"False as the foul fiend himself," said the little man, in a rage.

"I knew it--I said so. Young men with twenty thousand a year do not
steal. A likely story! What does it mean, then?"

"Some one who owes him an ill-turn has played this sorry jest upon him;
but we shall pay him."

"He deserves transportation. I do not know a nobler young fellow in all
the world than Basil Carruthers." A fashionable carriage was standing at
his office door when he reached it.

"The Countess of Northdown waiting to see you, sir," said the clerk.

Entering his private room he saw a lovely lady, fashionably attired, who
greeted him with exquisite grace. Her face was very pale and her lips
quivered as she spoke to him.

"Good morning, Mr. Forster. You will be surprised to see me, but knowing
you are the family solicitor, I called to ask you if this shocking story
about Mr. Carruthers is true."

"Heaven have mercy on me this day," thought the lawyer, "my soul is
steeped in lies."

"Certainly not, Lady Northdown. Mr. Carruthers is abroad. The fact of
the matter is, the prisoner resembles him, as a vile caricature does, at
times, resemble the original, and some would-be wag who saw it, thought
the writing of this absurd paragraph a great joke."