Guy gazed at him in horror. "Oh, don't talk about that!" he cried, running his hand through his hair. "If I were even to entertain such an idea for a moment, my self-respect would be gone for ever."
"Exactly so," Nevitt put in, with a satirical smile. "I said so just now. You've no initiative. Cyril wouldn't be afraid. Knowing the interests at stake, he'd take a firm stand and act off-hand on his own discretion."
"Do you think so?" Guy faltered, in a hesitating voice.
"Do I think so?" he echoed, "do I think so? I know it. Look here, Guy, you and Cyril are practically one. If Cyril were here we'd ask him at once to lend us the money. If we knew where Cyril was we'd telegraph across and get his leave like a bird. But as he isn't here, and as we don't know where he is, we must show some initiative; we must act for once on our own responsibility, exactly as Cyril would. It's only for six weeks. At the end of that time the unknown benefactor stumps up your share. You needn't even tell Cyril, if you don't like, of this little transaction. See! here's his cheque. You fill it in and sign it. Nobody can tell the signature isn't Cyril's. You take the money and release us both. In six weeks' time you get your own share of the unnatural parent's bribe. You pay it in to his credit, and not a living soul on earth but ourselves need ever be one penny the wiser."
Guy tried to look away, but he couldn't. He couldn't. Nevitt held him fixed with his penetrating gaze. Guy moved uneasily. He felt as if he had a stiff neck, so hard was it to turn. Nevitt took a pen, and dipped it quick in the ink.
"Just as an experiment," he said firmly, yet in a coaxing voice, "sit down and sign. Let me see what it looks like. There. Write it just here. Write 'Cyril Waring.'"
Guy sat down as in a maze, and took the pen from his hand like an obedient schoolboy. For a second the pen trembled in his vacillating fingers; then he wrote on the cheque, in a free and flowing hand, where the signature ought to be, his brother's name. He wrote it without stopping.
"Capital! Capital!" Nevitt cried in delight, looking over his shoulder. "It's a splendid facsimile! Now date and amount if you please. Six thousand pounds. It's your own natural hand after all. Ah, capital, capital!"