An Explanation
The Professor’s first startled thought concerned the manner in which
the man had entered the room. He had heard no sound of his entry, and
he remembered that Mr. Ludgrove had been careful to lock the door of
the shop when they had come in together. His second was a sudden
thrust of anxiety for Mr. Ludgrove’s safety. In the complete silence
of the little room, into which no sound penetrated but the faint low
rumble of the traffic outside, he listened for the sound of his
footsteps above. But, even to his keen ears, the house seemed as quiet
as the grave.
It was the Black Sailor who broke the silence. “Sit down, Dr.
Priestley,” he said gravely. “I have much to say to you. You will
recall that this is our second meeting.”
But Dr. Priestley took a step forward, and stared into the man’s face,
at his jet-black beard and hair, at the scar which gleamed angrily
upon his cheek. He wore a woollen cap, drawn over his face, and a blue
pilot coat over his jersey. But for these details, he was dressed as
he had been when the Professor had met him upon the Isle of Purbeck.
And the tones of his rasping voice sent a thrill of fear through even
the Professor’s determined heart.
“How did you get in here? Where is Mr. Ludgrove?” The Professor found
his voice at last.
“Mr. Ludgrove is dead,” replied the Black Sailor, almost gently.
“Surely you remember the warning I gave you when we last met? Mr.
Ludgrove, the herbalist of Praed Street, is dead. Nobody on this side
of the grave will ever see him again. But you shall not be
disappointed, Dr. Priestley. He was to have explained to you many
things that seemed obscure, but were in reality very simple. It is
only fitting that I should take his place.”
And then at last the Professor understood. Perhaps it was some note in
the man’s voice that gave him the clue. The solution was so simple
that he could have laughed aloud at his own lack of perception. “You
are Mr. Ludgrove,” he said simply.
The Black Sailor laughed quietly, and the laugh and the voice in which
he replied were those of the herbalist. “So you have guessed at last,
Dr. Priestley!” he exclaimed. “Oh, but it was so simple! A little dye,
which could be applied or removed in a few minutes, a little
grease-paint for the scar, an artistic disarrangement of my beard and
hair, a change of clothing, and who would recognize Mr. Ludgrove the
herbalist? Still, the Black Sailor was careful only to appear in the
half light. His disguise might have been penetrated under more
searching conditions. But I flatter myself that it is effective.”
The Professor, looking at the man, was forced to agree. Even now that
he knew, he found it difficult to recognize the venerable Mr. Ludgrove
with his well-kept, snowy beard, his kindly smile, and his large
spectacles, in this wild-looking sailor with the fierce face and the
tangled black hair which seemed to cover it. The disguise was
undoubtedly effective, but—how simple!
“Mr. Ludgrove is dead. His mission is completed, and you will never
see him again,” continued the Black Sailor. “Let us do his memory the
justice of saying that he told the truth. When Copperdock saw the
Black Sailor, it was perfectly correct for Ludgrove to say that he and
Copperdock were alone in the street. Ludgrove was the Black Sailor
that evening. But this is beside the point. Pray sit down, Dr.
Priestley, and we will enter upon the explanation which I have to give
you.”
Dr. Priestley’s mind had been working rapidly while the man spoke, and
it appeared that he had guessed the Professor’s thoughts.
“Perhaps I should explain the conditions,” he continued. “All the
entrances to this room are securely fastened. The door is locked, and,
as you see, there is a heavy curtain across it. The window is boarded
up, and there are no other openings. If you were to shout as loud as
you cared, no one could possibly hear you. Please do not think I wish
to threaten you, Dr. Priestley, but I would point out that if you were
so unwise as to attempt personal violence, I am a very much more
powerful man than you, and I am armed. I am afraid that there is no
alternative for you but to listen to what I say. And after that will
come release. Now, surely you will sit down, Dr. Priestley.”
The Professor, after a glance round the room, perceived the
helplessness of his position. The man was clearly mad, but his mania
was strictly limited. Upon most subjects he was sane as he was
himself. He must perforce listen to what he had to say. Perhaps,
during the time which this would occupy, he might be able to evolve a
scheme for his capture. He walked across the room and sat down in the
chair which the Black Sailor pointed out to him.
The man immediately took the chair opposite. “Artists are naturally
vain, Dr. Priestley,” he began, “and I think my exploits entitle me to
consider myself an artist. I have long promised myself the pleasure of
recounting them to one who would appreciate their ingenuity, and you
are the very man for such a purpose. I have, I believe, read
everything that you have written, and I have understood a nature which
revels in ingenious methods. I flatter myself that what I have to tell
you will, at least, not bore you.”
“I shall be extremely interested to hear it,” replied the Professor
quietly.
“Before Dr. Morlandson died, he furnished me with a list of his
intended victims, and a very fine collection of lethal apparatus,”
continued the Black Sailor. “My first concern was to find some spot in
London from which to operate. I made careful enquiries as to the
present addresses of the surviving jurymen, and found that most of
them came from this part of London. This, of course, was not
Coincidence, since juries are frequently called by districts.
“I therefore determined to establish myself in this neighbourhood. I
knew enough of the properties of herbs to set myself up as a
herbalist, and I was fortunate enough to find this empty shop, almost
opposite the premises of one of my intended victims. Once in
possession of it, I set myself to develop a business which should
bring me into contact with all the gossip of the neighbourhood, and to
study the habits and circumstances of my intended victims. My own
apparent vocation I tried to make as open as I could. My shop was
available to any who cared to enter it, and from the first I
accustomed the acquaintances which I made to my habit of spending
occasional week-ends in the country, and of taking a walk every
evening, since I foresaw that these would be essential to my purpose.
And in Mr. Copperdock I found a simple and not over-intelligent
personality who would serve me admirably as a dupe upon whom suspicion
might be cast.
“You will, I think, understand the task which I had been set. I was to
execute the vengeance of Dr. Morlandson upon the men who had condemned
him to so many years of agony. But this must be done in such a manner
that their deaths would not be attributed to pure chance, but must
eventually be made to appear as acts of justice, as indeed they were.
I could not employ the same methods in each case, but at the same time
I wished each death to carry the same distinguishing mark.
“I was at first puzzled to think of any such mark. And then, during a
visit to Mr. Copperdock, the idea came to me. I saw a box full of
white bone counters lying on his table, and I managed to appropriate a
dozen or so of these. At the same time I carefully noted the envelopes
he used in his business, and by a casual question learnt where he had
obtained them. I bought three thousand of these, all the remaining
stock, giving the name of Mr. Copperdock. There was very little chance
of their being traced, but if they had been, the result of inquiries
would have shown that they had all been sold to the tobacconist.
“I also discovered that the typewriter recently purchased by Mr.
Copperdock was a Planet, and I took a careful note of the brand of pen
and red ink he habitually used. I next made enquiries among the
envelope addressing agencies, until I found one which employed Planet
machines. To this agency I sent my envelopes, together with a
telephone directory in which I had marked some two thousand names,
among which were those of my intended victims who happened to have a
telephone. To this list I added one of my own, containing a thousand
additional names, among them the jurymen I had not found in the
telephone book. I instructed the agency to type these names and
addresses on the envelopes. It was a safe assumption that a year
later, when I began operations, the agency would not remember having
typed the names of the dead men among so many thousands of others. The
counters I numbered myself, as required.
“Last November, I felt myself in a position to seek my first victim. I
decided that it should be Mr. Tovey, a personal friend of Mr.
Copperdock, from whom I had learnt all I required to know about his
habits. I had, among my other weapons, a paper cutter’s knife, with
half a dozen blades. These blades I had sharpened along both edges
until they resembled daggers, and I had discovered a means of fixing
them lightly into the handle, so that they would remain in the wound,
leaving me free to carry off the handle.
“That evening, Mr. Ludgrove took his usual walk, returning by way of
Paddington station. From here he telephoned to Mr. Tovey, giving him
the message that he was wanted at St. Martha’s. Mr. Ludgrove then
walked back here, and took on the character of the Black Sailor.
Behind this shop is a piece of ground which was once a garden, and
that in turn is separated by a low wall from a yard, deserted after
business hours, with gates and also a small door leading into a back
street. I had made myself a key to the small door, and it provided me
with an alternative means of access to this house.
“The Black Sailor went out this way, waited in the shadows at the
corner of the back street until he saw Mr. Tovey pass, then followed
him and caught him up among the crowd outside the Express Train. The
knife required no violence in its use, merely a firm push in one of
the spots which Dr. Morlandson had shown me. The actual stabbing was a
very simple matter, and the Black Sailor disappeared in the crowd, to
return here by the way he went out and transform himself into Mr.
Ludgrove.
“But I realized that this method, although it had served its purpose
once, was inartistic and dangerous. There was always the risk that the
Black Sailor might be recognized and traced back here. As a matter of
fact, Wal Snyder had noticed him, but his evidence was discredited.
The police, however, were compelled to offer a reward for him, and I
determined that the Black Sailor must be reserved for special
purposes.
“In the case of Mr. Colburn I adopted quite a different method. I had
become a customer of his, and had encouraged his son to confide in me.
From him I gradually learnt his father’s habits and peculiarities,
particularly that of smoking a pipe in the shop after lunch, and, when
he had finished it, of refilling it and putting it away on a shelf. I
examined the pipe in young Colburn’s absence, and noticed that it was
cracked. That evening, I visited a tobacconist at some distance from
here and bought a pipe of similar make and shape.
“Within a few days, as I had expected, I saw Mr. Colburn enter
Copperdock’s shop. It was a fair assumption that he had gone in to buy
a new pipe to replace the old one, since I had learnt that his tobacco
was always delivered to him. I took a very small splinter of glass,
covered it with a preparation which Dr. Morlandson had given me, and
drove one end of it into a notch I had made in the mouthpiece of the
pipe I had bought. I then went to Colburn’s shop, on an errand which
necessitated young Colburn’s going to the bakehouse and leaving me
alone. I saw, as I had expected, a new pipe lying filled on the shelf.
I substituted mine for it, put Mr. Colburn’s pipe in my pocket, waited
until young Colburn came back with my purchase, and left the shop. I
was in the country when Mr. Colburn died, but I heard the details
later, as no doubt you have heard them, Dr. Priestley.”
“Yes, the deaths of Colburn and Martin strengthened my theory that Dr.
Morlandson was at the bottom of the affair,” replied the Professor
calmly. “I guessed that there was extensive medical knowledge behind
both of them.” His one idea was to prolong this recital as much as
possible.
“You will agree, however, that it would have been impossible to trace
Mr. Colburn’s death to me. By this time I had come to the conclusion
that it would be as well to stage the scene of my executions as far as
possible in Praed Street. I wished to concentrate attention upon this
particular district, since I knew that the obvious effect on the
police would be to suggest to them an inhabitant of it. As soon as
they did this, I was ready to supply a number of hints and inferences.
I was thus able to become on confidential terms with Whyland, and, by
making a friend of him, to put myself above suspicion. And all the
time I was influencing his mind in the direction of Mr. Copperdock. It
was a most interesting psychological study, I can assure you.
“Pargent, whom I determined to tackle next, presented an entirely
different problem. He lived some distance from Praed Street, and
though I might have devised some means of killing him in his own home,
I was most anxious to adhere to the rule I had laid down. It was not
until I had carefully considered his habits that I saw my way clear.
During the years which I had spent observing my victims, I had
discovered the regularity of his visits to his sister at West
Laverhurst. And in this regularity I saw my opportunity.
“One Saturday morning, when he was due to go to West Laverhurst, I
went down from Waterloo to Penderworth, for which the station is
Wokingham, ostensibly to collect plants. I went to Waterloo by way of
Paddington and the tube, the most obvious way of getting there. But at
Paddington I called at the booking-office, and took a ticket to
Reading. Having arrived at Penderworth, I made myself as conspicuous
as possible at the inn, in the character of Mr. Ludgrove, and then
went out with a suit-case, with the declared intention of collecting
plants. In the suit-case were my dyes and paints, also a change of
clothing.
“Now, Penderworth is four miles from Reading, where the train stopped
by which Pargent habitually returned home. I found a convenient
coppice, in which I got myself up as a man with iron grey beard and
hair, and a conspicuous mark upon my face. I left my suit-case in the
coppice, carefully hidden, and in it Mr. Ludgrove’s clothes and
spectacles. Then I walked to Reading and caught the train in which
Pargent was travelling. On our arrival at Paddington I followed him
through the station, and was by his side when he made his dash across
Praed Street to catch the bus. My opportunity came on the refuge, and
I employed the same method as I had done in the case of Tovey.
“I had ascertained that a train left for Reading ten minutes after the
arrival of the train by which I had travelled up. I had just time to
catch this—I already had the ticket which I had purchased in the
morning. As the train neared Reading, I went to the lavatory and
removed the dye and paint. From here I stepped out on to the platform
and passed the barrier unremarked. Even had I been noticed in London,
and my description circulated, I thus ran very little risk. The most
noticeable thing had been the ‘port-wine mark,’ and this of course had
vanished. I walked to the coppice, buried the clothes I was wearing,
resumed the apparel of Mr. Ludgrove, and returned to the inn with my
suit-case full of the first plants I could lay my hands on. I had
apparently an excellent alibi.
“With the death of Pargent, the curious coincidence that all three
victims had received counters came to light, as I had anticipated it
would. I thought it wise to suspend my operations for a while, while I
prepared my plans for dealing with the remainder of the surviving
jurymen. Goodwin presented the greatest puzzle. He was confined to his
house, almost to one room, and I despaired of being able to reach him.
I had nearly decided to leave him alone, knowing that his death could
not be delayed very long in any case. But I had a sudden inspiration.
The numbered counters had attracted a good deal of attention, and the
sequel to their receipt was well known. It was quite possible that
Goodwin, to whom any shock was likely to be fatal, would die as the
mere result of finding one in his post. I made the experiment, and it
was successful. But I claim no great credit for this exploit. I might
well have failed, had fortune not favoured me, and I was compelled to
abandon Praed Street as the scene of his death. I have always
considered that the execution of Goodwin was not up to my usual
standard.
“But I have omitted the case of Martin, upon which I rather pride
myself. Put yourself in my position, Dr. Priestley. Here was a man,
living in the suburbs, and having an office in the City. How was I to
lure him to Praed Street, and ensure his death when he arrived there,
at a time when Praed Street had already gained notoriety as the scene
of three mysterious deaths? I knew quite a lot about Martin, more than
most people, in fact. I knew that he had once been in business in
Praed Street, and that he had prospered there rather more rapidly than
his apparent business warranted. My connection among the shadier
classes in the neighbourhood helped me there. I discovered, hint by
hint, that he was a well-known fence, a receiver of stolen goods, that
is, Dr. Priestley, and that discovery, coupled with the fact that the
premises he had once occupied were again changing hands, gave me an
idea.
“My first move was to make the acquaintance of the builder who was
carrying out the alterations to Number 407, and from him I learnt in
the course of conversation the name of the new tenant. He asked me to
come and look at the place, an invitation which I accepted without too
great a show of eagerness. In the next few days I visited the place
again, more than once. I wanted the builder’s men to get accustomed to
the sight of me. For this purpose I was Mr. Ludgrove the local
resident, of course. As a matter of fact, most of the builder’s
friends went to have a look at the place. There is always an interest
in vacant premises in a street like this.
“Dr. Morlandson had provided me with a number of celluloid capsules,
containing pure prussic acid. I took an ordinary electric lamp, broke
it, and connected the ends of the leading-in wires by a piece of fine
foil, which would become red hot on the passage of a current. Round
this I wrapped a few strands of nitrated cellulose, and to this I
fixed the celluloid capsule. The action of this device was very
simple. If a current were passed through it, the cellulose would
inflame and set fire to the capsule, thus releasing the prussic acid.
Some of the vapour of this might catch fire, but enough would be left
to be fatal to anybody breathing it in a confined space. And I knew of
a confined space most suitably adapted to the purpose.
“I wrote a letter to Martin, which I knew could not fail to bring him
to Number 407, and to bring him alone. It suggested that somebody had
discovered his true occupation, and was prepared to keep the matter
secret, for a consideration. Then, on the Saturday morning, just
before the men were due to leave, I walked openly into Number 407. I
had kept an eye on their habits, and knew that before they left they
packed away their tools in the back room on the ground floor. I could
hear them there as I went in, and I made my way down to the cellar
without anybody noticing me. All I did there was to put my poison
device in the lamp holder in the small cellar—I had heard the
electrician tell the builder that the current would be connected that
day—hang the numbered counter on the switch, and remove the string by
which the swing door could be pulled open from within. The trap was
set, it remained only to ensure that Martin should have easy access to
it.
“I knew about the arrangement whereby the keys were kept at the sweet
shop. I had announced that I was going into the country that day,
travelling into Essex by the London, Tilbury and Southend from
Fenchurch Street. I took the Underground, apparently to Aldgate, but
got out at Aldersgate Street. From here I walked down the Barbican,
saw Martin leave his office, go to lunch, and finally book at
Aldersgate Street to Praed Street. I immediately telephoned from one
of the boxes there to Mr. Briggs, who had the keys, saying that I was
the tenant of Number 407, and asking him to look out for a Mr. Martin,
and give him the keys. I then went on to Fenchurch Street, spent a
happy and profitable day in the country, and returned home to hear of
the death of Mr. Martin. I was, I confess, slightly annoyed to find
that it had been attributed to suicide. But then, I had never
anticipated that Martin would bring an automatic with him. But perhaps
I weary you with these details, Dr. Priestley?”
“Not in the least!” replied the Professor fervently. He glanced
furtively at the clock. It was already past ten o’clock.