RENT glanced from the new witness, a quiet, reserved-looking man of middle age, to Simon Crood. There was a dark scowl on the prisoner's heavy features, and, Brent fancied, a look of apprehension. Once more Simon beckoned to his solicitor, and exchanged a few whispered words with him across the front of the dock, before turning to the witness. And to him Brent also turned, with an instinctive feeling that perhaps he held a key to those mysteries which had not yet been produced.
He gave his name as Matthew James Nettleton, member of the Society of Accountants and Auditors.
“Mr. Nettleton,” said Meeking, “you are borough accountant of Hathelsborough, are you not?”
The witness folded his hands on the ledge of the box and shook his head.
“No!” he answered. “Was!”
“Was? What do you mean?”
“I have resigned my appointment.”
“When?”
“Yesterday—at six o'clock last evening, to be precise.”
“May I ask why?”
“You may, sir. I resigned because I knew the inquiry just held by the inspector of the Local Government Board to be an absolute farce—because I know that the financial affairs of the borough are rotten ripe—because I utterly refuse to be a cat's-paw in the hands of the town trustees any longer. Those are my reasons.”
Tansley dug his elbow into Brent's ribs as an irrepressible murmur of surprise broke out all around the court. Brent was watching the men in the dock. Krevin Crood smiled cynically, and the smile developed into a short, sharp laugh. Simon's flabby face turned a dull red, and presently he lifted his big silk handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
Meeking waited a moment, letting the witness's outburst have its full effect. Then, amid a dead silence, he leaned toward the box.
“Why didn't you say all that at the recent inquiry?” he asked.
“Because it wouldn't have been a scrap of good,” retorted the witness. “Those affairs are all cut and dried. My only course was to do what I did last night—resign—and to give evidence now.”
Meeking twisted his gown together and looked at the magistrates. He ran his eye carefully along the row of faces, and finally let it settle again on his witness.
“Tell their worships, in your own fashion, your considered opinion as to the state of the borough finances,” he said. “Your opinion based on your experience.”
“They are, as I said just now, absolutely rotten,” declared Nettleton. “It is seven years since I came to this place as borough accountant. I found that, under an ancient charter, the whole of the financial business of the borough was in the hands of a small body known as the town trustees, three only in number. It is marvelous that such a body should be allowed to exist in these days. The town trustees are responsible to nobody. They elect themselves. That is to say, if one dies, the surviving two elect his successor. They are not bound to render accounts to any one. The town council, of which they are a permanent committee, only knows what they choose to tell. This has gone on for at least three centuries. It may have served some good purpose at some period, under men of strict probity, but in my opinion, based on such experience as I have been able to command, it has of late years led to nothing but secret peculation, jobbery, and knavery. As regards my own position, I have never at any time been permitted to see any accounts other than those placed before me by the town trustees. My belief is that no one but themselves actually knows what the financial condition of the town really is. I am of impression that this borough, as a borough, is bankrupt!”
There now arose a murmur in court which the chairman and officials found it difficult to suppress; but curiosity prevailed over excitement, and the silence was deep enough when Meeking got in his next question:
“You affirm all this in face of the recent inquiry?”
“I do—and strongly. The accounts shown at the recent inquiry were all carefully manipulated and arranged by the town trustees. I had nothing to do with them. They were prepared by the town trustees—chiefly, I imagine, by Mallett and Coppinger, with Crood's approval and consent. They were never shown to me. In short, my position has been this—I have had certain accounts placed before me by the town trustees, with the curt intimation that my sole duty was to see that the merely arithmetical features were correct, and to sign them as accountant.”
“Could you not have made a statement to this effect at the inquiry?”
“I could not.”
“Why?”