“_The_ deed that Wilton wouldn’t sign,” responded Chewkle. “Have you got a piece of thin paper?” he asked. Mr. Grahame, with a beating heart and trembling hand, gave him half a sheet of thin post. “That will just do,” he said. He then put his hand into his side pocket and produced a small phial containing a thin fluid with a pink tinge; he produced a camel-hair pencil, and, steeping it in the liquid, painted over the back of that portion of the note which contained the signature of Wilton. Mr. Grahame, with eyes starting out of their sockets, watched him without breathing. After waiting for a minute, he examined Wilton’s sign-manual carefully, and then laying it upon the thin paper which he had previously damped, he slightly burnished the back, and there appeared upon the thin paper the signature of Wilton reversed. This he, in turn, laid upon the deed, on the place for the name of the person signing the deed to appear, and again using the burnisher with more firmness, he reproduced, though somewhat faintly, the name of Wilton upon the deed. “Now,” said he to Mr. Grahame, “there it is; you have only to mark over it carefully, and the name will be there with such exactness the man himself couldn’t swear it wasn’t his’n.” “You do it, my good friend Chewkle--you take the pen and write over it,” gasped Grahame, convulsively. “Oh, no, I beg your pardon, I think I’ve done a good deal. The winnings will be yourn, and yourn must be the venter.” “But my hand trembles so.” “Well, ring for a little brandy--that will put you to rights.” “No, no, I cannot do it!” “Very good. You know the konsequences o’ not doin’ it best, you know.” “Give me the pen!” “That’s it--mind, gently does it!” advised Mr. Chewkle. “’Old your pen ’ard with your thum’ and press it against your middle finger top, and then you’ll mark it firmly. Steady she goes--that’s it--beautiful! Dot that _hi--l, t, o, n_--good! Now for that little bit o’ flourish--that’s it--it’s done, an’ capitally you’ve done the _FORGERY!_” Mr. Grahame uttered a groan, and sank back in his chair. Mr. Chewkle caught him with a sudden grip by the wrist. “It is a dreadful secret I have of yourn,” he growled, “let me ’int to you that you’ll have to be generous to me to make me keep it dark.” “Man! witness of my infamy, your most avaricious wishes shall be gratified,” hissed Mr. Grahame through his teeth. “You have only to be silent.” “As the grave,” said Chewkle, placing his finger to his lip. Suddenly Mr. Grahame uttered a shout of horror: his eye fell upon Nathan Gomer, who, a few paces from him, was standing watching him attentively. “My God! Mr. Gomer--how--what--why are you here?” he exclaimed, gasping for breath. Chewkle, in an instant, spread a newspaper, which was on the table, over the deed.