Shortly after showing me his money, Michael Stone had a bad attack of angina: I was often at the house, and consequently had the desired opportunity to become very friendly with the somewhat stolid and unconversational Polly.
I ultimately made her talk, and one day she confided in me that she knew her uncle had money hidden in the house.
"I saw him put a big bag up the old scullery chimney one night. The scullery is never used, you know."
"Did you find out what was in the bag, Polly?"
"Yes, I did, doctor, it was sovereigns."
"Keep an eye on that bag, Polly," I said. "It may be your fortune. But hasn't your uncle got more than that put away?"
"I haven't seen any more," she said. "There's a lot of money there."
This was a most satisfactory conversation. I could see my way clear.
I waste no time, when my way is straight, my dear Lanner-Brown, and on the day following my talk with Polly, I went to a motor establishment, and after much talking hired a small 12-14 horse-power car for a month.
I knew something of driving, but I obtained
