“Ho!” said the policeman thoughtfully. “The extent of your vocabulary,” said Mr. Trevor gloomily, “leads me to conclude that you must have been born a gentleman. Have you, in that case, a cigarette you could spare?” “Gaspers,” said the policeman. “Thank you,” said Mr. Trevor, rejecting them. “I am no stranger to ptomaine poisoning.” “That’s funny,” said the policeman, “your saying that. I was just thinking of death.” “Death?” said Mr. Trevor. “You’ve said it,” said the policeman. “I’ve said what?” said Mr. Trevor. “Death,” said the policeman. “Oh, death!” said Mr. Trevor. “I always say ‘death,’ constable. It’s my favourite word.” “Ghoulish, I calls it, sir. Ghoulish, no less.” “That entirely depends,” said Mr. Trevor, “on what you are talking about. In some things, ghoulish is as ghoulish does. In others, no.” “You’ve said it,” said the policeman. “But ghoulish goes, in this ’ere affair. One after the other lying in their own blood, and not a sign as to who’s done it, not a sign!” “Oh, come, constable! Tut-tut! Not even a thumb-mark in the blood?” “I’m telling you,” said the policeman severely. “Corpses slit to ribbons all the way from ’Ampstead ’Eath to this ’ere Berkeley Square. And why? That’s what I asks myself. And why?” “Of course,” said Mr. Trevor gaily, “there certainly have been a lot of murders lately. Ha-ha! But not, surely, as many as all that!” “I’m coming to that,” said the policeman severely. “We don’t allow of the Press reporting more’n a quarter of them. No, sir. That’s wot it ’as come to, these larst few days. A more painful situation ’as rarely arisen in the hannals of British crime. The un’eard-of bestiality of the criminal may well baffle ordinary minds like yours and mine.” “I don’t believe a word of it!” snapped Mr. Trevor. “Ho, _you_ don’t!” said the policeman. “_You_ don’t!” “That’s right,” said Mr. Trevor, “I don’t. Do you mean to stand there and tell me that I wouldn’t ’ave ’eard--I mean, have heard of this criminal if he had really existed?” “You’re a gent,” said the policeman. “You’ve said it,” said Mr. Trevor. “And gents,” said the policeman, “know nothing. And what they do know is mouldy. Ever ’eard of Jack the Ripper?” “Yes, I ’ave,” said Mr. Trevor bitterly. “_H_ave is right, sir, if you’ll excuse me. Well, Jack’s death was never rightly proved, not it! So it might well be ’im at ’is old tricks again, even though ’e has been retired, in a manner of speaking, these forty years. Remorseless and hindiscriminate murder, swift and sure, was Jack’s line, if you remember, sir.” “Before my time,” said Mr. Trevor gloomily.