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As for Grodman, there was almost a lump in his throat. Denzil Cantercot was the only unmoved man in the room. He thought the episode quite too Beautiful, and was already weaving it into rhyme. At the conclusion of his speech Mr. Gladstone called upon Tom Mortlake to unveil the portrait. Tom rose, pale and excited. He faltered as he touched the cord. He seemed overcome with emotion.
The CORONER: Gentlemen, we shall have an opportunity of viewing the room shortly. The story of the discovery of the body was retold, though more scientifically, by Mr. George Grodman, whose unexpected resurgence into the realm of his early exploits excited as keen a curiosity as the reappearance "for this occasion only" of a retired prima donna.
The cheers rang in Grodman's ears as the door slammed behind him. The reporters struggled to the front. An excited knot of working men pressed round the arrested hansom; they took the horse out. A dozen enthusiasts struggled for the honour of placing themselves between the shafts. And the crowd awaited Grodman. Grodman was ushered into the conscientious Minister's study.
Drabdump, let us know what happened when you awoke at half-past six the next morning." Thereupon Mrs. How she became alarmed how she found the street door locked by the big lock how she roused Grodman, and got him to burst open the door how they found the body all this with which the public was already familiar ad nauseam was extorted from her afresh. Do you recognise it?"
Grodman, a trained scientific observer, had pooh-poohed them. He would solemnly exhort the jury to remember that if they condemned the prisoner they would not only send an innocent man to an ignominious death on the flimsiest circumstantial evidence, but they would deprive the working men of this country of one of their truest friends and their ablest leader.
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.
It seems inconceivable that he did not violate some red-tape regulation in so doing. To some this self-surrender was limpid proof of innocence; to others it was the damning token of despairing guilt. The morning papers were pleasant reading for Grodman, who chuckled as continuously over his morning egg, as if he had laid it. Jane was alarmed for the sanity of her saturnine master.
Drabdump, you don't deserve this of your Home Secretary! The idea of that good lady!" "It was you!" "Calm yourself, my dear Home Secretary. There is nothing to be alarmed at. It was a solitary experiment, and I intend it to remain so." The noise without grew louder. "Three cheers for Grodman! Hip, hip, hip, hooray," fell faintly on their ears.
The deceased could not have cut his own throat. The deceased could not have had his throat cut for him. As one of the two must have happened, this is obvious nonsense. As this is obvious nonsense I am justified in disbelieving it. As this obvious nonsense was primarily put in circulation by Mrs. Drabdump and Mr. Grodman, I am justified in disbelieving them.
The twenty-fourth edition was all owing to the murder. Did you do that?" "You take one up so sharply, Mr. Grodman," said Denzil, changing his tone. "No I've retired," laughed Grodman. Denzil did not reprove the ex-detective's flippancy. He even laughed a little. "Well, give me another fiver, and I'll cry 'quits. I'm in debt." "Not a penny. Why haven't you been to see me since the murder?
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