After being sworn in as special constable, I was very often up at the police head-quarters, in Victoria square. As Patrol Inspector-inChief I had no particular duties assigned to me, but had a roving commission given me, which, in effect, left me pretty well free to do as I pleased, although every evening I was expected to put in an appearance and sign the roll of attendance.

Contrary to what I had expected, the Chief Commissioner was always very pleasant to me; indeed, he was sometimes quite affable, and given to joking about the cloud we were both under.

He often said he was sure the crowd would hang us both some day, and when in a good mood it was his favorite joke to ask if I had chosen my particular lamp-post yet.

One evening I boldly appropriated a policeman’s cape and cap. There were always a number hanging up in the men’s waiting room and, noticing the place to be empty once when I passed, I darted in quickly and helped myself to what I hurriedly considered were suitable sizes.

I walked out calmly with them tucked away under my arm and no one took any notice of what I was carrying.

I had been wanting them badly — to go with the policeman’s bicycle I had already annexed.

There was now such a cloud of suspicion hovering over everyone that even a man bicycling slowly along, with full lights glaring, was liable any moment to be stopped and questioned.

But the policeman’s cape and cap would make it quite different, I thought, and upon meeting any patrol-men suspicion would be disarmed at once. I chanced it that the loss of the things would not be discovered; at any rate, I guessed no one would ever dream they had been stolen from inside.

I was still taking the nightly dose of paste, but somehow I didn’t feel nearly so keen now about going out upon my dreadful quest of blood.

Whether or not the drug was gradually losing its effect upon me, as the great specialist had suggested, I could not tell, but certainly as the days went on I began only very occasionally to go out.

For one reason, perhaps, I was never certain to be free now until fairly late in the evening, and when the dreadful fits did seize me, I had to work in very late and unprofitable hours. There were then fewer people about and, besides, everyone had by now been so thoroughly stirred up and frightened that they took far fewer risks, and either stayed indoors altogether, or went about outside in twos and threes.

I have, strangely enough, a much clearer memory of what happened in those later times and it seems to me now that my various personalities were beginning then gradually to coalesce and overlap.

I could no longer keep my mind exactly in compartments, and one part of my life began to worry about what the other part was doing.

Sometimes for a few minutes thoughts about the future, too, would oppress me and I was no longer content, as I had been, to live wholly in the passing hour. I began to worry about Lucy. One day I caught myself wondering if she would be happy as my wife.

These thoughts did not last for long at a time, but I gradually began to feel they were there. I was like a man with a sore place that was always likely to give trouble.

One night, very late, I found myself near the Zoological Gardens. It had been a fearfully gusty day, and the wind was still blowing furiously.

One of my real savage moods had returned and I was quite reckless of anything I did. I had ridden boldly up to the city, along the Port Road, and it had been no gratification to me that I had openly passed three patrols without being spoken to and questioned.

I had hidden my bicycle under the bank of the Torrens River and was sullenly prowling round, rejoicing in the risks and dangers I was running.

Suddenly, between the gusts of wind, I heard the roaring of a lion. It sounded mournful and sorrowful to me, as if the beast were pining for its home. I was in angry pity all at once. What brutes men were to cage these poor beasts! They had no right to inflict a lifetime of loneliness upon any animal, just to gratify a lot of silly people who paid sixpences and shillings to stare and gape at creatures often far nobler than themselves. It ought to be stopped.

Then an idea flashed to me. At any rate, they should have one night of freedom to remember.

I climbed without difficulty over the wall, and in a couple of minutes I was standing in front of the cages of the imprisoned beasts.

It was the night of a new moon, and I could just make out the dim form of the lion whose despairing roar had called up my train of thought.

He was a magnificent animal and was softly padding to and fro behind the bars of his cage.

I mounted fearlessly to the door at the side and with my short bar of iron, set vigorously to work on the lock. It was a flimsy sort of arrangement at any time, but, clinging to the cage with one arm as I had to, it was quite four or five minutes before I broke it open, and was able to fling wide the door for the lion to come out.

To my annoyance, however, the beast was nowhere to be seen. My hammering evidently had been too much for its nerves and it had crept into its sleeping apartment, apparently afraid.

I rattled on the bars disgustedly to make it come out, but it was no good, and then in a fit of rage I walked right in and threw a handful of gravel in the direction of where I thought the beast must be.

Nothing happened, however, and for a moment I had serious thoughts of going in to drag it out forcibly, but an angry growl in the darkness made me think better of it, and I passed on to the next cage.

There were two young tigers there, and at once both were much interested in my proximity to their cage; indeed, I had to hit one vigorously over the paws several times with my iron before I could sufficiently divert his attention from my legs to allow me to get to work on the lock.

When I at length did get the door open both animals dashed through so quickly that I was knocked over and left sprawling on the gravel, in front of the cage.

I next had a go at the bears. Three brown ones I saw depart inquisitively upon a tour of inspection in the direction of the manager’s house, but the fourth, a big black one, pig-headedly refused to get up or even budge an inch, notwithstanding that I prodded vigorously into his back with a long piece of paling that I found on the path, outside his cage. He just grunted and rolled over out of reach.

Two wolves also persistently refused to leave their cage until, in a terrible rage now, I finally went in and booted them out. I fancied they must have gone in the same direction as the bears, for I later heard an awful row as it they were disagreeing together.

I went to let out the big polar bear, too, but on my approaching his cage he was most anxious at once to commence operations on me. The silly brute wouldn’t let me come anywhere near the bars without thrusting his nasty looking claws out and trying to grab at me and pull me in. I hit him and threw gravel at him, but he just snarled and kept his place, so I gave him up at last and came away.

I let out a few parrots and broke down the ostrich door, but it was poor sport and quite in a disgusted frame of mine I returned to my bicycle and rode off.

Next morning there were all sorts of rumors going about. I heard them even going up in the train. All the animals had got loose from the Zoo. The elephants had broken into the Botanic Gardens and eaten all the oranges off the trees. One of the tigers had got right through the city and had walked into the office of the Tramway Trust — he had fortunately, however, discovered at once where he was and had slunk away, abashed. (The Tramway Trust had just recently raised the tram fares on all their routes.) A big bear had got into the Cathedral, but the Bishop had been privately rehearsing his Sunday sermon there and the bear had gone off to sleep. A short-sighted old lady had woke him up by prodding with her umbrella, thinking it was the Dean — and so on, and so on.

Everyone was much amused and it was only when they found that a tiger was actually somewhere at large in the city that the situation lost something of its humor.

The animal was later located, however, in the garage of a dentist, whose back entrance opened into Gawler Place. With the energetic help of this gentleman it was soon coaxed into a large packing case and secured. The jovial dentist stood all its captors drinks and, hastily summoning a photographer, had his photo taken sitting on the packing case and surrounded by the four uniformed attendants from the Zoo. He said it was one of the most reasonable patients he had ever attended.

None of the other animals, it appeared later, had got outside the Zoo ground; some even had never left their cages, and, the facts becoming known, the public generally voted them a poor set of wild beasts, and sarcastically suggested they should be henceforth allowed to roam loose.

But if the public were amused, the authorities were not, and long and serious confabulations took place at the police head-quarters as to the immunity the perpetrator of these continued outrages enjoyed.

I did not go out for several nights after that. I had hurt my left hand considerably in banging about the cage locks and it was quite stiff and useless for a while. I told everyone I had twisted it in chopping wood.

Two days after the affair at the Zoo, I fancied there was an unusual air of expectation on the faces of the heads at Victoria Square. The Chief himself was in a most happy mood, and chaffed me incessantly whenever he saw me.

“Chosen your lamp-post yet, Mr. Wacks?” he laughed genially. “I’ve chosen mine, just outside Tattersalls Club, to be a warning to all the evildoers there. I hear they’re betting ten to one against us finding our friend within the next six months.”

I frowned coldly at him. I was sure something was going on and was annoyed that we specials were never, even in the very slightest degree, taken into the confidence of the regular officials. Even small unimportant things that were taking place came to my knowledge sometimes in quite a roundabout way from casual conversation with some of my brother specials — and as their chief officer I felt I was being badly treated.

I had expected that quite naturally there would be always some sort of jealousy between the regular police and ourselves, but I had expected also that we should receive at least some part of their confidence.

But no — we were never told anything about anything and the youngest policeman would always derive pleasure in handing out a snub whenever he could.

I tried tacitly to pump Meadows, but I might just as well have spoken to a piece of cheese. Early one morning, I met him at home, just when he was coming in for breakfast. He looked white and tired, as if he had been up all night; also I noticed his clothes were very dusty and there were reddish patches on his coat.

“Morning, Mr. Meadows,” I said cheerfully. “How’s business? Anything fresh?”

“I haven’t seen the papers yet,” he replied coldly. “We shall be sure to see if there is anything then”— and he passed brusquely back to his own room. Unmannered beast, I thought; I was beginning to hate him.

I was very puzzled, for I knew from Mrs. Bratt that Meadows had lately been sleeping at home a lot during the day, and that, of course, meant he had been out on all-night work.

I was more convinced than ever that something was going on and, in a faint uneasy way, I fell to wondering if it could possibly be anything to do with me.

The solution came to me that afternoon, in a very unexpected manner.

I was walking up North Terrace at lunch time, and suddenly came face to face with Sir Bartle Elkin.

He stopped at once and held out his hand.

“Well, Mr. Wacks,” he said cordially, “and how’s that great abnormal brain of yours today? Any grit in the wheels yet, as time goes on, or do you find it working better and better with the exercise you are now giving it?”

I assured him I was well strung up to concert pitch and ready and waiting for anything.

“Now didn’t I tell you,” he went on, “that things must get quieter and quieter in the mania line? No outrage now for over a week, except that potty little affair at the Zoo, which, after all, may have been only a little ebullition of spirit on the gentleman’s part. But still,” and he wagged his head solemnly, “no relaxation of vigilance, mind — no taking things easy now. If he commits, perhaps, only one more crime, that crime may yet turn out to be the most bloody and most wicked of the lot. Well — good-bye — hope I shall meet you again some day, and we’ll continue that interesting little discussion we were having at the Governor’s. You know, you’re quite a study to me, and you’re indexed up on my file. Oh, by-the-by, there’s a most interesting case at the hospital just now. I’ve just come from there. A case of delirium after snake-bite. A policeman was bitten the day before yesterday, and he’s been raving ever since that he was watching a bicycle and the tyres turned into a snake and bit him. Funny, the line of thought, isn’t it?”

“What?” I exclaimed startled, I didn’t know why. “A policeman bitten by a snake — not an Adelaide policeman, surely.”

“Oh, yes — a city one. A red-headed Irishman, and bitten close to the city, too, I think. He’s been very bad, but he’s pulling round nicely now. Good-bye.”

He went off smiling, but left me thinking heavily.

A policeman bitten by a snake and thinking he was watching a bicycle! Snakes — policeman — and a bicycle. Good heavens! How it all smelt of the gravel pit. A red-haired Irishman too! It must be Sullivan, and Sullivan was Meadows’s pal! Meadows’s pal, and the one that always worked with him on double jobs! Could they — could they possibly have traced the bicycle by now? Out there in that lonely gravel-pit behind the brick-kilns on the Torrens Road! Brick-kilns — brick-kilns — bricks — good Lord! — where had I just seen the red dust of bricks? Why Meadows had had brick dust on his coat that very morning! Meadows himself!

In a flash the light came to me and everything was clear as day. Of course, that was the excitement at the police head-quarters. They had found the bicycle and were expecting to trap me at last, thinking any night I might be returning again to get the machine. They were watching the pit. That was why Meadows had been out all night lately, and that was why he had got the brick dust on his coat.

What an escape! And what a fool I had been! I had looked upon the police as asses and yet, in less than ten days, they had gone straight to the one spot, out of the many millions I might have chosen, and found the machine. I wondered vaguely how they had ever gone on the track, and then I called myself a fool again. Of course, the two lots of people who had challenged me that night when............