The other day I came suddenly upon Chief Inspector Heat at the corner of Tottenham Court Road.

He looked at me very steadily.

But I did not look at him.
Why should I give him more than a glance?
He was thinking of many things--of his superiors, of his reputation, of the law courts, of his salary, of newspapers--of a hundred things.

But I was thinking of my perfect detonator only.

He meant nothing to me.