“I suspect so. The only thing that makes me feel doubtful is the use of the knife. A strangler once a strangler always.” “He is frightened,” said Freyberger. “He must assuage his passion for murder, and he has changed his method.” “Do you think you will find him in the neighbourhood of Sonning?” “I think it probable.” “Probable?” “Yes.” “We have a few minutes to spare before you need start to catch your train,” said the chief, who always liked to get at Freyberger’s line of reasoning. “So you can just tell me why you think it probable. I would have put it down only as possible.” “In this way, sir. Why has this murder (if it is one of Klein’s), why has it taken place at Sonning rather than anywhere else? Sonning is a pleasant place enough to spend a day, it would be pleasant enough to spend a week there, but that fact is not an inducement to a murderer. I believe this man commits his crimes within easy reach of some den of his. We know from the house-agent that a man, similar to him, took a house in St Ann’s Road. We have seen that he only furnished one room, and had no servant or help of any sort. He does not want to be spied on. “We may suppose he left London, and for some reason or another took probably a cottage near Sonning, just as he took a cottage on the Fells of Cumberland.” “Yes, we may suppose that.” “Well—when was this murder committed—?” “Yesterday morning.” “Then it is probable he is still in the neighbourhood. Leaving aside the assumption that this murder was a sudden affair, the impulse of a moment, and that he had not made plans for leaving Sonning, there is the fact that a murderer of this type has a tendency to cling to the neighbourhood of his crime. Well, we will see. There is one thing I would like to have before I start.” “What is that?” “The sheath of the knife I found at St Ann’s Road.” “You shall have it.” The chief rang, and ordered the officer who answered the summons to bring the article in question, and Freyberger, placing it in his pocket, departed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXXVII HE caught the Birmingham express that leaves Paddington at 12.15, and arrived at Reading nine minutes after one. Here he took a bed at the Vastern Hotel, and went to sleep. At eight o’clock the next morning he was in consultation with the Chief of the Berkshire Constabulary. “It is a most extraordinary case,” said that gentleman. “Of course, it can be nothing else but the work of a lunatic. The body was found at three o’clock yesterday in a turnip field, close to the river. The man had no enemies, a simple, inoffensive creature, with a wife and five children. Our surgeon says that the murder must have taken place some time early in the morning. The throat was cut from ear to ear, most extraordinary case—mutilated too, but you will see the body for yourself.” “Have you the knife?” “Yes.” “May I see it?” “By all means.”