“For the simple reason that he is confident he has put you off the scent,” was my companion’s reply.  “He is doing the one foolish thing the criminal always does sooner or later; that is to say, he is becoming over-confident of his own powers to elude us.  You and I, my friend, should be able to remember several such instances.  Now, strange to say, I came across a curious one the other day.  Would you care to hear it?”

He lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke while he waited for my answer.

“Very much,” I said, being well aware that his stories were always worth hearing.

“This is a somewhat remarkable case,” he said.  “I will mention no names, but doubtless you can read between the lines.  There was a man who murdered his wife in order that he might marry another woman.  The thought which he gave to it, and the clever manner in which he laid his plans, not only for the murder, but also for the disposal of the body, marked him as a criminal in the possession of a singularly brilliant intellect.  He gave no hint to anybody, but left the country without leaving the faintest clue concerning his destination behind him.  I was called in to take over the case, but after some consideration could make nothing of it.  I have no objection to admitting that I was completely baffled.  Now it so happened that I discovered that the man’s mother was of Irish extraction.  He, believing that he would be safe on that island, engaged a passage on board a steamer from Havre to Belfast.  She was to pick up at Southampton, Plymouth, and Bristol, en route.  My man, who, by the way, was a very presentable person, and could be distinctly sociable when he pleased, endeavoured to make himself agreeable to the passengers on board.  On the first evening out of port, the conversation turned upon the value of diamonds, and one of the ladies on board produced some costly stones she happened to have in her possession.  The murderer, who, you must understand, was quite safe, was unhappily eaten up with vanity.  He could not forego the boast that he was the possessor of a magnificent ring, which had been given him by the ex-Emperor Napoleon III.  Needless to say this information excited considerable interest, and he was asked to produce it for the general edification.

“He declared that it was too late to do so that evening, but said that he would do so on the morrow, or, at any rate, before he left the vessel.  In the excitement of reaching Southampton the matter was for the moment forgotten, but on the day that they arrived in Plymouth one of the lady passengers reminded him of his promise.  This was followed by another application.  Thus surrounded, the unhappy man found himself in the unpleasant position of being discovered in the perpetration of an untruth, or of being compelled to invent some feasible tale in order to account for his not being able to produce the ring.  It was at this juncture that he made his great mistake.