"She sells sea-shells on the sea-shore," the vocalist wailed. "The
shells she sells are sea-shells, I'm sure."

The effect was instantaneous. A window was flung open, and an
indignant householder with one hand frantically waved the musicians
away, and with the other threw them a copper coin.

At the same moment Ford walked quickly to the piano and laid a
half-crown on top of it.

"Follow me to Harley Street," he commanded. "Don't hurry. Take your
time. I want you to help me in a sort of practical joke. It's worth
a sovereign to you."

He passed on quickly. When he glanced behind him, he saw the two
men, fearful lest the promised fortune might escape them, pursuing
him at a trot. At Harley Street they halted, breathless.

"How long," Ford demanded of the one who played the piano, "will it
take you to learn the accompaniment to a new song?"

"While you're whistling it," answered the man eagerly.

"And I'm as quick at a tune as him," assured the other anxiously.
"I can sing----"

"You cannot," interrupted Ford. "I'm going to do the singing
myself. Where is there a public-house near here where we can hire
a back room, and rehearse?"