“Bah!” retorted the other. “That is children’s talk⁠—a fable for the police. Do you know what I say to myself sometimes? That he is a fable invented by the Inner Ring, a bogey to frighten us with. It might be so.”

“And it might not.”

“I wonder⁠ ⁠… or is it indeed true that he is with us and amongst us, unknown to all but a chosen few? If so, he keeps his secret well. And the idea is a good one, yes. We never know. We look at each other⁠— one of us is Mr. Brown ⁠—which? He commands⁠—but also he serves. Among us⁠—in the midst of us. And no one knows which he is.⁠ ⁠…”

With an effort the Russian shook off the vagary of his fancy. He looked at his watch.

“Yes,” said Whittington. “We might as well go.”