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Updated: June 10, 2025
The small shrewd eyes, in their turn, measured up Brent as he crossed the threshold, and Crood, seeing what he would have described as a well-dressed young gentleman who was evidently used to superior society, did what he would certainly not have done for any man in Hathelsborough he rose from his chair and stretched out a hand. "How do you do, sir?" he said in a fat, unctuous voice.
"The whole business was quite open and above-board, then?" "Quite so, sir." "He drew your attention himself to the defects of the machine?" "He did, sir." "And this was after not before that facsimile appeared in the Monitor?" "After, sir." "Now I want a particularly careful answer, Owthwaite, to my next question. Did Alderman Crood ask you to get these repairs made immediately?"
"Then you feel sure that this crime has not sprung out of his public affairs?" suggested Brent. "It's not what you'd call a political murder?" "Of that, sir, I would take my solemn oath!" declared Crood. "The idea, sir, is ridiculous." "Absurd!" said Mallett. "Out of the question!" affirmed Coppinger. "Why then, has he been murdered?" asked Brent. "What's at the bottom of it?"
Meeking said little. The prisoners, he observed, addressing the bench in quiet, conversational tones, were charged, Krevin Crood with the actual murder of the late Mayor, John Wallingford; Simon, with being accessory to the fact, and, if they had not absconded during the previous twenty-four hours, two other well-known residents of the borough, Stephen Mallett and James Coppinger, would have stood in the dock with Simon Crood, similarly charged.
Everybody of any note in Hathelsborough was present; Brent particularly observed the presence of Mrs. Mallett who, heavily veiled, sat just beneath him. He looked in vain, however, for Mrs. Saumarez; she was not there. But in a corner near one of the exits he saw her companion, Mrs. Elstrick, the woman whom Hawthwaite had seen in secret conversation with Krevin Crood in Farthing Lane.
"I'm going to drive downtown, mother," I heard her say one morning. "Would you like to go?" "Is Mary gaun?" "I thought of taking her." "Then I'll no' gang. I wadna like to crood Mary." "Dear mother, there's plenty of room." "Ay, ay, but ye ken Mary doesna like tae sit wi' her back tae the horse." That sort of thing was always happening.
While every neck was craned forward to catch a glimpse of the memorandum book, Tansley suddenly saw Krevin Crood making signals to him from the dock. He drew Brent's attention to the fact; then went down into the well of the court and over to Krevin.
The Town Clerk is in a worse state of righteous indignation than I ever saw a man, and as for Mayor Simon Crood, I understand his anger is beyond belief. Mr. Brent, you've done it!" But Brent was not so sure. He had some experience of Government officials, and of official methods, and knew more of red tape than Peppermore did. As for Tansley, who came in soon after, he was cynically scornful.
The girl gave him a curious glance and motioning him to wait, went away up the hall to a door which stood partly open, revealing a lighted interior. She disappeared within; came out again, walked a little way towards Brent, and spoke with a timid smile. "Will you please come this way?" she said. "Mr. Crood will see you."
Get money where you can never mind how, as long as you get it, and keep just within the law. Simon Crood represents the Hathelsborough principle of graft, and whatever you may think, he's the paramount influence in the town to-day." "He and his lot have only got the barest majority on the Council," remarked Brent.
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