endid condition,
modernized, set in a beautiful old garden, with a magnificent cedar tree
on the lawn, and a fine view from its front windows. And, for a quick
sale, cheap."

"What's the figure?" asked Brent.

"Two thousand guineas," answered Tansley.

Brent reached for his hat.

"Let's go and look at it," he said.

Within a few hours Brent had settled his purchase of Acacia Lodge from
the retired tradesman and Tansley was busy with the legal necessities of
the conveyance. That done, and in his new character of townsman and
property owner, Brent sought out Peppermore, and into that worthy's
itching and astonished ears poured out a confession which the editor of
the _Monitor_ was to keep secret until next day; after which, retiring
to his sitting-room at the _Chancellor_, he took up pen and paper, and
proceeded to write a document which occasioned him more thought than he
usually gave to his literary productions. 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. 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!"

At five minutes past ten next morning, as he, Mallett and Coppinger came
together out of the side-door of the bank, where they had been in close
conference since half-past nine, on affairs of their own, Mr. Alderman
Crood saw the poster on which was set out Brent's election address to
the voters of the Castle Ward. The bill-posting people had pasted a copy
of it on a blank wall opposite; the three men, open-mouthed and
wide-eyed, gathered round and read. Crood grew purple with anger.

"Impudence!" he exclaimed at last. "Sheer brazen impudence! Him--a
stranger! Take up his cousin's work, will he? And what's he mean by
saying that he's now a Hathelsborough man?"

"I heard about that last night," answered Coppinger. "