"If any one calls," I said to my clerk, "I am busy." And I led Miss Cameron to my private room.
"You want my advice," I said, drawing a chair up to the table; "sit down and tell me all about it. How did you find me out?"
"I saw your advertisement in the paper," she answered; "and I thought you would be willing to assist me."
The newspaper in which I advertise twice a week was on the table.
"You thought right," I said, and would have said more if I had not observed that her eyes were fixed with fear upon the newspaper. I looked over her shoulder, and saw that she was gazing upon a paragraph headed, "The Rye Street Murder."
It will clear the ground if I give the substance of this paragraph, which I had already read with great interest.
On the previous evening John Fordham presented himself at the Marylebone Police Court, and had charged himself with the murder, stating that the murdered man was his half-brother, that the name (up till then unknown) was Louis Fordham, and that he had acted in self-defense. According to his tale this John Fordham landed in Liverpool from an Australian vessel on the night of a great snowstorm, and being anxious to get to London without delay, was walking to the Lime Street station to catch a train. Passing through Rye Street, a man rushed out of a house and attacked him. A desperate struggle ensued, in the course of which he was dragged into a house and up the stairs into a room on the first floor, where he fell down in a state of unconsciousness. When he came to his senses he saw the body of the man by whom he had been attacked, and was horrified by the discovery that it was his half-brother, Louis Fordham. Distracted, and scarcely knowing what he was about, he left the house and took a morning train to London, where, living under an assumed name, he had been in hiding ever since. He made no disclosure of the motive which had induced him to give himself up after this lapse of time. His statement was taken down by the inspector; who, of course, asked him no questions.
This was the bare story, and I attached no credence to it, having made up my mind at once that John Fordham was guilty, and that he had been driven by remorse to take the last step.
"What will be done to him?" asked Miss Cameron, in a trembling voice, pointing to the paragraph.
Surprised at the question I drew the newspaper away, saying it was of no importance what became of this John Fordham, and that she had better proceed to the business she had called upon.