The Betrayal of John Fordham

"Of which we know him to be innocent," I interrupted.

"That is not the point I'm coming to," said Wheeler. "He gave himself up for the murder, and he is positive that he left the dead body of Louis in the Rye Street house when he left it on the morning of that terrific snow-storm."

"He is quite positive."

"He recognized the body as that of Louis by the scar on the forehead?"

"Quite correct."

"Then all I can say is that there is another mystery to be unraveled. Now, for what I did. I went down to Liverpool, determined to see this matter through, and not to waste a moment over it. I may fairly claim that not a moment has been wasted."

"Undoubtedly. I could not have done it more expeditiously myself."

"I 'pass over," he continued, "the preliminary steps I took to effect my object. The police assisted me, and an order from a magistrate armed me with the necessary authority. Accompanied by two of the force and by a surgeon who knew what he was about, the grave was dug up at eleven o'clock last night, and the coffin taken to the surgeon's house. There an examination of the body was made. The upper portion of the skull was perfect. Neither during the man's lifetime, nor after his death, had the slightest injury been inflicted on a single bone in it."

"Impossible!" I cried.

"Here is the surgeon's report. It leads to but one conclusion. If such an injury as you described to me was inflicted upon Louis Fordham, the body that was buried is not his, but another man's."

I gazed at Wheeler, open-mouthed. Here was another mystery, indeed, if what he stated was true.

"You must have dug up the wrong grave," I said, when I recovered from my astonishment.

"It occurred to me that it might be so," he said, "and I had it looked into. No mistake has been made. The body the surgeon examined was that of the man who had been murdered in Rye Street. Make up your mind to that, or you will be thrown straight off the scent. The man we dug up was murdered; his face had been smashed in, but as I have said, the upper part of the skull was uninjured. What do you make of it?"

What could I make of it except that both John Fordham and Jack were laboring under some monstrous delusion? But to establish that hypothesis the conclusion must be drawn that these two men were in collusion, and that an impossible story had been invented for some hidden purpose. Now, except during the struggle on the night of the murder, when Jack had dashed out of the house into the arms of John Fordham, who was under the impression that a murderous attack was made upon him, the men had never met, and each declared that he had not seen the face of the other. How, then, could they have invented such a story? I dismissed the idea as impossible. While I pondered over this fresh mystery, Wheeler sat quietly looking at me and fingering the surgeon's report, which I had not taken from him. Presently I found my voice.

"Were there any other marks on the body by which it might be identified?"

"Oh, yes," Wheeler replied, "two. On the left side, just above the hip, is a small growth of bone, which in lifetime might have been mistaken for a mole; and the bones of the toe next to the big toe on the right foot are completely bent under."

I listened in silent amazement. These were the marks upon the body of Philip Barlow, alias Morgan. Here, then, was the key to the Mystery – here, to a certain extent, was an explanation of the ghost of Louis that Jack saw in Finchley. For if only one body was found in Rye Street, and only one body was buried (of which there was proof positive), it was that of Maxwell's associate and confederate, Morgan, and Louis Fordham must be alive. It was not Louis' ghost that Jack saw, it was Louis himself, and the reason why Philip Barlow had not come forward to claim the legacy left to him by his uncle was satisfactorily explained. I declare, my breath was almost taken away.

But how had this substitution of bodies been effected? Everything seemed to hang upon an answer to this question. It must be answered, and answered soon, and now without delay must I put into execution the idea that crossed my mind when I caught sight of the green curtain on the morning of this very day. If any person could assist me that person was Madame Lourbet.

In as few words as possible I explained to Wheeler the position of affairs and my plan of action, in the carrying out of which his assistance was necessary. He followed me with lively interest, and in a few minutes we were on our way to Soho.

I entered the shop alone, Wheeler keeping watch in the street. I stood at the counter while Madame Lourbet served a customer, and then she turned to me.

"What do you require, monsieur?"

"A little information, madame."

"Well, monsieur?"

"In private, madame," I said, "unless you wish all the world to know."

She gathered from my tone that I had not come as a friend, and she was instantly on her guard.

"What is it, monsieur, that I should not wish all the world to know?"

"I advise that we speak in private," I replied.

"If I r-refuse, monsieur?"

"You will take the consequences, and we will converse before your customers."

"Ah," she said, playing a devil's tattoo on the counter with her fingers, "if I mistake not, you were one of my customers this morning, monsieur. I had the pleasure of serving you."

"I had also the pleasure of serving you this morning, madame."

"So!"

I assumed the voice of a costermonger, and inquired if she wished to buy any more ferns. She caught her breath, and cried, "It was you!"

"It was I, madame. It was also I, madame, who purchased of you last night and gave you a reference."

"A reference, monsieur?"

"A reference, madame – to Mrs. Fordham, Louis' mother, and stepmother to John Fordham, now in prison for murder."

"You are clever, monsieur – very clever." I smiled. "What is your John Fordham to me? And what are you?"

"I have the honor to be a detective. In that capacity behold me here." I thought this rather dramatic and Frenchified, and I had the pleasure of seeing her turn white to the lips. "A comrade is on watch outside," I continued. She slipped from the counter to the door, and peering cautiously about, saw Wheeler, who, I being by her side, gave me a nod of recognition. "Are you satisfied, madame?" I asked, when she had taken her place again behind the counter.

"There is protection for women in this country," she said. "Are you employed by the Government?"

"Fortunately for you I am not. You will, perhaps, understand when I say I am a private detective. If a Government official were in my place it would be with a warrant."

"A warrant, monsieur?"

"A warrant, madame – for your arrest. Shall we converse here or in your private room?" She moved towards the green curtain. "A moment," I said. "Last night, when I had the pleasure of purchasing some of your very excellent provisions, and happened to mention that I was recommended by Mrs. Fordham, you had a visitor in that room, who gave you a signal. Is the gentleman there now?"

"There is no gentleman in the room," she said, throwing open the door. "How know you there was one?"

"I shall surprise you, madame, with the extent of my knowledge. In order that we may not be interrupted we will turn the key in the shop door."

"You are not afraid?" she asked, and there was a look in her eyes resembling that of a cat who is about to spring.

"Oh, no, madame," I replied, following her to the inner room, "the English are not afraid of the French."

"Nor the French of the English," she hissed.

"You are a brave nation," I said, with a polite bow, "so are we. I propose, in your interests, an alliance."

"Not in your own, monsieur?"

"Not in my own, madame. I am merely an agent, and am not in any danger. You are a principal."

"A principal! What is that?"

"Your knowledge of our language, Madame Lourbet, is almost perfect; one might take you for a native, you speak English so fluently. But at your wish I will explain what I mean by my use of the word. It is that of a man or a woman who, without actually committing a crime, aids in its perpetration.

"I defy you to prove that I knew of it," she cried.

"I have not finished – though your denial, being in the past tense (a point of grammar, madame), is partial proof that it does not apply to the present. By the term 'principal' I mean also a man or a woman who, not being a witness of the crime, assists afterwards in keeping those who are guilty out of the hands of justice, and who, at the same time, assists in fixing that crime upon the innocent. That affects you, madame, and if you persist in shielding the guilty, you will see the inside of a prison door. I am going to be quite plain with you. Some years ago you, being then in Paris, entered the service of a gentlemen who is now in prison on a charge of murder."

"I did not. I entered the service of a lady."

"John Fordham's wife. In English law it is the same. You were John Fordham's servant. You came to England with him and his wife and exercised authority in his house. I am acquainted with every particular of your conduct during the years you remained with them. You hated your master, and conspired against him. Your mistress was a drunkard, and you secretly supplied her with liquor."

"She gave me orders, and I obeyed them."

"You went much further than that, madame. You invented lying stories against your master, you gave secret evidence against him. I could entertain you for an hour with the details of your treachery and that of other enemies of his with whom you were in collusion. It succeeded too well. It drove him from his home, it drove him from his country. Confess, madame, that I am well informed."

"I confess nothing. I wait."

"Do not wait too long, madame. I pass over the intervening years, and come straight to the peril in which you stand – a peril which, if you do not avert it by your own action, your own immediate action, madame, will make a convict of you. You know what that means, do you not? A convict – so many years' imprisonment – hard labor – no more red wine, no more nice French dishes. Somewhat over a year ago a brutal murder was committed in Liverpool, and quite lately your former master, Mr. John Fordham, laboring under a singular hallucination, accuses himself of the murder of his half-brother Louis."

I kept my eyes on her face as I mentioned the name, but not a muscle moved.

"It is his own business," she said, "not mine."

"I shall prove to you that it is yours in an indirect manner. You know of this murder, you know that John Fordham is in prison on the charge of committing it. It is my turn to wait now, madame."

"Say that I know of it. What then?"

"This. You are aware that Louis Fordham was not murdered, you are aware that he is this day alive, and that John Fordham is innocent of the crime of which he accused himself, and for which you would like to see him hanged. You are intimately acquainted with Louis, you know where he lives. Last night, when I was in your shop, a man was concealed behind this green curtain."

"It was not Monsieur Louis," she cried, and then she bit her lip, as though she had said too much.

"No, madame," I said, smiling, "it was not Monsieur Louis. The man was your dead mistress' brother, Maxwell. You see, madame, we have been keeping watch on you. We have even the evidence of the rascal you married under a deplorable misrepresentation. I refer to Monsieur Whybrow."

"Ah!" she exclaimed. "The ingr-rate!"

"He is a scoundrel, madame, but evidence is evidence, and we shall take advantage of his if it be necessary. You can punish him – why do you not? Is it that you fear he might blurt out something about your present intimacy with Monsieur Louis' mother and with Maxwell, who visits you disguised with false beard and whiskers? Is it that you fear that this might lead the police to inquire into the reasons for your association with the villain who murdered Monsieur Morgan?" And now I had the satisfaction of seeing her blanch and of knowing that I had hit the nail on the head. "It would make you in some sense an accomplice in the crime. Do you perceive the danger that hangs over you, madame? Do you perceive that your hatred of John Fordham may be carried too far? Intensely disagreeable as it will be to you to assist in proving his innocence, it is your only chance of safety. Decide for yourself; I use no persuasion."

"No, you use threats," she said, and I think, if a look from a woman's eyes could kill, I should not be here now to tell my tale.

"Hardly that. I have been very frank with you; if I have hurt your feelings permit me to offer you my apologies."

"What do you require of me?" she asked.

"The address of Monsieur Maxwell, and of Louis Fordham and his mother," I replied.

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

"And then you and your spies will trouble me no more?"

"No more than is necessary to protect ourselves from treachery."

"I will not be dragged into your witness box," she cried. "I will not – I will not!"

I considered a moment. If success continued to attend me – and I believed that it would – we could dispense with her evidence. To be able to lay hands upon John Fordham's enemies this very night was the all-important move in the game. To-morrow they might be out of our reach, and I should be confronted with difficulties that might be unsurmountable.

"Every effort shall be made," I said, "not to bring you forward as a witness." And, indeed, as I spoke these words, I was penetrated by a conviction that such evidence as she could give would be of little value; but I kept this to myself. It is not wise to show your weak cards.

"You promise it," she said, "on your honor as a gentleman?"

"On my honor as a gentleman, madame," I replied, with my hand on my heart, and repressing a smile, "I promise it."

To my surprise she sprang to her feet; the devil within her obtained the mastery, and I never heard the human voice express hatred so vindictively and forcibly. The stories I had heard of the female fiend in the French Commune came vividly to my mind; a representative stood before me in the person of Madame Lourbet, as she hissed:

"No, I will not help him! I would go in my holiday clothes to see him hanged!"

"You shall not have that pleasure, madame," I said. "I wish you good evening."

Her fears returned. There is no weapon so effective as calmness in dealing with hysterical natures. If you shriek, they shriek the louder; if you stand firm, they quail.

"What to do?" she asked, showing in her face the conflicting emotions by which she was torn.

"To obtain a warrant for your arrest," I answered boldly. "My spies will take care that you do not escape."

I was half out of the room when she cried, "Stop! I will do it – I will do it!"

"I do not know, madame," I said, appearing to hesitate. "We can manage without your aid. You shall stand in the dock by the side of your friend Maxwell."

And now she was thoroughly terrified; she wept, she implored, she fell upon her knees. It was a great victory, but though I knew I could not do without her I did not yield easily. When I had worked her up to a proper pitch I said:

"Rise, madame, and write the address in Finchley where I shall find your friends."

"They are not my friends," she cried, tottering to the table on which lay writing materials. "They would ruin, they would destroy me! And you, monsieur – you will save me? You have promised, on the honor of a gentleman. You will save me – you will save me!"

"I will keep my promise, madame. Write – it is your only chance. You allowed your hatred of John Fordham to carry you too far. Be thankful that I came here as your friend."

"If I had never met these Fordhams," she said, her hands trembling as she took up a pen, "it would have been better for me."

"It would have been better for you if you had been faithful to your master, and not entered into a conspiracy against him. We English have a proverb – honesty is the best policy. Take it to heart, and for the future be content with making money out of us." I looked at the address she had written, 23 Lethbridge Road, N. W. "Do they all live together, madame?"

"I think so, monsieur," she replied, and even now she made a motion, as though she would have liked to pluck the paper from me.

There was no fear of my forgetting the address, and I held it out to her.

"Do you wish for it back?"

"No, no!" she said with a shudder.

"Very good. Just another word of sensible advice, madame. Keep in your shop, and preserve silence until I bring this affair to a satisfactory conclusion. If you stir you will be followed; if you write a letter of warning it will fall into the hands of the police. You understand?"

"Yes, I understand.''

"It only remains to me to thank you for this very pleasant interview." So I left her, saying to myself as I rejoined Wheeler. "Checkmate to Madame Lourbet."

"Well?" said Wheeler.

"Success, my boy, success!" I replied. "The game is in our hands, but not a moment must be lost. I am going in for desperate measures. Will you back me up?"

"In anything."

"Do you carry a pistol?" I asked, grasping his hand.

"Colt's double action revolver, six chambers," he answered, tapping the back of his waistband. "Took it to Liverpool with me."

"Good. I have mine on me. I want two more men. Jack for one. Can you recommend another?"

"A capital man. Pick him up in five minutes. Sure to be at home. Just married, and in want of a job. Name, Bob Garlick."

"He's the man for us." I hailed a growler, and Wheeler told the driver where to go. "I have screwed Maxwell's address out of Madame Lourbet," I said, as we rattled along. "You would have laughed if you had heard us argue – I fairly frightened her. I shouldn't be surprised if he and Louis, and perhaps Louis' mother, are preparing for flight, and I hope to catch the lot to-night. There's nothing in the last two that would warrant us in arresting them, but it is on the cards that I shall arrest Maxwell for the murder of Morgan, whose real name is Philip Barlow."

"How do you know he murdered him? Best be sure of your ground, Godfrey."

"I will make sure. The plan I have in my head will not fail. I never in my life felt more confident, but everything, of course, depends upon our coming face to face with the scoundrelly crew. We are going straight to their house, you, I, Bob Garlick, and Jack, and then we shall see what we shall see."

What my plan was will presently be made clear. Sufficient now to say that we found our new recruit at home, and that he took it as a compliment to be invited to work with me. Jack also joined us. He was overjoyed to hear that it was not a ghost he had seen in Finchley Road, but Louis himself in the flesh.

"You've lifted a ton weight off me, guv'nor," he said. "That clears me, don't it?"

"You will come out of it with flying colors, my lad," I answered, clapping him on the shoulder.

"But 'ow did it happen?" he asked, in wonder.

"We shall know soon," I said. "Only keep cool."

"Poor Morgan!" he sighed, with genuine feeling. "'E was worth a 'undered of sech stuck-up cads as Louis."

Over a hasty and ample meal, for a full stomach puts courage into a man, I gave my recruits their instructions, and then the four of us rattled on to Lethbridge Road. Night had fallen before we reached our destination. A dark night, too, for which I was not sorry. Directing the cab where to wait for us, we proceeded to the house.

"How are we to get in?" whispered Wheeler.

I did not answer him, but rang the bell, and gave the double rat-tat of a messenger from the telegraph office.

CHAPTER XXXIII

Whenever a summons of this kind is answered quickly it betokens either that the inmates are in a nervous state or are in dread or expectation of important news. A peaceful household takes things more calmly, and is content to let the telegraph messenger cool his heels on the doorstep. I did not expect this household to be at peace with itself, nor did I wish it, for such a state of things would have augured ill for the success of my expedition. I was therefore pleased to hear a rush of footsteps in the passage, followed by the swift opening of the street door.

The woman who answered the summons held a candle in her hand, and there was nothing particularly clever in my jumping at the conclusion that Louis' mother stood before me. Until this night I had never seen her or her son, nor, so far as I am aware, had they seen me. I had counted upon this as of importance in the move I was about to take. We being in the dark, and Mrs. Fordham in the light, we had the advantage of her.

As she peered forward and held out her hand for the telegram, three of us darted into the passage, Wheeler, Bob Garlick, and myself. Jack was on the watch outside, to be called in by a whistle when he was required. Mrs. Fordham fell back with a shriek of alarm, and a man ran out of the nearest room, crying:

"What's the matter?"

This man had a scar on his forehead.

"Mr. Louis Fordham, I believe," I said, advancing, while Mrs. Fordham continued to retreat.

"Yes." "No." The two answers came simultaneously from the man and the woman, the man acknowledging his name, the woman denying it.

We were moving slowly towards the room from which Louis had emerged, and now reached the door. Mrs. Fordham flung herself against it, and crying, "You can't come in here – this is a private house," actually had the boldness to blow out the candle. I could not but admire her for it, for she must have seen that there were three of us, and pluck, especially in a woman, always commands my admiration. But she reckoned without her host, for two bull's eye lanterns instantly flashed their light upon her face.

"Have you come to rob us?" she demanded. "I will call the police."

"Save yourself the trouble," I replied. "We are officers, and I warn you not to resist. Here is a police whistle, if you would like to use it."

She did not take it, and driving her and Louis before us we entered the room. The gas was lighted there, and it was clear to see what was going on. Trunks and bags were open, and the floor was littered with clothing and traveling requirements, on the point of being packed away.

"Preparing for a journey?" I remarked.

"That doesn't concern you," Mrs. Fordham retorted.

"No, it concerns you more than us," I said. "I am afraid your journey will have to be postponed." I motioned to Wheeler, and pointed to an inner door which communicated with another apartment. "See who is in there."

"It is my bedroom," screamed Mrs. Fordham. "You ruffians – how dare you?"

"See who is in there," I repeated.

"There is nobody there," she said.

We did not take her word for it. Wheeler examined the apartment, and returning, said it was empty.

"Whom did you expect to find?' demanded Mrs. Fordham.

"Shall I give him a name?"

"You can do as you please about that."

"Oh, I thought you wanted to know."

"You shall suffer for this," she said, but curiosity was too much for her. "Give him a name, then."

"What do you say to a party of the name of Maxwell?"

She made no answer, but I observed that her face grew suddenly white, as had been the case with Madame Lourbet when I made a good shot. In dealing with self-willed women this is always a satisfactory sign. My observation of the tender sex leads me to another conclusion – the most obstinate of them when the barriers are broken down show the most fear, and are the most subservient and submissive, though I am bound to say this was not exactly the case with Mrs. Fordham. But then she was an exceptional woman, and she hated John Fordham as only a woman can hate.

"Who is in the house besides yourselves?" I asked.

"You wouldn't have dared to molest us," she answered, "if we had protectors."

"Answer the question," I said sternly.

"You know that we are alone in the house."

"Go and see," I said to my two assistants. "I can take care of these."

They departed on their errand, and until their return, when they informed me that the house was empty except for those who were in this room, not a word was exchanged between me and Mrs. Fordham. As for Louis, he had taken no part in the conversation. He was evidently ruled by his mother, for he kept his eyes upon her, and took his cue for silence from her.