"So long as n.o.body but him knew," he muttered, giving Mallalieu another side glance, "so long as he hadn't said aught to anybody--and I don't think he had--we're--safe."

Mallalieu was still staring quietly at Cotherstone. And Cotherstone began to grow restless under that steady, questioning look.

"Oh?" observed Mallalieu, at last. "Aye? You think so? Ah!"

"Good G.o.d--don't you!" exclaimed Cotherstone, roused to a sudden anger.

"Why----"

But just then a policeman came out of the High Street into the yard, caught sight of the two partners, and came over to them, touching his helmet.

"Can your Worship step across the way?" he asked. "They've brought Harborough down, and the Super wants a word with you."

CHAPTER VIII

RETAINED FOR THE DEFENCE

Instead of replying to the policeman by word or movement, Mallalieu glanced at Cotherstone. There was a curious suggestion in that glance which Cotherstone did not like. He was already angry; Mallalieu's inquiring look made him still angrier.

"Like to come?" asked Mallalieu, laconically.

"No!" answered Cotherstone, turning towards the office. "It's naught to me."

He disappeared within doors, and Mallalieu walked out of the yard into the High Street--to run against Bent and Brereton, who were hurrying in the direction of the police-station, in company with another constable.

"Ah!" said Mallalieu as they met. "So you've heard, too, I suppose?

Heard that Harborough's been taken, I mean. Now, how was he taken?" he went on, turning to the policeman who had summoned him. "And when, and where?--let's be knowing about it."

"He wasn't taken, your Worship," replied the man. "Leastways, not in what you'd call the proper way. 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."

He put his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, and, followed by the others, strolled into the police-station as if he were dropping in on business of trifling importance. And there was nothing to be seen there which betokened that a drama of life and death was being constructed in that formal-looking place of neutral-coloured walls, precise furniture, and atmosphere of repression. Three or four men stood near the superintendent's desk; a policeman was writing slowly and laboriously on a big sheet of blue paper at a side-table, a woman was coaxing a sluggish fire to burn.

"The whole thing's ridiculous!" said a man's scornful voice. "It shouldn't take five seconds to see that."

Brereton instinctively picked out the speaker. That was Harborough, of course--the tall man who stood facing the others and looking at them as if he wondered how they could be as foolish as he evidently considered them to be. He looked at this man with great curiosity. There was certainly something noticeable about him, he decided. A wiry, alert, keen-eyed man, with good, somewhat gipsy-like features, much tanned by the weather, as if he were perpetually exposed to sun and wind, rain and hail; sharp of movement, evidently of more than ordinary intelligence, and, in spite of his rough garments and fur cap, having an indefinable air of gentility and breeding about him. Brereton had already noticed the pitch and inflection of his voice; now, as Harborough touched his cap to the Mayor, he noticed that his hands, though coa.r.s.ened and weather-browned, were well-shaped and delicate. Something about him, something in his att.i.tude, 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?"

The superintendent looked at Harborough and nodded. And Harborough took that nod at its true meaning, and he spoke--readily.

"This!" he said, turning to the new-comers, and finally addressing himself to Mallalieu. "And it's what I've already said to the superintendent here. I know nothing about what's happened to Kitely. I know no more of his murder than you do--not so much, I should say--for I know naught at all beyond what I've been told. I left my house at eight o'clock last night--I've been away all night--I got back at six o'clock this morning. As soon as I heard what was afoot, I came straight here. I put it to you, Mr. Mayor--if I'd killed this old man, do you think I'd have come back? Is it likely?"

"You might ha' done, you know," answered Mallalieu. "There's no accounting for what folks will do--in such cases. But--what else? Say aught you like--it's all informal, this."

"Very well," continued Harborough. "They tell me the old man was strangled by a piece of cord that was evidently cut off one of my coils.

Now, is there any man in his common senses would believe that if I did that job, I should leave such a bit of clear evidence behind me? I'm not a fool!"

"You might ha' been interrupted before you could take that cord off his neck," suggested Mallalieu.

"Aye--but you'd have to reckon up the average chances of that!"

exclaimed Harborough, with a sharp glance at the bystanders. "And the chances are in my favour. No, sir!--whoever did this job, cut that length of cord off my coil, which anybody could get at, and used it to throw suspicion on me! That's the truth--and you'll find it out some day, whatever happens now."

Mallalieu exchanged glances with the superintendent and then faced Harborough squarely, with an air of inviting confidence.

"Now, my lad!" he said, almost coaxingly. "There's a very simple thing to do, and it'll clear this up as far as you're concerned. Just answer a plain question. Where ha' you been all night?"

A tense silence fell--broken by the crackling of the wood in the grate, which the charwoman had at last succeeded in stirring into a blaze, and by the rattling of the fire-irons which she now arranged in the fender.

Everybody was watching the suspected man, and n.o.body as keenly as Brereton. And Brereton saw that a deadlock was at hand. A strange look of obstinacy and hardness came into Harborough's eyes, and he shook his head.

"No!" he answered. "I shan't say! The truth'll come out in good time without that. It's not necessary for me to say. Where I was during the night is my business--n.o.body else's."

"You'll not tell?" asked Mallalieu.

"I shan't tell," replied Harborough.

"You're in danger, you know," said Mallalieu.

"In your opinion," responded Harborough, doggedly. "Not in mine! There's law in this country. You can arrest me, if you like--but you'll have your work set to prove that I killed yon old man. No, sir! But----" here he paused, and looking round him, laughed almost maliciously "--but I'll tell you what I'll do," he went on. "I'll tell you this, if it'll do you any good--if I liked to say the word, I could prove my innocence down to the ground! There!"

"And you won't say that word?" asked Mallalieu.

"I shan't! Why? Because it's not necessary. Why!" demanded Harborough, laughing with an expresssion of genuine contempt. "What is there against me? Naught! As I say, there's law in this country--there's such a thing as a jury. Do you believe that any jury would convict a man on what you've got? It's utter nonsense!"

The constable who had come down from the Shawl with Bent and Brereton had for some time been endeavouring to catch the eye of the superintendent. Succeeding in his attempts at last, he beckoned that official into a quiet corner of the room, and turning his back on the group near the fireplace, pulled something out of his pocket. The two men bent over it, and the constable began to talk in whispers.

Mallalieu meanwhile was eyeing Harborough in his stealthy, steady fashion. He looked as if he was reckoning him up.

"Well, my lad," he observed at last. "You're making a mistake. If you can't or won't tell what you've been doing with yourself between eight last night and six this morning, why, then----"

The superintendent came back, holding something in his hand. He, too, looked at Harborough.

"Will you hold up your left foot?--turn the sole up," he asked. "Just to see--something."

Harborough complied, readily, but with obvious scornful impatience. And when he had shown the sole of the left foot, the superintendent opened his hand and revealed a small crescent-shaped bit of bright steel.

"That's off the toe of your boot, Harborough," he said. "You know it is!

And it's been picked up--just now, as it were--where this affair happened. You must have lost it there during the last few hours, because it's quite bright--not a speck of rust on it, you see. What do you say to that, now?"

"Naught!" retorted Harborough, defiantly. "It is mine, of course--I noticed it was working loose yesterday. And if it was picked up in that wood, what then? I pa.s.sed through there last night on my way to--where I was going. G.o.d--you don't mean to say you'd set a man's life on bits o'things like that!"

Mallalieu beckoned the superintendent aside and talked with him. Almost at once he himself turned away and left the room, and the superintendent came back to the group by the fireplace.

"Well, there's no help for it, Harborough," he said. "We shall have to detain you--and I shall have to charge you, presently. It can't be helped--and I hope you'll be able to clear yourself."