The Borough Treasurer Read online

  CHAPTER XXIX

  WITHOUT THOUGHT OF CONSEQUENCE

  Everything was very quiet in the house where Mallalieu lay wide-awakeand watchful. It seemed to him that he had never known it so quietbefore. It was quiet at all times, both day and night, for Miss Pett hada habit of going about like a cat, and Christopher was decidedly of thesoft-footed order, and stepped from one room to another as if he wereperpetually afraid of waking somebody or trusting his own weight on hisown toes. But on this particular night the silence seemed to beunusual--and it was all the deeper because no sound, not even the faintsighing of the wind in the firs and pines outside came to break it. AndMallalieu's nerves, which had gradually become sharpened and irritatedby his recent adventures and his close confinement, became still moreirritable, still more set on edge, and it was with difficulty that heforced himself to lie still and to listen. Moreover, he was feeling thewant of the stuff which had soothed him into such sound slumber everynight since he had been taken in charge by Miss Pett, and he knew verywell that though he had flung it away his whole system was crying outfor the lack of it.

  What were those two devils after, he wondered as he lay there in thedarkness? No good--that was certain. Now that he came to reflect upon ittheir conduct during the afternoon and evening had not been of areassuring sort. Christopher had kept entirely away from him; he had notseen Christopher at all since the discussion of the afternoon, whichMiss Pett had terminated so abruptly. He had seen Miss Pett twice orthrice--Miss Pett's attitude on each occasion had been that of injuredinnocence. She had brought him his tea in silence, his supper with nomore than a word. It was a nice supper--she set it before him with anexpression which seemed to say that however badly she herself wastreated, she would do her duty by others. And Mallalieu, seeing thatexpression, had not been able to refrain from one of his sneeringremarks.

  "Think yourself very badly done to, don't you, missis!" he had exclaimedwith a laugh. "Think I'm a mean 'un, what?"

  "I express no opinion, Mr. Mallalieu," replied Miss Pett, frigidly andpatiently. "I think it better for people to reflect. A night'sreflection," she continued as she made for the door, "oft brings wisdom,even to them as doesn't usually cultivate it."

  Mallalieu had no objection to the cultivation of wisdom--for his ownbenefit, and he was striving to produce something from the process as helay there, waiting. But he said to himself that it was easy enough to bewise after the event--and for him the event had happened. He was in thepower of these two, whom he had long since recognized as anunscrupulous woman and a shifty man. They had nothing to do but handhim over to the police if they liked: for anything he knew, Chris Pettmight already have played false and told the police of affairs at thecottage. And yet on deeper reflection, he did not think thatpossible--for it was evident that aunt and nephew were after all theycould get, and they would get nothing from the police authorities, whilethey might get a good deal from him. But--what did they expect to getfrom him? He had been a little perplexed by their attitude when he askedthem if they expected him to carry a lot of money on him--a fugitive.Was it possible--the thought came to him like a thunderclap in thedarkness--that they knew, or had some idea, of what he really had onhim? That Miss Pett had drugged him every night he now felt sure--well,then, in that case how did he know that she hadn't entered his room andsearched his belongings, and especially the precious waistcoat?

  Mallalieu had deposited that waistcoat in the same place every night--ona chair which stood at the head of his bed. He had laid it folded on thechair, had deposited his other garments in layers upon it, had set hiscandlestick and a box of matches on top of all. And everything hadalways been there, just as he had placed things, every morning when heopened his eyes. But--he had come to know Miss Pett's stealthiness bythat time, and ...

  He put out a hand now and fingered the pile of garments which lay,neatly folded, within a few inches of his head. It was all right, then,of course, and his hand drew back--to the revolver, separated from hischeek by no more than the thickness of the pillow. The touch of thatrevolver made him begin speculating afresh. If Miss Pett or Christopherhad meddled with the waistcoat, the revolver, too, might have beenmeddled with. Since he had entered the cottage, he had never examinedeither waistcoat or revolver. Supposing the charges had beendrawn?--supposing he was defenceless, if a pinch came? He began to sweatwith fear at the mere thought, and in the darkness he fumbled with therevolver in an effort to discover whether it was still loaded. And justthen came a sound--and Mallalieu grew chill with suspense.

  It was a very small sound--so small that it might have been no more thanthat caused by the scratch of the tiniest mouse in the wainscot. But inthat intense silence it was easily heard--and with it came the faintglimmering of a light. The light widened--there was a little furthersound--and Mallalieu, peeping at things through his eyelashes becameaware that the door was open, that a tall, spare figure was outlinedbetween the bed and the light without. And in that light, outside thedoor, well behind the thin form of Miss Pett, he saw Christopher Pett'ssharp face and the glint of his beady eyes.

  Mallalieu was sharp enough of thought, and big man though he was, he hadalways been quick of action. He knew what Miss Pett's objective was, andhe let her advance half-way across the room on her stealthy path to thewaistcoat. But silently as she came on with that cat-like tread,Mallalieu had just as silently drawn the revolver from beneath hispillow and turned its small muzzle on her. It had a highly polishedbarrel, that revolver, and Miss Pett suddenly caught a tinyscintillation of light on it--and she screamed. And as she screamedMallalieu fired, and the scream died down to a queer choking sound ...and he fired again ... and where Christopher Pett's face had shownitself a second before there was nothing--save another choking sound anda fall in the entry where Christopher had stood and watched.

  After that followed a silence so deep that Mallalieu felt the drums ofhis ears aching intensely in the effort to catch any sound, howeversmall. But he heard nothing--not even a sigh. It was as if all the awfulsilences that had ever been in the cavernous places of the world hadbeen crystallized into one terrible silence and put into that room.

  He reached out at last and found his candle and the matches, and he gotmore light and leaned forward in the bed, looking.

  "Can't ha' got 'em both!" he muttered. "Both? But----"

  He slowly lifted himself out of bed, huddled on some of the garmentsthat lay carefully folded on the chair, and then, holding the candle tothe floor, went forward to where the woman lay. She had collapsedbetween the foot of the bed and the wall; her shoulders were proppedagainst the wall and the grotesque turban hung loosely down on oneshoulder. And Mallalieu knew in that quick glance that she was dead, andhe crept onward to the door and looked at the other still figure, lyingjust as supinely in the passage that led to the living-room. He lookedlonger at that ... and suddenly he turned back into hisparlour-bedchamber, and carefully avoiding the dead woman put on hisboots and began to dress with feverish haste.

  And while he hurried on his clothes Mallalieu thought. He was not surethat he had meant to kill these two. He would have delighted in killingthem certainly, hating them as he did, but he had an idea that when hefired he only meant to frighten them. But that was neither here northere now. They were dead, but he was alive--and he must get out ofthat, and at once. The moors--the hills--anywhere....

  A sudden heavy knocking at the door at the back of the cottage setMallalieu shaking. He started for the front--to hear knocking there,too. Then came voices demanding admittance, and loudly crying the deadwoman's name. He crept to a front window at that, and carefully drew acorner of the blind and looked out, and saw many men in the garden. Oneof them had a lantern, and as its glare glanced about Mallalieu set eyeson Cotherstone.