“Is it the same as—as—as you signed for him?”
Mr. Grahame drew a deep breath, but made no reply. Chewkle was a shrewd reader of physiognomy, and obtained the information he sought from the distorted workings of Mr. Grahame’s haggard features. He gave vent to his sensations on learning what he sought to know, in a low, prolonged whistle.
“Things is wuss than I took them to be,” he murmured. Then he addressed Mr. Grahame. “Who do you think?” he asked, “it is as has been making himself so very hactive in getting old Wilton out o’ Hudson’s Hotel * —you won’t guess. Why it’s that little saffron-jawed imidge, who dropped in so unexpected when you jest finished that bit o’ writing for the hobstinate Wilton.”
* The Queen’s Bench.
“My God!” gasped Grahame, “has he assisted Wilton?”
“Paid the money, I believe, sir; and is going to stand his friend in the law case,” observed Chewkle, emphatically.
Grahame clasped his hands and paced the room in agitation, he passed his feverish fingers convulsively over his temples. “What is to be done—what is to be done?” he cried, “I have commenced to act upon that accursed document. I thought he never, never would come out of prison, but would die there; and urged by the frightfully pressing nature of my necessity—my situation in connection with the estates to which I lay claim—I lodged the deed with my lawyer, and ordered him to proceed upon it. He has commenced—I know he has commenced; the deed is registered—all will be discovered, and—oh, my God! what will ensue?”
“Transportation for life to a dead certainty,” replied Chewkle, in slow, emphatic tones, “You’ll be called upon to prove the signatur—you can’t do that; then, o’ course it’s a forgery. Well, who did it? You got to show how you come by it—you can’t do that; and then you’ll be found guilty, and sentenced for life. That’s clear, I think.”
Mr. Chewkle felt himself, at the conclusion of his speech, seized by the throat.
“Villain,” cried Mr. Grahame, froth foaming and bubbling from his mouth. “This was your hellish counsel; but for your infernal suggestion and complicity, I should never have thought of it, but you shall share my fate—my fate—transportation. Oh! horror, horror—my house—my family! I—I—death—death—”