'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 truck ready in the studio. I'll go.'

About twenty minutes after two, on this eventful day, the vast and

gloomy shed of Waterloo lay, like the temple of a dead religion, silent

and deserted. Here and there at one of the platforms, a train lay

becalmed; here and there a wandering footfall echoed; the cab-horses

outside stamped with startling reverberations on the stones; or from the

neighbouring wilderness of railway an engine snorted forth a whistle.

The main-line departure platform slumbered like the rest; the

booking-hutches closed; the backs of Mr Haggard's novels, with which

upon a weekday the bookstall shines emblazoned, discreetly hidden behind

dingy shutters; the rare officials, undisguisedly somnambulant; and the

233

The Wrong Box