"Not a word against him," said Clarice, sternly, and placed her hand in that of Ackworth's, for she felt that she needed what solace she could obtain in this hour of sorrow and disgrace. "Uncle Henry should have allowed me more money," said Ferdy, doggedly, "and then I should not have got into trouble with Jerce. I thought that I would be able to get what I wanted, since I was heir to two thousand a year, and when I went to London I had a good time." "A mad time--a reckless time--a wicked time," said Clarice. "That depends upon the way you look at it," said the young man. "I had a ripping time, I say, but it cost money. Jerce lent me some, because he wanted to marry you, Clarry, and wished me to use my influence to bring about the marriage." "You never had any influence," said Clarice, while Anthony looked at his future brother-in-law with the air of a man who wished to kick him out of the house. "Jerce thought I had, and lent me money. But I got into debt. I was in love with Zara a year ago, and she made me spend no end of cash on motor-drives and flowers and jewels, and all the rest of it." "But you told me of two thousand pounds, Ferdy. Was there more?" "Much more. I gambled, you see, and lost heavily on bridge. But it's no use saying what I did, or how I spent the money, as I was simply desperate. I did not dare to go to Uncle Henry, so I asked Jerce again. He refused to help me, so I--I--" here Ferdy kicked a mat with his feet and blurted out the shameful truth unwillingly, "I forged his cheque for two hundred pounds." "What!" Clarice nearly fainted. "You young scoundrel!" gasped Ackworth, his face growing red. "That's right. Preach away and kick a chap when he's down. I didn't exactly forge the name, but I altered the figures of a cheque for twenty pounds given me by Jerce, to one for two hundred. So you see I am not quite a forger," ended Ferdy, cheerfully. "Go on," commanded Anthony, curtly, and soothed the girl, who was weeping bitterly. "Hush, Clarice, darling. We have heard the worst now; nothing more shameful can be revealed." "A forger and a murderer," cried Clarice, in agony--"my own brother." "I am neither the one nor the other," said Ferdy, in a brazen manner. "If you'll only listen to me, I can explain. Jerce got the cheque and held it over me as a whip. He said that he would put me in gaol, if I did not do what he wanted. For a long time he left me alone, and then"--Ferdy sank his voice to a terrified whisper--"then he brought me the stamp of the Purple Fern, and told me that I was to kill Uncle Henry and stamp his forehead with the fern, so that the crime would look like the work of Osip." "And you accepted?" shrieked Clarice, with horror. "I accepted to gain time," said Ferdy, sulkily. "What else could I do? I was in Jerce's power, and could be sent to prison. But I never intended to kill Uncle Henry." "Why did Jerce want him killed?" asked Ackworth, suddenly.