‘O, 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 specie; 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 had best be lively,’ he added significantly; ’for we must not spoil the market for the other man.’

‘What do you mean?’ enquired Pitman.  ’What other man?  The inspector of police?’

‘Damn the inspector of police!’ remarked his companion.  ’If you won’t take the short cut and bury this in your back garden, we must find some one who will bury it in his.  We must place the affair, in short, in the hands of some one 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 mudding.’

‘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’ll 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 am sure it’s very good in 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 pained 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, deposit the—­our friend—­inside, plump the whole on a 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 and (most likely) in gaol—­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, Cleopatra?’