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Barber, he suggested that it was the sort of wound that would be caused by one of those old-fashioned rapiers. And they did say, both of them, that it had been used whatever the weapon was with great force: gone clean through." Peppermore was listening to these gruesome details with all the ardour of the born news-seeker. But Brent turned away. "Is there anything I can do?" he asked.
"I'd a visit from Mrs. Saumarez this morning, Mr. Brent," he said, eyeing his companion with a knowing look. "Pretty and accomplished woman, that, sir; but queer, Mr. Brent, queer!" "What do you mean?" asked Brent. "Odd ideas, sir, very odd!" replied Peppermore. "Wanted to find out from me, Mr.
Let's argue it out on the principle; then, later, we'll have another article on the argument that the finances of a town should be wholly controlled by the elected representatives of the people see?" "Your late cousin's theories, Mr. Brent," said Peppermore. "Excellent notions, both, sir. You write the articles; I'll find the space. All on principle no personalities. Plain and practical, Mr.
It was not a lengthy document, but it had been rewritten and interlineated and corrected several times before Brent carried it to the Monitor office and the printing-press. Peppermore, reading it over, grinned with malicious satisfaction. "That'll make 'em open their mouths and their eyes to-morrow morning, Mr. Brent!" he exclaimed. "We'll have it posted all over the town by ten o'clock, sir.
"What's the story?" asked Brent, still quietly watching the subject of Peppermore's remarks. "Oh, the old one," said Peppermore. "Krevin Crood was once a solicitor, and Town Clerk, and, as I say, the biggest swell in the place. Making his couple of thousand a year, I should think. Come down in the usual fashion drink, gambling, extravagance and so on.
He heard of them from Peppermore, whose journalistic itching for news had so far gone unrelieved; Peppermore himself knew no more than that rumour was busy, and secret. "Can't make out for the life of me what it is, Mr. Brent!" said Peppermore, calling upon Brent at the Chancellor on the eve of the inquiry. "But there's something, sir, something! You know that boy of mine young Pryder?"
We'd a real first-class murder in this town last night. The Mayor! Heard about it?" "I've heard," said Brent. "Um! And how long have you been at that job?" "Twelve months," replied the boy. "I was in the law before that six months. But the law didn't suit me. Slow! There's some go in this bit too much now and then. What we want is another reporter. Comes hard on me and Mr. Peppermore, times.
He saw little of the efforts of the other side; but Peppermore agreed with Tansley that the opposition would leave no stone unturned in the task of beating him. The Monitor was all for Brent Peppermore's proprietor was a Progressive; a tradesman who had bought up the Monitor for a mere song, and ran it as a business speculation which had so far turned out very satisfactorily.
At that moment a policeman put his head inside the door and asked him to go to Dr. Wellesley, and he went off, leaving the two newspaper men together. Brent looked at Peppermore and suddenly put an abrupt question to him. "I guess you'll know," he said meaningly. "Was my cousin unpopular in this place?" Peppermore turned his big spectacles on his questioner and sank his voice to a whisper.
Brent, is one of the Hathelsborough abuses that your poor cousin meant to rid the ratepayers of fact, sir!" "How?" asked Brent. "Well," continued Peppermore, "I said that Simon and some others cooked things for him. Instead of dismissing Krevin for incompetence and inattention to his duties, they retired him with a pension.
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