CHAPTER XII
PARENTAL ANXIETY
For a moment Brereton and the superintendent looked at each other insilence. Then Bent got up from his desk at the other side of the room,and he and the little solicitor came towards them.
"Keep that to yourself, then," muttered Brereton. "We'll talk of itlater. It may be of importance."
"Well, there's this much to bear in mind," whispered the superintendent,drawing back a little with an eye on the others. "Nothing of that sortwas found on your client! And he'd been out all night. That's worthconsidering--from his standpoint, Mr. Brereton."
Brereton nodded his assent and turned away with another warning glance.And presently Pett and the superintendent went off, and Bent droppedinto his easy chair with a laugh.
"Queer sort of unexpected legacy!" he said. "I wonder if the old manreally thought I should be interested in his scrap-book?"
"There may be a great deal that's interesting in it," remarked Brereton,with a glance at the book, which Bent had laid aside on top of abook-case. "Take care of it. Well, what did you think of Mr.Christopher Pett?"
"Cool hand, I should say," answered Bent. "But--what did you think ofhim?"
"Oh, I've met Mr. Christopher Pett's sort before," said Brereton, drily."The Dodson & Fogg type of legal practitioner is by no means extinct. Ishould much like to know a good deal more about his various dealingswith Kitely. We shall see and hear more about them, however--later on.For the present there are--other matters."
He changed the subject then--to something utterly apart from the murderand its mystery. For the one topic which filled his own mind was alsothe very one which he could not discuss with Bent. Had Cotherstone, hadMallalieu anything to do with Kitely's death? That question wasbeginning to engross all his attention: he thought more about it thanabout his schemes for a successful defence of Harborough, well knowingthat his best way of proving Harborough's innocence lay in establishinganother man's guilt.
"One would give a good deal," he said to himself, as he went to bed thatnight, "if one could get a moment's look into Cotherstone's mind--orinto Mallalieu's either! For I'll swear that these two knowsomething--possibly congratulating themselves that it will never beknown to anybody else!"
If Brereton could have looked into the minds of either of the partnersat this particular juncture he would have found much opportunity forthought and reflection, of a curious nature. For both were keeping adouble watch--on the course of events on one hand; on each other, on theother hand. They watched the police-court proceedings against Harboroughand saw, with infinite relief, that nothing transpired which seemedinimical to themselves. They watched the proceedings at the inquest heldon Kitely; they, too, yielded nothing that could attract attention inthe way they dreaded. When several days had gone by and the policeinvestigations seemed to have settled down into a concentrated purposeagainst the suspected man, both Mallalieu and Cotherstone believedthemselves safe from discovery--their joint secret appeared to be wellburied with the old detective. But the secret was keenly and vividlyalive in their own hearts, and when Mallalieu faced the truth he knewthat he suspected Cotherstone, and when Cotherstone put things squarelyto himself he knew that he suspected Mallalieu. And the two men got toeyeing each other furtively, and to addressing each other curtly, andwhen they happened to be alone there was a heavy atmosphere of mutualdislike and suspicion between them.
It was a strange psychological fact that though these men had beenpartners for a period covering the most important part of their lives,they had next to nothing in common. They were excellent partners inbusiness matters; Mallalieu knew Cotherstone, and Cotherstone knewMallalieu in all things relating to the making of money. But in taste,temperament, character, understanding, they were as far apart as thepoles. This aloofness when tested further by the recent discomposingevents manifested itself in a disinclination to confidence. Mallalieu,whatever he thought, knew very well that he would never say what hethought to Cotherstone; Cotherstone knew precisely the same thing withregard to Mallalieu. But this silence bred irritation, and as the dayswent by the irritation became more than Cotherstone could bear. He was ahighly-strung, nervous man, quick to feel and to appreciate, and theaverted looks and monosyllabic remarks and replies of a man into whosecompany he could not avoid being thrown began to sting him to somethinglike madness. And one day, left alone in the office with Mallalieu whenStoner the clerk had gone to get his dinner, the irritation becameunbearable, and he turned on his partner in a sudden white heat ofungovernable and impotent anger.
"Hang you!" he hissed between his set teeth. "I believe you think I didthat job! And if you do, blast you, why don't you say so, and be donewith it?"
Mallalieu, who was standing on the hearth, warming his broad back at thefire, thrust his hands deeply into his pockets and lookedhalf-sneeringly at his partner out of his screwed-up eyes.
"I should advise you to keep yourself cool," he said with affectedquietness. "There's more than me'll think a good deal if you chance tolet yourself out like that."
"You do think it!" reiterated Cotherstone passionately. "Damn it, d'yethink I haven't noticed it? Always looking at me as if--as if----"
"Now then, keep yourself calm," interrupted Mallalieu. "I can look atyou or at any other, in any way I like, can't I? There's no need todistress yourself--I shan't give aught away. If you took it in your headto settle matters--as they were settled--well, I shan't say a word. Thatis unless--you understand?"
"Understand what?" screamed Cotherstone.
"Unless I'm obliged to," answered Mallalieu. "I should have to make itclear that I'd naught to do with that particular matter, d'ye see? Everyman for himself's a sound principle. But--I see no need. I don't believethere'll be any need. And it doesn't matter the value of that pen that'sshaking so in your hand to me if an innocent man suffers--if he'sinnocent o' that, he's guilty o' something else. You're safe with me."
Cotherstone flung the pen on the floor and stamped on it. And Mallalieulaughed cynically and walked slowly across to the door.
"You're a fool, Cotherstone," he said. "Go on a bit more like that, andyou'll let it all out to somebody 'at 'll not keep secrets as I can.Cool yourself, man, cool yourself!"
"Hang you!" shouted Cotherstone. "Mind I don't let something out aboutyou! Where were you that night, I should like to know? Or, rather, I doknow! You're no safer than I am! And if I told what I do know----"
Mallalieu, with his hand on the latch, turned and looked his partner inthe face--without furtiveness, for once.
"And if you told aught that you do, or fancy you know," he said quietly,"there'd be ruin in your home, you soft fool! I thought you wantedthings kept quiet for your lass's sake? Pshaw!--you're taking leave o'your senses!"
He walked out at that, and Cotherstone, shaking with anger, relapsedinto a chair and cursed his fate. And after a time he recovered himselfand began to think, and his thoughts turned instinctively to Lettie.
Mallalieu was right--of course, he was right! Anything that he,Cotherstone, could say or do in the way of bringing up the things thatmust be suppressed would ruin Lettie's chances. So, at any rate, itseemed to him. For Cotherstone's mind was essentially a worldly one, andit was beyond him to believe that an ambitious young man like WindleBent would care to ally himself with the daughter of an ex-convict. Bentwould have the best of excuses for breaking off all relations with theCotherstone family if the unpleasant truth came out. No!--whatever elsehe did, he must keep his secret safe until Bent and Lettie were safelymarried. That once accomplished, Cotherstone cared little about thefuture: Bent could not go back on his wife. And so Cotherstoneendeavoured to calm himself, so that he could scheme and plot, andbefore night came he paid a visit to his doctor, and when he went homethat evening, he had his plans laid.
Bent was with Lettie when Cotherstone got home, and Cotherstonepresently got the two of them into a little snuggery which he keptsacred to himself as a rule. He sat down in his easy chair, and signedto them to sit near him.
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"I'm glad I found you together," he said. "There's something I want tosay. There's no call for you to be frightened, Lettie--but what I've gotto say is serious. And I'll put it straight--Bent'll understand. Now,you'd arranged to get married next spring--six months hence. I want youto change your minds, and to let it be as soon as you can."
He looked with a certain eager wistfulness at Lettie, expecting to seeher start with surprise. But fond as he was of her, Cotherstone had sofar failed to grasp the later developments of his daughter's character.Lettie Cotherstone was not the sort of young woman who allows herself tobe surprised by anything. She was remarkably level-headed, cool ofthought, well able to take care of herself in every way, and fully aliveto the possibilities of her union with the rising young manufacturer.And instead of showing any astonishment, she quietly asked her fatherwhat he meant.
"I'll tell you," answered Cotherstone, greatly relieved to find thatboth seemed inclined to talk matters quietly over. "It's this--I've notbeen feeling as well as I ought to feel, lately. The fact is, Bent, I'vedone too much in my time. A man can work too hard, you know--and ittells on him in the end. So the doctor says, anyhow."
"The doctor!" exclaimed Lettie. "You haven't been to him?"
"Seen him this afternoon," replied Cotherstone. "Don't alarm yourself.But that's what he says--naught wrong, all sound, but--it's time Irested. Rest and change--complete change. And I've made up my mind--I'mgoing to retire from business. Why not? I'm a well-to-do man--betteroff than most folks 'ud think. I shall tell Mallalieu tomorrow. Yes--I'mresolved on it. And that done, I shall go and travel for a year ortwo--I've always wanted to go round the world. I'll go--that for astart, anyway. And the sooner the better, says the doctor. And----" herehe looked searchingly at his listeners--"I'd like to see you settledbefore I go. What?"
Lettie's calm and judicial character came out in the first words shespoke. She had listened carefully to Cotherstone; now she turned toBent.
"Windle," she said, as quietly as if she were asking the most casual ofquestions, "wouldn't it upset all your arrangements for next year? Yousee, father," she went on, turning to Cotherstone, "Windle had arrangedeverything. He was going to have the whole of the spring and summer awayfrom business; we were going on the Continent for six months. And thatwould have to be entirely altered and----"
"We could alter it," interrupted Bent. He was watching Cotherstoneclosely, and fancying that he saw a strained and eager look in his face,he decided that Cotherstone was keeping something back, and had not toldthem the full truth about his health.
"It's all a matter of arrangement. I could arrange to go away during thewinter, Lettie."
"But I don't want to travel in winter," objected Lettie. "Besides--I'vemade all my arrangements about my gowns and things."
"That can be arranged, too," said Bent. "The dressmaker can workovertime."
"That'll mean that everything will be hurried--and spoiled," repliedLettie. "Besides, I've arranged everything with my bridesmaids. Theycan't be expected to----"
"We can do without bridesmaids," replied Bent, laying his hand onLettie's arm. "If your father really feels that he's got to have therest and the change he spoke of, and wants us to be married first, why,then----"
"But there's nothing to prevent you having a rest and a change now,father," said Lettie. "Why not? I don't like my arrangements to bealtered--I had planned everything out so carefully. When we did fix onnext spring, Windle, I had only just time as it was!"
"Pooh!" said Bent. "We could get married the day after tomorrow if wewanted! Bridesmaids--gowns--all that sort of tomfoolery, what does itmatter?"
"It isn't tomfoolery," retorted Lettie. "If I am to be married I shouldlike to be married properly."
She got up, with a heightened colour and a little toss of her head, andleft the room, and the two men looked at each other.
"Talk to her, my lad," said Cotherstone at last. "Of course, girls thinksuch a lot of--of all the accompaniments, eh?"
"Yes, yes--it'll be all right," replied Bent. He tapped Cotherstone'sarm and gave him a searching look. "You're not keeping anythingback--about your health, are you?" he asked.
Cotherstone glanced at the door and sank his voice to a whisper.
"It's my heart!" he answered. "Over-strained--much over-strained, thedoctor says. Rest and change--imperative! But--not a word to Lettie,Bent. Talk her round--get it arranged. I shall feel safer--youunderstand?"
Bent was full of good nature, and though he understood to the full--itwas a natural thing, this anxiety of a father for his only child. Hepromised to talk seriously to Lettie at once about an early wedding. Andthat night he told Brereton of what had happened, and asked him if heknew how special licences can be got, and Brereton informed him of allhe knew on that point--and kept silence about one which to him wasbecoming deeply and seriously important.