He threw the match away, and strode forward briskly in the direction of the railway line, which he calculated must now be less than a quarter of a mile ahead. He had an uncanny feeling that the rider of the bicycle might have been concealed close at hand while he was investigating the ruins, that he himself might have been the object of close observation all the time he had believed himself to be alone in the vast emptiness of the heath. It was an uncomfortable and a disturbing thought, and the Professor pushed on rapidly, grasping his stick tightly. Of course it was absurd, he was not the least likely to be molested. But he could not keep his mind from drawing ugly pictures of the dark thickets, of those deep, black pools, so admirably adapted as a hiding place for a murdered body—
And then, all of a sudden, with an abruptness which fell upon his ears like a blow, the Professor heard a bell ring sharply behind him. He spun round in his tracks, raising his stick instinctively, as though in self-defence. Coming along the path behind him was a tall figure on a bicycle, indistinguishable but for its outline in the swiftly-falling night. The slight mist magnified it to inhuman proportions.
Dr. Priestley stepped back into the heather, and waited for the figure to approach him. As it came nearer he began to distinguish details one by one. It was a man, dressed apparently in trousers and jersey, with a seaman’s cap upon his head. The Professor felt a sudden feeling of relief. No doubt this was a man from one of the stone barges which came up to Goathorn Pier to load stone or clay. He would no doubt join the railway, and follow the track beside it down to the pier. He could see the man’s features by now, or such of them as were not hidden by the mass of black beard, which grew up in whiskers on either side of his face until it was lost beneath his cap. And then, with a sudden recollection of a certain vivid description which Hanslet had given him, the Professor realized that the man had an angry-looking scar extending the whole length of his right cheek. Even as he realized the significance of the man’s appearance, he had dismounted from his bicycle, and stood confronting the Professor.
“Good evening, Dr. Priestley,” he said pleasantly, but in a curiously harsh and strained voice. And, at the words, the Professor knew that this was indeed the Black Sailor.
XVIII
The Avenger
The Black Sailor stood in the middle of the path, leaning on his bicycle and looking at Dr. Priestley with a faint smile of amusement in his eyes. The Professor, for his part, stood his ground and waited for what might come next. He understood quite well that any attempt to escape would be pure folly. If it came to a chase across the heather, the sailor would overtake him in half a dozen strides. And as for shouting for help—well, the nearest inhabited house was nearly two miles away.
Besides, what was there to shout about, after all? The sailor appeared to be unarmed, and his expression was rather one of amusement than of menace. The absurdity of the situation began to appeal to the Professor. He had been accosted by the man whom the police would have dearly loved to lay their hands upon, and he was utterly powerless to take any steps towards his capture.
The Black Sailor broke the silence. “You seem interested in the fate of the unhappy man who ended his days in this lonely spot?” he said, with something that sounded like a short laugh.
“The fate of Dr. Morlandson has a particular interest for me,” replied the Professor significantly.
“Yes, it would have, naturally,” said the sailor conversationally. “It has puzzled me why you have been so long in realizing it. I didn’t expect it of the others, but you, surely, should have guessed the motive long ago. It would interest me to know what brought the connection to your mind?”
The Professor hesitated. Yet, after all, he was in this man’s power. So far as he could see, his only chance of escape lay in gaining time, until by some miracle a belated labourer should come past within hailing distance. It was the most unlikely thing in the world to happen, but there was just a chance. Consequently, since the sailor seemed disposed to talk, it was best to humour him.
“I guessed it first when I heard the name Copperdock again,” he replied. “I could not remember at first where I had heard it before, but finally, the whole scene came back to me.”
“Yes, it is an unusual name,” agreed the sailor, “but, if you will excuse my saying so, Dr. Priestley, you appear to be not entirely at your ease. Perhaps it will reassure you if I remind you that no single one of the victims of Dr. Morlandson’s vengeance has come to any harm until he has received the counter with his number on it. Although, as you seem to believe, you are included among them, you are perfectly safe until that token is delivered.”
“I have no alternative but to believe it,” replied Dr. Priestley, steadily, “for I was the foreman of the jury which condemned him.”
“It is for that reason that you have been reserved till the last,” said the sailor solemnly. “It was Dr. Morlandson’s wish that it
