I like that--it
suits me. Now, frankly you don't like that old uncle of yours? And just
why?"

Queenie looked round. There was no one near them, no one indeed in
sight, except a nursemaid who wheeled a perambulator along one of the
paths, but she sunk her voice to something near a whisper.

"Mr. Brent," she said, "Simon Crood's the biggest hypocrite in this
town--and that's implying a good deal more than you'd ever think. He and
those friends of his, Mallett and Coppinger, who are always there with
him--ah, they think I know nothing, and understand nothing, but I hear
their schemings and their talk, veiled as it is. They're deep and
subtle, those three--and dangerous. Didn't you see last night that if
you'd sat there till midnight or till morning you'd never have had a
word out of them--a word, that is, that you wanted? You wouldn't!--they
knew better!"

"I got nothing out of them," admitted Brent. He sat thinking in silence
for a time. "Look here," he said at last, "you know what I want to find
out--who killed my cousin. Help me! Keep your eyes and ears open to
anything you see and hear--understand?"

"I will!" answered Queenie. "But you've got a big task before you! You
can be certain of this--if the Mayor was murdered for what you called
political reasons----"

"Well?" asked Brent, as she paused. "Well?"

"It would all be arranged so cleverly that there's small chance of
discovery," she went on. "I know this town--rotten to the core! But I'll
help you all I can, and----"

A policeman suddenly came round the corner of the wall, and at sight of
Brent touched his peaked cap.

"Looking for you, Mr. Brent," he said. "I heard you'd been seen coming
up here. The superintendent would be obliged if you'd step round, sir;
he wants to see you at once, particularly."

"Follow you in a moment," answered Brent. He turned to Queenie as the
man went away. "When shall I see you again?" he asked.

"I always come here every afternoon," she answered. "It's the only
change I get. I come here to read."

"Till to-morrow--or the next day, then," said Brent. He nodded and
laughed. "Keep smiling! You'll maybe play Juliet, or some other of those
old games, yet."

The girl smiled gratefully, and Brent strode away after the policeman.
In a few minutes he was in Hawthwaite's office. The superintendent
closed the door, gave him a mysterious glance, and going over to a
cupboard produced a long, narrow parcel, done up in brown paper