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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Suspect!" sneered Hawthwaite. "Lord! You wait till Simon and Krevin are brought up before the magistrates to-morrow morning! We've got the whole evidence so absolutely full and clear that we can go right full steam ahead with the case to-morrow. Meeking'll prosecute, and I hope to get 'em committed before the afternoon's over." "Look here," said Brent, "tell me what's the line?
Public opinion, Mr. Brent, public opinion! You stir it up, and leave this matter to me; I may be slow, Mr. Brent, but I'll surely get there in the end!" "Good! It's all I ask," said Brent. "Only get there!" He took Queenie away, but before they had gone many steps from the superintendent's office Hawthwaite called Brent back, and leading him inside the room closed the door on him.
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.
Hawthwaite voiced what two of the three were wondering. "Some business which concerned all three of you, then, doctor?" he suggested. "Business which deeply concerned her, and on which she came to consult me and Wallingford," replied Wellesley. "Now I'll tell you straight out what it was. Mrs. Mallett had found out that there was some sort of an intrigue between her husband and Mrs. Saumarez!"
"And how do you think this is related to Wallingford's murder?" asked Hawthwaite with sudden directness. "Let's be plain, doctor do you suspect Mallett?" Wellesley showed signs of indecision. "I don't like to say that I do," he replied at last. "And yet, I don't know.
"That," he remarked, pausing at last in front of Hawthwaite's desk, "means that there was a conspiracy?" "To be sure!" assented Hawthwaite. "Got proof of it!" "Then I wish you'd laid hands on Mallett and Coppinger," said Brent. "You've no idea of their whereabouts, I suppose?" "None, so far," replied Hawthwaite. "Nor can I make out how or precisely when they slipped off. But they are off.
But Hawthwaite made no response: he was watching the Coroner, and in answer to a questioning glance he shook his head. "No more evidence," whispered Tansley to Brent, as Wellesley, dismissed, stepped down from the witness-box. "Whew! this is a queer business, and our non-responsive medical friend may come to rue his obstinacy. I wonder what old Seagrave will make of it?
"We've got at the truth at last about your cousin," continued Hawthwaite, with a significant look. "It's been a case of one thing leading to another. And two things running side by side. If we hadn't cornered Krevin Crood we'd never have had his revelations about the Town Trustees.
Barber; he gave me the scantiest information, so I hurried to see you." "And I can't give you any more," replied Hawthwaite. "There are no details yet, my lad! All we know is that the Mayor was found dead in the Mayor's Parlour half an hour ago, and that he's been murdered. You'll have to wait for the rest." "We don't go to press till 12.30," remarked Peppermore, unperturbed by this curtness.
We got some direct evidence yesterday for the first time." "As how?" questioned Hawthwaite. "That door into Bunning's room," replied Brent. "That's where the murderer slipped in." "Ay; but did he?" said Hawthwaite. "If one could be certain " "Look here!" asserted Brent. "There is one thing that is certain dead certain. That handkerchief!" "Well?" asked Hawthwaite.
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