John sat down unsteadily, filled up half a glass of Burgundy with sherry, and drank it straight off without realizing that George's port was even worse than he had supposed. "Whose name have you forged?" he brought himself to ask at last. "Stephen Crutchley's." "Good heavens!" he groaned. "But this is horrible. And has he found out? Does he know who did it?" It was characteristic of John that he did not ask for how much his friend's name had been forged. "He has his suspicions," Hugh admitted. "And he's bound to know pretty soon. In fact, I think the only thing to do is for you to explain matters. After all, in a way it was a joke." "Yes, a kind of experimental joke," Aubrey agreed. "But it has proved to me how easy it is to cash a forged check," Hugh continued, hopefully. "And, of course, if you talk to Crutchley he'll be all right. He's not likely to be very severe on the brother of an old friend. That was one of the reasons we experimented on him--that, and also partly because I found an old check book of his. He's awfully careless, you know, is Stephen--very much the high-brow architect and all that, though he doesn't forget to charge. In fact, so many people have had to pay for his name that it serves him right to find himself doing the same for once." "Does Mrs. Fenton know anything of this?" John asked. "Why, no," Aubrey answered, quickly. "Well, women don't understand about money, do they? And the mater has less idea of the wicked world than most. My father was always a bit of a recluse, don't you see?" "Was he?" John said, sarcastically. "I should think his son will be a bit of a recluse, too, before he's done. But forgery! No, it's incredible--incredible!" "Don't worry, Johnnie," Hugh insisted. "Don't worry. I'm not worrying at all, now that you've come along. Nobody knows anything for certain yet. George doesn't know. Mama doesn't know. Mrs. Fenton doesn't know. And Stevie only guesses." "How do you know that he guesses?" John demanded. "Well, that's part of the story, eh, Aubrey?" said Hugh, turning to his accomplice, who nodded sagely. "Which I suppose one ought to tell in full, eh, Aubrey?" he went on. "I think it would interest your brother--I mean--quite apart from his being your brother, it would interest him as a playwright," Aubrey agreed. "Glasses round, then," called Hugh, cheerfully. "There's a vacant armchair by the fireplace," Aubrey pointed out to John. "Thanks," said John, stiffly. "I don't suppose that the comfort of an armchair will alleviate my feelings. Begin, sir," he commanded Hugh. "Begin, and get it finished quickly, for heaven's sake, so that I can leave this house and think out my course of action in solitude."