Mallalieu was seized with a trembling fit. He began to shake. His heavy frame trembled as if under the effects of a bad ague; the hand which had struck the blow shook so violently that the stick dropped from it. And Mallalieu looked down at the stick, and in a sudden overwhelming rage kicked it away from him over the brink of the quarry. He lifted his fist and shook it--and just as suddenly dropped it. The trembling passed, and he broke out into a cold sweat of fear.
"God ha' mercy!" he muttered. "If--if he's killed? He shouldn't ha' plagued me--he shouldn't ha' dared me! It was more than flesh and blood could stand, and--Lord ha' mercy, what's to be done?"
The autumn twilight was creeping over the moor. The sun had set behind the far-off western hills just before Mallalieu and Stoner had met, and while they talked dusk had come on. The moorlands were now growing dark and vague, and it seemed to Mallalieu that as the light failed the silence increased. He looked round him, fearful lest any of the shepherds of the district had come up to take a Sunday glance at their flocks. And once he thought he saw a figure at a little distance away along the edge of the trees, and he strained and strained his eyes in its direction--and concluded it was nothing. Presently he strained his eyes in another way--he crept cautiously to the edge of the quarry, and looked over the broken railing, and far down on the limestone rocks beneath he saw Stoner, lying on his back, motionless.
Long experience of the moorlands and their nooks and crannies enabled Mallalieu to make his way down to the bottom of the quarry by a descent through a brake of gorse and bramble. He crept along by the undergrowth to where the body lay, and fearfully laid a hand on the still figure. One touch was sufficient--he stood up trembling and shaking more than ever.
"He's dead--dead!" he muttered. "Must ha' broken his neck--it's a good fifty feet down here. Was ever aught so unfortunate! And--whatever shall I say and do about it?"
Inspiration came to him quickly--as quickly as the darkness came into that place of death. He made an effort, and regained his composure, and presently was able to think and to decide. He would say and do nothing--nothing whatever. No one had witnessed the meeting between Stoner and himself. No one had seen the blow. No one had seen Stoner's fall. Far better to say nothing, do nothing--far best to go away and let things take their course. Stoner's body would be found, next day, the day after, some day--and when it was found, people would say that Stoner had been sitting on those rotten railings, and they had given way, and he had fallen--and whatever marks there were on him would be attributed to the fall down the sharp edges of the old quarry.