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Something about him, something in his attitude, the glance of his eye, seemed to indicate that he was the social superior of the policemen, uniformed or plain-clothed, who were watching him with speculative and slightly puzzled looks. "Well, and what's all this, now?" said Mallalieu coming to a halt and looking round. "What's he got to say, like?"
ALBERT, O.V. The House of Bondage; or Charlotte Brooks and other Slaves Original and Life-like as they appeared in their Plantation and City Slave Life; together with pen Pictures of the peculiar Institution, with Sights and Insights into their new Relations as Freedmen, Freemen, and Citizens, with an Introduction by Reverend Bishop Willard Mallalieu.
And he must help and innocent as he felt Harborough to be, he must set things going against Harborough his life was as naught, against the Mallalieu-Cotherstone safety. Mallalieu walked into the police-station, to find the sergeant just returned and in consultation with the superintendent, whom he had summoned to hear his report. Both turned inquiringly on the Mayor.
That Miss Pett had drugged him every night he now felt sure well, then, in that case how did he know that she hadn't entered his room and searched his belongings, and especially the precious waistcoat? Mallalieu had deposited that waistcoat in the same place every night on a chair which stood at the head of his bed.
Mallalieu, who was standing on the hearth, warming his broad back at the fire, thrust his hands deeply into his pockets and looked half-sneeringly at his partner out of his screwed-up eyes. "I should advise you to keep yourself cool," he said with affected quietness. "There's more than me'll think a good deal if you chance to let yourself out like that."
He came back to his house half an hour or so ago when it was just getting nicely light and two of our men that were there told him what was going on, and he appeared to come straight down with them. He says he knows naught, your Worship." "That's what you'd expect," remarked Mallalieu, drily. "He'd be a fool if he said aught else."
Cotherstone sat there a long time, thinking, reflecting, reckoning up things. The dusk had come; the darkness followed; he made no movement towards the gas bracket. Nothing mattered but his trouble. That must be dealt with. At all costs, Kitely's silence must be purchased aye, even if it cost him and Mallalieu one-half of what they had. And, of course, Mallalieu must be told at once.
They were now four hundred miles away from the scene of their crime. There was nothing whatever to bring Wilchester people into that northern country, nothing to take Highmarket folk anywhere near Wilchester. Neither he nor Mallalieu ever went far afield London they avoided with particular care, lest they should meet any one there who had known them in the old days.
Miss Pett did not take in a newspaper; Christopher invariably forgot to bring one in when he went to the town; twice, being pressed by Mallalieu to remember, he brought back The Times of the day before wherein, of course, Mallalieu failed to find anything about himself.
Cotherstone!" he repeated sarcastically. "Oh! Now which on us would you be inclined to fix it on, Mr. Stoner? Eh?" "May have been one, may have been the other, may have been both, for aught I know," retorted Stoner. "But you're both guilty, any way! It's no use, Mr. Mallalieu I know you killed him. And I know why!" Again there was silence, and again a duel of staring eyes.
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