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By a miracle Wimp was at home in the afternoon. He was writing when Denzil was ushered up three pairs of stairs into his presence, but he got up and flashed the bull's-eye of his glance upon the visitor. "Mr. Denzil Cantercot, I believe," said Wimp. Denzil started. He had not sent up his name, merely describing himself as a gentleman. "That is my name," he murmured.
You plant one in my house to tell my secrets to Wimp, and you plant one in Wimp's house to tell Wimp's secrets to me, I suppose. Out with some, then." "Upon my honour, you wrong me. Jane brought me here, not I Jane. As for Kitty, I never had such a shock in my life as at finding her installed in Wimp's house." "She thought it safer to have the law handy for your arrest.
A man constantly about him, too! "Denzil is a man of genius," said Grodman. "And as such comes under the heading of Suspicious Characters. He has written an Epic Poem and read it to me. It is morbid from start to finish. There is 'death' in the third line. I dare say you know he polished up my book?" Grodman's artlessness was perfect. "No. You surprise me," Wimp replied.
Edward Wimp, of the Scotland Yard Detective Department, said that the letters and papers of the deceased threw no light upon the manner of his death, and they would be handed back to the family. His Department had not formed any theory on the subject. The coroner proceeded to sum up the evidence.
The simple headstone bore the name, "Arthur Constant." Wimp tapped her suddenly on the shoulder. "How do you do, Mrs. Drabdump?" Mrs. Drabdump went deadly white. She turned round, staring at Wimp without any recognition. "You remember me, surely," he said; "I've been down once or twice to your place about that poor gentleman's papers." His eye indicated the grave. "Lor!
"Wimp says hurry up things shaky here expect attack by bears have tried to place rails elsewhere but not successful. Wimp says good night." Clark's eyes sparkled with anger and he hammered the key. There were other things he wanted to say and must say. But for all his repeated calls there was only silence, till in an interval, while he rubbed his throbbing fingers, the receiver began to tilt.
You have eaten my bread, drunk my claret, written my book, smoked my cigars, and pocketed my money. And yet, when you have an important piece of information bearing on a mystery about which I am thinking day and night, you calmly go and sell it to Wimp." "I did-didn't," stammered Denzil. "Liar! Do you think Kitty has any secrets from me?
There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Denzil was sorry he had spoken. "I sent for you," Grodman said, "to tell you that on the night Wimp arrested Mortlake I had made preparations for your arrest." Denzil gasped, "What for?" "My dear Denzil, there is a little law in this country invented for the confusion of the poetic.
Two years ago Mortlake had to struggle with my calligraphy now he is in with all the nobs, and goes to the 'At Homes' of the aristocracy." "Radical M.P.'s," murmured Wimp, smiling. "While I am still barred from the dazzling drawing-rooms, where beauty and intellect foregather. A mere artisan! A manual labourer!" Denzil's eyes flashed angrily. He rose with excitement.
I enjoyed the hunt more. "Unfortunately, Wimp, set on the chase again by my own letter, by dint of persistent blundering, blundered into a track which by a devilish tissue of coincidences I had neither foreseen nor dreamt of seemed to the world the true. Mortlake was arrested and condemned. Wimp had apparently crowned his reputation. This was too much.
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