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Why to show these Highmarket folks that they're wrong!" The superintendent sighed. He was a plain, honest, simple man, and Cotherstone's reason seemed a strange even a wicked one to him. To tell the truth merely to spite one's neighbour a poor, poor reason, when there was life at stake. "Aye, Mr. Cotherstone, but you ought to tell the truth in any case!" he said.
Mallalieu!" whispered Christopher mysteriously when he had shut the door. "Everything's against you, sir. It's all centring and fastening on you. What do you think happened? Cotherstone's discharged!" "What!" exclaimed Mallalieu, jumping in his chair. "Discharged! Why, then, they'd have discharged me!" Christopher laid his finger on the side of his nose. "Would they?" he said with a knowing wink.
Looks so, anyway." "You know that Kitely was present at that trial?" suggested Tallington, who, like Brereton, was beginning to be mystified by Cotherstone's coolness. "Well," answered Cotherstone, with a shake of his head, "I know now. But I never did know until that afternoon of the day on which the old man was murdered.
Stoner emerged from Mallalieu & Cotherstone's office at his usual hour of half-past five on the afternoon of the day on which the reward bills were put out. It was his practice to drop in at the Grey Mare Inn every evening on his way to his supper, there to drink a half-pint of bitter ale and hear the news of the day from various cronies who were to be met with in the bar-parlour.
It had been Cotherstone's life-long endeavour to forget all about the event of thirty years ago, and to a large extent he had succeeded in dulling his memory. But Kitely had brought it all back and now everything was fresh to him. His brows knitted and his face grew dark as he thought of one thing in his past of which Kitely had spoken so easily and glibly the dock.
It had grown stronger as events had developed; it was still stronger now as they stood outside the dead man's cottage, the light from the open door and the white-curtained window falling on Cotherstone's excited face. Cotherstone, it seemed to Brereton, was unduly eager about something he might almost be said to be elated. All of his behaviour was odd.
Stoner had noticed his employer's thoughtful attitude, the gloom in which Cotherstone sat, the decanter on the table, the glass in Cotherstone's hand, and he knew that Cotherstone was telling a fib when he said he had been asleep.
Yet Stoner had written down in his pocket-book an entry which was no more and no less than a précis of the absolute facts. Somehow, somewhere, Stoner had made himself fully acquainted with Mallalieu and Cotherstone's secret. Did Stoner's death arise out of a knowledge of that secret? On the face of things there could be little doubt that it did.
For it was one of Cotherstone's greatest joys in life to bring folk to his house and watch the effect which his pretty daughter had on them, and he was rewarded now in seeing that the young man from London evidently applauded his friend's choice and paid polite tribute to Lettie's charm. "And what might you have been doing with Mr. Brereton since he got down yesterday?" asked Cotherstone.
First of all, Cotherstone gives evidence at that inquest: on his evidence a verdict of murder is returned against you! Now Cotherstone's discharged by the magistrates no further evidence being offered against him. Why? So that he can give evidence before the magistrates and at the Assizes against you! That is when you're caught." "They've got to catch me yet," growled Mallalieu.
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