“The life of a beggar, sir; the life of one who harps about the streets for alms.”
“Harps?”
“Do not you know? Else why was I brought here?”
“Why, indeed? Your brother must explain.”
“Brother! What brother?”
“Him that came first.”
“A stranger, sir, who accosted me in the streets not half an hour gone, and brought me, on plea of an engagement, to you his master.”
“His master? Not I. I’d never set eyes on the man before.”
One blank minute the musician stood staring at the speaker, then turned and, pounding down the stairs, half crying, half sobbing, as he went, “A thief, a thief, a rogue! Stop him! He’s robbed me!” burst from the door and into the street. The stranger had disappeared, the beast, the instrument—beloved pet and the means to a livelihood all vanished at a stroke.
Aimless, distracted, with skirts flying, Bannister flew hither and thither seeking and questioning. Some scoffed at him, some sympathized; not one had any clue to offer. Amid that labyrinth of lanes and byways, stretching its network to the very waterside, it had been easy for the scamp to make good his escape. Exhausted and broken, the musician had to desist at last from his efforts.