The Betrayal of John Fordham

Still he did not seem to understand me, but took the cup with his shaking hands, holding it in both lest it should slip to the ground. As it was he spilled half of it before it reached his mouth. I took the cup from him, and placing it on the table said:

"Now, what is the meaning of this? How dare you come here in such a state?"

"Give me time, guv'nor, give me time," he croaked. "I shall be better in a minute. Yer think I've been drinkin'. Yer wos never more mistook. I 'ad a pint o' mild this mornin', but I 'ope I may drop down dead if another drop 'as passed my lips the 'ole of this blessed day. I've 'ad a scare, guv'nor – I've 'ad a scare." He dropped his voice, and bending forward, said: "Did yer ever see a ghost?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Jack. You look as if you'd seen one."

"I 'ave, guv'nor."

"Ah," said I, becoming interested, in spite of my suspicion that he was drunk, his manner was so earnest, "whose ghost?"

"The ghost of 'im as wos murdered. The ghost of Louis Fordham."

"You are dreaming, Jack," I said, staring at him.

"Not me, guv'nor. I'm wide awake, I am. Oh!" He gave a sudden start, and turned his head over his shoulder, as though a spirit was standing behind him.

"You see one now, perhaps," I said.

"No, guv'nor, but I don't know as 'e mightn't appear in this wery room. Is there such things, or am I goin' mad?"

"Not unlikely, Jack, when you come to me with such a cock and bull story. I recollect your saying that you'd seen the murdered man lying on a green field and on a billiard table. This is something of the same sort, I suppose."

"No, guv'nor, that was a wision, and I knew it wosn't real. But this wos. I touched it as it passed."

"Oh, it passed you, did it? Come, my man, let us have the whole of it; I may understand it better then. Where were you, what time of day was it, and in what shape did it appear to you?"

"The shape wos 'is own, and the time o' day was four this arternoon, and the place wos Finchley Road."

"Go on, Jack," I said, seeing that he believed in it.

"I was out with the barrer," he continued, "and was bargainin' with a lady for some daisies. There they wos on the pavement, and she and me lookin' at 'em. As I stooped to pick up a pot, somethink brushed by me. We touched each other. Lookin' up I sor Louis, and the pot dropped from my hand."

"Did you go after him?"

"Me go arter 'im. I'd 'ave run a 'undered miles the other way."

"Did he vanish in blue flames, Jack?"

"No, guv'nor. 'E turned a corner."

"But, consider, my lad. The man is dead."

"Don't I know it?" cried Jack, as if my remark exasperated him. "Is it likely I should 'ave come to you if 'e'd been alive?"

"You looked up at him, you say. Did he look down at you?"

"No, guv'nor, not that I noticed. D'yer think I've been makin' up the story?"

"No, I don't think that, because there's nothing to gain by it. What I do think is that you've been scared by seeing some one who bears a resemblance to Louis. It isn't at all an uncommon thing. Innocent men have been hanged upon such evidence."

"Guv'nor," said Jack, impressively, "it wos 'im, I tell yer. There wos 'is 'eight, there was 'is build, and there wos the scar on 'is fore'ead. I'll take my Bible oath it wos Louis' ghost."

"Even the scar may be on the other man's forehead," I persisted. "There have been much closer resemblances. A dozen witnesses have sworn to the identity of a man who was being tried for a crime of which he was as innocent as I am, have sworn to his voice, to the color of his eyes and hair, to secret marks upon his person, to a missing tooth, to the peculiar shape of his fingers, and he has been condemned upon their evidence. Only after his death has it been discovered that the wrong man had been hanged. Wives themselves have been taken in, and have lived for years with men they believed to be their husbands. Go home, Jack, and think of these cases, much more wonderful than your accidental resemblance, and don't make a fool of yourself."

I might as well have spoken to a stone. Jack was not to be argued out of his fright, and that it was genuine was proved by the startled looks he cast behind him from time to time. A gentle tap at the door sent his heart into his mouth. It was my landlady, who came with a parcel that had been left for me by a lady, who wished to hand it to me herself, but was told I was engaged and could not be disturbed. As I had exhausted all my arguments upon Jack, and as he did not seem in a hurry to go, I opened the parcel in his presence, and drew out the cabinet portrait of Mrs. Barlow's missing son which she had promised to bring to my lodgings.

"Send I may live, guv'nor!" cried Jack, peering at it over my shoulder, his eyes almost starting out of his head, "where did you get that from?"

"It's the picture of a missing man, Jack," I replied, "who has had a lump of money left to him. I want to lay my hands on him." It was then that I noticed the strange expression on Jack's face, and I added, jokingly, "It isn't a ghost."

"No, it ain't a ghost," he said, "it's Morgan."

"Morgan!" I exclaimed. "Your card-sharping Liverpool friend?"

"That's 'im, guv'nor. A lump o' money left 'im! Why don't 'e come and collar it?"

"Are you sure you are not mistaken?" I asked.

"'Ow could I be mistook?" he demanded. "Wosn't 'im and me together day and night for weeks and weeks? I'd swear to 'im among a 'undered."

Reluctant as I was to take Jack's word for Louis' ghost, I could not dispute with him as to Morgan's portrait. It was long before I could get rid of him, and he went away as firmly convinced of one as he was of the other. In such positive terms did he express his conviction on the former subject that if I were not a hard-headed, practical man, with very little sentiment in my nature, it is quite on the cards that he would have shaken my belief that he was laboring under some monstrous delusion in respect of the murdered man. At the same time I confess to being curious about Louis' "double," and to having a desire to see him with my own eyes. It was for this reason, on the chance of being gratified, that I made an appointment to accompany Jack the next day in his peregrinations through the N. W. district, in the disguise of a brother coster. The hour of appointment was noon.

Meanwhile there was much to think of, much to do. Fortunately I am a healthy man and can do with three or four hours' sleep, or I should never have got through with it.

There was in my mind the design, not yet thoroughly planned out, of having Louis' body exhumed, in order that its identity might be established beyond the possibility of doubt. This would effectually dispose of Jack's fancies, which, after further reflection, I set down to the stings of conscience, and as properly belonging to that form of imaginative creation which had conjured up the vision of Louis' body lying on a billiard cloth and on green fields. To establish this identity witnesses would be required. I could give evidence as to the scar upon the forehead, but only from what I had been told; it would be secondary evidence, and therefore not admissible. I mentally ran through the names of the witnesses whose evidence, from personal knowledge, would be of value.

John Fordham, for one. Though it might tell against himself, he would be ready and willing to testify. I needed nothing to convince me that he was a truthful and honorable man who would not palter with his conscience even though it added to the peril in which he stood.

Then, Jack. But it would bring him into danger. A far different character he from Fordham. He would be dragged forward against his will, and in these circumstances his word could not be depended upon. In the present aspect of the affair his was the only evidence upon which Fordham's innocence could be to some extent proved. Believing himself to be in danger such a man as Jack would be capable of anything; he might deny all that he had admitted, he might even concoct a story which would throw the entire guilt upon the man I was trying to save. Therefore, Jack's evidence upon this question of identity could not be reckoned with just now. For a time at least it must be set aside.

Then, Louis' mother. But her son's name had appeared in the papers as that of the man whom, by Fordham's confession, he had murdered. It must not be forgotten that I was convinced she was living. That being so, why was she silent? Why did she remain in hiding? That was one of the unanswered questions in the Mystery.

Then, Maxwell. Also in hiding. He, of all who were associated in the mystery, was the least likely to come forward of his own free will. Then, Morgan —

At his name my reflections were diverted into another channel. Three thousand pounds was a handsome sum – a Godsend to such a man. Why had he not claimed it? There was more than one answer to the question. He might not be aware of his uncle's death; as his own mother did not know his address the solicitors to the will could not communicate with him. He might be dead; he might have left the country. If he were living would my advertisement in the personal columns of the newspapers be successful in unearthing him? It occurred to me that it would increase my chances of success if I advertised for him in his assumed name, and I drew out the following advertisement: —

"A Large Sum of Money has been Bequeathed to – Morgan, who is supposed to have been residing in Liverpool, where he was last seen about a year ago. Full particulars will be given to him upon application to Paul Godfrey, 719 Buckingham Palace Road."

To reduce the chances of receiving letters from every Morgan in the kingdom, I wrote to Mrs. Barlow, requesting her to give me the date of her son's birth, his age, and whether he had any marks on his person by which he could be identified. Though it is running ahead of my narrative, I may state here that Mrs. Barlow supplied me with the date of her son's birth and his age (which particulars I inserted in the advertisement), and informed me that there were two marks on him which would render identification easy – a large mole on his left side, a little above the hip, and a peculiar formation in the toe next to the big toe on his right foot. It was bent completely under, she said, and presented the appearance of having been cut clean off at the joint.

I went out at eleven o'clock that night to post my letters to Mrs. Barlow, and was returning home, deep in thought, when a hand was laid on my shoulder.

"Good evening, Godfrey."

The voice was Wheeler's, like myself a private detective, with whom I had worked on two or three cases. There was a talk of our going into partnership, but it had not yet come to a head. There are few smarter men than Wheeler.

"Good evening," I said, and immediately began to consider whether he could be of use to me. "Anything stirring?"

"Well," he answered, "I was coming to see you."

"What about?"

Instead of giving me a direct answer, he began to laugh, and said, "You were in Soho this evening."

"Hallo," said I, interested immediately, "there's something in the wind. Did you see me there?"

"No, but I saw you coming into Leicester Square."

"How did you find me out?" I asked, rather nettled. "I thought my disguise a good one."

"So it was. There isn't one in a thousand who would have recognized you. I happen to be that one. You see, Godfrey, when you are thinking of something very particular, you have a nasty habit of stroking your chin with the middle finger of your right hand."

"Good," said I, "you will never catch me doing that again when I'm somebody else. Well?"

"Seeing that, I took special notice of you, and followed you home to make sure. When you stopped at 719 Buckingham Palace Road, and let yourself in, I was satisfied it was you."

"There's nothing very smart in that."

"I don't say there is. I kept myself out of sight, for a reason you'll appreciate."

"Out with it."

"I wasn't the only one who was following you."

"You don't mean to say I was being shadowed?" I cried, excitedly.

"That is exactly what I do mean. 'I'll see this out,' said I to myself."

"Man or woman?"

"Man."

"Did you catch sight of his face?"

"Yes. Tall, dark, beard and whiskers. Might have been false. When you were in the house he passed the door, looked at the number and walked away."

"And you let him go?" I said reproachfully. "I didn't think that of you."

"You needn't. I followed him on your account."

"Bravo!"

"Had to be very careful. His eyes were in all directions."

"Did he go back to Soho?"

"No. He took a 'bus to Piccadilly Circus. I took the same 'bus. He got down there, with a lot of others, and I slipped out among them. Then he took an Atlas 'bus to the Eyre Arms. So did I. He walked towards the Swiss Cottage, and my difficulties commenced. Not much foot traffic between the Eyre Arms and the Swiss Cottage, you know. He went on to Fitzjohn's Parade. More traffic there. The job got easier. Beyond Fitzjohn's Parade, very little traffic indeed. I had to be more careful than ever, so few people about. That was the end of it."

"You know the house he went into?" I cried.

"I don't," he answered. "I am ashamed to say he gave me the slip. I don't know whether he suspected he was being followed, but the fact remains that he gave me the slip. How he managed it beats me. I am fairly ashamed of myself."

"You ought to be. Wheeler, you were on the track of a great mystery," and just at the very point – I was so annoyed that I couldn't finish the sentence.

"I remained in the neighborhood a couple of hours," he continued, "but saw nothing more of the gentleman. If I had suspected there was anything important hanging to it he would have had to be a great deal smarter than he is to throw me off the track. However, it's no use crying over spilt milk. I've nothing to do this week. Can I be of any help to you?"

"I think so," I replied. "Come and see me at eight o'clock in the morning, and I'll tell you all about it. I must have time to think this out. Though you were not entirely successful you have done me a great service, and I am obliged to you. Oh, Wheeler, if you had only seen the house he went into!"

He shook his head mournfully, and left me, promising to call in the morning.

I had, indeed, plenty to think about. It was in Finchley Road that Jack fancied he saw the ghost of Louis. This man, following me from Madame Lourbet's shop, where he had been hidden from my gaze by a green curtain, had made his way to Finchley, where, presumably, he lived. I might now almost call the case upon which I was engaged The Mystery of the Green Curtain.