In the Mayor's Parlour

by J. S. Fletcher

"What sort of things?" inquired Brent.

"Oh, well!" said Hawthwaite, with a laugh. "If you'd lived as long in this town as I have, and been in my position, you'd know that it—like all little places—is a hotbed of scandal and gossip. The women, of course, seeing her partiality for men friends, said things and hinted more. Then the Vicar's wife—parsons' ladies are great ones for talk—found something out and made the most of it. I told you that when Mrs. Saumarez first came here it was understood that she was the widow of an officer of some high position in the Royal Navy. Well, our Vicar's wife has a brother who's a big man in that profession, and she was a bit curious to know about the new-comer's relation to it. She persisted in calling on Mrs. Saumarez though her calls weren't returned—she could make excuses, you see, about parish matters and charities and what not. And one day she asked Mrs. Saumarez point-blank what ship her late husband had last served on? Now she says that Mrs. Saumarez snapped her up short—anyway, Mrs. S. gave her an answer. 'My late husband,' said Mrs. S., 'was not in the British service!' And of course that wasn't in her favour with the people whom she'd already snubbed."

"Um!" said Brent. There were many things in this retailing of gossip that he wanted to think about at leisure. "Well," he added, after a pause, "I dare say all sorts of small items help towards a solution, Hawthwaite. But you're already busy about it."

"I'm not only busy, but actively so," replied the superintendent. "And—again between you and me and nobody else—I'm expecting some very special professional and expert assistance within the next few days. Oh, you leave this to me, Mr. Brent, I'll run down your cousin's murderer or murderess yet! Go you on with your articles—they're helpful, for they're rousing public interest."

Brent went away and followed Hawthwaite's advice. His articles came out in the Monitor twice a week. Peppermore printed them in big type, leaded, and gave them the most prominent place in the paper. He himself was as proud of these uncompromising attacks on the municipal government of Hathelsborough as if he had written them himself; the proprietor of the Monitor was placidly agreeable about them, for the simple reason that after the first two had appeared the circulation of his journal doubled, and after the next three was at least four times what it had ever been before. Everybody in their immediate neighbourhood read and discussed the articles; extracts from them were given in the county papers; some of the London dailies began to lift them. Eventually a local Member of Parliament asked a question about them in the House of Commons. And one day Peppermore came rushing to Brent in a state of high excitement.

"The pen is mightier than the sword, Mr. Brent, sir, that's a fact," he gasped, tumbling headlong into Brent's room. "Heard the news, sir? All through your articles!"

"Heard nothing," replied Brent. "What is it?"

"I had it from the Town Clerk just now, so it's gospel truth," replied Peppermore. "The Local Government Board, sir, is, at last, moved to action! It's going to send down an inspector—a real full-fledged inspector! 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.

"Local Government Board Inspector!" he exclaimed scoffingly. "Pooh! some old fossil who'll come here—I'll tell you how! He'll ask for the responsible authorities. That's Simon Crood and Company. He'll hear all they've got to say. They'll say what they like. He'll examine their documents. The documents will be all ready for him. Everything will be nice and proper and in strict order, and every man will say precisely what he's been ordered to say—and there you are! The Inspector will issue his report that he's carefully examined everything and found all correct, and the comedy will conclude with the farce of votes of thanks all round! That's the line, Brent."