"I am glad to hear it. His half-brother, John Fordham, who gave himself up for the murder——"
"Of which we know him to be innocent," I interrupted.
"That is not the point I'm coming to," said Wheeler. "He gave himself up for the murder, and he is positive that he left the dead body of Louis in the Rye Street house when he left it on the morning of that terrific snow-storm."
"He is quite positive."
"He recognized the body as that of Louis by the scar on the forehead?"
"Quite correct."
"Then all I can say is that there is another mystery to be unraveled. Now, for what I did. I went down to Liverpool, determined to see this matter through, and not to waste a moment over it. I may fairly claim that not a moment has been wasted."
"Undoubtedly. I could not have done it more expeditiously myself."
"I 'pass over," he continued, "the preliminary steps I took to effect my object. The police assisted me, and an order from a magistrate armed me with the necessary authority. Accompanied by two of the force and by a surgeon who knew what he was about, the grave was dug up at eleven o'clock last night, and the coffin taken to the surgeon's house. There an examination of the body was made. The upper portion of the skull was perfect. Neither during the man's lifetime, nor after his death, had the slightest injury been inflicted on a single bone in it."
"Impossible!" I cried.