Excerpt from The Gloved Hand: A Detective Story
I was genuinely tired when I got back to the office, that Wednesday afternoon, for it had been a trying day - the last of the series of trying days which had marked the progress of the Minturn case; and my feeling of depression was increased by the fact that our victory had not been nearly so complete as I had hoped it would be. Besides, there was the heat; always, during the past ten days, there had been the heat, unprecedented for June, with the thermometer climbing higher and higher and breaking a new record every day.
As I threw off coat and hat and dropped into the chair before my desk, I could see the heat-waves quivering up past the open windows from the fiery street below. I turned away and closed my eyes, and tried to evoke a vision of white surf falling upon the beach, of tall trees swaying in the breeze, of a brook dropping gently between green banks.
"Fountains that frisk and sprinkle
The moss they overspill;
Pools that the breezes crinkle,"...
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