Chapter XII.A Hypodermic NeedleFor a moment the two men stood still, rooted to the ground with horror. Then Mr. Ludgrove stepped forward and fell on his knees by Mr. Copperdock’s side. He put his finger on his wrist for a moment, then slowly rose to his feet and shook his head.“Dead?” said the detective enquiringly. “By jove, this is a bad business. Will you stay here for a moment while I go down into the shop and telephone? I’ll ring up the station and get them to send for Whyland. Don’t touch anything, whatever you do.”Mr. Ludgrove nodded. He stood motionless in the door-way when voices below proclaimed the arrival on the scene of Ted and the doctor. The detective, who had sent his message, came upstairs with them, and the three joined Mr. Ludgrove.The doctor took in the situation at a glance. Mr. Copperdock was lying on his back, his legs drawn up close to his body. The doctor examined him in silence for awhile, then beckoned to the detective.“I don’t understand this at all,” he said. “I shall have to make a more thorough examination than is possible while he is lying in this position. I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done. I don’t want to move him until your Inspector comes. He won’t be long, I suppose?”“He’s living close to the station,” replied the detective. “They’ve sent a man with a motor-cycle and side-car round to fetch him and bring him here. It oughtn’t to take him more than a few minutes. I’d rather you waited, if you don’t mind.”The doctor nodded and continued his examination, while the other three stood where they were, looking keenly about them. It was obvious that when death overtook Mr. Copperdock he had been preparing for bed. His coat, waistcoat, shirt and vest lay on a chair, and the basin on the washing stand was half full of soapy water. A towel lay on the floor near it.The minutes seemed to pass with leaden slowness until a faint throbbing reached their ears, which rapidly grew in intensity until it resolved itself into the sound of a motor-cycle. The noise ceased suddenly as it reached the door, and in a few seconds Inspector Whyland appeared, half dressed, with a stern expression on his face.“How did this happen, Waters?” he enquired sharply, turning to the detective.“I don’t know, sir,” replied the latter. “I’ve been watching the house all the evening——”“Well, never mind, you can tell me about that later,” interrupted Whyland. “Good evening, doctor. Can you tell me what this man died of?”“No, I can’t” replied the doctor. “It looks as if he had been bitten by a snake, or something of that kind. I was waiting till you came to make a thorough examination.”“Right. Stand fast a minute while I look round.” He made a swift survey of the room, then, taking a piece of chalk from his pocket, marked on the carpet the position in which the body was lying.“Now then, doctor, I’m ready,” he said. “What do you want to do?”“I want him laid on his side, if you’ll bear a hand,” replied the doctor. “That’s right. Hullo, look at that!”They had moved Mr. Copperdock’s body until his back was visible. There, just below the left shoulder-blade, was an almost circular patch, covered with a curious white powdery incrustation. In the centre of this patch was an angry looking purple spot.The doctor bent over this and uttered an exclamation of amazement. Opening the case which he had laid down by his side he took from it a pair of forceps, and applied them to the spot on Mr. Copperdock’s back. From this he withdrew something, which he carried over to the light, and beckoned to Whyland to inspect.“See that?” he said. “That’s the end of a fine hypodermic needle. I’m beginning to see what happened, now. He was injected with some powerful toxic agent by means of a hypodermic syringe, the needle of which broke off in the process. The nature of the poison we shall be able to determine by an examination of this fragment. But I don’t understand that white incrustation. Let me have another look at it.”He selected a small phial from his case, put the fragment of the needle into it, and labelled it. Then he turned once more to Mr. Copperdock’s body, and examined the patch once more with a lens. Finally he removed some of the white powder and put it in another phial, which he also sealed and labelled.Then he beckoned Whyland aside, and the two conversed for a moment in low whispers.“This is really most extraordinary,” said the doctor. “This man undoubtedly died from an injection of poison administered hypodermically. You remember the case of Colburn, the baker, last year?”“Yes, I remember it well,” replied Whyland. “What about it, doctor?”“Well, of course, I can’t say definitely as yet,” replied the doctor guardedly. “But it seems to me that the symptoms in the two cases are remarkably similar. I would go so far as to hazard the opinion that the same poison was employed in both cases. Now, in the present case, you, I take it, are chiefly interested in the agency by which the poison was administered. Well, it is possible that in this case it was self-administered. One can just manage to run a hypodermic needle into oneself below the left shoulder-blade. Here’s a syringe. There’s no needle in it. Hold it in your left hand. That’s right. Now, see if you can press the nozzle against your back in the place corresponding to the spot on Mr. Copperdock’s body.”Whyland obeyed, and after some fumbling contrived to reach the exact spot. “Yes, it can be done, but it’s precious awkward,” he remarked, handing the syringe back.“Exactly,” agreed the doctor. “That may account for the needle having broken off. Mind, I’m only suggesting a possibility, not laying down a theory. That’s your job. Now we come to the white incrustation round the puncture. Unless I’m greatly mistaken, it is potassium carbonate. Should it prove to be so, the fact would be of considerable significance.”“Why?” enquired Whyland. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you, doctor.”“Potassium carbonate has no particular properties of its own,” replied the doctor. “But, if a piece of caustic potash had been applied to the puncture, say an hour or two ago, it would by now have been converted into potassium carbonate. You see what this suggests. Caustic substances are employed to burn out poisoned surfaces. In this case, caustic potash may have been employed in an attempt to counteract the poison. Of course, it would be ineffectual, as it had been injected far too deeply. But that it has been so applied I am pretty certain. You can see for yourself that the skin shows traces of burning under the incrustation. Whether the same hand that injected the poison applied this ineffectual antidote, I cannot say.”Whyland nodded, and then a sudden thought struck him. “But look here, if he injected the poison himself, the syringe ought to be lying about somewhere!” he exclaimed. “How long would it take for the poison to act, doctor?”The doctor shook his head. “I can’t say, since I do not yet know its nature,” he replied. “If it was the same as was employed in Colburn’s case, we can make a rough guess, however. A very small quantity, applied to a scratch in his tongue, caused death in two hours and a half. We may assume that very much larger quantity would be contained in a syringe, and it was driven well into the tissues. Death might well have occurred within a few minutes. But in any case, there would have been time to dispose of the syringe.”The doctor turned and pointed to the window. “That’s open at the top, as you see, and the curtains do not meet by a couple of feet or more. He could have thrown it out there without the slightest difficulty.”Whyland turned to the three men, who had been standing by the door. “Slip down below, Waters, and search the pavement and roadway outside this window for a hypodermic syringe,” he said. “Sharp, now! Mr. Ludgrove, come to this window for a moment; you know this street better than I do. That’s your place opposite, isn’t it? What’s behind that window over the shop?”“A room I use for storing herbs in,” replied Mr. Ludgrove. “As it happens, I have been in there once or twice this evening.”“You didn’t see anything of what was happening in here, I suppose?” asked Whyland quickly.“No, I did not,” replied Mr. Ludgrove. “I was only in the room for a moment or two, selecting bundles of herbs to take downstairs. I did happen to notice about eleven o’clock that there was a light in here, but that was all.”“What about the windows to the right and left of your place?”“I believe that they belong to offices occupied only in the day-time. I do not think it at all likely that anyone could have overlooked this room from them at night.”“No,” agreed Whyland. “We’re not likely to be lucky to find an actual witness. All right, Mr. Ludgrove, thank you. Now, young man, do you know if your father possessed a hypodermic syringe?”Ted Copperdock, thus addressed, shook his head. “I don’t think so, Inspector,” he replied. “But I shouldn’t know one if I saw it. There’s a cupboard over there by the washing stand where he kept a lot of bottles of stuff.”Whyland strode over to the cupboard and opened it. It contained about a dozen bottles of various sizes, each half full of some patent medicine or other. But of a hypodermic syringe, or even any caustic potash, there was no trace.“If he did it himself he must have thrown the syringe away,” muttered Whyland. “Waters ought to find it; there isn’t a lot of traffic along here at this time of night. Well, doctor, I don’t think we need keep you out of bed any longer. I’ll have the body taken to the mortuary, and perhaps you’ll ring me up at the station later in the morning?”The doctor nodded, picked up his bag, which contained the broken needle and the sample of the incrustation, and left the house. When he had gone, Whyland turned once again to Ted.“Can you suggest any reason why your father should wish to take his life?” he enquired.“No, Inspector, I can’t,” replied Ted frankly. “The business is doing very well, and father was only saying the other day that we’d got a tidy bit put away in the bank. I keep the books myself, and I know everything’s all right.”“I see. No money troubles, in fact. You don’t know of any disappointment which he may have experienced, or anything like that?”A faint smile passed across Ted’s face. “I don’t think he had any disappointment, Inspector,” he replied. “In fact, I should say it was rather the other way.”“What do you mean?” said Whyland sharply.“Why, he always reckoned that nobody knew, but I fancy that we all guessed sharp enough. He’s hinted to me once or twice lately that he wasn’t too old to marry again. And——well, from what her daughter lets drop, Mrs. Tovey wouldn’t mind. He went round there pretty often, and she always seemed glad to see him.”Whyland shot a quick glance at Mr. Ludgrove. It was from him that he had first learnt of this attachment. Ludgrove nodded almost imperceptibly, and Whyland turned once more to Ted.“There was nothing preying on his mind, was there?” he asked.“Well, I’ve thought sometimes that he fair had the wind up about this black sailor,” replied Ted reluctantly. “I never knew what to make of that. He told me one day that he’d met him coming out of the Cambridge Arms, but I never could quite believe it somehow.”“As it happens, I share your scepticism,” said Whyland. “Mr. Ludgrove here was in the street at the time, and saw your father come out of the Cambridge Arms. There was nobody but himself and your father in sight, he assures me.”“That is so,” assented Mr. Ludgrove gravely.“Well, I’m not surprised,” said Ted. “It’s a funny thing, but these things always happen when he’d been to the Cambridge Arms of an evening. It was when he came home from there that he found that counter the other day?”“Have you ever seen your father definitely under the influence of liquor?” asked Whyland.“Why no, not to say actually squiffy. He’d talk freer than usual, and imagine all sorts of yarns about things that never happened. I think he got the black sailor on his brain sometimes. When he first got the counter he made up his mind that the black sailor was going to get him. But the last day or two he’s been much more cheerful. Of course, it’s possible that this evening, when he was alone, it got on his mind again.”The conversation was interrupted by the return of Waters, the detective. “I’ve searched as best I can for that syringe, sir, and I can’t find it,” he reported. “I’ll have another good look as soon as it gets light, if you like, sir.”“Yes, do,” replied Whyland. “Now, you were supposed to be watching this place all the evening. What time did Mr. Copperdock come in?”“Between nine and ten, sir. Two fellows came with him, and the three stood talking at the door for a minute or two. Then they all went in, and the door was shut behind them. It was close on eleven when it opened again, and the two men came out. Mr. Copperdock came downstairs with them, I saw him just inside the door talking to them. Then they went away, and the door was shut again. A few minutes after they had gone I saw a light come on in this room.”“You can’t see into the room from the opposite pavement, I suppose?”“Only a bit of ceiling, sir. I noticed the window was open at the top, and the curtains not properly drawn, like you see them now, sir. They’ve never been properly drawn since I’ve been watching the house. The next thing that happened was that Mr. Copperdock’s son came along at about a quarter past twelve, and let himself in with a key.”Inspector Whyland turned to Ted. “What time did you go out?” he asked.“About eight o’clock. Dad was just getting ready to go round to the Cambridge Arms.”“Where were you between eight and a quarter past twelve?”“With Miss Tovey,” replied Ted, readily enough, but with an awkward blush. “We went to a dance, then we had some supper. After that I saw her home, and stayed there a few minutes. I walked home from Lisson Grove, found Dad like this, and ran straight across to fetch Mr. Ludgrove.”“Nobody but you and your father had a key to the premises, I suppose?”“No. One of us always came down to let the charwoman in in the morning.”“You are perfectly certain, Waters, that nobody came to the house between eleven and a quarter past twelve?” enquired Whyland.“Certain, sir. I was in the street outside all the time, and never took my eyes off the place.”“Very well. You stay here with the body. I’ll arrange for it to be taken to the mortuary as soon as I can. As for you, young man, you had better go to bed and try to get some sleep. We shall want you in the morning. Mr. Ludgrove, if you’ve nothing better to do, I should like you to come round the house with me. I want to make certain that nobody can have broken in.”Mr. Ludgrove nodded, and the two left the room together. Whyland examined the sitting-room window. It was shut and fastened, and bore no traces of violence. Then they went downstairs and looked over the ground floor, without discovering anything in any way out of the ordinary.When they reached the office behind the shop, Whyland closed the door and sank wearily into a chair. “Well, Mr. Ludgrove, what do you make of it?” he said.“I couldn’t help overhearing snatches of your conversation with the doctor,” replied the herbalist. “I confess that I cannot understand why, if Mr. Copperdock wished to poison himself with a hypodermic injection, he should select his back for the purpose, unless he had some confused idea of a lumbar puncture. Yet, on the other hand, he is not likely to have let someone else drive a needle into him without a struggle, and of that there is no trace, so far as I could see.”“And how did that person get in?” put in Whyland quickly. “That is, if both Waters and young Ted are telling the truth. Waters is a good man, and I haven’t the least reason to suspect him. But it’s just possible that he was dozing somewhere between eleven and twelve, and that Ted came home before he said he did. His father wouldn’t be surprised to see him, and he might have walked up behind him and jabbed the needle in. Then, when his father found out what he’d done, he got a bit of caustic potash from somewhere and clapped it on. I know there are lots of difficulties, but at least it’s possible. At all events, I can’t think of another alternative to the suicide theory.”“The case is extraordinarily puzzling,” said Mr. Ludgrove sympathetically. “If you feel disposed to discuss it, Inspector, I suggest that you do so in comfort over at my place. I can make you a cup of cocoa, or, if you prefer it, I can supply you with something stronger. I always kept a bottle of whiskey in reserve for poor Mr. Copperdock.”“Well, it’s very good of you, Mr. Ludgrove,” replied Whyland gratefully. “What’s the time? After two? I want to stay about here until it’s light. I’ll just tell Waters where I’m to be found in case he wants me. Then I shall be very glad to accept your kind hospitality.”He left the room and returned after an absence of a couple of minutes. “I can’t make it out,” he said. “Waters swears he never had his eyes off the place. Still, it won’t do any harm to make enquiries into young Ted’s movements and verify his statement. It beats me, but then everything Copperdock did was a puzzle. His name seemed to crop up in connection with each of these deaths, somehow. Then there was that yarn about the black sailor, the counter which he said he found on his bed, and now his amazing death. Well, I’m ready to go across if you are, Mr. Ludgrove.”The two passed through the shop into the road. As they crossed it, Mr. Ludgrove uttered an exclamation of surprise. “Why, the door of my shop is open!” he said. “I must have forgotten to shut it in my haste when Ted Copperdock came over for me.”“Let’s hope no inquisitive visitor has been in to have a look round while we’ve been over the way,” replied Whyland.Mr. Ludgrove smiled. “He will have found very little of value to reward him if he has,” he said. “No, I’m not afraid of burglars. In any case, it’s a very old-fashioned lock which anyone could force without any difficulty.”They had reached the door by now, and Mr. Ludgrove pushed it open. “Come along, Inspector, we’ll go into the back room,” he said, leading the way.At the door of the inner room he paused, and switched on the light. At a first glance, the room appeared to be exactly as he had left it to answer Ted’s urgent summons. Then suddenly he clutched Whyland’s arm, and pointed straight in front of him with a shaking finger.On the mantelpiece, propped conspicuously against the clock so that it could not fail to attract attention, was a white bone counter, upon which the figure VII had been carefully traced.
For a moment the two men stood still, rooted to the ground with horror. Then Mr. Ludgrove stepped forward and fell on his knees by Mr. Copperdock’s side. He put his finger on his wrist for a moment, then slowly rose to his feet and shook his head.
“Dead?” said the detective enquiringly. “By jove, this is a bad business. Will you stay here for a moment while I go down into the shop and telephone? I’ll ring up the station and get them to send for Whyland. Don’t touch anything, whatever you do.”
Mr. Ludgrove nodded. He stood motionless in the door-way when voices below proclaimed the arrival on the scene of Ted and the doctor. The detective, who had sent his message, came upstairs with them, and the three joined Mr. Ludgrove.
The doctor took in the situation at a glance. Mr. Copperdock was lying on his back, his legs drawn up close to his body. The doctor examined him in silence for awhile, then beckoned to the detective.
“I don’t understand this at all,” he said. “I shall have to make a more thorough examination than is possible while he is lying in this position. I’m afraid there’s nothing to be done. I don’t want to move him until your Inspector comes. He won’t be long, I suppose?”
“He’s living close to the station,” replied the detective. “They’ve sent a man with a motor-cycle and side-car round to fetch him and bring him here. It oughtn’t to take him more than a few minutes. I’d rather you waited, if you don’t mind.”
The doctor nodded and continued his examination, while the other three stood where they were, looking keenly about them. It was obvious that when death overtook Mr. Copperdock he had been preparing for bed. His coat, waistcoat, shirt and vest lay on a chair, and the basin on the washing stand was half full of soapy water. A towel lay on the floor near it.
The minutes seemed to pass with leaden slowness until a faint throbbing reached their ears, which rapidly grew in intensity until it resolved itself into the sound of a motor-cycle. The noise ceased suddenly as it reached the door, and in a few seconds Inspector Whyland appeared, half dressed, with a stern expression on his face.
“How did this happen, Waters?” he enquired sharply, turning to the detective.
“I don’t know, sir,” replied the latter. “I’ve been watching the house all the evening——”
“Well, never mind, you can tell me about that later,” interrupted Whyland. “Good evening, doctor. Can you tell me what this man died of?”
“No, I can’t” replied the doctor. “It looks as if he had been bitten by a snake, or something of that kind. I was waiting till you came to make a thorough examination.”
“Right. Stand fast a minute while I look round.” He made a swift survey of the room, then, taking a piece of chalk from his pocket, marked on the carpet the position in which the body was lying.
“Now then, doctor, I’m ready,” he said. “What do you want to do?”
“I want him laid on his side, if you’ll bear a hand,” replied the doctor. “That’s right. Hullo, look at that!”
They had moved Mr. Copperdock’s body until his back was visible. There, just below the left shoulder-blade, was an almost circular patch, covered with a curious white powdery incrustation. In the centre of this patch was an angry looking purple spot.
The doctor bent over this and uttered an exclamation of amazement. Opening the case which he had laid down by his side he took from it a pair of forceps, and applied them to the spot on Mr. Copperdock’s back. From this he withdrew something, which he carried over to the light, and beckoned to Whyland to inspect.
“See that?” he said. “That’s the end of a fine hypodermic needle. I’m beginning to see what happened, now. He was injected with some powerful toxic agent by means of a hypodermic syringe, the needle of which broke off in the process. The nature of the poison we shall be able to determine by an examination of this fragment. But I don’t understand that white incrustation. Let me have another look at it.”
He selected a small phial from his case, put the fragment of the needle into it, and labelled it. Then he turned once more to Mr. Copperdock’s body, and examined the patch once more with a lens. Finally he removed some of the white powder and put it in another phial, which he also sealed and labelled.
Then he beckoned Whyland aside, and the two conversed for a moment in low whispers.
“This is really most extraordinary,” said the doctor. “This man undoubtedly died from an injection of poison administered hypodermically. You remember the case of Colburn, the baker, last year?”
“Yes, I remember it well,” replied Whyland. “What about it, doctor?”
“Well, of course, I can’t say definitely as yet,” replied the doctor guardedly. “But it seems to me that the symptoms in the two cases are remarkably similar. I would go so far as to hazard the opinion that the same poison was employed in both cases. Now, in the present case, you, I take it, are chiefly interested in the agency by which the poison was administered. Well, it is possible that in this case it was self-administered. One can just manage to run a hypodermic needle into oneself below the left shoulder-blade. Here’s a syringe. There’s no needle in it. Hold it in your left hand. That’s right. Now, see if you can press the nozzle against your back in the place corresponding to the spot on Mr. Copperdock’s body.”
Whyland obeyed, and after some fumbling contrived to reach the exact spot. “Yes, it can be done, but it’s precious awkward,” he remarked, handing the syringe back.
“Exactly,” agreed the doctor. “That may account for the needle having broken off. Mind, I’m only suggesting a possibility, not laying down a theory. That’s your job. Now we come to the white incrustation round the puncture. Unless I’m greatly mistaken, it is potassium carbonate. Should it prove to be so, the fact would be of considerable significance.”
“Why?” enquired Whyland. “I’m afraid I don’t quite follow you, doctor.”
“Potassium carbonate has no particular properties of its own,” replied the doctor. “But, if a piece of caustic potash had been applied to the puncture, say an hour or two ago, it would by now have been converted into potassium carbonate. You see what this suggests. Caustic substances are employed to burn out poisoned surfaces. In this case, caustic potash may have been employed in an attempt to counteract the poison. Of course, it would be ineffectual, as it had been injected far too deeply. But that it has been so applied I am pretty certain. You can see for yourself that the skin shows traces of burning under the incrustation. Whether the same hand that injected the poison applied this ineffectual antidote, I cannot say.”
Whyland nodded, and then a sudden thought struck him. “But look here, if he injected the poison himself, the syringe ought to be lying about somewhere!” he exclaimed. “How long would it take for the poison to act, doctor?”
The doctor shook his head. “I can’t say, since I do not yet know its nature,” he replied. “If it was the same as was employed in Colburn’s case, we can make a rough guess, however. A very small quantity, applied to a scratch in his tongue, caused death in two hours and a half. We may assume that very much larger quantity would be contained in a syringe, and it was driven well into the tissues. Death might well have occurred within a few minutes. But in any case, there would have been time to dispose of the syringe.”
The doctor turned and pointed to the window. “That’s open at the top, as you see, and the curtains do not meet by a couple of feet or more. He could have thrown it out there without the slightest difficulty.”
Whyland turned to the three men, who had been standing by the door. “Slip down below, Waters, and search the pavement and roadway outside this window for a hypodermic syringe,” he said. “Sharp, now! Mr. Ludgrove, come to this window for a moment; you know this street better than I do. That’s your place opposite, isn’t it? What’s behind that window over the shop?”
“A room I use for storing herbs in,” replied Mr. Ludgrove. “As it happens, I have been in there once or twice this evening.”
“You didn’t see anything of what was happening in here, I suppose?” asked Whyland quickly.
“No, I did not,” replied Mr. Ludgrove. “I was only in the room for a moment or two, selecting bundles of herbs to take downstairs. I did happen to notice about eleven o’clock that there was a light in here, but that was all.”
“What about the windows to the right and left of your place?”
“I believe that they belong to offices occupied only in the day-time. I do not think it at all likely that anyone could have overlooked this room from them at night.”
“No,” agreed Whyland. “We’re not likely to be lucky to find an actual witness. All right, Mr. Ludgrove, thank you. Now, young man, do you know if your father possessed a hypodermic syringe?”
Ted Copperdock, thus addressed, shook his head. “I don’t think so, Inspector,” he replied. “But I shouldn’t know one if I saw it. There’s a cupboard over there by the washing stand where he kept a lot of bottles of stuff.”
Whyland strode over to the cupboard and opened it. It contained about a dozen bottles of various sizes, each half full of some patent medicine or other. But of a hypodermic syringe, or even any caustic potash, there was no trace.
“If he did it himself he must have thrown the syringe away,” muttered Whyland. “Waters ought to find it; there isn’t a lot of traffic along here at this time of night. Well, doctor, I don’t think we need keep you out of bed any longer. I’ll have the body taken to the mortuary, and perhaps you’ll ring me up at the station later in the morning?”
The doctor nodded, picked up his bag, which contained the broken needle and the sample of the incrustation, and left the house. When he had gone, Whyland turned once again to Ted.
“Can you suggest any reason why your father should wish to take his life?” he enquired.
“No, Inspector, I can’t,” replied Ted frankly. “The business is doing very well, and father was only saying the other day that we’d got a tidy bit put away in the bank. I keep the books myself, and I know everything’s all right.”
“I see. No money troubles, in fact. You don’t know of any disappointment which he may have experienced, or anything like that?”
A faint smile passed across Ted’s face. “I don’t think he had any disappointment, Inspector,” he replied. “In fact, I should say it was rather the other way.”
“What do you mean?” said Whyland sharply.
“Why, he always reckoned that nobody knew, but I fancy that we all guessed sharp enough. He’s hinted to me once or twice lately that he wasn’t too old to marry again. And——well, from what her daughter lets drop, Mrs. Tovey wouldn’t mind. He went round there pretty often, and she always seemed glad to see him.”
Whyland shot a quick glance at Mr. Ludgrove. It was from him that he had first learnt of this attachment. Ludgrove nodded almost imperceptibly, and Whyland turned once more to Ted.
“There was nothing preying on his mind, was there?” he asked.
“Well, I’ve thought sometimes that he fair had the wind up about this black sailor,” replied Ted reluctantly. “I never knew what to make of that. He told me one day that he’d met him coming out of the Cambridge Arms, but I never could quite believe it somehow.”
“As it happens, I share your scepticism,” said Whyland. “Mr. Ludgrove here was in the street at the time, and saw your father come out of the Cambridge Arms. There was nobody but himself and your father in sight, he assures me.”
“That is so,” assented Mr. Ludgrove gravely.
“Well, I’m not surprised,” said Ted. “It’s a funny thing, but these things always happen when he’d been to the Cambridge Arms of an evening. It was when he came home from there that he found that counter the other day?”
“Have you ever seen your father definitely under the influence of liquor?” asked Whyland.
“Why no, not to say actually squiffy. He’d talk freer than usual, and imagine all sorts of yarns about things that never happened. I think he got the black sailor on his brain sometimes. When he first got the counter he made up his mind that the black sailor was going to get him. But the last day or two he’s been much more cheerful. Of course, it’s possible that this evening, when he was alone, it got on his mind again.”
The conversation was interrupted by the return of Waters, the detective. “I’ve searched as best I can for that syringe, sir, and I can’t find it,” he reported. “I’ll have another good look as soon as it gets light, if you like, sir.”
“Yes, do,” replied Whyland. “Now, you were supposed to be watching this place all the evening. What time did Mr. Copperdock come in?”
“Between nine and ten, sir. Two fellows came with him, and the three stood talking at the door for a minute or two. Then they all went in, and the door was shut behind them. It was close on eleven when it opened again, and the two men came out. Mr. Copperdock came downstairs with them, I saw him just inside the door talking to them. Then they went away, and the door was shut again. A few minutes after they had gone I saw a light come on in this room.”
“You can’t see into the room from the opposite pavement, I suppose?”
“Only a bit of ceiling, sir. I noticed the window was open at the top, and the curtains not properly drawn, like you see them now, sir. They’ve never been properly drawn since I’ve been watching the house. The next thing that happened was that Mr. Copperdock’s son came along at about a quarter past twelve, and let himself in with a key.”
Inspector Whyland turned to Ted. “What time did you go out?” he asked.
“About eight o’clock. Dad was just getting ready to go round to the Cambridge Arms.”
“Where were you between eight and a quarter past twelve?”
“With Miss Tovey,” replied Ted, readily enough, but with an awkward blush. “We went to a dance, then we had some supper. After that I saw her home, and stayed there a few minutes. I walked home from Lisson Grove, found Dad like this, and ran straight across to fetch Mr. Ludgrove.”
“Nobody but you and your father had a key to the premises, I suppose?”
“No. One of us always came down to let the charwoman in in the morning.”
“You are perfectly certain, Waters, that nobody came to the house between eleven and a quarter past twelve?” enquired Whyland.
“Certain, sir. I was in the street outside all the time, and never took my eyes off the place.”
“Very well. You stay here with the body. I’ll arrange for it to be taken to the mortuary as soon as I can. As for you, young man, you had better go to bed and try to get some sleep. We shall want you in the morning. Mr. Ludgrove, if you’ve nothing better to do, I should like you to come round the house with me. I want to make certain that nobody can have broken in.”
Mr. Ludgrove nodded, and the two left the room together. Whyland examined the sitting-room window. It was shut and fastened, and bore no traces of violence. Then they went downstairs and looked over the ground floor, without discovering anything in any way out of the ordinary.
When they reached the office behind the shop, Whyland closed the door and sank wearily into a chair. “Well, Mr. Ludgrove, what do you make of it?” he said.
“I couldn’t help overhearing snatches of your conversation with the doctor,” replied the herbalist. “I confess that I cannot understand why, if Mr. Copperdock wished to poison himself with a hypodermic injection, he should select his back for the purpose, unless he had some confused idea of a lumbar puncture. Yet, on the other hand, he is not likely to have let someone else drive a needle into him without a struggle, and of that there is no trace, so far as I could see.”
“And how did that person get in?” put in Whyland quickly. “That is, if both Waters and young Ted are telling the truth. Waters is a good man, and I haven’t the least reason to suspect him. But it’s just possible that he was dozing somewhere between eleven and twelve, and that Ted came home before he said he did. His father wouldn’t be surprised to see him, and he might have walked up behind him and jabbed the needle in. Then, when his father found out what he’d done, he got a bit of caustic potash from somewhere and clapped it on. I know there are lots of difficulties, but at least it’s possible. At all events, I can’t think of another alternative to the suicide theory.”
“The case is extraordinarily puzzling,” said Mr. Ludgrove sympathetically. “If you feel disposed to discuss it, Inspector, I suggest that you do so in comfort over at my place. I can make you a cup of cocoa, or, if you prefer it, I can supply you with something stronger. I always kept a bottle of whiskey in reserve for poor Mr. Copperdock.”
“Well, it’s very good of you, Mr. Ludgrove,” replied Whyland gratefully. “What’s the time? After two? I want to stay about here until it’s light. I’ll just tell Waters where I’m to be found in case he wants me. Then I shall be very glad to accept your kind hospitality.”
He left the room and returned after an absence of a couple of minutes. “I can’t make it out,” he said. “Waters swears he never had his eyes off the place. Still, it won’t do any harm to make enquiries into young Ted’s movements and verify his statement. It beats me, but then everything Copperdock did was a puzzle. His name seemed to crop up in connection with each of these deaths, somehow. Then there was that yarn about the black sailor, the counter which he said he found on his bed, and now his amazing death. Well, I’m ready to go across if you are, Mr. Ludgrove.”
The two passed through the shop into the road. As they crossed it, Mr. Ludgrove uttered an exclamation of surprise. “Why, the door of my shop is open!” he said. “I must have forgotten to shut it in my haste when Ted Copperdock came over for me.”
“Let’s hope no inquisitive visitor has been in to have a look round while we’ve been over the way,” replied Whyland.
Mr. Ludgrove smiled. “He will have found very little of value to reward him if he has,” he said. “No, I’m not afraid of burglars. In any case, it’s a very old-fashioned lock which anyone could force without any difficulty.”
They had reached the door by now, and Mr. Ludgrove pushed it open. “Come along, Inspector, we’ll go into the back room,” he said, leading the way.
At the door of the inner room he paused, and switched on the light. At a first glance, the room appeared to be exactly as he had left it to answer Ted’s urgent summons. Then suddenly he clutched Whyland’s arm, and pointed straight in front of him with a shaking finger.
On the mantelpiece, propped conspicuously against the clock so that it could not fail to attract attention, was a white bone counter, upon which the figure VII had been carefully traced.
Part II.The Criminal