“Well, I shall not commit suicide just yet, I promise you that,” replied Mr. Ludgrove.
It was not more than five minutes after the departure of Hanslet and Whyland that the herbalist heard a soft knock upon the door of the shop. He went to open it, and found Ted and Ivy standing on the step, closely scrutinized by the man in plain clothes who had been deputed to look after Mr. Ludgrove’s safety.
Mr. Ludgrove glanced at Ivy, and welcomed Ted warmly. “Come in,” he said hospitably. “I was going to look in later and ask you if you would care to spend the evening here. I am very glad you came over.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ludgrove,” replied Ted awkwardly. “This is Miss Tovey. You have heard poor Dad and me mention her.”
“I have indeed. I am very glad to meet you, Miss Tovey. I think that is the best chair. Won’t you sit down and make yourself comfortable?”
The young people sat down in silence. It was evident that they had come with a purpose, but now they had arrived they did not quite know how to state it. Curiously enough, it was Ivy who made the plunge.
“I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Ludgrove, that I felt that Ted and I simply must come and ask your advice,” she began. “We both feel we must do something. First of all my father is murdered, and now Ted’s. We just can’t sit still and wait any longer. Mr. Ludgrove, can’t something be done to punish the man?”
The herbalist looked at her gravely. “My dear young lady, I sympathize with you entirely,” he said. “I, too, have felt the desire to do something in the face of these extraordinary happenings. But let me assure you that the very best brains in the police are at work in the matter. Inspector Hanslet, who was here just now, has the matter in hand, and he has unravelled almost as tangled skeins as this appears to be.”
“That was Inspector Hanslet, was it?” enquired Ted, with interest. “We saw two men, one of whom we knew was Inspector Whyland, come in to see you, and we waited until they went away. I’ve heard of Inspector Hanslet before, seen his name in the papers, often enough. I’m glad he’s on the job, I shall feel that something’s being done at last. The other chap always seemed to be hanging round the poor old Dad, and doing nothing.”
“It is very difficult for the police to do anything without evidence,” said Mr. Ludgrove gravely. “Now, since you have come to ask my advice, I am going to take an old man’s liberty and ask you both a question which you may consider impertinent. Have either of you any knowledge, concerning your dead parents, which you have not imparted to the police? Or, perhaps, I should have put it another way. Have either of you any suspicions, which you have thought it better to keep to yourselves, as to the motive which anyone might have had for committing these murders?”
He looked at Ivy as he spoke, but she shook her head emphatically. “I can think of nothing which I have not already told Inspector Whyland,” she replied. “Daddy was a dear, and I don’t believe he had an enemy in the world,” she replied. “He was a little hot-tempered at times, but everybody knew that he meant nothing by it.” She paused for a moment, then continued with downcast eyes. “I can imagine what may have passed through your mind, Mr. Ludgrove, but Daddy wasn’t that sort of man. I won’t say that he was above a mild flirtation, but I am sure that no woman was the cause of his being murdered.”
“Thank you, Miss Tovey,” replied the herbalist gravely. “That is a franker statement than I had any right to expect. And you, Ted?”
“No, I’ve told the police everything,” replied Ted wearily. “I know they think that Dad committed suicide. I believe they want people to think so, so that there won’t be another undetected murder up against them. But I know he didn’t. Dad wasn’t the sort of man to do a thing like that. I know he got a bit tight sometimes, but why shouldn’t he? It never did him or anybody else any harm. But even when he was tight he never got morbid, like some fellows do. Besides, he never used one of them syringe things. I don’t suppose he’d ever seen one in his life, and he wouldn’t know how to use it. No, Dad was murdered, right enough, though I’m blest if I can see how it was done.”
“Can’t you help us, Mr. Ludgrove?” broke in Ivy. “Surely there must be some way of finding out who killed Daddy and Ted’s father. It must have been some lunatic, for no sane person could possibly have a grudge against either of them.”
“The only way to find out seems to be to learn something about these counters,” replied Mr. Ludgrove. “Your father, I am told, received the first. Did you see it, Miss Tovey?”
“No. I only know what mother told me,” replied Ivy. “Daddy was a bit late coming back from Covent Garden that morning, and I had finished my breakfast and gone to work before he came in. Of course, he had no idea what it meant, poor dear. He thought it was one of these advertising dodges, and threw it into the fire, envelope and all.”
“Well, that is a pity,” said Mr. Ludgrove. “The police have seen all the others, and they say that they are all exactly similar, and that the numbers seem to have been written on them with the same pen and ink, just an ordinary steel pen and red ink that one can buy at any stationer’s. And, whenever they have been sent by post, the envelopes have been of the same sort, the
