ty person is some one who knows the place extremely well!"

Before the superintendent could reply, his partly-open door was further
opened, and a little, bustling, eager-faced man, who wore large
spectacles and carried a pencil behind his right ear, looked in. Brent
recognized him as another of the half-dozen Hathelsborough men whose
acquaintance he had made on former visits--Peppermore, the hard-worked
editor-reporter of the one local newspaper. 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. Brent!" he exclaimed. "No idea you were here, sir. My profound
sympathy, Mr. Brent! Dear, dear! what a truly terrible affair!" Then,
his professional instincts getting the better of him, he turned on
Hawthwaite, at the same time pulling out a note-book. "What are the
details, Mr. Superintendent?" he asked. "I just met one of your
officers, going for Dr. Barber; he gave me the scantiest information, so
I hurried to see you."

"And I can't give you any more," replied Hawthwaite. "There are no
details yet, my lad! All we know is that the Mayor was found dead in the
Mayor's Parlour half an hour ago, and that he's been murdered. You'll
have to wait for the rest."

"We don't go to press till 12.30," remarked Peppermore, unperturbed by
this curtness. "Perhaps by then you can give me more news, Mr.
Superintendent? Murdered! The Mayor of Hathelsborough! Now that's
something that's unique in the history of the town, I believe. I was
looking over the records not so long since, and I don't remember coming
across any entry of such an event as this. Unparalleled!"

Hawthwaite made no reply. 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.

"Between ourselves," he answered, "in some quarters--very!"

"Of late, I suppose?" suggested Brent.

"Be