“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 Chief
Inspector, the physical wretchedness of that being, so obviously
not fit to live, was ominous; for it seemed to him that if he had
the misfortune to be such a miserable object he would not have
cared how soon he died. Life had such a strong hold upon him that
a fresh wave of nausea broke out in slight perspiration upon his
brow. The murmur of town life, the subdued rumble of wheels in the
two invisible streets to the right and left, came through the curve
of the sordid lane to his ears with a precious familiarity and an
appealing sweetness. He was human. But Chief Inspector Heat was
also a man, and he could not let such words pass.
“All this is good to frighten children with,” he said. “I’ll have
you yet.”
It was very well said, without scorn, with an almost austere
quietness.
“Doubtless,” was the answer; “but there’s no time like the present,
believe me. For a man of real convictions this is a fine
opportunity of self-sacrifice. You may not find another so
favourable, so humane. There isn’t even a cat near us, and these
condemned old houses would make a good heap of bricks where you
stand. You’ll never get me at so little cost to life and property,
which you are paid to protect.”
“You don’t know who you’re speaking to,” said Chief Inspector Heat
firmly. “If I were to lay my hands on you now I would be no better
than yourself.”
“Ah! The game!’
“You may be sure our side will win in the end. It may yet be
necessary to make people believe that some of you ought to be shot
at sight like mad dogs. Then that will be the game. But I’ll be
damned if I know what yours is. I don’t believe you know
yourselves. You’ll never get anything by it.”
“Meantime it’s you who get something from it – so far. And you get
it easily, too. I won’t speak of your salary, but haven’t you made
your name simply by not understanding what we are after?”
“What are you after, then?” asked Chief Inspector Heat, with
scornful haste, like a man in a hurry who perceives he is wasting
his time.
The perfect anarchist answered by a smile which did not part his
thin colourless lips; and the celebrated Chief Inspector felt a
sense of superiority which induced him to raise a warning finger.
“Give it up – whatever it is,” he said in an admonishing tone, but
not so kindly as if he were condescending to give good advice to a
cracksman of repute. “Give it up. You’ll find we are too many for
you.”
The fixed smile on the Professor’s lips wavered, as if the mocking
spirit within had lost its assurance. Chief Inspector Heat went
on:
“Don’t you believe me eh? Well, you’ve only got to look about you.
We are. And anyway, you’re not doing it well. You’re always
making a mess of it. Why, if the thieves didn’t know their work
better they would starve.”
The hint of an invincible multitude behind that man’s back roused a
sombre indignation in the breast of the Professor. He smiled no
longer his enigmatic and mocking smile. The resisting power of
numbers, the unattackable stolidity of a great multitude, was the