"So you said before."
"Prove it."
"Here," continued Pillgrim, taking from his pocket the document which had been offered to Somers by Wynkoop.
The young officer glanced at it, and on the line for the signature, he saw, with horror and indignation, the name of "John Somers," apparently in his own handwriting. Undoubtedly it was a forgery, but it was so well done that even the owner of the name could hardly distinguish it from his usual signature.
"It is a forgery," gasped Somers, appalled at the deadly peril which seemed to be in his path.
"Prove it," said the lieutenant, with a mocking smile.
Somers groaned in spirit. It would be impossible for him to prove that the signature was a forgery. Even his best friends would acknowledge it, so well was it executed.
"I have you, Somers," said Pillgrim, exultingly. "Let us understand each other. You are mine, Somers, or you hang! Somers, I am Coles!"