"How extraordinary."
"Half the murders and suicides are done in temporary fits of insanity," went on Chinston, "and if a person broods over anything, his incipient madness is sure to break out sooner or later; but, of course, there are cases where a perfectly sane person may commit a murder on the impulse of the moment, but I regard such persons as mad for the time being; but, again, a murder may be planned and executed in the most cold-blooded manner."
"And in the latter case," said Frettlby, without looking at the doctor, and playing with a paper knife, "do you regard the murderer as mad?"
"Yes, I do," answered the doctor, bluntly. "He is as mad as a person who kills another because he supposes he has been told by God to do so—only there is method in his madness. For instance, I believe that hansom cab murder, in which you were mixed up—"
"I wasn't mixed up in it," interrupted Frettlby, pale with anger.
"Beg pardon," said Chinston, coolly, "a slip of the tongue; I was thinking of Fitzgerald. Well, I believe that crime to have been premeditated, and that the man who committed it was mad. He is, no doubt, at large now, walking about and conducting himself as sanely as you or I, yet the germ of insanity is there, and sooner or later he will commit another crime."
"How do you know it was premeditated?" asked Frettlby, abruptly.
"Any one can see that," answered the other. "Whyte was watched on that night, and when Fitzgerald went away the other was ready to take his place, dressed the same."
"That's nothing," retorted Frettlby, looking at his companion sharply. "There are dozens of men in Melbourne who wear evening dress, light coats, and soft hats—in fact, I generally wear them myself."
"Well, that might have been a coincidence," said the doctor, rather disconcerted; "but the use of chloroform puts the question beyond a doubt; people don't usually carry chloroform about with them."