"Them police fellows, Mr. Brent," said the landlady, "have they any idea who did it?" "I don't think they've the least idea yet," replied Brent. "I suppose you haven't, either?" Mrs. Appleyard, thus spurred to reminiscence, recovered something of her customary loquaciousness. "No, to be sure I haven't," she answered. "But I've heard things, and I wish--eh, I do wish!--that I'd warned him! I ought to ha' done." "What about?" asked Brent. "And what things?" The landlady hesitated a little, shaking her head. "Well, you know, Mr. Brent," she said at last, "in a little town like this, folk will talk--Hathelsborough's a particular bad place for talk and gossip; for all that, Hathelsborough people's as secret as the grave when they like, about their own affairs. And, as I say, I've heard things. There's a woman comes here to work for me at odd times, a woman that sometimes goes to put in a day or two at Marriner's Laundry, where a lot of women works, and I recollect her telling me not so long since that there was talk amongst those women about the Mayor and his interfering with things, and she'd heard some of 'em remark that he'd best keep his fingers out o' the pie or he'd pay for it. No more, Mr. Brent; but a straw'll show which way the wind blows. I'm sure there was them in the town that wanted to get rid of him. All the same--murder!" "Just so," said Brent. "Well, I've got to find it all out." He went away to the _Chancellor_ Hotel, made his arrangements, sent to Mrs. Appleyard's for his luggage, and eventually turned into bed. But it was little sleep that Brent got that night, and he was thankful when morning came and he could leave his bed and find relief in activity. He was out and about while the grey mists still hung around the Hathelsborough elms, and at eight o'clock walked into the police-station, anxious for news. Hawthwaite had no news for him. Late the previous night, and early that morning, the police had carried out an exhaustive search of the old Moot Hall, and had failed to discover anything that seemed to bear relation to the crime. Also they had made themselves acquainted with the murdered man's movements immediately previous to his arrival at the Moot Hall; there was nothing whatever in them that afforded any clue. "We know all that he did from five o'clock yesterday afternoon to the time you found him, Mr. Brent," said Hawthwaite. "He left his office at five o'clock, and went home to his rooms. He was there till nearly seven o'clock. He went out then and walked round by Abbey Lodge, where he left some books--novels, or something of the sort--for Mrs. Saumarez. Then----" "Who's Mrs. Saumarez?" asked Brent.