“No me; I didna fash muckle wi’ papers at that time.”
“You must have known that you were as good as stealing the fiddle?—that it must have had an owner?” I sternly pursued.
“I said that at the time, and advised the maister to adverteese it in the papers, but he only laughed, and said he would tak’ a’ the risk.”
“Can this Mr Thompson who bought the case be found now?”
“Naething easier, sir,” the man readily returned. “The farm’s no a mile off.”
I began to see the end of my task now, and, with the old ploughman to lead the way, at once drove to the Mains and was introduced to Mr Thompson. The fiddle case was at once produced, and then I smiled as I discovered on the top of the lid a square indentation and two rivet holes, which had evidently at one time contained a brass name-plate. With little difficulty I got the fiddle case away with me, and drove back to Edinburgh, where it was identified by the widow at a glance as that of her husband’s lost instrument.
I now had the whole case traced out to its core, and lying clear as a written history before me, but as there was only one fiddle to give away among the claimants, it will be seen that the task before us was not only difficult, but almost certain to bring upon us the dissatisfaction of some of the so-called owners.
While I had been investigating, Mackintosh, thoroughly frightened, had sent a draft for £40 to Cleffton, asking him to return the fiddle at his leisure and say no more about it; but when he was set at liberty he had the doubtful satisfaction of finding that he had lost both the money and the fiddle. I waited patiently to see if the box at Linlithgow would be called for, but evidently the senders had become alarmed, for they never turned up. I then tried to ascertain from Mr Turner’s servants if a man like the sham coachman had been seen about that gentleman’s house, but they were too wary for me, and denied it point blank. I then turned to Mr Turner himself, and, hinting in no measured terms that he was the prime mover in the robbery, commanded him to pay over to the Infirmary the sum of £20, which the grasping villain very reluctantly but abjectly consented to do.
There now remained but the two rival owners to deal with, and I am certain the case would have gone to the Court of Session but for a thought which struck me when Cleffton was one day arguing his view of the case to me.
“You gave £40 for the fiddle, and thought it well worth the money,” I said. “How much do you really think the fiddle is worth?—I mean privately, between ourselves.”