The Law of the Four Just Men

said the fireman, “and don’t make trouble, or you’re going out, Noah. I’d just as soon kill you as talk to you.”

Then Noah Stedland saw that beneath the shade of the helmet the man’s face was covered with a black mask.

“Who⁠—who are you?” he asked hoarsely.

“I’m one of the Four Just Men⁠—greatly reviled and prematurely mourned. Death is my favourite panacea for all ills⁠ ⁠…”

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At nine o’clock in the morning Mr. Noah Stedland still sat biting his nails, a cold uneaten breakfast spread on a table before him.

To him came Mr. Jope wailing tidings of disaster, interrupted by Chief Inspector Holloway and a hefty subordinate who followed the servant into the room.

“Coming for a little walk with me, Stedland?” asked the cheery inspector, and Stedland rose heavily.

“What’s the charge?” he asked heavily.

“Blackmail,” replied the officer. “We’ve got evidence enough to hang you⁠—delivered by special messenger. You fixed that case against Storr too⁠—naughty, naughty!”

As Mr. Stedland put on his coat the inspector asked:

“Who gave you away?”

Mr. Stedland made no reply. Manfred’s last words before he vanished into the foggy street had been emphatic.

“If we wanted to kill you, the man called Curtis would have killed you this afternoon when we played on your cunning; we could have killed you as easily as we set fire to the factory. And if you talk to the police of the Four Just Men, we will kill you, even though you be in Pentonville with a regiment of soldiers round you.”

And somehow Mr. Stedland knew that his enemy spoke the truth. So he said nothing, neither there nor in the dock at the Old Bailey, and went to penal servitude without speaking.

The Man with the Canine Teeth

“Murder, my dear Manfred is the most accidental of crimes,” said Leon Gonsalez, removing his big shell-rimmed glasses and looking across the breakfast-table with that whimsical earnestness which was ever a delight to the handsome genius who directed the operations of the Four Just Men.

“Poiccart used to say that murder was a tangible expression of hysteria,” he smiled, “but why this grisly breakfast-table topic?”

Gonsalez put on his glasses again and returned, apparently, to his study of the morning newspaper. He did not wilfully ignore the question, but his mind, as George Manfred knew, was so completely occupied by his reflections that he neither heard the query nor, for the matter of that, was he reading the newspaper. Presently he spoke again.

“Eighty percent of the men who are charged with murder are making their appearance in a criminal court for the first time,” he said, “therefore, murderers as a class are not criminals⁠—I speak, of course, for the Anglo-Saxon murderer. Latin and Teutonic criminal classes supply sixty percent of the murderers in France, Italy and the Germanic States. They are fascinating people, George, fascinating!”

His face lighted up with enthusiasm, and George Manfred surveyed him with amusement.

“I have never been able to take so detached a view of those gentlemen,” he said, “To me they are completely horrible⁠—for is not murder the apotheosis of injustice?” he asked.

“I suppose so,” said Gonsalez vacantly.

“What started this line of thought?” asked Manfred, rolling his serviette.

“I met a true murderer type last night,” answered the other calmly. “He asked me for a match and smiled when I gave it to him. A perfect set of teeth, my dear George, perfect⁠—except⁠—”

“Except?”

“The canine teeth were unusually large and long, the eyes deep set and amazingly level, the face anamorphic⁠—which latter fact is not necessarily criminal.”

“Sounds rather an ogre to me,” said Manfred.

“On the contrary,” Gonsalez hastened to correct the impression, “he was quite good-looking. None but a student would have noticed the irregularity of the face. Oh no, he was most presentable.”

He explained the circumstances of the meeting. He had been to a concert the night before⁠—not that he loved music, but because he wished to study the effect of music upon certain types of people. He had returned with hieroglyphics scribbled all over his programme, and had sat up half the night elaborating his notes.

“He is the son of Professor Tableman. He is not on good terms with his father, who apparently disapproves of his choice of fiancée, and he loathes his cousin,” added Gonsalez simply.

Manfred laughed aloud.

“You amusing person! And did he tell you all this of his own free will, or did you hypnotise him and extract the information? You haven’t asked me what I did last night.”

Gonsalez was lighting a cigarette slowly and thoughtfully.

“He is nearly two metres⁠—to be exact, six feet two inches⁠—in height, powerfully built, with shoulders like that!” He held the cigarette in one hand and the burning match in the other to indicate the breadth of the young man. “He has big, strong hands and plays football for the United Hospitals. I beg your pardon, Manfred; where were you last night?”

“At Scotland Yard,” said Manfred; but if he expected to produce a sensation he was to be disappointed. Probably knowing his Leon, he anticipated no such result.

“An interesting building,” said Gonsalez. “The architect should have turned the western façade southward⁠—though its furtive entrances are in keeping with its character. You had no difficulty in making friends?”

“None. My work in connection with the Spanish Criminal Code and my monograph on Dactyology secured me admission to the chief.”

Manfred was known in London as “Señor Fuentes,” an eminent writer on criminology, and in their roles of Spanish scientists both men bore the most compelling of credentials from the Spanish Minister of Justice. Manfred had made his home in Spain for many years. Gonsalez was a native of that country, and the third of the famous four⁠—there had not been a fourth for twenty years⁠—Poiccart, the stout and gentle, seldom left his big garden in Cordova.

To him Leon Gonsalez referred when he spoke.

“You must write and tell our dear friend Poiccart,” he said. “He will be interested. I had a letter from him this morning. Two new litters of little pigs have come to bless his establishment, and his