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.

"Do you still hope to discover the Bow murderer?" he asked the old
bloodhound.

"I can lay my hand on him now," Grodman announced curtly.

Denzil hitched his chair back involuntarily. He found conversation with
detectives as lively as playing at skittles with bombshells. They got on
his nerves terribly, these undemonstrative gentlemen with no sense of
the Beautiful.

"But why don't you give him up to justice?" he murmured.

"Ah--it has to be proved yet. But it is only a matter of time."

"Oh!" said Denzil, "and shall I write the story for you?"

"No. You will not live long enough."

Denzil turned white. "Nonsense! I am years younger than you," he gasped.

"Yes," said Grodman, "but you drink so much."

CHAPTER VII.

When Wimp invited Grodman to eat his Christmas plum-pudding at King's
Cross Grodman was only a little surprised. The two men were always
overwhelmingly cordial when they met, in order to disguise their mutual
detestation. When people really like each other, they make no
concealment of their mutual contempt. In his letter to Grodman, Wimp
said that he thought it would be nicer for him to keep Christmas in
company than in solitary state. There seems to be a general prejudice in
favor of Christmas numbers, and Grodman yielded to it. Besides, he
thought that a peep at the Wimp domestic interior would be as good as a
pantomime. He quite enjoyed the fun that was coming, for he knew that
Wimp had not invited him out of mere "peace and goodwill."

There was only one other guest at the festive board. This was Wimp's
wife's mother's mother, a lady of sweet seventy. Only a minority of
mankind can obtain a grandmother-in-law by marrying, but Wimp was not
unduly conceited. The old lady suffered from delusions. One of them was
that she was a centenarian. She dressed for the part. It is
extraordinary what pains ladies will take to conceal their age. Another
of Wimp's grandmother-in-law's delusions was that Wimp had married to
get her into the family. Not to frustrate his design, she always gave
him her company on high-days and holidays. Wilfred Wimp--the little boy
who stole the jam--was in great form at the Christmas dinner. The only
drawback to his enjoyment was that its sweets needed no stealing. His
mother presided over the platters, and thought how much c