"And then I lost my nerve, so that when Stevie started questioning me about his check book I must have looked embarrassed."
"I'm surprised to hear that," John put in, bitterly.
"Yes, I dare say I could have bluffed it out, because I'd taken the precaution to cash the check through Aubrey whom Stevie knows nothing about. But I don't know. I lost my nerve. Well, thanks very much for stumping up, Johnnie; I'm only glad you got so much pleasure out of it yourself."
"What do you mean—pleasure?"
"Shut up—don't pretend you didn't enjoy yourself, you old Pharisee. Look here where are we going to lunch? I'm carrying a bag full of instruments, you know."
John told Hugh that he declined to lunch with him in his present mood of bravado, and at the corner of Chancery Lane they parted.
"Mind," John warned him, "if you wish for any help from me you are to remain for the present at Ambles."
"My dear chap, I don't want to remain anywhere else; but I wish you could appreciate the way in which the dark and bloody deed was done, as one of your characters would say. You haven't uttered a word of congratulation. After all, it took some pluck, you know, and the signature was an absolutely perfect fake—perfect. The only thing that failed was my nerve afterwards. But I suppose I should be steadier another time."
John hurried away in a rage and walked up the Strand muttering:
"What was the name of that mahogany-planter? Was it Raikes or wasn't it? I must find his card."