The Betrayal of John Fordham

by B. L. Farjeon

"No, you use threats," she said, and I think, if a look from a woman's eyes could kill, I should not be here now to tell my tale.

"Hardly that. I have been very frank with you; if I have hurt your feelings permit me to offer you my apologies."

"What do you require of me?" she asked.

"The address of Monsieur Maxwell, and of Louis Fordham and his mother," I replied.

"Nothing more?"

"Nothing more."

"And then you and your spies will trouble me no more?"

"No more than is necessary to protect ourselves from treachery."

"I will not be dragged into your witness box," she cried. "I will not—I will not!"

I considered a moment. If success continued to attend me—and I believed that it would—we could dispense with her evidence. To be able to lay hands upon John Fordham's enemies this very night was the all-important move in the game. To-morrow they might be out of our reach, and I should be confronted with difficulties that might be unsurmountable.