Suddenly Michael was seized by mirth so prolonged and excessive that his companions supposed beyond a doubt his reason had deserted him.  Again and again he struggled to compose himself, and again and again laughter overwhelmed him like a tide.  In all this maddening interview there had been no more spectral feature than this of Michael’s merriment; and Pitman and Morris, drawn together by the common fear, exchanged glances of anxiety.

‘Morris,’ gasped the lawyer, when he was at last able to articulate, ’hold on, I see it all now.  I can make it clear in one word.  Here’s the key:  I never guessed it was uncle Joseph till this moment.’

This remark produced an instant lightening of the tension for Morris.  For Pitman it quenched the last ray of hope and daylight.  Uncle Joseph, whom he had left an hour ago in Norfolk Street, pasting newspaper cuttings?—­it?—­the dead body?—­then who was he, Pitman? and was this Waterloo Station or Colney Hatch?

‘To be sure!’ cried Morris; ’it was badly smashed, I know.  How stupid not to think of that!  Why, then, all’s clear; and, my dear Michael, I’ll tell you what—­we’re saved, both saved.  You get the tontine—­I don’t grudge it you the least—­and I get the leather business, which is really beginning to look up.  Declare the death at once, don’t mind me in the smallest, don’t consider me; declare the death, and we’re all right.’

‘Ah, but I can’t declare it,’ said Michael.

‘Why not?’ cried Morris.

‘I can’t produce the corpus, Morris.  I’ve lost it,’ said the lawyer.

‘Stop a bit,’ ejaculated the leather merchant.  ’How is this?  It’s not possible.  I lost it.’

‘Well, I’ve lost it too, my son,’ said Michael, with extreme serenity.  ’Not recognizing it, you see, and suspecting something irregular in its origin, I got rid of—­what shall we say?—­got rid of the proceeds at once.’

‘You got rid of the body?  What made you do that?’ walled Morris.  ’But you can get it again?  You know where it is?’

’I wish I did, Morris, and you may believe me there, for it would be a small sum in my pocket; but the fact is, I don’t,’ said Michael.

‘Good Lord,’ said Morris, addressing heaven and earth, ’good Lord, I’ve lost the leather business!’

Michael was once more shaken with laughter.

‘Why do you laugh, you fool?’ cried his cousin, ’you lose more than I. You’ve bungled it worse than even I did.  If you had a spark of feeling, you would be shaking in your boots with vexation.  But I’ll tell you one thing—­I’ll have that eight hundred pound—­I’ll have that and go to Swan River—­that’s mine, anyway, and your friend must have forged to cash it.  Give me the eight hundred, here, upon this platform, or I go straight to Scotland Yard and turn the whole disreputable story inside out.’

‘Morris,’ said Michael, laying his hand upon his shoulder, ’hear reason.  It wasn’t us, it was the other man.  We never even searched the body.’