The Wrong Box

by Robert Louis Stevenson

  CHAPTER XIV. William Bent Pitman Hears of Something to his Advantage

  On the morning of Sunday, William Dent Pitman rose at his usual hour,although with something more than the usual reluctance. The day before(it should be explained) an addition had been made to his family in theperson of a lodger. Michael Finsbury had acted sponsor in the business,and guaranteed the weekly bill; on the other hand, no doubt with a spiceof his prevailing jocularity, he had drawn a depressing portrait of thelodger's character. Mr Pitman had been led to understand his guest wasnot good company; he had approached the gentleman with fear, and hadrejoiced to find himself the entertainer of an angel. At tea he had beenvastly pleased; till hard on one in the morning he had sat entranced byeloquence and progressively fortified with information in the studio;and now, as he reviewed over his toilet the harmless pleasures ofthe evening, the future smiled upon him with revived attractions. 'MrFinsbury is indeed an acquisition,' he remarked to himself; and ashe entered the little parlour, where the table was already laid forbreakfast, the cordiality of his greeting would have befitted anacquaintanceship already old.

  'I am delighted to see you, sir'--these were his expressions--'and Itrust you have slept well.'

  'Accustomed as I have been for so long to a life of almost perpetualchange,' replied the guest, 'the disturbance so often complained of bythe more sedentary, as attending their first night in (what is called) anew bed, is a complaint from which I am entirely free.'

  'I am delighted to hear it,' said the drawing-master warmly. 'But I seeI have interrupted you over the paper.'

  'The Sunday paper is one of the features of the age,' said Mr Finsbury.'In America, I am told, it supersedes all other literature, the bone andsinew of the nation finding their requirements catered for; hundreds ofcolumns will be occupied with interesting details of the world'sdoings, such as water-spouts, elopements, conflagrations, and publicentertainments; there is a corner for politics, ladies' work, chess,religion, and even literature; and a few spicy editorials serve todirect the course of public thought. It is difficult to estimate thepart played by such enormous and miscellaneous repositories in theeducation of the people. But this (though interesting in itself)partakes of the nature of a digression; and what I was about to ask youwas this: Are you yourself a student of the daily press?'

  'There is not much in the papers to interest an artist,' returnedPitman.

  'In that case,' resumed Joseph, 'an advertisement which has appearedthe last two days in various journals, and reappears this morning,may possibly have failed to catch your eye. The name, with a triflingvariation, bears a strong resemblance to your own. Ah, here it is. Ifyou please, I will read it to you:

  WILIAM BENT PITMAN, if this should meet the eye of, he will hear ofSOMETHING TO HIS ADVANTAGE at the far end of the main line departureplatform, Waterloo Station, 2 to 4 P.M. today.

  'Is that in print?' cried Pitman. 'Let me see it! Bent? It must be Dent!SOMETHING TO MY ADVANTAGE? Mr Finsbury, excuse me offering a word ofcaution; I am aware how strangely this must sound in your ears, butthere are domestic reasons why this little circumstance might perhapsbe better kept between ourselves. Mrs Pitman--my dear Sir, I assure youthere is nothing dishonourable in my secrecy; the reasons are domestic,merely domestic; and I may set your conscience at rest when I assureyou all the circumstances are known to our common friend, your excellentnephew, Mr Michael, who has not withdrawn from me his esteem.'

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

  Half an hour later, the drawing-master found Michael in bed and readinga book, the picture of good-humour and repose.

  'Hillo, Pitman,' he said, laying down his book, 'what brings you here atthis inclement hour? Ought to be in church, my boy!'

  'I have little thought of church today, Mr Finsbury,' said thedrawing-master. 'I am on the brink of something new, Sir.' And hepresented the advertisement.

  'Why, what is this?' cried Michael, sitting suddenly up. He studiedit for half a minute with a frown. 'Pitman, I don't care about thisdocument 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 youstarted a morbid craving? You've never been yourself anyway since youlost that beard. I believe now it was where you kept your senses.'

  'Mr Finsbury,' said the drawing-master, 'I have tried to reason thismatter out, and, with your permission, I should like to lay before youthe 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 maybe connected with the barrel; second, it may be connected with MrSemitopolis's statue; and third, it may be from my wife's brother, whowent to Australia. In the first case, which is of course possible, Iconfess 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 nostone unturned for the recovery of the lost antique.'

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

  'I conceive, sir, under correction, that Mr Semitopolis's generositybinds me to even greater exertion,' said the drawing-master. 'The wholebusiness was unfortunate; it was--I need not disguise it from you--itwas illegal from the first: the more reason that I should try to behavelike a gentleman,' concluded Pitman, flushing.

  'I have nothing to say to that,' returned the lawyer. 'I have sometimesthought I should like to try to behave like a gentleman myself; onlyit's such a one-sided business, with the world and the legal professionas they are.'

  'Then, in the third,' resumed the drawing-master, 'if it's Uncle Tim, ofcourse, our fortune's made.'

  'It's not Uncle Tim, though,' said the lawyer.

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

  'You innocent mutton,' said Michael, 'it's the seediest commonplace inthe English language, and only proves the advertiser is an ass. Let medemolish your house of cards for you at once. Would Uncle Tim makethat blunder in your name?--in itself, the blunder is delicious, a hugeimprovement 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 becomeunhinged at Ballarat.'

  'If you come to that, Pitman,' said Michael, 'the advertiser may beQueen Victoria, fired with the desire to make a duke of you. I put itto yourself if that's probable; and yet it's not against the laws ofnature. But we sit here to consider probabilities; and with your genteelpermission, I eliminate her Majesty and Uncle Tim on the threshold. Toproceed, we have your second idea, that this has some connection withthe statue. Possible; but in that case who is the advertiser? NotRicardi, for he knows your address; not the person who got the box, forhe doesn't know your name. The vanman, I hear you suggest, in a lucidinterval. He might have got your name, and got it incorrectly, at thestation; and he might have failed to get your address. I grant thevanman. 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 becausehe has found his address-book, has been to the house that got thestatue, and-mark my words!--is moving at the instigation of themurderer.'

  'I should be very sorry to think so,' said Pitman; 'but I still considerit my duty to Mr Sernitopolis. . .'

  'Pitman,' interrupted Michael, 'this will not do. Don't seek to imposeon your legal adviser; don't try to pass yourself off for the Duke ofWellington, for that is not your line. Come, I wager a dinner I can readyour thoughts. You still believe it's Uncle Tim.'

  'Mr Finsbury,' said the drawing-master, colouring, 'you are not a man innarrow circumstances, and you have no family. Gue
ndolen is growing up,a very promising girl--she was confirmed this year; and I think you willbe able to enter into my feelings as a parent when I tell you she isquite ignorant of dancing. The boys are at the board school, which isall very well in its way; at least, I am the last man in the world tocriticize the institutions of my native land. But I had fondly hopedthat Harold might become a professional musician; and little Othoshows a quite remarkable vocation for the Church. I am not exactly anambitious man...'

  'Well, well,' interrupted Michael. 'Be explicit; you think it's UncleTim?'

  'It might be Uncle Tim,' insisted Pitman, 'and if it were, and Ineglected the occasion, how could I ever look my children in the face? Ido 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 maybe 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 thinkit safe. Mind and send me word from the police cells.'

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

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

  'Mr Finsbury, I have no means of showing you my gratitude; but let meask you one question,' said Pitman. 'If I were a very rich client, wouldyou 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 clientsin disguise? Do you suppose money would induce me to touch this businesswith a stick? I give you my word of honour, it would not. But I own Ihave a real curiosity to see how you conduct this interview--that temptsme; it tempts me, Pitman, more than gold--it should be exquisitelyrich.' And suddenly Michael laughed. 'Well, Pitman,' said he, 'have allthe truck ready in the studio. I'll go.'

  About twenty minutes after two, on this eventful day, the vast andgloomy shed of Waterloo lay, like the temple of a dead religion, silentand deserted. Here and there at one of the platforms, a train laybecalmed; here and there a wandering footfall echoed; the cab-horsesoutside stamped with startling reverberations on the stones; or from theneighbouring wilderness of railway an engine snorted forth a whistle.The main-line departure platform slumbered like the rest; thebooking-hutches closed; the backs of Mr Haggard's novels, with whichupon a weekday the bookstall shines emblazoned, discreetly hidden behinddingy shutters; the rare officials, undisguisedly somnambulant; and thecustomary loiterers, even to the middle-aged woman with the ulster andthe handbag, fled to more congenial scenes. As in the inmost dells ofsome small tropic island the throbbing of the ocean lingers, so here afaint pervading hum and trepidation told in every corner of surroundingLondon.

  At the hour already named, persons acquainted with John Dickson, ofBallarat, and Ezra Thomas, of the United States of America, would havebeen cheered to behold them enter through the booking-office.

  'What names are we to take?' enquired the latter, anxiously adjustingthe window-glass spectacles which he had been suffered on this occasionto assume.

  'There's no choice for you, my boy,' returned Michael. 'Bent Pitmanor nothing. As for me, I think I look as if I might be called Appleby;something agreeably old-world about Appleby--breathes of Devonshirecider. Talking of which, suppose you wet your whistle? the interview islikely to be trying.'

  'I think I'll wait till afterwards,' returned Pitman; 'on the whole, Ithink I'll wait till the thing's over. I don't know if it strikes youas it does me; but the place seems deserted and silent, Mr Finsbury, andfilled with very singular echoes.'

  'Kind of Jack-in-the-box feeling?' enquired Michael, 'as if all theseempty trains might be filled with policemen waiting for a signal? andSir Charles Warren perched among the girders with a silver whistle tohis lips? It's guilt, Pitman.'

  In this uneasy frame of mind they walked nearly the whole length ofthe departure platform, and at the western extremity became aware of aslender figure standing back against a pillar. The figure was plainlysunk into a deep abstraction; he was not aware of their approach, butgazed far abroad over the sunlit station. Michael stopped.

  'Holloa!' said he, 'can that be your advertiser? If so, I'm done withit.' And then, on second thoughts: 'Not so, either,' he resumed morecheerfully. 'Here, turn your back a moment. So. Give me the specs.'

  'But you agreed I was to have them,' protested Pitman.

  'Ah, but that man knows me,' said Michael.

  'Does he? what's his name?' cried Pitman.

  'O, he took me into his confidence,' returned the lawyer. 'But I may sayone thing: if he's your advertiser (and he may be, for he seems tohave been seized with criminal lunacy) you can go ahead with a clearconscience, for I hold him in the hollow of my hand.'

  The change effected, and Pitman comforted with this good news, the pairdrew near to Morris.

  'Are you looking for Mr William Bent Pitman?' enquired thedrawing-master. 'I am he.'

  Morris raised his head. He saw before him, in the speaker, a personof almost indescribable insignificance, in white spats and a shirt cutindecently low. A little behind, a second and more burly figureoffered little to criticism, except ulster, whiskers, spectacles,and deerstalker hat. Since he had decided to call up devils from theunderworld of London, Morris had pondered deeply on the probabilitiesof their appearance. His first emotion, like that of Charoba when shebeheld the sea, was one of disappointment; his second did more justiceto the case. Never before had he seen a couple dressed like these; hehad struck a new stratum.

  'I must speak with you alone,' said he.

  'You need not mind Mr Appleby,' returned Pitman. 'He knows all.'

  'All? Do you know what I am here to speak of?' enquired Morris--. 'Thebarrel.'

  Pitman turned pale, but it was with manly indignation. 'You are theman!' he cried. 'You very wicked person.'

  'Am I to speak before him?' asked Morris, disregarding these severeexpressions.

  'He has been present throughout,' said Pitman. 'He opened the barrel;your guilty secret is already known to him, as well as to your Maker andmyself.'

  'Well, then,' said Morris, 'what have you done with the money?'

  'I know nothing about any money,' said Pitman.

  'You needn't try that on,' said Morris. 'I have tracked you down; youcame to the station sacrilegiously disguised as a clergyman, procured mybarrel, opened it, rifled the body, and cashed the bill. I have been tothe bank, I tell you! I have followed you step by step, and your denialsare childish and absurd.'

  'Come, come, Morris, keep your temper,' said Mr Appleby.

  'Michael!' cried Morris, 'Michael here too!'

  'Here too,' echoed the lawyer; 'here and everywhere, my good fellow;every step you take is counted; trained detectives follow you like yourshadow; they report to me every three-quarters of an hour; no expense isspared.'

  Morris's face took on a hue of dirty grey. 'Well, I don't care; I havethe less reserve to keep,' he cried. 'That man cashed my bill; it's atheft, and I want the money back.'

  'Do you think I would lie to you, Morris?' asked Michael.

  'I don't know,' said his cousin. 'I want my money.'

  'It was I alone who touched the body,' began Michael.

  'You? Michael!' cried Morris, starting back. 'Then why haven't youdeclared the death?' 'What the devil do you mean?' asked Michael.

  'Am I mad? or are you?' cried Morris.

  'I think it must be Pitman,' said Michael.

  The three men stared at each other, wild-eyed.

  'This is dreadful,' said Morris, 'dreadful. I do not understand one wordthat is addressed to me.'

  'I give you my word of
honour, no more do I,' said Michael.

  'And in God's name, why whiskers?' cried Morris, pointing in a ghastlymanner at his cousin. 'Does my brain reel? How whiskers?'

  'O, that's a matter of detail,' said Michael.

  There was another silence, during which Morris appeared to himself tobe shot in a trapeze as high as St Paul's, and as low as Baker StreetStation.

  'Let us recapitulate,' said Michael, 'unless it's really a dream, inwhich case I wish Teena would call me for breakfast. My friend Pitman,here, received a barrel which, it now appears, was meant for you. Thebarrel contained the body of a man. How or why you killed him...'

  'I never laid a hand on him,' protested Morris. 'This is what I havedreaded all along. But think, Michael! I'm not that kind of man; withall my faults, I wouldn't touch a hair of anybody's head, and it was alldead loss to me. He got killed in that vile accident.'

  Suddenly Michael was seized by mirth so prolonged and excessive that hiscompanions supposed beyond a doubt his reason had deserted him. Againand again he struggled to compose himself, and again and again laughteroverwhelmed him like a tide. In all this maddening interview there hadbeen no more spectral feature than this of Michael's merriment; andPitman and Morris, drawn together by the common fear, exchanged glancesof anxiety.

  'Morris,' gasped the lawyer, when he was at last able to articulate,'hold on, I see it all now. I can make it clear in one word. Here's thekey: I NEVER GUESSED IT WAS UNCLE JOSEPH TILL THIS MOMENT.'

  This remark produced an instant lightening of the tension for Morris.For Pitman it quenched the last ray of hope and daylight. Uncle Joseph,whom he had left an hour ago in Norfolk Street, pasting newspapercuttings?--it?--the dead body?--then who was he, Pitman? and was thisWaterloo Station or Colney Hatch?

  'To be sure!' cried Morris; 'it was badly smashed, I know. How stupidnot to think of that! Why, then, all's clear; and, my dear Michael, I'lltell you what--we're saved, both saved. You get the tontine--I don'tgrudge it you the least--and I get the leather business, which is reallybeginning to look up. Declare the death at once, don't mind me in thesmallest, don't consider me; declare the death, and we're all right.'

  'Ah, but I can't declare it,' said Michael.

  'Why not?' cried Morris.

  'I can't produce the corpus, Morris. I've lost it,' said the lawyer.

  'Stop a bit,' ejaculated the leather merchant. 'How is this? It's notpossible. I lost it.'

  'Well, I've lost it too, my son,' said Michael, with extreme serenity.'Not recognizing it, you see, and suspecting something irregular in itsorigin, I got rid of--what shall we say?--got rid of the proceeds atonce.'

  'You got rid of the body? What made you do that?' walled Morris. 'Butyou can get it again? You know where it is?'

  'I wish I did, Morris, and you may believe me there, for it would be asmall sum in my pocket; but the fact is, I don't,' said Michael.

  'Good Lord,' said Morris, addressing heaven and earth, 'good Lord, I'velost the leather business!'

  Michael was once more shaken with laughter.

  'Why do you laugh, you fool?' cried his cousin, 'you lose more than I.You've bungled it worse than even I did. If you had a spark of feeling,you would be shaking in your boots with vexation. But I'll tell you onething--I'll have that eight hundred pound--I'll have that and go to SwanRiver--that's mine, anyway, and your friend must have forged to cash it.Give me the eight hundred, here, upon this platform, or I go straight toScotland Yard and turn the whole disreputable story inside out.'

  '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,' saidMichael.

  '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 withsweat. 'Fever,' said he.

  'No, it was a Broadwood grand,' said Michael. 'Pitman here will tell youif it was genuine or not.'

  'Eh? O! O yes, I believe it was a genuine Broadwood; I have played uponit several times myself,' said Pitman. 'The three-letter E was broken.'

  'Don't say anything more about pianos,' said Morris, with a strongshudder; 'I'm not the man I used to be! This--this other man--let's cometo him, if I can only manage to follow. Who is he? Where can I get holdof him?'

  'Ah, that's the rub,' said Michael. 'He's been in possession of thedesired article, let me see--since Wednesday, about four o'clock, and isnow, I should imagine, on his way to the isles of Javan and Gadire.'

  'Michael,' said Morris pleadingly, 'I am in a very weak state, and I begyour consideration for a kinsman. Say it slowly again, and be sure youare correct. When did he get it?'

  Michael repeated his statement.

  'Yes, that's the worst thing yet,' said Morris, drawing in his breath.

  'What is?' asked the lawyer.

  'Even the dates are sheer nonsense,' said the leather merchant.

  'The bill was cashed on Tuesday. There's not a gleam of reason in thewhole transaction.'

  A young gentleman, who had passed the trio and suddenly started andturned back, at this moment laid a heavy hand on Michael's shoulder.

  'Aha! so this is Mr Dickson?' said he.

  The trump of judgement could scarce have rung with a more dreadful notein the ears of Pitman and the lawyer. To Morris this erroneous nameseemed a legitimate enough continuation of the nightmare in which hehad so long been wandering. And when Michael, with his brand-new bushywhiskers, broke from the grasp of the stranger and turned to run, andthe weird little shaven creature in the low-necked shirt followed hisexample with a bird-like screech, and the stranger (finding the rest ofhis prey escape him) pounced with a rude grasp on Morris himself,that gentleman's frame of mind might be very nearly expressed in thecolloquial phrase: 'I told you so!'

  'I have one of the gang,' said Gideon Forsyth.

  'I do not understand,' said Morris dully.

  'O, I will make you understand,' returned Gideon grimly.

  'You will be a good friend to me if you can make me understandanything,' cried Morris, with a sudden energy of conviction.

  'I don't know you personally, do I?' continued Gideon, examining hisunresisting prisoner. 'Never mind, I know your friends. They are yourfriends, are they not?'

  'I do not understand you,' said Morris.

  'You had possibly something to do with a piano?' suggested Gideon.

  'A piano!' cried Morris, convulsively clasping Gideon by the arm. 'Thenyou're the other man! Where is it? Where is the body? And did you cashthe draft?'

  'Where is the body? This is very strange,' mused Gideon. 'Do you wantthe body?'

  'Want it?' cried Morris. 'My whole fortune depends upon it! I lost it.Where is it? Take me to it?

  'O, you want it, do you? And the other man, Dickson--does he want it?'enquired Gideon.

  'Who do you mean by Dickson? O, Michael Finsbury! Why, of course hedoes! He lost it too. If he had it, he'd have won the tontine tomorrow.'

  'Michael Finsbury! Not the solicitor?' cried Gideon. 'Yes, thesolicitor,' said Morris. 'But where is the body?'

  'Then that is why he sent the brief! What is Mr Finsbury's privateaddress?' asked Gideon.

  '233 King's Road. What brief? Where are you going? Where is the body?'cried Morris, clinging to Gideon's arm.

  'I have lost it myself,' returned Gideon, and ran out of the station.