Buch lesen: «Basil and Annette», Seite 18

CHAPTER XXVII

The next morning Basil said to the editor, "I fear I am about to inflict a disappointment upon you."

"Wants a rise of salary," thought the editor. "All right; he shall have it." Aloud he said, "Go ahead."

"I wish you to release me from a promise."

"What promise?"

"When we made the engagement it was understood that I should not leave you without a month's notice."

"That was so," said the editor drily; and thought, "He's going to put the screw upon me that way. I am ready for him; I'll give him all he asks."

"I wish to leave without notice." The editor was silent, and Basil continued: "I am under great obligations to you; I have been very happy in your service, and I have done my best to please you."

"You have pleased me thoroughly; I hope I have said nothing to give you a different impression."

"Indeed you have not; no man could have acted fairer by me than you have done."

"Soft soap," thought the editor. "Have I been mistaken in him?" Aloud: "Well, then, I am sure you will act fairly by me. I cannot release you."

"You must; indeed you must. It is an imperative necessity."

"I can't see it. Look here. Are you going to start an opposition paper?"

"I have no intention of doing so. That would be a bad return."

"It would. Some other fellow, then, is going to start an opposition, and has made you a tempting offer."

"You are wrong. It is upon purely personal grounds that I shall have to leave. I am going home."

"Home! To England?"

"To England; and there is vital need for dispatch."

"Hallo!" thought the editor, "he has come into property. I knew he was highly connected." Aloud: "Now don't you be foolish. I am an older man than you, and therefore, on the face of it, a better judge of things. I don't expect a rise of salary would tempt you to remain."

"It would not."

"Not if I doubled what you are getting?"

"Not if you were to multiply it by ten."

The editor considered before he spoke again. "Come, here's an offer for you. I will take you into partnership. You see the value I place upon your services. I'm dealing fair and square."

"You offer me more than I deserve, more than I accept. Nothing can tempt me to remain. I must leave Princetown; I must leave the colony. I am called home suddenly and imperatively. You have been a good friend to me; continue so, I beg, and release me at once. You talk of going home some day yourself. If all goes well with me we may meet in the old land and renew our friendship. You know me well enough, I trust, to be convinced that I would not desire to leave you so abruptly without some strong necessity. If you compel me to remain-"

"Oh! you admit that I can compel you?"

"The obligation is binding upon me, and if you insist upon my giving you a month's notice it must be done, in honour. I cannot break my word."

"There speaks the gentleman," thought the editor, and gazed with admiration at the pleader. "But you will be doing me," continued Basil, "an injury that may be irreparable. The delay may ruin my life, and the life of another very dear to me."

"I am a dunderhead," thought the editor. "There's a young lady mixed up in this." Aloud: "I should be sorry to do that; put you see the fix you place me in."

"It grieves me. I beg you to give me back my word."

"It comes so sudden. Why did you not tell me before?"

"Because I knew of nothing that called for my hasty departure until last night."

"There is something more than a business aspect of it. We have grown fond of you."

"I have grown fond of you and yours. I shall think of you with affection."

The editor was softened. "I will think it over, and let you know in the course of the day."

"It is only reasonable," said Basil, "that you should have time for consideration."

The subject was dropped. The editor consulted his wife, who was genuinely sorry at the prospect of losing Basil.

"I looked upon him as one of the family," she said, "and it will almost break Edith's heart to part with him." Then, with a woman's shrewd wit, she added, "Let us try what Edith can do to persuade him out of his resolution."

Away went Edith half an hour afterwards to seek Basil and argue with him. She found him in the churchyard, standing by the grave of the baby angel.

"Mother says you are going away," said the child.

"Yes, my dear," said Basil. "I am very, very sorry."

"Oh! how I shall miss you," said Edith, the tears springing to her eyes. "Won't you stay if I ask you?"

"I cannot, dear child. Dry your eyes. We shall meet again by-and-by."

She put her handkerchief to her eyes but her tears flowed fast, and she sat by the grave and sobbed as if her heart was breaking.

"Listen to me, Edith," said Basil, sitting beside her and taking her hand. "If baby angel was a long, long way from here, and was in trouble and cried for you to come to her, would you not go to help her?"

"Yes, I would, I would; and they would take me to her."

"I am sure they would, for you have good parents my dear. You told me when I first met you here that I had an angel, and that you were glad. Edith, my dear, my angel is calling to me to come and help her in her trouble. Would it not be very wrong for me to say, 'No, I will not come; I do not care for your trouble?'"

"It would be wicked."

"Yes, dear, it would be wicked, and I should not deserve your love if I acted so. When I first saw her she was a little girl like you; you reminded me of her, and I loved you because of that, and loved you better afterwards because of yourself. I shall always love you, Edith; I shall never, never forget you."

She threw her arms round his neck and lay in his embrace, sobbing more quietly.

"You can do something for me, Edith, that will fix you in my heart for ever."

"Can I? Tell me, and I will do it."

"Go to your father and say, 'You must let Basil go, father. His angel is calling for him, and it will be wicked if he does not go quickly.'"

"But that will be sending you away from me!"

"I know it will, my dear; but it will be doing what is right. If I remain I shall be very, very unhappy. You would not like me to be that?"

"No, no; I want you to be happy."

"Make me so, dear child, by doing as I bid you; and one day perhaps you will see my angel, and she shall love you as I do."

So by artfully affectionate paths he led her to his wish, and they went back hand in hand.

"Well," said the editor to Basil, later in the day, "you must have your way. The little plot we laid has failed, and Edith says you must go. You are a good fellow, and have served me well."

"I sincerely thank you. If I apply to you for a character you will give me one."

"Indeed I will; the best that man could have. But there are conditions to my consent. You must stop till Thursday."

"I will do that."

"And you must act as 'Our Special Correspondent' at home. A letter once a month."

"I promise you."

"You have not beaten me entirely, you see," said the editor good humouredly, "I shall get something out of you. I am pleased we shall part good friends."

They shook hands, and passed a pleasant evening together. The editor had a motive in stipulating that Basil should remain till Thursday. He was not going to let such a man leave Princetown without some public recognition of his merits; and on the following day Basil received an invitation to dine with the townsmen at the principal hotel on the night before his departure. He gratefully accepted it; he had worked honestly, and had won his way into the esteem of the inhabitants of the thriving township.

It was a famous gathering, and there was not room for all who applied for tickets. John Jones, of the Only Beehive, took the chair. On his right sat Basil, on his left, Mr. Majoribanks. The Government Camp was worthily represented; all the large storekeepers were present, and several of the most prosperous miners. It was a gala night; the exterior of the hotel was gay with flags of all nations, and the editor's wife and Edith had stripped their garden of flowers to decorate the table. The Governor of the colony could scarcely have been more honoured.

Of course there were speeches, and of course they were reported in the Princetown Argus the next morning. Basil's health was proposed by John Jones in magniloquent terms, which were cheered to the echo; had Basil's thoughts not been elsewhere, even in the midst of this festivity, he would have been greatly amused at the catalogue of virtues with which he was credited by the chairman, but as it was he could not help being touched by the evident sincerity of the compliments which were showered upon him. Princetown, said John Jones, owed Basil a debt which it could never repay. He had elevated public taste, and had conferred distinction upon the township by his rare literary gifts. Great was their loss at his departure but they had the gratification of believing that he would ever look back with affection upon the time he had spent in "our flourishing township." And they had the further gratification of knowing that they had a champion in the great world to which he was returning, and which he would adorn with his gifts. Before resuming his seat it was his proud task to give effect to one of the pleasantest incidents in this distinguished gathering. The moment it was known that Basil was about to leave them a movement was set afoot to present him with some token of their regard. In the name of the subscribers, whose names were duly set forth in the illuminated scroll which accompanied the testimonial, he begged to present to the guest of the evening "a gold keyless lever watch, half-quarter repeater, dome half hunting case, three-quarter plate movement, best double roller escapement, compensated and adjusted, and with all the latest improvements." John Jones rolled out this elaborate description as though each item in it were a delicious morsel which could not be dwelt upon too long. Engraved upon the case was a record of the presentation, which the orator read amid cheers, and attached to the watch was a gold chain, with another long description, of which John Jones took care not to miss a single word. Then came the peroration, in which the chairman excelled himself, its conclusion being, "I call upon you now to drink, with three times three, health and prosperity to our honoured guest, a gentleman, scholar, and good fellow." He led a hip, hip, hip, hurrah-hoorah-hoorah! And a little one in (the giant of the lot), "Hoo-o-o-o-rah-h-h-h!" Then they sang, "For he's a jolly good fellow," in which they were joined by all the gold-diggers at the bar and in the High Street outside. John Jones sat down beaming, and gazing around with broad smiles, wiped his heated forehead, and whispered to himself, "Bravo, John Jones! Let them beat that if they can!" The presentation of the watch was a surprise to Basil; the secret had been well kept, and the generous-hearted donors were rewarded by the short speech which Basil made in response. It was eloquent and full of feeling, and when he had finished the cheers were renewed again and again. The watch and chain were really a handsome gift, and before Basil put them on they were passed round for general inspection. Then a sentimental song was sung, followed by another toast. (The story-teller must not omit to mention that the first proposed were loyal toasts, which were received with the greatest enthusiasm.) Other toasts and other songs followed, the health of everybody who was anybody being proposed and drunk with acclaim. One of the most effective speeches of the evening was made by the editor of the Princetown Ares, in response to the toast of "The Press." He paid full tribute to Basil, and said: "He is about to leave us, but we shall not lose him entirely. I take the greatest pride in announcing that he has accepted the post of special European correspondent to the Princetown Argus, and we shall look out eagerly for the polished periods in which he will describe the great events of the old world. We send a herald forth to represent us, and the mother country has reason to congratulate herself that our choice has fallen upon such a gentleman as our guest," &c., &c. It would occupy too many pages to give a full report of the proceedings. Those who are curious in such matters cannot do better than consult the columns of the next morning's issue of the Princetown Argus, in which the speeches were fully reported, with a complete list of the names of those present on the notable occasion. The party did not break up until the small hours, and it is to be feared that some of the jolly fellows, when they sang "Auld Lang Syne," were rather unsteady on their legs. Whether the occasion furnished any excuse for this sad lapse the present chronicler will not venture to say. To judge from John Jones, who was not the least of the offenders, they were little the worse for it, for he was attending to his Only Beehive, early the following morning as fresh as a lark. But then John Jones was an exceptional being.

The hardest parting was with Edith. The child gave Basil a bunch of flowers and her favourite doll. To refuse the doll would have caused the little maid fresh sorrow, so Basil accepted the token of affection, and subsequently, before he left Sydney, sent Edith another, with which she fell violently in Jove, and christened it Basil, though it was of the female sex.

"Good-bye, my dear," said Basil, "and God bless you!"

Edith's voice was choked with tears, and she could only gaze mournfully at the friend who had supplied her with loving memories.

"Speed you well," said the editor; "hope we shall meet again."

"Good luck, mate!" was the farewell greeting of a number of friends; Basil did not know until now that he had so many. He waved his hand to them, and was gone. But he had not travelled two miles before he heard the sound of a horse's hoofs galloping after him. He turned and saw Mr. Majoribanks.

"It just occurred to me," said the Goldfields' Warden, "that the name of the money-lender I met in Paris, through whom I became acquainted with your namesake, might be useful."

"It is very thoughtful of you," said Basil, "it ought to have occurred to me."

"I know no more about him than I have already told you," said Mr. Majoribanks, "and I am not acquainted with his address, but I believe he lives in London. His name real or assumed-for some of his fraternity trade under false names-is Edward Kettlewell."

"Thank you," said Basil; "I shall remember it."

Mr. Majoribanks kept with him for another mile, and then galloped back to the township. The steamer in which Basil took his passage home started punctually to the hour, and bore Basil from the land in which he had met with so many sweet and bitter experiences; on the forty-fifth day from that of his departure he set foot once more in England.

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."