Prison has been to me a hard and bitter school, a grinding university of crime. Here I have learnt the thousand devices by which men deceive their neighbours, the change of appearance, of voice, of character; the discarding of one personality and the assumption of another. I left prison fully prepared to execute the design which I had formed during the long horror of seclusion.
As Dr. Morlandson, I lived in seclusion upon my release. My plans were made; I had leisure and means in which to carry them out. Dr. Morlandson must die, and another must take his place. I sold most of my former possessions, and carried to my retreat only the few things I still required. Among these was a skeleton, which I had acquired many years before. I built my laboratory, and filled it with highly combustible substances. And meanwhile I experimented with new and hitherto unheard-of drugs.
When I was ready, I staged my own death. I entered my laboratory, locked the door on the inside, and arranged the skeleton in such a way that it would become a mere charred collection of bones, but would not be utterly consumed. With it I placed all the incombustible means of identification that I could find, chief among them a gold ring. Then, having lit a fuse, and placed my combustibles round it, I made my escape by a ladder through the skylights of the laboratory. I should add that I had collected a quantity of meat from the butcher and placed it where the fire would reach it. The smell of burning flesh was a useful element of suggestion.
My plan succeeded. Dr. Morlandson died and was buried. I retired to a hiding-place which I had prepared and provisioned, a disused clay-working 846 yards South 23 degrees East (true) from my laboratory. My hair had turned white during my imprisonment. I had only to allow my beard to grow, and I became the venerable herbalist, Elmer Ludgrove, seeking premises in which to practise his trade.
By the time that the contents of this letter become public, the justice of which I shall have been the instrument will be accomplished. This is my last will and testament, given before my appearance at the Court of the Eternal Judge, Who has greater mercy than any earthly jury. The remains of my fortune are contained, in the form of Bank of England notes to the value of fifteen thousand pounds, in a tin box deposited in the clay-workings whose position I have already indicated.
I have wielded unsparingly the sword of justice. But true justice makes amends to the innocent at the same time as it punishes the guilty. I therefore bequeath all my possessions to the relatives of those who have fallen by my hand, to be apportioned in such shares as the Public Trustee, whom I hereby appoint as my trustee, shall decide.
“The work of a madman,” commented Hanslet, as Harold finished his reading.
“A madman? I wonder,” replied the Professor slowly. “If a man who gets a fixed idea into his head, and pursues it through every difficulty, is a madman, then I agree. But in that case some of the greatest names in history must be convicted of madness. I believe that Morlandson really believed that he was executing justice. Perhaps he was. Is that document valid, Inspector?”
“I suppose so,” replied Hanslet. “It is signed, and witnessed. The signature is ‘Ernest Morlandson,’ and below that ‘Elmer Ludgrove.’ The witnesses’ signatures are opposite the latter, and the paper has been folded, so that the witnesses could see nothing but the Ludgrove signature.”
“And who are the witnesses?” asked the Professor.
Hanslet smiled. “One of them is Elizabeth Cooper, his charwoman. The other is Samuel Copperdock; the document is dated a week before that unfortunate man’s death. I think you will agree that this last touch was typical of the methods of the Black Sailor.”
A few weeks later, when the Professor had sufficiently recovered to resume his normal occupations, Mary the parlourmaid announced to him that a lady and gentleman wished to see him on business.
They proved to be Ted and Ivy, very shy, and apparently wholly unable to express the object of their visit. At last, by strenuous efforts, the Professor and Harold between them got Ted to the point.
“It’s like this, sir,” he said. “You know all about that will of Mr. Lud—, Dr. Morlandson’s, I should say, sir.”
“Yes, I know all about it,” replied the Professor. “I must congratulate you upon receiving some compensation at least for that man’s crimes.”
“I’m sure it’s very good of you, sir,” said Ted, obviously ill at ease. “We were wondering—that is, Miss Tovey and myself, sir, seeing that we’re not so to speak familiar with these lawyer folk—if you’d be so good as to help us, sir.”
“Help you? Of course I will help you to the best of my ability,” replied the Professor heartily. “What is it that you want me to do for you?”
The direct question was too much for Ted, who flushed scarlet and stammered feebly. It was Ivy who stepped into the breach.
“We want to arrange that our shares should be put together in one lump, Dr. Priestley,” she said. “We don’t either of us quite know how to ask about it. I think it could be managed, don’t you?”
The Professor’s eyes twinkled. “I feel sure it could,” he replied. “That is, of course, if there were a sufficiently good reason for such a procedure.”
Ivy suddenly became intensely interested in the pattern of the carpet. “There is a—a very good reason,” she said, in a voice hardly above a whisper.
The Professor glanced from one to the other and smiled with the smile of an old man
