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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.
He had not been Mayor of Highmarket for two years, a member of its Corporation for nearly twenty, without knowing all the ins-and-outs of that old Town Hall.
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.
Do you really mean to tell me that you haven't an idea of what all this means?" "Not an idea!" replied Avice. "Not the ghost of one." "Well we'll get these posters and handbills out, anyway, Mr. Brereton," said the solicitor. "Five hundred pounds is a good figure. Lord bless you! some of these Highmarket folk would sell their mothers for half that!
Whenever further funds are needed, all you need do is to insert an advertisement in the personal column of The Times newspaper in these words: Highmarket Exchequer needs replenishing, with your initials added. Allow me to suggest that you should at once offer a reward of £500 to whoever gives information which will lead to the capture and conviction of the real murderer or murderers.
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. The recollection of that stick plunged Mallalieu into another of his ague-like fits of shaking and trembling.
Mallalieu!" Christopher, his mouth full of sandwiches, and his hand laid on the decanter, lifted a face full of new and alert interest. "The Mayor!" he exclaimed. "Quite so," assented Miss Pett. "Anthony Mallalieu, Esquire, Mayor of Highmarket. They want him, does the police bad!" Christopher still remained transfixed.
It was sheer accident, of course, that I ever discovered it. But I know! Just consider what I do know. Consider, too, what you stand to lose. There's Mallalieu, so much respected that he's Mayor of this ancient borough for the second time. There's you so much trusted that you've been Borough Treasurer for years. You can't afford to let me tell the Highmarket folk that you two are ex-convicts!
And his Highmarket property and his share in the business only represented a part of Mallalieu's wealth. He could afford to do without all that he left behind him; it was a lot to leave, he sighed regretfully, but he would still be a very wealthy man if he never touched a pennyworth of it again.
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.
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