e damned!" said Brent. "I've played the game straightforwardly
anyhow. I don't want any underhand business--there's enough of that in
this rotten place now. And I still think I shall be in!"

But before the summer evening had progressed far, Brent learnt that the
vested interests of an ancient English borough are stronger than he
thought. He was hopelessly defeated--only rather more than a hundred
voters marked their papers for him. His opponent was returned by a big
majority. He got a new idea when he heard the result, and went straight
off to Peppermore and the _Monitor_ with it. They would go on with the
articles, and make them of such a nature that the Local Government Board
in London would find it absolutely necessary to give prompt and
searching attention to Hathelsborough and its affairs.

CHAPTER XVIII

LOOSE STRANDS

By business time next morning Brent had cast aside all thought of the
previous day's proceedings and of his defeat at the hands of the Old
Gang, and had turned to affairs which were now of far more importance.
He had three separate enterprises in hand; to be sure, they were all
related, but each had a distinctive character of its own. He specified
all three as he ate his breakfast at the _Chancellor_, where he was
still located. First, now that he had done with his electioneering--for
the time being--he was going to work harder than ever at the task of
discovering Wallingford's murderer. Secondly, he was going to marry
Queenie, and that speedily. Queenie and he had settled matters to their
mutual satisfaction as soon as the row with Uncle Simon Crood was over,
and they had already begun furnishing the house which Brent had bought
in order to constitute himself a full-fledged burgess of Hathelsborough.
Thirdly, he was going to put all he knew into the articles which he was
writing for the _Monitor_--two had already appeared; he was going on
writing them until public opinion, gradually educated, became too strong
for the reactionary forces that had beaten him yesterday but which he
would infallibly defeat to-morrow, or, if not to-morrow, the day after.

And first the murderer. He fetched Queenie from Mrs. Appleyard's that
morning, and, utterly careless of the sly looks that were cast on him
and her, marched her through the market-place to Hawthwaite's office at
the police station. To Hawthwaite, keenly interested, he detailed
particulars of Queenie's discovery about the typewritten letter