Mr. Copperdock felt in his pocket and handed the herbalist a Yale key. “She brought it in ten minutes ago. She was terribly upset, and talked about our all being murdered in our beds next. It’s a terrible thing to have happened just before Christmas like this. People will be afraid to go out of doors after dark.”

Mr. Ludgrove nodded rather absently, and took the key which his friend offered him. “You’ll let Inspector Whyland know I’m back?” he said, and, without awaiting Mr. Copperdock’s reply, he left the shop, crossed the road, and entered his own premises, a thoughtful frown upon his face.