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An idea had flashed through his mind as he looked at Krevin Crood in the broken man's brief interchange of remarks with the half-insolent tradesman: an idea which he had been careful not to mention to Peppermore.
I saw them frequently at the Club, of which I am a member. I should say, sir, from what I observed, that they were on very good terms with each other more friendly than ever, Mr. Brent." "Um," said Brent. "Well, there's a lot of queer stuff about this business, Peppermore. But let's get back to that of the moment.
The Town Clerk is in a worse state of righteous indignation than I ever saw a man, and as for Mayor Simon Crood, I understand his anger is beyond belief. Mr. Brent, you've done it!" But Brent was not so sure. He had some experience of Government officials, and of official methods, and knew more of red tape than Peppermore did. As for Tansley, who came in soon after, he was cynically scornful.
"Between ourselves," he answered, "in some quarters very!" "Of late, I suppose?" suggested Brent. "Become gradually more and more so, Mr. Brent," said Peppermore. "You see, he only got elected Mayor by one vote. That meant that half the Council was against him. Against his policy and ideas, you know. Of course he was a reformer. Those who didn't like him called him a meddler.
Saumarez was away on the Continent most of the winter," answered Peppermore. "The Riviera, Nice, Monte Carlo that sort of thing. She may have met somebody there that she preferred to either Wellesley or Wallingford. Anyway, Mr. Brent, what did the doctor mean when he frankly admitted that there had been jealousy between him and Wallingford, but that it no longer existed?
He went on to tell how he and Bunning had found Wallingford, and of the difficulties of access to the Mayor's Parlour. "The thing is," he concluded, "how did the murderer get in, and how did he get away?" "Queer!" admitted Peppermore, scribbling fast in his note-book. "That's a nice job for the detectives. Looks like a skilfully-planned, premeditated job too "
"Smart youth!" replied Brent. "As they make 'em, sir," agreed Peppermore. "That boy, Mr. Brent, will go far in the profession of which you're a shining and I'm a dim light! he's got what the French, I believe, sir, call a flair for news. Took to our line like a duck to water, Mr. Brent!
"Alderman Crood lives by his tannery the far end of the town. Anybody'll show you the place, once you're past the big church." "I'm going that way," remarked Peppermore. "Come with me, Mr. Brent." He led Brent out into St. Lawrence Lane, a narrow thoroughfare at the back of the Moot Hall, and turning a corner, emerged on the market-place, over which the night shadows had now fallen.
I understand that you supply the reports to them, Mr. Peppermore. Well, of course, as you know, Mr. Brent, I am district correspondent for two of the big London agencies, but I had to explain to her that in a sensational case like this the London papers generally sent down men of their own: there were, for instance, two or three London reporters present the other day.
And all that the Monitor powerful organ, Mr. Brent, very powerful organ! can do on your behalf and in your interest shall be done, sir, it shall be done con amore, as I believe they say in Italy." "Thank 'ee!" said Brent. "You're the right stuff." "Don't mention it, sir," replied Peppermore. "Only too pleased. Egad! I wish I could see Mr. Alderman Crood's face when he reads this poster!"
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