Mr. Ludgrove had not been at his post for many minutes before Ted came swinging along the opposite pavement. He stopped at the sound of the herbalist’s voice, and crossed the road towards him. In a few whispered words Mr. Ludgrove acquainted him with what had happened.
Ted said nothing, but jerked his elbow upwards and winked suggestively.
“No, I don’t think so,” said Mr. Ludgrove. “But you had better come in and talk to him.”
The two entered the back room together, and Mr. Copperdock looked up anxiously as they came in.
“Ah, Ted, my boy, I’m glad to see you,” he said dolefully. “The black sailor’s on my track, and he’ll get me, for sure.”
“Nonsense, Dad,” replied Ted heartily. “Somebody put that counter on your bed for a joke; one of your pals at the Cambridge Arms, I’ll be bound. You come along home with me, and we’ll soon find out who it was.”
But Mr. Copperdock shook his head. “I wouldn’t go into that house again not tonight, no, not if you was to pay me,” he replied firmly. “I’d sooner go and spend the night at the police station.”
“You needn’t do that,” said Mr. Ludgrove. “You can spend the night here on my bed upstairs. I have no objection to sleeping on the chair.”
“I daren’t be left alone,” lamented Mr. Copperdock. “Anybody might have seen me cross the road and come in here. Do you think Inspector Whyland would send a couple of coppers along if Ted was to ring him up? I’d feel a lot safer if they was about.”
“I hardly think he would,” replied Mr. Ludgrove. “But if you like we will spend the night together in this room. You can have one chair, and I will have the other. I can put a mattress on the floor for Ted if he cares to join us.”
“Not I, I’m going home to bed,” put in Ted heartily, with a wink at the herbalist. “Somebody ought to be on guard over at our place in case the black sailor breaks in, you know, Dad.”
Rather reluctantly Mr. Copperdock agreed to this arrangement. After a few more minutes’ conversation, Ted went home, and the two settled themselves down in the chairs. A further strong whiskey and water produced its effect upon Mr. Copperdock, and he was very soon dozing restlessly. To Mr. Ludgrove sleep seemed an unnecessary luxury. He moved quietly over to his bench, and spent the greater part of the night absorbed in his herbs and his microscope, apparently entirely oblivious of the presence of his guest. The only sign he manifested of interest in his affairs was to pick up the counter and examine it very carefully through a powerful lens.
It was not until seven o’clock in the morning that he gently shook the sleeping form. Mr. Copperdock woke with a start, and stared about him with puzzled eyes.
“I’ve got a cup of tea ready for you, Mr. Copperdock,” said the herbalist. “I thought it was time to wake you, as Mrs. Cooper will be here presently, and if she found you here she might talk. We don’t want that, do we?”
The tobacconist rose stiffly to his feet and shook himself. “Very kind of you, I’m sure, Ludgrove,” he said. “Yes, I remember. What did you do with that counter?”
“I have it here,” replied the herbalist. “You are still quite sure that you found it on your bed last night? It wasn’t by any chance slipped into your pocket by somebody at the Cambridge Arms?”
“As sure as I live. I found it on my bed, same as I told you,” affirmed Mr. Copperdock earnestly. “I wasn’t tight last night, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“No, no, of course not,” replied Mr. Ludgrove soothingly. “Now, shall we go across and see if your son heard anything during the night?”
Mr. Copperdock agreeing, they crossed the road to the tobacconist’s shop, and let themselves in. Ted was still asleep, and they had some difficulty in waking him. When they had done so, he reported that he had had a good look round the place before he went to bed, and had found nothing unusual. After that—well, he had gone to sleep, and had heard nothing until they had awakened him.
The light of morning appeared to have instilled rather more courage into Mr. Copperdock’s heart. He announced his determination to carry on business as usual, but insisted that Inspector Whyland should be communicated with and told of his discovery of the numbered counter. It was about ten o’clock when Whyland arrived in Praed Street, but instead of going straight to Copperdock’s shop, he went first to the herbalist’s.
“What’s this story about Copperdock having found a numbered counter?” he asked, as soon as they were safely hidden in the back room from prying ears.
Mr. Ludgrove recounted his experiences of the past night, and as he came to a conclusion Whyland laughed contemptuously. “Is this another of Copperdock’s hallucinations, like that meeting of his with the black sailor?” he enquired.
“Not altogether,” replied Mr. Ludgrove with a smile. “The counter is real enough, at all events. He left it here last night. Here it is.”
Whyland examined the counter in silence. He had very little doubt that Mr. Copperdock had staged the whole affair, had written the figure VI upon it in red ink himself, and had placed it on his bed. But why? What was his game? Was this a feeble scheme to draw suspicion from himself? The series of murders appeared to have come to an end. What was the point of reviving the memory of them like this?
Mr. Ludgrove broke in upon his meditations. “I took the liberty of examining it under a powerful glass,” he said, nodding his head towards the bench. “It seems to be an ordinary bone counter and the figure VI has
