As for Sir Christopher Blunt—he certainly did not appear to know whether he stood upon his head or his heels. The Home Secretary sent for him in the course of the afternoon, and received from his lips a full and complete statement of the whole occurrence; for the Government was naturally indignant that any individual should unwarrantably usurp the functions of the proper authorities by holding murderers in his own custody and adopting his own course to prove the innocence of a man in the grasp of justice. Sir Christopher was, however, unable to afford the slightest information which was likely to lead to the discovery of that individual, or of his place of abode.
On his return to his own house in Jermyn Street, Sir Christopher found several noblemen and influential gentlemen, including three or four Members of Parliament, waiting to see him; and he instantly became the lion of the company.
No pen can describe the immense pomposity with which he repeated his narrative of the mysterious transaction: no words can convey an idea of the immeasurable conceit and self-sufficiency with which he described the cross-examination of the murderers.
In fact, the knight made himself so busy in the matter—was so accessible to all visitors who were anxious to gratify their curiosity by asking a thousand questions—and was so ready to afford the newspaper-reporters all the information which he had to impart respecting the incident, that no one thought of applying to Dr. Lascelles in a similar manner. This circumstance was the more agreeable to the physician, inasmuch as he not only disliked wasting his time in gossip, but was well pleased at escaping the necessity of giving vague answers or positive denials in an affair the details of which were in reality no mystery to him.
To all his visitors Sir Christopher Blunt took care to speak in the following terms:—"You see, the individual who is the prime mover in this most extraordinary proceeding, required the assistance of no ordinary magistrate. He wanted a man of keen penetration—the most perfect business-habits—and of the highest character,—a man, in a word, who would probe the very souls of the two miscreants to be placed before him, and on whose report the world could implicitly rely. That was the reason wherefore I was pitched upon as the Justice of the Peace best qualified to undertake so difficult a business."
Sir Christopher became a perfect hero, as the mysterious stranger had predicted; and during the remainder of that memorable day on which the innocence of Mr. Torrens was proclaimed, Jermyn Street was literally lined with carriages, the common destination being the knight's abode;—so that a stranger in the metropolis would have supposed that such a scene of animation and excitement could only be occasioned by the arrival of some great foreign prince, or that the Prime Minister lived in that house and was holding a levée.
When all Sir Christopher's visitors had retired, and he found himself alone in his drawing-room at about half-past ten that evening, he threw himself on a sofa, exclaiming aloud, "Egad! that old fellow, who knocked down the Irish Captain and afterwards turned out to be a young man, was quite right. I am a hero—a regular hero! This popularity is truly delightful. I really do not envy the Duke of Wellington his having won the battle of Waterloo. No, indeed—not I! Sir Christopher Blunt is a greater man than his Grace, although only a knight."
Scarcely had the worthy gentleman arrived at this very satisfactory conclusion, when Mr. Lykspittal entered the room, holding his portfolio in his hand, and bowing so low at every third step which he took in advancing towards the knight, that it really seemed as if he were anxious to ascertain how close to the floor he could put his nose without rolling completely over like the clown at Astley's.
"My revered patron," began Mr. Lykspittal, "I have taken the liberty of bringing the first half dozen pages of the manuscript of the pamphlet——"
"The deuce take the pamphlet, Mr. Lykspittal!" shouted Sir Christopher, leaping from the sofa, and, in the exuberance of his joy, kicking the portfolio from the literary gentleman's hands up to the ceiling, so that the papers all showered down upon the head of their author, who stood amazed and aghast at this singular reception.