“I don’t get you, Matson,” said McRae, a little sternly. “And it seems to me it’s hardly a time for joking. There’s the contract. You say you didn’t sign it, and yet you admit that the name at the bottom is your own signature. How do you explain it?”
“I don’t pretend to explain it,” replied Joe. “There’s crooked work somewhere that I’ve got to ferret out. Somehow or other my name, written by me, has gotten on the bottom of that contract. But I never put it there. Some rascal has, and when I find him, as I will, may Heaven have mercy on him, for I won’t!”
CHAPTER XXVIII
WHIRLWIND PITCHING
“A fellow who would do a thing like that is taking long chances,” said McRae doubtfully.
“And how could he do it?” put in Robbie. “The name would have to be cut from one piece of paper and pasted on another, wouldn’t it?”
“Even admitting that they might get your name from a check or letter, I don’t see how a thing like that could stand inspection for a minute,” chimed in Willis. “Even if it were so well done that an eye couldn’t detect it, a microscope would give it away.”
“And you can bet that the reporters who hunted up this thing haven’t overlooked any bets,” said Brennan. “They knew that the signature was the nub of the whole thing and if there was anything phony about the paper they’d have got next at once.”