"What do you mean?" said Mr. Brassington, bewildered.
"Besides which," went on Mr. Kirby in a judicial tone, "unless you plead lunacy"
"I don't understand a word you 're saying, Kirby," shouted Mr. Brassington. "There 's been forgery! Do you hear? Forgery! Someone 's been forging my name!"
"O—o—oh!" said Mr. Kirby in a reasonable tone. "Someone's been forging your name? Much more sensible! Bring it off?" he added cheerfully.
"If I didn't know you so well, Kirby …" began Mr. Brassington savagely, then dragging from an inner pocket an already dirty cheque, and presenting it with a trembling hand, he said—
"There, look at that!"
Mr. Kirby looked at it in front, then he looked at it behind. He saw that a Mr. James McAuley had touched two thousand. He looked at the front again. He turned it round and looked at the endorsement. He looked closely at the signature.
"No," he said, putting the slip of paper close to his eyes, "that's not your signature, as you say, but" (musing thoughtfully) "it's very, very like it!"
