He just told the truth. Freyberger loved the truth, not from any exalted reason, but simply because it was the tool by which he earned his living and made his reputation. The golden measuring rod by which he measured statements, the crucible from which he distilled deductions, the glass mask which he wore tied over his face to prevent himself being poisoned by the fumes of misapprehension. “You have missed him this time,” said the chief; “but never mind, you are driving him back, you are getting him slowly into a corner. Another move may mean checkmate.” “If I had taken him yesterday,” replied Freyberger, “it would have meant a life saved—who knows? Perhaps several lives saved. He is loose now, like a wild beast, and the question we have to consider is this. If he is seriously alarmed, if he suspects that we know of his monomania, may fear overcome his madness and cause him to withhold his hand?” “What is your opinion on that point?” asked the chief. “You have considerable knowledge of the psychology of crime.” “Well, sir, it is my belief that, if he is really alarmed, fear will cause him to withhold his hand—for awhile. “But fear, though checking, will not stay his desire to kill. He will at first be careful, then, as time goes on and he gets farther away from this murder, his caution will slacken and the desire become unchained.” “You think fear is a check upon lunacy?” “Not much. But I conceive the mind of this man to be essentially not the mind of a lunatic. “If I might use a simile, I would liken this man’s mind to a country peopled with evil persons, and possessing one town peopled with devils—that is the lunatic spot.” “You almost speak as though you believe lunacy to be possession by devils.” “Absolutely, I believe that,” replied Freyberger. “Firstly, from a prolonged study of lunacy; secondly, because my Bible bids me believe it. I am a Protestant.” “You have heard the report we have had about those clothes you brought here this morning in the valise?” “No.” “Smalpage is, or should we say was, Sir Anthony Gyde’s tailor. He identifies the measurements as being those of Sir Anthony Gyde, and his chief cutter identifies the garments as his work, though, of course, he cannot say for certain for whom he cut them.” “That is evidence enough,” replied Freyberger; “the clothes are Gyde’s.” “Yes, I think so. Then, again, Smith and Wilkinson, the jewellers, identify the jewel cases as having been supplied to Sir Anthony; the bank identify them as similar to those withdrawn by Sir Anthony.” “That is evidence enough,” again replied Freyberger. “The things are Gyde’s; the evidence is, unhappily, of little use at present. It will help to hang our man when we catch him. There is nothing for us now to do but wait.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXXV