Adams took it to Wardlaw senior and laid it before him by the side of
Arthur's Testamur.

The merchant inspected it with his glasses.

"The writing is mine, apparently."

"I am very glad of it," said the bill-broker, eagerly.

"Stop a bit," said Mr. Wardlaw. "Why, what is this? For two thousand
pounds! and, as you say, not my form. I have signed no note for two
thousand pounds this week. Dated yesterday. You have not cashed it, I
hope?"

"I am sorry to say my partner has."

"Well, sir, not to keep you in suspense, the thing is not worth the stamp
it is written on."

"Mr. Wardlaw!--Sir!--Good heavens! Then it is as I feared. It is a
forgery."

"I should be puzzled to find any other name for it. You need not look so
pale, Arthur. We can't help some clever scoundrel imitating our hands;
and as for you, Adams, you ought to have been more cautious."

"But, sir, your cashier's name is Penfold," faltered the holder, clinging
to a straw. "May he not have drawn--is the indorsement forged as well?"

Mr. Wardlaw examined the back of the bill, and looked puzzled. "No," said