"High Gill," replied Christopher. "Got an afternoon express that stopped there. Jolly cold it was crossing those moors of yours, too, I can tell you!--I can do with a drop of something. I say--is there anything afoot about here?--anything going on?" "Why?" asked Miss Pett, producing the whisky and the lemons. "And how do you mean?" Christopher pulled an easy chair to the fire and stretched his hands to the blaze. "Up there, on the moor," he answered. "There's fellows going about with lights--lanterns, I should say. I didn't see 'em close at hand--there were several of 'em crossing about--like fire-flies--as if the chaps who carried 'em were searching for something." Miss Pett set the decanter and the materials for toddy on the table at her nephew's side, and took a covered plate from the cupboard in the corner. "Them's potted meat sandwiches," she said. "Very toothsome you'll find 'em--I didn't prepare much, for I knew you'd get your dinner on the train. Yes, well, there is something afoot--they are searching. Not for something, though, but for somebody. Mallalieu!" Christopher, his mouth full of sandwiches, and his hand laid on the decanter, lifted a face full of new and alert interest. "The Mayor!" he exclaimed. "Quite so," assented Miss Pett. "Anthony Mallalieu, Esquire, Mayor of Highmarket. They want him, does the police--bad!" Christopher still remained transfixed. The decanter was already tilted in his hand, but he tilted it no further; the sandwich hung bulging in his cheek. "Good Lord!" he said. "Not for----" he paused, nodding his head towards the front of the cottage where the wood lay "--not for--that? They ain't suspicioning _him_?" "No, but for killing his clerk, who'd found something out," replied Miss Pett. "The clerk was killed Sunday; they took up Mallalieu and his partner today, and tried 'em, and Mallalieu slipped the police somehow, after the case was adjourned, and escaped. And--he's here!" Christopher had begun to pour the whisky into his glass. In his astonishment he rattled the decanter against the rim. "What!" he exclaimed. "Here? In this cottage?" "In there," answered Miss Pett. "In Kitely's room. Safe and sound. There's no danger. He'll not wake. I mixed him a glass of toddy before he went to bed, and neither earthquakes nor fire-alarms 'ull wake him before nine o'clock tomorrow morning." "Whew!" said Christopher. "Um! it's a dangerous game--it's harbouring, you know. However, they'd suspect that he'd come here. Whatever made him come here?" "I made him come here," replied Miss Pett. "I caught him in the wood outside there, as I was coming back from the Town Hall, so I made him come in. It'll pay very well, Chris." Mr. Pett, who was lifting his glass to his lips, arrested it in mid-air, winked over its rim at his aunt, and smiled knowingly. "You're a good hand at business, I must say, old lady!" he remarked admiringly. "Of course, of course, if you're doing a bit of business out of it----"