but nothing more. Truth to say, Chief Inspector Heat thought but
little of anarchism. He did not attach undue importance to it, and could never
bring himself to consider it seriously. It had more the character of disorderly
conduct; disorderly without the human excuse of drunkenness, which at any rate
implies good feeling and an amiable leaning towards festivity. As criminals,
anarchists were distinctly no class - no class at all. And recalling the
Professor, Chief Inspector Heat, without checking his swinging pace, muttered
through his teeth:
    »Lunatic.«
    Catching thieves was another matter altogether. It had that quality of
seriousness belonging to every form of open sport where the best man wins under
perfectly comprehensible rules. There were no rules for dealing with anarchists.
And that was distasteful to the Chief Inspector. It was all foolishness, but
that foolishness excited the public mind, affected persons in high places, and
touched upon international relations. A hard, merciless contempt settled rigidly
on the Chief Inspector's face as he walked on. His mind ran over all the
anarchists of his flock. Not one of them had half the spunk of this or that
burglar he had known. Not half - not one tenth.
    At headquarters the Chief Inspector was admitted at once to the Assistant
Commissioner's private room. He found him, pen in hand, bent over a great table
bestrewn with papers, as if worshipping an enormous double inkstand of bronze
and crystal. Speaking tubes resembling snakes were tied by the heads to the back
of the Assistant Commissioner's wooden armchair, and their gaping mouths seemed
ready to bite his elbows. And in this attitude he raised only his eyes, whose
lids were darker than his face and very much creased. The reports had come in:
every anarchist had been exactly accounted for.
    After saying this he lowered his eyes, signed rapidly two single sheets of
paper, and only then laid down his pen, and sat well back, directing an
inquiring gaze at his renowned subordinate. The Chief Inspector stood it well,
deferential but inscrutable.
    »I daresay you were right,« said the Assistant Commissioner, »in telling me
at first that the London anarchists had nothing to do with this. I quite
appreciate the excellent watch kept on them by your men. On the other hand,
this, for the public, does not amount to more than a confession of ignorance.«
    The Assistant Commissioner's delivery was leisurely, as it were cautious.
His thought seemed to rest poised on a word before passing to another, as though
words had been the stepping-stones for