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.