Kitabı oku: «The Betrayal of John Fordham», sayfa 19
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.
"Now," said I, "we are here upon very serious business, and I don't want you to incriminate yourselves. I have had an interview with one lady to-day – a friend of yours, Madame Lourbet, provision dealer, Soho – . and after some stupid reluctance on her part, I put it to her whether she would treat me as a friend or an enemy. If it had been as an enemy she would have been in prison by this time. I should have had her arrested. But she acted like a sensible woman, and accepted me as her friend, recognizing that it was her only chance of being kept out of the criminal dock. The consequence is, she is free – and safe." I repeated the last two words. "And safe. I offer you the same chance. If, without incriminating yourselves, you can do as she did, I advise you to follow her lead. If it is to be the other way, blame yourselves for the course I shall take."
Louis made a motion, as though about to speak, but his mother restrained him.
"Be silent," she said. "Pray what course do you propose to take?"
"I shall arrest you, Mrs. Fordham, and you, Louis Fordham, on the charge of complicity in the murder of a man known as Morgan, over a year ago in Liverpool."
Louis staggered, and caught at the mantelpiece for support, and Mrs. Fordham rushed to his side. I remembered what John Fordham wrote in his Confession about the love she bore her son, and I now had evidence of it.
"You are not very strong," I said, stating a palpable fact. "Probably you still feel the effects of the wound you received on the night Morgan was murdered."
And now Louis was not to be restrained. "What do you know of it?" he screamed. "What do you know of it?"
"Up to a certain point," I replied, "I know everything. Of the company you kept in Liverpool and elsewhere, of the way you spent your days and nights, of the gambling that was going on, of your accusing Maxwell that he cheated you at cards, of your being stabbed by him" – I stopped here. I had given them an inkling of what I did know, but had no intention of telling them what I did not know; so I branched off on another tack. "You are both aware that John Fordham is in prison for a murder he did not commit. Your presence alone in a criminal court will prove him to be innocent. But we do not need that to set him free; it can be accomplished without your aid. And for the rest – well, it is in your hands. I shall not give you long to decide."
"My son was a victim," said Mrs. Fordham. "He is no murderer."
"You can prove that to a judge and jury instead of to me, if you prefer it. I have a conveyance waiting for you. Be advised. Don't trifle with me."
"You mentioned an alternative, but have not explained it."
"Ah, you are growing sensible. I must have plain answers to plain questions, and a plain statement of facts."
"May I speak privately to my son?"
"I have no objection, but it must be in this room. We shall not let you out of our sight. You can talk in the corner there, and we will remain here by the door. If you speak low we shall not overhear you."
She dragged Louis into the corner, and there they held a whispered conference. I did not seek to overhear them, but I saw that Louis, overcome by fear, was ready, even eager, to unbosom himself. Such opposition as was apparent to me came from her. She was the kind of woman that hates to give in – she and Madame Lourbet would have made a pretty pair – but in the end she allowed herself to be persuaded.
"We will answer your questions, such as we think fit to be answered," she said, "under compulsion. Understand that – under compulsion."
I shook my head and smiled. "That will not do. You will answer all my questions of your own free will, or you will answer none; and your desire is to assist the course of justice."
She shut her mouth with a snap, and I think she would have liked to bite me.
"If you don't answer," cried Louis, "I will."
"Put your questions," she said, frowning at him and us.
"You wish me to do so?" I asked, knowing I had her in my power, and she was forced to answer, "Yes." She did not exactly love me at that moment.
I pointed to the litter of clothing and open trunks.
"You are packing up to go away?"
"Yes – we have a right to go where we please."
"To Paris?"
"Yes."
"And from there?"
"It is not decided."
"It was your intention to travel by the night train?"
"Yes."
"Who was to go with you?"
"A friend."
"He is not a friend," Louis exclaimed, "I don't care for your dark looks, mother; I will speak! He has never been my friend. Didn't he rob me – didn't he nearly murder me? And you stand up for him because – because – "
"Hold your tongue!" she cried.
But though he did not finish the sentence I did, in my mind. She stood up for Maxwell because there was a tie between them; he had obtained a hold upon her through her affections – for even such women as she can love. Conjectures, of course, but I afterwards learned that they went straight to the bull's eye.
I continued. "Maxwell was to be your companion?"
"Yes."
"He is coming for you? You expect him here tonight?"
It needed but the slightest hesitation on her part to cause me to turn to Louis, and when he answered, "Yes, he is coming for us," I thought she would have struck him.
"Quarrel away," thought I, "it all makes for us."
It made for us also, that she was torn two ways at once – by her undoubted love for Louis, and by what had taken place between her and Maxwell.
"At what time do you expect him?"
"At ten."
I looked at my watch; there was nearly an hour to spare.
"When was it arranged that the three of you were to go together to the continent?"
"Yesterday."
"Last night, you mean."
"Well, last night. That is yesterday."
"It was Maxwell who suggested it?"
"Yes."
"After he had followed a certain person home from Madame Lourbet's shop?"
"You are well informed," said Mrs. Fordham, bitterly.
"There is very little in this rascally affair," I responded, "upon which I am not well informed, but it is always satisfactory to receive confirmation. I have no further questions to ask at present. What I require now is a plain statement of facts. Relate what occurred after Maxwell stabbed you."
I do not propose to set it down in Louis' own words. Mrs. Fordham wished to give me the information, but I would not receive it from her, although it was to her eagerness to prove Louis' innocence that I was indebted for some part of the disclosure. For the filling in of the narrative I am also indebted to the natural intelligence of a man who knows his business, that man, without any affectation of false modesty, being myself. The importance of this disclosure cannot be exaggerated. It filled up the gaps of the mystery, and made the whole thing clear.
I give the incidents in the consecutive order in which they occurred.
When Louis fell to the ground in the house in Rye Street, Maxwell and Morgan, believing him to be dead, stood transfixed with fear, appalled by the tragic termination to their plan of robbery. Jack had rushed from the room in terror, but this they scarcely noticed, so engrossed were they in fears for their own safety. What aroused them were the sounds of a desperate fight in the passage below – the fight that was going on between John Fordham and Jack. Their impression was that they had been watched, and that the police were upon them. If that were indeed the case, their peril could not have been greater, for, with the body of their victim on the ground, they would be caught red-handed. The conflict in the passage continued for several minutes, and it seemed as if one or more of the combatants were endeavoring to force their way upstairs. Suddenly there was a lull – they heard the thud of a fallen body, and then the violent slamming of the street door. Following that, a dead silence.
It was long before they could muster sufficient courage to go from the room to ascertain what had taken place. They took a light with them, and coming upon the body of a man, they stooped to see who it was.
"By God!" cried Maxwell. "It is my brother-in-law, John Fordham! How did he come here?" and then, "What a slice of luck!"
I can almost hear him utter these words as I write them down – and if he did not utter them he thought them, which I take it amounts to the same thing.
Quick as lightning he saw the opportunity of diverting suspicion from himself, and fixing the guilt upon an innocent man. Assisted by Morgan, to whom probably he disclosed his plan, he carried Fordham's body into the room, took the knife with which he had stabbed Louis, and put in its place the gold-digger's knife he found in Fordham's sheath, smearing it first with blood. Then he and Morgan removed every article which would draw suspicion upon themselves, and stole from the house to await the issue of events. Whether they kept watch upon the house to see what John Fordham would do – for they had ascertained that he had only been stunned by the fall, and was certain to soon recover his senses – or went away and returned after an interval, is not material. Sufficient that they did return – to find John Fordham flown, and Louis still lying on the ground in a state of insensibility, and apparently dead. But the wound he had received was not mortal, as we know. He became conscious while Maxwell and Morgan were quarreling. Morgan, it appears, was under the impression that Maxwell intended to cheat him of his share of the spoil, and he was insisting upon a fair division then and there. Maxwell refused, and a stormy scene ensued, of which Louis was a witness, though he did not dare to stir lest they should really make an end of him. From words, the two men came to blows, and Maxwell was heard to threaten to serve Morgan as he had served Louis. But Morgan, thoroughly enraged, was not to be intimidated, and a savage struggle ensued – ending in Maxwell dealing Morgan a death stroke with the knife with which he had stabbed Louis. In a paroxysm of fury he battered the face of the dead man and stamped upon it; and finally overturned the heavy table upon the body, and fled. Then Louis, fearful lest the murder would be fastened upon him, managed to rise and stumble from the house unobserved.
The violence of the storm, which was raging furiously without, favored him, and he succeeded in making his way to a common lodging-house, frequented by thieves and men of the worst character, to whom the sight of a man who had been engaged in a desperate fight was familiar. There he remained in hiding for a couple of days, by which time he was strong enough to leave Liverpool and take train to London, where he joined his mother and was nursed by her. Meanwhile Maxwell had also returned to London, devoured by anxiety, and by curiosity to ascertain what had become of John Fordham. After keeping quiet for a week he paid a visit to Louis' mother, and was astonished to see Louis in her house. As may be imagined he was not cordially received, for Louis had given his mother a true account of what had occurred.
At this juncture Maxwell's natural cunning – of which there are so many instances in John Fordham's Confession – came to his aid. He professed the greatest delight at Louis' escape, and the deepest regret that he had allowed his temper to master him in their dispute over cards. Concerning Morgan's death he pointed out that Louis' peril was no less than his own, and that, if the worst should happen, it was not he alone who would be accused of the murder. Naturally, he argued, Louis would throw the crime upon him, and naturally he would throw it upon Louis. It was a fair assumption that his story would be believed before Louis' because of the wound which the latter had received, which people would say was inflicted by Morgan while defending himself against the attack made upon him. These arguments were strong enough to show the dangerous position in which Louis stood in relation to the crime. Maxwell then went on to say that their safety lay in fixing the guilt upon John Fordham, and he related to them how that unfortunate man came to be entangled in the affair. The hatred they bore to John Fordham induced them to listen with avidity to the villainous proposal, and they hailed with pleasure the opportunity of being revenged upon him.
"He believes you to be dead," said Maxwell to Louis. "Let him rest in that belief. All you have to do is to keep quiet. If, as I suspect, he is in London, I will track him down. By Barbara's death a large sum of money has reverted to him. Let me but succeed in finding him, and I will bleed him of every shilling. You need not be seen; I will do the dirty work, and you shall share the plunder." The temptation was irresistible, and a peace was patched up between them. By what means Maxwell discovered John Fordham in hiding in London under an assumed name, and how he worked upon the unhappy man's feelings till the poor fellow was beggared, is fully explained by Fordham himself in his Confession.
Thus, step by step, was the whole mystery revealed. I had good reason to be satisfied with my work, though something still remained to be done.
When his story was finished Louis looked anxiously at me, but I was silent, having a mind to play with him a bit.
"It proves my innocence, doesn't it?" he asked at length.
"I believe it does," I answered. "The question is, will others believe it? You see, Maxwell will stick to his story as you will stick to yours. He is not likely to have any feeling of tenderness towards his betrayers."
"Do you see what you have done, you fool!" cried Mrs. Fordham. "You have set that beast John free, and you have put a halter round your neck! We have been tricked – tricked!"
She looked about her wildly, and Louis trembled in every limb.
I smiled amiably at her. "In that nice Liverpool party of yours there were four men – you, Maxwell, Morgan, and another."
"Jack!" he cried. "He can prove my innocence. He saw Maxwell stab me!"
"Yes," I said, "he is the only man who can back up your story and save you from Maxwell. If he could be found now, and be induced to speak the truth?"
"He must be found," screamed Louis; "he must be! For God's sake give me something to drink, or I shall go into a fit!"
His mother flew to the sideboard, and poured brandy into a glass, which she held up to his chattering teeth.
I enjoyed the sight – I don't deny it – and had it not been that the time was drawing near for the appearance of Maxwell upon the scene, I have no hesitation in admitting that I should have prolonged the agony. My blood fairly boiled within me as I gazed upon the terror-stricken wretches, and thought of the sufferings they had inflicted upon John Fordham. I controlled my feelings, however, and applied myself steadily to the business I had in hand.
"Talking is dry work," I said. "Being in a manner of speaking your guests, it would be politeness on your part to pass the bottle round."
"I second that," said Bob Garlick, passing his tongue over his lips.
The woman took no notice of the hint, but Louis stumbled eagerly forward and held out the bottle to me. If I had not taken instant hold of it a lot of good liquor would have been wasted, his hand was so shaky. We helped ourselves, and felt the better for it, and then I said:
"I don't drink at any one's expense – except in the way of friendship – without paying for it. I am going to pay for the drinks, and to prove to you that you have acted wisely in trusting us. You have called your son a fool, Mrs. Fordham, and it would be rude to contradict a lady. Perhaps he is something worse than that, but at all events he has not been a fool tonight. Had he followed your advice the pair of you would have seen the inside of prison walls. As it is, he has saved you and himself. Do you think we left Jack out of the reckoning? Not a bit of it. At this present moment he is within twenty yards of us, waiting for orders, and it is a good job that his account of the stabbing tallies with that we have just heard. I shouldn't like to have such a record as yours, Mr. Louis, to my score, but there will be no charge of murder brought against you. That is all you care for, I expect, never mind what happens to any one else."
His eyes literally flashed with joy when he heard this, and Mrs. Fordham drew a long, deep breath of relief. She would have made almost any sacrifice to save both men, but Louis came first. That is the way with mothers, even when they are the worst of women.
"Is the liquor paid for?" I asked.
"Yes, yes," Louis replied. "Take some more."
I put the bottle aside, and held up my hand, for just then we heard three single raps at the street door, a short interval between each. Then, after a longer interval, three rapid knocks.
"Is that Maxwell's signal?" I whispered. "Speak low."
"Yes."
"Do you have to say anything? Must he hear your voice?"
"Yes. And I must hear his."
"Go and say it, and open the door, and leave the rest to us. We shall be behind you."
I did not trust her even then, you see.
We stepped softly out of the room, Mrs. Fordham first, and we at her heels. The passage was dark; I would not allow her to carry a light.
"Who is there?" she asked.
The answer came. "All right, M."
She was in such a state of agitation that she fumbled at the lock. I put my hand warningly on her shoulder, and the door was opened.
"What did you keep me so long for?" cried Maxwell, as he entered. "Is that you, Louis? Everything's ready. What the – "
Before he could get out another word he was seized and handcuffed. I blew my whistle, and Jack came up. Directing him in an undertone to remain in the passage till I called for him, I followed Wheeler and Bob Garlick into the room where they had conveyed their prisoner, Mrs. Fordham having run in first. She was panting as though she had lost her breath. Maxwell had said nothing more in the dark passage, his impression being, of course, that the police were upon him, and that silence would best serve him. When I entered he was safe in the grasp of my assistants, and was glaring at Mrs. Fordham and Louis, neither of whom had the courage to meet his eye.
"Have you searched him?" I asked of my assistants. They shook their heads. "Well, let us see what he has in his pockets."
We turned them out, the slight resistance he was able to make being of no avail. There was a loaded pistol, money, keys, and other oddments, and a pocketbook, containing letters and memoranda. Some of the letters were old and some recently written. Among the old letters were two signed by Morgan before the Liverpool affair, the contents of which proved the association of the two men for the purpose of robbing Louis. The recent letters were from Mrs. Fordham, and my hurried perusal of them left no doubt as to the nature of the intimacy between her and Maxwell. It was a ticklish position for a woman – on one side a lover, on the other a son whom she worshiped; but she had made her choice, and there was no retreat for her.
While I was examining the letters there was no sound in the room except the rustling of the papers. The truth dawned slowly upon Maxwell, and his face grew darker and darker as he gazed upon the forms of his confederates. He could no longer control himself.
" – you all!" he cried. "What is the meaning of this?"
"You are charged with the murder of a man you knew by the name of Morgan in Liverpool," I replied.
"It's an infernal lie!" he shouted. "And you – what have you to say to it?" He addressed this question to Louis and Mrs. Fordham, but neither of the two answered him. "So," he said, between his teeth, while a deadly pallor spread over his features, "you have laid a trap for me, after all I have done to save you. There stands the murderer" – with a nod of his head towards Louis – "and I am ready to give evidence against him."
"What kind of evidence?" I asked.
"The evidence of an eye witness," he said. "I saw him do it – saw him strike Morgan down!"
"Ah," said I, and I stepped to the door, and beckoned Jack in. "What do you think of your ghost now, Jack?" His face beamed, and then his eyes wandered from Louis to Maxwell. "Don't you know an old pal when you see him? But I forgot. He has something on him which does not properly belong to him."
And as I spoke I plucked the false beard and whiskers from Maxwell's face.
"Maxwell!" cried Jack.
Then the murderer knew that the game was lost.
* * * * * *
That very night, after lodging Maxwell in prison, and laying the information against him, I paid a visit to Ellen Cameron. It was past midnight when I reached her lodgings, but I knew she wouldn't mind that when she heard the news I brought. Luckily the landlady of the house was up, or I should have had some trouble in obtaining admittance; she had a birthday party, and they were merrymaking. I explained to her that I had some wonderfully good news to communicate to her lodger, and she allowed me to go to her rooms. Ellen's voice trembled as she answered my summons at her door, and trembled more when she heard who her visitor was. I called to her not to be frightened, but to dress herself quickly.
"Good news!" I cried. "The best of good news!"
I was soon admitted. What a picture of neatness that room was, and how sweet and pretty Ellen looked, despite the trouble she had gone through! I declare a lump rose in my throat as I looked at her – but there! another man had got her, and he was worthy of her, and she of him.
We spoke low because her boy was asleep in the next room, and as she listened to the story I had to relate, tears of joy ran down her beautiful face.
I finished, and rose to go.
"John is to be brought up to-morrow," I said, "and to-morrow he will be free. Come to my office at half-past nine in the morning, and we will go to the court together. I know you would like to be there to welcome him. That is one of my reasons for coming here at such an hour. Another reason is, that I thought it would be a sin if I lost a single minute in giving you the good news."
She fell upon her knees and buried her face in her hands. Tears were in my eyes, too, as I was stealing out of the room. But she sprang to her feet and caught my hand, and kissed it.
"How can we repay you – how can we repay you!" she sobbed.
"I am repaid already," I said, and I pressed her hand and left her.
* * * * * *
And indeed in one way I was more than repaid. You know the stir the case made in the papers, and the flattering things that were said of my skill – which I am too modest to set down here. My proceedings were not perhaps exactly regular, and it is quite likely that Scotland Yard would rather have had the credit of bringing the Mystery to light. I doubt if they would have succeeded had it been left to them. And as for what I did, and the way I did it – well, nothing succeeds like success.
I became famous – really. And the business that flocked upon me! I am in a fair way of making my fortune. No need to go on the stage.
* * * * * *
All this happened twelve months ago. John and Ellen are in Australia doing well, and as happy as birds in summer time. We write to each other regularly, and they are continually sending me little presents. Pleasant, isn't it, to feel that, though many thousands of miles are between us, we shall hold one another in affectionate remembrance to the last days of our lives?
And then, would you believe it, a week or two ago I was introduced to a young lady so like Ellen that they might be sisters. The moment I set eyes on her my heart went twenty to the dozen, and – But that has nothing to do with the story.
