Peter got up and put his hands strongly on his brother's shoulders. He didn't notice then how near he was to a breakdown. "Graham, old man, you've _got_ to be--you've just _got_ to be. What Kenyon said is true. You and I are blind and are damned children wandering about--stumbling about. We need--we absolutely need a father more than ever we did in our lives. So do Belle and Ethel. We all think that we can go alone, and we can't. I know I'm right--I just know it--so you've got to stay." A puff of wind came through the open window. Several pieces of paper fluttered off the desk and fell softly on the floor. Peter stooped and picked them up. On them the words "Hunter G. Guthrie" had been written over and over again. He laughed as he looked at them. "What on earth has father been writing his name all over these sheets for? How funny! What a strange old chap he seems to be. It's a sort of undergraduate trick, this,--practising a signature before writing a first cheque." "Give 'em to me!" said Graham sharply, and he tried to snatch them away. His voice was hoarse and his hand shook. Peter looked at him in great surprise. It was impossible for him not to be aware of the fact that something was dreadfully wrong. As he stood and looked into his brother's guilty face the fact which stood out most clearly was that Graham had himself been writing his father's signature all over those sheets of paper. Why? A man did a thing of that sort for one reason only. He seized Graham's hand which was pressed on the blotting-pad, jerked it up, pushed the blotting-pad aside and picked up the cheque-book that laid beneath it. "Don't touch that," cried Graham, "for God's sake! Let me have it! I'll tear out the cheque. I think I was mad. Oh, God! I'm so worried I didn't know what I was doing!" There was a struggle, quick and sharp, and in an instant Graham found himself staggering across the room backwards. With his heart standing still, Peter opened the thin, narrow, brown-covered book. A cheque for three thousand dollars had been made out to Graham Guthrie. The signature had been forged. "You've done this," he said. "You've actually--" Graham was up on his feet. His lips were trembling. He put out a shaking hand. "My God!" he whispered. "Father's in the library." The sound of the Doctor's thin, clear voice came through the half-open door. Frozen with fear, Graham seemed to be unable to move. His very lips had lost their colour. With an overwhelming anxiety to hide his brother's frightful fall from honesty and sanity, Peter pounced on the little book, thrust it into Graham's pocket, snatched up the give-away slips of paper, tore them into small pieces and threw them in the basket. "Don't give me away. Don't let him know. If you do, I swear to God you'll never see me again!"