“Unless your murderer has cleared out of Broome he will almost certainly strike again,” Bony went on. “Having struck twice, he won’t be able to prevent himself. At this very moment, he is puffed with vanity. He has tasted supreme power, and that is a draught of which he will never be satiated. No motive? Oh yes, he has a motive. The gratification of hate, the gratification of the lust to kill, is a motive. That motive is an effect, and when I have discovered the cause, I shall have discovered his identity.”

“Meanwhile, he may murder another woman?” Walters said, sharply.

“Yes, meanwhile he may do so. In these two murders he has superbly covered himself, and yet he has begun to spin the web about himself, despite all his cunning. His unconsciously performed work in that respect is not, unfortunately, sufficiently advanced for me to view the plan of the web he will inevitably make clear with, say his sixth or seventh murder.”

“Damnation!” exploded Walters, and Sawtell stopped in the act of lighting another cigar.“Six or seven murders! Here in Broome!”

“Easier for such a tiger-man to get away with six or seven killings here in Broome than down in Perth, or in London or New York. Here, everyone knows everyone. Here almost everyone visits almost everyone. Were the floors of Mrs. Eltham’s house swept and the dust and debris sent to Perth for analysis? No, they were not.

“So what? We are placed on the horns of a dilemma. If we safeguard all the attractive women of Broome from attack, the killer bides his time till the safeguards are removed. If we do not take every step to guard the attractive women of Broome, he strikes at will until he gives us a clue to his identity, or, gentlemen, until I can build his identity with my own discoveries and my own methods. Should he claim another victim, I shall be hurt about it.”

“So will the victim,” Sawtellsaid, his face a mirthless grin.