The Murders in Praed Street

he couldn’t even walk from one room to another, had to be wheeled in a chair. This daughter of his what was looking after him says here that the doctor had told her that any shock might be fatal. Wonder if she sent it herself, being tired of waiting for his money? Listen, this is what she says: ‘My father’s chief amusement was to read the papers. He took the keenest interest in every item of news, and often discussed them with me. We often talked about the murders which have taken place recently in Praed Street, and my father always maintained that the curious episode of the numbered counters proved that they were not the work of a maniac.’ ”

“Yes. It is easy to understand what a shock the receipt of the counter must have been to him,” replied Mr. Ludgrove reflectively. “It would be interesting to know who, besides his daughter, knew of this passion for news on his part. I see by the account in my paper that three letters arrived for him by the morning post, and that his daughter brought them in to him on his breakfast tray. He opened the first one, and a counter numbered V fell out of it.”

“Then he fell back on his pillow and never spoke again,” put in Mr. Copperdock excitedly. “The shock killed him right enough, as the doctors had said it would. I wouldn’t like to be in the shoes of the person what sent it him.”

Mr. Ludgrove glanced at his friend sharply. “I cannot understand it, except upon the assumption of a practical joke, and a particularly cruel one at that,” he said. “Here was this Mr. Goodwin, a retired manufacturer, who had been living in this house at Highgate for many years past. All his acquaintances knew that his heart was very seriously affected, and that he had only a short time to live. Of course, we know nothing of his past history, but, whatever motive there may have been, to murder a man in his condition would merely be to anticipate the course of nature by a few months. And, in our experience, the receipt of the counter has always been followed by violent death. I say we know nothing about him; I certainly do not. I suppose that you have never heard of him before, have you, Mr. Copperdock?”

Mr. Copperdock shook his head. “Never!” he replied emphatically. “Seems to me it’s just like that poet chap, Pargent. Somebody sends him the counter, and his number’s up. Well thank heaven, it didn’t happen in Praed Street, this time.”

It was not long after Mr. Copperdock’s departure that Inspector Whyland came in to see the herbalist. He said nothing, but glanced at Mr. Ludgrove enquiringly.

“Yes, I’ve seen it in the paper,” said Mr. Ludgrove. “As a matter of fact, I’ve just been discussing it with Mr. Copperdock. He came over here as soon as he read about it.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” replied Whyland. “And what do you make of it, may I ask?”

Mr. Ludgrove shrugged his shoulders. “I know no more than what the paper contains,” he said. “It looks to me like a practical joke. I shouldn’t wonder if some idiot derives amusement from sending these counters broadcast. I daresay he gets the names of people to send them to from the telephone directory.”

“Practical joke? H’m,” said Whyland. “Mind, I’m not denying that a lot of fools do send out these counters to their friends. The Yard has had dozens of cases reported to them. I always said that would happen as soon as people heard about them. But in this case I have seen the envelope in which the counter was sent. It was typed on the same machine as the others, and it was posted in this district, exactly as the others were. Your practical joker has followed his original model pretty closely, don’t you think?”

The ardent seekers after sensation redoubled their eagerness for news of the next counter. Although opinion on the whole followed Mr. Ludgrove in attributing the counter sent to Mr. Goodwin to some irresponsible practical joker, the fact that death had undoubtedly followed its receipt caused many to shake their heads knowingly. If Mr. Martin’s death had been due to suicide, and Mr. Goodwin’s to a practical joke, how would the original sender of the counters number his next one? It was not to be supposed that he would claim credit for these spurious imitations of his work. If the next number were to be VI, public opinion was quite prepared to credit him with having compassed the last two deaths. But most people anticipated that it would bear the number IV.

The fact that such discussion was possible showed clearly that the theory of the existence of some mysterious assassin had captured the popular imagination. There was really no reason why any murderer should not send a numbered counter to his prospective victim, but people argued, quite correctly, that murders were far more often the result of sudden impulse than of deliberate intention. It was for this reason that the “counter deaths” as they were sometimes called, attracted so much attention. Yet the weeks drew into months, and the cold winds of spring took the place of the misty drizzle of winter, without any news of another numbered counter being received. The armchair criminologists gave it as their opinion that the last had been heard of them, that the mysterious criminal had either fulfilled his vengeance or had died unrecognized in some lunatic asylum. The murders in Praed Street were added to the long list of undiscovered crimes, and slowly they began to be forgotten.

One evening towards the end of April, Mr. Copperdock was sitting in the herbalist’s back room, enjoying a generous whiskey and soda. He was on his way home from the Cambridge Arms, and, seeing his friend’s door still open, had looked in for a chat. The night was warm, one of those