“Yes, ten years or more, if my memory serves me right. Dick and his father lived over the shop, with a charwoman to come in and do for them in the morning. When Dick comes back from his dinner, a little before three, the old man was still sitting at the cash register, and Dick sees at once that something is wrong. The old chap can hardly speak, says his tongue’s very swollen, and that he feels stiff all over. Dick slips out sharp and gets a doctor, and between them they gets Ben upstairs to bed. Doctor, he did what he could, but it wasn’t any use, and poor old Ben dies in two or three hours.”
“What an extraordinary thing!” exclaimed Mr. Ludgrove.
“That’s what the doctor said. He wanted to find the bit of glass which had scratched old Ben’s tongue, and he and Dick had a hunt for it, but it must have fallen on the floor of the shop. It was only a tiny piece, anyway. Of course they never found it, but the doctor says there must have been some extraordinary powerful poison on it, and I can’t see how a bit of glass like that could get stuck on the mouthpiece of a pipe accidental like.”
“Of course, nicotine acts as a poison if it is injected into the blood,” suggested Mr. Ludgrove. “It is just possible that the fragment of glass was harmless enough, but that the nicotine in the pipe found its way into the scratch.” But Mr. Copperdock shook his head. “It was a new pipe, what hadn’t ever been smoked before,” he replied. “Bought at my place the day before, as I told you.”
“Did your son examine the pipe before he gave it to Mr. Colburn?” asked Mr. Ludgrove quickly.
“That’s just what I asked him, and he says he can’t be sure. Of course, he didn’t see any glass or he’d have given old Ben another pipe. We gets them in dozens, each pipe twisted up in a bit of paper. Ted took the first that came out of the box, tore the paper off it, and handed it to Ben, who put it straight into his pocket. I’ve looked at the rest of the box since, and there’s no sign of any glass on any of them.”
“You say that Mr. Colburn filled the pipe as soon as he got home, and put it in the usual place,” said Mr. Ludgrove slowly. “It was lying there until two o’clock on Saturday. Anybody might have tampered with it in the meanwhile. The cash register, and I suppose the shelf where the pipe was kept, is within easy reach of anybody coming into the shop.”
“I’m afraid that won’t work,” replied Mr. Copperdock, shaking his head. “There’s not one in a thousand as goes into the shop that know’s the pipe’s there. You didn’t yourself till I told you just now, yet you say you’re a regular customer. No, if that pipe was tampered with, it was somebody on the other side of the counter what did it.”
“Then you are quite convinced in your own mind that Mr. Colburn was deliberately murdered?” suggested Mr. Ludgrove. “But what motive could anybody have for desiring his death?”
“What motive had anybody for murdering poor old Jim Tovey last week?” retorted Mr. Copperdock. “There’s only one person who gains anything by Ben’s death, and who that is you know as well as I do!”