“Regarding the scoundrel’s victims, they fell as follows: Mr. Bragg, the journalist, clearly stumbled upon the pattern of Swift’s killings, and must have made the unfortunate mistake of mentioning the discovery to the commissioner, probably during an interview for some silly political piece. Swift couldn’t have the newsman alerting the public to his villainy, so he dispatched the fellow, then followed centuries of instinct and practice by soaking up the blood in his grisly red cap. Having murdered Bragg, Swift had to make his escape. He hastened first to the window, but Hatun was in the alley below, so he retreated down the stairwell instead. In his hurry, he allowed his iron shoes to leave their impressions in the wood.

“That might have been the end of the bloodshed in New Fiddleham, but it was you, Mr. Cane, who unwittingly sealed the next target’s fate. To avoid mentioning our visit with the banshee, you fed Marlowe a convenient lie about Mr. Henderson having had some information regarding the killer. This proved truly inconvenient for Henderson, because the commissioner was close at hand, privy to every word. Swift could not risk his identity being exposed by a victim’s nosy neighbor. Thus, even though the poor man knew nothing to endanger Swift, Henderson became victim number two.”

Charlie swallowed hard and looked to the bottom of his teacup. Jackaby continued. “Henderson’s demise was far more rushed than Bragg’s. Your standing guard in the hallway forced Swift to make his entrance and exit through the window. Either because of your presence, or possibly because Swift’s hat was still freshly damp from the night before, this time the commissioner barely brushed the corpse before hurrying away. He left the telltale smear, but he abandoned most of the blood to pool on the floorboards. If it weren’t for Marlowe’s bullheadedness, you might have tracked him then.

“Swift’s third victim, alas, is on our hands. Miss Rook and I both testified openly about the identity of Mrs. Morrigan, the banshee, and it was shortly after Swift looked over our statements that she began her own final lament.”

“But why kill the old woman?” he asked. “She didn’t even know about the redcap.”

“It wasn’t for her blood, not that time—she wasn’t human, after all. I believe Swift perceived her as a warning system, an alarm before each kill—too great a liability for him to leave in peace. Bragg, Henderson, Morrigan—one by one Swift snuffed out the threats to his secret, but the whole thing was unraveling too quickly.”

“I see.” Charlie looked up again. “And . . . last night? I’m afraid it’s rather a blur.”