The editor smiled. "See," he said, "it's got you already. No, I
can prove an alibi. The Bat's been laying off the city recently--
taking a fling at some of the swell suburbs. Besides I haven't
the brains--I'm free to admit it." He struggled into his coat.
"Well, let's talk about something else. I'm sick of the Bat and
his murders."

His companion rose as well, but it was evident that the editor's
theory had taken firm hold on his mind. As they went out the door
together he recurred to the subject.

"Honestly, though, Bill--were you serious, really serious--when
you said you didn't know of a single detective with brains enough
to trap this devil?"

The editor paused in the doorway. "Serious enough," he said. "And
yet there's one man--I don't know him myself but from what I've
heard of him, he might be able--but what's the use of speculating?"

"I'd like to know all the same," insisted the other, and laughed
nervously. "We're moving out to the country next week ourselves
--right in the Bat's new territory."

"We-el," said the editor, "you won't let it go any further? Of
course it's just an idea of mine, but if the Bat ever came prowling
around our place, the detective I'd try to get in touch with would
be--" He put his lips close to his companion's ear and whispered
a name.