At this precise moment it whetted his curiosity.

Chief Inspector Heat hung in the wind, swayed by his passions like the most private of citizens.
"I think," he said, looking at her steadily, "that you could give me a pretty good notion of what's going on if you liked." Forcing her fine, inert eyes to return his gaze, Mrs Verloc murmured: "Going on! What _is_ going on ?" "Why, the affair I came to talk about a little with your husband." That day Mrs Verloc had glanced at a morning paper as usual.

But she had not stirred out of doors.

The newsboys never invaded Brett Street.

It was not a street for their business.