boyce was smoking an excellent cigar, and was generally pleased with himself. he had just received a short note from the prime minister, thanking him for his good work in running the murderer of the home secretary to earth, and hinting that when the time came for the retirement of that fine old soldier, sir thomas hawley, as chief commissioner for london, the new home secretary could not do better than appoint so efficient an officer as he had proved himself to be.

this was good reading. he had feared some strong words about his allowing lunatics to be at large, but the truth was that sir james had never been popular with his colleagues, as he was considered reserved, and had not lent himself to giving soft berths to the nephews and friends of his fellow cabinet ministers.

his death had enabled the premier to reshuffle the ministry, and bring in an impecunious nephew of his own to a minor post.

so everyone was happy.

boyce rang the bell and sent for sinclair.

the latter was not in the same genial mood. none of the reflected glory of boyce’s triumph had come his way, and he was perfectly convinced that whoever was guilty of the murder, jackson was not.

“take a seat, sinclair,” said boyce. “you might care to see this letter from the premier,” and he handed it over with an air of indifference which did not deceive the other.

“very good, sir, i congratulate you,” he said, simply.

“and now, sinclair, i want to read you the indictment which giles, of the public prosecutor’s office, has drawn up. i think it is very well done. of course it is only in the form of notes.

case against john jackson, for the murder of sir james watson, bt.

(1) jackson confesses in three separate statements that he has done the murder. but this without corroboration is of little value, since he has been declared insane by medical experts.

(2) we have, therefore, to seek corroboration. jackson states that he was several times hanging about the house in leveson square waiting for his chance.

this is confirmed by p.c. jenkins and p.c. whiting, both of whom have identified the man as having been seen in the vicinity of the square.

(3) jackson states that he called on superintendent sinclair three days previous to the murder, and while in his office, stole writing paper, and a letter signed by the latter, and on this paper wrote to the central news agency.

superintendent sinclair confirms that such a call was made, but cannot trace any missing letter, though there might have been one.

“is that so?” said boyce, glancing at the other.

sinclair made a face.

“well, i certainly said i remembered the man calling, but i told them there was no missing letter. when the lawyer asked whether it would have been possible for such a letter to have been taken, i said of course it was possible, but highly improbable. that’s the way the lawyers twist evidence, but go on, sir.”

boyce looked as though he was about to rebuke him for this heretical sentiment, but continued.

(4) jackson states that he called sinclair and collins on the ’phone, and corroboration can be obtained—he had the opportunity to do so—and there is a doubtful identification by a paper seller, who says he saw him leave the public telephone call office at piccadilly circus, at the time named. this man is not a reliable character, but the evidence can be used if necessary.

(5) revolver. jackson makes a rambling statement as to how he got the revolver which cannot be relied upon, but as he is mad this does not count for much.

sinclair lifted his eyebrows. “that’s rather amusing,” he said. “where they find corroboration, they accept his statements; where they don’t, they say he is mad.”

boyce looked at him severely. “this is only a confidential memo,” he said, “for the information of the office only.”

“i see,” said sinclair, with contempt.

boyce went on reading.

(6) motive. although motive is not essential in the case of a lunatic, it is helpful with a certain type of criminal’s mental derangement. there is abundant evidence that jackson had a fancied grievance against the late home secretary, who had turned down all his petitions for release from the asylum at broadmoor. he had also sent threatening letters to sir james.

(7) the actual crime. jackson states that he followed sir james in, after he had been to the pillar box in the square to post a letter. mrs. simmons declared on oath that he did not, but on further examination, when asked to swear that no one came in after that, said she could not do so, and showed great signs of confusion.

sinclair pricked up his ears. “i wonder,” he said.

“what’s that?” said boyce.

“well, sir, collins always said that she was not telling the whole truth to us, and that she was hiding something.”

“there you are,” said boyce. “of course if it was a matter of a trial, and of life and death, we should turn the old woman inside out, and she would probably confess; though why she should try and screen him, is more than i can tell; we may have it out of her in any case. well, that’s the case. what do you think of it?”

“i don’t think any jury would convict,” said sinclair doggedly.

“really, sinclair, you are very obstinate; i suppose because you had no hand in catching the man.”

“i see in all the accounts,” said sinclair, “it is made out that the police caught the man, and nothing is said of him giving himself up.” boyce looked uncomfortable.

“it doesn’t do any harm, and does the police good,” he said; “and in any case i am sure they would have got him,” he ended, lamely.

sinclair remained silent.

boyce was annoyed.

“here’s my idea of what occurred,” said he, rather peevishly.

“jackson comes out from the asylum, we will assume, partially cured. he has nothing to do, and gradually the old madness comes over him. he nurses his grievance against sir james until it becomes an obsession. he comes to you about it. then he sees the official paper on your desk, and with a madman’s cunning he takes some pieces.

“perhaps he thinks he will write to sir james on it, who can say? he hangs about waiting for a chance, possibly only to speak to him. he had obtained a revolver, goodness knows where, and then the plan matures. with the cunning and vanity of insanity, he writes to the central news—which by the way no one but a madman would do, and calls you and collins up for the same reason. perhaps he was watching you all the time when you were at the house.

“he sees sir james come out with a letter, and as he states, he nearly killed him then, but thinks he will do so inside.

“he follows him in, and shoots him and escapes.

“he is watching you, and when you go to collins’ flat, he follows and leaves that stupid message which also is the work of a madman which you told me about. how’s that for a case?”

sinclair remained silent for a minute.

“a good counsel could smash it to pieces. i am certain that he never took anything from my room, but of course it is one of those things one cannot swear to. if he followed sir james in, why did not mrs. simmons see him; and if she did, why should she screen him? why did she hear no shot? and if she did, why did she not raise the alarm? how did he get out again, and close and lock the door behind him? then who was the man who called on sir james in the afternoon? jackson makes no claim to be that man, probably because no mention was made of it in the papers?

“what i think happened is as collins suggested. this man read all the accounts and so got them into his head that he is quite certain he did the murder. it is not an uncommon phase.”

boyce interrupted. “i have no patience with all this. of course there are difficulties. whoever heard of a case where there were not, but the evidence in my opinion is overwhelming. anyway, i am satisfied.”

“very good, sir, if you are convinced, that is sufficient. what does the public prosecutor think of it?”

“my dear sinclair, have you been so long in the service as not to know that the public prosecutor is not concerned with opinions, but to make out a case on the evidence.”

“and so you think that the case is ended?”

“i think,” said boyce unctuously, “that this poor fellow will go back to broadmoor, from which he ought never to have been released, and that our department will have scored a triumph.”

“by the way,” he said, as if anxious to change the conversation. “what has happened to our friend collins, he seems to have disappeared?”

“oh, he’s gone down to devonshire to sir james’ place.”

“what, is he still on some wild goose chase?”

sinclair smiled. “i rather fancy it’s a different sort of chase from what i saw in london. eric sanders will have to look to his laurels.”

“ho-ho, is that it? fancy our friend collins. he doesn’t fit in with marriage bells, somehow. i expect if there’s anything in it, he will give up amateur detective work.”

“mr. sylvester collins to see you, sir,” said the messenger.

“show him in,” said boyce. then in a whisper—“not a word about this, he will only start arguing.”

collins entered. he was neatly dressed as always, but he had a gaunt look and the lines on his face suggested sleepless nights.

“where have you sprung from?” said boyce, with affected geniality of manner. he was not anxious to go over the whole case with this man whose keen intellect he feared.

“oh, i have been first in devonshire and for the last three days on a walking tour.”

“you look it,” said boyce.

“i really came to see sinclair, but heard he was with you, so came on.”

boyce looked uncomfortable. “would you two rather be together? i have finished with him.”

“i suppose you have just settled the case of sir james to your satisfaction, eh?” he said with a laugh.

“oh, i know you do not agree with our conclusions, but i would much rather not go into the whole matter.”

“i don’t wish to discuss it. i think you have come to the wisest decision you could under the circumstances.”

“now you are trying to be sarcastic.”

“not at all. i had an idea of my own, but i don’t think it is worth following up. i have finished with the case, and am quite satisfied with the way things have turned out.”

the other two looked at him in astonishment.

“well, you have changed your opinion. i am very glad,” said boyce, with genuine satisfaction.

sinclair looked bewildered.

“so your clue proved a fraud, did it?” he said.

“it did not lead where i expected,” he answered.

“this is all greek to me,” said boyce; “won’t you tell us?”

“no; it would only introduce the name of a man who has nothing to do with the matter.”

“you wanted to see me?” said sinclair, still puzzled.

“any time will do. by the way, boyce, how long do you think it will be before your case is finished? i mean, all settled?”

“i can’t say, you know the course of the law is not swift.”

“shall we say a month?”

“i should think that will easily cover it.”

“why are you so anxious to know?”

collins flicked the ash off his cigarette into an ash tray.

“nothing much, only i know who the murderer was, and i wanted to know how long it would be before your man was convicted.”

the other two gazed at him in utter astonishment.

“do you mean to say that you think you know who murdered sir james and you are not going to tell who it was?” said boyce.

“i never had any doubt in my own mind at all. but to give him up—no, i am afraid that would be impossible. you see, he doesn’t exist.”

“doesn’t exist? what nonsense. are you trying one of your jokes on us?” said boyce, crossly; he hated mysteries.

“he’s gone, disappeared, vamoosed.”

“do you mean he’s dead?” said boyce.

“the question is, did he ever exist?”

“oh, i’ve no patience with this sort of talk,” said boyce. “if you know anything, for goodness sake say what it is; if not, don’t talk in riddles.”

sinclair had been watching keenly. his face was grave.

“yes, i think i know what you mean,” he said.

“oh, you, too. what on earth are you getting at?”

“i shall be in a position to say in a few days’ time, to tell you more,” said sinclair.

“i wish you two would not be so confoundedly mysterious,” said boyce.

“if you’ve got anything to tell me, do so. as for you, sinclair, i expect loyalty from you at any rate.”

sinclair replied with some stiffness.

“i shall not take any action without consulting you, sir, and i may be quite wrong.”

“very well,” said boyce, with a gesture of dismissal.

alone together collins and sinclair went to the latter’s room.

“what an ass that man is,” said collins. “he hasn’t the brains of a rabbit.”

“i wonder,” said the other, “whether he is quite the fool you think him.”

“what are your plans?”

“do you know a place called wilton-on-sea?” said sinclair. collins looked keenly at him.

“yes, i know it,” he said.

“i am thinking of running down there,” said sinclair.

“what on earth are you going there for?”

“i have been told that it is very good air, and as i have a few days’ leave, i thought i would try it.”

collins thought for a moment.

“well, you probably don’t know, but it is quite close to sir james watson’s place—in fact, it is the station for it.”

“really?” said sinclair. “then of course you know it well?”

“if you are really going there i will run you down in my car. you might like to see sir james’ place.”

the men looked at each other.

“i would like to see inside your head, and find out what there is there,” said sinclair. “you’ve something concealed.”

collins laughed. “that’s just what i was thinking. what are you after? well, we will each keep his own counsel.”