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Updated: June 10, 2025
Well, now, young Pryder's father is a policeman sergeant in the Borough Constabulary, and naturally he's opportunities of knowing. And when he knows he talks in the home circle, Mr. Brent." "Been talking?" asked Brent. "Guardedly, sir, guardedly!" replied Peppermore.
"The Croods seem to be an interesting family," observed Brent. "Who is that girl that I saw last night the Alderman's niece? Is she, by any chance, this chap's daughter?" "Queenie," said Peppermore. "Pretty girl too, that, Mr. Brent. No, sir; she's this chap's niece, and Simon's. She's the daughter of another Crood. Ben Crood.
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.
"He did not, sir," said Peppermore. "Had he done so, Jimmy Pryder would have made half a column, big type, leaded, out of it. No; nothing more. There are men in this world, Mr. Brent, as you have doubtless observed, who are given to throwing out mere hints sort of men who always look at you as much as to say, 'Ah, I could tell a lot if I would! I guess Sergeant Pryder's one of 'em."
Krevin Crood, lofty and even haughty in manner as he was, had lounged near the bar and stood looking around him, nodding here and there as he met the eye of an acquaintance. "Waiting till somebody asks him to drink," muttered Peppermore. "Regular sponge, he is! And once used to crack his bottle of champagne with the best!"
Before the superintendent could reply, his partly-open door was further opened, and a little, bustling, eager-faced man, who wore large spectacles and carried a pencil behind his right ear, looked in. Brent recognized him as another of the half-dozen Hathelsborough men whose acquaintance he had made on former visits Peppermore, the hard-worked editor-reporter of the one local newspaper.
Semper eadem, Peppermore, semper eadem, that's the motto of this high-principled, respectably ruled borough. Always the same and no change." "Except from bad to worse!" said Peppermore. "All right, sir; but something's going to happen, this time." Something did happen immediately following on the official announcement of the Local Government Board inquiry, and it was Tansley who told Brent of it.
Hawthwaite came in again, carrying something in his hand, concealed by a piece of brown paper. His face betokened a discovery. "Look here!" he said. "No secret about it you can mention it, Peppermore. Just after you and I had gone out of the Mayor's Parlour, Mr. Brent, Bunning picked something out of the hearth, where it was half-burnt, and what's left charred, and gave it to Dr. Wellesley. See!"
"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.
Brent, I'll run down your cousin's murderer or murderess yet! Go you on with your articles they're helpful, for they're rousing public interest." Brent went away and followed Hawthwaite's advice. His articles came out in the Monitor twice a week. Peppermore printed them in big type, leaded, and gave them the most prominent place in the paper.
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