“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.”