f experimental
watchfulness in the round eyes, which had been, no doubt, fastened on his
back, and now met his glance for a second before the intent character of
their stare had the time to change to a merely startled appearance.

The Assistant Commissioner of Police had really some qualifications for
his post. Suddenly his suspicion was awakened. It is but fair to say
that his suspicions of the police methods (unless the police happened to
be a semi-military body organised by himself) was not difficult to
arouse. If it ever slumbered from sheer weariness, it was but lightly;
and his appreciation of Chief Inspector Heat's zeal and ability, moderate
in itself, excluded all notion of moral confidence. "He's up to
something," he exclaimed mentally, and at once became angry. Crossing
over to his desk with headlong strides, he sat down violently. "Here I
am stuck in a litter of paper," he reflected, with unreasonable
resentment, "supposed to hold all the threads in my hands, and yet I can
but hold what is put in my hand, and nothing else. And they can fasten
the other ends of the threads where they please."

He raised his head, and turned towards his subordinate a long, meagre
face with the accentuated features of an energetic Don Quixote.

"Now what is it you've got up your sleeve?"

The other stared. He stared without winking in a perfect immobility of
his round eyes, as he was used to stare at the various members of the
criminal class when, after being duly cautioned, they made their
statements in the tones of injured innocence, or false simplicity, or
sullen resignation. But behind that professional and stony fixity there
was some surprise too, for in such a tone, combining nicely the note of
contempt and impatience, Chief Inspector Heat, the right-hand man of the
department, was not used to be addressed. He began in a procrastinating
manner, like a man taken unawares by a new and unexpected experience.

"What I've got against that man Michaelis you mean, sir?"

The Assistant Commissioner watched the bullet head; the points of that
Norse rover's moustache, falling below the line of the heavy jaw; the
whole full and pale physiognomy, whose determined character was marred by
too much flesh; at the cunning wrinkles radiating from the outer corners
of the eyes--and in that purposeful contemplation of the valuable and
trusted officer he drew a conviction so sudden that it moved him like an
inspiration.

"I ha