. Now, what I want to know: where's valuable
uncle?"

"I have told you: he is at Browndean," answered Morris, furtively wiping
his brow, for these repeated hints began to tell upon him cruelly.

"Very easy say Brown--Browndee--no' so easy after all!" cried Michael.
"Easy say; anything's easy say, when you can say it. What I don' like's
total disappearance of an uncle. Not business-like." And he wagged his
head.

"It is all perfectly simple," returned Morris, with laborious calm.
"There is no mystery. He stays at Browndean, where he got a shake in the
accident."

"Ah!" said Michael, "got devil of a shake!"

"Why do you say that?" cried Morris sharply.

"Best possible authority. Told me so yourself," said the lawyer. "But if
you tell me contrary now, of course I'm bound to believe either the one
story or the other. Point is--I've upset this bottle, still champagne's
exc'lent thing carpet--point is, is valuable uncle dead--an'--bury?"

Morris sprang from his seat. "What's that you say?" he gasped.

"I say it's exc'lent thing carpet," replied Michael, rising. "Exc'lent
thing promote healthy action of the skin. Well, it's all one, anyway.
Give my love to Uncle Champagne."

"You're not going away?" said Morris.

"Awf'ly sorry, ole man. Got to sit up sick friend," said the wavering
Michael.

"You shall not go till you have explained your hints," returned Morris
fiercely. "What do you mean? What brought you here?"

"No offence, I trust," said the lawyer, turning round as he opened the
door; "only doing my duty as shemishery of Providence."

Groping his way to the front-door, he opened it with some difficulty,
and descended the steps to the hansom. The tired driver looked up as he
approached, and asked where he was to go next.

Michael observed that Morris had followed him to the steps; a brilliant
inspiration came to him. "Anything t' give pain," he reflected....
"Drive Shcotlan' Yard," he added aloud, holding to the wheel to steady
himself; "there's something devilish fishy, cabby, about those cousins.
Mush' be cleared up! Drive Shcotlan' Yard."

"You don't mean that, sir," said the man, with the ready sympathy of the
lower orders for an intoxicated gentleman. "I had better take you home,
sir; you can go to Scotland Yard to-morrow."

"Is it as friend or as perfessional man you advise me not to go
Shcotlan' Yard t'night?" inquired Michael. "All righ', never min'
Shcotlan' Yard, drive Gaiety bar."

"The Gai