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Grodman perceived the humour of the situation, and wore a curious, sub-mocking smile. "On the day I was born," said Wimp's grand-mother-in-law, "over a hundred years ago, there was a babe murdered." Wimp found himself wishing it had been she. He was anxious to get back to Cantercot. "Don't let us talk shop on Christmas Day," he said, smiling at Grodman.
Grodman broke in the door she saw her unhappy gentleman-lodger lying on his back in bed, stone dead, with a gaping red wound in his throat; how her stronger-minded companion calmed her a little by spreading a handkerchief over the distorted face; how they then looked vainly about and under the bed for any instrument by which the deed could have been done, the veteran detective carefully making a rapid inventory of the contents of the room, and taking notes of the precise position and condition of the body before anything was disturbed by the arrival of gapers or bunglers; how she had pointed out to him that both the windows were firmly bolted to keep out the cold night air; how, having noted this down with a puzzled, pitying shake of the head, he had opened the window to summon the police, and espied in the fog one Denzil Cantercot, whom he called, and told to run to the nearest police-station and ask them to send on an inspector and a surgeon; how they both remained in the room till the police arrived, Grodman pondering deeply the while and making notes every now and again, as fresh points occurred to him, and asking her questions about the poor, weak-headed young man.
Even 'Arry is capable of five minutes' attention to speculative theology, if 'Arriet isn't in a 'urry. Peter Crowl was not sorry to have a lodger like Denzil Cantercot, who, though a man of parts and thus worth powder and shot, was so hopelessly wrong on all subjects under the sun. In only one point did Peter Crowl agree with Denzil Cantercot he admired Denzil Cantercot secretly.
Grodman stood at the side of the platform secretly more amused than ever, concerning himself no more with Denzil Cantercot, who was already strengthening his nerves at the bar upstairs. The police about the hall blew their whistles, and policemen came rushing in from outside and the neighbourhood.
"They say he always was a jabberer in the composing-room, and he has jabbered himself right out of it and into a pretty good thing. He didn't have much to say about the crimes of capital when he was set up to second the toast of 'Railton and Hockes' at the beanfeast." "Toast and butter, toast and butter," said Wimp, genially. "I shouldn't blame a man for serving the two together, Mr. Cantercot."
If England dropped its fad of Monarchy and became a Republic to-morrow, do you mean to say that ?" "I mean to say there would be no Poet Laureate to begin with." "Who's fribbling now, you or me, Cantercot? But I don't care a button-hook about poets, present company always excepted. I'm only a plain man, and I want to know where's the sense of givin' any one person authority over everybody else?"
The two men were so full of their coming coups that they struggled for some seconds, side by side, before they recognised each other. Then they shook hands heartily. "That was Cantercot just went in, wasn't it, Grodman?" said Wimp. "I didn't notice," said Grodman, in tones of utter indifference. At bottom Wimp was terribly excited.
The cut looked as if done by a razor. There was no instrument lying about the room. He had known the deceased about a month. He seemed a very earnest, simple-minded young fellow, who spoke a great deal about the brotherhood of man. Mr. DENZIL CANTERCOT was next called: He was a poet.
Peter met him on the stairs and shook his hand lovingly and admiringly, and took him into Mrs. Crowl's bedroom. "Don't mind what I say, Tom. I'm only a plain man, and my tongue will say what comes uppermost! But it ain't from the soul, Tom, it ain't from the soul," said Peter, punning feebly, and letting a mirthless smile play over his sallow features. "You know Mr. Cantercot, I suppose?
I reckon everything from that murder, now, as they reckon longitude from Greenwich." "Oh," said Denzil Cantercot. "Let me see. Nearly a fortnight. What a long time to keep away from Drink and Me." "I don't know which is worse," said Denzil, irritated. "You both steal away my brains." "Indeed?" said Grodman, with an amused smile. "Well, it's only petty pilfering, after all.
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