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Updated: June 8, 2025
And so all the more reason why you and I stick together like leeches not all the Simons and the Krevins in the world are going to make any difference between you and me, and we'll just go forward as if they didn't exist, whatever comes out. And now, come along and I'll see you home to Mother Appleyard's, and then I'll drop in on Hawthwaite and learn all about it."
And I rather fancy that that chap at the extreme end of the table is representing the Treasury which may mean that this affair is going to be taken up at Head-quarters. But we know nothing till the cards are on the board! Hawthwaite looks important enough this morning to hold all the aces!"
"Your young lady'll not mind waiting a minute or two," he said, with a significant glance. "As she already knew about old Simon's typewriter, I didn't mind telling that I knew, d'ye see? But there's another little matter that I'd like to tell you about between ourselves, and to go no further, you understand?" "Just so," agreed Brent. "Well," continued Hawthwaite, "there may be nothing in it.
Don't bring her." "No; of course," assented Brent. "Never intended to." He went away to his hotel, sorely puzzled. Hawthwaite seemed positively confident that he had solved the problem at last; but was Hawthwaite right?
Elstrick, the tall gaunt woman of whom he had heard at least one mysterious piece of news from Hawthwaite, quietly slip out of her place near the outer door and vanish; he saw too that no one but himself saw her go, so absorbed were all others in what was coming. "When I saw what I did see," continued Krevin, in a low, concentrated tone, "I went in.
Now who is there in the town who knows most about his public affairs who is there who's most conversant with whatever it was that he had in hand?" Hawthwaite seemed to consider matters. "Well, Alderman Crood, the tanner, is the Deputy-Mayor," he replied at last. "I should say he's as good a man to go to as anybody, Mr. Brent.
I've an idea too that somehow or other those relations have something to do with your cousin's murder. But now, this is it you know, I dare say, that at the back of Mrs. Saumarez's garden at the Abbey House, there's a quiet, narrow lane, little used?" "I know it," replied Brent. "Farthing Lane." "Just so, and why so called none of our local antiquaries know," said Hawthwaite.
Naturally, there was talk, especially amongst the folk who'd called on her and whose calls she didn't return. And, to tell you the plain truth, they said things." "What sort of things?" inquired Brent. "Oh, well!" said Hawthwaite, with a laugh. "If you'd lived as long in this town as I have, and been in my position, you'd know that it like all little places is a hotbed of scandal and gossip.
"You bet!" replied Hawthwaite grimly. "Oh, we're not going to sleep, Mr. Brent we'll get at something yet! Slow and sure, sir, slow but sure." Brent went away presently, and calling on Tansley, the solicitor, walked with him to Wallingford's rooms. During the next two hours they carefully examined all the dead man's private papers. They found nothing that threw any light whatever on his murder.
Hawthwaite laughed. "Do you think she'd have admitted it, Mr. Brent?" he said. "I don't!" "I think she would," answered Brent. "But " "Well?" inquired Hawthwaite. "I don't suppose I shall ever have the chance of putting such a question to her," added Brent. "She's off!" Hawthwaite looked round. "Um!" he remarked. "Well, it only means another hue-and-cry. She and Mallett of course.
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