“Who are you?” demanded the lady.

“My name is Nap.”

“Spell it, please.”

“K.. n.. a.. p.. p.”

“Are you a policeman?”

“Er… a kind of policeman. I am a psychiatrist.”

“What’s that?”

“I heal, or try to heal, sick minds.”

The woman frowned. This stranger was distinctly dark. Colour in him somewhere. She was glad she had taken the stand with him that she had done. Then she didn’t feel glad at all when he smiled.

“Bywhom am I addressed, Madam?”

“Me? Oh, I’m Mrs. Sayers. A healer of sick minds, you say.” She almost giggled. “You’ve come to the right place. They’ve all got sick minds around here. Someone killed two defenceless women and they can’t catch him.” She swept towards the house door and there turned to survey the stranger with eyes no longer furious. “What kind of medicine do you give sick minds, Mr. Knapp?”

The stranger bowed slightly, and smiled.

“Hemp,” he murmured. Mrs. Sayers did giggle. They listened to her high-heeled shoes impacting the linoleum within the house, and then Inspector Walters advanced with proffered hand.

“Bit of a tartar when she’s roused,” he explained, “otherwise nice enough. Women! They always beat me. Glad to meet you, Inspector Bonaparte.”

“And I to meet you. Permit me to present my credentials.”

Sub-Inspector Walters read the order from Perth to give Detective-Inspector Napoleon Bonaparteevery assistance in the investigation of the murder of Mrs. Elsie Cotton on the night of April 12th, and the murder of Mrs. Jean Eltham on the night of May 5th. There was more of it, and when done, Walters looked up to observe the stranger in Broome seated at the opposite side of his desk, rolling a cigarette.

“Well, Inspector, all of us here will be glad to co-operate,” he said.