“Besides, it is not at all inevitable that he should commit another murder. An attempt is quite sufficient. His next victim may be more fortunate than Mr Goldberg. His next victim may turn the tables upon him. Who knows? He may fall upon a sheep and find that he has tackled a wolf.” The chief smiled. “Look at his past,” he replied. “Old men, women and children were his victims.” “That is true, but old men sometimes go armed, and women are sometimes heroic, and there is always the chance of a third person coming on the scene.” “If,” said the other, “in three days from now the man is not arrested I will do what I have said.” Freyberger bowed, and the interview terminated. He left the Yard with great depression at his heart. Three days more. It was against all probability that anything would happen during the next three days, unless Providence, watching from above, chose to bring matters to a conclusion. Freyberger felt, for the first time in his life, discouraged; this discouragement remained with him all night and the next day, which he had to spend at the Central Criminal Court, in connexion with a bank forgery case. On leaving the Courts very late he repaired to his own rooms, only to find a telegram from the chief desiring his immediate attendance at the Yard. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXXVII A QUARTER of an hour later he was standing in the presence of his superior. “Good evening, Freyberger,” said the chief. “Good evening, sir.” “There is an express to Birmingham from Paddington at a quarter past midnight.” “Yes, sir.” “I want you to catch it.” “Yes, sir.” “The train stops at Reading.” “So I believe, sir.” “You must get out at Reading and spend the night there. I want you early on the spot to-morrow morning. A murder has been committed.” “At Reading?” “No, at Sonning.” “The village of Sonning-on-Thames?” “Precisely. Do you know it?” “Slightly. I have in fact—” “Yes?” “Well, it is a pleasure resort, a place where young couples—” “Precisely—where a young man might take a young woman.” Freyberger smiled discreetly. “Well,” continued the chief, “I am sending you down there hoping you may meet some one more interesting than a girl.” “And who may that be, sir?” asked Freyberger, a sudden glitter coming into his eye. “Klein.” “Ah!” “Müller, Kolbecker—call him what you will.” “So!” “You do not seem as jubilant as one might expect.” “I am not jubilant, sir; I would swear not to laugh again until I have this man by the shoulder, only the oath would be unnecessary. I am not jubilant, but I am glad. May I have the details of this crime?” “A man named Bronson, a farm-labourer, fifty years of age, has been found stabbed to death in a field at Sonning.” “Stabbed!” “Stabbed; there was no apparent motive for the crime, and the body was hacked as if by a maniac.” “That is he!” said Freyberger.