Oh, he's in a class by himself--and I
very much doubt if he was a crook at all for most of his life."
"You mean?"
"I mean this. The police have been combing the underworld for him;
I don't think he comes from there. I think they've got to look
higher, up in our world, for a brilliant man with a kink in the
brain. He may be a Doctor, a lawyer, a merchant, honored in his
community by day--good line that, I'll use it some time--and at
night, a bloodthirsty assassin. Deacon Brodie--ever hear of him
--the Scotch deacon that burgled his parishioners' houses on the
quiet? Well--that's our man."
"But my Lord, Bill--"
"I know. I've been going around the last month, looking at
everybody I knew and thinking--are you the Bat? Try it for a
while. You'll want to sleep with a light in your room after a few
days of it. Look around the University Club--that white-haired
man over there--dignified--respectable--is he the Bat? Your own
lawyer--your own Doctor--your own best friend. Can happen you
know--look at those Chicago boys--the thrill-killers. Just
brilliant students--likeable boys--to the people that taught
them--and cold-bloodied murderers all the same."
"Bill! You're giving me the shivers!"
"Am I?" The edit or laughed grimly. "Think it over. No, it isn't
so pleasant.--But that's my theory--and I swear I think I'm right."
He rose.
His companion laughed uncertainly.
"How about you, Bill--are you the Bat?"
The editor smiled.
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