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But we'll make a fresh start with this reward if your father's solicitor approves." The solicitor did approve strongly. And he opened his eyes to their widest extent when he read the anonymous letter and saw the bank-notes. "Your father," he observed to Avice, "is the most mysterious man I ever heard of! The Kitely mystery, in my opinion, is nothing to the Harborough mystery.
He's a keen old hand at that sort of thing, Kitely. The Town Clerk says he can read some of our borough charters of six hundred years ago as if they were newspaper articles." Cotherstone made no remark on that. He was thinking. So Kitely was in close communication with Bent, was he? constantly seeing him, being employed by him? Well, that cut two ways.
It was abundantly clear to him by that time that Kitely and Stoner had been in possession of a secret: it seemed certain that both had been murdered by some person who desired to silence them. There was no possible doubt as to Kitely's murder: from what Brereton had heard that afternoon there seemed to be just as little doubt that Stoner had also been murdered.
The superintendent motioned his visitor to sit by him and then opened the papers out on his desk. "Not so much," he answered. "Three five-pound notes I've proved that they're those which poor Kitely got at the bank yesterday. A number of letters chiefly about old books, antiquarian matters, and so forth some scraps of newspaper cuttings, of the same nature.
Yes that had been a shock, right enough, he muttered to himself, and not all the whisky in the world would drive it out of him. But a drink neat and stiff would pull his nerves up to pitch, and so he drank, once, twice, and sat down with the glass in his hand to think still more. That old Kitely was shrewd shrewd!
For there was always the risk that whatever he and Mallalieu might do, Kitely, while there was breath in him, might split. A sudden ringing at the bell of the telephone in the outer office made Cotherstone jump in his chair as if the arresting hand of justice had suddenly been laid on him.
"Don't alarm yourself, mister," she said. "All's safe, and here's something that'll do you good a cup of nice hot coffee real Mocha, to which the late Kitely was partial with a drop o'rum in it. Drink it and you shall have your breakfast in half an hour. It's past nine o'clock." "I must have slept very sound," said Mallalieu, following his gaoler's orders. "You say all's safe?
"The Dodson & Fogg type of legal practitioner is by no means extinct. I should much like to know a good deal more about his various dealings with Kitely. We shall see and hear more about them, however later on. For the present there are other matters." He changed the subject then to something utterly apart from the murder and its mystery.
In other words, he's the man with whom Harborough was in company during the evening and the greater part of the night on which Kitely was murdered." "I thought so," said Brereton. He looked reflectively at Mr. Wraythwaite. "But why did you not come forward at once?" he asked. "My advice my advice!" exclaimed Carfax hastily. "I'm going to explain the reasons.
Why should they else have treated domestic jealousy as a foible for ridicule, rather than a subject for deep passion? Their tragic drama exhibits no Othello, nor their comedy a Kitely, or a Suspicious Husband. Molière, while his own heart was the victim, conformed to the national taste, by often placing the object on its comic side.
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