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Updated: June 10, 2025
His opponent was returned by a big majority. He got a new idea when he heard the result, and went straight off to Peppermore and the Monitor with it. They would go on with the articles, and make them of such a nature that the Local Government Board in London would find it absolutely necessary to give prompt and searching attention to Hathelsborough and its affairs.
Do you think there's a soul in Hathelsborough who believes that Peppermore could write them? Now, they're a mistake! They may be true " "They are true!" growled Brent. "Granted! But, however true they are, they're an attack on Hathelsborough," said Tansley. "Now, of whatever political colour they are, Hathelsborough folk are Hathelsborough folk, and they're prouder of this old town than you know.
Peppermore laughed and wagged his finger. "Bull's, sir?" he said. "Bull's? centre of all the gossip in Hathelsborough. Come across there and have a quiet glass with me, and keep your eyes and ears open. I've been trying all the morning to get some news, ideas, impressions, about the sad event of last night, Mr. Brent now, for current criticism, Bull's is the place.
As almost every person present was already fairly well acquainted with the details of what had transpired on the evening of the murder Peppermore having published every scrap of information he could rake up, in successive editions of his Monitor the constable's belated revelation came as a surprise.
It was evident that he had a sharp eye for telling stuff, for in the moment which elapsed after Brent's entrance he had run it over a column, swooped on a likely item, snipped it out and added it to a heap of similar gleanings at his elbow. He glanced at his caller with an expression which was of the sort that discourages wasting of time. "Mr. Peppermore?" inquired Brent, taking his cue. "In?"
Brent; I'll tell you who that chap is, for he's one of the queerest and at the same time most interesting characters in the town. That, sir, is Krevin Crood, the ne'er-do-weel brother of Mr. Alderman Crood watch him!" Already interested in the Crood family because of what he had seen of Simon Crood and his niece on the previous evening, Brent looked closely at the man whom Peppermore pointed out.
Peppermore, she says, more wheedlingly than ever, 'was that, if it lay in your power, and if occasion arises, you would do what you could to keep my name out of it I don't want publicity! Um!" concluded Peppermore. "Pretty woman, Mr. Brent, and with taking ways, but of course I had to be adamant, sir firm, Mr. Brent, firm as St. Hathelswide's tower. 'The Press, Mrs.
Krevin Crood, said Peppermore, was mainly dependent on his pension of three pounds a week from the borough authorities a pension which, of course, was terminable at the pleasure of those authorities; Wallingford had let it be known, plainly and unmistakably, that he was going to advocate the discontinuance of these drains on the town's resources: Krevin Crood, accordingly, would be one of the first to suffer if Wallingford got his way, as he was likely to do.
During a moment's impressive silence the three men, standing side by side at Hawthwaite's desk, stared at the blood-stained memento of the crime. Each was thinking the same thought there, before them, was the life-blood of the man who little more than an hour previously had been full of energy, forcefulness, ambition. It was Peppermore who first spoke, in an awe-stricken voice.
Wallingford had introduced him to Peppermore in the smoking-room of the Chancellor Hotel, and Peppermore, who rarely got the chance of talking to London journalists, had been loquacious and ingratiating. His expressive eyebrows prominent features of his somewhat odd countenance went up now as he caught sight of Brent standing on the superintendent's hearth-rug. He came quickly into the room. "Mr.
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