'Sir Samuel, against his will, is convinced that Checkley has found the clue. He has told me the whole. He has consented to my telling the dreadful story to my mother and to you—and now I am afraid. Yet I must.'
Elsie made a gesture of impatience.
'Go back, Elsie, eight years, if you can. Remember the wretched business of our unworthy brother.'
'I remember it. Not unworthy, Hilda. Our most unfortunate brother. Why, they have found the very notes he was charged with stealing. They were found in the safe on the very day when they made the other discovery. Have they not told you?'
'Checkley told Sir Samuel. He also remembers seeing Athelstan place the packet in the safe.'
'Oh! Does he dare to say that? Why, Hilda, the robbery was proved to lie between himself and Athelstan. If he saw that, why did he not say so? He keeps silence for eight long years, and then he speaks.'
Hilda shook her head sadly. 'I fear,' she said, 'that we cannot accept the innocence of our unfortunate brother. However, Athelstan was accused of forging Mr. Dering's handwriting and signature. In this new forgery, the same handwriting is found again—exactly the same. The forger is the same.'
'Clearly, therefore, it cannot be Athelstan. That settles it.'
'Yes—unfortunately—it does settle it. Because, you see, Athelstan is in London. He is said to have been living in London all the time—in some wretched place called Camberwell, inhabited, I suppose, by runaways and low company of every kind. He has lately been seen in the neighbourhood of Gray's Inn, apparently passing under his own name. Checkley has seen him. Another person has seen him.'
'Have you come to tell me that Athelstan is charged with this new wickedness?'