This was the exact truth. Chief Inspector Heat had been all the way home, and had even gone so far as to think of getting into his slippers, since practically he was, he told himself, chucked out of that case. He indulged in some scornful and in a few angry thoughts, and found the occupation so unsatisfactory that he resolved to seek relief out of doors. Nothing prevented him paying a friendly call to Mr Verloc, casually as it were. It was in the character of a private citizen that walking out privately he made use of his customary conveyances. Their general direction was towards Mr Verloc’s home. Chief Inspector Heat respected his own private character so consistently that he took especial pains to avoid all the police constables on point and patrol duty in the vicinity of Brett Street. This precaution was much more necessary for a man of his standing than for an obscure Assistant Commissioner. Private Citizen Heat entered the street, manoeuvring in a way which in a member of the criminal classes would have been stigmatised as slinking. The piece of cloth picked up in Greenwich was in his pocket. Not that he had the slightest intention of producing it in his private capacity. On the contrary, he wanted to know just what Mr Verloc would be disposed to say voluntarily. He hoped Mr Verloc’s talk would be of a nature to incriminate Michaelis. It was a conscientiously professional hope in the main, but not without its moral value. For Chief Inspector Heat was a servant of justice. Finding Mr Verloc from home, he felt disappointed. “I would wait for him a little if I were sure he wouldn’t be long,” he said. Mrs Verloc volunteered no assurance of any kind. “The information I need is quite private,” he repeated. “You understand what I mean? I wonder if you could give me a notion where he’s gone to?” Mrs Verloc shook her head. “Can’t say.” She turned away to range some boxes on the shelves behind the counter. Chief Inspector Heat looked at her thoughtfully for a time. “I suppose you know who I am?” he said. Mrs Verloc glanced over her shoulder. Chief Inspector Heat was amazed at her coolness. “Come! You know I am in the police,” he said sharply. “I don’t trouble my head much about it,” Mrs Verloc remarked, returning to the ranging of her boxes. “My name is Heat. Chief Inspector Heat of the Special Crimes section.” Mrs Verloc adjusted nicely in its place a small cardboard box, and turning round, faced him again, heavy-eyed, with idle hands hanging down. A silence reigned for a time. “So your husband went out a quarter of an hour ago! And he didn’t say when he would be back?” “He didn’t go out alone,” Mrs Verloc let fall negligently. “A friend?” Mrs Verloc touched the back of her hair. It was in perfect order. “A stranger who called.” “I see. What sort of man was that stranger? Would you mind telling me?”