“Just as the others were,” agreed Whyland. “I’ll keep this counter, if you don’t mind. I want to add it to my collection. Now I suppose I had better step across and see Copperdock. I should like you to come with me, if you can spare the time.”

“I think I can risk shutting the shop for a few minutes,” replied the herbalist. “I get very few customers in the morning. Most of the people who require my services are at work all day.”

“Dishonest work, I’ll be bound,” said Whyland chaffingly. “Well, come along, then.”

They went across to Mr. Copperdock’s shop together, and were shown by the tobacconist into the room behind the shop, which was used as an office. At one side was a table upon which stood a Planet typewriter, at the other a desk. Inspector Whyland seated himself at the latter, selected one of the pens before him, and dipped it into an inkpot, which happened to contain red ink.