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Updated: June 10, 2025
And Peppermore had said further that Krevin Crood knew all about the antiquities of Hathelsborough knew so much, indeed, that he acted as cicerone to people who wanted to explore the Castle, and the church, and the Moot Hall.
"Top-hole idea, Peppermore. And you hope ?" "There aren't so many typewriters in Hathelsborough as all that," replied Peppermore. "I hope that somebody'll come forward who can tell something. Do you notice, sir, that this has been done the original, I mean on an old-fashioned machine, and that the lettering is considerably worn, sir? I hope the Monitor's efforts will solve the mystery!"
There was Peppermore, with his sharp-eyed boy assistant; there, ranged alongside of them, were many other reporters, from the various county newspapers, and at least one man whom Brent recognized as being from the Press Association in London.
"You're in a pessimistic vein, Mr. Tansley, sir," declared Peppermore. "Sir, we're going to clean out the Augean stable!" "Or perish in the attempt, eh, Peppermore?" retorted Tansley good-humouredly. "All right, my lad! But it'll take a lot more than Monitor articles and Local Government Board inquiries to uproot the ancient and time-honoured customs of Hathelsborough.
All the gossips of the town congregate there, sir." "All right," agreed Brent. "Show the way!" Peppermore led him down the narrow entry, across the market-place, and into an equally narrow passage that opened between two shops near High Cross. There Brent found himself confronted by what seemed to be a high, blank, doorless and windowless wall; Peppermore perceived his astonishment and laughed.
Consequently, Brent at this period went much to the Monitor office, and did things in concert with Peppermore, inspiring articles which, to say the least of them, were severely critical of the methods of the Crood regime. On one of these visits Peppermore, in the middle of a discussion about one of these effusions, abruptly switched off the trend of his thought in another direction.
Beneath it, excellently reproduced, was a facsimile of the typewritten letter which Wallingford had shown to Epplewhite and afterwards left in his keeping. "What d'ye think of that for a coup, Mr. Brent?" demanded Peppermore proudly. "Up to Fleet Street form that, sir, ain't it?
Brent?" whispered Peppermore, following his companion's thoughts. "Ah, they say that once upon a time Krevin Crood was the biggest buck in Hathelsborough used to drive his horses and ride his horses, and all the rest of it. And now come down to that." He winked significantly as he glanced across the room, and Brent knew what he meant.
Peppermore edged his chair closer to his visitor's, and lowered his voice. "I am not unobservant, Mr. Brent," he said. "Our profession, as you know, sir, leads us to the cultivation of that faculty. Now, I've thought a good deal about this matter, and I'll tell you a conclusion I've come to. Do you remember that when Dr.
Therewith Peppermore, first convincing himself that he and his companion were secure from observation, spread out before Brent a square sheet of very damp paper, strongly redolent of printers' ink, at the head of which appeared, in big, bold, black characters, the question: WHO TYPED THIS LETTER?
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