both, until you get the letters; if you can't, God help us, we
must go to court and Thomas must be exposed. I'll be done with

him for one,' added the unchivalrous friend.
'There seem some elements of success,' said Gideon. 'Was Schmidt

at all known to the police?'
'We hope so,' said Michael. 'We have every ground to think so.

Mark the neighbourhood--Bayswater! Doesn't Bayswater occur to you
as very suggestive?'

For perhaps the sixth time during this remarkable interview,
Gideon wondered if he were not becoming light-headed. 'I suppose

it's just because he has been lunching,' he thought; and then
added aloud, 'To what figure may I go?'

'Perhaps five thousand would be enough for today,' said Michael.
'And now, sir, do not let me detain you any longer; the afternoon

wears on; there are plenty of trains to Hampton Court; and I
needn't try to describe to you the impatience of my friend. Here

is a five-pound note for current expenses; and here is the
address.' And Michael began to write, paused, tore up the paper,

and put the pieces in his pocket. 'I will dictate,' he said, 'my
writing is so uncertain.'

Gideon took down the address, 'Count Tarnow, Kurnaul Villa,
Hampton Court.' Then he wrote something else on a sheet of paper.

'You said you had not chosen a solicitor,' he said. 'For a case
of this sort, here is the best man in London.' And he handed the

paper to Michael.
'God bless me!' ejaculated Michael, as he read his own address.

'O, I daresay you have seen his name connected with some rather
painful cases,' said Gideon. 'But he is himself a perfectly

honest man, and his capacity is recognized. And now, gentlemen,
it only remains for me to ask where I shall communicate with

you.'
'The Langham, of course,' returned Michael. 'Till tonight.'

'Till tonight,' replied Gideon, smiling. 'I suppose I may knock
you up at a late hour?'

'Any hour, any hour,' cried the vanishing solicitor.
'Now there's a young fellow with a head upon his shoulders,' he

said to Pitman, as soon as they were in the street.
Pitman was indistinctly heard to murmur, 'Perfect fool.'

'Not a bit of him,' returned Michael. 'He knows who's the best
solicitor in London, and it's not every man can say the same.

But, I say, didn't I pitch it in hot?'
Pitman returned no answer.

'Hullo!' said the lawyer, pausing, 'what's wrong with the
long-suffering Pitman?'

'You had no right to speak of me as you did,' the artist broke
out; 'your language was perfectly unjustifiable; you have wounded

me deeply.'
'I never said a word about you,' replied Michael. 'I spoke of

Ezra Thomas; and do please remember that there's no such party.'
'It's just as hard to bear,' said the artist.

But by this time they had reached the corner of the by-street;
and there was the faithful shoeblack, standing by the horses'

heads with a splendid assumption of dignity; and there was the
piano, figuring forlorn upon the cart, while the rain beat upon

its unprotected sides and trickled down its elegantly varnished
legs.

The shoeblack was again put in requisition to bring five or six
strong fellows from the neighbouring public-house; and the last

battle of the campaign opened. It is probable that Mr Gideon
Forsyth had not yet taken his seat in the train for Hampton

Court, before Michael opened the door of the chambers, and the
grunting porters deposited the Broadwood grand in the middle of

the floor.
'And now,' said the lawyer, after he had sent the men about their

business, 'one more precaution. We must leave him the key of the
piano, and we must contrive that he shall find it. Let me see.'

And he built a square tower of cigars upon the top of the
instrument, and dropped the key into the middle.

'Poor young man,' said the artist, as they descended the stairs.
'He is in a devil of a position,' assented Michael drily. 'It'll

brace him up.'
'And that reminds me,' observed the excellent Pitman, 'that I

fear I displayed a most ungrateful temper. I had no right, I see,
to resent expressions, wounding as they were, which were in no

sense directed.'
'That's all right,' cried Michael, getting on the cart. 'Not a

word more, Pitman. Very proper feeling on your part; no man of
self-respect can stand by and hear his alias insulted.'

The rain had now ceased, Michael was fairly sober, the body had
been disposed of, and the friends were reconciled. The return to

the mews was therefore (in comparison with previous stages of the
day's adventures) quite a holiday outing; and when they had

returned the cart and walked forth again from the stable-yard,
unchallenged, and even unsuspected, Pitman drew a deep breath of

joy. 'And now,' he said, 'we can go home.'
'Pitman,' said the lawyer, stopping short, 'your recklessness

fills me with concern. What! we have been wet through the greater
part of the day, and you propose, in cold blood, to go home! No,

sir--hot Scotch.'
And taking his friend's arm he led him sternly towards the

nearest public-house. Nor was Pitman (I regret to say) wholly
unwilling. Now that peace was restored and the body gone, a

certain innocent skittishness began to appear in the manners of
the artist; and when he touched his steaming glass to Michael's,

he giggled aloud like a venturesome schoolgirl at a picnic.
CHAPTER IX. Glorious Conclusion of Michael Finsbury's Holiday

I know Michael Finsbury personally; my business--I know the
awkwardness of having such a man for a lawyer--still it's an old

story now, and there is such a thing as gratitude, and, in short,
my legal business, although now (I am thankful to say) of quite a

placid character, remains entirely in Michael's hands. But the
trouble is I have no natural talent for addresses; I learn one

for every man--that is friendship's offering; and the friend who
subsequently changes his residence is dead to me, memory refusing

to pursue him. Thus it comes about that, as I always write to
Michael at his office, I cannot swear to his number in the King's

Road. Of course (like my neighbours), I have been to dinner
there. Of late years, since his accession to wealth, neglect of

business, and election to the club, these little festivals have
become common. He picks up a few fellows in the smoking-room--all

men of Attic wit--myself, for instance, if he has the luck to
find me disengaged; a string of hansoms may be observed (by Her

Majesty) bowling gaily through St James's Park; and in a quarter
of an hour the party surrounds one of the best appointed boards

in London.
But at the time of which we write the house in the King's Road

(let us still continue to call it No. 233) was kept very quiet;
when Michael entertained guests it was at the halls of Nichol or

Verrey that he would convene them, and the door of his private
residence remained closed against his friends. The upper storey,

which was sunny, was set apart for his father; the drawing-room
was never opened; the dining-room was the scene of Michael's

life. It is in this pleasant apartment, sheltered from the
curiosity of King's Road by wire blinds, and entirely surrounded

by the lawyer's unrivalled library of poetry and criminal trials,
that we find him sitting down to his dinner after his holiday

with Pitman. A spare old lady, with very bright eyes and a mouth