I listened in silent amazement. These were the marks upon the body of Philip Barlow, alias Morgan. Here, then, was the key to the Mystery--here, to a certain extent, was an explanation of the ghost of Louis that Jack saw in Finchley. For if only one body was found in Rye Street, and only one body was buried (of which there was proof positive), it was that of Maxwell's associate and confederate, Morgan, and Louis Fordham must be alive. It was not Louis' ghost that Jack saw, it was Louis himself, and the reason why Philip Barlow had not come forward to claim the legacy left to him by his uncle was satisfactorily explained. I declare, my breath was almost taken away. But how had this substitution of bodies been effected? Everything seemed to hang upon an answer to this question. It must be answered, and answered soon, and now without delay must I put into execution the idea that crossed my mind when I caught sight of the green curtain on the morning of this very day. If any person could assist me that person was Madame Lourbet. In as few words as possible I explained to Wheeler the position of affairs and my plan of action, in the carrying out of which his assistance was necessary. He followed me with lively interest, and in a few minutes we were on our way to Soho. I entered the shop alone, Wheeler keeping watch in the street. I stood at the counter while Madame Lourbet served a customer, and then she turned to me. "What do you require, monsieur?" "A little information, madame." "Well, monsieur?" "In private, madame," I said, "unless you wish all the world to know." She gathered from my tone that I had not come as a friend, and she was instantly on her guard. "What is it, monsieur, that I should not wish all the world to know?" "I advise that we speak in private," I replied. "If I r-refuse, monsieur?" "You will take the consequences, and we will converse before your customers." "Ah," she said, playing a devil's tattoo on the counter with her fingers, "if I mistake not, you were one of my customers this morning, monsieur. I had the pleasure of serving you." "I had also the pleasure of serving you this morning, madame." "So!" I assumed the voice of a costermonger, and inquired if she wished to buy any more ferns. She caught her breath, and cried, "It was you!" "It was I, madame. It was also I, madame, who purchased of you last night and gave you a reference." "A reference, monsieur?" "A reference, madame--to Mrs. Fordham, Louis' mother, and stepmother to John Fordham, now in prison for murder." "You are clever, monsieur--very clever." I smiled. "What is your John Fordham to me? And what are you?"