n 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."

Stoner knew that his sagacious friend was right, and he was prepared to
abide by his counsel--as long as Myler was at his elbow. But when he had
got away from him, his mind began to wobble. Five hundred pounds!--what
was it in comparison with what he might get by a little skilful playing
of his cards? He knew Mallalieu and he knew Cotherstone--knew much more
about both of them than they had any idea of. He knew that they were
rich men--very rich men. They had been making money for years, and of
late certain highly successful and profitable contracts had increased
their wealth in a surprising fashion. Everything had gone right with
them--every contract they had taken up had turned out a gold mine. Five
thousand pounds would be nothing to them singly--much less jointly. In
Stoner's opinion, he had only to ask in order to have. He firmly
believed that they would pay--pay at once, in good cash. And if they
did--well, he would take good care that no evil chances came to him! If
he laid hands on five thousand pounds, he would be out of Highmarket
within five hours, and half-way across the Atlantic within five days.
No--Dave Myler was a good sort--one of the best--but he was a bit
straight-laced, and old-fashioned--especially since he had taken a
wife--and after all, every man has a right to do his best for himself.
And so, when Stoner came face to face with Mallalieu, on the lonely moor
between High Gill and Highmarket, his mind was already made up to
blackmail.

The place in which they met was an appropriate one--for Stoner's
purpose. He had crossed the high ground between the railway and the
little moorland town by no definite track, but had come in a bee-line
across ling and bracken and heather. All around stretched miles upon
miles of solitude--no