The inn was closed by the time he reached it, but, remembering the landlord’s instructions, he knocked upon the door, and after a short interval the key turned in the lock and the door opened. The landlord’s voice welcomed him. “Bit later than you expected, sir, aren’t you?” he said. “Did you lose your way or anything like that?”
“No, the—er—beauty of the night tempted me to stay out of doors,” replied the Professor.
“Well, sir, come ten o’clock, and seeing as you didn’t come home, I put a drop of that old brandy aside for you. I hope I don’t presume too much, sir.”
“You did not indeed, I shall be very glad of it,” replied the Professor thankfully.
The landlord disappeared for a moment, and returned with a glass on a tray, which he handed to his guest. “I thought you might be glad of it after your walk, sir,” he said. “Did you find the ruins of Dr. Morlandson’s cottage?”
“Yes, I did,” replied the Professor quietly. “A most isolated spot. I noticed that there was a path running past it. Where does that lead to?”
“It doesn’t lead nowheres in particular, sir. When the cottage was first occupied, before Morlandson’s time, it led out to the Studland road. That was the only way to the place before that railway line was built. The path’s still there, is it? I should have thought it would have been growed over by now.”
“No, you can still trace it,” said the Professor. “And, curiously enough, there were the marks of a bicycle wheel running along it.”
“A bicycle!” exclaimed the landlord. “Well, to be sure! When there’s a barge lying at Goathorn the fellows on board sometimes brings bicycles and rides in here by the side of the railway line, but I don’t know what could have taken any of them past the cottage there. Perhaps one of them wanted to get to Studland, though there’s a shorter way there from Goathorn through Newton. I should have said nobody used that path, not once a year.”
“No, I do not imagine that this man Morlandson saw many visitors,” said the Professor reflectively. “I suppose people occasionally went to see him, though?”
“I don’t believe, bar the men who built the laboratory, that a soul went near the place except the super I was telling you of, sir,” replied the landlord. “Leastways, I never heard of any. Morlandson used to come in and fetch everything he wanted. If there was anything heavy, he’d bring a barrow with him. No, sir, if you’ll believe me, that man never saw a soul when he was at home, except the super. Didn’t care about meeting people, I suppose, with a past like his.”
“Well, he certainly chose a lonely place for his retreat,” agreed the Professor. “I do not suppose that any strangers were likely to disturb him?”
“Lor’ bless you, no, sir. ’Tisn’t many strangers as finds their way on to the heath, unless it’s a gentleman like yourself, out for a walk, and then they keeps to the paths. It’s not overgood going over the heather.”
“So I discovered,” replied the Professor. “But, on the whole, I have had a most interesting evening.”
XIX
A Discovery
It was quite evident to the Professor that since his presence upon the Isle of Purbeck was known to his mysterious acquaintance of the previous evening, there was no further need for secrecy as to his movements. As soon as he had breakfasted on Sunday, he put a trunk call through to London, and very shortly had Harold on the end of the wire.
“Yes, it is Dr. Priestley speaking,” he said. “The asp has struck, Cleopatra. Does that satisfy you? Yes, yes, I know, but circumstances have made it necessary for me to change my plans. Now listen. Put another short paragraph in the papers, to the effect that domestic reasons have made it impossible for Dr. Priestley to carry out his projected lecture tour in Australia. He was recalled by telegram from Paris, where he stopped on his way to join the Oporto at Marseilles, and will shortly return to London. Having done that, get in touch with Inspector Hanslet, and bring him to Corfe Castle by the train leaving Waterloo at 2:30 this afternoon. I will explain the reasons for asking him to come when I see him. I will meet the train at Corfe Castle station. Is that clear?”
Apparently it was, for after a further word or two the Professor laid the instrument down. He spent the day within the portals of the inn, to all appearances studying the contents of the Sunday papers, but actually trying to solve some of the problems suggested by his incredible meeting with the Black Sailor.
The train came in to time, and out of it stepped Inspector Hanslet and Harold. They glanced at the Professor enquiringly as they greeted him, but asked no questions until they were outside the station. And even then it was the Professor who spoke first.
“I am Mr. Deacon here, to the landlord of the inn, at least,” he said. “I will take you there and you can leave your suitcases. Register in any names you like, but do not divulge your connection with the police, Inspector. It would attract undesirable attention.”
Hanslet nodded, and the Professor introduced the two to the landlord as the friends he had been expecting. They left their suitcases, and then followed the Professor out into the village street.
“This is a most interesting country,” he said conversationally. “I should like to show you the Purbeck Hills from the distance. We have, I think, time for a walk before dinner.”
Hanslet nodded. “I should be glad of a stroll after sitting in the train,” he replied. “Lead on, Mr. Deacon. You know the way.”
The Professor took the lane which led towards the railway line. It was not until they were well beyond the outskirts of the village that he spoke.
“I must apologize for my recent actions,” he said
