How swiftly the mind can roam, and from what a distance gather the
materials of a thought! Flashed like lightning through Alfred's mind this
line from one of his pets, the Greek philosophers:
[Greek text]
"And this is the greatest stroke of art, to turn an evil into a good."
Now the feebleness of this aged Inspector was an evil: the thing then was
to turn it into a good. Shade of Plato, behold how thy disciple worked
thee! "Sir," said he, sinking his voice mysteriously, "I have: but I am a
poor man: you won't say I told you: it's as much as my place is worth."
"Confidence, strict confidence," replied Nestor, going over beaten
tracks; for he had kept many a queer secret with the loyalty which does
his profession so much honour.
"Then, sir, there's a young gentleman confined here, who is no more mad
than you and I; and never was mad."
"You don't say so."
"That I do, sir: and they know they are doing wrong, sir, for they stop
all his letters to the Commissioners; and that is unlawful, you know.
Would you like to take a note of it all, sir?"
The old fogie said he thought he should, and groped vaguely for his
note-book: he extracted it at last like a loose tooth, fumbled with it,
and dropped it: Alfred picked it up fuming inwardly.
Pages:
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978