Lord Moreton hung up the receiver and pushed a buzzer on his desk.

“Send Inspector Maxwell here,” he said to the policeman who came in.

A moment later, Maxwell entered. He was heavy-eyed from lack of sleep and, if anything, looked more melancholy than ever.

“Sit down, Max.”

The inspector seated himself.

“Well, it is heavy going,” said Lord Moreton.

The other nodded. “The ship of state is going to founder, sir, mark my words, unless there is some change within the next forty-eight hours. We had one hundred and three suicides last night and eighteen murders within the Metropolitan area. We cannot stand this for long. No word from Jerusalem yet?”