'I have come to tell you, Mr. Probus, that your letter was written under a misapprehension.' 'Truly? Under a misapprehension? Of what kind, pray?' The harpsichord was a gift made by Mr. David Camlet. I did not buy it.' Mr. Probus lifted his eyebrows. 'A gift? Really? You have proof, no doubt, of this assertion?' 'Certainly.' 'Well, produce your proofs. If you have proofs, as you say, I shall be the first to withdraw my client's claim. But makers of musical instruments do not usually give away their wares. What are your proofs, Sir?' 'My word, first.' 'Ta--ta--ta. Your word. By such proof every debtor would clear himself. What next?' 'The word of my wife who with me received the instrument from Mr. Camlet.' 'Receiving the instrument does not clear you of liability--what else?' 'The fact that Mr. Camlet never asked me for the money.' 'An oversight. Had he, in a word, intended the instrument for a gift, he would have said so. Now, Sir, what other proofs have you?' I was silent. I had no other proof. He turned again to the book he had before consulted. It was the ledger, and there, in Mr. Camlet's own handwriting, firm and square, was an entry: 'To Will Halliday--a Harpsichord, £55. In another book was an entry to the office that the instrument had been delivered. Of course, I understand now what the old man meant by the entry. He wanted to note the gift and the value: and unfortunately he entered it as if it was a business transaction. 'Well, Sir?' asked Mr. Probus. I said nothing. My heart felt as heavy as lead. I was indeed in the power of this man. 'There are such things as conspiracy,' he went on, severely. 'You have told me, for instance, that you and your wife are prepared to swear that the instrument was a gift. I might have indicted you both for a conspiracy, in which case Tyburn would have been your lot. For the sake of your excellent cousin and the worthy Mr. Peter, your uncle, Sir, I refrain from the indictment, though I fear I might be charged with compounding a felony. But mercy before all things: charity, mercy, and long suffering. These are the things that chiefly nourish the human soul, not guineas.' I remained still silent, not knowing what to do or to say, and seeing this abyss yawning before me. 'Come Sir,' he said with changed voice, 'you owe fifty pounds and costs. If it were to myself I would give you time: I would treat you tenderly: but an Attorney must protect his clients. Therefore I must have that money at once.' 'Give me time to consult my friends.' Alas! All my friends could not raise fifty pounds between them. 'You have none. You have lost your friends. Pay me fifty pounds and costs.' 'Let me see the executors. Perhaps they will hear reason.' 'For what purpose? They must have their own. The long and the short of it, Mr. William Halliday, is that you must pay me this money.' 'Man! I have not got so much money in the world.' He smiled--he could not disguise his satisfaction.