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 judgement:
`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 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 hear 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 ****** 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 haunting fear of his sinister loneliness.
His lips trembled for some time before he managed to say in a strangled voice:
`I am doing my work better than you're doing yours.'
`That'll do now,' interrupted Chief Inspector Heat, hurriedly; and the Professor laughed right out this time.While still laughing he moved on;but he did not laugh long.It was a sad-faced, miserable little man who emerged from the narrow passage into the bustle of the broad thoroughfare.
He walked with the nerveless gait of a tramp going on, still going on, indifferent to rain or sun in a sinister detachment from the aspects of sky and earth.Chief Inspector Heat, on the other hand, after watching him for a while, stepped out with the purposeful briskness of a man disregarding indeed the inclemencies of the weather, but conscious of having an authorized mission on this earth and the moral support of his kind.All the inhabitants of the immense town, the population of the whole country, and even the teeming millions struggling upon the planet, were with him - down to the very thieves and mendicants.Yes, the thieves themselves were sure to be with him in his present work.The consciousness of universal support in his general activity heartened him to grapple with the particular problem.
