"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 I did not immediately distinguish lay beneath it. My first impulse was to fly from the house; there had evidently been a desperate fight in the room, and I might be implicated in what had taken place. Upon second thoughts I became reassured. I could account for every minute of my time during the day and night, up to the moment I had entered this strange house; and my curiosity led me to ascertain the nature of the proceeding which had brought about such confusion. That done I could proceed to the police station and report what I had seen. 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 that the murdered man was Louis Fordham. It makes me sick to think of it. I must 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 what was to come.
"Let me make an end of it as quickly as possible," he said. "Louis lay there before me, stone dead. Who was the murderer? At whose cowardly hand had he met his death? The newspaper report says that his features were unrecognizable, but though his face, when I saw it, was dreadfully disfigured, I could not mistake it. Then, the fortnight that has elapsed may have made some change in him; then again, there may be some exaggeration in the report. Such sensations are always made the worst of; newspaper writers like to pile up the agony. I searched for some evidence that would help to bring the guilt home to the murderer. It is curious, John, that they 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 discovery of that knife have directed my thoughts in your direction? A kind of lame explanation can be given, but it doesn't quite account for it. Perhaps it 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 knife as gold-diggers use, and carry in a sheath. Do you see the connection? A gold-digger's knife. You have been in Australia, and most likely on the goldfields. 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; I am always frank. I detest duplicity.