Basil and Annette: A Novel

by B. L. Farjeon

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."