“Oh, he did, did he?” replied Whyland. “And what do you make of it, may I ask?” Mr. Ludgrove shrugged his shoulders. “I know no more than what the paper contains,” he said. “It looks to me like a practical joke. I shouldn’t wonder if some idiot derives amusement from sending these counters broadcast. I daresay he gets the names of people to send them to from the telephone directory.” “Practical joke? H’m,” said Whyland. “Mind, I’m not denying that a lot of fools do send out these counters to their friends. The Yard has had dozens of cases reported to them. I always said that would happen as soon as people heard about them. But in this case I have seen the envelope in which the counter was sent. It was typed on the same machine as the others, and it was posted in this district, exactly as the others were. Your practical joker has followed his original model pretty closely, don’t you think?” The ardent seekers after sensation redoubled their eagerness for news of the next counter. Although opinion on the whole followed Mr. Ludgrove in attributing the counter sent to Mr. Goodwin to some irresponsible practical joker, the fact that death had undoubtedly followed its receipt caused many to shake their heads knowingly. If Mr. Martin’s death had been due to suicide, and Mr. Goodwin’s to a practical joke, how would the original sender of the counters number his next one? It was not to be supposed that he would claim credit for these spurious imitations of his work. If the next number were to be VI, public opinion was quite prepared to credit him with having compassed the last two deaths. But most people anticipated that it would bear the number IV. The fact that such discussion was possible showed clearly that the theory of the existence of some mysterious assassin had captured the popular imagination. There was really no reason why any murderer should not send a numbered counter to his prospective victim, but people argued, quite correctly, that murders were far more often the result of sudden impulse than of deliberate intention. It was for this reason that the “counter deaths” as they were sometimes called, attracted so much attention. Yet the weeks drew into months, and the cold winds of spring took the place of the misty drizzle of winter, without any news of another numbered counter being received. The arm-chair criminologists gave it as their opinion that the last had been heard of them, that the mysterious criminal had either fulfilled his vengeance or had died unrecognized in some lunatic asylum. The murders in Praed Street were added to the long list of undiscovered crimes, and slowly they began to be forgotten.