CHAPTER IV.—THE THUG IN OUR MIDST.TOWARDS nine o’clock the following night three men, with set and solemn faces, were talking in a large and well-furnished room in Scotland Yard. They were Sir Michael Bolden, the Chief Commissioner of Police, Chief Inspector Stone, and Gilbert Larose. Although there was no possibility of them being overheard, as if from force of habit they conversed in low tones.
“But it seems incredible the writer is going to carry out his dreadful threat!” frowned the Commissioner.
“He did it last time, sir,” commented Larose, “and, from the very terseness of his letter now, I think he means to do it again. He is not boasting.”
The Commissioner looked down upon the paper he was holding in his hand and read it aloud, slowly and distinctly, as if by so doing he could pi
