'A private detective, perhaps?' suggested Pitman.

'There are times when you fill me with pity,' observed the lawyer. 'By
the way, Pitman,' he added in another key, 'I have always regretted that
you have no piano in this den of yours. Even if you don't play yourself,
your friends might like to entertain themselves with a little music
while you were mudding.'

'I shall get one at once if you like,' said Pitman nervously, anxious to
please. 'I play the fiddle a little as it is.'

'I know you do,' said Michael; 'but what's the fiddle--above all as you
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