The magnitude of the thing, when he stopped to think of it, was a little appalling, but his faith was equally large.

He did not consider his philosophy at all supernatural.

He had brought it down to the level of the average man and woman.
He believed that every man and woman possessed a subliminal consciousness which it was possible to rouse to tremendous heights if the right psychological key was found to fit its particular lock, and he believed he possessed the key which fitted the deeply-buried and long-hidden thing in Dirty Fingers' remarkable brain.

Because he believed in this metaphysics which he had not read out of Aristotle, he had faith that Fingers would prove his salvation.

He felt growing in him stronger than ever a strange kind of elation.