out on to the steps.

"Oh, constable," he said coolly, "come inside, will you? I have
something to show you."

Bennett mounted the steps doubtfully.

"There was a scream," he said.

The man looked at him quickly. "So you heard it," he said. "It was
not pretty."

"No, it was not," replied Bennett.

The man led him down the dim passage into the back sitting-room. The
body of a man lay on the sofa; it was curled like a dry leaf.

"That is my brother," said the man, with a little emphatic nod; "I
have killed him. He was my enemy."

Bennett stared dully at the body, without believing it to be really
there.

"Dead!" he said mechanically.

"And anything I say will be used against me in evidence! As if you
could compress my hatred into one little lying notebook."

"I don't care a damn about your hatred," said Bennett, with heat. "An
hour ago, perhaps, I might have arrested you; now I only find you
uninteresting."

The man gave a long, low whistle of surprise.

"A philosopher in uniform," he said, "God! sir, you have my
sympathy."

"And you have my pity. You have stolen your ideas from cheap
melodrama, and you make tragedy ridiculous. Were I a policeman, I
would lock you up with pleasure. Were I a man, I should thrash you
joyfully. As it is I can only share your infamy. I too, I suppose, am
a murderer."

"You are in a low, nervous state," said the man; "and you are doing
me some injustice. It is true that I am a poor murderer; but it
appears to me that you are a worse policeman."

"I shall wear the uniform no more from tonight."

"I think you are wise, and I shall mar my philosophy with no more
murders. If, indeed, I have killed him; for I assure you that beyond
administering the poison to his wretched body I have done nothing.
Perhaps he is not dead. Can you hear his heart beating?"

"I can hear the spoons of my children beating on their empty
platters!"

"Is it like that with you? Poor devil! Oh, poor, poor devil!
Philosophers should have no wives, no children, no homes, and no
hearts."

Bennett turned from the man with unspeakable loathing.

"I hate you and such as you!" he cried weakly. "You justify the
existence of the police. You make me despise myself because I realise
that your crimes are no less mine than yours. I do not ask you to
defend the deadness of that thing lying there. I shall stir no finger
to have you hanged, for the thought of suicide repels me, and I
cannot separate your bloo