“You have seen the black sailor? Sit down and tell me all about it, Mr. Copperdock,” he replied gravely.
But Mr. Copperdock was far too excited to sit down. “I see him plain as I see you now,” he exclaimed. “Just after I left the Cambridge Arms——”
But Inspector Whyland put out his hand and forced him gently into the nearest chair. “Now, look here, Mr. Copperdock, if your information is to be of any use to me, you must tell it to me in the proper order. Begin by telling me how you spent the evening.”
“Soon as I shut up shop at eight o’clock, I goes off to the Cambridge, same as I always does,” replied the tobacconist protestingly. “Ted went out too, he’s taking Ivy to the pictures, and they won’t be back for an hour or so yet. I has a couple there, sitting in front of the fire, and it wasn’t until nigh on closing time that I left. There wasn’t anybody there as was coming home my way, so I starts off home alone. And I hadn’t gone more than a hundred yards when I runs slap into the black sailor!”
“What do you mean when you say you ran into him?” interrupted Whyland.
“Just what I says. I saw someone come round the corner, and before I could move we ran into one another. He was a great big fellow, and I could see him perfectly plain, we was right under the lamp. He bent down and looked straight at me, and you could have knocked me down with a feather. It was the black sailor, all right. He was muffled up in a great heavy coat, but I could see his beard, and his woollen cap, and a great red scar down the right side of his face. He glared at me as though he were going to hit me, and I hollered out, being sure he was going to do me in. Then all at once he turns his back and walks off at a tremendous pace. After a bit I follows him, hoping to meet a copper. But he suddenly turns in to the Edgware Road, and by the time I gets there I’d lost him.”
“H’m,” said Inspector Whyland. “That must have been nearly an hour ago now.” He paused for a moment, then, realizing that in Mr. Copperdock’s present excited state it would be impossible to get anything coherent out of him, he rose and took his leave.
“Well, good night, Mr. Copperdock,” he said abruptly. “It’s a pity you didn’t catch your man. I’d better get back to the station and warn my people to look out for him.”
As he left the shop, he noticed that Mr. Ludgrove’s door stood open, and as he crossed the road, the herbalist himself appeared in the entrance. “Good evening, Inspector,” he said politely.
Obeying a sudden impulse, Whyland stopped and returned the greeting. “Good evening, Mr. Ludgrove,” he replied. “May I come in for a moment?”