ill more if he had been
able to look back into the cosy room which he had just left. For when he
had gone, Mrs. Saumarez took the cabinet from the safe and carefully
emptied the whole of its contents into the glowing heart of the fire.
She stood watching as the flames licked round them, and until there was
nothing left there but black ash.

CHAPTER IX

THE RIGHT TO INTERVENE

Brent went back to his hotel to find the Town Clerk of Hathelsborough
waiting for him in his private sitting-room. His visitor, a sharp-eyed
man whose profession was suggested in every look and movement, greeted
him with a suavity of manner which set Brent on his guard.

"I am here, Mr. Brent," he said, with an almost deprecating smile,
"as--well, as a sort of informal deputation--informal."

"Deputations represent somebody or something," retorted Brent, in his
brusquest fashion. "Whom do you represent?"

"The borough authorities," replied the Town Clerk, with another smile.
"That is to say----"

"You'll excuse me for interrupting," said Brent. "I'm a man of plain
speech. I take it that by borough authorities you mean, say, Mr. Simon
Crood and his fellow Town Trustees? That so?"

"Well, perhaps so," admitted the Town Clerk. "Mr. Alderman Crood, to be
sure, is Deputy-Mayor. And he and his brother Town Trustees are
certainly men of authority."

"What do you want?" demanded Brent.

The Town Clerk lowered his voice--quite unnecessarily in Brent's
opinion. His suave tones became dulcet and mollifying.

"My dear sir," he said, leaning forward, "to-morrow you--you have the
sad task of interring your cousin, our late greatly respected Mayor."

"Going to bury him to-morrow," responded Brent. "Just so--well?"

"There is a rumour in the town that you intend the--er--ceremony to be
absolutely private," continued the Town Clerk.

"I do," assented Brent. "And it will be!"

The Town Clerk made a little expostulatory sound.

"My dear sir," he said soothingly, "the late Mr. Wallingford was Mayor
of Hathelsborough! The four hundred and eighty-first Mayor of
Hathelsborough, Mr. Brent!"

Brent, who was leaning against the mantelpiece, looked fixedly at his
visitor.

"Supposing he was the nine hundred and ninety-ninth Mayor of
Hathelsborough," he asked quietly, "what then?"

"He should have a public funeral," declared the Town Clerk promptly. "My
dear sir, to inter a Mayor of Hathelsborough--and the four hundred and
eighty-first holder