The Betrayal of John Fordham

by B. L. Farjeon

"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.