“If you like to call it so,” answered Mr. Ludgrove. “As you know, I employ most of my week-ends looking for our rarer English plants. It has become the custom to sneer at the simple remedies of our ancestors, but I assure you that there are plants growing in the hedgerow, if one can only find them, which will cure almost any human complaint, and it is my favourite practice to seek for them.”
Mr. Copperdock shook his head. “Can’t say as I should find much fun in it,” he said. “Too lonely a business altogether. I likes to have someone to talk to when I’m on a holiday. And where might you be going this time?”
“A little place I know in Suffolk, not very far from Ipswich. Now why don’t you come with me, Mr. Copperdock? I shall stay at the inn, a most pleasant little place, and we could go out searching for plants together.”
But Mr. Copperdock was not to be tempted. “It’s very good of you, I’m sure,” he replied. “But, as a matter of fact, the country isn’t very alive, leastways not at this time of the year. Perhaps I’ll come with you some time in the summer, if you’re going to stay at a decent little pub. Some of them country pubs ain’t half bad if you’re thirsty.”
After a little further conversation Mr. Ludgrove took his departure, and Mr. Copperdock, after a final drink, retired to bed. But it is to be feared that his thoughts gave him very little rest. He almost regretted that he had not accepted Ludgrove’s invitation. For it was being slowly borne in upon him that his agitation would drive him to confide in the wisdom of the herbalist. Ludgrove could be trusted not to give him away, and would certainly give him good advice.
Chapter IV.
The Poisoned Pipe-stem
Mr. Ludgrove returned from Suffolk by a late train on Sunday night, burdened with a capacious suit-case, which he laid on the bench in the inner room. He made himself a cup of cocoa, and then proceeded leisurely to unpack the case.
It contained a carefully arranged mass of plants, which he laid out in rows, attaching to each a label upon which he scribbled its name. He was thus busily engaged, when he was interrupted by a loud knocking upon the door of the shop, which he had locked behind him.
The herbalist was not a man who allowed himself to be disturbed by trifles. He merely smiled and glanced at his plants, not a half of which were yet properly classified. Then he went towards the door. It had sometimes happened that one of his clients, in urgent need of his services, had hammered on the door during the hours when the shop was shut. Mr. Ludgrove, if he happened to be within, made a point of answering these summonses. At any hour he was prepared to do what he could to relieve pain or anxiety.
The door opened, disclosing a short, stout figure upon the step. The rather austere lines of Mr. Ludgrove’s face widened into a smile of hospitable welcome.