He led the way up a gravelled drive, admitted himself and his visitors to the house with a latchkey, and turned into a parlour where a fire burned and a small supper-tray was set out on a table beneath a lamp. "All my folks'll have gone to bed," he said. "They go and leave me a bite of something, you see--I'm often out late. Will you gentlemen have a sandwich--or a dry biscuit? Well, you'll have a drink, then. And so," he went on, as he produced glasses from the sideboard, "and so you were spending the evening with Cotherstone, what?" "Well, I can't say that we exactly spent all the evening with him," answered Bent, "because he had to go out for a good part of it, on business. But we were with him--we were at his house--when the news came." "Aye, he had to go out, had he?" asked Mallalieu, as if from mere curiosity. "What time would that be, like? I knew he'd business tonight--business of ours." "Nine to ten, roughly speaking," replied Bent. "He'd just got in when Garthwaite came with the news." "It 'ud shock him, of course," suggested Mallalieu. "His own tenant!" "Yes--it was a shock," agreed Bent. He took the glass which his host handed to him and sat down. "We'd better tell you all about it," he said. "It's a queer affair--Mr. Brereton here, who's a barrister, thinks it's a very queer affair." Mallalieu nodded and sat down, too, glass in hand. He listened attentively--and Brereton watched him while he listened. A sleek, sly, observant, watchful man, this, said Brereton to himself--the sort that would take all in and give little out. And he waited expectantly to hear what Mallalieu would say when he had heard everything. Mallalieu turned to him when Bent had finished. "I agree with you, sir," he said. "Nobody but a fool would have cut that piece of cord off, left it round the man's neck, and left the coil hanging where anybody could find it. And that man Harborough's no fool! This isn't his job, Bent. No!" "Whose, then?" asked Bent. Mallalieu suddenly drank off the contents of his glass and rose. "As I'm chief magistrate, I'd better go down to see the police," he said. "There's been a queer character or two hanging about the town of late. I'd better stir 'em up. You won't come down, I suppose?" he continued when they left the house together. "No--we can do no good," answered Bent. His own house was just across the road from Mallalieu's, and he and Brereton said goodnight and turned towards it as the Mayor strode quickly off in the direction of the police-station. CHAPTER VII NIGHT WORK From the little colony of new houses at the foot of the Shawl to the police station at the end of the High Street was only a few minutes' walk. Mallalieu was a quick walker, and he covered this distance at his top speed. But during those few minutes he came to a conclusion, for he was as quick of thought as in the use of his feet.