Jones had a problem. He was unable to kill a woman. They had to die. Then no one could say that he had killed them. But there was no more morphine left. If he stopped giving the woman morphine, she would get stronger and would become well again. He had to get some more morphine.
He had got morphine before. It was quite easy. Jones went by train to London. On the train, he went into the toilet. He put makeup and some white powder on his face. Mr Jones now looked a sick man. When he got to London, he stayed in a small hotel near Piccadilly Circus. He told the manageress he did not feel very well. And the woman believed him. He looked pale and ill.
Jones waited until evening. Then he drank a large glass of water in which he had put a lot of salt. He waited for ten minutes and then he began to feel very sick.
He walked slowly down the stairs and asked the manageress to help him.
'Get a doctor, please,' he said. 'I don't feel well and I'm in terrible pain.'
When the woman saw him, she thought he was going to die. She phoned a doctor who came straight away.
I'm very ill,' Henry Jones told the doctor. ' do not have long to live. I'm in terrible pain.'
'Why don't you go to your own doctor?'
'My doctor is in Bristol,' replied Jones. I'm in London on business. I'm going back to Bristol next week. I need a drug that will stop iny pain until then.'
The doctor looked at Jones and listened to his heart. Henry's face was white and there was sweat on his skin. The doctor saw that Henry was in great pain.
The Lonely Laday
