"Krevin," answered the landlord. "And Simon! Both of 'em. Got 'em at seven o'clock. They're in the police station--cells of course. Nice business--Mayor of a town arrested for the murder of his predecessor!" "As far as I can make out, Simon's charged with being accessory," remarked one of the other men. "Krevin's the culprit-in-chief." "Well, there they both are anyway," said the landlord. "And, if I know anything about the law, it's as serious a thing to be accessory to a murder as to be the principal in one. What do you say, Mr. Brent?" Brent made no reply. He was thinking. So this was what Hawthwaite had meant when he said, the day before, that all was ready? He wished that Hawthwaite had given him a hint, or been perfectly explicit with him. For there was Queenie to consider. And now, without further remark to the group of gossipers, he turned on his heel and went back to her and took her into the coffee-room and to the table which was always specially reserved for him. Not until Queenie had eaten her dinner did he tell her of what he had learned. "So now there's going to be hell for a time, girlie," he said in conclusion. "No end of unpleasantness for me--and for you, considering that these men are your folk. And so all the more reason why you and I stick together like leeches--not all the Simons and the Krevins in the world are going to make any difference between you and me, and we'll just go forward as if they didn't exist, whatever comes out. And now, come along and I'll see you home to Mother Appleyard's, and then I'll drop in on Hawthwaite and learn all about it." "Do--do you think they did it?" asked Queenie in a fearful whisper. "Actually?" "God knows!" muttered Brent. "Damned if I do, or if I know what to think. But Hawthwaite must have good grounds for this!" He saw Queenie safely home to Mrs. Appleyard's and hurried off to the police station, where he found the superintendent alone in his office. "You've heard?" said Hawthwaite. "I've heard," replied Brent. "I wish you'd given me an idea--a hint." Hawthwaite shook his head. There was something peculiarly emphatic in the gesture. "Mr. Brent," he said solemnly. "I wouldn't have given the King himself a hint! I'd reasons--good reasons--for keeping the thing a profound secret until I could strike. As it is, I've been foiled. I've got Krevin Crood, and I've got Simon Crood--safely under lock and key. But I haven't got the other two!" "What other two?" exclaimed Brent. Hawthwaite smiled sourly. "What other two?" he repeated. "Why, Mallett and Coppinger! They're off, though how the devil they got wind of what was going on I can't think. Leaked out, somehow." "You suspect them too?" asked Brent.