to that very morning. The thought that when called urgently to his
Assistant Commissioner's private room he had been unable to conceal his
astonishment was distinctly vexing. His instinct of a successful man had
taught him long ago that, as a general rule, a reputation is built on
manner as much as on achievement. And he felt that his manner when
confronted with the telegram had not been impressive. He had opened his
eyes widely, and had exclaimed "Impossible!" exposing himself thereby to
the unanswerable retort of a finger-tip laid forcibly on the telegram
which the Assistant Commissioner, after reading it aloud, had flung on
the desk. To be crushed, as it were, under the tip of a forefinger was
an unpleasant experience. Very damaging, too! Furthermore, Chief
Inspector Heat was conscious of not having mended matters by allowing
himself to express a conviction.

"One thing I can tell you at once: none of our lot had anything to do
with this."

He was strong in his integrity of a good detective, but he saw now that
an impenetrably attentive reserve towards this incident would have served
his reputation better. On the other hand, he admitted to himself that it
was difficult to preserve one's reputation if rank outsiders were going
to take a hand in the business. Outsiders are the bane of the police as
of other professions. The tone of the Assistant Commissioner's remarks
had been sour enough to set one's teeth on edge.

And since breakfast Chief Inspector Heat had not managed to get anything
to eat.

Starting immediately to begin his investigation on the spot, he had
swallowed a good deal of raw, unwholesome fog in the park. Then he had