“What?”
“I'm afraid it'll be that, Sir Frederick. There's the bonds and the two bills on Pogson and Blythe—you know.”
“Forgery!” said Sir Frederick, throwing himself back into an arm-chair. “It's monstrous! Come here, all of you,” shouted he up the stairs,—“come at once, will you?”
“I say, Sir Frederick, none of this, you know,” said the men, drawing their truncheons; “you said you'd come quietly, and if anything of a rescue is attempted“
“Nonsense, I'm coming quite quietly.” By this time the guests had lined the staircase, listening in great astonishment to the excited proceedings in the hall.
“Look here,” said Freddy to his friends. “It's several degrees too bad. Five hours ago I commanded a slaver, and at four this afternoon I was a confectioner in the Borough with a wife and a fine boy. I have during the last few hours been apparently a prosperous banker, with another wife whose acquaintance I had much pleasure in making, and a couple of children for whom I can't account in any way whatever. No matter, I have a fine house in Lancaster Gate, and a circle of agreeable friends—more or less titled, some of them—and all of them agreeable in many respects. Now, it seems I'm to forfeit all these advantages, because in some bygone time while I was not me but somebody else. Sir Frederick Foggerty and an unknown person called the 'Gone Coon' (probably an alias) forged certain bills and securities. Not I, mind you, but me, before I was I!”
The guests received this lucid statement of facts in
