“I do, indeed. In fact, Inspector Whyland and I discussed the point, long ago. It might be possible to imagine a motive for the murder of a group of men who were inspired by a common motive or who belonged to some common society. The difficulty is, assuming that the agency which compassed their deaths was the same in each case, to imagine a motive for the actions of that agency.”
“Exactly!” exclaimed Hanslet warmly. “I see that you appreciate my point as clearly as I do myself. But now we have a fresh line of investigation. You yourself are added to the list of those who have received the counter. Can you explain why you should have been singled out?”
Mr. Ludgrove shook his head. “As you may suppose, the subject has occupied my thoughts ever since I found the counter,” he replied. “I am an old man, as I have said before, and for the last twenty years or more I have led a retired life, retired, I mean, in the sense that I have taken no part in the affairs of the world. I have had enemies as well as friends; few men who have reached my years could say otherwise. But most of the contemporaries of my youth are dead, and in any case I do not believe that any of the enemies I may have made would be so vindictive as to seek my life.”
“Let us look at it another way, then,” said Hanslet. “Can you imagine any way in which you, in common with the six men who have already died, could have made an unconscious enemy?”
“I cannot,” replied Mr. Ludgrove. “Of those six men, I knew only two personally, Mr. Copperdock fairly well, and Mr. Colburn slightly. Both of these I have known only since I came to live in Praed Street, five years ago. Tovey, I had heard Copperdock speak of. The name of Richard Pargent, I had seen mentioned in the newspapers. The other two were complete strangers to me. I cannot imagine how we could have committed any act in common which would draw down upon us the vengeance of a single assassin.”
“Then you do not believe that these deaths are the work of a single assassin, Mr. Ludgrove?” enquired Hanslet with interest.
“Not of a single man, acting upon any rational motive,” replied Mr. Ludgrove. “Even in the brain of a homicidal maniac there is usually traceable some dim guiding principle. He either conceives a hatred for a certain class of person, or he kills indiscriminately, usually selecting the people nearest to hand. In this case the selection was anything, but indiscriminate. Mind, I am assuming for the moment, as apparently you are yourself, that the death of all six was the direct sequel of their receipt of a numbered counter. If you adopt the theory that a single man is responsible, you may as well believe in the existence of the black sailor.”
“I am afraid that we are already committed to him,” said Hanslet with a smile. “You see, we offered a reward for him, and it would never do for the police to admit that they had offered a reward for a ghost. Whyland, what is your honest opinion of this black sailor?”
“Entirely between ourselves and this most comfortable room, I have never believed in his existence for a moment,” replied Whyland readily. “But what could I do? That young rip, Wal Snyder, swore to having seen him, and I couldn’t shake him.”
“Whether young Snyder saw him or not,” remarked the herbalist, “your reward has made him a very real person to the poorer classes of this district. One or other of my customers sees him every night, usually during the hour which immediately follows the closing of the public houses. And, as a rule, they come here hotfoot to tell me about it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ludgrove,” laughed Whyland. “I wouldn’t have done it if I could have helped it. By the way, I suppose that you are perfectly satisfied that none of these odd customers of yours know anything about this business?”
“Perfectly,” replied Mr. Ludgrove. “They are a strange lot, I admit, professing a code of morals which in some respects would shock the conscience of a savage, and many of them are not above any petty dishonesty. But murder, deliberate and planned murder, that is, is outside their imagination. Besides, the way they know one another’s most secret actions is almost uncanny. If one of them knew anything about these deaths, they would all know within a very short time, and the secret would be a secret no longer. Of course, they all come to me with long and complicated tales of how they could tell me the name of the man who did it, if I will give them the money in advance. But I am well accustomed to that, it is a symptom which follows every crime committed in this district.”
“You’re quite right, Mr. Ludgrove, I know something of the ways of these people,” said Hanslet. “When they talk like that, you may be sure that they know nothing. It’s when they avoid the subject that you may learn something. Well, I’m very glad to have met you. There’s just one thing I should like to say. You have received this counter, which was evidently slipped in here while all of you were thinking of nothing but the death of Mr. Copperdock. You, and those whose business it is to guard you, are therefore forewarned. As long as you do what we ask you to, I do not believe that you are in any danger.”
Mr. Ludgrove smiled. “Mr. Copperdock was also guarded and forewarned,” he said quietly.
Whyland swore softly. “I believe Copperdock committed suicide out of sheer
