Chapter XXI.An ExplanationThe Professor’s first startled thought concerned the manner in which the man had entered the room. He had heard no sound of his entry, and he remembered that Mr. Ludgrove had been careful to lock the door of the shop when they had come in together. His second was a sudden thrust of anxiety for Mr. Ludgrove’s safety. In the complete silence of the little room, into which no sound penetrated but the faint low rumble of the traffic outside, he listened for the sound of his footsteps above. But, even to his keen ears, the house seemed as quiet as the grave.It was the Black Sailor who broke the silence. “Sit down, Dr. Priestley,” he said gravely. “I have much to say to you. You will recall that this is our second meeting.”But Dr. Priestley took a step forward, and stared into the man’s face, at his jet-black beard and hair, at the scar which gleamed angrily upon his cheek. He wore a woollen cap, drawn over his face, and a blue pilot coat over his jersey. But for these details, he was dressed as he had been when the Professor had met him upon the Isle of Purbeck. And the tones of his rasping voice sent a thrill of fear through even the Professor’s determined heart.“How did you get in here? Where is Mr. Ludgrove?” The Professor found his voice at last.“Mr. Ludgrove is dead,” replied the Black Sailor, almost gently. “Surely you remember the warning I gave you when we last met? Mr. Ludgrove, the herbalist of Praed Street, is dead. Nobody on this side of the grave will ever see him again. But you shall not be disappointed, Dr. Priestley. He was to have explained to you many things that seemed obscure, but were in reality very simple. It is only fitting that I should take his place.”And then at last the Professor understood. Perhaps it was some note in the man’s voice that gave him the clue. The solution was so simple that he could have laughed aloud at his own lack of perception. “You are Mr. Ludgrove,” he said simply.The Black Sailor laughed quietly, and the laugh and the voice in which he replied were those of the herbalist. “So you have guessed at last, Dr. Priestley!” he exclaimed. “Oh, but it was so simple! A little dye, which could be applied or removed in a few minutes, a little grease-paint for the scar, an artistic disarrangement of my beard and hair, a change of clothing, and who would recognize Mr. Ludgrove the herbalist? Still, the Black Sailor was careful only to appear in the half light. His disguise might have been penetrated under more searching conditions. But I flatter myself that it is effective.”The Professor, looking at the man, was forced to agree. Even now that he knew, he found it difficult to recognize the venerable Mr. Ludgrove with his well-kept, snowy beard, his kindly smile, and his large spectacles, in this wild-looking sailor with the fierce face and the tangled black hair which seemed to cover it. The disguise was undoubtedly effective, but—how simple!“Mr. Ludgrove is dead. His mission is completed, and you will never see him again,” continued the Black Sailor. “Let us do his memory the justice of saying that he told the truth. When Copperdock saw the Black Sailor, it was perfectly correct for Ludgrove to say that he and Copperdock were alone in the street. Ludgrove was the Black Sailor that evening. But this is beside the point. Pray sit down, Dr. Priestley, and we will enter upon the explanation which I have to give you.”Dr. Priestley’s mind had been working rapidly while the man spoke, and it appeared that he had guessed the Professor’s thoughts.“Perhaps I should explain the conditions,” he continued. “All the entrances to this room are securely fastened. The door is locked, and, as you see, there is a heavy curtain across it. The window is boarded up, and there are no other openings. If you were to shout as loud as you cared, no one could possibly hear you. Please do not think I wish to threaten you, Dr. Priestley, but I would point out that if you were so unwise as to attempt personal violence, I am a very much more powerful man than you, and I am armed. I am afraid that there is no alternative for you but to listen to what I say. And after that will come release. Now, surely you will sit down, Dr. Priestley.”The Professor, after a glance round the room, perceived the helplessness of his position. The man was clearly mad, but his mania was strictly limited. Upon most subjects he was sane as he was himself. He must perforce listen to what he had to say. Perhaps, during the time which this would occupy, he might be able to evolve a scheme for his capture. He walked across the room and sat down in the chair which the Black Sailor pointed out to him.The man immediately took the chair opposite. “Artists are naturally vain, Dr. Priestley,” he began, “and I think my exploits entitle me to consider myself an artist. I have long promised myself the pleasure of recounting them to one who would appreciate their ingenuity, and you are the very man for such a purpose. I have, I believe, read everything that you have written, and I have understood a nature which revels in ingenious methods. I flatter myself that what I have to tell you will, at least, not bore you.”“I shall be extremely interested to hear it,” replied the Professor quietly.“Before Dr. Morlandson died, he furnished me with a list of his intended victims, and a very fine collection of lethal apparatus,” continued the Black Sailor. “My first concern was to find some spot in London from which to operate. I made careful enquiries as to the present addresses of the surviving jurymen, and found that most of them came from this part of London. This, of course, was not Coincidence, since juries are frequently called by districts.“I therefore determined to establish myself in this neighbourhood. I knew enough of the properties of herbs to set myself up as a herbalist, and I was fortunate enough to find this empty shop, almost opposite the premises of one of my intended victims. Once in possession of it, I set myself to develop a business which should bring me into contact with all the gossip of the neighbourhood, and to study the habits and circumstances of my intended victims. My own apparent vocation I tried to make as open as I could. My shop was available to any who cared to enter it, and from the first I accustomed the acquaintances which I made to my habit of spending occasional week-ends in the country, and of taking a walk every evening, since I foresaw that these would be essential to my purpose. And in Mr. Copperdock I found a simple and not over-intelligent personality who would serve me admirably as a dupe upon whom suspicion might be cast.“You will, I think, understand the task which I had been set. I was to execute the vengeance of Dr. Morlandson upon the men who had condemned him to so many years of agony. But this must be done in such a manner that their deaths would not be attributed to pure chance, but must eventually be made to appear as acts of justice, as indeed they were. I could not employ the same methods in each case, but at the same time I wished each death to carry the same distinguishing mark.“I was at first puzzled to think of any such mark. And then, during a visit to Mr. Copperdock, the idea came to me. I saw a box full of white bone counters lying on his table, and I managed to appropriate a dozen or so of these. At the same time I carefully noted the envelopes he used in his business, and by a casual question learnt where he had obtained them. I bought three thousand of these, all the remaining stock, giving the name of Mr. Copperdock. There was very little chance of their being traced, but if they had been, the result of inquiries would have shown that they had all been sold to the tobacconist.“I also discovered that the typewriter recently purchased by Mr. Copperdock was a Planet, and I took a careful note of the brand of pen and red ink he habitually used. I next made enquiries among the envelope addressing agencies, until I found one which employed Planet machines. To this agency I sent my envelopes, together with a telephone directory in which I had marked some two thousand names, among which were those of my intended victims who happened to have a telephone. To this list I added one of my own, containing a thousand additional names, among them the jurymen I had not found in the telephone book. I instructed the agency to type these names and addresses on the envelopes. It was a safe assumption that a year later, when I began operations, the agency would not remember having typed the names of the dead men among so many thousands of others. The counters I numbered myself, as required.“Last November, I felt myself in a position to seek my first victim. I decided that it should be Mr. Tovey, a personal friend of Mr. Copperdock, from whom I had learnt all I required to know about his habits. I had, among my other weapons, a paper cutter’s knife, with half a dozen blades. These blades I had sharpened along both edges until they resembled daggers, and I had discovered a means of fixing them lightly into the handle, so that they would remain in the wound, leaving me free to carry off the handle.“That evening, Mr. Ludgrove took his usual walk, returning by way of Paddington station. From here he telephoned to Mr. Tovey, giving him the message that he was wanted at St. Martha’s. Mr. Ludgrove then walked back here, and took on the character of the Black Sailor. Behind this shop is a piece of ground which was once a garden, and that in turn is separated by a low wall from a yard, deserted after business hours, with gates and also a small door leading into a back street. I had made myself a key to the small door, and it provided me with an alternative means of access to this house.“The Black Sailor went out this way, waited in the shadows at the corner of the back street until he saw Mr. Tovey pass, then followed him and caught him up among the crowd outside the Express Train. The knife required no violence in its use, merely a firm push in one of the spots which Dr. Morlandson had shown me. The actual stabbing was a very simple matter, and the Black Sailor disappeared in the crowd, to return here by the way he went out and transform himself into Mr. Ludgrove.“But I realized that this method, although it had served its purpose once, was inartistic and dangerous. There was always the risk that the Black Sailor might be recognized and traced back here. As a matter of fact, Wal Snyder had noticed him, but his evidence was discredited. The police, however, were compelled to offer a reward for him, and I determined that the Black Sailor must be reserved for special purposes.“In the case of Mr. Colburn I adopted quite a different method. I had become a customer of his, and had encouraged his son to confide in me. From him I gradually learnt his father’s habits and peculiarities, particularly that of smoking a pipe in the shop after lunch, and, when he had finished it, of refilling it and putting it away on a shelf. I examined the pipe in young Colburn’s absence, and noticed that it was cracked. That evening, I visited a tobacconist at some distance from here and bought a pipe of similar make and shape.“Within a few days, as I had expected, I saw Mr. Colburn enter Copperdock’s shop. It was a fair assumption that he had gone in to buy a new pipe to replace the old one, since I had learnt that his tobacco was always delivered to him. I took a very small splinter of glass, covered it with a preparation which Dr. Morlandson had given me, and drove one end of it into a notch I had made in the mouthpiece of the pipe I had bought. I then went to Colburn’s shop, on an errand which necessitated young Colburn’s going to the bakehouse and leaving me alone. I saw, as I had expected, a new pipe lying filled on the shelf. I substituted mine for it, put Mr. Colburn’s pipe in my pocket, waited until young Colburn came back with my purchase, and left the shop. I was in the country when Mr. Colburn died, but I heard the details later, as no doubt you have heard them, Dr. Priestley.”“Yes, the deaths of Colburn and Martin strengthened my theory that Dr. Morlandson was at the bottom of the affair,” replied the Professor calmly. “I guessed that there was extensive medical knowledge behind both of them.” His one idea was to prolong this recital as much as possible.“You will agree, however, that it would have been impossible to trace Mr. Colburn’s death to me. By this time I had come to the conclusion that it would be as well to stage the scene of my executions as far as possible in Praed Street. I wished to concentrate attention upon this particular district, since I knew that the obvious effect on the police would be to suggest to them an inhabitant of it. As soon as they did this, I was ready to supply a number of hints and inferences. I was thus able to become on confidential terms with Whyland, and, by making a friend of him, to put myself above suspicion. And all the time I was influencing his mind in the direction of Mr. Copperdock. It was a most interesting psychological study, I can assure you.“Pargent, whom I determined to tackle next, presented an entirely different problem. He lived some distance from Praed Street, and though I might have devised some means of killing him in his own home, I was most anxious to adhere to the rule I had laid down. It was not until I had carefully considered his habits that I saw my way clear. During the years which I had spent observing my victims, I had discovered the regularity of his visits to his sister at West Laverhurst. And in this regularity I saw my opportunity.“One Saturday morning, when he was due to go to West Laverhurst, I went down from Waterloo to Penderworth, for which the station is Wokingham, ostensibly to collect plants. I went to Waterloo by way of Paddington and the tube, the most obvious way of getting there. But at Paddington I called at the booking-office, and took a ticket to Reading. Having arrived at Penderworth, I made myself as conspicuous as possible at the inn, in the character of Mr. Ludgrove, and then went out with a suit-case, with the declared intention of collecting plants. In the suit-case were my dyes and paints, also a change of clothing.“Now, Penderworth is four miles from Reading, where the train stopped by which Pargent habitually returned home. I found a convenient coppice, in which I got myself up as a man with iron grey beard and hair, and a conspicuous mark upon my face. I left my suit-case in the coppice, carefully hidden, and in it Mr. Ludgrove’s clothes and spectacles. Then I walked to Reading and caught the train in which Pargent was travelling. On our arrival at Paddington I followed him through the station, and was by his side when he made his dash across Praed Street to catch the bus. My opportunity came on the refuge, and I employed the same method as I had done in the case of Tovey.“I had ascertained that a train left for Reading ten minutes after the arrival of the train by which I had travelled up. I had just time to catch this—I already had the ticket which I had purchased in the morning. As the train neared Reading, I went to the lavatory and removed the dye and paint. From here I stepped out on to the platform and passed the barrier unremarked. Even had I been noticed in London, and my description circulated, I thus ran very little risk. The most noticeable thing had been the ‘port-wine mark,’ and this of course had vanished. I walked to the coppice, buried the clothes I was wearing, resumed the apparel of Mr. Ludgrove, and returned to the inn with my suit-case full of the first plants I could lay my hands on. I had apparently an excellent alibi.“With the death of Pargent, the curious coincidence that all three victims had received counters came to light, as I had anticipated it would. I thought it wise to suspend my operations for a while, while I prepared my plans for dealing with the remainder of the surviving jurymen. Goodwin presented the greatest puzzle. He was confined to his house, almost to one room, and I despaired of being able to reach him. I had nearly decided to leave him alone, knowing that his death could not be delayed very long in any case. But I had a sudden inspiration. The numbered counters had attracted a good deal of attention, and the sequel to their receipt was well known. It was quite possible that Goodwin, to whom any shock was likely to be fatal, would die as the mere result of finding one in his post. I made the experiment, and it was successful. But I claim no great credit for this exploit. I might well have failed, had fortune not favoured me, and I was compelled to abandon Praed Street as the scene of his death. I have always considered that the execution of Goodwin was not up to my usual standard.“But I have omitted the case of Martin, upon which I rather pride myself. Put yourself in my position, Dr. Priestley. Here was a man, living in the suburbs, and having an office in the City. How was I to lure him to Praed Street, and ensure his death when he arrived there, at a time when Praed Street had already gained notoriety as the scene of three mysterious deaths? I knew quite a lot about Martin, more than most people, in fact. I knew that he had once been in business in Praed Street, and that he had prospered there rather more rapidly than his apparent business warranted. My connection among the shadier classes in the neighbourhood helped me there. I discovered, hint by hint, that he was a well-known fence, a receiver of stolen goods, that is, Dr. Priestley, and that discovery, coupled with the fact that the premises he had once occupied were again changing hands, gave me an idea.“My first move was to make the acquaintance of the builder who was carrying out the alterations to Number 407, and from him I learnt in the course of conversation the name of the new tenant. He asked me to come and look at the place, an invitation which I accepted without too great a show of eagerness. In the next few days I visited the place again, more than once. I wanted the builder’s men to get accustomed to the sight of me. For this purpose I was Mr. Ludgrove the local resident, of course. As a matter of fact, most of the builder’s friends went to have a look at the place. There is always an interest in vacant premises in a street like this.“Dr. Morlandson had provided me with a number of celluloid capsules, containing pure prussic acid. I took an ordinary electric lamp, broke it, and connected the ends of the leading-in wires by a piece of fine foil, which would become red hot on the passage of a current. Round this I wrapped a few strands of nitrated cellulose, and to this I fixed the celluloid capsule. The action of this device was very simple. If a current were passed through it, the cellulose would inflame and set fire to the capsule, thus releasing the prussic acid. Some of the vapour of this might catch fire, but enough would be left to be fatal to anybody breathing it in a confined space. And I knew of a confined space most suitably adapted to the purpose.“I wrote a letter to Martin, which I knew could not fail to bring him to Number 407, and to bring him alone. It suggested that somebody had discovered his true occupation, and was prepared to keep the matter secret, for a consideration. Then, on the Saturday morning, just before the men were due to leave, I walked openly into Number 407. I had kept an eye on their habits, and knew that before they left they packed away their tools in the back room on the ground floor. I could hear them there as I went in, and I made my way down to the cellar without anybody noticing me. All I did there was to put my poison device in the lamp holder in the small cellar—I had heard the electrician tell the builder that the current would be connected that day—hang the numbered counter on the switch, and remove the string by which the swing door could be pulled open from within. The trap was set, it remained only to ensure that Martin should have easy access to it.“I knew about the arrangement whereby the keys were kept at the sweet shop. I had announced that I was going into the country that day, travelling into Essex by the London, Tilbury and Southend from Fenchurch Street. I took the Underground, apparently to Aldgate, but got out at Aldersgate Street. From here I walked down the Barbican, saw Martin leave his office, go to lunch, and finally book at Aldersgate Street to Praed Street. I immediately telephoned from one of the boxes there to Mr. Briggs, who had the keys, saying that I was the tenant of Number 407, and asking him to look out for a Mr. Martin, and give him the keys. I then went on to Fenchurch Street, spent a happy and profitable day in the country, and returned home to hear of the death of Mr. Martin. I was, I confess, slightly annoyed to find that it had been attributed to suicide. But then, I had never anticipated that Martin would bring an automatic with him. But perhaps I weary you with these details, Dr. Priestley?”“Not in the least!” replied the Professor fervently. He glanced furtively at the clock. It was already past ten o’clock.
The Professor’s first startled thought concerned the manner in which the man had entered the room. He had heard no sound of his entry, and he remembered that Mr. Ludgrove had been careful to lock the door of the shop when they had come in together. His second was a sudden thrust of anxiety for Mr. Ludgrove’s safety. In the complete silence of the little room, into which no sound penetrated but the faint low rumble of the traffic outside, he listened for the sound of his footsteps above. But, even to his keen ears, the house seemed as quiet as the grave.
It was the Black Sailor who broke the silence. “Sit down, Dr. Priestley,” he said gravely. “I have much to say to you. You will recall that this is our second meeting.”
But Dr. Priestley took a step forward, and stared into the man’s face, at his jet-black beard and hair, at the scar which gleamed angrily upon his cheek. He wore a woollen cap, drawn over his face, and a blue pilot coat over his jersey. But for these details, he was dressed as he had been when the Professor had met him upon the Isle of Purbeck. And the tones of his rasping voice sent a thrill of fear through even the Professor’s determined heart.
“How did you get in here? Where is Mr. Ludgrove?” The Professor found his voice at last.
“Mr. Ludgrove is dead,” replied the Black Sailor, almost gently. “Surely you remember the warning I gave you when we last met? Mr. Ludgrove, the herbalist of Praed Street, is dead. Nobody on this side of the grave will ever see him again. But you shall not be disappointed, Dr. Priestley. He was to have explained to you many things that seemed obscure, but were in reality very simple. It is only fitting that I should take his place.”
And then at last the Professor understood. Perhaps it was some note in the man’s voice that gave him the clue. The solution was so simple that he could have laughed aloud at his own lack of perception. “You are Mr. Ludgrove,” he said simply.
The Black Sailor laughed quietly, and the laugh and the voice in which he replied were those of the herbalist. “So you have guessed at last, Dr. Priestley!” he exclaimed. “Oh, but it was so simple! A little dye, which could be applied or removed in a few minutes, a little grease-paint for the scar, an artistic disarrangement of my beard and hair, a change of clothing, and who would recognize Mr. Ludgrove the herbalist? Still, the Black Sailor was careful only to appear in the half light. His disguise might have been penetrated under more searching conditions. But I flatter myself that it is effective.”
The Professor, looking at the man, was forced to agree. Even now that he knew, he found it difficult to recognize the venerable Mr. Ludgrove with his well-kept, snowy beard, his kindly smile, and his large spectacles, in this wild-looking sailor with the fierce face and the tangled black hair which seemed to cover it. The disguise was undoubtedly effective, but—how simple!
“Mr. Ludgrove is dead. His mission is completed, and you will never see him again,” continued the Black Sailor. “Let us do his memory the justice of saying that he told the truth. When Copperdock saw the Black Sailor, it was perfectly correct for Ludgrove to say that he and Copperdock were alone in the street. Ludgrove was the Black Sailor that evening. But this is beside the point. Pray sit down, Dr. Priestley, and we will enter upon the explanation which I have to give you.”
Dr. Priestley’s mind had been working rapidly while the man spoke, and it appeared that he had guessed the Professor’s thoughts.
“Perhaps I should explain the conditions,” he continued. “All the entrances to this room are securely fastened. The door is locked, and, as you see, there is a heavy curtain across it. The window is boarded up, and there are no other openings. If you were to shout as loud as you cared, no one could possibly hear you. Please do not think I wish to threaten you, Dr. Priestley, but I would point out that if you were so unwise as to attempt personal violence, I am a very much more powerful man than you, and I am armed. I am afraid that there is no alternative for you but to listen to what I say. And after that will come release. Now, surely you will sit down, Dr. Priestley.”
The Professor, after a glance round the room, perceived the helplessness of his position. The man was clearly mad, but his mania was strictly limited. Upon most subjects he was sane as he was himself. He must perforce listen to what he had to say. Perhaps, during the time which this would occupy, he might be able to evolve a scheme for his capture. He walked across the room and sat down in the chair which the Black Sailor pointed out to him.
The man immediately took the chair opposite. “Artists are naturally vain, Dr. Priestley,” he began, “and I think my exploits entitle me to consider myself an artist. I have long promised myself the pleasure of recounting them to one who would appreciate their ingenuity, and you are the very man for such a purpose. I have, I believe, read everything that you have written, and I have understood a nature which revels in ingenious methods. I flatter myself that what I have to tell you will, at least, not bore you.”
“I shall be extremely interested to hear it,” replied the Professor quietly.
“Before Dr. Morlandson died, he furnished me with a list of his intended victims, and a very fine collection of lethal apparatus,” continued the Black Sailor. “My first concern was to find some spot in London from which to operate. I made careful enquiries as to the present addresses of the surviving jurymen, and found that most of them came from this part of London. This, of course, was not Coincidence, since juries are frequently called by districts.
“I therefore determined to establish myself in this neighbourhood. I knew enough of the properties of herbs to set myself up as a herbalist, and I was fortunate enough to find this empty shop, almost opposite the premises of one of my intended victims. Once in possession of it, I set myself to develop a business which should bring me into contact with all the gossip of the neighbourhood, and to study the habits and circumstances of my intended victims. My own apparent vocation I tried to make as open as I could. My shop was available to any who cared to enter it, and from the first I accustomed the acquaintances which I made to my habit of spending occasional week-ends in the country, and of taking a walk every evening, since I foresaw that these would be essential to my purpose. And in Mr. Copperdock I found a simple and not over-intelligent personality who would serve me admirably as a dupe upon whom suspicion might be cast.
“You will, I think, understand the task which I had been set. I was to execute the vengeance of Dr. Morlandson upon the men who had condemned him to so many years of agony. But this must be done in such a manner that their deaths would not be attributed to pure chance, but must eventually be made to appear as acts of justice, as indeed they were. I could not employ the same methods in each case, but at the same time I wished each death to carry the same distinguishing mark.
“I was at first puzzled to think of any such mark. And then, during a visit to Mr. Copperdock, the idea came to me. I saw a box full of white bone counters lying on his table, and I managed to appropriate a dozen or so of these. At the same time I carefully noted the envelopes he used in his business, and by a casual question learnt where he had obtained them. I bought three thousand of these, all the remaining stock, giving the name of Mr. Copperdock. There was very little chance of their being traced, but if they had been, the result of inquiries would have shown that they had all been sold to the tobacconist.
“I also discovered that the typewriter recently purchased by Mr. Copperdock was a Planet, and I took a careful note of the brand of pen and red ink he habitually used. I next made enquiries among the envelope addressing agencies, until I found one which employed Planet machines. To this agency I sent my envelopes, together with a telephone directory in which I had marked some two thousand names, among which were those of my intended victims who happened to have a telephone. To this list I added one of my own, containing a thousand additional names, among them the jurymen I had not found in the telephone book. I instructed the agency to type these names and addresses on the envelopes. It was a safe assumption that a year later, when I began operations, the agency would not remember having typed the names of the dead men among so many thousands of others. The counters I numbered myself, as required.
“Last November, I felt myself in a position to seek my first victim. I decided that it should be Mr. Tovey, a personal friend of Mr. Copperdock, from whom I had learnt all I required to know about his habits. I had, among my other weapons, a paper cutter’s knife, with half a dozen blades. These blades I had sharpened along both edges until they resembled daggers, and I had discovered a means of fixing them lightly into the handle, so that they would remain in the wound, leaving me free to carry off the handle.
“That evening, Mr. Ludgrove took his usual walk, returning by way of Paddington station. From here he telephoned to Mr. Tovey, giving him the message that he was wanted at St. Martha’s. Mr. Ludgrove then walked back here, and took on the character of the Black Sailor. Behind this shop is a piece of ground which was once a garden, and that in turn is separated by a low wall from a yard, deserted after business hours, with gates and also a small door leading into a back street. I had made myself a key to the small door, and it provided me with an alternative means of access to this house.
“The Black Sailor went out this way, waited in the shadows at the corner of the back street until he saw Mr. Tovey pass, then followed him and caught him up among the crowd outside the Express Train. The knife required no violence in its use, merely a firm push in one of the spots which Dr. Morlandson had shown me. The actual stabbing was a very simple matter, and the Black Sailor disappeared in the crowd, to return here by the way he went out and transform himself into Mr. Ludgrove.
“But I realized that this method, although it had served its purpose once, was inartistic and dangerous. There was always the risk that the Black Sailor might be recognized and traced back here. As a matter of fact, Wal Snyder had noticed him, but his evidence was discredited. The police, however, were compelled to offer a reward for him, and I determined that the Black Sailor must be reserved for special purposes.
“In the case of Mr. Colburn I adopted quite a different method. I had become a customer of his, and had encouraged his son to confide in me. From him I gradually learnt his father’s habits and peculiarities, particularly that of smoking a pipe in the shop after lunch, and, when he had finished it, of refilling it and putting it away on a shelf. I examined the pipe in young Colburn’s absence, and noticed that it was cracked. That evening, I visited a tobacconist at some distance from here and bought a pipe of similar make and shape.
“Within a few days, as I had expected, I saw Mr. Colburn enter Copperdock’s shop. It was a fair assumption that he had gone in to buy a new pipe to replace the old one, since I had learnt that his tobacco was always delivered to him. I took a very small splinter of glass, covered it with a preparation which Dr. Morlandson had given me, and drove one end of it into a notch I had made in the mouthpiece of the pipe I had bought. I then went to Colburn’s shop, on an errand which necessitated young Colburn’s going to the bakehouse and leaving me alone. I saw, as I had expected, a new pipe lying filled on the shelf. I substituted mine for it, put Mr. Colburn’s pipe in my pocket, waited until young Colburn came back with my purchase, and left the shop. I was in the country when Mr. Colburn died, but I heard the details later, as no doubt you have heard them, Dr. Priestley.”
“Yes, the deaths of Colburn and Martin strengthened my theory that Dr. Morlandson was at the bottom of the affair,” replied the Professor calmly. “I guessed that there was extensive medical knowledge behind both of them.” His one idea was to prolong this recital as much as possible.
“You will agree, however, that it would have been impossible to trace Mr. Colburn’s death to me. By this time I had come to the conclusion that it would be as well to stage the scene of my executions as far as possible in Praed Street. I wished to concentrate attention upon this particular district, since I knew that the obvious effect on the police would be to suggest to them an inhabitant of it. As soon as they did this, I was ready to supply a number of hints and inferences. I was thus able to become on confidential terms with Whyland, and, by making a friend of him, to put myself above suspicion. And all the time I was influencing his mind in the direction of Mr. Copperdock. It was a most interesting psychological study, I can assure you.
“Pargent, whom I determined to tackle next, presented an entirely different problem. He lived some distance from Praed Street, and though I might have devised some means of killing him in his own home, I was most anxious to adhere to the rule I had laid down. It was not until I had carefully considered his habits that I saw my way clear. During the years which I had spent observing my victims, I had discovered the regularity of his visits to his sister at West Laverhurst. And in this regularity I saw my opportunity.
“One Saturday morning, when he was due to go to West Laverhurst, I went down from Waterloo to Penderworth, for which the station is Wokingham, ostensibly to collect plants. I went to Waterloo by way of Paddington and the tube, the most obvious way of getting there. But at Paddington I called at the booking-office, and took a ticket to Reading. Having arrived at Penderworth, I made myself as conspicuous as possible at the inn, in the character of Mr. Ludgrove, and then went out with a suit-case, with the declared intention of collecting plants. In the suit-case were my dyes and paints, also a change of clothing.
“Now, Penderworth is four miles from Reading, where the train stopped by which Pargent habitually returned home. I found a convenient coppice, in which I got myself up as a man with iron grey beard and hair, and a conspicuous mark upon my face. I left my suit-case in the coppice, carefully hidden, and in it Mr. Ludgrove’s clothes and spectacles. Then I walked to Reading and caught the train in which Pargent was travelling. On our arrival at Paddington I followed him through the station, and was by his side when he made his dash across Praed Street to catch the bus. My opportunity came on the refuge, and I employed the same method as I had done in the case of Tovey.
“I had ascertained that a train left for Reading ten minutes after the arrival of the train by which I had travelled up. I had just time to catch this—I already had the ticket which I had purchased in the morning. As the train neared Reading, I went to the lavatory and removed the dye and paint. From here I stepped out on to the platform and passed the barrier unremarked. Even had I been noticed in London, and my description circulated, I thus ran very little risk. The most noticeable thing had been the ‘port-wine mark,’ and this of course had vanished. I walked to the coppice, buried the clothes I was wearing, resumed the apparel of Mr. Ludgrove, and returned to the inn with my suit-case full of the first plants I could lay my hands on. I had apparently an excellent alibi.
“With the death of Pargent, the curious coincidence that all three victims had received counters came to light, as I had anticipated it would. I thought it wise to suspend my operations for a while, while I prepared my plans for dealing with the remainder of the surviving jurymen. Goodwin presented the greatest puzzle. He was confined to his house, almost to one room, and I despaired of being able to reach him. I had nearly decided to leave him alone, knowing that his death could not be delayed very long in any case. But I had a sudden inspiration. The numbered counters had attracted a good deal of attention, and the sequel to their receipt was well known. It was quite possible that Goodwin, to whom any shock was likely to be fatal, would die as the mere result of finding one in his post. I made the experiment, and it was successful. But I claim no great credit for this exploit. I might well have failed, had fortune not favoured me, and I was compelled to abandon Praed Street as the scene of his death. I have always considered that the execution of Goodwin was not up to my usual standard.
“But I have omitted the case of Martin, upon which I rather pride myself. Put yourself in my position, Dr. Priestley. Here was a man, living in the suburbs, and having an office in the City. How was I to lure him to Praed Street, and ensure his death when he arrived there, at a time when Praed Street had already gained notoriety as the scene of three mysterious deaths? I knew quite a lot about Martin, more than most people, in fact. I knew that he had once been in business in Praed Street, and that he had prospered there rather more rapidly than his apparent business warranted. My connection among the shadier classes in the neighbourhood helped me there. I discovered, hint by hint, that he was a well-known fence, a receiver of stolen goods, that is, Dr. Priestley, and that discovery, coupled with the fact that the premises he had once occupied were again changing hands, gave me an idea.
“My first move was to make the acquaintance of the builder who was carrying out the alterations to Number 407, and from him I learnt in the course of conversation the name of the new tenant. He asked me to come and look at the place, an invitation which I accepted without too great a show of eagerness. In the next few days I visited the place again, more than once. I wanted the builder’s men to get accustomed to the sight of me. For this purpose I was Mr. Ludgrove the local resident, of course. As a matter of fact, most of the builder’s friends went to have a look at the place. There is always an interest in vacant premises in a street like this.
“Dr. Morlandson had provided me with a number of celluloid capsules, containing pure prussic acid. I took an ordinary electric lamp, broke it, and connected the ends of the leading-in wires by a piece of fine foil, which would become red hot on the passage of a current. Round this I wrapped a few strands of nitrated cellulose, and to this I fixed the celluloid capsule. The action of this device was very simple. If a current were passed through it, the cellulose would inflame and set fire to the capsule, thus releasing the prussic acid. Some of the vapour of this might catch fire, but enough would be left to be fatal to anybody breathing it in a confined space. And I knew of a confined space most suitably adapted to the purpose.
“I wrote a letter to Martin, which I knew could not fail to bring him to Number 407, and to bring him alone. It suggested that somebody had discovered his true occupation, and was prepared to keep the matter secret, for a consideration. Then, on the Saturday morning, just before the men were due to leave, I walked openly into Number 407. I had kept an eye on their habits, and knew that before they left they packed away their tools in the back room on the ground floor. I could hear them there as I went in, and I made my way down to the cellar without anybody noticing me. All I did there was to put my poison device in the lamp holder in the small cellar—I had heard the electrician tell the builder that the current would be connected that day—hang the numbered counter on the switch, and remove the string by which the swing door could be pulled open from within. The trap was set, it remained only to ensure that Martin should have easy access to it.
“I knew about the arrangement whereby the keys were kept at the sweet shop. I had announced that I was going into the country that day, travelling into Essex by the London, Tilbury and Southend from Fenchurch Street. I took the Underground, apparently to Aldgate, but got out at Aldersgate Street. From here I walked down the Barbican, saw Martin leave his office, go to lunch, and finally book at Aldersgate Street to Praed Street. I immediately telephoned from one of the boxes there to Mr. Briggs, who had the keys, saying that I was the tenant of Number 407, and asking him to look out for a Mr. Martin, and give him the keys. I then went on to Fenchurch Street, spent a happy and profitable day in the country, and returned home to hear of the death of Mr. Martin. I was, I confess, slightly annoyed to find that it had been attributed to suicide. But then, I had never anticipated that Martin would bring an automatic with him. But perhaps I weary you with these details, Dr. Priestley?”
“Not in the least!” replied the Professor fervently. He glanced furtively at the clock. It was already past ten o’clock.