p-toed into the living-room, and setting down his small travelling bag
on the table proceeded to divest himself of a thick overcoat, a warm
muffler, woollen gloves, and a silk hat. And Miss Pett, having closed
the outer and inner doors, came in and glanced inquiringly at him.

"Which way did you come, this time?" she inquired.

"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 c