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The police had a habit, said Myler, of working like moles underground. How did Stoner know that some of the Norcaster and London detectives weren't on the job already? They knew by that time that old Kitely was an ex-detective; they'd be sure to hark back on his past doings, in the effort to trace some connexion between one or other of them and his murder.
"You say Harborough saw Kitely take his money?" "Couldn't fail," replied the bank-manager. "He was standing by him. The old man put it notes and gold in a pocket that he had inside his waistcoat." Mallalieu lingered, as if in thought, rubbing his chin and staring at the carpet. "Well, that's a sort of additional clue," he remarked at last. "It looks very black against Harborough."
Business?" Cotherstone put his lips almost close to Mallalieu's ear. "That man Kitely my new tenant," he whispered. "He's met us you and me before!" Mallalieu's rosy cheeks paled, and he turned sharply on his companion. "Met us!" he exclaimed. "Him! Where? when?" Cotherstone got his lips still closer. "Wilchester!" he answered. "Thirty years ago. He knows!"
"Showing him round, of course?" "I've been tormenting him chiefly with family history," answered Bent, with a laughing glance at his sweetheart. "You didn't know I was raking up everything I could get hold of about my forbears, did you? Oh, I've been busy at that innocent amusement for a month past old Kitely put me up to it."
So much for the newspaper cutting from the Wilchester Sentinel. But there was more to read. The cutting came to an end on the top half of a page in the scrap-book; underneath it on the blank half of the page Kitely had made an entry, dated three years after the trial. "Wilchester: June 28, 1884. Re above. Came down here on business today and had a talk with police about M. & C. and the money.
"Just you realize the importance of what I'm saying. I tell you once again I know who killed Kitely!" "And who did kill him, then?" demanded Mallalieu. "Psha! you know naught about it!" Stoner laughed, looked round, and then leaned his head forward. "Don't I?" he said, with a sneer that exceeded his employer's in significance and meaning. "But you're wrong I do!
Captain Kitely, whose husband had lain for seven years past in Boulogne gaol ordered her son to cut Clive; and when, the child being sick, the poor old Colonel went for arrowroot to the chemist's, young Snooks, the apothecary's assistant, refused to allow him to take the powder away without previously depositing the money. He had no money, Thomas Newcome. He gave up every farthing.
Cotherstone could barely repress an inclination to start in his chair; he himself was not sure that he did not show undue surprise. "What!" he exclaimed. "Kitely? My tenant? What does he know about your family? A stranger!" "Much more than I do," replied Bent.
There's abundant testimony in the town from his daughter, from neighbours, from tradesmen that Harborough was never short of money he's always had more money than most men in his position are supposed to have. Do you think it likely that he'd have killed Kitely for thirty pounds?
"I'll tell you what I mean, Mr. Mallalieu," replied Stoner, still regarding his man fixedly, and nerving himself for the contest. "I mean this I know who killed Kitely!" Mallalieu felt himself start again; he felt his face flush warm. But he managed to show a fairly controlled front, and he made shift to sneer. "Oh, indeed," he said, twisting his mouth in derision. "Do you now?
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