CHAPTER XVII
THE MEDICAL OPINION
The recollection of that stick plunged Mallalieu into another of hisague-like fits of shaking and trembling. There was little sleep for himafter that: he spent most of the night in thinking, anticipating, andscheming. That stick would almost certainly be found, and it would befound near Stoner's body. A casual passer-by would not recognize it, amoorland shepherd would not recognize it. But the Highmarket police, towhom it would be handed, would know it at once to be the Mayor's: it wasone which Mallalieu carried almost every day--a plain, very stout oakstaff. And the police would want to know how it came to be in thatquarry. Curse it!--was ever anything so unfortunate!--however could hehave so far lost his head as to forget it? He was half tempted to risein the middle of the night and set out for the moors, to find it. Butthe night was dark, and solitary as the moors and the quarry where hedared not risk the taking of a lantern. And so he racked his brains inthe effort to think of some means of explaining the presence of thestick. He hit on a notion at last--remembering suddenly that Stoner hadcarried neither stick nor umbrella. If the stick were found he wouldsay that he had left it at the office on the Saturday, and that theclerk must have borrowed it. There was nothing unlikely in that: it wasa 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 aqueer thing if they didn't, in Mallalieu's opinion. And therewith hetried 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 hisinformation? Did anybody else know what Stoner knew? After muchreflection he decided that nobody but Stoner did know. Further reckoningup of matters gave him a theory as to how Stoner had got to know. He sawit all--according to his own idea. Stoner had overheard the conversationbetween old Kitely and Cotherstone in the private office, of course!That was it--he wondered he had never thought of it before. Between thepartners' private room and the outer office in which Stoner sat, therewas a little window in the wall; it had been specially made so thatpapers could be passed from one room to the other. And, of course, onthat 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 thereward was offered. Of course, his idea was blackmail--Mallalieu had nodoubt about that. No--all things considered, he did not believe thatStoner had shared his knowledge--Stoner would be too well convinced ofits value to share it with anybody. That conclusion comfortedMallalieu--once more he tried to sleep.
But his sleep was a poor thing that night, and he felt tired and wornwhen, as usual, he went early to the yard. He was there beforeCotherstone; when Cotherstone came, no more than a curt nod wasexchanged between them. They had never spoken to each other except onbusiness 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 theoffice he looked with an affectation of surprise at the clerk's emptydesk.
"Stoner not come?" he demanded curtly.
Cotherstone, who was turning over the leaves of an account book, repliedjust as curtly.
"Not yet!"
Mallalieu fidgeted about for a while, arranging some papers he hadbrought in from the yard. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation ofimpatience, 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'san 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; hecame back to the office ten minutes later, just as the messengerreturned.
"Well?" he demanded, with a side-glance to assure himself thatCotherstone was at hand. "Where is he, like?"
"Please, sir, Mrs. Battley, she says as how Mr. Stoner went away onSaturday afternoon, sir," answered the lad, "and he hasn't been homesince. 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 onStoner's desk. "Here--happen you'll attend to these things--they wantbooking up."
Cotherstone made no reply, and Mallalieu presently left him and wenthome to get his breakfast. And as he walked up the road to his house hewondered why Stoner had gone to Darlington. Was it possible that he hadcommunicated what he knew to any of his friends? If so----
"Confound the suspense and the uncertainty!" growled Mallalieu. "It 'udwear the life out of a man. I've a good mind to throw the whole thing upand clear out! I could do it easy enough wi' my means. A cleartrack--and no more o' this infernal anxiety."
He reflected, as he made a poor show of eating his breakfast, on theease with which he could get away from Highmarket and from England.Being a particularly astute man of business, Mallalieu had taken goodcare that all his eggs were not in one basket. He had many baskets--hisHighmarket basket was by no means the principal one. Indeed all thatMallalieu possessed in Highmarket was his share of the business and hisprivate house. As he had made his money he had invested it in easilyconvertible, gilt-edged securities, which would be realized at an hour'snotice in London or New York, Paris or Vienna. It would be the easiestthing in the world for him, as Mayor of Highmarket, to leave the town onCorporation business, and within a few hours to be where nobody couldfind him; within a few more, to be out of the country. Lately, he hadoften thought of going right away, to enjoy himself for the rest of hislife. He had made one complete disappearance already; why not makeanother? Before he went townwards again that morning, he was beginningto give serious attention to the idea.
Meanwhile, however, there was the business of the day to attend to, andStoner's absence threw additional work on the two partners. Then attwelve o'clock, Mallalieu had to go over to the Town Hall to preside ata meeting of the General Purposes Committee. That was just over, and hewas thinking of going home to his lunch when the superintendent ofpolice came into the committee-room and drew him aside.
"I've bad news for you, Mr. Mayor," he announced in a whisper. "Yourclerk--he hasn't been at work this morning, I suppose?"
"Well?" demanded Mallalieu, nerving himself for what he felt to becoming. "What about it?"
"He's met with a bad accident," replied the superintendent. "In fact,sir, he's dead! A couple of men found his body an hour or so ago inHobwick Quarry, up on the moor, and it's been brought down to themortuary. You'd better come round, Mr. Mayor--Mr. Cotherstone's there,now."
Mallalieu followed without a word. But once outside the Town Hall heturned to his companion.
"Have you made aught out of it?" he asked. "He's been away, so hislandlady says, since Saturday afternoon: I sent round to inquire for himwhen he didn't turn up this morning. What do you know, like?"
"It looks as if it had been an accident," answered the superintendent."These men that found him noticed some broken railings at top of thequarry. They looked down and saw a body. So they made their way down andfound--Stoner. It would seem as if he'd leaned or sat on the railingsand they'd given way beneath him, and of course he'd pitched headlonginto the quarry. It's fifty feet deep, Mr. Mayor! That's all one canthink of. But Dr. Rockcliffe's with him now."
Mallalieu made a mighty effort to appear calm, as, with a grave andconcerned face, he followed his guide into the place where the doctor,an official or two, and Cotherstone were grouped about the dead man. Hegave one glance at his partner and Cotherstone gave one swift look athim--and there was something in Cotherstone's look which communicated asudden sense of uneasy fear to Mallalieu: it was a look of curiousintelligence, almost a sort of signal. And Mallalieu experienced a vaguefeeling of dread as he turned to the doctor.
"A bad job--a bad job!" he muttered, shaking his head and glancingsideways at the body. "D'ye
make aught out of it, doctor? Can you sayhow it came about?"
Dr. Rockcliffe pursed up his lips and his face became inscrutable. Hekept silence for a moment--when he spoke his voice was unusually stern.
"The lad's neck is broken, and his spine's fractured," he said in a lowvoice. "Either of those injuries was enough to cause death. But--look atthat!"
He pointed to a contusion which showed itself with unmistakableplainness on the dead man's left temple, and again he screwed up hislips as if in disgust at some deed present only to the imagination.
"That's a blow!" he said, more sternly than before. "A blow from someblunt instrument! It was a savage blow, too, dealt with tremendousforce. It may--may, I say--have killed this poor fellow on the spot--hemay have been dead before ever he fell down that quarry."
It was only by an enormous effort of will that Mallalieu preventedhimself from yielding to one of his shaking fits.
"But--but mightn't he ha' got that with striking his head against themrocks as he fell?" he suggested. "It's a rocky place, that, and therocks project, like, so----"
"No!" said the doctor, doggedly. "That's no injury from any rock orstone or projection. It's the result of a particularly fierce blow dealtwith great force by some blunt instrument--a life preserver, a club, aheavy stick. It's no use arguing it. That's a certainty!"
Cotherstone, who had kept quietly in the background, ventured asuggestion.
"Any signs of his having been robbed?" he asked.
"No, sir," replied the superintendent promptly. "I've everything thatwas on him. Not much, either. Watch and chain, half a sovereign, someloose silver and copper, his pipe and tobacco, a pocket-book with aletter or two and such-like in it--that's all. There'd been no robbery."
"I suppose you took a look round?" asked Cotherstone. "See anything thatsuggested a struggle? Or footprints? Or aught of that sort?"
The superintendent shook his head.
"Naught!" he answered. "I looked carefully at the ground round thosebroken railings. But it's the sort of ground that wouldn't showfootprints, you know--covered with that short, wiry mountain grass thatshows nothing."
"And nothing was found?" asked Mallalieu. "No weapons, eh?"
For the life of him he could not resist asking that--his anxiety aboutthe stick was overmastering him. And when the superintendent and the twopolicemen who had been with him up to Hobwick Quarry had answered thatthey had found nothing at all, he had hard work to repress a sigh ofrelief. He presently went away hoping that the oak stick had fallen intoa crevice of the rocks or amongst the brambles which grew out of them;there was a lot of tangle-wood about that spot, and it was quitepossible that the stick, kicked violently away, had fallen where itwould never be discovered. And--there was yet a chance for him to makethat possible discovery impossible. Now that the body had been found, hehimself could visit the spot with safety, on the pretext of curiosity.He could look round; if he found the stick he could drop it into a safefissure of the rocks, or make away with it. It was a good notion--andinstead of going home to lunch Mallalieu turned into a private room ofthe Highmarket Arms, ate a sandwich and drank a glass of ale, andhurried off, alone, to the moors.
The news of this second mysterious death flew round Highmarket and theneighbourhood like wild-fire. Brereton heard of it during the afternoon,and having some business in the town in connexion with Harborough'sdefence, he looked in at the police-station and found the superintendentin an unusually grave and glum mood.
"This sort of thing's getting beyond me, Mr. Brereton," he said in awhisper. "Whether it is that I'm not used to such things--thank God!we've had little experience of violence in this place in my time!--orwhat it is, but I've got it into my head that this poor young fellow'sdeath's connected in some way with Kitely's affair! I have indeed,sir!--it's been bothering me all the afternoon. For all thedoctors--there's been several of 'em in during the last two hours--areabsolutely agreed that Stoner was felled, sir--felled by a savage blow,and they say he may ha' been dead before ever he fell over that quarryedge. Mr. Brereton--I misdoubt it's another murder!"
"Have you anything to go on?" asked Brereton. "Had anybody any motive?Was there any love affair--jealousy, you know--anything of that sort?"
"No, I'm sure there wasn't," replied the superintendent. "The whole townand county's ringing with the news, and I should ha' heard something bynow. And it wasn't robbery--not that he'd much on him, poor fellow!There's all he had," he went on, opening a drawer. "You can look at 'em,if you like."
He left the room just then, and Brereton, disregarding the cheap watchand chain and the pigskin purse with its light load, opened Stoner'spocket-book. There was not much in that, either--a letter or two, somereceipted bills, a couple of much creased copies of the reward bill,some cuttings from newspapers. He turned from these to the pocket-bookitself, and on the last written page he found an entry which made himstart. For there again were the initials!
"--_M. & C._--_fraud_--_bldg. soc._--_WilchesterAssizes_--_81_--_L2000_--money never recovered--2 yrs.--K. _pres._"
Not much--but Brereton hastily copied that entry. And he had justwritten the last word when the superintendent came back into the roomwith a man who was in railway uniform.
"Come in here," the superintendent was saying. "You can tell me what itis before this gentleman. Some news from High Gill junction, Mr.Brereton," he went on, "something about Stoner. Well, my lad, what isit?"
"The station-master sent me over on his bicycle," replied the visitor."We heard over there this afternoon about Stoner's body being found, andthat you were thinking he must have fallen over into the quarry in thedarkness. And we know over yonder that that's not likely."
"Aye?" said the superintendent. "Well, as a matter of fact, my lad, weweren't thinking that, but no doubt that rumour's got out. Now why doyou railway folks know it isn't likely?"
"That's what I've come to tell," answered the man, a sharp,intelligent-looking fellow. "I'm ticket-collector over there, as youknow, sir. Now, young Stoner came to the junction on Saturday afternoonand booked for Darlington, and of course went to Darlington. He cameback yesterday afternoon--Sunday--by the train that gets to our junctionat 3.3. I took his ticket. Instead of going out of the station by theordinary way, he got over the fence on the down line side, saying to methat he'd take a straight cut across the moor to Highmarket. I saw himgoing Highmarket way for some distance. And he'd be at Hobwick Quarry by4.30 at the latest--long before darkness."
"Just about sunset, as a matter of fact," remarked the superintendent."The sun sets about 4.18."
"So he couldn't have fallen over in the darkness," continued theticket-collector. "If all had gone well with him, he'd have been down inHighmarket here by dusk."
"I'm obliged to you," said the superintendent. "It's worth knowing, ofcourse. Came from Darlington, eh? Was he alone?"
"Quite alone, sir."
"You didn't see anybody else going that way across the moors, did you?Didn't notice anybody following him?"
"No," replied the ticket-collector with decision. "Me and one of mymates watched him a long way, and I'll swear there was no one near himtill he was out of sight. We didn't watch him on purpose, neither. Whenthe down-train had gone, me and my mate sat down to smoke our pipes, andfrom where we were we could see right across the moors in thisdirection. We saw Stoner--now and then, you understand--right away toChat Bank."
"You didn't notice any suspicious characters come to your station thatafternoon or evening?" asked the superintendent.
The ticket-collector replied that nothing of that sort had been seen,and he presently went away. And Brereton, after an unimportant word ortwo, went away too, certain by that time that the death of Stoner hadsome sinister connexion with the murder of Kitely.