The Borough Treasurer

J >> Joseph Smith Fletcher >> The Borough Treasurer

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"Two thousand pounds?" exclaimed Stoner, whose thoughts went like
lightning to the half-sheet of foolscap. "You don't say!"

"Yes--well, it might ha' been a pound or two more or less," said the old
man, "but two thousand was what they called it. And of course Mallows
and Chidforth were prosecuted--and they got two years. Oh, yes, we
remember that case very well indeed in Wilchester, don't we, Maria?"

"And good reason!" agreed Mrs. Pursey warmly. "There were a lot of poor
people nearly ruined by them bad young men."

"There were!" affirmed Mr. Pursey. "Yes--oh, yes! Aye--I've often
wondered what became of 'em--Mallows and Chidforth, I mean. For from the
time they got out of prison they've never been heard of in our parts.
Not a word!--they disappeared completely. Some say, of course, that they
had that money safely planted, and went to it. I don't know. But--off
they went."

"Pooh!" said Myler. "That's an easy one. Went off to some colony or
other, of course. Common occurrence, father-in-law. Bert, old sport,
what say if we rise on our pins and have a hundred at billiards at the
Stag and Hunter--good table there."

Stoner followed his friend out of the little house, and once outside
took him by the arm.

"Confound the billards, Dave, old man!" he said, almost trembling with
suppressed excitement. "Look here!--d'you know a real quiet corner in
the Stag where we can have an hour's serious consultation. You do?--then
come on, and I'll tell you the most wonderful story you ever heard since
your ears were opened!"

Myler, immediately impressed, led the way into a small and vacant
parlour in the rear of a neighbouring hostelry, ordered refreshments,
bade the girl who brought them to leave him and his friend alone, and
took the liberty of locking the door on their privacy. And that done he
showed himself such a perfect listener that he never opened his lips
until Stoner had set forth everything before him in detail. Now and then
he nodded, now and then his sharp eyes dilated, now and then he clapped
his hands. And in the end he smote Stoner on the shoulder.

"Stoner, old sport!" he exclaimed. "It's a sure thing! Gad, I never
heard a clearer. That five hundred is yours--aye, as dead certain as
that my nose is mine! It's--it's--what they call inductive reasoning.
The initials M. and C.--Mallows and Chidforth--Mallalieu and
Cotherstone--the two thousand pounds--the fact that Kitely was at
Wilchester Assizes in 1881--that he became Cotherstone's tenant thirty
years after--oh, I see it all, and so will a judge and jury! Stoner,
one, or both of 'em killed that old chap to silence him!"

"That's my notion," assented Stoner, who was highly pleased with
himself, and by that time convinced that his own powers, rather than a
combination of lucky circumstances, had brought the desired result
about. "Of course, I've worked it out to that. And the thing now
is--what's the best line to take? What would you suggest, Dave?"

Myler brought all his business acumen to bear on the problem presented
to him.

"What sort of chap is this Tallington?" he asked at last, pointing to
the name at the foot of the reward handbill.

"Most respectable solicitor in Highmarket," answered Stoner, promptly.

"Word good?" asked Myler.

"Good as--gold," affirmed Stoner.

"Then if it was me," said Myler, "I should make a summary of what I
knew, on paper--carefully--and I should get a private interview with
this Tallington and tell him--all. Man!--you're safe of that five
hundred! For there's no doubt, Stoner, on the evidence, no doubt
whatever!"

Stoner sat silently reflecting things for a while. Then he gave his
friend a sly, somewhat nervous look. Although he and Myler had been
bosom friends since they were breeched, Stoner was not quite certain as
to what Myler would say to what he, Stoner, was just then thinking of.

"Look here," he said suddenly. "There's this about it. It's all jolly
well, but a fellow's got to think for himself, Dave, old man. Now it
doesn't matter a twopenny cuss to me about old Kitely--I don't care if
he was scragged twice over--I've no doubt he deserved it. But it'll
matter a lot to M. & C. if they're found out. I can touch that five
hundred easy as winking--but--you take my meaning?--I daresay M. & C.
'ud run to five thousand if I kept my tongue still. What?"

But Stoner knew at once that Myler disapproved. The commercial
traveller's homely face grew grave, and he shook his head with an
unmistakable gesture.

"No, Stoner," he said. "None o' that! Play straight, my lad! No
hush-money transactions. Keep to the law, Stoner, keep to the law!
Besides, there's others than you can find all this out. What you want to
do is to get in first. See Tallington as soon as you get back."

"I daresay you're right," admitted Stoner. "But--I know M. & C, and I
know they'd give--aye, half of what they're worth--and that's a lot!--to
have this kept dark."

That thought was with him whenever he woke in the night, and as he
strolled round Darlington next morning, it was still with him when,
after an early dinner, he set off homeward by an early afternoon train
which carried him to High Gill junction; whence he had to walk five
miles across the moors and hills to Highmarket. And he was still
pondering it weightily when, in one of the loneliest parts of the
solitudes which he was crossing, he turning the corner of a little pine
wood, and came face to face with Mallalieu.

CHAPTER XVI

THE LONELY MOOR

During the three hours which had elapsed since his departure from
Darlington, Stoner had been thinking things over. He had seen his friend
Myler again that morning; they had had a drink or two together at the
station refreshment room before Stoner's train left, and Myler had once
more urged upon Stoner to use his fortunately acquired knowledge in the
proper way. No doubt, said Myler, he could get Mallalieu and Cotherstone
to square him; no doubt they would cheerfully pay thousands where the
reward only came to hundreds--but, when everything was considered, was
it worth while? No!--a thousand times, no, said Myler. The mere fact
that Stoner had found out all this was a dead sure proof that somebody
else might find it out. The police had a habit, said Myler, of working
like moles--underground. How did Stoner know that some of the Norcaster
and London detectives weren't on the job already? They knew by that time
that old Kitely was an ex-detective; they'd be sure to hark back on his
past doings, in the effort to trace some connexion between one or other
of them and his murder. Far away as it was, that old Wilchester affair
would certainly come up again. And when it came up--ah, well, observed
Myler, with force and earnestness, it would be a bad job for Stoner if
it were found out that he'd accepted hush-money from his masters. In
fact--Myler gave it as his decided opinion, though, as he explained, he
wasn't a lawyer--he didn't know but what Stoner, in that case, would be
drawn 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 at
once--this very afternoon!--and put in for the five hundred. You'll be
safe as houses in doing that--but there'd be an awful risk about
t'other, Bert. Be wise!--you'll get no better counsel."

Stoner knew that his sagacious friend was right, and he was prepared to
abide by his counsel--as long as Myler was at his elbow. But when he had
got away from him, his mind began to wobble. Five hundred pounds!--what
was it in comparison with what he might get by a little skilful playing
of his cards? He knew Mallalieu and he knew Cotherstone--knew much more
about both of them than they had any idea of. He knew that they were
rich men--very rich men. They had been making money for years, and of
late certain highly successful and profitable contracts had increased
their wealth in a surprising fashion. Everything had gone right with
them--every contract they had taken up had turned out a gold mine. Five
thousand pounds would be nothing to them singly--much less jointly. In
Stoner's opinion, he had only to ask in order to have. He firmly
believed that they would pay--pay at once, in good cash. And if they
did--well, he would take good care that no evil chances came to him! If
he laid hands on five thousand pounds, he would be out of Highmarket
within 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 bit
straight-laced, and old-fashioned--especially since he had taken a
wife--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 moor
between High Gill and Highmarket, his mind was already made up to
blackmail.

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

But Mallalieu, busied with his own reflections, had no thought of Stoner
in his mind, and consequently showed no surprise at meeting him. He made
a 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 I
should ha' thought a young fellow like you would ha' been taking one o'
Miss Featherby's little milliners out for a dander, like--down the
river-side, what?"

Stoner smiled--not as Mallalieu smiled. He was in no mood for
persiflage; if he smiled it was because he thought that things were
coming his way, that the game was being played into his hands. And
suddenly 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 to
think of than that, sir."

"Oh!" said Mallalieu. "Ah! I thought you looked pretty deep in
reflection. 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 out
a copy of the reward bill. He opened it before his employer, watching
Mallalieu's face.

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

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

"What about it?" he growled. His temper, as Stoner well knew, was
quickly roused, and it showed signs of awakening now. "What're you
showing 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 the
quarry, and stepping back to them, calmly leaned against the top one,
put his hands in his pockets and looked at Mallalieu with a glance which
was intended to show that he felt himself top dog in any encounter that
might come. "I want a word or two with you, Mr. Mallalieu," he said.

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

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

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

Mallalieu stared at the clerk during a full minute's silence. He had a
trick of silently staring people out of countenance. But he found that
Stoner 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 whether
you've been drinking, or if you've some bee in your bonnet, but I don't
allow nobody, and especially a man as I pay wages to, to speak in them
tones to me! What d'ye mean by it?"

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

Mallalieu felt himself start again; he felt his face flush warm. But he
managed 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 know
who 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 to
yourself--till you can make something out of it?"

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

"And who did kill him, then?" demanded Mallalieu. "Psha!--you know
naught 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 in
significance and meaning. "But you're wrong--I do! Kitely was murdered
by either you or Cotherstone! How's that, Mr. Mallalieu?"

Mallalieu again regarded his clerk in silence. He knew by that time that
this fellow was in possession of some information, and his
characteristic inclination was to fence with him. And he made a great
effort to pull himself together, so as to deal better with whatever
might be in store.

"Either me or Mr. Cotherstone!" he repeated sarcastically. "Oh! Now
which 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, for
aught I know," retorted Stoner. "But you're both guilty, any way! It's
no 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 its
end Mallalieu laughed again, still affecting sneering and incredulous
sentiments.

"Aye?--and why did one or t'other or both--have it which way you
will--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 you
and Cotherstone, under your proper names of Mallows and Chidforth, were
tried for fraud at Wilchester Assizes, thirty years ago, and sentenced
to two years! That's why, Mr. Mallalieu. The old chap knew it, and he
let you know that he knew it, and you killed him to silence him. You
didn't want it to get out that the Mayor and Borough Treasurer of
Highmarket, so respected, so much thought of, are--a couple of old
gaol-birds!"

Mallalieu's hot temper, held very well in check until then, flamed up as
Stoner spat out the last contemptuous epithet. He had stood with his
right hand behind him, grasping his heavy oaken stick--now, as his rage
suddenly boiled, he swung hand and stick round in a savage blow at his
tormentor, and the crook of the stick fell crashing against Stoner's
temples. So quick was the blow, so sudden the assault, that the clerk
had time to do no more than throw up an arm. And as he threw it up, and
as the heavy blow fell, the old, rotten railing against which Stoner had
leant so nonchalantly, gave way, and he fell back through it, and across
the brow of the quarry--and without a sound. Mallalieu heard the crash
of his stick on his victim's temples; he heard the rending and crackling
of the railings--but he heard neither cry, nor sigh, nor groan from
Stoner. Stoner fell backward and disappeared--and then (it seemed an age
in coming) Mallalieu's frightened senses were aware of a dull thud
somewhere far down in the depths into which he had fallen. Then came
silence--deep, heavy silence--broken at last by the cry of a curlew
flying across the lonely moor.

Mallalieu was seized with a trembling fit. He began to shake. His heavy
frame trembled as if under the effects of a bad ague; the hand which had
struck the blow shook so violently that the stick dropped from it. And
Mallalieu looked down at the stick, and in a sudden overwhelming rage
kicked it away from him over the brink of the quarry. He lifted his fist
and shook it--and just as suddenly dropped it. The trembling passed, and
he 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 blood
could stand, and--Lord ha' mercy, what's to be done?"

The autumn twilight was creeping over the moor. The sun had set behind
the far-off western hills just before Mallalieu and Stoner had met, and
while they talked dusk had come on. The moorlands were now growing dark
and vague, and it seemed to Mallalieu that as the light failed the
silence increased. He looked round him, fearful lest any of the
shepherds of the district had come up to take a Sunday glance at their
flocks. And once he thought he saw a figure at a little distance away
along the edge of the trees, and he strained and strained his eyes in
its direction--and concluded it was nothing. Presently he strained his
eyes in another way--he crept cautiously to the edge of the quarry, and
looked over the broken railing, and far down on the limestone rocks
beneath he saw Stoner, lying on his back, motionless.

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER XVII

THE MEDICAL OPINION

The recollection of that stick plunged Mallalieu into another of his
ague-like fits of shaking and trembling. There was little sleep for him
after that: he spent most of the night in thinking, anticipating, and
scheming. That stick would almost certainly be found, and it would be
found near Stoner's body. A casual passer-by would not recognize it, a
moorland shepherd would not recognize it. But the Highmarket police, to
whom it would be handed, would know it at once to be the Mayor's: it was
one which Mallalieu carried almost every day--a plain, very stout oak
staff. And the police would want to know how it came to be in that
quarry. Curse it!--was ever anything so unfortunate!--however could he
have so far lost his head as to forget it? He was half tempted to rise
in the middle of the night and set out for the moors, to find it. But
the night was dark, and solitary as the moors and the quarry where he
dared not risk the taking of a lantern. And so he racked his brains in
the effort to think of some means of explaining the presence of the
stick. He hit on a notion at last--remembering suddenly that Stoner had
carried neither stick nor umbrella. If the stick were found he would
say that he had left it at the office on the Saturday, and that the
clerk must have borrowed it. There was nothing unlikely in that: it was
a good reason, it would explain why it came to be found near the body.
Naturally, the police would believe the word of the Mayor: it would be a
queer thing if they didn't, in Mallalieu's opinion. And therewith he
tried to go to sleep, and made a miserable failure of it.

As he lay tossing and groaning in his comfortable bed that night,
Mallalieu thought over many things. How had Stoner acquired his
information? Did anybody else know what Stoner knew? After much
reflection he decided that nobody but Stoner did know. Further reckoning
up of matters gave him a theory as to how Stoner had got to know. He saw
it all--according to his own idea. Stoner had overheard the conversation
between old Kitely and Cotherstone in the private office, of course!
That was it--he wondered he had never thought of it before. Between the
partners' private room and the outer office in which Stoner sat, there
was a little window in the wall; it had been specially made so that
papers could be passed from one room to the other. And, of course, on
that afternoon it had probably been a little way open, as it often was,
and Stoner had heard what passed between Cotherstone and his tenant.
Being a deep chap, Stoner had kept the secret to himself until the
reward was offered. Of course, his idea was blackmail--Mallalieu had no
doubt about that. No--all things considered, he did not believe that
Stoner had shared his knowledge--Stoner would be too well convinced of
its value to share it with anybody. That conclusion comforted
Mallalieu--once more he tried to sleep.

But his sleep was a poor thing that night, and he felt tired and worn
when, as usual, he went early to the yard. He was there before
Cotherstone; when Cotherstone came, no more than a curt nod was
exchanged between them. They had never spoken to each other except on
business since the angry scene of a few days before, and now Mallalieu,
after a glance at some letters which had come in the previous evening,
went off down the yard. He stayed there an hour: when he re-entered the
office he looked with an affectation of surprise at the clerk's empty
desk.

"Stoner not come?" he demanded curtly.

Cotherstone, who was turning over the leaves of an account book, replied
just as curtly.

"Not yet!"

Mallalieu fidgeted about for a while, arranging some papers he had
brought in from the yard. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation of
impatience, and going to the door, called to a lad who was passing.

"Here, you!" he said. "You know where Mr. Stoner lodges?--Mrs.
Battley's. Run round there, and see why he hasn't come to his work. It's
an hour and a half past his time. Happen he's poorly--run now, sharp!"

He went off down the yard again when he had despatched this message; he
came back to the office ten minutes later, just as the messenger
returned.

"Well?" he demanded, with a side-glance to assure himself that
Cotherstone was at hand. "Where is he, like?"

"Please, sir, Mrs. Battley, she says as how Mr. Stoner went away on
Saturday afternoon, sir," answered the lad, "and he hasn't been home
since. She thinks he went to Darlington, sir, on a visit."

Mallalieu turned into the office, growling.

"Must ha' missed his train," he muttered as he put more papers on
Stoner's desk. "Here--happen you'll attend to these things--they want
booking up."

Cotherstone made no reply, and Mallalieu presently left him and went
home to get his breakfast. And as he walked up the road to his house he
wondered why Stoner had gone to Darlington. Was it possible that he had
communicated what he knew to any of his friends? If so----

"Confound the suspense and the uncertainty!" growled Mallalieu. "It 'ud
wear the life out of a man. I've a good mind to throw the whole thing up
and clear out! I could do it easy enough wi' my means. A clear
track--and no more o' this infernal anxiety."

He reflected, as he made a poor show of eating his breakfast, on the
ease with which he could get away from Highmarket and from England.
Being a particularly astute man of business, Mallalieu had taken good
care that all his eggs were not in one basket. He had many baskets--his
Highmarket basket was by no means the principal one. Indeed all that
Mallalieu possessed in Highmarket was his share of the business and his
private house. As he had made his money he had invested it in easily
convertible, gilt-edged securities, which would be realized at an hour's
notice in London or New York, Paris or Vienna. It would be the easiest
thing in the world for him, as Mayor of Highmarket, to leave the town on
Corporation business, and within a few hours to be where nobody could
find him; within a few more, to be out of the country. Lately, he had
often thought of going right away, to enjoy himself for the rest of his
life. He had made one complete disappearance already; why not make
another? Before he went townwards again that morning, he was beginning
to give serious attention to the idea.

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