Byways to Evil. Lloyd Biggle, jr.

confuse the police.”

      “Possibly, but I doubt it,” Lady Sara said. “I take it you’ve found no reason why anyone would want to murder a steady, reliable worker like Havill. He couldn’t have been carrying much in the way of money or valuables. Since there were no witnesses, the police would have been confused enough without the claw marks. Someone had a reason for mutilating his face and arms. It may have been a ghoulish reason, but it was a reason. It does seem strange that there were no animal tracks, though.”

      “But you just said there was no animal!” the Chief Inspector protested.

      “There wasn’t. But if the murderers could mutilate the corpse with claw marks, they easily could have left a few fake animal tracks. It would have been the right artistic touch. I wonder why they didn’t.”

      “I’m going to have a hard time convincing my superiors about this,” the Chief Inspector said ruefully. “Could I borrow this thing for a few hours?”

      Lord Anstee nodded his assent.

      “But don’t lose it,” Lady Sarah cautioned. “It is rare and immensely valuable to a collector.”

      “It is that,” Lord Anstee agreed. “It is continental in origin, and I don’t think there is another in England—not even in the Tower of London.” He turned to Lady Sara. “Do you need me for anything else? Then I’ll have a chat with your mother.” He nodded at the artists and at the Chief Inspector, told Sir Thomas he was always happy to see him as long as he didn’t have to see him professionally, and added a cautionary remark for me.

      “I’m afraid you’ll come to a bad end, Colin, brought up in crime the way you were. Keep an eye on him, Chief Inspector. With the training Lady Sara has given him, he can make a master criminal of himself any time he feels so inclined.”

      The Marquis headed for Connaught Place to find Lady Ranisford, and Lady Sara took up the business that had started all of this, the giant axe murderer. She began by describing the circumstances under which each of the artists had come in contact with a giant. Then she asked them to show Sir Thomas and Chief Inspector Mewer their sketches. It took the Chief Inspector a full minute to grasp their import.

      He demanded indignantly, “Are you suggesting there were two seven and a half foot giants?”

      “I’m not suggesting it,” Lady Sara said. “I’m stating it. One giant had—probably has—a birthmark; the other, the executed murderer, had no birthmark but a mole. Because they looked remarkably alike, it wouldn’t surprise me if Hob Hagan had a brother, even a twin brother. And it was the brother you hanged, not Hob Hagan.”

      “If you’re thinking we hanged the wrong man, that’s nonsense. He was caught bending over his victims with the axe in his hands.”

      “There can be no question about that,” Lady Sarah agreed. “You caught the axe murderer, and you hanged the axe murderer. But you didn’t catch or hang Hob Hagan.”

      “Several people identified him!” the Chief Inspector protested. “He admitted himself that he was Hob Hagan!”

      “Let’s consider what we know about him,” Lady Sarah said. “Hob Hagan first came to the attention of the police in York. He injured some men who were mistreating a horse. He was a gentle, repentant sort of person, but he did resent jokes about his size. Everyone who knew him had the impression that he desperately wanted to live a normal life. The manager of a travelling sideshow approached him when he was in prison and offered to make him rich. Hagan would have nothing to do with him.

      “He drifted on, and there were several police reports concerning violent behaviour committed in very similar circumstances. Someone was mistreating an animal, or someone tried to poke fun at his size. Finally he reached London, and in this violent city there were more acts of violence. There were reports of men being beaten by a giant but not severely and only with his fists. Probably they taunted him, but he had learned to react with restraint.

      “Suddenly he acquired a knife and a drastically different personality. He badly injured a number of people before the report of his first murder entered the police files. There were two more such reports before he was caught standing over three victims with the bloody axe in his hands.”

      “He confessed to all of the murders,” the Chief Inspector protested.

      “Why wouldn’t he? He was caught in flagrante delicto. There was no way he could escape hanging, and he knew he could only be hanged once. But was he really responsible for all of those crimes, or was he taking the blame for his brother because he knew he was doomed anyway? Was Hob Hagan the gentle giant he appeared to be, or did he become as violent as the axe murderer and commit some of those murders himself?”

      “You have a unique talent for thinking up police problems where there shouldn’t be any,” the Chief Inspector grumbled. “If there really is a brother, and he really is a gentle giant, why bother with him? We have enough criminals to worry about without that.”

      “It is important to find out whether one giant or two has been committing violent crimes. Officially, Hob Hagan has been hanged. That’s a wonderful situation for a criminal to be in. It gives him licence to commit all the crimes he pleases. No suspicion can fall on him because he is already dead.”

      “So what are we to do about it?” the Chief Inspector asked.

      “Ask police everywhere to be on the lookout for a giant. He should be easily recognized if anyone sees him. If he has turned violent, we must try to find him before he kills someone else.”

      “I guess we could do that without too much trouble,” Chief Inspector Mewer conceded. “It’s just that I’m not clear in my own mind what I would do with him if I got hold of him.”

      “If you find him, let me know at once. I’d like to talk with him.”

      “Well—I can do that.”

      “I can tell you where a giant is,” Sir Thomas said.

      We all turned to him expectantly.

      “He is an Irish giant,” he said. “Officially, he measures seven feet nine inches tall, which is three inches taller than Hob Hagan. He lived during a period in the eighteenth century when there was a competition between anatomists to acquire interesting specimens. This giant, whose name was Charles Byrne, had a horror of suffering such a fate. He made elaborate arrangements to avoid that, but the eminent surgeon John Hunter coveted his skeleton and shamelessly bribed officials to obtain it. It is now in the Hunterian Museum. I can testify of my own knowledge that Byrne is a sedate, well-behaved skeleton, totally without such frills as birthmarks or moles, and the police have no cause to concern themselves with him.”

      “Fifty or sixty years ago, there was a Norfolk giant named Hales,” Lady Sara said. “The most interesting thing about him was that he had a sister who was said to be only seven inches shorter than he was—and seven inches taller than any man in the county when her brother was out of it—proving that giantism can run in families.”

      Chief Inspector Mewer cleared his throat twice and changed the subject. “Just this morning I convinced my superiors that there’s a wild animal prowling the docks. Now I have to explain why there isn’t any. They may decide to give me thirty days’ leave for my health.”

      He left. Under his arm, and carried with exaggerated care, was the Spanish Tickler, which he couldn’t have broken by throwing from an upper storey window.

      CHAPTER 5

      Sir Thomas, on being assured he was no longer needed, returned to his round of patients. The rest of us continued to discuss the missing giant.

      “The original Hob Hagan may have dropped from sight because he found a quiet rural corner where he can live a normal life without being harassed about his size,” Lady Sara said. “If so, routine enquiries will bring us word of him sooner or later. If he really has been committing crimes in London, that’s another story entirely, and he will be much more difficult to find. For one thing, he’ll have learned how