The Borough Treasurer Page 5

  CHAPTER V

  THE CORD

  Ever since they had left the house at the foot of the pine wood,Brereton had been conscious of a curious psychological atmosphere,centring in Cotherstone. It had grown stronger as events had developed;it was still stronger now as they stood outside the dead man's cottage,the light from the open door and the white-curtained window falling onCotherstone's excited face. Cotherstone, it seemed to Brereton, wasunduly eager about something--he might almost be said to be elated. Allof his behaviour was odd. He had certainly been shocked when Garthwaiteburst in with the news--but this shock did not seem to be of theordinary sort. He had looked like fainting--but when he recoveredhimself his whole attitude (so, at any rate, it had seemed to Brereton)had been that of a man who has just undergone a great relief. To put thewhole thing into a narrow compass, it seemed as if Cotherstone appearedto be positively pleased to hear--and to find beyond doubt--that Kitelywas dead. And now, as he stood glancing from one young man to the other,his eyes glittered as if he were absolutely enjoying the affair: hereminded Brereton of that type of theatre-goer who will insist onpointing out stage effects as they occur before his eyes, forcing hisown appreciation of them upon fellow-watchers whose eyes are as keen ashis own.

  "A strong clue!" repeated Cotherstone, and said it yet again. "A good'un! And if it's right, it'll clear matters up."

  "What is it?" asked Bent. He, too, seemed to be conscious that there wassomething odd about his prospective father-in-law, and he was gazingspeculatively at him as if in wonder. "What sort of a clue?"

  "It's a wonder it didn't strike me--and you, too--at first," saidCotherstone, with a queer sound that was half a chuckle. "But as long asit's struck somebody, eh? One's as good as another. You can't think ofwhat it is, now?"

  "I don't know what you're thinking about," replied Bent, halfimpatiently.

  Cotherstone gave vent to an unmistakable chuckle at that, and hemotioned them to follow him into the cottage.

  "Come and see for yourselves, then," he said. "You'll spot it. But,anyway--Mr. Brereton, being a stranger, can't be expected to."

  The three men walked into the living-room of the cottage--a good-sized,open-raftered, old-fashioned place, wherein burnt a bright fire, ateither side of which stood two comfortable armchairs. Before one ofthese chairs, their toes pointing upwards against the fender, were apair of slippers; on a table close by stood an old lead tobacco-box,flanked by a church-warden pipe, a spirit decanter, a glass, and aplate on which were set out sugar and lemon--these Brereton took to beindicative that Kitely, his evening constitutional over, was in thehabit of taking a quiet pipe and a glass of something warm before goingto bed. And looking round still further he became aware of an opendoor--the door into which Miss Pett had withdrawn--and of a bed withinon which Kitely now lay, with Dr. Rockcliffe and the police-sergeantbending over him. The other policemen stood by the table in theliving-room, and one of them--the man who had picked up thepocket-book--whispered audibly to Cotherstone as he and his companionsentered.

  "The doctor's taking it off him," he said, with a meaning nod of hishead. "I'll lay aught it's as I say, Mr. Cotherstone."

  "Looks like it," agreed Cotherstone, rubbing his hands. "It certainlylooks like it, George. Sharp of you to notice it, though."

  Brereton took this conversation to refer to the mysterious clue, and hissuspicion was confirmed a moment later. The doctor and the sergeant cameinto the living-room, the doctor carrying something in his hand which helaid down on the centre table in full view of all of them. And Breretonsaw then that he had removed from the dead man's neck the length of greycord with which he had been strangled.

  There was something exceedingly sinister in the mere placing of thatcord before the eyes of these living men. It had wrought the death ofanother man, who, an hour before, had been as full of vigorous life asthemselves; some man, equally vigorous, had used it as the instrument ofa foul murder. Insignificant in itself, a mere piece of strongly spunand twisted hemp, it was yet singularly suggestive--one man, at anyrate, amongst those who stood looking at it, was reminded by it that themurderer who had used it must even now have the fear of another and astronger cord before him.

  "Find who that cord belongs to, and you may get at something," suddenlyobserved the doctor, glancing at the policemen. "You say it's abutcher's cord?"

  The man who had just whispered to Cotherstone nodded.

  "It's a pig-killer's cord, sir," he answered. "It's what a pig-killerfastens the pig down with--on the cratch."

  "A cratch?--what's that?" asked Brereton, who had gone close to thetable to examine the cord, and had seen that, though slender, it wasexceedingly strong, and of closely wrought fibre. "Is it a sort ofhurdle?"

  "That's it, sir," assented the policeman. "It is a sort of hurdle--onfour legs. They lay the pig on it, don't you see, and tie it down with acord of this sort--this cord's been used for that--it's greasy with longuse."

  "And it has been cut off a longer piece, of course," said the doctor."These cords are of considerable length, aren't they?"

  "Good length, sir--there's a regular coil, like," said the man. He, too,bent down and looked at the length before him. "This has been cut offwhat you might call recent," he went on, pointing to one end.

  "And cut off with a sharp knife, too."

  The police sergeant glanced at the doctor as if asking advice on thesubject of putting his thoughts into words.

  "Well?" said the doctor, with a nod of assent. "Of course, you've gotsomething in your mind, sergeant?"

  "Well, there is a man who kills pigs, and has such cords as that, livesclose by, doctor," he answered. "You know who I mean--the man they callGentleman Jack."

  "You mean Harborough," said the doctor. "Well--you'd better ask him ifhe knows anything. Somebody might have stolen one of his cords. Butthere are other pig-killers in the town, of course."

  "Not on this side the town, there aren't," remarked another policeman.

  "What is plain," continued the doctor, looking at Cotherstone and theothers, "is that Kitely was strangled by this rope, and that everythingon him of any value was taken. You'd better find out what he had, or waslikely to have, on him, sergeant. Ask the housekeeper."

  Miss Pett came from the inner room, where she had already begun herpreparations for laying out the body. She was as calm as when Bent firsttold her of what had occurred, and she stood at the end of the table,the cord between her and her questioners, and showed no emotion, nosurprise at what had occurred.

  "Can you tell aught about this, ma'am?" asked the sergeant. "You seeyour master's met his death at somebody's hands, and there's no doubthe's been robbed, too. Do you happen to know what he had on him?"

  The housekeeper, who had her arms full of linen, set her burden down ona clothes-horse in front of the fire before she replied. She seemed tobe thinking deeply, and when she turned round again, it was to shake herqueerly ornamented head.

  "Well, I couldn't say exactly," she answered. "But I shouldn't wonder ifit was a good deal--for such as him, you know. He did carry money onhim--he was never short of money ever since I knew him, and sometimeshe'd a fair amount in his pockets--I know, of course, because he'd pullit out, loose gold, and silver, and copper, and I've seen him takebank-notes out of his pocket-book. But he'd be very like to have a gooddeal more than usual on him tonight."

  "Why?" asked the sergeant.

  "Because he'd been to the bank this morning to draw his pension money,"replied Miss Pett. "I don't know how much that would be, any more than Iknow where it came from. He was a close man--he'd never tell anybodymore than he liked, and he never told me aught about that. But I do knowit was what you'd call a fair amount--for a man that lives in a cottage.He went to the bank this noon--he always went once a quarter--and hesaid this afternoon that he'd go and pay his rent to Mr. Cotherstonethere--"

  "As he did," muttered Cotherstone, "yes--he did that."

  "Well, he'd have all the rest of his money on him," continued thehous
ekeeper. "And he'd have what he had before, because he'd other moneycoming in than that pension. And I tell you he was the sort of man thatcarried his money about him--he was foolish that way. And then he'd avery valuable watch and chain--he told me they were a presentation, andcost nearly a hundred pounds. And of course, he'd a pocket-book full ofpapers."

  "This pocket-book?" asked the sergeant.

  "Aye, that's it, right enough," assented Miss Pett. "But he always hadit bursting with bits of letters and papers. You don't mean to say youfound it empty? You did?--very well then, I'm no fool, and I say that ifhe's been murdered, there's been some reason for it altogether apartfrom robbing him of what money and things he had on him! Whoever's takenhis papers wanted 'em bad!"

  "About his habits, now?" said the sergeant, ignoring Miss Pett'ssuggestion. "Did he go walking on the Shawl every night?"

  "Regular as clock-work," answered the housekeeper. "He used to read andwrite a deal at night--then he'd side away all his books and papers, gethis supper, and go out for an hour, walking round and about. Then he'dcome in, put on his slippers--there they are, set down to warm forhim--smoke one pipe, drink one glass of toddy--there's the stuff forit--and go to bed. He was the regularest man I ever knew, in all hedid."

  "Was he out longer than usual tonight?" asked Bent, who saw that thesergeant had no more to ask. "You seemed to suggest that, when wecame."

  "Well, he was a bit longer," admitted Miss Pett. "Of course, he varied.But an hour was about his time. Up and down and about the hill-side he'dgo--in and out of the coppices. I've warned him more than once."

  "But why?" asked Brereton, whose curiosity was impelling him to take apart in this drama. "What reason had you for warning him?"

  Miss Pett turned and looked scrutinizingly at her last questioner. Shetook a calm and close observation of him and her curious face relaxedinto something like a smile.

  "I can tell what you are, mister," she said. "A law gentleman! I've seenyour sort many a time. And you're a sharp 'un, too! Well--you're young,but you're old enough to have heard a thing or two. Did you never hearthat women have got what men haven't--instinct?"

  "Do you really tell me that the only reason you had for warning himagainst going out late at night was--instinct?" asked Brereton. "Come,now!"

  "Mostly instinct, anyhow," she answered. "Women have a sort of feelingabout things that men haven't--leastways, no men that I've ever met hadit. But of course, I'd more than that. Mr. Kitely, now, he was atownsman--a London man. I'm a countrywoman. He didn't understand--youcouldn't get him to understand--that it's not safe to go walking inlonely places in country districts like this late at night. When I'd gotto know his habits, I expostulated with him more than once. I pointedout to him that in spots like this, where there's naught nearer thanthem houses at the foot of the hill one way, and Harborough's cottageanother way, and both of 'em a good quarter of a mile off, and wherethere's all these coverts and coppices and rocks, it was not safe for anelderly man who sported a fine gold watch and chain to go wanderingabout in the darkness. There's always plenty of bad characters incountry places who'd knock the King himself on the head for the sake ofas much as Mr. Kitely had on him, even if it was no more than the chainwhich every Tom and Dick could see! And it's turned out just as Iprophesied. He's come to it!"

  "But you said just now that he must have been murdered for somethingelse than his valuables," said Brereton.

  "I said that if his papers were gone, somebody must have wanted thembad," retorted Miss Pett. "Anyway, what's happened is just what I feltmight happen, and there he is--dead. And I should be obliged to some ofyou if you'd send up a woman or two to help me lay him out, for I can'tbe expected to do everything by myself, nor to stop in this cottagealone, neither!"

  Leaving the doctor and a couple of policemen to arrange matters with thehousekeeper, the sergeant went outside, followed by the others. Heturned to Cotherstone.

  "I'm going down to Harborough's cottage, at the other end of the Shawl,"he said. "I don't expect to learn aught much there--yet--but I can seeif he's at home, anyway. If any of you gentlemen like to come down----"

  Bent laid a hand on Cotherstone's arm and turned him in the direction ofhis house.

  "Brereton and I'll go with the sergeant," he said. "You must gohome--Lettie'll be anxious about things. Go down with him, Mr.Garthwaite--you'll both hear more later."

  To Brereton's great surprise, Cotherstone made no objection to thissummary dismissal. He and Garthwaite went off in one direction; theothers, led by the observant policeman who had found the emptypocket-book and recognized the peculiar properties of the cord, turnedaway in another.

  "Where's this we're going now?" asked Brereton as he and Bent followedtheir leaders through the trees and down the slopes of the Shawl.

  "To John Harborough's cottage--at the other end of the hill," answeredBent. "He's the man they spoke of in there. He's a queer character--aprofessional pig-killer, who has other trades as well. He does a bit ofrat-catching, and a bit of mole-catching--and a good deal of poaching.In fact, he's an odd person altogether, not only in character but inappearance. And the curious thing is that he's got an exceedinglygood-looking and accomplished daughter, a really superior girl who'sbeen well educated and earns her living as a governess in the town.Queer pair they make if you ever see them together!"

  "Does she live with him?" asked Brereton.

  "Oh yes, she lives with him!" replied Bent. "And I believe that they'revery devoted to each other, though everybody marvels that such a manshould have such a daughter. There's a mystery about that man--oddcharacter that he is, he's been well bred, and the folk hereabouts callhim Gentleman Jack."

  "Won't all this give the girl a fright?" suggested Brereton. "Wouldn'tit be better if somebody went quietly to the man's cottage?"

  But when they came to Harborough's cottage, at the far end of the Shawl,it was all in darkness.

  "Still, they aren't gone to bed," suddenly observed the policeman whohad a faculty for seeing things. "There's a good fire burning in thekitchen grate, and they wouldn't leave that. Must be out, both of 'em."

  "Go in and knock quietly," counselled the sergeant.

  He followed the policeman up the flagged walk to the cottage door, andthe other two presently went after them. In the starlight Breretonlooked round at these new surroundings--an old, thatched cottage, set ina garden amongst trees and shrubs, with a lean-to shed at one end of it,and over everything an atmosphere of silence.

  The silence was suddenly broken. A quick, light step sounded on theflagged path behind them, and the policemen turned their lamps in itsdirection. And Brereton, looking sharply round, became aware of thepresence of a girl, who looked at these visitors wonderingly out of apair of beautiful grey eyes.