Harold obeyed, and as he finished Hanslet nodded. “I remember the case vaguely,” he said. “But I don’t see—”
The Professor interrupted him. “I happened to be the foreman of the jury. When you mentioned the name of Copperdock the other night, I fancied that it was familiar to me. Eventually I remembered that a man of that name had been one of the jurymen. More out of curiosity than anything else, I took steps to discover the names of the remainder of the panel. They were Tovey, Colburn, Pargent, Martin, Goodwin, and five others, whom I am informed have since died.”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Hanslet. “Then you mean that this Morlandson, who was released from gaol after serving his sentence, is the murderer! Why on earth didn’t you tell me so before, Dr. Priestley? It will be simple enough to trace him. Our people at the Yard will know all about him.”
“They do,” replied the Professor drily. “They have a completely authenticated record of his death, which occurred five years ago. In fact, I am now taking you to the place where it happened.”
“But he can’t have died five years ago if he murdered Copperdock only last week!” exclaimed Hanslet in bewilderment. “There’s some mistake. There must have been two Morlandsons and you’ve got hold of the wrong man.”
The Professor shrugged his shoulders. “Ask our landlord, when we return to the inn,” he replied. “He is a most communicative man, and will, no doubt, be delighted to tell you the story, as he told it to me. I had the same doubts as you have expressed, and it was these doubts which brought me down here. I enquired for Morlandson’s history as tactfully as I could, and I examined the scene of his death, as I shall ask you to.”
“I am quite prepared to accept your statement, Professor,” said Hanslet. “How did it happen?”
The Professor recounted the facts of Morlandson’s life on the Isle of Purbeck, and the circumstances under which he met his death. “All these things can of course be verified,” he said, as he came to the end of his story. “It was while I was engaged in verifying them yesterday evening that I met with an adventure which can only be described as amazing. You will remember the man described as the Black Sailor, first seen by Wal Snyder at the time of the murder of Tovey the greengrocer, and subsequently by Copperdock?”
“The man Whyland was persuaded to issue a reward for?” replied Hanslet with a smile. “Yes, I remember. We seem pretty generally agreed that he was a myth.”
For a moment the Professor made no reply. They had by this time reached the spot where the track from Morlandson’s cottage crossed the railway line. The Professor stopped, and turned to Hanslet impressively. “I met him last night, about three hundred yards from this spot,” he said simply.
Hanslet stared at him in amazement. “You met him!” he exclaimed. “You mean you saw someone who looked like him, I suppose?”
“No, I met him, and had a most interesting conversation with him,” replied the Professor. “He was riding a bicycle, and since there has been no rain since last night, you will see the tracks in a few minutes. Further, he gave me this.” The Professor produced his handkerchief, unrolled it, and handed Hanslet the numbered counter.
“Good Lord, this beats anything I ever heard of!” exclaimed Hanslet. “What did the man say to you?”
The Professor gave a careful and detailed account of his adventures on the previous evening, to which Hanslet and Harold listened in silence. He finished by explaining that he had thought it useless to set the local police on the Black Sailor’s track, and Hanslet agreed.
“The fellow would have been miles away before you had got them to move,” he said. “Of course, I shall have to circulate his description again, in case anybody else saw him. But he can’t have gone about openly, with a reward on his head like that. Somebody would have been bound to have spotted him. It’s the most amazing story I ever heard. You don’t suppose he was pulling your leg, do you?”
“How did he know my name, and the names of the jurymen who served with me?” replied the Professor.
“Well, this case is full of most extraordinary contradictions. We’d better have a look at these bicycle tracks you speak of, it’s just possible we may be able to find out the direction in which he went off. Where did he mount his bicycle and ride away, Professor?”
“About a quarter of a mile along this path. Lead the way along, Inspector, and I will stop you when we reach the spot.”
They proceeded in single file, Inspector Hanslet leading. After about five minutes the Professor spoke. “It was just where you are standing, Inspector.”
The party halted, and Hanslet bent down to examine the path. The sand was in admirable condition to receive and retain an impression; firm enough to resist the force of the wind, yet not too hard to take even the lightest imprints. Hanslet, kneeling in the heather by the side of the path, looked at it closely.
“You’ve mistaken the spot, Professor,” he said at last. “There are no tracks here. It doesn’t look as if anybody had passed along here for a long time.”
The Professor frowned. “I do not usually mistake a spot which I wish to remember,” he replied. “However, it was nearly dark when I left it, and I may have made an error of a few yards. As you can see, this track leads straight to those ruined walls, which are
