The Borough Treasurer

  CHAPTER X

  THE HOLE IN THE THATCH

  Bent, taking his guest home to dinner after the police-courtproceedings, showed a strong and encouraging curiosity. He, in commonwith all the rest of the townsfolk who had contrived to squeeze into theold court-house, had been immensely interested in Brereton's examinationof Miss Pett. Now he wanted to know what it meant, what it signified,what was its true relation to the case?

  "You don't mean to say that you suspect that queer old atomy of awoman!" he exclaimed incredulously as they sat down to Bent's bachelortable. "And yet--you really looked as if you did--and contrived to throwsomething very like it into your voice, too! Man, alive!--half theHighmarket wiseacres'll be sitting down to their roast mutton at thisminute in the full belief that Miss Pett strangled her master!"

  "Well, and why not?" asked Brereton, coolly. "Surely, if you face facts,there's just as much reason to suspect Miss Pett as there is to suspectHarborough. They're both as innocent as you are, in all probability.Granted there's some nasty evidence against Harborough, there's also thepresumption--founded on words from her own lips--that Miss Pett expectsto benefit by this old man's death. She's a strong and wiry woman, andyou tell me Kitely was getting somewhat enfeebled--she might have killedhim, you know. Murders, my dear fellow, are committed by the mostunlikely people, and for curious reasons: they have been committed byquite respectable females--like Miss Pett--for nothing but a mere whim."

  "Do you really suspect her?" demanded Bent. "That's what I want toknow."

  "That's what I shan't tell you," replied Brereton, with a good-humouredlaugh. "All I shall tell you is that I believe this murder to be eitheran exceedingly simple affair, or a very intricate affair. Wait alittle--wait, for instance, until Mr. Christopher Pett arrives with thatwill. Then we shall advance a considerable stage."

  "I'm sorry for Avice Harborough, anyway," remarked Bent, "and it'sutterly beyond me to imagine why her father can't say where he was lastnight. I suppose there'd be an end of the case if he'd prove where hewas, eh?"

  "He'd have to account for every minute between nine and ten o'clock,"answered Brereton. "It would be no good, for instance, if we proved to ajury that from say ten o'clock until five o'clock next morning,Harborough was at--shall we say your county town, Norcaster. You may sayit would take Harborough an hour to get from here to Norcaster, and anhour to return, and that would account for his whereabouts between nineand ten last night, and between five and six this morning. That wouldn'tdo--because, according to the evidence, Kitely left his house justbefore nine o'clock, and he may have been killed immediately. SupposingHarborough killed him at nine o'clock precisely, Harborough would eventhen be able to arrive in Norcaster by ten. What we want to know, inorder to fully establish Harborough's innocence is--where was he, whatwas he doing, from the moment he left his cottage last night until say aquarter past nine, the latest moment at which, according to what thedoctor said, the murder could have been committed?"

  "Off on one of his poaching expeditions, I suppose," said Bent.

  "No--that's not at all likely," answered Brereton. "There's some verystrange mystery about that man, and I'll have to get at the truth ofit--in spite of his determined reticence! Bent!--I'm going to see thisthing right through! The Norcaster Assizes will be on next month, and ofcourse Harborough will be brought up then. I shall stop in thisneighbourhood and work out the case--it'll do me a lot of good in allsorts of ways--experience--work--the interest in it--and the _kudos_ Ishall win if I get my man off--as I will! So I shall unashamedly ask youto give me house-room for that time."

  "Of course," replied Bent. "The house is yours--only too glad, old chap.But what a queer case it is! I'd give something, you know, to know whatyou really think about it."

  "I've not yet settled in my own mind what I do think about it," saidBrereton. "But I'll suggest a few things to you which you can think overat your leisure. What motive could Harborough have had for killingKitely? There's abundant testimony in the town--from his daughter, fromneighbours, from tradesmen--that Harborough was never short ofmoney--he's always had more money than most men in his position aresupposed to have. Do you think it likely that he'd have killed Kitelyfor thirty pounds? Again--does anybody of sense believe that a man ofHarborough's evident ability would have murdered his victim so clumsilyas to leave a direct clue behind him? Now turn to another side. Is itnot evident that if Miss Pett wanted to murder Kitely she'd excellentchances of not only doing so, but of directing suspicion to anotherperson? She knew her master's habits--she knew the surroundings--sheknew where Harborough kept that cord--she is the sort of person whocould steal about as quietly as a cat. If--as may be established by thewill which her nephew has, and of which, in spite of all she affirmed,or, rather, swore, she may have accurate knowledge--she benefits byKitely's death, is there not motive there? Clearly, Miss Pett is to besuspected!"

  "Do you mean to tell me that she'd kill old Kitely just to getpossession of the bit he had to leave?" asked Bent incredulously. "Come,now,--that's a stiff proposition."

  "Not to me," replied Brereton. "I've known of a case in which a youngwife carefully murdered an old husband because she was so eager to getout of the dull life she led with him that she couldn't wait a year ortwo for his natural decease; I've heard of a case in which an elderlywoman poisoned her twin-sister, so that she could inherit her share ofan estate and go to live in style at Brighton. I don't want to do MissPett any injustice, but I say that there are grounds for suspectingher--and they may be widened."

  "Then it comes to this," said Bent. "There are two people undersuspicion: Harborough's suspected by the police--Miss Pett's suspectedby you. And it may be, and probably is, the truth that both are entirelyinnocent. In that case, who's the guilty person?"

  "Ah, who indeed?" assented Brereton, half carelessly. "That is aquestion. But my duty is to prove that my client is not guilty. And asyou're going to attend to your business this afternoon, I'll do a littleattending to mine by thinking things over."

  When Bent had gone away to the town, Brereton lighted a cigar, stretchedhimself in an easy chair in front of a warm fire in his host'ssmoking-room, and tried to think clearly. He had said to Bent all thatwas in his mind about Harborough and about Miss Pett--but he had saidnothing, had been determined to say nothing, about a curious thought, anunformed, vague suspicion which was there. It was that as yet formlesssuspicion which occupied all his mental powers now--he put Harboroughand Miss Pett clean away from him.

  And as he sat there, he asked himself first of all--why had this curiousdoubt about two apparently highly-respectable men of this little,out-of-the-world town come into his mind? He traced it back to its firstsource--Cotherstone. Brereton was a close observer of men; it was hisnatural instinct to observe, and he was always giving it a furthertraining and development. He had felt certain as he sat at supper withhim, the night before, that Cotherstone had something in his thoughtswhich was not of his guests, his daughter, or himself. His wholebehaviour suggested pre-occupation, occasional absent-mindedness: onceor twice he obviously did not hear the remarks which were addressed tohim. He had certainly betrayed some curious sort of confusion whenKitely's name was mentioned. And he had manifested great astonishment,been much upset, when Garthwaite came in with the news of Kitely'sdeath.

  Now here came in what Brereton felt to be the all-important, thecritical point of this, his first attempt to think things out. He wasnot at all sure that Cotherstone's astonishment on hearing Garthwaite'sannouncement was not feigned, was not a piece of pure acting. Why? Hesmiled cynically as he answered his own question. The answerwas--_Because when Cotherstone, Garthwaite, Bent, and Brereton set outfrom Cotherstone's house to look at the dead man's body, Cotherstone ledthe way straight to it_.

  How did Cotherstone know exactly where, in that half-mile of woodedhill-side, the murder had been committed of which he had only heard fiveminutes before? Yet, he led them all to within a few yards of the deadman, until he suddenly checked himself, thrust
the lantern intoGarthwaite's hands and said that of course he didn't know where the bodywas! Now might not that really mean, when fully analyzed, that even ifCotherstone did not kill Kitely himself during the full hour in whichhe was absent from his house he knew that Kitely had been killed, andwhere--and possibly by whom?

  Anyway, here were certain facts--and they had to be reckoned with.Kitely was murdered about a quarter-past nine o'clock. Cotherstone wasout of his house from ten minutes to nine o'clock until five minutes toten. He was clearly excited when he returned: he was more excited whenhe went with the rest of them up the wood. Was it not probable thatunder the stress of that excitement he forgot his presence of mind, andmechanically went straight to the all-important spot?

  So much for that. But there was something more. Mallalieu wasCotherstone's partner. Mallalieu went to Northrop's house to play cardsat ten o'clock. It might be well to find out, quietly, what Mallalieuwas doing with himself up to ten o'clock. But the main thing was--whatwas Cotherstone doing during that hour of absence? And--had Cotherstoneany reason--of his own, or shared with his partner--for wishing to getrid of Kitely?

  Brereton sat thinking all these things over until he had finished hiscigar; he then left Bent's house and strolled up into the woods of theShawl. He wanted to have a quiet look round the scene of the murder. Hehad not been up there since the previous evening; it now occurred to himthat it would be well to see how the place looked by daylight. There wasno difficulty about finding the exact spot, even in those close covertsof fir and pine; a thin line of inquisitive sightseers was threading itsway up the Shawl in front of him, each of its units agog to see theplace where a fellow-being had been done to death.

  But no one could get at the precise scene of the murder. The police hadroped a portion of the coppice off from the rest, and two or threeconstables in uniform were acting as guards over this enclosed space,while a couple of men in plain clothes, whom Brereton by that time knewto be detectives from Norcaster, were inside it, evidently searching theground with great care. Round and about the fenced-in portion stoodtownsfolk, young and old, talking, speculating, keenly alive to thegoings-on, hoping that the searchers would find something just then, sothat they themselves could carry some sensational news back to the townand their own comfortable tea-tables. Most of them had been in oroutside the Court House that morning and recognized Brereton and madeway for him as he advanced to the ropes. One of the detectivesrecognized him, too, and invited him to step inside.

  "Found anything?" asked Brereton, who was secretly wondering why thepolice should be so foolish as to waste time in a search which wasalmost certain to be non-productive.

  "No, sir--we've been chiefly making out for certain where the actualmurder took place before the dead man was dragged behind that rock,"answered the detective. "As far as we can reckon from the disturbance ofthese pine needles, the murderer must have sprung on Kitely from behindthat clump of gorse--there where it's grown to such a height--and thendragged him here, away from that bit of a path. No--we've foundnothing. But I suppose you've heard of the find at Harborough'scottage?"

  "No!" exclaimed Brereton, startled out of his habitual composure. "Whatfind?"

  "Some of our people made a search there as soon as the police-courtproceedings were over," replied the detective. "It was the first chancethey'd had of doing anything systematically. They found the bank-noteswhich Kitely got at the Bank yesterday evening, and a quantity ofletters and papers that we presume had been in that empty pocket-book.They were all hidden in a hole in the thatch of Harborough's shed."

  "Where are they?" asked Brereton.

  "Down at the police-station--the superintendent has them," answered thedetective. "He'd show you them, sir, if you care to go down."

  Brereton went off to the police-station at once and was shown into thesuperintendent's office without delay. That official immediately drewopen a drawer of his desk and produced a packet folded in brown paper.

  "I suppose this is what you want to see, Mr. Brereton," he said. "Iguess you've heard about the discovery? Shoved away in a rat-hole in thethatch of Harborough's shed these were, sir--upon my honour, I don'tknow what to make of it! You'd have thought that a man of Harborough'ssense and cleverness would never have put these things there, where theywere certain to be found."

  "I don't believe Harborough did put them there," said Brereton. "Butwhat are they?"

  The superintendent motioned his visitor to sit by him and then openedthe papers out on his desk.

  "Not so much," he answered. "Three five-pound notes--I've proved thatthey're those which poor Kitely got at the bank yesterday. A number ofletters--chiefly about old books, antiquarian matters, and soforth--some scraps of newspaper cuttings, of the same nature. And thisbit of a memorandum book, that fits that empty pocket-book we found,with pencil entries in it--naught of any importance. Look 'em over, ifyou like, Mr. Brereton. I make nothing out of 'em."

  Brereton made nothing out either, at first glance. The papers were justwhat the superintendent described them to be, and he went rapidlythrough them without finding anything particularly worthy of notice. Butto the little memorandum book he gave more attention, especially to therecent entries. And one of these, made within the last three months,struck him as soon as he looked at it, insignificant as it seemed to be.It was only of one line, and the one line was only of a few initials, anabbreviation or two, and a date: _M. & C. v. S. B. cir. 81_. And whythis apparently innocent entry struck Brereton was because he was stillthinking as an under-current to all this, of Mallalieu andCotherstone--and M. and C. were certainly the initials of those not toocommon names.