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.”