"I don't know what you're getting at, sir."
"Don't you? Is it likely a man wearing decent clothes would not have his linen marked and his tailor's name somewhere? Is it likely a man who had his tie and collar on wouldn't do up his undershirt? No. The beggar's clothes were changed after he was killed. That must have been a grisly business too. He's not a tender-hearted fellow who did this job. Valet the body you've killed and then bash its face in! Well, well! Have some more tea?"
"Not me," said Bell, with a gulp. "You talked about a madman, sir, didn't you?"
"Oh, no, no, no. Not the kind of mad that runs amuck. Not homicidal mania. This isn't just smashing up a chap's body for the sake of smashing. There's lots of purpose here. This is damned cold, calculating crime. That kind of mad. Some fellow's got an object that makes it worth while to him to do any beastliness. That's the worst kind of mad. Bell. Not homicidal mania—that only makes a man a beast. What's here is the sort of thing that makes a man a devil."
"You're going a bit beyond me, sir. It's a bloody murder, and that's all I want."
"Yes, that's our job," said Reggie thoughtfully. Together they went off to Montmorency House.
"How would you describe deceased, sir?" said Bell.
