sinclair and boyce were sitting in the former’s room, waiting for collins.

“i wonder how he will like this?” said boyce.

“not at all,” said the other, making a face. “he is so fond of a problem that he dislikes a simple solution to anything.”

he shuffled uncomfortably. he did not altogether like it, himself. collins entered and greeted the others.

“well?” he said. “i got your message.”

boyce took his cigar from his mouth.

“we have got a confession of the murder of sir james.” if he expected collins to show any feeling, he was disappointed.

“who is it?” he said, quietly seating himself.

“a man called jackson. he came into the vine street police station late last night and said he wished to give himself up for the murder.”

“of course,” said collins contemptuously, “we shall have plenty of them.”

“wait a moment. this man is well known to the police. he has been in an asylum for years, but unfortunately his people got him certified sane, and had him out. he had homicidal tendencies. he has made a complete statement.”

“a statement from a lunatic. really, boyce.”

“well, listen to this, then,” said boyce, and spread a document out on the desk.

he began to read:

“i, john henry jackson, being of sound mind, and having been warned by the police, declare the following statement to be a true account of what i have done. on the afternoon of the ⸻, i killed that dog, sir james watson, because he is not fit to live. he will not hear the cry of the prisoner or the oppressed, but his heart has been hardened like pharoah. i went to his house in leveson square, which i had been watching for an opportunity, and he opened the door to me. he was delivered into my hands, but i would not slay him then. i knew that the time had come, so i wrote to the central news agency, with whom i have often had correspondence, and told them of his death. i had called at scotland yard some days before and seen superintendent sinclair.” boyce paused, and sinclair looked up with a start.

“while he was not looking, i took some of his paper, and a letter he had signed, and so i wrote on the paper to show that it was not murder. sir james came out and posted a letter, and i nearly killed him then, but the time had not come, so i followed him into the house, and shot him. it is a good deed and i do not mind having done it.

(signed) j. h. jackson.

“well, what do you make of that?”

sinclair and collins looked up, and their eyes met.

“absolute rubbish,” said collins, “the man is obviously a lunatic.”

“what about the reference to you?” said boyce to sinclair.

“i do remember a wild man coming here with some grievance. i don’t know how he got in at all. lewis let him in, but i have no recollection of him taking any letter of mine.”

“still, he may have done,” said boyce.

“of course,” said the other. “there is always a tray full of type-written letters of no great importance, waiting to go out. they would not be registered till they had been collected and one might have gone. it’s possible.”

“the whole thing is preposterous. what about the telephone messages that sinclair and i had?” said collins.

“oh, he says he sent them from a call office.”

collins laughed. “this is all your doing, boyce. i knew how it would be. you let the whole story out to the papers, and this lunatic has been turning it over in his mind till he really believes he has done it. it’s quite a common phase. i wonder you take the trouble to go into the matter.”

“wait a moment. you always think no one can be right but yourself. you have not heard all. a policeman has identified him. he saw him several times hanging about leveson square. and he has been further examined and his story hangs together. i don’t think there is any doubt that we have got the right man.”

“i am perfectly sure you haven’t,” said collins.

boyce turned to him. “of course it will be a disappointment to you. i know you always like something out of the way, with mystery and special features. what do you think, sinclair?”

“i don’t know, sir, i don’t know what to say. i don’t somehow think he is our man.”

“i am quite sure he is; he’s got to be. you understand. and i expect loyal support from my department,” said boyce, with decision.

“it won’t do, boyce, old fellow,” said collins.

“what do you mean?”

“i’ll tell you. have you ever seen the mikado? if so you may remember a song beginning, ‘as some day it may happen that a victim must be found.’ ”

“i am afraid i don’t follow you,” said the other coldly.

“between us three there is no need for bluff. you are being worried by all kinds of people to solve the problem. you see that your professional reputation is at stake and that much hangs on it. and you see here a good chance of finding a victim, who will not suffer any hardship in any case, as he obviously ought to be under lock and key.

“it is the stenie morrison case over again, only here you will not have to have an innocent man tried, because this man will not be able to plead. it will all work out finely. this man will go to broadmoor, where he will be quite happy, and there will be much praise for the smart commissioner.”

boyce flushed scarlet. “you mean i should fake up a charge against a man i knew was not guilty,” he said.

collins shrugged his shoulders. “i have known it done,” he said, and turned to sinclair. “well, here ends the wonderful mystery of leveson square. there will be no difficulty in getting a case. i have not been at the bar for nothing. there will be no defence, because there will be no trial. personally, i could drive a horse and cart through the whole thing. so could you. but it will be beautifully stage-managed.”

boyce rose in anger. “i suppose because you are a free-lance you think you can say what you like, unless you are trying to make a joke in rather doubtful taste. i do not see that any useful purpose would be served by continuing this discussion,” and he went out.

the other two looked at each other. collins burst out laughing.

“cheer up,” he said, “you look as if you had just missed backing the winner.”

“that’s just what i have done,” said sinclair gloomily. “it’s all right for you, but i have to do what i am told. i know this is all wrong.”

“do you? so do i,” said collins quietly.

the other looked up quickly. “you are very certain.”

“exactly. and so are you.” they both stared hard at each other for a moment. “i wonder what you have got hold of?” said sinclair.

“that’s just what i was wondering,” said collins.

“there’s one thing. this will put the real man right off. he will think he’s safe and may return,” said sinclair.

“return? what do you mean?”

“oh, nothing.”

a clerk entered, and laid an early edition of the “evening rag” on the table. sinclair picked it up.

“read that,” he said, indignantly.

across the page was printed:

‘murder of the home secretary,’

‘suspect arrested,’

‘makes full confession.’

there followed an account of how that brilliant civil servant, f. d. boyce, commissioner of police, after devoting his nights and days to the problem, had at last effected the arrest of a violent lunatic who had made a full confession of the dastardly crime.

there followed a paragraph in praise of their worthy official, and in self-laudation of the press generally, whose co-operation had been so effectual.

collins put it down with a smile.

“so that’s that,” he said. “i wash my hands of the case.”

on his way back to his flat he stopped at a post office, and sent off a wire. “delighted to accept your kind invitation. will come tomorrow,” and addressed it to “miss watson, the vale, holbrook.”