CHAPTER III
MURDER
When Mallalieu had gone, Cotherstone gathered up the papers which hisclerk had brought in, and sitting down at his desk tried to give hisattention to them. The effort was not altogether a success. He had hopedthat the sharing of the bad news with his partner would bring somerelief to him, but his anxieties were still there. He was always seeingthat queer, sinister look in Kitely's knowing eyes: it suggested that aslong as Kitely lived there would be no safety. Even if Kitely kept hisword, kept any compact made with him, he would always have the twopartners under his thumb. And for thirty years Cotherstone had beenunder no man's thumb, and the fear of having a master was hateful tohim. He heartily wished that Kitely was dead--dead and buried, and hissecret with him; he wished that it had been anywise possible to havecrushed the life out of him where he sat in that easy chair as soon ashe had shown himself the reptile that he was. A man might kill anypoisonous insect, any noxious reptile at pleasure--why not a humanblood-sucker like that?
He sat there a long time, striving to give his attention to his papers,and making a poor show of it. The figures danced about before him; hecould make neither head nor tail of the technicalities in thespecifications and estimates; every now and then fits of abstractioncame over him, and he sat drumming the tips of his fingers on hisblotting-pad, staring vacantly at the shadows in the far depths of theroom, and always thinking--thinking of the terrible danger ofrevelation. And always, as an under-current, he was saying that forhimself he cared naught--Kitely could do what he liked, or would havedone what he liked, had there only been himself to think for.But--Lettie! All his life was now centred in her, and in her happiness,and Lettie's happiness, he knew, was centred in the man she was going tomarry. And Cotherstone, though he believed that he knew men pretty well,was not sure that he knew Windle Bent sufficiently to feel sure that hewould endure a stiff test. Bent was ambitious--he was resolved on acareer. Was he the sort of man to stand the knowledge which Kitely mightgive him? For there was always the risk that whatever he and Mallalieumight do, Kitely, while there was breath in him, might split.
A sudden ringing at the bell of the telephone in the outer office madeCotherstone jump in his chair as if the arresting hand of justice hadsuddenly been laid on him. In spite of himself he rose trembling, andthere were beads of perspiration on his forehead as he walked across theroom.
"Nerves!" he muttered to himself. "I must be in a queer way to be takenlike that. It won't do!--especially at this turn. What is it?" hedemanded, going to the telephone. "Who is that?"
His daughter's voice, surprised and admonitory, came to him along thewire.
"Is that you, father?" she exclaimed. "What are you doing? Don't youremember you asked Windle, and his friend Mr. Brereton, to supper ateight o'clock. It's a quarter to eight now. Do come home!"
Cotherstone let out an exclamation which signified annoyance. The eventof the late afternoon had completely driven it out of his recollectionthat Windle Bent had an old school-friend, a young barrister fromLondon, staying with him, and that both had been asked to supper thatevening at Cotherstone's house. But Cotherstone's annoyance was notbecause of his own forgetfulness, but because his present abstractionmade him dislike the notion of company.
"I'd forgotten--for the moment," he called. "I've been very busy. Allright, Lettie--I'm coming on at once. Shan't be long."
But when he had left the telephone he made no haste. He lingered by hisdesk; he was slow in turning out the gas; slow in quitting and lockingup his office; he went slowly away through the town. Nothing could havebeen further from his wishes than a desire to entertain company thatnight--and especially a stranger. His footsteps dragged as he passedthrough the market-place and turned into the outskirts beyond.
Some years previously to this, when they had both married and mademoney, the two partners had built new houses for themselves. OutsideHighmarket, on its western boundary, rose a long, low hill calledHighmarket Shawl; the slope which overhung the town was thickly coveredwith fir and pine, amidst which great masses of limestone crag juttedout here and there. At the foot of this hill, certain plots of buildingland had been sold, and Mallalieu had bought one and Cotherstoneanother, and on these they had erected two solid stone houses, fitted upwith all the latest improvements known to the building trade. Each wasproud of his house; each delighted in welcoming friends andacquaintances there--this was the first night Cotherstone could rememberon which it was hateful to him to cross his own threshold. The lightedwindows, the smell of good things cooked for supper, brought him nosense of satisfaction; he had to make a distinct effort to enter and topresent a face of welcome to his two guests, who were already there,awaiting him.
"Couldn't get in earlier," he said, replying to Lettie's half-anxious,half-playful scoldings. "There was some awkward business turned up thisevening--and as it is, I shall have to run away for an hour aftersupper--can't be helped. How do you do, sir?" he went on, giving hishand to the stranger. "Glad to see you in these parts--you'll find thisa cold climate after London, I'm afraid."
He took a careful look at Bent's friend as they all sat down tosupper--out of sheer habit of inspecting any man who was new to him. Andafter a glance or two he said to himself that this young limb of the lawwas a sharp chap--a keen-eyed, alert, noticeable fellow, whose everyaction and tone denoted great mental activity. He was sharper than Bent,said Cotherstone, and in his opinion, that was saying a good deal.Bent's ability was on the surface; he was an excellent specimen of thebusiness man of action, who had ideas out of the common but was not somuch given to deep and quiet thinking as to prompt doing of thingsquickly decided on. He glanced from one to the other, mentally comparingthem. Bent was a tall, handsome man, blonde, blue-eyed, ready of wordand laugh; Brereton, a medium-sized, compact fellow, dark of hair andeye, with an olive complexion that almost suggested foreign origin: thesort, decided Cotherstone, that thought a lot and said little. Andforcing himself to talk he tried to draw the stranger out, watching him,too, to see if he admired Lettie. For it was one of Cotherstone'sgreatest joys in life to bring folk to his house and watch the effectwhich his pretty daughter had on them, and he was rewarded now in seeingthat the young man from London evidently applauded his friend's choiceand paid polite tribute to Lettie's charm.
"And what might you have been doing with Mr. Brereton since he got downyesterday?" asked Cotherstone. "Showing him round, of course?"
"I've been tormenting him chiefly with family history," answered Bent,with a laughing glance at his sweetheart. "You didn't know I was rakingup everything I could get hold of about my forbears, did you? Oh, I'vebeen busy at that innocent amusement for a month past--old Kitely put meup to it."
Cotherstone could barely repress an inclination to start in his chair;he himself was not sure that he did not show undue surprise.
"What!" he exclaimed. "Kitely? My tenant? What does he know about yourfamily? A stranger!"
"Much more than I do," replied Bent. "The old chap's nothing to do, youknow, and since he took up his abode here he's been spending all histime digging up local records--he's a good bit of an antiquary, and thatsort of thing. The Town Clerk tells me Kitely's been through nearly allthe old town documents--chests full of them! And Kitely told me one daythat if I liked he'd trace our pedigree back to I don't know when, andas he seemed keen, I told him to go ahead. He's found out a lot ofinteresting things in the borough records that I never heard of."
Cotherstone had kept his eyes on his plate while Bent was talking; hespoke now without looking up.
"Oh?" he said, trying to speak unconcernedly. "Ah!--then you'll havebeen seeing a good deal of Kitely lately?"
"Not so much," replied Bent. "He's brought me the result of his work nowand then--things he's copied out of old registers, and so on."
"And what good might it all amount to?" asked Cotherstone, more for thesake of talking than for any interest he felt. "Will it come to aught?"
"Bent wants to trace his family history back to the
Conquest," observedBrereton, slyly. "He thinks the original Bent came over with theConqueror. But his old man hasn't got beyond the Tudor period yet."
"Never mind!" said Bent. "There were Bents in Highmarket in Henry theSeventh's time, anyhow. And if one has a pedigree, why not have itproperly searched out? He's a keen old hand at that sort of thing,Kitely. The Town Clerk says he can read some of our borough charters ofsix hundred years ago as if they were newspaper articles."
Cotherstone made no remark on that. He was thinking. So Kitely was inclose communication with Bent, was he?--constantly seeing him, beingemployed by him? Well, that cut two ways. It showed that up to now hehad taken no advantage of his secret knowledge and might therefore beconsidered as likely to play straight if he were squared by the twopartners. But it also proved that Bent would probably believe anythingthat Kitely might tell him. Certainly Kitely must be dealt with at once.He knew too much, and was obviously too clever, to be allowed to goabout unfettered. Cost what it might, he must be attached to theMallalieu-Cotherstone interest. And what Cotherstone was concentratingon just then, as he ate and drank, was--how to make that attachment insuch a fashion that Kitely would have no option but to keep silence. Ifonly he and Mallalieu could get a hold on Kitely, such as that which hehad on them----
"Well," he said as supper came to an end, "I'm sorry, but I'm forced toleave you gentlemen for an hour, at any rate--can't be helped. Lettie,you must try to amuse 'em until I come back. Sing Mr. Brereton some ofyour new songs. Bent--you know where the whisky and the cigars are--helpyourselves--make yourselves at home."
"You won't be more than an hour, father?" asked Lettie.
"An hour'll finish what I've got to do," replied Cotherstone, "maybeless--I'll be as quick as I can, anyway, my lass."
He hurried off without further ceremony; a moment later and he hadexchanged the warmth and brightness of his comfortable dining-room forthe chill night and the darkness. And as he turned out of his garden hewas thinking still further and harder. So Windle Bent was one of thosechaps who have what folk call family pride, was he? Actually proud ofthe fact that he had a pedigree, and could say who his grandfather andgrandmother were?--things on which most people were as hazy as they wereindifferent. In that case, if he was really family-proud, all the morereason why Kitely should be made to keep his tongue still. For if WindleBent was going on the game of making out that he was a man of family, hecertainly would not relish the prospect of uniting his ancient bloodwith that of a man who had seen the inside of a prison.Kitely!--promptly and definitely--and for _good_!--that was the ticket.
Cotherstone went off into the shadows of the night--and a good hour hadpassed when he returned to his house. It was then ten o'clock; heafterwards remembered that he glanced at the old grandfather clock inhis hall when he let himself in. All was very quiet in there; he openedthe drawing-room door to find the two young men and Lettie sitting overa bright fire, and Brereton evidently telling the other two some story,which he was just bringing to a conclusion.
" ... for it's a fact, in criminal practice," Brereton was saying, "thatthere are no end of undiscovered crimes--there are any amount of guiltymen going about free as the air, and----"
"Hope you've been enjoying yourselves," said Cotherstone, going forwardto the group. "I've been as quick as I could."
"Mr. Brereton has been telling us most interesting stories aboutcriminals," said Lettie. "Facts--much stranger than fiction!"
"Then I'm sure it's time he'd something to refresh himself with," saidCotherstone hospitably. "Come away, gentlemen, and we'll see if we can'tfind a drop to drink and a cigar to smoke."
He led the way to the dining-room and busied himself in bringing outsome boxes of cigars from a cupboard while Lettie produced decanters andglasses from the sideboard.
"So you're interested in criminal matters, sir?" observed Cotherstone ashe offered Brereton a cigar. "Going in for that line, eh?"
"What practice I've had has been in that line," answered Brereton, witha quiet laugh. "One sort of gets pitchforked into these things, youknow, so----"
"What's that?" exclaimed Lettie, who was just then handing the youngbarrister a tumbler of whisky and soda which Bent had mixed for him."Somebody running hurriedly up the drive--as if something had happened!Surely you're not going to be fetched out again, father?"
A loud ringing of the bell prefaced the entrance of some visitor, whosevoice was heard in eager conversation with a parlourmaid in the hall.
"That's your neighbour--Mr. Garthwaite," said Bent.
Cotherstone set down the cigars and opened the dining-room door. Ayoungish, fresh-coloured man, who looked upset and startled, came out ofthe hall, glancing round him inquiringly.
"Sorry to intrude, Mr. Cotherstone," he said. "I say!--that oldgentleman you let the cottage to--Kitely, you know."
"What of him?" demanded Cotherstone sharply.
"He's lying there in the coppice above your house--I stumbled over himcoming through there just now," replied Garthwaite. "He--don't befrightened, Miss Cotherstone--he's--well, there's no doubt of it--he'sdead! And----"
"And--what?" asked Cotherstone. "What, man? Out with it!"
"And I should say, murdered!" said Garthwaite. "I--yes, I just sawenough to say that. Murdered--without a doubt!"