mind of Chief Inspector Heat was inaccessible to ideas of revolt. But his
thieves were not rebels. His bodily vigour, his cool, inflexible manner, his
courage, and his fairness, had secured for him much respect and some adulation
in the sphere of his early successes. He had felt himself revered and admired.
And Chief Inspector Heat, arrested within six paces of the anarchist nick-named
the Professor, gave a thought of regret to the world of thieves - sane, without
morbid ideals, working by routine, respectful of constituted authorities, free
from all taint of hate and despair.
    After paying this tribute to what is normal in the constitution of society
(for the idea of thieving appeared to his instinct as normal as the idea of
property), Chief Inspector Heat felt very angry with himself for having stopped,
for having spoken, for having taken that way at all on the ground of it being a
short cut from the station to the headquarters. And he spoke again in his big,
authoritative voice, which, being moderated, had a threatening character.
    »You are not wanted, I tell you,« he repeated.
    The anarchist did not stir. An inward laugh of derision uncovered not only
his teeth but his gums as well, shook him all over, without the slightest sound.
Chief Inspector Heat was led to add, against his better judgment:
    »Not yet. When I want you I will know where to find you.«
    Those were perfectly proper words, within the tradition and suitable to his
character of a police officer addressing one of his special flock. But the
reception they got departed from tradition and propriety. It was outrageous. The
stunted, weakly figure before him spoke at last.
    »I've no doubt the papers would give you an obituary notice then. You know
best what that would be worth to you. I should think you can imagine easily the
sort of stuff that would be printed. But you may be exposed to the
unpleasantness of being buried together with me, though I suppose your friends
would make an effort to sort us out as much as possible.«
    With all his healthy contempt for the spirit dictating such speeches, the
atrocious allusiveness of the words had its effect on Chief Inspector Heat. He
had too much insight, and too much exact information as well, to dismiss them as
rot. The dusk of this narrow lane took on a sinister tint from the dark, frail
little figure, its back to the wall, and speaking with a weak, self-confident
voice. To the vigorous, tenacious vitality of the