Chapter XIV.The Morlandson TrialThe Professor came down to breakfast next morning looking even more weary than on the previous day. Harold, looking at him anxiously, guessed that he had hardly slept at all during the night. Some absorbing train of thought, whether started by Hanslet’s story of the previous evening or not, had taken possession of his brain. But, in spite of his weariness, there was a queer gleam in the piercing eyes behind the powerful spectacles, which Harold knew from past experience to be the light of battle.“I have some work for you to-day, my boy,” he said, as soon as the meal was over. “I want you to go to the British Museum and look up the reports of the trials for murder at the Old Bailey during the first ten years of the present century. Among them you will find the trial of a doctor for the murder of one of his patients by giving him an overdose of morphia. I believe that the doctor’s name began with an M, and I fancy that his patient had a title. More than this I cannot tell you, my memory, I regret to say, is not what it used to be. I want you to make a précis of that trial and of the sentence.”“Very good, sir,” replied Harold, and forthwith started on his quest. He could not guess the purpose for which the Professor required this information, but it could obviously have nothing to do with these intriguing murders in Praed Street which Hanslet had described. Unless, perhaps, the Professor had seen some parallel between the methods of the unknown criminal and those of this vague doctor whose name began with an M. You never could predict the direction from which the Professor would approach a problem. All that you could be certain of was that it would be different from the one you anticipated.Arrived at the Museum, where he was a frequent visitor on similar errands, he went carefully through the index to the Law Reports. It was not until he came to the year 1906, that he met with anything which corresponded to the data which the Professor had given him. Then he found a reference to the trial of one Doctor Morlandson for the murder of Lord Whatley. This must be the case to which his employer had referred. He turned up the records, and proceeded to make a careful abstract.It appeared that Lord Whatley had been a man of middle age, and of some considerable wealth. Dr. Morlandson was his regular medical attendant, and in 1905 he had been compelled to warn his patient that he was suffering from cancer, and that though an operation might be successful, there was grave doubt that it would permanently remove the source of the trouble. However, Lord Whatley consented to undergo the operation. He was removed to a nursing home, and a specialist was called in. The patient went through the ordeal satisfactorily, and after a while he returned home.But, by the beginning of the following year, the symptoms reasserted themselves, and Dr. Morlandson informed his patient, who insisted that he should be told the truth, that nothing more could be done, and that Lord Whatley had nothing to look forward to but perhaps a year or two of suffering. The relations between the two men were rather those of close friendship than of doctor and patient, and, subsequent to Dr. Morlandson’s pronouncement, they saw a great deal of one another. Morlandson devoted as much time as he could spare from his practice to sitting with Lord Whatley, who was a childless widower and did not encourage the visits of his friends and relations.By the end of February it appeared that the disease was progressing even more rapidly than Dr. Morlandson had anticipated. He administered frequent injections of morphia, and his patient was rarely conscious. Morlandson continued to spend the greater part of his time with him, and in Lord Whatley’s brief intervals of consciousness his doctor, and the nurses who had been called in, were the only people he spoke to.He died early in March, in the presence of Dr. Morlandson and one of the nurses, without regaining consciousness. A cousin of Lord Whatley’s, who happened to be his nearest relative, was in the house, and Morlandson informed him that he would return home and bring the necessary certificate with him later in the day. Morlandson, who lived about a mile away, started to walk home. When he had almost reached his own house, he heard a sound of confused shouting, and saw a runaway horse attached to a milk-cart, coming towards him. Without a moment’s hesitation he rushed for the horse’s head, and had almost succeeded in stopping him, when he slipped and fell. One of the horse’s hoofs struck him on the head and he was left unconscious on the road.The spectators of the accident picked him up, and he was carried into his own house. A colleague was summoned, and declared that he was suffering from severe concussion. This diagnosis proved correct, and Morlandson lay in a state of semi-consciousness for nearly a week. On his recovery, he found the house in possession of the police.Lord Whatley’s cousin, hearing of the accident to Dr. Morlandson, and learning that he could not possibly attend to his duties for some time to come, was at a loss for the want of a death certificate. He therefore sent for another doctor—not the man who was attending Morlandson—and asked him to sign the certificate. This the doctor would have done, had not one of the nurses, whom Morlandson had reprimanded for some breach of duty, made some vague insinuation that everything was not as it should be. The doctor insisted upon examining the body, and as a result of this examination he communicated with the authorities. A post-mortem was held, and Lord Whatley was proved to have died of an overdose of morphia. The experts gave it as their opinion that the deceased would not have died of the disease from which he was suffering for another year at least. A warrant was immediately issued for Dr. Morlandson’s arrest.When Lord Whatley’s will came to be read, it was found that he had left the sum of ten thousand pounds to Morlandson, conditional upon his being his medical attendant at the time of his death. This bequest was contained in a codicil executed early in February.Morlandson came up for trial at the Old Bailey in July. The prosecution alleged that the codicil disclosed the motive for the murder, and submitted that Morlandson, fearing lest Lord Whatley should change his doctor before he died, had made certain of securing the legacy by poisoning him. They pointed out that, but for Morlandson’s accident, he would have been able to certify cancer as the cause of Lord Whatley’s death, and no suspicion would have been aroused.Dr. Morlandson’s counsel put in a very striking defence. In effect, he pleaded guilty to the act of poisoning, but affirmed that this was done at Lord Whatley’s express command. He had already suffered considerably and undergone an ineffectual operation, and refused to contemplate the further agony to which he was condemned. As soon as Morlandson had informed him that his case was hopeless, he had begged him to put a end to his sufferings at once, pointing out that such a course would cause no grief or inconvenience to anyone. Morlandson had at first refused, but at last, upon the solemn assurance of Lord Whatley that he would find some means of committing suicide unless his wishes were complied with, he consented to inject morphia in increasing doses. This Lord Whatley agreed to, and whenever he was conscious Morlandson begged him to reconsider his determination. Finally, knowing that the disease was incurable, and that the man he cared for as his friend could only endure months of suffering under his very eyes, he bade him farewell and administered the fatal dose. The news of the bequest came as a complete surprise to him.Morlandson’s defence raised in an acute form a controversy which had been going on for many years. Many people held that he was completely justified in his action, that his offence was purely technical, and that at the most it merited a short term of imprisonment. But the jury, in spite of a hint from the judge, found Morlandson guilty of murder and refused to add a rider recommending him to mercy. Sentence of death was duly pronounced, but the Home Secretary, the Court of Criminal Appeal not being then in existence, ordered a reprieve, and the sentence was commuted to one of twenty years’ penal servitude. Morlandson’s wife, to whom he was deeply attached, died before a year of it had expired.This was the substance of the notes which Harold Merefield brought back to Dr. Priestley. The latter read them through carefully, then gave them back to his secretary. “Yes, I thought that I was not mistaken,” he said. “The facts of the case come back to me very clearly now. It made a considerable sensation at the time, owing to the principle involved. Right or wrong, Morlandson was acting in accordance with his lights. His evidence, I remember, was given with an air of passionate conviction. This Lord Whatley was his friend, and he had saved him from suffering at the expense of twenty years of his own life. I wonder whether he survived his sentence? It would be most interesting to learn.”The Professor relapsed into his favourite attitude of thought, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling, his hands, with the tips of the fingers touching, laid upon the table in front of him. He remained like this for many minutes before he spoke again.“It would be so interesting that I feel impelled to take steps to discover the facts,” he said. “After lunch I shall visit the record department of Scotland Yard. While I am away, you can complete the filing of those papers I gave you yesterday, relating to the work which we have just completed.”Harold received these instructions without any great enthusiasm. He was not greatly interested in the case of this Dr. Morlandson, since it had occurred so many years ago and could have no possible bearing upon any problem of the present day. In his recollection of this forgotten trial the Professor seemed to be neglecting entirely the problems presented by the murders in Praed Street. Perhaps he had decided that they were not worthy of his notice. It was not every problem submitted to him which appealed to him sufficiently to induce him to devote his energies to its solution.He spent the afternoon in the study, working half-heartedly and awaiting the Professor’s return. But it was not until nearly dinner-time that his employer came in, and then he could see by his expression that the result of his search had in some way disappointed him. Dinner was passed in almost complete silence, and the two returned once more to the study.“I have discovered the subsequent history of Dr. Morlandson,” announced the Professor abruptly, as soon as he had finished his coffee. “I will recount to you the result of my researches at Scotland Yard. You can make notes of them, and file them with your précis of his trial.”Harold produced pencil and paper, and the Professor proceeded to give an account of how he had spent the afternoon. After some delay the authorities at Scotland Yard, who were always anxious to carry out any of Dr. Priestley’s requests, even though they were ignorant of the motive behind them, had found the record of Morlandson’s career after his sentence. He had been sent to Dartmoor, and had served his time there. He had been released on licence in 1920, having undergone fourteen years of his sentence. He had then remained for a short time in London, arranging his affairs, but had not communicated with anybody but his solicitor, to whom he had expressed his intention of spending the rest of his life in the most complete seclusion, and devoting himself to chemical research, for which he had always had a bent during the period in which he was in practice.Before the catastrophe which had overtaken him, Morlandson had been a tall, spare man, clean-shaven, and with carefully brushed dark hair. Upon his release he had developed a slight stoop, and although he was still clean-shaven and smart in his appearance, his hair had gone nearly white. He told his solicitor that he knew he had only a few years longer to live, but that he hoped that during that period his researches would confer some benefit upon suffering humanity. He proposed to commence them as soon as he could find a suitable spot for the purpose, where he could live entirely alone.A few weeks after his release, he found a half-ruined cottage which answered to his requirements, situated in a peculiarly desolate part of the Isle of Purbeck, in Dorsetshire. He took up his residence here, repaired the cottage, and added to it a laboratory, built of concrete. Under the terms of his licence he was compelled to report to the police, and they kept an eye upon his movements. They might have saved themselves the trouble. Once he was established in his cottage, his furthest excursion was to Corfe Castle, the nearest town, to obtain supplies. He lived entirely alone, and invariably walked across the heath to and from his cottage. But, even while living this hermit existence, he was always carefully dressed and shaved. He made no attempt to conceal his identity, but called himself Mr. Morlandson, having dropped the prefix “Doctor.” He had, of course, been struck off the register, and could not have practised as a doctor even had he desired to do so.The local superintendent to whom he reported conceived a liking for him, and occasionally walked across the heath to visit him. He invariably found him at work in his laboratory, which was plentifully stocked with chemicals of various kinds. He would never allow smoking in the laboratory, for, as he pointed out to the superintendent, the substances with which he was experimenting were highly inflammable, and there was consequently grave risk of fire unless proper precautions were taken.One night, rather more than a year after Morlandson’s release, flames were seen from Corfe Castle across the heath in the direction of his cottage. The superintendent leapt on his bicycle, and dashed off to the scene. When he arrived, he found the laboratory burning like a furnace, and quite unapproachable. The flames had caught the cottage, which was by then past saving, especially as the only available water supply was from a well fitted with a small bucket. The superintendent, at considerable risk to himself, managed to enter the sitting-room of the cottage, but could see no trace of Morlandson.By morning the fire had burnt itself out. The cottage had been completely destroyed, only two or three feet of the outer walls remaining. The laboratory, being built of concrete, had fared rather better. The greater part of the walls remained, as did the steel door, which formed the only entrance. The place had no windows, but had been lighted from above through sky-lights in the roof. These and the roof itself had completely disappeared. The iron door was found to be locked upon the inside.When it had been broken down, the interior of the laboratory showed how fierce the fire had been. Every trace of wood had been consumed, and solid metal fittings had been melted into unrecognizable shapes. Among the debris on the floor lay a charred human skeleton, upon one of the fingers of which was a half-melted gold ring, of which enough remained for the superintendent to identify it as having been habitually worn by Morlandson. The remains of the unfortunate man were huddled up by the door, the key of which was in the lock. It was clear that Morlandson had tried to make his way out when the fire broke out, but had been overcome by the fumes of the burning chemicals before he could achieve his purpose. He had been in the habit of locking the door in order to secure himself from interruption.“You have made notes upon this?” asked the Professor. “Good. File them away. I confess that there are many things about this man Morlandson which I do not yet understand. I was able to supplement your account of the trial by an examination of the original records, which I was allowed to make. These gave me considerable food for thought. I believe that, through a pure accident, I have stumbled upon one of the most curious occurrences of modern times. I can, as yet, only conjecture, and so far my conjectures are wholly unsupported by fact. Much research will be necessary before these facts can be established, and it is possible that I may not be spared for a sufficient time to carry out this research.”“Not be spared, sir!” exclaimed Harold, startled by the grave tone of the Professor’s voice. “Why, you have many years before you yet, I hope.”“Death comes to us all, sooner, perhaps, than we expect,” replied Dr. Priestley. “And I feel, this evening, that death may be closer to me than I have supposed. Ah, do I hear someone in the hall?”With a nervous movement, entirely foreign to him, Dr. Priestley rose from his chair and stood facing the door. Harold, with a queer feeling of expectation, walked towards it and opened it. In the hall stood Inspector Hanslet, handing his coat and hat to Mary.“Good evening, Mr. Merefield, I thought I’d look round and see if the Professor had any information for me,” he said. “May I see him?”“Yes, come in by all means,” replied Harold, with a sudden sense of relief. “But I shouldn’t stay too long, if I were you. He’s rather tired and nervy to-night.”Hanslet nodded, and Harold led the way into the study. “It’s Inspector Hanslet, sir,” he said.The Professor appeared to have entirely recovered his usual equanimity. “Ah, good evening, Inspector,” he said blandly. “I half expected that you would be round this evening. I am very glad to see you.”“I thought I would come round, on the chance that you had some hint to give me,” replied Hanslet. “I can’t make head or tail of the business I told you about last night. The more I think about it, the more puzzling it seems. It’s the utter lack of motive that makes it all so inexplicable.”“I believe, mind, I say only that I believe, that I have discovered the motive,” said the Professor quietly.“You have!” exclaimed Hanslet excitedly. Then, seeing the slow movement of the Professor’s head, he smiled. “I know you won’t tell me until you are certain,” he continued. “But at least tell me this. Are there likely to be any more of these mysterious deaths?”“There will be one more, unless I am able to prevent it,” replied the Professor.
The Professor came down to breakfast next morning looking even more weary than on the previous day. Harold, looking at him anxiously, guessed that he had hardly slept at all during the night. Some absorbing train of thought, whether started by Hanslet’s story of the previous evening or not, had taken possession of his brain. But, in spite of his weariness, there was a queer gleam in the piercing eyes behind the powerful spectacles, which Harold knew from past experience to be the light of battle.
“I have some work for you to-day, my boy,” he said, as soon as the meal was over. “I want you to go to the British Museum and look up the reports of the trials for murder at the Old Bailey during the first ten years of the present century. Among them you will find the trial of a doctor for the murder of one of his patients by giving him an overdose of morphia. I believe that the doctor’s name began with an M, and I fancy that his patient had a title. More than this I cannot tell you, my memory, I regret to say, is not what it used to be. I want you to make a précis of that trial and of the sentence.”
“Very good, sir,” replied Harold, and forthwith started on his quest. He could not guess the purpose for which the Professor required this information, but it could obviously have nothing to do with these intriguing murders in Praed Street which Hanslet had described. Unless, perhaps, the Professor had seen some parallel between the methods of the unknown criminal and those of this vague doctor whose name began with an M. You never could predict the direction from which the Professor would approach a problem. All that you could be certain of was that it would be different from the one you anticipated.
Arrived at the Museum, where he was a frequent visitor on similar errands, he went carefully through the index to the Law Reports. It was not until he came to the year 1906, that he met with anything which corresponded to the data which the Professor had given him. Then he found a reference to the trial of one Doctor Morlandson for the murder of Lord Whatley. This must be the case to which his employer had referred. He turned up the records, and proceeded to make a careful abstract.
It appeared that Lord Whatley had been a man of middle age, and of some considerable wealth. Dr. Morlandson was his regular medical attendant, and in 1905 he had been compelled to warn his patient that he was suffering from cancer, and that though an operation might be successful, there was grave doubt that it would permanently remove the source of the trouble. However, Lord Whatley consented to undergo the operation. He was removed to a nursing home, and a specialist was called in. The patient went through the ordeal satisfactorily, and after a while he returned home.
But, by the beginning of the following year, the symptoms reasserted themselves, and Dr. Morlandson informed his patient, who insisted that he should be told the truth, that nothing more could be done, and that Lord Whatley had nothing to look forward to but perhaps a year or two of suffering. The relations between the two men were rather those of close friendship than of doctor and patient, and, subsequent to Dr. Morlandson’s pronouncement, they saw a great deal of one another. Morlandson devoted as much time as he could spare from his practice to sitting with Lord Whatley, who was a childless widower and did not encourage the visits of his friends and relations.
By the end of February it appeared that the disease was progressing even more rapidly than Dr. Morlandson had anticipated. He administered frequent injections of morphia, and his patient was rarely conscious. Morlandson continued to spend the greater part of his time with him, and in Lord Whatley’s brief intervals of consciousness his doctor, and the nurses who had been called in, were the only people he spoke to.
He died early in March, in the presence of Dr. Morlandson and one of the nurses, without regaining consciousness. A cousin of Lord Whatley’s, who happened to be his nearest relative, was in the house, and Morlandson informed him that he would return home and bring the necessary certificate with him later in the day. Morlandson, who lived about a mile away, started to walk home. When he had almost reached his own house, he heard a sound of confused shouting, and saw a runaway horse attached to a milk-cart, coming towards him. Without a moment’s hesitation he rushed for the horse’s head, and had almost succeeded in stopping him, when he slipped and fell. One of the horse’s hoofs struck him on the head and he was left unconscious on the road.
The spectators of the accident picked him up, and he was carried into his own house. A colleague was summoned, and declared that he was suffering from severe concussion. This diagnosis proved correct, and Morlandson lay in a state of semi-consciousness for nearly a week. On his recovery, he found the house in possession of the police.
Lord Whatley’s cousin, hearing of the accident to Dr. Morlandson, and learning that he could not possibly attend to his duties for some time to come, was at a loss for the want of a death certificate. He therefore sent for another doctor—not the man who was attending Morlandson—and asked him to sign the certificate. This the doctor would have done, had not one of the nurses, whom Morlandson had reprimanded for some breach of duty, made some vague insinuation that everything was not as it should be. The doctor insisted upon examining the body, and as a result of this examination he communicated with the authorities. A post-mortem was held, and Lord Whatley was proved to have died of an overdose of morphia. The experts gave it as their opinion that the deceased would not have died of the disease from which he was suffering for another year at least. A warrant was immediately issued for Dr. Morlandson’s arrest.
When Lord Whatley’s will came to be read, it was found that he had left the sum of ten thousand pounds to Morlandson, conditional upon his being his medical attendant at the time of his death. This bequest was contained in a codicil executed early in February.
Morlandson came up for trial at the Old Bailey in July. The prosecution alleged that the codicil disclosed the motive for the murder, and submitted that Morlandson, fearing lest Lord Whatley should change his doctor before he died, had made certain of securing the legacy by poisoning him. They pointed out that, but for Morlandson’s accident, he would have been able to certify cancer as the cause of Lord Whatley’s death, and no suspicion would have been aroused.
Dr. Morlandson’s counsel put in a very striking defence. In effect, he pleaded guilty to the act of poisoning, but affirmed that this was done at Lord Whatley’s express command. He had already suffered considerably and undergone an ineffectual operation, and refused to contemplate the further agony to which he was condemned. As soon as Morlandson had informed him that his case was hopeless, he had begged him to put a end to his sufferings at once, pointing out that such a course would cause no grief or inconvenience to anyone. Morlandson had at first refused, but at last, upon the solemn assurance of Lord Whatley that he would find some means of committing suicide unless his wishes were complied with, he consented to inject morphia in increasing doses. This Lord Whatley agreed to, and whenever he was conscious Morlandson begged him to reconsider his determination. Finally, knowing that the disease was incurable, and that the man he cared for as his friend could only endure months of suffering under his very eyes, he bade him farewell and administered the fatal dose. The news of the bequest came as a complete surprise to him.
Morlandson’s defence raised in an acute form a controversy which had been going on for many years. Many people held that he was completely justified in his action, that his offence was purely technical, and that at the most it merited a short term of imprisonment. But the jury, in spite of a hint from the judge, found Morlandson guilty of murder and refused to add a rider recommending him to mercy. Sentence of death was duly pronounced, but the Home Secretary, the Court of Criminal Appeal not being then in existence, ordered a reprieve, and the sentence was commuted to one of twenty years’ penal servitude. Morlandson’s wife, to whom he was deeply attached, died before a year of it had expired.
This was the substance of the notes which Harold Merefield brought back to Dr. Priestley. The latter read them through carefully, then gave them back to his secretary. “Yes, I thought that I was not mistaken,” he said. “The facts of the case come back to me very clearly now. It made a considerable sensation at the time, owing to the principle involved. Right or wrong, Morlandson was acting in accordance with his lights. His evidence, I remember, was given with an air of passionate conviction. This Lord Whatley was his friend, and he had saved him from suffering at the expense of twenty years of his own life. I wonder whether he survived his sentence? It would be most interesting to learn.”
The Professor relapsed into his favourite attitude of thought, his eyes fixed upon the ceiling, his hands, with the tips of the fingers touching, laid upon the table in front of him. He remained like this for many minutes before he spoke again.
“It would be so interesting that I feel impelled to take steps to discover the facts,” he said. “After lunch I shall visit the record department of Scotland Yard. While I am away, you can complete the filing of those papers I gave you yesterday, relating to the work which we have just completed.”
Harold received these instructions without any great enthusiasm. He was not greatly interested in the case of this Dr. Morlandson, since it had occurred so many years ago and could have no possible bearing upon any problem of the present day. In his recollection of this forgotten trial the Professor seemed to be neglecting entirely the problems presented by the murders in Praed Street. Perhaps he had decided that they were not worthy of his notice. It was not every problem submitted to him which appealed to him sufficiently to induce him to devote his energies to its solution.
He spent the afternoon in the study, working half-heartedly and awaiting the Professor’s return. But it was not until nearly dinner-time that his employer came in, and then he could see by his expression that the result of his search had in some way disappointed him. Dinner was passed in almost complete silence, and the two returned once more to the study.
“I have discovered the subsequent history of Dr. Morlandson,” announced the Professor abruptly, as soon as he had finished his coffee. “I will recount to you the result of my researches at Scotland Yard. You can make notes of them, and file them with your précis of his trial.”
Harold produced pencil and paper, and the Professor proceeded to give an account of how he had spent the afternoon. After some delay the authorities at Scotland Yard, who were always anxious to carry out any of Dr. Priestley’s requests, even though they were ignorant of the motive behind them, had found the record of Morlandson’s career after his sentence. He had been sent to Dartmoor, and had served his time there. He had been released on licence in 1920, having undergone fourteen years of his sentence. He had then remained for a short time in London, arranging his affairs, but had not communicated with anybody but his solicitor, to whom he had expressed his intention of spending the rest of his life in the most complete seclusion, and devoting himself to chemical research, for which he had always had a bent during the period in which he was in practice.
Before the catastrophe which had overtaken him, Morlandson had been a tall, spare man, clean-shaven, and with carefully brushed dark hair. Upon his release he had developed a slight stoop, and although he was still clean-shaven and smart in his appearance, his hair had gone nearly white. He told his solicitor that he knew he had only a few years longer to live, but that he hoped that during that period his researches would confer some benefit upon suffering humanity. He proposed to commence them as soon as he could find a suitable spot for the purpose, where he could live entirely alone.
A few weeks after his release, he found a half-ruined cottage which answered to his requirements, situated in a peculiarly desolate part of the Isle of Purbeck, in Dorsetshire. He took up his residence here, repaired the cottage, and added to it a laboratory, built of concrete. Under the terms of his licence he was compelled to report to the police, and they kept an eye upon his movements. They might have saved themselves the trouble. Once he was established in his cottage, his furthest excursion was to Corfe Castle, the nearest town, to obtain supplies. He lived entirely alone, and invariably walked across the heath to and from his cottage. But, even while living this hermit existence, he was always carefully dressed and shaved. He made no attempt to conceal his identity, but called himself Mr. Morlandson, having dropped the prefix “Doctor.” He had, of course, been struck off the register, and could not have practised as a doctor even had he desired to do so.
The local superintendent to whom he reported conceived a liking for him, and occasionally walked across the heath to visit him. He invariably found him at work in his laboratory, which was plentifully stocked with chemicals of various kinds. He would never allow smoking in the laboratory, for, as he pointed out to the superintendent, the substances with which he was experimenting were highly inflammable, and there was consequently grave risk of fire unless proper precautions were taken.
One night, rather more than a year after Morlandson’s release, flames were seen from Corfe Castle across the heath in the direction of his cottage. The superintendent leapt on his bicycle, and dashed off to the scene. When he arrived, he found the laboratory burning like a furnace, and quite unapproachable. The flames had caught the cottage, which was by then past saving, especially as the only available water supply was from a well fitted with a small bucket. The superintendent, at considerable risk to himself, managed to enter the sitting-room of the cottage, but could see no trace of Morlandson.
By morning the fire had burnt itself out. The cottage had been completely destroyed, only two or three feet of the outer walls remaining. The laboratory, being built of concrete, had fared rather better. The greater part of the walls remained, as did the steel door, which formed the only entrance. The place had no windows, but had been lighted from above through sky-lights in the roof. These and the roof itself had completely disappeared. The iron door was found to be locked upon the inside.
When it had been broken down, the interior of the laboratory showed how fierce the fire had been. Every trace of wood had been consumed, and solid metal fittings had been melted into unrecognizable shapes. Among the debris on the floor lay a charred human skeleton, upon one of the fingers of which was a half-melted gold ring, of which enough remained for the superintendent to identify it as having been habitually worn by Morlandson. The remains of the unfortunate man were huddled up by the door, the key of which was in the lock. It was clear that Morlandson had tried to make his way out when the fire broke out, but had been overcome by the fumes of the burning chemicals before he could achieve his purpose. He had been in the habit of locking the door in order to secure himself from interruption.
“You have made notes upon this?” asked the Professor. “Good. File them away. I confess that there are many things about this man Morlandson which I do not yet understand. I was able to supplement your account of the trial by an examination of the original records, which I was allowed to make. These gave me considerable food for thought. I believe that, through a pure accident, I have stumbled upon one of the most curious occurrences of modern times. I can, as yet, only conjecture, and so far my conjectures are wholly unsupported by fact. Much research will be necessary before these facts can be established, and it is possible that I may not be spared for a sufficient time to carry out this research.”
“Not be spared, sir!” exclaimed Harold, startled by the grave tone of the Professor’s voice. “Why, you have many years before you yet, I hope.”
“Death comes to us all, sooner, perhaps, than we expect,” replied Dr. Priestley. “And I feel, this evening, that death may be closer to me than I have supposed. Ah, do I hear someone in the hall?”
With a nervous movement, entirely foreign to him, Dr. Priestley rose from his chair and stood facing the door. Harold, with a queer feeling of expectation, walked towards it and opened it. In the hall stood Inspector Hanslet, handing his coat and hat to Mary.
“Good evening, Mr. Merefield, I thought I’d look round and see if the Professor had any information for me,” he said. “May I see him?”
“Yes, come in by all means,” replied Harold, with a sudden sense of relief. “But I shouldn’t stay too long, if I were you. He’s rather tired and nervy to-night.”
Hanslet nodded, and Harold led the way into the study. “It’s Inspector Hanslet, sir,” he said.
The Professor appeared to have entirely recovered his usual equanimity. “Ah, good evening, Inspector,” he said blandly. “I half expected that you would be round this evening. I am very glad to see you.”
“I thought I would come round, on the chance that you had some hint to give me,” replied Hanslet. “I can’t make head or tail of the business I told you about last night. The more I think about it, the more puzzling it seems. It’s the utter lack of motive that makes it all so inexplicable.”
“I believe, mind, I say only that I believe, that I have discovered the motive,” said the Professor quietly.
“You have!” exclaimed Hanslet excitedly. Then, seeing the slow movement of the Professor’s head, he smiled. “I know you won’t tell me until you are certain,” he continued. “But at least tell me this. Are there likely to be any more of these mysterious deaths?”
“There will be one more, unless I am able to prevent it,” replied the Professor.