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"But, listen here Rellit says he'd swear a solemn oath that nobody but himself ever sold an electric torch in Highmarket. And he's only sold to three persons to the Vicar's son; to Mr. Mallalieu; and to Jack Harborough!" For a moment Brereton and the superintendent looked at each other in silence.
"The inquest on Stoner is tomorrow," replied Cotherstone. "You be there and see and hear what happens." All of Highmarket population that could cram itself into the Coroner's court was there next day when the adjourned inquest on the clerk's death was held.
Mallalieu stared at David Myler as if he would tear whatever secret he had out of him with a searching glance. Who was David Myler? No Highmarket man that was certain. Who was he, then? what did he know? was he some detective who had been privately working up this case? A cool, quiet, determined-looking young fellow, anyway. Confound him! But what had he to do with this?
He could look round; if he found the stick he could drop it into a safe fissure of the rocks, or make away with it. It was a good notion and instead of going home to lunch Mallalieu turned into a private room of the Highmarket Arms, ate a sandwich and drank a glass of ale, and hurried off, alone, to the moors.
But Stoner was a young man of tastes. He liked to dress well. He liked to play cards and billiards. He liked to take a drink or two at the Highmarket taverns of an evening, and to be able to give his favourite barmaids boxes of chocolate or pairs of gloves now and then judiciously. And he found his salary not at all too great, and he was always on the look-out for a chance of increasing it.
Now then," he went on as the two settled themselves by the hearth, "I want a bit of a straight talk with you. You know me we've been friends. I want you to tell me, straight, plain, truthful what are Highmarket folk thinking and saying about me? Come!" The superintendent's face clouded and he shook his head. "Well, you know what folks will be, Mr. Cotherstone!" he answered.
Nobody but an absolute fool, a consummate idiot, thought Cotherstone, would have done a thing like that. The man who flies is the man who has reason to fly that was Cotherstone's opinion, and in his belief ninety-nine out of every hundred persons in Highmarket would share it.
"And you know how very ready to say nasty things these Highmarket people are. I'm not a Highmarket man myself, any more than you are, and I've always regarded 'em as very bitter-tongued folk, and so " "Out with it!" said Cotherstone. "Let's know the truth never mind what tongues it comes from. What are they saying?"
It never entered his head that the prisoner would try to escape, never crossed his mind that Mallalieu had any chance of escaping. He went away along the corridor to find one of his men who could be dispatched to the Highmarket Arms. But the instant Mallalieu was left alone he started into action.
That was another piece of luck, for Stoner was quite certain that if Cotherstone had ever had any connexion with Wilchester it must have been a long, long time ago: he knew, from information acquired, that Cotherstone had been a fixture in Highmarket for thirty years.
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