'You are aware of the consequences to which you have made yourself liable?'
Mr. Merrett took out, from a pocket-book, a slip of blue paper; which, unfolding, he held out in front of him.
'See that? That's the bill on which you forged your father's name. Now, sir, for a man who takes a liberty of that kind with his own father I have no use. But a prison has. You've had a run for your money--a fifteen years' run. Now that run's over. In a nice warm cell in a police station you'll find your billet for to-night, and then from one of His Majesty's jails you'll have no chance of running for probably the next fifteen years.'
'Why do you talk to me like that? Do you--do you think you frighten me?'
'I'm quite sure I frighten you. It can't be nice to come back to find the danger staring you in the face from which you ran. A man finds prison less cheerful at your time of life than when he was younger.'
'What do you want for the bill?'
'Nothing. It's not for sale. All I want is an understanding. We can't be friends--I never could be friends with a man who forged his father's name--but we can be on terms of common agreement.'
'You've placed me in a most awkward situation.'
'Not a bit of it. I've placed you in a better situation than you were in all your life. The Marquis of Twickenham is more respected at this moment than ever before. It's understood that he's turned over a new leaf; that he's a reformed character; that his character has developed in a manner which is altogether beyond the expectations of his friends. And it's got to be generally known that any one who takes liberties with him does so at his peculiar peril. You've only got to go to Twickenham House, and enter the front door, letting them think that you've come back from a stroll, to find yourself received with an air of deference--which I'm sure that you'll find welcome. You'll have no questions asked, especially no nasty ones. You'll just find yourself on rollers.'
'Are you actually suggesting that I should carry on the fraud which you initiated?'