“I do mean that,” replied Mr. Copperdock deliberately. “I mean too that Ted is very sweet on Ivy Tovey, and that poor old Jim wasn’t very keen on the idea. Now you see the sort of lying whispers that might get about if all this was known. And I’m blest if I see what I can do about it.” “I think you told me that you had some conversation with a Police Inspector last week on the subject of Mr. Tovey’s murder?” suggested Mr. Ludgrove. “That’s right,” replied Mr. Copperdock. “Very decent sort of chap he was, too. What about him?” “Do you know where and how to get hold of him?” “Yes, he left me his card. I’ve got it at home somewhere.” “Well, Mr. Copperdock, if you will take my advice you will go and see him, and tell him everything you know, as you have just told me. It’s all bound to come out, sooner or later, and if you have already informed the police, your position will be all the stronger. Don’t you agree?” “Yes, I suppose I do,” replied Mr. Copperdock reluctantly. “But it seems terrible, like giving evidence against my own flesh and blood.” “On the contrary, you will be doing the very best for your son. A frank statement of facts is always the best defence of the innocent. Tell your friend the Inspector everything, not forgetting the curious incident of the numbered discs. He will know better than I do what advice to give you in the matter. And, if you feel that I can be of the slightest assistance to you, do not hesitate to come to me at once.” After some further discussion Mr. Copperdock agreed to follow his friend’s advice, and, after a parting drink, went home, somewhat comforted. The herbalist, having locked the door behind him, returned to the interrupted classification of his plants. But, from the slight frown which passed across his face from time to time, one might have guessed that he was thinking more of his conversation with Mr. Copperdock than of the specimens before him. Chapter V Inspector Whyland The death of Mr. Colburn, following so closely upon that of Mr. Tovey, caused a distinct sensation in Praed Street and its immediate neighbourhood. Suspicion was, so to speak, in the air, and anybody known to have been intimate with either of the dead men was looked at askance, and became the subject of whispered comment when their backs were turned. Not that this floating suspicion actually settled down upon any individual head. But Praed Street discovered an uneasy feeling that the two inexplicable deaths of which it had been the scene indicated that it harboured a murderer. On the Wednesday morning following Mr. Ludgrove’s visit to Suffolk, a man walked into his shop and rapped upon the counter. The herbalist emerged from the back room at the summons, and, as was his habit, glanced gravely at his customer. He saw before him a youngish man, immaculately dressed, who immediately turned towards him interrogatively. “Mr. Ludgrove?” he said.