“I understand that the detective police force is the one institution which has survived in Russia.” “Put down that repulsive concoction and come and take the air.” Lomas stared at him in horror. “Where’s your young lady? I thought you were walking out. You’re a faithless fellow, Fortune. Go and walk like a little gentleman.” But there was that in Reggie’s eye which made him get up with a groan. “You’re the most ruthless man I know.” The car moved away from the club and Reggie shrank under his rug as the January east wind met them. “I hope you are cold,” said Lomas. “What is it now?” “It was nearly another anonymous murder,” and Reggie told him the story. “Diabolical,” said Lomas. “Yes, I believe in the devil,” Reggie nodded. “Who stood to gain by the child’s death? It’s clear enough. There’s only Warnham. Mrs. Warnham was left a rich woman when her first husband died, old Staveleigh. Every one knew that was why Warnham was after her. But the bulk of the fortune would go to the child. So he took the necessary action. Good Gad! We all knew Crab Warnham didn’t stick at a trifle. But this----! Cold-blooded scoundrel. Can you make a case of it?” “I like you, Lomas. You’re so natural,” Reggie said. “That’s all quite clear. And it’s all wrong. This case isn’t natural, you see. It hath a devil.” “Do you mean to say it wasn’t Warnham?” “It wasn’t Warnham. I tried to frighten him. He was frightened. But not for himself. Because the child has an enemy and he doesn’t know who it is.” “Oh, my dear fellow! He’s not a murderer because you like his face.” “Who could like his face? No. The poison was given at the party where Warnham wasn’t.” “But why? What possible motive? Some homicidal lunatic goes to a Kensington children’s party and picks out this one child to poison. Not very credible, is it?” “No, it’s diabolical. I didn’t say a lunatic. When you tell me what lunacy is, we’ll discuss whether the poisoner was sane. But the diabolical is getting a little too common, Lomas. There was Bigod: young, healthy, well off, just engaged to a jolly girl. He falls into a chalkpit and the jury says it was misadventure. There was the lady doctor: young, clean living, not a ghost of a past, everybody liking her. She is murdered and a girl who was very fond of her nearly goes mad over it. Now there’s the small Gerald: a dear kid, his mother worships him, his step-father’s mighty keen on him, everybody likes him. Somebody tries to poison him and nearly brings it off.” “What are you arguing, Fortune? It’s odd the cases should follow one another. It’s deuced awkward we can’t clean them up. But what then? They’re not really related. The people are unconnected. There’s a different method of murder--if the Bigod case was murder. The only common feature is that the man who attempted murder is not known.”