itself, the blunder is delicious, a huge improvement on the gross reality, and I mean to adopt it in the future; but is it like Uncle Tim?'
'No, it's not like him,' Pitman admitted. 'But his mind may have become unhinged at Ballarat.'
'If you come to that, Pitman,' said Michael, 'the advertiser may be Queen Victoria, fired with the desire to make a duke of you. I put it to yourself if that's probable; and yet it's not against the laws of nature. But we sit here to consider probabilities; and with your genteel permission, I eliminate her Majesty and Uncle Tim on the threshold. To proceed, we have your second idea, that this has some connection with the statue. Possible; but in that case who is the advertiser? Not Ricardi, for he knows your address; not the person who got the box, for he doesn't know your name. The van-man, I hear you suggest, in a lucid interval. He might have got your name, and got it incorrectly, at the station; and he might have failed to get your address. I grant the van-man. But a question: Do you really wish to meet the van-man?'
'Why should I not?' asked Pitman.
'If he wants to meet you,' replied Michael, 'observe this: It is because he has found his address book, has been to the house that got the statue, and
