‘Morris,’ said Michael, laying his hand upon his shoulder, ‘hear reason. It wasn’t us, it was the other man. We never even searched the body.’
‘The other man?’ repeated Morris.
‘Yes, the other man. We palmed Uncle Joseph off upon another man,’ said Michael.
‘You what? You palmed him off? That’s surely a singular expression,’ said Morris.
‘Yes, palmed him off for a piano,’ said Michael with perfect simplicity. ‘Remarkably full, rich tone,’ he added.
Morris carried his hand to his brow and looked at it; it was wet with sweat. ‘Fever,’ said he.
‘No, it was a Broadwood grand,’ said Michael. ‘Pitman here will tell you if it was genuine or not.’
‘Eh? O! O yes, I believe it was a genuine Broadwood; I have played upon it several times myself,’ said Pitman. ‘The three-letter E was broken.’
‘Don’t say anything more about pianos,’ said Morris, with a strong shudder; ‘I’m not the man I used to be! This—this other man—let’s come to him, if I can only manage to follow. Who is he? Where can I get hold of him?’
‘Ah, that’s the rub,’ said Michael. ‘He’s been in possession of the desired article, let me see—since Wednesday, about four o’clock, and is now, I should imagine, on his way to the isles of Javan and Gadire.’