He said he had not noticed it himself, but dared say I was right.
We remained silent for a few seconds, and then, wishing to put it
pleasantly, I said, "I believe I have the honour of addressing the
ghost of the gentleman who had the accident with the wait?"
He smiled, and said it was very good of me to remember it. One
wait was not much to boast of, but still, every little helped.
I was somewhat staggered at his answer. I had expected a groan of
remorse. The ghost appeared, on the contrary, to be rather
conceited over the business. I thought that, as he had taken my
reference to the wait so quietly, perhaps he would not be offended
if I questioned him about the organ-grinder. I felt curious about
that poor boy.
"Is it true," I asked, "that you had a hand in the death of that
Italian peasant lad who came to the town once with a barrel-organ
that played nothing but Scotch airs?"
He quite fired up. "Had a hand in it!" he exclaimed indignantly.
"Who has dared to pretend that he assisted me? I murdered the
youth myself. Nobody helped me. Alone I did it. Show me the man
who says I didn't."
I calmed him. I assured him that I had never, in my own mind,
doubted that he was the real and only assassin, and I went on and
asked him what he had done with the body of the cornet-player he
had killed.