 CHAPTER 6 The Tribulations of Morris. Part I. As the handsome spanned through the streets of London, Morris sought to rally the forces of his mind. The water-butt with the dead body had miscarried, and it was essential to recover it. So much was clear, and if by some blessed good fortune it was still at the station, all might be well. If it had been sent out, however, if it were already in the hands of some wrong person, matters looked more ominous. People who receive unexplained packages are usually keen to have them open. The example of Miss Hazeltine, whom he cursed again, was there to remind him of the circumstances, and if anyone had opened the water-butt, oh Lord! cried Morris at the thought, and carried his hand to his damp forehead. The private conception of any breach of law is apt to be inspiring, for the scheme, while yet in coed, wears dashing and attractive colours. Not so in the least to that part of the criminal's later reflections which deal with the police. That useful core, as Morris now began to think, had scarcely been kept sufficiently in view when he embarked upon his enterprise. I must play devilish close, he reflected, and he was aware of an exquisite thrill of fear in the region of the spine. "'Mine-line or lope?' inquired the cabman through the scuttle. "'Mine-line,' replied Morris, and mentally decided that the man should have his shilling after all. He would be madness to attract attention, thought he, but what this thing will cost me first and last begins to be a nightmare.' He passed through the booking-office and wandered disconsolently on the platform. It was a breathing-space in the day's traffic. There were few people there, and these, for the most part, quiescent on the benches. Morris seemed to attract no remark which was a good thing, but on the other hand he was making no progress in his quest. Something must be done. Something must be risked. Every passing instant only added to his dangers. Summoning all his courage, he stopped a porter, and asked him if he remembered receiving a barrel by the morning train. He was anxious to get information, for the barrel belonged to a friend. "'It is a matter of some moment,' he added, for it contains specimens.' "'I was not here this morning, sir,' responded the porter, somewhat reluctantly. "'But I'll ask Bill. Do you recollect, Bill, to have got a barrel from Bournemouth this morning, finding specimens?' "'Or don't know about specimens,' replied Bill, but the porter has received the barrel of Armin, raised aside a trouble. "'What's that?' cried Morris, in the agitation of the moment, pressing a penny into the man's hand. "'You see, sir, the barrel arrived at 1.30. No-one climbed it till about three. When a small, sickly-looking gentleman, only a curate came up, and says he, "'Have you got anything for Pittman, or Willam-Bent Pittman, if I recollect right?' "'I don't exactly know, sirs, but I rather fancy that barrel, bears the name.' "'The little man went and had a barrel, and seemed regular all took her back when he saws the address, and then he pitched in to us for not having brought what he wanted. "'Or don't give a damn what he wants, sirs, to him, but if you're Willam-Bent Pittman, that's your barrel.' "'Well, and did he take it?' cried the breathless Morris. "'Well, sir,' returned Bill. "'It appears it was a packing-kise, he was, Arthur. "'The packing-kise came, that's sure enough, because it was about the biggest packing-kise I've ever caught eyes on. And this Pittman, he seemed a good deal cut up, and he had the superintendent out, and they got older the vanman. He must talk the packing-kise.' "'Well, sir,' continued Bill with a smile, "'I'll never see a man in such a stite. Everybody about that van was morta, by the horses. Some gentleman, as well as Uncle Mike Art, had given the vanman a sov, and so that was where the trouble came in, you say. But what did he say?' gasped Morris. "'Or don't ask he said much, sir,' said Bill, but he offered to fight this Pittman for a pot of beer. He lost his book, too, and the receipts, and he's made me all as mortal as himself. Oh, they were all like,' and Bill paused for a simile, "'like lords!' the superintendent sacked him on the spot. "'Oh, come, but that's not so bad,' said Morris, with a bursting sigh. He couldn't tell where he took the packing-kise then. "'Nor he,' said Bill, nor yet nothing else.' "'And what did Pittman do?' asked Morris. "'Ah, he went off with the barrel in the four-wheeler, very trembling like,' replied Bill. "'I don't believe he's a gentleman as had good health.' "'Ah, so the barrel's gone,' said Morris, half to himself. "'You might depend on that, sir,' returned the porter. "'But you are better, sir, a superintendent.' "'Not in the least, it's of no account,' said Morris. "'He'd only contain specimens,' and he walked hastily away. Enskonst once more in a handsome. He proceeded to reconsider his position. "'Suppose,' he thought, "'suppose he should accept defeat and declare his uncle's death at once. He should lose the tontine, and with that the last hope of his one thousand eight hundred pounds. But on the other hand, since the shilling to the handsome cabman, he had begun to see that crime was expensive in its course, and since the loss of the water-butt, that it was uncertain in its consequences. Quietly at first, and then with growing heat, he reviewed the advantages of backing out. It involved a loss, but to come to think of it, no such great loss, after all, only that of the tontine, which had always been a toss-up, which at bottom he had never really expected. He reminded himself of that eagerly. He congratulated himself upon his constant moderation. He had never really expected the tontine. He had never even very definitely hoped to recover his seven thousand eight hundred pounds, and he had been hurried into the whole thing by Michael's obvious dishonesty. Yes, it would probably be better to draw back from this high-flying venture, settle back in the leather business. Oh, good God! cried Morris, bounding in the handsome like a jack-in-the-box, I have not only not gained the tontine, I have lost the leather business. Such was the monstrous fact. He had no power to sign. He could not draw a check for thirty shillings. Until he could produce legal evidence of his uncle's death, he was a penniless outcast, and as soon as he produced it, he had lost the tontine. There was no hesitation on the part of Morris to drop the tontine like a hot chestnut to concentrate all his forces on the leather business, and the rest of his small but legitimate inheritance was the decision of a single instant, and the next, the small extent of his calamity, was suddenly disclosed to him. To declare his uncle's death, he couldn't. Since the body was lost, Joseph had, in a legal sense, become immortal. There was no created vehicle big enough to contain Morris and his woes. He paid the handsome off and walked on he knew not wither. I seem to have gone into this business with too much precipitation," he reflected, with a deadly sigh. I fear it seems too ramified for a person of my powers of mind. And then a remark of his uncle's flashed into his memory. If you want to think clearly, put it all down on paper. Well, the old boy knew a thing or two, said Morris. I would try, but I don't believe that paper was ever made that would clear my mind. He entered a place of public entertainment, ordered bread and cheese and writing materials, and sat down before them heavily. He tried the pen. It was an excellent pen. But what was he to write? I have it, cried Morris. Robinson Crusoe and the double columns. He prepared his paper after that classic model and began as follows. Bad. One. I have lost my uncle's body. Good. One. But then Pittman has found it. Stop a bit, said Morris. I am letting the spirit of antithesis run away with me. Let's start again. Bad. One. I have lost my uncle's body. Good. One. But then I no longer require to bury it. Bad. Two. I have lost the tontine. Good. Two. But I may still say that if Pittman disposes of the body, and if I can find a physician who will stick at nothing. Bad. Three. I have lost the leather business and the rest of my uncle's succession. Good. Three. But not if Pittman gives the body up to the police. Oh, but in that case I go to jail. I'd forgot that, thought Morris. Indeed, I don't know that I had better dwell on that hypothesis at all. It's all very well to talk of facing the worst. But in the case of this kind, a man's duty is to his own nerve. Is there any answer to three? Is there any possible good side to such a beastly bungal? There must be. Of course. That's what happens with this double-entry business. How jort I have it, he exclaimed, he's exactly the same as the last. And he hastily rewrote the passage. Bad. Three. I have lost the leather business and the rest of my uncle's succession. Good. Three. But not if I can find a physician who will stick at nothing. This venal doctor seems quite a consideratum, he said, I want him first to give me a certificate that my uncle is dead so that I may get the leather business, and then that he's alive. Here we are again at the incompatible interests." And he returned to his tabulation. Bad. Four. I have almost no money. Good. Four. But there is plenty in the bank. Bad. Five. Yes, but I can't get the money in the bank. Good. Five. But that seems unhappily to be the case. Bad. Six. I have left the bill for eight hundred pounds in Uncle Joseph's pocket. Good. Six. But if Bitman is only a dishonest man, the presence of this bill may lead him to keep the whole thing dark and throw the body into the new cart. Bad. Seven. But if Bitman is dishonest and finds the bill, he will know who Joseph is and he may blackmail me. Good. Seven. Yes, but if I'm right about Uncle Masterman, I can blackmail Michael. Bad. Eight. But I can't blackmail Michael, which is besides a very dangerous thing to do, until I find out. Good. Eight. Worst luck. Bad. Nine. The leather business will soon want for money for current expenses and I have not to give. Good. Nine. But the leather business is a sinking ship. Bad. Ten. Yes, but it's all the ship I have. Good. Ten. The fact. Bad. Eleven. John will soon want money and I have not to give. Good. Eleven. Bad. Twelve. And the venal doctor will want money down. Good. Twelve. Bad. Thirteen. And if Bitman is dishonest and don't send me to jail, he will wonder all too. Good. Thirteen. Oh, this seems to be a very one-sided business, exclaimed Morris. There's not so much in this method as I was led to think. He crumpled the paper up and threw it down, and then the next moment picked it up again and ran it over. It seems it's on the financial point that my position is weakest, he reflected. Is there positively no way of raising the wind? In a vast city like this and surrounded by all the resources of civilisation, it seems not to be conceived. Let's have no more precipitation. Is there nothing I can sell, like a lectern of Signet? But at the thought of scattering these loved treasures, the blood leapt into Morris's cheek, I would rather die, he exclaimed, and crumming his hat upon his head, strode forth into the streets. I must raise funds, he thought. My uncle being dead, the money in the bank is mine, or would be mine, but for the cursed injustice that has pursued me ever since I was an orphan in the commercial academy. I know what any other man would do. Any other man in Christendom would forge. Well, I don't know why I call it forging either when Joseph's dead and the funds are my own. When I think that my uncle is really as dead as mutton and I can't prove it, my gorge rises at the injustice of the whole affair. Now I used to feel bitterly about that seven thousand eight hundred pounds. Seems a trifle now. Near me, why, the day before yesterday I was comparatively happy. And Morris stood on the sidewalk and heaved another sobbing sigh. I mean, there's another thing, he resumed. Can I? Am I able? Why, didn't I practise different handwriting when I was young? How a fellow regrets those lost opportunities when he grows up? But there's one comfort he's not morally wrong. I can try it on with a clear conscience, and even if I was found out I wouldn't greatly care, morally I mean. And then if I succeed and if Pittman is staunch there's nothing to do but find a venal doctor, and that ought to be simply enough in a place like London. Moral accounts turns alive with them. It wouldn't do, of course, to advertise for a corrupt physician. That would be in politics. Now, I suppose a fellow is simply to spot along the straight for a red lamp and herbs in the window, and then you go in and put it to him plainly. It seems a delicate step. He was near home now, after many devious wanderings, and turned up John Street. As he thrust his latchkey in the lock, another mortifying reflection struck him to the heart. Not even this house is mine till I can prove him dead, he snarled, and slammed the door behind him so that the windows in the attic rattled. Night had long fallen. Long ago the lamps and shop fronts had begun to glitter down the endless streets. The lobby was pitch dark, and as the devil would have it, this barked his shins and sprawled all his length over the pedestal of Hercules. The pain was sharp. His temper was already thoroughly undermined. By last misfortune his hand closed on the hammer as he fell, and in a spasm of childish irritation he turned and struck at the offending statue. There was a splintering crash. Oh, Lord, what have I done next? wailed Morris, and he groped his way to find the candle. Yes, he reflected, as he stood with the light in his hand, and looked upon the mutilated leg, from which about a pound of muscle was detached. Yes, I have destroyed a genuine antique, or maybe even for thousands. And then there sprung up in his bosom a sort of angry hope. Let me say, he thought, Julia's got rid of. There's nothing to connect me with that beast foresight. The men were all drunk, and what's better, they've been all discharged. Oh, come, I think this is another case of moral courage. I'll deny all knowledge of the thing. A moment more, and he stood again before the Hercules. His lips sternly compressed. The colex and the meat cleaver under his arm. The next he had fallen upon the packing-case. This had been already seriously undermined by the operations of Gideon. A few well-directed blows, and it already quaked and gape, yet a few more, and it fell about Morris in a shower of boards, followed by an avalanche of straw. And now the leather merchant could behold the nature of his task. And at the first sight his spirit quailed. It was indeed no more ambitious a task with de-lesseps, with all his men and horses to attack the hills of Panama, than for a single slim young gentleman with no previous experience of labour and aquarii, to measure himself against that bloated monster on his pedestal. And yet the pair were well encountered, on the one side bulk, and on the other genuine heroic fire. Down you shall come, you great-being-ugly brute! cried Morris aloud, with something of that passion which swept the Parisian mob against the walls of the Bastille. Down you shall come, this night, I'll have none of you in my lobby! The face, from its indecent expression, had particularly animated the zeal of our iconoclast, and it was against the face that he began his operations. The great height of the demigod, for he stood a fathom and a half in his stocking-feet, offered a preliminary obstacle to this attack. But here, in the first skirmish of battle, intellect already began to triumph over matter. By means of a pair of library-steps, the injured householder gained a posture of advantage, and with great swipes of the coal-axe, proceeded to decapitate the brute. Two hours later, what had been the erect image of a gigantic coal-porter turned miraculously white, was now no more than a medley of disjected members. The quadrogenian torso prone against the pedestal, the lascivious countenance leering down the kitchen stairs, the legs, the arms, the hands, and even the fingers scattered broadcast on the lobby floor. Half an hour more, and all the debris had been laboriously cast into the kitchen, and Morris, with a gentle sentiment of triumph, looked round upon the scene of his achievements. Yes, he could deny all knowledge of it now. The lobby, beyond the fact that it was partly ruinous, betrayed no trace of the passage of Hercules. But it was a weary Morris that crept up to bed. His arms and shoulders ached. The palms of his hands burned from the rough kisses of the coal-axe, and there was one smarting finger that stole continually to his mouth. Sleep long delayed to visit the dilapidated hero, and with the first peep of day it had again deserted him. The morning as though to accord with his disastrous fortunes, dawned in clemently. An easterly gale was shouting in the streets. Floors of rain angrily assailed the windows, and as Morris dressed, the draught from the fireplace vividly played about his legs. I think, he could not help observing bitterly, that with all I have to bear they might have given me decent weather. There was no bread in the house, for Miss Hazeltine, like all women left to themselves, had subsisted entirely upon cake. But some of this was found, and along with what the poets call a glass of fair cold water, made up the semblance of a morning-meal, and then down he sat, undauntedly, to his delicate task. Nothing can be more interesting than the study of signatures, written, as they are, before meals and after, during indigestion and intoxication, written when the signer is trembling for the life of his child, or who has come from winning the derby in his lawyer's office, or under the bright eyes of his sweetheart. To the vulgar these seem never the same. But to the expert, the bank clerk, or the lithographer, they are constant quantities, and as recognizable as the north star to the night watch on deck. To all this Morris was alive. In the theory of that graceful art, in which he was now embarking, our spirited leather merchant was beyond all reproach. But happily for the investor, forgery is an affair of practice, and as Morris sat surrounded by examples of his uncle's signature, and of his own incompetence, insidious depression stole upon his spirits. From time to time the wind wuthered in the chimney at his back. From time to time there swept over Bloomsbury a squall so dark that he must rise unlike the gas. About him was the chill and the mean disorder of a house out of commission, the floor bare, the sofa heap with books, and accounts enveloped in a dirty tablecloth, the pens rusted, the paper glazed with a thick film of dust, and yet these were but adminicals of mystery, and the true root of his depression lay round him on the table in the shape of misbegotten forgeries. It's one of the strangest things I ever heard of," he explained. It almost seems as if it was a talent that I didn't possess. He went once more minutely through his proofs. A clerk would simply jive at them, said he. Well, there's nothing else but tracing possible. He waited till a squall had passed, and there came a blink of scowling daylight. Then he went to the window, and in the face of all John Street, traced his uncle's signature, it was a poor thing at the best. Ah, but it must do," said he, as he stood gazing woefully upon his handiwork. He's dead anyway. And he filled up the check for a couple of hundred, and saled forth for the Anglo-Patagonian bank. There, at the desk at which he was accustomed to transact business, and with as much indifference as he could assume, Morris presented the forged check to the big, red-bearded Scots teller. The teller seemed to view it with surprise, and as he turned it this way and that, and even scrutinized the signature with a magnifying glass, his surprise appeared to warm into disfavor. Begging to be excused for a moment, he passed away into the rearmost quarters of the bank. When, after an appreciable interval, he returned again in earnest talk with a superior, an oldish and a baldish, but a very gentlemanly man. A Mr. Morris Finsbury, I believe, said the gentlemanly man, fixing Morris with a pair of double eyeglasses. That is my name, said Morris, quavering. Is there anything wrong? Well, the fact is, Mr. Finsbury, you see, we are rather surprised at receiving this, said the other, flicking at the check. There are no effects. No effects? cried Morris. Well, I know myself. There must be eight and twenty-hundred pounds, if there's any. Two, seven, six, four, I think, replied the gentlemanly man, but it was drawn yesterday. Drawn! cried Morris. By your uncle himself, sir, continued the other. Not only that, but we discounted the bill for him for, let me see, how much was it for, Mr. Bell? Eight-hundred, Mr. Judkin, replied the teller. Bint Pittman, cried Morris, staggering back. Big, you'll pardon, cried Mr. Judkin. It's only an expletive, said Morris. I hope there's nothing wrong, Mr. Finsbury, said Mr. Bell. All I can tell you, said Morris, with a harsh laugh, is that the whole thing's impossible. My uncle is yet born with the ability to move. Really? cried Mr. Bell, and he recovered the check from Mr. Judkin. But this check is dated in London, and today, he exerved. How'd you count for that, sir? Ah, that was a mistake, said Morris, and a deep tide of colour died his face and neck. No doubt, no doubt, said Mr. Judkin, but he looked at his summer inquiringly. And, resumed Morris, even if there were no effects, this is a very trifling sound to overdraw. How firm that I am of Finsbury is surely good enough for such a wretched sum as this. No doubt, Mr. Finsbury, return, Mr. Judkin, and if you insist, I will take it into consideration. But I hardly think. In short, Mr. Finsbury, if there had been nothing else, the signature seems hardly all that we wish. As of no consequence, replied Morris nervously, I will get my uncle to sign another. In fact, he is, he went on with a bold stroke. My uncle is so far from well at present that he was unable to sign this check without a assistance, and I feel that my holding the pen for him may have made the difference in the signature. Mr. Judkin shot a keen glance into Morris's face, and then turned and looked at Mr. Bell. No, he said, it seems as if we had been victimised by a swindler. Pray tell Mr. Finsbury, we shall put detectives on at once. As for this check of yours, I regret that, according to the way it was signed, the bank can hardly consider it, much like some business like. And he returned the check across the counter. Morris took it up mechanically. He was thinking of something very different. In the case of this kind, he began, I believe the loss falls on us. I mean upon my uncle and myself. It does not, sir," replied Mr. Bell. The bank is responsible, and the bank will either recover the money or refund it. You may depend on that." Morris's face fell. Then it was visited by another gleam of hope. Ah, tell you what, he said, you leave this entirely in my hands. I'll sift the matter. I have an idea at any rate. And detectives, he added appealingly, are so expensive. The bank would not hear of it, returned Mr. Judkin. The bank stands to lose between three and four thousand pounds. It will spend as much more if necessary. An undiscovered forger is a permanent danger. We shall clear it up to the bottom, Mr. Finsbury. Set your mind at rest on that. And then I'll stand the loss. Said Morris boldly, I urge you to abandon the search. He was determined that no inquiry should be made. I beg your pardon. Return, Mr. Judkin. But we have nothing to do with you in this matter, which is one between your uncle and ourselves. If he should take this opinion, then will either come here on himself, or let me see him in his sick room. Quite impossible, cried Morris. Well, then you see, said Mr. Judkin, how my hands are tied. The whole affair must go at once into the hands of the police. Morris mechanically folded the check and restored it to his pocket-book. And good-morning, said he, and scrambled somehow after the bank. Oh, I don't know what they suspect, he reflected. I can't make them out. Their whole behaviour is thoroughly un-business-like. But it doesn't matter. All's up with everything. The money has been paid, the police are on the scent. In two hours that idiot Pittman will be nabbed, and the whole story of the dead body in evening papers. If he could have heard what passed in the bank after his departure, he would have been less alarmed, perhaps more mortified. That was a curious affair, Mr. Bell, said Mr. Judkin. Yes, sir, said Mr. Bell. But I think we have given him a fright. Oh, we shall hear no more of Mr. Morris Finsbury. Return the other. It was a first attempt, and the house had dealt with us so long that I was anxious to deal gently. But I suppose, Mr. Bell, there can be no mistake about yesterday. It was, old Mr. Finsbury himself. There could be no possible doubt of that, said Mr. Bell, with a chuckle. He explained to me the principles of banking. Well, well, said Mr. Judkin, the next time he calls, ask him to step into my room. It is only proper that he should be warned. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of The Wrong Box This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For further information, or to volunteer, please go to LibriVox.org. Reading by Andy Minter The Wrong Box by Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyd Osbourne Chapter 7 in which William Dent Pittman takes legal advice Norfolk Street, King's Road, jocularly known among Mr. Pittman's lodges as Norfolk Island, is neither a long, handsome nor a pleasing thoroughfare. Dirty, undersized maids of all work issue from it in pursuit of beer, all linger on its sidewalk, listening to the voice of love. The cat's meat man passes twice a day. An occasional organ grinder wands in and wanders out again, disgusted. In holiday time the street is the arena of the young bloods of the neighbourhood and the householders have an opportunity of studying the manly art of self-defence. And yet Norfolk Street has one claim to be respectable, for it contains not a single shop, unless you count the public house at the corner which is really in the King's Road. The door of Number 7 bore a brass plate inscribed with the legend W. D. Pittman, artist. It was not a particularly clean brass plate, nor was Number 7 itself a particularly inviting place of residence, and yet it had a character of its own, such as may well quicken the pulse of the reader's curiosity, for here was the home of an artist, and a distinguished artist too, highly distinguished by his ill success, which had never been made the subject of an article in the illustrated magazines. No wood engraver had ever reproduced a corner-in-the-back drawing room, or the studio mantelpiece of Number 7. No young lady author had ever commented on the unaffected simplicity with which Mr. Pittman received her in the midst of his treasures. It isn't a mission, I would gladly supply, but our business is only with the backward parts and abject rear of this aesthetic dwelling. Here was a garden, boasting a dwarf fountain that never played, in the centre, a few grimy-looking flowers in pots, two or three newly planted trees, which the spring of Chelsea visited without noticeable consequence, and two or three statues after the antique, representing satyrs and nymphs in the worst possible style of sculptured art. On one side the garden was overshadowed by a pair of crazy studios, usually hired out to the more obscure and youthful practitioners of British art. Opposite these, another lofty outbuilding, somewhat more carefully finished, and boasting of a communication with the house and a private door on the back lane, enshrined the multifarious industry of Mr. Pittman. All day it is true he was engaged in the work of education at a seminar if a young lady's, but the evenings at least were his own, and these he would prolong far into the night, now dashing off a landscape with waterfall in oil, now a volunteer bust in marble, as he would gently but proudly observe, of some public character, now stooping his chisel to a mere nymph for a gas-bracket on a stair, sir, or a life-size infant Samuel for a religious nursery. Mr. Pittman had studied in Paris, and he had studied in Rome, supplied with funds by a fond parent, who went subsequently bankrupt in consequence of a fall in corsets. And though he was never thought to have the smallest modicum of talent, it was at one time, that he had learned his business. Eighteen years of what is called tuition had relieved him of the dangerous knowledge. His artistic lodgers would sometimes reason with him. They would point out to him how impossible it was to paint by gas-light, or to sculpture life-size nymphs without a model. He knew that, he would reply, no one in Norfolk Street knows it better, and if I were rich I should certainly employ the best models in London, but being poor I have taught myself to do without them. An occasional model would only disturb my ideal conception of the figure and be a positive impediment in my career. As for painting by artificial light, he would continue, that is simply a neck I have found it necessary to acquire, my days being engrossed in the work of tuition. At the moment when we must present him to our readers, Pittman was in his studio alone by the dying light of the October day. He sat, sure enough, with unaffected simplicity, in a Windsor chair, his low-crowned black-felled hat by his side, a dark, weak, harmless, pathetic little man, clad in the hue of morning, his coat longer than his usual with the laity, his neck enclosed in a collar without a parting, his neck cloth pale in hue and simply tied, the whole outward man, except for a pointed beard, tentatively clerical. There was a thinning on the top of Pittman's head, and there were silver hairs at Pittman's temple. Poor gentleman, he was no longer young, and years and poverty and humble ambition thwarted make a cheerless lot. In front of him, in the corner by the door, there stood a portly barrel, and let him turn them where he might. He was always to the barrel that his eyes and his thoughts returned. Should I open it? Should I return it? Should I communicate with Mr. Sematopoulos at once?" he wondered. No. He concluded, finally, nothing without Mr. Finsbury's advice. And he rose and produced a shabby leaven desk. It opened without the formality of unlocking, and made the thick, cream-coloured note-paper on which Mr. Pittman was in the habit of communicating with the proprietors of schools and the parents of his pupils. He placed the desk on the table by the window, and, taking a saucer of Indian ink from the chimney-piece, laboriously composed the following letter. Am I there, Mr. Finsbury? It ran. Would it be presuming on your kindness if I asked you to pay me a visit here this evening? It is in no trifling matter that I invoke your valuable assistance, for neither I say more than it concerns the welfare of Mr. Sematopoulos's statue of Hercules. I write you in great agitation of mind, for I have made all inquiries and greatly fear that this work of ancient art has been mislead. I labour besides under another perplexity not unconnected with the first. Pray excuse the inelegance of this scroll and believe me, yours in haste, William D. Pittman. On with this he set forth and rang the bell of No. 233 Kings Road, the private residence of Michael Finsbury. He had met the lawyer at a time of great public excitement in Chelsea. Michael, who had a sense of humour and a great deal of careless kindness in his nature, followed the acquaintance up, and, having come to laugh, he began to draw up into a contemptuous kind of friendship. By this time, which was four years after the first meeting, Pittman was the lawyer's dog. No, said the elderly housekeeper, who opened the door in person, Mr. Michael's not in here. But you're looking terrible, poorly, Mr. Pittman. Take a glass of sherry, sir, to cheer you up. No, I thank you, ma'am," replied the artist. It is very good in you, but I scarcely feel insufficient spirits for sherry. Just give Mr. Finsbury this note and ask him to look round to the door in the lane. You will please tell him, I shall be in the studio all evening. And he turned again into the street and walked slowly homeward. A hairdresser's window caught his attention and he stared long and earnestly at the proud, high-born, waxen lady in evening dress who circulated in the centre of the show. The artist woken him in spite of his troubles. It's not very well to run down the men who make these things," he cried. But there's a something, there's a haughty, indefinable something about that figure. It's what I tried for in my Empress Eugenie," he added, with a sigh. And he went home, reflecting on the quality. They don't teach you that direct appeal in Paris, he thought. It's British. Come, I am going to sleep. I must wake up. I must aim higher. Aim higher," cried the little artist to himself. All through his tea and afterward, as he was giving his eldest boy a lesson on the fiddle, his mind dwelt no longer on his troubles, but he was wrapped into the better land. And no sooner was he at liberty than he hastened with positive exhilaration to his studio. Not even the sight of the barrel could entirely cast him down. He flung himself with rising zest into his work, a bust of Mr Gladstone from a photograph, turned with extraordinary success the difficulty of the back of the head, for which he had no documents beyond the hazy recollection of a public meeting, delighted himself by his treatment of the collar, and was only recalled to the cares of life by Michael Finsbury's rattle at the door. Well, what's wrong?" said Michael, advancing to the grate, where, knowing his friend's delight in a bright fire, Mr Pitman had not spared the fuel. I suppose you've come to grief somehow. There is no expression strong enough, said the artist. Mr Sematopoulos's statue has not turned up, and I am afraid I shall be answerable for the money. But I think nothing of that. What I fear, my dear Mr Finsbury, what I fear and last that I should have to say it, is exposure. The Hercules was to be smuggled out of Italy, a thing positively wrong, a thing which a man of my principles and in my responsible position should have taken as I now see too late and no part whatever. This sounds like very serious work, said the lawyer. It will require a great deal of drink, Pitman. I talk the liberty of a, in short, being prepared for you," replied the artist, pointing to the kettle, a bottle of gin, a lemon, and glasses. Michael mixed himself a grog and offered the artist a cigar. No thank you, said Pitman. I used occasionally to be rather partial to it, but the smell is so disagreeable about the clothes. All right, said the lawyer. I'm comfortable now. Unfold your tale. At some length Pitman set forth his sorrows. He had gone to-day to Waterloo, expecting to receive the colossal Hercules, and he had received instead a barrel, not big enough to hold discobolus. Yet the barrel was addressed in the hand, with which he was perfectly acquainted, of his Roman correspondent. What was stranger still, a case had arrived by the same train, large enough and heavy enough to contain the Hercules, and this case had been taken to an address now undiscoverable. The vanman, I regret to say it, had been drinking, and his language was such as I could never bring myself to repeat. He was at once discharged by the superintendent of the line, who behaved most properly throughout, and is to make inquiries at Southampton. In the meantime, what was I to do? I left my address and brought the barrel home, but remembering an old adage, I determined not to open it except in the presence of my lawyer. Is that all? asked Michael. I don't see any cause to worry. The Hercules has stuck upon the road. It will drop in tomorrow or the day after, and as for the barrel, depend upon it. It's a testimonial from one of your young ladies, and probably contains oysters. Oh, don't speak so loud! cried the little artist. It would cost me my place if I were heard to speak likely of the young ladies. And besides, why oysters from Italy? Then why should they come to me addressed in Signore Ricardi's hand? Well, let's have a look at it, said Michael. Let's roll it forward to the light. The two men rolled the barrel from the corner and stood it on end before the fire. It's heavy enough to be oysters, remarked Michael judiciously. There shall be open it at once, inquired the artist who had grown decidedly cheerful under the combined effects of company and gin, and without waiting for a reply he began to strip as if for a prize-fight, tossed his clerical collar in the waste-paper basket, hung his clerical coat upon a nail, and with a chisel in one hand and a hammer in the other, struck the first blow of the evening. That's the style, William Dent, cried Michael. There's fire for your money. It may be a romantic visit from one of the young ladies a sort of Cleopatra business. Have a care, and don't stave in Cleopatra's head. But the sight of Pittman's alacrity was infectious. The lawyer could sit still no longer, tossing his cigar into the fire. He snatched the instrument from the unwilling hands of the artist, and fell to himself. Soon the sweat stood in beads upon his large fair brow, his stylish trousers were defaced with iron rust, and the state of his chisel testified to misdirected energies. A cask is not an easy thing to open, even when you set about it the right way. When you set about it wrongly, the whole structure must be resolved into its elements. Such was the course pursued alight by the artist and the lawyer. Presently the last hoop had been removed, a couple of smart blows tumbled the staves upon the ground, and what had once been a barrel was no more than a confused heap of broken and distorted boards. In the midst of these a certain dismal something, swathed in blankets, remained for an instant upright, and then toppled to one side and heavily collapsed before the fire. Even as the thing subsided, an eyeglass tinkled to the floor and rolled towards the screaming bitman. "'Hold your tongue,' said Michael. He dashed to the house door and locked it, then with a pale face and bitten lip he drew near, pulled aside a corner of the swathing blanket and recoiled, shuddering. There was a long silence in the studio. "'Now, tell me,' said Michael in a low voice. "'Had you any hand in it?' and he pointed to the body. The little artist could only utter broken and disjointed sounds. Michael poured some gin into a glass. "'Drink that,' he said. "'Don't be afraid of me. I'm your friend, through thick and thin.' Pitman put the liquor down untasted. "'I swear before God!' he said. "'This is another mystery to me. In my worst fears I never dreamt of such a thing. I would not lay a finger on a sucking infant.' "'That's all square,' said Michael, with a sigh of huge relief. "'I believe you, old boy.' And he shook the artist warmly by the hand. "'I thought for a moment,' he added, with rather a casteless smile, "'I thought for a moment you might have made away with Mr. Ceritopolis. "'It would make no difference if I had,' grown Pitman. "'All is at an end for me. There's a writing on the wall.' "'To begin with,' said Michael, "'let's get him out of sight. For to be quite plain with you, Pitman, I don't like your friend's appearance.' And with that the lawyer shuddered. "'Where can we put it?' "'You might put it in the closet there, if you could bear to touch it,' answered the artist. "'Somebody has to do it, Pitman,' returned the lawyer, and it seems as if it had to be me. "'You go over to the table, turn your back, and mix me a grog. That's a fair division of labour.' About ninety seconds later the closet door was heard to shut. "'There,' observed Michael, "'that's more home-like. "'You can turn now, my pallid Pitman. "'Is this the grog?' he ran on. "'Heaven, forgive you it's a lemonade. "'But, oh, Finsbury, what are we to do with it?' wailed the artist, laying a clutching hand upon the lawyer's arm. "'Do with it,' repeated Michael, "'bear it in one of your flower-beds, and erect one of your own statues for a monument. "'I tell you, we should look devilish-romantic, shoveling out the sword by the moon's pale ray. "'Here, put some gin in this.' "'I beg of you, Mr. Finsbury, do not trifle with my misery,' cried Pitman. "'You see, before you, a man who has been all his life. "'I do not hesitate to say it, imminently respectable. "'Even in this solemn hour "'I can lay my hand upon my heart without a blush, "'except on the really trifling point "'of the smuggling of the Hercules, "'and even of that I now humbly repent. "'My life has been entirely fit for publication. "'I never feared the light,' cried the little man, "'and now, and now, cheer up, old boy,' said Michael. "'I assure you we should count this little contour "'a trifle at the office. "'It's the sort of thing that may occur to any one. "'And if you're perfectly sure you had no hand in it, "'what language am I to find?' began Pitman. "'Oh, I'll do that part of it,' interrupted Michael. "'You have no experience. "'But the point is this. "'If, or rather since, you've known nothing of the crime, "'since the party in the closet "'is neither your father, nor your brother, "'nor your creditor, nor your mother-in-law, "'nor what they call a ninja husband. "'Oh, my dear sir,' interjected Pitman, horrified. "'Since, in short,' continued the lawyer, "'you had no possible interest in the crime, "'we have a perfectly free field before us "'and a safe game to play. "'Indeed, the problem is really entertaining. "'It is one I have long contemplated "'in the light of an A-B case. "'Here it is at last under my hand in Spee-C. "'And I mean to pull you through. "'Do you hear that? I mean to pull you through. "'Let me see. "'It's a long time since I have had "'what I call a genuine holiday. "'I'll send an excuse tomorrow to the office.' "'We'd best be lively,' he added significantly, "'for we must not spoil the market for the other man.' "'What do you mean?' inquired Pitman. "'What other man? "'The Inspector of Police?' "'Damn, the Inspector of Police!' remarked his companion. "'If you won't take the shortcut "'and bury this in your back garden, "'we must find someone who will bury it in his. "'We must place the affair, in short, "'in the hands of someone with fewer scruples and more resources.' "'A private detective, perhaps,' suggested Pitman. "'There are times when you fill me with pity,' observed the lawyer. "'By the way, Pitman,' he added, in another key, "'I have always regretted that you have no piano in this den of yours. "'Even if you don't play yourself, "'your friends might like to entertain themselves "'with a little music while you were muddling.' "'I shall get one at once, if you like,' said Pitman nervously, "'anxious to please. I play the fiddle a little as it is.' "'I know you do,' said Michael. "'But what's the fiddle? Above all, as you play it, "'what you want is polyphonic music. "'And I tell you what it is. "'Since it's too late for you to buy a piano, "'I'll give you mine.' "'Thank you,' said the artist, blankly. "'You will give me yours? "'I'm sure it's very good, isn't you?' "'Yes, I'll give you mine,' continued Michael, "'for the inspector of police to play on "'while his men are digging up your back garden.' Pitman stared at him in pain and amazement. "'No, I'm not insane,' Michael went on. "'I'm playful, but quite coherent. "'See here, Pitman, follow me one-half-minute. "'I mean to profit by the refreshing fact "'that we are really and truly innocent. "'Nothing but the presence of the, you know what, "'connects us with the crime. "'Once let us get rid of it, no matter how, "'and there is no possible clue to trace us by. "'Well, I give you my piano. "'We'll bring it round this very night. "'Tomorrow we rip the fittings out. "'Depositly, our friend, inside, "'plump the hole on the cart, "'and carry it to the chambers of a young gentleman "'whom I know by sight. "'Whom do you know by sight?' repeated Pitman. "'And what is more to the purpose?' continued Michael. "'Whose chambers I know better than he does himself. "'A friend of mine.' "'I call him my friend for brevity. "'He is now, I understand, in Demerara, "'most likely in jail, was the previous occupant. "'I defended him, and I got him off too. "'All saved but honour. His assets were nil, "'but he gave me what he had, poor gentleman, "'and along with the rest, the key of his chambers. "'It's there that I propose to leave the piano. "'And shall we say, Clare Patra?' "'It seems very wild,' said Pitman. "'And what will become of the poor young gentleman "'whom you know by sight?' "'It will do him good,' said Michael, cheerily, "'just what he wants to steady him.' "'But, my dear sir, he might be involved "'in a charge of... a charge of murder,' gulped the artist. "'Well, he'll be just where we are,' returned the lawyer. "'He's innocent, you see. "'What hangs people, my dear Pitman, "'is the unfortunate circumstance of guilt.' "'But indeed, indeed,' pleaded Pitman. "'The whole scheme appears to me so wild. "'Wouldn't it not be safer, after all, "'just to send for the police?' "'And make a scandal,' inquired Michael, "'the Chelsea Mystery, alleged innocence of Pitman. "'How would that do at the seminary?' "'It would imply my discharge,' admitted the drawing-master. "'I cannot deny that.' "'And besides,' said Michael, "'I'm not going to embark in such a business "'for fun for my money.' "'Oh, my dear sir, is that a proper spirit?' cried Pitman. "'Oh, I only said that to cheer you up,' said the unabashed Michael. "'Nothing like a little judicious levity.' "'But it's quite needless to discuss. "'If you mean to follow my advice, "'come on and let us get the piano at once. "'If you don't, just drop me the word, "'and I'll leave you to deal with the whole thing "'according to your better judgment. "'You know perfectly well that I depend on you entirely,' returned Pitman. "'But oh, what a night is before me "'with that horror in my studio. "'How am I to think of it on my pillow?' "'Well, you know, my piano will be there, too,' said Michael. "'That'll raise the average.' "'An hour later, a cart came up the lane "'and the lawyer's piano, a momentous Broadwood Grand, "'was deposited in Mr. Pitman's studio.' End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 OF THE WRONG BOX This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For further information, or to volunteer, please go to LibriVox.org Reading by Andy Minter THE WRONG BOX By Robert Lewis Stevenson and Lloyd Osbourne Chapter 8 In which Michael Finsbury enjoys a holiday Punctually at eight o'clock next morning the lawyer rattled, according to previous appointment, on the studio door. He found the artist sadly altered for the worse. Bleached, bloodshot and chalky, a man upon wires, the tale of his haggard eye still wandering to the closet. Nor was the professor of drawing less inclined to wonder at his friend. Michael was usually attired in the height of fashion, with a certain mercantile brilliancy best described perhaps as stylish. Nor could anything be said against him as a rule, but he looked a trifle too like a wedding-guest to be quite a gentleman. Today he had fallen altogether from those heights. He wore a flannel shirt of washed-out shepherd's tartan and a pursuit of reddish tweeds of the colour known to tailors as heather mixture. His neck-gloth was black and tied loosely in a sailor's knot. A rusty ulster partly concealed these advantages, and his feet were shod with rough walking boots. His hat was an old soft felt, which he removed with a flourish as he entered. Here I am, William Dent, he cried, and drawing from his pocket two little wisps of reddish hair, he held them to his cheeks like side-whiskers and danced about the studio with the filmy graces of a ballet girl. Pitman laughed, sadly, "'I should never have known you,' said he. "'Nor were you intended to,' returned Michael, replacing his false whiskers in his pocket. "'Now we must overhaul you and your wardrobe and disguise you up to the nines.' "'Disguise?' cried the artist. "'Must I indeed disguise myself? Has he come to that?' "'My dear creature,' returned his companion. "'Disguise is the spite of life. What is life?' passionately exclaimed French philosopher, without the pleasures of disguise. "'I don't say it's always a good taste, and I know it's unprofessional, but what's the odds?' downhearted drawing-master. "'It has to be. We have to leave a false impression on the minds of many persons, and in particular on the mind of Mr. Gideon Fawcithe, the young gentleman I know by sight, if he should have the bad taste to be at home.' "'If he be at home?' faltered the artist. "'That would be the end of all!' "'Won't matter a d!' returned Michael airily. "'Let me see your clothes, and I'll make a new man of you in a jiffy.' In the bedroom, to which he was at once conducted, Michael examined Pitman's poor and scanty wardrobe with a humorous eye, out a short jacket of black alpaca, and pleasantly added to that a pair of summer trousers, which somehow took his fancy as incongruous. Then, with the garments in his hand, he scrutinized the artist closely. "'I don't like that clerical collar,' he remarked. "'Have you nothing else?' The professor of drawing pondered for a moment, and then brightened. "'I have a pair of low-necked shirts,' he said. "'That I used to wear in Paris as a student. "'They are rather loud.' "'The very thing,' ejaculated Michael. "'You'll look perfectly beastly. "'Here are spats, too,' he continued, drawing forth a pair of those offensive little gaiters. "'Must have spats.' "'And now you jump into these and whistle a tune at the window for, say, three-quarters of an hour. "'After that you can rejoin me on the field of glory.' So, saying, Michael returned to the studio. It was the morning of the Easterly Gale. The wind blew shrilly among the statues in the garden and drove the rain upon the skylight in the studio ceiling. And at about the same moment of the time when Morris attacked the hundredth version of his uncle's signature in Bloomsbury, Michael, in Chelsea, began to rip the wires out of the Broadwood Grand. Three-quarters of an hour later, Pipman was admitted to find the closet door standing open, the closet untenanted, and the piano discreetly shut. It's a remarkably heavy instrument," observed Michael, and turned to consider his friend's disguise. "'You must shave off that beard of yours,' he said. "'My beard!' cried Pipman. "'I cannot shave my beard. I cannot tamper with my appearance. My principles would object. They hold very strong views as to the appearance of the professors. Young ladies are considered so romantic. My beard was regarded as quite a feature when I went about the place. It was regarded,' said the artist, with rising colour, "'it was regarded as unbecoming. You can let it grow again,' returned Michael, and then you'll be so precious ugly that they'll raise your salary. "'But I don't want to be ugly,' cried the artist. "'Don't be an ass,' said Michael, who hated beards and was delighted to destroy one. "'Off with it, like a man.' "'Of course, if you insist,' said Pipman. And then he sighed, fetched some hot water from the kitchen, and, setting a glass upon his easel, first clipped his beard with scissors, and then shaved his chin. He could not conceal from himself, as he regarded the result, that his last claims to manhood had been sacrificed. But Michael seemed delighted. "'A new man I declare,' he cried. "'When I give you the window-glass spectacles I have in my pocket, you'll be the beau-ideal of a French commercial traveller.' Pipman did not reply, but continued to gaze disconsolently on his image in the glass. "'Do you know,' asked Michael, "'what the Governor of South Carolina,' said to the Governor of North Carolina, "'it's a long time between drinks,' observed that powerful thinker. "'And if you will put your hand into the top left-hand pocket of my Ulster, I have an impression you will find a frask of brandy.' "'Thank you, Pipman,' he added, as he filled out a glass for each. "'Now you will give me the news of this.' The artist reached out his hand for the water-jug. But Michael arrested the movement. "'Not if you went upon your knees,' he cried. "'This is the finest liqueur brandy in Great Britain.' Pipman put his lips to it, set it down again, and sighed. "'Well, I must say you're the poorest companion for a holiday,' cried Michael. "'If that's all you know of brandy, you shall have no more of it. "'And while I finish the flask, you may as well begin business.' "'Come to think of it,' he broke off. "'I have made an abominable error. "'You should have ordered the cart before you were disguised.' "'Why, Pipman, what the devil's the use of you?' "'Why couldn't you have reminded me of that?' "'I never even knew there was a cart to be ordered,' said the artist. "'But I can take off the disguise again,' he suggested, eagerly.' "'You would find it rather a bother to put on your beard,' observed the lawyer. "'No, it's a false step, the sort of thing that hangs, people,' he continued, with eminent cheerfulness, as he sipped his brandy. "'And it can't be retraced now. "'Off to the muse with you. "'Make all the arrangements, there to take the piano from here, "'cart it to Victoria, and dispatch it thence by rail to Cannon Street, "'to light it'll call for in the name of Fortun Devoyscobie.' "'Isn't there to rather an awkward name?' pleaded Pipman. "'Awkward,' cried Michael scornfully. "'It would hang us both. "'Brown is both safer and easier to pronounce. Call it brown.' "'I wish,' said Pipman, "'for my sake, I wish you wouldn't talk so much of hanging.' "'Talking about it's nothing, my boy,' returned Michael. "'But take your hat and be off, and mind and pay everything beforehand.' Left to himself, the lawyer turned his attention for some time exclusively to the liqueur brandy, and his spirits, which had been pretty fair all morning, now prodigiously rose. He proceeded to adjust his whiskers finally before the glass. "'Devilish rich,' he remarked, as he contemplated his reflection. "'I look like a purse's mate.' And at that moment the window-glass spectacles, which he had hitherto destined for Pipman, flashed into his mind. He put them on, and fell in love with the effect. "'Just what I required,' he said. "'I wonder what I look like now. "'A humorous novelist, I should think.' And he began to practise Diver's characters of Walk, naming them to himself as he proceeded. "'Walk of a humorous novelist?' "'But that would require an umbrella. "'Walk of a purse's mate?' "'Walk of an Australian colonist, revisiting the scenes of childhood. "'Walk of Seapoy Colonel?' "'Ditto, ditto?' And in the midst of the Seapoy Colonel, which was an excellent assumption, although inconsistent with the style of his make-up, his eye lighted on the piano. This instrument was made to lock, both at the top and at the keyboard, but the key of the latter had been mislead. Michael opened it, and ran his fingers over the dumb keys. "'Fine instrument, full rich tone,' he observed, and he drew in a seat. When Mr. Pittman returned to the studio, he was appalled to observe his guide, philosopher and friend, performing miracles of execution on the silent grand. "'Evon, help me,' thought the little man. "'I fear he has been drinking, Mr. Finsbury!' he said aloud, and Michael, without rising, turned upon him accountants, somewhat flushed, encircled with the bush of the red whiskers and bestridden by the spectacles. "'Capriccio in B flat on the departure of a friend,' said he, continuing his noiseless evolution. Indignation awoke in the mind of Pittman. "'Those spectacles were to be mine,' he cried. "'They are an essential part of my disguise.' "'I'm going to wear them myself,' replied Michael, and he added, with some show of truth, there would be a devil or a lot of suspicion arouse if we both wore spectacles.' "'Oh, well,' said the ascending Pittman, "'I'd rather count it on them, but, of course, if you insist, and at any rate, here is the cart at the door.' While the men were at work, Michael concealed himself in the closet among the debris of the barrel and the wires of the piano. And as soon as the coast was clear, the pair rallied forth by the lane, jumped into a handsome in the King's Road, and were driven rapidly towards town. It was still cold and raw and boisterous. The rain beat strongly in their faces. But Michael refused to have the glass let down. He had now suddenly donned the character of Ciccerone and pointed out and lucidly commented on the sights of London as they drove. "'By dear fellow,' he said, "'you don't seem to know anything of your native city. "'Suppose we visited the tower.' "'No? Well, perhaps it's a trifle out of our way. "'But anyway, here, cabbie, drive round by Trafalgar Square.' And on that historic battlefield he insisted on drawing up while he criticised the statues and gave the artist many curious details, quite new to history, of the lives of the celebrated men they represented. It would be difficult to express what Pittman suffered in the cab. Cold, wet, terror in the capital degree, a grounded distrust of the commander under whom he served, a sense of imprudency in the matter of the lonex shirt, a bitter sense of the decline and fall involved in the deprivation of his beard. All these were among the ingredients of the bowl. To reach the restaurant for which they were deviously staring was the first relief. To hear Michael bespeak a private room was the second and the still greater. Nor, as they mounted the stair under the guidance of an unintelligible alien, did he fail to note with gratitude the fewness of the person's present, or the still more cheering fact that the greater part of these were exiles from the land of France. It was thus a blessed thought that none of them would be connected with the seminary. For even the French professor, though admittedly a papist, he could scarce imagine frequenting so rakish in establishment. The alien introduced them into a small bare room with a single table, a sofa, and a dwarfish fire, and Michael called promptly for more coals and a couple of brandis and sodas. "'Oh, no,' said Pittman. "'Surely not. No, no more to drink.' "'I don't know what you would be at,' said Michael, plaintively. "'It is positively necessary to do something, and one shouldn't smoke before meals. I thought that was understood. You seem to have no idea of hygiene.' And he compared his watch with the clock upon the chimney-piece. Pittman fell into bitter musing. Here he was, ridiculously shorn, absurdly disguised, in the company of a drunken man in spectacles, and waiting for a champagne luncheon in a restaurant painfully foreign. What would his principles think if they could see him? What if they knew his tragic and deceitful errand? From these reflections he was aroused by the entrance of the alien with the brandis and sodas. Michael took one, and bad the waiter passed the other to his friend. Pittman waved it from him with his hand. "'Oh, don't let me lose all self-respect,' he said. "'Anything to oblige a friend,' returned Michael. "'But I'm not going to drink alone. Here,' he added to the waiter, "'you take it.' And then, touching glasses, "'the health of Mr. Gideon Forsythe,' said he. "'Mr. Gideon Forsythe!' replied the waiter. And he tossed off the liquor in four gulps. "'Have another,' said Michael, with undisguised interest. "'I never saw a man drink faster. It restores one's confidence in the human race.' But the waiter excused himself politely and, assisted by someone from without, began to bring in lunch. Michael made an excellent meal, which he washed down with a bottle of hide-six dry monopole. As for the artist, he was far too uneasy to eat, and his companion, Flattler, refused to let him share in the champagne unless he did. "'One of us must stay sober,' remarked the lawyer, "'and I won't give you champagne on the strength of a leg of grass. "'I have to be cautious,' he added confidentially. "'One drunken man, excellent business. "'Two drunken men, all my eye.' On the production of the coffee and departure of the waiter, Michael might have been observed to make portentous efforts after gravity of mien. He looked his friend in the face, one eye perhaps a trifle of, and addressed him thickly but severely. "'Enough of this fooling,' was his not inappropriate exodium. "'To business!' "'Mark me closely. I am an Australian. "'My name is John Dixon.' "'Though you might not think of it from my unassuming appearance. "'You will be relieved to hear that I am rich, sir, very rich. "'You can't go into this sort of thing too thoroughly, Pittman. "'The whole secret is preparation, "'and I can get up my biography from the beginning. "'And I can tell you now.' "'Only I have forgotten it.' "'Perhaps I'm stupid,' began Pittman. "'That's it!' cried Michael, very stupid, "'but rich too, richer than I am. "'I thought you would enjoy it, Pittman, so I've arranged "'that you were to be literally wallowing in wealth. "'But then, on the other hand, you're only an American "'and the maker of India rubber overshoes at that. "'And the worst of it is—' "'Why should I conceal it from you?' "'The worst of it is that you're called Ezra Thomas.' "'Now,' said Michael, with a really appalling seriousness of manner, "'tell me who we are.' "'The unfortunate little man was cross-examined "'till he knew these facts by heart. "'There,' cried the lawyer, "'our plans are laid thoroughly consistent. "'That's the great thing.' "'But I don't understand,' objected Pittman. "'Oh, you'll understand right enough when it comes to the point,' said Michael, rising. "'There doesn't seem to be any story to it,' said the artist. "'You can invent one as we go along,' returned the lawyer. "'But I can't invent,' protested Pittman. "'I never could invent in all my life.' "'You'll find you have to, my boy,' was Michael's easy comment, and he began calling for the waiter, with whom he at once resumed a sparkling conversation. It was a downcast little man that followed him. "'Of course, he is very clever, but can I trust him in such a state?' He asked himself. And when they were once more in a handsome, he took heart of grace. "'Don't you think,' he faltered, "'it would be wiser considering all things "'who to put this business off?' "'Put off to-morrow what can be done to-day,' cried Michael with indignation. "'Never heard of such a thing. "'Cheer up, it'll be all right. Go in and win. "'There's a lion-hearted Pittman.' At Cannon Street, they inquired for Mr. Brown's piano, which had duly arrived, drove thence to a neighbouring muse, where they contracted for a cart, and while that was being got ready, took shelter in the harness-room beside the stove. Here the lawyer presently toppled against the wall, and fell into a gentle slumber, so that Pittman found himself launched on his own resources in the midst of several staring loafers, such as love to spend unprofitable days about a stable. "'Rough die, sir,' observed one. "'Do you go far?' "'Yes, it is rather rough a day,' said the artist, and then feeling that he must change the conversation. "'My friend is an Australian. He is very impulsive,' he added. "'An Australian?' said the other. "'Ah, a brother myself in Melbourne. "'Does your friend come from that way at all?' "'No, not exactly,' replied the artist, whose ideas of the geography of New Holland were a little scattered. "'He lives immensely far inland, and is very rich.' The loafers gazed with great respect upon the slumbering colonist. "'Well,' remarked the second speaker, "'it's a mighty big place in Australia. "'You come from that way, too?' "'No, I do not,' said Pittman. "'I do not, and I don't want to,' he added irritably, and then, feeling some diversion needful, he fell upon Michael and chucked him up. "'Ah, hello,' said the lawyer. "'What's wrong?' "'The cart is nearly ready,' said Pittman sternly. "'I will not allow you to sleep.' "'All right, no offense, old man,' replied Michael, yawning. "'A little sleep never did anybody any harm. I feel comparatively sober now.' "'But what's all the hurry?' he added, looking around him, glassily. "'I don't see in the cart, and I've forgotten where we left the piano. What more the lawyer might have said in the confidence moment is, with Pittman, a matter of tremulous conjecture to this day. But by the most blessed circumstance the cart was then announced, and Michael must bend the forces of his mind to the more difficult task of rising. "'Of course, you'll drive,' he remarked to his companion as he clambered on the vehicle. "'I drive!' cried Pittman. "'I never did such a thing in my life. I cannot drive.' "'Very well,' responded Michael with entire composure. "'Neither can I see, but just as you like, anything to oblige a friend.' A glimpse of the ocelor's darkened encounterance decided Pittman. "'All right,' he said desperately. "'You drive, I'll tell you where to go.' On Michael, in the character of charioteer, since this is not intended to be a novel or adventure, it will be superfluous to dwell at length. Pittman, as he sat, holding on and gasping counsels, full witness of this singular feat, knew not whether most to admire the driver's valour or his undeserved good fortune, but the latter at least prevailed. The cart reached Cannon Street without disaster, and Mr. Brown's piano was speedily and cleverly got on board. "'Well, sir,' said the leading porter, smiling as he mentally reckoned up a handful of loose silver. "'It's a more heavy piano. "'It's the richness of the tone,' returned Michael, as he drove away. It was but a little distance in the rain which now fell thick and quiet to the neighbourhood of Mr. Gideon Forsythe's chambers in the temple. There, in a deserted by-street, Michael drew up the horses and gave them in charge to a blighted shoe-black, and the pair, descending from the cart whereon they had figured so incongruously, set forth on foot for the decisive scene of their adventure. For the first time Michael displayed a shadow of uneasiness. "'Are my whiskers right?' he asked. "'It would be the devil at all if I was spotted.' "'They are perfectly in their place,' returned Pittman with scant attention. "'But is my disguise equally effective? "'There is nothing more likely than I should meet some of my patrons.' "'Oh, nobody can tell you without your beard,' said Michael. "'All you have to do is to remember to speak slow. "'You speak through your nose already. "'I only hope the young man won't be at home,' sighed Pittman. "'And I only hope he'll be alone,' returned the lawyer. "'It will save a precious sight of manoeuvring.' Unsure enough, when they had knocked at the door, Gideon admitted them in person to a room warmed by a moderate fire, framed nearly to the roof in works connected with the bench of British Temis, and offering, except in one particular, eloquent testimony to the legal zeal of the proprietor. The one particular was the chimney-piece, which displayed a varied assortment of pipes, tobacco, cigar-boxes, and yellow-backed French novels. "'Mr. Forsythe,' I believe. "'It was Michael who thus opened the engagement. "'I've come to trouble you with a piece of business. "'I fear it's scarcely professional.' "'I'm afraid I ought to be instructed through a solicitor,' replied Gideon. "'Hey, well, you shall name your own, "'and the whole affair can be put on a more regular footing tomorrow,' replied Michael, taking a chair and motioning Pittman to do the same. "'But, you see, we don't know any solicitors. "'We did happen to know of you, and time presses.' "'May I inquire, gentlemen,' asked Gideon, "'to whom it was I am indebted for a recommendation.' "'You may inquire,' returned the lawyer with a foolish laugh, "'but I was invited not to tell you till the thing was done.' "'My uncle, no doubt, was the barrister's conclusion.' "'My name is John Dixon,' continued Michael. "'Pretty well-known I'm in Ballarat, "'and my friend here is Mr. Edward Thomas "'of the United States of America, "'a wealthy manufacturer of India rubber overshoes. "'Stop one moment till I make a note of that,' said Gideon. "'Anyone might have supposed he was an old practitioner. "'Perhaps you wouldn't mind my smoking a cigar,' asked Michael. "'He had pulled himself together for the entrance. "'Now again there began to settle on his mind "'clouds of irresponsible humour and insipient slumber, "'and he hoped, as so many have hoped in the like case, "'that a cigar would clear him.' "'Oh, certainly,' cried Gideon blandly, "'try one of mine. I can confidently recommend them,' "'and he handed the box to his clad. "'In case I don't make myself perfectly clear,' observed the Australian, "'it is perhaps best to tell you, candidly, "'that I've been lunching. It's a thing that may happen to anyone.' "'Oh, certainly,' replied the affable barrister, "'but please be under no sense of hurry. "'I'll give you,' he added, thoughtfully consulting his watch. "'Yes, I can give you the whole afternoon.' "'The rest of this brings me here,' resumed the Australian, "'with gusto, his devilish delicacy continue. "'My friend Mr. Thomas being an American of Portuguese extraction, "'unacquainted with habits and a wealthy manufacturer "'of Broadwood pianos?' "'Broadwood pianos,' cried Gideon, with some surprise, "'dear me, do I understand Mr. Thomas to be a member of the firm?' "'Oh, pirated Broadwoods,' returned Michael, "'by frenzy American Broadwood. "'But I understood you to say,' objected Gideon. "'I certainly have it so in my notes, "'that your friend was a manufacturer of India rubber overshoes. "'Ah, now it's confusing at first,' said the Australian, "'with a beaming smile, but he, in short, he combines the two professions. "'Yeah, and many others, besides many, many others,' "'repeated Mr. Dixon, with drunken solemnity. "'Mr. Thomas's cotton-mills are one of the sights of Tallahassee, "'Mr. Thomas's tobacco-mills are the pride of Vichron, Virginia. "'In short, he's one of my oldest friends, Mr. Forsythe, "'and I lay his case before you with emotion.' "'The barrister looked at Mr. Thomas and was agreeably pre-possessed "'by his open, although nervous, countenance "'and the simplicity and timidity of his manner. "'What are people are these Americans?' he thought. "'Look at this nervous, weedy, simple little bird "'in a low-neck shirt. "'And think of him wielding and directing interest "'so extended and seemingly incongruous. "'But had we not better,' he observed aloud, "'had we not perhaps better approach the facts?' "'Man, the business are perceived, sir,' said the Australian. "'Ah, let's approach the facts. It's a breach of promise case.' "'The unhappy artist was so unprepared for this view of his position "'that he could scarce suppress a crime. "'Dear me,' said Gideon, "'they are apt to be very troublesome. "'Tell me everything about it,' he added kindly. "'If you require my assistance, conceal nothing.' "'Ah, you tell him,' said Michael, "'feeling apparently that he had done his share. "'My friend will tell you all about it,' he added to Gideon with a yawn. "'Excuse my closing my eyes a moment. "'I've been sitting up with a sick friend.' "'Pitman gazed blankly about the room. "'Rage and despair seized in his innocent spirit. "'Thoughts of flight, thoughts even of suicide "'came and went before him, "'and still the barrister patiently waited, "'and still the artist groped in vain "'for any form of words, however insignificant.' "'Ah, it's a breach of promise case,' he said at last in a low voice. "'Ah, I'm threatened with a breach of promise case.'" Here, in desperate quest of inspiration, he made a clutch at his beard. His fingers closed upon the unfamiliar smoothness of a shaven chin, and with that hope and courage, if such expressions could ever have been appropriate in the case of Pitman, conjuntly fled. He shook Michael roughly. "'Wake up,' he said, with genuine irritation in his tones. "'I cannot do it, and you know I can't. "'You must excuse my friend,' said Michael. "'He's no hand as a narrator of staring incident. "'The case is simple,' he went on. "'My friend is a man of very strong passions "'and accustomed to a simple patriarchal style of life. "'You see the thing from here. "'Unfortunate visit to Europe, "'followed by unfortunate acquaintance with a sham foreign count "'who has a lovely daughter.'" Mr. Thomas was quite carried away. He proposed. He was accepted, and he wrote. Wrote in a style which I'm sure he must regret today. If these letters are produced in court certain to Thomas's character, he's gone. "'Am I to understand?' began Gideon. "'My dear sir,' said the Australian emphatically, "'it isn't possible to understand unless you saw them. "'This is a painful circumstance,' said Gideon. He glanced pityingly in the direction of the culprit and observing on his countenance every mark of confusion pityingly withdrew his eyes. "'And that would be nothing,' continued Mr. Dixon sternly, "'but I wish. I wish from my heart, sir, "'I could say that Mr. Thomas's hands were clean. "'He has no excuse, for he was engaged at the time, "'and is still engaged to the bell of Constantinople gar. "'My friend's conduct was unworthy of the brutes that perish.'" "'Gar?' repeated Gideon inquiringly. "'A contraction in current use,' said Michael. "'Gar for Georgia, in the same way as Kerl for Company. "'I was aware that it was sometimes so written,' returned the barrister, "'but not that it was so pronounced.' "'Fact, I assure you,' said Michael. "'You now see for yourself, sir, that if this unhappy person "'is to be saved, some devilish sharp practice will be needed. "'There's money and no desire to spare it. "'Mr. Thomas could write a cheque tomorrow for a hundred thousand, "'and Mr. Forsythe, there's better than money. "'The foreign count, Count Tarno,' he calls himself, "'was formerly a tobacconist in Bayswater, "'and passed under the humble but expressive name of Schmidt. "'His daughter, if she is his daughter, there's another point. "'Make a note of that, Mr. Forsythe. "'His daughter, at that time, actually served in the shop. "'Now proposes to marry a man of the eminence of Mr. Thomas. "'Now, do you see your own game? "'We know they contemplate a move, and we wish to forestall them. "'Down you go to Ampton Court, where they live, "'and threaten, or bribe, or both, until you get the letters. "'If you can't go, help us, we must go to court, "'and Thomas must be exposed. "'I'll be done with him for one,' added the unshivaled friend. "'Some elements of success,' said Gideon. "'Was Schmidt, at all known to the police?' "'We hope so,' said Michael. "'We have every ground to think so. "'Mark the neighbourhood, Bayswater. "'Doesn't Bayswater occur to you as very suggestive?' "'For perhaps the sixth time, during this remarkable interview, "'Gideon wondered if he were not becoming light-headed. "'I suppose it's just because he's been lunching,' he thought. "'And then added aloud, "'To what figure may I go?' "'Perhaps five thousand would be enough for today,' said Michael. "'Now, sir, do not let me detain you any longer. "'The afternoon wears on. "'There are plenty of trains to Ampton Court, "'and I needn't try to describe to you the impatience of my friend. "'Here is a five-pound note for current expenses, "'and here is the address,' and Michael began to write. "'Pourst, tore up the paper, and put the pieces in his pocket. "'Ah, I will dictate,' he said. "'My writing is so uncertain.' "'Gideon took down the address. "'Count Tarno, Cornall Villa, Hampton Court.' "'Then he wrote something else on a sheet of paper.' "'You said you had not chosen a solicitor,' he said. "'For a case of this sort, here is the best man in London. "'And he handed the paper to Michael.' "'God bless me,' ejaculated Michael, as he read his own address. "'Oh, I dare say you have seen his name "'connected with some rather painful cases,' said Gideon. "'But he is himself a perfectly honest man, "'and his capacity is recognised. "'And now, gentlemen, it only remains for me to ask "'where I shall communicate with you.' "'The Langham, of course,' returned Michael. "'Until to-night,' replied Gideon, smiling, "'I suppose I may knock you up at a later hour.' "'Any hour? Any hour?' cried the vanishing solicitor. "'Now there's a young fellow with a head on his shoulders,' he said to Pittman, as soon as they were in the street. Pittman was indistinctly heard to murmur, "'Um, perfect fool!' "'Not a bit of him,' returned Michael. "'He knows who's the best solicitor in London, "'and it's not every man can say the same.' "'But I say, didn't I pitch it hot?' Pittman returned no answer. "'Hello?' said the lawyer, pausing. "'What's wrong with the long-suffering Pittman?' "'You had no right to speak of me as you did.' The artist broke out. "'Your language was perfectly unjustifiable. "'You have wounded me deeply.' "'I never said a word about you,' replied Michael. "'I spoke of Ezra Thomas, "'and do please remember that there's no such party. "'It's just as hard to bear,' said the artist. "'But by this time they had reached the corner of the Byth Street, "'and there was the faithful shoe-black, "'standing by the horse's heads, "'with a splendid assumption of dignity, "'and there was the piano, "'figuring for lawn upon the cart, "'while the rain beat up on its unprotected sides "'and trickled down its elegantly varnished legs. "'The shoe-black was again put in requisition "'to bring five or six strong fellows "'from the neighbouring public house, "'and the last battle of the campaign opened. "'It is probable that Mr. Gideon Forsythe "'had not yet taken his seat in the train for Hampton Court "'before Michael opened the door of the chambers, "'and the grunting porters deposited the Broadwood Grand "'in the middle of the floor. "'And now?' said the lawyer, "'after he had sent the men about their business, "'one more precaution. "'We must leave him the key of the piano, "'and we must contrive that he shall find it. "'Let me see. "'And he built a square tower of cigars "'upon the top of the instrument "'and dropped the key into the middle.' "'Oh, poor young man,' said the artist, "'as they descended the stairs. "'He's in the devil of a position,' "'ascented Michael dryly. "'It'll brace him up.' "'And that reminds me,' "'of the excellent Pittman, "'that I fear I display the most ungrateful temper. "'I had no right, I see, to resent expressions, "'wounding as they were, "'which were in no sense directed.' "'That's all right,' cried Michael, getting on the cart. "'Not a word more, Pittman. "'Very proper feeling on your part. "'No man of self-respect can stand by "'and hear his alias insulted.' "'The rain had now ceased. "'Michael was fairly sober. "'The body had been disposed of "'and the friends were reconciled. "'The return to the muse was, therefore, "'in comparison with previous stages "'of the day's adventures, quite a holiday outing. "'And when they had returned the cart "'and walked forth again from the stable yard, "'unchallenged and even unsuspected, "'Pittman drew a deep breath of joy. "'And now,' he said, "'we can go home.' "'Pittman,' said the lawyer, "'stopping short, your recklessness "'fills me with concern. "'What? "'We have been wet through the greater part of the day "'and you propose in cold blood to go home?' "'No, sir. Hot scotch.' "'And taking his friend's arm, "'he led him sternly towards the nearest public house. "'Nor was Pittman,' I regret to say, "'holy unwilling. "'Now that peace was restored and the body gone, "'a certain innocent skittishness began to appear "'in the manners of the artist. "'And when he touched his steaming glass to Michael's, "'he giggled aloud like a benchesome schoolgirl "'at a picnic. "'End of Chapter Eight.'