He was interested in horses.

Forced by his calling into an attitude of doubt and suspicion towards his fellow-citizens, Chief Inspector Heat relieved the instinct of credulity implanted in the human breast by putting unbounded faith in the sporting prophets of that particular evening publication.

Dropping the extra special on to the counter, he plunged his hand again into his pocket, and pulling out the piece of cloth fate had presented him with out of a heap of things that seemed to have been collected in shambles and rag shops, he offered it to Mrs Verloc for inspection.
"I suppose you recognise this ?" She took it mechanically in both her hands.

Her eyes seemed to grow bigger as she looked.
"Yes," she whispered, then raised her head, and staggered backward a little.
"Whatever for is it torn out like this ?" The Chief Inspector snatched across the counter the cloth out of her hands, and she sat heavily on the chair.

He thought: identification's perfect.