My next step was naturally a visit to the eccentric connoisseur, whom I shall call Mr Turner. It happened, however, that before I had advanced to this stage Mr Cleffton had to leave the city for England to fulfil several important engagements, and I was for a little rather puzzled as to how I should be able to identify his violin, if I were lucky enough to get my eyes on it. Fiddles, of course, are all alike to me, and unless by some marked difference in the colour I could not tell one from another. Mr Cleffton tried to prime me a little by speaking of certain marks and printed tickets which I would find about the fiddle, but when he admitted that some of the fiddles already in Mr Turner’s possession had these very tickets and marks I was more helpless than ever. At last a happy thought struck him just as he was leaving town, and he dropped me a note directing me to an old Edinburgh musician who had been playing second fiddle with him on the night of the ball. This gentleman had seen and closely examined the Cremona more than once, and, having a perfect knowledge of all the peculiarities of such valuable instruments, would know the missing one, I was assured, among dozens. To this gentleman, therefore, I went, and we arranged that he should take me out to Mr Turner’s as a friend wishing to see the rare collection of old violins. We then set out for the nearest cab-stand, as the place was three miles out of town, and on the way I chanced to say— “But are you perfectly sure that you would know this fiddle so as to be able to swear to it? It would be very awkward for us all if we made a false accusation.” “I’ll know it when I see it,” was the confident reply, “and I’ll tell you why. I have a strong suspicion that I’ve seen the fiddle before—ay, and played on it, too. If it’s not the £50 Cremona that my old chum, M——, of the Theatre Royal, lost about ten years ago, it must be its twin brother.” “Lost? How could a fiddle be lost?” I faintly returned, as with a sinking heart I anticipated fresh complications. “Well, or stolen—it was never rightly known how it happened,” promptly returned my companion. “I was there at the time myself, and I’ll tell you all about it as we go out.” I groaned, and resigned myself to listen. We got to the cab-stand, and were soon rattling out from Edinburgh, and when out on the smooth country road my new assistant very eagerly threw off the following information:—