The conversation was interrupted by the return of Waters, the detective. “I’ve searched as best I can for that syringe, sir, and I can’t find it,” he reported. “I’ll have another good look as soon as it gets light, if you like, sir.”
“Yes, do,” replied Whyland. “Now, you were supposed to be watching this place all the evening. What time did Mr. Copperdock come in?”
“Between nine and ten, sir. Two fellows came with him, and the three stood talking at the door for a minute or two. Then they all went in, and the door was shut behind them. It was close on eleven when it opened again, and the two men came out. Mr. Copperdock came downstairs with them, I saw him just inside the door talking to them. Then they went away, and the door was shut again. A few minutes after they had gone I saw a light come on in this room.”
“You can’t see into the room from the opposite pavement, I suppose?”
“Only a bit of ceiling, sir. I noticed the window was open at the top, and the curtains not properly drawn, like you see them now, sir. They’ve never been properly drawn since I’ve been watching the house. The next thing that happened was that Mr. Copperdock’s son came along at about a quarter past twelve, and let himself in with a key.”
Inspector Whyland turned to Ted. “What time did you go out?” he asked.
“About eight o’clock. Dad was just getting ready to go round to the Cambridge Arms.”
“Where were you between eight and a quarter past twelve?”
“With Miss Tovey,” replied Ted, readily enough, but with an awkward blush. “We went to a dance, then we had some supper. After that I saw her home, and stayed there a few minutes. I walked home from Lisson Grove, found Dad like this, and ran straight across to fetch Mr. Ludgrove.”
“Nobody but you and your father had a key to the premises, I suppose?”
“No. One of us always came down to let the charwoman in in the morning.”
“You are perfectly certain, Waters, that nobody came to the house between eleven and a quarter past twelve?” enquired Whyland.
“Certain, sir. I was in the street outside all the time, and never took my eyes off the place.”
“Very well. You stay here with the body. I’ll arrange for it to be taken to the mortuary as soon as I can. As for you, young man, you had better go to bed and try to get some sleep. We shall want you in the morning. Mr. Ludgrove, if you’ve nothing better to do, I should like you to come round the house with me. I want to make certain that nobody can have broken in.”
Mr. Ludgrove nodded, and the two left the room together. Whyland examined the sitting-room window. It was shut and fastened, and bore no traces of violence. Then they went downstairs and looked over the ground floor, without discovering anything in any way out of the ordinary.
When they reached the office behind the shop, Whyland closed the door and sank wearily into a chair. “Well, Mr. Ludgrove, what do you make of it?” he said.
“I couldn’t help overhearing snatches of your conversation with the doctor,” replied the herbalist. “I confess that I cannot understand why, if Mr. Copperdock wished to poison himself with a hypodermic injection, he should select his back for the purpose, unless he had some confused idea of a lumbar puncture. Yet, on the other hand, he is not likely to have let someone else drive a needle into him without a struggle, and of that there is no trace, so far as I could see.”
“And how did that person get in?” put in Whyland quickly. “That is, if both Waters and young Ted are telling the truth. Waters is a good man, and I haven’t the least reason to suspect him. But it’s just possible that he was dozing somewhere between eleven and twelve, and that Ted came home before he said he did. His father wouldn’t be surprised to see him, and he might have walked up behind him and jabbed the needle in. Then, when his father found out what he’d done, he got a bit of caustic potash from somewhere and clapped it on. I know there are lots of difficulties, but at least it’s possible. At all events, I can’t think of another alternative to the suicide theory.”
“The case is extraordinarily puzzling,” said Mr. Ludgrove sympathetically. “If you feel disposed to discuss it, Inspector, I suggest that you do so in comfort over at my place. I can make you a cup of cocoa, or, if you prefer it, I can supply you with something stronger. I always kept a bottle of whiskey in reserve for poor Mr. Copperdock.”
“Well, it’s very good of you, Mr. Ludgrove,” replied Whyland gratefully. “What’s the time? After two? I want to stay about here until it’s light. I’ll just tell Waters where I’m to be found in case he wants me. Then I shall be very glad to accept your kind hospitality.”
He left the room and returned after an absence of a couple of minutes. “I can’t make it out,” he said. “Waters swears he never had his eyes off the place. Still, it won’t do any harm to make enquiries into young Ted’s movements and verify his statement. It beats me, but then everything Copperdock did was a puzzle. His name seemed to crop up in connection with each of these deaths, somehow. Then there was that yarn about the black sailor, the counter which he said he found on his bed, and now his amazing death. Well, I’m ready to go across if you are, Mr. Ludgrove.”
The two passed through the shop into the road. As they crossed it, Mr. Ludgrove uttered an exclamation of surprise. “Why, the door of my shop is open!” he said. “I must have forgotten to shut it in my haste when Ted Copperdock came
