sweet--and I've
good reason for being revenged on Mallalieu. But now--I'm inclined to
tell the truth. Do you know why? Why--to show these Highmarket folks
that they're wrong!"

The superintendent sighed. He was a plain, honest, simple man, and
Cotherstone's reason seemed a strange--even a wicked one--to him. To
tell the truth merely to spite one's neighbour--a poor, poor reason,
when there was life at stake.

"Aye, Mr. Cotherstone, but you ought to tell the truth in any case!" he
said. "If you know it, get it out and be done with it. We've had enough
trouble already. If you can clear things up----"

"Listen!" interrupted Cotherstone. "I'll tell you all I know--privately.
If you think good, it can be put into proper form. Very well, then! You
remember the night of Kitely's murder?"

"Aye, I should think so!" said the superintendent. "Good reason to!"

"Let your mind go back to it, and to what you've since heard of it,"
said Cotherstone. "You know that on that afternoon Kitely had threatened
me and Mallalieu with exposure about the Wilchester affair. He wanted to
blackmail us. I told Mallalieu, of course--we were both to think about
it till next day. But I did naught but think--I didn't want exposure for
my daughter's sake: I'd ha' given anything to avoid it, naturally. I had
young Bent and that friend of his, Brereton, to supper that night--I was
so full of thought that I went out and left 'em for an hour or more. The
truth was I wanted to get a word with Kitely. I went up the wood at the
side of my house towards Kitely's cottage--and all of a sudden I came
across a man lying on the ground--him!--just where we found him
afterwards."

"Dead?" asked the superintendent.

"Only just," replied Cotherstone. "But he was dead--and I saw what had
caused his death, for I struck a match to look at him. I saw that empty
pocket-book lying by--I saw a scrap of folded newspaper, too, and I
picked it up and later, when I'd read it, I put it in a safe place--I've
taken it from that place tonight for the first time, and it's here--you
keep it. Well--I went on, up to the cottage. The door was open--I looked
in. Yon woman, Miss Pett, was at the table by the lamp, turning over
some papers--I saw Kitely's writing on some of 'em. I stepped softly in
and tapped her on the arm, and she screamed and started back. I looked
at her. 'Do you know that your master's lying dead, murdered, down
amongst those trees?' I said. Then she pulled hers