“And yet her accounts of it are remarkably consistent,” said the Inspector. “I went to see her and introduced the subject as tactfully as I could. She described the incident in almost exactly the same words as Mr. Copperdock used, and added that her husband, attaching no importance to it, threw counter, envelope and all into the fire. Her daughter, Ivy, was not present at the time. And yet, if we apply the obvious deduction to the sending of these numbered counters, what possible motive could anybody have for murdering two peaceful and elderly tradesmen, apparently strangers to one another, or, still more, for warning them first? It only adds another problem to this extraordinary business.” “Are you going to make the story of the numbered counters public?” asked Mr. Ludgrove. “One of my reasons for coming to see you was to ask you to say nothing about it,” replied the Inspector. “We have decided that there is nothing to be gained by letting it be known. Bone counters of this size are very common, and we are not likely to learn where these particular ones originated. On the other hand, the minute the story becomes known, there will be an epidemic of counters bearing the number III in red ink. The Post Office will be overwhelmed by envelopes containing them, and every one of the recipients will come clamouring to us for protection. You may think this is an exaggeration. But you have no idea of the effect of crime upon some people’s mentality.” Mr. Ludgrove laughed softly. “I think I have,” he replied. “I haven’t been a sort of confidential adviser to the poorer classes all these years for nothing. Nearly everybody who has been in this room for the last week has had definite knowledge of the murderer of Mr. Tovey, for which knowledge they seem to think it is my duty to pay a large sum of money. When I tell them to go to the police their enthusiasm evaporates with amazing rapidity. And since you people offered a reward for Wal Snyder’s sailor, the whole neighbourhood appears to have seen him.” “So I imagine,” said the Inspector. “There is usually a queue at the police station waiting to claim the reward. But what could we do? I confess I was very sceptical about the existence of this man; but I’ve bullied the wretched Wal half a dozen times, drunk and sober, and he sticks to the story. ‘S’welp me, it’s as true as I’m standing here,’ he says, ‘a big tall bloke, dressed like a sailor, with a black beard, an ugly gash on his cheek, and a woollen cap.’ We had no option but to advertise for such a man.”