“You do not understand these matters,” replied Zero, with an air of great dignity. “This will shake England to the heart. Gladstone, the truculent old man, will quail before the pointing finger of revenge. And now that my dynamite is proved effective——”
“Heavens, you remind me!” ejaculated Somerset. “That brick in your bag must be instantly disposed of. But how? If we could throw it in the river——”
“A torpedo,” cried Zero, brightening, “a torpedo in the Thames! Superb, dear fellow! I recognise in you the marks of an accomplished anarch.”
“True!” returned Somerset. “It cannot so be done; and there is no help but you must carry it away with you. Come on, then, and let me at once consign you to a train.”
“Nay, nay, dear boy,” protested Zero. “There is now no call for me to leave. My character is now reinstated; my fame brightens; this is the best thing I have done yet; and I see from here the ovations that await the author of the Golden Square Atrocity.”
“My young friend,” returned the other, “I give you your choice. I will either see you safe on board a train or safe in gaol.”
“Somerset, this is unlike you!” said the chemist. “You surprise me, Somerset.”
“I shall considerably more surprise you at the next police office,” returned Somerset, with something bordering on rage. “For on one point my mind is settled: either I see you packed off to America, brick and all, or else you dine in prison.”
“You have perhaps neglected one point,” returned the unoffended Zero: “for, speaking as a philosopher, I fail to see what means you can employ to force me. The will, my dear fellow——”