“You’ve paid your friend’s debts,” replied the man gruffly; “now you’ll pay your own.”
“I owe you nothing, you infernal swindler!” I responded quickly. “This is a pretty game you are playing—one which you’ve played before, it seems! The police shall know of this. It will interest them.”
“They won’t know through you,” laughed the fellow. “But we don’t want to discuss that matter. I’m just going to write out a cheque for one thousand, and you’ll sign it.”
“I’ll do nothing of the sort!” I declared firmly.
“Oh yes, you will,” remarked the younger man. “You’ve got money, and you can easily afford a thousand.”
“I’ll not give you one single penny,” I declared. “And, further, I shall stop that cheque you’ve stolen from me.”
Reckitt had already seated himself, opened my cheque-book, and was writing out a draft.
When he had finished it he crossed to me, with the book and pen in hand, saying—
“Now you may as well just sign this at first, as at last.”