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Updated: June 8, 2025
Can you recommend a solicitor, now?" "There's Mr. Tansley," replied Hawthwaite. "His office is next door to his late Worship's a sound man, Tansley, Mr. Brent. And, if I were you, I should get Tansley to represent you at the inquest to-morrow legal assistance is a good thing to have, sir, at an affair of that sort." Brent nodded his acquiescence and went back to his hotel.
"Whatever Sergeant Pryder knows he's got from Hawthwaite, of course," remarked Brent. "To be sure, sir!" agreed Peppermore. "Hawthwaite's been up to something I've felt that for some days. I imagine there'll be new witnesses to-morrow, but who they'll be I can't think." Brent could not think, either, nor did he understand Hawthwaite's reserve.
"Welton, were you present when Superintendent Hawthwaite arrested the prisoner Krevin Crood, and afterwards when the other prisoner, Simon Crood, was taken into custody?" "I was, sir." "Did you afterwards, on Superintendent Hawthwaite's instructions, search Krevin Crood's lodgings and Simon Crood's house?" "I did, sir." "Tell their Worships what you found."
"Krevin's the culprit-in-chief." "Well, there they both are anyway," said the landlord. "And, if I know anything about the law, it's as serious a thing to be accessory to a murder as to be the principal in one. What do you say, Mr. Brent?" Brent made no reply. He was thinking. So this was what Hawthwaite had meant when he said, the day before, that all was ready?
He fetched Queenie from Mrs. Appleyard's that morning, and, utterly careless of the sly looks that were cast on him and her, marched her through the market-place to Hawthwaite's office at the police station. To Hawthwaite, keenly interested, he detailed particulars of Queenie's discovery about the typewritten letter and produced her proofs. Hawthwaite took it all in silently.
Hawthwaite smacked his hand on his blotting-pad. "Haven't the shadow of a doubt, Mr. Brent, that Krevin Crood murdered your cousin!" he asserted. "But you'll hear for yourself to-morrow. Come early. And a word of advice " "Yes?" Brent inquired. "Leave your young lady at home," said Hawthwaite. "No need for her feelings to be upset. They're her uncles, these two, after all, you know.
Hawthwaite stepped across to these in turn and tried them; each was locked from the inside; he silently pointed to the keys. "The door to the stairs was open, sir," remarked Bunning. "I mean his Worship hadn't locked himself in, as I have known him do." Hawthwaite nodded. Then he nudged Brent's elbow, looking sideways at the dead man. "Been done as he sat writing in his chair," he muttered.
Brent nodded, and turned, in silence, to Wellesley. Wellesley, who had been staring moodily at the fireless grate, looked up, glancing from one man to the other. "You understand, Mr. Brent, and you, Hawthwaite, that whatever I tell you is told in the very strictest confidence?" he said.
"And, if I might suggest it, why not make a thorough examination of the Moot Hall? My cousin showed me over it when I was here last, and I remember some queer places in it." "There are queer places in it," admitted Hawthwaite. "But it's hardly likely the murderer would hang about after doing what he did.
Elstrick. Tall, thin, very reserved woman; you may have noticed that she goes about the town very quietly never talks to anybody." "I've scarcely noticed her except when she was here in court with Mrs. Saumarez," replied Brent. "But I know the woman you mean. So it was she?" "Just so Mrs. Elstrick," said Hawthwaite.
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