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play it? What you want is polyphonic music. And I'll tell you what it
is--since it's too late for you to buy a piano I'll give you mine.'
'Thank you,' said the artist blankly. 'You will give me yours? I am sure
it's very good in you.'
'Yes, I'll give you mine,' continued Michael, 'for the inspector of
police to play on while his men are digging up your back garden.' Pitman
stared at him in pained amazement.
'No, I'm not insane,' Michael went on. 'I'm playful, but quite coherent.
See here, Pitman: follow me one half minute. I mean to profit by the
refreshing fact that we are really and truly innocent; nothing but the
presence of the--you know what--connects us with the crime; once let us
get rid of it, no matter how, and there is no possible clue to trace
us by. Well, I give you my piano; we'll bring it round this very night.
Tomorrow we rip the fittings out, deposit the--our friend--inside, plump
the whole on a cart, and carry it to the chambers of a young gentleman
whom I know by sight.'
'Whom do you know by sight?' repeated Pitman.
'And what is more to the purpose,' continued Michael, 'whose chambers I
know better than he does himself. A friend of mine--I call him my friend
for brevity; he is now, I understand, in Demerara and (most likely)
in gaol--was the previous occupant. I defended him, and I got him off
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