“Lost? How could a fiddle be lost?” I faintly returned, as with a sinking heart I anticipated fresh complications.
“Well, or stolen—it was never rightly known how it happened,” promptly returned my companion. “I was there at the time myself, and I’ll tell you all about it as we go out.”
I groaned, and resigned myself to listen.
We got to the cab-stand, and were soon rattling out from Edinburgh, and when out on the smooth country road my new assistant very eagerly threw off the following information:—
“We were playing at a ball out by Penicuick—six or seven of us altogether—and as it was a jolly affair at a gentleman’s seat, we were driven out and in in an open trap. My chum, M——, of the Theatre Royal,—he’s dead now, as you know,—was leader, and had his best fiddle with him—a splendid Stradivarius Cremona, which cost him £50. I had a great liking for the instrument, and used often to try it, and have got the loan of it often when I had a solo to play. We were through with our business about three in the morning, and I remember perfectly that it was a clear, cold night, with plenty of moonlight. We had had some refreshments during the night, but every one of us knew perfectly well what he was about. M—— was the last to step into the vehicle that was to bring us in, and he came out with his fiddle and case in his hand, and said, ‘Mind yer feet or I pit in my fiddle—better that you sud be crampit for room than that my fiddle sud come to ony herm.’ We made room—the fiddle case was shoved in on the floor of the vehicle among others there lying, the door at the back was shut, and we drove off, singing, laughing, and joking, and as jovial and happy as kings. There was a toll-bar some distance in, and I remember some of us getting out to knock up the toll-keeper and get him to open the gate; and it is possible that the door of the trap may not have been shut immediately on the journey being resumed, but, at all events, the door was found open when we came to the next toll, which was near Edinburgh. When we got to the Theatre Royal—the most central place for us all—we got out, and M——, who was joking and laughing till we had all got out our instruments, began groping about under the seats, and then said, ‘Some o’ ye hae taen my fiddle.’ We counted over, and searched everywhere, but the Cremona and case were gone.”
“Lost on the road, I suppose?”
“Yes, or stolen—it was never found out which. The loss was not thought serious at first, for there was a brass plate on the case bearing the owner’s name, and it was expected that the fiddle would be picked up by some of the early carters coming in to the market, and that a mere advertisement and small reward would ensure its restoration. But though the advertising was tried, and every inquiry was made, the fiddle has never been heard of since.”
“And did you not tell Cleffton all this when you saw the fiddle in his possession?”
“No; I was not sure that it was the fiddle. But I thought of it, and was very near saying it.”
I made no further comments on the new information. I was not anxious that he should prove correct in his surmise, but hoped that the case would be narrowed rather than broadened. With this end in view I thought proper to prime my companion well as to the questions he was to ask the gentleman we were on our way to see, leaving to myself rather the task of watching and analysing.