Chapter XXIII.The Will

Chapter XXIII.The WillHe came to himself slowly and confusedly. A strong light was glaring into his eyes, and he could hear voices, voices which he did not recognize, all about him. He seemed to be lying on the floor, his shoulders supported in somebody’s arms.Gradually he began to distinguish words and sentences. “This one’s coming round, I believe.” “All right, the doctor’ll be here in a minute.” “T’other one’s gone, I’m afraid. I can’t feel his pulse at all.” “Here, help me to clear this plaster off him, somebody. The explosion seems to have brought the ceiling down. It’s a wonder it didn’t blow the roof off. Have you got that gas turned off at the main yet?” “Ah, here’s the doctor. Been a bit of a smash here, doctor. Gas explosion, from what I can see of it. Two hurt, one of ’em killed, I fancy. Take this one first, will you?”The Professor saw a face peering into his own. “Well, my friend, what’s happened to you? Blown up, eh? Let’s have a look at you. Any bones broken? Doesn’t look like it. Can you move your legs? Good. Any pain anywhere?”“No. I was stunned, I think, when the explosion took place.” Dr. Priestley’s senses were returning rapidly. The whole scene flashed back to him, the feeble glimmer of the little hand-lamp, the figure of the Black Sailor, formidable, immense, swaying towards him——Before the supporting arms could prevent him, he had struggled to his feet. Something about his head felt unfamiliar, and he passed his hand over it. Every particle of hair had disappeared. He was bald, clean-shaven, without eyebrows or eyelashes.“Steady, steady,” came a voice soothingly. “We’ll soon get you out of this. Here, sit down in this chair, or what remains of it.”He let himself be guided to the chair. The outlines of the room, illuminated by the rays of two or three bulls-eye lanterns, began to be visible to him. He hardly recognized it. Everything it had contained was swept into inextricable confusion, as though a tornado had passed through it. Where the window had been was a square of dim grey light, the distant reflection of a street lamp. A whitish gritty dust covered everything, the debris of the fallen ceiling. And stretched out in front of the fireplace was the dim outline of a man’s figure, prone and motionless.One of the men in the room came up to him. “Feeling better, eh? Narrow shave you’ve had, I should say. Do you remember who you are?”“I am Dr. Priestley, of Westbourne Terrace,” replied the Professor.The man gave a low whistle of incredulity. “Dr. Priestley? Well, you don’t look it.”“I have letters in my pocket which will serve to identify me,” replied the Professor shortly.He put his hand in his pocket and produced a packet of papers. The man took them, glanced through them and handed them back. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said respectfully. “But—I didn’t know you without your hair, and with your face blackened like that. Perhaps you could tell us who this is, sir?”He flashed his lamp upon the features of the figure lying upon the floor. The Professor leant forward in his chair and gazed at them in silence. This man, too, was hairless as he was himself, as though he had been shaved by some expert barber. Beneath the grime which covered his face, beneath the lines which age and suffering had graven upon him, the Professor recognized the features which had graven themselves upon his memory so many years ago. He saw again the prisoner in the dock, the handsome clean-shaven face with its look of awful anxiety. And he knew where he had seen before those eyes which had stared into his before he had lost consciousness.“That is Dr. Morlandson,” he replied gravely.Dr. Priestley was removed to Westbourne Terrace, at his own urgent request, but it was a couple of days before his doctor would allow him to receive visitors. He was pretty badly shaken, and the poison which he had inhaled was having its usual after effects. But his brain was as active as ever, and he insisted that Hanslet, who had been waiting with what patience he could summon, should be admitted without further delay.“Well, sir, you seem to have been right as usual,” he said. “But I don’t profess to begin to understand, although I have a document here which clears up a good many points. If you feel well enough, I should be very glad if you would tell me what happened in that room. I’ve arranged for the inquest on this Dr. Morlandson to be adjourned until you are well enough to attend. As a matter of fact, I don’t see how an inquest is going to be held at all. There’s been one already, on the same man, at Corfe Castle, years ago.”The Professor told his story as simply as possible, outlining his actions and repeating the Black Sailor’s story, up to the moment when it had occurred to him that his only chance of escape was to produce an explosion. “It could not make things any worse, as far as I was concerned,” he said. “I was bound to be overcome by the gas in a very few minutes. But I had to wait until I judged the mixture of gas and air to be correct, and I was very doubtful whether this would take place before I became unconscious. I guessed that I should feel the force of the explosion least by lying on the floor, and, as it proved, that saved me. Morlandson, who was standing up when the explosion took place, bore the full brunt of it, and it killed him.”“Well, it’s a most extraordinary case altogether,” replied Hanslet, as the Professor concluded his account. “This man Morlandson, or Ludgrove as we called him, displayed the most amazing ingenuity, and there was no reason why we should ever have suspected him, any more than we suspected anybody else in the neighbourhood. And the way he gradually concentrated our attention on poor Copperdock was masterly.“No doubt you will like to hear our side of the story. It’s fairly simple. About ten minutes before midnight the constable on duty outside Ludgrove’s shop heard a terrific crash and a noise of breaking glass. He hammered at the door, and, getting no reply, had the sense to make his way round to the back, eventually reaching the place by much the same route as the Black Sailor used, according to what you have just told me. He found the window blown out of the back room, a terrible mess inside, and a jet of burning gas coming out of the broken bracket. He blew his whistle, and by the time that two or three of our fellows had got inside, you came to, Professor.“Of course, when I heard that you had identified the dead man as Dr. Morlandson, I thought you were still dizzy with the shock. We couldn’t make out who he was; he was dressed as a sailor, but we couldn’t recognize his face, black and with all the hair burnt off. It couldn’t be Ludgrove, yet, if it wasn’t, what had become of the old herbalist?“We next set to work to search the house. The first thing we found, lying on the dressing table, was a most interesting document, which I should like you to read, Professor. It was in a sealed envelope, addressed ‘To all whom it may concern.’ ”Hanslet produced a sheet of paper, covered with writing which the Professor recognized as being the same as that of the letter which Ludgrove had sent him. He beckoned to Harold, who had been listening from the further end of the room. “Read that to me, my boy,” he said.Harold took the paper and opened it. It contained no heading, but started abruptly.“I, known now as Elmer Ludgrove, and practising as a herbalist in Praed Street, am in reality Ernest Morlandson, late a Doctor of Medicine, found guilty in the year 1906 of murdering Lord Whatley by the administration of an overdose of morphia. This statement can be verified by an examination of my finger-prints, and by a comparison of certain marks upon my body with Dr. Morlandson’s record, in the possession of the prison authorities.“I was found guilty, by a jury of men incapable of appreciating my motives, of wilful murder. My defence is that put forward at the time of my trial, that I believe, and do still believe, that my action was one of mercy rather than crime. As to the motives imputed to me, I affirm that, until shortly before my trial, I had no knowledge that my name had any place in Lord Whatley’s will.“I have spent fourteen years in a convict prison, and have seen all that I loved and honoured languish and die, my beloved wife, my professional status, my good name. I have descended to the uttermost depths, I have drunk the cup of bitterness of its dregs. The iron has entered into my soul. I was condemned to death for an act of mercy; I have lived for an act of justice.“Justice has no quarrel with those who prosecuted me. They did their duty. Nor is her sword pointed against the judge who sentenced me, or the prison authorities who held me in durance. They too but did their duty. It is upon those who condemned me, who, ignorant and careless, disregarded justice as a thing of no account, that the sword of justice has been turned. I have been her swordbearer.“Prison has been to me a hard and bitter school, a grinding University of crime. Here I have learnt the thousand devices by which men deceive their neighbours, the change of appearance, of voice, of character; the discarding of one personality and the assumption of another. I left prison fully prepared to execute the design which I had formed during the long horror of seclusion.“As Dr. Morlandson, I lived in seclusion upon my release. My plans were made; I had leisure and means in which to carry them out. Dr. Morlandson must die, and another must take his place. I sold most of my former possessions, and carried to my retreat only the few things I still required. Among these was a skeleton, which I had acquired many years before. I built my laboratory, and filled it with highly combustible substances. And meanwhile I experimented with new and hitherto unheard-of drugs.“When I was ready, I staged my own death. I entered my laboratory, locked the door on the inside, and arranged the skeleton in such a way that it would become a mere charred collection of bones, but would not be utterly consumed. With it I placed all the incombustible means of identification that I could find, chief among them a gold ring. Then, having lit a fuse, and placed my combustibles round it, I made my escape by a ladder through the skylights of the laboratory. I should add that I had collected a quantity of meat from the butcher and placed it where the fire would reach it. The smell of burning flesh was a useful element of suggestion.“My plan succeeded. Dr. Morlandson died and was buried. I retired to a hiding-place which I had prepared and provisioned, a disused clay-working 846 yards South 23 degrees East (true) from my laboratory. My hair had turned white during my imprisonment. I had only to allow my beard to grow, and I became the venerable herbalist, Elmer Ludgrove, seeking premises in which to practise his trade.“By the time that the contents of this letter become public, the justice of which I shall have been the instrument will be accomplished. This is my last will and testament, given before my appearance at the Court of the Eternal Judge, Who has greater mercy than any earthly jury. The remains of my fortune are contained, in the form of Bank of England notes to the value of fifteen thousand pounds, in a tin box deposited in the clay-workings whose position I have already indicated.“I have wielded unsparingly the sword of justice. But true justice makes amends to the innocent at the same time as it punishes the guilty. I therefore bequeath all my possessions to the relatives of those who have fallen by my hand, to be apportioned in such shares as the Public Trustee, whom I hereby appoint as my trustee, shall decide.”“The work of a madman,” commented Hanslet, as Harold finished his reading.“A madman? I wonder,” replied the Professor slowly. “If a man who gets a fixed idea into his head, and pursues it through every difficulty, is a madman, then I agree. But in that case some of the greatest names in history must be convicted of madness. I believe that Morlandson really believed that he was executing justice. Perhaps he was. Is that document valid, Inspector?”“I suppose so,” replied Hanslet. “It is signed, and witnessed. The signature is ‘Ernest Morlandson,’ and below that ‘Elmer Ludgrove.’ The witnesses’ signatures are opposite the latter, and the paper has been folded, so that the witnesses could see nothing but the Ludgrove signature.”“And who are the witnesses?” asked the Professor.Hanslet smiled. “One of them is Elizabeth Cooper, his charwoman. The other is Samuel Copperdock; the document is dated a week before that unfortunate man’s death. I think you will agree that this last touch was typical of the methods of the Black Sailor.”A few weeks later, when the Professor had sufficiently recovered to resume his normal occupations, Mary the parlourmaid announced to him that a lady and gentleman wished to see him on business.They proved to be Ted and Ivy, very shy, and apparently wholly unable to express the object of their visit. At last, by strenuous efforts, the Professor and Harold between them got Ted to the point.“It’s like this, sir,” he said. “You know all about that will of Mr. Lud——, Dr. Morlandson’s, I should say, sir.”“Yes, I know all about it,” replied the Professor. “I must congratulate you upon receiving some compensation at least for that man’s crimes.”“I’m sure it’s very good of you, sir,” said Ted, obviously ill at ease. “We were wondering—that is, Miss Tovey and myself, sir, seeing that we’re not so to speak familiar with these lawyer folk—if you’d be so good as to help us, sir.”“Help you? Of course I will help you to the best of my ability,” replied the Professor heartily. “What is it that you want me to do for you?”The direct question was too much for Ted, who flushed scarlet and stammered feebly. It was Ivy who stepped into the breach.“We want to arrange that our shares should be put together in one lump, Dr. Priestley,” she said. “We don’t either of us quite know how to ask about it. I think it could be managed, don’t you?”The Professor’s eyes twinkled. “I feel sure it could,” he replied. “That is, of course, if there were a sufficiently good reason for such a procedure.”Ivy suddenly became intensely interested in the pattern of the carpet. “There is a—a very good reason,” she said, in a voice hardly above a whisper.The Professor glanced from one to the other and smiled with the smile of an old man who has not yet lost his sympathy with the dreams of youth.“Will you tell me the reason, Miss Tovey?” he asked.“We’re going to get married,” replied Ivy, blushing prettily.The End

He came to himself slowly and confusedly. A strong light was glaring into his eyes, and he could hear voices, voices which he did not recognize, all about him. He seemed to be lying on the floor, his shoulders supported in somebody’s arms.

Gradually he began to distinguish words and sentences. “This one’s coming round, I believe.” “All right, the doctor’ll be here in a minute.” “T’other one’s gone, I’m afraid. I can’t feel his pulse at all.” “Here, help me to clear this plaster off him, somebody. The explosion seems to have brought the ceiling down. It’s a wonder it didn’t blow the roof off. Have you got that gas turned off at the main yet?” “Ah, here’s the doctor. Been a bit of a smash here, doctor. Gas explosion, from what I can see of it. Two hurt, one of ’em killed, I fancy. Take this one first, will you?”

The Professor saw a face peering into his own. “Well, my friend, what’s happened to you? Blown up, eh? Let’s have a look at you. Any bones broken? Doesn’t look like it. Can you move your legs? Good. Any pain anywhere?”

“No. I was stunned, I think, when the explosion took place.” Dr. Priestley’s senses were returning rapidly. The whole scene flashed back to him, the feeble glimmer of the little hand-lamp, the figure of the Black Sailor, formidable, immense, swaying towards him——

Before the supporting arms could prevent him, he had struggled to his feet. Something about his head felt unfamiliar, and he passed his hand over it. Every particle of hair had disappeared. He was bald, clean-shaven, without eyebrows or eyelashes.

“Steady, steady,” came a voice soothingly. “We’ll soon get you out of this. Here, sit down in this chair, or what remains of it.”

He let himself be guided to the chair. The outlines of the room, illuminated by the rays of two or three bulls-eye lanterns, began to be visible to him. He hardly recognized it. Everything it had contained was swept into inextricable confusion, as though a tornado had passed through it. Where the window had been was a square of dim grey light, the distant reflection of a street lamp. A whitish gritty dust covered everything, the debris of the fallen ceiling. And stretched out in front of the fireplace was the dim outline of a man’s figure, prone and motionless.

One of the men in the room came up to him. “Feeling better, eh? Narrow shave you’ve had, I should say. Do you remember who you are?”

“I am Dr. Priestley, of Westbourne Terrace,” replied the Professor.

The man gave a low whistle of incredulity. “Dr. Priestley? Well, you don’t look it.”

“I have letters in my pocket which will serve to identify me,” replied the Professor shortly.

He put his hand in his pocket and produced a packet of papers. The man took them, glanced through them and handed them back. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said respectfully. “But—I didn’t know you without your hair, and with your face blackened like that. Perhaps you could tell us who this is, sir?”

He flashed his lamp upon the features of the figure lying upon the floor. The Professor leant forward in his chair and gazed at them in silence. This man, too, was hairless as he was himself, as though he had been shaved by some expert barber. Beneath the grime which covered his face, beneath the lines which age and suffering had graven upon him, the Professor recognized the features which had graven themselves upon his memory so many years ago. He saw again the prisoner in the dock, the handsome clean-shaven face with its look of awful anxiety. And he knew where he had seen before those eyes which had stared into his before he had lost consciousness.

“That is Dr. Morlandson,” he replied gravely.

Dr. Priestley was removed to Westbourne Terrace, at his own urgent request, but it was a couple of days before his doctor would allow him to receive visitors. He was pretty badly shaken, and the poison which he had inhaled was having its usual after effects. But his brain was as active as ever, and he insisted that Hanslet, who had been waiting with what patience he could summon, should be admitted without further delay.

“Well, sir, you seem to have been right as usual,” he said. “But I don’t profess to begin to understand, although I have a document here which clears up a good many points. If you feel well enough, I should be very glad if you would tell me what happened in that room. I’ve arranged for the inquest on this Dr. Morlandson to be adjourned until you are well enough to attend. As a matter of fact, I don’t see how an inquest is going to be held at all. There’s been one already, on the same man, at Corfe Castle, years ago.”

The Professor told his story as simply as possible, outlining his actions and repeating the Black Sailor’s story, up to the moment when it had occurred to him that his only chance of escape was to produce an explosion. “It could not make things any worse, as far as I was concerned,” he said. “I was bound to be overcome by the gas in a very few minutes. But I had to wait until I judged the mixture of gas and air to be correct, and I was very doubtful whether this would take place before I became unconscious. I guessed that I should feel the force of the explosion least by lying on the floor, and, as it proved, that saved me. Morlandson, who was standing up when the explosion took place, bore the full brunt of it, and it killed him.”

“Well, it’s a most extraordinary case altogether,” replied Hanslet, as the Professor concluded his account. “This man Morlandson, or Ludgrove as we called him, displayed the most amazing ingenuity, and there was no reason why we should ever have suspected him, any more than we suspected anybody else in the neighbourhood. And the way he gradually concentrated our attention on poor Copperdock was masterly.

“No doubt you will like to hear our side of the story. It’s fairly simple. About ten minutes before midnight the constable on duty outside Ludgrove’s shop heard a terrific crash and a noise of breaking glass. He hammered at the door, and, getting no reply, had the sense to make his way round to the back, eventually reaching the place by much the same route as the Black Sailor used, according to what you have just told me. He found the window blown out of the back room, a terrible mess inside, and a jet of burning gas coming out of the broken bracket. He blew his whistle, and by the time that two or three of our fellows had got inside, you came to, Professor.

“Of course, when I heard that you had identified the dead man as Dr. Morlandson, I thought you were still dizzy with the shock. We couldn’t make out who he was; he was dressed as a sailor, but we couldn’t recognize his face, black and with all the hair burnt off. It couldn’t be Ludgrove, yet, if it wasn’t, what had become of the old herbalist?

“We next set to work to search the house. The first thing we found, lying on the dressing table, was a most interesting document, which I should like you to read, Professor. It was in a sealed envelope, addressed ‘To all whom it may concern.’ ”

Hanslet produced a sheet of paper, covered with writing which the Professor recognized as being the same as that of the letter which Ludgrove had sent him. He beckoned to Harold, who had been listening from the further end of the room. “Read that to me, my boy,” he said.

Harold took the paper and opened it. It contained no heading, but started abruptly.

“I, known now as Elmer Ludgrove, and practising as a herbalist in Praed Street, am in reality Ernest Morlandson, late a Doctor of Medicine, found guilty in the year 1906 of murdering Lord Whatley by the administration of an overdose of morphia. This statement can be verified by an examination of my finger-prints, and by a comparison of certain marks upon my body with Dr. Morlandson’s record, in the possession of the prison authorities.“I was found guilty, by a jury of men incapable of appreciating my motives, of wilful murder. My defence is that put forward at the time of my trial, that I believe, and do still believe, that my action was one of mercy rather than crime. As to the motives imputed to me, I affirm that, until shortly before my trial, I had no knowledge that my name had any place in Lord Whatley’s will.“I have spent fourteen years in a convict prison, and have seen all that I loved and honoured languish and die, my beloved wife, my professional status, my good name. I have descended to the uttermost depths, I have drunk the cup of bitterness of its dregs. The iron has entered into my soul. I was condemned to death for an act of mercy; I have lived for an act of justice.“Justice has no quarrel with those who prosecuted me. They did their duty. Nor is her sword pointed against the judge who sentenced me, or the prison authorities who held me in durance. They too but did their duty. It is upon those who condemned me, who, ignorant and careless, disregarded justice as a thing of no account, that the sword of justice has been turned. I have been her swordbearer.“Prison has been to me a hard and bitter school, a grinding University of crime. Here I have learnt the thousand devices by which men deceive their neighbours, the change of appearance, of voice, of character; the discarding of one personality and the assumption of another. I left prison fully prepared to execute the design which I had formed during the long horror of seclusion.“As Dr. Morlandson, I lived in seclusion upon my release. My plans were made; I had leisure and means in which to carry them out. Dr. Morlandson must die, and another must take his place. I sold most of my former possessions, and carried to my retreat only the few things I still required. Among these was a skeleton, which I had acquired many years before. I built my laboratory, and filled it with highly combustible substances. And meanwhile I experimented with new and hitherto unheard-of drugs.“When I was ready, I staged my own death. I entered my laboratory, locked the door on the inside, and arranged the skeleton in such a way that it would become a mere charred collection of bones, but would not be utterly consumed. With it I placed all the incombustible means of identification that I could find, chief among them a gold ring. Then, having lit a fuse, and placed my combustibles round it, I made my escape by a ladder through the skylights of the laboratory. I should add that I had collected a quantity of meat from the butcher and placed it where the fire would reach it. The smell of burning flesh was a useful element of suggestion.“My plan succeeded. Dr. Morlandson died and was buried. I retired to a hiding-place which I had prepared and provisioned, a disused clay-working 846 yards South 23 degrees East (true) from my laboratory. My hair had turned white during my imprisonment. I had only to allow my beard to grow, and I became the venerable herbalist, Elmer Ludgrove, seeking premises in which to practise his trade.“By the time that the contents of this letter become public, the justice of which I shall have been the instrument will be accomplished. This is my last will and testament, given before my appearance at the Court of the Eternal Judge, Who has greater mercy than any earthly jury. The remains of my fortune are contained, in the form of Bank of England notes to the value of fifteen thousand pounds, in a tin box deposited in the clay-workings whose position I have already indicated.“I have wielded unsparingly the sword of justice. But true justice makes amends to the innocent at the same time as it punishes the guilty. I therefore bequeath all my possessions to the relatives of those who have fallen by my hand, to be apportioned in such shares as the Public Trustee, whom I hereby appoint as my trustee, shall decide.”

“I, known now as Elmer Ludgrove, and practising as a herbalist in Praed Street, am in reality Ernest Morlandson, late a Doctor of Medicine, found guilty in the year 1906 of murdering Lord Whatley by the administration of an overdose of morphia. This statement can be verified by an examination of my finger-prints, and by a comparison of certain marks upon my body with Dr. Morlandson’s record, in the possession of the prison authorities.

“I was found guilty, by a jury of men incapable of appreciating my motives, of wilful murder. My defence is that put forward at the time of my trial, that I believe, and do still believe, that my action was one of mercy rather than crime. As to the motives imputed to me, I affirm that, until shortly before my trial, I had no knowledge that my name had any place in Lord Whatley’s will.

“I have spent fourteen years in a convict prison, and have seen all that I loved and honoured languish and die, my beloved wife, my professional status, my good name. I have descended to the uttermost depths, I have drunk the cup of bitterness of its dregs. The iron has entered into my soul. I was condemned to death for an act of mercy; I have lived for an act of justice.

“Justice has no quarrel with those who prosecuted me. They did their duty. Nor is her sword pointed against the judge who sentenced me, or the prison authorities who held me in durance. They too but did their duty. It is upon those who condemned me, who, ignorant and careless, disregarded justice as a thing of no account, that the sword of justice has been turned. I have been her swordbearer.

“Prison has been to me a hard and bitter school, a grinding University of crime. Here I have learnt the thousand devices by which men deceive their neighbours, the change of appearance, of voice, of character; the discarding of one personality and the assumption of another. I left prison fully prepared to execute the design which I had formed during the long horror of seclusion.

“As Dr. Morlandson, I lived in seclusion upon my release. My plans were made; I had leisure and means in which to carry them out. Dr. Morlandson must die, and another must take his place. I sold most of my former possessions, and carried to my retreat only the few things I still required. Among these was a skeleton, which I had acquired many years before. I built my laboratory, and filled it with highly combustible substances. And meanwhile I experimented with new and hitherto unheard-of drugs.

“When I was ready, I staged my own death. I entered my laboratory, locked the door on the inside, and arranged the skeleton in such a way that it would become a mere charred collection of bones, but would not be utterly consumed. With it I placed all the incombustible means of identification that I could find, chief among them a gold ring. Then, having lit a fuse, and placed my combustibles round it, I made my escape by a ladder through the skylights of the laboratory. I should add that I had collected a quantity of meat from the butcher and placed it where the fire would reach it. The smell of burning flesh was a useful element of suggestion.

“My plan succeeded. Dr. Morlandson died and was buried. I retired to a hiding-place which I had prepared and provisioned, a disused clay-working 846 yards South 23 degrees East (true) from my laboratory. My hair had turned white during my imprisonment. I had only to allow my beard to grow, and I became the venerable herbalist, Elmer Ludgrove, seeking premises in which to practise his trade.

“By the time that the contents of this letter become public, the justice of which I shall have been the instrument will be accomplished. This is my last will and testament, given before my appearance at the Court of the Eternal Judge, Who has greater mercy than any earthly jury. The remains of my fortune are contained, in the form of Bank of England notes to the value of fifteen thousand pounds, in a tin box deposited in the clay-workings whose position I have already indicated.

“I have wielded unsparingly the sword of justice. But true justice makes amends to the innocent at the same time as it punishes the guilty. I therefore bequeath all my possessions to the relatives of those who have fallen by my hand, to be apportioned in such shares as the Public Trustee, whom I hereby appoint as my trustee, shall decide.”

“The work of a madman,” commented Hanslet, as Harold finished his reading.

“A madman? I wonder,” replied the Professor slowly. “If a man who gets a fixed idea into his head, and pursues it through every difficulty, is a madman, then I agree. But in that case some of the greatest names in history must be convicted of madness. I believe that Morlandson really believed that he was executing justice. Perhaps he was. Is that document valid, Inspector?”

“I suppose so,” replied Hanslet. “It is signed, and witnessed. The signature is ‘Ernest Morlandson,’ and below that ‘Elmer Ludgrove.’ The witnesses’ signatures are opposite the latter, and the paper has been folded, so that the witnesses could see nothing but the Ludgrove signature.”

“And who are the witnesses?” asked the Professor.

Hanslet smiled. “One of them is Elizabeth Cooper, his charwoman. The other is Samuel Copperdock; the document is dated a week before that unfortunate man’s death. I think you will agree that this last touch was typical of the methods of the Black Sailor.”

A few weeks later, when the Professor had sufficiently recovered to resume his normal occupations, Mary the parlourmaid announced to him that a lady and gentleman wished to see him on business.

They proved to be Ted and Ivy, very shy, and apparently wholly unable to express the object of their visit. At last, by strenuous efforts, the Professor and Harold between them got Ted to the point.

“It’s like this, sir,” he said. “You know all about that will of Mr. Lud——, Dr. Morlandson’s, I should say, sir.”

“Yes, I know all about it,” replied the Professor. “I must congratulate you upon receiving some compensation at least for that man’s crimes.”

“I’m sure it’s very good of you, sir,” said Ted, obviously ill at ease. “We were wondering—that is, Miss Tovey and myself, sir, seeing that we’re not so to speak familiar with these lawyer folk—if you’d be so good as to help us, sir.”

“Help you? Of course I will help you to the best of my ability,” replied the Professor heartily. “What is it that you want me to do for you?”

The direct question was too much for Ted, who flushed scarlet and stammered feebly. It was Ivy who stepped into the breach.

“We want to arrange that our shares should be put together in one lump, Dr. Priestley,” she said. “We don’t either of us quite know how to ask about it. I think it could be managed, don’t you?”

The Professor’s eyes twinkled. “I feel sure it could,” he replied. “That is, of course, if there were a sufficiently good reason for such a procedure.”

Ivy suddenly became intensely interested in the pattern of the carpet. “There is a—a very good reason,” she said, in a voice hardly above a whisper.

The Professor glanced from one to the other and smiled with the smile of an old man who has not yet lost his sympathy with the dreams of youth.

“Will you tell me the reason, Miss Tovey?” he asked.

“We’re going to get married,” replied Ivy, blushing prettily.

The End

Back to IndexNext