The Safety Pin by J.S. Fletcher

Bartlett had been quietly watching John Hackdale during the Court proceedings, and had observed the anxiety with which he followed every development. It seemed to him that Hackdale was relieved when it was proved that Kight and his fellow--defendant had become possessed of the watch: anxious and perturbed again when the explanation of their trip was given by Shelmore; still more perturbed, even to badly concealed agitation, when Shelmore said, in reference to Mellapont's scarcely veiled hint of a future charge, that it could easily be proved that the two prisoners never quitted the Chancellor Hotel on the night of the murder. Bartlett knew, or feared that he knew, what was passing in Hackdale's mind. If it was certain that Kight and Sanders, though guilty of the theft of Deane's money and valuables, were absolutely innocent of his murder, then the original question was still to be asked--who killed James Deane? Bartlett believed that John Hackdale either knew the answer to that question or had a strong suspicion as to what the answer might be: he was shielding somebody--himself or some other person; hence his anxiety. And Bartlett had also seen that anxiety deepen as he flung his defiant retort at him outside the Court--there was no doubt about it, he said to himself as he walked off. John Hackdale was frightened, frightened of him, frightened of what he could tell. Very well then, said Bartlett, with another sneer, the thing to do was obvious; he must consider how best to turn this fear to his own account, his own benefit.

He had meant to return to Portsmouth after the proceedings in the magistrates' court, but now, after some further thought, he turned away from the railway station, and making for the eastern outskirts of the city, sought a quiet tavern where he was known, and engaged a room for a day or two, telling its landlady that he had a little business in the neighbourhood and wanted peaceful and comfortable quarters. The landlady, struck by his altered and smart appearance, his evident handsome supply of ready money, and his generally changed manner, made him welcome, and at his suggestion cooked him a hot dinner, which she served to him in a private parlour. Bartlett, who had breakfasted very early at Portsmouth, did full justice to it, and took his time over it, and his allowance of rum when it was finished. And while he ate and drank and afterwards sipped his rum-punch and smoked his pipe, he emulated the habits of great generals, and considered and elaborated his future plan of campaign.