nglish authorities at that time
looked upon me with a tolerant, good-natured contempt.

Inspector Standish assumed the manner of a man placing at my disposal
plenty of rope with which I might entangle myself. He appeared to
think me excitable, and used soothing expressions as if I were a
fractious child to be calmed, rather than a sane equal to be reasoned
with. On many occasions I had the facts at my finger ends, while he
remained in a state of most complacent ignorance, and though this
attitude of lowering himself to deal gently with one whom he
evidently looked upon as an irresponsible lunatic was most
exasperating, I nevertheless claim great credit for having kept my
temper with him. However, it turned out to be impossible for me to
overcome his insular prejudice. He always supposed me to be a
frivolous, volatile person, and so I was unable to prove myself of any
value to him in his arduous duties.

The Felini instance was my last endeavour to win his favour. Inspector
Standish appeared in his most amiable mood when I was admitted to his
presence, and this in spite of the fact that all London was ringing
with the Greenwich Park tragedy, while the police possessed not the
faintest idea regarding the crime or its perpetrator. I judged from
Inspector Standish's benevolent smile that I was somewhat excited when
I spoke to him, and perhaps used many gestures which seemed
superfluous to a large man whom I should describe as immovable, and
who spoke slowly, with no motion of the hand, as if his utterances
were the condensed wisdom of the ages.

'Inspector Standish,' I cried, 'is it within your power to arrest a
man on suspicion?'

'Of course it is,' he replied; 'but we must harbour the suspicion
before we make the arrest.'

'Have confidence in me,' I exclaimed. 'The man who committed the
Greenwich Park murder is an Italian named Felini.'

I gave the address of the exact room in which he was to be found, with
cautions regarding the elusive nature of this individual. I said that
he had been three times in my custody, and those three times he had
slipped through my fingers. I have since thought that Inspector
Standish did not credit a word I had spoken.

'What is your proof against this Italian?' asked the Inspector slowly.

'The proof is on the body of the murdered man, but, nevertheless, if
you suddenly confront Felini with me without giving him any hint of
whom he is going to meet, you shall have the evidence fro