groaning in his comfortable bed that night,
Mallalieu thought over many things. How had Stoner acquired his
information? Did anybody else know what Stoner knew? After much
reflection he decided that nobody but Stoner did know. Further reckoning
up of matters gave him a theory as to how Stoner had got to know. He saw
it all--according to his own idea. Stoner had overheard the conversation
between old Kitely and Cotherstone in the private office, of course!
That was it--he wondered he had never thought of it before. Between the
partners' private room and the outer office in which Stoner sat, there
was a little window in the wall; it had been specially made so that
papers could be passed from one room to the other. And, of course, on
that afternoon it had probably been a little way open, as it often was,
and Stoner had heard what passed between Cotherstone and his tenant.
Being a deep chap, Stoner had kept the secret to himself until the
reward was offered. Of course, his idea was blackmail--Mallalieu had no
doubt about that. No--all things considered, he did not believe that
Stoner had shared his knowledge--Stoner would be too well convinced of
its value to share it with anybody. That conclusion comforted
Mallalieu--once more he tried to sleep.

But his sleep was a poor thing that night, and he felt tired and worn
when, as usual, he went early to the yard. He was there before
Cotherstone; when Cotherstone came, no more than a curt nod was
exchanged between them. They had never spoken to each other except on
business since the angry scene of a few days before, and now Mallalieu,
after a glance at some letters which had come in the previous evening,
went off down the yard. He stayed there an hour: when he re-entered the
office he looked with an affectation of surprise at the clerk's empty
desk.

"Stoner not come?" he demanded curtly.

Cotherstone, who was turning over the leaves of an account book, replied
just as curtly.

"Not yet!"

Mallalieu fidgeted about for a while, arranging some papers he had
brought in from the yard. Suddenly he uttered an exclamation of
impatience, and going to the door, called to a lad who was passing.

"Here, you!" he said. "You know where Mr. Stoner lodges?--Mrs.
Battley's. Run round there, and see why he hasn't come to his work. It's
an hour and a half past his time. Happen he's poorly--run now, sharp!"

He went off down the yard again when he had despatched this message; he
came bac