'The forger must have had an accomplice in the office; a man able to get at the safe: able to intercept the post: acquainted with Mr. Dering's ways: such a man as—say—Checkley—or—the only other possible—George.' Hilda paused.
'Oh! This is too absurd. You are now hinting that George—my George,' she said proudly, 'was the confederate of Athelstan—no—of a forger.'
'They have been seen together. They have been seen together at the house from which the forger addresses his letters. Has George told you that he has known all along—for eight years—of Athelstan's residence in London?'
Observe how that simple remark made in the Salutation Parlour, that Athelstan must have been living in Camberwell, had by this time grown into a complete record of eight years' hiding, eight years' disgraceful company on the part of one, and eight years' complicity and guilty knowledge on the part of the other. Hilda had not the least doubt. It was quite enough for her that Checkley said so. Half the contents of our newspapers are conducted on the same confiding principle.
'If George has not told me,' Elsie replied, 'it must be for some good reason. Perhaps he was pledged to secrecy.'
'My dear'—Hilda rose impressively with fateful face-'the hand that forged the letters is the hand that forged the cheque—your brother's hand. The hand that took the certificates from the safe'—she laid her own upon Elsie's hand—'the hand of the confederate, my poor sister, is—your lover's hand.'
'I knew,' said the girl, 'that you were coming to this. I have felt it from the beginning.'
'Remember, the thing was done in the months of February, March, and April. First of all, Athelstan was then, as now, desperately poor: the life that he has led for the last eight years—the life of a—a—Camberwell profligate'—she spoke as if that respectable suburb was the modern Alsatia-'has certainly destroyed whatever was left of honour and of principle. There comes a time, I have read, in the career of every wicked man when he hesitates no longer whatever means are offered him of making money. Athelstan it was—so they believe—who devised this scheme, which has been as successful as it is disgraceful. My dear Elsie, this is the most terrible disgrace that has ever befallen my family: the most dreadful and the most unexpected calamity for you.'
Elsie caught her sister by the wrist. 'In the name of God, Hilda, are you telling me what is proved and true, or what is only suspected?'
'I am telling you what is as good as proved. More than suspected.'