n
scoured after each maiming, and how, night after night, watchers had
been posted throughout the district, but without result.

"I have had men out night and day," continued the inspector gloomily.
"He's a clever devil whoever he is. It's my opinion the man's a
lunatic," he added.

Malcolm Sage looked up slowly.

"What makes you think that?" he asked.

"His cunning, for one thing," was the reply. "Then it's so senseless.
No," he added with conviction, "he's no more an ordinary man than
Jack-the-Ripper was."

He went on to give details of his enquiries among those living in
the district. There was absolutely nothing to attach even the
remotest suspicion to any particular person. Rewards had been
offered for information; but all without producing the slightest
evidence or clue.

"This man Hinds?" enquired Malcolm Sage, looking about for more
matches.

"Oh! the general's got him on the brain. Absolutely nothing in it.
I've turned him inside out. Why, even the Deputy Commissioner had a
go at him, and if he can get nothing out of a man, there's nothing
to get out."

"Well," said Malcolm Sage rising, "keep the fact to yourself that I
am interested. I suppose, if necessary, you could arrange for twenty
or thirty men to run down there?" he queried.

"The whole blessed Yard if you like, Mr. Sage," was the feeling
reply.

"We'll leave it at that for the present then. By the way, if you
happen to think you see me in the neighbourhood you needn't remember
that we are acquainted."

The inspector nodded comprehendingly and, with a heart lightened
somewhat of its burden, he departed. He had an almost child-like
faith in Malcolm Sage.

For half an hour Malcolm Sage sat engrossed in the map of the scene
of the maimings. On it were a number of red-ink crosses with figures
beneath. In the left-hand bottom corner was a list of the various
outrages, with the date and the time, as near as could be
approximated, against each.

The numbers in the bottom corner corresponded with those beneath the
crosses.

From time to time he referred to the two copies of _Whitaker's
Almanack_ open before him, and made notes upon the writing-pad at
his side. Finally he ruled a square upon the map in red ink, and
then drew two lines diagonally from corner to corner. Then without
looking up from the map, he pressed one of the buttons of the
private-telephone. "Tims," he said through the mouthpiece.

Five minutes later Malcolm Sage's chau