the middle of my dinner. How on earth do you know that that three-and-sixpenny affair is Coursault's violin?"
"That is easily solved. We will go to the shop at which you bought it, and ascertain from whom they got it."
We went, there and then, with the dinner not half-eaten. Rouse must have had doubts about my sanity. I have declared, not once, but a hundred times, that not for the Queen of England would I be disturbed at dinner. Yet, before we had even eaten the entrée, that young man—whom I had invited to dinner—dragged me from my own house on a dirty night, and put me into a hansom, and drove me through the slums of London in search of a rag-shop. As the vehicle rattled over the stones I reflected upon what could be brought about by the expenditure of such a sum as three-and-sixpence—the rule of a lifetime shattered at a blow! The cabman could not find the street. I did not know its name; how I originally chanced on it is more than I can say. I am not in the habit of wandering in the purlieus of Lisson Grove. We went poking out of one hole and into another. I should think we must have penetrated at least half a dozen when, just as I really believe the cabman was on the point of insulting us, we lighted, not only on the street, but on the shop as well.
The lady was in—the same lady. A little dirtier, perhaps, but still the same. My nephew conducted the negotiations.
"We have called about a violin which this gentleman purchased here this afternoon."
