esteem.'
'A word is enough, Mr Pitman,' said Joseph, with one of his

Oriental reverences.
Half an hour later, the drawing-master found Michael in bed and

reading a book, the picture of good-humour and repose.
'Hillo, Pitman,' he said, laying down his book, 'what brings you

here at this inclement hour? Ought to be in church, my boy!'
'I have little thought of church today, Mr Finsbury,' said the

drawing-master. 'I am on the brink of something new, Sir.' And he
presented the advertisement.

'Why, what is this?' cried Michael, sitting suddenly up. He
studied it for half a minute with a frown. 'Pitman, I don't care

about this document a particle,' said he.
'It will have to be attended to, however,' said Pitman.

'I thought you'd had enough of Waterloo,' returned the lawyer.
'Have you started a morbid craving? You've never been yourself

anyway since you lost that beard. I believe now it was where you
kept your senses.'

'Mr Finsbury,' said the drawing-master, 'I have tried to reason
this matter out, and, with your permission, I should like to lay

before you the results.'
'Fire away,' said Michael; 'but please, Pitman, remember it's

Sunday, and let's have no bad language.'
'There are three views open to us,' began Pitman. 'First this may

be connected with the barrel; second, it may be connected with Mr
Semitopolis's statue; and third, it may be from my wife's

brother, who went to Australia. In the first case, which is of
course possible, I confess the matter would be best allowed to

drop.'
'The court is with you there, Brother Pitman,' said Michael.

'In the second,' continued the other, 'it is plainly my duty to
leave no stone unturned for the recovery of the lost antique.'

'My dear fellow, Semitopolis has come down like a trump; he has
pocketed the loss and left you the profit. What more would you

have?' enquired the lawyer.
'I conceive, sir, under correction, that Mr Semitopolis's

generosity binds me to even greater exertion,' said the
drawing-master. 'The whole business was unfortunate; it was--I

need not disguise it from you--it was illegal from the first: the
more reason that I should try to behave like a gentleman,'

concluded Pitman, flushing.
'I have nothing to say to that,' returned the lawyer. 'I have

sometimes thought I should like to try to behave like a gentleman
myself; only it's such a one-sided business, with the world and

the legal profession as they are.'
'Then, in the third,' resumed the drawing-master, 'if it's Uncle

Tim, of course, our fortune's made.'
'It's not Uncle Tim, though,' said the lawyer.

'Have you observed that very remarkable expression: SOMETHING TO
HIS ADVANTAGE?' enquired Pitman shrewdly.

'You innocent mutton,' said Michael, 'it's the seediest
commonplace in the English language, and only proves the

advertiser is an ass. Let me demolish your house of cards for you
at once. Would Uncle Tim make that blunder in your name?--in

itself, the blunder is delicious, a huge improvement on the gross
reality, and I mean to adopt it in the future; but is it like

Uncle Tim?'
'No, it's not like him,' Pitman admitted. 'But his mind may have

become unhinged at Ballarat.'
'If you come to that, Pitman,' said Michael, 'the advertiser may

be Queen Victoria, fired with the desire to make a duke of you. I
put it to yourself if that's probable; and yet it's not against

the laws of nature. But we sit here to consider probabilities;
and with your genteelpermission, I eliminate her Majesty and

Uncle Tim on the threshold. To proceed, we have your second idea,
that this has some connection with the statue. Possible; but in

that case who is the advertiser? Not Ricardi, for he knows your
address; not the person who got the box, for he doesn't know your

name. The vanman, I hear you suggest, in a lucid interval. He
might have got your name, and got it incorrectly, at the station;

and he might have failed to get your address. I grant the vanman.
But a question: Do you really wish to meet the vanman?'

'Why should I not?' asked Pitman.
'If he wants to meet you,' replied Michael, 'observe this: it is

because he has found his address-book, has been to the house that
got the statue, and-mark my words!--is moving at the instigation

of the murderer.'
'I should be very sorry to think so,' said Pitman; 'but I still

consider it my duty to Mr Sernitopolis. . .'
'Pitman,' interrupted Michael, 'this will not do. Don't seek to

impose on your legal adviser; don't try to pass yourself off for
the Duke of Wellington, for that is not your line. Come, I wager

a dinner I can read your thoughts. You still believe it's Uncle
Tim.'

'Mr Finsbury,' said the drawing-master, colouring, 'you are not a
man in narrow circumstances, and you have no family. Guendolen is

growing up, a very promising girl--she was confirmed this year;
and I think you will be able to enter into my feelings as a

parent when I tell you she is quite ignorant of dancing. The boys
are at the board school, which is all very well in its way; at

least, I am the last man in the world to criticize the
institutions of my native land. But I had fondly hoped that

Harold might become a professional musician; and little Otho
shows a quite remarkablevocation for the Church. I am not

exactly an ambitious man...'
'Well, well,' interrupted Michael. 'Be explicit; you think it's

Uncle Tim?'
'It might be Uncle Tim,' insisted Pitman, 'and if it were, and I

neglected the occasion, how could I ever took my children in the
face? I do not refer to Mrs Pitman. . .'

'No, you never do,' said Michael.
'. . . but in the case of her own brother returning from

Ballarat. . .' continued Pitman.
'. . . with his mind unhinged,' put in the lawyer.

'. . . returning from Ballarat with a large fortune, her
impatience may be more easily imagined than described,' concluded

Pitman.
'All right,' said Michael, 'be it so. And what do you propose to

do?'
'I am going to Waterloo,' said Pitman, 'in disguise.'

'All by your little self?' enquired the lawyer. 'Well, I hope you
think it safe. Mind and send me word from the police cells.'

'O, Mr Finsbury, I had ventured to hope--perhaps you might be
induced to--to make one of us,' faltered Pitman.

'Disguise myself on Sunday?' cried Michael. 'How little you
understand my principles!'

'Mr Finsbury, I have no means of showing you my gratitude; but
let me ask you one question,' said Pitman. 'If I were a very rich

client, would you not take the risk?'
'Diamond, Diamond, you know not what you do!' cried Michael.

'Why, man, do you suppose I make a practice of cutting about
London with my clients in disguise? Do you suppose money would

induce me to touch this business with a stick? I give you my word
of honour, it would not. But I own I have a real curiosity to see

how you conduct this interview--that tempts me; it tempts me,
Pitman, more than gold--it should be exquisitely rich.' And

suddenly Michael laughed. 'Well, Pitman,' said he, 'have all the