II
It was over a week later that Luke, carelessly scanning the front page ofThe Times, gave a sudden startled exclamation¹.
“Well, I’m damned!”
Jimmy Lorrimer looked up.
“What’s the matter?”
Luke did not answer. He was staring at a name in the printed column.
Jimmy repeated his question.
Luke raised his head and looked at his friend. His expression was so pe-culiar that Jimmy was quite taken aback.
“What’s up, Luke? You look as though you’d seen a ghost.”
For a minute or two the other did not reply. He dropped the paper,strode to the window and back again. Jimmy watched him with increasingsurprise.
Luke dropped into a chair and leaned forward.
“Jimmy, old son, do you remember my mentioning an old lady I trav-elled up to town with—the day I arrived in England?”
“The one you said reminded you of your Aunt Mildred? And then shegot run over by a car?”
“That’s the one. Listen, Jimmy. The old girl came out with a long rigmar-ole of how she was going up to Scotland Yard to tell them about a lot ofmurders. There was a murderer loose in her village — that’s what itamounted to, and he’s been doing some pretty rapid execution.”
“You didn’t tell me she was batty,” said Jimmy.
“I didn’t think she was.”
“Oh, come now, old boy, wholesale² murder—”
Luke said impatiently:
“I didn’t think she was off her head. I thought she was just letting herimagination run away with her like old ladies sometimes do.”
“Well, yes, I suppose that might have been it. But she was probably a bittouched as well, I should think.”
“Never mind what you think, Jimmy. At the moment, I’m telling you,see?”
“Oh, quite—quite—get on with it.”
“She was quite circumstantial, mentioned one or two victims by nameand then explained that what had really rattled³ her was the fact that sheknew who the next victim was going to be.”
“Yes?” said Jimmy encouragingly.
“Sometimes a name sticks in your head for some silly reason or other.
This name stuck in mine because I linked it up with a silly nursery rhymethey used to sing to me when I was a kid. Fiddle

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