id you not let me help you? I offered to. But you
preferred to commit a crime."

"Such a fuss to make," muttered the youth discontentedly, "the bill is
in the possession of Juliet, and no steps can be taken on that. If
mother accepts this six thousand a year, she will buy the check back
from Hale. He's a scoundrel and will do anything for money. Then you
can marry Juliet, and I can go abroad for a few years on an income of
three thousand. Mother will allow me that."

The coolness of this speech almost took Mallow's breath away. The man
did not seem to be at all affected by his crime. So long as he was not
found out he appeared to think nothing about the matter. "And I know
you will marry Juliet," proceeded Basil, "you love her too well to give
her up."

"That is true enough," said Cuthbert, who, having already spared him
too long, now determined to punish him, "but I may love her so well
that I may not wish to buy her."

"What do you mean by buying her?" demanded Basil sulkily.

"What I say. Is it only to save you that I am to marry Juliet? My
marriage must be one of love--"

"She does love you. And I don't see," added Basil complainingly, "why
you should jump on a chap for wishing for your happiness--"

"And your own safety."

"Oh, bosh! The bill is destroyed. Juliet put it into the fire, and
Hale will sell the check at his own price."

"His price is that I am to marry Juliet."

"So that he can marry Maraquito, I suppose. I know that she loves you
and that Hale is crazy about her. It's very hard on me," whined the
egotistical youth, "for I want to marry her myself, only mother put her
spoke in my wheel."

"Dare you offer yourself to Maraquito, bad as she is, knowing what you
are?" cried Mallow, fairly disgusted.

"Oh, the forgeries. What of them? It's nothing." Basil snapped his
fingers. "Maraquito won't mind. But I suppose I'll have to give her
up on account of that infernal check. Such a small one as it was too.
I wish I had made it one hundred and fifty. I could have done so."

In the face of this callous behavior it was sheer wrongdoing to spare
the man. "I do not allude to the forgery, though that is bad enough,"
said Cuthbert, glancing round to see that the door was closed, "but to
the murder of your aunt. You killed her."

Basil leaped from his chair with great indignation. "I did not. How
dare you accuse me?" he panted.

"Because I have proofs."

"Proofs?" Basil dr