“Not a bit,” I answered, laughing. “In fact, you did me a service by preventing me going to sleep just when I shouldn’t; so we’ll say no more of that.”
“Well—there was one other little thing,” he pursued, looking at me rather sharply as he slowly pocketed the sovereign. “There was a bit o’ paper round that pebble that came in here. Didn’t happen to notice that, did you?”
“Yes, I did. It was an old piece of manuscript music.”
“That was it—just. Might you happen to have it handy now?”
“Well,” I said, “as a matter of fact a friend of mine has it now. I tried playing it over once or twice, as a matter of curiosity, but I couldn’t make anything of it, and so I handed it to him.”
“Ah!” said my visitor, watching me narrowly, “that’s a nailer, is that ‘Flitterbat Lancers’—a real nailer. It whips ’em all. Nobody can’t get ahead of that. Ha, ha!” He laughed suddenly—a laugh that seemed a little artificial. “There’s music fellers as ’lows to set right down and play off anything right away that can’t make anything of the ‘Flitterbat Lancers.’ That was two of ’em that was monkeyin’ with me last night. They never could make anythin’ of it at all, and I was tantalizing them with it all along till they got real mad, and reckoned to get it out o’ my pocket and learn it off quiet at home, and stop all my chaff. Ha, ha! So I got away for a bit, and bein’ a bit lively after a number of tooth-lotions (all three was much that way), just rolled it round a stone and heaved it through your winder before they could come up, your winder bein’ the nearest one with a light in it. Ha, ha! I’ll be considerable obliged if you’ll get it from your friend right now. Is he stayin’ hereabout?”
The story was so ridiculously lame that I determined to confront my visitor with Hewitt, and observe the result. If he had succeeded in making any sense of the “Flitterbat Lancers,” the scene might be amusing. So I answered at once, “Yes; his office is only on the floor below; he will probably be in at about this time. Come down with me.”
We went down, and found Hewitt in his outer office. “This gentleman,” I told him with a solemn intonation, “has come to ask for his piece of manuscript music, the ‘Flitterbat Lancers.’ He is particularly proud of it, because nobody who tries to play it can make any sort of tune out of it, and it was entirely because two dear friends of his were anxious to drag it out of his pocket and practice it over on the quiet that he flung it through my window-pane last night, wrapped round a piece of concrete.”
The stranger glanced sharply at me, and I could see that my manner and tone rather disconcerted him. But Hewitt came forward at once. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Just so—quite a natural sort of thing. As a matter of fact, I quite expected you. Your umbrella’s wet—do you mind putting it in the stand? Thank you. Come into my private office.”
We entered the inner room, and Hewitt, turning to the stranger, went on: “Yes, that is a very extraordinary piece of music, that ‘Flitterbat Lancers.’ I have been having a little practice with it myself, though I’m really nothing of a musician. I don’t wonder you are anxious to keep it to yourself. Sit down.”