The Bone Counters
Mr. Ludgrove, as Hanslet had said to Dr. Priestley, bore the shock of
the finding of the numbered counter extremely well. He had refused to
make any alteration in usual habits, and it was with the greatest
difficulty that Whyland could persuade him to allow a constable to
sleep in the house at night.
“I can assure you that this mysterious warning does not terrify me,”
he had said. “I am an old man, and death cannot be far off in any
case. I am not sure that I should not prefer a violent end to some
lingering illness which might leave me helpless for months before it
killed me. But, if you think that by keeping a close watch over me you
can gain some clue to the distributor of these counters, by all means
do so.”
He was in this frame of mind when Hanslet came to see him on the
Sunday afternoon. Whyland brought him round and introduced him, and
Mr. Ludgrove welcomed him with his usual courtesy.
“I have heard of you, Inspector Hanslet, and I am indeed proud to make
your acquaintance. Sit down, and make yourself comfortable.”
“Thank you, Mr. Ludgrove,” Hanslet replied. “I thought you wouldn’t
mind my coming to have a chat with you. Whyland here has told me all
about these queer happenings in this street of yours, and of the help
which you have been to him.”
“I am afraid that I have been of very little help,” said Mr. Ludgrove
with a smile. “Inspector Whyland has been kind enough to appreciate
beyond their value any suggestions I have made.”
“Well, that’s as may be,” replied Hanslet. “Now, Mr. Ludgrove, I am
going to ask for further assistance on your part. You know as much
about these counters as I do. They seem to have been sent, so far, to
six men, all of whom have died shortly after they received them.
Whyland tells me that he has utterly failed to establish any
connection between these men. Except for the fact that Tovey and
Copperdock were close friends, they all seem to be comparative
strangers to one another, and have never been associated in any common
enterprise. You see what I mean, of course?”
“I do, indeed. In fact, Inspector Whyland and I discussed the point,
long ago. It might be possible to imagine a motive for the murder of a
group of men who were inspired by a common motive or who belonged to
some common society. The difficulty is, assuming that the agency which
compassed their deaths was the same in each case, to imagine a motive
for the actions of that agency.”
“Exactly!” exclaimed Hanslet warmly. “I see that you appreciate my
point as clearly as I do myself. But now we have a fresh line of
investigation. You yourself are added to the list of those who have
received the counter. Can you explain why you should have been singled
out?”
Mr. Ludgrove shook his head. “As you may suppose, the subject has
occupied my thoughts ever since I found the counter,” he replied. “I
am an old man, as I have said before, and for the last twenty years or
more I have led a retired life, retired, I mean, in the sense that I
have taken no part in the affairs of the world. I have had enemies as
well as friends; few men who have reached my years could say
otherwise. But most of the contemporaries of my youth are dead, and in
any case I do not believe that any of the enemies I may have made
would be so vindictive as to seek my life.”
“Let us look at it another way, then,” said Hanslet. “Can you imagine
any way in which you, in common with the six men who have already
died, could have made an unconscious enemy?”
“I cannot,” replied Mr. Ludgrove. “Of those six men, I knew only two
personally, Mr. Copperdock fairly well, and Mr. Colburn slightly. Both
of these I have known only since I came to live in Praed Street, five
years ago. Tovey, I had heard Copperdock speak of. The name of Richard
Pargent, I had seen mentioned in the newspapers. The other two were
complete strangers to me. I cannot imagine how we could have committed
any act in common which would draw down upon us the vengeance of a
single assassin.”
“Then you do not believe that these deaths are the work of a single
assassin, Mr. Ludgrove?” enquired Hanslet with interest.
“Not of a single man, acting upon any rational motive,” replied Mr.
Ludgrove. “Even in the brain of a homicidal maniac there is usually
traceable some dim guiding principle. He either conceives a hatred for
a certain class of person, or he kills indiscriminately, usually
selecting the people nearest to hand. In this case the selection was
anything, but indiscriminate. Mind, I am assuming for the moment, as
apparently you are yourself, that the death of all six was the direct
sequel of their receipt of a numbered counter. If you adopt the theory
that a single man is responsible, you may as well believe in the
existence of the black sailor.”
“I am afraid that we are already committed to him,” said Hanslet with
a smile. “You see, we offered a reward for him, and it would never do
for the police to admit that they had offered a reward for a ghost.
Whyland, what is your honest opinion of this black sailor?”
“Entirely between ourselves and this most comfortable room, I have
never believed in his existence for a moment,” replied Whyland
readily. “But what could I do? That young rip, Wal Snyder, swore to
having seen him, and I couldn’t shake him.”
“Whether young Snyder saw him or not,” remarked the herbalist, “your
reward has made him a very real person to the poorer classes of this
district. One or other of my customers sees him every night, usually
during the hour which immediately follows the closing of the public
houses. And, as a rule, they come here hot-foot to tell me about it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Ludgrove,” laughed Whyland. “I wouldn’t have done it
if I could have helped it. By the way, I suppose that you are
perfectly satisfied that none of these odd customers of yours know
anything about this business?”
“Perfectly,” replied Mr. Ludgrove. “They are a strange lot, I admit,
professing a code of morals which in some respects would shock the
conscience of a savage, and many of them are not above any petty
dishonesty. But murder, deliberate and planned murder, that is, is
outside their imagination. Besides, the way they know one another’s
most secret actions is almost uncanny. If one of them knew anything
about these deaths, they would all know within a very short time, and
the secret would be a secret no longer. Of course, they all come to me
with long and complicated tales of how they could tell me the name of
the man who did it, if I will give them the money in advance. But I am
well accustomed to that, it is a symptom which follows every crime
committed in this district.”
“You’re quite right, Mr. Ludgrove, I know something of the ways of
these people,” said Hanslet. “When they talk like that, you may be
sure that they know nothing. It’s when they avoid the subject that you
may learn something. Well, I’m very glad to have met you. There’s just
one thing I should like to say. You have received this counter, which
was evidently slipped in here while all of you were thinking of
nothing but the death of Mr. Copperdock. You, and those whose business
it is to guard you, are therefore fore-warned. As long as you do what
we ask you to, I do not believe that you are in any danger.”
Mr. Ludgrove smiled. “Mr. Copperdock was also guarded and
fore-warned,” he said quietly.
Whyland swore softly. “I believe Copperdock committed suicide out of
sheer funk,” he said. “Anyhow, I can’t see any way in which he can
possibly have been murdered.”
“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 address typed with the same machine, a
Planet, and posted in this district, London, W.2. This looks as though
they had been sent out by the same hand.”
“Typed on a Planet, were they?” remarked Ted. “That’s the same machine
as we’ve got.”
“Yes, it is a fairly popular make, I am told,” replied Mr. Ludgrove.
“But I have never used a typewriter in my life, and know very little
about them. No doubt Miss Tovey can tell us if Planet machines are
used extensively?”
“I had never used one until Ted asked me to teach him to use his,
nearly a year ago now,” replied Ivy. “There were none at the school I
was at, and we haven’t any at the office. But I believe that some
firms have several of them. They have not been sold in England for
very long.”
“Thank you, Miss Tovey,” said Mr. Ludgrove. “Now there is another
curious thing which I should like to mention. One day, when I was in
your place, talking to your father, I saw you sending out what I took
to be accounts, Ted. Was I right?”
“I expect so,” said Ted, readily. “I always look after that side of
the business.”
“Would you mind running across and getting me one of the envelopes
that you use?”
“Of course.” Ted left the room, and returned within a couple of
minutes, holding an envelope which he handed to Mr. Ludgrove. “Those
are what we always use,” he said. “We’ve had them for nearly two years
now.”
“Do you know where they came from?” asked Mr. Ludgrove, examining the
envelope with great interest.
“Dad bought a large quantity of them, ten thousand, I believe, from a
wholesale stationer somewhere in the Harrow Road,” replied Ted. “I
forget the name of the people. They were going out of business, or
something, and were selling the stuff off cheap. Dad had an idea of
sending out a lot of circulars, and thought these would do to send
them in. But the scheme fell through, and I’ve been using them for
ordinary business purposes ever since.”
“I see,” said Mr. Ludgrove thoughtfully. “Now, it is a very
extraordinary thing that the envelopes which have been shown me as
having contained these numbered counters, are exactly the same in
every respect as this that you have just given me.”
This remark was received in horrified silence. It was Ivy who broke
it. “Mr. Ludgrove!” she exclaimed. “You don’t mean——”
“I mean nothing,” replied Mr. Ludgrove swiftly. “I am trying to make
you both see one aspect of this matter which has caused me much
anxiety for some time. The counters were marked with a pen and ink
exactly similar to those you have in your office, Ted. The envelopes
in which they were sent are exactly the same as the ones you possess
and have used for many years. The addresses were typed with a Planet
machine, which, according to Miss Tovey, are not to be found in every
office. Finally, the letters were posted in this district, W.2. You
cannot fail to see the inference which must infallibly be drawn.”
“But, good heavens, the idea’s absurd!” broke in Ted. “You mean that
the counters were sent out from our place!” He laughed mirthlessly,
while Ivy stared at the grave face of the old herbalist, only half
comprehending.
“You, Ted, have seen at least one of these counters,” continued Mr.
Ludgrove, in a quiet and solemn voice. “Do you remember ever seeing
anything like it before?”
Ted stared at Mr. Ludgrove, and the incredulous expression of his face
turned slowly to one of mingled amazement and horror. “Why, yes,” he
stammered. “Dad had a box of white bone counters just like the one I
saw. He used to ask his friends in to play some card game, in which
these counters were used. I haven’t seen them for a couple of years or
more.”
Again there was a silence, broken by something that sounded like a sob
from Ivy. Ted turned towards her with a despairing gesture. “It isn’t
true!” he exclaimed. “I can’t explain it, but it isn’t true! Dad
couldn’t have done it. Why should he? There’s some terrible mystery
behind all this. I shall never believe that poor dad had anything to
do with it. Why was he killed himself, if he had?”
He turned appealingly to Mr. Ludgrove. “You don’t believe it yourself,
do you?” he said.
“Your father was my friend, and I should be the last to accuse him,”
he replied. “But, in fairness to you both, I was bound to point out
the direction in which any enquiry as to the counters must lead. I do
not profess to understand it, but I must warn you that a man like
Inspector Hanslet cannot fail to perceive the points I have
mentioned.”
“But what am I to do if he questions me?” asked Ted distractedly.
“Tell the truth,” replied Mr. Ludgrove solemnly. “Hide nothing, for if
it is discovered that you have concealed anything, it will tell all
the more heavily against your father. There is only one true court of
justice, the court of our own hearts. A consciousness of innocence is
the only support against an unjust accusation. It would perhaps have
been better had your father realized this.”