Louis staggered, and caught at the mantelpiece for support, and Mrs. Fordham rushed to his side. I remembered what John Fordham wrote in his Confession about the love she bore her son, and I now had evidence of it.
"You are not very strong," I said, stating a palpable fact. "Probably you still feel the effects of the wound you received on the night Morgan was murdered."
And now Louis was not to be restrained. "What do you know of it?" he screamed. "What do you know of it?"
"Up to a certain point," I replied, "I know everything. Of the company you kept in Liverpool and elsewhere, of the way you spent your days and nights, of the gambling that was going on, of your accusing Maxwell that he cheated you at cards, of your being stabbed by him"—I stopped here. I had given them an inkling of what I did know, but had no intention of telling them what I did not know; so I branched off on another tack. "You are both aware that John Fordham is in prison for a murder he did not commit. Your presence alone in a criminal court will prove him to be innocent. But we do not need that to set him free; it can be accomplished without your aid. And for the rest—well, it is in your hands. I shall not give you long to decide."
"My son was a victim," said Mrs. Fordham. "He is no murderer."
"You can prove that to a judge and jury instead of to me, if you prefer it. I have a conveyance waiting for you. Be advised. Don't trifle with me."
"You mentioned an alternative, but have not explained it."
"Ah, you are growing sensible. I must have plain answers to plain questions, and a plain statement of facts."
"May I speak privately to my son?"
"I have no objection, but it must be in this room. We shall not let you out of our sight. You can talk in the corner there, and we will remain here by the door. If you speak low we shall not overhear you."