"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?"