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Spizey was on his way to his favourite tavern now, to smoke his pipe which it was beneath his dignity to do in public and drink his glass amongst his cronies, but he stopped to exchange the time of day with Bunning, whom he regarded with patronizing condescension, as being a lesser light than himself.
Olva had watched him with that amused incredulity that he so frequently bestowed upon his fellow-creatures. How was this kind of animal, with its cowardice, its stupidity, its ugliness, its uselessness, possible? He had never spoken to Bunning, although he had once received a note from him asking him to coffee a piece of very considerable impertinence.
"Oh no, she won't, she's much too clever, And, Bunning, don't let yourself be driven by people. Stick to the thing you want to do you'll find something all right. Just go on here and wait until you're shown. Sit with your ears open " Bunning filled his mouth with toast. "If you'll write to me and keep up with me I'll do anything." "And one thing Don't tell any one I'm going.
"Oh, Bunning," said the Mayor, as he came up to the iron gates before which the ex-sergeant-major stood, still at attention, "I shall be in the Mayor's Parlour for some time to-night, and I'm not to be disturbed, as usual. Except, however, for this I'm expecting my cousin, Mr.
Bunning go away from her rooms and round the corner to the Chancellor Vaults as we've just heard she did could slip in unseen?" "Oh, to be sure!" affirmed Krevin. "The easiest thing in the world! If I may suggest something ?" "Go on, go on!" said the Coroner, waving his spectacles. "Anything that helps suggest whatever you like."
Only, in all the vast place, the white body and rows of white faces raised to it. Olva and Bunning found seats in a corner. 'Oh! for the arms of Jesus. I want you to think for a moment of the meaning of the words before you sing." There followed the rustling of many pages and then a heavy, emotional silence.
But as he entered the gates, a quick firm footstep sounded behind him, and he turned to see a smart, alert-looking young man approaching. Bunning recognized him as a stranger whom he had seen once or twice before, at intervals, in company with Wallingford. For the second time that night he saluted. "Looking for the Mayor, sir?" he asked, throwing the gate open.
"The evidence of the Bunning woman, supplemented by what Krevin Crood said which was a mere, formal, crystallizing of common knowledge has altered the whole thing. Here's the back entrance to the Moot Hall left absolutely unprotected, unguarded, unwatched whatever you like to call it for half an hour, the critical half hour.
Bunning was becoming accustomed to these evening visits of the Mayor to the Moot Hall. Of late, Wallingford had come there often, going upstairs to the Mayor's Parlour and remaining there alone until ten or eleven o'clock. But on this occasion, Bunning heard a different order.
"His Worship's upstairs I was to show you up. Mr. Brent, isn't it, sir?" "Right!" replied the other. "My cousin left word I was to join him here. Whereabouts is he in this old fortress of yours?" "This way, sir," said Bunning. "Fortress, you call it, sir, but it's more like a rabbit-warren! No end of twists and turns that is, once you get inside it."
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