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Updated: June 14, 2025
"On your oath, did you see that handkerchief in Mr. Krevin Crood's possession that night he was at Mr. Mallett's?" he asked. "I've already told him I never did," retorted Louisa Speck, pointing at Meeking. "I didn't see him with it. But I'm very certain he got it!"
I also discovered in a drawer in Simon Crood's bedroom a memorandum book, bound in red leather, the greater part of which is filled with notes and figures made by the late Mayor. I produce this too. I also identify it as a book which the late Mayor was in the habit of carrying about with him. I have frequently seen him make use of it."
"Very well that's the urgent business. I know whose machine that letter the original, I mean was typed on!" "You do? Great Scott! Whose, then?" "Uncle Simon Crood's! Fact!" "Whew! So the old fossil's got such a modern invention as a typewriter, has he? And you think " "Don't think I know! He's had a typewriter for years; it's an old-fashioned thing, a good deal worn out.
But as he ran along that lane, and as his mental faculties regained their normality Brent himself did some piecing together. Every word of Krevin Crood's statement had bitten itself into his intelligence. Now he could reconstruct. It seemed to him that he visualized the Mayor's Parlour on that fateful evening.
"Nothing, sir, except that he supposed Superintendent Hawthwaite was seeing to everything." "Did you happen to tell him that I was here?" "I did, sir; I said his Worship's cousin from London had just come. No harm, sir, I hope?" "Not a bit glad you did," said Brent. "He'll expect me." He said good night to the man and walked forward to Alderman Crood's door.
Wallingford ascertained this beyond all doubt, and that it had gone on ever since Krevin Crood's retirement from his official position. There are other men in the borough, hangers-on and supporters of the Town Trustees, who benefit by public money in the shape of pensions, grants, doles in every case the actual amount paid is much more than the amount set down in such accounts as are shown.
Despite the admonitions of the presiding magistrate, and the stern voices of sundry officials, posted here and there about the court, a hubbub of excited comment and murmur broke out on Krevin Crood's dramatic announcement.
Peppermore nudged his companion's arm. Brent leaned nearer to him. "Not get any change out of him!" whispered Peppermore. "Cool old customer, isn't he? Sub judice, eh? Good! And yet if there's a man in all Hathelsborough that's likely to know what straws are sailing on the undercurrent, Mr. Brent, Krevin Crood's the man!
She had been quiet and demure enough as she sat by Simon Crood's fire, sewing, in silence, a veritable modest mouse, timid and bashful; but in that big, gloomy hall her attitude had changed altogether she had been almost compelling in her eagerness. And Brent had wondered ever since, at intervals, whatever it could be that she wanted with him a stranger?
However, he didn't connect the facsimile with Crood's machine at first. But, happening to look at that machine more narrowly, to see exactly what had to be done to it, he as he phrased it ran off the keys on a sheet of paper, and he then saw at once that he had before him the identical machine on which the threatening letter to our late Mayor had been typed! And so he came to me!"
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