'hold on, I see it all now. I can make it clear in one word. Here's the

key: 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 newspaper

cuttings?--it?--the dead body?--then who was he, Pitman? and was this

Waterloo Station or Colney Hatch?

'To be sure!' cried Morris; 'it was badly smashed, I know. How stupid

not to think of that! Why, then, all's clear; and, my dear Michael, I'll

tell you what--we're saved, both saved. You get the tontine--I don't

grudge it you the least--and I get the leather business, which is really

beginning to look up. Declare the death at once, don't mind me in the

smallest, 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 not

possible. I lost it.'

'Well, I've lost it too, my son,' said Michael, with extreme serenity.

240

The Wrong Box