The Cotton Factory Times. — 1915-05-14 (Manchester, Greater Manchester, England)

THE LITTLE DENHAM MYSTERY. Remarkable Developments.  "Nor do I. Tindall seemed excited. bat I einn't suppose there's anything in it," he added in a bored tone an he gazed acmes the old square at the tall spires of the great cathedral which towered alxsve the little city of NorthAfter a few minutes a young man entered hastily. "It looks like anicide," he said eegerly. "She was perfectly well tart night." "Doren% follow," was the laconic reply. • However, let's hear about it." Tindall took out of his pocket a piece of paper on which were written a few notes. "1 have been able to find out this." he said. "Miss. Mary BOIL was about. to, and lived with her niece at Laurel Cottage. Little Denham, Lord Ashenden, of the Grange, is her brother-in-law. The Bishop of Northmineter was dining at the Grange last night, and Mine Brent was too; Abet earl the night, in fact, 86 our often did. This morning she was found dead on the bathroom floor. 'There were no signs of a struggle. It tonot be suicide. The police won't tell me any more vet., and I don't think they know themselves.. "Who says it's suicide, nato or the police?" "The police don't say." began the reporter. "We'd better not either. Do about twenty linen and keep it vague," said the sub-editor finall'. Shortly afterwards the "West Sussex Chronicle" appeared, and the editor, on his way back from a preesing engagement, bought • copy from a boy in the street. He soar always nervous about leaving the paper in charge of anyone el.. Anxiously he scanned its pages. His eye fell on the heading. " Sudden death at the Grange." When he came to the name of Miss Mary Brent, he started and read quickly to the end of the paragraph. With an ejaculation he folded the paper and quickened his pace down the quaint old High-street towards the office. He went straight to the nub-editor's room. • Who didn't you make more of Miss •Brent'si death?" he asked, impatiently. "I knew her well, and we ought to ha, hid at leest half a column. You should have made a mystery of it. It is • mystery. I can't understand' it. It's most extraordinary." " Tindall auggested euicide," began the subeditor, hesitatingly. Well. let him so user to the Grange at once." laid the editor excitedly. -- Miss Brent wasn't ill. I know that. Why, I SEW her only yesterday. She wasn't the sort of woman to oommit suicide either. Tell Tindall to get on his motor cycle and go as hard as he can. He munt see the police and everyone he can, and get all detaile possible. And above all." he called out an the sub-editor was hurrying out of the room. "he moot see the doctor. Dr. Norton, he's the only man of sense in Little Denham. Yes, especially the doctor." In a few minutes the reporter was racing out of the town through the ivy-covered Norman gateway along the dusty country road. His thoughis were intent on hie mission, though summer in all its gorgeous loveliness called to him from flowering hedgerown and waving fields. Swiftly he mounted to the top of the hill when, the road took • sudden turn and dipped down into the village. Little Denham lay in a sleepy hollow safe 'sheltered by the Sussex Downs--a charming old-world village untouched yet by the all revealing motor bus. Opening up-full speed he set off down the hill, narrowly esetping the high wall surrounding Lord Ashendens demesne which rose up before him at the tree. The marsive iron gates were closed, and looked forbidding with their great aurmounted by two myeterioue-looking Ego san animals frcal:vsedbin stone. Hurriectlilj lodge bellisilall r.mrtesdeloanging notes awoke the tees; silence of the summer afternoon. After a few moments the lodgekeeper appeared, but all efforts to obtain any information were met by a curt refusal through the fart-closed gates. Thia vv. not encouraging, but nothing daimted, the young man jumped on his machine and made for the village. After all. Laurel Cottage had been the horn, of the dead woman. He could learn something there. A slight stir aroused Tindall's attention. Te-o men were coming out of the front door, and he instantly recognised them an the village doctor and Superintendent Jackson from Northminster. They were talking earnestly, but suddenly they .parated, and the cloetor hurried into the house. The reporter opened the gate and walked boldly down the path. Superintendent Jackson looked up as he heard the footsteps. Do you want me?" he .ked with .me importance. .01 course Ida," Tindall replied, adding tactfully, *You're certain to be the only person who knows anything about this." "There isn't anything to know," replied the Superintendent, imperturbably. Realising that his only chance vsas to put the Superintendent off hie guard, the reporter made • wild shot. "What about the marks?" he asked suddenly. "You mean the marks on the neck," said the Superintendent slowly. "Well, I don't think much of them. Dr. Norton thinks—but never you mind what he thinks. You'll know all about it in good time, if there's anything in it." The reporter agreed with a laugh, and asked with apparent interest many other questions .ncerning the tragedy, for the officer wan inclined to be friendly, but be had got what he wanted in those first few words. So there