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Updated: June 25, 2025
And as he threw it up, and as the heavy blow fell, the old, rotten railing against which Stoner had leant so nonchalantly, gave way, and he fell back through it, and across the brow of the quarry and without a sound. Mallalieu heard the crash of his stick on his victim's temples; he heard the rending and crackling of the railings but he heard neither cry, nor sigh, nor groan from Stoner.
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?
There was at that time in Highmarket a small and select club, having its house in the Market Place, to which all the principal townsmen belonged. Both Mallalieu and Cotherstone had been members since its foundation; Cotherstone, indeed, was its treasurer. He knew that the club would be crowded that night very well, he would go there and boldly face public opinion.
"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."
"Sorry I let it out so clumsily I didn't think it would affect you like that. But there it is Kitely's been murdered. Strangled!" "Strangled!" echoed Mallalieu. "Dear dear dear! When was this, now?" "Within the hour," replied Bent. "Mr. Brereton here a friend of mine from London and I were spending the evening at your partner's, when that neighbour of his, Garthwaite, came running in to tell Mr.
And as she screamed Mallalieu fired, and the scream died down to a queer choking sound ... and he fired again ... and where Christopher Pett's face had shown itself a second before there was nothing save another choking sound and a fall in the entry where Christopher had stood and watched.
"Not quite matured, sir, yet," said Christopher as he rose and picked up the silk hat and the kid gloves. "But when it is, you'll say ah, you'll say it's a most excellent one!" So Mallalieu had to wait until the next Tuesday came round. He did the waiting impatiently and restlessly.
It was sheer accident, of course, that I ever discovered it. But I know! Just consider what I do know. Consider, too, what you stand to lose. There's Mallalieu, so much respected that he's Mayor of this ancient borough for the second time. There's you so much trusted that you've been Borough Treasurer for years. You can't afford to let me tell the Highmarket folk that you two are ex-convicts!
"I've heard all about it," said Mallalieu, bustling forward. "Mr. Bent told me. Now then, where's that cord they talk about?" The sergeant pointed to the coil and the severed piece, which lay on a large sheet of brown paper on a side-table, preparatory to being sealed up.
"Think yourself very badly done to, don't you, missis!" he had exclaimed with a laugh. "Think I'm a mean 'un, what?" "I express no opinion, Mr. Mallalieu," replied Miss Pett, frigidly and patiently. "I think it better for people to reflect. A night's reflection," she continued as she made for the door, "oft brings wisdom, even to them as doesn't usually cultivate it."
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