"That's why they've gone wrong," put in Pierce, with a grunt of disapprobation. "A couple of beastly prigs. I always hated them, though they are your brothers, Sis. Well, there's one consolation, which is that your father must have found out his mistake by now, and recognised that he blundered when he turned you and Mostyn out of doors. It ought to have been the other two."
"What have they done?" asked Mostyn.
"Charles has run away with a ballet girl or some terribly impossible person," Cicely explained. "He induced father to make over a large sum of money to him, professing that he wanted it for that charitable work he pretended to be so interested in. I don't believe there was ever anything of the sort," she added indignantly; "it was only an excuse of Charles's to get a little more liberty while he was living at home."
Mostyn said nothing, but smiled to himself. He knew that Cicely was right.
"As soon as he had got his money," the girl went on, "he showed himself in his true colours. He laughed at father, and called him a pious old fraud, or something of the sort, which was wicked and cruel of him, for whatever he may be, our father is at least no hypocrite. Then Charles threw up his position at the bank, announced that he was going to marry the impossible person, and disappeared from home."
"So much for Charles," said Mostyn. He had very little sympathy with Charles. "What about James?"
"Ah! that's worse still, very much worse," Cicely continued, a little quiver at the sides of her lips proving that she was really moved. "James has been getting into money troubles, though how he can have managed it, I haven't the remotest idea. For, of course, he didn't gamble or bet or anything of that sort."
"Stock Exchange," interjected Pierce, his upper lip curving. "It's a deadly sin to back a race-horse, but you may stand to lose or win your thousands upon the rise or fall of stock. That's one of those things which your father may be able to explain, but which knocks the ordinary man silly."
"I suppose it was on the Stock Exchange," Cicely went on. "Anyhow, he lost a great deal of money, and at last it is supposed that he must have contrived to tamper with the books at the bank. Of course, he meant to put everything right, but, as usual, when the time came, he could not do so, and so he forged father's name to a bill, or whatever you call those dreadful things, for a large sum of money, and the worst of it is, that that bill has got into the hands of a man who knows the signature to be a forgery. You can see what terrible trouble there is, and father—I saw him yesterday—is nearly off his head with anxiety. He's all alone in that great house in Bryanston Square, for James, mean coward that he is, has absconded to America, and Charles hasn't been anywhere near the house."
"Is the sum so large," asked Mostyn, "that father is unable to settle with this man? I suppose, after all, it's only a question of money, and that if the bill is met, nothing will be said about the forged signature. If that's the case—-well, if Pollux wins to-morrow—there won't be much difficulty in pulling father out of this hole."