The Betrayal of John Fordham

by B. L. Farjeon

"Here is the surgeon's report. It leads to but one conclusion. If such an injury as you described to me was inflicted upon Louis Fordham, the body that was buried is not his, but another man's."

I gazed at Wheeler, open-mouthed. Here was another mystery, indeed, if what he stated was true.

"You must have dug up the wrong grave," I said, when I recovered from my astonishment.

"It occurred to me that it might be so," he said, "and I had it looked into. No mistake has been made. The body the surgeon examined was that of the man who had been murdered in Rye Street. Make up your mind to that, or you will be thrown straight off the scent. The man we dug up was murdered; his face had been smashed in, but as I have said, the upper part of the skull was uninjured. What do you make of it?"

What could I make of it except that both John Fordham and Jack were laboring under some monstrous delusion? But to establish that hypothesis the conclusion must be drawn that these two men were in collusion, and that an impossible story had been invented for some hidden purpose. Now, except during the struggle on the night of the murder, when Jack had dashed out of the house into the arms of John Fordham, who was under the impression that a murderous attack was made upon him, the men had never met, and each declared that he had not seen the face of the other. How, then, could they have invented such a story? I dismissed the idea as impossible. While I pondered over this fresh mystery, Wheeler sat quietly looking at me and fingering the surgeon's report, which I had not taken from him. Presently I found my voice.

"Were there any other marks on the body by which it might be identified?"

"Oh, yes," Wheeler replied, "two. On the left side, just above the hip, is a small growth of bone, which in lifetime might have been mistaken for a mole; and the bones of the toe next to the big toe on the right foot are completely bent under."

I listened in silent amazement. These were the marks upon the body of Philip Barlow, alias Morgan. Here, then, was the key to the Mystery—here, to a certain extent, was an explanation of the ghost of Louis that Jack saw in Finchley. For if only one body was found in Rye Street, and only one body was buried (of which there was proof positive), it was that of Maxwell's associate and confederate, Morgan, and Louis Fordham must be alive. It was not Louis' ghost that Jack saw, it was Louis himself, and the reason why Philip Barlow had not come forward to claim the legacy left to him by his uncle was satisfactorily explained. I declare, my breath was almost taken away.

But how had this substitution of bodies been effected? Everything seemed to hang upon an answer to this question. It must be answered, and answered soon, and now without delay must I put into execution the idea that crossed my mind when I caught sight of the green curtain on the morning of this very day. If any person could assist me that person was Madame Lourbet.

In as few words as possible I explained to Wheeler the position of affairs and my plan of action, in the carrying out of which his assistance was necessary. He followed me with lively interest, and in a few minutes we were on our way to Soho.