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The streets all around were thronged with people longing for a glimpse of Gladstone. "Well, good-by, Cantercot," said Crowl. "No, I'll see you to the door, Peter." They fought their way shoulder to shoulder. Now that Grodman had found Denzil he was not going to lose him again.
Grodman!" shouted those who recognised the occupant. "Grodman! Hurrah!" Grodman was outwardly calm and pale, but his eyes glittered; he waved his hand encouragingly as the hansom dashed up to the door, cleaving the turbulent crowd as a canoe cleaves the waters. Grodman sprang out, the constables at the portal made way for him respectfully.
He knocked imperatively, the door was opened cautiously; a boy rushed up and delivered a telegram; Grodman forced his way in, gave his name, and insisted on seeing the Home Secretary on a matter of life and death. Those near the door heard his words and cheered, and the crowd divined the good omen, and the air throbbed with cannonades of joyous sound.
Grodman was not an early bird, now that he had no worms to catch. He could afford to despise proverbs now, for the house in which he lived was his, and he lived in it because several other houses in the street were also his, and it is well for the landlord to be about his own estate in Bow, where poachers often shoot the moon.
It might have gratified his vanity had he known it. But to-night he was yet unattended, so no one noted that he went to 46 Glover Street, after the early Crowl supper. He could not help going. He wanted to get another sovereign. He also itched to taunt Grodman. Not succeeding in the former object, he felt the road open for the second.
Wimp had hardly expected to find anybody at the house on Boxing Day, but he did not care to waste a day. Was not Grodman, too, on the track? How lucky it was that Denzil had made the first overtures, so that he could approach him without exciting suspicion. Mortlake scowled when he saw the detective. He objected to the police on principle.
Drabdump could give no clear account of such petty facts in view of her immediate engrossing interest in the horrible sight of the corpse. Grodman alone was positive that the key was in the door when he burst it open. No, he did not remember picking it up from the floor and putting it in.
Mortlake Reprieved!" Grodman looked wonderingly towards the street. "How do they know?" he murmured. "Those evening papers are amazing," said the Minister, drily. "But I suppose they had everything ready in type for the contingency." He turned to his secretary. "Templeton, have you got down every word of Mr. Grodman's confession?" "Every word, sir."
"Scotland Yard." George Grodman read this letter with annoyance, and crumpling up the paper, murmured scornfully, "Edward Wimp!" "Yes, but what will become of the Beautiful?" said Denzil Cantercot. "Hang the Beautiful!" said Peter Crowl, as if he were on the committee of the Academy. "Give me the True." Denzil did nothing of the sort. He didn't happen to have it about him.
"You have a valid reason for troubling me, I suppose, Mr. Grodman?" said the Home Secretary, almost cheerfully. "Of course it is about Mortlake?" "It is; and I have the best of all reasons." "Take a seat. Proceed." "Pray do not consider me impertinent, but have you ever given any attention to the science of evidence?"
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