"I may have seen this fellow," I said. "I seem to have a faint recollection of him." My uncle laughed. "Your recollections of your brother are growing very faint indeed if you do not recognize that face. Can't you see that it is George?" "George?" I cried. "Yes. That is George's face, minus hair, beard, and moustache." Now that the likeness to George had been pointed out I could see it clearly enough, but the absence of all hair had imparted so different a look to the face that I doubt whether I myself would ever have discovered it. "And why the deuce should he sketch George like that?" I asked, thoroughly perplexed. "I remember how relieved he seemed when I did not recognise it." "Can't say," replied my uncle. "It's another of those little mystifications which he delights to put upon his friends. By the way, wasn't Cæsar bald, and beardless?" "'Like laurels on the bald first Cæsar's head,'" I murmured. "Yes, at the time of his death he was. But I don't quite see the relevancy of your remark." "Merely a passing thought," he said lightly. "It's not much of a portrait of George; it's like him, and yet not like him. And there is a most uncanny expression about the eyes." He threw aside the sketch, which the Baronet took up. As soon as his eyes fell upon it a half-repressed exclamation escaped his lips, and setting his gold-rimmed glasses upon his nose he took a long and careful look at the drawing. "Do you say this is Captain Willard?" he asked, elevating his eyebrows in surprise. "Yes," I replied. "That is my brother." "He is a handsome man," said Sir Hugh, studying the sketch as if it were some puzzle offered to him for solution. "Do you know him?" I asked. "I have never seen Captain Willard in my life," he replied, laying aside the drawing. It would have been wrong to doubt his word, but if any one else had spoken in the same curious, halting way I should have hesitated to believe him. I was on the point of asking him the reason of his evident surprise, when my attention was caught by a series of remarkable drawings that my uncle had just taken out of the portfolio. There were completed sketches of gravestones and monumental pieces, which I supposed had been drawn by Vasari at the request of some cemetery mason in want of new designs, or else were the result of some competition at an art school. Whatever their origin, they had provided Vasari with an opportunity of displaying his inventiveness and taste, and the result was a collection of from twenty to thirty funeral monuments of various graceful shapes, decorated with broken columns, reversed torches, urns, crosses, wreaths, and other objects emblematic of death and immortality.