“Worse and worse, Mr. 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. “Not much they wouldn’t. Cotherstone’s let loose—to give evidence against you. When you’re caught!”
Mallalieu’s small eyes began to bulge, and a dull red to show on his cheek. He looked as if he were bursting with words which he could not get out, and Christopher Pett hastened to improve the occasion.
“It’s my opinion it’s all a plant!” he said. “A conspiracy, if you like, between Cotherstone and the authorities. Cotherstone, he’s got the smartest solicitor in Norcaster and the shrewdest advocate on this circuit—you know ’em, Mr. Mallalieu—Stilby’s the solicitor, and Gradston the barrister—and it strikes me it’s a put-up job. D’ye see through it? 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. “Now then—what about this plan of yours? For I’m going to wait no longer. Either you tell me what you’re going to do for me, or I shall walk out o’ that door as soon as it’s dark tonight and take my chances. D’ye hear that?”
Christopher rose, opened the door, and softly called Miss Pett. And Miss Pett came, took a seat, folded her thin arms, and looked attentively at her learned nephew.
“Yes, sir,” said Christopher, resuming the conversation, “I hear that—and we are now ready to explain plans and discuss terms. You will, of course, recompense us, Mr. Mallalieu?”
“I’ve said all along that you’d not lose by me,” retorted Mallalieu. “Aught in reason, I’ll pay. But—this plan o’ yours? I’m going to know what it is before we come to any question of paying. So out with it!”
“Well, it’s an excellent plan,” responded Christopher. “You say that you’ll be safe if you’re set down in a certain part of Norcaster—near the docks. Now that will suit our plans exactly. You’re aware, of course, Mr. Mallalieu, that my aunt here is about to remove her goods and chattels—bequeathed by Mr. Kitely, deceased—from this house? Very well—the removal’s to take place tomorrow. I have already arranged with Mr. Strawson, furniture remover, to send up a couple of vans tomorrow morning, very early. Into those vans the furniture will be placed, and the vans will convey it to Norcaster, whence they will be transshipped bodily to London, by sea. Mr. Mallalieu—you’ll leave here, sir, in one of those vans!”
Mallalieu listened, considered, began to see possibilities.
“Aye!” he said, with a cunning glance. “Aye!—that’s not a bad notion. I can see my way in that respect. But—how am I going to get into a van here, and got out of it there, without the vanmen knowing?”
“I’ve thought it all out,” answered Christopher. “You must keep snug in this room until afternoon. We’ll get the first van off in the morning—say by noon. I’ll so contrive that the second van won’t be ready to start until after it’s dusk. When it is ready the men’ll go down to fetch their horses—I’ll give ’em something to get themselves a drink before they come back—that’ll delay ’em a bit longer. And while they’re away, we’ll slip you into the van—and I shall go with that van to Norcaster. And when we get to the shed at Norcaster where the vans are to be left, the two men will go away with their horses—and I shall let you out. It’s a good plan, Mr. Mallalieu.”
“It’ll do, anyhow,” agreed Mallalieu, who felt heartily relieved. “We’ll try it. But you must take all possible care until I’m in, and we’re off. The least bit of a slip—”
Mr. Pett drily remarked that if any slips occurred they would not be of his making—after which both he and his aunt coughed several times and looked at the guest-prisoner in a fashion which seemed to invite speech from him.
“All right then,” said Mallalieu. “Tomorrow, you say? All right—all right!”
Miss Pett coughed again and began to make pleats in her apron.
“Of course, Christopher,” she said, addressing her nephew as if there were no other person present, “of course, Mr. Mallalieu has not yet stated his terms.”
“Oh!—ah!—just so!” replied Christopher, starting as from a pensive reverie. “Ah, to be sure. Now, what would you say, Mr. Mallalieu? How do you feel disposed, sir?”
Mallalieu looked fixedly from aunt to nephew, from nephew to aunt. Then his face became hard and rigid.
“Fifty pound apiece!” he said. “That’s how I’m disposed. And you don’t get an offer like that every day, I know. Fifty pound apiece!”
Miss Pett inclined her turbaned head towards her right shoulder and sighed heavily: Mr. Pett folded his hands, looked at the ceiling, and whistled.
“We don’t get an offer like that every day!” he murmured. “No!—I should think we didn’t! Fifty pound apiece!—a hundred pound altogether—for saving a fellow-creature from the gallows! Oh, Mr. Mallalieu!”
“Hang it!—how much money d’ye think I’m likely to carry on me?—me!—in my unfortunate position!” snarled Mallalieu. “D’ye think—”
“Christopher,” observed Miss Pett, rising and making for the door, “I should suggest that Mr. Mallalieu is left to consider matters. Perhaps when he’s reflected a bit—”
She and her nephew went out, leaving Mallalieu fuming and grumbling. And once in the living-room she turned to Christopher with a shake of the head.
“What did I tell you?” she said. “Mean as a miser! My plan’s much the best. We’ll help ourselves—and then we
