'Don't say anything more about pianos,' said Morris, with a strong shudder; 'I'm not the man I used to be! This--this other man--let's come to him, if I can only manage to follow. Who is he? Where can I get hold of him?'
'Ah, that's the rub,' said Michael. 'He's been in possession of the desired article, let me see--since Wednesday, about four o'clock, and is now, I should imagine, on his way to the isles of Javan and Gadire.'
'Michael,' said Morris pleadingly, 'I am in a very weak state, and I beg your consideration for a kinsman. Say it slowly again, and be sure you are correct. When did he get it?'
Michael repeated his statement.
'Yes, that's the worst thing yet,' said Morris, drawing in his breath.
'What is?' asked the lawyer.
'Even the dates are sheer nonsense,' said the leather merchant.
'The bill was cashed on Tuesday. There's not a gleam of reason in the whole transaction.'
A young gentleman, who had passed the trio and suddenly started and turned back, at this moment laid a heavy hand on Michael's shoulder.
'Aha! so this is Mr Dickson?' said he.
The trump of judgement could scarce have rung with a more dreadful note in the ears of Pitman and the lawyer. To Morris this erroneous name seemed a legitimate enough continuation of the nightmare in which he had so long been wandering. And when Michael, with his brand-new bushy whiskers, broke from the grasp of the stranger and turned to run, and the weird little shaven creature in the low-necked shirt followed his example with a bird-like screech, and the stranger (finding the rest of his prey escape him) pounced with a rude grasp on Morris himself, that gentleman's frame of mind might be very nearly expressed in the colloquial phrase: 'I told you so!'
'I have one of the gang,' said Gideon Forsyth.
'I do not understand,' said Morris dully.
'O, I will make you understand,' returned Gideon grimly.
'You will be a good friend to me if you can make me understand anything,' cried Morris, with a sudden energy of conviction.
'I don't know you personally, do I?' continued Gideon, examining his unresisting prisoner. 'Never mind, I know your friends. They are your friends, are they not?'
'I do not understand you,' said Morris.
'You had possibly something to do with a piano?' suggested Gideon.
'A piano!' cried Morris, convulsively clasping Gideon by the arm.
'Then you're the other man! Where is it? Where is the body? And did you cash the draft?'
'Where is the body? This is very strange,' mused Gideon. 'Do you want the body?'
'Want it?' cried Morris. 'My whole fortune depends upon it! I lost it. Where is it? Take me to it?
'O, you want it, do you? And the other man, Dickson--does he want it?' enquired Gideon.
'Who do you mean by Dickson? O, Michael Finsbury! Why, of course he does! He lost it too. If he had it, he'd have won the tontine tomorrow.'
'Michael Finsbury! Not the solicitor?' cried Gideon. 'Yes, the solicitor,' said Morris. 'But where is the body?'
'Then that is why he sent the brief! What is Mr Finsbury's private address?' asked Gideon.
'233 King's Road. What brief? Where are you going? Where is the body?' cried Morris, clinging to Gideon's arm.
'I have lost it myself,' returned Gideon, and ran out of the station.
