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Updated: June 21, 2025
"They say he was going to be down on all you pensioned gentlemen what?" "That, again, is a matter which I do not care to discuss," replied Krevin. He turned away, approaching a horsy-looking individual who stood near. "Good-morning, Mr. Gates," he said pleasantly. "Got rid of your brown cob yet? If not, I was talking to Simpson, the vet, yesterday I rather fancy you'd find a customer in him."
"You'll know all about it, Krevin, I reckon! What's your opinion?" Krevin Crood looked over the speaker with a quiet glance of conscious superiority. However much he might have come down in the world, he still retained the manners of a well-bred and educated man, and Brent was not surprised to hear a refined and cultured accent when he presently spoke.
And in the dock Krevin Crood also let a start of astonishment escape him; he, too, stared at Louisa Speck, and a frown showed itself between his eyebrows, as if he were endeavouring to explain her presence to himself. Suddenly it cleared, and he indulged his fancies with a sharp laugh, and turning to Simon made some whispered observation.
"He's something up his sleeve anyway. Queerest business ever I knew! Simon! If it had been Krevin alone, now. Here, I'll sit by you I'm not on, either nobody's instructed me. I say, you'll not notice it, but there's never been such a show of magistrates on that bench for many a year, if ever. Crowded! every magistrate in the place present. And the chief magistrate to be in the dock presently!
"The evidence of the Bunning woman, supplemented by what Krevin Crood said which was a mere, formal, crystallizing of common knowledge has altered the whole thing. Here's the back entrance to the Moot Hall left absolutely unprotected, unguarded, unwatched whatever you like to call it for half an hour, the critical half hour.
But hullo! as nobody's come forward this morning, Krevin's treating himself to a drink! That's his way he'll get his drink for nothing, if he can, but, if he can't, he's always got money. Old cadger!" Brent was watching Krevin Crood. As Peppermore had just said, nobody had joined Krevin at the bar.
In spite of his usual self-possession, Brent started. "What!" he exclaimed. "Krevin!" "Krevin," answered the landlord. "And Simon! Both of 'em. Got 'em at seven o'clock. They're in the police station cells of course. Nice business Mayor of a town arrested for the murder of his predecessor!" "As far as I can make out, Simon's charged with being accessory," remarked one of the other men.
"Well," continued Krevin cheerfully, "we settled my mission over Mallett's port. The next thing was for me to carry it out. It was necessary to do this immediately we knew that Wallingford had carried his investigations to such an advanced stage that he might make the results public at any moment. Now, I did not want anyone to know of my meeting with him I wanted it to be absolutely secret.
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.
Krevin Crood, sir, draws a hundred and fifty-six pounds a year out of the revenues of this rotten little borough all because he's Simon's brother. Been drawing that three pounds a week for fifteen years now. It's a scandal! However, as I say, he once had two thousand a year." "A difference," remarked Brent. "Ay, well, he adds a bit to his three pound," said Peppermore.
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