The Seventh Hypothesis by Halter, Paul

of Dr. Marcus corresponded in every way to the madman he’d met in the little alley way. As for the doctors Ross and Sheldon, with their white masks , wide-brimmed hats and long noses, there could be no doubt that i t was one of them he had seen around ten o’clock on Bury Street . But what to make of it all? And what about the lodger suddenly smitten by the plague, who had disappeared as if by magic from a corridor? ‘This Mr. David Cohen,’ he asked, ‘would he be a young man with black curly hair?’ They nodded. With a sudden gesture, the constable raised his arm and looked with horror at his right hand, which had grasped the deceased’s hair. ‘What is it, officer?’ enquired Louise Minden. ‘Nothing. It’s nothing.’ ‘Don’t you think we should be on our way to the hospital? With this sickness about….’ ‘Don’t worry. A doctor—a real one—will be here in a few minutes. So, now I’d like you to let me in so I can take down your account in detail.’ After about ten seconds the door to the left of the window opened. Louis Minden invited the policeman into a small entrance hall, where a frosted glass door led to a long corridor plunged in semi-darkness. Immediately to the left was the opening of a stairwell, and on the right was the door to the owners’ flat. Mrs. Minden stood near the stair opening, her thin silhouette outlined in the dim light. She turned to look at the stairs and said in a gloomy voice: ‘All our lodgers live upstairs…. Except Mr. Cohen,’ she added, indicating with a bony fi