‘Then here is a sheet of paper which Mr Shield has already signed,’ said Mr Beecham. ‘Will you put down your name, Mr Philip, and you, Mr Wrentham?’ They signed at once, and there was no reluctance apparent on the part of either, but the grand flourish which Wrentham was in the habit of drawing under his signature was not quite so steady as usual. ‘Now,’ proceeded Mr Beecham, ‘here is a scrap of paper on which Mr Shield has written a few words. Will you both write something on separate slips, and that will enable us to test Mr Tuppit’s skill in distinguishing the writers.’ This having been done, the sheet bearing the three signatures was first given to Tuppit, and it shook slightly in his hand as he advanced to the window to inspect it carefully. He then laid the paper on the table. ‘I think I know the character of the writings now,’ he said. The three slips were next handed to him, and he named the writer of each correctly. ‘Clever chap—knows what he is about,’ was Shield’s comment. Then looking almost fiercely at Coutts: ‘Suppose you have brought _your_ paper with you?’ ‘Certainly.’ ‘Show it then, and let us hear what he has to say about it.’ Coutts slowly took out his pocket-book and looked inquiringly at Sergeant Dier. The latter had been observing the whole proceedings with that kind of interest which a skilful player bestows on an exciting game at cards or billiards. He responded promptly to Coutts’s look. ‘Best thing you can do, sir. It will settle the whole business at once.’ But Coutts did not want to settle the whole business until he had spoken to Shield in private, and explained the terms on which publicity might be avoided. So he put in a hypocritical protest which he hoped would aid him in making his bargain by-and-by. ‘You are aware, Mr Shield, that there are reasons why I do not wish this matter to go beyond ourselves; and I believe you have the same desire. On that account we need not regard Mr Tuppit’s decision as final.’ ‘I shall,’ answered Shield, frowning. ‘Hand him the paper.’ Coutts obeyed with the reluctant air of one who is compelled to do something he dislikes. He did not look at Philip, who was watching him with pitying eyes. ‘It is rather a serious thing, gentlemen,’ said Tuppit, speaking for the first time, and now as coolly as if he were on his conjuring platform, ‘a very serious thing to give a decided opinion in a case of this sort without very careful examination. You will permit me to compare the signatures on this paper with the writing on the different papers you showed me.’ He gathered them up in his hand as he spoke. ‘I must use a magnifying glass.’ He whipped one out from the tail-pocket of his coat. Then with its aid he carefully compared the writings. After ten minutes he rose, and instead of giving his decision, he advanced to Philip with the bill in his hand. ‘That is your signature,’ he said. ‘It is,’ replied Philip, quietly.