Clothed in green, its face and hands smeared with some pigment of the same colour, lay the figure of a tall man. Round the waist was a belt from which was suspended in its case a Gurkha's kukri. Malcolm Sage bent down to unbuckle the belt. He turned the man on his back. As he did so he saw that in his hand was a small, collapsible tin cup covered with blood, which also stained his lips and chin, and dripped from his hands, whilst the front of his clothing was stained in dark patches. "I wonder who he is," muttered Thompson, as he gazed down at the strange figure. "Locally he is known as the Rev. Geoffrey Callice," remarked Malcolm Sage quietly. And Thompson whistled. III "And that damned scoundrel has been fooling us for two years." Sir John Hackblock glared at Inspector Wensdale as if it were he who was responsible for the deception. They were seated smoking in Sir John's library after a particularly early breakfast. "I always said it was the work of a madman," said the inspector in self-defence. "Callice is no more mad than I am," snapped Sir John. "I wish I were going to try him," he added grimly. "The scoundrel! To think----" His indignation choked him. "He is not mad in the accepted sense," said Malcolm Sage as he sucked meditatively at his pipe. "I should say that it is a case of race-memory." "Race-memory! Dammit! what's that?" Sir John Hackblock snapped out the words in his best parade-ground manner. He was more purple than ever about the jowl, and it was obvious that he was prepared to disagree with everyone and everything. As Lady Hackblock and her domestics would have recognised without difficulty, Sir John was angry. "How the devil did you spot the brute?" he demanded, as Malcolm Sage did not reply immediately. "Race-memory," he remarked, ignoring the question, "is to man what instinct is to animals; it defies analysis or explanation." Sir John stared; but it was Inspector Wensdale who spoke. "But how did you manage to fix the date, Mr. Sage?" he enquired. "By the previous outrages," was the reply. "The previous outrages!" cried Sir John. "Dammit! how did they help you?" "They all took place about the time the moon was at the full. There were twenty-eight in all." Malcolm Sage felt in his pocket and drew out a paper. "These are the figures." In his eagerness Sir John snatched the paper from his hand, and with Inspector Wensdale looking over his shoulder, read: Day before full moon . . . . 4 Full moon . . . . . . 15 Day after . . . . . . 7 Second day after . . . . . 2 -- Total 28 . . . . . . 28 "Well, I'm damned!" exclaimed Sir John, looking up from the paper at Malcolm Sage, as if he had solved the riddle of the universe. The inspector's only comment was a quick indrawing of breath. Sir John continued to stare at Malcolm Sage, the paper still held in his hand.