the murder of matthew russell continued to upset me terribly, and night and day i could not keep my thoughts away from it. he had been a man of such lovable character and such a general favorite with everyone. mixing in all the best society of the city and on intimate terms with the highest persons in the state, he had nevertheless worked whole-heartedly under me. apparently in complete forgetfulness that while he had been an important man in the community, i, after all, was still only a poor office clerk, he had taken orders from me just as the humblest and most insignificant of my patrols, and although many years my senior, had always treated me with the respect and deference due to a superior officer.

i felt his loss terribly and i learned afterwards that it added not a little to my popularity with the special service men that everyone could see how genuinely grieved i was. it made them realise the spirit of camaraderie that there was amongst us.

it was a good thing for me, too, that i was popular with my men, for otherwise i should never have got to know, in the manner that i did, how suddenly the clouds of suspicion had gathered up against me at head-quarters.

two days after matthew russell’s funeral i had just arrived at the office when one of the city patrols, a man called fraser, rang me up. he said he wanted to speak to me urgently about a very serious matter and asked if he could come round at once.

i was rather annoyed, because i had a lot to do that morning, but still i thought it best to tell him he might come, and so within ten minutes at most he was ushered into my private room.

he was very particular to make sure that the door was shut securely behind him, and then he advanced almost on tiptoe to my desk.

“mr. wacks,” he said very quietly when we had shaken hands, “i’m sorry to bother you in business hours, but i’m sure when i’ve told you everything you’ll say i was quite right to come.”

“what is it then?” i asked, feeling almost inclined to smile at the air of mystery in which he was enveloping himself. “for anything urgent you can always come any time.”

he hesitated for a moment, as if not knowing how to commence, and then he blurted his words out as rapidly as he could, at the same time keeping his voice down almost to a whisper.

“it’s those damned police with their jealousy again — they’re trying to make out now that it’s you who are the murderer.”

i almost collapsed.

his words struck at me like a blow; a dreadful shudder ran through my body and my knees shook horribly under the desk. a clammy sweat came over me and my heart hammered so fiercely that i felt as if my very head would burst. but i don’t think my face altered at all. i just stared at him stonily, without the flicker of an eyelash and without saying a word.

“it’s that brute meadows,” he went on hoarsely. “i heard him tell the chief commissioner that you were the man on the roof last sunday, and that it was you who had committed every murder that had been done.”

i looked at him very calmly, and it was then the beating of my heart seemed suddenly to ease a little. almost a flutter of relief ran through me and i could almost feel, too, the ghost of a weak smile beginning to gather round my lips. why should i be so startled, i asked myself? after all, his news was only what i had been expecting, and the mercy of it was that it had come to me from friendly lips. it was no hostile audience that faced me now — no shrewd and critical gathering of my enemies, waiting gleefully to see how i would take the first blow. just a blundering, honest, and indignant friend, whose very indignation would blind him from the recognition of any guilty feelings i might possibly show.

my luck again! the smile on my face strengthened just a little and i moistened my dry lips with my tongue.

“dear me,” i said quietly, “and when did you hear all this?”

“last night,” he replied promptly. “i was hidden in the cupboard of the specials’ room. listen and i’ll explain everything.”

“but first sit down comfortably,” i told him, now much more at my ease. “don’t be in a hurry, i’m most interested, of course.” he sat down at once and leaned towards me over the desk.

“last night,” he began slowly, “i was late in getting to head-quarters — more than quarter of an hour. i was lucky in meeting no one in the passage and slipped into our room hoping to get my cap and armlet and make off without being seen. i was particularly anxious not to be seen, because i had been late for duty one night also last week, and the chief had seen me coming in then and jacketed me soundly in front of the grinning policemen in the hall. last night i saw at once i was the last special to arrive, for our room was in darkness. i didn’t switch on the lights, because i had, of course, my electric torch with me, and, with that i knew i could easily find my things. well, i was just groping in the cupboard for my cape when suddenly i heard footsteps in the passage and then the voice of the chief himself. ‘no i can’t see you now,’ i heard him say sharply. ‘i’ve got some people in my room and i shall be very busy for at least an hour.’ ‘but i must see you, sir, at once,’ replied another voice, and i recognised that it was the detective meadows speaking. ‘it’s extremely urgent or i wouldn’t press it.’ the chief grumbled something, their voices came nearer, and then i heard him say crossly, ‘well, come in here.’ i had just time to jump into the cupboard and pull the door to when up went the lights and through the chinks of the door i saw the chief and meadows standing in our room. ‘now, meadows, be quick,’ said the chief irritably. ‘i give you two minutes, that’s all,’ and then meadows came out with what i’ve just told you. the chief seemed to just gasp in astonishment.

“‘what the hell do you mean?’ he asked, ‘wacks, the murderer! you silly ass’; but meadows was as excited as he was, and poured out a long rigmarole of a tale about you. i can’t remember a quarter of what he said, but he told the chief he had been keeping a diary for ever so long and there were a lot of things in it about you. he said he had just been reading it over and he saw there were seven nights last january when you had come home very late. he said he had been comparing dates, and these late nights of yours all fitted in exactly with some of the nights on which the first murders had been committed. he said there could be no possible mistake about it. then he went on about your killing someone’s rabbits next door to where you lived and why some dog hadn’t barked because, of course, it knew you. then he told the chief that after killing these rabbits — i never heard such a tale — you went mad up at the office here and tried to kill several of the clerks by throwing inkstands at them. he said a man called waller had told him all about it, and that you had also been seen drinking beer that day. but why don’t you laugh, mr. wacks? you look quite pale.”

at last the good fellow was noticing my condition, but it was happy for me that i had now got myself completely under control. i smiled, though i could feel it was only a very sickly smile.

“i should like to laugh,” i replied, “except that it’s really too tragic to be comic. but tell me, what did the chief say?”

“oh, at first he didn’t seem to believe a word, but afterwards meadows had quite talked him over. meadows kept on insisting that several times you had got hold of inside information that only the police or the murderer himself could possibly have known. he said you must have been there, for instance, on the park lands that night when police–constable holthusen was killed, or you couldn’t possibly have told the premier what you did when you went up on the deputation. then the chief broke in:—‘and, damn it all, that’s how he knew a police bicycle had been stolen that night outside government house. i can see it all now. he stole it himself. it was a dead secret all along from everyone except the parties actually concerned, and then up gets that peter wacks at the public meeting and gives everything away as if he knew all about it, which no doubt the beggar did. oh damn!”

fraser’s imitation of the chief commissioner was very realistic and for the moment i felt almost amused at what he was telling me.

“so the chief worked himself up into quite a rage, did he?” i asked my informant, when for a second he paused to take breath.

“a rage? by cripes you should have seen him when meadows said you were the man hiding on the roof at prospect last sunday. he just danced up and down like a cat on hot bricks. ‘no wonder he made us the laughing-stock of the city,’ he swore. ‘oh, the damned swine!’ then he went on to give meadows a good jaw. they must never let you out of sight now, he said, for one single second after nightfall. you must be shadowed everywhere. but they must take damned good care not to make any mistake, for just now you were a sort of idol in the city, and if they made a bloomer it would be good-bye for all heads at victoria square. the chief also said that, meanwhile, he should try to pump you tonight.

“but isn’t it absurd, mr. wacks? doesn’t it just show to what lengths jealousy will take anyone? how they must hate all us specials!”

i shrugged my shoulders contemptuously. “it’s childish,” i said rather bitterly, “but then it’s no good making a fuss about it anyhow.” i held out my hand impulsively: “you’re a good fellow, fraser, and this must be a secret between us two. no one else must hear a word of it, you understand.”

the man flushed to the roots of his hair with pleasure. it was praise indeed from his chief to be spoken to like that, for he knew quite well that i was a powerful man in the city then.

“all right, mr. wacks,” he replied warmly, “you can depend on me. i’ve said nothing to a soul and i shan’t either.”

we chatted confidentially for a few minutes longer, and then with another handshake he left.

long after he had gone i sat thinking. so i was under suspicion at last. all eyes would be watching me henceforth; one false step and i should be undone. but weren’t they too late with their suspicions, and what had i to fear? surely i had left no clues behind me. i could see nothing now to connect me definitely with the crimes. of course, they would try to trap me somehow, but thank goodness, i was prepared. no, i had only to keep a stiff upper lip and they could scowl at me and do their worst. i was not afraid.

turning resolutely to my work, i put meadows scornfully out of my mind.

i was rather late in arriving at head-quarters that evening, and i sensed danger immediately i drew near. even as i was crossing the square i saw inspector wedlake looking at me out of the tail of his eye with his whole manner suggestive of the over-careless effect of a man who wanted to appear unconcerned and off-hand.

“good evening, mr. wacks,” he said lightly as i got up to him, “piping hot again — hasn’t it been? i wish to goodness some rain would come, but there, i don’t suppose we can expect it yet. oh, by-the-way, the chief was asking just now if you’d been in. i’m not sure, but i fancy he wanted to speak to you. perhaps you had better go in; i’ll find out where he is for you.”

i followed him unconcernedly, but i could feel the thumping of my heart. i had steeled myself resolutely for the ordeal that i knew lay before me, and i was wondering only as to the exact manner of its coming.

the chief was seated at his desk and hovering somewhere in the back of the room were meadows and another man.

they all looked up casually when we entered, but the chief’s face took on at once a look of animated interest.

“oh, i wanted to speak to you, mr. peter wacks,” he said half grimly, and with just a trace of banter in his tone. “i’ve got two or three small bones to pick with you, young man. now what do you think the duties of a special are — what is your idea?”

i looked at him coldly as if without the very slightest idea of what he meant. the nature of my reception was so unexpected that inwardly i was puzzled and rather taken aback.

“come, sir,” he went on genially, “surely you know what your duties are. for one — you’re supposed to help us a bit — now aren’t you?”

“quite so,” i replied, determined not to be drawn into too much talking; “well, we do, don’t we?”

“as a whole — yes, but some of you are a hindrance at times, and some of you are very indiscreet too. you are one of the latter.”

“what do you mean?” i said, fencing for time and quite unable to follow the drift of his questions.

“you give away information sometimes, mr. wacks,” went on the chief, speaking very sternly; “information that might be very important, and quite defeat the end we are all supposed to have in view.”

“i don’t know what you mean,” i replied bluntly. “you never tell me anything, so i’ve nothing to give away.”

he bent forward impressively and said slowly with the cold anger he showed only when he was rating his men.

“why, then, did you tell the reporter of the ‘register’ about sullivan being in the hospital with snakebite?”

“why shouldn’t i have told him?” i replied, looking him straight in the face.

his voice became very stern. “you knew it was a matter that concerned the police.”

i shrugged my shoulders.

“well, what if it did? everybody knew it, didn’t they?”

he just glared at me. “you know they didn’t,” he snapped angrily. “it was a breach of faith on your part to mention it.”

“i don’t see it,” i replied calmly. “i didn’t learn it in the course of my duties and, besides, directly afterwards i was told it wasn’t true. i just passed it on for what it was worth. that was all.”

“how did you learn it in the first instance, pray?”

“sir bartle told me; i met him in the street.”

“and who told you that it wasn’t true?”

“inspector wedlake here. i asked him purposely that evening if any of his men were sick, and he at once said, ‘no.’”

inspector wedlake looked rather uncomfortable, and the chief puckered up his forehead in a frown.

“one day, mr. wacks,” he went on sarcastically, “you’ll perhaps learn that it isn’t the business of any member of the force to furnish information generally as to what’s going on. but now, then, well come to another thing. please explain why you didn’t tell me you lived next door to boulter? your memory will be quite good enough, i am sure, to remind you that the matter cropped up when we were having lunch that day with the governor. you remember, don’t you?”

“oh, perfectly well,” i replied; “you told us all about his rabbits then.”

“yes — and you sat mute and said nothing — why, please?”

i put as much scorn as i could muster into my voice.

“because i thought it was piffle. i thought the idea utter rot. i think so now, too.”

i looked squarely at meadows, hoping to drag him in, but he was looking out through the window as if everything were of no interest whatever to him.

the chief was furious. he was too straightforward and to blunt a man to hide his feelings much at any time, and my words evidently galled him to the quick.

“be careful, sir, be careful,” he blurted angrily —“don’t add impertinence to your usual want of tact.”

i shrugged my shoulders again and was just thinking what to reply when the telephone rang sharply on the table just behind him. he made a curt sign to inspector wedlake and the latter picked up the receiver at once. there was a moment’s silence and then the inspector rapped out sharply.

“message from carlton, sir — a man’s been killed on the torrens road — bludgeoned again. the murderer was seen running away.”

it will always be difficult for me to remember what exactly happened then.

the chief looked thunder-struck. he just glared at meadows as if the detective had done him some great and mortal wrong. meadows was ghastly, like a gambler losing everything on a single throw — his jaw dropped dismally, and his face had the pleading of a beaten dog.

the chief snatched savagely at the receiver.

“chief speaking — well?”

there was a tense silence. meadows partially recovered himself — he dropped his eyes. inspector wedlake of us all seemed the most undisturbed; he stared interestedly at me and i— well, i was more horrified than any of them there. i was in a perfect sweat of horror, and felt sick almost to nausea with the sudden shock. i was dazed, too, and trying hard to think. was it in nightmare only then that i had committed all my crimes? was it in dreams alone that i had roamed the city on my quest of blood? what if i were innocent after all? for the moment i was so perplexed that i was ready to believe anything. i dropped into a chair so that i might not faint.

i heard the chief giving some directions on the phone — then he hung up the receiver sharply and turned round.

he seemed to half open his mouth to speak to meadows, but catching sight of me huddling in the chair he checked himself abruptly and crossed over to me.

“feeling faint, man?” he asked not unkindly. “put your head low down — would you like a nip of brandy?”

i shook my head at once. the extreme faintness had passed and ashamed now of my weakness i pulled myself together and sat up.

“good lord,” i asked brokenly, “another death now? when’s it all going to end?”

“ask me another,” replied the chief briskly putting on his cap, “but, goodnight now — we’re going out. wedlake here will look after you. don’t leave until you feel all right,” and off he went with meadows at his heels.

for a long time that night i rolled and tossed in bed before i at last finally got off to sleep. what was going to happen now, i asked myself a hundred times? undoubtedly there was another madman taking on the dreadful role of crime.

was it because i had set him the example? if so, upon what a ghastly trail of blood had i not set the feet of the poor stricken city. was there any punishment in the whole world that could be bad enough for me? could i ever in any way atone?

my sleep was light and broken and i was glad when morning came.