome, and minded their business, year in and year out. Naturally, theyhad prospered. They had speedily become known as hard-working young men;then as good employers of labour; finally as men of considerablestanding in a town of which there were only some five thousandinhabitants. They had been invited to join in public matters--Mallalieuhad gone into the Town Council first; Cotherstone had followed himlater. They had been as successful in administering the affairs of thelittle town as in conducting their own, and in time both had attainedhigh honours: Mallalieu was now wearing the mayoral chain for the secondtime; Cotherstone, as Borough Treasurer, had governed the financialmatters of Highmarket for several years. And as he sat there, staring atthe red embers of the office fire, he remembered that there were no twomen in the whole town who were more trusted and respected than he andhis partner--his partner in success ... and in crime.

  But that was not all. Both men had married within a few years of theircoming to Highmarket. They had married young women of good standing inthe neighbourhood; it was perhaps well, reflected Cotherstone, thattheir wives were dead, and that Mallalieu had never been blessed withchildren. But Cotherstone had a daughter, of whom he was as fond as hewas proud; for her he had toiled and contrived, always intending her tobe a rich woman. He had seen to it that she was well educated; he hadeven allowed himself to be deprived of her company for two years whileshe went to an expensive school, far away; since she had grown up, hehad surrounded her with every comfort. And now, as Kitely had remindedhim, she was engaged to be married to the most promising young man inHighmarket, Windle Bent, a rich manufacturer, who had succeeded to andgreatly developed a fine business, who had already made his mark on theTown Council, and was known to cherish Parliamentary ambitions.Everybody knew that Bent had a big career before him; he had all thenecessary gifts; all the proper stuff in him for such a career. He wouldsucceed; he would probably win a title for himself--a baronetcy, perhapsa peerage. This was just the marriage which Cotherstone desired forLettie; he would die more than happy if he could once hear her calledYour Ladyship. And now here was--this!

  Cotherstone sat there a long time, thinking, reflecting, reckoning upthings. The dusk had come; the darkness followed; he made no movementtowards the gas bracket. Nothing mattered but his trouble. That must bedealt with. At all costs, Kitely's silence must be purchased--aye, evenif it cost him and Mallalieu one-half of what they had. And, of course,Mallalieu must be told--at once.

  A tap of somebody's knuckles on the door of the private room roused himat last, and he sprang up and seized a box of matches as he bade theperson without to enter. The clerk came in, carrying a sheaf of papers,and Cotherstone bustled to the gas.

  "Dear me!" he exclaimed. "I've dropped off into a nod over this warmfire, Stoner. What's that--letters?"

  "There's all these letters to sign, Mr. Cotherstone, and these threecontracts to go through," answered the clerk. "And there are thosespecifications to examine, as well."

  "Mr. Mallalieu'll have to see those," said Cothe
rstone. He lighted thegas above his desk, put the decanter and the glasses aside, and took theletters. "I'll sign these, anyhow," he said, "and then you can post 'emas you go home. The other papers'll do tomorrow morning."

  The clerk stood slightly behind his master as Cotherstone signed oneletter after the other, glancing quickly through each. He was a youngman of twenty-two or three, with quick, observant manners, a keen eye,and a not handsome face, and as he stood there the face was bent onCotherstone with a surmising look. Stoner had noticed his employer'sthoughtful attitude, the gloom in which Cotherstone sat, the decanter onthe table, the glass in Cotherstone's hand, and he knew that Cotherstonewas telling a fib when he said he had been asleep. He noticed, too, thesix sovereigns and the two or three silver coins lying on the desk, andhe wondered what had made his master so abstracted that he had forgottento pocket them. For he knew Cotherstone well, and Cotherstone was soparticular about money that he never allowed even a penny to lie out ofplace.

  "There!" said Cotherstone, handing back the batch of letters. "You'll begoing now, I suppose. Put those in the post. I'm not going just yet, soI'll lock up the office. Leave the outer door open--Mr. Mallalieu'scoming back."

  He pulled down the blinds of the private room when Stoner had gone, andthat done he fell to walking up and down, awaiting his partner. Andpresently Mallalieu came, smoking a cigar, and evidently in as goodhumour as usual.

  "Oh, you're still here?" he said as he entered. "I--what's up?"

  He had come to a sudden halt close to his partner, and he now stoodstaring at him. And Cotherstone, glancing past Mallalieu's broadshoulder at a mirror, saw that he himself had become startlingly paleand haggard. He looked twenty years older than he had looked when heshaved himself that morning.

  "Aren't you well?" demanded Mallalieu. "What is it?"

  Cotherstone made no answer. He walked past Mallalieu and looked into theouter office. The clerk had gone, and the place was only half-lighted.But Cotherstone closed the door with great care, and when he went backto Mallalieu he sank his voice to a whisper.

  "Bad news!" he said. "Bad--bad news!"

  "What about?" asked Mallalieu. "Private? Business?"

  Cotherstone put his lips almost close to Mallalieu's ear.

  "That man Kitely--my new tenant," he whispered. "He's met us--you andme--before!"

  Mallalieu's rosy cheeks paled, and he turned sharply on his companion.

  "Met--us!" he exclaimed. "Him! Where?--when?"

  Cotherstone got his lips still closer.

  "Wilchester!" he answered. "Thirty years ago. He--knows!"

  Mallalieu dropped into the nearest chair: dropped as if he had beenshot. His face, full of colour from the keen air outside, became as paleas his partner's; his jaw fell, his mouth opened; a strained look cameinto his small eyes.

  "Gad!" he muttered hoarsely. "You--you don't say so!"

  "It's a fact," answered Cotherstone. "He knows everything. He's anex-detective. He was there--that day."

  "Tracked us down?" asked Mallalieu. "That it?"

  "No," said Cotherstone. "Sheer chance--pure accident. Recognizedus--after he came here. Aye--after all these years! Thirty years!"

  Mallalieu's eyes, roving about the room, fell on the decanter. He pulledhimself out of his chair, found a clean glass, and took a stiff drink.And his partner, watching him, saw that his hands, too, were shaking.

  "That's a facer!" said Mallalieu. His voice had grown stronger, and thecolour came back to his cheeks. "A real facer! As you say--after thirtyyears! It's hard--it's blessed hard! And--what does he want? What's hegoing to do?"

  "Wants to blackmail us, of course," replied Cotherstone, with amirthless laugh. "What else should he do? What could he do? Why, hecould tell all Highmarket who we are, and----"

  "Aye, aye!--but the thing is here," interrupted Mallalieu.

  "Supposing we do square him?--is there any reliance to be placed on himthen? It 'ud only be the old game--he'd only want more."

  "He said an annuity," remarked Cotherstone, thoughtfully. "And he addedsignificantly, that he was getting an old man."

  "How old?" demanded Mallalieu.

  "Between sixty and seventy," said Cotherstone. "I'm under the impressionthat he could be squared, could be satisfied. He'll have to be! We can'tlet it get out--I can't, any way. There's my daughter to think of."

  "D'ye think I'd let it get out?" asked Mallalieu. "No!--all I'm thinkingof is if we really can silence him. I've heard of cases where a man'spaid blackmail for years and years, and been no better for it in theend."

  "Well--he's coming here tomorrow afternoon some time," said Cotherstone."We'd better see him--together. After all, a hundred a year--a couple ofhundred a year--'ud be better than--exposure."

  Mallalieu drank off his whisky and pushed the glass aside.

  "I'll consider it," he remarked. "What's certain sure is that he'll haveto be quietened. I must go--I've an appointment. Are you coming out?"

  "Not yet," replied Cotherstone. "I've all these papers to go through.Well, think it well over. He's a man to be feared."

  Mallalieu made no answer. He, like Kitely, went off without a word offarewell, and Cotherstone was once more left alone.