It was a cheerful day for the Squirradical when Holtum was restored to his brewery.
'It's much worse than that,' said Gideon; 'a combination of circumstances really providentially unjust--a--in fact, a syndicate of murderers seem to have perceived my latent ability to rid them of the traces of their crime. It's a legal study after all, you see!' And with these words, Gideon, for the second time that day, began to describe the adventures of the Broadwood Grand.
'I must write to The Times,' cried Mr Bloomfield.
'Do you want to get me disbarred?' asked Gideon.
'Disbarred! Come, it can't be as bad as that,' said his uncle. 'It's a good, honest, Liberal Government that's in, and they would certainly move at my request. Thank God, the days of Tory jobbery are at an end.'
'It wouldn't do, Uncle Ned,' said Gideon.
'But you're not mad enough,' cried Mr Bloomfield, 'to persist in trying to dispose of it yourself?'
'There is no other path open to me,' said Gideon.
'It's not common sense, and I will not hear of it,' cried Mr Bloomfield. 'I command you, positively, Gid, to desist from this criminal interference.'
'Very well, then, I hand it over to you,' said Gideon, 'and you can do what you like with the dead body.'
'God forbid!' ejaculated the president of the Radical Club, 'I'll have nothing to do with it.'
'Then you must allow me to do the best I can,' returned his nephew. 'Believe me, I have a distinct talent for this sort of difficulty.'
'We might forward it to that pest-house, the Conservative Club,' observed Mr Bloomfield. 'It might damage them in the eyes of their constituents; and it could be profitably worked up in the local journal.'
'If you see any political capital in the thing,' said Gideon, 'you may have it for me.'
'No, no, Gid--no, no, I thought you might. I will have no hand in the thing. On reflection, it's highly undesirable that either I or Miss Hazeltine should linger here. We might be observed,' said the president, looking up and down the river; 'and in my public position the consequences would be painful for the party. And, at any rate, it's dinner-time.'
'What?' cried Gideon, plunging for his watch. 'And so it is! Great heaven, the piano should have been here hours ago!'
Mr Bloomfield was clambering back into his boat; but at these words he paused.
'I saw it arrive myself at the station; I hired a carrier man; he had a round to make, but he was to be here by four at the latest,' cried the barrister. 'No doubt the piano is open, and the body found.'
'You must fly at once,' cried Mr Bloomfield, 'it's the only manly step.'
'But suppose it's all right?' wailed Gideon. 'Suppose the piano comes, and I am not here to receive it? I shall have hanged myself by my cowardice. No, Uncle Ned, enquiries must be made in Padwick; I dare not go, of course; but you may--you could hang about the police office, don't you see?'
'No, Gid--no, my dear nephew,' said Mr Bloomfield, with the voice of one on the rack. 'I regard you with the most sacred affection; and I thank God I am an Englishman--and all that. But not--not the police, Gid.'
'Then you desert me?' said Gideon. 'Say it plainly.'
'Far from it! far from it!' protested Mr Bloomfield. 'I only propose caution. Common sense, Gid, should always be an Englishman's guide.'
'Will you let me speak?' said Julia. 'I think Gideon had better leave this dreadful houseboat, and wait among the willows over there. If the piano comes, then he could step out and take it in; and if the police come, he could slip into our houseboat, and there needn't be any more Jimson at all. He could go to bed, and we could burn his clothes (couldn't we?) in the steam-launch; and then really it seems as if it would be all right. Mr Bloomfield is so respectable, you know, and such a leading character, it would be quite impossible even to fancy that he could be mixed up with it.'
'This young lady has strong common sense,' said the Squirradical.
'O, I don't think I'm at all a fool,' said Julia, with conviction.