The herbalist bowed. “That is my name,” he replied. “Can I be of any service to you?”
The stranger placed a card upon the counter, with an apologetic gesture. “I’m Detective Inspector Whyland, attached to the F Division,” he said. “And if you could spare me a few minutes, I should be very grateful. I’m awfully sorry to have to intrude in business hours.”
“Oh, pray do not apologize, I am rarely very busy in the morning,” replied Mr. Ludgrove courteously. “Perhaps you would not mind coming through this door. We shall be able to talk more privately.”
Inspector Whyland accepted the invitation, and sat down in the chair offered him. Mr. Ludgrove having pressed him to smoke, sat down in the opposite chair, and looked at him enquiringly.
“I daresay that you can guess what I have come to talk about,” began the Inspector, with a pleasant smile. “I may as well confess at once that I want your help. We policemen are not the super-men which some people think we ought to be, and most of us are only too anxious to ask for assistance wherever we are likely to get it. And I personally am under a debt of gratitude to you for persuading Mr. Copperdock to unburden himself to me.”
Mr. Ludgrove smiled. “Oh, he told you, did he?” he replied. “It was much the best thing he could do. I hope he convinced you, as he certainly did me, that both he and his son were completely innocent of any knowledge of these queer happenings.”
It was the Inspector’s turn to smile. “He did. I don’t think that Mr. Copperdock is of the stuff of which deliberate murderers are made, and from what I have seen of the son, I fancy the same applies to him. But may I, since you appear to be pretty intimate with Mr. Copperdock, ask you one or two questions about him? You needn’t answer them unless you like.”
“Most certainly I will answer them to the best of my ability,” replied Mr. Ludgrove gravely.
“Thank you. In the first place, can you suggest why he is so obviously confused when any reference is made to the Tovey family? I understand that his son and Tovey’s daughter are—well, great friends, but that could hardly account for his manner.”
Again Mr. Ludgrove smiled, this time with genuine amusement. “My dear sir, haven’t you guessed the reason? I did, some days ago. Mrs. Tovey is, I believe, a very charming woman, and by no means too old to consider the possibility of marrying again. Mind you, Mr. Copperdock is convinced that his secret is safely locked in his own breast, and I should forfeit his friendship if he had any inkling that I shared it.”