Ensconced once more in a hansom, he proceeded to reconsider his position. Suppose (he thought), suppose he should accept defeat and declare his uncle's death at once? He should lose the tontine, and with that the last hope of his seven thousand eight hundred pounds. But on the other hand, since the shilling to the hansom cabman, he had begun to see that crime was expensive in its course, and, since the loss of the water-butt, that it was uncertain in its consequences. Quietly at first, and then with growing heat, he reviewed the advantages of backing out. It involved a loss; but (come to think of it) no such great loss after all; only that of the tontine, which had been always a toss-up, which at bottom he had never really expected. He reminded himself of that eagerly; he congratulated himself upon his constant moderation. He had never really expected the tontine; he had never even very definitely hoped to recover his seven thousand eight hundred pounds; he had been hurried into the whole thing by Michael's obvious dishonesty. Yes, it would probably be better to draw back from this high-flying venture, settle back on the leather business--'Great God!' cried Morris, bounding in the hansom like a Jack-in-a-box. 'I have not only not gained the tontine--I have lost the leather business!'
Such was the monstrous fact. He had no power to sign; he could not draw a cheque for thirty shillings. Until he could produce legal evidence of his uncle's death, he was a penniless outcast--and as soon as he produced it he had lost the tontine!
There was no hesitation on the part of Morris; to drop the tontine like a hot chestnut, to concentrate all his forces on the leather business and the rest of his small but legitimate inheritance, was the decision of a single instant. And the next, the full extent of his calamity was suddenly disclosed to him.
Declare his uncle's death? He couldn't! Since the body was lost Joseph had (in a legal sense) become immortal.
There was no created vehicle big enough to contain Morris and his woes. He paid the hansom off and walked on he knew not whither.
'I seem to have gone into this business with too much precipitation,' he reflected, with a deadly sigh. 'I fear it seems too ramified for a person of my powers of mind.'
And then a remark of his uncle's flashed into his memory: If you want to think clearly, put it all down on paper. 'Well, the old boy knew a thing or two,' said Morris. 'I will try; but I don't believe the paper was ever made that will clear my mind.'
He entered a place of public entertainment, ordered bread and cheese, and writing materials, and sat down before them heavily.
He tried the pen. It was an excellent pen, but what was he to write? 'I have it,' cried Morris. 'Robinson Crusoe and the double columns!' He prepared his paper after that classic model, and began as follows:
Bad. Good.
1. 1 have lost my uncle's body. 1. But then Pitman has found it.
'Stop a bit,' said Morris. 'I am letting the spirit of antithesis run away with me. Let's start again.'
Bad. Good.
1. I have lost my uncle's body.
1. But then I no longer require to bury it.
2. I have lost the tontine.
2.But I may still save that if Pitman disposes of the body, and if I can find a physician who will stick at nothing.
3. I have lost the leather business and the rest of my uncle's succession.
3. But not if Pitman gives the body up to the police.
'O, but in that case I go to gaol; I had forgot that,' thought Morris. 'Indeed, I don't know that I had better dwell on that hypothesis at all; it's all very well to talk of facing the worst; but in a case of this kind a man's first duty is to his own nerve. Is there any answer to No. 3? Is there any possible good side to such a beastly bungle? There must be, of course, or where would be the use of this double-entry business? And--by George, I have it!' he exclaimed; 'it's exactly the same as the last!' And he hastily re-wrote the passage:
Bad. Good.
3. I have lost the leather business and the rest of my uncle's succession.
3. But not if I can find a physician who will stick at nothing.
'This venal doctor seems quite a desideratum,' he reflected. 'I want him first to give me a certificate that my uncle is dead, so that I may get the leather business; and then that he's alive--but here we are again at the incompatible interests!' And he returned to his tabulation:
Bad. Good.
4. I have almost no money. 4. But there is plenty in the bank.
5. Yes, but I can't get the money in the bank.
5. But--well, that seems unhappily to be the case.
6. I have left the bill for eight hundred pounds in Uncle Joseph's pocket.
6. But if Pitman is only a dishonest man, the presence of this bill may lead him to keep the whole thing dark and throw the body into the New Cut.
7. Yes, but if Pitman is dishonest and finds the bill, he will know who Joseph is, and he may blackmail me.
7. Yes, but if I am right about Uncle Masterman, I can blackmail Michael.
8. But I can't blackmail Michael (which is, besides, a very dangerous thing to do) until I find out.
8. Worse luck!
9. The leather business will soon want money for current expenses, and I have none to give.
9. But the leather business is a sinking ship.
10. Yes, but it's all the ship I have.
10. A fact.
11. John will soon want money, and I have none to give.
11.
12. And the venal doctor will want money down.
12.
13. And if Pitman is dishonest and don't send me to gaol, he will want a fortune.
13.
