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. "Tansley told two or three of us at the club. This fellow Brent has bought that property of old Chillingham's--Acacia Lodge. Freehold, you know; bought it right out. He's a Hathelsborough man now, right enough." Then they both turned and glanced at Mallett, who was re-reading Brent's election address with brooding eyes and lowering brow. "Well?" demanded Coppinger. "What do you make of it, Mallett?" Mallett removed his glasses and sniffed. "Don't let's deceive ourselves," he said, with a hasty glance round. "This chap's out to make trouble. He's no fool, either. If he gets into the Council we shall have an implacable enemy. And he's every chance. So it's all the more necessary than ever that we should bring off to-morrow what we've been talking over this morning." "We ought to do that," said Coppinger. "We can count on fourteen sure votes." "Ay!" said Mallett. "But so can they! The thing is--the three votes neither party can count on. We must get at those three men to-day. If we don't carry our point to-morrow, we shall have Sam Epplewhite or Dr. Wellesley as Mayor, and things'll be as bad as they were under Wallingford."