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 should
be so, and that, before you died, you should understand the reason for
your punishment. Do you remember Dr. Morlandson, as you last knew
him?”
“I remember him in the dock,” replied the Professor. “A tall, slim,
clean-shaven man, with an intellectual face, and a pleasant soft
voice.”
“You remember his appearance,” exclaimed the sailor impatiently, “you
never knew the man’s soul, as I did. Dr. Morlandson loved two things
in this world with a passion which filled his whole being, his wife
and his profession. His sympathy with suffering was unlimited, and his
nature recoiled from the spectacle of any pain which could be
prevented. And you, twelve good men and true, took it upon yourselves
to condemn him to death because he had the courage to put one of God’s
creatures out of his agony. At one blow you took from him all that he
loved and lived for, his profession, and his wife who died under the
shock of her husband’s conviction. Can you wonder that during those
long years of torment in prison, his thoughts turned from sympathy to
vengeance? Yet, even in his vengeance he was merciful and killed
swiftly.”
Dr. Priestley nodded. “Yes, I guessed that was the motive,” he said in
a matter of fact tone. “I took the trouble to look up the names of the
jurymen, as soon as I remembered that it was while I was serving on
that jury that I had met a man bearing the name of Copperdock. The
others were Tovey, Colburn, Pargent, Martin, Goodwin, Thomas, Bailey,
Underhill, Abbott and Hewlett.”
“Quite right, Thomas, Bailey, Underhill, Abbott and Hewlett were
already dead when Dr. Morlandson was released. Their punishment has
passed into other hands. Of the remaining seven, six have paid the
penalty which they wished to inflict upon Dr. Morlandson. You only are
left, Dr. Priestley.”
“I had realized that my life was threatened,” replied the Professor
calmly. “As you have probably guessed, it was for the purpose of
verifying the fact of Dr. Morlandson’s death that I came here.”
“Dr. Morlandson is dead, but he left his vengeance behind him,” said
the sailor sombrely. “You killed him as surely as though the law had
taken its course upon your cruel verdict. He came here, a broken man,
to die in solitude like a stricken animal. I met him, not a hundred
yards from this very spot, a few days after he had come to live in the
cottage. I was desperate that evening. I had murder in my soul, no
matter why. I would have killed him then and there for what he might
have had about him, but I was afraid. There was something about him
that prevented me from touching him, I did not know what it was. He
took me to the cottage with him, and talked to me all night. And at
last I found out that he was in the grip of a hate greater than mine.
“I saw him every day after that. I was the only person he spoke to,
except that fool of a police superintendent who used to come out to
see him. He’d have been glad enough to lay his hands on me, if he had
known that I was hiding within a few yards of him. Hour after hour we
talked, Dr. Morlandson and I, while he fed me and sheltered me. He
told me his whole story, and at last, when he knew he could trust me,
he made me an offer. If I would become the heir to his vengeance, I
should also be heir to a very large sum of money he had safely
concealed.
“He explained his plans to me in detail. During his years in prison he
had thought over every little thing, and his scheme was complete. But
one thing he had not allowed for, and that was the fact that prison
life had broken him up. He, who had gone to prison a strong man, came
out ruined in health and body. His mind had eaten him up, as he put
it. The awful hours of solitude, when his only means of diverting his
thoughts from his wrecked life was to perfect his plans for vengeance,
had sapped his youth and his strength. He came out an old man, utterly
incapable of the task before him.
“I had told him my story, such as it was, and he saw in me the one man
who could take his place. I was an educated man once, Dr. Priestley,
forced by circumstances to abandon my former life and become what you
see me now. In those months I was in Morlandson’s company he taught me
more than I had ever learnt before. He told me the names of the men
who had formed the jury, and showed me how I was to trace each of
them. He had thought out dozens of ways of killing them undetected,
and he explained to me how each should be employed according to
circumstances. In that laboratory which he built he spent long hours
working at poisons which should be swift and effective, in preparing
weapons which could not fail in the clumsiest hands. He taught me
anatomy, where the vital organs of the body lay, how to strike so as
to produce instant death. Within a few months I was fitted to
undertake the task which he had delegated to me.”
The Black Sailor paused, and looked intently at the Professor, as
though to assure himself that he was taking in all that was being said
to him. “It was Dr. Morlandson’s wish that you should fully understand
the reasons for your punishment before you died,” he continued. “You,
at least, we had no difficulty in tracing. Your name was frequently in
the papers, you were the only one of the twelve who had attained any
fame whatever, except perhaps that conceited ass Pargent. It was only
fitting that you, as foreman, should be reserved until the last.
Morlandson hoped that you would guess the reason for the deaths of
your fellow members, and so realize the fate which was hanging over
your head.”
“Yes, I think I understand it all pretty thoroughly now,” replied the
Professor. “There are, however, one or two points upon which I am not
quite clear. I am told that Mr. Ludgrove, the herbalist, has received
a counter bearing the number VII. I presume that this is not due to
you, since Mr. Ludgrove was not a member of the jury, nor, to the best
of my recollection, was he concerned with Dr. Morlandson’s trial.”
The Black Sailor scowled, and looked fiercely at the Professor.
“Ludgrove is an interfering busybody,” he growled. “I do not propose
to explain my methods to you, naturally, but this much I will tell
you, Ludgrove has on more than one occasion prevented me from carrying
out my designs, I have no other quarrel with him, and he is in no
danger so long as he minds his own business. The counter was sent to
him as a hint to keep out of the business altogether. And, by the way,
Dr. Priestley, when you get back to London, you may give him this
message from me. Unless he keeps clear, the counter, which was only a
warning, will be followed by something worse.”
He laughed harshly as he saw a flicker of astonishment pass across the
Professor’s face. “Oh yes,” he continued. “You will no doubt go back
to London and recount your experiences to your friend Hanslet and the
rest of the police. Why not? I have no doubt they will be very pleased
to learn the motive for these mysterious murders which have so sorely
puzzled them. They may dimly realize that an apparent murder may
sometimes be a just execution. But the knowledge won’t help them much,
and it won’t help you, Dr. Priestley. In fact, it was Dr. Morlandson’s
wish that the reasons for the deaths of his victims should be fully
known. His example may cause jurymen to consider their verdicts more
carefully in future. And as for me, what harm can any of you do? Why,
from the first there has been a reward upon my head, a reward you will
never earn, Dr. Priestley.”
He paused, and then continued more seriously. “You are a sensible man,
and must see how utterly useless any attempt to put the police on my
trail must be. It will take you an hour at least to reach the police
station at Corfe Castle, and heaven knows how much longer to persuade
the police to search for me. Don’t for an instant think this meeting
is accidental. It is not. I have for some time been seeking for an
opportunity of meeting you. It was Dr. Morlandson’s expressed wish
that I should see you and explain matters. Now that I have done so,
the Black Sailor will disappear, only to appear once more, when your
sentence is to be executed.”
“And that sentence is——?” enquired Dr. Priestley firmly.
“That you should live in the constant expectation of a violent death,”
replied the Black Sailor gravely. “The time may come soon or late, but
you cannot escape the doom which hangs over you. You may take what
precautions you please, you may condemn yourself to a life of constant
supervision within the walls of a fortified house. If you do, you will
know something of the hell which Dr. Morlandson endured as the result
of your verdict. But at last the moment will come, and you will be
stricken with death when you believe yourself to be safest. Copperdock
was warned, he was under the special care of the police, he was alone
in his own house with the door locked behind him. Yet death found him,
as it will find you when the time comes, Dr. Priestley.”
The Black Sailor put his foot on the pedal of his bicycle. “You will
excuse me if I break off this interesting conversation,” he said. “I
have many things to attend to to-night, and it is getting late. But
before I go I will give you this. It will serve to remind you that
your meeting with me was not a trick of your imagination. It may also
be useful as evidence of your veracity when you tell the story to the
police.”
He drew something from his pocket, and threw it contemptuously at the
Professor’s feet. Then, before the latter could reply, he had jumped
on his bicycle and was pedaling rapidly in the direction from which he
had come.
It was quite dark by now, and the Professor watched his retreating
form until it was lost in the night. Then he bent down and picked up
the object which he had thrown upon the ground, and which glimmered
faintly upon the dark surface of the heather on which it had fallen.
He knew what it was, without the trouble of striking a match. It was
typical of him that he handled it by the edges, and wrapped it
carefully in his handkerchief before he put it in his pocket. Then he
started once more on his homeward journey, his mind full of this
interview with the man who called himself the Black Sailor.
His theory had been vindicated. During the night which had followed
Inspector Hanslet’s first visit to him, he had racked his brains in
the endeavour to recall the circumstances under which he had first
heard the name of Copperdock. And then, at last, just before dawn, the
scene had come back to him. The gloomy court at the Old Bailey, the
voices of counsel, the set tense face of the prisoner in the dock. And
finally, the scene when the jurymen, under his direction, had
discussed the verdict which was to decide the man’s fate. Yes, he
remembered the name of the little man who had seemed to share his own
merciful views. Copperdock, that was it. The names of the others he
did not remember, but they had seemed to be inspired with a stolid
common-sense virtue. One of them had implied that if doctors thought
they could get away with this sort of thing, there was no knowing what
they would be up to. They were a lot of butchers as it was, always
cutting people up to find out what was the matter with them.
Yes, he remembered the scene well enough. It had been impossible to
argue with his colleagues on the jury. The majority were against him
and the man Copperdock; they could only acquiesce in their opinion.
The twelve had filed back to the places in court, he could see now the
look of awful anxiety in the eyes of the prisoner. And then, in reply
to the solemn question of the judge, he had spoken the words, “Guilty,
my Lord.”
Morlandson had been reprieved, and, according to the notes made by
Harold, must by now be at liberty. Was it possible that he had
returned to the world with vengeance in his heart? The Professor had
obtained permission to examine the official records of the trial, and
had thus learnt the names of the remaining members of the jury. Five
of them corresponded with the names which Hanslet had mentioned as the
victims of the recent mysterious murders. There could be no further
doubt.
But Morlandson had died, burnt to death in his laboratory within a
year or so of his release. How was this fact to be fitted in with this
theory? The Black Sailor had enlightened him upon this point. Dr.
Morlandson had handed on his vengeance to this mysterious successor,
whose true identity he had no means of guessing. It was true that in
one direction his doubts had been resolved, but only to be replaced by
a series of questions, equally imperative. Who was this man, who
called himself the Black Sailor? The Professor had examined his
appearance intently while the light lasted, and could see none of the
obvious traces of disguise. He could swear that his most striking
beard and whiskers had been genuine, and he had worn his clothes
naturally, as though accustomed to them. Again, how had he known that
Dr. Priestley was in the neighbourhood? The Professor was certain that
he had not been followed during his journey from London. It was
impossible that this man should live openly, with the reward for the
Black Sailor circulating all over the country. Was it possible that he
lived concealed somewhere in this desolate tract of country? And if
so, how did he contrive to carry out his murders within the very heart
of London?
These problems would wait. A more urgent one seemed to the Professor
to require solution. What, he asked himself, had the Black Sailor’s
object been in seeking this meeting? The Professor was quite prepared
to believe that the reason he had given accounted for part of the
truth. He could well imagine Morlandson, his brain turned by his
fancied grievance, wishing the effects of his vengeance to become
known. This was to be expected, it was merely an example of the
curious vanity usually displayed by maniacs. But was there any other
purpose in the meeting, which he had not yet understood? And, in any
case, what course was he to take?
As the Black Sailor had suggested, to set the local police on the
scent would be sheer waste of time. No serious attempt to scour the
heath could possibly be made before daylight next morning, by which
the object of the search would be far away. They might find the tracks
of his bicycle, but if he desired to elude pursuit all he would need
would be to carry it for some distance over the heather. The Professor
credited the man who had baffled the London police by the ingenuity of
his murders with sufficient acumen to leave no tracks by which he
could be followed. No, the police could not help him, if he were to
escape the fate that threatened him, it must be by his own efforts.
And so far his adversary had completely outwitted him. In spite of his
own elaborate precautions, his investigations into the death of Dr.
Morlandson were known and had been treated as the most natural thing
in the world. For his own part, he had learnt very little that he had
not known before. Certainly his theory as to the motives for the
murders in Praed Street had been confirmed. This was a small
satisfaction to place against the Professor’s chagrin. He had also
learnt that the Black Sailor, in spite of official scepticism, was an
actual person. But of his identity, or the means by which the crimes
had been committed, he had learnt nothing. From the police point of
view he had failed utterly, since he had failed to secure any
information which could possibly lead to an arrest.
It was nearly eleven o’clock when the Professor saw the lights of the
village in the distance, and, leaving the railway line, found the lane
which led homewards. The sound of his footsteps re-echoed among the
silent houses, the whole place breathed an atmosphere of perfect peace
and tranquillity. His recent adventure seemed to the Professor as an
impossible dream, a trick of his mind, so long concentrated upon the
subject. So strong was the illusion of unreality that the Professor
was impelled to feel the hard outline of the counter hidden in the
folds of his handkerchief. There had been something theatrical about
the whole adventure; the time, the place, the man’s appearance, his
voice, so curiously harsh and rasping, his very words, so utterly at
variance with his character of a rough sailor. With something of a
shock the Professor remembered that Copperdock had claimed to have
seen him at a moment when it was proved that there was no one there.
Was it dimly possible that there was something supernatural about the
affair? The Professor brushed the suggestion aside as absurd.
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.”