After three gulps of that hot, snuffy, and muddy beverage, that passes on the streets of London for a decoction of the coffee berry, Gideon's mind was made up.

He would do without the police.
He must face the other side of the dilemma, and be Robert Skill in earnest.

What would Robert Skill have done?
How does a gentleman dispose of a dead body, honestly come by?
He remembered the inimitable story of the hunchback; reviewed its course, and dismissed it for a worthless guide.

It was impossible to prop a corpse on the corner of Tottenham Court Road without arousing fatal curiosity in the bosoms of the passers-by; as for lowering it down a London chimney, the physical obstacles were insurmountable.

To get it on board a train and drop it out, or on the top of an omnibus and drop it off, were equally out of the question.