"Do not wait too long, madame. I pass over the intervening years, and come straight to the peril in which you stand—a peril which, if you do not avert it by your own action, your own immediate action, madame, will make a convict of you. You know what that means, do you not? A convict—so many years' imprisonment—hard labor—no more red wine, no more nice French dishes. Somewhat over a year ago a brutal murder was committed in Liverpool, and quite lately your former master, Mr. John Fordham, laboring under a singular hallucination, accuses himself of the murder of his half-brother Louis."
I kept my eyes on her face as I mentioned the name, but not a muscle moved.
"It is his own business," she said, "not mine."
"I shall prove to you that it is yours in an indirect manner. You know of this murder, you know that John Fordham is in prison on the charge of committing it. It is my turn to wait now, madame."
"Say that I know of it. What then?"
"This. You are aware that Louis Fordham was not murdered, you are aware that he is this day alive, and that John Fordham is innocent of the crime of which he accused himself, and for which you would like to see him hanged. You are intimately acquainted with Louis, you know where he lives. Last night, when I was in your shop, a man was concealed behind this green curtain."
"It was not Monsieur Louis," she cried, and then she bit her lip, as though she had said too much.
"No, madame," I said, smiling, "it was not Monsieur Louis. The man was your dead mistress' brother, Maxwell. You see, madame, we have been keeping watch on you. We have even the evidence of the rascal you married under a deplorable misrepresentation. I refer to Monsieur Whybrow."
"Ah!" she exclaimed. "The ingr-rate!"
"He is a scoundrel, madame, but evidence is evidence, and we shall take advantage of his if it be necessary. You can punish him—why do you not? Is it that you fear he might blurt out something about your present intimacy with Monsieur Louis' mother and with Maxwell, who visits you disguised with false beard and whiskers? Is it that you fear that this might lead the police to inquire into the reasons for your association with the villain who murdered Monsieur Morgan?" And now I had the satisfaction of seeing her blanch and of knowing that I had hit the nail on the head. "It would make you in some sense an accomplice in the crime. Do you perceive the danger that hangs over you, madame? Do you perceive that your hatred of John Fordham may be carried too far? Intensely disagreeable as it will be to you to assist in proving his innocence, it is your only chance of safety. Decide for yourself; I use no persuasion."