BETRAYAL OF JOHN FORDHAM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIII, Issue 10121, 2 May 1896, Page 3 (Supplement)

BETRAYAL OF JOHN FORDHAM.

BY B. 1,. FARJKON, Author of "No. 119, Great Porter Square," " Grit,' "The March of Fate," "For tho Defence,"" Aaron the J«w," etc. [All Bights Reserved.) CHAPTER XXVIH. —(Continued.) I drank a second glass of water to clear my throat. "It does not state here," I said, pointing to the newspaper," that the clothing is unmarked."

" No, it does not, but I assume it, for if his handkerchief, or shirt, or any of his underclothing, bore his initials, the fact would bo at once made public to expedite discovery. The reasonable conclusion, therefore, is that there is no initials on his clothing to assist the police. A fortunate thing for you. L. F. It would be all over the country. Some woman with whom he is connected—not his mother—would say to herself,' L. F., Louis Fordham.' For the best of all reasons the man she is interested in does not make his appearance. Away she goes to the police, examines the clothes, examines the body, and declares the name of the murdered man." " Why would not his mother do this?" " Again for tho best of all reasons. She is dead."

" My stepmother dead !" "Abb doornail. You are in luck. Alive, and the body proved to be that of hor eon, she would argue it out. ' Who was my son's bitterest enemy—who has always been his bitterest enemy ? Who but John Fordtmm'!' She would swear to bring the murderer to justice; she would leave no stone unturned ; she would hunt you down, John; she would tell the etory of your life, with embellishments., in the public court, and make your very name infamous. Lucky for you, therefore, that she is dead. As I was saying, it may be difficult to identify unmarked clothing, but not so with a watch. lb is almost a living witness, and found in your possession would send you to the gallows without a tittle of other evidence. What on earth made you run off with it, and what on earth made you leave your own behiud? Your health, John. Talking is dry work. Wouldn't you like to ask me a few questions?" " Tell me what you know, and how you know it. I cannot ask questions."

"Anything to oblige, and in any way you pleaee. I will a round unvarnished tale deliver. These are capital cigars of yours; you were always a good judge of tobacco. Well, then, to begin, with the prefatory remark that one part of it might be called a chapter of accidents. I won't dwell much on the past; it isn't by any means an agreeable subject, and I am quite aware that there was no love lost between us. But one thing I will say—l think we were all unjust to one another, all a little too hard on one another, making the worst of everything instead of endeavouring to smooth it over. You had provocation; Barbara had hers. She got the idea of another woman in her head, and it drove her to excesses. You can't deny that she was mistaken in her' idea; another woman there was, another woman there is—and then there's the child. That sort of thing is enough to drive a wife mad, so you can't call yoursolf blameless for poor Barbara's death, because you see, John, one thing loads to another. By a process of reasoning you might be proved to be the direct cause of your wifo's death, and therefore her murderer. No doubt you can justify yourself to your own satisfaction, and I am not going to argue with you, but as Barbara's brother it is due to her momory that I should say a few words on her behalf. Of course you know, through your solicitor, that when you disappeared I tried to discover your, whereabouts, You were too clever forme, and for some time I was at fault; ab length I found out —never mind how—that you had gone to Australia. Then came the question, had you taken the other woman with you ? I found an answer to it. You had not.' I pause here to say, all the time Maxwell was speaking he was watching my, face, as if for confirmation of certain of his statements. I did not observe it during the interview; > it occurred to me, afterwards when, in a calmer mood, I thought of what had taken place between us. He continued: •' " Of your life in Australia I know little or nothing. It is more than 1 likely you I made a fortune there you were tywya a

lucky devil, with a handful of trumps in your hand that ensured a winning game. Even now—with mo for -a • partner — game is not lost* Now let us see what brought you back to England. ~lt was not, perhaps, because , you were tired 'of Australian life and longed for London pleasures, though that motive is sufficiently strong. But there was Barbara to reckon with. What an encumbrance! Too bad altogether. , (Your way of thinking, John it is your point of view.) By a fortunate fatality—your view again, Johntho encumbrance is removed. Barbara is deed ; the road is cleared for you. The winning game is in your hand. You lose no time ; home yon come—to marry the other woman, Am I right? Silence gives consent." He threw away the stump of his cigarand lib another.

"Now begins tho chapter of accidents. On the 30th of Novembor 1 happened to be in Liverpool; business called me there for iusb one day, and of all days in the year just that day. In the night, my business finished, and not to my satisfaction (all my life I have been robbed right and left, bub that's a detail which will nob arouse your sympathy), 1 walked baok to my hotel in no very agreeable frame of mind. What a night it was I You remember it, Johnyou will remember it all your'life. It was the most awful snowstorm in my recollection—a record. My way to my hotel lay through Rye-street. The wind cub me "in pieces, tho enow blinded me; I give you my word I could not got along. I was literally blown back overy step I took, actually'and literally blown into a house, the streot door of which was open, when I was trying to pass it. I stood in the passage to rocover my breath, and then going to the door saw the madness of endeavouring to reach my hotel through suoli a frightful storm. 1 did the sensible thing. " ' Here is a house,' thought I,' the streeb door of whiqli has been accidentally left or blown open; the inmates will surely accord me shelter for the night; if not) a bed, at least a seat by the fire.' " I was so nipped and -frozen with cold that, after closing the door, it took me some time to get my matchbox from ray pocket and strike a light, for the passage was in intense darkness. TJien the fear came over me that I might be mistaken for a burglar. So I called out at the top of my voice without rocoiving a reply. Thinking it very strange I made my way upstairs to the first floor, and entered a room in which there was no light. I called out again, and till received no roply. I must make tho people hoar, thought I, and 1 loft tho room and ascended the socond flight of stairs. To cut a long story short I wont all over the house, and came to the conclusion that it was uninhabited. But I had observed in the room on the first floor signs of some person having boon there, but whether 1 recently or nob I could not judge without further examination. So I groped back to that room, and by good luck happened to put my hand on a small piece of candle on a sideboard. This 1 lighted, and you will understand how startled I was at what I saw.

"The furniture seemed to have been violently hurled in all directions, a table at the further end of the room was upset, and an object which 1 did not immediately distinguish lay beneath it. My first impulse was to fly from the house; there had evidently been a dosperate fight in the room, and I might be implicated in whab had takon place. Upon second thoughts I became reassured. I could account for every minute of my time during the day and night, up to tho moment I had entered this strange house; and my curiosity led me to ascertain the nature of tho proceeding which had brought about such confusion. That I'one I could prooeod to the police station, and report what I had Been. I will not attempt to describe my horror when I saw the body of a dead man beneath the table, and when, examining the mutilated features, I discovered thab the murdered man was Louis Fordham. Ib makes me siclc to think of it, I musb have another drink."

He tossed off a full glass of brandy and water, and rose and paced the room. I sat in silent agony, waiting for whab was to come.

" Lot me make an end of ib as quickly as possible," he said. " Louis lay there before me stone dead. Who was the murderer ? At whose cowardly hand bad he met his death? The newspaper report says thab his features were unrecognisable, bub though his face, when I saw it, was dreadfully disfigured, I could not mistake it. Than, the fortnight that has elapsed may have made some change in him; then again, there may bo somo exaggeration in the report. Such sensations are always made the worst of; newspaper writers like to pile up tho agony. I searched for soma evidence that would help to bring the guilt home to the murderer. It is curious, John, that thoy generally leave something behind that proves fatal. You did. The first thing I found was the knife with which the deadly stab had been inflicted. There was blood upon it. Now why should the dis- | covery of that knife have directed my ' thoughts in your direction ? A kind of lame explanation can be given, but ib doesn't) quite account for it, Perhaps ib was what we call Providence, perhaps it was because the knife was not one which a man living in England ordinarily carries about with him. It was such a knifo as gold-diggers use, and carry in a sheath. l)o you see the connection? A gold-digger's knife. You had been in Australia, and most likely on the goldfiolds. A steamer from Australia had that very day arrived at Liverpool. That formed a sequence, which I accepted all the more readily because I had no cause to love you. • I am frank, you see; lam always frank. I detest duplicity. "Continuing my search I found a watch. It was like a watoh you used to wear in happier days, but of this I could not ba sure. However, as I have said, the history of a watch can be traced. It was not such a watch as Louis was in the habit of wearing, Still continuing my search, I found a match-box, and on tho lid the initials, J.F. They stand for John Fordham. They stand also for John Fletcher. Did ib strike you when you assumed that name that the initials were the same ? Your having been in Australia, the arrival of an Australian vessel, the gold-digger's knife, the watch, the matchbox with the initials, J.F., formed a complete chain. I said to myself,' My brother-in-law, John, is the murderer.'"

He had spoken all through with zest, and as he went on his enjoyment of the story he was relating seemed to increase. Having bow reached a dramatic point he paused again to givo it greater weight, " What now remained to me to do?" he continued. "To denounce youto pub the rope round your own neck? Un-'l doubtedly that would have been tho right course, and had I acted upon tho impulse of the moment the whole country would be howling at you for a cold-blooded monster, who had since boyhood pursed his vindictive hatred of his brother, and only waited a favourable opportunity to barbarously murder him. For it was a murder of the most savage kind, John; poor Louis' body was frightfully battored and bruised. But second thoughts deterred mo. You were related to me by marriage; disgrace to you meant, in some small measure, disgrace to me; I might, after all, be miatakon in the conclusions I had drawn; it would only bo fair, before proceeding to extremities, to give you a chance of saying a word in your own defence; and, though ib may be hard to believe, I have really a sneaking rogard for you. Upon the top of this camo the reflection that you might invent some sort of story, upon the strength of which you would give yourself up and take the chances of the law. A voluntary surrender would go far in your favour, and you might issue from the trial a free man, or if nob free, with a nominal punishmonb for manslaughter. Ib was perhaps foolish of me to allow these considerations to prevail, bub ib was tho course I adopted. So, bearing away with me the articles which provo your guilt, I stole from the house tinobserved. The next day I was in London. A week paesed by, and no news relating to the murder appeared in the papers, nor was there any. notice of your giving yourself up. This deepened my conviction that you were the murderer. Innocence proclaims itself, guilt hides its head. And every hour that was passed fixed the ropo more firmly round your neck in case of discovery. Then I set myself to the task of finding you, and here you behold me with my round unvarnishod tale . delivered. I think I am entitled to ask a question. Innocent or guilty, John?" " Both," I answered.

v i' Ah. You have heard ' my story, Let me hear yours." > I related ib to him without distortion or exaggeration. As I related the events of that fatal night J was'filled with dismay at ; the weakness or .the only defence I could make. Conscious of my iuriocence, I re-

cognised that my silence and concealment had made the web in whifih I was entangled so strong that there was no human nope of escape.. At the conclusion' of my tale Maxwell shook his head and smiled. "Ib won't do, John. v You will bavo to invent something mora plausible than that. " You don't believe me?" _ '■ ■ •' Ask yourself whether a jury would. The clumsiest lawyer would sweep away such ,a . cobweb. ::I Your story fcue, >< he would say,' why did you nob come forward immediately and relate it ?' You answer, 'I was' afraid it would not be believed. 'Exactly,'he would say, 'it would not be believed.', I see the jury putting their heads together ; I bear the judge pronouncing sentence, 'to bo hanged by the ,neck bill you are dead, and may the Lord have meroy on your soul 1' : No, no, John, it wilj nob hold water. Capital cigars these of yours; wish I oould afford to buy a box ° two. Well, it may be. lam a very worldly man, Join;; I sigh for the fieshpots of Egypt. You would like to know, perhaps, how I found you out. It wasn't easy. 1 may thank your lawyer for the information."

."Did he give you my address?" . " Oh, no. I havo held no communication with him. He hasn't a high opinion of me, I am afraid. Believing that you were in London, and that you had business to transact with him in connection with Barbara's money, which ought to have been settled absolutely upon her, and which, by her will, would hare fallen to me—we were very short-sighted not to have insisted upon the settlement—l kept watch upon him, and followed him, among othor places, to this house. He paid his second visit to you this evening, bub I was nob sure you were here till you made your appearance at the door to purchase a newspaper. The rest you know," "Is it tho first time you have seen me ?" , " The firsb time since yon left Lng< land." • < It was a great relief to hear this, and tq be convinced — I was—that he spoke tho truth. I was afraid he might have followed me, earlier in the day, to JSllen's lodgings. Ho would not spare her; whether he intended bo spare me I had yet to learn. It) was to this end I now spoke. Having traoked me down," I said, " what do you intend to do ?" "It depends upon you, John," he answered. "I am disposed to stand your friend."

"In what way?'' "By keeping silence, It is just on the cardthat the body may nob be identified, in which case tho secret is yours and mine. If I don't appear against you, if I destroy the evidence in ray possession you are safe." I did not atop to consider. My one, my only, thought was how to secure Ellen's peace of mind. The means were at my disposal, the opportunity was offered to mo, and I availed myself of it, It was cowardly; the confession I have made now might as well have been made then, but I did not foresee tho use which Maxwell made of the power he held over me. "He needed money; I gave it to him. He needed more money; I pave it to him; moro, and I still gave it to him. At first 1 submitted to his oxactlons without remonstrance, but as they bocume more oppresivo I offered resistance. Then he threatened, and I became a coward again. The honest course was before me, and 1 stepped aside, At all hazard? I Bhould have taken it, and submitted to tho ordeal. Too late I see my error. Alas, those fatal words—too late ! How often have they wrecked life, and honour, and happiness; how often have they brought misery and shame nob only upon thecowardly doer of wrong, but upon those who trusted and believed in him 1 And yet it was to save Ellen and my son from the misery and shame which ray punishment would have brought to them that I did as I have done, I have no other excuse to offer.

Again and again has Maxwell pointed out that the arguments he used were not fallacious, and in this he was right. Up to the present moment the body of Louis has not been identified. For a few weeks after the discovery of the murder the newspapers continued to give their readers such information as was supplied by the police— —meagre and unsatisfactory enough, and leading to no solution of the mystery— until another tragic sensation thrust it from the public mind. All this time I have' been in hiding, with Maxwoll ever dodging and robbing me ; all this time I have been Bending letters to Ellen, in the care of my solicitor, making false excuses for my' detention in Australia; all this time I have been receiving letters from her, every line in which proved tho faith and trust she had in me, and her confidence that what 1 did was right. The sweetest, the dearest letters ! With eyes overbrimming I have read and re-read them—road them with shame, with terror, with romorse, with the distracting thought eternally in my mind, "If she but knew—if sho but knew 1"

Would it have been bettor for me had Louis' mother been alive? This reflection hag frequently occurred to me. She loved him ana hated me, and this love and hate linked us together in her mind. His disappearance would have brought into play the full power of her malignity and love. She would liavo moved heaven and earth to unravel the mystery, and I do not doubt that she would have dragged me from the frightful havon of unrest in which I have been lurking. Would it have been better for me ? Perhaps. Not much that Maxwell says deserves to be remembered, but certain words ho spoko hare burnt themselves into ray heart. "Innocence proclaims itself; guilt hides its hoad." It is not always true. Proclaiming myself guilty I protest ray innoconce of evil intent.

And now I am ruined, and a beggar, Maxwell's exactions have brought me to this pass; . all that remains is Ellen's pitiful allowance. Maxwell, by 3ome means, has discovered this, and has repeatedly threatened to denounce me if Ido not hand it over to him, If I were weak enough to yield he would devise some new form of torture when that small Bum was squandered. It shall not be, Hope is dead; my life is desolate. Despairing days, sleepless nights live in purgatory. The end has come, my confession is made. Solemnly I declare that every word I have written is true. Dear Ellen, forgive me, comfort mo, console me I [To be continued on Wednesday next.]