Basil and Annette. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

passed the candle across the man's face, who never so much as winked. Assured that there was no cause for alarm, Chaytor stepped back to his own recess, put out the light, and went to bed.

      CHAPTER XI

      Leaving this schemer to his ill-earned repose, we strip the veil from his past and lay it bare.

      Nature plays tricks, but seldom played a stranger than that of casting Newman Chaytor physically in the same mould as Basil. Born in different counties, with no tie of kinship between their families, their likeness to each other was so marvellous that any man seeing them for the first time side by side, without some such disguise as Chaytor wore on Gum Flat, and the second time apart, would have been puzzled to know which was which. But not less strange than this physical likeness was the contrast between their moral natures. One was the soul of guilelessness and honour, the other the soul of cunning and baseness. One walked the straight paths of life, the other chose the crooked.

      Chaytor was born in London, and his parents occupied a respectable position. They gave him a good education, and did all they could to furnish him worthily for the battle of life. The affection they displayed was ill-requited. In his mother's eyes he was perfection, but his father's mind was often disturbed when he thought of the lad's future. Perhaps in his own nature there was a moral twist which caused him to doubt; perhaps his own youth was distinguished by the vices he detected in his son. However that may be, he took no blame to himself, preferring rather to skim the surface than to seek discomfort in psychological depths.

      The parents discussed their son's future.

      "We will make a doctor of him," said the father.

      "He will be a great physician," said the mother.

      At this time Chaytor was eighteen years of age. At twenty it was decided that he was in the wrong groove; at least, that was the statement of the doctor who had undertaken his professional education. It was not an entirely ingenuous statement; the master was eager to get rid of his pupil, whose sharp practices distressed him.

      "What would you like to be?" asked his father.

      "A lawyer," replied Chaytor.

      "He will be Lord Chancellor," said his mother.

      Thereupon Newman Chaytor was articled to a firm of lawyers in Bedford Row, London, W.C., an old and respectable firm, Messrs. Rivington, Sons, and Rivington, who kept its exceedingly lucrative business in the hands of its own family. It happened, fatefully, that this firm of lawyers transacted the affairs of Bartholomew Whittingham, Basil's uncle, with whom our readers have already made acquaintance.

      In the course of two or three years Chaytor's character was fully developed. He was still the idol of his mother, whose heart was plated with so thick a shield of unreasoning love that nothing to her son's disparagement could make an impression upon it. Only there were doors in this shield which she opened at the least sign from the reprobate, sheltering him there and cooing over him as none but such hearts can. Her husband had the sincerest affection for her, and here was another safeguard for Chaytor.

      The surroundings of life in a great and gay city are dangerous and tempting even to the innocent. How much more dangerous and tempting are they to those who by teaching or inclination are ripe for vice? It is not our intention to follow Chaytor through these devious paths; we shall simply touch lightly upon those circumstances of his career which are pertinent to our story. If for a brief space we are compelled to treat of some of the darker shadows of human nature, it must be set down to the undoubted fact that life is not made up entirely of sweetness and light.

      Chaytor's father, looking through his bank-book, discovered that he had a balance to his credit less by a hundred pounds than he knew was correct. He examined his returned cheques and found one with his signature for the exact amount, a signature written by another hand than his. He informed his wife, pending his decision as to what steps to take to bring the guilt home. His wife informed her son.

      "Ah," said he, "I have my suspicions." And he mentioned the name of a clerk in his father's employ.

      The ball being set rolling, the elder Chaytor began to watch the suspected man, setting traps for him, across which the innocent man stepped in safety. Mr. Chaytor was puzzled; he had, by his wife's advice, kept the affair entirely secret, who in her turn had been prompted by her son to this course, and warned not to drag his name into it. The father, therefore was not aware that the accusation against the clerk proceeded from his son.

      Chaytor had a design in view: he wished to gain time to avoid possible unpleasant consequences.

      Some three weeks afterwards, when Mr. Chaytor had resolved to take the forged cheque to the bank with the intention of enlisting its services in the discovery of the criminal, he went to his desk to obtain the document. It was gone, and other papers with it. He was confounded; without the cheque he could do nothing.

      "Have I a thief in my house," he asked of himself, "as well as a forger at my elbow."

      The man he had suspected was in the habit of coming to his private house once a week for clerking purposes. Without considering what he was laying himself open to, he accused his clerk of robbing him, and the result was that the man left his service and brought an action for slander against him, which he was compelled to compromise by an apology and the payment of a sum of money.

      "It is father's own fault," said Chaytor to his mother; "had he waited and watched, he would have brought the guilt home to the fellow. But don't say anything more to him about it; let the matter rest."

      It did rest, but Mr. Chaytor did not forget it.

      Being in pursuit of pleasure Chaytor found himself in continual need of money, and he raised and procured it in many discreditable ways, but still he managed to keep his secret. Then came another crime. Some valuable jewels belonging to his mother were stolen. By whom?

      "By one of the female servants, of course," said Chaytor.

      He was not only without conscience, he was without heart.

      Mr. Chaytor proposed to call in a detective. Mrs. Chaytor, acting upon the secret advice of her son, would not hear of it. The father had, therefore, two forces working against him, his wife, whom he could answer, because she was in the light, and his son, with whom he could not cope, because he was in the dark.

      "It would be a dreadful scandal," said young Chaytor to his mother. "If nothing is discovered-and thieves are very cunning, you know-we shall be in worse trouble than father got into with the clerk who forged his name to the cheque. We should be the laughing-stock of everyone who knows us, and should hardly be able to raise our heads."

      His word was law to her; he could twist her round his little finger, he often laughingly said to himself; and as she, in her turn, dominated her husband, the deceits he practised were not too difficult for him to safely compass. Every domestic in the house was discharged, and a new set engaged. When they sent for characters no answer was returned. Thus early in life young Chaytor was fruitful in mischief, but he cared not what occurred to others so long as he rode in safety.

      One day an old gentleman paid a visit to Messrs. Rivington, Sons, and Rivington. This was Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham, Basil's uncle. He had come upon the business of his will, the particulars of which he had written down upon paper. He was not in the office longer than ten minutes, and he left at half-past one o'clock, the time at which Chaytor was in the habit of going to lunch. Following the old gentleman Chaytor saw him step into a cab, in which a young gentleman had been waiting. The young gentleman was Basil, and Chaytor was startled at the resemblance of this man to himself. Relinquishing his lunch, Chaytor jumped into a cab, and bade the driver follow Basil and his uncle. They stopped at Morley's Hotel, Charing Cross, and Chaytor had another opportunity of verifying the likeness between himself and Basil. It interested him and excited him. He had not the least idea what he could gain by it, but the fact took possession of his mind and he could not dislodge it. He ascertained the names of Basil and his uncle by looking over the hotel book, and when he returned to the office in Bedford Row the task was allotted to him of preparing the rough draft of the will. Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham was very rich, and every shilling he possessed was devised to Basil, without restrictions of any kind.

      "The old fellow must be worth forty