"No, guv'nor, not that I noticed. D'yer think I've been makin' up the story?"
"No, I don't think that, because there's nothing to gain by it. What I do think is that you've been scared by seeing some one who bears a resemblance to Louis. It isn't at all an uncommon thing. Innocent men have been hanged upon such evidence."
"Guv'nor," said Jack, impressively, "it wos 'im, I tell yer. There wos 'is 'eight, there was 'is build, and there wos the scar on 'is fore'ead. I'll take my Bible oath it wos Louis' ghost."
"Even the scar may be on the other man's forehead," I persisted. "There have been much closer resemblances. A dozen witnesses have sworn to the identity of a man who was being tried for a crime of which he was as innocent as I am, have sworn to his voice, to the color of his eyes and hair, to secret marks upon his person, to a missing tooth, to the peculiar shape of his fingers, and he has been condemned upon their evidence. Only after his death has it been discovered that the wrong man had been hanged. Wives themselves have been taken in, and have lived for years with men they believed to be their husbands. Go home, Jack, and think of these cases, much more wonderful than your accidental resemblance, and don't make a fool of yourself."
I might as well have spoken to a stone. Jack was not to be argued out of his fright, and that it was genuine was proved by the startled looks he cast behind him from time to time. A gentle tap at the door sent his heart into his mouth. It was my landlady, who came with a parcel that had been left for me by a lady, who wished to hand it to me herself, but was told I was engaged and could not be disturbed. As I had exhausted all my arguments upon Jack, and as he did not seem in a hurry to go, I opened the parcel in his presence, and drew out the cabinet portrait of Mrs. Barlow's missing son which she had promised to bring to my lodgings.
"Send I may live, guv'nor!" cried Jack, peering at it over my shoulder, his eyes almost starting out of his head, "where did you get that from?"
"It's the picture of a missing man, Jack," I replied, "who has had a lump of money left to him. I want to lay my hands on him." It was then that I noticed the strange expression on Jack's face, and I added, jokingly, "It isn't a ghost."
"No, it ain't a ghost," he said, "it's Morgan."
"Morgan!" I exclaimed. "Your card-sharping Liverpool friend?"
"That's 'im, guv'nor. A lump o' money left 'im! Why don't 'e come and collar it?"