"Obviously!" jeered Scrafton. "So obviously that he made no attempt to prove it at the time!"
"I stood no chance of doing so. It would have been oath against oath. And meanwhile, Ringrose, there were the two of us in a tight place together—and the French lights in sight! There was nothing for it but to pull together for the time being, and to avoid discovery of your father's disappearance at all costs. What was done couldn't be undone; and discovery would have meant destruction to us both, without anybody else being a bit the better. So Scrafton went ashore muffled up in your father's ulster, as he has told you himself; and, indeed, the rest of his story is—only too true."
"You consented to this?" cried Harry, recoiling from both men, as one stood shamefaced and the other took snuff with a triumphant flourish.
"Consented to it?" roared Scrafton. "He proposed it, bless you!"
"That's not true, Lowndes?"
"I'm ashamed to say it is, Ringrose. We were in a frightful hole. Something had to be done right there and then."
"So you went ashore together?"
"No; we arranged to meet."
"To concoct the forgery I've been shown to-night? You had a hand in that, had you?"
"I had a voice."