During the three hours which had elapsed since his departure from Darlington, Stoner had been thinking things over. He had seen his friend Myler again that morning; they had had a drink or two together at the station refreshment room before Stoner's train left, and Myler had once more urged upon Stoner to use his fortunately acquired knowledge in the proper way. No doubt, said Myler, he could get Mallalieu and Cotherstone to square him; no doubt they would cheerfully pay thousands where the reward only came to hundreds--but, when everything was considered, was it worth while? No!--a thousand times, no, said Myler. The mere fact that Stoner had found out all this was a dead sure proof that somebody else might find it out. The police had a habit, said Myler, of working like moles--underground. How did Stoner know that some of the Norcaster and London detectives weren't on the job already? They knew by that time that old Kitely was an ex-detective; they'd be sure to hark back on his past doings, in the effort to trace some connexion between one or other of them and his murder. Far away as it was, that old Wilchester affair would certainly come up again. And when it came up--ah, well, observed Myler, with force and earnestness, it would be a bad job for Stoner if it were found out that he'd accepted hush-money from his masters. In fact--Myler gave it as his decided opinion, though, as he explained, he wasn't a lawyer--he didn't know but what Stoner, in that case, would be drawn in as an accessory after the fact. "Keep to the law, Bert, old man!" counselled Myler, as they parted. "You'll be all right then. Stick to my advice--see Tallington at once--this very afternoon!--and put in for the five hundred. You'll be safe as houses in doing that--but there'd be an awful risk about t'other, Bert. Be wise!--you'll get no better counsel."