Kitabı oku: «The Betrayal of John Fordham», sayfa 16
CHAPTER XXIX
At nine o'clock we all met together in that room, and if any one 'ad seed our faces 'e'd 'ave guessed there wos serious business on 'and. It comes over me now to say as there wos a green carpet on the flore, and I dare say that's the reason why I sor the wision of Louis yesterday on the billiard table, and why it comes so orfen when I'm crossin' a green field. I never noticed the color o' the carpet afore that night.
We settled it atween us – that is, me and Maxwell and Morgan did – that when the night's work wos over we'd clear out o' Liverpool immediate, and make tracks separately for London, where we wos to meet at Maxwell's rooms.
And wot a night it wos! The snow wos comin' down enough to blind yer, and it wos as much as a man could do to stand agin the wind.
"All the better for the job we've got to do," sed Maxwell; "nobody'll notice us goin' in or out."
Morgan and me set down at one table, and Louis and Maxwell at another. Our chairs wos placed so as we could see the others without turnin' round. We didn't pay much attention to the game we wos playin', though we pretended to be in earnest over it. But we couldn't keep our eyes off the other two. We wosn't as careful as we might 'ave been, for all of a sudden the man as wos bein' rooked cried savagely:
"Wot are you fellers watchin' me for?"
"We ain't watchin' yer," growled Morgan.
"You are, and yer know you are," sed Louis. "Keep your eyes off me, or I'll wash my 'ands of the 'ole crew."
"'Ow am I to take that, Louis?" arst Maxwell, speakin' very quiet.
When 'e spoke like that, with the look on 'is face 'e 'ad then, 'e wos a dangerous man to tackle.
"Take it as yer please," Louis answered. "You and me 'ave knowed each other a goodish long time now, and I've been thinkin' it ain't been much in my pocket. From fust to last it's been a case o' shell out, shell out."
"Oh, that's it, is it?" sed Maxwell, getting white about the gills.
"Yes, that's it," sed Louis. "Let's see. Wot am I winnin'?" He counted up. "Six 'undered. Shall we leave off?"
"It ain't wot we arranged," sed Maxwell, pullin' in 'is 'orns. "I say, you fellers – Louis is right. We don't want none o' your interference, so keep yerselves to yerselves."
"And I'll 'ave no lookin' over our 'ands," said Louis. "Some people don't mind it. I do. Stick to yer own table, and show us yer backs."
"Wot are yer makin' a row about?" arst Morgan. "We don't want ter 'ave nothink to do with yer."
Upon that we turned our chairs so as we couldn't ketch sight of the other table, and it wos only when Louis and Maxwell spoke out that we could 'ear what wos goin' on.
"I sha'n't be sorry when it's over," whispered Morgan to me.
"More shall I," sed I.
If Louis'd carried out 'is threat of washin' his 'ands of us then and there, it'd been better for 'im. But 'e couldn't guess wot wos going to 'appen no more nor we could.
We all went on playin', and sometimes the room wos so quiet that you could 'ave 'eard a mouse walk across the flore. We wosn't surprised when Louis sed 'e'd won six 'undered; it wos part of the plot to let 'im win at fust. It's an old trick, yer know. From chance words we caught now and then, we knew the luck 'ad turned, and that it wos Maxwell now as wos winnin'.
"That makes five 'undered. Eight fifty. Double the stake if you like. Thirteen 'undered. Another rubicon. Twenty-four 'undered. Luck wos agin me last night; looks as if it wos turning. Your deal. I've got six from the king! Good! And sixteen's twenty-two. And four queens, ninety-six."
It wos Maxwell as spoke from time to time, and we knew that things wos goin' on the way they'd been planned to. Later on, from wot we could make out, Louis got tired of piquet. 'E cussed the cards, and cussed 'is luck, and cussed the company 'e wos in; and then proposed to play cribbage, the best two games out of three, and go double or quits. Maxwell, arter objectin' to sech a 'eavy stake, give in, and they got out the cribbage board.
"It'll soon be over," whispered Morgan.
I nodded, and he looked at my watch. I can't be sure o' the time, but I think it wos about eleven o'clock.
"Fust game to me," sed Maxwell.
They went on with the second, when all of a sudden Louis cried, "Stop!" so loud that we 'eld our breaths, wonderin' wot was comin'.
"Wot's the matter now?" arst Maxwell, as gentle as a lamb.
"Wot's the matter now!" screamed Louis. "You're an infernal scoundrel, that's wot's the matter. I've done with yer – and my mother shall be done with yer. I sor yer palm them two fives. And look 'ere – and 'ere! The cards are marked. That's 'ow you've been swindlin' me all along!"
Morgan put one of 'is 'ands on mine, and the other on 'is lips, as much as to say, "Let 'em alone. We shall make it wuss if we put our spoke in."
"You're out of yer senses," sed Maxwell, without raisin' 'is woice. "I've won the money fair."
"You're a common cheat," cried Louis, "and you lie!"
"Don't say that agin," sed Maxwell.
"You lie – you lie – you lie!" screamed Louis.
Morgan and me both started to our feet, but we wos afraid to turn round. I wos so scared that I wished myself well out of it, and from Morgan's face I guessed he wished the same. No one spoke for a little while, and then it wos Maxwell wot led the way.
"Yer'll 'ave to apolergize to me for this," 'e sed; "I'll wait till yer cool."
"Yer'll wait till yer in yer grave, then," sed Louis, "and I'll see yer in – fust."
"Are yer goin' to pay wot yer owe me?" arst Maxwell.
"Not one brass farden," Louis answered, "and I'll see if I can't git back wot yer've robbed me of already. I'll have my revenge on yer some'ow; I'll make a public egshibition of yer. You're a blackleg and a swindler, and I'll take these marked cards to prove wot I say."
"Drop 'em," sed Maxwell, "or it'll be wuss for yer."
"Try and make me, yer blackleg!" cried Louis. "You low-bred thief, you shall die in the 'ulks!"
"You fool," sed Maxwell, "take that for yer pains!"
And then there come a scream that curdled my blood. Morgan and me turned and rushed towards 'em, and at that moment Louis dropped to the flore with a knife in 'is 'eart.
"Good Gawd!" cried Morgan. "Wot 'ave yer done?"
Them was the last words I 'eerd, for I run like a madman to the door, and flew downstairs quick as lightnin'. Wot I wanted wos to git out of the 'ouse and 'ide myself somewhere. I'd never been mixed up with anythink like that afore, and I wos frightened out of my life.
We usen't to 'ave a light in the passage, so it wos quite dark; but I made my way to the street door, threw it open, and rushed out. I 'adn't time to take a step afore I found myself in the arms of a man who was just outside, and there I wos, strugglin' and fightin' with 'im for dear life. Wot flashed through me wos that Louis' scream 'd been 'eard, and that I should be taken up for murder. The man I wos fightin' with sed somethink under 'is breath, but I didn't ketch the words. I struck into 'im, and 'e struck into me, and the snow seemed to be the color o' blood. Then 'e dragged me back into the passage, and we went on fightin' like wild cats. 'Ow long it lasted I can't say. My 'and was on 'is throat, and 'is 'and on mine, and there we kep' on tearing at each other in the dark passage till I 'eerd 'im give a groan. Then I flung 'im off, and 'e fell agin the stairs, I think, and laid there quiet.
I didn't stop, yer may bet yer life. The minute I wos free I run out of the 'ouse and through the snow, as if a 'undered devils wos at my 'eels. The next thing that I remember wos that I wos at the railway station, taking a third class for London.
That's all I know about it, guv'nor. Wot I've sed I'll swear to. It's the truth, the 'ole truth, and nothink but the truth, so 'elp me Gawd!
PART IV
CHAPTER XXX.
PAUL GODFREY, PRIVATE DETECTIVE, CONTINUES HIS NARRATIVE
I did not doubt it. I believed every word that dropped from Jack's lips, and it set me thinking. The extraordinary turn which his disclosure had given to the Mystery opened up so many channels of conjecture, some of which would assuredly be misleading and likely to throw a man off the track, that I recognized the imperative necessity of proceeding with the utmost care. To avoid falling into a pit of confusion, system was no less necessary; the threads must be disentangled; Jack's statement and John Fordham's Confession must be studied and compared and discrepancies accounted for, not by the light of any extraordinary agency, but by that of common sense; and when all this was done the principal difficulties had yet to be encountered. There were many doors in the Mystery, two or three of which were now either quite or partially open; the others were locked, and it was for me to find the keys.
Partly for John Fordham's sake, and chiefly for the sake of Miss Cameron, I was elated by the discovery that it was not he who had killed his half-brother Louis. It gave me the greatest pleasure to think of the exquisite feeling of relief she would experience when I supplied her with proof of his innocence – sufficient for her and for me, but not sufficient, perhaps, in a legal sense. Considering the feelings I entertained for Ellen Cameron, it may appear strange that I should have become so zealous in the cause of the man who had supplanted me, but there is nothing in the world so enthralling as the gradual unfolding of a mystery such as this; there is no task so absorbing as that of following it up step by step, and of at length piercing the darkness which at first seemed impenetrable. There are higher callings than mine, but I doubt if there are any more interesting; and if you think it is one which does not demand fine powers of reasoning, as well as the exercise of physical courage, you are greatly mistaken. As for the hold it has upon the public, there is no question about that. It is easily to be accounted for. If a simple puzzle which is sold in the streets for a penny will interest thousands of 'people, how much more so will a puzzle so intricate and mysterious upon the unraveling of which the lives and happiness of human beings depend? You may run us down as much as you like (I have just been reading something of the kind), but you can't do without us, and will never be able to; and without us, many and many a wrong would never be righted. And after all, what are your finest lawyers, and judges, and Lord Chief Justices but a superior kind of detective? There are black sheep among us, and there are black sheep among them. There are black sheep everywhere. So, having had my say, I will go on with my story.
To my mind, nothing was more natural than the encounter between John Fordham and Jack, nothing more natural than the instantaneous conclusions drawn by the combatants – Jack believing his antagonist to be an officer of the law, and Fordham believing his to be a ruffian, bent upon robbery or murder. In many respects Jack's disclosures corroborated the account written by Fordham, but there were important gaps that required to be filled in. Jack did not admit any lapses of memory; he went straight on from beginning to end without hesitation. Fordham was less confident, and his admission of a failure of memory at a vital point of his story would lead to the presumption that his memory was not to be depended upon in other points. Whether judge and jury would accept Jack's evidence with as much faith as I did remained to be seen. He was a tainted witness, and an accessory to the fact of the murder. Then, again, I had pledged myself that he should not be harmed. If he were brought forward in the present position of the case he would certainly come to grief. For a time, therefore, he must be kept in the background. Only through the principal being charged with the crime could he be accepted as Queen's evidence, and even then his statements would require corroboration. Morgan could corroborate them, but would he, being himself in danger? And before Morgan could be produced, he had to be found. Maxwell, also. It was not likely that either of them would present himself of his own accord. Well, they must be hunted down.
Before I left Jack I questioned him upon various matters, testing him, as it were, and putting him in the witness-box. There was one statement especially which emphatically needed confirmation or refutation, and this I did not introduce till the end. There was no prevarication in his answers; his description of Louis' personal appearance, with the scar on his forehead which flushed and reddened when he was excited, tallied with that given by Fordham, and he adhered unflinchingly to his account of the last scene of the tragedy. A few of my questions were such as would be put to him in the witness-box under the fire of cross-examination.
"You say your back was turned during the altercation between Louis and Maxwell?"
"Yes."
"And Morgan's also?"
"Yes."
"You heard them threaten each other!"
"Yes."
"Then you heard a scream?"
"Yes."
"And turning, saw Louis fall to the ground with a knife sticking in him?"
"Yes."
"But you did not see the blow struck?"
"No."
"It might have been done by himself?"
"Now, look 'ere, guv'nor," said Jack, slipping out of the imaginary witness-box, "is that likely?"
"Why not, Jack? I will put it in this way. They quarrel and threaten each other. 'You low-bred thief,' cries Louis, 'you shall die in the hulks!' 'You fool,' cries Maxwell, 'take that for your pains!' And he lets drive with his fist at Louis' face. At that precise moment Louis, with a knife in his hand, makes a drive at Maxwell. The collision diverts his aim, and the knife is jammed into his own breast instead of Maxwell's. How does that strike you?"
"It won't wash," answered Jack, "'cause I say it wos the other way."
"Because you say! You're a creditable kind of witness, you are – such a respectable character – you can show such a clean record, you can – and as for telling a dozen or two lies, who would believe you capable of such a thing, Jack?"
"All very true, guv'nor, wuss luck – but it don't make black white, 'cause I'm a wrong 'un."
"Doesn't it? There's no telling what a smart lawyer can do with a witness like you in the box. You'd twist and squirm like a skinned eel. But we'll pass that for the present, and come to something more important. You say that at the commencement of the quarrel Louis cried, 'I've done with you, and my mother shall be done with you.' Are you positive he said just those words? Be very careful about this, Jack."
"If 'e didn't say jest them words," Jack replied, "'e sed somethink so near to 'em that yer couldn't tell the difference. But I don't see wot's that got to do with it."
"It isn't for you to see. Make up your mind to one thing – that I know a good deal more about the affair than you do. You are positive he said, 'My mother shall be done with you?'"
"I'll swear to it, guv'nor. Wot should I 'ave knowed about 'is mother if 'e 'adn't spoke about 'er, 'isself? 'Ow wos I to guess 'e 'ad a mother when I didn't know who 'e wos or where 'e come from?"
"That seems conclusive," I said. "By the way, did you happen to hear Maxwell or Louis mention the name of Annette?"
"Not as I remember."
"Annette Lourbet," I said, to jog his memory. "A Frenchwoman."
"No, guv'nor, I never 'eerd the name."
"Thank you. What are you doing for a living just now?"
"I can't say I'm doin' anythink pertic'lar. Pickin' it up any'ow."
"Well, look here, I can put something in your way. I want you to keep your eyes open and to go about London – especially about the suburbs."
"Wot's the little game, guv'nor?"
"Don't be a dull boy, Jack. You might come across Maxwell or Morgan. I'd like particularly to have a little chat with Maxwell."
"I shouldn't mind it myself," said Jack, with a kind of growl.
"Do I understand you have seen either of them since you left Liverpool?"
"Never set eyes on 'em."
"As to the best chance of coming across them now? Can you suggest anything?"
"To keep on the trot, in course," he said, reflectively. "But it ain't to be done by a man like me without a object. If I went about without a object the coppers 'd say, 'Allo! Wot's 'e up to?'"
"Naturally. But if you kept on the trot with an object, they wouldn't think of following you. Eh?"
"No, they'd let me alone. There's one way it's to be done, guv'nor."
"Name it."
"A barrer, with or without a moke."
"And on the barrow?"
"Flowers in pots, all a'blowin' and a'growin'."
"Capital," I said, admiringly. "How much would the stock-in-trade cost?"
"The barrer and moke could be 'ired by the day. Yer'd go as fur as a moke, guv'nor, wouldn't yer? It's killin' work draggin' a barrer full o' flower pots up and down 'ill. There's 'Ampstead way, now. Think o' wot it means, from Coven' Garden to 'Ampstead 'Eath."
"I'd go as far as a moke, Jack." His face brightened. "And the flowers would cost?"
"A thick 'un 'd do it, guv'nor, and I don't know but wot it wouldn't pay."
"Let us hope it will. Here's twenty-five shillings to set you up."
I gave him the money and my address, and telling him to call upon me at the end of the week, or earlier if he had anything to communicate, I bade him good day – with an impression that he was really pleased at the prospect of earning an honest livelihood. As he himself had pathetically said, such a life as his wasn't all beer and skittles.
Let me state here why I was so anxious with respect to his allusion to his mother which, according to Jack, was made by Louis during his quarrel with Maxwell. The apparently unimportant words, "My mother shall be done with you," assumed intense significance when placed side by side with the information volunteered by Maxwell a fortnight afterwards, that John Fordham's stepmother was dead. Jack, being unacquainted with Louis' family connections, could not have invented Louis' mother – therefore the words were certainly spoken by Louis, establishing without a shadow of a doubt that at that time his mother was living. Only a fortnight intervened before Maxwell declared that she was dead. I dismiss the hypothesis that the woman – I will not call her a lady – died during the interval. Setting that aside, I come face to face with the question, "For what reason did Maxwell wish John Fordham to believe that his stepmother was dead?"
I was fairly puzzled; I could find no answer to the question.
Next, I turned my attention to a consideration of the state and progress of affairs when Jack, in a frenzy of fear, rushed from the house in which the murder was committed. The fight between him and Fordham is going on in the street; the street door is dashed open and the combatants stumble into the passage, where the savage conflict is continued. In the room above Louis lies dead, and Morgan and Maxwell stand in terror, listening to the sounds of the struggle below. What does it portend – what, except that they are in deadly peril? They are too terrified to move. If they open the door, they will be pounced upon and arrested for the crime, for they do not doubt that the police have been watching their movements, and have obtained entrance to the house. Suddenly the sounds cease. Fordham lies senseless on the stairs, and Jack is speeding to the railway station. All is quiet without and within, for the partners in crime are too frightened to move. At length they venture to speak, but in a whisper, for they still fear that officers are lurking outside to secure them. After a long interval of time they pluck up sufficient courage to open the door. No one molests them. They creep out into the passage, and down the stairs, and are stopped by the body of Fordham. Maxwell recognizes him, and a devilish plot suggests itself. John Fordham and Louis are old enemies – how easy to fasten the murder upon John! He and Morgan carry the body of the unconscious man into the room, and place it near the dead body of Louis. They find a knife upon him – they dip it in Louis' blood. Maxwell takes Fordham's watch, and finds his matchbox on the stairs. He has an idea that they may come in useful to fix the murder upon Fordham. He leaves the knife. Then he and Morgan steal from the house.
Thus far did I trace the probable course of action. If it were anywhere near the truth, it established a binding link between Maxwell and Morgan, each of whom, from that night, held the other in his power. I asked myself whether Maxwell confided to Morgan the existence of the family connection which existed between him and John Fordham. To this question I found an answer. No. It was not in Maxwell's nature to impart to any one a confidence which might result to his disadvantage. Without having met the man, I seemed to see him, so graphically was he portrayed by Fordham and Jack. He was one who kept his own secrets.
What followed on their departure is related by Fordham up to the moment of his own departure, when he fled from the house, leaving the dead body of Louis as its only occupant. Possibly he was watched and seen by his enemies, who re-entered the house after he was gone. They feel in Louis' pocket for his watch. "He has stolen it," they say. They look round for Louis' overcoat. "He has run off with it," they say. And then their eyes fall upon Fordham's blood-stained knife, which he foolishly left behind him. I can imagine their fiendish glee at these discoveries. "He has convicted himself," they say. But there is still a possible danger. Louis might have been seen in their company. If his features were mutilated so that it would be difficult to establish his identity, it would afford them an additional element of safety. The heavy oak table is dashed upon his face, and their work is complete. Once more the house of death is left in possession of its ghastly occupant.
While I was following out these conjectures (for of course they were nothing more, and it will be seen in time whether they were correct) I received a report from the Liverpool expert to whom I had entrusted the two letters. It confirmed my suspicions, and furnished me with another link to the chain I was weaving. Although an attempt had been made to disguise the writing of the letter sent by "Mr. Lambert" to the house agent, the expert stated that both letters were written by the same hand. Scoundrel as Maxwell was, he would have been more careful had he imagined that the plot to fleece Louis would have ended so tragically.
Now, of what legal value was all this evidence? A skillful lawyer might do something with it, but I doubted whether, unsupported and uncorroborated, it would establish John Fordham's innocence. In this view Fordham himself concurred; indeed, it was he who first laid emphasis upon it. I have seldom seen a man more agitated when he learned from me that there was no guilt of blood upon his soul. For several minutes he could not speak. He sat with his face buried in his hands, and when he raised his head the tears were still running down his cheeks.
"I can bear the worst now," he said; and I knew from the remarks he made, that he was more grateful for Ellen's sake than for his own. I shall call her Ellen; surely I have the right, working as I was for her and for the man who had, in a sort of way, supplanted me. Had she seen me first – but of what use is it to speculate upon what might have been?
As I have said, it was Fordham who laid stress upon the evidence against himself, evidence of his own supplying. His silence, his long concealment in London under an assumed name, the incriminating articles in his possession, which he had given up to the police, were strong points against him.
"If my innocence is not clearly proved," he said, "I shall not care to be released."
"You can't compel a jury to declare you guilty," I urged, and I confess to being angry with him.
"No," he replied, "but the doubt would remain and would darken my days."
"Well," I said, "anyway, the police are not likely to let you go without a searching inquiry. For the present we must be silent, and bend all our energies to the discovery of Maxwell and Morgan."
It was a hard matter to convince Ellen of the wisdom of this course, and indeed we did not succeed in convincing her; but she was compelled to yield in the end, though she protested against the injustice of Fordham being kept in prison. There is a reason of the heart and a reason of the head, and when we are dealing with stern facts, we know which is likely to come out the winner.
The position, you see, was one of great difficulty. I was pledged to Jack, and to break my word would be to bring him immediately into danger. This I determined not do until every other chance failed me. It was a prudent as well as a just resolve. If Jack found himself betrayed and brought to bay, it was as likely as not that he would deny everything, or that he would commit himself to statements which would place Fordham in jeopardy.
I met my card-sharping friend before the end of the week, when it had been decided that he was to pay me a visit. I was on my way to Highgate Cemetery, and I came across him in the N. W. district. He had hired a donkey, and there was a gay show of flowers on his barrow. Seeing me approach, he gave me a wink and an almost imperceptible shake of the head. I inferred from the wink that business was prospering, and from the nod that he did not wish to be spoken to. I returned his wink and passed on.
My object in going to Highgate Cemetery was to ascertain if a lady of the name of Fordham was buried there, as would certainly have been the case if, as had been stated by Maxwell, Louis' mother was dead. As I have already said, I did not believe he had spoken the truth, but if I was mistaken I should be able to learn the address from which the coffin was taken.
I was not mistaken. There was a family grave in the cemetery purchased by John Fordham's father, but since his death no one had been buried there. Undoubtedly Maxwell had lied, and Louis' mother was alive.
