Chapter XXVIII

For cogent reasons Basil had travelled home third-class. It economised his funds--of which he felt the necessity--and it enabled him the better to carry out his wish of not making friends on board. The task upon which he was engaged rendered it advisable that as little curiosity as possible should be aroused respecting himself and his personal history. That he should have to work to some extent in secresy was not congenial to his nature, but by so doing he would have a better chance of success. Until he came face to face with Newman Chaytor it was as well that his operations should be so conducted as not to put his treacherous comrade on his guard.

He had ample time on board ship to review the events of the past few years, and although he found himself wandering through labyrinths of extreme perplexity as to the doings of Newman Chaytor, the conclusion was forced upon him that his false friend had practised towards him a systematic course of treachery and deceit. He had read accounts of men returning home from distant lands for the express purpose of personating others to whom they bore some close personal resemblance, and one famous case presented itself in which such a plot was only exposed by the wonderful skill of the agents employed to frustrate it. There, as in his own case, a large fortune hung upon the issue, but Newman Chaytor had been more successful than the impostor who had schemed to step into the enjoyment of a great estate. Chaytor had obtained possession of the fortune, and was now enjoying the fruits of his nefarious plot. But Basil's information was so imperfect that he was necessarily completely in the dark as to the precise means by which Newman Chaytor had brought his scheming to this successful stage. He knew nothing whatever of the correspondence which Chaytor had carried on with his uncle and Annette. Determined as he was to spare no efforts to unmask the villain, such a knowledge would have spurred him on with indignant fierceness. To recover his fortune, if it were possible to do so, was the lesser incentive; far more important was it, in his estimation, that Annette should be saved from the snare which had been prepared for her.

It was with strange sensations that he walked once more through familiar thoroughfares, and noted that nothing was changed but himself. Since last he trod them he had learnt some of life's saddest lessons; but hope, and faith, and love remained to keep his spirit young. It was no light matter that he had been awakened from the dull lethargy of life into which he had fallen in the earlier days of Princetown; that his faith in human nature had been restored; that he had won affection and esteem from strangers who even now, though the broad seas divided them, had none but kindly thoughts of him. Foul as was the plot of which he was the victim, he had cause to be deeply grateful.

He took lodgings on the Lambeth side of Westminster Bridge, two modest rooms, for which he paid seven shillings a week; food would cost him little; his modest resources must be carefully husbanded, and he would be contented with the humblest fare. His task might take long in the accomplishment, and to find himself stranded in the City of Unrest would be fatal. His experiences had been so far valuable that they assisted him to a more comprehensive view of the circumstances of life. When he was in England he had thought little of the morrow. Now it had to be reckoned with.

In considering how he should set about his task, he had decided that it would be advisable to call in professional assistance. He had not arrived at this decision without long deliberation. He detested the means, but repugnant as the course was to him he felt that they were justifiable. Singularly enough he had, without being aware of it, taken lodgings in a house, the master of which belonged to the class he intended to call to his aid. He arrived at this knowledge on the second day of his tenancy. Children always attracted him, and his landlady had four, all of them boys, with puffy cheeks and chubby limbs. Their ages were three, five, seven, and nine, a piece of information given to him by their mother as he issued from the house on the second morning, and stood by her side a moment watching their antics. The word is not exactly correct, for their pastime was singularly grave and composed. The eldest boy wielded a policeman's truncheon, and his three brothers, standing in a line, were obeying the word of command to march, a few steps this way, a few steps that, to halt, and finally to separate and take up positions in distant doorways, from which they looked severely at the passers-by.

"Bless their hearts!" said the proud mother. "They're playing policemen."

"They seem to know all about it," remarked Basil "They ought to," responded the mother. "It was born in them."

"Is your husband a policeman?" asked Basil.

"He was, sir," replied the mother; "but he has retired from the force, and belongs now to a private inquiry."

Basil thought of this as he walked away, after patting the children on the head, who did not know exactly whether to be gratified at the mark of attention, or to straightway take the stranger into custody. He had not seen his landlord yet, and it had happened, when he engaged the rooms from the woman, that, with the usual carelessness of persons in her station of life, she had not asked her new lodger's name, being perfectly satisfied of his respectability by his paying her a fortnight's rent in advance, and informing her that he would continue to do so as long as he remained in the house. Basil was afraid, if he went to a regularly established private office, that the fees demanded would be higher than his slender resources warranted, and bent as he was upon economising, he saw here a possible opportunity of obtaining the assistance he needed at a reduced rate. Therefore on the evening of this day he tapped at the door of the sitting-room, in which his landlord was playing a game of "old maid" with three of his children, and intimated his desire for a little chat with the man after the youngsters had gone to bed.

"On business," said Basil.

"No time like the present, sir," said the landlord, who saw "with half an eye," as he subsequently expressed himself, that his tenant was a gentleman: "I'll come up to your room at once, unless you prefer to talk here."

"We shall be more private up-stairs," said Basil, and up-stairs they went to discuss the business.

As a preliminary the landlord handed Basil a card, with "Mr. Philpott," printed on it, and in a corner, "Private Inquiry," to which was added the address of the house in which they were sitting.

"Do you carry on your business here, then?" inquired Basil. "Partly, sir," replied Mr. Philpott. "I am engaged at an office in Surrey Street, but it is seldom that my time is fully occupied there, and as I am not on full pay I stipulate that I shall be free to undertake any little bit of business that may fall into my hands in a private way."

"That may suit me," said Basil. "To be frank with you, I was looking out for some one who would do what I want at a reasonable rate; I am not overburdened with funds, but I can afford to pay moderate fees. Will that meet your views?"

"Yes, sir. If you will tell me what you want done I will let you know about how much it will cost."

Basil paused before he commenced; he was dealing with a stranger, and he did not wish to disclose his name.

"What passes between us is in confidence, Mr. Philpott?"

"Altogether in confidence, sir. That is one of the rules of our profession. Whether anything comes of it or not, I shall say nothing of my client to a third party, unless you instruct me otherwise."

"You are sometimes consulted by people who desire to conceal their names?"

"Oh, yes, but they are not generally so frank as you are. You would rather not tell me your name?"

"That is my desire, if it will make no difference."

"Not an atom of difference. Say Mr. Smith."

"I am obliged to you. I need not, then, disclose my own particular interest in the matter."

"Not at all, if it will not hamper me."

"I don't see how it will hamper you in the least. Shall I pay you a modest retainer? Will a guinea do?"

"A guinea will do, sir. Thank you."

"You had better take notes of what I say, Mr. Philpott." The private inquiry agent produced his pocket-book. "Write down first the names I give you."

Mr. Philpot took down the names and addresses of Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham and of the lawyers in London who transacted that gentleman's affairs when Basil was last in England; also the name of Mr. Basil Whittingham.

"Any address to this name, sir?" asked Mr. Philpott.

"None. Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham is, or was--for I understand he is dead--a gentleman of considerable fortune; Mr. Basil Whittingham is his nephew; the lawyers whose names I have given you transacted the old gentleman's business for many years, but I am not aware whether they have continued to do so."

"That is easily ascertained."

"Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham had neither wife nor children, and some years since it was his intention to leave all his property to his nephew. The young man, however, offended his uncle, and the old gentleman thereupon informed his nephew that he had destroyed the will he had made in his favour, and that Mr. Basil Whittingham might consider himself disinherited. Do you understand it thus far?"

"It is perfectly clear, sir."

"The relations between the uncle and his nephew were completely broken off. Mr. Basil Whittingham--who had some private fortune of his own, but had got rid of it--being disappointed in his expectations, left England for Australia, where he resided for a considerable time."

"For how many years shall we say, sir."

"Five or six. When he was near his end the uncle relented of his decision, and made another will--I am supposing that he really destroyed the first, which may or may not have been the case--by which his original intention was carried out, and his nephew was constituted sole heir to the property."

"Good."

"This property, I believe, was not in real estate, but in cash and securities which were easily convertible. The knowledge of his kindness reached the nephew's ears in Australia, and he returned home and took possession of the fortune."

"Very natural."

"I wish these details to be verified, or otherwise, Mr. Philpott."

"I undertake to do so, sir."

"I wish also to ascertain where Mr. Basil Whittingham is now residing."

"Can you give a clue, sir?"

"A very slight one, I am afraid. The last I heard of the nephew was that about eighteen months ago he was in Paris, in the company of a Mr. Edward Kettlewell, a money-lender, whose offices are, or were, in London. I am under the impression that Mr. Basil Whittingham and Mr. Kettlewell may have had some business transactions with each other. If so, it should not be difficult to trace Mr. Basil Whittingham through Mr. Kettlewell."

"It may I be more difficult than you imagine," said Mr. Philpott. "These money-lenders are difficult persons to deal with. They are as jealous of their clients as a cat of her kittens. 'Hands off,' they cry; 'this is my bird.' Hold hard a minute, sir. I have this year's 'London Directory,' downstairs."

He left the room, and returned bearing the bulky volume, which he proceeded to consult. No Mr. Edward Kettlewell, money-lender or financial agent, was to be found in its pages. There were plenty of Kettlewells, and a few Edwards among them but not one who dealt in money.

"Still," said Mr. Philpott, "it may be one of these. He may have retired, he may have left the country, he may be dead. I will look through the directories for a few years past, and we will see if we can find him."

"My information concerning him," said Basil, "is not very exact, and may after all be incorrect; but with or without his assistance it is most important that the address of Mr. Basil Whittingham should be ascertained."

"I will do my best, sir; no man can do more."

"There is another matter, of which I must beg you not to lose sight. Shortly after Mr. Basil Whittingham arrived in Australia he came in contact with a gentleman, M. Anthony Bidaud, who owned a plantation in Queensland. This gentleman had a daughter, quite a child then, whose name is Annette. M. Anthony Bidaud died suddenly, and left no will. On the morning of his death a brother and sister--the brother's name, Gilbert--presented themselves at the plantation, and the brother administered the estate, and assumed the guardianship of his niece. The plantation was sold, and the little girl, with her uncle and aunt, came to Europe. Between the child and Mr. Basil Whittingham there existed a bond of affection, and since his return to England he has succeeded--so my information goes--in establishing friendly relations with M. Gilbert Bidaud. If you are fortunate enough to trace Mr. Basil Whittingham, my impression is that the knowledge will lead you straight to M. Gilbert Bidaud and his sister and niece, to discover whom I consider of far greater importance than the young man. Now, Mr. Philpott, if you have grasped the situation, are you prepared to set to work?"

"I will not lose a day, sir; I commence my inquiries to-morrow; and as you inform me that you are not exactly rich it may be convenient if I present a weekly account, including all charges to date, so that you may know how you stand as to expenses. Then you can go on or stop at your pleasure."

"It will be the best plan," said Basil.

Mr. Philpott was very much puzzled that night when he thought over the commission entrusted to him. "He says nothing of himself," thought the private inquiry agent, "nor of the particular interest he has in the matter--a very particular interest, for I never saw any one more in earnest than he is. His voice absolutely trembled when he spoke of the uncle and Mdlle. Annette. Now that would not happen if he were acting as an agent for another person. What is the conclusion, then? That he is acting for himself. Does this Mr. Basil Whittingham owe him money? Perhaps. And yet it does not strike me as an affair of that kind. Well, at all events, he has acted openly and straightforwardly with me so far as he and I are concerned. It is not often a client tells you that he is living under an assumed name. I must ask the wife if his shirts and handkerchiefs are marked." His curiosity, however, was destined not to be appeased; his wife told him that Basil's clothing bore no initials--which, according to Mr. Philpott's way of thinking, betokened extreme caution, and whetted his curiosity. He did not, however, allow this to interfere with the zealous exercise of his duties. Proceeding step by step he presented his weekly reports to Basil. In the course of a short time Basil's worst suspicions were confirmed. Newman Chaytor had come home and, representing himself to be Basil Whittingham, had experienced no difficulty in establishing his position and administering his uncle's estate. This done, he had disappeared, and Mr. Philpott was unsuccessful in tracing him.

"But," said Basil, "would not a man, arriving from a country so distant as Australia, in such circumstances have to prove his identity?"

Mr. Philpott opened his eyes at this question; to use his own term, he "smelt a rat."

"Certainly he would," replied Mr. Philpott. "But that was simple enough in Mr. Basil Whittingham's case. He had been in correspondence with his uncle for some time previous to his departure from Australia."

"What do you tell me?" cried Basil.

"It is an established fact," said Mr. Philpott, expressing no surprise; but Basil's tone no less than his words, opened his eyes still further. "A few days before Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham's death he wrote to his nephew in Australia, announcing his change of intention. This letter was forwarded to Mr. Basil by his uncle's lawyers, who, as you now know, are not the same he employed in former years."

"Basil Whittingham," said Basil, unable to repress his excitement, "received these letters in Australia?"

"Undoubtedly. He brought them home with him, and others also which he had previously received from his uncle's lawyers."

"There was a regular correspondence with them, then?"

"Yes, extending over a considerable time."

This was a fresh and startling revelation to Basil. Newman Chaytor had not only personated him in England, but had personated him at a distance, receiving letters intended for him and forging letters in reply.

"He robbed me of my papers," groaned Basil inly, "and obtained possession of the means to prove him the man he represented himself to be. The base, unutterable villain! He smiled in my face, a living lie! And I trusted in him, believed in him, laid my heart bare to him, and all the time he was planning my destruction. Just Heaven! Give me the power to bring him to the punishment he deserves!"

But did the foul plot go farther than this? Every time Chaytor returned from the colonial post-office it was with the same answer--there were no letters for Basil Whittingham. And the had received and answered them; they were on his person while he was uttering the infamous falsehood, smiling in Basil's face the while. To what depths would human cunning and duplicity go! The tale, related to Basil by one who had been wronged, would have sounded incredible. He would have asked, "Is not this man labouring under some monstrous delusion?" But the bitter experience was his, and no tale would now be too wild for disbelief. Again he asked himself, did the plot go farther than what had already come to his knowledge? Newman Chaytor, going to the post-office for letters for him, would receive all addressed to his name.

What if Annette had written? It was more than possible, it was probable; it was more than probable, it was true. At this conclusion he quickly arrived. Annette had redeemed her promise; she had written to him as she said she would, and had received Chaytor's letters in reply. This explained how it was that Chaytor had been able to find Annette and her uncle. Did Gilbert Bidaud suspect, and was he trading upon the suspicion; and were the two villains conspiring for the destruction of the poor girl's happiness? Basil looked round pitifully, despairingly, as though invoking the assistance of an unknown power.

"You seem disturbed," said Mr. Philpott, who had been attentively observing him.

"The news you have imparted," said Basil, "is terrible. Is there no way of discovering this Basil Whittingham?"

"We might advertise for him," suggested Mr. Philpott.

Basil shook his head. "If he saw the advertisement he would not answer it."

"Hallo," thought Mr. Philpott, "our absent friend has done something that would place him in the criminal dock." Professionally he was in the habit of hiding his hand, so far as the expression of original thought went. "But some one who knows him," he said, "might see the advertisement, and answer for him."

Basil caught at the suggestion. "Advertise, then, and in such a manner as not to alarm him."

"Trust me for that," said Mr. Philpott, with great confidence. "I know how to bait my line."

But the advertisements meet with no response. Worked up to fever heat, Basil instructed Mr. Philpott to spare no expense, and the inquiry was prosecuted with wasted vigour, for at the end of two months they had not advanced a step. Basil was in agony; he grew morbid, and raised up accusing voices against himself. The reflection that Annette, the sweet and innocent child who had given him her heart, should be in the power of two such villains as Gilbert Bidaud and Newman Chaytor was an inexpressible torture to him. He had accepted from her father a sacred trust--how had he fulfilled it? He inflicted exquisite suffering upon himself by arguing that it was he who had betrayed her, that it was through him she had been brought to this pass. Had she not known him she would never had known Newman Chaytor; had he not worked upon her young affections and extracted her promise to write to him it would have been impossible that Chaytor should ever have crossed her path. He pressed into this self-condemnation all the cruel logic his mind could devise. As he walked the streets at night Annette's image arose before him and gazed upon him reproachfully. "You have compassed my ruin." It seemed to say, "you are the cause of my corruption, of my dishonour." He accepted the accusation, and groaned, "It is I, it is I, who have made your life a waste!" Of all the dolorous phases through which he had passed this perhaps was the worst. But he had yet another bitter experience to encounter. On a Saturday evening Mr. Philpott said:

"I must speak honestly. I have done all I could, and nothing has come of it. I might continue as long as you continued to engage my services, but it would be only throwing your money away."

It was an unusual confession for a man in his line to make. Private inquiry agents have generally the quality of the leech, and will suck the last drop of blood out of a client, but Basil had won the commiseration of his landlord.

"I must take the case into my own hands," said Basil gloomily. "I intended, indeed, to tell you as much myself--for pressing reasons. I thank you for all you have done for me."

"Little enough," said Mr. Philpott "I wish you better luck than I have had. Mind you, I don't give it up entirely, but if I do anything more it will not be for pay."

"You are, and have been, very kind. Have you made out your account?"

Mr. Philpott presented it, and Basil settled it. Then he said: "Will you ask your wife to step up and see me?"

"Yes, sir. Now don't you be cast down, sir; it is a long lane that has no turning, and there's no telling at any moment what may turn up. I should like to take the liberty of asking one question."

"Ask it."

"If, after all, the search should be successful, is it likely you would be in a better position than you are now? I am taking a liberty, I know, but I don't mean it as such. You told me at first you were not overburdened with funds; if it has been all going out and none coming in, you must be worse off now."

"I am very much worse off, Mr. Philpott. I will answer your question. Should I succeed in finding the man I am hunting--a poor hunt it has proved to be, with no quarry in view--I have reason to believe that I should obtain funds which would enable me to discharge any liabilities I may incur."

"Thank you, sir," said Mr. Philpott, pushing across the table the money which Basil had paid him; "then suppose I wait."

"No," said Basil gently, "take it while you are sure of it, and you have a family."

"But I can afford to wait, sir. If I lost ten times as much it would not break me."

"I must insist upon you taking it, Mr. Philpott."

It was the pride of the poor gentleman, who would leave himself penniless rather than leave an obligation unsettled. Mr. Philpott recognised it as such, and recognised also that it marked the difference between them--which increased the respect he felt for Basil. He pocketed the money reluctantly.

"Send your wife up to me, Mr. Philpott."

"I will, sir."

Basil had indeed pressing reasons for dispensing with Mr. Philpott's further services. The larger expenses of the last few weeks had brought his funds to a very low ebb. He took out his purse and counted his worldly wealth; it amounted to less than two pounds. He was standing at poverty's door. In Australia, on the goldfields, it would not have mattered so much. Earnest labour there can always ensure at least food for the passing day; it is only the idle and dissolute and men without a backbone who have to endure hunger; but here in this overcrowded city hunger is no rare experience to those who are willing to toil. Needless to say that the watch and chain which had been presented to Basil in Princetown was no longer in Basil's possession. The prospect before him, physically and morally, was appalling.

There was a gentle knock at the door. "Come in," said Basil, and Mrs. Philpott entered the room.

"My husband tells me you wish to see me, sir," said the landlady.

"Take a seat, Mrs. Philpott," said Basil. "I hope you have brought your weekly account; you should have given it to me yesterday."

"Friday's an unlucky day, sir," said Mrs. Philpott, fencing.

"But to-day is Saturday," said Basil, with a smile.

"There's no hurry, sir, I assure you."

Basil looked at her and shook his head. His look, and the weary, mournful expression on his face, brought tears to the good creature's eyes.

"I must insist upon having the account, Mrs. Philpott."

"Well, sir, if you insist," said Mrs. Philpott, reduced to helplessness; "it is only the rent, seven shillings."

"There are breakfasts," said Basil, "with which you have been good enough to supply me. I have not kept faith with you. When I took these rooms I promised to pay always a fortnight's rent in advance; lately I have not done so."

"How could you pay, sir, when you didn't know what the breakfasts came to?"

"That does not excuse me. Oblige me by telling me how much I owe you."

"If you won't be denied, sir, it's twelve and tenpence."

"There it is, and I am infinitely obliged to you. Mrs. Philpott, I am sorry to say I must give you a week's notice."

"You're never going to leave us, sir! Is there anything wrong with the rooms? We'll have it put right in a twinkling."

"The rooms are very comfortable, and I wish I could remain in them; but it cannot be."

"You must remain, sir, really you must. I won't take your notice. You must sleep somewhere Philpott will never forgive me if I let you go."

Her consciousness of the strait he was in, and her pity for it, were so unmistakable--her desire to befriend him and her sympathy were so clearly expressed--that Basil covered his eyes with his hand, and remained silent awhile. When he removed his hand he said:

"I am truly sensible of your goodness, Mrs. Philpott, but it must be as I say."

"Think better of it, sir," urged Mrs. Philpott. "You are a gentleman and I am only a common woman, but I am old enough to be your mother, and I don't think you ought to treat me so--so"--exactly the right word did not occur to her, so she added--"suddenly. Here you are, sir, all alone, if you'll excuse me for saying so, and here _we_ are with more rooms in the house than we know what to do with. Why, sir, if you'll stay it will be obliging us."

All her kindly efforts were unavailing. She asked him to make the notice a month instead of a week, and then she came down to a fortnight, and made some reference to clouds with silver linings; but Basil was not to be prevailed upon, and she left the room in a despondent state.

"We'll keep an eye on him if we can," her husband said to her when she gave him an account of the interview. "I may find out something yet that will be of use to him. It is a strange case, old woman, and I don't mind confessing that I can't see the bottom of it."