another. How, why, and what next, danced in his bewildered brain; from

every centre of what we playfully call the human intellect incongruous

messages were telegraphed; and before the hubbub of dismay had quite

subsided, the barrister found himself driving furiously for his

chambers. There was at least a cave of refuge; it was at least a place

to think in; and he climbed the stair, put his key in the lock and

opened the door, with some approach to hope.

It was all dark within, for the night had some time fallen; but Gideon

knew his room, he knew where the matches stood on the end of the

chimney-piece; and he advanced boldly, and in so doing dashed himself

against a heavy body; where (slightly altering the expressions of the

song) no heavy body should have been. There had been nothing there when

Gideon went out; he had locked the door behind him, he had found it

locked on his return, no one could have entered, the furniture could not

have changed its own position. And yet undeniably there was a something

there. He thrust out his hands in the darkness. Yes, there was

something, something large, something smooth, something cold.

'Heaven forgive me!' said Gideon, 'it feels like a piano.'

And the next moment he remembered the vestas in his waistcoat pocket and

had struck a light.

It was indeed a piano that met his doubtful gaze; a vast and costly

instrument, stained with the rains of the afternoon and defaced

169

The Wrong Box