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diff --git a/old/2010-12-23-974-h.zip b/old/2010-12-23-974-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..09aa1ea --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2010-12-23-974-h.zip diff --git a/old/2010-12-23-974-h/974-h.htm b/old/2010-12-23-974-h/974-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5ed9bca --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2010-12-23-974-h/974-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9121 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>The Secret Agent</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">The Secret Agent, by Joseph Conrad</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Secret Agent, by Joseph Conrad + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Secret Agent + A Simple Tale + + +Author: Joseph Conrad + + + +Release Date: February 22, 2006 [eBook #974] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET AGENT*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1907 Methuen & Co edition by David Price, +email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p> +<h1>THE SECRET AGENT<br /> +A SIMPLE TALE</h1> +<p>First Published . . . September 1907</p> +<p>Second Edition . . . October 1907</p> +<p>TO<br /> +H. G. WELLS</p> +<p><span class="smcap">the chronicler of mr lewisham’s love</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">the biographer of kipps and the</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">historian of the ages to come</span></p> +<p><span class="smcap">this simple tale of the xix century</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">is affectionately offered</span></p> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<p>Mr Verloc, going out in the morning, left his shop nominally in charge +of his brother-in-law. It could be done, because there was very +little business at any time, and practically none at all before the +evening. Mr Verloc cared but little about his ostensible business. +And, moreover, his wife was in charge of his brother-in-law.</p> +<p>The shop was small, and so was the house. It was one of those +grimy brick houses which existed in large quantities before the era +of reconstruction dawned upon London. The shop was a square box +of a place, with the front glazed in small panes. In the daytime +the door remained closed; in the evening it stood discreetly but suspiciously +ajar.</p> +<p>The window contained photographs of more or less undressed dancing +girls; nondescript packages in wrappers like patent medicines; closed +yellow paper envelopes, very flimsy, and marked two-and-six in heavy +black figures; a few numbers of ancient French comic publications hung +across a string as if to dry; a dingy blue china bowl, a casket of black +wood, bottles of marking ink, and rubber stamps; a few books, with titles +hinting at impropriety; a few apparently old copies of obscure newspapers, +badly printed, with titles like <i>The Torch, The Gong</i>—rousing +titles. And the two gas jets inside the panes were always turned +low, either for economy’s sake or for the sake of the customers.</p> +<p>These customers were either very young men, who hung about the window +for a time before slipping in suddenly; or men of a more mature age, +but looking generally as if they were not in funds. Some of that +last kind had the collars of their overcoats turned right up to their +moustaches, and traces of mud on the bottom of their nether garments, +which had the appearance of being much worn and not very valuable. +And the legs inside them did not, as a general rule, seem of much account +either. With their hands plunged deep in the side pockets of their +coats, they dodged in sideways, one shoulder first, as if afraid to +start the bell going.</p> +<p>The bell, hung on the door by means of a curved ribbon of steel, +was difficult to circumvent. It was hopelessly cracked; but of +an evening, at the slightest provocation, it clattered behind the customer +with impudent virulence.</p> +<p>It clattered; and at that signal, through the dusty glass door behind +the painted deal counter, Mr Verloc would issue hastily from the parlour +at the back. His eyes were naturally heavy; he had an air of having +wallowed, fully dressed, all day on an unmade bed. Another man +would have felt such an appearance a distinct disadvantage. In +a commercial transaction of the retail order much depends on the seller’s +engaging and amiable aspect. But Mr Verloc knew his business, +and remained undisturbed by any sort of æsthetic doubt about his +appearance. With a firm, steady-eyed impudence, which seemed to +hold back the threat of some abominable menace, he would proceed to +sell over the counter some object looking obviously and scandalously +not worth the money which passed in the transaction: a small cardboard +box with apparently nothing inside, for instance, or one of those carefully +closed yellow flimsy envelopes, or a soiled volume in paper covers with +a promising title. Now and then it happened that one of the faded, +yellow dancing girls would get sold to an amateur, as though she had +been alive and young.</p> +<p>Sometimes it was Mrs Verloc who would appear at the call of the cracked +bell. Winnie Verloc was a young woman with a full bust, in a tight +bodice, and with broad hips. Her hair was very tidy. Steady-eyed +like her husband, she preserved an air of unfathomable indifference +behind the rampart of the counter. Then the customer of comparatively +tender years would get suddenly disconcerted at having to deal with +a woman, and with rage in his heart would proffer a request for a bottle +of marking ink, retail value sixpence (price in Verloc’s shop +one-and-sixpence), which, once outside, he would drop stealthily into +the gutter.</p> +<p>The evening visitors—the men with collars turned up and soft +hats rammed down—nodded familiarly to Mrs Verloc, and with a muttered +greeting, lifted up the flap at the end of the counter in order to pass +into the back parlour, which gave access to a passage and to a steep +flight of stairs. The door of the shop was the only means of entrance +to the house in which Mr Verloc carried on his business of a seller +of shady wares, exercised his vocation of a protector of society, and +cultivated his domestic virtues. These last were pronounced. +He was thoroughly domesticated. Neither his spiritual, nor his +mental, nor his physical needs were of the kind to take him much abroad. +He found at home the ease of his body and the peace of his conscience, +together with Mrs Verloc’s wifely attentions and Mrs Verloc’s +mother’s deferential regard.</p> +<p>Winnie’s mother was a stout, wheezy woman, with a large brown +face. She wore a black wig under a white cap. Her swollen +legs rendered her inactive. She considered herself to be of French +descent, which might have been true; and after a good many years of +married life with a licensed victualler of the more common sort, she +provided for the years of widowhood by letting furnished apartments +for gentlemen near Vauxhall Bridge Road in a square once of some splendour +and still included in the district of Belgravia. This topographical +fact was of some advantage in advertising her rooms; but the patrons +of the worthy widow were not exactly of the fashionable kind. +Such as they were, her daughter Winnie helped to look after them. +Traces of the French descent which the widow boasted of were apparent +in Winnie too. They were apparent in the extremely neat and artistic +arrangement of her glossy dark hair. Winnie had also other charms: +her youth; her full, rounded form; her clear complexion; the provocation +of her unfathomable reserve, which never went so far as to prevent conversation, +carried on on the lodgers’ part with animation, and on hers with +an equable amiability. It must be that Mr Verloc was susceptible +to these fascinations. Mr Verloc was an intermittent patron. +He came and went without any very apparent reason. He generally +arrived in London (like the influenza) from the Continent, only he arrived +unheralded by the Press; and his visitations set in with great severity. +He breakfasted in bed, and remained wallowing there with an air of quiet +enjoyment till noon every day—and sometimes even to a later hour. +But when he went out he seemed to experience a great difficulty in finding +his way back to his temporary home in the Belgravian square. He +left it late, and returned to it early—as early as three or four +in the morning; and on waking up at ten addressed Winnie, bringing in +the breakfast tray, with jocular, exhausted civility, in the hoarse, +failing tones of a man who had been talking vehemently for many hours +together. His prominent, heavy-lidded eyes rolled sideways amorously +and languidly, the bedclothes were pulled up to his chin, and his dark +smooth moustache covered his thick lips capable of much honeyed banter.</p> +<p>In Winnie’s mother’s opinion Mr Verloc was a very nice +gentleman. From her life’s experience gathered in various +“business houses” the good woman had taken into her retirement +an ideal of gentlemanliness as exhibited by the patrons of private-saloon +bars. Mr Verloc approached that ideal; he attained it, in fact.</p> +<p>“Of course, we’ll take over your furniture, mother,” +Winnie had remarked.</p> +<p>The lodging-house was to be given up. It seems it would not +answer to carry it on. It would have been too much trouble for +Mr Verloc. It would not have been convenient for his other business. +What his business was he did not say; but after his engagement to Winnie +he took the trouble to get up before noon, and descending the basement +stairs, make himself pleasant to Winnie’s mother in the breakfast-room +downstairs where she had her motionless being. He stroked the +cat, poked the fire, had his lunch served to him there. He left +its slightly stuffy cosiness with evident reluctance, but, all the same, +remained out till the night was far advanced. He never offered +to take Winnie to theatres, as such a nice gentleman ought to have done. +His evenings were occupied. His work was in a way political, he +told Winnie once. She would have, he warned her, to be very nice +to his political friends.</p> +<p>And with her straight, unfathomable glance she answered that she +would be so, of course.</p> +<p>How much more he told her as to his occupation it was impossible +for Winnie’s mother to discover. The married couple took +her over with the furniture. The mean aspect of the shop surprised +her. The change from the Belgravian square to the narrow street +in Soho affected her legs adversely. They became of an enormous +size. On the other hand, she experienced a complete relief from +material cares. Her son-in-law’s heavy good nature inspired +her with a sense of absolute safety. Her daughter’s future +was obviously assured, and even as to her son Stevie she need have no +anxiety. She had not been able to conceal from herself that he +was a terrible encumbrance, that poor Stevie. But in view of Winnie’s +fondness for her delicate brother, and of Mr Verloc’s kind and +generous disposition, she felt that the poor boy was pretty safe in +this rough world. And in her heart of hearts she was not perhaps +displeased that the Verlocs had no children. As that circumstance +seemed perfectly indifferent to Mr Verloc, and as Winnie found an object +of quasi-maternal affection in her brother, perhaps this was just as +well for poor Stevie.</p> +<p>For he was difficult to dispose of, that boy. He was delicate +and, in a frail way, good-looking too, except for the vacant droop of +his lower lip. Under our excellent system of compulsory education +he had learned to read and write, notwithstanding the unfavourable aspect +of the lower lip. But as errand-boy he did not turn out a great +success. He forgot his messages; he was easily diverted from the +straight path of duty by the attractions of stray cats and dogs, which +he followed down narrow alleys into unsavoury courts; by the comedies +of the streets, which he contemplated open-mouthed, to the detriment +of his employer’s interests; or by the dramas of fallen horses, +whose pathos and violence induced him sometimes to shriek pierceingly +in a crowd, which disliked to be disturbed by sounds of distress in +its quiet enjoyment of the national spectacle. When led away by +a grave and protecting policeman, it would often become apparent that +poor Stevie had forgotten his address—at least for a time. +A brusque question caused him to stutter to the point of suffocation. +When startled by anything perplexing he used to squint horribly. +However, he never had any fits (which was encouraging); and before the +natural outbursts of impatience on the part of his father he could always, +in his childhood’s days, run for protection behind the short skirts +of his sister Winnie. On the other hand, he might have been suspected +of hiding a fund of reckless naughtiness. When he had reached +the age of fourteen a friend of his late father, an agent for a foreign +preserved milk firm, having given him an opening as office-boy, he was +discovered one foggy afternoon, in his chief’s absence, busy letting +off fireworks on the staircase. He touched off in quick succession +a set of fierce rockets, angry catherine wheels, loudly exploding squibs—and +the matter might have turned out very serious. An awful panic +spread through the whole building. Wild-eyed, choking clerks stampeded +through the passages full of smoke, silk hats and elderly business men +could be seen rolling independently down the stairs. Stevie did +not seem to derive any personal gratification from what he had done. +His motives for this stroke of originality were difficult to discover. +It was only later on that Winnie obtained from him a misty and confused +confession. It seems that two other office-boys in the building +had worked upon his feelings by tales of injustice and oppression till +they had wrought his compassion to the pitch of that frenzy. But +his father’s friend, of course, dismissed him summarily as likely +to ruin his business. After that altruistic exploit Stevie was +put to help wash the dishes in the basement kitchen, and to black the +boots of the gentlemen patronising the Belgravian mansion. There +was obviously no future in such work. The gentlemen tipped him +a shilling now and then. Mr Verloc showed himself the most generous +of lodgers. But altogether all that did not amount to much either +in the way of gain or prospects; so that when Winnie announced her engagement +to Mr Verloc her mother could not help wondering, with a sigh and a +glance towards the scullery, what would become of poor Stephen now.</p> +<p>It appeared that Mr Verloc was ready to take him over together with +his wife’s mother and with the furniture, which was the whole +visible fortune of the family. Mr Verloc gathered everything as +it came to his broad, good-natured breast. The furniture was disposed +to the best advantage all over the house, but Mrs Verloc’s mother +was confined to two back rooms on the first floor. The luckless +Stevie slept in one of them. By this time a growth of thin fluffy +hair had come to blur, like a golden mist, the sharp line of his small +lower jaw. He helped his sister with blind love and docility in +her household duties. Mr Verloc thought that some occupation would +be good for him. His spare time he occupied by drawing circles +with compass and pencil on a piece of paper. He applied himself +to that pastime with great industry, with his elbows spread out and +bowed low over the kitchen table. Through the open door of the +parlour at the back of the shop Winnie, his sister, glanced at him from +time to time with maternal vigilance.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<p>Such was the house, the household, and the business Mr Verloc left +behind him on his way westward at the hour of half-past ten in the morning. +It was unusually early for him; his whole person exhaled the charm of +almost dewy freshness; he wore his blue cloth overcoat unbuttoned; his +boots were shiny; his cheeks, freshly shaven, had a sort of gloss; and +even his heavy-lidded eyes, refreshed by a night of peaceful slumber, +sent out glances of comparative alertness. Through the park railings +these glances beheld men and women riding in the Row, couples cantering +past harmoniously, others advancing sedately at a walk, loitering groups +of three or four, solitary horsemen looking unsociable, and solitary +women followed at a long distance by a groom with a cockade to his hat +and a leather belt over his tight-fitting coat. Carriages went +bowling by, mostly two-horse broughams, with here and there a victoria +with the skin of some wild beast inside and a woman’s face and +hat emerging above the folded hood. And a peculiarly London sun—against +which nothing could be said except that it looked bloodshot—glorified +all this by its stare. It hung at a moderate elevation above Hyde +Park Corner with an air of punctual and benign vigilance. The +very pavement under Mr Verloc’s feet had an old-gold tinge in +that diffused light, in which neither wall, nor tree, nor beast, nor +man cast a shadow. Mr Verloc was going westward through a town +without shadows in an atmosphere of powdered old gold. There were +red, coppery gleams on the roofs of houses, on the corners of walls, +on the panels of carriages, on the very coats of the horses, and on +the broad back of Mr Verloc’s overcoat, where they produced a +dull effect of rustiness. But Mr Verloc was not in the least conscious +of having got rusty. He surveyed through the park railings the +evidences of the town’s opulence and luxury with an approving +eye. All these people had to be protected. Protection is +the first necessity of opulence and luxury. They had to be protected; +and their horses, carriages, houses, servants had to be protected; and +the source of their wealth had to be protected in the heart of the city +and the heart of the country; the whole social order favourable to their +hygienic idleness had to be protected against the shallow enviousness +of unhygienic labour. It had to—and Mr Verloc would have +rubbed his hands with satisfaction had he not been constitutionally +averse from every superfluous exertion. His idleness was not hygienic, +but it suited him very well. He was in a manner devoted to it +with a sort of inert fanaticism, or perhaps rather with a fanatical +inertness. Born of industrious parents for a life of toil, he +had embraced indolence from an impulse as profound as inexplicable and +as imperious as the impulse which directs a man’s preference for +one particular woman in a given thousand. He was too lazy even +for a mere demagogue, for a workman orator, for a leader of labour. +It was too much trouble. He required a more perfect form of ease; +or it might have been that he was the victim of a philosophical unbelief +in the effectiveness of every human effort. Such a form of indolence +requires, implies, a certain amount of intelligence. Mr Verloc +was not devoid of intelligence—and at the notion of a menaced +social order he would perhaps have winked to himself if there had not +been an effort to make in that sign of scepticism. His big, prominent +eyes were not well adapted to winking. They were rather of the +sort that closes solemnly in slumber with majestic effect.</p> +<p>Undemonstrative and burly in a fat-pig style, Mr Verloc, without +either rubbing his hands with satisfaction or winking sceptically at +his thoughts, proceeded on his way. He trod the pavement heavily +with his shiny boots, and his general get-up was that of a well-to-do +mechanic in business for himself. He might have been anything +from a picture-frame maker to a lock-smith; an employer of labour in +a small way. But there was also about him an indescribable air +which no mechanic could have acquired in the practice of his handicraft +however dishonestly exercised: the air common to men who live on the +vices, the follies, or the baser fears of mankind; the air of moral +nihilism common to keepers of gambling hells and disorderly houses; +to private detectives and inquiry agents; to drink sellers and, I should +say, to the sellers of invigorating electric belts and to the inventors +of patent medicines. But of that last I am not sure, not having +carried my investigations so far into the depths. For all I know, +the expression of these last may be perfectly diabolic. I shouldn’t +be surprised. What I want to affirm is that Mr Verloc’s +expression was by no means diabolic.</p> +<p>Before reaching Knightsbridge, Mr Verloc took a turn to the left +out of the busy main thoroughfare, uproarious with the traffic of swaying +omnibuses and trotting vans, in the almost silent, swift flow of hansoms. +Under his hat, worn with a slight backward tilt, his hair had been carefully +brushed into respectful sleekness; for his business was with an Embassy. +And Mr Verloc, steady like a rock—a soft kind of rock—marched +now along a street which could with every propriety be described as +private. In its breadth, emptiness, and extent it had the majesty +of inorganic nature, of matter that never dies. The only reminder +of mortality was a doctor’s brougham arrested in august solitude +close to the curbstone. The polished knockers of the doors gleamed +as far as the eye could reach, the clean windows shone with a dark opaque +lustre. And all was still. But a milk cart rattled noisily +across the distant perspective; a butcher boy, driving with the noble +recklessness of a charioteer at Olympic Games, dashed round the corner +sitting high above a pair of red wheels. A guilty-looking cat +issuing from under the stones ran for a while in front of Mr Verloc, +then dived into another basement; and a thick police constable, looking +a stranger to every emotion, as if he too were part of inorganic nature, +surging apparently out of a lamp-post, took not the slightest notice +of Mr Verloc. With a turn to the left Mr Verloc pursued his way +along a narrow street by the side of a yellow wall which, for some inscrutable +reason, had No. 1 Chesham Square written on it in black letters. +Chesham Square was at least sixty yards away, and Mr Verloc, cosmopolitan +enough not to be deceived by London’s topographical mysteries, +held on steadily, without a sign of surprise or indignation. At +last, with business-like persistency, he reached the Square, and made +diagonally for the number 10. This belonged to an imposing carriage +gate in a high, clean wall between two houses, of which one rationally +enough bore the number 9 and the other was numbered 37; but the fact +that this last belonged to Porthill Street, a street well known in the +neighbourhood, was proclaimed by an inscription placed above the ground-floor +windows by whatever highly efficient authority is charged with the duty +of keeping track of London’s strayed houses. Why powers +are not asked of Parliament (a short act would do) for compelling those +edifices to return where they belong is one of the mysteries of municipal +administration. Mr Verloc did not trouble his head about it, his +mission in life being the protection of the social mechanism, not its +perfectionment or even its criticism.</p> +<p>It was so early that the porter of the Embassy issued hurriedly out +of his lodge still struggling with the left sleeve of his livery coat. +His waistcoat was red, and he wore knee-breeches, but his aspect was +flustered. Mr Verloc, aware of the rush on his flank, drove it +off by simply holding out an envelope stamped with the arms of the Embassy, +and passed on. He produced the same talisman also to the footman +who opened the door, and stood back to let him enter the hall.</p> +<p>A clear fire burned in a tall fireplace, and an elderly man standing +with his back to it, in evening dress and with a chain round his neck, +glanced up from the newspaper he was holding spread out in both hands +before his calm and severe face. He didn’t move; but another +lackey, in brown trousers and claw-hammer coat edged with thin yellow +cord, approaching Mr Verloc listened to the murmur of his name, and +turning round on his heel in silence, began to walk, without looking +back once. Mr Verloc, thus led along a ground-floor passage to +the left of the great carpeted staircase, was suddenly motioned to enter +a quite small room furnished with a heavy writing-table and a few chairs. +The servant shut the door, and Mr Verloc remained alone. He did +not take a seat. With his hat and stick held in one hand he glanced +about, passing his other podgy hand over his uncovered sleek head.</p> +<p>Another door opened noiselessly, and Mr Verloc immobilising his glance +in that direction saw at first only black clothes, the bald top of a +head, and a drooping dark grey whisker on each side of a pair of wrinkled +hands. The person who had entered was holding a batch of papers +before his eyes and walked up to the table with a rather mincing step, +turning the papers over the while. Privy Councillor Wurmt, Chancelier +d’Ambassade, was rather short-sighted. This meritorious +official laying the papers on the table, disclosed a face of pasty complexion +and of melancholy ugliness surrounded by a lot of fine, long dark grey +hairs, barred heavily by thick and bushy eyebrows. He put on a +black-framed pince-nez upon a blunt and shapeless nose, and seemed struck +by Mr Verloc’s appearance. Under the enormous eyebrows his +weak eyes blinked pathetically through the glasses.</p> +<p>He made no sign of greeting; neither did Mr Verloc, who certainly +knew his place; but a subtle change about the general outlines of his +shoulders and back suggested a slight bending of Mr Verloc’s spine +under the vast surface of his overcoat. The effect was of unobtrusive +deference.</p> +<p>“I have here some of your reports,” said the bureaucrat +in an unexpectedly soft and weary voice, and pressing the tip of his +forefinger on the papers with force. He paused; and Mr Verloc, +who had recognised his own handwriting very well, waited in an almost +breathless silence. “We are not very satisfied with the +attitude of the police here,” the other continued, with every +appearance of mental fatigue.</p> +<p>The shoulders of Mr Verloc, without actually moving, suggested a +shrug. And for the first time since he left his home that morning +his lips opened.</p> +<p>“Every country has its police,” he said philosophically. +But as the official of the Embassy went on blinking at him steadily +he felt constrained to add: “Allow me to observe that I have no +means of action upon the police here.”</p> +<p>“What is desired,” said the man of papers, “is +the occurrence of something definite which should stimulate their vigilance. +That is within your province—is it not so?”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc made no answer except by a sigh, which escaped him involuntarily, +for instantly he tried to give his face a cheerful expression. +The official blinked doubtfully, as if affected by the dim light of +the room. He repeated vaguely.</p> +<p>“The vigilance of the police—and the severity of the +magistrates. The general leniency of the judicial procedure here, +and the utter absence of all repressive measures, are a scandal to Europe. +What is wished for just now is the accentuation of the unrest—of +the fermentation which undoubtedly exists—”</p> +<p>“Undoubtedly, undoubtedly,” broke in Mr Verloc in a deep +deferential bass of an oratorical quality, so utterly different from +the tone in which he had spoken before that his interlocutor remained +profoundly surprised. “It exists to a dangerous degree. +My reports for the last twelve months make it sufficiently clear.”</p> +<p>“Your reports for the last twelve months,” State Councillor +Wurmt began in his gentle and dispassionate tone, “have been read +by me. I failed to discover why you wrote them at all.”</p> +<p>A sad silence reigned for a time. Mr Verloc seemed to have +swallowed his tongue, and the other gazed at the papers on the table +fixedly. At last he gave them a slight push.</p> +<p>“The state of affairs you expose there is assumed to exist +as the first condition of your employment. What is required at +present is not writing, but the bringing to light of a distinct, significant +fact—I would almost say of an alarming fact.”</p> +<p>“I need not say that all my endeavours shall be directed to +that end,” Mr Verloc said, with convinced modulations in his conversational +husky tone. But the sense of being blinked at watchfully behind +the blind glitter of these eye-glasses on the other side of the table +disconcerted him. He stopped short with a gesture of absolute +devotion. The useful, hard-working, if obscure member of the Embassy +had an air of being impressed by some newly-born thought.</p> +<p>“You are very corpulent,” he said.</p> +<p>This observation, really of a psychological nature, and advanced +with the modest hesitation of an officeman more familiar with ink and +paper than with the requirements of active life, stung Mr Verloc in +the manner of a rude personal remark. He stepped back a pace.</p> +<p>“Eh? What were you pleased to say?” he exclaimed, +with husky resentment.</p> +<p>The Chancelier d’Ambassade entrusted with the conduct of this +interview seemed to find it too much for him.</p> +<p>“I think,” he said, “that you had better see Mr +Vladimir. Yes, decidedly I think you ought to see Mr Vladimir. +Be good enough to wait here,” he added, and went out with mincing +steps.</p> +<p>At once Mr Verloc passed his hand over his hair. A slight perspiration +had broken out on his forehead. He let the air escape from his +pursed-up lips like a man blowing at a spoonful of hot soup. But +when the servant in brown appeared at the door silently, Mr Verloc had +not moved an inch from the place he had occupied throughout the interview. +He had remained motionless, as if feeling himself surrounded by pitfalls.</p> +<p>He walked along a passage lighted by a lonely gas-jet, then up a +flight of winding stairs, and through a glazed and cheerful corridor +on the first floor. The footman threw open a door, and stood aside. +The feet of Mr Verloc felt a thick carpet. The room was large, +with three windows; and a young man with a shaven, big face, sitting +in a roomy arm-chair before a vast mahogany writing-table, said in French +to the Chancelier d’Ambassade, who was going out with, the papers +in his hand:</p> +<p>“You are quite right, mon cher. He’s fat—the +animal.”</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir, First Secretary, had a drawing-room reputation as an +agreeable and entertaining man. He was something of a favourite +in society. His wit consisted in discovering droll connections +between incongruous ideas; and when talking in that strain he sat well +forward of his seat, with his left hand raised, as if exhibiting his +funny demonstrations between the thumb and forefinger, while his round +and clean-shaven face wore an expression of merry perplexity.</p> +<p>But there was no trace of merriment or perplexity in the way he looked +at Mr Verloc. Lying far back in the deep arm-chair, with squarely +spread elbows, and throwing one leg over a thick knee, he had with his +smooth and rosy countenance the air of a preternaturally thriving baby +that will not stand nonsense from anybody.</p> +<p>“You understand French, I suppose?” he said.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc stated huskily that he did. His whole vast bulk had +a forward inclination. He stood on the carpet in the middle of +the room, clutching his hat and stick in one hand; the other hung lifelessly +by his side. He muttered unobtrusively somewhere deep down in +his throat something about having done his military service in the French +artillery. At once, with contemptuous perversity, Mr Vladimir +changed the language, and began to speak idiomatic English without the +slightest trace of a foreign accent.</p> +<p>“Ah! Yes. Of course. Let’s see. +How much did you get for obtaining the design of the improved breech-block +of their new field-gun?”</p> +<p>“Five years’ rigorous confinement in a fortress,” +Mr Verloc answered unexpectedly, but without any sign of feeling.</p> +<p>“You got off easily,” was Mr Vladimir’s comment. +“And, anyhow, it served you right for letting yourself get caught. +What made you go in for that sort of thing—eh?”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc’s husky conversational voice was heard speaking of +youth, of a fatal infatuation for an unworthy—</p> +<p>“Aha! Cherchez la femme,” Mr Vladimir deigned to +interrupt, unbending, but without affability; there was, on the contrary, +a touch of grimness in his condescension. “How long have +you been employed by the Embassy here?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Ever since the time of the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim,” +Mr Verloc answered in subdued tones, and protruding his lips sadly, +in sign of sorrow for the deceased diplomat. The First Secretary +observed this play of physiognomy steadily.</p> +<p>“Ah! ever since. Well! What have you got to say +for yourself?” he asked sharply.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc answered with some surprise that he was not aware of having +anything special to say. He had been summoned by a letter—And +he plunged his hand busily into the side pocket of his overcoat, but +before the mocking, cynical watchfulness of Mr Vladimir, concluded to +leave it there.</p> +<p>“Bah!” said that latter. “What do you mean +by getting out of condition like this? You haven’t got even +the physique of your profession. You—a member of a starving +proletariat—never! You—a desperate socialist or anarchist—which +is it?”</p> +<p>“Anarchist,” stated Mr Verloc in a deadened tone.</p> +<p>“Bosh!” went on Mr Vladimir, without raising his voice. +“You startled old Wurmt himself. You wouldn’t deceive +an idiot. They all are that by-the-by, but you seem to me simply +impossible. So you began your connection with us by stealing the +French gun designs. And you got yourself caught. That must +have been very disagreeable to our Government. You don’t +seem to be very smart.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc tried to exculpate himself huskily.</p> +<p>“As I’ve had occasion to observe before, a fatal infatuation +for an unworthy—”</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir raised a large white, plump hand. “Ah, yes. +The unlucky attachment—of your youth. She got hold of the +money, and then sold you to the police—eh?”</p> +<p>The doleful change in Mr Verloc’s physiognomy, the momentary +drooping of his whole person, confessed that such was the regrettable +case. Mr Vladimir’s hand clasped the ankle reposing on his +knee. The sock was of dark blue silk.</p> +<p>“You see, that was not very clever of you. Perhaps you +are too susceptible.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc intimated in a throaty, veiled murmur that he was no longer +young.</p> +<p>“Oh! That’s a failing which age does not cure,” +Mr Vladimir remarked, with sinister familiarity. “But no! +You are too fat for that. You could not have come to look like +this if you had been at all susceptible. I’ll tell you what +I think is the matter: you are a lazy fellow. How long have you +been drawing pay from this Embassy?”</p> +<p>“Eleven years,” was the answer, after a moment of sulky +hesitation. “I’ve been charged with several missions +to London while His Excellency Baron Stott-Wartenheim was still Ambassador +in Paris. Then by his Excellency’s instructions I settled +down in London. I am English.”</p> +<p>“You are! Are you? Eh?”</p> +<p>“A natural-born British subject,” Mr Verloc said stolidly. +“But my father was French, and so—”</p> +<p>“Never mind explaining,” interrupted the other. +“I daresay you could have been legally a Marshal of France and +a Member of Parliament in England—and then, indeed, you would +have been of some use to our Embassy.”</p> +<p>This flight of fancy provoked something like a faint smile on Mr +Verloc’s face. Mr Vladimir retained an imperturbable gravity.</p> +<p>“But, as I’ve said, you are a lazy fellow; you don’t +use your opportunities. In the time of Baron Stott-Wartenheim +we had a lot of soft-headed people running this Embassy. They +caused fellows of your sort to form a false conception of the nature +of a secret service fund. It is my business to correct this misapprehension +by telling you what the secret service is not. It is not a philanthropic +institution. I’ve had you called here on purpose to tell +you this.”</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir observed the forced expression of bewilderment on Verloc’s +face, and smiled sarcastically.</p> +<p>“I see that you understand me perfectly. I daresay you +are intelligent enough for your work. What we want now is activity—activity.”</p> +<p>On repeating this last word Mr Vladimir laid a long white forefinger +on the edge of the desk. Every trace of huskiness disappeared +from Verloc’s voice. The nape of his gross neck became crimson +above the velvet collar of his overcoat. His lips quivered before +they came widely open.</p> +<p>“If you’ll only be good enough to look up my record,” +he boomed out in his great, clear oratorical bass, “you’ll +see I gave a warning only three months ago, on the occasion of the Grand +Duke Romuald’s visit to Paris, which was telegraphed from here +to the French police, and—”</p> +<p>“Tut, tut!” broke out Mr Vladimir, with a frowning grimace. +“The French police had no use for your warning. Don’t +roar like this. What the devil do you mean?”</p> +<p>With a note of proud humility Mr Verloc apologised for forgetting +himself. His voice,—famous for years at open-air meetings +and at workmen’s assemblies in large halls, had contributed, he +said, to his reputation of a good and trustworthy comrade. It +was, therefore, a part of his usefulness. It had inspired confidence +in his principles. “I was always put up to speak by the +leaders at a critical moment,” Mr Verloc declared, with obvious +satisfaction. There was no uproar above which he could not make +himself heard, he added; and suddenly he made a demonstration.</p> +<p>“Allow me,” he said. With lowered forehead, without +looking up, swiftly and ponderously he crossed the room to one of the +French windows. As if giving way to an uncontrollable impulse, +he opened it a little. Mr Vladimir, jumping up amazed from the +depths of the arm-chair, looked over his shoulder; and below, across +the courtyard of the Embassy, well beyond the open gate, could be seen +the broad back of a policeman watching idly the gorgeous perambulator +of a wealthy baby being wheeled in state across the Square.</p> +<p>“Constable!” said Mr Verloc, with no more effort than +if he were whispering; and Mr Vladimir burst into a laugh on seeing +the policeman spin round as if prodded by a sharp instrument. +Mr Verloc shut the window quietly, and returned to the middle of the +room.</p> +<p>“With a voice like that,” he said, putting on the husky +conversational pedal, “I was naturally trusted. And I knew +what to say, too.”</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir, arranging his cravat, observed him in the glass over +the mantelpiece.</p> +<p>“I daresay you have the social revolutionary jargon by heart +well enough,” he said contemptuously. “Vox et. . . +You haven’t ever studied Latin—have you?”</p> +<p>“No,” growled Mr Verloc. “You did not expect +me to know it. I belong to the million. Who knows Latin? +Only a few hundred imbeciles who aren’t fit to take care of themselves.”</p> +<p>For some thirty seconds longer Mr Vladimir studied in the mirror +the fleshy profile, the gross bulk, of the man behind him. And +at the same time he had the advantage of seeing his own face, clean-shaved +and round, rosy about the gills, and with the thin sensitive lips formed +exactly for the utterance of those delicate witticisms which had made +him such a favourite in the very highest society. Then he turned, +and advanced into the room with such determination that the very ends +of his quaintly old-fashioned bow necktie seemed to bristle with unspeakable +menaces. The movement was so swift and fierce that Mr Verloc, +casting an oblique glance, quailed inwardly.</p> +<p>“Aha! You dare be impudent,” Mr Vladimir began, +with an amazingly guttural intonation not only utterly un-English, but +absolutely un-European, and startling even to Mr Verloc’s experience +of cosmopolitan slums. “You dare! Well, I am going +to speak plain English to you. Voice won’t do. We +have no use for your voice. We don’t want a voice. +We want facts—startling facts—damn you,” he added, +with a sort of ferocious discretion, right into Mr Verloc’s face.</p> +<p>“Don’t you try to come over me with your Hyperborean +manners,” Mr Verloc defended himself huskily, looking at the carpet. +At this his interlocutor, smiling mockingly above the bristling bow +of his necktie, switched the conversation into French.</p> +<p>“You give yourself for an ‘agent provocateur.’ +The proper business of an ‘agent provocateur’ is to provoke. +As far as I can judge from your record kept here, you have done nothing +to earn your money for the last three years.”</p> +<p>“Nothing!” exclaimed Verloc, stirring not a limb, and +not raising his eyes, but with the note of sincere feeling in his tone. +“I have several times prevented what might have been—”</p> +<p>“There is a proverb in this country which says prevention is +better than cure,” interrupted Mr Vladimir, throwing himself into +the arm-chair. “It is stupid in a general way. There +is no end to prevention. But it is characteristic. They +dislike finality in this country. Don’t you be too English. +And in this particular instance, don’t be absurd. The evil +is already here. We don’t want prevention—we want +cure.”</p> +<p>He paused, turned to the desk, and turning over some papers lying +there, spoke in a changed business-like tone, without looking at Mr +Verloc.</p> +<p>“You know, of course, of the International Conference assembled +in Milan?”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc intimated hoarsely that he was in the habit of reading +the daily papers. To a further question his answer was that, of +course, he understood what he read. At this Mr Vladimir, smiling +faintly at the documents he was still scanning one after another, murmured +“As long as it is not written in Latin, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“Or Chinese,” added Mr Verloc stolidly.</p> +<p>“H’m. Some of your revolutionary friends’ +effusions are written in a <i>charabia</i> every bit as incomprehensible +as Chinese—” Mr Vladimir let fall disdainfully a grey +sheet of printed matter. “What are all these leaflets headed +F. P., with a hammer, pen, and torch crossed? What does it mean, +this F. P.?” Mr Verloc approached the imposing writing-table.</p> +<p>“The Future of the Proletariat. It’s a society,” +he explained, standing ponderously by the side of the arm-chair, “not +anarchist in principle, but open to all shades of revolutionary opinion.”</p> +<p>“Are you in it?”</p> +<p>“One of the Vice-Presidents,” Mr Verloc breathed out +heavily; and the First Secretary of the Embassy raised his head to look +at him.</p> +<p>“Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” he said incisively. +“Isn’t your society capable of anything else but printing +this prophetic bosh in blunt type on this filthy paper eh? Why +don’t you do something? Look here. I’ve this +matter in hand now, and I tell you plainly that you will have to earn +your money. The good old Stott-Wartenheim times are over. +No work, no pay.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc felt a queer sensation of faintness in his stout legs. +He stepped back one pace, and blew his nose loudly.</p> +<p>He was, in truth, startled and alarmed. The rusty London sunshine +struggling clear of the London mist shed a lukewarm brightness into +the First Secretary’s private room; and in the silence Mr Verloc +heard against a window-pane the faint buzzing of a fly—his first +fly of the year—heralding better than any number of swallows the +approach of spring. The useless fussing of that tiny energetic +organism affected unpleasantly this big man threatened in his indolence.</p> +<p>In the pause Mr Vladimir formulated in his mind a series of disparaging +remarks concerning Mr Verloc’s face and figure. The fellow +was unexpectedly vulgar, heavy, and impudently unintelligent. +He looked uncommonly like a master plumber come to present his bill. +The First Secretary of the Embassy, from his occasional excursions into +the field of American humour, had formed a special notion of that class +of mechanic as the embodiment of fraudulent laziness and incompetency.</p> +<p>This was then the famous and trusty secret agent, so secret that +he was never designated otherwise but by the symbol [delta] in the late +Baron Stott-Wartenheim’s official, semi-official, and confidential +correspondence; the celebrated agent [delta], whose warnings had the +power to change the schemes and the dates of royal, imperial, grand +ducal journeys, and sometimes caused them to be put off altogether! +This fellow! And Mr Vladimir indulged mentally in an enormous +and derisive fit of merriment, partly at his own astonishment, which +he judged naive, but mostly at the expense of the universally regretted +Baron Stott-Wartenheim. His late Excellency, whom the august favour +of his Imperial master had imposed as Ambassador upon several reluctant +Ministers of Foreign Affairs, had enjoyed in his lifetime a fame for +an owlish, pessimistic gullibility. His Excellency had the social +revolution on the brain. He imagined himself to be a diplomatist +set apart by a special dispensation to watch the end of diplomacy, and +pretty nearly the end of the world, in a horrid democratic upheaval. +His prophetic and doleful despatches had been for years the joke of +Foreign Offices. He was said to have exclaimed on his deathbed +(visited by his Imperial friend and master): “Unhappy Europe! +Thou shalt perish by the moral insanity of thy children!” +He was fated to be the victim of the first humbugging rascal that came +along, thought Mr Vladimir, smiling vaguely at Mr Verloc.</p> +<p>“You ought to venerate the memory of Baron Stott-Wartenheim,” +he exclaimed suddenly.</p> +<p>The lowered physiognomy of Mr Verloc expressed a sombre and weary +annoyance.</p> +<p>“Permit me to observe to you,” he said, “that I +came here because I was summoned by a peremptory letter. I have +been here only twice before in the last eleven years, and certainly +never at eleven in the morning. It isn’t very wise to call +me up like this. There is just a chance of being seen. And +that would be no joke for me.”</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“It would destroy my usefulness,” continued the other +hotly.</p> +<p>“That’s your affair,” murmured Mr Vladimir, with +soft brutality. “When you cease to be useful you shall cease +to be employed. Yes. Right off. Cut short. You +shall—” Mr Vladimir, frowning, paused, at a loss for a sufficiently +idiomatic expression, and instantly brightened up, with a grin of beautifully +white teeth. “You shall be chucked,” he brought out +ferociously.</p> +<p>Once more Mr Verloc had to react with all the force of his will against +that sensation of faintness running down one’s legs which once +upon a time had inspired some poor devil with the felicitous expression: +“My heart went down into my boots.” Mr Verloc, aware +of the sensation, raised his head bravely.</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir bore the look of heavy inquiry with perfect serenity.</p> +<p>“What we want is to administer a tonic to the Conference in +Milan,” he said airily. “Its deliberations upon international +action for the suppression of political crime don’t seem to get +anywhere. England lags. This country is absurd with its +sentimental regard for individual liberty. It’s intolerable +to think that all your friends have got only to come over to—”</p> +<p>“In that way I have them all under my eye,” Mr Verloc +interrupted huskily.</p> +<p>“It would be much more to the point to have them all under +lock and key. England must be brought into line. The imbecile +bourgeoisie of this country make themselves the accomplices of the very +people whose aim is to drive them out of their houses to starve in ditches. +And they have the political power still, if they only had the sense +to use it for their preservation. I suppose you agree that the +middle classes are stupid?”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc agreed hoarsely.</p> +<p>“They are.”</p> +<p>“They have no imagination. They are blinded by an idiotic +vanity. What they want just now is a jolly good scare. This +is the psychological moment to set your friends to work. I have +had you called here to develop to you my idea.”</p> +<p>And Mr Vladimir developed his idea from on high, with scorn and condescension, +displaying at the same time an amount of ignorance as to the real aims, +thoughts, and methods of the revolutionary world which filled the silent +Mr Verloc with inward consternation. He confounded causes with +effects more than was excusable; the most distinguished propagandists +with impulsive bomb throwers; assumed organisation where in the nature +of things it could not exist; spoke of the social revolutionary party +one moment as of a perfectly disciplined army, where the word of chiefs +was supreme, and at another as if it had been the loosest association +of desperate brigands that ever camped in a mountain gorge. Once +Mr Verloc had opened his mouth for a protest, but the raising of a shapely, +large white hand arrested him. Very soon he became too appalled +to even try to protest. He listened in a stillness of dread which +resembled the immobility of profound attention.</p> +<p>“A series of outrages,” Mr Vladimir continued calmly, +“executed here in this country; not only <i>planned</i> here—that +would not do—they would not mind. Your friends could set +half the Continent on fire without influencing the public opinion here +in favour of a universal repressive legislation. They will not +look outside their backyard here.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc cleared his throat, but his heart failed him, and he said +nothing.</p> +<p>“These outrages need not be especially sanguinary,” Mr +Vladimir went on, as if delivering a scientific lecture, “but +they must be sufficiently startling—effective. Let them +be directed against buildings, for instance. What is the fetish +of the hour that all the bourgeoisie recognise—eh, Mr Verloc?”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc opened his hands and shrugged his shoulders slightly.</p> +<p>“You are too lazy to think,” was Mr Vladimir’s +comment upon that gesture. “Pay attention to what I say. +The fetish of to-day is neither royalty nor religion. Therefore +the palace and the church should be left alone. You understand +what I mean, Mr Verloc?”</p> +<p>The dismay and the scorn of Mr Verloc found vent in an attempt at +levity.</p> +<p>“Perfectly. But what of the Embassies? A series +of attacks on the various Embassies,” he began; but he could not +withstand the cold, watchful stare of the First Secretary.</p> +<p>“You can be facetious, I see,” the latter observed carelessly. +“That’s all right. It may enliven your oratory at +socialistic congresses. But this room is no place for it. +It would be infinitely safer for you to follow carefully what I am saying. +As you are being called upon to furnish facts instead of cock-and-bull +stories, you had better try to make your profit off what I am taking +the trouble to explain to you. The sacrosanct fetish of to-day +is science. Why don’t you get some of your friends to go +for that wooden-faced panjandrum—eh? Is it not part of these +institutions which must be swept away before the F. P. comes along?”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc said nothing. He was afraid to open his lips lest +a groan should escape him.</p> +<p>“This is what you should try for. An attempt upon a crowned +head or on a president is sensational enough in a way, but not so much +as it used to be. It has entered into the general conception of +the existence of all chiefs of state. It’s almost conventional—especially +since so many presidents have been assassinated. Now let us take +an outrage upon—say a church. Horrible enough at first sight, +no doubt, and yet not so effective as a person of an ordinary mind might +think. No matter how revolutionary and anarchist in inception, +there would be fools enough to give such an outrage the character of +a religious manifestation. And that would detract from the especial +alarming significance we wish to give to the act. A murderous +attempt on a restaurant or a theatre would suffer in the same way from +the suggestion of non-political passion: the exasperation of a hungry +man, an act of social revenge. All this is used up; it is no longer +instructive as an object lesson in revolutionary anarchism. Every +newspaper has ready-made phrases to explain such manifestations away. +I am about to give you the philosophy of bomb throwing from my point +of view; from the point of view you pretend to have been serving for +the last eleven years. I will try not to talk above your head. +The sensibilities of the class you are attacking are soon blunted. +Property seems to them an indestructible thing. You can’t +count upon their emotions either of pity or fear for very long. +A bomb outrage to have any influence on public opinion now must go beyond +the intention of vengeance or terrorism. It must be purely destructive. +It must be that, and only that, beyond the faintest suspicion of any +other object. You anarchists should make it clear that you are +perfectly determined to make a clean sweep of the whole social creation. +But how to get that appallingly absurd notion into the heads of the +middle classes so that there should be no mistake? That’s +the question. By directing your blows at something outside the +ordinary passions of humanity is the answer. Of course, there +is art. A bomb in the National Gallery would make some noise. +But it would not be serious enough. Art has never been their fetish. +It’s like breaking a few back windows in a man’s house; +whereas, if you want to make him really sit up, you must try at least +to raise the roof. There would be some screaming of course, but +from whom? Artists—art critics and such like—people +of no account. Nobody minds what they say. But there is +learning—science. Any imbecile that has got an income believes +in that. He does not know why, but he believes it matters somehow. +It is the sacrosanct fetish. All the damned professors are radicals +at heart. Let them know that their great panjandrum has got to +go too, to make room for the Future of the Proletariat. A howl +from all these intellectual idiots is bound to help forward the labours +of the Milan Conference. They will be writing to the papers. +Their indignation would be above suspicion, no material interests being +openly at stake, and it will alarm every selfishness of the class which +should be impressed. They believe that in some mysterious way +science is at the source of their material prosperity. They do. +And the absurd ferocity of such a demonstration will affect them more +profoundly than the mangling of a whole street—or theatre—full +of their own kind. To that last they can always say: ‘Oh! +it’s mere class hate.’ But what is one to say to an +act of destructive ferocity so absurd as to be incomprehensible, inexplicable, +almost unthinkable; in fact, mad? Madness alone is truly terrifying, +inasmuch as you cannot placate it either by threats, persuasion, or +bribes. Moreover, I am a civilised man. I would never dream +of directing you to organise a mere butchery, even if I expected the +best results from it. But I wouldn’t expect from a butchery +the result I want. Murder is always with us. It is almost +an institution. The demonstration must be against learning—science. +But not every science will do. The attack must have all the shocking +senselessness of gratuitous blasphemy. Since bombs are your means +of expression, it would be really telling if one could throw a bomb +into pure mathematics. But that is impossible. I have been +trying to educate you; I have expounded to you the higher philosophy +of your usefulness, and suggested to you some serviceable arguments. +The practical application of my teaching interests <i>you</i> mostly. +But from the moment I have undertaken to interview you I have also given +some attention to the practical aspect of the question. What do +you think of having a go at astronomy?”</p> +<p>For sometime already Mr Verloc’s immobility by the side of +the arm-chair resembled a state of collapsed coma—a sort of passive +insensibility interrupted by slight convulsive starts, such as may be +observed in the domestic dog having a nightmare on the hearthrug. +And it was in an uneasy doglike growl that he repeated the word:</p> +<p>“Astronomy.”</p> +<p>He had not recovered thoroughly as yet from that state of bewilderment +brought about by the effort to follow Mr Vladimir’s rapid incisive +utterance. It had overcome his power of assimilation. It +had made him angry. This anger was complicated by incredulity. +And suddenly it dawned upon him that all this was an elaborate joke. +Mr Vladimir exhibited his white teeth in a smile, with dimples on his +round, full face posed with a complacent inclination above the bristling +bow of his neck-tie. The favourite of intelligent society women +had assumed his drawing-room attitude accompanying the delivery of delicate +witticisms. Sitting well forward, his white hand upraised, he +seemed to hold delicately between his thumb and forefinger the subtlety +of his suggestion.</p> +<p>“There could be nothing better. Such an outrage combines +the greatest possible regard for humanity with the most alarming display +of ferocious imbecility. I defy the ingenuity of journalists to +persuade their public that any given member of the proletariat can have +a personal grievance against astronomy. Starvation itself could +hardly be dragged in there—eh? And there are other advantages. +The whole civilised world has heard of Greenwich. The very boot-blacks +in the basement of Charing Cross Station know something of it. +See?”</p> +<p>The features of Mr Vladimir, so well known in the best society by +their humorous urbanity, beamed with cynical self-satisfaction, which +would have astonished the intelligent women his wit entertained so exquisitely. +“Yes,” he continued, with a contemptuous smile, “the +blowing up of the first meridian is bound to raise a howl of execration.”</p> +<p>“A difficult business,” Mr Verloc mumbled, feeling that +this was the only safe thing to say.</p> +<p>“What is the matter? Haven’t you the whole gang +under your hand? The very pick of the basket? That old terrorist +Yundt is here. I see him walking about Piccadilly in his green +havelock almost every day. And Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave +apostle—you don’t mean to say you don’t know where +he is? Because if you don’t, I can tell you,” Mr Vladimir +went on menacingly. “If you imagine that you are the only +one on the secret fund list, you are mistaken.”</p> +<p>This perfectly gratuitous suggestion caused Mr Verloc to shuffle +his feet slightly.</p> +<p>“And the whole Lausanne lot—eh? Haven’t they +been flocking over here at the first hint of the Milan Conference? +This is an absurd country.”</p> +<p>“It will cost money,” Mr Verloc said, by a sort of instinct.</p> +<p>“That cock won’t fight,” Mr Vladimir retorted, +with an amazingly genuine English accent. “You’ll +get your screw every month, and no more till something happens. +And if nothing happens very soon you won’t get even that. +What’s your ostensible occupation? What are you supposed +to live by?”</p> +<p>“I keep a shop,” answered Mr Verloc.</p> +<p>“A shop! What sort of shop?”</p> +<p>“Stationery, newspapers. My wife—”</p> +<p>“Your what?” interrupted Mr Vladimir in his guttural +Central Asian tones.</p> +<p>“My wife.” Mr Verloc raised his husky voice slightly. +“I am married.”</p> +<p>“That be damned for a yarn,” exclaimed the other in unfeigned +astonishment. “Married! And you a professed anarchist, +too! What is this confounded nonsense? But I suppose it’s +merely a manner of speaking. Anarchists don’t marry. +It’s well known. They can’t. It would be apostasy.”</p> +<p>“My wife isn’t one,” Mr Verloc mumbled sulkily. +“Moreover, it’s no concern of yours.”</p> +<p>“Oh yes, it is,” snapped Mr Vladimir. “I +am beginning to be convinced that you are not at all the man for the +work you’ve been employed on. Why, you must have discredited +yourself completely in your own world by your marriage. Couldn’t +you have managed without? This is your virtuous attachment—eh? +What with one sort of attachment and another you are doing away with +your usefulness.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, puffing out his cheeks, let the air escape violently, +and that was all. He had armed himself with patience. It +was not to be tried much longer. The First Secretary became suddenly +very curt, detached, final.</p> +<p>“You may go now,” he said. “A dynamite outrage +must be provoked. I give you a month. The sittings of the +Conference are suspended. Before it reassembles again something +must have happened here, or your connection with us ceases.”</p> +<p>He changed the note once more with an unprincipled versatility.</p> +<p>“Think over my philosophy, Mr—Mr—Verloc,” +he said, with a sort of chaffing condescension, waving his hand towards +the door. “Go for the first meridian. You don’t +know the middle classes as well as I do. Their sensibilities are +jaded. The first meridian. Nothing better, and nothing easier, +I should think.”</p> +<p>He had got up, and with his thin sensitive lips twitching humorously, +watched in the glass over the mantelpiece Mr Verloc backing out of the +room heavily, hat and stick in hand. The door closed.</p> +<p>The footman in trousers, appearing suddenly in the corridor, let +Mr Verloc another way out and through a small door in the corner of +the courtyard. The porter standing at the gate ignored his exit +completely; and Mr Verloc retraced the path of his morning’s pilgrimage +as if in a dream—an angry dream. This detachment from the +material world was so complete that, though the mortal envelope of Mr +Verloc had not hastened unduly along the streets, that part of him to +which it would be unwarrantably rude to refuse immortality, found itself +at the shop door all at once, as if borne from west to east on the wings +of a great wind. He walked straight behind the counter, and sat +down on a wooden chair that stood there. No one appeared to disturb +his solitude. Stevie, put into a green baize apron, was now sweeping +and dusting upstairs, intent and conscientious, as though he were playing +at it; and Mrs Verloc, warned in the kitchen by the clatter of the cracked +bell, had merely come to the glazed door of the parlour, and putting +the curtain aside a little, had peered into the dim shop. Seeing +her husband sitting there shadowy and bulky, with his hat tilted far +back on his head, she had at once returned to her stove. An hour +or more later she took the green baize apron off her brother Stevie, +and instructed him to wash his hands and face in the peremptory tone +she had used in that connection for fifteen years or so—ever since +she had, in fact, ceased to attend to the boy’s hands and face +herself. She spared presently a glance away from her dishing-up +for the inspection of that face and those hands which Stevie, approaching +the kitchen table, offered for her approval with an air of self-assurance +hiding a perpetual residue of anxiety. Formerly the anger of the +father was the supremely effective sanction of these rites, but Mr Verloc’s +placidity in domestic life would have made all mention of anger incredible +even to poor Stevie’s nervousness. The theory was that Mr +Verloc would have been inexpressibly pained and shocked by any deficiency +of cleanliness at meal times. Winnie after the death of her father +found considerable consolation in the feeling that she need no longer +tremble for poor Stevie. She could not bear to see the boy hurt. +It maddened her. As a little girl she had often faced with blazing +eyes the irascible licensed victualler in defence of her brother. +Nothing now in Mrs Verloc’s appearance could lead one to suppose +that she was capable of a passionate demonstration.</p> +<p>She finished her dishing-up. The table was laid in the parlour. +Going to the foot of the stairs, she screamed out “Mother!” +Then opening the glazed door leading to the shop, she said quietly “Adolf!” +Mr Verloc had not changed his position; he had not apparently stirred +a limb for an hour and a half. He got up heavily, and came to +his dinner in his overcoat and with his hat on, without uttering a word. +His silence in itself had nothing startlingly unusual in this household, +hidden in the shades of the sordid street seldom touched by the sun, +behind the dim shop with its wares of disreputable rubbish. Only +that day Mr Verloc’s taciturnity was so obviously thoughtful that +the two women were impressed by it. They sat silent themselves, +keeping a watchful eye on poor Stevie, lest he should break out into +one of his fits of loquacity. He faced Mr Verloc across the table, +and remained very good and quiet, staring vacantly. The endeavour +to keep him from making himself objectionable in any way to the master +of the house put no inconsiderable anxiety into these two women’s +lives. “That boy,” as they alluded to him softly between +themselves, had been a source of that sort of anxiety almost from the +very day of his birth. The late licensed victualler’s humiliation +at having such a very peculiar boy for a son manifested itself by a +propensity to brutal treatment; for he was a person of fine sensibilities, +and his sufferings as a man and a father were perfectly genuine. +Afterwards Stevie had to be kept from making himself a nuisance to the +single gentlemen lodgers, who are themselves a queer lot, and are easily +aggrieved. And there was always the anxiety of his mere existence +to face. Visions of a workhouse infirmary for her child had haunted +the old woman in the basement breakfast-room of the decayed Belgravian +house. “If you had not found such a good husband, my dear,” +she used to say to her daughter, “I don’t know what would +have become of that poor boy.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc extended as much recognition to Stevie as a man not particularly +fond of animals may give to his wife’s beloved cat; and this recognition, +benevolent and perfunctory, was essentially of the same quality. +Both women admitted to themselves that not much more could be reasonably +expected. It was enough to earn for Mr Verloc the old woman’s +reverential gratitude. In the early days, made sceptical by the +trials of friendless life, she used sometimes to ask anxiously: “You +don’t think, my dear, that Mr Verloc is getting tired of seeing +Stevie about?” To this Winnie replied habitually by a slight +toss of her head. Once, however, she retorted, with a rather grim +pertness: “He’ll have to get tired of me first.” +A long silence ensued. The mother, with her feet propped up on +a stool, seemed to be trying to get to the bottom of that answer, whose +feminine profundity had struck her all of a heap. She had never +really understood why Winnie had married Mr Verloc. It was very +sensible of her, and evidently had turned out for the best, but her +girl might have naturally hoped to find somebody of a more suitable +age. There had been a steady young fellow, only son of a butcher +in the next street, helping his father in business, with whom Winnie +had been walking out with obvious gusto. He was dependent on his +father, it is true; but the business was good, and his prospects excellent. +He took her girl to the theatre on several evenings. Then just +as she began to dread to hear of their engagement (for what could she +have done with that big house alone, with Stevie on her hands), that +romance came to an abrupt end, and Winnie went about looking very dull. +But Mr Verloc, turning up providentially to occupy the first-floor front +bedroom, there had been no more question of the young butcher. +It was clearly providential.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<p>“ . . . All idealisation makes life poorer. To beautify +it is to take away its character of complexity—it is to destroy +it. Leave that to the moralists, my boy. History is made +by men, but they do not make it in their heads. The ideas that +are born in their consciousness play an insignificant part in the march +of events. History is dominated and determined by the tool and +the production—by the force of economic conditions. Capitalism +has made socialism, and the laws made by the capitalism for the protection +of property are responsible for anarchism. No one can tell what +form the social organisation may take in the future. Then why +indulge in prophetic phantasies? At best they can only interpret +the mind of the prophet, and can have no objective value. Leave +that pastime to the moralists, my boy.”</p> +<p>Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, was speaking in an even voice, +a voice that wheezed as if deadened and oppressed by the layer of fat +on his chest. He had come out of a highly hygienic prison round +like a tub, with an enormous stomach and distended cheeks of a pale, +semi-transparent complexion, as though for fifteen years the servants +of an outraged society had made a point of stuffing him with fattening +foods in a damp and lightless cellar. And ever since he had never +managed to get his weight down as much as an ounce.</p> +<p>It was said that for three seasons running a very wealthy old lady +had sent him for a cure to Marienbad—where he was about to share +the public curiosity once with a crowned head—but the police on +that occasion ordered him to leave within twelve hours. His martyrdom +was continued by forbidding him all access to the healing waters. +But he was resigned now.</p> +<p>With his elbow presenting no appearance of a joint, but more like +a bend in a dummy’s limb, thrown over the back of a chair, he +leaned forward slightly over his short and enormous thighs to spit into +the grate.</p> +<p>“Yes! I had the time to think things out a little,” +he added without emphasis. “Society has given me plenty +of time for meditation.”</p> +<p>On the other side of the fireplace, in the horse-hair arm-chair where +Mrs Verloc’s mother was generally privileged to sit, Karl Yundt +giggled grimly, with a faint black grimace of a toothless mouth. +The terrorist, as he called himself, was old and bald, with a narrow, +snow-white wisp of a goatee hanging limply from his chin. An extraordinary +expression of underhand malevolence survived in his extinguished eyes. +When he rose painfully the thrusting forward of a skinny groping hand +deformed by gouty swellings suggested the effort of a moribund murderer +summoning all his remaining strength for a last stab. He leaned +on a thick stick, which trembled under his other hand.</p> +<p>“I have always dreamed,” he mouthed fiercely, “of +a band of men absolute in their resolve to discard all scruples in the +choice of means, strong enough to give themselves frankly the name of +destroyers, and free from the taint of that resigned pessimism which +rots the world. No pity for anything on earth, including themselves, +and death enlisted for good and all in the service of humanity—that’s +what I would have liked to see.”</p> +<p>His little bald head quivered, imparting a comical vibration to the +wisp of white goatee. His enunciation would have been almost totally +unintelligible to a stranger. His worn-out passion, resembling +in its impotent fierceness the excitement of a senile sensualist, was +badly served by a dried throat and toothless gums which seemed to catch +the tip of his tongue. Mr Verloc, established in the corner of +the sofa at the other end of the room, emitted two hearty grunts of +assent.</p> +<p>The old terrorist turned slowly his head on his skinny neck from +side to side.</p> +<p>“And I could never get as many as three such men together. +So much for your rotten pessimism,” he snarled at Michaelis, who +uncrossed his thick legs, similar to bolsters, and slid his feet abruptly +under his chair in sign of exasperation.</p> +<p>He a pessimist! Preposterous! He cried out that the charge +was outrageous. He was so far from pessimism that he saw already +the end of all private property coming along logically, unavoidably, +by the mere development of its inherent viciousness. The possessors +of property had not only to face the awakened proletariat, but they +had also to fight amongst themselves. Yes. Struggle, warfare, +was the condition of private ownership. It was fatal. Ah! +he did not depend upon emotional excitement to keep up his belief, no +declamations, no anger, no visions of blood-red flags waving, or metaphorical +lurid suns of vengeance rising above the horizon of a doomed society. +Not he! Cold reason, he boasted, was the basis of his optimism. +Yes, optimism—</p> +<p>His laborious wheezing stopped, then, after a gasp or two, he added:</p> +<p>“Don’t you think that, if I had not been the optimist +I am, I could not have found in fifteen years some means to cut my throat? +And, in the last instance, there were always the walls of my cell to +dash my head against.”</p> +<p>The shortness of breath took all fire, all animation out of his voice; +his great, pale cheeks hung like filled pouches, motionless, without +a quiver; but in his blue eyes, narrowed as if peering, there was the +same look of confident shrewdness, a little crazy in its fixity, they +must have had while the indomitable optimist sat thinking at night in +his cell. Before him, Karl Yundt remained standing, one wing of +his faded greenish havelock thrown back cavalierly over his shoulder. +Seated in front of the fireplace, Comrade Ossipon, ex-medical student, +the principal writer of the F. P. leaflets, stretched out his robust +legs, keeping the soles of his boots turned up to the glow in the grate. +A bush of crinkly yellow hair topped his red, freckled face, with a +flattened nose and prominent mouth cast in the rough mould of the negro +type. His almond-shaped eyes leered languidly over the high cheek-bones. +He wore a grey flannel shirt, the loose ends of a black silk tie hung +down the buttoned breast of his serge coat; and his head resting on +the back of his chair, his throat largely exposed, he raised to his +lips a cigarette in a long wooden tube, puffing jets of smoke straight +up at the ceiling.</p> +<p>Michaelis pursued his idea—<i>the</i> idea of his solitary +reclusion—the thought vouchsafed to his captivity and growing +like a faith revealed in visions. He talked to himself, indifferent +to the sympathy or hostility of his hearers, indifferent indeed to their +presence, from the habit he had acquired of thinking aloud hopefully +in the solitude of the four whitewashed walls of his cell, in the sepulchral +silence of the great blind pile of bricks near a river, sinister and +ugly like a colossal mortuary for the socially drowned.</p> +<p>He was no good in discussion, not because any amount of argument +could shake his faith, but because the mere fact of hearing another +voice disconcerted him painfully, confusing his thoughts at once—these +thoughts that for so many years, in a mental solitude more barren than +a waterless desert, no living voice had ever combatted, commented, or +approved.</p> +<p>No one interrupted him now, and he made again the confession of his +faith, mastering him irresistible and complete like an act of grace: +the secret of fate discovered in the material side of life; the economic +condition of the world responsible for the past and shaping the future; +the source of all history, of all ideas, guiding the mental development +of mankind and the very impulses of their passion—</p> +<p>A harsh laugh from Comrade Ossipon cut the tirade dead short in a +sudden faltering of the tongue and a bewildered unsteadiness of the +apostle’s mildly exalted eyes. He closed them slowly for +a moment, as if to collect his routed thoughts. A silence fell; +but what with the two gas-jets over the table and the glowing grate +the little parlour behind Mr Verloc’s shop had become frightfully +hot. Mr Verloc, getting off the sofa with ponderous reluctance, +opened the door leading into the kitchen to get more air, and thus disclosed +the innocent Stevie, seated very good and quiet at a deal table, drawing +circles, circles, circles; innumerable circles, concentric, eccentric; +a coruscating whirl of circles that by their tangled multitude of repeated +curves, uniformity of form, and confusion of intersecting lines suggested +a rendering of cosmic chaos, the symbolism of a mad art attempting the +inconceivable. The artist never turned his head; and in all his +soul’s application to the task his back quivered, his thin neck, +sunk into a deep hollow at the base of the skull, seemed ready to snap.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, after a grunt of disapproving surprise, returned to the +sofa. Alexander Ossipon got up, tall in his threadbare blue serge +suit under the low ceiling, shook off the stiffness of long immobility, +and strolled away into the kitchen (down two steps) to look over Stevie’s +shoulder. He came back, pronouncing oracularly: “Very good. +Very characteristic, perfectly typical.”</p> +<p>“What’s very good?” grunted inquiringly Mr Verloc, +settled again in the corner of the sofa. The other explained his +meaning negligently, with a shade of condescension and a toss of his +head towards the kitchen:</p> +<p>“Typical of this form of degeneracy—these drawings, I +mean.”</p> +<p>“You would call that lad a degenerate, would you?” mumbled +Mr Verloc.</p> +<p>Comrade Alexander Ossipon—nicknamed the Doctor, ex-medical +student without a degree; afterwards wandering lecturer to working-men’s +associations upon the socialistic aspects of hygiene; author of a popular +quasi-medical study (in the form of a cheap pamphlet seized promptly +by the police) entitled “The Corroding Vices of the Middle Classes”; +special delegate of the more or less mysterious Red Committee, together +with Karl Yundt and Michaelis for the work of literary propaganda—turned +upon the obscure familiar of at least two Embassies that glance of insufferable, +hopelessly dense sufficiency which nothing but the frequentation of +science can give to the dulness of common mortals.</p> +<p>“That’s what he may be called scientifically. Very +good type too, altogether, of that sort of degenerate. It’s +enough to glance at the lobes of his ears. If you read Lombroso—”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, moody and spread largely on the sofa, continued to look +down the row of his waistcoat buttons; but his cheeks became tinged +by a faint blush. Of late even the merest derivative of the word +science (a term in itself inoffensive and of indefinite meaning) had +the curious power of evoking a definitely offensive mental vision of +Mr Vladimir, in his body as he lived, with an almost supernatural clearness. +And this phenomenon, deserving justly to be classed amongst the marvels +of science, induced in Mr Verloc an emotional state of dread and exasperation +tending to express itself in violent swearing. But he said nothing. +It was Karl Yundt who was heard, implacable to his last breath.</p> +<p>“Lombroso is an ass.”</p> +<p>Comrade Ossipon met the shock of this blasphemy by an awful, vacant +stare. And the other, his extinguished eyes without gleams blackening +the deep shadows under the great, bony forehead, mumbled, catching the +tip of his tongue between his lips at every second word as though he +were chewing it angrily:</p> +<p>“Did you ever see such an idiot? For him the criminal +is the prisoner. Simple, is it not? What about those who +shut him up there—forced him in there? Exactly. Forced +him in there. And what is crime? Does he know that, this +imbecile who has made his way in this world of gorged fools by looking +at the ears and teeth of a lot of poor, luckless devils? Teeth +and ears mark the criminal? Do they? And what about the +law that marks him still better—the pretty branding instrument +invented by the overfed to protect themselves against the hungry? +Red-hot applications on their vile skins—hey? Can’t +you smell and hear from here the thick hide of the people burn and sizzle? +That’s how criminals are made for your Lombrosos to write their +silly stuff about.”</p> +<p>The knob of his stick and his legs shook together with passion, whilst +the trunk, draped in the wings of the havelock, preserved his historic +attitude of defiance. He seemed to sniff the tainted air of social +cruelty, to strain his ear for its atrocious sounds. There was +an extraordinary force of suggestion in this posturing. The all +but moribund veteran of dynamite wars had been a great actor in his +time—actor on platforms, in secret assemblies, in private interviews. +The famous terrorist had never in his life raised personally as much +as his little finger against the social edifice. He was no man +of action; he was not even an orator of torrential eloquence, sweeping +the masses along in the rushing noise and foam of a great enthusiasm. +With a more subtle intention, he took the part of an insolent and venomous +evoker of sinister impulses which lurk in the blind envy and exasperated +vanity of ignorance, in the suffering and misery of poverty, in all +the hopeful and noble illusions of righteous anger, pity, and revolt. +The shadow of his evil gift clung to him yet like the smell of a deadly +drug in an old vial of poison, emptied now, useless, ready to be thrown +away upon the rubbish-heap of things that had served their time.</p> +<p>Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, smiled vaguely with his glued +lips; his pasty moon face drooped under the weight of melancholy assent. +He had been a prisoner himself. His own skin had sizzled under +the red-hot brand, he murmured softly. But Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed +the Doctor, had got over the shock by that time.</p> +<p>“You don’t understand,” he began disdainfully, +but stopped short, intimidated by the dead blackness of the cavernous +eyes in the face turned slowly towards him with a blind stare, as if +guided only by the sound. He gave the discussion up, with a slight +shrug of the shoulders.</p> +<p>Stevie, accustomed to move about disregarded, had got up from the +kitchen table, carrying off his drawing to bed with him. He had +reached the parlour door in time to receive in full the shock of Karl +Yundt’s eloquent imagery. The sheet of paper covered with +circles dropped out of his fingers, and he remained staring at the old +terrorist, as if rooted suddenly to the spot by his morbid horror and +dread of physical pain. Stevie knew very well that hot iron applied +to one’s skin hurt very much. His scared eyes blazed with +indignation: it would hurt terribly. His mouth dropped open.</p> +<p>Michaelis by staring unwinkingly at the fire had regained that sentiment +of isolation necessary for the continuity of his thought. His +optimism had begun to flow from his lips. He saw Capitalism doomed +in its cradle, born with the poison of the principle of competition +in its system. The great capitalists devouring the little capitalists, +concentrating the power and the tools of production in great masses, +perfecting industrial processes, and in the madness of self-aggrandisement +only preparing, organising, enriching, making ready the lawful inheritance +of the suffering proletariat. Michaelis pronounced the great word +“Patience”—and his clear blue glance, raised to the +low ceiling of Mr Verloc’s parlour, had a character of seraphic +trustfulness. In the doorway Stevie, calmed, seemed sunk in hebetude.</p> +<p>Comrade Ossipon’s face twitched with exasperation.</p> +<p>“Then it’s no use doing anything—no use whatever.”</p> +<p>“I don’t say that,” protested Michaelis gently. +His vision of truth had grown so intense that the sound of a strange +voice failed to rout it this time. He continued to look down at +the red coals. Preparation for the future was necessary, and he +was willing to admit that the great change would perhaps come in the +upheaval of a revolution. But he argued that revolutionary propaganda +was a delicate work of high conscience. It was the education of +the masters of the world. It should be as careful as the education +given to kings. He would have it advance its tenets cautiously, +even timidly, in our ignorance of the effect that may be produced by +any given economic change upon the happiness, the morals, the intellect, +the history of mankind. For history is made with tools, not with +ideas; and everything is changed by economic conditions—art, philosophy, +love, virtue—truth itself!</p> +<p>The coals in the grate settled down with a slight crash; and Michaelis, +the hermit of visions in the desert of a penitentiary, got up impetuously. +Round like a distended balloon, he opened his short, thick arms, as +if in a pathetically hopeless attempt to embrace and hug to his breast +a self-regenerated universe. He gasped with ardour.</p> +<p>“The future is as certain as the past—slavery, feudalism, +individualism, collectivism. This is the statement of a law, not +an empty prophecy.”</p> +<p>The disdainful pout of Comrade Ossipon’s thick lips accentuated +the negro type of his face.</p> +<p>“Nonsense,” he said calmly enough. “There +is no law and no certainty. The teaching propaganda be hanged. +What the people knows does not matter, were its knowledge ever so accurate. +The only thing that matters to us is the emotional state of the masses. +Without emotion there is no action.”</p> +<p>He paused, then added with modest firmness:</p> +<p>“I am speaking now to you scientifically—scientifically—Eh? +What did you say, Verloc?”</p> +<p>“Nothing,” growled from the sofa Mr Verloc, who, provoked +by the abhorrent sound, had merely muttered a “Damn.”</p> +<p>The venomous spluttering of the old terrorist without teeth was heard.</p> +<p>“Do you know how I would call the nature of the present economic +conditions? I would call it cannibalistic. That’s +what it is! They are nourishing their greed on the quivering flesh +and the warm blood of the people—nothing else.”</p> +<p>Stevie swallowed the terrifying statement with an audible gulp, and +at once, as though it had been swift poison, sank limply in a sitting +posture on the steps of the kitchen door.</p> +<p>Michaelis gave no sign of having heard anything. His lips seemed +glued together for good; not a quiver passed over his heavy cheeks. +With troubled eyes he looked for his round, hard hat, and put it on +his round head. His round and obese body seemed to float low between +the chairs under the sharp elbow of Karl Yundt. The old terrorist, +raising an uncertain and clawlike hand, gave a swaggering tilt to a +black felt sombrero shading the hollows and ridges of his wasted face. +He got in motion slowly, striking the floor with his stick at every +step. It was rather an affair to get him out of the house because, +now and then, he would stop, as if to think, and did not offer to move +again till impelled forward by Michaelis. The gentle apostle grasped +his arm with brotherly care; and behind them, his hands in his pockets, +the robust Ossipon yawned vaguely. A blue cap with a patent leather +peak set well at the back of his yellow bush of hair gave him the aspect +of a Norwegian sailor bored with the world after a thundering spree. +Mr Verloc saw his guests off the premises, attending them bareheaded, +his heavy overcoat hanging open, his eyes on the ground.</p> +<p>He closed the door behind their backs with restrained violence, turned +the key, shot the bolt. He was not satisfied with his friends. +In the light of Mr Vladimir’s philosophy of bomb throwing they +appeared hopelessly futile. The part of Mr Verloc in revolutionary +politics having been to observe, he could not all at once, either in +his own home or in larger assemblies, take the initiative of action. +He had to be cautious. Moved by the just indignation of a man +well over forty, menaced in what is dearest to him—his repose +and his security—he asked himself scornfully what else could have +been expected from such a lot, this Karl Yundt, this Michaelis—this +Ossipon.</p> +<p>Pausing in his intention to turn off the gas burning in the middle +of the shop, Mr Verloc descended into the abyss of moral reflections. +With the insight of a kindred temperament he pronounced his verdict. +A lazy lot—this Karl Yundt, nursed by a blear-eyed old woman, +a woman he had years ago enticed away from a friend, and afterwards +had tried more than once to shake off into the gutter. Jolly lucky +for Yundt that she had persisted in coming up time after time, or else +there would have been no one now to help him out of the ’bus by +the Green Park railings, where that spectre took its constitutional +crawl every fine morning. When that indomitable snarling old witch +died the swaggering spectre would have to vanish too—there would +be an end to fiery Karl Yundt. And Mr Verloc’s morality +was offended also by the optimism of Michaelis, annexed by his wealthy +old lady, who had taken lately to sending him to a cottage she had in +the country. The ex-prisoner could moon about the shady lanes +for days together in a delicious and humanitarian idleness. As +to Ossipon, that beggar was sure to want for nothing as long as there +were silly girls with savings-bank books in the world. And Mr +Verloc, temperamentally identical with his associates, drew fine distinctions +in his mind on the strength of insignificant differences. He drew +them with a certain complacency, because the instinct of conventional +respectability was strong within him, being only overcome by his dislike +of all kinds of recognised labour—a temperamental defect which +he shared with a large proportion of revolutionary reformers of a given +social state. For obviously one does not revolt against the advantages +and opportunities of that state, but against the price which must be +paid for the same in the coin of accepted morality, self-restraint, +and toil. The majority of revolutionises are the enemies of discipline +and fatigue mostly. There are natures too, to whose sense of justice +the price exacted looms up monstrously enormous, odious, oppressive, +worrying, humiliating, extortionate, intolerable. Those are the +fanatics. The remaining portion of social rebels is accounted +for by vanity, the mother of all noble and vile illusions, the companion +of poets, reformers, charlatans, prophets, and incendiaries.</p> +<p>Lost for a whole minute in the abyss of meditation, Mr Verloc did +not reach the depth of these abstract considerations. Perhaps +he was not able. In any case he had not the time. He was +pulled up painfully by the sudden recollection of Mr Vladimir, another +of his associates, whom in virtue of subtle moral affinities he was +capable of judging correctly. He considered him as dangerous. +A shade of envy crept into his thoughts. Loafing was all very +well for these fellows, who knew not Mr Vladimir, and had women to fall +back upon; whereas he had a woman to provide for—</p> +<p>At this point, by a simple association of ideas, Mr Verloc was brought +face to face with the necessity of going to bed some time or other that +evening. Then why not go now—at once? He sighed. +The necessity was not so normally pleasurable as it ought to have been +for a man of his age and temperament. He dreaded the demon of +sleeplessness, which he felt had marked him for its own. He raised +his arm, and turned off the flaring gas-jet above his head.</p> +<p>A bright band of light fell through the parlour door into the part +of the shop behind the counter. It enabled Mr Verloc to ascertain +at a glance the number of silver coins in the till. These were +but few; and for the first time since he opened his shop he took a commercial +survey of its value. This survey was unfavourable. He had +gone into trade for no commercial reasons. He had been guided +in the selection of this peculiar line of business by an instinctive +leaning towards shady transactions, where money is picked up easily. +Moreover, it did not take him out of his own sphere—the sphere +which is watched by the police. On the contrary, it gave him a +publicly confessed standing in that sphere, and as Mr Verloc had unconfessed +relations which made him familiar with yet careless of the police, there +was a distinct advantage in such a situation. But as a means of +livelihood it was by itself insufficient.</p> +<p>He took the cash-box out of the drawer, and turning to leave the +shop, became aware that Stevie was still downstairs.</p> +<p>What on earth is he doing there? Mr Verloc asked himself. +What’s the meaning of these antics? He looked dubiously +at his brother-in-law, but he did not ask him for information. +Mr Verloc’s intercourse with Stevie was limited to the casual +mutter of a morning, after breakfast, “My boots,” and even +that was more a communication at large of a need than a direct order +or request. Mr Verloc perceived with some surprise that he did +not know really what to say to Stevie. He stood still in the middle +of the parlour, and looked into the kitchen in silence. Nor yet +did he know what would happen if he did say anything. And this +appeared very queer to Mr Verloc in view of the fact, borne upon him +suddenly, that he had to provide for this fellow too. He had never +given a moment’s thought till then to that aspect of Stevie’s +existence.</p> +<p>Positively he did not know how to speak to the lad. He watched +him gesticulating and murmuring in the kitchen. Stevie prowled +round the table like an excited animal in a cage. A tentative +“Hadn’t you better go to bed now?” produced no effect +whatever; and Mr Verloc, abandoning the stony contemplation of his brother-in-law’s +behaviour, crossed the parlour wearily, cash-box in hand. The +cause of the general lassitude he felt while climbing the stairs being +purely mental, he became alarmed by its inexplicable character. +He hoped he was not sickening for anything. He stopped on the +dark landing to examine his sensations. But a slight and continuous +sound of snoring pervading the obscurity interfered with their clearness. +The sound came from his mother-in-law’s room. Another one +to provide for, he thought—and on this thought walked into the +bedroom.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc had fallen asleep with the lamp (no gas was laid upstairs) +turned up full on the table by the side of the bed. The light +thrown down by the shade fell dazzlingly on the white pillow sunk by +the weight of her head reposing with closed eyes and dark hair done +up in several plaits for the night. She woke up with the sound +of her name in her ears, and saw her husband standing over her.</p> +<p>“Winnie! Winnie!”</p> +<p>At first she did not stir, lying very quiet and looking at the cash-box +in Mr Verloc’s hand. But when she understood that her brother +was “capering all over the place downstairs” she swung out +in one sudden movement on to the edge of the bed. Her bare feet, +as if poked through the bottom of an unadorned, sleeved calico sack +buttoned tightly at neck and wrists, felt over the rug for the slippers +while she looked upward into her husband’s face.</p> +<p>“I don’t know how to manage him,” Mr Verloc explained +peevishly. “Won’t do to leave him downstairs alone +with the lights.”</p> +<p>She said nothing, glided across the room swiftly, and the door closed +upon her white form.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc deposited the cash-box on the night table, and began the +operation of undressing by flinging his overcoat on to a distant chair. +His coat and waistcoat followed. He walked about the room in his +stockinged feet, and his burly figure, with the hands worrying nervously +at his throat, passed and repassed across the long strip of looking-glass +in the door of his wife’s wardrobe. Then after slipping +his braces off his shoulders he pulled up violently the venetian blind, +and leaned his forehead against the cold window-pane—a fragile +film of glass stretched between him and the enormity of cold, black, +wet, muddy, inhospitable accumulation of bricks, slates, and stones, +things in themselves unlovely and unfriendly to man.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc felt the latent unfriendliness of all out of doors with +a force approaching to positive bodily anguish. There is no occupation +that fails a man more completely than that of a secret agent of police. +It’s like your horse suddenly falling dead under you in the midst +of an uninhabited and thirsty plain. The comparison occurred to +Mr Verloc because he had sat astride various army horses in his time, +and had now the sensation of an incipient fall. The prospect was +as black as the window-pane against which he was leaning his forehead. +And suddenly the face of Mr Vladimir, clean-shaved and witty, appeared +enhaloed in the glow of its rosy complexion like a sort of pink seal, +impressed on the fatal darkness.</p> +<p>This luminous and mutilated vision was so ghastly physically that +Mr Verloc started away from the window, letting down the venetian blind +with a great rattle. Discomposed and speechless with the apprehension +of more such visions, he beheld his wife re-enter the room and get into +bed in a calm business-like manner which made him feel hopelessly lonely +in the world. Mrs Verloc expressed her surprise at seeing him +up yet.</p> +<p>“I don’t feel very well,” he muttered, passing +his hands over his moist brow.</p> +<p>“Giddiness?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Not at all well.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc, with all the placidity of an experienced wife, expressed +a confident opinion as to the cause, and suggested the usual remedies; +but her husband, rooted in the middle of the room, shook his lowered +head sadly.</p> +<p>“You’ll catch cold standing there,” she observed.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc made an effort, finished undressing, and got into bed. +Down below in the quiet, narrow street measured footsteps approached +the house, then died away unhurried and firm, as if the passer-by had +started to pace out all eternity, from gas-lamp to gas-lamp in a night +without end; and the drowsy ticking of the old clock on the landing +became distinctly audible in the bedroom.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc, on her back, and staring at the ceiling, made a remark.</p> +<p>“Takings very small to-day.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, in the same position, cleared his throat as if for an +important statement, but merely inquired:</p> +<p>“Did you turn off the gas downstairs?”</p> +<p>“Yes; I did,” answered Mrs Verloc conscientiously. +“That poor boy is in a very excited state to-night,” she +murmured, after a pause which lasted for three ticks of the clock.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc cared nothing for Stevie’s excitement, but he felt +horribly wakeful, and dreaded facing the darkness and silence that would +follow the extinguishing of the lamp. This dread led him to make +the remark that Stevie had disregarded his suggestion to go to bed. +Mrs Verloc, falling into the trap, started to demonstrate at length +to her husband that this was not “impudence” of any sort, +but simply “excitement.” There was no young man of +his age in London more willing and docile than Stephen, she affirmed; +none more affectionate and ready to please, and even useful, as long +as people did not upset his poor head. Mrs Verloc, turning towards +her recumbent husband, raised herself on her elbow, and hung over him +in her anxiety that he should believe Stevie to be a useful member of +the family. That ardour of protecting compassion exalted morbidly +in her childhood by the misery of another child tinged her sallow cheeks +with a faint dusky blush, made her big eyes gleam under the dark lids. +Mrs Verloc then looked younger; she looked as young as Winnie used to +look, and much more animated than the Winnie of the Belgravian mansion +days had ever allowed herself to appear to gentlemen lodgers. +Mr Verloc’s anxieties had prevented him from attaching any sense +to what his wife was saying. It was as if her voice were talking +on the other side of a very thick wall. It was her aspect that +recalled him to himself.</p> +<p>He appreciated this woman, and the sentiment of this appreciation, +stirred by a display of something resembling emotion, only added another +pang to his mental anguish. When her voice ceased he moved uneasily, +and said:</p> +<p>“I haven’t been feeling well for the last few days.”</p> +<p>He might have meant this as an opening to a complete confidence; +but Mrs Verloc laid her head on the pillow again, and staring upward, +went on:</p> +<p>“That boy hears too much of what is talked about here. +If I had known they were coming to-night I would have seen to it that +he went to bed at the same time I did. He was out of his mind +with something he overheard about eating people’s flesh and drinking +blood. What’s the good of talking like that?”</p> +<p>There was a note of indignant scorn in her voice. Mr Verloc +was fully responsive now.</p> +<p>“Ask Karl Yundt,” he growled savagely.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc, with great decision, pronounced Karl Yundt “a disgusting +old man.” She declared openly her affection for Michaelis. +Of the robust Ossipon, in whose presence she always felt uneasy behind +an attitude of stony reserve, she said nothing whatever. And continuing +to talk of that brother, who had been for so many years an object of +care and fears:</p> +<p>“He isn’t fit to hear what’s said here. He +believes it’s all true. He knows no better. He gets +into his passions over it.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc made no comment.</p> +<p>“He glared at me, as if he didn’t know who I was, when +I went downstairs. His heart was going like a hammer. He +can’t help being excitable. I woke mother up, and asked +her to sit with him till he went to sleep. It isn’t his +fault. He’s no trouble when he’s left alone.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc made no comment.</p> +<p>“I wish he had never been to school,” Mrs Verloc began +again brusquely. “He’s always taking away those newspapers +from the window to read. He gets a red face poring over them. +We don’t get rid of a dozen numbers in a month. They only +take up room in the front window. And Mr Ossipon brings every +week a pile of these F. P. tracts to sell at a halfpenny each. +I wouldn’t give a halfpenny for the whole lot. It’s +silly reading—that’s what it is. There’s no +sale for it. The other day Stevie got hold of one, and there was +a story in it of a German soldier officer tearing half-off the ear of +a recruit, and nothing was done to him for it. The brute! +I couldn’t do anything with Stevie that afternoon. The story +was enough, too, to make one’s blood boil. But what’s +the use of printing things like that? We aren’t German slaves +here, thank God. It’s not our business—is it?”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc made no reply.</p> +<p>“I had to take the carving knife from the boy,” Mrs Verloc +continued, a little sleepily now. “He was shouting and stamping +and sobbing. He can’t stand the notion of any cruelty. +He would have stuck that officer like a pig if he had seen him then. +It’s true, too! Some people don’t deserve much mercy.” +Mrs Verloc’s voice ceased, and the expression of her motionless +eyes became more and more contemplative and veiled during the long pause. +“Comfortable, dear?” she asked in a faint, far-away voice. +“Shall I put out the light now?”</p> +<p>The dreary conviction that there was no sleep for him held Mr Verloc +mute and hopelessly inert in his fear of darkness. He made a great +effort.</p> +<p>“Yes. Put it out,” he said at last in a hollow +tone.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<p>Most of the thirty or so little tables covered by red cloths with +a white design stood ranged at right angles to the deep brown wainscoting +of the underground hall. Bronze chandeliers with many globes depended +from the low, slightly vaulted ceiling, and the fresco paintings ran +flat and dull all round the walls without windows, representing scenes +of the chase and of outdoor revelry in mediæval costumes. +Varlets in green jerkins brandished hunting knives and raised on high +tankards of foaming beer.</p> +<p>“Unless I am very much mistaken, you are the man who would +know the inside of this confounded affair,” said the robust Ossipon, +leaning over, his elbows far out on the table and his feet tucked back +completely under his chair. His eyes stared with wild eagerness.</p> +<p>An upright semi-grand piano near the door, flanked by two palms in +pots, executed suddenly all by itself a valse tune with aggressive virtuosity. +The din it raised was deafening. When it ceased, as abruptly as +it had started, the be-spectacled, dingy little man who faced Ossipon +behind a heavy glass mug full of beer emitted calmly what had the sound +of a general proposition.</p> +<p>“In principle what one of us may or may not know as to any +given fact can’t be a matter for inquiry to the others.”</p> +<p>“Certainly not,” Comrade Ossipon agreed in a quiet undertone. +“In principle.”</p> +<p>With his big florid face held between his hands he continued to stare +hard, while the dingy little man in spectacles coolly took a drink of +beer and stood the glass mug back on the table. His flat, large +ears departed widely from the sides of his skull, which looked frail +enough for Ossipon to crush between thumb and forefinger; the dome of +the forehead seemed to rest on the rim of the spectacles; the flat cheeks, +of a greasy, unhealthy complexion, were merely smudged by the miserable +poverty of a thin dark whisker. The lamentable inferiority of +the whole physique was made ludicrous by the supremely self-confident +bearing of the individual. His speech was curt, and he had a particularly +impressive manner of keeping silent.</p> +<p>Ossipon spoke again from between his hands in a mutter.</p> +<p>“Have you been out much to-day?”</p> +<p>“No. I stayed in bed all the morning,” answered +the other. “Why?”</p> +<p>“Oh! Nothing,” said Ossipon, gazing earnestly and +quivering inwardly with the desire to find out something, but obviously +intimidated by the little man’s overwhelming air of unconcern. +When talking with this comrade—which happened but rarely—the +big Ossipon suffered from a sense of moral and even physical insignificance. +However, he ventured another question. “Did you walk down +here?”</p> +<p>“No; omnibus,” the little man answered readily enough. +He lived far away in Islington, in a small house down a shabby street, +littered with straw and dirty paper, where out of school hours a troop +of assorted children ran and squabbled with a shrill, joyless, rowdy +clamour. His single back room, remarkable for having an extremely +large cupboard, he rented furnished from two elderly spinsters, dressmakers +in a humble way with a clientele of servant girls mostly. He had +a heavy padlock put on the cupboard, but otherwise he was a model lodger, +giving no trouble, and requiring practically no attendance. His +oddities were that he insisted on being present when his room was being +swept, and that when he went out he locked his door, and took the key +away with him.</p> +<p>Ossipon had a vision of these round black-rimmed spectacles progressing +along the streets on the top of an omnibus, their self-confident glitter +falling here and there on the walls of houses or lowered upon the heads +of the unconscious stream of people on the pavements. The ghost +of a sickly smile altered the set of Ossipon’s thick lips at the +thought of the walls nodding, of people running for life at the sight +of those spectacles. If they had only known! What a panic! +He murmured interrogatively: “Been sitting long here?”</p> +<p>“An hour or more,” answered the other negligently, and +took a pull at the dark beer. All his movements—the way +he grasped the mug, the act of drinking, the way he set the heavy glass +down and folded his arms—had a firmness, an assured precision +which made the big and muscular Ossipon, leaning forward with staring +eyes and protruding lips, look the picture of eager indecision.</p> +<p>“An hour,” he said. “Then it may be you haven’t +heard yet the news I’ve heard just now—in the street. +Have you?”</p> +<p>The little man shook his head negatively the least bit. But +as he gave no indication of curiosity Ossipon ventured to add that he +had heard it just outside the place. A newspaper boy had yelled +the thing under his very nose, and not being prepared for anything of +that sort, he was very much startled and upset. He had to come +in there with a dry mouth. “I never thought of finding you +here,” he added, murmuring steadily, with his elbows planted on +the table.</p> +<p>“I come here sometimes,” said the other, preserving his +provoking coolness of demeanour.</p> +<p>“It’s wonderful that you of all people should have heard +nothing of it,” the big Ossipon continued. His eyelids snapped +nervously upon the shining eyes. “You of all people,” +he repeated tentatively. This obvious restraint argued an incredible +and inexplicable timidity of the big fellow before the calm little man, +who again lifted the glass mug, drank, and put it down with brusque +and assured movements. And that was all.</p> +<p>Ossipon after waiting for something, word or sign, that did not come, +made an effort to assume a sort of indifference.</p> +<p>“Do you,” he said, deadening his voice still more, “give +your stuff to anybody who’s up to asking you for it?”</p> +<p>“My absolute rule is never to refuse anybody—as long +as I have a pinch by me,” answered the little man with decision.</p> +<p>“That’s a principle?” commented Ossipon.</p> +<p>“It’s a principle.”</p> +<p>“And you think it’s sound?”</p> +<p>The large round spectacles, which gave a look of staring self-confidence +to the sallow face, confronted Ossipon like sleepless, unwinking orbs +flashing a cold fire.</p> +<p>“Perfectly. Always. Under every circumstance. +What could stop me? Why should I not? Why should I think +twice about it?”</p> +<p>Ossipon gasped, as it were, discreetly.</p> +<p>“Do you mean to say you would hand it over to a ‘teck’ +if one came to ask you for your wares?”</p> +<p>The other smiled faintly.</p> +<p>“Let them come and try it on, and you will see,” he said. +“They know me, but I know also every one of them. They won’t +come near me—not they.”</p> +<p>His thin livid lips snapped together firmly. Ossipon began +to argue.</p> +<p>“But they could send someone—rig a plant on you. +Don’t you see? Get the stuff from you in that way, and then +arrest you with the proof in their hands.”</p> +<p>“Proof of what? Dealing in explosives without a licence +perhaps.” This was meant for a contemptuous jeer, though +the expression of the thin, sickly face remained unchanged, and the +utterance was negligent. “I don’t think there’s +one of them anxious to make that arrest. I don’t think they +could get one of them to apply for a warrant. I mean one of the +best. Not one.”</p> +<p>“Why?” Ossipon asked.</p> +<p>“Because they know very well I take care never to part with +the last handful of my wares. I’ve it always by me.” +He touched the breast of his coat lightly. “In a thick glass +flask,” he added.</p> +<p>“So I have been told,” said Ossipon, with a shade of +wonder in his voice. “But I didn’t know if—”</p> +<p>“They know,” interrupted the little man crisply, leaning +against the straight chair back, which rose higher than his fragile +head. “I shall never be arrested. The game isn’t +good enough for any policeman of them all. To deal with a man +like me you require sheer, naked, inglorious heroism.” Again +his lips closed with a self-confident snap. Ossipon repressed +a movement of impatience.</p> +<p>“Or recklessness—or simply ignorance,” he retorted. +“They’ve only to get somebody for the job who does not know +you carry enough stuff in your pocket to blow yourself and everything +within sixty yards of you to pieces.”</p> +<p>“I never affirmed I could not be eliminated,” rejoined +the other. “But that wouldn’t be an arrest. +Moreover, it’s not so easy as it looks.”</p> +<p>“Bah!” Ossipon contradicted. “Don’t +be too sure of that. What’s to prevent half-a-dozen of them +jumping upon you from behind in the street? With your arms pinned +to your sides you could do nothing—could you?”</p> +<p>“Yes; I could. I am seldom out in the streets after dark,” +said the little man impassively, “and never very late. I +walk always with my right hand closed round the india-rubber ball which +I have in my trouser pocket. The pressing of this ball actuates +a detonator inside the flask I carry in my pocket. It’s +the principle of the pneumatic instantaneous shutter for a camera lens. +The tube leads up—”</p> +<p>With a swift disclosing gesture he gave Ossipon a glimpse of an india-rubber +tube, resembling a slender brown worm, issuing from the armhole of his +waistcoat and plunging into the inner breast pocket of his jacket. +His clothes, of a nondescript brown mixture, were threadbare and marked +with stains, dusty in the folds, with ragged button-holes. “The +detonator is partly mechanical, partly chemical,” he explained, +with casual condescension.</p> +<p>“It is instantaneous, of course?” murmured Ossipon, with +a slight shudder.</p> +<p>“Far from it,” confessed the other, with a reluctance +which seemed to twist his mouth dolorously. “A full twenty +seconds must elapse from the moment I press the ball till the explosion +takes place.”</p> +<p>“Phew!” whistled Ossipon, completely appalled. +“Twenty seconds! Horrors! You mean to say that you +could face that? I should go crazy—”</p> +<p>“Wouldn’t matter if you did. Of course, it’s +the weak point of this special system, which is only for my own use. +The worst is that the manner of exploding is always the weak point with +us. I am trying to invent a detonator that would adjust itself +to all conditions of action, and even to unexpected changes of conditions. +A variable and yet perfectly precise mechanism. A really intelligent +detonator.”</p> +<p>“Twenty seconds,” muttered Ossipon again. “Ough! +And then—”</p> +<p>With a slight turn of the head the glitter of the spectacles seemed +to gauge the size of the beer saloon in the basement of the renowned +Silenus Restaurant.</p> +<p>“Nobody in this room could hope to escape,” was the verdict +of that survey. “Nor yet this couple going up the stairs +now.”</p> +<p>The piano at the foot of the staircase clanged through a mazurka +with brazen impetuosity, as though a vulgar and impudent ghost were +showing off. The keys sank and rose mysteriously. Then all +became still. For a moment Ossipon imagined the overlighted place +changed into a dreadful black hole belching horrible fumes choked with +ghastly rubbish of smashed brickwork and mutilated corpses. He +had such a distinct perception of ruin and death that he shuddered again. +The other observed, with an air of calm sufficiency:</p> +<p>“In the last instance it is character alone that makes for +one’s safety. There are very few people in the world whose +character is as well established as mine.”</p> +<p>“I wonder how you managed it,” growled Ossipon.</p> +<p>“Force of personality,” said the other, without raising +his voice; and coming from the mouth of that obviously miserable organism +the assertion caused the robust Ossipon to bite his lower lip. +“Force of personality,” he repeated, with ostentatious calm. +“I have the means to make myself deadly, but that by itself, you +understand, is absolutely nothing in the way of protection. What +is effective is the belief those people have in my will to use the means. +That’s their impression. It is absolute. Therefore +I am deadly.”</p> +<p>“There are individuals of character amongst that lot too,” +muttered Ossipon ominously.</p> +<p>“Possibly. But it is a matter of degree obviously, since, +for instance, I am not impressed by them. Therefore they are inferior. +They cannot be otherwise. Their character is built upon conventional +morality. It leans on the social order. Mine stands free +from everything artificial. They are bound in all sorts of conventions. +They depend on life, which, in this connection, is a historical fact +surrounded by all sorts of restraints and considerations, a complex +organised fact open to attack at every point; whereas I depend on death, +which knows no restraint and cannot be attacked. My superiority +is evident.”</p> +<p>“This is a transcendental way of putting it,” said Ossipon, +watching the cold glitter of the round spectacles. “I’ve +heard Karl Yundt say much the same thing not very long ago.”</p> +<p>“Karl Yundt,” mumbled the other contemptuously, “the +delegate of the International Red Committee, has been a posturing shadow +all his life. There are three of you delegates, aren’t there? +I won’t define the other two, as you are one of them. But +what you say means nothing. You are the worthy delegates for revolutionary +propaganda, but the trouble is not only that you are as unable to think +independently as any respectable grocer or journalist of them all, but +that you have no character whatever.”</p> +<p>Ossipon could not restrain a start of indignation.</p> +<p>“But what do you want from us?” he exclaimed in a deadened +voice. “What is it you are after yourself?”</p> +<p>“A perfect detonator,” was the peremptory answer. +“What are you making that face for? You see, you can’t +even bear the mention of something conclusive.”</p> +<p>“I am not making a face,” growled the annoyed Ossipon +bearishly.</p> +<p>“You revolutionises,” the other continued, with leisurely +self-confidence, “are the slaves of the social convention, which +is afraid of you; slaves of it as much as the very police that stands +up in the defence of that convention. Clearly you are, since you +want to revolutionise it. It governs your thought, of course, +and your action too, and thus neither your thought nor your action can +ever be conclusive.” He paused, tranquil, with that air +of close, endless silence, then almost immediately went on. “You +are not a bit better than the forces arrayed against you—than +the police, for instance. 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. He was +as insignificant as—I can’t call to mind anything insignificant +enough to compare him with—except Karl Yundt perhaps. Like +to like. The terrorist and the policeman both come from the same +basket. Revolution, legality—counter moves in the same game; +forms of idleness at bottom identical. He plays his little game—so +do you propagandists. But I don’t play; I work fourteen +hours a day, and go hungry sometimes. My experiments cost money +now and again, and then I must do without food for a day or two. +You’re looking at my beer. Yes. I have had two glasses +already, and shall have another presently. This is a little holiday, +and I celebrate it alone. Why not? I’ve the grit to +work alone, quite alone, absolutely alone. I’ve worked alone +for years.”</p> +<p>Ossipon’s face had turned dusky red.</p> +<p>“At the perfect detonator—eh?” he sneered, very +low.</p> +<p>“Yes,” retorted the other. “It is a good +definition. You couldn’t find anything half so precise to +define the nature of your activity with all your committees and delegations. +It is I who am the true propagandist.”</p> +<p>“We won’t discuss that point,” said Ossipon, with +an air of rising above personal considerations. “I am afraid +I’ll have to spoil your holiday for you, though. There’s +a man blown up in Greenwich Park this morning.”</p> +<p>“How do you know?”</p> +<p>“They have been yelling the news in the streets since two o’clock. +I bought the paper, and just ran in here. Then I saw you sitting +at this table. I’ve got it in my pocket now.”</p> +<p>He pulled the newspaper out. It was a good-sized rosy sheet, +as if flushed by the warmth of its own convictions, which were optimistic. +He scanned the pages rapidly.</p> +<p>“Ah! Here it is. Bomb in Greenwich Park. +There isn’t much so far. Half-past eleven. Foggy morning. +Effects of explosion felt as far as Romney Road and Park Place. +Enormous hole in the ground under a tree filled with smashed roots and +broken branches. All round fragments of a man’s body blown +to pieces. That’s all. The rest’s mere newspaper +gup. No doubt a wicked attempt to blow up the Observatory, they +say. H’m. That’s hardly credible.”</p> +<p>He looked at the paper for a while longer in silence, then passed +it to the other, who after gazing abstractedly at the print laid it +down without comment.</p> +<p>It was Ossipon who spoke first—still resentful.</p> +<p>“The fragments of only <i>one</i> man, you note. Ergo: +blew <i>himself</i> up. That spoils your day off for you—don’t +it? Were you expecting that sort of move? I hadn’t +the slightest idea—not the ghost of a notion of anything of the +sort being planned to come off here—in this country. Under +the present circumstances it’s nothing short of criminal.”</p> +<p>The little man lifted his thin black eyebrows with dispassionate +scorn.</p> +<p>“Criminal! What is that? What is crime? What +can be the meaning of such an assertion?”</p> +<p>“How am I to express myself? One must use the current +words,” said Ossipon impatiently. “The meaning of +this assertion is that this business may affect our position very adversely +in this country. Isn’t that crime enough for you? +I am convinced you have been giving away some of your stuff lately.”</p> +<p>Ossipon stared hard. The other, without flinching, lowered +and raised his head slowly.</p> +<p>“You have!” burst out the editor of the F. P. leaflets +in an intense whisper. “No! And are you really handing +it over at large like this, for the asking, to the first fool that comes +along?”</p> +<p>“Just so! The condemned social order has not been built +up on paper and ink, and I don’t fancy that a combination of paper +and ink will ever put an end to it, whatever you may think. Yes, +I would give the stuff with both hands to every man, woman, or fool +that likes to come along. I know what you are thinking about. +But I am not taking my cue from the Red Committee. I would see +you all hounded out of here, or arrested—or beheaded for that +matter—without turning a hair. What happens to us as individuals +is not of the least consequence.”</p> +<p>He spoke carelessly, without heat, almost without feeling, and Ossipon, +secretly much affected, tried to copy this detachment.</p> +<p>“If the police here knew their business they would shoot you +full of holes with revolvers, or else try to sand-bag you from behind +in broad daylight.”</p> +<p>The little man seemed already to have considered that point of view +in his dispassionate self-confident manner.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he assented with the utmost readiness. “But +for that they would have to face their own institutions. Do you +see? That requires uncommon grit. Grit of a special kind.”</p> +<p>Ossipon blinked.</p> +<p>“I fancy that’s exactly what would happen to you if you +were to set up your laboratory in the States. They don’t +stand on ceremony with their institutions there.”</p> +<p>“I am not likely to go and see. Otherwise your remark +is just,” admitted the other. “They have more character +over there, and their character is essentially anarchistic. Fertile +ground for us, the States—very good ground. The great Republic +has the root of the destructive matter in her. The collective +temperament is lawless. Excellent. They may shoot us down, +but—”</p> +<p>“You are too transcendental for me,” growled Ossipon, +with moody concern.</p> +<p>“Logical,” protested the other. “There are +several kinds of logic. This is the enlightened kind. America +is all right. It is this country that is dangerous, with her idealistic +conception of legality. The social spirit of this people is wrapped +up in scrupulous prejudices, and that is fatal to our work. You +talk of England being our only refuge! So much the worse. +Capua! What do we want with refuges? Here you talk, print, +plot, and do nothing. I daresay it’s very convenient for +such Karl Yundts.”</p> +<p>He shrugged his shoulders slightly, then added with the same leisurely +assurance: “To break up the superstition and worship of legality +should be our aim. Nothing would please me more than to see Inspector +Heat and his likes take to shooting us down in broad daylight with the +approval of the public. Half our battle would be won then; the +disintegration of the old morality would have set in in its very temple. +That is what you ought to aim at. But you revolutionises will +never understand that. You plan the future, you lose yourselves +in reveries of economical systems derived from what is; whereas what’s +wanted is a clean sweep and a clear start for a new conception of life. +That sort of future will take care of itself if you will only make room +for it. Therefore I would shovel my stuff in heaps at the corners +of the streets if I had enough for that; and as I haven’t, I do +my best by perfecting a really dependable detonator.”</p> +<p>Ossipon, who had been mentally swimming in deep waters, seized upon +the last word as if it were a saving plank.</p> +<p>“Yes. Your detonators. I shouldn’t wonder +if it weren’t one of your detonators that made a clean sweep of +the man in the park.”</p> +<p>A shade of vexation darkened the determined sallow face confronting +Ossipon.</p> +<p>“My difficulty consists precisely in experimenting practically +with the various kinds. They must be tried after all. Besides—”</p> +<p>Ossipon interrupted.</p> +<p>“Who could that fellow be? I assure you that we in London +had no knowledge—Couldn’t you describe the person you gave +the stuff to?”</p> +<p>The other turned his spectacles upon Ossipon like a pair of searchlights.</p> +<p>“Describe him,” he repeated slowly. “I don’t +think there can be the slightest objection now. I will describe +him to you in one word—Verloc.”</p> +<p>Ossipon, whom curiosity had lifted a few inches off his seat, dropped +back, as if hit in the face.</p> +<p>“Verloc! Impossible.”</p> +<p>The self-possessed little man nodded slightly once.</p> +<p>“Yes. He’s the person. You can’t say +that in this case I was giving my stuff to the first fool that came +along. He was a prominent member of the group as far as I understand.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Ossipon. “Prominent. No, +not exactly. He was the centre for general intelligence, and usually +received comrades coming over here. More useful than important. +Man of no ideas. Years ago he used to speak at meetings—in +France, I believe. Not very well, though. He was trusted +by such men as Latorre, Moser and all that old lot. The only talent +he showed really was his ability to elude the attentions of the police +somehow. Here, for instance, he did not seem to be looked after +very closely. He was regularly married, you know. I suppose +it’s with her money that he started that shop. Seemed to +make it pay, too.”</p> +<p>Ossipon paused abruptly, muttered to himself “I wonder what +that woman will do now?” and fell into thought.</p> +<p>The other waited with ostentatious indifference. His parentage +was obscure, and he was generally known only by his nickname of Professor. +His title to that designation consisted in his having been once assistant +demonstrator in chemistry at some technical institute. He quarrelled +with the authorities upon a question of unfair treatment. Afterwards +he obtained a post in the laboratory of a manufactory of dyes. +There too he had been treated with revolting injustice. His struggles, +his privations, his hard work to raise himself in the social scale, +had filled him with such an exalted conviction of his merits that it +was extremely difficult for the world to treat him with justice—the +standard of that notion depending so much upon the patience of the individual. +The Professor had genius, but lacked the great social virtue of resignation.</p> +<p>“Intellectually a nonentity,” Ossipon pronounced aloud, +abandoning suddenly the inward contemplation of Mrs Verloc’s bereaved +person and business. “Quite an ordinary personality. +You are wrong in not keeping more in touch with the comrades, Professor,” +he added in a reproving tone. “Did he say anything to you—give +you some idea of his intentions? I hadn’t seen him for a +month. It seems impossible that he should be gone.”</p> +<p>“He told me it was going to be a demonstration against a building,” +said the Professor. “I had to know that much to prepare +the missile. I pointed out to him that I had hardly a sufficient +quantity for a completely destructive result, but he pressed me very +earnestly to do my best. As he wanted something that could be +carried openly in the hand, I proposed to make use of an old one-gallon +copal varnish can I happened to have by me. He was pleased at +the idea. It gave me some trouble, because I had to cut out the +bottom first and solder it on again afterwards. When prepared +for use, the can enclosed a wide-mouthed, well-corked jar of thick glass +packed around with some wet clay and containing sixteen ounces of X2 +green powder. The detonator was connected with the screw top of +the can. It was ingenious—a combination of time and shock. +I explained the system to him. It was a thin tube of tin enclosing +a—”</p> +<p>Ossipon’s attention had wandered.</p> +<p>“What do you think has happened?” he interrupted.</p> +<p>“Can’t tell. Screwed the top on tight, which would +make the connection, and then forgot the time. It was set for +twenty minutes. On the other hand, the time contact being made, +a sharp shock would bring about the explosion at once. He either +ran the time too close, or simply let the thing fall. The contact +was made all right—that’s clear to me at any rate. +The system’s worked perfectly. And yet you would think that +a common fool in a hurry would be much more likely to forget to make +the contact altogether. I was worrying myself about that sort +of failure mostly. But there are more kinds of fools than one +can guard against. You can’t expect a detonator to be absolutely +fool-proof.”</p> +<p>He beckoned to a waiter. Ossipon sat rigid, with the abstracted +gaze of mental travail. After the man had gone away with the money +he roused himself, with an air of profound dissatisfaction.</p> +<p>“It’s extremely unpleasant for me,” he mused. +“Karl has been in bed with bronchitis for a week. There’s +an even chance that he will never get up again. Michaelis’s +luxuriating in the country somewhere. A fashionable publisher +has offered him five hundred pounds for a book. It will be a ghastly +failure. He has lost the habit of consecutive thinking in prison, +you know.”</p> +<p>The Professor on his feet, now buttoning his coat, looked about him +with perfect indifference.</p> +<p>“What are you going to do?” asked Ossipon wearily. +He dreaded the blame of the Central Red Committee, a body which had +no permanent place of abode, and of whose membership he was not exactly +informed. If this affair eventuated in the stoppage of the modest +subsidy allotted to the publication of the F. P. pamphlets, then indeed +he would have to regret Verloc’s inexplicable folly.</p> +<p>“Solidarity with the extremest form of action is one thing, +and silly recklessness is another,” he said, with a sort of moody +brutality. “I don’t know what came to Verloc. +There’s some mystery there. However, he’s gone. +You may take it as you like, but under the circumstances the only policy +for the militant revolutionary group is to disclaim all connection with +this damned freak of yours. How to make the disclaimer convincing +enough is what bothers me.”</p> +<p>The little man on his feet, buttoned up and ready to go, was no taller +than the seated Ossipon. He levelled his spectacles at the latter’s +face point-blank.</p> +<p>“You might ask the police for a testimonial of good conduct. +They know where every one of you slept last night. Perhaps if +you asked them they would consent to publish some sort of official statement.”</p> +<p>“No doubt they are aware well enough that we had nothing to +do with this,” mumbled Ossipon bitterly. “What they +will say is another thing.” He remained thoughtful, disregarding +the short, owlish, shabby figure standing by his side. “I +must lay hands on Michaelis at once, and get him to speak from his heart +at one of our gatherings. The public has a sort of sentimental +regard for that fellow. His name is known. And I am in touch +with a few reporters on the big dailies. What he would say would +be utter bosh, but he has a turn of talk that makes it go down all the +same.”</p> +<p>“Like treacle,” interjected the Professor, rather low, +keeping an impassive expression.</p> +<p>The perplexed Ossipon went on communing with himself half audibly, +after the manner of a man reflecting in perfect solitude.</p> +<p>“Confounded ass! To leave such an imbecile business on +my hands. And I don’t even know if—”</p> +<p>He sat with compressed lips. The idea of going for news straight +to the shop lacked charm. His notion was that Verloc’s shop +might have been turned already into a police trap. They will be +bound to make some arrests, he thought, with something resembling virtuous +indignation, for the even tenor of his revolutionary life was menaced +by no fault of his. And yet unless he went there he ran the risk +of remaining in ignorance of what perhaps it would be very material +for him to know. Then he reflected that, if the man in the park +had been so very much blown to pieces as the evening papers said, he +could not have been identified. And if so, the police could have +no special reason for watching Verloc’s shop more closely than +any other place known to be frequented by marked anarchists—no +more reason, in fact, than for watching the doors of the Silenus. +There would be a lot of watching all round, no matter where he went. +Still—</p> +<p>“I wonder what I had better do now?” he muttered, taking +counsel with himself.</p> +<p>A rasping voice at his elbow said, with sedate scorn:</p> +<p>“Fasten yourself upon the woman for all she’s worth.”</p> +<p>After uttering these words the Professor walked away from the table. +Ossipon, whom that piece of insight had taken unawares, gave one ineffectual +start, and remained still, with a helpless gaze, as though nailed fast +to the seat of his chair. The lonely piano, without as much as +a music stool to help it, struck a few chords courageously, and beginning +a selection of national airs, played him out at last to the tune of +“Blue Bells of Scotland.” The painfully detached notes +grew faint behind his back while he went slowly upstairs, across the +hall, and into the street.</p> +<p>In front of the great doorway a dismal row of newspaper sellers standing +clear of the pavement dealt out their wares from the gutter. It +was a raw, gloomy day of the early spring; and the grimy sky, the mud +of the streets, the rags of the dirty men, harmonised excellently with +the eruption of the damp, rubbishy sheets of paper soiled with printers’ +ink. The posters, maculated with filth, garnished like tapestry +the sweep of the curbstone. The trade in afternoon papers was +brisk, yet, in comparison with the swift, constant march of foot traffic, +the effect was of indifference, of a disregarded distribution. +Ossipon looked hurriedly both ways before stepping out into the cross-currents, +but the Professor was already out of sight.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<p>The Professor had turned into a street to the left, and walked along, +with his head carried rigidly erect, in a crowd whose every individual +almost overtopped his stunted stature. It was vain to pretend +to himself that he was not disappointed. But that was mere feeling; +the stoicism of his thought could not be disturbed by this or any other +failure. Next time, or the time after next, a telling stroke would +be delivered-something really startling—a blow fit to open the +first crack in the imposing front of the great edifice of legal conceptions +sheltering the atrocious injustice of society. Of humble origin, +and with an appearance really so mean as to stand in the way of his +considerable natural abilities, his imagination had been fired early +by the tales of men rising from the depths of poverty to positions of +authority and affluence. The extreme, almost ascetic purity of +his thought, combined with an astounding ignorance of worldly conditions, +had set before him a goal of power and prestige to be attained without +the medium of arts, graces, tact, wealth—by sheer weight of merit +alone. On that view he considered himself entitled to undisputed +success. His father, a delicate dark enthusiast with a sloping +forehead, had been an itinerant and rousing preacher of some obscure +but rigid Christian sect—a man supremely confident in the privileges +of his righteousness. In the son, individualist by temperament, +once the science of colleges had replaced thoroughly the faith of conventicles, +this moral attitude translated itself into a frenzied puritanism of +ambition. He nursed it as something secularly holy. To see +it thwarted opened his eyes to the true nature of the world, whose morality +was artificial, corrupt, and blasphemous. The way of even the +most justifiable revolutions is prepared by personal impulses disguised +into creeds. The Professor’s indignation found in itself +a final cause that absolved him from the sin of turning to destruction +as the agent of his ambition. To destroy public faith in legality +was the imperfect formula of his pedantic fanaticism; but the subconscious +conviction that the framework of an established social order cannot +be effectually shattered except by some form of collective or individual +violence was precise and correct. He was a moral agent—that +was settled in his mind. By exercising his agency with ruthless +defiance he procured for himself the appearances of power and personal +prestige. That was undeniable to his vengeful bitterness. +It pacified its unrest; and in their own way the most ardent of revolutionaries +are perhaps doing no more but seeking for peace in common with the rest +of mankind—the peace of soothed vanity, of satisfied appetites, +or perhaps of appeased conscience.</p> +<p>Lost in the crowd, miserable and undersized, he meditated confidently +on his power, keeping his hand in the left pocket of his trousers, grasping +lightly the india-rubber ball, the supreme guarantee of his sinister +freedom; but after a while he became disagreeably affected by the sight +of the roadway thronged with vehicles and of the pavement crowded with +men and women. He was in a long, straight street, peopled by a +mere fraction of an immense multitude; but all round him, on and on, +even to the limits of the horizon hidden by the enormous piles of bricks, +he felt the mass of mankind mighty in its numbers. They swarmed +numerous like locusts, industrious like ants, thoughtless like a natural +force, pushing on blind and orderly and absorbed, impervious to sentiment, +to logic, to terror too perhaps.</p> +<p>That was the form of doubt he feared most. Impervious to fear! +Often while walking abroad, when he happened also to come out of himself, +he had such moments of dreadful and sane mistrust of mankind. +What if nothing could move them? Such moments come to all men +whose ambition aims at a direct grasp upon humanity—to artists, +politicians, thinkers, reformers, or saints. A despicable emotional +state this, against which solitude fortifies a superior character; and +with severe exultation the Professor thought of the refuge of his room, +with its padlocked cupboard, lost in a wilderness of poor houses, the +hermitage of the perfect anarchist. In order to reach sooner the +point where he could take his omnibus, he turned brusquely out of the +populous street into a narrow and dusky alley paved with flagstones. +On one side the low brick houses had in their dusty windows the sightless, +moribund look of incurable decay—empty shells awaiting demolition. +From the other side life had not departed wholly as yet. Facing +the only gas-lamp yawned the cavern of a second-hand furniture dealer, +where, deep in the gloom of a sort of narrow avenue winding through +a bizarre forest of wardrobes, with an undergrowth tangle of table legs, +a tall pier-glass glimmered like a pool of water in a wood. An +unhappy, homeless couch, accompanied by two unrelated chairs, stood +in the open. The only human being making use of the alley besides +the Professor, coming stalwart and erect from the opposite direction, +checked his swinging pace suddenly.</p> +<p>“Hallo!” he said, and stood a little on one side watchfully.</p> +<p>The Professor had already stopped, with a ready half turn which brought +his shoulders very near the other wall. His right hand fell lightly +on the back of the outcast couch, the left remained purposefully plunged +deep in the trousers pocket, and the roundness of the heavy rimmed spectacles +imparted an owlish character to his moody, unperturbed face.</p> +<p>It was like a meeting in a side corridor of a mansion full of life. +The stalwart man was buttoned up in a dark overcoat, and carried an +umbrella. His hat, tilted back, uncovered a good deal of forehead, +which appeared very white in the dusk. In the dark patches of +the orbits the eyeballs glimmered piercingly. Long, drooping moustaches, +the colour of ripe corn, framed with their points the square block of +his shaved chin.</p> +<p>“I am not looking for you,” he said curtly.</p> +<p>The Professor did not stir an inch. The blended noises of the +enormous town sank down to an inarticulate low murmur. Chief Inspector +Heat of the Special Crimes Department changed his tone.</p> +<p>“Not in a hurry to get home?” he asked, with mocking +simplicity.</p> +<p>The unwholesome-looking little moral agent of destruction exulted +silently in the possession of personal prestige, keeping in check this +man armed with the defensive mandate of a menaced society. More +fortunate than Caligula, who wished that the Roman Senate had only one +head for the better satisfaction of his cruel lust, he beheld in that +one man all the forces he had set at defiance: the force of law, property, +oppression, and injustice. He beheld all his enemies, and fearlessly +confronted them all in a supreme satisfaction of his vanity. They +stood perplexed before him as if before a dreadful portent. He +gloated inwardly over the chance of this meeting affirming his superiority +over all the multitude of mankind.</p> +<p>It was in reality a chance meeting. Chief Inspector Heat had +had a disagreeably busy day since his department received the first +telegram from Greenwich a little before eleven in the morning. +First of all, the fact of the outrage being attempted less than a week +after he had assured a high official that no outbreak of anarchist activity +was to be apprehended was sufficiently annoying. If he ever thought +himself safe in making a statement, it was then. He had made that +statement with infinite satisfaction to himself, because it was clear +that the high official desired greatly to hear that very thing. +He had affirmed that nothing of the sort could even be thought of without +the department being aware of it within twenty-four hours; and he had +spoken thus in his consciousness of being the great expert of his department. +He had gone even so far as to utter words which true wisdom would have +kept back. But Chief Inspector Heat was not very wise—at +least not truly so. True wisdom, which is not certain of anything +in this world of contradictions, would have prevented him from attaining +his present position. It would have alarmed his superiors, and +done away with his chances of promotion. His promotion had been +very rapid.</p> +<p>“There isn’t one of them, sir, that we couldn’t +lay our hands on at any time of night and day. We know what each +of them is doing hour by hour,” he had declared. And the +high official had deigned to smile. This was so obviously the +right thing to say for an officer of Chief Inspector Heat’s reputation +that it was perfectly delightful. The high official believed the +declaration, which chimed in with his idea of the fitness of things. +His wisdom was of an official kind, or else he might have reflected +upon a matter not of theory but of experience that in the close-woven +stuff of relations between conspirator and police there occur unexpected +solutions of continuity, sudden holes in space and time. A given +anarchist may be watched inch by inch and minute by minute, but a moment +always comes when somehow all sight and touch of him are lost for a +few hours, during which something (generally an explosion) more or less +deplorable does happen. But the high official, carried away by +his sense of the fitness of things, had smiled, and now the recollection +of that smile was very annoying to Chief Inspector Heat, principal expert +in anarchist procedure.</p> +<p>This was not the only circumstance whose recollection depressed the +usual serenity of the eminent specialist. There was another dating +back only to that very morning. The thought that when called urgently +to his Assistant Commissioner’s private room he had been unable +to conceal his astonishment was distinctly vexing. His instinct +of a successful man had taught him long ago that, as a general rule, +a reputation is built on manner as much as on achievement. And +he felt that his manner when confronted with the telegram had not been +impressive. He had opened his eyes widely, and had exclaimed “Impossible!” +exposing himself thereby to the unanswerable retort of a finger-tip +laid forcibly on the telegram which the Assistant Commissioner, after +reading it aloud, had flung on the desk. To be crushed, as it +were, under the tip of a forefinger was an unpleasant experience. +Very damaging, too! Furthermore, Chief Inspector Heat was conscious +of not having mended matters by allowing himself to express a conviction.</p> +<p>“One thing I can tell you at once: none of our lot had anything +to do with this.”</p> +<p>He was strong in his integrity of a good detective, but he saw now +that an impenetrably attentive reserve towards this incident would have +served his reputation better. On the other hand, he admitted to +himself that it was difficult to preserve one’s reputation if +rank outsiders were going to take a hand in the business. Outsiders +are the bane of the police as of other professions. The tone of +the Assistant Commissioner’s remarks had been sour enough to set +one’s teeth on edge.</p> +<p>And since breakfast Chief Inspector Heat had not managed to get anything +to eat.</p> +<p>Starting immediately to begin his investigation on the spot, he had +swallowed a good deal of raw, unwholesome fog in the park. Then +he had walked over to the hospital; and when the investigation in Greenwich +was concluded at last he had lost his inclination for food. Not +accustomed, as the doctors are, to examine closely the mangled remains +of human beings, he had been shocked by the sight disclosed to his view +when a waterproof sheet had been lifted off a table in a certain apartment +of the hospital.</p> +<p>Another waterproof sheet was spread over that table in the manner +of a table-cloth, with the corners turned up over a sort of mound—a +heap of rags, scorched and bloodstained, half concealing what might +have been an accumulation of raw material for a cannibal feast. +It required considerable firmness of mind not to recoil before that +sight. Chief Inspector Heat, an efficient officer of his department, +stood his ground, but for a whole minute he did not advance. A +local constable in uniform cast a sidelong glance, and said, with stolid +simplicity:</p> +<p>“He’s all there. Every bit of him. It was +a job.”</p> +<p>He had been the first man on the spot after the explosion. +He mentioned the fact again. He had seen something like a heavy +flash of lightning in the fog. At that time he was standing at +the door of the King William Street Lodge talking to the keeper. +The concussion made him tingle all over. He ran between the trees +towards the Observatory. “As fast as my legs would carry +me,” he repeated twice.</p> +<p>Chief Inspector Heat, bending forward over the table in a gingerly +and horrified manner, let him run on. The hospital porter and +another man turned down the corners of the cloth, and stepped aside. +The Chief Inspector’s eyes searched the gruesome detail of that +heap of mixed things, which seemed to have been collected in shambles +and rag shops.</p> +<p>“You used a shovel,” he remarked, observing a sprinkling +of small gravel, tiny brown bits of bark, and particles of splintered +wood as fine as needles.</p> +<p>“Had to in one place,” said the stolid constable. +“I sent a keeper to fetch a spade. When he heard me scraping +the ground with it he leaned his forehead against a tree, and was as +sick as a dog.”</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector, stooping guardedly over the table, fought down +the unpleasant sensation in his throat. The shattering violence +of destruction which had made of that body a heap of nameless fragments +affected his feelings with a sense of ruthless cruelty, though his reason +told him the effect must have been as swift as a flash of lightning. +The man, whoever he was, had died instantaneously; and yet it seemed +impossible to believe that a human body could have reached that state +of disintegration without passing through the pangs of inconceivable +agony. No physiologist, and still less of a metaphysician, Chief +Inspector Heat rose by the force of sympathy, which is a form of fear, +above the vulgar conception of time. Instantaneous! He remembered +all he had ever read in popular publications of long and terrifying +dreams dreamed in the instant of waking; of the whole past life lived +with frightful intensity by a drowning man as his doomed head bobs up, +streaming, for the last time. The inexplicable mysteries of conscious +existence beset Chief Inspector Heat till he evolved a horrible notion +that ages of atrocious pain and mental torture could be contained between +two successive winks of an eye. And meantime the Chief Inspector +went on, peering at the table with a calm face and the slightly anxious +attention of an indigent customer bending over what may be called the +by-products of a butcher’s shop with a view to an inexpensive +Sunday dinner. All the time his trained faculties of an excellent +investigator, who scorns no chance of information, followed the self-satisfied, +disjointed loquacity of the constable.</p> +<p>“A fair-haired fellow,” the last observed in a placid +tone, and paused. “The old woman who spoke to the sergeant +noticed a fair-haired fellow coming out of Maze Hill Station.” +He paused. “And he was a fair-haired fellow. She noticed +two men coming out of the station after the uptrain had gone on,” +he continued slowly. “She couldn’t tell if they were +together. She took no particular notice of the big one, but the +other was a fair, slight chap, carrying a tin varnish can in one hand.” +The constable ceased.</p> +<p>“Know the woman?” muttered the Chief Inspector, with +his eyes fixed on the table, and a vague notion in his mind of an inquest +to be held presently upon a person likely to remain for ever unknown.</p> +<p>“Yes. She’s housekeeper to a retired publican, +and attends the chapel in Park Place sometimes,” the constable +uttered weightily, and paused, with another oblique glance at the table.</p> +<p>Then suddenly: “Well, here he is—all of him I could see. +Fair. Slight—slight enough. Look at that foot there. +I picked up the legs first, one after another. He was that scattered +you didn’t know where to begin.”</p> +<p>The constable paused; the least flicker of an innocent self-laudatory +smile invested his round face with an infantile expression.</p> +<p>“Stumbled,” he announced positively. “I stumbled +once myself, and pitched on my head too, while running up. Them +roots do stick out all about the place. Stumbled against the root +of a tree and fell, and that thing he was carrying must have gone off +right under his chest, I expect.”</p> +<p>The echo of the words “Person unknown” repeating itself +in his inner consciousness bothered the Chief Inspector considerably. +He would have liked to trace this affair back to its mysterious origin +for his own information. He was professionally curious. +Before the public he would have liked to vindicate the efficiency of +his department by establishing the identity of that man. He was +a loyal servant. That, however, appeared impossible. The +first term of the problem was unreadable—lacked all suggestion +but that of atrocious cruelty.</p> +<p>Overcoming his physical repugnance, Chief Inspector Heat stretched +out his hand without conviction for the salving of his conscience, and +took up the least soiled of the rags. It was a narrow strip of +velvet with a larger triangular piece of dark blue cloth hanging from +it. He held it up to his eyes; and the police constable spoke.</p> +<p>“Velvet collar. Funny the old woman should have noticed +the velvet collar. Dark blue overcoat with a velvet collar, she +has told us. He was the chap she saw, and no mistake. And +here he is all complete, velvet collar and all. I don’t +think I missed a single piece as big as a postage stamp.”</p> +<p>At this point the trained faculties of the Chief Inspector ceased +to hear the voice of the constable. He moved to one of the windows +for better light. His face, averted from the room, expressed a +startled intense interest while he examined closely the triangular piece +of broad-cloth. By a sudden jerk he detached it, and <i>only</i> +after stuffing it into his pocket turned round to the room, and flung +the velvet collar back on the table—</p> +<p>“Cover up,” he directed the attendants curtly, without +another look, and, saluted by the constable, carried off his spoil hastily.</p> +<p>A convenient train whirled him up to town, alone and pondering deeply, +in a third-class compartment. That singed piece of cloth was incredibly +valuable, and he could not defend himself from astonishment at the casual +manner it had come into his possession. It was as if Fate had +thrust that clue into his hands. And after the manner of the average +man, whose ambition is to command events, he began to mistrust such +a gratuitous and accidental success—just because it seemed forced +upon him. The practical value of success depends not a little +on the way you look at it. But Fate looks at nothing. It +has no discretion. He no longer considered it eminently desirable +all round to establish publicly the identity of the man who had blown +himself up that morning with such horrible completeness. But he +was not certain of the view his department would take. A department +is to those it employs a complex personality with ideas and even fads +of its own. It depends on the loyal devotion of its servants, +and the devoted loyalty of trusted servants is associated with a certain +amount of affectionate contempt, which keeps it sweet, as it were. +By a benevolent provision of Nature no man is a hero to his valet, or +else the heroes would have to brush their own clothes. Likewise +no department appears perfectly wise to the intimacy of its workers. +A department does not know so much as some of its servants. Being +a dispassionate organism, it can never be perfectly informed. +It would not be good for its efficiency to know too much. Chief +Inspector Heat got out of the train in a state of thoughtfulness entirely +untainted with disloyalty, but not quite free of that jealous mistrust +which so often springs on the ground of perfect devotion, whether to +women or to institutions.</p> +<p>It was in this mental disposition, physically very empty, but still +nauseated by what he had seen, that he had come upon the Professor. +Under these conditions which make for irascibility in a sound, normal +man, this meeting was specially unwelcome to Chief Inspector Heat. +He had not been thinking of the Professor; he had not been thinking +of any individual anarchist at all. The complexion of that case +had somehow forced upon him the general idea of the absurdity of things +human, which in the abstract is sufficiently annoying to an unphilosophical +temperament, and in concrete instances becomes exasperating beyond endurance. +At the beginning of his career Chief Inspector Heat had been concerned +with the more energetic forms of thieving. He had gained his spurs +in that sphere, and naturally enough had kept for it, after his promotion +to another department, a feeling not very far removed from affection. +Thieving was not a sheer absurdity. It was a form of human industry, +perverse indeed, but still an industry exercised in an industrious world; +it was work undertaken for the same reason as the work in potteries, +in coal mines, in fields, in tool-grinding shops. It was labour, +whose practical difference from the other forms of labour consisted +in the nature of its risk, which did not lie in ankylosis, or lead poisoning, +or fire-damp, or gritty dust, but in what may be briefly defined in +its own special phraseology as “Seven years hard.” +Chief Inspector Heat was, of course, not insensible to the gravity of +moral differences. But neither were the thieves he had been looking +after. They submitted to the severe sanctions of a morality familiar +to Chief Inspector Heat with a certain resignation.</p> +<p>They were his fellow-citizens gone wrong because of imperfect education, +Chief Inspector Heat believed; but allowing for that difference, he +could understand the mind of a burglar, because, as a matter of fact, +the mind and the instincts of a burglar are of the same kind as the +mind and the instincts of a police officer. Both recognise the +same conventions, and have a working knowledge of each other’s +methods and of the routine of their respective trades. They understand +each other, which is advantageous to both, and establishes a sort of +amenity in their relations. Products of the same machine, one +classed as useful and the other as noxious, they take the machine for +granted in different ways, but with a seriousness essentially the same. +The mind of Chief Inspector Heat was inaccessible to ideas of revolt. +But his thieves were not rebels. His bodily vigour, his cool inflexible +manner, his courage and his fairness, had secured for him much respect +and some adulation in the sphere of his early successes. He had +felt himself revered and admired. And Chief Inspector Heat, arrested +within six paces of the anarchist nick-named the Professor, gave a thought +of regret to the world of thieves—sane, without morbid ideals, +working by routine, respectful of constituted authorities, free from +all taint of hate and despair.</p> +<p>After paying this tribute to what is normal in the constitution of +society (for the idea of thieving appeared to his instinct as normal +as the idea of property), Chief Inspector Heat felt very angry with +himself for having stopped, for having spoken, for having taken that +way at all on the ground of it being a short cut from the station to +the headquarters. And he spoke again in his big authoritative +voice, which, being moderated, had a threatening character.</p> +<p>“You are not wanted, I tell you,” he repeated.</p> +<p>The anarchist did not stir. An inward laugh of derision uncovered +not only his teeth but his gums as well, shook him all over, without +the slightest sound. Chief Inspector Heat was led to add, against +his better judgment:</p> +<p>“Not yet. When I want you I will know where to find you.”</p> +<p>Those were perfectly proper words, within the tradition and suitable +to his character of a police officer addressing one of his special flock. +But the reception they got departed from tradition and propriety. +It was outrageous. The stunted, weakly figure before him spoke +at last.</p> +<p>“I’ve no doubt the papers would give you an obituary +notice then. You know best what that would be worth to you. +I should think you can imagine easily the sort of stuff that would be +printed. But you may be exposed to the unpleasantness of being +buried together with me, though I suppose your friends would make an +effort to sort us out as much as possible.”</p> +<p>With all his healthy contempt for the spirit dictating such speeches, +the atrocious allusiveness of the words had its effect on Chief Inspector +Heat. He had too much insight, and too much exact information +as well, to dismiss them as rot. The dusk of this narrow lane +took on a sinister tint from the dark, frail little figure, its back +to the wall, and speaking with a weak, self-confident voice. To +the vigorous, tenacious vitality of the Chief Inspector, the physical +wretchedness of that being, so obviously not fit to live, was ominous; +for it seemed to him that if he had the misfortune to be such a miserable +object he would not have cared how soon he died. Life had such +a strong hold upon him that a fresh wave of nausea broke out in slight +perspiration upon his brow. The murmur of town life, the subdued +rumble of wheels in the two invisible streets to the right and left, +came through the curve of the sordid lane to his ears with a precious +familiarity and an appealing sweetness. He was human. But +Chief Inspector Heat was also a man, and he could not let such words +pass.</p> +<p>“All this is good to frighten children with,” he said. +“I’ll have you yet.”</p> +<p>It was very well said, without scorn, with an almost austere quietness.</p> +<p>“Doubtless,” was the answer; “but there’s +no time like the present, believe me. For a man of real convictions +this is a fine opportunity of self-sacrifice. You may not find +another so favourable, so humane. There isn’t even a cat +near us, and these condemned old houses would make a good heap of bricks +where you stand. You’ll never get me at so little cost to +life and property, which you are paid to protect.”</p> +<p>“You don’t know who you’re speaking to,” +said Chief Inspector Heat firmly. “If I were to lay my hands +on you now I would be no better than yourself.”</p> +<p>“Ah! The game!’</p> +<p>“You may be sure our side will win in the end. It may +yet be necessary to make people believe that some of you ought to be +shot at sight like mad dogs. Then that will be the game. +But I’ll be damned if I know what yours is. I don’t +believe you know yourselves. You’ll never get anything by +it.”</p> +<p>“Meantime it’s you who get something from it—so +far. And you get it easily, too. I won’t speak of +your salary, but haven’t you made your name simply by not understanding +what we are after?”</p> +<p>“What are you after, then?” asked Chief Inspector Heat, +with scornful haste, like a man in a hurry who perceives he is wasting +his time.</p> +<p>The perfect anarchist answered by a smile which did not part his +thin colourless lips; and the celebrated Chief Inspector felt a sense +of superiority which induced him to raise a warning finger.</p> +<p>“Give it up—whatever it is,” he said in an admonishing +tone, but not so kindly as if he were condescending to give good advice +to a cracksman of repute. “Give it up. You’ll +find we are too many for you.”</p> +<p>The fixed smile on the Professor’s lips wavered, as if the +mocking spirit within had lost its assurance. Chief Inspector +Heat went on:</p> +<p>“Don’t you believe me eh? Well, you’ve only +got to look about you. We are. And anyway, you’re +not doing it well. You’re always making a mess of it. +Why, if the thieves didn’t know their work better they would starve.”</p> +<p>The hint of an invincible multitude behind that man’s back +roused a sombre indignation in the breast of the Professor. He +smiled no longer his enigmatic and mocking smile. The resisting +power of numbers, the unattackable stolidity of a great multitude, was +the haunting fear of his sinister loneliness. His lips trembled +for some time before he managed to say in a strangled voice:</p> +<p>“I am doing my work better than you’re doing yours.”</p> +<p>“That’ll do now,” interrupted Chief Inspector Heat +hurriedly; and the Professor laughed right out this time. While +still laughing he moved on; but he did not laugh long. It was +a sad-faced, miserable little man who emerged from the narrow passage +into the bustle of the broad thoroughfare. He walked with the +nerveless gait of a tramp going on, still going on, indifferent to rain +or sun in a sinister detachment from the aspects of sky and earth. +Chief Inspector Heat, on the other hand, after watching him for a while, +stepped out with the purposeful briskness of a man disregarding indeed +the inclemencies of the weather, but conscious of having an authorised +mission on this earth and the moral support of his kind. All the +inhabitants of the immense town, the population of the whole country, +and even the teeming millions struggling upon the planet, were with +him—down to the very thieves and mendicants. Yes, the thieves +themselves were sure to be with him in his present work. The consciousness +of universal support in his general activity heartened him to grapple +with the particular problem.</p> +<p>The problem immediately before the Chief Inspector was that of managing +the Assistant Commissioner of his department, his immediate superior. +This is the perennial problem of trusty and loyal servants; anarchism +gave it its particular complexion, but nothing more. Truth to +say, Chief Inspector Heat thought but little of anarchism. He +did not attach undue importance to it, and could never bring himself +to consider it seriously. It had more the character of disorderly +conduct; disorderly without the human excuse of drunkenness, which at +any rate implies good feeling and an amiable leaning towards festivity. +As criminals, anarchists were distinctly no class—no class at +all. And recalling the Professor, Chief Inspector Heat, without +checking his swinging pace, muttered through his teeth:</p> +<p>“Lunatic.”</p> +<p>Catching thieves was another matter altogether. It had that +quality of seriousness belonging to every form of open sport where the +best man wins under perfectly comprehensible rules. There were +no rules for dealing with anarchists. And that was distasteful +to the Chief Inspector. It was all foolishness, but that foolishness +excited the public mind, affected persons in high places, and touched +upon international relations. A hard, merciless contempt settled +rigidly on the Chief Inspector’s face as he walked on. His +mind ran over all the anarchists of his flock. Not one of them +had half the spunk of this or that burglar he had known. Not half—not +one-tenth.</p> +<p>At headquarters the Chief Inspector was admitted at once to the Assistant +Commissioner’s private room. He found him, pen in hand, +bent over a great table bestrewn with papers, as if worshipping an enormous +double inkstand of bronze and crystal. Speaking tubes resembling +snakes were tied by the heads to the back of the Assistant Commissioner’s +wooden arm-chair, and their gaping mouths seemed ready to bite his elbows. +And in this attitude he raised only his eyes, whose lids were darker +than his face and very much creased. The reports had come in: +every anarchist had been exactly accounted for.</p> +<p>After saying this he lowered his eyes, signed rapidly two single +sheets of paper, and only then laid down his pen, and sat well back, +directing an inquiring gaze at his renowned subordinate. The Chief +Inspector stood it well, deferential but inscrutable.</p> +<p>“I daresay you were right,” said the Assistant Commissioner, +“in telling me at first that the London anarchists had nothing +to do with this. I quite appreciate the excellent watch kept on +them by your men. On the other hand, this, for the public, does +not amount to more than a confession of ignorance.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner’s delivery was leisurely, as it +were cautious. His thought seemed to rest poised on a word before +passing to another, as though words had been the stepping-stones for +his intellect picking its way across the waters of error. “Unless +you have brought something useful from Greenwich,” he added.</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector began at once the account of his investigation +in a clear matter-of-fact manner. His superior turning his chair +a little, and crossing his thin legs, leaned sideways on his elbow, +with one hand shading his eyes. His listening attitude had a sort +of angular and sorrowful grace. Gleams as of highly burnished +silver played on the sides of his ebony black head when he inclined +it slowly at the end.</p> +<p>Chief Inspector Heat waited with the appearance of turning over in +his mind all he had just said, but, as a matter of fact, considering +the advisability of saying something more. The Assistant Commissioner +cut his hesitation short.</p> +<p>“You believe there were two men?” he asked, without uncovering +his eyes.</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector thought it more than probable. In his opinion, +the two men had parted from each other within a hundred yards from the +Observatory walls. He explained also how the other man could have +got out of the park speedily without being observed. The fog, +though not very dense, was in his favour. He seemed to have escorted +the other to the spot, and then to have left him there to do the job +single-handed. Taking the time those two were seen coming out +of Maze Hill Station by the old woman, and the time when the explosion +was heard, the Chief Inspector thought that the other man might have +been actually at the Greenwich Park Station, ready to catch the next +train up, at the moment his comrade was destroying himself so thoroughly.</p> +<p>“Very thoroughly—eh?” murmured the Assistant Commissioner +from under the shadow of his hand.</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector in a few vigorous words described the aspect +of the remains. “The coroner’s jury will have a treat,” +he added grimly.</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner uncovered his eyes.</p> +<p>“We shall have nothing to tell them,” he remarked languidly.</p> +<p>He looked up, and for a time watched the markedly non-committal attitude +of his Chief Inspector. His nature was one that is not easily +accessible to illusions. He knew that a department is at the mercy +of its subordinate officers, who have their own conceptions of loyalty. +His career had begun in a tropical colony. He had liked his work +there. It was police work. He had been very successful in +tracking and breaking up certain nefarious secret societies amongst +the natives. Then he took his long leave, and got married rather +impulsively. It was a good match from a worldly point of view, +but his wife formed an unfavourable opinion of the colonial climate +on hearsay evidence. On the other hand, she had influential connections. +It was an excellent match. But he did not like the work he had +to do now. He felt himself dependent on too many subordinates +and too many masters. The near presence of that strange emotional +phenomenon called public opinion weighed upon his spirits, and alarmed +him by its irrational nature. No doubt that from ignorance he +exaggerated to himself its power for good and evil—especially +for evil; and the rough east winds of the English spring (which agreed +with his wife) augmented his general mistrust of men’s motives +and of the efficiency of their organisation. The futility of office +work especially appalled him on those days so trying to his sensitive +liver.</p> +<p>He got up, unfolding himself to his full height, and with a heaviness +of step remarkable in so slender a man, moved across the room to the +window. The panes streamed with rain, and the short street he +looked down into lay wet and empty, as if swept clear suddenly by a +great flood. It was a very trying day, choked in raw fog to begin +with, and now drowned in cold rain. The flickering, blurred flames +of gas-lamps seemed to be dissolving in a watery atmosphere. And +the lofty pretensions of a mankind oppressed by the miserable indignities +of the weather appeared as a colossal and hopeless vanity deserving +of scorn, wonder, and compassion.</p> +<p>“Horrible, horrible!” thought the Assistant Commissioner +to himself, with his face near the window-pane. “We have +been having this sort of thing now for ten days; no, a fortnight—a +fortnight.” He ceased to think completely for a time. +That utter stillness of his brain lasted about three seconds. +Then he said perfunctorily: “You have set inquiries on foot for +tracing that other man up and down the line?”</p> +<p>He had no doubt that everything needful had been done. Chief +Inspector Heat knew, of course, thoroughly the business of man-hunting. +And these were the routine steps, too, that would be taken as a matter +of course by the merest beginner. A few inquiries amongst the +ticket collectors and the porters of the two small railway stations +would give additional details as to the appearance of the two men; the +inspection of the collected tickets would show at once where they came +from that morning. It was elementary, and could not have been +neglected. Accordingly the Chief Inspector answered that all this +had been done directly the old woman had come forward with her deposition. +And he mentioned the name of a station. “That’s where +they came from, sir,” he went on. “The porter who +took the tickets at Maze Hill remembers two chaps answering to the description +passing the barrier. They seemed to him two respectable working +men of a superior sort—sign painters or house decorators. +The big man got out of a third-class compartment backward, with a bright +tin can in his hand. On the platform he gave it to carry to the +fair young fellow who followed him. All this agrees exactly with +what the old woman told the police sergeant in Greenwich.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner, still with his face turned to the window, +expressed his doubt as to these two men having had anything to do with +the outrage. All this theory rested upon the utterances of an +old charwoman who had been nearly knocked down by a man in a hurry. +Not a very substantial authority indeed, unless on the ground of sudden +inspiration, which was hardly tenable.</p> +<p>“Frankly now, could she have been really inspired?” he +queried, with grave irony, keeping his back to the room, as if entranced +by the contemplation of the town’s colossal forms half lost in +the night. He did not even look round when he heard the mutter +of the word “Providential” from the principal subordinate +of his department, whose name, printed sometimes in the papers, was +familiar to the great public as that of one of its zealous and hard-working +protectors. Chief Inspector Heat raised his voice a little.</p> +<p>“Strips and bits of bright tin were quite visible to me,” +he said. “That’s a pretty good corroboration.”</p> +<p>“And these men came from that little country station,” +the Assistant Commissioner mused aloud, wondering. He was told +that such was the name on two tickets out of three given up out of that +train at Maze Hill. The third person who got out was a hawker +from Gravesend well known to the porters. The Chief Inspector +imparted that information in a tone of finality with some ill humour, +as loyal servants will do in the consciousness of their fidelity and +with the sense of the value of their loyal exertions. And still +the Assistant Commissioner did not turn away from the darkness outside, +as vast as a sea.</p> +<p>“Two foreign anarchists coming from that place,” he said, +apparently to the window-pane. “It’s rather unaccountable.”’</p> +<p>“Yes, sir. But it would be still more unaccountable if +that Michaelis weren’t staying in a cottage in the neighbourhood.”</p> +<p>At the sound of that name, falling unexpectedly into this annoying +affair, the Assistant Commissioner dismissed brusquely the vague remembrance +of his daily whist party at his club. It was the most comforting +habit of his life, in a mainly successful display of his skill without +the assistance of any subordinate. He entered his club to play +from five to seven, before going home to dinner, forgetting for those +two hours whatever was distasteful in his life, as though the game were +a beneficent drug for allaying the pangs of moral discontent. +His partners were the gloomily humorous editor of a celebrated magazine; +a silent, elderly barrister with malicious little eyes; and a highly +martial, simple-minded old Colonel with nervous brown hands. They +were his club acquaintances merely. He never met them elsewhere +except at the card-table. But they all seemed to approach the +game in the spirit of co-sufferers, as if it were indeed a drug against +the secret ills of existence; and every day as the sun declined over +the countless roofs of the town, a mellow, pleasurable impatience, resembling +the impulse of a sure and profound friendship, lightened his professional +labours. And now this pleasurable sensation went out of him with +something resembling a physical shock, and was replaced by a special +kind of interest in his work of social protection—an improper +sort of interest, which may be defined best as a sudden and alert mistrust +of the weapon in his hand.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<p>The lady patroness of Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle of humanitarian +hopes, was one of the most influential and distinguished connections +of the Assistant Commissioner’s wife, whom she called Annie, and +treated still rather as a not very wise and utterly inexperienced young +girl. But she had consented to accept him on a friendly footing, +which was by no means the case with all of his wife’s influential +connections. Married young and splendidly at some remote epoch +of the past, she had had for a time a close view of great affairs and +even of some great men. She herself was a great lady. Old +now in the number of her years, she had that sort of exceptional temperament +which defies time with scornful disregard, as if it were a rather vulgar +convention submitted to by the mass of inferior mankind. Many +other conventions easier to set aside, alas! failed to obtain her recognition, +also on temperamental grounds—either because they bored her, or +else because they stood in the way of her scorns and sympathies. +Admiration was a sentiment unknown to her (it was one of the secret +griefs of her most noble husband against her)—first, as always +more or less tainted with mediocrity, and next as being in a way an +admission of inferiority. And both were frankly inconceivable +to her nature. To be fearlessly outspoken in her opinions came +easily to her, since she judged solely from the standpoint of her social +position. She was equally untrammelled in her actions; and as +her tactfulness proceeded from genuine humanity, her bodily vigour remained +remarkable and her superiority was serene and cordial, three generations +had admired her infinitely, and the last she was likely to see had pronounced +her a wonderful woman. Meantime intelligent, with a sort of lofty +simplicity, and curious at heart, but not like many women merely of +social gossip, she amused her age by attracting within her ken through +the power of her great, almost historical, social prestige everything +that rose above the dead level of mankind, lawfully or unlawfully, by +position, wit, audacity, fortune or misfortune. Royal Highnesses, +artists, men of science, young statesmen, and charlatans of all ages +and conditions, who, unsubstantial and light, bobbing up like corks, +show best the direction of the surface currents, had been welcomed in +that house, listened to, penetrated, understood, appraised, for her +own edification. In her own words, she liked to watch what the +world was coming to. And as she had a practical mind her judgment +of men and things, though based on special prejudices, was seldom totally +wrong, and almost never wrong-headed. Her drawing-room was probably +the only place in the wide world where an Assistant Commissioner of +Police could meet a convict liberated on a ticket-of-leave on other +than professional and official ground. Who had brought Michaelis +there one afternoon the Assistant Commissioner did not remember very +well. He had a notion it must have been a certain Member of Parliament +of illustrious parentage and unconventional sympathies, which were the +standing joke of the comic papers. The notabilities and even the +simple notorieties of the day brought each other freely to that temple +of an old woman’s not ignoble curiosity. You never could +guess whom you were likely to come upon being received in semi-privacy +within the faded blue silk and gilt frame screen, making a cosy nook +for a couch and a few arm-chairs in the great drawing-room, with its +hum of voices and the groups of people seated or standing in the light +of six tall windows.</p> +<p>Michaelis had been the object of a revulsion of popular sentiment, +the same sentiment which years ago had applauded the ferocity of the +life sentence passed upon him for complicity in a rather mad attempt +to rescue some prisoners from a police van. The plan of the conspirators +had been to shoot down the horses and overpower the escort. Unfortunately, +one of the police constables got shot too. He left a wife and +three small children, and the death of that man aroused through the +length and breadth of a realm for whose defence, welfare, and glory +men die every day as matter of duty, an outburst of furious indignation, +of a raging implacable pity for the victim. Three ring-leaders +got hanged. Michaelis, young and slim, locksmith by trade, and +great frequenter of evening schools, did not even know that anybody +had been killed, his part with a few others being to force open the +door at the back of the special conveyance. When arrested he had +a bunch of skeleton keys in one pocket a heavy chisel in another, and +a short crowbar in his hand: neither more nor less than a burglar. +But no burglar would have received such a heavy sentence. The +death of the constable had made him miserable at heart, but the failure +of the plot also. He did not conceal either of these sentiments +from his empanelled countrymen, and that sort of compunction appeared +shockingly imperfect to the crammed court. The judge on passing +sentence commented feelingly upon the depravity and callousness of the +young prisoner.</p> +<p>That made the groundless fame of his condemnation; the fame of his +release was made for him on no better grounds by people who wished to +exploit the sentimental aspect of his imprisonment either for purposes +of their own or for no intelligible purpose. He let them do so +in the innocence of his heart and the simplicity of his mind. +Nothing that happened to him individually had any importance. +He was like those saintly men whose personality is lost in the contemplation +of their faith. His ideas were not in the nature of convictions. +They were inaccessible to reasoning. They formed in all their +contradictions and obscurities an invincible and humanitarian creed, +which he confessed rather than preached, with an obstinate gentleness, +a smile of pacific assurance on his lips, and his candid blue eyes cast +down because the sight of faces troubled his inspiration developed in +solitude. In that characteristic attitude, pathetic in his grotesque +and incurable obesity which he had to drag like a galley slave’s +bullet to the end of his days, the Assistant Commissioner of Police +beheld the ticket-of-leave apostle filling a privileged arm-chair within +the screen. He sat there by the head of the old lady’s couch, +mild-voiced and quiet, with no more self-consciousness than a very small +child, and with something of a child’s charm—the appealing +charm of trustfulness. Confident of the future, whose secret ways +had been revealed to him within the four walls of a well-known penitentiary, +he had no reason to look with suspicion upon anybody. If he could +not give the great and curious lady a very definite idea as to what +the world was coming to, he had managed without effort to impress her +by his unembittered faith, by the sterling quality of his optimism.</p> +<p>A certain simplicity of thought is common to serene souls at both +ends of the social scale. The great lady was simple in her own +way. His views and beliefs had nothing in them to shock or startle +her, since she judged them from the standpoint of her lofty position. +Indeed, her sympathies were easily accessible to a man of that sort. +She was not an exploiting capitalist herself; she was, as it were, above +the play of economic conditions. And she had a great capacity +of pity for the more obvious forms of common human miseries, precisely +because she was such a complete stranger to them that she had to translate +her conception into terms of mental suffering before she could grasp +the notion of their cruelty. The Assistant Commissioner remembered +very well the conversation between these two. He had listened +in silence. It was something as exciting in a way, and even touching +in its foredoomed futility, as the efforts at moral intercourse between +the inhabitants of remote planets. But this grotesque incarnation +of humanitarian passion appealed somehow, to one’s imagination. +At last Michaelis rose, and taking the great lady’s extended hand, +shook it, retained it for a moment in his great cushioned palm with +unembarrassed friendliness, and turned upon the semi-private nook of +the drawing-room his back, vast and square, and as if distended under +the short tweed jacket. Glancing about in serene benevolence, +he waddled along to the distant door between the knots of other visitors. +The murmur of conversations paused on his passage. He smiled innocently +at a tall, brilliant girl, whose eyes met his accidentally, and went +out unconscious of the glances following him across the room. +Michaelis’ first appearance in the world was a success—a +success of esteem unmarred by a single murmur of derision. The +interrupted conversations were resumed in their proper tone, grave or +light. Only a well-set-up, long-limbed, active-looking man of +forty talking with two ladies near a window remarked aloud, with an +unexpected depth of feeling: “Eighteen stone, I should say, and +not five foot six. Poor fellow! It’s terrible—terrible.”</p> +<p>The lady of the house, gazing absently at the Assistant Commissioner, +left alone with her on the private side of the screen, seemed to be +rearranging her mental impressions behind her thoughtful immobility +of a handsome old face. Men with grey moustaches and full, healthy, +vaguely smiling countenances approached, circling round the screen; +two mature women with a matronly air of gracious resolution; a clean-shaved +individual with sunken cheeks, and dangling a gold-mounted eyeglass +on a broad black ribbon with an old-world, dandified effect. A +silence deferential, but full of reserves, reigned for a moment, and +then the great lady exclaimed, not with resentment, but with a sort +of protesting indignation:</p> +<p>“And that officially is supposed to be a revolutionist! +What nonsense.” She looked hard at the Assistant Commissioner, +who murmured apologetically:</p> +<p>“Not a dangerous one perhaps.”</p> +<p>“Not dangerous—I should think not indeed. He is +a mere believer. It’s the temperament of a saint,” +declared the great lady in a firm tone. “And they kept him +shut up for twenty years. One shudders at the stupidity of it. +And now they have let him out everybody belonging to him is gone away +somewhere or dead. His parents are dead; the girl he was to marry +has died while he was in prison; he has lost the skill necessary for +his manual occupation. He told me all this himself with the sweetest +patience; but then, he said, he had had plenty of time to think out +things for himself. A pretty compensation! If that’s +the stuff revolutionists are made of some of us may well go on their +knees to them,” she continued in a slightly bantering voice, while +the banal society smiles hardened on the worldly faces turned towards +her with conventional deference. “The poor creature is obviously +no longer in a position to take care of himself. Somebody will +have to look after him a little.”</p> +<p>“He should be recommended to follow a treatment of some sort,” +the soldierly voice of the active-looking man was heard advising earnestly +from a distance. He was in the pink of condition for his age, +and even the texture of his long frock coat had a character of elastic +soundness, as if it were a living tissue. “The man is virtually +a cripple,” he added with unmistakable feeling.</p> +<p>Other voices, as if glad of the opening, murmured hasty compassion. +“Quite startling,” “Monstrous,” “Most +painful to see.” The lank man, with the eyeglass on a broad +ribbon, pronounced mincingly the word “Grotesque,” whose +justness was appreciated by those standing near him. They smiled +at each other.</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner had expressed no opinion either then or +later, his position making it impossible for him to ventilate any independent +view of a ticket-of-leave convict. But, in truth, he shared the +view of his wife’s friend and patron that Michaelis was a humanitarian +sentimentalist, a little mad, but upon the whole incapable of hurting +a fly intentionally. So when that name cropped up suddenly in +this vexing bomb affair he realised all the danger of it for the ticket-of-leave +apostle, and his mind reverted at once to the old lady’s well-established +infatuation. Her arbitrary kindness would not brook patiently +any interference with Michaelis’ freedom. It was a deep, +calm, convinced infatuation. She had not only felt him to be inoffensive, +but she had said so, which last by a confusion of her absolutist mind +became a sort of incontrovertible demonstration. It was as if +the monstrosity of the man, with his candid infant’s eyes and +a fat angelic smile, had fascinated her. She had come to believe +almost his theory of the future, since it was not repugnant to her prejudices. +She disliked the new element of plutocracy in the social compound, and +industrialism as a method of human development appeared to her singularly +repulsive in its mechanical and unfeeling character. The humanitarian +hopes of the mild Michaelis tended not towards utter destruction, but +merely towards the complete economic ruin of the system. And she +did not really see where was the moral harm of it. It would do +away with all the multitude of the “parvenus,” whom she +disliked and mistrusted, not because they had arrived anywhere (she +denied that), but because of their profound unintelligence of the world, +which was the primary cause of the crudity of their perceptions and +the aridity of their hearts. With the annihilation of all capital +they would vanish too; but universal ruin (providing it was universal, +as it was revealed to Michaelis) would leave the social values untouched. +The disappearance of the last piece of money could not affect people +of position. She could not conceive how it could affect her position, +for instance. She had developed these discoveries to the Assistant +Commissioner with all the serene fearlessness of an old woman who had +escaped the blight of indifference. He had made for himself the +rule to receive everything of that sort in a silence which he took care +from policy and inclination not to make offensive. He had an affection +for the aged disciple of Michaelis, a complex sentiment depending a +little on her prestige, on her personality, but most of all on the instinct +of flattered gratitude. He felt himself really liked in her house. +She was kindness personified. And she was practically wise too, +after the manner of experienced women. She made his married life +much easier than it would have been without her generously full recognition +of his rights as Annie’s husband. Her influence upon his +wife, a woman devoured by all sorts of small selfishnesses, small envies, +small jealousies, was excellent. Unfortunately, both her kindness +and her wisdom were of unreasonable complexion, distinctly feminine, +and difficult to deal with. She remained a perfect woman all along +her full tale of years, and not as some of them do become—a sort +of slippery, pestilential old man in petticoats. And it was as +of a woman that he thought of her—the specially choice incarnation +of the feminine, wherein is recruited the tender, ingenuous, and fierce +bodyguard for all sorts of men who talk under the influence of an emotion, +true or fraudulent; for preachers, seers, prophets, or reformers.</p> +<p>Appreciating the distinguished and good friend of his wife, and himself, +in that way, the Assistant Commissioner became alarmed at the convict +Michaelis’ possible fate. Once arrested on suspicion of +being in some way, however remote, a party to this outrage, the man +could hardly escape being sent back to finish his sentence at least. +And that would kill him; he would never come out alive. The Assistant +Commissioner made a reflection extremely unbecoming his official position +without being really creditable to his humanity.</p> +<p>“If the fellow is laid hold of again,” he thought, “she +will never forgive me.”</p> +<p>The frankness of such a secretly outspoken thought could not go without +some derisive self-criticism. No man engaged in a work he does +not like can preserve many saving illusions about himself. The +distaste, the absence of glamour, extend from the occupation to the +personality. It is only when our appointed activities seem by +a lucky accident to obey the particular earnestness of our temperament +that we can taste the comfort of complete self-deception. The +Assistant Commissioner did not like his work at home. The police +work he had been engaged on in a distant part of the globe had the saving +character of an irregular sort of warfare or at least the risk and excitement +of open-air sport. His real abilities, which were mainly of an +administrative order, were combined with an adventurous disposition. +Chained to a desk in the thick of four millions of men, he considered +himself the victim of an ironic fate—the same, no doubt, which +had brought about his marriage with a woman exceptionally sensitive +in the matter of colonial climate, besides other limitations testifying +to the delicacy of her nature—and her tastes. Though he +judged his alarm sardonically he did not dismiss the improper thought +from his mind. The instinct of self-preservation was strong within +him. On the contrary, he repeated it mentally with profane emphasis +and a fuller precision: “Damn it! If that infernal Heat +has his way the fellow’ll die in prison smothered in his fat, +and she’ll never forgive me.”</p> +<p>His black, narrow figure, with the white band of the collar under +the silvery gleams on the close-cropped hair at the back of the head, +remained motionless. The silence had lasted such a long time that +Chief Inspector Heat ventured to clear his throat. This noise +produced its effect. The zealous and intelligent officer was asked +by his superior, whose back remained turned to him immovably:</p> +<p>“You connect Michaelis with this affair?”</p> +<p>Chief Inspector Heat was very positive, but cautious.</p> +<p>“Well, sir,” he said, “we have enough to go upon. +A man like that has no business to be at large, anyhow.”</p> +<p>“You will want some conclusive evidence,” came the observation +in a murmur.</p> +<p>Chief Inspector Heat raised his eyebrows at the black, narrow back, +which remained obstinately presented to his intelligence and his zeal.</p> +<p>“There will be no difficulty in getting up sufficient evidence +against <i>him</i>,” he said, with virtuous complacency. +“You may trust me for that, sir,” he added, quite unnecessarily, +out of the fulness of his heart; for it seemed to him an excellent thing +to have that man in hand to be thrown down to the public should it think +fit to roar with any special indignation in this case. It was +impossible to say yet whether it would roar or not. That in the +last instance depended, of course, on the newspaper press. But +in any case, Chief Inspector Heat, purveyor of prisons by trade, and +a man of legal instincts, did logically believe that incarceration was +the proper fate for every declared enemy of the law. In the strength +of that conviction he committed a fault of tact. He allowed himself +a little conceited laugh, and repeated:</p> +<p>“Trust me for that, sir.”</p> +<p>This was too much for the forced calmness under which the Assistant +Commissioner had for upwards of eighteen months concealed his irritation +with the system and the subordinates of his office. A square peg +forced into a round hole, he had felt like a daily outrage that long +established smooth roundness into which a man of less sharply angular +shape would have fitted himself, with voluptuous acquiescence, after +a shrug or two. What he resented most was just the necessity of +taking so much on trust. At the little laugh of Chief Inspector +Heat’s he spun swiftly on his heels, as if whirled away from the +window-pane by an electric shock. He caught on the latter’s +face not only the complacency proper to the occasion lurking under the +moustache, but the vestiges of experimental watchfulness in the round +eyes, which had been, no doubt, fastened on his back, and now met his +glance for a second before the intent character of their stare had the +time to change to a merely startled appearance.</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner of Police had really some qualifications +for his post. Suddenly his suspicion was awakened. It is +but fair to say that his suspicions of the police methods (unless the +police happened to be a semi-military body organised by himself) was +not difficult to arouse. If it ever slumbered from sheer weariness, +it was but lightly; and his appreciation of Chief Inspector Heat’s +zeal and ability, moderate in itself, excluded all notion of moral confidence. +“He’s up to something,” he exclaimed mentally, and +at once became angry. Crossing over to his desk with headlong +strides, he sat down violently. “Here I am stuck in a litter +of paper,” he reflected, with unreasonable resentment, “supposed +to hold all the threads in my hands, and yet I can but hold what is +put in my hand, and nothing else. And they can fasten the other +ends of the threads where they please.”</p> +<p>He raised his head, and turned towards his subordinate a long, meagre +face with the accentuated features of an energetic Don Quixote.</p> +<p>“Now what is it you’ve got up your sleeve?”</p> +<p>The other stared. He stared without winking in a perfect immobility +of his round eyes, as he was used to stare at the various members of +the criminal class when, after being duly cautioned, they made their +statements in the tones of injured innocence, or false simplicity, or +sullen resignation. But behind that professional and stony fixity +there was some surprise too, for in such a tone, combining nicely the +note of contempt and impatience, Chief Inspector Heat, the right-hand +man of the department, was not used to be addressed. He began +in a procrastinating manner, like a man taken unawares by a new and +unexpected experience.</p> +<p>“What I’ve got against that man Michaelis you mean, sir?”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner watched the bullet head; the points of +that Norse rover’s moustache, falling below the line of the heavy +jaw; the whole full and pale physiognomy, whose determined character +was marred by too much flesh; at the cunning wrinkles radiating from +the outer corners of the eyes—and in that purposeful contemplation +of the valuable and trusted officer he drew a conviction so sudden that +it moved him like an inspiration.</p> +<p>“I have reason to think that when you came into this room,” +he said in measured tones, “it was not Michaelis who was in your +mind; not principally—perhaps not at all.”</p> +<p>“You have reason to think, sir?” muttered Chief Inspector +Heat, with every appearance of astonishment, which up to a certain point +was genuine enough. He had discovered in this affair a delicate +and perplexing side, forcing upon the discoverer a certain amount of +insincerity—that sort of insincerity which, under the names of +skill, prudence, discretion, turns up at one point or another in most +human affairs. He felt at the moment like a tight-rope artist +might feel if suddenly, in the middle of the performance, the manager +of the Music Hall were to rush out of the proper managerial seclusion +and begin to shake the rope. Indignation, the sense of moral insecurity +engendered by such a treacherous proceeding joined to the immediate +apprehension of a broken neck, would, in the colloquial phrase, put +him in a state. And there would be also some scandalised concern +for his art too, since a man must identify himself with something more +tangible than his own personality, and establish his pride somewhere, +either in his social position, or in the quality of the work he is obliged +to do, or simply in the superiority of the idleness he may be fortunate +enough to enjoy.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the Assistant Commissioner; “I have. +I do not mean to say that you have not thought of Michaelis at all. +But you are giving the fact you’ve mentioned a prominence which +strikes me as not quite candid, Inspector Heat. If that is really +the track of discovery, why haven’t you followed it up at once, +either personally or by sending one of your men to that village?”</p> +<p>“Do you think, sir, I have failed in my duty there?” +the Chief Inspector asked, in a tone which he sought to make simply +reflective. Forced unexpectedly to concentrate his faculties upon +the task of preserving his balance, he had seized upon that point, and +exposed himself to a rebuke; for, the Assistant Commissioner frowning +slightly, observed that this was a very improper remark to make.</p> +<p>“But since you’ve made it,” he continued coldly, +“I’ll tell you that this is not my meaning.”</p> +<p>He paused, with a straight glance of his sunken eyes which was a +full equivalent of the unspoken termination “and you know it.” +The head of the so-called Special Crimes Department debarred by his +position from going out of doors personally in quest of secrets locked +up in guilty breasts, had a propensity to exercise his considerable +gifts for the detection of incriminating truth upon his own subordinates. +That peculiar instinct could hardly be called a weakness. It was +natural. He was a born detective. It had unconsciously governed +his choice of a career, and if it ever failed him in life it was perhaps +in the one exceptional circumstance of his marriage—which was +also natural. It fed, since it could not roam abroad, upon the +human material which was brought to it in its official seclusion. +We can never cease to be ourselves.</p> +<p>His elbow on the desk, his thin legs crossed, and nursing his cheek +in the palm of his meagre hand, the Assistant Commissioner in charge +of the Special Crimes branch was getting hold of the case with growing +interest. His Chief Inspector, if not an absolutely worthy foeman +of his penetration, was at any rate the most worthy of all within his +reach. A mistrust of established reputations was strictly in character +with the Assistant Commissioner’s ability as detector. His +memory evoked a certain old fat and wealthy native chief in the distant +colony whom it was a tradition for the successive Colonial Governors +to trust and make much of as a firm friend and supporter of the order +and legality established by white men; whereas, when examined sceptically, +he was found out to be principally his own good friend, and nobody else’s. +Not precisely a traitor, but still a man of many dangerous reservations +in his fidelity, caused by a due regard for his own advantage, comfort, +and safety. A fellow of some innocence in his naive duplicity, +but none the less dangerous. He took some finding out. He +was physically a big man, too, and (allowing for the difference of colour, +of course) Chief Inspector Heat’s appearance recalled him to the +memory of his superior. It was not the eyes nor yet the lips exactly. +It was bizarre. But does not Alfred Wallace relate in his famous +book on the Malay Archipelago how, amongst the Aru Islanders, he discovered +in an old and naked savage with a sooty skin a peculiar resemblance +to a dear friend at home?</p> +<p>For the first time since he took up his appointment the Assistant +Commissioner felt as if he were going to do some real work for his salary. +And that was a pleasurable sensation. “I’ll turn him +inside out like an old glove,” thought the Assistant Commissioner, +with his eyes resting pensively upon Chief Inspector Heat.</p> +<p>“No, that was not my thought,” he began again. +“There is no doubt about you knowing your business—no doubt +at all; and that’s precisely why I—” He stopped +short, and changing his tone: “What could you bring up against +Michaelis of a definite nature? I mean apart from the fact that +the two men under suspicion—you’re certain there were two +of them—came last from a railway station within three miles of +the village where Michaelis is living now.”</p> +<p>“This by itself is enough for us to go upon, sir, with that +sort of man,” said the Chief Inspector, with returning composure. +The slight approving movement of the Assistant Commissioner’s +head went far to pacify the resentful astonishment of the renowned officer. +For Chief Inspector Heat was a kind man, an excellent husband, a devoted +father; and the public and departmental confidence he enjoyed acting +favourably upon an amiable nature, disposed him to feel friendly towards +the successive Assistant Commissioners he had seen pass through that +very room. There had been three in his time. The first one, +a soldierly, abrupt, red-faced person, with white eyebrows and an explosive +temper, could be managed with a silken thread. He left on reaching +the age limit. The second, a perfect gentleman, knowing his own +and everybody else’s place to a nicety, on resigning to take up +a higher appointment out of England got decorated for (really) Inspector +Heat’s services. To work with him had been a pride and a +pleasure. The third, a bit of a dark horse from the first, was +at the end of eighteen months something of a dark horse still to the +department. Upon the whole Chief Inspector Heat believed him to +be in the main harmless—odd-looking, but harmless. He was +speaking now, and the Chief Inspector listened with outward deference +(which means nothing, being a matter of duty) and inwardly with benevolent +toleration.</p> +<p>“Michaelis reported himself before leaving London for the country?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir. He did.”</p> +<p>“And what may he be doing there?” continued the Assistant +Commissioner, who was perfectly informed on that point. Fitted +with painful tightness into an old wooden arm-chair, before a worm-eaten +oak table in an upstairs room of a four-roomed cottage with a roof of +moss-grown tiles, Michaelis was writing night and day in a shaky, slanting +hand that “Autobiography of a Prisoner” which was to be +like a book of Revelation in the history of mankind. The conditions +of confined space, seclusion, and solitude in a small four-roomed cottage +were favourable to his inspiration. It was like being in prison, +except that one was never disturbed for the odious purpose of taking +exercise according to the tyrannical regulations of his old home in +the penitentiary. He could not tell whether the sun still shone +on the earth or not. The perspiration of the literary labour dropped +from his brow. A delightful enthusiasm urged him on. It +was the liberation of his inner life, the letting out of his soul into +the wide world. And the zeal of his guileless vanity (first awakened +by the offer of five hundred pounds from a publisher) seemed something +predestined and holy.</p> +<p>“It would be, of course, most desirable to be informed exactly,” +insisted the Assistant Commissioner uncandidly.</p> +<p>Chief Inspector Heat, conscious of renewed irritation at this display +of scrupulousness, said that the county police had been notified from +the first of Michaelis’ arrival, and that a full report could +be obtained in a few hours. A wire to the superintendent—</p> +<p>Thus he spoke, rather slowly, while his mind seemed already to be +weighing the consequences. A slight knitting of the brow was the +outward sign of this. But he was interrupted by a question.</p> +<p>“You’ve sent that wire already?”</p> +<p>“No, sir,” he answered, as if surprised.</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner uncrossed his legs suddenly. The +briskness of that movement contrasted with the casual way in which he +threw out a suggestion.</p> +<p>“Would you think that Michaelis had anything to do with the +preparation of that bomb, for instance?”</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector assumed a reflective manner.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t say so. There’s no necessity +to say anything at present. He associates with men who are classed +as dangerous. He was made a delegate of the Red Committee less +than a year after his release on licence. A sort of compliment, +I suppose.”</p> +<p>And the Chief Inspector laughed a little angrily, a little scornfully. +With a man of that sort scrupulousness was a misplaced and even an illegal +sentiment. The celebrity bestowed upon Michaelis on his release +two years ago by some emotional journalists in want of special copy +had rankled ever since in his breast. It was perfectly legal to +arrest that man on the barest suspicion. It was legal and expedient +on the face of it. His two former chiefs would have seen the point +at once; whereas this one, without saying either yes or no, sat there, +as if lost in a dream. Moreover, besides being legal and expedient, +the arrest of Michaelis solved a little personal difficulty which worried +Chief Inspector Heat somewhat. This difficulty had its bearing +upon his reputation, upon his comfort, and even upon the efficient performance +of his duties. For, if Michaelis no doubt knew something about +this outrage, the Chief Inspector was fairly certain that he did not +know too much. This was just as well. He knew much less—the +Chief Inspector was positive—than certain other individuals he +had in his mind, but whose arrest seemed to him inexpedient, besides +being a more complicated matter, on account of the rules of the game. +The rules of the game did not protect so much Michaelis, who was an +ex-convict. It would be stupid not to take advantage of legal +facilities, and the journalists who had written him up with emotional +gush would be ready to write him down with emotional indignation.</p> +<p>This prospect, viewed with confidence, had the attraction of a personal +triumph for Chief Inspector Heat. And deep down in his blameless +bosom of an average married citizen, almost unconscious but potent nevertheless, +the dislike of being compelled by events to meddle with the desperate +ferocity of the Professor had its say. This dislike had been strengthened +by the chance meeting in the lane. The encounter did not leave +behind with Chief Inspector Heat that satisfactory sense of superiority +the members of the police force get from the unofficial but intimate +side of their intercourse with the criminal classes, by which the vanity +of power is soothed, and the vulgar love of domination over our fellow-creatures +is flattered as worthily as it deserves.</p> +<p>The perfect anarchist was not recognised as a fellow-creature by +Chief Inspector Heat. He was impossible—a mad dog to be +left alone. Not that the Chief Inspector was afraid of him; on +the contrary, he meant to have him some day. But not yet; he meant +to get hold of him in his own time, properly and effectively according +to the rules of the game. The present was not the right time for +attempting that feat, not the right time for many reasons, personal +and of public service. This being the strong feeling of Inspector +Heat, it appeared to him just and proper that this affair should be +shunted off its obscure and inconvenient track, leading goodness knows +where, into a quiet (and lawful) siding called Michaelis. And +he repeated, as if reconsidering the suggestion conscientiously:</p> +<p>“The bomb. No, I would not say that exactly. We +may never find that out. But it’s clear that he is connected +with this in some way, which we can find out without much trouble.”</p> +<p>His countenance had that look of grave, overbearing indifference +once well known and much dreaded by the better sort of thieves. +Chief Inspector Heat, though what is called a man, was not a smiling +animal. But his inward state was that of satisfaction at the passively +receptive attitude of the Assistant Commissioner, who murmured gently:</p> +<p>“And you really think that the investigation should be made +in that direction?”</p> +<p>“I do, sir.”</p> +<p>“Quite convinced?</p> +<p>“I am, sir. That’s the true line for us to take.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner withdrew the support of his hand from +his reclining head with a suddenness that, considering his languid attitude, +seemed to menace his whole person with collapse. But, on the contrary, +he sat up, extremely alert, behind the great writing-table on which +his hand had fallen with the sound of a sharp blow.</p> +<p>“What I want to know is what put it out of your head till now.”</p> +<p>“Put it out of my head,” repeated the Chief Inspector +very slowly.</p> +<p>“Yes. Till you were called into this room—you know.”</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector felt as if the air between his clothing and his +skin had become unpleasantly hot. It was the sensation of an unprecedented +and incredible experience.</p> +<p>“Of course,” he said, exaggerating the deliberation of +his utterance to the utmost limits of possibility, “if there is +a reason, of which I know nothing, for not interfering with the convict +Michaelis, perhaps it’s just as well I didn’t start the +county police after him.”</p> +<p>This took such a long time to say that the unflagging attention of +the Assistant Commissioner seemed a wonderful feat of endurance. +His retort came without delay.</p> +<p>“No reason whatever that I know of. Come, Chief Inspector, +this finessing with me is highly improper on your part—highly +improper. And it’s also unfair, you know. You shouldn’t +leave me to puzzle things out for myself like this. Really, I +am surprised.”</p> +<p>He paused, then added smoothly: “I need scarcely tell you that +this conversation is altogether unofficial.”</p> +<p>These words were far from pacifying the Chief Inspector. The +indignation of a betrayed tight-rope performer was strong within him. +In his pride of a trusted servant he was affected by the assurance that +the rope was not shaken for the purpose of breaking his neck, as by +an exhibition of impudence. As if anybody were afraid! Assistant +Commissioners come and go, but a valuable Chief Inspector is not an +ephemeral office phenomenon. He was not afraid of getting a broken +neck. To have his performance spoiled was more than enough to +account for the glow of honest indignation. And as thought is +no respecter of persons, the thought of Chief Inspector Heat took a +threatening and prophetic shape. “You, my boy,” he +said to himself, keeping his round and habitually roving eyes fastened +upon the Assistant Commissioner’s face—“you, my boy, +you don’t know your place, and your place won’t know you +very long either, I bet.”</p> +<p>As if in provoking answer to that thought, something like the ghost +of an amiable smile passed on the lips of the Assistant Commissioner. +His manner was easy and business-like while he persisted in administering +another shake to the tight rope.</p> +<p>“Let us come now to what you have discovered on the spot, Chief +Inspector,” he said.</p> +<p>“A fool and his job are soon parted,” went on the train +of prophetic thought in Chief Inspector Heat’s head. But +it was immediately followed by the reflection that a higher official, +even when “fired out” (this was the precise image), has +still the time as he flies through the door to launch a nasty kick at +the shin-bones of a subordinate. Without softening very much the +basilisk nature of his stare, he said impassively:</p> +<p>“We are coming to that part of my investigation, sir.”</p> +<p>“That’s right. Well, what have you brought away +from it?”</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector, who had made up his mind to jump off the rope, +came to the ground with gloomy frankness.</p> +<p>“I’ve brought away an address,” he said, pulling +out of his pocket without haste a singed rag of dark blue cloth. +“This belongs to the overcoat the fellow who got himself blown +to pieces was wearing. Of course, the overcoat may not have been +his, and may even have been stolen. But that’s not at all +probable if you look at this.”</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector, stepping up to the table, smoothed out carefully +the rag of blue cloth. He had picked it up from the repulsive +heap in the mortuary, because a tailor’s name is found sometimes +under the collar. It is not often of much use, but still—He +only half expected to find anything useful, but certainly he did not +expect to find—not under the collar at all, but stitched carefully +on the under side of the lapel—a square piece of calico with an +address written on it in marking ink.</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector removed his smoothing hand.</p> +<p>“I carried it off with me without anybody taking notice,” +he said. “I thought it best. It can always be produced +if required.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner, rising a little in his chair, pulled +the cloth over to his side of the table. He sat looking at it +in silence. Only the number 32 and the name of Brett Street were +written in marking ink on a piece of calico slightly larger than an +ordinary cigarette paper. He was genuinely surprised.</p> +<p>“Can’t understand why he should have gone about labelled +like this,” he said, looking up at Chief Inspector Heat. +“It’s a most extraordinary thing.”</p> +<p>“I met once in the smoking-room of a hotel an old gentleman +who went about with his name and address sewn on in all his coats in +case of an accident or sudden illness,” said the Chief Inspector. +“He professed to be eighty-four years old, but he didn’t +look his age. He told me he was also afraid of losing his memory +suddenly, like those people he has been reading of in the papers.”</p> +<p>A question from the Assistant Commissioner, who wanted to know what +was No. 32 Brett Street, interrupted that reminiscence abruptly. +The Chief Inspector, driven down to the ground by unfair artifices, +had elected to walk the path of unreserved openness. If he believed +firmly that to know too much was not good for the department, the judicious +holding back of knowledge was as far as his loyalty dared to go for +the good of the service. If the Assistant Commissioner wanted +to mismanage this affair nothing, of course, could prevent him. +But, on his own part, he now saw no reason for a display of alacrity. +So he answered concisely:</p> +<p>“It’s a shop, sir.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner, with his eyes lowered on the rag of blue +cloth, waited for more information. As that did not come he proceeded +to obtain it by a series of questions propounded with gentle patience. +Thus he acquired an idea of the nature of Mr Verloc’s commerce, +of his personal appearance, and heard at last his name. In a pause +the Assistant Commissioner raised his eyes, and discovered some animation +on the Chief Inspector’s face. They looked at each other +in silence.</p> +<p>“Of course,” said the latter, “the department has +no record of that man.”</p> +<p>“Did any of my predecessors have any knowledge of what you +have told me now?” asked the Assistant Commissioner, putting his +elbows on the table and raising his joined hands before his face, as +if about to offer prayer, only that his eyes had not a pious expression.</p> +<p>“No, sir; certainly not. What would have been the object? +That sort of man could never be produced publicly to any good purpose. +It was sufficient for me to know who he was, and to make use of him +in a way that could be used publicly.”</p> +<p>“And do you think that sort of private knowledge consistent +with the official position you occupy?”</p> +<p>“Perfectly, sir. I think it’s quite proper. +I will take the liberty to tell you, sir, that it makes me what I am—and +I am looked upon as a man who knows his work. It’s a private +affair of my own. A personal friend of mine in the French police +gave me the hint that the fellow was an Embassy spy. Private friendship, +private information, private use of it—that’s how I look +upon it.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner after remarking to himself that the mental +state of the renowned Chief Inspector seemed to affect the outline of +his lower jaw, as if the lively sense of his high professional distinction +had been located in that part of his anatomy, dismissed the point for +the moment with a calm “I see.” Then leaning his cheek +on his joined hands:</p> +<p>“Well then—speaking privately if you like—how long +have you been in private touch with this Embassy spy?”</p> +<p>To this inquiry the private answer of the Chief Inspector, so private +that it was never shaped into audible words, was:</p> +<p>“Long before you were even thought of for your place here.”</p> +<p>The so-to-speak public utterance was much more precise.</p> +<p>“I saw him for the first time in my life a little more than +seven years ago, when two Imperial Highnesses and the Imperial Chancellor +were on a visit here. I was put in charge of all the arrangements +for looking after them. Baron Stott-Wartenheim was Ambassador +then. He was a very nervous old gentleman. One evening, +three days before the Guildhall Banquet, he sent word that he wanted +to see me for a moment. I was downstairs, and the carriages were +at the door to take the Imperial Highnesses and the Chancellor to the +opera. I went up at once. I found the Baron walking up and +down his bedroom in a pitiable state of distress, squeezing his hands +together. He assured me he had the fullest confidence in our police +and in my abilities, but he had there a man just come over from Paris +whose information could be trusted simplicity. He wanted me to +hear what that man had to say. He took me at once into a dressing-room +next door, where I saw a big fellow in a heavy overcoat sitting all +alone on a chair, and holding his hat and stick in one hand. The +Baron said to him in French ‘Speak, my friend.’ The +light in that room was not very good. I talked with him for some +five minutes perhaps. He certainly gave me a piece of very startling +news. Then the Baron took me aside nervously to praise him up +to me, and when I turned round again I discovered that the fellow had +vanished like a ghost. Got up and sneaked out down some back stairs, +I suppose. There was no time to run after him, as I had to hurry +off after the Ambassador down the great staircase, and see the party +started safe for the opera. However, I acted upon the information +that very night. Whether it was perfectly correct or not, it did +look serious enough. Very likely it saved us from an ugly trouble +on the day of the Imperial visit to the City.</p> +<p>“Some time later, a month or so after my promotion to Chief +Inspector, my attention was attracted to a big burly man, I thought +I had seen somewhere before, coming out in a hurry from a jeweller’s +shop in the Strand. I went after him, as it was on my way towards +Charing Cross, and there seeing one of our detectives across the road, +I beckoned him over, and pointed out the fellow to him, with instructions +to watch his movements for a couple of days, and then report to me. +No later than next afternoon my man turned up to tell me that the fellow +had married his landlady’s daughter at a registrar’s office +that very day at 11.30 a.m., and had gone off with her to Margate for +a week. Our man had seen the luggage being put on the cab. +There were some old Paris labels on one of the bags. Somehow I +couldn’t get the fellow out of my head, and the very next time +I had to go to Paris on service I spoke about him to that friend of +mine in the Paris police. My friend said: ‘From what you +tell me I think you must mean a rather well-known hanger-on and emissary +of the Revolutionary Red Committee. He says he is an Englishman +by birth. We have an idea that he has been for a good few years +now a secret agent of one of the foreign Embassies in London.’ +This woke up my memory completely. He was the vanishing fellow +I saw sitting on a chair in Baron Stott-Wartenheim’s bathroom. +I told my friend that he was quite right. The fellow was a secret +agent to my certain knowledge. Afterwards my friend took the trouble +to ferret out the complete record of that man for me. I thought +I had better know all there was to know; but I don’t suppose you +want to hear his history now, sir?”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner shook his supported head. “The +history of your relations with that useful personage is the only thing +that matters just now,” he said, closing slowly his weary, deep-set +eyes, and then opening them swiftly with a greatly refreshed glance.</p> +<p>“There’s nothing official about them,” said the +Chief Inspector bitterly. “I went into his shop one evening, +told him who I was, and reminded him of our first meeting. He +didn’t as much as twitch an eyebrow. He said that he was +married and settled now, and that all he wanted was not to be interfered +in his little business. I took it upon myself to promise him that, +as long as he didn’t go in for anything obviously outrageous, +he would be left alone by the police. That was worth something +to him, because a word from us to the Custom-House people would have +been enough to get some of these packages he gets from Paris and Brussels +opened in Dover, with confiscation to follow for certain, and perhaps +a prosecution as well at the end of it.”</p> +<p>“That’s a very precarious trade,” murmured the +Assistant Commissioner. “Why did he go in for that?”</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector raised scornful eyebrows dispassionately.</p> +<p>“Most likely got a connection—friends on the Continent—amongst +people who deal in such wares. They would be just the sort he +would consort with. He’s a lazy dog, too—like the +rest of them,”</p> +<p>“What do you get from him in exchange for your protection?”</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector was not inclined to enlarge on the value of Mr +Verloc’s services.</p> +<p>“He would not be much good to anybody but myself. One +has got to know a good deal beforehand to make use of a man like that. +I can understand the sort of hint he can give. And when I want +a hint he can generally furnish it to me.”</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector lost himself suddenly in a discreet reflective +mood; and the Assistant Commissioner repressed a smile at the fleeting +thought that the reputation of Chief Inspector Heat might possibly have +been made in a great part by the Secret Agent Verloc.</p> +<p>“In a more general way of being of use, all our men of the +Special Crimes section on duty at Charing Cross and Victoria have orders +to take careful notice of anybody they may see with him. He meets +the new arrivals frequently, and afterwards keeps track of them. +He seems to have been told off for that sort of duty. When I want +an address in a hurry, I can always get it from him. Of course, +I know how to manage our relations. I haven’t seen him to +speak to three times in the last two years. I drop him a line, +unsigned, and he answers me in the same way at my private address.”</p> +<p>From time to time the Assistant Commissioner gave an almost imperceptible +nod. The Chief Inspector added that he did not suppose Mr Verloc +to be deep in the confidence of the prominent members of the Revolutionary +International Council, but that he was generally trusted of that there +could be no doubt. “Whenever I’ve had reason to think +there was something in the wind,” he concluded, “I’ve +always found he could tell me something worth knowing.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner made a significant remark.</p> +<p>“He failed you this time.”</p> +<p>“Neither had I wind of anything in any other way,” retorted +Chief Inspector Heat. “I asked him nothing, so he could +tell me nothing. He isn’t one of our men. It isn’t +as if he were in our pay.”</p> +<p>“No,” muttered the Assistant Commissioner. “He’s +a spy in the pay of a foreign government. We could never confess +to him.”</p> +<p>“I must do my work in my own way,” declared the Chief +Inspector. “When it comes to that I would deal with the +devil himself, and take the consequences. There are things not +fit for everybody to know.”</p> +<p>“Your idea of secrecy seems to consist in keeping the chief +of your department in the dark. That’s stretching it perhaps +a little too far, isn’t it? He lives over his shop?”</p> +<p>“Who—Verloc? Oh yes. He lives over his shop. +The wife’s mother, I fancy, lives with them.”</p> +<p>“Is the house watched?”</p> +<p>“Oh dear, no. It wouldn’t do. Certain people +who come there are watched. My opinion is that he knows nothing +of this affair.”</p> +<p>“How do you account for this?” The Assistant Commissioner +nodded at the cloth rag lying before him on the table.</p> +<p>“I don’t account for it at all, sir. It’s +simply unaccountable. It can’t be explained by what I know.” +The Chief Inspector made those admissions with the frankness of a man +whose reputation is established as if on a rock. “At any +rate not at this present moment. I think that the man who had +most to do with it will turn out to be Michaelis.”</p> +<p>“You do?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir; because I can answer for all the others.”</p> +<p>“What about that other man supposed to have escaped from the +park?”</p> +<p>“I should think he’s far away by this time,” opined +the Chief Inspector.</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner looked hard at him, and rose suddenly, +as though having made up his mind to some course of action. As +a matter of fact, he had that very moment succumbed to a fascinating +temptation. The Chief Inspector heard himself dismissed with instructions +to meet his superior early next morning for further consultation upon +the case. He listened with an impenetrable face, and walked out +of the room with measured steps.</p> +<p>Whatever might have been the plans of the Assistant Commissioner +they had nothing to do with that desk work, which was the bane of his +existence because of its confined nature and apparent lack of reality. +It could not have had, or else the general air of alacrity that came +upon the Assistant Commissioner would have been inexplicable. +As soon as he was left alone he looked for his hat impulsively, and +put it on his head. Having done that, he sat down again to reconsider +the whole matter. But as his mind was already made up, this did +not take long. And before Chief Inspector Heat had gone very far +on the way home, he also left the building.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner walked along a short and narrow street +like a wet, muddy trench, then crossing a very broad thoroughfare entered +a public edifice, and sought speech with a young private secretary (unpaid) +of a great personage.</p> +<p>This fair, smooth-faced young man, whose symmetrically arranged hair +gave him the air of a large and neat schoolboy, met the Assistant Commissioner’s +request with a doubtful look, and spoke with bated breath.</p> +<p>“Would he see you? I don’t know about that. +He has walked over from the House an hour ago to talk with the permanent +Under-Secretary, and now he’s ready to walk back again. +He might have sent for him; but he does it for the sake of a little +exercise, I suppose. It’s all the exercise he can find time +for while this session lasts. I don’t complain; I rather +enjoy these little strolls. He leans on my arm, and doesn’t +open, his lips. But, I say, he’s very tired, and—well—not +in the sweetest of tempers just now.”</p> +<p>“It’s in connection with that Greenwich affair.”</p> +<p>“Oh! I say! He’s very bitter against you +people. But I will go and see, if you insist.”</p> +<p>“Do. That’s a good fellow,” said the Assistant +Commissioner.</p> +<p>The unpaid secretary admired this pluck. Composing for himself +an innocent face, he opened a door, and went in with the assurance of +a nice and privileged child. And presently he reappeared, with +a nod to the Assistant Commissioner, who passing through the same door +left open for him, found himself with the great personage in a large +room.</p> +<p>Vast in bulk and stature, with a long white face, which, broadened +at the base by a big double chin, appeared egg-shaped in the fringe +of thin greyish whisker, the great personage seemed an expanding man. +Unfortunate from a tailoring point of view, the cross-folds in the middle +of a buttoned black coat added to the impression, as if the fastenings +of the garment were tried to the utmost. From the head, set upward +on a thick neck, the eyes, with puffy lower lids, stared with a haughty +droop on each side of a hooked aggressive nose, nobly salient in the +vast pale circumference of the face. A shiny silk hat and a pair +of worn gloves lying ready on the end of a long table looked expanded +too, enormous.</p> +<p>He stood on the hearthrug in big, roomy boots, and uttered no word +of greeting.</p> +<p>“I would like to know if this is the beginning of another dynamite +campaign,” he asked at once in a deep, very smooth voice. +“Don’t go into details. I have no time for that.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner’s figure before this big and rustic +Presence had the frail slenderness of a reed addresssing an oak. +And indeed the unbroken record of that man’s descent surpassed +in the number of centuries the age of the oldest oak in the country.</p> +<p>“No. As far as one can be positive about anything I can +assure you that it is not.”</p> +<p>“Yes. But your idea of assurances over there,” +said the great man, with a contemptuous wave of his hand towards a window +giving on the broad thoroughfare, “seems to consist mainly in +making the Secretary of State look a fool. I have been told positively +in this very room less than a month ago that nothing of the sort was +even possible.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner glanced in the direction of the window +calmly.</p> +<p>“You will allow me to remark, Sir Ethelred, that so far I have +had no opportunity to give you assurances of any kind.”</p> +<p>The haughty droop of the eyes was focussed now upon the Assistant +Commissioner.</p> +<p>“True,” confessed the deep, smooth voice. “I +sent for Heat. You are still rather a novice in your new berth. +And how are you getting on over there?”</p> +<p>“I believe I am learning something every day.”</p> +<p>“Of course, of course. I hope you will get on.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Sir Ethelred. I’ve learned something +to-day, and even within the last hour or so. There is much in +this affair of a kind that does not meet the eye in a usual anarchist +outrage, even if one looked into it as deep as can be. That’s +why I am here.”</p> +<p>The great man put his arms akimbo, the backs of his big hands resting +on his hips.</p> +<p>“Very well. Go on. Only no details, pray. +Spare me the details.”</p> +<p>“You shall not be troubled with them, Sir Ethelred,” +the Assistant Commissioner began, with a calm and untroubled assurance. +While he was speaking the hands on the face of the clock behind the +great man’s back—a heavy, glistening affair of massive scrolls +in the same dark marble as the mantelpiece, and with a ghostly, evanescent +tick—had moved through the space of seven minutes. He spoke +with a studious fidelity to a parenthetical manner, into which every +little fact—that is, every detail—fitted with delightful +ease. Not a murmur nor even a movement hinted at interruption. +The great Personage might have been the statue of one of his own princely +ancestors stripped of a crusader’s war harness, and put into an +ill-fitting frock coat. The Assistant Commissioner felt as though +he were at liberty to talk for an hour. But he kept his head, +and at the end of the time mentioned above he broke off with a sudden +conclusion, which, reproducing the opening statement, pleasantly surprised +Sir Ethelred by its apparent swiftness and force.</p> +<p>“The kind of thing which meets us under the surface of this +affair, otherwise without gravity, is unusual—in this precise +form at least—and requires special treatment.”</p> +<p>The tone of Sir Ethelred was deepened, full of conviction.</p> +<p>“I should think so—involving the Ambassador of a foreign +power!”</p> +<p>“Oh! The Ambassador!” protested the other, erect +and slender, allowing himself a mere half smile. “It would +be stupid of me to advance anything of the kind. And it is absolutely +unnecessary, because if I am right in my surmises, whether ambassador +or hall porter it’s a mere detail.”</p> +<p>Sir Ethelred opened a wide mouth, like a cavern, into which the hooked +nose seemed anxious to peer; there came from it a subdued rolling sound, +as from a distant organ with the scornful indignation stop.</p> +<p>“No! These people are too impossible. What do they +mean by importing their methods of Crim-Tartary here? A Turk would +have more decency.”</p> +<p>“You forget, Sir Ethelred, that strictly speaking we know nothing +positively—as yet.”</p> +<p>“No! But how would you define it? Shortly?”</p> +<p>“Barefaced audacity amounting to childishness of a peculiar +sort.”</p> +<p>“We can’t put up with the innocence of nasty little children,” +said the great and expanded personage, expanding a little more, as it +were. The haughty drooping glance struck crushingly the carpet +at the Assistant Commissioner’s feet. “They’ll +have to get a hard rap on the knuckles over this affair. We must +be in a position to—What is your general idea, stated shortly? +No need to go into details.”</p> +<p>“No, Sir Ethelred. In principle, I should lay it down +that the existence of secret agents should not be tolerated, as tending +to augment the positive dangers of the evil against which they are used. +That the spy will fabricate his information is a mere commonplace. +But in the sphere of political and revolutionary action, relying partly +on violence, the professional spy has every facility to fabricate the +very facts themselves, and will spread the double evil of emulation +in one direction, and of panic, hasty legislation, unreflecting hate, +on the other. However, this is an imperfect world—”</p> +<p>The deep-voiced Presence on the hearthrug, motionless, with big elbows +stuck out, said hastily:</p> +<p>“Be lucid, please.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Sir Ethelred—An imperfect world. Therefore +directly the character of this affair suggested itself to me, I thought +it should be dealt with with special secrecy, and ventured to come over +here.”</p> +<p>“That’s right,” approved the great Personage, glancing +down complacently over his double chin. “I am glad there’s +somebody over at your shop who thinks that the Secretary of State may +be trusted now and then.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner had an amused smile.</p> +<p>“I was really thinking that it might be better at this stage +for Heat to be replaced by—”</p> +<p>“What! Heat? An ass—eh?” exclaimed +the great man, with distinct animosity.</p> +<p>“Not at all. Pray, Sir Ethelred, don’t put that +unjust interpretation on my remarks.”</p> +<p>“Then what? Too clever by half?”</p> +<p>“Neither—at least not as a rule. All the grounds +of my surmises I have from him. The only thing I’ve discovered +by myself is that he has been making use of that man privately. +Who could blame him? He’s an old police hand. He told +me virtually that he must have tools to work with. It occurred +to me that this tool should be surrendered to the Special Crimes division +as a whole, instead of remaining the private property of Chief Inspector +Heat. I extend my conception of our departmental duties to the +suppression of the secret agent. But Chief Inspector Heat is an +old departmental hand. He would accuse me of perverting its morality +and attacking its efficiency. He would define it bitterly as protection +extended to the criminal class of revolutionises. It would mean +just that to him.”</p> +<p>“Yes. But what do you mean?”</p> +<p>“I mean to say, first, that there’s but poor comfort +in being able to declare that any given act of violence—damaging +property or destroying life—is not the work of anarchism at all, +but of something else altogether—some species of authorised scoundrelism. +This, I fancy, is much more frequent than we suppose. Next, it’s +obvious that the existence of these people in the pay of foreign governments +destroys in a measure the efficiency of our supervision. A spy +of that sort can afford to be more reckless than the most reckless of +conspirators. His occupation is free from all restraint. +He’s without as much faith as is necessary for complete negation, +and without that much law as is implied in lawlessness. Thirdly, +the existence of these spies amongst the revolutionary groups, which +we are reproached for harbouring here, does away with all certitude. +You have received a reassuring statement from Chief Inspector Heat some +time ago. It was by no means groundless—and yet this episode +happens. I call it an episode, because this affair, I make bold +to say, is episodic; it is no part of any general scheme, however wild. +The very peculiarities which surprise and perplex Chief Inspector Heat +establish its character in my eyes. I am keeping clear of details, +Sir Ethelred.”</p> +<p>The Personage on the hearthrug had been listening with profound attention.</p> +<p>“Just so. Be as concise as you can.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner intimated by an earnest deferential gesture +that he was anxious to be concise.</p> +<p>“There is a peculiar stupidity and feebleness in the conduct +of this affair which gives me excellent hopes of getting behind it and +finding there something else than an individual freak of fanaticism. +For it is a planned thing, undoubtedly. The actual perpetrator +seems to have been led by the hand to the spot, and then abandoned hurriedly +to his own devices. The inference is that he was imported from +abroad for the purpose of committing this outrage. At the same +time one is forced to the conclusion that he did not know enough English +to ask his way, unless one were to accept the fantastic theory that +he was a deaf mute. I wonder now—But this is idle. +He has destroyed himself by an accident, obviously. Not an extraordinary +accident. But an extraordinary little fact remains: the address +on his clothing discovered by the merest accident, too. It is +an incredible little fact, so incredible that the explanation which +will account for it is bound to touch the bottom of this affair. +Instead of instructing Heat to go on with this case, my intention is +to seek this explanation personally—by myself, I mean where it +may be picked up. That is in a certain shop in Brett Street, and +on the lips of a certain secret agent once upon a time the confidential +and trusted spy of the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim, Ambassador of a +Great Power to the Court of St James.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner paused, then added: “Those fellows +are a perfect pest.” In order to raise his drooping glance +to the speaker’s face, the Personage on the hearthrug had gradually +tilted his head farther back, which gave him an aspect of extraordinary +haughtiness.</p> +<p>“Why not leave it to Heat?”</p> +<p>“Because he is an old departmental hand. They have their +own morality. My line of inquiry would appear to him an awful +perversion of duty. For him the plain duty is to fasten the guilt +upon as many prominent anarchists as he can on some slight indications +he had picked up in the course of his investigation on the spot; whereas +I, he would say, am bent upon vindicating their innocence. I am +trying to be as lucid as I can in presenting this obscure matter to +you without details.”</p> +<p>“He would, would he?” muttered the proud head of Sir +Ethelred from its lofty elevation.</p> +<p>“I am afraid so—with an indignation and disgust of which +you or I can have no idea. He’s an excellent servant. +We must not put an undue strain on his loyalty. That’s always +a mistake. Besides, I want a free hand—a freer hand than +it would be perhaps advisable to give Chief Inspector Heat. I +haven’t the slightest wish to spare this man Verloc. He +will, I imagine, be extremely startled to find his connection with this +affair, whatever it may be, brought home to him so quickly. Frightening +him will not be very difficult. But our true objective lies behind +him somewhere. I want your authority to give him such assurances +of personal safety as I may think proper.”</p> +<p>“Certainly,” said the Personage on the hearthrug. +“Find out as much as you can; find it out in your own way.”</p> +<p>“I must set about it without loss of time, this very evening,” +said the Assistant Commissioner.</p> +<p>Sir Ethelred shifted one hand under his coat tails, and tilting back +his head, looked at him steadily.</p> +<p>“We’ll have a late sitting to-night,” he said. +“Come to the House with your discoveries if we are not gone home. +I’ll warn Toodles to look out for you. He’ll take +you into my room.”</p> +<p>The numerous family and the wide connections of the youthful-looking +Private Secretary cherished for him the hope of an austere and exalted +destiny. Meantime the social sphere he adorned in his hours of +idleness chose to pet him under the above nickname. And Sir Ethelred, +hearing it on the lips of his wife and girls every day (mostly at breakfast-time), +had conferred upon it the dignity of unsmiling adoption.</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner was surprised and gratified extremely.</p> +<p>“I shall certainly bring my discoveries to the House on the +chance of you having the time to—”</p> +<p>“I won’t have the time,” interrupted the great +Personage. “But I will see you. I haven’t the +time now—And you are going yourself?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Sir Ethelred. I think it the best way.”</p> +<p>The Personage had tilted his head so far back that, in order to keep +the Assistant Commissioner under his observation, he had to nearly close +his eyes.</p> +<p>“H’m. Ha! And how do you propose—Will +you assume a disguise?”</p> +<p>“Hardly a disguise! I’ll change my clothes, of +course.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” repeated the great man, with a sort of absent-minded +loftiness. He turned his big head slowly, and over his shoulder +gave a haughty oblique stare to the ponderous marble timepiece with +the sly, feeble tick. The gilt hands had taken the opportunity +to steal through no less than five and twenty minutes behind his back.</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner, who could not see them, grew a little +nervous in the interval. But the great man presented to him a +calm and undismayed face.</p> +<p>“Very well,” he said, and paused, as if in deliberate +contempt of the official clock. “But what first put you +in motion in this direction?”</p> +<p>“I have been always of opinion,” began the Assistant +Commissioner.</p> +<p>“Ah. Yes! Opinion. That’s of course. +But the immediate motive?”</p> +<p>“What shall I say, Sir Ethelred? A new man’s antagonism +to old methods. A desire to know something at first hand. +Some impatience. It’s my old work, but the harness is different. +It has been chafing me a little in one or two tender places.”</p> +<p>“I hope you’ll get on over there,” said the great +man kindly, extending his hand, soft to the touch, but broad and powerful +like the hand of a glorified farmer. The Assistant Commissioner +shook it, and withdrew.</p> +<p>In the outer room Toodles, who had been waiting perched on the edge +of a table, advanced to meet him, subduing his natural buoyancy.</p> +<p>“Well? Satisfactory?” he asked, with airy importance.</p> +<p>“Perfectly. You’ve earned my undying gratitude,” +answered the Assistant Commissioner, whose long face looked wooden in +contrast with the peculiar character of the other’s gravity, which +seemed perpetually ready to break into ripples and chuckles.</p> +<p>“That’s all right. But seriously, you can’t +imagine how irritated he is by the attacks on his Bill for the Nationalisation +of Fisheries. They call it the beginning of social revolution. +Of course, it is a revolutionary measure. But these fellows have +no decency. The personal attacks—”</p> +<p>“I read the papers,” remarked the Assistant Commissioner.</p> +<p>“Odious? Eh? And you have no notion what a mass +of work he has got to get through every day. He does it all himself. +Seems unable to trust anyone with these Fisheries.”</p> +<p>“And yet he’s given a whole half hour to the consideration +of my very small sprat,” interjected the Assistant Commissioner.</p> +<p>“Small! Is it? I’m glad to hear that. +But it’s a pity you didn’t keep away, then. This fight +takes it out of him frightfully. The man’s getting exhausted. +I feel it by the way he leans on my arm as we walk over. And, +I say, is he safe in the streets? Mullins has been marching his +men up here this afternoon. There’s a constable stuck by +every lamp-post, and every second person we meet between this and Palace +Yard is an obvious ‘tec.’ It will get on his nerves +presently. I say, these foreign scoundrels aren’t likely +to throw something at him—are they? It would be a national +calamity. The country can’t spare him.”</p> +<p>“Not to mention yourself. He leans on your arm,” +suggested the Assistant Commissioner soberly. “You would +both go.”</p> +<p>“It would be an easy way for a young man to go down into history? +Not so many British Ministers have been assassinated as to make it a +minor incident. But seriously now—”</p> +<p>“I am afraid that if you want to go down into history you’ll +have to do something for it. Seriously, there’s no danger +whatever for both of you but from overwork.”</p> +<p>The sympathetic Toodles welcomed this opening for a chuckle.</p> +<p>“The Fisheries won’t kill me. I am used to late +hours,” he declared, with ingenuous levity. But, feeling +an instant compunction, he began to assume an air of statesman-like +moodiness, as one draws on a glove. “His massive intellect +will stand any amount of work. It’s his nerves that I am +afraid of. The reactionary gang, with that abusive brute Cheeseman +at their head, insult him every night.”</p> +<p>“If he will insist on beginning a revolution!” murmured +the Assistant Commissioner.</p> +<p>“The time has come, and he is the only man great enough for +the work,” protested the revolutionary Toodles, flaring up under +the calm, speculative gaze of the Assistant Commissioner. Somewhere +in a corridor a distant bell tinkled urgently, and with devoted vigilance +the young man pricked up his ears at the sound. “He’s +ready to go now,” he exclaimed in a whisper, snatched up his hat, +and vanished from the room.</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner went out by another door in a less elastic +manner. Again he crossed the wide thoroughfare, walked along a +narrow street, and re-entered hastily his own departmental buildings. +He kept up this accelerated pace to the door of his private room. +Before he had closed it fairly his eyes sought his desk. He stood +still for a moment, then walked up, looked all round on the floor, sat +down in his chair, rang a bell, and waited.</p> +<p>“Chief Inspector Heat gone yet?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir. Went away half-an-hour ago.”</p> +<p>He nodded. “That will do.” And sitting still, +with his hat pushed off his forehead, he thought that it was just like +Heat’s confounded cheek to carry off quietly the only piece of +material evidence. But he thought this without animosity. +Old and valued servants will take liberties. The piece of overcoat +with the address sewn on was certainly not a thing to leave about. +Dismissing from his mind this manifestation of Chief Inspector Heat’s +mistrust, he wrote and despatched a note to his wife, charging her to +make his apologies to Michaelis’ great lady, with whom they were +engaged to dine that evening.</p> +<p>The short jacket and the low, round hat he assumed in a sort of curtained +alcove containing a washstand, a row of wooden pegs and a shelf, brought +out wonderfully the length of his grave, brown face. He stepped +back into the full light of the room, looking like the vision of a cool, +reflective Don Quixote, with the sunken eyes of a dark enthusiast and +a very deliberate manner. He left the scene of his daily labours +quickly like an unobtrusive shadow. His descent into the street +was like the descent into a slimy aquarium from which the water had +been run off. A murky, gloomy dampness enveloped him. The +walls of the houses were wet, the mud of the roadway glistened with +an effect of phosphorescence, and when he emerged into the Strand out +of a narrow street by the side of Charing Cross Station the genius of +the locality assimilated him. He might have been but one more +of the queer foreign fish that can be seen of an evening about there +flitting round the dark corners.</p> +<p>He came to a stand on the very edge of the pavement, and waited. +His exercised eyes had made out in the confused movements of lights +and shadows thronging the roadway the crawling approach of a hansom. +He gave no sign; but when the low step gliding along the curbstone came +to his feet he dodged in skilfully in front of the big turning wheel, +and spoke up through the little trap door almost before the man gazing +supinely ahead from his perch was aware of having been boarded by a +fare.</p> +<p>It was not a long drive. It ended by signal abruptly, nowhere +in particular, between two lamp-posts before a large drapery establishment—a +long range of shops already lapped up in sheets of corrugated iron for +the night. Tendering a coin through the trap door the fare slipped +out and away, leaving an effect of uncanny, eccentric ghastliness upon +the driver’s mind. But the size of the coin was satisfactory +to his touch, and his education not being literary, he remained untroubled +by the fear of finding it presently turned to a dead leaf in his pocket. +Raised above the world of fares by the nature of his calling, he contemplated +their actions with a limited interest. The sharp pulling of his +horse right round expressed his philosophy.</p> +<p>Meantime the Assistant Commissioner was already giving his order +to a waiter in a little Italian restaurant round the corner—one +of those traps for the hungry, long and narrow, baited with a perspective +of mirrors and white napery; without air, but with an atmosphere of +their own—an atmosphere of fraudulent cookery mocking an abject +mankind in the most pressing of its miserable necessities. In +this immoral atmosphere the Assistant Commissioner, reflecting upon +his enterprise, seemed to lose some more of his identity. He had +a sense of loneliness, of evil freedom. It was rather pleasant. +When, after paying for his short meal, he stood up and waited for his +change, he saw himself in the sheet of glass, and was struck by his +foreign appearance. He contemplated his own image with a melancholy +and inquisitive gaze, then by sudden inspiration raised the collar of +his jacket. This arrangement appeared to him commendable, and +he completed it by giving an upward twist to the ends of his black moustache. +He was satisfied by the subtle modification of his personal aspect caused +by these small changes. “That’ll do very well,” +he thought. “I’ll get a little wet, a little splashed—”</p> +<p>He became aware of the waiter at his elbow and of a small pile of +silver coins on the edge of the table before him. The waiter kept +one eye on it, while his other eye followed the long back of a tall, +not very young girl, who passed up to a distant table looking perfectly +sightless and altogether unapproachable. She seemed to be a habitual +customer.</p> +<p>On going out the Assistant Commissioner made to himself the observation +that the patrons of the place had lost in the frequentation of fraudulent +cookery all their national and private characteristics. And this +was strange, since the Italian restaurant is such a peculiarly British +institution. But these people were as denationalised as the dishes +set before them with every circumstance of unstamped respectability. +Neither was their personality stamped in any way, professionally, socially +or racially. They seemed created for the Italian restaurant, unless +the Italian restaurant had been perchance created for them. But +that last hypothesis was unthinkable, since one could not place them +anywhere outside those special establishments. One never met these +enigmatical persons elsewhere. It was impossible to form a precise +idea what occupations they followed by day and where they went to bed +at night. And he himself had become unplaced. It would have +been impossible for anybody to guess his occupation. As to going +to bed, there was a doubt even in his own mind. Not indeed in +regard to his domicile itself, but very much so in respect of the time +when he would be able to return there. A pleasurable feeling of +independence possessed him when he heard the glass doors swing to behind +his back with a sort of imperfect baffled thud. He advanced at +once into an immensity of greasy slime and damp plaster interspersed +with lamps, and enveloped, oppressed, penetrated, choked, and suffocated +by the blackness of a wet London night, which is composed of soot and +drops of water.</p> +<p>Brett Street was not very far away. It branched off, narrow, +from the side of an open triangular space surrounded by dark and mysterious +houses, temples of petty commerce emptied of traders for the night. +Only a fruiterer’s stall at the corner made a violent blaze of +light and colour. Beyond all was black, and the few people passing +in that direction vanished at one stride beyond the glowing heaps of +oranges and lemons. No footsteps echoed. They would never +be heard of again. The adventurous head of the Special Crimes +Department watched these disappearances from a distance with an interested +eye. He felt light-hearted, as though he had been ambushed all +alone in a jungle many thousands of miles away from departmental desks +and official inkstands. This joyousness and dispersion of thought +before a task of some importance seems to prove that this world of ours +is not such a very serious affair after all. For the Assistant +Commissioner was not constitutionally inclined to levity.</p> +<p>The policeman on the beat projected his sombre and moving form against +the luminous glory of oranges and lemons, and entered Brett Street without +haste. The Assistant Commissioner, as though he were a member +of the criminal classes, lingered out of sight, awaiting his return. +But this constable seemed to be lost for ever to the force. He +never returned: must have gone out at the other end of Brett Street.</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner, reaching this conclusion, entered the +street in his turn, and came upon a large van arrested in front of the +dimly lit window-panes of a carter’s eating-house. The man +was refreshing himself inside, and the horses, their big heads lowered +to the ground, fed out of nose-bags steadily. Farther on, on the +opposite side of the street, another suspect patch of dim light issued +from Mr Verloc’s shop front, hung with papers, heaving with vague +piles of cardboard boxes and the shapes of books. The Assistant +Commissioner stood observing it across the roadway. There could +be no mistake. By the side of the front window, encumbered by +the shadows of nondescript things, the door, standing ajar, let escape +on the pavement a narrow, clear streak of gas-light within.</p> +<p>Behind the Assistant Commissioner the van and horses, merged into +one mass, seemed something alive—a square-backed black monster +blocking half the street, with sudden iron-shod stampings, fierce jingles, +and heavy, blowing sighs. The harshly festive, ill-omened glare +of a large and prosperous public-house faced the other end of Brett +Street across a wide road. This barrier of blazing lights, opposing +the shadows gathered about the humble abode of Mr Verloc’s domestic +happiness, seemed to drive the obscurity of the street back upon itself, +make it more sullen, brooding, and sinister.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<p>Having infused by persistent importunities some sort of heat into +the chilly interest of several licensed victuallers (the acquaintances +once upon a time of her late unlucky husband), Mrs Verloc’s mother +had at last secured her admission to certain almshouses founded by a +wealthy innkeeper for the destitute widows of the trade.</p> +<p>This end, conceived in the astuteness of her uneasy heart, the old +woman had pursued with secrecy and determination. That was the +time when her daughter Winnie could not help passing a remark to Mr +Verloc that “mother has been spending half-crowns and five shillings +almost every day this last week in cab fares.” But the remark +was not made grudgingly. Winnie respected her mother’s infirmities. +She was only a little surprised at this sudden mania for locomotion. +Mr Verloc, who was sufficiently magnificent in his way, had grunted +the remark impatiently aside as interfering with his meditations. +These were frequent, deep, and prolonged; they bore upon a matter more +important than five shillings. Distinctly more important, and +beyond all comparison more difficult to consider in all its aspects +with philosophical serenity.</p> +<p>Her object attained in astute secrecy, the heroic old woman had made +a clean breast of it to Mrs Verloc. Her soul was triumphant and +her heart tremulous. Inwardly she quaked, because she dreaded +and admired the calm, self-contained character of her daughter Winnie, +whose displeasure was made redoubtable by a diversity of dreadful silences. +But she did not allow her inward apprehensions to rob her of the advantage +of venerable placidity conferred upon her outward person by her triple +chin, the floating ampleness of her ancient form, and the impotent condition +of her legs.</p> +<p>The shock of the information was so unexpected that Mrs Verloc, against +her usual practice when addressed, interrupted the domestic occupation +she was engaged upon. It was the dusting of the furniture in the +parlour behind the shop. She turned her head towards her mother.</p> +<p>“Whatever did you want to do that for?” she exclaimed, +in scandalised astonishment.</p> +<p>The shock must have been severe to make her depart from that distant +and uninquiring acceptance of facts which was her force and her safeguard +in life.</p> +<p>“Weren’t you made comfortable enough here?”</p> +<p>She had lapsed into these inquiries, but next moment she saved the +consistency of her conduct by resuming her dusting, while the old woman +sat scared and dumb under her dingy white cap and lustreless dark wig.</p> +<p>Winnie finished the chair, and ran the duster along the mahogany +at the back of the horse-hair sofa on which Mr Verloc loved to take +his ease in hat and overcoat. She was intent on her work, but +presently she permitted herself another question.</p> +<p>“How in the world did you manage it, mother?”</p> +<p>As not affecting the inwardness of things, which it was Mrs Verloc’s +principle to ignore, this curiosity was excusable. It bore merely +on the methods. The old woman welcomed it eagerly as bringing +forward something that could be talked about with much sincerity.</p> +<p>She favoured her daughter by an exhaustive answer, full of names +and enriched by side comments upon the ravages of time as observed in +the alteration of human countenances. The names were principally +the names of licensed victuallers—“poor daddy’s friends, +my dear.” She enlarged with special appreciation on the +kindness and condescension of a large brewer, a Baronet and an M. P., +the Chairman of the Governors of the Charity. She expressed herself +thus warmly because she had been allowed to interview by appointment +his Private Secretary—“a very polite gentleman, all in black, +with a gentle, sad voice, but so very, very thin and quiet. He +was like a shadow, my dear.”</p> +<p>Winnie, prolonging her dusting operations till the tale was told +to the end, walked out of the parlour into the kitchen (down two steps) +in her usual manner, without the slightest comment.</p> +<p>Shedding a few tears in sign of rejoicing at her daughter’s +mansuetude in this terrible affair, Mrs Verloc’s mother gave play +to her astuteness in the direction of her furniture, because it was +her own; and sometimes she wished it hadn’t been. Heroism +is all very well, but there are circumstances when the disposal of a +few tables and chairs, brass bedsteads, and so on, may be big with remote +and disastrous consequences. She required a few pieces herself, +the Foundation which, after many importunities, had gathered her to +its charitable breast, giving nothing but bare planks and cheaply papered +bricks to the objects of its solicitude. The delicacy guiding +her choice to the least valuable and most dilapidated articles passed +unacknowledged, because Winnie’s philosophy consisted in not taking +notice of the inside of facts; she assumed that mother took what suited +her best. As to Mr Verloc, his intense meditation, like a sort +of Chinese wall, isolated him completely from the phenomena of this +world of vain effort and illusory appearances.</p> +<p>Her selection made, the disposal of the rest became a perplexing +question in a particular way. She was leaving it in Brett Street, +of course. But she had two children. Winnie was provided +for by her sensible union with that excellent husband, Mr Verloc. +Stevie was destitute—and a little peculiar. His position +had to be considered before the claims of legal justice and even the +promptings of partiality. The possession of the furniture would +not be in any sense a provision. He ought to have it—the +poor boy. But to give it to him would be like tampering with his +position of complete dependence. It was a sort of claim which +she feared to weaken. Moreover, the susceptibilities of Mr Verloc +would perhaps not brook being beholden to his brother-in-law for the +chairs he sat on. In a long experience of gentlemen lodgers, Mrs +Verloc’s mother had acquired a dismal but resigned notion of the +fantastic side of human nature. What if Mr Verloc suddenly took +it into his head to tell Stevie to take his blessed sticks somewhere +out of that? A division, on the other hand, however carefully +made, might give some cause of offence to Winnie. No, Stevie must +remain destitute and dependent. And at the moment of leaving Brett +Street she had said to her daughter: “No use waiting till I am +dead, is there? Everything I leave here is altogether your own +now, my dear.”</p> +<p>Winnie, with her hat on, silent behind her mother’s back, went +on arranging the collar of the old woman’s cloak. She got +her hand-bag, an umbrella, with an impassive face. The time had +come for the expenditure of the sum of three-and-sixpence on what might +well be supposed the last cab drive of Mrs Verloc’s mother’s +life. They went out at the shop door.</p> +<p>The conveyance awaiting them would have illustrated the proverb that +“truth can be more cruel than caricature,” if such a proverb +existed. Crawling behind an infirm horse, a metropolitan hackney +carriage drew up on wobbly wheels and with a maimed driver on the box. +This last peculiarity caused some embarrassment. Catching sight +of a hooked iron contrivance protruding from the left sleeve of the +man’s coat, Mrs Verloc’s mother lost suddenly the heroic +courage of these days. She really couldn’t trust herself. +“What do you think, Winnie?” She hung back. +The passionate expostulations of the big-faced cabman seemed to be squeezed +out of a blocked throat. Leaning over from his box, he whispered +with mysterious indignation. What was the matter now? Was +it possible to treat a man so? His enormous and unwashed countenance +flamed red in the muddy stretch of the street. Was it likely they +would have given him a licence, he inquired desperately, if—</p> +<p>The police constable of the locality quieted him by a friendly glance; +then addressing himself to the two women without marked consideration, +said:</p> +<p>“He’s been driving a cab for twenty years. I never +knew him to have an accident.”</p> +<p>“Accident!” shouted the driver in a scornful whisper.</p> +<p>The policeman’s testimony settled it. The modest assemblage +of seven people, mostly under age, dispersed. Winnie followed +her mother into the cab. Stevie climbed on the box. His +vacant mouth and distressed eyes depicted the state of his mind in regard +to the transactions which were taking place. In the narrow streets +the progress of the journey was made sensible to those within by the +near fronts of the houses gliding past slowly and shakily, with a great +rattle and jingling of glass, as if about to collapse behind the cab; +and the infirm horse, with the harness hung over his sharp backbone +flapping very loose about his thighs, appeared to be dancing mincingly +on his toes with infinite patience. Later on, in the wider space +of Whitehall, all visual evidences of motion became imperceptible. +The rattle and jingle of glass went on indefinitely in front of the +long Treasury building—and time itself seemed to stand still.</p> +<p>At last Winnie observed: “This isn’t a very good horse.”</p> +<p>Her eyes gleamed in the shadow of the cab straight ahead, immovable. +On the box, Stevie shut his vacant mouth first, in order to ejaculate +earnestly: “Don’t.”</p> +<p>The driver, holding high the reins twisted around the hook, took +no notice. Perhaps he had not heard. Stevie’s breast +heaved.</p> +<p>“Don’t whip.”</p> +<p>The man turned slowly his bloated and sodden face of many colours +bristling with white hairs. His little red eyes glistened with +moisture. His big lips had a violet tint. They remained +closed. With the dirty back of his whip-hand he rubbed the stubble +sprouting on his enormous chin.</p> +<p>“You mustn’t,” stammered out Stevie violently. +“It hurts.”</p> +<p>“Mustn’t whip,” queried the other in a thoughtful +whisper, and immediately whipped. He did this, not because his +soul was cruel and his heart evil, but because he had to earn his fare. +And for a time the walls of St Stephen’s, with its towers and +pinnacles, contemplated in immobility and silence a cab that jingled. +It rolled too, however. But on the bridge there was a commotion. +Stevie suddenly proceeded to get down from the box. There were +shouts on the pavement, people ran forward, the driver pulled up, whispering +curses of indignation and astonishment. Winnie lowered the window, +and put her head out, white as a ghost. In the depths of the cab, +her mother was exclaiming, in tones of anguish: “Is that boy hurt? +Is that boy hurt?”</p> +<p>Stevie was not hurt, he had not even fallen, but excitement as usual +had robbed him of the power of connected speech. He could do no +more than stammer at the window. “Too heavy. Too heavy.” +Winnie put out her hand on to his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Stevie! Get up on the box directly, and don’t +try to get down again.”</p> +<p>“No. No. Walk. Must walk.”</p> +<p>In trying to state the nature of that necessity he stammered himself +into utter incoherence. No physical impossibility stood in the +way of his whim. Stevie could have managed easily to keep pace +with the infirm, dancing horse without getting out of breath. +But his sister withheld her consent decisively. “The idea! +Whoever heard of such a thing! Run after a cab!” Her +mother, frightened and helpless in the depths of the conveyance, entreated: +“Oh, don’t let him, Winnie. He’ll get lost. +Don’t let him.”</p> +<p>“Certainly not. What next! Mr Verloc will be sorry +to hear of this nonsense, Stevie,—I can tell you. He won’t +be happy at all.”</p> +<p>The idea of Mr. Verloc’s grief and unhappiness acting as usual +powerfully upon Stevie’s fundamentally docile disposition, he +abandoned all resistance, and climbed up again on the box, with a face +of despair.</p> +<p>The cabby turned at him his enormous and inflamed countenance truculently. +“Don’t you go for trying this silly game again, young fellow.”</p> +<p>After delivering himself thus in a stern whisper, strained almost +to extinction, he drove on, ruminating solemnly. To his mind the +incident remained somewhat obscure. But his intellect, though +it had lost its pristine vivacity in the benumbing years of sedentary +exposure to the weather, lacked not independence or sanity. Gravely +he dismissed the hypothesis of Stevie being a drunken young nipper.</p> +<p>Inside the cab the spell of silence, in which the two women had endured +shoulder to shoulder the jolting, rattling, and jingling of the journey, +had been broken by Stevie’s outbreak. Winnie raised her +voice.</p> +<p>“You’ve done what you wanted, mother. You’ll +have only yourself to thank for it if you aren’t happy afterwards. +And I don’t think you’ll be. That I don’t. +Weren’t you comfortable enough in the house? Whatever people’ll +think of us—you throwing yourself like this on a Charity?”</p> +<p>“My dear,” screamed the old woman earnestly above the +noise, “you’ve been the best of daughters to me. As +to Mr Verloc—there—”</p> +<p>Words failing her on the subject of Mr Verloc’s excellence, +she turned her old tearful eyes to the roof of the cab. Then she +averted her head on the pretence of looking out of the window, as if +to judge of their progress. It was insignificant, and went on +close to the curbstone. Night, the early dirty night, the sinister, +noisy, hopeless and rowdy night of South London, had overtaken her on +her last cab drive. In the gas-light of the low-fronted shops +her big cheeks glowed with an orange hue under a black and mauve bonnet.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc’s mother’s complexion had become yellow by +the effect of age and from a natural predisposition to biliousness, +favoured by the trials of a difficult and worried existence, first as +wife, then as widow. It was a complexion, that under the influence +of a blush would take on an orange tint. And this woman, modest +indeed but hardened in the fires of adversity, of an age, moreover, +when blushes are not expected, had positively blushed before her daughter. +In the privacy of a four-wheeler, on her way to a charity cottage (one +of a row) which by the exiguity of its dimensions and the simplicity +of its accommodation, might well have been devised in kindness as a +place of training for the still more straitened circumstances of the +grave, she was forced to hid from her own child a blush of remorse and +shame.</p> +<p>Whatever people will think? She knew very well what they did +think, the people Winnie had in her mind—the old friends of her +husband, and others too, whose interest she had solicited with such +flattering success. She had not known before what a good beggar +she could be. But she guessed very well what inference was drawn +from her application. On account of that shrinking delicacy, which +exists side by side with aggressive brutality in masculine nature, the +inquiries into her circumstances had not been pushed very far. +She had checked them by a visible compression of the lips and some display +of an emotion determined to be eloquently silent. And the men +would become suddenly incurious, after the manner of their kind. +She congratulated herself more than once on having nothing to do with +women, who being naturally more callous and avid of details, would have +been anxious to be exactly informed by what sort of unkind conduct her +daughter and son-in-law had driven her to that sad extremity. +It was only before the Secretary of the great brewer M. P. and Chairman +of the Charity, who, acting for his principal, felt bound to be conscientiously +inquisitive as to the real circumstances of the applicant, that she +had burst into tears outright and aloud, as a cornered woman will weep. +The thin and polite gentleman, after contemplating her with an air of +being “struck all of a heap,” abandoned his position under +the cover of soothing remarks. She must not distress herself. +The deed of the Charity did not absolutely specify “childless +widows.” In fact, it did not by any means disqualify her. +But the discretion of the Committee must be an informed discretion. +One could understand very well her unwillingness to be a burden, etc. +etc. Thereupon, to his profound disappointment, Mrs Verloc’s +mother wept some more with an augmented vehemence.</p> +<p>The tears of that large female in a dark, dusty wig, and ancient +silk dress festooned with dingy white cotton lace, were the tears of +genuine distress. She had wept because she was heroic and unscrupulous +and full of love for both her children. Girls frequently get sacrificed +to the welfare of the boys. In this case she was sacrificing Winnie. +By the suppression of truth she was slandering her. Of course, +Winnie was independent, and need not care for the opinion of people +that she would never see and who would never see her; whereas poor Stevie +had nothing in the world he could call his own except his mother’s +heroism and unscrupulousness.</p> +<p>The first sense of security following on Winnie’s marriage +wore off in time (for nothing lasts), and Mrs Verloc’s mother, +in the seclusion of the back bedroom, had recalled the teaching of that +experience which the world impresses upon a widowed woman. But +she had recalled it without vain bitterness; her store of resignation +amounted almost to dignity. She reflected stoically that everything +decays, wears out, in this world; that the way of kindness should be +made easy to the well disposed; that her daughter Winnie was a most +devoted sister, and a very self-confident wife indeed. As regards +Winnie’s sisterly devotion, her stoicism flinched. She excepted +that sentiment from the rule of decay affecting all things human and +some things divine. She could not help it; not to do so would +have frightened her too much. But in considering the conditions +of her daughter’s married state, she rejected firmly all flattering +illusions. She took the cold and reasonable view that the less +strain put on Mr Verloc’s kindness the longer its effects were +likely to last. That excellent man loved his wife, of course, +but he would, no doubt, prefer to keep as few of her relations as was +consistent with the proper display of that sentiment. It would +be better if its whole effect were concentrated on poor Stevie. +And the heroic old woman resolved on going away from her children as +an act of devotion and as a move of deep policy.</p> +<p>The “virtue” of this policy consisted in this (Mrs Verloc’s +mother was subtle in her way), that Stevie’s moral claim would +be strengthened. The poor boy—a good, useful boy, if a little +peculiar—had not a sufficient standing. He had been taken +over with his mother, somewhat in the same way as the furniture of the +Belgravian mansion had been taken over, as if on the ground of belonging +to her exclusively. What will happen, she asked herself (for Mrs +Verloc’s mother was in a measure imaginative), when I die? +And when she asked herself that question it was with dread. It +was also terrible to think that she would not then have the means of +knowing what happened to the poor boy. But by making him over +to his sister, by going thus away, she gave him the advantage of a directly +dependent position. This was the more subtle sanction of Mrs Verloc’s +mother’s heroism and unscrupulousness. Her act of abandonment +was really an arrangement for settling her son permanently in life. +Other people made material sacrifices for such an object, she in that +way. It was the only way. Moreover, she would be able to +see how it worked. Ill or well she would avoid the horrible incertitude +on the death-bed. But it was hard, hard, cruelly hard.</p> +<p>The cab rattled, jingled, jolted; in fact, the last was quite extraordinary. +By its disproportionate violence and magnitude it obliterated every +sensation of onward movement; and the effect was of being shaken in +a stationary apparatus like a mediæval device for the punishment +of crime, or some very newfangled invention for the cure of a sluggish +liver. It was extremely distressing; and the raising of Mrs Verloc’s +mother’s voice sounded like a wail of pain.</p> +<p>“I know, my dear, you’ll come to see me as often as you +can spare the time. Won’t you?”</p> +<p>“Of course,” answered Winnie shortly, staring straight +before her.</p> +<p>And the cab jolted in front of a steamy, greasy shop in a blaze of +gas and in the smell of fried fish.</p> +<p>The old woman raised a wail again.</p> +<p>“And, my dear, I must see that poor boy every Sunday. +He won’t mind spending the day with his old mother—”</p> +<p>Winnie screamed out stolidly:</p> +<p>“Mind! I should think not. That poor boy will miss +you something cruel. I wish you had thought a little of that, +mother.”</p> +<p>Not think of it! The heroic woman swallowed a playful and inconvenient +object like a billiard ball, which had tried to jump out of her throat. +Winnie sat mute for a while, pouting at the front of the cab, then snapped +out, which was an unusual tone with her:</p> +<p>“I expect I’ll have a job with him at first, he’ll +be that restless—”</p> +<p>“Whatever you do, don’t let him worry your husband, my +dear.”</p> +<p>Thus they discussed on familiar lines the bearings of a new situation. +And the cab jolted. Mrs Verloc’s mother expressed some misgivings. +Could Stevie be trusted to come all that way alone? Winnie maintained +that he was much less “absent-minded” now. They agreed +as to that. It could not be denied. Much less—hardly +at all. They shouted at each other in the jingle with comparative +cheerfulness. But suddenly the maternal anxiety broke out afresh. +There were two omnibuses to take, and a short walk between. It +was too difficult! The old woman gave way to grief and consternation.</p> +<p>Winnie stared forward.</p> +<p>“Don’t you upset yourself like this, mother. You +must see him, of course.”</p> +<p>“No, my dear. I’ll try not to.”</p> +<p>She mopped her streaming eyes.</p> +<p>“But you can’t spare the time to come with him, and if +he should forget himself and lose his way and somebody spoke to him +sharply, his name and address may slip his memory, and he’ll remain +lost for days and days—”</p> +<p>The vision of a workhouse infirmary for poor Stevie—if only +during inquiries—wrung her heart. For she was a proud woman. +Winnie’s stare had grown hard, intent, inventive.</p> +<p>“I can’t bring him to you myself every week,” she +cried. “But don’t you worry, mother. I’ll +see to it that he don’t get lost for long.”</p> +<p>They felt a peculiar bump; a vision of brick pillars lingered before +the rattling windows of the cab; a sudden cessation of atrocious jolting +and uproarious jingling dazed the two women. What had happened? +They sat motionless and scared in the profound stillness, till the door +came open, and a rough, strained whispering was heard:</p> +<p>“Here you are!”</p> +<p>A range of gabled little houses, each with one dim yellow window, +on the ground floor, surrounded the dark open space of a grass plot +planted with shrubs and railed off from the patchwork of lights and +shadows in the wide road, resounding with the dull rumble of traffic. +Before the door of one of these tiny houses—one without a light +in the little downstairs window—the cab had come to a standstill. +Mrs Verloc’s mother got out first, backwards, with a key in her +hand. Winnie lingered on the flagstone path to pay the cabman. +Stevie, after helping to carry inside a lot of small parcels, came out +and stood under the light of a gas-lamp belonging to the Charity. +The cabman looked at the pieces of silver, which, appearing very minute +in his big, grimy palm, symbolised the insignificant results which reward +the ambitious courage and toil of a mankind whose day is short on this +earth of evil.</p> +<p>He had been paid decently—four one-shilling pieces—and +he contemplated them in perfect stillness, as if they had been the surprising +terms of a melancholy problem. The slow transfer of that treasure +to an inner pocket demanded much laborious groping in the depths of +decayed clothing. His form was squat and without flexibility. +Stevie, slender, his shoulders a little up, and his hands thrust deep +in the side pockets of his warm overcoat, stood at the edge of the path, +pouting.</p> +<p>The cabman, pausing in his deliberate movements, seemed struck by +some misty recollection.</p> +<p>“Oh! ’Ere you are, young fellow,” he whispered. +“You’ll know him again—won’t you?”</p> +<p>Stevie was staring at the horse, whose hind quarters appeared unduly +elevated by the effect of emaciation. The little stiff tail seemed +to have been fitted in for a heartless joke; and at the other end the +thin, flat neck, like a plank covered with old horse-hide, drooped to +the ground under the weight of an enormous bony head. The ears +hung at different angles, negligently; and the macabre figure of that +mute dweller on the earth steamed straight up from ribs and backbone +in the muggy stillness of the air.</p> +<p>The cabman struck lightly Stevie’s breast with the iron hook +protruding from a ragged, greasy sleeve.</p> +<p>“Look ’ere, young feller. ’Ow’d <i>you</i> +like to sit behind this ’oss up to two o’clock in the morning +p’raps?”</p> +<p>Stevie looked vacantly into the fierce little eyes with red-edged +lids.</p> +<p>“He ain’t lame,” pursued the other, whispering +with energy. “He ain’t got no sore places on ’im. +’Ere he is. ’Ow would <i>you</i> like—”</p> +<p>His strained, extinct voice invested his utterance with a character +of vehement secrecy. Stevie’s vacant gaze was changing slowly +into dread.</p> +<p>“You may well look! Till three and four o’clock +in the morning. Cold and ’ungry. Looking for fares. +Drunks.”</p> +<p>His jovial purple cheeks bristled with white hairs; and like Virgil’s +Silenus, who, his face smeared with the juice of berries, discoursed +of Olympian Gods to the innocent shepherds of Sicily, he talked to Stevie +of domestic matters and the affairs of men whose sufferings are great +and immortality by no means assured.</p> +<p>“I am a night cabby, I am,” he whispered, with a sort +of boastful exasperation. “I’ve got to take out what +they will blooming well give me at the yard. I’ve got my +missus and four kids at ’ome.”</p> +<p>The monstrous nature of that declaration of paternity seemed to strike +the world dumb. A silence reigned during which the flanks of the +old horse, the steed of apocalyptic misery, smoked upwards in the light +of the charitable gas-lamp.</p> +<p>The cabman grunted, then added in his mysterious whisper:</p> +<p>“This ain’t an easy world.” Stevie’s +face had been twitching for some time, and at last his feelings burst +out in their usual concise form.</p> +<p>“Bad! Bad!”</p> +<p>His gaze remained fixed on the ribs of the horse, self-conscious +and sombre, as though he were afraid to look about him at the badness +of the world. And his slenderness, his rosy lips and pale, clear +complexion, gave him the aspect of a delicate boy, notwithstanding the +fluffy growth of golden hair on his cheeks. He pouted in a scared +way like a child. The cabman, short and broad, eyed him with his +fierce little eyes that seemed to smart in a clear and corroding liquid.</p> +<p>“’Ard on ’osses, but dam’ sight ’arder +on poor chaps like me,” he wheezed just audibly.</p> +<p>“Poor! Poor!” stammered out Stevie, pushing his +hands deeper into his pockets with convulsive sympathy. He could +say nothing; for the tenderness to all pain and all misery, the desire +to make the horse happy and the cabman happy, had reached the point +of a bizarre longing to take them to bed with him. And that, he +knew, was impossible. For Stevie was not mad. It was, as +it were, a symbolic longing; and at the same time it was very distinct, +because springing from experience, the mother of wisdom. Thus +when as a child he cowered in a dark corner scared, wretched, sore, +and miserable with the black, black misery of the soul, his sister Winnie +used to come along, and carry him off to bed with her, as into a heaven +of consoling peace. Stevie, though apt to forget mere facts, such +as his name and address for instance, had a faithful memory of sensations. +To be taken into a bed of compassion was the supreme remedy, with the +only one disadvantage of being difficult of application on a large scale. +And looking at the cabman, Stevie perceived this clearly, because he +was reasonable.</p> +<p>The cabman went on with his leisurely preparations as if Stevie had +not existed. He made as if to hoist himself on the box, but at +the last moment from some obscure motive, perhaps merely from disgust +with carriage exercise, desisted. He approached instead the motionless +partner of his labours, and stooping to seize the bridle, lifted up +the big, weary head to the height of his shoulder with one effort of +his right arm, like a feat of strength.</p> +<p>“Come on,” he whispered secretly.</p> +<p>Limping, he led the cab away. There was an air of austerity +in this departure, the scrunched gravel of the drive crying out under +the slowly turning wheels, the horse’s lean thighs moving with +ascetic deliberation away from the light into the obscurity of the open +space bordered dimly by the pointed roofs and the feebly shining windows +of the little alms-houses. The plaint of the gravel travelled +slowly all round the drive. Between the lamps of the charitable +gateway the slow cortege reappeared, lighted up for a moment, the short, +thick man limping busily, with the horse’s head held aloft in +his fist, the lank animal walking in stiff and forlorn dignity, the +dark, low box on wheels rolling behind comically with an air of waddling. +They turned to the left. There was a pub down the street, within +fifty yards of the gate.</p> +<p>Stevie left alone beside the private lamp-post of the Charity, his +hands thrust deep into his pockets, glared with vacant sulkiness. +At the bottom of his pockets his incapable weak hands were clinched +hard into a pair of angry fists. In the face of anything which +affected directly or indirectly his morbid dread of pain, Stevie ended +by turning vicious. A magnanimous indignation swelled his frail +chest to bursting, and caused his candid eyes to squint. Supremely +wise in knowing his own powerlessness, Stevie was not wise enough to +restrain his passions. The tenderness of his universal charity +had two phases as indissolubly joined and connected as the reverse and +obverse sides of a medal. The anguish of immoderate compassion +was succeeded by the pain of an innocent but pitiless rage. Those +two states expressing themselves outwardly by the same signs of futile +bodily agitation, his sister Winnie soothed his excitement without ever +fathoming its twofold character. Mrs Verloc wasted no portion +of this transient life in seeking for fundamental information. +This is a sort of economy having all the appearances and some of the +advantages of prudence. Obviously it may be good for one not to +know too much. And such a view accords very well with constitutional +indolence.</p> +<p>On that evening on which it may be said that Mrs Verloc’s mother +having parted for good from her children had also departed this life, +Winnie Verloc did not investigate her brother’s psychology. +The poor boy was excited, of course. After once more assuring +the old woman on the threshold that she would know how to guard against +the risk of Stevie losing himself for very long on his pilgrimages of +filial piety, she took her brother’s arm to walk away. Stevie +did not even mutter to himself, but with the special sense of sisterly +devotion developed in her earliest infancy, she felt that the boy was +very much excited indeed. Holding tight to his arm, under the +appearance of leaning on it, she thought of some words suitable to the +occasion.</p> +<p>“Now, Stevie, you must look well after me at the crossings, +and get first into the ’bus, like a good brother.”</p> +<p>This appeal to manly protection was received by Stevie with his usual +docility. It flattered him. He raised his head and threw +out his chest.</p> +<p>“Don’t be nervous, Winnie. Mustn’t be nervous! +’Bus all right,” he answered in a brusque, slurring stammer +partaking of the timorousness of a child and the resolution of a man. +He advanced fearlessly with the woman on his arm, but his lower lip +dropped. Nevertheless, on the pavement of the squalid and wide +thoroughfare, whose poverty in all the amenities of life stood foolishly +exposed by a mad profusion of gas-lights, their resemblance to each +other was so pronounced as to strike the casual passers-by.</p> +<p>Before the doors of the public-house at the corner, where the profusion +of gas-light reached the height of positive wickedness, a four-wheeled +cab standing by the curbstone with no one on the box, seemed cast out +into the gutter on account of irremediable decay. Mrs Verloc recognised +the conveyance. Its aspect was so profoundly lamentable, with +such a perfection of grotesque misery and weirdness of macabre detail, +as if it were the Cab of Death itself, that Mrs Verloc, with that ready +compassion of a woman for a horse (when she is not sitting behind him), +exclaimed vaguely:</p> +<p>“Poor brute:”</p> +<p>Hanging back suddenly, Stevie inflicted an arresting jerk upon his +sister.</p> +<p>“Poor! Poor!” he ejaculated appreciatively. +“Cabman poor too. He told me himself.”</p> +<p>The contemplation of the infirm and lonely steed overcame him. +Jostled, but obstinate, he would remain there, trying to express the +view newly opened to his sympathies of the human and equine misery in +close association. But it was very difficult. “Poor +brute, poor people!” was all he could repeat. It did not +seem forcible enough, and he came to a stop with an angry splutter: +“Shame!” Stevie was no master of phrases, and perhaps +for that very reason his thoughts lacked clearness and precision. +But he felt with greater completeness and some profundity. That +little word contained all his sense of indignation and horror at one +sort of wretchedness having to feed upon the anguish of the other—at +the poor cabman beating the poor horse in the name, as it were, of his +poor kids at home. And Stevie knew what it was to be beaten. +He knew it from experience. It was a bad world. Bad! +Bad!</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc, his only sister, guardian, and protector, could not pretend +to such depths of insight. Moreover, she had not experienced the +magic of the cabman’s eloquence. She was in the dark as +to the inwardness of the word “Shame.” And she said +placidly:</p> +<p>“Come along, Stevie. You can’t help that.”</p> +<p>The docile Stevie went along; but now he went along without pride, +shamblingly, and muttering half words, and even words that would have +been whole if they had not been made up of halves that did not belong +to each other. It was as though he had been trying to fit all +the words he could remember to his sentiments in order to get some sort +of corresponding idea. And, as a matter of fact, he got it at +last. He hung back to utter it at once.</p> +<p>“Bad world for poor people.”</p> +<p>Directly he had expressed that thought he became aware that it was +familiar to him already in all its consequences. This circumstance +strengthened his conviction immensely, but also augmented his indignation. +Somebody, he felt, ought to be punished for it—punished with great +severity. Being no sceptic, but a moral creature, he was in a +manner at the mercy of his righteous passions.</p> +<p>“Beastly!” he added concisely.</p> +<p>It was clear to Mrs Verloc that he was greatly excited.</p> +<p>“Nobody can help that,” she said. “Do come +along. Is that the way you’re taking care of me?”</p> +<p>Stevie mended his pace obediently. He prided himself on being +a good brother. His morality, which was very complete, demanded +that from him. Yet he was pained at the information imparted by +his sister Winnie who was good. Nobody could help that! +He came along gloomily, but presently he brightened up. Like the +rest of mankind, perplexed by the mystery of the universe, he had his +moments of consoling trust in the organised powers of the earth.</p> +<p>“Police,” he suggested confidently.</p> +<p>“The police aren’t for that,” observed Mrs Verloc +cursorily, hurrying on her way.</p> +<p>Stevie’s face lengthened considerably. He was thinking. +The more intense his thinking, the slacker was the droop of his lower +jaw.</p> +<p>And it was with an aspect of hopeless vacancy that he gave up his +intellectual enterprise.</p> +<p>“Not for that?” he mumbled, resigned but surprised. +“Not for that?” He had formed for himself an ideal +conception of the metropolitan police as a sort of benevolent institution +for the suppression of evil. The notion of benevolence especially +was very closely associated with his sense of the power of the men in +blue. He had liked all police constables tenderly, with a guileless +trustfulness. And he was pained. He was irritated, too, +by a suspicion of duplicity in the members of the force. For Stevie +was frank and as open as the day himself. What did they mean by +pretending then? Unlike his sister, who put her trust in face +values, he wished to go to the bottom of the matter. He carried +on his inquiry by means of an angry challenge.</p> +<p>“What for are they then, Winn? What are they for? +Tell me.”</p> +<p>Winnie disliked controversy. But fearing most a fit of black +depression consequent on Stevie missing his mother very much at first, +she did not altogether decline the discussion. Guiltless of all +irony, she answered yet in a form which was not perhaps unnatural in +the wife of Mr Verloc, Delegate of the Central Red Committee, personal +friend of certain anarchists, and a votary of social revolution.</p> +<p>“Don’t you know what the police are for, Stevie? +They are there so that them as have nothing shouldn’t take anything +away from them who have.”</p> +<p>She avoided using the verb “to steal,” because it always +made her brother uncomfortable. For Stevie was delicately honest. +Certain simple principles had been instilled into him so anxiously (on +account of his “queerness”) that the mere names of certain +transgressions filled him with horror. He had been always easily +impressed by speeches. He was impressed and startled now, and +his intelligence was very alert.</p> +<p>“What?” he asked at once anxiously. “Not +even if they were hungry? Mustn’t they?”</p> +<p>The two had paused in their walk.</p> +<p>“Not if they were ever so,” said Mrs Verloc, with the +equanimity of a person untroubled by the problem of the distribution +of wealth, and exploring the perspective of the roadway for an omnibus +of the right colour. “Certainly not. But what’s +the use of talking about all that? You aren’t ever hungry.”</p> +<p>She cast a swift glance at the boy, like a young man, by her side. +She saw him amiable, attractive, affectionate, and only a little, a +very little, peculiar. And she could not see him otherwise, for +he was connected with what there was of the salt of passion in her tasteless +life—the passion of indignation, of courage, of pity, and even +of self-sacrifice. She did not add: “And you aren’t +likely ever to be as long as I live.” But she might very +well have done so, since she had taken effectual steps to that end. +Mr Verloc was a very good husband. It was her honest impression +that nobody could help liking the boy. She cried out suddenly:</p> +<p>“Quick, Stevie. Stop that green ’bus.”</p> +<p>And Stevie, tremulous and important with his sister Winnie on his +arm, flung up the other high above his head at the approaching ’bus, +with complete success.</p> +<p>An hour afterwards Mr Verloc raised his eyes from a newspaper he +was reading, or at any rate looking at, behind the counter, and in the +expiring clatter of the door-bell beheld Winnie, his wife, enter and +cross the shop on her way upstairs, followed by Stevie, his brother-in-law. +The sight of his wife was agreeable to Mr Verloc. It was his idiosyncrasy. +The figure of his brother-in-law remained imperceptible to him because +of the morose thoughtfulness that lately had fallen like a veil between +Mr Verloc and the appearances of the world of senses. He looked +after his wife fixedly, without a word, as though she had been a phantom. +His voice for home use was husky and placid, but now it was heard not +at all. It was not heard at supper, to which he was called by +his wife in the usual brief manner: “Adolf.” He sat +down to consume it without conviction, wearing his hat pushed far back +on his head. It was not devotion to an outdoor life, but the frequentation +of foreign cafés which was responsible for that habit, investing +with a character of unceremonious impermanency Mr Verloc’s steady +fidelity to his own fireside. Twice at the clatter of the cracked +bell he arose without a word, disappeared into the shop, and came back +silently. During these absences Mrs Verloc, becoming acutely aware +of the vacant place at her right hand, missed her mother very much, +and stared stonily; while Stevie, from the same reason, kept on shuffling +his feet, as though the floor under the table were uncomfortably hot. +When Mr Verloc returned to sit in his place, like the very embodiment +of silence, the character of Mrs Verloc’s stare underwent a subtle +change, and Stevie ceased to fidget with his feet, because of his great +and awed regard for his sister’s husband. He directed at +him glances of respectful compassion. Mr Verloc was sorry. +His sister Winnie had impressed upon him (in the omnibus) that Mr Verloc +would be found at home in a state of sorrow, and must not be worried. +His father’s anger, the irritability of gentlemen lodgers, and +Mr Verloc’s predisposition to immoderate grief, had been the main +sanctions of Stevie’s self-restraint. Of these sentiments, +all easily provoked, but not always easy to understand, the last had +the greatest moral efficiency—because Mr Verloc was <i>good</i>. +His mother and his sister had established that ethical fact on an unshakable +foundation. They had established, erected, consecrated it behind +Mr Verloc’s back, for reasons that had nothing to do with abstract +morality. And Mr Verloc was not aware of it. It is but bare +justice to him to say that he had no notion of appearing good to Stevie. +Yet so it was. He was even the only man so qualified in Stevie’s +knowledge, because the gentlemen lodgers had been too transient and +too remote to have anything very distinct about them but perhaps their +boots; and as regards the disciplinary measures of his father, the desolation +of his mother and sister shrank from setting up a theory of goodness +before the victim. It would have been too cruel. And it +was even possible that Stevie would not have believed them. As +far as Mr Verloc was concerned, nothing could stand in the way of Stevie’s +belief. Mr Verloc was obviously yet mysteriously <i>good</i>. +And the grief of a good man is august.</p> +<p>Stevie gave glances of reverential compassion to his brother-in-law. +Mr Verloc was sorry. The brother of Winnie had never before felt +himself in such close communion with the mystery of that man’s +goodness. It was an understandable sorrow. And Stevie himself +was sorry. He was very sorry. The same sort of sorrow. +And his attention being drawn to this unpleasant state, Stevie shuffled +his feet. His feelings were habitually manifested by the agitation +of his limbs.</p> +<p>“Keep your feet quiet, dear,” said Mrs Verloc, with authority +and tenderness; then turning towards her husband in an indifferent voice, +the masterly achievement of instinctive tact: “Are you going out +to-night?” she asked.</p> +<p>The mere suggestion seemed repugnant to Mr Verloc. He shook +his head moodily, and then sat still with downcast eyes, looking at +the piece of cheese on his plate for a whole minute. At the end +of that time he got up, and went out—went right out in the clatter +of the shop-door bell. He acted thus inconsistently, not from +any desire to make himself unpleasant, but because of an unconquerable +restlessness. It was no earthly good going out. He could +not find anywhere in London what he wanted. But he went out. +He led a cortege of dismal thoughts along dark streets, through lighted +streets, in and out of two flash bars, as if in a half-hearted attempt +to make a night of it, and finally back again to his menaced home, where +he sat down fatigued behind the counter, and they crowded urgently round +him, like a pack of hungry black hounds. After locking up the +house and putting out the gas he took them upstairs with him—a +dreadful escort for a man going to bed. His wife had preceded +him some time before, and with her ample form defined vaguely under +the counterpane, her head on the pillow, and a hand under the cheek +offered to his distraction the view of early drowsiness arguing the +possession of an equable soul. Her big eyes stared wide open, +inert and dark against the snowy whiteness of the linen. She did +not move.</p> +<p>She had an equable soul. She felt profoundly that things do +not stand much looking into. She made her force and her wisdom +of that instinct. But the taciturnity of Mr Verloc had been lying +heavily upon her for a good many days. It was, as a matter of +fact, affecting her nerves. Recumbent and motionless, she said +placidly:</p> +<p>“You’ll catch cold walking about in your socks like this.”</p> +<p>This speech, becoming the solicitude of the wife and the prudence +of the woman, took Mr Verloc unawares. He had left his boots downstairs, +but he had forgotten to put on his slippers, and he had been turning +about the bedroom on noiseless pads like a bear in a cage. At +the sound of his wife’s voice he stopped and stared at her with +a somnambulistic, expressionless gaze so long that Mrs Verloc moved +her limbs slightly under the bed-clothes. But she did not move +her black head sunk in the white pillow one hand under her cheek and +the big, dark, unwinking eyes.</p> +<p>Under her husband’s expressionless stare, and remembering her +mother’s empty room across the landing, she felt an acute pang +of loneliness. She had never been parted from her mother before. +They had stood by each other. She felt that they had, and she +said to herself that now mother was gone—gone for good. +Mrs Verloc had no illusions. Stevie remained, however. And +she said:</p> +<p>“Mother’s done what she wanted to do. There’s +no sense in it that I can see. I’m sure she couldn’t +have thought you had enough of her. It’s perfectly wicked, +leaving us like that.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc was not a well-read person; his range of allusive phrases +was limited, but there was a peculiar aptness in circumstances which +made him think of rats leaving a doomed ship. He very nearly said +so. He had grown suspicious and embittered. Could it be +that the old woman had such an excellent nose? But the unreasonableness +of such a suspicion was patent, and Mr Verloc held his tongue. +Not altogether, however. He muttered heavily:</p> +<p>“Perhaps it’s just as well.”</p> +<p>He began to undress. Mrs Verloc kept very still, perfectly +still, with her eyes fixed in a dreamy, quiet stare. And her heart +for the fraction of a second seemed to stand still too. That night +she was “not quite herself,” as the saying is, and it was +borne upon her with some force that a simple sentence may hold several +diverse meanings—mostly disagreeable. How was it just as +well? And why? But she did not allow herself to fall into +the idleness of barren speculation. She was rather confirmed in +her belief that things did not stand being looked into. Practical +and subtle in her way, she brought Stevie to the front without loss +of time, because in her the singleness of purpose had the unerring nature +and the force of an instinct.</p> +<p>“What I am going to do to cheer up that boy for the first few +days I’m sure I don’t know. He’ll be worrying +himself from morning till night before he gets used to mother being +away. And he’s such a good boy. I couldn’t do +without him.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc went on divesting himself of his clothing with the unnoticing +inward concentration of a man undressing in the solitude of a vast and +hopeless desert. For thus inhospitably did this fair earth, our +common inheritance, present itself to the mental vision of Mr Verloc. +All was so still without and within that the lonely ticking of the clock +on the landing stole into the room as if for the sake of company.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, getting into bed on his own side, remained prone and mute +behind Mrs Verloc’s back. His thick arms rested abandoned +on the outside of the counterpane like dropped weapons, like discarded +tools. At that moment he was within a hair’s breadth of +making a clean breast of it all to his wife. The moment seemed +propitious. Looking out of the corners of his eyes, he saw her +ample shoulders draped in white, the back of her head, with the hair +done for the night in three plaits tied up with black tapes at the ends. +And he forbore. Mr Verloc loved his wife as a wife should be loved—that +is, maritally, with the regard one has for one’s chief possession. +This head arranged for the night, those ample shoulders, had an aspect +of familiar sacredness—the sacredness of domestic peace. +She moved not, massive and shapeless like a recumbent statue in the +rough; he remembered her wide-open eyes looking into the empty room. +She was mysterious, with the mysteriousness of living beings. +The far-famed secret agent [delta] of the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim’s +alarmist despatches was not the man to break into such mysteries. +He was easily intimidated. And he was also indolent, with the +indolence which is so often the secret of good nature. He forbore +touching that mystery out of love, timidity, and indolence. There +would be always time enough. For several minutes he bore his sufferings +silently in the drowsy silence of the room. And then he disturbed +it by a resolute declaration.</p> +<p>“I am going on the Continent to-morrow.”</p> +<p>His wife might have fallen asleep already. He could not tell. +As a matter of fact, Mrs Verloc had heard him. Her eyes remained +very wide open, and she lay very still, confirmed in her instinctive +conviction that things don’t bear looking into very much. +And yet it was nothing very unusual for Mr Verloc to take such a trip. +He renewed his stock from Paris and Brussels. Often he went over +to make his purchases personally. A little select connection of +amateurs was forming around the shop in Brett Street, a secret connection +eminently proper for any business undertaken by Mr Verloc, who, by a +mystic accord of temperament and necessity, had been set apart to be +a secret agent all his life.</p> +<p>He waited for a while, then added: “I’ll be away a week +or perhaps a fortnight. Get Mrs Neale to come for the day.”</p> +<p>Mrs Neale was the charwoman of Brett Street. Victim of her +marriage with a debauched joiner, she was oppressed by the needs of +many infant children. Red-armed, and aproned in coarse sacking +up to the arm-pits, she exhaled the anguish of the poor in a breath +of soap-suds and rum, in the uproar of scrubbing, in the clatter of +tin pails.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc, full of deep purpose, spoke in the tone of the shallowest +indifference.</p> +<p>“There is no need to have the woman here all day. I shall +do very well with Stevie.”</p> +<p>She let the lonely clock on the landing count off fifteen ticks into +the abyss of eternity, and asked:</p> +<p>“Shall I put the light out?”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc snapped at his wife huskily.</p> +<p>“Put it out.”</p> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<p>Mr Verloc returning from the Continent at the end of ten days, brought +back a mind evidently unrefreshed by the wonders of foreign travel and +a countenance unlighted by the joys of home-coming. He entered +in the clatter of the shop bell with an air of sombre and vexed exhaustion. +His bag in hand, his head lowered, he strode straight behind the counter, +and let himself fall into the chair, as though he had tramped all the +way from Dover. It was early morning. Stevie, dusting various +objects displayed in the front windows, turned to gape at him with reverence +and awe.</p> +<p>“Here!” said Mr Verloc, giving a slight kick to the gladstone +bag on the floor; and Stevie flung himself upon it, seized it, bore +it off with triumphant devotion. He was so prompt that Mr Verloc +was distinctly surprised.</p> +<p>Already at the clatter of the shop bell Mrs Neale, blackleading the +parlour grate, had looked through the door, and rising from her knees +had gone, aproned, and grimy with everlasting toll, to tell Mrs Verloc +in the kitchen that “there was the master come back.”</p> +<p>Winnie came no farther than the inner shop door.</p> +<p>“You’ll want some breakfast,” she said from a distance.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc moved his hands slightly, as if overcome by an impossible +suggestion. But once enticed into the parlour he did not reject +the food set before him. He ate as if in a public place, his hat +pushed off his forehead, the skirts of his heavy overcoat hanging in +a triangle on each side of the chair. And across the length of +the table covered with brown oil-cloth Winnie, his wife, talked evenly +at him the wifely talk, as artfully adapted, no doubt, to the circumstances +of this return as the talk of Penelope to the return of the wandering +Odysseus. Mrs Verloc, however, had done no weaving during her +husband’s absence. But she had had all the upstairs room +cleaned thoroughly, had sold some wares, had seen Mr Michaelis several +times. He had told her the last time that he was going away to +live in a cottage in the country, somewhere on the London, Chatham, +and Dover line. Karl Yundt had come too, once, led under the arm +by that “wicked old housekeeper of his.” He was “a +disgusting old man.” Of Comrade Ossipon, whom she had received +curtly, entrenched behind the counter with a stony face and a faraway +gaze, she said nothing, her mental reference to the robust anarchist +being marked by a short pause, with the faintest possible blush. +And bringing in her brother Stevie as soon as she could into the current +of domestic events, she mentioned that the boy had moped a good deal.</p> +<p>“It’s all along of mother leaving us like this.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc neither said, “Damn!” nor yet “Stevie +be hanged!” And Mrs Verloc, not let into the secret of his +thoughts, failed to appreciate the generosity of this restraint.</p> +<p>“It isn’t that he doesn’t work as well as ever,” +she continued. “He’s been making himself very useful. +You’d think he couldn’t do enough for us.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc directed a casual and somnolent glance at Stevie, who sat +on his right, delicate, pale-faced, his rosy mouth open vacantly. +It was not a critical glance. It had no intention. And if +Mr Verloc thought for a moment that his wife’s brother looked +uncommonly useless, it was only a dull and fleeting thought, devoid +of that force and durability which enables sometimes a thought to move +the world. Leaning back, Mr Verloc uncovered his head. Before +his extended arm could put down the hat Stevie pounced upon it, and +bore it off reverently into the kitchen. And again Mr Verloc was +surprised.</p> +<p>“You could do anything with that boy, Adolf,” Mrs Verloc +said, with her best air of inflexible calmness. “He would +go through fire for you. He—”</p> +<p>She paused attentive, her ear turned towards the door of the kitchen.</p> +<p>There Mrs Neale was scrubbing the floor. At Stevie’s +appearance she groaned lamentably, having observed that he could be +induced easily to bestow for the benefit of her infant children the +shilling his sister Winnie presented him with from time to time. +On all fours amongst the puddles, wet and begrimed, like a sort of amphibious +and domestic animal living in ash-bins and dirty water, she uttered +the usual exordium: “It’s all very well for you, kept doing +nothing like a gentleman.” And she followed it with the +everlasting plaint of the poor, pathetically mendacious, miserably authenticated +by the horrible breath of cheap rum and soap-suds. She scrubbed +hard, snuffling all the time, and talking volubly. And she was +sincere. And on each side of her thin red nose her bleared, misty +eyes swam in tears, because she felt really the want of some sort of +stimulant in the morning.</p> +<p>In the parlour Mrs Verloc observed, with knowledge:</p> +<p>“There’s Mrs Neale at it again with her harrowing tales +about her little children. They can’t be all so little as +she makes them out. Some of them must be big enough by now to +try to do something for themselves. It only makes Stevie angry.”</p> +<p>These words were confirmed by a thud as of a fist striking the kitchen +table. In the normal evolution of his sympathy Stevie had become +angry on discovering that he had no shilling in his pocket. In +his inability to relieve at once Mrs Neale’s “little ’uns’,” +privations he felt that somebody should be made to suffer for it. +Mrs Verloc rose, and went into the kitchen to “stop that nonsense.” +And she did it firmly but gently. She was well aware that directly +Mrs Neale received her money she went round the corner to drink ardent +spirits in a mean and musty public-house—the unavoidable station +on the <i>via dolorosa</i> of her life. Mrs Verloc’s comment +upon this practice had an unexpected profundity, as coming from a person +disinclined to look under the surface of things. “Of course, +what is she to do to keep up? If I were like Mrs Neale I expect +I wouldn’t act any different.”</p> +<p>In the afternoon of the same day, as Mr Verloc, coming with a start +out of the last of a long series of dozes before the parlour fire, declared +his intention of going out for a walk, Winnie said from the shop:</p> +<p>“I wish you would take that boy out with you, Adolf.”</p> +<p>For the third time that day Mr Verloc was surprised. He stared +stupidly at his wife. She continued in her steady manner. +The boy, whenever he was not doing anything, moped in the house. +It made her uneasy; it made her nervous, she confessed. And that +from the calm Winnie sounded like exaggeration. But, in truth, +Stevie moped in the striking fashion of an unhappy domestic animal. +He would go up on the dark landing, to sit on the floor at the foot +of the tall clock, with his knees drawn up and his head in his hands. +To come upon his pallid face, with its big eyes gleaming in the dusk, +was discomposing; to think of him up there was uncomfortable.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc got used to the startling novelty of the idea. He +was fond of his wife as a man should be—that is, generously. +But a weighty objection presented itself to his mind, and he formulated +it.</p> +<p>“He’ll lose sight of me perhaps, and get lost in the +street,” he said.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc shook her head competently.</p> +<p>“He won’t. You don’t know him. That +boy just worships you. But if you should miss him—”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc paused for a moment, but only for a moment.</p> +<p>“You just go on, and have your walk out. Don’t +worry. He’ll be all right. He’s sure to turn +up safe here before very long.”</p> +<p>This optimism procured for Mr Verloc his fourth surprise of the day.</p> +<p>“Is he?” he grunted doubtfully. But perhaps his +brother-in-law was not such an idiot as he looked. His wife would +know best. He turned away his heavy eyes, saying huskily: “Well, +let him come along, then,” and relapsed into the clutches of black +care, that perhaps prefers to sit behind a horseman, but knows also +how to tread close on the heels of people not sufficiently well off +to keep horses—like Mr Verloc, for instance.</p> +<p>Winnie, at the shop door, did not see this fatal attendant upon Mr +Verloc’s walks. She watched the two figures down the squalid +street, one tall and burly, the other slight and short, with a thin +neck, and the peaked shoulders raised slightly under the large semi-transparent +ears. The material of their overcoats was the same, their hats +were black and round in shape. Inspired by the similarity of wearing +apparel, Mrs Verloc gave rein to her fancy.</p> +<p>“Might be father and son,” she said to herself. +She thought also that Mr Verloc was as much of a father as poor Stevie +ever had in his life. She was aware also that it was her work. +And with peaceful pride she congratulated herself on a certain resolution +she had taken a few years before. It had cost her some effort, +and even a few tears.</p> +<p>She congratulated herself still more on observing in the course of +days that Mr Verloc seemed to be taking kindly to Stevie’s companionship. +Now, when ready to go out for his walk, Mr Verloc called aloud to the +boy, in the spirit, no doubt, in which a man invites the attendance +of the household dog, though, of course, in a different manner. +In the house Mr Verloc could be detected staring curiously at Stevie +a good deal. His own demeanour had changed. Taciturn still, +he was not so listless. Mrs Verloc thought that he was rather +jumpy at times. It might have been regarded as an improvement. +As to Stevie, he moped no longer at the foot of the clock, but muttered +to himself in corners instead in a threatening tone. When asked +“What is it you’re saying, Stevie?” he merely opened +his mouth, and squinted at his sister. At odd times he clenched +his fists without apparent cause, and when discovered in solitude would +be scowling at the wall, with the sheet of paper and the pencil given +him for drawing circles lying blank and idle on the kitchen table. +This was a change, but it was no improvement. Mrs Verloc including +all these vagaries under the general definition of excitement, began +to fear that Stevie was hearing more than was good for him of her husband’s +conversations with his friends. During his “walks” +Mr Verloc, of course, met and conversed with various persons. +It could hardly be otherwise. His walks were an integral part +of his outdoor activities, which his wife had never looked deeply into. +Mrs Verloc felt that the position was delicate, but she faced it with +the same impenetrable calmness which impressed and even astonished the +customers of the shop and made the other visitors keep their distance +a little wonderingly. No! She feared that there were things +not good for Stevie to hear of, she told her husband. It only +excited the poor boy, because he could not help them being so. +Nobody could.</p> +<p>It was in the shop. Mr Verloc made no comment. He made +no retort, and yet the retort was obvious. But he refrained from +pointing out to his wife that the idea of making Stevie the companion +of his walks was her own, and nobody else’s. At that moment, +to an impartial observer, Mr Verloc would have appeared more than human +in his magnanimity. He took down a small cardboard box from a +shelf, peeped in to see that the contents were all right, and put it +down gently on the counter. Not till that was done did he break +the silence, to the effect that most likely Stevie would profit greatly +by being sent out of town for a while; only he supposed his wife could +not get on without him.</p> +<p>“Could not get on without him!” repeated Mrs Verloc slowly. +“I couldn’t get on without him if it were for his good! +The idea! Of course, I can get on without him. But there’s +nowhere for him to go.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc got out some brown paper and a ball of string; and meanwhile +he muttered that Michaelis was living in a little cottage in the country. +Michaelis wouldn’t mind giving Stevie a room to sleep in. +There were no visitors and no talk there. Michaelis was writing +a book.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc declared her affection for Michaelis; mentioned her abhorrence +of Karl Yundt, “nasty old man”; and of Ossipon she said +nothing. As to Stevie, he could be no other than very pleased. +Mr Michaelis was always so nice and kind to him. He seemed to +like the boy. Well, the boy was a good boy.</p> +<p>“You too seem to have grown quite fond of him of late,” +she added, after a pause, with her inflexible assurance.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc tying up the cardboard box into a parcel for the post, +broke the string by an injudicious jerk, and muttered several swear +words confidentially to himself. Then raising his tone to the +usual husky mutter, he announced his willingness to take Stevie into +the country himself, and leave him all safe with Michaelis.</p> +<p>He carried out this scheme on the very next day. Stevie offered +no objection. He seemed rather eager, in a bewildered sort of +way. He turned his candid gaze inquisitively to Mr Verloc’s +heavy countenance at frequent intervals, especially when his sister +was not looking at him. His expression was proud, apprehensive, +and concentrated, like that of a small child entrusted for the first +time with a box of matches and the permission to strike a light. +But Mrs Verloc, gratified by her brother’s docility, recommended +him not to dirty his clothes unduly in the country. At this Stevie +gave his sister, guardian and protector a look, which for the first +time in his life seemed to lack the quality of perfect childlike trustfulness. +It was haughtily gloomy. Mrs Verloc smiled.</p> +<p>“Goodness me! You needn’t be offended. You +know you do get yourself very untidy when you get a chance, Stevie.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc was already gone some way down the street.</p> +<p>Thus in consequence of her mother’s heroic proceedings, and +of her brother’s absence on this villegiature, Mrs Verloc found +herself oftener than usual all alone not only in the shop, but in the +house. For Mr Verloc had to take his walks. She was alone +longer than usual on the day of the attempted bomb outrage in Greenwich +Park, because Mr Verloc went out very early that morning and did not +come back till nearly dusk. She did not mind being alone. +She had no desire to go out. The weather was too bad, and the +shop was cosier than the streets. Sitting behind the counter with +some sewing, she did not raise her eyes from her work when Mr Verloc +entered in the aggressive clatter of the bell. She had recognised +his step on the pavement outside.</p> +<p>She did not raise her eyes, but as Mr Verloc, silent, and with his +hat rammed down upon his forehead, made straight for the parlour door, +she said serenely:</p> +<p>“What a wretched day. You’ve been perhaps to see +Stevie?”</p> +<p>“No! I haven’t,” said Mr Verloc softly, and +slammed the glazed parlour door behind him with unexpected energy.</p> +<p>For some time Mrs Verloc remained quiescent, with her work dropped +in her lap, before she put it away under the counter and got up to light +the gas. This done, she went into the parlour on her way to the +kitchen. Mr Verloc would want his tea presently. Confident +of the power of her charms, Winnie did not expect from her husband in +the daily intercourse of their married life a ceremonious amenity of +address and courtliness of manner; vain and antiquated forms at best, +probably never very exactly observed, discarded nowadays even in the +highest spheres, and always foreign to the standards of her class. +She did not look for courtesies from him. But he was a good husband, +and she had a loyal respect for his rights.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc would have gone through the parlour and on to her domestic +duties in the kitchen with the perfect serenity of a woman sure of the +power of her charms. But a slight, very slight, and rapid rattling +sound grew upon her hearing. Bizarre and incomprehensible, it +arrested Mrs Verloc’s attention. Then as its character became +plain to the ear she stopped short, amazed and concerned. Striking +a match on the box she held in her hand, she turned on and lighted, +above the parlour table, one of the two gas-burners, which, being defective, +first whistled as if astonished, and then went on purring comfortably +like a cat.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, against his usual practice, had thrown off his overcoat. +It was lying on the sofa. His hat, which he must also have thrown +off, rested overturned under the edge of the sofa. He had dragged +a chair in front of the fireplace, and his feet planted inside the fender, +his head held between his hands, he was hanging low over the glowing +grate. His teeth rattled with an ungovernable violence, causing +his whole enormous back to tremble at the same rate. Mrs Verloc +was startled.</p> +<p>“You’ve been getting wet,” she said.</p> +<p>“Not very,” Mr Verloc managed to falter out, in a profound +shudder. By a great effort he suppressed the rattling of his teeth.</p> +<p>“I’ll have you laid up on my hands,” she said, +with genuine uneasiness.</p> +<p>“I don’t think so,” remarked Mr Verloc, snuffling +huskily.</p> +<p>He had certainly contrived somehow to catch an abominable cold between +seven in the morning and five in the afternoon. Mrs Verloc looked +at his bowed back.</p> +<p>“Where have you been to-day?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Nowhere,” answered Mr Verloc in a low, choked nasal +tone. His attitude suggested aggrieved sulks or a severe headache. +The unsufficiency and uncandidness of his answer became painfully apparent +in the dead silence of the room. He snuffled apologetically, and +added: “I’ve been to the bank.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc became attentive.</p> +<p>“You have!” she said dispassionately. “What +for?”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc mumbled, with his nose over the grate, and with marked +unwillingness.</p> +<p>“Draw the money out!”</p> +<p>“What do you mean? All of it?”</p> +<p>“Yes. All of it.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc spread out with care the scanty table-cloth, got two knives +and two forks out of the table drawer, and suddenly stopped in her methodical +proceedings.</p> +<p>“What did you do that for?”</p> +<p>“May want it soon,” snuffled vaguely Mr Verloc, who was +coming to the end of his calculated indiscretions.</p> +<p>“I don’t know what you mean,” remarked his wife +in a tone perfectly casual, but standing stock still between the table +and the cupboard.</p> +<p>“You know you can trust me,” Mr Verloc remarked to the +grate, with hoarse feeling.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc turned slowly towards the cupboard, saying with deliberation:</p> +<p>“Oh yes. I can trust you.”</p> +<p>And she went on with her methodical proceedings. She laid two +plates, got the bread, the butter, going to and fro quietly between +the table and the cupboard in the peace and silence of her home. +On the point of taking out the jam, she reflected practically: “He +will be feeling hungry, having been away all day,” and she returned +to the cupboard once more to get the cold beef. She set it under +the purring gas-jet, and with a passing glance at her motionless husband +hugging the fire, she went (down two steps) into the kitchen. +It was only when coming back, carving knife and fork in hand, that she +spoke again.</p> +<p>“If I hadn’t trusted you I wouldn’t have married +you.”</p> +<p>Bowed under the overmantel, Mr Verloc, holding his head in both hands, +seemed to have gone to sleep. Winnie made the tea, and called +out in an undertone:</p> +<p>“Adolf.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc got up at once, and staggered a little before he sat down +at the table. His wife examining the sharp edge of the carving +knife, placed it on the dish, and called his attention to the cold beef. +He remained insensible to the suggestion, with his chin on his breast.</p> +<p>“You should feed your cold,” Mrs Verloc said dogmatically.</p> +<p>He looked up, and shook his head. His eyes were bloodshot and +his face red. His fingers had ruffled his hair into a dissipated +untidiness. Altogether he had a disreputable aspect, expressive +of the discomfort, the irritation and the gloom following a heavy debauch. +But Mr Verloc was not a debauched man. In his conduct he was respectable. +His appearance might have been the effect of a feverish cold. +He drank three cups of tea, but abstained from food entirely. +He recoiled from it with sombre aversion when urged by Mrs Verloc, who +said at last:</p> +<p>“Aren’t your feet wet? You had better put on your +slippers. You aren’t going out any more this evening.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc intimated by morose grunts and signs that his feet were +not wet, and that anyhow he did not care. The proposal as to slippers +was disregarded as beneath his notice. But the question of going +out in the evening received an unexpected development. It was +not of going out in the evening that Mr Verloc was thinking. His +thoughts embraced a vaster scheme. From moody and incomplete phrases +it became apparent that Mr Verloc had been considering the expediency +of emigrating. It was not very clear whether he had in his mind +France or California.</p> +<p>The utter unexpectedness, improbability, and inconceivableness of +such an event robbed this vague declaration of all its effect. +Mrs Verloc, as placidly as if her husband had been threatening her with +the end of the world, said:</p> +<p>“The idea!”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc declared himself sick and tired of everything, and besides—She +interrupted him.</p> +<p>“You’ve a bad cold.”</p> +<p>It was indeed obvious that Mr Verloc was not in his usual state, +physically and even mentally. A sombre irresolution held him silent +for a while. Then he murmured a few ominous generalities on the +theme of necessity.</p> +<p>“Will have to,” repeated Winnie, sitting calmly back, +with folded arms, opposite her husband. “I should like to +know who’s to make you. You ain’t a slave. No +one need be a slave in this country—and don’t you make yourself +one.” She paused, and with invincible and steady candour. +“The business isn’t so bad,” she went on. “You’ve +a comfortable home.”</p> +<p>She glanced all round the parlour, from the corner cupboard to the +good fire in the grate. Ensconced cosily behind the shop of doubtful +wares, with the mysteriously dim window, and its door suspiciously ajar +in the obscure and narrow street, it was in all essentials of domestic +propriety and domestic comfort a respectable home. Her devoted +affection missed out of it her brother Stevie, now enjoying a damp villegiature +in the Kentish lanes under the care of Mr Michaelis. She missed +him poignantly, with all the force of her protecting passion. +This was the boy’s home too—the roof, the cupboard, the +stoked grate. On this thought Mrs Verloc rose, and walking to +the other end of the table, said in the fulness of her heart:</p> +<p>“And you are not tired of me.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc made no sound. Winnie leaned on his shoulder from +behind, and pressed her lips to his forehead. Thus she lingered. +Not a whisper reached them from the outside world.</p> +<p>The sound of footsteps on the pavement died out in the discreet dimness +of the shop. Only the gas-jet above the table went on purring +equably in the brooding silence of the parlour.</p> +<p>During the contact of that unexpected and lingering kiss Mr Verloc, +gripping with both hands the edges of his chair, preserved a hieratic +immobility. When the pressure was removed he let go the chair, +rose, and went to stand before the fireplace. He turned no longer +his back to the room. With his features swollen and an air of +being drugged, he followed his wife’s movements with his eyes.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc went about serenely, clearing up the table. Her +tranquil voice commented the idea thrown out in a reasonable and domestic +tone. It wouldn’t stand examination. She condemned +it from every point of view. But her only real concern was Stevie’s +welfare. He appeared to her thought in that connection as sufficiently +“peculiar” not to be taken rashly abroad. And that +was all. But talking round that vital point, she approached absolute +vehemence in her delivery. Meanwhile, with brusque movements, +she arrayed herself in an apron for the washing up of cups. And +as if excited by the sound of her uncontradicted voice, she went so +far as to say in a tone almost tart:</p> +<p>“If you go abroad you’ll have to go without me.”</p> +<p>“You know I wouldn’t,” said Mr Verloc huskily, +and the unresonant voice of his private life trembled with an enigmatical +emotion.</p> +<p>Already Mrs Verloc was regretting her words. They had sounded +more unkind than she meant them to be. They had also the unwisdom +of unnecessary things. In fact, she had not meant them at all. +It was a sort of phrase that is suggested by the demon of perverse inspiration. +But she knew a way to make it as if it had not been.</p> +<p>She turned her head over her shoulder and gave that man planted heavily +in front of the fireplace a glance, half arch, half cruel, out of her +large eyes—a glance of which the Winnie of the Belgravian mansion +days would have been incapable, because of her respectability and her +ignorance. But the man was her husband now, and she was no longer +ignorant. She kept it on him for a whole second, with her grave +face motionless like a mask, while she said playfully:</p> +<p>“You couldn’t. You would miss me too much.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc started forward.</p> +<p>“Exactly,” he said in a louder tone, throwing his arms +out and making a step towards her. Something wild and doubtful +in his expression made it appear uncertain whether he meant to strangle +or to embrace his wife. But Mrs Verloc’s attention was called +away from that manifestation by the clatter of the shop bell.</p> +<p>“Shop, Adolf. You go.”</p> +<p>He stopped, his arms came down slowly.</p> +<p>“You go,” repeated Mrs Verloc. “I’ve +got my apron on.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc obeyed woodenly, stony-eyed, and like an automaton whose +face had been painted red. And this resemblance to a mechanical +figure went so far that he had an automaton’s absurd air of being +aware of the machinery inside of him.</p> +<p>He closed the parlour door, and Mrs Verloc moving briskly, carried +the tray into the kitchen. She washed the cups and some other +things before she stopped in her work to listen. No sound reached +her. The customer was a long time in the shop. It was a +customer, because if he had not been Mr Verloc would have taken him +inside. Undoing the strings of her apron with a jerk, she threw +it on a chair, and walked back to the parlour slowly.</p> +<p>At that precise moment Mr Verloc entered from the shop.</p> +<p>He had gone in red. He came out a strange papery white. +His face, losing its drugged, feverish stupor, had in that short time +acquired a bewildered and harassed expression. He walked straight +to the sofa, and stood looking down at his overcoat lying there, as +though he were afraid to touch it.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter?” asked Mrs Verloc in a subdued +voice. Through the door left ajar she could see that the customer +was not gone yet.</p> +<p>“I find I’ll have to go out this evening,” said +Mr Verloc. He did not attempt to pick up his outer garment.</p> +<p>Without a word Winnie made for the shop, and shutting the door after +her, walked in behind the counter. She did not look overtly at +the customer till she had established herself comfortably on the chair. +But by that time she had noted that he was tall and thin, and wore his +moustaches twisted up. In fact, he gave the sharp points a twist +just then. His long, bony face rose out of a turned-up collar. +He was a little splashed, a little wet. A dark man, with the ridge +of the cheek-bone well defined under the slightly hollow temple. +A complete stranger. Not a customer either.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc looked at him placidly.</p> +<p>“You came over from the Continent?” she said after a +time.</p> +<p>The long, thin stranger, without exactly looking at Mrs Verloc, answered +only by a faint and peculiar smile.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc’s steady, incurious gaze rested on him.</p> +<p>“You understand English, don’t you?”</p> +<p>“Oh yes. I understand English.”</p> +<p>There was nothing foreign in his accent, except that he seemed in +his slow enunciation to be taking pains with it. And Mrs Verloc, +in her varied experience, had come to the conclusion that some foreigners +could speak better English than the natives. She said, looking +at the door of the parlour fixedly:</p> +<p>“You don’t think perhaps of staying in England for good?”</p> +<p>The stranger gave her again a silent smile. He had a kindly +mouth and probing eyes. And he shook his head a little sadly, +it seemed.</p> +<p>“My husband will see you through all right. Meantime +for a few days you couldn’t do better than take lodgings with +Mr Giugliani. Continental Hotel it’s called. Private. +It’s quiet. My husband will take you there.”</p> +<p>“A good idea,” said the thin, dark man, whose glance +had hardened suddenly.</p> +<p>“You knew Mr Verloc before—didn’t you? Perhaps +in France?”</p> +<p>“I have heard of him,” admitted the visitor in his slow, +painstaking tone, which yet had a certain curtness of intention.</p> +<p>There was a pause. Then he spoke again, in a far less elaborate +manner.</p> +<p>“Your husband has not gone out to wait for me in the street +by chance?”</p> +<p>“In the street!” repeated Mrs Verloc, surprised. +“He couldn’t. There’s no other door to the house.”</p> +<p>For a moment she sat impassive, then left her seat to go and peep +through the glazed door. Suddenly she opened it, and disappeared +into the parlour.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc had done no more than put on his overcoat. But why +he should remain afterwards leaning over the table propped up on his +two arms as though he were feeling giddy or sick, she could not understand. +“Adolf,” she called out half aloud; and when he had raised +himself:</p> +<p>“Do you know that man?” she asked rapidly.</p> +<p>“I’ve heard of him,” whispered uneasily Mr Verloc, +darting a wild glance at the door.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc’s fine, incurious eyes lighted up with a flash of +abhorrence.</p> +<p>“One of Karl Yundt’s friends—beastly old man.”</p> +<p>“No! No!” protested Mr Verloc, busy fishing for +his hat. But when he got it from under the sofa he held it as +if he did not know the use of a hat.</p> +<p>“Well—he’s waiting for you,” said Mrs Verloc +at last. “I say, Adolf, he ain’t one of them Embassy +people you have been bothered with of late?”</p> +<p>“Bothered with Embassy people,” repeated Mr Verloc, with +a heavy start of surprise and fear. “Who’s been talking +to you of the Embassy people?”</p> +<p>“Yourself.”</p> +<p>“I! I! Talked of the Embassy to you!”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc seemed scared and bewildered beyond measure. His +wife explained:</p> +<p>“You’ve been talking a little in your sleep of late, +Adolf.”</p> +<p>“What—what did I say? What do you know?”</p> +<p>“Nothing much. It seemed mostly nonsense. Enough +to let me guess that something worried you.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc rammed his hat on his head. A crimson flood of anger +ran over his face.</p> +<p>“Nonsense—eh? The Embassy people! I would +cut their hearts out one after another. But let them look out. +I’ve got a tongue in my head.”</p> +<p>He fumed, pacing up and down between the table and the sofa, his +open overcoat catching against the angles. The red flood of anger +ebbed out, and left his face all white, with quivering nostrils. +Mrs Verloc, for the purposes of practical existence, put down these +appearances to the cold.</p> +<p>“Well,” she said, “get rid of the man, whoever +he is, as soon as you can, and come back home to me. You want +looking after for a day or two.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc calmed down, and, with resolution imprinted on his pale +face, had already opened the door, when his wife called him back in +a whisper:</p> +<p>“Adolf! Adolf!” He came back startled. +“What about that money you drew out?” she asked. “You’ve +got it in your pocket? Hadn’t you better—”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc gazed stupidly into the palm of his wife’s extended +hand for some time before he slapped his brow.</p> +<p>“Money! Yes! Yes! I didn’t know what +you meant.”</p> +<p>He drew out of his breast pocket a new pigskin pocket-book. +Mrs Verloc received it without another word, and stood still till the +bell, clattering after Mr Verloc and Mr Verloc’s visitor, had +quieted down. Only then she peeped in at the amount, drawing the +notes out for the purpose. After this inspection she looked round +thoughtfully, with an air of mistrust in the silence and solitude of +the house. This abode of her married life appeared to her as lonely +and unsafe as though it had been situated in the midst of a forest. +No receptacle she could think of amongst the solid, heavy furniture +seemed other but flimsy and particularly tempting to her conception +of a house-breaker. It was an ideal conception, endowed with sublime +faculties and a miraculous insight. The till was not to be thought +of it was the first spot a thief would make for. Mrs Verloc unfastening +hastily a couple of hooks, slipped the pocket-book under the bodice +of her dress. Having thus disposed of her husband’s capital, +she was rather glad to hear the clatter of the door bell, announcing +an arrival. Assuming the fixed, unabashed stare and the stony +expression reserved for the casual customer, she walked in behind the +counter.</p> +<p>A man standing in the middle of the shop was inspecting it with a +swift, cool, all-round glance. His eyes ran over the walls, took +in the ceiling, noted the floor—all in a moment. The points +of a long fair moustache fell below the line of the jaw. He smiled +the smile of an old if distant acquaintance, and Mrs Verloc remembered +having seen him before. Not a customer. She softened her +“customer stare” to mere indifference, and faced him across +the counter.</p> +<p>He approached, on his side, confidentially, but not too markedly +so.</p> +<p>“Husband at home, Mrs Verloc?” he asked in an easy, full +tone.</p> +<p>“No. He’s gone out.”</p> +<p>“I am sorry for that. I’ve called to get from him +a little private information.”</p> +<p>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. Find—Mr Verloc from home, he felt +disappointed.</p> +<p>“I would wait for him a little if I were sure he wouldn’t +be long,” he said.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc volunteered no assurance of any kind.</p> +<p>“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?”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc shook her head.</p> +<p>“Can’t say.”</p> +<p>She turned away to range some boxes on the shelves behind the counter. +Chief Inspector Heat looked at her thoughtfully for a time.</p> +<p>“I suppose you know who I am?” he said.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc glanced over her shoulder. Chief Inspector Heat +was amazed at her coolness.</p> +<p>“Come! You know I am in the police,” he said sharply.</p> +<p>“I don’t trouble my head much about it,” Mrs Verloc +remarked, returning to the ranging of her boxes.</p> +<p>“My name is Heat. Chief Inspector Heat of the Special +Crimes section.”</p> +<p>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.</p> +<p>“So your husband went out a quarter of an hour ago! And +he didn’t say when he would be back?”</p> +<p>“He didn’t go out alone,” Mrs Verloc let fall negligently.</p> +<p>“A friend?”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc touched the back of her hair. It was in perfect +order.</p> +<p>“A stranger who called.”</p> +<p>“I see. What sort of man was that stranger? Would +you mind telling me?”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc did not mind. And when Chief Inspector Heat heard +of a man dark, thin, with a long face and turned up moustaches, he gave +signs of perturbation, and exclaimed:</p> +<p>“Dash me if I didn’t think so! He hasn’t +lost any time.”</p> +<p>He was intensely disgusted in the secrecy of his heart at the unofficial +conduct of his immediate chief. But he was not quixotic. +He lost all desire to await Mr Verloc’s return. What they +had gone out for he did not know, but he imagined it possible that they +would return together. The case is not followed properly, it’s +being tampered with, he thought bitterly.</p> +<p>“I am afraid I haven’t time to wait for your husband,” +he said.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc received this declaration listlessly. Her detachment +had impressed Chief Inspector Heat all along. At this precise +moment it whetted his curiosity. Chief Inspector Heat hung in +the wind, swayed by his passions like the most private of citizens.</p> +<p>“I think,” he said, looking at her steadily, “that +you could give me a pretty good notion of what’s going on if you +liked.”</p> +<p>Forcing her fine, inert eyes to return his gaze, Mrs Verloc murmured:</p> +<p>“Going on! What <i>is</i> going on?”</p> +<p>“Why, the affair I came to talk about a little with your husband.”</p> +<p>That day Mrs Verloc had glanced at a morning paper as usual. +But she had not stirred out of doors. The newsboys never invaded +Brett Street. It was not a street for their business. And +the echo of their cries drifting along the populous thoroughfares, expired +between the dirty brick walls without reaching the threshold of the +shop. Her husband had not brought an evening paper home. +At any rate she had not seen it. Mrs Verloc knew nothing whatever +of any affair. And she said so, with a genuine note of wonder +in her quiet voice.</p> +<p>Chief Inspector Heat did not believe for a moment in so much ignorance. +Curtly, without amiability, he stated the bare fact.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc turned away her eyes.</p> +<p>“I call it silly,” she pronounced slowly. She paused. +“We ain’t downtrodden slaves here.”</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector waited watchfully. Nothing more came.</p> +<p>“And your husband didn’t mention anything to you when +he came home?”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc simply turned her face from right to left in sign of negation. +A languid, baffling silence reigned in the shop. Chief Inspector +Heat felt provoked beyond endurance.</p> +<p>“There was another small matter,” he began in a detached +tone, “which I wanted to speak to your husband about. There +came into our hands a—a—what we believe is—a stolen +overcoat.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc, with her mind specially aware of thieves that evening, +touched lightly the bosom of her dress.</p> +<p>“We have lost no overcoat,” she said calmly.</p> +<p>“That’s funny,” continued Private Citizen Heat. +“I see you keep a lot of marking ink here—”</p> +<p>He took up a small bottle, and looked at it against the gas-jet in +the middle of the shop.</p> +<p>“Purple—isn’t it?” he remarked, setting it +down again. “As I said, it’s strange. Because +the overcoat has got a label sewn on the inside with your address written +in marking ink.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc leaned over the counter with a low exclamation.</p> +<p>“That’s my brother’s, then.”</p> +<p>“Where’s your brother? Can I see him?” asked +the Chief Inspector briskly. Mrs Verloc leaned a little more over +the counter.</p> +<p>“No. He isn’t here. I wrote that label myself.”</p> +<p>“Where’s your brother now?”</p> +<p>“He’s been away living with—a friend—in the +country.”</p> +<p>“The overcoat comes from the country. And what’s +the name of the friend?”</p> +<p>“Michaelis,” confessed Mrs Verloc in an awed whisper.</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector let out a whistle. His eyes snapped.</p> +<p>“Just so. Capital. And your brother now, what’s +he like—a sturdy, darkish chap—eh?”</p> +<p>“Oh no,” exclaimed Mrs Verloc fervently. “That +must be the thief. Stevie’s slight and fair.”</p> +<p>“Good,” said the Chief Inspector in an approving tone. +And while Mrs Verloc, wavering between alarm and wonder, stared at him, +he sought for information. Why have the address sewn like this +inside the coat? And he heard that the mangled remains he had +inspected that morning with extreme repugnance were those of a youth, +nervous, absent-minded, peculiar, and also that the woman who was speaking +to him had had the charge of that boy since he was a baby.</p> +<p>“Easily excitable?” he suggested.</p> +<p>“Oh yes. He is. But how did he come to lose his +coat—”</p> +<p>Chief Inspector Heat suddenly pulled out a pink newspaper he had +bought less than half-an-hour ago. He was interested in horses. +Forced by his calling into an attitude of doubt and suspicion towards +his fellow-citizens, Chief Inspector Heat relieved the instinct of credulity +implanted in the human breast by putting unbounded faith in the sporting +prophets of that particular evening publication. Dropping the +extra special on to the counter, he plunged his hand again into his +pocket, and pulling out the piece of cloth fate had presented him with +out of a heap of things that seemed to have been collected in shambles +and rag shops, he offered it to Mrs Verloc for inspection.</p> +<p>“I suppose you recognise this?”</p> +<p>She took it mechanically in both her hands. Her eyes seemed +to grow bigger as she looked.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she whispered, then raised her head, and staggered +backward a little.</p> +<p>“Whatever for is it torn out like this?”</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector snatched across the counter the cloth out of +her hands, and she sat heavily on the chair. He thought: identification’s +perfect. And in that moment he had a glimpse into the whole amazing +truth. Verloc was the “other man.”</p> +<p>“Mrs Verloc,” he said, “it strikes me that you +know more of this bomb affair than even you yourself are aware of.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc sat still, amazed, lost in boundless astonishment. +What was the connection? And she became so rigid all over that +she was not able to turn her head at the clatter of the bell, which +caused the private investigator Heat to spin round on his heel. +Mr Verloc had shut the door, and for a moment the two men looked at +each other.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, without looking at his wife, walked up to the Chief Inspector, +who was relieved to see him return alone.</p> +<p>“You here!” muttered Mr Verloc heavily. “Who +are you after?”</p> +<p>“No one,” said Chief Inspector Heat in a low tone. +“Look here, I would like a word or two with you.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, still pale, had brought an air of resolution with him. +Still he didn’t look at his wife. He said:</p> +<p>“Come in here, then.” And he led the way into the +parlour.</p> +<p>The door was hardly shut when Mrs Verloc, jumping up from the chair, +ran to it as if to fling it open, but instead of doing so fell on her +knees, with her ear to the keyhole. The two men must have stopped +directly they were through, because she heard plainly the Chief Inspector’s +voice, though she could not see his finger pressed against her husband’s +breast emphatically.</p> +<p>“You are the other man, Verloc. Two men were seen entering +the park.”</p> +<p>And the voice of Mr Verloc said:</p> +<p>“Well, take me now. What’s to prevent you? +You have the right.”</p> +<p>“Oh no! I know too well who you have been giving yourself +away to. He’ll have to manage this little affair all by +himself. But don’t you make a mistake, it’s I who +found you out.”</p> +<p>Then she heard only muttering. Inspector Heat must have been +showing to Mr Verloc the piece of Stevie’s overcoat, because Stevie’s +sister, guardian, and protector heard her husband a little louder.</p> +<p>“I never noticed that she had hit upon that dodge.”</p> +<p>Again for a time Mrs Verloc heard nothing but murmurs, whose mysteriousness +was less nightmarish to her brain than the horrible suggestions of shaped +words. Then Chief Inspector Heat, on the other side of the door, +raised his voice.</p> +<p>“You must have been mad.”</p> +<p>And Mr Verloc’s voice answered, with a sort of gloomy fury:</p> +<p>“I have been mad for a month or more, but I am not mad now. +It’s all over. It shall all come out of my head, and hang +the consequences.”</p> +<p>There was a silence, and then Private Citizen Heat murmured:</p> +<p>“What’s coming out?”</p> +<p>“Everything,” exclaimed the voice of Mr Verloc, and then +sank very low.</p> +<p>After a while it rose again.</p> +<p>“You have known me for several years now, and you’ve +found me useful, too. You know I was a straight man. Yes, +straight.”</p> +<p>This appeal to old acquaintance must have been extremely distasteful +to the Chief Inspector.</p> +<p>His voice took on a warning note.</p> +<p>“Don’t you trust so much to what you have been promised. +If I were you I would clear out. I don’t think we will run +after you.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc was heard to laugh a little.</p> +<p>“Oh yes; you hope the others will get rid of me for you—don’t +you? No, no; you don’t shake me off now. I have been +a straight man to those people too long, and now everything must come +out.”</p> +<p>“Let it come out, then,” the indifferent voice of Chief +Inspector Heat assented. “But tell me now how did you get +away.”</p> +<p>“I was making for Chesterfield Walk,” Mrs Verloc heard +her husband’s voice, “when I heard the bang. I started +running then. Fog. I saw no one till I was past the end +of George Street. Don’t think I met anyone till then.”</p> +<p>“So easy as that!” marvelled the voice of Chief Inspector +Heat. “The bang startled you, eh?”</p> +<p>“Yes; it came too soon,” confessed the gloomy, husky +voice of Mr Verloc.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc pressed her ear to the keyhole; her lips were blue, her +hands cold as ice, and her pale face, in which the two eyes seemed like +two black holes, felt to her as if it were enveloped in flames.</p> +<p>On the other side of the door the voices sank very low. She +caught words now and then, sometimes in her husband’s voice, sometimes +in the smooth tones of the Chief Inspector. She heard this last +say:</p> +<p>“We believe he stumbled against the root of a tree?”</p> +<p>There was a husky, voluble murmur, which lasted for some time, and +then the Chief Inspector, as if answering some inquiry, spoke emphatically.</p> +<p>“Of course. Blown to small bits: limbs, gravel, clothing, +bones, splinters—all mixed up together. I tell you they +had to fetch a shovel to gather him up with.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc sprang up suddenly from her crouching position, and stopping +her ears, reeled to and fro between the counter and the shelves on the +wall towards the chair. Her crazed eyes noted the sporting sheet +left by the Chief Inspector, and as she knocked herself against the +counter she snatched it up, fell into the chair, tore the optimistic, +rosy sheet right across in trying to open it, then flung it on the floor. +On the other side of the door, Chief Inspector Heat was saying to Mr +Verloc, the secret agent:</p> +<p>“So your defence will be practically a full confession?”</p> +<p>“It will. I am going to tell the whole story.”</p> +<p>“You won’t be believed as much as you fancy you will.”</p> +<p>And the Chief Inspector remained thoughtful. The turn this +affair was taking meant the disclosure of many things—the laying +waste of fields of knowledge, which, cultivated by a capable man, had +a distinct value for the individual and for the society. It was +sorry, sorry meddling. It would leave Michaelis unscathed; it +would drag to light the Professor’s home industry; disorganise +the whole system of supervision; make no end of a row in the papers, +which, from that point of view, appeared to him by a sudden illumination +as invariably written by fools for the reading of imbeciles. Mentally +he agreed with the words Mr Verloc let fall at last in answer to his +last remark.</p> +<p>“Perhaps not. But it will upset many things. I +have been a straight man, and I shall keep straight in this—”</p> +<p>“If they let you,” said the Chief Inspector cynically. +“You will be preached to, no doubt, before they put you into the +dock. And in the end you may yet get let in for a sentence that +will surprise you. I wouldn’t trust too much the gentleman +who’s been talking to you.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc listened, frowning.</p> +<p>“My advice to you is to clear out while you may. I have +no instructions. There are some of them,” continued Chief +Inspector Heat, laying a peculiar stress on the word “them,” +“who think you are already out of the world.”</p> +<p>“Indeed!” Mr Verloc was moved to say. Though since +his return from Greenwich he had spent most of his time sitting in the +tap-room of an obscure little public-house, he could hardly have hoped +for such favourable news.</p> +<p>“That’s the impression about you.” The Chief +Inspector nodded at him. “Vanish. Clear out.”</p> +<p>“Where to?” snarled Mr Verloc. He raised his head, +and gazing at the closed door of the parlour, muttered feelingly: “I +only wish you would take me away to-night. I would go quietly.”</p> +<p>“I daresay,” assented sardonically the Chief Inspector, +following the direction of his glance.</p> +<p>The brow of Mr Verloc broke into slight moisture. He lowered +his husky voice confidentially before the unmoved Chief Inspector.</p> +<p>“The lad was half-witted, irresponsible. Any court would +have seen that at once. Only fit for the asylum. And that +was the worst that would’ve happened to him if—”</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector, his hand on the door handle, whispered into +Mr Verloc’s face.</p> +<p>“He may’ve been half-witted, but you must have been crazy. +What drove you off your head like this?”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, thinking of Mr Vladimir, did not hesitate in the choice +of words.</p> +<p>“A Hyperborean swine,” he hissed forcibly. “A +what you might call a—a gentleman.”</p> +<p>The Chief Inspector, steady-eyed, nodded briefly his comprehension, +and opened the door. Mrs Verloc, behind the counter, might have +heard but did not see his departure, pursued by the aggressive clatter +of the bell. She sat at her post of duty behind the counter. +She sat rigidly erect in the chair with two dirty pink pieces of paper +lying spread out at her feet. The palms of her hands were pressed +convulsively to her face, with the tips of the fingers contracted against +the forehead, as though the skin had been a mask which she was ready +to tear off violently. The perfect immobility of her pose expressed +the agitation of rage and despair, all the potential violence of tragic +passions, better than any shallow display of shrieks, with the beating +of a distracted head against the walls, could have done. Chief +Inspector Heat, crossing the shop at his busy, swinging pace, gave her +only a cursory glance. And when the cracked bell ceased to tremble +on its curved ribbon of steel nothing stirred near Mrs Verloc, as if +her attitude had the locking power of a spell. Even the butterfly-shaped +gas flames posed on the ends of the suspended T-bracket burned without +a quiver. In that shop of shady wares fitted with deal shelves +painted a dull brown, which seemed to devour the sheen of the light, +the gold circlet of the wedding ring on Mrs Verloc’s left hand +glittered exceedingly with the untarnished glory of a piece from some +splendid treasure of jewels, dropped in a dust-bin.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner, driven rapidly in a hansom from the neighbourhood +of Soho in the direction of Westminster, got out at the very centre +of the Empire on which the sun never sets. Some stalwart constables, +who did not seem particularly impressed by the duty of watching the +august spot, saluted him. Penetrating through a portal by no means +lofty into the precincts of the House which is <i>the</i> House, <i>par +excellence</i> in the minds of many millions of men, he was met at last +by the volatile and revolutionary Toodles.</p> +<p>That neat and nice young man concealed his astonishment at the early +appearance of the Assistant Commissioner, whom he had been told to look +out for some time about midnight. His turning up so early he concluded +to be the sign that things, whatever they were, had gone wrong. +With an extremely ready sympathy, which in nice youngsters goes often +with a joyous temperament, he felt sorry for the great Presence he called +“The Chief,” and also for the Assistant Commissioner, whose +face appeared to him more ominously wooden than ever before, and quite +wonderfully long. “What a queer, foreign-looking chap he +is,” he thought to himself, smiling from a distance with friendly +buoyancy. And directly they came together he began to talk with +the kind intention of burying the awkwardness of failure under a heap +of words. It looked as if the great assault threatened for that +night were going to fizzle out. An inferior henchman of “that +brute Cheeseman” was up boring mercilessly a very thin House with +some shamelessly cooked statistics. He, Toodles, hoped he would +bore them into a count out every minute. But then he might be +only marking time to let that guzzling Cheeseman dine at his leisure. +Anyway, the Chief could not be persuaded to go home.</p> +<p>“He will see you at once, I think. He’s sitting +all alone in his room thinking of all the fishes of the sea,” +concluded Toodles airily. “Come along.”</p> +<p>Notwithstanding the kindness of his disposition, the young private +secretary (unpaid) was accessible to the common failings of humanity. +He did not wish to harrow the feelings of the Assistant Commissioner, +who looked to him uncommonly like a man who has made a mess of his job. +But his curiosity was too strong to be restrained by mere compassion. +He could not help, as they went along, to throw over his shoulder lightly:</p> +<p>“And your sprat?”</p> +<p>“Got him,” answered the Assistant Commissioner with a +concision which did not mean to be repellent in the least.</p> +<p>“Good. You’ve no idea how these great men dislike +to be disappointed in small things.”</p> +<p>After this profound observation the experienced Toodles seemed to +reflect. At any rate he said nothing for quite two seconds. +Then:</p> +<p>“I’m glad. But—I say—is it really such +a very small thing as you make it out?”</p> +<p>“Do you know what may be done with a sprat?” the Assistant +Commissioner asked in his turn.</p> +<p>“He’s sometimes put into a sardine box,” chuckled +Toodles, whose erudition on the subject of the fishing industry was +fresh and, in comparison with his ignorance of all other industrial +matters, immense. “There are sardine canneries on the Spanish +coast which—”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner interrupted the apprentice statesman.</p> +<p>“Yes. Yes. But a sprat is also thrown away sometimes +in order to catch a whale.”</p> +<p>“A whale. Phew!” exclaimed Toodles, with bated +breath. “You’re after a whale, then?”</p> +<p>“Not exactly. What I am after is more like a dog-fish. +You don’t know perhaps what a dog-fish is like.”</p> +<p>“Yes; I do. We’re buried in special books up to +our necks—whole shelves full of them—with plates. . . . +It’s a noxious, rascally-looking, altogether detestable beast, +with a sort of smooth face and moustaches.”</p> +<p>“Described to a T,” commended the Assistant Commissioner. +“Only mine is clean-shaven altogether. You’ve seen +him. It’s a witty fish.”</p> +<p>“I have seen him!” said Toodles incredulously. +“I can’t conceive where I could have seen him.”</p> +<p>“At the Explorers, I should say,” dropped the Assistant +Commissioner calmly. At the name of that extremely exclusive club +Toodles looked scared, and stopped short.</p> +<p>“Nonsense,” he protested, but in an awe-struck tone. +“What do you mean? A member?”</p> +<p>“Honorary,” muttered the Assistant Commissioner through +his teeth.</p> +<p>“Heavens!”</p> +<p>Toodles looked so thunderstruck that the Assistant Commissioner smiled +faintly.</p> +<p>“That’s between ourselves strictly,” he said.</p> +<p>“That’s the beastliest thing I’ve ever heard in +my life,” declared Toodles feebly, as if astonishment had robbed +him of all his buoyant strength in a second.</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner gave him an unsmiling glance. Till +they came to the door of the great man’s room, Toodles preserved +a scandalised and solemn silence, as though he were offended with the +Assistant Commissioner for exposing such an unsavoury and disturbing +fact. It revolutionised his idea of the Explorers’ Club’s +extreme selectness, of its social purity. Toodles was revolutionary +only in politics; his social beliefs and personal feelings he wished +to preserve unchanged through all the years allotted to him on this +earth which, upon the whole, he believed to be a nice place to live +on.</p> +<p>He stood aside.</p> +<p>“Go in without knocking,” he said.</p> +<p>Shades of green silk fitted low over all the lights imparted to the +room something of a forest’s deep gloom. The haughty eyes +were physically the great man’s weak point. This point was +wrapped up in secrecy. When an opportunity offered, he rested +them conscientiously.</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner entering saw at first only a big pale +hand supporting a big head, and concealing the upper part of a big pale +face. An open despatch-box stood on the writing-table near a few +oblong sheets of paper and a scattered handful of quill pens. +There was absolutely nothing else on the large flat surface except a +little bronze statuette draped in a toga, mysteriously watchful in its +shadowy immobility. The Assistant Commissioner, invited to take +a chair, sat down. In the dim light, the salient points of his +personality, the long face, the black hair, his lankness, made him look +more foreign than ever.</p> +<p>The great man manifested no surprise, no eagerness, no sentiment +whatever. The attitude in which he rested his menaced eyes was +profoundly meditative. He did not alter it the least bit. +But his tone was not dreamy.</p> +<p>“Well! What is it that you’ve found out already? +You came upon something unexpected on the first step.”</p> +<p>“Not exactly unexpected, Sir Ethelred. What I mainly +came upon was a psychological state.”</p> +<p>The Great Presence made a slight movement. “You must +be lucid, please.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Sir Ethelred. You know no doubt that most criminals +at some time or other feel an irresistible need of confessing—of +making a clean breast of it to somebody—to anybody. And +they do it often to the police. In that Verloc whom Heat wished +so much to screen I’ve found a man in that particular psychological +state. The man, figuratively speaking, flung himself on my breast. +It was enough on my part to whisper to him who I was and to add ‘I +know that you are at the bottom of this affair.’ It must +have seemed miraculous to him that we should know already, but he took +it all in the stride. The wonderfulness of it never checked him +for a moment. There remained for me only to put to him the two +questions: Who put you up to it? and Who was the man who did it? +He answered the first with remarkable emphasis. As to the second +question, I gather that the fellow with the bomb was his brother-in-law—quite +a lad—a weak-minded creature. . . . It is rather a curious affair—too +long perhaps to state fully just now.”</p> +<p>“What then have you learned?” asked the great man.</p> +<p>“First, I’ve learned that the ex-convict Michaelis had +nothing to do with it, though indeed the lad had been living with him +temporarily in the country up to eight o’clock this morning. +It is more than likely that Michaelis knows nothing of it to this moment.”</p> +<p>“You are positive as to that?” asked the great man.</p> +<p>“Quite certain, Sir Ethelred. This fellow Verloc went +there this morning, and took away the lad on the pretence of going out +for a walk in the lanes. As it was not the first time that he +did this, Michaelis could not have the slightest suspicion of anything +unusual. For the rest, Sir Ethelred, the indignation of this man +Verloc had left nothing in doubt—nothing whatever. He had +been driven out of his mind almost by an extraordinary performance, +which for you or me it would be difficult to take as seriously meant, +but which produced a great impression obviously on him.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner then imparted briefly to the great man, +who sat still, resting his eyes under the screen of his hand, Mr Verloc’s +appreciation of Mr Vladimir’s proceedings and character. +The Assistant Commissioner did not seem to refuse it a certain amount +of competency. But the great personage remarked:</p> +<p>“All this seems very fantastic.”</p> +<p>“Doesn’t it? One would think a ferocious joke. +But our man took it seriously, it appears. He felt himself threatened. +In the time, you know, he was in direct communication with old Stott-Wartenheim +himself, and had come to regard his services as indispensable. +It was an extremely rude awakening. I imagine that he lost his +head. He became angry and frightened. Upon my word, my impression +is that he thought these Embassy people quite capable not only to throw +him out but, to give him away too in some manner or other—”</p> +<p>“How long were you with him,” interrupted the Presence +from behind his big hand.</p> +<p>“Some forty minutes Sir Ethelred, in a house of bad repute +called Continental Hotel, closeted in a room which by-the-by I took +for the night. I found him under the influence of that reaction +which follows the effort of crime. The man cannot be defined as +a hardened criminal. It is obvious that he did not plan the death +of that wretched lad—his brother-in-law. That was a shock +to him—I could see that. Perhaps he is a man of strong sensibilities. +Perhaps he was even fond of the lad—who knows? He might +have hoped that the fellow would get clear away; in which case it would +have been almost impossible to bring this thing home to anyone. +At any rate he risked consciously nothing more but arrest for him.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner paused in his speculations to reflect +for a moment.</p> +<p>“Though how, in that last case, he could hope to have his own +share in the business concealed is more than I can tell,” he continued, +in his ignorance of poor Stevie’s devotion to Mr Verloc (who was +<i>good</i>), and of his truly peculiar dumbness, which in the old affair +of fireworks on the stairs had for many years resisted entreaties, coaxing, +anger, and other means of investigation used by his beloved sister. +For Stevie was loyal. . . . “No, I can’t imagine. +It’s possible that he never thought of that at all. It sounds +an extravagant way of putting it, Sir Ethelred, but his state of dismay +suggested to me an impulsive man who, after committing suicide with +the notion that it would end all his troubles, had discovered that it +did nothing of the kind.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner gave this definition in an apologetic +voice. But in truth there is a sort of lucidity proper to extravagant +language, and the great man was not offended. A slight jerky movement +of the big body half lost in the gloom of the green silk shades, of +the big head leaning on the big hand, accompanied an intermittent stifled +but powerful sound. The great man had laughed.</p> +<p>“What have you done with him?”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner answered very readily:</p> +<p>“As he seemed very anxious to get back to his wife in the shop +I let him go, Sir Ethelred.”</p> +<p>“You did? But the fellow will disappear.”</p> +<p>“Pardon me. I don’t think so. Where could +he go to? Moreover, you must remember that he has got to think +of the danger from his comrades too. He’s there at his post. +How could he explain leaving it? But even if there were no obstacles +to his freedom of action he would do nothing. At present he hasn’t +enough moral energy to take a resolution of any sort. Permit me +also to point out that if I had detained him we would have been committed +to a course of action on which I wished to know your precise intentions +first.”</p> +<p>The great personage rose heavily, an imposing shadowy form in the +greenish gloom of the room.</p> +<p>“I’ll see the Attorney-General to-night, and will send +for you to-morrow morning. Is there anything more you’d +wish to tell me now?”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner had stood up also, slender and flexible.</p> +<p>“I think not, Sir Ethelred, unless I were to enter into details +which—”</p> +<p>“No. No details, please.”</p> +<p>The great shadowy form seemed to shrink away as if in physical dread +of details; then came forward, expanded, enormous, and weighty, offering +a large hand. “And you say that this man has got a wife?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Sir Ethelred,” said the Assistant Commissioner, +pressing deferentially the extended hand. “A genuine wife +and a genuinely, respectably, marital relation. He told me that +after his interview at the Embassy he would have thrown everything up, +would have tried to sell his shop, and leave the country, only he felt +certain that his wife would not even hear of going abroad. Nothing +could be more characteristic of the respectable bond than that,” +went on, with a touch of grimness, the Assistant Commissioner, whose +own wife too had refused to hear of going abroad. “Yes, +a genuine wife. And the victim was a genuine brother-in-law. +From a certain point of view we are here in the presence of a domestic +drama.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner laughed a little; but the great man’s +thoughts seemed to have wandered far away, perhaps to the questions +of his country’s domestic policy, the battle-ground of his crusading +valour against the paynim Cheeseman. The Assistant Commissioner +withdrew quietly, unnoticed, as if already forgotten.</p> +<p>He had his own crusading instincts. This affair, which, in +one way or another, disgusted Chief Inspector Heat, seemed to him a +providentially given starting-point for a crusade. He had it much +at heart to begin. He walked slowly home, meditating that enterprise +on the way, and thinking over Mr Verloc’s psychology in a composite +mood of repugnance and satisfaction. He walked all the way home. +Finding the drawing-room dark, he went upstairs, and spent some time +between the bedroom and the dressing-room, changing his clothes, going +to and fro with the air of a thoughtful somnambulist. But he shook +it off before going out again to join his wife at the house of the great +lady patroness of Michaelis.</p> +<p>He knew he would be welcomed there. On entering the smaller +of the two drawing-rooms he saw his wife in a small group near the piano. +A youngish composer in pass of becoming famous was discoursing from +a music stool to two thick men whose backs looked old, and three slender +women whose backs looked young. Behind the screen the great lady +had only two persons with her: a man and a woman, who sat side by side +on arm-chairs at the foot of her couch. She extended her hand +to the Assistant Commissioner.</p> +<p>“I never hoped to see you here to-night. Annie told me—”</p> +<p>“Yes. I had no idea myself that my work would be over +so soon.”</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner added in a low tone. “I am +glad to tell you that Michaelis is altogether clear of this—”</p> +<p>The patroness of the ex-convict received this assurance indignantly.</p> +<p>“Why? Were your people stupid enough to connect him with—”</p> +<p>“Not stupid,” interrupted the Assistant Commissioner, +contradicting deferentially. “Clever enough—quite +clever enough for that.”</p> +<p>A silence fell. The man at the foot of the couch had stopped +speaking to the lady, and looked on with a faint smile.</p> +<p>“I don’t know whether you ever met before,” said +the great lady.</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir and the Assistant Commissioner, introduced, acknowledged +each other’s existence with punctilious and guarded courtesy.</p> +<p>“He’s been frightening me,” declared suddenly the +lady who sat by the side of Mr Vladimir, with an inclination of the +head towards that gentleman. The Assistant Commissioner knew the +lady.</p> +<p>“You do not look frightened,” he pronounced, after surveying +her conscientiously with his tired and equable gaze. He was thinking +meantime to himself that in this house one met everybody sooner or later. +Mr Vladimir’s rosy countenance was wreathed in smiles, because +he was witty, but his eyes remained serious, like the eyes of convinced +man.</p> +<p>“Well, he tried to at least,” amended the lady.</p> +<p>“Force of habit perhaps,” said the Assistant Commissioner, +moved by an irresistible inspiration.</p> +<p>“He has been threatening society with all sorts of horrors,” +continued the lady, whose enunciation was caressing and slow, “apropos +of this explosion in Greenwich Park. It appears we all ought to +quake in our shoes at what’s coming if those people are not suppressed +all over the world. I had no idea this was such a grave affair.”</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir, affecting not to listen, leaned towards the couch, talking +amiably in subdued tones, but he heard the Assistant Commissioner say:</p> +<p>“I’ve no doubt that Mr Vladimir has a very precise notion +of the true importance of this affair.”</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir asked himself what that confounded and intrusive policeman +was driving at. Descended from generations victimised by the instruments +of an arbitrary power, he was racially, nationally, and individually +afraid of the police. It was an inherited weakness, altogether +independent of his judgment, of his reason, of his experience. +He was born to it. But that sentiment, which resembled the irrational +horror some people have of cats, did not stand in the way of his immense +contempt for the English police. He finished the sentence addressed +to the great lady, and turned slightly in his chair.</p> +<p>“You mean that we have a great experience of these people. +Yes; indeed, we suffer greatly from their activity, while you”—Mr +Vladimir hesitated for a moment, in smiling perplexity—“while +you suffer their presence gladly in your midst,” he finished, +displaying a dimple on each clean-shaven cheek. Then he added +more gravely: “I may even say—because you do.”</p> +<p>When Mr Vladimir ceased speaking the Assistant Commissioner lowered +his glance, and the conversation dropped. Almost immediately afterwards +Mr Vladimir took leave.</p> +<p>Directly his back was turned on the couch the Assistant Commissioner +rose too.</p> +<p>“I thought you were going to stay and take Annie home,” +said the lady patroness of Michaelis.</p> +<p>“I find that I’ve yet a little work to do to-night.”</p> +<p>“In connection—?”</p> +<p>“Well, yes—in a way.”</p> +<p>“Tell me, what is it really—this horror?”</p> +<p>“It’s difficult to say what it is, but it may yet be +a <i>cause célèbre</i>,” said the Assistant Commissioner.</p> +<p>He left the drawing-room hurriedly, and found Mr Vladimir still in +the hall, wrapping up his throat carefully in a large silk handkerchief. +Behind him a footman waited, holding his overcoat. Another stood +ready to open the door. The Assistant Commissioner was duly helped +into his coat, and let out at once. After descending the front +steps he stopped, as if to consider the way he should take. On +seeing this through the door held open, Mr Vladimir lingered in the +hall to get out a cigar and asked for a light. It was furnished +to him by an elderly man out of livery with an air of calm solicitude. +But the match went out; the footman then closed the door, and Mr Vladimir +lighted his large Havana with leisurely care.</p> +<p>When at last he got out of the house, he saw with disgust the “confounded +policeman” still standing on the pavement.</p> +<p>“Can he be waiting for me,” thought Mr Vladimir, looking +up and down for some signs of a hansom. He saw none. A couple +of carriages waited by the curbstone, their lamps blazing steadily, +the horses standing perfectly still, as if carved in stone, the coachmen +sitting motionless under the big fur capes, without as much as a quiver +stirring the white thongs of their big whips. Mr Vladimir walked +on, and the “confounded policeman” fell into step at his +elbow. He said nothing. At the end of the fourth stride +Mr Vladimir felt infuriated and uneasy. This could not last.</p> +<p>“Rotten weather,” he growled savagely.</p> +<p>“Mild,” said the Assistant Commissioner without passion. +He remained silent for a little while. “We’ve got +hold of a man called Verloc,” he announced casually.</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir did not stumble, did not stagger back, did not change +his stride. But he could not prevent himself from exclaiming: +“What?” The Assistant Commissioner did not repeat +his statement. “You know him,” he went on in the same +tone.</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir stopped, and became guttural. “What makes +you say that?”</p> +<p>“I don’t. It’s Verloc who says that.”</p> +<p>“A lying dog of some sort,” said Mr Vladimir in somewhat +Oriental phraseology. But in his heart he was almost awed by the +miraculous cleverness of the English police. The change of his +opinion on the subject was so violent that it made him for a moment +feel slightly sick. He threw away his cigar, and moved on.</p> +<p>“What pleased me most in this affair,” the Assistant +went on, talking slowly, “is that it makes such an excellent starting-point +for a piece of work which I’ve felt must be taken in hand—that +is, the clearing out of this country of all the foreign political spies, +police, and that sort of—of—dogs. In my opinion they +are a ghastly nuisance; also an element of danger. But we can’t +very well seek them out individually. The only way is to make +their employment unpleasant to their employers. The thing’s +becoming indecent. And dangerous too, for us, here.”</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir stopped again for a moment.</p> +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> +<p>“The prosecution of this Verloc will demonstrate to the public +both the danger and the indecency.”</p> +<p>“Nobody will believe what a man of that sort says,” said +Mr Vladimir contemptuously.</p> +<p>“The wealth and precision of detail will carry conviction to +the great mass of the public,” advanced the Assistant Commissioner +gently.</p> +<p>“So that is seriously what you mean to do.”</p> +<p>“We’ve got the man; we have no choice.”</p> +<p>“You will be only feeding up the lying spirit of these revolutionary +scoundrels,” Mr Vladimir protested. “What do you want +to make a scandal for?—from morality—or what?”</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir’s anxiety was obvious. The Assistant Commissioner +having ascertained in this way that there must be some truth in the +summary statements of Mr Verloc, said indifferently:</p> +<p>“There’s a practical side too. We have really enough +to do to look after the genuine article. You can’t say we +are not effective. But we don’t intend to let ourselves +be bothered by shams under any pretext whatever.”</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir’s tone became lofty.</p> +<p>“For my part, I can’t share your view. It is selfish. +My sentiments for my own country cannot be doubted; but I’ve always +felt that we ought to be good Europeans besides—I mean governments +and men.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the Assistant Commissioner simply. +“Only you look at Europe from its other end. But,” +he went on in a good-natured tone, “the foreign governments cannot +complain of the inefficiency of our police. Look at this outrage; +a case specially difficult to trace inasmuch as it was a sham. +In less than twelve hours we have established the identity of a man +literally blown to shreds, have found the organiser of the attempt, +and have had a glimpse of the inciter behind him. And we could +have gone further; only we stopped at the limits of our territory.”</p> +<p>“So this instructive crime was planned abroad,” Mr Vladimir +said quickly. “You admit it was planned abroad?”</p> +<p>“Theoretically. Theoretically only, on foreign territory; +abroad only by a fiction,” said the Assistant Commissioner, alluding +to the character of Embassies, which are supposed to be part and parcel +of the country to which they belong. “But that’s a +detail. I talked to you of this business because its your government +that grumbles most at our police. You see that we are not so bad. +I wanted particularly to tell you of our success.”</p> +<p>“I’m sure I’m very grateful,” muttered Mr +Vladimir through his teeth.</p> +<p>“We can put our finger on every anarchist here,” went +on the Assistant Commissioner, as though he were quoting Chief Inspector +Heat. “All that’s wanted now is to do away with the +agent provocateur to make everything safe.”</p> +<p>Mr Vladimir held up his hand to a passing hansom.</p> +<p>“You’re not going in here,” remarked the Assistant +Commissioner, looking at a building of noble proportions and hospitable +aspect, with the light of a great hall falling through its glass doors +on a broad flight of steps.</p> +<p>But Mr Vladimir, sitting, stony-eyed, inside the hansom, drove off +without a word.</p> +<p>The Assistant Commissioner himself did not turn into the noble building. +It was the Explorers’ Club. The thought passed through his +mind that Mr Vladimir, honorary member, would not be seen very often +there in the future. He looked at his watch. It was only +half-past ten. He had had a very full evening.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<p>After Chief Inspector Heat had left him Mr Verloc moved about the +parlour.</p> +<p>From time to time he eyed his wife through the open door. “She +knows all about it now,” he thought to himself with commiseration +for her sorrow and with some satisfaction as regarded himself. +Mr Verloc’s soul, if lacking greatness perhaps, was capable of +tender sentiments. The prospect of having to break the news to +her had put him into a fever. Chief Inspector Heat had relieved +him of the task. That was good as far as it went. It remained +for him now to face her grief.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc had never expected to have to face it on account of death, +whose catastrophic character cannot be argued away by sophisticated +reasoning or persuasive eloquence. Mr Verloc never meant Stevie +to perish with such abrupt violence. He did not mean him to perish +at all. Stevie dead was a much greater nuisance than ever he had +been when alive. Mr Verloc had augured a favourable issue to his +enterprise, basing himself not on Stevie’s intelligence, which +sometimes plays queer tricks with a man, but on the blind docility and +on the blind devotion of the boy. Though not much of a psychologist, +Mr Verloc had gauged the depth of Stevie’s fanaticism. He +dared cherish the hope of Stevie walking away from the walls of the +Observatory as he had been instructed to do, taking the way shown to +him several times previously, and rejoining his brother-in-law, the +wise and good Mr Verloc, outside the precincts of the park. Fifteen +minutes ought to have been enough for the veriest fool to deposit the +engine and walk away. And the Professor had guaranteed more than +fifteen minutes. But Stevie had stumbled within five minutes of +being left to himself. And Mr Verloc was shaken morally to pieces. +He had foreseen everything but that. He had foreseen Stevie distracted +and lost—sought for—found in some police station or provincial +workhouse in the end. He had foreseen Stevie arrested, and was +not afraid, because Mr Verloc had a great opinion of Stevie’s +loyalty, which had been carefully indoctrinated with the necessity of +silence in the course of many walks. Like a peripatetic philosopher, +Mr Verloc, strolling along the streets of London, had modified Stevie’s +view of the police by conversations full of subtle reasonings. +Never had a sage a more attentive and admiring disciple. The submission +and worship were so apparent that Mr Verloc had come to feel something +like a liking for the boy. In any case, he had not foreseen the +swift bringing home of his connection. That his wife should hit +upon the precaution of sewing the boy’s address inside his overcoat +was the last thing Mr Verloc would have thought of. One can’t +think of everything. That was what she meant when she said that +he need not worry if he lost Stevie during their walks. She had +assured him that the boy would turn up all right. Well, he had +turned up with a vengeance!</p> +<p>“Well, well,” muttered Mr Verloc in his wonder. +What did she mean by it? Spare him the trouble of keeping an anxious +eye on Stevie? Most likely she had meant well. Only she +ought to have told him of the precaution she had taken.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc walked behind the counter of the shop. His intention +was not to overwhelm his wife with bitter reproaches. Mr Verloc +felt no bitterness. The unexpected march of events had converted +him to the doctrine of fatalism. Nothing could be helped now. +He said:</p> +<p>“I didn’t mean any harm to come to the boy.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc shuddered at the sound of her husband’s voice. +She did not uncover her face. The trusted secret agent of the +late Baron Stott-Wartenheim looked at her for a time with a heavy, persistent, +undiscerning glance. The torn evening paper was lying at her feet. +It could not have told her much. Mr Verloc felt the need of talking +to his wife.</p> +<p>“It’s that damned Heat—eh?” he said. +“He upset you. He’s a brute, blurting it out like +this to a woman. I made myself ill thinking how to break it to +you. I sat for hours in the little parlour of Cheshire Cheese +thinking over the best way. You understand I never meant any harm +to come to that boy.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, the Secret Agent, was speaking the truth. It was +his marital affection that had received the greatest shock from the +premature explosion. He added:</p> +<p>“I didn’t feel particularly gay sitting there and thinking +of you.”</p> +<p>He observed another slight shudder of his wife, which affected his +sensibility. As she persisted in hiding her face in her hands, +he thought he had better leave her alone for a while. On this +delicate impulse Mr Verloc withdrew into the parlour again, where the +gas jet purred like a contented cat. Mrs Verloc’s wifely +forethought had left the cold beef on the table with carving knife and +fork and half a loaf of bread for Mr Verloc’s supper. He +noticed all these things now for the first time, and cutting himself +a piece of bread and meat, began to eat.</p> +<p>His appetite did not proceed from callousness. Mr Verloc had +not eaten any breakfast that day. He had left his home fasting. +Not being an energetic man, he found his resolution in nervous excitement, +which seemed to hold him mainly by the throat. He could not have +swallowed anything solid. Michaelis’ cottage was as destitute +of provisions as the cell of a prisoner. The ticket-of-leave apostle +lived on a little milk and crusts of stale bread. Moreover, when +Mr Verloc arrived he had already gone upstairs after his frugal meal. +Absorbed in the toil and delight of literary composition, he had not +even answered Mr Verloc’s shout up the little staircase.</p> +<p>“I am taking this young fellow home for a day or two.”</p> +<p>And, in truth, Mr Verloc did not wait for an answer, but had marched +out of the cottage at once, followed by the obedient Stevie.</p> +<p>Now that all action was over and his fate taken out of his hands +with unexpected swiftness, Mr Verloc felt terribly empty physically. +He carved the meat, cut the bread, and devoured his supper standing +by the table, and now and then casting a glance towards his wife. +Her prolonged immobility disturbed the comfort of his refection. +He walked again into the shop, and came up very close to her. +This sorrow with a veiled face made Mr Verloc uneasy. He expected, +of course, his wife to be very much upset, but he wanted her to pull +herself together. He needed all her assistance and all her loyalty +in these new conjunctures his fatalism had already accepted.</p> +<p>“Can’t be helped,” he said in a tone of gloomy +sympathy. “Come, Winnie, we’ve got to think of to-morrow. +You’ll want all your wits about you after I am taken away.”</p> +<p>He paused. Mrs Verloc’s breast heaved convulsively. +This was not reassuring to Mr Verloc, in whose view the newly created +situation required from the two people most concerned in it calmness, +decision, and other qualities incompatible with the mental disorder +of passionate sorrow. Mr Verloc was a humane man; he had come +home prepared to allow every latitude to his wife’s affection +for her brother.</p> +<p>Only he did not understand either the nature or the whole extent +of that sentiment. And in this he was excusable, since it was +impossible for him to understand it without ceasing to be himself. +He was startled and disappointed, and his speech conveyed it by a certain +roughness of tone.</p> +<p>“You might look at a fellow,” he observed after waiting +a while.</p> +<p>As if forced through the hands covering Mrs Verloc’s face the +answer came, deadened, almost pitiful.</p> +<p>“I don’t want to look at you as long as I live.”</p> +<p>“Eh? What!” Mr Verloc was merely startled +by the superficial and literal meaning of this declaration. It +was obviously unreasonable, the mere cry of exaggerated grief. +He threw over it the mantle of his marital indulgence. The mind +of Mr Verloc lacked profundity. Under the mistaken impression +that the value of individuals consists in what they are in themselves, +he could not possibly comprehend the value of Stevie in the eyes of +Mrs Verloc. She was taking it confoundedly hard, he thought to +himself. It was all the fault of that damned Heat. What +did he want to upset the woman for? But she mustn’t be allowed, +for her own good, to carry on so till she got quite beside herself.</p> +<p>“Look here! You can’t sit like this in the shop,” +he said with affected severity, in which there was some real annoyance; +for urgent practical matters must be talked over if they had to sit +up all night. “Somebody might come in at any minute,” +he added, and waited again. No effect was produced, and the idea +of the finality of death occurred to Mr Verloc during the pause. +He changed his tone. “Come. This won’t bring +him back,” he said gently, feeling ready to take her in his arms +and press her to his breast, where impatience and compassion dwelt side +by side. But except for a short shudder Mrs Verloc remained apparently +unaffected by the force of that terrible truism. It was Mr Verloc +himself who was moved. He was moved in his simplicity to urge +moderation by asserting the claims of his own personality.</p> +<p>“Do be reasonable, Winnie. What would it have been if +you had lost me!”</p> +<p>He had vaguely expected to hear her cry out. But she did not +budge. She leaned back a little, quieted down to a complete unreadable +stillness. Mr Verloc’s heart began to beat faster with exasperation +and something resembling alarm. He laid his hand on her shoulder, +saying:</p> +<p>“Don’t be a fool, Winnie.”</p> +<p>She gave no sign. It was impossible to talk to any purpose +with a woman whose face one cannot see. Mr Verloc caught hold +of his wife’s wrists. But her hands seemed glued fast. +She swayed forward bodily to his tug, and nearly went off the chair. +Startled to feel her so helplessly limp, he was trying to put her back +on the chair when she stiffened suddenly all over, tore herself out +of his hands, ran out of the shop, across the parlour, and into the +kitchen. This was very swift. He had just a glimpse of her +face and that much of her eyes that he knew she had not looked at him.</p> +<p>It all had the appearance of a struggle for the possession of a chair, +because Mr Verloc instantly took his wife’s place in it. +Mr Verloc did not cover his face with his hands, but a sombre thoughtfulness +veiled his features. A term of imprisonment could not be avoided. +He did not wish now to avoid it. A prison was a place as safe +from certain unlawful vengeances as the grave, with this advantage, +that in a prison there is room for hope. What he saw before him +was a term of imprisonment, an early release and then life abroad somewhere, +such as he had contemplated already, in case of failure. Well, +it was a failure, if not exactly the sort of failure he had feared. +It had been so near success that he could have positively terrified +Mr Vladimir out of his ferocious scoffing with this proof of occult +efficiency. So at least it seemed now to Mr Verloc. His +prestige with the Embassy would have been immense if—if his wife +had not had the unlucky notion of sewing on the address inside Stevie’s +overcoat. Mr Verloc, who was no fool, had soon perceived the extraordinary +character of the influence he had over Stevie, though he did not understand +exactly its origin—the doctrine of his supreme wisdom and goodness +inculcated by two anxious women. In all the eventualities he had +foreseen Mr Verloc had calculated with correct insight on Stevie’s +instinctive loyalty and blind discretion. The eventuality he had +not foreseen had appalled him as a humane man and a fond husband. +From every other point of view it was rather advantageous. Nothing +can equal the everlasting discretion of death. Mr Verloc, sitting +perplexed and frightened in the small parlour of the Cheshire Cheese, +could not help acknowledging that to himself, because his sensibility +did not stand in the way of his judgment. Stevie’s violent +disintegration, however disturbing to think about, only assured the +success; for, of course, the knocking down of a wall was not the aim +of Mr Vladimir’s menaces, but the production of a moral effect. +With much trouble and distress on Mr Verloc’s part the effect +might be said to have been produced. When, however, most unexpectedly, +it came home to roost in Brett Street, Mr Verloc, who had been struggling +like a man in a nightmare for the preservation of his position, accepted +the blow in the spirit of a convinced fatalist. The position was +gone through no one’s fault really. A small, tiny fact had +done it. It was like slipping on a bit of orange peel in the dark +and breaking your leg.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc drew a weary breath. He nourished no resentment against +his wife. He thought: She will have to look after the shop while +they keep me locked up. And thinking also how cruelly she would +miss Stevie at first, he felt greatly concerned about her health and +spirits. How would she stand her solitude—absolutely alone +in that house? It would not do for her to break down while he +was locked up? What would become of the shop then? The shop +was an asset. Though Mr Verloc’s fatalism accepted his undoing +as a secret agent, he had no mind to be utterly ruined, mostly, it must +be owned, from regard for his wife.</p> +<p>Silent, and out of his line of sight in the kitchen, she frightened +him. If only she had had her mother with her. But that silly +old woman—An angry dismay possessed Mr Verloc. He must talk +with his wife. He could tell her certainly that a man does get +desperate under certain circumstances. But he did not go incontinently +to impart to her that information. First of all, it was clear +to him that this evening was no time for business. He got up to +close the street door and put the gas out in the shop.</p> +<p>Having thus assured a solitude around his hearthstone Mr Verloc walked +into the parlour, and glanced down into the kitchen. Mrs Verloc +was sitting in the place where poor Stevie usually established himself +of an evening with paper and pencil for the pastime of drawing these +coruscations of innumerable circles suggesting chaos and eternity. +Her arms were folded on the table, and her head was lying on her arms. +Mr Verloc contemplated her back and the arrangement of her hair for +a time, then walked away from the kitchen door. Mrs Verloc’s +philosophical, almost disdainful incuriosity, the foundation of their +accord in domestic life made it extremely difficult to get into contact +with her, now this tragic necessity had arisen. Mr Verloc felt +this difficulty acutely. He turned around the table in the parlour +with his usual air of a large animal in a cage.</p> +<p>Curiosity being one of the forms of self-revelation,—a systematically +incurious person remains always partly mysterious. Every time +he passed near the door Mr Verloc glanced at his wife uneasily. +It was not that he was afraid of her. Mr Verloc imagined himself +loved by that woman. But she had not accustomed him to make confidences. +And the confidence he had to make was of a profound psychological order. +How with his want of practice could he tell her what he himself felt +but vaguely: that there are conspiracies of fatal destiny, that a notion +grows in a mind sometimes till it acquires an outward existence, an +independent power of its own, and even a suggestive voice? He +could not inform her that a man may be haunted by a fat, witty, clean-shaved +face till the wildest expedient to get rid of it appears a child of +wisdom.</p> +<p>On this mental reference to a First Secretary of a great Embassy, +Mr Verloc stopped in the doorway, and looking down into the kitchen +with an angry face and clenched fists, addressed his wife.</p> +<p>“You don’t know what a brute I had to deal with.”</p> +<p>He started off to make another perambulation of the table; then when +he had come to the door again he stopped, glaring in from the height +of two steps.</p> +<p>“A silly, jeering, dangerous brute, with no more sense than—After +all these years! A man like me! And I have been playing +my head at that game. You didn’t know. Quite right, +too. What was the good of telling you that I stood the risk of +having a knife stuck into me any time these seven years we’ve +been married? I am not a chap to worry a woman that’s fond +of me. You had no business to know.” Mr Verloc took +another turn round the parlour, fuming.</p> +<p>“A venomous beast,” he began again from the doorway. +“Drive me out into a ditch to starve for a joke. I could +see he thought it was a damned good joke. A man like me! +Look here! Some of the highest in the world got to thank me for +walking on their two legs to this day. That’s the man you’ve +got married to, my girl!”</p> +<p>He perceived that his wife had sat up. Mrs Verloc’s arms +remained lying stretched on the table. Mr Verloc watched at her +back as if he could read there the effect of his words.</p> +<p>“There isn’t a murdering plot for the last eleven years +that I hadn’t my finger in at the risk of my life. There’s +scores of these revolutionists I’ve sent off, with their bombs +in their blamed pockets, to get themselves caught on the frontier. +The old Baron knew what I was worth to his country. And here suddenly +a swine comes along—an ignorant, overbearing swine.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, stepping slowly down two steps, entered the kitchen, took +a tumbler off the dresser, and holding it in his hand, approached the +sink, without looking at his wife. “It wasn’t the +old Baron who would have had the wicked folly of getting me to call +on him at eleven in the morning. There are two or three in this +town that, if they had seen me going in, would have made no bones about +knocking me on the head sooner or later. It was a silly, murderous +trick to expose for nothing a man—like me.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, turning on the tap above the sink, poured three glasses +of water, one after another, down his throat to quench the fires of +his indignation. Mr Vladimir’s conduct was like a hot brand +which set his internal economy in a blaze. He could not get over +the disloyalty of it. This man, who would not work at the usual +hard tasks which society sets to its humbler members, had exercised +his secret industry with an indefatigable devotion. There was +in Mr Verloc a fund of loyalty. He had been loyal to his employers, +to the cause of social stability,—and to his affections too—as +became apparent when, after standing the tumbler in the sink, he turned +about, saying:</p> +<p>“If I hadn’t thought of you I would have taken the bullying +brute by the throat and rammed his head into the fireplace. I’d +have been more than a match for that pink-faced, smooth-shaved—”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, neglected to finish the sentence, as if there could be +no doubt of the terminal word. For the first time in his life +he was taking that incurious woman into his confidence. The singularity +of the event, the force and importance of the personal feelings aroused +in the course of this confession, drove Stevie’s fate clean out +of Mr Verloc’s mind. The boy’s stuttering existence +of fears and indignations, together with the violence of his end, had +passed out of Mr Verloc’s mental sight for a time. For that +reason, when he looked up he was startled by the inappropriate character +of his wife’s stare. It was not a wild stare, and it was +not inattentive, but its attention was peculiar and not satisfactory, +inasmuch that it seemed concentrated upon some point beyond Mr Verloc’s +person. The impression was so strong that Mr Verloc glanced over +his shoulder. There was nothing behind him: there was just the +whitewashed wall. The excellent husband of Winnie Verloc saw no +writing on the wall. He turned to his wife again, repeating, with +some emphasis:</p> +<p>“I would have taken him by the throat. As true as I stand +here, if I hadn’t thought of you then I would have half choked +the life out of the brute before I let him get up. And don’t +you think he would have been anxious to call the police either. +He wouldn’t have dared. You understand why—don’t +you?”</p> +<p>He blinked at his wife knowingly.</p> +<p>“No,” said Mrs Verloc in an unresonant voice, and without +looking at him at all. “What are you talking about?”</p> +<p>A great discouragement, the result of fatigue, came upon Mr Verloc. +He had had a very full day, and his nerves had been tried to the utmost. +After a month of maddening worry, ending in an unexpected catastrophe, +the storm-tossed spirit of Mr Verloc longed for repose. His career +as a secret agent had come to an end in a way no one could have foreseen; +only, now, perhaps he could manage to get a night’s sleep at last. +But looking at his wife, he doubted it. She was taking it very +hard—not at all like herself, he thought. He made an effort +to speak.</p> +<p>“You’ll have to pull yourself together, my girl,” +he said sympathetically. “What’s done can’t +be undone.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc gave a slight start, though not a muscle of her white +face moved in the least. Mr Verloc, who was not looking at her, +continued ponderously.</p> +<p>“You go to bed now. What you want is a good cry.”</p> +<p>This opinion had nothing to recommend it but the general consent +of mankind. It is universally understood that, as if it were nothing +more substantial than vapour floating in the sky, every emotion of a +woman is bound to end in a shower. And it is very probable that +had Stevie died in his bed under her despairing gaze, in her protecting +arms, Mrs Verloc’s grief would have found relief in a flood of +bitter and pure tears. Mrs Verloc, in common with other human +beings, was provided with a fund of unconscious resignation sufficient +to meet the normal manifestation of human destiny. Without “troubling +her head about it,” she was aware that it “did not stand +looking into very much.” But the lamentable circumstances +of Stevie’s end, which to Mr Verloc’s mind had only an episodic +character, as part of a greater disaster, dried her tears at their very +source. It was the effect of a white-hot iron drawn across her +eyes; at the same time her heart, hardened and chilled into a lump of +ice, kept her body in an inward shudder, set her features into a frozen +contemplative immobility addressed to a whitewashed wall with no writing +on it. The exigencies of Mrs Verloc’s temperament, which, +when stripped of its philosophical reserve, was maternal and violent, +forced her to roll a series of thoughts in her motionless head. +These thoughts were rather imagined than expressed. Mrs Verloc +was a woman of singularly few words, either for public or private use. +With the rage and dismay of a betrayed woman, she reviewed the tenor +of her life in visions concerned mostly with Stevie’s difficult +existence from its earliest days. It was a life of single purpose +and of a noble unity of inspiration, like those rare lives that have +left their mark on the thoughts and feelings of mankind. But the +visions of Mrs Verloc lacked nobility and magnificence. She saw +herself putting the boy to bed by the light of a single candle on the +deserted top floor of a “business house,” dark under the +roof and scintillating exceedingly with lights and cut glass at the +level of the street like a fairy palace. That meretricious splendour +was the only one to be met in Mrs Verloc’s visions. She +remembered brushing the boy’s hair and tying his pinafores—herself +in a pinafore still; the consolations administered to a small and badly +scared creature by another creature nearly as small but not quite so +badly scared; she had the vision of the blows intercepted (often with +her own head), of a door held desperately shut against a man’s +rage (not for very long); of a poker flung once (not very far), which +stilled that particular storm into the dumb and awful silence which +follows a thunder-clap. And all these scenes of violence came +and went accompanied by the unrefined noise of deep vociferations proceeding +from a man wounded in his paternal pride, declaring himself obviously +accursed since one of his kids was a “slobbering idjut and the +other a wicked she-devil.” It was of her that this had been +said many years ago.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc heard the words again in a ghostly fashion, and then the +dreary shadow of the Belgravian mansion descended upon her shoulders. +It was a crushing memory, an exhausting vision of countless breakfast +trays carried up and down innumerable stairs, of endless haggling over +pence, of the endless drudgery of sweeping, dusting, cleaning, from +basement to attics; while the impotent mother, staggering on swollen +legs, cooked in a grimy kitchen, and poor Stevie, the unconscious presiding +genius of all their toil, blacked the gentlemen’s boots in the +scullery. But this vision had a breath of a hot London summer +in it, and for a central figure a young man wearing his Sunday best, +with a straw hat on his dark head and a wooden pipe in his mouth. +Affectionate and jolly, he was a fascinating companion for a voyage +down the sparkling stream of life; only his boat was very small. +There was room in it for a girl-partner at the oar, but no accommodation +for passengers. He was allowed to drift away from the threshold +of the Belgravian mansion while Winnie averted her tearful eyes. +He was not a lodger. The lodger was Mr Verloc, indolent, and keeping +late hours, sleepily jocular of a morning from under his bed-clothes, +but with gleams of infatuation in his heavy lidded eyes, and always +with some money in his pockets. There was no sparkle of any kind +on the lazy stream of his life. It flowed through secret places. +But his barque seemed a roomy craft, and his taciturn magnanimity accepted +as a matter of course the presence of passengers.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc pursued the visions of seven years’ security for +Stevie, loyally paid for on her part; of security growing into confidence, +into a domestic feeling, stagnant and deep like a placid pool, whose +guarded surface hardly shuddered on the occasional passage of Comrade +Ossipon, the robust anarchist with shamelessly inviting eyes, whose +glance had a corrupt clearness sufficient to enlighten any woman not +absolutely imbecile.</p> +<p>A few seconds only had elapsed since the last word had been uttered +aloud in the kitchen, and Mrs Verloc was staring already at the vision +of an episode not more than a fortnight old. With eyes whose pupils +were extremely dilated she stared at the vision of her husband and poor +Stevie walking up Brett Street side by side away from the shop. +It was the last scene of an existence created by Mrs Verloc’s +genius; an existence foreign to all grace and charm, without beauty +and almost without decency, but admirable in the continuity of feeling +and tenacity of purpose. And this last vision has such plastic +relief, such nearness of form, such a fidelity of suggestive detail, +that it wrung from Mrs Verloc an anguished and faint murmur, reproducing +the supreme illusion of her life, an appalled murmur that died out on +her blanched lips.</p> +<p>“Might have been father and son.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc stopped, and raised a care-worn face. “Eh? +What did you say?” he asked. Receiving no reply, he resumed +his sinister tramping. Then with a menacing flourish of a thick, +fleshy fist, he burst out:</p> +<p>“Yes. The Embassy people. A pretty lot, ain’t +they! Before a week’s out I’ll make some of them wish +themselves twenty feet underground. Eh? What?”</p> +<p>He glanced sideways, with his head down. Mrs Verloc gazed at +the whitewashed wall. A blank wall—perfectly blank. +A blankness to run at and dash your head against. Mrs Verloc remained +immovably seated. She kept still as the population of half the +globe would keep still in astonishment and despair, were the sun suddenly +put out in the summer sky by the perfidy of a trusted providence.</p> +<p>“The Embassy,” Mr Verloc began again, after a preliminary +grimace which bared his teeth wolfishly. “I wish I could +get loose in there with a cudgel for half-an-hour. I would keep +on hitting till there wasn’t a single unbroken bone left amongst +the whole lot. But never mind, I’ll teach them yet what +it means trying to throw out a man like me to rot in the streets. +I’ve a tongue in my head. All the world shall know what +I’ve done for them. I am not afraid. I don’t +care. Everything’ll come out. Every damned thing. +Let them look out!”</p> +<p>In these terms did Mr Verloc declare his thirst for revenge. +It was a very appropriate revenge. It was in harmony with the +promptings of Mr Verloc’s genius. It had also the advantage +of being within the range of his powers and of adjusting itself easily +to the practice of his life, which had consisted precisely in betraying +the secret and unlawful proceedings of his fellow-men. Anarchists +or diplomats were all one to him. Mr Verloc was temperamentally +no respecter of persons. His scorn was equally distributed over +the whole field of his operations. But as a member of a revolutionary +proletariat—which he undoubtedly was—he nourished a rather +inimical sentiment against social distinction.</p> +<p>“Nothing on earth can stop me now,” he added, and paused, +looking fixedly at his wife, who was looking fixedly at a blank wall.</p> +<p>The silence in the kitchen was prolonged, and Mr Verloc felt disappointed. +He had expected his wife to say something. But Mrs Verloc’s +lips, composed in their usual form, preserved a statuesque immobility +like the rest of her face. And Mr Verloc was disappointed. +Yet the occasion did not, he recognised, demand speech from her. +She was a woman of very few words. For reasons involved in the +very foundation of his psychology, Mr Verloc was inclined to put his +trust in any woman who had given herself to him. Therefore he +trusted his wife. Their accord was perfect, but it was not precise. +It was a tacit accord, congenial to Mrs Verloc’s incuriosity and +to Mr Verloc’s habits of mind, which were indolent and secret. +They refrained from going to the bottom of facts and motives.</p> +<p>This reserve, expressing, in a way, their profound confidence in +each other, introduced at the same time a certain element of vagueness +into their intimacy. No system of conjugal relations is perfect. +Mr Verloc presumed that his wife had understood him, but he would have +been glad to hear her say what she thought at the moment. It would +have been a comfort.</p> +<p>There were several reasons why this comfort was denied him. +There was a physical obstacle: Mrs Verloc had no sufficient command +over her voice. She did not see any alternative between screaming +and silence, and instinctively she chose the silence. Winnie Verloc +was temperamentally a silent person. And there was the paralysing +atrocity of the thought which occupied her. Her cheeks were blanched, +her lips ashy, her immobility amazing. And she thought without +looking at Mr Verloc: “This man took the boy away to murder him. +He took the boy away from his home to murder him. He took the +boy away from me to murder him!”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc’s whole being was racked by that inconclusive and +maddening thought. It was in her veins, in her bones, in the roots +of her hair. Mentally she assumed the biblical attitude of mourning—the +covered face, the rent garments; the sound of wailing and lamentation +filled her head. But her teeth were violently clenched, and her +tearless eyes were hot with rage, because she was not a submissive creature. +The protection she had extended over her brother had been in its origin +of a fierce an indignant complexion. She had to love him with +a militant love. She had battled for him—even against herself. +His loss had the bitterness of defeat, with the anguish of a baffled +passion. It was not an ordinary stroke of death. Moreover, +it was not death that took Stevie from her. It was Mr Verloc who +took him away. She had seen him. She had watched him, without +raising a hand, take the boy away. And she had let him go, like—like +a fool—a blind fool. Then after he had murdered the boy +he came home to her. Just came home like any other man would come +home to his wife. . . .</p> +<p>Through her set teeth Mrs Verloc muttered at the wall:</p> +<p>“And I thought he had caught a cold.”</p> +<p>Mr Verloc heard these words and appropriated them.</p> +<p>“It was nothing,” he said moodily. “I was +upset. I was upset on your account.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc, turning her head slowly, transferred her stare from the +wall to her husband’s person. Mr Verloc, with the tips of +his fingers between his lips, was looking on the ground.</p> +<p>“Can’t be helped,” he mumbled, letting his hand +fall. “You must pull yourself together. You’ll +want all your wits about you. It is you who brought the police +about our ears. Never mind, I won’t say anything more about +it,” continued Mr Verloc magnanimously. “You couldn’t +know.”</p> +<p>“I couldn’t,” breathed out Mrs Verloc. It +was as if a corpse had spoken. Mr Verloc took up the thread of +his discourse.</p> +<p>“I don’t blame you. I’ll make them sit up. +Once under lock and key it will be safe enough for me to talk—you +understand. You must reckon on me being two years away from you,” +he continued, in a tone of sincere concern. “It will be +easier for you than for me. You’ll have something to do, +while I—Look here, Winnie, what you must do is to keep this business +going for two years. You know enough for that. You’ve +a good head on you. I’ll send you word when it’s time +to go about trying to sell. You’ll have to be extra careful. +The comrades will be keeping an eye on you all the time. You’ll +have to be as artful as you know how, and as close as the grave. +No one must know what you are going to do. I have no mind to get +a knock on the head or a stab in the back directly I am let out.”</p> +<p>Thus spoke Mr Verloc, applying his mind with ingenuity and forethought +to the problems of the future. His voice was sombre, because he +had a correct sentiment of the situation. Everything which he +did not wish to pass had come to pass. The future had become precarious. +His judgment, perhaps, had been momentarily obscured by his dread of +Mr Vladimir’s truculent folly. A man somewhat over forty +may be excusably thrown into considerable disorder by the prospect of +losing his employment, especially if the man is a secret agent of political +police, dwelling secure in the consciousness of his high value and in +the esteem of high personages. He was excusable.</p> +<p>Now the thing had ended in a crash. Mr Verloc was cool; but +he was not cheerful. A secret agent who throws his secrecy to +the winds from desire of vengeance, and flaunts his achievements before +the public eye, becomes the mark for desperate and bloodthirsty indignations. +Without unduly exaggerating the danger, Mr Verloc tried to bring it +clearly before his wife’s mind. He repeated that he had +no intention to let the revolutionises do away with him.</p> +<p>He looked straight into his wife’s eyes. The enlarged +pupils of the woman received his stare into their unfathomable depths.</p> +<p>“I am too fond of you for that,” he said, with a little +nervous laugh.</p> +<p>A faint flush coloured Mrs Verloc’s ghastly and motionless +face. Having done with the visions of the past, she had not only +heard, but had also understood the words uttered by her husband. +By their extreme disaccord with her mental condition these words produced +on her a slightly suffocating effect. Mrs Verloc’s mental +condition had the merit of simplicity; but it was not sound. It +was governed too much by a fixed idea. Every nook and cranny of +her brain was filled with the thought that this man, with whom she had +lived without distaste for seven years, had taken the “poor boy” +away from her in order to kill him—the man to whom she had grown +accustomed in body and mind; the man whom she had trusted, took the +boy away to kill him! In its form, in its substance, in its effect, +which was universal, altering even the aspect of inanimate things, it +was a thought to sit still and marvel at for ever and ever. Mrs +Verloc sat still. And across that thought (not across the kitchen) +the form of Mr Verloc went to and fro, familiarly in hat and overcoat, +stamping with his boots upon her brain. He was probably talking +too; but Mrs Verloc’s thought for the most part covered the voice.</p> +<p>Now and then, however, the voice would make itself heard. Several +connected words emerged at times. Their purport was generally +hopeful. On each of these occasions Mrs Verloc’s dilated +pupils, losing their far-off fixity, followed her husband’s movements +with the effect of black care and, impenetrable attention. Well +informed upon all matters relating to his secret calling, Mr Verloc +augured well for the success of his plans and combinations. He +really believed that it would be upon the whole easy for him to escape +the knife of infuriated revolutionists. He had exaggerated the +strength of their fury and the length of their arm (for professional +purposes) too often to have many illusions one way or the other. +For to exaggerate with judgment one must begin by measuring with nicety. +He knew also how much virtue and how much infamy is forgotten in two +years—two long years. His first really confidential discourse +to his wife was optimistic from conviction. He also thought it +good policy to display all the assurance he could muster. It would +put heart into the poor woman. On his liberation, which, harmonising +with the whole tenor of his life, would be secret, of course, they would +vanish together without loss of time. As to covering up the tracks, +he begged his wife to trust him for that. He knew how it was to +be done so that the devil himself—</p> +<p>He waved his hand. He seemed to boast. He wished only +to put heart into her. It was a benevolent intention, but Mr Verloc +had the misfortune not to be in accord with his audience.</p> +<p>The self-confident tone grew upon Mrs Verloc’s ear which let +most of the words go by; for what were words to her now? What +could words do to her, for good or evil in the face of her fixed idea? +Her black glance followed that man who was asserting his impunity—the +man who had taken poor Stevie from home to kill him somewhere. +Mrs Verloc could not remember exactly where, but her heart began to +beat very perceptibly.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc, in a soft and conjugal tone, was now expressing his firm +belief that there were yet a good few years of quiet life before them +both. He did not go into the question of means. A quiet +life it must be and, as it were, nestling in the shade, concealed among +men whose flesh is grass; modest, like the life of violets. The +words used by Mr Verloc were: “Lie low for a bit.” +And far from England, of course. It was not clear whether Mr Verloc +had in his mind Spain or South America; but at any rate somewhere abroad.</p> +<p>This last word, falling into Mrs Verloc’s ear, produced a definite +impression. This man was talking of going abroad. The impression +was completely disconnected; and such is the force of mental habit that +Mrs Verloc at once and automatically asked herself: “And what +of Stevie?”</p> +<p>It was a sort of forgetfulness; but instantly she became aware that +there was no longer any occasion for anxiety on that score. There +would never be any occasion any more. The poor boy had been taken +out and killed. The poor boy was dead.</p> +<p>This shaking piece of forgetfulness stimulated Mrs Verloc’s +intelligence. She began to perceive certain consequences which +would have surprised Mr Verloc. There was no need for her now +to stay there, in that kitchen, in that house, with that man—since +the boy was gone for ever. No need whatever. And on that +Mrs Verloc rose as if raised by a spring. But neither could she +see what there was to keep her in the world at all. And this inability +arrested her. Mr Verloc watched her with marital solicitude.</p> +<p>“You’re looking more like yourself,” he said uneasily. +Something peculiar in the blackness of his wife’s eyes disturbed +his optimism. At that precise moment Mrs Verloc began to look +upon herself as released from all earthly ties.</p> +<p>She had her freedom. Her contract with existence, as represented +by that man standing over there, was at an end. She was a free +woman. Had this view become in some way perceptible to Mr Verloc +he would have been extremely shocked. In his affairs of the heart +Mr Verloc had been always carelessly generous, yet always with no other +idea than that of being loved for himself. Upon this matter, his +ethical notions being in agreement with his vanity, he was completely +incorrigible. That this should be so in the case of his virtuous +and legal connection he was perfectly certain. He had grown older, +fatter, heavier, in the belief that he lacked no fascination for being +loved for his own sake. When he saw Mrs Verloc starting to walk +out of the kitchen without a word he was disappointed.</p> +<p>“Where are you going to?” he called out rather sharply. +“Upstairs?”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc in the doorway turned at the voice. An instinct +of prudence born of fear, the excessive fear of being approached and +touched by that man, induced her to nod at him slightly (from the height +of two steps), with a stir of the lips which the conjugal optimism of +Mr Verloc took for a wan and uncertain smile.</p> +<p>“That’s right,” he encouraged her gruffly. +“Rest and quiet’s what you want. Go on. It won’t +be long before I am with you.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc, the free woman who had had really no idea where she was +going to, obeyed the suggestion with rigid steadiness.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc watched her. She disappeared up the stairs. +He was disappointed. There was that within him which would have +been more satisfied if she had been moved to throw herself upon his +breast. But he was generous and indulgent. Winnie was always +undemonstrative and silent. Neither was Mr Verloc himself prodigal +of endearments and words as a rule. But this was not an ordinary +evening. It was an occasion when a man wants to be fortified and +strengthened by open proofs of sympathy and affection. Mr Verloc +sighed, and put out the gas in the kitchen. Mr Verloc’s +sympathy with his wife was genuine and intense. It almost brought +tears into his eyes as he stood in the parlour reflecting on the loneliness +hanging over her head. In this mood Mr Verloc missed Stevie very +much out of a difficult world. He thought mournfully of his end. +If only that lad had not stupidly destroyed himself!</p> +<p>The sensation of unappeasable hunger, not unknown after the strain +of a hazardous enterprise to adventurers of tougher fibre than Mr Verloc, +overcame him again. The piece of roast beef, laid out in the likeness +of funereal baked meats for Stevie’s obsequies, offered itself +largely to his notice. And Mr Verloc again partook. He partook +ravenously, without restraint and decency, cutting thick slices with +the sharp carving knife, and swallowing them without bread. In +the course of that refection it occurred to Mr Verloc that he was not +hearing his wife move about the bedroom as he should have done. +The thought of finding her perhaps sitting on the bed in the dark not +only cut Mr Verloc’s appetite, but also took from him the inclination +to follow her upstairs just yet. Laying down the carving knife, +Mr Verloc listened with careworn attention.</p> +<p>He was comforted by hearing her move at last. She walked suddenly +across the room, and threw the window up. After a period of stillness +up there, during which he figured her to himself with her head out, +he heard the sash being lowered slowly. Then she made a few steps, +and sat down. Every resonance of his house was familiar to Mr +Verloc, who was thoroughly domesticated. When next he heard his +wife’s footsteps overhead he knew, as well as if he had seen her +doing it, that she had been putting on her walking shoes. Mr Verloc +wriggled his shoulders slightly at this ominous symptom, and moving +away from the table, stood with his back to the fireplace, his head +on one side, and gnawing perplexedly at the tips of his fingers. +He kept track of her movements by the sound. She walked here and +there violently, with abrupt stoppages, now before the chest of drawers, +then in front of the wardrobe. An immense load of weariness, the +harvest of a day of shocks and surprises, weighed Mr Verloc’s +energies to the ground.</p> +<p>He did not raise his eyes till he heard his wife descending the stairs. +It was as he had guessed. She was dressed for going out.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc was a free woman. She had thrown open the window +of the bedroom either with the intention of screaming Murder! +Help! or of throwing herself out. For she did not exactly know +what use to make of her freedom. Her personality seemed to have +been torn into two pieces, whose mental operations did not adjust themselves +very well to each other. The street, silent and deserted from +end to end, repelled her by taking sides with that man who was so certain +of his impunity. She was afraid to shout lest no one should come. +Obviously no one would come. Her instinct of self-preservation +recoiled from the depth of the fall into that sort of slimy, deep trench. +Mrs Verloc closed the window, and dressed herself to go out into the +street by another way. She was a free woman. She had dressed +herself thoroughly, down to the tying of a black veil over her face. +As she appeared before him in the light of the parlour, Mr Verloc observed +that she had even her little handbag hanging from her left wrist. . +. . Flying off to her mother, of course.</p> +<p>The thought that women were wearisome creatures after all presented +itself to his fatigued brain. But he was too generous to harbour +it for more than an instant. This man, hurt cruelly in his vanity, +remained magnanimous in his conduct, allowing himself no satisfaction +of a bitter smile or of a contemptuous gesture. With true greatness +of soul, he only glanced at the wooden clock on the wall, and said in +a perfectly calm but forcible manner:</p> +<p>“Five and twenty minutes past eight, Winnie. There’s +no sense in going over there so late. You will never manage to +get back to-night.”</p> +<p>Before his extended hand Mrs Verloc had stopped short. He added +heavily: “Your mother will be gone to bed before you get there. +This is the sort of news that can wait.”</p> +<p>Nothing was further from Mrs Verloc’s thoughts than going to +her mother. She recoiled at the mere idea, and feeling a chair +behind her, she obeyed the suggestion of the touch, and sat down. +Her intention had been simply to get outside the door for ever. +And if this feeling was correct, its mental form took an unrefined shape +corresponding to her origin and station. “I would rather +walk the streets all the days of my life,” she thought. +But this creature, whose moral nature had been subjected to a shock +of which, in the physical order, the most violent earthquake of history +could only be a faint and languid rendering, was at the mercy of mere +trifles, of casual contacts. She sat down. With her hat +and veil she had the air of a visitor, of having looked in on Mr Verloc +for a moment. Her instant docility encouraged him, whilst her +aspect of only temporary and silent acquiescence provoked him a little.</p> +<p>“Let me tell you, Winnie,” he said with authority, “that +your place is here this evening. Hang it all! you brought the +damned police high and low about my ears. I don’t blame +you—but it’s your doing all the same. You’d +better take this confounded hat off. I can’t let you go +out, old girl,” he added in a softened voice.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc’s mind got hold of that declaration with morbid +tenacity. The man who had taken Stevie out from under her very +eyes to murder him in a locality whose name was at the moment not present +to her memory would not allow her go out. Of course he wouldn’t.</p> +<p>Now he had murdered Stevie he would never let her go. He would +want to keep her for nothing. And on this characteristic reasoning, +having all the force of insane logic, Mrs Verloc’s disconnected +wits went to work practically. She could slip by him, open the +door, run out. But he would dash out after her, seize her round +the body, drag her back into the shop. She could scratch, kick, +and bite—and stab too; but for stabbing she wanted a knife. +Mrs Verloc sat still under her black veil, in her own house, like a +masked and mysterious visitor of impenetrable intentions.</p> +<p>Mr Verloc’s magnanimity was not more than human. She +had exasperated him at last.</p> +<p>“Can’t you say something? You have your own dodges +for vexing a man. Oh yes! I know your deaf-and-dumb trick. +I’ve seen you at it before to-day. But just now it won’t +do. And to begin with, take this damned thing off. One can’t +tell whether one is talking to a dummy or to a live woman.”</p> +<p>He advanced, and stretching out his hand, dragged the veil off, unmasking +a still, unreadable face, against which his nervous exasperation was +shattered like a glass bubble flung against a rock. “That’s +better,” he said, to cover his momentary uneasiness, and retreated +back to his old station by the mantelpiece. It never entered his +head that his wife could give him up. He felt a little ashamed +of himself, for he was fond and generous. What could he do? +Everything had been said already. He protested vehemently.</p> +<p>“By heavens! You know that I hunted high and low. +I ran the risk of giving myself away to find somebody for that accursed +job. And I tell you again I couldn’t find anyone crazy enough +or hungry enough. What do you take me for—a murderer, or +what? The boy is gone. Do you think I wanted him to blow +himself up? He’s gone. His troubles are over. +Ours are just going to begin, I tell you, precisely because he did blow +himself. I don’t blame you. But just try to understand +that it was a pure accident; as much an accident as if he had been run +over by a ’bus while crossing the street.”</p> +<p>His generosity was not infinite, because he was a human being—and +not a monster, as Mrs Verloc believed him to be. He paused, and +a snarl lifting his moustaches above a gleam of white teeth gave him +the expression of a reflective beast, not very dangerous—a slow +beast with a sleek head, gloomier than a seal, and with a husky voice.</p> +<p>“And when it comes to that, it’s as much your doing as +mine. That’s so. You may glare as much as you like. +I know what you can do in that way. Strike me dead if I ever would +have thought of the lad for that purpose. It was you who kept +on shoving him in my way when I was half distracted with the worry of +keeping the lot of us out of trouble. What the devil made you? +One would think you were doing it on purpose. And I am damned +if I know that you didn’t. There’s no saying how much +of what’s going on you have got hold of on the sly with your infernal +don’t-care-a-damn way of looking nowhere in particular, and saying +nothing at all. . . . ”</p> +<p>His husky domestic voice ceased for a while. Mrs Verloc made +no reply. Before that silence he felt ashamed of what he had said. +But as often happens to peaceful men in domestic tiffs, being ashamed +he pushed another point.</p> +<p>“You have a devilish way of holding your tongue sometimes,” +he began again, without raising his voice. “Enough to make +some men go mad. It’s lucky for you that I am not so easily +put out as some of them would be by your deaf-and-dumb sulks. +I am fond of you. But don’t you go too far. This isn’t +the time for it. We ought to be thinking of what we’ve got +to do. And I can’t let you go out to-night, galloping off +to your mother with some crazy tale or other about me. I won’t +have it. Don’t you make any mistake about it: if you will +have it that I killed the boy, then you’ve killed him as much +as I.”</p> +<p>In sincerity of feeling and openness of statement, these words went +far beyond anything that had ever been said in this home, kept up on +the wages of a secret industry eked out by the sale of more or less +secret wares: the poor expedients devised by a mediocre mankind for +preserving an imperfect society from the dangers of moral and physical +corruption, both secret too of their kind. They were spoken because +Mr Verloc had felt himself really outraged; but the reticent decencies +of this home life, nestling in a shady street behind a shop where the +sun never shone, remained apparently undisturbed. Mrs Verloc heard +him out with perfect propriety, and then rose from her chair in her +hat and jacket like a visitor at the end of a call. She advanced +towards her husband, one arm extended as if for a silent leave-taking. +Her net veil dangling down by one end on the left side of her face gave +an air of disorderly formality to her restrained movements. But +when she arrived as far as the hearthrug, Mr Verloc was no longer standing +there. He had moved off in the direction of the sofa, without +raising his eyes to watch the effect of his tirade. He was tired, +resigned in a truly marital spirit. But he felt hurt in the tender +spot of his secret weakness. If she would go on sulking in that +dreadful overcharged silence—why then she must. She was +a master in that domestic art. Mr Verloc flung himself heavily +upon the sofa, disregarding as usual the fate of his hat, which, as +if accustomed to take care of itself, made for a safe shelter under +the table.</p> +<p>He was tired. The last particle of his nervous force had been +expended in the wonders and agonies of this day full of surprising failures +coming at the end of a harassing month of scheming and insomnia. +He was tired. A man isn’t made of stone. Hang everything! +Mr Verloc reposed characteristically, clad in his outdoor garments. +One side of his open overcoat was lying partly on the ground. +Mr Verloc wallowed on his back. But he longed for a more perfect +rest—for sleep—for a few hours of delicious forgetfulness. +That would come later. Provisionally he rested. And he thought: +“I wish she would give over this damned nonsense. It’s +exasperating.”</p> +<p>There must have been something imperfect in Mrs Verloc’s sentiment +of regained freedom. Instead of taking the way of the door she +leaned back, with her shoulders against the tablet of the mantelpiece, +as a wayfarer rests against a fence. A tinge of wildness in her +aspect was derived from the black veil hanging like a rag against her +cheek, and from the fixity of her black gaze where the light of the +room was absorbed and lost without the trace of a single gleam. +This woman, capable of a bargain the mere suspicion of which would have +been infinitely shocking to Mr Verloc’s idea of love, remained +irresolute, as if scrupulously aware of something wanting on her part +for the formal closing of the transaction.</p> +<p>On the sofa Mr Verloc wriggled his shoulders into perfect comfort, +and from the fulness of his heart emitted a wish which was certainly +as pious as anything likely to come from such a source.</p> +<p>“I wish to goodness,” he growled huskily, “I had +never seen Greenwich Park or anything belonging to it.”</p> +<p>The veiled sound filled the small room with its moderate volume, +well adapted to the modest nature of the wish. The waves of air +of the proper length, propagated in accordance with correct mathematical +formulas, flowed around all the inanimate things in the room, lapped +against Mrs Verloc’s head as if it had been a head of stone. +And incredible as it may appear, the eyes of Mrs Verloc seemed to grow +still larger. The audible wish of Mr Verloc’s overflowing +heart flowed into an empty place in his wife’s memory. Greenwich +Park. A park! That’s where the boy was killed. +A park—smashed branches, torn leaves, gravel, bits of brotherly +flesh and bone, all spouting up together in the manner of a firework. +She remembered now what she had heard, and she remembered it pictorially. +They had to gather him up with the shovel. Trembling all over +with irrepressible shudders, she saw before her the very implement with +its ghastly load scraped up from the ground. Mrs Verloc closed +her eyes desperately, throwing upon that vision the night of her eyelids, +where after a rainlike fall of mangled limbs the decapitated head of +Stevie lingered suspended alone, and fading out slowly like the last +star of a pyrotechnic display. Mrs Verloc opened her eyes.</p> +<p>Her face was no longer stony. Anybody could have noted the +subtle change on her features, in the stare of her eyes, giving her +a new and startling expression; an expression seldom observed by competent +persons under the conditions of leisure and security demanded for thorough +analysis, but whose meaning could not be mistaken at a glance. +Mrs Verloc’s doubts as to the end of the bargain no longer existed; +her wits, no longer disconnected, were working under the control of +her will. But Mr Verloc observed nothing. He was reposing +in that pathetic condition of optimism induced by excess of fatigue. +He did not want any more trouble—with his wife too—of all +people in the world. He had been unanswerable in his vindication. +He was loved for himself. The present phase of her silence he +interpreted favourably. This was the time to make it up with her. +The silence had lasted long enough. He broke it by calling to +her in an undertone.</p> +<p>“Winnie.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” answered obediently Mrs Verloc the free woman. +She commanded her wits now, her vocal organs; she felt herself to be +in an almost preternaturally perfect control of every fibre of her body. +It was all her own, because the bargain was at an end. She was +clear sighted. She had become cunning. She chose to answer +him so readily for a purpose. She did not wish that man to change +his position on the sofa which was very suitable to the circumstances. +She succeeded. The man did not stir. But after answering +him she remained leaning negligently against the mantelpiece in the +attitude of a resting wayfarer. She was unhurried. Her brow +was smooth. The head and shoulders of Mr Verloc were hidden from +her by the high side of the sofa. She kept her eyes fixed on his +feet.</p> +<p>She remained thus mysteriously still and suddenly collected till +Mr Verloc was heard with an accent of marital authority, and moving +slightly to make room for her to sit on the edge of the sofa.</p> +<p>“Come here,” he said in a peculiar tone, which might +have been the tone of brutality, but, was intimately known to Mrs Verloc +as the note of wooing.</p> +<p>She started forward at once, as if she were still a loyal woman bound +to that man by an unbroken contract. Her right hand skimmed slightly +the end of the table, and when she had passed on towards the sofa the +carving knife had vanished without the slightest sound from the side +of the dish. Mr Verloc heard the creaky plank in the floor, and +was content. He waited. Mrs Verloc was coming. As +if the homeless soul of Stevie had flown for shelter straight to the +breast of his sister, guardian and protector, the resemblance of her +face with that of her brother grew at every step, even to the droop +of the lower lip, even to the slight divergence of the eyes. But +Mr Verloc did not see that. He was lying on his back and staring +upwards. He saw partly on the ceiling and partly on the wall the +moving shadow of an arm with a clenched hand holding a carving knife. +It flickered up and down. It’s movements were leisurely. +They were leisurely enough for Mr Verloc to recognise the limb and the +weapon.</p> +<p>They were leisurely enough for him to take in the full meaning of +the portent, and to taste the flavour of death rising in his gorge. +His wife had gone raving mad—murdering mad. They were leisurely +enough for the first paralysing effect of this discovery to pass away +before a resolute determination to come out victorious from the ghastly +struggle with that armed lunatic. They were leisurely enough for +Mr Verloc to elaborate a plan of defence involving a dash behind the +table, and the felling of the woman to the ground with a heavy wooden +chair. But they were not leisurely enough to allow Mr Verloc the +time to move either hand or foot. The knife was already planted +in his breast. It met no resistance on its way. Hazard has +such accuracies. Into that plunging blow, delivered over the side +of the couch, Mrs Verloc had put all the inheritance of her immemorial +and obscure descent, the simple ferocity of the age of caverns, and +the unbalanced nervous fury of the age of bar-rooms. Mr Verloc, +the Secret Agent, turning slightly on his side with the force of the +blow, expired without stirring a limb, in the muttered sound of the +word “Don’t” by way of protest.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc had let go the knife, and her extraordinary resemblance +to her late brother had faded, had become very ordinary now. She +drew a deep breath, the first easy breath since Chief Inspector Heat +had exhibited to her the labelled piece of Stevie’s overcoat. +She leaned forward on her folded arms over the side of the sofa. +She adopted that easy attitude not in order to watch or gloat over the +body of Mr Verloc, but because of the undulatory and swinging movements +of the parlour, which for some time behaved as though it were at sea +in a tempest. She was giddy but calm. She had become a free +woman with a perfection of freedom which left her nothing to desire +and absolutely nothing to do, since Stevie’s urgent claim on her +devotion no longer existed. Mrs Verloc, who thought in images, +was not troubled now by visions, because she did not think at all. +And she did not move. She was a woman enjoying her complete irresponsibility +and endless leisure, almost in the manner of a corpse. She did +not move, she did not think. Neither did the mortal envelope of +the late Mr Verloc reposing on the sofa. Except for the fact that +Mrs Verloc breathed these two would have been perfect in accord: that +accord of prudent reserve without superfluous words, and sparing of +signs, which had been the foundation of their respectable home life. +For it had been respectable, covering by a decent reticence the problems +that may arise in the practice of a secret profession and the commerce +of shady wares. To the last its decorum had remained undisturbed +by unseemly shrieks and other misplaced sincerities of conduct. +And after the striking of the blow, this respectability was continued +in immobility and silence.</p> +<p>Nothing moved in the parlour till Mrs Verloc raised her head slowly +and looked at the clock with inquiring mistrust. She had become +aware of a ticking sound in the room. It grew upon her ear, while +she remembered clearly that the clock on the wall was silent, had no +audible tick. What did it mean by beginning to tick so loudly +all of a sudden? Its face indicated ten minutes to nine. +Mrs Verloc cared nothing for time, and the ticking went on. She +concluded it could not be the clock, and her sullen gaze moved along +the walls, wavered, and became vague, while she strained her hearing +to locate the sound. Tic, tic, tic.</p> +<p>After listening for some time Mrs Verloc lowered her gaze deliberately +on her husband’s body. It’s attitude of repose was +so home-like and familiar that she could do so without feeling embarrassed +by any pronounced novelty in the phenomena of her home life. Mr +Verloc was taking his habitual ease. He looked comfortable.</p> +<p>By the position of the body the face of Mr Verloc was not visible +to Mrs Verloc, his widow. Her fine, sleepy eyes, travelling downward +on the track of the sound, became contemplative on meeting a flat object +of bone which protruded a little beyond the edge of the sofa. +It was the handle of the domestic carving knife with nothing strange +about it but its position at right angles to Mr Verloc’s waistcoat +and the fact that something dripped from it. Dark drops fell on +the floorcloth one after another, with a sound of ticking growing fast +and furious like the pulse of an insane clock. At its highest +speed this ticking changed into a continuous sound of trickling. +Mrs Verloc watched that transformation with shadows of anxiety coming +and going on her face. It was a trickle, dark, swift, thin. . +. . Blood!</p> +<p>At this unforeseen circumstance Mrs Verloc abandoned her pose of +idleness and irresponsibility.</p> +<p>With a sudden snatch at her skirts and a faint shriek she ran to +the door, as if the trickle had been the first sign of a destroying +flood. Finding the table in her way she gave it a push with both +hands as though it had been alive, with such force that it went for +some distance on its four legs, making a loud, scraping racket, whilst +the big dish with the joint crashed heavily on the floor.</p> +<p>Then all became still. Mrs Verloc on reaching the door had +stopped. A round hat disclosed in the middle of the floor by the +moving of the table rocked slightly on its crown in the wind of her +flight.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<p>Winnie Verloc, the widow of Mr Verloc, the sister of the late faithful +Stevie (blown to fragments in a state of innocence and in the conviction +of being engaged in a humanitarian enterprise), did not run beyond the +door of the parlour. She had indeed run away so far from a mere +trickle of blood, but that was a movement of instinctive repulsion. +And there she had paused, with staring eyes and lowered head. +As though she had run through long years in her flight across the small +parlour, Mrs Verloc by the door was quite a different person from the +woman who had been leaning over the sofa, a little swimmy in her head, +but otherwise free to enjoy the profound calm of idleness and irresponsibility. +Mrs Verloc was no longer giddy. Her head was steady. On +the other hand, she was no longer calm. She was afraid.</p> +<p>If she avoided looking in the direction of her reposing husband it +was not because she was afraid of him. Mr Verloc was not frightful +to behold. He looked comfortable. Moreover, he was dead. +Mrs Verloc entertained no vain delusions on the subject of the dead. +Nothing brings them back, neither love nor hate. They can do nothing +to you. They are as nothing. Her mental state was tinged +by a sort of austere contempt for that man who had let himself be killed +so easily. He had been the master of a house, the husband of a +woman, and the murderer of her Stevie. And now he was of no account +in every respect. He was of less practical account than the clothing +on his body, than his overcoat, than his boots—than that hat lying +on the floor. He was nothing. He was not worth looking at. +He was even no longer the murderer of poor Stevie. The only murderer +that would be found in the room when people came to look for Mr Verloc +would be—herself!</p> +<p>Her hands shook so that she failed twice in the task of refastening +her veil. Mrs Verloc was no longer a person of leisure and responsibility. +She was afraid. The stabbing of Mr Verloc had been only a blow. +It had relieved the pent-up agony of shrieks strangled in her throat, +of tears dried up in her hot eyes, of the maddening and indignant rage +at the atrocious part played by that man, who was less than nothing +now, in robbing her of the boy.</p> +<p>It had been an obscurely prompted blow. The blood trickling +on the floor off the handle of the knife had turned it into an extremely +plain case of murder. Mrs Verloc, who always refrained from looking +deep into things, was compelled to look into the very bottom of this +thing. She saw there no haunting face, no reproachful shade, no +vision of remorse, no sort of ideal conception. She saw there +an object. That object was the gallows. Mrs Verloc was afraid +of the gallows.</p> +<p>She was terrified of them ideally. Having never set eyes on +that last argument of men’s justice except in illustrative woodcuts +to a certain type of tales, she first saw them erect against a black +and stormy background, festooned with chains and human bones, circled +about by birds that peck at dead men’s eyes. This was frightful +enough, but Mrs Verloc, though not a well-informed woman, had a sufficient +knowledge of the institutions of her country to know that gallows are +no longer erected romantically on the banks of dismal rivers or on wind-swept +headlands, but in the yards of jails. There within four high walls, +as if into a pit, at dawn of day, the murderer was brought out to be +executed, with a horrible quietness and, as the reports in the newspapers +always said, “in the presence of the authorities.” +With her eyes staring on the floor, her nostrils quivering with anguish +and shame, she imagined herself all alone amongst a lot of strange gentlemen +in silk hats who were calmly proceeding about the business of hanging +her by the neck. That—never! Never! And how +was it done? The impossibility of imagining the details of such +quiet execution added something maddening to her abstract terror. +The newspapers never gave any details except one, but that one with +some affectation was always there at the end of a meagre report. +Mrs Verloc remembered its nature. It came with a cruel burning +pain into her head, as if the words “The drop given was fourteen +feet” had been scratched on her brain with a hot needle. +“The drop given was fourteen feet.”</p> +<p>These words affected her physically too. Her throat became +convulsed in waves to resist strangulation; and the apprehension of +the jerk was so vivid that she seized her head in both hands as if to +save it from being torn off her shoulders. “The drop given +was fourteen feet.” No! that must never be. She could +not stand <i>that</i>. The thought of it even was not bearable. +She could not stand thinking of it. Therefore Mrs Verloc formed +the resolution to go at once and throw herself into the river off one +of the bridges.</p> +<p>This time she managed to refasten her veil. With her face as +if masked, all black from head to foot except for some flowers in her +hat, she looked up mechanically at the clock. She thought it must +have stopped. She could not believe that only two minutes had +passed since she had looked at it last. Of course not. It +had been stopped all the time. As a matter of fact, only three +minutes had elapsed from the moment she had drawn the first deep, easy +breath after the blow, to this moment when Mrs Verloc formed the resolution +to drown herself in the Thames. But Mrs Verloc could not believe +that. She seemed to have heard or read that clocks and watches +always stopped at the moment of murder for the undoing of the murderer. +She did not care. “To the bridge—and over I go.” +. . . But her movements were slow.</p> +<p>She dragged herself painfully across the shop, and had to hold on +to the handle of the door before she found the necessary fortitude to +open it. The street frightened her, since it led either to the +gallows or to the river. She floundered over the doorstep head +forward, arms thrown out, like a person falling over the parapet of +a bridge. This entrance into the open air had a foretaste of drowning; +a slimy dampness enveloped her, entered her nostrils, clung to her hair. +It was not actually raining, but each gas lamp had a rusty little halo +of mist. The van and horses were gone, and in the black street +the curtained window of the carters’ eating-house made a square +patch of soiled blood-red light glowing faintly very near the level +of the pavement. Mrs Verloc, dragging herself slowly towards it, +thought that she was a very friendless woman. It was true. +It was so true that, in a sudden longing to see some friendly face, +she could think of no one else but of Mrs Neale, the charwoman. +She had no acquaintances of her own. Nobody would miss her in +a social way. It must not be imagined that the Widow Verloc had +forgotten her mother. This was not so. Winnie had been a +good daughter because she had been a devoted sister. Her mother +had always leaned on her for support. No consolation or advice +could be expected there. Now that Stevie was dead the bond seemed +to be broken. She could not face the old woman with the horrible +tale. Moreover, it was too far. The river was her present +destination. Mrs Verloc tried to forget her mother.</p> +<p>Each step cost her an effort of will which seemed the last possible. +Mrs Verloc had dragged herself past the red glow of the eating-house +window. “To the bridge—and over I go,” she repeated +to herself with fierce obstinacy. She put out her hand just in +time to steady herself against a lamp-post. “I’ll +never get there before morning,” she thought. The fear of +death paralysed her efforts to escape the gallows. It seemed to +her she had been staggering in that street for hours. “I’ll +never get there,” she thought. “They’ll find +me knocking about the streets. It’s too far.” +She held on, panting under her black veil.</p> +<p>“The drop given was fourteen feet.”</p> +<p>She pushed the lamp-post away from her violently, and found herself +walking. But another wave of faintness overtook her like a great +sea, washing away her heart clean out of her breast. “I +will never get there,” she muttered, suddenly arrested, swaying +lightly where she stood. “Never.”</p> +<p>And perceiving the utter impossibility of walking as far as the nearest +bridge, Mrs Verloc thought of a flight abroad.</p> +<p>It came to her suddenly. Murderers escaped. They escaped +abroad. Spain or California. Mere names. The vast +world created for the glory of man was only a vast blank to Mrs Verloc. +She did not know which way to turn. Murderers had friends, relations, +helpers—they had knowledge. She had nothing. She was +the most lonely of murderers that ever struck a mortal blow. She +was alone in London: and the whole town of marvels and mud, with its +maze of streets and its mass of lights, was sunk in a hopeless night, +rested at the bottom of a black abyss from which no unaided woman could +hope to scramble out.</p> +<p>She swayed forward, and made a fresh start blindly, with an awful +dread of falling down; but at the end of a few steps, unexpectedly, +she found a sensation of support, of security. Raising her head, +she saw a man’s face peering closely at her veil. Comrade +Ossipon was not afraid of strange women, and no feeling of false delicacy +could prevent him from striking an acquaintance with a woman apparently +very much intoxicated. Comrade Ossipon was interested in women. +He held up this one between his two large palms, peering at her in a +business-like way till he heard her say faintly “Mr Ossipon!” +and then he very nearly let her drop to the ground.</p> +<p>“Mrs Verloc!” he exclaimed. “You here!”</p> +<p>It seemed impossible to him that she should have been drinking. +But one never knows. He did not go into that question, but attentive +not to discourage kind fate surrendering to him the widow of Comrade +Verloc, he tried to draw her to his breast. To his astonishment +she came quite easily, and even rested on his arm for a moment before +she attempted to disengage herself. Comrade Ossipon would not +be brusque with kind fate. He withdrew his arm in a natural way.</p> +<p>“You recognised me,” she faltered out, standing before +him, fairly steady on her legs.</p> +<p>“Of course I did,” said Ossipon with perfect readiness. +“I was afraid you were going to fall. I’ve thought +of you too often lately not to recognise you anywhere, at any time. +I’ve always thought of you—ever since I first set eyes on +you.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc seemed not to hear. “You were coming to the +shop?” she said nervously.</p> +<p>“Yes; at once,” answered Ossipon. “Directly +I read the paper.”</p> +<p>In fact, Comrade Ossipon had been skulking for a good two hours in +the neighbourhood of Brett Street, unable to make up his mind for a +bold move. The robust anarchist was not exactly a bold conqueror. +He remembered that Mrs Verloc had never responded to his glances by +the slightest sign of encouragement. Besides, he thought the shop +might be watched by the police, and Comrade Ossipon did not wish the +police to form an exaggerated notion of his revolutionary sympathies. +Even now he did not know precisely what to do. In comparison with +his usual amatory speculations this was a big and serious undertaking. +He ignored how much there was in it and how far he would have to go +in order to get hold of what there was to get—supposing there +was a chance at all. These perplexities checking his elation imparted +to his tone a soberness well in keeping with the circumstances.</p> +<p>“May I ask you where you were going?” he inquired in +a subdued voice.</p> +<p>“Don’t ask me!” cried Mrs Verloc with a shuddering, +repressed violence. All her strong vitality recoiled from the +idea of death. “Never mind where I was going. . . .”</p> +<p>Ossipon concluded that she was very much excited but perfectly sober. +She remained silent by his side for moment, then all at once she did +something which he did not expect. She slipped her hand under +his arm. He was startled by the act itself certainly, and quite +as much too by the palpably resolute character of this movement. +But this being a delicate affair, Comrade Ossipon behaved with delicacy. +He contented himself by pressing the hand slightly against his robust +ribs. At the same time he felt himself being impelled forward, +and yielded to the impulse. At the end of Brett Street he became +aware of being directed to the left. He submitted.</p> +<p>The fruiterer at the corner had put out the blazing glory of his +oranges and lemons, and Brett Place was all darkness, interspersed with +the misty halos of the few lamps defining its triangular shape, with +a cluster of three lights on one stand in the middle. The dark +forms of the man and woman glided slowly arm in arm along the walls +with a loverlike and homeless aspect in the miserable night.</p> +<p>“What would you say if I were to tell you that I was going +to find you?” Mrs Verloc asked, gripping his arm with force.</p> +<p>“I would say that you couldn’t find anyone more ready +to help you in your trouble,” answered Ossipon, with a notion +of making tremendous headway. In fact, the progress of this delicate +affair was almost taking his breath away.</p> +<p>“In my trouble!” Mrs Verloc repeated slowly.</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And do you know what my trouble is?” she whispered with +strange intensity.</p> +<p>“Ten minutes after seeing the evening paper,” explained +Ossipon with ardour, “I met a fellow whom you may have seen once +or twice at the shop perhaps, and I had a talk with him which left no +doubt whatever in my mind. Then I started for here, wondering +whether you—I’ve been fond of you beyond words ever since +I set eyes on your face,” he cried, as if unable to command his +feelings.</p> +<p>Comrade Ossipon assumed correctly that no woman was capable of wholly +disbelieving such a statement. But he did not know that Mrs Verloc +accepted it with all the fierceness the instinct of self-preservation +puts into the grip of a drowning person. To the widow of Mr Verloc +the robust anarchist was like a radiant messenger of life.</p> +<p>They walked slowly, in step. “I thought so,” Mrs +Verloc murmured faintly.</p> +<p>“You’ve read it in my eyes,” suggested Ossipon +with great assurance.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she breathed out into his inclined ear.</p> +<p>“A love like mine could not be concealed from a woman like +you,” he went on, trying to detach his mind from material considerations +such as the business value of the shop, and the amount of money Mr Verloc +might have left in the bank. He applied himself to the sentimental +side of the affair. In his heart of hearts he was a little shocked +at his success. Verloc had been a good fellow, and certainly a +very decent husband as far as one could see. However, Comrade +Ossipon was not going to quarrel with his luck for the sake of a dead +man. Resolutely he suppressed his sympathy for the ghost of Comrade +Verloc, and went on.</p> +<p>“I could not conceal it. I was too full of you. +I daresay you could not help seeing it in my eyes. But I could +not guess it. You were always so distant. . . .”</p> +<p>“What else did you expect?” burst out Mrs Verloc. +“I was a respectable woman—”</p> +<p>She paused, then added, as if speaking to herself, in sinister resentment: +“Till he made me what I am.”</p> +<p>Ossipon let that pass, and took up his running. “He never +did seem to me to be quite worthy of you,” he began, throwing +loyalty to the winds. “You were worthy of a better fate.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc interrupted bitterly:</p> +<p>“Better fate! He cheated me out of seven years of life.”</p> +<p>“You seemed to live so happily with him.” Ossipon +tried to exculpate the lukewarmness of his past conduct. “It’s +that what’s made me timid. You seemed to love him. +I was surprised—and jealous,” he added.</p> +<p>“Love him!” Mrs Verloc cried out in a whisper, full of +scorn and rage. “Love him! I was a good wife to him. +I am a respectable woman. You thought I loved him! You did! +Look here, Tom—”</p> +<p>The sound of this name thrilled Comrade Ossipon with pride. +For his name was Alexander, and he was called Tom by arrangement with +the most familiar of his intimates. It was a name of friendship—of +moments of expansion. He had no idea that she had ever heard it +used by anybody. It was apparent that she had not only caught +it, but had treasured it in her memory—perhaps in her heart.</p> +<p>“Look here, Tom! I was a young girl. I was done +up. I was tired. I had two people depending on what I could +do, and it did seem as if I couldn’t do any more. Two people—mother +and the boy. He was much more mine than mother’s. +I sat up nights and nights with him on my lap, all alone upstairs, when +I wasn’t more than eight years old myself. And then—He +was mine, I tell you. . . . You can’t understand that. No +man can understand it. What was I to do? There was a young +fellow—”</p> +<p>The memory of the early romance with the young butcher survived, +tenacious, like the image of a glimpsed ideal in that heart quailing +before the fear of the gallows and full of revolt against death.</p> +<p>“That was the man I loved then,” went on the widow of +Mr Verloc. “I suppose he could see it in my eyes too. +Five and twenty shillings a week, and his father threatened to kick +him out of the business if he made such a fool of himself as to marry +a girl with a crippled mother and a crazy idiot of a boy on her hands. +But he would hang about me, till one evening I found the courage to +slam the door in his face. I had to do it. I loved him dearly. +Five and twenty shillings a week! There was that other man—a +good lodger. What is a girl to do? Could I’ve gone +on the streets? He seemed kind. He wanted me, anyhow. +What was I to do with mother and that poor boy? Eh? I said +yes. He seemed good-natured, he was freehanded, he had money, +he never said anything. Seven years—seven years a good wife +to him, the kind, the good, the generous, the—And he loved me. +Oh yes. He loved me till I sometimes wished myself—Seven +years. Seven years a wife to him. And do you know what he +was, that dear friend of yours? Do you know what he was? +He was a devil!”</p> +<p>The superhuman vehemence of that whispered statement completely stunned +Comrade Ossipon. Winnie Verloc turning about held him by both +arms, facing him under the falling mist in the darkness and solitude +of Brett Place, in which all sounds of life seemed lost as if in a triangular +well of asphalt and bricks, of blind houses and unfeeling stones.</p> +<p>“No; I didn’t know,” he declared, with a sort of +flabby stupidity, whose comical aspect was lost upon a woman haunted +by the fear of the gallows, “but I do now. I—I understand,” +he floundered on, his mind speculating as to what sort of atrocities +Verloc could have practised under the sleepy, placid appearances of +his married estate. It was positively awful. “I understand,” +he repeated, and then by a sudden inspiration uttered an—“Unhappy +woman!” of lofty commiseration instead of the more familiar “Poor +darling!” of his usual practice. This was no usual case. +He felt conscious of something abnormal going on, while he never lost +sight of the greatness of the stake. “Unhappy, brave woman!”</p> +<p>He was glad to have discovered that variation; but he could discover +nothing else.</p> +<p>“Ah, but he is dead now,” was the best he could do. +And he put a remarkable amount of animosity into his guarded exclamation. +Mrs Verloc caught at his arm with a sort of frenzy.</p> +<p>“You guessed then he was dead,” she murmured, as if beside +herself. “You! You guessed what I had to do. +Had to!”</p> +<p>There were suggestions of triumph, relief, gratitude in the indefinable +tone of these words. It engrossed the whole attention of Ossipon +to the detriment of mere literal sense. He wondered what was up +with her, why she had worked herself into this state of wild excitement. +He even began to wonder whether the hidden causes of that Greenwich +Park affair did not lie deep in the unhappy circumstances of the Verlocs’ +married life. He went so far as to suspect Mr Verloc of having +selected that extraordinary manner of committing suicide. By Jove! +that would account for the utter inanity and wrong-headedness of the +thing. No anarchist manifestation was required by the circumstances. +Quite the contrary; and Verloc was as well aware of that as any other +revolutionist of his standing. What an immense joke if Verloc +had simply made fools of the whole of Europe, of the revolutionary world, +of the police, of the press, and of the cocksure Professor as well. +Indeed, thought Ossipon, in astonishment, it seemed almost certain that +he did! Poor beggar! It struck him as very possible that +of that household of two it wasn’t precisely the man who was the +devil.</p> +<p>Alexander Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, was naturally inclined to +think indulgently of his men friends. He eyed Mrs Verloc hanging +on his arm. Of his women friends he thought in a specially practical +way. Why Mrs Verloc should exclaim at his knowledge of Mr Verloc’s +death, which was no guess at all, did not disturb him beyond measure. +They often talked like lunatics. But he was curious to know how +she had been informed. The papers could tell her nothing beyond +the mere fact: the man blown to pieces in Greenwich Park not having +been identified. It was inconceivable on any theory that Verloc +should have given her an inkling of his intention—whatever it +was. This problem interested Comrade Ossipon immensely. +He stopped short. They had gone then along the three sides of +Brett Place, and were near the end of Brett Street again.</p> +<p>“How did you first come to hear of it?” he asked in a +tone he tried to render appropriate to the character of the revelations +which had been made to him by the woman at his side.</p> +<p>She shook violently for a while before she answered in a listless +voice.</p> +<p>“From the police. A chief inspector came, Chief Inspector +Heat he said he was. He showed me—”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc choked. “Oh, Tom, they had to gather him up +with a shovel.”</p> +<p>Her breast heaved with dry sobs. In a moment Ossipon found +his tongue.</p> +<p>“The police! Do you mean to say the police came already? +That Chief Inspector Heat himself actually came to tell you.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she confirmed in the same listless tone. +“He came just like this. He came. I didn’t know. +He showed me a piece of overcoat, and—just like that. Do +you know this? he says.”</p> +<p>“Heat! Heat! And what did he do?”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc’s head dropped. “Nothing. He did +nothing. He went away. The police were on that man’s +side,” she murmured tragically. “Another one came +too.”</p> +<p>“Another—another inspector, do you mean?” asked +Ossipon, in great excitement, and very much in the tone of a scared +child.</p> +<p>“I don’t know. He came. He looked like a +foreigner. He may have been one of them Embassy people.”</p> +<p>Comrade Ossipon nearly collapsed under this new shock.</p> +<p>“Embassy! Are you aware what you are saying? What +Embassy? What on earth do you mean by Embassy?”</p> +<p>“It’s that place in Chesham Square. The people +he cursed so. I don’t know. What does it matter!”</p> +<p>“And that fellow, what did he do or say to you?”</p> +<p>“I don’t remember. . . . Nothing . . . . I don’t +care. Don’t ask me,” she pleaded in a weary voice.</p> +<p>“All right. I won’t,” assented Ossipon tenderly. +And he meant it too, not because he was touched by the pathos of the +pleading voice, but because he felt himself losing his footing in the +depths of this tenebrous affair. Police! Embassy! +Phew! For fear of adventuring his intelligence into ways where +its natural lights might fail to guide it safely he dismissed resolutely +all suppositions, surmises, and theories out of his mind. He had +the woman there, absolutely flinging herself at him, and that was the +principal consideration. But after what he had heard nothing could +astonish him any more. And when Mrs Verloc, as if startled suddenly +out of a dream of safety, began to urge upon him wildly the necessity +of an immediate flight on the Continent, he did not exclaim in the least. +He simply said with unaffected regret that there was no train till the +morning, and stood looking thoughtfully at her face, veiled in black +net, in the light of a gas lamp veiled in a gauze of mist.</p> +<p>Near him, her black form merged in the night, like a figure half +chiselled out of a block of black stone. It was impossible to +say what she knew, how deep she was involved with policemen and Embassies. +But if she wanted to get away, it was not for him to object. He +was anxious to be off himself. He felt that the business, the +shop so strangely familiar to chief inspectors and members of foreign +Embassies, was not the place for him. That must be dropped. +But there was the rest. These savings. The money!</p> +<p>“You must hide me till the morning somewhere,” she said +in a dismayed voice.</p> +<p>“Fact is, my dear, I can’t take you where I live. +I share the room with a friend.”</p> +<p>He was somewhat dismayed himself. In the morning the blessed +’tecs will be out in all the stations, no doubt. And if +they once got hold of her, for one reason or another she would be lost +to him indeed.</p> +<p>“But you must. Don’t you care for me at all—at +all? What are you thinking of?”</p> +<p>She said this violently, but she let her clasped hands fall in discouragement. +There was a silence, while the mist fell, and darkness reigned undisturbed +over Brett Place. Not a soul, not even the vagabond, lawless, +and amorous soul of a cat, came near the man and the woman facing each +other.</p> +<p>“It would be possible perhaps to find a safe lodging somewhere,” +Ossipon spoke at last. “But the truth is, my dear, I have +not enough money to go and try with—only a few pence. We +revolutionists are not rich.”</p> +<p>He had fifteen shillings in his pocket. He added:</p> +<p>“And there’s the journey before us, too—first thing +in the morning at that.”</p> +<p>She did not move, made no sound, and Comrade Ossipon’s heart +sank a little. Apparently she had no suggestion to offer. +Suddenly she clutched at her breast, as if she had felt a sharp pain +there.</p> +<p>“But I have,” she gasped. “I have the money. +I have enough money. Tom! Let us go from here.”</p> +<p>“How much have you got?” he inquired, without stirring +to her tug; for he was a cautious man.</p> +<p>“I have the money, I tell you. All the money.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean by it? All the money there was in the +bank, or what?” he asked incredulously, but ready not to be surprised +at anything in the way of luck.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes!” she said nervously. “All there +was. I’ve it all.”</p> +<p>“How on earth did you manage to get hold of it already?” +he marvelled.</p> +<p>“He gave it to me,” she murmured, suddenly subdued and +trembling. Comrade Ossipon put down his rising surprise with a +firm hand.</p> +<p>“Why, then—we are saved,” he uttered slowly.</p> +<p>She leaned forward, and sank against his breast. He welcomed +her there. She had all the money. Her hat was in the way +of very marked effusion; her veil too. He was adequate in his +manifestations, but no more. She received them without resistance +and without abandonment, passively, as if only half-sensible. +She freed herself from his lax embraces without difficulty.</p> +<p>“You will save me, Tom,” she broke out, recoiling, but +still keeping her hold on him by the two lapels of his damp coat. +“Save me. Hide me. Don’t let them have me. +You must kill me first. I couldn’t do it myself—I +couldn’t, I couldn’t—not even for what I am afraid +of.”</p> +<p>She was confoundedly bizarre, he thought. She was beginning +to inspire him with an indefinite uneasiness. He said surlily, +for he was busy with important thoughts:</p> +<p>“What the devil <i>are</i> you afraid of?”</p> +<p>“Haven’t you guessed what I was driven to do!” +cried the woman. Distracted by the vividness of her dreadful apprehensions, +her head ringing with forceful words, that kept the horror of her position +before her mind, she had imagined her incoherence to be clearness itself. +She had no conscience of how little she had audibly said in the disjointed +phrases completed only in her thought. She had felt the relief +of a full confession, and she gave a special meaning to every sentence +spoken by Comrade Ossipon, whose knowledge did not in the least resemble +her own. “Haven’t you guessed what I was driven to +do!” Her voice fell. “You needn’t be long +in guessing then what I am afraid of,” she continued, in a bitter +and sombre murmur. “I won’t have it. I won’t. +I won’t. I won’t. You must promise to kill me +first!” She shook the lapels of his coat. “It +must never be!”</p> +<p>He assured her curtly that no promises on his part were necessary, +but he took good care not to contradict her in set terms, because he +had had much to do with excited women, and he was inclined in general +to let his experience guide his conduct in preference to applying his +sagacity to each special case. His sagacity in this case was busy +in other directions. Women’s words fell into water, but +the shortcomings of time-tables remained. The insular nature of +Great Britain obtruded itself upon his notice in an odious form. +“Might just as well be put under lock and key every night,” +he thought irritably, as nonplussed as though he had a wall to scale +with the woman on his back. Suddenly he slapped his forehead. +He had by dint of cudgelling his brains just thought of the Southampton—St +Malo service. The boat left about midnight. There was a +train at 10.30. He became cheery and ready to act.</p> +<p>“From Waterloo. Plenty of time. We are all right +after all. . . . What’s the matter now? This isn’t +the way,” he protested.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc, having hooked her arm into his, was trying to drag him +into Brett Street again.</p> +<p>“I’ve forgotten to shut the shop door as I went out,” +she whispered, terribly agitated.</p> +<p>The shop and all that was in it had ceased to interest Comrade Ossipon. +He knew how to limit his desires. He was on the point of saying +“What of that? Let it be,” but he refrained. +He disliked argument about trifles. He even mended his pace considerably +on the thought that she might have left the money in the drawer. +But his willingness lagged behind her feverish impatience.</p> +<p>The shop seemed to be quite dark at first. The door stood ajar. +Mrs Verloc, leaning against the front, gasped out:</p> +<p>“Nobody has been in. Look! The light—the +light in the parlour.”</p> +<p>Ossipon, stretching his head forward, saw a faint gleam in the darkness +of the shop.</p> +<p>“There is,” he said.</p> +<p>“I forgot it.” Mrs Verloc’s voice came from behind +her veil faintly. And as he stood waiting for her to enter first, +she said louder: “Go in and put it out—or I’ll go +mad.”</p> +<p>He made no immediate objection to this proposal, so strangely motived. +“Where’s all that money?” he asked.</p> +<p>“On me! Go, Tom. Quick! Put it out. . . . +Go in!” she cried, seizing him by both shoulders from behind.</p> +<p>Not prepared for a display of physical force, Comrade Ossipon stumbled +far into the shop before her push. He was astonished at the strength +of the woman and scandalised by her proceedings. But he did not +retrace his steps in order to remonstrate with her severely in the street. +He was beginning to be disagreeably impressed by her fantastic behaviour. +Moreover, this or never was the time to humour the woman. Comrade +Ossipon avoided easily the end of the counter, and approached calmly +the glazed door of the parlour. The curtain over the panes being +drawn back a little he, by a very natural impulse, looked in, just as +he made ready to turn the handle. He looked in without a thought, +without intention, without curiosity of any sort. He looked in +because he could not help looking in. He looked in, and discovered +Mr Verloc reposing quietly on the sofa.</p> +<p>A yell coming from the innermost depths of his chest died out unheard +and transformed into a sort of greasy, sickly taste on his lips. +At the same time the mental personality of Comrade Ossipon executed +a frantic leap backward. But his body, left thus without intellectual +guidance, held on to the door handle with the unthinking force of an +instinct. The robust anarchist did not even totter. And +he stared, his face close to the glass, his eyes protruding out of his +head. He would have given anything to get away, but his returning +reason informed him that it would not do to let go the door handle. +What was it—madness, a nightmare, or a trap into which he had +been decoyed with fiendish artfulness? Why—what for? +He did not know. Without any sense of guilt in his breast, in +the full peace of his conscience as far as these people were concerned, +the idea that he would be murdered for mysterious reasons by the couple +Verloc passed not so much across his mind as across the pit of his stomach, +and went out, leaving behind a trail of sickly faintness—an indisposition. +Comrade Ossipon did not feel very well in a very special way for a moment—a +long moment. And he stared. Mr Verloc lay very still meanwhile, +simulating sleep for reasons of his own, while that savage woman of +his was guarding the door—invisible and silent in the dark and +deserted street. Was all this a some sort of terrifying arrangement +invented by the police for his especial benefit? His modesty shrank +from that explanation.</p> +<p>But the true sense of the scene he was beholding came to Ossipon +through the contemplation of the hat. It seemed an extraordinary +thing, an ominous object, a sign. Black, and rim upward, it lay +on the floor before the couch as if prepared to receive the contributions +of pence from people who would come presently to behold Mr Verloc in +the fullness of his domestic ease reposing on a sofa. From the +hat the eyes of the robust anarchist wandered to the displaced table, +gazed at the broken dish for a time, received a kind of optical shock +from observing a white gleam under the imperfectly closed eyelids of +the man on the couch. Mr Verloc did not seem so much asleep now +as lying down with a bent head and looking insistently at his left breast. +And when Comrade Ossipon had made out the handle of the knife he turned +away from the glazed door, and retched violently.</p> +<p>The crash of the street door flung to made his very soul leap in +a panic. This house with its harmless tenant could still be made +a trap of—a trap of a terrible kind. Comrade Ossipon had +no settled conception now of what was happening to him. Catching +his thigh against the end of the counter, he spun round, staggered with +a cry of pain, felt in the distracting clatter of the bell his arms +pinned to his side by a convulsive hug, while the cold lips of a woman +moved creepily on his very ear to form the words:</p> +<p>“Policeman! He has seen me!”</p> +<p>He ceased to struggle; she never let him go. Her hands had +locked themselves with an inseparable twist of fingers on his robust +back. While the footsteps approached, they breathed quickly, breast +to breast, with hard, laboured breaths, as if theirs had been the attitude +of a deadly struggle, while, in fact, it was the attitude of deadly +fear. And the time was long.</p> +<p>The constable on the beat had in truth seen something of Mrs Verloc; +only coming from the lighted thoroughfare at the other end of Brett +Street, she had been no more to him than a flutter in the darkness. +And he was not even quite sure that there had been a flutter. +He had no reason to hurry up. On coming abreast of the shop he +observed that it had been closed early. There was nothing very +unusual in that. The men on duty had special instructions about +that shop: what went on about there was not to be meddled with unless +absolutely disorderly, but any observations made were to be reported. +There were no observations to make; but from a sense of duty and for +the peace of his conscience, owing also to that doubtful flutter of +the darkness, the constable crossed the road, and tried the door. +The spring latch, whose key was reposing for ever off duty in the late +Mr Verloc’s waistcoat pocket, held as well as usual. While +the conscientious officer was shaking the handle, Ossipon felt the cold +lips of the woman stirring again creepily against his very ear:</p> +<p>“If he comes in kill me—kill me, Tom.”</p> +<p>The constable moved away, flashing as he passed the light of his +dark lantern, merely for form’s sake, at the shop window. +For a moment longer the man and the woman inside stood motionless, panting, +breast to breast; then her fingers came unlocked, her arms fell by her +side slowly. Ossipon leaned against the counter. The robust +anarchist wanted support badly. This was awful. He was almost +too disgusted for speech. Yet he managed to utter a plaintive +thought, showing at least that he realised his position.</p> +<p>“Only a couple of minutes later and you’d have made me +blunder against the fellow poking about here with his damned dark lantern.”</p> +<p>The widow of Mr Verloc, motionless in the middle of the shop, said +insistently:</p> +<p>“Go in and put that light out, Tom. It will drive me +crazy.”</p> +<p>She saw vaguely his vehement gesture of refusal. Nothing in +the world would have induced Ossipon to go into the parlour. He +was not superstitious, but there was too much blood on the floor; a +beastly pool of it all round the hat. He judged he had been already +far too near that corpse for his peace of mind—for the safety +of his neck, perhaps!</p> +<p>“At the meter then! There. Look. In that +corner.”</p> +<p>The robust form of Comrade Ossipon, striding brusque and shadowy +across the shop, squatted in a corner obediently; but this obedience +was without grace. He fumbled nervously—and suddenly in +the sound of a muttered curse the light behind the glazed door flicked +out to a gasping, hysterical sigh of a woman. Night, the inevitable +reward of men’s faithful labours on this earth, night had fallen +on Mr Verloc, the tried revolutionist—“one of the old lot”—the +humble guardian of society; the invaluable Secret Agent [delta] of Baron +Stott-Wartenheim’s despatches; a servant of law and order, faithful, +trusted, accurate, admirable, with perhaps one single amiable weakness: +the idealistic belief in being loved for himself.</p> +<p>Ossipon groped his way back through the stuffy atmosphere, as black +as ink now, to the counter. The voice of Mrs Verloc, standing +in the middle of the shop, vibrated after him in that blackness with +a desperate protest.</p> +<p>“I will not be hanged, Tom. I will not—”</p> +<p>She broke off. Ossipon from the counter issued a warning: “Don’t +shout like this,” then seemed to reflect profoundly. “You +did this thing quite by yourself?” he inquired in a hollow voice, +but with an appearance of masterful calmness which filled Mrs Verloc’s +heart with grateful confidence in his protecting strength.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she whispered, invisible.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t have believed it possible,” he muttered. +“Nobody would.” She heard him move about and the snapping +of a lock in the parlour door. Comrade Ossipon had turned the +key on Mr Verloc’s repose; and this he did not from reverence +for its eternal nature or any other obscurely sentimental consideration, +but for the precise reason that he was not at all sure that there was +not someone else hiding somewhere in the house. He did not believe +the woman, or rather he was incapable by now of judging what could be +true, possible, or even probable in this astounding universe. +He was terrified out of all capacity for belief or disbelief in regard +of this extraordinary affair, which began with police inspectors and +Embassies and would end goodness knows where—on the scaffold for +someone. He was terrified at the thought that he could not prove +the use he made of his time ever since seven o’clock, for he had +been skulking about Brett Street. He was terrified at this savage +woman who had brought him in there, and would probably saddle him with +complicity, at least if he were not careful. He was terrified +at the rapidity with which he had been involved in such dangers—decoyed +into it. It was some twenty minutes since he had met her—not +more.</p> +<p>The voice of Mrs Verloc rose subdued, pleading piteously: “Don’t +let them hang me, Tom! Take me out of the country. I’ll +work for you. I’ll slave for you. I’ll love +you. I’ve no one in the world. . . . Who would look +at me if you don’t!” She ceased for a moment; then +in the depths of the loneliness made round her by an insignificant thread +of blood trickling off the handle of a knife, she found a dreadful inspiration +to her—who had been the respectable girl of the Belgravian mansion, +the loyal, respectable wife of Mr Verloc. “I won’t +ask you to marry me,” she breathed out in shame-faced accents.</p> +<p>She moved a step forward in the darkness. He was terrified +at her. He would not have been surprised if she had suddenly produced +another knife destined for his breast. He certainly would have +made no resistance. He had really not enough fortitude in him +just then to tell her to keep back. But he inquired in a cavernous, +strange tone: “Was he asleep?”</p> +<p>“No,” she cried, and went on rapidly. “He +wasn’t. Not he. He had been telling me that nothing +could touch him. After taking the boy away from under my very +eyes to kill him—the loving, innocent, harmless lad. My +own, I tell you. He was lying on the couch quite easy—after +killing the boy—my boy. I would have gone on the streets +to get out of his sight. And he says to me like this: ‘Come +here,’ after telling me I had helped to kill the boy. You +hear, Tom? He says like this: ‘Come here,’ after taking +my very heart out of me along with the boy to smash in the dirt.”</p> +<p>She ceased, then dreamily repeated twice: “Blood and dirt. +Blood and dirt.” A great light broke upon Comrade Ossipon. +It was that half-witted lad then who had perished in the park. +And the fooling of everybody all round appeared more complete than ever—colossal. +He exclaimed scientifically, in the extremity of his astonishment: “The +degenerate—by heavens!”</p> +<p>“Come here.” The voice of Mrs Verloc rose again. +“What did he think I was made of? Tell me, Tom. Come +here! Me! Like this! I had been looking at the knife, +and I thought I would come then if he wanted me so much. Oh yes! +I came—for the last time. . . . With the knife.”</p> +<p>He was excessively terrified at her—the sister of the degenerate—a +degenerate herself of a murdering type . . . or else of the lying type. +Comrade Ossipon might have been said to be terrified scientifically +in addition to all other kinds of fear. It was an immeasurable +and composite funk, which from its very excess gave him in the dark +a false appearance of calm and thoughtful deliberation. For he +moved and spoke with difficulty, being as if half frozen in his will +and mind—and no one could see his ghastly face. He felt +half dead.</p> +<p>He leaped a foot high. Unexpectedly Mrs Verloc had desecrated +the unbroken reserved decency of her home by a shrill and terrible shriek.</p> +<p>“Help, Tom! Save me. I won’t be hanged!”</p> +<p>He rushed forward, groping for her mouth with a silencing hand, and +the shriek died out. But in his rush he had knocked her over. +He felt her now clinging round his legs, and his terror reached its +culminating point, became a sort of intoxication, entertained delusions, +acquired the characteristics of delirium tremens. He positively +saw snakes now. He saw the woman twined round him like a snake, +not to be shaken off. She was not deadly. She was death +itself—the companion of life.</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc, as if relieved by the outburst, was very far from behaving +noisily now. She was pitiful.</p> +<p>“Tom, you can’t throw me off now,” she murmured +from the floor. “Not unless you crush my head under your +heel. I won’t leave you.”</p> +<p>“Get up,” said Ossipon.</p> +<p>His face was so pale as to be quite visible in the profound black +darkness of the shop; while Mrs Verloc, veiled, had no face, almost +no discernible form. The trembling of something small and white, +a flower in her hat, marked her place, her movements.</p> +<p>It rose in the blackness. She had got up from the floor, and +Ossipon regretted not having, run out at once into the street. +But he perceived easily that it would not do. It would not do. +She would run after him. She would pursue him shrieking till she +sent every policeman within hearing in chase. And then goodness +only knew what she would say of him. He was so frightened that +for a moment the insane notion of strangling her in the dark passed +through his mind. And he became more frightened than ever! +She had him! He saw himself living in abject terror in some obscure +hamlet in Spain or Italy; till some fine morning they found him dead +too, with a knife in his breast—like Mr Verloc. He sighed +deeply. He dared not move. And Mrs Verloc waited in silence +the good pleasure of her saviour, deriving comfort from his reflective +silence.</p> +<p>Suddenly he spoke up in an almost natural voice. His reflections +had come to an end.</p> +<p>“Let’s get out, or we will lose the train.”</p> +<p>“Where are we going to, Tom?” she asked timidly. +Mrs Verloc was no longer a free woman.</p> +<p>“Let’s get to Paris first, the best way we can. . . . +Go out first, and see if the way’s clear.”</p> +<p>She obeyed. Her voice came subdued through the cautiously opened +door.</p> +<p>“It’s all right.”</p> +<p>Ossipon came out. Notwithstanding his endeavours to be gentle, +the cracked bell clattered behind the closed door in the empty shop, +as if trying in vain to warn the reposing Mr Verloc of the final departure +of his wife—accompanied by his friend.</p> +<p>In the hansom, they presently picked up, the robust anarchist became +explanatory. He was still awfully pale, with eyes that seemed +to have sunk a whole half-inch into his tense face. But he seemed +to have thought of everything with extraordinary method.</p> +<p>“When we arrive,” he discoursed in a queer, monotonous +tone, “you must go into the station ahead of me, as if we did +not know each other. I will take the tickets, and slip in yours +into your hand as I pass you. Then you will go into the first-class +ladies’ waiting-room, and sit there till ten minutes before the +train starts. Then you come out. I will be outside. +You go in first on the platform, as if you did not know me. There +may be eyes watching there that know what’s what. Alone +you are only a woman going off by train. I am known. With +me, you may be guessed at as Mrs Verloc running away. Do you understand, +my dear?” he added, with an effort.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Mrs Verloc, sitting there against him in +the hansom all rigid with the dread of the gallows and the fear of death. +“Yes, Tom.” And she added to herself, like an awful +refrain: “The drop given was fourteen feet.”</p> +<p>Ossipon, not looking at her, and with a face like a fresh plaster +cast of himself after a wasting illness, said: “By-the-by, I ought +to have the money for the tickets now.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc, undoing some hooks of her bodice, while she went on staring +ahead beyond the splashboard, handed over to him the new pigskin pocket-book. +He received it without a word, and seemed to plunge it deep somewhere +into his very breast. Then he slapped his coat on the outside.</p> +<p>All this was done without the exchange of a single glance; they were +like two people looking out for the first sight of a desired goal. +It was not till the hansom swung round a corner and towards the bridge +that Ossipon opened his lips again.</p> +<p>“Do you know how much money there is in that thing?” +he asked, as if addressing slowly some hobgoblin sitting between the +ears of the horse.</p> +<p>“No,” said Mrs Verloc. “He gave it to me. +I didn’t count. I thought nothing of it at the time. +Afterwards—”</p> +<p>She moved her right hand a little. It was so expressive that +little movement of that right hand which had struck the deadly blow +into a man’s heart less than an hour before that Ossipon could +not repress a shudder. He exaggerated it then purposely, and muttered:</p> +<p>“I am cold. I got chilled through.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc looked straight ahead at the perspective of her escape. +Now and then, like a sable streamer blown across a road, the words “The +drop given was fourteen feet” got in the way of her tense stare. +Through her black veil the whites of her big eyes gleamed lustrously +like the eyes of a masked woman.</p> +<p>Ossipon’s rigidity had something business-like, a queer official +expression. He was heard again all of a sudden, as though he had +released a catch in order to speak.</p> +<p>“Look here! Do you know whether your—whether he +kept his account at the bank in his own name or in some other name.”</p> +<p>Mrs Verloc turned upon him her masked face and the big white gleam +of her eyes.</p> +<p>“Other name?” she said thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“Be exact in what you say,” Ossipon lectured in the swift +motion of the hansom. “It’s extremely important. +I will explain to you. The bank has the numbers of these notes. +If they were paid to him in his own name, then when his—his death +becomes known, the notes may serve to track us since we have no other +money. You have no other money on you?”</p> +<p>She shook her head negatively.</p> +<p>“None whatever?” he insisted.</p> +<p>“A few coppers.”</p> +<p>“It would be dangerous in that case. The money would +have then to be dealt specially with. Very specially. We’d +have perhaps to lose more than half the amount in order to get these +notes changed in a certain safe place I know of in Paris. In the +other case I mean if he had his account and got paid out under some +other name—say Smith, for instance—the money is perfectly +safe to use. You understand? The bank has no means of knowing +that Mr Verloc and, say, Smith are one and the same person. Do +you see how important it is that you should make no mistake in answering +me? Can you answer that query at all? Perhaps not. +Eh?”</p> +<p>She said composedly:</p> +<p>“I remember now! He didn’t bank in his own name. +He told me once that it was on deposit in the name of Prozor.”</p> +<p>“You are sure?”</p> +<p>“Certain.”</p> +<p>“You don’t think the bank had any knowledge of his real +name? Or anybody in the bank or—”</p> +<p>She shrugged her shoulders.</p> +<p>“How can I know? Is it likely, Tom?</p> +<p>“No. I suppose it’s not likely. It would +have been more comfortable to know. . . . Here we are. Get out +first, and walk straight in. Move smartly.”</p> +<p>He remained behind, and paid the cabman out of his own loose silver. +The programme traced by his minute foresight was carried out. +When Mrs Verloc, with her ticket for St Malo in her hand, entered the +ladies’ waiting-room, Comrade Ossipon walked into the bar, and +in seven minutes absorbed three goes of hot brandy and water.</p> +<p>“Trying to drive out a cold,” he explained to the barmaid, +with a friendly nod and a grimacing smile. Then he came out, bringing +out from that festive interlude the face of a man who had drunk at the +very Fountain of Sorrow. He raised his eyes to the clock. +It was time. He waited.</p> +<p>Punctual, Mrs Verloc came out, with her veil down, and all black—black +as commonplace death itself, crowned with a few cheap and pale flowers. +She passed close to a little group of men who were laughing, but whose +laughter could have been struck dead by a single word. Her walk +was indolent, but her back was straight, and Comrade Ossipon looked +after it in terror before making a start himself.</p> +<p>The train was drawn up, with hardly anybody about its row of open +doors. Owing to the time of the year and to the abominable weather +there were hardly any passengers. Mrs Verloc walked slowly along +the line of empty compartments till Ossipon touched her elbow from behind.</p> +<p>“In here.”</p> +<p>She got in, and he remained on the platform looking about. +She bent forward, and in a whisper:</p> +<p>“What is it, Tom? Is there any danger? Wait a moment. +There’s the guard.”</p> +<p>She saw him accost the man in uniform. They talked for a while. +She heard the guard say “Very well, sir,” and saw him touch +his cap. Then Ossipon came back, saying: “I told him not +to let anybody get into our compartment.”</p> +<p>She was leaning forward on her seat. “You think of everything. +. . . You’ll get me off, Tom?” she asked in a gust of anguish, +lifting her veil brusquely to look at her saviour.</p> +<p>She had uncovered a face like adamant. And out of this face +the eyes looked on, big, dry, enlarged, lightless, burnt out like two +black holes in the white, shining globes.</p> +<p>“There is no danger,” he said, gazing into them with +an earnestness almost rapt, which to Mrs Verloc, flying from the gallows, +seemed to be full of force and tenderness. This devotion deeply +moved her—and the adamantine face lost the stern rigidity of its +terror. Comrade Ossipon gazed at it as no lover ever gazed at +his mistress’s face. Alexander Ossipon, anarchist, nicknamed +the Doctor, author of a medical (and improper) pamphlet, late lecturer +on the social aspects of hygiene to working men’s clubs, was free +from the trammels of conventional morality—but he submitted to +the rule of science. He was scientific, and he gazed scientifically +at that woman, the sister of a degenerate, a degenerate herself—of +a murdering type. He gazed at her, and invoked Lombroso, as an +Italian peasant recommends himself to his favourite saint. He +gazed scientifically. He gazed at her cheeks, at her nose, at +her eyes, at her ears. . . . Bad! . . . Fatal! Mrs Verloc’s +pale lips parting, slightly relaxed under his passionately attentive +gaze, he gazed also at her teeth. . . . Not a doubt remained . . . a +murdering type. . . . If Comrade Ossipon did not recommend his terrified +soul to Lombroso, it was only because on scientific grounds he could +not believe that he carried about him such a thing as a soul. +But he had in him the scientific spirit, which moved him to testify +on the platform of a railway station in nervous jerky phrases.</p> +<p>“He was an extraordinary lad, that brother of yours. +Most interesting to study. A perfect type in a way. Perfect!”</p> +<p>He spoke scientifically in his secret fear. And Mrs Verloc, +hearing these words of commendation vouchsafed to her beloved dead, +swayed forward with a flicker of light in her sombre eyes, like a ray +of sunshine heralding a tempest of rain.</p> +<p>“He was that indeed,” she whispered softly, with quivering +lips. “You took a lot of notice of him, Tom. I loved +you for it.”</p> +<p>“It’s almost incredible the resemblance there was between +you two,” pursued Ossipon, giving a voice to his abiding dread, +and trying to conceal his nervous, sickening impatience for the train +to start. “Yes; he resembled you.”</p> +<p>These words were not especially touching or sympathetic. But +the fact of that resemblance insisted upon was enough in itself to act +upon her emotions powerfully. With a little faint cry, and throwing +her arms out, Mrs Verloc burst into tears at last.</p> +<p>Ossipon entered the carriage, hastily closed the door and looked +out to see the time by the station clock. Eight minutes more. +For the first three of these Mrs Verloc wept violently and helplessly +without pause or interruption. Then she recovered somewhat, and +sobbed gently in an abundant fall of tears. She tried to talk +to her saviour, to the man who was the messenger of life.</p> +<p>“Oh, Tom! How could I fear to die after he was taken +away from me so cruelly! How could I! How could I be such +a coward!”</p> +<p>She lamented aloud her love of life, that life without grace or charm, +and almost without decency, but of an exalted faithfulness of purpose, +even unto murder. And, as often happens in the lament of poor +humanity, rich in suffering but indigent in words, the truth—the +very cry of truth—was found in a worn and artificial shape picked +up somewhere among the phrases of sham sentiment.</p> +<p>“How could I be so afraid of death! Tom, I tried. +But I am afraid. I tried to do away with myself. And I couldn’t. +Am I hard? I suppose the cup of horrors was not full enough for +such as me. Then when you came. . . . ”</p> +<p>She paused. Then in a gust of confidence and gratitude, “I +will live all my days for you, Tom!” she sobbed out.</p> +<p>“Go over into the other corner of the carriage, away from the +platform,” said Ossipon solicitously. She let her saviour +settle her comfortably, and he watched the coming on of another crisis +of weeping, still more violent than the first. He watched the +symptoms with a sort of medical air, as if counting seconds. He +heard the guard’s whistle at last. An involuntary contraction +of the upper lip bared his teeth with all the aspect of savage resolution +as he felt the train beginning to move. Mrs Verloc heard and felt +nothing, and Ossipon, her saviour, stood still. He felt the train +roll quicker, rumbling heavily to the sound of the woman’s loud +sobs, and then crossing the carriage in two long strides he opened the +door deliberately, and leaped out.</p> +<p>He had leaped out at the very end of the platform; and such was his +determination in sticking to his desperate plan that he managed by a +sort of miracle, performed almost in the air, to slam to the door of +the carriage. Only then did he find himself rolling head over +heels like a shot rabbit. He was bruised, shaken, pale as death, +and out of breath when he got up. But he was calm, and perfectly +able to meet the excited crowd of railway men who had gathered round +him in a moment. He explained, in gentle and convincing tones, +that his wife had started at a moment’s notice for Brittany to +her dying mother; that, of course, she was greatly up-set, and he considerably +concerned at her state; that he was trying to cheer her up, and had +absolutely failed to notice at first that the train was moving out. +To the general exclamation, “Why didn’t you go on to Southampton, +then, sir?” he objected the inexperience of a young sister-in-law +left alone in the house with three small children, and her alarm at +his absence, the telegraph offices being closed. He had acted +on impulse. “But I don’t think I’ll ever try +that again,” he concluded; smiled all round; distributed some +small change, and marched without a limp out of the station.</p> +<p>Outside, Comrade Ossipon, flush of safe banknotes as never before +in his life, refused the offer of a cab.</p> +<p>“I can walk,” he said, with a little friendly laugh to +the civil driver.</p> +<p>He could walk. He walked. He crossed the bridge. +Later on the towers of the Abbey saw in their massive immobility the +yellow bush of his hair passing under the lamps. The lights of +Victoria saw him too, and Sloane Square, and the railings of the park. +And Comrade Ossipon once more found himself on a bridge. The river, +a sinister marvel of still shadows and flowing gleams mingling below +in a black silence, arrested his attention. He stood looking over +the parapet for a long time. The clock tower boomed a brazen blast +above his drooping head. He looked up at the dial. . . . Half-past +twelve of a wild night in the Channel.</p> +<p>And again Comrade Ossipon walked. His robust form was seen +that night in distant parts of the enormous town slumbering monstrously +on a carpet of mud under a veil of raw mist. It was seen crossing +the streets without life and sound, or diminishing in the interminable +straight perspectives of shadowy houses bordering empty roadways lined +by strings of gas lamps. He walked through Squares, Places, Ovals, +Commons, through monotonous streets with unknown names where the dust +of humanity settles inert and hopeless out of the stream of life. +He walked. And suddenly turning into a strip of a front garden +with a mangy grass plot, he let himself into a small grimy house with +a latch-key he took out of his pocket.</p> +<p>He threw himself down on his bed all dressed, and lay still for a +whole quarter of an hour. Then he sat up suddenly, drawing up +his knees, and clasping his legs. The first dawn found him open-eyed, +in that same posture. This man who could walk so long, so far, +so aimlessly, without showing a sign of fatigue, could also remain sitting +still for hours without stirring a limb or an eyelid. But when +the late sun sent its rays into the room he unclasped his hands, and +fell back on the pillow. His eyes stared at the ceiling. +And suddenly they closed. Comrade Ossipon slept in the sunlight.</p> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<p>The enormous iron padlock on the doors of the wall cupboard was the +only object in the room on which the eye could rest without becoming +afflicted by the miserable unloveliness of forms and the poverty of +material. Unsaleable in the ordinary course of business on account +of its noble proportions, it had been ceded to the Professor for a few +pence by a marine dealer in the east of London. The room was large, +clean, respectable, and poor with that poverty suggesting the starvation +of every human need except mere bread. There was nothing on the +walls but the paper, an expanse of arsenical green, soiled with indelible +smudges here and there, and with stains resembling faded maps of uninhabited +continents.</p> +<p>At a deal table near a window sat Comrade Ossipon, holding his head +between his fists. The Professor, dressed in his only suit of +shoddy tweeds, but flapping to and fro on the bare boards a pair of +incredibly dilapidated slippers, had thrust his hands deep into the +overstrained pockets of his jacket. He was relating to his robust +guest a visit he had lately been paying to the Apostle Michaelis. +The Perfect Anarchist had even been unbending a little.</p> +<p>“The fellow didn’t know anything of Verloc’s death. +Of course! He never looks at the newspapers. They make him +too sad, he says. But never mind. I walked into his cottage. +Not a soul anywhere. I had to shout half-a-dozen times before +he answered me. I thought he was fast asleep yet, in bed. +But not at all. He had been writing his book for four hours already. +He sat in that tiny cage in a litter of manuscript. There was +a half-eaten raw carrot on the table near him. His breakfast. +He lives on a diet of raw carrots and a little milk now.”</p> +<p>“How does he look on it?” asked Comrade Ossipon listlessly.</p> +<p>“Angelic. . . . I picked up a handful of his pages from the +floor. The poverty of reasoning is astonishing. He has no +logic. He can’t think consecutively. But that’s +nothing. He has divided his biography into three parts, entitled—‘Faith, +Hope, Charity.’ He is elaborating now the idea of a world +planned out like an immense and nice hospital, with gardens and flowers, +in which the strong are to devote themselves to the nursing of the weak.”</p> +<p>The Professor paused.</p> +<p>“Conceive you this folly, Ossipon? The weak! The +source of all evil on this earth!” he continued with his grim +assurance. “I told him that I dreamt of a world like shambles, +where the weak would be taken in hand for utter extermination.”</p> +<p>“Do you understand, Ossipon? The source of all evil! +They are our sinister masters—the weak, the flabby, the silly, +the cowardly, the faint of heart, and the slavish of mind. They +have power. They are the multitude. Theirs is the kingdom +of the earth. Exterminate, exterminate! That is the only +way of progress. It is! Follow me, Ossipon. First +the great multitude of the weak must go, then the only relatively strong. +You see? First the blind, then the deaf and the dumb, then the +halt and the lame—and so on. Every taint, every vice, every +prejudice, every convention must meet its doom.”</p> +<p>“And what remains?” asked Ossipon in a stifled voice.</p> +<p>“I remain—if I am strong enough,” asserted the +sallow little Professor, whose large ears, thin like membranes, and +standing far out from the sides of his frail skull, took on suddenly +a deep red tint.</p> +<p>“Haven’t I suffered enough from this oppression of the +weak?” he continued forcibly. Then tapping the breast-pocket +of his jacket: “And yet <i>I am</i> the force,” he went +on. “But the time! The time! Give me time! +Ah! that multitude, too stupid to feel either pity or fear. Sometimes +I think they have everything on their side. Everything—even +death—my own weapon.”</p> +<p>“Come and drink some beer with me at the Silenus,” said +the robust Ossipon after an interval of silence pervaded by the rapid +flap, flap of the slippers on the feet of the Perfect Anarchist. +This last accepted. He was jovial that day in his own peculiar +way. He slapped Ossipon’s shoulder.</p> +<p>“Beer! So be it! Let us drink and he merry, for +we are strong, and to-morrow we die.”</p> +<p>He busied himself with putting on his boots, and talked meanwhile +in his curt, resolute tones.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with you, Ossipon? You look +glum and seek even my company. I hear that you are seen constantly +in places where men utter foolish things over glasses of liquor. +Why? Have you abandoned your collection of women? They are +the weak who feed the strong—eh?”</p> +<p>He stamped one foot, and picked up his other laced boot, heavy, thick-soled, +unblacked, mended many times. He smiled to himself grimly.</p> +<p>“Tell me, Ossipon, terrible man, has ever one of your victims +killed herself for you—or are your triumphs so far incomplete—for +blood alone puts a seal on greatness? Blood. Death. +Look at history.”</p> +<p>“You be damned,” said Ossipon, without turning his head.</p> +<p>“Why? Let that be the hope of the weak, whose theology +has invented hell for the strong. Ossipon, my feeling for you +is amicable contempt. You couldn’t kill a fly.”</p> +<p>But rolling to the feast on the top of the omnibus the Professor +lost his high spirits. The contemplation of the multitudes thronging +the pavements extinguished his assurance under a load of doubt and uneasiness +which he could only shake off after a period of seclusion in the room +with the large cupboard closed by an enormous padlock.</p> +<p>“And so,” said over his shoulder Comrade Ossipon, who +sat on the seat behind. “And so Michaelis dreams of a world +like a beautiful and cheery hospital.”</p> +<p>“Just so. An immense charity for the healing of the weak,” +assented the Professor sardonically.</p> +<p>“That’s silly,” admitted Ossipon. “You +can’t heal weakness. But after all Michaelis may not be +so far wrong. In two hundred years doctors will rule the world. +Science reigns already. It reigns in the shade maybe—but +it reigns. And all science must culminate at last in the science +of healing—not the weak, but the strong. Mankind wants to +live—to live.”</p> +<p>“Mankind,” asserted the Professor with a self-confident +glitter of his iron-rimmed spectacles, “does not know what it +wants.”</p> +<p>“But you do,” growled Ossipon. “Just now +you’ve been crying for time—time. Well. The +doctors will serve you out your time—if you are good. You +profess yourself to be one of the strong—because you carry in +your pocket enough stuff to send yourself and, say, twenty other people +into eternity. But eternity is a damned hole. It’s +time that you need. You—if you met a man who could give +you for certain ten years of time, you would call him your master.”</p> +<p>“My device is: No God! No Master,” said the Professor +sententiously as he rose to get off the ’bus.</p> +<p>Ossipon followed. “Wait till you are lying flat on your +back at the end of your time,” he retorted, jumping off the footboard +after the other. “Your scurvy, shabby, mangy little bit +of time,” he continued across the street, and hopping on to the +curbstone.</p> +<p>“Ossipon, I think that you are a humbug,” the Professor +said, opening masterfully the doors of the renowned Silenus. And +when they had established themselves at a little table he developed +further this gracious thought. “You are not even a doctor. +But you are funny. Your notion of a humanity universally putting +out the tongue and taking the pill from pole to pole at the bidding +of a few solemn jokers is worthy of the prophet. Prophecy! +What’s the good of thinking of what will be!” He raised +his glass. “To the destruction of what is,” he said +calmly.</p> +<p>He drank and relapsed into his peculiarly close manner of silence. +The thought of a mankind as numerous as the sands of the sea-shore, +as indestructible, as difficult to handle, oppressed him. The +sound of exploding bombs was lost in their immensity of passive grains +without an echo. For instance, this Verloc affair. Who thought +of it now?</p> +<p>Ossipon, as if suddenly compelled by some mysterious force, pulled +a much-folded newspaper out of is pocket. The Professor raised +his head at the rustle.</p> +<p>“What’s that paper? Anything in it?” he asked.</p> +<p>Ossipon started like a scared somnambulist.</p> +<p>“Nothing. Nothing whatever. The thing’s ten +days old. I forgot it in my pocket, I suppose.”</p> +<p>But he did not throw the old thing away. Before returning it +to his pocket he stole a glance at the last lines of a paragraph. +They ran thus: “<i>An impenetrable mystery seems destined to hang +for ever over this act of madness or despair</i>.”</p> +<p>Such were the end words of an item of news headed: “Suicide +of Lady Passenger from a cross-Channel Boat.” Comrade Ossipon +was familiar with the beauties of its journalistic style. “<i>An +impenetrable mystery seems destined to hang for ever</i>. . . ” +He knew every word by heart. “<i>An impenetrable mystery</i>. +. . . ”</p> +<p>And the robust anarchist, hanging his head on his breast, fell into +a long reverie.</p> +<p>He was menaced by this thing in the very sources of his existence. +He could not issue forth to meet his various conquests, those that he +courted on benches in Kensington Gardens, and those he met near area +railings, without the dread of beginning to talk to them of an impenetrable +mystery destined. . . . He was becoming scientifically afraid of insanity +lying in wait for him amongst these lines. “<i>To hang for +ever over</i>.” It was an obsession, a torture. He +had lately failed to keep several of these appointments, whose note +used to be an unbounded trustfulness in the language of sentiment and +manly tenderness. The confiding disposition of various classes +of women satisfied the needs of his self-love, and put some material +means into his hand. He needed it to live. It was there. +But if he could no longer make use of it, he ran the risk of starving +his ideals and his body . . . “<i>This act of madness or despair</i>.”</p> +<p>“An impenetrable mystery” was sure “to hang for +ever” as far as all mankind was concerned. But what of that +if he alone of all men could never get rid of the cursed knowledge? +And Comrade Ossipon’s knowledge was as precise as the newspaper +man could make it—up to the very threshold of the “<i>mystery +destined to hang for ever</i>. . . .”</p> +<p>Comrade Ossipon was well informed. He knew what the gangway +man of the steamer had seen: “A lady in a black dress and a black +veil, wandering at midnight alongside, on the quay. ‘Are +you going by the boat, ma’am,’ he had asked her encouragingly. +‘This way.’ She seemed not to know what to do. +He helped her on board. She seemed weak.”</p> +<p>And he knew also what the stewardess had seen: A lady in black with +a white face standing in the middle of the empty ladies’ cabin. +The stewardess induced her to lie down there. The lady seemed +quite unwilling to speak, and as if she were in some awful trouble. +The next the stewardess knew she was gone from the ladies’ cabin. +The stewardess then went on deck to look for her, and Comrade Ossipon +was informed that the good woman found the unhappy lady lying down in +one of the hooded seats. Her eyes were open, but she would not +answer anything that was said to her. She seemed very ill. +The stewardess fetched the chief steward, and those two people stood +by the side of the hooded seat consulting over their extraordinary and +tragic passenger. They talked in audible whispers (for she seemed +past hearing) of St Malo and the Consul there, of communicating with +her people in England. Then they went away to arrange for her +removal down below, for indeed by what they could see of her face she +seemed to them to be dying. But Comrade Ossipon knew that behind +that white mask of despair there was struggling against terror and despair +a vigour of vitality, a love of life that could resist the furious anguish +which drives to murder and the fear, the blind, mad fear of the gallows. +He knew. But the stewardess and the chief steward knew nothing, +except that when they came back for her in less than five minutes the +lady in black was no longer in the hooded seat. She was nowhere. +She was gone. It was then five o’clock in the morning, and +it was no accident either. An hour afterwards one of the steamer’s +hands found a wedding ring left lying on the seat. It had stuck +to the wood in a bit of wet, and its glitter caught the man’s +eye. There was a date, 24th June 1879, engraved inside. +“<i>An impenetrable mystery is destined to hang for ever</i>. +. . . ”</p> +<p>And Comrade Ossipon raised his bowed head, beloved of various humble +women of these isles, Apollo-like in the sunniness of its bush of hair.</p> +<p>The Professor had grown restless meantime. He rose.</p> +<p>“Stay,” said Ossipon hurriedly. “Here, what +do you know of madness and despair?”</p> +<p>The Professor passed the tip of his tongue on his dry, thin lips, +and said doctorally:</p> +<p>“There are no such things. All passion is lost now. +The world is mediocre, limp, without force. And madness and despair +are a force. And force is a crime in the eyes of the fools, the +weak and the silly who rule the roost. You are mediocre. +Verloc, whose affair the police has managed to smother so nicely, was +mediocre. And the police murdered him. He was mediocre. +Everybody is mediocre. Madness and despair! Give me that +for a lever, and I’ll move the world. Ossipon, you have +my cordial scorn. You are incapable of conceiving even what the +fat-fed citizen would call a crime. You have no force.” +He paused, smiling sardonically under the fierce glitter of his thick +glasses.</p> +<p>“And let me tell you that this little legacy they say you’ve +come into has not improved your intelligence. You sit at your +beer like a dummy. Good-bye.”</p> +<p>“Will you have it?” said Ossipon, looking up with an +idiotic grin.</p> +<p>“Have what?”</p> +<p>“The legacy. All of it.”</p> +<p>The incorruptible Professor only smiled. His clothes were all +but falling off him, his boots, shapeless with repairs, heavy like lead, +let water in at every step. He said:</p> +<p>“I will send you by-and-by a small bill for certain chemicals +which I shall order to-morrow. I need them badly. Understood—eh?”</p> +<p>Ossipon lowered his head slowly. He was alone. “<i>An +impenetrable mystery</i>. . . . ” It seemed to him that +suspended in the air before him he saw his own brain pulsating to the +rhythm of an impenetrable mystery. It was diseased clearly. . +. . “<i>This act of madness or despair</i>.”</p> +<p>The mechanical piano near the door played through a valse cheekily, +then fell silent all at once, as if gone grumpy.</p> +<p>Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, went out of the Silenus beer-hall. +At the door he hesitated, blinking at a not too splendid sunlight—and +the paper with the report of the suicide of a lady was in his pocket. +His heart was beating against it. The suicide of a lady—<i>this +act of madness or despair</i>.</p> +<p>He walked along the street without looking where he put his feet; +and he walked in a direction which would not bring him to the place +of appointment with another lady (an elderly nursery governess putting +her trust in an Apollo-like ambrosial head). He was walking away +from it. He could face no woman. It was ruin. He could +neither think, work, sleep, nor eat. But he was beginning to drink +with pleasure, with anticipation, with hope. It was ruin. +His revolutionary career, sustained by the sentiment and trustfulness +of many women, was menaced by an impenetrable mystery—the mystery +of a human brain pulsating wrongfully to the rhythm of journalistic +phrases. “ . . . <i>Will hang for ever over this act</i>. +. . . It was inclining towards the gutter . . . <i>of madness or despair</i>.”</p> +<p>“I am seriously ill,” he muttered to himself with scientific +insight. Already his robust form, with an Embassy’s secret-service +money (inherited from Mr Verloc) in his pockets, was marching in the +gutter as if in training for the task of an inevitable future. +Already he bowed his broad shoulders, his head of ambrosial locks, as +if ready to receive the leather yoke of the sandwich board. As +on that night, more than a week ago, Comrade Ossipon walked without +looking where he put his feet, feeling no fatigue, feeling nothing, +seeing nothing, hearing not a sound. “<i>An impenetrable +mystery</i>. . . .” He walked disregarded. . . . “<i>This +act of madness or despair</i>.”</p> +<p>And the incorruptible Professor walked too, averting his eyes from +the odious multitude of mankind. He had no future. He disdained +it. He was a force. His thoughts caressed the images of +ruin and destruction. He walked frail, insignificant, shabby, +miserable—and terrible in the simplicity of his idea calling madness +and despair to the regeneration of the world. Nobody looked at +him. He passed on unsuspected and deadly, like a pest in the street +full of men.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET AGENT***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 974-h.htm or 974-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/9/7/974 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Secret Agent + A Simple Tale + + +Author: Joseph Conrad + + + +Release Date: February 22, 2006 [eBook #974] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET AGENT*** + + + + + +Transcribed from the 1907 Methuen & Co edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +THE SECRET AGENT +A SIMPLE TALE + + +First Published . . . September 1907 + +Second Edition . . . October 1907 + +TO +H. G. WELLS + +THE CHRONICLER OF MR LEWISHAM'S LOVE +THE BIOGRAPHER OF KIPPS AND THE +HISTORIAN OF THE AGES TO COME + +THIS SIMPLE TALE OF THE XIX CENTURY +IS AFFECTIONATELY OFFERED + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Mr Verloc, going out in the morning, left his shop nominally in charge of +his brother-in-law. It could be done, because there was very little +business at any time, and practically none at all before the evening. Mr +Verloc cared but little about his ostensible business. And, moreover, +his wife was in charge of his brother-in-law. + +The shop was small, and so was the house. It was one of those grimy +brick houses which existed in large quantities before the era of +reconstruction dawned upon London. The shop was a square box of a place, +with the front glazed in small panes. In the daytime the door remained +closed; in the evening it stood discreetly but suspiciously ajar. + +The window contained photographs of more or less undressed dancing girls; +nondescript packages in wrappers like patent medicines; closed yellow +paper envelopes, very flimsy, and marked two-and-six in heavy black +figures; a few numbers of ancient French comic publications hung across a +string as if to dry; a dingy blue china bowl, a casket of black wood, +bottles of marking ink, and rubber stamps; a few books, with titles +hinting at impropriety; a few apparently old copies of obscure +newspapers, badly printed, with titles like _The Torch, The Gong_--rousing +titles. And the two gas jets inside the panes were always turned low, +either for economy's sake or for the sake of the customers. + +These customers were either very young men, who hung about the window for +a time before slipping in suddenly; or men of a more mature age, but +looking generally as if they were not in funds. Some of that last kind +had the collars of their overcoats turned right up to their moustaches, +and traces of mud on the bottom of their nether garments, which had the +appearance of being much worn and not very valuable. And the legs inside +them did not, as a general rule, seem of much account either. With their +hands plunged deep in the side pockets of their coats, they dodged in +sideways, one shoulder first, as if afraid to start the bell going. + +The bell, hung on the door by means of a curved ribbon of steel, was +difficult to circumvent. It was hopelessly cracked; but of an evening, +at the slightest provocation, it clattered behind the customer with +impudent virulence. + +It clattered; and at that signal, through the dusty glass door behind the +painted deal counter, Mr Verloc would issue hastily from the parlour at +the back. His eyes were naturally heavy; he had an air of having +wallowed, fully dressed, all day on an unmade bed. Another man would +have felt such an appearance a distinct disadvantage. In a commercial +transaction of the retail order much depends on the seller's engaging and +amiable aspect. But Mr Verloc knew his business, and remained +undisturbed by any sort of aesthetic doubt about his appearance. With a +firm, steady-eyed impudence, which seemed to hold back the threat of some +abominable menace, he would proceed to sell over the counter some object +looking obviously and scandalously not worth the money which passed in +the transaction: a small cardboard box with apparently nothing inside, +for instance, or one of those carefully closed yellow flimsy envelopes, +or a soiled volume in paper covers with a promising title. Now and then +it happened that one of the faded, yellow dancing girls would get sold to +an amateur, as though she had been alive and young. + +Sometimes it was Mrs Verloc who would appear at the call of the cracked +bell. Winnie Verloc was a young woman with a full bust, in a tight +bodice, and with broad hips. Her hair was very tidy. Steady-eyed like +her husband, she preserved an air of unfathomable indifference behind the +rampart of the counter. Then the customer of comparatively tender years +would get suddenly disconcerted at having to deal with a woman, and with +rage in his heart would proffer a request for a bottle of marking ink, +retail value sixpence (price in Verloc's shop one-and-sixpence), which, +once outside, he would drop stealthily into the gutter. + +The evening visitors--the men with collars turned up and soft hats rammed +down--nodded familiarly to Mrs Verloc, and with a muttered greeting, +lifted up the flap at the end of the counter in order to pass into the +back parlour, which gave access to a passage and to a steep flight of +stairs. The door of the shop was the only means of entrance to the house +in which Mr Verloc carried on his business of a seller of shady wares, +exercised his vocation of a protector of society, and cultivated his +domestic virtues. These last were pronounced. He was thoroughly +domesticated. Neither his spiritual, nor his mental, nor his physical +needs were of the kind to take him much abroad. He found at home the +ease of his body and the peace of his conscience, together with Mrs +Verloc's wifely attentions and Mrs Verloc's mother's deferential regard. + +Winnie's mother was a stout, wheezy woman, with a large brown face. She +wore a black wig under a white cap. Her swollen legs rendered her +inactive. She considered herself to be of French descent, which might +have been true; and after a good many years of married life with a +licensed victualler of the more common sort, she provided for the years +of widowhood by letting furnished apartments for gentlemen near Vauxhall +Bridge Road in a square once of some splendour and still included in the +district of Belgravia. This topographical fact was of some advantage in +advertising her rooms; but the patrons of the worthy widow were not +exactly of the fashionable kind. Such as they were, her daughter Winnie +helped to look after them. Traces of the French descent which the widow +boasted of were apparent in Winnie too. They were apparent in the +extremely neat and artistic arrangement of her glossy dark hair. Winnie +had also other charms: her youth; her full, rounded form; her clear +complexion; the provocation of her unfathomable reserve, which never went +so far as to prevent conversation, carried on on the lodgers' part with +animation, and on hers with an equable amiability. It must be that Mr +Verloc was susceptible to these fascinations. Mr Verloc was an +intermittent patron. He came and went without any very apparent reason. +He generally arrived in London (like the influenza) from the Continent, +only he arrived unheralded by the Press; and his visitations set in with +great severity. He breakfasted in bed, and remained wallowing there with +an air of quiet enjoyment till noon every day--and sometimes even to a +later hour. But when he went out he seemed to experience a great +difficulty in finding his way back to his temporary home in the +Belgravian square. He left it late, and returned to it early--as early +as three or four in the morning; and on waking up at ten addressed +Winnie, bringing in the breakfast tray, with jocular, exhausted civility, +in the hoarse, failing tones of a man who had been talking vehemently for +many hours together. His prominent, heavy-lidded eyes rolled sideways +amorously and languidly, the bedclothes were pulled up to his chin, and +his dark smooth moustache covered his thick lips capable of much honeyed +banter. + +In Winnie's mother's opinion Mr Verloc was a very nice gentleman. From +her life's experience gathered in various "business houses" the good +woman had taken into her retirement an ideal of gentlemanliness as +exhibited by the patrons of private-saloon bars. Mr Verloc approached +that ideal; he attained it, in fact. + +"Of course, we'll take over your furniture, mother," Winnie had remarked. + +The lodging-house was to be given up. It seems it would not answer to +carry it on. It would have been too much trouble for Mr Verloc. It +would not have been convenient for his other business. What his business +was he did not say; but after his engagement to Winnie he took the +trouble to get up before noon, and descending the basement stairs, make +himself pleasant to Winnie's mother in the breakfast-room downstairs +where she had her motionless being. He stroked the cat, poked the fire, +had his lunch served to him there. He left its slightly stuffy cosiness +with evident reluctance, but, all the same, remained out till the night +was far advanced. He never offered to take Winnie to theatres, as such a +nice gentleman ought to have done. His evenings were occupied. His work +was in a way political, he told Winnie once. She would have, he warned +her, to be very nice to his political friends. + +And with her straight, unfathomable glance she answered that she would be +so, of course. + +How much more he told her as to his occupation it was impossible for +Winnie's mother to discover. The married couple took her over with the +furniture. The mean aspect of the shop surprised her. The change from +the Belgravian square to the narrow street in Soho affected her legs +adversely. They became of an enormous size. On the other hand, she +experienced a complete relief from material cares. Her son-in-law's +heavy good nature inspired her with a sense of absolute safety. Her +daughter's future was obviously assured, and even as to her son Stevie +she need have no anxiety. She had not been able to conceal from herself +that he was a terrible encumbrance, that poor Stevie. But in view of +Winnie's fondness for her delicate brother, and of Mr Verloc's kind and +generous disposition, she felt that the poor boy was pretty safe in this +rough world. And in her heart of hearts she was not perhaps displeased +that the Verlocs had no children. As that circumstance seemed perfectly +indifferent to Mr Verloc, and as Winnie found an object of quasi-maternal +affection in her brother, perhaps this was just as well for poor Stevie. + +For he was difficult to dispose of, that boy. He was delicate and, in a +frail way, good-looking too, except for the vacant droop of his lower +lip. Under our excellent system of compulsory education he had learned +to read and write, notwithstanding the unfavourable aspect of the lower +lip. But as errand-boy he did not turn out a great success. He forgot +his messages; he was easily diverted from the straight path of duty by +the attractions of stray cats and dogs, which he followed down narrow +alleys into unsavoury courts; by the comedies of the streets, which he +contemplated open-mouthed, to the detriment of his employer's interests; +or by the dramas of fallen horses, whose pathos and violence induced him +sometimes to shriek pierceingly in a crowd, which disliked to be +disturbed by sounds of distress in its quiet enjoyment of the national +spectacle. When led away by a grave and protecting policeman, it would +often become apparent that poor Stevie had forgotten his address--at +least for a time. A brusque question caused him to stutter to the point +of suffocation. When startled by anything perplexing he used to squint +horribly. However, he never had any fits (which was encouraging); and +before the natural outbursts of impatience on the part of his father he +could always, in his childhood's days, run for protection behind the +short skirts of his sister Winnie. On the other hand, he might have been +suspected of hiding a fund of reckless naughtiness. When he had reached +the age of fourteen a friend of his late father, an agent for a foreign +preserved milk firm, having given him an opening as office-boy, he was +discovered one foggy afternoon, in his chief's absence, busy letting off +fireworks on the staircase. He touched off in quick succession a set of +fierce rockets, angry catherine wheels, loudly exploding squibs--and the +matter might have turned out very serious. An awful panic spread through +the whole building. Wild-eyed, choking clerks stampeded through the +passages full of smoke, silk hats and elderly business men could be seen +rolling independently down the stairs. Stevie did not seem to derive any +personal gratification from what he had done. His motives for this +stroke of originality were difficult to discover. It was only later on +that Winnie obtained from him a misty and confused confession. It seems +that two other office-boys in the building had worked upon his feelings +by tales of injustice and oppression till they had wrought his compassion +to the pitch of that frenzy. But his father's friend, of course, +dismissed him summarily as likely to ruin his business. After that +altruistic exploit Stevie was put to help wash the dishes in the basement +kitchen, and to black the boots of the gentlemen patronising the +Belgravian mansion. There was obviously no future in such work. The +gentlemen tipped him a shilling now and then. Mr Verloc showed himself +the most generous of lodgers. But altogether all that did not amount to +much either in the way of gain or prospects; so that when Winnie +announced her engagement to Mr Verloc her mother could not help +wondering, with a sigh and a glance towards the scullery, what would +become of poor Stephen now. + +It appeared that Mr Verloc was ready to take him over together with his +wife's mother and with the furniture, which was the whole visible fortune +of the family. Mr Verloc gathered everything as it came to his broad, +good-natured breast. The furniture was disposed to the best advantage +all over the house, but Mrs Verloc's mother was confined to two back +rooms on the first floor. The luckless Stevie slept in one of them. By +this time a growth of thin fluffy hair had come to blur, like a golden +mist, the sharp line of his small lower jaw. He helped his sister with +blind love and docility in her household duties. Mr Verloc thought that +some occupation would be good for him. His spare time he occupied by +drawing circles with compass and pencil on a piece of paper. He applied +himself to that pastime with great industry, with his elbows spread out +and bowed low over the kitchen table. Through the open door of the +parlour at the back of the shop Winnie, his sister, glanced at him from +time to time with maternal vigilance. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Such was the house, the household, and the business Mr Verloc left behind +him on his way westward at the hour of half-past ten in the morning. It +was unusually early for him; his whole person exhaled the charm of almost +dewy freshness; he wore his blue cloth overcoat unbuttoned; his boots +were shiny; his cheeks, freshly shaven, had a sort of gloss; and even his +heavy-lidded eyes, refreshed by a night of peaceful slumber, sent out +glances of comparative alertness. Through the park railings these +glances beheld men and women riding in the Row, couples cantering past +harmoniously, others advancing sedately at a walk, loitering groups of +three or four, solitary horsemen looking unsociable, and solitary women +followed at a long distance by a groom with a cockade to his hat and a +leather belt over his tight-fitting coat. Carriages went bowling by, +mostly two-horse broughams, with here and there a victoria with the skin +of some wild beast inside and a woman's face and hat emerging above the +folded hood. And a peculiarly London sun--against which nothing could be +said except that it looked bloodshot--glorified all this by its stare. It +hung at a moderate elevation above Hyde Park Corner with an air of +punctual and benign vigilance. The very pavement under Mr Verloc's feet +had an old-gold tinge in that diffused light, in which neither wall, nor +tree, nor beast, nor man cast a shadow. Mr Verloc was going westward +through a town without shadows in an atmosphere of powdered old gold. +There were red, coppery gleams on the roofs of houses, on the corners of +walls, on the panels of carriages, on the very coats of the horses, and +on the broad back of Mr Verloc's overcoat, where they produced a dull +effect of rustiness. But Mr Verloc was not in the least conscious of +having got rusty. He surveyed through the park railings the evidences of +the town's opulence and luxury with an approving eye. All these people +had to be protected. Protection is the first necessity of opulence and +luxury. They had to be protected; and their horses, carriages, houses, +servants had to be protected; and the source of their wealth had to be +protected in the heart of the city and the heart of the country; the +whole social order favourable to their hygienic idleness had to be +protected against the shallow enviousness of unhygienic labour. It had +to--and Mr Verloc would have rubbed his hands with satisfaction had he +not been constitutionally averse from every superfluous exertion. His +idleness was not hygienic, but it suited him very well. He was in a +manner devoted to it with a sort of inert fanaticism, or perhaps rather +with a fanatical inertness. Born of industrious parents for a life of +toil, he had embraced indolence from an impulse as profound as +inexplicable and as imperious as the impulse which directs a man's +preference for one particular woman in a given thousand. He was too lazy +even for a mere demagogue, for a workman orator, for a leader of labour. +It was too much trouble. He required a more perfect form of ease; or it +might have been that he was the victim of a philosophical unbelief in the +effectiveness of every human effort. Such a form of indolence requires, +implies, a certain amount of intelligence. Mr Verloc was not devoid of +intelligence--and at the notion of a menaced social order he would +perhaps have winked to himself if there had not been an effort to make in +that sign of scepticism. His big, prominent eyes were not well adapted +to winking. They were rather of the sort that closes solemnly in slumber +with majestic effect. + +Undemonstrative and burly in a fat-pig style, Mr Verloc, without either +rubbing his hands with satisfaction or winking sceptically at his +thoughts, proceeded on his way. He trod the pavement heavily with his +shiny boots, and his general get-up was that of a well-to-do mechanic in +business for himself. He might have been anything from a picture-frame +maker to a lock-smith; an employer of labour in a small way. But there +was also about him an indescribable air which no mechanic could have +acquired in the practice of his handicraft however dishonestly exercised: +the air common to men who live on the vices, the follies, or the baser +fears of mankind; the air of moral nihilism common to keepers of gambling +hells and disorderly houses; to private detectives and inquiry agents; to +drink sellers and, I should say, to the sellers of invigorating electric +belts and to the inventors of patent medicines. But of that last I am +not sure, not having carried my investigations so far into the depths. +For all I know, the expression of these last may be perfectly diabolic. I +shouldn't be surprised. What I want to affirm is that Mr Verloc's +expression was by no means diabolic. + +Before reaching Knightsbridge, Mr Verloc took a turn to the left out of +the busy main thoroughfare, uproarious with the traffic of swaying +omnibuses and trotting vans, in the almost silent, swift flow of hansoms. +Under his hat, worn with a slight backward tilt, his hair had been +carefully brushed into respectful sleekness; for his business was with an +Embassy. And Mr Verloc, steady like a rock--a soft kind of rock--marched +now along a street which could with every propriety be described as +private. In its breadth, emptiness, and extent it had the majesty of +inorganic nature, of matter that never dies. The only reminder of +mortality was a doctor's brougham arrested in august solitude close to +the curbstone. The polished knockers of the doors gleamed as far as the +eye could reach, the clean windows shone with a dark opaque lustre. And +all was still. But a milk cart rattled noisily across the distant +perspective; a butcher boy, driving with the noble recklessness of a +charioteer at Olympic Games, dashed round the corner sitting high above a +pair of red wheels. A guilty-looking cat issuing from under the stones +ran for a while in front of Mr Verloc, then dived into another basement; +and a thick police constable, looking a stranger to every emotion, as if +he too were part of inorganic nature, surging apparently out of a lamp- +post, took not the slightest notice of Mr Verloc. With a turn to the +left Mr Verloc pursued his way along a narrow street by the side of a +yellow wall which, for some inscrutable reason, had No. 1 Chesham Square +written on it in black letters. Chesham Square was at least sixty yards +away, and Mr Verloc, cosmopolitan enough not to be deceived by London's +topographical mysteries, held on steadily, without a sign of surprise or +indignation. At last, with business-like persistency, he reached the +Square, and made diagonally for the number 10. This belonged to an +imposing carriage gate in a high, clean wall between two houses, of which +one rationally enough bore the number 9 and the other was numbered 37; +but the fact that this last belonged to Porthill Street, a street well +known in the neighbourhood, was proclaimed by an inscription placed above +the ground-floor windows by whatever highly efficient authority is +charged with the duty of keeping track of London's strayed houses. Why +powers are not asked of Parliament (a short act would do) for compelling +those edifices to return where they belong is one of the mysteries of +municipal administration. Mr Verloc did not trouble his head about it, +his mission in life being the protection of the social mechanism, not its +perfectionment or even its criticism. + +It was so early that the porter of the Embassy issued hurriedly out of +his lodge still struggling with the left sleeve of his livery coat. His +waistcoat was red, and he wore knee-breeches, but his aspect was +flustered. Mr Verloc, aware of the rush on his flank, drove it off by +simply holding out an envelope stamped with the arms of the Embassy, and +passed on. He produced the same talisman also to the footman who opened +the door, and stood back to let him enter the hall. + +A clear fire burned in a tall fireplace, and an elderly man standing with +his back to it, in evening dress and with a chain round his neck, glanced +up from the newspaper he was holding spread out in both hands before his +calm and severe face. He didn't move; but another lackey, in brown +trousers and claw-hammer coat edged with thin yellow cord, approaching Mr +Verloc listened to the murmur of his name, and turning round on his heel +in silence, began to walk, without looking back once. Mr Verloc, thus +led along a ground-floor passage to the left of the great carpeted +staircase, was suddenly motioned to enter a quite small room furnished +with a heavy writing-table and a few chairs. The servant shut the door, +and Mr Verloc remained alone. He did not take a seat. With his hat and +stick held in one hand he glanced about, passing his other podgy hand +over his uncovered sleek head. + +Another door opened noiselessly, and Mr Verloc immobilising his glance in +that direction saw at first only black clothes, the bald top of a head, +and a drooping dark grey whisker on each side of a pair of wrinkled +hands. The person who had entered was holding a batch of papers before +his eyes and walked up to the table with a rather mincing step, turning +the papers over the while. Privy Councillor Wurmt, Chancelier +d'Ambassade, was rather short-sighted. This meritorious official laying +the papers on the table, disclosed a face of pasty complexion and of +melancholy ugliness surrounded by a lot of fine, long dark grey hairs, +barred heavily by thick and bushy eyebrows. He put on a black-framed +pince-nez upon a blunt and shapeless nose, and seemed struck by Mr +Verloc's appearance. Under the enormous eyebrows his weak eyes blinked +pathetically through the glasses. + +He made no sign of greeting; neither did Mr Verloc, who certainly knew +his place; but a subtle change about the general outlines of his +shoulders and back suggested a slight bending of Mr Verloc's spine under +the vast surface of his overcoat. The effect was of unobtrusive +deference. + +"I have here some of your reports," said the bureaucrat in an +unexpectedly soft and weary voice, and pressing the tip of his forefinger +on the papers with force. He paused; and Mr Verloc, who had recognised +his own handwriting very well, waited in an almost breathless silence. +"We are not very satisfied with the attitude of the police here," the +other continued, with every appearance of mental fatigue. + +The shoulders of Mr Verloc, without actually moving, suggested a shrug. +And for the first time since he left his home that morning his lips +opened. + +"Every country has its police," he said philosophically. But as the +official of the Embassy went on blinking at him steadily he felt +constrained to add: "Allow me to observe that I have no means of action +upon the police here." + +"What is desired," said the man of papers, "is the occurrence of +something definite which should stimulate their vigilance. That is +within your province--is it not so?" + +Mr Verloc made no answer except by a sigh, which escaped him +involuntarily, for instantly he tried to give his face a cheerful +expression. The official blinked doubtfully, as if affected by the dim +light of the room. He repeated vaguely. + +"The vigilance of the police--and the severity of the magistrates. The +general leniency of the judicial procedure here, and the utter absence of +all repressive measures, are a scandal to Europe. What is wished for +just now is the accentuation of the unrest--of the fermentation which +undoubtedly exists--" + +"Undoubtedly, undoubtedly," broke in Mr Verloc in a deep deferential bass +of an oratorical quality, so utterly different from the tone in which he +had spoken before that his interlocutor remained profoundly surprised. +"It exists to a dangerous degree. My reports for the last twelve months +make it sufficiently clear." + +"Your reports for the last twelve months," State Councillor Wurmt began +in his gentle and dispassionate tone, "have been read by me. I failed to +discover why you wrote them at all." + +A sad silence reigned for a time. Mr Verloc seemed to have swallowed his +tongue, and the other gazed at the papers on the table fixedly. At last +he gave them a slight push. + +"The state of affairs you expose there is assumed to exist as the first +condition of your employment. What is required at present is not +writing, but the bringing to light of a distinct, significant fact--I +would almost say of an alarming fact." + +"I need not say that all my endeavours shall be directed to that end," Mr +Verloc said, with convinced modulations in his conversational husky tone. +But the sense of being blinked at watchfully behind the blind glitter of +these eye-glasses on the other side of the table disconcerted him. He +stopped short with a gesture of absolute devotion. The useful, +hard-working, if obscure member of the Embassy had an air of being +impressed by some newly-born thought. + +"You are very corpulent," he said. + +This observation, really of a psychological nature, and advanced with the +modest hesitation of an officeman more familiar with ink and paper than +with the requirements of active life, stung Mr Verloc in the manner of a +rude personal remark. He stepped back a pace. + +"Eh? What were you pleased to say?" he exclaimed, with husky resentment. + +The Chancelier d'Ambassade entrusted with the conduct of this interview +seemed to find it too much for him. + +"I think," he said, "that you had better see Mr Vladimir. Yes, decidedly +I think you ought to see Mr Vladimir. Be good enough to wait here," he +added, and went out with mincing steps. + +At once Mr Verloc passed his hand over his hair. A slight perspiration +had broken out on his forehead. He let the air escape from his pursed-up +lips like a man blowing at a spoonful of hot soup. But when the servant +in brown appeared at the door silently, Mr Verloc had not moved an inch +from the place he had occupied throughout the interview. He had remained +motionless, as if feeling himself surrounded by pitfalls. + +He walked along a passage lighted by a lonely gas-jet, then up a flight +of winding stairs, and through a glazed and cheerful corridor on the +first floor. The footman threw open a door, and stood aside. The feet +of Mr Verloc felt a thick carpet. The room was large, with three +windows; and a young man with a shaven, big face, sitting in a roomy arm- +chair before a vast mahogany writing-table, said in French to the +Chancelier d'Ambassade, who was going out with, the papers in his hand: + +"You are quite right, mon cher. He's fat--the animal." + +Mr Vladimir, First Secretary, had a drawing-room reputation as an +agreeable and entertaining man. He was something of a favourite in +society. His wit consisted in discovering droll connections between +incongruous ideas; and when talking in that strain he sat well forward of +his seat, with his left hand raised, as if exhibiting his funny +demonstrations between the thumb and forefinger, while his round and +clean-shaven face wore an expression of merry perplexity. + +But there was no trace of merriment or perplexity in the way he looked at +Mr Verloc. Lying far back in the deep arm-chair, with squarely spread +elbows, and throwing one leg over a thick knee, he had with his smooth +and rosy countenance the air of a preternaturally thriving baby that will +not stand nonsense from anybody. + +"You understand French, I suppose?" he said. + +Mr Verloc stated huskily that he did. His whole vast bulk had a forward +inclination. He stood on the carpet in the middle of the room, clutching +his hat and stick in one hand; the other hung lifelessly by his side. He +muttered unobtrusively somewhere deep down in his throat something about +having done his military service in the French artillery. At once, with +contemptuous perversity, Mr Vladimir changed the language, and began to +speak idiomatic English without the slightest trace of a foreign accent. + +"Ah! Yes. Of course. Let's see. How much did you get for obtaining +the design of the improved breech-block of their new field-gun?" + +"Five years' rigorous confinement in a fortress," Mr Verloc answered +unexpectedly, but without any sign of feeling. + +"You got off easily," was Mr Vladimir's comment. "And, anyhow, it served +you right for letting yourself get caught. What made you go in for that +sort of thing--eh?" + +Mr Verloc's husky conversational voice was heard speaking of youth, of a +fatal infatuation for an unworthy-- + +"Aha! Cherchez la femme," Mr Vladimir deigned to interrupt, unbending, +but without affability; there was, on the contrary, a touch of grimness +in his condescension. "How long have you been employed by the Embassy +here?" he asked. + +"Ever since the time of the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim," Mr Verloc +answered in subdued tones, and protruding his lips sadly, in sign of +sorrow for the deceased diplomat. The First Secretary observed this play +of physiognomy steadily. + +"Ah! ever since. Well! What have you got to say for yourself?" he asked +sharply. + +Mr Verloc answered with some surprise that he was not aware of having +anything special to say. He had been summoned by a letter--And he +plunged his hand busily into the side pocket of his overcoat, but before +the mocking, cynical watchfulness of Mr Vladimir, concluded to leave it +there. + +"Bah!" said that latter. "What do you mean by getting out of condition +like this? You haven't got even the physique of your profession. You--a +member of a starving proletariat--never! You--a desperate socialist or +anarchist--which is it?" + +"Anarchist," stated Mr Verloc in a deadened tone. + +"Bosh!" went on Mr Vladimir, without raising his voice. "You startled +old Wurmt himself. You wouldn't deceive an idiot. They all are that by- +the-by, but you seem to me simply impossible. So you began your +connection with us by stealing the French gun designs. And you got +yourself caught. That must have been very disagreeable to our +Government. You don't seem to be very smart." + +Mr Verloc tried to exculpate himself huskily. + +"As I've had occasion to observe before, a fatal infatuation for an +unworthy--" + +Mr Vladimir raised a large white, plump hand. "Ah, yes. The unlucky +attachment--of your youth. She got hold of the money, and then sold you +to the police--eh?" + +The doleful change in Mr Verloc's physiognomy, the momentary drooping of +his whole person, confessed that such was the regrettable case. Mr +Vladimir's hand clasped the ankle reposing on his knee. The sock was of +dark blue silk. + +"You see, that was not very clever of you. Perhaps you are too +susceptible." + +Mr Verloc intimated in a throaty, veiled murmur that he was no longer +young. + +"Oh! That's a failing which age does not cure," Mr Vladimir remarked, +with sinister familiarity. "But no! You are too fat for that. You +could not have come to look like this if you had been at all susceptible. +I'll tell you what I think is the matter: you are a lazy fellow. How +long have you been drawing pay from this Embassy?" + +"Eleven years," was the answer, after a moment of sulky hesitation. "I've +been charged with several missions to London while His Excellency Baron +Stott-Wartenheim was still Ambassador in Paris. Then by his Excellency's +instructions I settled down in London. I am English." + +"You are! Are you? Eh?" + +"A natural-born British subject," Mr Verloc said stolidly. "But my +father was French, and so--" + +"Never mind explaining," interrupted the other. "I daresay you could +have been legally a Marshal of France and a Member of Parliament in +England--and then, indeed, you would have been of some use to our +Embassy." + +This flight of fancy provoked something like a faint smile on Mr Verloc's +face. Mr Vladimir retained an imperturbable gravity. + +"But, as I've said, you are a lazy fellow; you don't use your +opportunities. In the time of Baron Stott-Wartenheim we had a lot of +soft-headed people running this Embassy. They caused fellows of your +sort to form a false conception of the nature of a secret service fund. +It is my business to correct this misapprehension by telling you what the +secret service is not. It is not a philanthropic institution. I've had +you called here on purpose to tell you this." + +Mr Vladimir observed the forced expression of bewilderment on Verloc's +face, and smiled sarcastically. + +"I see that you understand me perfectly. I daresay you are intelligent +enough for your work. What we want now is activity--activity." + +On repeating this last word Mr Vladimir laid a long white forefinger on +the edge of the desk. Every trace of huskiness disappeared from Verloc's +voice. The nape of his gross neck became crimson above the velvet collar +of his overcoat. His lips quivered before they came widely open. + +"If you'll only be good enough to look up my record," he boomed out in +his great, clear oratorical bass, "you'll see I gave a warning only three +months ago, on the occasion of the Grand Duke Romuald's visit to Paris, +which was telegraphed from here to the French police, and--" + +"Tut, tut!" broke out Mr Vladimir, with a frowning grimace. "The French +police had no use for your warning. Don't roar like this. What the +devil do you mean?" + +With a note of proud humility Mr Verloc apologised for forgetting +himself. His voice,--famous for years at open-air meetings and at +workmen's assemblies in large halls, had contributed, he said, to his +reputation of a good and trustworthy comrade. It was, therefore, a part +of his usefulness. It had inspired confidence in his principles. "I was +always put up to speak by the leaders at a critical moment," Mr Verloc +declared, with obvious satisfaction. There was no uproar above which he +could not make himself heard, he added; and suddenly he made a +demonstration. + +"Allow me," he said. With lowered forehead, without looking up, swiftly +and ponderously he crossed the room to one of the French windows. As if +giving way to an uncontrollable impulse, he opened it a little. Mr +Vladimir, jumping up amazed from the depths of the arm-chair, looked over +his shoulder; and below, across the courtyard of the Embassy, well beyond +the open gate, could be seen the broad back of a policeman watching idly +the gorgeous perambulator of a wealthy baby being wheeled in state across +the Square. + +"Constable!" said Mr Verloc, with no more effort than if he were +whispering; and Mr Vladimir burst into a laugh on seeing the policeman +spin round as if prodded by a sharp instrument. Mr Verloc shut the +window quietly, and returned to the middle of the room. + +"With a voice like that," he said, putting on the husky conversational +pedal, "I was naturally trusted. And I knew what to say, too." + +Mr Vladimir, arranging his cravat, observed him in the glass over the +mantelpiece. + +"I daresay you have the social revolutionary jargon by heart well +enough," he said contemptuously. "Vox et. . . You haven't ever studied +Latin--have you?" + +"No," growled Mr Verloc. "You did not expect me to know it. I belong to +the million. Who knows Latin? Only a few hundred imbeciles who aren't +fit to take care of themselves." + +For some thirty seconds longer Mr Vladimir studied in the mirror the +fleshy profile, the gross bulk, of the man behind him. And at the same +time he had the advantage of seeing his own face, clean-shaved and round, +rosy about the gills, and with the thin sensitive lips formed exactly for +the utterance of those delicate witticisms which had made him such a +favourite in the very highest society. Then he turned, and advanced into +the room with such determination that the very ends of his quaintly old- +fashioned bow necktie seemed to bristle with unspeakable menaces. The +movement was so swift and fierce that Mr Verloc, casting an oblique +glance, quailed inwardly. + +"Aha! You dare be impudent," Mr Vladimir began, with an amazingly +guttural intonation not only utterly un-English, but absolutely +un-European, and startling even to Mr Verloc's experience of cosmopolitan +slums. "You dare! Well, I am going to speak plain English to you. Voice +won't do. We have no use for your voice. We don't want a voice. We +want facts--startling facts--damn you," he added, with a sort of +ferocious discretion, right into Mr Verloc's face. + +"Don't you try to come over me with your Hyperborean manners," Mr Verloc +defended himself huskily, looking at the carpet. At this his +interlocutor, smiling mockingly above the bristling bow of his necktie, +switched the conversation into French. + +"You give yourself for an 'agent provocateur.' The proper business of an +'agent provocateur' is to provoke. As far as I can judge from your +record kept here, you have done nothing to earn your money for the last +three years." + +"Nothing!" exclaimed Verloc, stirring not a limb, and not raising his +eyes, but with the note of sincere feeling in his tone. "I have several +times prevented what might have been--" + +"There is a proverb in this country which says prevention is better than +cure," interrupted Mr Vladimir, throwing himself into the arm-chair. "It +is stupid in a general way. There is no end to prevention. But it is +characteristic. They dislike finality in this country. Don't you be too +English. And in this particular instance, don't be absurd. The evil is +already here. We don't want prevention--we want cure." + +He paused, turned to the desk, and turning over some papers lying there, +spoke in a changed business-like tone, without looking at Mr Verloc. + +"You know, of course, of the International Conference assembled in +Milan?" + +Mr Verloc intimated hoarsely that he was in the habit of reading the +daily papers. To a further question his answer was that, of course, he +understood what he read. At this Mr Vladimir, smiling faintly at the +documents he was still scanning one after another, murmured "As long as +it is not written in Latin, I suppose." + +"Or Chinese," added Mr Verloc stolidly. + +"H'm. Some of your revolutionary friends' effusions are written in a +_charabia_ every bit as incomprehensible as Chinese--" Mr Vladimir let +fall disdainfully a grey sheet of printed matter. "What are all these +leaflets headed F. P., with a hammer, pen, and torch crossed? What does +it mean, this F. P.?" Mr Verloc approached the imposing writing-table. + +"The Future of the Proletariat. It's a society," he explained, standing +ponderously by the side of the arm-chair, "not anarchist in principle, +but open to all shades of revolutionary opinion." + +"Are you in it?" + +"One of the Vice-Presidents," Mr Verloc breathed out heavily; and the +First Secretary of the Embassy raised his head to look at him. + +"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself," he said incisively. "Isn't +your society capable of anything else but printing this prophetic bosh in +blunt type on this filthy paper eh? Why don't you do something? Look +here. I've this matter in hand now, and I tell you plainly that you will +have to earn your money. The good old Stott-Wartenheim times are over. +No work, no pay." + +Mr Verloc felt a queer sensation of faintness in his stout legs. He +stepped back one pace, and blew his nose loudly. + +He was, in truth, startled and alarmed. The rusty London sunshine +struggling clear of the London mist shed a lukewarm brightness into the +First Secretary's private room; and in the silence Mr Verloc heard +against a window-pane the faint buzzing of a fly--his first fly of the +year--heralding better than any number of swallows the approach of +spring. The useless fussing of that tiny energetic organism affected +unpleasantly this big man threatened in his indolence. + +In the pause Mr Vladimir formulated in his mind a series of disparaging +remarks concerning Mr Verloc's face and figure. The fellow was +unexpectedly vulgar, heavy, and impudently unintelligent. He looked +uncommonly like a master plumber come to present his bill. The First +Secretary of the Embassy, from his occasional excursions into the field +of American humour, had formed a special notion of that class of mechanic +as the embodiment of fraudulent laziness and incompetency. + +This was then the famous and trusty secret agent, so secret that he was +never designated otherwise but by the symbol [delta] in the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim's official, semi-official, and confidential +correspondence; the celebrated agent [delta], whose warnings had the +power to change the schemes and the dates of royal, imperial, grand ducal +journeys, and sometimes caused them to be put off altogether! This +fellow! And Mr Vladimir indulged mentally in an enormous and derisive +fit of merriment, partly at his own astonishment, which he judged naive, +but mostly at the expense of the universally regretted Baron +Stott-Wartenheim. His late Excellency, whom the august favour of his +Imperial master had imposed as Ambassador upon several reluctant +Ministers of Foreign Affairs, had enjoyed in his lifetime a fame for an +owlish, pessimistic gullibility. His Excellency had the social +revolution on the brain. He imagined himself to be a diplomatist set +apart by a special dispensation to watch the end of diplomacy, and pretty +nearly the end of the world, in a horrid democratic upheaval. His +prophetic and doleful despatches had been for years the joke of Foreign +Offices. He was said to have exclaimed on his deathbed (visited by his +Imperial friend and master): "Unhappy Europe! Thou shalt perish by the +moral insanity of thy children!" He was fated to be the victim of the +first humbugging rascal that came along, thought Mr Vladimir, smiling +vaguely at Mr Verloc. + +"You ought to venerate the memory of Baron Stott-Wartenheim," he +exclaimed suddenly. + +The lowered physiognomy of Mr Verloc expressed a sombre and weary +annoyance. + +"Permit me to observe to you," he said, "that I came here because I was +summoned by a peremptory letter. I have been here only twice before in +the last eleven years, and certainly never at eleven in the morning. It +isn't very wise to call me up like this. There is just a chance of being +seen. And that would be no joke for me." + +Mr Vladimir shrugged his shoulders. + +"It would destroy my usefulness," continued the other hotly. + +"That's your affair," murmured Mr Vladimir, with soft brutality. "When +you cease to be useful you shall cease to be employed. Yes. Right off. +Cut short. You shall--" Mr Vladimir, frowning, paused, at a loss for a +sufficiently idiomatic expression, and instantly brightened up, with a +grin of beautifully white teeth. "You shall be chucked," he brought out +ferociously. + +Once more Mr Verloc had to react with all the force of his will against +that sensation of faintness running down one's legs which once upon a +time had inspired some poor devil with the felicitous expression: "My +heart went down into my boots." Mr Verloc, aware of the sensation, +raised his head bravely. + +Mr Vladimir bore the look of heavy inquiry with perfect serenity. + +"What we want is to administer a tonic to the Conference in Milan," he +said airily. "Its deliberations upon international action for the +suppression of political crime don't seem to get anywhere. England lags. +This country is absurd with its sentimental regard for individual +liberty. It's intolerable to think that all your friends have got only +to come over to--" + +"In that way I have them all under my eye," Mr Verloc interrupted +huskily. + +"It would be much more to the point to have them all under lock and key. +England must be brought into line. The imbecile bourgeoisie of this +country make themselves the accomplices of the very people whose aim is +to drive them out of their houses to starve in ditches. And they have +the political power still, if they only had the sense to use it for their +preservation. I suppose you agree that the middle classes are stupid?" + +Mr Verloc agreed hoarsely. + +"They are." + +"They have no imagination. They are blinded by an idiotic vanity. What +they want just now is a jolly good scare. This is the psychological +moment to set your friends to work. I have had you called here to +develop to you my idea." + +And Mr Vladimir developed his idea from on high, with scorn and +condescension, displaying at the same time an amount of ignorance as to +the real aims, thoughts, and methods of the revolutionary world which +filled the silent Mr Verloc with inward consternation. He confounded +causes with effects more than was excusable; the most distinguished +propagandists with impulsive bomb throwers; assumed organisation where in +the nature of things it could not exist; spoke of the social +revolutionary party one moment as of a perfectly disciplined army, where +the word of chiefs was supreme, and at another as if it had been the +loosest association of desperate brigands that ever camped in a mountain +gorge. Once Mr Verloc had opened his mouth for a protest, but the +raising of a shapely, large white hand arrested him. Very soon he became +too appalled to even try to protest. He listened in a stillness of dread +which resembled the immobility of profound attention. + +"A series of outrages," Mr Vladimir continued calmly, "executed here in +this country; not only _planned_ here--that would not do--they would not +mind. Your friends could set half the Continent on fire without +influencing the public opinion here in favour of a universal repressive +legislation. They will not look outside their backyard here." + +Mr Verloc cleared his throat, but his heart failed him, and he said +nothing. + +"These outrages need not be especially sanguinary," Mr Vladimir went on, +as if delivering a scientific lecture, "but they must be sufficiently +startling--effective. Let them be directed against buildings, for +instance. What is the fetish of the hour that all the bourgeoisie +recognise--eh, Mr Verloc?" + +Mr Verloc opened his hands and shrugged his shoulders slightly. + +"You are too lazy to think," was Mr Vladimir's comment upon that gesture. +"Pay attention to what I say. The fetish of to-day is neither royalty +nor religion. Therefore the palace and the church should be left alone. +You understand what I mean, Mr Verloc?" + +The dismay and the scorn of Mr Verloc found vent in an attempt at levity. + +"Perfectly. But what of the Embassies? A series of attacks on the +various Embassies," he began; but he could not withstand the cold, +watchful stare of the First Secretary. + +"You can be facetious, I see," the latter observed carelessly. "That's +all right. It may enliven your oratory at socialistic congresses. But +this room is no place for it. It would be infinitely safer for you to +follow carefully what I am saying. As you are being called upon to +furnish facts instead of cock-and-bull stories, you had better try to +make your profit off what I am taking the trouble to explain to you. The +sacrosanct fetish of to-day is science. Why don't you get some of your +friends to go for that wooden-faced panjandrum--eh? Is it not part of +these institutions which must be swept away before the F. P. comes +along?" + +Mr Verloc said nothing. He was afraid to open his lips lest a groan +should escape him. + +"This is what you should try for. An attempt upon a crowned head or on a +president is sensational enough in a way, but not so much as it used to +be. It has entered into the general conception of the existence of all +chiefs of state. It's almost conventional--especially since so many +presidents have been assassinated. Now let us take an outrage upon--say +a church. Horrible enough at first sight, no doubt, and yet not so +effective as a person of an ordinary mind might think. No matter how +revolutionary and anarchist in inception, there would be fools enough to +give such an outrage the character of a religious manifestation. And +that would detract from the especial alarming significance we wish to +give to the act. A murderous attempt on a restaurant or a theatre would +suffer in the same way from the suggestion of non-political passion: the +exasperation of a hungry man, an act of social revenge. All this is used +up; it is no longer instructive as an object lesson in revolutionary +anarchism. Every newspaper has ready-made phrases to explain such +manifestations away. I am about to give you the philosophy of bomb +throwing from my point of view; from the point of view you pretend to +have been serving for the last eleven years. I will try not to talk +above your head. The sensibilities of the class you are attacking are +soon blunted. Property seems to them an indestructible thing. You can't +count upon their emotions either of pity or fear for very long. A bomb +outrage to have any influence on public opinion now must go beyond the +intention of vengeance or terrorism. It must be purely destructive. It +must be that, and only that, beyond the faintest suspicion of any other +object. You anarchists should make it clear that you are perfectly +determined to make a clean sweep of the whole social creation. But how +to get that appallingly absurd notion into the heads of the middle +classes so that there should be no mistake? That's the question. By +directing your blows at something outside the ordinary passions of +humanity is the answer. Of course, there is art. A bomb in the National +Gallery would make some noise. But it would not be serious enough. Art +has never been their fetish. It's like breaking a few back windows in a +man's house; whereas, if you want to make him really sit up, you must try +at least to raise the roof. There would be some screaming of course, but +from whom? Artists--art critics and such like--people of no account. +Nobody minds what they say. But there is learning--science. Any +imbecile that has got an income believes in that. He does not know why, +but he believes it matters somehow. It is the sacrosanct fetish. All +the damned professors are radicals at heart. Let them know that their +great panjandrum has got to go too, to make room for the Future of the +Proletariat. A howl from all these intellectual idiots is bound to help +forward the labours of the Milan Conference. They will be writing to the +papers. Their indignation would be above suspicion, no material +interests being openly at stake, and it will alarm every selfishness of +the class which should be impressed. They believe that in some +mysterious way science is at the source of their material prosperity. +They do. And the absurd ferocity of such a demonstration will affect +them more profoundly than the mangling of a whole street--or theatre--full +of their own kind. To that last they can always say: 'Oh! it's mere +class hate.' But what is one to say to an act of destructive ferocity so +absurd as to be incomprehensible, inexplicable, almost unthinkable; in +fact, mad? Madness alone is truly terrifying, inasmuch as you cannot +placate it either by threats, persuasion, or bribes. Moreover, I am a +civilised man. I would never dream of directing you to organise a mere +butchery, even if I expected the best results from it. But I wouldn't +expect from a butchery the result I want. Murder is always with us. It +is almost an institution. The demonstration must be against +learning--science. But not every science will do. The attack must have +all the shocking senselessness of gratuitous blasphemy. Since bombs are +your means of expression, it would be really telling if one could throw a +bomb into pure mathematics. But that is impossible. I have been trying +to educate you; I have expounded to you the higher philosophy of your +usefulness, and suggested to you some serviceable arguments. The +practical application of my teaching interests _you_ mostly. But from +the moment I have undertaken to interview you I have also given some +attention to the practical aspect of the question. What do you think of +having a go at astronomy?" + +For sometime already Mr Verloc's immobility by the side of the arm-chair +resembled a state of collapsed coma--a sort of passive insensibility +interrupted by slight convulsive starts, such as may be observed in the +domestic dog having a nightmare on the hearthrug. And it was in an +uneasy doglike growl that he repeated the word: + +"Astronomy." + +He had not recovered thoroughly as yet from that state of bewilderment +brought about by the effort to follow Mr Vladimir's rapid incisive +utterance. It had overcome his power of assimilation. It had made him +angry. This anger was complicated by incredulity. And suddenly it +dawned upon him that all this was an elaborate joke. Mr Vladimir +exhibited his white teeth in a smile, with dimples on his round, full +face posed with a complacent inclination above the bristling bow of his +neck-tie. The favourite of intelligent society women had assumed his +drawing-room attitude accompanying the delivery of delicate witticisms. +Sitting well forward, his white hand upraised, he seemed to hold +delicately between his thumb and forefinger the subtlety of his +suggestion. + +"There could be nothing better. Such an outrage combines the greatest +possible regard for humanity with the most alarming display of ferocious +imbecility. I defy the ingenuity of journalists to persuade their public +that any given member of the proletariat can have a personal grievance +against astronomy. Starvation itself could hardly be dragged in +there--eh? And there are other advantages. The whole civilised world +has heard of Greenwich. The very boot-blacks in the basement of Charing +Cross Station know something of it. See?" + +The features of Mr Vladimir, so well known in the best society by their +humorous urbanity, beamed with cynical self-satisfaction, which would +have astonished the intelligent women his wit entertained so exquisitely. +"Yes," he continued, with a contemptuous smile, "the blowing up of the +first meridian is bound to raise a howl of execration." + +"A difficult business," Mr Verloc mumbled, feeling that this was the only +safe thing to say. + +"What is the matter? Haven't you the whole gang under your hand? The +very pick of the basket? That old terrorist Yundt is here. I see him +walking about Piccadilly in his green havelock almost every day. And +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle--you don't mean to say you don't +know where he is? Because if you don't, I can tell you," Mr Vladimir +went on menacingly. "If you imagine that you are the only one on the +secret fund list, you are mistaken." + +This perfectly gratuitous suggestion caused Mr Verloc to shuffle his feet +slightly. + +"And the whole Lausanne lot--eh? Haven't they been flocking over here at +the first hint of the Milan Conference? This is an absurd country." + +"It will cost money," Mr Verloc said, by a sort of instinct. + +"That cock won't fight," Mr Vladimir retorted, with an amazingly genuine +English accent. "You'll get your screw every month, and no more till +something happens. And if nothing happens very soon you won't get even +that. What's your ostensible occupation? What are you supposed to live +by?" + +"I keep a shop," answered Mr Verloc. + +"A shop! What sort of shop?" + +"Stationery, newspapers. My wife--" + +"Your what?" interrupted Mr Vladimir in his guttural Central Asian tones. + +"My wife." Mr Verloc raised his husky voice slightly. "I am married." + +"That be damned for a yarn," exclaimed the other in unfeigned +astonishment. "Married! And you a professed anarchist, too! What is +this confounded nonsense? But I suppose it's merely a manner of +speaking. Anarchists don't marry. It's well known. They can't. It +would be apostasy." + +"My wife isn't one," Mr Verloc mumbled sulkily. "Moreover, it's no +concern of yours." + +"Oh yes, it is," snapped Mr Vladimir. "I am beginning to be convinced +that you are not at all the man for the work you've been employed on. +Why, you must have discredited yourself completely in your own world by +your marriage. Couldn't you have managed without? This is your virtuous +attachment--eh? What with one sort of attachment and another you are +doing away with your usefulness." + +Mr Verloc, puffing out his cheeks, let the air escape violently, and that +was all. He had armed himself with patience. It was not to be tried +much longer. The First Secretary became suddenly very curt, detached, +final. + +"You may go now," he said. "A dynamite outrage must be provoked. I give +you a month. The sittings of the Conference are suspended. Before it +reassembles again something must have happened here, or your connection +with us ceases." + +He changed the note once more with an unprincipled versatility. + +"Think over my philosophy, Mr--Mr--Verloc," he said, with a sort of +chaffing condescension, waving his hand towards the door. "Go for the +first meridian. You don't know the middle classes as well as I do. Their +sensibilities are jaded. The first meridian. Nothing better, and +nothing easier, I should think." + +He had got up, and with his thin sensitive lips twitching humorously, +watched in the glass over the mantelpiece Mr Verloc backing out of the +room heavily, hat and stick in hand. The door closed. + +The footman in trousers, appearing suddenly in the corridor, let Mr +Verloc another way out and through a small door in the corner of the +courtyard. The porter standing at the gate ignored his exit completely; +and Mr Verloc retraced the path of his morning's pilgrimage as if in a +dream--an angry dream. This detachment from the material world was so +complete that, though the mortal envelope of Mr Verloc had not hastened +unduly along the streets, that part of him to which it would be +unwarrantably rude to refuse immortality, found itself at the shop door +all at once, as if borne from west to east on the wings of a great wind. +He walked straight behind the counter, and sat down on a wooden chair +that stood there. No one appeared to disturb his solitude. Stevie, put +into a green baize apron, was now sweeping and dusting upstairs, intent +and conscientious, as though he were playing at it; and Mrs Verloc, +warned in the kitchen by the clatter of the cracked bell, had merely come +to the glazed door of the parlour, and putting the curtain aside a +little, had peered into the dim shop. Seeing her husband sitting there +shadowy and bulky, with his hat tilted far back on his head, she had at +once returned to her stove. An hour or more later she took the green +baize apron off her brother Stevie, and instructed him to wash his hands +and face in the peremptory tone she had used in that connection for +fifteen years or so--ever since she had, in fact, ceased to attend to the +boy's hands and face herself. She spared presently a glance away from +her dishing-up for the inspection of that face and those hands which +Stevie, approaching the kitchen table, offered for her approval with an +air of self-assurance hiding a perpetual residue of anxiety. Formerly +the anger of the father was the supremely effective sanction of these +rites, but Mr Verloc's placidity in domestic life would have made all +mention of anger incredible even to poor Stevie's nervousness. The +theory was that Mr Verloc would have been inexpressibly pained and +shocked by any deficiency of cleanliness at meal times. Winnie after the +death of her father found considerable consolation in the feeling that +she need no longer tremble for poor Stevie. She could not bear to see +the boy hurt. It maddened her. As a little girl she had often faced +with blazing eyes the irascible licensed victualler in defence of her +brother. Nothing now in Mrs Verloc's appearance could lead one to +suppose that she was capable of a passionate demonstration. + +She finished her dishing-up. The table was laid in the parlour. Going +to the foot of the stairs, she screamed out "Mother!" Then opening the +glazed door leading to the shop, she said quietly "Adolf!" Mr Verloc had +not changed his position; he had not apparently stirred a limb for an +hour and a half. He got up heavily, and came to his dinner in his +overcoat and with his hat on, without uttering a word. His silence in +itself had nothing startlingly unusual in this household, hidden in the +shades of the sordid street seldom touched by the sun, behind the dim +shop with its wares of disreputable rubbish. Only that day Mr Verloc's +taciturnity was so obviously thoughtful that the two women were impressed +by it. They sat silent themselves, keeping a watchful eye on poor +Stevie, lest he should break out into one of his fits of loquacity. He +faced Mr Verloc across the table, and remained very good and quiet, +staring vacantly. The endeavour to keep him from making himself +objectionable in any way to the master of the house put no inconsiderable +anxiety into these two women's lives. "That boy," as they alluded to him +softly between themselves, had been a source of that sort of anxiety +almost from the very day of his birth. The late licensed victualler's +humiliation at having such a very peculiar boy for a son manifested +itself by a propensity to brutal treatment; for he was a person of fine +sensibilities, and his sufferings as a man and a father were perfectly +genuine. Afterwards Stevie had to be kept from making himself a nuisance +to the single gentlemen lodgers, who are themselves a queer lot, and are +easily aggrieved. And there was always the anxiety of his mere existence +to face. Visions of a workhouse infirmary for her child had haunted the +old woman in the basement breakfast-room of the decayed Belgravian house. +"If you had not found such a good husband, my dear," she used to say to +her daughter, "I don't know what would have become of that poor boy." + +Mr Verloc extended as much recognition to Stevie as a man not +particularly fond of animals may give to his wife's beloved cat; and this +recognition, benevolent and perfunctory, was essentially of the same +quality. Both women admitted to themselves that not much more could be +reasonably expected. It was enough to earn for Mr Verloc the old woman's +reverential gratitude. In the early days, made sceptical by the trials +of friendless life, she used sometimes to ask anxiously: "You don't +think, my dear, that Mr Verloc is getting tired of seeing Stevie about?" +To this Winnie replied habitually by a slight toss of her head. Once, +however, she retorted, with a rather grim pertness: "He'll have to get +tired of me first." A long silence ensued. The mother, with her feet +propped up on a stool, seemed to be trying to get to the bottom of that +answer, whose feminine profundity had struck her all of a heap. She had +never really understood why Winnie had married Mr Verloc. It was very +sensible of her, and evidently had turned out for the best, but her girl +might have naturally hoped to find somebody of a more suitable age. There +had been a steady young fellow, only son of a butcher in the next street, +helping his father in business, with whom Winnie had been walking out +with obvious gusto. He was dependent on his father, it is true; but the +business was good, and his prospects excellent. He took her girl to the +theatre on several evenings. Then just as she began to dread to hear of +their engagement (for what could she have done with that big house alone, +with Stevie on her hands), that romance came to an abrupt end, and Winnie +went about looking very dull. But Mr Verloc, turning up providentially +to occupy the first-floor front bedroom, there had been no more question +of the young butcher. It was clearly providential. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +" . . . All idealisation makes life poorer. To beautify it is to take +away its character of complexity--it is to destroy it. Leave that to the +moralists, my boy. History is made by men, but they do not make it in +their heads. The ideas that are born in their consciousness play an +insignificant part in the march of events. History is dominated and +determined by the tool and the production--by the force of economic +conditions. Capitalism has made socialism, and the laws made by the +capitalism for the protection of property are responsible for anarchism. +No one can tell what form the social organisation may take in the future. +Then why indulge in prophetic phantasies? At best they can only +interpret the mind of the prophet, and can have no objective value. Leave +that pastime to the moralists, my boy." + +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, was speaking in an even voice, a +voice that wheezed as if deadened and oppressed by the layer of fat on +his chest. He had come out of a highly hygienic prison round like a tub, +with an enormous stomach and distended cheeks of a pale, semi-transparent +complexion, as though for fifteen years the servants of an outraged +society had made a point of stuffing him with fattening foods in a damp +and lightless cellar. And ever since he had never managed to get his +weight down as much as an ounce. + +It was said that for three seasons running a very wealthy old lady had +sent him for a cure to Marienbad--where he was about to share the public +curiosity once with a crowned head--but the police on that occasion +ordered him to leave within twelve hours. His martyrdom was continued by +forbidding him all access to the healing waters. But he was resigned +now. + +With his elbow presenting no appearance of a joint, but more like a bend +in a dummy's limb, thrown over the back of a chair, he leaned forward +slightly over his short and enormous thighs to spit into the grate. + +"Yes! I had the time to think things out a little," he added without +emphasis. "Society has given me plenty of time for meditation." + +On the other side of the fireplace, in the horse-hair arm-chair where Mrs +Verloc's mother was generally privileged to sit, Karl Yundt giggled +grimly, with a faint black grimace of a toothless mouth. The terrorist, +as he called himself, was old and bald, with a narrow, snow-white wisp of +a goatee hanging limply from his chin. An extraordinary expression of +underhand malevolence survived in his extinguished eyes. When he rose +painfully the thrusting forward of a skinny groping hand deformed by +gouty swellings suggested the effort of a moribund murderer summoning all +his remaining strength for a last stab. He leaned on a thick stick, +which trembled under his other hand. + +"I have always dreamed," he mouthed fiercely, "of a band of men absolute +in their resolve to discard all scruples in the choice of means, strong +enough to give themselves frankly the name of destroyers, and free from +the taint of that resigned pessimism which rots the world. No pity for +anything on earth, including themselves, and death enlisted for good and +all in the service of humanity--that's what I would have liked to see." + +His little bald head quivered, imparting a comical vibration to the wisp +of white goatee. His enunciation would have been almost totally +unintelligible to a stranger. His worn-out passion, resembling in its +impotent fierceness the excitement of a senile sensualist, was badly +served by a dried throat and toothless gums which seemed to catch the tip +of his tongue. Mr Verloc, established in the corner of the sofa at the +other end of the room, emitted two hearty grunts of assent. + +The old terrorist turned slowly his head on his skinny neck from side to +side. + +"And I could never get as many as three such men together. So much for +your rotten pessimism," he snarled at Michaelis, who uncrossed his thick +legs, similar to bolsters, and slid his feet abruptly under his chair in +sign of exasperation. + +He a pessimist! Preposterous! He cried out that the charge was +outrageous. He was so far from pessimism that he saw already the end of +all private property coming along logically, unavoidably, by the mere +development of its inherent viciousness. The possessors of property had +not only to face the awakened proletariat, but they had also to fight +amongst themselves. Yes. Struggle, warfare, was the condition of +private ownership. It was fatal. Ah! he did not depend upon emotional +excitement to keep up his belief, no declamations, no anger, no visions +of blood-red flags waving, or metaphorical lurid suns of vengeance rising +above the horizon of a doomed society. Not he! Cold reason, he boasted, +was the basis of his optimism. Yes, optimism-- + +His laborious wheezing stopped, then, after a gasp or two, he added: + +"Don't you think that, if I had not been the optimist I am, I could not +have found in fifteen years some means to cut my throat? And, in the +last instance, there were always the walls of my cell to dash my head +against." + +The shortness of breath took all fire, all animation out of his voice; +his great, pale cheeks hung like filled pouches, motionless, without a +quiver; but in his blue eyes, narrowed as if peering, there was the same +look of confident shrewdness, a little crazy in its fixity, they must +have had while the indomitable optimist sat thinking at night in his +cell. Before him, Karl Yundt remained standing, one wing of his faded +greenish havelock thrown back cavalierly over his shoulder. Seated in +front of the fireplace, Comrade Ossipon, ex-medical student, the +principal writer of the F. P. leaflets, stretched out his robust legs, +keeping the soles of his boots turned up to the glow in the grate. A +bush of crinkly yellow hair topped his red, freckled face, with a +flattened nose and prominent mouth cast in the rough mould of the negro +type. His almond-shaped eyes leered languidly over the high cheek-bones. +He wore a grey flannel shirt, the loose ends of a black silk tie hung +down the buttoned breast of his serge coat; and his head resting on the +back of his chair, his throat largely exposed, he raised to his lips a +cigarette in a long wooden tube, puffing jets of smoke straight up at the +ceiling. + +Michaelis pursued his idea--_the_ idea of his solitary reclusion--the +thought vouchsafed to his captivity and growing like a faith revealed in +visions. He talked to himself, indifferent to the sympathy or hostility +of his hearers, indifferent indeed to their presence, from the habit he +had acquired of thinking aloud hopefully in the solitude of the four +whitewashed walls of his cell, in the sepulchral silence of the great +blind pile of bricks near a river, sinister and ugly like a colossal +mortuary for the socially drowned. + +He was no good in discussion, not because any amount of argument could +shake his faith, but because the mere fact of hearing another voice +disconcerted him painfully, confusing his thoughts at once--these +thoughts that for so many years, in a mental solitude more barren than a +waterless desert, no living voice had ever combatted, commented, or +approved. + +No one interrupted him now, and he made again the confession of his +faith, mastering him irresistible and complete like an act of grace: the +secret of fate discovered in the material side of life; the economic +condition of the world responsible for the past and shaping the future; +the source of all history, of all ideas, guiding the mental development +of mankind and the very impulses of their passion-- + +A harsh laugh from Comrade Ossipon cut the tirade dead short in a sudden +faltering of the tongue and a bewildered unsteadiness of the apostle's +mildly exalted eyes. He closed them slowly for a moment, as if to +collect his routed thoughts. A silence fell; but what with the two gas- +jets over the table and the glowing grate the little parlour behind Mr +Verloc's shop had become frightfully hot. Mr Verloc, getting off the +sofa with ponderous reluctance, opened the door leading into the kitchen +to get more air, and thus disclosed the innocent Stevie, seated very good +and quiet at a deal table, drawing circles, circles, circles; innumerable +circles, concentric, eccentric; a coruscating whirl of circles that by +their tangled multitude of repeated curves, uniformity of form, and +confusion of intersecting lines suggested a rendering of cosmic chaos, +the symbolism of a mad art attempting the inconceivable. The artist +never turned his head; and in all his soul's application to the task his +back quivered, his thin neck, sunk into a deep hollow at the base of the +skull, seemed ready to snap. + +Mr Verloc, after a grunt of disapproving surprise, returned to the sofa. +Alexander Ossipon got up, tall in his threadbare blue serge suit under +the low ceiling, shook off the stiffness of long immobility, and strolled +away into the kitchen (down two steps) to look over Stevie's shoulder. He +came back, pronouncing oracularly: "Very good. Very characteristic, +perfectly typical." + +"What's very good?" grunted inquiringly Mr Verloc, settled again in the +corner of the sofa. The other explained his meaning negligently, with a +shade of condescension and a toss of his head towards the kitchen: + +"Typical of this form of degeneracy--these drawings, I mean." + +"You would call that lad a degenerate, would you?" mumbled Mr Verloc. + +Comrade Alexander Ossipon--nicknamed the Doctor, ex-medical student +without a degree; afterwards wandering lecturer to working-men's +associations upon the socialistic aspects of hygiene; author of a popular +quasi-medical study (in the form of a cheap pamphlet seized promptly by +the police) entitled "The Corroding Vices of the Middle Classes"; special +delegate of the more or less mysterious Red Committee, together with Karl +Yundt and Michaelis for the work of literary propaganda--turned upon the +obscure familiar of at least two Embassies that glance of insufferable, +hopelessly dense sufficiency which nothing but the frequentation of +science can give to the dulness of common mortals. + +"That's what he may be called scientifically. Very good type too, +altogether, of that sort of degenerate. It's enough to glance at the +lobes of his ears. If you read Lombroso--" + +Mr Verloc, moody and spread largely on the sofa, continued to look down +the row of his waistcoat buttons; but his cheeks became tinged by a faint +blush. Of late even the merest derivative of the word science (a term in +itself inoffensive and of indefinite meaning) had the curious power of +evoking a definitely offensive mental vision of Mr Vladimir, in his body +as he lived, with an almost supernatural clearness. And this phenomenon, +deserving justly to be classed amongst the marvels of science, induced in +Mr Verloc an emotional state of dread and exasperation tending to express +itself in violent swearing. But he said nothing. It was Karl Yundt who +was heard, implacable to his last breath. + +"Lombroso is an ass." + +Comrade Ossipon met the shock of this blasphemy by an awful, vacant +stare. And the other, his extinguished eyes without gleams blackening +the deep shadows under the great, bony forehead, mumbled, catching the +tip of his tongue between his lips at every second word as though he were +chewing it angrily: + +"Did you ever see such an idiot? For him the criminal is the prisoner. +Simple, is it not? What about those who shut him up there--forced him in +there? Exactly. Forced him in there. And what is crime? Does he know +that, this imbecile who has made his way in this world of gorged fools by +looking at the ears and teeth of a lot of poor, luckless devils? Teeth +and ears mark the criminal? Do they? And what about the law that marks +him still better--the pretty branding instrument invented by the overfed +to protect themselves against the hungry? Red-hot applications on their +vile skins--hey? Can't you smell and hear from here the thick hide of +the people burn and sizzle? That's how criminals are made for your +Lombrosos to write their silly stuff about." + +The knob of his stick and his legs shook together with passion, whilst +the trunk, draped in the wings of the havelock, preserved his historic +attitude of defiance. He seemed to sniff the tainted air of social +cruelty, to strain his ear for its atrocious sounds. There was an +extraordinary force of suggestion in this posturing. The all but +moribund veteran of dynamite wars had been a great actor in his +time--actor on platforms, in secret assemblies, in private interviews. +The famous terrorist had never in his life raised personally as much as +his little finger against the social edifice. He was no man of action; +he was not even an orator of torrential eloquence, sweeping the masses +along in the rushing noise and foam of a great enthusiasm. With a more +subtle intention, he took the part of an insolent and venomous evoker of +sinister impulses which lurk in the blind envy and exasperated vanity of +ignorance, in the suffering and misery of poverty, in all the hopeful and +noble illusions of righteous anger, pity, and revolt. The shadow of his +evil gift clung to him yet like the smell of a deadly drug in an old vial +of poison, emptied now, useless, ready to be thrown away upon the rubbish- +heap of things that had served their time. + +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, smiled vaguely with his glued +lips; his pasty moon face drooped under the weight of melancholy assent. +He had been a prisoner himself. His own skin had sizzled under the red- +hot brand, he murmured softly. But Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the +Doctor, had got over the shock by that time. + +"You don't understand," he began disdainfully, but stopped short, +intimidated by the dead blackness of the cavernous eyes in the face +turned slowly towards him with a blind stare, as if guided only by the +sound. He gave the discussion up, with a slight shrug of the shoulders. + +Stevie, accustomed to move about disregarded, had got up from the kitchen +table, carrying off his drawing to bed with him. He had reached the +parlour door in time to receive in full the shock of Karl Yundt's +eloquent imagery. The sheet of paper covered with circles dropped out of +his fingers, and he remained staring at the old terrorist, as if rooted +suddenly to the spot by his morbid horror and dread of physical pain. +Stevie knew very well that hot iron applied to one's skin hurt very much. +His scared eyes blazed with indignation: it would hurt terribly. His +mouth dropped open. + +Michaelis by staring unwinkingly at the fire had regained that sentiment +of isolation necessary for the continuity of his thought. His optimism +had begun to flow from his lips. He saw Capitalism doomed in its cradle, +born with the poison of the principle of competition in its system. The +great capitalists devouring the little capitalists, concentrating the +power and the tools of production in great masses, perfecting industrial +processes, and in the madness of self-aggrandisement only preparing, +organising, enriching, making ready the lawful inheritance of the +suffering proletariat. Michaelis pronounced the great word +"Patience"--and his clear blue glance, raised to the low ceiling of Mr +Verloc's parlour, had a character of seraphic trustfulness. In the +doorway Stevie, calmed, seemed sunk in hebetude. + +Comrade Ossipon's face twitched with exasperation. + +"Then it's no use doing anything--no use whatever." + +"I don't say that," protested Michaelis gently. His vision of truth had +grown so intense that the sound of a strange voice failed to rout it this +time. He continued to look down at the red coals. Preparation for the +future was necessary, and he was willing to admit that the great change +would perhaps come in the upheaval of a revolution. But he argued that +revolutionary propaganda was a delicate work of high conscience. It was +the education of the masters of the world. It should be as careful as +the education given to kings. He would have it advance its tenets +cautiously, even timidly, in our ignorance of the effect that may be +produced by any given economic change upon the happiness, the morals, the +intellect, the history of mankind. For history is made with tools, not +with ideas; and everything is changed by economic conditions--art, +philosophy, love, virtue--truth itself! + +The coals in the grate settled down with a slight crash; and Michaelis, +the hermit of visions in the desert of a penitentiary, got up +impetuously. Round like a distended balloon, he opened his short, thick +arms, as if in a pathetically hopeless attempt to embrace and hug to his +breast a self-regenerated universe. He gasped with ardour. + +"The future is as certain as the past--slavery, feudalism, individualism, +collectivism. This is the statement of a law, not an empty prophecy." + +The disdainful pout of Comrade Ossipon's thick lips accentuated the negro +type of his face. + +"Nonsense," he said calmly enough. "There is no law and no certainty. +The teaching propaganda be hanged. What the people knows does not +matter, were its knowledge ever so accurate. The only thing that matters +to us is the emotional state of the masses. Without emotion there is no +action." + +He paused, then added with modest firmness: + +"I am speaking now to you scientifically--scientifically--Eh? What did +you say, Verloc?" + +"Nothing," growled from the sofa Mr Verloc, who, provoked by the +abhorrent sound, had merely muttered a "Damn." + +The venomous spluttering of the old terrorist without teeth was heard. + +"Do you know how I would call the nature of the present economic +conditions? I would call it cannibalistic. That's what it is! They are +nourishing their greed on the quivering flesh and the warm blood of the +people--nothing else." + +Stevie swallowed the terrifying statement with an audible gulp, and at +once, as though it had been swift poison, sank limply in a sitting +posture on the steps of the kitchen door. + +Michaelis gave no sign of having heard anything. His lips seemed glued +together for good; not a quiver passed over his heavy cheeks. With +troubled eyes he looked for his round, hard hat, and put it on his round +head. His round and obese body seemed to float low between the chairs +under the sharp elbow of Karl Yundt. The old terrorist, raising an +uncertain and clawlike hand, gave a swaggering tilt to a black felt +sombrero shading the hollows and ridges of his wasted face. He got in +motion slowly, striking the floor with his stick at every step. It was +rather an affair to get him out of the house because, now and then, he +would stop, as if to think, and did not offer to move again till impelled +forward by Michaelis. The gentle apostle grasped his arm with brotherly +care; and behind them, his hands in his pockets, the robust Ossipon +yawned vaguely. A blue cap with a patent leather peak set well at the +back of his yellow bush of hair gave him the aspect of a Norwegian sailor +bored with the world after a thundering spree. Mr Verloc saw his guests +off the premises, attending them bareheaded, his heavy overcoat hanging +open, his eyes on the ground. + +He closed the door behind their backs with restrained violence, turned +the key, shot the bolt. He was not satisfied with his friends. In the +light of Mr Vladimir's philosophy of bomb throwing they appeared +hopelessly futile. The part of Mr Verloc in revolutionary politics +having been to observe, he could not all at once, either in his own home +or in larger assemblies, take the initiative of action. He had to be +cautious. Moved by the just indignation of a man well over forty, +menaced in what is dearest to him--his repose and his security--he asked +himself scornfully what else could have been expected from such a lot, +this Karl Yundt, this Michaelis--this Ossipon. + +Pausing in his intention to turn off the gas burning in the middle of the +shop, Mr Verloc descended into the abyss of moral reflections. With the +insight of a kindred temperament he pronounced his verdict. A lazy +lot--this Karl Yundt, nursed by a blear-eyed old woman, a woman he had +years ago enticed away from a friend, and afterwards had tried more than +once to shake off into the gutter. Jolly lucky for Yundt that she had +persisted in coming up time after time, or else there would have been no +one now to help him out of the 'bus by the Green Park railings, where +that spectre took its constitutional crawl every fine morning. When that +indomitable snarling old witch died the swaggering spectre would have to +vanish too--there would be an end to fiery Karl Yundt. And Mr Verloc's +morality was offended also by the optimism of Michaelis, annexed by his +wealthy old lady, who had taken lately to sending him to a cottage she +had in the country. The ex-prisoner could moon about the shady lanes for +days together in a delicious and humanitarian idleness. As to Ossipon, +that beggar was sure to want for nothing as long as there were silly +girls with savings-bank books in the world. And Mr Verloc, +temperamentally identical with his associates, drew fine distinctions in +his mind on the strength of insignificant differences. He drew them with +a certain complacency, because the instinct of conventional +respectability was strong within him, being only overcome by his dislike +of all kinds of recognised labour--a temperamental defect which he shared +with a large proportion of revolutionary reformers of a given social +state. For obviously one does not revolt against the advantages and +opportunities of that state, but against the price which must be paid for +the same in the coin of accepted morality, self-restraint, and toil. The +majority of revolutionises are the enemies of discipline and fatigue +mostly. There are natures too, to whose sense of justice the price +exacted looms up monstrously enormous, odious, oppressive, worrying, +humiliating, extortionate, intolerable. Those are the fanatics. The +remaining portion of social rebels is accounted for by vanity, the mother +of all noble and vile illusions, the companion of poets, reformers, +charlatans, prophets, and incendiaries. + +Lost for a whole minute in the abyss of meditation, Mr Verloc did not +reach the depth of these abstract considerations. Perhaps he was not +able. In any case he had not the time. He was pulled up painfully by +the sudden recollection of Mr Vladimir, another of his associates, whom +in virtue of subtle moral affinities he was capable of judging correctly. +He considered him as dangerous. A shade of envy crept into his thoughts. +Loafing was all very well for these fellows, who knew not Mr Vladimir, +and had women to fall back upon; whereas he had a woman to provide for-- + +At this point, by a simple association of ideas, Mr Verloc was brought +face to face with the necessity of going to bed some time or other that +evening. Then why not go now--at once? He sighed. The necessity was +not so normally pleasurable as it ought to have been for a man of his age +and temperament. He dreaded the demon of sleeplessness, which he felt +had marked him for its own. He raised his arm, and turned off the +flaring gas-jet above his head. + +A bright band of light fell through the parlour door into the part of the +shop behind the counter. It enabled Mr Verloc to ascertain at a glance +the number of silver coins in the till. These were but few; and for the +first time since he opened his shop he took a commercial survey of its +value. This survey was unfavourable. He had gone into trade for no +commercial reasons. He had been guided in the selection of this peculiar +line of business by an instinctive leaning towards shady transactions, +where money is picked up easily. Moreover, it did not take him out of +his own sphere--the sphere which is watched by the police. On the +contrary, it gave him a publicly confessed standing in that sphere, and +as Mr Verloc had unconfessed relations which made him familiar with yet +careless of the police, there was a distinct advantage in such a +situation. But as a means of livelihood it was by itself insufficient. + +He took the cash-box out of the drawer, and turning to leave the shop, +became aware that Stevie was still downstairs. + +What on earth is he doing there? Mr Verloc asked himself. What's the +meaning of these antics? He looked dubiously at his brother-in-law, but +he did not ask him for information. Mr Verloc's intercourse with Stevie +was limited to the casual mutter of a morning, after breakfast, "My +boots," and even that was more a communication at large of a need than a +direct order or request. Mr Verloc perceived with some surprise that he +did not know really what to say to Stevie. He stood still in the middle +of the parlour, and looked into the kitchen in silence. Nor yet did he +know what would happen if he did say anything. And this appeared very +queer to Mr Verloc in view of the fact, borne upon him suddenly, that he +had to provide for this fellow too. He had never given a moment's +thought till then to that aspect of Stevie's existence. + +Positively he did not know how to speak to the lad. He watched him +gesticulating and murmuring in the kitchen. Stevie prowled round the +table like an excited animal in a cage. A tentative "Hadn't you better +go to bed now?" produced no effect whatever; and Mr Verloc, abandoning +the stony contemplation of his brother-in-law's behaviour, crossed the +parlour wearily, cash-box in hand. The cause of the general lassitude he +felt while climbing the stairs being purely mental, he became alarmed by +its inexplicable character. He hoped he was not sickening for anything. +He stopped on the dark landing to examine his sensations. But a slight +and continuous sound of snoring pervading the obscurity interfered with +their clearness. The sound came from his mother-in-law's room. Another +one to provide for, he thought--and on this thought walked into the +bedroom. + +Mrs Verloc had fallen asleep with the lamp (no gas was laid upstairs) +turned up full on the table by the side of the bed. The light thrown +down by the shade fell dazzlingly on the white pillow sunk by the weight +of her head reposing with closed eyes and dark hair done up in several +plaits for the night. She woke up with the sound of her name in her +ears, and saw her husband standing over her. + +"Winnie! Winnie!" + +At first she did not stir, lying very quiet and looking at the cash-box +in Mr Verloc's hand. But when she understood that her brother was +"capering all over the place downstairs" she swung out in one sudden +movement on to the edge of the bed. Her bare feet, as if poked through +the bottom of an unadorned, sleeved calico sack buttoned tightly at neck +and wrists, felt over the rug for the slippers while she looked upward +into her husband's face. + +"I don't know how to manage him," Mr Verloc explained peevishly. "Won't +do to leave him downstairs alone with the lights." + +She said nothing, glided across the room swiftly, and the door closed +upon her white form. + +Mr Verloc deposited the cash-box on the night table, and began the +operation of undressing by flinging his overcoat on to a distant chair. +His coat and waistcoat followed. He walked about the room in his +stockinged feet, and his burly figure, with the hands worrying nervously +at his throat, passed and repassed across the long strip of looking-glass +in the door of his wife's wardrobe. Then after slipping his braces off +his shoulders he pulled up violently the venetian blind, and leaned his +forehead against the cold window-pane--a fragile film of glass stretched +between him and the enormity of cold, black, wet, muddy, inhospitable +accumulation of bricks, slates, and stones, things in themselves unlovely +and unfriendly to man. + +Mr Verloc felt the latent unfriendliness of all out of doors with a force +approaching to positive bodily anguish. There is no occupation that +fails a man more completely than that of a secret agent of police. It's +like your horse suddenly falling dead under you in the midst of an +uninhabited and thirsty plain. The comparison occurred to Mr Verloc +because he had sat astride various army horses in his time, and had now +the sensation of an incipient fall. The prospect was as black as the +window-pane against which he was leaning his forehead. And suddenly the +face of Mr Vladimir, clean-shaved and witty, appeared enhaloed in the +glow of its rosy complexion like a sort of pink seal, impressed on the +fatal darkness. + +This luminous and mutilated vision was so ghastly physically that Mr +Verloc started away from the window, letting down the venetian blind with +a great rattle. Discomposed and speechless with the apprehension of more +such visions, he beheld his wife re-enter the room and get into bed in a +calm business-like manner which made him feel hopelessly lonely in the +world. Mrs Verloc expressed her surprise at seeing him up yet. + +"I don't feel very well," he muttered, passing his hands over his moist +brow. + +"Giddiness?" + +"Yes. Not at all well." + +Mrs Verloc, with all the placidity of an experienced wife, expressed a +confident opinion as to the cause, and suggested the usual remedies; but +her husband, rooted in the middle of the room, shook his lowered head +sadly. + +"You'll catch cold standing there," she observed. + +Mr Verloc made an effort, finished undressing, and got into bed. Down +below in the quiet, narrow street measured footsteps approached the +house, then died away unhurried and firm, as if the passer-by had started +to pace out all eternity, from gas-lamp to gas-lamp in a night without +end; and the drowsy ticking of the old clock on the landing became +distinctly audible in the bedroom. + +Mrs Verloc, on her back, and staring at the ceiling, made a remark. + +"Takings very small to-day." + +Mr Verloc, in the same position, cleared his throat as if for an +important statement, but merely inquired: + +"Did you turn off the gas downstairs?" + +"Yes; I did," answered Mrs Verloc conscientiously. "That poor boy is in +a very excited state to-night," she murmured, after a pause which lasted +for three ticks of the clock. + +Mr Verloc cared nothing for Stevie's excitement, but he felt horribly +wakeful, and dreaded facing the darkness and silence that would follow +the extinguishing of the lamp. This dread led him to make the remark +that Stevie had disregarded his suggestion to go to bed. Mrs Verloc, +falling into the trap, started to demonstrate at length to her husband +that this was not "impudence" of any sort, but simply "excitement." There +was no young man of his age in London more willing and docile than +Stephen, she affirmed; none more affectionate and ready to please, and +even useful, as long as people did not upset his poor head. Mrs Verloc, +turning towards her recumbent husband, raised herself on her elbow, and +hung over him in her anxiety that he should believe Stevie to be a useful +member of the family. That ardour of protecting compassion exalted +morbidly in her childhood by the misery of another child tinged her +sallow cheeks with a faint dusky blush, made her big eyes gleam under the +dark lids. Mrs Verloc then looked younger; she looked as young as Winnie +used to look, and much more animated than the Winnie of the Belgravian +mansion days had ever allowed herself to appear to gentlemen lodgers. Mr +Verloc's anxieties had prevented him from attaching any sense to what his +wife was saying. It was as if her voice were talking on the other side +of a very thick wall. It was her aspect that recalled him to himself. + +He appreciated this woman, and the sentiment of this appreciation, +stirred by a display of something resembling emotion, only added another +pang to his mental anguish. When her voice ceased he moved uneasily, and +said: + +"I haven't been feeling well for the last few days." + +He might have meant this as an opening to a complete confidence; but Mrs +Verloc laid her head on the pillow again, and staring upward, went on: + +"That boy hears too much of what is talked about here. If I had known +they were coming to-night I would have seen to it that he went to bed at +the same time I did. He was out of his mind with something he overheard +about eating people's flesh and drinking blood. What's the good of +talking like that?" + +There was a note of indignant scorn in her voice. Mr Verloc was fully +responsive now. + +"Ask Karl Yundt," he growled savagely. + +Mrs Verloc, with great decision, pronounced Karl Yundt "a disgusting old +man." She declared openly her affection for Michaelis. Of the robust +Ossipon, in whose presence she always felt uneasy behind an attitude of +stony reserve, she said nothing whatever. And continuing to talk of that +brother, who had been for so many years an object of care and fears: + +"He isn't fit to hear what's said here. He believes it's all true. He +knows no better. He gets into his passions over it." + +Mr Verloc made no comment. + +"He glared at me, as if he didn't know who I was, when I went downstairs. +His heart was going like a hammer. He can't help being excitable. I +woke mother up, and asked her to sit with him till he went to sleep. It +isn't his fault. He's no trouble when he's left alone." + +Mr Verloc made no comment. + +"I wish he had never been to school," Mrs Verloc began again brusquely. +"He's always taking away those newspapers from the window to read. He +gets a red face poring over them. We don't get rid of a dozen numbers in +a month. They only take up room in the front window. And Mr Ossipon +brings every week a pile of these F. P. tracts to sell at a halfpenny +each. I wouldn't give a halfpenny for the whole lot. It's silly +reading--that's what it is. There's no sale for it. The other day +Stevie got hold of one, and there was a story in it of a German soldier +officer tearing half-off the ear of a recruit, and nothing was done to +him for it. The brute! I couldn't do anything with Stevie that +afternoon. The story was enough, too, to make one's blood boil. But +what's the use of printing things like that? We aren't German slaves +here, thank God. It's not our business--is it?" + +Mr Verloc made no reply. + +"I had to take the carving knife from the boy," Mrs Verloc continued, a +little sleepily now. "He was shouting and stamping and sobbing. He +can't stand the notion of any cruelty. He would have stuck that officer +like a pig if he had seen him then. It's true, too! Some people don't +deserve much mercy." Mrs Verloc's voice ceased, and the expression of +her motionless eyes became more and more contemplative and veiled during +the long pause. "Comfortable, dear?" she asked in a faint, far-away +voice. "Shall I put out the light now?" + +The dreary conviction that there was no sleep for him held Mr Verloc mute +and hopelessly inert in his fear of darkness. He made a great effort. + +"Yes. Put it out," he said at last in a hollow tone. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Most of the thirty or so little tables covered by red cloths with a white +design stood ranged at right angles to the deep brown wainscoting of the +underground hall. Bronze chandeliers with many globes depended from the +low, slightly vaulted ceiling, and the fresco paintings ran flat and dull +all round the walls without windows, representing scenes of the chase and +of outdoor revelry in mediaeval costumes. Varlets in green jerkins +brandished hunting knives and raised on high tankards of foaming beer. + +"Unless I am very much mistaken, you are the man who would know the +inside of this confounded affair," said the robust Ossipon, leaning over, +his elbows far out on the table and his feet tucked back completely under +his chair. His eyes stared with wild eagerness. + +An upright semi-grand piano near the door, flanked by two palms in pots, +executed suddenly all by itself a valse tune with aggressive virtuosity. +The din it raised was deafening. When it ceased, as abruptly as it had +started, the be-spectacled, dingy little man who faced Ossipon behind a +heavy glass mug full of beer emitted calmly what had the sound of a +general proposition. + +"In principle what one of us may or may not know as to any given fact +can't be a matter for inquiry to the others." + +"Certainly not," Comrade Ossipon agreed in a quiet undertone. "In +principle." + +With his big florid face held between his hands he continued to stare +hard, while the dingy little man in spectacles coolly took a drink of +beer and stood the glass mug back on the table. His flat, large ears +departed widely from the sides of his skull, which looked frail enough +for Ossipon to crush between thumb and forefinger; the dome of the +forehead seemed to rest on the rim of the spectacles; the flat cheeks, of +a greasy, unhealthy complexion, were merely smudged by the miserable +poverty of a thin dark whisker. The lamentable inferiority of the whole +physique was made ludicrous by the supremely self-confident bearing of +the individual. His speech was curt, and he had a particularly +impressive manner of keeping silent. + +Ossipon spoke again from between his hands in a mutter. + +"Have you been out much to-day?" + +"No. I stayed in bed all the morning," answered the other. "Why?" + +"Oh! Nothing," said Ossipon, gazing earnestly and quivering inwardly +with the desire to find out something, but obviously intimidated by the +little man's overwhelming air of unconcern. When talking with this +comrade--which happened but rarely--the big Ossipon suffered from a sense +of moral and even physical insignificance. However, he ventured another +question. "Did you walk down here?" + +"No; omnibus," the little man answered readily enough. He lived far away +in Islington, in a small house down a shabby street, littered with straw +and dirty paper, where out of school hours a troop of assorted children +ran and squabbled with a shrill, joyless, rowdy clamour. His single back +room, remarkable for having an extremely large cupboard, he rented +furnished from two elderly spinsters, dressmakers in a humble way with a +clientele of servant girls mostly. He had a heavy padlock put on the +cupboard, but otherwise he was a model lodger, giving no trouble, and +requiring practically no attendance. His oddities were that he insisted +on being present when his room was being swept, and that when he went out +he locked his door, and took the key away with him. + +Ossipon had a vision of these round black-rimmed spectacles progressing +along the streets on the top of an omnibus, their self-confident glitter +falling here and there on the walls of houses or lowered upon the heads +of the unconscious stream of people on the pavements. The ghost of a +sickly smile altered the set of Ossipon's thick lips at the thought of +the walls nodding, of people running for life at the sight of those +spectacles. If they had only known! What a panic! He murmured +interrogatively: "Been sitting long here?" + +"An hour or more," answered the other negligently, and took a pull at the +dark beer. All his movements--the way he grasped the mug, the act of +drinking, the way he set the heavy glass down and folded his arms--had a +firmness, an assured precision which made the big and muscular Ossipon, +leaning forward with staring eyes and protruding lips, look the picture +of eager indecision. + +"An hour," he said. "Then it may be you haven't heard yet the news I've +heard just now--in the street. Have you?" + +The little man shook his head negatively the least bit. But as he gave +no indication of curiosity Ossipon ventured to add that he had heard it +just outside the place. A newspaper boy had yelled the thing under his +very nose, and not being prepared for anything of that sort, he was very +much startled and upset. He had to come in there with a dry mouth. "I +never thought of finding you here," he added, murmuring steadily, with +his elbows planted on the table. + +"I come here sometimes," said the other, preserving his provoking +coolness of demeanour. + +"It's wonderful that you of all people should have heard nothing of it," +the big Ossipon continued. His eyelids snapped nervously upon the +shining eyes. "You of all people," he repeated tentatively. This +obvious restraint argued an incredible and inexplicable timidity of the +big fellow before the calm little man, who again lifted the glass mug, +drank, and put it down with brusque and assured movements. And that was +all. + +Ossipon after waiting for something, word or sign, that did not come, +made an effort to assume a sort of indifference. + +"Do you," he said, deadening his voice still more, "give your stuff to +anybody who's up to asking you for it?" + +"My absolute rule is never to refuse anybody--as long as I have a pinch +by me," answered the little man with decision. + +"That's a principle?" commented Ossipon. + +"It's a principle." + +"And you think it's sound?" + +The large round spectacles, which gave a look of staring self-confidence +to the sallow face, confronted Ossipon like sleepless, unwinking orbs +flashing a cold fire. + +"Perfectly. Always. Under every circumstance. What could stop me? Why +should I not? Why should I think twice about it?" + +Ossipon gasped, as it were, discreetly. + +"Do you mean to say you would hand it over to a 'teck' if one came to ask +you for your wares?" + +The other smiled faintly. + +"Let them come and try it on, and you will see," he said. "They know me, +but I know also every one of them. They won't come near me--not they." + +His thin livid lips snapped together firmly. Ossipon began to argue. + +"But they could send someone--rig a plant on you. Don't you see? Get +the stuff from you in that way, and then arrest you with the proof in +their hands." + +"Proof of what? Dealing in explosives without a licence perhaps." This +was meant for a contemptuous jeer, though the expression of the thin, +sickly face remained unchanged, and the utterance was negligent. "I +don't think there's one of them anxious to make that arrest. I don't +think they could get one of them to apply for a warrant. I mean one of +the best. Not one." + +"Why?" Ossipon asked. + +"Because they know very well I take care never to part with the last +handful of my wares. I've it always by me." He touched the breast of +his coat lightly. "In a thick glass flask," he added. + +"So I have been told," said Ossipon, with a shade of wonder in his voice. +"But I didn't know if--" + +"They know," interrupted the little man crisply, leaning against the +straight chair back, which rose higher than his fragile head. "I shall +never be arrested. The game isn't good enough for any policeman of them +all. To deal with a man like me you require sheer, naked, inglorious +heroism." Again his lips closed with a self-confident snap. Ossipon +repressed a movement of impatience. + +"Or recklessness--or simply ignorance," he retorted. "They've only to +get somebody for the job who does not know you carry enough stuff in your +pocket to blow yourself and everything within sixty yards of you to +pieces." + +"I never affirmed I could not be eliminated," rejoined the other. "But +that wouldn't be an arrest. Moreover, it's not so easy as it looks." + +"Bah!" Ossipon contradicted. "Don't be too sure of that. What's to +prevent half-a-dozen of them jumping upon you from behind in the street? +With your arms pinned to your sides you could do nothing--could you?" + +"Yes; I could. I am seldom out in the streets after dark," said the +little man impassively, "and never very late. I walk always with my +right hand closed round the india-rubber ball which I have in my trouser +pocket. The pressing of this ball actuates a detonator inside the flask +I carry in my pocket. It's the principle of the pneumatic instantaneous +shutter for a camera lens. The tube leads up--" + +With a swift disclosing gesture he gave Ossipon a glimpse of an india- +rubber tube, resembling a slender brown worm, issuing from the armhole of +his waistcoat and plunging into the inner breast pocket of his jacket. +His clothes, of a nondescript brown mixture, were threadbare and marked +with stains, dusty in the folds, with ragged button-holes. "The +detonator is partly mechanical, partly chemical," he explained, with +casual condescension. + +"It is instantaneous, of course?" murmured Ossipon, with a slight +shudder. + +"Far from it," confessed the other, with a reluctance which seemed to +twist his mouth dolorously. "A full twenty seconds must elapse from the +moment I press the ball till the explosion takes place." + +"Phew!" whistled Ossipon, completely appalled. "Twenty seconds! Horrors! +You mean to say that you could face that? I should go crazy--" + +"Wouldn't matter if you did. Of course, it's the weak point of this +special system, which is only for my own use. The worst is that the +manner of exploding is always the weak point with us. I am trying to +invent a detonator that would adjust itself to all conditions of action, +and even to unexpected changes of conditions. A variable and yet +perfectly precise mechanism. A really intelligent detonator." + +"Twenty seconds," muttered Ossipon again. "Ough! And then--" + +With a slight turn of the head the glitter of the spectacles seemed to +gauge the size of the beer saloon in the basement of the renowned Silenus +Restaurant. + +"Nobody in this room could hope to escape," was the verdict of that +survey. "Nor yet this couple going up the stairs now." + +The piano at the foot of the staircase clanged through a mazurka with +brazen impetuosity, as though a vulgar and impudent ghost were showing +off. The keys sank and rose mysteriously. Then all became still. For a +moment Ossipon imagined the overlighted place changed into a dreadful +black hole belching horrible fumes choked with ghastly rubbish of smashed +brickwork and mutilated corpses. He had such a distinct perception of +ruin and death that he shuddered again. The other observed, with an air +of calm sufficiency: + +"In the last instance it is character alone that makes for one's safety. +There are very few people in the world whose character is as well +established as mine." + +"I wonder how you managed it," growled Ossipon. + +"Force of personality," said the other, without raising his voice; and +coming from the mouth of that obviously miserable organism the assertion +caused the robust Ossipon to bite his lower lip. "Force of personality," +he repeated, with ostentatious calm. "I have the means to make myself +deadly, but that by itself, you understand, is absolutely nothing in the +way of protection. What is effective is the belief those people have in +my will to use the means. That's their impression. It is absolute. +Therefore I am deadly." + +"There are individuals of character amongst that lot too," muttered +Ossipon ominously. + +"Possibly. But it is a matter of degree obviously, since, for instance, +I am not impressed by them. Therefore they are inferior. They cannot be +otherwise. Their character is built upon conventional morality. It +leans on the social order. Mine stands free from everything artificial. +They are bound in all sorts of conventions. They depend on life, which, +in this connection, is a historical fact surrounded by all sorts of +restraints and considerations, a complex organised fact open to attack at +every point; whereas I depend on death, which knows no restraint and +cannot be attacked. My superiority is evident." + +"This is a transcendental way of putting it," said Ossipon, watching the +cold glitter of the round spectacles. "I've heard Karl Yundt say much +the same thing not very long ago." + +"Karl Yundt," mumbled the other contemptuously, "the delegate of the +International Red Committee, has been a posturing shadow all his life. +There are three of you delegates, aren't there? I won't define the other +two, as you are one of them. But what you say means nothing. You are +the worthy delegates for revolutionary propaganda, but the trouble is not +only that you are as unable to think independently as any respectable +grocer or journalist of them all, but that you have no character +whatever." + +Ossipon could not restrain a start of indignation. + +"But what do you want from us?" he exclaimed in a deadened voice. "What +is it you are after yourself?" + +"A perfect detonator," was the peremptory answer. "What are you making +that face for? You see, you can't even bear the mention of something +conclusive." + +"I am not making a face," growled the annoyed Ossipon bearishly. + +"You revolutionises," the other continued, with leisurely +self-confidence, "are the slaves of the social convention, which is +afraid of you; slaves of it as much as the very police that stands up in +the defence of that convention. Clearly you are, since you want to +revolutionise it. It governs your thought, of course, and your action +too, and thus neither your thought nor your action can ever be +conclusive." He paused, tranquil, with that air of close, endless +silence, then almost immediately went on. "You are not a bit better than +the forces arrayed against you--than the police, for instance. 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. He was as insignificant +as--I can't call to mind anything insignificant enough to compare him +with--except Karl Yundt perhaps. Like to like. The terrorist and the +policeman both come from the same basket. Revolution, legality--counter +moves in the same game; forms of idleness at bottom identical. He plays +his little game--so do you propagandists. But I don't play; I work +fourteen hours a day, and go hungry sometimes. My experiments cost money +now and again, and then I must do without food for a day or two. You're +looking at my beer. Yes. I have had two glasses already, and shall have +another presently. This is a little holiday, and I celebrate it alone. +Why not? I've the grit to work alone, quite alone, absolutely alone. +I've worked alone for years." + +Ossipon's face had turned dusky red. + +"At the perfect detonator--eh?" he sneered, very low. + +"Yes," retorted the other. "It is a good definition. You couldn't find +anything half so precise to define the nature of your activity with all +your committees and delegations. It is I who am the true propagandist." + +"We won't discuss that point," said Ossipon, with an air of rising above +personal considerations. "I am afraid I'll have to spoil your holiday +for you, though. There's a man blown up in Greenwich Park this morning." + +"How do you know?" + +"They have been yelling the news in the streets since two o'clock. I +bought the paper, and just ran in here. Then I saw you sitting at this +table. I've got it in my pocket now." + +He pulled the newspaper out. It was a good-sized rosy sheet, as if +flushed by the warmth of its own convictions, which were optimistic. He +scanned the pages rapidly. + +"Ah! Here it is. Bomb in Greenwich Park. There isn't much so far. Half- +past eleven. Foggy morning. Effects of explosion felt as far as Romney +Road and Park Place. Enormous hole in the ground under a tree filled +with smashed roots and broken branches. All round fragments of a man's +body blown to pieces. That's all. The rest's mere newspaper gup. No +doubt a wicked attempt to blow up the Observatory, they say. H'm. That's +hardly credible." + +He looked at the paper for a while longer in silence, then passed it to +the other, who after gazing abstractedly at the print laid it down +without comment. + +It was Ossipon who spoke first--still resentful. + +"The fragments of only _one_ man, you note. Ergo: blew _himself_ up. +That spoils your day off for you--don't it? Were you expecting that sort +of move? I hadn't the slightest idea--not the ghost of a notion of +anything of the sort being planned to come off here--in this country. +Under the present circumstances it's nothing short of criminal." + +The little man lifted his thin black eyebrows with dispassionate scorn. + +"Criminal! What is that? What is crime? What can be the meaning of +such an assertion?" + +"How am I to express myself? One must use the current words," said +Ossipon impatiently. "The meaning of this assertion is that this +business may affect our position very adversely in this country. Isn't +that crime enough for you? I am convinced you have been giving away some +of your stuff lately." + +Ossipon stared hard. The other, without flinching, lowered and raised +his head slowly. + +"You have!" burst out the editor of the F. P. leaflets in an intense +whisper. "No! And are you really handing it over at large like this, +for the asking, to the first fool that comes along?" + +"Just so! The condemned social order has not been built up on paper and +ink, and I don't fancy that a combination of paper and ink will ever put +an end to it, whatever you may think. Yes, I would give the stuff with +both hands to every man, woman, or fool that likes to come along. I know +what you are thinking about. But I am not taking my cue from the Red +Committee. I would see you all hounded out of here, or arrested--or +beheaded for that matter--without turning a hair. What happens to us as +individuals is not of the least consequence." + +He spoke carelessly, without heat, almost without feeling, and Ossipon, +secretly much affected, tried to copy this detachment. + +"If the police here knew their business they would shoot you full of +holes with revolvers, or else try to sand-bag you from behind in broad +daylight." + +The little man seemed already to have considered that point of view in +his dispassionate self-confident manner. + +"Yes," he assented with the utmost readiness. "But for that they would +have to face their own institutions. Do you see? That requires uncommon +grit. Grit of a special kind." + +Ossipon blinked. + +"I fancy that's exactly what would happen to you if you were to set up +your laboratory in the States. They don't stand on ceremony with their +institutions there." + +"I am not likely to go and see. Otherwise your remark is just," admitted +the other. "They have more character over there, and their character is +essentially anarchistic. Fertile ground for us, the States--very good +ground. The great Republic has the root of the destructive matter in +her. The collective temperament is lawless. Excellent. They may shoot +us down, but--" + +"You are too transcendental for me," growled Ossipon, with moody concern. + +"Logical," protested the other. "There are several kinds of logic. This +is the enlightened kind. America is all right. It is this country that +is dangerous, with her idealistic conception of legality. The social +spirit of this people is wrapped up in scrupulous prejudices, and that is +fatal to our work. You talk of England being our only refuge! So much +the worse. Capua! What do we want with refuges? Here you talk, print, +plot, and do nothing. I daresay it's very convenient for such Karl +Yundts." + +He shrugged his shoulders slightly, then added with the same leisurely +assurance: "To break up the superstition and worship of legality should +be our aim. Nothing would please me more than to see Inspector Heat and +his likes take to shooting us down in broad daylight with the approval of +the public. Half our battle would be won then; the disintegration of the +old morality would have set in in its very temple. That is what you +ought to aim at. But you revolutionises will never understand that. You +plan the future, you lose yourselves in reveries of economical systems +derived from what is; whereas what's wanted is a clean sweep and a clear +start for a new conception of life. That sort of future will take care +of itself if you will only make room for it. Therefore I would shovel my +stuff in heaps at the corners of the streets if I had enough for that; +and as I haven't, I do my best by perfecting a really dependable +detonator." + +Ossipon, who had been mentally swimming in deep waters, seized upon the +last word as if it were a saving plank. + +"Yes. Your detonators. I shouldn't wonder if it weren't one of your +detonators that made a clean sweep of the man in the park." + +A shade of vexation darkened the determined sallow face confronting +Ossipon. + +"My difficulty consists precisely in experimenting practically with the +various kinds. They must be tried after all. Besides--" + +Ossipon interrupted. + +"Who could that fellow be? I assure you that we in London had no +knowledge--Couldn't you describe the person you gave the stuff to?" + +The other turned his spectacles upon Ossipon like a pair of searchlights. + +"Describe him," he repeated slowly. "I don't think there can be the +slightest objection now. I will describe him to you in one word--Verloc." + +Ossipon, whom curiosity had lifted a few inches off his seat, dropped +back, as if hit in the face. + +"Verloc! Impossible." + +The self-possessed little man nodded slightly once. + +"Yes. He's the person. You can't say that in this case I was giving my +stuff to the first fool that came along. He was a prominent member of +the group as far as I understand." + +"Yes," said Ossipon. "Prominent. No, not exactly. He was the centre +for general intelligence, and usually received comrades coming over here. +More useful than important. Man of no ideas. Years ago he used to speak +at meetings--in France, I believe. Not very well, though. He was +trusted by such men as Latorre, Moser and all that old lot. The only +talent he showed really was his ability to elude the attentions of the +police somehow. Here, for instance, he did not seem to be looked after +very closely. He was regularly married, you know. I suppose it's with +her money that he started that shop. Seemed to make it pay, too." + +Ossipon paused abruptly, muttered to himself "I wonder what that woman +will do now?" and fell into thought. + +The other waited with ostentatious indifference. His parentage was +obscure, and he was generally known only by his nickname of Professor. +His title to that designation consisted in his having been once assistant +demonstrator in chemistry at some technical institute. He quarrelled +with the authorities upon a question of unfair treatment. Afterwards he +obtained a post in the laboratory of a manufactory of dyes. There too he +had been treated with revolting injustice. His struggles, his +privations, his hard work to raise himself in the social scale, had +filled him with such an exalted conviction of his merits that it was +extremely difficult for the world to treat him with justice--the standard +of that notion depending so much upon the patience of the individual. The +Professor had genius, but lacked the great social virtue of resignation. + +"Intellectually a nonentity," Ossipon pronounced aloud, abandoning +suddenly the inward contemplation of Mrs Verloc's bereaved person and +business. "Quite an ordinary personality. You are wrong in not keeping +more in touch with the comrades, Professor," he added in a reproving +tone. "Did he say anything to you--give you some idea of his intentions? +I hadn't seen him for a month. It seems impossible that he should be +gone." + +"He told me it was going to be a demonstration against a building," said +the Professor. "I had to know that much to prepare the missile. I +pointed out to him that I had hardly a sufficient quantity for a +completely destructive result, but he pressed me very earnestly to do my +best. As he wanted something that could be carried openly in the hand, I +proposed to make use of an old one-gallon copal varnish can I happened to +have by me. He was pleased at the idea. It gave me some trouble, +because I had to cut out the bottom first and solder it on again +afterwards. When prepared for use, the can enclosed a wide-mouthed, well- +corked jar of thick glass packed around with some wet clay and containing +sixteen ounces of X2 green powder. The detonator was connected with the +screw top of the can. It was ingenious--a combination of time and shock. +I explained the system to him. It was a thin tube of tin enclosing a--" + +Ossipon's attention had wandered. + +"What do you think has happened?" he interrupted. + +"Can't tell. Screwed the top on tight, which would make the connection, +and then forgot the time. It was set for twenty minutes. On the other +hand, the time contact being made, a sharp shock would bring about the +explosion at once. He either ran the time too close, or simply let the +thing fall. The contact was made all right--that's clear to me at any +rate. The system's worked perfectly. And yet you would think that a +common fool in a hurry would be much more likely to forget to make the +contact altogether. I was worrying myself about that sort of failure +mostly. But there are more kinds of fools than one can guard against. +You can't expect a detonator to be absolutely fool-proof." + +He beckoned to a waiter. Ossipon sat rigid, with the abstracted gaze of +mental travail. After the man had gone away with the money he roused +himself, with an air of profound dissatisfaction. + +"It's extremely unpleasant for me," he mused. "Karl has been in bed with +bronchitis for a week. There's an even chance that he will never get up +again. Michaelis's luxuriating in the country somewhere. A fashionable +publisher has offered him five hundred pounds for a book. It will be a +ghastly failure. He has lost the habit of consecutive thinking in +prison, you know." + +The Professor on his feet, now buttoning his coat, looked about him with +perfect indifference. + +"What are you going to do?" asked Ossipon wearily. He dreaded the blame +of the Central Red Committee, a body which had no permanent place of +abode, and of whose membership he was not exactly informed. If this +affair eventuated in the stoppage of the modest subsidy allotted to the +publication of the F. P. pamphlets, then indeed he would have to regret +Verloc's inexplicable folly. + +"Solidarity with the extremest form of action is one thing, and silly +recklessness is another," he said, with a sort of moody brutality. "I +don't know what came to Verloc. There's some mystery there. However, +he's gone. You may take it as you like, but under the circumstances the +only policy for the militant revolutionary group is to disclaim all +connection with this damned freak of yours. How to make the disclaimer +convincing enough is what bothers me." + +The little man on his feet, buttoned up and ready to go, was no taller +than the seated Ossipon. He levelled his spectacles at the latter's face +point-blank. + +"You might ask the police for a testimonial of good conduct. They know +where every one of you slept last night. Perhaps if you asked them they +would consent to publish some sort of official statement." + +"No doubt they are aware well enough that we had nothing to do with +this," mumbled Ossipon bitterly. "What they will say is another thing." +He remained thoughtful, disregarding the short, owlish, shabby figure +standing by his side. "I must lay hands on Michaelis at once, and get +him to speak from his heart at one of our gatherings. The public has a +sort of sentimental regard for that fellow. His name is known. And I am +in touch with a few reporters on the big dailies. What he would say +would be utter bosh, but he has a turn of talk that makes it go down all +the same." + +"Like treacle," interjected the Professor, rather low, keeping an +impassive expression. + +The perplexed Ossipon went on communing with himself half audibly, after +the manner of a man reflecting in perfect solitude. + +"Confounded ass! To leave such an imbecile business on my hands. And I +don't even know if--" + +He sat with compressed lips. The idea of going for news straight to the +shop lacked charm. His notion was that Verloc's shop might have been +turned already into a police trap. They will be bound to make some +arrests, he thought, with something resembling virtuous indignation, for +the even tenor of his revolutionary life was menaced by no fault of his. +And yet unless he went there he ran the risk of remaining in ignorance of +what perhaps it would be very material for him to know. Then he +reflected that, if the man in the park had been so very much blown to +pieces as the evening papers said, he could not have been identified. And +if so, the police could have no special reason for watching Verloc's shop +more closely than any other place known to be frequented by marked +anarchists--no more reason, in fact, than for watching the doors of the +Silenus. There would be a lot of watching all round, no matter where he +went. Still-- + +"I wonder what I had better do now?" he muttered, taking counsel with +himself. + +A rasping voice at his elbow said, with sedate scorn: + +"Fasten yourself upon the woman for all she's worth." + +After uttering these words the Professor walked away from the table. +Ossipon, whom that piece of insight had taken unawares, gave one +ineffectual start, and remained still, with a helpless gaze, as though +nailed fast to the seat of his chair. The lonely piano, without as much +as a music stool to help it, struck a few chords courageously, and +beginning a selection of national airs, played him out at last to the +tune of "Blue Bells of Scotland." The painfully detached notes grew +faint behind his back while he went slowly upstairs, across the hall, and +into the street. + +In front of the great doorway a dismal row of newspaper sellers standing +clear of the pavement dealt out their wares from the gutter. It was a +raw, gloomy day of the early spring; and the grimy sky, the mud of the +streets, the rags of the dirty men, harmonised excellently with the +eruption of the damp, rubbishy sheets of paper soiled with printers' ink. +The posters, maculated with filth, garnished like tapestry the sweep of +the curbstone. The trade in afternoon papers was brisk, yet, in +comparison with the swift, constant march of foot traffic, the effect was +of indifference, of a disregarded distribution. Ossipon looked hurriedly +both ways before stepping out into the cross-currents, but the Professor +was already out of sight. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The Professor had turned into a street to the left, and walked along, +with his head carried rigidly erect, in a crowd whose every individual +almost overtopped his stunted stature. It was vain to pretend to himself +that he was not disappointed. But that was mere feeling; the stoicism of +his thought could not be disturbed by this or any other failure. Next +time, or the time after next, a telling stroke would be +delivered-something really startling--a blow fit to open the first crack +in the imposing front of the great edifice of legal conceptions +sheltering the atrocious injustice of society. Of humble origin, and +with an appearance really so mean as to stand in the way of his +considerable natural abilities, his imagination had been fired early by +the tales of men rising from the depths of poverty to positions of +authority and affluence. The extreme, almost ascetic purity of his +thought, combined with an astounding ignorance of worldly conditions, had +set before him a goal of power and prestige to be attained without the +medium of arts, graces, tact, wealth--by sheer weight of merit alone. On +that view he considered himself entitled to undisputed success. His +father, a delicate dark enthusiast with a sloping forehead, had been an +itinerant and rousing preacher of some obscure but rigid Christian sect--a +man supremely confident in the privileges of his righteousness. In the +son, individualist by temperament, once the science of colleges had +replaced thoroughly the faith of conventicles, this moral attitude +translated itself into a frenzied puritanism of ambition. He nursed it +as something secularly holy. To see it thwarted opened his eyes to the +true nature of the world, whose morality was artificial, corrupt, and +blasphemous. The way of even the most justifiable revolutions is +prepared by personal impulses disguised into creeds. The Professor's +indignation found in itself a final cause that absolved him from the sin +of turning to destruction as the agent of his ambition. To destroy +public faith in legality was the imperfect formula of his pedantic +fanaticism; but the subconscious conviction that the framework of an +established social order cannot be effectually shattered except by some +form of collective or individual violence was precise and correct. He +was a moral agent--that was settled in his mind. By exercising his +agency with ruthless defiance he procured for himself the appearances of +power and personal prestige. That was undeniable to his vengeful +bitterness. It pacified its unrest; and in their own way the most ardent +of revolutionaries are perhaps doing no more but seeking for peace in +common with the rest of mankind--the peace of soothed vanity, of +satisfied appetites, or perhaps of appeased conscience. + +Lost in the crowd, miserable and undersized, he meditated confidently on +his power, keeping his hand in the left pocket of his trousers, grasping +lightly the india-rubber ball, the supreme guarantee of his sinister +freedom; but after a while he became disagreeably affected by the sight +of the roadway thronged with vehicles and of the pavement crowded with +men and women. He was in a long, straight street, peopled by a mere +fraction of an immense multitude; but all round him, on and on, even to +the limits of the horizon hidden by the enormous piles of bricks, he felt +the mass of mankind mighty in its numbers. They swarmed numerous like +locusts, industrious like ants, thoughtless like a natural force, pushing +on blind and orderly and absorbed, impervious to sentiment, to logic, to +terror too perhaps. + +That was the form of doubt he feared most. Impervious to fear! Often +while walking abroad, when he happened also to come out of himself, he +had such moments of dreadful and sane mistrust of mankind. What if +nothing could move them? Such moments come to all men whose ambition +aims at a direct grasp upon humanity--to artists, politicians, thinkers, +reformers, or saints. A despicable emotional state this, against which +solitude fortifies a superior character; and with severe exultation the +Professor thought of the refuge of his room, with its padlocked cupboard, +lost in a wilderness of poor houses, the hermitage of the perfect +anarchist. In order to reach sooner the point where he could take his +omnibus, he turned brusquely out of the populous street into a narrow and +dusky alley paved with flagstones. On one side the low brick houses had +in their dusty windows the sightless, moribund look of incurable +decay--empty shells awaiting demolition. From the other side life had +not departed wholly as yet. Facing the only gas-lamp yawned the cavern +of a second-hand furniture dealer, where, deep in the gloom of a sort of +narrow avenue winding through a bizarre forest of wardrobes, with an +undergrowth tangle of table legs, a tall pier-glass glimmered like a pool +of water in a wood. An unhappy, homeless couch, accompanied by two +unrelated chairs, stood in the open. The only human being making use of +the alley besides the Professor, coming stalwart and erect from the +opposite direction, checked his swinging pace suddenly. + +"Hallo!" he said, and stood a little on one side watchfully. + +The Professor had already stopped, with a ready half turn which brought +his shoulders very near the other wall. His right hand fell lightly on +the back of the outcast couch, the left remained purposefully plunged +deep in the trousers pocket, and the roundness of the heavy rimmed +spectacles imparted an owlish character to his moody, unperturbed face. + +It was like a meeting in a side corridor of a mansion full of life. The +stalwart man was buttoned up in a dark overcoat, and carried an umbrella. +His hat, tilted back, uncovered a good deal of forehead, which appeared +very white in the dusk. In the dark patches of the orbits the eyeballs +glimmered piercingly. Long, drooping moustaches, the colour of ripe +corn, framed with their points the square block of his shaved chin. + +"I am not looking for you," he said curtly. + +The Professor did not stir an inch. The blended noises of the enormous +town sank down to an inarticulate low murmur. Chief Inspector Heat of +the Special Crimes Department changed his tone. + +"Not in a hurry to get home?" he asked, with mocking simplicity. + +The unwholesome-looking little moral agent of destruction exulted +silently in the possession of personal prestige, keeping in check this +man armed with the defensive mandate of a menaced society. More +fortunate than Caligula, who wished that the Roman Senate had only one +head for the better satisfaction of his cruel lust, he beheld in that one +man all the forces he had set at defiance: the force of law, property, +oppression, and injustice. He beheld all his enemies, and fearlessly +confronted them all in a supreme satisfaction of his vanity. They stood +perplexed before him as if before a dreadful portent. He gloated +inwardly over the chance of this meeting affirming his superiority over +all the multitude of mankind. + +It was in reality a chance meeting. Chief Inspector Heat had had a +disagreeably busy day since his department received the first telegram +from Greenwich a little before eleven in the morning. First of all, the +fact of the outrage being attempted less than a week after he had assured +a high official that no outbreak of anarchist activity was to be +apprehended was sufficiently annoying. If he ever thought himself safe +in making a statement, it was then. He had made that statement with +infinite satisfaction to himself, because it was clear that the high +official desired greatly to hear that very thing. He had affirmed that +nothing of the sort could even be thought of without the department being +aware of it within twenty-four hours; and he had spoken thus in his +consciousness of being the great expert of his department. He had gone +even so far as to utter words which true wisdom would have kept back. But +Chief Inspector Heat was not very wise--at least not truly so. True +wisdom, which is not certain of anything in this world of contradictions, +would have prevented him from attaining his present position. It would +have alarmed his superiors, and done away with his chances of promotion. +His promotion had been very rapid. + +"There isn't one of them, sir, that we couldn't lay our hands on at any +time of night and day. We know what each of them is doing hour by hour," +he had declared. And the high official had deigned to smile. This was +so obviously the right thing to say for an officer of Chief Inspector +Heat's reputation that it was perfectly delightful. The high official +believed the declaration, which chimed in with his idea of the fitness of +things. His wisdom was of an official kind, or else he might have +reflected upon a matter not of theory but of experience that in the close- +woven stuff of relations between conspirator and police there occur +unexpected solutions of continuity, sudden holes in space and time. A +given anarchist may be watched inch by inch and minute by minute, but a +moment always comes when somehow all sight and touch of him are lost for +a few hours, during which something (generally an explosion) more or less +deplorable does happen. But the high official, carried away by his sense +of the fitness of things, had smiled, and now the recollection of that +smile was very annoying to Chief Inspector Heat, principal expert in +anarchist procedure. + +This was not the only circumstance whose recollection depressed the usual +serenity of the eminent specialist. There was another dating back only +to that very morning. The thought that when called urgently to his +Assistant Commissioner's private room he had been unable to conceal his +astonishment was distinctly vexing. His instinct of a successful man had +taught him long ago that, as a general rule, a reputation is built on +manner as much as on achievement. And he felt that his manner when +confronted with the telegram had not been impressive. He had opened his +eyes widely, and had exclaimed "Impossible!" exposing himself thereby to +the unanswerable retort of a finger-tip laid forcibly on the telegram +which the Assistant Commissioner, after reading it aloud, had flung on +the desk. To be crushed, as it were, under the tip of a forefinger was +an unpleasant experience. Very damaging, too! Furthermore, Chief +Inspector Heat was conscious of not having mended matters by allowing +himself to express a conviction. + +"One thing I can tell you at once: none of our lot had anything to do +with this." + +He was strong in his integrity of a good detective, but he saw now that +an impenetrably attentive reserve towards this incident would have served +his reputation better. On the other hand, he admitted to himself that it +was difficult to preserve one's reputation if rank outsiders were going +to take a hand in the business. Outsiders are the bane of the police as +of other professions. The tone of the Assistant Commissioner's remarks +had been sour enough to set one's teeth on edge. + +And since breakfast Chief Inspector Heat had not managed to get anything +to eat. + +Starting immediately to begin his investigation on the spot, he had +swallowed a good deal of raw, unwholesome fog in the park. Then he had +walked over to the hospital; and when the investigation in Greenwich was +concluded at last he had lost his inclination for food. Not accustomed, +as the doctors are, to examine closely the mangled remains of human +beings, he had been shocked by the sight disclosed to his view when a +waterproof sheet had been lifted off a table in a certain apartment of +the hospital. + +Another waterproof sheet was spread over that table in the manner of a +table-cloth, with the corners turned up over a sort of mound--a heap of +rags, scorched and bloodstained, half concealing what might have been an +accumulation of raw material for a cannibal feast. It required +considerable firmness of mind not to recoil before that sight. Chief +Inspector Heat, an efficient officer of his department, stood his ground, +but for a whole minute he did not advance. A local constable in uniform +cast a sidelong glance, and said, with stolid simplicity: + +"He's all there. Every bit of him. It was a job." + +He had been the first man on the spot after the explosion. He mentioned +the fact again. He had seen something like a heavy flash of lightning in +the fog. At that time he was standing at the door of the King William +Street Lodge talking to the keeper. The concussion made him tingle all +over. He ran between the trees towards the Observatory. "As fast as my +legs would carry me," he repeated twice. + +Chief Inspector Heat, bending forward over the table in a gingerly and +horrified manner, let him run on. The hospital porter and another man +turned down the corners of the cloth, and stepped aside. The Chief +Inspector's eyes searched the gruesome detail of that heap of mixed +things, which seemed to have been collected in shambles and rag shops. + +"You used a shovel," he remarked, observing a sprinkling of small gravel, +tiny brown bits of bark, and particles of splintered wood as fine as +needles. + +"Had to in one place," said the stolid constable. "I sent a keeper to +fetch a spade. When he heard me scraping the ground with it he leaned +his forehead against a tree, and was as sick as a dog." + +The Chief Inspector, stooping guardedly over the table, fought down the +unpleasant sensation in his throat. The shattering violence of +destruction which had made of that body a heap of nameless fragments +affected his feelings with a sense of ruthless cruelty, though his reason +told him the effect must have been as swift as a flash of lightning. The +man, whoever he was, had died instantaneously; and yet it seemed +impossible to believe that a human body could have reached that state of +disintegration without passing through the pangs of inconceivable agony. +No physiologist, and still less of a metaphysician, Chief Inspector Heat +rose by the force of sympathy, which is a form of fear, above the vulgar +conception of time. Instantaneous! He remembered all he had ever read +in popular publications of long and terrifying dreams dreamed in the +instant of waking; of the whole past life lived with frightful intensity +by a drowning man as his doomed head bobs up, streaming, for the last +time. The inexplicable mysteries of conscious existence beset Chief +Inspector Heat till he evolved a horrible notion that ages of atrocious +pain and mental torture could be contained between two successive winks +of an eye. And meantime the Chief Inspector went on, peering at the +table with a calm face and the slightly anxious attention of an indigent +customer bending over what may be called the by-products of a butcher's +shop with a view to an inexpensive Sunday dinner. All the time his +trained faculties of an excellent investigator, who scorns no chance of +information, followed the self-satisfied, disjointed loquacity of the +constable. + +"A fair-haired fellow," the last observed in a placid tone, and paused. +"The old woman who spoke to the sergeant noticed a fair-haired fellow +coming out of Maze Hill Station." He paused. "And he was a fair-haired +fellow. She noticed two men coming out of the station after the uptrain +had gone on," he continued slowly. "She couldn't tell if they were +together. She took no particular notice of the big one, but the other +was a fair, slight chap, carrying a tin varnish can in one hand." The +constable ceased. + +"Know the woman?" muttered the Chief Inspector, with his eyes fixed on +the table, and a vague notion in his mind of an inquest to be held +presently upon a person likely to remain for ever unknown. + +"Yes. She's housekeeper to a retired publican, and attends the chapel in +Park Place sometimes," the constable uttered weightily, and paused, with +another oblique glance at the table. + +Then suddenly: "Well, here he is--all of him I could see. Fair. +Slight--slight enough. Look at that foot there. I picked up the legs +first, one after another. He was that scattered you didn't know where to +begin." + +The constable paused; the least flicker of an innocent self-laudatory +smile invested his round face with an infantile expression. + +"Stumbled," he announced positively. "I stumbled once myself, and +pitched on my head too, while running up. Them roots do stick out all +about the place. Stumbled against the root of a tree and fell, and that +thing he was carrying must have gone off right under his chest, I +expect." + +The echo of the words "Person unknown" repeating itself in his inner +consciousness bothered the Chief Inspector considerably. He would have +liked to trace this affair back to its mysterious origin for his own +information. He was professionally curious. Before the public he would +have liked to vindicate the efficiency of his department by establishing +the identity of that man. He was a loyal servant. That, however, +appeared impossible. The first term of the problem was unreadable--lacked +all suggestion but that of atrocious cruelty. + +Overcoming his physical repugnance, Chief Inspector Heat stretched out +his hand without conviction for the salving of his conscience, and took +up the least soiled of the rags. It was a narrow strip of velvet with a +larger triangular piece of dark blue cloth hanging from it. He held it +up to his eyes; and the police constable spoke. + +"Velvet collar. Funny the old woman should have noticed the velvet +collar. Dark blue overcoat with a velvet collar, she has told us. He +was the chap she saw, and no mistake. And here he is all complete, +velvet collar and all. I don't think I missed a single piece as big as a +postage stamp." + +At this point the trained faculties of the Chief Inspector ceased to hear +the voice of the constable. He moved to one of the windows for better +light. His face, averted from the room, expressed a startled intense +interest while he examined closely the triangular piece of broad-cloth. +By a sudden jerk he detached it, and _only_ after stuffing it into his +pocket turned round to the room, and flung the velvet collar back on the +table-- + +"Cover up," he directed the attendants curtly, without another look, and, +saluted by the constable, carried off his spoil hastily. + +A convenient train whirled him up to town, alone and pondering deeply, in +a third-class compartment. That singed piece of cloth was incredibly +valuable, and he could not defend himself from astonishment at the casual +manner it had come into his possession. It was as if Fate had thrust +that clue into his hands. And after the manner of the average man, whose +ambition is to command events, he began to mistrust such a gratuitous and +accidental success--just because it seemed forced upon him. The +practical value of success depends not a little on the way you look at +it. But Fate looks at nothing. It has no discretion. He no longer +considered it eminently desirable all round to establish publicly the +identity of the man who had blown himself up that morning with such +horrible completeness. But he was not certain of the view his department +would take. A department is to those it employs a complex personality +with ideas and even fads of its own. It depends on the loyal devotion of +its servants, and the devoted loyalty of trusted servants is associated +with a certain amount of affectionate contempt, which keeps it sweet, as +it were. By a benevolent provision of Nature no man is a hero to his +valet, or else the heroes would have to brush their own clothes. Likewise +no department appears perfectly wise to the intimacy of its workers. A +department does not know so much as some of its servants. Being a +dispassionate organism, it can never be perfectly informed. It would not +be good for its efficiency to know too much. Chief Inspector Heat got +out of the train in a state of thoughtfulness entirely untainted with +disloyalty, but not quite free of that jealous mistrust which so often +springs on the ground of perfect devotion, whether to women or to +institutions. + +It was in this mental disposition, physically very empty, but still +nauseated by what he had seen, that he had come upon the Professor. Under +these conditions which make for irascibility in a sound, normal man, this +meeting was specially unwelcome to Chief Inspector Heat. He had not been +thinking of the Professor; he had not been thinking of any individual +anarchist at all. The complexion of that case had somehow forced upon +him the general idea of the absurdity of things human, which in the +abstract is sufficiently annoying to an unphilosophical temperament, and +in concrete instances becomes exasperating beyond endurance. At the +beginning of his career Chief Inspector Heat had been concerned with the +more energetic forms of thieving. He had gained his spurs in that +sphere, and naturally enough had kept for it, after his promotion to +another department, a feeling not very far removed from affection. +Thieving was not a sheer absurdity. It was a form of human industry, +perverse indeed, but still an industry exercised in an industrious world; +it was work undertaken for the same reason as the work in potteries, in +coal mines, in fields, in tool-grinding shops. It was labour, whose +practical difference from the other forms of labour consisted in the +nature of its risk, which did not lie in ankylosis, or lead poisoning, or +fire-damp, or gritty dust, but in what may be briefly defined in its own +special phraseology as "Seven years hard." Chief Inspector Heat was, of +course, not insensible to the gravity of moral differences. But neither +were the thieves he had been looking after. They submitted to the severe +sanctions of a morality familiar to Chief Inspector Heat with a certain +resignation. + +They were his fellow-citizens gone wrong because of imperfect education, +Chief Inspector Heat believed; but allowing for that difference, he could +understand the mind of a burglar, because, as a matter of fact, the mind +and the instincts of a burglar are of the same kind as the mind and the +instincts of a police officer. Both recognise the same conventions, and +have a working knowledge of each other's methods and of the routine of +their respective trades. They understand each other, which is +advantageous to both, and establishes a sort of amenity in their +relations. Products of the same machine, one classed as useful and the +other as noxious, they take the machine for granted in different ways, +but with a seriousness essentially the same. The mind of Chief Inspector +Heat was inaccessible to ideas of revolt. But his thieves were not +rebels. His bodily vigour, his cool inflexible manner, his courage and +his fairness, had secured for him much respect and some adulation in the +sphere of his early successes. He had felt himself revered and admired. +And Chief Inspector Heat, arrested within six paces of the anarchist nick- +named the Professor, gave a thought of regret to the world of +thieves--sane, without morbid ideals, working by routine, respectful of +constituted authorities, free from all taint of hate and despair. + +After paying this tribute to what is normal in the constitution of +society (for the idea of thieving appeared to his instinct as normal as +the idea of property), Chief Inspector Heat felt very angry with himself +for having stopped, for having spoken, for having taken that way at all +on the ground of it being a short cut from the station to the +headquarters. And he spoke again in his big authoritative voice, which, +being moderated, had a threatening character. + +"You are not wanted, I tell you," he repeated. + +The anarchist did not stir. An inward laugh of derision uncovered not +only his teeth but his gums as well, shook him all over, without the +slightest sound. Chief Inspector Heat was led to add, against his better +judgment: + +"Not yet. When I want you I will know where to find you." + +Those were perfectly proper words, within the tradition and suitable to +his character of a police officer addressing one of his special flock. +But the reception they got departed from tradition and propriety. It was +outrageous. The stunted, weakly figure before him spoke at last. + +"I've no doubt the papers would give you an obituary notice then. You +know best what that would be worth to you. I should think you can +imagine easily the sort of stuff that would be printed. But you may be +exposed to the unpleasantness of being buried together with me, though I +suppose your friends would make an effort to sort us out as much as +possible." + +With all his healthy contempt for the spirit dictating such speeches, the +atrocious allusiveness of the words had its effect on Chief Inspector +Heat. He had too much insight, and too much exact information as well, +to dismiss them as rot. The dusk of this narrow lane took on a sinister +tint from the dark, frail little figure, its back to the wall, and +speaking with a weak, self-confident voice. To the vigorous, tenacious +vitality of the Chief Inspector, the physical wretchedness of that being, +so obviously not fit to live, was ominous; for it seemed to him that if +he had the misfortune to be such a miserable object he would not have +cared how soon he died. Life had such a strong hold upon him that a +fresh wave of nausea broke out in slight perspiration upon his brow. The +murmur of town life, the subdued rumble of wheels in the two invisible +streets to the right and left, came through the curve of the sordid lane +to his ears with a precious familiarity and an appealing sweetness. He +was human. But Chief Inspector Heat was also a man, and he could not let +such words pass. + +"All this is good to frighten children with," he said. "I'll have you +yet." + +It was very well said, without scorn, with an almost austere quietness. + +"Doubtless," was the answer; "but there's no time like the present, +believe me. For a man of real convictions this is a fine opportunity of +self-sacrifice. You may not find another so favourable, so humane. There +isn't even a cat near us, and these condemned old houses would make a +good heap of bricks where you stand. You'll never get me at so little +cost to life and property, which you are paid to protect." + +"You don't know who you're speaking to," said Chief Inspector Heat +firmly. "If I were to lay my hands on you now I would be no better than +yourself." + +"Ah! The game!' + +"You may be sure our side will win in the end. It may yet be necessary +to make people believe that some of you ought to be shot at sight like +mad dogs. Then that will be the game. But I'll be damned if I know what +yours is. I don't believe you know yourselves. You'll never get +anything by it." + +"Meantime it's you who get something from it--so far. And you get it +easily, too. I won't speak of your salary, but haven't you made your +name simply by not understanding what we are after?" + +"What are you after, then?" asked Chief Inspector Heat, with scornful +haste, like a man in a hurry who perceives he is wasting his time. + +The perfect anarchist answered by a smile which did not part his thin +colourless lips; and the celebrated Chief Inspector felt a sense of +superiority which induced him to raise a warning finger. + +"Give it up--whatever it is," he said in an admonishing tone, but not so +kindly as if he were condescending to give good advice to a cracksman of +repute. "Give it up. You'll find we are too many for you." + +The fixed smile on the Professor's lips wavered, as if the mocking spirit +within had lost its assurance. Chief Inspector Heat went on: + +"Don't you believe me eh? Well, you've only got to look about you. We +are. And anyway, you're not doing it well. You're always making a mess +of it. Why, if the thieves didn't know their work better they would +starve." + +The hint of an invincible multitude behind that man's back roused a +sombre indignation in the breast of the Professor. He smiled no longer +his enigmatic and mocking smile. The resisting power of numbers, the +unattackable stolidity of a great multitude, was the haunting fear of his +sinister loneliness. His lips trembled for some time before he managed +to say in a strangled voice: + +"I am doing my work better than you're doing yours." + +"That'll do now," interrupted Chief Inspector Heat hurriedly; and the +Professor laughed right out this time. While still laughing he moved on; +but he did not laugh long. It was a sad-faced, miserable little man who +emerged from the narrow passage into the bustle of the broad +thoroughfare. He walked with the nerveless gait of a tramp going on, +still going on, indifferent to rain or sun in a sinister detachment from +the aspects of sky and earth. Chief Inspector Heat, on the other hand, +after watching him for a while, stepped out with the purposeful briskness +of a man disregarding indeed the inclemencies of the weather, but +conscious of having an authorised mission on this earth and the moral +support of his kind. All the inhabitants of the immense town, the +population of the whole country, and even the teeming millions struggling +upon the planet, were with him--down to the very thieves and mendicants. +Yes, the thieves themselves were sure to be with him in his present work. +The consciousness of universal support in his general activity heartened +him to grapple with the particular problem. + +The problem immediately before the Chief Inspector was that of managing +the Assistant Commissioner of his department, his immediate superior. +This is the perennial problem of trusty and loyal servants; anarchism +gave it its particular complexion, but nothing more. Truth to say, Chief +Inspector Heat thought but little of anarchism. He did not attach undue +importance to it, and could never bring himself to consider it seriously. +It had more the character of disorderly conduct; disorderly without the +human excuse of drunkenness, which at any rate implies good feeling and +an amiable leaning towards festivity. As criminals, anarchists were +distinctly no class--no class at all. And recalling the Professor, Chief +Inspector Heat, without checking his swinging pace, muttered through his +teeth: + +"Lunatic." + +Catching thieves was another matter altogether. It had that quality of +seriousness belonging to every form of open sport where the best man wins +under perfectly comprehensible rules. There were no rules for dealing +with anarchists. And that was distasteful to the Chief Inspector. It +was all foolishness, but that foolishness excited the public mind, +affected persons in high places, and touched upon international +relations. A hard, merciless contempt settled rigidly on the Chief +Inspector's face as he walked on. His mind ran over all the anarchists +of his flock. Not one of them had half the spunk of this or that burglar +he had known. Not half--not one-tenth. + +At headquarters the Chief Inspector was admitted at once to the Assistant +Commissioner's private room. He found him, pen in hand, bent over a +great table bestrewn with papers, as if worshipping an enormous double +inkstand of bronze and crystal. Speaking tubes resembling snakes were +tied by the heads to the back of the Assistant Commissioner's wooden arm- +chair, and their gaping mouths seemed ready to bite his elbows. And in +this attitude he raised only his eyes, whose lids were darker than his +face and very much creased. The reports had come in: every anarchist had +been exactly accounted for. + +After saying this he lowered his eyes, signed rapidly two single sheets +of paper, and only then laid down his pen, and sat well back, directing +an inquiring gaze at his renowned subordinate. The Chief Inspector stood +it well, deferential but inscrutable. + +"I daresay you were right," said the Assistant Commissioner, "in telling +me at first that the London anarchists had nothing to do with this. I +quite appreciate the excellent watch kept on them by your men. On the +other hand, this, for the public, does not amount to more than a +confession of ignorance." + +The Assistant Commissioner's delivery was leisurely, as it were cautious. +His thought seemed to rest poised on a word before passing to another, as +though words had been the stepping-stones for his intellect picking its +way across the waters of error. "Unless you have brought something +useful from Greenwich," he added. + +The Chief Inspector began at once the account of his investigation in a +clear matter-of-fact manner. His superior turning his chair a little, +and crossing his thin legs, leaned sideways on his elbow, with one hand +shading his eyes. His listening attitude had a sort of angular and +sorrowful grace. Gleams as of highly burnished silver played on the +sides of his ebony black head when he inclined it slowly at the end. + +Chief Inspector Heat waited with the appearance of turning over in his +mind all he had just said, but, as a matter of fact, considering the +advisability of saying something more. The Assistant Commissioner cut +his hesitation short. + +"You believe there were two men?" he asked, without uncovering his eyes. + +The Chief Inspector thought it more than probable. In his opinion, the +two men had parted from each other within a hundred yards from the +Observatory walls. He explained also how the other man could have got +out of the park speedily without being observed. The fog, though not +very dense, was in his favour. He seemed to have escorted the other to +the spot, and then to have left him there to do the job single-handed. +Taking the time those two were seen coming out of Maze Hill Station by +the old woman, and the time when the explosion was heard, the Chief +Inspector thought that the other man might have been actually at the +Greenwich Park Station, ready to catch the next train up, at the moment +his comrade was destroying himself so thoroughly. + +"Very thoroughly--eh?" murmured the Assistant Commissioner from under the +shadow of his hand. + +The Chief Inspector in a few vigorous words described the aspect of the +remains. "The coroner's jury will have a treat," he added grimly. + +The Assistant Commissioner uncovered his eyes. + +"We shall have nothing to tell them," he remarked languidly. + +He looked up, and for a time watched the markedly non-committal attitude +of his Chief Inspector. His nature was one that is not easily accessible +to illusions. He knew that a department is at the mercy of its +subordinate officers, who have their own conceptions of loyalty. His +career had begun in a tropical colony. He had liked his work there. It +was police work. He had been very successful in tracking and breaking up +certain nefarious secret societies amongst the natives. Then he took his +long leave, and got married rather impulsively. It was a good match from +a worldly point of view, but his wife formed an unfavourable opinion of +the colonial climate on hearsay evidence. On the other hand, she had +influential connections. It was an excellent match. But he did not like +the work he had to do now. He felt himself dependent on too many +subordinates and too many masters. The near presence of that strange +emotional phenomenon called public opinion weighed upon his spirits, and +alarmed him by its irrational nature. No doubt that from ignorance he +exaggerated to himself its power for good and evil--especially for evil; +and the rough east winds of the English spring (which agreed with his +wife) augmented his general mistrust of men's motives and of the +efficiency of their organisation. The futility of office work especially +appalled him on those days so trying to his sensitive liver. + +He got up, unfolding himself to his full height, and with a heaviness of +step remarkable in so slender a man, moved across the room to the window. +The panes streamed with rain, and the short street he looked down into +lay wet and empty, as if swept clear suddenly by a great flood. It was a +very trying day, choked in raw fog to begin with, and now drowned in cold +rain. The flickering, blurred flames of gas-lamps seemed to be +dissolving in a watery atmosphere. And the lofty pretensions of a +mankind oppressed by the miserable indignities of the weather appeared as +a colossal and hopeless vanity deserving of scorn, wonder, and +compassion. + +"Horrible, horrible!" thought the Assistant Commissioner to himself, with +his face near the window-pane. "We have been having this sort of thing +now for ten days; no, a fortnight--a fortnight." He ceased to think +completely for a time. That utter stillness of his brain lasted about +three seconds. Then he said perfunctorily: "You have set inquiries on +foot for tracing that other man up and down the line?" + +He had no doubt that everything needful had been done. Chief Inspector +Heat knew, of course, thoroughly the business of man-hunting. And these +were the routine steps, too, that would be taken as a matter of course by +the merest beginner. A few inquiries amongst the ticket collectors and +the porters of the two small railway stations would give additional +details as to the appearance of the two men; the inspection of the +collected tickets would show at once where they came from that morning. +It was elementary, and could not have been neglected. Accordingly the +Chief Inspector answered that all this had been done directly the old +woman had come forward with her deposition. And he mentioned the name of +a station. "That's where they came from, sir," he went on. "The porter +who took the tickets at Maze Hill remembers two chaps answering to the +description passing the barrier. They seemed to him two respectable +working men of a superior sort--sign painters or house decorators. The +big man got out of a third-class compartment backward, with a bright tin +can in his hand. On the platform he gave it to carry to the fair young +fellow who followed him. All this agrees exactly with what the old woman +told the police sergeant in Greenwich." + +The Assistant Commissioner, still with his face turned to the window, +expressed his doubt as to these two men having had anything to do with +the outrage. All this theory rested upon the utterances of an old +charwoman who had been nearly knocked down by a man in a hurry. Not a +very substantial authority indeed, unless on the ground of sudden +inspiration, which was hardly tenable. + +"Frankly now, could she have been really inspired?" he queried, with +grave irony, keeping his back to the room, as if entranced by the +contemplation of the town's colossal forms half lost in the night. He +did not even look round when he heard the mutter of the word +"Providential" from the principal subordinate of his department, whose +name, printed sometimes in the papers, was familiar to the great public +as that of one of its zealous and hard-working protectors. Chief +Inspector Heat raised his voice a little. + +"Strips and bits of bright tin were quite visible to me," he said. +"That's a pretty good corroboration." + +"And these men came from that little country station," the Assistant +Commissioner mused aloud, wondering. He was told that such was the name +on two tickets out of three given up out of that train at Maze Hill. The +third person who got out was a hawker from Gravesend well known to the +porters. The Chief Inspector imparted that information in a tone of +finality with some ill humour, as loyal servants will do in the +consciousness of their fidelity and with the sense of the value of their +loyal exertions. And still the Assistant Commissioner did not turn away +from the darkness outside, as vast as a sea. + +"Two foreign anarchists coming from that place," he said, apparently to +the window-pane. "It's rather unaccountable."' + +"Yes, sir. But it would be still more unaccountable if that Michaelis +weren't staying in a cottage in the neighbourhood." + +At the sound of that name, falling unexpectedly into this annoying +affair, the Assistant Commissioner dismissed brusquely the vague +remembrance of his daily whist party at his club. It was the most +comforting habit of his life, in a mainly successful display of his skill +without the assistance of any subordinate. He entered his club to play +from five to seven, before going home to dinner, forgetting for those two +hours whatever was distasteful in his life, as though the game were a +beneficent drug for allaying the pangs of moral discontent. His partners +were the gloomily humorous editor of a celebrated magazine; a silent, +elderly barrister with malicious little eyes; and a highly martial, +simple-minded old Colonel with nervous brown hands. They were his club +acquaintances merely. He never met them elsewhere except at the card- +table. But they all seemed to approach the game in the spirit of +co-sufferers, as if it were indeed a drug against the secret ills of +existence; and every day as the sun declined over the countless roofs of +the town, a mellow, pleasurable impatience, resembling the impulse of a +sure and profound friendship, lightened his professional labours. And +now this pleasurable sensation went out of him with something resembling +a physical shock, and was replaced by a special kind of interest in his +work of social protection--an improper sort of interest, which may be +defined best as a sudden and alert mistrust of the weapon in his hand. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The lady patroness of Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle of +humanitarian hopes, was one of the most influential and distinguished +connections of the Assistant Commissioner's wife, whom she called Annie, +and treated still rather as a not very wise and utterly inexperienced +young girl. But she had consented to accept him on a friendly footing, +which was by no means the case with all of his wife's influential +connections. Married young and splendidly at some remote epoch of the +past, she had had for a time a close view of great affairs and even of +some great men. She herself was a great lady. Old now in the number of +her years, she had that sort of exceptional temperament which defies time +with scornful disregard, as if it were a rather vulgar convention +submitted to by the mass of inferior mankind. Many other conventions +easier to set aside, alas! failed to obtain her recognition, also on +temperamental grounds--either because they bored her, or else because +they stood in the way of her scorns and sympathies. Admiration was a +sentiment unknown to her (it was one of the secret griefs of her most +noble husband against her)--first, as always more or less tainted with +mediocrity, and next as being in a way an admission of inferiority. And +both were frankly inconceivable to her nature. To be fearlessly +outspoken in her opinions came easily to her, since she judged solely +from the standpoint of her social position. She was equally untrammelled +in her actions; and as her tactfulness proceeded from genuine humanity, +her bodily vigour remained remarkable and her superiority was serene and +cordial, three generations had admired her infinitely, and the last she +was likely to see had pronounced her a wonderful woman. Meantime +intelligent, with a sort of lofty simplicity, and curious at heart, but +not like many women merely of social gossip, she amused her age by +attracting within her ken through the power of her great, almost +historical, social prestige everything that rose above the dead level of +mankind, lawfully or unlawfully, by position, wit, audacity, fortune or +misfortune. Royal Highnesses, artists, men of science, young statesmen, +and charlatans of all ages and conditions, who, unsubstantial and light, +bobbing up like corks, show best the direction of the surface currents, +had been welcomed in that house, listened to, penetrated, understood, +appraised, for her own edification. In her own words, she liked to watch +what the world was coming to. And as she had a practical mind her +judgment of men and things, though based on special prejudices, was +seldom totally wrong, and almost never wrong-headed. Her drawing-room +was probably the only place in the wide world where an Assistant +Commissioner of Police could meet a convict liberated on a +ticket-of-leave on other than professional and official ground. Who had +brought Michaelis there one afternoon the Assistant Commissioner did not +remember very well. He had a notion it must have been a certain Member +of Parliament of illustrious parentage and unconventional sympathies, +which were the standing joke of the comic papers. The notabilities and +even the simple notorieties of the day brought each other freely to that +temple of an old woman's not ignoble curiosity. You never could guess +whom you were likely to come upon being received in semi-privacy within +the faded blue silk and gilt frame screen, making a cosy nook for a couch +and a few arm-chairs in the great drawing-room, with its hum of voices +and the groups of people seated or standing in the light of six tall +windows. + +Michaelis had been the object of a revulsion of popular sentiment, the +same sentiment which years ago had applauded the ferocity of the life +sentence passed upon him for complicity in a rather mad attempt to rescue +some prisoners from a police van. The plan of the conspirators had been +to shoot down the horses and overpower the escort. Unfortunately, one of +the police constables got shot too. He left a wife and three small +children, and the death of that man aroused through the length and +breadth of a realm for whose defence, welfare, and glory men die every +day as matter of duty, an outburst of furious indignation, of a raging +implacable pity for the victim. Three ring-leaders got hanged. +Michaelis, young and slim, locksmith by trade, and great frequenter of +evening schools, did not even know that anybody had been killed, his part +with a few others being to force open the door at the back of the special +conveyance. When arrested he had a bunch of skeleton keys in one pocket +a heavy chisel in another, and a short crowbar in his hand: neither more +nor less than a burglar. But no burglar would have received such a heavy +sentence. The death of the constable had made him miserable at heart, +but the failure of the plot also. He did not conceal either of these +sentiments from his empanelled countrymen, and that sort of compunction +appeared shockingly imperfect to the crammed court. The judge on passing +sentence commented feelingly upon the depravity and callousness of the +young prisoner. + +That made the groundless fame of his condemnation; the fame of his +release was made for him on no better grounds by people who wished to +exploit the sentimental aspect of his imprisonment either for purposes of +their own or for no intelligible purpose. He let them do so in the +innocence of his heart and the simplicity of his mind. Nothing that +happened to him individually had any importance. He was like those +saintly men whose personality is lost in the contemplation of their +faith. His ideas were not in the nature of convictions. They were +inaccessible to reasoning. They formed in all their contradictions and +obscurities an invincible and humanitarian creed, which he confessed +rather than preached, with an obstinate gentleness, a smile of pacific +assurance on his lips, and his candid blue eyes cast down because the +sight of faces troubled his inspiration developed in solitude. In that +characteristic attitude, pathetic in his grotesque and incurable obesity +which he had to drag like a galley slave's bullet to the end of his days, +the Assistant Commissioner of Police beheld the ticket-of-leave apostle +filling a privileged arm-chair within the screen. He sat there by the +head of the old lady's couch, mild-voiced and quiet, with no more self- +consciousness than a very small child, and with something of a child's +charm--the appealing charm of trustfulness. Confident of the future, +whose secret ways had been revealed to him within the four walls of a +well-known penitentiary, he had no reason to look with suspicion upon +anybody. If he could not give the great and curious lady a very definite +idea as to what the world was coming to, he had managed without effort to +impress her by his unembittered faith, by the sterling quality of his +optimism. + +A certain simplicity of thought is common to serene souls at both ends of +the social scale. The great lady was simple in her own way. His views +and beliefs had nothing in them to shock or startle her, since she judged +them from the standpoint of her lofty position. Indeed, her sympathies +were easily accessible to a man of that sort. She was not an exploiting +capitalist herself; she was, as it were, above the play of economic +conditions. And she had a great capacity of pity for the more obvious +forms of common human miseries, precisely because she was such a complete +stranger to them that she had to translate her conception into terms of +mental suffering before she could grasp the notion of their cruelty. The +Assistant Commissioner remembered very well the conversation between +these two. He had listened in silence. It was something as exciting in +a way, and even touching in its foredoomed futility, as the efforts at +moral intercourse between the inhabitants of remote planets. But this +grotesque incarnation of humanitarian passion appealed somehow, to one's +imagination. At last Michaelis rose, and taking the great lady's +extended hand, shook it, retained it for a moment in his great cushioned +palm with unembarrassed friendliness, and turned upon the semi-private +nook of the drawing-room his back, vast and square, and as if distended +under the short tweed jacket. Glancing about in serene benevolence, he +waddled along to the distant door between the knots of other visitors. +The murmur of conversations paused on his passage. He smiled innocently +at a tall, brilliant girl, whose eyes met his accidentally, and went out +unconscious of the glances following him across the room. Michaelis' +first appearance in the world was a success--a success of esteem unmarred +by a single murmur of derision. The interrupted conversations were +resumed in their proper tone, grave or light. Only a well-set-up, long- +limbed, active-looking man of forty talking with two ladies near a window +remarked aloud, with an unexpected depth of feeling: "Eighteen stone, I +should say, and not five foot six. Poor fellow! It's terrible--terrible." + +The lady of the house, gazing absently at the Assistant Commissioner, +left alone with her on the private side of the screen, seemed to be +rearranging her mental impressions behind her thoughtful immobility of a +handsome old face. Men with grey moustaches and full, healthy, vaguely +smiling countenances approached, circling round the screen; two mature +women with a matronly air of gracious resolution; a clean-shaved +individual with sunken cheeks, and dangling a gold-mounted eyeglass on a +broad black ribbon with an old-world, dandified effect. A silence +deferential, but full of reserves, reigned for a moment, and then the +great lady exclaimed, not with resentment, but with a sort of protesting +indignation: + +"And that officially is supposed to be a revolutionist! What nonsense." +She looked hard at the Assistant Commissioner, who murmured +apologetically: + +"Not a dangerous one perhaps." + +"Not dangerous--I should think not indeed. He is a mere believer. It's +the temperament of a saint," declared the great lady in a firm tone. "And +they kept him shut up for twenty years. One shudders at the stupidity of +it. And now they have let him out everybody belonging to him is gone +away somewhere or dead. His parents are dead; the girl he was to marry +has died while he was in prison; he has lost the skill necessary for his +manual occupation. He told me all this himself with the sweetest +patience; but then, he said, he had had plenty of time to think out +things for himself. A pretty compensation! If that's the stuff +revolutionists are made of some of us may well go on their knees to +them," she continued in a slightly bantering voice, while the banal +society smiles hardened on the worldly faces turned towards her with +conventional deference. "The poor creature is obviously no longer in a +position to take care of himself. Somebody will have to look after him a +little." + +"He should be recommended to follow a treatment of some sort," the +soldierly voice of the active-looking man was heard advising earnestly +from a distance. He was in the pink of condition for his age, and even +the texture of his long frock coat had a character of elastic soundness, +as if it were a living tissue. "The man is virtually a cripple," he +added with unmistakable feeling. + +Other voices, as if glad of the opening, murmured hasty compassion. +"Quite startling," "Monstrous," "Most painful to see." The lank man, +with the eyeglass on a broad ribbon, pronounced mincingly the word +"Grotesque," whose justness was appreciated by those standing near him. +They smiled at each other. + +The Assistant Commissioner had expressed no opinion either then or later, +his position making it impossible for him to ventilate any independent +view of a ticket-of-leave convict. But, in truth, he shared the view of +his wife's friend and patron that Michaelis was a humanitarian +sentimentalist, a little mad, but upon the whole incapable of hurting a +fly intentionally. So when that name cropped up suddenly in this vexing +bomb affair he realised all the danger of it for the ticket-of-leave +apostle, and his mind reverted at once to the old lady's well-established +infatuation. Her arbitrary kindness would not brook patiently any +interference with Michaelis' freedom. It was a deep, calm, convinced +infatuation. She had not only felt him to be inoffensive, but she had +said so, which last by a confusion of her absolutist mind became a sort +of incontrovertible demonstration. It was as if the monstrosity of the +man, with his candid infant's eyes and a fat angelic smile, had +fascinated her. She had come to believe almost his theory of the future, +since it was not repugnant to her prejudices. She disliked the new +element of plutocracy in the social compound, and industrialism as a +method of human development appeared to her singularly repulsive in its +mechanical and unfeeling character. The humanitarian hopes of the mild +Michaelis tended not towards utter destruction, but merely towards the +complete economic ruin of the system. And she did not really see where +was the moral harm of it. It would do away with all the multitude of the +"parvenus," whom she disliked and mistrusted, not because they had +arrived anywhere (she denied that), but because of their profound +unintelligence of the world, which was the primary cause of the crudity +of their perceptions and the aridity of their hearts. With the +annihilation of all capital they would vanish too; but universal ruin +(providing it was universal, as it was revealed to Michaelis) would leave +the social values untouched. The disappearance of the last piece of +money could not affect people of position. She could not conceive how it +could affect her position, for instance. She had developed these +discoveries to the Assistant Commissioner with all the serene +fearlessness of an old woman who had escaped the blight of indifference. +He had made for himself the rule to receive everything of that sort in a +silence which he took care from policy and inclination not to make +offensive. He had an affection for the aged disciple of Michaelis, a +complex sentiment depending a little on her prestige, on her personality, +but most of all on the instinct of flattered gratitude. He felt himself +really liked in her house. She was kindness personified. And she was +practically wise too, after the manner of experienced women. She made +his married life much easier than it would have been without her +generously full recognition of his rights as Annie's husband. Her +influence upon his wife, a woman devoured by all sorts of small +selfishnesses, small envies, small jealousies, was excellent. +Unfortunately, both her kindness and her wisdom were of unreasonable +complexion, distinctly feminine, and difficult to deal with. She +remained a perfect woman all along her full tale of years, and not as +some of them do become--a sort of slippery, pestilential old man in +petticoats. And it was as of a woman that he thought of her--the +specially choice incarnation of the feminine, wherein is recruited the +tender, ingenuous, and fierce bodyguard for all sorts of men who talk +under the influence of an emotion, true or fraudulent; for preachers, +seers, prophets, or reformers. + +Appreciating the distinguished and good friend of his wife, and himself, +in that way, the Assistant Commissioner became alarmed at the convict +Michaelis' possible fate. Once arrested on suspicion of being in some +way, however remote, a party to this outrage, the man could hardly escape +being sent back to finish his sentence at least. And that would kill +him; he would never come out alive. The Assistant Commissioner made a +reflection extremely unbecoming his official position without being +really creditable to his humanity. + +"If the fellow is laid hold of again," he thought, "she will never +forgive me." + +The frankness of such a secretly outspoken thought could not go without +some derisive self-criticism. No man engaged in a work he does not like +can preserve many saving illusions about himself. The distaste, the +absence of glamour, extend from the occupation to the personality. It is +only when our appointed activities seem by a lucky accident to obey the +particular earnestness of our temperament that we can taste the comfort +of complete self-deception. The Assistant Commissioner did not like his +work at home. The police work he had been engaged on in a distant part +of the globe had the saving character of an irregular sort of warfare or +at least the risk and excitement of open-air sport. His real abilities, +which were mainly of an administrative order, were combined with an +adventurous disposition. Chained to a desk in the thick of four millions +of men, he considered himself the victim of an ironic fate--the same, no +doubt, which had brought about his marriage with a woman exceptionally +sensitive in the matter of colonial climate, besides other limitations +testifying to the delicacy of her nature--and her tastes. Though he +judged his alarm sardonically he did not dismiss the improper thought +from his mind. The instinct of self-preservation was strong within him. +On the contrary, he repeated it mentally with profane emphasis and a +fuller precision: "Damn it! If that infernal Heat has his way the +fellow'll die in prison smothered in his fat, and she'll never forgive +me." + +His black, narrow figure, with the white band of the collar under the +silvery gleams on the close-cropped hair at the back of the head, +remained motionless. The silence had lasted such a long time that Chief +Inspector Heat ventured to clear his throat. This noise produced its +effect. The zealous and intelligent officer was asked by his superior, +whose back remained turned to him immovably: + +"You connect Michaelis with this affair?" + +Chief Inspector Heat was very positive, but cautious. + +"Well, sir," he said, "we have enough to go upon. A man like that has no +business to be at large, anyhow." + +"You will want some conclusive evidence," came the observation in a +murmur. + +Chief Inspector Heat raised his eyebrows at the black, narrow back, which +remained obstinately presented to his intelligence and his zeal. + +"There will be no difficulty in getting up sufficient evidence against +_him_," he said, with virtuous complacency. "You may trust me for that, +sir," he added, quite unnecessarily, out of the fulness of his heart; for +it seemed to him an excellent thing to have that man in hand to be thrown +down to the public should it think fit to roar with any special +indignation in this case. It was impossible to say yet whether it would +roar or not. That in the last instance depended, of course, on the +newspaper press. But in any case, Chief Inspector Heat, purveyor of +prisons by trade, and a man of legal instincts, did logically believe +that incarceration was the proper fate for every declared enemy of the +law. In the strength of that conviction he committed a fault of tact. He +allowed himself a little conceited laugh, and repeated: + +"Trust me for that, sir." + +This was too much for the forced calmness under which the Assistant +Commissioner had for upwards of eighteen months concealed his irritation +with the system and the subordinates of his office. A square peg forced +into a round hole, he had felt like a daily outrage that long established +smooth roundness into which a man of less sharply angular shape would +have fitted himself, with voluptuous acquiescence, after a shrug or two. +What he resented most was just the necessity of taking so much on trust. +At the little laugh of Chief Inspector Heat's he spun swiftly on his +heels, as if whirled away from the window-pane by an electric shock. He +caught on the latter's face not only the complacency proper to the +occasion lurking under the moustache, but the vestiges of experimental +watchfulness in the round eyes, which had been, no doubt, fastened on his +back, and now met his glance for a second before the intent character of +their stare had the time to change to a merely startled appearance. + +The Assistant Commissioner of Police had really some qualifications for +his post. Suddenly his suspicion was awakened. It is but fair to say +that his suspicions of the police methods (unless the police happened to +be a semi-military body organised by himself) was not difficult to +arouse. If it ever slumbered from sheer weariness, it was but lightly; +and his appreciation of Chief Inspector Heat's zeal and ability, moderate +in itself, excluded all notion of moral confidence. "He's up to +something," he exclaimed mentally, and at once became angry. Crossing +over to his desk with headlong strides, he sat down violently. "Here I +am stuck in a litter of paper," he reflected, with unreasonable +resentment, "supposed to hold all the threads in my hands, and yet I can +but hold what is put in my hand, and nothing else. And they can fasten +the other ends of the threads where they please." + +He raised his head, and turned towards his subordinate a long, meagre +face with the accentuated features of an energetic Don Quixote. + +"Now what is it you've got up your sleeve?" + +The other stared. He stared without winking in a perfect immobility of +his round eyes, as he was used to stare at the various members of the +criminal class when, after being duly cautioned, they made their +statements in the tones of injured innocence, or false simplicity, or +sullen resignation. But behind that professional and stony fixity there +was some surprise too, for in such a tone, combining nicely the note of +contempt and impatience, Chief Inspector Heat, the right-hand man of the +department, was not used to be addressed. He began in a procrastinating +manner, like a man taken unawares by a new and unexpected experience. + +"What I've got against that man Michaelis you mean, sir?" + +The Assistant Commissioner watched the bullet head; the points of that +Norse rover's moustache, falling below the line of the heavy jaw; the +whole full and pale physiognomy, whose determined character was marred by +too much flesh; at the cunning wrinkles radiating from the outer corners +of the eyes--and in that purposeful contemplation of the valuable and +trusted officer he drew a conviction so sudden that it moved him like an +inspiration. + +"I have reason to think that when you came into this room," he said in +measured tones, "it was not Michaelis who was in your mind; not +principally--perhaps not at all." + +"You have reason to think, sir?" muttered Chief Inspector Heat, with +every appearance of astonishment, which up to a certain point was genuine +enough. He had discovered in this affair a delicate and perplexing side, +forcing upon the discoverer a certain amount of insincerity--that sort of +insincerity which, under the names of skill, prudence, discretion, turns +up at one point or another in most human affairs. He felt at the moment +like a tight-rope artist might feel if suddenly, in the middle of the +performance, the manager of the Music Hall were to rush out of the proper +managerial seclusion and begin to shake the rope. Indignation, the sense +of moral insecurity engendered by such a treacherous proceeding joined to +the immediate apprehension of a broken neck, would, in the colloquial +phrase, put him in a state. And there would be also some scandalised +concern for his art too, since a man must identify himself with something +more tangible than his own personality, and establish his pride +somewhere, either in his social position, or in the quality of the work +he is obliged to do, or simply in the superiority of the idleness he may +be fortunate enough to enjoy. + +"Yes," said the Assistant Commissioner; "I have. I do not mean to say +that you have not thought of Michaelis at all. But you are giving the +fact you've mentioned a prominence which strikes me as not quite candid, +Inspector Heat. If that is really the track of discovery, why haven't +you followed it up at once, either personally or by sending one of your +men to that village?" + +"Do you think, sir, I have failed in my duty there?" the Chief Inspector +asked, in a tone which he sought to make simply reflective. Forced +unexpectedly to concentrate his faculties upon the task of preserving his +balance, he had seized upon that point, and exposed himself to a rebuke; +for, the Assistant Commissioner frowning slightly, observed that this was +a very improper remark to make. + +"But since you've made it," he continued coldly, "I'll tell you that this +is not my meaning." + +He paused, with a straight glance of his sunken eyes which was a full +equivalent of the unspoken termination "and you know it." The head of +the so-called Special Crimes Department debarred by his position from +going out of doors personally in quest of secrets locked up in guilty +breasts, had a propensity to exercise his considerable gifts for the +detection of incriminating truth upon his own subordinates. That +peculiar instinct could hardly be called a weakness. It was natural. He +was a born detective. It had unconsciously governed his choice of a +career, and if it ever failed him in life it was perhaps in the one +exceptional circumstance of his marriage--which was also natural. It +fed, since it could not roam abroad, upon the human material which was +brought to it in its official seclusion. We can never cease to be +ourselves. + +His elbow on the desk, his thin legs crossed, and nursing his cheek in +the palm of his meagre hand, the Assistant Commissioner in charge of the +Special Crimes branch was getting hold of the case with growing interest. +His Chief Inspector, if not an absolutely worthy foeman of his +penetration, was at any rate the most worthy of all within his reach. A +mistrust of established reputations was strictly in character with the +Assistant Commissioner's ability as detector. His memory evoked a +certain old fat and wealthy native chief in the distant colony whom it +was a tradition for the successive Colonial Governors to trust and make +much of as a firm friend and supporter of the order and legality +established by white men; whereas, when examined sceptically, he was +found out to be principally his own good friend, and nobody else's. Not +precisely a traitor, but still a man of many dangerous reservations in +his fidelity, caused by a due regard for his own advantage, comfort, and +safety. A fellow of some innocence in his naive duplicity, but none the +less dangerous. He took some finding out. He was physically a big man, +too, and (allowing for the difference of colour, of course) Chief +Inspector Heat's appearance recalled him to the memory of his superior. +It was not the eyes nor yet the lips exactly. It was bizarre. But does +not Alfred Wallace relate in his famous book on the Malay Archipelago +how, amongst the Aru Islanders, he discovered in an old and naked savage +with a sooty skin a peculiar resemblance to a dear friend at home? + +For the first time since he took up his appointment the Assistant +Commissioner felt as if he were going to do some real work for his +salary. And that was a pleasurable sensation. "I'll turn him inside out +like an old glove," thought the Assistant Commissioner, with his eyes +resting pensively upon Chief Inspector Heat. + +"No, that was not my thought," he began again. "There is no doubt about +you knowing your business--no doubt at all; and that's precisely why I--" +He stopped short, and changing his tone: "What could you bring up against +Michaelis of a definite nature? I mean apart from the fact that the two +men under suspicion--you're certain there were two of them--came last +from a railway station within three miles of the village where Michaelis +is living now." + +"This by itself is enough for us to go upon, sir, with that sort of man," +said the Chief Inspector, with returning composure. The slight approving +movement of the Assistant Commissioner's head went far to pacify the +resentful astonishment of the renowned officer. For Chief Inspector Heat +was a kind man, an excellent husband, a devoted father; and the public +and departmental confidence he enjoyed acting favourably upon an amiable +nature, disposed him to feel friendly towards the successive Assistant +Commissioners he had seen pass through that very room. There had been +three in his time. The first one, a soldierly, abrupt, red-faced person, +with white eyebrows and an explosive temper, could be managed with a +silken thread. He left on reaching the age limit. The second, a perfect +gentleman, knowing his own and everybody else's place to a nicety, on +resigning to take up a higher appointment out of England got decorated +for (really) Inspector Heat's services. To work with him had been a +pride and a pleasure. The third, a bit of a dark horse from the first, +was at the end of eighteen months something of a dark horse still to the +department. Upon the whole Chief Inspector Heat believed him to be in +the main harmless--odd-looking, but harmless. He was speaking now, and +the Chief Inspector listened with outward deference (which means nothing, +being a matter of duty) and inwardly with benevolent toleration. + +"Michaelis reported himself before leaving London for the country?" + +"Yes, sir. He did." + +"And what may he be doing there?" continued the Assistant Commissioner, +who was perfectly informed on that point. Fitted with painful tightness +into an old wooden arm-chair, before a worm-eaten oak table in an +upstairs room of a four-roomed cottage with a roof of moss-grown tiles, +Michaelis was writing night and day in a shaky, slanting hand that +"Autobiography of a Prisoner" which was to be like a book of Revelation +in the history of mankind. The conditions of confined space, seclusion, +and solitude in a small four-roomed cottage were favourable to his +inspiration. It was like being in prison, except that one was never +disturbed for the odious purpose of taking exercise according to the +tyrannical regulations of his old home in the penitentiary. He could not +tell whether the sun still shone on the earth or not. The perspiration +of the literary labour dropped from his brow. A delightful enthusiasm +urged him on. It was the liberation of his inner life, the letting out +of his soul into the wide world. And the zeal of his guileless vanity +(first awakened by the offer of five hundred pounds from a publisher) +seemed something predestined and holy. + +"It would be, of course, most desirable to be informed exactly," insisted +the Assistant Commissioner uncandidly. + +Chief Inspector Heat, conscious of renewed irritation at this display of +scrupulousness, said that the county police had been notified from the +first of Michaelis' arrival, and that a full report could be obtained in +a few hours. A wire to the superintendent-- + +Thus he spoke, rather slowly, while his mind seemed already to be +weighing the consequences. A slight knitting of the brow was the outward +sign of this. But he was interrupted by a question. + +"You've sent that wire already?" + +"No, sir," he answered, as if surprised. + +The Assistant Commissioner uncrossed his legs suddenly. The briskness of +that movement contrasted with the casual way in which he threw out a +suggestion. + +"Would you think that Michaelis had anything to do with the preparation +of that bomb, for instance?" + +The Chief Inspector assumed a reflective manner. + +"I wouldn't say so. There's no necessity to say anything at present. He +associates with men who are classed as dangerous. He was made a delegate +of the Red Committee less than a year after his release on licence. A +sort of compliment, I suppose." + +And the Chief Inspector laughed a little angrily, a little scornfully. +With a man of that sort scrupulousness was a misplaced and even an +illegal sentiment. The celebrity bestowed upon Michaelis on his release +two years ago by some emotional journalists in want of special copy had +rankled ever since in his breast. It was perfectly legal to arrest that +man on the barest suspicion. It was legal and expedient on the face of +it. His two former chiefs would have seen the point at once; whereas +this one, without saying either yes or no, sat there, as if lost in a +dream. Moreover, besides being legal and expedient, the arrest of +Michaelis solved a little personal difficulty which worried Chief +Inspector Heat somewhat. This difficulty had its bearing upon his +reputation, upon his comfort, and even upon the efficient performance of +his duties. For, if Michaelis no doubt knew something about this +outrage, the Chief Inspector was fairly certain that he did not know too +much. This was just as well. He knew much less--the Chief Inspector was +positive--than certain other individuals he had in his mind, but whose +arrest seemed to him inexpedient, besides being a more complicated +matter, on account of the rules of the game. The rules of the game did +not protect so much Michaelis, who was an ex-convict. It would be stupid +not to take advantage of legal facilities, and the journalists who had +written him up with emotional gush would be ready to write him down with +emotional indignation. + +This prospect, viewed with confidence, had the attraction of a personal +triumph for Chief Inspector Heat. And deep down in his blameless bosom +of an average married citizen, almost unconscious but potent +nevertheless, the dislike of being compelled by events to meddle with the +desperate ferocity of the Professor had its say. This dislike had been +strengthened by the chance meeting in the lane. The encounter did not +leave behind with Chief Inspector Heat that satisfactory sense of +superiority the members of the police force get from the unofficial but +intimate side of their intercourse with the criminal classes, by which +the vanity of power is soothed, and the vulgar love of domination over +our fellow-creatures is flattered as worthily as it deserves. + +The perfect anarchist was not recognised as a fellow-creature by Chief +Inspector Heat. He was impossible--a mad dog to be left alone. Not that +the Chief Inspector was afraid of him; on the contrary, he meant to have +him some day. But not yet; he meant to get hold of him in his own time, +properly and effectively according to the rules of the game. The present +was not the right time for attempting that feat, not the right time for +many reasons, personal and of public service. This being the strong +feeling of Inspector Heat, it appeared to him just and proper that this +affair should be shunted off its obscure and inconvenient track, leading +goodness knows where, into a quiet (and lawful) siding called Michaelis. +And he repeated, as if reconsidering the suggestion conscientiously: + +"The bomb. No, I would not say that exactly. We may never find that +out. But it's clear that he is connected with this in some way, which we +can find out without much trouble." + +His countenance had that look of grave, overbearing indifference once +well known and much dreaded by the better sort of thieves. Chief +Inspector Heat, though what is called a man, was not a smiling animal. +But his inward state was that of satisfaction at the passively receptive +attitude of the Assistant Commissioner, who murmured gently: + +"And you really think that the investigation should be made in that +direction?" + +"I do, sir." + +"Quite convinced? + +"I am, sir. That's the true line for us to take." + +The Assistant Commissioner withdrew the support of his hand from his +reclining head with a suddenness that, considering his languid attitude, +seemed to menace his whole person with collapse. But, on the contrary, +he sat up, extremely alert, behind the great writing-table on which his +hand had fallen with the sound of a sharp blow. + +"What I want to know is what put it out of your head till now." + +"Put it out of my head," repeated the Chief Inspector very slowly. + +"Yes. Till you were called into this room--you know." + +The Chief Inspector felt as if the air between his clothing and his skin +had become unpleasantly hot. It was the sensation of an unprecedented +and incredible experience. + +"Of course," he said, exaggerating the deliberation of his utterance to +the utmost limits of possibility, "if there is a reason, of which I know +nothing, for not interfering with the convict Michaelis, perhaps it's +just as well I didn't start the county police after him." + +This took such a long time to say that the unflagging attention of the +Assistant Commissioner seemed a wonderful feat of endurance. His retort +came without delay. + +"No reason whatever that I know of. Come, Chief Inspector, this +finessing with me is highly improper on your part--highly improper. And +it's also unfair, you know. You shouldn't leave me to puzzle things out +for myself like this. Really, I am surprised." + +He paused, then added smoothly: "I need scarcely tell you that this +conversation is altogether unofficial." + +These words were far from pacifying the Chief Inspector. The indignation +of a betrayed tight-rope performer was strong within him. In his pride +of a trusted servant he was affected by the assurance that the rope was +not shaken for the purpose of breaking his neck, as by an exhibition of +impudence. As if anybody were afraid! Assistant Commissioners come and +go, but a valuable Chief Inspector is not an ephemeral office phenomenon. +He was not afraid of getting a broken neck. To have his performance +spoiled was more than enough to account for the glow of honest +indignation. And as thought is no respecter of persons, the thought of +Chief Inspector Heat took a threatening and prophetic shape. "You, my +boy," he said to himself, keeping his round and habitually roving eyes +fastened upon the Assistant Commissioner's face--"you, my boy, you don't +know your place, and your place won't know you very long either, I bet." + +As if in provoking answer to that thought, something like the ghost of an +amiable smile passed on the lips of the Assistant Commissioner. His +manner was easy and business-like while he persisted in administering +another shake to the tight rope. + +"Let us come now to what you have discovered on the spot, Chief +Inspector," he said. + +"A fool and his job are soon parted," went on the train of prophetic +thought in Chief Inspector Heat's head. But it was immediately followed +by the reflection that a higher official, even when "fired out" (this was +the precise image), has still the time as he flies through the door to +launch a nasty kick at the shin-bones of a subordinate. Without +softening very much the basilisk nature of his stare, he said +impassively: + +"We are coming to that part of my investigation, sir." + +"That's right. Well, what have you brought away from it?" + +The Chief Inspector, who had made up his mind to jump off the rope, came +to the ground with gloomy frankness. + +"I've brought away an address," he said, pulling out of his pocket +without haste a singed rag of dark blue cloth. "This belongs to the +overcoat the fellow who got himself blown to pieces was wearing. Of +course, the overcoat may not have been his, and may even have been +stolen. But that's not at all probable if you look at this." + +The Chief Inspector, stepping up to the table, smoothed out carefully the +rag of blue cloth. He had picked it up from the repulsive heap in the +mortuary, because a tailor's name is found sometimes under the collar. It +is not often of much use, but still--He only half expected to find +anything useful, but certainly he did not expect to find--not under the +collar at all, but stitched carefully on the under side of the lapel--a +square piece of calico with an address written on it in marking ink. + +The Chief Inspector removed his smoothing hand. + +"I carried it off with me without anybody taking notice," he said. "I +thought it best. It can always be produced if required." + +The Assistant Commissioner, rising a little in his chair, pulled the +cloth over to his side of the table. He sat looking at it in silence. +Only the number 32 and the name of Brett Street were written in marking +ink on a piece of calico slightly larger than an ordinary cigarette +paper. He was genuinely surprised. + +"Can't understand why he should have gone about labelled like this," he +said, looking up at Chief Inspector Heat. "It's a most extraordinary +thing." + +"I met once in the smoking-room of a hotel an old gentleman who went +about with his name and address sewn on in all his coats in case of an +accident or sudden illness," said the Chief Inspector. "He professed to +be eighty-four years old, but he didn't look his age. He told me he was +also afraid of losing his memory suddenly, like those people he has been +reading of in the papers." + +A question from the Assistant Commissioner, who wanted to know what was +No. 32 Brett Street, interrupted that reminiscence abruptly. The Chief +Inspector, driven down to the ground by unfair artifices, had elected to +walk the path of unreserved openness. If he believed firmly that to know +too much was not good for the department, the judicious holding back of +knowledge was as far as his loyalty dared to go for the good of the +service. If the Assistant Commissioner wanted to mismanage this affair +nothing, of course, could prevent him. But, on his own part, he now saw +no reason for a display of alacrity. So he answered concisely: + +"It's a shop, sir." + +The Assistant Commissioner, with his eyes lowered on the rag of blue +cloth, waited for more information. As that did not come he proceeded to +obtain it by a series of questions propounded with gentle patience. Thus +he acquired an idea of the nature of Mr Verloc's commerce, of his +personal appearance, and heard at last his name. In a pause the +Assistant Commissioner raised his eyes, and discovered some animation on +the Chief Inspector's face. They looked at each other in silence. + +"Of course," said the latter, "the department has no record of that man." + +"Did any of my predecessors have any knowledge of what you have told me +now?" asked the Assistant Commissioner, putting his elbows on the table +and raising his joined hands before his face, as if about to offer +prayer, only that his eyes had not a pious expression. + +"No, sir; certainly not. What would have been the object? That sort of +man could never be produced publicly to any good purpose. It was +sufficient for me to know who he was, and to make use of him in a way +that could be used publicly." + +"And do you think that sort of private knowledge consistent with the +official position you occupy?" + +"Perfectly, sir. I think it's quite proper. I will take the liberty to +tell you, sir, that it makes me what I am--and I am looked upon as a man +who knows his work. It's a private affair of my own. A personal friend +of mine in the French police gave me the hint that the fellow was an +Embassy spy. Private friendship, private information, private use of +it--that's how I look upon it." + +The Assistant Commissioner after remarking to himself that the mental +state of the renowned Chief Inspector seemed to affect the outline of his +lower jaw, as if the lively sense of his high professional distinction +had been located in that part of his anatomy, dismissed the point for the +moment with a calm "I see." Then leaning his cheek on his joined hands: + +"Well then--speaking privately if you like--how long have you been in +private touch with this Embassy spy?" + +To this inquiry the private answer of the Chief Inspector, so private +that it was never shaped into audible words, was: + +"Long before you were even thought of for your place here." + +The so-to-speak public utterance was much more precise. + +"I saw him for the first time in my life a little more than seven years +ago, when two Imperial Highnesses and the Imperial Chancellor were on a +visit here. I was put in charge of all the arrangements for looking +after them. Baron Stott-Wartenheim was Ambassador then. He was a very +nervous old gentleman. One evening, three days before the Guildhall +Banquet, he sent word that he wanted to see me for a moment. I was +downstairs, and the carriages were at the door to take the Imperial +Highnesses and the Chancellor to the opera. I went up at once. I found +the Baron walking up and down his bedroom in a pitiable state of +distress, squeezing his hands together. He assured me he had the fullest +confidence in our police and in my abilities, but he had there a man just +come over from Paris whose information could be trusted simplicity. He +wanted me to hear what that man had to say. He took me at once into a +dressing-room next door, where I saw a big fellow in a heavy overcoat +sitting all alone on a chair, and holding his hat and stick in one hand. +The Baron said to him in French 'Speak, my friend.' The light in that +room was not very good. I talked with him for some five minutes perhaps. +He certainly gave me a piece of very startling news. Then the Baron took +me aside nervously to praise him up to me, and when I turned round again +I discovered that the fellow had vanished like a ghost. Got up and +sneaked out down some back stairs, I suppose. There was no time to run +after him, as I had to hurry off after the Ambassador down the great +staircase, and see the party started safe for the opera. However, I +acted upon the information that very night. Whether it was perfectly +correct or not, it did look serious enough. Very likely it saved us from +an ugly trouble on the day of the Imperial visit to the City. + +"Some time later, a month or so after my promotion to Chief Inspector, my +attention was attracted to a big burly man, I thought I had seen +somewhere before, coming out in a hurry from a jeweller's shop in the +Strand. I went after him, as it was on my way towards Charing Cross, and +there seeing one of our detectives across the road, I beckoned him over, +and pointed out the fellow to him, with instructions to watch his +movements for a couple of days, and then report to me. No later than +next afternoon my man turned up to tell me that the fellow had married +his landlady's daughter at a registrar's office that very day at 11.30 +a.m., and had gone off with her to Margate for a week. Our man had seen +the luggage being put on the cab. There were some old Paris labels on +one of the bags. Somehow I couldn't get the fellow out of my head, and +the very next time I had to go to Paris on service I spoke about him to +that friend of mine in the Paris police. My friend said: 'From what you +tell me I think you must mean a rather well-known hanger-on and emissary +of the Revolutionary Red Committee. He says he is an Englishman by +birth. We have an idea that he has been for a good few years now a +secret agent of one of the foreign Embassies in London.' This woke up my +memory completely. He was the vanishing fellow I saw sitting on a chair +in Baron Stott-Wartenheim's bathroom. I told my friend that he was quite +right. The fellow was a secret agent to my certain knowledge. Afterwards +my friend took the trouble to ferret out the complete record of that man +for me. I thought I had better know all there was to know; but I don't +suppose you want to hear his history now, sir?" + +The Assistant Commissioner shook his supported head. "The history of +your relations with that useful personage is the only thing that matters +just now," he said, closing slowly his weary, deep-set eyes, and then +opening them swiftly with a greatly refreshed glance. + +"There's nothing official about them," said the Chief Inspector bitterly. +"I went into his shop one evening, told him who I was, and reminded him +of our first meeting. He didn't as much as twitch an eyebrow. He said +that he was married and settled now, and that all he wanted was not to be +interfered in his little business. I took it upon myself to promise him +that, as long as he didn't go in for anything obviously outrageous, he +would be left alone by the police. That was worth something to him, +because a word from us to the Custom-House people would have been enough +to get some of these packages he gets from Paris and Brussels opened in +Dover, with confiscation to follow for certain, and perhaps a prosecution +as well at the end of it." + +"That's a very precarious trade," murmured the Assistant Commissioner. +"Why did he go in for that?" + +The Chief Inspector raised scornful eyebrows dispassionately. + +"Most likely got a connection--friends on the Continent--amongst people +who deal in such wares. They would be just the sort he would consort +with. He's a lazy dog, too--like the rest of them," + +"What do you get from him in exchange for your protection?" + +The Chief Inspector was not inclined to enlarge on the value of Mr +Verloc's services. + +"He would not be much good to anybody but myself. One has got to know a +good deal beforehand to make use of a man like that. I can understand +the sort of hint he can give. And when I want a hint he can generally +furnish it to me." + +The Chief Inspector lost himself suddenly in a discreet reflective mood; +and the Assistant Commissioner repressed a smile at the fleeting thought +that the reputation of Chief Inspector Heat might possibly have been made +in a great part by the Secret Agent Verloc. + +"In a more general way of being of use, all our men of the Special Crimes +section on duty at Charing Cross and Victoria have orders to take careful +notice of anybody they may see with him. He meets the new arrivals +frequently, and afterwards keeps track of them. He seems to have been +told off for that sort of duty. When I want an address in a hurry, I can +always get it from him. Of course, I know how to manage our relations. I +haven't seen him to speak to three times in the last two years. I drop +him a line, unsigned, and he answers me in the same way at my private +address." + +From time to time the Assistant Commissioner gave an almost imperceptible +nod. The Chief Inspector added that he did not suppose Mr Verloc to be +deep in the confidence of the prominent members of the Revolutionary +International Council, but that he was generally trusted of that there +could be no doubt. "Whenever I've had reason to think there was +something in the wind," he concluded, "I've always found he could tell me +something worth knowing." + +The Assistant Commissioner made a significant remark. + +"He failed you this time." + +"Neither had I wind of anything in any other way," retorted Chief +Inspector Heat. "I asked him nothing, so he could tell me nothing. He +isn't one of our men. It isn't as if he were in our pay." + +"No," muttered the Assistant Commissioner. "He's a spy in the pay of a +foreign government. We could never confess to him." + +"I must do my work in my own way," declared the Chief Inspector. "When +it comes to that I would deal with the devil himself, and take the +consequences. There are things not fit for everybody to know." + +"Your idea of secrecy seems to consist in keeping the chief of your +department in the dark. That's stretching it perhaps a little too far, +isn't it? He lives over his shop?" + +"Who--Verloc? Oh yes. He lives over his shop. The wife's mother, I +fancy, lives with them." + +"Is the house watched?" + +"Oh dear, no. It wouldn't do. Certain people who come there are +watched. My opinion is that he knows nothing of this affair." + +"How do you account for this?" The Assistant Commissioner nodded at the +cloth rag lying before him on the table. + +"I don't account for it at all, sir. It's simply unaccountable. It +can't be explained by what I know." The Chief Inspector made those +admissions with the frankness of a man whose reputation is established as +if on a rock. "At any rate not at this present moment. I think that the +man who had most to do with it will turn out to be Michaelis." + +"You do?" + +"Yes, sir; because I can answer for all the others." + +"What about that other man supposed to have escaped from the park?" + +"I should think he's far away by this time," opined the Chief Inspector. + +The Assistant Commissioner looked hard at him, and rose suddenly, as +though having made up his mind to some course of action. As a matter of +fact, he had that very moment succumbed to a fascinating temptation. The +Chief Inspector heard himself dismissed with instructions to meet his +superior early next morning for further consultation upon the case. He +listened with an impenetrable face, and walked out of the room with +measured steps. + +Whatever might have been the plans of the Assistant Commissioner they had +nothing to do with that desk work, which was the bane of his existence +because of its confined nature and apparent lack of reality. It could +not have had, or else the general air of alacrity that came upon the +Assistant Commissioner would have been inexplicable. As soon as he was +left alone he looked for his hat impulsively, and put it on his head. +Having done that, he sat down again to reconsider the whole matter. But +as his mind was already made up, this did not take long. And before +Chief Inspector Heat had gone very far on the way home, he also left the +building. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +The Assistant Commissioner walked along a short and narrow street like a +wet, muddy trench, then crossing a very broad thoroughfare entered a +public edifice, and sought speech with a young private secretary (unpaid) +of a great personage. + +This fair, smooth-faced young man, whose symmetrically arranged hair gave +him the air of a large and neat schoolboy, met the Assistant +Commissioner's request with a doubtful look, and spoke with bated breath. + +"Would he see you? I don't know about that. He has walked over from the +House an hour ago to talk with the permanent Under-Secretary, and now +he's ready to walk back again. He might have sent for him; but he does +it for the sake of a little exercise, I suppose. It's all the exercise +he can find time for while this session lasts. I don't complain; I +rather enjoy these little strolls. He leans on my arm, and doesn't open, +his lips. But, I say, he's very tired, and--well--not in the sweetest of +tempers just now." + +"It's in connection with that Greenwich affair." + +"Oh! I say! He's very bitter against you people. But I will go and +see, if you insist." + +"Do. That's a good fellow," said the Assistant Commissioner. + +The unpaid secretary admired this pluck. Composing for himself an +innocent face, he opened a door, and went in with the assurance of a nice +and privileged child. And presently he reappeared, with a nod to the +Assistant Commissioner, who passing through the same door left open for +him, found himself with the great personage in a large room. + +Vast in bulk and stature, with a long white face, which, broadened at the +base by a big double chin, appeared egg-shaped in the fringe of thin +greyish whisker, the great personage seemed an expanding man. Unfortunate +from a tailoring point of view, the cross-folds in the middle of a +buttoned black coat added to the impression, as if the fastenings of the +garment were tried to the utmost. From the head, set upward on a thick +neck, the eyes, with puffy lower lids, stared with a haughty droop on +each side of a hooked aggressive nose, nobly salient in the vast pale +circumference of the face. A shiny silk hat and a pair of worn gloves +lying ready on the end of a long table looked expanded too, enormous. + +He stood on the hearthrug in big, roomy boots, and uttered no word of +greeting. + +"I would like to know if this is the beginning of another dynamite +campaign," he asked at once in a deep, very smooth voice. "Don't go into +details. I have no time for that." + +The Assistant Commissioner's figure before this big and rustic Presence +had the frail slenderness of a reed addresssing an oak. And indeed the +unbroken record of that man's descent surpassed in the number of +centuries the age of the oldest oak in the country. + +"No. As far as one can be positive about anything I can assure you that +it is not." + +"Yes. But your idea of assurances over there," said the great man, with +a contemptuous wave of his hand towards a window giving on the broad +thoroughfare, "seems to consist mainly in making the Secretary of State +look a fool. I have been told positively in this very room less than a +month ago that nothing of the sort was even possible." + +The Assistant Commissioner glanced in the direction of the window calmly. + +"You will allow me to remark, Sir Ethelred, that so far I have had no +opportunity to give you assurances of any kind." + +The haughty droop of the eyes was focussed now upon the Assistant +Commissioner. + +"True," confessed the deep, smooth voice. "I sent for Heat. You are +still rather a novice in your new berth. And how are you getting on over +there?" + +"I believe I am learning something every day." + +"Of course, of course. I hope you will get on." + +"Thank you, Sir Ethelred. I've learned something to-day, and even within +the last hour or so. There is much in this affair of a kind that does +not meet the eye in a usual anarchist outrage, even if one looked into it +as deep as can be. That's why I am here." + +The great man put his arms akimbo, the backs of his big hands resting on +his hips. + +"Very well. Go on. Only no details, pray. Spare me the details." + +"You shall not be troubled with them, Sir Ethelred," the Assistant +Commissioner began, with a calm and untroubled assurance. While he was +speaking the hands on the face of the clock behind the great man's back--a +heavy, glistening affair of massive scrolls in the same dark marble as +the mantelpiece, and with a ghostly, evanescent tick--had moved through +the space of seven minutes. He spoke with a studious fidelity to a +parenthetical manner, into which every little fact--that is, every +detail--fitted with delightful ease. Not a murmur nor even a movement +hinted at interruption. The great Personage might have been the statue +of one of his own princely ancestors stripped of a crusader's war +harness, and put into an ill-fitting frock coat. The Assistant +Commissioner felt as though he were at liberty to talk for an hour. But +he kept his head, and at the end of the time mentioned above he broke off +with a sudden conclusion, which, reproducing the opening statement, +pleasantly surprised Sir Ethelred by its apparent swiftness and force. + +"The kind of thing which meets us under the surface of this affair, +otherwise without gravity, is unusual--in this precise form at least--and +requires special treatment." + +The tone of Sir Ethelred was deepened, full of conviction. + +"I should think so--involving the Ambassador of a foreign power!" + +"Oh! The Ambassador!" protested the other, erect and slender, allowing +himself a mere half smile. "It would be stupid of me to advance anything +of the kind. And it is absolutely unnecessary, because if I am right in +my surmises, whether ambassador or hall porter it's a mere detail." + +Sir Ethelred opened a wide mouth, like a cavern, into which the hooked +nose seemed anxious to peer; there came from it a subdued rolling sound, +as from a distant organ with the scornful indignation stop. + +"No! These people are too impossible. What do they mean by importing +their methods of Crim-Tartary here? A Turk would have more decency." + +"You forget, Sir Ethelred, that strictly speaking we know nothing +positively--as yet." + +"No! But how would you define it? Shortly?" + +"Barefaced audacity amounting to childishness of a peculiar sort." + +"We can't put up with the innocence of nasty little children," said the +great and expanded personage, expanding a little more, as it were. The +haughty drooping glance struck crushingly the carpet at the Assistant +Commissioner's feet. "They'll have to get a hard rap on the knuckles +over this affair. We must be in a position to--What is your general +idea, stated shortly? No need to go into details." + +"No, Sir Ethelred. In principle, I should lay it down that the existence +of secret agents should not be tolerated, as tending to augment the +positive dangers of the evil against which they are used. That the spy +will fabricate his information is a mere commonplace. But in the sphere +of political and revolutionary action, relying partly on violence, the +professional spy has every facility to fabricate the very facts +themselves, and will spread the double evil of emulation in one +direction, and of panic, hasty legislation, unreflecting hate, on the +other. However, this is an imperfect world--" + +The deep-voiced Presence on the hearthrug, motionless, with big elbows +stuck out, said hastily: + +"Be lucid, please." + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred--An imperfect world. Therefore directly the character +of this affair suggested itself to me, I thought it should be dealt with +with special secrecy, and ventured to come over here." + +"That's right," approved the great Personage, glancing down complacently +over his double chin. "I am glad there's somebody over at your shop who +thinks that the Secretary of State may be trusted now and then." + +The Assistant Commissioner had an amused smile. + +"I was really thinking that it might be better at this stage for Heat to +be replaced by--" + +"What! Heat? An ass--eh?" exclaimed the great man, with distinct +animosity. + +"Not at all. Pray, Sir Ethelred, don't put that unjust interpretation on +my remarks." + +"Then what? Too clever by half?" + +"Neither--at least not as a rule. All the grounds of my surmises I have +from him. The only thing I've discovered by myself is that he has been +making use of that man privately. Who could blame him? He's an old +police hand. He told me virtually that he must have tools to work with. +It occurred to me that this tool should be surrendered to the Special +Crimes division as a whole, instead of remaining the private property of +Chief Inspector Heat. I extend my conception of our departmental duties +to the suppression of the secret agent. But Chief Inspector Heat is an +old departmental hand. He would accuse me of perverting its morality and +attacking its efficiency. He would define it bitterly as protection +extended to the criminal class of revolutionises. It would mean just +that to him." + +"Yes. But what do you mean?" + +"I mean to say, first, that there's but poor comfort in being able to +declare that any given act of violence--damaging property or destroying +life--is not the work of anarchism at all, but of something else +altogether--some species of authorised scoundrelism. This, I fancy, is +much more frequent than we suppose. Next, it's obvious that the +existence of these people in the pay of foreign governments destroys in a +measure the efficiency of our supervision. A spy of that sort can afford +to be more reckless than the most reckless of conspirators. His +occupation is free from all restraint. He's without as much faith as is +necessary for complete negation, and without that much law as is implied +in lawlessness. Thirdly, the existence of these spies amongst the +revolutionary groups, which we are reproached for harbouring here, does +away with all certitude. You have received a reassuring statement from +Chief Inspector Heat some time ago. It was by no means groundless--and +yet this episode happens. I call it an episode, because this affair, I +make bold to say, is episodic; it is no part of any general scheme, +however wild. The very peculiarities which surprise and perplex Chief +Inspector Heat establish its character in my eyes. I am keeping clear of +details, Sir Ethelred." + +The Personage on the hearthrug had been listening with profound +attention. + +"Just so. Be as concise as you can." + +The Assistant Commissioner intimated by an earnest deferential gesture +that he was anxious to be concise. + +"There is a peculiar stupidity and feebleness in the conduct of this +affair which gives me excellent hopes of getting behind it and finding +there something else than an individual freak of fanaticism. For it is a +planned thing, undoubtedly. The actual perpetrator seems to have been +led by the hand to the spot, and then abandoned hurriedly to his own +devices. The inference is that he was imported from abroad for the +purpose of committing this outrage. At the same time one is forced to +the conclusion that he did not know enough English to ask his way, unless +one were to accept the fantastic theory that he was a deaf mute. I +wonder now--But this is idle. He has destroyed himself by an accident, +obviously. Not an extraordinary accident. But an extraordinary little +fact remains: the address on his clothing discovered by the merest +accident, too. It is an incredible little fact, so incredible that the +explanation which will account for it is bound to touch the bottom of +this affair. Instead of instructing Heat to go on with this case, my +intention is to seek this explanation personally--by myself, I mean where +it may be picked up. That is in a certain shop in Brett Street, and on +the lips of a certain secret agent once upon a time the confidential and +trusted spy of the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim, Ambassador of a Great +Power to the Court of St James." + +The Assistant Commissioner paused, then added: "Those fellows are a +perfect pest." In order to raise his drooping glance to the speaker's +face, the Personage on the hearthrug had gradually tilted his head +farther back, which gave him an aspect of extraordinary haughtiness. + +"Why not leave it to Heat?" + +"Because he is an old departmental hand. They have their own morality. +My line of inquiry would appear to him an awful perversion of duty. For +him the plain duty is to fasten the guilt upon as many prominent +anarchists as he can on some slight indications he had picked up in the +course of his investigation on the spot; whereas I, he would say, am bent +upon vindicating their innocence. I am trying to be as lucid as I can in +presenting this obscure matter to you without details." + +"He would, would he?" muttered the proud head of Sir Ethelred from its +lofty elevation. + +"I am afraid so--with an indignation and disgust of which you or I can +have no idea. He's an excellent servant. We must not put an undue +strain on his loyalty. That's always a mistake. Besides, I want a free +hand--a freer hand than it would be perhaps advisable to give Chief +Inspector Heat. I haven't the slightest wish to spare this man Verloc. +He will, I imagine, be extremely startled to find his connection with +this affair, whatever it may be, brought home to him so quickly. +Frightening him will not be very difficult. But our true objective lies +behind him somewhere. I want your authority to give him such assurances +of personal safety as I may think proper." + +"Certainly," said the Personage on the hearthrug. "Find out as much as +you can; find it out in your own way." + +"I must set about it without loss of time, this very evening," said the +Assistant Commissioner. + +Sir Ethelred shifted one hand under his coat tails, and tilting back his +head, looked at him steadily. + +"We'll have a late sitting to-night," he said. "Come to the House with +your discoveries if we are not gone home. I'll warn Toodles to look out +for you. He'll take you into my room." + +The numerous family and the wide connections of the youthful-looking +Private Secretary cherished for him the hope of an austere and exalted +destiny. Meantime the social sphere he adorned in his hours of idleness +chose to pet him under the above nickname. And Sir Ethelred, hearing it +on the lips of his wife and girls every day (mostly at breakfast-time), +had conferred upon it the dignity of unsmiling adoption. + +The Assistant Commissioner was surprised and gratified extremely. + +"I shall certainly bring my discoveries to the House on the chance of you +having the time to--" + +"I won't have the time," interrupted the great Personage. "But I will +see you. I haven't the time now--And you are going yourself?" + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred. I think it the best way." + +The Personage had tilted his head so far back that, in order to keep the +Assistant Commissioner under his observation, he had to nearly close his +eyes. + +"H'm. Ha! And how do you propose--Will you assume a disguise?" + +"Hardly a disguise! I'll change my clothes, of course." + +"Of course," repeated the great man, with a sort of absent-minded +loftiness. He turned his big head slowly, and over his shoulder gave a +haughty oblique stare to the ponderous marble timepiece with the sly, +feeble tick. The gilt hands had taken the opportunity to steal through +no less than five and twenty minutes behind his back. + +The Assistant Commissioner, who could not see them, grew a little nervous +in the interval. But the great man presented to him a calm and +undismayed face. + +"Very well," he said, and paused, as if in deliberate contempt of the +official clock. "But what first put you in motion in this direction?" + +"I have been always of opinion," began the Assistant Commissioner. + +"Ah. Yes! Opinion. That's of course. But the immediate motive?" + +"What shall I say, Sir Ethelred? A new man's antagonism to old methods. +A desire to know something at first hand. Some impatience. It's my old +work, but the harness is different. It has been chafing me a little in +one or two tender places." + +"I hope you'll get on over there," said the great man kindly, extending +his hand, soft to the touch, but broad and powerful like the hand of a +glorified farmer. The Assistant Commissioner shook it, and withdrew. + +In the outer room Toodles, who had been waiting perched on the edge of a +table, advanced to meet him, subduing his natural buoyancy. + +"Well? Satisfactory?" he asked, with airy importance. + +"Perfectly. You've earned my undying gratitude," answered the Assistant +Commissioner, whose long face looked wooden in contrast with the peculiar +character of the other's gravity, which seemed perpetually ready to break +into ripples and chuckles. + +"That's all right. But seriously, you can't imagine how irritated he is +by the attacks on his Bill for the Nationalisation of Fisheries. They +call it the beginning of social revolution. Of course, it is a +revolutionary measure. But these fellows have no decency. The personal +attacks--" + +"I read the papers," remarked the Assistant Commissioner. + +"Odious? Eh? And you have no notion what a mass of work he has got to +get through every day. He does it all himself. Seems unable to trust +anyone with these Fisheries." + +"And yet he's given a whole half hour to the consideration of my very +small sprat," interjected the Assistant Commissioner. + +"Small! Is it? I'm glad to hear that. But it's a pity you didn't keep +away, then. This fight takes it out of him frightfully. The man's +getting exhausted. I feel it by the way he leans on my arm as we walk +over. And, I say, is he safe in the streets? Mullins has been marching +his men up here this afternoon. There's a constable stuck by every lamp- +post, and every second person we meet between this and Palace Yard is an +obvious 'tec.' It will get on his nerves presently. I say, these +foreign scoundrels aren't likely to throw something at him--are they? It +would be a national calamity. The country can't spare him." + +"Not to mention yourself. He leans on your arm," suggested the Assistant +Commissioner soberly. "You would both go." + +"It would be an easy way for a young man to go down into history? Not so +many British Ministers have been assassinated as to make it a minor +incident. But seriously now--" + +"I am afraid that if you want to go down into history you'll have to do +something for it. Seriously, there's no danger whatever for both of you +but from overwork." + +The sympathetic Toodles welcomed this opening for a chuckle. + +"The Fisheries won't kill me. I am used to late hours," he declared, +with ingenuous levity. But, feeling an instant compunction, he began to +assume an air of statesman-like moodiness, as one draws on a glove. "His +massive intellect will stand any amount of work. It's his nerves that I +am afraid of. The reactionary gang, with that abusive brute Cheeseman at +their head, insult him every night." + +"If he will insist on beginning a revolution!" murmured the Assistant +Commissioner. + +"The time has come, and he is the only man great enough for the work," +protested the revolutionary Toodles, flaring up under the calm, +speculative gaze of the Assistant Commissioner. Somewhere in a corridor +a distant bell tinkled urgently, and with devoted vigilance the young man +pricked up his ears at the sound. "He's ready to go now," he exclaimed +in a whisper, snatched up his hat, and vanished from the room. + +The Assistant Commissioner went out by another door in a less elastic +manner. Again he crossed the wide thoroughfare, walked along a narrow +street, and re-entered hastily his own departmental buildings. He kept +up this accelerated pace to the door of his private room. Before he had +closed it fairly his eyes sought his desk. He stood still for a moment, +then walked up, looked all round on the floor, sat down in his chair, +rang a bell, and waited. + +"Chief Inspector Heat gone yet?" + +"Yes, sir. Went away half-an-hour ago." + +He nodded. "That will do." And sitting still, with his hat pushed off +his forehead, he thought that it was just like Heat's confounded cheek to +carry off quietly the only piece of material evidence. But he thought +this without animosity. Old and valued servants will take liberties. The +piece of overcoat with the address sewn on was certainly not a thing to +leave about. Dismissing from his mind this manifestation of Chief +Inspector Heat's mistrust, he wrote and despatched a note to his wife, +charging her to make his apologies to Michaelis' great lady, with whom +they were engaged to dine that evening. + +The short jacket and the low, round hat he assumed in a sort of curtained +alcove containing a washstand, a row of wooden pegs and a shelf, brought +out wonderfully the length of his grave, brown face. He stepped back +into the full light of the room, looking like the vision of a cool, +reflective Don Quixote, with the sunken eyes of a dark enthusiast and a +very deliberate manner. He left the scene of his daily labours quickly +like an unobtrusive shadow. His descent into the street was like the +descent into a slimy aquarium from which the water had been run off. A +murky, gloomy dampness enveloped him. The walls of the houses were wet, +the mud of the roadway glistened with an effect of phosphorescence, and +when he emerged into the Strand out of a narrow street by the side of +Charing Cross Station the genius of the locality assimilated him. He +might have been but one more of the queer foreign fish that can be seen +of an evening about there flitting round the dark corners. + +He came to a stand on the very edge of the pavement, and waited. His +exercised eyes had made out in the confused movements of lights and +shadows thronging the roadway the crawling approach of a hansom. He gave +no sign; but when the low step gliding along the curbstone came to his +feet he dodged in skilfully in front of the big turning wheel, and spoke +up through the little trap door almost before the man gazing supinely +ahead from his perch was aware of having been boarded by a fare. + +It was not a long drive. It ended by signal abruptly, nowhere in +particular, between two lamp-posts before a large drapery establishment--a +long range of shops already lapped up in sheets of corrugated iron for +the night. Tendering a coin through the trap door the fare slipped out +and away, leaving an effect of uncanny, eccentric ghastliness upon the +driver's mind. But the size of the coin was satisfactory to his touch, +and his education not being literary, he remained untroubled by the fear +of finding it presently turned to a dead leaf in his pocket. Raised +above the world of fares by the nature of his calling, he contemplated +their actions with a limited interest. The sharp pulling of his horse +right round expressed his philosophy. + +Meantime the Assistant Commissioner was already giving his order to a +waiter in a little Italian restaurant round the corner--one of those +traps for the hungry, long and narrow, baited with a perspective of +mirrors and white napery; without air, but with an atmosphere of their +own--an atmosphere of fraudulent cookery mocking an abject mankind in the +most pressing of its miserable necessities. In this immoral atmosphere +the Assistant Commissioner, reflecting upon his enterprise, seemed to +lose some more of his identity. He had a sense of loneliness, of evil +freedom. It was rather pleasant. When, after paying for his short meal, +he stood up and waited for his change, he saw himself in the sheet of +glass, and was struck by his foreign appearance. He contemplated his own +image with a melancholy and inquisitive gaze, then by sudden inspiration +raised the collar of his jacket. This arrangement appeared to him +commendable, and he completed it by giving an upward twist to the ends of +his black moustache. He was satisfied by the subtle modification of his +personal aspect caused by these small changes. "That'll do very well," +he thought. "I'll get a little wet, a little splashed--" + +He became aware of the waiter at his elbow and of a small pile of silver +coins on the edge of the table before him. The waiter kept one eye on +it, while his other eye followed the long back of a tall, not very young +girl, who passed up to a distant table looking perfectly sightless and +altogether unapproachable. She seemed to be a habitual customer. + +On going out the Assistant Commissioner made to himself the observation +that the patrons of the place had lost in the frequentation of fraudulent +cookery all their national and private characteristics. And this was +strange, since the Italian restaurant is such a peculiarly British +institution. But these people were as denationalised as the dishes set +before them with every circumstance of unstamped respectability. Neither +was their personality stamped in any way, professionally, socially or +racially. They seemed created for the Italian restaurant, unless the +Italian restaurant had been perchance created for them. But that last +hypothesis was unthinkable, since one could not place them anywhere +outside those special establishments. One never met these enigmatical +persons elsewhere. It was impossible to form a precise idea what +occupations they followed by day and where they went to bed at night. And +he himself had become unplaced. It would have been impossible for +anybody to guess his occupation. As to going to bed, there was a doubt +even in his own mind. Not indeed in regard to his domicile itself, but +very much so in respect of the time when he would be able to return +there. A pleasurable feeling of independence possessed him when he heard +the glass doors swing to behind his back with a sort of imperfect baffled +thud. He advanced at once into an immensity of greasy slime and damp +plaster interspersed with lamps, and enveloped, oppressed, penetrated, +choked, and suffocated by the blackness of a wet London night, which is +composed of soot and drops of water. + +Brett Street was not very far away. It branched off, narrow, from the +side of an open triangular space surrounded by dark and mysterious +houses, temples of petty commerce emptied of traders for the night. Only +a fruiterer's stall at the corner made a violent blaze of light and +colour. Beyond all was black, and the few people passing in that +direction vanished at one stride beyond the glowing heaps of oranges and +lemons. No footsteps echoed. They would never be heard of again. The +adventurous head of the Special Crimes Department watched these +disappearances from a distance with an interested eye. He felt light- +hearted, as though he had been ambushed all alone in a jungle many +thousands of miles away from departmental desks and official inkstands. +This joyousness and dispersion of thought before a task of some +importance seems to prove that this world of ours is not such a very +serious affair after all. For the Assistant Commissioner was not +constitutionally inclined to levity. + +The policeman on the beat projected his sombre and moving form against +the luminous glory of oranges and lemons, and entered Brett Street +without haste. The Assistant Commissioner, as though he were a member of +the criminal classes, lingered out of sight, awaiting his return. But +this constable seemed to be lost for ever to the force. He never +returned: must have gone out at the other end of Brett Street. + +The Assistant Commissioner, reaching this conclusion, entered the street +in his turn, and came upon a large van arrested in front of the dimly lit +window-panes of a carter's eating-house. The man was refreshing himself +inside, and the horses, their big heads lowered to the ground, fed out of +nose-bags steadily. Farther on, on the opposite side of the street, +another suspect patch of dim light issued from Mr Verloc's shop front, +hung with papers, heaving with vague piles of cardboard boxes and the +shapes of books. The Assistant Commissioner stood observing it across +the roadway. There could be no mistake. By the side of the front +window, encumbered by the shadows of nondescript things, the door, +standing ajar, let escape on the pavement a narrow, clear streak of gas- +light within. + +Behind the Assistant Commissioner the van and horses, merged into one +mass, seemed something alive--a square-backed black monster blocking half +the street, with sudden iron-shod stampings, fierce jingles, and heavy, +blowing sighs. The harshly festive, ill-omened glare of a large and +prosperous public-house faced the other end of Brett Street across a wide +road. This barrier of blazing lights, opposing the shadows gathered +about the humble abode of Mr Verloc's domestic happiness, seemed to drive +the obscurity of the street back upon itself, make it more sullen, +brooding, and sinister. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Having infused by persistent importunities some sort of heat into the +chilly interest of several licensed victuallers (the acquaintances once +upon a time of her late unlucky husband), Mrs Verloc's mother had at last +secured her admission to certain almshouses founded by a wealthy +innkeeper for the destitute widows of the trade. + +This end, conceived in the astuteness of her uneasy heart, the old woman +had pursued with secrecy and determination. That was the time when her +daughter Winnie could not help passing a remark to Mr Verloc that "mother +has been spending half-crowns and five shillings almost every day this +last week in cab fares." But the remark was not made grudgingly. Winnie +respected her mother's infirmities. She was only a little surprised at +this sudden mania for locomotion. Mr Verloc, who was sufficiently +magnificent in his way, had grunted the remark impatiently aside as +interfering with his meditations. These were frequent, deep, and +prolonged; they bore upon a matter more important than five shillings. +Distinctly more important, and beyond all comparison more difficult to +consider in all its aspects with philosophical serenity. + +Her object attained in astute secrecy, the heroic old woman had made a +clean breast of it to Mrs Verloc. Her soul was triumphant and her heart +tremulous. Inwardly she quaked, because she dreaded and admired the +calm, self-contained character of her daughter Winnie, whose displeasure +was made redoubtable by a diversity of dreadful silences. But she did +not allow her inward apprehensions to rob her of the advantage of +venerable placidity conferred upon her outward person by her triple chin, +the floating ampleness of her ancient form, and the impotent condition of +her legs. + +The shock of the information was so unexpected that Mrs Verloc, against +her usual practice when addressed, interrupted the domestic occupation +she was engaged upon. It was the dusting of the furniture in the parlour +behind the shop. She turned her head towards her mother. + +"Whatever did you want to do that for?" she exclaimed, in scandalised +astonishment. + +The shock must have been severe to make her depart from that distant and +uninquiring acceptance of facts which was her force and her safeguard in +life. + +"Weren't you made comfortable enough here?" + +She had lapsed into these inquiries, but next moment she saved the +consistency of her conduct by resuming her dusting, while the old woman +sat scared and dumb under her dingy white cap and lustreless dark wig. + +Winnie finished the chair, and ran the duster along the mahogany at the +back of the horse-hair sofa on which Mr Verloc loved to take his ease in +hat and overcoat. She was intent on her work, but presently she +permitted herself another question. + +"How in the world did you manage it, mother?" + +As not affecting the inwardness of things, which it was Mrs Verloc's +principle to ignore, this curiosity was excusable. It bore merely on the +methods. The old woman welcomed it eagerly as bringing forward something +that could be talked about with much sincerity. + +She favoured her daughter by an exhaustive answer, full of names and +enriched by side comments upon the ravages of time as observed in the +alteration of human countenances. The names were principally the names +of licensed victuallers--"poor daddy's friends, my dear." She enlarged +with special appreciation on the kindness and condescension of a large +brewer, a Baronet and an M. P., the Chairman of the Governors of the +Charity. She expressed herself thus warmly because she had been allowed +to interview by appointment his Private Secretary--"a very polite +gentleman, all in black, with a gentle, sad voice, but so very, very thin +and quiet. He was like a shadow, my dear." + +Winnie, prolonging her dusting operations till the tale was told to the +end, walked out of the parlour into the kitchen (down two steps) in her +usual manner, without the slightest comment. + +Shedding a few tears in sign of rejoicing at her daughter's mansuetude in +this terrible affair, Mrs Verloc's mother gave play to her astuteness in +the direction of her furniture, because it was her own; and sometimes she +wished it hadn't been. Heroism is all very well, but there are +circumstances when the disposal of a few tables and chairs, brass +bedsteads, and so on, may be big with remote and disastrous consequences. +She required a few pieces herself, the Foundation which, after many +importunities, had gathered her to its charitable breast, giving nothing +but bare planks and cheaply papered bricks to the objects of its +solicitude. The delicacy guiding her choice to the least valuable and +most dilapidated articles passed unacknowledged, because Winnie's +philosophy consisted in not taking notice of the inside of facts; she +assumed that mother took what suited her best. As to Mr Verloc, his +intense meditation, like a sort of Chinese wall, isolated him completely +from the phenomena of this world of vain effort and illusory appearances. + +Her selection made, the disposal of the rest became a perplexing question +in a particular way. She was leaving it in Brett Street, of course. But +she had two children. Winnie was provided for by her sensible union with +that excellent husband, Mr Verloc. Stevie was destitute--and a little +peculiar. His position had to be considered before the claims of legal +justice and even the promptings of partiality. The possession of the +furniture would not be in any sense a provision. He ought to have it--the +poor boy. But to give it to him would be like tampering with his +position of complete dependence. It was a sort of claim which she feared +to weaken. Moreover, the susceptibilities of Mr Verloc would perhaps not +brook being beholden to his brother-in-law for the chairs he sat on. In +a long experience of gentlemen lodgers, Mrs Verloc's mother had acquired +a dismal but resigned notion of the fantastic side of human nature. What +if Mr Verloc suddenly took it into his head to tell Stevie to take his +blessed sticks somewhere out of that? A division, on the other hand, +however carefully made, might give some cause of offence to Winnie. No, +Stevie must remain destitute and dependent. And at the moment of leaving +Brett Street she had said to her daughter: "No use waiting till I am +dead, is there? Everything I leave here is altogether your own now, my +dear." + +Winnie, with her hat on, silent behind her mother's back, went on +arranging the collar of the old woman's cloak. She got her hand-bag, an +umbrella, with an impassive face. The time had come for the expenditure +of the sum of three-and-sixpence on what might well be supposed the last +cab drive of Mrs Verloc's mother's life. They went out at the shop door. + +The conveyance awaiting them would have illustrated the proverb that +"truth can be more cruel than caricature," if such a proverb existed. +Crawling behind an infirm horse, a metropolitan hackney carriage drew up +on wobbly wheels and with a maimed driver on the box. This last +peculiarity caused some embarrassment. Catching sight of a hooked iron +contrivance protruding from the left sleeve of the man's coat, Mrs +Verloc's mother lost suddenly the heroic courage of these days. She +really couldn't trust herself. "What do you think, Winnie?" She hung +back. The passionate expostulations of the big-faced cabman seemed to be +squeezed out of a blocked throat. Leaning over from his box, he +whispered with mysterious indignation. What was the matter now? Was it +possible to treat a man so? His enormous and unwashed countenance flamed +red in the muddy stretch of the street. Was it likely they would have +given him a licence, he inquired desperately, if-- + +The police constable of the locality quieted him by a friendly glance; +then addressing himself to the two women without marked consideration, +said: + +"He's been driving a cab for twenty years. I never knew him to have an +accident." + +"Accident!" shouted the driver in a scornful whisper. + +The policeman's testimony settled it. The modest assemblage of seven +people, mostly under age, dispersed. Winnie followed her mother into the +cab. Stevie climbed on the box. His vacant mouth and distressed eyes +depicted the state of his mind in regard to the transactions which were +taking place. In the narrow streets the progress of the journey was made +sensible to those within by the near fronts of the houses gliding past +slowly and shakily, with a great rattle and jingling of glass, as if +about to collapse behind the cab; and the infirm horse, with the harness +hung over his sharp backbone flapping very loose about his thighs, +appeared to be dancing mincingly on his toes with infinite patience. +Later on, in the wider space of Whitehall, all visual evidences of motion +became imperceptible. The rattle and jingle of glass went on +indefinitely in front of the long Treasury building--and time itself +seemed to stand still. + +At last Winnie observed: "This isn't a very good horse." + +Her eyes gleamed in the shadow of the cab straight ahead, immovable. On +the box, Stevie shut his vacant mouth first, in order to ejaculate +earnestly: "Don't." + +The driver, holding high the reins twisted around the hook, took no +notice. Perhaps he had not heard. Stevie's breast heaved. + +"Don't whip." + +The man turned slowly his bloated and sodden face of many colours +bristling with white hairs. His little red eyes glistened with moisture. +His big lips had a violet tint. They remained closed. With the dirty +back of his whip-hand he rubbed the stubble sprouting on his enormous +chin. + +"You mustn't," stammered out Stevie violently. "It hurts." + +"Mustn't whip," queried the other in a thoughtful whisper, and +immediately whipped. He did this, not because his soul was cruel and his +heart evil, but because he had to earn his fare. And for a time the +walls of St Stephen's, with its towers and pinnacles, contemplated in +immobility and silence a cab that jingled. It rolled too, however. But +on the bridge there was a commotion. Stevie suddenly proceeded to get +down from the box. There were shouts on the pavement, people ran +forward, the driver pulled up, whispering curses of indignation and +astonishment. Winnie lowered the window, and put her head out, white as +a ghost. In the depths of the cab, her mother was exclaiming, in tones +of anguish: "Is that boy hurt? Is that boy hurt?" + +Stevie was not hurt, he had not even fallen, but excitement as usual had +robbed him of the power of connected speech. He could do no more than +stammer at the window. "Too heavy. Too heavy." Winnie put out her hand +on to his shoulder. + +"Stevie! Get up on the box directly, and don't try to get down again." + +"No. No. Walk. Must walk." + +In trying to state the nature of that necessity he stammered himself into +utter incoherence. No physical impossibility stood in the way of his +whim. Stevie could have managed easily to keep pace with the infirm, +dancing horse without getting out of breath. But his sister withheld her +consent decisively. "The idea! Whoever heard of such a thing! Run +after a cab!" Her mother, frightened and helpless in the depths of the +conveyance, entreated: "Oh, don't let him, Winnie. He'll get lost. Don't +let him." + +"Certainly not. What next! Mr Verloc will be sorry to hear of this +nonsense, Stevie,--I can tell you. He won't be happy at all." + +The idea of Mr. Verloc's grief and unhappiness acting as usual powerfully +upon Stevie's fundamentally docile disposition, he abandoned all +resistance, and climbed up again on the box, with a face of despair. + +The cabby turned at him his enormous and inflamed countenance +truculently. "Don't you go for trying this silly game again, young +fellow." + +After delivering himself thus in a stern whisper, strained almost to +extinction, he drove on, ruminating solemnly. To his mind the incident +remained somewhat obscure. But his intellect, though it had lost its +pristine vivacity in the benumbing years of sedentary exposure to the +weather, lacked not independence or sanity. Gravely he dismissed the +hypothesis of Stevie being a drunken young nipper. + +Inside the cab the spell of silence, in which the two women had endured +shoulder to shoulder the jolting, rattling, and jingling of the journey, +had been broken by Stevie's outbreak. Winnie raised her voice. + +"You've done what you wanted, mother. You'll have only yourself to thank +for it if you aren't happy afterwards. And I don't think you'll be. That +I don't. Weren't you comfortable enough in the house? Whatever +people'll think of us--you throwing yourself like this on a Charity?" + +"My dear," screamed the old woman earnestly above the noise, "you've been +the best of daughters to me. As to Mr Verloc--there--" + +Words failing her on the subject of Mr Verloc's excellence, she turned +her old tearful eyes to the roof of the cab. Then she averted her head +on the pretence of looking out of the window, as if to judge of their +progress. It was insignificant, and went on close to the curbstone. +Night, the early dirty night, the sinister, noisy, hopeless and rowdy +night of South London, had overtaken her on her last cab drive. In the +gas-light of the low-fronted shops her big cheeks glowed with an orange +hue under a black and mauve bonnet. + +Mrs Verloc's mother's complexion had become yellow by the effect of age +and from a natural predisposition to biliousness, favoured by the trials +of a difficult and worried existence, first as wife, then as widow. It +was a complexion, that under the influence of a blush would take on an +orange tint. And this woman, modest indeed but hardened in the fires of +adversity, of an age, moreover, when blushes are not expected, had +positively blushed before her daughter. In the privacy of a +four-wheeler, on her way to a charity cottage (one of a row) which by the +exiguity of its dimensions and the simplicity of its accommodation, might +well have been devised in kindness as a place of training for the still +more straitened circumstances of the grave, she was forced to hid from +her own child a blush of remorse and shame. + +Whatever people will think? She knew very well what they did think, the +people Winnie had in her mind--the old friends of her husband, and others +too, whose interest she had solicited with such flattering success. She +had not known before what a good beggar she could be. But she guessed +very well what inference was drawn from her application. On account of +that shrinking delicacy, which exists side by side with aggressive +brutality in masculine nature, the inquiries into her circumstances had +not been pushed very far. She had checked them by a visible compression +of the lips and some display of an emotion determined to be eloquently +silent. And the men would become suddenly incurious, after the manner of +their kind. She congratulated herself more than once on having nothing +to do with women, who being naturally more callous and avid of details, +would have been anxious to be exactly informed by what sort of unkind +conduct her daughter and son-in-law had driven her to that sad extremity. +It was only before the Secretary of the great brewer M. P. and Chairman +of the Charity, who, acting for his principal, felt bound to be +conscientiously inquisitive as to the real circumstances of the +applicant, that she had burst into tears outright and aloud, as a +cornered woman will weep. The thin and polite gentleman, after +contemplating her with an air of being "struck all of a heap," abandoned +his position under the cover of soothing remarks. She must not distress +herself. The deed of the Charity did not absolutely specify "childless +widows." In fact, it did not by any means disqualify her. But the +discretion of the Committee must be an informed discretion. One could +understand very well her unwillingness to be a burden, etc. etc. +Thereupon, to his profound disappointment, Mrs Verloc's mother wept some +more with an augmented vehemence. + +The tears of that large female in a dark, dusty wig, and ancient silk +dress festooned with dingy white cotton lace, were the tears of genuine +distress. She had wept because she was heroic and unscrupulous and full +of love for both her children. Girls frequently get sacrificed to the +welfare of the boys. In this case she was sacrificing Winnie. By the +suppression of truth she was slandering her. Of course, Winnie was +independent, and need not care for the opinion of people that she would +never see and who would never see her; whereas poor Stevie had nothing in +the world he could call his own except his mother's heroism and +unscrupulousness. + +The first sense of security following on Winnie's marriage wore off in +time (for nothing lasts), and Mrs Verloc's mother, in the seclusion of +the back bedroom, had recalled the teaching of that experience which the +world impresses upon a widowed woman. But she had recalled it without +vain bitterness; her store of resignation amounted almost to dignity. She +reflected stoically that everything decays, wears out, in this world; +that the way of kindness should be made easy to the well disposed; that +her daughter Winnie was a most devoted sister, and a very self-confident +wife indeed. As regards Winnie's sisterly devotion, her stoicism +flinched. She excepted that sentiment from the rule of decay affecting +all things human and some things divine. She could not help it; not to +do so would have frightened her too much. But in considering the +conditions of her daughter's married state, she rejected firmly all +flattering illusions. She took the cold and reasonable view that the +less strain put on Mr Verloc's kindness the longer its effects were +likely to last. That excellent man loved his wife, of course, but he +would, no doubt, prefer to keep as few of her relations as was consistent +with the proper display of that sentiment. It would be better if its +whole effect were concentrated on poor Stevie. And the heroic old woman +resolved on going away from her children as an act of devotion and as a +move of deep policy. + +The "virtue" of this policy consisted in this (Mrs Verloc's mother was +subtle in her way), that Stevie's moral claim would be strengthened. The +poor boy--a good, useful boy, if a little peculiar--had not a sufficient +standing. He had been taken over with his mother, somewhat in the same +way as the furniture of the Belgravian mansion had been taken over, as if +on the ground of belonging to her exclusively. What will happen, she +asked herself (for Mrs Verloc's mother was in a measure imaginative), +when I die? And when she asked herself that question it was with dread. +It was also terrible to think that she would not then have the means of +knowing what happened to the poor boy. But by making him over to his +sister, by going thus away, she gave him the advantage of a directly +dependent position. This was the more subtle sanction of Mrs Verloc's +mother's heroism and unscrupulousness. Her act of abandonment was really +an arrangement for settling her son permanently in life. Other people +made material sacrifices for such an object, she in that way. It was the +only way. Moreover, she would be able to see how it worked. Ill or well +she would avoid the horrible incertitude on the death-bed. But it was +hard, hard, cruelly hard. + +The cab rattled, jingled, jolted; in fact, the last was quite +extraordinary. By its disproportionate violence and magnitude it +obliterated every sensation of onward movement; and the effect was of +being shaken in a stationary apparatus like a mediaeval device for the +punishment of crime, or some very newfangled invention for the cure of a +sluggish liver. It was extremely distressing; and the raising of Mrs +Verloc's mother's voice sounded like a wail of pain. + +"I know, my dear, you'll come to see me as often as you can spare the +time. Won't you?" + +"Of course," answered Winnie shortly, staring straight before her. + +And the cab jolted in front of a steamy, greasy shop in a blaze of gas +and in the smell of fried fish. + +The old woman raised a wail again. + +"And, my dear, I must see that poor boy every Sunday. He won't mind +spending the day with his old mother--" + +Winnie screamed out stolidly: + +"Mind! I should think not. That poor boy will miss you something cruel. +I wish you had thought a little of that, mother." + +Not think of it! The heroic woman swallowed a playful and inconvenient +object like a billiard ball, which had tried to jump out of her throat. +Winnie sat mute for a while, pouting at the front of the cab, then +snapped out, which was an unusual tone with her: + +"I expect I'll have a job with him at first, he'll be that restless--" + +"Whatever you do, don't let him worry your husband, my dear." + +Thus they discussed on familiar lines the bearings of a new situation. +And the cab jolted. Mrs Verloc's mother expressed some misgivings. Could +Stevie be trusted to come all that way alone? Winnie maintained that he +was much less "absent-minded" now. They agreed as to that. It could not +be denied. Much less--hardly at all. They shouted at each other in the +jingle with comparative cheerfulness. But suddenly the maternal anxiety +broke out afresh. There were two omnibuses to take, and a short walk +between. It was too difficult! The old woman gave way to grief and +consternation. + +Winnie stared forward. + +"Don't you upset yourself like this, mother. You must see him, of +course." + +"No, my dear. I'll try not to." + +She mopped her streaming eyes. + +"But you can't spare the time to come with him, and if he should forget +himself and lose his way and somebody spoke to him sharply, his name and +address may slip his memory, and he'll remain lost for days and days--" + +The vision of a workhouse infirmary for poor Stevie--if only during +inquiries--wrung her heart. For she was a proud woman. Winnie's stare +had grown hard, intent, inventive. + +"I can't bring him to you myself every week," she cried. "But don't you +worry, mother. I'll see to it that he don't get lost for long." + +They felt a peculiar bump; a vision of brick pillars lingered before the +rattling windows of the cab; a sudden cessation of atrocious jolting and +uproarious jingling dazed the two women. What had happened? They sat +motionless and scared in the profound stillness, till the door came open, +and a rough, strained whispering was heard: + +"Here you are!" + +A range of gabled little houses, each with one dim yellow window, on the +ground floor, surrounded the dark open space of a grass plot planted with +shrubs and railed off from the patchwork of lights and shadows in the +wide road, resounding with the dull rumble of traffic. Before the door +of one of these tiny houses--one without a light in the little downstairs +window--the cab had come to a standstill. Mrs Verloc's mother got out +first, backwards, with a key in her hand. Winnie lingered on the +flagstone path to pay the cabman. Stevie, after helping to carry inside +a lot of small parcels, came out and stood under the light of a gas-lamp +belonging to the Charity. The cabman looked at the pieces of silver, +which, appearing very minute in his big, grimy palm, symbolised the +insignificant results which reward the ambitious courage and toil of a +mankind whose day is short on this earth of evil. + +He had been paid decently--four one-shilling pieces--and he contemplated +them in perfect stillness, as if they had been the surprising terms of a +melancholy problem. The slow transfer of that treasure to an inner +pocket demanded much laborious groping in the depths of decayed clothing. +His form was squat and without flexibility. Stevie, slender, his +shoulders a little up, and his hands thrust deep in the side pockets of +his warm overcoat, stood at the edge of the path, pouting. + +The cabman, pausing in his deliberate movements, seemed struck by some +misty recollection. + +"Oh! 'Ere you are, young fellow," he whispered. "You'll know him +again--won't you?" + +Stevie was staring at the horse, whose hind quarters appeared unduly +elevated by the effect of emaciation. The little stiff tail seemed to +have been fitted in for a heartless joke; and at the other end the thin, +flat neck, like a plank covered with old horse-hide, drooped to the +ground under the weight of an enormous bony head. The ears hung at +different angles, negligently; and the macabre figure of that mute +dweller on the earth steamed straight up from ribs and backbone in the +muggy stillness of the air. + +The cabman struck lightly Stevie's breast with the iron hook protruding +from a ragged, greasy sleeve. + +"Look 'ere, young feller. 'Ow'd _you_ like to sit behind this 'oss up to +two o'clock in the morning p'raps?" + +Stevie looked vacantly into the fierce little eyes with red-edged lids. + +"He ain't lame," pursued the other, whispering with energy. "He ain't +got no sore places on 'im. 'Ere he is. 'Ow would _you_ like--" + +His strained, extinct voice invested his utterance with a character of +vehement secrecy. Stevie's vacant gaze was changing slowly into dread. + +"You may well look! Till three and four o'clock in the morning. Cold +and 'ungry. Looking for fares. Drunks." + +His jovial purple cheeks bristled with white hairs; and like Virgil's +Silenus, who, his face smeared with the juice of berries, discoursed of +Olympian Gods to the innocent shepherds of Sicily, he talked to Stevie of +domestic matters and the affairs of men whose sufferings are great and +immortality by no means assured. + +"I am a night cabby, I am," he whispered, with a sort of boastful +exasperation. "I've got to take out what they will blooming well give me +at the yard. I've got my missus and four kids at 'ome." + +The monstrous nature of that declaration of paternity seemed to strike +the world dumb. A silence reigned during which the flanks of the old +horse, the steed of apocalyptic misery, smoked upwards in the light of +the charitable gas-lamp. + +The cabman grunted, then added in his mysterious whisper: + +"This ain't an easy world." Stevie's face had been twitching for some +time, and at last his feelings burst out in their usual concise form. + +"Bad! Bad!" + +His gaze remained fixed on the ribs of the horse, self-conscious and +sombre, as though he were afraid to look about him at the badness of the +world. And his slenderness, his rosy lips and pale, clear complexion, +gave him the aspect of a delicate boy, notwithstanding the fluffy growth +of golden hair on his cheeks. He pouted in a scared way like a child. +The cabman, short and broad, eyed him with his fierce little eyes that +seemed to smart in a clear and corroding liquid. + +"'Ard on 'osses, but dam' sight 'arder on poor chaps like me," he wheezed +just audibly. + +"Poor! Poor!" stammered out Stevie, pushing his hands deeper into his +pockets with convulsive sympathy. He could say nothing; for the +tenderness to all pain and all misery, the desire to make the horse happy +and the cabman happy, had reached the point of a bizarre longing to take +them to bed with him. And that, he knew, was impossible. For Stevie was +not mad. It was, as it were, a symbolic longing; and at the same time it +was very distinct, because springing from experience, the mother of +wisdom. Thus when as a child he cowered in a dark corner scared, +wretched, sore, and miserable with the black, black misery of the soul, +his sister Winnie used to come along, and carry him off to bed with her, +as into a heaven of consoling peace. Stevie, though apt to forget mere +facts, such as his name and address for instance, had a faithful memory +of sensations. To be taken into a bed of compassion was the supreme +remedy, with the only one disadvantage of being difficult of application +on a large scale. And looking at the cabman, Stevie perceived this +clearly, because he was reasonable. + +The cabman went on with his leisurely preparations as if Stevie had not +existed. He made as if to hoist himself on the box, but at the last +moment from some obscure motive, perhaps merely from disgust with +carriage exercise, desisted. He approached instead the motionless +partner of his labours, and stooping to seize the bridle, lifted up the +big, weary head to the height of his shoulder with one effort of his +right arm, like a feat of strength. + +"Come on," he whispered secretly. + +Limping, he led the cab away. There was an air of austerity in this +departure, the scrunched gravel of the drive crying out under the slowly +turning wheels, the horse's lean thighs moving with ascetic deliberation +away from the light into the obscurity of the open space bordered dimly +by the pointed roofs and the feebly shining windows of the little alms- +houses. The plaint of the gravel travelled slowly all round the drive. +Between the lamps of the charitable gateway the slow cortege reappeared, +lighted up for a moment, the short, thick man limping busily, with the +horse's head held aloft in his fist, the lank animal walking in stiff and +forlorn dignity, the dark, low box on wheels rolling behind comically +with an air of waddling. They turned to the left. There was a pub down +the street, within fifty yards of the gate. + +Stevie left alone beside the private lamp-post of the Charity, his hands +thrust deep into his pockets, glared with vacant sulkiness. At the +bottom of his pockets his incapable weak hands were clinched hard into a +pair of angry fists. In the face of anything which affected directly or +indirectly his morbid dread of pain, Stevie ended by turning vicious. A +magnanimous indignation swelled his frail chest to bursting, and caused +his candid eyes to squint. Supremely wise in knowing his own +powerlessness, Stevie was not wise enough to restrain his passions. The +tenderness of his universal charity had two phases as indissolubly joined +and connected as the reverse and obverse sides of a medal. The anguish +of immoderate compassion was succeeded by the pain of an innocent but +pitiless rage. Those two states expressing themselves outwardly by the +same signs of futile bodily agitation, his sister Winnie soothed his +excitement without ever fathoming its twofold character. Mrs Verloc +wasted no portion of this transient life in seeking for fundamental +information. This is a sort of economy having all the appearances and +some of the advantages of prudence. Obviously it may be good for one not +to know too much. And such a view accords very well with constitutional +indolence. + +On that evening on which it may be said that Mrs Verloc's mother having +parted for good from her children had also departed this life, Winnie +Verloc did not investigate her brother's psychology. The poor boy was +excited, of course. After once more assuring the old woman on the +threshold that she would know how to guard against the risk of Stevie +losing himself for very long on his pilgrimages of filial piety, she took +her brother's arm to walk away. Stevie did not even mutter to himself, +but with the special sense of sisterly devotion developed in her earliest +infancy, she felt that the boy was very much excited indeed. Holding +tight to his arm, under the appearance of leaning on it, she thought of +some words suitable to the occasion. + +"Now, Stevie, you must look well after me at the crossings, and get first +into the 'bus, like a good brother." + +This appeal to manly protection was received by Stevie with his usual +docility. It flattered him. He raised his head and threw out his chest. + +"Don't be nervous, Winnie. Mustn't be nervous! 'Bus all right," he +answered in a brusque, slurring stammer partaking of the timorousness of +a child and the resolution of a man. He advanced fearlessly with the +woman on his arm, but his lower lip dropped. Nevertheless, on the +pavement of the squalid and wide thoroughfare, whose poverty in all the +amenities of life stood foolishly exposed by a mad profusion of +gas-lights, their resemblance to each other was so pronounced as to +strike the casual passers-by. + +Before the doors of the public-house at the corner, where the profusion +of gas-light reached the height of positive wickedness, a four-wheeled +cab standing by the curbstone with no one on the box, seemed cast out +into the gutter on account of irremediable decay. Mrs Verloc recognised +the conveyance. Its aspect was so profoundly lamentable, with such a +perfection of grotesque misery and weirdness of macabre detail, as if it +were the Cab of Death itself, that Mrs Verloc, with that ready compassion +of a woman for a horse (when she is not sitting behind him), exclaimed +vaguely: + +"Poor brute:" + +Hanging back suddenly, Stevie inflicted an arresting jerk upon his +sister. + +"Poor! Poor!" he ejaculated appreciatively. "Cabman poor too. He told +me himself." + +The contemplation of the infirm and lonely steed overcame him. Jostled, +but obstinate, he would remain there, trying to express the view newly +opened to his sympathies of the human and equine misery in close +association. But it was very difficult. "Poor brute, poor people!" was +all he could repeat. It did not seem forcible enough, and he came to a +stop with an angry splutter: "Shame!" Stevie was no master of phrases, +and perhaps for that very reason his thoughts lacked clearness and +precision. But he felt with greater completeness and some profundity. +That little word contained all his sense of indignation and horror at one +sort of wretchedness having to feed upon the anguish of the other--at the +poor cabman beating the poor horse in the name, as it were, of his poor +kids at home. And Stevie knew what it was to be beaten. He knew it from +experience. It was a bad world. Bad! Bad! + +Mrs Verloc, his only sister, guardian, and protector, could not pretend +to such depths of insight. Moreover, she had not experienced the magic +of the cabman's eloquence. She was in the dark as to the inwardness of +the word "Shame." And she said placidly: + +"Come along, Stevie. You can't help that." + +The docile Stevie went along; but now he went along without pride, +shamblingly, and muttering half words, and even words that would have +been whole if they had not been made up of halves that did not belong to +each other. It was as though he had been trying to fit all the words he +could remember to his sentiments in order to get some sort of +corresponding idea. And, as a matter of fact, he got it at last. He +hung back to utter it at once. + +"Bad world for poor people." + +Directly he had expressed that thought he became aware that it was +familiar to him already in all its consequences. This circumstance +strengthened his conviction immensely, but also augmented his +indignation. Somebody, he felt, ought to be punished for it--punished +with great severity. Being no sceptic, but a moral creature, he was in a +manner at the mercy of his righteous passions. + +"Beastly!" he added concisely. + +It was clear to Mrs Verloc that he was greatly excited. + +"Nobody can help that," she said. "Do come along. Is that the way +you're taking care of me?" + +Stevie mended his pace obediently. He prided himself on being a good +brother. His morality, which was very complete, demanded that from him. +Yet he was pained at the information imparted by his sister Winnie who +was good. Nobody could help that! He came along gloomily, but presently +he brightened up. Like the rest of mankind, perplexed by the mystery of +the universe, he had his moments of consoling trust in the organised +powers of the earth. + +"Police," he suggested confidently. + +"The police aren't for that," observed Mrs Verloc cursorily, hurrying on +her way. + +Stevie's face lengthened considerably. He was thinking. The more +intense his thinking, the slacker was the droop of his lower jaw. + +And it was with an aspect of hopeless vacancy that he gave up his +intellectual enterprise. + +"Not for that?" he mumbled, resigned but surprised. "Not for that?" He +had formed for himself an ideal conception of the metropolitan police as +a sort of benevolent institution for the suppression of evil. The notion +of benevolence especially was very closely associated with his sense of +the power of the men in blue. He had liked all police constables +tenderly, with a guileless trustfulness. And he was pained. He was +irritated, too, by a suspicion of duplicity in the members of the force. +For Stevie was frank and as open as the day himself. What did they mean +by pretending then? Unlike his sister, who put her trust in face values, +he wished to go to the bottom of the matter. He carried on his inquiry +by means of an angry challenge. + +"What for are they then, Winn? What are they for? Tell me." + +Winnie disliked controversy. But fearing most a fit of black depression +consequent on Stevie missing his mother very much at first, she did not +altogether decline the discussion. Guiltless of all irony, she answered +yet in a form which was not perhaps unnatural in the wife of Mr Verloc, +Delegate of the Central Red Committee, personal friend of certain +anarchists, and a votary of social revolution. + +"Don't you know what the police are for, Stevie? They are there so that +them as have nothing shouldn't take anything away from them who have." + +She avoided using the verb "to steal," because it always made her brother +uncomfortable. For Stevie was delicately honest. Certain simple +principles had been instilled into him so anxiously (on account of his +"queerness") that the mere names of certain transgressions filled him +with horror. He had been always easily impressed by speeches. He was +impressed and startled now, and his intelligence was very alert. + +"What?" he asked at once anxiously. "Not even if they were hungry? +Mustn't they?" + +The two had paused in their walk. + +"Not if they were ever so," said Mrs Verloc, with the equanimity of a +person untroubled by the problem of the distribution of wealth, and +exploring the perspective of the roadway for an omnibus of the right +colour. "Certainly not. But what's the use of talking about all that? +You aren't ever hungry." + +She cast a swift glance at the boy, like a young man, by her side. She +saw him amiable, attractive, affectionate, and only a little, a very +little, peculiar. And she could not see him otherwise, for he was +connected with what there was of the salt of passion in her tasteless +life--the passion of indignation, of courage, of pity, and even of self- +sacrifice. She did not add: "And you aren't likely ever to be as long as +I live." But she might very well have done so, since she had taken +effectual steps to that end. Mr Verloc was a very good husband. It was +her honest impression that nobody could help liking the boy. She cried +out suddenly: + +"Quick, Stevie. Stop that green 'bus." + +And Stevie, tremulous and important with his sister Winnie on his arm, +flung up the other high above his head at the approaching 'bus, with +complete success. + +An hour afterwards Mr Verloc raised his eyes from a newspaper he was +reading, or at any rate looking at, behind the counter, and in the +expiring clatter of the door-bell beheld Winnie, his wife, enter and +cross the shop on her way upstairs, followed by Stevie, his brother-in- +law. The sight of his wife was agreeable to Mr Verloc. It was his +idiosyncrasy. The figure of his brother-in-law remained imperceptible to +him because of the morose thoughtfulness that lately had fallen like a +veil between Mr Verloc and the appearances of the world of senses. He +looked after his wife fixedly, without a word, as though she had been a +phantom. His voice for home use was husky and placid, but now it was +heard not at all. It was not heard at supper, to which he was called by +his wife in the usual brief manner: "Adolf." He sat down to consume it +without conviction, wearing his hat pushed far back on his head. It was +not devotion to an outdoor life, but the frequentation of foreign cafes +which was responsible for that habit, investing with a character of +unceremonious impermanency Mr Verloc's steady fidelity to his own +fireside. Twice at the clatter of the cracked bell he arose without a +word, disappeared into the shop, and came back silently. During these +absences Mrs Verloc, becoming acutely aware of the vacant place at her +right hand, missed her mother very much, and stared stonily; while +Stevie, from the same reason, kept on shuffling his feet, as though the +floor under the table were uncomfortably hot. When Mr Verloc returned to +sit in his place, like the very embodiment of silence, the character of +Mrs Verloc's stare underwent a subtle change, and Stevie ceased to fidget +with his feet, because of his great and awed regard for his sister's +husband. He directed at him glances of respectful compassion. Mr Verloc +was sorry. His sister Winnie had impressed upon him (in the omnibus) +that Mr Verloc would be found at home in a state of sorrow, and must not +be worried. His father's anger, the irritability of gentlemen lodgers, +and Mr Verloc's predisposition to immoderate grief, had been the main +sanctions of Stevie's self-restraint. Of these sentiments, all easily +provoked, but not always easy to understand, the last had the greatest +moral efficiency--because Mr Verloc was _good_. His mother and his +sister had established that ethical fact on an unshakable foundation. +They had established, erected, consecrated it behind Mr Verloc's back, +for reasons that had nothing to do with abstract morality. And Mr Verloc +was not aware of it. It is but bare justice to him to say that he had no +notion of appearing good to Stevie. Yet so it was. He was even the only +man so qualified in Stevie's knowledge, because the gentlemen lodgers had +been too transient and too remote to have anything very distinct about +them but perhaps their boots; and as regards the disciplinary measures of +his father, the desolation of his mother and sister shrank from setting +up a theory of goodness before the victim. It would have been too cruel. +And it was even possible that Stevie would not have believed them. As +far as Mr Verloc was concerned, nothing could stand in the way of +Stevie's belief. Mr Verloc was obviously yet mysteriously _good_. And +the grief of a good man is august. + +Stevie gave glances of reverential compassion to his brother-in-law. Mr +Verloc was sorry. The brother of Winnie had never before felt himself in +such close communion with the mystery of that man's goodness. It was an +understandable sorrow. And Stevie himself was sorry. He was very sorry. +The same sort of sorrow. And his attention being drawn to this +unpleasant state, Stevie shuffled his feet. His feelings were habitually +manifested by the agitation of his limbs. + +"Keep your feet quiet, dear," said Mrs Verloc, with authority and +tenderness; then turning towards her husband in an indifferent voice, the +masterly achievement of instinctive tact: "Are you going out to-night?" +she asked. + +The mere suggestion seemed repugnant to Mr Verloc. He shook his head +moodily, and then sat still with downcast eyes, looking at the piece of +cheese on his plate for a whole minute. At the end of that time he got +up, and went out--went right out in the clatter of the shop-door bell. He +acted thus inconsistently, not from any desire to make himself +unpleasant, but because of an unconquerable restlessness. It was no +earthly good going out. He could not find anywhere in London what he +wanted. But he went out. He led a cortege of dismal thoughts along dark +streets, through lighted streets, in and out of two flash bars, as if in +a half-hearted attempt to make a night of it, and finally back again to +his menaced home, where he sat down fatigued behind the counter, and they +crowded urgently round him, like a pack of hungry black hounds. After +locking up the house and putting out the gas he took them upstairs with +him--a dreadful escort for a man going to bed. His wife had preceded him +some time before, and with her ample form defined vaguely under the +counterpane, her head on the pillow, and a hand under the cheek offered +to his distraction the view of early drowsiness arguing the possession of +an equable soul. Her big eyes stared wide open, inert and dark against +the snowy whiteness of the linen. She did not move. + +She had an equable soul. She felt profoundly that things do not stand +much looking into. She made her force and her wisdom of that instinct. +But the taciturnity of Mr Verloc had been lying heavily upon her for a +good many days. It was, as a matter of fact, affecting her nerves. +Recumbent and motionless, she said placidly: + +"You'll catch cold walking about in your socks like this." + +This speech, becoming the solicitude of the wife and the prudence of the +woman, took Mr Verloc unawares. He had left his boots downstairs, but he +had forgotten to put on his slippers, and he had been turning about the +bedroom on noiseless pads like a bear in a cage. At the sound of his +wife's voice he stopped and stared at her with a somnambulistic, +expressionless gaze so long that Mrs Verloc moved her limbs slightly +under the bed-clothes. But she did not move her black head sunk in the +white pillow one hand under her cheek and the big, dark, unwinking eyes. + +Under her husband's expressionless stare, and remembering her mother's +empty room across the landing, she felt an acute pang of loneliness. She +had never been parted from her mother before. They had stood by each +other. She felt that they had, and she said to herself that now mother +was gone--gone for good. Mrs Verloc had no illusions. Stevie remained, +however. And she said: + +"Mother's done what she wanted to do. There's no sense in it that I can +see. I'm sure she couldn't have thought you had enough of her. It's +perfectly wicked, leaving us like that." + +Mr Verloc was not a well-read person; his range of allusive phrases was +limited, but there was a peculiar aptness in circumstances which made him +think of rats leaving a doomed ship. He very nearly said so. He had +grown suspicious and embittered. Could it be that the old woman had such +an excellent nose? But the unreasonableness of such a suspicion was +patent, and Mr Verloc held his tongue. Not altogether, however. He +muttered heavily: + +"Perhaps it's just as well." + +He began to undress. Mrs Verloc kept very still, perfectly still, with +her eyes fixed in a dreamy, quiet stare. And her heart for the fraction +of a second seemed to stand still too. That night she was "not quite +herself," as the saying is, and it was borne upon her with some force +that a simple sentence may hold several diverse meanings--mostly +disagreeable. How was it just as well? And why? But she did not allow +herself to fall into the idleness of barren speculation. She was rather +confirmed in her belief that things did not stand being looked into. +Practical and subtle in her way, she brought Stevie to the front without +loss of time, because in her the singleness of purpose had the unerring +nature and the force of an instinct. + +"What I am going to do to cheer up that boy for the first few days I'm +sure I don't know. He'll be worrying himself from morning till night +before he gets used to mother being away. And he's such a good boy. I +couldn't do without him." + +Mr Verloc went on divesting himself of his clothing with the unnoticing +inward concentration of a man undressing in the solitude of a vast and +hopeless desert. For thus inhospitably did this fair earth, our common +inheritance, present itself to the mental vision of Mr Verloc. All was +so still without and within that the lonely ticking of the clock on the +landing stole into the room as if for the sake of company. + +Mr Verloc, getting into bed on his own side, remained prone and mute +behind Mrs Verloc's back. His thick arms rested abandoned on the outside +of the counterpane like dropped weapons, like discarded tools. At that +moment he was within a hair's breadth of making a clean breast of it all +to his wife. The moment seemed propitious. Looking out of the corners +of his eyes, he saw her ample shoulders draped in white, the back of her +head, with the hair done for the night in three plaits tied up with black +tapes at the ends. And he forbore. Mr Verloc loved his wife as a wife +should be loved--that is, maritally, with the regard one has for one's +chief possession. This head arranged for the night, those ample +shoulders, had an aspect of familiar sacredness--the sacredness of +domestic peace. She moved not, massive and shapeless like a recumbent +statue in the rough; he remembered her wide-open eyes looking into the +empty room. She was mysterious, with the mysteriousness of living +beings. The far-famed secret agent [delta] of the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim's alarmist despatches was not the man to break into such +mysteries. He was easily intimidated. And he was also indolent, with +the indolence which is so often the secret of good nature. He forbore +touching that mystery out of love, timidity, and indolence. There would +be always time enough. For several minutes he bore his sufferings +silently in the drowsy silence of the room. And then he disturbed it by +a resolute declaration. + +"I am going on the Continent to-morrow." + +His wife might have fallen asleep already. He could not tell. As a +matter of fact, Mrs Verloc had heard him. Her eyes remained very wide +open, and she lay very still, confirmed in her instinctive conviction +that things don't bear looking into very much. And yet it was nothing +very unusual for Mr Verloc to take such a trip. He renewed his stock +from Paris and Brussels. Often he went over to make his purchases +personally. A little select connection of amateurs was forming around +the shop in Brett Street, a secret connection eminently proper for any +business undertaken by Mr Verloc, who, by a mystic accord of temperament +and necessity, had been set apart to be a secret agent all his life. + +He waited for a while, then added: "I'll be away a week or perhaps a +fortnight. Get Mrs Neale to come for the day." + +Mrs Neale was the charwoman of Brett Street. Victim of her marriage with +a debauched joiner, she was oppressed by the needs of many infant +children. Red-armed, and aproned in coarse sacking up to the arm-pits, +she exhaled the anguish of the poor in a breath of soap-suds and rum, in +the uproar of scrubbing, in the clatter of tin pails. + +Mrs Verloc, full of deep purpose, spoke in the tone of the shallowest +indifference. + +"There is no need to have the woman here all day. I shall do very well +with Stevie." + +She let the lonely clock on the landing count off fifteen ticks into the +abyss of eternity, and asked: + +"Shall I put the light out?" + +Mr Verloc snapped at his wife huskily. + +"Put it out." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +Mr Verloc returning from the Continent at the end of ten days, brought +back a mind evidently unrefreshed by the wonders of foreign travel and a +countenance unlighted by the joys of home-coming. He entered in the +clatter of the shop bell with an air of sombre and vexed exhaustion. His +bag in hand, his head lowered, he strode straight behind the counter, and +let himself fall into the chair, as though he had tramped all the way +from Dover. It was early morning. Stevie, dusting various objects +displayed in the front windows, turned to gape at him with reverence and +awe. + +"Here!" said Mr Verloc, giving a slight kick to the gladstone bag on the +floor; and Stevie flung himself upon it, seized it, bore it off with +triumphant devotion. He was so prompt that Mr Verloc was distinctly +surprised. + +Already at the clatter of the shop bell Mrs Neale, blackleading the +parlour grate, had looked through the door, and rising from her knees had +gone, aproned, and grimy with everlasting toll, to tell Mrs Verloc in the +kitchen that "there was the master come back." + +Winnie came no farther than the inner shop door. + +"You'll want some breakfast," she said from a distance. + +Mr Verloc moved his hands slightly, as if overcome by an impossible +suggestion. But once enticed into the parlour he did not reject the food +set before him. He ate as if in a public place, his hat pushed off his +forehead, the skirts of his heavy overcoat hanging in a triangle on each +side of the chair. And across the length of the table covered with brown +oil-cloth Winnie, his wife, talked evenly at him the wifely talk, as +artfully adapted, no doubt, to the circumstances of this return as the +talk of Penelope to the return of the wandering Odysseus. Mrs Verloc, +however, had done no weaving during her husband's absence. But she had +had all the upstairs room cleaned thoroughly, had sold some wares, had +seen Mr Michaelis several times. He had told her the last time that he +was going away to live in a cottage in the country, somewhere on the +London, Chatham, and Dover line. Karl Yundt had come too, once, led +under the arm by that "wicked old housekeeper of his." He was "a +disgusting old man." Of Comrade Ossipon, whom she had received curtly, +entrenched behind the counter with a stony face and a faraway gaze, she +said nothing, her mental reference to the robust anarchist being marked +by a short pause, with the faintest possible blush. And bringing in her +brother Stevie as soon as she could into the current of domestic events, +she mentioned that the boy had moped a good deal. + +"It's all along of mother leaving us like this." + +Mr Verloc neither said, "Damn!" nor yet "Stevie be hanged!" And Mrs +Verloc, not let into the secret of his thoughts, failed to appreciate the +generosity of this restraint. + +"It isn't that he doesn't work as well as ever," she continued. "He's +been making himself very useful. You'd think he couldn't do enough for +us." + +Mr Verloc directed a casual and somnolent glance at Stevie, who sat on +his right, delicate, pale-faced, his rosy mouth open vacantly. It was +not a critical glance. It had no intention. And if Mr Verloc thought +for a moment that his wife's brother looked uncommonly useless, it was +only a dull and fleeting thought, devoid of that force and durability +which enables sometimes a thought to move the world. Leaning back, Mr +Verloc uncovered his head. Before his extended arm could put down the +hat Stevie pounced upon it, and bore it off reverently into the kitchen. +And again Mr Verloc was surprised. + +"You could do anything with that boy, Adolf," Mrs Verloc said, with her +best air of inflexible calmness. "He would go through fire for you. He--" + +She paused attentive, her ear turned towards the door of the kitchen. + +There Mrs Neale was scrubbing the floor. At Stevie's appearance she +groaned lamentably, having observed that he could be induced easily to +bestow for the benefit of her infant children the shilling his sister +Winnie presented him with from time to time. On all fours amongst the +puddles, wet and begrimed, like a sort of amphibious and domestic animal +living in ash-bins and dirty water, she uttered the usual exordium: "It's +all very well for you, kept doing nothing like a gentleman." And she +followed it with the everlasting plaint of the poor, pathetically +mendacious, miserably authenticated by the horrible breath of cheap rum +and soap-suds. She scrubbed hard, snuffling all the time, and talking +volubly. And she was sincere. And on each side of her thin red nose her +bleared, misty eyes swam in tears, because she felt really the want of +some sort of stimulant in the morning. + +In the parlour Mrs Verloc observed, with knowledge: + +"There's Mrs Neale at it again with her harrowing tales about her little +children. They can't be all so little as she makes them out. Some of +them must be big enough by now to try to do something for themselves. It +only makes Stevie angry." + +These words were confirmed by a thud as of a fist striking the kitchen +table. In the normal evolution of his sympathy Stevie had become angry +on discovering that he had no shilling in his pocket. In his inability +to relieve at once Mrs Neale's "little 'uns'," privations he felt that +somebody should be made to suffer for it. Mrs Verloc rose, and went into +the kitchen to "stop that nonsense." And she did it firmly but gently. +She was well aware that directly Mrs Neale received her money she went +round the corner to drink ardent spirits in a mean and musty +public-house--the unavoidable station on the _via dolorosa_ of her life. +Mrs Verloc's comment upon this practice had an unexpected profundity, as +coming from a person disinclined to look under the surface of things. "Of +course, what is she to do to keep up? If I were like Mrs Neale I expect +I wouldn't act any different." + +In the afternoon of the same day, as Mr Verloc, coming with a start out +of the last of a long series of dozes before the parlour fire, declared +his intention of going out for a walk, Winnie said from the shop: + +"I wish you would take that boy out with you, Adolf." + +For the third time that day Mr Verloc was surprised. He stared stupidly +at his wife. She continued in her steady manner. The boy, whenever he +was not doing anything, moped in the house. It made her uneasy; it made +her nervous, she confessed. And that from the calm Winnie sounded like +exaggeration. But, in truth, Stevie moped in the striking fashion of an +unhappy domestic animal. He would go up on the dark landing, to sit on +the floor at the foot of the tall clock, with his knees drawn up and his +head in his hands. To come upon his pallid face, with its big eyes +gleaming in the dusk, was discomposing; to think of him up there was +uncomfortable. + +Mr Verloc got used to the startling novelty of the idea. He was fond of +his wife as a man should be--that is, generously. But a weighty +objection presented itself to his mind, and he formulated it. + +"He'll lose sight of me perhaps, and get lost in the street," he said. + +Mrs Verloc shook her head competently. + +"He won't. You don't know him. That boy just worships you. But if you +should miss him--" + +Mrs Verloc paused for a moment, but only for a moment. + +"You just go on, and have your walk out. Don't worry. He'll be all +right. He's sure to turn up safe here before very long." + +This optimism procured for Mr Verloc his fourth surprise of the day. + +"Is he?" he grunted doubtfully. But perhaps his brother-in-law was not +such an idiot as he looked. His wife would know best. He turned away +his heavy eyes, saying huskily: "Well, let him come along, then," and +relapsed into the clutches of black care, that perhaps prefers to sit +behind a horseman, but knows also how to tread close on the heels of +people not sufficiently well off to keep horses--like Mr Verloc, for +instance. + +Winnie, at the shop door, did not see this fatal attendant upon Mr +Verloc's walks. She watched the two figures down the squalid street, one +tall and burly, the other slight and short, with a thin neck, and the +peaked shoulders raised slightly under the large semi-transparent ears. +The material of their overcoats was the same, their hats were black and +round in shape. Inspired by the similarity of wearing apparel, Mrs +Verloc gave rein to her fancy. + +"Might be father and son," she said to herself. She thought also that Mr +Verloc was as much of a father as poor Stevie ever had in his life. She +was aware also that it was her work. And with peaceful pride she +congratulated herself on a certain resolution she had taken a few years +before. It had cost her some effort, and even a few tears. + +She congratulated herself still more on observing in the course of days +that Mr Verloc seemed to be taking kindly to Stevie's companionship. Now, +when ready to go out for his walk, Mr Verloc called aloud to the boy, in +the spirit, no doubt, in which a man invites the attendance of the +household dog, though, of course, in a different manner. In the house Mr +Verloc could be detected staring curiously at Stevie a good deal. His +own demeanour had changed. Taciturn still, he was not so listless. Mrs +Verloc thought that he was rather jumpy at times. It might have been +regarded as an improvement. As to Stevie, he moped no longer at the foot +of the clock, but muttered to himself in corners instead in a threatening +tone. When asked "What is it you're saying, Stevie?" he merely opened +his mouth, and squinted at his sister. At odd times he clenched his +fists without apparent cause, and when discovered in solitude would be +scowling at the wall, with the sheet of paper and the pencil given him +for drawing circles lying blank and idle on the kitchen table. This was +a change, but it was no improvement. Mrs Verloc including all these +vagaries under the general definition of excitement, began to fear that +Stevie was hearing more than was good for him of her husband's +conversations with his friends. During his "walks" Mr Verloc, of course, +met and conversed with various persons. It could hardly be otherwise. +His walks were an integral part of his outdoor activities, which his wife +had never looked deeply into. Mrs Verloc felt that the position was +delicate, but she faced it with the same impenetrable calmness which +impressed and even astonished the customers of the shop and made the +other visitors keep their distance a little wonderingly. No! She feared +that there were things not good for Stevie to hear of, she told her +husband. It only excited the poor boy, because he could not help them +being so. Nobody could. + +It was in the shop. Mr Verloc made no comment. He made no retort, and +yet the retort was obvious. But he refrained from pointing out to his +wife that the idea of making Stevie the companion of his walks was her +own, and nobody else's. At that moment, to an impartial observer, Mr +Verloc would have appeared more than human in his magnanimity. He took +down a small cardboard box from a shelf, peeped in to see that the +contents were all right, and put it down gently on the counter. Not till +that was done did he break the silence, to the effect that most likely +Stevie would profit greatly by being sent out of town for a while; only +he supposed his wife could not get on without him. + +"Could not get on without him!" repeated Mrs Verloc slowly. "I couldn't +get on without him if it were for his good! The idea! Of course, I can +get on without him. But there's nowhere for him to go." + +Mr Verloc got out some brown paper and a ball of string; and meanwhile he +muttered that Michaelis was living in a little cottage in the country. +Michaelis wouldn't mind giving Stevie a room to sleep in. There were no +visitors and no talk there. Michaelis was writing a book. + +Mrs Verloc declared her affection for Michaelis; mentioned her abhorrence +of Karl Yundt, "nasty old man"; and of Ossipon she said nothing. As to +Stevie, he could be no other than very pleased. Mr Michaelis was always +so nice and kind to him. He seemed to like the boy. Well, the boy was a +good boy. + +"You too seem to have grown quite fond of him of late," she added, after +a pause, with her inflexible assurance. + +Mr Verloc tying up the cardboard box into a parcel for the post, broke +the string by an injudicious jerk, and muttered several swear words +confidentially to himself. Then raising his tone to the usual husky +mutter, he announced his willingness to take Stevie into the country +himself, and leave him all safe with Michaelis. + +He carried out this scheme on the very next day. Stevie offered no +objection. He seemed rather eager, in a bewildered sort of way. He +turned his candid gaze inquisitively to Mr Verloc's heavy countenance at +frequent intervals, especially when his sister was not looking at him. +His expression was proud, apprehensive, and concentrated, like that of a +small child entrusted for the first time with a box of matches and the +permission to strike a light. But Mrs Verloc, gratified by her brother's +docility, recommended him not to dirty his clothes unduly in the country. +At this Stevie gave his sister, guardian and protector a look, which for +the first time in his life seemed to lack the quality of perfect +childlike trustfulness. It was haughtily gloomy. Mrs Verloc smiled. + +"Goodness me! You needn't be offended. You know you do get yourself +very untidy when you get a chance, Stevie." + +Mr Verloc was already gone some way down the street. + +Thus in consequence of her mother's heroic proceedings, and of her +brother's absence on this villegiature, Mrs Verloc found herself oftener +than usual all alone not only in the shop, but in the house. For Mr +Verloc had to take his walks. She was alone longer than usual on the day +of the attempted bomb outrage in Greenwich Park, because Mr Verloc went +out very early that morning and did not come back till nearly dusk. She +did not mind being alone. She had no desire to go out. The weather was +too bad, and the shop was cosier than the streets. Sitting behind the +counter with some sewing, she did not raise her eyes from her work when +Mr Verloc entered in the aggressive clatter of the bell. She had +recognised his step on the pavement outside. + +She did not raise her eyes, but as Mr Verloc, silent, and with his hat +rammed down upon his forehead, made straight for the parlour door, she +said serenely: + +"What a wretched day. You've been perhaps to see Stevie?" + +"No! I haven't," said Mr Verloc softly, and slammed the glazed parlour +door behind him with unexpected energy. + +For some time Mrs Verloc remained quiescent, with her work dropped in her +lap, before she put it away under the counter and got up to light the +gas. This done, she went into the parlour on her way to the kitchen. Mr +Verloc would want his tea presently. Confident of the power of her +charms, Winnie did not expect from her husband in the daily intercourse +of their married life a ceremonious amenity of address and courtliness of +manner; vain and antiquated forms at best, probably never very exactly +observed, discarded nowadays even in the highest spheres, and always +foreign to the standards of her class. She did not look for courtesies +from him. But he was a good husband, and she had a loyal respect for his +rights. + +Mrs Verloc would have gone through the parlour and on to her domestic +duties in the kitchen with the perfect serenity of a woman sure of the +power of her charms. But a slight, very slight, and rapid rattling sound +grew upon her hearing. Bizarre and incomprehensible, it arrested Mrs +Verloc's attention. Then as its character became plain to the ear she +stopped short, amazed and concerned. Striking a match on the box she +held in her hand, she turned on and lighted, above the parlour table, one +of the two gas-burners, which, being defective, first whistled as if +astonished, and then went on purring comfortably like a cat. + +Mr Verloc, against his usual practice, had thrown off his overcoat. It +was lying on the sofa. His hat, which he must also have thrown off, +rested overturned under the edge of the sofa. He had dragged a chair in +front of the fireplace, and his feet planted inside the fender, his head +held between his hands, he was hanging low over the glowing grate. His +teeth rattled with an ungovernable violence, causing his whole enormous +back to tremble at the same rate. Mrs Verloc was startled. + +"You've been getting wet," she said. + +"Not very," Mr Verloc managed to falter out, in a profound shudder. By a +great effort he suppressed the rattling of his teeth. + +"I'll have you laid up on my hands," she said, with genuine uneasiness. + +"I don't think so," remarked Mr Verloc, snuffling huskily. + +He had certainly contrived somehow to catch an abominable cold between +seven in the morning and five in the afternoon. Mrs Verloc looked at his +bowed back. + +"Where have you been to-day?" she asked. + +"Nowhere," answered Mr Verloc in a low, choked nasal tone. His attitude +suggested aggrieved sulks or a severe headache. The unsufficiency and +uncandidness of his answer became painfully apparent in the dead silence +of the room. He snuffled apologetically, and added: "I've been to the +bank." + +Mrs Verloc became attentive. + +"You have!" she said dispassionately. "What for?" + +Mr Verloc mumbled, with his nose over the grate, and with marked +unwillingness. + +"Draw the money out!" + +"What do you mean? All of it?" + +"Yes. All of it." + +Mrs Verloc spread out with care the scanty table-cloth, got two knives +and two forks out of the table drawer, and suddenly stopped in her +methodical proceedings. + +"What did you do that for?" + +"May want it soon," snuffled vaguely Mr Verloc, who was coming to the end +of his calculated indiscretions. + +"I don't know what you mean," remarked his wife in a tone perfectly +casual, but standing stock still between the table and the cupboard. + +"You know you can trust me," Mr Verloc remarked to the grate, with hoarse +feeling. + +Mrs Verloc turned slowly towards the cupboard, saying with deliberation: + +"Oh yes. I can trust you." + +And she went on with her methodical proceedings. She laid two plates, +got the bread, the butter, going to and fro quietly between the table and +the cupboard in the peace and silence of her home. On the point of +taking out the jam, she reflected practically: "He will be feeling +hungry, having been away all day," and she returned to the cupboard once +more to get the cold beef. She set it under the purring gas-jet, and +with a passing glance at her motionless husband hugging the fire, she +went (down two steps) into the kitchen. It was only when coming back, +carving knife and fork in hand, that she spoke again. + +"If I hadn't trusted you I wouldn't have married you." + +Bowed under the overmantel, Mr Verloc, holding his head in both hands, +seemed to have gone to sleep. Winnie made the tea, and called out in an +undertone: + +"Adolf." + +Mr Verloc got up at once, and staggered a little before he sat down at +the table. His wife examining the sharp edge of the carving knife, +placed it on the dish, and called his attention to the cold beef. He +remained insensible to the suggestion, with his chin on his breast. + +"You should feed your cold," Mrs Verloc said dogmatically. + +He looked up, and shook his head. His eyes were bloodshot and his face +red. His fingers had ruffled his hair into a dissipated untidiness. +Altogether he had a disreputable aspect, expressive of the discomfort, +the irritation and the gloom following a heavy debauch. But Mr Verloc +was not a debauched man. In his conduct he was respectable. His +appearance might have been the effect of a feverish cold. He drank three +cups of tea, but abstained from food entirely. He recoiled from it with +sombre aversion when urged by Mrs Verloc, who said at last: + +"Aren't your feet wet? You had better put on your slippers. You aren't +going out any more this evening." + +Mr Verloc intimated by morose grunts and signs that his feet were not +wet, and that anyhow he did not care. The proposal as to slippers was +disregarded as beneath his notice. But the question of going out in the +evening received an unexpected development. It was not of going out in +the evening that Mr Verloc was thinking. His thoughts embraced a vaster +scheme. From moody and incomplete phrases it became apparent that Mr +Verloc had been considering the expediency of emigrating. It was not +very clear whether he had in his mind France or California. + +The utter unexpectedness, improbability, and inconceivableness of such an +event robbed this vague declaration of all its effect. Mrs Verloc, as +placidly as if her husband had been threatening her with the end of the +world, said: + +"The idea!" + +Mr Verloc declared himself sick and tired of everything, and besides--She +interrupted him. + +"You've a bad cold." + +It was indeed obvious that Mr Verloc was not in his usual state, +physically and even mentally. A sombre irresolution held him silent for +a while. Then he murmured a few ominous generalities on the theme of +necessity. + +"Will have to," repeated Winnie, sitting calmly back, with folded arms, +opposite her husband. "I should like to know who's to make you. You +ain't a slave. No one need be a slave in this country--and don't you +make yourself one." She paused, and with invincible and steady candour. +"The business isn't so bad," she went on. "You've a comfortable home." + +She glanced all round the parlour, from the corner cupboard to the good +fire in the grate. Ensconced cosily behind the shop of doubtful wares, +with the mysteriously dim window, and its door suspiciously ajar in the +obscure and narrow street, it was in all essentials of domestic propriety +and domestic comfort a respectable home. Her devoted affection missed +out of it her brother Stevie, now enjoying a damp villegiature in the +Kentish lanes under the care of Mr Michaelis. She missed him poignantly, +with all the force of her protecting passion. This was the boy's home +too--the roof, the cupboard, the stoked grate. On this thought Mrs +Verloc rose, and walking to the other end of the table, said in the +fulness of her heart: + +"And you are not tired of me." + +Mr Verloc made no sound. Winnie leaned on his shoulder from behind, and +pressed her lips to his forehead. Thus she lingered. Not a whisper +reached them from the outside world. + +The sound of footsteps on the pavement died out in the discreet dimness +of the shop. Only the gas-jet above the table went on purring equably in +the brooding silence of the parlour. + +During the contact of that unexpected and lingering kiss Mr Verloc, +gripping with both hands the edges of his chair, preserved a hieratic +immobility. When the pressure was removed he let go the chair, rose, and +went to stand before the fireplace. He turned no longer his back to the +room. With his features swollen and an air of being drugged, he followed +his wife's movements with his eyes. + +Mrs Verloc went about serenely, clearing up the table. Her tranquil +voice commented the idea thrown out in a reasonable and domestic tone. It +wouldn't stand examination. She condemned it from every point of view. +But her only real concern was Stevie's welfare. He appeared to her +thought in that connection as sufficiently "peculiar" not to be taken +rashly abroad. And that was all. But talking round that vital point, +she approached absolute vehemence in her delivery. Meanwhile, with +brusque movements, she arrayed herself in an apron for the washing up of +cups. And as if excited by the sound of her uncontradicted voice, she +went so far as to say in a tone almost tart: + +"If you go abroad you'll have to go without me." + +"You know I wouldn't," said Mr Verloc huskily, and the unresonant voice +of his private life trembled with an enigmatical emotion. + +Already Mrs Verloc was regretting her words. They had sounded more +unkind than she meant them to be. They had also the unwisdom of +unnecessary things. In fact, she had not meant them at all. It was a +sort of phrase that is suggested by the demon of perverse inspiration. +But she knew a way to make it as if it had not been. + +She turned her head over her shoulder and gave that man planted heavily +in front of the fireplace a glance, half arch, half cruel, out of her +large eyes--a glance of which the Winnie of the Belgravian mansion days +would have been incapable, because of her respectability and her +ignorance. But the man was her husband now, and she was no longer +ignorant. She kept it on him for a whole second, with her grave face +motionless like a mask, while she said playfully: + +"You couldn't. You would miss me too much." + +Mr Verloc started forward. + +"Exactly," he said in a louder tone, throwing his arms out and making a +step towards her. Something wild and doubtful in his expression made it +appear uncertain whether he meant to strangle or to embrace his wife. But +Mrs Verloc's attention was called away from that manifestation by the +clatter of the shop bell. + +"Shop, Adolf. You go." + +He stopped, his arms came down slowly. + +"You go," repeated Mrs Verloc. "I've got my apron on." + +Mr Verloc obeyed woodenly, stony-eyed, and like an automaton whose face +had been painted red. And this resemblance to a mechanical figure went +so far that he had an automaton's absurd air of being aware of the +machinery inside of him. + +He closed the parlour door, and Mrs Verloc moving briskly, carried the +tray into the kitchen. She washed the cups and some other things before +she stopped in her work to listen. No sound reached her. The customer +was a long time in the shop. It was a customer, because if he had not +been Mr Verloc would have taken him inside. Undoing the strings of her +apron with a jerk, she threw it on a chair, and walked back to the +parlour slowly. + +At that precise moment Mr Verloc entered from the shop. + +He had gone in red. He came out a strange papery white. His face, +losing its drugged, feverish stupor, had in that short time acquired a +bewildered and harassed expression. He walked straight to the sofa, and +stood looking down at his overcoat lying there, as though he were afraid +to touch it. + +"What's the matter?" asked Mrs Verloc in a subdued voice. Through the +door left ajar she could see that the customer was not gone yet. + +"I find I'll have to go out this evening," said Mr Verloc. He did not +attempt to pick up his outer garment. + +Without a word Winnie made for the shop, and shutting the door after her, +walked in behind the counter. She did not look overtly at the customer +till she had established herself comfortably on the chair. But by that +time she had noted that he was tall and thin, and wore his moustaches +twisted up. In fact, he gave the sharp points a twist just then. His +long, bony face rose out of a turned-up collar. He was a little +splashed, a little wet. A dark man, with the ridge of the cheek-bone +well defined under the slightly hollow temple. A complete stranger. Not +a customer either. + +Mrs Verloc looked at him placidly. + +"You came over from the Continent?" she said after a time. + +The long, thin stranger, without exactly looking at Mrs Verloc, answered +only by a faint and peculiar smile. + +Mrs Verloc's steady, incurious gaze rested on him. + +"You understand English, don't you?" + +"Oh yes. I understand English." + +There was nothing foreign in his accent, except that he seemed in his +slow enunciation to be taking pains with it. And Mrs Verloc, in her +varied experience, had come to the conclusion that some foreigners could +speak better English than the natives. She said, looking at the door of +the parlour fixedly: + +"You don't think perhaps of staying in England for good?" + +The stranger gave her again a silent smile. He had a kindly mouth and +probing eyes. And he shook his head a little sadly, it seemed. + +"My husband will see you through all right. Meantime for a few days you +couldn't do better than take lodgings with Mr Giugliani. Continental +Hotel it's called. Private. It's quiet. My husband will take you +there." + +"A good idea," said the thin, dark man, whose glance had hardened +suddenly. + +"You knew Mr Verloc before--didn't you? Perhaps in France?" + +"I have heard of him," admitted the visitor in his slow, painstaking +tone, which yet had a certain curtness of intention. + +There was a pause. Then he spoke again, in a far less elaborate manner. + +"Your husband has not gone out to wait for me in the street by chance?" + +"In the street!" repeated Mrs Verloc, surprised. "He couldn't. There's +no other door to the house." + +For a moment she sat impassive, then left her seat to go and peep through +the glazed door. Suddenly she opened it, and disappeared into the +parlour. + +Mr Verloc had done no more than put on his overcoat. But why he should +remain afterwards leaning over the table propped up on his two arms as +though he were feeling giddy or sick, she could not understand. "Adolf," +she called out half aloud; and when he had raised himself: + +"Do you know that man?" she asked rapidly. + +"I've heard of him," whispered uneasily Mr Verloc, darting a wild glance +at the door. + +Mrs Verloc's fine, incurious eyes lighted up with a flash of abhorrence. + +"One of Karl Yundt's friends--beastly old man." + +"No! No!" protested Mr Verloc, busy fishing for his hat. But when he +got it from under the sofa he held it as if he did not know the use of a +hat. + +"Well--he's waiting for you," said Mrs Verloc at last. "I say, Adolf, he +ain't one of them Embassy people you have been bothered with of late?" + +"Bothered with Embassy people," repeated Mr Verloc, with a heavy start of +surprise and fear. "Who's been talking to you of the Embassy people?" + +"Yourself." + +"I! I! Talked of the Embassy to you!" + +Mr Verloc seemed scared and bewildered beyond measure. His wife +explained: + +"You've been talking a little in your sleep of late, Adolf." + +"What--what did I say? What do you know?" + +"Nothing much. It seemed mostly nonsense. Enough to let me guess that +something worried you." + +Mr Verloc rammed his hat on his head. A crimson flood of anger ran over +his face. + +"Nonsense--eh? The Embassy people! I would cut their hearts out one +after another. But let them look out. I've got a tongue in my head." + +He fumed, pacing up and down between the table and the sofa, his open +overcoat catching against the angles. The red flood of anger ebbed out, +and left his face all white, with quivering nostrils. Mrs Verloc, for +the purposes of practical existence, put down these appearances to the +cold. + +"Well," she said, "get rid of the man, whoever he is, as soon as you can, +and come back home to me. You want looking after for a day or two." + +Mr Verloc calmed down, and, with resolution imprinted on his pale face, +had already opened the door, when his wife called him back in a whisper: + +"Adolf! Adolf!" He came back startled. "What about that money you drew +out?" she asked. "You've got it in your pocket? Hadn't you better--" + +Mr Verloc gazed stupidly into the palm of his wife's extended hand for +some time before he slapped his brow. + +"Money! Yes! Yes! I didn't know what you meant." + +He drew out of his breast pocket a new pigskin pocket-book. Mrs Verloc +received it without another word, and stood still till the bell, +clattering after Mr Verloc and Mr Verloc's visitor, had quieted down. +Only then she peeped in at the amount, drawing the notes out for the +purpose. After this inspection she looked round thoughtfully, with an +air of mistrust in the silence and solitude of the house. This abode of +her married life appeared to her as lonely and unsafe as though it had +been situated in the midst of a forest. No receptacle she could think of +amongst the solid, heavy furniture seemed other but flimsy and +particularly tempting to her conception of a house-breaker. It was an +ideal conception, endowed with sublime faculties and a miraculous +insight. The till was not to be thought of it was the first spot a thief +would make for. Mrs Verloc unfastening hastily a couple of hooks, +slipped the pocket-book under the bodice of her dress. Having thus +disposed of her husband's capital, she was rather glad to hear the +clatter of the door bell, announcing an arrival. Assuming the fixed, +unabashed stare and the stony expression reserved for the casual +customer, she walked in behind the counter. + +A man standing in the middle of the shop was inspecting it with a swift, +cool, all-round glance. His eyes ran over the walls, took in the +ceiling, noted the floor--all in a moment. The points of a long fair +moustache fell below the line of the jaw. He smiled the smile of an old +if distant acquaintance, and Mrs Verloc remembered having seen him +before. Not a customer. She softened her "customer stare" to mere +indifference, and faced him across the counter. + +He approached, on his side, confidentially, but not too markedly so. + +"Husband at home, Mrs Verloc?" he asked in an easy, full tone. + +"No. He's gone out." + +"I am sorry for that. I've called to get from him a little private +information." + +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. Find--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?" + +Mrs Verloc did not mind. And when Chief Inspector Heat heard of a man +dark, thin, with a long face and turned up moustaches, he gave signs of +perturbation, and exclaimed: + +"Dash me if I didn't think so! He hasn't lost any time." + +He was intensely disgusted in the secrecy of his heart at the unofficial +conduct of his immediate chief. But he was not quixotic. He lost all +desire to await Mr Verloc's return. What they had gone out for he did +not know, but he imagined it possible that they would return together. +The case is not followed properly, it's being tampered with, he thought +bitterly. + +"I am afraid I haven't time to wait for your husband," he said. + +Mrs Verloc received this declaration listlessly. Her detachment had +impressed Chief Inspector Heat all along. At this precise moment it +whetted his curiosity. Chief Inspector Heat hung in the wind, swayed by +his passions like the most private of citizens. + +"I think," he said, looking at her steadily, "that you could give me a +pretty good notion of what's going on if you liked." + +Forcing her fine, inert eyes to return his gaze, Mrs Verloc murmured: + +"Going on! What _is_ going on?" + +"Why, the affair I came to talk about a little with your husband." + +That day Mrs Verloc had glanced at a morning paper as usual. But she had +not stirred out of doors. The newsboys never invaded Brett Street. It +was not a street for their business. And the echo of their cries +drifting along the populous thoroughfares, expired between the dirty +brick walls without reaching the threshold of the shop. Her husband had +not brought an evening paper home. At any rate she had not seen it. Mrs +Verloc knew nothing whatever of any affair. And she said so, with a +genuine note of wonder in her quiet voice. + +Chief Inspector Heat did not believe for a moment in so much ignorance. +Curtly, without amiability, he stated the bare fact. + +Mrs Verloc turned away her eyes. + +"I call it silly," she pronounced slowly. She paused. "We ain't +downtrodden slaves here." + +The Chief Inspector waited watchfully. Nothing more came. + +"And your husband didn't mention anything to you when he came home?" + +Mrs Verloc simply turned her face from right to left in sign of negation. +A languid, baffling silence reigned in the shop. Chief Inspector Heat +felt provoked beyond endurance. + +"There was another small matter," he began in a detached tone, "which I +wanted to speak to your husband about. There came into our hands +a--a--what we believe is--a stolen overcoat." + +Mrs Verloc, with her mind specially aware of thieves that evening, +touched lightly the bosom of her dress. + +"We have lost no overcoat," she said calmly. + +"That's funny," continued Private Citizen Heat. "I see you keep a lot of +marking ink here--" + +He took up a small bottle, and looked at it against the gas-jet in the +middle of the shop. + +"Purple--isn't it?" he remarked, setting it down again. "As I said, it's +strange. Because the overcoat has got a label sewn on the inside with +your address written in marking ink." + +Mrs Verloc leaned over the counter with a low exclamation. + +"That's my brother's, then." + +"Where's your brother? Can I see him?" asked the Chief Inspector +briskly. Mrs Verloc leaned a little more over the counter. + +"No. He isn't here. I wrote that label myself." + +"Where's your brother now?" + +"He's been away living with--a friend--in the country." + +"The overcoat comes from the country. And what's the name of the +friend?" + +"Michaelis," confessed Mrs Verloc in an awed whisper. + +The Chief Inspector let out a whistle. His eyes snapped. + +"Just so. Capital. And your brother now, what's he like--a sturdy, +darkish chap--eh?" + +"Oh no," exclaimed Mrs Verloc fervently. "That must be the thief. +Stevie's slight and fair." + +"Good," said the Chief Inspector in an approving tone. And while Mrs +Verloc, wavering between alarm and wonder, stared at him, he sought for +information. Why have the address sewn like this inside the coat? And +he heard that the mangled remains he had inspected that morning with +extreme repugnance were those of a youth, nervous, absent-minded, +peculiar, and also that the woman who was speaking to him had had the +charge of that boy since he was a baby. + +"Easily excitable?" he suggested. + +"Oh yes. He is. But how did he come to lose his coat--" + +Chief Inspector Heat suddenly pulled out a pink newspaper he had bought +less than half-an-hour ago. He was interested in horses. Forced by his +calling into an attitude of doubt and suspicion towards his +fellow-citizens, Chief Inspector Heat relieved the instinct of credulity +implanted in the human breast by putting unbounded faith in the sporting +prophets of that particular evening publication. Dropping the extra +special on to the counter, he plunged his hand again into his pocket, and +pulling out the piece of cloth fate had presented him with out of a heap +of things that seemed to have been collected in shambles and rag shops, +he offered it to Mrs Verloc for inspection. + +"I suppose you recognise this?" + +She took it mechanically in both her hands. Her eyes seemed to grow +bigger as she looked. + +"Yes," she whispered, then raised her head, and staggered backward a +little. + +"Whatever for is it torn out like this?" + +The Chief Inspector snatched across the counter the cloth out of her +hands, and she sat heavily on the chair. He thought: identification's +perfect. And in that moment he had a glimpse into the whole amazing +truth. Verloc was the "other man." + +"Mrs Verloc," he said, "it strikes me that you know more of this bomb +affair than even you yourself are aware of." + +Mrs Verloc sat still, amazed, lost in boundless astonishment. What was +the connection? And she became so rigid all over that she was not able +to turn her head at the clatter of the bell, which caused the private +investigator Heat to spin round on his heel. Mr Verloc had shut the +door, and for a moment the two men looked at each other. + +Mr Verloc, without looking at his wife, walked up to the Chief Inspector, +who was relieved to see him return alone. + +"You here!" muttered Mr Verloc heavily. "Who are you after?" + +"No one," said Chief Inspector Heat in a low tone. "Look here, I would +like a word or two with you." + +Mr Verloc, still pale, had brought an air of resolution with him. Still +he didn't look at his wife. He said: + +"Come in here, then." And he led the way into the parlour. + +The door was hardly shut when Mrs Verloc, jumping up from the chair, ran +to it as if to fling it open, but instead of doing so fell on her knees, +with her ear to the keyhole. The two men must have stopped directly they +were through, because she heard plainly the Chief Inspector's voice, +though she could not see his finger pressed against her husband's breast +emphatically. + +"You are the other man, Verloc. Two men were seen entering the park." + +And the voice of Mr Verloc said: + +"Well, take me now. What's to prevent you? You have the right." + +"Oh no! I know too well who you have been giving yourself away to. He'll +have to manage this little affair all by himself. But don't you make a +mistake, it's I who found you out." + +Then she heard only muttering. Inspector Heat must have been showing to +Mr Verloc the piece of Stevie's overcoat, because Stevie's sister, +guardian, and protector heard her husband a little louder. + +"I never noticed that she had hit upon that dodge." + +Again for a time Mrs Verloc heard nothing but murmurs, whose +mysteriousness was less nightmarish to her brain than the horrible +suggestions of shaped words. Then Chief Inspector Heat, on the other +side of the door, raised his voice. + +"You must have been mad." + +And Mr Verloc's voice answered, with a sort of gloomy fury: + +"I have been mad for a month or more, but I am not mad now. It's all +over. It shall all come out of my head, and hang the consequences." + +There was a silence, and then Private Citizen Heat murmured: + +"What's coming out?" + +"Everything," exclaimed the voice of Mr Verloc, and then sank very low. + +After a while it rose again. + +"You have known me for several years now, and you've found me useful, +too. You know I was a straight man. Yes, straight." + +This appeal to old acquaintance must have been extremely distasteful to +the Chief Inspector. + +His voice took on a warning note. + +"Don't you trust so much to what you have been promised. If I were you I +would clear out. I don't think we will run after you." + +Mr Verloc was heard to laugh a little. + +"Oh yes; you hope the others will get rid of me for you--don't you? No, +no; you don't shake me off now. I have been a straight man to those +people too long, and now everything must come out." + +"Let it come out, then," the indifferent voice of Chief Inspector Heat +assented. "But tell me now how did you get away." + +"I was making for Chesterfield Walk," Mrs Verloc heard her husband's +voice, "when I heard the bang. I started running then. Fog. I saw no +one till I was past the end of George Street. Don't think I met anyone +till then." + +"So easy as that!" marvelled the voice of Chief Inspector Heat. "The +bang startled you, eh?" + +"Yes; it came too soon," confessed the gloomy, husky voice of Mr Verloc. + +Mrs Verloc pressed her ear to the keyhole; her lips were blue, her hands +cold as ice, and her pale face, in which the two eyes seemed like two +black holes, felt to her as if it were enveloped in flames. + +On the other side of the door the voices sank very low. She caught words +now and then, sometimes in her husband's voice, sometimes in the smooth +tones of the Chief Inspector. She heard this last say: + +"We believe he stumbled against the root of a tree?" + +There was a husky, voluble murmur, which lasted for some time, and then +the Chief Inspector, as if answering some inquiry, spoke emphatically. + +"Of course. Blown to small bits: limbs, gravel, clothing, bones, +splinters--all mixed up together. I tell you they had to fetch a shovel +to gather him up with." + +Mrs Verloc sprang up suddenly from her crouching position, and stopping +her ears, reeled to and fro between the counter and the shelves on the +wall towards the chair. Her crazed eyes noted the sporting sheet left by +the Chief Inspector, and as she knocked herself against the counter she +snatched it up, fell into the chair, tore the optimistic, rosy sheet +right across in trying to open it, then flung it on the floor. On the +other side of the door, Chief Inspector Heat was saying to Mr Verloc, the +secret agent: + +"So your defence will be practically a full confession?" + +"It will. I am going to tell the whole story." + +"You won't be believed as much as you fancy you will." + +And the Chief Inspector remained thoughtful. The turn this affair was +taking meant the disclosure of many things--the laying waste of fields of +knowledge, which, cultivated by a capable man, had a distinct value for +the individual and for the society. It was sorry, sorry meddling. It +would leave Michaelis unscathed; it would drag to light the Professor's +home industry; disorganise the whole system of supervision; make no end +of a row in the papers, which, from that point of view, appeared to him +by a sudden illumination as invariably written by fools for the reading +of imbeciles. Mentally he agreed with the words Mr Verloc let fall at +last in answer to his last remark. + +"Perhaps not. But it will upset many things. I have been a straight +man, and I shall keep straight in this--" + +"If they let you," said the Chief Inspector cynically. "You will be +preached to, no doubt, before they put you into the dock. And in the end +you may yet get let in for a sentence that will surprise you. I wouldn't +trust too much the gentleman who's been talking to you." + +Mr Verloc listened, frowning. + +"My advice to you is to clear out while you may. I have no instructions. +There are some of them," continued Chief Inspector Heat, laying a +peculiar stress on the word "them," "who think you are already out of the +world." + +"Indeed!" Mr Verloc was moved to say. Though since his return from +Greenwich he had spent most of his time sitting in the tap-room of an +obscure little public-house, he could hardly have hoped for such +favourable news. + +"That's the impression about you." The Chief Inspector nodded at him. +"Vanish. Clear out." + +"Where to?" snarled Mr Verloc. He raised his head, and gazing at the +closed door of the parlour, muttered feelingly: "I only wish you would +take me away to-night. I would go quietly." + +"I daresay," assented sardonically the Chief Inspector, following the +direction of his glance. + +The brow of Mr Verloc broke into slight moisture. He lowered his husky +voice confidentially before the unmoved Chief Inspector. + +"The lad was half-witted, irresponsible. Any court would have seen that +at once. Only fit for the asylum. And that was the worst that would've +happened to him if--" + +The Chief Inspector, his hand on the door handle, whispered into Mr +Verloc's face. + +"He may've been half-witted, but you must have been crazy. What drove +you off your head like this?" + +Mr Verloc, thinking of Mr Vladimir, did not hesitate in the choice of +words. + +"A Hyperborean swine," he hissed forcibly. "A what you might call a--a +gentleman." + +The Chief Inspector, steady-eyed, nodded briefly his comprehension, and +opened the door. Mrs Verloc, behind the counter, might have heard but +did not see his departure, pursued by the aggressive clatter of the bell. +She sat at her post of duty behind the counter. She sat rigidly erect in +the chair with two dirty pink pieces of paper lying spread out at her +feet. The palms of her hands were pressed convulsively to her face, with +the tips of the fingers contracted against the forehead, as though the +skin had been a mask which she was ready to tear off violently. The +perfect immobility of her pose expressed the agitation of rage and +despair, all the potential violence of tragic passions, better than any +shallow display of shrieks, with the beating of a distracted head against +the walls, could have done. Chief Inspector Heat, crossing the shop at +his busy, swinging pace, gave her only a cursory glance. And when the +cracked bell ceased to tremble on its curved ribbon of steel nothing +stirred near Mrs Verloc, as if her attitude had the locking power of a +spell. Even the butterfly-shaped gas flames posed on the ends of the +suspended T-bracket burned without a quiver. In that shop of shady wares +fitted with deal shelves painted a dull brown, which seemed to devour the +sheen of the light, the gold circlet of the wedding ring on Mrs Verloc's +left hand glittered exceedingly with the untarnished glory of a piece +from some splendid treasure of jewels, dropped in a dust-bin. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +The Assistant Commissioner, driven rapidly in a hansom from the +neighbourhood of Soho in the direction of Westminster, got out at the +very centre of the Empire on which the sun never sets. Some stalwart +constables, who did not seem particularly impressed by the duty of +watching the august spot, saluted him. Penetrating through a portal by +no means lofty into the precincts of the House which is _the_ House, _par +excellence_ in the minds of many millions of men, he was met at last by +the volatile and revolutionary Toodles. + +That neat and nice young man concealed his astonishment at the early +appearance of the Assistant Commissioner, whom he had been told to look +out for some time about midnight. His turning up so early he concluded +to be the sign that things, whatever they were, had gone wrong. With an +extremely ready sympathy, which in nice youngsters goes often with a +joyous temperament, he felt sorry for the great Presence he called "The +Chief," and also for the Assistant Commissioner, whose face appeared to +him more ominously wooden than ever before, and quite wonderfully long. +"What a queer, foreign-looking chap he is," he thought to himself, +smiling from a distance with friendly buoyancy. And directly they came +together he began to talk with the kind intention of burying the +awkwardness of failure under a heap of words. It looked as if the great +assault threatened for that night were going to fizzle out. An inferior +henchman of "that brute Cheeseman" was up boring mercilessly a very thin +House with some shamelessly cooked statistics. He, Toodles, hoped he +would bore them into a count out every minute. But then he might be only +marking time to let that guzzling Cheeseman dine at his leisure. Anyway, +the Chief could not be persuaded to go home. + +"He will see you at once, I think. He's sitting all alone in his room +thinking of all the fishes of the sea," concluded Toodles airily. "Come +along." + +Notwithstanding the kindness of his disposition, the young private +secretary (unpaid) was accessible to the common failings of humanity. He +did not wish to harrow the feelings of the Assistant Commissioner, who +looked to him uncommonly like a man who has made a mess of his job. But +his curiosity was too strong to be restrained by mere compassion. He +could not help, as they went along, to throw over his shoulder lightly: + +"And your sprat?" + +"Got him," answered the Assistant Commissioner with a concision which did +not mean to be repellent in the least. + +"Good. You've no idea how these great men dislike to be disappointed in +small things." + +After this profound observation the experienced Toodles seemed to +reflect. At any rate he said nothing for quite two seconds. Then: + +"I'm glad. But--I say--is it really such a very small thing as you make +it out?" + +"Do you know what may be done with a sprat?" the Assistant Commissioner +asked in his turn. + +"He's sometimes put into a sardine box," chuckled Toodles, whose +erudition on the subject of the fishing industry was fresh and, in +comparison with his ignorance of all other industrial matters, immense. +"There are sardine canneries on the Spanish coast which--" + +The Assistant Commissioner interrupted the apprentice statesman. + +"Yes. Yes. But a sprat is also thrown away sometimes in order to catch +a whale." + +"A whale. Phew!" exclaimed Toodles, with bated breath. "You're after a +whale, then?" + +"Not exactly. What I am after is more like a dog-fish. You don't know +perhaps what a dog-fish is like." + +"Yes; I do. We're buried in special books up to our necks--whole shelves +full of them--with plates. . . . It's a noxious, rascally-looking, +altogether detestable beast, with a sort of smooth face and moustaches." + +"Described to a T," commended the Assistant Commissioner. "Only mine is +clean-shaven altogether. You've seen him. It's a witty fish." + +"I have seen him!" said Toodles incredulously. "I can't conceive where I +could have seen him." + +"At the Explorers, I should say," dropped the Assistant Commissioner +calmly. At the name of that extremely exclusive club Toodles looked +scared, and stopped short. + +"Nonsense," he protested, but in an awe-struck tone. "What do you mean? +A member?" + +"Honorary," muttered the Assistant Commissioner through his teeth. + +"Heavens!" + +Toodles looked so thunderstruck that the Assistant Commissioner smiled +faintly. + +"That's between ourselves strictly," he said. + +"That's the beastliest thing I've ever heard in my life," declared +Toodles feebly, as if astonishment had robbed him of all his buoyant +strength in a second. + +The Assistant Commissioner gave him an unsmiling glance. Till they came +to the door of the great man's room, Toodles preserved a scandalised and +solemn silence, as though he were offended with the Assistant +Commissioner for exposing such an unsavoury and disturbing fact. It +revolutionised his idea of the Explorers' Club's extreme selectness, of +its social purity. Toodles was revolutionary only in politics; his +social beliefs and personal feelings he wished to preserve unchanged +through all the years allotted to him on this earth which, upon the +whole, he believed to be a nice place to live on. + +He stood aside. + +"Go in without knocking," he said. + +Shades of green silk fitted low over all the lights imparted to the room +something of a forest's deep gloom. The haughty eyes were physically the +great man's weak point. This point was wrapped up in secrecy. When an +opportunity offered, he rested them conscientiously. + +The Assistant Commissioner entering saw at first only a big pale hand +supporting a big head, and concealing the upper part of a big pale face. +An open despatch-box stood on the writing-table near a few oblong sheets +of paper and a scattered handful of quill pens. There was absolutely +nothing else on the large flat surface except a little bronze statuette +draped in a toga, mysteriously watchful in its shadowy immobility. The +Assistant Commissioner, invited to take a chair, sat down. In the dim +light, the salient points of his personality, the long face, the black +hair, his lankness, made him look more foreign than ever. + +The great man manifested no surprise, no eagerness, no sentiment +whatever. The attitude in which he rested his menaced eyes was +profoundly meditative. He did not alter it the least bit. But his tone +was not dreamy. + +"Well! What is it that you've found out already? You came upon +something unexpected on the first step." + +"Not exactly unexpected, Sir Ethelred. What I mainly came upon was a +psychological state." + +The Great Presence made a slight movement. "You must be lucid, please." + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred. You know no doubt that most criminals at some time +or other feel an irresistible need of confessing--of making a clean +breast of it to somebody--to anybody. And they do it often to the +police. In that Verloc whom Heat wished so much to screen I've found a +man in that particular psychological state. The man, figuratively +speaking, flung himself on my breast. It was enough on my part to +whisper to him who I was and to add 'I know that you are at the bottom of +this affair.' It must have seemed miraculous to him that we should know +already, but he took it all in the stride. The wonderfulness of it never +checked him for a moment. There remained for me only to put to him the +two questions: Who put you up to it? and Who was the man who did it? He +answered the first with remarkable emphasis. As to the second question, +I gather that the fellow with the bomb was his brother-in-law--quite a +lad--a weak-minded creature. . . . It is rather a curious affair--too +long perhaps to state fully just now." + +"What then have you learned?" asked the great man. + +"First, I've learned that the ex-convict Michaelis had nothing to do with +it, though indeed the lad had been living with him temporarily in the +country up to eight o'clock this morning. It is more than likely that +Michaelis knows nothing of it to this moment." + +"You are positive as to that?" asked the great man. + +"Quite certain, Sir Ethelred. This fellow Verloc went there this +morning, and took away the lad on the pretence of going out for a walk in +the lanes. As it was not the first time that he did this, Michaelis +could not have the slightest suspicion of anything unusual. For the +rest, Sir Ethelred, the indignation of this man Verloc had left nothing +in doubt--nothing whatever. He had been driven out of his mind almost by +an extraordinary performance, which for you or me it would be difficult +to take as seriously meant, but which produced a great impression +obviously on him." + +The Assistant Commissioner then imparted briefly to the great man, who +sat still, resting his eyes under the screen of his hand, Mr Verloc's +appreciation of Mr Vladimir's proceedings and character. The Assistant +Commissioner did not seem to refuse it a certain amount of competency. +But the great personage remarked: + +"All this seems very fantastic." + +"Doesn't it? One would think a ferocious joke. But our man took it +seriously, it appears. He felt himself threatened. In the time, you +know, he was in direct communication with old Stott-Wartenheim himself, +and had come to regard his services as indispensable. It was an +extremely rude awakening. I imagine that he lost his head. He became +angry and frightened. Upon my word, my impression is that he thought +these Embassy people quite capable not only to throw him out but, to give +him away too in some manner or other--" + +"How long were you with him," interrupted the Presence from behind his +big hand. + +"Some forty minutes Sir Ethelred, in a house of bad repute called +Continental Hotel, closeted in a room which by-the-by I took for the +night. I found him under the influence of that reaction which follows +the effort of crime. The man cannot be defined as a hardened criminal. +It is obvious that he did not plan the death of that wretched lad--his +brother-in-law. That was a shock to him--I could see that. Perhaps he +is a man of strong sensibilities. Perhaps he was even fond of the +lad--who knows? He might have hoped that the fellow would get clear +away; in which case it would have been almost impossible to bring this +thing home to anyone. At any rate he risked consciously nothing more but +arrest for him." + +The Assistant Commissioner paused in his speculations to reflect for a +moment. + +"Though how, in that last case, he could hope to have his own share in +the business concealed is more than I can tell," he continued, in his +ignorance of poor Stevie's devotion to Mr Verloc (who was _good_), and of +his truly peculiar dumbness, which in the old affair of fireworks on the +stairs had for many years resisted entreaties, coaxing, anger, and other +means of investigation used by his beloved sister. For Stevie was loyal. +. . . "No, I can't imagine. It's possible that he never thought of that +at all. It sounds an extravagant way of putting it, Sir Ethelred, but +his state of dismay suggested to me an impulsive man who, after +committing suicide with the notion that it would end all his troubles, +had discovered that it did nothing of the kind." + +The Assistant Commissioner gave this definition in an apologetic voice. +But in truth there is a sort of lucidity proper to extravagant language, +and the great man was not offended. A slight jerky movement of the big +body half lost in the gloom of the green silk shades, of the big head +leaning on the big hand, accompanied an intermittent stifled but powerful +sound. The great man had laughed. + +"What have you done with him?" + +The Assistant Commissioner answered very readily: + +"As he seemed very anxious to get back to his wife in the shop I let him +go, Sir Ethelred." + +"You did? But the fellow will disappear." + +"Pardon me. I don't think so. Where could he go to? Moreover, you must +remember that he has got to think of the danger from his comrades too. +He's there at his post. How could he explain leaving it? But even if +there were no obstacles to his freedom of action he would do nothing. At +present he hasn't enough moral energy to take a resolution of any sort. +Permit me also to point out that if I had detained him we would have been +committed to a course of action on which I wished to know your precise +intentions first." + +The great personage rose heavily, an imposing shadowy form in the +greenish gloom of the room. + +"I'll see the Attorney-General to-night, and will send for you to-morrow +morning. Is there anything more you'd wish to tell me now?" + +The Assistant Commissioner had stood up also, slender and flexible. + +"I think not, Sir Ethelred, unless I were to enter into details which--" + +"No. No details, please." + +The great shadowy form seemed to shrink away as if in physical dread of +details; then came forward, expanded, enormous, and weighty, offering a +large hand. "And you say that this man has got a wife?" + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred," said the Assistant Commissioner, pressing +deferentially the extended hand. "A genuine wife and a genuinely, +respectably, marital relation. He told me that after his interview at +the Embassy he would have thrown everything up, would have tried to sell +his shop, and leave the country, only he felt certain that his wife would +not even hear of going abroad. Nothing could be more characteristic of +the respectable bond than that," went on, with a touch of grimness, the +Assistant Commissioner, whose own wife too had refused to hear of going +abroad. "Yes, a genuine wife. And the victim was a genuine brother-in- +law. From a certain point of view we are here in the presence of a +domestic drama." + +The Assistant Commissioner laughed a little; but the great man's thoughts +seemed to have wandered far away, perhaps to the questions of his +country's domestic policy, the battle-ground of his crusading valour +against the paynim Cheeseman. The Assistant Commissioner withdrew +quietly, unnoticed, as if already forgotten. + +He had his own crusading instincts. This affair, which, in one way or +another, disgusted Chief Inspector Heat, seemed to him a providentially +given starting-point for a crusade. He had it much at heart to begin. He +walked slowly home, meditating that enterprise on the way, and thinking +over Mr Verloc's psychology in a composite mood of repugnance and +satisfaction. He walked all the way home. Finding the drawing-room +dark, he went upstairs, and spent some time between the bedroom and the +dressing-room, changing his clothes, going to and fro with the air of a +thoughtful somnambulist. But he shook it off before going out again to +join his wife at the house of the great lady patroness of Michaelis. + +He knew he would be welcomed there. On entering the smaller of the two +drawing-rooms he saw his wife in a small group near the piano. A +youngish composer in pass of becoming famous was discoursing from a music +stool to two thick men whose backs looked old, and three slender women +whose backs looked young. Behind the screen the great lady had only two +persons with her: a man and a woman, who sat side by side on arm-chairs +at the foot of her couch. She extended her hand to the Assistant +Commissioner. + +"I never hoped to see you here to-night. Annie told me--" + +"Yes. I had no idea myself that my work would be over so soon." + +The Assistant Commissioner added in a low tone. "I am glad to tell you +that Michaelis is altogether clear of this--" + +The patroness of the ex-convict received this assurance indignantly. + +"Why? Were your people stupid enough to connect him with--" + +"Not stupid," interrupted the Assistant Commissioner, contradicting +deferentially. "Clever enough--quite clever enough for that." + +A silence fell. The man at the foot of the couch had stopped speaking to +the lady, and looked on with a faint smile. + +"I don't know whether you ever met before," said the great lady. + +Mr Vladimir and the Assistant Commissioner, introduced, acknowledged each +other's existence with punctilious and guarded courtesy. + +"He's been frightening me," declared suddenly the lady who sat by the +side of Mr Vladimir, with an inclination of the head towards that +gentleman. The Assistant Commissioner knew the lady. + +"You do not look frightened," he pronounced, after surveying her +conscientiously with his tired and equable gaze. He was thinking +meantime to himself that in this house one met everybody sooner or later. +Mr Vladimir's rosy countenance was wreathed in smiles, because he was +witty, but his eyes remained serious, like the eyes of convinced man. + +"Well, he tried to at least," amended the lady. + +"Force of habit perhaps," said the Assistant Commissioner, moved by an +irresistible inspiration. + +"He has been threatening society with all sorts of horrors," continued +the lady, whose enunciation was caressing and slow, "apropos of this +explosion in Greenwich Park. It appears we all ought to quake in our +shoes at what's coming if those people are not suppressed all over the +world. I had no idea this was such a grave affair." + +Mr Vladimir, affecting not to listen, leaned towards the couch, talking +amiably in subdued tones, but he heard the Assistant Commissioner say: + +"I've no doubt that Mr Vladimir has a very precise notion of the true +importance of this affair." + +Mr Vladimir asked himself what that confounded and intrusive policeman +was driving at. Descended from generations victimised by the instruments +of an arbitrary power, he was racially, nationally, and individually +afraid of the police. It was an inherited weakness, altogether +independent of his judgment, of his reason, of his experience. He was +born to it. But that sentiment, which resembled the irrational horror +some people have of cats, did not stand in the way of his immense +contempt for the English police. He finished the sentence addressed to +the great lady, and turned slightly in his chair. + +"You mean that we have a great experience of these people. Yes; indeed, +we suffer greatly from their activity, while you"--Mr Vladimir hesitated +for a moment, in smiling perplexity--"while you suffer their presence +gladly in your midst," he finished, displaying a dimple on each clean- +shaven cheek. Then he added more gravely: "I may even say--because you +do." + +When Mr Vladimir ceased speaking the Assistant Commissioner lowered his +glance, and the conversation dropped. Almost immediately afterwards Mr +Vladimir took leave. + +Directly his back was turned on the couch the Assistant Commissioner rose +too. + +"I thought you were going to stay and take Annie home," said the lady +patroness of Michaelis. + +"I find that I've yet a little work to do to-night." + +"In connection--?" + +"Well, yes--in a way." + +"Tell me, what is it really--this horror?" + +"It's difficult to say what it is, but it may yet be a _cause celebre_," +said the Assistant Commissioner. + +He left the drawing-room hurriedly, and found Mr Vladimir still in the +hall, wrapping up his throat carefully in a large silk handkerchief. +Behind him a footman waited, holding his overcoat. Another stood ready +to open the door. The Assistant Commissioner was duly helped into his +coat, and let out at once. After descending the front steps he stopped, +as if to consider the way he should take. On seeing this through the +door held open, Mr Vladimir lingered in the hall to get out a cigar and +asked for a light. It was furnished to him by an elderly man out of +livery with an air of calm solicitude. But the match went out; the +footman then closed the door, and Mr Vladimir lighted his large Havana +with leisurely care. + +When at last he got out of the house, he saw with disgust the "confounded +policeman" still standing on the pavement. + +"Can he be waiting for me," thought Mr Vladimir, looking up and down for +some signs of a hansom. He saw none. A couple of carriages waited by +the curbstone, their lamps blazing steadily, the horses standing +perfectly still, as if carved in stone, the coachmen sitting motionless +under the big fur capes, without as much as a quiver stirring the white +thongs of their big whips. Mr Vladimir walked on, and the "confounded +policeman" fell into step at his elbow. He said nothing. At the end of +the fourth stride Mr Vladimir felt infuriated and uneasy. This could not +last. + +"Rotten weather," he growled savagely. + +"Mild," said the Assistant Commissioner without passion. He remained +silent for a little while. "We've got hold of a man called Verloc," he +announced casually. + +Mr Vladimir did not stumble, did not stagger back, did not change his +stride. But he could not prevent himself from exclaiming: "What?" The +Assistant Commissioner did not repeat his statement. "You know him," he +went on in the same tone. + +Mr Vladimir stopped, and became guttural. "What makes you say that?" + +"I don't. It's Verloc who says that." + +"A lying dog of some sort," said Mr Vladimir in somewhat Oriental +phraseology. But in his heart he was almost awed by the miraculous +cleverness of the English police. The change of his opinion on the +subject was so violent that it made him for a moment feel slightly sick. +He threw away his cigar, and moved on. + +"What pleased me most in this affair," the Assistant went on, talking +slowly, "is that it makes such an excellent starting-point for a piece of +work which I've felt must be taken in hand--that is, the clearing out of +this country of all the foreign political spies, police, and that sort +of--of--dogs. In my opinion they are a ghastly nuisance; also an element +of danger. But we can't very well seek them out individually. The only +way is to make their employment unpleasant to their employers. The +thing's becoming indecent. And dangerous too, for us, here." + +Mr Vladimir stopped again for a moment. + +"What do you mean?" + +"The prosecution of this Verloc will demonstrate to the public both the +danger and the indecency." + +"Nobody will believe what a man of that sort says," said Mr Vladimir +contemptuously. + +"The wealth and precision of detail will carry conviction to the great +mass of the public," advanced the Assistant Commissioner gently. + +"So that is seriously what you mean to do." + +"We've got the man; we have no choice." + +"You will be only feeding up the lying spirit of these revolutionary +scoundrels," Mr Vladimir protested. "What do you want to make a scandal +for?--from morality--or what?" + +Mr Vladimir's anxiety was obvious. The Assistant Commissioner having +ascertained in this way that there must be some truth in the summary +statements of Mr Verloc, said indifferently: + +"There's a practical side too. We have really enough to do to look after +the genuine article. You can't say we are not effective. But we don't +intend to let ourselves be bothered by shams under any pretext whatever." + +Mr Vladimir's tone became lofty. + +"For my part, I can't share your view. It is selfish. My sentiments for +my own country cannot be doubted; but I've always felt that we ought to +be good Europeans besides--I mean governments and men." + +"Yes," said the Assistant Commissioner simply. "Only you look at Europe +from its other end. But," he went on in a good-natured tone, "the +foreign governments cannot complain of the inefficiency of our police. +Look at this outrage; a case specially difficult to trace inasmuch as it +was a sham. In less than twelve hours we have established the identity +of a man literally blown to shreds, have found the organiser of the +attempt, and have had a glimpse of the inciter behind him. And we could +have gone further; only we stopped at the limits of our territory." + +"So this instructive crime was planned abroad," Mr Vladimir said quickly. +"You admit it was planned abroad?" + +"Theoretically. Theoretically only, on foreign territory; abroad only by +a fiction," said the Assistant Commissioner, alluding to the character of +Embassies, which are supposed to be part and parcel of the country to +which they belong. "But that's a detail. I talked to you of this +business because its your government that grumbles most at our police. +You see that we are not so bad. I wanted particularly to tell you of our +success." + +"I'm sure I'm very grateful," muttered Mr Vladimir through his teeth. + +"We can put our finger on every anarchist here," went on the Assistant +Commissioner, as though he were quoting Chief Inspector Heat. "All +that's wanted now is to do away with the agent provocateur to make +everything safe." + +Mr Vladimir held up his hand to a passing hansom. + +"You're not going in here," remarked the Assistant Commissioner, looking +at a building of noble proportions and hospitable aspect, with the light +of a great hall falling through its glass doors on a broad flight of +steps. + +But Mr Vladimir, sitting, stony-eyed, inside the hansom, drove off +without a word. + +The Assistant Commissioner himself did not turn into the noble building. +It was the Explorers' Club. The thought passed through his mind that Mr +Vladimir, honorary member, would not be seen very often there in the +future. He looked at his watch. It was only half-past ten. He had had +a very full evening. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +After Chief Inspector Heat had left him Mr Verloc moved about the +parlour. + +From time to time he eyed his wife through the open door. "She knows all +about it now," he thought to himself with commiseration for her sorrow +and with some satisfaction as regarded himself. Mr Verloc's soul, if +lacking greatness perhaps, was capable of tender sentiments. The +prospect of having to break the news to her had put him into a fever. +Chief Inspector Heat had relieved him of the task. That was good as far +as it went. It remained for him now to face her grief. + +Mr Verloc had never expected to have to face it on account of death, +whose catastrophic character cannot be argued away by sophisticated +reasoning or persuasive eloquence. Mr Verloc never meant Stevie to +perish with such abrupt violence. He did not mean him to perish at all. +Stevie dead was a much greater nuisance than ever he had been when alive. +Mr Verloc had augured a favourable issue to his enterprise, basing +himself not on Stevie's intelligence, which sometimes plays queer tricks +with a man, but on the blind docility and on the blind devotion of the +boy. Though not much of a psychologist, Mr Verloc had gauged the depth +of Stevie's fanaticism. He dared cherish the hope of Stevie walking away +from the walls of the Observatory as he had been instructed to do, taking +the way shown to him several times previously, and rejoining his brother- +in-law, the wise and good Mr Verloc, outside the precincts of the park. +Fifteen minutes ought to have been enough for the veriest fool to deposit +the engine and walk away. And the Professor had guaranteed more than +fifteen minutes. But Stevie had stumbled within five minutes of being +left to himself. And Mr Verloc was shaken morally to pieces. He had +foreseen everything but that. He had foreseen Stevie distracted and +lost--sought for--found in some police station or provincial workhouse in +the end. He had foreseen Stevie arrested, and was not afraid, because Mr +Verloc had a great opinion of Stevie's loyalty, which had been carefully +indoctrinated with the necessity of silence in the course of many walks. +Like a peripatetic philosopher, Mr Verloc, strolling along the streets of +London, had modified Stevie's view of the police by conversations full of +subtle reasonings. Never had a sage a more attentive and admiring +disciple. The submission and worship were so apparent that Mr Verloc had +come to feel something like a liking for the boy. In any case, he had +not foreseen the swift bringing home of his connection. That his wife +should hit upon the precaution of sewing the boy's address inside his +overcoat was the last thing Mr Verloc would have thought of. One can't +think of everything. That was what she meant when she said that he need +not worry if he lost Stevie during their walks. She had assured him that +the boy would turn up all right. Well, he had turned up with a +vengeance! + +"Well, well," muttered Mr Verloc in his wonder. What did she mean by it? +Spare him the trouble of keeping an anxious eye on Stevie? Most likely +she had meant well. Only she ought to have told him of the precaution +she had taken. + +Mr Verloc walked behind the counter of the shop. His intention was not +to overwhelm his wife with bitter reproaches. Mr Verloc felt no +bitterness. The unexpected march of events had converted him to the +doctrine of fatalism. Nothing could be helped now. He said: + +"I didn't mean any harm to come to the boy." + +Mrs Verloc shuddered at the sound of her husband's voice. She did not +uncover her face. The trusted secret agent of the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim looked at her for a time with a heavy, persistent, +undiscerning glance. The torn evening paper was lying at her feet. It +could not have told her much. Mr Verloc felt the need of talking to his +wife. + +"It's that damned Heat--eh?" he said. "He upset you. He's a brute, +blurting it out like this to a woman. I made myself ill thinking how to +break it to you. I sat for hours in the little parlour of Cheshire +Cheese thinking over the best way. You understand I never meant any harm +to come to that boy." + +Mr Verloc, the Secret Agent, was speaking the truth. It was his marital +affection that had received the greatest shock from the premature +explosion. He added: + +"I didn't feel particularly gay sitting there and thinking of you." + +He observed another slight shudder of his wife, which affected his +sensibility. As she persisted in hiding her face in her hands, he +thought he had better leave her alone for a while. On this delicate +impulse Mr Verloc withdrew into the parlour again, where the gas jet +purred like a contented cat. Mrs Verloc's wifely forethought had left +the cold beef on the table with carving knife and fork and half a loaf of +bread for Mr Verloc's supper. He noticed all these things now for the +first time, and cutting himself a piece of bread and meat, began to eat. + +His appetite did not proceed from callousness. Mr Verloc had not eaten +any breakfast that day. He had left his home fasting. Not being an +energetic man, he found his resolution in nervous excitement, which +seemed to hold him mainly by the throat. He could not have swallowed +anything solid. Michaelis' cottage was as destitute of provisions as the +cell of a prisoner. The ticket-of-leave apostle lived on a little milk +and crusts of stale bread. Moreover, when Mr Verloc arrived he had +already gone upstairs after his frugal meal. Absorbed in the toil and +delight of literary composition, he had not even answered Mr Verloc's +shout up the little staircase. + +"I am taking this young fellow home for a day or two." + +And, in truth, Mr Verloc did not wait for an answer, but had marched out +of the cottage at once, followed by the obedient Stevie. + +Now that all action was over and his fate taken out of his hands with +unexpected swiftness, Mr Verloc felt terribly empty physically. He +carved the meat, cut the bread, and devoured his supper standing by the +table, and now and then casting a glance towards his wife. Her prolonged +immobility disturbed the comfort of his refection. He walked again into +the shop, and came up very close to her. This sorrow with a veiled face +made Mr Verloc uneasy. He expected, of course, his wife to be very much +upset, but he wanted her to pull herself together. He needed all her +assistance and all her loyalty in these new conjunctures his fatalism had +already accepted. + +"Can't be helped," he said in a tone of gloomy sympathy. "Come, Winnie, +we've got to think of to-morrow. You'll want all your wits about you +after I am taken away." + +He paused. Mrs Verloc's breast heaved convulsively. This was not +reassuring to Mr Verloc, in whose view the newly created situation +required from the two people most concerned in it calmness, decision, and +other qualities incompatible with the mental disorder of passionate +sorrow. Mr Verloc was a humane man; he had come home prepared to allow +every latitude to his wife's affection for her brother. + +Only he did not understand either the nature or the whole extent of that +sentiment. And in this he was excusable, since it was impossible for him +to understand it without ceasing to be himself. He was startled and +disappointed, and his speech conveyed it by a certain roughness of tone. + +"You might look at a fellow," he observed after waiting a while. + +As if forced through the hands covering Mrs Verloc's face the answer +came, deadened, almost pitiful. + +"I don't want to look at you as long as I live." + +"Eh? What!" Mr Verloc was merely startled by the superficial and +literal meaning of this declaration. It was obviously unreasonable, the +mere cry of exaggerated grief. He threw over it the mantle of his +marital indulgence. The mind of Mr Verloc lacked profundity. Under the +mistaken impression that the value of individuals consists in what they +are in themselves, he could not possibly comprehend the value of Stevie +in the eyes of Mrs Verloc. She was taking it confoundedly hard, he +thought to himself. It was all the fault of that damned Heat. What did +he want to upset the woman for? But she mustn't be allowed, for her own +good, to carry on so till she got quite beside herself. + +"Look here! You can't sit like this in the shop," he said with affected +severity, in which there was some real annoyance; for urgent practical +matters must be talked over if they had to sit up all night. "Somebody +might come in at any minute," he added, and waited again. No effect was +produced, and the idea of the finality of death occurred to Mr Verloc +during the pause. He changed his tone. "Come. This won't bring him +back," he said gently, feeling ready to take her in his arms and press +her to his breast, where impatience and compassion dwelt side by side. +But except for a short shudder Mrs Verloc remained apparently unaffected +by the force of that terrible truism. It was Mr Verloc himself who was +moved. He was moved in his simplicity to urge moderation by asserting +the claims of his own personality. + +"Do be reasonable, Winnie. What would it have been if you had lost me!" + +He had vaguely expected to hear her cry out. But she did not budge. She +leaned back a little, quieted down to a complete unreadable stillness. Mr +Verloc's heart began to beat faster with exasperation and something +resembling alarm. He laid his hand on her shoulder, saying: + +"Don't be a fool, Winnie." + +She gave no sign. It was impossible to talk to any purpose with a woman +whose face one cannot see. Mr Verloc caught hold of his wife's wrists. +But her hands seemed glued fast. She swayed forward bodily to his tug, +and nearly went off the chair. Startled to feel her so helplessly limp, +he was trying to put her back on the chair when she stiffened suddenly +all over, tore herself out of his hands, ran out of the shop, across the +parlour, and into the kitchen. This was very swift. He had just a +glimpse of her face and that much of her eyes that he knew she had not +looked at him. + +It all had the appearance of a struggle for the possession of a chair, +because Mr Verloc instantly took his wife's place in it. Mr Verloc did +not cover his face with his hands, but a sombre thoughtfulness veiled his +features. A term of imprisonment could not be avoided. He did not wish +now to avoid it. A prison was a place as safe from certain unlawful +vengeances as the grave, with this advantage, that in a prison there is +room for hope. What he saw before him was a term of imprisonment, an +early release and then life abroad somewhere, such as he had contemplated +already, in case of failure. Well, it was a failure, if not exactly the +sort of failure he had feared. It had been so near success that he could +have positively terrified Mr Vladimir out of his ferocious scoffing with +this proof of occult efficiency. So at least it seemed now to Mr Verloc. +His prestige with the Embassy would have been immense if--if his wife had +not had the unlucky notion of sewing on the address inside Stevie's +overcoat. Mr Verloc, who was no fool, had soon perceived the +extraordinary character of the influence he had over Stevie, though he +did not understand exactly its origin--the doctrine of his supreme wisdom +and goodness inculcated by two anxious women. In all the eventualities +he had foreseen Mr Verloc had calculated with correct insight on Stevie's +instinctive loyalty and blind discretion. The eventuality he had not +foreseen had appalled him as a humane man and a fond husband. From every +other point of view it was rather advantageous. Nothing can equal the +everlasting discretion of death. Mr Verloc, sitting perplexed and +frightened in the small parlour of the Cheshire Cheese, could not help +acknowledging that to himself, because his sensibility did not stand in +the way of his judgment. Stevie's violent disintegration, however +disturbing to think about, only assured the success; for, of course, the +knocking down of a wall was not the aim of Mr Vladimir's menaces, but the +production of a moral effect. With much trouble and distress on Mr +Verloc's part the effect might be said to have been produced. When, +however, most unexpectedly, it came home to roost in Brett Street, Mr +Verloc, who had been struggling like a man in a nightmare for the +preservation of his position, accepted the blow in the spirit of a +convinced fatalist. The position was gone through no one's fault really. +A small, tiny fact had done it. It was like slipping on a bit of orange +peel in the dark and breaking your leg. + +Mr Verloc drew a weary breath. He nourished no resentment against his +wife. He thought: She will have to look after the shop while they keep +me locked up. And thinking also how cruelly she would miss Stevie at +first, he felt greatly concerned about her health and spirits. How would +she stand her solitude--absolutely alone in that house? It would not do +for her to break down while he was locked up? What would become of the +shop then? The shop was an asset. Though Mr Verloc's fatalism accepted +his undoing as a secret agent, he had no mind to be utterly ruined, +mostly, it must be owned, from regard for his wife. + +Silent, and out of his line of sight in the kitchen, she frightened him. +If only she had had her mother with her. But that silly old woman--An +angry dismay possessed Mr Verloc. He must talk with his wife. He could +tell her certainly that a man does get desperate under certain +circumstances. But he did not go incontinently to impart to her that +information. First of all, it was clear to him that this evening was no +time for business. He got up to close the street door and put the gas +out in the shop. + +Having thus assured a solitude around his hearthstone Mr Verloc walked +into the parlour, and glanced down into the kitchen. Mrs Verloc was +sitting in the place where poor Stevie usually established himself of an +evening with paper and pencil for the pastime of drawing these +coruscations of innumerable circles suggesting chaos and eternity. Her +arms were folded on the table, and her head was lying on her arms. Mr +Verloc contemplated her back and the arrangement of her hair for a time, +then walked away from the kitchen door. Mrs Verloc's philosophical, +almost disdainful incuriosity, the foundation of their accord in domestic +life made it extremely difficult to get into contact with her, now this +tragic necessity had arisen. Mr Verloc felt this difficulty acutely. He +turned around the table in the parlour with his usual air of a large +animal in a cage. + +Curiosity being one of the forms of self-revelation,--a systematically +incurious person remains always partly mysterious. Every time he passed +near the door Mr Verloc glanced at his wife uneasily. It was not that he +was afraid of her. Mr Verloc imagined himself loved by that woman. But +she had not accustomed him to make confidences. And the confidence he +had to make was of a profound psychological order. How with his want of +practice could he tell her what he himself felt but vaguely: that there +are conspiracies of fatal destiny, that a notion grows in a mind +sometimes till it acquires an outward existence, an independent power of +its own, and even a suggestive voice? He could not inform her that a man +may be haunted by a fat, witty, clean-shaved face till the wildest +expedient to get rid of it appears a child of wisdom. + +On this mental reference to a First Secretary of a great Embassy, Mr +Verloc stopped in the doorway, and looking down into the kitchen with an +angry face and clenched fists, addressed his wife. + +"You don't know what a brute I had to deal with." + +He started off to make another perambulation of the table; then when he +had come to the door again he stopped, glaring in from the height of two +steps. + +"A silly, jeering, dangerous brute, with no more sense than--After all +these years! A man like me! And I have been playing my head at that +game. You didn't know. Quite right, too. What was the good of telling +you that I stood the risk of having a knife stuck into me any time these +seven years we've been married? I am not a chap to worry a woman that's +fond of me. You had no business to know." Mr Verloc took another turn +round the parlour, fuming. + +"A venomous beast," he began again from the doorway. "Drive me out into +a ditch to starve for a joke. I could see he thought it was a damned +good joke. A man like me! Look here! Some of the highest in the world +got to thank me for walking on their two legs to this day. That's the +man you've got married to, my girl!" + +He perceived that his wife had sat up. Mrs Verloc's arms remained lying +stretched on the table. Mr Verloc watched at her back as if he could +read there the effect of his words. + +"There isn't a murdering plot for the last eleven years that I hadn't my +finger in at the risk of my life. There's scores of these revolutionists +I've sent off, with their bombs in their blamed pockets, to get +themselves caught on the frontier. The old Baron knew what I was worth +to his country. And here suddenly a swine comes along--an ignorant, +overbearing swine." + +Mr Verloc, stepping slowly down two steps, entered the kitchen, took a +tumbler off the dresser, and holding it in his hand, approached the sink, +without looking at his wife. "It wasn't the old Baron who would have had +the wicked folly of getting me to call on him at eleven in the morning. +There are two or three in this town that, if they had seen me going in, +would have made no bones about knocking me on the head sooner or later. +It was a silly, murderous trick to expose for nothing a man--like me." + +Mr Verloc, turning on the tap above the sink, poured three glasses of +water, one after another, down his throat to quench the fires of his +indignation. Mr Vladimir's conduct was like a hot brand which set his +internal economy in a blaze. He could not get over the disloyalty of it. +This man, who would not work at the usual hard tasks which society sets +to its humbler members, had exercised his secret industry with an +indefatigable devotion. There was in Mr Verloc a fund of loyalty. He +had been loyal to his employers, to the cause of social stability,--and +to his affections too--as became apparent when, after standing the +tumbler in the sink, he turned about, saying: + +"If I hadn't thought of you I would have taken the bullying brute by the +throat and rammed his head into the fireplace. I'd have been more than a +match for that pink-faced, smooth-shaved--" + +Mr Verloc, neglected to finish the sentence, as if there could be no +doubt of the terminal word. For the first time in his life he was taking +that incurious woman into his confidence. The singularity of the event, +the force and importance of the personal feelings aroused in the course +of this confession, drove Stevie's fate clean out of Mr Verloc's mind. +The boy's stuttering existence of fears and indignations, together with +the violence of his end, had passed out of Mr Verloc's mental sight for a +time. For that reason, when he looked up he was startled by the +inappropriate character of his wife's stare. It was not a wild stare, +and it was not inattentive, but its attention was peculiar and not +satisfactory, inasmuch that it seemed concentrated upon some point beyond +Mr Verloc's person. The impression was so strong that Mr Verloc glanced +over his shoulder. There was nothing behind him: there was just the +whitewashed wall. The excellent husband of Winnie Verloc saw no writing +on the wall. He turned to his wife again, repeating, with some emphasis: + +"I would have taken him by the throat. As true as I stand here, if I +hadn't thought of you then I would have half choked the life out of the +brute before I let him get up. And don't you think he would have been +anxious to call the police either. He wouldn't have dared. You +understand why--don't you?" + +He blinked at his wife knowingly. + +"No," said Mrs Verloc in an unresonant voice, and without looking at him +at all. "What are you talking about?" + +A great discouragement, the result of fatigue, came upon Mr Verloc. He +had had a very full day, and his nerves had been tried to the utmost. +After a month of maddening worry, ending in an unexpected catastrophe, +the storm-tossed spirit of Mr Verloc longed for repose. His career as a +secret agent had come to an end in a way no one could have foreseen; +only, now, perhaps he could manage to get a night's sleep at last. But +looking at his wife, he doubted it. She was taking it very hard--not at +all like herself, he thought. He made an effort to speak. + +"You'll have to pull yourself together, my girl," he said +sympathetically. "What's done can't be undone." + +Mrs Verloc gave a slight start, though not a muscle of her white face +moved in the least. Mr Verloc, who was not looking at her, continued +ponderously. + +"You go to bed now. What you want is a good cry." + +This opinion had nothing to recommend it but the general consent of +mankind. It is universally understood that, as if it were nothing more +substantial than vapour floating in the sky, every emotion of a woman is +bound to end in a shower. And it is very probable that had Stevie died +in his bed under her despairing gaze, in her protecting arms, Mrs +Verloc's grief would have found relief in a flood of bitter and pure +tears. Mrs Verloc, in common with other human beings, was provided with +a fund of unconscious resignation sufficient to meet the normal +manifestation of human destiny. Without "troubling her head about it," +she was aware that it "did not stand looking into very much." But the +lamentable circumstances of Stevie's end, which to Mr Verloc's mind had +only an episodic character, as part of a greater disaster, dried her +tears at their very source. It was the effect of a white-hot iron drawn +across her eyes; at the same time her heart, hardened and chilled into a +lump of ice, kept her body in an inward shudder, set her features into a +frozen contemplative immobility addressed to a whitewashed wall with no +writing on it. The exigencies of Mrs Verloc's temperament, which, when +stripped of its philosophical reserve, was maternal and violent, forced +her to roll a series of thoughts in her motionless head. These thoughts +were rather imagined than expressed. Mrs Verloc was a woman of +singularly few words, either for public or private use. With the rage +and dismay of a betrayed woman, she reviewed the tenor of her life in +visions concerned mostly with Stevie's difficult existence from its +earliest days. It was a life of single purpose and of a noble unity of +inspiration, like those rare lives that have left their mark on the +thoughts and feelings of mankind. But the visions of Mrs Verloc lacked +nobility and magnificence. She saw herself putting the boy to bed by the +light of a single candle on the deserted top floor of a "business house," +dark under the roof and scintillating exceedingly with lights and cut +glass at the level of the street like a fairy palace. That meretricious +splendour was the only one to be met in Mrs Verloc's visions. She +remembered brushing the boy's hair and tying his pinafores--herself in a +pinafore still; the consolations administered to a small and badly scared +creature by another creature nearly as small but not quite so badly +scared; she had the vision of the blows intercepted (often with her own +head), of a door held desperately shut against a man's rage (not for very +long); of a poker flung once (not very far), which stilled that +particular storm into the dumb and awful silence which follows a thunder- +clap. And all these scenes of violence came and went accompanied by the +unrefined noise of deep vociferations proceeding from a man wounded in +his paternal pride, declaring himself obviously accursed since one of his +kids was a "slobbering idjut and the other a wicked she-devil." It was +of her that this had been said many years ago. + +Mrs Verloc heard the words again in a ghostly fashion, and then the +dreary shadow of the Belgravian mansion descended upon her shoulders. It +was a crushing memory, an exhausting vision of countless breakfast trays +carried up and down innumerable stairs, of endless haggling over pence, +of the endless drudgery of sweeping, dusting, cleaning, from basement to +attics; while the impotent mother, staggering on swollen legs, cooked in +a grimy kitchen, and poor Stevie, the unconscious presiding genius of all +their toil, blacked the gentlemen's boots in the scullery. But this +vision had a breath of a hot London summer in it, and for a central +figure a young man wearing his Sunday best, with a straw hat on his dark +head and a wooden pipe in his mouth. Affectionate and jolly, he was a +fascinating companion for a voyage down the sparkling stream of life; +only his boat was very small. There was room in it for a girl-partner at +the oar, but no accommodation for passengers. He was allowed to drift +away from the threshold of the Belgravian mansion while Winnie averted +her tearful eyes. He was not a lodger. The lodger was Mr Verloc, +indolent, and keeping late hours, sleepily jocular of a morning from +under his bed-clothes, but with gleams of infatuation in his heavy lidded +eyes, and always with some money in his pockets. There was no sparkle of +any kind on the lazy stream of his life. It flowed through secret +places. But his barque seemed a roomy craft, and his taciturn +magnanimity accepted as a matter of course the presence of passengers. + +Mrs Verloc pursued the visions of seven years' security for Stevie, +loyally paid for on her part; of security growing into confidence, into a +domestic feeling, stagnant and deep like a placid pool, whose guarded +surface hardly shuddered on the occasional passage of Comrade Ossipon, +the robust anarchist with shamelessly inviting eyes, whose glance had a +corrupt clearness sufficient to enlighten any woman not absolutely +imbecile. + +A few seconds only had elapsed since the last word had been uttered aloud +in the kitchen, and Mrs Verloc was staring already at the vision of an +episode not more than a fortnight old. With eyes whose pupils were +extremely dilated she stared at the vision of her husband and poor Stevie +walking up Brett Street side by side away from the shop. It was the last +scene of an existence created by Mrs Verloc's genius; an existence +foreign to all grace and charm, without beauty and almost without +decency, but admirable in the continuity of feeling and tenacity of +purpose. And this last vision has such plastic relief, such nearness of +form, such a fidelity of suggestive detail, that it wrung from Mrs Verloc +an anguished and faint murmur, reproducing the supreme illusion of her +life, an appalled murmur that died out on her blanched lips. + +"Might have been father and son." + +Mr Verloc stopped, and raised a care-worn face. "Eh? What did you say?" +he asked. Receiving no reply, he resumed his sinister tramping. Then +with a menacing flourish of a thick, fleshy fist, he burst out: + +"Yes. The Embassy people. A pretty lot, ain't they! Before a week's +out I'll make some of them wish themselves twenty feet underground. Eh? +What?" + +He glanced sideways, with his head down. Mrs Verloc gazed at the +whitewashed wall. A blank wall--perfectly blank. A blankness to run at +and dash your head against. Mrs Verloc remained immovably seated. She +kept still as the population of half the globe would keep still in +astonishment and despair, were the sun suddenly put out in the summer sky +by the perfidy of a trusted providence. + +"The Embassy," Mr Verloc began again, after a preliminary grimace which +bared his teeth wolfishly. "I wish I could get loose in there with a +cudgel for half-an-hour. I would keep on hitting till there wasn't a +single unbroken bone left amongst the whole lot. But never mind, I'll +teach them yet what it means trying to throw out a man like me to rot in +the streets. I've a tongue in my head. All the world shall know what +I've done for them. I am not afraid. I don't care. Everything'll come +out. Every damned thing. Let them look out!" + +In these terms did Mr Verloc declare his thirst for revenge. It was a +very appropriate revenge. It was in harmony with the promptings of Mr +Verloc's genius. It had also the advantage of being within the range of +his powers and of adjusting itself easily to the practice of his life, +which had consisted precisely in betraying the secret and unlawful +proceedings of his fellow-men. Anarchists or diplomats were all one to +him. Mr Verloc was temperamentally no respecter of persons. His scorn +was equally distributed over the whole field of his operations. But as a +member of a revolutionary proletariat--which he undoubtedly was--he +nourished a rather inimical sentiment against social distinction. + +"Nothing on earth can stop me now," he added, and paused, looking fixedly +at his wife, who was looking fixedly at a blank wall. + +The silence in the kitchen was prolonged, and Mr Verloc felt +disappointed. He had expected his wife to say something. But Mrs +Verloc's lips, composed in their usual form, preserved a statuesque +immobility like the rest of her face. And Mr Verloc was disappointed. +Yet the occasion did not, he recognised, demand speech from her. She was +a woman of very few words. For reasons involved in the very foundation +of his psychology, Mr Verloc was inclined to put his trust in any woman +who had given herself to him. Therefore he trusted his wife. Their +accord was perfect, but it was not precise. It was a tacit accord, +congenial to Mrs Verloc's incuriosity and to Mr Verloc's habits of mind, +which were indolent and secret. They refrained from going to the bottom +of facts and motives. + +This reserve, expressing, in a way, their profound confidence in each +other, introduced at the same time a certain element of vagueness into +their intimacy. No system of conjugal relations is perfect. Mr Verloc +presumed that his wife had understood him, but he would have been glad to +hear her say what she thought at the moment. It would have been a +comfort. + +There were several reasons why this comfort was denied him. There was a +physical obstacle: Mrs Verloc had no sufficient command over her voice. +She did not see any alternative between screaming and silence, and +instinctively she chose the silence. Winnie Verloc was temperamentally a +silent person. And there was the paralysing atrocity of the thought +which occupied her. Her cheeks were blanched, her lips ashy, her +immobility amazing. And she thought without looking at Mr Verloc: "This +man took the boy away to murder him. He took the boy away from his home +to murder him. He took the boy away from me to murder him!" + +Mrs Verloc's whole being was racked by that inconclusive and maddening +thought. It was in her veins, in her bones, in the roots of her hair. +Mentally she assumed the biblical attitude of mourning--the covered face, +the rent garments; the sound of wailing and lamentation filled her head. +But her teeth were violently clenched, and her tearless eyes were hot +with rage, because she was not a submissive creature. The protection she +had extended over her brother had been in its origin of a fierce an +indignant complexion. She had to love him with a militant love. She had +battled for him--even against herself. His loss had the bitterness of +defeat, with the anguish of a baffled passion. It was not an ordinary +stroke of death. Moreover, it was not death that took Stevie from her. +It was Mr Verloc who took him away. She had seen him. She had watched +him, without raising a hand, take the boy away. And she had let him go, +like--like a fool--a blind fool. Then after he had murdered the boy he +came home to her. Just came home like any other man would come home to +his wife. . . . + +Through her set teeth Mrs Verloc muttered at the wall: + +"And I thought he had caught a cold." + +Mr Verloc heard these words and appropriated them. + +"It was nothing," he said moodily. "I was upset. I was upset on your +account." + +Mrs Verloc, turning her head slowly, transferred her stare from the wall +to her husband's person. Mr Verloc, with the tips of his fingers between +his lips, was looking on the ground. + +"Can't be helped," he mumbled, letting his hand fall. "You must pull +yourself together. You'll want all your wits about you. It is you who +brought the police about our ears. Never mind, I won't say anything more +about it," continued Mr Verloc magnanimously. "You couldn't know." + +"I couldn't," breathed out Mrs Verloc. It was as if a corpse had spoken. +Mr Verloc took up the thread of his discourse. + +"I don't blame you. I'll make them sit up. Once under lock and key it +will be safe enough for me to talk--you understand. You must reckon on +me being two years away from you," he continued, in a tone of sincere +concern. "It will be easier for you than for me. You'll have something +to do, while I--Look here, Winnie, what you must do is to keep this +business going for two years. You know enough for that. You've a good +head on you. I'll send you word when it's time to go about trying to +sell. You'll have to be extra careful. The comrades will be keeping an +eye on you all the time. You'll have to be as artful as you know how, +and as close as the grave. No one must know what you are going to do. I +have no mind to get a knock on the head or a stab in the back directly I +am let out." + +Thus spoke Mr Verloc, applying his mind with ingenuity and forethought to +the problems of the future. His voice was sombre, because he had a +correct sentiment of the situation. Everything which he did not wish to +pass had come to pass. The future had become precarious. His judgment, +perhaps, had been momentarily obscured by his dread of Mr Vladimir's +truculent folly. A man somewhat over forty may be excusably thrown into +considerable disorder by the prospect of losing his employment, +especially if the man is a secret agent of political police, dwelling +secure in the consciousness of his high value and in the esteem of high +personages. He was excusable. + +Now the thing had ended in a crash. Mr Verloc was cool; but he was not +cheerful. A secret agent who throws his secrecy to the winds from desire +of vengeance, and flaunts his achievements before the public eye, becomes +the mark for desperate and bloodthirsty indignations. Without unduly +exaggerating the danger, Mr Verloc tried to bring it clearly before his +wife's mind. He repeated that he had no intention to let the +revolutionises do away with him. + +He looked straight into his wife's eyes. The enlarged pupils of the +woman received his stare into their unfathomable depths. + +"I am too fond of you for that," he said, with a little nervous laugh. + +A faint flush coloured Mrs Verloc's ghastly and motionless face. Having +done with the visions of the past, she had not only heard, but had also +understood the words uttered by her husband. By their extreme disaccord +with her mental condition these words produced on her a slightly +suffocating effect. Mrs Verloc's mental condition had the merit of +simplicity; but it was not sound. It was governed too much by a fixed +idea. Every nook and cranny of her brain was filled with the thought +that this man, with whom she had lived without distaste for seven years, +had taken the "poor boy" away from her in order to kill him--the man to +whom she had grown accustomed in body and mind; the man whom she had +trusted, took the boy away to kill him! In its form, in its substance, +in its effect, which was universal, altering even the aspect of inanimate +things, it was a thought to sit still and marvel at for ever and ever. +Mrs Verloc sat still. And across that thought (not across the kitchen) +the form of Mr Verloc went to and fro, familiarly in hat and overcoat, +stamping with his boots upon her brain. He was probably talking too; but +Mrs Verloc's thought for the most part covered the voice. + +Now and then, however, the voice would make itself heard. Several +connected words emerged at times. Their purport was generally hopeful. +On each of these occasions Mrs Verloc's dilated pupils, losing their far- +off fixity, followed her husband's movements with the effect of black +care and, impenetrable attention. Well informed upon all matters +relating to his secret calling, Mr Verloc augured well for the success of +his plans and combinations. He really believed that it would be upon the +whole easy for him to escape the knife of infuriated revolutionists. He +had exaggerated the strength of their fury and the length of their arm +(for professional purposes) too often to have many illusions one way or +the other. For to exaggerate with judgment one must begin by measuring +with nicety. He knew also how much virtue and how much infamy is +forgotten in two years--two long years. His first really confidential +discourse to his wife was optimistic from conviction. He also thought it +good policy to display all the assurance he could muster. It would put +heart into the poor woman. On his liberation, which, harmonising with +the whole tenor of his life, would be secret, of course, they would +vanish together without loss of time. As to covering up the tracks, he +begged his wife to trust him for that. He knew how it was to be done so +that the devil himself-- + +He waved his hand. He seemed to boast. He wished only to put heart into +her. It was a benevolent intention, but Mr Verloc had the misfortune not +to be in accord with his audience. + +The self-confident tone grew upon Mrs Verloc's ear which let most of the +words go by; for what were words to her now? What could words do to her, +for good or evil in the face of her fixed idea? Her black glance +followed that man who was asserting his impunity--the man who had taken +poor Stevie from home to kill him somewhere. Mrs Verloc could not +remember exactly where, but her heart began to beat very perceptibly. + +Mr Verloc, in a soft and conjugal tone, was now expressing his firm +belief that there were yet a good few years of quiet life before them +both. He did not go into the question of means. A quiet life it must be +and, as it were, nestling in the shade, concealed among men whose flesh +is grass; modest, like the life of violets. The words used by Mr Verloc +were: "Lie low for a bit." And far from England, of course. It was not +clear whether Mr Verloc had in his mind Spain or South America; but at +any rate somewhere abroad. + +This last word, falling into Mrs Verloc's ear, produced a definite +impression. This man was talking of going abroad. The impression was +completely disconnected; and such is the force of mental habit that Mrs +Verloc at once and automatically asked herself: "And what of Stevie?" + +It was a sort of forgetfulness; but instantly she became aware that there +was no longer any occasion for anxiety on that score. There would never +be any occasion any more. The poor boy had been taken out and killed. +The poor boy was dead. + +This shaking piece of forgetfulness stimulated Mrs Verloc's intelligence. +She began to perceive certain consequences which would have surprised Mr +Verloc. There was no need for her now to stay there, in that kitchen, in +that house, with that man--since the boy was gone for ever. No need +whatever. And on that Mrs Verloc rose as if raised by a spring. But +neither could she see what there was to keep her in the world at all. And +this inability arrested her. Mr Verloc watched her with marital +solicitude. + +"You're looking more like yourself," he said uneasily. Something +peculiar in the blackness of his wife's eyes disturbed his optimism. At +that precise moment Mrs Verloc began to look upon herself as released +from all earthly ties. + +She had her freedom. Her contract with existence, as represented by that +man standing over there, was at an end. She was a free woman. Had this +view become in some way perceptible to Mr Verloc he would have been +extremely shocked. In his affairs of the heart Mr Verloc had been always +carelessly generous, yet always with no other idea than that of being +loved for himself. Upon this matter, his ethical notions being in +agreement with his vanity, he was completely incorrigible. That this +should be so in the case of his virtuous and legal connection he was +perfectly certain. He had grown older, fatter, heavier, in the belief +that he lacked no fascination for being loved for his own sake. When he +saw Mrs Verloc starting to walk out of the kitchen without a word he was +disappointed. + +"Where are you going to?" he called out rather sharply. "Upstairs?" + +Mrs Verloc in the doorway turned at the voice. An instinct of prudence +born of fear, the excessive fear of being approached and touched by that +man, induced her to nod at him slightly (from the height of two steps), +with a stir of the lips which the conjugal optimism of Mr Verloc took for +a wan and uncertain smile. + +"That's right," he encouraged her gruffly. "Rest and quiet's what you +want. Go on. It won't be long before I am with you." + +Mrs Verloc, the free woman who had had really no idea where she was going +to, obeyed the suggestion with rigid steadiness. + +Mr Verloc watched her. She disappeared up the stairs. He was +disappointed. There was that within him which would have been more +satisfied if she had been moved to throw herself upon his breast. But he +was generous and indulgent. Winnie was always undemonstrative and +silent. Neither was Mr Verloc himself prodigal of endearments and words +as a rule. But this was not an ordinary evening. It was an occasion +when a man wants to be fortified and strengthened by open proofs of +sympathy and affection. Mr Verloc sighed, and put out the gas in the +kitchen. Mr Verloc's sympathy with his wife was genuine and intense. It +almost brought tears into his eyes as he stood in the parlour reflecting +on the loneliness hanging over her head. In this mood Mr Verloc missed +Stevie very much out of a difficult world. He thought mournfully of his +end. If only that lad had not stupidly destroyed himself! + +The sensation of unappeasable hunger, not unknown after the strain of a +hazardous enterprise to adventurers of tougher fibre than Mr Verloc, +overcame him again. The piece of roast beef, laid out in the likeness of +funereal baked meats for Stevie's obsequies, offered itself largely to +his notice. And Mr Verloc again partook. He partook ravenously, without +restraint and decency, cutting thick slices with the sharp carving knife, +and swallowing them without bread. In the course of that refection it +occurred to Mr Verloc that he was not hearing his wife move about the +bedroom as he should have done. The thought of finding her perhaps +sitting on the bed in the dark not only cut Mr Verloc's appetite, but +also took from him the inclination to follow her upstairs just yet. +Laying down the carving knife, Mr Verloc listened with careworn +attention. + +He was comforted by hearing her move at last. She walked suddenly across +the room, and threw the window up. After a period of stillness up there, +during which he figured her to himself with her head out, he heard the +sash being lowered slowly. Then she made a few steps, and sat down. +Every resonance of his house was familiar to Mr Verloc, who was +thoroughly domesticated. When next he heard his wife's footsteps +overhead he knew, as well as if he had seen her doing it, that she had +been putting on her walking shoes. Mr Verloc wriggled his shoulders +slightly at this ominous symptom, and moving away from the table, stood +with his back to the fireplace, his head on one side, and gnawing +perplexedly at the tips of his fingers. He kept track of her movements +by the sound. She walked here and there violently, with abrupt +stoppages, now before the chest of drawers, then in front of the +wardrobe. An immense load of weariness, the harvest of a day of shocks +and surprises, weighed Mr Verloc's energies to the ground. + +He did not raise his eyes till he heard his wife descending the stairs. +It was as he had guessed. She was dressed for going out. + +Mrs Verloc was a free woman. She had thrown open the window of the +bedroom either with the intention of screaming Murder! Help! or of +throwing herself out. For she did not exactly know what use to make of +her freedom. Her personality seemed to have been torn into two pieces, +whose mental operations did not adjust themselves very well to each +other. The street, silent and deserted from end to end, repelled her by +taking sides with that man who was so certain of his impunity. She was +afraid to shout lest no one should come. Obviously no one would come. +Her instinct of self-preservation recoiled from the depth of the fall +into that sort of slimy, deep trench. Mrs Verloc closed the window, and +dressed herself to go out into the street by another way. She was a free +woman. She had dressed herself thoroughly, down to the tying of a black +veil over her face. As she appeared before him in the light of the +parlour, Mr Verloc observed that she had even her little handbag hanging +from her left wrist. . . . Flying off to her mother, of course. + +The thought that women were wearisome creatures after all presented +itself to his fatigued brain. But he was too generous to harbour it for +more than an instant. This man, hurt cruelly in his vanity, remained +magnanimous in his conduct, allowing himself no satisfaction of a bitter +smile or of a contemptuous gesture. With true greatness of soul, he only +glanced at the wooden clock on the wall, and said in a perfectly calm but +forcible manner: + +"Five and twenty minutes past eight, Winnie. There's no sense in going +over there so late. You will never manage to get back to-night." + +Before his extended hand Mrs Verloc had stopped short. He added heavily: +"Your mother will be gone to bed before you get there. This is the sort +of news that can wait." + +Nothing was further from Mrs Verloc's thoughts than going to her mother. +She recoiled at the mere idea, and feeling a chair behind her, she obeyed +the suggestion of the touch, and sat down. Her intention had been simply +to get outside the door for ever. And if this feeling was correct, its +mental form took an unrefined shape corresponding to her origin and +station. "I would rather walk the streets all the days of my life," she +thought. But this creature, whose moral nature had been subjected to a +shock of which, in the physical order, the most violent earthquake of +history could only be a faint and languid rendering, was at the mercy of +mere trifles, of casual contacts. She sat down. With her hat and veil +she had the air of a visitor, of having looked in on Mr Verloc for a +moment. Her instant docility encouraged him, whilst her aspect of only +temporary and silent acquiescence provoked him a little. + +"Let me tell you, Winnie," he said with authority, "that your place is +here this evening. Hang it all! you brought the damned police high and +low about my ears. I don't blame you--but it's your doing all the same. +You'd better take this confounded hat off. I can't let you go out, old +girl," he added in a softened voice. + +Mrs Verloc's mind got hold of that declaration with morbid tenacity. The +man who had taken Stevie out from under her very eyes to murder him in a +locality whose name was at the moment not present to her memory would not +allow her go out. Of course he wouldn't. + +Now he had murdered Stevie he would never let her go. He would want to +keep her for nothing. And on this characteristic reasoning, having all +the force of insane logic, Mrs Verloc's disconnected wits went to work +practically. She could slip by him, open the door, run out. But he +would dash out after her, seize her round the body, drag her back into +the shop. She could scratch, kick, and bite--and stab too; but for +stabbing she wanted a knife. Mrs Verloc sat still under her black veil, +in her own house, like a masked and mysterious visitor of impenetrable +intentions. + +Mr Verloc's magnanimity was not more than human. She had exasperated him +at last. + +"Can't you say something? You have your own dodges for vexing a man. Oh +yes! I know your deaf-and-dumb trick. I've seen you at it before to- +day. But just now it won't do. And to begin with, take this damned +thing off. One can't tell whether one is talking to a dummy or to a live +woman." + +He advanced, and stretching out his hand, dragged the veil off, unmasking +a still, unreadable face, against which his nervous exasperation was +shattered like a glass bubble flung against a rock. "That's better," he +said, to cover his momentary uneasiness, and retreated back to his old +station by the mantelpiece. It never entered his head that his wife +could give him up. He felt a little ashamed of himself, for he was fond +and generous. What could he do? Everything had been said already. He +protested vehemently. + +"By heavens! You know that I hunted high and low. I ran the risk of +giving myself away to find somebody for that accursed job. And I tell +you again I couldn't find anyone crazy enough or hungry enough. What do +you take me for--a murderer, or what? The boy is gone. Do you think I +wanted him to blow himself up? He's gone. His troubles are over. Ours +are just going to begin, I tell you, precisely because he did blow +himself. I don't blame you. But just try to understand that it was a +pure accident; as much an accident as if he had been run over by a 'bus +while crossing the street." + +His generosity was not infinite, because he was a human being--and not a +monster, as Mrs Verloc believed him to be. He paused, and a snarl +lifting his moustaches above a gleam of white teeth gave him the +expression of a reflective beast, not very dangerous--a slow beast with a +sleek head, gloomier than a seal, and with a husky voice. + +"And when it comes to that, it's as much your doing as mine. That's so. +You may glare as much as you like. I know what you can do in that way. +Strike me dead if I ever would have thought of the lad for that purpose. +It was you who kept on shoving him in my way when I was half distracted +with the worry of keeping the lot of us out of trouble. What the devil +made you? One would think you were doing it on purpose. And I am damned +if I know that you didn't. There's no saying how much of what's going on +you have got hold of on the sly with your infernal don't-care-a-damn way +of looking nowhere in particular, and saying nothing at all. . . . " + +His husky domestic voice ceased for a while. Mrs Verloc made no reply. +Before that silence he felt ashamed of what he had said. But as often +happens to peaceful men in domestic tiffs, being ashamed he pushed +another point. + +"You have a devilish way of holding your tongue sometimes," he began +again, without raising his voice. "Enough to make some men go mad. It's +lucky for you that I am not so easily put out as some of them would be by +your deaf-and-dumb sulks. I am fond of you. But don't you go too far. +This isn't the time for it. We ought to be thinking of what we've got to +do. And I can't let you go out to-night, galloping off to your mother +with some crazy tale or other about me. I won't have it. Don't you make +any mistake about it: if you will have it that I killed the boy, then +you've killed him as much as I." + +In sincerity of feeling and openness of statement, these words went far +beyond anything that had ever been said in this home, kept up on the +wages of a secret industry eked out by the sale of more or less secret +wares: the poor expedients devised by a mediocre mankind for preserving +an imperfect society from the dangers of moral and physical corruption, +both secret too of their kind. They were spoken because Mr Verloc had +felt himself really outraged; but the reticent decencies of this home +life, nestling in a shady street behind a shop where the sun never shone, +remained apparently undisturbed. Mrs Verloc heard him out with perfect +propriety, and then rose from her chair in her hat and jacket like a +visitor at the end of a call. She advanced towards her husband, one arm +extended as if for a silent leave-taking. Her net veil dangling down by +one end on the left side of her face gave an air of disorderly formality +to her restrained movements. But when she arrived as far as the +hearthrug, Mr Verloc was no longer standing there. He had moved off in +the direction of the sofa, without raising his eyes to watch the effect +of his tirade. He was tired, resigned in a truly marital spirit. But he +felt hurt in the tender spot of his secret weakness. If she would go on +sulking in that dreadful overcharged silence--why then she must. She was +a master in that domestic art. Mr Verloc flung himself heavily upon the +sofa, disregarding as usual the fate of his hat, which, as if accustomed +to take care of itself, made for a safe shelter under the table. + +He was tired. The last particle of his nervous force had been expended +in the wonders and agonies of this day full of surprising failures coming +at the end of a harassing month of scheming and insomnia. He was tired. +A man isn't made of stone. Hang everything! Mr Verloc reposed +characteristically, clad in his outdoor garments. One side of his open +overcoat was lying partly on the ground. Mr Verloc wallowed on his back. +But he longed for a more perfect rest--for sleep--for a few hours of +delicious forgetfulness. That would come later. Provisionally he +rested. And he thought: "I wish she would give over this damned +nonsense. It's exasperating." + +There must have been something imperfect in Mrs Verloc's sentiment of +regained freedom. Instead of taking the way of the door she leaned back, +with her shoulders against the tablet of the mantelpiece, as a wayfarer +rests against a fence. A tinge of wildness in her aspect was derived +from the black veil hanging like a rag against her cheek, and from the +fixity of her black gaze where the light of the room was absorbed and +lost without the trace of a single gleam. This woman, capable of a +bargain the mere suspicion of which would have been infinitely shocking +to Mr Verloc's idea of love, remained irresolute, as if scrupulously +aware of something wanting on her part for the formal closing of the +transaction. + +On the sofa Mr Verloc wriggled his shoulders into perfect comfort, and +from the fulness of his heart emitted a wish which was certainly as pious +as anything likely to come from such a source. + +"I wish to goodness," he growled huskily, "I had never seen Greenwich +Park or anything belonging to it." + +The veiled sound filled the small room with its moderate volume, well +adapted to the modest nature of the wish. The waves of air of the proper +length, propagated in accordance with correct mathematical formulas, +flowed around all the inanimate things in the room, lapped against Mrs +Verloc's head as if it had been a head of stone. And incredible as it +may appear, the eyes of Mrs Verloc seemed to grow still larger. The +audible wish of Mr Verloc's overflowing heart flowed into an empty place +in his wife's memory. Greenwich Park. A park! That's where the boy was +killed. A park--smashed branches, torn leaves, gravel, bits of brotherly +flesh and bone, all spouting up together in the manner of a firework. She +remembered now what she had heard, and she remembered it pictorially. +They had to gather him up with the shovel. Trembling all over with +irrepressible shudders, she saw before her the very implement with its +ghastly load scraped up from the ground. Mrs Verloc closed her eyes +desperately, throwing upon that vision the night of her eyelids, where +after a rainlike fall of mangled limbs the decapitated head of Stevie +lingered suspended alone, and fading out slowly like the last star of a +pyrotechnic display. Mrs Verloc opened her eyes. + +Her face was no longer stony. Anybody could have noted the subtle change +on her features, in the stare of her eyes, giving her a new and startling +expression; an expression seldom observed by competent persons under the +conditions of leisure and security demanded for thorough analysis, but +whose meaning could not be mistaken at a glance. Mrs Verloc's doubts as +to the end of the bargain no longer existed; her wits, no longer +disconnected, were working under the control of her will. But Mr Verloc +observed nothing. He was reposing in that pathetic condition of optimism +induced by excess of fatigue. He did not want any more trouble--with his +wife too--of all people in the world. He had been unanswerable in his +vindication. He was loved for himself. The present phase of her silence +he interpreted favourably. This was the time to make it up with her. The +silence had lasted long enough. He broke it by calling to her in an +undertone. + +"Winnie." + +"Yes," answered obediently Mrs Verloc the free woman. She commanded her +wits now, her vocal organs; she felt herself to be in an almost +preternaturally perfect control of every fibre of her body. It was all +her own, because the bargain was at an end. She was clear sighted. She +had become cunning. She chose to answer him so readily for a purpose. +She did not wish that man to change his position on the sofa which was +very suitable to the circumstances. She succeeded. The man did not +stir. But after answering him she remained leaning negligently against +the mantelpiece in the attitude of a resting wayfarer. She was +unhurried. Her brow was smooth. The head and shoulders of Mr Verloc +were hidden from her by the high side of the sofa. She kept her eyes +fixed on his feet. + +She remained thus mysteriously still and suddenly collected till Mr +Verloc was heard with an accent of marital authority, and moving slightly +to make room for her to sit on the edge of the sofa. + +"Come here," he said in a peculiar tone, which might have been the tone +of brutality, but, was intimately known to Mrs Verloc as the note of +wooing. + +She started forward at once, as if she were still a loyal woman bound to +that man by an unbroken contract. Her right hand skimmed slightly the +end of the table, and when she had passed on towards the sofa the carving +knife had vanished without the slightest sound from the side of the dish. +Mr Verloc heard the creaky plank in the floor, and was content. He +waited. Mrs Verloc was coming. As if the homeless soul of Stevie had +flown for shelter straight to the breast of his sister, guardian and +protector, the resemblance of her face with that of her brother grew at +every step, even to the droop of the lower lip, even to the slight +divergence of the eyes. But Mr Verloc did not see that. He was lying on +his back and staring upwards. He saw partly on the ceiling and partly on +the wall the moving shadow of an arm with a clenched hand holding a +carving knife. It flickered up and down. It's movements were leisurely. +They were leisurely enough for Mr Verloc to recognise the limb and the +weapon. + +They were leisurely enough for him to take in the full meaning of the +portent, and to taste the flavour of death rising in his gorge. His wife +had gone raving mad--murdering mad. They were leisurely enough for the +first paralysing effect of this discovery to pass away before a resolute +determination to come out victorious from the ghastly struggle with that +armed lunatic. They were leisurely enough for Mr Verloc to elaborate a +plan of defence involving a dash behind the table, and the felling of the +woman to the ground with a heavy wooden chair. But they were not +leisurely enough to allow Mr Verloc the time to move either hand or foot. +The knife was already planted in his breast. It met no resistance on its +way. Hazard has such accuracies. Into that plunging blow, delivered +over the side of the couch, Mrs Verloc had put all the inheritance of her +immemorial and obscure descent, the simple ferocity of the age of +caverns, and the unbalanced nervous fury of the age of bar-rooms. Mr +Verloc, the Secret Agent, turning slightly on his side with the force of +the blow, expired without stirring a limb, in the muttered sound of the +word "Don't" by way of protest. + +Mrs Verloc had let go the knife, and her extraordinary resemblance to her +late brother had faded, had become very ordinary now. She drew a deep +breath, the first easy breath since Chief Inspector Heat had exhibited to +her the labelled piece of Stevie's overcoat. She leaned forward on her +folded arms over the side of the sofa. She adopted that easy attitude +not in order to watch or gloat over the body of Mr Verloc, but because of +the undulatory and swinging movements of the parlour, which for some time +behaved as though it were at sea in a tempest. She was giddy but calm. +She had become a free woman with a perfection of freedom which left her +nothing to desire and absolutely nothing to do, since Stevie's urgent +claim on her devotion no longer existed. Mrs Verloc, who thought in +images, was not troubled now by visions, because she did not think at +all. And she did not move. She was a woman enjoying her complete +irresponsibility and endless leisure, almost in the manner of a corpse. +She did not move, she did not think. Neither did the mortal envelope of +the late Mr Verloc reposing on the sofa. Except for the fact that Mrs +Verloc breathed these two would have been perfect in accord: that accord +of prudent reserve without superfluous words, and sparing of signs, which +had been the foundation of their respectable home life. For it had been +respectable, covering by a decent reticence the problems that may arise +in the practice of a secret profession and the commerce of shady wares. +To the last its decorum had remained undisturbed by unseemly shrieks and +other misplaced sincerities of conduct. And after the striking of the +blow, this respectability was continued in immobility and silence. + +Nothing moved in the parlour till Mrs Verloc raised her head slowly and +looked at the clock with inquiring mistrust. She had become aware of a +ticking sound in the room. It grew upon her ear, while she remembered +clearly that the clock on the wall was silent, had no audible tick. What +did it mean by beginning to tick so loudly all of a sudden? Its face +indicated ten minutes to nine. Mrs Verloc cared nothing for time, and +the ticking went on. She concluded it could not be the clock, and her +sullen gaze moved along the walls, wavered, and became vague, while she +strained her hearing to locate the sound. Tic, tic, tic. + +After listening for some time Mrs Verloc lowered her gaze deliberately on +her husband's body. It's attitude of repose was so home-like and +familiar that she could do so without feeling embarrassed by any +pronounced novelty in the phenomena of her home life. Mr Verloc was +taking his habitual ease. He looked comfortable. + +By the position of the body the face of Mr Verloc was not visible to Mrs +Verloc, his widow. Her fine, sleepy eyes, travelling downward on the +track of the sound, became contemplative on meeting a flat object of bone +which protruded a little beyond the edge of the sofa. It was the handle +of the domestic carving knife with nothing strange about it but its +position at right angles to Mr Verloc's waistcoat and the fact that +something dripped from it. Dark drops fell on the floorcloth one after +another, with a sound of ticking growing fast and furious like the pulse +of an insane clock. At its highest speed this ticking changed into a +continuous sound of trickling. Mrs Verloc watched that transformation +with shadows of anxiety coming and going on her face. It was a trickle, +dark, swift, thin. . . . Blood! + +At this unforeseen circumstance Mrs Verloc abandoned her pose of idleness +and irresponsibility. + +With a sudden snatch at her skirts and a faint shriek she ran to the +door, as if the trickle had been the first sign of a destroying flood. +Finding the table in her way she gave it a push with both hands as though +it had been alive, with such force that it went for some distance on its +four legs, making a loud, scraping racket, whilst the big dish with the +joint crashed heavily on the floor. + +Then all became still. Mrs Verloc on reaching the door had stopped. A +round hat disclosed in the middle of the floor by the moving of the table +rocked slightly on its crown in the wind of her flight. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Winnie Verloc, the widow of Mr Verloc, the sister of the late faithful +Stevie (blown to fragments in a state of innocence and in the conviction +of being engaged in a humanitarian enterprise), did not run beyond the +door of the parlour. She had indeed run away so far from a mere trickle +of blood, but that was a movement of instinctive repulsion. And there +she had paused, with staring eyes and lowered head. As though she had +run through long years in her flight across the small parlour, Mrs Verloc +by the door was quite a different person from the woman who had been +leaning over the sofa, a little swimmy in her head, but otherwise free to +enjoy the profound calm of idleness and irresponsibility. Mrs Verloc was +no longer giddy. Her head was steady. On the other hand, she was no +longer calm. She was afraid. + +If she avoided looking in the direction of her reposing husband it was +not because she was afraid of him. Mr Verloc was not frightful to +behold. He looked comfortable. Moreover, he was dead. Mrs Verloc +entertained no vain delusions on the subject of the dead. Nothing brings +them back, neither love nor hate. They can do nothing to you. They are +as nothing. Her mental state was tinged by a sort of austere contempt +for that man who had let himself be killed so easily. He had been the +master of a house, the husband of a woman, and the murderer of her +Stevie. And now he was of no account in every respect. He was of less +practical account than the clothing on his body, than his overcoat, than +his boots--than that hat lying on the floor. He was nothing. He was not +worth looking at. He was even no longer the murderer of poor Stevie. The +only murderer that would be found in the room when people came to look +for Mr Verloc would be--herself! + +Her hands shook so that she failed twice in the task of refastening her +veil. Mrs Verloc was no longer a person of leisure and responsibility. +She was afraid. The stabbing of Mr Verloc had been only a blow. It had +relieved the pent-up agony of shrieks strangled in her throat, of tears +dried up in her hot eyes, of the maddening and indignant rage at the +atrocious part played by that man, who was less than nothing now, in +robbing her of the boy. + +It had been an obscurely prompted blow. The blood trickling on the floor +off the handle of the knife had turned it into an extremely plain case of +murder. Mrs Verloc, who always refrained from looking deep into things, +was compelled to look into the very bottom of this thing. She saw there +no haunting face, no reproachful shade, no vision of remorse, no sort of +ideal conception. She saw there an object. That object was the gallows. +Mrs Verloc was afraid of the gallows. + +She was terrified of them ideally. Having never set eyes on that last +argument of men's justice except in illustrative woodcuts to a certain +type of tales, she first saw them erect against a black and stormy +background, festooned with chains and human bones, circled about by birds +that peck at dead men's eyes. This was frightful enough, but Mrs Verloc, +though not a well-informed woman, had a sufficient knowledge of the +institutions of her country to know that gallows are no longer erected +romantically on the banks of dismal rivers or on wind-swept headlands, +but in the yards of jails. There within four high walls, as if into a +pit, at dawn of day, the murderer was brought out to be executed, with a +horrible quietness and, as the reports in the newspapers always said, "in +the presence of the authorities." With her eyes staring on the floor, +her nostrils quivering with anguish and shame, she imagined herself all +alone amongst a lot of strange gentlemen in silk hats who were calmly +proceeding about the business of hanging her by the neck. That--never! +Never! And how was it done? The impossibility of imagining the details +of such quiet execution added something maddening to her abstract terror. +The newspapers never gave any details except one, but that one with some +affectation was always there at the end of a meagre report. Mrs Verloc +remembered its nature. It came with a cruel burning pain into her head, +as if the words "The drop given was fourteen feet" had been scratched on +her brain with a hot needle. "The drop given was fourteen feet." + +These words affected her physically too. Her throat became convulsed in +waves to resist strangulation; and the apprehension of the jerk was so +vivid that she seized her head in both hands as if to save it from being +torn off her shoulders. "The drop given was fourteen feet." No! that +must never be. She could not stand _that_. The thought of it even was +not bearable. She could not stand thinking of it. Therefore Mrs Verloc +formed the resolution to go at once and throw herself into the river off +one of the bridges. + +This time she managed to refasten her veil. With her face as if masked, +all black from head to foot except for some flowers in her hat, she +looked up mechanically at the clock. She thought it must have stopped. +She could not believe that only two minutes had passed since she had +looked at it last. Of course not. It had been stopped all the time. As +a matter of fact, only three minutes had elapsed from the moment she had +drawn the first deep, easy breath after the blow, to this moment when Mrs +Verloc formed the resolution to drown herself in the Thames. But Mrs +Verloc could not believe that. She seemed to have heard or read that +clocks and watches always stopped at the moment of murder for the undoing +of the murderer. She did not care. "To the bridge--and over I go." . . . +But her movements were slow. + +She dragged herself painfully across the shop, and had to hold on to the +handle of the door before she found the necessary fortitude to open it. +The street frightened her, since it led either to the gallows or to the +river. She floundered over the doorstep head forward, arms thrown out, +like a person falling over the parapet of a bridge. This entrance into +the open air had a foretaste of drowning; a slimy dampness enveloped her, +entered her nostrils, clung to her hair. It was not actually raining, +but each gas lamp had a rusty little halo of mist. The van and horses +were gone, and in the black street the curtained window of the carters' +eating-house made a square patch of soiled blood-red light glowing +faintly very near the level of the pavement. Mrs Verloc, dragging +herself slowly towards it, thought that she was a very friendless woman. +It was true. It was so true that, in a sudden longing to see some +friendly face, she could think of no one else but of Mrs Neale, the +charwoman. She had no acquaintances of her own. Nobody would miss her +in a social way. It must not be imagined that the Widow Verloc had +forgotten her mother. This was not so. Winnie had been a good daughter +because she had been a devoted sister. Her mother had always leaned on +her for support. No consolation or advice could be expected there. Now +that Stevie was dead the bond seemed to be broken. She could not face +the old woman with the horrible tale. Moreover, it was too far. The +river was her present destination. Mrs Verloc tried to forget her +mother. + +Each step cost her an effort of will which seemed the last possible. Mrs +Verloc had dragged herself past the red glow of the eating-house window. +"To the bridge--and over I go," she repeated to herself with fierce +obstinacy. She put out her hand just in time to steady herself against a +lamp-post. "I'll never get there before morning," she thought. The fear +of death paralysed her efforts to escape the gallows. It seemed to her +she had been staggering in that street for hours. "I'll never get +there," she thought. "They'll find me knocking about the streets. It's +too far." She held on, panting under her black veil. + +"The drop given was fourteen feet." + +She pushed the lamp-post away from her violently, and found herself +walking. But another wave of faintness overtook her like a great sea, +washing away her heart clean out of her breast. "I will never get +there," she muttered, suddenly arrested, swaying lightly where she stood. +"Never." + +And perceiving the utter impossibility of walking as far as the nearest +bridge, Mrs Verloc thought of a flight abroad. + +It came to her suddenly. Murderers escaped. They escaped abroad. Spain +or California. Mere names. The vast world created for the glory of man +was only a vast blank to Mrs Verloc. She did not know which way to turn. +Murderers had friends, relations, helpers--they had knowledge. She had +nothing. She was the most lonely of murderers that ever struck a mortal +blow. She was alone in London: and the whole town of marvels and mud, +with its maze of streets and its mass of lights, was sunk in a hopeless +night, rested at the bottom of a black abyss from which no unaided woman +could hope to scramble out. + +She swayed forward, and made a fresh start blindly, with an awful dread +of falling down; but at the end of a few steps, unexpectedly, she found a +sensation of support, of security. Raising her head, she saw a man's +face peering closely at her veil. Comrade Ossipon was not afraid of +strange women, and no feeling of false delicacy could prevent him from +striking an acquaintance with a woman apparently very much intoxicated. +Comrade Ossipon was interested in women. He held up this one between his +two large palms, peering at her in a business-like way till he heard her +say faintly "Mr Ossipon!" and then he very nearly let her drop to the +ground. + +"Mrs Verloc!" he exclaimed. "You here!" + +It seemed impossible to him that she should have been drinking. But one +never knows. He did not go into that question, but attentive not to +discourage kind fate surrendering to him the widow of Comrade Verloc, he +tried to draw her to his breast. To his astonishment she came quite +easily, and even rested on his arm for a moment before she attempted to +disengage herself. Comrade Ossipon would not be brusque with kind fate. +He withdrew his arm in a natural way. + +"You recognised me," she faltered out, standing before him, fairly steady +on her legs. + +"Of course I did," said Ossipon with perfect readiness. "I was afraid +you were going to fall. I've thought of you too often lately not to +recognise you anywhere, at any time. I've always thought of you--ever +since I first set eyes on you." + +Mrs Verloc seemed not to hear. "You were coming to the shop?" she said +nervously. + +"Yes; at once," answered Ossipon. "Directly I read the paper." + +In fact, Comrade Ossipon had been skulking for a good two hours in the +neighbourhood of Brett Street, unable to make up his mind for a bold +move. The robust anarchist was not exactly a bold conqueror. He +remembered that Mrs Verloc had never responded to his glances by the +slightest sign of encouragement. Besides, he thought the shop might be +watched by the police, and Comrade Ossipon did not wish the police to +form an exaggerated notion of his revolutionary sympathies. Even now he +did not know precisely what to do. In comparison with his usual amatory +speculations this was a big and serious undertaking. He ignored how much +there was in it and how far he would have to go in order to get hold of +what there was to get--supposing there was a chance at all. These +perplexities checking his elation imparted to his tone a soberness well +in keeping with the circumstances. + +"May I ask you where you were going?" he inquired in a subdued voice. + +"Don't ask me!" cried Mrs Verloc with a shuddering, repressed violence. +All her strong vitality recoiled from the idea of death. "Never mind +where I was going. . . ." + +Ossipon concluded that she was very much excited but perfectly sober. She +remained silent by his side for moment, then all at once she did +something which he did not expect. She slipped her hand under his arm. +He was startled by the act itself certainly, and quite as much too by the +palpably resolute character of this movement. But this being a delicate +affair, Comrade Ossipon behaved with delicacy. He contented himself by +pressing the hand slightly against his robust ribs. At the same time he +felt himself being impelled forward, and yielded to the impulse. At the +end of Brett Street he became aware of being directed to the left. He +submitted. + +The fruiterer at the corner had put out the blazing glory of his oranges +and lemons, and Brett Place was all darkness, interspersed with the misty +halos of the few lamps defining its triangular shape, with a cluster of +three lights on one stand in the middle. The dark forms of the man and +woman glided slowly arm in arm along the walls with a loverlike and +homeless aspect in the miserable night. + +"What would you say if I were to tell you that I was going to find you?" +Mrs Verloc asked, gripping his arm with force. + +"I would say that you couldn't find anyone more ready to help you in your +trouble," answered Ossipon, with a notion of making tremendous headway. +In fact, the progress of this delicate affair was almost taking his +breath away. + +"In my trouble!" Mrs Verloc repeated slowly. + +"Yes." + +"And do you know what my trouble is?" she whispered with strange +intensity. + +"Ten minutes after seeing the evening paper," explained Ossipon with +ardour, "I met a fellow whom you may have seen once or twice at the shop +perhaps, and I had a talk with him which left no doubt whatever in my +mind. Then I started for here, wondering whether you--I've been fond of +you beyond words ever since I set eyes on your face," he cried, as if +unable to command his feelings. + +Comrade Ossipon assumed correctly that no woman was capable of wholly +disbelieving such a statement. But he did not know that Mrs Verloc +accepted it with all the fierceness the instinct of self-preservation +puts into the grip of a drowning person. To the widow of Mr Verloc the +robust anarchist was like a radiant messenger of life. + +They walked slowly, in step. "I thought so," Mrs Verloc murmured +faintly. + +"You've read it in my eyes," suggested Ossipon with great assurance. + +"Yes," she breathed out into his inclined ear. + +"A love like mine could not be concealed from a woman like you," he went +on, trying to detach his mind from material considerations such as the +business value of the shop, and the amount of money Mr Verloc might have +left in the bank. He applied himself to the sentimental side of the +affair. In his heart of hearts he was a little shocked at his success. +Verloc had been a good fellow, and certainly a very decent husband as far +as one could see. However, Comrade Ossipon was not going to quarrel with +his luck for the sake of a dead man. Resolutely he suppressed his +sympathy for the ghost of Comrade Verloc, and went on. + +"I could not conceal it. I was too full of you. I daresay you could not +help seeing it in my eyes. But I could not guess it. You were always so +distant. . . ." + +"What else did you expect?" burst out Mrs Verloc. "I was a respectable +woman--" + +She paused, then added, as if speaking to herself, in sinister +resentment: "Till he made me what I am." + +Ossipon let that pass, and took up his running. "He never did seem to me +to be quite worthy of you," he began, throwing loyalty to the winds. "You +were worthy of a better fate." + +Mrs Verloc interrupted bitterly: + +"Better fate! He cheated me out of seven years of life." + +"You seemed to live so happily with him." Ossipon tried to exculpate the +lukewarmness of his past conduct. "It's that what's made me timid. You +seemed to love him. I was surprised--and jealous," he added. + +"Love him!" Mrs Verloc cried out in a whisper, full of scorn and rage. +"Love him! I was a good wife to him. I am a respectable woman. You +thought I loved him! You did! Look here, Tom--" + +The sound of this name thrilled Comrade Ossipon with pride. For his name +was Alexander, and he was called Tom by arrangement with the most +familiar of his intimates. It was a name of friendship--of moments of +expansion. He had no idea that she had ever heard it used by anybody. It +was apparent that she had not only caught it, but had treasured it in her +memory--perhaps in her heart. + +"Look here, Tom! I was a young girl. I was done up. I was tired. I +had two people depending on what I could do, and it did seem as if I +couldn't do any more. Two people--mother and the boy. He was much more +mine than mother's. I sat up nights and nights with him on my lap, all +alone upstairs, when I wasn't more than eight years old myself. And +then--He was mine, I tell you. . . . You can't understand that. No man +can understand it. What was I to do? There was a young fellow--" + +The memory of the early romance with the young butcher survived, +tenacious, like the image of a glimpsed ideal in that heart quailing +before the fear of the gallows and full of revolt against death. + +"That was the man I loved then," went on the widow of Mr Verloc. "I +suppose he could see it in my eyes too. Five and twenty shillings a +week, and his father threatened to kick him out of the business if he +made such a fool of himself as to marry a girl with a crippled mother and +a crazy idiot of a boy on her hands. But he would hang about me, till +one evening I found the courage to slam the door in his face. I had to +do it. I loved him dearly. Five and twenty shillings a week! There was +that other man--a good lodger. What is a girl to do? Could I've gone on +the streets? He seemed kind. He wanted me, anyhow. What was I to do +with mother and that poor boy? Eh? I said yes. He seemed good-natured, +he was freehanded, he had money, he never said anything. Seven +years--seven years a good wife to him, the kind, the good, the generous, +the--And he loved me. Oh yes. He loved me till I sometimes wished +myself--Seven years. Seven years a wife to him. And do you know what he +was, that dear friend of yours? Do you know what he was? He was a +devil!" + +The superhuman vehemence of that whispered statement completely stunned +Comrade Ossipon. Winnie Verloc turning about held him by both arms, +facing him under the falling mist in the darkness and solitude of Brett +Place, in which all sounds of life seemed lost as if in a triangular well +of asphalt and bricks, of blind houses and unfeeling stones. + +"No; I didn't know," he declared, with a sort of flabby stupidity, whose +comical aspect was lost upon a woman haunted by the fear of the gallows, +"but I do now. I--I understand," he floundered on, his mind speculating +as to what sort of atrocities Verloc could have practised under the +sleepy, placid appearances of his married estate. It was positively +awful. "I understand," he repeated, and then by a sudden inspiration +uttered an--"Unhappy woman!" of lofty commiseration instead of the more +familiar "Poor darling!" of his usual practice. This was no usual case. +He felt conscious of something abnormal going on, while he never lost +sight of the greatness of the stake. "Unhappy, brave woman!" + +He was glad to have discovered that variation; but he could discover +nothing else. + +"Ah, but he is dead now," was the best he could do. And he put a +remarkable amount of animosity into his guarded exclamation. Mrs Verloc +caught at his arm with a sort of frenzy. + +"You guessed then he was dead," she murmured, as if beside herself. "You! +You guessed what I had to do. Had to!" + +There were suggestions of triumph, relief, gratitude in the indefinable +tone of these words. It engrossed the whole attention of Ossipon to the +detriment of mere literal sense. He wondered what was up with her, why +she had worked herself into this state of wild excitement. He even began +to wonder whether the hidden causes of that Greenwich Park affair did not +lie deep in the unhappy circumstances of the Verlocs' married life. He +went so far as to suspect Mr Verloc of having selected that extraordinary +manner of committing suicide. By Jove! that would account for the utter +inanity and wrong-headedness of the thing. No anarchist manifestation +was required by the circumstances. Quite the contrary; and Verloc was as +well aware of that as any other revolutionist of his standing. What an +immense joke if Verloc had simply made fools of the whole of Europe, of +the revolutionary world, of the police, of the press, and of the cocksure +Professor as well. Indeed, thought Ossipon, in astonishment, it seemed +almost certain that he did! Poor beggar! It struck him as very possible +that of that household of two it wasn't precisely the man who was the +devil. + +Alexander Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, was naturally inclined to think +indulgently of his men friends. He eyed Mrs Verloc hanging on his arm. +Of his women friends he thought in a specially practical way. Why Mrs +Verloc should exclaim at his knowledge of Mr Verloc's death, which was no +guess at all, did not disturb him beyond measure. They often talked like +lunatics. But he was curious to know how she had been informed. The +papers could tell her nothing beyond the mere fact: the man blown to +pieces in Greenwich Park not having been identified. It was +inconceivable on any theory that Verloc should have given her an inkling +of his intention--whatever it was. This problem interested Comrade +Ossipon immensely. He stopped short. They had gone then along the three +sides of Brett Place, and were near the end of Brett Street again. + +"How did you first come to hear of it?" he asked in a tone he tried to +render appropriate to the character of the revelations which had been +made to him by the woman at his side. + +She shook violently for a while before she answered in a listless voice. + +"From the police. A chief inspector came, Chief Inspector Heat he said +he was. He showed me--" + +Mrs Verloc choked. "Oh, Tom, they had to gather him up with a shovel." + +Her breast heaved with dry sobs. In a moment Ossipon found his tongue. + +"The police! Do you mean to say the police came already? That Chief +Inspector Heat himself actually came to tell you." + +"Yes," she confirmed in the same listless tone. "He came just like this. +He came. I didn't know. He showed me a piece of overcoat, and--just +like that. Do you know this? he says." + +"Heat! Heat! And what did he do?" + +Mrs Verloc's head dropped. "Nothing. He did nothing. He went away. The +police were on that man's side," she murmured tragically. "Another one +came too." + +"Another--another inspector, do you mean?" asked Ossipon, in great +excitement, and very much in the tone of a scared child. + +"I don't know. He came. He looked like a foreigner. He may have been +one of them Embassy people." + +Comrade Ossipon nearly collapsed under this new shock. + +"Embassy! Are you aware what you are saying? What Embassy? What on +earth do you mean by Embassy?" + +"It's that place in Chesham Square. The people he cursed so. I don't +know. What does it matter!" + +"And that fellow, what did he do or say to you?" + +"I don't remember. . . . Nothing . . . . I don't care. Don't ask me," +she pleaded in a weary voice. + +"All right. I won't," assented Ossipon tenderly. And he meant it too, +not because he was touched by the pathos of the pleading voice, but +because he felt himself losing his footing in the depths of this +tenebrous affair. Police! Embassy! Phew! For fear of adventuring his +intelligence into ways where its natural lights might fail to guide it +safely he dismissed resolutely all suppositions, surmises, and theories +out of his mind. He had the woman there, absolutely flinging herself at +him, and that was the principal consideration. But after what he had +heard nothing could astonish him any more. And when Mrs Verloc, as if +startled suddenly out of a dream of safety, began to urge upon him wildly +the necessity of an immediate flight on the Continent, he did not exclaim +in the least. He simply said with unaffected regret that there was no +train till the morning, and stood looking thoughtfully at her face, +veiled in black net, in the light of a gas lamp veiled in a gauze of +mist. + +Near him, her black form merged in the night, like a figure half +chiselled out of a block of black stone. It was impossible to say what +she knew, how deep she was involved with policemen and Embassies. But if +she wanted to get away, it was not for him to object. He was anxious to +be off himself. He felt that the business, the shop so strangely +familiar to chief inspectors and members of foreign Embassies, was not +the place for him. That must be dropped. But there was the rest. These +savings. The money! + +"You must hide me till the morning somewhere," she said in a dismayed +voice. + +"Fact is, my dear, I can't take you where I live. I share the room with +a friend." + +He was somewhat dismayed himself. In the morning the blessed 'tecs will +be out in all the stations, no doubt. And if they once got hold of her, +for one reason or another she would be lost to him indeed. + +"But you must. Don't you care for me at all--at all? What are you +thinking of?" + +She said this violently, but she let her clasped hands fall in +discouragement. There was a silence, while the mist fell, and darkness +reigned undisturbed over Brett Place. Not a soul, not even the vagabond, +lawless, and amorous soul of a cat, came near the man and the woman +facing each other. + +"It would be possible perhaps to find a safe lodging somewhere," Ossipon +spoke at last. "But the truth is, my dear, I have not enough money to go +and try with--only a few pence. We revolutionists are not rich." + +He had fifteen shillings in his pocket. He added: + +"And there's the journey before us, too--first thing in the morning at +that." + +She did not move, made no sound, and Comrade Ossipon's heart sank a +little. Apparently she had no suggestion to offer. Suddenly she +clutched at her breast, as if she had felt a sharp pain there. + +"But I have," she gasped. "I have the money. I have enough money. Tom! +Let us go from here." + +"How much have you got?" he inquired, without stirring to her tug; for he +was a cautious man. + +"I have the money, I tell you. All the money." + +"What do you mean by it? All the money there was in the bank, or what?" +he asked incredulously, but ready not to be surprised at anything in the +way of luck. + +"Yes, yes!" she said nervously. "All there was. I've it all." + +"How on earth did you manage to get hold of it already?" he marvelled. + +"He gave it to me," she murmured, suddenly subdued and trembling. Comrade +Ossipon put down his rising surprise with a firm hand. + +"Why, then--we are saved," he uttered slowly. + +She leaned forward, and sank against his breast. He welcomed her there. +She had all the money. Her hat was in the way of very marked effusion; +her veil too. He was adequate in his manifestations, but no more. She +received them without resistance and without abandonment, passively, as +if only half-sensible. She freed herself from his lax embraces without +difficulty. + +"You will save me, Tom," she broke out, recoiling, but still keeping her +hold on him by the two lapels of his damp coat. "Save me. Hide me. +Don't let them have me. You must kill me first. I couldn't do it +myself--I couldn't, I couldn't--not even for what I am afraid of." + +She was confoundedly bizarre, he thought. She was beginning to inspire +him with an indefinite uneasiness. He said surlily, for he was busy with +important thoughts: + +"What the devil _are_ you afraid of?" + +"Haven't you guessed what I was driven to do!" cried the woman. +Distracted by the vividness of her dreadful apprehensions, her head +ringing with forceful words, that kept the horror of her position before +her mind, she had imagined her incoherence to be clearness itself. She +had no conscience of how little she had audibly said in the disjointed +phrases completed only in her thought. She had felt the relief of a full +confession, and she gave a special meaning to every sentence spoken by +Comrade Ossipon, whose knowledge did not in the least resemble her own. +"Haven't you guessed what I was driven to do!" Her voice fell. "You +needn't be long in guessing then what I am afraid of," she continued, in +a bitter and sombre murmur. "I won't have it. I won't. I won't. I +won't. You must promise to kill me first!" She shook the lapels of his +coat. "It must never be!" + +He assured her curtly that no promises on his part were necessary, but he +took good care not to contradict her in set terms, because he had had +much to do with excited women, and he was inclined in general to let his +experience guide his conduct in preference to applying his sagacity to +each special case. His sagacity in this case was busy in other +directions. Women's words fell into water, but the shortcomings of time- +tables remained. The insular nature of Great Britain obtruded itself +upon his notice in an odious form. "Might just as well be put under lock +and key every night," he thought irritably, as nonplussed as though he +had a wall to scale with the woman on his back. Suddenly he slapped his +forehead. He had by dint of cudgelling his brains just thought of the +Southampton--St Malo service. The boat left about midnight. There was a +train at 10.30. He became cheery and ready to act. + +"From Waterloo. Plenty of time. We are all right after all. . . . +What's the matter now? This isn't the way," he protested. + +Mrs Verloc, having hooked her arm into his, was trying to drag him into +Brett Street again. + +"I've forgotten to shut the shop door as I went out," she whispered, +terribly agitated. + +The shop and all that was in it had ceased to interest Comrade Ossipon. +He knew how to limit his desires. He was on the point of saying "What of +that? Let it be," but he refrained. He disliked argument about trifles. +He even mended his pace considerably on the thought that she might have +left the money in the drawer. But his willingness lagged behind her +feverish impatience. + +The shop seemed to be quite dark at first. The door stood ajar. Mrs +Verloc, leaning against the front, gasped out: + +"Nobody has been in. Look! The light--the light in the parlour." + +Ossipon, stretching his head forward, saw a faint gleam in the darkness +of the shop. + +"There is," he said. + +"I forgot it." Mrs Verloc's voice came from behind her veil faintly. And +as he stood waiting for her to enter first, she said louder: "Go in and +put it out--or I'll go mad." + +He made no immediate objection to this proposal, so strangely motived. +"Where's all that money?" he asked. + +"On me! Go, Tom. Quick! Put it out. . . . Go in!" she cried, seizing +him by both shoulders from behind. + +Not prepared for a display of physical force, Comrade Ossipon stumbled +far into the shop before her push. He was astonished at the strength of +the woman and scandalised by her proceedings. But he did not retrace his +steps in order to remonstrate with her severely in the street. He was +beginning to be disagreeably impressed by her fantastic behaviour. +Moreover, this or never was the time to humour the woman. Comrade +Ossipon avoided easily the end of the counter, and approached calmly the +glazed door of the parlour. The curtain over the panes being drawn back +a little he, by a very natural impulse, looked in, just as he made ready +to turn the handle. He looked in without a thought, without intention, +without curiosity of any sort. He looked in because he could not help +looking in. He looked in, and discovered Mr Verloc reposing quietly on +the sofa. + +A yell coming from the innermost depths of his chest died out unheard and +transformed into a sort of greasy, sickly taste on his lips. At the same +time the mental personality of Comrade Ossipon executed a frantic leap +backward. But his body, left thus without intellectual guidance, held on +to the door handle with the unthinking force of an instinct. The robust +anarchist did not even totter. And he stared, his face close to the +glass, his eyes protruding out of his head. He would have given anything +to get away, but his returning reason informed him that it would not do +to let go the door handle. What was it--madness, a nightmare, or a trap +into which he had been decoyed with fiendish artfulness? Why--what for? +He did not know. Without any sense of guilt in his breast, in the full +peace of his conscience as far as these people were concerned, the idea +that he would be murdered for mysterious reasons by the couple Verloc +passed not so much across his mind as across the pit of his stomach, and +went out, leaving behind a trail of sickly faintness--an indisposition. +Comrade Ossipon did not feel very well in a very special way for a +moment--a long moment. And he stared. Mr Verloc lay very still +meanwhile, simulating sleep for reasons of his own, while that savage +woman of his was guarding the door--invisible and silent in the dark and +deserted street. Was all this a some sort of terrifying arrangement +invented by the police for his especial benefit? His modesty shrank from +that explanation. + +But the true sense of the scene he was beholding came to Ossipon through +the contemplation of the hat. It seemed an extraordinary thing, an +ominous object, a sign. Black, and rim upward, it lay on the floor +before the couch as if prepared to receive the contributions of pence +from people who would come presently to behold Mr Verloc in the fullness +of his domestic ease reposing on a sofa. From the hat the eyes of the +robust anarchist wandered to the displaced table, gazed at the broken +dish for a time, received a kind of optical shock from observing a white +gleam under the imperfectly closed eyelids of the man on the couch. Mr +Verloc did not seem so much asleep now as lying down with a bent head and +looking insistently at his left breast. And when Comrade Ossipon had +made out the handle of the knife he turned away from the glazed door, and +retched violently. + +The crash of the street door flung to made his very soul leap in a panic. +This house with its harmless tenant could still be made a trap of--a trap +of a terrible kind. Comrade Ossipon had no settled conception now of +what was happening to him. Catching his thigh against the end of the +counter, he spun round, staggered with a cry of pain, felt in the +distracting clatter of the bell his arms pinned to his side by a +convulsive hug, while the cold lips of a woman moved creepily on his very +ear to form the words: + +"Policeman! He has seen me!" + +He ceased to struggle; she never let him go. Her hands had locked +themselves with an inseparable twist of fingers on his robust back. While +the footsteps approached, they breathed quickly, breast to breast, with +hard, laboured breaths, as if theirs had been the attitude of a deadly +struggle, while, in fact, it was the attitude of deadly fear. And the +time was long. + +The constable on the beat had in truth seen something of Mrs Verloc; only +coming from the lighted thoroughfare at the other end of Brett Street, +she had been no more to him than a flutter in the darkness. And he was +not even quite sure that there had been a flutter. He had no reason to +hurry up. On coming abreast of the shop he observed that it had been +closed early. There was nothing very unusual in that. The men on duty +had special instructions about that shop: what went on about there was +not to be meddled with unless absolutely disorderly, but any observations +made were to be reported. There were no observations to make; but from a +sense of duty and for the peace of his conscience, owing also to that +doubtful flutter of the darkness, the constable crossed the road, and +tried the door. The spring latch, whose key was reposing for ever off +duty in the late Mr Verloc's waistcoat pocket, held as well as usual. +While the conscientious officer was shaking the handle, Ossipon felt the +cold lips of the woman stirring again creepily against his very ear: + +"If he comes in kill me--kill me, Tom." + +The constable moved away, flashing as he passed the light of his dark +lantern, merely for form's sake, at the shop window. For a moment longer +the man and the woman inside stood motionless, panting, breast to breast; +then her fingers came unlocked, her arms fell by her side slowly. Ossipon +leaned against the counter. The robust anarchist wanted support badly. +This was awful. He was almost too disgusted for speech. Yet he managed +to utter a plaintive thought, showing at least that he realised his +position. + +"Only a couple of minutes later and you'd have made me blunder against +the fellow poking about here with his damned dark lantern." + +The widow of Mr Verloc, motionless in the middle of the shop, said +insistently: + +"Go in and put that light out, Tom. It will drive me crazy." + +She saw vaguely his vehement gesture of refusal. Nothing in the world +would have induced Ossipon to go into the parlour. He was not +superstitious, but there was too much blood on the floor; a beastly pool +of it all round the hat. He judged he had been already far too near that +corpse for his peace of mind--for the safety of his neck, perhaps! + +"At the meter then! There. Look. In that corner." + +The robust form of Comrade Ossipon, striding brusque and shadowy across +the shop, squatted in a corner obediently; but this obedience was without +grace. He fumbled nervously--and suddenly in the sound of a muttered +curse the light behind the glazed door flicked out to a gasping, +hysterical sigh of a woman. Night, the inevitable reward of men's +faithful labours on this earth, night had fallen on Mr Verloc, the tried +revolutionist--"one of the old lot"--the humble guardian of society; the +invaluable Secret Agent [delta] of Baron Stott-Wartenheim's despatches; a +servant of law and order, faithful, trusted, accurate, admirable, with +perhaps one single amiable weakness: the idealistic belief in being loved +for himself. + +Ossipon groped his way back through the stuffy atmosphere, as black as +ink now, to the counter. The voice of Mrs Verloc, standing in the middle +of the shop, vibrated after him in that blackness with a desperate +protest. + +"I will not be hanged, Tom. I will not--" + +She broke off. Ossipon from the counter issued a warning: "Don't shout +like this," then seemed to reflect profoundly. "You did this thing quite +by yourself?" he inquired in a hollow voice, but with an appearance of +masterful calmness which filled Mrs Verloc's heart with grateful +confidence in his protecting strength. + +"Yes," she whispered, invisible. + +"I wouldn't have believed it possible," he muttered. "Nobody would." She +heard him move about and the snapping of a lock in the parlour door. +Comrade Ossipon had turned the key on Mr Verloc's repose; and this he did +not from reverence for its eternal nature or any other obscurely +sentimental consideration, but for the precise reason that he was not at +all sure that there was not someone else hiding somewhere in the house. +He did not believe the woman, or rather he was incapable by now of +judging what could be true, possible, or even probable in this astounding +universe. He was terrified out of all capacity for belief or disbelief +in regard of this extraordinary affair, which began with police +inspectors and Embassies and would end goodness knows where--on the +scaffold for someone. He was terrified at the thought that he could not +prove the use he made of his time ever since seven o'clock, for he had +been skulking about Brett Street. He was terrified at this savage woman +who had brought him in there, and would probably saddle him with +complicity, at least if he were not careful. He was terrified at the +rapidity with which he had been involved in such dangers--decoyed into +it. It was some twenty minutes since he had met her--not more. + +The voice of Mrs Verloc rose subdued, pleading piteously: "Don't let them +hang me, Tom! Take me out of the country. I'll work for you. I'll +slave for you. I'll love you. I've no one in the world. . . . Who +would look at me if you don't!" She ceased for a moment; then in the +depths of the loneliness made round her by an insignificant thread of +blood trickling off the handle of a knife, she found a dreadful +inspiration to her--who had been the respectable girl of the Belgravian +mansion, the loyal, respectable wife of Mr Verloc. "I won't ask you to +marry me," she breathed out in shame-faced accents. + +She moved a step forward in the darkness. He was terrified at her. He +would not have been surprised if she had suddenly produced another knife +destined for his breast. He certainly would have made no resistance. He +had really not enough fortitude in him just then to tell her to keep +back. But he inquired in a cavernous, strange tone: "Was he asleep?" + +"No," she cried, and went on rapidly. "He wasn't. Not he. He had been +telling me that nothing could touch him. After taking the boy away from +under my very eyes to kill him--the loving, innocent, harmless lad. My +own, I tell you. He was lying on the couch quite easy--after killing the +boy--my boy. I would have gone on the streets to get out of his sight. +And he says to me like this: 'Come here,' after telling me I had helped +to kill the boy. You hear, Tom? He says like this: 'Come here,' after +taking my very heart out of me along with the boy to smash in the dirt." + +She ceased, then dreamily repeated twice: "Blood and dirt. Blood and +dirt." A great light broke upon Comrade Ossipon. It was that +half-witted lad then who had perished in the park. And the fooling of +everybody all round appeared more complete than ever--colossal. He +exclaimed scientifically, in the extremity of his astonishment: "The +degenerate--by heavens!" + +"Come here." The voice of Mrs Verloc rose again. "What did he think I +was made of? Tell me, Tom. Come here! Me! Like this! I had been +looking at the knife, and I thought I would come then if he wanted me so +much. Oh yes! I came--for the last time. . . . With the knife." + +He was excessively terrified at her--the sister of the degenerate--a +degenerate herself of a murdering type . . . or else of the lying type. +Comrade Ossipon might have been said to be terrified scientifically in +addition to all other kinds of fear. It was an immeasurable and +composite funk, which from its very excess gave him in the dark a false +appearance of calm and thoughtful deliberation. For he moved and spoke +with difficulty, being as if half frozen in his will and mind--and no one +could see his ghastly face. He felt half dead. + +He leaped a foot high. Unexpectedly Mrs Verloc had desecrated the +unbroken reserved decency of her home by a shrill and terrible shriek. + +"Help, Tom! Save me. I won't be hanged!" + +He rushed forward, groping for her mouth with a silencing hand, and the +shriek died out. But in his rush he had knocked her over. He felt her +now clinging round his legs, and his terror reached its culminating +point, became a sort of intoxication, entertained delusions, acquired the +characteristics of delirium tremens. He positively saw snakes now. He +saw the woman twined round him like a snake, not to be shaken off. She +was not deadly. She was death itself--the companion of life. + +Mrs Verloc, as if relieved by the outburst, was very far from behaving +noisily now. She was pitiful. + +"Tom, you can't throw me off now," she murmured from the floor. "Not +unless you crush my head under your heel. I won't leave you." + +"Get up," said Ossipon. + +His face was so pale as to be quite visible in the profound black +darkness of the shop; while Mrs Verloc, veiled, had no face, almost no +discernible form. The trembling of something small and white, a flower +in her hat, marked her place, her movements. + +It rose in the blackness. She had got up from the floor, and Ossipon +regretted not having, run out at once into the street. But he perceived +easily that it would not do. It would not do. She would run after him. +She would pursue him shrieking till she sent every policeman within +hearing in chase. And then goodness only knew what she would say of him. +He was so frightened that for a moment the insane notion of strangling +her in the dark passed through his mind. And he became more frightened +than ever! She had him! He saw himself living in abject terror in some +obscure hamlet in Spain or Italy; till some fine morning they found him +dead too, with a knife in his breast--like Mr Verloc. He sighed deeply. +He dared not move. And Mrs Verloc waited in silence the good pleasure of +her saviour, deriving comfort from his reflective silence. + +Suddenly he spoke up in an almost natural voice. His reflections had +come to an end. + +"Let's get out, or we will lose the train." + +"Where are we going to, Tom?" she asked timidly. Mrs Verloc was no +longer a free woman. + +"Let's get to Paris first, the best way we can. . . . Go out first, and +see if the way's clear." + +She obeyed. Her voice came subdued through the cautiously opened door. + +"It's all right." + +Ossipon came out. Notwithstanding his endeavours to be gentle, the +cracked bell clattered behind the closed door in the empty shop, as if +trying in vain to warn the reposing Mr Verloc of the final departure of +his wife--accompanied by his friend. + +In the hansom, they presently picked up, the robust anarchist became +explanatory. He was still awfully pale, with eyes that seemed to have +sunk a whole half-inch into his tense face. But he seemed to have +thought of everything with extraordinary method. + +"When we arrive," he discoursed in a queer, monotonous tone, "you must go +into the station ahead of me, as if we did not know each other. I will +take the tickets, and slip in yours into your hand as I pass you. Then +you will go into the first-class ladies' waiting-room, and sit there till +ten minutes before the train starts. Then you come out. I will be +outside. You go in first on the platform, as if you did not know me. +There may be eyes watching there that know what's what. Alone you are +only a woman going off by train. I am known. With me, you may be +guessed at as Mrs Verloc running away. Do you understand, my dear?" he +added, with an effort. + +"Yes," said Mrs Verloc, sitting there against him in the hansom all rigid +with the dread of the gallows and the fear of death. "Yes, Tom." And +she added to herself, like an awful refrain: "The drop given was fourteen +feet." + +Ossipon, not looking at her, and with a face like a fresh plaster cast of +himself after a wasting illness, said: "By-the-by, I ought to have the +money for the tickets now." + +Mrs Verloc, undoing some hooks of her bodice, while she went on staring +ahead beyond the splashboard, handed over to him the new pigskin pocket- +book. He received it without a word, and seemed to plunge it deep +somewhere into his very breast. Then he slapped his coat on the outside. + +All this was done without the exchange of a single glance; they were like +two people looking out for the first sight of a desired goal. It was not +till the hansom swung round a corner and towards the bridge that Ossipon +opened his lips again. + +"Do you know how much money there is in that thing?" he asked, as if +addressing slowly some hobgoblin sitting between the ears of the horse. + +"No," said Mrs Verloc. "He gave it to me. I didn't count. I thought +nothing of it at the time. Afterwards--" + +She moved her right hand a little. It was so expressive that little +movement of that right hand which had struck the deadly blow into a man's +heart less than an hour before that Ossipon could not repress a shudder. +He exaggerated it then purposely, and muttered: + +"I am cold. I got chilled through." + +Mrs Verloc looked straight ahead at the perspective of her escape. Now +and then, like a sable streamer blown across a road, the words "The drop +given was fourteen feet" got in the way of her tense stare. Through her +black veil the whites of her big eyes gleamed lustrously like the eyes of +a masked woman. + +Ossipon's rigidity had something business-like, a queer official +expression. He was heard again all of a sudden, as though he had +released a catch in order to speak. + +"Look here! Do you know whether your--whether he kept his account at the +bank in his own name or in some other name." + +Mrs Verloc turned upon him her masked face and the big white gleam of her +eyes. + +"Other name?" she said thoughtfully. + +"Be exact in what you say," Ossipon lectured in the swift motion of the +hansom. "It's extremely important. I will explain to you. The bank has +the numbers of these notes. If they were paid to him in his own name, +then when his--his death becomes known, the notes may serve to track us +since we have no other money. You have no other money on you?" + +She shook her head negatively. + +"None whatever?" he insisted. + +"A few coppers." + +"It would be dangerous in that case. The money would have then to be +dealt specially with. Very specially. We'd have perhaps to lose more +than half the amount in order to get these notes changed in a certain +safe place I know of in Paris. In the other case I mean if he had his +account and got paid out under some other name--say Smith, for +instance--the money is perfectly safe to use. You understand? The bank +has no means of knowing that Mr Verloc and, say, Smith are one and the +same person. Do you see how important it is that you should make no +mistake in answering me? Can you answer that query at all? Perhaps not. +Eh?" + +She said composedly: + +"I remember now! He didn't bank in his own name. He told me once that +it was on deposit in the name of Prozor." + +"You are sure?" + +"Certain." + +"You don't think the bank had any knowledge of his real name? Or anybody +in the bank or--" + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +"How can I know? Is it likely, Tom? + +"No. I suppose it's not likely. It would have been more comfortable to +know. . . . Here we are. Get out first, and walk straight in. Move +smartly." + +He remained behind, and paid the cabman out of his own loose silver. The +programme traced by his minute foresight was carried out. When Mrs +Verloc, with her ticket for St Malo in her hand, entered the ladies' +waiting-room, Comrade Ossipon walked into the bar, and in seven minutes +absorbed three goes of hot brandy and water. + +"Trying to drive out a cold," he explained to the barmaid, with a +friendly nod and a grimacing smile. Then he came out, bringing out from +that festive interlude the face of a man who had drunk at the very +Fountain of Sorrow. He raised his eyes to the clock. It was time. He +waited. + +Punctual, Mrs Verloc came out, with her veil down, and all black--black +as commonplace death itself, crowned with a few cheap and pale flowers. +She passed close to a little group of men who were laughing, but whose +laughter could have been struck dead by a single word. Her walk was +indolent, but her back was straight, and Comrade Ossipon looked after it +in terror before making a start himself. + +The train was drawn up, with hardly anybody about its row of open doors. +Owing to the time of the year and to the abominable weather there were +hardly any passengers. Mrs Verloc walked slowly along the line of empty +compartments till Ossipon touched her elbow from behind. + +"In here." + +She got in, and he remained on the platform looking about. She bent +forward, and in a whisper: + +"What is it, Tom? Is there any danger? Wait a moment. There's the +guard." + +She saw him accost the man in uniform. They talked for a while. She +heard the guard say "Very well, sir," and saw him touch his cap. Then +Ossipon came back, saying: "I told him not to let anybody get into our +compartment." + +She was leaning forward on her seat. "You think of everything. . . . +You'll get me off, Tom?" she asked in a gust of anguish, lifting her veil +brusquely to look at her saviour. + +She had uncovered a face like adamant. And out of this face the eyes +looked on, big, dry, enlarged, lightless, burnt out like two black holes +in the white, shining globes. + +"There is no danger," he said, gazing into them with an earnestness +almost rapt, which to Mrs Verloc, flying from the gallows, seemed to be +full of force and tenderness. This devotion deeply moved her--and the +adamantine face lost the stern rigidity of its terror. Comrade Ossipon +gazed at it as no lover ever gazed at his mistress's face. Alexander +Ossipon, anarchist, nicknamed the Doctor, author of a medical (and +improper) pamphlet, late lecturer on the social aspects of hygiene to +working men's clubs, was free from the trammels of conventional +morality--but he submitted to the rule of science. He was scientific, +and he gazed scientifically at that woman, the sister of a degenerate, a +degenerate herself--of a murdering type. He gazed at her, and invoked +Lombroso, as an Italian peasant recommends himself to his favourite +saint. He gazed scientifically. He gazed at her cheeks, at her nose, at +her eyes, at her ears. . . . Bad! . . . Fatal! Mrs Verloc's pale lips +parting, slightly relaxed under his passionately attentive gaze, he gazed +also at her teeth. . . . Not a doubt remained . . . a murdering type. . . . +If Comrade Ossipon did not recommend his terrified soul to Lombroso, it +was only because on scientific grounds he could not believe that he +carried about him such a thing as a soul. But he had in him the +scientific spirit, which moved him to testify on the platform of a +railway station in nervous jerky phrases. + +"He was an extraordinary lad, that brother of yours. Most interesting to +study. A perfect type in a way. Perfect!" + +He spoke scientifically in his secret fear. And Mrs Verloc, hearing +these words of commendation vouchsafed to her beloved dead, swayed +forward with a flicker of light in her sombre eyes, like a ray of +sunshine heralding a tempest of rain. + +"He was that indeed," she whispered softly, with quivering lips. "You +took a lot of notice of him, Tom. I loved you for it." + +"It's almost incredible the resemblance there was between you two," +pursued Ossipon, giving a voice to his abiding dread, and trying to +conceal his nervous, sickening impatience for the train to start. "Yes; +he resembled you." + +These words were not especially touching or sympathetic. But the fact of +that resemblance insisted upon was enough in itself to act upon her +emotions powerfully. With a little faint cry, and throwing her arms out, +Mrs Verloc burst into tears at last. + +Ossipon entered the carriage, hastily closed the door and looked out to +see the time by the station clock. Eight minutes more. For the first +three of these Mrs Verloc wept violently and helplessly without pause or +interruption. Then she recovered somewhat, and sobbed gently in an +abundant fall of tears. She tried to talk to her saviour, to the man who +was the messenger of life. + +"Oh, Tom! How could I fear to die after he was taken away from me so +cruelly! How could I! How could I be such a coward!" + +She lamented aloud her love of life, that life without grace or charm, +and almost without decency, but of an exalted faithfulness of purpose, +even unto murder. And, as often happens in the lament of poor humanity, +rich in suffering but indigent in words, the truth--the very cry of +truth--was found in a worn and artificial shape picked up somewhere among +the phrases of sham sentiment. + +"How could I be so afraid of death! Tom, I tried. But I am afraid. I +tried to do away with myself. And I couldn't. Am I hard? I suppose the +cup of horrors was not full enough for such as me. Then when you came. . . ." + +She paused. Then in a gust of confidence and gratitude, "I will live all +my days for you, Tom!" she sobbed out. + +"Go over into the other corner of the carriage, away from the platform," +said Ossipon solicitously. She let her saviour settle her comfortably, +and he watched the coming on of another crisis of weeping, still more +violent than the first. He watched the symptoms with a sort of medical +air, as if counting seconds. He heard the guard's whistle at last. An +involuntary contraction of the upper lip bared his teeth with all the +aspect of savage resolution as he felt the train beginning to move. Mrs +Verloc heard and felt nothing, and Ossipon, her saviour, stood still. He +felt the train roll quicker, rumbling heavily to the sound of the woman's +loud sobs, and then crossing the carriage in two long strides he opened +the door deliberately, and leaped out. + +He had leaped out at the very end of the platform; and such was his +determination in sticking to his desperate plan that he managed by a sort +of miracle, performed almost in the air, to slam to the door of the +carriage. Only then did he find himself rolling head over heels like a +shot rabbit. He was bruised, shaken, pale as death, and out of breath +when he got up. But he was calm, and perfectly able to meet the excited +crowd of railway men who had gathered round him in a moment. He +explained, in gentle and convincing tones, that his wife had started at a +moment's notice for Brittany to her dying mother; that, of course, she +was greatly up-set, and he considerably concerned at her state; that he +was trying to cheer her up, and had absolutely failed to notice at first +that the train was moving out. To the general exclamation, "Why didn't +you go on to Southampton, then, sir?" he objected the inexperience of a +young sister-in-law left alone in the house with three small children, +and her alarm at his absence, the telegraph offices being closed. He had +acted on impulse. "But I don't think I'll ever try that again," he +concluded; smiled all round; distributed some small change, and marched +without a limp out of the station. + +Outside, Comrade Ossipon, flush of safe banknotes as never before in his +life, refused the offer of a cab. + +"I can walk," he said, with a little friendly laugh to the civil driver. + +He could walk. He walked. He crossed the bridge. Later on the towers +of the Abbey saw in their massive immobility the yellow bush of his hair +passing under the lamps. The lights of Victoria saw him too, and Sloane +Square, and the railings of the park. And Comrade Ossipon once more +found himself on a bridge. The river, a sinister marvel of still shadows +and flowing gleams mingling below in a black silence, arrested his +attention. He stood looking over the parapet for a long time. The clock +tower boomed a brazen blast above his drooping head. He looked up at the +dial. . . . Half-past twelve of a wild night in the Channel. + +And again Comrade Ossipon walked. His robust form was seen that night in +distant parts of the enormous town slumbering monstrously on a carpet of +mud under a veil of raw mist. It was seen crossing the streets without +life and sound, or diminishing in the interminable straight perspectives +of shadowy houses bordering empty roadways lined by strings of gas lamps. +He walked through Squares, Places, Ovals, Commons, through monotonous +streets with unknown names where the dust of humanity settles inert and +hopeless out of the stream of life. He walked. And suddenly turning +into a strip of a front garden with a mangy grass plot, he let himself +into a small grimy house with a latch-key he took out of his pocket. + +He threw himself down on his bed all dressed, and lay still for a whole +quarter of an hour. Then he sat up suddenly, drawing up his knees, and +clasping his legs. The first dawn found him open-eyed, in that same +posture. This man who could walk so long, so far, so aimlessly, without +showing a sign of fatigue, could also remain sitting still for hours +without stirring a limb or an eyelid. But when the late sun sent its +rays into the room he unclasped his hands, and fell back on the pillow. +His eyes stared at the ceiling. And suddenly they closed. Comrade +Ossipon slept in the sunlight. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +The enormous iron padlock on the doors of the wall cupboard was the only +object in the room on which the eye could rest without becoming afflicted +by the miserable unloveliness of forms and the poverty of material. +Unsaleable in the ordinary course of business on account of its noble +proportions, it had been ceded to the Professor for a few pence by a +marine dealer in the east of London. The room was large, clean, +respectable, and poor with that poverty suggesting the starvation of +every human need except mere bread. There was nothing on the walls but +the paper, an expanse of arsenical green, soiled with indelible smudges +here and there, and with stains resembling faded maps of uninhabited +continents. + +At a deal table near a window sat Comrade Ossipon, holding his head +between his fists. The Professor, dressed in his only suit of shoddy +tweeds, but flapping to and fro on the bare boards a pair of incredibly +dilapidated slippers, had thrust his hands deep into the overstrained +pockets of his jacket. He was relating to his robust guest a visit he +had lately been paying to the Apostle Michaelis. The Perfect Anarchist +had even been unbending a little. + +"The fellow didn't know anything of Verloc's death. Of course! He never +looks at the newspapers. They make him too sad, he says. But never +mind. I walked into his cottage. Not a soul anywhere. I had to shout +half-a-dozen times before he answered me. I thought he was fast asleep +yet, in bed. But not at all. He had been writing his book for four +hours already. He sat in that tiny cage in a litter of manuscript. There +was a half-eaten raw carrot on the table near him. His breakfast. He +lives on a diet of raw carrots and a little milk now." + +"How does he look on it?" asked Comrade Ossipon listlessly. + +"Angelic. . . . I picked up a handful of his pages from the floor. The +poverty of reasoning is astonishing. He has no logic. He can't think +consecutively. But that's nothing. He has divided his biography into +three parts, entitled--'Faith, Hope, Charity.' He is elaborating now the +idea of a world planned out like an immense and nice hospital, with +gardens and flowers, in which the strong are to devote themselves to the +nursing of the weak." + +The Professor paused. + +"Conceive you this folly, Ossipon? The weak! The source of all evil on +this earth!" he continued with his grim assurance. "I told him that I +dreamt of a world like shambles, where the weak would be taken in hand +for utter extermination." + +"Do you understand, Ossipon? The source of all evil! They are our +sinister masters--the weak, the flabby, the silly, the cowardly, the +faint of heart, and the slavish of mind. They have power. They are the +multitude. Theirs is the kingdom of the earth. Exterminate, +exterminate! That is the only way of progress. It is! Follow me, +Ossipon. First the great multitude of the weak must go, then the only +relatively strong. You see? First the blind, then the deaf and the +dumb, then the halt and the lame--and so on. Every taint, every vice, +every prejudice, every convention must meet its doom." + +"And what remains?" asked Ossipon in a stifled voice. + +"I remain--if I am strong enough," asserted the sallow little Professor, +whose large ears, thin like membranes, and standing far out from the +sides of his frail skull, took on suddenly a deep red tint. + +"Haven't I suffered enough from this oppression of the weak?" he +continued forcibly. Then tapping the breast-pocket of his jacket: "And +yet _I am_ the force," he went on. "But the time! The time! Give me +time! Ah! that multitude, too stupid to feel either pity or fear. +Sometimes I think they have everything on their side. Everything--even +death--my own weapon." + +"Come and drink some beer with me at the Silenus," said the robust +Ossipon after an interval of silence pervaded by the rapid flap, flap of +the slippers on the feet of the Perfect Anarchist. This last accepted. +He was jovial that day in his own peculiar way. He slapped Ossipon's +shoulder. + +"Beer! So be it! Let us drink and he merry, for we are strong, and to- +morrow we die." + +He busied himself with putting on his boots, and talked meanwhile in his +curt, resolute tones. + +"What's the matter with you, Ossipon? You look glum and seek even my +company. I hear that you are seen constantly in places where men utter +foolish things over glasses of liquor. Why? Have you abandoned your +collection of women? They are the weak who feed the strong--eh?" + +He stamped one foot, and picked up his other laced boot, heavy, thick- +soled, unblacked, mended many times. He smiled to himself grimly. + +"Tell me, Ossipon, terrible man, has ever one of your victims killed +herself for you--or are your triumphs so far incomplete--for blood alone +puts a seal on greatness? Blood. Death. Look at history." + +"You be damned," said Ossipon, without turning his head. + +"Why? Let that be the hope of the weak, whose theology has invented hell +for the strong. Ossipon, my feeling for you is amicable contempt. You +couldn't kill a fly." + +But rolling to the feast on the top of the omnibus the Professor lost his +high spirits. The contemplation of the multitudes thronging the +pavements extinguished his assurance under a load of doubt and uneasiness +which he could only shake off after a period of seclusion in the room +with the large cupboard closed by an enormous padlock. + +"And so," said over his shoulder Comrade Ossipon, who sat on the seat +behind. "And so Michaelis dreams of a world like a beautiful and cheery +hospital." + +"Just so. An immense charity for the healing of the weak," assented the +Professor sardonically. + +"That's silly," admitted Ossipon. "You can't heal weakness. But after +all Michaelis may not be so far wrong. In two hundred years doctors will +rule the world. Science reigns already. It reigns in the shade +maybe--but it reigns. And all science must culminate at last in the +science of healing--not the weak, but the strong. Mankind wants to +live--to live." + +"Mankind," asserted the Professor with a self-confident glitter of his +iron-rimmed spectacles, "does not know what it wants." + +"But you do," growled Ossipon. "Just now you've been crying for +time--time. Well. The doctors will serve you out your time--if you are +good. You profess yourself to be one of the strong--because you carry in +your pocket enough stuff to send yourself and, say, twenty other people +into eternity. But eternity is a damned hole. It's time that you need. +You--if you met a man who could give you for certain ten years of time, +you would call him your master." + +"My device is: No God! No Master," said the Professor sententiously as +he rose to get off the 'bus. + +Ossipon followed. "Wait till you are lying flat on your back at the end +of your time," he retorted, jumping off the footboard after the other. +"Your scurvy, shabby, mangy little bit of time," he continued across the +street, and hopping on to the curbstone. + +"Ossipon, I think that you are a humbug," the Professor said, opening +masterfully the doors of the renowned Silenus. And when they had +established themselves at a little table he developed further this +gracious thought. "You are not even a doctor. But you are funny. Your +notion of a humanity universally putting out the tongue and taking the +pill from pole to pole at the bidding of a few solemn jokers is worthy of +the prophet. Prophecy! What's the good of thinking of what will be!" He +raised his glass. "To the destruction of what is," he said calmly. + +He drank and relapsed into his peculiarly close manner of silence. The +thought of a mankind as numerous as the sands of the sea-shore, as +indestructible, as difficult to handle, oppressed him. The sound of +exploding bombs was lost in their immensity of passive grains without an +echo. For instance, this Verloc affair. Who thought of it now? + +Ossipon, as if suddenly compelled by some mysterious force, pulled a much- +folded newspaper out of is pocket. The Professor raised his head at the +rustle. + +"What's that paper? Anything in it?" he asked. + +Ossipon started like a scared somnambulist. + +"Nothing. Nothing whatever. The thing's ten days old. I forgot it in +my pocket, I suppose." + +But he did not throw the old thing away. Before returning it to his +pocket he stole a glance at the last lines of a paragraph. They ran +thus: "_An impenetrable mystery seems destined to hang for ever over this +act of madness or despair_." + +Such were the end words of an item of news headed: "Suicide of Lady +Passenger from a cross-Channel Boat." Comrade Ossipon was familiar with +the beauties of its journalistic style. "_An impenetrable mystery seems +destined to hang for ever_. . . " He knew every word by heart. "_An +impenetrable mystery_. . . . " + +And the robust anarchist, hanging his head on his breast, fell into a +long reverie. + +He was menaced by this thing in the very sources of his existence. He +could not issue forth to meet his various conquests, those that he +courted on benches in Kensington Gardens, and those he met near area +railings, without the dread of beginning to talk to them of an +impenetrable mystery destined. . . . He was becoming scientifically +afraid of insanity lying in wait for him amongst these lines. "_To hang +for ever over_." It was an obsession, a torture. He had lately failed +to keep several of these appointments, whose note used to be an unbounded +trustfulness in the language of sentiment and manly tenderness. The +confiding disposition of various classes of women satisfied the needs of +his self-love, and put some material means into his hand. He needed it +to live. It was there. But if he could no longer make use of it, he ran +the risk of starving his ideals and his body . . . "_This act of madness +or despair_." + +"An impenetrable mystery" was sure "to hang for ever" as far as all +mankind was concerned. But what of that if he alone of all men could +never get rid of the cursed knowledge? And Comrade Ossipon's knowledge +was as precise as the newspaper man could make it--up to the very +threshold of the "_mystery destined to hang for ever_. . . ." + +Comrade Ossipon was well informed. He knew what the gangway man of the +steamer had seen: "A lady in a black dress and a black veil, wandering at +midnight alongside, on the quay. 'Are you going by the boat, ma'am,' he +had asked her encouragingly. 'This way.' She seemed not to know what to +do. He helped her on board. She seemed weak." + +And he knew also what the stewardess had seen: A lady in black with a +white face standing in the middle of the empty ladies' cabin. The +stewardess induced her to lie down there. The lady seemed quite +unwilling to speak, and as if she were in some awful trouble. The next +the stewardess knew she was gone from the ladies' cabin. The stewardess +then went on deck to look for her, and Comrade Ossipon was informed that +the good woman found the unhappy lady lying down in one of the hooded +seats. Her eyes were open, but she would not answer anything that was +said to her. She seemed very ill. The stewardess fetched the chief +steward, and those two people stood by the side of the hooded seat +consulting over their extraordinary and tragic passenger. They talked in +audible whispers (for she seemed past hearing) of St Malo and the Consul +there, of communicating with her people in England. Then they went away +to arrange for her removal down below, for indeed by what they could see +of her face she seemed to them to be dying. But Comrade Ossipon knew +that behind that white mask of despair there was struggling against +terror and despair a vigour of vitality, a love of life that could resist +the furious anguish which drives to murder and the fear, the blind, mad +fear of the gallows. He knew. But the stewardess and the chief steward +knew nothing, except that when they came back for her in less than five +minutes the lady in black was no longer in the hooded seat. She was +nowhere. She was gone. It was then five o'clock in the morning, and it +was no accident either. An hour afterwards one of the steamer's hands +found a wedding ring left lying on the seat. It had stuck to the wood in +a bit of wet, and its glitter caught the man's eye. There was a date, +24th June 1879, engraved inside. "_An impenetrable mystery is destined +to hang for ever_. . . . " + +And Comrade Ossipon raised his bowed head, beloved of various humble +women of these isles, Apollo-like in the sunniness of its bush of hair. + +The Professor had grown restless meantime. He rose. + +"Stay," said Ossipon hurriedly. "Here, what do you know of madness and +despair?" + +The Professor passed the tip of his tongue on his dry, thin lips, and +said doctorally: + +"There are no such things. All passion is lost now. The world is +mediocre, limp, without force. And madness and despair are a force. And +force is a crime in the eyes of the fools, the weak and the silly who +rule the roost. You are mediocre. Verloc, whose affair the police has +managed to smother so nicely, was mediocre. And the police murdered him. +He was mediocre. Everybody is mediocre. Madness and despair! Give me +that for a lever, and I'll move the world. Ossipon, you have my cordial +scorn. You are incapable of conceiving even what the fat-fed citizen +would call a crime. You have no force." He paused, smiling sardonically +under the fierce glitter of his thick glasses. + +"And let me tell you that this little legacy they say you've come into +has not improved your intelligence. You sit at your beer like a dummy. +Good-bye." + +"Will you have it?" said Ossipon, looking up with an idiotic grin. + +"Have what?" + +"The legacy. All of it." + +The incorruptible Professor only smiled. His clothes were all but +falling off him, his boots, shapeless with repairs, heavy like lead, let +water in at every step. He said: + +"I will send you by-and-by a small bill for certain chemicals which I +shall order to-morrow. I need them badly. Understood--eh?" + +Ossipon lowered his head slowly. He was alone. "_An impenetrable +mystery_. . . . " It seemed to him that suspended in the air before him +he saw his own brain pulsating to the rhythm of an impenetrable mystery. +It was diseased clearly. . . . "_This act of madness or despair_." + +The mechanical piano near the door played through a valse cheekily, then +fell silent all at once, as if gone grumpy. + +Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, went out of the Silenus beer-hall. +At the door he hesitated, blinking at a not too splendid sunlight--and +the paper with the report of the suicide of a lady was in his pocket. His +heart was beating against it. The suicide of a lady--_this act of +madness or despair_. + +He walked along the street without looking where he put his feet; and he +walked in a direction which would not bring him to the place of +appointment with another lady (an elderly nursery governess putting her +trust in an Apollo-like ambrosial head). He was walking away from it. He +could face no woman. It was ruin. He could neither think, work, sleep, +nor eat. But he was beginning to drink with pleasure, with anticipation, +with hope. It was ruin. His revolutionary career, sustained by the +sentiment and trustfulness of many women, was menaced by an impenetrable +mystery--the mystery of a human brain pulsating wrongfully to the rhythm +of journalistic phrases. " . . . _Will hang for ever over this act_. . . . +It was inclining towards the gutter . . . _of madness or despair_." + +"I am seriously ill," he muttered to himself with scientific insight. +Already his robust form, with an Embassy's secret-service money +(inherited from Mr Verloc) in his pockets, was marching in the gutter as +if in training for the task of an inevitable future. Already he bowed +his broad shoulders, his head of ambrosial locks, as if ready to receive +the leather yoke of the sandwich board. As on that night, more than a +week ago, Comrade Ossipon walked without looking where he put his feet, +feeling no fatigue, feeling nothing, seeing nothing, hearing not a sound. +"_An impenetrable mystery_. . . ." He walked disregarded. . . . "_This +act of madness or despair_." + +And the incorruptible Professor walked too, averting his eyes from the +odious multitude of mankind. He had no future. He disdained it. He was +a force. His thoughts caressed the images of ruin and destruction. He +walked frail, insignificant, shabby, miserable--and terrible in the +simplicity of his idea calling madness and despair to the regeneration of +the world. Nobody looked at him. He passed on unsuspected and deadly, +like a pest in the street full of men. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET AGENT*** + + +******* This file should be named 974.txt or 974.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/9/7/974 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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It could be done, because there was +very little business at any time, and practically none at all +before the evening. Mr Verloc cared but little about his +ostensible business. And, moreover, his wife was in charge of his +brother-in-law. + +The shop was small, and so was the house. It was one of those +grimy brick houses which existed in large quantities before the era +of reconstruction dawned upon London. The shop was a square box of +a place, with the front glazed in small panes. In the daytime the +door remained closed; in the evening it stood discreetly but +suspiciously ajar. + +The window contained photographs of more or less undressed dancing +girls; nondescript packages in wrappers like patent medicines; +closed yellow paper envelopes, very flimsy, and marked two-and-six +in heavy black figures; a few numbers of ancient French comic +publications hung across a string as if to dry; a dingy blue china +bowl, a casket of black wood, bottles of marking ink, and rubber +stamps; a few books, with titles hinting at impropriety; a few +apparently old copies of obscure newspapers, badly printed, with +titles like THE TORCH, THE GONG - rousing titles. And the two gas +jets inside the panes were always turned low, either for economy's +sake or for the sake of the customers. + +These customers were either very young men, who hung about the +window for a time before slipping in suddenly; or men of a more +mature age, but looking generally as if they were not in funds. +Some of that last kind had the collars of their overcoats turned +right up to their moustaches, and traces of mud on the bottom of +their nether garments, which had the appearance of being much worn +and not very valuable. And the legs inside them did not, as a +general rule, seem of much account either. With their hands +plunged deep in the side pockets of their coats, they dodged in +sideways, one shoulder first, as if afraid to start the bell going. + +The bell, hung on the door by means of a curved ribbon of steel, +was difficult to circumvent. It was hopelessly cracked; but of an +evening, at the slightest provocation, it clattered behind the +customer with impudent virulence. + +It clattered; and at that signal, through the dusty glass door +behind the painted deal counter, Mr Verloc would issue hastily from +the parlour at the back. His eyes were naturally heavy; he had an +air of having wallowed, fully dressed, all day on an unmade bed. +Another man would have felt such an appearance a distinct +disadvantage. In a commercial transaction of the retail order much +depends on the seller's engaging and amiable aspect. But Mr Verloc +knew his business, and remained undisturbed by any sort of +aesthetic doubt about his appearance. With a firm, steady-eyed +impudence, which seemed to hold back the threat of some abominable +menace, he would proceed to sell over the counter some object +looking obviously and scandalously not worth the money which passed +in the transaction: a small cardboard box with apparently nothing +inside, for instance, or one of those carefully closed yellow +flimsy envelopes, or a soiled volume in paper covers with a +promising title. Now and then it happened that one of the faded, +yellow dancing girls would get sold to an amateur, as though she +had been alive and young. + +Sometimes it was Mrs Verloc who would appear at the call of the +cracked bell. Winnie Verloc was a young woman with a full bust, in +a tight bodice, and with broad hips. Her hair was very tidy. +Steady-eyed like her husband, she preserved an air of unfathomable +indifference behind the rampart of the counter. Then the customer +of comparatively tender years would get suddenly disconcerted at +having to deal with a woman, and with rage in his heart would +proffer a request for a bottle of marking ink, retail value +sixpence (price in Verloc's shop one-and-sixpence), which, once +outside, he would drop stealthily into the gutter. + +The evening visitors - the men with collars turned up and soft hats +rammed down - nodded familiarly to Mrs Verloc, and with a muttered +greeting, lifted up the flap at the end of the counter in order to +pass into the back parlour, which gave access to a passage and to a +steep flight of stairs. The door of the shop was the only means of +entrance to the house in which Mr Verloc carried on his business of +a seller of shady wares, exercised his vocation of a protector of +society, and cultivated his domestic virtues. These last were +pronounced. He was thoroughly domesticated. Neither his +spiritual, nor his mental, nor his physical needs were of the kind +to take him much abroad. He found at home the ease of his body and +the peace of his conscience, together with Mrs Verloc's wifely +attentions and Mrs Verloc's mother's deferential regard. + +Winnie's mother was a stout, wheezy woman, with a large brown face. +She wore a black wig under a white cap. Her swollen legs rendered +her inactive. She considered herself to be of French descent, +which might have been true; and after a good many years of married +life with a licensed victualler of the more common sort, she +provided for the years of widowhood by letting furnished apartments +for gentlemen near Vauxhall Bridge Road in a square once of some +splendour and still included in the district of Belgravia. This +topographical fact was of some advantage in advertising her rooms; +but the patrons of the worthy widow were not exactly of the +fashionable kind. Such as they were, her daughter Winnie helped to +look after them. Traces of the French descent which the widow +boasted of were apparent in Winnie too. They were apparent in the +extremely neat and artistic arrangement of her glossy dark hair. +Winnie had also other charms: her youth; her full, rounded form; +her clear complexion; the provocation of her unfathomable reserve, +which never went so far as to prevent conversation, carried on on +the lodgers' part with animation, and on hers with an equable +amiability. It must be that Mr Verloc was susceptible to these +fascinations. Mr Verloc was an intermittent patron. He came and +went without any very apparent reason. He generally arrived in +London (like the influenza) from the Continent, only he arrived +unheralded by the Press; and his visitations set in with great +severity. He breakfasted in bed, and remained wallowing there with +an air of quiet enjoyment till noon every day - and sometimes even +to a later hour. But when he went out he seemed to experience a +great difficulty in finding his way back to his temporary home in +the Belgravian square. He left it late, and returned to it early - +as early as three or four in the morning; and on waking up at ten +addressed Winnie, bringing in the breakfast tray, with jocular, +exhausted civility, in the hoarse, failing tones of a man who had +been talking vehemently for many hours together. His prominent, +heavy-lidded eyes rolled sideways amorously and languidly, the +bedclothes were pulled up to his chin, and his dark smooth +moustache covered his thick lips capable of much honeyed banter. + +In Winnie's mother's opinion Mr Verloc was a very nice gentleman. +From her life's experience gathered in various "business houses" +the good woman had taken into her retirement an ideal of +gentlemanliness as exhibited by the patrons of private-saloon bars. +Mr Verloc approached that ideal; he attained it, in fact. + +"Of course, we'll take over your furniture, mother," Winnie had +remarked. + +The lodging-house was to be given up. It seems it would not answer +to carry it on. It would have been too much trouble for Mr Verloc. +It would not have been convenient for his other business. What his +business was he did not say; but after his engagement to Winnie he +took the trouble to get up before noon, and descending the basement +stairs, make himself pleasant to Winnie's mother in the breakfast- +room downstairs where she had her motionless being. He stroked the +cat, poked the fire, had his lunch served to him there. He left +its slightly stuffy cosiness with evident reluctance, but, all the +same, remained out till the night was far advanced. He never +offered to take Winnie to theatres, as such a nice gentleman ought +to have done. His evenings were occupied. His work was in a way +political, he told Winnie once. She would have, he warned her, to +be very nice to his political friends. + +And with her straight, unfathomable glance she answered that she +would be so, of course. + +How much more he told her as to his occupation it was impossible +for Winnie's mother to discover. The married couple took her over +with the furniture. The mean aspect of the shop surprised her. +The change from the Belgravian square to the narrow street in Soho +affected her legs adversely. They became of an enormous size. On +the other hand, she experienced a complete relief from material +cares. Her son-in-law's heavy good nature inspired her with a +sense of absolute safety. Her daughter's future was obviously +assured, and even as to her son Stevie she need have no anxiety. +She had not been able to conceal from herself that he was a +terrible encumbrance, that poor Stevie. But in view of Winnie's +fondness for her delicate brother, and of Mr Verloc's kind and +generous disposition, she felt that the poor boy was pretty safe in +this rough world. And in her heart of hearts she was not perhaps +displeased that the Verlocs had no children. As that circumstance +seemed perfectly indifferent to Mr Verloc, and as Winnie found an +object of quasi-maternal affection in her brother, perhaps this was +just as well for poor Stevie. + +For he was difficult to dispose of, that boy. He was delicate and, +in a frail way, good-looking too, except for the vacant droop of +his lower lip. Under our excellent system of compulsory education +he had learned to read and write, notwithstanding the unfavourable +aspect of the lower lip. But as errand-boy he did not turn out a +great success. He forgot his messages; he was easily diverted from +the straight path of duty by the attractions of stray cats and +dogs, which he followed down narrow alleys into unsavoury courts; +by the comedies of the streets, which he contemplated open-mouthed, +to the detriment of his employer's interests; or by the dramas of +fallen horses, whose pathos and violence induced him sometimes to +shriek pierceingly in a crowd, which disliked to be disturbed by +sounds of distress in its quiet enjoyment of the national +spectacle. When led away by a grave and protecting policeman, it +would often become apparent that poor Stevie had forgotten his +address - at least for a time. A brusque question caused him to +stutter to the point of suffocation. When startled by anything +perplexing he used to squint horribly. However, he never had any +fits (which was encouraging); and before the natural outbursts of +impatience on the part of his father he could always, in his +childhood's days, run for protection behind the short skirts of his +sister Winnie. On the other hand, he might have been suspected of +hiding a fund of reckless naughtiness. When he had reached the age +of fourteen a friend of his late father, an agent for a foreign +preserved milk firm, having given him an opening as office-boy, he +was discovered one foggy afternoon, in his chief's absence, busy +letting off fireworks on the staircase. He touched off in quick +succession a set of fierce rockets, angry catherine wheels, loudly +exploding squibs - and the matter might have turned out very +serious. An awful panic spread through the whole building. Wild- +eyed, choking clerks stampeded through the passages full of smoke, +silk hats and elderly business men could be seen rolling +independently down the stairs. Stevie did not seem to derive any +personal gratification from what he had done. His motives for this +stroke of originality were difficult to discover. It was only +later on that Winnie obtained from him a misty and confused +confession. It seems that two other office-boys in the building +had worked upon his feelings by tales of injustice and oppression +till they had wrought his compassion to the pitch of that frenzy. +But his father's friend, of course, dismissed him summarily as +likely to ruin his business. After that altruistic exploit Stevie +was put to help wash the dishes in the basement kitchen, and to +black the boots of the gentlemen patronising the Belgravian +mansion. There was obviously no future in such work. The +gentlemen tipped him a shilling now and then. Mr Verloc showed +himself the most generous of lodgers. But altogether all that did +not amount to much either in the way of gain or prospects; so that +when Winnie announced her engagement to Mr Verloc her mother could +not help wondering, with a sigh and a glance towards the scullery, +what would become of poor Stephen now. + +It appeared that Mr Verloc was ready to take him over together with +his wife's mother and with the furniture, which was the whole +visible fortune of the family. Mr Verloc gathered everything as it +came to his broad, good-natured breast. The furniture was disposed +to the best advantage all over the house, but Mrs Verloc's mother +was confined to two back rooms on the first floor. The luckless +Stevie slept in one of them. By this time a growth of thin fluffy +hair had come to blur, like a golden mist, the sharp line of his +small lower jaw. He helped his sister with blind love and docility +in her household duties. Mr Verloc thought that some occupation +would be good for him. His spare time he occupied by drawing +circles with compass and pencil on a piece of paper. He applied +himself to that pastime with great industry, with his elbows spread +out and bowed low over the kitchen table. Through the open door of +the parlour at the back of the shop Winnie, his sister, glanced at +him from time to time with maternal vigilance. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Such was the house, the household, and the business Mr Verloc left +behind him on his way westward at the hour of half-past ten in the +morning. It was unusually early for him; his whole person exhaled +the charm of almost dewy freshness; he wore his blue cloth overcoat +unbuttoned; his boots were shiny; his cheeks, freshly shaven, had a +sort of gloss; and even his heavy-lidded eyes, refreshed by a night +of peaceful slumber, sent out glances of comparative alertness. +Through the park railings these glances beheld men and women riding +in the Row, couples cantering past harmoniously, others advancing +sedately at a walk, loitering groups of three or four, solitary +horsemen looking unsociable, and solitary women followed at a long +distance by a groom with a cockade to his hat and a leather belt +over his tight-fitting coat. Carriages went bowling by, mostly +two-horse broughams, with here and there a victoria with the skin +of some wild beast inside and a woman's face and hat emerging above +the folded hood. And a peculiarly London sun - against which +nothing could be said except that it looked bloodshot - glorified +all this by its stare. It hung at a moderate elevation above Hyde +Park Corner with an air of punctual and benign vigilance. The very +pavement under Mr Verloc's feet had an old-gold tinge in that +diffused light, in which neither wall, nor tree, nor beast, nor man +cast a shadow. Mr Verloc was going westward through a town without +shadows in an atmosphere of powdered old gold. There were red, +coppery gleams on the roofs of houses, on the corners of walls, on +the panels of carriages, on the very coats of the horses, and on +the broad back of Mr Verloc's overcoat, where they produced a dull +effect of rustiness. But Mr Verloc was not in the least conscious +of having got rusty. He surveyed through the park railings the +evidences of the town's opulence and luxury with an approving eye. +All these people had to be protected. Protection is the first +necessity of opulence and luxury. They had to be protected; and +their horses, carriages, houses, servants had to be protected; and +the source of their wealth had to be protected in the heart of the +city and the heart of the country; the whole social order +favourable to their hygienic idleness had to be protected against +the shallow enviousness of unhygienic labour. It had to - and Mr +Verloc would have rubbed his hands with satisfaction had he not +been constitutionally averse from every superfluous exertion. His +idleness was not hygienic, but it suited him very well. He was in +a manner devoted to it with a sort of inert fanaticism, or perhaps +rather with a fanatical inertness. Born of industrious parents for +a life of toil, he had embraced indolence from an impulse as +profound as inexplicable and as imperious as the impulse which +directs a man's preference for one particular woman in a given +thousand. He was too lazy even for a mere demagogue, for a workman +orator, for a leader of labour. It was too much trouble. He +required a more perfect form of ease; or it might have been that he +was the victim of a philosophical unbelief in the effectiveness of +every human effort. Such a form of indolence requires, implies, a +certain amount of intelligence. Mr Verloc was not devoid of +intelligence - and at the notion of a menaced social order he would +perhaps have winked to himself if there had not been an effort to +make in that sign of scepticism. His big, prominent eyes were not +well adapted to winking. They were rather of the sort that closes +solemnly in slumber with majestic effect. + +Undemonstrative and burly in a fat-pig style, Mr Verloc, without +either rubbing his hands with satisfaction or winking sceptically +at his thoughts, proceeded on his way. He trod the pavement +heavily with his shiny boots, and his general get-up was that of a +well-to-do mechanic in business for himself. He might have been +anything from a picture-frame maker to a lock-smith; an employer of +labour in a small way. But there was also about him an +indescribable air which no mechanic could have acquired in the +practice of his handicraft however dishonestly exercised: the air +common to men who live on the vices, the follies, or the baser +fears of mankind; the air of moral nihilism common to keepers of +gambling hells and disorderly houses; to private detectives and +inquiry agents; to drink sellers and, I should say, to the sellers +of invigorating electric belts and to the inventors of patent +medicines. But of that last I am not sure, not having carried my +investigations so far into the depths. For all I know, the +expression of these last may be perfectly diabolic. I shouldn't be +surprised. What I want to affirm is that Mr Verloc's expression +was by no means diabolic. + +Before reaching Knightsbridge, Mr Verloc took a turn to the left +out of the busy main thoroughfare, uproarious with the traffic of +swaying omnibuses and trotting vans, in the almost silent, swift +flow of hansoms. Under his hat, worn with a slight backward tilt, +his hair had been carefully brushed into respectful sleekness; for +his business was with an Embassy. And Mr Verloc, steady like a +rock - a soft kind of rock - marched now along a street which could +with every propriety be described as private. In its breadth, +emptiness, and extent it had the majesty of inorganic nature, of +matter that never dies. The only reminder of mortality was a +doctor's brougham arrested in august solitude close to the +curbstone. The polished knockers of the doors gleamed as far as +the eye could reach, the clean windows shone with a dark opaque +lustre. And all was still. But a milk cart rattled noisily across +the distant perspective; a butcher boy, driving with the noble +recklessness of a charioteer at Olympic Games, dashed round the +corner sitting high above a pair of red wheels. A guilty-looking +cat issuing from under the stones ran for a while in front of Mr +Verloc, then dived into another basement; and a thick police +constable, looking a stranger to every emotion, as if he too were +part of inorganic nature, surging apparently out of a lamp-post, +took not the slightest notice of Mr Verloc. With a turn to the +left Mr Verloc pursued his way along a narrow street by the side of +a yellow wall which, for some inscrutable reason, had No. 1 Chesham +Square written on it in black letters. Chesham Square was at least +sixty yards away, and Mr Verloc, cosmopolitan enough not to be +deceived by London's topographical mysteries, held on steadily, +without a sign of surprise or indignation. At last, with business- +like persistency, he reached the Square, and made diagonally for +the number 10. This belonged to an imposing carriage gate in a +high, clean wall between two houses, of which one rationally enough +bore the number 9 and the other was numbered 37; but the fact that +this last belonged to Porthill Street, a street well known in the +neighbourhood, was proclaimed by an inscription placed above the +ground-floor windows by whatever highly efficient authority is +charged with the duty of keeping track of London's strayed houses. +Why powers are not asked of Parliament (a short act would do) for +compelling those edifices to return where they belong is one of the +mysteries of municipal administration. Mr Verloc did not trouble +his head about it, his mission in life being the protection of the +social mechanism, not its perfectionment or even its criticism. + +It was so early that the porter of the Embassy issued hurriedly out +of his lodge still struggling with the left sleeve of his livery +coat. His waistcoat was red, and he wore knee-breeches, but his +aspect was flustered. Mr Verloc, aware of the rush on his flank, +drove it off by simply holding out an envelope stamped with the +arms of the Embassy, and passed on. He produced the same talisman +also to the footman who opened the door, and stood back to let him +enter the hall. + +A clear fire burned in a tall fireplace, and an elderly man +standing with his back to it, in evening dress and with a chain +round his neck, glanced up from the newspaper he was holding spread +out in both hands before his calm and severe face. He didn't move; +but another lackey, in brown trousers and claw-hammer coat edged +with thin yellow cord, approaching Mr Verloc listened to the murmur +of his name, and turning round on his heel in silence, began to +walk, without looking back once. Mr Verloc, thus led along a +ground-floor passage to the left of the great carpeted staircase, +was suddenly motioned to enter a quite small room furnished with a +heavy writing-table and a few chairs. The servant shut the door, +and Mr Verloc remained alone. He did not take a seat. With his +hat and stick held in one hand he glanced about, passing his other +podgy hand over his uncovered sleek head. + +Another door opened noiselessly, and Mr Verloc immobilising his +glance in that direction saw at first only black clothes, the bald +top of a head, and a drooping dark grey whisker on each side of a +pair of wrinkled hands. The person who had entered was holding a +batch of papers before his eyes and walked up to the table with a +rather mincing step, turning the papers over the while. Privy +Councillor Wurmt, Chancelier d'Ambassade, was rather short-sighted. +This meritorious official laying the papers on the table, disclosed +a face of pasty complexion and of melancholy ugliness surrounded by +a lot of fine, long dark grey hairs, barred heavily by thick and +bushy eyebrows. He put on a black-framed pince-nez upon a blunt +and shapeless nose, and seemed struck by Mr Verloc's appearance. +Under the enormous eyebrows his weak eyes blinked pathetically +through the glasses. + +He made no sign of greeting; neither did Mr Verloc, who certainly +knew his place; but a subtle change about the general outlines of +his shoulders and back suggested a slight bending of Mr Verloc's +spine under the vast surface of his overcoat. The effect was of +unobtrusive deference. + +"I have here some of your reports," said the bureaucrat in an +unexpectedly soft and weary voice, and pressing the tip of his +forefinger on the papers with force. He paused; and Mr Verloc, who +had recognised his own handwriting very well, waited in an almost +breathless silence. "We are not very satisfied with the attitude +of the police here," the other continued, with every appearance of +mental fatigue. + +The shoulders of Mr Verloc, without actually moving, suggested a +shrug. And for the first time since he left his home that morning +his lips opened. + +"Every country has its police," he said philosophically. But as +the official of the Embassy went on blinking at him steadily he +felt constrained to add: "Allow me to observe that I have no means +of action upon the police here." + +"What is desired," said the man of papers, "is the occurrence of +something definite which should stimulate their vigilance. That is +within your province - is it not so?" + +Mr Verloc made no answer except by a sigh, which escaped him +involuntarily, for instantly he tried to give his face a cheerful +expression. The official blinked doubtfully, as if affected by the +dim light of the room. He repeated vaguely. + +"The vigilance of the police - and the severity of the magistrates. +The general leniency of the judicial procedure here, and the utter +absence of all repressive measures, are a scandal to Europe. What +is wished for just now is the accentuation of the unrest - of the +fermentation which undoubtedly exists - " + +"Undoubtedly, undoubtedly," broke in Mr Verloc in a deep +deferential bass of an oratorical quality, so utterly different +from the tone in which he had spoken before that his interlocutor +remained profoundly surprised. "It exists to a dangerous degree. +My reports for the last twelve months make it sufficiently clear." + +"Your reports for the last twelve months," State Councillor Wurmt +began in his gentle and dispassionate tone, "have been read by me. +I failed to discover why you wrote them at all." + +A sad silence reigned for a time. Mr Verloc seemed to have +swallowed his tongue, and the other gazed at the papers on the +table fixedly. At last he gave them a slight push. + +"The state of affairs you expose there is assumed to exist as the +first condition of your employment. What is required at present is +not writing, but the bringing to light of a distinct, significant +fact - I would almost say of an alarming fact." + +"I need not say that all my endeavours shall be directed to that +end," Mr Verloc said, with convinced modulations in his +conversational husky tone. But the sense of being blinked at +watchfully behind the blind glitter of these eye-glasses on the +other side of the table disconcerted him. He stopped short with a +gesture of absolute devotion. The useful, hard-working, if obscure +member of the Embassy had an air of being impressed by some newly- +born thought. + +"You are very corpulent," he said. + +This observation, really of a psychological nature, and advanced +with the modest hesitation of an officeman more familiar with ink +and paper than with the requirements of active life, stung Mr +Verloc in the manner of a rude personal remark. He stepped back a +pace. + +"Eh? What were you pleased to say?" he exclaimed, with husky +resentment. + +The Chancelier d'Ambassade entrusted with the conduct of this +interview seemed to find it too much for him. + +"I think," he said, "that you had better see Mr Vladimir. Yes, +decidedly I think you ought to see Mr Vladimir. Be good enough to +wait here," he added, and went out with mincing steps. + +At once Mr Verloc passed his hand over his hair. A slight +perspiration had broken out on his forehead. He let the air escape +from his pursed-up lips like a man blowing at a spoonful of hot +soup. But when the servant in brown appeared at the door silently, +Mr Verloc had not moved an inch from the place he had occupied +throughout the interview. He had remained motionless, as if +feeling himself surrounded by pitfalls. + +He walked along a passage lighted by a lonely gas-jet, then up a +flight of winding stairs, and through a glazed and cheerful +corridor on the first floor. The footman threw open a door, and +stood aside. The feet of Mr Verloc felt a thick carpet. The room +was large, with three windows; and a young man with a shaven, big +face, sitting in a roomy arm-chair before a vast mahogany writing- +table, said in French to the Chancelier d'Ambassade, who was going +out with, the papers in his hand: + +"You are quite right, mon cher. He's fat - the animal." + +Mr Vladimir, First Secretary, had a drawing-room reputation as an +agreeable and entertaining man. He was something of a favourite in +society. His wit consisted in discovering droll connections +between incongruous ideas; and when talking in that strain he sat +well forward of his seat, with his left hand raised, as if +exhibiting his funny demonstrations between the thumb and +forefinger, while his round and clean-shaven face wore an +expression of merry perplexity. + +But there was no trace of merriment or perplexity in the way he +looked at Mr Verloc. Lying far back in the deep arm-chair, with +squarely spread elbows, and throwing one leg over a thick knee, he +had with his smooth and rosy countenance the air of a +preternaturally thriving baby that will not stand nonsense from +anybody. + +"You understand French, I suppose?" he said. + +Mr Verloc stated huskily that he did. His whole vast bulk had a +forward inclination. He stood on the carpet in the middle of the +room, clutching his hat and stick in one hand; the other hung +lifelessly by his side. He muttered unobtrusively somewhere deep +down in his throat something about having done his military service +in the French artillery. At once, with contemptuous perversity, Mr +Vladimir changed the language, and began to speak idiomatic English +without the slightest trace of a foreign accent. + +"Ah! Yes. Of course. Let's see. How much did you get for +obtaining the design of the improved breech-block of their new +field-gun?" + +"Five years' rigorous confinement in a fortress," Mr Verloc +answered unexpectedly, but without any sign of feeling. + +"You got off easily," was Mr Vladimir's comment. "And, anyhow, it +served you right for letting yourself get caught. What made you go +in for that sort of thing - eh?" + +Mr Verloc's husky conversational voice was heard speaking of youth, +of a fatal infatuation for an unworthy - + +"Aha! Cherchez la femme," Mr Vladimir deigned to interrupt, +unbending, but without affability; there was, on the contrary, a +touch of grimness in his condescension. "How long have you been +employed by the Embassy here?" he asked. + +"Ever since the time of the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim," Mr Verloc +answered in subdued tones, and protruding his lips sadly, in sign +of sorrow for the deceased diplomat. The First Secretary observed +this play of physiognomy steadily. + +"Ah! ever since. Well! What have you got to say for yourself?" he +asked sharply. + +Mr Verloc answered with some surprise that he was not aware of +having anything special to say. He had been summoned by a letter - +And he plunged his hand busily into the side pocket of his +overcoat, but before the mocking, cynical watchfulness of Mr +Vladimir, concluded to leave it there. + +"Bah!" said that latter. "What do you mean by getting out of +condition like this? You haven't got even the physique of your +profession. You - a member of a starving proletariat - never! You +- a desperate socialist or anarchist - which is it?" + +"Anarchist," stated Mr Verloc in a deadened tone. + +"Bosh!" went on Mr Vladimir, without raising his voice. "You +startled old Wurmt himself. You wouldn't deceive an idiot. They +all are that by-the-by, but you seem to me simply impossible. So +you began your connection with us by stealing the French gun +designs. And you got yourself caught. That must have been very +disagreeable to our Government. You don't seem to be very smart." + +Mr Verloc tried to exculpate himself huskily. + +"As I've had occasion to observe before, a fatal infatuation for an +unworthy - " + +Mr Vladimir raised a large white, plump hand. "Ah, yes. The +unlucky attachment - of your youth. She got hold of the money, and +then sold you to the police - eh?" + +The doleful change in Mr Verloc's physiognomy, the momentary +drooping of his whole person, confessed that such was the +regrettable case. Mr Vladimir's hand clasped the ankle reposing on +his knee. The sock was of dark blue silk. + +"You see, that was not very clever of you. Perhaps you are too +susceptible." + +Mr Verloc intimated in a throaty, veiled murmur that he was no +longer young. + +"Oh! That's a failing which age does not cure," Mr Vladimir +remarked, with sinister familiarity. "But no! You are too fat for +that. You could not have come to look like this if you had been at +all susceptible. I'll tell you what I think is the matter: you are +a lazy fellow. How long have you been drawing pay from this +Embassy?" + +"Eleven years," was the answer, after a moment of sulky hesitation. +"I've been charged with several missions to London while His +Excellency Baron Stott-Wartenheim was still Ambassador in Paris. +Then by his Excellency's instructions I settled down in London. I +am English." + +"You are! Are you? Eh?" + +"A natural-born British subject," Mr Verloc said stolidly. "But my +father was French, and so - " + +"Never mind explaining," interrupted the other. "I daresay you +could have been legally a Marshal of France and a Member of +Parliament in England - and then, indeed, you would have been of +some use to our Embassy." + +This flight of fancy provoked something like a faint smile on Mr +Verloc's face. Mr Vladimir retained an imperturbable gravity. + +"But, as I've said, you are a lazy fellow; you don't use your +opportunities. In the time of Baron Stott-Wartenheim we had a lot +of soft-headed people running this Embassy. They caused fellows of +your sort to form a false conception of the nature of a secret +service fund. It is my business to correct this misapprehension by +telling you what the secret service is not. It is not a +philanthropic institution. I've had you called here on purpose to +tell you this." + +Mr Vladimir observed the forced expression of bewilderment on +Verloc's face, and smiled sarcastically. + +"I see that you understand me perfectly. I daresay you are +intelligent enough for your work. What we want now is activity - +activity." + +On repeating this last word Mr Vladimir laid a long white +forefinger on the edge of the desk. Every trace of huskiness +disappeared from Verloc's voice. The nape of his gross neck became +crimson above the velvet collar of his overcoat. His lips quivered +before they came widely open. + +"If you'll only be good enough to look up my record," he boomed out +in his great, clear oratorical bass, "you'll see I gave a warning +only three months ago, on the occasion of the Grand Duke Romuald's +visit to Paris, which was telegraphed from here to the French +police, and - " + +"Tut, tut!" broke out Mr Vladimir, with a frowning grimace. "The +French police had no use for your warning. Don't roar like this. +What the devil do you mean?" + +With a note of proud humility Mr Verloc apologised for forgetting +himself. His voice, - famous for years at open-air meetings and at +workmen's assemblies in large halls, had contributed, he said, to +his reputation of a good and trustworthy comrade. It was, +therefore, a part of his usefulness. It had inspired confidence in +his principles. "I was always put up to speak by the leaders at a +critical moment," Mr Verloc declared, with obvious satisfaction. +There was no uproar above which he could not make himself heard, he +added; and suddenly he made a demonstration. + +"Allow me," he said. With lowered forehead, without looking up, +swiftly and ponderously he crossed the room to one of the French +windows. As if giving way to an uncontrollable impulse, he opened +it a little. Mr Vladimir, jumping up amazed from the depths of the +arm-chair, looked over his shoulder; and below, across the +courtyard of the Embassy, well beyond the open gate, could be seen +the broad back of a policeman watching idly the gorgeous +perambulator of a wealthy baby being wheeled in state across the +Square. + +"Constable!" said Mr Verloc, with no more effort than if he were +whispering; and Mr Vladimir burst into a laugh on seeing the +policeman spin round as if prodded by a sharp instrument. Mr +Verloc shut the window quietly, and returned to the middle of the +room. + +"With a voice like that," he said, putting on the husky +conversational pedal, "I was naturally trusted. And I knew what to +say, too." + +Mr Vladimir, arranging his cravat, observed him in the glass over +the mantelpiece. + +"I daresay you have the social revolutionary jargon by heart well +enough," he said contemptuously. "Vox et. . . You haven't ever +studied Latin - have you?" + +"No," growled Mr Verloc. "You did not expect me to know it. I +belong to the million. Who knows Latin? Only a few hundred +imbeciles who aren't fit to take care of themselves." + +For some thirty seconds longer Mr Vladimir studied in the mirror +the fleshy profile, the gross bulk, of the man behind him. And at +the same time he had the advantage of seeing his own face, clean- +shaved and round, rosy about the gills, and with the thin sensitive +lips formed exactly for the utterance of those delicate witticisms +which had made him such a favourite in the very highest society. +Then he turned, and advanced into the room with such determination +that the very ends of his quaintly old-fashioned bow necktie seemed +to bristle with unspeakable menaces. The movement was so swift and +fierce that Mr Verloc, casting an oblique glance, quailed inwardly. + +"Aha! You dare be impudent," Mr Vladimir began, with an amazingly +guttural intonation not only utterly un-English, but absolutely un- +European, and startling even to Mr Verloc's experience of +cosmopolitan slums. "You dare! Well, I am going to speak plain +English to you. Voice won't do. We have no use for your voice. +We don't want a voice. We want facts - startling facts - damn +you," he added, with a sort of ferocious discretion, right into Mr +Verloc's face. + +"Don't you try to come over me with your Hyperborean manners," Mr +Verloc defended himself huskily, looking at the carpet. At this +his interlocutor, smiling mockingly above the bristling bow of his +necktie, switched the conversation into French. + +"You give yourself for an `agent provocateur.' The proper business +of an `agent provocateur' is to provoke. As far as I can judge +from your record kept here, you have done nothing to earn your +money for the last three years." + +"Nothing!" exclaimed Verloc, stirring not a limb, and not raising +his eyes, but with the note of sincere feeling in his tone. "I +have several times prevented what might have been - " + +"There is a proverb in this country which says prevention is better +than cure," interrupted Mr Vladimir, throwing himself into the arm- +chair. "It is stupid in a general way. There is no end to +prevention. But it is characteristic. They dislike finality in +this country. Don't you be too English. And in this particular +instance, don't be absurd. The evil is already here. We don't +want prevention - we want cure." + +He paused, turned to the desk, and turning over some papers lying +there, spoke in a changed business-like tone, without looking at Mr +Verloc. + +"You know, of course, of the International Conference assembled in +Milan?" + +Mr Verloc intimated hoarsely that he was in the habit of reading +the daily papers. To a further question his answer was that, of +course, he understood what he read. At this Mr Vladimir, smiling +faintly at the documents he was still scanning one after another, +murmured "As long as it is not written in Latin, I suppose." + +"Or Chinese," added Mr Verloc stolidly. + +"H'm. Some of your revolutionary friends' effusions are written in +a CHARABIA every bit as incomprehensible as Chinese - " Mr +Vladimir let fall disdainfully a grey sheet of printed matter. +"What are all these leaflets headed F. P., with a hammer, pen, and +torch crossed? What does it mean, this F. P.?" Mr Verloc +approached the imposing writing-table. + +"The Future of the Proletariat. It's a society," he explained, +standing ponderously by the side of the arm-chair, "not anarchist +in principle, but open to all shades of revolutionary opinion." + +"Are you in it?" + +"One of the Vice-Presidents," Mr Verloc breathed out heavily; and +the First Secretary of the Embassy raised his head to look at him. + +"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself," he said incisively. +"Isn't your society capable of anything else but printing this +prophetic bosh in blunt type on this filthy paper eh? Why don't +you do something? Look here. I've this matter in hand now, and I +tell you plainly that you will have to earn your money. The good +old Stott-Wartenheim times are over. No work, no pay." + +Mr Verloc felt a queer sensation of faintness in his stout legs. +He stepped back one pace, and blew his nose loudly. + +He was, in truth, startled and alarmed. The rusty London sunshine +struggling clear of the London mist shed a lukewarm brightness into +the First Secretary's private room; and in the silence Mr Verloc +heard against a window-pane the faint buzzing of a fly - his first +fly of the year - heralding better than any number of swallows the +approach of spring. The useless fussing of that tiny energetic +organism affected unpleasantly this big man threatened in his +indolence. + +In the pause Mr Vladimir formulated in his mind a series of +disparaging remarks concerning Mr Verloc's face and figure. The +fellow was unexpectedly vulgar, heavy, and impudently +unintelligent. He looked uncommonly like a master plumber come to +present his bill. The First Secretary of the Embassy, from his +occasional excursions into the field of American humour, had formed +a special notion of that class of mechanic as the embodiment of +fraudulent laziness and incompetency. + +This was then the famous and trusty secret agent, so secret that he +was never designated otherwise but by the symbol [delta] in the +late Baron Stott-Wartenheim's official, semi-official, and +confidential correspondence; the celebrated agent [delta], whose +warnings had the power to change the schemes and the dates of +royal, imperial, grand ducal journeys, and sometimes caused them to +be put off altogether! This fellow! And Mr Vladimir indulged +mentally in an enormous and derisive fit of merriment, partly at +his own astonishment, which he judged naive, but mostly at the +expense of the universally regretted Baron Stott-Wartenheim. His +late Excellency, whom the august favour of his Imperial master had +imposed as Ambassador upon several reluctant Ministers of Foreign +Affairs, had enjoyed in his lifetime a fame for an owlish, +pessimistic gullibility. His Excellency had the social revolution +on the brain. He imagined himself to be a diplomatist set apart by +a special dispensation to watch the end of diplomacy, and pretty +nearly the end of the world, in a horrid democratic upheaval. His +prophetic and doleful despatches had been for years the joke of +Foreign Offices. He was said to have exclaimed on his deathbed +(visited by his Imperial friend and master): "Unhappy Europe! Thou +shalt perish by the moral insanity of thy children!" He was fated +to be the victim of the first humbugging rascal that came along, +thought Mr Vladimir, smiling vaguely at Mr Verloc. + +"You ought to venerate the memory of Baron Stott-Wartenheim," he +exclaimed suddenly. + +The lowered physiognomy of Mr Verloc expressed a sombre and weary +annoyance. + +"Permit me to observe to you," he said, "that I came here because I +was summoned by a peremptory letter. I have been here only twice +before in the last eleven years, and certainly never at eleven in +the morning. It isn't very wise to call me up like this. There is +just a chance of being seen. And that would be no joke for me." + +Mr Vladimir shrugged his shoulders. + +"It would destroy my usefulness," continued the other hotly. + +"That's your affair," murmured Mr Vladimir, with soft brutality. +"When you cease to be useful you shall cease to be employed. Yes. +Right off. Cut short. You shall - " Mr Vladimir, frowning, +paused, at a loss for a sufficiently idiomatic expression, and +instantly brightened up, with a grin of beautifully white teeth. +"You shall be chucked," he brought out ferociously. + +Once more Mr Verloc had to react with all the force of his will +against that sensation of faintness running down one's legs which +once upon a time had inspired some poor devil with the felicitous +expression: "My heart went down into my boots." Mr Verloc, aware +of the sensation, raised his head bravely. + +Mr Vladimir bore the look of heavy inquiry with perfect serenity. + +"What we want is to administer a tonic to the Conference in Milan," +he said airily. "Its deliberations upon international action for +the suppression of political crime don't seem to get anywhere. +England lags. This country is absurd with its sentimental regard +for individual liberty. It's intolerable to think that all your +friends have got only to come over to - " + +"In that way I have them all under my eye," Mr Verloc interrupted +huskily. + +"It would be much more to the point to have them all under lock and +key. England must be brought into line. The imbecile bourgeoisie +of this country make themselves the accomplices of the very people +whose aim is to drive them out of their houses to starve in +ditches. And they have the political power still, if they only had +the sense to use it for their preservation. I suppose you agree +that the middle classes are stupid?" + +Mr Verloc agreed hoarsely. + +"They are." + +"They have no imagination. They are blinded by an idiotic vanity. +What they want just now is a jolly good scare. This is the +psychological moment to set your friends to work. I have had you +called here to develop to you my idea." + +And Mr Vladimir developed his idea from on high, with scorn and +condescension, displaying at the same time an amount of ignorance +as to the real aims, thoughts, and methods of the revolutionary +world which filled the silent Mr Verloc with inward consternation. +He confounded causes with effects more than was excusable; the most +distinguished propagandists with impulsive bomb throwers; assumed +organisation where in the nature of things it could not exist; +spoke of the social revolutionary party one moment as of a +perfectly disciplined army, where the word of chiefs was supreme, +and at another as if it had been the loosest association of +desperate brigands that ever camped in a mountain gorge. Once Mr +Verloc had opened his mouth for a protest, but the raising of a +shapely, large white hand arrested him. Very soon he became too +appalled to even try to protest. He listened in a stillness of +dread which resembled the immobility of profound attention. + +"A series of outrages," Mr Vladimir continued calmly, "executed +here in this country; not only PLANNED here - that would not do - +they would not mind. Your friends could set half the Continent on +fire without influencing the public opinion here in favour of a +universal repressive legislation. They will not look outside their +backyard here." + +Mr Verloc cleared his throat, but his heart failed him, and he said +nothing. + +"These outrages need not be especially sanguinary," Mr Vladimir +went on, as if delivering a scientific lecture, "but they must be +sufficiently startling - effective. Let them be directed against +buildings, for instance. What is the fetish of the hour that all +the bourgeoisie recognise - eh, Mr Verloc?" + +Mr Verloc opened his hands and shrugged his shoulders slightly. + +"You are too lazy to think," was Mr Vladimir's comment upon that +gesture. "Pay attention to what I say. The fetish of to-day is +neither royalty nor religion. Therefore the palace and the church +should be left alone. You understand what I mean, Mr Verloc?" + +The dismay and the scorn of Mr Verloc found vent in an attempt at +levity. + +"Perfectly. But what of the Embassies? A series of attacks on the +various Embassies," he began; but he could not withstand the cold, +watchful stare of the First Secretary. + +"You can be facetious, I see," the latter observed carelessly. +"That's all right. It may enliven your oratory at socialistic +congresses. But this room is no place for it. It would be +infinitely safer for you to follow carefully what I am saying. As +you are being called upon to furnish facts instead of cock-and-bull +stories, you had better try to make your profit off what I am +taking the trouble to explain to you. The sacrosanct fetish of to- +day is science. Why don't you get some of your friends to go for +that wooden-faced panjandrum - eh? Is it not part of these +institutions which must be swept away before the F. P. comes +along?" + +Mr Verloc said nothing. He was afraid to open his lips lest a +groan should escape him. + +"This is what you should try for. An attempt upon a crowned head +or on a president is sensational enough in a way, but not so much +as it used to be. It has entered into the general conception of +the existence of all chiefs of state. It's almost conventional - +especially since so many presidents have been assassinated. Now +let us take an outrage upon - say a church. Horrible enough at +first sight, no doubt, and yet not so effective as a person of an +ordinary mind might think. No matter how revolutionary and +anarchist in inception, there would be fools enough to give such an +outrage the character of a religious manifestation. And that would +detract from the especial alarming significance we wish to give to +the act. A murderous attempt on a restaurant or a theatre would +suffer in the same way from the suggestion of non-political +passion: the exasperation of a hungry man, an act of social +revenge. All this is used up; it is no longer instructive as an +object lesson in revolutionary anarchism. Every newspaper has +ready-made phrases to explain such manifestations away. I am about +to give you the philosophy of bomb throwing from my point of view; +from the point of view you pretend to have been serving for the +last eleven years. I will try not to talk above your head. The +sensibilities of the class you are attacking are soon blunted. +Property seems to them an indestructible thing. You can't count +upon their emotions either of pity or fear for very long. A bomb +outrage to have any influence on public opinion now must go beyond +the intention of vengeance or terrorism. It must be purely +destructive. It must be that, and only that, beyond the faintest +suspicion of any other object. You anarchists should make it clear +that you are perfectly determined to make a clean sweep of the +whole social creation. But how to get that appallingly absurd +notion into the heads of the middle classes so that there should be +no mistake? That's the question. By directing your blows at +something outside the ordinary passions of humanity is the answer. +Of course, there is art. A bomb in the National Gallery would make +some noise. But it would not be serious enough. Art has never +been their fetish. It's like breaking a few back windows in a +man's house; whereas, if you want to make him really sit up, you +must try at least to raise the roof. There would be some screaming +of course, but from whom? Artists - art critics and such like - +people of no account. Nobody minds what they say. But there is +learning - science. Any imbecile that has got an income believes +in that. He does not know why, but he believes it matters somehow. +It is the sacrosanct fetish. All the damned professors are +radicals at heart. Let them know that their great panjandrum has +got to go too, to make room for the Future of the Proletariat. A +howl from all these intellectual idiots is bound to help forward +the labours of the Milan Conference. They will be writing to the +papers. Their indignation would be above suspicion, no material +interests being openly at stake, and it will alarm every +selfishness of the class which should be impressed. They believe +that in some mysterious way science is at the source of their +material prosperity. They do. And the absurd ferocity of such a +demonstration will affect them more profoundly than the mangling of +a whole street - or theatre - full of their own kind. To that last +they can always say: `Oh! it's mere class hate.' But what is one +to say to an act of destructive ferocity so absurd as to be +incomprehensible, inexplicable, almost unthinkable; in fact, mad? +Madness alone is truly terrifying, inasmuch as you cannot placate +it either by threats, persuasion, or bribes. Moreover, I am a +civilised man. I would never dream of directing you to organise a +mere butchery, even if I expected the best results from it. But I +wouldn't expect from a butchery the result I want. Murder is +always with us. It is almost an institution. The demonstration +must be against learning - science. But not every science will +do. The attack must have all the shocking senselessness of +gratuitous blasphemy. Since bombs are your means of expression, it +would be really telling if one could throw a bomb into pure +mathematics. But that is impossible. I have been trying to +educate you; I have expounded to you the higher philosophy of your +usefulness, and suggested to you some serviceable arguments. The +practical application of my teaching interests YOU mostly. But +from the moment I have undertaken to interview you I have also +given some attention to the practical aspect of the question. What +do you think of having a go at astronomy?" + +For sometime already Mr Verloc's immobility by the side of the arm- +chair resembled a state of collapsed coma - a sort of passive +insensibility interrupted by slight convulsive starts, such as may +be observed in the domestic dog having a nightmare on the +hearthrug. And it was in an uneasy doglike growl that he repeated +the word: + +"Astronomy." + +He had not recovered thoroughly as yet from that state of +bewilderment brought about by the effort to follow Mr Vladimir's +rapid incisive utterance. It had overcome his power of +assimilation. It had made him angry. This anger was complicated +by incredulity. And suddenly it dawned upon him that all this was +an elaborate joke. Mr Vladimir exhibited his white teeth in a +smile, with dimples on his round, full face posed with a complacent +inclination above the bristling bow of his neck-tie. The favourite +of intelligent society women had assumed his drawing-room attitude +accompanying the delivery of delicate witticisms. Sitting well +forward, his white hand upraised, he seemed to hold delicately +between his thumb and forefinger the subtlety of his suggestion. + +"There could be nothing better. Such an outrage combines the +greatest possible regard for humanity with the most alarming +display of ferocious imbecility. I defy the ingenuity of +journalists to persuade their public that any given member of the +proletariat can have a personal grievance against astronomy. +Starvation itself could hardly be dragged in there - eh? And there +are other advantages. The whole civilised world has heard of +Greenwich. The very boot-blacks in the basement of Charing Cross +Station know something of it. See?" + +The features of Mr Vladimir, so well known in the best society by +their humorous urbanity, beamed with cynical self-satisfaction, +which would have astonished the intelligent women his wit +entertained so exquisitely. "Yes," he continued, with a +contemptuous smile, "the blowing up of the first meridian is bound +to raise a howl of execration." + +"A difficult business," Mr Verloc mumbled, feeling that this was +the only safe thing to say. + +"What is the matter? Haven't you the whole gang under your hand? +The very pick of the basket? That old terrorist Yundt is here. I +see him walking about Piccadilly in his green havelock almost every +day. And Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle - you don't mean +to say you don't know where he is? Because if you don't, I can +tell you," Mr Vladimir went on menacingly. "If you imagine that +you are the only one on the secret fund list, you are mistaken." + +This perfectly gratuitous suggestion caused Mr Verloc to shuffle +his feet slightly. + +"And the whole Lausanne lot - eh? Haven't they been flocking over +here at the first hint of the Milan Conference? This is an absurd +country." + +"It will cost money," Mr Verloc said, by a sort of instinct. + +"That cock won't fight," Mr Vladimir retorted, with an amazingly +genuine English accent. "You'll get your screw every month, and no +more till something happens. And if nothing happens very soon you +won't get even that. What's your ostensible occupation? What are +you supposed to live by?" + +"I keep a shop," answered Mr Verloc. + +"A shop! What sort of shop?" + +"Stationery, newspapers. My wife - " + +"Your what?" interrupted Mr Vladimir in his guttural Central Asian +tones. + +"My wife." Mr Verloc raised his husky voice slightly. "I am +married." + +"That be damned for a yarn," exclaimed the other in unfeigned +astonishment. "Married! And you a professed anarchist, too! What +is this confounded nonsense? But I suppose it's merely a manner of +speaking. Anarchists don't marry. It's well known. They can't. +It would be apostasy." + +"My wife isn't one," Mr Verloc mumbled sulkily. "Moreover, it's no +concern of yours." + +"Oh yes, it is," snapped Mr Vladimir. "I am beginning to be +convinced that you are not at all the man for the work you've been +employed on. Why, you must have discredited yourself completely in +your own world by your marriage. Couldn't you have managed +without? This is your virtuous attachment - eh? What with one +sort of attachment and another you are doing away with your +usefulness." + +Mr Verloc, puffing out his cheeks, let the air escape violently, +and that was all. He had armed himself with patience. It was not +to be tried much longer. The First Secretary became suddenly very +curt, detached, final. + +"You may go now," he said. "A dynamite outrage must be provoked. +I give you a month. The sittings of the Conference are suspended. +Before it reassembles again something must have happened here, or +your connection with us ceases." + +He changed the note once more with an unprincipled versatility. + +"Think over my philosophy, Mr - Mr - Verloc," he said, with a sort +of chaffing condescension, waving his hand towards the door. "Go +for the first meridian. You don't know the middle classes as well +as I do. Their sensibilities are jaded. The first meridian. +Nothing better, and nothing easier, I should think." + +He had got up, and with his thin sensitive lips twitching +humorously, watched in the glass over the mantelpiece Mr Verloc +backing out of the room heavily, hat and stick in hand. The door +closed. + +The footman in trousers, appearing suddenly in the corridor, let Mr +Verloc another way out and through a small door in the corner of +the courtyard. The porter standing at the gate ignored his exit +completely; and Mr Verloc retraced the path of his morning's +pilgrimage as if in a dream - an angry dream. This detachment from +the material world was so complete that, though the mortal envelope +of Mr Verloc had not hastened unduly along the streets, that part +of him to which it would be unwarrantably rude to refuse +immortality, found itself at the shop door all at once, as if borne +from west to east on the wings of a great wind. He walked straight +behind the counter, and sat down on a wooden chair that stood +there. No one appeared to disturb his solitude. Stevie, put into +a green baize apron, was now sweeping and dusting upstairs, intent +and conscientious, as though he were playing at it; and Mrs Verloc, +warned in the kitchen by the clatter of the cracked bell, had +merely come to the glazed door of the parlour, and putting the +curtain aside a little, had peered into the dim shop. Seeing her +husband sitting there shadowy and bulky, with his hat tilted far +back on his head, she had at once returned to her stove. An hour +or more later she took the green baize apron off her brother +Stevie, and instructed him to wash his hands and face in the +peremptory tone she had used in that connection for fifteen years +or so - ever since she had, in fact, ceased to attend to the boy's +hands and face herself. She spared presently a glance away from +her dishing-up for the inspection of that face and those hands +which Stevie, approaching the kitchen table, offered for her +approval with an air of self-assurance hiding a perpetual residue +of anxiety. Formerly the anger of the father was the supremely +effective sanction of these rites, but Mr Verloc's placidity in +domestic life would have made all mention of anger incredible even +to poor Stevie's nervousness. The theory was that Mr Verloc would +have been inexpressibly pained and shocked by any deficiency of +cleanliness at meal times. Winnie after the death of her father +found considerable consolation in the feeling that she need no +longer tremble for poor Stevie. She could not bear to see the boy +hurt. It maddened her. As a little girl she had often faced with +blazing eyes the irascible licensed victualler in defence of her +brother. Nothing now in Mrs Verloc's appearance could lead one to +suppose that she was capable of a passionate demonstration. + +She finished her dishing-up. The table was laid in the parlour. +Going to the foot of the stairs, she screamed out "Mother!" Then +opening the glazed door leading to the shop, she said quietly +"Adolf!" Mr Verloc had not changed his position; he had not +apparently stirred a limb for an hour and a half. He got up +heavily, and came to his dinner in his overcoat and with his hat +on, without uttering a word. His silence in itself had nothing +startlingly unusual in this household, hidden in the shades of the +sordid street seldom touched by the sun, behind the dim shop with +its wares of disreputable rubbish. Only that day Mr Verloc's +taciturnity was so obviously thoughtful that the two women were +impressed by it. They sat silent themselves, keeping a watchful +eye on poor Stevie, lest he should break out into one of his fits +of loquacity. He faced Mr Verloc across the table, and remained +very good and quiet, staring vacantly. The endeavour to keep him +from making himself objectionable in any way to the master of the +house put no inconsiderable anxiety into these two women's lives. +"That boy," as they alluded to him softly between themselves, had +been a source of that sort of anxiety almost from the very day of +his birth. The late licensed victualler's humiliation at having +such a very peculiar boy for a son manifested itself by a +propensity to brutal treatment; for he was a person of fine +sensibilities, and his sufferings as a man and a father were +perfectly genuine. Afterwards Stevie had to be kept from making +himself a nuisance to the single gentlemen lodgers, who are +themselves a queer lot, and are easily aggrieved. And there was +always the anxiety of his mere existence to face. Visions of a +workhouse infirmary for her child had haunted the old woman in the +basement breakfast-room of the decayed Belgravian house. "If you +had not found such a good husband, my dear," she used to say to her +daughter, "I don't know what would have become of that poor boy." + +Mr Verloc extended as much recognition to Stevie as a man not +particularly fond of animals may give to his wife's beloved cat; +and this recognition, benevolent and perfunctory, was essentially +of the same quality. Both women admitted to themselves that not +much more could be reasonably expected. It was enough to earn for +Mr Verloc the old woman's reverential gratitude. In the early +days, made sceptical by the trials of friendless life, she used +sometimes to ask anxiously: "You don't think, my dear, that Mr +Verloc is getting tired of seeing Stevie about?" To this Winnie +replied habitually by a slight toss of her head. Once, however, +she retorted, with a rather grim pertness: "He'll have to get tired +of me first." A long silence ensued. The mother, with her feet +propped up on a stool, seemed to be trying to get to the bottom of +that answer, whose feminine profundity had struck her all of a +heap. She had never really understood why Winnie had married Mr +Verloc. It was very sensible of her, and evidently had turned out +for the best, but her girl might have naturally hoped to find +somebody of a more suitable age. There had been a steady young +fellow, only son of a butcher in the next street, helping his +father in business, with whom Winnie had been walking out with +obvious gusto. He was dependent on his father, it is true; but the +business was good, and his prospects excellent. He took her girl +to the theatre on several evenings. Then just as she began to +dread to hear of their engagement (for what could she have done +with that big house alone, with Stevie on her hands), that romance +came to an abrupt end, and Winnie went about looking very dull. +But Mr Verloc, turning up providentially to occupy the first-floor +front bedroom, there had been no more question of the young +butcher. It was clearly providential. + + + +CHAPTER III + + + +" . . . All idealisation makes life poorer. To beautify it is to +take away its character of complexity - it is to destroy it. Leave +that to the moralists, my boy. History is made by men, but they do +not make it in their heads. The ideas that are born in their +consciousness play an insignificant part in the march of events. +History is dominated and determined by the tool and the production +- by the force of economic conditions. Capitalism has made +socialism, and the laws made by the capitalism for the protection +of property are responsible for anarchism. No one can tell what +form the social organisation may take in the future. Then why +indulge in prophetic phantasies? At best they can only interpret +the mind of the prophet, and can have no objective value. Leave +that pastime to the moralists, my boy." + +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, was speaking in an even +voice, a voice that wheezed as if deadened and oppressed by the +layer of fat on his chest. He had come out of a highly hygienic +prison round like a tub, with an enormous stomach and distended +cheeks of a pale, semi-transparent complexion, as though for +fifteen years the servants of an outraged society had made a point +of stuffing him with fattening foods in a damp and lightless +cellar. And ever since he had never managed to get his weight down +as much as an ounce. + +It was said that for three seasons running a very wealthy old lady +had sent him for a cure to Marienbad - where he was about to share +the public curiosity once with a crowned head - but the police on +that occasion ordered him to leave within twelve hours. His +martyrdom was continued by forbidding him all access to the healing +waters. But he was resigned now. + +With his elbow presenting no appearance of a joint, but more like a +bend in a dummy's limb, thrown over the back of a chair, he leaned +forward slightly over his short and enormous thighs to spit into +the grate. + +"Yes! I had the time to think things out a little," he added +without emphasis. "Society has given me plenty of time for +meditation." + +On the other side of the fireplace, in the horse-hair arm-chair +where Mrs Verloc's mother was generally privileged to sit, Karl +Yundt giggled grimly, with a faint black grimace of a toothless +mouth. The terrorist, as he called himself, was old and bald, with +a narrow, snow-white wisp of a goatee hanging limply from his chin. +An extraordinary expression of underhand malevolence survived in +his extinguished eyes. When he rose painfully the thrusting +forward of a skinny groping hand deformed by gouty swellings +suggested the effort of a moribund murderer summoning all his +remaining strength for a last stab. He leaned on a thick stick, +which trembled under his other hand. + +"I have always dreamed," he mouthed fiercely, "of a band of men +absolute in their resolve to discard all scruples in the choice of +means, strong enough to give themselves frankly the name of +destroyers, and free from the taint of that resigned pessimism +which rots the world. No pity for anything on earth, including +themselves, and death enlisted for good and all in the service of +humanity - that's what I would have liked to see." + +His little bald head quivered, imparting a comical vibration to the +wisp of white goatee. His enunciation would have been almost +totally unintelligible to a stranger. His worn-out passion, +resembling in its impotent fierceness the excitement of a senile +sensualist, was badly served by a dried throat and toothless gums +which seemed to catch the tip of his tongue. Mr Verloc, +established in the corner of the sofa at the other end of the room, +emitted two hearty grunts of assent. + +The old terrorist turned slowly his head on his skinny neck from +side to side. + +"And I could never get as many as three such men together. So much +for your rotten pessimism," he snarled at Michaelis, who uncrossed +his thick legs, similar to bolsters, and slid his feet abruptly +under his chair in sign of exasperation. + +He a pessimist! Preposterous! He cried out that the charge was +outrageous. He was so far from pessimism that he saw already the +end of all private property coming along logically, unavoidably, by +the mere development of its inherent viciousness. The possessors +of property had not only to face the awakened proletariat, but they +had also to fight amongst themselves. Yes. Struggle, warfare, was +the condition of private ownership. It was fatal. Ah! he did not +depend upon emotional excitement to keep up his belief, no +declamations, no anger, no visions of blood-red flags waving, or +metaphorical lurid suns of vengeance rising above the horizon of a +doomed society. Not he! Cold reason, he boasted, was the basis of +his optimism. Yes, optimism - + +His laborious wheezing stopped, then, after a gasp or two, he +added: + +"Don't you think that, if I had not been the optimist I am, I could +not have found in fifteen years some means to cut my throat? And, +in the last instance, there were always the walls of my cell to +dash my head against." + +The shortness of breath took all fire, all animation out of his +voice; his great, pale cheeks hung like filled pouches, motionless, +without a quiver; but in his blue eyes, narrowed as if peering, +there was the same look of confident shrewdness, a little crazy in +its fixity, they must have had while the indomitable optimist sat +thinking at night in his cell. Before him, Karl Yundt remained +standing, one wing of his faded greenish havelock thrown back +cavalierly over his shoulder. Seated in front of the fireplace, +Comrade Ossipon, ex-medical student, the principal writer of the F. +P. leaflets, stretched out his robust legs, keeping the soles of +his boots turned up to the glow in the grate. A bush of crinkly +yellow hair topped his red, freckled face, with a flattened nose +and prominent mouth cast in the rough mould of the negro type. His +almond-shaped eyes leered languidly over the high cheek-bones. He +wore a grey flannel shirt, the loose ends of a black silk tie hung +down the buttoned breast of his serge coat; and his head resting on +the back of his chair, his throat largely exposed, he raised to his +lips a cigarette in a long wooden tube, puffing jets of smoke +straight up at the ceiling. + +Michaelis pursued his idea - THE idea of his solitary reclusion - +the thought vouchsafed to his captivity and growing like a faith +revealed in visions. He talked to himself, indifferent to the +sympathy or hostility of his hearers, indifferent indeed to their +presence, from the habit he had acquired of thinking aloud +hopefully in the solitude of the four whitewashed walls of his +cell, in the sepulchral silence of the great blind pile of bricks +near a river, sinister and ugly like a colossal mortuary for the +socially drowned. + +He was no good in discussion, not because any amount of argument +could shake his faith, but because the mere fact of hearing another +voice disconcerted him painfully, confusing his thoughts at once - +these thoughts that for so many years, in a mental solitude more +barren than a waterless desert, no living voice had ever combatted, +commented, or approved. + +No one interrupted him now, and he made again the confession of his +faith, mastering him irresistible and complete like an act of +grace: the secret of fate discovered in the material side of life; +the economic condition of the world responsible for the past and +shaping the future; the source of all history, of all ideas, +guiding the mental development of mankind and the very impulses of +their passion - + +A harsh laugh from Comrade Ossipon cut the tirade dead short in a +sudden faltering of the tongue and a bewildered unsteadiness of the +apostle's mildly exalted eyes. He closed them slowly for a moment, +as if to collect his routed thoughts. A silence fell; but what +with the two gas-jets over the table and the glowing grate the +little parlour behind Mr Verloc's shop had become frightfully hot. +Mr Verloc, getting off the sofa with ponderous reluctance, opened +the door leading into the kitchen to get more air, and thus +disclosed the innocent Stevie, seated very good and quiet at a deal +table, drawing circles, circles, circles; innumerable circles, +concentric, eccentric; a coruscating whirl of circles that by their +tangled multitude of repeated curves, uniformity of form, and +confusion of intersecting lines suggested a rendering of cosmic +chaos, the symbolism of a mad art attempting the inconceivable. +The artist never turned his head; and in all his soul's application +to the task his back quivered, his thin neck, sunk into a deep +hollow at the base of the skull, seemed ready to snap. + +Mr Verloc, after a grunt of disapproving surprise, returned to the +sofa. Alexander Ossipon got up, tall in his threadbare blue serge +suit under the low ceiling, shook off the stiffness of long +immobility, and strolled away into the kitchen (down two steps) to +look over Stevie's shoulder. He came back, pronouncing oracularly: +"Very good. Very characteristic, perfectly typical." + +"What's very good?" grunted inquiringly Mr Verloc, settled again in +the corner of the sofa. The other explained his meaning +negligently, with a shade of condescension and a toss of his head +towards the kitchen: + +"Typical of this form of degeneracy - these drawings, I mean." + +"You would call that lad a degenerate, would you?" mumbled Mr +Verloc. + +Comrade Alexander Ossipon - nicknamed the Doctor, ex-medical +student without a degree; afterwards wandering lecturer to working- +men's associations upon the socialistic aspects of hygiene; author +of a popular quasi-medical study (in the form of a cheap pamphlet +seized promptly by the police) entitled "The Corroding Vices of the +Middle Classes"; special delegate of the more or less mysterious +Red Committee, together with Karl Yundt and Michaelis for the work +of literary propaganda - turned upon the obscure familiar of at +least two Embassies that glance of insufferable, hopelessly dense +sufficiency which nothing but the frequentation of science can give +to the dulness of common mortals. + +"That's what he may be called scientifically. Very good type too, +altogether, of that sort of degenerate. It's enough to glance at +the lobes of his ears. If you read Lombroso - " + +Mr Verloc, moody and spread largely on the sofa, continued to look +down the row of his waistcoat buttons; but his cheeks became tinged +by a faint blush. Of late even the merest derivative of the word +science (a term in itself inoffensive and of indefinite meaning) +had the curious power of evoking a definitely offensive mental +vision of Mr Vladimir, in his body as he lived, with an almost +supernatural clearness. And this phenomenon, deserving justly to +be classed amongst the marvels of science, induced in Mr Verloc an +emotional state of dread and exasperation tending to express itself +in violent swearing. But he said nothing. It was Karl Yundt who +was heard, implacable to his last breath. + +"Lombroso is an ass." + +Comrade Ossipon met the shock of this blasphemy by an awful, vacant +stare. And the other, his extinguished eyes without gleams +blackening the deep shadows under the great, bony forehead, +mumbled, catching the tip of his tongue between his lips at every +second word as though he were chewing it angrily: + +"Did you ever see such an idiot? For him the criminal is the +prisoner. Simple, is it not? What about those who shut him up +there - forced him in there? Exactly. Forced him in there. And +what is crime? Does he know that, this imbecile who has made his +way in this world of gorged fools by looking at the ears and teeth +of a lot of poor, luckless devils? Teeth and ears mark the +criminal? Do they? And what about the law that marks him still +better - the pretty branding instrument invented by the overfed to +protect themselves against the hungry? Red-hot applications on +their vile skins - hey? Can't you smell and hear from here the +thick hide of the people burn and sizzle? That's how criminals are +made for your Lombrosos to write their silly stuff about." + +The knob of his stick and his legs shook together with passion, +whilst the trunk, draped in the wings of the havelock, preserved +his historic attitude of defiance. He seemed to sniff the tainted +air of social cruelty, to strain his ear for its atrocious sounds. +There was an extraordinary force of suggestion in this posturing. +The all but moribund veteran of dynamite wars had been a great +actor in his time - actor on platforms, in secret assemblies, in +private interviews. The famous terrorist had never in his life +raised personally as much as his little finger against the social +edifice. He was no man of action; he was not even an orator of +torrential eloquence, sweeping the masses along in the rushing +noise and foam of a great enthusiasm. With a more subtle +intention, he took the part of an insolent and venomous evoker of +sinister impulses which lurk in the blind envy and exasperated +vanity of ignorance, in the suffering and misery of poverty, in all +the hopeful and noble illusions of righteous anger, pity, and +revolt. The shadow of his evil gift clung to him yet like the +smell of a deadly drug in an old vial of poison, emptied now, +useless, ready to be thrown away upon the rubbish-heap of things +that had served their time. + +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, smiled vaguely with his +glued lips; his pasty moon face drooped under the weight of +melancholy assent. He had been a prisoner himself. His own skin +had sizzled under the red-hot brand, he murmured softly. But +Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, had got over the shock by +that time. + +"You don't understand," he began disdainfully, but stopped short, +intimidated by the dead blackness of the cavernous eyes in the face +turned slowly towards him with a blind stare, as if guided only by +the sound. He gave the discussion up, with a slight shrug of the +shoulders. + +Stevie, accustomed to move about disregarded, had got up from the +kitchen table, carrying off his drawing to bed with him. He had +reached the parlour door in time to receive in full the shock of +Karl Yundt's eloquent imagery. The sheet of paper covered with +circles dropped out of his fingers, and he remained staring at the +old terrorist, as if rooted suddenly to the spot by his morbid +horror and dread of physical pain. Stevie knew very well that hot +iron applied to one's skin hurt very much. His scared eyes blazed +with indignation: it would hurt terribly. His mouth dropped open. + +Michaelis by staring unwinkingly at the fire had regained that +sentiment of isolation necessary for the continuity of his thought. +His optimism had begun to flow from his lips. He saw Capitalism +doomed in its cradle, born with the poison of the principle of +competition in its system. The great capitalists devouring the +little capitalists, concentrating the power and the tools of +production in great masses, perfecting industrial processes, and in +the madness of self-aggrandisement only preparing, organising, +enriching, making ready the lawful inheritance of the suffering +proletariat. Michaelis pronounced the great word "Patience" - and +his clear blue glance, raised to the low ceiling of Mr Verloc's +parlour, had a character of seraphic trustfulness. In the doorway +Stevie, calmed, seemed sunk in hebetude. + +Comrade Ossipon's face twitched with exasperation. + +"Then it's no use doing anything - no use whatever." + +"I don't say that," protested Michaelis gently. His vision of +truth had grown so intense that the sound of a strange voice failed +to rout it this time. He continued to look down at the red coals. +Preparation for the future was necessary, and he was willing to +admit that the great change would perhaps come in the upheaval of a +revolution. But he argued that revolutionary propaganda was a +delicate work of high conscience. It was the education of the +masters of the world. It should be as careful as the education +given to kings. He would have it advance its tenets cautiously, +even timidly, in our ignorance of the effect that may be produced +by any given economic change upon the happiness, the morals, the +intellect, the history of mankind. For history is made with tools, +not with ideas; and everything is changed by economic conditions - +art, philosophy, love, virtue - truth itself! + +The coals in the grate settled down with a slight crash; and +Michaelis, the hermit of visions in the desert of a penitentiary, +got up impetuously. Round like a distended balloon, he opened his +short, thick arms, as if in a pathetically hopeless attempt to +embrace and hug to his breast a self-regenerated universe. He +gasped with ardour. + +"The future is as certain as the past - slavery, feudalism, +individualism, collectivism. This is the statement of a law, not +an empty prophecy." + +The disdainful pout of Comrade Ossipon's thick lips accentuated the +negro type of his face. + +"Nonsense," he said calmly enough. "There is no law and no +certainty. The teaching propaganda be hanged. What the people +knows does not matter, were its knowledge ever so accurate. The +only thing that matters to us is the emotional state of the masses. +Without emotion there is no action." + +He paused, then added with modest firmness: + +"I am speaking now to you scientifically - scientifically - Eh? +What did you say, Verloc?" + +"Nothing," growled from the sofa Mr Verloc, who, provoked by the +abhorrent sound, had merely muttered a "Damn." + +The venomous spluttering of the old terrorist without teeth was +heard. + +"Do you know how I would call the nature of the present economic +conditions? I would call it cannibalistic. That's what it is! +They are nourishing their greed on the quivering flesh and the warm +blood of the people - nothing else." + +Stevie swallowed the terrifying statement with an audible gulp, and +at once, as though it had been swift poison, sank limply in a +sitting posture on the steps of the kitchen door. + +Michaelis gave no sign of having heard anything. His lips seemed +glued together for good; not a quiver passed over his heavy cheeks. +With troubled eyes he looked for his round, hard hat, and put it on +his round head. His round and obese body seemed to float low +between the chairs under the sharp elbow of Karl Yundt. The old +terrorist, raising an uncertain and clawlike hand, gave a +swaggering tilt to a black felt sombrero shading the hollows and +ridges of his wasted face. He got in motion slowly, striking the +floor with his stick at every step. It was rather an affair to get +him out of the house because, now and then, he would stop, as if to +think, and did not offer to move again till impelled forward by +Michaelis. The gentle apostle grasped his arm with brotherly care; +and behind them, his hands in his pockets, the robust Ossipon +yawned vaguely. A blue cap with a patent leather peak set well at +the back of his yellow bush of hair gave him the aspect of a +Norwegian sailor bored with the world after a thundering spree. Mr +Verloc saw his guests off the premises, attending them bareheaded, +his heavy overcoat hanging open, his eyes on the ground. + +He closed the door behind their backs with restrained violence, +turned the key, shot the bolt. He was not satisfied with his +friends. In the light of Mr Vladimir's philosophy of bomb throwing +they appeared hopelessly futile. The part of Mr Verloc in +revolutionary politics having been to observe, he could not all at +once, either in his own home or in larger assemblies, take the +initiative of action. He had to be cautious. Moved by the just +indignation of a man well over forty, menaced in what is dearest to +him - his repose and his security - he asked himself scornfully +what else could have been expected from such a lot, this Karl +Yundt, this Michaelis - this Ossipon. + +Pausing in his intention to turn off the gas burning in the middle +of the shop, Mr Verloc descended into the abyss of moral +reflections. With the insight of a kindred temperament he +pronounced his verdict. A lazy lot - this Karl Yundt, nursed by a +blear-eyed old woman, a woman he had years ago enticed away from a +friend, and afterwards had tried more than once to shake off into +the gutter. Jolly lucky for Yundt that she had persisted in coming +up time after time, or else there would have been no one now to +help him out of the `bus by the Green Park railings, where that +spectre took its constitutional crawl every fine morning. When +that indomitable snarling old witch died the swaggering spectre +would have to vanish too - there would be an end to fiery Karl +Yundt. And Mr Verloc's morality was offended also by the optimism +of Michaelis, annexed by his wealthy old lady, who had taken lately +to sending him to a cottage she had in the country. The ex- +prisoner could moon about the shady lanes for days together in a +delicious and humanitarian idleness. As to Ossipon, that beggar +was sure to want for nothing as long as there were silly girls with +savings-bank books in the world. And Mr Verloc, temperamentally +identical with his associates, drew fine distinctions in his mind +on the strength of insignificant differences. He drew them with a +certain complacency, because the instinct of conventional +respectability was strong within him, being only overcome by his +dislike of all kinds of recognised labour - a temperamental defect +which he shared with a large proportion of revolutionary reformers +of a given social state. For obviously one does not revolt against +the advantages and opportunities of that state, but against the +price which must be paid for the same in the coin of accepted +morality, self-restraint, and toil. The majority of revolutionises +are the enemies of discipline and fatigue mostly. There are +natures too, to whose sense of justice the price exacted looms up +monstrously enormous, odious, oppressive, worrying, humiliating, +extortionate, intolerable. Those are the fanatics. The remaining +portion of social rebels is accounted for by vanity, the mother of +all noble and vile illusions, the companion of poets, reformers, +charlatans, prophets, and incendiaries. + +Lost for a whole minute in the abyss of meditation, Mr Verloc did +not reach the depth of these abstract considerations. Perhaps he +was not able. In any case he had not the time. He was pulled up +painfully by the sudden recollection of Mr Vladimir, another of his +associates, whom in virtue of subtle moral affinities he was +capable of judging correctly. He considered him as dangerous. A +shade of envy crept into his thoughts. Loafing was all very well +for these fellows, who knew not Mr Vladimir, and had women to fall +back upon; whereas he had a woman to provide for - + +At this point, by a simple association of ideas, Mr Verloc was +brought face to face with the necessity of going to bed some time +or other that evening. Then why not go now - at once? He sighed. +The necessity was not so normally pleasurable as it ought to have +been for a man of his age and temperament. He dreaded the demon of +sleeplessness, which he felt had marked him for its own. He raised +his arm, and turned off the flaring gas-jet above his head. + +A bright band of light fell through the parlour door into the part +of the shop behind the counter. It enabled Mr Verloc to ascertain +at a glance the number of silver coins in the till. These were but +few; and for the first time since he opened his shop he took a +commercial survey of its value. This survey was unfavourable. He +had gone into trade for no commercial reasons. He had been guided +in the selection of this peculiar line of business by an +instinctive leaning towards shady transactions, where money is +picked up easily. Moreover, it did not take him out of his own +sphere - the sphere which is watched by the police. On the +contrary, it gave him a publicly confessed standing in that sphere, +and as Mr Verloc had unconfessed relations which made him familiar +with yet careless of the police, there was a distinct advantage in +such a situation. But as a means of livelihood it was by itself +insufficient. + +He took the cash-box out of the drawer, and turning to leave the +shop, became aware that Stevie was still downstairs. + +What on earth is he doing there? Mr Verloc asked himself. What's +the meaning of these antics? He looked dubiously at his brother- +in-law, but he did not ask him for information. Mr Verloc's +intercourse with Stevie was limited to the casual mutter of a +morning, after breakfast, "My boots," and even that was more a +communication at large of a need than a direct order or request. +Mr Verloc perceived with some surprise that he did not know really +what to say to Stevie. He stood still in the middle of the +parlour, and looked into the kitchen in silence. Nor yet did he +know what would happen if he did say anything. And this appeared +very queer to Mr Verloc in view of the fact, borne upon him +suddenly, that he had to provide for this fellow too. He had never +given a moment's thought till then to that aspect of Stevie's +existence. + +Positively he did not know how to speak to the lad. He watched him +gesticulating and murmuring in the kitchen. Stevie prowled round +the table like an excited animal in a cage. A tentative "Hadn't +you better go to bed now?" produced no effect whatever; and Mr +Verloc, abandoning the stony contemplation of his brother-in-law's +behaviour, crossed the parlour wearily, cash-box in hand. The +cause of the general lassitude he felt while climbing the stairs +being purely mental, he became alarmed by its inexplicable +character. He hoped he was not sickening for anything. He stopped +on the dark landing to examine his sensations. But a slight and +continuous sound of snoring pervading the obscurity interfered with +their clearness. The sound came from his mother-in-law's room. +Another one to provide for, he thought - and on this thought walked +into the bedroom. + +Mrs Verloc had fallen asleep with the lamp (no gas was laid +upstairs) turned up full on the table by the side of the bed. The +light thrown down by the shade fell dazzlingly on the white pillow +sunk by the weight of her head reposing with closed eyes and dark +hair done up in several plaits for the night. She woke up with the +sound of her name in her ears, and saw her husband standing over +her. + +"Winnie! Winnie!" + +At first she did not stir, lying very quiet and looking at the +cash-box in Mr Verloc's hand. But when she understood that her +brother was "capering all over the place downstairs" she swung out +in one sudden movement on to the edge of the bed. Her bare feet, +as if poked through the bottom of an unadorned, sleeved calico sack +buttoned tightly at neck and wrists, felt over the rug for the +slippers while she looked upward into her husband's face. + +"I don't know how to manage him," Mr Verloc explained peevishly. +"Won't do to leave him downstairs alone with the lights." + +She said nothing, glided across the room swiftly, and the door +closed upon her white form. + +Mr Verloc deposited the cash-box on the night table, and began the +operation of undressing by flinging his overcoat on to a distant +chair. His coat and waistcoat followed. He walked about the room +in his stockinged feet, and his burly figure, with the hands +worrying nervously at his throat, passed and repassed across the +long strip of looking-glass in the door of his wife's wardrobe. +Then after slipping his braces off his shoulders he pulled up +violently the venetian blind, and leaned his forehead against the +cold window-pane - a fragile film of glass stretched between him +and the enormity of cold, black, wet, muddy, inhospitable +accumulation of bricks, slates, and stones, things in themselves +unlovely and unfriendly to man. + +Mr Verloc felt the latent unfriendliness of all out of doors with a +force approaching to positive bodily anguish. There is no +occupation that fails a man more completely than that of a secret +agent of police. It's like your horse suddenly falling dead under +you in the midst of an uninhabited and thirsty plain. The +comparison occurred to Mr Verloc because he had sat astride various +army horses in his time, and had now the sensation of an incipient +fall. The prospect was as black as the window-pane against which +he was leaning his forehead. And suddenly the face of Mr Vladimir, +clean-shaved and witty, appeared enhaloed in the glow of its rosy +complexion like a sort of pink seal, impressed on the fatal +darkness. + +This luminous and mutilated vision was so ghastly physically that +Mr Verloc started away from the window, letting down the venetian +blind with a great rattle. Discomposed and speechless with the +apprehension of more such visions, he beheld his wife re-enter the +room and get into bed in a calm business-like manner which made him +feel hopelessly lonely in the world. Mrs Verloc expressed her +surprise at seeing him up yet. + +"I don't feel very well," he muttered, passing his hands over his +moist brow. + +"Giddiness?" + +"Yes. Not at all well." + +Mrs Verloc, with all the placidity of an experienced wife, +expressed a confident opinion as to the cause, and suggested the +usual remedies; but her husband, rooted in the middle of the room, +shook his lowered head sadly. + +"You'll catch cold standing there," she observed. + +Mr Verloc made an effort, finished undressing, and got into bed. +Down below in the quiet, narrow street measured footsteps +approached the house, then died away unhurried and firm, as if the +passer-by had started to pace out all eternity, from gas-lamp to +gas-lamp in a night without end; and the drowsy ticking of the old +clock on the landing became distinctly audible in the bedroom. + +Mrs Verloc, on her back, and staring at the ceiling, made a remark. + +"Takings very small to-day." + +Mr Verloc, in the same position, cleared his throat as if for an +important statement, but merely inquired: + +"Did you turn off the gas downstairs?" + +"Yes; I did," answered Mrs Verloc conscientiously. "That poor boy +is in a very excited state to-night," she murmured, after a pause +which lasted for three ticks of the clock. + +Mr Verloc cared nothing for Stevie's excitement, but he felt +horribly wakeful, and dreaded facing the darkness and silence that +would follow the extinguishing of the lamp. This dread led him to +make the remark that Stevie had disregarded his suggestion to go to +bed. Mrs Verloc, falling into the trap, started to demonstrate at +length to her husband that this was not "impudence" of any sort, +but simply "excitement." There was no young man of his age in +London more willing and docile than Stephen, she affirmed; none +more affectionate and ready to please, and even useful, as long as +people did not upset his poor head. Mrs Verloc, turning towards +her recumbent husband, raised herself on her elbow, and hung over +him in her anxiety that he should believe Stevie to be a useful +member of the family. That ardour of protecting compassion exalted +morbidly in her childhood by the misery of another child tinged her +sallow cheeks with a faint dusky blush, made her big eyes gleam +under the dark lids. Mrs Verloc then looked younger; she looked as +young as Winnie used to look, and much more animated than the +Winnie of the Belgravian mansion days had ever allowed herself to +appear to gentlemen lodgers. Mr Verloc's anxieties had prevented +him from attaching any sense to what his wife was saying. It was +as if her voice were talking on the other side of a very thick +wall. It was her aspect that recalled him to himself. + +He appreciated this woman, and the sentiment of this appreciation, +stirred by a display of something resembling emotion, only added +another pang to his mental anguish. When her voice ceased he moved +uneasily, and said: + +"I haven't been feeling well for the last few days." + +He might have meant this as an opening to a complete confidence; +but Mrs Verloc laid her head on the pillow again, and staring +upward, went on: + +"That boy hears too much of what is talked about here. If I had +known they were coming to-night I would have seen to it that he +went to bed at the same time I did. He was out of his mind with +something he overheard about eating people's flesh and drinking +blood. What's the good of talking like that?" + +There was a note of indignant scorn in her voice. Mr Verloc was +fully responsive now. + +"Ask Karl Yundt," he growled savagely. + +Mrs Verloc, with great decision, pronounced Karl Yundt "a +disgusting old man." She declared openly her affection for +Michaelis. Of the robust Ossipon, in whose presence she always +felt uneasy behind an attitude of stony reserve, she said nothing +whatever. And continuing to talk of that brother, who had been for +so many years an object of care and fears: + +"He isn't fit to hear what's said here. He believes it's all true. +He knows no better. He gets into his passions over it." + +Mr Verloc made no comment. + +"He glared at me, as if he didn't know who I was, when I went +downstairs. His heart was going like a hammer. He can't help +being excitable. I woke mother up, and asked her to sit with him +till he went to sleep. It isn't his fault. He's no trouble when +he's left alone." + +Mr Verloc made no comment. + +"I wish he had never been to school," Mrs Verloc began again +brusquely. "He's always taking away those newspapers from the +window to read. He gets a red face poring over them. We don't get +rid of a dozen numbers in a month. They only take up room in the +front window. And Mr Ossipon brings every week a pile of these F. +P. tracts to sell at a halfpenny each. I wouldn't give a halfpenny +for the whole lot. It's silly reading - that's what it is. +There's no sale for it. The other day Stevie got hold of one, and +there was a story in it of a German soldier officer tearing half- +off the ear of a recruit, and nothing was done to him for it. The +brute! I couldn't do anything with Stevie that afternoon. The +story was enough, too, to make one's blood boil. But what's the +use of printing things like that? We aren't German slaves here, +thank God. It's not our business - is it?" + +Mr Verloc made no reply. + +"I had to take the carving knife from the boy," Mrs Verloc +continued, a little sleepily now. "He was shouting and stamping +and sobbing. He can't stand the notion of any cruelty. He would +have stuck that officer like a pig if he had seen him then. It's +true, too! Some people don't deserve much mercy." Mrs Verloc's +voice ceased, and the expression of her motionless eyes became more +and more contemplative and veiled during the long pause. +"Comfortable, dear?" she asked in a faint, far-away voice. "Shall +I put out the light now?" + +The dreary conviction that there was no sleep for him held Mr +Verloc mute and hopelessly inert in his fear of darkness. He made +a great effort. + +"Yes. Put it out," he said at last in a hollow tone. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + + +Most of the thirty or so little tables covered by red cloths with a +white design stood ranged at right angles to the deep brown +wainscoting of the underground hall. Bronze chandeliers with many +globes depended from the low, slightly vaulted ceiling, and the +fresco paintings ran flat and dull all round the walls without +windows, representing scenes of the chase and of outdoor revelry in +mediaeval costumes. Varlets in green jerkins brandished hunting +knives and raised on high tankards of foaming beer. + +"Unless I am very much mistaken, you are the man who would know the +inside of this confounded affair," said the robust Ossipon, leaning +over, his elbows far out on the table and his feet tucked back +completely under his chair. His eyes stared with wild eagerness. + +An upright semi-grand piano near the door, flanked by two palms in +pots, executed suddenly all by itself a valse tune with aggressive +virtuosity. The din it raised was deafening. When it ceased, as +abruptly as it had started, the be-spectacled, dingy little man who +faced Ossipon behind a heavy glass mug full of beer emitted calmly +what had the sound of a general proposition. + +"In principle what one of us may or may not know as to any given +fact can't be a matter for inquiry to the others." + +"Certainly not," Comrade Ossipon agreed in a quiet undertone. "In +principle." + +With his big florid face held between his hands he continued to +stare hard, while the dingy little man in spectacles coolly took a +drink of beer and stood the glass mug back on the table. His flat, +large ears departed widely from the sides of his skull, which +looked frail enough for Ossipon to crush between thumb and +forefinger; the dome of the forehead seemed to rest on the rim of +the spectacles; the flat cheeks, of a greasy, unhealthy complexion, +were merely smudged by the miserable poverty of a thin dark +whisker. The lamentable inferiority of the whole physique was made +ludicrous by the supremely self-confident bearing of the +individual. His speech was curt, and he had a particularly +impressive manner of keeping silent. + +Ossipon spoke again from between his hands in a mutter. + +"Have you been out much to-day?" + +"No. I stayed in bed all the morning," answered the other. "Why?" + +"Oh! Nothing," said Ossipon, gazing earnestly and quivering +inwardly with the desire to find out something, but obviously +intimidated by the little man's overwhelming air of unconcern. +When talking with this comrade - which happened but rarely - the +big Ossipon suffered from a sense of moral and even physical +insignificance. However, he ventured another question. "Did you +walk down here?" + +"No; omnibus," the little man answered readily enough. He lived +far away in Islington, in a small house down a shabby street, +littered with straw and dirty paper, where out of school hours a +troop of assorted children ran and squabbled with a shrill, +joyless, rowdy clamour. His single back room, remarkable for +having an extremely large cupboard, he rented furnished from two +elderly spinsters, dressmakers in a humble way with a clientele of +servant girls mostly. He had a heavy padlock put on the cupboard, +but otherwise he was a model lodger, giving no trouble, and +requiring practically no attendance. His oddities were that he +insisted on being present when his room was being swept, and that +when he went out he locked his door, and took the key away with +him. + +Ossipon had a vision of these round black-rimmed spectacles +progressing along the streets on the top of an omnibus, their self- +confident glitter falling here and there on the walls of houses or +lowered upon the heads of the unconscious stream of people on the +pavements. The ghost of a sickly smile altered the set of +Ossipon's thick lips at the thought of the walls nodding, of people +running for life at the sight of those spectacles. If they had +only known! What a panic! He murmured interrogatively: "Been +sitting long here?" + +"An hour or more," answered the other negligently, and took a pull +at the dark beer. All his movements - the way he grasped the mug, +the act of drinking, the way he set the heavy glass down and folded +his arms - had a firmness, an assured precision which made the big +and muscular Ossipon, leaning forward with staring eyes and +protruding lips, look the picture of eager indecision. + +"An hour," he said. "Then it may be you haven't heard yet the news +I've heard just now - in the street. Have you?" + +The little man shook his head negatively the least bit. But as he +gave no indication of curiosity Ossipon ventured to add that he had +heard it just outside the place. A newspaper boy had yelled the +thing under his very nose, and not being prepared for anything of +that sort, he was very much startled and upset. He had to come in +there with a dry mouth. "I never thought of finding you here," he +added, murmuring steadily, with his elbows planted on the table. + +"I come here sometimes," said the other, preserving his provoking +coolness of demeanour. + +"It's wonderful that you of all people should have heard nothing of +it," the big Ossipon continued. His eyelids snapped nervously upon +the shining eyes. "You of all people," he repeated tentatively. +This obvious restraint argued an incredible and inexplicable +timidity of the big fellow before the calm little man, who again +lifted the glass mug, drank, and put it down with brusque and +assured movements. And that was all. + +Ossipon after waiting for something, word or sign, that did not +come, made an effort to assume a sort of indifference. + +"Do you," he said, deadening his voice still more, "give your stuff +to anybody who's up to asking you for it?" + +"My absolute rule is never to refuse anybody - as long as I have a +pinch by me," answered the little man with decision. + +"That's a principle?" commented Ossipon. + +"It's a principle." + +"And you think it's sound?" + +The large round spectacles, which gave a look of staring self- +confidence to the sallow face, confronted Ossipon like sleepless, +unwinking orbs flashing a cold fire. + +"Perfectly. Always. Under every circumstance. What could stop +me? Why should I not? Why should I think twice about it?" + +Ossipon gasped, as it were, discreetly. + +"Do you mean to say you would hand it over to a `teck' if one came +to ask you for your wares?" + +The other smiled faintly. + +"Let them come and try it on, and you will see," he said. "They +know me, but I know also every one of them. They won't come near +me - not they." + +His thin livid lips snapped together firmly. Ossipon began to +argue. + +"But they could send someone - rig a plant on you. Don't you see? +Get the stuff from you in that way, and then arrest you with the +proof in their hands." + +"Proof of what? Dealing in explosives without a licence perhaps." +This was meant for a contemptuous jeer, though the expression of +the thin, sickly face remained unchanged, and the utterance was +negligent. "I don't think there's one of them anxious to make that +arrest. I don't think they could get one of them to apply for a +warrant. I mean one of the best. Not one." + +"Why?" Ossipon asked. + +"Because they know very well I take care never to part with the +last handful of my wares. I've it always by me." He touched the +breast of his coat lightly. "In a thick glass flask," he added. + +"So I have been told," said Ossipon, with a shade of wonder in his +voice. "But I didn't know if - " + +"They know," interrupted the little man crisply, leaning against +the straight chair back, which rose higher than his fragile head. +"I shall never be arrested. The game isn't good enough for any +policeman of them all. To deal with a man like me you require +sheer, naked, inglorious heroism." Again his lips closed with a +self-confident snap. Ossipon repressed a movement of impatience. + +"Or recklessness - or simply ignorance," he retorted. "They've +only to get somebody for the job who does not know you carry enough +stuff in your pocket to blow yourself and everything within sixty +yards of you to pieces." + +"I never affirmed I could not be eliminated," rejoined the other. +"But that wouldn't be an arrest. Moreover, it's not so easy as it +looks." + +"Bah!" Ossipon contradicted. "Don't be too sure of that. What's +to prevent half-a-dozen of them jumping upon you from behind in the +street? With your arms pinned to your sides you could do nothing - +could you?" + +"Yes; I could. I am seldom out in the streets after dark," said +the little man impassively, "and never very late. I walk always +with my right hand closed round the india-rubber ball which I have +in my trouser pocket. The pressing of this ball actuates a +detonator inside the flask I carry in my pocket. It's the +principle of the pneumatic instantaneous shutter for a camera lens. +The tube leads up - " + +With a swift disclosing gesture he gave Ossipon a glimpse of an +india-rubber tube, resembling a slender brown worm, issuing from +the armhole of his waistcoat and plunging into the inner breast +pocket of his jacket. His clothes, of a nondescript brown mixture, +were threadbare and marked with stains, dusty in the folds, with +ragged button-holes. "The detonator is partly mechanical, partly +chemical," he explained, with casual condescension. + +"It is instantaneous, of course?" murmured Ossipon, with a slight +shudder. + +"Far from it," confessed the other, with a reluctance which seemed +to twist his mouth dolorously. "A full twenty seconds must elapse +from the moment I press the ball till the explosion takes place." + +"Phew!" whistled Ossipon, completely appalled. "Twenty seconds! +Horrors! You mean to say that you could face that? I should go +crazy - " + +"Wouldn't matter if you did. Of course, it's the weak point of +this special system, which is only for my own use. The worst is +that the manner of exploding is always the weak point with us. I +am trying to invent a detonator that would adjust itself to all +conditions of action, and even to unexpected changes of conditions. +A variable and yet perfectly precise mechanism. A really +intelligent detonator." + +"Twenty seconds," muttered Ossipon again. "Ough! And then - " + +With a slight turn of the head the glitter of the spectacles seemed +to gauge the size of the beer saloon in the basement of the +renowned Silenus Restaurant. + +"Nobody in this room could hope to escape," was the verdict of that +survey. "Nor yet this couple going up the stairs now." + +The piano at the foot of the staircase clanged through a mazurka +with brazen impetuosity, as though a vulgar and impudent ghost were +showing off. The keys sank and rose mysteriously. Then all became +still. For a moment Ossipon imagined the overlighted place changed +into a dreadful black hole belching horrible fumes choked with +ghastly rubbish of smashed brickwork and mutilated corpses. He had +such a distinct perception of ruin and death that he shuddered +again. The other observed, with an air of calm sufficiency: + +"In the last instance it is character alone that makes for one's +safety. There are very few people in the world whose character is +as well established as mine." + +"I wonder how you managed it," growled Ossipon. + +"Force of personality," said the other, without raising his voice; +and coming from the mouth of that obviously miserable organism the +assertion caused the robust Ossipon to bite his lower lip. "Force +of personality," he repeated, with ostentatious calm. "I have the +means to make myself deadly, but that by itself, you understand, is +absolutely nothing in the way of protection. What is effective is +the belief those people have in my will to use the means. That's +their impression. It is absolute. Therefore I am deadly." + +"There are individuals of character amongst that lot too," muttered +Ossipon ominously. + +"Possibly. But it is a matter of degree obviously, since, for +instance, I am not impressed by them. Therefore they are inferior. +They cannot be otherwise. Their character is built upon +conventional morality. It leans on the social order. Mine stands +free from everything artificial. They are bound in all sorts of +conventions. They depend on life, which, in this connection, is a +historical fact surrounded by all sorts of restraints and +considerations, a complex organised fact open to attack at every +point; whereas I depend on death, which knows no restraint and +cannot be attacked. My superiority is evident." + +"This is a transcendental way of putting it," said Ossipon, +watching the cold glitter of the round spectacles. "I've heard +Karl Yundt say much the same thing not very long ago." + +"Karl Yundt," mumbled the other contemptuously, "the delegate of +the International Red Committee, has been a posturing shadow all +his life. There are three of you delegates, aren't there? I won't +define the other two, as you are one of them. But what you say +means nothing. You are the worthy delegates for revolutionary +propaganda, but the trouble is not only that you are as unable to +think independently as any respectable grocer or journalist of them +all, but that you have no character whatever." + +Ossipon could not restrain a start of indignation. + +"But what do you want from us?" he exclaimed in a deadened voice. +"What is it you are after yourself?" + +"A perfect detonator," was the peremptory answer. "What are you +making that face for? You see, you can't even bear the mention of +something conclusive." + +"I am not making a face," growled the annoyed Ossipon bearishly. + +"You revolutionises," the other continued, with leisurely self- +confidence, "are the slaves of the social convention, which is +afraid of you; slaves of it as much as the very police that stands +up in the defence of that convention. Clearly you are, since you +want to revolutionise it. It governs your thought, of course, and +your action too, and thus neither your thought nor your action can +ever be conclusive." He paused, tranquil, with that air of close, +endless silence, then almost immediately went on. "You are not a +bit better than the forces arrayed against you - than the police, +for instance. 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. He was as insignificant as - I +can't call to mind anything insignificant enough to compare him +with - except Karl Yundt perhaps. Like to like. The terrorist and +the policeman both come from the same basket. Revolution, legality +- counter moves in the same game; forms of idleness at bottom +identical. He plays his little game - so do you propagandists. +But I don't play; I work fourteen hours a day, and go hungry +sometimes. My experiments cost money now and again, and then I +must do without food for a day or two. You're looking at my beer. +Yes. I have had two glasses already, and shall have another +presently. This is a little holiday, and I celebrate it alone. +Why not? I've the grit to work alone, quite alone, absolutely +alone. I've worked alone for years." + +Ossipon's face had turned dusky red. + +"At the perfect detonator - eh?" he sneered, very low. + +"Yes," retorted the other. "It is a good definition. You couldn't +find anything half so precise to define the nature of your activity +with all your committees and delegations. It is I who am the true +propagandist." + +"We won't discuss that point," said Ossipon, with an air of rising +above personal considerations. "I am afraid I'll have to spoil +your holiday for you, though. There's a man blown up in Greenwich +Park this morning." + +"How do you know?" + +"They have been yelling the news in the streets since two o'clock. +I bought the paper, and just ran in here. Then I saw you sitting +at this table. I've got it in my pocket now." + +He pulled the newspaper out. It was a good-sized rosy sheet, as if +flushed by the warmth of its own convictions, which were +optimistic. He scanned the pages rapidly. + +"Ah! Here it is. Bomb in Greenwich Park. There isn't much so +far. Half-past eleven. Foggy morning. Effects of explosion felt +as far as Romney Road and Park Place. Enormous hole in the ground +under a tree filled with smashed roots and broken branches. All +round fragments of a man's body blown to pieces. That's all. The +rest's mere newspaper gup. No doubt a wicked attempt to blow up +the Observatory, they say. H'm. That's hardly credible." + +He looked at the paper for a while longer in silence, then passed +it to the other, who after gazing abstractedly at the print laid it +down without comment. + +It was Ossipon who spoke first - still resentful. + +"The fragments of only ONE man, you note. Ergo: blew HIMSELF up. +That spoils your day off for you - don't it? Were you expecting +that sort of move? I hadn't the slightest idea - not the ghost of +a notion of anything of the sort being planned to come off here - +in this country. Under the present circumstances it's nothing +short of criminal." + +The little man lifted his thin black eyebrows with dispassionate +scorn. + +"Criminal! What is that? What is crime? What can be the meaning +of such an assertion?" + +"How am I to express myself? One must use the current words," said +Ossipon impatiently. "The meaning of this assertion is that this +business may affect our position very adversely in this country. +Isn't that crime enough for you? I am convinced you have been +giving away some of your stuff lately." + +Ossipon stared hard. The other, without flinching, lowered and +raised his head slowly. + +"You have!" burst out the editor of the F. P. leaflets in an +intense whisper. "No! And are you really handing it over at large +like this, for the asking, to the first fool that comes along?" + +"Just so! The condemned social order has not been built up on +paper and ink, and I don't fancy that a combination of paper and +ink will ever put an end to it, whatever you may think. Yes, I +would give the stuff with both hands to every man, woman, or fool +that likes to come along. I know what you are thinking about. But +I am not taking my cue from the Red Committee. I would see you all +hounded out of here, or arrested - or beheaded for that matter - +without turning a hair. What happens to us as individuals is not +of the least consequence." + +He spoke carelessly, without heat, almost without feeling, and +Ossipon, secretly much affected, tried to copy this detachment. + +"If the police here knew their business they would shoot you full +of holes with revolvers, or else try to sand-bag you from behind in +broad daylight." + +The little man seemed already to have considered that point of view +in his dispassionate self-confident manner. + +"Yes," he assented with the utmost readiness. "But for that they +would have to face their own institutions. Do you see? That +requires uncommon grit. Grit of a special kind." + +Ossipon blinked. + +"I fancy that's exactly what would happen to you if you were to set +up your laboratory in the States. They don't stand on ceremony +with their institutions there." + +"I am not likely to go and see. Otherwise your remark is just," +admitted the other. "They have more character over there, and +their character is essentially anarchistic. Fertile ground for us, +the States - very good ground. The great Republic has the root of +the destructive matter in her. The collective temperament is +lawless. Excellent. They may shoot us down, but - " + +"You are too transcendental for me," growled Ossipon, with moody +concern. + +"Logical," protested the other. "There are several kinds of logic. +This is the enlightened kind. America is all right. It is this +country that is dangerous, with her idealistic conception of +legality. The social spirit of this people is wrapped up in +scrupulous prejudices, and that is fatal to our work. You talk of +England being our only refuge! So much the worse. Capua! What do +we want with refuges? Here you talk, print, plot, and do nothing. +I daresay it's very convenient for such Karl Yundts." + +He shrugged his shoulders slightly, then added with the same +leisurely assurance: "To break up the superstition and worship of +legality should be our aim. Nothing would please me more than to +see Inspector Heat and his likes take to shooting us down in broad +daylight with the approval of the public. Half our battle would be +won then; the disintegration of the old morality would have set in +in its very temple. That is what you ought to aim at. But you +revolutionises will never understand that. You plan the future, +you lose yourselves in reveries of economical systems derived from +what is; whereas what's wanted is a clean sweep and a clear start +for a new conception of life. That sort of future will take care +of itself if you will only make room for it. Therefore I would +shovel my stuff in heaps at the corners of the streets if I had +enough for that; and as I haven't, I do my best by perfecting a +really dependable detonator." + +Ossipon, who had been mentally swimming in deep waters, seized upon +the last word as if it were a saving plank. + +"Yes. Your detonators. I shouldn't wonder if it weren't one of +your detonators that made a clean sweep of the man in the park." + +A shade of vexation darkened the determined sallow face confronting +Ossipon. + +"My difficulty consists precisely in experimenting practically with +the various kinds. They must be tried after all. Besides - " + +Ossipon interrupted. + +"Who could that fellow be? I assure you that we in London had no +knowledge - Couldn't you describe the person you gave the stuff +to?" + +The other turned his spectacles upon Ossipon like a pair of +searchlights. + +"Describe him," he repeated slowly. "I don't think there can be +the slightest objection now. I will describe him to you in one +word - Verloc." + +Ossipon, whom curiosity had lifted a few inches off his seat, +dropped back, as if hit in the face. + +"Verloc! Impossible." + +The self-possessed little man nodded slightly once. + +"Yes. He's the person. You can't say that in this case I was +giving my stuff to the first fool that came along. He was a +prominent member of the group as far as I understand." + +"Yes," said Ossipon. "Prominent. No, not exactly. He was the +centre for general intelligence, and usually received comrades +coming over here. More useful than important. Man of no ideas. +Years ago he used to speak at meetings - in France, I believe. Not +very well, though. He was trusted by such men as Latorre, Moser +and all that old lot. The only talent he showed really was his +ability to elude the attentions of the police somehow. Here, for +instance, he did not seem to be looked after very closely. He was +regularly married, you know. I suppose it's with her money that he +started that shop. Seemed to make it pay, too." + +Ossipon paused abruptly, muttered to himself "I wonder what that +woman will do now?" and fell into thought. + +The other waited with ostentatious indifference. His parentage was +obscure, and he was generally known only by his nickname of +Professor. His title to that designation consisted in his having +been once assistant demonstrator in chemistry at some technical +institute. He quarrelled with the authorities upon a question of +unfair treatment. Afterwards he obtained a post in the laboratory +of a manufactory of dyes. There too he had been treated with +revolting injustice. His struggles, his privations, his hard work +to raise himself in the social scale, had filled him with such an +exalted conviction of his merits that it was extremely difficult +for the world to treat him with justice - the standard of that +notion depending so much upon the patience of the individual. The +Professor had genius, but lacked the great social virtue of +resignation. + +"Intellectually a nonentity," Ossipon pronounced aloud, abandoning +suddenly the inward contemplation of Mrs Verloc's bereaved person +and business. "Quite an ordinary personality. You are wrong in +not keeping more in touch with the comrades, Professor," he added +in a reproving tone. "Did he say anything to you - give you some +idea of his intentions? I hadn't seen him for a month. It seems +impossible that he should be gone." + +"He told me it was going to be a demonstration against a building," +said the Professor. "I had to know that much to prepare the +missile. I pointed out to him that I had hardly a sufficient +quantity for a completely destructive result, but he pressed me +very earnestly to do my best. As he wanted something that could be +carried openly in the hand, I proposed to make use of an old one- +gallon copal varnish can I happened to have by me. He was pleased +at the idea. It gave me some trouble, because I had to cut out the +bottom first and solder it on again afterwards. When prepared for +use, the can enclosed a wide-mouthed, well-corked jar of thick +glass packed around with some wet clay and containing sixteen +ounces of X2 green powder. The detonator was connected with the +screw top of the can. It was ingenious - a combination of time and +shock. I explained the system to him. It was a thin tube of tin +enclosing a - " + +Ossipon's attention had wandered. + +"What do you think has happened?" he interrupted. + +"Can't tell. Screwed the top on tight, which would make the +connection, and then forgot the time. It was set for twenty +minutes. On the other hand, the time contact being made, a sharp +shock would bring about the explosion at once. He either ran the +time too close, or simply let the thing fall. The contact was made +all right - that's clear to me at any rate. The system's worked +perfectly. And yet you would think that a common fool in a hurry +would be much more likely to forget to make the contact altogether. +I was worrying myself about that sort of failure mostly. But there +are more kinds of fools than one can guard against. You can't +expect a detonator to be absolutely fool-proof." + +He beckoned to a waiter. Ossipon sat rigid, with the abstracted +gaze of mental travail. After the man had gone away with the money +he roused himself, with an air of profound dissatisfaction. + +"It's extremely unpleasant for me," he mused. "Karl has been in +bed with bronchitis for a week. There's an even chance that he +will never get up again. Michaelis's luxuriating in the country +somewhere. A fashionable publisher has offered him five hundred +pounds for a book. It will be a ghastly failure. He has lost the +habit of consecutive thinking in prison, you know." + +The Professor on his feet, now buttoning his coat, looked about him +with perfect indifference. + +"What are you going to do?" asked Ossipon wearily. He dreaded the +blame of the Central Red Committee, a body which had no permanent +place of abode, and of whose membership he was not exactly +informed. If this affair eventuated in the stoppage of the modest +subsidy allotted to the publication of the F. P. pamphlets, then +indeed he would have to regret Verloc's inexplicable folly. + +"Solidarity with the extremest form of action is one thing, and +silly recklessness is another," he said, with a sort of moody +brutality. "I don't know what came to Verloc. There's some +mystery there. However, he's gone. You may take it as you like, +but under the circumstances the only policy for the militant +revolutionary group is to disclaim all connection with this damned +freak of yours. How to make the disclaimer convincing enough is +what bothers me." + +The little man on his feet, buttoned up and ready to go, was no +taller than the seated Ossipon. He levelled his spectacles at the +latter's face point-blank. + +"You might ask the police for a testimonial of good conduct. They +know where every one of you slept last night. Perhaps if you asked +them they would consent to publish some sort of official +statement." + +"No doubt they are aware well enough that we had nothing to do with +this," mumbled Ossipon bitterly. "What they will say is another +thing." He remained thoughtful, disregarding the short, owlish, +shabby figure standing by his side. "I must lay hands on Michaelis +at once, and get him to speak from his heart at one of our +gatherings. The public has a sort of sentimental regard for that +fellow. His name is known. And I am in touch with a few reporters +on the big dailies. What he would say would be utter bosh, but he +has a turn of talk that makes it go down all the same." + +"Like treacle," interjected the Professor, rather low, keeping an +impassive expression. + +The perplexed Ossipon went on communing with himself half audibly, +after the manner of a man reflecting in perfect solitude. + +"Confounded ass! To leave such an imbecile business on my hands. +And I don't even know if - " + +He sat with compressed lips. The idea of going for news straight +to the shop lacked charm. His notion was that Verloc's shop might +have been turned already into a police trap. They will be bound to +make some arrests, he thought, with something resembling virtuous +indignation, for the even tenor of his revolutionary life was +menaced by no fault of his. And yet unless he went there he ran +the risk of remaining in ignorance of what perhaps it would be very +material for him to know. Then he reflected that, if the man in +the park had been so very much blown to pieces as the evening +papers said, he could not have been identified. And if so, the +police could have no special reason for watching Verloc's shop more +closely than any other place known to be frequented by marked +anarchists - no more reason, in fact, than for watching the doors +of the Silenus. There would be a lot of watching all round, no +matter where he went. Still - + +"I wonder what I had better do now?" he muttered, taking counsel +with himself. + +A rasping voice at his elbow said, with sedate scorn: + +"Fasten yourself upon the woman for all she's worth." + +After uttering these words the Professor walked away from the +table. Ossipon, whom that piece of insight had taken unawares, +gave one ineffectual start, and remained still, with a helpless +gaze, as though nailed fast to the seat of his chair. The lonely +piano, without as much as a music stool to help it, struck a few +chords courageously, and beginning a selection of national airs, +played him out at last to the tune of "Blue Bells of Scotland." +The painfully detached notes grew faint behind his back while he +went slowly upstairs, across the hall, and into the street. + +In front of the great doorway a dismal row of newspaper sellers +standing clear of the pavement dealt out their wares from the +gutter. It was a raw, gloomy day of the early spring; and the +grimy sky, the mud of the streets, the rags of the dirty men, +harmonised excellently with the eruption of the damp, rubbishy +sheets of paper soiled with printers' ink. The posters, maculated +with filth, garnished like tapestry the sweep of the curbstone. +The trade in afternoon papers was brisk, yet, in comparison with +the swift, constant march of foot traffic, the effect was of +indifference, of a disregarded distribution. Ossipon looked +hurriedly both ways before stepping out into the cross-currents, +but the Professor was already out of sight. + + + +CHAPTER V + + + +The Professor had turned into a street to the left, and walked +along, with his head carried rigidly erect, in a crowd whose every +individual almost overtopped his stunted stature. It was vain to +pretend to himself that he was not disappointed. But that was mere +feeling; the stoicism of his thought could not be disturbed by this +or any other failure. Next time, or the time after next, a telling +stroke would be delivered-something really startling - a blow fit +to open the first crack in the imposing front of the great edifice +of legal conceptions sheltering the atrocious injustice of society. +Of humble origin, and with an appearance really so mean as to stand +in the way of his considerable natural abilities, his imagination +had been fired early by the tales of men rising from the depths of +poverty to positions of authority and affluence. The extreme, +almost ascetic purity of his thought, combined with an astounding +ignorance of worldly conditions, had set before him a goal of power +and prestige to be attained without the medium of arts, graces, +tact, wealth - by sheer weight of merit alone. On that view he +considered himself entitled to undisputed success. His father, a +delicate dark enthusiast with a sloping forehead, had been an +itinerant and rousing preacher of some obscure but rigid Christian +sect - a man supremely confident in the privileges of his +righteousness. In the son, individualist by temperament, once the +science of colleges had replaced thoroughly the faith of +conventicles, this moral attitude translated itself into a frenzied +puritanism of ambition. He nursed it as something secularly holy. +To see it thwarted opened his eyes to the true nature of the world, +whose morality was artificial, corrupt, and blasphemous. The way +of even the most justifiable revolutions is prepared by personal +impulses disguised into creeds. The Professor's indignation found +in itself a final cause that absolved him from the sin of turning +to destruction as the agent of his ambition. To destroy public +faith in legality was the imperfect formula of his pedantic +fanaticism; but the subconscious conviction that the framework of +an established social order cannot be effectually shattered except +by some form of collective or individual violence was precise and +correct. He was a moral agent - that was settled in his mind. By +exercising his agency with ruthless defiance he procured for +himself the appearances of power and personal prestige. That was +undeniable to his vengeful bitterness. It pacified its unrest; and +in their own way the most ardent of revolutionaries are perhaps +doing no more but seeking for peace in common with the rest of +mankind - the peace of soothed vanity, of satisfied appetites, or +perhaps of appeased conscience. + +Lost in the crowd, miserable and undersized, he meditated +confidently on his power, keeping his hand in the left pocket of +his trousers, grasping lightly the india-rubber ball, the supreme +guarantee of his sinister freedom; but after a while he became +disagreeably affected by the sight of the roadway thronged with +vehicles and of the pavement crowded with men and women. He was in +a long, straight street, peopled by a mere fraction of an immense +multitude; but all round him, on and on, even to the limits of the +horizon hidden by the enormous piles of bricks, he felt the mass of +mankind mighty in its numbers. They swarmed numerous like locusts, +industrious like ants, thoughtless like a natural force, pushing on +blind and orderly and absorbed, impervious to sentiment, to logic, +to terror too perhaps. + +That was the form of doubt he feared most. Impervious to fear! +Often while walking abroad, when he happened also to come out of +himself, he had such moments of dreadful and sane mistrust of +mankind. What if nothing could move them? Such moments come to +all men whose ambition aims at a direct grasp upon humanity - to +artists, politicians, thinkers, reformers, or saints. A despicable +emotional state this, against which solitude fortifies a superior +character; and with severe exultation the Professor thought of the +refuge of his room, with its padlocked cupboard, lost in a +wilderness of poor houses, the hermitage of the perfect anarchist. +In order to reach sooner the point where he could take his omnibus, +he turned brusquely out of the populous street into a narrow and +dusky alley paved with flagstones. On one side the low brick +houses had in their dusty windows the sightless, moribund look of +incurable decay - empty shells awaiting demolition. From the other +side life had not departed wholly as yet. Facing the only gas-lamp +yawned the cavern of a second-hand furniture dealer, where, deep in +the gloom of a sort of narrow avenue winding through a bizarre +forest of wardrobes, with an undergrowth tangle of table legs, a +tall pier-glass glimmered like a pool of water in a wood. An +unhappy, homeless couch, accompanied by two unrelated chairs, stood +in the open. The only human being making use of the alley besides +the Professor, coming stalwart and erect from the opposite +direction, checked his swinging pace suddenly. + +"Hallo!" he said, and stood a little on one side watchfully. + +The Professor had already stopped, with a ready half turn which +brought his shoulders very near the other wall. His right hand +fell lightly on the back of the outcast couch, the left remained +purposefully plunged deep in the trousers pocket, and the roundness +of the heavy rimmed spectacles imparted an owlish character to his +moody, unperturbed face. + +It was like a meeting in a side corridor of a mansion full of life. +The stalwart man was buttoned up in a dark overcoat, and carried an +umbrella. His hat, tilted back, uncovered a good deal of forehead, +which appeared very white in the dusk. In the dark patches of the +orbits the eyeballs glimmered piercingly. Long, drooping +moustaches, the colour of ripe corn, framed with their points the +square block of his shaved chin. + +"I am not looking for you," he said curtly. + +The Professor did not stir an inch. The blended noises of the +enormous town sank down to an inarticulate low murmur. Chief +Inspector Heat of the Special Crimes Department changed his tone. + +"Not in a hurry to get home?" he asked, with mocking simplicity. + +The unwholesome-looking little moral agent of destruction exulted +silently in the possession of personal prestige, keeping in check +this man armed with the defensive mandate of a menaced society. +More fortunate than Caligula, who wished that the Roman Senate had +only one head for the better satisfaction of his cruel lust, he +beheld in that one man all the forces he had set at defiance: the +force of law, property, oppression, and injustice. He beheld all +his enemies, and fearlessly confronted them all in a supreme +satisfaction of his vanity. They stood perplexed before him as if +before a dreadful portent. He gloated inwardly over the chance of +this meeting affirming his superiority over all the multitude of +mankind. + +It was in reality a chance meeting. Chief Inspector Heat had had a +disagreeably busy day since his department received the first +telegram from Greenwich a little before eleven in the morning. +First of all, the fact of the outrage being attempted less than a +week after he had assured a high official that no outbreak of +anarchist activity was to be apprehended was sufficiently annoying. +If he ever thought himself safe in making a statement, it was then. +He had made that statement with infinite satisfaction to himself, +because it was clear that the high official desired greatly to hear +that very thing. He had affirmed that nothing of the sort could +even be thought of without the department being aware of it within +twenty-four hours; and he had spoken thus in his consciousness of +being the great expert of his department. He had gone even so far +as to utter words which true wisdom would have kept back. But +Chief Inspector Heat was not very wise - at least not truly so. +True wisdom, which is not certain of anything in this world of +contradictions, would have prevented him from attaining his present +position. It would have alarmed his superiors, and done away with +his chances of promotion. His promotion had been very rapid. + +"There isn't one of them, sir, that we couldn't lay our hands on at +any time of night and day. We know what each of them is doing hour +by hour," he had declared. And the high official had deigned to +smile. This was so obviously the right thing to say for an officer +of Chief Inspector Heat's reputation that it was perfectly +delightful. The high official believed the declaration, which +chimed in with his idea of the fitness of things. His wisdom was +of an official kind, or else he might have reflected upon a matter +not of theory but of experience that in the close-woven stuff of +relations between conspirator and police there occur unexpected +solutions of continuity, sudden holes in space and time. A given +anarchist may be watched inch by inch and minute by minute, but a +moment always comes when somehow all sight and touch of him are +lost for a few hours, during which something (generally an +explosion) more or less deplorable does happen. But the high +official, carried away by his sense of the fitness of things, had +smiled, and now the recollection of that smile was very annoying to +Chief Inspector Heat, principal expert in anarchist procedure. + +This was not the only circumstance whose recollection depressed the +usual serenity of the eminent specialist. There was another dating +back only to that very morning. The thought that when called +urgently to his Assistant Commissioner's private room he had been +unable to conceal his astonishment was distinctly vexing. His +instinct of a successful man had taught him long ago that, as a +general rule, a reputation is built on manner as much as on +achievement. And he felt that his manner when confronted with the +telegram had not been impressive. He had opened his eyes widely, +and had exclaimed "Impossible!" exposing himself thereby to the +unanswerable retort of a finger-tip laid forcibly on the telegram +which the Assistant Commissioner, after reading it aloud, had flung +on the desk. To be crushed, as it were, under the tip of a +forefinger was an unpleasant experience. Very damaging, too! +Furthermore, Chief Inspector Heat was conscious of not having +mended matters by allowing himself to express a conviction. + +"One thing I can tell you at once: none of our lot had anything to +do with this." + +He was strong in his integrity of a good detective, but he saw now +that an impenetrably attentive reserve towards this incident would +have served his reputation better. On the other hand, he admitted +to himself that it was difficult to preserve one's reputation if +rank outsiders were going to take a hand in the business. +Outsiders are the bane of the police as of other professions. The +tone of the Assistant Commissioner's remarks had been sour enough +to set one's teeth on edge. + +And since breakfast Chief Inspector Heat had not managed to get +anything to eat. + +Starting immediately to begin his investigation on the spot, he had +swallowed a good deal of raw, unwholesome fog in the park. Then he +had walked over to the hospital; and when the investigation in +Greenwich was concluded at last he had lost his inclination for +food. Not accustomed, as the doctors are, to examine closely the +mangled remains of human beings, he had been shocked by the sight +disclosed to his view when a waterproof sheet had been lifted off a +table in a certain apartment of the hospital. + +Another waterproof sheet was spread over that table in the manner +of a table-cloth, with the corners turned up over a sort of mound - +a heap of rags, scorched and bloodstained, half concealing what +might have been an accumulation of raw material for a cannibal +feast. It required considerable firmness of mind not to recoil +before that sight. Chief Inspector Heat, an efficient officer of +his department, stood his ground, but for a whole minute he did not +advance. A local constable in uniform cast a sidelong glance, and +said, with stolid simplicity: + +"He's all there. Every bit of him. It was a job." + +He had been the first man on the spot after the explosion. He +mentioned the fact again. He had seen something like a heavy flash +of lightning in the fog. At that time he was standing at the door +of the King William Street Lodge talking to the keeper. The +concussion made him tingle all over. He ran between the trees +towards the Observatory. "As fast as my legs would carry me," he +repeated twice. + +Chief Inspector Heat, bending forward over the table in a gingerly +and horrified manner, let him run on. The hospital porter and +another man turned down the corners of the cloth, and stepped +aside. The Chief Inspector's eyes searched the gruesome detail of +that heap of mixed things, which seemed to have been collected in +shambles and rag shops. + +"You used a shovel," he remarked, observing a sprinkling of small +gravel, tiny brown bits of bark, and particles of splintered wood +as fine as needles. + +"Had to in one place," said the stolid constable. "I sent a keeper +to fetch a spade. When he heard me scraping the ground with it he +leaned his forehead against a tree, and was as sick as a dog." + +The Chief Inspector, stooping guardedly over the table, fought down +the unpleasant sensation in his throat. The shattering violence of +destruction which had made of that body a heap of nameless +fragments affected his feelings with a sense of ruthless cruelty, +though his reason told him the effect must have been as swift as a +flash of lightning. The man, whoever he was, had died +instantaneously; and yet it seemed impossible to believe that a +human body could have reached that state of disintegration without +passing through the pangs of inconceivable agony. No physiologist, +and still less of a metaphysician, Chief Inspector Heat rose by the +force of sympathy, which is a form of fear, above the vulgar +conception of time. Instantaneous! He remembered all he had ever +read in popular publications of long and terrifying dreams dreamed +in the instant of waking; of the whole past life lived with +frightful intensity by a drowning man as his doomed head bobs up, +streaming, for the last time. The inexplicable mysteries of +conscious existence beset Chief Inspector Heat till he evolved a +horrible notion that ages of atrocious pain and mental torture +could be contained between two successive winks of an eye. And +meantime the Chief Inspector went on, peering at the table with a +calm face and the slightly anxious attention of an indigent +customer bending over what may be called the by-products of a +butcher's shop with a view to an inexpensive Sunday dinner. All +the time his trained faculties of an excellent investigator, who +scorns no chance of information, followed the self-satisfied, +disjointed loquacity of the constable. + +"A fair-haired fellow," the last observed in a placid tone, and +paused. "The old woman who spoke to the sergeant noticed a fair- +haired fellow coming out of Maze Hill Station." He paused. "And +he was a fair-haired fellow. She noticed two men coming out of the +station after the uptrain had gone on," he continued slowly. "She +couldn't tell if they were together. She took no particular notice +of the big one, but the other was a fair, slight chap, carrying a +tin varnish can in one hand." The constable ceased. + +"Know the woman?" muttered the Chief Inspector, with his eyes fixed +on the table, and a vague notion in his mind of an inquest to be +held presently upon a person likely to remain for ever unknown. + +"Yes. She's housekeeper to a retired publican, and attends the +chapel in Park Place sometimes," the constable uttered weightily, +and paused, with another oblique glance at the table. + +Then suddenly: "Well, here he is - all of him I could see. Fair. +Slight - slight enough. Look at that foot there. I picked up the +legs first, one after another. He was that scattered you didn't +know where to begin." + +The constable paused; the least flicker of an innocent self- +laudatory smile invested his round face with an infantile +expression. + +"Stumbled," he announced positively. "I stumbled once myself, and +pitched on my head too, while running up. Them roots do stick out +all about the place. Stumbled against the root of a tree and fell, +and that thing he was carrying must have gone off right under his +chest, I expect." + +The echo of the words "Person unknown" repeating itself in his +inner consciousness bothered the Chief Inspector considerably. He +would have liked to trace this affair back to its mysterious origin +for his own information. He was professionally curious. Before +the public he would have liked to vindicate the efficiency of his +department by establishing the identity of that man. He was a +loyal servant. That, however, appeared impossible. The first term +of the problem was unreadable - lacked all suggestion but that of +atrocious cruelty. + +Overcoming his physical repugnance, Chief Inspector Heat stretched +out his hand without conviction for the salving of his conscience, +and took up the least soiled of the rags. It was a narrow strip of +velvet with a larger triangular piece of dark blue cloth hanging +from it. He held it up to his eyes; and the police constable +spoke. + +"Velvet collar. Funny the old woman should have noticed the velvet +collar. Dark blue overcoat with a velvet collar, she has told us. +He was the chap she saw, and no mistake. And here he is all +complete, velvet collar and all. I don't think I missed a single +piece as big as a postage stamp." + +At this point the trained faculties of the Chief Inspector ceased +to hear the voice of the constable. He moved to one of the windows +for better light. His face, averted from the room, expressed a +startled intense interest while he examined closely the triangular +piece of broad-cloth. By a sudden jerk he detached it, and ONLY +after stuffing it into his pocket turned round to the room, and +flung the velvet collar back on the table - + +"Cover up," he directed the attendants curtly, without another +look, and, saluted by the constable, carried off his spoil hastily. + +A convenient train whirled him up to town, alone and pondering +deeply, in a third-class compartment. That singed piece of cloth +was incredibly valuable, and he could not defend himself from +astonishment at the casual manner it had come into his possession. +It was as if Fate had thrust that clue into his hands. And after +the manner of the average man, whose ambition is to command events, +he began to mistrust such a gratuitous and accidental success - +just because it seemed forced upon him. The practical value of +success depends not a little on the way you look at it. But Fate +looks at nothing. It has no discretion. He no longer considered +it eminently desirable all round to establish publicly the identity +of the man who had blown himself up that morning with such horrible +completeness. But he was not certain of the view his department +would take. A department is to those it employs a complex +personality with ideas and even fads of its own. It depends on the +loyal devotion of its servants, and the devoted loyalty of trusted +servants is associated with a certain amount of affectionate +contempt, which keeps it sweet, as it were. By a benevolent +provision of Nature no man is a hero to his valet, or else the +heroes would have to brush their own clothes. Likewise no +department appears perfectly wise to the intimacy of its workers. +A department does not know so much as some of its servants. Being +a dispassionate organism, it can never be perfectly informed. It +would not be good for its efficiency to know too much. Chief +Inspector Heat got out of the train in a state of thoughtfulness +entirely untainted with disloyalty, but not quite free of that +jealous mistrust which so often springs on the ground of perfect +devotion, whether to women or to institutions. + +It was in this mental disposition, physically very empty, but still +nauseated by what he had seen, that he had come upon the Professor. +Under these conditions which make for irascibility in a sound, +normal man, this meeting was specially unwelcome to Chief Inspector +Heat. He had not been thinking of the Professor; he had not been +thinking of any individual anarchist at all. The complexion of +that case had somehow forced upon him the general idea of the +absurdity of things human, which in the abstract is sufficiently +annoying to an unphilosophical temperament, and in concrete +instances becomes exasperating beyond endurance. At the beginning +of his career Chief Inspector Heat had been concerned with the more +energetic forms of thieving. He had gained his spurs in that +sphere, and naturally enough had kept for it, after his promotion +to another department, a feeling not very far removed from +affection. Thieving was not a sheer absurdity. It was a form of +human industry, perverse indeed, but still an industry exercised in +an industrious world; it was work undertaken for the same reason as +the work in potteries, in coal mines, in fields, in tool-grinding +shops. It was labour, whose practical difference from the other +forms of labour consisted in the nature of its risk, which did not +lie in ankylosis, or lead poisoning, or fire-damp, or gritty dust, +but in what may be briefly defined in its own special phraseology +as "Seven years hard." Chief Inspector Heat was, of course, not +insensible to the gravity of moral differences. But neither were +the thieves he had been looking after. They submitted to the +severe sanctions of a morality familiar to Chief Inspector Heat +with a certain resignation. + +They were his fellow-citizens gone wrong because of imperfect +education, Chief Inspector Heat believed; but allowing for that +difference, he could understand the mind of a burglar, because, as +a matter of fact, the mind and the instincts of a burglar are of +the same kind as the mind and the instincts of a police officer. +Both recognise the same conventions, and have a working knowledge +of each other's methods and of the routine of their respective +trades. They understand each other, which is advantageous to both, +and establishes a sort of amenity in their relations. Products of +the same machine, one classed as useful and the other as noxious, +they take the machine for granted in different ways, but with a +seriousness essentially the same. The mind of Chief Inspector Heat +was inaccessible to ideas of revolt. But his thieves were not +rebels. His bodily vigour, his cool inflexible manner, his courage +and his fairness, had secured for him much respect and some +adulation in the sphere of his early successes. He had felt +himself revered and admired. And Chief Inspector Heat, arrested +within six paces of the anarchist nick-named the Professor, gave a +thought of regret to the world of thieves - sane, without morbid +ideals, working by routine, respectful of constituted authorities, +free from all taint of hate and despair. + +After paying this tribute to what is normal in the constitution of +society (for the idea of thieving appeared to his instinct as +normal as the idea of property), Chief Inspector Heat felt very +angry with himself for having stopped, for having spoken, for +having taken that way at all on the ground of it being a short cut +from the station to the headquarters. And he spoke again in his +big authoritative voice, which, being moderated, had a threatening +character. + +"You are not wanted, I tell you," he repeated. + +The anarchist did not stir. An inward laugh of derision uncovered +not only his teeth but his gums as well, shook him all over, +without the slightest sound. Chief Inspector Heat was led to add, +against his better judgment: + +"Not yet. When I want you I will know where to find you." + +Those were perfectly proper words, within the tradition and +suitable to his character of a police officer addressing one of his +special flock. But the reception they got departed from tradition +and propriety. It was outrageous. The stunted, weakly figure +before him spoke at last. + +"I've no doubt the papers would give you an obituary notice then. +You know best what that would be worth to you. I should think you +can imagine easily the sort of stuff that would be printed. But +you may be exposed to the unpleasantness of being buried together +with me, though I suppose your friends would make an effort to sort +us out as much as possible." + +With all his healthy contempt for the spirit dictating such +speeches, the atrocious allusiveness of the words had its effect on +Chief Inspector Heat. He had too much insight, and too much exact +information as well, to dismiss them as rot. The dusk of this +narrow lane took on a sinister tint from the dark, frail little +figure, its back to the wall, and speaking with a weak, self- +confident voice. To the vigorous, tenacious vitality of the Chief +Inspector, the physical wretchedness of that being, so obviously +not fit to live, was ominous; for it seemed to him that if he had +the misfortune to be such a miserable object he would not have +cared how soon he died. Life had such a strong hold upon him that +a fresh wave of nausea broke out in slight perspiration upon his +brow. The murmur of town life, the subdued rumble of wheels in the +two invisible streets to the right and left, came through the curve +of the sordid lane to his ears with a precious familiarity and an +appealing sweetness. He was human. But Chief Inspector Heat was +also a man, and he could not let such words pass. + +"All this is good to frighten children with," he said. "I'll have +you yet." + +It was very well said, without scorn, with an almost austere +quietness. + +"Doubtless," was the answer; "but there's no time like the present, +believe me. For a man of real convictions this is a fine +opportunity of self-sacrifice. You may not find another so +favourable, so humane. There isn't even a cat near us, and these +condemned old houses would make a good heap of bricks where you +stand. You'll never get me at so little cost to life and property, +which you are paid to protect." + +"You don't know who you're speaking to," said Chief Inspector Heat +firmly. "If I were to lay my hands on you now I would be no better +than yourself." + +"Ah! The game!' + +"You may be sure our side will win in the end. It may yet be +necessary to make people believe that some of you ought to be shot +at sight like mad dogs. Then that will be the game. But I'll be +damned if I know what yours is. I don't believe you know +yourselves. You'll never get anything by it." + +"Meantime it's you who get something from it - so far. And you get +it easily, too. I won't speak of your salary, but haven't you made +your name simply by not understanding what we are after?" + +"What are you after, then?" asked Chief Inspector Heat, with +scornful haste, like a man in a hurry who perceives he is wasting +his time. + +The perfect anarchist answered by a smile which did not part his +thin colourless lips; and the celebrated Chief Inspector felt a +sense of superiority which induced him to raise a warning finger. + +"Give it up - whatever it is," he said in an admonishing tone, but +not so kindly as if he were condescending to give good advice to a +cracksman of repute. "Give it up. You'll find we are too many for +you." + +The fixed smile on the Professor's lips wavered, as if the mocking +spirit within had lost its assurance. Chief Inspector Heat went +on: + +"Don't you believe me eh? Well, you've only got to look about you. +We are. And anyway, you're not doing it well. You're always +making a mess of it. Why, if the thieves didn't know their work +better they would starve." + +The hint of an invincible multitude behind that man's back roused a +sombre indignation in the breast of the Professor. He smiled no +longer his enigmatic and mocking smile. The resisting power of +numbers, the unattackable stolidity of a great multitude, was the +haunting fear of his sinister loneliness. His lips trembled for +some time before he managed to say in a strangled voice: + +"I am doing my work better than you're doing yours." + +"That'll do now," interrupted Chief Inspector Heat hurriedly; and +the Professor laughed right out this time. While still laughing he +moved on; but he did not laugh long. It was a sad-faced, miserable +little man who emerged from the narrow passage into the bustle of +the broad thoroughfare. He walked with the nerveless gait of a +tramp going on, still going on, indifferent to rain or sun in a +sinister detachment from the aspects of sky and earth. Chief +Inspector Heat, on the other hand, after watching him for a while, +stepped out with the purposeful briskness of a man disregarding +indeed the inclemencies of the weather, but conscious of having an +authorised mission on this earth and the moral support of his kind. +All the inhabitants of the immense town, the population of the +whole country, and even the teeming millions struggling upon the +planet, were with him - down to the very thieves and mendicants. +Yes, the thieves themselves were sure to be with him in his present +work. The consciousness of universal support in his general +activity heartened him to grapple with the particular problem. + +The problem immediately before the Chief Inspector was that of +managing the Assistant Commissioner of his department, his +immediate superior. This is the perennial problem of trusty and +loyal servants; anarchism gave it its particular complexion, but +nothing more. Truth to say, Chief Inspector Heat thought but +little of anarchism. He did not attach undue importance to it, and +could never bring himself to consider it seriously. It had more +the character of disorderly conduct; disorderly without the human +excuse of drunkenness, which at any rate implies good feeling and +an amiable leaning towards festivity. As criminals, anarchists +were distinctly no class - no class at all. And recalling the +Professor, Chief Inspector Heat, without checking his swinging +pace, muttered through his teeth: + +"Lunatic." + +Catching thieves was another matter altogether. It had that +quality of seriousness belonging to every form of open sport where +the best man wins under perfectly comprehensible rules. There were +no rules for dealing with anarchists. And that was distasteful to +the Chief Inspector. It was all foolishness, but that foolishness +excited the public mind, affected persons in high places, and +touched upon international relations. A hard, merciless contempt +settled rigidly on the Chief Inspector's face as he walked on. His +mind ran over all the anarchists of his flock. Not one of them had +half the spunk of this or that burglar he had known. Not half - +not one-tenth. + +At headquarters the Chief Inspector was admitted at once to the +Assistant Commissioner's private room. He found him, pen in hand, +bent over a great table bestrewn with papers, as if worshipping an +enormous double inkstand of bronze and crystal. Speaking tubes +resembling snakes were tied by the heads to the back of the +Assistant Commissioner's wooden arm-chair, and their gaping mouths +seemed ready to bite his elbows. And in this attitude he raised +only his eyes, whose lids were darker than his face and very much +creased. The reports had come in: every anarchist had been exactly +accounted for. + +After saying this he lowered his eyes, signed rapidly two single +sheets of paper, and only then laid down his pen, and sat well +back, directing an inquiring gaze at his renowned subordinate. The +Chief Inspector stood it well, deferential but inscrutable. + +"I daresay you were right," said the Assistant Commissioner, "in +telling me at first that the London anarchists had nothing to do +with this. I quite appreciate the excellent watch kept on them by +your men. On the other hand, this, for the public, does not amount +to more than a confession of ignorance." + +The Assistant Commissioner's delivery was leisurely, as it were +cautious. His thought seemed to rest poised on a word before +passing to another, as though words had been the stepping-stones +for his intellect picking its way across the waters of error. +"Unless you have brought something useful from Greenwich," he +added. + +The Chief Inspector began at once the account of his investigation +in a clear matter-of-fact manner. His superior turning his chair a +little, and crossing his thin legs, leaned sideways on his elbow, +with one hand shading his eyes. His listening attitude had a sort +of angular and sorrowful grace. Gleams as of highly burnished +silver played on the sides of his ebony black head when he inclined +it slowly at the end. + +Chief Inspector Heat waited with the appearance of turning over in +his mind all he had just said, but, as a matter of fact, +considering the advisability of saying something more. The +Assistant Commissioner cut his hesitation short. + +"You believe there were two men?" he asked, without uncovering his +eyes. + +The Chief Inspector thought it more than probable. In his opinion, +the two men had parted from each other within a hundred yards from +the Observatory walls. He explained also how the other man could +have got out of the park speedily without being observed. The fog, +though not very dense, was in his favour. He seemed to have +escorted the other to the spot, and then to have left him there to +do the job single-handed. Taking the time those two were seen +coming out of Maze Hill Station by the old woman, and the time when +the explosion was heard, the Chief Inspector thought that the other +man might have been actually at the Greenwich Park Station, ready +to catch the next train up, at the moment his comrade was +destroying himself so thoroughly. + +"Very thoroughly - eh?" murmured the Assistant Commissioner from +under the shadow of his hand. + +The Chief Inspector in a few vigorous words described the aspect of +the remains. "The coroner's jury will have a treat," he added +grimly. + +The Assistant Commissioner uncovered his eyes. + +"We shall have nothing to tell them," he remarked languidly. + +He looked up, and for a time watched the markedly non-committal +attitude of his Chief Inspector. His nature was one that is not +easily accessible to illusions. He knew that a department is at +the mercy of its subordinate officers, who have their own +conceptions of loyalty. His career had begun in a tropical colony. +He had liked his work there. It was police work. He had been very +successful in tracking and breaking up certain nefarious secret +societies amongst the natives. Then he took his long leave, and +got married rather impulsively. It was a good match from a worldly +point of view, but his wife formed an unfavourable opinion of the +colonial climate on hearsay evidence. On the other hand, she had +influential connections. It was an excellent match. But he did +not like the work he had to do now. He felt himself dependent on +too many subordinates and too many masters. The near presence of +that strange emotional phenomenon called public opinion weighed +upon his spirits, and alarmed him by its irrational nature. No +doubt that from ignorance he exaggerated to himself its power for +good and evil - especially for evil; and the rough east winds of +the English spring (which agreed with his wife) augmented his +general mistrust of men's motives and of the efficiency of their +organisation. The futility of office work especially appalled him +on those days so trying to his sensitive liver. + +He got up, unfolding himself to his full height, and with a +heaviness of step remarkable in so slender a man, moved across the +room to the window. The panes streamed with rain, and the short +street he looked down into lay wet and empty, as if swept clear +suddenly by a great flood. It was a very trying day, choked in raw +fog to begin with, and now drowned in cold rain. The flickering, +blurred flames of gas-lamps seemed to be dissolving in a watery +atmosphere. And the lofty pretensions of a mankind oppressed by +the miserable indignities of the weather appeared as a colossal and +hopeless vanity deserving of scorn, wonder, and compassion. + +"Horrible, horrible!" thought the Assistant Commissioner to +himself, with his face near the window-pane. "We have been having +this sort of thing now for ten days; no, a fortnight - a +fortnight." He ceased to think completely for a time. That utter +stillness of his brain lasted about three seconds. Then he said +perfunctorily: "You have set inquiries on foot for tracing that +other man up and down the line?" + +He had no doubt that everything needful had been done. Chief +Inspector Heat knew, of course, thoroughly the business of man- +hunting. And these were the routine steps, too, that would be +taken as a matter of course by the merest beginner. A few +inquiries amongst the ticket collectors and the porters of the two +small railway stations would give additional details as to the +appearance of the two men; the inspection of the collected tickets +would show at once where they came from that morning. It was +elementary, and could not have been neglected. Accordingly the +Chief Inspector answered that all this had been done directly the +old woman had come forward with her deposition. And he mentioned +the name of a station. "That's where they came from, sir," he went +on. "The porter who took the tickets at Maze Hill remembers two +chaps answering to the description passing the barrier. They +seemed to him two respectable working men of a superior sort - sign +painters or house decorators. The big man got out of a third-class +compartment backward, with a bright tin can in his hand. On the +platform he gave it to carry to the fair young fellow who followed +him. All this agrees exactly with what the old woman told the +police sergeant in Greenwich." + +The Assistant Commissioner, still with his face turned to the +window, expressed his doubt as to these two men having had anything +to do with the outrage. All this theory rested upon the utterances +of an old charwoman who had been nearly knocked down by a man in a +hurry. Not a very substantial authority indeed, unless on the +ground of sudden inspiration, which was hardly tenable. + +"Frankly now, could she have been really inspired?" he queried, +with grave irony, keeping his back to the room, as if entranced by +the contemplation of the town's colossal forms half lost in the +night. He did not even look round when he heard the mutter of the +word "Providential" from the principal subordinate of his +department, whose name, printed sometimes in the papers, was +familiar to the great public as that of one of its zealous and +hard-working protectors. Chief Inspector Heat raised his voice a +little. + +"Strips and bits of bright tin were quite visible to me," he said. +"That's a pretty good corroboration." + +"And these men came from that little country station," the +Assistant Commissioner mused aloud, wondering. He was told that +such was the name on two tickets out of three given up out of that +train at Maze Hill. The third person who got out was a hawker from +Gravesend well known to the porters. The Chief Inspector imparted +that information in a tone of finality with some ill humour, as +loyal servants will do in the consciousness of their fidelity and +with the sense of the value of their loyal exertions. And still +the Assistant Commissioner did not turn away from the darkness +outside, as vast as a sea. + +"Two foreign anarchists coming from that place," he said, +apparently to the window-pane. "It's rather unaccountable."' + +"Yes, sir. But it would be still more unaccountable if that +Michaelis weren't staying in a cottage in the neighbourhood." + +At the sound of that name, falling unexpectedly into this annoying +affair, the Assistant Commissioner dismissed brusquely the vague +remembrance of his daily whist party at his club. It was the most +comforting habit of his life, in a mainly successful display of his +skill without the assistance of any subordinate. He entered his +club to play from five to seven, before going home to dinner, +forgetting for those two hours whatever was distasteful in his +life, as though the game were a beneficent drug for allaying the +pangs of moral discontent. His partners were the gloomily humorous +editor of a celebrated magazine; a silent, elderly barrister with +malicious little eyes; and a highly martial, simple-minded old +Colonel with nervous brown hands. They were his club acquaintances +merely. He never met them elsewhere except at the card-table. But +they all seemed to approach the game in the spirit of co-sufferers, +as if it were indeed a drug against the secret ills of existence; +and every day as the sun declined over the countless roofs of the +town, a mellow, pleasurable impatience, resembling the impulse of a +sure and profound friendship, lightened his professional labours. +And now this pleasurable sensation went out of him with something +resembling a physical shock, and was replaced by a special kind of +interest in his work of social protection - an improper sort of +interest, which may be defined best as a sudden and alert mistrust +of the weapon in his hand. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + + +The lady patroness of Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle of +humanitarian hopes, was one of the most influential and +distinguished connections of the Assistant Commissioner's wife, +whom she called Annie, and treated still rather as a not very wise +and utterly inexperienced young girl. But she had consented to +accept him on a friendly footing, which was by no means the case +with all of his wife's influential connections. Married young and +splendidly at some remote epoch of the past, she had had for a time +a close view of great affairs and even of some great men. She +herself was a great lady. Old now in the number of her years, she +had that sort of exceptional temperament which defies time with +scornful disregard, as if it were a rather vulgar convention +submitted to by the mass of inferior mankind. Many other +conventions easier to set aside, alas! failed to obtain her +recognition, also on temperamental grounds - either because they +bored her, or else because they stood in the way of her scorns and +sympathies. Admiration was a sentiment unknown to her (it was one +of the secret griefs of her most noble husband against her) - +first, as always more or less tainted with mediocrity, and next as +being in a way an admission of inferiority. And both were frankly +inconceivable to her nature. To be fearlessly outspoken in her +opinions came easily to her, since she judged solely from the +standpoint of her social position. She was equally untrammelled in +her actions; and as her tactfulness proceeded from genuine +humanity, her bodily vigour remained remarkable and her superiority +was serene and cordial, three generations had admired her +infinitely, and the last she was likely to see had pronounced her a +wonderful woman. Meantime intelligent, with a sort of lofty +simplicity, and curious at heart, but not like many women merely of +social gossip, she amused her age by attracting within her ken +through the power of her great, almost historical, social prestige +everything that rose above the dead level of mankind, lawfully or +unlawfully, by position, wit, audacity, fortune or misfortune. +Royal Highnesses, artists, men of science, young statesmen, and +charlatans of all ages and conditions, who, unsubstantial and +light, bobbing up like corks, show best the direction of the +surface currents, had been welcomed in that house, listened to, +penetrated, understood, appraised, for her own edification. In her +own words, she liked to watch what the world was coming to. And as +she had a practical mind her judgment of men and things, though +based on special prejudices, was seldom totally wrong, and almost +never wrong-headed. Her drawing-room was probably the only place +in the wide world where an Assistant Commissioner of Police could +meet a convict liberated on a ticket-of-leave on other than +professional and official ground. Who had brought Michaelis there +one afternoon the Assistant Commissioner did not remember very +well. He had a notion it must have been a certain Member of +Parliament of illustrious parentage and unconventional sympathies, +which were the standing joke of the comic papers. The notabilities +and even the simple notorieties of the day brought each other +freely to that temple of an old woman's not ignoble curiosity. You +never could guess whom you were likely to come upon being received +in semi-privacy within the faded blue silk and gilt frame screen, +making a cosy nook for a couch and a few arm-chairs in the great +drawing-room, with its hum of voices and the groups of people +seated or standing in the light of six tall windows. + +Michaelis had been the object of a revulsion of popular sentiment, +the same sentiment which years ago had applauded the ferocity of +the life sentence passed upon him for complicity in a rather mad +attempt to rescue some prisoners from a police van. The plan of +the conspirators had been to shoot down the horses and overpower +the escort. Unfortunately, one of the police constables got shot +too. He left a wife and three small children, and the death of +that man aroused through the length and breadth of a realm for +whose defence, welfare, and glory men die every day as matter of +duty, an outburst of furious indignation, of a raging implacable +pity for the victim. Three ring-leaders got hanged. Michaelis, +young and slim, locksmith by trade, and great frequenter of evening +schools, did not even know that anybody had been killed, his part +with a few others being to force open the door at the back of the +special conveyance. When arrested he had a bunch of skeleton keys +in one pocket a heavy chisel in another, and a short crowbar in his +hand: neither more nor less than a burglar. But no burglar would +have received such a heavy sentence. The death of the constable +had made him miserable at heart, but the failure of the plot also. +He did not conceal either of these sentiments from his empanelled +countrymen, and that sort of compunction appeared shockingly +imperfect to the crammed court. The judge on passing sentence +commented feelingly upon the depravity and callousness of the young +prisoner. + +That made the groundless fame of his condemnation; the fame of his +release was made for him on no better grounds by people who wished +to exploit the sentimental aspect of his imprisonment either for +purposes of their own or for no intelligible purpose. He let them +do so in the innocence of his heart and the simplicity of his mind. +Nothing that happened to him individually had any importance. He +was like those saintly men whose personality is lost in the +contemplation of their faith. His ideas were not in the nature of +convictions. They were inaccessible to reasoning. They formed in +all their contradictions and obscurities an invincible and +humanitarian creed, which he confessed rather than preached, with +an obstinate gentleness, a smile of pacific assurance on his lips, +and his candid blue eyes cast down because the sight of faces +troubled his inspiration developed in solitude. In that +characteristic attitude, pathetic in his grotesque and incurable +obesity which he had to drag like a galley slave's bullet to the +end of his days, the Assistant Commissioner of Police beheld the +ticket-of-leave apostle filling a privileged arm-chair within the +screen. He sat there by the head of the old lady's couch, mild- +voiced and quiet, with no more self-consciousness than a very small +child, and with something of a child's charm - the appealing charm +of trustfulness. Confident of the future, whose secret ways had +been revealed to him within the four walls of a well-known +penitentiary, he had no reason to look with suspicion upon anybody. +If he could not give the great and curious lady a very definite +idea as to what the world was coming to, he had managed without +effort to impress her by his unembittered faith, by the sterling +quality of his optimism. + +A certain simplicity of thought is common to serene souls at both +ends of the social scale. The great lady was simple in her own +way. His views and beliefs had nothing in them to shock or startle +her, since she judged them from the standpoint of her lofty +position. Indeed, her sympathies were easily accessible to a man +of that sort. She was not an exploiting capitalist herself; she +was, as it were, above the play of economic conditions. And she +had a great capacity of pity for the more obvious forms of common +human miseries, precisely because she was such a complete stranger +to them that she had to translate her conception into terms of +mental suffering before she could grasp the notion of their +cruelty. The Assistant Commissioner remembered very well the +conversation between these two. He had listened in silence. It +was something as exciting in a way, and even touching in its +foredoomed futility, as the efforts at moral intercourse between +the inhabitants of remote planets. But this grotesque incarnation +of humanitarian passion appealed somehow, to one's imagination. At +last Michaelis rose, and taking the great lady's extended hand, +shook it, retained it for a moment in his great cushioned palm with +unembarrassed friendliness, and turned upon the semi-private nook +of the drawing-room his back, vast and square, and as if distended +under the short tweed jacket. Glancing about in serene +benevolence, he waddled along to the distant door between the knots +of other visitors. The murmur of conversations paused on his +passage. He smiled innocently at a tall, brilliant girl, whose +eyes met his accidentally, and went out unconscious of the glances +following him across the room. Michaelis' first appearance in the +world was a success - a success of esteem unmarred by a single +murmur of derision. The interrupted conversations were resumed in +their proper tone, grave or light. Only a well-set-up, long- +limbed, active-looking man of forty talking with two ladies near a +window remarked aloud, with an unexpected depth of feeling: +"Eighteen stone, I should say, and not five foot six. Poor fellow! +It's terrible - terrible." + +The lady of the house, gazing absently at the Assistant +Commissioner, left alone with her on the private side of the +screen, seemed to be rearranging her mental impressions behind her +thoughtful immobility of a handsome old face. Men with grey +moustaches and full, healthy, vaguely smiling countenances +approached, circling round the screen; two mature women with a +matronly air of gracious resolution; a clean-shaved individual with +sunken cheeks, and dangling a gold-mounted eyeglass on a broad +black ribbon with an old-world, dandified effect. A silence +deferential, but full of reserves, reigned for a moment, and then +the great lady exclaimed, not with resentment, but with a sort of +protesting indignation: + +"And that officially is supposed to be a revolutionist! What +nonsense." She looked hard at the Assistant Commissioner, who +murmured apologetically: + +"Not a dangerous one perhaps." + +"Not dangerous - I should think not indeed. He is a mere believer. +It's the temperament of a saint," declared the great lady in a firm +tone. "And they kept him shut up for twenty years. One shudders +at the stupidity of it. And now they have let him out everybody +belonging to him is gone away somewhere or dead. His parents are +dead; the girl he was to marry has died while he was in prison; he +has lost the skill necessary for his manual occupation. He told me +all this himself with the sweetest patience; but then, he said, he +had had plenty of time to think out things for himself. A pretty +compensation! If that's the stuff revolutionists are made of some +of us may well go on their knees to them," she continued in a +slightly bantering voice, while the banal society smiles hardened +on the worldly faces turned towards her with conventional +deference. "The poor creature is obviously no longer in a position +to take care of himself. Somebody will have to look after him a +little." + +"He should be recommended to follow a treatment of some sort," the +soldierly voice of the active-looking man was heard advising +earnestly from a distance. He was in the pink of condition for his +age, and even the texture of his long frock coat had a character of +elastic soundness, as if it were a living tissue. "The man is +virtually a cripple," he added with unmistakable feeling. + +Other voices, as if glad of the opening, murmured hasty compassion. +"Quite startling," "Monstrous," "Most painful to see." The lank +man, with the eyeglass on a broad ribbon, pronounced mincingly the +word "Grotesque," whose justness was appreciated by those standing +near him. They smiled at each other. + +The Assistant Commissioner had expressed no opinion either then or +later, his position making it impossible for him to ventilate any +independent view of a ticket-of-leave convict. But, in truth, he +shared the view of his wife's friend and patron that Michaelis was +a humanitarian sentimentalist, a little mad, but upon the whole +incapable of hurting a fly intentionally. So when that name +cropped up suddenly in this vexing bomb affair he realised all the +danger of it for the ticket-of-leave apostle, and his mind reverted +at once to the old lady's well-established infatuation. Her +arbitrary kindness would not brook patiently any interference with +Michaelis' freedom. It was a deep, calm, convinced infatuation. +She had not only felt him to be inoffensive, but she had said so, +which last by a confusion of her absolutist mind became a sort of +incontrovertible demonstration. It was as if the monstrosity of +the man, with his candid infant's eyes and a fat angelic smile, had +fascinated her. She had come to believe almost his theory of the +future, since it was not repugnant to her prejudices. She disliked +the new element of plutocracy in the social compound, and +industrialism as a method of human development appeared to her +singularly repulsive in its mechanical and unfeeling character. +The humanitarian hopes of the mild Michaelis tended not towards +utter destruction, but merely towards the complete economic ruin of +the system. And she did not really see where was the moral harm of +it. It would do away with all the multitude of the "parvenus," +whom she disliked and mistrusted, not because they had arrived +anywhere (she denied that), but because of their profound +unintelligence of the world, which was the primary cause of the +crudity of their perceptions and the aridity of their hearts. With +the annihilation of all capital they would vanish too; but +universal ruin (providing it was universal, as it was revealed to +Michaelis) would leave the social values untouched. The +disappearance of the last piece of money could not affect people of +position. She could not conceive how it could affect her position, +for instance. She had developed these discoveries to the Assistant +Commissioner with all the serene fearlessness of an old woman who +had escaped the blight of indifference. He had made for himself +the rule to receive everything of that sort in a silence which he +took care from policy and inclination not to make offensive. He +had an affection for the aged disciple of Michaelis, a complex +sentiment depending a little on her prestige, on her personality, +but most of all on the instinct of flattered gratitude. He felt +himself really liked in her house. She was kindness personified. +And she was practically wise too, after the manner of experienced +women. She made his married life much easier than it would have +been without her generously full recognition of his rights as +Annie's husband. Her influence upon his wife, a woman devoured by +all sorts of small selfishnesses, small envies, small jealousies, +was excellent. Unfortunately, both her kindness and her wisdom +were of unreasonable complexion, distinctly feminine, and difficult +to deal with. She remained a perfect woman all along her full tale +of years, and not as some of them do become - a sort of slippery, +pestilential old man in petticoats. And it was as of a woman that +he thought of her - the specially choice incarnation of the +feminine, wherein is recruited the tender, ingenuous, and fierce +bodyguard for all sorts of men who talk under the influence of an +emotion, true or fraudulent; for preachers, seers, prophets, or +reformers. + +Appreciating the distinguished and good friend of his wife, and +himself, in that way, the Assistant Commissioner became alarmed at +the convict Michaelis' possible fate. Once arrested on suspicion +of being in some way, however remote, a party to this outrage, the +man could hardly escape being sent back to finish his sentence at +least. And that would kill him; he would never come out alive. +The Assistant Commissioner made a reflection extremely unbecoming +his official position without being really creditable to his +humanity. + +"If the fellow is laid hold of again," he thought, "she will never +forgive me." + +The frankness of such a secretly outspoken thought could not go +without some derisive self-criticism. No man engaged in a work he +does not like can preserve many saving illusions about himself. +The distaste, the absence of glamour, extend from the occupation to +the personality. It is only when our appointed activities seem by +a lucky accident to obey the particular earnestness of our +temperament that we can taste the comfort of complete self- +deception. The Assistant Commissioner did not like his work at +home. The police work he had been engaged on in a distant part of +the globe had the saving character of an irregular sort of warfare +or at least the risk and excitement of open-air sport. His real +abilities, which were mainly of an administrative order, were +combined with an adventurous disposition. Chained to a desk in the +thick of four millions of men, he considered himself the victim of +an ironic fate - the same, no doubt, which had brought about his +marriage with a woman exceptionally sensitive in the matter of +colonial climate, besides other limitations testifying to the +delicacy of her nature - and her tastes. Though he judged his +alarm sardonically he did not dismiss the improper thought from his +mind. The instinct of self-preservation was strong within him. On +the contrary, he repeated it mentally with profane emphasis and a +fuller precision: "Damn it! If that infernal Heat has his way the +fellow'll die in prison smothered in his fat, and she'll never +forgive me." + +His black, narrow figure, with the white band of the collar under +the silvery gleams on the close-cropped hair at the back of the +head, remained motionless. The silence had lasted such a long time +that Chief Inspector Heat ventured to clear his throat. This noise +produced its effect. The zealous and intelligent officer was asked +by his superior, whose back remained turned to him immovably: + +"You connect Michaelis with this affair?" + +Chief Inspector Heat was very positive, but cautious. + +"Well, sir," he said, "we have enough to go upon. A man like that +has no business to be at large, anyhow." + +"You will want some conclusive evidence," came the observation in a +murmur. + +Chief Inspector Heat raised his eyebrows at the black, narrow back, +which remained obstinately presented to his intelligence and his +zeal. + +"There will be no difficulty in getting up sufficient evidence +against HIM," he said, with virtuous complacency. "You may trust +me for that, sir," he added, quite unnecessarily, out of the +fulness of his heart; for it seemed to him an excellent thing to +have that man in hand to be thrown down to the public should it +think fit to roar with any special indignation in this case. It +was impossible to say yet whether it would roar or not. That in +the last instance depended, of course, on the newspaper press. But +in any case, Chief Inspector Heat, purveyor of prisons by trade, +and a man of legal instincts, did logically believe that +incarceration was the proper fate for every declared enemy of the +law. In the strength of that conviction he committed a fault of +tact. He allowed himself a little conceited laugh, and repeated: + +"Trust me for that, sir." + +This was too much for the forced calmness under which the Assistant +Commissioner had for upwards of eighteen months concealed his +irritation with the system and the subordinates of his office. A +square peg forced into a round hole, he had felt like a daily +outrage that long established smooth roundness into which a man of +less sharply angular shape would have fitted himself, with +voluptuous acquiescence, after a shrug or two. What he resented +most was just the necessity of taking so much on trust. At the +little laugh of Chief Inspector Heat's he spun swiftly on his +heels, as if whirled away from the window-pane by an electric +shock. He caught on the latter's face not only the complacency +proper to the occasion lurking under the moustache, but the +vestiges of experimental watchfulness in the round eyes, which had +been, no doubt, fastened on his back, and now met his glance for a +second before the intent character of their stare had the time to +change to a merely startled appearance. + +The Assistant Commissioner of Police had really some qualifications +for his post. Suddenly his suspicion was awakened. It is but fair +to say that his suspicions of the police methods (unless the police +happened to be a semi-military body organised by himself) was not +difficult to arouse. If it ever slumbered from sheer weariness, it +was but lightly; and his appreciation of Chief Inspector Heat's +zeal and ability, moderate in itself, excluded all notion of moral +confidence. "He's up to something," he exclaimed mentally, and at +once became angry. Crossing over to his desk with headlong +strides, he sat down violently. "Here I am stuck in a litter of +paper," he reflected, with unreasonable resentment, "supposed to +hold all the threads in my hands, and yet I can but hold what is +put in my hand, and nothing else. And they can fasten the other +ends of the threads where they please." + +He raised his head, and turned towards his subordinate a long, +meagre face with the accentuated features of an energetic Don +Quixote. + +"Now what is it you've got up your sleeve?" + +The other stared. He stared without winking in a perfect +immobility of his round eyes, as he was used to stare at the +various members of the criminal class when, after being duly +cautioned, they made their statements in the tones of injured +innocence, or false simplicity, or sullen resignation. But behind +that professional and stony fixity there was some surprise too, for +in such a tone, combining nicely the note of contempt and +impatience, Chief Inspector Heat, the right-hand man of the +department, was not used to be addressed. He began in a +procrastinating manner, like a man taken unawares by a new and +unexpected experience. + +"What I've got against that man Michaelis you mean, sir?" + +The Assistant Commissioner watched the bullet head; the points of +that Norse rover's moustache, falling below the line of the heavy +jaw; the whole full and pale physiognomy, whose determined +character was marred by too much flesh; at the cunning wrinkles +radiating from the outer corners of the eyes - and in that +purposeful contemplation of the valuable and trusted officer he +drew a conviction so sudden that it moved him like an inspiration. + +"I have reason to think that when you came into this room," he said +in measured tones, "it was not Michaelis who was in your mind; not +principally - perhaps not at all." + +"You have reason to think, sir?" muttered Chief Inspector Heat, +with every appearance of astonishment, which up to a certain point +was genuine enough. He had discovered in this affair a delicate +and perplexing side, forcing upon the discoverer a certain amount +of insincerity - that sort of insincerity which, under the names of +skill, prudence, discretion, turns up at one point or another in +most human affairs. He felt at the moment like a tight-rope artist +might feel if suddenly, in the middle of the performance, the +manager of the Music Hall were to rush out of the proper managerial +seclusion and begin to shake the rope. Indignation, the sense of +moral insecurity engendered by such a treacherous proceeding joined +to the immediate apprehension of a broken neck, would, in the +colloquial phrase, put him in a state. And there would be also +some scandalised concern for his art too, since a man must identify +himself with something more tangible than his own personality, and +establish his pride somewhere, either in his social position, or in +the quality of the work he is obliged to do, or simply in the +superiority of the idleness he may be fortunate enough to enjoy. + +"Yes," said the Assistant Commissioner; "I have. I do not mean to +say that you have not thought of Michaelis at all. But you are +giving the fact you've mentioned a prominence which strikes me as +not quite candid, Inspector Heat. If that is really the track of +discovery, why haven't you followed it up at once, either +personally or by sending one of your men to that village?" + +"Do you think, sir, I have failed in my duty there?" the Chief +Inspector asked, in a tone which he sought to make simply +reflective. Forced unexpectedly to concentrate his faculties upon +the task of preserving his balance, he had seized upon that point, +and exposed himself to a rebuke; for, the Assistant Commissioner +frowning slightly, observed that this was a very improper remark to +make. + +"But since you've made it," he continued coldly, "I'll tell you +that this is not my meaning." + +He paused, with a straight glance of his sunken eyes which was a +full equivalent of the unspoken termination "and you know it." The +head of the so-called Special Crimes Department debarred by his +position from going out of doors personally in quest of secrets +locked up in guilty breasts, had a propensity to exercise his +considerable gifts for the detection of incriminating truth upon +his own subordinates. That peculiar instinct could hardly be +called a weakness. It was natural. He was a born detective. It +had unconsciously governed his choice of a career, and if it ever +failed him in life it was perhaps in the one exceptional +circumstance of his marriage - which was also natural. It fed, +since it could not roam abroad, upon the human material which was +brought to it in its official seclusion. We can never cease to be +ourselves. + +His elbow on the desk, his thin legs crossed, and nursing his cheek +in the palm of his meagre hand, the Assistant Commissioner in +charge of the Special Crimes branch was getting hold of the case +with growing interest. His Chief Inspector, if not an absolutely +worthy foeman of his penetration, was at any rate the most worthy +of all within his reach. A mistrust of established reputations was +strictly in character with the Assistant Commissioner's ability as +detector. His memory evoked a certain old fat and wealthy native +chief in the distant colony whom it was a tradition for the +successive Colonial Governors to trust and make much of as a firm +friend and supporter of the order and legality established by white +men; whereas, when examined sceptically, he was found out to be +principally his own good friend, and nobody else's. Not precisely +a traitor, but still a man of many dangerous reservations in his +fidelity, caused by a due regard for his own advantage, comfort, +and safety. A fellow of some innocence in his naive duplicity, but +none the less dangerous. He took some finding out. He was +physically a big man, too, and (allowing for the difference of +colour, of course) Chief Inspector Heat's appearance recalled him +to the memory of his superior. It was not the eyes nor yet the +lips exactly. It was bizarre. But does not Alfred Wallace relate +in his famous book on the Malay Archipelago how, amongst the Aru +Islanders, he discovered in an old and naked savage with a sooty +skin a peculiar resemblance to a dear friend at home? + +For the first time since he took up his appointment the Assistant +Commissioner felt as if he were going to do some real work for his +salary. And that was a pleasurable sensation. "I'll turn him +inside out like an old glove," thought the Assistant Commissioner, +with his eyes resting pensively upon Chief Inspector Heat. + +"No, that was not my thought," he began again. "There is no doubt +about you knowing your business - no doubt at all; and that's +precisely why I - " He stopped short, and changing his tone: "What +could you bring up against Michaelis of a definite nature? I mean +apart from the fact that the two men under suspicion - you're +certain there were two of them - came last from a railway station +within three miles of the village where Michaelis is living now." + +"This by itself is enough for us to go upon, sir, with that sort of +man," said the Chief Inspector, with returning composure. The +slight approving movement of the Assistant Commissioner's head went +far to pacify the resentful astonishment of the renowned officer. +For Chief Inspector Heat was a kind man, an excellent husband, a +devoted father; and the public and departmental confidence he +enjoyed acting favourably upon an amiable nature, disposed him to +feel friendly towards the successive Assistant Commissioners he had +seen pass through that very room. There had been three in his +time. The first one, a soldierly, abrupt, red-faced person, with +white eyebrows and an explosive temper, could be managed with a +silken thread. He left on reaching the age limit. The second, a +perfect gentleman, knowing his own and everybody else's place to a +nicety, on resigning to take up a higher appointment out of England +got decorated for (really) Inspector Heat's services. To work with +him had been a pride and a pleasure. The third, a bit of a dark +horse from the first, was at the end of eighteen months something +of a dark horse still to the department. Upon the whole Chief +Inspector Heat believed him to be in the main harmless - odd- +looking, but harmless. He was speaking now, and the Chief +Inspector listened with outward deference (which means nothing, +being a matter of duty) and inwardly with benevolent toleration. + +"Michaelis reported himself before leaving London for the country?" + +"Yes, sir. He did." + +"And what may he be doing there?" continued the Assistant +Commissioner, who was perfectly informed on that point. Fitted +with painful tightness into an old wooden arm-chair, before a worm- +eaten oak table in an upstairs room of a four-roomed cottage with a +roof of moss-grown tiles, Michaelis was writing night and day in a +shaky, slanting hand that "Autobiography of a Prisoner" which was +to be like a book of Revelation in the history of mankind. The +conditions of confined space, seclusion, and solitude in a small +four-roomed cottage were favourable to his inspiration. It was +like being in prison, except that one was never disturbed for the +odious purpose of taking exercise according to the tyrannical +regulations of his old home in the penitentiary. He could not tell +whether the sun still shone on the earth or not. The perspiration +of the literary labour dropped from his brow. A delightful +enthusiasm urged him on. It was the liberation of his inner life, +the letting out of his soul into the wide world. And the zeal of +his guileless vanity (first awakened by the offer of five hundred +pounds from a publisher) seemed something predestined and holy. + +"It would be, of course, most desirable to be informed exactly," +insisted the Assistant Commissioner uncandidly. + +Chief Inspector Heat, conscious of renewed irritation at this +display of scrupulousness, said that the county police had been +notified from the first of Michaelis' arrival, and that a full +report could be obtained in a few hours. A wire to the +superintendent - + +Thus he spoke, rather slowly, while his mind seemed already to be +weighing the consequences. A slight knitting of the brow was the +outward sign of this. But he was interrupted by a question. + +"You've sent that wire already?" + +"No, sir," he answered, as if surprised. + +The Assistant Commissioner uncrossed his legs suddenly. The +briskness of that movement contrasted with the casual way in which +he threw out a suggestion. + +"Would you think that Michaelis had anything to do with the +preparation of that bomb, for instance?" + +The Chief Inspector assumed a reflective manner. + +"I wouldn't say so. There's no necessity to say anything at +present. He associates with men who are classed as dangerous. He +was made a delegate of the Red Committee less than a year after his +release on licence. A sort of compliment, I suppose." + +And the Chief Inspector laughed a little angrily, a little +scornfully. With a man of that sort scrupulousness was a misplaced +and even an illegal sentiment. The celebrity bestowed upon +Michaelis on his release two years ago by some emotional +journalists in want of special copy had rankled ever since in his +breast. It was perfectly legal to arrest that man on the barest +suspicion. It was legal and expedient on the face of it. His two +former chiefs would have seen the point at once; whereas this one, +without saying either yes or no, sat there, as if lost in a dream. +Moreover, besides being legal and expedient, the arrest of +Michaelis solved a little personal difficulty which worried Chief +Inspector Heat somewhat. This difficulty had its bearing upon his +reputation, upon his comfort, and even upon the efficient +performance of his duties. For, if Michaelis no doubt knew +something about this outrage, the Chief Inspector was fairly +certain that he did not know too much. This was just as well. He +knew much less - the Chief Inspector was positive - than certain +other individuals he had in his mind, but whose arrest seemed to +him inexpedient, besides being a more complicated matter, on +account of the rules of the game. The rules of the game did not +protect so much Michaelis, who was an ex-convict. It would be +stupid not to take advantage of legal facilities, and the +journalists who had written him up with emotional gush would be +ready to write him down with emotional indignation. + +This prospect, viewed with confidence, had the attraction of a +personal triumph for Chief Inspector Heat. And deep down in his +blameless bosom of an average married citizen, almost unconscious +but potent nevertheless, the dislike of being compelled by events +to meddle with the desperate ferocity of the Professor had its say. +This dislike had been strengthened by the chance meeting in the +lane. The encounter did not leave behind with Chief Inspector Heat +that satisfactory sense of superiority the members of the police +force get from the unofficial but intimate side of their +intercourse with the criminal classes, by which the vanity of power +is soothed, and the vulgar love of domination over our fellow- +creatures is flattered as worthily as it deserves. + +The perfect anarchist was not recognised as a fellow-creature by +Chief Inspector Heat. He was impossible - a mad dog to be left +alone. Not that the Chief Inspector was afraid of him; on the +contrary, he meant to have him some day. But not yet; he meant to +get hold of him in his own time, properly and effectively according +to the rules of the game. The present was not the right time for +attempting that feat, not the right time for many reasons, personal +and of public service. This being the strong feeling of Inspector +Heat, it appeared to him just and proper that this affair should be +shunted off its obscure and inconvenient track, leading goodness +knows where, into a quiet (and lawful) siding called Michaelis. +And he repeated, as if reconsidering the suggestion +conscientiously: + +"The bomb. No, I would not say that exactly. We may never find +that out. But it's clear that he is connected with this in some +way, which we can find out without much trouble." + +His countenance had that look of grave, overbearing indifference +once well known and much dreaded by the better sort of thieves. +Chief Inspector Heat, though what is called a man, was not a +smiling animal. But his inward state was that of satisfaction at +the passively receptive attitude of the Assistant Commissioner, who +murmured gently: + +"And you really think that the investigation should be made in that +direction?" + +"I do, sir." + +"Quite convinced? + +"I am, sir. That's the true line for us to take." + +The Assistant Commissioner withdrew the support of his hand from +his reclining head with a suddenness that, considering his languid +attitude, seemed to menace his whole person with collapse. But, on +the contrary, he sat up, extremely alert, behind the great writing- +table on which his hand had fallen with the sound of a sharp blow. + +"What I want to know is what put it out of your head till now." + +"Put it out of my head," repeated the Chief Inspector very slowly. + +"Yes. Till you were called into this room - you know." + +The Chief Inspector felt as if the air between his clothing and his +skin had become unpleasantly hot. It was the sensation of an +unprecedented and incredible experience. + +"Of course," he said, exaggerating the deliberation of his +utterance to the utmost limits of possibility, "if there is a +reason, of which I know nothing, for not interfering with the +convict Michaelis, perhaps it's just as well I didn't start the +county police after him." + +This took such a long time to say that the unflagging attention of +the Assistant Commissioner seemed a wonderful feat of endurance. +His retort came without delay. + +"No reason whatever that I know of. Come, Chief Inspector, this +finessing with me is highly improper on your part - highly +improper. And it's also unfair, you know. You shouldn't leave me +to puzzle things out for myself like this. Really, I am +surprised." + +He paused, then added smoothly: "I need scarcely tell you that this +conversation is altogether unofficial." + +These words were far from pacifying the Chief Inspector. The +indignation of a betrayed tight-rope performer was strong within +him. In his pride of a trusted servant he was affected by the +assurance that the rope was not shaken for the purpose of breaking +his neck, as by an exhibition of impudence. As if anybody were +afraid! Assistant Commissioners come and go, but a valuable Chief +Inspector is not an ephemeral office phenomenon. He was not afraid +of getting a broken neck. To have his performance spoiled was more +than enough to account for the glow of honest indignation. And as +thought is no respecter of persons, the thought of Chief Inspector +Heat took a threatening and prophetic shape. "You, my boy," he +said to himself, keeping his round and habitually roving eyes +fastened upon the Assistant Commissioner's face - "you, my boy, you +don't know your place, and your place won't know you very long +either, I bet." + +As if in provoking answer to that thought, something like the ghost +of an amiable smile passed on the lips of the Assistant +Commissioner. His manner was easy and business-like while he +persisted in administering another shake to the tight rope. + +"Let us come now to what you have discovered on the spot, Chief +Inspector," he said. + +"A fool and his job are soon parted," went on the train of +prophetic thought in Chief Inspector Heat's head. But it was +immediately followed by the reflection that a higher official, even +when "fired out" (this was the precise image), has still the time +as he flies through the door to launch a nasty kick at the shin- +bones of a subordinate. Without softening very much the basilisk +nature of his stare, he said impassively: + +"We are coming to that part of my investigation, sir." + +"That's right. Well, what have you brought away from it?" + +The Chief Inspector, who had made up his mind to jump off the rope, +came to the ground with gloomy frankness. + +"I've brought away an address," he said, pulling out of his pocket +without haste a singed rag of dark blue cloth. "This belongs to +the overcoat the fellow who got himself blown to pieces was +wearing. Of course, the overcoat may not have been his, and may +even have been stolen. But that's not at all probable if you look +at this." + +The Chief Inspector, stepping up to the table, smoothed out +carefully the rag of blue cloth. He had picked it up from the +repulsive heap in the mortuary, because a tailor's name is found +sometimes under the collar. It is not often of much use, but still +- He only half expected to find anything useful, but certainly he +did not expect to find - not under the collar at all, but stitched +carefully on the under side of the lapel - a square piece of calico +with an address written on it in marking ink. + +The Chief Inspector removed his smoothing hand. + +"I carried it off with me without anybody taking notice," he said. +"I thought it best. It can always be produced if required." + +The Assistant Commissioner, rising a little in his chair, pulled +the cloth over to his side of the table. He sat looking at it in +silence. Only the number 32 and the name of Brett Street were +written in marking ink on a piece of calico slightly larger than an +ordinary cigarette paper. He was genuinely surprised. + +"Can't understand why he should have gone about labelled like +this," he said, looking up at Chief Inspector Heat. "It's a most +extraordinary thing." + +"I met once in the smoking-room of a hotel an old gentleman who +went about with his name and address sewn on in all his coats in +case of an accident or sudden illness," said the Chief Inspector. +"He professed to be eighty-four years old, but he didn't look his +age. He told me he was also afraid of losing his memory suddenly, +like those people he has been reading of in the papers." + +A question from the Assistant Commissioner, who wanted to know what +was No. 32 Brett Street, interrupted that reminiscence abruptly. +The Chief Inspector, driven down to the ground by unfair artifices, +had elected to walk the path of unreserved openness. If he +believed firmly that to know too much was not good for the +department, the judicious holding back of knowledge was as far as +his loyalty dared to go for the good of the service. If the +Assistant Commissioner wanted to mismanage this affair nothing, of +course, could prevent him. But, on his own part, he now saw no +reason for a display of alacrity. So he answered concisely: + +"It's a shop, sir." + +The Assistant Commissioner, with his eyes lowered on the rag of +blue cloth, waited for more information. As that did not come he +proceeded to obtain it by a series of questions propounded with +gentle patience. Thus he acquired an idea of the nature of Mr +Verloc's commerce, of his personal appearance, and heard at last +his name. In a pause the Assistant Commissioner raised his eyes, +and discovered some animation on the Chief Inspector's face. They +looked at each other in silence. + +"Of course," said the latter, "the department has no record of that +man." + +"Did any of my predecessors have any knowledge of what you have +told me now?" asked the Assistant Commissioner, putting his elbows +on the table and raising his joined hands before his face, as if +about to offer prayer, only that his eyes had not a pious +expression. + +"No, sir; certainly not. What would have been the object? That +sort of man could never be produced publicly to any good purpose. +It was sufficient for me to know who he was, and to make use of him +in a way that could be used publicly." + +"And do you think that sort of private knowledge consistent with +the official position you occupy?" + +"Perfectly, sir. I think it's quite proper. I will take the +liberty to tell you, sir, that it makes me what I am - and I am +looked upon as a man who knows his work. It's a private affair of +my own. A personal friend of mine in the French police gave me the +hint that the fellow was an Embassy spy. Private friendship, +private information, private use of it - that's how I look upon +it." + +The Assistant Commissioner after remarking to himself that the +mental state of the renowned Chief Inspector seemed to affect the +outline of his lower jaw, as if the lively sense of his high +professional distinction had been located in that part of his +anatomy, dismissed the point for the moment with a calm "I see." +Then leaning his cheek on his joined hands: + +"Well then - speaking privately if you like - how long have you +been in private touch with this Embassy spy?" + +To this inquiry the private answer of the Chief Inspector, so +private that it was never shaped into audible words, was: + +"Long before you were even thought of for your place here." + +The so-to-speak public utterance was much more precise. + +"I saw him for the first time in my life a little more than seven +years ago, when two Imperial Highnesses and the Imperial Chancellor +were on a visit here. I was put in charge of all the arrangements +for looking after them. Baron Stott-Wartenheim was Ambassador +then. He was a very nervous old gentleman. One evening, three +days before the Guildhall Banquet, he sent word that he wanted to +see me for a moment. I was downstairs, and the carriages were at +the door to take the Imperial Highnesses and the Chancellor to the +opera. I went up at once. I found the Baron walking up and down +his bedroom in a pitiable state of distress, squeezing his hands +together. He assured me he had the fullest confidence in our +police and in my abilities, but he had there a man just come over +from Paris whose information could be trusted simplicity. He +wanted me to hear what that man had to say. He took me at once +into a dressing-room next door, where I saw a big fellow in a heavy +overcoat sitting all alone on a chair, and holding his hat and +stick in one hand. The Baron said to him in French `Speak, my +friend.' The light in that room was not very good. I talked with +him for some five minutes perhaps. He certainly gave me a piece of +very startling news. Then the Baron took me aside nervously to +praise him up to me, and when I turned round again I discovered +that the fellow had vanished like a ghost. Got up and sneaked out +down some back stairs, I suppose. There was no time to run after +him, as I had to hurry off after the Ambassador down the great +staircase, and see the party started safe for the opera. However, +I acted upon the information that very night. Whether it was +perfectly correct or not, it did look serious enough. Very likely +it saved us from an ugly trouble on the day of the Imperial visit +to the City. + +"Some time later, a month or so after my promotion to Chief +Inspector, my attention was attracted to a big burly man, I thought +I had seen somewhere before, coming out in a hurry from a +jeweller's shop in the Strand. I went after him, as it was on my +way towards Charing Cross, and there seeing one of our detectives +across the road, I beckoned him over, and pointed out the fellow to +him, with instructions to watch his movements for a couple of days, +and then report to me. No later than next afternoon my man turned +up to tell me that the fellow had married his landlady's daughter +at a registrar's office that very day at 11.30 a.m., and had gone +off with her to Margate for a week. Our man had seen the luggage +being put on the cab. There were some old Paris labels on one of +the bags. Somehow I couldn't get the fellow out of my head, and +the very next time I had to go to Paris on service I spoke about +him to that friend of mine in the Paris police. My friend said: +`From what you tell me I think you must mean a rather well-known +hanger-on and emissary of the Revolutionary Red Committee. He says +he is an Englishman by birth. We have an idea that he has been for +a good few years now a secret agent of one of the foreign Embassies +in London.' This woke up my memory completely. He was the +vanishing fellow I saw sitting on a chair in Baron Stott- +Wartenheim's bathroom. I told my friend that he was quite right. +The fellow was a secret agent to my certain knowledge. Afterwards +my friend took the trouble to ferret out the complete record of +that man for me. I thought I had better know all there was to +know; but I don't suppose you want to hear his history now, sir?" + +The Assistant Commissioner shook his supported head. "The history +of your relations with that useful personage is the only thing that +matters just now," he said, closing slowly his weary, deep-set +eyes, and then opening them swiftly with a greatly refreshed +glance. + +"There's nothing official about them," said the Chief Inspector +bitterly. "I went into his shop one evening, told him who I was, +and reminded him of our first meeting. He didn't as much as twitch +an eyebrow. He said that he was married and settled now, and that +all he wanted was not to be interfered in his little business. I +took it upon myself to promise him that, as long as he didn't go in +for anything obviously outrageous, he would be left alone by the +police. That was worth something to him, because a word from us to +the Custom-House people would have been enough to get some of these +packages he gets from Paris and Brussels opened in Dover, with +confiscation to follow for certain, and perhaps a prosecution as +well at the end of it." + +"That's a very precarious trade," murmured the Assistant +Commissioner. "Why did he go in for that?" + +The Chief Inspector raised scornful eyebrows dispassionately. + +"Most likely got a connection - friends on the Continent - amongst +people who deal in such wares. They would be just the sort he +would consort with. He's a lazy dog, too - like the rest of them," + +"What do you get from him in exchange for your protection?" + +The Chief Inspector was not inclined to enlarge on the value of Mr +Verloc's services. + +"He would not be much good to anybody but myself. One has got to +know a good deal beforehand to make use of a man like that. I can +understand the sort of hint he can give. And when I want a hint he +can generally furnish it to me." + +The Chief Inspector lost himself suddenly in a discreet reflective +mood; and the Assistant Commissioner repressed a smile at the +fleeting thought that the reputation of Chief Inspector Heat might +possibly have been made in a great part by the Secret Agent Verloc. + +"In a more general way of being of use, all our men of the Special +Crimes section on duty at Charing Cross and Victoria have orders to +take careful notice of anybody they may see with him. He meets the +new arrivals frequently, and afterwards keeps track of them. He +seems to have been told off for that sort of duty. When I want an +address in a hurry, I can always get it from him. Of course, I +know how to manage our relations. I haven't seen him to speak to +three times in the last two years. I drop him a line, unsigned, +and he answers me in the same way at my private address." + +From time to time the Assistant Commissioner gave an almost +imperceptible nod. The Chief Inspector added that he did not +suppose Mr Verloc to be deep in the confidence of the prominent +members of the Revolutionary International Council, but that he was +generally trusted of that there could be no doubt. "Whenever I've +had reason to think there was something in the wind," he concluded, +"I've always found he could tell me something worth knowing." + +The Assistant Commissioner made a significant remark. + +"He failed you this time." + +"Neither had I wind of anything in any other way," retorted Chief +Inspector Heat. "I asked him nothing, so he could tell me nothing. +He isn't one of our men. It isn't as if he were in our pay." + +"No," muttered the Assistant Commissioner. "He's a spy in the pay +of a foreign government. We could never confess to him." + +"I must do my work in my own way," declared the Chief Inspector. +"When it comes to that I would deal with the devil himself, and +take the consequences. There are things not fit for everybody to +know." + +"Your idea of secrecy seems to consist in keeping the chief of your +department in the dark. That's stretching it perhaps a little too +far, isn't it? He lives over his shop?" + +"Who - Verloc? Oh yes. He lives over his shop. The wife's +mother, I fancy, lives with them." + +"Is the house watched?" + +"Oh dear, no. It wouldn't do. Certain people who come there are +watched. My opinion is that he knows nothing of this affair." + +"How do you account for this?" The Assistant Commissioner nodded +at the cloth rag lying before him on the table. + +"I don't account for it at all, sir. It's simply unaccountable. +It can't be explained by what I know." The Chief Inspector made +those admissions with the frankness of a man whose reputation is +established as if on a rock. "At any rate not at this present +moment. I think that the man who had most to do with it will turn +out to be Michaelis." + +"You do?" + +"Yes, sir; because I can answer for all the others." + +"What about that other man supposed to have escaped from the park?" + +"I should think he's far away by this time," opined the Chief +Inspector. + +The Assistant Commissioner looked hard at him, and rose suddenly, +as though having made up his mind to some course of action. As a +matter of fact, he had that very moment succumbed to a fascinating +temptation. The Chief Inspector heard himself dismissed with +instructions to meet his superior early next morning for further +consultation upon the case. He listened with an impenetrable face, +and walked out of the room with measured steps. + +Whatever might have been the plans of the Assistant Commissioner +they had nothing to do with that desk work, which was the bane of +his existence because of its confined nature and apparent lack of +reality. It could not have had, or else the general air of +alacrity that came upon the Assistant Commissioner would have been +inexplicable. As soon as he was left alone he looked for his hat +impulsively, and put it on his head. Having done that, he sat down +again to reconsider the whole matter. But as his mind was already +made up, this did not take long. And before Chief Inspector Heat +had gone very far on the way home, he also left the building. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + + +The Assistant Commissioner walked along a short and narrow street +like a wet, muddy trench, then crossing a very broad thoroughfare +entered a public edifice, and sought speech with a young private +secretary (unpaid) of a great personage. + +This fair, smooth-faced young man, whose symmetrically arranged +hair gave him the air of a large and neat schoolboy, met the +Assistant Commissioner's request with a doubtful look, and spoke +with bated breath. + +"Would he see you? I don't know about that. He has walked over +from the House an hour ago to talk with the permanent Under- +Secretary, and now he's ready to walk back again. He might have +sent for him; but he does it for the sake of a little exercise, I +suppose. It's all the exercise he can find time for while this +session lasts. I don't complain; I rather enjoy these little +strolls. He leans on my arm, and doesn't open, his lips. But, I +say, he's very tired, and - well - not in the sweetest of tempers +just now." + +"It's in connection with that Greenwich affair." + +"Oh! I say! He's very bitter against you people. But I will go +and see, if you insist." + +"Do. That's a good fellow," said the Assistant Commissioner. + +The unpaid secretary admired this pluck. Composing for himself an +innocent face, he opened a door, and went in with the assurance of +a nice and privileged child. And presently he reappeared, with a +nod to the Assistant Commissioner, who passing through the same +door left open for him, found himself with the great personage in a +large room. + +Vast in bulk and stature, with a long white face, which, broadened +at the base by a big double chin, appeared egg-shaped in the fringe +of thin greyish whisker, the great personage seemed an expanding +man. Unfortunate from a tailoring point of view, the cross-folds +in the middle of a buttoned black coat added to the impression, as +if the fastenings of the garment were tried to the utmost. From +the head, set upward on a thick neck, the eyes, with puffy lower +lids, stared with a haughty droop on each side of a hooked +aggressive nose, nobly salient in the vast pale circumference of +the face. A shiny silk hat and a pair of worn gloves lying ready +on the end of a long table looked expanded too, enormous. + +He stood on the hearthrug in big, roomy boots, and uttered no word +of greeting. + +"I would like to know if this is the beginning of another dynamite +campaign," he asked at once in a deep, very smooth voice. "Don't +go into details. I have no time for that." + +The Assistant Commissioner's figure before this big and rustic +Presence had the frail slenderness of a reed addresssing an oak. +And indeed the unbroken record of that man's descent surpassed in +the number of centuries the age of the oldest oak in the country. + +"No. As far as one can be positive about anything I can assure you +that it is not." + +"Yes. But your idea of assurances over there," said the great man, +with a contemptuous wave of his hand towards a window giving on the +broad thoroughfare, "seems to consist mainly in making the +Secretary of State look a fool. I have been told positively in +this very room less than a month ago that nothing of the sort was +even possible." + +The Assistant Commissioner glanced in the direction of the window +calmly. + +"You will allow me to remark, Sir Ethelred, that so far I have had +no opportunity to give you assurances of any kind." + +The haughty droop of the eyes was focussed now upon the Assistant +Commissioner. + +"True," confessed the deep, smooth voice. "I sent for Heat. You +are still rather a novice in your new berth. And how are you +getting on over there?" + +"I believe I am learning something every day." + +"Of course, of course. I hope you will get on." + +"Thank you, Sir Ethelred. I've learned something to-day, and even +within the last hour or so. There is much in this affair of a kind +that does not meet the eye in a usual anarchist outrage, even if +one looked into it as deep as can be. That's why I am here." + +The great man put his arms akimbo, the backs of his big hands +resting on his hips. + +"Very well. Go on. Only no details, pray. Spare me the details." + +"You shall not be troubled with them, Sir Ethelred," the Assistant +Commissioner began, with a calm and untroubled assurance. While he +was speaking the hands on the face of the clock behind the great +man's back - a heavy, glistening affair of massive scrolls in the +same dark marble as the mantelpiece, and with a ghostly, evanescent +tick - had moved through the space of seven minutes. He spoke with +a studious fidelity to a parenthetical manner, into which every +little fact - that is, every detail - fitted with delightful ease. +Not a murmur nor even a movement hinted at interruption. The great +Personage might have been the statue of one of his own princely +ancestors stripped of a crusader's war harness, and put into an +ill-fitting frock coat. The Assistant Commissioner felt as though +he were at liberty to talk for an hour. But he kept his head, and +at the end of the time mentioned above he broke off with a sudden +conclusion, which, reproducing the opening statement, pleasantly +surprised Sir Ethelred by its apparent swiftness and force. + +"The kind of thing which meets us under the surface of this affair, +otherwise without gravity, is unusual - in this precise form at +least - and requires special treatment." + +The tone of Sir Ethelred was deepened, full of conviction. + +"I should think so - involving the Ambassador of a foreign power!" + +"Oh! The Ambassador!" protested the other, erect and slender, +allowing himself a mere half smile. "It would be stupid of me to +advance anything of the kind. And it is absolutely unnecessary, +because if I am right in my surmises, whether ambassador or hall +porter it's a mere detail." + +Sir Ethelred opened a wide mouth, like a cavern, into which the +hooked nose seemed anxious to peer; there came from it a subdued +rolling sound, as from a distant organ with the scornful +indignation stop. + +"No! These people are too impossible. What do they mean by +importing their methods of Crim-Tartary here? A Turk would have +more decency." + +"You forget, Sir Ethelred, that strictly speaking we know nothing +positively - as yet." + +"No! But how would you define it? Shortly?" + +"Barefaced audacity amounting to childishness of a peculiar sort." + +"We can't put up with the innocence of nasty little children," said +the great and expanded personage, expanding a little more, as it +were. The haughty drooping glance struck crushingly the carpet at +the Assistant Commissioner's feet. "They'll have to get a hard rap +on the knuckles over this affair. We must be in a position to - +What is your general idea, stated shortly? No need to go into +details." + +"No, Sir Ethelred. In principle, I should lay it down that the +existence of secret agents should not be tolerated, as tending to +augment the positive dangers of the evil against which they are +used. That the spy will fabricate his information is a mere +commonplace. But in the sphere of political and revolutionary +action, relying partly on violence, the professional spy has every +facility to fabricate the very facts themselves, and will spread +the double evil of emulation in one direction, and of panic, hasty +legislation, unreflecting hate, on the other. However, this is an +imperfect world - " + +The deep-voiced Presence on the hearthrug, motionless, with big +elbows stuck out, said hastily: + +"Be lucid, please." + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred - An imperfect world. Therefore directly the +character of this affair suggested itself to me, I thought it +should be dealt with with special secrecy, and ventured to come +over here." + +"That's right," approved the great Personage, glancing down +complacently over his double chin. "I am glad there's somebody +over at your shop who thinks that the Secretary of State may be +trusted now and then." + +The Assistant Commissioner had an amused smile. + +"I was really thinking that it might be better at this stage for +Heat to be replaced by - " + +"What! Heat? An ass - eh?" exclaimed the great man, with distinct +animosity. + +"Not at all. Pray, Sir Ethelred, don't put that unjust +interpretation on my remarks." + +"Then what? Too clever by half?" + +"Neither - at least not as a rule. All the grounds of my surmises +I have from him. The only thing I've discovered by myself is that +he has been making use of that man privately. Who could blame him? +He's an old police hand. He told me virtually that he must have +tools to work with. It occurred to me that this tool should be +surrendered to the Special Crimes division as a whole, instead of +remaining the private property of Chief Inspector Heat. I extend +my conception of our departmental duties to the suppression of the +secret agent. But Chief Inspector Heat is an old departmental +hand. He would accuse me of perverting its morality and attacking +its efficiency. He would define it bitterly as protection extended +to the criminal class of revolutionises. It would mean just that +to him." + +"Yes. But what do you mean?" + +"I mean to say, first, that there's but poor comfort in being able +to declare that any given act of violence - damaging property or +destroying life - is not the work of anarchism at all, but of +something else altogether - some species of authorised +scoundrelism. This, I fancy, is much more frequent than we +suppose. Next, it's obvious that the existence of these people in +the pay of foreign governments destroys in a measure the efficiency +of our supervision. A spy of that sort can afford to be more +reckless than the most reckless of conspirators. His occupation is +free from all restraint. He's without as much faith as is +necessary for complete negation, and without that much law as is +implied in lawlessness. Thirdly, the existence of these spies +amongst the revolutionary groups, which we are reproached for +harbouring here, does away with all certitude. You have received a +reassuring statement from Chief Inspector Heat some time ago. It +was by no means groundless - and yet this episode happens. I call +it an episode, because this affair, I make bold to say, is +episodic; it is no part of any general scheme, however wild. The +very peculiarities which surprise and perplex Chief Inspector Heat +establish its character in my eyes. I am keeping clear of details, +Sir Ethelred." + +The Personage on the hearthrug had been listening with profound +attention. + +"Just so. Be as concise as you can." + +The Assistant Commissioner intimated by an earnest deferential +gesture that he was anxious to be concise. + +"There is a peculiar stupidity and feebleness in the conduct of +this affair which gives me excellent hopes of getting behind it and +finding there something else than an individual freak of +fanaticism. For it is a planned thing, undoubtedly. The actual +perpetrator seems to have been led by the hand to the spot, and +then abandoned hurriedly to his own devices. The inference is that +he was imported from abroad for the purpose of committing this +outrage. At the same time one is forced to the conclusion that he +did not know enough English to ask his way, unless one were to +accept the fantastic theory that he was a deaf mute. I wonder now +- But this is idle. He has destroyed himself by an accident, +obviously. Not an extraordinary accident. But an extraordinary +little fact remains: the address on his clothing discovered by the +merest accident, too. It is an incredible little fact, so +incredible that the explanation which will account for it is bound +to touch the bottom of this affair. Instead of instructing Heat to +go on with this case, my intention is to seek this explanation +personally - by myself, I mean where it may be picked up. That is +in a certain shop in Brett Street, and on the lips of a certain +secret agent once upon a time the confidential and trusted spy of +the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim, Ambassador of a Great Power to the +Court of St James." + +The Assistant Commissioner paused, then added: "Those fellows are a +perfect pest." In order to raise his drooping glance to the +speaker's face, the Personage on the hearthrug had gradually tilted +his head farther back, which gave him an aspect of extraordinary +haughtiness. + +"Why not leave it to Heat?" + +"Because he is an old departmental hand. They have their own +morality. My line of inquiry would appear to him an awful +perversion of duty. For him the plain duty is to fasten the guilt +upon as many prominent anarchists as he can on some slight +indications he had picked up in the course of his investigation on +the spot; whereas I, he would say, am bent upon vindicating their +innocence. I am trying to be as lucid as I can in presenting this +obscure matter to you without details." + +"He would, would he?" muttered the proud head of Sir Ethelred from +its lofty elevation. + +"I am afraid so - with an indignation and disgust of which you or I +can have no idea. He's an excellent servant. We must not put an +undue strain on his loyalty. That's always a mistake. Besides, I +want a free hand - a freer hand than it would be perhaps advisable +to give Chief Inspector Heat. I haven't the slightest wish to +spare this man Verloc. He will, I imagine, be extremely startled +to find his connection with this affair, whatever it may be, +brought home to him so quickly. Frightening him will not be very +difficult. But our true objective lies behind him somewhere. I +want your authority to give him such assurances of personal safety +as I may think proper." + +"Certainly," said the Personage on the hearthrug. "Find out as +much as you can; find it out in your own way." + +"I must set about it without loss of time, this very evening," said +the Assistant Commissioner. + +Sir Ethelred shifted one hand under his coat tails, and tilting +back his head, looked at him steadily. + +"We'll have a late sitting to-night," he said. "Come to the House +with your discoveries if we are not gone home. I'll warn Toodles +to look out for you. He'll take you into my room." + +The numerous family and the wide connections of the youthful- +looking Private Secretary cherished for him the hope of an austere +and exalted destiny. Meantime the social sphere he adorned in his +hours of idleness chose to pet him under the above nickname. And +Sir Ethelred, hearing it on the lips of his wife and girls every +day (mostly at breakfast-time), had conferred upon it the dignity +of unsmiling adoption. + +The Assistant Commissioner was surprised and gratified extremely. + +"I shall certainly bring my discoveries to the House on the chance +of you having the time to - " + +"I won't have the time," interrupted the great Personage. "But I +will see you. I haven't the time now - And you are going +yourself?" + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred. I think it the best way." + +The Personage had tilted his head so far back that, in order to +keep the Assistant Commissioner under his observation, he had to +nearly close his eyes. + +"H'm. Ha! And how do you propose - Will you assume a disguise?" + +"Hardly a disguise! I'll change my clothes, of course." + +"Of course," repeated the great man, with a sort of absent-minded +loftiness. He turned his big head slowly, and over his shoulder +gave a haughty oblique stare to the ponderous marble timepiece with +the sly, feeble tick. The gilt hands had taken the opportunity to +steal through no less than five and twenty minutes behind his back. + +The Assistant Commissioner, who could not see them, grew a little +nervous in the interval. But the great man presented to him a calm +and undismayed face. + +"Very well," he said, and paused, as if in deliberate contempt of +the official clock. "But what first put you in motion in this +direction?" + +"I have been always of opinion," began the Assistant Commissioner. + +"Ah. Yes! Opinion. That's of course. But the immediate motive?" + +"What shall I say, Sir Ethelred? A new man's antagonism to old +methods. A desire to know something at first hand. Some +impatience. It's my old work, but the harness is different. It +has been chafing me a little in one or two tender places." + +"I hope you'll get on over there," said the great man kindly, +extending his hand, soft to the touch, but broad and powerful like +the hand of a glorified farmer. The Assistant Commissioner shook +it, and withdrew. + +In the outer room Toodles, who had been waiting perched on the edge +of a table, advanced to meet him, subduing his natural buoyancy. + +"Well? Satisfactory?" he asked, with airy importance. + +"Perfectly. You've earned my undying gratitude," answered the +Assistant Commissioner, whose long face looked wooden in contrast +with the peculiar character of the other's gravity, which seemed +perpetually ready to break into ripples and chuckles. + +"That's all right. But seriously, you can't imagine how irritated +he is by the attacks on his Bill for the Nationalisation of +Fisheries. They call it the beginning of social revolution. Of +course, it is a revolutionary measure. But these fellows have no +decency. The personal attacks - " + +"I read the papers," remarked the Assistant Commissioner. + +"Odious? Eh? And you have no notion what a mass of work he has +got to get through every day. He does it all himself. Seems +unable to trust anyone with these Fisheries." + +"And yet he's given a whole half hour to the consideration of my +very small sprat," interjected the Assistant Commissioner. + +"Small! Is it? I'm glad to hear that. But it's a pity you didn't +keep away, then. This fight takes it out of him frightfully. The +man's getting exhausted. I feel it by the way he leans on my arm +as we walk over. And, I say, is he safe in the streets? Mullins +has been marching his men up here this afternoon. There's a +constable stuck by every lamp-post, and every second person we meet +between this and Palace Yard is an obvious `tec.' It will get on +his nerves presently. I say, these foreign scoundrels aren't +likely to throw something at him - are they? It would be a +national calamity. The country can't spare him." + +"Not to mention yourself. He leans on your arm," suggested the +Assistant Commissioner soberly. "You would both go." + +"It would be an easy way for a young man to go down into history? +Not so many British Ministers have been assassinated as to make it +a minor incident. But seriously now - " + +"I am afraid that if you want to go down into history you'll have +to do something for it. Seriously, there's no danger whatever for +both of you but from overwork." + +The sympathetic Toodles welcomed this opening for a chuckle. + +"The Fisheries won't kill me. I am used to late hours," he +declared, with ingenuous levity. But, feeling an instant +compunction, he began to assume an air of statesman-like moodiness, +as one draws on a glove. "His massive intellect will stand any +amount of work. It's his nerves that I am afraid of. The +reactionary gang, with that abusive brute Cheeseman at their head, +insult him every night." + +"If he will insist on beginning a revolution!" murmured the +Assistant Commissioner. + +"The time has come, and he is the only man great enough for the +work," protested the revolutionary Toodles, flaring up under the +calm, speculative gaze of the Assistant Commissioner. Somewhere in +a corridor a distant bell tinkled urgently, and with devoted +vigilance the young man pricked up his ears at the sound. "He's +ready to go now," he exclaimed in a whisper, snatched up his hat, +and vanished from the room. + +The Assistant Commissioner went out by another door in a less +elastic manner. Again he crossed the wide thoroughfare, walked +along a narrow street, and re-entered hastily his own departmental +buildings. He kept up this accelerated pace to the door of his +private room. Before he had closed it fairly his eyes sought his +desk. He stood still for a moment, then walked up, looked all +round on the floor, sat down in his chair, rang a bell, and waited. + +"Chief Inspector Heat gone yet?" + +"Yes, sir. Went away half-an-hour ago." + +He nodded. "That will do." And sitting still, with his hat pushed +off his forehead, he thought that it was just like Heat's +confounded cheek to carry off quietly the only piece of material +evidence. But he thought this without animosity. Old and valued +servants will take liberties. The piece of overcoat with the +address sewn on was certainly not a thing to leave about. +Dismissing from his mind this manifestation of Chief Inspector +Heat's mistrust, he wrote and despatched a note to his wife, +charging her to make his apologies to Michaelis' great lady, with +whom they were engaged to dine that evening. + +The short jacket and the low, round hat he assumed in a sort of +curtained alcove containing a washstand, a row of wooden pegs and a +shelf, brought out wonderfully the length of his grave, brown face. +He stepped back into the full light of the room, looking like the +vision of a cool, reflective Don Quixote, with the sunken eyes of a +dark enthusiast and a very deliberate manner. He left the scene of +his daily labours quickly like an unobtrusive shadow. His descent +into the street was like the descent into a slimy aquarium from +which the water had been run off. A murky, gloomy dampness +enveloped him. The walls of the houses were wet, the mud of the +roadway glistened with an effect of phosphorescence, and when he +emerged into the Strand out of a narrow street by the side of +Charing Cross Station the genius of the locality assimilated him. +He might have been but one more of the queer foreign fish that can +be seen of an evening about there flitting round the dark corners. + +He came to a stand on the very edge of the pavement, and waited. +His exercised eyes had made out in the confused movements of lights +and shadows thronging the roadway the crawling approach of a +hansom. He gave no sign; but when the low step gliding along the +curbstone came to his feet he dodged in skilfully in front of the +big turning wheel, and spoke up through the little trap door almost +before the man gazing supinely ahead from his perch was aware of +having been boarded by a fare. + +It was not a long drive. It ended by signal abruptly, nowhere in +particular, between two lamp-posts before a large drapery +establishment - a long range of shops already lapped up in sheets +of corrugated iron for the night. Tendering a coin through the +trap door the fare slipped out and away, leaving an effect of +uncanny, eccentric ghastliness upon the driver's mind. But the +size of the coin was satisfactory to his touch, and his education +not being literary, he remained untroubled by the fear of finding +it presently turned to a dead leaf in his pocket. Raised above the +world of fares by the nature of his calling, he contemplated their +actions with a limited interest. The sharp pulling of his horse +right round expressed his philosophy. + +Meantime the Assistant Commissioner was already giving his order to +a waiter in a little Italian restaurant round the corner - one of +those traps for the hungry, long and narrow, baited with a +perspective of mirrors and white napery; without air, but with an +atmosphere of their own - an atmosphere of fraudulent cookery +mocking an abject mankind in the most pressing of its miserable +necessities. In this immoral atmosphere the Assistant +Commissioner, reflecting upon his enterprise, seemed to lose some +more of his identity. He had a sense of loneliness, of evil +freedom. It was rather pleasant. When, after paying for his short +meal, he stood up and waited for his change, he saw himself in the +sheet of glass, and was struck by his foreign appearance. He +contemplated his own image with a melancholy and inquisitive gaze, +then by sudden inspiration raised the collar of his jacket. This +arrangement appeared to him commendable, and he completed it by +giving an upward twist to the ends of his black moustache. He was +satisfied by the subtle modification of his personal aspect caused +by these small changes. "That'll do very well," he thought. "I'll +get a little wet, a little splashed - " + +He became aware of the waiter at his elbow and of a small pile of +silver coins on the edge of the table before him. The waiter kept +one eye on it, while his other eye followed the long back of a +tall, not very young girl, who passed up to a distant table looking +perfectly sightless and altogether unapproachable. She seemed to +be a habitual customer. + +On going out the Assistant Commissioner made to himself the +observation that the patrons of the place had lost in the +frequentation of fraudulent cookery all their national and private +characteristics. And this was strange, since the Italian +restaurant is such a peculiarly British institution. But these +people were as denationalised as the dishes set before them with +every circumstance of unstamped respectability. Neither was their +personality stamped in any way, professionally, socially or +racially. They seemed created for the Italian restaurant, unless +the Italian restaurant had been perchance created for them. But +that last hypothesis was unthinkable, since one could not place +them anywhere outside those special establishments. One never met +these enigmatical persons elsewhere. It was impossible to form a +precise idea what occupations they followed by day and where they +went to bed at night. And he himself had become unplaced. It +would have been impossible for anybody to guess his occupation. As +to going to bed, there was a doubt even in his own mind. Not +indeed in regard to his domicile itself, but very much so in +respect of the time when he would be able to return there. A +pleasurable feeling of independence possessed him when he heard the +glass doors swing to behind his back with a sort of imperfect +baffled thud. He advanced at once into an immensity of greasy +slime and damp plaster interspersed with lamps, and enveloped, +oppressed, penetrated, choked, and suffocated by the blackness of a +wet London night, which is composed of soot and drops of water. + +Brett Street was not very far away. It branched off, narrow, from +the side of an open triangular space surrounded by dark and +mysterious houses, temples of petty commerce emptied of traders for +the night. Only a fruiterer's stall at the corner made a violent +blaze of light and colour. Beyond all was black, and the few +people passing in that direction vanished at one stride beyond the +glowing heaps of oranges and lemons. No footsteps echoed. They +would never be heard of again. The adventurous head of the Special +Crimes Department watched these disappearances from a distance with +an interested eye. He felt light-hearted, as though he had been +ambushed all alone in a jungle many thousands of miles away from +departmental desks and official inkstands. This joyousness and +dispersion of thought before a task of some importance seems to +prove that this world of ours is not such a very serious affair +after all. For the Assistant Commissioner was not constitutionally +inclined to levity. + +The policeman on the beat projected his sombre and moving form +against the luminous glory of oranges and lemons, and entered Brett +Street without haste. The Assistant Commissioner, as though he +were a member of the criminal classes, lingered out of sight, +awaiting his return. But this constable seemed to be lost for ever +to the force. He never returned: must have gone out at the other +end of Brett Street. + +The Assistant Commissioner, reaching this conclusion, entered the +street in his turn, and came upon a large van arrested in front of +the dimly lit window-panes of a carter's eating-house. The man was +refreshing himself inside, and the horses, their big heads lowered +to the ground, fed out of nose-bags steadily. Farther on, on the +opposite side of the street, another suspect patch of dim light +issued from Mr Verloc's shop front, hung with papers, heaving with +vague piles of cardboard boxes and the shapes of books. The +Assistant Commissioner stood observing it across the roadway. +There could be no mistake. By the side of the front window, +encumbered by the shadows of nondescript things, the door, standing +ajar, let escape on the pavement a narrow, clear streak of gas- +light within. + +Behind the Assistant Commissioner the van and horses, merged into +one mass, seemed something alive - a square-backed black monster +blocking half the street, with sudden iron-shod stampings, fierce +jingles, and heavy, blowing sighs. The harshly festive, ill-omened +glare of a large and prosperous public-house faced the other end of +Brett Street across a wide road. This barrier of blazing lights, +opposing the shadows gathered about the humble abode of Mr Verloc's +domestic happiness, seemed to drive the obscurity of the street +back upon itself, make it more sullen, brooding, and sinister. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + + +Having infused by persistent importunities some sort of heat into +the chilly interest of several licensed victuallers (the +acquaintances once upon a time of her late unlucky husband), Mrs +Verloc's mother had at last secured her admission to certain +almshouses founded by a wealthy innkeeper for the destitute widows +of the trade. + +This end, conceived in the astuteness of her uneasy heart, the old +woman had pursued with secrecy and determination. That was the +time when her daughter Winnie could not help passing a remark to Mr +Verloc that "mother has been spending half-crowns and five +shillings almost every day this last week in cab fares." But the +remark was not made grudgingly. Winnie respected her mother's +infirmities. She was only a little surprised at this sudden mania +for locomotion. Mr Verloc, who was sufficiently magnificent in his +way, had grunted the remark impatiently aside as interfering with +his meditations. These were frequent, deep, and prolonged; they +bore upon a matter more important than five shillings. Distinctly +more important, and beyond all comparison more difficult to +consider in all its aspects with philosophical serenity. + +Her object attained in astute secrecy, the heroic old woman had +made a clean breast of it to Mrs Verloc. Her soul was triumphant +and her heart tremulous. Inwardly she quaked, because she dreaded +and admired the calm, self-contained character of her daughter +Winnie, whose displeasure was made redoubtable by a diversity of +dreadful silences. But she did not allow her inward apprehensions +to rob her of the advantage of venerable placidity conferred upon +her outward person by her triple chin, the floating ampleness of +her ancient form, and the impotent condition of her legs. + +The shock of the information was so unexpected that Mrs Verloc, +against her usual practice when addressed, interrupted the domestic +occupation she was engaged upon. It was the dusting of the +furniture in the parlour behind the shop. She turned her head +towards her mother. + +"Whatever did you want to do that for?" she exclaimed, in +scandalised astonishment. + +The shock must have been severe to make her depart from that +distant and uninquiring acceptance of facts which was her force and +her safeguard in life. + +"Weren't you made comfortable enough here?" + +She had lapsed into these inquiries, but next moment she saved the +consistency of her conduct by resuming her dusting, while the old +woman sat scared and dumb under her dingy white cap and lustreless +dark wig. + +Winnie finished the chair, and ran the duster along the mahogany at +the back of the horse-hair sofa on which Mr Verloc loved to take +his ease in hat and overcoat. She was intent on her work, but +presently she permitted herself another question. + +"How in the world did you manage it, mother?" + +As not affecting the inwardness of things, which it was Mrs +Verloc's principle to ignore, this curiosity was excusable. It +bore merely on the methods. The old woman welcomed it eagerly as +bringing forward something that could be talked about with much +sincerity. + +She favoured her daughter by an exhaustive answer, full of names +and enriched by side comments upon the ravages of time as observed +in the alteration of human countenances. The names were +principally the names of licensed victuallers - "poor daddy's +friends, my dear." She enlarged with special appreciation on the +kindness and condescension of a large brewer, a Baronet and an M. +P., the Chairman of the Governors of the Charity. She expressed +herself thus warmly because she had been allowed to interview by +appointment his Private Secretary - "a very polite gentleman, all +in black, with a gentle, sad voice, but so very, very thin and +quiet. He was like a shadow, my dear." + +Winnie, prolonging her dusting operations till the tale was told to +the end, walked out of the parlour into the kitchen (down two +steps) in her usual manner, without the slightest comment. + +Shedding a few tears in sign of rejoicing at her daughter's +mansuetude in this terrible affair, Mrs Verloc's mother gave play +to her astuteness in the direction of her furniture, because it was +her own; and sometimes she wished it hadn't been. Heroism is all +very well, but there are circumstances when the disposal of a few +tables and chairs, brass bedsteads, and so on, may be big with +remote and disastrous consequences. She required a few pieces +herself, the Foundation which, after many importunities, had +gathered her to its charitable breast, giving nothing but bare +planks and cheaply papered bricks to the objects of its solicitude. +The delicacy guiding her choice to the least valuable and most +dilapidated articles passed unacknowledged, because Winnie's +philosophy consisted in not taking notice of the inside of facts; +she assumed that mother took what suited her best. As to Mr +Verloc, his intense meditation, like a sort of Chinese wall, +isolated him completely from the phenomena of this world of vain +effort and illusory appearances. + +Her selection made, the disposal of the rest became a perplexing +question in a particular way. She was leaving it in Brett Street, +of course. But she had two children. Winnie was provided for by +her sensible union with that excellent husband, Mr Verloc. Stevie +was destitute - and a little peculiar. His position had to be +considered before the claims of legal justice and even the +promptings of partiality. The possession of the furniture would +not be in any sense a provision. He ought to have it - the poor +boy. But to give it to him would be like tampering with his +position of complete dependence. It was a sort of claim which she +feared to weaken. Moreover, the susceptibilities of Mr Verloc +would perhaps not brook being beholden to his brother-in-law for +the chairs he sat on. In a long experience of gentlemen lodgers, +Mrs Verloc's mother had acquired a dismal but resigned notion of +the fantastic side of human nature. What if Mr Verloc suddenly +took it into his head to tell Stevie to take his blessed sticks +somewhere out of that? A division, on the other hand, however +carefully made, might give some cause of offence to Winnie. No, +Stevie must remain destitute and dependent. And at the moment of +leaving Brett Street she had said to her daughter: "No use waiting +till I am dead, is there? Everything I leave here is altogether +your own now, my dear." + +Winnie, with her hat on, silent behind her mother's back, went on +arranging the collar of the old woman's cloak. She got her hand- +bag, an umbrella, with an impassive face. The time had come for +the expenditure of the sum of three-and-sixpence on what might well +be supposed the last cab drive of Mrs Verloc's mother's life. They +went out at the shop door. + +The conveyance awaiting them would have illustrated the proverb +that "truth can be more cruel than caricature," if such a proverb +existed. Crawling behind an infirm horse, a metropolitan hackney +carriage drew up on wobbly wheels and with a maimed driver on the +box. This last peculiarity caused some embarrassment. Catching +sight of a hooked iron contrivance protruding from the left sleeve +of the man's coat, Mrs Verloc's mother lost suddenly the heroic +courage of these days. She really couldn't trust herself. "What +do you think, Winnie?" She hung back. The passionate +expostulations of the big-faced cabman seemed to be squeezed out of +a blocked throat. Leaning over from his box, he whispered with +mysterious indignation. What was the matter now? Was it possible +to treat a man so? His enormous and unwashed countenance flamed +red in the muddy stretch of the street. Was it likely they would +have given him a licence, he inquired desperately, if - + +The police constable of the locality quieted him by a friendly +glance; then addressing himself to the two women without marked +consideration, said: + +"He's been driving a cab for twenty years. I never knew him to +have an accident." + +"Accident!" shouted the driver in a scornful whisper. + +The policeman's testimony settled it. The modest assemblage of +seven people, mostly under age, dispersed. Winnie followed her +mother into the cab. Stevie climbed on the box. His vacant mouth +and distressed eyes depicted the state of his mind in regard to the +transactions which were taking place. In the narrow streets the +progress of the journey was made sensible to those within by the +near fronts of the houses gliding past slowly and shakily, with a +great rattle and jingling of glass, as if about to collapse behind +the cab; and the infirm horse, with the harness hung over his sharp +backbone flapping very loose about his thighs, appeared to be +dancing mincingly on his toes with infinite patience. Later on, in +the wider space of Whitehall, all visual evidences of motion became +imperceptible. The rattle and jingle of glass went on indefinitely +in front of the long Treasury building - and time itself seemed to +stand still. + +At last Winnie observed: "This isn't a very good horse." + +Her eyes gleamed in the shadow of the cab straight ahead, +immovable. On the box, Stevie shut his vacant mouth first, in +order to ejaculate earnestly: "Don't." + +The driver, holding high the reins twisted around the hook, took no +notice. Perhaps he had not heard. Stevie's breast heaved. + +"Don't whip." + +The man turned slowly his bloated and sodden face of many colours +bristling with white hairs. His little red eyes glistened with +moisture. His big lips had a violet tint. They remained closed. +With the dirty back of his whip-hand he rubbed the stubble +sprouting on his enormous chin. + +"You mustn't," stammered out Stevie violently. "It hurts." + +"Mustn't whip," queried the other in a thoughtful whisper, and +immediately whipped. He did this, not because his soul was cruel +and his heart evil, but because he had to earn his fare. And for a +time the walls of St Stephen's, with its towers and pinnacles, +contemplated in immobility and silence a cab that jingled. It +rolled too, however. But on the bridge there was a commotion. +Stevie suddenly proceeded to get down from the box. There were +shouts on the pavement, people ran forward, the driver pulled up, +whispering curses of indignation and astonishment. Winnie lowered +the window, and put her head out, white as a ghost. In the depths +of the cab, her mother was exclaiming, in tones of anguish: "Is +that boy hurt? Is that boy hurt?" + +Stevie was not hurt, he had not even fallen, but excitement as +usual had robbed him of the power of connected speech. He could do +no more than stammer at the window. "Too heavy. Too heavy." +Winnie put out her hand on to his shoulder. + +"Stevie! Get up on the box directly, and don't try to get down +again." + +"No. No. Walk. Must walk." + +In trying to state the nature of that necessity he stammered +himself into utter incoherence. No physical impossibility stood in +the way of his whim. Stevie could have managed easily to keep pace +with the infirm, dancing horse without getting out of breath. But +his sister withheld her consent decisively. "The idea! Whoever +heard of such a thing! Run after a cab!" Her mother, frightened +and helpless in the depths of the conveyance, entreated: "Oh, don't +let him, Winnie. He'll get lost. Don't let him." + +"Certainly not. What next! Mr Verloc will be sorry to hear of +this nonsense, Stevie, - I can tell you. He won't be happy at +all." + +The idea of Mr. Verloc's grief and unhappiness acting as usual +powerfully upon Stevie's fundamentally docile disposition, he +abandoned all resistance, and climbed up again on the box, with a +face of despair. + +The cabby turned at him his enormous and inflamed countenance +truculently. "Don't you go for trying this silly game again, young +fellow." + +After delivering himself thus in a stern whisper, strained almost +to extinction, he drove on, ruminating solemnly. To his mind the +incident remained somewhat obscure. But his intellect, though it +had lost its pristine vivacity in the benumbing years of sedentary +exposure to the weather, lacked not independence or sanity. +Gravely he dismissed the hypothesis of Stevie being a drunken young +nipper. + +Inside the cab the spell of silence, in which the two women had +endured shoulder to shoulder the jolting, rattling, and jingling of +the journey, had been broken by Stevie's outbreak. Winnie raised +her voice. + +"You've done what you wanted, mother. You'll have only yourself to +thank for it if you aren't happy afterwards. And I don't think +you'll be. That I don't. Weren't you comfortable enough in the +house? Whatever people'll think of us - you throwing yourself like +this on a Charity?" + +"My dear," screamed the old woman earnestly above the noise, +"you've been the best of daughters to me. As to Mr Verloc - there +- " + +Words failing her on the subject of Mr Verloc's excellence, she +turned her old tearful eyes to the roof of the cab. Then she +averted her head on the pretence of looking out of the window, as +if to judge of their progress. It was insignificant, and went on +close to the curbstone. Night, the early dirty night, the +sinister, noisy, hopeless and rowdy night of South London, had +overtaken her on her last cab drive. In the gas-light of the low- +fronted shops her big cheeks glowed with an orange hue under a +black and mauve bonnet. + +Mrs Verloc's mother's complexion had become yellow by the effect of +age and from a natural predisposition to biliousness, favoured by +the trials of a difficult and worried existence, first as wife, +then as widow. It was a complexion, that under the influence of a +blush would take on an orange tint. And this woman, modest indeed +but hardened in the fires of adversity, of an age, moreover, when +blushes are not expected, had positively blushed before her +daughter. In the privacy of a four-wheeler, on her way to a +charity cottage (one of a row) which by the exiguity of its +dimensions and the simplicity of its accommodation, might well have +been devised in kindness as a place of training for the still more +straitened circumstances of the grave, she was forced to hid from +her own child a blush of remorse and shame. + +Whatever people will think? She knew very well what they did +think, the people Winnie had in her mind - the old friends of her +husband, and others too, whose interest she had solicited with such +flattering success. She had not known before what a good beggar +she could be. But she guessed very well what inference was drawn +from her application. On account of that shrinking delicacy, which +exists side by side with aggressive brutality in masculine nature, +the inquiries into her circumstances had not been pushed very far. +She had checked them by a visible compression of the lips and some +display of an emotion determined to be eloquently silent. And the +men would become suddenly incurious, after the manner of their +kind. She congratulated herself more than once on having nothing +to do with women, who being naturally more callous and avid of +details, would have been anxious to be exactly informed by what +sort of unkind conduct her daughter and son-in-law had driven her +to that sad extremity. It was only before the Secretary of the +great brewer M. P. and Chairman of the Charity, who, acting for his +principal, felt bound to be conscientiously inquisitive as to the +real circumstances of the applicant, that she had burst into tears +outright and aloud, as a cornered woman will weep. The thin and +polite gentleman, after contemplating her with an air of being +"struck all of a heap," abandoned his position under the cover of +soothing remarks. She must not distress herself. The deed of the +Charity did not absolutely specify "childless widows." In fact, it +did not by any means disqualify her. But the discretion of the +Committee must be an informed discretion. One could understand +very well her unwillingness to be a burden, etc. etc. Thereupon, +to his profound disappointment, Mrs Verloc's mother wept some more +with an augmented vehemence. + +The tears of that large female in a dark, dusty wig, and ancient +silk dress festooned with dingy white cotton lace, were the tears +of genuine distress. She had wept because she was heroic and +unscrupulous and full of love for both her children. Girls +frequently get sacrificed to the welfare of the boys. In this case +she was sacrificing Winnie. By the suppression of truth she was +slandering her. Of course, Winnie was independent, and need not +care for the opinion of people that she would never see and who +would never see her; whereas poor Stevie had nothing in the world +he could call his own except his mother's heroism and +unscrupulousness. + +The first sense of security following on Winnie's marriage wore off +in time (for nothing lasts), and Mrs Verloc's mother, in the +seclusion of the back bedroom, had recalled the teaching of that +experience which the world impresses upon a widowed woman. But she +had recalled it without vain bitterness; her store of resignation +amounted almost to dignity. She reflected stoically that +everything decays, wears out, in this world; that the way of +kindness should be made easy to the well disposed; that her +daughter Winnie was a most devoted sister, and a very self- +confident wife indeed. As regards Winnie's sisterly devotion, her +stoicism flinched. She excepted that sentiment from the rule of +decay affecting all things human and some things divine. She could +not help it; not to do so would have frightened her too much. But +in considering the conditions of her daughter's married state, she +rejected firmly all flattering illusions. She took the cold and +reasonable view that the less strain put on Mr Verloc's kindness +the longer its effects were likely to last. That excellent man +loved his wife, of course, but he would, no doubt, prefer to keep +as few of her relations as was consistent with the proper display +of that sentiment. It would be better if its whole effect were +concentrated on poor Stevie. And the heroic old woman resolved on +going away from her children as an act of devotion and as a move of +deep policy. + +The "virtue" of this policy consisted in this (Mrs Verloc's mother +was subtle in her way), that Stevie's moral claim would be +strengthened. The poor boy - a good, useful boy, if a little +peculiar - had not a sufficient standing. He had been taken over +with his mother, somewhat in the same way as the furniture of the +Belgravian mansion had been taken over, as if on the ground of +belonging to her exclusively. What will happen, she asked herself +(for Mrs Verloc's mother was in a measure imaginative), when I die? +And when she asked herself that question it was with dread. It was +also terrible to think that she would not then have the means of +knowing what happened to the poor boy. But by making him over to +his sister, by going thus away, she gave him the advantage of a +directly dependent position. This was the more subtle sanction of +Mrs Verloc's mother's heroism and unscrupulousness. Her act of +abandonment was really an arrangement for settling her son +permanently in life. Other people made material sacrifices for +such an object, she in that way. It was the only way. Moreover, +she would be able to see how it worked. Ill or well she would +avoid the horrible incertitude on the death-bed. But it was hard, +hard, cruelly hard. + +The cab rattled, jingled, jolted; in fact, the last was quite +extraordinary. By its disproportionate violence and magnitude it +obliterated every sensation of onward movement; and the effect was +of being shaken in a stationary apparatus like a mediaeval device +for the punishment of crime, or some very newfangled invention for +the cure of a sluggish liver. It was extremely distressing; and +the raising of Mrs Verloc's mother's voice sounded like a wail of +pain. + +"I know, my dear, you'll come to see me as often as you can spare +the time. Won't you?" + +"Of course," answered Winnie shortly, staring straight before her. + +And the cab jolted in front of a steamy, greasy shop in a blaze of +gas and in the smell of fried fish. + +The old woman raised a wail again. + +"And, my dear, I must see that poor boy every Sunday. He won't +mind spending the day with his old mother - " + +Winnie screamed out stolidly: + +"Mind! I should think not. That poor boy will miss you something +cruel. I wish you had thought a little of that, mother." + +Not think of it! The heroic woman swallowed a playful and +inconvenient object like a billiard ball, which had tried to jump +out of her throat. Winnie sat mute for a while, pouting at the +front of the cab, then snapped out, which was an unusual tone with +her: + +"I expect I'll have a job with him at first, he'll be that restless +- " + +"Whatever you do, don't let him worry your husband, my dear." + +Thus they discussed on familiar lines the bearings of a new +situation. And the cab jolted. Mrs Verloc's mother expressed some +misgivings. Could Stevie be trusted to come all that way alone? +Winnie maintained that he was much less "absent-minded" now. They +agreed as to that. It could not be denied. Much less - hardly at +all. They shouted at each other in the jingle with comparative +cheerfulness. But suddenly the maternal anxiety broke out afresh. +There were two omnibuses to take, and a short walk between. It was +too difficult! The old woman gave way to grief and consternation. + +Winnie stared forward. + +"Don't you upset yourself like this, mother. You must see him, of +course." + +"No, my dear. I'll try not to." + +She mopped her streaming eyes. + +"But you can't spare the time to come with him, and if he should +forget himself and lose his way and somebody spoke to him sharply, +his name and address may slip his memory, and he'll remain lost for +days and days - " + +The vision of a workhouse infirmary for poor Stevie - if only +during inquiries - wrung her heart. For she was a proud woman. +Winnie's stare had grown hard, intent, inventive. + +"I can't bring him to you myself every week," she cried. "But +don't you worry, mother. I'll see to it that he don't get lost for +long." + +They felt a peculiar bump; a vision of brick pillars lingered +before the rattling windows of the cab; a sudden cessation of +atrocious jolting and uproarious jingling dazed the two women. +What had happened? They sat motionless and scared in the profound +stillness, till the door came open, and a rough, strained +whispering was heard: + +"Here you are!" + +A range of gabled little houses, each with one dim yellow window, +on the ground floor, surrounded the dark open space of a grass plot +planted with shrubs and railed off from the patchwork of lights and +shadows in the wide road, resounding with the dull rumble of +traffic. Before the door of one of these tiny houses - one without +a light in the little downstairs window - the cab had come to a +standstill. Mrs Verloc's mother got out first, backwards, with a +key in her hand. Winnie lingered on the flagstone path to pay the +cabman. Stevie, after helping to carry inside a lot of small +parcels, came out and stood under the light of a gas-lamp belonging +to the Charity. The cabman looked at the pieces of silver, which, +appearing very minute in his big, grimy palm, symbolised the +insignificant results which reward the ambitious courage and toil +of a mankind whose day is short on this earth of evil. + +He had been paid decently - four one-shilling pieces - and he +contemplated them in perfect stillness, as if they had been the +surprising terms of a melancholy problem. The slow transfer of +that treasure to an inner pocket demanded much laborious groping in +the depths of decayed clothing. His form was squat and without +flexibility. Stevie, slender, his shoulders a little up, and his +hands thrust deep in the side pockets of his warm overcoat, stood +at the edge of the path, pouting. + +The cabman, pausing in his deliberate movements, seemed struck by +some misty recollection. + +"Oh! `Ere you are, young fellow," he whispered. "You'll know him +again - won't you?" + +Stevie was staring at the horse, whose hind quarters appeared +unduly elevated by the effect of emaciation. The little stiff tail +seemed to have been fitted in for a heartless joke; and at the +other end the thin, flat neck, like a plank covered with old horse- +hide, drooped to the ground under the weight of an enormous bony +head. The ears hung at different angles, negligently; and the +macabre figure of that mute dweller on the earth steamed straight +up from ribs and backbone in the muggy stillness of the air. + +The cabman struck lightly Stevie's breast with the iron hook +protruding from a ragged, greasy sleeve. + +"Look `ere, young feller. `Ow'd YOU like to sit behind this `oss +up to two o'clock in the morning p'raps?" + +Stevie looked vacantly into the fierce little eyes with red-edged +lids. + +"He ain't lame," pursued the other, whispering with energy. "He +ain't got no sore places on `im. `Ere he is. `Ow would YOU like - +" + +His strained, extinct voice invested his utterance with a character +of vehement secrecy. Stevie's vacant gaze was changing slowly into +dread. + +"You may well look! Till three and four o'clock in the morning. +Cold and `ungry. Looking for fares. Drunks." + +His jovial purple cheeks bristled with white hairs; and like +Virgil's Silenus, who, his face smeared with the juice of berries, +discoursed of Olympian Gods to the innocent shepherds of Sicily, he +talked to Stevie of domestic matters and the affairs of men whose +sufferings are great and immortality by no means assured. + +"I am a night cabby, I am," he whispered, with a sort of boastful +exasperation. "I've got to take out what they will blooming well +give me at the yard. I've got my missus and four kids at `ome." + +The monstrous nature of that declaration of paternity seemed to +strike the world dumb. A silence reigned during which the flanks +of the old horse, the steed of apocalyptic misery, smoked upwards +in the light of the charitable gas-lamp. + +The cabman grunted, then added in his mysterious whisper: + +"This ain't an easy world." Stevie's face had been twitching for +some time, and at last his feelings burst out in their usual +concise form. + +"Bad! Bad!" + +His gaze remained fixed on the ribs of the horse, self-conscious +and sombre, as though he were afraid to look about him at the +badness of the world. And his slenderness, his rosy lips and pale, +clear complexion, gave him the aspect of a delicate boy, +notwithstanding the fluffy growth of golden hair on his cheeks. He +pouted in a scared way like a child. The cabman, short and broad, +eyed him with his fierce little eyes that seemed to smart in a +clear and corroding liquid. + +"'Ard on `osses, but dam' sight `arder on poor chaps like me," he +wheezed just audibly. + +"Poor! Poor!" stammered out Stevie, pushing his hands deeper into +his pockets with convulsive sympathy. He could say nothing; for +the tenderness to all pain and all misery, the desire to make the +horse happy and the cabman happy, had reached the point of a +bizarre longing to take them to bed with him. And that, he knew, +was impossible. For Stevie was not mad. It was, as it were, a +symbolic longing; and at the same time it was very distinct, +because springing from experience, the mother of wisdom. Thus when +as a child he cowered in a dark corner scared, wretched, sore, and +miserable with the black, black misery of the soul, his sister +Winnie used to come along, and carry him off to bed with her, as +into a heaven of consoling peace. Stevie, though apt to forget +mere facts, such as his name and address for instance, had a +faithful memory of sensations. To be taken into a bed of +compassion was the supreme remedy, with the only one disadvantage +of being difficult of application on a large scale. And looking at +the cabman, Stevie perceived this clearly, because he was +reasonable. + +The cabman went on with his leisurely preparations as if Stevie had +not existed. He made as if to hoist himself on the box, but at the +last moment from some obscure motive, perhaps merely from disgust +with carriage exercise, desisted. He approached instead the +motionless partner of his labours, and stooping to seize the +bridle, lifted up the big, weary head to the height of his shoulder +with one effort of his right arm, like a feat of strength. + +"Come on," he whispered secretly. + +Limping, he led the cab away. There was an air of austerity in +this departure, the scrunched gravel of the drive crying out under +the slowly turning wheels, the horse's lean thighs moving with +ascetic deliberation away from the light into the obscurity of the +open space bordered dimly by the pointed roofs and the feebly +shining windows of the little alms-houses. The plaint of the +gravel travelled slowly all round the drive. Between the lamps of +the charitable gateway the slow cortege reappeared, lighted up for +a moment, the short, thick man limping busily, with the horse's +head held aloft in his fist, the lank animal walking in stiff and +forlorn dignity, the dark, low box on wheels rolling behind +comically with an air of waddling. They turned to the left. There +was a pub down the street, within fifty yards of the gate. + +Stevie left alone beside the private lamp-post of the Charity, his +hands thrust deep into his pockets, glared with vacant sulkiness. +At the bottom of his pockets his incapable weak hands were clinched +hard into a pair of angry fists. In the face of anything which +affected directly or indirectly his morbid dread of pain, Stevie +ended by turning vicious. A magnanimous indignation swelled his +frail chest to bursting, and caused his candid eyes to squint. +Supremely wise in knowing his own powerlessness, Stevie was not +wise enough to restrain his passions. The tenderness of his +universal charity had two phases as indissolubly joined and +connected as the reverse and obverse sides of a medal. The anguish +of immoderate compassion was succeeded by the pain of an innocent +but pitiless rage. Those two states expressing themselves +outwardly by the same signs of futile bodily agitation, his sister +Winnie soothed his excitement without ever fathoming its twofold +character. Mrs Verloc wasted no portion of this transient life in +seeking for fundamental information. This is a sort of economy +having all the appearances and some of the advantages of prudence. +Obviously it may be good for one not to know too much. And such a +view accords very well with constitutional indolence. + +On that evening on which it may be said that Mrs Verloc's mother +having parted for good from her children had also departed this +life, Winnie Verloc did not investigate her brother's psychology. +The poor boy was excited, of course. After once more assuring the +old woman on the threshold that she would know how to guard against +the risk of Stevie losing himself for very long on his pilgrimages +of filial piety, she took her brother's arm to walk away. Stevie +did not even mutter to himself, but with the special sense of +sisterly devotion developed in her earliest infancy, she felt that +the boy was very much excited indeed. Holding tight to his arm, +under the appearance of leaning on it, she thought of some words +suitable to the occasion. + +"Now, Stevie, you must look well after me at the crossings, and get +first into the `bus, like a good brother." + +This appeal to manly protection was received by Stevie with his +usual docility. It flattered him. He raised his head and threw +out his chest. + +"Don't be nervous, Winnie. Mustn't be nervous! `Bus all right," +he answered in a brusque, slurring stammer partaking of the +timorousness of a child and the resolution of a man. He advanced +fearlessly with the woman on his arm, but his lower lip dropped. +Nevertheless, on the pavement of the squalid and wide thoroughfare, +whose poverty in all the amenities of life stood foolishly exposed +by a mad profusion of gas-lights, their resemblance to each other +was so pronounced as to strike the casual passers-by. + +Before the doors of the public-house at the corner, where the +profusion of gas-light reached the height of positive wickedness, a +four-wheeled cab standing by the curbstone with no one on the box, +seemed cast out into the gutter on account of irremediable decay. +Mrs Verloc recognised the conveyance. Its aspect was so profoundly +lamentable, with such a perfection of grotesque misery and +weirdness of macabre detail, as if it were the Cab of Death itself, +that Mrs Verloc, with that ready compassion of a woman for a horse +(when she is not sitting behind him), exclaimed vaguely: + +"Poor brute:" + +Hanging back suddenly, Stevie inflicted an arresting jerk upon his +sister. + +"Poor! Poor!" he ejaculated appreciatively. "Cabman poor too. He +told me himself." + +The contemplation of the infirm and lonely steed overcame him. +Jostled, but obstinate, he would remain there, trying to express +the view newly opened to his sympathies of the human and equine +misery in close association. But it was very difficult. "Poor +brute, poor people!" was all he could repeat. It did not seem +forcible enough, and he came to a stop with an angry splutter: +"Shame!" Stevie was no master of phrases, and perhaps for that +very reason his thoughts lacked clearness and precision. But he +felt with greater completeness and some profundity. That little +word contained all his sense of indignation and horror at one sort +of wretchedness having to feed upon the anguish of the other - at +the poor cabman beating the poor horse in the name, as it were, of +his poor kids at home. And Stevie knew what it was to be beaten. +He knew it from experience. It was a bad world. Bad! Bad! + +Mrs Verloc, his only sister, guardian, and protector, could not +pretend to such depths of insight. Moreover, she had not +experienced the magic of the cabman's eloquence. She was in the +dark as to the inwardness of the word "Shame." And she said +placidly: + +"Come along, Stevie. You can't help that." + +The docile Stevie went along; but now he went along without pride, +shamblingly, and muttering half words, and even words that would +have been whole if they had not been made up of halves that did not +belong to each other. It was as though he had been trying to fit +all the words he could remember to his sentiments in order to get +some sort of corresponding idea. And, as a matter of fact, he got +it at last. He hung back to utter it at once. + +"Bad world for poor people." + +Directly he had expressed that thought he became aware that it was +familiar to him already in all its consequences. This circumstance +strengthened his conviction immensely, but also augmented his +indignation. Somebody, he felt, ought to be punished for it - +punished with great severity. Being no sceptic, but a moral +creature, he was in a manner at the mercy of his righteous +passions. + +"Beastly!" he added concisely. + +It was clear to Mrs Verloc that he was greatly excited. + +"Nobody can help that," she said. "Do come along. Is that the way +you're taking care of me?" + +Stevie mended his pace obediently. He prided himself on being a +good brother. His morality, which was very complete, demanded that +from him. Yet he was pained at the information imparted by his +sister Winnie who was good. Nobody could help that! He came along +gloomily, but presently he brightened up. Like the rest of +mankind, perplexed by the mystery of the universe, he had his +moments of consoling trust in the organised powers of the earth. + +"Police," he suggested confidently. + +"The police aren't for that," observed Mrs Verloc cursorily, +hurrying on her way. + +Stevie's face lengthened considerably. He was thinking. The more +intense his thinking, the slacker was the droop of his lower jaw. + +And it was with an aspect of hopeless vacancy that he gave up his +intellectual enterprise. + +"Not for that?" he mumbled, resigned but surprised. "Not for +that?" He had formed for himself an ideal conception of the +metropolitan police as a sort of benevolent institution for the +suppression of evil. The notion of benevolence especially was very +closely associated with his sense of the power of the men in blue. +He had liked all police constables tenderly, with a guileless +trustfulness. And he was pained. He was irritated, too, by a +suspicion of duplicity in the members of the force. For Stevie was +frank and as open as the day himself. What did they mean by +pretending then? Unlike his sister, who put her trust in face +values, he wished to go to the bottom of the matter. He carried on +his inquiry by means of an angry challenge. + +"What for are they then, Winn? What are they for? Tell me." + +Winnie disliked controversy. But fearing most a fit of black +depression consequent on Stevie missing his mother very much at +first, she did not altogether decline the discussion. Guiltless of +all irony, she answered yet in a form which was not perhaps +unnatural in the wife of Mr Verloc, Delegate of the Central Red +Committee, personal friend of certain anarchists, and a votary of +social revolution. + +"Don't you know what the police are for, Stevie? They are there so +that them as have nothing shouldn't take anything away from them +who have." + +She avoided using the verb "to steal," because it always made her +brother uncomfortable. For Stevie was delicately honest. Certain +simple principles had been instilled into him so anxiously (on +account of his "queerness") that the mere names of certain +transgressions filled him with horror. He had been always easily +impressed by speeches. He was impressed and startled now, and his +intelligence was very alert. + +"What?" he asked at once anxiously. "Not even if they were hungry? +Mustn't they?" + +The two had paused in their walk. + +"Not if they were ever so," said Mrs Verloc, with the equanimity of +a person untroubled by the problem of the distribution of wealth, +and exploring the perspective of the roadway for an omnibus of the +right colour. "Certainly not. But what's the use of talking about +all that? You aren't ever hungry." + +She cast a swift glance at the boy, like a young man, by her side. +She saw him amiable, attractive, affectionate, and only a little, a +very little, peculiar. And she could not see him otherwise, for he +was connected with what there was of the salt of passion in her +tasteless life - the passion of indignation, of courage, of pity, +and even of self-sacrifice. She did not add: "And you aren't +likely ever to be as long as I live." But she might very well have +done so, since she had taken effectual steps to that end. Mr +Verloc was a very good husband. It was her honest impression that +nobody could help liking the boy. She cried out suddenly: + +"Quick, Stevie. Stop that green `bus." + +And Stevie, tremulous and important with his sister Winnie on his +arm, flung up the other high above his head at the approaching +`bus, with complete success. + +An hour afterwards Mr Verloc raised his eyes from a newspaper he +was reading, or at any rate looking at, behind the counter, and in +the expiring clatter of the door-bell beheld Winnie, his wife, +enter and cross the shop on her way upstairs, followed by Stevie, +his brother-in-law. The sight of his wife was agreeable to Mr +Verloc. It was his idiosyncrasy. The figure of his brother-in-law +remained imperceptible to him because of the morose thoughtfulness +that lately had fallen like a veil between Mr Verloc and the +appearances of the world of senses. He looked after his wife +fixedly, without a word, as though she had been a phantom. His +voice for home use was husky and placid, but now it was heard not +at all. It was not heard at supper, to which he was called by his +wife in the usual brief manner: "Adolf." He sat down to consume it +without conviction, wearing his hat pushed far back on his head. +It was not devotion to an outdoor life, but the frequentation of +foreign cafes which was responsible for that habit, investing with +a character of unceremonious impermanency Mr Verloc's steady +fidelity to his own fireside. Twice at the clatter of the cracked +bell he arose without a word, disappeared into the shop, and came +back silently. During these absences Mrs Verloc, becoming acutely +aware of the vacant place at her right hand, missed her mother very +much, and stared stonily; while Stevie, from the same reason, kept +on shuffling his feet, as though the floor under the table were +uncomfortably hot. When Mr Verloc returned to sit in his place, +like the very embodiment of silence, the character of Mrs Verloc's +stare underwent a subtle change, and Stevie ceased to fidget with +his feet, because of his great and awed regard for his sister's +husband. He directed at him glances of respectful compassion. Mr +Verloc was sorry. His sister Winnie had impressed upon him (in the +omnibus) that Mr Verloc would be found at home in a state of +sorrow, and must not be worried. His father's anger, the +irritability of gentlemen lodgers, and Mr Verloc's predisposition +to immoderate grief, had been the main sanctions of Stevie's self- +restraint. Of these sentiments, all easily provoked, but not +always easy to understand, the last had the greatest moral +efficiency - because Mr Verloc was GOOD. His mother and his sister +had established that ethical fact on an unshakable foundation. +They had established, erected, consecrated it behind Mr Verloc's +back, for reasons that had nothing to do with abstract morality. +And Mr Verloc was not aware of it. It is but bare justice to him +to say that he had no notion of appearing good to Stevie. Yet so +it was. He was even the only man so qualified in Stevie's +knowledge, because the gentlemen lodgers had been too transient and +too remote to have anything very distinct about them but perhaps +their boots; and as regards the disciplinary measures of his +father, the desolation of his mother and sister shrank from setting +up a theory of goodness before the victim. It would have been too +cruel. And it was even possible that Stevie would not have +believed them. As far as Mr Verloc was concerned, nothing could +stand in the way of Stevie's belief. Mr Verloc was obviously yet +mysteriously GOOD. And the grief of a good man is august. + +Stevie gave glances of reverential compassion to his brother-in- +law. Mr Verloc was sorry. The brother of Winnie had never before +felt himself in such close communion with the mystery of that man's +goodness. It was an understandable sorrow. And Stevie himself was +sorry. He was very sorry. The same sort of sorrow. And his +attention being drawn to this unpleasant state, Stevie shuffled his +feet. His feelings were habitually manifested by the agitation of +his limbs. + +"Keep your feet quiet, dear," said Mrs Verloc, with authority and +tenderness; then turning towards her husband in an indifferent +voice, the masterly achievement of instinctive tact: "Are you going +out to-night?" she asked. + +The mere suggestion seemed repugnant to Mr Verloc. He shook his +head moodily, and then sat still with downcast eyes, looking at the +piece of cheese on his plate for a whole minute. At the end of +that time he got up, and went out - went right out in the clatter +of the shop-door bell. He acted thus inconsistently, not from any +desire to make himself unpleasant, but because of an unconquerable +restlessness. It was no earthly good going out. He could not find +anywhere in London what he wanted. But he went out. He led a +cortege of dismal thoughts along dark streets, through lighted +streets, in and out of two flash bars, as if in a half-hearted +attempt to make a night of it, and finally back again to his +menaced home, where he sat down fatigued behind the counter, and +they crowded urgently round him, like a pack of hungry black +hounds. After locking up the house and putting out the gas he took +them upstairs with him - a dreadful escort for a man going to bed. +His wife had preceded him some time before, and with her ample form +defined vaguely under the counterpane, her head on the pillow, and +a hand under the cheek offered to his distraction the view of early +drowsiness arguing the possession of an equable soul. Her big eyes +stared wide open, inert and dark against the snowy whiteness of the +linen. She did not move. + +She had an equable soul. She felt profoundly that things do not +stand much looking into. She made her force and her wisdom of that +instinct. But the taciturnity of Mr Verloc had been lying heavily +upon her for a good many days. It was, as a matter of fact, +affecting her nerves. Recumbent and motionless, she said placidly: + +"You'll catch cold walking about in your socks like this." + +This speech, becoming the solicitude of the wife and the prudence +of the woman, took Mr Verloc unawares. He had left his boots +downstairs, but he had forgotten to put on his slippers, and he had +been turning about the bedroom on noiseless pads like a bear in a +cage. At the sound of his wife's voice he stopped and stared at +her with a somnambulistic, expressionless gaze so long that Mrs +Verloc moved her limbs slightly under the bed-clothes. But she did +not move her black head sunk in the white pillow one hand under her +cheek and the big, dark, unwinking eyes. + +Under her husband's expressionless stare, and remembering her +mother's empty room across the landing, she felt an acute pang of +loneliness. She had never been parted from her mother before. +They had stood by each other. She felt that they had, and she said +to herself that now mother was gone - gone for good. Mrs Verloc +had no illusions. Stevie remained, however. And she said: + +"Mother's done what she wanted to do. There's no sense in it that +I can see. I'm sure she couldn't have thought you had enough of +her. It's perfectly wicked, leaving us like that." + +Mr Verloc was not a well-read person; his range of allusive phrases +was limited, but there was a peculiar aptness in circumstances +which made him think of rats leaving a doomed ship. He very nearly +said so. He had grown suspicious and embittered. Could it be that +the old woman had such an excellent nose? But the unreasonableness +of such a suspicion was patent, and Mr Verloc held his tongue. Not +altogether, however. He muttered heavily: + +"Perhaps it's just as well." + +He began to undress. Mrs Verloc kept very still, perfectly still, +with her eyes fixed in a dreamy, quiet stare. And her heart for +the fraction of a second seemed to stand still too. That night she +was "not quite herself," as the saying is, and it was borne upon +her with some force that a simple sentence may hold several diverse +meanings - mostly disagreeable. How was it just as well? And why? +But she did not allow herself to fall into the idleness of barren +speculation. She was rather confirmed in her belief that things +did not stand being looked into. Practical and subtle in her way, +she brought Stevie to the front without loss of time, because in +her the singleness of purpose had the unerring nature and the force +of an instinct. + +"What I am going to do to cheer up that boy for the first few days +I'm sure I don't know. He'll be worrying himself from morning till +night before he gets used to mother being away. And he's such a +good boy. I couldn't do without him." + +Mr Verloc went on divesting himself of his clothing with the +unnoticing inward concentration of a man undressing in the solitude +of a vast and hopeless desert. For thus inhospitably did this fair +earth, our common inheritance, present itself to the mental vision +of Mr Verloc. All was so still without and within that the lonely +ticking of the clock on the landing stole into the room as if for +the sake of company. + +Mr Verloc, getting into bed on his own side, remained prone and +mute behind Mrs Verloc's back. His thick arms rested abandoned on +the outside of the counterpane like dropped weapons, like discarded +tools. At that moment he was within a hair's breadth of making a +clean breast of it all to his wife. The moment seemed propitious. +Looking out of the corners of his eyes, he saw her ample shoulders +draped in white, the back of her head, with the hair done for the +night in three plaits tied up with black tapes at the ends. And he +forbore. Mr Verloc loved his wife as a wife should be loved - that +is, maritally, with the regard one has for one's chief possession. +This head arranged for the night, those ample shoulders, had an +aspect of familiar sacredness - the sacredness of domestic peace. +She moved not, massive and shapeless like a recumbent statue in the +rough; he remembered her wide-open eyes looking into the empty +room. She was mysterious, with the mysteriousness of living +beings. The far-famed secret agent [delta] of the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim's alarmist despatches was not the man to break +into such mysteries. He was easily intimidated. And he was also +indolent, with the indolence which is so often the secret of good +nature. He forbore touching that mystery out of love, timidity, +and indolence. There would be always time enough. For several +minutes he bore his sufferings silently in the drowsy silence of +the room. And then he disturbed it by a resolute declaration. + +"I am going on the Continent to-morrow." + +His wife might have fallen asleep already. He could not tell. As +a matter of fact, Mrs Verloc had heard him. Her eyes remained very +wide open, and she lay very still, confirmed in her instinctive +conviction that things don't bear looking into very much. And yet +it was nothing very unusual for Mr Verloc to take such a trip. He +renewed his stock from Paris and Brussels. Often he went over to +make his purchases personally. A little select connection of +amateurs was forming around the shop in Brett Street, a secret +connection eminently proper for any business undertaken by Mr +Verloc, who, by a mystic accord of temperament and necessity, had +been set apart to be a secret agent all his life. + +He waited for a while, then added: "I'll be away a week or perhaps +a fortnight. Get Mrs Neale to come for the day." + +Mrs Neale was the charwoman of Brett Street. Victim of her +marriage with a debauched joiner, she was oppressed by the needs of +many infant children. Red-armed, and aproned in coarse sacking up +to the arm-pits, she exhaled the anguish of the poor in a breath of +soap-suds and rum, in the uproar of scrubbing, in the clatter of +tin pails. + +Mrs Verloc, full of deep purpose, spoke in the tone of the +shallowest indifference. + +"There is no need to have the woman here all day. I shall do very +well with Stevie." + +She let the lonely clock on the landing count off fifteen ticks +into the abyss of eternity, and asked: + +"Shall I put the light out?" + +Mr Verloc snapped at his wife huskily. + +"Put it out." + + + +CHAPTER IX + + + +Mr Verloc returning from the Continent at the end of ten days, +brought back a mind evidently unrefreshed by the wonders of foreign +travel and a countenance unlighted by the joys of home-coming. He +entered in the clatter of the shop bell with an air of sombre and +vexed exhaustion. His bag in hand, his head lowered, he strode +straight behind the counter, and let himself fall into the chair, +as though he had tramped all the way from Dover. It was early +morning. Stevie, dusting various objects displayed in the front +windows, turned to gape at him with reverence and awe. + +"Here!" said Mr Verloc, giving a slight kick to the gladstone bag +on the floor; and Stevie flung himself upon it, seized it, bore it +off with triumphant devotion. He was so prompt that Mr Verloc was +distinctly surprised. + +Already at the clatter of the shop bell Mrs Neale, blackleading the +parlour grate, had looked through the door, and rising from her +knees had gone, aproned, and grimy with everlasting toll, to tell +Mrs Verloc in the kitchen that "there was the master come back." + +Winnie came no farther than the inner shop door. + +"You'll want some breakfast," she said from a distance. + +Mr Verloc moved his hands slightly, as if overcome by an impossible +suggestion. But once enticed into the parlour he did not reject +the food set before him. He ate as if in a public place, his hat +pushed off his forehead, the skirts of his heavy overcoat hanging +in a triangle on each side of the chair. And across the length of +the table covered with brown oil-cloth Winnie, his wife, talked +evenly at him the wifely talk, as artfully adapted, no doubt, to +the circumstances of this return as the talk of Penelope to the +return of the wandering Odysseus. Mrs Verloc, however, had done no +weaving during her husband's absence. But she had had all the +upstairs room cleaned thoroughly, had sold some wares, had seen Mr +Michaelis several times. He had told her the last time that he was +going away to live in a cottage in the country, somewhere on the +London, Chatham, and Dover line. Karl Yundt had come too, once, +led under the arm by that "wicked old housekeeper of his." He was +"a disgusting old man." Of Comrade Ossipon, whom she had received +curtly, entrenched behind the counter with a stony face and a +faraway gaze, she said nothing, her mental reference to the robust +anarchist being marked by a short pause, with the faintest possible +blush. And bringing in her brother Stevie as soon as she could +into the current of domestic events, she mentioned that the boy had +moped a good deal. + +"It's all along of mother leaving us like this." + +Mr Verloc neither said, "Damn!" nor yet "Stevie be hanged!" And +Mrs Verloc, not let into the secret of his thoughts, failed to +appreciate the generosity of this restraint. + +"It isn't that he doesn't work as well as ever," she continued. +"He's been making himself very useful. You'd think he couldn't do +enough for us." + +Mr Verloc directed a casual and somnolent glance at Stevie, who sat +on his right, delicate, pale-faced, his rosy mouth open vacantly. +It was not a critical glance. It had no intention. And if Mr +Verloc thought for a moment that his wife's brother looked +uncommonly useless, it was only a dull and fleeting thought, devoid +of that force and durability which enables sometimes a thought to +move the world. Leaning back, Mr Verloc uncovered his head. +Before his extended arm could put down the hat Stevie pounced upon +it, and bore it off reverently into the kitchen. And again Mr +Verloc was surprised. + +"You could do anything with that boy, Adolf," Mrs Verloc said, with +her best air of inflexible calmness. "He would go through fire for +you. He - " + +She paused attentive, her ear turned towards the door of the +kitchen. + +There Mrs Neale was scrubbing the floor. At Stevie's appearance +she groaned lamentably, having observed that he could be induced +easily to bestow for the benefit of her infant children the +shilling his sister Winnie presented him with from time to time. +On all fours amongst the puddles, wet and begrimed, like a sort of +amphibious and domestic animal living in ash-bins and dirty water, +she uttered the usual exordium: "It's all very well for you, kept +doing nothing like a gentleman." And she followed it with the +everlasting plaint of the poor, pathetically mendacious, miserably +authenticated by the horrible breath of cheap rum and soap-suds. +She scrubbed hard, snuffling all the time, and talking volubly. +And she was sincere. And on each side of her thin red nose her +bleared, misty eyes swam in tears, because she felt really the want +of some sort of stimulant in the morning. + +In the parlour Mrs Verloc observed, with knowledge: + +"There's Mrs Neale at it again with her harrowing tales about her +little children. They can't be all so little as she makes them +out. Some of them must be big enough by now to try to do something +for themselves. It only makes Stevie angry." + +These words were confirmed by a thud as of a fist striking the +kitchen table. In the normal evolution of his sympathy Stevie had +become angry on discovering that he had no shilling in his pocket. +In his inability to relieve at once Mrs Neale's "little 'uns'," +privations he felt that somebody should be made to suffer for it. +Mrs Verloc rose, and went into the kitchen to "stop that nonsense." +And she did it firmly but gently. She was well aware that directly +Mrs Neale received her money she went round the corner to drink +ardent spirits in a mean and musty public-house - the unavoidable +station on the VIA DOLOROSA of her life. Mrs Verloc's comment upon +this practice had an unexpected profundity, as coming from a person +disinclined to look under the surface of things. "Of course, what +is she to do to keep up? If I were like Mrs Neale I expect I +wouldn't act any different." + +In the afternoon of the same day, as Mr Verloc, coming with a start +out of the last of a long series of dozes before the parlour fire, +declared his intention of going out for a walk, Winnie said from +the shop: + +"I wish you would take that boy out with you, Adolf." + +For the third time that day Mr Verloc was surprised. He stared +stupidly at his wife. She continued in her steady manner. The +boy, whenever he was not doing anything, moped in the house. It +made her uneasy; it made her nervous, she confessed. And that from +the calm Winnie sounded like exaggeration. But, in truth, Stevie +moped in the striking fashion of an unhappy domestic animal. He +would go up on the dark landing, to sit on the floor at the foot of +the tall clock, with his knees drawn up and his head in his hands. +To come upon his pallid face, with its big eyes gleaming in the +dusk, was discomposing; to think of him up there was uncomfortable. + +Mr Verloc got used to the startling novelty of the idea. He was +fond of his wife as a man should be - that is, generously. But a +weighty objection presented itself to his mind, and he formulated +it. + +"He'll lose sight of me perhaps, and get lost in the street," he +said. + +Mrs Verloc shook her head competently. + +"He won't. You don't know him. That boy just worships you. But +if you should miss him - " + +Mrs Verloc paused for a moment, but only for a moment. + +"You just go on, and have your walk out. Don't worry. He'll be +all right. He's sure to turn up safe here before very long." + +This optimism procured for Mr Verloc his fourth surprise of the +day. + +"Is he?" he grunted doubtfully. But perhaps his brother-in-law was +not such an idiot as he looked. His wife would know best. He +turned away his heavy eyes, saying huskily: "Well, let him come +along, then," and relapsed into the clutches of black care, that +perhaps prefers to sit behind a horseman, but knows also how to +tread close on the heels of people not sufficiently well off to +keep horses - like Mr Verloc, for instance. + +Winnie, at the shop door, did not see this fatal attendant upon Mr +Verloc's walks. She watched the two figures down the squalid +street, one tall and burly, the other slight and short, with a thin +neck, and the peaked shoulders raised slightly under the large +semi-transparent ears. The material of their overcoats was the +same, their hats were black and round in shape. Inspired by the +similarity of wearing apparel, Mrs Verloc gave rein to her fancy. + +"Might be father and son," she said to herself. She thought also +that Mr Verloc was as much of a father as poor Stevie ever had in +his life. She was aware also that it was her work. And with +peaceful pride she congratulated herself on a certain resolution +she had taken a few years before. It had cost her some effort, and +even a few tears. + +She congratulated herself still more on observing in the course of +days that Mr Verloc seemed to be taking kindly to Stevie's +companionship. Now, when ready to go out for his walk, Mr Verloc +called aloud to the boy, in the spirit, no doubt, in which a man +invites the attendance of the household dog, though, of course, in +a different manner. In the house Mr Verloc could be detected +staring curiously at Stevie a good deal. His own demeanour had +changed. Taciturn still, he was not so listless. Mrs Verloc +thought that he was rather jumpy at times. It might have been +regarded as an improvement. As to Stevie, he moped no longer at +the foot of the clock, but muttered to himself in corners instead +in a threatening tone. When asked "What is it you're saying, +Stevie?" he merely opened his mouth, and squinted at his sister. +At odd times he clenched his fists without apparent cause, and when +discovered in solitude would be scowling at the wall, with the +sheet of paper and the pencil given him for drawing circles lying +blank and idle on the kitchen table. This was a change, but it was +no improvement. Mrs Verloc including all these vagaries under the +general definition of excitement, began to fear that Stevie was +hearing more than was good for him of her husband's conversations +with his friends. During his "walks" Mr Verloc, of course, met and +conversed with various persons. It could hardly be otherwise. His +walks were an integral part of his outdoor activities, which his +wife had never looked deeply into. Mrs Verloc felt that the +position was delicate, but she faced it with the same impenetrable +calmness which impressed and even astonished the customers of the +shop and made the other visitors keep their distance a little +wonderingly. No! She feared that there were things not good for +Stevie to hear of, she told her husband. It only excited the poor +boy, because he could not help them being so. Nobody could. + +It was in the shop. Mr Verloc made no comment. He made no retort, +and yet the retort was obvious. But he refrained from pointing out +to his wife that the idea of making Stevie the companion of his +walks was her own, and nobody else's. At that moment, to an +impartial observer, Mr Verloc would have appeared more than human +in his magnanimity. He took down a small cardboard box from a +shelf, peeped in to see that the contents were all right, and put +it down gently on the counter. Not till that was done did he break +the silence, to the effect that most likely Stevie would profit +greatly by being sent out of town for a while; only he supposed his +wife could not get on without him. + +"Could not get on without him!" repeated Mrs Verloc slowly. "I +couldn't get on without him if it were for his good! The idea! Of +course, I can get on without him. But there's nowhere for him to +go." + +Mr Verloc got out some brown paper and a ball of string; and +meanwhile he muttered that Michaelis was living in a little cottage +in the country. Michaelis wouldn't mind giving Stevie a room to +sleep in. There were no visitors and no talk there. Michaelis was +writing a book. + +Mrs Verloc declared her affection for Michaelis; mentioned her +abhorrence of Karl Yundt, "nasty old man"; and of Ossipon she said +nothing. As to Stevie, he could be no other than very pleased. Mr +Michaelis was always so nice and kind to him. He seemed to like +the boy. Well, the boy was a good boy. + +"You too seem to have grown quite fond of him of late," she added, +after a pause, with her inflexible assurance. + +Mr Verloc tying up the cardboard box into a parcel for the post, +broke the string by an injudicious jerk, and muttered several swear +words confidentially to himself. Then raising his tone to the +usual husky mutter, he announced his willingness to take Stevie +into the country himself, and leave him all safe with Michaelis. + +He carried out this scheme on the very next day. Stevie offered no +objection. He seemed rather eager, in a bewildered sort of way. +He turned his candid gaze inquisitively to Mr Verloc's heavy +countenance at frequent intervals, especially when his sister was +not looking at him. His expression was proud, apprehensive, and +concentrated, like that of a small child entrusted for the first +time with a box of matches and the permission to strike a light. +But Mrs Verloc, gratified by her brother's docility, recommended +him not to dirty his clothes unduly in the country. At this Stevie +gave his sister, guardian and protector a look, which for the first +time in his life seemed to lack the quality of perfect childlike +trustfulness. It was haughtily gloomy. Mrs Verloc smiled. + +"Goodness me! You needn't be offended. You know you do get +yourself very untidy when you get a chance, Stevie." + +Mr Verloc was already gone some way down the street. + +Thus in consequence of her mother's heroic proceedings, and of her +brother's absence on this villegiature, Mrs Verloc found herself +oftener than usual all alone not only in the shop, but in the +house. For Mr Verloc had to take his walks. She was alone longer +than usual on the day of the attempted bomb outrage in Greenwich +Park, because Mr Verloc went out very early that morning and did +not come back till nearly dusk. She did not mind being alone. She +had no desire to go out. The weather was too bad, and the shop was +cosier than the streets. Sitting behind the counter with some +sewing, she did not raise her eyes from her work when Mr Verloc +entered in the aggressive clatter of the bell. She had recognised +his step on the pavement outside. + +She did not raise her eyes, but as Mr Verloc, silent, and with his +hat rammed down upon his forehead, made straight for the parlour +door, she said serenely: + +"What a wretched day. You've been perhaps to see Stevie?" + +"No! I haven't," said Mr Verloc softly, and slammed the glazed +parlour door behind him with unexpected energy. + +For some time Mrs Verloc remained quiescent, with her work dropped +in her lap, before she put it away under the counter and got up to +light the gas. This done, she went into the parlour on her way to +the kitchen. Mr Verloc would want his tea presently. Confident of +the power of her charms, Winnie did not expect from her husband in +the daily intercourse of their married life a ceremonious amenity +of address and courtliness of manner; vain and antiquated forms at +best, probably never very exactly observed, discarded nowadays even +in the highest spheres, and always foreign to the standards of her +class. She did not look for courtesies from him. But he was a +good husband, and she had a loyal respect for his rights. + +Mrs Verloc would have gone through the parlour and on to her +domestic duties in the kitchen with the perfect serenity of a woman +sure of the power of her charms. But a slight, very slight, and +rapid rattling sound grew upon her hearing. Bizarre and +incomprehensible, it arrested Mrs Verloc's attention. Then as its +character became plain to the ear she stopped short, amazed and +concerned. Striking a match on the box she held in her hand, she +turned on and lighted, above the parlour table, one of the two gas- +burners, which, being defective, first whistled as if astonished, +and then went on purring comfortably like a cat. + +Mr Verloc, against his usual practice, had thrown off his overcoat. +It was lying on the sofa. His hat, which he must also have thrown +off, rested overturned under the edge of the sofa. He had dragged +a chair in front of the fireplace, and his feet planted inside the +fender, his head held between his hands, he was hanging low over +the glowing grate. His teeth rattled with an ungovernable +violence, causing his whole enormous back to tremble at the same +rate. Mrs Verloc was startled. + +"You've been getting wet," she said. + +"Not very," Mr Verloc managed to falter out, in a profound shudder. +By a great effort he suppressed the rattling of his teeth. + +"I'll have you laid up on my hands," she said, with genuine +uneasiness. + +"I don't think so," remarked Mr Verloc, snuffling huskily. + +He had certainly contrived somehow to catch an abominable cold +between seven in the morning and five in the afternoon. Mrs Verloc +looked at his bowed back. + +"Where have you been to-day?" she asked. + +"Nowhere," answered Mr Verloc in a low, choked nasal tone. His +attitude suggested aggrieved sulks or a severe headache. The +unsufficiency and uncandidness of his answer became painfully +apparent in the dead silence of the room. He snuffled +apologetically, and added: "I've been to the bank." + +Mrs Verloc became attentive. + +"You have!" she said dispassionately. "What for?" + +Mr Verloc mumbled, with his nose over the grate, and with marked +unwillingness. + +"Draw the money out!" + +"What do you mean? All of it?" + +"Yes. All of it." + +Mrs Verloc spread out with care the scanty table-cloth, got two +knives and two forks out of the table drawer, and suddenly stopped +in her methodical proceedings. + +"What did you do that for?" + +"May want it soon," snuffled vaguely Mr Verloc, who was coming to +the end of his calculated indiscretions. + +"I don't know what you mean," remarked his wife in a tone perfectly +casual, but standing stock still between the table and the +cupboard. + +"You know you can trust me," Mr Verloc remarked to the grate, with +hoarse feeling. + +Mrs Verloc turned slowly towards the cupboard, saying with +deliberation: + +"Oh yes. I can trust you." + +And she went on with her methodical proceedings. She laid two +plates, got the bread, the butter, going to and fro quietly between +the table and the cupboard in the peace and silence of her home. +On the point of taking out the jam, she reflected practically: "He +will be feeling hungry, having been away all day," and she returned +to the cupboard once more to get the cold beef. She set it under +the purring gas-jet, and with a passing glance at her motionless +husband hugging the fire, she went (down two steps) into the +kitchen. It was only when coming back, carving knife and fork in +hand, that she spoke again. + +"If I hadn't trusted you I wouldn't have married you." + +Bowed under the overmantel, Mr Verloc, holding his head in both +hands, seemed to have gone to sleep. Winnie made the tea, and +called out in an undertone: + +"Adolf." + +Mr Verloc got up at once, and staggered a little before he sat down +at the table. His wife examining the sharp edge of the carving +knife, placed it on the dish, and called his attention to the cold +beef. He remained insensible to the suggestion, with his chin on +his breast. + +"You should feed your cold," Mrs Verloc said dogmatically. + +He looked up, and shook his head. His eyes were bloodshot and his +face red. His fingers had ruffled his hair into a dissipated +untidiness. Altogether he had a disreputable aspect, expressive of +the discomfort, the irritation and the gloom following a heavy +debauch. But Mr Verloc was not a debauched man. In his conduct he +was respectable. His appearance might have been the effect of a +feverish cold. He drank three cups of tea, but abstained from food +entirely. He recoiled from it with sombre aversion when urged by +Mrs Verloc, who said at last: + +"Aren't your feet wet? You had better put on your slippers. You +aren't going out any more this evening." + +Mr Verloc intimated by morose grunts and signs that his feet were +not wet, and that anyhow he did not care. The proposal as to +slippers was disregarded as beneath his notice. But the question +of going out in the evening received an unexpected development. It +was not of going out in the evening that Mr Verloc was thinking. +His thoughts embraced a vaster scheme. From moody and incomplete +phrases it became apparent that Mr Verloc had been considering the +expediency of emigrating. It was not very clear whether he had in +his mind France or California. + +The utter unexpectedness, improbability, and inconceivableness of +such an event robbed this vague declaration of all its effect. Mrs +Verloc, as placidly as if her husband had been threatening her with +the end of the world, said: + +"The idea!" + +Mr Verloc declared himself sick and tired of everything, and +besides - She interrupted him. + +"You've a bad cold." + +It was indeed obvious that Mr Verloc was not in his usual state, +physically and even mentally. A sombre irresolution held him +silent for a while. Then he murmured a few ominous generalities on +the theme of necessity. + +"Will have to," repeated Winnie, sitting calmly back, with folded +arms, opposite her husband. "I should like to know who's to make +you. You ain't a slave. No one need be a slave in this country - +and don't you make yourself one." She paused, and with invincible +and steady candour. "The business isn't so bad," she went on. +"You've a comfortable home." + +She glanced all round the parlour, from the corner cupboard to the +good fire in the grate. Ensconced cosily behind the shop of +doubtful wares, with the mysteriously dim window, and its door +suspiciously ajar in the obscure and narrow street, it was in all +essentials of domestic propriety and domestic comfort a respectable +home. Her devoted affection missed out of it her brother Stevie, +now enjoying a damp villegiature in the Kentish lanes under the +care of Mr Michaelis. She missed him poignantly, with all the +force of her protecting passion. This was the boy's home too - the +roof, the cupboard, the stoked grate. On this thought Mrs Verloc +rose, and walking to the other end of the table, said in the +fulness of her heart: + +"And you are not tired of me." + +Mr Verloc made no sound. Winnie leaned on his shoulder from +behind, and pressed her lips to his forehead. Thus she lingered. +Not a whisper reached them from the outside world. + +The sound of footsteps on the pavement died out in the discreet +dimness of the shop. Only the gas-jet above the table went on +purring equably in the brooding silence of the parlour. + +During the contact of that unexpected and lingering kiss Mr Verloc, +gripping with both hands the edges of his chair, preserved a +hieratic immobility. When the pressure was removed he let go the +chair, rose, and went to stand before the fireplace. He turned no +longer his back to the room. With his features swollen and an air +of being drugged, he followed his wife's movements with his eyes. + +Mrs Verloc went about serenely, clearing up the table. Her +tranquil voice commented the idea thrown out in a reasonable and +domestic tone. It wouldn't stand examination. She condemned it +from every point of view. But her only real concern was Stevie's +welfare. He appeared to her thought in that connection as +sufficiently "peculiar" not to be taken rashly abroad. And that +was all. But talking round that vital point, she approached +absolute vehemence in her delivery. Meanwhile, with brusque +movements, she arrayed herself in an apron for the washing up of +cups. And as if excited by the sound of her uncontradicted voice, +she went so far as to say in a tone almost tart: + +"If you go abroad you'll have to go without me." + +"You know I wouldn't," said Mr Verloc huskily, and the unresonant +voice of his private life trembled with an enigmatical emotion. + +Already Mrs Verloc was regretting her words. They had sounded more +unkind than she meant them to be. They had also the unwisdom of +unnecessary things. In fact, she had not meant them at all. It +was a sort of phrase that is suggested by the demon of perverse +inspiration. But she knew a way to make it as if it had not been. + +She turned her head over her shoulder and gave that man planted +heavily in front of the fireplace a glance, half arch, half cruel, +out of her large eyes - a glance of which the Winnie of the +Belgravian mansion days would have been incapable, because of her +respectability and her ignorance. But the man was her husband now, +and she was no longer ignorant. She kept it on him for a whole +second, with her grave face motionless like a mask, while she said +playfully: + +"You couldn't. You would miss me too much." + +Mr Verloc started forward. + +"Exactly," he said in a louder tone, throwing his arms out and +making a step towards her. Something wild and doubtful in his +expression made it appear uncertain whether he meant to strangle or +to embrace his wife. But Mrs Verloc's attention was called away +from that manifestation by the clatter of the shop bell. + +"Shop, Adolf. You go." + +He stopped, his arms came down slowly. + +"You go," repeated Mrs Verloc. "I've got my apron on." + +Mr Verloc obeyed woodenly, stony-eyed, and like an automaton whose +face had been painted red. And this resemblance to a mechanical +figure went so far that he had an automaton's absurd air of being +aware of the machinery inside of him. + +He closed the parlour door, and Mrs Verloc moving briskly, carried +the tray into the kitchen. She washed the cups and some other +things before she stopped in her work to listen. No sound reached +her. The customer was a long time in the shop. It was a customer, +because if he had not been Mr Verloc would have taken him inside. +Undoing the strings of her apron with a jerk, she threw it on a +chair, and walked back to the parlour slowly. + +At that precise moment Mr Verloc entered from the shop. + +He had gone in red. He came out a strange papery white. His face, +losing its drugged, feverish stupor, had in that short time +acquired a bewildered and harassed expression. He walked straight +to the sofa, and stood looking down at his overcoat lying there, as +though he were afraid to touch it. + +"What's the matter?" asked Mrs Verloc in a subdued voice. Through +the door left ajar she could see that the customer was not gone +yet. + +"I find I'll have to go out this evening," said Mr Verloc. He did +not attempt to pick up his outer garment. + +Without a word Winnie made for the shop, and shutting the door +after her, walked in behind the counter. She did not look overtly +at the customer till she had established herself comfortably on the +chair. But by that time she had noted that he was tall and thin, +and wore his moustaches twisted up. In fact, he gave the sharp +points a twist just then. His long, bony face rose out of a +turned-up collar. He was a little splashed, a little wet. A dark +man, with the ridge of the cheek-bone well defined under the +slightly hollow temple. A complete stranger. Not a customer +either. + +Mrs Verloc looked at him placidly. + +"You came over from the Continent?" she said after a time. + +The long, thin stranger, without exactly looking at Mrs Verloc, +answered only by a faint and peculiar smile. + +Mrs Verloc's steady, incurious gaze rested on him. + +"You understand English, don't you?" + +"Oh yes. I understand English." + +There was nothing foreign in his accent, except that he seemed in +his slow enunciation to be taking pains with it. And Mrs Verloc, +in her varied experience, had come to the conclusion that some +foreigners could speak better English than the natives. She said, +looking at the door of the parlour fixedly: + +"You don't think perhaps of staying in England for good?" + +The stranger gave her again a silent smile. He had a kindly mouth +and probing eyes. And he shook his head a little sadly, it seemed. + +"My husband will see you through all right. Meantime for a few +days you couldn't do better than take lodgings with Mr Giugliani. +Continental Hotel it's called. Private. It's quiet. My husband +will take you there." + +"A good idea," said the thin, dark man, whose glance had hardened +suddenly. + +"You knew Mr Verloc before - didn't you? Perhaps in France?" + +"I have heard of him," admitted the visitor in his slow, +painstaking tone, which yet had a certain curtness of intention. + +There was a pause. Then he spoke again, in a far less elaborate +manner. + +"Your husband has not gone out to wait for me in the street by +chance?" + +"In the street!" repeated Mrs Verloc, surprised. "He couldn't. +There's no other door to the house." + +For a moment she sat impassive, then left her seat to go and peep +through the glazed door. Suddenly she opened it, and disappeared +into the parlour. + +Mr Verloc had done no more than put on his overcoat. But why he +should remain afterwards leaning over the table propped up on his +two arms as though he were feeling giddy or sick, she could not +understand. "Adolf," she called out half aloud; and when he had +raised himself: + +"Do you know that man?" she asked rapidly. + +"I've heard of him," whispered uneasily Mr Verloc, darting a wild +glance at the door. + +Mrs Verloc's fine, incurious eyes lighted up with a flash of +abhorrence. + +"One of Karl Yundt's friends - beastly old man." + +"No! No!" protested Mr Verloc, busy fishing for his hat. But when +he got it from under the sofa he held it as if he did not know the +use of a hat. + +"Well - he's waiting for you," said Mrs Verloc at last. "I say, +Adolf, he ain't one of them Embassy people you have been bothered +with of late?" + +"Bothered with Embassy people," repeated Mr Verloc, with a heavy +start of surprise and fear. "Who's been talking to you of the +Embassy people?" + +"Yourself." + +"I! I! Talked of the Embassy to you!" + +Mr Verloc seemed scared and bewildered beyond measure. His wife +explained: + +"You've been talking a little in your sleep of late, Adolf." + +"What - what did I say? What do you know?" + +"Nothing much. It seemed mostly nonsense. Enough to let me guess +that something worried you." + +Mr Verloc rammed his hat on his head. A crimson flood of anger ran +over his face. + +"Nonsense - eh? The Embassy people! I would cut their hearts out +one after another. But let them look out. I've got a tongue in my +head." + +He fumed, pacing up and down between the table and the sofa, his +open overcoat catching against the angles. The red flood of anger +ebbed out, and left his face all white, with quivering nostrils. +Mrs Verloc, for the purposes of practical existence, put down these +appearances to the cold. + +"Well," she said, "get rid of the man, whoever he is, as soon as +you can, and come back home to me. You want looking after for a +day or two." + +Mr Verloc calmed down, and, with resolution imprinted on his pale +face, had already opened the door, when his wife called him back in +a whisper: + +"Adolf! Adolf!" He came back startled. "What about that money +you drew out?" she asked. "You've got it in your pocket? Hadn't +you better - " + +Mr Verloc gazed stupidly into the palm of his wife's extended hand +for some time before he slapped his brow. + +"Money! Yes! Yes! I didn't know what you meant." + +He drew out of his breast pocket a new pigskin pocket-book. Mrs +Verloc received it without another word, and stood still till the +bell, clattering after Mr Verloc and Mr Verloc's visitor, had +quieted down. Only then she peeped in at the amount, drawing the +notes out for the purpose. After this inspection she looked round +thoughtfully, with an air of mistrust in the silence and solitude +of the house. This abode of her married life appeared to her as +lonely and unsafe as though it had been situated in the midst of a +forest. No receptacle she could think of amongst the solid, heavy +furniture seemed other but flimsy and particularly tempting to her +conception of a house-breaker. It was an ideal conception, endowed +with sublime faculties and a miraculous insight. The till was not +to be thought of it was the first spot a thief would make for. Mrs +Verloc unfastening hastily a couple of hooks, slipped the pocket- +book under the bodice of her dress. Having thus disposed of her +husband's capital, she was rather glad to hear the clatter of the +door bell, announcing an arrival. Assuming the fixed, unabashed +stare and the stony expression reserved for the casual customer, +she walked in behind the counter. + +A man standing in the middle of the shop was inspecting it with a +swift, cool, all-round glance. His eyes ran over the walls, took +in the ceiling, noted the floor - all in a moment. The points of a +long fair moustache fell below the line of the jaw. He smiled the +smile of an old if distant acquaintance, and Mrs Verloc remembered +having seen him before. Not a customer. She softened her +"customer stare" to mere indifference, and faced him across the +counter. + +He approached, on his side, confidentially, but not too markedly +so. + +"Husband at home, Mrs Verloc?" he asked in an easy, full tone. + +"No. He's gone out." + +"I am sorry for that. I've called to get from him a little private +information." + +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. Find - 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?" + +Mrs Verloc did not mind. And when Chief Inspector Heat heard of a +man dark, thin, with a long face and turned up moustaches, he gave +signs of perturbation, and exclaimed: + +"Dash me if I didn't think so! He hasn't lost any time." + +He was intensely disgusted in the secrecy of his heart at the +unofficial conduct of his immediate chief. But he was not +quixotic. He lost all desire to await Mr Verloc's return. What +they had gone out for he did not know, but he imagined it possible +that they would return together. The case is not followed +properly, it's being tampered with, he thought bitterly. + +"I am afraid I haven't time to wait for your husband," he said. + +Mrs Verloc received this declaration listlessly. Her detachment +had impressed Chief Inspector Heat all along. At this precise +moment it whetted his curiosity. Chief Inspector Heat hung in the +wind, swayed by his passions like the most private of citizens. + +"I think," he said, looking at her steadily, "that you could give +me a pretty good notion of what's going on if you liked." + +Forcing her fine, inert eyes to return his gaze, Mrs Verloc +murmured: + +"Going on! What IS going on?" + +"Why, the affair I came to talk about a little with your husband." + +That day Mrs Verloc had glanced at a morning paper as usual. But +she had not stirred out of doors. The newsboys never invaded Brett +Street. It was not a street for their business. And the echo of +their cries drifting along the populous thoroughfares, expired +between the dirty brick walls without reaching the threshold of the +shop. Her husband had not brought an evening paper home. At any +rate she had not seen it. Mrs Verloc knew nothing whatever of any +affair. And she said so, with a genuine note of wonder in her +quiet voice. + +Chief Inspector Heat did not believe for a moment in so much +ignorance. Curtly, without amiability, he stated the bare fact. + +Mrs Verloc turned away her eyes. + +"I call it silly," she pronounced slowly. She paused. "We ain't +downtrodden slaves here." + +The Chief Inspector waited watchfully. Nothing more came. + +"And your husband didn't mention anything to you when he came +home?" + +Mrs Verloc simply turned her face from right to left in sign of +negation. A languid, baffling silence reigned in the shop. Chief +Inspector Heat felt provoked beyond endurance. + +"There was another small matter," he began in a detached tone, +"which I wanted to speak to your husband about. There came into +our hands a - a - what we believe is - a stolen overcoat." + +Mrs Verloc, with her mind specially aware of thieves that evening, +touched lightly the bosom of her dress. + +"We have lost no overcoat," she said calmly. + +"That's funny," continued Private Citizen Heat. "I see you keep a +lot of marking ink here - " + +He took up a small bottle, and looked at it against the gas-jet in +the middle of the shop. + +"Purple - isn't it?" he remarked, setting it down again. "As I +said, it's strange. Because the overcoat has got a label sewn on +the inside with your address written in marking ink." + +Mrs Verloc leaned over the counter with a low exclamation. + +"That's my brother's, then." + +"Where's your brother? Can I see him?" asked the Chief Inspector +briskly. Mrs Verloc leaned a little more over the counter. + +"No. He isn't here. I wrote that label myself." + +"Where's your brother now?" + +"He's been away living with - a friend - in the country." + +"The overcoat comes from the country. And what's the name of the +friend?" + +"Michaelis," confessed Mrs Verloc in an awed whisper. + +The Chief Inspector let out a whistle. His eyes snapped. + +"Just so. Capital. And your brother now, what's he like - a +sturdy, darkish chap - eh?" + +"Oh no," exclaimed Mrs Verloc fervently. "That must be the thief. +Stevie's slight and fair." + +"Good," said the Chief Inspector in an approving tone. And while +Mrs Verloc, wavering between alarm and wonder, stared at him, he +sought for information. Why have the address sewn like this inside +the coat? And he heard that the mangled remains he had inspected +that morning with extreme repugnance were those of a youth, +nervous, absent-minded, peculiar, and also that the woman who was +speaking to him had had the charge of that boy since he was a baby. + +"Easily excitable?" he suggested. + +"Oh yes. He is. But how did he come to lose his coat - " + +Chief Inspector Heat suddenly pulled out a pink newspaper he had +bought less than half-an-hour ago. He was interested in horses. +Forced by his calling into an attitude of doubt and suspicion +towards his fellow-citizens, Chief Inspector Heat relieved the +instinct of credulity implanted in the human breast by putting +unbounded faith in the sporting prophets of that particular evening +publication. Dropping the extra special on to the counter, he +plunged his hand again into his pocket, and pulling out the piece +of cloth fate had presented him with out of a heap of things that +seemed to have been collected in shambles and rag shops, he offered +it to Mrs Verloc for inspection. + +"I suppose you recognise this?" + +She took it mechanically in both her hands. Her eyes seemed to +grow bigger as she looked. + +"Yes," she whispered, then raised her head, and staggered backward +a little. + +"Whatever for is it torn out like this?" + +The Chief Inspector snatched across the counter the cloth out of +her hands, and she sat heavily on the chair. He thought: +identification's perfect. And in that moment he had a glimpse into +the whole amazing truth. Verloc was the "other man." + +"Mrs Verloc," he said, "it strikes me that you know more of this +bomb affair than even you yourself are aware of." + +Mrs Verloc sat still, amazed, lost in boundless astonishment. What +was the connection? And she became so rigid all over that she was +not able to turn her head at the clatter of the bell, which caused +the private investigator Heat to spin round on his heel. Mr Verloc +had shut the door, and for a moment the two men looked at each +other. + +Mr Verloc, without looking at his wife, walked up to the Chief +Inspector, who was relieved to see him return alone. + +"You here!" muttered Mr Verloc heavily. "Who are you after?" + +"No one," said Chief Inspector Heat in a low tone. "Look here, I +would like a word or two with you." + +Mr Verloc, still pale, had brought an air of resolution with him. +Still he didn't look at his wife. He said: + +"Come in here, then." And he led the way into the parlour. + +The door was hardly shut when Mrs Verloc, jumping up from the +chair, ran to it as if to fling it open, but instead of doing so +fell on her knees, with her ear to the keyhole. The two men must +have stopped directly they were through, because she heard plainly +the Chief Inspector's voice, though she could not see his finger +pressed against her husband's breast emphatically. + +"You are the other man, Verloc. Two men were seen entering the +park." + +And the voice of Mr Verloc said: + +"Well, take me now. What's to prevent you? You have the right." + +"Oh no! I know too well who you have been giving yourself away to. +He'll have to manage this little affair all by himself. But don't +you make a mistake, it's I who found you out." + +Then she heard only muttering. Inspector Heat must have been +showing to Mr Verloc the piece of Stevie's overcoat, because +Stevie's sister, guardian, and protector heard her husband a little +louder. + +"I never noticed that she had hit upon that dodge." + +Again for a time Mrs Verloc heard nothing but murmurs, whose +mysteriousness was less nightmarish to her brain than the horrible +suggestions of shaped words. Then Chief Inspector Heat, on the +other side of the door, raised his voice. + +"You must have been mad." + +And Mr Verloc's voice answered, with a sort of gloomy fury: + +"I have been mad for a month or more, but I am not mad now. It's +all over. It shall all come out of my head, and hang the +consequences." + +There was a silence, and then Private Citizen Heat murmured: + +"What's coming out?" + +"Everything," exclaimed the voice of Mr Verloc, and then sank very +low. + +After a while it rose again. + +"You have known me for several years now, and you've found me +useful, too. You know I was a straight man. Yes, straight." + +This appeal to old acquaintance must have been extremely +distasteful to the Chief Inspector. + +His voice took on a warning note. + +"Don't you trust so much to what you have been promised. If I were +you I would clear out. I don't think we will run after you." + +Mr Verloc was heard to laugh a little. + +"Oh yes; you hope the others will get rid of me for you - don't +you? No, no; you don't shake me off now. I have been a straight +man to those people too long, and now everything must come out." + +"Let it come out, then," the indifferent voice of Chief Inspector +Heat assented. "But tell me now how did you get away." + +"I was making for Chesterfield Walk," Mrs Verloc heard her +husband's voice, "when I heard the bang. I started running then. +Fog. I saw no one till I was past the end of George Street. Don't +think I met anyone till then." + +"So easy as that!" marvelled the voice of Chief Inspector Heat. +"The bang startled you, eh?" + +"Yes; it came too soon," confessed the gloomy, husky voice of Mr +Verloc. + +Mrs Verloc pressed her ear to the keyhole; her lips were blue, her +hands cold as ice, and her pale face, in which the two eyes seemed +like two black holes, felt to her as if it were enveloped in +flames. + +On the other side of the door the voices sank very low. She caught +words now and then, sometimes in her husband's voice, sometimes in +the smooth tones of the Chief Inspector. She heard this last say: + +"We believe he stumbled against the root of a tree?" + +There was a husky, voluble murmur, which lasted for some time, and +then the Chief Inspector, as if answering some inquiry, spoke +emphatically. + +"Of course. Blown to small bits: limbs, gravel, clothing, bones, +splinters - all mixed up together. I tell you they had to fetch a +shovel to gather him up with." + +Mrs Verloc sprang up suddenly from her crouching position, and +stopping her ears, reeled to and fro between the counter and the +shelves on the wall towards the chair. Her crazed eyes noted the +sporting sheet left by the Chief Inspector, and as she knocked +herself against the counter she snatched it up, fell into the +chair, tore the optimistic, rosy sheet right across in trying to +open it, then flung it on the floor. On the other side of the +door, Chief Inspector Heat was saying to Mr Verloc, the secret +agent: + +"So your defence will be practically a full confession?" + +"It will. I am going to tell the whole story." + +"You won't be believed as much as you fancy you will." + +And the Chief Inspector remained thoughtful. The turn this affair +was taking meant the disclosure of many things - the laying waste +of fields of knowledge, which, cultivated by a capable man, had a +distinct value for the individual and for the society. It was +sorry, sorry meddling. It would leave Michaelis unscathed; it +would drag to light the Professor's home industry; disorganise the +whole system of supervision; make no end of a row in the papers, +which, from that point of view, appeared to him by a sudden +illumination as invariably written by fools for the reading of +imbeciles. Mentally he agreed with the words Mr Verloc let fall at +last in answer to his last remark. + +"Perhaps not. But it will upset many things. I have been a +straight man, and I shall keep straight in this - " + +"If they let you," said the Chief Inspector cynically. "You will +be preached to, no doubt, before they put you into the dock. And +in the end you may yet get let in for a sentence that will surprise +you. I wouldn't trust too much the gentleman who's been talking to +you." + +Mr Verloc listened, frowning. + +"My advice to you is to clear out while you may. I have no +instructions. There are some of them," continued Chief Inspector +Heat, laying a peculiar stress on the word "them," "who think you +are already out of the world." + +"Indeed!" Mr Verloc was moved to say. Though since his return from +Greenwich he had spent most of his time sitting in the tap-room of +an obscure little public-house, he could hardly have hoped for such +favourable news. + +"That's the impression about you." The Chief Inspector nodded at +him. "Vanish. Clear out." + +"Where to?" snarled Mr Verloc. He raised his head, and gazing at +the closed door of the parlour, muttered feelingly: "I only wish +you would take me away to-night. I would go quietly." + +"I daresay," assented sardonically the Chief Inspector, following +the direction of his glance. + +The brow of Mr Verloc broke into slight moisture. He lowered his +husky voice confidentially before the unmoved Chief Inspector. + +"The lad was half-witted, irresponsible. Any court would have seen +that at once. Only fit for the asylum. And that was the worst +that would've happened to him if - " + +The Chief Inspector, his hand on the door handle, whispered into Mr +Verloc's face. + +"He may've been half-witted, but you must have been crazy. What +drove you off your head like this?" + +Mr Verloc, thinking of Mr Vladimir, did not hesitate in the choice +of words. + +"A Hyperborean swine," he hissed forcibly. "A what you might call +a - a gentleman." + +The Chief Inspector, steady-eyed, nodded briefly his comprehension, +and opened the door. Mrs Verloc, behind the counter, might have +heard but did not see his departure, pursued by the aggressive +clatter of the bell. She sat at her post of duty behind the +counter. She sat rigidly erect in the chair with two dirty pink +pieces of paper lying spread out at her feet. The palms of her +hands were pressed convulsively to her face, with the tips of the +fingers contracted against the forehead, as though the skin had +been a mask which she was ready to tear off violently. The perfect +immobility of her pose expressed the agitation of rage and despair, +all the potential violence of tragic passions, better than any +shallow display of shrieks, with the beating of a distracted head +against the walls, could have done. Chief Inspector Heat, crossing +the shop at his busy, swinging pace, gave her only a cursory +glance. And when the cracked bell ceased to tremble on its curved +ribbon of steel nothing stirred near Mrs Verloc, as if her attitude +had the locking power of a spell. Even the butterfly-shaped gas +flames posed on the ends of the suspended T-bracket burned without +a quiver. In that shop of shady wares fitted with deal shelves +painted a dull brown, which seemed to devour the sheen of the +light, the gold circlet of the wedding ring on Mrs Verloc's left +hand glittered exceedingly with the untarnished glory of a piece +from some splendid treasure of jewels, dropped in a dust-bin. + + + +CHAPTER X + + + +The Assistant Commissioner, driven rapidly in a hansom from the +neighbourhood of Soho in the direction of Westminster, got out at +the very centre of the Empire on which the sun never sets. Some +stalwart constables, who did not seem particularly impressed by the +duty of watching the august spot, saluted him. Penetrating through +a portal by no means lofty into the precincts of the House which is +THE House, PAR EXCELLENCE in the minds of many millions of men, he +was met at last by the volatile and revolutionary Toodles. + +That neat and nice young man concealed his astonishment at the +early appearance of the Assistant Commissioner, whom he had been +told to look out for some time about midnight. His turning up so +early he concluded to be the sign that things, whatever they were, +had gone wrong. With an extremely ready sympathy, which in nice +youngsters goes often with a joyous temperament, he felt sorry for +the great Presence he called "The Chief," and also for the +Assistant Commissioner, whose face appeared to him more ominously +wooden than ever before, and quite wonderfully long. "What a +queer, foreign-looking chap he is," he thought to himself, smiling +from a distance with friendly buoyancy. And directly they came +together he began to talk with the kind intention of burying the +awkwardness of failure under a heap of words. It looked as if the +great assault threatened for that night were going to fizzle out. +An inferior henchman of "that brute Cheeseman" was up boring +mercilessly a very thin House with some shamelessly cooked +statistics. He, Toodles, hoped he would bore them into a count out +every minute. But then he might be only marking time to let that +guzzling Cheeseman dine at his leisure. Anyway, the Chief could +not be persuaded to go home. + +"He will see you at once, I think. He's sitting all alone in his +room thinking of all the fishes of the sea," concluded Toodles +airily. "Come along." + +Notwithstanding the kindness of his disposition, the young private +secretary (unpaid) was accessible to the common failings of +humanity. He did not wish to harrow the feelings of the Assistant +Commissioner, who looked to him uncommonly like a man who has made +a mess of his job. But his curiosity was too strong to be +restrained by mere compassion. He could not help, as they went +along, to throw over his shoulder lightly: + +"And your sprat?" + +"Got him," answered the Assistant Commissioner with a concision +which did not mean to be repellent in the least. + +"Good. You've no idea how these great men dislike to be +disappointed in small things." + +After this profound observation the experienced Toodles seemed to +reflect. At any rate he said nothing for quite two seconds. Then: + +"I'm glad. But - I say - is it really such a very small thing as +you make it out?" + +"Do you know what may be done with a sprat?" the Assistant +Commissioner asked in his turn. + +"He's sometimes put into a sardine box," chuckled Toodles, whose +erudition on the subject of the fishing industry was fresh and, in +comparison with his ignorance of all other industrial matters, +immense. "There are sardine canneries on the Spanish coast which - +" + +The Assistant Commissioner interrupted the apprentice statesman. + +"Yes. Yes. But a sprat is also thrown away sometimes in order to +catch a whale." + +"A whale. Phew!" exclaimed Toodles, with bated breath. "You're +after a whale, then?" + +"Not exactly. What I am after is more like a dog-fish. You don't +know perhaps what a dog-fish is like." + +"Yes; I do. We're buried in special books up to our necks - whole +shelves full of them - with plates. . . . It's a noxious, rascally- +looking, altogether detestable beast, with a sort of smooth face +and moustaches." + +"Described to a T," commended the Assistant Commissioner. "Only +mine is clean-shaven altogether. You've seen him. It's a witty +fish." + +"I have seen him!" said Toodles incredulously. "I can't conceive +where I could have seen him." + +"At the Explorers, I should say," dropped the Assistant +Commissioner calmly. At the name of that extremely exclusive club +Toodles looked scared, and stopped short. + +"Nonsense," he protested, but in an awe-struck tone. "What do you +mean? A member?" + +"Honorary," muttered the Assistant Commissioner through his teeth. + +"Heavens!" + +Toodles looked so thunderstruck that the Assistant Commissioner +smiled faintly. + +"That's between ourselves strictly," he said. + +"That's the beastliest thing I've ever heard in my life," declared +Toodles feebly, as if astonishment had robbed him of all his +buoyant strength in a second. + +The Assistant Commissioner gave him an unsmiling glance. Till they +came to the door of the great man's room, Toodles preserved a +scandalised and solemn silence, as though he were offended with the +Assistant Commissioner for exposing such an unsavoury and +disturbing fact. It revolutionised his idea of the Explorers' +Club's extreme selectness, of its social purity. Toodles was +revolutionary only in politics; his social beliefs and personal +feelings he wished to preserve unchanged through all the years +allotted to him on this earth which, upon the whole, he believed to +be a nice place to live on. + +He stood aside. + +"Go in without knocking," he said. + +Shades of green silk fitted low over all the lights imparted to the +room something of a forest's deep gloom. The haughty eyes were +physically the great man's weak point. This point was wrapped up +in secrecy. When an opportunity offered, he rested them +conscientiously. + +The Assistant Commissioner entering saw at first only a big pale +hand supporting a big head, and concealing the upper part of a big +pale face. An open despatch-box stood on the writing-table near a +few oblong sheets of paper and a scattered handful of quill pens. +There was absolutely nothing else on the large flat surface except +a little bronze statuette draped in a toga, mysteriously watchful +in its shadowy immobility. The Assistant Commissioner, invited to +take a chair, sat down. In the dim light, the salient points of +his personality, the long face, the black hair, his lankness, made +him look more foreign than ever. + +The great man manifested no surprise, no eagerness, no sentiment +whatever. The attitude in which he rested his menaced eyes was +profoundly meditative. He did not alter it the least bit. But his +tone was not dreamy. + +"Well! What is it that you've found out already? You came upon +something unexpected on the first step." + +"Not exactly unexpected, Sir Ethelred. What I mainly came upon was +a psychological state." + +The Great Presence made a slight movement. "You must be lucid, +please." + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred. You know no doubt that most criminals at some +time or other feel an irresistible need of confessing - of making a +clean breast of it to somebody - to anybody. And they do it often +to the police. In that Verloc whom Heat wished so much to screen +I've found a man in that particular psychological state. The man, +figuratively speaking, flung himself on my breast. It was enough +on my part to whisper to him who I was and to add `I know that you +are at the bottom of this affair.' It must have seemed miraculous +to him that we should know already, but he took it all in the +stride. The wonderfulness of it never checked him for a moment. +There remained for me only to put to him the two questions: Who put +you up to it? and Who was the man who did it? He answered the +first with remarkable emphasis. As to the second question, I +gather that the fellow with the bomb was his brother-in-law - quite +a lad - a weak-minded creature. . . . It is rather a curious affair +- too long perhaps to state fully just now." + +"What then have you learned?" asked the great man. + +"First, I've learned that the ex-convict Michaelis had nothing to +do with it, though indeed the lad had been living with him +temporarily in the country up to eight o'clock this morning. It is +more than likely that Michaelis knows nothing of it to this +moment." + +"You are positive as to that?" asked the great man. + +"Quite certain, Sir Ethelred. This fellow Verloc went there this +morning, and took away the lad on the pretence of going out for a +walk in the lanes. As it was not the first time that he did this, +Michaelis could not have the slightest suspicion of anything +unusual. For the rest, Sir Ethelred, the indignation of this man +Verloc had left nothing in doubt - nothing whatever. He had been +driven out of his mind almost by an extraordinary performance, +which for you or me it would be difficult to take as seriously +meant, but which produced a great impression obviously on him." + +The Assistant Commissioner then imparted briefly to the great man, +who sat still, resting his eyes under the screen of his hand, Mr +Verloc's appreciation of Mr Vladimir's proceedings and character. +The Assistant Commissioner did not seem to refuse it a certain +amount of competency. But the great personage remarked: + +"All this seems very fantastic." + +"Doesn't it? One would think a ferocious joke. But our man took +it seriously, it appears. He felt himself threatened. In the +time, you know, he was in direct communication with old Stott- +Wartenheim himself, and had come to regard his services as +indispensable. It was an extremely rude awakening. I imagine that +he lost his head. He became angry and frightened. Upon my word, +my impression is that he thought these Embassy people quite capable +not only to throw him out but, to give him away too in some manner +or other - " + +"How long were you with him," interrupted the Presence from behind +his big hand. + +"Some forty minutes Sir Ethelred, in a house of bad repute called +Continental Hotel, closeted in a room which by-the-by I took for +the night. I found him under the influence of that reaction which +follows the effort of crime. The man cannot be defined as a +hardened criminal. It is obvious that he did not plan the death of +that wretched lad - his brother-in-law. That was a shock to him - +I could see that. Perhaps he is a man of strong sensibilities. +Perhaps he was even fond of the lad - who knows? He might have +hoped that the fellow would get clear away; in which case it would +have been almost impossible to bring this thing home to anyone. At +any rate he risked consciously nothing more but arrest for him." + +The Assistant Commissioner paused in his speculations to reflect +for a moment. + +"Though how, in that last case, he could hope to have his own share +in the business concealed is more than I can tell," he continued, +in his ignorance of poor Stevie's devotion to Mr Verloc (who was +GOOD), and of his truly peculiar dumbness, which in the old affair +of fireworks on the stairs had for many years resisted entreaties, +coaxing, anger, and other means of investigation used by his +beloved sister. For Stevie was loyal. . . . "No, I can't imagine. +It's possible that he never thought of that at all. It sounds an +extravagant way of putting it, Sir Ethelred, but his state of +dismay suggested to me an impulsive man who, after committing +suicide with the notion that it would end all his troubles, had +discovered that it did nothing of the kind." + +The Assistant Commissioner gave this definition in an apologetic +voice. But in truth there is a sort of lucidity proper to +extravagant language, and the great man was not offended. A slight +jerky movement of the big body half lost in the gloom of the green +silk shades, of the big head leaning on the big hand, accompanied +an intermittent stifled but powerful sound. The great man had +laughed. + +"What have you done with him?" + +The Assistant Commissioner answered very readily: + +"As he seemed very anxious to get back to his wife in the shop I +let him go, Sir Ethelred." + +"You did? But the fellow will disappear." + +"Pardon me. I don't think so. Where could he go to? Moreover, +you must remember that he has got to think of the danger from his +comrades too. He's there at his post. How could he explain +leaving it? But even if there were no obstacles to his freedom of +action he would do nothing. At present he hasn't enough moral +energy to take a resolution of any sort. Permit me also to point +out that if I had detained him we would have been committed to a +course of action on which I wished to know your precise intentions +first." + +The great personage rose heavily, an imposing shadowy form in the +greenish gloom of the room. + +"I'll see the Attorney-General to-night, and will send for you to- +morrow morning. Is there anything more you'd wish to tell me now?" + +The Assistant Commissioner had stood up also, slender and flexible. + +"I think not, Sir Ethelred, unless I were to enter into details +which - " + +"No. No details, please." + +The great shadowy form seemed to shrink away as if in physical +dread of details; then came forward, expanded, enormous, and +weighty, offering a large hand. "And you say that this man has got +a wife?" + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred," said the Assistant Commissioner, pressing +deferentially the extended hand. "A genuine wife and a genuinely, +respectably, marital relation. He told me that after his interview +at the Embassy he would have thrown everything up, would have tried +to sell his shop, and leave the country, only he felt certain that +his wife would not even hear of going abroad. Nothing could be +more characteristic of the respectable bond than that," went on, +with a touch of grimness, the Assistant Commissioner, whose own +wife too had refused to hear of going abroad. "Yes, a genuine +wife. And the victim was a genuine brother-in-law. From a certain +point of view we are here in the presence of a domestic drama." + +The Assistant Commissioner laughed a little; but the great man's +thoughts seemed to have wandered far away, perhaps to the questions +of his country's domestic policy, the battle-ground of his +crusading valour against the paynim Cheeseman. The Assistant +Commissioner withdrew quietly, unnoticed, as if already forgotten. + +He had his own crusading instincts. This affair, which, in one way +or another, disgusted Chief Inspector Heat, seemed to him a +providentially given starting-point for a crusade. He had it much +at heart to begin. He walked slowly home, meditating that +enterprise on the way, and thinking over Mr Verloc's psychology in +a composite mood of repugnance and satisfaction. He walked all the +way home. Finding the drawing-room dark, he went upstairs, and +spent some time between the bedroom and the dressing-room, changing +his clothes, going to and fro with the air of a thoughtful +somnambulist. But he shook it off before going out again to join +his wife at the house of the great lady patroness of Michaelis. + +He knew he would be welcomed there. On entering the smaller of the +two drawing-rooms he saw his wife in a small group near the piano. +A youngish composer in pass of becoming famous was discoursing from +a music stool to two thick men whose backs looked old, and three +slender women whose backs looked young. Behind the screen the +great lady had only two persons with her: a man and a woman, who +sat side by side on arm-chairs at the foot of her couch. She +extended her hand to the Assistant Commissioner. + +"I never hoped to see you here to-night. Annie told me - " + +"Yes. I had no idea myself that my work would be over so soon." + +The Assistant Commissioner added in a low tone. "I am glad to tell +you that Michaelis is altogether clear of this - " + +The patroness of the ex-convict received this assurance +indignantly. + +"Why? Were your people stupid enough to connect him with - " + +"Not stupid," interrupted the Assistant Commissioner, contradicting +deferentially. "Clever enough - quite clever enough for that." + +A silence fell. The man at the foot of the couch had stopped +speaking to the lady, and looked on with a faint smile. + +"I don't know whether you ever met before," said the great lady. + +Mr Vladimir and the Assistant Commissioner, introduced, +acknowledged each other's existence with punctilious and guarded +courtesy. + +"He's been frightening me," declared suddenly the lady who sat by +the side of Mr Vladimir, with an inclination of the head towards +that gentleman. The Assistant Commissioner knew the lady. + +"You do not look frightened," he pronounced, after surveying her +conscientiously with his tired and equable gaze. He was thinking +meantime to himself that in this house one met everybody sooner or +later. Mr Vladimir's rosy countenance was wreathed in smiles, +because he was witty, but his eyes remained serious, like the eyes +of convinced man. + +"Well, he tried to at least," amended the lady. + +"Force of habit perhaps," said the Assistant Commissioner, moved by +an irresistible inspiration. + +"He has been threatening society with all sorts of horrors," +continued the lady, whose enunciation was caressing and slow, +"apropos of this explosion in Greenwich Park. It appears we all +ought to quake in our shoes at what's coming if those people are +not suppressed all over the world. I had no idea this was such a +grave affair." + +Mr Vladimir, affecting not to listen, leaned towards the couch, +talking amiably in subdued tones, but he heard the Assistant +Commissioner say: + +"I've no doubt that Mr Vladimir has a very precise notion of the +true importance of this affair." + +Mr Vladimir asked himself what that confounded and intrusive +policeman was driving at. Descended from generations victimised by +the instruments of an arbitrary power, he was racially, nationally, +and individually afraid of the police. It was an inherited +weakness, altogether independent of his judgment, of his reason, of +his experience. He was born to it. But that sentiment, which +resembled the irrational horror some people have of cats, did not +stand in the way of his immense contempt for the English police. +He finished the sentence addressed to the great lady, and turned +slightly in his chair. + +"You mean that we have a great experience of these people. Yes; +indeed, we suffer greatly from their activity, while you" - Mr +Vladimir hesitated for a moment, in smiling perplexity - "while you +suffer their presence gladly in your midst," he finished, +displaying a dimple on each clean-shaven cheek. Then he added more +gravely: "I may even say - because you do." + +When Mr Vladimir ceased speaking the Assistant Commissioner lowered +his glance, and the conversation dropped. Almost immediately +afterwards Mr Vladimir took leave. + +Directly his back was turned on the couch the Assistant +Commissioner rose too. + +"I thought you were going to stay and take Annie home," said the +lady patroness of Michaelis. + +"I find that I've yet a little work to do to-night." + +"In connection - ?" + +"Well, yes - in a way." + +"Tell me, what is it really - this horror?" + +"It's difficult to say what it is, but it may yet be a CAUSE +CELEBRE," said the Assistant Commissioner. + +He left the drawing-room hurriedly, and found Mr Vladimir still in +the hall, wrapping up his throat carefully in a large silk +handkerchief. Behind him a footman waited, holding his overcoat. +Another stood ready to open the door. The Assistant Commissioner +was duly helped into his coat, and let out at once. After +descending the front steps he stopped, as if to consider the way he +should take. On seeing this through the door held open, Mr +Vladimir lingered in the hall to get out a cigar and asked for a +light. It was furnished to him by an elderly man out of livery +with an air of calm solicitude. But the match went out; the +footman then closed the door, and Mr Vladimir lighted his large +Havana with leisurely care. + +When at last he got out of the house, he saw with disgust the +"confounded policeman" still standing on the pavement. + +"Can he be waiting for me," thought Mr Vladimir, looking up and +down for some signs of a hansom. He saw none. A couple of +carriages waited by the curbstone, their lamps blazing steadily, +the horses standing perfectly still, as if carved in stone, the +coachmen sitting motionless under the big fur capes, without as +much as a quiver stirring the white thongs of their big whips. Mr +Vladimir walked on, and the "confounded policeman" fell into step +at his elbow. He said nothing. At the end of the fourth stride Mr +Vladimir felt infuriated and uneasy. This could not last. + +"Rotten weather," he growled savagely. + +"Mild," said the Assistant Commissioner without passion. He +remained silent for a little while. "We've got hold of a man +called Verloc," he announced casually. + +Mr Vladimir did not stumble, did not stagger back, did not change +his stride. But he could not prevent himself from exclaiming: +"What?" The Assistant Commissioner did not repeat his statement. +"You know him," he went on in the same tone. + +Mr Vladimir stopped, and became guttural. "What makes you say +that?" + +"I don't. It's Verloc who says that." + +"A lying dog of some sort," said Mr Vladimir in somewhat Oriental +phraseology. But in his heart he was almost awed by the miraculous +cleverness of the English police. The change of his opinion on the +subject was so violent that it made him for a moment feel slightly +sick. He threw away his cigar, and moved on. + +"What pleased me most in this affair," the Assistant went on, +talking slowly, "is that it makes such an excellent starting-point +for a piece of work which I've felt must be taken in hand - that +is, the clearing out of this country of all the foreign political +spies, police, and that sort of - of - dogs. In my opinion they +are a ghastly nuisance; also an element of danger. But we can't +very well seek them out individually. The only way is to make +their employment unpleasant to their employers. The thing's +becoming indecent. And dangerous too, for us, here." + +Mr Vladimir stopped again for a moment. + +"What do you mean?" + +"The prosecution of this Verloc will demonstrate to the public both +the danger and the indecency." + +"Nobody will believe what a man of that sort says," said Mr +Vladimir contemptuously. + +"The wealth and precision of detail will carry conviction to the +great mass of the public," advanced the Assistant Commissioner +gently. + +"So that is seriously what you mean to do." + +"We've got the man; we have no choice." + +"You will be only feeding up the lying spirit of these +revolutionary scoundrels," Mr Vladimir protested. "What do you +want to make a scandal for? - from morality - or what?" + +Mr Vladimir's anxiety was obvious. The Assistant Commissioner +having ascertained in this way that there must be some truth in the +summary statements of Mr Verloc, said indifferently: + +"There's a practical side too. We have really enough to do to look +after the genuine article. You can't say we are not effective. +But we don't intend to let ourselves be bothered by shams under any +pretext whatever." + +Mr Vladimir's tone became lofty. + +"For my part, I can't share your view. It is selfish. My +sentiments for my own country cannot be doubted; but I've always +felt that we ought to be good Europeans besides - I mean +governments and men." + +"Yes," said the Assistant Commissioner simply. "Only you look at +Europe from its other end. But," he went on in a good-natured +tone, "the foreign governments cannot complain of the inefficiency +of our police. Look at this outrage; a case specially difficult to +trace inasmuch as it was a sham. In less than twelve hours we have +established the identity of a man literally blown to shreds, have +found the organiser of the attempt, and have had a glimpse of the +inciter behind him. And we could have gone further; only we +stopped at the limits of our territory." + +"So this instructive crime was planned abroad," Mr Vladimir said +quickly. "You admit it was planned abroad?" + +"Theoretically. Theoretically only, on foreign territory; abroad +only by a fiction," said the Assistant Commissioner, alluding to +the character of Embassies, which are supposed to be part and +parcel of the country to which they belong. "But that's a detail. +I talked to you of this business because its your government that +grumbles most at our police. You see that we are not so bad. I +wanted particularly to tell you of our success." + +"I'm sure I'm very grateful," muttered Mr Vladimir through his +teeth. + +"We can put our finger on every anarchist here," went on the +Assistant Commissioner, as though he were quoting Chief Inspector +Heat. "All that's wanted now is to do away with the agent +provocateur to make everything safe." + +Mr Vladimir held up his hand to a passing hansom. + +"You're not going in here," remarked the Assistant Commissioner, +looking at a building of noble proportions and hospitable aspect, +with the light of a great hall falling through its glass doors on a +broad flight of steps. + +But Mr Vladimir, sitting, stony-eyed, inside the hansom, drove off +without a word. + +The Assistant Commissioner himself did not turn into the noble +building. It was the Explorers' Club. The thought passed through +his mind that Mr Vladimir, honorary member, would not be seen very +often there in the future. He looked at his watch. It was only +half-past ten. He had had a very full evening. + + + +CHAPTER XI + + + +After Chief Inspector Heat had left him Mr Verloc moved about the +parlour. + +From time to time he eyed his wife through the open door. "She +knows all about it now," he thought to himself with commiseration +for her sorrow and with some satisfaction as regarded himself. Mr +Verloc's soul, if lacking greatness perhaps, was capable of tender +sentiments. The prospect of having to break the news to her had +put him into a fever. Chief Inspector Heat had relieved him of the +task. That was good as far as it went. It remained for him now to +face her grief. + +Mr Verloc had never expected to have to face it on account of +death, whose catastrophic character cannot be argued away by +sophisticated reasoning or persuasive eloquence. Mr Verloc never +meant Stevie to perish with such abrupt violence. He did not mean +him to perish at all. Stevie dead was a much greater nuisance than +ever he had been when alive. Mr Verloc had augured a favourable +issue to his enterprise, basing himself not on Stevie's +intelligence, which sometimes plays queer tricks with a man, but on +the blind docility and on the blind devotion of the boy. Though +not much of a psychologist, Mr Verloc had gauged the depth of +Stevie's fanaticism. He dared cherish the hope of Stevie walking +away from the walls of the Observatory as he had been instructed to +do, taking the way shown to him several times previously, and +rejoining his brother-in-law, the wise and good Mr Verloc, outside +the precincts of the park. Fifteen minutes ought to have been +enough for the veriest fool to deposit the engine and walk away. +And the Professor had guaranteed more than fifteen minutes. But +Stevie had stumbled within five minutes of being left to himself. +And Mr Verloc was shaken morally to pieces. He had foreseen +everything but that. He had foreseen Stevie distracted and lost - +sought for - found in some police station or provincial workhouse +in the end. He had foreseen Stevie arrested, and was not afraid, +because Mr Verloc had a great opinion of Stevie's loyalty, which +had been carefully indoctrinated with the necessity of silence in +the course of many walks. Like a peripatetic philosopher, Mr +Verloc, strolling along the streets of London, had modified +Stevie's view of the police by conversations full of subtle +reasonings. Never had a sage a more attentive and admiring +disciple. The submission and worship were so apparent that Mr +Verloc had come to feel something like a liking for the boy. In +any case, he had not foreseen the swift bringing home of his +connection. That his wife should hit upon the precaution of sewing +the boy's address inside his overcoat was the last thing Mr Verloc +would have thought of. One can't think of everything. That was +what she meant when she said that he need not worry if he lost +Stevie during their walks. She had assured him that the boy would +turn up all right. Well, he had turned up with a vengeance! + +"Well, well," muttered Mr Verloc in his wonder. What did she mean +by it? Spare him the trouble of keeping an anxious eye on Stevie? +Most likely she had meant well. Only she ought to have told him of +the precaution she had taken. + +Mr Verloc walked behind the counter of the shop. His intention was +not to overwhelm his wife with bitter reproaches. Mr Verloc felt +no bitterness. The unexpected march of events had converted him to +the doctrine of fatalism. Nothing could be helped now. He said: + +"I didn't mean any harm to come to the boy." + +Mrs Verloc shuddered at the sound of her husband's voice. She did +not uncover her face. The trusted secret agent of the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim looked at her for a time with a heavy, persistent, +undiscerning glance. The torn evening paper was lying at her feet. +It could not have told her much. Mr Verloc felt the need of +talking to his wife. + +"It's that damned Heat - eh?" he said. "He upset you. He's a +brute, blurting it out like this to a woman. I made myself ill +thinking how to break it to you. I sat for hours in the little +parlour of Cheshire Cheese thinking over the best way. You +understand I never meant any harm to come to that boy." + +Mr Verloc, the Secret Agent, was speaking the truth. It was his +marital affection that had received the greatest shock from the +premature explosion. He added: + +"I didn't feel particularly gay sitting there and thinking of you." + +He observed another slight shudder of his wife, which affected his +sensibility. As she persisted in hiding her face in her hands, he +thought he had better leave her alone for a while. On this +delicate impulse Mr Verloc withdrew into the parlour again, where +the gas jet purred like a contented cat. Mrs Verloc's wifely +forethought had left the cold beef on the table with carving knife +and fork and half a loaf of bread for Mr Verloc's supper. He +noticed all these things now for the first time, and cutting +himself a piece of bread and meat, began to eat. + +His appetite did not proceed from callousness. Mr Verloc had not +eaten any breakfast that day. He had left his home fasting. Not +being an energetic man, he found his resolution in nervous +excitement, which seemed to hold him mainly by the throat. He +could not have swallowed anything solid. Michaelis' cottage was as +destitute of provisions as the cell of a prisoner. The ticket-of- +leave apostle lived on a little milk and crusts of stale bread. +Moreover, when Mr Verloc arrived he had already gone upstairs after +his frugal meal. Absorbed in the toil and delight of literary +composition, he had not even answered Mr Verloc's shout up the +little staircase. + +"I am taking this young fellow home for a day or two." + +And, in truth, Mr Verloc did not wait for an answer, but had +marched out of the cottage at once, followed by the obedient +Stevie. + +Now that all action was over and his fate taken out of his hands +with unexpected swiftness, Mr Verloc felt terribly empty +physically. He carved the meat, cut the bread, and devoured his +supper standing by the table, and now and then casting a glance +towards his wife. Her prolonged immobility disturbed the comfort +of his refection. He walked again into the shop, and came up very +close to her. This sorrow with a veiled face made Mr Verloc +uneasy. He expected, of course, his wife to be very much upset, +but he wanted her to pull herself together. He needed all her +assistance and all her loyalty in these new conjunctures his +fatalism had already accepted. + +"Can't be helped," he said in a tone of gloomy sympathy. "Come, +Winnie, we've got to think of to-morrow. You'll want all your wits +about you after I am taken away." + +He paused. Mrs Verloc's breast heaved convulsively. This was not +reassuring to Mr Verloc, in whose view the newly created situation +required from the two people most concerned in it calmness, +decision, and other qualities incompatible with the mental disorder +of passionate sorrow. Mr Verloc was a humane man; he had come home +prepared to allow every latitude to his wife's affection for her +brother. + +Only he did not understand either the nature or the whole extent of +that sentiment. And in this he was excusable, since it was +impossible for him to understand it without ceasing to be himself. +He was startled and disappointed, and his speech conveyed it by a +certain roughness of tone. + +"You might look at a fellow," he observed after waiting a while. + +As if forced through the hands covering Mrs Verloc's face the +answer came, deadened, almost pitiful. + +"I don't want to look at you as long as I live." + +"Eh? What!" Mr Verloc was merely startled by the superficial and +literal meaning of this declaration. It was obviously +unreasonable, the mere cry of exaggerated grief. He threw over it +the mantle of his marital indulgence. The mind of Mr Verloc lacked +profundity. Under the mistaken impression that the value of +individuals consists in what they are in themselves, he could not +possibly comprehend the value of Stevie in the eyes of Mrs Verloc. +She was taking it confoundedly hard, he thought to himself. It was +all the fault of that damned Heat. What did he want to upset the +woman for? But she mustn't be allowed, for her own good, to carry +on so till she got quite beside herself. + +"Look here! You can't sit like this in the shop," he said with +affected severity, in which there was some real annoyance; for +urgent practical matters must be talked over if they had to sit up +all night. "Somebody might come in at any minute," he added, and +waited again. No effect was produced, and the idea of the finality +of death occurred to Mr Verloc during the pause. He changed his +tone. "Come. This won't bring him back," he said gently, feeling +ready to take her in his arms and press her to his breast, where +impatience and compassion dwelt side by side. But except for a +short shudder Mrs Verloc remained apparently unaffected by the +force of that terrible truism. It was Mr Verloc himself who was +moved. He was moved in his simplicity to urge moderation by +asserting the claims of his own personality. + +"Do be reasonable, Winnie. What would it have been if you had lost +me!" + +He had vaguely expected to hear her cry out. But she did not +budge. She leaned back a little, quieted down to a complete +unreadable stillness. Mr Verloc's heart began to beat faster with +exasperation and something resembling alarm. He laid his hand on +her shoulder, saying: + +"Don't be a fool, Winnie." + +She gave no sign. It was impossible to talk to any purpose with a +woman whose face one cannot see. Mr Verloc caught hold of his +wife's wrists. But her hands seemed glued fast. She swayed +forward bodily to his tug, and nearly went off the chair. Startled +to feel her so helplessly limp, he was trying to put her back on +the chair when she stiffened suddenly all over, tore herself out of +his hands, ran out of the shop, across the parlour, and into the +kitchen. This was very swift. He had just a glimpse of her face +and that much of her eyes that he knew she had not looked at him. + +It all had the appearance of a struggle for the possession of a +chair, because Mr Verloc instantly took his wife's place in it. Mr +Verloc did not cover his face with his hands, but a sombre +thoughtfulness veiled his features. A term of imprisonment could +not be avoided. He did not wish now to avoid it. A prison was a +place as safe from certain unlawful vengeances as the grave, with +this advantage, that in a prison there is room for hope. What he +saw before him was a term of imprisonment, an early release and +then life abroad somewhere, such as he had contemplated already, in +case of failure. Well, it was a failure, if not exactly the sort +of failure he had feared. It had been so near success that he +could have positively terrified Mr Vladimir out of his ferocious +scoffing with this proof of occult efficiency. So at least it +seemed now to Mr Verloc. His prestige with the Embassy would have +been immense if - if his wife had not had the unlucky notion of +sewing on the address inside Stevie's overcoat. Mr Verloc, who was +no fool, had soon perceived the extraordinary character of the +influence he had over Stevie, though he did not understand exactly +its origin - the doctrine of his supreme wisdom and goodness +inculcated by two anxious women. In all the eventualities he had +foreseen Mr Verloc had calculated with correct insight on Stevie's +instinctive loyalty and blind discretion. The eventuality he had +not foreseen had appalled him as a humane man and a fond husband. +From every other point of view it was rather advantageous. Nothing +can equal the everlasting discretion of death. Mr Verloc, sitting +perplexed and frightened in the small parlour of the Cheshire +Cheese, could not help acknowledging that to himself, because his +sensibility did not stand in the way of his judgment. Stevie's +violent disintegration, however disturbing to think about, only +assured the success; for, of course, the knocking down of a wall +was not the aim of Mr Vladimir's menaces, but the production of a +moral effect. With much trouble and distress on Mr Verloc's part +the effect might be said to have been produced. When, however, +most unexpectedly, it came home to roost in Brett Street, Mr +Verloc, who had been struggling like a man in a nightmare for the +preservation of his position, accepted the blow in the spirit of a +convinced fatalist. The position was gone through no one's fault +really. A small, tiny fact had done it. It was like slipping on a +bit of orange peel in the dark and breaking your leg. + +Mr Verloc drew a weary breath. He nourished no resentment against +his wife. He thought: She will have to look after the shop while +they keep me locked up. And thinking also how cruelly she would +miss Stevie at first, he felt greatly concerned about her health +and spirits. How would she stand her solitude - absolutely alone +in that house? It would not do for her to break down while he was +locked up? What would become of the shop then? The shop was an +asset. Though Mr Verloc's fatalism accepted his undoing as a +secret agent, he had no mind to be utterly ruined, mostly, it must +be owned, from regard for his wife. + +Silent, and out of his line of sight in the kitchen, she frightened +him. If only she had had her mother with her. But that silly old +woman - An angry dismay possessed Mr Verloc. He must talk with his +wife. He could tell her certainly that a man does get desperate +under certain circumstances. But he did not go incontinently to +impart to her that information. First of all, it was clear to him +that this evening was no time for business. He got up to close the +street door and put the gas out in the shop. + +Having thus assured a solitude around his hearthstone Mr Verloc +walked into the parlour, and glanced down into the kitchen. Mrs +Verloc was sitting in the place where poor Stevie usually +established himself of an evening with paper and pencil for the +pastime of drawing these coruscations of innumerable circles +suggesting chaos and eternity. Her arms were folded on the table, +and her head was lying on her arms. Mr Verloc contemplated her +back and the arrangement of her hair for a time, then walked away +from the kitchen door. Mrs Verloc's philosophical, almost +disdainful incuriosity, the foundation of their accord in domestic +life made it extremely difficult to get into contact with her, now +this tragic necessity had arisen. Mr Verloc felt this difficulty +acutely. He turned around the table in the parlour with his usual +air of a large animal in a cage. + +Curiosity being one of the forms of self-revelation, - a +systematically incurious person remains always partly mysterious. +Every time he passed near the door Mr Verloc glanced at his wife +uneasily. It was not that he was afraid of her. Mr Verloc +imagined himself loved by that woman. But she had not accustomed +him to make confidences. And the confidence he had to make was of +a profound psychological order. How with his want of practice +could he tell her what he himself felt but vaguely: that there are +conspiracies of fatal destiny, that a notion grows in a mind +sometimes till it acquires an outward existence, an independent +power of its own, and even a suggestive voice? He could not inform +her that a man may be haunted by a fat, witty, clean-shaved face +till the wildest expedient to get rid of it appears a child of +wisdom. + +On this mental reference to a First Secretary of a great Embassy, +Mr Verloc stopped in the doorway, and looking down into the kitchen +with an angry face and clenched fists, addressed his wife. + +"You don't know what a brute I had to deal with." + +He started off to make another perambulation of the table; then +when he had come to the door again he stopped, glaring in from the +height of two steps. + +"A silly, jeering, dangerous brute, with no more sense than - +After all these years! A man like me! And I have been playing my +head at that game. You didn't know. Quite right, too. What was +the good of telling you that I stood the risk of having a knife +stuck into me any time these seven years we've been married? I am +not a chap to worry a woman that's fond of me. You had no business +to know." Mr Verloc took another turn round the parlour, fuming. + +"A venomous beast," he began again from the doorway. "Drive me out +into a ditch to starve for a joke. I could see he thought it was a +damned good joke. A man like me! Look here! Some of the highest +in the world got to thank me for walking on their two legs to this +day. That's the man you've got married to, my girl!" + +He perceived that his wife had sat up. Mrs Verloc's arms remained +lying stretched on the table. Mr Verloc watched at her back as if +he could read there the effect of his words. + +"There isn't a murdering plot for the last eleven years that I +hadn't my finger in at the risk of my life. There's scores of +these revolutionists I've sent off, with their bombs in their +blamed pockets, to get themselves caught on the frontier. The old +Baron knew what I was worth to his country. And here suddenly a +swine comes along - an ignorant, overbearing swine." + +Mr Verloc, stepping slowly down two steps, entered the kitchen, +took a tumbler off the dresser, and holding it in his hand, +approached the sink, without looking at his wife. "It wasn't the +old Baron who would have had the wicked folly of getting me to call +on him at eleven in the morning. There are two or three in this +town that, if they had seen me going in, would have made no bones +about knocking me on the head sooner or later. It was a silly, +murderous trick to expose for nothing a man - like me." + +Mr Verloc, turning on the tap above the sink, poured three glasses +of water, one after another, down his throat to quench the fires of +his indignation. Mr Vladimir's conduct was like a hot brand which +set his internal economy in a blaze. He could not get over the +disloyalty of it. This man, who would not work at the usual hard +tasks which society sets to its humbler members, had exercised his +secret industry with an indefatigable devotion. There was in Mr +Verloc a fund of loyalty. He had been loyal to his employers, to +the cause of social stability, - and to his affections too - as +became apparent when, after standing the tumbler in the sink, he +turned about, saying: + +"If I hadn't thought of you I would have taken the bullying brute +by the throat and rammed his head into the fireplace. I'd have +been more than a match for that pink-faced, smooth-shaved - " + +Mr Verloc, neglected to finish the sentence, as if there could be +no doubt of the terminal word. For the first time in his life he +was taking that incurious woman into his confidence. The +singularity of the event, the force and importance of the personal +feelings aroused in the course of this confession, drove Stevie's +fate clean out of Mr Verloc's mind. The boy's stuttering existence +of fears and indignations, together with the violence of his end, +had passed out of Mr Verloc's mental sight for a time. For that +reason, when he looked up he was startled by the inappropriate +character of his wife's stare. It was not a wild stare, and it was +not inattentive, but its attention was peculiar and not +satisfactory, inasmuch that it seemed concentrated upon some point +beyond Mr Verloc's person. The impression was so strong that Mr +Verloc glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing behind him: +there was just the whitewashed wall. The excellent husband of +Winnie Verloc saw no writing on the wall. He turned to his wife +again, repeating, with some emphasis: + +"I would have taken him by the throat. As true as I stand here, if +I hadn't thought of you then I would have half choked the life out +of the brute before I let him get up. And don't you think he would +have been anxious to call the police either. He wouldn't have +dared. You understand why - don't you?" + +He blinked at his wife knowingly. + +"No," said Mrs Verloc in an unresonant voice, and without looking +at him at all. "What are you talking about?" + +A great discouragement, the result of fatigue, came upon Mr Verloc. +He had had a very full day, and his nerves had been tried to the +utmost. After a month of maddening worry, ending in an unexpected +catastrophe, the storm-tossed spirit of Mr Verloc longed for +repose. His career as a secret agent had come to an end in a way +no one could have foreseen; only, now, perhaps he could manage to +get a night's sleep at last. But looking at his wife, he doubted +it. She was taking it very hard - not at all like herself, he +thought. He made an effort to speak. + +"You'll have to pull yourself together, my girl," he said +sympathetically. "What's done can't be undone." + +Mrs Verloc gave a slight start, though not a muscle of her white +face moved in the least. Mr Verloc, who was not looking at her, +continued ponderously. + +"You go to bed now. What you want is a good cry." + +This opinion had nothing to recommend it but the general consent of +mankind. It is universally understood that, as if it were nothing +more substantial than vapour floating in the sky, every emotion of +a woman is bound to end in a shower. And it is very probable that +had Stevie died in his bed under her despairing gaze, in her +protecting arms, Mrs Verloc's grief would have found relief in a +flood of bitter and pure tears. Mrs Verloc, in common with other +human beings, was provided with a fund of unconscious resignation +sufficient to meet the normal manifestation of human destiny. +Without "troubling her head about it," she was aware that it "did +not stand looking into very much." But the lamentable +circumstances of Stevie's end, which to Mr Verloc's mind had only +an episodic character, as part of a greater disaster, dried her +tears at their very source. It was the effect of a white-hot iron +drawn across her eyes; at the same time her heart, hardened and +chilled into a lump of ice, kept her body in an inward shudder, set +her features into a frozen contemplative immobility addressed to a +whitewashed wall with no writing on it. The exigencies of Mrs +Verloc's temperament, which, when stripped of its philosophical +reserve, was maternal and violent, forced her to roll a series of +thoughts in her motionless head. These thoughts were rather +imagined than expressed. Mrs Verloc was a woman of singularly few +words, either for public or private use. With the rage and dismay +of a betrayed woman, she reviewed the tenor of her life in visions +concerned mostly with Stevie's difficult existence from its +earliest days. It was a life of single purpose and of a noble +unity of inspiration, like those rare lives that have left their +mark on the thoughts and feelings of mankind. But the visions of +Mrs Verloc lacked nobility and magnificence. She saw herself +putting the boy to bed by the light of a single candle on the +deserted top floor of a "business house," dark under the roof and +scintillating exceedingly with lights and cut glass at the level of +the street like a fairy palace. That meretricious splendour was +the only one to be met in Mrs Verloc's visions. She remembered +brushing the boy's hair and tying his pinafores - herself in a +pinafore still; the consolations administered to a small and badly +scared creature by another creature nearly as small but not quite +so badly scared; she had the vision of the blows intercepted (often +with her own head), of a door held desperately shut against a man's +rage (not for very long); of a poker flung once (not very far), +which stilled that particular storm into the dumb and awful silence +which follows a thunder-clap. And all these scenes of violence +came and went accompanied by the unrefined noise of deep +vociferations proceeding from a man wounded in his paternal pride, +declaring himself obviously accursed since one of his kids was a +"slobbering idjut and the other a wicked she-devil." It was of her +that this had been said many years ago. + +Mrs Verloc heard the words again in a ghostly fashion, and then the +dreary shadow of the Belgravian mansion descended upon her +shoulders. It was a crushing memory, an exhausting vision of +countless breakfast trays carried up and down innumerable stairs, +of endless haggling over pence, of the endless drudgery of +sweeping, dusting, cleaning, from basement to attics; while the +impotent mother, staggering on swollen legs, cooked in a grimy +kitchen, and poor Stevie, the unconscious presiding genius of all +their toil, blacked the gentlemen's boots in the scullery. But +this vision had a breath of a hot London summer in it, and for a +central figure a young man wearing his Sunday best, with a straw +hat on his dark head and a wooden pipe in his mouth. Affectionate +and jolly, he was a fascinating companion for a voyage down the +sparkling stream of life; only his boat was very small. There was +room in it for a girl-partner at the oar, but no accommodation for +passengers. He was allowed to drift away from the threshold of the +Belgravian mansion while Winnie averted her tearful eyes. He was +not a lodger. The lodger was Mr Verloc, indolent, and keeping late +hours, sleepily jocular of a morning from under his bed-clothes, +but with gleams of infatuation in his heavy lidded eyes, and always +with some money in his pockets. There was no sparkle of any kind +on the lazy stream of his life. It flowed through secret places. +But his barque seemed a roomy craft, and his taciturn magnanimity +accepted as a matter of course the presence of passengers. + +Mrs Verloc pursued the visions of seven years' security for Stevie, +loyally paid for on her part; of security growing into confidence, +into a domestic feeling, stagnant and deep like a placid pool, +whose guarded surface hardly shuddered on the occasional passage of +Comrade Ossipon, the robust anarchist with shamelessly inviting +eyes, whose glance had a corrupt clearness sufficient to enlighten +any woman not absolutely imbecile. + +A few seconds only had elapsed since the last word had been uttered +aloud in the kitchen, and Mrs Verloc was staring already at the +vision of an episode not more than a fortnight old. With eyes +whose pupils were extremely dilated she stared at the vision of her +husband and poor Stevie walking up Brett Street side by side away +from the shop. It was the last scene of an existence created by +Mrs Verloc's genius; an existence foreign to all grace and charm, +without beauty and almost without decency, but admirable in the +continuity of feeling and tenacity of purpose. And this last +vision has such plastic relief, such nearness of form, such a +fidelity of suggestive detail, that it wrung from Mrs Verloc an +anguished and faint murmur, reproducing the supreme illusion of her +life, an appalled murmur that died out on her blanched lips. + +"Might have been father and son." + +Mr Verloc stopped, and raised a care-worn face. "Eh? What did you +say?" he asked. Receiving no reply, he resumed his sinister +tramping. Then with a menacing flourish of a thick, fleshy fist, +he burst out: + +"Yes. The Embassy people. A pretty lot, ain't they! Before a +week's out I'll make some of them wish themselves twenty feet +underground. Eh? What?" + +He glanced sideways, with his head down. Mrs Verloc gazed at the +whitewashed wall. A blank wall - perfectly blank. A blankness to +run at and dash your head against. Mrs Verloc remained immovably +seated. She kept still as the population of half the globe would +keep still in astonishment and despair, were the sun suddenly put +out in the summer sky by the perfidy of a trusted providence. + +"The Embassy," Mr Verloc began again, after a preliminary grimace +which bared his teeth wolfishly. "I wish I could get loose in +there with a cudgel for half-an-hour. I would keep on hitting till +there wasn't a single unbroken bone left amongst the whole lot. +But never mind, I'll teach them yet what it means trying to throw +out a man like me to rot in the streets. I've a tongue in my head. +All the world shall know what I've done for them. I am not afraid. +I don't care. Everything'll come out. Every damned thing. Let +them look out!" + +In these terms did Mr Verloc declare his thirst for revenge. It +was a very appropriate revenge. It was in harmony with the +promptings of Mr Verloc's genius. It had also the advantage of +being within the range of his powers and of adjusting itself easily +to the practice of his life, which had consisted precisely in +betraying the secret and unlawful proceedings of his fellow-men. +Anarchists or diplomats were all one to him. Mr Verloc was +temperamentally no respecter of persons. His scorn was equally +distributed over the whole field of his operations. But as a +member of a revolutionary proletariat - which he undoubtedly was - +he nourished a rather inimical sentiment against social +distinction. + +"Nothing on earth can stop me now," he added, and paused, looking +fixedly at his wife, who was looking fixedly at a blank wall. + +The silence in the kitchen was prolonged, and Mr Verloc felt +disappointed. He had expected his wife to say something. But Mrs +Verloc's lips, composed in their usual form, preserved a statuesque +immobility like the rest of her face. And Mr Verloc was +disappointed. Yet the occasion did not, he recognised, demand +speech from her. She was a woman of very few words. For reasons +involved in the very foundation of his psychology, Mr Verloc was +inclined to put his trust in any woman who had given herself to +him. Therefore he trusted his wife. Their accord was perfect, but +it was not precise. It was a tacit accord, congenial to Mrs +Verloc's incuriosity and to Mr Verloc's habits of mind, which were +indolent and secret. They refrained from going to the bottom of +facts and motives. + +This reserve, expressing, in a way, their profound confidence in +each other, introduced at the same time a certain element of +vagueness into their intimacy. No system of conjugal relations is +perfect. Mr Verloc presumed that his wife had understood him, but +he would have been glad to hear her say what she thought at the +moment. It would have been a comfort. + +There were several reasons why this comfort was denied him. There +was a physical obstacle: Mrs Verloc had no sufficient command over +her voice. She did not see any alternative between screaming and +silence, and instinctively she chose the silence. Winnie Verloc +was temperamentally a silent person. And there was the paralysing +atrocity of the thought which occupied her. Her cheeks were +blanched, her lips ashy, her immobility amazing. And she thought +without looking at Mr Verloc: "This man took the boy away to murder +him. He took the boy away from his home to murder him. He took +the boy away from me to murder him!" + +Mrs Verloc's whole being was racked by that inconclusive and +maddening thought. It was in her veins, in her bones, in the roots +of her hair. Mentally she assumed the biblical attitude of +mourning - the covered face, the rent garments; the sound of +wailing and lamentation filled her head. But her teeth were +violently clenched, and her tearless eyes were hot with rage, +because she was not a submissive creature. The protection she had +extended over her brother had been in its origin of a fierce an +indignant complexion. She had to love him with a militant love. +She had battled for him - even against herself. His loss had the +bitterness of defeat, with the anguish of a baffled passion. It +was not an ordinary stroke of death. Moreover, it was not death +that took Stevie from her. It was Mr Verloc who took him away. +She had seen him. She had watched him, without raising a hand, +take the boy away. And she had let him go, like - like a fool - a +blind fool. Then after he had murdered the boy he came home to +her. Just came home like any other man would come home to his +wife. . . . + +Through her set teeth Mrs Verloc muttered at the wall: + +"And I thought he had caught a cold." + +Mr Verloc heard these words and appropriated them. + +"It was nothing," he said moodily. "I was upset. I was upset on +your account." + +Mrs Verloc, turning her head slowly, transferred her stare from the +wall to her husband's person. Mr Verloc, with the tips of his +fingers between his lips, was looking on the ground. + +"Can't be helped," he mumbled, letting his hand fall. "You must +pull yourself together. You'll want all your wits about you. It +is you who brought the police about our ears. Never mind, I won't +say anything more about it," continued Mr Verloc magnanimously. +"You couldn't know." + +"I couldn't," breathed out Mrs Verloc. It was as if a corpse had +spoken. Mr Verloc took up the thread of his discourse. + +"I don't blame you. I'll make them sit up. Once under lock and +key it will be safe enough for me to talk - you understand. You +must reckon on me being two years away from you," he continued, in +a tone of sincere concern. "It will be easier for you than for me. +You'll have something to do, while I - Look here, Winnie, what you +must do is to keep this business going for two years. You know +enough for that. You've a good head on you. I'll send you word +when it's time to go about trying to sell. You'll have to be extra +careful. The comrades will be keeping an eye on you all the time. +You'll have to be as artful as you know how, and as close as the +grave. No one must know what you are going to do. I have no mind +to get a knock on the head or a stab in the back directly I am let +out." + +Thus spoke Mr Verloc, applying his mind with ingenuity and +forethought to the problems of the future. His voice was sombre, +because he had a correct sentiment of the situation. Everything +which he did not wish to pass had come to pass. The future had +become precarious. His judgment, perhaps, had been momentarily +obscured by his dread of Mr Vladimir's truculent folly. A man +somewhat over forty may be excusably thrown into considerable +disorder by the prospect of losing his employment, especially if +the man is a secret agent of political police, dwelling secure in +the consciousness of his high value and in the esteem of high +personages. He was excusable. + +Now the thing had ended in a crash. Mr Verloc was cool; but he was +not cheerful. A secret agent who throws his secrecy to the winds +from desire of vengeance, and flaunts his achievements before the +public eye, becomes the mark for desperate and bloodthirsty +indignations. Without unduly exaggerating the danger, Mr Verloc +tried to bring it clearly before his wife's mind. He repeated that +he had no intention to let the revolutionises do away with him. + +He looked straight into his wife's eyes. The enlarged pupils of +the woman received his stare into their unfathomable depths. + +"I am too fond of you for that," he said, with a little nervous +laugh. + +A faint flush coloured Mrs Verloc's ghastly and motionless face. +Having done with the visions of the past, she had not only heard, +but had also understood the words uttered by her husband. By their +extreme disaccord with her mental condition these words produced on +her a slightly suffocating effect. Mrs Verloc's mental condition +had the merit of simplicity; but it was not sound. It was governed +too much by a fixed idea. Every nook and cranny of her brain was +filled with the thought that this man, with whom she had lived +without distaste for seven years, had taken the "poor boy" away +from her in order to kill him - the man to whom she had grown +accustomed in body and mind; the man whom she had trusted, took the +boy away to kill him! In its form, in its substance, in its +effect, which was universal, altering even the aspect of inanimate +things, it was a thought to sit still and marvel at for ever and +ever. Mrs Verloc sat still. And across that thought (not across +the kitchen) the form of Mr Verloc went to and fro, familiarly in +hat and overcoat, stamping with his boots upon her brain. He was +probably talking too; but Mrs Verloc's thought for the most part +covered the voice. + +Now and then, however, the voice would make itself heard. Several +connected words emerged at times. Their purport was generally +hopeful. On each of these occasions Mrs Verloc's dilated pupils, +losing their far-off fixity, followed her husband's movements with +the effect of black care and, impenetrable attention. Well +informed upon all matters relating to his secret calling, Mr Verloc +augured well for the success of his plans and combinations. He +really believed that it would be upon the whole easy for him to +escape the knife of infuriated revolutionists. He had exaggerated +the strength of their fury and the length of their arm (for +professional purposes) too often to have many illusions one way or +the other. For to exaggerate with judgment one must begin by +measuring with nicety. He knew also how much virtue and how much +infamy is forgotten in two years - two long years. His first +really confidential discourse to his wife was optimistic from +conviction. He also thought it good policy to display all the +assurance he could muster. It would put heart into the poor woman. +On his liberation, which, harmonising with the whole tenor of his +life, would be secret, of course, they would vanish together +without loss of time. As to covering up the tracks, he begged his +wife to trust him for that. He knew how it was to be done so that +the devil himself - + +He waved his hand. He seemed to boast. He wished only to put +heart into her. It was a benevolent intention, but Mr Verloc had +the misfortune not to be in accord with his audience. + +The self-confident tone grew upon Mrs Verloc's ear which let most +of the words go by; for what were words to her now? What could +words do to her, for good or evil in the face of her fixed idea? +Her black glance followed that man who was asserting his impunity - +the man who had taken poor Stevie from home to kill him somewhere. +Mrs Verloc could not remember exactly where, but her heart began to +beat very perceptibly. + +Mr Verloc, in a soft and conjugal tone, was now expressing his firm +belief that there were yet a good few years of quiet life before +them both. He did not go into the question of means. A quiet life +it must be and, as it were, nestling in the shade, concealed among +men whose flesh is grass; modest, like the life of violets. The +words used by Mr Verloc were: "Lie low for a bit." And far from +England, of course. It was not clear whether Mr Verloc had in his +mind Spain or South America; but at any rate somewhere abroad. + +This last word, falling into Mrs Verloc's ear, produced a definite +impression. This man was talking of going abroad. The impression +was completely disconnected; and such is the force of mental habit +that Mrs Verloc at once and automatically asked herself: "And what +of Stevie?" + +It was a sort of forgetfulness; but instantly she became aware that +there was no longer any occasion for anxiety on that score. There +would never be any occasion any more. The poor boy had been taken +out and killed. The poor boy was dead. + +This shaking piece of forgetfulness stimulated Mrs Verloc's +intelligence. She began to perceive certain consequences which +would have surprised Mr Verloc. There was no need for her now to +stay there, in that kitchen, in that house, with that man - since +the boy was gone for ever. No need whatever. And on that Mrs +Verloc rose as if raised by a spring. But neither could she see +what there was to keep her in the world at all. And this inability +arrested her. Mr Verloc watched her with marital solicitude. + +"You're looking more like yourself," he said uneasily. Something +peculiar in the blackness of his wife's eyes disturbed his +optimism. At that precise moment Mrs Verloc began to look upon +herself as released from all earthly ties. + +She had her freedom. Her contract with existence, as represented +by that man standing over there, was at an end. She was a free +woman. Had this view become in some way perceptible to Mr Verloc +he would have been extremely shocked. In his affairs of the heart +Mr Verloc had been always carelessly generous, yet always with no +other idea than that of being loved for himself. Upon this matter, +his ethical notions being in agreement with his vanity, he was +completely incorrigible. That this should be so in the case of his +virtuous and legal connection he was perfectly certain. He had +grown older, fatter, heavier, in the belief that he lacked no +fascination for being loved for his own sake. When he saw Mrs +Verloc starting to walk out of the kitchen without a word he was +disappointed. + +"Where are you going to?" he called out rather sharply. +"Upstairs?" + +Mrs Verloc in the doorway turned at the voice. An instinct of +prudence born of fear, the excessive fear of being approached and +touched by that man, induced her to nod at him slightly (from the +height of two steps), with a stir of the lips which the conjugal +optimism of Mr Verloc took for a wan and uncertain smile. + +"That's right," he encouraged her gruffly. "Rest and quiet's what +you want. Go on. It won't be long before I am with you." + +Mrs Verloc, the free woman who had had really no idea where she was +going to, obeyed the suggestion with rigid steadiness. + +Mr Verloc watched her. She disappeared up the stairs. He was +disappointed. There was that within him which would have been more +satisfied if she had been moved to throw herself upon his breast. +But he was generous and indulgent. Winnie was always +undemonstrative and silent. Neither was Mr Verloc himself prodigal +of endearments and words as a rule. But this was not an ordinary +evening. It was an occasion when a man wants to be fortified and +strengthened by open proofs of sympathy and affection. Mr Verloc +sighed, and put out the gas in the kitchen. Mr Verloc's sympathy +with his wife was genuine and intense. It almost brought tears +into his eyes as he stood in the parlour reflecting on the +loneliness hanging over her head. In this mood Mr Verloc missed +Stevie very much out of a difficult world. He thought mournfully +of his end. If only that lad had not stupidly destroyed himself! + +The sensation of unappeasable hunger, not unknown after the strain +of a hazardous enterprise to adventurers of tougher fibre than Mr +Verloc, overcame him again. The piece of roast beef, laid out in +the likeness of funereal baked meats for Stevie's obsequies, +offered itself largely to his notice. And Mr Verloc again partook. +He partook ravenously, without restraint and decency, cutting thick +slices with the sharp carving knife, and swallowing them without +bread. In the course of that refection it occurred to Mr Verloc +that he was not hearing his wife move about the bedroom as he +should have done. The thought of finding her perhaps sitting on +the bed in the dark not only cut Mr Verloc's appetite, but also +took from him the inclination to follow her upstairs just yet. +Laying down the carving knife, Mr Verloc listened with careworn +attention. + +He was comforted by hearing her move at last. She walked suddenly +across the room, and threw the window up. After a period of +stillness up there, during which he figured her to himself with her +head out, he heard the sash being lowered slowly. Then she made a +few steps, and sat down. Every resonance of his house was familiar +to Mr Verloc, who was thoroughly domesticated. When next he heard +his wife's footsteps overhead he knew, as well as if he had seen +her doing it, that she had been putting on her walking shoes. Mr +Verloc wriggled his shoulders slightly at this ominous symptom, and +moving away from the table, stood with his back to the fireplace, +his head on one side, and gnawing perplexedly at the tips of his +fingers. He kept track of her movements by the sound. She walked +here and there violently, with abrupt stoppages, now before the +chest of drawers, then in front of the wardrobe. An immense load +of weariness, the harvest of a day of shocks and surprises, weighed +Mr Verloc's energies to the ground. + +He did not raise his eyes till he heard his wife descending the +stairs. It was as he had guessed. She was dressed for going out. + +Mrs Verloc was a free woman. She had thrown open the window of the +bedroom either with the intention of screaming Murder! Help! or of +throwing herself out. For she did not exactly know what use to +make of her freedom. Her personality seemed to have been torn into +two pieces, whose mental operations did not adjust themselves very +well to each other. The street, silent and deserted from end to +end, repelled her by taking sides with that man who was so certain +of his impunity. She was afraid to shout lest no one should come. +Obviously no one would come. Her instinct of self-preservation +recoiled from the depth of the fall into that sort of slimy, deep +trench. Mrs Verloc closed the window, and dressed herself to go +out into the street by another way. She was a free woman. She had +dressed herself thoroughly, down to the tying of a black veil over +her face. As she appeared before him in the light of the parlour, +Mr Verloc observed that she had even her little handbag hanging +from her left wrist. . . . Flying off to her mother, of course. + +The thought that women were wearisome creatures after all presented +itself to his fatigued brain. But he was too generous to harbour +it for more than an instant. This man, hurt cruelly in his vanity, +remained magnanimous in his conduct, allowing himself no +satisfaction of a bitter smile or of a contemptuous gesture. With +true greatness of soul, he only glanced at the wooden clock on the +wall, and said in a perfectly calm but forcible manner: + +"Five and twenty minutes past eight, Winnie. There's no sense in +going over there so late. You will never manage to get back to- +night." + +Before his extended hand Mrs Verloc had stopped short. He added +heavily: "Your mother will be gone to bed before you get there. +This is the sort of news that can wait." + +Nothing was further from Mrs Verloc's thoughts than going to her +mother. She recoiled at the mere idea, and feeling a chair behind +her, she obeyed the suggestion of the touch, and sat down. Her +intention had been simply to get outside the door for ever. And if +this feeling was correct, its mental form took an unrefined shape +corresponding to her origin and station. "I would rather walk the +streets all the days of my life," she thought. But this creature, +whose moral nature had been subjected to a shock of which, in the +physical order, the most violent earthquake of history could only +be a faint and languid rendering, was at the mercy of mere trifles, +of casual contacts. She sat down. With her hat and veil she had +the air of a visitor, of having looked in on Mr Verloc for a +moment. Her instant docility encouraged him, whilst her aspect of +only temporary and silent acquiescence provoked him a little. + +"Let me tell you, Winnie," he said with authority, "that your place +is here this evening. Hang it all! you brought the damned police +high and low about my ears. I don't blame you - but it's your +doing all the same. You'd better take this confounded hat off. I +can't let you go out, old girl," he added in a softened voice. + +Mrs Verloc's mind got hold of that declaration with morbid +tenacity. The man who had taken Stevie out from under her very +eyes to murder him in a locality whose name was at the moment not +present to her memory would not allow her go out. Of course he +wouldn't. + +Now he had murdered Stevie he would never let her go. He would +want to keep her for nothing. And on this characteristic +reasoning, having all the force of insane logic, Mrs Verloc's +disconnected wits went to work practically. She could slip by him, +open the door, run out. But he would dash out after her, seize her +round the body, drag her back into the shop. She could scratch, +kick, and bite - and stab too; but for stabbing she wanted a knife. +Mrs Verloc sat still under her black veil, in her own house, like a +masked and mysterious visitor of impenetrable intentions. + +Mr Verloc's magnanimity was not more than human. She had +exasperated him at last. + +"Can't you say something? You have your own dodges for vexing a +man. Oh yes! I know your deaf-and-dumb trick. I've seen you at +it before to-day. But just now it won't do. And to begin with, +take this damned thing off. One can't tell whether one is talking +to a dummy or to a live woman." + +He advanced, and stretching out his hand, dragged the veil off, +unmasking a still, unreadable face, against which his nervous +exasperation was shattered like a glass bubble flung against a +rock. "That's better," he said, to cover his momentary uneasiness, +and retreated back to his old station by the mantelpiece. It never +entered his head that his wife could give him up. He felt a little +ashamed of himself, for he was fond and generous. What could he +do? Everything had been said already. He protested vehemently. + +"By heavens! You know that I hunted high and low. I ran the risk +of giving myself away to find somebody for that accursed job. And +I tell you again I couldn't find anyone crazy enough or hungry +enough. What do you take me for - a murderer, or what? The boy is +gone. Do you think I wanted him to blow himself up? He's gone. +His troubles are over. Ours are just going to begin, I tell you, +precisely because he did blow himself. I don't blame you. But +just try to understand that it was a pure accident; as much an +accident as if he had been run over by a `bus while crossing the +street." + +His generosity was not infinite, because he was a human being - and +not a monster, as Mrs Verloc believed him to be. He paused, and a +snarl lifting his moustaches above a gleam of white teeth gave him +the expression of a reflective beast, not very dangerous - a slow +beast with a sleek head, gloomier than a seal, and with a husky +voice. + +"And when it comes to that, it's as much your doing as mine. +That's so. You may glare as much as you like. I know what you can +do in that way. Strike me dead if I ever would have thought of the +lad for that purpose. It was you who kept on shoving him in my way +when I was half distracted with the worry of keeping the lot of us +out of trouble. What the devil made you? One would think you were +doing it on purpose. And I am damned if I know that you didn't. +There's no saying how much of what's going on you have got hold of +on the sly with your infernal don't-care-a-damn way of looking +nowhere in particular, and saying nothing at all. . . . " + +His husky domestic voice ceased for a while. Mrs Verloc made no +reply. Before that silence he felt ashamed of what he had said. +But as often happens to peaceful men in domestic tiffs, being +ashamed he pushed another point. + +"You have a devilish way of holding your tongue sometimes," he +began again, without raising his voice. "Enough to make some men +go mad. It's lucky for you that I am not so easily put out as some +of them would be by your deaf-and-dumb sulks. I am fond of you. +But don't you go too far. This isn't the time for it. We ought to +be thinking of what we've got to do. And I can't let you go out +to-night, galloping off to your mother with some crazy tale or +other about me. I won't have it. Don't you make any mistake about +it: if you will have it that I killed the boy, then you've killed +him as much as I." + +In sincerity of feeling and openness of statement, these words went +far beyond anything that had ever been said in this home, kept up +on the wages of a secret industry eked out by the sale of more or +less secret wares: the poor expedients devised by a mediocre +mankind for preserving an imperfect society from the dangers of +moral and physical corruption, both secret too of their kind. They +were spoken because Mr Verloc had felt himself really outraged; but +the reticent decencies of this home life, nestling in a shady +street behind a shop where the sun never shone, remained apparently +undisturbed. Mrs Verloc heard him out with perfect propriety, and +then rose from her chair in her hat and jacket like a visitor at +the end of a call. She advanced towards her husband, one arm +extended as if for a silent leave-taking. Her net veil dangling +down by one end on the left side of her face gave an air of +disorderly formality to her restrained movements. But when she +arrived as far as the hearthrug, Mr Verloc was no longer standing +there. He had moved off in the direction of the sofa, without +raising his eyes to watch the effect of his tirade. He was tired, +resigned in a truly marital spirit. But he felt hurt in the tender +spot of his secret weakness. If she would go on sulking in that +dreadful overcharged silence - why then she must. She was a master +in that domestic art. Mr Verloc flung himself heavily upon the +sofa, disregarding as usual the fate of his hat, which, as if +accustomed to take care of itself, made for a safe shelter under +the table. + +He was tired. The last particle of his nervous force had been +expended in the wonders and agonies of this day full of surprising +failures coming at the end of a harassing month of scheming and +insomnia. He was tired. A man isn't made of stone. Hang +everything! Mr Verloc reposed characteristically, clad in his +outdoor garments. One side of his open overcoat was lying partly +on the ground. Mr Verloc wallowed on his back. But he longed for +a more perfect rest - for sleep - for a few hours of delicious +forgetfulness. That would come later. Provisionally he rested. +And he thought: "I wish she would give over this damned nonsense. +It's exasperating." + +There must have been something imperfect in Mrs Verloc's sentiment +of regained freedom. Instead of taking the way of the door she +leaned back, with her shoulders against the tablet of the +mantelpiece, as a wayfarer rests against a fence. A tinge of +wildness in her aspect was derived from the black veil hanging like +a rag against her cheek, and from the fixity of her black gaze +where the light of the room was absorbed and lost without the trace +of a single gleam. This woman, capable of a bargain the mere +suspicion of which would have been infinitely shocking to Mr +Verloc's idea of love, remained irresolute, as if scrupulously +aware of something wanting on her part for the formal closing of +the transaction. + +On the sofa Mr Verloc wriggled his shoulders into perfect comfort, +and from the fulness of his heart emitted a wish which was +certainly as pious as anything likely to come from such a source. + +"I wish to goodness," he growled huskily, "I had never seen +Greenwich Park or anything belonging to it." + +The veiled sound filled the small room with its moderate volume, +well adapted to the modest nature of the wish. The waves of air of +the proper length, propagated in accordance with correct +mathematical formulas, flowed around all the inanimate things in +the room, lapped against Mrs Verloc's head as if it had been a head +of stone. And incredible as it may appear, the eyes of Mrs Verloc +seemed to grow still larger. The audible wish of Mr Verloc's +overflowing heart flowed into an empty place in his wife's memory. +Greenwich Park. A park! That's where the boy was killed. A park +- smashed branches, torn leaves, gravel, bits of brotherly flesh +and bone, all spouting up together in the manner of a firework. +She remembered now what she had heard, and she remembered it +pictorially. They had to gather him up with the shovel. Trembling +all over with irrepressible shudders, she saw before her the very +implement with its ghastly load scraped up from the ground. Mrs +Verloc closed her eyes desperately, throwing upon that vision the +night of her eyelids, where after a rainlike fall of mangled limbs +the decapitated head of Stevie lingered suspended alone, and fading +out slowly like the last star of a pyrotechnic display. Mrs Verloc +opened her eyes. + +Her face was no longer stony. Anybody could have noted the subtle +change on her features, in the stare of her eyes, giving her a new +and startling expression; an expression seldom observed by +competent persons under the conditions of leisure and security +demanded for thorough analysis, but whose meaning could not be +mistaken at a glance. Mrs Verloc's doubts as to the end of the +bargain no longer existed; her wits, no longer disconnected, were +working under the control of her will. But Mr Verloc observed +nothing. He was reposing in that pathetic condition of optimism +induced by excess of fatigue. He did not want any more trouble - +with his wife too - of all people in the world. He had been +unanswerable in his vindication. He was loved for himself. The +present phase of her silence he interpreted favourably. This was +the time to make it up with her. The silence had lasted long +enough. He broke it by calling to her in an undertone. + +"Winnie." + +"Yes," answered obediently Mrs Verloc the free woman. She +commanded her wits now, her vocal organs; she felt herself to be in +an almost preternaturally perfect control of every fibre of her +body. It was all her own, because the bargain was at an end. She +was clear sighted. She had become cunning. She chose to answer +him so readily for a purpose. She did not wish that man to change +his position on the sofa which was very suitable to the +circumstances. She succeeded. The man did not stir. But after +answering him she remained leaning negligently against the +mantelpiece in the attitude of a resting wayfarer. She was +unhurried. Her brow was smooth. The head and shoulders of Mr +Verloc were hidden from her by the high side of the sofa. She kept +her eyes fixed on his feet. + +She remained thus mysteriously still and suddenly collected till Mr +Verloc was heard with an accent of marital authority, and moving +slightly to make room for her to sit on the edge of the sofa. + +"Come here," he said in a peculiar tone, which might have been the +tone of brutality, but, was intimately known to Mrs Verloc as the +note of wooing. + +She started forward at once, as if she were still a loyal woman +bound to that man by an unbroken contract. Her right hand skimmed +slightly the end of the table, and when she had passed on towards +the sofa the carving knife had vanished without the slightest sound +from the side of the dish. Mr Verloc heard the creaky plank in the +floor, and was content. He waited. Mrs Verloc was coming. As if +the homeless soul of Stevie had flown for shelter straight to the +breast of his sister, guardian and protector, the resemblance of +her face with that of her brother grew at every step, even to the +droop of the lower lip, even to the slight divergence of the eyes. +But Mr Verloc did not see that. He was lying on his back and +staring upwards. He saw partly on the ceiling and partly on the +wall the moving shadow of an arm with a clenched hand holding a +carving knife. It flickered up and down. It's movements were +leisurely. They were leisurely enough for Mr Verloc to recognise +the limb and the weapon. + +They were leisurely enough for him to take in the full meaning of +the portent, and to taste the flavour of death rising in his gorge. +His wife had gone raving mad - murdering mad. They were leisurely +enough for the first paralysing effect of this discovery to pass +away before a resolute determination to come out victorious from +the ghastly struggle with that armed lunatic. They were leisurely +enough for Mr Verloc to elaborate a plan of defence involving a +dash behind the table, and the felling of the woman to the ground +with a heavy wooden chair. But they were not leisurely enough to +allow Mr Verloc the time to move either hand or foot. The knife +was already planted in his breast. It met no resistance on its +way. Hazard has such accuracies. Into that plunging blow, +delivered over the side of the couch, Mrs Verloc had put all the +inheritance of her immemorial and obscure descent, the simple +ferocity of the age of caverns, and the unbalanced nervous fury of +the age of bar-rooms. Mr Verloc, the Secret Agent, turning +slightly on his side with the force of the blow, expired without +stirring a limb, in the muttered sound of the word "Don't" by way +of protest. + +Mrs Verloc had let go the knife, and her extraordinary resemblance +to her late brother had faded, had become very ordinary now. She +drew a deep breath, the first easy breath since Chief Inspector +Heat had exhibited to her the labelled piece of Stevie's overcoat. +She leaned forward on her folded arms over the side of the sofa. +She adopted that easy attitude not in order to watch or gloat over +the body of Mr Verloc, but because of the undulatory and swinging +movements of the parlour, which for some time behaved as though it +were at sea in a tempest. She was giddy but calm. She had become +a free woman with a perfection of freedom which left her nothing to +desire and absolutely nothing to do, since Stevie's urgent claim on +her devotion no longer existed. Mrs Verloc, who thought in images, +was not troubled now by visions, because she did not think at all. +And she did not move. She was a woman enjoying her complete +irresponsibility and endless leisure, almost in the manner of a +corpse. She did not move, she did not think. Neither did the +mortal envelope of the late Mr Verloc reposing on the sofa. Except +for the fact that Mrs Verloc breathed these two would have been +perfect in accord: that accord of prudent reserve without +superfluous words, and sparing of signs, which had been the +foundation of their respectable home life. For it had been +respectable, covering by a decent reticence the problems that may +arise in the practice of a secret profession and the commerce of +shady wares. To the last its decorum had remained undisturbed by +unseemly shrieks and other misplaced sincerities of conduct. And +after the striking of the blow, this respectability was continued +in immobility and silence. + +Nothing moved in the parlour till Mrs Verloc raised her head slowly +and looked at the clock with inquiring mistrust. She had become +aware of a ticking sound in the room. It grew upon her ear, while +she remembered clearly that the clock on the wall was silent, had +no audible tick. What did it mean by beginning to tick so loudly +all of a sudden? Its face indicated ten minutes to nine. Mrs +Verloc cared nothing for time, and the ticking went on. She +concluded it could not be the clock, and her sullen gaze moved +along the walls, wavered, and became vague, while she strained her +hearing to locate the sound. Tic, tic, tic. + +After listening for some time Mrs Verloc lowered her gaze +deliberately on her husband's body. It's attitude of repose was so +home-like and familiar that she could do so without feeling +embarrassed by any pronounced novelty in the phenomena of her home +life. Mr Verloc was taking his habitual ease. He looked +comfortable. + +By the position of the body the face of Mr Verloc was not visible +to Mrs Verloc, his widow. Her fine, sleepy eyes, travelling +downward on the track of the sound, became contemplative on meeting +a flat object of bone which protruded a little beyond the edge of +the sofa. It was the handle of the domestic carving knife with +nothing strange about it but its position at right angles to Mr +Verloc's waistcoat and the fact that something dripped from it. +Dark drops fell on the floorcloth one after another, with a sound +of ticking growing fast and furious like the pulse of an insane +clock. At its highest speed this ticking changed into a continuous +sound of trickling. Mrs Verloc watched that transformation with +shadows of anxiety coming and going on her face. It was a trickle, +dark, swift, thin. . . . Blood! + +At this unforeseen circumstance Mrs Verloc abandoned her pose of +idleness and irresponsibility. + +With a sudden snatch at her skirts and a faint shriek she ran to +the door, as if the trickle had been the first sign of a destroying +flood. Finding the table in her way she gave it a push with both +hands as though it had been alive, with such force that it went for +some distance on its four legs, making a loud, scraping racket, +whilst the big dish with the joint crashed heavily on the floor. + +Then all became still. Mrs Verloc on reaching the door had +stopped. A round hat disclosed in the middle of the floor by the +moving of the table rocked slightly on its crown in the wind of her +flight. + + + +CHAPTER XII + + + +Winnie Verloc, the widow of Mr Verloc, the sister of the late +faithful Stevie (blown to fragments in a state of innocence and in +the conviction of being engaged in a humanitarian enterprise), did +not run beyond the door of the parlour. She had indeed run away so +far from a mere trickle of blood, but that was a movement of +instinctive repulsion. And there she had paused, with staring eyes +and lowered head. As though she had run through long years in her +flight across the small parlour, Mrs Verloc by the door was quite a +different person from the woman who had been leaning over the sofa, +a little swimmy in her head, but otherwise free to enjoy the +profound calm of idleness and irresponsibility. Mrs Verloc was no +longer giddy. Her head was steady. On the other hand, she was no +longer calm. She was afraid. + +If she avoided looking in the direction of her reposing husband it +was not because she was afraid of him. Mr Verloc was not frightful +to behold. He looked comfortable. Moreover, he was dead. Mrs +Verloc entertained no vain delusions on the subject of the dead. +Nothing brings them back, neither love nor hate. They can do +nothing to you. They are as nothing. Her mental state was tinged +by a sort of austere contempt for that man who had let himself be +killed so easily. He had been the master of a house, the husband +of a woman, and the murderer of her Stevie. And now he was of no +account in every respect. He was of less practical account than +the clothing on his body, than his overcoat, than his boots - than +that hat lying on the floor. He was nothing. He was not worth +looking at. He was even no longer the murderer of poor Stevie. +The only murderer that would be found in the room when people came +to look for Mr Verloc would be - herself! + +Her hands shook so that she failed twice in the task of refastening +her veil. Mrs Verloc was no longer a person of leisure and +responsibility. She was afraid. The stabbing of Mr Verloc had +been only a blow. It had relieved the pent-up agony of shrieks +strangled in her throat, of tears dried up in her hot eyes, of the +maddening and indignant rage at the atrocious part played by that +man, who was less than nothing now, in robbing her of the boy. + +It had been an obscurely prompted blow. The blood trickling on the +floor off the handle of the knife had turned it into an extremely +plain case of murder. Mrs Verloc, who always refrained from +looking deep into things, was compelled to look into the very +bottom of this thing. She saw there no haunting face, no +reproachful shade, no vision of remorse, no sort of ideal +conception. She saw there an object. That object was the gallows. +Mrs Verloc was afraid of the gallows. + +She was terrified of them ideally. Having never set eyes on that +last argument of men's justice except in illustrative woodcuts to a +certain type of tales, she first saw them erect against a black and +stormy background, festooned with chains and human bones, circled +about by birds that peck at dead men's eyes. This was frightful +enough, but Mrs Verloc, though not a well-informed woman, had a +sufficient knowledge of the institutions of her country to know +that gallows are no longer erected romantically on the banks of +dismal rivers or on wind-swept headlands, but in the yards of +jails. There within four high walls, as if into a pit, at dawn of +day, the murderer was brought out to be executed, with a horrible +quietness and, as the reports in the newspapers always said, "in +the presence of the authorities." With her eyes staring on the +floor, her nostrils quivering with anguish and shame, she imagined +herself all alone amongst a lot of strange gentlemen in silk hats +who were calmly proceeding about the business of hanging her by the +neck. That - never! Never! And how was it done? The +impossibility of imagining the details of such quiet execution +added something maddening to her abstract terror. The newspapers +never gave any details except one, but that one with some +affectation was always there at the end of a meagre report. Mrs +Verloc remembered its nature. It came with a cruel burning pain +into her head, as if the words "The drop given was fourteen feet" +had been scratched on her brain with a hot needle. "The drop given +was fourteen feet." + +These words affected her physically too. Her throat became +convulsed in waves to resist strangulation; and the apprehension of +the jerk was so vivid that she seized her head in both hands as if +to save it from being torn off her shoulders. "The drop given was +fourteen feet." No! that must never be. She could not stand THAT. +The thought of it even was not bearable. She could not stand +thinking of it. Therefore Mrs Verloc formed the resolution to go +at once and throw herself into the river off one of the bridges. + +This time she managed to refasten her veil. With her face as if +masked, all black from head to foot except for some flowers in her +hat, she looked up mechanically at the clock. She thought it must +have stopped. She could not believe that only two minutes had +passed since she had looked at it last. Of course not. It had +been stopped all the time. As a matter of fact, only three minutes +had elapsed from the moment she had drawn the first deep, easy +breath after the blow, to this moment when Mrs Verloc formed the +resolution to drown herself in the Thames. But Mrs Verloc could +not believe that. She seemed to have heard or read that clocks and +watches always stopped at the moment of murder for the undoing of +the murderer. She did not care. "To the bridge - and over I go." +. . . But her movements were slow. + +She dragged herself painfully across the shop, and had to hold on +to the handle of the door before she found the necessary fortitude +to open it. The street frightened her, since it led either to the +gallows or to the river. She floundered over the doorstep head +forward, arms thrown out, like a person falling over the parapet of +a bridge. This entrance into the open air had a foretaste of +drowning; a slimy dampness enveloped her, entered her nostrils, +clung to her hair. It was not actually raining, but each gas lamp +had a rusty little halo of mist. The van and horses were gone, and +in the black street the curtained window of the carters' eating- +house made a square patch of soiled blood-red light glowing faintly +very near the level of the pavement. Mrs Verloc, dragging herself +slowly towards it, thought that she was a very friendless woman. +It was true. It was so true that, in a sudden longing to see some +friendly face, she could think of no one else but of Mrs Neale, the +charwoman. She had no acquaintances of her own. Nobody would miss +her in a social way. It must not be imagined that the Widow Verloc +had forgotten her mother. This was not so. Winnie had been a good +daughter because she had been a devoted sister. Her mother had +always leaned on her for support. No consolation or advice could +be expected there. Now that Stevie was dead the bond seemed to be +broken. She could not face the old woman with the horrible tale. +Moreover, it was too far. The river was her present destination. +Mrs Verloc tried to forget her mother. + +Each step cost her an effort of will which seemed the last +possible. Mrs Verloc had dragged herself past the red glow of the +eating-house window. "To the bridge - and over I go," she repeated +to herself with fierce obstinacy. She put out her hand just in +time to steady herself against a lamp-post. "I'll never get there +before morning," she thought. The fear of death paralysed her +efforts to escape the gallows. It seemed to her she had been +staggering in that street for hours. "I'll never get there," she +thought. "They'll find me knocking about the streets. It's too +far." She held on, panting under her black veil. + +"The drop given was fourteen feet." + +She pushed the lamp-post away from her violently, and found herself +walking. But another wave of faintness overtook her like a great +sea, washing away her heart clean out of her breast. "I will never +get there," she muttered, suddenly arrested, swaying lightly where +she stood. "Never." + +And perceiving the utter impossibility of walking as far as the +nearest bridge, Mrs Verloc thought of a flight abroad. + +It came to her suddenly. Murderers escaped. They escaped abroad. +Spain or California. Mere names. The vast world created for the +glory of man was only a vast blank to Mrs Verloc. She did not know +which way to turn. Murderers had friends, relations, helpers - +they had knowledge. She had nothing. She was the most lonely of +murderers that ever struck a mortal blow. She was alone in London: +and the whole town of marvels and mud, with its maze of streets and +its mass of lights, was sunk in a hopeless night, rested at the +bottom of a black abyss from which no unaided woman could hope to +scramble out. + +She swayed forward, and made a fresh start blindly, with an awful +dread of falling down; but at the end of a few steps, unexpectedly, +she found a sensation of support, of security. Raising her head, +she saw a man's face peering closely at her veil. Comrade Ossipon +was not afraid of strange women, and no feeling of false delicacy +could prevent him from striking an acquaintance with a woman +apparently very much intoxicated. Comrade Ossipon was interested +in women. He held up this one between his two large palms, peering +at her in a business-like way till he heard her say faintly "Mr +Ossipon!" and then he very nearly let her drop to the ground. + +"Mrs Verloc!" he exclaimed. "You here!" + +It seemed impossible to him that she should have been drinking. +But one never knows. He did not go into that question, but +attentive not to discourage kind fate surrendering to him the widow +of Comrade Verloc, he tried to draw her to his breast. To his +astonishment she came quite easily, and even rested on his arm for +a moment before she attempted to disengage herself. Comrade +Ossipon would not be brusque with kind fate. He withdrew his arm +in a natural way. + +"You recognised me," she faltered out, standing before him, fairly +steady on her legs. + +"Of course I did," said Ossipon with perfect readiness. "I was +afraid you were going to fall. I've thought of you too often +lately not to recognise you anywhere, at any time. I've always +thought of you - ever since I first set eyes on you." + +Mrs Verloc seemed not to hear. "You were coming to the shop?" she +said nervously. + +"Yes; at once," answered Ossipon. "Directly I read the paper." + +In fact, Comrade Ossipon had been skulking for a good two hours in +the neighbourhood of Brett Street, unable to make up his mind for a +bold move. The robust anarchist was not exactly a bold conqueror. +He remembered that Mrs Verloc had never responded to his glances by +the slightest sign of encouragement. Besides, he thought the shop +might be watched by the police, and Comrade Ossipon did not wish +the police to form an exaggerated notion of his revolutionary +sympathies. Even now he did not know precisely what to do. In +comparison with his usual amatory speculations this was a big and +serious undertaking. He ignored how much there was in it and how +far he would have to go in order to get hold of what there was to +get - supposing there was a chance at all. These perplexities +checking his elation imparted to his tone a soberness well in +keeping with the circumstances. + +"May I ask you where you were going?" he inquired in a subdued +voice. + +"Don't ask me!" cried Mrs Verloc with a shuddering, repressed +violence. All her strong vitality recoiled from the idea of death. +"Never mind where I was going. . . ." + +Ossipon concluded that she was very much excited but perfectly +sober. She remained silent by his side for moment, then all at +once she did something which he did not expect. She slipped her +hand under his arm. He was startled by the act itself certainly, +and quite as much too by the palpably resolute character of this +movement. But this being a delicate affair, Comrade Ossipon +behaved with delicacy. He contented himself by pressing the hand +slightly against his robust ribs. At the same time he felt himself +being impelled forward, and yielded to the impulse. At the end of +Brett Street he became aware of being directed to the left. He +submitted. + +The fruiterer at the corner had put out the blazing glory of his +oranges and lemons, and Brett Place was all darkness, interspersed +with the misty halos of the few lamps defining its triangular +shape, with a cluster of three lights on one stand in the middle. +The dark forms of the man and woman glided slowly arm in arm along +the walls with a loverlike and homeless aspect in the miserable +night. + +"What would you say if I were to tell you that I was going to find +you?" Mrs Verloc asked, gripping his arm with force. + +"I would say that you couldn't find anyone more ready to help you +in your trouble," answered Ossipon, with a notion of making +tremendous headway. In fact, the progress of this delicate affair +was almost taking his breath away. + +"In my trouble!" Mrs Verloc repeated slowly. + +"Yes." + +"And do you know what my trouble is?" she whispered with strange +intensity. + +"Ten minutes after seeing the evening paper," explained Ossipon +with ardour, "I met a fellow whom you may have seen once or twice +at the shop perhaps, and I had a talk with him which left no doubt +whatever in my mind. Then I started for here, wondering whether +you - I've been fond of you beyond words ever since I set eyes on +your face," he cried, as if unable to command his feelings. + +Comrade Ossipon assumed correctly that no woman was capable of +wholly disbelieving such a statement. But he did not know that Mrs +Verloc accepted it with all the fierceness the instinct of self- +preservation puts into the grip of a drowning person. To the widow +of Mr Verloc the robust anarchist was like a radiant messenger of +life. + +They walked slowly, in step. "I thought so," Mrs Verloc murmured +faintly. + +"You've read it in my eyes," suggested Ossipon with great +assurance. + +"Yes," she breathed out into his inclined ear. + +"A love like mine could not be concealed from a woman like you," he +went on, trying to detach his mind from material considerations +such as the business value of the shop, and the amount of money Mr +Verloc might have left in the bank. He applied himself to the +sentimental side of the affair. In his heart of hearts he was a +little shocked at his success. Verloc had been a good fellow, and +certainly a very decent husband as far as one could see. However, +Comrade Ossipon was not going to quarrel with his luck for the sake +of a dead man. Resolutely he suppressed his sympathy for the ghost +of Comrade Verloc, and went on. + +"I could not conceal it. I was too full of you. I daresay you +could not help seeing it in my eyes. But I could not guess it. +You were always so distant. . . ." + +"What else did you expect?" burst out Mrs Verloc. "I was a +respectable woman - " + +She paused, then added, as if speaking to herself, in sinister +resentment: "Till he made me what I am." + +Ossipon let that pass, and took up his running. "He never did seem +to me to be quite worthy of you," he began, throwing loyalty to the +winds. "You were worthy of a better fate." + +Mrs Verloc interrupted bitterly: + +"Better fate! He cheated me out of seven years of life." + +"You seemed to live so happily with him." Ossipon tried to +exculpate the lukewarmness of his past conduct. "It's that what's +made me timid. You seemed to love him. I was surprised - and +jealous," he added. + +"Love him!" Mrs Verloc cried out in a whisper, full of scorn and +rage. "Love him! I was a good wife to him. I am a respectable +woman. You thought I loved him! You did! Look here, Tom - " + +The sound of this name thrilled Comrade Ossipon with pride. For +his name was Alexander, and he was called Tom by arrangement with +the most familiar of his intimates. It was a name of friendship - +of moments of expansion. He had no idea that she had ever heard it +used by anybody. It was apparent that she had not only caught it, +but had treasured it in her memory - perhaps in her heart. + +"Look here, Tom! I was a young girl. I was done up. I was tired. +I had two people depending on what I could do, and it did seem as +if I couldn't do any more. Two people - mother and the boy. He +was much more mine than mother's. I sat up nights and nights with +him on my lap, all alone upstairs, when I wasn't more than eight +years old myself. And then - He was mine, I tell you. . . . You +can't understand that. No man can understand it. What was I to +do? There was a young fellow - " + +The memory of the early romance with the young butcher survived, +tenacious, like the image of a glimpsed ideal in that heart +quailing before the fear of the gallows and full of revolt against +death. + +"That was the man I loved then," went on the widow of Mr Verloc. +"I suppose he could see it in my eyes too. Five and twenty +shillings a week, and his father threatened to kick him out of the +business if he made such a fool of himself as to marry a girl with +a crippled mother and a crazy idiot of a boy on her hands. But he +would hang about me, till one evening I found the courage to slam +the door in his face. I had to do it. I loved him dearly. Five +and twenty shillings a week! There was that other man - a good +lodger. What is a girl to do? Could I've gone on the streets? He +seemed kind. He wanted me, anyhow. What was I to do with mother +and that poor boy? Eh? I said yes. He seemed good-natured, he +was freehanded, he had money, he never said anything. Seven years +- seven years a good wife to him, the kind, the good, the generous, +the - And he loved me. Oh yes. He loved me till I sometimes +wished myself - Seven years. Seven years a wife to him. And do +you know what he was, that dear friend of yours? Do you know what +he was? He was a devil!" + +The superhuman vehemence of that whispered statement completely +stunned Comrade Ossipon. Winnie Verloc turning about held him by +both arms, facing him under the falling mist in the darkness and +solitude of Brett Place, in which all sounds of life seemed lost as +if in a triangular well of asphalt and bricks, of blind houses and +unfeeling stones. + +"No; I didn't know," he declared, with a sort of flabby stupidity, +whose comical aspect was lost upon a woman haunted by the fear of +the gallows, "but I do now. I - I understand," he floundered on, +his mind speculating as to what sort of atrocities Verloc could +have practised under the sleepy, placid appearances of his married +estate. It was positively awful. "I understand," he repeated, and +then by a sudden inspiration uttered an - "Unhappy woman!" of lofty +commiseration instead of the more familiar "Poor darling!" of his +usual practice. This was no usual case. He felt conscious of +something abnormal going on, while he never lost sight of the +greatness of the stake. "Unhappy, brave woman!" + +He was glad to have discovered that variation; but he could +discover nothing else. + +"Ah, but he is dead now," was the best he could do. And he put a +remarkable amount of animosity into his guarded exclamation. Mrs +Verloc caught at his arm with a sort of frenzy. + +"You guessed then he was dead," she murmured, as if beside herself. +"You! You guessed what I had to do. Had to!" + +There were suggestions of triumph, relief, gratitude in the +indefinable tone of these words. It engrossed the whole attention +of Ossipon to the detriment of mere literal sense. He wondered +what was up with her, why she had worked herself into this state of +wild excitement. He even began to wonder whether the hidden causes +of that Greenwich Park affair did not lie deep in the unhappy +circumstances of the Verlocs' married life. He went so far as to +suspect Mr Verloc of having selected that extraordinary manner of +committing suicide. By Jove! that would account for the utter +inanity and wrong-headedness of the thing. No anarchist +manifestation was required by the circumstances. Quite the +contrary; and Verloc was as well aware of that as any other +revolutionist of his standing. What an immense joke if Verloc had +simply made fools of the whole of Europe, of the revolutionary +world, of the police, of the press, and of the cocksure Professor +as well. Indeed, thought Ossipon, in astonishment, it seemed +almost certain that he did! Poor beggar! It struck him as very +possible that of that household of two it wasn't precisely the man +who was the devil. + +Alexander Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, was naturally inclined to +think indulgently of his men friends. He eyed Mrs Verloc hanging +on his arm. Of his women friends he thought in a specially +practical way. Why Mrs Verloc should exclaim at his knowledge of +Mr Verloc's death, which was no guess at all, did not disturb him +beyond measure. They often talked like lunatics. But he was +curious to know how she had been informed. The papers could tell +her nothing beyond the mere fact: the man blown to pieces in +Greenwich Park not having been identified. It was inconceivable on +any theory that Verloc should have given her an inkling of his +intention - whatever it was. This problem interested Comrade +Ossipon immensely. He stopped short. They had gone then along the +three sides of Brett Place, and were near the end of Brett Street +again. + +"How did you first come to hear of it?" he asked in a tone he tried +to render appropriate to the character of the revelations which had +been made to him by the woman at his side. + +She shook violently for a while before she answered in a listless +voice. + +"From the police. A chief inspector came, Chief Inspector Heat he +said he was. He showed me - " + +Mrs Verloc choked. "Oh, Tom, they had to gather him up with a +shovel." + +Her breast heaved with dry sobs. In a moment Ossipon found his +tongue. + +"The police! Do you mean to say the police came already? That +Chief Inspector Heat himself actually came to tell you." + +"Yes," she confirmed in the same listless tone. "He came just like +this. He came. I didn't know. He showed me a piece of overcoat, +and - just like that. Do you know this? he says." + +"Heat! Heat! And what did he do?" + +Mrs Verloc's head dropped. "Nothing. He did nothing. He went +away. The police were on that man's side," she murmured +tragically. "Another one came too." + +"Another - another inspector, do you mean?" asked Ossipon, in great +excitement, and very much in the tone of a scared child. + +"I don't know. He came. He looked like a foreigner. He may have +been one of them Embassy people." + +Comrade Ossipon nearly collapsed under this new shock. + +"Embassy! Are you aware what you are saying? What Embassy? What +on earth do you mean by Embassy?" + +"It's that place in Chesham Square. The people he cursed so. I +don't know. What does it matter!" + +"And that fellow, what did he do or say to you?" + +"I don't remember. . . . Nothing . . . . I don't care. Don't ask +me," she pleaded in a weary voice. + +"All right. I won't," assented Ossipon tenderly. And he meant it +too, not because he was touched by the pathos of the pleading +voice, but because he felt himself losing his footing in the depths +of this tenebrous affair. Police! Embassy! Phew! For fear of +adventuring his intelligence into ways where its natural lights +might fail to guide it safely he dismissed resolutely all +suppositions, surmises, and theories out of his mind. He had the +woman there, absolutely flinging herself at him, and that was the +principal consideration. But after what he had heard nothing could +astonish him any more. And when Mrs Verloc, as if startled +suddenly out of a dream of safety, began to urge upon him wildly +the necessity of an immediate flight on the Continent, he did not +exclaim in the least. He simply said with unaffected regret that +there was no train till the morning, and stood looking thoughtfully +at her face, veiled in black net, in the light of a gas lamp veiled +in a gauze of mist. + +Near him, her black form merged in the night, like a figure half +chiselled out of a block of black stone. It was impossible to say +what she knew, how deep she was involved with policemen and +Embassies. But if she wanted to get away, it was not for him to +object. He was anxious to be off himself. He felt that the +business, the shop so strangely familiar to chief inspectors and +members of foreign Embassies, was not the place for him. That must +be dropped. But there was the rest. These savings. The money! + +"You must hide me till the morning somewhere," she said in a +dismayed voice. + +"Fact is, my dear, I can't take you where I live. I share the room +with a friend." + +He was somewhat dismayed himself. In the morning the blessed `tecs +will be out in all the stations, no doubt. And if they once got +hold of her, for one reason or another she would be lost to him +indeed. + +"But you must. Don't you care for me at all - at all? What are +you thinking of?" + +She said this violently, but she let her clasped hands fall in +discouragement. There was a silence, while the mist fell, and +darkness reigned undisturbed over Brett Place. Not a soul, not +even the vagabond, lawless, and amorous soul of a cat, came near +the man and the woman facing each other. + +"It would be possible perhaps to find a safe lodging somewhere," +Ossipon spoke at last. "But the truth is, my dear, I have not +enough money to go and try with - only a few pence. We +revolutionists are not rich." + +He had fifteen shillings in his pocket. He added: + +"And there's the journey before us, too - first thing in the +morning at that." + +She did not move, made no sound, and Comrade Ossipon's heart sank a +little. Apparently she had no suggestion to offer. Suddenly she +clutched at her breast, as if she had felt a sharp pain there. + +"But I have," she gasped. "I have the money. I have enough money. +Tom! Let us go from here." + +"How much have you got?" he inquired, without stirring to her tug; +for he was a cautious man. + +"I have the money, I tell you. All the money." + +"What do you mean by it? All the money there was in the bank, or +what?" he asked incredulously, but ready not to be surprised at +anything in the way of luck. + +"Yes, yes!" she said nervously. "All there was. I've it all." + +"How on earth did you manage to get hold of it already?" he +marvelled. + +"He gave it to me," she murmured, suddenly subdued and trembling. +Comrade Ossipon put down his rising surprise with a firm hand. + +"Why, then - we are saved," he uttered slowly. + +She leaned forward, and sank against his breast. He welcomed her +there. She had all the money. Her hat was in the way of very +marked effusion; her veil too. He was adequate in his +manifestations, but no more. She received them without resistance +and without abandonment, passively, as if only half-sensible. She +freed herself from his lax embraces without difficulty. + +"You will save me, Tom," she broke out, recoiling, but still +keeping her hold on him by the two lapels of his damp coat. "Save +me. Hide me. Don't let them have me. You must kill me first. I +couldn't do it myself - I couldn't, I couldn't - not even for what +I am afraid of." + +She was confoundedly bizarre, he thought. She was beginning to +inspire him with an indefinite uneasiness. He said surlily, for he +was busy with important thoughts: + +"What the devil ARE you afraid of?" + +"Haven't you guessed what I was driven to do!" cried the woman. +Distracted by the vividness of her dreadful apprehensions, her head +ringing with forceful words, that kept the horror of her position +before her mind, she had imagined her incoherence to be clearness +itself. She had no conscience of how little she had audibly said +in the disjointed phrases completed only in her thought. She had +felt the relief of a full confession, and she gave a special +meaning to every sentence spoken by Comrade Ossipon, whose +knowledge did not in the least resemble her own. "Haven't you +guessed what I was driven to do!" Her voice fell. "You needn't be +long in guessing then what I am afraid of," she continued, in a +bitter and sombre murmur. "I won't have it. I won't. I won't. I +won't. You must promise to kill me first!" She shook the lapels +of his coat. "It must never be!" + +He assured her curtly that no promises on his part were necessary, +but he took good care not to contradict her in set terms, because +he had had much to do with excited women, and he was inclined in +general to let his experience guide his conduct in preference to +applying his sagacity to each special case. His sagacity in this +case was busy in other directions. Women's words fell into water, +but the shortcomings of time-tables remained. The insular nature +of Great Britain obtruded itself upon his notice in an odious form. +"Might just as well be put under lock and key every night," he +thought irritably, as nonplussed as though he had a wall to scale +with the woman on his back. Suddenly he slapped his forehead. He +had by dint of cudgelling his brains just thought of the +Southampton - St Malo service. The boat left about midnight. +There was a train at 10.30. He became cheery and ready to act. + +"From Waterloo. Plenty of time. We are all right after all. . . . +What's the matter now? This isn't the way," he protested. + +Mrs Verloc, having hooked her arm into his, was trying to drag him +into Brett Street again. + +"I've forgotten to shut the shop door as I went out," she +whispered, terribly agitated. + +The shop and all that was in it had ceased to interest Comrade +Ossipon. He knew how to limit his desires. He was on the point of +saying "What of that? Let it be," but he refrained. He disliked +argument about trifles. He even mended his pace considerably on +the thought that she might have left the money in the drawer. But +his willingness lagged behind her feverish impatience. + +The shop seemed to be quite dark at first. The door stood ajar. +Mrs Verloc, leaning against the front, gasped out: + +"Nobody has been in. Look! The light - the light in the parlour." + +Ossipon, stretching his head forward, saw a faint gleam in the +darkness of the shop. + +"There is," he said. + +"I forgot it." Mrs Verloc's voice came from behind her veil +faintly. And as he stood waiting for her to enter first, she said +louder: "Go in and put it out - or I'll go mad." + +He made no immediate objection to this proposal, so strangely +motived. "Where's all that money?" he asked. + +"On me! Go, Tom. Quick! Put it out. . . . Go in!" she cried, +seizing him by both shoulders from behind. + +Not prepared for a display of physical force, Comrade Ossipon +stumbled far into the shop before her push. He was astonished at +the strength of the woman and scandalised by her proceedings. But +he did not retrace his steps in order to remonstrate with her +severely in the street. He was beginning to be disagreeably +impressed by her fantastic behaviour. Moreover, this or never was +the time to humour the woman. Comrade Ossipon avoided easily the +end of the counter, and approached calmly the glazed door of the +parlour. The curtain over the panes being drawn back a little he, +by a very natural impulse, looked in, just as he made ready to turn +the handle. He looked in without a thought, without intention, +without curiosity of any sort. He looked in because he could not +help looking in. He looked in, and discovered Mr Verloc reposing +quietly on the sofa. + +A yell coming from the innermost depths of his chest died out +unheard and transformed into a sort of greasy, sickly taste on his +lips. At the same time the mental personality of Comrade Ossipon +executed a frantic leap backward. But his body, left thus without +intellectual guidance, held on to the door handle with the +unthinking force of an instinct. The robust anarchist did not even +totter. And he stared, his face close to the glass, his eyes +protruding out of his head. He would have given anything to get +away, but his returning reason informed him that it would not do to +let go the door handle. What was it - madness, a nightmare, or a +trap into which he had been decoyed with fiendish artfulness? Why +- what for? He did not know. Without any sense of guilt in his +breast, in the full peace of his conscience as far as these people +were concerned, the idea that he would be murdered for mysterious +reasons by the couple Verloc passed not so much across his mind as +across the pit of his stomach, and went out, leaving behind a trail +of sickly faintness - an indisposition. Comrade Ossipon did not +feel very well in a very special way for a moment - a long moment. +And he stared. Mr Verloc lay very still meanwhile, simulating +sleep for reasons of his own, while that savage woman of his was +guarding the door - invisible and silent in the dark and deserted +street. Was all this a some sort of terrifying arrangement +invented by the police for his especial benefit? His modesty +shrank from that explanation. + +But the true sense of the scene he was beholding came to Ossipon +through the contemplation of the hat. It seemed an extraordinary +thing, an ominous object, a sign. Black, and rim upward, it lay on +the floor before the couch as if prepared to receive the +contributions of pence from people who would come presently to +behold Mr Verloc in the fullness of his domestic ease reposing on a +sofa. From the hat the eyes of the robust anarchist wandered to +the displaced table, gazed at the broken dish for a time, received +a kind of optical shock from observing a white gleam under the +imperfectly closed eyelids of the man on the couch. Mr Verloc did +not seem so much asleep now as lying down with a bent head and +looking insistently at his left breast. And when Comrade Ossipon +had made out the handle of the knife he turned away from the glazed +door, and retched violently. + +The crash of the street door flung to made his very soul leap in a +panic. This house with its harmless tenant could still be made a +trap of - a trap of a terrible kind. Comrade Ossipon had no +settled conception now of what was happening to him. Catching his +thigh against the end of the counter, he spun round, staggered with +a cry of pain, felt in the distracting clatter of the bell his arms +pinned to his side by a convulsive hug, while the cold lips of a +woman moved creepily on his very ear to form the words: + +"Policeman! He has seen me!" + +He ceased to struggle; she never let him go. Her hands had locked +themselves with an inseparable twist of fingers on his robust back. +While the footsteps approached, they breathed quickly, breast to +breast, with hard, laboured breaths, as if theirs had been the +attitude of a deadly struggle, while, in fact, it was the attitude +of deadly fear. And the time was long. + +The constable on the beat had in truth seen something of Mrs +Verloc; only coming from the lighted thoroughfare at the other end +of Brett Street, she had been no more to him than a flutter in the +darkness. And he was not even quite sure that there had been a +flutter. He had no reason to hurry up. On coming abreast of the +shop he observed that it had been closed early. There was nothing +very unusual in that. The men on duty had special instructions +about that shop: what went on about there was not to be meddled +with unless absolutely disorderly, but any observations made were +to be reported. There were no observations to make; but from a +sense of duty and for the peace of his conscience, owing also to +that doubtful flutter of the darkness, the constable crossed the +road, and tried the door. The spring latch, whose key was reposing +for ever off duty in the late Mr Verloc's waistcoat pocket, held as +well as usual. While the conscientious officer was shaking the +handle, Ossipon felt the cold lips of the woman stirring again +creepily against his very ear: + +"If he comes in kill me - kill me, Tom." + +The constable moved away, flashing as he passed the light of his +dark lantern, merely for form's sake, at the shop window. For a +moment longer the man and the woman inside stood motionless, +panting, breast to breast; then her fingers came unlocked, her arms +fell by her side slowly. Ossipon leaned against the counter. The +robust anarchist wanted support badly. This was awful. He was +almost too disgusted for speech. Yet he managed to utter a +plaintive thought, showing at least that he realised his position. + +"Only a couple of minutes later and you'd have made me blunder +against the fellow poking about here with his damned dark lantern." + +The widow of Mr Verloc, motionless in the middle of the shop, said +insistently: + +"Go in and put that light out, Tom. It will drive me crazy." + +She saw vaguely his vehement gesture of refusal. Nothing in the +world would have induced Ossipon to go into the parlour. He was +not superstitious, but there was too much blood on the floor; a +beastly pool of it all round the hat. He judged he had been +already far too near that corpse for his peace of mind - for the +safety of his neck, perhaps! + +"At the meter then! There. Look. In that corner." + +The robust form of Comrade Ossipon, striding brusque and shadowy +across the shop, squatted in a corner obediently; but this +obedience was without grace. He fumbled nervously - and suddenly +in the sound of a muttered curse the light behind the glazed door +flicked out to a gasping, hysterical sigh of a woman. Night, the +inevitable reward of men's faithful labours on this earth, night +had fallen on Mr Verloc, the tried revolutionist - "one of the old +lot" - the humble guardian of society; the invaluable Secret Agent +[delta] of Baron Stott-Wartenheim's despatches; a servant of law +and order, faithful, trusted, accurate, admirable, with perhaps one +single amiable weakness: the idealistic belief in being loved for +himself. + +Ossipon groped his way back through the stuffy atmosphere, as black +as ink now, to the counter. The voice of Mrs Verloc, standing in +the middle of the shop, vibrated after him in that blackness with a +desperate protest. + +"I will not be hanged, Tom. I will not - " + +She broke off. Ossipon from the counter issued a warning: "Don't +shout like this," then seemed to reflect profoundly. "You did this +thing quite by yourself?" he inquired in a hollow voice, but with +an appearance of masterful calmness which filled Mrs Verloc's heart +with grateful confidence in his protecting strength. + +"Yes," she whispered, invisible. + +"I wouldn't have believed it possible," he muttered. "Nobody +would." She heard him move about and the snapping of a lock in the +parlour door. Comrade Ossipon had turned the key on Mr Verloc's +repose; and this he did not from reverence for its eternal nature +or any other obscurely sentimental consideration, but for the +precise reason that he was not at all sure that there was not +someone else hiding somewhere in the house. He did not believe the +woman, or rather he was incapable by now of judging what could be +true, possible, or even probable in this astounding universe. He +was terrified out of all capacity for belief or disbelief in regard +of this extraordinary affair, which began with police inspectors +and Embassies and would end goodness knows where - on the scaffold +for someone. He was terrified at the thought that he could not +prove the use he made of his time ever since seven o'clock, for he +had been skulking about Brett Street. He was terrified at this +savage woman who had brought him in there, and would probably +saddle him with complicity, at least if he were not careful. He +was terrified at the rapidity with which he had been involved in +such dangers - decoyed into it. It was some twenty minutes since +he had met her - not more. + +The voice of Mrs Verloc rose subdued, pleading piteously: "Don't +let them hang me, Tom! Take me out of the country. I'll work for +you. I'll slave for you. I'll love you. I've no one in the +world. . . . Who would look at me if you don't!" She ceased for a +moment; then in the depths of the loneliness made round her by an +insignificant thread of blood trickling off the handle of a knife, +she found a dreadful inspiration to her - who had been the +respectable girl of the Belgravian mansion, the loyal, respectable +wife of Mr Verloc. "I won't ask you to marry me," she breathed out +in shame-faced accents. + +She moved a step forward in the darkness. He was terrified at her. +He would not have been surprised if she had suddenly produced +another knife destined for his breast. He certainly would have +made no resistance. He had really not enough fortitude in him just +then to tell her to keep back. But he inquired in a cavernous, +strange tone: "Was he asleep?" + +"No," she cried, and went on rapidly. "He wasn't. Not he. He had +been telling me that nothing could touch him. After taking the boy +away from under my very eyes to kill him - the loving, innocent, +harmless lad. My own, I tell you. He was lying on the couch quite +easy - after killing the boy - my boy. I would have gone on the +streets to get out of his sight. And he says to me like this: +`Come here,' after telling me I had helped to kill the boy. You +hear, Tom? He says like this: `Come here,' after taking my very +heart out of me along with the boy to smash in the dirt." + +She ceased, then dreamily repeated twice: "Blood and dirt. Blood +and dirt." A great light broke upon Comrade Ossipon. It was that +half-witted lad then who had perished in the park. And the fooling +of everybody all round appeared more complete than ever - colossal. +He exclaimed scientifically, in the extremity of his astonishment: +"The degenerate - by heavens!" + +"Come here." The voice of Mrs Verloc rose again. "What did he +think I was made of? Tell me, Tom. Come here! Me! Like this! I +had been looking at the knife, and I thought I would come then if +he wanted me so much. Oh yes! I came - for the last time. . . . +With the knife." + +He was excessively terrified at her - the sister of the degenerate +- a degenerate herself of a murdering type . . . or else of the +lying type. Comrade Ossipon might have been said to be terrified +scientifically in addition to all other kinds of fear. It was an +immeasurable and composite funk, which from its very excess gave +him in the dark a false appearance of calm and thoughtful +deliberation. For he moved and spoke with difficulty, being as if +half frozen in his will and mind - and no one could see his ghastly +face. He felt half dead. + +He leaped a foot high. Unexpectedly Mrs Verloc had desecrated the +unbroken reserved decency of her home by a shrill and terrible +shriek. + +"Help, Tom! Save me. I won't be hanged!" + +He rushed forward, groping for her mouth with a silencing hand, and +the shriek died out. But in his rush he had knocked her over. He +felt her now clinging round his legs, and his terror reached its +culminating point, became a sort of intoxication, entertained +delusions, acquired the characteristics of delirium tremens. He +positively saw snakes now. He saw the woman twined round him like +a snake, not to be shaken off. She was not deadly. She was death +itself - the companion of life. + +Mrs Verloc, as if relieved by the outburst, was very far from +behaving noisily now. She was pitiful. + +"Tom, you can't throw me off now," she murmured from the floor. +"Not unless you crush my head under your heel. I won't leave you." + +"Get up," said Ossipon. + +His face was so pale as to be quite visible in the profound black +darkness of the shop; while Mrs Verloc, veiled, had no face, almost +no discernible form. The trembling of something small and white, a +flower in her hat, marked her place, her movements. + +It rose in the blackness. She had got up from the floor, and +Ossipon regretted not having, run out at once into the street. But +he perceived easily that it would not do. It would not do. She +would run after him. She would pursue him shrieking till she sent +every policeman within hearing in chase. And then goodness only +knew what she would say of him. He was so frightened that for a +moment the insane notion of strangling her in the dark passed +through his mind. And he became more frightened than ever! She +had him! He saw himself living in abject terror in some obscure +hamlet in Spain or Italy; till some fine morning they found him +dead too, with a knife in his breast - like Mr Verloc. He sighed +deeply. He dared not move. And Mrs Verloc waited in silence the +good pleasure of her saviour, deriving comfort from his reflective +silence. + +Suddenly he spoke up in an almost natural voice. His reflections +had come to an end. + +"Let's get out, or we will lose the train." + +"Where are we going to, Tom?" she asked timidly. Mrs Verloc was no +longer a free woman. + +"Let's get to Paris first, the best way we can. . . . Go out first, +and see if the way's clear." + +She obeyed. Her voice came subdued through the cautiously opened +door. + +"It's all right." + +Ossipon came out. Notwithstanding his endeavours to be gentle, the +cracked bell clattered behind the closed door in the empty shop, as +if trying in vain to warn the reposing Mr Verloc of the final +departure of his wife - accompanied by his friend. + +In the hansom, they presently picked up, the robust anarchist +became explanatory. He was still awfully pale, with eyes that +seemed to have sunk a whole half-inch into his tense face. But he +seemed to have thought of everything with extraordinary method. + +"When we arrive," he discoursed in a queer, monotonous tone, "you +must go into the station ahead of me, as if we did not know each +other. I will take the tickets, and slip in yours into your hand +as I pass you. Then you will go into the first-class ladies' +waiting-room, and sit there till ten minutes before the train +starts. Then you come out. I will be outside. You go in first on +the platform, as if you did not know me. There may be eyes +watching there that know what's what. Alone you are only a woman +going off by train. I am known. With me, you may be guessed at as +Mrs Verloc running away. Do you understand, my dear?" he added, +with an effort. + +"Yes," said Mrs Verloc, sitting there against him in the hansom all +rigid with the dread of the gallows and the fear of death. "Yes, +Tom." And she added to herself, like an awful refrain: "The drop +given was fourteen feet." + +Ossipon, not looking at her, and with a face like a fresh plaster +cast of himself after a wasting illness, said: "By-the-by, I ought +to have the money for the tickets now." + +Mrs Verloc, undoing some hooks of her bodice, while she went on +staring ahead beyond the splashboard, handed over to him the new +pigskin pocket-book. He received it without a word, and seemed to +plunge it deep somewhere into his very breast. Then he slapped his +coat on the outside. + +All this was done without the exchange of a single glance; they +were like two people looking out for the first sight of a desired +goal. It was not till the hansom swung round a corner and towards +the bridge that Ossipon opened his lips again. + +"Do you know how much money there is in that thing?" he asked, as +if addressing slowly some hobgoblin sitting between the ears of the +horse. + +"No," said Mrs Verloc. "He gave it to me. I didn't count. I +thought nothing of it at the time. Afterwards - " + +She moved her right hand a little. It was so expressive that +little movement of that right hand which had struck the deadly blow +into a man's heart less than an hour before that Ossipon could not +repress a shudder. He exaggerated it then purposely, and muttered: + +"I am cold. I got chilled through." + +Mrs Verloc looked straight ahead at the perspective of her escape. +Now and then, like a sable streamer blown across a road, the words +"The drop given was fourteen feet" got in the way of her tense +stare. Through her black veil the whites of her big eyes gleamed +lustrously like the eyes of a masked woman. + +Ossipon's rigidity had something business-like, a queer official +expression. He was heard again all of a sudden, as though he had +released a catch in order to speak. + +"Look here! Do you know whether your - whether he kept his account +at the bank in his own name or in some other name." + +Mrs Verloc turned upon him her masked face and the big white gleam +of her eyes. + +"Other name?" she said thoughtfully. + +"Be exact in what you say," Ossipon lectured in the swift motion of +the hansom. "It's extremely important. I will explain to you. +The bank has the numbers of these notes. If they were paid to him +in his own name, then when his - his death becomes known, the notes +may serve to track us since we have no other money. You have no +other money on you?" + +She shook her head negatively. + +"None whatever?" he insisted. + +"A few coppers." + +"It would be dangerous in that case. The money would have then to +be dealt specially with. Very specially. We'd have perhaps to +lose more than half the amount in order to get these notes changed +in a certain safe place I know of in Paris. In the other case I +mean if he had his account and got paid out under some other name - +say Smith, for instance - the money is perfectly safe to use. You +understand? The bank has no means of knowing that Mr Verloc and, +say, Smith are one and the same person. Do you see how important +it is that you should make no mistake in answering me? Can you +answer that query at all? Perhaps not. Eh?" + +She said composedly: + +"I remember now! He didn't bank in his own name. He told me once +that it was on deposit in the name of Prozor." + +"You are sure?" + +"Certain." + +"You don't think the bank had any knowledge of his real name? Or +anybody in the bank or - " + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +"How can I know? Is it likely, Tom? + +"No. I suppose it's not likely. It would have been more +comfortable to know. . . . Here we are. Get out first, and walk +straight in. Move smartly." + +He remained behind, and paid the cabman out of his own loose +silver. The programme traced by his minute foresight was carried +out. When Mrs Verloc, with her ticket for St Malo in her hand, +entered the ladies' waiting-room, Comrade Ossipon walked into the +bar, and in seven minutes absorbed three goes of hot brandy and +water. + +"Trying to drive out a cold," he explained to the barmaid, with a +friendly nod and a grimacing smile. Then he came out, bringing out +from that festive interlude the face of a man who had drunk at the +very Fountain of Sorrow. He raised his eyes to the clock. It was +time. He waited. + +Punctual, Mrs Verloc came out, with her veil down, and all black - +black as commonplace death itself, crowned with a few cheap and +pale flowers. She passed close to a little group of men who were +laughing, but whose laughter could have been struck dead by a +single word. Her walk was indolent, but her back was straight, and +Comrade Ossipon looked after it in terror before making a start +himself. + +The train was drawn up, with hardly anybody about its row of open +doors. Owing to the time of the year and to the abominable weather +there were hardly any passengers. Mrs Verloc walked slowly along +the line of empty compartments till Ossipon touched her elbow from +behind. + +"In here." + +She got in, and he remained on the platform looking about. She +bent forward, and in a whisper: + +"What is it, Tom? Is there any danger? Wait a moment. There's +the guard." + +She saw him accost the man in uniform. They talked for a while. +She heard the guard say "Very well, sir," and saw him touch his +cap. Then Ossipon came back, saying: "I told him not to let +anybody get into our compartment." + +She was leaning forward on her seat. "You think of everything. . . +. You'll get me off, Tom?" she asked in a gust of anguish, lifting +her veil brusquely to look at her saviour. + +She had uncovered a face like adamant. And out of this face the +eyes looked on, big, dry, enlarged, lightless, burnt out like two +black holes in the white, shining globes. + +"There is no danger," he said, gazing into them with an earnestness +almost rapt, which to Mrs Verloc, flying from the gallows, seemed +to be full of force and tenderness. This devotion deeply moved her +- and the adamantine face lost the stern rigidity of its terror. +Comrade Ossipon gazed at it as no lover ever gazed at his +mistress's face. Alexander Ossipon, anarchist, nicknamed the +Doctor, author of a medical (and improper) pamphlet, late lecturer +on the social aspects of hygiene to working men's clubs, was free +from the trammels of conventional morality - but he submitted to +the rule of science. He was scientific, and he gazed +scientifically at that woman, the sister of a degenerate, a +degenerate herself - of a murdering type. He gazed at her, and +invoked Lombroso, as an Italian peasant recommends himself to his +favourite saint. He gazed scientifically. He gazed at her cheeks, +at her nose, at her eyes, at her ears. . . . Bad! . . . Fatal! Mrs +Verloc's pale lips parting, slightly relaxed under his passionately +attentive gaze, he gazed also at her teeth. . . . Not a doubt +remained . . . a murdering type. . . . If Comrade Ossipon did not +recommend his terrified soul to Lombroso, it was only because on +scientific grounds he could not believe that he carried about him +such a thing as a soul. But he had in him the scientific spirit, +which moved him to testify on the platform of a railway station in +nervous jerky phrases. + +"He was an extraordinary lad, that brother of yours. Most +interesting to study. A perfect type in a way. Perfect!" + +He spoke scientifically in his secret fear. And Mrs Verloc, +hearing these words of commendation vouchsafed to her beloved dead, +swayed forward with a flicker of light in her sombre eyes, like a +ray of sunshine heralding a tempest of rain. + +"He was that indeed," she whispered softly, with quivering lips. +"You took a lot of notice of him, Tom. I loved you for it." + +"It's almost incredible the resemblance there was between you two," +pursued Ossipon, giving a voice to his abiding dread, and trying to +conceal his nervous, sickening impatience for the train to start. +"Yes; he resembled you." + +These words were not especially touching or sympathetic. But the +fact of that resemblance insisted upon was enough in itself to act +upon her emotions powerfully. With a little faint cry, and +throwing her arms out, Mrs Verloc burst into tears at last. + +Ossipon entered the carriage, hastily closed the door and looked +out to see the time by the station clock. Eight minutes more. For +the first three of these Mrs Verloc wept violently and helplessly +without pause or interruption. Then she recovered somewhat, and +sobbed gently in an abundant fall of tears. She tried to talk to +her saviour, to the man who was the messenger of life. + +"Oh, Tom! How could I fear to die after he was taken away from me +so cruelly! How could I! How could I be such a coward!" + +She lamented aloud her love of life, that life without grace or +charm, and almost without decency, but of an exalted faithfulness +of purpose, even unto murder. And, as often happens in the lament +of poor humanity, rich in suffering but indigent in words, the +truth - the very cry of truth - was found in a worn and artificial +shape picked up somewhere among the phrases of sham sentiment. + +"How could I be so afraid of death! Tom, I tried. But I am +afraid. I tried to do away with myself. And I couldn't. Am I +hard? I suppose the cup of horrors was not full enough for such as +me. Then when you came. . . . " + +She paused. Then in a gust of confidence and gratitude, "I will +live all my days for you, Tom!" she sobbed out. + +"Go over into the other corner of the carriage, away from the +platform," said Ossipon solicitously. She let her saviour settle +her comfortably, and he watched the coming on of another crisis of +weeping, still more violent than the first. He watched the +symptoms with a sort of medical air, as if counting seconds. He +heard the guard's whistle at last. An involuntary contraction of +the upper lip bared his teeth with all the aspect of savage +resolution as he felt the train beginning to move. Mrs Verloc +heard and felt nothing, and Ossipon, her saviour, stood still. He +felt the train roll quicker, rumbling heavily to the sound of the +woman's loud sobs, and then crossing the carriage in two long +strides he opened the door deliberately, and leaped out. + +He had leaped out at the very end of the platform; and such was his +determination in sticking to his desperate plan that he managed by +a sort of miracle, performed almost in the air, to slam to the door +of the carriage. Only then did he find himself rolling head over +heels like a shot rabbit. He was bruised, shaken, pale as death, +and out of breath when he got up. But he was calm, and perfectly +able to meet the excited crowd of railway men who had gathered +round him in a moment. He explained, in gentle and convincing +tones, that his wife had started at a moment's notice for Brittany +to her dying mother; that, of course, she was greatly up-set, and +he considerably concerned at her state; that he was trying to cheer +her up, and had absolutely failed to notice at first that the train +was moving out. To the general exclamation, "Why didn't you go on +to Southampton, then, sir?" he objected the inexperience of a young +sister-in-law left alone in the house with three small children, +and her alarm at his absence, the telegraph offices being closed. +He had acted on impulse. "But I don't think I'll ever try that +again," he concluded; smiled all round; distributed some small +change, and marched without a limp out of the station. + +Outside, Comrade Ossipon, flush of safe banknotes as never before +in his life, refused the offer of a cab. + +"I can walk," he said, with a little friendly laugh to the civil +driver. + +He could walk. He walked. He crossed the bridge. Later on the +towers of the Abbey saw in their massive immobility the yellow bush +of his hair passing under the lamps. The lights of Victoria saw +him too, and Sloane Square, and the railings of the park. And +Comrade Ossipon once more found himself on a bridge. The river, a +sinister marvel of still shadows and flowing gleams mingling below +in a black silence, arrested his attention. He stood looking over +the parapet for a long time. The clock tower boomed a brazen blast +above his drooping head. He looked up at the dial. . . . Half-past +twelve of a wild night in the Channel. + +And again Comrade Ossipon walked. His robust form was seen that +night in distant parts of the enormous town slumbering monstrously +on a carpet of mud under a veil of raw mist. It was seen crossing +the streets without life and sound, or diminishing in the +interminable straight perspectives of shadowy houses bordering +empty roadways lined by strings of gas lamps. He walked through +Squares, Places, Ovals, Commons, through monotonous streets with +unknown names where the dust of humanity settles inert and hopeless +out of the stream of life. He walked. And suddenly turning into a +strip of a front garden with a mangy grass plot, he let himself +into a small grimy house with a latch-key he took out of his +pocket. + +He threw himself down on his bed all dressed, and lay still for a +whole quarter of an hour. Then he sat up suddenly, drawing up his +knees, and clasping his legs. The first dawn found him open-eyed, +in that same posture. This man who could walk so long, so far, so +aimlessly, without showing a sign of fatigue, could also remain +sitting still for hours without stirring a limb or an eyelid. But +when the late sun sent its rays into the room he unclasped his +hands, and fell back on the pillow. His eyes stared at the +ceiling. And suddenly they closed. Comrade Ossipon slept in the +sunlight. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + + +The enormous iron padlock on the doors of the wall cupboard was the +only object in the room on which the eye could rest without +becoming afflicted by the miserable unloveliness of forms and the +poverty of material. Unsaleable in the ordinary course of business +on account of its noble proportions, it had been ceded to the +Professor for a few pence by a marine dealer in the east of London. +The room was large, clean, respectable, and poor with that poverty +suggesting the starvation of every human need except mere bread. +There was nothing on the walls but the paper, an expanse of +arsenical green, soiled with indelible smudges here and there, and +with stains resembling faded maps of uninhabited continents. + +At a deal table near a window sat Comrade Ossipon, holding his head +between his fists. The Professor, dressed in his only suit of +shoddy tweeds, but flapping to and fro on the bare boards a pair of +incredibly dilapidated slippers, had thrust his hands deep into the +overstrained pockets of his jacket. He was relating to his robust +guest a visit he had lately been paying to the Apostle Michaelis. +The Perfect Anarchist had even been unbending a little. + +"The fellow didn't know anything of Verloc's death. Of course! He +never looks at the newspapers. They make him too sad, he says. +But never mind. I walked into his cottage. Not a soul anywhere. +I had to shout half-a-dozen times before he answered me. I thought +he was fast asleep yet, in bed. But not at all. He had been +writing his book for four hours already. He sat in that tiny cage +in a litter of manuscript. There was a half-eaten raw carrot on +the table near him. His breakfast. He lives on a diet of raw +carrots and a little milk now." + +"How does he look on it?" asked Comrade Ossipon listlessly. + +"Angelic. . . . I picked up a handful of his pages from the floor. +The poverty of reasoning is astonishing. He has no logic. He +can't think consecutively. But that's nothing. He has divided his +biography into three parts, entitled - `Faith, Hope, Charity.' He +is elaborating now the idea of a world planned out like an immense +and nice hospital, with gardens and flowers, in which the strong +are to devote themselves to the nursing of the weak." + +The Professor paused. + +"Conceive you this folly, Ossipon? The weak! The source of all +evil on this earth!" he continued with his grim assurance. "I told +him that I dreamt of a world like shambles, where the weak would be +taken in hand for utter extermination." + +"Do you understand, Ossipon? The source of all evil! They are our +sinister masters - the weak, the flabby, the silly, the cowardly, +the faint of heart, and the slavish of mind. They have power. +They are the multitude. Theirs is the kingdom of the earth. +Exterminate, exterminate! That is the only way of progress. It +is! Follow me, Ossipon. First the great multitude of the weak +must go, then the only relatively strong. You see? First the +blind, then the deaf and the dumb, then the halt and the lame - and +so on. Every taint, every vice, every prejudice, every convention +must meet its doom." + +"And what remains?" asked Ossipon in a stifled voice. + +"I remain - if I am strong enough," asserted the sallow little +Professor, whose large ears, thin like membranes, and standing far +out from the sides of his frail skull, took on suddenly a deep red +tint. + +"Haven't I suffered enough from this oppression of the weak?" he +continued forcibly. Then tapping the breast-pocket of his jacket: +"And yet I AM the force," he went on. "But the time! The time! +Give me time! Ah! that multitude, too stupid to feel either pity +or fear. Sometimes I think they have everything on their side. +Everything - even death - my own weapon." + +"Come and drink some beer with me at the Silenus," said the robust +Ossipon after an interval of silence pervaded by the rapid flap, +flap of the slippers on the feet of the Perfect Anarchist. This +last accepted. He was jovial that day in his own peculiar way. He +slapped Ossipon's shoulder. + +"Beer! So be it! Let us drink and he merry, for we are strong, +and to-morrow we die." + +He busied himself with putting on his boots, and talked meanwhile +in his curt, resolute tones. + +"What's the matter with you, Ossipon? You look glum and seek even +my company. I hear that you are seen constantly in places where +men utter foolish things over glasses of liquor. Why? Have you +abandoned your collection of women? They are the weak who feed the +strong - eh?" + +He stamped one foot, and picked up his other laced boot, heavy, +thick-soled, unblacked, mended many times. He smiled to himself +grimly. + +"Tell me, Ossipon, terrible man, has ever one of your victims +killed herself for you - or are your triumphs so far incomplete - +for blood alone puts a seal on greatness? Blood. Death. Look at +history." + +"You be damned," said Ossipon, without turning his head. + +"Why? Let that be the hope of the weak, whose theology has +invented hell for the strong. Ossipon, my feeling for you is +amicable contempt. You couldn't kill a fly." + +But rolling to the feast on the top of the omnibus the Professor +lost his high spirits. The contemplation of the multitudes +thronging the pavements extinguished his assurance under a load of +doubt and uneasiness which he could only shake off after a period +of seclusion in the room with the large cupboard closed by an +enormous padlock. + +"And so," said over his shoulder Comrade Ossipon, who sat on the +seat behind. "And so Michaelis dreams of a world like a beautiful +and cheery hospital." + +"Just so. An immense charity for the healing of the weak," +assented the Professor sardonically. + +"That's silly," admitted Ossipon. "You can't heal weakness. But +after all Michaelis may not be so far wrong. In two hundred years +doctors will rule the world. Science reigns already. It reigns in +the shade maybe - but it reigns. And all science must culminate at +last in the science of healing - not the weak, but the strong. +Mankind wants to live - to live." + +"Mankind," asserted the Professor with a self-confident glitter of +his iron-rimmed spectacles, "does not know what it wants." + +"But you do," growled Ossipon. "Just now you've been crying for +time - time. Well. The doctors will serve you out your time - if +you are good. You profess yourself to be one of the strong - +because you carry in your pocket enough stuff to send yourself and, +say, twenty other people into eternity. But eternity is a damned +hole. It's time that you need. You - if you met a man who could +give you for certain ten years of time, you would call him your +master." + +"My device is: No God! No Master," said the Professor +sententiously as he rose to get off the `bus. + +Ossipon followed. "Wait till you are lying flat on your back at +the end of your time," he retorted, jumping off the footboard after +the other. "Your scurvy, shabby, mangy little bit of time," he +continued across the street, and hopping on to the curbstone. + +"Ossipon, I think that you are a humbug," the Professor said, +opening masterfully the doors of the renowned Silenus. And when +they had established themselves at a little table he developed +further this gracious thought. "You are not even a doctor. But +you are funny. Your notion of a humanity universally putting out +the tongue and taking the pill from pole to pole at the bidding of +a few solemn jokers is worthy of the prophet. Prophecy! What's +the good of thinking of what will be!" He raised his glass. "To +the destruction of what is," he said calmly. + +He drank and relapsed into his peculiarly close manner of silence. +The thought of a mankind as numerous as the sands of the sea-shore, +as indestructible, as difficult to handle, oppressed him. The +sound of exploding bombs was lost in their immensity of passive +grains without an echo. For instance, this Verloc affair. Who +thought of it now? + +Ossipon, as if suddenly compelled by some mysterious force, pulled +a much-folded newspaper out of is pocket. The Professor raised his +head at the rustle. + +"What's that paper? Anything in it?" he asked. + +Ossipon started like a scared somnambulist. + +"Nothing. Nothing whatever. The thing's ten days old. I forgot +it in my pocket, I suppose." + +But he did not throw the old thing away. Before returning it to +his pocket he stole a glance at the last lines of a paragraph. +They ran thus: "AN IMPENETRABLE MYSTERY SEEMS DESTINED TO HANG FOR +EVER OVER THIS ACT OF MADNESS OR DESPAIR." + +Such were the end words of an item of news headed: "Suicide of Lady +Passenger from a cross-Channel Boat." Comrade Ossipon was familiar +with the beauties of its journalistic style. "AN IMPENETRABLE +MYSTERY SEEMS DESTINED TO HANG FOR EVER. . . " He knew every word +by heart. "AN IMPENETRABLE MYSTERY. . . . " + +And the robust anarchist, hanging his head on his breast, fell into +a long reverie. + +He was menaced by this thing in the very sources of his existence. +He could not issue forth to meet his various conquests, those that +he courted on benches in Kensington Gardens, and those he met near +area railings, without the dread of beginning to talk to them of an +impenetrable mystery destined. . . . He was becoming scientifically +afraid of insanity lying in wait for him amongst these lines. "TO +HANG FOR EVER OVER." It was an obsession, a torture. He had +lately failed to keep several of these appointments, whose note +used to be an unbounded trustfulness in the language of sentiment +and manly tenderness. The confiding disposition of various classes +of women satisfied the needs of his self-love, and put some +material means into his hand. He needed it to live. It was there. +But if he could no longer make use of it, he ran the risk of +starving his ideals and his body . . . "THIS ACT OF MADNESS OR +DESPAIR." + +"An impenetrable mystery" was sure "to hang for ever" as far as all +mankind was concerned. But what of that if he alone of all men +could never get rid of the cursed knowledge? And Comrade Ossipon's +knowledge was as precise as the newspaper man could make it - up to +the very threshold of the "MYSTERY DESTINED TO HANG FOR EVER. . . +." + +Comrade Ossipon was well informed. He knew what the gangway man of +the steamer had seen: "A lady in a black dress and a black veil, +wandering at midnight alongside, on the quay. `Are you going by +the boat, ma'am,' he had asked her encouragingly. `This way.' She +seemed not to know what to do. He helped her on board. She seemed +weak." + +And he knew also what the stewardess had seen: A lady in black with +a white face standing in the middle of the empty ladies' cabin. +The stewardess induced her to lie down there. The lady seemed +quite unwilling to speak, and as if she were in some awful trouble. +The next the stewardess knew she was gone from the ladies' cabin. +The stewardess then went on deck to look for her, and Comrade +Ossipon was informed that the good woman found the unhappy lady +lying down in one of the hooded seats. Her eyes were open, but she +would not answer anything that was said to her. She seemed very +ill. The stewardess fetched the chief steward, and those two +people stood by the side of the hooded seat consulting over their +extraordinary and tragic passenger. They talked in audible +whispers (for she seemed past hearing) of St Malo and the Consul +there, of communicating with her people in England. Then they went +away to arrange for her removal down below, for indeed by what they +could see of her face she seemed to them to be dying. But Comrade +Ossipon knew that behind that white mask of despair there was +struggling against terror and despair a vigour of vitality, a love +of life that could resist the furious anguish which drives to +murder and the fear, the blind, mad fear of the gallows. He knew. +But the stewardess and the chief steward knew nothing, except that +when they came back for her in less than five minutes the lady in +black was no longer in the hooded seat. She was nowhere. She was +gone. It was then five o'clock in the morning, and it was no +accident either. An hour afterwards one of the steamer's hands +found a wedding ring left lying on the seat. It had stuck to the +wood in a bit of wet, and its glitter caught the man's eye. There +was a date, 24th June 1879, engraved inside. "AN IMPENETRABLE +MYSTERY IS DESTINED TO HANG FOR EVER. . . . " + +And Comrade Ossipon raised his bowed head, beloved of various +humble women of these isles, Apollo-like in the sunniness of its +bush of hair. + +The Professor had grown restless meantime. He rose. + +"Stay," said Ossipon hurriedly. "Here, what do you know of madness +and despair?" + +The Professor passed the tip of his tongue on his dry, thin lips, +and said doctorally: + +"There are no such things. All passion is lost now. The world is +mediocre, limp, without force. And madness and despair are a +force. And force is a crime in the eyes of the fools, the weak and +the silly who rule the roost. You are mediocre. Verloc, whose +affair the police has managed to smother so nicely, was mediocre. +And the police murdered him. He was mediocre. Everybody is +mediocre. Madness and despair! Give me that for a lever, and I'll +move the world. Ossipon, you have my cordial scorn. You are +incapable of conceiving even what the fat-fed citizen would call a +crime. You have no force." He paused, smiling sardonically under +the fierce glitter of his thick glasses. + +"And let me tell you that this little legacy they say you've come +into has not improved your intelligence. You sit at your beer like +a dummy. Good-bye." + +"Will you have it?" said Ossipon, looking up with an idiotic grin. + +"Have what?" + +"The legacy. All of it." + +The incorruptible Professor only smiled. His clothes were all but +falling off him, his boots, shapeless with repairs, heavy like +lead, let water in at every step. He said: + +"I will send you by-and-by a small bill for certain chemicals which +I shall order to-morrow. I need them badly. Understood - eh?" + +Ossipon lowered his head slowly. He was alone. "AN IMPENETRABLE +MYSTERY. . . . . " It seemed to him that suspended in the air +before him he saw his own brain pulsating to the rhythm of an +impenetrable mystery. It was diseased clearly. . . . "THIS ACT OF +MADNESS OR DESPAIR." + +The mechanical piano near the door played through a valse cheekily, +then fell silent all at once, as if gone grumpy. + +Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, went out of the Silenus +beer-hall. At the door he hesitated, blinking at a not too +splendid sunlight - and the paper with the report of the suicide of +a lady was in his pocket. His heart was beating against it. The +suicide of a lady - THIS ACT OF MADNESS OR DESPAIR. + +He walked along the street without looking where he put his feet; +and he walked in a direction which would not bring him to the place +of appointment with another lady (an elderly nursery governess +putting her trust in an Apollo-like ambrosial head). He was +walking away from it. He could face no woman. It was ruin. He +could neither think, work, sleep, nor eat. But he was beginning to +drink with pleasure, with anticipation, with hope. It was ruin. +His revolutionary career, sustained by the sentiment and +trustfulness of many women, was menaced by an impenetrable mystery +- the mystery of a human brain pulsating wrongfully to the rhythm +of journalistic phrases. " . . . WILL HANG FOR EVER OVER THIS ACT. +. . . It was inclining towards the gutter . . . OF MADNESS OR +DESPAIR." + +"I am seriously ill," he muttered to himself with scientific +insight. Already his robust form, with an Embassy's secret-service +money (inherited from Mr Verloc) in his pockets, was marching in +the gutter as if in training for the task of an inevitable future. +Already he bowed his broad shoulders, his head of ambrosial locks, +as if ready to receive the leather yoke of the sandwich board. As +on that night, more than a week ago, Comrade Ossipon walked without +looking where he put his feet, feeling no fatigue, feeling nothing, +seeing nothing, hearing not a sound. "AN IMPENETRABLE MYSTERY. . . +." He walked disregarded. . . . "THIS ACT OF MADNESS OR DESPAIR." + +And the incorruptible Professor walked too, averting his eyes from +the odious multitude of mankind. He had no future. He disdained +it. He was a force. His thoughts caressed the images of ruin and +destruction. He walked frail, insignificant, shabby, miserable - +and terrible in the simplicity of his idea calling madness and +despair to the regeneration of the world. Nobody looked at him. +He passed on unsuspected and deadly, like a pest in the street full +of men. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Etext of The Secret Agent, by Joseph Conrad + diff --git a/old/2010-12-23-agent10.zip b/old/2010-12-23-agent10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b21cb4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/2010-12-23-agent10.zip diff --git a/old/974-0.txt b/old/974-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..14fe2da --- /dev/null +++ b/old/974-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10137 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret Agent, by Joseph Conrad + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Secret Agent + A Simple Tale + +Author: Joseph Conrad + +Release Date: June 28, 1997 [eBook #974] +[Most recently updated: June 9, 2021] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: David Price + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET AGENT *** + + + + + THE + SECRET AGENT + A SIMPLE TALE + + + BY + JOSEPH CONRAD + + SECOND EDITION + + METHUEN & CO., + 36 ESSEX STREET W C. + LONDON + + _First Published_ . . . _September_ 1907 + + _Second Edition_ . . . _October_ 1907 + + TO + H. G. WELLS + + THE CHRONICLER OF MR LEWISHAM’S LOVE + THE BIOGRAPHER OF KIPPS AND THE + HISTORIAN OF THE AGES TO COME + + THIS SIMPLE TALE OF THE XIX CENTURY + IS AFFECTIONATELY OFFERED + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Mr Verloc, going out in the morning, left his shop nominally in charge of +his brother-in-law. It could be done, because there was very little +business at any time, and practically none at all before the evening. Mr +Verloc cared but little about his ostensible business. And, moreover, +his wife was in charge of his brother-in-law. + +The shop was small, and so was the house. It was one of those grimy +brick houses which existed in large quantities before the era of +reconstruction dawned upon London. The shop was a square box of a place, +with the front glazed in small panes. In the daytime the door remained +closed; in the evening it stood discreetly but suspiciously ajar. + +The window contained photographs of more or less undressed dancing girls; +nondescript packages in wrappers like patent medicines; closed yellow +paper envelopes, very flimsy, and marked two-and-six in heavy black +figures; a few numbers of ancient French comic publications hung across a +string as if to dry; a dingy blue china bowl, a casket of black wood, +bottles of marking ink, and rubber stamps; a few books, with titles +hinting at impropriety; a few apparently old copies of obscure +newspapers, badly printed, with titles like _The Torch_, _The +Gong_—rousing titles. And the two gas jets inside the panes were always +turned low, either for economy’s sake or for the sake of the customers. + +These customers were either very young men, who hung about the window for +a time before slipping in suddenly; or men of a more mature age, but +looking generally as if they were not in funds. Some of that last kind +had the collars of their overcoats turned right up to their moustaches, +and traces of mud on the bottom of their nether garments, which had the +appearance of being much worn and not very valuable. And the legs inside +them did not, as a general rule, seem of much account either. With their +hands plunged deep in the side pockets of their coats, they dodged in +sideways, one shoulder first, as if afraid to start the bell going. + +The bell, hung on the door by means of a curved ribbon of steel, was +difficult to circumvent. It was hopelessly cracked; but of an evening, +at the slightest provocation, it clattered behind the customer with +impudent virulence. + +It clattered; and at that signal, through the dusty glass door behind the +painted deal counter, Mr Verloc would issue hastily from the parlour at +the back. His eyes were naturally heavy; he had an air of having +wallowed, fully dressed, all day on an unmade bed. Another man would +have felt such an appearance a distinct disadvantage. In a commercial +transaction of the retail order much depends on the seller’s engaging and +amiable aspect. But Mr Verloc knew his business, and remained +undisturbed by any sort of æsthetic doubt about his appearance. With a +firm, steady-eyed impudence, which seemed to hold back the threat of some +abominable menace, he would proceed to sell over the counter some object +looking obviously and scandalously not worth the money which passed in +the transaction: a small cardboard box with apparently nothing inside, +for instance, or one of those carefully closed yellow flimsy envelopes, +or a soiled volume in paper covers with a promising title. Now and then +it happened that one of the faded, yellow dancing girls would get sold to +an amateur, as though she had been alive and young. + +Sometimes it was Mrs Verloc who would appear at the call of the cracked +bell. Winnie Verloc was a young woman with a full bust, in a tight +bodice, and with broad hips. Her hair was very tidy. Steady-eyed like +her husband, she preserved an air of unfathomable indifference behind the +rampart of the counter. Then the customer of comparatively tender years +would get suddenly disconcerted at having to deal with a woman, and with +rage in his heart would proffer a request for a bottle of marking ink, +retail value sixpence (price in Verloc’s shop one-and-sixpence), which, +once outside, he would drop stealthily into the gutter. + +The evening visitors—the men with collars turned up and soft hats rammed +down—nodded familiarly to Mrs Verloc, and with a muttered greeting, +lifted up the flap at the end of the counter in order to pass into the +back parlour, which gave access to a passage and to a steep flight of +stairs. The door of the shop was the only means of entrance to the house +in which Mr Verloc carried on his business of a seller of shady wares, +exercised his vocation of a protector of society, and cultivated his +domestic virtues. These last were pronounced. He was thoroughly +domesticated. Neither his spiritual, nor his mental, nor his physical +needs were of the kind to take him much abroad. He found at home the +ease of his body and the peace of his conscience, together with Mrs +Verloc’s wifely attentions and Mrs Verloc’s mother’s deferential regard. + +Winnie’s mother was a stout, wheezy woman, with a large brown face. She +wore a black wig under a white cap. Her swollen legs rendered her +inactive. She considered herself to be of French descent, which might +have been true; and after a good many years of married life with a +licensed victualler of the more common sort, she provided for the years +of widowhood by letting furnished apartments for gentlemen near Vauxhall +Bridge Road in a square once of some splendour and still included in the +district of Belgravia. This topographical fact was of some advantage in +advertising her rooms; but the patrons of the worthy widow were not +exactly of the fashionable kind. Such as they were, her daughter Winnie +helped to look after them. Traces of the French descent which the widow +boasted of were apparent in Winnie too. They were apparent in the +extremely neat and artistic arrangement of her glossy dark hair. Winnie +had also other charms: her youth; her full, rounded form; her clear +complexion; the provocation of her unfathomable reserve, which never went +so far as to prevent conversation, carried on on the lodgers’ part with +animation, and on hers with an equable amiability. It must be that Mr +Verloc was susceptible to these fascinations. Mr Verloc was an +intermittent patron. He came and went without any very apparent reason. +He generally arrived in London (like the influenza) from the Continent, +only he arrived unheralded by the Press; and his visitations set in with +great severity. He breakfasted in bed, and remained wallowing there with +an air of quiet enjoyment till noon every day—and sometimes even to a +later hour. But when he went out he seemed to experience a great +difficulty in finding his way back to his temporary home in the +Belgravian square. He left it late, and returned to it early—as early as +three or four in the morning; and on waking up at ten addressed Winnie, +bringing in the breakfast tray, with jocular, exhausted civility, in the +hoarse, failing tones of a man who had been talking vehemently for many +hours together. His prominent, heavy-lidded eyes rolled sideways +amorously and languidly, the bedclothes were pulled up to his chin, and +his dark smooth moustache covered his thick lips capable of much honeyed +banter. + +In Winnie’s mother’s opinion Mr Verloc was a very nice gentleman. From +her life’s experience gathered in various “business houses” the good +woman had taken into her retirement an ideal of gentlemanliness as +exhibited by the patrons of private-saloon bars. Mr Verloc approached +that ideal; he attained it, in fact. + +“Of course, we’ll take over your furniture, mother,” Winnie had remarked. + +The lodging-house was to be given up. It seems it would not answer to +carry it on. It would have been too much trouble for Mr Verloc. It +would not have been convenient for his other business. What his business +was he did not say; but after his engagement to Winnie he took the +trouble to get up before noon, and descending the basement stairs, make +himself pleasant to Winnie’s mother in the breakfast-room downstairs +where she had her motionless being. He stroked the cat, poked the fire, +had his lunch served to him there. He left its slightly stuffy cosiness +with evident reluctance, but, all the same, remained out till the night +was far advanced. He never offered to take Winnie to theatres, as such a +nice gentleman ought to have done. His evenings were occupied. His work +was in a way political, he told Winnie once. She would have, he warned +her, to be very nice to his political friends. + +And with her straight, unfathomable glance she answered that she would be +so, of course. + +How much more he told her as to his occupation it was impossible for +Winnie’s mother to discover. The married couple took her over with the +furniture. The mean aspect of the shop surprised her. The change from +the Belgravian square to the narrow street in Soho affected her legs +adversely. They became of an enormous size. On the other hand, she +experienced a complete relief from material cares. Her son-in-law’s +heavy good nature inspired her with a sense of absolute safety. Her +daughter’s future was obviously assured, and even as to her son Stevie +she need have no anxiety. She had not been able to conceal from herself +that he was a terrible encumbrance, that poor Stevie. But in view of +Winnie’s fondness for her delicate brother, and of Mr Verloc’s kind and +generous disposition, she felt that the poor boy was pretty safe in this +rough world. And in her heart of hearts she was not perhaps displeased +that the Verlocs had no children. As that circumstance seemed perfectly +indifferent to Mr Verloc, and as Winnie found an object of quasi-maternal +affection in her brother, perhaps this was just as well for poor Stevie. + +For he was difficult to dispose of, that boy. He was delicate and, in a +frail way, good-looking too, except for the vacant droop of his lower +lip. Under our excellent system of compulsory education he had learned +to read and write, notwithstanding the unfavourable aspect of the lower +lip. But as errand-boy he did not turn out a great success. He forgot +his messages; he was easily diverted from the straight path of duty by +the attractions of stray cats and dogs, which he followed down narrow +alleys into unsavoury courts; by the comedies of the streets, which he +contemplated open-mouthed, to the detriment of his employer’s interests; +or by the dramas of fallen horses, whose pathos and violence induced him +sometimes to shriek pierceingly in a crowd, which disliked to be +disturbed by sounds of distress in its quiet enjoyment of the national +spectacle. When led away by a grave and protecting policeman, it would +often become apparent that poor Stevie had forgotten his address—at least +for a time. A brusque question caused him to stutter to the point of +suffocation. When startled by anything perplexing he used to squint +horribly. However, he never had any fits (which was encouraging); and +before the natural outbursts of impatience on the part of his father he +could always, in his childhood’s days, run for protection behind the +short skirts of his sister Winnie. On the other hand, he might have been +suspected of hiding a fund of reckless naughtiness. When he had reached +the age of fourteen a friend of his late father, an agent for a foreign +preserved milk firm, having given him an opening as office-boy, he was +discovered one foggy afternoon, in his chief’s absence, busy letting off +fireworks on the staircase. He touched off in quick succession a set of +fierce rockets, angry catherine wheels, loudly exploding squibs—and the +matter might have turned out very serious. An awful panic spread through +the whole building. Wild-eyed, choking clerks stampeded through the +passages full of smoke, silk hats and elderly business men could be seen +rolling independently down the stairs. Stevie did not seem to derive any +personal gratification from what he had done. His motives for this +stroke of originality were difficult to discover. It was only later on +that Winnie obtained from him a misty and confused confession. It seems +that two other office-boys in the building had worked upon his feelings +by tales of injustice and oppression till they had wrought his compassion +to the pitch of that frenzy. But his father’s friend, of course, +dismissed him summarily as likely to ruin his business. After that +altruistic exploit Stevie was put to help wash the dishes in the basement +kitchen, and to black the boots of the gentlemen patronising the +Belgravian mansion. There was obviously no future in such work. The +gentlemen tipped him a shilling now and then. Mr Verloc showed himself +the most generous of lodgers. But altogether all that did not amount to +much either in the way of gain or prospects; so that when Winnie +announced her engagement to Mr Verloc her mother could not help +wondering, with a sigh and a glance towards the scullery, what would +become of poor Stephen now. + +It appeared that Mr Verloc was ready to take him over together with his +wife’s mother and with the furniture, which was the whole visible fortune +of the family. Mr Verloc gathered everything as it came to his broad, +good-natured breast. The furniture was disposed to the best advantage +all over the house, but Mrs Verloc’s mother was confined to two back +rooms on the first floor. The luckless Stevie slept in one of them. By +this time a growth of thin fluffy hair had come to blur, like a golden +mist, the sharp line of his small lower jaw. He helped his sister with +blind love and docility in her household duties. Mr Verloc thought that +some occupation would be good for him. His spare time he occupied by +drawing circles with compass and pencil on a piece of paper. He applied +himself to that pastime with great industry, with his elbows spread out +and bowed low over the kitchen table. Through the open door of the +parlour at the back of the shop Winnie, his sister, glanced at him from +time to time with maternal vigilance. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Such was the house, the household, and the business Mr Verloc left behind +him on his way westward at the hour of half-past ten in the morning. It +was unusually early for him; his whole person exhaled the charm of almost +dewy freshness; he wore his blue cloth overcoat unbuttoned; his boots +were shiny; his cheeks, freshly shaven, had a sort of gloss; and even his +heavy-lidded eyes, refreshed by a night of peaceful slumber, sent out +glances of comparative alertness. Through the park railings these +glances beheld men and women riding in the Row, couples cantering past +harmoniously, others advancing sedately at a walk, loitering groups of +three or four, solitary horsemen looking unsociable, and solitary women +followed at a long distance by a groom with a cockade to his hat and a +leather belt over his tight-fitting coat. Carriages went bowling by, +mostly two-horse broughams, with here and there a victoria with the skin +of some wild beast inside and a woman’s face and hat emerging above the +folded hood. And a peculiarly London sun—against which nothing could be +said except that it looked bloodshot—glorified all this by its stare. It +hung at a moderate elevation above Hyde Park Corner with an air of +punctual and benign vigilance. The very pavement under Mr Verloc’s feet +had an old-gold tinge in that diffused light, in which neither wall, nor +tree, nor beast, nor man cast a shadow. Mr Verloc was going westward +through a town without shadows in an atmosphere of powdered old gold. +There were red, coppery gleams on the roofs of houses, on the corners of +walls, on the panels of carriages, on the very coats of the horses, and +on the broad back of Mr Verloc’s overcoat, where they produced a dull +effect of rustiness. But Mr Verloc was not in the least conscious of +having got rusty. He surveyed through the park railings the evidences of +the town’s opulence and luxury with an approving eye. All these people +had to be protected. Protection is the first necessity of opulence and +luxury. They had to be protected; and their horses, carriages, houses, +servants had to be protected; and the source of their wealth had to be +protected in the heart of the city and the heart of the country; the +whole social order favourable to their hygienic idleness had to be +protected against the shallow enviousness of unhygienic labour. It had +to—and Mr Verloc would have rubbed his hands with satisfaction had he not +been constitutionally averse from every superfluous exertion. His +idleness was not hygienic, but it suited him very well. He was in a +manner devoted to it with a sort of inert fanaticism, or perhaps rather +with a fanatical inertness. Born of industrious parents for a life of +toil, he had embraced indolence from an impulse as profound as +inexplicable and as imperious as the impulse which directs a man’s +preference for one particular woman in a given thousand. He was too lazy +even for a mere demagogue, for a workman orator, for a leader of labour. +It was too much trouble. He required a more perfect form of ease; or it +might have been that he was the victim of a philosophical unbelief in the +effectiveness of every human effort. Such a form of indolence requires, +implies, a certain amount of intelligence. Mr Verloc was not devoid of +intelligence—and at the notion of a menaced social order he would perhaps +have winked to himself if there had not been an effort to make in that +sign of scepticism. His big, prominent eyes were not well adapted to +winking. They were rather of the sort that closes solemnly in slumber +with majestic effect. + +Undemonstrative and burly in a fat-pig style, Mr Verloc, without either +rubbing his hands with satisfaction or winking sceptically at his +thoughts, proceeded on his way. He trod the pavement heavily with his +shiny boots, and his general get-up was that of a well-to-do mechanic in +business for himself. He might have been anything from a picture-frame +maker to a lock-smith; an employer of labour in a small way. But there +was also about him an indescribable air which no mechanic could have +acquired in the practice of his handicraft however dishonestly exercised: +the air common to men who live on the vices, the follies, or the baser +fears of mankind; the air of moral nihilism common to keepers of gambling +hells and disorderly houses; to private detectives and inquiry agents; to +drink sellers and, I should say, to the sellers of invigorating electric +belts and to the inventors of patent medicines. But of that last I am +not sure, not having carried my investigations so far into the depths. +For all I know, the expression of these last may be perfectly diabolic. +I shouldn’t be surprised. What I want to affirm is that Mr Verloc’s +expression was by no means diabolic. + +Before reaching Knightsbridge, Mr Verloc took a turn to the left out of +the busy main thoroughfare, uproarious with the traffic of swaying +omnibuses and trotting vans, in the almost silent, swift flow of hansoms. +Under his hat, worn with a slight backward tilt, his hair had been +carefully brushed into respectful sleekness; for his business was with an +Embassy. And Mr Verloc, steady like a rock—a soft kind of rock—marched +now along a street which could with every propriety be described as +private. In its breadth, emptiness, and extent it had the majesty of +inorganic nature, of matter that never dies. The only reminder of +mortality was a doctor’s brougham arrested in august solitude close to +the curbstone. The polished knockers of the doors gleamed as far as the +eye could reach, the clean windows shone with a dark opaque lustre. And +all was still. But a milk cart rattled noisily across the distant +perspective; a butcher boy, driving with the noble recklessness of a +charioteer at Olympic Games, dashed round the corner sitting high above a +pair of red wheels. A guilty-looking cat issuing from under the stones +ran for a while in front of Mr Verloc, then dived into another basement; +and a thick police constable, looking a stranger to every emotion, as if +he too were part of inorganic nature, surging apparently out of a +lamp-post, took not the slightest notice of Mr Verloc. With a turn to +the left Mr Verloc pursued his way along a narrow street by the side of a +yellow wall which, for some inscrutable reason, had No. 1 Chesham Square +written on it in black letters. Chesham Square was at least sixty yards +away, and Mr Verloc, cosmopolitan enough not to be deceived by London’s +topographical mysteries, held on steadily, without a sign of surprise or +indignation. At last, with business-like persistency, he reached the +Square, and made diagonally for the number 10. This belonged to an +imposing carriage gate in a high, clean wall between two houses, of which +one rationally enough bore the number 9 and the other was numbered 37; +but the fact that this last belonged to Porthill Street, a street well +known in the neighbourhood, was proclaimed by an inscription placed above +the ground-floor windows by whatever highly efficient authority is +charged with the duty of keeping track of London’s strayed houses. Why +powers are not asked of Parliament (a short act would do) for compelling +those edifices to return where they belong is one of the mysteries of +municipal administration. Mr Verloc did not trouble his head about it, +his mission in life being the protection of the social mechanism, not its +perfectionment or even its criticism. + +It was so early that the porter of the Embassy issued hurriedly out of +his lodge still struggling with the left sleeve of his livery coat. His +waistcoat was red, and he wore knee-breeches, but his aspect was +flustered. Mr Verloc, aware of the rush on his flank, drove it off by +simply holding out an envelope stamped with the arms of the Embassy, and +passed on. He produced the same talisman also to the footman who opened +the door, and stood back to let him enter the hall. + +A clear fire burned in a tall fireplace, and an elderly man standing with +his back to it, in evening dress and with a chain round his neck, glanced +up from the newspaper he was holding spread out in both hands before his +calm and severe face. He didn’t move; but another lackey, in brown +trousers and claw-hammer coat edged with thin yellow cord, approaching Mr +Verloc listened to the murmur of his name, and turning round on his heel +in silence, began to walk, without looking back once. Mr Verloc, thus +led along a ground-floor passage to the left of the great carpeted +staircase, was suddenly motioned to enter a quite small room furnished +with a heavy writing-table and a few chairs. The servant shut the door, +and Mr Verloc remained alone. He did not take a seat. With his hat and +stick held in one hand he glanced about, passing his other podgy hand +over his uncovered sleek head. + +Another door opened noiselessly, and Mr Verloc immobilising his glance in +that direction saw at first only black clothes, the bald top of a head, +and a drooping dark grey whisker on each side of a pair of wrinkled +hands. The person who had entered was holding a batch of papers before +his eyes and walked up to the table with a rather mincing step, turning +the papers over the while. Privy Councillor Wurmt, Chancelier +d’Ambassade, was rather short-sighted. This meritorious official laying +the papers on the table, disclosed a face of pasty complexion and of +melancholy ugliness surrounded by a lot of fine, long dark grey hairs, +barred heavily by thick and bushy eyebrows. He put on a black-framed +pince-nez upon a blunt and shapeless nose, and seemed struck by Mr +Verloc’s appearance. Under the enormous eyebrows his weak eyes blinked +pathetically through the glasses. + +He made no sign of greeting; neither did Mr Verloc, who certainly knew +his place; but a subtle change about the general outlines of his +shoulders and back suggested a slight bending of Mr Verloc’s spine under +the vast surface of his overcoat. The effect was of unobtrusive +deference. + +“I have here some of your reports,” said the bureaucrat in an +unexpectedly soft and weary voice, and pressing the tip of his forefinger +on the papers with force. He paused; and Mr Verloc, who had recognised +his own handwriting very well, waited in an almost breathless silence. +“We are not very satisfied with the attitude of the police here,” the +other continued, with every appearance of mental fatigue. + +The shoulders of Mr Verloc, without actually moving, suggested a shrug. +And for the first time since he left his home that morning his lips +opened. + +“Every country has its police,” he said philosophically. But as the +official of the Embassy went on blinking at him steadily he felt +constrained to add: “Allow me to observe that I have no means of action +upon the police here.” + +“What is desired,” said the man of papers, “is the occurrence of +something definite which should stimulate their vigilance. That is +within your province—is it not so?” + +Mr Verloc made no answer except by a sigh, which escaped him +involuntarily, for instantly he tried to give his face a cheerful +expression. The official blinked doubtfully, as if affected by the dim +light of the room. He repeated vaguely. + +“The vigilance of the police—and the severity of the magistrates. The +general leniency of the judicial procedure here, and the utter absence of +all repressive measures, are a scandal to Europe. What is wished for +just now is the accentuation of the unrest—of the fermentation which +undoubtedly exists—” + +“Undoubtedly, undoubtedly,” broke in Mr Verloc in a deep deferential bass +of an oratorical quality, so utterly different from the tone in which he +had spoken before that his interlocutor remained profoundly surprised. +“It exists to a dangerous degree. My reports for the last twelve months +make it sufficiently clear.” + +“Your reports for the last twelve months,” State Councillor Wurmt began +in his gentle and dispassionate tone, “have been read by me. I failed to +discover why you wrote them at all.” + +A sad silence reigned for a time. Mr Verloc seemed to have swallowed his +tongue, and the other gazed at the papers on the table fixedly. At last +he gave them a slight push. + +“The state of affairs you expose there is assumed to exist as the first +condition of your employment. What is required at present is not +writing, but the bringing to light of a distinct, significant fact—I +would almost say of an alarming fact.” + +“I need not say that all my endeavours shall be directed to that end,” Mr +Verloc said, with convinced modulations in his conversational husky tone. +But the sense of being blinked at watchfully behind the blind glitter of +these eye-glasses on the other side of the table disconcerted him. He +stopped short with a gesture of absolute devotion. The useful, +hard-working, if obscure member of the Embassy had an air of being +impressed by some newly-born thought. + +“You are very corpulent,” he said. + +This observation, really of a psychological nature, and advanced with the +modest hesitation of an officeman more familiar with ink and paper than +with the requirements of active life, stung Mr Verloc in the manner of a +rude personal remark. He stepped back a pace. + +“Eh? What were you pleased to say?” he exclaimed, with husky resentment. + +The Chancelier d’Ambassade entrusted with the conduct of this interview +seemed to find it too much for him. + +“I think,” he said, “that you had better see Mr Vladimir. Yes, decidedly +I think you ought to see Mr Vladimir. Be good enough to wait here,” he +added, and went out with mincing steps. + +At once Mr Verloc passed his hand over his hair. A slight perspiration +had broken out on his forehead. He let the air escape from his pursed-up +lips like a man blowing at a spoonful of hot soup. But when the servant +in brown appeared at the door silently, Mr Verloc had not moved an inch +from the place he had occupied throughout the interview. He had remained +motionless, as if feeling himself surrounded by pitfalls. + +He walked along a passage lighted by a lonely gas-jet, then up a flight +of winding stairs, and through a glazed and cheerful corridor on the +first floor. The footman threw open a door, and stood aside. The feet +of Mr Verloc felt a thick carpet. The room was large, with three +windows; and a young man with a shaven, big face, sitting in a roomy +arm-chair before a vast mahogany writing-table, said in French to the +Chancelier d’Ambassade, who was going out with the papers in his hand: + +“You are quite right, mon cher. He’s fat—the animal.” + +Mr Vladimir, First Secretary, had a drawing-room reputation as an +agreeable and entertaining man. He was something of a favourite in +society. His wit consisted in discovering droll connections between +incongruous ideas; and when talking in that strain he sat well forward of +his seat, with his left hand raised, as if exhibiting his funny +demonstrations between the thumb and forefinger, while his round and +clean-shaven face wore an expression of merry perplexity. + +But there was no trace of merriment or perplexity in the way he looked at +Mr Verloc. Lying far back in the deep arm-chair, with squarely spread +elbows, and throwing one leg over a thick knee, he had with his smooth +and rosy countenance the air of a preternaturally thriving baby that will +not stand nonsense from anybody. + +“You understand French, I suppose?” he said. + +Mr Verloc stated huskily that he did. His whole vast bulk had a forward +inclination. He stood on the carpet in the middle of the room, clutching +his hat and stick in one hand; the other hung lifelessly by his side. He +muttered unobtrusively somewhere deep down in his throat something about +having done his military service in the French artillery. At once, with +contemptuous perversity, Mr Vladimir changed the language, and began to +speak idiomatic English without the slightest trace of a foreign accent. + +“Ah! Yes. Of course. Let’s see. How much did you get for obtaining +the design of the improved breech-block of their new field-gun?” + +“Five years’ rigorous confinement in a fortress,” Mr Verloc answered +unexpectedly, but without any sign of feeling. + +“You got off easily,” was Mr Vladimir’s comment. “And, anyhow, it served +you right for letting yourself get caught. What made you go in for that +sort of thing—eh?” + +Mr Verloc’s husky conversational voice was heard speaking of youth, of a +fatal infatuation for an unworthy— + +“Aha! Cherchez la femme,” Mr Vladimir deigned to interrupt, unbending, +but without affability; there was, on the contrary, a touch of grimness +in his condescension. “How long have you been employed by the Embassy +here?” he asked. + +“Ever since the time of the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim,” Mr Verloc +answered in subdued tones, and protruding his lips sadly, in sign of +sorrow for the deceased diplomat. The First Secretary observed this play +of physiognomy steadily. + +“Ah! ever since. Well! What have you got to say for yourself?” he asked +sharply. + +Mr Verloc answered with some surprise that he was not aware of having +anything special to say. He had been summoned by a letter—And he plunged +his hand busily into the side pocket of his overcoat, but before the +mocking, cynical watchfulness of Mr Vladimir, concluded to leave it +there. + +“Bah!” said that latter. “What do you mean by getting out of condition +like this? You haven’t got even the physique of your profession. You—a +member of a starving proletariat—never! You—a desperate socialist or +anarchist—which is it?” + +“Anarchist,” stated Mr Verloc in a deadened tone. + +“Bosh!” went on Mr Vladimir, without raising his voice. “You startled +old Wurmt himself. You wouldn’t deceive an idiot. They all are that +by-the-by, but you seem to me simply impossible. So you began your +connection with us by stealing the French gun designs. And you got +yourself caught. That must have been very disagreeable to our +Government. You don’t seem to be very smart.” + +Mr Verloc tried to exculpate himself huskily. + +“As I’ve had occasion to observe before, a fatal infatuation for an +unworthy—” + +Mr Vladimir raised a large white, plump hand. “Ah, yes. The unlucky +attachment—of your youth. She got hold of the money, and then sold you +to the police—eh?” + +The doleful change in Mr Verloc’s physiognomy, the momentary drooping of +his whole person, confessed that such was the regrettable case. Mr +Vladimir’s hand clasped the ankle reposing on his knee. The sock was of +dark blue silk. + +“You see, that was not very clever of you. Perhaps you are too +susceptible.” + +Mr Verloc intimated in a throaty, veiled murmur that he was no longer +young. + +“Oh! That’s a failing which age does not cure,” Mr Vladimir remarked, +with sinister familiarity. “But no! You are too fat for that. You +could not have come to look like this if you had been at all susceptible. +I’ll tell you what I think is the matter: you are a lazy fellow. How +long have you been drawing pay from this Embassy?” + +“Eleven years,” was the answer, after a moment of sulky hesitation. +“I’ve been charged with several missions to London while His Excellency +Baron Stott-Wartenheim was still Ambassador in Paris. Then by his +Excellency’s instructions I settled down in London. I am English.” + +“You are! Are you? Eh?” + +“A natural-born British subject,” Mr Verloc said stolidly. “But my +father was French, and so—” + +“Never mind explaining,” interrupted the other. “I daresay you could +have been legally a Marshal of France and a Member of Parliament in +England—and then, indeed, you would have been of some use to our +Embassy.” + +This flight of fancy provoked something like a faint smile on Mr Verloc’s +face. Mr Vladimir retained an imperturbable gravity. + +“But, as I’ve said, you are a lazy fellow; you don’t use your +opportunities. In the time of Baron Stott-Wartenheim we had a lot of +soft-headed people running this Embassy. They caused fellows of your +sort to form a false conception of the nature of a secret service fund. +It is my business to correct this misapprehension by telling you what the +secret service is not. It is not a philanthropic institution. I’ve had +you called here on purpose to tell you this.” + +Mr Vladimir observed the forced expression of bewilderment on Verloc’s +face, and smiled sarcastically. + +“I see that you understand me perfectly. I daresay you are intelligent +enough for your work. What we want now is activity—activity.” + +On repeating this last word Mr Vladimir laid a long white forefinger on +the edge of the desk. Every trace of huskiness disappeared from Verloc’s +voice. The nape of his gross neck became crimson above the velvet collar +of his overcoat. His lips quivered before they came widely open. + +“If you’ll only be good enough to look up my record,” he boomed out in +his great, clear oratorical bass, “you’ll see I gave a warning only three +months ago, on the occasion of the Grand Duke Romuald’s visit to Paris, +which was telegraphed from here to the French police, and—” + +“Tut, tut!” broke out Mr Vladimir, with a frowning grimace. “The French +police had no use for your warning. Don’t roar like this. What the +devil do you mean?” + +With a note of proud humility Mr Verloc apologised for forgetting +himself. His voice,—famous for years at open-air meetings and at +workmen’s assemblies in large halls, had contributed, he said, to his +reputation of a good and trustworthy comrade. It was, therefore, a part +of his usefulness. It had inspired confidence in his principles. “I was +always put up to speak by the leaders at a critical moment,” Mr Verloc +declared, with obvious satisfaction. There was no uproar above which he +could not make himself heard, he added; and suddenly he made a +demonstration. + +“Allow me,” he said. With lowered forehead, without looking up, swiftly +and ponderously he crossed the room to one of the French windows. As if +giving way to an uncontrollable impulse, he opened it a little. Mr +Vladimir, jumping up amazed from the depths of the arm-chair, looked over +his shoulder; and below, across the courtyard of the Embassy, well beyond +the open gate, could be seen the broad back of a policeman watching idly +the gorgeous perambulator of a wealthy baby being wheeled in state across +the Square. + +“Constable!” said Mr Verloc, with no more effort than if he were +whispering; and Mr Vladimir burst into a laugh on seeing the policeman +spin round as if prodded by a sharp instrument. Mr Verloc shut the +window quietly, and returned to the middle of the room. + +“With a voice like that,” he said, putting on the husky conversational +pedal, “I was naturally trusted. And I knew what to say, too.” + +Mr Vladimir, arranging his cravat, observed him in the glass over the +mantelpiece. + +“I daresay you have the social revolutionary jargon by heart well +enough,” he said contemptuously. “Vox et. . . You haven’t ever studied +Latin—have you?” + +“No,” growled Mr Verloc. “You did not expect me to know it. I belong to +the million. Who knows Latin? Only a few hundred imbeciles who aren’t +fit to take care of themselves.” + +For some thirty seconds longer Mr Vladimir studied in the mirror the +fleshy profile, the gross bulk, of the man behind him. And at the same +time he had the advantage of seeing his own face, clean-shaved and round, +rosy about the gills, and with the thin sensitive lips formed exactly for +the utterance of those delicate witticisms which had made him such a +favourite in the very highest society. Then he turned, and advanced into +the room with such determination that the very ends of his quaintly +old-fashioned bow necktie seemed to bristle with unspeakable menaces. +The movement was so swift and fierce that Mr Verloc, casting an oblique +glance, quailed inwardly. + +“Aha! You dare be impudent,” Mr Vladimir began, with an amazingly +guttural intonation not only utterly un-English, but absolutely +un-European, and startling even to Mr Verloc’s experience of cosmopolitan +slums. “You dare! Well, I am going to speak plain English to you. +Voice won’t do. We have no use for your voice. We don’t want a voice. +We want facts—startling facts—damn you,” he added, with a sort of +ferocious discretion, right into Mr Verloc’s face. + +“Don’t you try to come over me with your Hyperborean manners,” Mr Verloc +defended himself huskily, looking at the carpet. At this his +interlocutor, smiling mockingly above the bristling bow of his necktie, +switched the conversation into French. + +“You give yourself for an ‘agent provocateur.’ The proper business of an +‘agent provocateur’ is to provoke. As far as I can judge from your +record kept here, you have done nothing to earn your money for the last +three years.” + +“Nothing!” exclaimed Verloc, stirring not a limb, and not raising his +eyes, but with the note of sincere feeling in his tone. “I have several +times prevented what might have been—” + +“There is a proverb in this country which says prevention is better than +cure,” interrupted Mr Vladimir, throwing himself into the arm-chair. “It +is stupid in a general way. There is no end to prevention. But it is +characteristic. They dislike finality in this country. Don’t you be too +English. And in this particular instance, don’t be absurd. The evil is +already here. We don’t want prevention—we want cure.” + +He paused, turned to the desk, and turning over some papers lying there, +spoke in a changed business-like tone, without looking at Mr Verloc. + +“You know, of course, of the International Conference assembled in +Milan?” + +Mr Verloc intimated hoarsely that he was in the habit of reading the +daily papers. To a further question his answer was that, of course, he +understood what he read. At this Mr Vladimir, smiling faintly at the +documents he was still scanning one after another, murmured “As long as +it is not written in Latin, I suppose.” + +“Or Chinese,” added Mr Verloc stolidly. + +“H’m. Some of your revolutionary friends’ effusions are written in a +_charabia_ every bit as incomprehensible as Chinese—” Mr Vladimir let +fall disdainfully a grey sheet of printed matter. “What are all these +leaflets headed F. P., with a hammer, pen, and torch crossed? What does +it mean, this F. P.?” Mr Verloc approached the imposing writing-table. + +“The Future of the Proletariat. It’s a society,” he explained, standing +ponderously by the side of the arm-chair, “not anarchist in principle, +but open to all shades of revolutionary opinion.” + +“Are you in it?” + +“One of the Vice-Presidents,” Mr Verloc breathed out heavily; and the +First Secretary of the Embassy raised his head to look at him. + +“Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” he said incisively. “Isn’t +your society capable of anything else but printing this prophetic bosh in +blunt type on this filthy paper eh? Why don’t you do something? Look +here. I’ve this matter in hand now, and I tell you plainly that you will +have to earn your money. The good old Stott-Wartenheim times are over. +No work, no pay.” + +Mr Verloc felt a queer sensation of faintness in his stout legs. He +stepped back one pace, and blew his nose loudly. + +He was, in truth, startled and alarmed. The rusty London sunshine +struggling clear of the London mist shed a lukewarm brightness into the +First Secretary’s private room; and in the silence Mr Verloc heard +against a window-pane the faint buzzing of a fly—his first fly of the +year—heralding better than any number of swallows the approach of spring. +The useless fussing of that tiny energetic organism affected unpleasantly +this big man threatened in his indolence. + +In the pause Mr Vladimir formulated in his mind a series of disparaging +remarks concerning Mr Verloc’s face and figure. The fellow was +unexpectedly vulgar, heavy, and impudently unintelligent. He looked +uncommonly like a master plumber come to present his bill. The First +Secretary of the Embassy, from his occasional excursions into the field +of American humour, had formed a special notion of that class of mechanic +as the embodiment of fraudulent laziness and incompetency. + +This was then the famous and trusty secret agent, so secret that he was +never designated otherwise but by the symbol [delta] in the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim’s official, semi-official, and confidential +correspondence; the celebrated agent [delta], whose warnings had the +power to change the schemes and the dates of royal, imperial, grand ducal +journeys, and sometimes caused them to be put off altogether! This +fellow! And Mr Vladimir indulged mentally in an enormous and derisive +fit of merriment, partly at his own astonishment, which he judged naive, +but mostly at the expense of the universally regretted Baron +Stott-Wartenheim. His late Excellency, whom the august favour of his +Imperial master had imposed as Ambassador upon several reluctant +Ministers of Foreign Affairs, had enjoyed in his lifetime a fame for an +owlish, pessimistic gullibility. His Excellency had the social +revolution on the brain. He imagined himself to be a diplomatist set +apart by a special dispensation to watch the end of diplomacy, and pretty +nearly the end of the world, in a horrid democratic upheaval. His +prophetic and doleful despatches had been for years the joke of Foreign +Offices. He was said to have exclaimed on his deathbed (visited by his +Imperial friend and master): “Unhappy Europe! Thou shalt perish by the +moral insanity of thy children!” He was fated to be the victim of the +first humbugging rascal that came along, thought Mr Vladimir, smiling +vaguely at Mr Verloc. + +“You ought to venerate the memory of Baron Stott-Wartenheim,” he +exclaimed suddenly. + +The lowered physiognomy of Mr Verloc expressed a sombre and weary +annoyance. + +“Permit me to observe to you,” he said, “that I came here because I was +summoned by a peremptory letter. I have been here only twice before in +the last eleven years, and certainly never at eleven in the morning. It +isn’t very wise to call me up like this. There is just a chance of being +seen. And that would be no joke for me.” + +Mr Vladimir shrugged his shoulders. + +“It would destroy my usefulness,” continued the other hotly. + +“That’s your affair,” murmured Mr Vladimir, with soft brutality. “When +you cease to be useful you shall cease to be employed. Yes. Right off. +Cut short. You shall—” Mr Vladimir, frowning, paused, at a loss for a +sufficiently idiomatic expression, and instantly brightened up, with a +grin of beautifully white teeth. “You shall be chucked,” he brought out +ferociously. + +Once more Mr Verloc had to react with all the force of his will against +that sensation of faintness running down one’s legs which once upon a +time had inspired some poor devil with the felicitous expression: “My +heart went down into my boots.” Mr Verloc, aware of the sensation, +raised his head bravely. + +Mr Vladimir bore the look of heavy inquiry with perfect serenity. + +“What we want is to administer a tonic to the Conference in Milan,” he +said airily. “Its deliberations upon international action for the +suppression of political crime don’t seem to get anywhere. England lags. +This country is absurd with its sentimental regard for individual +liberty. It’s intolerable to think that all your friends have got only +to come over to—” + +“In that way I have them all under my eye,” Mr Verloc interrupted +huskily. + +“It would be much more to the point to have them all under lock and key. +England must be brought into line. The imbecile bourgeoisie of this +country make themselves the accomplices of the very people whose aim is +to drive them out of their houses to starve in ditches. And they have +the political power still, if they only had the sense to use it for their +preservation. I suppose you agree that the middle classes are stupid?” + +Mr Verloc agreed hoarsely. + +“They are.” + +“They have no imagination. They are blinded by an idiotic vanity. What +they want just now is a jolly good scare. This is the psychological +moment to set your friends to work. I have had you called here to +develop to you my idea.” + +And Mr Vladimir developed his idea from on high, with scorn and +condescension, displaying at the same time an amount of ignorance as to +the real aims, thoughts, and methods of the revolutionary world which +filled the silent Mr Verloc with inward consternation. He confounded +causes with effects more than was excusable; the most distinguished +propagandists with impulsive bomb throwers; assumed organisation where in +the nature of things it could not exist; spoke of the social +revolutionary party one moment as of a perfectly disciplined army, where +the word of chiefs was supreme, and at another as if it had been the +loosest association of desperate brigands that ever camped in a mountain +gorge. Once Mr Verloc had opened his mouth for a protest, but the +raising of a shapely, large white hand arrested him. Very soon he became +too appalled to even try to protest. He listened in a stillness of dread +which resembled the immobility of profound attention. + +“A series of outrages,” Mr Vladimir continued calmly, “executed here in +this country; not only _planned_ here—that would not do—they would not +mind. Your friends could set half the Continent on fire without +influencing the public opinion here in favour of a universal repressive +legislation. They will not look outside their backyard here.” + +Mr Verloc cleared his throat, but his heart failed him, and he said +nothing. + +“These outrages need not be especially sanguinary,” Mr Vladimir went on, +as if delivering a scientific lecture, “but they must be sufficiently +startling—effective. Let them be directed against buildings, for +instance. What is the fetish of the hour that all the bourgeoisie +recognise—eh, Mr Verloc?” + +Mr Verloc opened his hands and shrugged his shoulders slightly. + +“You are too lazy to think,” was Mr Vladimir’s comment upon that gesture. +“Pay attention to what I say. The fetish of to-day is neither royalty +nor religion. Therefore the palace and the church should be left alone. +You understand what I mean, Mr Verloc?” + +The dismay and the scorn of Mr Verloc found vent in an attempt at levity. + +“Perfectly. But what of the Embassies? A series of attacks on the +various Embassies,” he began; but he could not withstand the cold, +watchful stare of the First Secretary. + +“You can be facetious, I see,” the latter observed carelessly. “That’s +all right. It may enliven your oratory at socialistic congresses. But +this room is no place for it. It would be infinitely safer for you to +follow carefully what I am saying. As you are being called upon to +furnish facts instead of cock-and-bull stories, you had better try to +make your profit off what I am taking the trouble to explain to you. The +sacrosanct fetish of to-day is science. Why don’t you get some of your +friends to go for that wooden-faced panjandrum—eh? Is it not part of +these institutions which must be swept away before the F. P. comes +along?” + +Mr Verloc said nothing. He was afraid to open his lips lest a groan +should escape him. + +“This is what you should try for. An attempt upon a crowned head or on a +president is sensational enough in a way, but not so much as it used to +be. It has entered into the general conception of the existence of all +chiefs of state. It’s almost conventional—especially since so many +presidents have been assassinated. Now let us take an outrage upon—say a +church. Horrible enough at first sight, no doubt, and yet not so +effective as a person of an ordinary mind might think. No matter how +revolutionary and anarchist in inception, there would be fools enough to +give such an outrage the character of a religious manifestation. And +that would detract from the especial alarming significance we wish to +give to the act. A murderous attempt on a restaurant or a theatre would +suffer in the same way from the suggestion of non-political passion: the +exasperation of a hungry man, an act of social revenge. All this is used +up; it is no longer instructive as an object lesson in revolutionary +anarchism. Every newspaper has ready-made phrases to explain such +manifestations away. I am about to give you the philosophy of bomb +throwing from my point of view; from the point of view you pretend to +have been serving for the last eleven years. I will try not to talk +above your head. The sensibilities of the class you are attacking are +soon blunted. Property seems to them an indestructible thing. You can’t +count upon their emotions either of pity or fear for very long. A bomb +outrage to have any influence on public opinion now must go beyond the +intention of vengeance or terrorism. It must be purely destructive. It +must be that, and only that, beyond the faintest suspicion of any other +object. You anarchists should make it clear that you are perfectly +determined to make a clean sweep of the whole social creation. But how +to get that appallingly absurd notion into the heads of the middle +classes so that there should be no mistake? That’s the question. By +directing your blows at something outside the ordinary passions of +humanity is the answer. Of course, there is art. A bomb in the National +Gallery would make some noise. But it would not be serious enough. Art +has never been their fetish. It’s like breaking a few back windows in a +man’s house; whereas, if you want to make him really sit up, you must try +at least to raise the roof. There would be some screaming of course, but +from whom? Artists—art critics and such like—people of no account. +Nobody minds what they say. But there is learning—science. Any imbecile +that has got an income believes in that. He does not know why, but he +believes it matters somehow. It is the sacrosanct fetish. All the +damned professors are radicals at heart. Let them know that their great +panjandrum has got to go too, to make room for the Future of the +Proletariat. A howl from all these intellectual idiots is bound to help +forward the labours of the Milan Conference. They will be writing to the +papers. Their indignation would be above suspicion, no material +interests being openly at stake, and it will alarm every selfishness of +the class which should be impressed. They believe that in some +mysterious way science is at the source of their material prosperity. +They do. And the absurd ferocity of such a demonstration will affect +them more profoundly than the mangling of a whole street—or theatre—full +of their own kind. To that last they can always say: ‘Oh! it’s mere +class hate.’ But what is one to say to an act of destructive ferocity so +absurd as to be incomprehensible, inexplicable, almost unthinkable; in +fact, mad? Madness alone is truly terrifying, inasmuch as you cannot +placate it either by threats, persuasion, or bribes. Moreover, I am a +civilised man. I would never dream of directing you to organise a mere +butchery, even if I expected the best results from it. But I wouldn’t +expect from a butchery the result I want. Murder is always with us. It +is almost an institution. The demonstration must be against +learning—science. But not every science will do. The attack must have +all the shocking senselessness of gratuitous blasphemy. Since bombs are +your means of expression, it would be really telling if one could throw a +bomb into pure mathematics. But that is impossible. I have been trying +to educate you; I have expounded to you the higher philosophy of your +usefulness, and suggested to you some serviceable arguments. The +practical application of my teaching interests _you_ mostly. But from +the moment I have undertaken to interview you I have also given some +attention to the practical aspect of the question. What do you think of +having a go at astronomy?” + +For sometime already Mr Verloc’s immobility by the side of the arm-chair +resembled a state of collapsed coma—a sort of passive insensibility +interrupted by slight convulsive starts, such as may be observed in the +domestic dog having a nightmare on the hearthrug. And it was in an +uneasy doglike growl that he repeated the word: + +“Astronomy.” + +He had not recovered thoroughly as yet from that state of bewilderment +brought about by the effort to follow Mr Vladimir’s rapid incisive +utterance. It had overcome his power of assimilation. It had made him +angry. This anger was complicated by incredulity. And suddenly it +dawned upon him that all this was an elaborate joke. Mr Vladimir +exhibited his white teeth in a smile, with dimples on his round, full +face posed with a complacent inclination above the bristling bow of his +neck-tie. The favourite of intelligent society women had assumed his +drawing-room attitude accompanying the delivery of delicate witticisms. +Sitting well forward, his white hand upraised, he seemed to hold +delicately between his thumb and forefinger the subtlety of his +suggestion. + +“There could be nothing better. Such an outrage combines the greatest +possible regard for humanity with the most alarming display of ferocious +imbecility. I defy the ingenuity of journalists to persuade their public +that any given member of the proletariat can have a personal grievance +against astronomy. Starvation itself could hardly be dragged in +there—eh? And there are other advantages. The whole civilised world has +heard of Greenwich. The very boot-blacks in the basement of Charing +Cross Station know something of it. See?” + +The features of Mr Vladimir, so well known in the best society by their +humorous urbanity, beamed with cynical self-satisfaction, which would +have astonished the intelligent women his wit entertained so exquisitely. +“Yes,” he continued, with a contemptuous smile, “the blowing up of the +first meridian is bound to raise a howl of execration.” + +“A difficult business,” Mr Verloc mumbled, feeling that this was the only +safe thing to say. + +“What is the matter? Haven’t you the whole gang under your hand? The +very pick of the basket? That old terrorist Yundt is here. I see him +walking about Piccadilly in his green havelock almost every day. And +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle—you don’t mean to say you don’t +know where he is? Because if you don’t, I can tell you,” Mr Vladimir +went on menacingly. “If you imagine that you are the only one on the +secret fund list, you are mistaken.” + +This perfectly gratuitous suggestion caused Mr Verloc to shuffle his feet +slightly. + +“And the whole Lausanne lot—eh? Haven’t they been flocking over here at +the first hint of the Milan Conference? This is an absurd country.” + +“It will cost money,” Mr Verloc said, by a sort of instinct. + +“That cock won’t fight,” Mr Vladimir retorted, with an amazingly genuine +English accent. “You’ll get your screw every month, and no more till +something happens. And if nothing happens very soon you won’t get even +that. What’s your ostensible occupation? What are you supposed to live +by?” + +“I keep a shop,” answered Mr Verloc. + +“A shop! What sort of shop?” + +“Stationery, newspapers. My wife—” + +“Your what?” interrupted Mr Vladimir in his guttural Central Asian tones. + +“My wife.” Mr Verloc raised his husky voice slightly. “I am married.” + +“That be damned for a yarn,” exclaimed the other in unfeigned +astonishment. “Married! And you a professed anarchist, too! What is +this confounded nonsense? But I suppose it’s merely a manner of +speaking. Anarchists don’t marry. It’s well known. They can’t. It +would be apostasy.” + +“My wife isn’t one,” Mr Verloc mumbled sulkily. “Moreover, it’s no +concern of yours.” + +“Oh yes, it is,” snapped Mr Vladimir. “I am beginning to be convinced +that you are not at all the man for the work you’ve been employed on. +Why, you must have discredited yourself completely in your own world by +your marriage. Couldn’t you have managed without? This is your virtuous +attachment—eh? What with one sort of attachment and another you are +doing away with your usefulness.” + +Mr Verloc, puffing out his cheeks, let the air escape violently, and that +was all. He had armed himself with patience. It was not to be tried +much longer. The First Secretary became suddenly very curt, detached, +final. + +“You may go now,” he said. “A dynamite outrage must be provoked. I give +you a month. The sittings of the Conference are suspended. Before it +reassembles again something must have happened here, or your connection +with us ceases.” + +He changed the note once more with an unprincipled versatility. + +“Think over my philosophy, Mr—Mr—Verloc,” he said, with a sort of +chaffing condescension, waving his hand towards the door. “Go for the +first meridian. You don’t know the middle classes as well as I do. +Their sensibilities are jaded. The first meridian. Nothing better, and +nothing easier, I should think.” + +He had got up, and with his thin sensitive lips twitching humorously, +watched in the glass over the mantelpiece Mr Verloc backing out of the +room heavily, hat and stick in hand. The door closed. + +The footman in trousers, appearing suddenly in the corridor, let Mr +Verloc another way out and through a small door in the corner of the +courtyard. The porter standing at the gate ignored his exit completely; +and Mr Verloc retraced the path of his morning’s pilgrimage as if in a +dream—an angry dream. This detachment from the material world was so +complete that, though the mortal envelope of Mr Verloc had not hastened +unduly along the streets, that part of him to which it would be +unwarrantably rude to refuse immortality, found itself at the shop door +all at once, as if borne from west to east on the wings of a great wind. +He walked straight behind the counter, and sat down on a wooden chair +that stood there. No one appeared to disturb his solitude. Stevie, put +into a green baize apron, was now sweeping and dusting upstairs, intent +and conscientious, as though he were playing at it; and Mrs Verloc, +warned in the kitchen by the clatter of the cracked bell, had merely come +to the glazed door of the parlour, and putting the curtain aside a +little, had peered into the dim shop. Seeing her husband sitting there +shadowy and bulky, with his hat tilted far back on his head, she had at +once returned to her stove. An hour or more later she took the green +baize apron off her brother Stevie, and instructed him to wash his hands +and face in the peremptory tone she had used in that connection for +fifteen years or so—ever since she had, in fact, ceased to attend to the +boy’s hands and face herself. She spared presently a glance away from +her dishing-up for the inspection of that face and those hands which +Stevie, approaching the kitchen table, offered for her approval with an +air of self-assurance hiding a perpetual residue of anxiety. Formerly +the anger of the father was the supremely effective sanction of these +rites, but Mr Verloc’s placidity in domestic life would have made all +mention of anger incredible even to poor Stevie’s nervousness. The +theory was that Mr Verloc would have been inexpressibly pained and +shocked by any deficiency of cleanliness at meal times. Winnie after the +death of her father found considerable consolation in the feeling that +she need no longer tremble for poor Stevie. She could not bear to see +the boy hurt. It maddened her. As a little girl she had often faced +with blazing eyes the irascible licensed victualler in defence of her +brother. Nothing now in Mrs Verloc’s appearance could lead one to +suppose that she was capable of a passionate demonstration. + +She finished her dishing-up. The table was laid in the parlour. Going +to the foot of the stairs, she screamed out “Mother!” Then opening the +glazed door leading to the shop, she said quietly “Adolf!” Mr Verloc had +not changed his position; he had not apparently stirred a limb for an +hour and a half. He got up heavily, and came to his dinner in his +overcoat and with his hat on, without uttering a word. His silence in +itself had nothing startlingly unusual in this household, hidden in the +shades of the sordid street seldom touched by the sun, behind the dim +shop with its wares of disreputable rubbish. Only that day Mr Verloc’s +taciturnity was so obviously thoughtful that the two women were impressed +by it. They sat silent themselves, keeping a watchful eye on poor +Stevie, lest he should break out into one of his fits of loquacity. He +faced Mr Verloc across the table, and remained very good and quiet, +staring vacantly. The endeavour to keep him from making himself +objectionable in any way to the master of the house put no inconsiderable +anxiety into these two women’s lives. “That boy,” as they alluded to him +softly between themselves, had been a source of that sort of anxiety +almost from the very day of his birth. The late licensed victualler’s +humiliation at having such a very peculiar boy for a son manifested +itself by a propensity to brutal treatment; for he was a person of fine +sensibilities, and his sufferings as a man and a father were perfectly +genuine. Afterwards Stevie had to be kept from making himself a nuisance +to the single gentlemen lodgers, who are themselves a queer lot, and are +easily aggrieved. And there was always the anxiety of his mere existence +to face. Visions of a workhouse infirmary for her child had haunted the +old woman in the basement breakfast-room of the decayed Belgravian house. +“If you had not found such a good husband, my dear,” she used to say to +her daughter, “I don’t know what would have become of that poor boy.” + +Mr Verloc extended as much recognition to Stevie as a man not +particularly fond of animals may give to his wife’s beloved cat; and this +recognition, benevolent and perfunctory, was essentially of the same +quality. Both women admitted to themselves that not much more could be +reasonably expected. It was enough to earn for Mr Verloc the old woman’s +reverential gratitude. In the early days, made sceptical by the trials +of friendless life, she used sometimes to ask anxiously: “You don’t +think, my dear, that Mr Verloc is getting tired of seeing Stevie about?” +To this Winnie replied habitually by a slight toss of her head. Once, +however, she retorted, with a rather grim pertness: “He’ll have to get +tired of me first.” A long silence ensued. The mother, with her feet +propped up on a stool, seemed to be trying to get to the bottom of that +answer, whose feminine profundity had struck her all of a heap. She had +never really understood why Winnie had married Mr Verloc. It was very +sensible of her, and evidently had turned out for the best, but her girl +might have naturally hoped to find somebody of a more suitable age. +There had been a steady young fellow, only son of a butcher in the next +street, helping his father in business, with whom Winnie had been walking +out with obvious gusto. He was dependent on his father, it is true; but +the business was good, and his prospects excellent. He took her girl to +the theatre on several evenings. Then just as she began to dread to hear +of their engagement (for what could she have done with that big house +alone, with Stevie on her hands), that romance came to an abrupt end, and +Winnie went about looking very dull. But Mr Verloc, turning up +providentially to occupy the first-floor front bedroom, there had been no +more question of the young butcher. It was clearly providential. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +“ . . . All idealisation makes life poorer. To beautify it is to take +away its character of complexity—it is to destroy it. Leave that to the +moralists, my boy. History is made by men, but they do not make it in +their heads. The ideas that are born in their consciousness play an +insignificant part in the march of events. History is dominated and +determined by the tool and the production—by the force of economic +conditions. Capitalism has made socialism, and the laws made by the +capitalism for the protection of property are responsible for anarchism. +No one can tell what form the social organisation may take in the future. +Then why indulge in prophetic phantasies? At best they can only +interpret the mind of the prophet, and can have no objective value. +Leave that pastime to the moralists, my boy.” + +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, was speaking in an even voice, a +voice that wheezed as if deadened and oppressed by the layer of fat on +his chest. He had come out of a highly hygienic prison round like a tub, +with an enormous stomach and distended cheeks of a pale, semi-transparent +complexion, as though for fifteen years the servants of an outraged +society had made a point of stuffing him with fattening foods in a damp +and lightless cellar. And ever since he had never managed to get his +weight down as much as an ounce. + +It was said that for three seasons running a very wealthy old lady had +sent him for a cure to Marienbad—where he was about to share the public +curiosity once with a crowned head—but the police on that occasion +ordered him to leave within twelve hours. His martyrdom was continued by +forbidding him all access to the healing waters. But he was resigned +now. + +With his elbow presenting no appearance of a joint, but more like a bend +in a dummy’s limb, thrown over the back of a chair, he leaned forward +slightly over his short and enormous thighs to spit into the grate. + +“Yes! I had the time to think things out a little,” he added without +emphasis. “Society has given me plenty of time for meditation.” + +On the other side of the fireplace, in the horse-hair arm-chair where Mrs +Verloc’s mother was generally privileged to sit, Karl Yundt giggled +grimly, with a faint black grimace of a toothless mouth. The terrorist, +as he called himself, was old and bald, with a narrow, snow-white wisp of +a goatee hanging limply from his chin. An extraordinary expression of +underhand malevolence survived in his extinguished eyes. When he rose +painfully the thrusting forward of a skinny groping hand deformed by +gouty swellings suggested the effort of a moribund murderer summoning all +his remaining strength for a last stab. He leaned on a thick stick, +which trembled under his other hand. + +“I have always dreamed,” he mouthed fiercely, “of a band of men absolute +in their resolve to discard all scruples in the choice of means, strong +enough to give themselves frankly the name of destroyers, and free from +the taint of that resigned pessimism which rots the world. No pity for +anything on earth, including themselves, and death enlisted for good and +all in the service of humanity—that’s what I would have liked to see.” + +His little bald head quivered, imparting a comical vibration to the wisp +of white goatee. His enunciation would have been almost totally +unintelligible to a stranger. His worn-out passion, resembling in its +impotent fierceness the excitement of a senile sensualist, was badly +served by a dried throat and toothless gums which seemed to catch the tip +of his tongue. Mr Verloc, established in the corner of the sofa at the +other end of the room, emitted two hearty grunts of assent. + +The old terrorist turned slowly his head on his skinny neck from side to +side. + +“And I could never get as many as three such men together. So much for +your rotten pessimism,” he snarled at Michaelis, who uncrossed his thick +legs, similar to bolsters, and slid his feet abruptly under his chair in +sign of exasperation. + +He a pessimist! Preposterous! He cried out that the charge was +outrageous. He was so far from pessimism that he saw already the end of +all private property coming along logically, unavoidably, by the mere +development of its inherent viciousness. The possessors of property had +not only to face the awakened proletariat, but they had also to fight +amongst themselves. Yes. Struggle, warfare, was the condition of +private ownership. It was fatal. Ah! he did not depend upon emotional +excitement to keep up his belief, no declamations, no anger, no visions +of blood-red flags waving, or metaphorical lurid suns of vengeance rising +above the horizon of a doomed society. Not he! Cold reason, he boasted, +was the basis of his optimism. Yes, optimism— + +His laborious wheezing stopped, then, after a gasp or two, he added: + +“Don’t you think that, if I had not been the optimist I am, I could not +have found in fifteen years some means to cut my throat? And, in the +last instance, there were always the walls of my cell to dash my head +against.” + +The shortness of breath took all fire, all animation out of his voice; +his great, pale cheeks hung like filled pouches, motionless, without a +quiver; but in his blue eyes, narrowed as if peering, there was the same +look of confident shrewdness, a little crazy in its fixity, they must +have had while the indomitable optimist sat thinking at night in his +cell. Before him, Karl Yundt remained standing, one wing of his faded +greenish havelock thrown back cavalierly over his shoulder. Seated in +front of the fireplace, Comrade Ossipon, ex-medical student, the +principal writer of the F. P. leaflets, stretched out his robust legs, +keeping the soles of his boots turned up to the glow in the grate. A +bush of crinkly yellow hair topped his red, freckled face, with a +flattened nose and prominent mouth cast in the rough mould of the negro +type. His almond-shaped eyes leered languidly over the high cheek-bones. +He wore a grey flannel shirt, the loose ends of a black silk tie hung +down the buttoned breast of his serge coat; and his head resting on the +back of his chair, his throat largely exposed, he raised to his lips a +cigarette in a long wooden tube, puffing jets of smoke straight up at the +ceiling. + +Michaelis pursued his idea—_the_ idea of his solitary reclusion—the +thought vouchsafed to his captivity and growing like a faith revealed in +visions. He talked to himself, indifferent to the sympathy or hostility +of his hearers, indifferent indeed to their presence, from the habit he +had acquired of thinking aloud hopefully in the solitude of the four +whitewashed walls of his cell, in the sepulchral silence of the great +blind pile of bricks near a river, sinister and ugly like a colossal +mortuary for the socially drowned. + +He was no good in discussion, not because any amount of argument could +shake his faith, but because the mere fact of hearing another voice +disconcerted him painfully, confusing his thoughts at once—these thoughts +that for so many years, in a mental solitude more barren than a waterless +desert, no living voice had ever combatted, commented, or approved. + +No one interrupted him now, and he made again the confession of his +faith, mastering him irresistible and complete like an act of grace: the +secret of fate discovered in the material side of life; the economic +condition of the world responsible for the past and shaping the future; +the source of all history, of all ideas, guiding the mental development +of mankind and the very impulses of their passion— + +A harsh laugh from Comrade Ossipon cut the tirade dead short in a sudden +faltering of the tongue and a bewildered unsteadiness of the apostle’s +mildly exalted eyes. He closed them slowly for a moment, as if to +collect his routed thoughts. A silence fell; but what with the two +gas-jets over the table and the glowing grate the little parlour behind +Mr Verloc’s shop had become frightfully hot. Mr Verloc, getting off the +sofa with ponderous reluctance, opened the door leading into the kitchen +to get more air, and thus disclosed the innocent Stevie, seated very good +and quiet at a deal table, drawing circles, circles, circles; innumerable +circles, concentric, eccentric; a coruscating whirl of circles that by +their tangled multitude of repeated curves, uniformity of form, and +confusion of intersecting lines suggested a rendering of cosmic chaos, +the symbolism of a mad art attempting the inconceivable. The artist +never turned his head; and in all his soul’s application to the task his +back quivered, his thin neck, sunk into a deep hollow at the base of the +skull, seemed ready to snap. + +Mr Verloc, after a grunt of disapproving surprise, returned to the sofa. +Alexander Ossipon got up, tall in his threadbare blue serge suit under +the low ceiling, shook off the stiffness of long immobility, and strolled +away into the kitchen (down two steps) to look over Stevie’s shoulder. +He came back, pronouncing oracularly: “Very good. Very characteristic, +perfectly typical.” + +“What’s very good?” grunted inquiringly Mr Verloc, settled again in the +corner of the sofa. The other explained his meaning negligently, with a +shade of condescension and a toss of his head towards the kitchen: + +“Typical of this form of degeneracy—these drawings, I mean.” + +“You would call that lad a degenerate, would you?” mumbled Mr Verloc. + +Comrade Alexander Ossipon—nicknamed the Doctor, ex-medical student +without a degree; afterwards wandering lecturer to working-men’s +associations upon the socialistic aspects of hygiene; author of a popular +quasi-medical study (in the form of a cheap pamphlet seized promptly by +the police) entitled “The Corroding Vices of the Middle Classes”; special +delegate of the more or less mysterious Red Committee, together with Karl +Yundt and Michaelis for the work of literary propaganda—turned upon the +obscure familiar of at least two Embassies that glance of insufferable, +hopelessly dense sufficiency which nothing but the frequentation of +science can give to the dulness of common mortals. + +“That’s what he may be called scientifically. Very good type too, +altogether, of that sort of degenerate. It’s enough to glance at the +lobes of his ears. If you read Lombroso—” + +Mr Verloc, moody and spread largely on the sofa, continued to look down +the row of his waistcoat buttons; but his cheeks became tinged by a faint +blush. Of late even the merest derivative of the word science (a term in +itself inoffensive and of indefinite meaning) had the curious power of +evoking a definitely offensive mental vision of Mr Vladimir, in his body +as he lived, with an almost supernatural clearness. And this phenomenon, +deserving justly to be classed amongst the marvels of science, induced in +Mr Verloc an emotional state of dread and exasperation tending to express +itself in violent swearing. But he said nothing. It was Karl Yundt who +was heard, implacable to his last breath. + +“Lombroso is an ass.” + +Comrade Ossipon met the shock of this blasphemy by an awful, vacant +stare. And the other, his extinguished eyes without gleams blackening +the deep shadows under the great, bony forehead, mumbled, catching the +tip of his tongue between his lips at every second word as though he were +chewing it angrily: + +“Did you ever see such an idiot? For him the criminal is the prisoner. +Simple, is it not? What about those who shut him up there—forced him in +there? Exactly. Forced him in there. And what is crime? Does he know +that, this imbecile who has made his way in this world of gorged fools by +looking at the ears and teeth of a lot of poor, luckless devils? Teeth +and ears mark the criminal? Do they? And what about the law that marks +him still better—the pretty branding instrument invented by the overfed +to protect themselves against the hungry? Red-hot applications on their +vile skins—hey? Can’t you smell and hear from here the thick hide of the +people burn and sizzle? That’s how criminals are made for your Lombrosos +to write their silly stuff about.” + +The knob of his stick and his legs shook together with passion, whilst +the trunk, draped in the wings of the havelock, preserved his historic +attitude of defiance. He seemed to sniff the tainted air of social +cruelty, to strain his ear for its atrocious sounds. There was an +extraordinary force of suggestion in this posturing. The all but +moribund veteran of dynamite wars had been a great actor in his +time—actor on platforms, in secret assemblies, in private interviews. +The famous terrorist had never in his life raised personally as much as +his little finger against the social edifice. He was no man of action; +he was not even an orator of torrential eloquence, sweeping the masses +along in the rushing noise and foam of a great enthusiasm. With a more +subtle intention, he took the part of an insolent and venomous evoker of +sinister impulses which lurk in the blind envy and exasperated vanity of +ignorance, in the suffering and misery of poverty, in all the hopeful and +noble illusions of righteous anger, pity, and revolt. The shadow of his +evil gift clung to him yet like the smell of a deadly drug in an old vial +of poison, emptied now, useless, ready to be thrown away upon the +rubbish-heap of things that had served their time. + +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, smiled vaguely with his glued +lips; his pasty moon face drooped under the weight of melancholy assent. +He had been a prisoner himself. His own skin had sizzled under the +red-hot brand, he murmured softly. But Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the +Doctor, had got over the shock by that time. + +“You don’t understand,” he began disdainfully, but stopped short, +intimidated by the dead blackness of the cavernous eyes in the face +turned slowly towards him with a blind stare, as if guided only by the +sound. He gave the discussion up, with a slight shrug of the shoulders. + +Stevie, accustomed to move about disregarded, had got up from the kitchen +table, carrying off his drawing to bed with him. He had reached the +parlour door in time to receive in full the shock of Karl Yundt’s +eloquent imagery. The sheet of paper covered with circles dropped out of +his fingers, and he remained staring at the old terrorist, as if rooted +suddenly to the spot by his morbid horror and dread of physical pain. +Stevie knew very well that hot iron applied to one’s skin hurt very much. +His scared eyes blazed with indignation: it would hurt terribly. His +mouth dropped open. + +Michaelis by staring unwinkingly at the fire had regained that sentiment +of isolation necessary for the continuity of his thought. His optimism +had begun to flow from his lips. He saw Capitalism doomed in its cradle, +born with the poison of the principle of competition in its system. The +great capitalists devouring the little capitalists, concentrating the +power and the tools of production in great masses, perfecting industrial +processes, and in the madness of self-aggrandisement only preparing, +organising, enriching, making ready the lawful inheritance of the +suffering proletariat. Michaelis pronounced the great word +“Patience”—and his clear blue glance, raised to the low ceiling of Mr +Verloc’s parlour, had a character of seraphic trustfulness. In the +doorway Stevie, calmed, seemed sunk in hebetude. + +Comrade Ossipon’s face twitched with exasperation. + +“Then it’s no use doing anything—no use whatever.” + +“I don’t say that,” protested Michaelis gently. His vision of truth had +grown so intense that the sound of a strange voice failed to rout it this +time. He continued to look down at the red coals. Preparation for the +future was necessary, and he was willing to admit that the great change +would perhaps come in the upheaval of a revolution. But he argued that +revolutionary propaganda was a delicate work of high conscience. It was +the education of the masters of the world. It should be as careful as +the education given to kings. He would have it advance its tenets +cautiously, even timidly, in our ignorance of the effect that may be +produced by any given economic change upon the happiness, the morals, the +intellect, the history of mankind. For history is made with tools, not +with ideas; and everything is changed by economic conditions—art, +philosophy, love, virtue—truth itself! + +The coals in the grate settled down with a slight crash; and Michaelis, +the hermit of visions in the desert of a penitentiary, got up +impetuously. Round like a distended balloon, he opened his short, thick +arms, as if in a pathetically hopeless attempt to embrace and hug to his +breast a self-regenerated universe. He gasped with ardour. + +“The future is as certain as the past—slavery, feudalism, individualism, +collectivism. This is the statement of a law, not an empty prophecy.” + +The disdainful pout of Comrade Ossipon’s thick lips accentuated the negro +type of his face. + +“Nonsense,” he said calmly enough. “There is no law and no certainty. +The teaching propaganda be hanged. What the people knows does not +matter, were its knowledge ever so accurate. The only thing that matters +to us is the emotional state of the masses. Without emotion there is no +action.” + +He paused, then added with modest firmness: + +“I am speaking now to you scientifically—scientifically—Eh? What did you +say, Verloc?” + +“Nothing,” growled from the sofa Mr Verloc, who, provoked by the +abhorrent sound, had merely muttered a “Damn.” + +The venomous spluttering of the old terrorist without teeth was heard. + +“Do you know how I would call the nature of the present economic +conditions? I would call it cannibalistic. That’s what it is! They are +nourishing their greed on the quivering flesh and the warm blood of the +people—nothing else.” + +Stevie swallowed the terrifying statement with an audible gulp, and at +once, as though it had been swift poison, sank limply in a sitting +posture on the steps of the kitchen door. + +Michaelis gave no sign of having heard anything. His lips seemed glued +together for good; not a quiver passed over his heavy cheeks. With +troubled eyes he looked for his round, hard hat, and put it on his round +head. His round and obese body seemed to float low between the chairs +under the sharp elbow of Karl Yundt. The old terrorist, raising an +uncertain and clawlike hand, gave a swaggering tilt to a black felt +sombrero shading the hollows and ridges of his wasted face. He got in +motion slowly, striking the floor with his stick at every step. It was +rather an affair to get him out of the house because, now and then, he +would stop, as if to think, and did not offer to move again till impelled +forward by Michaelis. The gentle apostle grasped his arm with brotherly +care; and behind them, his hands in his pockets, the robust Ossipon +yawned vaguely. A blue cap with a patent leather peak set well at the +back of his yellow bush of hair gave him the aspect of a Norwegian sailor +bored with the world after a thundering spree. Mr Verloc saw his guests +off the premises, attending them bareheaded, his heavy overcoat hanging +open, his eyes on the ground. + +He closed the door behind their backs with restrained violence, turned +the key, shot the bolt. He was not satisfied with his friends. In the +light of Mr Vladimir’s philosophy of bomb throwing they appeared +hopelessly futile. The part of Mr Verloc in revolutionary politics +having been to observe, he could not all at once, either in his own home +or in larger assemblies, take the initiative of action. He had to be +cautious. Moved by the just indignation of a man well over forty, +menaced in what is dearest to him—his repose and his security—he asked +himself scornfully what else could have been expected from such a lot, +this Karl Yundt, this Michaelis—this Ossipon. + +Pausing in his intention to turn off the gas burning in the middle of the +shop, Mr Verloc descended into the abyss of moral reflections. With the +insight of a kindred temperament he pronounced his verdict. A lazy +lot—this Karl Yundt, nursed by a blear-eyed old woman, a woman he had +years ago enticed away from a friend, and afterwards had tried more than +once to shake off into the gutter. Jolly lucky for Yundt that she had +persisted in coming up time after time, or else there would have been no +one now to help him out of the ’bus by the Green Park railings, where +that spectre took its constitutional crawl every fine morning. When that +indomitable snarling old witch died the swaggering spectre would have to +vanish too—there would be an end to fiery Karl Yundt. And Mr Verloc’s +morality was offended also by the optimism of Michaelis, annexed by his +wealthy old lady, who had taken lately to sending him to a cottage she +had in the country. The ex-prisoner could moon about the shady lanes for +days together in a delicious and humanitarian idleness. As to Ossipon, +that beggar was sure to want for nothing as long as there were silly +girls with savings-bank books in the world. And Mr Verloc, +temperamentally identical with his associates, drew fine distinctions in +his mind on the strength of insignificant differences. He drew them with +a certain complacency, because the instinct of conventional +respectability was strong within him, being only overcome by his dislike +of all kinds of recognised labour—a temperamental defect which he shared +with a large proportion of revolutionary reformers of a given social +state. For obviously one does not revolt against the advantages and +opportunities of that state, but against the price which must be paid for +the same in the coin of accepted morality, self-restraint, and toil. The +majority of revolutionists are the enemies of discipline and fatigue +mostly. There are natures too, to whose sense of justice the price +exacted looms up monstrously enormous, odious, oppressive, worrying, +humiliating, extortionate, intolerable. Those are the fanatics. The +remaining portion of social rebels is accounted for by vanity, the mother +of all noble and vile illusions, the companion of poets, reformers, +charlatans, prophets, and incendiaries. + +Lost for a whole minute in the abyss of meditation, Mr Verloc did not +reach the depth of these abstract considerations. Perhaps he was not +able. In any case he had not the time. He was pulled up painfully by +the sudden recollection of Mr Vladimir, another of his associates, whom +in virtue of subtle moral affinities he was capable of judging correctly. +He considered him as dangerous. A shade of envy crept into his thoughts. +Loafing was all very well for these fellows, who knew not Mr Vladimir, +and had women to fall back upon; whereas he had a woman to provide for— + +At this point, by a simple association of ideas, Mr Verloc was brought +face to face with the necessity of going to bed some time or other that +evening. Then why not go now—at once? He sighed. The necessity was not +so normally pleasurable as it ought to have been for a man of his age and +temperament. He dreaded the demon of sleeplessness, which he felt had +marked him for its own. He raised his arm, and turned off the flaring +gas-jet above his head. + +A bright band of light fell through the parlour door into the part of the +shop behind the counter. It enabled Mr Verloc to ascertain at a glance +the number of silver coins in the till. These were but few; and for the +first time since he opened his shop he took a commercial survey of its +value. This survey was unfavourable. He had gone into trade for no +commercial reasons. He had been guided in the selection of this peculiar +line of business by an instinctive leaning towards shady transactions, +where money is picked up easily. Moreover, it did not take him out of +his own sphere—the sphere which is watched by the police. On the +contrary, it gave him a publicly confessed standing in that sphere, and +as Mr Verloc had unconfessed relations which made him familiar with yet +careless of the police, there was a distinct advantage in such a +situation. But as a means of livelihood it was by itself insufficient. + +He took the cash-box out of the drawer, and turning to leave the shop, +became aware that Stevie was still downstairs. + +What on earth is he doing there? Mr Verloc asked himself. What’s the +meaning of these antics? He looked dubiously at his brother-in-law, but +he did not ask him for information. Mr Verloc’s intercourse with Stevie +was limited to the casual mutter of a morning, after breakfast, “My +boots,” and even that was more a communication at large of a need than a +direct order or request. Mr Verloc perceived with some surprise that he +did not know really what to say to Stevie. He stood still in the middle +of the parlour, and looked into the kitchen in silence. Nor yet did he +know what would happen if he did say anything. And this appeared very +queer to Mr Verloc in view of the fact, borne upon him suddenly, that he +had to provide for this fellow too. He had never given a moment’s +thought till then to that aspect of Stevie’s existence. + +Positively he did not know how to speak to the lad. He watched him +gesticulating and murmuring in the kitchen. Stevie prowled round the +table like an excited animal in a cage. A tentative “Hadn’t you better +go to bed now?” produced no effect whatever; and Mr Verloc, abandoning +the stony contemplation of his brother-in-law’s behaviour, crossed the +parlour wearily, cash-box in hand. The cause of the general lassitude he +felt while climbing the stairs being purely mental, he became alarmed by +its inexplicable character. He hoped he was not sickening for anything. +He stopped on the dark landing to examine his sensations. But a slight +and continuous sound of snoring pervading the obscurity interfered with +their clearness. The sound came from his mother-in-law’s room. Another +one to provide for, he thought—and on this thought walked into the +bedroom. + +Mrs Verloc had fallen asleep with the lamp (no gas was laid upstairs) +turned up full on the table by the side of the bed. The light thrown +down by the shade fell dazzlingly on the white pillow sunk by the weight +of her head reposing with closed eyes and dark hair done up in several +plaits for the night. She woke up with the sound of her name in her +ears, and saw her husband standing over her. + +“Winnie! Winnie!” + +At first she did not stir, lying very quiet and looking at the cash-box +in Mr Verloc’s hand. But when she understood that her brother was +“capering all over the place downstairs” she swung out in one sudden +movement on to the edge of the bed. Her bare feet, as if poked through +the bottom of an unadorned, sleeved calico sack buttoned tightly at neck +and wrists, felt over the rug for the slippers while she looked upward +into her husband’s face. + +“I don’t know how to manage him,” Mr Verloc explained peevishly. “Won’t +do to leave him downstairs alone with the lights.” + +She said nothing, glided across the room swiftly, and the door closed +upon her white form. + +Mr Verloc deposited the cash-box on the night table, and began the +operation of undressing by flinging his overcoat on to a distant chair. +His coat and waistcoat followed. He walked about the room in his +stockinged feet, and his burly figure, with the hands worrying nervously +at his throat, passed and repassed across the long strip of looking-glass +in the door of his wife’s wardrobe. Then after slipping his braces off +his shoulders he pulled up violently the venetian blind, and leaned his +forehead against the cold window-pane—a fragile film of glass stretched +between him and the enormity of cold, black, wet, muddy, inhospitable +accumulation of bricks, slates, and stones, things in themselves unlovely +and unfriendly to man. + +Mr Verloc felt the latent unfriendliness of all out of doors with a force +approaching to positive bodily anguish. There is no occupation that +fails a man more completely than that of a secret agent of police. It’s +like your horse suddenly falling dead under you in the midst of an +uninhabited and thirsty plain. The comparison occurred to Mr Verloc +because he had sat astride various army horses in his time, and had now +the sensation of an incipient fall. The prospect was as black as the +window-pane against which he was leaning his forehead. And suddenly the +face of Mr Vladimir, clean-shaved and witty, appeared enhaloed in the +glow of its rosy complexion like a sort of pink seal, impressed on the +fatal darkness. + +This luminous and mutilated vision was so ghastly physically that Mr +Verloc started away from the window, letting down the venetian blind with +a great rattle. Discomposed and speechless with the apprehension of more +such visions, he beheld his wife re-enter the room and get into bed in a +calm business-like manner which made him feel hopelessly lonely in the +world. Mrs Verloc expressed her surprise at seeing him up yet. + +“I don’t feel very well,” he muttered, passing his hands over his moist +brow. + +“Giddiness?” + +“Yes. Not at all well.” + +Mrs Verloc, with all the placidity of an experienced wife, expressed a +confident opinion as to the cause, and suggested the usual remedies; but +her husband, rooted in the middle of the room, shook his lowered head +sadly. + +“You’ll catch cold standing there,” she observed. + +Mr Verloc made an effort, finished undressing, and got into bed. Down +below in the quiet, narrow street measured footsteps approached the +house, then died away unhurried and firm, as if the passer-by had started +to pace out all eternity, from gas-lamp to gas-lamp in a night without +end; and the drowsy ticking of the old clock on the landing became +distinctly audible in the bedroom. + +Mrs Verloc, on her back, and staring at the ceiling, made a remark. + +“Takings very small to-day.” + +Mr Verloc, in the same position, cleared his throat as if for an +important statement, but merely inquired: + +“Did you turn off the gas downstairs?” + +“Yes; I did,” answered Mrs Verloc conscientiously. “That poor boy is in +a very excited state to-night,” she murmured, after a pause which lasted +for three ticks of the clock. + +Mr Verloc cared nothing for Stevie’s excitement, but he felt horribly +wakeful, and dreaded facing the darkness and silence that would follow +the extinguishing of the lamp. This dread led him to make the remark +that Stevie had disregarded his suggestion to go to bed. Mrs Verloc, +falling into the trap, started to demonstrate at length to her husband +that this was not “impudence” of any sort, but simply “excitement.” +There was no young man of his age in London more willing and docile than +Stephen, she affirmed; none more affectionate and ready to please, and +even useful, as long as people did not upset his poor head. Mrs Verloc, +turning towards her recumbent husband, raised herself on her elbow, and +hung over him in her anxiety that he should believe Stevie to be a useful +member of the family. That ardour of protecting compassion exalted +morbidly in her childhood by the misery of another child tinged her +sallow cheeks with a faint dusky blush, made her big eyes gleam under the +dark lids. Mrs Verloc then looked younger; she looked as young as Winnie +used to look, and much more animated than the Winnie of the Belgravian +mansion days had ever allowed herself to appear to gentlemen lodgers. Mr +Verloc’s anxieties had prevented him from attaching any sense to what his +wife was saying. It was as if her voice were talking on the other side +of a very thick wall. It was her aspect that recalled him to himself. + +He appreciated this woman, and the sentiment of this appreciation, +stirred by a display of something resembling emotion, only added another +pang to his mental anguish. When her voice ceased he moved uneasily, and +said: + +“I haven’t been feeling well for the last few days.” + +He might have meant this as an opening to a complete confidence; but Mrs +Verloc laid her head on the pillow again, and staring upward, went on: + +“That boy hears too much of what is talked about here. If I had known +they were coming to-night I would have seen to it that he went to bed at +the same time I did. He was out of his mind with something he overheard +about eating people’s flesh and drinking blood. What’s the good of +talking like that?” + +There was a note of indignant scorn in her voice. Mr Verloc was fully +responsive now. + +“Ask Karl Yundt,” he growled savagely. + +Mrs Verloc, with great decision, pronounced Karl Yundt “a disgusting old +man.” She declared openly her affection for Michaelis. Of the robust +Ossipon, in whose presence she always felt uneasy behind an attitude of +stony reserve, she said nothing whatever. And continuing to talk of that +brother, who had been for so many years an object of care and fears: + +“He isn’t fit to hear what’s said here. He believes it’s all true. He +knows no better. He gets into his passions over it.” + +Mr Verloc made no comment. + +“He glared at me, as if he didn’t know who I was, when I went downstairs. +His heart was going like a hammer. He can’t help being excitable. I +woke mother up, and asked her to sit with him till he went to sleep. It +isn’t his fault. He’s no trouble when he’s left alone.” + +Mr Verloc made no comment. + +“I wish he had never been to school,” Mrs Verloc began again brusquely. +“He’s always taking away those newspapers from the window to read. He +gets a red face poring over them. We don’t get rid of a dozen numbers in +a month. They only take up room in the front window. And Mr Ossipon +brings every week a pile of these F. P. tracts to sell at a halfpenny +each. I wouldn’t give a halfpenny for the whole lot. It’s silly +reading—that’s what it is. There’s no sale for it. The other day Stevie +got hold of one, and there was a story in it of a German soldier officer +tearing half-off the ear of a recruit, and nothing was done to him for +it. The brute! I couldn’t do anything with Stevie that afternoon. The +story was enough, too, to make one’s blood boil. But what’s the use of +printing things like that? We aren’t German slaves here, thank God. +It’s not our business—is it?” + +Mr Verloc made no reply. + +“I had to take the carving knife from the boy,” Mrs Verloc continued, a +little sleepily now. “He was shouting and stamping and sobbing. He +can’t stand the notion of any cruelty. He would have stuck that officer +like a pig if he had seen him then. It’s true, too! Some people don’t +deserve much mercy.” Mrs Verloc’s voice ceased, and the expression of +her motionless eyes became more and more contemplative and veiled during +the long pause. “Comfortable, dear?” she asked in a faint, far-away +voice. “Shall I put out the light now?” + +The dreary conviction that there was no sleep for him held Mr Verloc mute +and hopelessly inert in his fear of darkness. He made a great effort. + +“Yes. Put it out,” he said at last in a hollow tone. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Most of the thirty or so little tables covered by red cloths with a white +design stood ranged at right angles to the deep brown wainscoting of the +underground hall. Bronze chandeliers with many globes depended from the +low, slightly vaulted ceiling, and the fresco paintings ran flat and dull +all round the walls without windows, representing scenes of the chase and +of outdoor revelry in mediæval costumes. Varlets in green jerkins +brandished hunting knives and raised on high tankards of foaming beer. + +“Unless I am very much mistaken, you are the man who would know the +inside of this confounded affair,” said the robust Ossipon, leaning over, +his elbows far out on the table and his feet tucked back completely under +his chair. His eyes stared with wild eagerness. + +An upright semi-grand piano near the door, flanked by two palms in pots, +executed suddenly all by itself a valse tune with aggressive virtuosity. +The din it raised was deafening. When it ceased, as abruptly as it had +started, the be-spectacled, dingy little man who faced Ossipon behind a +heavy glass mug full of beer emitted calmly what had the sound of a +general proposition. + +“In principle what one of us may or may not know as to any given fact +can’t be a matter for inquiry to the others.” + +“Certainly not,” Comrade Ossipon agreed in a quiet undertone. “In +principle.” + +With his big florid face held between his hands he continued to stare +hard, while the dingy little man in spectacles coolly took a drink of +beer and stood the glass mug back on the table. His flat, large ears +departed widely from the sides of his skull, which looked frail enough +for Ossipon to crush between thumb and forefinger; the dome of the +forehead seemed to rest on the rim of the spectacles; the flat cheeks, of +a greasy, unhealthy complexion, were merely smudged by the miserable +poverty of a thin dark whisker. The lamentable inferiority of the whole +physique was made ludicrous by the supremely self-confident bearing of +the individual. His speech was curt, and he had a particularly +impressive manner of keeping silent. + +Ossipon spoke again from between his hands in a mutter. + +“Have you been out much to-day?” + +“No. I stayed in bed all the morning,” answered the other. “Why?” + +“Oh! Nothing,” said Ossipon, gazing earnestly and quivering inwardly +with the desire to find out something, but obviously intimidated by the +little man’s overwhelming air of unconcern. When talking with this +comrade—which happened but rarely—the big Ossipon suffered from a sense +of moral and even physical insignificance. However, he ventured another +question. “Did you walk down here?” + +“No; omnibus,” the little man answered readily enough. He lived far away +in Islington, in a small house down a shabby street, littered with straw +and dirty paper, where out of school hours a troop of assorted children +ran and squabbled with a shrill, joyless, rowdy clamour. His single back +room, remarkable for having an extremely large cupboard, he rented +furnished from two elderly spinsters, dressmakers in a humble way with a +clientele of servant girls mostly. He had a heavy padlock put on the +cupboard, but otherwise he was a model lodger, giving no trouble, and +requiring practically no attendance. His oddities were that he insisted +on being present when his room was being swept, and that when he went out +he locked his door, and took the key away with him. + +Ossipon had a vision of these round black-rimmed spectacles progressing +along the streets on the top of an omnibus, their self-confident glitter +falling here and there on the walls of houses or lowered upon the heads +of the unconscious stream of people on the pavements. The ghost of a +sickly smile altered the set of Ossipon’s thick lips at the thought of +the walls nodding, of people running for life at the sight of those +spectacles. If they had only known! What a panic! He murmured +interrogatively: “Been sitting long here?” + +“An hour or more,” answered the other negligently, and took a pull at the +dark beer. All his movements—the way he grasped the mug, the act of +drinking, the way he set the heavy glass down and folded his arms—had a +firmness, an assured precision which made the big and muscular Ossipon, +leaning forward with staring eyes and protruding lips, look the picture +of eager indecision. + +“An hour,” he said. “Then it may be you haven’t heard yet the news I’ve +heard just now—in the street. Have you?” + +The little man shook his head negatively the least bit. But as he gave +no indication of curiosity Ossipon ventured to add that he had heard it +just outside the place. A newspaper boy had yelled the thing under his +very nose, and not being prepared for anything of that sort, he was very +much startled and upset. He had to come in there with a dry mouth. “I +never thought of finding you here,” he added, murmuring steadily, with +his elbows planted on the table. + +“I come here sometimes,” said the other, preserving his provoking +coolness of demeanour. + +“It’s wonderful that you of all people should have heard nothing of it,” +the big Ossipon continued. His eyelids snapped nervously upon the +shining eyes. “You of all people,” he repeated tentatively. This +obvious restraint argued an incredible and inexplicable timidity of the +big fellow before the calm little man, who again lifted the glass mug, +drank, and put it down with brusque and assured movements. And that was +all. + +Ossipon after waiting for something, word or sign, that did not come, +made an effort to assume a sort of indifference. + +“Do you,” he said, deadening his voice still more, “give your stuff to +anybody who’s up to asking you for it?” + +“My absolute rule is never to refuse anybody—as long as I have a pinch by +me,” answered the little man with decision. + +“That’s a principle?” commented Ossipon. + +“It’s a principle.” + +“And you think it’s sound?” + +The large round spectacles, which gave a look of staring self-confidence +to the sallow face, confronted Ossipon like sleepless, unwinking orbs +flashing a cold fire. + +“Perfectly. Always. Under every circumstance. What could stop me? Why +should I not? Why should I think twice about it?” + +Ossipon gasped, as it were, discreetly. + +“Do you mean to say you would hand it over to a ‘teck’ if one came to ask +you for your wares?” + +The other smiled faintly. + +“Let them come and try it on, and you will see,” he said. “They know me, +but I know also every one of them. They won’t come near me—not they.” + +His thin livid lips snapped together firmly. Ossipon began to argue. + +“But they could send someone—rig a plant on you. Don’t you see? Get the +stuff from you in that way, and then arrest you with the proof in their +hands.” + +“Proof of what? Dealing in explosives without a licence perhaps.” This +was meant for a contemptuous jeer, though the expression of the thin, +sickly face remained unchanged, and the utterance was negligent. “I +don’t think there’s one of them anxious to make that arrest. I don’t +think they could get one of them to apply for a warrant. I mean one of +the best. Not one.” + +“Why?” Ossipon asked. + +“Because they know very well I take care never to part with the last +handful of my wares. I’ve it always by me.” He touched the breast of +his coat lightly. “In a thick glass flask,” he added. + +“So I have been told,” said Ossipon, with a shade of wonder in his voice. +“But I didn’t know if—” + +“They know,” interrupted the little man crisply, leaning against the +straight chair back, which rose higher than his fragile head. “I shall +never be arrested. The game isn’t good enough for any policeman of them +all. To deal with a man like me you require sheer, naked, inglorious +heroism.” Again his lips closed with a self-confident snap. Ossipon +repressed a movement of impatience. + +“Or recklessness—or simply ignorance,” he retorted. “They’ve only to get +somebody for the job who does not know you carry enough stuff in your +pocket to blow yourself and everything within sixty yards of you to +pieces.” + +“I never affirmed I could not be eliminated,” rejoined the other. “But +that wouldn’t be an arrest. Moreover, it’s not so easy as it looks.” + +“Bah!” Ossipon contradicted. “Don’t be too sure of that. What’s to +prevent half-a-dozen of them jumping upon you from behind in the street? +With your arms pinned to your sides you could do nothing—could you?” + +“Yes; I could. I am seldom out in the streets after dark,” said the +little man impassively, “and never very late. I walk always with my +right hand closed round the india-rubber ball which I have in my trouser +pocket. The pressing of this ball actuates a detonator inside the flask +I carry in my pocket. It’s the principle of the pneumatic instantaneous +shutter for a camera lens. The tube leads up—” + +With a swift disclosing gesture he gave Ossipon a glimpse of an +india-rubber tube, resembling a slender brown worm, issuing from the +armhole of his waistcoat and plunging into the inner breast pocket of his +jacket. His clothes, of a nondescript brown mixture, were threadbare and +marked with stains, dusty in the folds, with ragged button-holes. “The +detonator is partly mechanical, partly chemical,” he explained, with +casual condescension. + +“It is instantaneous, of course?” murmured Ossipon, with a slight +shudder. + +“Far from it,” confessed the other, with a reluctance which seemed to +twist his mouth dolorously. “A full twenty seconds must elapse from the +moment I press the ball till the explosion takes place.” + +“Phew!” whistled Ossipon, completely appalled. “Twenty seconds! +Horrors! You mean to say that you could face that? I should go crazy—” + +“Wouldn’t matter if you did. Of course, it’s the weak point of this +special system, which is only for my own use. The worst is that the +manner of exploding is always the weak point with us. I am trying to +invent a detonator that would adjust itself to all conditions of action, +and even to unexpected changes of conditions. A variable and yet +perfectly precise mechanism. A really intelligent detonator.” + +“Twenty seconds,” muttered Ossipon again. “Ough! And then—” + +With a slight turn of the head the glitter of the spectacles seemed to +gauge the size of the beer saloon in the basement of the renowned Silenus +Restaurant. + +“Nobody in this room could hope to escape,” was the verdict of that +survey. “Nor yet this couple going up the stairs now.” + +The piano at the foot of the staircase clanged through a mazurka with +brazen impetuosity, as though a vulgar and impudent ghost were showing +off. The keys sank and rose mysteriously. Then all became still. For a +moment Ossipon imagined the overlighted place changed into a dreadful +black hole belching horrible fumes choked with ghastly rubbish of smashed +brickwork and mutilated corpses. He had such a distinct perception of +ruin and death that he shuddered again. The other observed, with an air +of calm sufficiency: + +“In the last instance it is character alone that makes for one’s safety. +There are very few people in the world whose character is as well +established as mine.” + +“I wonder how you managed it,” growled Ossipon. + +“Force of personality,” said the other, without raising his voice; and +coming from the mouth of that obviously miserable organism the assertion +caused the robust Ossipon to bite his lower lip. “Force of personality,” +he repeated, with ostentatious calm. “I have the means to make myself +deadly, but that by itself, you understand, is absolutely nothing in the +way of protection. What is effective is the belief those people have in +my will to use the means. That’s their impression. It is absolute. +Therefore I am deadly.” + +“There are individuals of character amongst that lot too,” muttered +Ossipon ominously. + +“Possibly. But it is a matter of degree obviously, since, for instance, +I am not impressed by them. Therefore they are inferior. They cannot be +otherwise. Their character is built upon conventional morality. It +leans on the social order. Mine stands free from everything artificial. +They are bound in all sorts of conventions. They depend on life, which, +in this connection, is a historical fact surrounded by all sorts of +restraints and considerations, a complex organised fact open to attack at +every point; whereas I depend on death, which knows no restraint and +cannot be attacked. My superiority is evident.” + +“This is a transcendental way of putting it,” said Ossipon, watching the +cold glitter of the round spectacles. “I’ve heard Karl Yundt say much +the same thing not very long ago.” + +“Karl Yundt,” mumbled the other contemptuously, “the delegate of the +International Red Committee, has been a posturing shadow all his life. +There are three of you delegates, aren’t there? I won’t define the other +two, as you are one of them. But what you say means nothing. You are +the worthy delegates for revolutionary propaganda, but the trouble is not +only that you are as unable to think independently as any respectable +grocer or journalist of them all, but that you have no character +whatever.” + +Ossipon could not restrain a start of indignation. + +“But what do you want from us?” he exclaimed in a deadened voice. “What +is it you are after yourself?” + +“A perfect detonator,” was the peremptory answer. “What are you making +that face for? You see, you can’t even bear the mention of something +conclusive.” + +“I am not making a face,” growled the annoyed Ossipon bearishly. + +“You revolutionists,” the other continued, with leisurely +self-confidence, “are the slaves of the social convention, which is +afraid of you; slaves of it as much as the very police that stands up in +the defence of that convention. Clearly you are, since you want to +revolutionise it. It governs your thought, of course, and your action +too, and thus neither your thought nor your action can ever be +conclusive.” He paused, tranquil, with that air of close, endless +silence, then almost immediately went on. “You are not a bit better than +the forces arrayed against you—than the police, for instance. 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. He was as insignificant +as—I can’t call to mind anything insignificant enough to compare him +with—except Karl Yundt perhaps. Like to like. The terrorist and the +policeman both come from the same basket. Revolution, legality—counter +moves in the same game; forms of idleness at bottom identical. He plays +his little game—so do you propagandists. But I don’t play; I work +fourteen hours a day, and go hungry sometimes. My experiments cost money +now and again, and then I must do without food for a day or two. You’re +looking at my beer. Yes. I have had two glasses already, and shall have +another presently. This is a little holiday, and I celebrate it alone. +Why not? I’ve the grit to work alone, quite alone, absolutely alone. +I’ve worked alone for years.” + +Ossipon’s face had turned dusky red. + +“At the perfect detonator—eh?” he sneered, very low. + +“Yes,” retorted the other. “It is a good definition. You couldn’t find +anything half so precise to define the nature of your activity with all +your committees and delegations. It is I who am the true propagandist.” + +“We won’t discuss that point,” said Ossipon, with an air of rising above +personal considerations. “I am afraid I’ll have to spoil your holiday +for you, though. There’s a man blown up in Greenwich Park this morning.” + +“How do you know?” + +“They have been yelling the news in the streets since two o’clock. I +bought the paper, and just ran in here. Then I saw you sitting at this +table. I’ve got it in my pocket now.” + +He pulled the newspaper out. It was a good-sized rosy sheet, as if +flushed by the warmth of its own convictions, which were optimistic. He +scanned the pages rapidly. + +“Ah! Here it is. Bomb in Greenwich Park. There isn’t much so far. +Half-past eleven. Foggy morning. Effects of explosion felt as far as +Romney Road and Park Place. Enormous hole in the ground under a tree +filled with smashed roots and broken branches. All round fragments of a +man’s body blown to pieces. That’s all. The rest’s mere newspaper gup. +No doubt a wicked attempt to blow up the Observatory, they say. H’m. +That’s hardly credible.” + +He looked at the paper for a while longer in silence, then passed it to +the other, who after gazing abstractedly at the print laid it down +without comment. + +It was Ossipon who spoke first—still resentful. + +“The fragments of only _one_ man, you note. Ergo: blew _himself_ up. +That spoils your day off for you—don’t it? Were you expecting that sort +of move? I hadn’t the slightest idea—not the ghost of a notion of +anything of the sort being planned to come off here—in this country. +Under the present circumstances it’s nothing short of criminal.” + +The little man lifted his thin black eyebrows with dispassionate scorn. + +“Criminal! What is that? What _is_ crime? What can be the meaning of +such an assertion?” + +“How am I to express myself? One must use the current words,” said +Ossipon impatiently. “The meaning of this assertion is that this +business may affect our position very adversely in this country. Isn’t +that crime enough for you? I am convinced you have been giving away some +of your stuff lately.” + +Ossipon stared hard. The other, without flinching, lowered and raised +his head slowly. + +“You have!” burst out the editor of the F. P. leaflets in an intense +whisper. “No! And are you really handing it over at large like this, +for the asking, to the first fool that comes along?” + +“Just so! The condemned social order has not been built up on paper and +ink, and I don’t fancy that a combination of paper and ink will ever put +an end to it, whatever you may think. Yes, I would give the stuff with +both hands to every man, woman, or fool that likes to come along. I know +what you are thinking about. But I am not taking my cue from the Red +Committee. I would see you all hounded out of here, or arrested—or +beheaded for that matter—without turning a hair. What happens to us as +individuals is not of the least consequence.” + +He spoke carelessly, without heat, almost without feeling, and Ossipon, +secretly much affected, tried to copy this detachment. + +“If the police here knew their business they would shoot you full of +holes with revolvers, or else try to sand-bag you from behind in broad +daylight.” + +The little man seemed already to have considered that point of view in +his dispassionate self-confident manner. + +“Yes,” he assented with the utmost readiness. “But for that they would +have to face their own institutions. Do you see? That requires uncommon +grit. Grit of a special kind.” + +Ossipon blinked. + +“I fancy that’s exactly what would happen to you if you were to set up +your laboratory in the States. They don’t stand on ceremony with their +institutions there.” + +“I am not likely to go and see. Otherwise your remark is just,” admitted +the other. “They have more character over there, and their character is +essentially anarchistic. Fertile ground for us, the States—very good +ground. The great Republic has the root of the destructive matter in +her. The collective temperament is lawless. Excellent. They may shoot +us down, but—” + +“You are too transcendental for me,” growled Ossipon, with moody concern. + +“Logical,” protested the other. “There are several kinds of logic. This +is the enlightened kind. America is all right. It is this country that +is dangerous, with her idealistic conception of legality. The social +spirit of this people is wrapped up in scrupulous prejudices, and that is +fatal to our work. You talk of England being our only refuge! So much +the worse. Capua! What do we want with refuges? Here you talk, print, +plot, and do nothing. I daresay it’s very convenient for such Karl +Yundts.” + +He shrugged his shoulders slightly, then added with the same leisurely +assurance: “To break up the superstition and worship of legality should +be our aim. Nothing would please me more than to see Inspector Heat and +his likes take to shooting us down in broad daylight with the approval of +the public. Half our battle would be won then; the disintegration of the +old morality would have set in in its very temple. That is what you +ought to aim at. But you revolutionists will never understand that. You +plan the future, you lose yourselves in reveries of economical systems +derived from what is; whereas what’s wanted is a clean sweep and a clear +start for a new conception of life. That sort of future will take care +of itself if you will only make room for it. Therefore I would shovel my +stuff in heaps at the corners of the streets if I had enough for that; +and as I haven’t, I do my best by perfecting a really dependable +detonator.” + +Ossipon, who had been mentally swimming in deep waters, seized upon the +last word as if it were a saving plank. + +“Yes. Your detonators. I shouldn’t wonder if it weren’t one of your +detonators that made a clean sweep of the man in the park.” + +A shade of vexation darkened the determined sallow face confronting +Ossipon. + +“My difficulty consists precisely in experimenting practically with the +various kinds. They must be tried after all. Besides—” + +Ossipon interrupted. + +“Who could that fellow be? I assure you that we in London had no +knowledge—Couldn’t you describe the person you gave the stuff to?” + +The other turned his spectacles upon Ossipon like a pair of searchlights. + +“Describe him,” he repeated slowly. “I don’t think there can be the +slightest objection now. I will describe him to you in one word—Verloc.” + +Ossipon, whom curiosity had lifted a few inches off his seat, dropped +back, as if hit in the face. + +“Verloc! Impossible.” + +The self-possessed little man nodded slightly once. + +“Yes. He’s the person. You can’t say that in this case I was giving my +stuff to the first fool that came along. He was a prominent member of +the group as far as I understand.” + +“Yes,” said Ossipon. “Prominent. No, not exactly. He was the centre +for general intelligence, and usually received comrades coming over here. +More useful than important. Man of no ideas. Years ago he used to speak +at meetings—in France, I believe. Not very well, though. He was trusted +by such men as Latorre, Moser and all that old lot. The only talent he +showed really was his ability to elude the attentions of the police +somehow. Here, for instance, he did not seem to be looked after very +closely. He was regularly married, you know. I suppose it’s with her +money that he started that shop. Seemed to make it pay, too.” + +Ossipon paused abruptly, muttered to himself “I wonder what that woman +will do now?” and fell into thought. + +The other waited with ostentatious indifference. His parentage was +obscure, and he was generally known only by his nickname of Professor. +His title to that designation consisted in his having been once assistant +demonstrator in chemistry at some technical institute. He quarrelled +with the authorities upon a question of unfair treatment. Afterwards he +obtained a post in the laboratory of a manufactory of dyes. There too he +had been treated with revolting injustice. His struggles, his +privations, his hard work to raise himself in the social scale, had +filled him with such an exalted conviction of his merits that it was +extremely difficult for the world to treat him with justice—the standard +of that notion depending so much upon the patience of the individual. +The Professor had genius, but lacked the great social virtue of +resignation. + +“Intellectually a nonentity,” Ossipon pronounced aloud, abandoning +suddenly the inward contemplation of Mrs Verloc’s bereaved person and +business. “Quite an ordinary personality. You are wrong in not keeping +more in touch with the comrades, Professor,” he added in a reproving +tone. “Did he say anything to you—give you some idea of his intentions? +I hadn’t seen him for a month. It seems impossible that he should be +gone.” + +“He told me it was going to be a demonstration against a building,” said +the Professor. “I had to know that much to prepare the missile. I +pointed out to him that I had hardly a sufficient quantity for a +completely destructive result, but he pressed me very earnestly to do my +best. As he wanted something that could be carried openly in the hand, I +proposed to make use of an old one-gallon copal varnish can I happened to +have by me. He was pleased at the idea. It gave me some trouble, +because I had to cut out the bottom first and solder it on again +afterwards. When prepared for use, the can enclosed a wide-mouthed, +well-corked jar of thick glass packed around with some wet clay and +containing sixteen ounces of X2 green powder. The detonator was +connected with the screw top of the can. It was ingenious—a combination +of time and shock. I explained the system to him. It was a thin tube of +tin enclosing a—” + +Ossipon’s attention had wandered. + +“What do you think has happened?” he interrupted. + +“Can’t tell. Screwed the top on tight, which would make the connection, +and then forgot the time. It was set for twenty minutes. On the other +hand, the time contact being made, a sharp shock would bring about the +explosion at once. He either ran the time too close, or simply let the +thing fall. The contact was made all right—that’s clear to me at any +rate. The system’s worked perfectly. And yet you would think that a +common fool in a hurry would be much more likely to forget to make the +contact altogether. I was worrying myself about that sort of failure +mostly. But there are more kinds of fools than one can guard against. +You can’t expect a detonator to be absolutely fool-proof.” + +He beckoned to a waiter. Ossipon sat rigid, with the abstracted gaze of +mental travail. After the man had gone away with the money he roused +himself, with an air of profound dissatisfaction. + +“It’s extremely unpleasant for me,” he mused. “Karl has been in bed with +bronchitis for a week. There’s an even chance that he will never get up +again. Michaelis’s luxuriating in the country somewhere. A fashionable +publisher has offered him five hundred pounds for a book. It will be a +ghastly failure. He has lost the habit of consecutive thinking in +prison, you know.” + +The Professor on his feet, now buttoning his coat, looked about him with +perfect indifference. + +“What are you going to do?” asked Ossipon wearily. He dreaded the blame +of the Central Red Committee, a body which had no permanent place of +abode, and of whose membership he was not exactly informed. If this +affair eventuated in the stoppage of the modest subsidy allotted to the +publication of the F. P. pamphlets, then indeed he would have to regret +Verloc’s inexplicable folly. + +“Solidarity with the extremest form of action is one thing, and silly +recklessness is another,” he said, with a sort of moody brutality. “I +don’t know what came to Verloc. There’s some mystery there. However, +he’s gone. You may take it as you like, but under the circumstances the +only policy for the militant revolutionary group is to disclaim all +connection with this damned freak of yours. How to make the disclaimer +convincing enough is what bothers me.” + +The little man on his feet, buttoned up and ready to go, was no taller +than the seated Ossipon. He levelled his spectacles at the latter’s face +point-blank. + +“You might ask the police for a testimonial of good conduct. They know +where every one of you slept last night. Perhaps if you asked them they +would consent to publish some sort of official statement.” + +“No doubt they are aware well enough that we had nothing to do with +this,” mumbled Ossipon bitterly. “What they will say is another thing.” +He remained thoughtful, disregarding the short, owlish, shabby figure +standing by his side. “I must lay hands on Michaelis at once, and get +him to speak from his heart at one of our gatherings. The public has a +sort of sentimental regard for that fellow. His name is known. And I am +in touch with a few reporters on the big dailies. What he would say +would be utter bosh, but he has a turn of talk that makes it go down all +the same.” + +“Like treacle,” interjected the Professor, rather low, keeping an +impassive expression. + +The perplexed Ossipon went on communing with himself half audibly, after +the manner of a man reflecting in perfect solitude. + +“Confounded ass! To leave such an imbecile business on my hands. And I +don’t even know if—” + +He sat with compressed lips. The idea of going for news straight to the +shop lacked charm. His notion was that Verloc’s shop might have been +turned already into a police trap. They will be bound to make some +arrests, he thought, with something resembling virtuous indignation, for +the even tenor of his revolutionary life was menaced by no fault of his. +And yet unless he went there he ran the risk of remaining in ignorance of +what perhaps it would be very material for him to know. Then he +reflected that, if the man in the park had been so very much blown to +pieces as the evening papers said, he could not have been identified. +And if so, the police could have no special reason for watching Verloc’s +shop more closely than any other place known to be frequented by marked +anarchists—no more reason, in fact, than for watching the doors of the +Silenus. There would be a lot of watching all round, no matter where he +went. Still— + +“I wonder what I had better do now?” he muttered, taking counsel with +himself. + +A rasping voice at his elbow said, with sedate scorn: + +“Fasten yourself upon the woman for all she’s worth.” + +After uttering these words the Professor walked away from the table. +Ossipon, whom that piece of insight had taken unawares, gave one +ineffectual start, and remained still, with a helpless gaze, as though +nailed fast to the seat of his chair. The lonely piano, without as much +as a music stool to help it, struck a few chords courageously, and +beginning a selection of national airs, played him out at last to the +tune of “Blue Bells of Scotland.” The painfully detached notes grew +faint behind his back while he went slowly upstairs, across the hall, and +into the street. + +In front of the great doorway a dismal row of newspaper sellers standing +clear of the pavement dealt out their wares from the gutter. It was a +raw, gloomy day of the early spring; and the grimy sky, the mud of the +streets, the rags of the dirty men, harmonised excellently with the +eruption of the damp, rubbishy sheets of paper soiled with printers’ ink. +The posters, maculated with filth, garnished like tapestry the sweep of +the curbstone. The trade in afternoon papers was brisk, yet, in +comparison with the swift, constant march of foot traffic, the effect was +of indifference, of a disregarded distribution. Ossipon looked hurriedly +both ways before stepping out into the cross-currents, but the Professor +was already out of sight. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The Professor had turned into a street to the left, and walked along, +with his head carried rigidly erect, in a crowd whose every individual +almost overtopped his stunted stature. It was vain to pretend to himself +that he was not disappointed. But that was mere feeling; the stoicism of +his thought could not be disturbed by this or any other failure. Next +time, or the time after next, a telling stroke would be +delivered—something really startling—a blow fit to open the first crack +in the imposing front of the great edifice of legal conceptions +sheltering the atrocious injustice of society. Of humble origin, and +with an appearance really so mean as to stand in the way of his +considerable natural abilities, his imagination had been fired early by +the tales of men rising from the depths of poverty to positions of +authority and affluence. The extreme, almost ascetic purity of his +thought, combined with an astounding ignorance of worldly conditions, had +set before him a goal of power and prestige to be attained without the +medium of arts, graces, tact, wealth—by sheer weight of merit alone. On +that view he considered himself entitled to undisputed success. His +father, a delicate dark enthusiast with a sloping forehead, had been an +itinerant and rousing preacher of some obscure but rigid Christian sect—a +man supremely confident in the privileges of his righteousness. In the +son, individualist by temperament, once the science of colleges had +replaced thoroughly the faith of conventicles, this moral attitude +translated itself into a frenzied puritanism of ambition. He nursed it +as something secularly holy. To see it thwarted opened his eyes to the +true nature of the world, whose morality was artificial, corrupt, and +blasphemous. The way of even the most justifiable revolutions is +prepared by personal impulses disguised into creeds. The Professor’s +indignation found in itself a final cause that absolved him from the sin +of turning to destruction as the agent of his ambition. To destroy +public faith in legality was the imperfect formula of his pedantic +fanaticism; but the subconscious conviction that the framework of an +established social order cannot be effectually shattered except by some +form of collective or individual violence was precise and correct. He +was a moral agent—that was settled in his mind. By exercising his agency +with ruthless defiance he procured for himself the appearances of power +and personal prestige. That was undeniable to his vengeful bitterness. +It pacified its unrest; and in their own way the most ardent of +revolutionaries are perhaps doing no more but seeking for peace in common +with the rest of mankind—the peace of soothed vanity, of satisfied +appetites, or perhaps of appeased conscience. + +Lost in the crowd, miserable and undersized, he meditated confidently on +his power, keeping his hand in the left pocket of his trousers, grasping +lightly the india-rubber ball, the supreme guarantee of his sinister +freedom; but after a while he became disagreeably affected by the sight +of the roadway thronged with vehicles and of the pavement crowded with +men and women. He was in a long, straight street, peopled by a mere +fraction of an immense multitude; but all round him, on and on, even to +the limits of the horizon hidden by the enormous piles of bricks, he felt +the mass of mankind mighty in its numbers. They swarmed numerous like +locusts, industrious like ants, thoughtless like a natural force, pushing +on blind and orderly and absorbed, impervious to sentiment, to logic, to +terror too perhaps. + +That was the form of doubt he feared most. Impervious to fear! Often +while walking abroad, when he happened also to come out of himself, he +had such moments of dreadful and sane mistrust of mankind. What if +nothing could move them? Such moments come to all men whose ambition +aims at a direct grasp upon humanity—to artists, politicians, thinkers, +reformers, or saints. A despicable emotional state this, against which +solitude fortifies a superior character; and with severe exultation the +Professor thought of the refuge of his room, with its padlocked cupboard, +lost in a wilderness of poor houses, the hermitage of the perfect +anarchist. In order to reach sooner the point where he could take his +omnibus, he turned brusquely out of the populous street into a narrow and +dusky alley paved with flagstones. On one side the low brick houses had +in their dusty windows the sightless, moribund look of incurable +decay—empty shells awaiting demolition. From the other side life had not +departed wholly as yet. Facing the only gas-lamp yawned the cavern of a +second-hand furniture dealer, where, deep in the gloom of a sort of +narrow avenue winding through a bizarre forest of wardrobes, with an +undergrowth tangle of table legs, a tall pier-glass glimmered like a pool +of water in a wood. An unhappy, homeless couch, accompanied by two +unrelated chairs, stood in the open. The only human being making use of +the alley besides the Professor, coming stalwart and erect from the +opposite direction, checked his swinging pace suddenly. + +“Hallo!” he said, and stood a little on one side watchfully. + +The Professor had already stopped, with a ready half turn which brought +his shoulders very near the other wall. His right hand fell lightly on +the back of the outcast couch, the left remained purposefully plunged +deep in the trousers pocket, and the roundness of the heavy rimmed +spectacles imparted an owlish character to his moody, unperturbed face. + +It was like a meeting in a side corridor of a mansion full of life. The +stalwart man was buttoned up in a dark overcoat, and carried an umbrella. +His hat, tilted back, uncovered a good deal of forehead, which appeared +very white in the dusk. In the dark patches of the orbits the eyeballs +glimmered piercingly. Long, drooping moustaches, the colour of ripe +corn, framed with their points the square block of his shaved chin. + +“I am not looking for you,” he said curtly. + +The Professor did not stir an inch. The blended noises of the enormous +town sank down to an inarticulate low murmur. Chief Inspector Heat of +the Special Crimes Department changed his tone. + +“Not in a hurry to get home?” he asked, with mocking simplicity. + +The unwholesome-looking little moral agent of destruction exulted +silently in the possession of personal prestige, keeping in check this +man armed with the defensive mandate of a menaced society. More +fortunate than Caligula, who wished that the Roman Senate had only one +head for the better satisfaction of his cruel lust, he beheld in that one +man all the forces he had set at defiance: the force of law, property, +oppression, and injustice. He beheld all his enemies, and fearlessly +confronted them all in a supreme satisfaction of his vanity. They stood +perplexed before him as if before a dreadful portent. He gloated +inwardly over the chance of this meeting affirming his superiority over +all the multitude of mankind. + +It was in reality a chance meeting. Chief Inspector Heat had had a +disagreeably busy day since his department received the first telegram +from Greenwich a little before eleven in the morning. First of all, the +fact of the outrage being attempted less than a week after he had assured +a high official that no outbreak of anarchist activity was to be +apprehended was sufficiently annoying. If he ever thought himself safe +in making a statement, it was then. He had made that statement with +infinite satisfaction to himself, because it was clear that the high +official desired greatly to hear that very thing. He had affirmed that +nothing of the sort could even be thought of without the department being +aware of it within twenty-four hours; and he had spoken thus in his +consciousness of being the great expert of his department. He had gone +even so far as to utter words which true wisdom would have kept back. +But Chief Inspector Heat was not very wise—at least not truly so. True +wisdom, which is not certain of anything in this world of contradictions, +would have prevented him from attaining his present position. It would +have alarmed his superiors, and done away with his chances of promotion. +His promotion had been very rapid. + +“There isn’t one of them, sir, that we couldn’t lay our hands on at any +time of night and day. We know what each of them is doing hour by hour,” +he had declared. And the high official had deigned to smile. This was +so obviously the right thing to say for an officer of Chief Inspector +Heat’s reputation that it was perfectly delightful. The high official +believed the declaration, which chimed in with his idea of the fitness of +things. His wisdom was of an official kind, or else he might have +reflected upon a matter not of theory but of experience that in the +close-woven stuff of relations between conspirator and police there occur +unexpected solutions of continuity, sudden holes in space and time. A +given anarchist may be watched inch by inch and minute by minute, but a +moment always comes when somehow all sight and touch of him are lost for +a few hours, during which something (generally an explosion) more or less +deplorable does happen. But the high official, carried away by his sense +of the fitness of things, had smiled, and now the recollection of that +smile was very annoying to Chief Inspector Heat, principal expert in +anarchist procedure. + +This was not the only circumstance whose recollection depressed the usual +serenity of the eminent specialist. There was another dating back only +to that very morning. The thought that when called urgently to his +Assistant Commissioner’s private room he had been unable to conceal his +astonishment was distinctly vexing. His instinct of a successful man had +taught him long ago that, as a general rule, a reputation is built on +manner as much as on achievement. And he felt that his manner when +confronted with the telegram had not been impressive. He had opened his +eyes widely, and had exclaimed “Impossible!” exposing himself thereby to +the unanswerable retort of a finger-tip laid forcibly on the telegram +which the Assistant Commissioner, after reading it aloud, had flung on +the desk. To be crushed, as it were, under the tip of a forefinger was +an unpleasant experience. Very damaging, too! Furthermore, Chief +Inspector Heat was conscious of not having mended matters by allowing +himself to express a conviction. + +“One thing I can tell you at once: none of our lot had anything to do +with this.” + +He was strong in his integrity of a good detective, but he saw now that +an impenetrably attentive reserve towards this incident would have served +his reputation better. On the other hand, he admitted to himself that it +was difficult to preserve one’s reputation if rank outsiders were going +to take a hand in the business. Outsiders are the bane of the police as +of other professions. The tone of the Assistant Commissioner’s remarks +had been sour enough to set one’s teeth on edge. + +And since breakfast Chief Inspector Heat had not managed to get anything +to eat. + +Starting immediately to begin his investigation on the spot, he had +swallowed a good deal of raw, unwholesome fog in the park. Then he had +walked over to the hospital; and when the investigation in Greenwich was +concluded at last he had lost his inclination for food. Not accustomed, +as the doctors are, to examine closely the mangled remains of human +beings, he had been shocked by the sight disclosed to his view when a +waterproof sheet had been lifted off a table in a certain apartment of +the hospital. + +Another waterproof sheet was spread over that table in the manner of a +table-cloth, with the corners turned up over a sort of mound—a heap of +rags, scorched and bloodstained, half concealing what might have been an +accumulation of raw material for a cannibal feast. It required +considerable firmness of mind not to recoil before that sight. Chief +Inspector Heat, an efficient officer of his department, stood his ground, +but for a whole minute he did not advance. A local constable in uniform +cast a sidelong glance, and said, with stolid simplicity: + +“He’s all there. Every bit of him. It was a job.” + +He had been the first man on the spot after the explosion. He mentioned +the fact again. He had seen something like a heavy flash of lightning in +the fog. At that time he was standing at the door of the King William +Street Lodge talking to the keeper. The concussion made him tingle all +over. He ran between the trees towards the Observatory. “As fast as my +legs would carry me,” he repeated twice. + +Chief Inspector Heat, bending forward over the table in a gingerly and +horrified manner, let him run on. The hospital porter and another man +turned down the corners of the cloth, and stepped aside. The Chief +Inspector’s eyes searched the gruesome detail of that heap of mixed +things, which seemed to have been collected in shambles and rag shops. + +“You used a shovel,” he remarked, observing a sprinkling of small gravel, +tiny brown bits of bark, and particles of splintered wood as fine as +needles. + +“Had to in one place,” said the stolid constable. “I sent a keeper to +fetch a spade. When he heard me scraping the ground with it he leaned +his forehead against a tree, and was as sick as a dog.” + +The Chief Inspector, stooping guardedly over the table, fought down the +unpleasant sensation in his throat. The shattering violence of +destruction which had made of that body a heap of nameless fragments +affected his feelings with a sense of ruthless cruelty, though his reason +told him the effect must have been as swift as a flash of lightning. The +man, whoever he was, had died instantaneously; and yet it seemed +impossible to believe that a human body could have reached that state of +disintegration without passing through the pangs of inconceivable agony. +No physiologist, and still less of a metaphysician, Chief Inspector Heat +rose by the force of sympathy, which is a form of fear, above the vulgar +conception of time. Instantaneous! He remembered all he had ever read +in popular publications of long and terrifying dreams dreamed in the +instant of waking; of the whole past life lived with frightful intensity +by a drowning man as his doomed head bobs up, streaming, for the last +time. The inexplicable mysteries of conscious existence beset Chief +Inspector Heat till he evolved a horrible notion that ages of atrocious +pain and mental torture could be contained between two successive winks +of an eye. And meantime the Chief Inspector went on, peering at the +table with a calm face and the slightly anxious attention of an indigent +customer bending over what may be called the by-products of a butcher’s +shop with a view to an inexpensive Sunday dinner. All the time his +trained faculties of an excellent investigator, who scorns no chance of +information, followed the self-satisfied, disjointed loquacity of the +constable. + +“A fair-haired fellow,” the last observed in a placid tone, and paused. +“The old woman who spoke to the sergeant noticed a fair-haired fellow +coming out of Maze Hill Station.” He paused. “And he was a fair-haired +fellow. She noticed two men coming out of the station after the uptrain +had gone on,” he continued slowly. “She couldn’t tell if they were +together. She took no particular notice of the big one, but the other +was a fair, slight chap, carrying a tin varnish can in one hand.” The +constable ceased. + +“Know the woman?” muttered the Chief Inspector, with his eyes fixed on +the table, and a vague notion in his mind of an inquest to be held +presently upon a person likely to remain for ever unknown. + +“Yes. She’s housekeeper to a retired publican, and attends the chapel in +Park Place sometimes,” the constable uttered weightily, and paused, with +another oblique glance at the table. + +Then suddenly: “Well, here he is—all of him I could see. Fair. +Slight—slight enough. Look at that foot there. I picked up the legs +first, one after another. He was that scattered you didn’t know where to +begin.” + +The constable paused; the least flicker of an innocent self-laudatory +smile invested his round face with an infantile expression. + +“Stumbled,” he announced positively. “I stumbled once myself, and +pitched on my head too, while running up. Them roots do stick out all +about the place. Stumbled against the root of a tree and fell, and that +thing he was carrying must have gone off right under his chest, I +expect.” + +The echo of the words “Person unknown” repeating itself in his inner +consciousness bothered the Chief Inspector considerably. He would have +liked to trace this affair back to its mysterious origin for his own +information. He was professionally curious. Before the public he would +have liked to vindicate the efficiency of his department by establishing +the identity of that man. He was a loyal servant. That, however, +appeared impossible. The first term of the problem was unreadable—lacked +all suggestion but that of atrocious cruelty. + +Overcoming his physical repugnance, Chief Inspector Heat stretched out +his hand without conviction for the salving of his conscience, and took +up the least soiled of the rags. It was a narrow strip of velvet with a +larger triangular piece of dark blue cloth hanging from it. He held it +up to his eyes; and the police constable spoke. + +“Velvet collar. Funny the old woman should have noticed the velvet +collar. Dark blue overcoat with a velvet collar, she has told us. He +was the chap she saw, and no mistake. And here he is all complete, +velvet collar and all. I don’t think I missed a single piece as big as a +postage stamp.” + +At this point the trained faculties of the Chief Inspector ceased to hear +the voice of the constable. He moved to one of the windows for better +light. His face, averted from the room, expressed a startled intense +interest while he examined closely the triangular piece of broad-cloth. +By a sudden jerk he detached it, and _only_ after stuffing it into his +pocket turned round to the room, and flung the velvet collar back on the +table— + +“Cover up,” he directed the attendants curtly, without another look, and, +saluted by the constable, carried off his spoil hastily. + +A convenient train whirled him up to town, alone and pondering deeply, in +a third-class compartment. That singed piece of cloth was incredibly +valuable, and he could not defend himself from astonishment at the casual +manner it had come into his possession. It was as if Fate had thrust +that clue into his hands. And after the manner of the average man, whose +ambition is to command events, he began to mistrust such a gratuitous and +accidental success—just because it seemed forced upon him. The practical +value of success depends not a little on the way you look at it. But +Fate looks at nothing. It has no discretion. He no longer considered it +eminently desirable all round to establish publicly the identity of the +man who had blown himself up that morning with such horrible +completeness. But he was not certain of the view his department would +take. A department is to those it employs a complex personality with +ideas and even fads of its own. It depends on the loyal devotion of its +servants, and the devoted loyalty of trusted servants is associated with +a certain amount of affectionate contempt, which keeps it sweet, as it +were. By a benevolent provision of Nature no man is a hero to his valet, +or else the heroes would have to brush their own clothes. Likewise no +department appears perfectly wise to the intimacy of its workers. A +department does not know so much as some of its servants. Being a +dispassionate organism, it can never be perfectly informed. It would not +be good for its efficiency to know too much. Chief Inspector Heat got +out of the train in a state of thoughtfulness entirely untainted with +disloyalty, but not quite free of that jealous mistrust which so often +springs on the ground of perfect devotion, whether to women or to +institutions. + +It was in this mental disposition, physically very empty, but still +nauseated by what he had seen, that he had come upon the Professor. +Under these conditions which make for irascibility in a sound, normal +man, this meeting was specially unwelcome to Chief Inspector Heat. He +had not been thinking of the Professor; he had not been thinking of any +individual anarchist at all. The complexion of that case had somehow +forced upon him the general idea of the absurdity of things human, which +in the abstract is sufficiently annoying to an unphilosophical +temperament, and in concrete instances becomes exasperating beyond +endurance. At the beginning of his career Chief Inspector Heat had been +concerned with the more energetic forms of thieving. He had gained his +spurs in that sphere, and naturally enough had kept for it, after his +promotion to another department, a feeling not very far removed from +affection. Thieving was not a sheer absurdity. It was a form of human +industry, perverse indeed, but still an industry exercised in an +industrious world; it was work undertaken for the same reason as the work +in potteries, in coal mines, in fields, in tool-grinding shops. It was +labour, whose practical difference from the other forms of labour +consisted in the nature of its risk, which did not lie in ankylosis, or +lead poisoning, or fire-damp, or gritty dust, but in what may be briefly +defined in its own special phraseology as “Seven years hard.” Chief +Inspector Heat was, of course, not insensible to the gravity of moral +differences. But neither were the thieves he had been looking after. +They submitted to the severe sanctions of a morality familiar to Chief +Inspector Heat with a certain resignation. + +They were his fellow-citizens gone wrong because of imperfect education, +Chief Inspector Heat believed; but allowing for that difference, he could +understand the mind of a burglar, because, as a matter of fact, the mind +and the instincts of a burglar are of the same kind as the mind and the +instincts of a police officer. Both recognise the same conventions, and +have a working knowledge of each other’s methods and of the routine of +their respective trades. They understand each other, which is +advantageous to both, and establishes a sort of amenity in their +relations. Products of the same machine, one classed as useful and the +other as noxious, they take the machine for granted in different ways, +but with a seriousness essentially the same. The mind of Chief Inspector +Heat was inaccessible to ideas of revolt. But his thieves were not +rebels. His bodily vigour, his cool inflexible manner, his courage and +his fairness, had secured for him much respect and some adulation in the +sphere of his early successes. He had felt himself revered and admired. +And Chief Inspector Heat, arrested within six paces of the anarchist +nick-named the Professor, gave a thought of regret to the world of +thieves—sane, without morbid ideals, working by routine, respectful of +constituted authorities, free from all taint of hate and despair. + +After paying this tribute to what is normal in the constitution of +society (for the idea of thieving appeared to his instinct as normal as +the idea of property), Chief Inspector Heat felt very angry with himself +for having stopped, for having spoken, for having taken that way at all +on the ground of it being a short cut from the station to the +headquarters. And he spoke again in his big authoritative voice, which, +being moderated, had a threatening character. + +“You are not wanted, I tell you,” he repeated. + +The anarchist did not stir. An inward laugh of derision uncovered not +only his teeth but his gums as well, shook him all over, without the +slightest sound. Chief Inspector Heat was led to add, against his better +judgment: + +“Not yet. When I want you I will know where to find you.” + +Those were perfectly proper words, within the tradition and suitable to +his character of a police officer addressing one of his special flock. +But the reception they got departed from tradition and propriety. It was +outrageous. The stunted, weakly figure before him spoke at last. + +“I’ve no doubt the papers would give you an obituary notice then. You +know best what that would be worth to you. I should think you can +imagine easily the sort of stuff that would be printed. But you may be +exposed to the unpleasantness of being buried together with me, though I +suppose your friends would make an effort to sort us out as much as +possible.” + +With all his healthy contempt for the spirit dictating such speeches, the +atrocious allusiveness of the words had its effect on Chief Inspector +Heat. He had too much insight, and too much exact information as well, +to dismiss them as rot. The dusk of this narrow lane took on a sinister +tint from the dark, frail little figure, its back to the wall, and +speaking with a weak, self-confident voice. To the vigorous, tenacious +vitality of the Chief Inspector, the physical wretchedness of that being, +so obviously not fit to live, was ominous; for it seemed to him that if +he had the misfortune to be such a miserable object he would not have +cared how soon he died. Life had such a strong hold upon him that a +fresh wave of nausea broke out in slight perspiration upon his brow. The +murmur of town life, the subdued rumble of wheels in the two invisible +streets to the right and left, came through the curve of the sordid lane +to his ears with a precious familiarity and an appealing sweetness. He +was human. But Chief Inspector Heat was also a man, and he could not let +such words pass. + +“All this is good to frighten children with,” he said. “I’ll have you +yet.” + +It was very well said, without scorn, with an almost austere quietness. + +“Doubtless,” was the answer; “but there’s no time like the present, +believe me. For a man of real convictions this is a fine opportunity of +self-sacrifice. You may not find another so favourable, so humane. +There isn’t even a cat near us, and these condemned old houses would make +a good heap of bricks where you stand. You’ll never get me at so little +cost to life and property, which you are paid to protect.” + +“You don’t know who you’re speaking to,” said Chief Inspector Heat +firmly. “If I were to lay my hands on you now I would be no better than +yourself.” + +“Ah! The game!’ + +“You may be sure our side will win in the end. It may yet be necessary +to make people believe that some of you ought to be shot at sight like +mad dogs. Then that will be the game. But I’ll be damned if I know what +yours is. I don’t believe you know yourselves. You’ll never get +anything by it.” + +“Meantime it’s you who get something from it—so far. And you get it +easily, too. I won’t speak of your salary, but haven’t you made your +name simply by not understanding what we are after?” + +“What are you after, then?” asked Chief Inspector Heat, with scornful +haste, like a man in a hurry who perceives he is wasting his time. + +The perfect anarchist answered by a smile which did not part his thin +colourless lips; and the celebrated Chief Inspector felt a sense of +superiority which induced him to raise a warning finger. + +“Give it up—whatever it is,” he said in an admonishing tone, but not so +kindly as if he were condescending to give good advice to a cracksman of +repute. “Give it up. You’ll find we are too many for you.” + +The fixed smile on the Professor’s lips wavered, as if the mocking spirit +within had lost its assurance. Chief Inspector Heat went on: + +“Don’t you believe me eh? Well, you’ve only got to look about you. We +are. And anyway, you’re not doing it well. You’re always making a mess +of it. Why, if the thieves didn’t know their work better they would +starve.” + +The hint of an invincible multitude behind that man’s back roused a +sombre indignation in the breast of the Professor. He smiled no longer +his enigmatic and mocking smile. The resisting power of numbers, the +unattackable stolidity of a great multitude, was the haunting fear of his +sinister loneliness. His lips trembled for some time before he managed +to say in a strangled voice: + +“I am doing my work better than you’re doing yours.” + +“That’ll do now,” interrupted Chief Inspector Heat hurriedly; and the +Professor laughed right out this time. While still laughing he moved on; +but he did not laugh long. It was a sad-faced, miserable little man who +emerged from the narrow passage into the bustle of the broad +thoroughfare. He walked with the nerveless gait of a tramp going on, +still going on, indifferent to rain or sun in a sinister detachment from +the aspects of sky and earth. Chief Inspector Heat, on the other hand, +after watching him for a while, stepped out with the purposeful briskness +of a man disregarding indeed the inclemencies of the weather, but +conscious of having an authorised mission on this earth and the moral +support of his kind. All the inhabitants of the immense town, the +population of the whole country, and even the teeming millions struggling +upon the planet, were with him—down to the very thieves and mendicants. +Yes, the thieves themselves were sure to be with him in his present work. +The consciousness of universal support in his general activity heartened +him to grapple with the particular problem. + +The problem immediately before the Chief Inspector was that of managing +the Assistant Commissioner of his department, his immediate superior. +This is the perennial problem of trusty and loyal servants; anarchism +gave it its particular complexion, but nothing more. Truth to say, Chief +Inspector Heat thought but little of anarchism. He did not attach undue +importance to it, and could never bring himself to consider it seriously. +It had more the character of disorderly conduct; disorderly without the +human excuse of drunkenness, which at any rate implies good feeling and +an amiable leaning towards festivity. As criminals, anarchists were +distinctly no class—no class at all. And recalling the Professor, Chief +Inspector Heat, without checking his swinging pace, muttered through his +teeth: + +“Lunatic.” + +Catching thieves was another matter altogether. It had that quality of +seriousness belonging to every form of open sport where the best man wins +under perfectly comprehensible rules. There were no rules for dealing +with anarchists. And that was distasteful to the Chief Inspector. It +was all foolishness, but that foolishness excited the public mind, +affected persons in high places, and touched upon international +relations. A hard, merciless contempt settled rigidly on the Chief +Inspector’s face as he walked on. His mind ran over all the anarchists +of his flock. Not one of them had half the spunk of this or that burglar +he had known. Not half—not one-tenth. + +At headquarters the Chief Inspector was admitted at once to the Assistant +Commissioner’s private room. He found him, pen in hand, bent over a +great table bestrewn with papers, as if worshipping an enormous double +inkstand of bronze and crystal. Speaking tubes resembling snakes were +tied by the heads to the back of the Assistant Commissioner’s wooden +arm-chair, and their gaping mouths seemed ready to bite his elbows. And +in this attitude he raised only his eyes, whose lids were darker than his +face and very much creased. The reports had come in: every anarchist had +been exactly accounted for. + +After saying this he lowered his eyes, signed rapidly two single sheets +of paper, and only then laid down his pen, and sat well back, directing +an inquiring gaze at his renowned subordinate. The Chief Inspector stood +it well, deferential but inscrutable. + +“I daresay you were right,” said the Assistant Commissioner, “in telling +me at first that the London anarchists had nothing to do with this. I +quite appreciate the excellent watch kept on them by your men. On the +other hand, this, for the public, does not amount to more than a +confession of ignorance.” + +The Assistant Commissioner’s delivery was leisurely, as it were cautious. +His thought seemed to rest poised on a word before passing to another, as +though words had been the stepping-stones for his intellect picking its +way across the waters of error. “Unless you have brought something +useful from Greenwich,” he added. + +The Chief Inspector began at once the account of his investigation in a +clear matter-of-fact manner. His superior turning his chair a little, +and crossing his thin legs, leaned sideways on his elbow, with one hand +shading his eyes. His listening attitude had a sort of angular and +sorrowful grace. Gleams as of highly burnished silver played on the +sides of his ebony black head when he inclined it slowly at the end. + +Chief Inspector Heat waited with the appearance of turning over in his +mind all he had just said, but, as a matter of fact, considering the +advisability of saying something more. The Assistant Commissioner cut +his hesitation short. + +“You believe there were two men?” he asked, without uncovering his eyes. + +The Chief Inspector thought it more than probable. In his opinion, the +two men had parted from each other within a hundred yards from the +Observatory walls. He explained also how the other man could have got +out of the park speedily without being observed. The fog, though not +very dense, was in his favour. He seemed to have escorted the other to +the spot, and then to have left him there to do the job single-handed. +Taking the time those two were seen coming out of Maze Hill Station by +the old woman, and the time when the explosion was heard, the Chief +Inspector thought that the other man might have been actually at the +Greenwich Park Station, ready to catch the next train up, at the moment +his comrade was destroying himself so thoroughly. + +“Very thoroughly—eh?” murmured the Assistant Commissioner from under the +shadow of his hand. + +The Chief Inspector in a few vigorous words described the aspect of the +remains. “The coroner’s jury will have a treat,” he added grimly. + +The Assistant Commissioner uncovered his eyes. + +“We shall have nothing to tell them,” he remarked languidly. + +He looked up, and for a time watched the markedly non-committal attitude +of his Chief Inspector. His nature was one that is not easily accessible +to illusions. He knew that a department is at the mercy of its +subordinate officers, who have their own conceptions of loyalty. His +career had begun in a tropical colony. He had liked his work there. It +was police work. He had been very successful in tracking and breaking up +certain nefarious secret societies amongst the natives. Then he took his +long leave, and got married rather impulsively. It was a good match from +a worldly point of view, but his wife formed an unfavourable opinion of +the colonial climate on hearsay evidence. On the other hand, she had +influential connections. It was an excellent match. But he did not like +the work he had to do now. He felt himself dependent on too many +subordinates and too many masters. The near presence of that strange +emotional phenomenon called public opinion weighed upon his spirits, and +alarmed him by its irrational nature. No doubt that from ignorance he +exaggerated to himself its power for good and evil—especially for evil; +and the rough east winds of the English spring (which agreed with his +wife) augmented his general mistrust of men’s motives and of the +efficiency of their organisation. The futility of office work especially +appalled him on those days so trying to his sensitive liver. + +He got up, unfolding himself to his full height, and with a heaviness of +step remarkable in so slender a man, moved across the room to the window. +The panes streamed with rain, and the short street he looked down into +lay wet and empty, as if swept clear suddenly by a great flood. It was a +very trying day, choked in raw fog to begin with, and now drowned in cold +rain. The flickering, blurred flames of gas-lamps seemed to be +dissolving in a watery atmosphere. And the lofty pretensions of a +mankind oppressed by the miserable indignities of the weather appeared as +a colossal and hopeless vanity deserving of scorn, wonder, and +compassion. + +“Horrible, horrible!” thought the Assistant Commissioner to himself, with +his face near the window-pane. “We have been having this sort of thing +now for ten days; no, a fortnight—a fortnight.” He ceased to think +completely for a time. That utter stillness of his brain lasted about +three seconds. Then he said perfunctorily: “You have set inquiries on +foot for tracing that other man up and down the line?” + +He had no doubt that everything needful had been done. Chief Inspector +Heat knew, of course, thoroughly the business of man-hunting. And these +were the routine steps, too, that would be taken as a matter of course by +the merest beginner. A few inquiries amongst the ticket collectors and +the porters of the two small railway stations would give additional +details as to the appearance of the two men; the inspection of the +collected tickets would show at once where they came from that morning. +It was elementary, and could not have been neglected. Accordingly the +Chief Inspector answered that all this had been done directly the old +woman had come forward with her deposition. And he mentioned the name of +a station. “That’s where they came from, sir,” he went on. “The porter +who took the tickets at Maze Hill remembers two chaps answering to the +description passing the barrier. They seemed to him two respectable +working men of a superior sort—sign painters or house decorators. The +big man got out of a third-class compartment backward, with a bright tin +can in his hand. On the platform he gave it to carry to the fair young +fellow who followed him. All this agrees exactly with what the old woman +told the police sergeant in Greenwich.” + +The Assistant Commissioner, still with his face turned to the window, +expressed his doubt as to these two men having had anything to do with +the outrage. All this theory rested upon the utterances of an old +charwoman who had been nearly knocked down by a man in a hurry. Not a +very substantial authority indeed, unless on the ground of sudden +inspiration, which was hardly tenable. + +“Frankly now, could she have been really inspired?” he queried, with +grave irony, keeping his back to the room, as if entranced by the +contemplation of the town’s colossal forms half lost in the night. He +did not even look round when he heard the mutter of the word +“Providential” from the principal subordinate of his department, whose +name, printed sometimes in the papers, was familiar to the great public +as that of one of its zealous and hard-working protectors. Chief +Inspector Heat raised his voice a little. + +“Strips and bits of bright tin were quite visible to me,” he said. +“That’s a pretty good corroboration.” + +“And these men came from that little country station,” the Assistant +Commissioner mused aloud, wondering. He was told that such was the name +on two tickets out of three given up out of that train at Maze Hill. The +third person who got out was a hawker from Gravesend well known to the +porters. The Chief Inspector imparted that information in a tone of +finality with some ill humour, as loyal servants will do in the +consciousness of their fidelity and with the sense of the value of their +loyal exertions. And still the Assistant Commissioner did not turn away +from the darkness outside, as vast as a sea. + +“Two foreign anarchists coming from that place,” he said, apparently to +the window-pane. “It’s rather unaccountable.”’ + +“Yes, sir. But it would be still more unaccountable if that Michaelis +weren’t staying in a cottage in the neighbourhood.” + +At the sound of that name, falling unexpectedly into this annoying +affair, the Assistant Commissioner dismissed brusquely the vague +remembrance of his daily whist party at his club. It was the most +comforting habit of his life, in a mainly successful display of his skill +without the assistance of any subordinate. He entered his club to play +from five to seven, before going home to dinner, forgetting for those two +hours whatever was distasteful in his life, as though the game were a +beneficent drug for allaying the pangs of moral discontent. His partners +were the gloomily humorous editor of a celebrated magazine; a silent, +elderly barrister with malicious little eyes; and a highly martial, +simple-minded old Colonel with nervous brown hands. They were his club +acquaintances merely. He never met them elsewhere except at the +card-table. But they all seemed to approach the game in the spirit of +co-sufferers, as if it were indeed a drug against the secret ills of +existence; and every day as the sun declined over the countless roofs of +the town, a mellow, pleasurable impatience, resembling the impulse of a +sure and profound friendship, lightened his professional labours. And +now this pleasurable sensation went out of him with something resembling +a physical shock, and was replaced by a special kind of interest in his +work of social protection—an improper sort of interest, which may be +defined best as a sudden and alert mistrust of the weapon in his hand. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The lady patroness of Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle of +humanitarian hopes, was one of the most influential and distinguished +connections of the Assistant Commissioner’s wife, whom she called Annie, +and treated still rather as a not very wise and utterly inexperienced +young girl. But she had consented to accept him on a friendly footing, +which was by no means the case with all of his wife’s influential +connections. Married young and splendidly at some remote epoch of the +past, she had had for a time a close view of great affairs and even of +some great men. She herself was a great lady. Old now in the number of +her years, she had that sort of exceptional temperament which defies time +with scornful disregard, as if it were a rather vulgar convention +submitted to by the mass of inferior mankind. Many other conventions +easier to set aside, alas! failed to obtain her recognition, also on +temperamental grounds—either because they bored her, or else because they +stood in the way of her scorns and sympathies. Admiration was a +sentiment unknown to her (it was one of the secret griefs of her most +noble husband against her)—first, as always more or less tainted with +mediocrity, and next as being in a way an admission of inferiority. And +both were frankly inconceivable to her nature. To be fearlessly +outspoken in her opinions came easily to her, since she judged solely +from the standpoint of her social position. She was equally untrammelled +in her actions; and as her tactfulness proceeded from genuine humanity, +her bodily vigour remained remarkable and her superiority was serene and +cordial, three generations had admired her infinitely, and the last she +was likely to see had pronounced her a wonderful woman. Meantime +intelligent, with a sort of lofty simplicity, and curious at heart, but +not like many women merely of social gossip, she amused her age by +attracting within her ken through the power of her great, almost +historical, social prestige everything that rose above the dead level of +mankind, lawfully or unlawfully, by position, wit, audacity, fortune or +misfortune. Royal Highnesses, artists, men of science, young statesmen, +and charlatans of all ages and conditions, who, unsubstantial and light, +bobbing up like corks, show best the direction of the surface currents, +had been welcomed in that house, listened to, penetrated, understood, +appraised, for her own edification. In her own words, she liked to watch +what the world was coming to. And as she had a practical mind her +judgment of men and things, though based on special prejudices, was +seldom totally wrong, and almost never wrong-headed. Her drawing-room +was probably the only place in the wide world where an Assistant +Commissioner of Police could meet a convict liberated on a +ticket-of-leave on other than professional and official ground. Who had +brought Michaelis there one afternoon the Assistant Commissioner did not +remember very well. He had a notion it must have been a certain Member +of Parliament of illustrious parentage and unconventional sympathies, +which were the standing joke of the comic papers. The notabilities and +even the simple notorieties of the day brought each other freely to that +temple of an old woman’s not ignoble curiosity. You never could guess +whom you were likely to come upon being received in semi-privacy within +the faded blue silk and gilt frame screen, making a cosy nook for a couch +and a few arm-chairs in the great drawing-room, with its hum of voices +and the groups of people seated or standing in the light of six tall +windows. + +Michaelis had been the object of a revulsion of popular sentiment, the +same sentiment which years ago had applauded the ferocity of the life +sentence passed upon him for complicity in a rather mad attempt to rescue +some prisoners from a police van. The plan of the conspirators had been +to shoot down the horses and overpower the escort. Unfortunately, one of +the police constables got shot too. He left a wife and three small +children, and the death of that man aroused through the length and +breadth of a realm for whose defence, welfare, and glory men die every +day as matter of duty, an outburst of furious indignation, of a raging +implacable pity for the victim. Three ring-leaders got hanged. +Michaelis, young and slim, locksmith by trade, and great frequenter of +evening schools, did not even know that anybody had been killed, his part +with a few others being to force open the door at the back of the special +conveyance. When arrested he had a bunch of skeleton keys in one pocket, +a heavy chisel in another, and a short crowbar in his hand: neither more +nor less than a burglar. But no burglar would have received such a heavy +sentence. The death of the constable had made him miserable at heart, +but the failure of the plot also. He did not conceal either of these +sentiments from his empanelled countrymen, and that sort of compunction +appeared shockingly imperfect to the crammed court. The judge on passing +sentence commented feelingly upon the depravity and callousness of the +young prisoner. + +That made the groundless fame of his condemnation; the fame of his +release was made for him on no better grounds by people who wished to +exploit the sentimental aspect of his imprisonment either for purposes of +their own or for no intelligible purpose. He let them do so in the +innocence of his heart and the simplicity of his mind. Nothing that +happened to him individually had any importance. He was like those +saintly men whose personality is lost in the contemplation of their +faith. His ideas were not in the nature of convictions. They were +inaccessible to reasoning. They formed in all their contradictions and +obscurities an invincible and humanitarian creed, which he confessed +rather than preached, with an obstinate gentleness, a smile of pacific +assurance on his lips, and his candid blue eyes cast down because the +sight of faces troubled his inspiration developed in solitude. In that +characteristic attitude, pathetic in his grotesque and incurable obesity +which he had to drag like a galley slave’s bullet to the end of his days, +the Assistant Commissioner of Police beheld the ticket-of-leave apostle +filling a privileged arm-chair within the screen. He sat there by the +head of the old lady’s couch, mild-voiced and quiet, with no more +self-consciousness than a very small child, and with something of a +child’s charm—the appealing charm of trustfulness. Confident of the +future, whose secret ways had been revealed to him within the four walls +of a well-known penitentiary, he had no reason to look with suspicion +upon anybody. If he could not give the great and curious lady a very +definite idea as to what the world was coming to, he had managed without +effort to impress her by his unembittered faith, by the sterling quality +of his optimism. + +A certain simplicity of thought is common to serene souls at both ends of +the social scale. The great lady was simple in her own way. His views +and beliefs had nothing in them to shock or startle her, since she judged +them from the standpoint of her lofty position. Indeed, her sympathies +were easily accessible to a man of that sort. She was not an exploiting +capitalist herself; she was, as it were, above the play of economic +conditions. And she had a great capacity of pity for the more obvious +forms of common human miseries, precisely because she was such a complete +stranger to them that she had to translate her conception into terms of +mental suffering before she could grasp the notion of their cruelty. The +Assistant Commissioner remembered very well the conversation between +these two. He had listened in silence. It was something as exciting in +a way, and even touching in its foredoomed futility, as the efforts at +moral intercourse between the inhabitants of remote planets. But this +grotesque incarnation of humanitarian passion appealed somehow, to one’s +imagination. At last Michaelis rose, and taking the great lady’s +extended hand, shook it, retained it for a moment in his great cushioned +palm with unembarrassed friendliness, and turned upon the semi-private +nook of the drawing-room his back, vast and square, and as if distended +under the short tweed jacket. Glancing about in serene benevolence, he +waddled along to the distant door between the knots of other visitors. +The murmur of conversations paused on his passage. He smiled innocently +at a tall, brilliant girl, whose eyes met his accidentally, and went out +unconscious of the glances following him across the room. Michaelis’ +first appearance in the world was a success—a success of esteem unmarred +by a single murmur of derision. The interrupted conversations were +resumed in their proper tone, grave or light. Only a well-set-up, +long-limbed, active-looking man of forty talking with two ladies near a +window remarked aloud, with an unexpected depth of feeling: “Eighteen +stone, I should say, and not five foot six. Poor fellow! It’s +terrible—terrible.” + +The lady of the house, gazing absently at the Assistant Commissioner, +left alone with her on the private side of the screen, seemed to be +rearranging her mental impressions behind her thoughtful immobility of a +handsome old face. Men with grey moustaches and full, healthy, vaguely +smiling countenances approached, circling round the screen; two mature +women with a matronly air of gracious resolution; a clean-shaved +individual with sunken cheeks, and dangling a gold-mounted eyeglass on a +broad black ribbon with an old-world, dandified effect. A silence +deferential, but full of reserves, reigned for a moment, and then the +great lady exclaimed, not with resentment, but with a sort of protesting +indignation: + +“And that officially is supposed to be a revolutionist! What nonsense.” +She looked hard at the Assistant Commissioner, who murmured +apologetically: + +“Not a dangerous one perhaps.” + +“Not dangerous—I should think not indeed. He is a mere believer. It’s +the temperament of a saint,” declared the great lady in a firm tone. +“And they kept him shut up for twenty years. One shudders at the +stupidity of it. And now they have let him out everybody belonging to +him is gone away somewhere or dead. His parents are dead; the girl he +was to marry has died while he was in prison; he has lost the skill +necessary for his manual occupation. He told me all this himself with +the sweetest patience; but then, he said, he had had plenty of time to +think out things for himself. A pretty compensation! If that’s the +stuff revolutionists are made of some of us may well go on their knees to +them,” she continued in a slightly bantering voice, while the banal +society smiles hardened on the worldly faces turned towards her with +conventional deference. “The poor creature is obviously no longer in a +position to take care of himself. Somebody will have to look after him a +little.” + +“He should be recommended to follow a treatment of some sort,” the +soldierly voice of the active-looking man was heard advising earnestly +from a distance. He was in the pink of condition for his age, and even +the texture of his long frock coat had a character of elastic soundness, +as if it were a living tissue. “The man is virtually a cripple,” he +added with unmistakable feeling. + +Other voices, as if glad of the opening, murmured hasty compassion. +“Quite startling,” “Monstrous,” “Most painful to see.” The lank man, +with the eyeglass on a broad ribbon, pronounced mincingly the word +“Grotesque,” whose justness was appreciated by those standing near him. +They smiled at each other. + +The Assistant Commissioner had expressed no opinion either then or later, +his position making it impossible for him to ventilate any independent +view of a ticket-of-leave convict. But, in truth, he shared the view of +his wife’s friend and patron that Michaelis was a humanitarian +sentimentalist, a little mad, but upon the whole incapable of hurting a +fly intentionally. So when that name cropped up suddenly in this vexing +bomb affair he realised all the danger of it for the ticket-of-leave +apostle, and his mind reverted at once to the old lady’s well-established +infatuation. Her arbitrary kindness would not brook patiently any +interference with Michaelis’ freedom. It was a deep, calm, convinced +infatuation. She had not only felt him to be inoffensive, but she had +said so, which last by a confusion of her absolutist mind became a sort +of incontrovertible demonstration. It was as if the monstrosity of the +man, with his candid infant’s eyes and a fat angelic smile, had +fascinated her. She had come to believe almost his theory of the future, +since it was not repugnant to her prejudices. She disliked the new +element of plutocracy in the social compound, and industrialism as a +method of human development appeared to her singularly repulsive in its +mechanical and unfeeling character. The humanitarian hopes of the mild +Michaelis tended not towards utter destruction, but merely towards the +complete economic ruin of the system. And she did not really see where +was the moral harm of it. It would do away with all the multitude of the +“parvenus,” whom she disliked and mistrusted, not because they had +arrived anywhere (she denied that), but because of their profound +unintelligence of the world, which was the primary cause of the crudity +of their perceptions and the aridity of their hearts. With the +annihilation of all capital they would vanish too; but universal ruin +(providing it was universal, as it was revealed to Michaelis) would leave +the social values untouched. The disappearance of the last piece of +money could not affect people of position. She could not conceive how it +could affect her position, for instance. She had developed these +discoveries to the Assistant Commissioner with all the serene +fearlessness of an old woman who had escaped the blight of indifference. +He had made for himself the rule to receive everything of that sort in a +silence which he took care from policy and inclination not to make +offensive. He had an affection for the aged disciple of Michaelis, a +complex sentiment depending a little on her prestige, on her personality, +but most of all on the instinct of flattered gratitude. He felt himself +really liked in her house. She was kindness personified. And she was +practically wise too, after the manner of experienced women. She made +his married life much easier than it would have been without her +generously full recognition of his rights as Annie’s husband. Her +influence upon his wife, a woman devoured by all sorts of small +selfishnesses, small envies, small jealousies, was excellent. +Unfortunately, both her kindness and her wisdom were of unreasonable +complexion, distinctly feminine, and difficult to deal with. She +remained a perfect woman all along her full tale of years, and not as +some of them do become—a sort of slippery, pestilential old man in +petticoats. And it was as of a woman that he thought of her—the +specially choice incarnation of the feminine, wherein is recruited the +tender, ingenuous, and fierce bodyguard for all sorts of men who talk +under the influence of an emotion, true or fraudulent; for preachers, +seers, prophets, or reformers. + +Appreciating the distinguished and good friend of his wife, and himself, +in that way, the Assistant Commissioner became alarmed at the convict +Michaelis’ possible fate. Once arrested on suspicion of being in some +way, however remote, a party to this outrage, the man could hardly escape +being sent back to finish his sentence at least. And that would kill +him; he would never come out alive. The Assistant Commissioner made a +reflection extremely unbecoming his official position without being +really creditable to his humanity. + +“If the fellow is laid hold of again,” he thought, “she will never +forgive me.” + +The frankness of such a secretly outspoken thought could not go without +some derisive self-criticism. No man engaged in a work he does not like +can preserve many saving illusions about himself. The distaste, the +absence of glamour, extend from the occupation to the personality. It is +only when our appointed activities seem by a lucky accident to obey the +particular earnestness of our temperament that we can taste the comfort +of complete self-deception. The Assistant Commissioner did not like his +work at home. The police work he had been engaged on in a distant part +of the globe had the saving character of an irregular sort of warfare or +at least the risk and excitement of open-air sport. His real abilities, +which were mainly of an administrative order, were combined with an +adventurous disposition. Chained to a desk in the thick of four millions +of men, he considered himself the victim of an ironic fate—the same, no +doubt, which had brought about his marriage with a woman exceptionally +sensitive in the matter of colonial climate, besides other limitations +testifying to the delicacy of her nature—and her tastes. Though he +judged his alarm sardonically he did not dismiss the improper thought +from his mind. The instinct of self-preservation was strong within him. +On the contrary, he repeated it mentally with profane emphasis and a +fuller precision: “Damn it! If that infernal Heat has his way the +fellow’ll die in prison smothered in his fat, and she’ll never forgive +me.” + +His black, narrow figure, with the white band of the collar under the +silvery gleams on the close-cropped hair at the back of the head, +remained motionless. The silence had lasted such a long time that Chief +Inspector Heat ventured to clear his throat. This noise produced its +effect. The zealous and intelligent officer was asked by his superior, +whose back remained turned to him immovably: + +“You connect Michaelis with this affair?” + +Chief Inspector Heat was very positive, but cautious. + +“Well, sir,” he said, “we have enough to go upon. A man like that has no +business to be at large, anyhow.” + +“You will want some conclusive evidence,” came the observation in a +murmur. + +Chief Inspector Heat raised his eyebrows at the black, narrow back, which +remained obstinately presented to his intelligence and his zeal. + +“There will be no difficulty in getting up sufficient evidence against +_him_,” he said, with virtuous complacency. “You may trust me for that, +sir,” he added, quite unnecessarily, out of the fulness of his heart; for +it seemed to him an excellent thing to have that man in hand to be thrown +down to the public should it think fit to roar with any special +indignation in this case. It was impossible to say yet whether it would +roar or not. That in the last instance depended, of course, on the +newspaper press. But in any case, Chief Inspector Heat, purveyor of +prisons by trade, and a man of legal instincts, did logically believe +that incarceration was the proper fate for every declared enemy of the +law. In the strength of that conviction he committed a fault of tact. +He allowed himself a little conceited laugh, and repeated: + +“Trust me for that, sir.” + +This was too much for the forced calmness under which the Assistant +Commissioner had for upwards of eighteen months concealed his irritation +with the system and the subordinates of his office. A square peg forced +into a round hole, he had felt like a daily outrage that long established +smooth roundness into which a man of less sharply angular shape would +have fitted himself, with voluptuous acquiescence, after a shrug or two. +What he resented most was just the necessity of taking so much on trust. +At the little laugh of Chief Inspector Heat’s he spun swiftly on his +heels, as if whirled away from the window-pane by an electric shock. He +caught on the latter’s face not only the complacency proper to the +occasion lurking under the moustache, but the vestiges of experimental +watchfulness in the round eyes, which had been, no doubt, fastened on his +back, and now met his glance for a second before the intent character of +their stare had the time to change to a merely startled appearance. + +The Assistant Commissioner of Police had really some qualifications for +his post. Suddenly his suspicion was awakened. It is but fair to say +that his suspicions of the police methods (unless the police happened to +be a semi-military body organised by himself) was not difficult to +arouse. If it ever slumbered from sheer weariness, it was but lightly; +and his appreciation of Chief Inspector Heat’s zeal and ability, moderate +in itself, excluded all notion of moral confidence. “He’s up to +something,” he exclaimed mentally, and at once became angry. Crossing +over to his desk with headlong strides, he sat down violently. “Here I +am stuck in a litter of paper,” he reflected, with unreasonable +resentment, “supposed to hold all the threads in my hands, and yet I can +but hold what is put in my hand, and nothing else. And they can fasten +the other ends of the threads where they please.” + +He raised his head, and turned towards his subordinate a long, meagre +face with the accentuated features of an energetic Don Quixote. + +“Now what is it you’ve got up your sleeve?” + +The other stared. He stared without winking in a perfect immobility of +his round eyes, as he was used to stare at the various members of the +criminal class when, after being duly cautioned, they made their +statements in the tones of injured innocence, or false simplicity, or +sullen resignation. But behind that professional and stony fixity there +was some surprise too, for in such a tone, combining nicely the note of +contempt and impatience, Chief Inspector Heat, the right-hand man of the +department, was not used to be addressed. He began in a procrastinating +manner, like a man taken unawares by a new and unexpected experience. + +“What I’ve got against that man Michaelis you mean, sir?” + +The Assistant Commissioner watched the bullet head; the points of that +Norse rover’s moustache, falling below the line of the heavy jaw; the +whole full and pale physiognomy, whose determined character was marred by +too much flesh; at the cunning wrinkles radiating from the outer corners +of the eyes—and in that purposeful contemplation of the valuable and +trusted officer he drew a conviction so sudden that it moved him like an +inspiration. + +“I have reason to think that when you came into this room,” he said in +measured tones, “it was not Michaelis who was in your mind; not +principally—perhaps not at all.” + +“You have reason to think, sir?” muttered Chief Inspector Heat, with +every appearance of astonishment, which up to a certain point was genuine +enough. He had discovered in this affair a delicate and perplexing side, +forcing upon the discoverer a certain amount of insincerity—that sort of +insincerity which, under the names of skill, prudence, discretion, turns +up at one point or another in most human affairs. He felt at the moment +like a tight-rope artist might feel if suddenly, in the middle of the +performance, the manager of the Music Hall were to rush out of the proper +managerial seclusion and begin to shake the rope. Indignation, the sense +of moral insecurity engendered by such a treacherous proceeding joined to +the immediate apprehension of a broken neck, would, in the colloquial +phrase, put him in a state. And there would be also some scandalised +concern for his art too, since a man must identify himself with something +more tangible than his own personality, and establish his pride +somewhere, either in his social position, or in the quality of the work +he is obliged to do, or simply in the superiority of the idleness he may +be fortunate enough to enjoy. + +“Yes,” said the Assistant Commissioner; “I have. I do not mean to say +that you have not thought of Michaelis at all. But you are giving the +fact you’ve mentioned a prominence which strikes me as not quite candid, +Inspector Heat. If that is really the track of discovery, why haven’t +you followed it up at once, either personally or by sending one of your +men to that village?” + +“Do you think, sir, I have failed in my duty there?” the Chief Inspector +asked, in a tone which he sought to make simply reflective. Forced +unexpectedly to concentrate his faculties upon the task of preserving his +balance, he had seized upon that point, and exposed himself to a rebuke; +for, the Assistant Commissioner frowning slightly, observed that this was +a very improper remark to make. + +“But since you’ve made it,” he continued coldly, “I’ll tell you that this +is not my meaning.” + +He paused, with a straight glance of his sunken eyes which was a full +equivalent of the unspoken termination “and you know it.” The head of +the so-called Special Crimes Department debarred by his position from +going out of doors personally in quest of secrets locked up in guilty +breasts, had a propensity to exercise his considerable gifts for the +detection of incriminating truth upon his own subordinates. That +peculiar instinct could hardly be called a weakness. It was natural. He +was a born detective. It had unconsciously governed his choice of a +career, and if it ever failed him in life it was perhaps in the one +exceptional circumstance of his marriage—which was also natural. It fed, +since it could not roam abroad, upon the human material which was brought +to it in its official seclusion. We can never cease to be ourselves. + +His elbow on the desk, his thin legs crossed, and nursing his cheek in +the palm of his meagre hand, the Assistant Commissioner in charge of the +Special Crimes branch was getting hold of the case with growing interest. +His Chief Inspector, if not an absolutely worthy foeman of his +penetration, was at any rate the most worthy of all within his reach. A +mistrust of established reputations was strictly in character with the +Assistant Commissioner’s ability as detector. His memory evoked a +certain old fat and wealthy native chief in the distant colony whom it +was a tradition for the successive Colonial Governors to trust and make +much of as a firm friend and supporter of the order and legality +established by white men; whereas, when examined sceptically, he was +found out to be principally his own good friend, and nobody else’s. Not +precisely a traitor, but still a man of many dangerous reservations in +his fidelity, caused by a due regard for his own advantage, comfort, and +safety. A fellow of some innocence in his naive duplicity, but none the +less dangerous. He took some finding out. He was physically a big man, +too, and (allowing for the difference of colour, of course) Chief +Inspector Heat’s appearance recalled him to the memory of his superior. +It was not the eyes nor yet the lips exactly. It was bizarre. But does +not Alfred Wallace relate in his famous book on the Malay Archipelago +how, amongst the Aru Islanders, he discovered in an old and naked savage +with a sooty skin a peculiar resemblance to a dear friend at home? + +For the first time since he took up his appointment the Assistant +Commissioner felt as if he were going to do some real work for his +salary. And that was a pleasurable sensation. “I’ll turn him inside out +like an old glove,” thought the Assistant Commissioner, with his eyes +resting pensively upon Chief Inspector Heat. + +“No, that was not my thought,” he began again. “There is no doubt about +you knowing your business—no doubt at all; and that’s precisely why I—” +He stopped short, and changing his tone: “What could you bring up against +Michaelis of a definite nature? I mean apart from the fact that the two +men under suspicion—you’re certain there were two of them—came last from +a railway station within three miles of the village where Michaelis is +living now.” + +“This by itself is enough for us to go upon, sir, with that sort of man,” +said the Chief Inspector, with returning composure. The slight approving +movement of the Assistant Commissioner’s head went far to pacify the +resentful astonishment of the renowned officer. For Chief Inspector Heat +was a kind man, an excellent husband, a devoted father; and the public +and departmental confidence he enjoyed acting favourably upon an amiable +nature, disposed him to feel friendly towards the successive Assistant +Commissioners he had seen pass through that very room. There had been +three in his time. The first one, a soldierly, abrupt, red-faced person, +with white eyebrows and an explosive temper, could be managed with a +silken thread. He left on reaching the age limit. The second, a perfect +gentleman, knowing his own and everybody else’s place to a nicety, on +resigning to take up a higher appointment out of England got decorated +for (really) Inspector Heat’s services. To work with him had been a +pride and a pleasure. The third, a bit of a dark horse from the first, +was at the end of eighteen months something of a dark horse still to the +department. Upon the whole Chief Inspector Heat believed him to be in +the main harmless—odd-looking, but harmless. He was speaking now, and +the Chief Inspector listened with outward deference (which means nothing, +being a matter of duty) and inwardly with benevolent toleration. + +“Michaelis reported himself before leaving London for the country?” + +“Yes, sir. He did.” + +“And what may he be doing there?” continued the Assistant Commissioner, +who was perfectly informed on that point. Fitted with painful tightness +into an old wooden arm-chair, before a worm-eaten oak table in an +upstairs room of a four-roomed cottage with a roof of moss-grown tiles, +Michaelis was writing night and day in a shaky, slanting hand that +“Autobiography of a Prisoner” which was to be like a book of Revelation +in the history of mankind. The conditions of confined space, seclusion, +and solitude in a small four-roomed cottage were favourable to his +inspiration. It was like being in prison, except that one was never +disturbed for the odious purpose of taking exercise according to the +tyrannical regulations of his old home in the penitentiary. He could not +tell whether the sun still shone on the earth or not. The perspiration +of the literary labour dropped from his brow. A delightful enthusiasm +urged him on. It was the liberation of his inner life, the letting out +of his soul into the wide world. And the zeal of his guileless vanity +(first awakened by the offer of five hundred pounds from a publisher) +seemed something predestined and holy. + +“It would be, of course, most desirable to be informed exactly,” insisted +the Assistant Commissioner uncandidly. + +Chief Inspector Heat, conscious of renewed irritation at this display of +scrupulousness, said that the county police had been notified from the +first of Michaelis’ arrival, and that a full report could be obtained in +a few hours. A wire to the superintendent— + +Thus he spoke, rather slowly, while his mind seemed already to be +weighing the consequences. A slight knitting of the brow was the outward +sign of this. But he was interrupted by a question. + +“You’ve sent that wire already?” + +“No, sir,” he answered, as if surprised. + +The Assistant Commissioner uncrossed his legs suddenly. The briskness of +that movement contrasted with the casual way in which he threw out a +suggestion. + +“Would you think that Michaelis had anything to do with the preparation +of that bomb, for instance?” + +The Chief Inspector assumed a reflective manner. + +“I wouldn’t say so. There’s no necessity to say anything at present. He +associates with men who are classed as dangerous. He was made a delegate +of the Red Committee less than a year after his release on licence. A +sort of compliment, I suppose.” + +And the Chief Inspector laughed a little angrily, a little scornfully. +With a man of that sort scrupulousness was a misplaced and even an +illegal sentiment. The celebrity bestowed upon Michaelis on his release +two years ago by some emotional journalists in want of special copy had +rankled ever since in his breast. It was perfectly legal to arrest that +man on the barest suspicion. It was legal and expedient on the face of +it. His two former chiefs would have seen the point at once; whereas +this one, without saying either yes or no, sat there, as if lost in a +dream. Moreover, besides being legal and expedient, the arrest of +Michaelis solved a little personal difficulty which worried Chief +Inspector Heat somewhat. This difficulty had its bearing upon his +reputation, upon his comfort, and even upon the efficient performance of +his duties. For, if Michaelis no doubt knew something about this +outrage, the Chief Inspector was fairly certain that he did not know too +much. This was just as well. He knew much less—the Chief Inspector was +positive—than certain other individuals he had in his mind, but whose +arrest seemed to him inexpedient, besides being a more complicated +matter, on account of the rules of the game. The rules of the game did +not protect so much Michaelis, who was an ex-convict. It would be stupid +not to take advantage of legal facilities, and the journalists who had +written him up with emotional gush would be ready to write him down with +emotional indignation. + +This prospect, viewed with confidence, had the attraction of a personal +triumph for Chief Inspector Heat. And deep down in his blameless bosom +of an average married citizen, almost unconscious but potent +nevertheless, the dislike of being compelled by events to meddle with the +desperate ferocity of the Professor had its say. This dislike had been +strengthened by the chance meeting in the lane. The encounter did not +leave behind with Chief Inspector Heat that satisfactory sense of +superiority the members of the police force get from the unofficial but +intimate side of their intercourse with the criminal classes, by which +the vanity of power is soothed, and the vulgar love of domination over +our fellow-creatures is flattered as worthily as it deserves. + +The perfect anarchist was not recognised as a fellow-creature by Chief +Inspector Heat. He was impossible—a mad dog to be left alone. Not that +the Chief Inspector was afraid of him; on the contrary, he meant to have +him some day. But not yet; he meant to get hold of him in his own time, +properly and effectively according to the rules of the game. The present +was not the right time for attempting that feat, not the right time for +many reasons, personal and of public service. This being the strong +feeling of Inspector Heat, it appeared to him just and proper that this +affair should be shunted off its obscure and inconvenient track, leading +goodness knows where, into a quiet (and lawful) siding called Michaelis. +And he repeated, as if reconsidering the suggestion conscientiously: + +“The bomb. No, I would not say that exactly. We may never find that +out. But it’s clear that he is connected with this in some way, which we +can find out without much trouble.” + +His countenance had that look of grave, overbearing indifference once +well known and much dreaded by the better sort of thieves. Chief +Inspector Heat, though what is called a man, was not a smiling animal. +But his inward state was that of satisfaction at the passively receptive +attitude of the Assistant Commissioner, who murmured gently: + +“And you really think that the investigation should be made in that +direction?” + +“I do, sir.” + +“Quite convinced? + +“I am, sir. That’s the true line for us to take.” + +The Assistant Commissioner withdrew the support of his hand from his +reclining head with a suddenness that, considering his languid attitude, +seemed to menace his whole person with collapse. But, on the contrary, +he sat up, extremely alert, behind the great writing-table on which his +hand had fallen with the sound of a sharp blow. + +“What I want to know is what put it out of your head till now.” + +“Put it out of my head,” repeated the Chief Inspector very slowly. + +“Yes. Till you were called into this room—you know.” + +The Chief Inspector felt as if the air between his clothing and his skin +had become unpleasantly hot. It was the sensation of an unprecedented +and incredible experience. + +“Of course,” he said, exaggerating the deliberation of his utterance to +the utmost limits of possibility, “if there is a reason, of which I know +nothing, for not interfering with the convict Michaelis, perhaps it’s +just as well I didn’t start the county police after him.” + +This took such a long time to say that the unflagging attention of the +Assistant Commissioner seemed a wonderful feat of endurance. His retort +came without delay. + +“No reason whatever that I know of. Come, Chief Inspector, this +finessing with me is highly improper on your part—highly improper. And +it’s also unfair, you know. You shouldn’t leave me to puzzle things out +for myself like this. Really, I am surprised.” + +He paused, then added smoothly: “I need scarcely tell you that this +conversation is altogether unofficial.” + +These words were far from pacifying the Chief Inspector. The indignation +of a betrayed tight-rope performer was strong within him. In his pride +of a trusted servant he was affected by the assurance that the rope was +not shaken for the purpose of breaking his neck, as by an exhibition of +impudence. As if anybody were afraid! Assistant Commissioners come and +go, but a valuable Chief Inspector is not an ephemeral office phenomenon. +He was not afraid of getting a broken neck. To have his performance +spoiled was more than enough to account for the glow of honest +indignation. And as thought is no respecter of persons, the thought of +Chief Inspector Heat took a threatening and prophetic shape. “You, my +boy,” he said to himself, keeping his round and habitually roving eyes +fastened upon the Assistant Commissioner’s face—“you, my boy, you don’t +know your place, and your place won’t know you very long either, I bet.” + +As if in provoking answer to that thought, something like the ghost of an +amiable smile passed on the lips of the Assistant Commissioner. His +manner was easy and business-like while he persisted in administering +another shake to the tight rope. + +“Let us come now to what you have discovered on the spot, Chief +Inspector,” he said. + +“A fool and his job are soon parted,” went on the train of prophetic +thought in Chief Inspector Heat’s head. But it was immediately followed +by the reflection that a higher official, even when “fired out” (this was +the precise image), has still the time as he flies through the door to +launch a nasty kick at the shin-bones of a subordinate. Without +softening very much the basilisk nature of his stare, he said +impassively: + +“We are coming to that part of my investigation, sir.” + +“That’s right. Well, what have you brought away from it?” + +The Chief Inspector, who had made up his mind to jump off the rope, came +to the ground with gloomy frankness. + +“I’ve brought away an address,” he said, pulling out of his pocket +without haste a singed rag of dark blue cloth. “This belongs to the +overcoat the fellow who got himself blown to pieces was wearing. Of +course, the overcoat may not have been his, and may even have been +stolen. But that’s not at all probable if you look at this.” + +The Chief Inspector, stepping up to the table, smoothed out carefully the +rag of blue cloth. He had picked it up from the repulsive heap in the +mortuary, because a tailor’s name is found sometimes under the collar. +It is not often of much use, but still—He only half expected to find +anything useful, but certainly he did not expect to find—not under the +collar at all, but stitched carefully on the under side of the lapel—a +square piece of calico with an address written on it in marking ink. + +The Chief Inspector removed his smoothing hand. + +“I carried it off with me without anybody taking notice,” he said. “I +thought it best. It can always be produced if required.” + +The Assistant Commissioner, rising a little in his chair, pulled the +cloth over to his side of the table. He sat looking at it in silence. +Only the number 32 and the name of Brett Street were written in marking +ink on a piece of calico slightly larger than an ordinary cigarette +paper. He was genuinely surprised. + +“Can’t understand why he should have gone about labelled like this,” he +said, looking up at Chief Inspector Heat. “It’s a most extraordinary +thing.” + +“I met once in the smoking-room of a hotel an old gentleman who went +about with his name and address sewn on in all his coats in case of an +accident or sudden illness,” said the Chief Inspector. “He professed to +be eighty-four years old, but he didn’t look his age. He told me he was +also afraid of losing his memory suddenly, like those people he has been +reading of in the papers.” + +A question from the Assistant Commissioner, who wanted to know what was +No. 32 Brett Street, interrupted that reminiscence abruptly. The Chief +Inspector, driven down to the ground by unfair artifices, had elected to +walk the path of unreserved openness. If he believed firmly that to know +too much was not good for the department, the judicious holding back of +knowledge was as far as his loyalty dared to go for the good of the +service. If the Assistant Commissioner wanted to mismanage this affair +nothing, of course, could prevent him. But, on his own part, he now saw +no reason for a display of alacrity. So he answered concisely: + +“It’s a shop, sir.” + +The Assistant Commissioner, with his eyes lowered on the rag of blue +cloth, waited for more information. As that did not come he proceeded to +obtain it by a series of questions propounded with gentle patience. Thus +he acquired an idea of the nature of Mr Verloc’s commerce, of his +personal appearance, and heard at last his name. In a pause the +Assistant Commissioner raised his eyes, and discovered some animation on +the Chief Inspector’s face. They looked at each other in silence. + +“Of course,” said the latter, “the department has no record of that man.” + +“Did any of my predecessors have any knowledge of what you have told me +now?” asked the Assistant Commissioner, putting his elbows on the table +and raising his joined hands before his face, as if about to offer +prayer, only that his eyes had not a pious expression. + +“No, sir; certainly not. What would have been the object? That sort of +man could never be produced publicly to any good purpose. It was +sufficient for me to know who he was, and to make use of him in a way +that could be used publicly.” + +“And do you think that sort of private knowledge consistent with the +official position you occupy?” + +“Perfectly, sir. I think it’s quite proper. I will take the liberty to +tell you, sir, that it makes me what I am—and I am looked upon as a man +who knows his work. It’s a private affair of my own. A personal friend +of mine in the French police gave me the hint that the fellow was an +Embassy spy. Private friendship, private information, private use of +it—that’s how I look upon it.” + +The Assistant Commissioner after remarking to himself that the mental +state of the renowned Chief Inspector seemed to affect the outline of his +lower jaw, as if the lively sense of his high professional distinction +had been located in that part of his anatomy, dismissed the point for the +moment with a calm “I see.” Then leaning his cheek on his joined hands: + +“Well then—speaking privately if you like—how long have you been in +private touch with this Embassy spy?” + +To this inquiry the private answer of the Chief Inspector, so private +that it was never shaped into audible words, was: + +“Long before you were even thought of for your place here.” + +The so-to-speak public utterance was much more precise. + +“I saw him for the first time in my life a little more than seven years +ago, when two Imperial Highnesses and the Imperial Chancellor were on a +visit here. I was put in charge of all the arrangements for looking +after them. Baron Stott-Wartenheim was Ambassador then. He was a very +nervous old gentleman. One evening, three days before the Guildhall +Banquet, he sent word that he wanted to see me for a moment. I was +downstairs, and the carriages were at the door to take the Imperial +Highnesses and the Chancellor to the opera. I went up at once. I found +the Baron walking up and down his bedroom in a pitiable state of +distress, squeezing his hands together. He assured me he had the fullest +confidence in our police and in my abilities, but he had there a man just +come over from Paris whose information could be trusted implicity. He +wanted me to hear what that man had to say. He took me at once into a +dressing-room next door, where I saw a big fellow in a heavy overcoat +sitting all alone on a chair, and holding his hat and stick in one hand. +The Baron said to him in French ‘Speak, my friend.’ The light in that +room was not very good. I talked with him for some five minutes perhaps. +He certainly gave me a piece of very startling news. Then the Baron took +me aside nervously to praise him up to me, and when I turned round again +I discovered that the fellow had vanished like a ghost. Got up and +sneaked out down some back stairs, I suppose. There was no time to run +after him, as I had to hurry off after the Ambassador down the great +staircase, and see the party started safe for the opera. However, I +acted upon the information that very night. Whether it was perfectly +correct or not, it did look serious enough. Very likely it saved us from +an ugly trouble on the day of the Imperial visit to the City. + +“Some time later, a month or so after my promotion to Chief Inspector, my +attention was attracted to a big burly man, I thought I had seen +somewhere before, coming out in a hurry from a jeweller’s shop in the +Strand. I went after him, as it was on my way towards Charing Cross, and +there seeing one of our detectives across the road, I beckoned him over, +and pointed out the fellow to him, with instructions to watch his +movements for a couple of days, and then report to me. No later than +next afternoon my man turned up to tell me that the fellow had married +his landlady’s daughter at a registrar’s office that very day at 11.30 +a.m., and had gone off with her to Margate for a week. Our man had seen +the luggage being put on the cab. There were some old Paris labels on +one of the bags. Somehow I couldn’t get the fellow out of my head, and +the very next time I had to go to Paris on service I spoke about him to +that friend of mine in the Paris police. My friend said: ‘From what you +tell me I think you must mean a rather well-known hanger-on and emissary +of the Revolutionary Red Committee. He says he is an Englishman by +birth. We have an idea that he has been for a good few years now a +secret agent of one of the foreign Embassies in London.’ This woke up my +memory completely. He was the vanishing fellow I saw sitting on a chair +in Baron Stott-Wartenheim’s bathroom. I told my friend that he was quite +right. The fellow was a secret agent to my certain knowledge. +Afterwards my friend took the trouble to ferret out the complete record +of that man for me. I thought I had better know all there was to know; +but I don’t suppose you want to hear his history now, sir?” + +The Assistant Commissioner shook his supported head. “The history of +your relations with that useful personage is the only thing that matters +just now,” he said, closing slowly his weary, deep-set eyes, and then +opening them swiftly with a greatly refreshed glance. + +“There’s nothing official about them,” said the Chief Inspector bitterly. +“I went into his shop one evening, told him who I was, and reminded him +of our first meeting. He didn’t as much as twitch an eyebrow. He said +that he was married and settled now, and that all he wanted was not to be +interfered in his little business. I took it upon myself to promise him +that, as long as he didn’t go in for anything obviously outrageous, he +would be left alone by the police. That was worth something to him, +because a word from us to the Custom-House people would have been enough +to get some of these packages he gets from Paris and Brussels opened in +Dover, with confiscation to follow for certain, and perhaps a prosecution +as well at the end of it.” + +“That’s a very precarious trade,” murmured the Assistant Commissioner. +“Why did he go in for that?” + +The Chief Inspector raised scornful eyebrows dispassionately. + +“Most likely got a connection—friends on the Continent—amongst people who +deal in such wares. They would be just the sort he would consort with. +He’s a lazy dog, too—like the rest of them.” + +“What do you get from him in exchange for your protection?” + +The Chief Inspector was not inclined to enlarge on the value of Mr +Verloc’s services. + +“He would not be much good to anybody but myself. One has got to know a +good deal beforehand to make use of a man like that. I can understand +the sort of hint he can give. And when I want a hint he can generally +furnish it to me.” + +The Chief Inspector lost himself suddenly in a discreet reflective mood; +and the Assistant Commissioner repressed a smile at the fleeting thought +that the reputation of Chief Inspector Heat might possibly have been made +in a great part by the Secret Agent Verloc. + +“In a more general way of being of use, all our men of the Special Crimes +section on duty at Charing Cross and Victoria have orders to take careful +notice of anybody they may see with him. He meets the new arrivals +frequently, and afterwards keeps track of them. He seems to have been +told off for that sort of duty. When I want an address in a hurry, I can +always get it from him. Of course, I know how to manage our relations. +I haven’t seen him to speak to three times in the last two years. I drop +him a line, unsigned, and he answers me in the same way at my private +address.” + +From time to time the Assistant Commissioner gave an almost imperceptible +nod. The Chief Inspector added that he did not suppose Mr Verloc to be +deep in the confidence of the prominent members of the Revolutionary +International Council, but that he was generally trusted of that there +could be no doubt. “Whenever I’ve had reason to think there was +something in the wind,” he concluded, “I’ve always found he could tell me +something worth knowing.” + +The Assistant Commissioner made a significant remark. + +“He failed you this time.” + +“Neither had I wind of anything in any other way,” retorted Chief +Inspector Heat. “I asked him nothing, so he could tell me nothing. He +isn’t one of our men. It isn’t as if he were in our pay.” + +“No,” muttered the Assistant Commissioner. “He’s a spy in the pay of a +foreign government. We could never confess to him.” + +“I must do my work in my own way,” declared the Chief Inspector. “When +it comes to that I would deal with the devil himself, and take the +consequences. There are things not fit for everybody to know.” + +“Your idea of secrecy seems to consist in keeping the chief of your +department in the dark. That’s stretching it perhaps a little too far, +isn’t it? He lives over his shop?” + +“Who—Verloc? Oh yes. He lives over his shop. The wife’s mother, I +fancy, lives with them.” + +“Is the house watched?” + +“Oh dear, no. It wouldn’t do. Certain people who come there are +watched. My opinion is that he knows nothing of this affair.” + +“How do you account for this?” The Assistant Commissioner nodded at the +cloth rag lying before him on the table. + +“I don’t account for it at all, sir. It’s simply unaccountable. It +can’t be explained by what I know.” The Chief Inspector made those +admissions with the frankness of a man whose reputation is established as +if on a rock. “At any rate not at this present moment. I think that the +man who had most to do with it will turn out to be Michaelis.” + +“You do?” + +“Yes, sir; because I can answer for all the others.” + +“What about that other man supposed to have escaped from the park?” + +“I should think he’s far away by this time,” opined the Chief Inspector. + +The Assistant Commissioner looked hard at him, and rose suddenly, as +though having made up his mind to some course of action. As a matter of +fact, he had that very moment succumbed to a fascinating temptation. The +Chief Inspector heard himself dismissed with instructions to meet his +superior early next morning for further consultation upon the case. He +listened with an impenetrable face, and walked out of the room with +measured steps. + +Whatever might have been the plans of the Assistant Commissioner they had +nothing to do with that desk work, which was the bane of his existence +because of its confined nature and apparent lack of reality. It could +not have had, or else the general air of alacrity that came upon the +Assistant Commissioner would have been inexplicable. As soon as he was +left alone he looked for his hat impulsively, and put it on his head. +Having done that, he sat down again to reconsider the whole matter. But +as his mind was already made up, this did not take long. And before +Chief Inspector Heat had gone very far on the way home, he also left the +building. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +The Assistant Commissioner walked along a short and narrow street like a +wet, muddy trench, then crossing a very broad thoroughfare entered a +public edifice, and sought speech with a young private secretary (unpaid) +of a great personage. + +This fair, smooth-faced young man, whose symmetrically arranged hair gave +him the air of a large and neat schoolboy, met the Assistant +Commissioner’s request with a doubtful look, and spoke with bated breath. + +“Would he see you? I don’t know about that. He has walked over from the +House an hour ago to talk with the permanent Under-Secretary, and now +he’s ready to walk back again. He might have sent for him; but he does +it for the sake of a little exercise, I suppose. It’s all the exercise +he can find time for while this session lasts. I don’t complain; I +rather enjoy these little strolls. He leans on my arm, and doesn’t open +his lips. But, I say, he’s very tired, and—well—not in the sweetest of +tempers just now.” + +“It’s in connection with that Greenwich affair.” + +“Oh! I say! He’s very bitter against you people. But I will go and +see, if you insist.” + +“Do. That’s a good fellow,” said the Assistant Commissioner. + +The unpaid secretary admired this pluck. Composing for himself an +innocent face, he opened a door, and went in with the assurance of a nice +and privileged child. And presently he reappeared, with a nod to the +Assistant Commissioner, who passing through the same door left open for +him, found himself with the great personage in a large room. + +Vast in bulk and stature, with a long white face, which, broadened at the +base by a big double chin, appeared egg-shaped in the fringe of thin +greyish whisker, the great personage seemed an expanding man. +Unfortunate from a tailoring point of view, the cross-folds in the middle +of a buttoned black coat added to the impression, as if the fastenings of +the garment were tried to the utmost. From the head, set upward on a +thick neck, the eyes, with puffy lower lids, stared with a haughty droop +on each side of a hooked aggressive nose, nobly salient in the vast pale +circumference of the face. A shiny silk hat and a pair of worn gloves +lying ready on the end of a long table looked expanded too, enormous. + +He stood on the hearthrug in big, roomy boots, and uttered no word of +greeting. + +“I would like to know if this is the beginning of another dynamite +campaign,” he asked at once in a deep, very smooth voice. “Don’t go into +details. I have no time for that.” + +The Assistant Commissioner’s figure before this big and rustic Presence +had the frail slenderness of a reed addressing an oak. And indeed the +unbroken record of that man’s descent surpassed in the number of +centuries the age of the oldest oak in the country. + +“No. As far as one can be positive about anything I can assure you that +it is not.” + +“Yes. But your idea of assurances over there,” said the great man, with +a contemptuous wave of his hand towards a window giving on the broad +thoroughfare, “seems to consist mainly in making the Secretary of State +look a fool. I have been told positively in this very room less than a +month ago that nothing of the sort was even possible.” + +The Assistant Commissioner glanced in the direction of the window calmly. + +“You will allow me to remark, Sir Ethelred, that so far I have had no +opportunity to give you assurances of any kind.” + +The haughty droop of the eyes was focussed now upon the Assistant +Commissioner. + +“True,” confessed the deep, smooth voice. “I sent for Heat. You are +still rather a novice in your new berth. And how are you getting on over +there?” + +“I believe I am learning something every day.” + +“Of course, of course. I hope you will get on.” + +“Thank you, Sir Ethelred. I’ve learned something to-day, and even within +the last hour or so. There is much in this affair of a kind that does +not meet the eye in a usual anarchist outrage, even if one looked into it +as deep as can be. That’s why I am here.” + +The great man put his arms akimbo, the backs of his big hands resting on +his hips. + +“Very well. Go on. Only no details, pray. Spare me the details.” + +“You shall not be troubled with them, Sir Ethelred,” the Assistant +Commissioner began, with a calm and untroubled assurance. While he was +speaking the hands on the face of the clock behind the great man’s back—a +heavy, glistening affair of massive scrolls in the same dark marble as +the mantelpiece, and with a ghostly, evanescent tick—had moved through +the space of seven minutes. He spoke with a studious fidelity to a +parenthetical manner, into which every little fact—that is, every +detail—fitted with delightful ease. Not a murmur nor even a movement +hinted at interruption. The great Personage might have been the statue +of one of his own princely ancestors stripped of a crusader’s war +harness, and put into an ill-fitting frock coat. The Assistant +Commissioner felt as though he were at liberty to talk for an hour. But +he kept his head, and at the end of the time mentioned above he broke off +with a sudden conclusion, which, reproducing the opening statement, +pleasantly surprised Sir Ethelred by its apparent swiftness and force. + +“The kind of thing which meets us under the surface of this affair, +otherwise without gravity, is unusual—in this precise form at least—and +requires special treatment.” + +The tone of Sir Ethelred was deepened, full of conviction. + +“I should think so—involving the Ambassador of a foreign power!” + +“Oh! The Ambassador!” protested the other, erect and slender, allowing +himself a mere half smile. “It would be stupid of me to advance anything +of the kind. And it is absolutely unnecessary, because if I am right in +my surmises, whether ambassador or hall porter it’s a mere detail.” + +Sir Ethelred opened a wide mouth, like a cavern, into which the hooked +nose seemed anxious to peer; there came from it a subdued rolling sound, +as from a distant organ with the scornful indignation stop. + +“No! These people are too impossible. What do they mean by importing +their methods of Crim-Tartary here? A Turk would have more decency.” + +“You forget, Sir Ethelred, that strictly speaking we know nothing +positively—as yet.” + +“No! But how would you define it? Shortly?” + +“Barefaced audacity amounting to childishness of a peculiar sort.” + +“We can’t put up with the innocence of nasty little children,” said the +great and expanded personage, expanding a little more, as it were. The +haughty drooping glance struck crushingly the carpet at the Assistant +Commissioner’s feet. “They’ll have to get a hard rap on the knuckles +over this affair. We must be in a position to—What is your general idea, +stated shortly? No need to go into details.” + +“No, Sir Ethelred. In principle, I should lay it down that the existence +of secret agents should not be tolerated, as tending to augment the +positive dangers of the evil against which they are used. That the spy +will fabricate his information is a mere commonplace. But in the sphere +of political and revolutionary action, relying partly on violence, the +professional spy has every facility to fabricate the very facts +themselves, and will spread the double evil of emulation in one +direction, and of panic, hasty legislation, unreflecting hate, on the +other. However, this is an imperfect world—” + +The deep-voiced Presence on the hearthrug, motionless, with big elbows +stuck out, said hastily: + +“Be lucid, please.” + +“Yes, Sir Ethelred—An imperfect world. Therefore directly the character +of this affair suggested itself to me, I thought it should be dealt with +with special secrecy, and ventured to come over here.” + +“That’s right,” approved the great Personage, glancing down complacently +over his double chin. “I am glad there’s somebody over at your shop who +thinks that the Secretary of State may be trusted now and then.” + +The Assistant Commissioner had an amused smile. + +“I was really thinking that it might be better at this stage for Heat to +be replaced by—” + +“What! Heat? An ass—eh?” exclaimed the great man, with distinct +animosity. + +“Not at all. Pray, Sir Ethelred, don’t put that unjust interpretation on +my remarks.” + +“Then what? Too clever by half?” + +“Neither—at least not as a rule. All the grounds of my surmises I have +from him. The only thing I’ve discovered by myself is that he has been +making use of that man privately. Who could blame him? He’s an old +police hand. He told me virtually that he must have tools to work with. +It occurred to me that this tool should be surrendered to the Special +Crimes division as a whole, instead of remaining the private property of +Chief Inspector Heat. I extend my conception of our departmental duties +to the suppression of the secret agent. But Chief Inspector Heat is an +old departmental hand. He would accuse me of perverting its morality and +attacking its efficiency. He would define it bitterly as protection +extended to the criminal class of revolutionists. It would mean just +that to him.” + +“Yes. But what do you mean?” + +“I mean to say, first, that there’s but poor comfort in being able to +declare that any given act of violence—damaging property or destroying +life—is not the work of anarchism at all, but of something else +altogether—some species of authorised scoundrelism. This, I fancy, is +much more frequent than we suppose. Next, it’s obvious that the +existence of these people in the pay of foreign governments destroys in a +measure the efficiency of our supervision. A spy of that sort can afford +to be more reckless than the most reckless of conspirators. His +occupation is free from all restraint. He’s without as much faith as is +necessary for complete negation, and without that much law as is implied +in lawlessness. Thirdly, the existence of these spies amongst the +revolutionary groups, which we are reproached for harbouring here, does +away with all certitude. You have received a reassuring statement from +Chief Inspector Heat some time ago. It was by no means groundless—and +yet this episode happens. I call it an episode, because this affair, I +make bold to say, is episodic; it is no part of any general scheme, +however wild. The very peculiarities which surprise and perplex Chief +Inspector Heat establish its character in my eyes. I am keeping clear of +details, Sir Ethelred.” + +The Personage on the hearthrug had been listening with profound +attention. + +“Just so. Be as concise as you can.” + +The Assistant Commissioner intimated by an earnest deferential gesture +that he was anxious to be concise. + +“There is a peculiar stupidity and feebleness in the conduct of this +affair which gives me excellent hopes of getting behind it and finding +there something else than an individual freak of fanaticism. For it is a +planned thing, undoubtedly. The actual perpetrator seems to have been +led by the hand to the spot, and then abandoned hurriedly to his own +devices. The inference is that he was imported from abroad for the +purpose of committing this outrage. At the same time one is forced to +the conclusion that he did not know enough English to ask his way, unless +one were to accept the fantastic theory that he was a deaf mute. I +wonder now—But this is idle. He has destroyed himself by an accident, +obviously. Not an extraordinary accident. But an extraordinary little +fact remains: the address on his clothing discovered by the merest +accident, too. It is an incredible little fact, so incredible that the +explanation which will account for it is bound to touch the bottom of +this affair. Instead of instructing Heat to go on with this case, my +intention is to seek this explanation personally—by myself, I mean—where +it may be picked up. That is in a certain shop in Brett Street, and on +the lips of a certain secret agent once upon a time the confidential and +trusted spy of the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim, Ambassador of a Great +Power to the Court of St James.” + +The Assistant Commissioner paused, then added: “Those fellows are a +perfect pest.” In order to raise his drooping glance to the speaker’s +face, the Personage on the hearthrug had gradually tilted his head +farther back, which gave him an aspect of extraordinary haughtiness. + +“Why not leave it to Heat?” + +“Because he is an old departmental hand. They have their own morality. +My line of inquiry would appear to him an awful perversion of duty. For +him the plain duty is to fasten the guilt upon as many prominent +anarchists as he can on some slight indications he had picked up in the +course of his investigation on the spot; whereas I, he would say, am bent +upon vindicating their innocence. I am trying to be as lucid as I can in +presenting this obscure matter to you without details.” + +“He would, would he?” muttered the proud head of Sir Ethelred from its +lofty elevation. + +“I am afraid so—with an indignation and disgust of which you or I can +have no idea. He’s an excellent servant. We must not put an undue +strain on his loyalty. That’s always a mistake. Besides, I want a free +hand—a freer hand than it would be perhaps advisable to give Chief +Inspector Heat. I haven’t the slightest wish to spare this man Verloc. +He will, I imagine, be extremely startled to find his connection with +this affair, whatever it may be, brought home to him so quickly. +Frightening him will not be very difficult. But our true objective lies +behind him somewhere. I want your authority to give him such assurances +of personal safety as I may think proper.” + +“Certainly,” said the Personage on the hearthrug. “Find out as much as +you can; find it out in your own way.” + +“I must set about it without loss of time, this very evening,” said the +Assistant Commissioner. + +Sir Ethelred shifted one hand under his coat tails, and tilting back his +head, looked at him steadily. + +“We’ll have a late sitting to-night,” he said. “Come to the House with +your discoveries if we are not gone home. I’ll warn Toodles to look out +for you. He’ll take you into my room.” + +The numerous family and the wide connections of the youthful-looking +Private Secretary cherished for him the hope of an austere and exalted +destiny. Meantime the social sphere he adorned in his hours of idleness +chose to pet him under the above nickname. And Sir Ethelred, hearing it +on the lips of his wife and girls every day (mostly at breakfast-time), +had conferred upon it the dignity of unsmiling adoption. + +The Assistant Commissioner was surprised and gratified extremely. + +“I shall certainly bring my discoveries to the House on the chance of you +having the time to—” + +“I won’t have the time,” interrupted the great Personage. “But I will +see you. I haven’t the time now—And you are going yourself?” + +“Yes, Sir Ethelred. I think it the best way.” + +The Personage had tilted his head so far back that, in order to keep the +Assistant Commissioner under his observation, he had to nearly close his +eyes. + +“H’m. Ha! And how do you propose—Will you assume a disguise?” + +“Hardly a disguise! I’ll change my clothes, of course.” + +“Of course,” repeated the great man, with a sort of absent-minded +loftiness. He turned his big head slowly, and over his shoulder gave a +haughty oblique stare to the ponderous marble timepiece with the sly, +feeble tick. The gilt hands had taken the opportunity to steal through +no less than five and twenty minutes behind his back. + +The Assistant Commissioner, who could not see them, grew a little nervous +in the interval. But the great man presented to him a calm and +undismayed face. + +“Very well,” he said, and paused, as if in deliberate contempt of the +official clock. “But what first put you in motion in this direction?” + +“I have been always of opinion,” began the Assistant Commissioner. + +“Ah. Yes! Opinion. That’s of course. But the immediate motive?” + +“What shall I say, Sir Ethelred? A new man’s antagonism to old methods. +A desire to know something at first hand. Some impatience. It’s my old +work, but the harness is different. It has been chafing me a little in +one or two tender places.” + +“I hope you’ll get on over there,” said the great man kindly, extending +his hand, soft to the touch, but broad and powerful like the hand of a +glorified farmer. The Assistant Commissioner shook it, and withdrew. + +In the outer room Toodles, who had been waiting perched on the edge of a +table, advanced to meet him, subduing his natural buoyancy. + +“Well? Satisfactory?” he asked, with airy importance. + +“Perfectly. You’ve earned my undying gratitude,” answered the Assistant +Commissioner, whose long face looked wooden in contrast with the peculiar +character of the other’s gravity, which seemed perpetually ready to break +into ripples and chuckles. + +“That’s all right. But seriously, you can’t imagine how irritated he is +by the attacks on his Bill for the Nationalisation of Fisheries. They +call it the beginning of social revolution. Of course, it is a +revolutionary measure. But these fellows have no decency. The personal +attacks—” + +“I read the papers,” remarked the Assistant Commissioner. + +“Odious? Eh? And you have no notion what a mass of work he has got to +get through every day. He does it all himself. Seems unable to trust +anyone with these Fisheries.” + +“And yet he’s given a whole half hour to the consideration of my very +small sprat,” interjected the Assistant Commissioner. + +“Small! Is it? I’m glad to hear that. But it’s a pity you didn’t keep +away, then. This fight takes it out of him frightfully. The man’s +getting exhausted. I feel it by the way he leans on my arm as we walk +over. And, I say, is he safe in the streets? Mullins has been marching +his men up here this afternoon. There’s a constable stuck by every +lamp-post, and every second person we meet between this and Palace Yard +is an obvious ‘tec.’ It will get on his nerves presently. I say, these +foreign scoundrels aren’t likely to throw something at him—are they? It +would be a national calamity. The country can’t spare him.” + +“Not to mention yourself. He leans on your arm,” suggested the Assistant +Commissioner soberly. “You would both go.” + +“It would be an easy way for a young man to go down into history? Not so +many British Ministers have been assassinated as to make it a minor +incident. But seriously now—” + +“I am afraid that if you want to go down into history you’ll have to do +something for it. Seriously, there’s no danger whatever for both of you +but from overwork.” + +The sympathetic Toodles welcomed this opening for a chuckle. + +“The Fisheries won’t kill me. I am used to late hours,” he declared, +with ingenuous levity. But, feeling an instant compunction, he began to +assume an air of statesman-like moodiness, as one draws on a glove. “His +massive intellect will stand any amount of work. It’s his nerves that I +am afraid of. The reactionary gang, with that abusive brute Cheeseman at +their head, insult him every night.” + +“If he will insist on beginning a revolution!” murmured the Assistant +Commissioner. + +“The time has come, and he is the only man great enough for the work,” +protested the revolutionary Toodles, flaring up under the calm, +speculative gaze of the Assistant Commissioner. Somewhere in a corridor +a distant bell tinkled urgently, and with devoted vigilance the young man +pricked up his ears at the sound. “He’s ready to go now,” he exclaimed +in a whisper, snatched up his hat, and vanished from the room. + +The Assistant Commissioner went out by another door in a less elastic +manner. Again he crossed the wide thoroughfare, walked along a narrow +street, and re-entered hastily his own departmental buildings. He kept +up this accelerated pace to the door of his private room. Before he had +closed it fairly his eyes sought his desk. He stood still for a moment, +then walked up, looked all round on the floor, sat down in his chair, +rang a bell, and waited. + +“Chief Inspector Heat gone yet?” + +“Yes, sir. Went away half-an-hour ago.” + +He nodded. “That will do.” And sitting still, with his hat pushed off +his forehead, he thought that it was just like Heat’s confounded cheek to +carry off quietly the only piece of material evidence. But he thought +this without animosity. Old and valued servants will take liberties. +The piece of overcoat with the address sewn on was certainly not a thing +to leave about. Dismissing from his mind this manifestation of Chief +Inspector Heat’s mistrust, he wrote and despatched a note to his wife, +charging her to make his apologies to Michaelis’ great lady, with whom +they were engaged to dine that evening. + +The short jacket and the low, round hat he assumed in a sort of curtained +alcove containing a washstand, a row of wooden pegs and a shelf, brought +out wonderfully the length of his grave, brown face. He stepped back +into the full light of the room, looking like the vision of a cool, +reflective Don Quixote, with the sunken eyes of a dark enthusiast and a +very deliberate manner. He left the scene of his daily labours quickly +like an unobtrusive shadow. His descent into the street was like the +descent into a slimy aquarium from which the water had been run off. A +murky, gloomy dampness enveloped him. The walls of the houses were wet, +the mud of the roadway glistened with an effect of phosphorescence, and +when he emerged into the Strand out of a narrow street by the side of +Charing Cross Station the genius of the locality assimilated him. He +might have been but one more of the queer foreign fish that can be seen +of an evening about there flitting round the dark corners. + +He came to a stand on the very edge of the pavement, and waited. His +exercised eyes had made out in the confused movements of lights and +shadows thronging the roadway the crawling approach of a hansom. He gave +no sign; but when the low step gliding along the curbstone came to his +feet he dodged in skilfully in front of the big turning wheel, and spoke +up through the little trap door almost before the man gazing supinely +ahead from his perch was aware of having been boarded by a fare. + +It was not a long drive. It ended by signal abruptly, nowhere in +particular, between two lamp-posts before a large drapery establishment—a +long range of shops already lapped up in sheets of corrugated iron for +the night. Tendering a coin through the trap door the fare slipped out +and away, leaving an effect of uncanny, eccentric ghastliness upon the +driver’s mind. But the size of the coin was satisfactory to his touch, +and his education not being literary, he remained untroubled by the fear +of finding it presently turned to a dead leaf in his pocket. Raised +above the world of fares by the nature of his calling, he contemplated +their actions with a limited interest. The sharp pulling of his horse +right round expressed his philosophy. + +Meantime the Assistant Commissioner was already giving his order to a +waiter in a little Italian restaurant round the corner—one of those traps +for the hungry, long and narrow, baited with a perspective of mirrors and +white napery; without air, but with an atmosphere of their own—an +atmosphere of fraudulent cookery mocking an abject mankind in the most +pressing of its miserable necessities. In this immoral atmosphere the +Assistant Commissioner, reflecting upon his enterprise, seemed to lose +some more of his identity. He had a sense of loneliness, of evil +freedom. It was rather pleasant. When, after paying for his short meal, +he stood up and waited for his change, he saw himself in the sheet of +glass, and was struck by his foreign appearance. He contemplated his own +image with a melancholy and inquisitive gaze, then by sudden inspiration +raised the collar of his jacket. This arrangement appeared to him +commendable, and he completed it by giving an upward twist to the ends of +his black moustache. He was satisfied by the subtle modification of his +personal aspect caused by these small changes. “That’ll do very well,” +he thought. “I’ll get a little wet, a little splashed—” + +He became aware of the waiter at his elbow and of a small pile of silver +coins on the edge of the table before him. The waiter kept one eye on +it, while his other eye followed the long back of a tall, not very young +girl, who passed up to a distant table looking perfectly sightless and +altogether unapproachable. She seemed to be a habitual customer. + +On going out the Assistant Commissioner made to himself the observation +that the patrons of the place had lost in the frequentation of fraudulent +cookery all their national and private characteristics. And this was +strange, since the Italian restaurant is such a peculiarly British +institution. But these people were as denationalised as the dishes set +before them with every circumstance of unstamped respectability. Neither +was their personality stamped in any way, professionally, socially or +racially. They seemed created for the Italian restaurant, unless the +Italian restaurant had been perchance created for them. But that last +hypothesis was unthinkable, since one could not place them anywhere +outside those special establishments. One never met these enigmatical +persons elsewhere. It was impossible to form a precise idea what +occupations they followed by day and where they went to bed at night. +And he himself had become unplaced. It would have been impossible for +anybody to guess his occupation. As to going to bed, there was a doubt +even in his own mind. Not indeed in regard to his domicile itself, but +very much so in respect of the time when he would be able to return +there. A pleasurable feeling of independence possessed him when he heard +the glass doors swing to behind his back with a sort of imperfect baffled +thud. He advanced at once into an immensity of greasy slime and damp +plaster interspersed with lamps, and enveloped, oppressed, penetrated, +choked, and suffocated by the blackness of a wet London night, which is +composed of soot and drops of water. + +Brett Street was not very far away. It branched off, narrow, from the +side of an open triangular space surrounded by dark and mysterious +houses, temples of petty commerce emptied of traders for the night. Only +a fruiterer’s stall at the corner made a violent blaze of light and +colour. Beyond all was black, and the few people passing in that +direction vanished at one stride beyond the glowing heaps of oranges and +lemons. No footsteps echoed. They would never be heard of again. The +adventurous head of the Special Crimes Department watched these +disappearances from a distance with an interested eye. He felt +light-hearted, as though he had been ambushed all alone in a jungle many +thousands of miles away from departmental desks and official inkstands. +This joyousness and dispersion of thought before a task of some +importance seems to prove that this world of ours is not such a very +serious affair after all. For the Assistant Commissioner was not +constitutionally inclined to levity. + +The policeman on the beat projected his sombre and moving form against +the luminous glory of oranges and lemons, and entered Brett Street +without haste. The Assistant Commissioner, as though he were a member of +the criminal classes, lingered out of sight, awaiting his return. But +this constable seemed to be lost for ever to the force. He never +returned: must have gone out at the other end of Brett Street. + +The Assistant Commissioner, reaching this conclusion, entered the street +in his turn, and came upon a large van arrested in front of the dimly lit +window-panes of a carter’s eating-house. The man was refreshing himself +inside, and the horses, their big heads lowered to the ground, fed out of +nose-bags steadily. Farther on, on the opposite side of the street, +another suspect patch of dim light issued from Mr Verloc’s shop front, +hung with papers, heaving with vague piles of cardboard boxes and the +shapes of books. The Assistant Commissioner stood observing it across +the roadway. There could be no mistake. By the side of the front +window, encumbered by the shadows of nondescript things, the door, +standing ajar, let escape on the pavement a narrow, clear streak of +gas-light within. + +Behind the Assistant Commissioner the van and horses, merged into one +mass, seemed something alive—a square-backed black monster blocking half +the street, with sudden iron-shod stampings, fierce jingles, and heavy, +blowing sighs. The harshly festive, ill-omened glare of a large and +prosperous public-house faced the other end of Brett Street across a wide +road. This barrier of blazing lights, opposing the shadows gathered +about the humble abode of Mr Verloc’s domestic happiness, seemed to drive +the obscurity of the street back upon itself, make it more sullen, +brooding, and sinister. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Having infused by persistent importunities some sort of heat into the +chilly interest of several licensed victuallers (the acquaintances once +upon a time of her late unlucky husband), Mrs Verloc’s mother had at last +secured her admission to certain almshouses founded by a wealthy +innkeeper for the destitute widows of the trade. + +This end, conceived in the astuteness of her uneasy heart, the old woman +had pursued with secrecy and determination. That was the time when her +daughter Winnie could not help passing a remark to Mr Verloc that “mother +has been spending half-crowns and five shillings almost every day this +last week in cab fares.” But the remark was not made grudgingly. Winnie +respected her mother’s infirmities. She was only a little surprised at +this sudden mania for locomotion. Mr Verloc, who was sufficiently +magnificent in his way, had grunted the remark impatiently aside as +interfering with his meditations. These were frequent, deep, and +prolonged; they bore upon a matter more important than five shillings. +Distinctly more important, and beyond all comparison more difficult to +consider in all its aspects with philosophical serenity. + +Her object attained in astute secrecy, the heroic old woman had made a +clean breast of it to Mrs Verloc. Her soul was triumphant and her heart +tremulous. Inwardly she quaked, because she dreaded and admired the +calm, self-contained character of her daughter Winnie, whose displeasure +was made redoubtable by a diversity of dreadful silences. But she did +not allow her inward apprehensions to rob her of the advantage of +venerable placidity conferred upon her outward person by her triple chin, +the floating ampleness of her ancient form, and the impotent condition of +her legs. + +The shock of the information was so unexpected that Mrs Verloc, against +her usual practice when addressed, interrupted the domestic occupation +she was engaged upon. It was the dusting of the furniture in the parlour +behind the shop. She turned her head towards her mother. + +“Whatever did you want to do that for?” she exclaimed, in scandalised +astonishment. + +The shock must have been severe to make her depart from that distant and +uninquiring acceptance of facts which was her force and her safeguard in +life. + +“Weren’t you made comfortable enough here?” + +She had lapsed into these inquiries, but next moment she saved the +consistency of her conduct by resuming her dusting, while the old woman +sat scared and dumb under her dingy white cap and lustreless dark wig. + +Winnie finished the chair, and ran the duster along the mahogany at the +back of the horse-hair sofa on which Mr Verloc loved to take his ease in +hat and overcoat. She was intent on her work, but presently she +permitted herself another question. + +“How in the world did you manage it, mother?” + +As not affecting the inwardness of things, which it was Mrs Verloc’s +principle to ignore, this curiosity was excusable. It bore merely on the +methods. The old woman welcomed it eagerly as bringing forward something +that could be talked about with much sincerity. + +She favoured her daughter by an exhaustive answer, full of names and +enriched by side comments upon the ravages of time as observed in the +alteration of human countenances. The names were principally the names +of licensed victuallers—“poor daddy’s friends, my dear.” She enlarged +with special appreciation on the kindness and condescension of a large +brewer, a Baronet and an M. P., the Chairman of the Governors of the +Charity. She expressed herself thus warmly because she had been allowed +to interview by appointment his Private Secretary—“a very polite +gentleman, all in black, with a gentle, sad voice, but so very, very thin +and quiet. He was like a shadow, my dear.” + +Winnie, prolonging her dusting operations till the tale was told to the +end, walked out of the parlour into the kitchen (down two steps) in her +usual manner, without the slightest comment. + +Shedding a few tears in sign of rejoicing at her daughter’s mansuetude in +this terrible affair, Mrs Verloc’s mother gave play to her astuteness in +the direction of her furniture, because it was her own; and sometimes she +wished it hadn’t been. Heroism is all very well, but there are +circumstances when the disposal of a few tables and chairs, brass +bedsteads, and so on, may be big with remote and disastrous consequences. +She required a few pieces herself, the Foundation which, after many +importunities, had gathered her to its charitable breast, giving nothing +but bare planks and cheaply papered bricks to the objects of its +solicitude. The delicacy guiding her choice to the least valuable and +most dilapidated articles passed unacknowledged, because Winnie’s +philosophy consisted in not taking notice of the inside of facts; she +assumed that mother took what suited her best. As to Mr Verloc, his +intense meditation, like a sort of Chinese wall, isolated him completely +from the phenomena of this world of vain effort and illusory appearances. + +Her selection made, the disposal of the rest became a perplexing question +in a particular way. She was leaving it in Brett Street, of course. But +she had two children. Winnie was provided for by her sensible union with +that excellent husband, Mr Verloc. Stevie was destitute—and a little +peculiar. His position had to be considered before the claims of legal +justice and even the promptings of partiality. The possession of the +furniture would not be in any sense a provision. He ought to have it—the +poor boy. But to give it to him would be like tampering with his +position of complete dependence. It was a sort of claim which she feared +to weaken. Moreover, the susceptibilities of Mr Verloc would perhaps not +brook being beholden to his brother-in-law for the chairs he sat on. In +a long experience of gentlemen lodgers, Mrs Verloc’s mother had acquired +a dismal but resigned notion of the fantastic side of human nature. What +if Mr Verloc suddenly took it into his head to tell Stevie to take his +blessed sticks somewhere out of that? A division, on the other hand, +however carefully made, might give some cause of offence to Winnie. No, +Stevie must remain destitute and dependent. And at the moment of leaving +Brett Street she had said to her daughter: “No use waiting till I am +dead, is there? Everything I leave here is altogether your own now, my +dear.” + +Winnie, with her hat on, silent behind her mother’s back, went on +arranging the collar of the old woman’s cloak. She got her hand-bag, an +umbrella, with an impassive face. The time had come for the expenditure +of the sum of three-and-sixpence on what might well be supposed the last +cab drive of Mrs Verloc’s mother’s life. They went out at the shop door. + +The conveyance awaiting them would have illustrated the proverb that +“truth can be more cruel than caricature,” if such a proverb existed. +Crawling behind an infirm horse, a metropolitan hackney carriage drew up +on wobbly wheels and with a maimed driver on the box. This last +peculiarity caused some embarrassment. Catching sight of a hooked iron +contrivance protruding from the left sleeve of the man’s coat, Mrs +Verloc’s mother lost suddenly the heroic courage of these days. She +really couldn’t trust herself. “What do you think, Winnie?” She hung +back. The passionate expostulations of the big-faced cabman seemed to be +squeezed out of a blocked throat. Leaning over from his box, he +whispered with mysterious indignation. What was the matter now? Was it +possible to treat a man so? His enormous and unwashed countenance flamed +red in the muddy stretch of the street. Was it likely they would have +given him a licence, he inquired desperately, if— + +The police constable of the locality quieted him by a friendly glance; +then addressing himself to the two women without marked consideration, +said: + +“He’s been driving a cab for twenty years. I never knew him to have an +accident.” + +“Accident!” shouted the driver in a scornful whisper. + +The policeman’s testimony settled it. The modest assemblage of seven +people, mostly under age, dispersed. Winnie followed her mother into the +cab. Stevie climbed on the box. His vacant mouth and distressed eyes +depicted the state of his mind in regard to the transactions which were +taking place. In the narrow streets the progress of the journey was made +sensible to those within by the near fronts of the houses gliding past +slowly and shakily, with a great rattle and jingling of glass, as if +about to collapse behind the cab; and the infirm horse, with the harness +hung over his sharp backbone flapping very loose about his thighs, +appeared to be dancing mincingly on his toes with infinite patience. +Later on, in the wider space of Whitehall, all visual evidences of motion +became imperceptible. The rattle and jingle of glass went on +indefinitely in front of the long Treasury building—and time itself +seemed to stand still. + +At last Winnie observed: “This isn’t a very good horse.” + +Her eyes gleamed in the shadow of the cab straight ahead, immovable. On +the box, Stevie shut his vacant mouth first, in order to ejaculate +earnestly: “Don’t.” + +The driver, holding high the reins twisted around the hook, took no +notice. Perhaps he had not heard. Stevie’s breast heaved. + +“Don’t whip.” + +The man turned slowly his bloated and sodden face of many colours +bristling with white hairs. His little red eyes glistened with moisture. +His big lips had a violet tint. They remained closed. With the dirty +back of his whip-hand he rubbed the stubble sprouting on his enormous +chin. + +“You mustn’t,” stammered out Stevie violently. “It hurts.” + +“Mustn’t whip,” queried the other in a thoughtful whisper, and +immediately whipped. He did this, not because his soul was cruel and his +heart evil, but because he had to earn his fare. And for a time the +walls of St Stephen’s, with its towers and pinnacles, contemplated in +immobility and silence a cab that jingled. It rolled too, however. But +on the bridge there was a commotion. Stevie suddenly proceeded to get +down from the box. There were shouts on the pavement, people ran +forward, the driver pulled up, whispering curses of indignation and +astonishment. Winnie lowered the window, and put her head out, white as +a ghost. In the depths of the cab, her mother was exclaiming, in tones +of anguish: “Is that boy hurt? Is that boy hurt?” + +Stevie was not hurt, he had not even fallen, but excitement as usual had +robbed him of the power of connected speech. He could do no more than +stammer at the window. “Too heavy. Too heavy.” Winnie put out her hand +on to his shoulder. + +“Stevie! Get up on the box directly, and don’t try to get down again.” + +“No. No. Walk. Must walk.” + +In trying to state the nature of that necessity he stammered himself into +utter incoherence. No physical impossibility stood in the way of his +whim. Stevie could have managed easily to keep pace with the infirm, +dancing horse without getting out of breath. But his sister withheld her +consent decisively. “The idea! Whoever heard of such a thing! Run +after a cab!” Her mother, frightened and helpless in the depths of the +conveyance, entreated: “Oh, don’t let him, Winnie. He’ll get lost. +Don’t let him.” + +“Certainly not. What next! Mr Verloc will be sorry to hear of this +nonsense, Stevie,—I can tell you. He won’t be happy at all.” + +The idea of Mr Verloc’s grief and unhappiness acting as usual powerfully +upon Stevie’s fundamentally docile disposition, he abandoned all +resistance, and climbed up again on the box, with a face of despair. + +The cabby turned at him his enormous and inflamed countenance +truculently. “Don’t you go for trying this silly game again, young +fellow.” + +After delivering himself thus in a stern whisper, strained almost to +extinction, he drove on, ruminating solemnly. To his mind the incident +remained somewhat obscure. But his intellect, though it had lost its +pristine vivacity in the benumbing years of sedentary exposure to the +weather, lacked not independence or sanity. Gravely he dismissed the +hypothesis of Stevie being a drunken young nipper. + +Inside the cab the spell of silence, in which the two women had endured +shoulder to shoulder the jolting, rattling, and jingling of the journey, +had been broken by Stevie’s outbreak. Winnie raised her voice. + +“You’ve done what you wanted, mother. You’ll have only yourself to thank +for it if you aren’t happy afterwards. And I don’t think you’ll be. +That I don’t. Weren’t you comfortable enough in the house? Whatever +people’ll think of us—you throwing yourself like this on a Charity?” + +“My dear,” screamed the old woman earnestly above the noise, “you’ve been +the best of daughters to me. As to Mr Verloc—there—” + +Words failing her on the subject of Mr Verloc’s excellence, she turned +her old tearful eyes to the roof of the cab. Then she averted her head +on the pretence of looking out of the window, as if to judge of their +progress. It was insignificant, and went on close to the curbstone. +Night, the early dirty night, the sinister, noisy, hopeless and rowdy +night of South London, had overtaken her on her last cab drive. In the +gas-light of the low-fronted shops her big cheeks glowed with an orange +hue under a black and mauve bonnet. + +Mrs Verloc’s mother’s complexion had become yellow by the effect of age +and from a natural predisposition to biliousness, favoured by the trials +of a difficult and worried existence, first as wife, then as widow. It +was a complexion, that under the influence of a blush would take on an +orange tint. And this woman, modest indeed but hardened in the fires of +adversity, of an age, moreover, when blushes are not expected, had +positively blushed before her daughter. In the privacy of a +four-wheeler, on her way to a charity cottage (one of a row) which by the +exiguity of its dimensions and the simplicity of its accommodation, might +well have been devised in kindness as a place of training for the still +more straitened circumstances of the grave, she was forced to hide from +her own child a blush of remorse and shame. + +Whatever people will think? She knew very well what they did think, the +people Winnie had in her mind—the old friends of her husband, and others +too, whose interest she had solicited with such flattering success. She +had not known before what a good beggar she could be. But she guessed +very well what inference was drawn from her application. On account of +that shrinking delicacy, which exists side by side with aggressive +brutality in masculine nature, the inquiries into her circumstances had +not been pushed very far. She had checked them by a visible compression +of the lips and some display of an emotion determined to be eloquently +silent. And the men would become suddenly incurious, after the manner of +their kind. She congratulated herself more than once on having nothing +to do with women, who being naturally more callous and avid of details, +would have been anxious to be exactly informed by what sort of unkind +conduct her daughter and son-in-law had driven her to that sad extremity. +It was only before the Secretary of the great brewer M. P. and Chairman +of the Charity, who, acting for his principal, felt bound to be +conscientiously inquisitive as to the real circumstances of the +applicant, that she had burst into tears outright and aloud, as a +cornered woman will weep. The thin and polite gentleman, after +contemplating her with an air of being “struck all of a heap,” abandoned +his position under the cover of soothing remarks. She must not distress +herself. The deed of the Charity did not absolutely specify “childless +widows.” In fact, it did not by any means disqualify her. But the +discretion of the Committee must be an informed discretion. One could +understand very well her unwillingness to be a burden, etc. etc. +Thereupon, to his profound disappointment, Mrs Verloc’s mother wept some +more with an augmented vehemence. + +The tears of that large female in a dark, dusty wig, and ancient silk +dress festooned with dingy white cotton lace, were the tears of genuine +distress. She had wept because she was heroic and unscrupulous and full +of love for both her children. Girls frequently get sacrificed to the +welfare of the boys. In this case she was sacrificing Winnie. By the +suppression of truth she was slandering her. Of course, Winnie was +independent, and need not care for the opinion of people that she would +never see and who would never see her; whereas poor Stevie had nothing in +the world he could call his own except his mother’s heroism and +unscrupulousness. + +The first sense of security following on Winnie’s marriage wore off in +time (for nothing lasts), and Mrs Verloc’s mother, in the seclusion of +the back bedroom, had recalled the teaching of that experience which the +world impresses upon a widowed woman. But she had recalled it without +vain bitterness; her store of resignation amounted almost to dignity. +She reflected stoically that everything decays, wears out, in this world; +that the way of kindness should be made easy to the well disposed; that +her daughter Winnie was a most devoted sister, and a very self-confident +wife indeed. As regards Winnie’s sisterly devotion, her stoicism +flinched. She excepted that sentiment from the rule of decay affecting +all things human and some things divine. She could not help it; not to +do so would have frightened her too much. But in considering the +conditions of her daughter’s married state, she rejected firmly all +flattering illusions. She took the cold and reasonable view that the +less strain put on Mr Verloc’s kindness the longer its effects were +likely to last. That excellent man loved his wife, of course, but he +would, no doubt, prefer to keep as few of her relations as was consistent +with the proper display of that sentiment. It would be better if its +whole effect were concentrated on poor Stevie. And the heroic old woman +resolved on going away from her children as an act of devotion and as a +move of deep policy. + +The “virtue” of this policy consisted in this (Mrs Verloc’s mother was +subtle in her way), that Stevie’s moral claim would be strengthened. The +poor boy—a good, useful boy, if a little peculiar—had not a sufficient +standing. He had been taken over with his mother, somewhat in the same +way as the furniture of the Belgravian mansion had been taken over, as if +on the ground of belonging to her exclusively. What will happen, she +asked herself (for Mrs Verloc’s mother was in a measure imaginative), +when I die? And when she asked herself that question it was with dread. +It was also terrible to think that she would not then have the means of +knowing what happened to the poor boy. But by making him over to his +sister, by going thus away, she gave him the advantage of a directly +dependent position. This was the more subtle sanction of Mrs Verloc’s +mother’s heroism and unscrupulousness. Her act of abandonment was really +an arrangement for settling her son permanently in life. Other people +made material sacrifices for such an object, she in that way. It was the +only way. Moreover, she would be able to see how it worked. Ill or well +she would avoid the horrible incertitude on the death-bed. But it was +hard, hard, cruelly hard. + +The cab rattled, jingled, jolted; in fact, the last was quite +extraordinary. By its disproportionate violence and magnitude it +obliterated every sensation of onward movement; and the effect was of +being shaken in a stationary apparatus like a mediæval device for the +punishment of crime, or some very newfangled invention for the cure of a +sluggish liver. It was extremely distressing; and the raising of Mrs +Verloc’s mother’s voice sounded like a wail of pain. + +“I know, my dear, you’ll come to see me as often as you can spare the +time. Won’t you?” + +“Of course,” answered Winnie shortly, staring straight before her. + +And the cab jolted in front of a steamy, greasy shop in a blaze of gas +and in the smell of fried fish. + +The old woman raised a wail again. + +“And, my dear, I must see that poor boy every Sunday. He won’t mind +spending the day with his old mother—” + +Winnie screamed out stolidly: + +“Mind! I should think not. That poor boy will miss you something cruel. +I wish you had thought a little of that, mother.” + +Not think of it! The heroic woman swallowed a playful and inconvenient +object like a billiard ball, which had tried to jump out of her throat. +Winnie sat mute for a while, pouting at the front of the cab, then +snapped out, which was an unusual tone with her: + +“I expect I’ll have a job with him at first, he’ll be that restless—” + +“Whatever you do, don’t let him worry your husband, my dear.” + +Thus they discussed on familiar lines the bearings of a new situation. +And the cab jolted. Mrs Verloc’s mother expressed some misgivings. +Could Stevie be trusted to come all that way alone? Winnie maintained +that he was much less “absent-minded” now. They agreed as to that. It +could not be denied. Much less—hardly at all. They shouted at each +other in the jingle with comparative cheerfulness. But suddenly the +maternal anxiety broke out afresh. There were two omnibuses to take, and +a short walk between. It was too difficult! The old woman gave way to +grief and consternation. + +Winnie stared forward. + +“Don’t you upset yourself like this, mother. You must see him, of +course.” + +“No, my dear. I’ll try not to.” + +She mopped her streaming eyes. + +“But you can’t spare the time to come with him, and if he should forget +himself and lose his way and somebody spoke to him sharply, his name and +address may slip his memory, and he’ll remain lost for days and days—” + +The vision of a workhouse infirmary for poor Stevie—if only during +inquiries—wrung her heart. For she was a proud woman. Winnie’s stare +had grown hard, intent, inventive. + +“I can’t bring him to you myself every week,” she cried. “But don’t you +worry, mother. I’ll see to it that he don’t get lost for long.” + +They felt a peculiar bump; a vision of brick pillars lingered before the +rattling windows of the cab; a sudden cessation of atrocious jolting and +uproarious jingling dazed the two women. What had happened? They sat +motionless and scared in the profound stillness, till the door came open, +and a rough, strained whispering was heard: + +“Here you are!” + +A range of gabled little houses, each with one dim yellow window, on the +ground floor, surrounded the dark open space of a grass plot planted with +shrubs and railed off from the patchwork of lights and shadows in the +wide road, resounding with the dull rumble of traffic. Before the door +of one of these tiny houses—one without a light in the little downstairs +window—the cab had come to a standstill. Mrs Verloc’s mother got out +first, backwards, with a key in her hand. Winnie lingered on the +flagstone path to pay the cabman. Stevie, after helping to carry inside +a lot of small parcels, came out and stood under the light of a gas-lamp +belonging to the Charity. The cabman looked at the pieces of silver, +which, appearing very minute in his big, grimy palm, symbolised the +insignificant results which reward the ambitious courage and toil of a +mankind whose day is short on this earth of evil. + +He had been paid decently—four one-shilling pieces—and he contemplated +them in perfect stillness, as if they had been the surprising terms of a +melancholy problem. The slow transfer of that treasure to an inner +pocket demanded much laborious groping in the depths of decayed clothing. +His form was squat and without flexibility. Stevie, slender, his +shoulders a little up, and his hands thrust deep in the side pockets of +his warm overcoat, stood at the edge of the path, pouting. + +The cabman, pausing in his deliberate movements, seemed struck by some +misty recollection. + +“Oh! ’Ere you are, young fellow,” he whispered. “You’ll know him +again—won’t you?” + +Stevie was staring at the horse, whose hind quarters appeared unduly +elevated by the effect of emaciation. The little stiff tail seemed to +have been fitted in for a heartless joke; and at the other end the thin, +flat neck, like a plank covered with old horse-hide, drooped to the +ground under the weight of an enormous bony head. The ears hung at +different angles, negligently; and the macabre figure of that mute +dweller on the earth steamed straight up from ribs and backbone in the +muggy stillness of the air. + +The cabman struck lightly Stevie’s breast with the iron hook protruding +from a ragged, greasy sleeve. + +“Look ’ere, young feller. ’Ow’d _you_ like to sit behind this ’oss up to +two o’clock in the morning p’raps?” + +Stevie looked vacantly into the fierce little eyes with red-edged lids. + +“He ain’t lame,” pursued the other, whispering with energy. “He ain’t +got no sore places on ’im. ’Ere he is. ’Ow would _you_ like—” + +His strained, extinct voice invested his utterance with a character of +vehement secrecy. Stevie’s vacant gaze was changing slowly into dread. + +“You may well look! Till three and four o’clock in the morning. Cold +and ’ungry. Looking for fares. Drunks.” + +His jovial purple cheeks bristled with white hairs; and like Virgil’s +Silenus, who, his face smeared with the juice of berries, discoursed of +Olympian Gods to the innocent shepherds of Sicily, he talked to Stevie of +domestic matters and the affairs of men whose sufferings are great and +immortality by no means assured. + +“I am a night cabby, I am,” he whispered, with a sort of boastful +exasperation. “I’ve got to take out what they will blooming well give me +at the yard. I’ve got my missus and four kids at ’ome.” + +The monstrous nature of that declaration of paternity seemed to strike +the world dumb. A silence reigned during which the flanks of the old +horse, the steed of apocalyptic misery, smoked upwards in the light of +the charitable gas-lamp. + +The cabman grunted, then added in his mysterious whisper: + +“This ain’t an easy world.” Stevie’s face had been twitching for some +time, and at last his feelings burst out in their usual concise form. + +“Bad! Bad!” + +His gaze remained fixed on the ribs of the horse, self-conscious and +sombre, as though he were afraid to look about him at the badness of the +world. And his slenderness, his rosy lips and pale, clear complexion, +gave him the aspect of a delicate boy, notwithstanding the fluffy growth +of golden hair on his cheeks. He pouted in a scared way like a child. +The cabman, short and broad, eyed him with his fierce little eyes that +seemed to smart in a clear and corroding liquid. + +“’Ard on ’osses, but dam’ sight ’arder on poor chaps like me,” he wheezed +just audibly. + +“Poor! Poor!” stammered out Stevie, pushing his hands deeper into his +pockets with convulsive sympathy. He could say nothing; for the +tenderness to all pain and all misery, the desire to make the horse happy +and the cabman happy, had reached the point of a bizarre longing to take +them to bed with him. And that, he knew, was impossible. For Stevie was +not mad. It was, as it were, a symbolic longing; and at the same time it +was very distinct, because springing from experience, the mother of +wisdom. Thus when as a child he cowered in a dark corner scared, +wretched, sore, and miserable with the black, black misery of the soul, +his sister Winnie used to come along, and carry him off to bed with her, +as into a heaven of consoling peace. Stevie, though apt to forget mere +facts, such as his name and address for instance, had a faithful memory +of sensations. To be taken into a bed of compassion was the supreme +remedy, with the only one disadvantage of being difficult of application +on a large scale. And looking at the cabman, Stevie perceived this +clearly, because he was reasonable. + +The cabman went on with his leisurely preparations as if Stevie had not +existed. He made as if to hoist himself on the box, but at the last +moment from some obscure motive, perhaps merely from disgust with +carriage exercise, desisted. He approached instead the motionless +partner of his labours, and stooping to seize the bridle, lifted up the +big, weary head to the height of his shoulder with one effort of his +right arm, like a feat of strength. + +“Come on,” he whispered secretly. + +Limping, he led the cab away. There was an air of austerity in this +departure, the scrunched gravel of the drive crying out under the slowly +turning wheels, the horse’s lean thighs moving with ascetic deliberation +away from the light into the obscurity of the open space bordered dimly +by the pointed roofs and the feebly shining windows of the little +alms-houses. The plaint of the gravel travelled slowly all round the +drive. Between the lamps of the charitable gateway the slow cortege +reappeared, lighted up for a moment, the short, thick man limping busily, +with the horse’s head held aloft in his fist, the lank animal walking in +stiff and forlorn dignity, the dark, low box on wheels rolling behind +comically with an air of waddling. They turned to the left. There was a +pub down the street, within fifty yards of the gate. + +Stevie left alone beside the private lamp-post of the Charity, his hands +thrust deep into his pockets, glared with vacant sulkiness. At the +bottom of his pockets his incapable weak hands were clinched hard into a +pair of angry fists. In the face of anything which affected directly or +indirectly his morbid dread of pain, Stevie ended by turning vicious. A +magnanimous indignation swelled his frail chest to bursting, and caused +his candid eyes to squint. Supremely wise in knowing his own +powerlessness, Stevie was not wise enough to restrain his passions. The +tenderness of his universal charity had two phases as indissolubly joined +and connected as the reverse and obverse sides of a medal. The anguish +of immoderate compassion was succeeded by the pain of an innocent but +pitiless rage. Those two states expressing themselves outwardly by the +same signs of futile bodily agitation, his sister Winnie soothed his +excitement without ever fathoming its twofold character. Mrs Verloc +wasted no portion of this transient life in seeking for fundamental +information. This is a sort of economy having all the appearances and +some of the advantages of prudence. Obviously it may be good for one not +to know too much. And such a view accords very well with constitutional +indolence. + +On that evening on which it may be said that Mrs Verloc’s mother having +parted for good from her children had also departed this life, Winnie +Verloc did not investigate her brother’s psychology. The poor boy was +excited, of course. After once more assuring the old woman on the +threshold that she would know how to guard against the risk of Stevie +losing himself for very long on his pilgrimages of filial piety, she took +her brother’s arm to walk away. Stevie did not even mutter to himself, +but with the special sense of sisterly devotion developed in her earliest +infancy, she felt that the boy was very much excited indeed. Holding +tight to his arm, under the appearance of leaning on it, she thought of +some words suitable to the occasion. + +“Now, Stevie, you must look well after me at the crossings, and get first +into the ’bus, like a good brother.” + +This appeal to manly protection was received by Stevie with his usual +docility. It flattered him. He raised his head and threw out his chest. + +“Don’t be nervous, Winnie. Mustn’t be nervous! ’Bus all right,” he +answered in a brusque, slurring stammer partaking of the timorousness of +a child and the resolution of a man. He advanced fearlessly with the +woman on his arm, but his lower lip dropped. Nevertheless, on the +pavement of the squalid and wide thoroughfare, whose poverty in all the +amenities of life stood foolishly exposed by a mad profusion of +gas-lights, their resemblance to each other was so pronounced as to +strike the casual passers-by. + +Before the doors of the public-house at the corner, where the profusion +of gas-light reached the height of positive wickedness, a four-wheeled +cab standing by the curbstone with no one on the box, seemed cast out +into the gutter on account of irremediable decay. Mrs Verloc recognised +the conveyance. Its aspect was so profoundly lamentable, with such a +perfection of grotesque misery and weirdness of macabre detail, as if it +were the Cab of Death itself, that Mrs Verloc, with that ready compassion +of a woman for a horse (when she is not sitting behind him), exclaimed +vaguely: + +“Poor brute!” + +Hanging back suddenly, Stevie inflicted an arresting jerk upon his +sister. + +“Poor! Poor!” he ejaculated appreciatively. “Cabman poor too. He told +me himself.” + +The contemplation of the infirm and lonely steed overcame him. Jostled, +but obstinate, he would remain there, trying to express the view newly +opened to his sympathies of the human and equine misery in close +association. But it was very difficult. “Poor brute, poor people!” was +all he could repeat. It did not seem forcible enough, and he came to a +stop with an angry splutter: “Shame!” Stevie was no master of phrases, +and perhaps for that very reason his thoughts lacked clearness and +precision. But he felt with greater completeness and some profundity. +That little word contained all his sense of indignation and horror at one +sort of wretchedness having to feed upon the anguish of the other—at the +poor cabman beating the poor horse in the name, as it were, of his poor +kids at home. And Stevie knew what it was to be beaten. He knew it from +experience. It was a bad world. Bad! Bad! + +Mrs Verloc, his only sister, guardian, and protector, could not pretend +to such depths of insight. Moreover, she had not experienced the magic +of the cabman’s eloquence. She was in the dark as to the inwardness of +the word “Shame.” And she said placidly: + +“Come along, Stevie. You can’t help that.” + +The docile Stevie went along; but now he went along without pride, +shamblingly, and muttering half words, and even words that would have +been whole if they had not been made up of halves that did not belong to +each other. It was as though he had been trying to fit all the words he +could remember to his sentiments in order to get some sort of +corresponding idea. And, as a matter of fact, he got it at last. He +hung back to utter it at once. + +“Bad world for poor people.” + +Directly he had expressed that thought he became aware that it was +familiar to him already in all its consequences. This circumstance +strengthened his conviction immensely, but also augmented his +indignation. Somebody, he felt, ought to be punished for it—punished +with great severity. Being no sceptic, but a moral creature, he was in a +manner at the mercy of his righteous passions. + +“Beastly!” he added concisely. + +It was clear to Mrs Verloc that he was greatly excited. + +“Nobody can help that,” she said. “Do come along. Is that the way +you’re taking care of me?” + +Stevie mended his pace obediently. He prided himself on being a good +brother. His morality, which was very complete, demanded that from him. +Yet he was pained at the information imparted by his sister Winnie who +was good. Nobody could help that! He came along gloomily, but presently +he brightened up. Like the rest of mankind, perplexed by the mystery of +the universe, he had his moments of consoling trust in the organised +powers of the earth. + +“Police,” he suggested confidently. + +“The police aren’t for that,” observed Mrs Verloc cursorily, hurrying on +her way. + +Stevie’s face lengthened considerably. He was thinking. The more +intense his thinking, the slacker was the droop of his lower jaw. + +And it was with an aspect of hopeless vacancy that he gave up his +intellectual enterprise. + +“Not for that?” he mumbled, resigned but surprised. “Not for that?” He +had formed for himself an ideal conception of the metropolitan police as +a sort of benevolent institution for the suppression of evil. The notion +of benevolence especially was very closely associated with his sense of +the power of the men in blue. He had liked all police constables +tenderly, with a guileless trustfulness. And he was pained. He was +irritated, too, by a suspicion of duplicity in the members of the force. +For Stevie was frank and as open as the day himself. What did they mean +by pretending then? Unlike his sister, who put her trust in face values, +he wished to go to the bottom of the matter. He carried on his inquiry +by means of an angry challenge. + +“What for are they then, Winn? What are they for? Tell me.” + +Winnie disliked controversy. But fearing most a fit of black depression +consequent on Stevie missing his mother very much at first, she did not +altogether decline the discussion. Guiltless of all irony, she answered +yet in a form which was not perhaps unnatural in the wife of Mr Verloc, +Delegate of the Central Red Committee, personal friend of certain +anarchists, and a votary of social revolution. + +“Don’t you know what the police are for, Stevie? They are there so that +them as have nothing shouldn’t take anything away from them who have.” + +She avoided using the verb “to steal,” because it always made her brother +uncomfortable. For Stevie was delicately honest. Certain simple +principles had been instilled into him so anxiously (on account of his +“queerness”) that the mere names of certain transgressions filled him +with horror. He had been always easily impressed by speeches. He was +impressed and startled now, and his intelligence was very alert. + +“What?” he asked at once anxiously. “Not even if they were hungry? +Mustn’t they?” + +The two had paused in their walk. + +“Not if they were ever so,” said Mrs Verloc, with the equanimity of a +person untroubled by the problem of the distribution of wealth, and +exploring the perspective of the roadway for an omnibus of the right +colour. “Certainly not. But what’s the use of talking about all that? +You aren’t ever hungry.” + +She cast a swift glance at the boy, like a young man, by her side. She +saw him amiable, attractive, affectionate, and only a little, a very +little, peculiar. And she could not see him otherwise, for he was +connected with what there was of the salt of passion in her tasteless +life—the passion of indignation, of courage, of pity, and even of +self-sacrifice. She did not add: “And you aren’t likely ever to be as +long as I live.” But she might very well have done so, since she had +taken effectual steps to that end. Mr Verloc was a very good husband. +It was her honest impression that nobody could help liking the boy. She +cried out suddenly: + +“Quick, Stevie. Stop that green ’bus.” + +And Stevie, tremulous and important with his sister Winnie on his arm, +flung up the other high above his head at the approaching ’bus, with +complete success. + +An hour afterwards Mr Verloc raised his eyes from a newspaper he was +reading, or at any rate looking at, behind the counter, and in the +expiring clatter of the door-bell beheld Winnie, his wife, enter and +cross the shop on her way upstairs, followed by Stevie, his +brother-in-law. The sight of his wife was agreeable to Mr Verloc. It +was his idiosyncrasy. The figure of his brother-in-law remained +imperceptible to him because of the morose thoughtfulness that lately had +fallen like a veil between Mr Verloc and the appearances of the world of +senses. He looked after his wife fixedly, without a word, as though she +had been a phantom. His voice for home use was husky and placid, but now +it was heard not at all. It was not heard at supper, to which he was +called by his wife in the usual brief manner: “Adolf.” He sat down to +consume it without conviction, wearing his hat pushed far back on his +head. It was not devotion to an outdoor life, but the frequentation of +foreign cafés which was responsible for that habit, investing with a +character of unceremonious impermanency Mr Verloc’s steady fidelity to +his own fireside. Twice at the clatter of the cracked bell he arose +without a word, disappeared into the shop, and came back silently. +During these absences Mrs Verloc, becoming acutely aware of the vacant +place at her right hand, missed her mother very much, and stared stonily; +while Stevie, from the same reason, kept on shuffling his feet, as though +the floor under the table were uncomfortably hot. When Mr Verloc +returned to sit in his place, like the very embodiment of silence, the +character of Mrs Verloc’s stare underwent a subtle change, and Stevie +ceased to fidget with his feet, because of his great and awed regard for +his sister’s husband. He directed at him glances of respectful +compassion. Mr Verloc was sorry. His sister Winnie had impressed upon +him (in the omnibus) that Mr Verloc would be found at home in a state of +sorrow, and must not be worried. His father’s anger, the irritability of +gentlemen lodgers, and Mr Verloc’s predisposition to immoderate grief, +had been the main sanctions of Stevie’s self-restraint. Of these +sentiments, all easily provoked, but not always easy to understand, the +last had the greatest moral efficiency—because Mr Verloc was _good_. His +mother and his sister had established that ethical fact on an unshakable +foundation. They had established, erected, consecrated it behind Mr +Verloc’s back, for reasons that had nothing to do with abstract morality. +And Mr Verloc was not aware of it. It is but bare justice to him to say +that he had no notion of appearing good to Stevie. Yet so it was. He +was even the only man so qualified in Stevie’s knowledge, because the +gentlemen lodgers had been too transient and too remote to have anything +very distinct about them but perhaps their boots; and as regards the +disciplinary measures of his father, the desolation of his mother and +sister shrank from setting up a theory of goodness before the victim. It +would have been too cruel. And it was even possible that Stevie would +not have believed them. As far as Mr Verloc was concerned, nothing could +stand in the way of Stevie’s belief. Mr Verloc was obviously yet +mysteriously _good_. And the grief of a good man is august. + +Stevie gave glances of reverential compassion to his brother-in-law. Mr +Verloc was sorry. The brother of Winnie had never before felt himself in +such close communion with the mystery of that man’s goodness. It was an +understandable sorrow. And Stevie himself was sorry. He was very sorry. +The same sort of sorrow. And his attention being drawn to this +unpleasant state, Stevie shuffled his feet. His feelings were habitually +manifested by the agitation of his limbs. + +“Keep your feet quiet, dear,” said Mrs Verloc, with authority and +tenderness; then turning towards her husband in an indifferent voice, the +masterly achievement of instinctive tact: “Are you going out to-night?” +she asked. + +The mere suggestion seemed repugnant to Mr Verloc. He shook his head +moodily, and then sat still with downcast eyes, looking at the piece of +cheese on his plate for a whole minute. At the end of that time he got +up, and went out—went right out in the clatter of the shop-door bell. He +acted thus inconsistently, not from any desire to make himself +unpleasant, but because of an unconquerable restlessness. It was no +earthly good going out. He could not find anywhere in London what he +wanted. But he went out. He led a cortege of dismal thoughts along dark +streets, through lighted streets, in and out of two flash bars, as if in +a half-hearted attempt to make a night of it, and finally back again to +his menaced home, where he sat down fatigued behind the counter, and they +crowded urgently round him, like a pack of hungry black hounds. After +locking up the house and putting out the gas he took them upstairs with +him—a dreadful escort for a man going to bed. His wife had preceded him +some time before, and with her ample form defined vaguely under the +counterpane, her head on the pillow, and a hand under the cheek offered +to his distraction the view of early drowsiness arguing the possession of +an equable soul. Her big eyes stared wide open, inert and dark against +the snowy whiteness of the linen. She did not move. + +She had an equable soul. She felt profoundly that things do not stand +much looking into. She made her force and her wisdom of that instinct. +But the taciturnity of Mr Verloc had been lying heavily upon her for a +good many days. It was, as a matter of fact, affecting her nerves. +Recumbent and motionless, she said placidly: + +“You’ll catch cold walking about in your socks like this.” + +This speech, becoming the solicitude of the wife and the prudence of the +woman, took Mr Verloc unawares. He had left his boots downstairs, but he +had forgotten to put on his slippers, and he had been turning about the +bedroom on noiseless pads like a bear in a cage. At the sound of his +wife’s voice he stopped and stared at her with a somnambulistic, +expressionless gaze so long that Mrs Verloc moved her limbs slightly +under the bed-clothes. But she did not move her black head sunk in the +white pillow one hand under her cheek and the big, dark, unwinking eyes. + +Under her husband’s expressionless stare, and remembering her mother’s +empty room across the landing, she felt an acute pang of loneliness. She +had never been parted from her mother before. They had stood by each +other. She felt that they had, and she said to herself that now mother +was gone—gone for good. Mrs Verloc had no illusions. Stevie remained, +however. And she said: + +“Mother’s done what she wanted to do. There’s no sense in it that I can +see. I’m sure she couldn’t have thought you had enough of her. It’s +perfectly wicked, leaving us like that.” + +Mr Verloc was not a well-read person; his range of allusive phrases was +limited, but there was a peculiar aptness in circumstances which made him +think of rats leaving a doomed ship. He very nearly said so. He had +grown suspicious and embittered. Could it be that the old woman had such +an excellent nose? But the unreasonableness of such a suspicion was +patent, and Mr Verloc held his tongue. Not altogether, however. He +muttered heavily: + +“Perhaps it’s just as well.” + +He began to undress. Mrs Verloc kept very still, perfectly still, with +her eyes fixed in a dreamy, quiet stare. And her heart for the fraction +of a second seemed to stand still too. That night she was “not quite +herself,” as the saying is, and it was borne upon her with some force +that a simple sentence may hold several diverse meanings—mostly +disagreeable. How was it just as well? And why? But she did not allow +herself to fall into the idleness of barren speculation. She was rather +confirmed in her belief that things did not stand being looked into. +Practical and subtle in her way, she brought Stevie to the front without +loss of time, because in her the singleness of purpose had the unerring +nature and the force of an instinct. + +“What I am going to do to cheer up that boy for the first few days I’m +sure I don’t know. He’ll be worrying himself from morning till night +before he gets used to mother being away. And he’s such a good boy. I +couldn’t do without him.” + +Mr Verloc went on divesting himself of his clothing with the unnoticing +inward concentration of a man undressing in the solitude of a vast and +hopeless desert. For thus inhospitably did this fair earth, our common +inheritance, present itself to the mental vision of Mr Verloc. All was +so still without and within that the lonely ticking of the clock on the +landing stole into the room as if for the sake of company. + +Mr Verloc, getting into bed on his own side, remained prone and mute +behind Mrs Verloc’s back. His thick arms rested abandoned on the outside +of the counterpane like dropped weapons, like discarded tools. At that +moment he was within a hair’s breadth of making a clean breast of it all +to his wife. The moment seemed propitious. Looking out of the corners +of his eyes, he saw her ample shoulders draped in white, the back of her +head, with the hair done for the night in three plaits tied up with black +tapes at the ends. And he forbore. Mr Verloc loved his wife as a wife +should be loved—that is, maritally, with the regard one has for one’s +chief possession. This head arranged for the night, those ample +shoulders, had an aspect of familiar sacredness—the sacredness of +domestic peace. She moved not, massive and shapeless like a recumbent +statue in the rough; he remembered her wide-open eyes looking into the +empty room. She was mysterious, with the mysteriousness of living +beings. The far-famed secret agent [delta] of the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim’s alarmist despatches was not the man to break into such +mysteries. He was easily intimidated. And he was also indolent, with +the indolence which is so often the secret of good nature. He forbore +touching that mystery out of love, timidity, and indolence. There would +be always time enough. For several minutes he bore his sufferings +silently in the drowsy silence of the room. And then he disturbed it by +a resolute declaration. + +“I am going on the Continent to-morrow.” + +His wife might have fallen asleep already. He could not tell. As a +matter of fact, Mrs Verloc had heard him. Her eyes remained very wide +open, and she lay very still, confirmed in her instinctive conviction +that things don’t bear looking into very much. And yet it was nothing +very unusual for Mr Verloc to take such a trip. He renewed his stock +from Paris and Brussels. Often he went over to make his purchases +personally. A little select connection of amateurs was forming around +the shop in Brett Street, a secret connection eminently proper for any +business undertaken by Mr Verloc, who, by a mystic accord of temperament +and necessity, had been set apart to be a secret agent all his life. + +He waited for a while, then added: “I’ll be away a week or perhaps a +fortnight. Get Mrs Neale to come for the day.” + +Mrs Neale was the charwoman of Brett Street. Victim of her marriage with +a debauched joiner, she was oppressed by the needs of many infant +children. Red-armed, and aproned in coarse sacking up to the arm-pits, +she exhaled the anguish of the poor in a breath of soap-suds and rum, in +the uproar of scrubbing, in the clatter of tin pails. + +Mrs Verloc, full of deep purpose, spoke in the tone of the shallowest +indifference. + +“There is no need to have the woman here all day. I shall do very well +with Stevie.” + +She let the lonely clock on the landing count off fifteen ticks into the +abyss of eternity, and asked: + +“Shall I put the light out?” + +Mr Verloc snapped at his wife huskily. + +“Put it out.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +Mr Verloc returning from the Continent at the end of ten days, brought +back a mind evidently unrefreshed by the wonders of foreign travel and a +countenance unlighted by the joys of home-coming. He entered in the +clatter of the shop bell with an air of sombre and vexed exhaustion. His +bag in hand, his head lowered, he strode straight behind the counter, and +let himself fall into the chair, as though he had tramped all the way +from Dover. It was early morning. Stevie, dusting various objects +displayed in the front windows, turned to gape at him with reverence and +awe. + +“Here!” said Mr Verloc, giving a slight kick to the gladstone bag on the +floor; and Stevie flung himself upon it, seized it, bore it off with +triumphant devotion. He was so prompt that Mr Verloc was distinctly +surprised. + +Already at the clatter of the shop bell Mrs Neale, blackleading the +parlour grate, had looked through the door, and rising from her knees had +gone, aproned, and grimy with everlasting toil, to tell Mrs Verloc in the +kitchen that “there was the master come back.” + +Winnie came no farther than the inner shop door. + +“You’ll want some breakfast,” she said from a distance. + +Mr Verloc moved his hands slightly, as if overcome by an impossible +suggestion. But once enticed into the parlour he did not reject the food +set before him. He ate as if in a public place, his hat pushed off his +forehead, the skirts of his heavy overcoat hanging in a triangle on each +side of the chair. And across the length of the table covered with brown +oil-cloth Winnie, his wife, talked evenly at him the wifely talk, as +artfully adapted, no doubt, to the circumstances of this return as the +talk of Penelope to the return of the wandering Odysseus. Mrs Verloc, +however, had done no weaving during her husband’s absence. But she had +had all the upstairs room cleaned thoroughly, had sold some wares, had +seen Mr Michaelis several times. He had told her the last time that he +was going away to live in a cottage in the country, somewhere on the +London, Chatham, and Dover line. Karl Yundt had come too, once, led +under the arm by that “wicked old housekeeper of his.” He was “a +disgusting old man.” Of Comrade Ossipon, whom she had received curtly, +entrenched behind the counter with a stony face and a faraway gaze, she +said nothing, her mental reference to the robust anarchist being marked +by a short pause, with the faintest possible blush. And bringing in her +brother Stevie as soon as she could into the current of domestic events, +she mentioned that the boy had moped a good deal. + +“It’s all along of mother leaving us like this.” + +Mr Verloc neither said, “Damn!” nor yet “Stevie be hanged!” And Mrs +Verloc, not let into the secret of his thoughts, failed to appreciate the +generosity of this restraint. + +“It isn’t that he doesn’t work as well as ever,” she continued. “He’s +been making himself very useful. You’d think he couldn’t do enough for +us.” + +Mr Verloc directed a casual and somnolent glance at Stevie, who sat on +his right, delicate, pale-faced, his rosy mouth open vacantly. It was +not a critical glance. It had no intention. And if Mr Verloc thought +for a moment that his wife’s brother looked uncommonly useless, it was +only a dull and fleeting thought, devoid of that force and durability +which enables sometimes a thought to move the world. Leaning back, Mr +Verloc uncovered his head. Before his extended arm could put down the +hat Stevie pounced upon it, and bore it off reverently into the kitchen. +And again Mr Verloc was surprised. + +“You could do anything with that boy, Adolf,” Mrs Verloc said, with her +best air of inflexible calmness. “He would go through fire for you. +He—” + +She paused attentive, her ear turned towards the door of the kitchen. + +There Mrs Neale was scrubbing the floor. At Stevie’s appearance she +groaned lamentably, having observed that he could be induced easily to +bestow for the benefit of her infant children the shilling his sister +Winnie presented him with from time to time. On all fours amongst the +puddles, wet and begrimed, like a sort of amphibious and domestic animal +living in ash-bins and dirty water, she uttered the usual exordium: “It’s +all very well for you, kept doing nothing like a gentleman.” And she +followed it with the everlasting plaint of the poor, pathetically +mendacious, miserably authenticated by the horrible breath of cheap rum +and soap-suds. She scrubbed hard, snuffling all the time, and talking +volubly. And she was sincere. And on each side of her thin red nose her +bleared, misty eyes swam in tears, because she felt really the want of +some sort of stimulant in the morning. + +In the parlour Mrs Verloc observed, with knowledge: + +“There’s Mrs Neale at it again with her harrowing tales about her little +children. They can’t be all so little as she makes them out. Some of +them must be big enough by now to try to do something for themselves. It +only makes Stevie angry.” + +These words were confirmed by a thud as of a fist striking the kitchen +table. In the normal evolution of his sympathy Stevie had become angry +on discovering that he had no shilling in his pocket. In his inability +to relieve at once Mrs Neale’s “little ’uns’” privations, he felt that +somebody should be made to suffer for it. Mrs Verloc rose, and went into +the kitchen to “stop that nonsense.” And she did it firmly but gently. +She was well aware that directly Mrs Neale received her money she went +round the corner to drink ardent spirits in a mean and musty +public-house—the unavoidable station on the _via dolorosa_ of her life. +Mrs Verloc’s comment upon this practice had an unexpected profundity, as +coming from a person disinclined to look under the surface of things. +“Of course, what is she to do to keep up? If I were like Mrs Neale I +expect I wouldn’t act any different.” + +In the afternoon of the same day, as Mr Verloc, coming with a start out +of the last of a long series of dozes before the parlour fire, declared +his intention of going out for a walk, Winnie said from the shop: + +“I wish you would take that boy out with you, Adolf.” + +For the third time that day Mr Verloc was surprised. He stared stupidly +at his wife. She continued in her steady manner. The boy, whenever he +was not doing anything, moped in the house. It made her uneasy; it made +her nervous, she confessed. And that from the calm Winnie sounded like +exaggeration. But, in truth, Stevie moped in the striking fashion of an +unhappy domestic animal. He would go up on the dark landing, to sit on +the floor at the foot of the tall clock, with his knees drawn up and his +head in his hands. To come upon his pallid face, with its big eyes +gleaming in the dusk, was discomposing; to think of him up there was +uncomfortable. + +Mr Verloc got used to the startling novelty of the idea. He was fond of +his wife as a man should be—that is, generously. But a weighty objection +presented itself to his mind, and he formulated it. + +“He’ll lose sight of me perhaps, and get lost in the street,” he said. + +Mrs Verloc shook her head competently. + +“He won’t. You don’t know him. That boy just worships you. But if you +should miss him—” + +Mrs Verloc paused for a moment, but only for a moment. + +“You just go on, and have your walk out. Don’t worry. He’ll be all +right. He’s sure to turn up safe here before very long.” + +This optimism procured for Mr Verloc his fourth surprise of the day. + +“Is he?” he grunted doubtfully. But perhaps his brother-in-law was not +such an idiot as he looked. His wife would know best. He turned away +his heavy eyes, saying huskily: “Well, let him come along, then,” and +relapsed into the clutches of black care, that perhaps prefers to sit +behind a horseman, but knows also how to tread close on the heels of +people not sufficiently well off to keep horses—like Mr Verloc, for +instance. + +Winnie, at the shop door, did not see this fatal attendant upon Mr +Verloc’s walks. She watched the two figures down the squalid street, one +tall and burly, the other slight and short, with a thin neck, and the +peaked shoulders raised slightly under the large semi-transparent ears. +The material of their overcoats was the same, their hats were black and +round in shape. Inspired by the similarity of wearing apparel, Mrs +Verloc gave rein to her fancy. + +“Might be father and son,” she said to herself. She thought also that Mr +Verloc was as much of a father as poor Stevie ever had in his life. She +was aware also that it was her work. And with peaceful pride she +congratulated herself on a certain resolution she had taken a few years +before. It had cost her some effort, and even a few tears. + +She congratulated herself still more on observing in the course of days +that Mr Verloc seemed to be taking kindly to Stevie’s companionship. +Now, when ready to go out for his walk, Mr Verloc called aloud to the +boy, in the spirit, no doubt, in which a man invites the attendance of +the household dog, though, of course, in a different manner. In the +house Mr Verloc could be detected staring curiously at Stevie a good +deal. His own demeanour had changed. Taciturn still, he was not so +listless. Mrs Verloc thought that he was rather jumpy at times. It +might have been regarded as an improvement. As to Stevie, he moped no +longer at the foot of the clock, but muttered to himself in corners +instead in a threatening tone. When asked “What is it you’re saying, +Stevie?” he merely opened his mouth, and squinted at his sister. At odd +times he clenched his fists without apparent cause, and when discovered +in solitude would be scowling at the wall, with the sheet of paper and +the pencil given him for drawing circles lying blank and idle on the +kitchen table. This was a change, but it was no improvement. Mrs Verloc +including all these vagaries under the general definition of excitement, +began to fear that Stevie was hearing more than was good for him of her +husband’s conversations with his friends. During his “walks” Mr Verloc, +of course, met and conversed with various persons. It could hardly be +otherwise. His walks were an integral part of his outdoor activities, +which his wife had never looked deeply into. Mrs Verloc felt that the +position was delicate, but she faced it with the same impenetrable +calmness which impressed and even astonished the customers of the shop +and made the other visitors keep their distance a little wonderingly. +No! She feared that there were things not good for Stevie to hear of, +she told her husband. It only excited the poor boy, because he could not +help them being so. Nobody could. + +It was in the shop. Mr Verloc made no comment. He made no retort, and +yet the retort was obvious. But he refrained from pointing out to his +wife that the idea of making Stevie the companion of his walks was her +own, and nobody else’s. At that moment, to an impartial observer, Mr +Verloc would have appeared more than human in his magnanimity. He took +down a small cardboard box from a shelf, peeped in to see that the +contents were all right, and put it down gently on the counter. Not till +that was done did he break the silence, to the effect that most likely +Stevie would profit greatly by being sent out of town for a while; only +he supposed his wife could not get on without him. + +“Could not get on without him!” repeated Mrs Verloc slowly. “I couldn’t +get on without him if it were for his good! The idea! Of course, I can +get on without him. But there’s nowhere for him to go.” + +Mr Verloc got out some brown paper and a ball of string; and meanwhile he +muttered that Michaelis was living in a little cottage in the country. +Michaelis wouldn’t mind giving Stevie a room to sleep in. There were no +visitors and no talk there. Michaelis was writing a book. + +Mrs Verloc declared her affection for Michaelis; mentioned her abhorrence +of Karl Yundt, “nasty old man”; and of Ossipon she said nothing. As to +Stevie, he could be no other than very pleased. Mr Michaelis was always +so nice and kind to him. He seemed to like the boy. Well, the boy was a +good boy. + +“You too seem to have grown quite fond of him of late,” she added, after +a pause, with her inflexible assurance. + +Mr Verloc tying up the cardboard box into a parcel for the post, broke +the string by an injudicious jerk, and muttered several swear words +confidentially to himself. Then raising his tone to the usual husky +mutter, he announced his willingness to take Stevie into the country +himself, and leave him all safe with Michaelis. + +He carried out this scheme on the very next day. Stevie offered no +objection. He seemed rather eager, in a bewildered sort of way. He +turned his candid gaze inquisitively to Mr Verloc’s heavy countenance at +frequent intervals, especially when his sister was not looking at him. +His expression was proud, apprehensive, and concentrated, like that of a +small child entrusted for the first time with a box of matches and the +permission to strike a light. But Mrs Verloc, gratified by her brother’s +docility, recommended him not to dirty his clothes unduly in the country. +At this Stevie gave his sister, guardian and protector a look, which for +the first time in his life seemed to lack the quality of perfect +childlike trustfulness. It was haughtily gloomy. Mrs Verloc smiled. + +“Goodness me! You needn’t be offended. You know you do get yourself +very untidy when you get a chance, Stevie.” + +Mr Verloc was already gone some way down the street. + +Thus in consequence of her mother’s heroic proceedings, and of her +brother’s absence on this villegiature, Mrs Verloc found herself oftener +than usual all alone not only in the shop, but in the house. For Mr +Verloc had to take his walks. She was alone longer than usual on the day +of the attempted bomb outrage in Greenwich Park, because Mr Verloc went +out very early that morning and did not come back till nearly dusk. She +did not mind being alone. She had no desire to go out. The weather was +too bad, and the shop was cosier than the streets. Sitting behind the +counter with some sewing, she did not raise her eyes from her work when +Mr Verloc entered in the aggressive clatter of the bell. She had +recognised his step on the pavement outside. + +She did not raise her eyes, but as Mr Verloc, silent, and with his hat +rammed down upon his forehead, made straight for the parlour door, she +said serenely: + +“What a wretched day. You’ve been perhaps to see Stevie?” + +“No! I haven’t,” said Mr Verloc softly, and slammed the glazed parlour +door behind him with unexpected energy. + +For some time Mrs Verloc remained quiescent, with her work dropped in her +lap, before she put it away under the counter and got up to light the +gas. This done, she went into the parlour on her way to the kitchen. Mr +Verloc would want his tea presently. Confident of the power of her +charms, Winnie did not expect from her husband in the daily intercourse +of their married life a ceremonious amenity of address and courtliness of +manner; vain and antiquated forms at best, probably never very exactly +observed, discarded nowadays even in the highest spheres, and always +foreign to the standards of her class. She did not look for courtesies +from him. But he was a good husband, and she had a loyal respect for his +rights. + +Mrs Verloc would have gone through the parlour and on to her domestic +duties in the kitchen with the perfect serenity of a woman sure of the +power of her charms. But a slight, very slight, and rapid rattling sound +grew upon her hearing. Bizarre and incomprehensible, it arrested Mrs +Verloc’s attention. Then as its character became plain to the ear she +stopped short, amazed and concerned. Striking a match on the box she +held in her hand, she turned on and lighted, above the parlour table, one +of the two gas-burners, which, being defective, first whistled as if +astonished, and then went on purring comfortably like a cat. + +Mr Verloc, against his usual practice, had thrown off his overcoat. It +was lying on the sofa. His hat, which he must also have thrown off, +rested overturned under the edge of the sofa. He had dragged a chair in +front of the fireplace, and his feet planted inside the fender, his head +held between his hands, he was hanging low over the glowing grate. His +teeth rattled with an ungovernable violence, causing his whole enormous +back to tremble at the same rate. Mrs Verloc was startled. + +“You’ve been getting wet,” she said. + +“Not very,” Mr Verloc managed to falter out, in a profound shudder. By a +great effort he suppressed the rattling of his teeth. + +“I’ll have you laid up on my hands,” she said, with genuine uneasiness. + +“I don’t think so,” remarked Mr Verloc, snuffling huskily. + +He had certainly contrived somehow to catch an abominable cold between +seven in the morning and five in the afternoon. Mrs Verloc looked at his +bowed back. + +“Where have you been to-day?” she asked. + +“Nowhere,” answered Mr Verloc in a low, choked nasal tone. His attitude +suggested aggrieved sulks or a severe headache. The unsufficiency and +uncandidness of his answer became painfully apparent in the dead silence +of the room. He snuffled apologetically, and added: “I’ve been to the +bank.” + +Mrs Verloc became attentive. + +“You have!” she said dispassionately. “What for?” + +Mr Verloc mumbled, with his nose over the grate, and with marked +unwillingness. + +“Draw the money out!” + +“What do you mean? All of it?” + +“Yes. All of it.” + +Mrs Verloc spread out with care the scanty table-cloth, got two knives +and two forks out of the table drawer, and suddenly stopped in her +methodical proceedings. + +“What did you do that for?” + +“May want it soon,” snuffled vaguely Mr Verloc, who was coming to the end +of his calculated indiscretions. + +“I don’t know what you mean,” remarked his wife in a tone perfectly +casual, but standing stock still between the table and the cupboard. + +“You know you can trust me,” Mr Verloc remarked to the grate, with hoarse +feeling. + +Mrs Verloc turned slowly towards the cupboard, saying with deliberation: + +“Oh yes. I can trust you.” + +And she went on with her methodical proceedings. She laid two plates, +got the bread, the butter, going to and fro quietly between the table and +the cupboard in the peace and silence of her home. On the point of +taking out the jam, she reflected practically: “He will be feeling +hungry, having been away all day,” and she returned to the cupboard once +more to get the cold beef. She set it under the purring gas-jet, and +with a passing glance at her motionless husband hugging the fire, she +went (down two steps) into the kitchen. It was only when coming back, +carving knife and fork in hand, that she spoke again. + +“If I hadn’t trusted you I wouldn’t have married you.” + +Bowed under the overmantel, Mr Verloc, holding his head in both hands, +seemed to have gone to sleep. Winnie made the tea, and called out in an +undertone: + +“Adolf.” + +Mr Verloc got up at once, and staggered a little before he sat down at +the table. His wife examining the sharp edge of the carving knife, +placed it on the dish, and called his attention to the cold beef. He +remained insensible to the suggestion, with his chin on his breast. + +“You should feed your cold,” Mrs Verloc said dogmatically. + +He looked up, and shook his head. His eyes were bloodshot and his face +red. His fingers had ruffled his hair into a dissipated untidiness. +Altogether he had a disreputable aspect, expressive of the discomfort, +the irritation and the gloom following a heavy debauch. But Mr Verloc +was not a debauched man. In his conduct he was respectable. His +appearance might have been the effect of a feverish cold. He drank three +cups of tea, but abstained from food entirely. He recoiled from it with +sombre aversion when urged by Mrs Verloc, who said at last: + +“Aren’t your feet wet? You had better put on your slippers. You aren’t +going out any more this evening.” + +Mr Verloc intimated by morose grunts and signs that his feet were not +wet, and that anyhow he did not care. The proposal as to slippers was +disregarded as beneath his notice. But the question of going out in the +evening received an unexpected development. It was not of going out in +the evening that Mr Verloc was thinking. His thoughts embraced a vaster +scheme. From moody and incomplete phrases it became apparent that Mr +Verloc had been considering the expediency of emigrating. It was not +very clear whether he had in his mind France or California. + +The utter unexpectedness, improbability, and inconceivableness of such an +event robbed this vague declaration of all its effect. Mrs Verloc, as +placidly as if her husband had been threatening her with the end of the +world, said: + +“The idea!” + +Mr Verloc declared himself sick and tired of everything, and besides—She +interrupted him. + +“You’ve a bad cold.” + +It was indeed obvious that Mr Verloc was not in his usual state, +physically and even mentally. A sombre irresolution held him silent for +a while. Then he murmured a few ominous generalities on the theme of +necessity. + +“Will have to,” repeated Winnie, sitting calmly back, with folded arms, +opposite her husband. “I should like to know who’s to make you. You +ain’t a slave. No one need be a slave in this country—and don’t you make +yourself one.” She paused, and with invincible and steady candour. “The +business isn’t so bad,” she went on. “You’ve a comfortable home.” + +She glanced all round the parlour, from the corner cupboard to the good +fire in the grate. Ensconced cosily behind the shop of doubtful wares, +with the mysteriously dim window, and its door suspiciously ajar in the +obscure and narrow street, it was in all essentials of domestic propriety +and domestic comfort a respectable home. Her devoted affection missed +out of it her brother Stevie, now enjoying a damp villegiature in the +Kentish lanes under the care of Mr Michaelis. She missed him poignantly, +with all the force of her protecting passion. This was the boy’s home +too—the roof, the cupboard, the stoked grate. On this thought Mrs Verloc +rose, and walking to the other end of the table, said in the fulness of +her heart: + +“And you are not tired of me.” + +Mr Verloc made no sound. Winnie leaned on his shoulder from behind, and +pressed her lips to his forehead. Thus she lingered. Not a whisper +reached them from the outside world. + +The sound of footsteps on the pavement died out in the discreet dimness +of the shop. Only the gas-jet above the table went on purring equably in +the brooding silence of the parlour. + +During the contact of that unexpected and lingering kiss Mr Verloc, +gripping with both hands the edges of his chair, preserved a hieratic +immobility. When the pressure was removed he let go the chair, rose, and +went to stand before the fireplace. He turned no longer his back to the +room. With his features swollen and an air of being drugged, he followed +his wife’s movements with his eyes. + +Mrs Verloc went about serenely, clearing up the table. Her tranquil +voice commented the idea thrown out in a reasonable and domestic tone. +It wouldn’t stand examination. She condemned it from every point of +view. But her only real concern was Stevie’s welfare. He appeared to +her thought in that connection as sufficiently “peculiar” not to be taken +rashly abroad. And that was all. But talking round that vital point, +she approached absolute vehemence in her delivery. Meanwhile, with +brusque movements, she arrayed herself in an apron for the washing up of +cups. And as if excited by the sound of her uncontradicted voice, she +went so far as to say in a tone almost tart: + +“If you go abroad you’ll have to go without me.” + +“You know I wouldn’t,” said Mr Verloc huskily, and the unresonant voice +of his private life trembled with an enigmatical emotion. + +Already Mrs Verloc was regretting her words. They had sounded more +unkind than she meant them to be. They had also the unwisdom of +unnecessary things. In fact, she had not meant them at all. It was a +sort of phrase that is suggested by the demon of perverse inspiration. +But she knew a way to make it as if it had not been. + +She turned her head over her shoulder and gave that man planted heavily +in front of the fireplace a glance, half arch, half cruel, out of her +large eyes—a glance of which the Winnie of the Belgravian mansion days +would have been incapable, because of her respectability and her +ignorance. But the man was her husband now, and she was no longer +ignorant. She kept it on him for a whole second, with her grave face +motionless like a mask, while she said playfully: + +“You couldn’t. You would miss me too much.” + +Mr Verloc started forward. + +“Exactly,” he said in a louder tone, throwing his arms out and making a +step towards her. Something wild and doubtful in his expression made it +appear uncertain whether he meant to strangle or to embrace his wife. +But Mrs Verloc’s attention was called away from that manifestation by the +clatter of the shop bell. + +“Shop, Adolf. You go.” + +He stopped, his arms came down slowly. + +“You go,” repeated Mrs Verloc. “I’ve got my apron on.” + +Mr Verloc obeyed woodenly, stony-eyed, and like an automaton whose face +had been painted red. And this resemblance to a mechanical figure went +so far that he had an automaton’s absurd air of being aware of the +machinery inside of him. + +He closed the parlour door, and Mrs Verloc moving briskly, carried the +tray into the kitchen. She washed the cups and some other things before +she stopped in her work to listen. No sound reached her. The customer +was a long time in the shop. It was a customer, because if he had not +been Mr Verloc would have taken him inside. Undoing the strings of her +apron with a jerk, she threw it on a chair, and walked back to the +parlour slowly. + +At that precise moment Mr Verloc entered from the shop. + +He had gone in red. He came out a strange papery white. His face, +losing its drugged, feverish stupor, had in that short time acquired a +bewildered and harassed expression. He walked straight to the sofa, and +stood looking down at his overcoat lying there, as though he were afraid +to touch it. + +“What’s the matter?” asked Mrs Verloc in a subdued voice. Through the +door left ajar she could see that the customer was not gone yet. + +“I find I’ll have to go out this evening,” said Mr Verloc. He did not +attempt to pick up his outer garment. + +Without a word Winnie made for the shop, and shutting the door after her, +walked in behind the counter. She did not look overtly at the customer +till she had established herself comfortably on the chair. But by that +time she had noted that he was tall and thin, and wore his moustaches +twisted up. In fact, he gave the sharp points a twist just then. His +long, bony face rose out of a turned-up collar. He was a little +splashed, a little wet. A dark man, with the ridge of the cheek-bone +well defined under the slightly hollow temple. A complete stranger. Not +a customer either. + +Mrs Verloc looked at him placidly. + +“You came over from the Continent?” she said after a time. + +The long, thin stranger, without exactly looking at Mrs Verloc, answered +only by a faint and peculiar smile. + +Mrs Verloc’s steady, incurious gaze rested on him. + +“You understand English, don’t you?” + +“Oh yes. I understand English.” + +There was nothing foreign in his accent, except that he seemed in his +slow enunciation to be taking pains with it. And Mrs Verloc, in her +varied experience, had come to the conclusion that some foreigners could +speak better English than the natives. She said, looking at the door of +the parlour fixedly: + +“You don’t think perhaps of staying in England for good?” + +The stranger gave her again a silent smile. He had a kindly mouth and +probing eyes. And he shook his head a little sadly, it seemed. + +“My husband will see you through all right. Meantime for a few days you +couldn’t do better than take lodgings with Mr Giugliani. Continental +Hotel it’s called. Private. It’s quiet. My husband will take you +there.” + +“A good idea,” said the thin, dark man, whose glance had hardened +suddenly. + +“You knew Mr Verloc before—didn’t you? Perhaps in France?” + +“I have heard of him,” admitted the visitor in his slow, painstaking +tone, which yet had a certain curtness of intention. + +There was a pause. Then he spoke again, in a far less elaborate manner. + +“Your husband has not gone out to wait for me in the street by chance?” + +“In the street!” repeated Mrs Verloc, surprised. “He couldn’t. There’s +no other door to the house.” + +For a moment she sat impassive, then left her seat to go and peep through +the glazed door. Suddenly she opened it, and disappeared into the +parlour. + +Mr Verloc had done no more than put on his overcoat. But why he should +remain afterwards leaning over the table propped up on his two arms as +though he were feeling giddy or sick, she could not understand. “Adolf,” +she called out half aloud; and when he had raised himself: + +“Do you know that man?” she asked rapidly. + +“I’ve heard of him,” whispered uneasily Mr Verloc, darting a wild glance +at the door. + +Mrs Verloc’s fine, incurious eyes lighted up with a flash of abhorrence. + +“One of Karl Yundt’s friends—beastly old man.” + +“No! No!” protested Mr Verloc, busy fishing for his hat. But when he +got it from under the sofa he held it as if he did not know the use of a +hat. + +“Well—he’s waiting for you,” said Mrs Verloc at last. “I say, Adolf, he +ain’t one of them Embassy people you have been bothered with of late?” + +“Bothered with Embassy people,” repeated Mr Verloc, with a heavy start of +surprise and fear. “Who’s been talking to you of the Embassy people?” + +“Yourself.” + +“I! I! Talked of the Embassy to you!” + +Mr Verloc seemed scared and bewildered beyond measure. His wife +explained: + +“You’ve been talking a little in your sleep of late, Adolf.” + +“What—what did I say? What do you know?” + +“Nothing much. It seemed mostly nonsense. Enough to let me guess that +something worried you.” + +Mr Verloc rammed his hat on his head. A crimson flood of anger ran over +his face. + +“Nonsense—eh? The Embassy people! I would cut their hearts out one +after another. But let them look out. I’ve got a tongue in my head.” + +He fumed, pacing up and down between the table and the sofa, his open +overcoat catching against the angles. The red flood of anger ebbed out, +and left his face all white, with quivering nostrils. Mrs Verloc, for +the purposes of practical existence, put down these appearances to the +cold. + +“Well,” she said, “get rid of the man, whoever he is, as soon as you can, +and come back home to me. You want looking after for a day or two.” + +Mr Verloc calmed down, and, with resolution imprinted on his pale face, +had already opened the door, when his wife called him back in a whisper: + +“Adolf! Adolf!” He came back startled. “What about that money you drew +out?” she asked. “You’ve got it in your pocket? Hadn’t you better—” + +Mr Verloc gazed stupidly into the palm of his wife’s extended hand for +some time before he slapped his brow. + +“Money! Yes! Yes! I didn’t know what you meant.” + +He drew out of his breast pocket a new pigskin pocket-book. Mrs Verloc +received it without another word, and stood still till the bell, +clattering after Mr Verloc and Mr Verloc’s visitor, had quieted down. +Only then she peeped in at the amount, drawing the notes out for the +purpose. After this inspection she looked round thoughtfully, with an +air of mistrust in the silence and solitude of the house. This abode of +her married life appeared to her as lonely and unsafe as though it had +been situated in the midst of a forest. No receptacle she could think of +amongst the solid, heavy furniture seemed other but flimsy and +particularly tempting to her conception of a house-breaker. It was an +ideal conception, endowed with sublime faculties and a miraculous +insight. The till was not to be thought of. It was the first spot a +thief would make for. Mrs Verloc unfastening hastily a couple of hooks, +slipped the pocket-book under the bodice of her dress. Having thus +disposed of her husband’s capital, she was rather glad to hear the +clatter of the door bell, announcing an arrival. Assuming the fixed, +unabashed stare and the stony expression reserved for the casual +customer, she walked in behind the counter. + +A man standing in the middle of the shop was inspecting it with a swift, +cool, all-round glance. His eyes ran over the walls, took in the +ceiling, noted the floor—all in a moment. The points of a long fair +moustache fell below the line of the jaw. He smiled the smile of an old +if distant acquaintance, and Mrs Verloc remembered having seen him +before. Not a customer. She softened her “customer stare” to mere +indifference, and faced him across the counter. + +He approached, on his side, confidentially, but not too markedly so. + +“Husband at home, Mrs Verloc?” he asked in an easy, full tone. + +“No. He’s gone out.” + +“I am sorry for that. I’ve called to get from him a little private +information.” + +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?” + +Mrs Verloc did not mind. And when Chief Inspector Heat heard of a man +dark, thin, with a long face and turned up moustaches, he gave signs of +perturbation, and exclaimed: + +“Dash me if I didn’t think so! He hasn’t lost any time.” + +He was intensely disgusted in the secrecy of his heart at the unofficial +conduct of his immediate chief. But he was not quixotic. He lost all +desire to await Mr Verloc’s return. What they had gone out for he did +not know, but he imagined it possible that they would return together. +The case is not followed properly, it’s being tampered with, he thought +bitterly. + +“I am afraid I haven’t time to wait for your husband,” he said. + +Mrs Verloc received this declaration listlessly. Her detachment had +impressed Chief Inspector Heat all along. At this precise moment it +whetted his curiosity. Chief Inspector Heat hung in the wind, swayed by +his passions like the most private of citizens. + +“I think,” he said, looking at her steadily, “that you could give me a +pretty good notion of what’s going on if you liked.” + +Forcing her fine, inert eyes to return his gaze, Mrs Verloc murmured: + +“Going on! What _is_ going on?” + +“Why, the affair I came to talk about a little with your husband.” + +That day Mrs Verloc had glanced at a morning paper as usual. But she had +not stirred out of doors. The newsboys never invaded Brett Street. It +was not a street for their business. And the echo of their cries +drifting along the populous thoroughfares, expired between the dirty +brick walls without reaching the threshold of the shop. Her husband had +not brought an evening paper home. At any rate she had not seen it. Mrs +Verloc knew nothing whatever of any affair. And she said so, with a +genuine note of wonder in her quiet voice. + +Chief Inspector Heat did not believe for a moment in so much ignorance. +Curtly, without amiability, he stated the bare fact. + +Mrs Verloc turned away her eyes. + +“I call it silly,” she pronounced slowly. She paused. “We ain’t +downtrodden slaves here.” + +The Chief Inspector waited watchfully. Nothing more came. + +“And your husband didn’t mention anything to you when he came home?” + +Mrs Verloc simply turned her face from right to left in sign of negation. +A languid, baffling silence reigned in the shop. Chief Inspector Heat +felt provoked beyond endurance. + +“There was another small matter,” he began in a detached tone, “which I +wanted to speak to your husband about. There came into our hands +a—a—what we believe is—a stolen overcoat.” + +Mrs Verloc, with her mind specially aware of thieves that evening, +touched lightly the bosom of her dress. + +“We have lost no overcoat,” she said calmly. + +“That’s funny,” continued Private Citizen Heat. “I see you keep a lot of +marking ink here—” + +He took up a small bottle, and looked at it against the gas-jet in the +middle of the shop. + +“Purple—isn’t it?” he remarked, setting it down again. “As I said, it’s +strange. Because the overcoat has got a label sewn on the inside with +your address written in marking ink.” + +Mrs Verloc leaned over the counter with a low exclamation. + +“That’s my brother’s, then.” + +“Where’s your brother? Can I see him?” asked the Chief Inspector +briskly. Mrs Verloc leaned a little more over the counter. + +“No. He isn’t here. I wrote that label myself.” + +“Where’s your brother now?” + +“He’s been away living with—a friend—in the country.” + +“The overcoat comes from the country. And what’s the name of the +friend?” + +“Michaelis,” confessed Mrs Verloc in an awed whisper. + +The Chief Inspector let out a whistle. His eyes snapped. + +“Just so. Capital. And your brother now, what’s he like—a sturdy, +darkish chap—eh?” + +“Oh no,” exclaimed Mrs Verloc fervently. “That must be the thief. +Stevie’s slight and fair.” + +“Good,” said the Chief Inspector in an approving tone. And while Mrs +Verloc, wavering between alarm and wonder, stared at him, he sought for +information. Why have the address sewn like this inside the coat? And +he heard that the mangled remains he had inspected that morning with +extreme repugnance were those of a youth, nervous, absent-minded, +peculiar, and also that the woman who was speaking to him had had the +charge of that boy since he was a baby. + +“Easily excitable?” he suggested. + +“Oh yes. He is. But how did he come to lose his coat—” + +Chief Inspector Heat suddenly pulled out a pink newspaper he had bought +less than half-an-hour ago. He was interested in horses. Forced by his +calling into an attitude of doubt and suspicion towards his +fellow-citizens, Chief Inspector Heat relieved the instinct of credulity +implanted in the human breast by putting unbounded faith in the sporting +prophets of that particular evening publication. Dropping the extra +special on to the counter, he plunged his hand again into his pocket, and +pulling out the piece of cloth fate had presented him with out of a heap +of things that seemed to have been collected in shambles and rag shops, +he offered it to Mrs Verloc for inspection. + +“I suppose you recognise this?” + +She took it mechanically in both her hands. Her eyes seemed to grow +bigger as she looked. + +“Yes,” she whispered, then raised her head, and staggered backward a +little. + +“Whatever for is it torn out like this?” + +The Chief Inspector snatched across the counter the cloth out of her +hands, and she sat heavily on the chair. He thought: identification’s +perfect. And in that moment he had a glimpse into the whole amazing +truth. Verloc was the “other man.” + +“Mrs Verloc,” he said, “it strikes me that you know more of this bomb +affair than even you yourself are aware of.” + +Mrs Verloc sat still, amazed, lost in boundless astonishment. What was +the connection? And she became so rigid all over that she was not able +to turn her head at the clatter of the bell, which caused the private +investigator Heat to spin round on his heel. Mr Verloc had shut the +door, and for a moment the two men looked at each other. + +Mr Verloc, without looking at his wife, walked up to the Chief Inspector, +who was relieved to see him return alone. + +“You here!” muttered Mr Verloc heavily. “Who are you after?” + +“No one,” said Chief Inspector Heat in a low tone. “Look here, I would +like a word or two with you.” + +Mr Verloc, still pale, had brought an air of resolution with him. Still +he didn’t look at his wife. He said: + +“Come in here, then.” And he led the way into the parlour. + +The door was hardly shut when Mrs Verloc, jumping up from the chair, ran +to it as if to fling it open, but instead of doing so fell on her knees, +with her ear to the keyhole. The two men must have stopped directly they +were through, because she heard plainly the Chief Inspector’s voice, +though she could not see his finger pressed against her husband’s breast +emphatically. + +“You are the other man, Verloc. Two men were seen entering the park.” + +And the voice of Mr Verloc said: + +“Well, take me now. What’s to prevent you? You have the right.” + +“Oh no! I know too well who you have been giving yourself away to. +He’ll have to manage this little affair all by himself. But don’t you +make a mistake, it’s I who found you out.” + +Then she heard only muttering. Inspector Heat must have been showing to +Mr Verloc the piece of Stevie’s overcoat, because Stevie’s sister, +guardian, and protector heard her husband a little louder. + +“I never noticed that she had hit upon that dodge.” + +Again for a time Mrs Verloc heard nothing but murmurs, whose +mysteriousness was less nightmarish to her brain than the horrible +suggestions of shaped words. Then Chief Inspector Heat, on the other +side of the door, raised his voice. + +“You must have been mad.” + +And Mr Verloc’s voice answered, with a sort of gloomy fury: + +“I have been mad for a month or more, but I am not mad now. It’s all +over. It shall all come out of my head, and hang the consequences.” + +There was a silence, and then Private Citizen Heat murmured: + +“What’s coming out?” + +“Everything,” exclaimed the voice of Mr Verloc, and then sank very low. + +After a while it rose again. + +“You have known me for several years now, and you’ve found me useful, +too. You know I was a straight man. Yes, straight.” + +This appeal to old acquaintance must have been extremely distasteful to +the Chief Inspector. + +His voice took on a warning note. + +“Don’t you trust so much to what you have been promised. If I were you I +would clear out. I don’t think we will run after you.” + +Mr Verloc was heard to laugh a little. + +“Oh yes; you hope the others will get rid of me for you—don’t you? No, +no; you don’t shake me off now. I have been a straight man to those +people too long, and now everything must come out.” + +“Let it come out, then,” the indifferent voice of Chief Inspector Heat +assented. “But tell me now how did you get away.” + +“I was making for Chesterfield Walk,” Mrs Verloc heard her husband’s +voice, “when I heard the bang. I started running then. Fog. I saw no +one till I was past the end of George Street. Don’t think I met anyone +till then.” + +“So easy as that!” marvelled the voice of Chief Inspector Heat. “The +bang startled you, eh?” + +“Yes; it came too soon,” confessed the gloomy, husky voice of Mr Verloc. + +Mrs Verloc pressed her ear to the keyhole; her lips were blue, her hands +cold as ice, and her pale face, in which the two eyes seemed like two +black holes, felt to her as if it were enveloped in flames. + +On the other side of the door the voices sank very low. She caught words +now and then, sometimes in her husband’s voice, sometimes in the smooth +tones of the Chief Inspector. She heard this last say: + +“We believe he stumbled against the root of a tree?” + +There was a husky, voluble murmur, which lasted for some time, and then +the Chief Inspector, as if answering some inquiry, spoke emphatically. + +“Of course. Blown to small bits: limbs, gravel, clothing, bones, +splinters—all mixed up together. I tell you they had to fetch a shovel +to gather him up with.” + +Mrs Verloc sprang up suddenly from her crouching position, and stopping +her ears, reeled to and fro between the counter and the shelves on the +wall towards the chair. Her crazed eyes noted the sporting sheet left by +the Chief Inspector, and as she knocked herself against the counter she +snatched it up, fell into the chair, tore the optimistic, rosy sheet +right across in trying to open it, then flung it on the floor. On the +other side of the door, Chief Inspector Heat was saying to Mr Verloc, the +secret agent: + +“So your defence will be practically a full confession?” + +“It will. I am going to tell the whole story.” + +“You won’t be believed as much as you fancy you will.” + +And the Chief Inspector remained thoughtful. The turn this affair was +taking meant the disclosure of many things—the laying waste of fields of +knowledge, which, cultivated by a capable man, had a distinct value for +the individual and for the society. It was sorry, sorry meddling. It +would leave Michaelis unscathed; it would drag to light the Professor’s +home industry; disorganise the whole system of supervision; make no end +of a row in the papers, which, from that point of view, appeared to him +by a sudden illumination as invariably written by fools for the reading +of imbeciles. Mentally he agreed with the words Mr Verloc let fall at +last in answer to his last remark. + +“Perhaps not. But it will upset many things. I have been a straight +man, and I shall keep straight in this—” + +“If they let you,” said the Chief Inspector cynically. “You will be +preached to, no doubt, before they put you into the dock. And in the end +you may yet get let in for a sentence that will surprise you. I wouldn’t +trust too much the gentleman who’s been talking to you.” + +Mr Verloc listened, frowning. + +“My advice to you is to clear out while you may. I have no instructions. +There are some of them,” continued Chief Inspector Heat, laying a +peculiar stress on the word “them,” “who think you are already out of the +world.” + +“Indeed!” Mr Verloc was moved to say. Though since his return from +Greenwich he had spent most of his time sitting in the tap-room of an +obscure little public-house, he could hardly have hoped for such +favourable news. + +“That’s the impression about you.” The Chief Inspector nodded at him. +“Vanish. Clear out.” + +“Where to?” snarled Mr Verloc. He raised his head, and gazing at the +closed door of the parlour, muttered feelingly: “I only wish you would +take me away to-night. I would go quietly.” + +“I daresay,” assented sardonically the Chief Inspector, following the +direction of his glance. + +The brow of Mr Verloc broke into slight moisture. He lowered his husky +voice confidentially before the unmoved Chief Inspector. + +“The lad was half-witted, irresponsible. Any court would have seen that +at once. Only fit for the asylum. And that was the worst that would’ve +happened to him if—” + +The Chief Inspector, his hand on the door handle, whispered into Mr +Verloc’s face. + +“He may’ve been half-witted, but you must have been crazy. What drove +you off your head like this?” + +Mr Verloc, thinking of Mr Vladimir, did not hesitate in the choice of +words. + +“A Hyperborean swine,” he hissed forcibly. “A what you might call a—a +gentleman.” + +The Chief Inspector, steady-eyed, nodded briefly his comprehension, and +opened the door. Mrs Verloc, behind the counter, might have heard but +did not see his departure, pursued by the aggressive clatter of the bell. +She sat at her post of duty behind the counter. She sat rigidly erect in +the chair with two dirty pink pieces of paper lying spread out at her +feet. The palms of her hands were pressed convulsively to her face, with +the tips of the fingers contracted against the forehead, as though the +skin had been a mask which she was ready to tear off violently. The +perfect immobility of her pose expressed the agitation of rage and +despair, all the potential violence of tragic passions, better than any +shallow display of shrieks, with the beating of a distracted head against +the walls, could have done. Chief Inspector Heat, crossing the shop at +his busy, swinging pace, gave her only a cursory glance. And when the +cracked bell ceased to tremble on its curved ribbon of steel nothing +stirred near Mrs Verloc, as if her attitude had the locking power of a +spell. Even the butterfly-shaped gas flames posed on the ends of the +suspended T-bracket burned without a quiver. In that shop of shady wares +fitted with deal shelves painted a dull brown, which seemed to devour the +sheen of the light, the gold circlet of the wedding ring on Mrs Verloc’s +left hand glittered exceedingly with the untarnished glory of a piece +from some splendid treasure of jewels, dropped in a dust-bin. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +The Assistant Commissioner, driven rapidly in a hansom from the +neighbourhood of Soho in the direction of Westminster, got out at the +very centre of the Empire on which the sun never sets. Some stalwart +constables, who did not seem particularly impressed by the duty of +watching the august spot, saluted him. Penetrating through a portal by +no means lofty into the precincts of the House which is _the_ House, _par +excellence_ in the minds of many millions of men, he was met at last by +the volatile and revolutionary Toodles. + +That neat and nice young man concealed his astonishment at the early +appearance of the Assistant Commissioner, whom he had been told to look +out for some time about midnight. His turning up so early he concluded +to be the sign that things, whatever they were, had gone wrong. With an +extremely ready sympathy, which in nice youngsters goes often with a +joyous temperament, he felt sorry for the great Presence he called “The +Chief,” and also for the Assistant Commissioner, whose face appeared to +him more ominously wooden than ever before, and quite wonderfully long. +“What a queer, foreign-looking chap he is,” he thought to himself, +smiling from a distance with friendly buoyancy. And directly they came +together he began to talk with the kind intention of burying the +awkwardness of failure under a heap of words. It looked as if the great +assault threatened for that night were going to fizzle out. An inferior +henchman of “that brute Cheeseman” was up boring mercilessly a very thin +House with some shamelessly cooked statistics. He, Toodles, hoped he +would bore them into a count out every minute. But then he might be only +marking time to let that guzzling Cheeseman dine at his leisure. Anyway, +the Chief could not be persuaded to go home. + +“He will see you at once, I think. He’s sitting all alone in his room +thinking of all the fishes of the sea,” concluded Toodles airily. “Come +along.” + +Notwithstanding the kindness of his disposition, the young private +secretary (unpaid) was accessible to the common failings of humanity. He +did not wish to harrow the feelings of the Assistant Commissioner, who +looked to him uncommonly like a man who has made a mess of his job. But +his curiosity was too strong to be restrained by mere compassion. He +could not help, as they went along, to throw over his shoulder lightly: + +“And your sprat?” + +“Got him,” answered the Assistant Commissioner with a concision which did +not mean to be repellent in the least. + +“Good. You’ve no idea how these great men dislike to be disappointed in +small things.” + +After this profound observation the experienced Toodles seemed to +reflect. At any rate he said nothing for quite two seconds. Then: + +“I’m glad. But—I say—is it really such a very small thing as you make it +out?” + +“Do you know what may be done with a sprat?” the Assistant Commissioner +asked in his turn. + +“He’s sometimes put into a sardine box,” chuckled Toodles, whose +erudition on the subject of the fishing industry was fresh and, in +comparison with his ignorance of all other industrial matters, immense. +“There are sardine canneries on the Spanish coast which—” + +The Assistant Commissioner interrupted the apprentice statesman. + +“Yes. Yes. But a sprat is also thrown away sometimes in order to catch +a whale.” + +“A whale. Phew!” exclaimed Toodles, with bated breath. “You’re after a +whale, then?” + +“Not exactly. What I am after is more like a dog-fish. You don’t know +perhaps what a dog-fish is like.” + +“Yes; I do. We’re buried in special books up to our necks—whole shelves +full of them—with plates. . . . It’s a noxious, rascally-looking, +altogether detestable beast, with a sort of smooth face and moustaches.” + +“Described to a T,” commended the Assistant Commissioner. “Only mine is +clean-shaven altogether. You’ve seen him. It’s a witty fish.” + +“I have seen him!” said Toodles incredulously. “I can’t conceive where I +could have seen him.” + +“At the Explorers, I should say,” dropped the Assistant Commissioner +calmly. At the name of that extremely exclusive club Toodles looked +scared, and stopped short. + +“Nonsense,” he protested, but in an awe-struck tone. “What do you mean? +A member?” + +“Honorary,” muttered the Assistant Commissioner through his teeth. + +“Heavens!” + +Toodles looked so thunderstruck that the Assistant Commissioner smiled +faintly. + +“That’s between ourselves strictly,” he said. + +“That’s the beastliest thing I’ve ever heard in my life,” declared +Toodles feebly, as if astonishment had robbed him of all his buoyant +strength in a second. + +The Assistant Commissioner gave him an unsmiling glance. Till they came +to the door of the great man’s room, Toodles preserved a scandalised and +solemn silence, as though he were offended with the Assistant +Commissioner for exposing such an unsavoury and disturbing fact. It +revolutionised his idea of the Explorers’ Club’s extreme selectness, of +its social purity. Toodles was revolutionary only in politics; his +social beliefs and personal feelings he wished to preserve unchanged +through all the years allotted to him on this earth which, upon the +whole, he believed to be a nice place to live on. + +He stood aside. + +“Go in without knocking,” he said. + +Shades of green silk fitted low over all the lights imparted to the room +something of a forest’s deep gloom. The haughty eyes were physically the +great man’s weak point. This point was wrapped up in secrecy. When an +opportunity offered, he rested them conscientiously. + +The Assistant Commissioner entering saw at first only a big pale hand +supporting a big head, and concealing the upper part of a big pale face. +An open despatch-box stood on the writing-table near a few oblong sheets +of paper and a scattered handful of quill pens. There was absolutely +nothing else on the large flat surface except a little bronze statuette +draped in a toga, mysteriously watchful in its shadowy immobility. The +Assistant Commissioner, invited to take a chair, sat down. In the dim +light, the salient points of his personality, the long face, the black +hair, his lankness, made him look more foreign than ever. + +The great man manifested no surprise, no eagerness, no sentiment +whatever. The attitude in which he rested his menaced eyes was +profoundly meditative. He did not alter it the least bit. But his tone +was not dreamy. + +“Well! What is it that you’ve found out already? You came upon +something unexpected on the first step.” + +“Not exactly unexpected, Sir Ethelred. What I mainly came upon was a +psychological state.” + +The Great Presence made a slight movement. “You must be lucid, please.” + +“Yes, Sir Ethelred. You know no doubt that most criminals at some time +or other feel an irresistible need of confessing—of making a clean breast +of it to somebody—to anybody. And they do it often to the police. In +that Verloc whom Heat wished so much to screen I’ve found a man in that +particular psychological state. The man, figuratively speaking, flung +himself on my breast. It was enough on my part to whisper to him who I +was and to add ‘I know that you are at the bottom of this affair.’ It +must have seemed miraculous to him that we should know already, but he +took it all in the stride. The wonderfulness of it never checked him for +a moment. There remained for me only to put to him the two questions: +Who put you up to it? and Who was the man who did it? He answered the +first with remarkable emphasis. As to the second question, I gather that +the fellow with the bomb was his brother-in-law—quite a lad—a weak-minded +creature. . . . It is rather a curious affair—too long perhaps to state +fully just now.” + +“What then have you learned?” asked the great man. + +“First, I’ve learned that the ex-convict Michaelis had nothing to do with +it, though indeed the lad had been living with him temporarily in the +country up to eight o’clock this morning. It is more than likely that +Michaelis knows nothing of it to this moment.” + +“You are positive as to that?” asked the great man. + +“Quite certain, Sir Ethelred. This fellow Verloc went there this +morning, and took away the lad on the pretence of going out for a walk in +the lanes. As it was not the first time that he did this, Michaelis +could not have the slightest suspicion of anything unusual. For the +rest, Sir Ethelred, the indignation of this man Verloc had left nothing +in doubt—nothing whatever. He had been driven out of his mind almost by +an extraordinary performance, which for you or me it would be difficult +to take as seriously meant, but which produced a great impression +obviously on him.” + +The Assistant Commissioner then imparted briefly to the great man, who +sat still, resting his eyes under the screen of his hand, Mr Verloc’s +appreciation of Mr Vladimir’s proceedings and character. The Assistant +Commissioner did not seem to refuse it a certain amount of competency. +But the great personage remarked: + +“All this seems very fantastic.” + +“Doesn’t it? One would think a ferocious joke. But our man took it +seriously, it appears. He felt himself threatened. In the time, you +know, he was in direct communication with old Stott-Wartenheim himself, +and had come to regard his services as indispensable. It was an +extremely rude awakening. I imagine that he lost his head. He became +angry and frightened. Upon my word, my impression is that he thought +these Embassy people quite capable not only to throw him out but, to give +him away too in some manner or other—” + +“How long were you with him,” interrupted the Presence from behind his +big hand. + +“Some forty minutes, Sir Ethelred, in a house of bad repute called +Continental Hotel, closeted in a room which by-the-by I took for the +night. I found him under the influence of that reaction which follows +the effort of crime. The man cannot be defined as a hardened criminal. +It is obvious that he did not plan the death of that wretched lad—his +brother-in-law. That was a shock to him—I could see that. Perhaps he is +a man of strong sensibilities. Perhaps he was even fond of the lad—who +knows? He might have hoped that the fellow would get clear away; in +which case it would have been almost impossible to bring this thing home +to anyone. At any rate he risked consciously nothing more but arrest for +him.” + +The Assistant Commissioner paused in his speculations to reflect for a +moment. + +“Though how, in that last case, he could hope to have his own share in +the business concealed is more than I can tell,” he continued, in his +ignorance of poor Stevie’s devotion to Mr Verloc (who was _good_), and of +his truly peculiar dumbness, which in the old affair of fireworks on the +stairs had for many years resisted entreaties, coaxing, anger, and other +means of investigation used by his beloved sister. For Stevie was loyal. +. . . “No, I can’t imagine. It’s possible that he never thought of that +at all. It sounds an extravagant way of putting it, Sir Ethelred, but +his state of dismay suggested to me an impulsive man who, after +committing suicide with the notion that it would end all his troubles, +had discovered that it did nothing of the kind.” + +The Assistant Commissioner gave this definition in an apologetic voice. +But in truth there is a sort of lucidity proper to extravagant language, +and the great man was not offended. A slight jerky movement of the big +body half lost in the gloom of the green silk shades, of the big head +leaning on the big hand, accompanied an intermittent stifled but powerful +sound. The great man had laughed. + +“What have you done with him?” + +The Assistant Commissioner answered very readily: + +“As he seemed very anxious to get back to his wife in the shop I let him +go, Sir Ethelred.” + +“You did? But the fellow will disappear.” + +“Pardon me. I don’t think so. Where could he go to? Moreover, you must +remember that he has got to think of the danger from his comrades too. +He’s there at his post. How could he explain leaving it? But even if +there were no obstacles to his freedom of action he would do nothing. At +present he hasn’t enough moral energy to take a resolution of any sort. +Permit me also to point out that if I had detained him we would have been +committed to a course of action on which I wished to know your precise +intentions first.” + +The great personage rose heavily, an imposing shadowy form in the +greenish gloom of the room. + +“I’ll see the Attorney-General to-night, and will send for you to-morrow +morning. Is there anything more you’d wish to tell me now?” + +The Assistant Commissioner had stood up also, slender and flexible. + +“I think not, Sir Ethelred, unless I were to enter into details which—” + +“No. No details, please.” + +The great shadowy form seemed to shrink away as if in physical dread of +details; then came forward, expanded, enormous, and weighty, offering a +large hand. “And you say that this man has got a wife?” + +“Yes, Sir Ethelred,” said the Assistant Commissioner, pressing +deferentially the extended hand. “A genuine wife and a genuinely, +respectably, marital relation. He told me that after his interview at +the Embassy he would have thrown everything up, would have tried to sell +his shop, and leave the country, only he felt certain that his wife would +not even hear of going abroad. Nothing could be more characteristic of +the respectable bond than that,” went on, with a touch of grimness, the +Assistant Commissioner, whose own wife too had refused to hear of going +abroad. “Yes, a genuine wife. And the victim was a genuine +brother-in-law. From a certain point of view we are here in the presence +of a domestic drama.” + +The Assistant Commissioner laughed a little; but the great man’s thoughts +seemed to have wandered far away, perhaps to the questions of his +country’s domestic policy, the battle-ground of his crusading valour +against the paynim Cheeseman. The Assistant Commissioner withdrew +quietly, unnoticed, as if already forgotten. + +He had his own crusading instincts. This affair, which, in one way or +another, disgusted Chief Inspector Heat, seemed to him a providentially +given starting-point for a crusade. He had it much at heart to begin. +He walked slowly home, meditating that enterprise on the way, and +thinking over Mr Verloc’s psychology in a composite mood of repugnance +and satisfaction. He walked all the way home. Finding the drawing-room +dark, he went upstairs, and spent some time between the bedroom and the +dressing-room, changing his clothes, going to and fro with the air of a +thoughtful somnambulist. But he shook it off before going out again to +join his wife at the house of the great lady patroness of Michaelis. + +He knew he would be welcomed there. On entering the smaller of the two +drawing-rooms he saw his wife in a small group near the piano. A +youngish composer in pass of becoming famous was discoursing from a music +stool to two thick men whose backs looked old, and three slender women +whose backs looked young. Behind the screen the great lady had only two +persons with her: a man and a woman, who sat side by side on arm-chairs +at the foot of her couch. She extended her hand to the Assistant +Commissioner. + +“I never hoped to see you here to-night. Annie told me—” + +“Yes. I had no idea myself that my work would be over so soon.” + +The Assistant Commissioner added in a low tone: “I am glad to tell you +that Michaelis is altogether clear of this—” + +The patroness of the ex-convict received this assurance indignantly. + +“Why? Were your people stupid enough to connect him with—” + +“Not stupid,” interrupted the Assistant Commissioner, contradicting +deferentially. “Clever enough—quite clever enough for that.” + +A silence fell. The man at the foot of the couch had stopped speaking to +the lady, and looked on with a faint smile. + +“I don’t know whether you ever met before,” said the great lady. + +Mr Vladimir and the Assistant Commissioner, introduced, acknowledged each +other’s existence with punctilious and guarded courtesy. + +“He’s been frightening me,” declared suddenly the lady who sat by the +side of Mr Vladimir, with an inclination of the head towards that +gentleman. The Assistant Commissioner knew the lady. + +“You do not look frightened,” he pronounced, after surveying her +conscientiously with his tired and equable gaze. He was thinking +meantime to himself that in this house one met everybody sooner or later. +Mr Vladimir’s rosy countenance was wreathed in smiles, because he was +witty, but his eyes remained serious, like the eyes of convinced man. + +“Well, he tried to at least,” amended the lady. + +“Force of habit perhaps,” said the Assistant Commissioner, moved by an +irresistible inspiration. + +“He has been threatening society with all sorts of horrors,” continued +the lady, whose enunciation was caressing and slow, “apropos of this +explosion in Greenwich Park. It appears we all ought to quake in our +shoes at what’s coming if those people are not suppressed all over the +world. I had no idea this was such a grave affair.” + +Mr Vladimir, affecting not to listen, leaned towards the couch, talking +amiably in subdued tones, but he heard the Assistant Commissioner say: + +“I’ve no doubt that Mr Vladimir has a very precise notion of the true +importance of this affair.” + +Mr Vladimir asked himself what that confounded and intrusive policeman +was driving at. Descended from generations victimised by the instruments +of an arbitrary power, he was racially, nationally, and individually +afraid of the police. It was an inherited weakness, altogether +independent of his judgment, of his reason, of his experience. He was +born to it. But that sentiment, which resembled the irrational horror +some people have of cats, did not stand in the way of his immense +contempt for the English police. He finished the sentence addressed to +the great lady, and turned slightly in his chair. + +“You mean that we have a great experience of these people. Yes; indeed, +we suffer greatly from their activity, while you”—Mr Vladimir hesitated +for a moment, in smiling perplexity—“while you suffer their presence +gladly in your midst,” he finished, displaying a dimple on each +clean-shaven cheek. Then he added more gravely: “I may even say—because +you do.” + +When Mr Vladimir ceased speaking the Assistant Commissioner lowered his +glance, and the conversation dropped. Almost immediately afterwards Mr +Vladimir took leave. + +Directly his back was turned on the couch the Assistant Commissioner rose +too. + +“I thought you were going to stay and take Annie home,” said the lady +patroness of Michaelis. + +“I find that I’ve yet a little work to do to-night.” + +“In connection—?” + +“Well, yes—in a way.” + +“Tell me, what is it really—this horror?” + +“It’s difficult to say what it is, but it may yet be a _cause célèbre_,” +said the Assistant Commissioner. + +He left the drawing-room hurriedly, and found Mr Vladimir still in the +hall, wrapping up his throat carefully in a large silk handkerchief. +Behind him a footman waited, holding his overcoat. Another stood ready +to open the door. The Assistant Commissioner was duly helped into his +coat, and let out at once. After descending the front steps he stopped, +as if to consider the way he should take. On seeing this through the +door held open, Mr Vladimir lingered in the hall to get out a cigar and +asked for a light. It was furnished to him by an elderly man out of +livery with an air of calm solicitude. But the match went out; the +footman then closed the door, and Mr Vladimir lighted his large Havana +with leisurely care. + +When at last he got out of the house, he saw with disgust the “confounded +policeman” still standing on the pavement. + +“Can he be waiting for me,” thought Mr Vladimir, looking up and down for +some signs of a hansom. He saw none. A couple of carriages waited by +the curbstone, their lamps blazing steadily, the horses standing +perfectly still, as if carved in stone, the coachmen sitting motionless +under the big fur capes, without as much as a quiver stirring the white +thongs of their big whips. Mr Vladimir walked on, and the “confounded +policeman” fell into step at his elbow. He said nothing. At the end of +the fourth stride Mr Vladimir felt infuriated and uneasy. This could not +last. + +“Rotten weather,” he growled savagely. + +“Mild,” said the Assistant Commissioner without passion. He remained +silent for a little while. “We’ve got hold of a man called Verloc,” he +announced casually. + +Mr Vladimir did not stumble, did not stagger back, did not change his +stride. But he could not prevent himself from exclaiming: “What?” The +Assistant Commissioner did not repeat his statement. “You know him,” he +went on in the same tone. + +Mr Vladimir stopped, and became guttural. “What makes you say that?” + +“I don’t. It’s Verloc who says that.” + +“A lying dog of some sort,” said Mr Vladimir in somewhat Oriental +phraseology. But in his heart he was almost awed by the miraculous +cleverness of the English police. The change of his opinion on the +subject was so violent that it made him for a moment feel slightly sick. +He threw away his cigar, and moved on. + +“What pleased me most in this affair,” the Assistant went on, talking +slowly, “is that it makes such an excellent starting-point for a piece of +work which I’ve felt must be taken in hand—that is, the clearing out of +this country of all the foreign political spies, police, and that sort +of—of—dogs. In my opinion they are a ghastly nuisance; also an element +of danger. But we can’t very well seek them out individually. The only +way is to make their employment unpleasant to their employers. The +thing’s becoming indecent. And dangerous too, for us, here.” + +Mr Vladimir stopped again for a moment. + +“What do you mean?” + +“The prosecution of this Verloc will demonstrate to the public both the +danger and the indecency.” + +“Nobody will believe what a man of that sort says,” said Mr Vladimir +contemptuously. + +“The wealth and precision of detail will carry conviction to the great +mass of the public,” advanced the Assistant Commissioner gently. + +“So that is seriously what you mean to do.” + +“We’ve got the man; we have no choice.” + +“You will be only feeding up the lying spirit of these revolutionary +scoundrels,” Mr Vladimir protested. “What do you want to make a scandal +for?—from morality—or what?” + +Mr Vladimir’s anxiety was obvious. The Assistant Commissioner having +ascertained in this way that there must be some truth in the summary +statements of Mr Verloc, said indifferently: + +“There’s a practical side too. We have really enough to do to look after +the genuine article. You can’t say we are not effective. But we don’t +intend to let ourselves be bothered by shams under any pretext whatever.” + +Mr Vladimir’s tone became lofty. + +“For my part, I can’t share your view. It is selfish. My sentiments for +my own country cannot be doubted; but I’ve always felt that we ought to +be good Europeans besides—I mean governments and men.” + +“Yes,” said the Assistant Commissioner simply. “Only you look at Europe +from its other end. But,” he went on in a good-natured tone, “the +foreign governments cannot complain of the inefficiency of our police. +Look at this outrage; a case specially difficult to trace inasmuch as it +was a sham. In less than twelve hours we have established the identity +of a man literally blown to shreds, have found the organiser of the +attempt, and have had a glimpse of the inciter behind him. And we could +have gone further; only we stopped at the limits of our territory.” + +“So this instructive crime was planned abroad,” Mr Vladimir said quickly. +“You admit it was planned abroad?” + +“Theoretically. Theoretically only, on foreign territory; abroad only by +a fiction,” said the Assistant Commissioner, alluding to the character of +Embassies, which are supposed to be part and parcel of the country to +which they belong. “But that’s a detail. I talked to you of this +business because it’s your government that grumbles most at our police. +You see that we are not so bad. I wanted particularly to tell you of our +success.” + +“I’m sure I’m very grateful,” muttered Mr Vladimir through his teeth. + +“We can put our finger on every anarchist here,” went on the Assistant +Commissioner, as though he were quoting Chief Inspector Heat. “All +that’s wanted now is to do away with the agent provocateur to make +everything safe.” + +Mr Vladimir held up his hand to a passing hansom. + +“You’re not going in here,” remarked the Assistant Commissioner, looking +at a building of noble proportions and hospitable aspect, with the light +of a great hall falling through its glass doors on a broad flight of +steps. + +But Mr Vladimir, sitting, stony-eyed, inside the hansom, drove off +without a word. + +The Assistant Commissioner himself did not turn into the noble building. +It was the Explorers’ Club. The thought passed through his mind that Mr +Vladimir, honorary member, would not be seen very often there in the +future. He looked at his watch. It was only half-past ten. He had had +a very full evening. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +After Chief Inspector Heat had left him Mr Verloc moved about the +parlour. + +From time to time he eyed his wife through the open door. “She knows all +about it now,” he thought to himself with commiseration for her sorrow +and with some satisfaction as regarded himself. Mr Verloc’s soul, if +lacking greatness perhaps, was capable of tender sentiments. The +prospect of having to break the news to her had put him into a fever. +Chief Inspector Heat had relieved him of the task. That was good as far +as it went. It remained for him now to face her grief. + +Mr Verloc had never expected to have to face it on account of death, +whose catastrophic character cannot be argued away by sophisticated +reasoning or persuasive eloquence. Mr Verloc never meant Stevie to +perish with such abrupt violence. He did not mean him to perish at all. +Stevie dead was a much greater nuisance than ever he had been when alive. +Mr Verloc had augured a favourable issue to his enterprise, basing +himself not on Stevie’s intelligence, which sometimes plays queer tricks +with a man, but on the blind docility and on the blind devotion of the +boy. Though not much of a psychologist, Mr Verloc had gauged the depth +of Stevie’s fanaticism. He dared cherish the hope of Stevie walking away +from the walls of the Observatory as he had been instructed to do, taking +the way shown to him several times previously, and rejoining his +brother-in-law, the wise and good Mr Verloc, outside the precincts of the +park. Fifteen minutes ought to have been enough for the veriest fool to +deposit the engine and walk away. And the Professor had guaranteed more +than fifteen minutes. But Stevie had stumbled within five minutes of +being left to himself. And Mr Verloc was shaken morally to pieces. He +had foreseen everything but that. He had foreseen Stevie distracted and +lost—sought for—found in some police station or provincial workhouse in +the end. He had foreseen Stevie arrested, and was not afraid, because Mr +Verloc had a great opinion of Stevie’s loyalty, which had been carefully +indoctrinated with the necessity of silence in the course of many walks. +Like a peripatetic philosopher, Mr Verloc, strolling along the streets of +London, had modified Stevie’s view of the police by conversations full of +subtle reasonings. Never had a sage a more attentive and admiring +disciple. The submission and worship were so apparent that Mr Verloc had +come to feel something like a liking for the boy. In any case, he had +not foreseen the swift bringing home of his connection. That his wife +should hit upon the precaution of sewing the boy’s address inside his +overcoat was the last thing Mr Verloc would have thought of. One can’t +think of everything. That was what she meant when she said that he need +not worry if he lost Stevie during their walks. She had assured him that +the boy would turn up all right. Well, he had turned up with a +vengeance! + +“Well, well,” muttered Mr Verloc in his wonder. What did she mean by it? +Spare him the trouble of keeping an anxious eye on Stevie? Most likely +she had meant well. Only she ought to have told him of the precaution +she had taken. + +Mr Verloc walked behind the counter of the shop. His intention was not +to overwhelm his wife with bitter reproaches. Mr Verloc felt no +bitterness. The unexpected march of events had converted him to the +doctrine of fatalism. Nothing could be helped now. He said: + +“I didn’t mean any harm to come to the boy.” + +Mrs Verloc shuddered at the sound of her husband’s voice. She did not +uncover her face. The trusted secret agent of the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim looked at her for a time with a heavy, persistent, +undiscerning glance. The torn evening paper was lying at her feet. It +could not have told her much. Mr Verloc felt the need of talking to his +wife. + +“It’s that damned Heat—eh?” he said. “He upset you. He’s a brute, +blurting it out like this to a woman. I made myself ill thinking how to +break it to you. I sat for hours in the little parlour of Cheshire +Cheese thinking over the best way. You understand I never meant any harm +to come to that boy.” + +Mr Verloc, the Secret Agent, was speaking the truth. It was his marital +affection that had received the greatest shock from the premature +explosion. He added: + +“I didn’t feel particularly gay sitting there and thinking of you.” + +He observed another slight shudder of his wife, which affected his +sensibility. As she persisted in hiding her face in her hands, he +thought he had better leave her alone for a while. On this delicate +impulse Mr Verloc withdrew into the parlour again, where the gas jet +purred like a contented cat. Mrs Verloc’s wifely forethought had left +the cold beef on the table with carving knife and fork and half a loaf of +bread for Mr Verloc’s supper. He noticed all these things now for the +first time, and cutting himself a piece of bread and meat, began to eat. + +His appetite did not proceed from callousness. Mr Verloc had not eaten +any breakfast that day. He had left his home fasting. Not being an +energetic man, he found his resolution in nervous excitement, which +seemed to hold him mainly by the throat. He could not have swallowed +anything solid. Michaelis’ cottage was as destitute of provisions as the +cell of a prisoner. The ticket-of-leave apostle lived on a little milk +and crusts of stale bread. Moreover, when Mr Verloc arrived he had +already gone upstairs after his frugal meal. Absorbed in the toil and +delight of literary composition, he had not even answered Mr Verloc’s +shout up the little staircase. + +“I am taking this young fellow home for a day or two.” + +And, in truth, Mr Verloc did not wait for an answer, but had marched out +of the cottage at once, followed by the obedient Stevie. + +Now that all action was over and his fate taken out of his hands with +unexpected swiftness, Mr Verloc felt terribly empty physically. He +carved the meat, cut the bread, and devoured his supper standing by the +table, and now and then casting a glance towards his wife. Her prolonged +immobility disturbed the comfort of his refection. He walked again into +the shop, and came up very close to her. This sorrow with a veiled face +made Mr Verloc uneasy. He expected, of course, his wife to be very much +upset, but he wanted her to pull herself together. He needed all her +assistance and all her loyalty in these new conjunctures his fatalism had +already accepted. + +“Can’t be helped,” he said in a tone of gloomy sympathy. “Come, Winnie, +we’ve got to think of to-morrow. You’ll want all your wits about you +after I am taken away.” + +He paused. Mrs Verloc’s breast heaved convulsively. This was not +reassuring to Mr Verloc, in whose view the newly created situation +required from the two people most concerned in it calmness, decision, and +other qualities incompatible with the mental disorder of passionate +sorrow. Mr Verloc was a humane man; he had come home prepared to allow +every latitude to his wife’s affection for her brother. + +Only he did not understand either the nature or the whole extent of that +sentiment. And in this he was excusable, since it was impossible for him +to understand it without ceasing to be himself. He was startled and +disappointed, and his speech conveyed it by a certain roughness of tone. + +“You might look at a fellow,” he observed after waiting a while. + +As if forced through the hands covering Mrs Verloc’s face the answer +came, deadened, almost pitiful. + +“I don’t want to look at you as long as I live.” + +“Eh? What!” Mr Verloc was merely startled by the superficial and +literal meaning of this declaration. It was obviously unreasonable, the +mere cry of exaggerated grief. He threw over it the mantle of his +marital indulgence. The mind of Mr Verloc lacked profundity. Under the +mistaken impression that the value of individuals consists in what they +are in themselves, he could not possibly comprehend the value of Stevie +in the eyes of Mrs Verloc. She was taking it confoundedly hard, he +thought to himself. It was all the fault of that damned Heat. What did +he want to upset the woman for? But she mustn’t be allowed, for her own +good, to carry on so till she got quite beside herself. + +“Look here! You can’t sit like this in the shop,” he said with affected +severity, in which there was some real annoyance; for urgent practical +matters must be talked over if they had to sit up all night. “Somebody +might come in at any minute,” he added, and waited again. No effect was +produced, and the idea of the finality of death occurred to Mr Verloc +during the pause. He changed his tone. “Come. This won’t bring him +back,” he said gently, feeling ready to take her in his arms and press +her to his breast, where impatience and compassion dwelt side by side. +But except for a short shudder Mrs Verloc remained apparently unaffected +by the force of that terrible truism. It was Mr Verloc himself who was +moved. He was moved in his simplicity to urge moderation by asserting +the claims of his own personality. + +“Do be reasonable, Winnie. What would it have been if you had lost me!” + +He had vaguely expected to hear her cry out. But she did not budge. She +leaned back a little, quieted down to a complete unreadable stillness. +Mr Verloc’s heart began to beat faster with exasperation and something +resembling alarm. He laid his hand on her shoulder, saying: + +“Don’t be a fool, Winnie.” + +She gave no sign. It was impossible to talk to any purpose with a woman +whose face one cannot see. Mr Verloc caught hold of his wife’s wrists. +But her hands seemed glued fast. She swayed forward bodily to his tug, +and nearly went off the chair. Startled to feel her so helplessly limp, +he was trying to put her back on the chair when she stiffened suddenly +all over, tore herself out of his hands, ran out of the shop, across the +parlour, and into the kitchen. This was very swift. He had just a +glimpse of her face and that much of her eyes that he knew she had not +looked at him. + +It all had the appearance of a struggle for the possession of a chair, +because Mr Verloc instantly took his wife’s place in it. Mr Verloc did +not cover his face with his hands, but a sombre thoughtfulness veiled his +features. A term of imprisonment could not be avoided. He did not wish +now to avoid it. A prison was a place as safe from certain unlawful +vengeances as the grave, with this advantage, that in a prison there is +room for hope. What he saw before him was a term of imprisonment, an +early release and then life abroad somewhere, such as he had contemplated +already, in case of failure. Well, it was a failure, if not exactly the +sort of failure he had feared. It had been so near success that he could +have positively terrified Mr Vladimir out of his ferocious scoffing with +this proof of occult efficiency. So at least it seemed now to Mr Verloc. +His prestige with the Embassy would have been immense if—if his wife had +not had the unlucky notion of sewing on the address inside Stevie’s +overcoat. Mr Verloc, who was no fool, had soon perceived the +extraordinary character of the influence he had over Stevie, though he +did not understand exactly its origin—the doctrine of his supreme wisdom +and goodness inculcated by two anxious women. In all the eventualities +he had foreseen Mr Verloc had calculated with correct insight on Stevie’s +instinctive loyalty and blind discretion. The eventuality he had not +foreseen had appalled him as a humane man and a fond husband. From every +other point of view it was rather advantageous. Nothing can equal the +everlasting discretion of death. Mr Verloc, sitting perplexed and +frightened in the small parlour of the Cheshire Cheese, could not help +acknowledging that to himself, because his sensibility did not stand in +the way of his judgment. Stevie’s violent disintegration, however +disturbing to think about, only assured the success; for, of course, the +knocking down of a wall was not the aim of Mr Vladimir’s menaces, but the +production of a moral effect. With much trouble and distress on Mr +Verloc’s part the effect might be said to have been produced. When, +however, most unexpectedly, it came home to roost in Brett Street, Mr +Verloc, who had been struggling like a man in a nightmare for the +preservation of his position, accepted the blow in the spirit of a +convinced fatalist. The position was gone through no one’s fault really. +A small, tiny fact had done it. It was like slipping on a bit of orange +peel in the dark and breaking your leg. + +Mr Verloc drew a weary breath. He nourished no resentment against his +wife. He thought: She will have to look after the shop while they keep +me locked up. And thinking also how cruelly she would miss Stevie at +first, he felt greatly concerned about her health and spirits. How would +she stand her solitude—absolutely alone in that house? It would not do +for her to break down while he was locked up? What would become of the +shop then? The shop was an asset. Though Mr Verloc’s fatalism accepted +his undoing as a secret agent, he had no mind to be utterly ruined, +mostly, it must be owned, from regard for his wife. + +Silent, and out of his line of sight in the kitchen, she frightened him. +If only she had had her mother with her. But that silly old woman—An +angry dismay possessed Mr Verloc. He must talk with his wife. He could +tell her certainly that a man does get desperate under certain +circumstances. But he did not go incontinently to impart to her that +information. First of all, it was clear to him that this evening was no +time for business. He got up to close the street door and put the gas +out in the shop. + +Having thus assured a solitude around his hearthstone Mr Verloc walked +into the parlour, and glanced down into the kitchen. Mrs Verloc was +sitting in the place where poor Stevie usually established himself of an +evening with paper and pencil for the pastime of drawing these +coruscations of innumerable circles suggesting chaos and eternity. Her +arms were folded on the table, and her head was lying on her arms. Mr +Verloc contemplated her back and the arrangement of her hair for a time, +then walked away from the kitchen door. Mrs Verloc’s philosophical, +almost disdainful incuriosity, the foundation of their accord in domestic +life made it extremely difficult to get into contact with her, now this +tragic necessity had arisen. Mr Verloc felt this difficulty acutely. He +turned around the table in the parlour with his usual air of a large +animal in a cage. + +Curiosity being one of the forms of self-revelation, a systematically +incurious person remains always partly mysterious. Every time he passed +near the door Mr Verloc glanced at his wife uneasily. It was not that he +was afraid of her. Mr Verloc imagined himself loved by that woman. But +she had not accustomed him to make confidences. And the confidence he +had to make was of a profound psychological order. How with his want of +practice could he tell her what he himself felt but vaguely: that there +are conspiracies of fatal destiny, that a notion grows in a mind +sometimes till it acquires an outward existence, an independent power of +its own, and even a suggestive voice? He could not inform her that a man +may be haunted by a fat, witty, clean-shaved face till the wildest +expedient to get rid of it appears a child of wisdom. + +On this mental reference to a First Secretary of a great Embassy, Mr +Verloc stopped in the doorway, and looking down into the kitchen with an +angry face and clenched fists, addressed his wife. + +“You don’t know what a brute I had to deal with.” + +He started off to make another perambulation of the table; then when he +had come to the door again he stopped, glaring in from the height of two +steps. + +“A silly, jeering, dangerous brute, with no more sense than—After all +these years! A man like me! And I have been playing my head at that +game. You didn’t know. Quite right, too. What was the good of telling +you that I stood the risk of having a knife stuck into me any time these +seven years we’ve been married? I am not a chap to worry a woman that’s +fond of me. You had no business to know.” Mr Verloc took another turn +round the parlour, fuming. + +“A venomous beast,” he began again from the doorway. “Drive me out into +a ditch to starve for a joke. I could see he thought it was a damned +good joke. A man like me! Look here! Some of the highest in the world +got to thank me for walking on their two legs to this day. That’s the +man you’ve got married to, my girl!” + +He perceived that his wife had sat up. Mrs Verloc’s arms remained lying +stretched on the table. Mr Verloc watched at her back as if he could +read there the effect of his words. + +“There isn’t a murdering plot for the last eleven years that I hadn’t my +finger in at the risk of my life. There’s scores of these revolutionists +I’ve sent off, with their bombs in their blamed pockets, to get +themselves caught on the frontier. The old Baron knew what I was worth +to his country. And here suddenly a swine comes along—an ignorant, +overbearing swine.” + +Mr Verloc, stepping slowly down two steps, entered the kitchen, took a +tumbler off the dresser, and holding it in his hand, approached the sink, +without looking at his wife. “It wasn’t the old Baron who would have had +the wicked folly of getting me to call on him at eleven in the morning. +There are two or three in this town that, if they had seen me going in, +would have made no bones about knocking me on the head sooner or later. +It was a silly, murderous trick to expose for nothing a man—like me.” + +Mr Verloc, turning on the tap above the sink, poured three glasses of +water, one after another, down his throat to quench the fires of his +indignation. Mr Vladimir’s conduct was like a hot brand which set his +internal economy in a blaze. He could not get over the disloyalty of it. +This man, who would not work at the usual hard tasks which society sets +to its humbler members, had exercised his secret industry with an +indefatigable devotion. There was in Mr Verloc a fund of loyalty. He +had been loyal to his employers, to the cause of social stability,—and to +his affections too—as became apparent when, after standing the tumbler in +the sink, he turned about, saying: + +“If I hadn’t thought of you I would have taken the bullying brute by the +throat and rammed his head into the fireplace. I’d have been more than a +match for that pink-faced, smooth-shaved—” + +Mr Verloc, neglected to finish the sentence, as if there could be no +doubt of the terminal word. For the first time in his life he was taking +that incurious woman into his confidence. The singularity of the event, +the force and importance of the personal feelings aroused in the course +of this confession, drove Stevie’s fate clean out of Mr Verloc’s mind. +The boy’s stuttering existence of fears and indignations, together with +the violence of his end, had passed out of Mr Verloc’s mental sight for a +time. For that reason, when he looked up he was startled by the +inappropriate character of his wife’s stare. It was not a wild stare, +and it was not inattentive, but its attention was peculiar and not +satisfactory, inasmuch that it seemed concentrated upon some point beyond +Mr Verloc’s person. The impression was so strong that Mr Verloc glanced +over his shoulder. There was nothing behind him: there was just the +whitewashed wall. The excellent husband of Winnie Verloc saw no writing +on the wall. He turned to his wife again, repeating, with some emphasis: + +“I would have taken him by the throat. As true as I stand here, if I +hadn’t thought of you then I would have half choked the life out of the +brute before I let him get up. And don’t you think he would have been +anxious to call the police either. He wouldn’t have dared. You +understand why—don’t you?” + +He blinked at his wife knowingly. + +“No,” said Mrs Verloc in an unresonant voice, and without looking at him +at all. “What are you talking about?” + +A great discouragement, the result of fatigue, came upon Mr Verloc. He +had had a very full day, and his nerves had been tried to the utmost. +After a month of maddening worry, ending in an unexpected catastrophe, +the storm-tossed spirit of Mr Verloc longed for repose. His career as a +secret agent had come to an end in a way no one could have foreseen; +only, now, perhaps he could manage to get a night’s sleep at last. But +looking at his wife, he doubted it. She was taking it very hard—not at +all like herself, he thought. He made an effort to speak. + +“You’ll have to pull yourself together, my girl,” he said +sympathetically. “What’s done can’t be undone.” + +Mrs Verloc gave a slight start, though not a muscle of her white face +moved in the least. Mr Verloc, who was not looking at her, continued +ponderously. + +“You go to bed now. What you want is a good cry.” + +This opinion had nothing to recommend it but the general consent of +mankind. It is universally understood that, as if it were nothing more +substantial than vapour floating in the sky, every emotion of a woman is +bound to end in a shower. And it is very probable that had Stevie died +in his bed under her despairing gaze, in her protecting arms, Mrs +Verloc’s grief would have found relief in a flood of bitter and pure +tears. Mrs Verloc, in common with other human beings, was provided with +a fund of unconscious resignation sufficient to meet the normal +manifestation of human destiny. Without “troubling her head about it,” +she was aware that it “did not stand looking into very much.” But the +lamentable circumstances of Stevie’s end, which to Mr Verloc’s mind had +only an episodic character, as part of a greater disaster, dried her +tears at their very source. It was the effect of a white-hot iron drawn +across her eyes; at the same time her heart, hardened and chilled into a +lump of ice, kept her body in an inward shudder, set her features into a +frozen contemplative immobility addressed to a whitewashed wall with no +writing on it. The exigencies of Mrs Verloc’s temperament, which, when +stripped of its philosophical reserve, was maternal and violent, forced +her to roll a series of thoughts in her motionless head. These thoughts +were rather imagined than expressed. Mrs Verloc was a woman of +singularly few words, either for public or private use. With the rage +and dismay of a betrayed woman, she reviewed the tenor of her life in +visions concerned mostly with Stevie’s difficult existence from its +earliest days. It was a life of single purpose and of a noble unity of +inspiration, like those rare lives that have left their mark on the +thoughts and feelings of mankind. But the visions of Mrs Verloc lacked +nobility and magnificence. She saw herself putting the boy to bed by the +light of a single candle on the deserted top floor of a “business house,” +dark under the roof and scintillating exceedingly with lights and cut +glass at the level of the street like a fairy palace. That meretricious +splendour was the only one to be met in Mrs Verloc’s visions. She +remembered brushing the boy’s hair and tying his pinafores—herself in a +pinafore still; the consolations administered to a small and badly scared +creature by another creature nearly as small but not quite so badly +scared; she had the vision of the blows intercepted (often with her own +head), of a door held desperately shut against a man’s rage (not for very +long); of a poker flung once (not very far), which stilled that +particular storm into the dumb and awful silence which follows a +thunder-clap. And all these scenes of violence came and went accompanied +by the unrefined noise of deep vociferations proceeding from a man +wounded in his paternal pride, declaring himself obviously accursed since +one of his kids was a “slobbering idjut and the other a wicked +she-devil.” It was of her that this had been said many years ago. + +Mrs Verloc heard the words again in a ghostly fashion, and then the +dreary shadow of the Belgravian mansion descended upon her shoulders. It +was a crushing memory, an exhausting vision of countless breakfast trays +carried up and down innumerable stairs, of endless haggling over pence, +of the endless drudgery of sweeping, dusting, cleaning, from basement to +attics; while the impotent mother, staggering on swollen legs, cooked in +a grimy kitchen, and poor Stevie, the unconscious presiding genius of all +their toil, blacked the gentlemen’s boots in the scullery. But this +vision had a breath of a hot London summer in it, and for a central +figure a young man wearing his Sunday best, with a straw hat on his dark +head and a wooden pipe in his mouth. Affectionate and jolly, he was a +fascinating companion for a voyage down the sparkling stream of life; +only his boat was very small. There was room in it for a girl-partner at +the oar, but no accommodation for passengers. He was allowed to drift +away from the threshold of the Belgravian mansion while Winnie averted +her tearful eyes. He was not a lodger. The lodger was Mr Verloc, +indolent, and keeping late hours, sleepily jocular of a morning from +under his bed-clothes, but with gleams of infatuation in his heavy lidded +eyes, and always with some money in his pockets. There was no sparkle of +any kind on the lazy stream of his life. It flowed through secret +places. But his barque seemed a roomy craft, and his taciturn +magnanimity accepted as a matter of course the presence of passengers. + +Mrs Verloc pursued the visions of seven years’ security for Stevie, +loyally paid for on her part; of security growing into confidence, into a +domestic feeling, stagnant and deep like a placid pool, whose guarded +surface hardly shuddered on the occasional passage of Comrade Ossipon, +the robust anarchist with shamelessly inviting eyes, whose glance had a +corrupt clearness sufficient to enlighten any woman not absolutely +imbecile. + +A few seconds only had elapsed since the last word had been uttered aloud +in the kitchen, and Mrs Verloc was staring already at the vision of an +episode not more than a fortnight old. With eyes whose pupils were +extremely dilated she stared at the vision of her husband and poor Stevie +walking up Brett Street side by side away from the shop. It was the last +scene of an existence created by Mrs Verloc’s genius; an existence +foreign to all grace and charm, without beauty and almost without +decency, but admirable in the continuity of feeling and tenacity of +purpose. And this last vision had such plastic relief, such nearness of +form, such a fidelity of suggestive detail, that it wrung from Mrs Verloc +an anguished and faint murmur, reproducing the supreme illusion of her +life, an appalled murmur that died out on her blanched lips. + +“Might have been father and son.” + +Mr Verloc stopped, and raised a care-worn face. “Eh? What did you say?” +he asked. Receiving no reply, he resumed his sinister tramping. Then +with a menacing flourish of a thick, fleshy fist, he burst out: + +“Yes. The Embassy people. A pretty lot, ain’t they! Before a week’s +out I’ll make some of them wish themselves twenty feet underground. Eh? +What?” + +He glanced sideways, with his head down. Mrs Verloc gazed at the +whitewashed wall. A blank wall—perfectly blank. A blankness to run at +and dash your head against. Mrs Verloc remained immovably seated. She +kept still as the population of half the globe would keep still in +astonishment and despair, were the sun suddenly put out in the summer sky +by the perfidy of a trusted providence. + +“The Embassy,” Mr Verloc began again, after a preliminary grimace which +bared his teeth wolfishly. “I wish I could get loose in there with a +cudgel for half-an-hour. I would keep on hitting till there wasn’t a +single unbroken bone left amongst the whole lot. But never mind, I’ll +teach them yet what it means trying to throw out a man like me to rot in +the streets. I’ve a tongue in my head. All the world shall know what +I’ve done for them. I am not afraid. I don’t care. Everything’ll come +out. Every damned thing. Let them look out!” + +In these terms did Mr Verloc declare his thirst for revenge. It was a +very appropriate revenge. It was in harmony with the promptings of Mr +Verloc’s genius. It had also the advantage of being within the range of +his powers and of adjusting itself easily to the practice of his life, +which had consisted precisely in betraying the secret and unlawful +proceedings of his fellow-men. Anarchists or diplomats were all one to +him. Mr Verloc was temperamentally no respecter of persons. His scorn +was equally distributed over the whole field of his operations. But as a +member of a revolutionary proletariat—which he undoubtedly was—he +nourished a rather inimical sentiment against social distinction. + +“Nothing on earth can stop me now,” he added, and paused, looking fixedly +at his wife, who was looking fixedly at a blank wall. + +The silence in the kitchen was prolonged, and Mr Verloc felt +disappointed. He had expected his wife to say something. But Mrs +Verloc’s lips, composed in their usual form, preserved a statuesque +immobility like the rest of her face. And Mr Verloc was disappointed. +Yet the occasion did not, he recognised, demand speech from her. She was +a woman of very few words. For reasons involved in the very foundation +of his psychology, Mr Verloc was inclined to put his trust in any woman +who had given herself to him. Therefore he trusted his wife. Their +accord was perfect, but it was not precise. It was a tacit accord, +congenial to Mrs Verloc’s incuriosity and to Mr Verloc’s habits of mind, +which were indolent and secret. They refrained from going to the bottom +of facts and motives. + +This reserve, expressing, in a way, their profound confidence in each +other, introduced at the same time a certain element of vagueness into +their intimacy. No system of conjugal relations is perfect. Mr Verloc +presumed that his wife had understood him, but he would have been glad to +hear her say what she thought at the moment. It would have been a +comfort. + +There were several reasons why this comfort was denied him. There was a +physical obstacle: Mrs Verloc had no sufficient command over her voice. +She did not see any alternative between screaming and silence, and +instinctively she chose the silence. Winnie Verloc was temperamentally a +silent person. And there was the paralysing atrocity of the thought +which occupied her. Her cheeks were blanched, her lips ashy, her +immobility amazing. And she thought without looking at Mr Verloc: “This +man took the boy away to murder him. He took the boy away from his home +to murder him. He took the boy away from me to murder him!” + +Mrs Verloc’s whole being was racked by that inconclusive and maddening +thought. It was in her veins, in her bones, in the roots of her hair. +Mentally she assumed the biblical attitude of mourning—the covered face, +the rent garments; the sound of wailing and lamentation filled her head. +But her teeth were violently clenched, and her tearless eyes were hot +with rage, because she was not a submissive creature. The protection she +had extended over her brother had been in its origin of a fierce and +indignant complexion. She had to love him with a militant love. She had +battled for him—even against herself. His loss had the bitterness of +defeat, with the anguish of a baffled passion. It was not an ordinary +stroke of death. Moreover, it was not death that took Stevie from her. +It was Mr Verloc who took him away. She had seen him. She had watched +him, without raising a hand, take the boy away. And she had let him go, +like—like a fool—a blind fool. Then after he had murdered the boy he +came home to her. Just came home like any other man would come home to +his wife. . . . + +Through her set teeth Mrs Verloc muttered at the wall: + +“And I thought he had caught a cold.” + +Mr Verloc heard these words and appropriated them. + +“It was nothing,” he said moodily. “I was upset. I was upset on your +account.” + +Mrs Verloc, turning her head slowly, transferred her stare from the wall +to her husband’s person. Mr Verloc, with the tips of his fingers between +his lips, was looking on the ground. + +“Can’t be helped,” he mumbled, letting his hand fall. “You must pull +yourself together. You’ll want all your wits about you. It is you who +brought the police about our ears. Never mind, I won’t say anything more +about it,” continued Mr Verloc magnanimously. “You couldn’t know.” + +“I couldn’t,” breathed out Mrs Verloc. It was as if a corpse had spoken. +Mr Verloc took up the thread of his discourse. + +“I don’t blame you. I’ll make them sit up. Once under lock and key it +will be safe enough for me to talk—you understand. You must reckon on me +being two years away from you,” he continued, in a tone of sincere +concern. “It will be easier for you than for me. You’ll have something +to do, while I—Look here, Winnie, what you must do is to keep this +business going for two years. You know enough for that. You’ve a good +head on you. I’ll send you word when it’s time to go about trying to +sell. You’ll have to be extra careful. The comrades will be keeping an +eye on you all the time. You’ll have to be as artful as you know how, +and as close as the grave. No one must know what you are going to do. I +have no mind to get a knock on the head or a stab in the back directly I +am let out.” + +Thus spoke Mr Verloc, applying his mind with ingenuity and forethought to +the problems of the future. His voice was sombre, because he had a +correct sentiment of the situation. Everything which he did not wish to +pass had come to pass. The future had become precarious. His judgment, +perhaps, had been momentarily obscured by his dread of Mr Vladimir’s +truculent folly. A man somewhat over forty may be excusably thrown into +considerable disorder by the prospect of losing his employment, +especially if the man is a secret agent of political police, dwelling +secure in the consciousness of his high value and in the esteem of high +personages. He was excusable. + +Now the thing had ended in a crash. Mr Verloc was cool; but he was not +cheerful. A secret agent who throws his secrecy to the winds from desire +of vengeance, and flaunts his achievements before the public eye, becomes +the mark for desperate and bloodthirsty indignations. Without unduly +exaggerating the danger, Mr Verloc tried to bring it clearly before his +wife’s mind. He repeated that he had no intention to let the +revolutionists do away with him. + +He looked straight into his wife’s eyes. The enlarged pupils of the +woman received his stare into their unfathomable depths. + +“I am too fond of you for that,” he said, with a little nervous laugh. + +A faint flush coloured Mrs Verloc’s ghastly and motionless face. Having +done with the visions of the past, she had not only heard, but had also +understood the words uttered by her husband. By their extreme disaccord +with her mental condition these words produced on her a slightly +suffocating effect. Mrs Verloc’s mental condition had the merit of +simplicity; but it was not sound. It was governed too much by a fixed +idea. Every nook and cranny of her brain was filled with the thought +that this man, with whom she had lived without distaste for seven years, +had taken the “poor boy” away from her in order to kill him—the man to +whom she had grown accustomed in body and mind; the man whom she had +trusted, took the boy away to kill him! In its form, in its substance, +in its effect, which was universal, altering even the aspect of inanimate +things, it was a thought to sit still and marvel at for ever and ever. +Mrs Verloc sat still. And across that thought (not across the kitchen) +the form of Mr Verloc went to and fro, familiarly in hat and overcoat, +stamping with his boots upon her brain. He was probably talking too; but +Mrs Verloc’s thought for the most part covered the voice. + +Now and then, however, the voice would make itself heard. Several +connected words emerged at times. Their purport was generally hopeful. +On each of these occasions Mrs Verloc’s dilated pupils, losing their +far-off fixity, followed her husband’s movements with the effect of black +care and impenetrable attention. Well informed upon all matters relating +to his secret calling, Mr Verloc augured well for the success of his +plans and combinations. He really believed that it would be upon the +whole easy for him to escape the knife of infuriated revolutionists. He +had exaggerated the strength of their fury and the length of their arm +(for professional purposes) too often to have many illusions one way or +the other. For to exaggerate with judgment one must begin by measuring +with nicety. He knew also how much virtue and how much infamy is +forgotten in two years—two long years. His first really confidential +discourse to his wife was optimistic from conviction. He also thought it +good policy to display all the assurance he could muster. It would put +heart into the poor woman. On his liberation, which, harmonising with +the whole tenor of his life, would be secret, of course, they would +vanish together without loss of time. As to covering up the tracks, he +begged his wife to trust him for that. He knew how it was to be done so +that the devil himself— + +He waved his hand. He seemed to boast. He wished only to put heart into +her. It was a benevolent intention, but Mr Verloc had the misfortune not +to be in accord with his audience. + +The self-confident tone grew upon Mrs Verloc’s ear which let most of the +words go by; for what were words to her now? What could words do to her, +for good or evil in the face of her fixed idea? Her black glance +followed that man who was asserting his impunity—the man who had taken +poor Stevie from home to kill him somewhere. Mrs Verloc could not +remember exactly where, but her heart began to beat very perceptibly. + +Mr Verloc, in a soft and conjugal tone, was now expressing his firm +belief that there were yet a good few years of quiet life before them +both. He did not go into the question of means. A quiet life it must be +and, as it were, nestling in the shade, concealed among men whose flesh +is grass; modest, like the life of violets. The words used by Mr Verloc +were: “Lie low for a bit.” And far from England, of course. It was not +clear whether Mr Verloc had in his mind Spain or South America; but at +any rate somewhere abroad. + +This last word, falling into Mrs Verloc’s ear, produced a definite +impression. This man was talking of going abroad. The impression was +completely disconnected; and such is the force of mental habit that Mrs +Verloc at once and automatically asked herself: “And what of Stevie?” + +It was a sort of forgetfulness; but instantly she became aware that there +was no longer any occasion for anxiety on that score. There would never +be any occasion any more. The poor boy had been taken out and killed. +The poor boy was dead. + +This shaking piece of forgetfulness stimulated Mrs Verloc’s intelligence. +She began to perceive certain consequences which would have surprised Mr +Verloc. There was no need for her now to stay there, in that kitchen, in +that house, with that man—since the boy was gone for ever. No need +whatever. And on that Mrs Verloc rose as if raised by a spring. But +neither could she see what there was to keep her in the world at all. +And this inability arrested her. Mr Verloc watched her with marital +solicitude. + +“You’re looking more like yourself,” he said uneasily. Something +peculiar in the blackness of his wife’s eyes disturbed his optimism. At +that precise moment Mrs Verloc began to look upon herself as released +from all earthly ties. + +She had her freedom. Her contract with existence, as represented by that +man standing over there, was at an end. She was a free woman. Had this +view become in some way perceptible to Mr Verloc he would have been +extremely shocked. In his affairs of the heart Mr Verloc had been always +carelessly generous, yet always with no other idea than that of being +loved for himself. Upon this matter, his ethical notions being in +agreement with his vanity, he was completely incorrigible. That this +should be so in the case of his virtuous and legal connection he was +perfectly certain. He had grown older, fatter, heavier, in the belief +that he lacked no fascination for being loved for his own sake. When he +saw Mrs Verloc starting to walk out of the kitchen without a word he was +disappointed. + +“Where are you going to?” he called out rather sharply. “Upstairs?” + +Mrs Verloc in the doorway turned at the voice. An instinct of prudence +born of fear, the excessive fear of being approached and touched by that +man, induced her to nod at him slightly (from the height of two steps), +with a stir of the lips which the conjugal optimism of Mr Verloc took for +a wan and uncertain smile. + +“That’s right,” he encouraged her gruffly. “Rest and quiet’s what you +want. Go on. It won’t be long before I am with you.” + +Mrs Verloc, the free woman who had had really no idea where she was going +to, obeyed the suggestion with rigid steadiness. + +Mr Verloc watched her. She disappeared up the stairs. He was +disappointed. There was that within him which would have been more +satisfied if she had been moved to throw herself upon his breast. But he +was generous and indulgent. Winnie was always undemonstrative and +silent. Neither was Mr Verloc himself prodigal of endearments and words +as a rule. But this was not an ordinary evening. It was an occasion +when a man wants to be fortified and strengthened by open proofs of +sympathy and affection. Mr Verloc sighed, and put out the gas in the +kitchen. Mr Verloc’s sympathy with his wife was genuine and intense. It +almost brought tears into his eyes as he stood in the parlour reflecting +on the loneliness hanging over her head. In this mood Mr Verloc missed +Stevie very much out of a difficult world. He thought mournfully of his +end. If only that lad had not stupidly destroyed himself! + +The sensation of unappeasable hunger, not unknown after the strain of a +hazardous enterprise to adventurers of tougher fibre than Mr Verloc, +overcame him again. The piece of roast beef, laid out in the likeness of +funereal baked meats for Stevie’s obsequies, offered itself largely to +his notice. And Mr Verloc again partook. He partook ravenously, without +restraint and decency, cutting thick slices with the sharp carving knife, +and swallowing them without bread. In the course of that refection it +occurred to Mr Verloc that he was not hearing his wife move about the +bedroom as he should have done. The thought of finding her perhaps +sitting on the bed in the dark not only cut Mr Verloc’s appetite, but +also took from him the inclination to follow her upstairs just yet. +Laying down the carving knife, Mr Verloc listened with careworn +attention. + +He was comforted by hearing her move at last. She walked suddenly across +the room, and threw the window up. After a period of stillness up there, +during which he figured her to himself with her head out, he heard the +sash being lowered slowly. Then she made a few steps, and sat down. +Every resonance of his house was familiar to Mr Verloc, who was +thoroughly domesticated. When next he heard his wife’s footsteps +overhead he knew, as well as if he had seen her doing it, that she had +been putting on her walking shoes. Mr Verloc wriggled his shoulders +slightly at this ominous symptom, and moving away from the table, stood +with his back to the fireplace, his head on one side, and gnawing +perplexedly at the tips of his fingers. He kept track of her movements +by the sound. She walked here and there violently, with abrupt +stoppages, now before the chest of drawers, then in front of the +wardrobe. An immense load of weariness, the harvest of a day of shocks +and surprises, weighed Mr Verloc’s energies to the ground. + +He did not raise his eyes till he heard his wife descending the stairs. +It was as he had guessed. She was dressed for going out. + +Mrs Verloc was a free woman. She had thrown open the window of the +bedroom either with the intention of screaming Murder! Help! or of +throwing herself out. For she did not exactly know what use to make of +her freedom. Her personality seemed to have been torn into two pieces, +whose mental operations did not adjust themselves very well to each +other. The street, silent and deserted from end to end, repelled her by +taking sides with that man who was so certain of his impunity. She was +afraid to shout lest no one should come. Obviously no one would come. +Her instinct of self-preservation recoiled from the depth of the fall +into that sort of slimy, deep trench. Mrs Verloc closed the window, and +dressed herself to go out into the street by another way. She was a free +woman. She had dressed herself thoroughly, down to the tying of a black +veil over her face. As she appeared before him in the light of the +parlour, Mr Verloc observed that she had even her little handbag hanging +from her left wrist. . . . Flying off to her mother, of course. + +The thought that women were wearisome creatures after all presented +itself to his fatigued brain. But he was too generous to harbour it for +more than an instant. This man, hurt cruelly in his vanity, remained +magnanimous in his conduct, allowing himself no satisfaction of a bitter +smile or of a contemptuous gesture. With true greatness of soul, he only +glanced at the wooden clock on the wall, and said in a perfectly calm but +forcible manner: + +“Five and twenty minutes past eight, Winnie. There’s no sense in going +over there so late. You will never manage to get back to-night.” + +Before his extended hand Mrs Verloc had stopped short. He added heavily: +“Your mother will be gone to bed before you get there. This is the sort +of news that can wait.” + +Nothing was further from Mrs Verloc’s thoughts than going to her mother. +She recoiled at the mere idea, and feeling a chair behind her, she obeyed +the suggestion of the touch, and sat down. Her intention had been simply +to get outside the door for ever. And if this feeling was correct, its +mental form took an unrefined shape corresponding to her origin and +station. “I would rather walk the streets all the days of my life,” she +thought. But this creature, whose moral nature had been subjected to a +shock of which, in the physical order, the most violent earthquake of +history could only be a faint and languid rendering, was at the mercy of +mere trifles, of casual contacts. She sat down. With her hat and veil +she had the air of a visitor, of having looked in on Mr Verloc for a +moment. Her instant docility encouraged him, whilst her aspect of only +temporary and silent acquiescence provoked him a little. + +“Let me tell you, Winnie,” he said with authority, “that your place is +here this evening. Hang it all! you brought the damned police high and +low about my ears. I don’t blame you—but it’s your doing all the same. +You’d better take this confounded hat off. I can’t let you go out, old +girl,” he added in a softened voice. + +Mrs Verloc’s mind got hold of that declaration with morbid tenacity. The +man who had taken Stevie out from under her very eyes to murder him in a +locality whose name was at the moment not present to her memory would not +allow her go out. Of course he wouldn’t. + +Now he had murdered Stevie he would never let her go. He would want to +keep her for nothing. And on this characteristic reasoning, having all +the force of insane logic, Mrs Verloc’s disconnected wits went to work +practically. She could slip by him, open the door, run out. But he +would dash out after her, seize her round the body, drag her back into +the shop. She could scratch, kick, and bite—and stab too; but for +stabbing she wanted a knife. Mrs Verloc sat still under her black veil, +in her own house, like a masked and mysterious visitor of impenetrable +intentions. + +Mr Verloc’s magnanimity was not more than human. She had exasperated him +at last. + +“Can’t you say something? You have your own dodges for vexing a man. Oh +yes! I know your deaf-and-dumb trick. I’ve seen you at it before +to-day. But just now it won’t do. And to begin with, take this damned +thing off. One can’t tell whether one is talking to a dummy or to a live +woman.” + +He advanced, and stretching out his hand, dragged the veil off, unmasking +a still, unreadable face, against which his nervous exasperation was +shattered like a glass bubble flung against a rock. “That’s better,” he +said, to cover his momentary uneasiness, and retreated back to his old +station by the mantelpiece. It never entered his head that his wife +could give him up. He felt a little ashamed of himself, for he was fond +and generous. What could he do? Everything had been said already. He +protested vehemently. + +“By heavens! You know that I hunted high and low. I ran the risk of +giving myself away to find somebody for that accursed job. And I tell +you again I couldn’t find anyone crazy enough or hungry enough. What do +you take me for—a murderer, or what? The boy is gone. Do you think I +wanted him to blow himself up? He’s gone. His troubles are over. Ours +are just going to begin, I tell you, precisely because he did blow +himself. I don’t blame you. But just try to understand that it was a +pure accident; as much an accident as if he had been run over by a ’bus +while crossing the street.” + +His generosity was not infinite, because he was a human being—and not a +monster, as Mrs Verloc believed him to be. He paused, and a snarl +lifting his moustaches above a gleam of white teeth gave him the +expression of a reflective beast, not very dangerous—a slow beast with a +sleek head, gloomier than a seal, and with a husky voice. + +“And when it comes to that, it’s as much your doing as mine. That’s so. +You may glare as much as you like. I know what you can do in that way. +Strike me dead if I ever would have thought of the lad for that purpose. +It was you who kept on shoving him in my way when I was half distracted +with the worry of keeping the lot of us out of trouble. What the devil +made you? One would think you were doing it on purpose. And I am damned +if I know that you didn’t. There’s no saying how much of what’s going on +you have got hold of on the sly with your infernal don’t-care-a-damn way +of looking nowhere in particular, and saying nothing at all. . . . ” + +His husky domestic voice ceased for a while. Mrs Verloc made no reply. +Before that silence he felt ashamed of what he had said. But as often +happens to peaceful men in domestic tiffs, being ashamed he pushed +another point. + +“You have a devilish way of holding your tongue sometimes,” he began +again, without raising his voice. “Enough to make some men go mad. It’s +lucky for you that I am not so easily put out as some of them would be by +your deaf-and-dumb sulks. I am fond of you. But don’t you go too far. +This isn’t the time for it. We ought to be thinking of what we’ve got to +do. And I can’t let you go out to-night, galloping off to your mother +with some crazy tale or other about me. I won’t have it. Don’t you make +any mistake about it: if you will have it that I killed the boy, then +you’ve killed him as much as I.” + +In sincerity of feeling and openness of statement, these words went far +beyond anything that had ever been said in this home, kept up on the +wages of a secret industry eked out by the sale of more or less secret +wares: the poor expedients devised by a mediocre mankind for preserving +an imperfect society from the dangers of moral and physical corruption, +both secret too of their kind. They were spoken because Mr Verloc had +felt himself really outraged; but the reticent decencies of this home +life, nestling in a shady street behind a shop where the sun never shone, +remained apparently undisturbed. Mrs Verloc heard him out with perfect +propriety, and then rose from her chair in her hat and jacket like a +visitor at the end of a call. She advanced towards her husband, one arm +extended as if for a silent leave-taking. Her net veil dangling down by +one end on the left side of her face gave an air of disorderly formality +to her restrained movements. But when she arrived as far as the +hearthrug, Mr Verloc was no longer standing there. He had moved off in +the direction of the sofa, without raising his eyes to watch the effect +of his tirade. He was tired, resigned in a truly marital spirit. But he +felt hurt in the tender spot of his secret weakness. If she would go on +sulking in that dreadful overcharged silence—why then she must. She was +a master in that domestic art. Mr Verloc flung himself heavily upon the +sofa, disregarding as usual the fate of his hat, which, as if accustomed +to take care of itself, made for a safe shelter under the table. + +He was tired. The last particle of his nervous force had been expended +in the wonders and agonies of this day full of surprising failures coming +at the end of a harassing month of scheming and insomnia. He was tired. +A man isn’t made of stone. Hang everything! Mr Verloc reposed +characteristically, clad in his outdoor garments. One side of his open +overcoat was lying partly on the ground. Mr Verloc wallowed on his back. +But he longed for a more perfect rest—for sleep—for a few hours of +delicious forgetfulness. That would come later. Provisionally he +rested. And he thought: “I wish she would give over this damned +nonsense. It’s exasperating.” + +There must have been something imperfect in Mrs Verloc’s sentiment of +regained freedom. Instead of taking the way of the door she leaned back, +with her shoulders against the tablet of the mantelpiece, as a wayfarer +rests against a fence. A tinge of wildness in her aspect was derived +from the black veil hanging like a rag against her cheek, and from the +fixity of her black gaze where the light of the room was absorbed and +lost without the trace of a single gleam. This woman, capable of a +bargain the mere suspicion of which would have been infinitely shocking +to Mr Verloc’s idea of love, remained irresolute, as if scrupulously +aware of something wanting on her part for the formal closing of the +transaction. + +On the sofa Mr Verloc wriggled his shoulders into perfect comfort, and +from the fulness of his heart emitted a wish which was certainly as pious +as anything likely to come from such a source. + +“I wish to goodness,” he growled huskily, “I had never seen Greenwich +Park or anything belonging to it.” + +The veiled sound filled the small room with its moderate volume, well +adapted to the modest nature of the wish. The waves of air of the proper +length, propagated in accordance with correct mathematical formulas, +flowed around all the inanimate things in the room, lapped against Mrs +Verloc’s head as if it had been a head of stone. And incredible as it +may appear, the eyes of Mrs Verloc seemed to grow still larger. The +audible wish of Mr Verloc’s overflowing heart flowed into an empty place +in his wife’s memory. Greenwich Park. A park! That’s where the boy was +killed. A park—smashed branches, torn leaves, gravel, bits of brotherly +flesh and bone, all spouting up together in the manner of a firework. +She remembered now what she had heard, and she remembered it pictorially. +They had to gather him up with the shovel. Trembling all over with +irrepressible shudders, she saw before her the very implement with its +ghastly load scraped up from the ground. Mrs Verloc closed her eyes +desperately, throwing upon that vision the night of her eyelids, where +after a rainlike fall of mangled limbs the decapitated head of Stevie +lingered suspended alone, and fading out slowly like the last star of a +pyrotechnic display. Mrs Verloc opened her eyes. + +Her face was no longer stony. Anybody could have noted the subtle change +on her features, in the stare of her eyes, giving her a new and startling +expression; an expression seldom observed by competent persons under the +conditions of leisure and security demanded for thorough analysis, but +whose meaning could not be mistaken at a glance. Mrs Verloc’s doubts as +to the end of the bargain no longer existed; her wits, no longer +disconnected, were working under the control of her will. But Mr Verloc +observed nothing. He was reposing in that pathetic condition of optimism +induced by excess of fatigue. He did not want any more trouble—with his +wife too—of all people in the world. He had been unanswerable in his +vindication. He was loved for himself. The present phase of her silence +he interpreted favourably. This was the time to make it up with her. +The silence had lasted long enough. He broke it by calling to her in an +undertone. + +“Winnie.” + +“Yes,” answered obediently Mrs Verloc the free woman. She commanded her +wits now, her vocal organs; she felt herself to be in an almost +preternaturally perfect control of every fibre of her body. It was all +her own, because the bargain was at an end. She was clear sighted. She +had become cunning. She chose to answer him so readily for a purpose. +She did not wish that man to change his position on the sofa which was +very suitable to the circumstances. She succeeded. The man did not +stir. But after answering him she remained leaning negligently against +the mantelpiece in the attitude of a resting wayfarer. She was +unhurried. Her brow was smooth. The head and shoulders of Mr Verloc +were hidden from her by the high side of the sofa. She kept her eyes +fixed on his feet. + +She remained thus mysteriously still and suddenly collected till Mr +Verloc was heard with an accent of marital authority, and moving slightly +to make room for her to sit on the edge of the sofa. + +“Come here,” he said in a peculiar tone, which might have been the tone +of brutality, but was intimately known to Mrs Verloc as the note of +wooing. + +She started forward at once, as if she were still a loyal woman bound to +that man by an unbroken contract. Her right hand skimmed slightly the +end of the table, and when she had passed on towards the sofa the carving +knife had vanished without the slightest sound from the side of the dish. +Mr Verloc heard the creaky plank in the floor, and was content. He +waited. Mrs Verloc was coming. As if the homeless soul of Stevie had +flown for shelter straight to the breast of his sister, guardian and +protector, the resemblance of her face with that of her brother grew at +every step, even to the droop of the lower lip, even to the slight +divergence of the eyes. But Mr Verloc did not see that. He was lying on +his back and staring upwards. He saw partly on the ceiling and partly on +the wall the moving shadow of an arm with a clenched hand holding a +carving knife. It flickered up and down. Its movements were leisurely. +They were leisurely enough for Mr Verloc to recognise the limb and the +weapon. + +They were leisurely enough for him to take in the full meaning of the +portent, and to taste the flavour of death rising in his gorge. His wife +had gone raving mad—murdering mad. They were leisurely enough for the +first paralysing effect of this discovery to pass away before a resolute +determination to come out victorious from the ghastly struggle with that +armed lunatic. They were leisurely enough for Mr Verloc to elaborate a +plan of defence involving a dash behind the table, and the felling of the +woman to the ground with a heavy wooden chair. But they were not +leisurely enough to allow Mr Verloc the time to move either hand or foot. +The knife was already planted in his breast. It met no resistance on its +way. Hazard has such accuracies. Into that plunging blow, delivered +over the side of the couch, Mrs Verloc had put all the inheritance of her +immemorial and obscure descent, the simple ferocity of the age of +caverns, and the unbalanced nervous fury of the age of bar-rooms. Mr +Verloc, the Secret Agent, turning slightly on his side with the force of +the blow, expired without stirring a limb, in the muttered sound of the +word “Don’t” by way of protest. + +Mrs Verloc had let go the knife, and her extraordinary resemblance to her +late brother had faded, had become very ordinary now. She drew a deep +breath, the first easy breath since Chief Inspector Heat had exhibited to +her the labelled piece of Stevie’s overcoat. She leaned forward on her +folded arms over the side of the sofa. She adopted that easy attitude +not in order to watch or gloat over the body of Mr Verloc, but because of +the undulatory and swinging movements of the parlour, which for some time +behaved as though it were at sea in a tempest. She was giddy but calm. +She had become a free woman with a perfection of freedom which left her +nothing to desire and absolutely nothing to do, since Stevie’s urgent +claim on her devotion no longer existed. Mrs Verloc, who thought in +images, was not troubled now by visions, because she did not think at +all. And she did not move. She was a woman enjoying her complete +irresponsibility and endless leisure, almost in the manner of a corpse. +She did not move, she did not think. Neither did the mortal envelope of +the late Mr Verloc reposing on the sofa. Except for the fact that Mrs +Verloc breathed these two would have been perfect in accord: that accord +of prudent reserve without superfluous words, and sparing of signs, which +had been the foundation of their respectable home life. For it had been +respectable, covering by a decent reticence the problems that may arise +in the practice of a secret profession and the commerce of shady wares. +To the last its decorum had remained undisturbed by unseemly shrieks and +other misplaced sincerities of conduct. And after the striking of the +blow, this respectability was continued in immobility and silence. + +Nothing moved in the parlour till Mrs Verloc raised her head slowly and +looked at the clock with inquiring mistrust. She had become aware of a +ticking sound in the room. It grew upon her ear, while she remembered +clearly that the clock on the wall was silent, had no audible tick. What +did it mean by beginning to tick so loudly all of a sudden? Its face +indicated ten minutes to nine. Mrs Verloc cared nothing for time, and +the ticking went on. She concluded it could not be the clock, and her +sullen gaze moved along the walls, wavered, and became vague, while she +strained her hearing to locate the sound. Tic, tic, tic. + +After listening for some time Mrs Verloc lowered her gaze deliberately on +her husband’s body. Its attitude of repose was so home-like and familiar +that she could do so without feeling embarrassed by any pronounced +novelty in the phenomena of her home life. Mr Verloc was taking his +habitual ease. He looked comfortable. + +By the position of the body the face of Mr Verloc was not visible to Mrs +Verloc, his widow. Her fine, sleepy eyes, travelling downward on the +track of the sound, became contemplative on meeting a flat object of bone +which protruded a little beyond the edge of the sofa. It was the handle +of the domestic carving knife with nothing strange about it but its +position at right angles to Mr Verloc’s waistcoat and the fact that +something dripped from it. Dark drops fell on the floorcloth one after +another, with a sound of ticking growing fast and furious like the pulse +of an insane clock. At its highest speed this ticking changed into a +continuous sound of trickling. Mrs Verloc watched that transformation +with shadows of anxiety coming and going on her face. It was a trickle, +dark, swift, thin. . . . Blood! + +At this unforeseen circumstance Mrs Verloc abandoned her pose of idleness +and irresponsibility. + +With a sudden snatch at her skirts and a faint shriek she ran to the +door, as if the trickle had been the first sign of a destroying flood. +Finding the table in her way she gave it a push with both hands as though +it had been alive, with such force that it went for some distance on its +four legs, making a loud, scraping racket, whilst the big dish with the +joint crashed heavily on the floor. + +Then all became still. Mrs Verloc on reaching the door had stopped. A +round hat disclosed in the middle of the floor by the moving of the table +rocked slightly on its crown in the wind of her flight. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Winnie Verloc, the widow of Mr Verloc, the sister of the late faithful +Stevie (blown to fragments in a state of innocence and in the conviction +of being engaged in a humanitarian enterprise), did not run beyond the +door of the parlour. She had indeed run away so far from a mere trickle +of blood, but that was a movement of instinctive repulsion. And there +she had paused, with staring eyes and lowered head. As though she had +run through long years in her flight across the small parlour, Mrs Verloc +by the door was quite a different person from the woman who had been +leaning over the sofa, a little swimmy in her head, but otherwise free to +enjoy the profound calm of idleness and irresponsibility. Mrs Verloc was +no longer giddy. Her head was steady. On the other hand, she was no +longer calm. She was afraid. + +If she avoided looking in the direction of her reposing husband it was +not because she was afraid of him. Mr Verloc was not frightful to +behold. He looked comfortable. Moreover, he was dead. Mrs Verloc +entertained no vain delusions on the subject of the dead. Nothing brings +them back, neither love nor hate. They can do nothing to you. They are +as nothing. Her mental state was tinged by a sort of austere contempt +for that man who had let himself be killed so easily. He had been the +master of a house, the husband of a woman, and the murderer of her +Stevie. And now he was of no account in every respect. He was of less +practical account than the clothing on his body, than his overcoat, than +his boots—than that hat lying on the floor. He was nothing. He was not +worth looking at. He was even no longer the murderer of poor Stevie. +The only murderer that would be found in the room when people came to +look for Mr Verloc would be—herself! + +Her hands shook so that she failed twice in the task of refastening her +veil. Mrs Verloc was no longer a person of leisure and responsibility. +She was afraid. The stabbing of Mr Verloc had been only a blow. It had +relieved the pent-up agony of shrieks strangled in her throat, of tears +dried up in her hot eyes, of the maddening and indignant rage at the +atrocious part played by that man, who was less than nothing now, in +robbing her of the boy. + +It had been an obscurely prompted blow. The blood trickling on the floor +off the handle of the knife had turned it into an extremely plain case of +murder. Mrs Verloc, who always refrained from looking deep into things, +was compelled to look into the very bottom of this thing. She saw there +no haunting face, no reproachful shade, no vision of remorse, no sort of +ideal conception. She saw there an object. That object was the gallows. +Mrs Verloc was afraid of the gallows. + +She was terrified of them ideally. Having never set eyes on that last +argument of men’s justice except in illustrative woodcuts to a certain +type of tales, she first saw them erect against a black and stormy +background, festooned with chains and human bones, circled about by birds +that peck at dead men’s eyes. This was frightful enough, but Mrs Verloc, +though not a well-informed woman, had a sufficient knowledge of the +institutions of her country to know that gallows are no longer erected +romantically on the banks of dismal rivers or on wind-swept headlands, +but in the yards of jails. There within four high walls, as if into a +pit, at dawn of day, the murderer was brought out to be executed, with a +horrible quietness and, as the reports in the newspapers always said, “in +the presence of the authorities.” With her eyes staring on the floor, +her nostrils quivering with anguish and shame, she imagined herself all +alone amongst a lot of strange gentlemen in silk hats who were calmly +proceeding about the business of hanging her by the neck. That—never! +Never! And how was it done? The impossibility of imagining the details +of such quiet execution added something maddening to her abstract terror. +The newspapers never gave any details except one, but that one with some +affectation was always there at the end of a meagre report. Mrs Verloc +remembered its nature. It came with a cruel burning pain into her head, +as if the words “The drop given was fourteen feet” had been scratched on +her brain with a hot needle. “The drop given was fourteen feet.” + +These words affected her physically too. Her throat became convulsed in +waves to resist strangulation; and the apprehension of the jerk was so +vivid that she seized her head in both hands as if to save it from being +torn off her shoulders. “The drop given was fourteen feet.” No! that +must never be. She could not stand _that_. The thought of it even was +not bearable. She could not stand thinking of it. Therefore Mrs Verloc +formed the resolution to go at once and throw herself into the river off +one of the bridges. + +This time she managed to refasten her veil. With her face as if masked, +all black from head to foot except for some flowers in her hat, she +looked up mechanically at the clock. She thought it must have stopped. +She could not believe that only two minutes had passed since she had +looked at it last. Of course not. It had been stopped all the time. As +a matter of fact, only three minutes had elapsed from the moment she had +drawn the first deep, easy breath after the blow, to this moment when Mrs +Verloc formed the resolution to drown herself in the Thames. But Mrs +Verloc could not believe that. She seemed to have heard or read that +clocks and watches always stopped at the moment of murder for the undoing +of the murderer. She did not care. “To the bridge—and over I go.” . . . +But her movements were slow. + +She dragged herself painfully across the shop, and had to hold on to the +handle of the door before she found the necessary fortitude to open it. +The street frightened her, since it led either to the gallows or to the +river. She floundered over the doorstep head forward, arms thrown out, +like a person falling over the parapet of a bridge. This entrance into +the open air had a foretaste of drowning; a slimy dampness enveloped her, +entered her nostrils, clung to her hair. It was not actually raining, +but each gas lamp had a rusty little halo of mist. The van and horses +were gone, and in the black street the curtained window of the carters’ +eating-house made a square patch of soiled blood-red light glowing +faintly very near the level of the pavement. Mrs Verloc, dragging +herself slowly towards it, thought that she was a very friendless woman. +It was true. It was so true that, in a sudden longing to see some +friendly face, she could think of no one else but of Mrs Neale, the +charwoman. She had no acquaintances of her own. Nobody would miss her +in a social way. It must not be imagined that the Widow Verloc had +forgotten her mother. This was not so. Winnie had been a good daughter +because she had been a devoted sister. Her mother had always leaned on +her for support. No consolation or advice could be expected there. Now +that Stevie was dead the bond seemed to be broken. She could not face +the old woman with the horrible tale. Moreover, it was too far. The +river was her present destination. Mrs Verloc tried to forget her +mother. + +Each step cost her an effort of will which seemed the last possible. Mrs +Verloc had dragged herself past the red glow of the eating-house window. +“To the bridge—and over I go,” she repeated to herself with fierce +obstinacy. She put out her hand just in time to steady herself against a +lamp-post. “I’ll never get there before morning,” she thought. The fear +of death paralysed her efforts to escape the gallows. It seemed to her +she had been staggering in that street for hours. “I’ll never get +there,” she thought. “They’ll find me knocking about the streets. It’s +too far.” She held on, panting under her black veil. + +“The drop given was fourteen feet.” + +She pushed the lamp-post away from her violently, and found herself +walking. But another wave of faintness overtook her like a great sea, +washing away her heart clean out of her breast. “I will never get +there,” she muttered, suddenly arrested, swaying lightly where she stood. +“Never.” + +And perceiving the utter impossibility of walking as far as the nearest +bridge, Mrs Verloc thought of a flight abroad. + +It came to her suddenly. Murderers escaped. They escaped abroad. Spain +or California. Mere names. The vast world created for the glory of man +was only a vast blank to Mrs Verloc. She did not know which way to turn. +Murderers had friends, relations, helpers—they had knowledge. She had +nothing. She was the most lonely of murderers that ever struck a mortal +blow. She was alone in London: and the whole town of marvels and mud, +with its maze of streets and its mass of lights, was sunk in a hopeless +night, rested at the bottom of a black abyss from which no unaided woman +could hope to scramble out. + +She swayed forward, and made a fresh start blindly, with an awful dread +of falling down; but at the end of a few steps, unexpectedly, she found a +sensation of support, of security. Raising her head, she saw a man’s +face peering closely at her veil. Comrade Ossipon was not afraid of +strange women, and no feeling of false delicacy could prevent him from +striking an acquaintance with a woman apparently very much intoxicated. +Comrade Ossipon was interested in women. He held up this one between his +two large palms, peering at her in a business-like way till he heard her +say faintly “Mr Ossipon!” and then he very nearly let her drop to the +ground. + +“Mrs Verloc!” he exclaimed. “You here!” + +It seemed impossible to him that she should have been drinking. But one +never knows. He did not go into that question, but attentive not to +discourage kind fate surrendering to him the widow of Comrade Verloc, he +tried to draw her to his breast. To his astonishment she came quite +easily, and even rested on his arm for a moment before she attempted to +disengage herself. Comrade Ossipon would not be brusque with kind fate. +He withdrew his arm in a natural way. + +“You recognised me,” she faltered out, standing before him, fairly steady +on her legs. + +“Of course I did,” said Ossipon with perfect readiness. “I was afraid +you were going to fall. I’ve thought of you too often lately not to +recognise you anywhere, at any time. I’ve always thought of you—ever +since I first set eyes on you.” + +Mrs Verloc seemed not to hear. “You were coming to the shop?” she said +nervously. + +“Yes; at once,” answered Ossipon. “Directly I read the paper.” + +In fact, Comrade Ossipon had been skulking for a good two hours in the +neighbourhood of Brett Street, unable to make up his mind for a bold +move. The robust anarchist was not exactly a bold conqueror. He +remembered that Mrs Verloc had never responded to his glances by the +slightest sign of encouragement. Besides, he thought the shop might be +watched by the police, and Comrade Ossipon did not wish the police to +form an exaggerated notion of his revolutionary sympathies. Even now he +did not know precisely what to do. In comparison with his usual amatory +speculations this was a big and serious undertaking. He ignored how much +there was in it and how far he would have to go in order to get hold of +what there was to get—supposing there was a chance at all. These +perplexities checking his elation imparted to his tone a soberness well +in keeping with the circumstances. + +“May I ask you where you were going?” he inquired in a subdued voice. + +“Don’t ask me!” cried Mrs Verloc with a shuddering, repressed violence. +All her strong vitality recoiled from the idea of death. “Never mind +where I was going. . . .” + +Ossipon concluded that she was very much excited but perfectly sober. +She remained silent by his side for moment, then all at once she did +something which he did not expect. She slipped her hand under his arm. +He was startled by the act itself certainly, and quite as much too by the +palpably resolute character of this movement. But this being a delicate +affair, Comrade Ossipon behaved with delicacy. He contented himself by +pressing the hand slightly against his robust ribs. At the same time he +felt himself being impelled forward, and yielded to the impulse. At the +end of Brett Street he became aware of being directed to the left. He +submitted. + +The fruiterer at the corner had put out the blazing glory of his oranges +and lemons, and Brett Place was all darkness, interspersed with the misty +halos of the few lamps defining its triangular shape, with a cluster of +three lights on one stand in the middle. The dark forms of the man and +woman glided slowly arm in arm along the walls with a loverlike and +homeless aspect in the miserable night. + +“What would you say if I were to tell you that I was going to find you?” +Mrs Verloc asked, gripping his arm with force. + +“I would say that you couldn’t find anyone more ready to help you in your +trouble,” answered Ossipon, with a notion of making tremendous headway. +In fact, the progress of this delicate affair was almost taking his +breath away. + +“In my trouble!” Mrs Verloc repeated slowly. + +“Yes.” + +“And do you know what my trouble is?” she whispered with strange +intensity. + +“Ten minutes after seeing the evening paper,” explained Ossipon with +ardour, “I met a fellow whom you may have seen once or twice at the shop +perhaps, and I had a talk with him which left no doubt whatever in my +mind. Then I started for here, wondering whether you—I’ve been fond of +you beyond words ever since I set eyes on your face,” he cried, as if +unable to command his feelings. + +Comrade Ossipon assumed correctly that no woman was capable of wholly +disbelieving such a statement. But he did not know that Mrs Verloc +accepted it with all the fierceness the instinct of self-preservation +puts into the grip of a drowning person. To the widow of Mr Verloc the +robust anarchist was like a radiant messenger of life. + +They walked slowly, in step. “I thought so,” Mrs Verloc murmured +faintly. + +“You’ve read it in my eyes,” suggested Ossipon with great assurance. + +“Yes,” she breathed out into his inclined ear. + +“A love like mine could not be concealed from a woman like you,” he went +on, trying to detach his mind from material considerations such as the +business value of the shop, and the amount of money Mr Verloc might have +left in the bank. He applied himself to the sentimental side of the +affair. In his heart of hearts he was a little shocked at his success. +Verloc had been a good fellow, and certainly a very decent husband as far +as one could see. However, Comrade Ossipon was not going to quarrel with +his luck for the sake of a dead man. Resolutely he suppressed his +sympathy for the ghost of Comrade Verloc, and went on. + +“I could not conceal it. I was too full of you. I daresay you could not +help seeing it in my eyes. But I could not guess it. You were always so +distant. . . .” + +“What else did you expect?” burst out Mrs Verloc. “I was a respectable +woman—” + +She paused, then added, as if speaking to herself, in sinister +resentment: “Till he made me what I am.” + +Ossipon let that pass, and took up his running. “He never did seem to me +to be quite worthy of you,” he began, throwing loyalty to the winds. +“You were worthy of a better fate.” + +Mrs Verloc interrupted bitterly: + +“Better fate! He cheated me out of seven years of life.” + +“You seemed to live so happily with him.” Ossipon tried to exculpate the +lukewarmness of his past conduct. “It’s that what’s made me timid. You +seemed to love him. I was surprised—and jealous,” he added. + +“Love him!” Mrs Verloc cried out in a whisper, full of scorn and rage. +“Love him! I was a good wife to him. I am a respectable woman. You +thought I loved him! You did! Look here, Tom—” + +The sound of this name thrilled Comrade Ossipon with pride. For his name +was Alexander, and he was called Tom by arrangement with the most +familiar of his intimates. It was a name of friendship—of moments of +expansion. He had no idea that she had ever heard it used by anybody. +It was apparent that she had not only caught it, but had treasured it in +her memory—perhaps in her heart. + +“Look here, Tom! I was a young girl. I was done up. I was tired. I +had two people depending on what I could do, and it did seem as if I +couldn’t do any more. Two people—mother and the boy. He was much more +mine than mother’s. I sat up nights and nights with him on my lap, all +alone upstairs, when I wasn’t more than eight years old myself. And +then—He was mine, I tell you. . . . You can’t understand that. No man +can understand it. What was I to do? There was a young fellow—” + +The memory of the early romance with the young butcher survived, +tenacious, like the image of a glimpsed ideal in that heart quailing +before the fear of the gallows and full of revolt against death. + +“That was the man I loved then,” went on the widow of Mr Verloc. “I +suppose he could see it in my eyes too. Five and twenty shillings a +week, and his father threatened to kick him out of the business if he +made such a fool of himself as to marry a girl with a crippled mother and +a crazy idiot of a boy on her hands. But he would hang about me, till +one evening I found the courage to slam the door in his face. I had to +do it. I loved him dearly. Five and twenty shillings a week! There was +that other man—a good lodger. What is a girl to do? Could I’ve gone on +the streets? He seemed kind. He wanted me, anyhow. What was I to do +with mother and that poor boy? Eh? I said yes. He seemed good-natured, +he was freehanded, he had money, he never said anything. Seven +years—seven years a good wife to him, the kind, the good, the generous, +the—And he loved me. Oh yes. He loved me till I sometimes wished +myself—Seven years. Seven years a wife to him. And do you know what he +was, that dear friend of yours? Do you know what he was? He was a +devil!” + +The superhuman vehemence of that whispered statement completely stunned +Comrade Ossipon. Winnie Verloc turning about held him by both arms, +facing him under the falling mist in the darkness and solitude of Brett +Place, in which all sounds of life seemed lost as if in a triangular well +of asphalt and bricks, of blind houses and unfeeling stones. + +“No; I didn’t know,” he declared, with a sort of flabby stupidity, whose +comical aspect was lost upon a woman haunted by the fear of the gallows, +“but I do now. I—I understand,” he floundered on, his mind speculating +as to what sort of atrocities Verloc could have practised under the +sleepy, placid appearances of his married estate. It was positively +awful. “I understand,” he repeated, and then by a sudden inspiration +uttered an—“Unhappy woman!” of lofty commiseration instead of the more +familiar “Poor darling!” of his usual practice. This was no usual case. +He felt conscious of something abnormal going on, while he never lost +sight of the greatness of the stake. “Unhappy, brave woman!” + +He was glad to have discovered that variation; but he could discover +nothing else. + +“Ah, but he is dead now,” was the best he could do. And he put a +remarkable amount of animosity into his guarded exclamation. Mrs Verloc +caught at his arm with a sort of frenzy. + +“You guessed then he was dead,” she murmured, as if beside herself. +“You! You guessed what I had to do. Had to!” + +There were suggestions of triumph, relief, gratitude in the indefinable +tone of these words. It engrossed the whole attention of Ossipon to the +detriment of mere literal sense. He wondered what was up with her, why +she had worked herself into this state of wild excitement. He even began +to wonder whether the hidden causes of that Greenwich Park affair did not +lie deep in the unhappy circumstances of the Verlocs’ married life. He +went so far as to suspect Mr Verloc of having selected that extraordinary +manner of committing suicide. By Jove! that would account for the utter +inanity and wrong-headedness of the thing. No anarchist manifestation +was required by the circumstances. Quite the contrary; and Verloc was as +well aware of that as any other revolutionist of his standing. What an +immense joke if Verloc had simply made fools of the whole of Europe, of +the revolutionary world, of the police, of the press, and of the cocksure +Professor as well. Indeed, thought Ossipon, in astonishment, it seemed +almost certain that he did! Poor beggar! It struck him as very possible +that of that household of two it wasn’t precisely the man who was the +devil. + +Alexander Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, was naturally inclined to think +indulgently of his men friends. He eyed Mrs Verloc hanging on his arm. +Of his women friends he thought in a specially practical way. Why Mrs +Verloc should exclaim at his knowledge of Mr Verloc’s death, which was no +guess at all, did not disturb him beyond measure. They often talked like +lunatics. But he was curious to know how she had been informed. The +papers could tell her nothing beyond the mere fact: the man blown to +pieces in Greenwich Park not having been identified. It was +inconceivable on any theory that Verloc should have given her an inkling +of his intention—whatever it was. This problem interested Comrade +Ossipon immensely. He stopped short. They had gone then along the three +sides of Brett Place, and were near the end of Brett Street again. + +“How did you first come to hear of it?” he asked in a tone he tried to +render appropriate to the character of the revelations which had been +made to him by the woman at his side. + +She shook violently for a while before she answered in a listless voice. + +“From the police. A chief inspector came, Chief Inspector Heat he said +he was. He showed me—” + +Mrs Verloc choked. “Oh, Tom, they had to gather him up with a shovel.” + +Her breast heaved with dry sobs. In a moment Ossipon found his tongue. + +“The police! Do you mean to say the police came already? That Chief +Inspector Heat himself actually came to tell you.” + +“Yes,” she confirmed in the same listless tone. “He came just like this. +He came. I didn’t know. He showed me a piece of overcoat, and—just like +that. Do you know this? he says.” + +“Heat! Heat! And what did he do?” + +Mrs Verloc’s head dropped. “Nothing. He did nothing. He went away. +The police were on that man’s side,” she murmured tragically. “Another +one came too.” + +“Another—another inspector, do you mean?” asked Ossipon, in great +excitement, and very much in the tone of a scared child. + +“I don’t know. He came. He looked like a foreigner. He may have been +one of them Embassy people.” + +Comrade Ossipon nearly collapsed under this new shock. + +“Embassy! Are you aware what you are saying? What Embassy? What on +earth do you mean by Embassy?” + +“It’s that place in Chesham Square. The people he cursed so. I don’t +know. What does it matter!” + +“And that fellow, what did he do or say to you?” + +“I don’t remember. . . . Nothing . . . . I don’t care. Don’t ask me,” +she pleaded in a weary voice. + +“All right. I won’t,” assented Ossipon tenderly. And he meant it too, +not because he was touched by the pathos of the pleading voice, but +because he felt himself losing his footing in the depths of this +tenebrous affair. Police! Embassy! Phew! For fear of adventuring his +intelligence into ways where its natural lights might fail to guide it +safely he dismissed resolutely all suppositions, surmises, and theories +out of his mind. He had the woman there, absolutely flinging herself at +him, and that was the principal consideration. But after what he had +heard nothing could astonish him any more. And when Mrs Verloc, as if +startled suddenly out of a dream of safety, began to urge upon him wildly +the necessity of an immediate flight on the Continent, he did not exclaim +in the least. He simply said with unaffected regret that there was no +train till the morning, and stood looking thoughtfully at her face, +veiled in black net, in the light of a gas lamp veiled in a gauze of +mist. + +Near him, her black form merged in the night, like a figure half +chiselled out of a block of black stone. It was impossible to say what +she knew, how deep she was involved with policemen and Embassies. But if +she wanted to get away, it was not for him to object. He was anxious to +be off himself. He felt that the business, the shop so strangely +familiar to chief inspectors and members of foreign Embassies, was not +the place for him. That must be dropped. But there was the rest. These +savings. The money! + +“You must hide me till the morning somewhere,” she said in a dismayed +voice. + +“Fact is, my dear, I can’t take you where I live. I share the room with +a friend.” + +He was somewhat dismayed himself. In the morning the blessed ’tecs will +be out in all the stations, no doubt. And if they once got hold of her, +for one reason or another she would be lost to him indeed. + +“But you must. Don’t you care for me at all—at all? What are you +thinking of?” + +She said this violently, but she let her clasped hands fall in +discouragement. There was a silence, while the mist fell, and darkness +reigned undisturbed over Brett Place. Not a soul, not even the vagabond, +lawless, and amorous soul of a cat, came near the man and the woman +facing each other. + +“It would be possible perhaps to find a safe lodging somewhere,” Ossipon +spoke at last. “But the truth is, my dear, I have not enough money to go +and try with—only a few pence. We revolutionists are not rich.” + +He had fifteen shillings in his pocket. He added: + +“And there’s the journey before us, too—first thing in the morning at +that.” + +She did not move, made no sound, and Comrade Ossipon’s heart sank a +little. Apparently she had no suggestion to offer. Suddenly she +clutched at her breast, as if she had felt a sharp pain there. + +“But I have,” she gasped. “I have the money. I have enough money. Tom! +Let us go from here.” + +“How much have you got?” he inquired, without stirring to her tug; for he +was a cautious man. + +“I have the money, I tell you. All the money.” + +“What do you mean by it? All the money there was in the bank, or what?” +he asked incredulously, but ready not to be surprised at anything in the +way of luck. + +“Yes, yes!” she said nervously. “All there was. I’ve it all.” + +“How on earth did you manage to get hold of it already?” he marvelled. + +“He gave it to me,” she murmured, suddenly subdued and trembling. +Comrade Ossipon put down his rising surprise with a firm hand. + +“Why, then—we are saved,” he uttered slowly. + +She leaned forward, and sank against his breast. He welcomed her there. +She had all the money. Her hat was in the way of very marked effusion; +her veil too. He was adequate in his manifestations, but no more. She +received them without resistance and without abandonment, passively, as +if only half-sensible. She freed herself from his lax embraces without +difficulty. + +“You will save me, Tom,” she broke out, recoiling, but still keeping her +hold on him by the two lapels of his damp coat. “Save me. Hide me. +Don’t let them have me. You must kill me first. I couldn’t do it +myself—I couldn’t, I couldn’t—not even for what I am afraid of.” + +She was confoundedly bizarre, he thought. She was beginning to inspire +him with an indefinite uneasiness. He said surlily, for he was busy with +important thoughts: + +“What the devil _are_ you afraid of?” + +“Haven’t you guessed what I was driven to do!” cried the woman. +Distracted by the vividness of her dreadful apprehensions, her head +ringing with forceful words, that kept the horror of her position before +her mind, she had imagined her incoherence to be clearness itself. She +had no conscience of how little she had audibly said in the disjointed +phrases completed only in her thought. She had felt the relief of a full +confession, and she gave a special meaning to every sentence spoken by +Comrade Ossipon, whose knowledge did not in the least resemble her own. +“Haven’t you guessed what I was driven to do!” Her voice fell. “You +needn’t be long in guessing then what I am afraid of,” she continued, in +a bitter and sombre murmur. “I won’t have it. I won’t. I won’t. I +won’t. You must promise to kill me first!” She shook the lapels of his +coat. “It must never be!” + +He assured her curtly that no promises on his part were necessary, but he +took good care not to contradict her in set terms, because he had had +much to do with excited women, and he was inclined in general to let his +experience guide his conduct in preference to applying his sagacity to +each special case. His sagacity in this case was busy in other +directions. Women’s words fell into water, but the shortcomings of +time-tables remained. The insular nature of Great Britain obtruded +itself upon his notice in an odious form. “Might just as well be put +under lock and key every night,” he thought irritably, as nonplussed as +though he had a wall to scale with the woman on his back. Suddenly he +slapped his forehead. He had by dint of cudgelling his brains just +thought of the Southampton—St Malo service. The boat left about +midnight. There was a train at 10.30. He became cheery and ready to +act. + +“From Waterloo. Plenty of time. We are all right after all. . . . +What’s the matter now? This isn’t the way,” he protested. + +Mrs Verloc, having hooked her arm into his, was trying to drag him into +Brett Street again. + +“I’ve forgotten to shut the shop door as I went out,” she whispered, +terribly agitated. + +The shop and all that was in it had ceased to interest Comrade Ossipon. +He knew how to limit his desires. He was on the point of saying “What of +that? Let it be,” but he refrained. He disliked argument about trifles. +He even mended his pace considerably on the thought that she might have +left the money in the drawer. But his willingness lagged behind her +feverish impatience. + +The shop seemed to be quite dark at first. The door stood ajar. Mrs +Verloc, leaning against the front, gasped out: + +“Nobody has been in. Look! The light—the light in the parlour.” + +Ossipon, stretching his head forward, saw a faint gleam in the darkness +of the shop. + +“There is,” he said. + +“I forgot it.” Mrs Verloc’s voice came from behind her veil faintly. And +as he stood waiting for her to enter first, she said louder: “Go in and +put it out—or I’ll go mad.” + +He made no immediate objection to this proposal, so strangely motived. +“Where’s all that money?” he asked. + +“On me! Go, Tom. Quick! Put it out. . . . Go in!” she cried, seizing +him by both shoulders from behind. + +Not prepared for a display of physical force, Comrade Ossipon stumbled +far into the shop before her push. He was astonished at the strength of +the woman and scandalised by her proceedings. But he did not retrace his +steps in order to remonstrate with her severely in the street. He was +beginning to be disagreeably impressed by her fantastic behaviour. +Moreover, this or never was the time to humour the woman. Comrade +Ossipon avoided easily the end of the counter, and approached calmly the +glazed door of the parlour. The curtain over the panes being drawn back +a little he, by a very natural impulse, looked in, just as he made ready +to turn the handle. He looked in without a thought, without intention, +without curiosity of any sort. He looked in because he could not help +looking in. He looked in, and discovered Mr Verloc reposing quietly on +the sofa. + +A yell coming from the innermost depths of his chest died out unheard and +transformed into a sort of greasy, sickly taste on his lips. At the same +time the mental personality of Comrade Ossipon executed a frantic leap +backward. But his body, left thus without intellectual guidance, held on +to the door handle with the unthinking force of an instinct. The robust +anarchist did not even totter. And he stared, his face close to the +glass, his eyes protruding out of his head. He would have given anything +to get away, but his returning reason informed him that it would not do +to let go the door handle. What was it—madness, a nightmare, or a trap +into which he had been decoyed with fiendish artfulness? Why—what for? +He did not know. Without any sense of guilt in his breast, in the full +peace of his conscience as far as these people were concerned, the idea +that he would be murdered for mysterious reasons by the couple Verloc +passed not so much across his mind as across the pit of his stomach, and +went out, leaving behind a trail of sickly faintness—an indisposition. +Comrade Ossipon did not feel very well in a very special way for a +moment—a long moment. And he stared. Mr Verloc lay very still +meanwhile, simulating sleep for reasons of his own, while that savage +woman of his was guarding the door—invisible and silent in the dark and +deserted street. Was all this a some sort of terrifying arrangement +invented by the police for his especial benefit? His modesty shrank from +that explanation. + +But the true sense of the scene he was beholding came to Ossipon through +the contemplation of the hat. It seemed an extraordinary thing, an +ominous object, a sign. Black, and rim upward, it lay on the floor +before the couch as if prepared to receive the contributions of pence +from people who would come presently to behold Mr Verloc in the fullness +of his domestic ease reposing on a sofa. From the hat the eyes of the +robust anarchist wandered to the displaced table, gazed at the broken +dish for a time, received a kind of optical shock from observing a white +gleam under the imperfectly closed eyelids of the man on the couch. Mr +Verloc did not seem so much asleep now as lying down with a bent head and +looking insistently at his left breast. And when Comrade Ossipon had +made out the handle of the knife he turned away from the glazed door, and +retched violently. + +The crash of the street door flung to made his very soul leap in a panic. +This house with its harmless tenant could still be made a trap of—a trap +of a terrible kind. Comrade Ossipon had no settled conception now of +what was happening to him. Catching his thigh against the end of the +counter, he spun round, staggered with a cry of pain, felt in the +distracting clatter of the bell his arms pinned to his side by a +convulsive hug, while the cold lips of a woman moved creepily on his very +ear to form the words: + +“Policeman! He has seen me!” + +He ceased to struggle; she never let him go. Her hands had locked +themselves with an inseparable twist of fingers on his robust back. +While the footsteps approached, they breathed quickly, breast to breast, +with hard, laboured breaths, as if theirs had been the attitude of a +deadly struggle, while, in fact, it was the attitude of deadly fear. And +the time was long. + +The constable on the beat had in truth seen something of Mrs Verloc; only +coming from the lighted thoroughfare at the other end of Brett Street, +she had been no more to him than a flutter in the darkness. And he was +not even quite sure that there had been a flutter. He had no reason to +hurry up. On coming abreast of the shop he observed that it had been +closed early. There was nothing very unusual in that. The men on duty +had special instructions about that shop: what went on about there was +not to be meddled with unless absolutely disorderly, but any observations +made were to be reported. There were no observations to make; but from a +sense of duty and for the peace of his conscience, owing also to that +doubtful flutter of the darkness, the constable crossed the road, and +tried the door. The spring latch, whose key was reposing for ever off +duty in the late Mr Verloc’s waistcoat pocket, held as well as usual. +While the conscientious officer was shaking the handle, Ossipon felt the +cold lips of the woman stirring again creepily against his very ear: + +“If he comes in kill me—kill me, Tom.” + +The constable moved away, flashing as he passed the light of his dark +lantern, merely for form’s sake, at the shop window. For a moment longer +the man and the woman inside stood motionless, panting, breast to breast; +then her fingers came unlocked, her arms fell by her side slowly. +Ossipon leaned against the counter. The robust anarchist wanted support +badly. This was awful. He was almost too disgusted for speech. Yet he +managed to utter a plaintive thought, showing at least that he realised +his position. + +“Only a couple of minutes later and you’d have made me blunder against +the fellow poking about here with his damned dark lantern.” + +The widow of Mr Verloc, motionless in the middle of the shop, said +insistently: + +“Go in and put that light out, Tom. It will drive me crazy.” + +She saw vaguely his vehement gesture of refusal. Nothing in the world +would have induced Ossipon to go into the parlour. He was not +superstitious, but there was too much blood on the floor; a beastly pool +of it all round the hat. He judged he had been already far too near that +corpse for his peace of mind—for the safety of his neck, perhaps! + +“At the meter then! There. Look. In that corner.” + +The robust form of Comrade Ossipon, striding brusque and shadowy across +the shop, squatted in a corner obediently; but this obedience was without +grace. He fumbled nervously—and suddenly in the sound of a muttered +curse the light behind the glazed door flicked out to a gasping, +hysterical sigh of a woman. Night, the inevitable reward of men’s +faithful labours on this earth, night had fallen on Mr Verloc, the tried +revolutionist—“one of the old lot”—the humble guardian of society; the +invaluable Secret Agent [delta] of Baron Stott-Wartenheim’s despatches; a +servant of law and order, faithful, trusted, accurate, admirable, with +perhaps one single amiable weakness: the idealistic belief in being loved +for himself. + +Ossipon groped his way back through the stuffy atmosphere, as black as +ink now, to the counter. The voice of Mrs Verloc, standing in the middle +of the shop, vibrated after him in that blackness with a desperate +protest. + +“I will not be hanged, Tom. I will not—” + +She broke off. Ossipon from the counter issued a warning: “Don’t shout +like this,” then seemed to reflect profoundly. “You did this thing quite +by yourself?” he inquired in a hollow voice, but with an appearance of +masterful calmness which filled Mrs Verloc’s heart with grateful +confidence in his protecting strength. + +“Yes,” she whispered, invisible. + +“I wouldn’t have believed it possible,” he muttered. “Nobody would.” +She heard him move about and the snapping of a lock in the parlour door. +Comrade Ossipon had turned the key on Mr Verloc’s repose; and this he did +not from reverence for its eternal nature or any other obscurely +sentimental consideration, but for the precise reason that he was not at +all sure that there was not someone else hiding somewhere in the house. +He did not believe the woman, or rather he was incapable by now of +judging what could be true, possible, or even probable in this astounding +universe. He was terrified out of all capacity for belief or disbelief +in regard of this extraordinary affair, which began with police +inspectors and Embassies and would end goodness knows where—on the +scaffold for someone. He was terrified at the thought that he could not +prove the use he made of his time ever since seven o’clock, for he had +been skulking about Brett Street. He was terrified at this savage woman +who had brought him in there, and would probably saddle him with +complicity, at least if he were not careful. He was terrified at the +rapidity with which he had been involved in such dangers—decoyed into it. +It was some twenty minutes since he had met her—not more. + +The voice of Mrs Verloc rose subdued, pleading piteously: “Don’t let them +hang me, Tom! Take me out of the country. I’ll work for you. I’ll +slave for you. I’ll love you. I’ve no one in the world. . . . Who +would look at me if you don’t!” She ceased for a moment; then in the +depths of the loneliness made round her by an insignificant thread of +blood trickling off the handle of a knife, she found a dreadful +inspiration to her—who had been the respectable girl of the Belgravian +mansion, the loyal, respectable wife of Mr Verloc. “I won’t ask you to +marry me,” she breathed out in shame-faced accents. + +She moved a step forward in the darkness. He was terrified at her. He +would not have been surprised if she had suddenly produced another knife +destined for his breast. He certainly would have made no resistance. He +had really not enough fortitude in him just then to tell her to keep +back. But he inquired in a cavernous, strange tone: “Was he asleep?” + +“No,” she cried, and went on rapidly. “He wasn’t. Not he. He had been +telling me that nothing could touch him. After taking the boy away from +under my very eyes to kill him—the loving, innocent, harmless lad. My +own, I tell you. He was lying on the couch quite easy—after killing the +boy—my boy. I would have gone on the streets to get out of his sight. +And he says to me like this: ‘Come here,’ after telling me I had helped +to kill the boy. You hear, Tom? He says like this: ‘Come here,’ after +taking my very heart out of me along with the boy to smash in the dirt.” + +She ceased, then dreamily repeated twice: “Blood and dirt. Blood and +dirt.” A great light broke upon Comrade Ossipon. It was that +half-witted lad then who had perished in the park. And the fooling of +everybody all round appeared more complete than ever—colossal. He +exclaimed scientifically, in the extremity of his astonishment: “The +degenerate—by heavens!” + +“Come here.” The voice of Mrs Verloc rose again. “What did he think I +was made of? Tell me, Tom. Come here! Me! Like this! I had been +looking at the knife, and I thought I would come then if he wanted me so +much. Oh yes! I came—for the last time. . . . With the knife.” + +He was excessively terrified at her—the sister of the degenerate—a +degenerate herself of a murdering type . . . or else of the lying type. +Comrade Ossipon might have been said to be terrified scientifically in +addition to all other kinds of fear. It was an immeasurable and +composite funk, which from its very excess gave him in the dark a false +appearance of calm and thoughtful deliberation. For he moved and spoke +with difficulty, being as if half frozen in his will and mind—and no one +could see his ghastly face. He felt half dead. + +He leaped a foot high. Unexpectedly Mrs Verloc had desecrated the +unbroken reserved decency of her home by a shrill and terrible shriek. + +“Help, Tom! Save me. I won’t be hanged!” + +He rushed forward, groping for her mouth with a silencing hand, and the +shriek died out. But in his rush he had knocked her over. He felt her +now clinging round his legs, and his terror reached its culminating +point, became a sort of intoxication, entertained delusions, acquired the +characteristics of delirium tremens. He positively saw snakes now. He +saw the woman twined round him like a snake, not to be shaken off. She +was not deadly. She was death itself—the companion of life. + +Mrs Verloc, as if relieved by the outburst, was very far from behaving +noisily now. She was pitiful. + +“Tom, you can’t throw me off now,” she murmured from the floor. “Not +unless you crush my head under your heel. I won’t leave you.” + +“Get up,” said Ossipon. + +His face was so pale as to be quite visible in the profound black +darkness of the shop; while Mrs Verloc, veiled, had no face, almost no +discernible form. The trembling of something small and white, a flower +in her hat, marked her place, her movements. + +It rose in the blackness. She had got up from the floor, and Ossipon +regretted not having run out at once into the street. But he perceived +easily that it would not do. It would not do. She would run after him. +She would pursue him shrieking till she sent every policeman within +hearing in chase. And then goodness only knew what she would say of him. +He was so frightened that for a moment the insane notion of strangling +her in the dark passed through his mind. And he became more frightened +than ever! She had him! He saw himself living in abject terror in some +obscure hamlet in Spain or Italy; till some fine morning they found him +dead too, with a knife in his breast—like Mr Verloc. He sighed deeply. +He dared not move. And Mrs Verloc waited in silence the good pleasure of +her saviour, deriving comfort from his reflective silence. + +Suddenly he spoke up in an almost natural voice. His reflections had +come to an end. + +“Let’s get out, or we will lose the train.” + +“Where are we going to, Tom?” she asked timidly. Mrs Verloc was no +longer a free woman. + +“Let’s get to Paris first, the best way we can. . . . Go out first, and +see if the way’s clear.” + +She obeyed. Her voice came subdued through the cautiously opened door. + +“It’s all right.” + +Ossipon came out. Notwithstanding his endeavours to be gentle, the +cracked bell clattered behind the closed door in the empty shop, as if +trying in vain to warn the reposing Mr Verloc of the final departure of +his wife—accompanied by his friend. + +In the hansom they presently picked up, the robust anarchist became +explanatory. He was still awfully pale, with eyes that seemed to have +sunk a whole half-inch into his tense face. But he seemed to have +thought of everything with extraordinary method. + +“When we arrive,” he discoursed in a queer, monotonous tone, “you must go +into the station ahead of me, as if we did not know each other. I will +take the tickets, and slip in yours into your hand as I pass you. Then +you will go into the first-class ladies’ waiting-room, and sit there till +ten minutes before the train starts. Then you come out. I will be +outside. You go in first on the platform, as if you did not know me. +There may be eyes watching there that know what’s what. Alone you are +only a woman going off by train. I am known. With me, you may be +guessed at as Mrs Verloc running away. Do you understand, my dear?” he +added, with an effort. + +“Yes,” said Mrs Verloc, sitting there against him in the hansom all rigid +with the dread of the gallows and the fear of death. “Yes, Tom.” And +she added to herself, like an awful refrain: “The drop given was fourteen +feet.” + +Ossipon, not looking at her, and with a face like a fresh plaster cast of +himself after a wasting illness, said: “By-the-by, I ought to have the +money for the tickets now.” + +Mrs Verloc, undoing some hooks of her bodice, while she went on staring +ahead beyond the splashboard, handed over to him the new pigskin +pocket-book. He received it without a word, and seemed to plunge it deep +somewhere into his very breast. Then he slapped his coat on the outside. + +All this was done without the exchange of a single glance; they were like +two people looking out for the first sight of a desired goal. It was not +till the hansom swung round a corner and towards the bridge that Ossipon +opened his lips again. + +“Do you know how much money there is in that thing?” he asked, as if +addressing slowly some hobgoblin sitting between the ears of the horse. + +“No,” said Mrs Verloc. “He gave it to me. I didn’t count. I thought +nothing of it at the time. Afterwards—” + +She moved her right hand a little. It was so expressive that little +movement of that right hand which had struck the deadly blow into a man’s +heart less than an hour before that Ossipon could not repress a shudder. +He exaggerated it then purposely, and muttered: + +“I am cold. I got chilled through.” + +Mrs Verloc looked straight ahead at the perspective of her escape. Now +and then, like a sable streamer blown across a road, the words “The drop +given was fourteen feet” got in the way of her tense stare. Through her +black veil the whites of her big eyes gleamed lustrously like the eyes of +a masked woman. + +Ossipon’s rigidity had something business-like, a queer official +expression. He was heard again all of a sudden, as though he had +released a catch in order to speak. + +“Look here! Do you know whether your—whether he kept his account at the +bank in his own name or in some other name.” + +Mrs Verloc turned upon him her masked face and the big white gleam of her +eyes. + +“Other name?” she said thoughtfully. + +“Be exact in what you say,” Ossipon lectured in the swift motion of the +hansom. “It’s extremely important. I will explain to you. The bank has +the numbers of these notes. If they were paid to him in his own name, +then when his—his death becomes known, the notes may serve to track us +since we have no other money. You have no other money on you?” + +She shook her head negatively. + +“None whatever?” he insisted. + +“A few coppers.” + +“It would be dangerous in that case. The money would have then to be +dealt specially with. Very specially. We’d have perhaps to lose more +than half the amount in order to get these notes changed in a certain +safe place I know of in Paris. In the other case I mean if he had his +account and got paid out under some other name—say Smith, for +instance—the money is perfectly safe to use. You understand? The bank +has no means of knowing that Mr Verloc and, say, Smith are one and the +same person. Do you see how important it is that you should make no +mistake in answering me? Can you answer that query at all? Perhaps not. +Eh?” + +She said composedly: + +“I remember now! He didn’t bank in his own name. He told me once that +it was on deposit in the name of Prozor.” + +“You are sure?” + +“Certain.” + +“You don’t think the bank had any knowledge of his real name? Or anybody +in the bank or—” + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +“How can I know? Is it likely, Tom? + +“No. I suppose it’s not likely. It would have been more comfortable to +know. . . . Here we are. Get out first, and walk straight in. Move +smartly.” + +He remained behind, and paid the cabman out of his own loose silver. The +programme traced by his minute foresight was carried out. When Mrs +Verloc, with her ticket for St Malo in her hand, entered the ladies’ +waiting-room, Comrade Ossipon walked into the bar, and in seven minutes +absorbed three goes of hot brandy and water. + +“Trying to drive out a cold,” he explained to the barmaid, with a +friendly nod and a grimacing smile. Then he came out, bringing out from +that festive interlude the face of a man who had drunk at the very +Fountain of Sorrow. He raised his eyes to the clock. It was time. He +waited. + +Punctual, Mrs Verloc came out, with her veil down, and all black—black as +commonplace death itself, crowned with a few cheap and pale flowers. She +passed close to a little group of men who were laughing, but whose +laughter could have been struck dead by a single word. Her walk was +indolent, but her back was straight, and Comrade Ossipon looked after it +in terror before making a start himself. + +The train was drawn up, with hardly anybody about its row of open doors. +Owing to the time of the year and to the abominable weather there were +hardly any passengers. Mrs Verloc walked slowly along the line of empty +compartments till Ossipon touched her elbow from behind. + +“In here.” + +She got in, and he remained on the platform looking about. She bent +forward, and in a whisper: + +“What is it, Tom? Is there any danger? Wait a moment. There’s the +guard.” + +She saw him accost the man in uniform. They talked for a while. She +heard the guard say “Very well, sir,” and saw him touch his cap. Then +Ossipon came back, saying: “I told him not to let anybody get into our +compartment.” + +She was leaning forward on her seat. “You think of everything. . . . +You’ll get me off, Tom?” she asked in a gust of anguish, lifting her veil +brusquely to look at her saviour. + +She had uncovered a face like adamant. And out of this face the eyes +looked on, big, dry, enlarged, lightless, burnt out like two black holes +in the white, shining globes. + +“There is no danger,” he said, gazing into them with an earnestness +almost rapt, which to Mrs Verloc, flying from the gallows, seemed to be +full of force and tenderness. This devotion deeply moved her—and the +adamantine face lost the stern rigidity of its terror. Comrade Ossipon +gazed at it as no lover ever gazed at his mistress’s face. Alexander +Ossipon, anarchist, nicknamed the Doctor, author of a medical (and +improper) pamphlet, late lecturer on the social aspects of hygiene to +working men’s clubs, was free from the trammels of conventional +morality—but he submitted to the rule of science. He was scientific, and +he gazed scientifically at that woman, the sister of a degenerate, a +degenerate herself—of a murdering type. He gazed at her, and invoked +Lombroso, as an Italian peasant recommends himself to his favourite +saint. He gazed scientifically. He gazed at her cheeks, at her nose, at +her eyes, at her ears. . . . Bad! . . . Fatal! Mrs Verloc’s pale lips +parting, slightly relaxed under his passionately attentive gaze, he gazed +also at her teeth. . . . Not a doubt remained . . . a murdering type. . . . +If Comrade Ossipon did not recommend his terrified soul to Lombroso, it +was only because on scientific grounds he could not believe that he +carried about him such a thing as a soul. But he had in him the +scientific spirit, which moved him to testify on the platform of a +railway station in nervous jerky phrases. + +“He was an extraordinary lad, that brother of yours. Most interesting to +study. A perfect type in a way. Perfect!” + +He spoke scientifically in his secret fear. And Mrs Verloc, hearing +these words of commendation vouchsafed to her beloved dead, swayed +forward with a flicker of light in her sombre eyes, like a ray of +sunshine heralding a tempest of rain. + +“He was that indeed,” she whispered softly, with quivering lips. “You +took a lot of notice of him, Tom. I loved you for it.” + +“It’s almost incredible the resemblance there was between you two,” +pursued Ossipon, giving a voice to his abiding dread, and trying to +conceal his nervous, sickening impatience for the train to start. “Yes; +he resembled you.” + +These words were not especially touching or sympathetic. But the fact of +that resemblance insisted upon was enough in itself to act upon her +emotions powerfully. With a little faint cry, and throwing her arms out, +Mrs Verloc burst into tears at last. + +Ossipon entered the carriage, hastily closed the door and looked out to +see the time by the station clock. Eight minutes more. For the first +three of these Mrs Verloc wept violently and helplessly without pause or +interruption. Then she recovered somewhat, and sobbed gently in an +abundant fall of tears. She tried to talk to her saviour, to the man who +was the messenger of life. + +“Oh, Tom! How could I fear to die after he was taken away from me so +cruelly! How could I! How could I be such a coward!” + +She lamented aloud her love of life, that life without grace or charm, +and almost without decency, but of an exalted faithfulness of purpose, +even unto murder. And, as often happens in the lament of poor humanity, +rich in suffering but indigent in words, the truth—the very cry of +truth—was found in a worn and artificial shape picked up somewhere among +the phrases of sham sentiment. + +“How could I be so afraid of death! Tom, I tried. But I am afraid. I +tried to do away with myself. And I couldn’t. Am I hard? I suppose the +cup of horrors was not full enough for such as me. Then when you came. . . . ” + +She paused. Then in a gust of confidence and gratitude, “I will live all +my days for you, Tom!” she sobbed out. + +“Go over into the other corner of the carriage, away from the platform,” +said Ossipon solicitously. She let her saviour settle her comfortably, +and he watched the coming on of another crisis of weeping, still more +violent than the first. He watched the symptoms with a sort of medical +air, as if counting seconds. He heard the guard’s whistle at last. An +involuntary contraction of the upper lip bared his teeth with all the +aspect of savage resolution as he felt the train beginning to move. Mrs +Verloc heard and felt nothing, and Ossipon, her saviour, stood still. He +felt the train roll quicker, rumbling heavily to the sound of the woman’s +loud sobs, and then crossing the carriage in two long strides he opened +the door deliberately, and leaped out. + +He had leaped out at the very end of the platform; and such was his +determination in sticking to his desperate plan that he managed by a sort +of miracle, performed almost in the air, to slam to the door of the +carriage. Only then did he find himself rolling head over heels like a +shot rabbit. He was bruised, shaken, pale as death, and out of breath +when he got up. But he was calm, and perfectly able to meet the excited +crowd of railway men who had gathered round him in a moment. He +explained, in gentle and convincing tones, that his wife had started at a +moment’s notice for Brittany to her dying mother; that, of course, she +was greatly up-set, and he considerably concerned at her state; that he +was trying to cheer her up, and had absolutely failed to notice at first +that the train was moving out. To the general exclamation, “Why didn’t +you go on to Southampton, then, sir?” he objected the inexperience of a +young sister-in-law left alone in the house with three small children, +and her alarm at his absence, the telegraph offices being closed. He had +acted on impulse. “But I don’t think I’ll ever try that again,” he +concluded; smiled all round; distributed some small change, and marched +without a limp out of the station. + +Outside, Comrade Ossipon, flush of safe banknotes as never before in his +life, refused the offer of a cab. + +“I can walk,” he said, with a little friendly laugh to the civil driver. + +He could walk. He walked. He crossed the bridge. Later on the towers +of the Abbey saw in their massive immobility the yellow bush of his hair +passing under the lamps. The lights of Victoria saw him too, and Sloane +Square, and the railings of the park. And Comrade Ossipon once more +found himself on a bridge. The river, a sinister marvel of still shadows +and flowing gleams mingling below in a black silence, arrested his +attention. He stood looking over the parapet for a long time. The clock +tower boomed a brazen blast above his drooping head. He looked up at the +dial. . . . Half-past twelve of a wild night in the Channel. + +And again Comrade Ossipon walked. His robust form was seen that night in +distant parts of the enormous town slumbering monstrously on a carpet of +mud under a veil of raw mist. It was seen crossing the streets without +life and sound, or diminishing in the interminable straight perspectives +of shadowy houses bordering empty roadways lined by strings of gas lamps. +He walked through Squares, Places, Ovals, Commons, through monotonous +streets with unknown names where the dust of humanity settles inert and +hopeless out of the stream of life. He walked. And suddenly turning +into a strip of a front garden with a mangy grass plot, he let himself +into a small grimy house with a latch-key he took out of his pocket. + +He threw himself down on his bed all dressed, and lay still for a whole +quarter of an hour. Then he sat up suddenly, drawing up his knees, and +clasping his legs. The first dawn found him open-eyed, in that same +posture. This man who could walk so long, so far, so aimlessly, without +showing a sign of fatigue, could also remain sitting still for hours +without stirring a limb or an eyelid. But when the late sun sent its +rays into the room he unclasped his hands, and fell back on the pillow. +His eyes stared at the ceiling. And suddenly they closed. Comrade +Ossipon slept in the sunlight. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +The enormous iron padlock on the doors of the wall cupboard was the only +object in the room on which the eye could rest without becoming afflicted +by the miserable unloveliness of forms and the poverty of material. +Unsaleable in the ordinary course of business on account of its noble +proportions, it had been ceded to the Professor for a few pence by a +marine dealer in the east of London. The room was large, clean, +respectable, and poor with that poverty suggesting the starvation of +every human need except mere bread. There was nothing on the walls but +the paper, an expanse of arsenical green, soiled with indelible smudges +here and there, and with stains resembling faded maps of uninhabited +continents. + +At a deal table near a window sat Comrade Ossipon, holding his head +between his fists. The Professor, dressed in his only suit of shoddy +tweeds, but flapping to and fro on the bare boards a pair of incredibly +dilapidated slippers, had thrust his hands deep into the overstrained +pockets of his jacket. He was relating to his robust guest a visit he +had lately been paying to the Apostle Michaelis. The Perfect Anarchist +had even been unbending a little. + +“The fellow didn’t know anything of Verloc’s death. Of course! He never +looks at the newspapers. They make him too sad, he says. But never +mind. I walked into his cottage. Not a soul anywhere. I had to shout +half-a-dozen times before he answered me. I thought he was fast asleep +yet, in bed. But not at all. He had been writing his book for four +hours already. He sat in that tiny cage in a litter of manuscript. +There was a half-eaten raw carrot on the table near him. His breakfast. +He lives on a diet of raw carrots and a little milk now.” + +“How does he look on it?” asked Comrade Ossipon listlessly. + +“Angelic. . . . I picked up a handful of his pages from the floor. The +poverty of reasoning is astonishing. He has no logic. He can’t think +consecutively. But that’s nothing. He has divided his biography into +three parts, entitled—‘Faith, Hope, Charity.’ He is elaborating now the +idea of a world planned out like an immense and nice hospital, with +gardens and flowers, in which the strong are to devote themselves to the +nursing of the weak.” + +The Professor paused. + +“Conceive you this folly, Ossipon? The weak! The source of all evil on +this earth!” he continued with his grim assurance. “I told him that I +dreamt of a world like shambles, where the weak would be taken in hand +for utter extermination.” + +“Do you understand, Ossipon? The source of all evil! They are our +sinister masters—the weak, the flabby, the silly, the cowardly, the faint +of heart, and the slavish of mind. They have power. They are the +multitude. Theirs is the kingdom of the earth. Exterminate, +exterminate! That is the only way of progress. It is! Follow me, +Ossipon. First the great multitude of the weak must go, then the only +relatively strong. You see? First the blind, then the deaf and the +dumb, then the halt and the lame—and so on. Every taint, every vice, +every prejudice, every convention must meet its doom.” + +“And what remains?” asked Ossipon in a stifled voice. + +“I remain—if I am strong enough,” asserted the sallow little Professor, +whose large ears, thin like membranes, and standing far out from the +sides of his frail skull, took on suddenly a deep red tint. + +“Haven’t I suffered enough from this oppression of the weak?” he +continued forcibly. Then tapping the breast-pocket of his jacket: “And +yet _I am_ the force,” he went on. “But the time! The time! Give me +time! Ah! that multitude, too stupid to feel either pity or fear. +Sometimes I think they have everything on their side. Everything—even +death—my own weapon.” + +“Come and drink some beer with me at the Silenus,” said the robust +Ossipon after an interval of silence pervaded by the rapid flap, flap of +the slippers on the feet of the Perfect Anarchist. This last accepted. +He was jovial that day in his own peculiar way. He slapped Ossipon’s +shoulder. + +“Beer! So be it! Let us drink and be merry, for we are strong, and +to-morrow we die.” + +He busied himself with putting on his boots, and talked meanwhile in his +curt, resolute tones. + +“What’s the matter with you, Ossipon? You look glum and seek even my +company. I hear that you are seen constantly in places where men utter +foolish things over glasses of liquor. Why? Have you abandoned your +collection of women? They are the weak who feed the strong—eh?” + +He stamped one foot, and picked up his other laced boot, heavy, +thick-soled, unblacked, mended many times. He smiled to himself grimly. + +“Tell me, Ossipon, terrible man, has ever one of your victims killed +herself for you—or are your triumphs so far incomplete—for blood alone +puts a seal on greatness? Blood. Death. Look at history.” + +“You be damned,” said Ossipon, without turning his head. + +“Why? Let that be the hope of the weak, whose theology has invented hell +for the strong. Ossipon, my feeling for you is amicable contempt. You +couldn’t kill a fly.” + +But rolling to the feast on the top of the omnibus the Professor lost his +high spirits. The contemplation of the multitudes thronging the +pavements extinguished his assurance under a load of doubt and uneasiness +which he could only shake off after a period of seclusion in the room +with the large cupboard closed by an enormous padlock. + +“And so,” said over his shoulder Comrade Ossipon, who sat on the seat +behind. “And so Michaelis dreams of a world like a beautiful and cheery +hospital.” + +“Just so. An immense charity for the healing of the weak,” assented the +Professor sardonically. + +“That’s silly,” admitted Ossipon. “You can’t heal weakness. But after +all Michaelis may not be so far wrong. In two hundred years doctors will +rule the world. Science reigns already. It reigns in the shade +maybe—but it reigns. And all science must culminate at last in the +science of healing—not the weak, but the strong. Mankind wants to +live—to live.” + +“Mankind,” asserted the Professor with a self-confident glitter of his +iron-rimmed spectacles, “does not know what it wants.” + +“But you do,” growled Ossipon. “Just now you’ve been crying for +time—time. Well. The doctors will serve you out your time—if you are +good. You profess yourself to be one of the strong—because you carry in +your pocket enough stuff to send yourself and, say, twenty other people +into eternity. But eternity is a damned hole. It’s time that you need. +You—if you met a man who could give you for certain ten years of time, +you would call him your master.” + +“My device is: No God! No Master,” said the Professor sententiously as +he rose to get off the ’bus. + +Ossipon followed. “Wait till you are lying flat on your back at the end +of your time,” he retorted, jumping off the footboard after the other. +“Your scurvy, shabby, mangy little bit of time,” he continued across the +street, and hopping on to the curbstone. + +“Ossipon, I think that you are a humbug,” the Professor said, opening +masterfully the doors of the renowned Silenus. And when they had +established themselves at a little table he developed further this +gracious thought. “You are not even a doctor. But you are funny. Your +notion of a humanity universally putting out the tongue and taking the +pill from pole to pole at the bidding of a few solemn jokers is worthy of +the prophet. Prophecy! What’s the good of thinking of what will be!” +He raised his glass. “To the destruction of what is,” he said calmly. + +He drank and relapsed into his peculiarly close manner of silence. The +thought of a mankind as numerous as the sands of the sea-shore, as +indestructible, as difficult to handle, oppressed him. The sound of +exploding bombs was lost in their immensity of passive grains without an +echo. For instance, this Verloc affair. Who thought of it now? + +Ossipon, as if suddenly compelled by some mysterious force, pulled a +much-folded newspaper out of his pocket. The Professor raised his head at +the rustle. + +“What’s that paper? Anything in it?” he asked. + +Ossipon started like a scared somnambulist. + +“Nothing. Nothing whatever. The thing’s ten days old. I forgot it in +my pocket, I suppose.” + +But he did not throw the old thing away. Before returning it to his +pocket he stole a glance at the last lines of a paragraph. They ran +thus: “_An impenetrable mystery seems destined to hang for ever over this +act of madness or despair_.” + +Such were the end words of an item of news headed: “Suicide of Lady +Passenger from a cross-Channel Boat.” Comrade Ossipon was familiar with +the beauties of its journalistic style. “_An impenetrable mystery seems +destined to hang for ever_. . . . ” He knew every word by heart. “_An +impenetrable mystery_. . . . ” + +And the robust anarchist, hanging his head on his breast, fell into a +long reverie. + +He was menaced by this thing in the very sources of his existence. He +could not issue forth to meet his various conquests, those that he +courted on benches in Kensington Gardens, and those he met near area +railings, without the dread of beginning to talk to them of an +impenetrable mystery destined. . . . He was becoming scientifically +afraid of insanity lying in wait for him amongst these lines. “_To hang +for ever over_.” It was an obsession, a torture. He had lately failed +to keep several of these appointments, whose note used to be an unbounded +trustfulness in the language of sentiment and manly tenderness. The +confiding disposition of various classes of women satisfied the needs of +his self-love, and put some material means into his hand. He needed it +to live. It was there. But if he could no longer make use of it, he ran +the risk of starving his ideals and his body . . . “_This act of madness +or despair_.” + +“An impenetrable mystery” was sure “to hang for ever” as far as all +mankind was concerned. But what of that if he alone of all men could +never get rid of the cursed knowledge? And Comrade Ossipon’s knowledge +was as precise as the newspaper man could make it—up to the very +threshold of the “_mystery destined to hang for ever_. . . .” + +Comrade Ossipon was well informed. He knew what the gangway man of the +steamer had seen: “A lady in a black dress and a black veil, wandering at +midnight alongside, on the quay. ‘Are you going by the boat, ma’am,’ he +had asked her encouragingly. ‘This way.’ She seemed not to know what to +do. He helped her on board. She seemed weak.” + +And he knew also what the stewardess had seen: A lady in black with a +white face standing in the middle of the empty ladies’ cabin. The +stewardess induced her to lie down there. The lady seemed quite +unwilling to speak, and as if she were in some awful trouble. The next +the stewardess knew she was gone from the ladies’ cabin. The stewardess +then went on deck to look for her, and Comrade Ossipon was informed that +the good woman found the unhappy lady lying down in one of the hooded +seats. Her eyes were open, but she would not answer anything that was +said to her. She seemed very ill. The stewardess fetched the chief +steward, and those two people stood by the side of the hooded seat +consulting over their extraordinary and tragic passenger. They talked in +audible whispers (for she seemed past hearing) of St Malo and the Consul +there, of communicating with her people in England. Then they went away +to arrange for her removal down below, for indeed by what they could see +of her face she seemed to them to be dying. But Comrade Ossipon knew +that behind that white mask of despair there was struggling against +terror and despair a vigour of vitality, a love of life that could resist +the furious anguish which drives to murder and the fear, the blind, mad +fear of the gallows. He knew. But the stewardess and the chief steward +knew nothing, except that when they came back for her in less than five +minutes the lady in black was no longer in the hooded seat. She was +nowhere. She was gone. It was then five o’clock in the morning, and it +was no accident either. An hour afterwards one of the steamer’s hands +found a wedding ring left lying on the seat. It had stuck to the wood in +a bit of wet, and its glitter caught the man’s eye. There was a date, +24th June 1879, engraved inside. “_An impenetrable mystery is destined +to hang for ever_. . . . ” + +And Comrade Ossipon raised his bowed head, beloved of various humble +women of these isles, Apollo-like in the sunniness of its bush of hair. + +The Professor had grown restless meantime. He rose. + +“Stay,” said Ossipon hurriedly. “Here, what do you know of madness and +despair?” + +The Professor passed the tip of his tongue on his dry, thin lips, and +said doctorally: + +“There are no such things. All passion is lost now. The world is +mediocre, limp, without force. And madness and despair are a force. And +force is a crime in the eyes of the fools, the weak and the silly who +rule the roost. You are mediocre. Verloc, whose affair the police has +managed to smother so nicely, was mediocre. And the police murdered him. +He was mediocre. Everybody is mediocre. Madness and despair! Give me +that for a lever, and I’ll move the world. Ossipon, you have my cordial +scorn. You are incapable of conceiving even what the fat-fed citizen +would call a crime. You have no force.” He paused, smiling sardonically +under the fierce glitter of his thick glasses. + +“And let me tell you that this little legacy they say you’ve come into +has not improved your intelligence. You sit at your beer like a dummy. +Good-bye.” + +“Will you have it?” said Ossipon, looking up with an idiotic grin. + +“Have what?” + +“The legacy. All of it.” + +The incorruptible Professor only smiled. His clothes were all but +falling off him, his boots, shapeless with repairs, heavy like lead, let +water in at every step. He said: + +“I will send you by-and-by a small bill for certain chemicals which I +shall order to-morrow. I need them badly. Understood—eh?” + +Ossipon lowered his head slowly. He was alone. “_An impenetrable +mystery_. . . . ” It seemed to him that suspended in the air before him +he saw his own brain pulsating to the rhythm of an impenetrable mystery. +It was diseased clearly. . . . “_This act of madness or despair_.” + +The mechanical piano near the door played through a valse cheekily, then +fell silent all at once, as if gone grumpy. + +Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, went out of the Silenus beer-hall. +At the door he hesitated, blinking at a not too splendid sunlight—and the +paper with the report of the suicide of a lady was in his pocket. His +heart was beating against it. The suicide of a lady—_this act of madness +or despair_. + +He walked along the street without looking where he put his feet; and he +walked in a direction which would not bring him to the place of +appointment with another lady (an elderly nursery governess putting her +trust in an Apollo-like ambrosial head). He was walking away from it. +He could face no woman. It was ruin. He could neither think, work, +sleep, nor eat. But he was beginning to drink with pleasure, with +anticipation, with hope. It was ruin. His revolutionary career, +sustained by the sentiment and trustfulness of many women, was menaced by +an impenetrable mystery—the mystery of a human brain pulsating wrongfully +to the rhythm of journalistic phrases. “ . . . _Will hang for ever over +this act_. . . . It was inclining towards the gutter . . . _of madness or +despair_.” + +“I am seriously ill,” he muttered to himself with scientific insight. +Already his robust form, with an Embassy’s secret-service money +(inherited from Mr Verloc) in his pockets, was marching in the gutter as +if in training for the task of an inevitable future. Already he bowed +his broad shoulders, his head of ambrosial locks, as if ready to receive +the leather yoke of the sandwich board. As on that night, more than a +week ago, Comrade Ossipon walked without looking where he put his feet, +feeling no fatigue, feeling nothing, seeing nothing, hearing not a sound. +“_An impenetrable mystery_. . . .” He walked disregarded. . . . “_This +act of madness or despair_.” + +And the incorruptible Professor walked too, averting his eyes from the +odious multitude of mankind. He had no future. He disdained it. He was +a force. His thoughts caressed the images of ruin and destruction. He +walked frail, insignificant, shabby, miserable—and terrible in the +simplicity of his idea calling madness and despair to the regeneration of +the world. Nobody looked at him. He passed on unsuspected and deadly, +like a pest in the street full of men. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET AGENT *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following +the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use +of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Secret Agent<br /> +A Simple Tale</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Joseph Conrad</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 28, 1997 [eBook #974]<br /> +[Most recently updated: June 9, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: David Price</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET AGENT ***</div> + +<h1><span class="smcap">the</span><br /> +SECRET AGENT<br /> +<span class="smcap">a simple tale</span></h1> + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">by</span><br /> +JOSEPH CONRAD</p> + +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">second +edition</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">methuen & +co.</span>,<br /> +<span class="smcap">36 essex street w c.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">london</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>First Published</i> . . . +<i>September</i> 1907</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>Second Edition</i> . . . +<i>October</i> 1907</p> +<p style="text-align: center">TO<br /> +H. G. WELLS</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">the chronicler +of mr lewisham’s love</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">the biographer of kipps and the</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">historian of the ages to come</span></p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="smcap">this simple +tale of the xix century</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">is affectionately offered</span></p> + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<p>Mr Verloc, going out in the morning, left his shop nominally +in charge of his brother-in-law. It could be done, because +there was very little business at any time, and practically none +at all before the evening. Mr Verloc cared but little about +his ostensible business. And, moreover, his wife was in +charge of his brother-in-law.</p> + +<p>The shop was small, and so was the house. It was one of +those grimy brick houses which existed in large quantities before +the era of reconstruction dawned upon London. The shop was +a square box of a place, with the front glazed in small +panes. In the daytime the door remained closed; in the +evening it stood discreetly but suspiciously ajar.</p> + +<p>The window contained photographs of more or less undressed +dancing girls; nondescript packages in wrappers like patent +medicines; closed yellow paper envelopes, very flimsy, and marked +two-and-six in heavy black figures; a few numbers of ancient +French comic publications hung across a string as if to dry; a +dingy blue china bowl, a casket of black wood, bottles of marking +ink, and rubber stamps; a few books, with titles hinting at +impropriety; a few apparently old copies of obscure newspapers, +badly printed, with titles like <i>The Torch</i>, <i>The +Gong</i>—rousing titles. And the two gas jets inside +the panes were always turned low, either for economy’s sake +or for the sake of the customers.</p> + +<p>These customers were either very young men, who hung about the +window for a time before slipping in suddenly; or men of a more +mature age, but looking generally as if they were not in +funds. Some of that last kind had the collars of their +overcoats turned right up to their moustaches, and traces of mud +on the bottom of their nether garments, which had the appearance +of being much worn and not very valuable. And the legs +inside them did not, as a general rule, seem of much account +either. With their hands plunged deep in the side pockets +of their coats, they dodged in sideways, one shoulder first, as +if afraid to start the bell going.</p> + +<p>The bell, hung on the door by means of a curved ribbon of +steel, was difficult to circumvent. It was hopelessly +cracked; but of an evening, at the slightest provocation, it +clattered behind the customer with impudent virulence.</p> + +<p>It clattered; and at that signal, through the dusty glass door +behind the painted deal counter, Mr Verloc would issue hastily +from the parlour at the back. His eyes were naturally +heavy; he had an air of having wallowed, fully dressed, all day +on an unmade bed. Another man would have felt such an +appearance a distinct disadvantage. In a commercial +transaction of the retail order much depends on the +seller’s engaging and amiable aspect. But Mr Verloc +knew his business, and remained undisturbed by any sort of +æsthetic doubt about his appearance. With a firm, +steady-eyed impudence, which seemed to hold back the threat of +some abominable menace, he would proceed to sell over the counter +some object looking obviously and scandalously not worth the +money which passed in the transaction: a small cardboard box with +apparently nothing inside, for instance, or one of those +carefully closed yellow flimsy envelopes, or a soiled volume in +paper covers with a promising title. Now and then it +happened that one of the faded, yellow dancing girls would get +sold to an amateur, as though she had been alive and young.</p> + +<p>Sometimes it was Mrs Verloc who would appear at the call of +the cracked bell. Winnie Verloc was a young woman with a +full bust, in a tight bodice, and with broad hips. Her hair +was very tidy. Steady-eyed like her husband, she preserved +an air of unfathomable indifference behind the rampart of the +counter. Then the customer of comparatively tender years +would get suddenly disconcerted at having to deal with a woman, +and with rage in his heart would proffer a request for a bottle +of marking ink, retail value sixpence (price in Verloc’s +shop one-and-sixpence), which, once outside, he would drop +stealthily into the gutter.</p> + +<p>The evening visitors—the men with collars turned up and +soft hats rammed down—nodded familiarly to Mrs Verloc, and +with a muttered greeting, lifted up the flap at the end of the +counter in order to pass into the back parlour, which gave access +to a passage and to a steep flight of stairs. The door of +the shop was the only means of entrance to the house in which Mr +Verloc carried on his business of a seller of shady wares, +exercised his vocation of a protector of society, and cultivated +his domestic virtues. These last were pronounced. He +was thoroughly domesticated. Neither his spiritual, nor his +mental, nor his physical needs were of the kind to take him much +abroad. He found at home the ease of his body and the peace +of his conscience, together with Mrs Verloc’s wifely +attentions and Mrs Verloc’s mother’s deferential +regard.</p> + +<p>Winnie’s mother was a stout, wheezy woman, with a large +brown face. She wore a black wig under a white cap. +Her swollen legs rendered her inactive. She considered +herself to be of French descent, which might have been true; and +after a good many years of married life with a licensed +victualler of the more common sort, she provided for the years of +widowhood by letting furnished apartments for gentlemen near +Vauxhall Bridge Road in a square once of some splendour and still +included in the district of Belgravia. This topographical +fact was of some advantage in advertising her rooms; but the +patrons of the worthy widow were not exactly of the fashionable +kind. Such as they were, her daughter Winnie helped to look +after them. Traces of the French descent which the widow +boasted of were apparent in Winnie too. They were apparent +in the extremely neat and artistic arrangement of her glossy dark +hair. Winnie had also other charms: her youth; her full, +rounded form; her clear complexion; the provocation of her +unfathomable reserve, which never went so far as to prevent +conversation, carried on on the lodgers’ part with +animation, and on hers with an equable amiability. It must +be that Mr Verloc was susceptible to these fascinations. Mr +Verloc was an intermittent patron. He came and went without +any very apparent reason. He generally arrived in London +(like the influenza) from the Continent, only he arrived +unheralded by the Press; and his visitations set in with great +severity. He breakfasted in bed, and remained wallowing +there with an air of quiet enjoyment till noon every +day—and sometimes even to a later hour. But when he +went out he seemed to experience a great difficulty in finding +his way back to his temporary home in the Belgravian +square. He left it late, and returned to it early—as +early as three or four in the morning; and on waking up at ten +addressed Winnie, bringing in the breakfast tray, with jocular, +exhausted civility, in the hoarse, failing tones of a man who had +been talking vehemently for many hours together. His +prominent, heavy-lidded eyes rolled sideways amorously and +languidly, the bedclothes were pulled up to his chin, and his +dark smooth moustache covered his thick lips capable of much +honeyed banter.</p> + +<p>In Winnie’s mother’s opinion Mr Verloc was a very +nice gentleman. From her life’s experience gathered +in various “business houses” the good woman had taken +into her retirement an ideal of gentlemanliness as exhibited by +the patrons of private-saloon bars. Mr Verloc approached +that ideal; he attained it, in fact.</p> + +<p>“Of course, we’ll take over your furniture, +mother,” Winnie had remarked.</p> + +<p>The lodging-house was to be given up. It seems it would +not answer to carry it on. It would have been too much +trouble for Mr Verloc. It would not have been convenient +for his other business. What his business was he did not +say; but after his engagement to Winnie he took the trouble to +get up before noon, and descending the basement stairs, make +himself pleasant to Winnie’s mother in the breakfast-room +downstairs where she had her motionless being. He stroked +the cat, poked the fire, had his lunch served to him there. +He left its slightly stuffy cosiness with evident reluctance, +but, all the same, remained out till the night was far +advanced. He never offered to take Winnie to theatres, as +such a nice gentleman ought to have done. His evenings were +occupied. His work was in a way political, he told Winnie +once. She would have, he warned her, to be very nice to his +political friends.</p> + +<p>And with her straight, unfathomable glance she answered that +she would be so, of course.</p> + +<p>How much more he told her as to his occupation it was +impossible for Winnie’s mother to discover. The +married couple took her over with the furniture. The mean +aspect of the shop surprised her. The change from the +Belgravian square to the narrow street in Soho affected her legs +adversely. They became of an enormous size. On the +other hand, she experienced a complete relief from material +cares. Her son-in-law’s heavy good nature inspired +her with a sense of absolute safety. Her daughter’s +future was obviously assured, and even as to her son Stevie she +need have no anxiety. She had not been able to conceal from +herself that he was a terrible encumbrance, that poor +Stevie. But in view of Winnie’s fondness for her +delicate brother, and of Mr Verloc’s kind and generous +disposition, she felt that the poor boy was pretty safe in this +rough world. And in her heart of hearts she was not perhaps +displeased that the Verlocs had no children. As that +circumstance seemed perfectly indifferent to Mr Verloc, and as +Winnie found an object of quasi-maternal affection in her +brother, perhaps this was just as well for poor Stevie.</p> + +<p>For he was difficult to dispose of, that boy. He was +delicate and, in a frail way, good-looking too, except for the +vacant droop of his lower lip. Under our excellent system +of compulsory education he had learned to read and write, +notwithstanding the unfavourable aspect of the lower lip. +But as errand-boy he did not turn out a great success. He +forgot his messages; he was easily diverted from the straight +path of duty by the attractions of stray cats and dogs, which he +followed down narrow alleys into unsavoury courts; by the +comedies of the streets, which he contemplated open-mouthed, to +the detriment of his employer’s interests; or by the dramas +of fallen horses, whose pathos and violence induced him sometimes +to shriek pierceingly in a crowd, which disliked to be disturbed +by sounds of distress in its quiet enjoyment of the national +spectacle. When led away by a grave and protecting +policeman, it would often become apparent that poor Stevie had +forgotten his address—at least for a time. A brusque +question caused him to stutter to the point of suffocation. +When startled by anything perplexing he used to squint +horribly. However, he never had any fits (which was +encouraging); and before the natural outbursts of impatience on +the part of his father he could always, in his childhood’s +days, run for protection behind the short skirts of his sister +Winnie. On the other hand, he might have been suspected of +hiding a fund of reckless naughtiness. When he had reached +the age of fourteen a friend of his late father, an agent for a +foreign preserved milk firm, having given him an opening as +office-boy, he was discovered one foggy afternoon, in his +chief’s absence, busy letting off fireworks on the +staircase. He touched off in quick succession a set of +fierce rockets, angry catherine wheels, loudly exploding +squibs—and the matter might have turned out very +serious. An awful panic spread through the whole +building. Wild-eyed, choking clerks stampeded through the +passages full of smoke, silk hats and elderly business men could +be seen rolling independently down the stairs. Stevie did +not seem to derive any personal gratification from what he had +done. His motives for this stroke of originality were +difficult to discover. It was only later on that Winnie +obtained from him a misty and confused confession. It seems +that two other office-boys in the building had worked upon his +feelings by tales of injustice and oppression till they had +wrought his compassion to the pitch of that frenzy. But his +father’s friend, of course, dismissed him summarily as +likely to ruin his business. After that altruistic exploit +Stevie was put to help wash the dishes in the basement kitchen, +and to black the boots of the gentlemen patronising the +Belgravian mansion. There was obviously no future in such +work. The gentlemen tipped him a shilling now and +then. Mr Verloc showed himself the most generous of +lodgers. But altogether all that did not amount to much +either in the way of gain or prospects; so that when Winnie +announced her engagement to Mr Verloc her mother could not help +wondering, with a sigh and a glance towards the scullery, what +would become of poor Stephen now.</p> + +<p>It appeared that Mr Verloc was ready to take him over together +with his wife’s mother and with the furniture, which was +the whole visible fortune of the family. Mr Verloc gathered +everything as it came to his broad, good-natured breast. +The furniture was disposed to the best advantage all over the +house, but Mrs Verloc’s mother was confined to two back +rooms on the first floor. The luckless Stevie slept in one +of them. By this time a growth of thin fluffy hair had come +to blur, like a golden mist, the sharp line of his small lower +jaw. He helped his sister with blind love and docility in +her household duties. Mr Verloc thought that some +occupation would be good for him. His spare time he +occupied by drawing circles with compass and pencil on a piece of +paper. He applied himself to that pastime with great +industry, with his elbows spread out and bowed low over the +kitchen table. Through the open door of the parlour at the +back of the shop Winnie, his sister, glanced at him from time to +time with maternal vigilance.</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<p>Such was the house, the household, and the business Mr Verloc +left behind him on his way westward at the hour of half-past ten +in the morning. It was unusually early for him; his whole +person exhaled the charm of almost dewy freshness; he wore his +blue cloth overcoat unbuttoned; his boots were shiny; his cheeks, +freshly shaven, had a sort of gloss; and even his heavy-lidded +eyes, refreshed by a night of peaceful slumber, sent out glances +of comparative alertness. Through the park railings these +glances beheld men and women riding in the Row, couples cantering +past harmoniously, others advancing sedately at a walk, loitering +groups of three or four, solitary horsemen looking unsociable, +and solitary women followed at a long distance by a groom with a +cockade to his hat and a leather belt over his tight-fitting +coat. Carriages went bowling by, mostly two-horse +broughams, with here and there a victoria with the skin of some +wild beast inside and a woman’s face and hat emerging above +the folded hood. And a peculiarly London sun—against +which nothing could be said except that it looked +bloodshot—glorified all this by its stare. It hung at +a moderate elevation above Hyde Park Corner with an air of +punctual and benign vigilance. The very pavement under Mr +Verloc’s feet had an old-gold tinge in that diffused light, +in which neither wall, nor tree, nor beast, nor man cast a +shadow. Mr Verloc was going westward through a town without +shadows in an atmosphere of powdered old gold. There were +red, coppery gleams on the roofs of houses, on the corners of +walls, on the panels of carriages, on the very coats of the +horses, and on the broad back of Mr Verloc’s overcoat, +where they produced a dull effect of rustiness. But Mr +Verloc was not in the least conscious of having got rusty. +He surveyed through the park railings the evidences of the +town’s opulence and luxury with an approving eye. All +these people had to be protected. Protection is the first +necessity of opulence and luxury. They had to be protected; +and their horses, carriages, houses, servants had to be +protected; and the source of their wealth had to be protected in +the heart of the city and the heart of the country; the whole +social order favourable to their hygienic idleness had to be +protected against the shallow enviousness of unhygienic +labour. It had to—and Mr Verloc would have rubbed his +hands with satisfaction had he not been constitutionally averse +from every superfluous exertion. His idleness was not +hygienic, but it suited him very well. He was in a manner +devoted to it with a sort of inert fanaticism, or perhaps rather +with a fanatical inertness. Born of industrious parents for +a life of toil, he had embraced indolence from an impulse as +profound as inexplicable and as imperious as the impulse which +directs a man’s preference for one particular woman in a +given thousand. He was too lazy even for a mere demagogue, +for a workman orator, for a leader of labour. It was too +much trouble. He required a more perfect form of ease; or +it might have been that he was the victim of a philosophical +unbelief in the effectiveness of every human effort. Such a +form of indolence requires, implies, a certain amount of +intelligence. Mr Verloc was not devoid of +intelligence—and at the notion of a menaced social order he +would perhaps have winked to himself if there had not been an +effort to make in that sign of scepticism. His big, +prominent eyes were not well adapted to winking. They were +rather of the sort that closes solemnly in slumber with majestic +effect.</p> + +<p>Undemonstrative and burly in a fat-pig style, Mr Verloc, +without either rubbing his hands with satisfaction or winking +sceptically at his thoughts, proceeded on his way. He trod +the pavement heavily with his shiny boots, and his general get-up +was that of a well-to-do mechanic in business for himself. +He might have been anything from a picture-frame maker to a +lock-smith; an employer of labour in a small way. But there +was also about him an indescribable air which no mechanic could +have acquired in the practice of his handicraft however +dishonestly exercised: the air common to men who live on the +vices, the follies, or the baser fears of mankind; the air of +moral nihilism common to keepers of gambling hells and disorderly +houses; to private detectives and inquiry agents; to drink +sellers and, I should say, to the sellers of invigorating +electric belts and to the inventors of patent medicines. +But of that last I am not sure, not having carried my +investigations so far into the depths. For all I know, the +expression of these last may be perfectly diabolic. I +shouldn’t be surprised. What I want to affirm is that +Mr Verloc’s expression was by no means diabolic.</p> + +<p>Before reaching Knightsbridge, Mr Verloc took a turn to the +left out of the busy main thoroughfare, uproarious with the +traffic of swaying omnibuses and trotting vans, in the almost +silent, swift flow of hansoms. Under his hat, worn with a +slight backward tilt, his hair had been carefully brushed into +respectful sleekness; for his business was with an Embassy. +And Mr Verloc, steady like a rock—a soft kind of +rock—marched now along a street which could with every +propriety be described as private. In its breadth, +emptiness, and extent it had the majesty of inorganic nature, of +matter that never dies. The only reminder of mortality was +a doctor’s brougham arrested in august solitude close to +the curbstone. The polished knockers of the doors gleamed +as far as the eye could reach, the clean windows shone with a +dark opaque lustre. And all was still. But a milk +cart rattled noisily across the distant perspective; a butcher +boy, driving with the noble recklessness of a charioteer at +Olympic Games, dashed round the corner sitting high above a pair +of red wheels. A guilty-looking cat issuing from under the +stones ran for a while in front of Mr Verloc, then dived into +another basement; and a thick police constable, looking a +stranger to every emotion, as if he too were part of inorganic +nature, surging apparently out of a lamp-post, took not the +slightest notice of Mr Verloc. With a turn to the left Mr +Verloc pursued his way along a narrow street by the side of a +yellow wall which, for some inscrutable reason, had No. 1 Chesham +Square written on it in black letters. Chesham Square was +at least sixty yards away, and Mr Verloc, cosmopolitan enough not +to be deceived by London’s topographical mysteries, held on +steadily, without a sign of surprise or indignation. At +last, with business-like persistency, he reached the Square, and +made diagonally for the number 10. This belonged to an +imposing carriage gate in a high, clean wall between two houses, +of which one rationally enough bore the number 9 and the other +was numbered 37; but the fact that this last belonged to Porthill +Street, a street well known in the neighbourhood, was proclaimed +by an inscription placed above the ground-floor windows by +whatever highly efficient authority is charged with the duty of +keeping track of London’s strayed houses. Why powers +are not asked of Parliament (a short act would do) for compelling +those edifices to return where they belong is one of the +mysteries of municipal administration. Mr Verloc did not +trouble his head about it, his mission in life being the +protection of the social mechanism, not its perfectionment or +even its criticism.</p> + +<p>It was so early that the porter of the Embassy issued +hurriedly out of his lodge still struggling with the left sleeve +of his livery coat. His waistcoat was red, and he wore +knee-breeches, but his aspect was flustered. Mr Verloc, +aware of the rush on his flank, drove it off by simply holding +out an envelope stamped with the arms of the Embassy, and passed +on. He produced the same talisman also to the footman who +opened the door, and stood back to let him enter the hall.</p> + +<p>A clear fire burned in a tall fireplace, and an elderly man +standing with his back to it, in evening dress and with a chain +round his neck, glanced up from the newspaper he was holding +spread out in both hands before his calm and severe face. +He didn’t move; but another lackey, in brown trousers and +claw-hammer coat edged with thin yellow cord, approaching Mr +Verloc listened to the murmur of his name, and turning round on +his heel in silence, began to walk, without looking back +once. Mr Verloc, thus led along a ground-floor passage to +the left of the great carpeted staircase, was suddenly motioned +to enter a quite small room furnished with a heavy writing-table +and a few chairs. The servant shut the door, and Mr Verloc +remained alone. He did not take a seat. With his hat +and stick held in one hand he glanced about, passing his other +podgy hand over his uncovered sleek head.</p> + +<p>Another door opened noiselessly, and Mr Verloc immobilising +his glance in that direction saw at first only black clothes, the +bald top of a head, and a drooping dark grey whisker on each side +of a pair of wrinkled hands. The person who had entered was +holding a batch of papers before his eyes and walked up to the +table with a rather mincing step, turning the papers over the +while. Privy Councillor Wurmt, Chancelier +d’Ambassade, was rather short-sighted. This +meritorious official laying the papers on the table, disclosed a +face of pasty complexion and of melancholy ugliness surrounded by +a lot of fine, long dark grey hairs, barred heavily by thick and +bushy eyebrows. He put on a black-framed pince-nez upon a +blunt and shapeless nose, and seemed struck by Mr Verloc’s +appearance. Under the enormous eyebrows his weak eyes +blinked pathetically through the glasses.</p> + +<p>He made no sign of greeting; neither did Mr Verloc, who +certainly knew his place; but a subtle change about the general +outlines of his shoulders and back suggested a slight bending of +Mr Verloc’s spine under the vast surface of his +overcoat. The effect was of unobtrusive deference.</p> + +<p>“I have here some of your reports,” said the +bureaucrat in an unexpectedly soft and weary voice, and pressing +the tip of his forefinger on the papers with force. He +paused; and Mr Verloc, who had recognised his own handwriting +very well, waited in an almost breathless silence. +“We are not very satisfied with the attitude of the police +here,” the other continued, with every appearance of mental +fatigue.</p> + +<p>The shoulders of Mr Verloc, without actually moving, suggested +a shrug. And for the first time since he left his home that +morning his lips opened.</p> + +<p>“Every country has its police,” he said +philosophically. But as the official of the Embassy went on +blinking at him steadily he felt constrained to add: “Allow +me to observe that I have no means of action upon the police +here.”</p> + +<p>“What is desired,” said the man of papers, +“is the occurrence of something definite which should +stimulate their vigilance. That is within your +province—is it not so?”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc made no answer except by a sigh, which escaped him +involuntarily, for instantly he tried to give his face a cheerful +expression. The official blinked doubtfully, as if affected +by the dim light of the room. He repeated vaguely.</p> + +<p>“The vigilance of the police—and the severity of +the magistrates. The general leniency of the judicial +procedure here, and the utter absence of all repressive measures, +are a scandal to Europe. What is wished for just now is the +accentuation of the unrest—of the fermentation which +undoubtedly exists—”</p> + +<p>“Undoubtedly, undoubtedly,” broke in Mr Verloc in +a deep deferential bass of an oratorical quality, so utterly +different from the tone in which he had spoken before that his +interlocutor remained profoundly surprised. “It +exists to a dangerous degree. My reports for the last +twelve months make it sufficiently clear.”</p> + +<p>“Your reports for the last twelve months,” State +Councillor Wurmt began in his gentle and dispassionate tone, +“have been read by me. I failed to discover why you +wrote them at all.”</p> + +<p>A sad silence reigned for a time. Mr Verloc seemed to +have swallowed his tongue, and the other gazed at the papers on +the table fixedly. At last he gave them a slight push.</p> + +<p>“The state of affairs you expose there is assumed to +exist as the first condition of your employment. What is +required at present is not writing, but the bringing to light of +a distinct, significant fact—I would almost say of an +alarming fact.”</p> + +<p>“I need not say that all my endeavours shall be directed +to that end,” Mr Verloc said, with convinced modulations in +his conversational husky tone. But the sense of being +blinked at watchfully behind the blind glitter of these +eye-glasses on the other side of the table disconcerted +him. He stopped short with a gesture of absolute +devotion. The useful, hard-working, if obscure member of +the Embassy had an air of being impressed by some newly-born +thought.</p> + +<p>“You are very corpulent,” he said.</p> + +<p>This observation, really of a psychological nature, and +advanced with the modest hesitation of an officeman more familiar +with ink and paper than with the requirements of active life, +stung Mr Verloc in the manner of a rude personal remark. He +stepped back a pace.</p> + +<p>“Eh? What were you pleased to say?” he +exclaimed, with husky resentment.</p> + +<p>The Chancelier d’Ambassade entrusted with the conduct of +this interview seemed to find it too much for him.</p> + +<p>“I think,” he said, “that you had better see +Mr Vladimir. Yes, decidedly I think you ought to see Mr +Vladimir. Be good enough to wait here,” he added, and +went out with mincing steps.</p> + +<p>At once Mr Verloc passed his hand over his hair. A +slight perspiration had broken out on his forehead. He let +the air escape from his pursed-up lips like a man blowing at a +spoonful of hot soup. But when the servant in brown +appeared at the door silently, Mr Verloc had not moved an inch +from the place he had occupied throughout the interview. He +had remained motionless, as if feeling himself surrounded by +pitfalls.</p> + +<p>He walked along a passage lighted by a lonely gas-jet, then up +a flight of winding stairs, and through a glazed and cheerful +corridor on the first floor. The footman threw open a door, +and stood aside. The feet of Mr Verloc felt a thick +carpet. The room was large, with three windows; and a young +man with a shaven, big face, sitting in a roomy arm-chair before +a vast mahogany writing-table, said in French to the Chancelier +d’Ambassade, who was going out with the papers in his +hand:</p> + +<p>“You are quite right, mon cher. He’s +fat—the animal.”</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir, First Secretary, had a drawing-room reputation as +an agreeable and entertaining man. He was something of a +favourite in society. His wit consisted in discovering +droll connections between incongruous ideas; and when talking in +that strain he sat well forward of his seat, with his left hand +raised, as if exhibiting his funny demonstrations between the +thumb and forefinger, while his round and clean-shaven face wore +an expression of merry perplexity.</p> + +<p>But there was no trace of merriment or perplexity in the way +he looked at Mr Verloc. Lying far back in the deep +arm-chair, with squarely spread elbows, and throwing one leg over +a thick knee, he had with his smooth and rosy countenance the air +of a preternaturally thriving baby that will not stand nonsense +from anybody.</p> + +<p>“You understand French, I suppose?” he said.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc stated huskily that he did. His whole vast +bulk had a forward inclination. He stood on the carpet in +the middle of the room, clutching his hat and stick in one hand; +the other hung lifelessly by his side. He muttered +unobtrusively somewhere deep down in his throat something about +having done his military service in the French artillery. +At once, with contemptuous perversity, Mr Vladimir changed the +language, and began to speak idiomatic English without the +slightest trace of a foreign accent.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Yes. Of course. Let’s +see. How much did you get for obtaining the design of the +improved breech-block of their new field-gun?”</p> + +<p>“Five years’ rigorous confinement in a +fortress,” Mr Verloc answered unexpectedly, but without any +sign of feeling.</p> + +<p>“You got off easily,” was Mr Vladimir’s +comment. “And, anyhow, it served you right for +letting yourself get caught. What made you go in for that +sort of thing—eh?”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc’s husky conversational voice was heard +speaking of youth, of a fatal infatuation for an +unworthy—</p> + +<p>“Aha! Cherchez la femme,” Mr Vladimir +deigned to interrupt, unbending, but without affability; there +was, on the contrary, a touch of grimness in his +condescension. “How long have you been employed by +the Embassy here?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Ever since the time of the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim,” Mr Verloc answered in subdued tones, and +protruding his lips sadly, in sign of sorrow for the deceased +diplomat. The First Secretary observed this play of +physiognomy steadily.</p> + +<p>“Ah! ever since. Well! What have you got to +say for yourself?” he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc answered with some surprise that he was not aware of +having anything special to say. He had been summoned by a +letter—And he plunged his hand busily into the side pocket +of his overcoat, but before the mocking, cynical watchfulness of +Mr Vladimir, concluded to leave it there.</p> + +<p>“Bah!” said that latter. “What do you +mean by getting out of condition like this? You +haven’t got even the physique of your profession. +You—a member of a starving proletariat—never! +You—a desperate socialist or anarchist—which is +it?”</p> + +<p>“Anarchist,” stated Mr Verloc in a deadened +tone.</p> + +<p>“Bosh!” went on Mr Vladimir, without raising his +voice. “You startled old Wurmt himself. You +wouldn’t deceive an idiot. They all are that +by-the-by, but you seem to me simply impossible. So you +began your connection with us by stealing the French gun +designs. And you got yourself caught. That must have +been very disagreeable to our Government. You don’t +seem to be very smart.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc tried to exculpate himself huskily.</p> + +<p>“As I’ve had occasion to observe before, a fatal +infatuation for an unworthy—”</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir raised a large white, plump hand. “Ah, +yes. The unlucky attachment—of your youth. She +got hold of the money, and then sold you to the +police—eh?”</p> + +<p>The doleful change in Mr Verloc’s physiognomy, the +momentary drooping of his whole person, confessed that such was +the regrettable case. Mr Vladimir’s hand clasped the +ankle reposing on his knee. The sock was of dark blue +silk.</p> + +<p>“You see, that was not very clever of you. Perhaps +you are too susceptible.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc intimated in a throaty, veiled murmur that he was no +longer young.</p> + +<p>“Oh! That’s a failing which age does not +cure,” Mr Vladimir remarked, with sinister +familiarity. “But no! You are too fat for +that. You could not have come to look like this if you had +been at all susceptible. I’ll tell you what I think +is the matter: you are a lazy fellow. How long have you +been drawing pay from this Embassy?”</p> + +<p>“Eleven years,” was the answer, after a moment of +sulky hesitation. “I’ve been charged with +several missions to London while His Excellency Baron +Stott-Wartenheim was still Ambassador in Paris. Then by his +Excellency’s instructions I settled down in London. I +am English.”</p> + +<p>“You are! Are you? Eh?”</p> + +<p>“A natural-born British subject,” Mr Verloc said +stolidly. “But my father was French, and +so—”</p> + +<p>“Never mind explaining,” interrupted the +other. “I daresay you could have been legally a +Marshal of France and a Member of Parliament in England—and +then, indeed, you would have been of some use to our +Embassy.”</p> + +<p>This flight of fancy provoked something like a faint smile on +Mr Verloc’s face. Mr Vladimir retained an +imperturbable gravity.</p> + +<p>“But, as I’ve said, you are a lazy fellow; you +don’t use your opportunities. In the time of Baron +Stott-Wartenheim we had a lot of soft-headed people running this +Embassy. They caused fellows of your sort to form a false +conception of the nature of a secret service fund. It is my +business to correct this misapprehension by telling you what the +secret service is not. It is not a philanthropic +institution. I’ve had you called here on purpose to +tell you this.”</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir observed the forced expression of bewilderment on +Verloc’s face, and smiled sarcastically.</p> + +<p>“I see that you understand me perfectly. I daresay +you are intelligent enough for your work. What we want now +is activity—activity.”</p> + +<p>On repeating this last word Mr Vladimir laid a long white +forefinger on the edge of the desk. Every trace of +huskiness disappeared from Verloc’s voice. The nape +of his gross neck became crimson above the velvet collar of his +overcoat. His lips quivered before they came widely +open.</p> + +<p>“If you’ll only be good enough to look up my +record,” he boomed out in his great, clear oratorical bass, +“you’ll see I gave a warning only three months ago, +on the occasion of the Grand Duke Romuald’s visit to Paris, +which was telegraphed from here to the French police, +and—”</p> + +<p>“Tut, tut!” broke out Mr Vladimir, with a frowning +grimace. “The French police had no use for your +warning. Don’t roar like this. What the devil +do you mean?”</p> + +<p>With a note of proud humility Mr Verloc apologised for +forgetting himself. His voice,—famous for years at +open-air meetings and at workmen’s assemblies in large +halls, had contributed, he said, to his reputation of a good and +trustworthy comrade. It was, therefore, a part of his +usefulness. It had inspired confidence in his +principles. “I was always put up to speak by the +leaders at a critical moment,” Mr Verloc declared, with +obvious satisfaction. There was no uproar above which he +could not make himself heard, he added; and suddenly he made a +demonstration.</p> + +<p>“Allow me,” he said. With lowered forehead, +without looking up, swiftly and ponderously he crossed the room +to one of the French windows. As if giving way to an +uncontrollable impulse, he opened it a little. Mr Vladimir, +jumping up amazed from the depths of the arm-chair, looked over +his shoulder; and below, across the courtyard of the Embassy, +well beyond the open gate, could be seen the broad back of a +policeman watching idly the gorgeous perambulator of a wealthy +baby being wheeled in state across the Square.</p> + +<p>“Constable!” said Mr Verloc, with no more effort +than if he were whispering; and Mr Vladimir burst into a laugh on +seeing the policeman spin round as if prodded by a sharp +instrument. Mr Verloc shut the window quietly, and returned +to the middle of the room.</p> + +<p>“With a voice like that,” he said, putting on the +husky conversational pedal, “I was naturally trusted. +And I knew what to say, too.”</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir, arranging his cravat, observed him in the glass +over the mantelpiece.</p> + +<p>“I daresay you have the social revolutionary jargon by +heart well enough,” he said contemptuously. +“Vox et. . . You haven’t ever studied +Latin—have you?”</p> + +<p>“No,” growled Mr Verloc. “You did not +expect me to know it. I belong to the million. Who +knows Latin? Only a few hundred imbeciles who aren’t +fit to take care of themselves.”</p> + +<p>For some thirty seconds longer Mr Vladimir studied in the +mirror the fleshy profile, the gross bulk, of the man behind +him. And at the same time he had the advantage of seeing +his own face, clean-shaved and round, rosy about the gills, and +with the thin sensitive lips formed exactly for the utterance of +those delicate witticisms which had made him such a favourite in +the very highest society. Then he turned, and advanced into +the room with such determination that the very ends of his +quaintly old-fashioned bow necktie seemed to bristle with +unspeakable menaces. The movement was so swift and fierce +that Mr Verloc, casting an oblique glance, quailed inwardly.</p> + +<p>“Aha! You dare be impudent,” Mr Vladimir +began, with an amazingly guttural intonation not only utterly +un-English, but absolutely un-European, and startling even to Mr +Verloc’s experience of cosmopolitan slums. “You +dare! Well, I am going to speak plain English to you. +Voice won’t do. We have no use for your voice. +We don’t want a voice. We want facts—startling +facts—damn you,” he added, with a sort of ferocious +discretion, right into Mr Verloc’s face.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you try to come over me with your +Hyperborean manners,” Mr Verloc defended himself huskily, +looking at the carpet. At this his interlocutor, smiling +mockingly above the bristling bow of his necktie, switched the +conversation into French.</p> + +<p>“You give yourself for an ‘agent +provocateur.’ The proper business of an ‘agent +provocateur’ is to provoke. As far as I can judge +from your record kept here, you have done nothing to earn your +money for the last three years.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing!” exclaimed Verloc, stirring not a limb, +and not raising his eyes, but with the note of sincere feeling in +his tone. “I have several times prevented what might +have been—”</p> + +<p>“There is a proverb in this country which says +prevention is better than cure,” interrupted Mr Vladimir, +throwing himself into the arm-chair. “It is stupid in +a general way. There is no end to prevention. But it +is characteristic. They dislike finality in this +country. Don’t you be too English. And in this +particular instance, don’t be absurd. The evil is +already here. We don’t want prevention—we want +cure.”</p> + +<p>He paused, turned to the desk, and turning over some papers +lying there, spoke in a changed business-like tone, without +looking at Mr Verloc.</p> + +<p>“You know, of course, of the International Conference +assembled in Milan?”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc intimated hoarsely that he was in the habit of +reading the daily papers. To a further question his answer +was that, of course, he understood what he read. At this Mr +Vladimir, smiling faintly at the documents he was still scanning +one after another, murmured “As long as it is not written +in Latin, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Or Chinese,” added Mr Verloc stolidly.</p> + +<p>“H’m. Some of your revolutionary +friends’ effusions are written in a <i>charabia</i> every +bit as incomprehensible as Chinese—” Mr +Vladimir let fall disdainfully a grey sheet of printed +matter. “What are all these leaflets headed F. P., +with a hammer, pen, and torch crossed? What does it mean, +this F. P.?” Mr Verloc approached the imposing +writing-table.</p> + +<p>“The Future of the Proletariat. It’s a +society,” he explained, standing ponderously by the side of +the arm-chair, “not anarchist in principle, but open to all +shades of revolutionary opinion.”</p> + +<p>“Are you in it?”</p> + +<p>“One of the Vice-Presidents,” Mr Verloc breathed +out heavily; and the First Secretary of the Embassy raised his +head to look at him.</p> + +<p>“Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself,” he +said incisively. “Isn’t your society capable of +anything else but printing this prophetic bosh in blunt type on +this filthy paper eh? Why don’t you do +something? Look here. I’ve this matter in hand +now, and I tell you plainly that you will have to earn your +money. The good old Stott-Wartenheim times are over. +No work, no pay.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc felt a queer sensation of faintness in his stout +legs. He stepped back one pace, and blew his nose +loudly.</p> + +<p>He was, in truth, startled and alarmed. The rusty London +sunshine struggling clear of the London mist shed a lukewarm +brightness into the First Secretary’s private room; and in +the silence Mr Verloc heard against a window-pane the faint +buzzing of a fly—his first fly of the year—heralding +better than any number of swallows the approach of spring. +The useless fussing of that tiny energetic organism affected +unpleasantly this big man threatened in his indolence.</p> + +<p>In the pause Mr Vladimir formulated in his mind a series of +disparaging remarks concerning Mr Verloc’s face and +figure. The fellow was unexpectedly vulgar, heavy, and +impudently unintelligent. He looked uncommonly like a +master plumber come to present his bill. The First +Secretary of the Embassy, from his occasional excursions into the +field of American humour, had formed a special notion of that +class of mechanic as the embodiment of fraudulent laziness and +incompetency.</p> + +<p>This was then the famous and trusty secret agent, so secret +that he was never designated otherwise but by the symbol [delta] +in the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim’s official, +semi-official, and confidential correspondence; the celebrated +agent [delta], whose warnings had the power to change the schemes +and the dates of royal, imperial, grand ducal journeys, and +sometimes caused them to be put off altogether! This +fellow! And Mr Vladimir indulged mentally in an enormous +and derisive fit of merriment, partly at his own astonishment, +which he judged naive, but mostly at the expense of the +universally regretted Baron Stott-Wartenheim. His late +Excellency, whom the august favour of his Imperial master had +imposed as Ambassador upon several reluctant Ministers of Foreign +Affairs, had enjoyed in his lifetime a fame for an owlish, +pessimistic gullibility. His Excellency had the social +revolution on the brain. He imagined himself to be a +diplomatist set apart by a special dispensation to watch the end +of diplomacy, and pretty nearly the end of the world, in a horrid +democratic upheaval. His prophetic and doleful despatches +had been for years the joke of Foreign Offices. He was said +to have exclaimed on his deathbed (visited by his Imperial friend +and master): “Unhappy Europe! Thou shalt perish by +the moral insanity of thy children!” He was fated to +be the victim of the first humbugging rascal that came along, +thought Mr Vladimir, smiling vaguely at Mr Verloc.</p> + +<p>“You ought to venerate the memory of Baron +Stott-Wartenheim,” he exclaimed suddenly.</p> + +<p>The lowered physiognomy of Mr Verloc expressed a sombre and +weary annoyance.</p> + +<p>“Permit me to observe to you,” he said, +“that I came here because I was summoned by a peremptory +letter. I have been here only twice before in the last +eleven years, and certainly never at eleven in the morning. +It isn’t very wise to call me up like this. There is +just a chance of being seen. And that would be no joke for +me.”</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“It would destroy my usefulness,” continued the +other hotly.</p> + +<p>“That’s your affair,” murmured Mr Vladimir, +with soft brutality. “When you cease to be useful you +shall cease to be employed. Yes. Right off. Cut +short. You shall—” Mr Vladimir, frowning, +paused, at a loss for a sufficiently idiomatic expression, and +instantly brightened up, with a grin of beautifully white +teeth. “You shall be chucked,” he brought out +ferociously.</p> + +<p>Once more Mr Verloc had to react with all the force of his +will against that sensation of faintness running down one’s +legs which once upon a time had inspired some poor devil with the +felicitous expression: “My heart went down into my +boots.” Mr Verloc, aware of the sensation, raised his +head bravely.</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir bore the look of heavy inquiry with perfect +serenity.</p> + +<p>“What we want is to administer a tonic to the Conference +in Milan,” he said airily. “Its deliberations +upon international action for the suppression of political crime +don’t seem to get anywhere. England lags. This +country is absurd with its sentimental regard for individual +liberty. It’s intolerable to think that all your +friends have got only to come over to—”</p> + +<p>“In that way I have them all under my eye,” Mr +Verloc interrupted huskily.</p> + +<p>“It would be much more to the point to have them all +under lock and key. England must be brought into +line. The imbecile bourgeoisie of this country make +themselves the accomplices of the very people whose aim is to +drive them out of their houses to starve in ditches. And +they have the political power still, if they only had the sense +to use it for their preservation. I suppose you agree that +the middle classes are stupid?”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc agreed hoarsely.</p> + +<p>“They are.”</p> + +<p>“They have no imagination. They are blinded by an +idiotic vanity. What they want just now is a jolly good +scare. This is the psychological moment to set your friends +to work. I have had you called here to develop to you my +idea.”</p> + +<p>And Mr Vladimir developed his idea from on high, with scorn +and condescension, displaying at the same time an amount of +ignorance as to the real aims, thoughts, and methods of the +revolutionary world which filled the silent Mr Verloc with inward +consternation. He confounded causes with effects more than +was excusable; the most distinguished propagandists with +impulsive bomb throwers; assumed organisation where in the nature +of things it could not exist; spoke of the social revolutionary +party one moment as of a perfectly disciplined army, where the +word of chiefs was supreme, and at another as if it had been the +loosest association of desperate brigands that ever camped in a +mountain gorge. Once Mr Verloc had opened his mouth for a +protest, but the raising of a shapely, large white hand arrested +him. Very soon he became too appalled to even try to +protest. He listened in a stillness of dread which +resembled the immobility of profound attention.</p> + +<p>“A series of outrages,” Mr Vladimir continued +calmly, “executed here in this country; not only +<i>planned</i> here—that would not do—they would not +mind. Your friends could set half the Continent on fire +without influencing the public opinion here in favour of a +universal repressive legislation. They will not look +outside their backyard here.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc cleared his throat, but his heart failed him, and he +said nothing.</p> + +<p>“These outrages need not be especially +sanguinary,” Mr Vladimir went on, as if delivering a +scientific lecture, “but they must be sufficiently +startling—effective. Let them be directed against +buildings, for instance. What is the fetish of the hour +that all the bourgeoisie recognise—eh, Mr +Verloc?”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc opened his hands and shrugged his shoulders +slightly.</p> + +<p>“You are too lazy to think,” was Mr +Vladimir’s comment upon that gesture. “Pay +attention to what I say. The fetish of to-day is neither +royalty nor religion. Therefore the palace and the church +should be left alone. You understand what I mean, Mr +Verloc?”</p> + +<p>The dismay and the scorn of Mr Verloc found vent in an attempt +at levity.</p> + +<p>“Perfectly. But what of the Embassies? A +series of attacks on the various Embassies,” he began; but +he could not withstand the cold, watchful stare of the First +Secretary.</p> + +<p>“You can be facetious, I see,” the latter observed +carelessly. “That’s all right. It may +enliven your oratory at socialistic congresses. But this +room is no place for it. It would be infinitely safer for +you to follow carefully what I am saying. As you are being +called upon to furnish facts instead of cock-and-bull stories, +you had better try to make your profit off what I am taking the +trouble to explain to you. The sacrosanct fetish of to-day +is science. Why don’t you get some of your friends to +go for that wooden-faced panjandrum—eh? Is it not +part of these institutions which must be swept away before the F. +P. comes along?”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc said nothing. He was afraid to open his lips +lest a groan should escape him.</p> + +<p>“This is what you should try for. An attempt upon +a crowned head or on a president is sensational enough in a way, +but not so much as it used to be. It has entered into the +general conception of the existence of all chiefs of state. +It’s almost conventional—especially since so many +presidents have been assassinated. Now let us take an +outrage upon—say a church. Horrible enough at first +sight, no doubt, and yet not so effective as a person of an +ordinary mind might think. No matter how revolutionary and +anarchist in inception, there would be fools enough to give such +an outrage the character of a religious manifestation. And +that would detract from the especial alarming significance we +wish to give to the act. A murderous attempt on a +restaurant or a theatre would suffer in the same way from the +suggestion of non-political passion: the exasperation of a hungry +man, an act of social revenge. All this is used up; it is +no longer instructive as an object lesson in revolutionary +anarchism. Every newspaper has ready-made phrases to +explain such manifestations away. I am about to give you +the philosophy of bomb throwing from my point of view; from the +point of view you pretend to have been serving for the last +eleven years. I will try not to talk above your head. +The sensibilities of the class you are attacking are soon +blunted. Property seems to them an indestructible +thing. You can’t count upon their emotions either of +pity or fear for very long. A bomb outrage to have any +influence on public opinion now must go beyond the intention of +vengeance or terrorism. It must be purely +destructive. It must be that, and only that, beyond the +faintest suspicion of any other object. You anarchists +should make it clear that you are perfectly determined to make a +clean sweep of the whole social creation. But how to get +that appallingly absurd notion into the heads of the middle +classes so that there should be no mistake? That’s +the question. By directing your blows at something outside +the ordinary passions of humanity is the answer. Of course, +there is art. A bomb in the National Gallery would make +some noise. But it would not be serious enough. Art +has never been their fetish. It’s like breaking a few +back windows in a man’s house; whereas, if you want to make +him really sit up, you must try at least to raise the roof. +There would be some screaming of course, but from whom? +Artists—art critics and such like—people of no +account. Nobody minds what they say. But there is +learning—science. Any imbecile that has got an income +believes in that. He does not know why, but he believes it +matters somehow. It is the sacrosanct fetish. All the +damned professors are radicals at heart. Let them know that +their great panjandrum has got to go too, to make room for the +Future of the Proletariat. A howl from all these +intellectual idiots is bound to help forward the labours of the +Milan Conference. They will be writing to the papers. +Their indignation would be above suspicion, no material interests +being openly at stake, and it will alarm every selfishness of the +class which should be impressed. They believe that in some +mysterious way science is at the source of their material +prosperity. They do. And the absurd ferocity of such +a demonstration will affect them more profoundly than the +mangling of a whole street—or theatre—full of their +own kind. To that last they can always say: ‘Oh! +it’s mere class hate.’ But what is one to say +to an act of destructive ferocity so absurd as to be +incomprehensible, inexplicable, almost unthinkable; in fact, +mad? Madness alone is truly terrifying, inasmuch as you +cannot placate it either by threats, persuasion, or bribes. +Moreover, I am a civilised man. I would never dream of +directing you to organise a mere butchery, even if I expected the +best results from it. But I wouldn’t expect from a +butchery the result I want. Murder is always with us. +It is almost an institution. The demonstration must be +against learning—science. But not every science will +do. The attack must have all the shocking senselessness of +gratuitous blasphemy. Since bombs are your means of +expression, it would be really telling if one could throw a bomb +into pure mathematics. But that is impossible. I have +been trying to educate you; I have expounded to you the higher +philosophy of your usefulness, and suggested to you some +serviceable arguments. The practical application of my +teaching interests <i>you</i> mostly. But from the moment I +have undertaken to interview you I have also given some attention +to the practical aspect of the question. What do you think +of having a go at astronomy?”</p> + +<p>For sometime already Mr Verloc’s immobility by the side +of the arm-chair resembled a state of collapsed coma—a sort +of passive insensibility interrupted by slight convulsive starts, +such as may be observed in the domestic dog having a nightmare on +the hearthrug. And it was in an uneasy doglike growl that +he repeated the word:</p> + +<p>“Astronomy.”</p> + +<p>He had not recovered thoroughly as yet from that state of +bewilderment brought about by the effort to follow Mr +Vladimir’s rapid incisive utterance. It had overcome +his power of assimilation. It had made him angry. +This anger was complicated by incredulity. And suddenly it +dawned upon him that all this was an elaborate joke. Mr +Vladimir exhibited his white teeth in a smile, with dimples on +his round, full face posed with a complacent inclination above +the bristling bow of his neck-tie. The favourite of +intelligent society women had assumed his drawing-room attitude +accompanying the delivery of delicate witticisms. Sitting +well forward, his white hand upraised, he seemed to hold +delicately between his thumb and forefinger the subtlety of his +suggestion.</p> + +<p>“There could be nothing better. Such an outrage +combines the greatest possible regard for humanity with the most +alarming display of ferocious imbecility. I defy the +ingenuity of journalists to persuade their public that any given +member of the proletariat can have a personal grievance against +astronomy. Starvation itself could hardly be dragged in +there—eh? And there are other advantages. The +whole civilised world has heard of Greenwich. The very +boot-blacks in the basement of Charing Cross Station know +something of it. See?”</p> + +<p>The features of Mr Vladimir, so well known in the best society +by their humorous urbanity, beamed with cynical +self-satisfaction, which would have astonished the intelligent +women his wit entertained so exquisitely. +“Yes,” he continued, with a contemptuous smile, +“the blowing up of the first meridian is bound to raise a +howl of execration.”</p> + +<p>“A difficult business,” Mr Verloc mumbled, feeling +that this was the only safe thing to say.</p> + +<p>“What is the matter? Haven’t you the whole +gang under your hand? The very pick of the basket? +That old terrorist Yundt is here. I see him walking about +Piccadilly in his green havelock almost every day. And +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle—you don’t mean +to say you don’t know where he is? Because if you +don’t, I can tell you,” Mr Vladimir went on +menacingly. “If you imagine that you are the only one +on the secret fund list, you are mistaken.”</p> + +<p>This perfectly gratuitous suggestion caused Mr Verloc to +shuffle his feet slightly.</p> + +<p>“And the whole Lausanne lot—eh? +Haven’t they been flocking over here at the first hint of +the Milan Conference? This is an absurd country.”</p> + +<p>“It will cost money,” Mr Verloc said, by a sort of +instinct.</p> + +<p>“That cock won’t fight,” Mr Vladimir +retorted, with an amazingly genuine English accent. +“You’ll get your screw every month, and no more till +something happens. And if nothing happens very soon you +won’t get even that. What’s your ostensible +occupation? What are you supposed to live by?”</p> + +<p>“I keep a shop,” answered Mr Verloc.</p> + +<p>“A shop! What sort of shop?”</p> + +<p>“Stationery, newspapers. My wife—”</p> + +<p>“Your what?” interrupted Mr Vladimir in his +guttural Central Asian tones.</p> + +<p>“My wife.” Mr Verloc raised his husky voice +slightly. “I am married.”</p> + +<p>“That be damned for a yarn,” exclaimed the other +in unfeigned astonishment. “Married! And you a +professed anarchist, too! What is this confounded +nonsense? But I suppose it’s merely a manner of +speaking. Anarchists don’t marry. It’s +well known. They can’t. It would be +apostasy.”</p> + +<p>“My wife isn’t one,” Mr Verloc mumbled +sulkily. “Moreover, it’s no concern of +yours.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, it is,” snapped Mr Vladimir. +“I am beginning to be convinced that you are not at all the +man for the work you’ve been employed on. Why, you +must have discredited yourself completely in your own world by +your marriage. Couldn’t you have managed +without? This is your virtuous attachment—eh? +What with one sort of attachment and another you are doing away +with your usefulness.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, puffing out his cheeks, let the air escape +violently, and that was all. He had armed himself with +patience. It was not to be tried much longer. The +First Secretary became suddenly very curt, detached, final.</p> + +<p>“You may go now,” he said. “A dynamite +outrage must be provoked. I give you a month. The +sittings of the Conference are suspended. Before it +reassembles again something must have happened here, or your +connection with us ceases.”</p> + +<p>He changed the note once more with an unprincipled +versatility.</p> + +<p>“Think over my philosophy, +Mr—Mr—Verloc,” he said, with a sort of chaffing +condescension, waving his hand towards the door. “Go +for the first meridian. You don’t know the middle +classes as well as I do. Their sensibilities are +jaded. The first meridian. Nothing better, and +nothing easier, I should think.”</p> + +<p>He had got up, and with his thin sensitive lips twitching +humorously, watched in the glass over the mantelpiece Mr Verloc +backing out of the room heavily, hat and stick in hand. The +door closed.</p> + +<p>The footman in trousers, appearing suddenly in the corridor, +let Mr Verloc another way out and through a small door in the +corner of the courtyard. The porter standing at the gate +ignored his exit completely; and Mr Verloc retraced the path of +his morning’s pilgrimage as if in a dream—an angry +dream. This detachment from the material world was so +complete that, though the mortal envelope of Mr Verloc had not +hastened unduly along the streets, that part of him to which it +would be unwarrantably rude to refuse immortality, found itself +at the shop door all at once, as if borne from west to east on +the wings of a great wind. He walked straight behind the +counter, and sat down on a wooden chair that stood there. +No one appeared to disturb his solitude. Stevie, put into a +green baize apron, was now sweeping and dusting upstairs, intent +and conscientious, as though he were playing at it; and Mrs +Verloc, warned in the kitchen by the clatter of the cracked bell, +had merely come to the glazed door of the parlour, and putting +the curtain aside a little, had peered into the dim shop. +Seeing her husband sitting there shadowy and bulky, with his hat +tilted far back on his head, she had at once returned to her +stove. An hour or more later she took the green baize apron +off her brother Stevie, and instructed him to wash his hands and +face in the peremptory tone she had used in that connection for +fifteen years or so—ever since she had, in fact, ceased to +attend to the boy’s hands and face herself. She +spared presently a glance away from her dishing-up for the +inspection of that face and those hands which Stevie, approaching +the kitchen table, offered for her approval with an air of +self-assurance hiding a perpetual residue of anxiety. +Formerly the anger of the father was the supremely effective +sanction of these rites, but Mr Verloc’s placidity in +domestic life would have made all mention of anger incredible +even to poor Stevie’s nervousness. The theory was +that Mr Verloc would have been inexpressibly pained and shocked +by any deficiency of cleanliness at meal times. Winnie +after the death of her father found considerable consolation in +the feeling that she need no longer tremble for poor +Stevie. She could not bear to see the boy hurt. It +maddened her. As a little girl she had often faced with +blazing eyes the irascible licensed victualler in defence of her +brother. Nothing now in Mrs Verloc’s appearance could +lead one to suppose that she was capable of a passionate +demonstration.</p> + +<p>She finished her dishing-up. The table was laid in the +parlour. Going to the foot of the stairs, she screamed out +“Mother!” Then opening the glazed door leading +to the shop, she said quietly “Adolf!” Mr +Verloc had not changed his position; he had not apparently +stirred a limb for an hour and a half. He got up heavily, +and came to his dinner in his overcoat and with his hat on, +without uttering a word. His silence in itself had nothing +startlingly unusual in this household, hidden in the shades of +the sordid street seldom touched by the sun, behind the dim shop +with its wares of disreputable rubbish. Only that day Mr +Verloc’s taciturnity was so obviously thoughtful that the +two women were impressed by it. They sat silent themselves, +keeping a watchful eye on poor Stevie, lest he should break out +into one of his fits of loquacity. He faced Mr Verloc +across the table, and remained very good and quiet, staring +vacantly. The endeavour to keep him from making himself +objectionable in any way to the master of the house put no +inconsiderable anxiety into these two women’s lives. +“That boy,” as they alluded to him softly between +themselves, had been a source of that sort of anxiety almost from +the very day of his birth. The late licensed +victualler’s humiliation at having such a very peculiar boy +for a son manifested itself by a propensity to brutal treatment; +for he was a person of fine sensibilities, and his sufferings as +a man and a father were perfectly genuine. Afterwards +Stevie had to be kept from making himself a nuisance to the +single gentlemen lodgers, who are themselves a queer lot, and are +easily aggrieved. And there was always the anxiety of his +mere existence to face. Visions of a workhouse infirmary +for her child had haunted the old woman in the basement +breakfast-room of the decayed Belgravian house. “If +you had not found such a good husband, my dear,” she used +to say to her daughter, “I don’t know what would have +become of that poor boy.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc extended as much recognition to Stevie as a man not +particularly fond of animals may give to his wife’s beloved +cat; and this recognition, benevolent and perfunctory, was +essentially of the same quality. Both women admitted to +themselves that not much more could be reasonably expected. +It was enough to earn for Mr Verloc the old woman’s +reverential gratitude. In the early days, made sceptical by +the trials of friendless life, she used sometimes to ask +anxiously: “You don’t think, my dear, that Mr Verloc +is getting tired of seeing Stevie about?” To this +Winnie replied habitually by a slight toss of her head. +Once, however, she retorted, with a rather grim pertness: +“He’ll have to get tired of me first.” A +long silence ensued. The mother, with her feet propped up +on a stool, seemed to be trying to get to the bottom of that +answer, whose feminine profundity had struck her all of a +heap. She had never really understood why Winnie had +married Mr Verloc. It was very sensible of her, and +evidently had turned out for the best, but her girl might have +naturally hoped to find somebody of a more suitable age. +There had been a steady young fellow, only son of a butcher in +the next street, helping his father in business, with whom Winnie +had been walking out with obvious gusto. He was dependent +on his father, it is true; but the business was good, and his +prospects excellent. He took her girl to the theatre on +several evenings. Then just as she began to dread to hear +of their engagement (for what could she have done with that big +house alone, with Stevie on her hands), that romance came to an +abrupt end, and Winnie went about looking very dull. But Mr +Verloc, turning up providentially to occupy the first-floor front +bedroom, there had been no more question of the young +butcher. It was clearly providential.</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<p>“ . . . All idealisation makes life poorer. To +beautify it is to take away its character of complexity—it +is to destroy it. Leave that to the moralists, my +boy. History is made by men, but they do not make it in +their heads. The ideas that are born in their consciousness +play an insignificant part in the march of events. History +is dominated and determined by the tool and the +production—by the force of economic conditions. +Capitalism has made socialism, and the laws made by the +capitalism for the protection of property are responsible for +anarchism. No one can tell what form the social +organisation may take in the future. Then why indulge in +prophetic phantasies? At best they can only interpret the +mind of the prophet, and can have no objective value. Leave +that pastime to the moralists, my boy.”</p> + +<p>Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, was speaking in an +even voice, a voice that wheezed as if deadened and oppressed by +the layer of fat on his chest. He had come out of a highly +hygienic prison round like a tub, with an enormous stomach and +distended cheeks of a pale, semi-transparent complexion, as +though for fifteen years the servants of an outraged society had +made a point of stuffing him with fattening foods in a damp and +lightless cellar. And ever since he had never managed to +get his weight down as much as an ounce.</p> + +<p>It was said that for three seasons running a very wealthy old +lady had sent him for a cure to Marienbad—where he was +about to share the public curiosity once with a crowned +head—but the police on that occasion ordered him to leave +within twelve hours. His martyrdom was continued by +forbidding him all access to the healing waters. But he was +resigned now.</p> + +<p>With his elbow presenting no appearance of a joint, but more +like a bend in a dummy’s limb, thrown over the back of a +chair, he leaned forward slightly over his short and enormous +thighs to spit into the grate.</p> + +<p>“Yes! I had the time to think things out a +little,” he added without emphasis. “Society +has given me plenty of time for meditation.”</p> + +<p>On the other side of the fireplace, in the horse-hair +arm-chair where Mrs Verloc’s mother was generally +privileged to sit, Karl Yundt giggled grimly, with a faint black +grimace of a toothless mouth. The terrorist, as he called +himself, was old and bald, with a narrow, snow-white wisp of a +goatee hanging limply from his chin. An extraordinary +expression of underhand malevolence survived in his extinguished +eyes. When he rose painfully the thrusting forward of a +skinny groping hand deformed by gouty swellings suggested the +effort of a moribund murderer summoning all his remaining +strength for a last stab. He leaned on a thick stick, which +trembled under his other hand.</p> + +<p>“I have always dreamed,” he mouthed fiercely, +“of a band of men absolute in their resolve to discard all +scruples in the choice of means, strong enough to give themselves +frankly the name of destroyers, and free from the taint of that +resigned pessimism which rots the world. No pity for +anything on earth, including themselves, and death enlisted for +good and all in the service of humanity—that’s what I +would have liked to see.”</p> + +<p>His little bald head quivered, imparting a comical vibration +to the wisp of white goatee. His enunciation would have +been almost totally unintelligible to a stranger. His +worn-out passion, resembling in its impotent fierceness the +excitement of a senile sensualist, was badly served by a dried +throat and toothless gums which seemed to catch the tip of his +tongue. Mr Verloc, established in the corner of the sofa at +the other end of the room, emitted two hearty grunts of +assent.</p> + +<p>The old terrorist turned slowly his head on his skinny neck +from side to side.</p> + +<p>“And I could never get as many as three such men +together. So much for your rotten pessimism,” he +snarled at Michaelis, who uncrossed his thick legs, similar to +bolsters, and slid his feet abruptly under his chair in sign of +exasperation.</p> + +<p>He a pessimist! Preposterous! He cried out that +the charge was outrageous. He was so far from pessimism +that he saw already the end of all private property coming along +logically, unavoidably, by the mere development of its inherent +viciousness. The possessors of property had not only to +face the awakened proletariat, but they had also to fight amongst +themselves. Yes. Struggle, warfare, was the condition +of private ownership. It was fatal. Ah! he did not +depend upon emotional excitement to keep up his belief, no +declamations, no anger, no visions of blood-red flags waving, or +metaphorical lurid suns of vengeance rising above the horizon of +a doomed society. Not he! Cold reason, he boasted, +was the basis of his optimism. Yes, optimism—</p> + +<p>His laborious wheezing stopped, then, after a gasp or two, he +added:</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think that, if I had not been the +optimist I am, I could not have found in fifteen years some means +to cut my throat? And, in the last instance, there were +always the walls of my cell to dash my head against.”</p> + +<p>The shortness of breath took all fire, all animation out of +his voice; his great, pale cheeks hung like filled pouches, +motionless, without a quiver; but in his blue eyes, narrowed as +if peering, there was the same look of confident shrewdness, a +little crazy in its fixity, they must have had while the +indomitable optimist sat thinking at night in his cell. +Before him, Karl Yundt remained standing, one wing of his faded +greenish havelock thrown back cavalierly over his shoulder. +Seated in front of the fireplace, Comrade Ossipon, ex-medical +student, the principal writer of the F. P. leaflets, stretched +out his robust legs, keeping the soles of his boots turned up to +the glow in the grate. A bush of crinkly yellow hair topped +his red, freckled face, with a flattened nose and prominent mouth +cast in the rough mould of the negro type. His +almond-shaped eyes leered languidly over the high +cheek-bones. He wore a grey flannel shirt, the loose ends +of a black silk tie hung down the buttoned breast of his serge +coat; and his head resting on the back of his chair, his throat +largely exposed, he raised to his lips a cigarette in a long +wooden tube, puffing jets of smoke straight up at the +ceiling.</p> + +<p>Michaelis pursued his idea—<i>the</i> idea of his +solitary reclusion—the thought vouchsafed to his captivity +and growing like a faith revealed in visions. He talked to +himself, indifferent to the sympathy or hostility of his hearers, +indifferent indeed to their presence, from the habit he had +acquired of thinking aloud hopefully in the solitude of the four +whitewashed walls of his cell, in the sepulchral silence of the +great blind pile of bricks near a river, sinister and ugly like a +colossal mortuary for the socially drowned.</p> + +<p>He was no good in discussion, not because any amount of +argument could shake his faith, but because the mere fact of +hearing another voice disconcerted him painfully, confusing his +thoughts at once—these thoughts that for so many years, in +a mental solitude more barren than a waterless desert, no living +voice had ever combatted, commented, or approved.</p> + +<p>No one interrupted him now, and he made again the confession +of his faith, mastering him irresistible and complete like an act +of grace: the secret of fate discovered in the material side of +life; the economic condition of the world responsible for the +past and shaping the future; the source of all history, of all +ideas, guiding the mental development of mankind and the very +impulses of their passion—</p> + +<p>A harsh laugh from Comrade Ossipon cut the tirade dead short +in a sudden faltering of the tongue and a bewildered unsteadiness +of the apostle’s mildly exalted eyes. He closed them +slowly for a moment, as if to collect his routed thoughts. +A silence fell; but what with the two gas-jets over the table and +the glowing grate the little parlour behind Mr Verloc’s +shop had become frightfully hot. Mr Verloc, getting off the +sofa with ponderous reluctance, opened the door leading into the +kitchen to get more air, and thus disclosed the innocent Stevie, +seated very good and quiet at a deal table, drawing circles, +circles, circles; innumerable circles, concentric, eccentric; a +coruscating whirl of circles that by their tangled multitude of +repeated curves, uniformity of form, and confusion of +intersecting lines suggested a rendering of cosmic chaos, the +symbolism of a mad art attempting the inconceivable. The +artist never turned his head; and in all his soul’s +application to the task his back quivered, his thin neck, sunk +into a deep hollow at the base of the skull, seemed ready to +snap.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, after a grunt of disapproving surprise, returned to +the sofa. Alexander Ossipon got up, tall in his threadbare +blue serge suit under the low ceiling, shook off the stiffness of +long immobility, and strolled away into the kitchen (down two +steps) to look over Stevie’s shoulder. He came back, +pronouncing oracularly: “Very good. Very +characteristic, perfectly typical.”</p> + +<p>“What’s very good?” grunted inquiringly Mr +Verloc, settled again in the corner of the sofa. The other +explained his meaning negligently, with a shade of condescension +and a toss of his head towards the kitchen:</p> + +<p>“Typical of this form of degeneracy—these +drawings, I mean.”</p> + +<p>“You would call that lad a degenerate, would you?” +mumbled Mr Verloc.</p> + +<p>Comrade Alexander Ossipon—nicknamed the Doctor, +ex-medical student without a degree; afterwards wandering +lecturer to working-men’s associations upon the socialistic +aspects of hygiene; author of a popular quasi-medical study (in +the form of a cheap pamphlet seized promptly by the police) +entitled “The Corroding Vices of the Middle Classes”; +special delegate of the more or less mysterious Red Committee, +together with Karl Yundt and Michaelis for the work of literary +propaganda—turned upon the obscure familiar of at least two +Embassies that glance of insufferable, hopelessly dense +sufficiency which nothing but the frequentation of science can +give to the dulness of common mortals.</p> + +<p>“That’s what he may be called +scientifically. Very good type too, altogether, of that +sort of degenerate. It’s enough to glance at the +lobes of his ears. If you read Lombroso—”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, moody and spread largely on the sofa, continued to +look down the row of his waistcoat buttons; but his cheeks became +tinged by a faint blush. Of late even the merest derivative +of the word science (a term in itself inoffensive and of +indefinite meaning) had the curious power of evoking a definitely +offensive mental vision of Mr Vladimir, in his body as he lived, +with an almost supernatural clearness. And this phenomenon, +deserving justly to be classed amongst the marvels of science, +induced in Mr Verloc an emotional state of dread and exasperation +tending to express itself in violent swearing. But he said +nothing. It was Karl Yundt who was heard, implacable to his +last breath.</p> + +<p>“Lombroso is an ass.”</p> + +<p>Comrade Ossipon met the shock of this blasphemy by an awful, +vacant stare. And the other, his extinguished eyes without +gleams blackening the deep shadows under the great, bony +forehead, mumbled, catching the tip of his tongue between his +lips at every second word as though he were chewing it +angrily:</p> + +<p>“Did you ever see such an idiot? For him the +criminal is the prisoner. Simple, is it not? What +about those who shut him up there—forced him in +there? Exactly. Forced him in there. And what +is crime? Does he know that, this imbecile who has made his +way in this world of gorged fools by looking at the ears and +teeth of a lot of poor, luckless devils? Teeth and ears +mark the criminal? Do they? And what about the law +that marks him still better—the pretty branding instrument +invented by the overfed to protect themselves against the +hungry? Red-hot applications on their vile +skins—hey? Can’t you smell and hear from here +the thick hide of the people burn and sizzle? That’s +how criminals are made for your Lombrosos to write their silly +stuff about.”</p> + +<p>The knob of his stick and his legs shook together with +passion, whilst the trunk, draped in the wings of the havelock, +preserved his historic attitude of defiance. He seemed to +sniff the tainted air of social cruelty, to strain his ear for +its atrocious sounds. There was an extraordinary force of +suggestion in this posturing. The all but moribund veteran +of dynamite wars had been a great actor in his time—actor +on platforms, in secret assemblies, in private interviews. +The famous terrorist had never in his life raised personally as +much as his little finger against the social edifice. He +was no man of action; he was not even an orator of torrential +eloquence, sweeping the masses along in the rushing noise and +foam of a great enthusiasm. With a more subtle intention, +he took the part of an insolent and venomous evoker of sinister +impulses which lurk in the blind envy and exasperated vanity of +ignorance, in the suffering and misery of poverty, in all the +hopeful and noble illusions of righteous anger, pity, and +revolt. The shadow of his evil gift clung to him yet like +the smell of a deadly drug in an old vial of poison, emptied now, +useless, ready to be thrown away upon the rubbish-heap of things +that had served their time.</p> + +<p>Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, smiled vaguely with +his glued lips; his pasty moon face drooped under the weight of +melancholy assent. He had been a prisoner himself. +His own skin had sizzled under the red-hot brand, he murmured +softly. But Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, had got +over the shock by that time.</p> + +<p>“You don’t understand,” he began +disdainfully, but stopped short, intimidated by the dead +blackness of the cavernous eyes in the face turned slowly towards +him with a blind stare, as if guided only by the sound. He +gave the discussion up, with a slight shrug of the shoulders.</p> + +<p>Stevie, accustomed to move about disregarded, had got up from +the kitchen table, carrying off his drawing to bed with +him. He had reached the parlour door in time to receive in +full the shock of Karl Yundt’s eloquent imagery. The +sheet of paper covered with circles dropped out of his fingers, +and he remained staring at the old terrorist, as if rooted +suddenly to the spot by his morbid horror and dread of physical +pain. Stevie knew very well that hot iron applied to +one’s skin hurt very much. His scared eyes blazed +with indignation: it would hurt terribly. His mouth dropped +open.</p> + +<p>Michaelis by staring unwinkingly at the fire had regained that +sentiment of isolation necessary for the continuity of his +thought. His optimism had begun to flow from his +lips. He saw Capitalism doomed in its cradle, born with the +poison of the principle of competition in its system. The +great capitalists devouring the little capitalists, concentrating +the power and the tools of production in great masses, perfecting +industrial processes, and in the madness of self-aggrandisement +only preparing, organising, enriching, making ready the lawful +inheritance of the suffering proletariat. Michaelis +pronounced the great word “Patience”—and his +clear blue glance, raised to the low ceiling of Mr Verloc’s +parlour, had a character of seraphic trustfulness. In the +doorway Stevie, calmed, seemed sunk in hebetude.</p> + +<p>Comrade Ossipon’s face twitched with exasperation.</p> + +<p>“Then it’s no use doing anything—no use +whatever.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t say that,” protested Michaelis +gently. His vision of truth had grown so intense that the +sound of a strange voice failed to rout it this time. He +continued to look down at the red coals. Preparation for +the future was necessary, and he was willing to admit that the +great change would perhaps come in the upheaval of a +revolution. But he argued that revolutionary propaganda was +a delicate work of high conscience. It was the education of +the masters of the world. It should be as careful as the +education given to kings. He would have it advance its +tenets cautiously, even timidly, in our ignorance of the effect +that may be produced by any given economic change upon the +happiness, the morals, the intellect, the history of +mankind. For history is made with tools, not with ideas; +and everything is changed by economic conditions—art, +philosophy, love, virtue—truth itself!</p> + +<p>The coals in the grate settled down with a slight crash; and +Michaelis, the hermit of visions in the desert of a penitentiary, +got up impetuously. Round like a distended balloon, he +opened his short, thick arms, as if in a pathetically hopeless +attempt to embrace and hug to his breast a self-regenerated +universe. He gasped with ardour.</p> + +<p>“The future is as certain as the past—slavery, +feudalism, individualism, collectivism. This is the +statement of a law, not an empty prophecy.”</p> + +<p>The disdainful pout of Comrade Ossipon’s thick lips +accentuated the negro type of his face.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense,” he said calmly enough. +“There is no law and no certainty. The teaching +propaganda be hanged. What the people knows does not +matter, were its knowledge ever so accurate. The only thing +that matters to us is the emotional state of the masses. +Without emotion there is no action.”</p> + +<p>He paused, then added with modest firmness:</p> + +<p>“I am speaking now to you +scientifically—scientifically—Eh? What did you +say, Verloc?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” growled from the sofa Mr Verloc, who, +provoked by the abhorrent sound, had merely muttered a +“Damn.”</p> + +<p>The venomous spluttering of the old terrorist without teeth +was heard.</p> + +<p>“Do you know how I would call the nature of the present +economic conditions? I would call it cannibalistic. +That’s what it is! They are nourishing their greed on +the quivering flesh and the warm blood of the +people—nothing else.”</p> + +<p>Stevie swallowed the terrifying statement with an audible +gulp, and at once, as though it had been swift poison, sank +limply in a sitting posture on the steps of the kitchen door.</p> + +<p>Michaelis gave no sign of having heard anything. His +lips seemed glued together for good; not a quiver passed over his +heavy cheeks. With troubled eyes he looked for his round, +hard hat, and put it on his round head. His round and obese +body seemed to float low between the chairs under the sharp elbow +of Karl Yundt. The old terrorist, raising an uncertain and +clawlike hand, gave a swaggering tilt to a black felt sombrero +shading the hollows and ridges of his wasted face. He got +in motion slowly, striking the floor with his stick at every +step. It was rather an affair to get him out of the house +because, now and then, he would stop, as if to think, and did not +offer to move again till impelled forward by Michaelis. The +gentle apostle grasped his arm with brotherly care; and behind +them, his hands in his pockets, the robust Ossipon yawned +vaguely. A blue cap with a patent leather peak set well at +the back of his yellow bush of hair gave him the aspect of a +Norwegian sailor bored with the world after a thundering +spree. Mr Verloc saw his guests off the premises, attending +them bareheaded, his heavy overcoat hanging open, his eyes on the +ground.</p> + +<p>He closed the door behind their backs with restrained +violence, turned the key, shot the bolt. He was not +satisfied with his friends. In the light of Mr +Vladimir’s philosophy of bomb throwing they appeared +hopelessly futile. The part of Mr Verloc in revolutionary +politics having been to observe, he could not all at once, either +in his own home or in larger assemblies, take the initiative of +action. He had to be cautious. Moved by the just +indignation of a man well over forty, menaced in what is dearest +to him—his repose and his security—he asked himself +scornfully what else could have been expected from such a lot, +this Karl Yundt, this Michaelis—this Ossipon.</p> + +<p>Pausing in his intention to turn off the gas burning in the +middle of the shop, Mr Verloc descended into the abyss of moral +reflections. With the insight of a kindred temperament he +pronounced his verdict. A lazy lot—this Karl Yundt, +nursed by a blear-eyed old woman, a woman he had years ago +enticed away from a friend, and afterwards had tried more than +once to shake off into the gutter. Jolly lucky for Yundt +that she had persisted in coming up time after time, or else +there would have been no one now to help him out of the +’bus by the Green Park railings, where that spectre took +its constitutional crawl every fine morning. When that +indomitable snarling old witch died the swaggering spectre would +have to vanish too—there would be an end to fiery Karl +Yundt. And Mr Verloc’s morality was offended also by +the optimism of Michaelis, annexed by his wealthy old lady, who +had taken lately to sending him to a cottage she had in the +country. The ex-prisoner could moon about the shady lanes +for days together in a delicious and humanitarian idleness. +As to Ossipon, that beggar was sure to want for nothing as long +as there were silly girls with savings-bank books in the +world. And Mr Verloc, temperamentally identical with his +associates, drew fine distinctions in his mind on the strength of +insignificant differences. He drew them with a certain +complacency, because the instinct of conventional respectability +was strong within him, being only overcome by his dislike of all +kinds of recognised labour—a temperamental defect which he +shared with a large proportion of revolutionary reformers of a +given social state. For obviously one does not revolt +against the advantages and opportunities of that state, but +against the price which must be paid for the same in the coin of +accepted morality, self-restraint, and toil. The majority +of revolutionists are the enemies of discipline and fatigue +mostly. There are natures too, to whose sense of justice +the price exacted looms up monstrously enormous, odious, +oppressive, worrying, humiliating, extortionate, +intolerable. Those are the fanatics. The remaining +portion of social rebels is accounted for by vanity, the mother +of all noble and vile illusions, the companion of poets, +reformers, charlatans, prophets, and incendiaries.</p> + +<p>Lost for a whole minute in the abyss of meditation, Mr Verloc +did not reach the depth of these abstract considerations. +Perhaps he was not able. In any case he had not the +time. He was pulled up painfully by the sudden recollection +of Mr Vladimir, another of his associates, whom in virtue of +subtle moral affinities he was capable of judging +correctly. He considered him as dangerous. A shade of +envy crept into his thoughts. Loafing was all very well for +these fellows, who knew not Mr Vladimir, and had women to fall +back upon; whereas he had a woman to provide for—</p> + +<p>At this point, by a simple association of ideas, Mr Verloc was +brought face to face with the necessity of going to bed some time +or other that evening. Then why not go now—at +once? He sighed. The necessity was not so normally +pleasurable as it ought to have been for a man of his age and +temperament. He dreaded the demon of sleeplessness, which +he felt had marked him for its own. He raised his arm, and +turned off the flaring gas-jet above his head.</p> + +<p>A bright band of light fell through the parlour door into the +part of the shop behind the counter. It enabled Mr Verloc +to ascertain at a glance the number of silver coins in the +till. These were but few; and for the first time since he +opened his shop he took a commercial survey of its value. +This survey was unfavourable. He had gone into trade for no +commercial reasons. He had been guided in the selection of +this peculiar line of business by an instinctive leaning towards +shady transactions, where money is picked up easily. +Moreover, it did not take him out of his own sphere—the +sphere which is watched by the police. On the contrary, it +gave him a publicly confessed standing in that sphere, and as Mr +Verloc had unconfessed relations which made him familiar with yet +careless of the police, there was a distinct advantage in such a +situation. But as a means of livelihood it was by itself +insufficient.</p> + +<p>He took the cash-box out of the drawer, and turning to leave +the shop, became aware that Stevie was still downstairs.</p> + +<p>What on earth is he doing there? Mr Verloc asked +himself. What’s the meaning of these antics? He +looked dubiously at his brother-in-law, but he did not ask him +for information. Mr Verloc’s intercourse with Stevie +was limited to the casual mutter of a morning, after breakfast, +“My boots,” and even that was more a communication at +large of a need than a direct order or request. Mr Verloc +perceived with some surprise that he did not know really what to +say to Stevie. He stood still in the middle of the parlour, +and looked into the kitchen in silence. Nor yet did he know +what would happen if he did say anything. And this appeared +very queer to Mr Verloc in view of the fact, borne upon him +suddenly, that he had to provide for this fellow too. He +had never given a moment’s thought till then to that aspect +of Stevie’s existence.</p> + +<p>Positively he did not know how to speak to the lad. He +watched him gesticulating and murmuring in the kitchen. +Stevie prowled round the table like an excited animal in a +cage. A tentative “Hadn’t you better go to bed +now?” produced no effect whatever; and Mr Verloc, +abandoning the stony contemplation of his brother-in-law’s +behaviour, crossed the parlour wearily, cash-box in hand. +The cause of the general lassitude he felt while climbing the +stairs being purely mental, he became alarmed by its inexplicable +character. He hoped he was not sickening for +anything. He stopped on the dark landing to examine his +sensations. But a slight and continuous sound of snoring +pervading the obscurity interfered with their clearness. +The sound came from his mother-in-law’s room. Another +one to provide for, he thought—and on this thought walked +into the bedroom.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc had fallen asleep with the lamp (no gas was laid +upstairs) turned up full on the table by the side of the +bed. The light thrown down by the shade fell dazzlingly on +the white pillow sunk by the weight of her head reposing with +closed eyes and dark hair done up in several plaits for the +night. She woke up with the sound of her name in her ears, +and saw her husband standing over her.</p> + +<p>“Winnie! Winnie!”</p> + +<p>At first she did not stir, lying very quiet and looking at the +cash-box in Mr Verloc’s hand. But when she understood +that her brother was “capering all over the place +downstairs” she swung out in one sudden movement on to the +edge of the bed. Her bare feet, as if poked through the +bottom of an unadorned, sleeved calico sack buttoned tightly at +neck and wrists, felt over the rug for the slippers while she +looked upward into her husband’s face.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how to manage him,” Mr Verloc +explained peevishly. “Won’t do to leave him +downstairs alone with the lights.”</p> + +<p>She said nothing, glided across the room swiftly, and the door +closed upon her white form.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc deposited the cash-box on the night table, and began +the operation of undressing by flinging his overcoat on to a +distant chair. His coat and waistcoat followed. He +walked about the room in his stockinged feet, and his burly +figure, with the hands worrying nervously at his throat, passed +and repassed across the long strip of looking-glass in the door +of his wife’s wardrobe. Then after slipping his +braces off his shoulders he pulled up violently the venetian +blind, and leaned his forehead against the cold +window-pane—a fragile film of glass stretched between him +and the enormity of cold, black, wet, muddy, inhospitable +accumulation of bricks, slates, and stones, things in themselves +unlovely and unfriendly to man.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc felt the latent unfriendliness of all out of doors +with a force approaching to positive bodily anguish. There +is no occupation that fails a man more completely than that of a +secret agent of police. It’s like your horse suddenly +falling dead under you in the midst of an uninhabited and thirsty +plain. The comparison occurred to Mr Verloc because he had +sat astride various army horses in his time, and had now the +sensation of an incipient fall. The prospect was as black +as the window-pane against which he was leaning his +forehead. And suddenly the face of Mr Vladimir, +clean-shaved and witty, appeared enhaloed in the glow of its rosy +complexion like a sort of pink seal, impressed on the fatal +darkness.</p> + +<p>This luminous and mutilated vision was so ghastly physically +that Mr Verloc started away from the window, letting down the +venetian blind with a great rattle. Discomposed and +speechless with the apprehension of more such visions, he beheld +his wife re-enter the room and get into bed in a calm +business-like manner which made him feel hopelessly lonely in the +world. Mrs Verloc expressed her surprise at seeing him up +yet.</p> + +<p>“I don’t feel very well,” he muttered, +passing his hands over his moist brow.</p> + +<p>“Giddiness?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Not at all well.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc, with all the placidity of an experienced wife, +expressed a confident opinion as to the cause, and suggested the +usual remedies; but her husband, rooted in the middle of the +room, shook his lowered head sadly.</p> + +<p>“You’ll catch cold standing there,” she +observed.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc made an effort, finished undressing, and got into +bed. Down below in the quiet, narrow street measured +footsteps approached the house, then died away unhurried and +firm, as if the passer-by had started to pace out all eternity, +from gas-lamp to gas-lamp in a night without end; and the drowsy +ticking of the old clock on the landing became distinctly audible +in the bedroom.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc, on her back, and staring at the ceiling, made a +remark.</p> + +<p>“Takings very small to-day.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, in the same position, cleared his throat as if for +an important statement, but merely inquired:</p> + +<p>“Did you turn off the gas downstairs?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I did,” answered Mrs Verloc +conscientiously. “That poor boy is in a very excited +state to-night,” she murmured, after a pause which lasted +for three ticks of the clock.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc cared nothing for Stevie’s excitement, but he +felt horribly wakeful, and dreaded facing the darkness and +silence that would follow the extinguishing of the lamp. +This dread led him to make the remark that Stevie had disregarded +his suggestion to go to bed. Mrs Verloc, falling into the +trap, started to demonstrate at length to her husband that this +was not “impudence” of any sort, but simply +“excitement.” There was no young man of his age +in London more willing and docile than Stephen, she affirmed; +none more affectionate and ready to please, and even useful, as +long as people did not upset his poor head. Mrs Verloc, +turning towards her recumbent husband, raised herself on her +elbow, and hung over him in her anxiety that he should believe +Stevie to be a useful member of the family. That ardour of +protecting compassion exalted morbidly in her childhood by the +misery of another child tinged her sallow cheeks with a faint +dusky blush, made her big eyes gleam under the dark lids. +Mrs Verloc then looked younger; she looked as young as Winnie +used to look, and much more animated than the Winnie of the +Belgravian mansion days had ever allowed herself to appear to +gentlemen lodgers. Mr Verloc’s anxieties had +prevented him from attaching any sense to what his wife was +saying. It was as if her voice were talking on the other +side of a very thick wall. It was her aspect that recalled +him to himself.</p> + +<p>He appreciated this woman, and the sentiment of this +appreciation, stirred by a display of something resembling +emotion, only added another pang to his mental anguish. +When her voice ceased he moved uneasily, and said:</p> + +<p>“I haven’t been feeling well for the last few +days.”</p> + +<p>He might have meant this as an opening to a complete +confidence; but Mrs Verloc laid her head on the pillow again, and +staring upward, went on:</p> + +<p>“That boy hears too much of what is talked about +here. If I had known they were coming to-night I would have +seen to it that he went to bed at the same time I did. He +was out of his mind with something he overheard about eating +people’s flesh and drinking blood. What’s the +good of talking like that?”</p> + +<p>There was a note of indignant scorn in her voice. Mr +Verloc was fully responsive now.</p> + +<p>“Ask Karl Yundt,” he growled savagely.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc, with great decision, pronounced Karl Yundt +“a disgusting old man.” She declared openly her +affection for Michaelis. Of the robust Ossipon, in whose +presence she always felt uneasy behind an attitude of stony +reserve, she said nothing whatever. And continuing to talk +of that brother, who had been for so many years an object of care +and fears:</p> + +<p>“He isn’t fit to hear what’s said +here. He believes it’s all true. He knows no +better. He gets into his passions over it.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc made no comment.</p> + +<p>“He glared at me, as if he didn’t know who I was, +when I went downstairs. His heart was going like a +hammer. He can’t help being excitable. I woke +mother up, and asked her to sit with him till he went to +sleep. It isn’t his fault. He’s no +trouble when he’s left alone.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc made no comment.</p> + +<p>“I wish he had never been to school,” Mrs Verloc +began again brusquely. “He’s always taking away +those newspapers from the window to read. He gets a red +face poring over them. We don’t get rid of a dozen +numbers in a month. They only take up room in the front +window. And Mr Ossipon brings every week a pile of these F. +P. tracts to sell at a halfpenny each. I wouldn’t +give a halfpenny for the whole lot. It’s silly +reading—that’s what it is. There’s no +sale for it. The other day Stevie got hold of one, and +there was a story in it of a German soldier officer tearing +half-off the ear of a recruit, and nothing was done to him for +it. The brute! I couldn’t do anything with +Stevie that afternoon. The story was enough, too, to make +one’s blood boil. But what’s the use of +printing things like that? We aren’t German slaves +here, thank God. It’s not our business—is +it?”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc made no reply.</p> + +<p>“I had to take the carving knife from the boy,” +Mrs Verloc continued, a little sleepily now. “He was +shouting and stamping and sobbing. He can’t stand the +notion of any cruelty. He would have stuck that officer +like a pig if he had seen him then. It’s true, +too! Some people don’t deserve much +mercy.” Mrs Verloc’s voice ceased, and the +expression of her motionless eyes became more and more +contemplative and veiled during the long pause. +“Comfortable, dear?” she asked in a faint, far-away +voice. “Shall I put out the light now?”</p> + +<p>The dreary conviction that there was no sleep for him held Mr +Verloc mute and hopelessly inert in his fear of darkness. +He made a great effort.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Put it out,” he said at last in a +hollow tone.</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<p>Most of the thirty or so little tables covered by red cloths +with a white design stood ranged at right angles to the deep +brown wainscoting of the underground hall. Bronze +chandeliers with many globes depended from the low, slightly +vaulted ceiling, and the fresco paintings ran flat and dull all +round the walls without windows, representing scenes of the chase +and of outdoor revelry in mediæval costumes. Varlets +in green jerkins brandished hunting knives and raised on high +tankards of foaming beer.</p> + +<p>“Unless I am very much mistaken, you are the man who +would know the inside of this confounded affair,” said the +robust Ossipon, leaning over, his elbows far out on the table and +his feet tucked back completely under his chair. His eyes +stared with wild eagerness.</p> + +<p>An upright semi-grand piano near the door, flanked by two +palms in pots, executed suddenly all by itself a valse tune with +aggressive virtuosity. The din it raised was +deafening. When it ceased, as abruptly as it had started, +the be-spectacled, dingy little man who faced Ossipon behind a +heavy glass mug full of beer emitted calmly what had the sound of +a general proposition.</p> + +<p>“In principle what one of us may or may not know as to +any given fact can’t be a matter for inquiry to the +others.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” Comrade Ossipon agreed in a quiet +undertone. “In principle.”</p> + +<p>With his big florid face held between his hands he continued +to stare hard, while the dingy little man in spectacles coolly +took a drink of beer and stood the glass mug back on the +table. His flat, large ears departed widely from the sides +of his skull, which looked frail enough for Ossipon to crush +between thumb and forefinger; the dome of the forehead seemed to +rest on the rim of the spectacles; the flat cheeks, of a greasy, +unhealthy complexion, were merely smudged by the miserable +poverty of a thin dark whisker. The lamentable inferiority +of the whole physique was made ludicrous by the supremely +self-confident bearing of the individual. His speech was +curt, and he had a particularly impressive manner of keeping +silent.</p> + +<p>Ossipon spoke again from between his hands in a mutter.</p> + +<p>“Have you been out much to-day?”</p> + +<p>“No. I stayed in bed all the morning,” +answered the other. “Why?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Nothing,” said Ossipon, gazing +earnestly and quivering inwardly with the desire to find out +something, but obviously intimidated by the little man’s +overwhelming air of unconcern. When talking with this +comrade—which happened but rarely—the big Ossipon +suffered from a sense of moral and even physical +insignificance. However, he ventured another +question. “Did you walk down here?”</p> + +<p>“No; omnibus,” the little man answered readily +enough. He lived far away in Islington, in a small house +down a shabby street, littered with straw and dirty paper, where +out of school hours a troop of assorted children ran and +squabbled with a shrill, joyless, rowdy clamour. His single +back room, remarkable for having an extremely large cupboard, he +rented furnished from two elderly spinsters, dressmakers in a +humble way with a clientele of servant girls mostly. He had +a heavy padlock put on the cupboard, but otherwise he was a model +lodger, giving no trouble, and requiring practically no +attendance. His oddities were that he insisted on being +present when his room was being swept, and that when he went out +he locked his door, and took the key away with him.</p> + +<p>Ossipon had a vision of these round black-rimmed spectacles +progressing along the streets on the top of an omnibus, their +self-confident glitter falling here and there on the walls of +houses or lowered upon the heads of the unconscious stream of +people on the pavements. The ghost of a sickly smile +altered the set of Ossipon’s thick lips at the thought of +the walls nodding, of people running for life at the sight of +those spectacles. If they had only known! What a +panic! He murmured interrogatively: “Been sitting +long here?”</p> + +<p>“An hour or more,” answered the other negligently, +and took a pull at the dark beer. All his +movements—the way he grasped the mug, the act of drinking, +the way he set the heavy glass down and folded his arms—had +a firmness, an assured precision which made the big and muscular +Ossipon, leaning forward with staring eyes and protruding lips, +look the picture of eager indecision.</p> + +<p>“An hour,” he said. “Then it may be +you haven’t heard yet the news I’ve heard just +now—in the street. Have you?”</p> + +<p>The little man shook his head negatively the least bit. +But as he gave no indication of curiosity Ossipon ventured to add +that he had heard it just outside the place. A newspaper +boy had yelled the thing under his very nose, and not being +prepared for anything of that sort, he was very much startled and +upset. He had to come in there with a dry mouth. +“I never thought of finding you here,” he added, +murmuring steadily, with his elbows planted on the table.</p> + +<p>“I come here sometimes,” said the other, +preserving his provoking coolness of demeanour.</p> + +<p>“It’s wonderful that you of all people should have +heard nothing of it,” the big Ossipon continued. His +eyelids snapped nervously upon the shining eyes. “You +of all people,” he repeated tentatively. This obvious +restraint argued an incredible and inexplicable timidity of the +big fellow before the calm little man, who again lifted the glass +mug, drank, and put it down with brusque and assured +movements. And that was all.</p> + +<p>Ossipon after waiting for something, word or sign, that did +not come, made an effort to assume a sort of indifference.</p> + +<p>“Do you,” he said, deadening his voice still more, +“give your stuff to anybody who’s up to asking you +for it?”</p> + +<p>“My absolute rule is never to refuse anybody—as +long as I have a pinch by me,” answered the little man with +decision.</p> + +<p>“That’s a principle?” commented Ossipon.</p> + +<p>“It’s a principle.”</p> + +<p>“And you think it’s sound?”</p> + +<p>The large round spectacles, which gave a look of staring +self-confidence to the sallow face, confronted Ossipon like +sleepless, unwinking orbs flashing a cold fire.</p> + +<p>“Perfectly. Always. Under every +circumstance. What could stop me? Why should I +not? Why should I think twice about it?”</p> + +<p>Ossipon gasped, as it were, discreetly.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to say you would hand it over to a +‘teck’ if one came to ask you for your +wares?”</p> + +<p>The other smiled faintly.</p> + +<p>“Let them come and try it on, and you will see,” +he said. “They know me, but I know also every one of +them. They won’t come near me—not +they.”</p> + +<p>His thin livid lips snapped together firmly. Ossipon +began to argue.</p> + +<p>“But they could send someone—rig a plant on +you. Don’t you see? Get the stuff from you in +that way, and then arrest you with the proof in their +hands.”</p> + +<p>“Proof of what? Dealing in explosives without a +licence perhaps.” This was meant for a contemptuous +jeer, though the expression of the thin, sickly face remained +unchanged, and the utterance was negligent. “I +don’t think there’s one of them anxious to make that +arrest. I don’t think they could get one of them to +apply for a warrant. I mean one of the best. Not +one.”</p> + +<p>“Why?” Ossipon asked.</p> + +<p>“Because they know very well I take care never to part +with the last handful of my wares. I’ve it always by +me.” He touched the breast of his coat lightly. +“In a thick glass flask,” he added.</p> + +<p>“So I have been told,” said Ossipon, with a shade +of wonder in his voice. “But I didn’t know +if—”</p> + +<p>“They know,” interrupted the little man crisply, +leaning against the straight chair back, which rose higher than +his fragile head. “I shall never be arrested. +The game isn’t good enough for any policeman of them +all. To deal with a man like me you require sheer, naked, +inglorious heroism.” Again his lips closed with a +self-confident snap. Ossipon repressed a movement of +impatience.</p> + +<p>“Or recklessness—or simply ignorance,” he +retorted. “They’ve only to get somebody for the +job who does not know you carry enough stuff in your pocket to +blow yourself and everything within sixty yards of you to +pieces.”</p> + +<p>“I never affirmed I could not be eliminated,” +rejoined the other. “But that wouldn’t be an +arrest. Moreover, it’s not so easy as it +looks.”</p> + +<p>“Bah!” Ossipon contradicted. +“Don’t be too sure of that. What’s to +prevent half-a-dozen of them jumping upon you from behind in the +street? With your arms pinned to your sides you could do +nothing—could you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I could. I am seldom out in the streets +after dark,” said the little man impassively, “and +never very late. I walk always with my right hand closed +round the india-rubber ball which I have in my trouser +pocket. The pressing of this ball actuates a detonator +inside the flask I carry in my pocket. It’s the +principle of the pneumatic instantaneous shutter for a camera +lens. The tube leads up—”</p> + +<p>With a swift disclosing gesture he gave Ossipon a glimpse of +an india-rubber tube, resembling a slender brown worm, issuing +from the armhole of his waistcoat and plunging into the inner +breast pocket of his jacket. His clothes, of a nondescript +brown mixture, were threadbare and marked with stains, dusty in +the folds, with ragged button-holes. “The detonator +is partly mechanical, partly chemical,” he explained, with +casual condescension.</p> + +<p>“It is instantaneous, of course?” murmured +Ossipon, with a slight shudder.</p> + +<p>“Far from it,” confessed the other, with a +reluctance which seemed to twist his mouth dolorously. +“A full twenty seconds must elapse from the moment I press +the ball till the explosion takes place.”</p> + +<p>“Phew!” whistled Ossipon, completely +appalled. “Twenty seconds! Horrors! You +mean to say that you could face that? I should go +crazy—”</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t matter if you did. Of course, +it’s the weak point of this special system, which is only +for my own use. The worst is that the manner of exploding +is always the weak point with us. I am trying to invent a +detonator that would adjust itself to all conditions of action, +and even to unexpected changes of conditions. A variable +and yet perfectly precise mechanism. A really intelligent +detonator.”</p> + +<p>“Twenty seconds,” muttered Ossipon again. +“Ough! And then—”</p> + +<p>With a slight turn of the head the glitter of the spectacles +seemed to gauge the size of the beer saloon in the basement of +the renowned Silenus Restaurant.</p> + +<p>“Nobody in this room could hope to escape,” was +the verdict of that survey. “Nor yet this couple +going up the stairs now.”</p> + +<p>The piano at the foot of the staircase clanged through a +mazurka with brazen impetuosity, as though a vulgar and impudent +ghost were showing off. The keys sank and rose +mysteriously. Then all became still. For a moment +Ossipon imagined the overlighted place changed into a dreadful +black hole belching horrible fumes choked with ghastly rubbish of +smashed brickwork and mutilated corpses. He had such a +distinct perception of ruin and death that he shuddered +again. The other observed, with an air of calm +sufficiency:</p> + +<p>“In the last instance it is character alone that makes +for one’s safety. There are very few people in the +world whose character is as well established as mine.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder how you managed it,” growled +Ossipon.</p> + +<p>“Force of personality,” said the other, without +raising his voice; and coming from the mouth of that obviously +miserable organism the assertion caused the robust Ossipon to +bite his lower lip. “Force of personality,” he +repeated, with ostentatious calm. “I have the means +to make myself deadly, but that by itself, you understand, is +absolutely nothing in the way of protection. What is +effective is the belief those people have in my will to use the +means. That’s their impression. It is +absolute. Therefore I am deadly.”</p> + +<p>“There are individuals of character amongst that lot +too,” muttered Ossipon ominously.</p> + +<p>“Possibly. But it is a matter of degree obviously, +since, for instance, I am not impressed by them. Therefore +they are inferior. They cannot be otherwise. Their +character is built upon conventional morality. It leans on +the social order. Mine stands free from everything +artificial. They are bound in all sorts of +conventions. They depend on life, which, in this +connection, is a historical fact surrounded by all sorts of +restraints and considerations, a complex organised fact open to +attack at every point; whereas I depend on death, which knows no +restraint and cannot be attacked. My superiority is +evident.”</p> + +<p>“This is a transcendental way of putting it,” said +Ossipon, watching the cold glitter of the round spectacles. +“I’ve heard Karl Yundt say much the same thing not +very long ago.”</p> + +<p>“Karl Yundt,” mumbled the other contemptuously, +“the delegate of the International Red Committee, has been +a posturing shadow all his life. There are three of you +delegates, aren’t there? I won’t define the +other two, as you are one of them. But what you say means +nothing. You are the worthy delegates for revolutionary +propaganda, but the trouble is not only that you are as unable to +think independently as any respectable grocer or journalist of +them all, but that you have no character whatever.”</p> + +<p>Ossipon could not restrain a start of indignation.</p> + +<p>“But what do you want from us?” he exclaimed in a +deadened voice. “What is it you are after +yourself?”</p> + +<p>“A perfect detonator,” was the peremptory +answer. “What are you making that face for? You +see, you can’t even bear the mention of something +conclusive.”</p> + +<p>“I am not making a face,” growled the annoyed +Ossipon bearishly.</p> + +<p>“You revolutionists,” the other continued, with +leisurely self-confidence, “are the slaves of the social +convention, which is afraid of you; slaves of it as much as the +very police that stands up in the defence of that +convention. Clearly you are, since you want to +revolutionise it. It governs your thought, of course, and +your action too, and thus neither your thought nor your action +can ever be conclusive.” He paused, tranquil, with +that air of close, endless silence, then almost immediately went +on. “You are not a bit better than the forces arrayed +against you—than the police, for instance. 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. +He was as insignificant as—I can’t call to mind +anything insignificant enough to compare him with—except +Karl Yundt perhaps. Like to like. The terrorist and +the policeman both come from the same basket. Revolution, +legality—counter moves in the same game; forms of idleness +at bottom identical. He plays his little game—so do +you propagandists. But I don’t play; I work fourteen +hours a day, and go hungry sometimes. My experiments cost +money now and again, and then I must do without food for a day or +two. You’re looking at my beer. Yes. I +have had two glasses already, and shall have another +presently. This is a little holiday, and I celebrate it +alone. Why not? I’ve the grit to work alone, +quite alone, absolutely alone. I’ve worked alone for +years.”</p> + +<p>Ossipon’s face had turned dusky red.</p> + +<p>“At the perfect detonator—eh?” he sneered, +very low.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” retorted the other. “It is a +good definition. You couldn’t find anything half so +precise to define the nature of your activity with all your +committees and delegations. It is I who am the true +propagandist.”</p> + +<p>“We won’t discuss that point,” said Ossipon, +with an air of rising above personal considerations. +“I am afraid I’ll have to spoil your holiday for you, +though. There’s a man blown up in Greenwich Park this +morning.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know?”</p> + +<p>“They have been yelling the news in the streets since +two o’clock. I bought the paper, and just ran in +here. Then I saw you sitting at this table. +I’ve got it in my pocket now.”</p> + +<p>He pulled the newspaper out. It was a good-sized rosy +sheet, as if flushed by the warmth of its own convictions, which +were optimistic. He scanned the pages rapidly.</p> + +<p>“Ah! Here it is. Bomb in Greenwich +Park. There isn’t much so far. Half-past +eleven. Foggy morning. Effects of explosion felt as +far as Romney Road and Park Place. Enormous hole in the +ground under a tree filled with smashed roots and broken +branches. All round fragments of a man’s body blown +to pieces. That’s all. The rest’s mere +newspaper gup. No doubt a wicked attempt to blow up the +Observatory, they say. H’m. That’s hardly +credible.”</p> + +<p>He looked at the paper for a while longer in silence, then +passed it to the other, who after gazing abstractedly at the +print laid it down without comment.</p> + +<p>It was Ossipon who spoke first—still resentful.</p> + +<p>“The fragments of only <i>one</i> man, you note. +Ergo: blew <i>himself</i> up. That spoils your day off for +you—don’t it? Were you expecting that sort of +move? I hadn’t the slightest idea—not the ghost +of a notion of anything of the sort being planned to come off +here—in this country. Under the present circumstances +it’s nothing short of criminal.”</p> + +<p>The little man lifted his thin black eyebrows with +dispassionate scorn.</p> + +<p>“Criminal! What is that? What <i>is</i> +crime? What can be the meaning of such an +assertion?”</p> + +<p>“How am I to express myself? One must use the +current words,” said Ossipon impatiently. “The +meaning of this assertion is that this business may affect our +position very adversely in this country. Isn’t that +crime enough for you? I am convinced you have been giving +away some of your stuff lately.”</p> + +<p>Ossipon stared hard. The other, without flinching, +lowered and raised his head slowly.</p> + +<p>“You have!” burst out the editor of the F. P. +leaflets in an intense whisper. “No! And are +you really handing it over at large like this, for the asking, to +the first fool that comes along?”</p> + +<p>“Just so! The condemned social order has not been +built up on paper and ink, and I don’t fancy that a +combination of paper and ink will ever put an end to it, whatever +you may think. Yes, I would give the stuff with both hands +to every man, woman, or fool that likes to come along. I +know what you are thinking about. But I am not taking my +cue from the Red Committee. I would see you all hounded out +of here, or arrested—or beheaded for that +matter—without turning a hair. What happens to us as +individuals is not of the least consequence.”</p> + +<p>He spoke carelessly, without heat, almost without feeling, and +Ossipon, secretly much affected, tried to copy this +detachment.</p> + +<p>“If the police here knew their business they would shoot +you full of holes with revolvers, or else try to sand-bag you +from behind in broad daylight.”</p> + +<p>The little man seemed already to have considered that point of +view in his dispassionate self-confident manner.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he assented with the utmost +readiness. “But for that they would have to face +their own institutions. Do you see? That requires +uncommon grit. Grit of a special kind.”</p> + +<p>Ossipon blinked.</p> + +<p>“I fancy that’s exactly what would happen to you +if you were to set up your laboratory in the States. They +don’t stand on ceremony with their institutions +there.”</p> + +<p>“I am not likely to go and see. Otherwise your +remark is just,” admitted the other. “They have +more character over there, and their character is essentially +anarchistic. Fertile ground for us, the States—very +good ground. The great Republic has the root of the +destructive matter in her. The collective temperament is +lawless. Excellent. They may shoot us down, +but—”</p> + +<p>“You are too transcendental for me,” growled +Ossipon, with moody concern.</p> + +<p>“Logical,” protested the other. “There +are several kinds of logic. This is the enlightened +kind. America is all right. It is this country that +is dangerous, with her idealistic conception of legality. +The social spirit of this people is wrapped up in scrupulous +prejudices, and that is fatal to our work. You talk of +England being our only refuge! So much the worse. +Capua! What do we want with refuges? Here you talk, +print, plot, and do nothing. I daresay it’s very +convenient for such Karl Yundts.”</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders slightly, then added with the same +leisurely assurance: “To break up the superstition and +worship of legality should be our aim. Nothing would please +me more than to see Inspector Heat and his likes take to shooting +us down in broad daylight with the approval of the public. +Half our battle would be won then; the disintegration of the old +morality would have set in in its very temple. That is what +you ought to aim at. But you revolutionists will never +understand that. You plan the future, you lose yourselves +in reveries of economical systems derived from what is; whereas +what’s wanted is a clean sweep and a clear start for a new +conception of life. That sort of future will take care of +itself if you will only make room for it. Therefore I would +shovel my stuff in heaps at the corners of the streets if I had +enough for that; and as I haven’t, I do my best by +perfecting a really dependable detonator.”</p> + +<p>Ossipon, who had been mentally swimming in deep waters, seized +upon the last word as if it were a saving plank.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Your detonators. I shouldn’t +wonder if it weren’t one of your detonators that made a +clean sweep of the man in the park.”</p> + +<p>A shade of vexation darkened the determined sallow face +confronting Ossipon.</p> + +<p>“My difficulty consists precisely in experimenting +practically with the various kinds. They must be tried +after all. Besides—”</p> + +<p>Ossipon interrupted.</p> + +<p>“Who could that fellow be? I assure you that we in +London had no knowledge—Couldn’t you describe the +person you gave the stuff to?”</p> + +<p>The other turned his spectacles upon Ossipon like a pair of +searchlights.</p> + +<p>“Describe him,” he repeated slowly. “I +don’t think there can be the slightest objection now. +I will describe him to you in one word—Verloc.”</p> + +<p>Ossipon, whom curiosity had lifted a few inches off his seat, +dropped back, as if hit in the face.</p> + +<p>“Verloc! Impossible.”</p> + +<p>The self-possessed little man nodded slightly once.</p> + +<p>“Yes. He’s the person. You can’t +say that in this case I was giving my stuff to the first fool +that came along. He was a prominent member of the group as +far as I understand.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Ossipon. “Prominent. +No, not exactly. He was the centre for general +intelligence, and usually received comrades coming over +here. More useful than important. Man of no +ideas. Years ago he used to speak at meetings—in +France, I believe. Not very well, though. He was +trusted by such men as Latorre, Moser and all that old lot. +The only talent he showed really was his ability to elude the +attentions of the police somehow. Here, for instance, he +did not seem to be looked after very closely. He was +regularly married, you know. I suppose it’s with her +money that he started that shop. Seemed to make it pay, +too.”</p> + +<p>Ossipon paused abruptly, muttered to himself “I wonder +what that woman will do now?” and fell into thought.</p> + +<p>The other waited with ostentatious indifference. His +parentage was obscure, and he was generally known only by his +nickname of Professor. His title to that designation +consisted in his having been once assistant demonstrator in +chemistry at some technical institute. He quarrelled with +the authorities upon a question of unfair treatment. +Afterwards he obtained a post in the laboratory of a manufactory +of dyes. There too he had been treated with revolting +injustice. His struggles, his privations, his hard work to +raise himself in the social scale, had filled him with such an +exalted conviction of his merits that it was extremely difficult +for the world to treat him with justice—the standard of +that notion depending so much upon the patience of the +individual. The Professor had genius, but lacked the great +social virtue of resignation.</p> + +<p>“Intellectually a nonentity,” Ossipon pronounced +aloud, abandoning suddenly the inward contemplation of Mrs +Verloc’s bereaved person and business. “Quite +an ordinary personality. You are wrong in not keeping more +in touch with the comrades, Professor,” he added in a +reproving tone. “Did he say anything to +you—give you some idea of his intentions? I +hadn’t seen him for a month. It seems impossible that +he should be gone.”</p> + +<p>“He told me it was going to be a demonstration against a +building,” said the Professor. “I had to know +that much to prepare the missile. I pointed out to him that +I had hardly a sufficient quantity for a completely destructive +result, but he pressed me very earnestly to do my best. As +he wanted something that could be carried openly in the hand, I +proposed to make use of an old one-gallon copal varnish can I +happened to have by me. He was pleased at the idea. +It gave me some trouble, because I had to cut out the bottom +first and solder it on again afterwards. When prepared for +use, the can enclosed a wide-mouthed, well-corked jar of thick +glass packed around with some wet clay and containing sixteen +ounces of X2 green powder. The detonator was connected with +the screw top of the can. It was ingenious—a +combination of time and shock. I explained the system to +him. It was a thin tube of tin enclosing +a—”</p> + +<p>Ossipon’s attention had wandered.</p> + +<p>“What do you think has happened?” he +interrupted.</p> + +<p>“Can’t tell. Screwed the top on tight, which +would make the connection, and then forgot the time. It was +set for twenty minutes. On the other hand, the time contact +being made, a sharp shock would bring about the explosion at +once. He either ran the time too close, or simply let the +thing fall. The contact was made all +right—that’s clear to me at any rate. The +system’s worked perfectly. And yet you would think +that a common fool in a hurry would be much more likely to forget +to make the contact altogether. I was worrying myself about +that sort of failure mostly. But there are more kinds of +fools than one can guard against. You can’t expect a +detonator to be absolutely fool-proof.”</p> + +<p>He beckoned to a waiter. Ossipon sat rigid, with the +abstracted gaze of mental travail. After the man had gone +away with the money he roused himself, with an air of profound +dissatisfaction.</p> + +<p>“It’s extremely unpleasant for me,” he +mused. “Karl has been in bed with bronchitis for a +week. There’s an even chance that he will never get +up again. Michaelis’s luxuriating in the country +somewhere. A fashionable publisher has offered him five +hundred pounds for a book. It will be a ghastly +failure. He has lost the habit of consecutive thinking in +prison, you know.”</p> + +<p>The Professor on his feet, now buttoning his coat, looked +about him with perfect indifference.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do?” asked Ossipon +wearily. He dreaded the blame of the Central Red Committee, +a body which had no permanent place of abode, and of whose +membership he was not exactly informed. If this affair +eventuated in the stoppage of the modest subsidy allotted to the +publication of the F. P. pamphlets, then indeed he would have to +regret Verloc’s inexplicable folly.</p> + +<p>“Solidarity with the extremest form of action is one +thing, and silly recklessness is another,” he said, with a +sort of moody brutality. “I don’t know what +came to Verloc. There’s some mystery there. +However, he’s gone. You may take it as you like, but +under the circumstances the only policy for the militant +revolutionary group is to disclaim all connection with this +damned freak of yours. How to make the disclaimer +convincing enough is what bothers me.”</p> + +<p>The little man on his feet, buttoned up and ready to go, was +no taller than the seated Ossipon. He levelled his +spectacles at the latter’s face point-blank.</p> + +<p>“You might ask the police for a testimonial of good +conduct. They know where every one of you slept last +night. Perhaps if you asked them they would consent to +publish some sort of official statement.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt they are aware well enough that we had nothing +to do with this,” mumbled Ossipon bitterly. +“What they will say is another thing.” He +remained thoughtful, disregarding the short, owlish, shabby +figure standing by his side. “I must lay hands on +Michaelis at once, and get him to speak from his heart at one of +our gatherings. The public has a sort of sentimental regard +for that fellow. His name is known. And I am in touch +with a few reporters on the big dailies. What he would say +would be utter bosh, but he has a turn of talk that makes it go +down all the same.”</p> + +<p>“Like treacle,” interjected the Professor, rather +low, keeping an impassive expression.</p> + +<p>The perplexed Ossipon went on communing with himself half +audibly, after the manner of a man reflecting in perfect +solitude.</p> + +<p>“Confounded ass! To leave such an imbecile +business on my hands. And I don’t even know +if—”</p> + +<p>He sat with compressed lips. The idea of going for news +straight to the shop lacked charm. His notion was that +Verloc’s shop might have been turned already into a police +trap. They will be bound to make some arrests, he thought, +with something resembling virtuous indignation, for the even +tenor of his revolutionary life was menaced by no fault of +his. And yet unless he went there he ran the risk of +remaining in ignorance of what perhaps it would be very material +for him to know. Then he reflected that, if the man in the +park had been so very much blown to pieces as the evening papers +said, he could not have been identified. And if so, the +police could have no special reason for watching Verloc’s +shop more closely than any other place known to be frequented by +marked anarchists—no more reason, in fact, than for +watching the doors of the Silenus. There would be a lot of +watching all round, no matter where he went. +Still—</p> + +<p>“I wonder what I had better do now?” he muttered, +taking counsel with himself.</p> + +<p>A rasping voice at his elbow said, with sedate scorn:</p> + +<p>“Fasten yourself upon the woman for all she’s +worth.”</p> + +<p>After uttering these words the Professor walked away from the +table. Ossipon, whom that piece of insight had taken +unawares, gave one ineffectual start, and remained still, with a +helpless gaze, as though nailed fast to the seat of his +chair. The lonely piano, without as much as a music stool +to help it, struck a few chords courageously, and beginning a +selection of national airs, played him out at last to the tune of +“Blue Bells of Scotland.” The painfully +detached notes grew faint behind his back while he went slowly +upstairs, across the hall, and into the street.</p> + +<p>In front of the great doorway a dismal row of newspaper +sellers standing clear of the pavement dealt out their wares from +the gutter. It was a raw, gloomy day of the early spring; +and the grimy sky, the mud of the streets, the rags of the dirty +men, harmonised excellently with the eruption of the damp, +rubbishy sheets of paper soiled with printers’ ink. +The posters, maculated with filth, garnished like tapestry the +sweep of the curbstone. The trade in afternoon papers was +brisk, yet, in comparison with the swift, constant march of foot +traffic, the effect was of indifference, of a disregarded +distribution. Ossipon looked hurriedly both ways before +stepping out into the cross-currents, but the Professor was +already out of sight.</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<p>The Professor had turned into a street to the left, and walked +along, with his head carried rigidly erect, in a crowd whose +every individual almost overtopped his stunted stature. It +was vain to pretend to himself that he was not +disappointed. But that was mere feeling; the stoicism of +his thought could not be disturbed by this or any other +failure. Next time, or the time after next, a telling +stroke would be delivered—something really startling—a blow +fit to open the first crack in the imposing front of the great +edifice of legal conceptions sheltering the atrocious injustice +of society. Of humble origin, and with an appearance really +so mean as to stand in the way of his considerable natural +abilities, his imagination had been fired early by the tales of +men rising from the depths of poverty to positions of authority +and affluence. The extreme, almost ascetic purity of his +thought, combined with an astounding ignorance of worldly +conditions, had set before him a goal of power and prestige to be +attained without the medium of arts, graces, tact, +wealth—by sheer weight of merit alone. On that view +he considered himself entitled to undisputed success. His +father, a delicate dark enthusiast with a sloping forehead, had +been an itinerant and rousing preacher of some obscure but rigid +Christian sect—a man supremely confident in the privileges +of his righteousness. In the son, individualist by +temperament, once the science of colleges had replaced thoroughly +the faith of conventicles, this moral attitude translated itself +into a frenzied puritanism of ambition. He nursed it as +something secularly holy. To see it thwarted opened his +eyes to the true nature of the world, whose morality was +artificial, corrupt, and blasphemous. The way of even the +most justifiable revolutions is prepared by personal impulses +disguised into creeds. The Professor’s indignation +found in itself a final cause that absolved him from the sin of +turning to destruction as the agent of his ambition. To +destroy public faith in legality was the imperfect formula of his +pedantic fanaticism; but the subconscious conviction that the +framework of an established social order cannot be effectually +shattered except by some form of collective or individual +violence was precise and correct. He was a moral +agent—that was settled in his mind. By exercising his +agency with ruthless defiance he procured for himself the +appearances of power and personal prestige. That was +undeniable to his vengeful bitterness. It pacified its +unrest; and in their own way the most ardent of revolutionaries +are perhaps doing no more but seeking for peace in common with +the rest of mankind—the peace of soothed vanity, of +satisfied appetites, or perhaps of appeased conscience.</p> + +<p>Lost in the crowd, miserable and undersized, he meditated +confidently on his power, keeping his hand in the left pocket of +his trousers, grasping lightly the india-rubber ball, the supreme +guarantee of his sinister freedom; but after a while he became +disagreeably affected by the sight of the roadway thronged with +vehicles and of the pavement crowded with men and women. He +was in a long, straight street, peopled by a mere fraction of an +immense multitude; but all round him, on and on, even to the +limits of the horizon hidden by the enormous piles of bricks, he +felt the mass of mankind mighty in its numbers. They +swarmed numerous like locusts, industrious like ants, thoughtless +like a natural force, pushing on blind and orderly and absorbed, +impervious to sentiment, to logic, to terror too perhaps.</p> + +<p>That was the form of doubt he feared most. Impervious to +fear! Often while walking abroad, when he happened also to +come out of himself, he had such moments of dreadful and sane +mistrust of mankind. What if nothing could move them? +Such moments come to all men whose ambition aims at a direct +grasp upon humanity—to artists, politicians, thinkers, +reformers, or saints. A despicable emotional state this, +against which solitude fortifies a superior character; and with +severe exultation the Professor thought of the refuge of his +room, with its padlocked cupboard, lost in a wilderness of poor +houses, the hermitage of the perfect anarchist. In order to +reach sooner the point where he could take his omnibus, he turned +brusquely out of the populous street into a narrow and dusky +alley paved with flagstones. On one side the low brick +houses had in their dusty windows the sightless, moribund look of +incurable decay—empty shells awaiting demolition. +From the other side life had not departed wholly as yet. +Facing the only gas-lamp yawned the cavern of a second-hand +furniture dealer, where, deep in the gloom of a sort of narrow +avenue winding through a bizarre forest of wardrobes, with an +undergrowth tangle of table legs, a tall pier-glass glimmered +like a pool of water in a wood. An unhappy, homeless couch, +accompanied by two unrelated chairs, stood in the open. The +only human being making use of the alley besides the Professor, +coming stalwart and erect from the opposite direction, checked +his swinging pace suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Hallo!” he said, and stood a little on one side +watchfully.</p> + +<p>The Professor had already stopped, with a ready half turn +which brought his shoulders very near the other wall. His +right hand fell lightly on the back of the outcast couch, the +left remained purposefully plunged deep in the trousers pocket, +and the roundness of the heavy rimmed spectacles imparted an +owlish character to his moody, unperturbed face.</p> + +<p>It was like a meeting in a side corridor of a mansion full of +life. The stalwart man was buttoned up in a dark overcoat, +and carried an umbrella. His hat, tilted back, uncovered a +good deal of forehead, which appeared very white in the +dusk. In the dark patches of the orbits the eyeballs +glimmered piercingly. Long, drooping moustaches, the colour +of ripe corn, framed with their points the square block of his +shaved chin.</p> + +<p>“I am not looking for you,” he said curtly.</p> + +<p>The Professor did not stir an inch. The blended noises +of the enormous town sank down to an inarticulate low +murmur. Chief Inspector Heat of the Special Crimes +Department changed his tone.</p> + +<p>“Not in a hurry to get home?” he asked, with +mocking simplicity.</p> + +<p>The unwholesome-looking little moral agent of destruction +exulted silently in the possession of personal prestige, keeping +in check this man armed with the defensive mandate of a menaced +society. More fortunate than Caligula, who wished that the +Roman Senate had only one head for the better satisfaction of his +cruel lust, he beheld in that one man all the forces he had set +at defiance: the force of law, property, oppression, and +injustice. He beheld all his enemies, and fearlessly +confronted them all in a supreme satisfaction of his +vanity. They stood perplexed before him as if before a +dreadful portent. He gloated inwardly over the chance of +this meeting affirming his superiority over all the multitude of +mankind.</p> + +<p>It was in reality a chance meeting. Chief Inspector Heat +had had a disagreeably busy day since his department received the +first telegram from Greenwich a little before eleven in the +morning. First of all, the fact of the outrage being +attempted less than a week after he had assured a high official +that no outbreak of anarchist activity was to be apprehended was +sufficiently annoying. If he ever thought himself safe in +making a statement, it was then. He had made that statement +with infinite satisfaction to himself, because it was clear that +the high official desired greatly to hear that very thing. +He had affirmed that nothing of the sort could even be thought of +without the department being aware of it within twenty-four +hours; and he had spoken thus in his consciousness of being the +great expert of his department. He had gone even so far as +to utter words which true wisdom would have kept back. But +Chief Inspector Heat was not very wise—at least not truly +so. True wisdom, which is not certain of anything in this +world of contradictions, would have prevented him from attaining +his present position. It would have alarmed his superiors, +and done away with his chances of promotion. His promotion +had been very rapid.</p> + +<p>“There isn’t one of them, sir, that we +couldn’t lay our hands on at any time of night and +day. We know what each of them is doing hour by +hour,” he had declared. And the high official had +deigned to smile. This was so obviously the right thing to +say for an officer of Chief Inspector Heat’s reputation +that it was perfectly delightful. The high official +believed the declaration, which chimed in with his idea of the +fitness of things. His wisdom was of an official kind, or +else he might have reflected upon a matter not of theory but of +experience that in the close-woven stuff of relations between +conspirator and police there occur unexpected solutions of +continuity, sudden holes in space and time. A given +anarchist may be watched inch by inch and minute by minute, but a +moment always comes when somehow all sight and touch of him are +lost for a few hours, during which something (generally an +explosion) more or less deplorable does happen. But the +high official, carried away by his sense of the fitness of +things, had smiled, and now the recollection of that smile was +very annoying to Chief Inspector Heat, principal expert in +anarchist procedure.</p> + +<p>This was not the only circumstance whose recollection +depressed the usual serenity of the eminent specialist. +There was another dating back only to that very morning. +The thought that when called urgently to his Assistant +Commissioner’s private room he had been unable to conceal +his astonishment was distinctly vexing. His instinct of a +successful man had taught him long ago that, as a general rule, a +reputation is built on manner as much as on achievement. +And he felt that his manner when confronted with the telegram had +not been impressive. He had opened his eyes widely, and had +exclaimed “Impossible!” exposing himself thereby to +the unanswerable retort of a finger-tip laid forcibly on the +telegram which the Assistant Commissioner, after reading it +aloud, had flung on the desk. To be crushed, as it were, +under the tip of a forefinger was an unpleasant experience. +Very damaging, too! Furthermore, Chief Inspector Heat was +conscious of not having mended matters by allowing himself to +express a conviction.</p> + +<p>“One thing I can tell you at once: none of our lot had +anything to do with this.”</p> + +<p>He was strong in his integrity of a good detective, but he saw +now that an impenetrably attentive reserve towards this incident +would have served his reputation better. On the other hand, +he admitted to himself that it was difficult to preserve +one’s reputation if rank outsiders were going to take a +hand in the business. Outsiders are the bane of the police +as of other professions. The tone of the Assistant +Commissioner’s remarks had been sour enough to set +one’s teeth on edge.</p> + +<p>And since breakfast Chief Inspector Heat had not managed to +get anything to eat.</p> + +<p>Starting immediately to begin his investigation on the spot, +he had swallowed a good deal of raw, unwholesome fog in the +park. Then he had walked over to the hospital; and when the +investigation in Greenwich was concluded at last he had lost his +inclination for food. Not accustomed, as the doctors are, +to examine closely the mangled remains of human beings, he had +been shocked by the sight disclosed to his view when a waterproof +sheet had been lifted off a table in a certain apartment of the +hospital.</p> + +<p>Another waterproof sheet was spread over that table in the +manner of a table-cloth, with the corners turned up over a sort +of mound—a heap of rags, scorched and bloodstained, half +concealing what might have been an accumulation of raw material +for a cannibal feast. It required considerable firmness of +mind not to recoil before that sight. Chief Inspector Heat, +an efficient officer of his department, stood his ground, but for +a whole minute he did not advance. A local constable in +uniform cast a sidelong glance, and said, with stolid +simplicity:</p> + +<p>“He’s all there. Every bit of him. It +was a job.”</p> + +<p>He had been the first man on the spot after the +explosion. He mentioned the fact again. He had seen +something like a heavy flash of lightning in the fog. At +that time he was standing at the door of the King William Street +Lodge talking to the keeper. The concussion made him tingle +all over. He ran between the trees towards the +Observatory. “As fast as my legs would carry +me,” he repeated twice.</p> + +<p>Chief Inspector Heat, bending forward over the table in a +gingerly and horrified manner, let him run on. The hospital +porter and another man turned down the corners of the cloth, and +stepped aside. The Chief Inspector’s eyes searched +the gruesome detail of that heap of mixed things, which seemed to +have been collected in shambles and rag shops.</p> + +<p>“You used a shovel,” he remarked, observing a +sprinkling of small gravel, tiny brown bits of bark, and +particles of splintered wood as fine as needles.</p> + +<p>“Had to in one place,” said the stolid +constable. “I sent a keeper to fetch a spade. +When he heard me scraping the ground with it he leaned his +forehead against a tree, and was as sick as a dog.”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector, stooping guardedly over the table, fought +down the unpleasant sensation in his throat. The shattering +violence of destruction which had made of that body a heap of +nameless fragments affected his feelings with a sense of ruthless +cruelty, though his reason told him the effect must have been as +swift as a flash of lightning. The man, whoever he was, had +died instantaneously; and yet it seemed impossible to believe +that a human body could have reached that state of disintegration +without passing through the pangs of inconceivable agony. +No physiologist, and still less of a metaphysician, Chief +Inspector Heat rose by the force of sympathy, which is a form of +fear, above the vulgar conception of time. +Instantaneous! He remembered all he had ever read in +popular publications of long and terrifying dreams dreamed in the +instant of waking; of the whole past life lived with frightful +intensity by a drowning man as his doomed head bobs up, +streaming, for the last time. The inexplicable mysteries of +conscious existence beset Chief Inspector Heat till he evolved a +horrible notion that ages of atrocious pain and mental torture +could be contained between two successive winks of an eye. +And meantime the Chief Inspector went on, peering at the table +with a calm face and the slightly anxious attention of an +indigent customer bending over what may be called the by-products +of a butcher’s shop with a view to an inexpensive Sunday +dinner. All the time his trained faculties of an excellent +investigator, who scorns no chance of information, followed the +self-satisfied, disjointed loquacity of the constable.</p> + +<p>“A fair-haired fellow,” the last observed in a +placid tone, and paused. “The old woman who spoke to +the sergeant noticed a fair-haired fellow coming out of Maze Hill +Station.” He paused. “And he was a +fair-haired fellow. She noticed two men coming out of the +station after the uptrain had gone on,” he continued +slowly. “She couldn’t tell if they were +together. She took no particular notice of the big one, but +the other was a fair, slight chap, carrying a tin varnish can in +one hand.” The constable ceased.</p> + +<p>“Know the woman?” muttered the Chief Inspector, +with his eyes fixed on the table, and a vague notion in his mind +of an inquest to be held presently upon a person likely to remain +for ever unknown.</p> + +<p>“Yes. She’s housekeeper to a retired +publican, and attends the chapel in Park Place sometimes,” +the constable uttered weightily, and paused, with another oblique +glance at the table.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly: “Well, here he is—all of him I +could see. Fair. Slight—slight enough. +Look at that foot there. I picked up the legs first, one +after another. He was that scattered you didn’t know +where to begin.”</p> + +<p>The constable paused; the least flicker of an innocent +self-laudatory smile invested his round face with an infantile +expression.</p> + +<p>“Stumbled,” he announced positively. +“I stumbled once myself, and pitched on my head too, while +running up. Them roots do stick out all about the +place. Stumbled against the root of a tree and fell, and +that thing he was carrying must have gone off right under his +chest, I expect.”</p> + +<p>The echo of the words “Person unknown” repeating +itself in his inner consciousness bothered the Chief Inspector +considerably. He would have liked to trace this affair back +to its mysterious origin for his own information. He was +professionally curious. Before the public he would have +liked to vindicate the efficiency of his department by +establishing the identity of that man. He was a loyal +servant. That, however, appeared impossible. The +first term of the problem was unreadable—lacked all +suggestion but that of atrocious cruelty.</p> + +<p>Overcoming his physical repugnance, Chief Inspector Heat +stretched out his hand without conviction for the salving of his +conscience, and took up the least soiled of the rags. It +was a narrow strip of velvet with a larger triangular piece of +dark blue cloth hanging from it. He held it up to his eyes; +and the police constable spoke.</p> + +<p>“Velvet collar. Funny the old woman should have +noticed the velvet collar. Dark blue overcoat with a velvet +collar, she has told us. He was the chap she saw, and no +mistake. And here he is all complete, velvet collar and +all. I don’t think I missed a single piece as big as +a postage stamp.”</p> + +<p>At this point the trained faculties of the Chief Inspector +ceased to hear the voice of the constable. He moved to one +of the windows for better light. His face, averted from the +room, expressed a startled intense interest while he examined +closely the triangular piece of broad-cloth. By a sudden +jerk he detached it, and <i>only</i> after stuffing it into his +pocket turned round to the room, and flung the velvet collar back +on the table—</p> + +<p>“Cover up,” he directed the attendants curtly, +without another look, and, saluted by the constable, carried off +his spoil hastily.</p> + +<p>A convenient train whirled him up to town, alone and pondering +deeply, in a third-class compartment. That singed piece of +cloth was incredibly valuable, and he could not defend himself +from astonishment at the casual manner it had come into his +possession. It was as if Fate had thrust that clue into his +hands. And after the manner of the average man, whose +ambition is to command events, he began to mistrust such a +gratuitous and accidental success—just because it seemed +forced upon him. The practical value of success depends not +a little on the way you look at it. But Fate looks at +nothing. It has no discretion. He no longer +considered it eminently desirable all round to establish publicly +the identity of the man who had blown himself up that morning +with such horrible completeness. But he was not certain of +the view his department would take. A department is to +those it employs a complex personality with ideas and even fads +of its own. It depends on the loyal devotion of its +servants, and the devoted loyalty of trusted servants is +associated with a certain amount of affectionate contempt, which +keeps it sweet, as it were. By a benevolent provision of +Nature no man is a hero to his valet, or else the heroes would +have to brush their own clothes. Likewise no department +appears perfectly wise to the intimacy of its workers. A +department does not know so much as some of its servants. +Being a dispassionate organism, it can never be perfectly +informed. It would not be good for its efficiency to know +too much. Chief Inspector Heat got out of the train in a +state of thoughtfulness entirely untainted with disloyalty, but +not quite free of that jealous mistrust which so often springs on +the ground of perfect devotion, whether to women or to +institutions.</p> + +<p>It was in this mental disposition, physically very empty, but +still nauseated by what he had seen, that he had come upon the +Professor. Under these conditions which make for +irascibility in a sound, normal man, this meeting was specially +unwelcome to Chief Inspector Heat. He had not been thinking +of the Professor; he had not been thinking of any individual +anarchist at all. The complexion of that case had somehow +forced upon him the general idea of the absurdity of things +human, which in the abstract is sufficiently annoying to an +unphilosophical temperament, and in concrete instances becomes +exasperating beyond endurance. At the beginning of his +career Chief Inspector Heat had been concerned with the more +energetic forms of thieving. He had gained his spurs in +that sphere, and naturally enough had kept for it, after his +promotion to another department, a feeling not very far removed +from affection. Thieving was not a sheer absurdity. +It was a form of human industry, perverse indeed, but still an +industry exercised in an industrious world; it was work +undertaken for the same reason as the work in potteries, in coal +mines, in fields, in tool-grinding shops. It was labour, +whose practical difference from the other forms of labour +consisted in the nature of its risk, which did not lie in +ankylosis, or lead poisoning, or fire-damp, or gritty dust, but +in what may be briefly defined in its own special phraseology as +“Seven years hard.” Chief Inspector Heat was, +of course, not insensible to the gravity of moral +differences. But neither were the thieves he had been +looking after. They submitted to the severe sanctions of a +morality familiar to Chief Inspector Heat with a certain +resignation.</p> + +<p>They were his fellow-citizens gone wrong because of imperfect +education, Chief Inspector Heat believed; but allowing for that +difference, he could understand the mind of a burglar, because, +as a matter of fact, the mind and the instincts of a burglar are +of the same kind as the mind and the instincts of a police +officer. Both recognise the same conventions, and have a +working knowledge of each other’s methods and of the +routine of their respective trades. They understand each +other, which is advantageous to both, and establishes a sort of +amenity in their relations. Products of the same machine, +one classed as useful and the other as noxious, they take the +machine for granted in different ways, but with a seriousness +essentially the same. The mind of Chief Inspector Heat was +inaccessible to ideas of revolt. But his thieves were not +rebels. His bodily vigour, his cool inflexible manner, his +courage and his fairness, had secured for him much respect and +some adulation in the sphere of his early successes. He had +felt himself revered and admired. And Chief Inspector Heat, +arrested within six paces of the anarchist nick-named the +Professor, gave a thought of regret to the world of +thieves—sane, without morbid ideals, working by routine, +respectful of constituted authorities, free from all taint of +hate and despair.</p> + +<p>After paying this tribute to what is normal in the +constitution of society (for the idea of thieving appeared to his +instinct as normal as the idea of property), Chief Inspector Heat +felt very angry with himself for having stopped, for having +spoken, for having taken that way at all on the ground of it +being a short cut from the station to the headquarters. And +he spoke again in his big authoritative voice, which, being +moderated, had a threatening character.</p> + +<p>“You are not wanted, I tell you,” he repeated.</p> + +<p>The anarchist did not stir. An inward laugh of derision +uncovered not only his teeth but his gums as well, shook him all +over, without the slightest sound. Chief Inspector Heat was +led to add, against his better judgment:</p> + +<p>“Not yet. When I want you I will know where to +find you.”</p> + +<p>Those were perfectly proper words, within the tradition and +suitable to his character of a police officer addressing one of +his special flock. But the reception they got departed from +tradition and propriety. It was outrageous. The +stunted, weakly figure before him spoke at last.</p> + +<p>“I’ve no doubt the papers would give you an +obituary notice then. You know best what that would be +worth to you. I should think you can imagine easily the +sort of stuff that would be printed. But you may be exposed +to the unpleasantness of being buried together with me, though I +suppose your friends would make an effort to sort us out as much +as possible.”</p> + +<p>With all his healthy contempt for the spirit dictating such +speeches, the atrocious allusiveness of the words had its effect +on Chief Inspector Heat. He had too much insight, and too +much exact information as well, to dismiss them as rot. The +dusk of this narrow lane took on a sinister tint from the dark, +frail little figure, its back to the wall, and speaking with a +weak, self-confident voice. To the vigorous, tenacious +vitality of the Chief Inspector, the physical wretchedness of +that being, so obviously not fit to live, was ominous; for it +seemed to him that if he had the misfortune to be such a +miserable object he would not have cared how soon he died. +Life had such a strong hold upon him that a fresh wave of nausea +broke out in slight perspiration upon his brow. The murmur +of town life, the subdued rumble of wheels in the two invisible +streets to the right and left, came through the curve of the +sordid lane to his ears with a precious familiarity and an +appealing sweetness. He was human. But Chief +Inspector Heat was also a man, and he could not let such words +pass.</p> + +<p>“All this is good to frighten children with,” he +said. “I’ll have you yet.”</p> + +<p>It was very well said, without scorn, with an almost austere +quietness.</p> + +<p>“Doubtless,” was the answer; “but +there’s no time like the present, believe me. For a +man of real convictions this is a fine opportunity of +self-sacrifice. You may not find another so favourable, so +humane. There isn’t even a cat near us, and these +condemned old houses would make a good heap of bricks where you +stand. You’ll never get me at so little cost to life +and property, which you are paid to protect.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know who you’re speaking +to,” said Chief Inspector Heat firmly. “If I +were to lay my hands on you now I would be no better than +yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! The game!’</p> + +<p>“You may be sure our side will win in the end. It +may yet be necessary to make people believe that some of you +ought to be shot at sight like mad dogs. Then that will be +the game. But I’ll be damned if I know what yours +is. I don’t believe you know yourselves. +You’ll never get anything by it.”</p> + +<p>“Meantime it’s you who get something from +it—so far. And you get it easily, too. I +won’t speak of your salary, but haven’t you made your +name simply by not understanding what we are after?”</p> + +<p>“What are you after, then?” asked Chief Inspector +Heat, with scornful haste, like a man in a hurry who perceives he +is wasting his time.</p> + +<p>The perfect anarchist answered by a smile which did not part +his thin colourless lips; and the celebrated Chief Inspector felt +a sense of superiority which induced him to raise a warning +finger.</p> + +<p>“Give it up—whatever it is,” he said in an +admonishing tone, but not so kindly as if he were condescending +to give good advice to a cracksman of repute. “Give +it up. You’ll find we are too many for +you.”</p> + +<p>The fixed smile on the Professor’s lips wavered, as if +the mocking spirit within had lost its assurance. Chief +Inspector Heat went on:</p> + +<p>“Don’t you believe me eh? Well, you’ve +only got to look about you. We are. And anyway, +you’re not doing it well. You’re always making +a mess of it. Why, if the thieves didn’t know their +work better they would starve.”</p> + +<p>The hint of an invincible multitude behind that man’s +back roused a sombre indignation in the breast of the +Professor. He smiled no longer his enigmatic and mocking +smile. The resisting power of numbers, the unattackable +stolidity of a great multitude, was the haunting fear of his +sinister loneliness. His lips trembled for some time before +he managed to say in a strangled voice:</p> + +<p>“I am doing my work better than you’re doing +yours.”</p> + +<p>“That’ll do now,” interrupted Chief +Inspector Heat hurriedly; and the Professor laughed right out +this time. While still laughing he moved on; but he did not +laugh long. It was a sad-faced, miserable little man who +emerged from the narrow passage into the bustle of the broad +thoroughfare. He walked with the nerveless gait of a tramp +going on, still going on, indifferent to rain or sun in a +sinister detachment from the aspects of sky and earth. +Chief Inspector Heat, on the other hand, after watching him for a +while, stepped out with the purposeful briskness of a man +disregarding indeed the inclemencies of the weather, but +conscious of having an authorised mission on this earth and the +moral support of his kind. All the inhabitants of the +immense town, the population of the whole country, and even the +teeming millions struggling upon the planet, were with +him—down to the very thieves and mendicants. Yes, the +thieves themselves were sure to be with him in his present +work. The consciousness of universal support in his general +activity heartened him to grapple with the particular +problem.</p> + +<p>The problem immediately before the Chief Inspector was that of +managing the Assistant Commissioner of his department, his +immediate superior. This is the perennial problem of trusty +and loyal servants; anarchism gave it its particular complexion, +but nothing more. Truth to say, Chief Inspector Heat +thought but little of anarchism. He did not attach undue +importance to it, and could never bring himself to consider it +seriously. It had more the character of disorderly conduct; +disorderly without the human excuse of drunkenness, which at any +rate implies good feeling and an amiable leaning towards +festivity. As criminals, anarchists were distinctly no +class—no class at all. And recalling the Professor, +Chief Inspector Heat, without checking his swinging pace, +muttered through his teeth:</p> + +<p>“Lunatic.”</p> + +<p>Catching thieves was another matter altogether. It had +that quality of seriousness belonging to every form of open sport +where the best man wins under perfectly comprehensible +rules. There were no rules for dealing with +anarchists. And that was distasteful to the Chief +Inspector. It was all foolishness, but that foolishness +excited the public mind, affected persons in high places, and +touched upon international relations. A hard, merciless +contempt settled rigidly on the Chief Inspector’s face as +he walked on. His mind ran over all the anarchists of his +flock. Not one of them had half the spunk of this or that +burglar he had known. Not half—not one-tenth.</p> + +<p>At headquarters the Chief Inspector was admitted at once to +the Assistant Commissioner’s private room. He found +him, pen in hand, bent over a great table bestrewn with papers, +as if worshipping an enormous double inkstand of bronze and +crystal. Speaking tubes resembling snakes were tied by the +heads to the back of the Assistant Commissioner’s wooden +arm-chair, and their gaping mouths seemed ready to bite his +elbows. And in this attitude he raised only his eyes, whose +lids were darker than his face and very much creased. The +reports had come in: every anarchist had been exactly accounted +for.</p> + +<p>After saying this he lowered his eyes, signed rapidly two +single sheets of paper, and only then laid down his pen, and sat +well back, directing an inquiring gaze at his renowned +subordinate. The Chief Inspector stood it well, deferential +but inscrutable.</p> + +<p>“I daresay you were right,” said the Assistant +Commissioner, “in telling me at first that the London +anarchists had nothing to do with this. I quite appreciate +the excellent watch kept on them by your men. On the other +hand, this, for the public, does not amount to more than a +confession of ignorance.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner’s delivery was leisurely, as +it were cautious. His thought seemed to rest poised on a +word before passing to another, as though words had been the +stepping-stones for his intellect picking its way across the +waters of error. “Unless you have brought something +useful from Greenwich,” he added.</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector began at once the account of his +investigation in a clear matter-of-fact manner. His +superior turning his chair a little, and crossing his thin legs, +leaned sideways on his elbow, with one hand shading his +eyes. His listening attitude had a sort of angular and +sorrowful grace. Gleams as of highly burnished silver +played on the sides of his ebony black head when he inclined it +slowly at the end.</p> + +<p>Chief Inspector Heat waited with the appearance of turning +over in his mind all he had just said, but, as a matter of fact, +considering the advisability of saying something more. The +Assistant Commissioner cut his hesitation short.</p> + +<p>“You believe there were two men?” he asked, +without uncovering his eyes.</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector thought it more than probable. In +his opinion, the two men had parted from each other within a +hundred yards from the Observatory walls. He explained also +how the other man could have got out of the park speedily without +being observed. The fog, though not very dense, was in his +favour. He seemed to have escorted the other to the spot, +and then to have left him there to do the job +single-handed. Taking the time those two were seen coming +out of Maze Hill Station by the old woman, and the time when the +explosion was heard, the Chief Inspector thought that the other +man might have been actually at the Greenwich Park Station, ready +to catch the next train up, at the moment his comrade was +destroying himself so thoroughly.</p> + +<p>“Very thoroughly—eh?” murmured the Assistant +Commissioner from under the shadow of his hand.</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector in a few vigorous words described the +aspect of the remains. “The coroner’s jury will +have a treat,” he added grimly.</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner uncovered his eyes.</p> + +<p>“We shall have nothing to tell them,” he remarked +languidly.</p> + +<p>He looked up, and for a time watched the markedly +non-committal attitude of his Chief Inspector. His nature +was one that is not easily accessible to illusions. He knew +that a department is at the mercy of its subordinate officers, +who have their own conceptions of loyalty. His career had +begun in a tropical colony. He had liked his work +there. It was police work. He had been very +successful in tracking and breaking up certain nefarious secret +societies amongst the natives. Then he took his long leave, +and got married rather impulsively. It was a good match +from a worldly point of view, but his wife formed an unfavourable +opinion of the colonial climate on hearsay evidence. On the +other hand, she had influential connections. It was an +excellent match. But he did not like the work he had to do +now. He felt himself dependent on too many subordinates and +too many masters. The near presence of that strange +emotional phenomenon called public opinion weighed upon his +spirits, and alarmed him by its irrational nature. No doubt +that from ignorance he exaggerated to himself its power for good +and evil—especially for evil; and the rough east winds of +the English spring (which agreed with his wife) augmented his +general mistrust of men’s motives and of the efficiency of +their organisation. The futility of office work especially +appalled him on those days so trying to his sensitive liver.</p> + +<p>He got up, unfolding himself to his full height, and with a +heaviness of step remarkable in so slender a man, moved across +the room to the window. The panes streamed with rain, and +the short street he looked down into lay wet and empty, as if +swept clear suddenly by a great flood. It was a very trying +day, choked in raw fog to begin with, and now drowned in cold +rain. The flickering, blurred flames of gas-lamps seemed to +be dissolving in a watery atmosphere. And the lofty +pretensions of a mankind oppressed by the miserable indignities +of the weather appeared as a colossal and hopeless vanity +deserving of scorn, wonder, and compassion.</p> + +<p>“Horrible, horrible!” thought the Assistant +Commissioner to himself, with his face near the +window-pane. “We have been having this sort of thing +now for ten days; no, a fortnight—a fortnight.” +He ceased to think completely for a time. That utter +stillness of his brain lasted about three seconds. Then he +said perfunctorily: “You have set inquiries on foot for +tracing that other man up and down the line?”</p> + +<p>He had no doubt that everything needful had been done. +Chief Inspector Heat knew, of course, thoroughly the business of +man-hunting. And these were the routine steps, too, that +would be taken as a matter of course by the merest +beginner. A few inquiries amongst the ticket collectors and +the porters of the two small railway stations would give +additional details as to the appearance of the two men; the +inspection of the collected tickets would show at once where they +came from that morning. It was elementary, and could not +have been neglected. Accordingly the Chief Inspector +answered that all this had been done directly the old woman had +come forward with her deposition. And he mentioned the name +of a station. “That’s where they came from, +sir,” he went on. “The porter who took the +tickets at Maze Hill remembers two chaps answering to the +description passing the barrier. They seemed to him two +respectable working men of a superior sort—sign painters or +house decorators. The big man got out of a third-class +compartment backward, with a bright tin can in his hand. On +the platform he gave it to carry to the fair young fellow who +followed him. All this agrees exactly with what the old +woman told the police sergeant in Greenwich.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner, still with his face turned to the +window, expressed his doubt as to these two men having had +anything to do with the outrage. All this theory rested +upon the utterances of an old charwoman who had been nearly +knocked down by a man in a hurry. Not a very substantial +authority indeed, unless on the ground of sudden inspiration, +which was hardly tenable.</p> + +<p>“Frankly now, could she have been really +inspired?” he queried, with grave irony, keeping his back +to the room, as if entranced by the contemplation of the +town’s colossal forms half lost in the night. He did +not even look round when he heard the mutter of the word +“Providential” from the principal subordinate of his +department, whose name, printed sometimes in the papers, was +familiar to the great public as that of one of its zealous and +hard-working protectors. Chief Inspector Heat raised his +voice a little.</p> + +<p>“Strips and bits of bright tin were quite visible to +me,” he said. “That’s a pretty good +corroboration.”</p> + +<p>“And these men came from that little country +station,” the Assistant Commissioner mused aloud, +wondering. He was told that such was the name on two +tickets out of three given up out of that train at Maze +Hill. The third person who got out was a hawker from +Gravesend well known to the porters. The Chief Inspector +imparted that information in a tone of finality with some ill +humour, as loyal servants will do in the consciousness of their +fidelity and with the sense of the value of their loyal +exertions. And still the Assistant Commissioner did not +turn away from the darkness outside, as vast as a sea.</p> + +<p>“Two foreign anarchists coming from that place,” +he said, apparently to the window-pane. “It’s +rather unaccountable.”’</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. But it would be still more +unaccountable if that Michaelis weren’t staying in a +cottage in the neighbourhood.”</p> + +<p>At the sound of that name, falling unexpectedly into this +annoying affair, the Assistant Commissioner dismissed brusquely +the vague remembrance of his daily whist party at his club. +It was the most comforting habit of his life, in a mainly +successful display of his skill without the assistance of any +subordinate. He entered his club to play from five to +seven, before going home to dinner, forgetting for those two +hours whatever was distasteful in his life, as though the game +were a beneficent drug for allaying the pangs of moral +discontent. His partners were the gloomily humorous editor +of a celebrated magazine; a silent, elderly barrister with +malicious little eyes; and a highly martial, simple-minded old +Colonel with nervous brown hands. They were his club +acquaintances merely. He never met them elsewhere except at +the card-table. But they all seemed to approach the game in +the spirit of co-sufferers, as if it were indeed a drug against +the secret ills of existence; and every day as the sun declined +over the countless roofs of the town, a mellow, pleasurable +impatience, resembling the impulse of a sure and profound +friendship, lightened his professional labours. And now +this pleasurable sensation went out of him with something +resembling a physical shock, and was replaced by a special kind +of interest in his work of social protection—an improper +sort of interest, which may be defined best as a sudden and alert +mistrust of the weapon in his hand.</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<p>The lady patroness of Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle +of humanitarian hopes, was one of the most influential and +distinguished connections of the Assistant Commissioner’s +wife, whom she called Annie, and treated still rather as a not +very wise and utterly inexperienced young girl. But she had +consented to accept him on a friendly footing, which was by no +means the case with all of his wife’s influential +connections. Married young and splendidly at some remote +epoch of the past, she had had for a time a close view of great +affairs and even of some great men. She herself was a great +lady. Old now in the number of her years, she had that sort +of exceptional temperament which defies time with scornful +disregard, as if it were a rather vulgar convention submitted to +by the mass of inferior mankind. Many other conventions +easier to set aside, alas! failed to obtain her recognition, also +on temperamental grounds—either because they bored her, or +else because they stood in the way of her scorns and +sympathies. Admiration was a sentiment unknown to her (it +was one of the secret griefs of her most noble husband against +her)—first, as always more or less tainted with mediocrity, +and next as being in a way an admission of inferiority. And +both were frankly inconceivable to her nature. To be +fearlessly outspoken in her opinions came easily to her, since +she judged solely from the standpoint of her social +position. She was equally untrammelled in her actions; and +as her tactfulness proceeded from genuine humanity, her bodily +vigour remained remarkable and her superiority was serene and +cordial, three generations had admired her infinitely, and the +last she was likely to see had pronounced her a wonderful +woman. Meantime intelligent, with a sort of lofty +simplicity, and curious at heart, but not like many women merely +of social gossip, she amused her age by attracting within her ken +through the power of her great, almost historical, social +prestige everything that rose above the dead level of mankind, +lawfully or unlawfully, by position, wit, audacity, fortune or +misfortune. Royal Highnesses, artists, men of science, +young statesmen, and charlatans of all ages and conditions, who, +unsubstantial and light, bobbing up like corks, show best the +direction of the surface currents, had been welcomed in that +house, listened to, penetrated, understood, appraised, for her +own edification. In her own words, she liked to watch what +the world was coming to. And as she had a practical mind +her judgment of men and things, though based on special +prejudices, was seldom totally wrong, and almost never +wrong-headed. Her drawing-room was probably the only place +in the wide world where an Assistant Commissioner of Police could +meet a convict liberated on a ticket-of-leave on other than +professional and official ground. Who had brought Michaelis +there one afternoon the Assistant Commissioner did not remember +very well. He had a notion it must have been a certain +Member of Parliament of illustrious parentage and unconventional +sympathies, which were the standing joke of the comic +papers. The notabilities and even the simple notorieties of +the day brought each other freely to that temple of an old +woman’s not ignoble curiosity. You never could guess +whom you were likely to come upon being received in semi-privacy +within the faded blue silk and gilt frame screen, making a cosy +nook for a couch and a few arm-chairs in the great drawing-room, +with its hum of voices and the groups of people seated or +standing in the light of six tall windows.</p> + +<p>Michaelis had been the object of a revulsion of popular +sentiment, the same sentiment which years ago had applauded the +ferocity of the life sentence passed upon him for complicity in a +rather mad attempt to rescue some prisoners from a police +van. The plan of the conspirators had been to shoot down +the horses and overpower the escort. Unfortunately, one of +the police constables got shot too. He left a wife and +three small children, and the death of that man aroused through +the length and breadth of a realm for whose defence, welfare, and +glory men die every day as matter of duty, an outburst of furious +indignation, of a raging implacable pity for the victim. +Three ring-leaders got hanged. Michaelis, young and slim, +locksmith by trade, and great frequenter of evening schools, did +not even know that anybody had been killed, his part with a few +others being to force open the door at the back of the special +conveyance. When arrested he had a bunch of skeleton keys +in one pocket, a heavy chisel in another, and a short crowbar in +his hand: neither more nor less than a burglar. But no +burglar would have received such a heavy sentence. The +death of the constable had made him miserable at heart, but the +failure of the plot also. He did not conceal either of +these sentiments from his empanelled countrymen, and that sort of +compunction appeared shockingly imperfect to the crammed +court. The judge on passing sentence commented feelingly +upon the depravity and callousness of the young prisoner.</p> + +<p>That made the groundless fame of his condemnation; the fame of +his release was made for him on no better grounds by people who +wished to exploit the sentimental aspect of his imprisonment +either for purposes of their own or for no intelligible +purpose. He let them do so in the innocence of his heart +and the simplicity of his mind. Nothing that happened to +him individually had any importance. He was like those +saintly men whose personality is lost in the contemplation of +their faith. His ideas were not in the nature of +convictions. They were inaccessible to reasoning. +They formed in all their contradictions and obscurities an +invincible and humanitarian creed, which he confessed rather than +preached, with an obstinate gentleness, a smile of pacific +assurance on his lips, and his candid blue eyes cast down because +the sight of faces troubled his inspiration developed in +solitude. In that characteristic attitude, pathetic in his +grotesque and incurable obesity which he had to drag like a +galley slave’s bullet to the end of his days, the Assistant +Commissioner of Police beheld the ticket-of-leave apostle filling +a privileged arm-chair within the screen. He sat there by +the head of the old lady’s couch, mild-voiced and quiet, +with no more self-consciousness than a very small child, and with +something of a child’s charm—the appealing charm of +trustfulness. Confident of the future, whose secret ways +had been revealed to him within the four walls of a well-known +penitentiary, he had no reason to look with suspicion upon +anybody. If he could not give the great and curious lady a +very definite idea as to what the world was coming to, he had +managed without effort to impress her by his unembittered faith, +by the sterling quality of his optimism.</p> + +<p>A certain simplicity of thought is common to serene souls at +both ends of the social scale. The great lady was simple in +her own way. His views and beliefs had nothing in them to +shock or startle her, since she judged them from the standpoint +of her lofty position. Indeed, her sympathies were easily +accessible to a man of that sort. She was not an exploiting +capitalist herself; she was, as it were, above the play of +economic conditions. And she had a great capacity of pity +for the more obvious forms of common human miseries, precisely +because she was such a complete stranger to them that she had to +translate her conception into terms of mental suffering before +she could grasp the notion of their cruelty. The Assistant +Commissioner remembered very well the conversation between these +two. He had listened in silence. It was something as +exciting in a way, and even touching in its foredoomed futility, +as the efforts at moral intercourse between the inhabitants of +remote planets. But this grotesque incarnation of +humanitarian passion appealed somehow, to one’s +imagination. At last Michaelis rose, and taking the great +lady’s extended hand, shook it, retained it for a moment in +his great cushioned palm with unembarrassed friendliness, and +turned upon the semi-private nook of the drawing-room his back, +vast and square, and as if distended under the short tweed +jacket. Glancing about in serene benevolence, he waddled +along to the distant door between the knots of other +visitors. The murmur of conversations paused on his +passage. He smiled innocently at a tall, brilliant girl, +whose eyes met his accidentally, and went out unconscious of the +glances following him across the room. Michaelis’ +first appearance in the world was a success—a success of +esteem unmarred by a single murmur of derision. The +interrupted conversations were resumed in their proper tone, +grave or light. Only a well-set-up, long-limbed, +active-looking man of forty talking with two ladies near a window +remarked aloud, with an unexpected depth of feeling: +“Eighteen stone, I should say, and not five foot six. +Poor fellow! It’s terrible—terrible.”</p> + +<p>The lady of the house, gazing absently at the Assistant +Commissioner, left alone with her on the private side of the +screen, seemed to be rearranging her mental impressions behind +her thoughtful immobility of a handsome old face. Men with +grey moustaches and full, healthy, vaguely smiling countenances +approached, circling round the screen; two mature women with a +matronly air of gracious resolution; a clean-shaved individual +with sunken cheeks, and dangling a gold-mounted eyeglass on a +broad black ribbon with an old-world, dandified effect. A +silence deferential, but full of reserves, reigned for a moment, +and then the great lady exclaimed, not with resentment, but with +a sort of protesting indignation:</p> + +<p>“And that officially is supposed to be a +revolutionist! What nonsense.” She looked hard +at the Assistant Commissioner, who murmured apologetically:</p> + +<p>“Not a dangerous one perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“Not dangerous—I should think not indeed. He +is a mere believer. It’s the temperament of a +saint,” declared the great lady in a firm tone. +“And they kept him shut up for twenty years. One +shudders at the stupidity of it. And now they have let him +out everybody belonging to him is gone away somewhere or +dead. His parents are dead; the girl he was to marry has +died while he was in prison; he has lost the skill necessary for +his manual occupation. He told me all this himself with the +sweetest patience; but then, he said, he had had plenty of time +to think out things for himself. A pretty +compensation! If that’s the stuff revolutionists are +made of some of us may well go on their knees to them,” she +continued in a slightly bantering voice, while the banal society +smiles hardened on the worldly faces turned towards her with +conventional deference. “The poor creature is +obviously no longer in a position to take care of himself. +Somebody will have to look after him a little.”</p> + +<p>“He should be recommended to follow a treatment of some +sort,” the soldierly voice of the active-looking man was +heard advising earnestly from a distance. He was in the +pink of condition for his age, and even the texture of his long +frock coat had a character of elastic soundness, as if it were a +living tissue. “The man is virtually a +cripple,” he added with unmistakable feeling.</p> + +<p>Other voices, as if glad of the opening, murmured hasty +compassion. “Quite startling,” +“Monstrous,” “Most painful to see.” +The lank man, with the eyeglass on a broad ribbon, pronounced +mincingly the word “Grotesque,” whose justness was +appreciated by those standing near him. They smiled at each +other.</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner had expressed no opinion either +then or later, his position making it impossible for him to +ventilate any independent view of a ticket-of-leave +convict. But, in truth, he shared the view of his +wife’s friend and patron that Michaelis was a humanitarian +sentimentalist, a little mad, but upon the whole incapable of +hurting a fly intentionally. So when that name cropped up +suddenly in this vexing bomb affair he realised all the danger of +it for the ticket-of-leave apostle, and his mind reverted at once +to the old lady’s well-established infatuation. Her +arbitrary kindness would not brook patiently any interference +with Michaelis’ freedom. It was a deep, calm, +convinced infatuation. She had not only felt him to be +inoffensive, but she had said so, which last by a confusion of +her absolutist mind became a sort of incontrovertible +demonstration. It was as if the monstrosity of the man, +with his candid infant’s eyes and a fat angelic smile, had +fascinated her. She had come to believe almost his theory +of the future, since it was not repugnant to her +prejudices. She disliked the new element of plutocracy in +the social compound, and industrialism as a method of human +development appeared to her singularly repulsive in its +mechanical and unfeeling character. The humanitarian hopes +of the mild Michaelis tended not towards utter destruction, but +merely towards the complete economic ruin of the system. +And she did not really see where was the moral harm of it. +It would do away with all the multitude of the +“parvenus,” whom she disliked and mistrusted, not +because they had arrived anywhere (she denied that), but because +of their profound unintelligence of the world, which was the +primary cause of the crudity of their perceptions and the aridity +of their hearts. With the annihilation of all capital they +would vanish too; but universal ruin (providing it was universal, +as it was revealed to Michaelis) would leave the social values +untouched. The disappearance of the last piece of money +could not affect people of position. She could not conceive +how it could affect her position, for instance. She had +developed these discoveries to the Assistant Commissioner with +all the serene fearlessness of an old woman who had escaped the +blight of indifference. He had made for himself the rule to +receive everything of that sort in a silence which he took care +from policy and inclination not to make offensive. He had +an affection for the aged disciple of Michaelis, a complex +sentiment depending a little on her prestige, on her personality, +but most of all on the instinct of flattered gratitude. He +felt himself really liked in her house. She was kindness +personified. And she was practically wise too, after the +manner of experienced women. She made his married life much +easier than it would have been without her generously full +recognition of his rights as Annie’s husband. Her +influence upon his wife, a woman devoured by all sorts of small +selfishnesses, small envies, small jealousies, was +excellent. Unfortunately, both her kindness and her wisdom +were of unreasonable complexion, distinctly feminine, and +difficult to deal with. She remained a perfect woman all +along her full tale of years, and not as some of them do +become—a sort of slippery, pestilential old man in +petticoats. And it was as of a woman that he thought of +her—the specially choice incarnation of the feminine, +wherein is recruited the tender, ingenuous, and fierce bodyguard +for all sorts of men who talk under the influence of an emotion, +true or fraudulent; for preachers, seers, prophets, or +reformers.</p> + +<p>Appreciating the distinguished and good friend of his wife, +and himself, in that way, the Assistant Commissioner became +alarmed at the convict Michaelis’ possible fate. Once +arrested on suspicion of being in some way, however remote, a +party to this outrage, the man could hardly escape being sent +back to finish his sentence at least. And that would kill +him; he would never come out alive. The Assistant +Commissioner made a reflection extremely unbecoming his official +position without being really creditable to his humanity.</p> + +<p>“If the fellow is laid hold of again,” he thought, +“she will never forgive me.”</p> + +<p>The frankness of such a secretly outspoken thought could not +go without some derisive self-criticism. No man engaged in +a work he does not like can preserve many saving illusions about +himself. The distaste, the absence of glamour, extend from +the occupation to the personality. It is only when our +appointed activities seem by a lucky accident to obey the +particular earnestness of our temperament that we can taste the +comfort of complete self-deception. The Assistant +Commissioner did not like his work at home. The police work +he had been engaged on in a distant part of the globe had the +saving character of an irregular sort of warfare or at least the +risk and excitement of open-air sport. His real abilities, +which were mainly of an administrative order, were combined with +an adventurous disposition. Chained to a desk in the thick +of four millions of men, he considered himself the victim of an +ironic fate—the same, no doubt, which had brought about his +marriage with a woman exceptionally sensitive in the matter of +colonial climate, besides other limitations testifying to the +delicacy of her nature—and her tastes. Though he +judged his alarm sardonically he did not dismiss the improper +thought from his mind. The instinct of self-preservation +was strong within him. On the contrary, he repeated it +mentally with profane emphasis and a fuller precision: +“Damn it! If that infernal Heat has his way the +fellow’ll die in prison smothered in his fat, and +she’ll never forgive me.”</p> + +<p>His black, narrow figure, with the white band of the collar +under the silvery gleams on the close-cropped hair at the back of +the head, remained motionless. The silence had lasted such +a long time that Chief Inspector Heat ventured to clear his +throat. This noise produced its effect. The zealous +and intelligent officer was asked by his superior, whose back +remained turned to him immovably:</p> + +<p>“You connect Michaelis with this affair?”</p> + +<p>Chief Inspector Heat was very positive, but cautious.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” he said, “we have enough to go +upon. A man like that has no business to be at large, +anyhow.”</p> + +<p>“You will want some conclusive evidence,” came the +observation in a murmur.</p> + +<p>Chief Inspector Heat raised his eyebrows at the black, narrow +back, which remained obstinately presented to his intelligence +and his zeal.</p> + +<p>“There will be no difficulty in getting up sufficient +evidence against <i>him</i>,” he said, with virtuous +complacency. “You may trust me for that, sir,” +he added, quite unnecessarily, out of the fulness of his heart; +for it seemed to him an excellent thing to have that man in hand +to be thrown down to the public should it think fit to roar with +any special indignation in this case. It was impossible to +say yet whether it would roar or not. That in the last +instance depended, of course, on the newspaper press. But +in any case, Chief Inspector Heat, purveyor of prisons by trade, +and a man of legal instincts, did logically believe that +incarceration was the proper fate for every declared enemy of the +law. In the strength of that conviction he committed a +fault of tact. He allowed himself a little conceited laugh, +and repeated:</p> + +<p>“Trust me for that, sir.”</p> + +<p>This was too much for the forced calmness under which the +Assistant Commissioner had for upwards of eighteen months +concealed his irritation with the system and the subordinates of +his office. A square peg forced into a round hole, he had +felt like a daily outrage that long established smooth roundness +into which a man of less sharply angular shape would have fitted +himself, with voluptuous acquiescence, after a shrug or +two. What he resented most was just the necessity of taking +so much on trust. At the little laugh of Chief Inspector +Heat’s he spun swiftly on his heels, as if whirled away +from the window-pane by an electric shock. He caught on the +latter’s face not only the complacency proper to the +occasion lurking under the moustache, but the vestiges of +experimental watchfulness in the round eyes, which had been, no +doubt, fastened on his back, and now met his glance for a second +before the intent character of their stare had the time to change +to a merely startled appearance.</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner of Police had really some +qualifications for his post. Suddenly his suspicion was +awakened. It is but fair to say that his suspicions of the +police methods (unless the police happened to be a semi-military +body organised by himself) was not difficult to arouse. If +it ever slumbered from sheer weariness, it was but lightly; and +his appreciation of Chief Inspector Heat’s zeal and +ability, moderate in itself, excluded all notion of moral +confidence. “He’s up to something,” he +exclaimed mentally, and at once became angry. Crossing over +to his desk with headlong strides, he sat down violently. +“Here I am stuck in a litter of paper,” he reflected, +with unreasonable resentment, “supposed to hold all the +threads in my hands, and yet I can but hold what is put in my +hand, and nothing else. And they can fasten the other ends +of the threads where they please.”</p> + +<p>He raised his head, and turned towards his subordinate a long, +meagre face with the accentuated features of an energetic Don +Quixote.</p> + +<p>“Now what is it you’ve got up your +sleeve?”</p> + +<p>The other stared. He stared without winking in a perfect +immobility of his round eyes, as he was used to stare at the +various members of the criminal class when, after being duly +cautioned, they made their statements in the tones of injured +innocence, or false simplicity, or sullen resignation. But +behind that professional and stony fixity there was some surprise +too, for in such a tone, combining nicely the note of contempt +and impatience, Chief Inspector Heat, the right-hand man of the +department, was not used to be addressed. He began in a +procrastinating manner, like a man taken unawares by a new and +unexpected experience.</p> + +<p>“What I’ve got against that man Michaelis you +mean, sir?”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner watched the bullet head; the points +of that Norse rover’s moustache, falling below the line of +the heavy jaw; the whole full and pale physiognomy, whose +determined character was marred by too much flesh; at the cunning +wrinkles radiating from the outer corners of the eyes—and +in that purposeful contemplation of the valuable and trusted +officer he drew a conviction so sudden that it moved him like an +inspiration.</p> + +<p>“I have reason to think that when you came into this +room,” he said in measured tones, “it was not +Michaelis who was in your mind; not principally—perhaps not +at all.”</p> + +<p>“You have reason to think, sir?” muttered Chief +Inspector Heat, with every appearance of astonishment, which up +to a certain point was genuine enough. He had discovered in +this affair a delicate and perplexing side, forcing upon the +discoverer a certain amount of insincerity—that sort of +insincerity which, under the names of skill, prudence, +discretion, turns up at one point or another in most human +affairs. He felt at the moment like a tight-rope artist +might feel if suddenly, in the middle of the performance, the +manager of the Music Hall were to rush out of the proper +managerial seclusion and begin to shake the rope. +Indignation, the sense of moral insecurity engendered by such a +treacherous proceeding joined to the immediate apprehension of a +broken neck, would, in the colloquial phrase, put him in a +state. And there would be also some scandalised concern for +his art too, since a man must identify himself with something +more tangible than his own personality, and establish his pride +somewhere, either in his social position, or in the quality of +the work he is obliged to do, or simply in the superiority of the +idleness he may be fortunate enough to enjoy.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the Assistant Commissioner; “I +have. I do not mean to say that you have not thought of +Michaelis at all. But you are giving the fact you’ve +mentioned a prominence which strikes me as not quite candid, +Inspector Heat. If that is really the track of discovery, +why haven’t you followed it up at once, either personally +or by sending one of your men to that village?”</p> + +<p>“Do you think, sir, I have failed in my duty +there?” the Chief Inspector asked, in a tone which he +sought to make simply reflective. Forced unexpectedly to +concentrate his faculties upon the task of preserving his +balance, he had seized upon that point, and exposed himself to a +rebuke; for, the Assistant Commissioner frowning slightly, +observed that this was a very improper remark to make.</p> + +<p>“But since you’ve made it,” he continued +coldly, “I’ll tell you that this is not my +meaning.”</p> + +<p>He paused, with a straight glance of his sunken eyes which was +a full equivalent of the unspoken termination “and you know +it.” The head of the so-called Special Crimes +Department debarred by his position from going out of doors +personally in quest of secrets locked up in guilty breasts, had a +propensity to exercise his considerable gifts for the detection +of incriminating truth upon his own subordinates. That +peculiar instinct could hardly be called a weakness. It was +natural. He was a born detective. It had +unconsciously governed his choice of a career, and if it ever +failed him in life it was perhaps in the one exceptional +circumstance of his marriage—which was also natural. +It fed, since it could not roam abroad, upon the human material +which was brought to it in its official seclusion. We can +never cease to be ourselves.</p> + +<p>His elbow on the desk, his thin legs crossed, and nursing his +cheek in the palm of his meagre hand, the Assistant Commissioner +in charge of the Special Crimes branch was getting hold of the +case with growing interest. His Chief Inspector, if not an +absolutely worthy foeman of his penetration, was at any rate the +most worthy of all within his reach. A mistrust of +established reputations was strictly in character with the +Assistant Commissioner’s ability as detector. His +memory evoked a certain old fat and wealthy native chief in the +distant colony whom it was a tradition for the successive +Colonial Governors to trust and make much of as a firm friend and +supporter of the order and legality established by white men; +whereas, when examined sceptically, he was found out to be +principally his own good friend, and nobody else’s. +Not precisely a traitor, but still a man of many dangerous +reservations in his fidelity, caused by a due regard for his own +advantage, comfort, and safety. A fellow of some innocence +in his naive duplicity, but none the less dangerous. He +took some finding out. He was physically a big man, too, +and (allowing for the difference of colour, of course) Chief +Inspector Heat’s appearance recalled him to the memory of +his superior. It was not the eyes nor yet the lips +exactly. It was bizarre. But does not Alfred Wallace +relate in his famous book on the Malay Archipelago how, amongst +the Aru Islanders, he discovered in an old and naked savage with +a sooty skin a peculiar resemblance to a dear friend at home?</p> + +<p>For the first time since he took up his appointment the +Assistant Commissioner felt as if he were going to do some real +work for his salary. And that was a pleasurable +sensation. “I’ll turn him inside out like an +old glove,” thought the Assistant Commissioner, with his +eyes resting pensively upon Chief Inspector Heat.</p> + +<p>“No, that was not my thought,” he began +again. “There is no doubt about you knowing your +business—no doubt at all; and that’s precisely why +I—” He stopped short, and changing his tone: +“What could you bring up against Michaelis of a definite +nature? I mean apart from the fact that the two men under +suspicion—you’re certain there were two of +them—came last from a railway station within three miles of +the village where Michaelis is living now.”</p> + +<p>“This by itself is enough for us to go upon, sir, with +that sort of man,” said the Chief Inspector, with returning +composure. The slight approving movement of the Assistant +Commissioner’s head went far to pacify the resentful +astonishment of the renowned officer. For Chief Inspector +Heat was a kind man, an excellent husband, a devoted father; and +the public and departmental confidence he enjoyed acting +favourably upon an amiable nature, disposed him to feel friendly +towards the successive Assistant Commissioners he had seen pass +through that very room. There had been three in his +time. The first one, a soldierly, abrupt, red-faced person, +with white eyebrows and an explosive temper, could be managed +with a silken thread. He left on reaching the age +limit. The second, a perfect gentleman, knowing his own and +everybody else’s place to a nicety, on resigning to take up +a higher appointment out of England got decorated for (really) +Inspector Heat’s services. To work with him had been +a pride and a pleasure. The third, a bit of a dark horse +from the first, was at the end of eighteen months something of a +dark horse still to the department. Upon the whole Chief +Inspector Heat believed him to be in the main +harmless—odd-looking, but harmless. He was speaking +now, and the Chief Inspector listened with outward deference +(which means nothing, being a matter of duty) and inwardly with +benevolent toleration.</p> + +<p>“Michaelis reported himself before leaving London for +the country?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. He did.”</p> + +<p>“And what may he be doing there?” continued the +Assistant Commissioner, who was perfectly informed on that +point. Fitted with painful tightness into an old wooden +arm-chair, before a worm-eaten oak table in an upstairs room of a +four-roomed cottage with a roof of moss-grown tiles, Michaelis +was writing night and day in a shaky, slanting hand that +“Autobiography of a Prisoner” which was to be like a +book of Revelation in the history of mankind. The +conditions of confined space, seclusion, and solitude in a small +four-roomed cottage were favourable to his inspiration. It +was like being in prison, except that one was never disturbed for +the odious purpose of taking exercise according to the tyrannical +regulations of his old home in the penitentiary. He could +not tell whether the sun still shone on the earth or not. +The perspiration of the literary labour dropped from his +brow. A delightful enthusiasm urged him on. It was +the liberation of his inner life, the letting out of his soul +into the wide world. And the zeal of his guileless vanity +(first awakened by the offer of five hundred pounds from a +publisher) seemed something predestined and holy.</p> + +<p>“It would be, of course, most desirable to be informed +exactly,” insisted the Assistant Commissioner +uncandidly.</p> + +<p>Chief Inspector Heat, conscious of renewed irritation at this +display of scrupulousness, said that the county police had been +notified from the first of Michaelis’ arrival, and that a +full report could be obtained in a few hours. A wire to the +superintendent—</p> + +<p>Thus he spoke, rather slowly, while his mind seemed already to +be weighing the consequences. A slight knitting of the brow +was the outward sign of this. But he was interrupted by a +question.</p> + +<p>“You’ve sent that wire already?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” he answered, as if surprised.</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner uncrossed his legs suddenly. +The briskness of that movement contrasted with the casual way in +which he threw out a suggestion.</p> + +<p>“Would you think that Michaelis had anything to do with +the preparation of that bomb, for instance?”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector assumed a reflective manner.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t say so. There’s no +necessity to say anything at present. He associates with +men who are classed as dangerous. He was made a delegate of +the Red Committee less than a year after his release on +licence. A sort of compliment, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>And the Chief Inspector laughed a little angrily, a little +scornfully. With a man of that sort scrupulousness was a +misplaced and even an illegal sentiment. The celebrity +bestowed upon Michaelis on his release two years ago by some +emotional journalists in want of special copy had rankled ever +since in his breast. It was perfectly legal to arrest that +man on the barest suspicion. It was legal and expedient on +the face of it. His two former chiefs would have seen the +point at once; whereas this one, without saying either yes or no, +sat there, as if lost in a dream. Moreover, besides being +legal and expedient, the arrest of Michaelis solved a little +personal difficulty which worried Chief Inspector Heat +somewhat. This difficulty had its bearing upon his +reputation, upon his comfort, and even upon the efficient +performance of his duties. For, if Michaelis no doubt knew +something about this outrage, the Chief Inspector was fairly +certain that he did not know too much. This was just as +well. He knew much less—the Chief Inspector was +positive—than certain other individuals he had in his mind, +but whose arrest seemed to him inexpedient, besides being a more +complicated matter, on account of the rules of the game. +The rules of the game did not protect so much Michaelis, who was +an ex-convict. It would be stupid not to take advantage of +legal facilities, and the journalists who had written him up with +emotional gush would be ready to write him down with emotional +indignation.</p> + +<p>This prospect, viewed with confidence, had the attraction of a +personal triumph for Chief Inspector Heat. And deep down in +his blameless bosom of an average married citizen, almost +unconscious but potent nevertheless, the dislike of being +compelled by events to meddle with the desperate ferocity of the +Professor had its say. This dislike had been strengthened +by the chance meeting in the lane. The encounter did not +leave behind with Chief Inspector Heat that satisfactory sense of +superiority the members of the police force get from the +unofficial but intimate side of their intercourse with the +criminal classes, by which the vanity of power is soothed, and +the vulgar love of domination over our fellow-creatures is +flattered as worthily as it deserves.</p> + +<p>The perfect anarchist was not recognised as a fellow-creature +by Chief Inspector Heat. He was impossible—a mad dog +to be left alone. Not that the Chief Inspector was afraid +of him; on the contrary, he meant to have him some day. But +not yet; he meant to get hold of him in his own time, properly +and effectively according to the rules of the game. The +present was not the right time for attempting that feat, not the +right time for many reasons, personal and of public +service. This being the strong feeling of Inspector Heat, +it appeared to him just and proper that this affair should be +shunted off its obscure and inconvenient track, leading goodness +knows where, into a quiet (and lawful) siding called +Michaelis. And he repeated, as if reconsidering the +suggestion conscientiously:</p> + +<p>“The bomb. No, I would not say that exactly. +We may never find that out. But it’s clear that he is +connected with this in some way, which we can find out without +much trouble.”</p> + +<p>His countenance had that look of grave, overbearing +indifference once well known and much dreaded by the better sort +of thieves. Chief Inspector Heat, though what is called a +man, was not a smiling animal. But his inward state was +that of satisfaction at the passively receptive attitude of the +Assistant Commissioner, who murmured gently:</p> + +<p>“And you really think that the investigation should be +made in that direction?”</p> + +<p>“I do, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Quite convinced?</p> + +<p>“I am, sir. That’s the true line for us to +take.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner withdrew the support of his hand +from his reclining head with a suddenness that, considering his +languid attitude, seemed to menace his whole person with +collapse. But, on the contrary, he sat up, extremely alert, +behind the great writing-table on which his hand had fallen with +the sound of a sharp blow.</p> + +<p>“What I want to know is what put it out of your head +till now.”</p> + +<p>“Put it out of my head,” repeated the Chief +Inspector very slowly.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Till you were called into this +room—you know.”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector felt as if the air between his clothing +and his skin had become unpleasantly hot. It was the +sensation of an unprecedented and incredible experience.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” he said, exaggerating the +deliberation of his utterance to the utmost limits of +possibility, “if there is a reason, of which I know +nothing, for not interfering with the convict Michaelis, perhaps +it’s just as well I didn’t start the county police +after him.”</p> + +<p>This took such a long time to say that the unflagging +attention of the Assistant Commissioner seemed a wonderful feat +of endurance. His retort came without delay.</p> + +<p>“No reason whatever that I know of. Come, Chief +Inspector, this finessing with me is highly improper on your +part—highly improper. And it’s also unfair, you +know. You shouldn’t leave me to puzzle things out for +myself like this. Really, I am surprised.”</p> + +<p>He paused, then added smoothly: “I need scarcely tell +you that this conversation is altogether unofficial.”</p> + +<p>These words were far from pacifying the Chief Inspector. +The indignation of a betrayed tight-rope performer was strong +within him. In his pride of a trusted servant he was +affected by the assurance that the rope was not shaken for the +purpose of breaking his neck, as by an exhibition of +impudence. As if anybody were afraid! Assistant +Commissioners come and go, but a valuable Chief Inspector is not +an ephemeral office phenomenon. He was not afraid of +getting a broken neck. To have his performance spoiled was +more than enough to account for the glow of honest +indignation. And as thought is no respecter of persons, the +thought of Chief Inspector Heat took a threatening and prophetic +shape. “You, my boy,” he said to himself, +keeping his round and habitually roving eyes fastened upon the +Assistant Commissioner’s face—“you, my boy, you +don’t know your place, and your place won’t know you +very long either, I bet.”</p> + +<p>As if in provoking answer to that thought, something like the +ghost of an amiable smile passed on the lips of the Assistant +Commissioner. His manner was easy and business-like while +he persisted in administering another shake to the tight +rope.</p> + +<p>“Let us come now to what you have discovered on the +spot, Chief Inspector,” he said.</p> + +<p>“A fool and his job are soon parted,” went on the +train of prophetic thought in Chief Inspector Heat’s +head. But it was immediately followed by the reflection +that a higher official, even when “fired out” (this +was the precise image), has still the time as he flies through +the door to launch a nasty kick at the shin-bones of a +subordinate. Without softening very much the basilisk +nature of his stare, he said impassively:</p> + +<p>“We are coming to that part of my investigation, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right. Well, what have you brought +away from it?”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector, who had made up his mind to jump off the +rope, came to the ground with gloomy frankness.</p> + +<p>“I’ve brought away an address,” he said, +pulling out of his pocket without haste a singed rag of dark blue +cloth. “This belongs to the overcoat the fellow who +got himself blown to pieces was wearing. Of course, the +overcoat may not have been his, and may even have been +stolen. But that’s not at all probable if you look at +this.”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector, stepping up to the table, smoothed out +carefully the rag of blue cloth. He had picked it up from +the repulsive heap in the mortuary, because a tailor’s name +is found sometimes under the collar. It is not often of +much use, but still—He only half expected to find anything +useful, but certainly he did not expect to find—not under +the collar at all, but stitched carefully on the under side of +the lapel—a square piece of calico with an address written +on it in marking ink.</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector removed his smoothing hand.</p> + +<p>“I carried it off with me without anybody taking +notice,” he said. “I thought it best. It +can always be produced if required.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner, rising a little in his chair, +pulled the cloth over to his side of the table. He sat +looking at it in silence. Only the number 32 and the name +of Brett Street were written in marking ink on a piece of calico +slightly larger than an ordinary cigarette paper. He was +genuinely surprised.</p> + +<p>“Can’t understand why he should have gone about +labelled like this,” he said, looking up at Chief Inspector +Heat. “It’s a most extraordinary +thing.”</p> + +<p>“I met once in the smoking-room of a hotel an old +gentleman who went about with his name and address sewn on in all +his coats in case of an accident or sudden illness,” said +the Chief Inspector. “He professed to be eighty-four +years old, but he didn’t look his age. He told me he +was also afraid of losing his memory suddenly, like those people +he has been reading of in the papers.”</p> + +<p>A question from the Assistant Commissioner, who wanted to know +what was No. 32 Brett Street, interrupted that reminiscence +abruptly. The Chief Inspector, driven down to the ground by +unfair artifices, had elected to walk the path of unreserved +openness. If he believed firmly that to know too much was +not good for the department, the judicious holding back of +knowledge was as far as his loyalty dared to go for the good of +the service. If the Assistant Commissioner wanted to +mismanage this affair nothing, of course, could prevent +him. But, on his own part, he now saw no reason for a +display of alacrity. So he answered concisely:</p> + +<p>“It’s a shop, sir.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner, with his eyes lowered on the rag +of blue cloth, waited for more information. As that did not +come he proceeded to obtain it by a series of questions +propounded with gentle patience. Thus he acquired an idea +of the nature of Mr Verloc’s commerce, of his personal +appearance, and heard at last his name. In a pause the +Assistant Commissioner raised his eyes, and discovered some +animation on the Chief Inspector’s face. They looked +at each other in silence.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said the latter, “the +department has no record of that man.”</p> + +<p>“Did any of my predecessors have any knowledge of what +you have told me now?” asked the Assistant Commissioner, +putting his elbows on the table and raising his joined hands +before his face, as if about to offer prayer, only that his eyes +had not a pious expression.</p> + +<p>“No, sir; certainly not. What would have been the +object? That sort of man could never be produced publicly +to any good purpose. It was sufficient for me to know who +he was, and to make use of him in a way that could be used +publicly.”</p> + +<p>“And do you think that sort of private knowledge +consistent with the official position you occupy?”</p> + +<p>“Perfectly, sir. I think it’s quite +proper. I will take the liberty to tell you, sir, that it +makes me what I am—and I am looked upon as a man who knows +his work. It’s a private affair of my own. A +personal friend of mine in the French police gave me the hint +that the fellow was an Embassy spy. Private friendship, +private information, private use of it—that’s how I +look upon it.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner after remarking to himself that the +mental state of the renowned Chief Inspector seemed to affect the +outline of his lower jaw, as if the lively sense of his high +professional distinction had been located in that part of his +anatomy, dismissed the point for the moment with a calm “I +see.” Then leaning his cheek on his joined hands:</p> + +<p>“Well then—speaking privately if you +like—how long have you been in private touch with this +Embassy spy?”</p> + +<p>To this inquiry the private answer of the Chief Inspector, so +private that it was never shaped into audible words, was:</p> + +<p>“Long before you were even thought of for your place +here.”</p> + +<p>The so-to-speak public utterance was much more precise.</p> + +<p>“I saw him for the first time in my life a little more +than seven years ago, when two Imperial Highnesses and the +Imperial Chancellor were on a visit here. I was put in +charge of all the arrangements for looking after them. +Baron Stott-Wartenheim was Ambassador then. He was a very +nervous old gentleman. One evening, three days before the +Guildhall Banquet, he sent word that he wanted to see me for a +moment. I was downstairs, and the carriages were at the +door to take the Imperial Highnesses and the Chancellor to the +opera. I went up at once. I found the Baron walking +up and down his bedroom in a pitiable state of distress, +squeezing his hands together. He assured me he had the +fullest confidence in our police and in my abilities, but he had +there a man just come over from Paris whose information could be +trusted implicity. He wanted me to hear what that man had +to say. He took me at once into a dressing-room next door, +where I saw a big fellow in a heavy overcoat sitting all alone on +a chair, and holding his hat and stick in one hand. The +Baron said to him in French ‘Speak, my friend.’ +The light in that room was not very good. I talked with him +for some five minutes perhaps. He certainly gave me a piece +of very startling news. Then the Baron took me aside +nervously to praise him up to me, and when I turned round again I +discovered that the fellow had vanished like a ghost. Got +up and sneaked out down some back stairs, I suppose. There +was no time to run after him, as I had to hurry off after the +Ambassador down the great staircase, and see the party started +safe for the opera. However, I acted upon the information +that very night. Whether it was perfectly correct or not, +it did look serious enough. Very likely it saved us from an +ugly trouble on the day of the Imperial visit to the City.</p> + +<p>“Some time later, a month or so after my promotion to +Chief Inspector, my attention was attracted to a big burly man, I +thought I had seen somewhere before, coming out in a hurry from a +jeweller’s shop in the Strand. I went after him, as +it was on my way towards Charing Cross, and there seeing one of +our detectives across the road, I beckoned him over, and pointed +out the fellow to him, with instructions to watch his movements +for a couple of days, and then report to me. No later than +next afternoon my man turned up to tell me that the fellow had +married his landlady’s daughter at a registrar’s +office that very day at 11.30 a.m., and had gone off with her to +Margate for a week. Our man had seen the luggage being put +on the cab. There were some old Paris labels on one of the +bags. Somehow I couldn’t get the fellow out of my +head, and the very next time I had to go to Paris on service I +spoke about him to that friend of mine in the Paris police. +My friend said: ‘From what you tell me I think you must +mean a rather well-known hanger-on and emissary of the +Revolutionary Red Committee. He says he is an Englishman by +birth. We have an idea that he has been for a good few +years now a secret agent of one of the foreign Embassies in +London.’ This woke up my memory completely. He +was the vanishing fellow I saw sitting on a chair in Baron +Stott-Wartenheim’s bathroom. I told my friend that he +was quite right. The fellow was a secret agent to my +certain knowledge. Afterwards my friend took the trouble to +ferret out the complete record of that man for me. I +thought I had better know all there was to know; but I +don’t suppose you want to hear his history now, +sir?”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner shook his supported head. +“The history of your relations with that useful personage +is the only thing that matters just now,” he said, closing +slowly his weary, deep-set eyes, and then opening them swiftly +with a greatly refreshed glance.</p> + +<p>“There’s nothing official about them,” said +the Chief Inspector bitterly. “I went into his shop +one evening, told him who I was, and reminded him of our first +meeting. He didn’t as much as twitch an +eyebrow. He said that he was married and settled now, and +that all he wanted was not to be interfered in his little +business. I took it upon myself to promise him that, as +long as he didn’t go in for anything obviously outrageous, +he would be left alone by the police. That was worth +something to him, because a word from us to the Custom-House +people would have been enough to get some of these packages he +gets from Paris and Brussels opened in Dover, with confiscation +to follow for certain, and perhaps a prosecution as well at the +end of it.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a very precarious trade,” murmured +the Assistant Commissioner. “Why did he go in for +that?”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector raised scornful eyebrows +dispassionately.</p> + +<p>“Most likely got a connection—friends on the +Continent—amongst people who deal in such wares. They +would be just the sort he would consort with. He’s a +lazy dog, too—like the rest of them.”</p> + +<p>“What do you get from him in exchange for your +protection?”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector was not inclined to enlarge on the value +of Mr Verloc’s services.</p> + +<p>“He would not be much good to anybody but myself. +One has got to know a good deal beforehand to make use of a man +like that. I can understand the sort of hint he can +give. And when I want a hint he can generally furnish it to +me.”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector lost himself suddenly in a discreet +reflective mood; and the Assistant Commissioner repressed a smile +at the fleeting thought that the reputation of Chief Inspector +Heat might possibly have been made in a great part by the Secret +Agent Verloc.</p> + +<p>“In a more general way of being of use, all our men of +the Special Crimes section on duty at Charing Cross and Victoria +have orders to take careful notice of anybody they may see with +him. He meets the new arrivals frequently, and afterwards +keeps track of them. He seems to have been told off for +that sort of duty. When I want an address in a hurry, I can +always get it from him. Of course, I know how to manage our +relations. I haven’t seen him to speak to three times +in the last two years. I drop him a line, unsigned, and he +answers me in the same way at my private address.”</p> + +<p>From time to time the Assistant Commissioner gave an almost +imperceptible nod. The Chief Inspector added that he did +not suppose Mr Verloc to be deep in the confidence of the +prominent members of the Revolutionary International Council, but +that he was generally trusted of that there could be no +doubt. “Whenever I’ve had reason to think there +was something in the wind,” he concluded, “I’ve +always found he could tell me something worth knowing.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner made a significant remark.</p> + +<p>“He failed you this time.”</p> + +<p>“Neither had I wind of anything in any other way,” +retorted Chief Inspector Heat. “I asked him nothing, +so he could tell me nothing. He isn’t one of our +men. It isn’t as if he were in our pay.”</p> + +<p>“No,” muttered the Assistant Commissioner. +“He’s a spy in the pay of a foreign government. +We could never confess to him.”</p> + +<p>“I must do my work in my own way,” declared the +Chief Inspector. “When it comes to that I would deal +with the devil himself, and take the consequences. There +are things not fit for everybody to know.”</p> + +<p>“Your idea of secrecy seems to consist in keeping the +chief of your department in the dark. That’s +stretching it perhaps a little too far, isn’t it? He +lives over his shop?”</p> + +<p>“Who—Verloc? Oh yes. He lives over his +shop. The wife’s mother, I fancy, lives with +them.”</p> + +<p>“Is the house watched?”</p> + +<p>“Oh dear, no. It wouldn’t do. Certain +people who come there are watched. My opinion is that he +knows nothing of this affair.”</p> + +<p>“How do you account for this?” The Assistant +Commissioner nodded at the cloth rag lying before him on the +table.</p> + +<p>“I don’t account for it at all, sir. +It’s simply unaccountable. It can’t be +explained by what I know.” The Chief Inspector made +those admissions with the frankness of a man whose reputation is +established as if on a rock. “At any rate not at this +present moment. I think that the man who had most to do +with it will turn out to be Michaelis.”</p> + +<p>“You do?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; because I can answer for all the +others.”</p> + +<p>“What about that other man supposed to have escaped from +the park?”</p> + +<p>“I should think he’s far away by this time,” +opined the Chief Inspector.</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner looked hard at him, and rose +suddenly, as though having made up his mind to some course of +action. As a matter of fact, he had that very moment +succumbed to a fascinating temptation. The Chief Inspector +heard himself dismissed with instructions to meet his superior +early next morning for further consultation upon the case. +He listened with an impenetrable face, and walked out of the room +with measured steps.</p> + +<p>Whatever might have been the plans of the Assistant +Commissioner they had nothing to do with that desk work, which +was the bane of his existence because of its confined nature and +apparent lack of reality. It could not have had, or else +the general air of alacrity that came upon the Assistant +Commissioner would have been inexplicable. As soon as he +was left alone he looked for his hat impulsively, and put it on +his head. Having done that, he sat down again to reconsider +the whole matter. But as his mind was already made up, this +did not take long. And before Chief Inspector Heat had gone +very far on the way home, he also left the building.</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner walked along a short and narrow +street like a wet, muddy trench, then crossing a very broad +thoroughfare entered a public edifice, and sought speech with a +young private secretary (unpaid) of a great personage.</p> + +<p>This fair, smooth-faced young man, whose symmetrically +arranged hair gave him the air of a large and neat schoolboy, met +the Assistant Commissioner’s request with a doubtful look, +and spoke with bated breath.</p> + +<p>“Would he see you? I don’t know about +that. He has walked over from the House an hour ago to talk +with the permanent Under-Secretary, and now he’s ready to +walk back again. He might have sent for him; but he does it +for the sake of a little exercise, I suppose. It’s +all the exercise he can find time for while this session +lasts. I don’t complain; I rather enjoy these little +strolls. He leans on my arm, and doesn’t open his +lips. But, I say, he’s very tired, +and—well—not in the sweetest of tempers just +now.”</p> + +<p>“It’s in connection with that Greenwich +affair.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I say! He’s very bitter against +you people. But I will go and see, if you +insist.”</p> + +<p>“Do. That’s a good fellow,” said the +Assistant Commissioner.</p> + +<p>The unpaid secretary admired this pluck. Composing for +himself an innocent face, he opened a door, and went in with the +assurance of a nice and privileged child. And presently he +reappeared, with a nod to the Assistant Commissioner, who passing +through the same door left open for him, found himself with the +great personage in a large room.</p> + +<p>Vast in bulk and stature, with a long white face, which, +broadened at the base by a big double chin, appeared egg-shaped +in the fringe of thin greyish whisker, the great personage seemed +an expanding man. Unfortunate from a tailoring point of +view, the cross-folds in the middle of a buttoned black coat +added to the impression, as if the fastenings of the garment were +tried to the utmost. From the head, set upward on a thick +neck, the eyes, with puffy lower lids, stared with a haughty +droop on each side of a hooked aggressive nose, nobly salient in +the vast pale circumference of the face. A shiny silk hat +and a pair of worn gloves lying ready on the end of a long table +looked expanded too, enormous.</p> + +<p>He stood on the hearthrug in big, roomy boots, and uttered no +word of greeting.</p> + +<p>“I would like to know if this is the beginning of +another dynamite campaign,” he asked at once in a deep, +very smooth voice. “Don’t go into +details. I have no time for that.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner’s figure before this big and +rustic Presence had the frail slenderness of a reed addressing +an oak. And indeed the unbroken record of that man’s +descent surpassed in the number of centuries the age of the +oldest oak in the country.</p> + +<p>“No. As far as one can be positive about anything +I can assure you that it is not.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. But your idea of assurances over +there,” said the great man, with a contemptuous wave of his +hand towards a window giving on the broad thoroughfare, +“seems to consist mainly in making the Secretary of State +look a fool. I have been told positively in this very room +less than a month ago that nothing of the sort was even +possible.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner glanced in the direction of the +window calmly.</p> + +<p>“You will allow me to remark, Sir Ethelred, that so far +I have had no opportunity to give you assurances of any +kind.”</p> + +<p>The haughty droop of the eyes was focussed now upon the +Assistant Commissioner.</p> + +<p>“True,” confessed the deep, smooth voice. +“I sent for Heat. You are still rather a novice in +your new berth. And how are you getting on over +there?”</p> + +<p>“I believe I am learning something every day.”</p> + +<p>“Of course, of course. I hope you will get +on.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Sir Ethelred. I’ve learned +something to-day, and even within the last hour or so. +There is much in this affair of a kind that does not meet the eye +in a usual anarchist outrage, even if one looked into it as deep +as can be. That’s why I am here.”</p> + +<p>The great man put his arms akimbo, the backs of his big hands +resting on his hips.</p> + +<p>“Very well. Go on. Only no details, +pray. Spare me the details.”</p> + +<p>“You shall not be troubled with them, Sir +Ethelred,” the Assistant Commissioner began, with a calm +and untroubled assurance. While he was speaking the hands +on the face of the clock behind the great man’s +back—a heavy, glistening affair of massive scrolls in the +same dark marble as the mantelpiece, and with a ghostly, +evanescent tick—had moved through the space of seven +minutes. He spoke with a studious fidelity to a +parenthetical manner, into which every little fact—that is, +every detail—fitted with delightful ease. Not a +murmur nor even a movement hinted at interruption. The +great Personage might have been the statue of one of his own +princely ancestors stripped of a crusader’s war harness, +and put into an ill-fitting frock coat. The Assistant +Commissioner felt as though he were at liberty to talk for an +hour. But he kept his head, and at the end of the time +mentioned above he broke off with a sudden conclusion, which, +reproducing the opening statement, pleasantly surprised Sir +Ethelred by its apparent swiftness and force.</p> + +<p>“The kind of thing which meets us under the surface of +this affair, otherwise without gravity, is unusual—in this +precise form at least—and requires special +treatment.”</p> + +<p>The tone of Sir Ethelred was deepened, full of conviction.</p> + +<p>“I should think so—involving the Ambassador of a +foreign power!”</p> + +<p>“Oh! The Ambassador!” protested the other, +erect and slender, allowing himself a mere half smile. +“It would be stupid of me to advance anything of the +kind. And it is absolutely unnecessary, because if I am +right in my surmises, whether ambassador or hall porter +it’s a mere detail.”</p> + +<p>Sir Ethelred opened a wide mouth, like a cavern, into which +the hooked nose seemed anxious to peer; there came from it a +subdued rolling sound, as from a distant organ with the scornful +indignation stop.</p> + +<p>“No! These people are too impossible. What +do they mean by importing their methods of Crim-Tartary +here? A Turk would have more decency.”</p> + +<p>“You forget, Sir Ethelred, that strictly speaking we +know nothing positively—as yet.”</p> + +<p>“No! But how would you define it? +Shortly?”</p> + +<p>“Barefaced audacity amounting to childishness of a +peculiar sort.”</p> + +<p>“We can’t put up with the innocence of nasty +little children,” said the great and expanded personage, +expanding a little more, as it were. The haughty drooping +glance struck crushingly the carpet at the Assistant +Commissioner’s feet. “They’ll have to get +a hard rap on the knuckles over this affair. We must be in +a position to—What is your general idea, stated +shortly? No need to go into details.”</p> + +<p>“No, Sir Ethelred. In principle, I should lay it +down that the existence of secret agents should not be tolerated, +as tending to augment the positive dangers of the evil against +which they are used. That the spy will fabricate his +information is a mere commonplace. But in the sphere of +political and revolutionary action, relying partly on violence, +the professional spy has every facility to fabricate the very +facts themselves, and will spread the double evil of emulation in +one direction, and of panic, hasty legislation, unreflecting +hate, on the other. However, this is an imperfect +world—”</p> + +<p>The deep-voiced Presence on the hearthrug, motionless, with +big elbows stuck out, said hastily:</p> + +<p>“Be lucid, please.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Sir Ethelred—An imperfect world. +Therefore directly the character of this affair suggested itself +to me, I thought it should be dealt with with special secrecy, +and ventured to come over here.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” approved the great +Personage, glancing down complacently over his double chin. +“I am glad there’s somebody over at your shop who +thinks that the Secretary of State may be trusted now and +then.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner had an amused smile.</p> + +<p>“I was really thinking that it might be better at this +stage for Heat to be replaced by—”</p> + +<p>“What! Heat? An ass—eh?” +exclaimed the great man, with distinct animosity.</p> + +<p>“Not at all. Pray, Sir Ethelred, don’t put +that unjust interpretation on my remarks.”</p> + +<p>“Then what? Too clever by half?”</p> + +<p>“Neither—at least not as a rule. All the +grounds of my surmises I have from him. The only thing +I’ve discovered by myself is that he has been making use of +that man privately. Who could blame him? He’s +an old police hand. He told me virtually that he must have +tools to work with. It occurred to me that this tool should +be surrendered to the Special Crimes division as a whole, instead +of remaining the private property of Chief Inspector Heat. +I extend my conception of our departmental duties to the +suppression of the secret agent. But Chief Inspector Heat +is an old departmental hand. He would accuse me of +perverting its morality and attacking its efficiency. He +would define it bitterly as protection extended to the criminal +class of revolutionists. It would mean just that to +him.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. But what do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I mean to say, first, that there’s but poor +comfort in being able to declare that any given act of +violence—damaging property or destroying life—is not +the work of anarchism at all, but of something else +altogether—some species of authorised scoundrelism. +This, I fancy, is much more frequent than we suppose. Next, +it’s obvious that the existence of these people in the pay +of foreign governments destroys in a measure the efficiency of +our supervision. A spy of that sort can afford to be more +reckless than the most reckless of conspirators. His +occupation is free from all restraint. He’s without +as much faith as is necessary for complete negation, and without +that much law as is implied in lawlessness. Thirdly, the +existence of these spies amongst the revolutionary groups, which +we are reproached for harbouring here, does away with all +certitude. You have received a reassuring statement from +Chief Inspector Heat some time ago. It was by no means +groundless—and yet this episode happens. I call it an +episode, because this affair, I make bold to say, is episodic; it +is no part of any general scheme, however wild. The very +peculiarities which surprise and perplex Chief Inspector Heat +establish its character in my eyes. I am keeping clear of +details, Sir Ethelred.”</p> + +<p>The Personage on the hearthrug had been listening with +profound attention.</p> + +<p>“Just so. Be as concise as you can.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner intimated by an earnest deferential +gesture that he was anxious to be concise.</p> + +<p>“There is a peculiar stupidity and feebleness in the +conduct of this affair which gives me excellent hopes of getting +behind it and finding there something else than an individual +freak of fanaticism. For it is a planned thing, +undoubtedly. The actual perpetrator seems to have been led +by the hand to the spot, and then abandoned hurriedly to his own +devices. The inference is that he was imported from abroad +for the purpose of committing this outrage. At the same +time one is forced to the conclusion that he did not know enough +English to ask his way, unless one were to accept the fantastic +theory that he was a deaf mute. I wonder now—But this +is idle. He has destroyed himself by an accident, +obviously. Not an extraordinary accident. But an +extraordinary little fact remains: the address on his clothing +discovered by the merest accident, too. It is an incredible +little fact, so incredible that the explanation which will +account for it is bound to touch the bottom of this affair. +Instead of instructing Heat to go on with this case, my intention +is to seek this explanation personally—by myself, I +mean—where it may be picked up. That is in a certain +shop in Brett Street, and on the lips of a certain secret agent +once upon a time the confidential and trusted spy of the late +Baron Stott-Wartenheim, Ambassador of a Great Power to the Court +of St James.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner paused, then added: “Those +fellows are a perfect pest.” In order to raise his +drooping glance to the speaker’s face, the Personage on the +hearthrug had gradually tilted his head farther back, which gave +him an aspect of extraordinary haughtiness.</p> + +<p>“Why not leave it to Heat?”</p> + +<p>“Because he is an old departmental hand. They have +their own morality. My line of inquiry would appear to him +an awful perversion of duty. For him the plain duty is to +fasten the guilt upon as many prominent anarchists as he can on +some slight indications he had picked up in the course of his +investigation on the spot; whereas I, he would say, am bent upon +vindicating their innocence. I am trying to be as lucid as +I can in presenting this obscure matter to you without +details.”</p> + +<p>“He would, would he?” muttered the proud head of +Sir Ethelred from its lofty elevation.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid so—with an indignation and disgust of +which you or I can have no idea. He’s an excellent +servant. We must not put an undue strain on his +loyalty. That’s always a mistake. Besides, I +want a free hand—a freer hand than it would be perhaps +advisable to give Chief Inspector Heat. I haven’t the +slightest wish to spare this man Verloc. He will, I +imagine, be extremely startled to find his connection with this +affair, whatever it may be, brought home to him so quickly. +Frightening him will not be very difficult. But our true +objective lies behind him somewhere. I want your authority +to give him such assurances of personal safety as I may think +proper.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” said the Personage on the +hearthrug. “Find out as much as you can; find it out +in your own way.”</p> + +<p>“I must set about it without loss of time, this very +evening,” said the Assistant Commissioner.</p> + +<p>Sir Ethelred shifted one hand under his coat tails, and +tilting back his head, looked at him steadily.</p> + +<p>“We’ll have a late sitting to-night,” he +said. “Come to the House with your discoveries if we +are not gone home. I’ll warn Toodles to look out for +you. He’ll take you into my room.”</p> + +<p>The numerous family and the wide connections of the +youthful-looking Private Secretary cherished for him the hope of +an austere and exalted destiny. Meantime the social sphere +he adorned in his hours of idleness chose to pet him under the +above nickname. And Sir Ethelred, hearing it on the lips of +his wife and girls every day (mostly at breakfast-time), had +conferred upon it the dignity of unsmiling adoption.</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner was surprised and gratified +extremely.</p> + +<p>“I shall certainly bring my discoveries to the House on +the chance of you having the time to—”</p> + +<p>“I won’t have the time,” interrupted the +great Personage. “But I will see you. I +haven’t the time now—And you are going +yourself?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Sir Ethelred. I think it the best +way.”</p> + +<p>The Personage had tilted his head so far back that, in order +to keep the Assistant Commissioner under his observation, he had +to nearly close his eyes.</p> + +<p>“H’m. Ha! And how do you +propose—Will you assume a disguise?”</p> + +<p>“Hardly a disguise! I’ll change my clothes, +of course.”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” repeated the great man, with a sort +of absent-minded loftiness. He turned his big head slowly, +and over his shoulder gave a haughty oblique stare to the +ponderous marble timepiece with the sly, feeble tick. The +gilt hands had taken the opportunity to steal through no less +than five and twenty minutes behind his back.</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner, who could not see them, grew a +little nervous in the interval. But the great man presented +to him a calm and undismayed face.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he said, and paused, as if in +deliberate contempt of the official clock. “But what +first put you in motion in this direction?”</p> + +<p>“I have been always of opinion,” began the +Assistant Commissioner.</p> + +<p>“Ah. Yes! Opinion. That’s of +course. But the immediate motive?”</p> + +<p>“What shall I say, Sir Ethelred? A new man’s +antagonism to old methods. A desire to know something at +first hand. Some impatience. It’s my old work, +but the harness is different. It has been chafing me a +little in one or two tender places.”</p> + +<p>“I hope you’ll get on over there,” said the +great man kindly, extending his hand, soft to the touch, but +broad and powerful like the hand of a glorified farmer. The +Assistant Commissioner shook it, and withdrew.</p> + +<p>In the outer room Toodles, who had been waiting perched on the +edge of a table, advanced to meet him, subduing his natural +buoyancy.</p> + +<p>“Well? Satisfactory?” he asked, with airy +importance.</p> + +<p>“Perfectly. You’ve earned my undying +gratitude,” answered the Assistant Commissioner, whose long +face looked wooden in contrast with the peculiar character of the +other’s gravity, which seemed perpetually ready to break +into ripples and chuckles.</p> + +<p>“That’s all right. But seriously, you +can’t imagine how irritated he is by the attacks on his +Bill for the Nationalisation of Fisheries. They call it the +beginning of social revolution. Of course, it is a +revolutionary measure. But these fellows have no +decency. The personal attacks—”</p> + +<p>“I read the papers,” remarked the Assistant +Commissioner.</p> + +<p>“Odious? Eh? And you have no notion what a +mass of work he has got to get through every day. He does +it all himself. Seems unable to trust anyone with these +Fisheries.”</p> + +<p>“And yet he’s given a whole half hour to the +consideration of my very small sprat,” interjected the +Assistant Commissioner.</p> + +<p>“Small! Is it? I’m glad to hear +that. But it’s a pity you didn’t keep away, +then. This fight takes it out of him frightfully. The +man’s getting exhausted. I feel it by the way he +leans on my arm as we walk over. And, I say, is he safe in +the streets? Mullins has been marching his men up here this +afternoon. There’s a constable stuck by every +lamp-post, and every second person we meet between this and +Palace Yard is an obvious ‘tec.’ It will get on +his nerves presently. I say, these foreign scoundrels +aren’t likely to throw something at him—are +they? It would be a national calamity. The country +can’t spare him.”</p> + +<p>“Not to mention yourself. He leans on your +arm,” suggested the Assistant Commissioner soberly. +“You would both go.”</p> + +<p>“It would be an easy way for a young man to go down into +history? Not so many British Ministers have been +assassinated as to make it a minor incident. But seriously +now—”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid that if you want to go down into history +you’ll have to do something for it. Seriously, +there’s no danger whatever for both of you but from +overwork.”</p> + +<p>The sympathetic Toodles welcomed this opening for a +chuckle.</p> + +<p>“The Fisheries won’t kill me. I am used to +late hours,” he declared, with ingenuous levity. But, +feeling an instant compunction, he began to assume an air of +statesman-like moodiness, as one draws on a glove. +“His massive intellect will stand any amount of work. +It’s his nerves that I am afraid of. The reactionary +gang, with that abusive brute Cheeseman at their head, insult him +every night.”</p> + +<p>“If he will insist on beginning a revolution!” +murmured the Assistant Commissioner.</p> + +<p>“The time has come, and he is the only man great enough +for the work,” protested the revolutionary Toodles, flaring +up under the calm, speculative gaze of the Assistant +Commissioner. Somewhere in a corridor a distant bell +tinkled urgently, and with devoted vigilance the young man +pricked up his ears at the sound. “He’s ready +to go now,” he exclaimed in a whisper, snatched up his hat, +and vanished from the room.</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner went out by another door in a less +elastic manner. Again he crossed the wide thoroughfare, +walked along a narrow street, and re-entered hastily his own +departmental buildings. He kept up this accelerated pace to +the door of his private room. Before he had closed it +fairly his eyes sought his desk. He stood still for a +moment, then walked up, looked all round on the floor, sat down +in his chair, rang a bell, and waited.</p> + +<p>“Chief Inspector Heat gone yet?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. Went away half-an-hour ago.”</p> + +<p>He nodded. “That will do.” And sitting +still, with his hat pushed off his forehead, he thought that it +was just like Heat’s confounded cheek to carry off quietly +the only piece of material evidence. But he thought this +without animosity. Old and valued servants will take +liberties. The piece of overcoat with the address sewn on +was certainly not a thing to leave about. Dismissing from +his mind this manifestation of Chief Inspector Heat’s +mistrust, he wrote and despatched a note to his wife, charging +her to make his apologies to Michaelis’ great lady, with +whom they were engaged to dine that evening.</p> + +<p>The short jacket and the low, round hat he assumed in a sort +of curtained alcove containing a washstand, a row of wooden pegs +and a shelf, brought out wonderfully the length of his grave, +brown face. He stepped back into the full light of the +room, looking like the vision of a cool, reflective Don Quixote, +with the sunken eyes of a dark enthusiast and a very deliberate +manner. He left the scene of his daily labours quickly like +an unobtrusive shadow. His descent into the street was like +the descent into a slimy aquarium from which the water had been +run off. A murky, gloomy dampness enveloped him. The +walls of the houses were wet, the mud of the roadway glistened +with an effect of phosphorescence, and when he emerged into the +Strand out of a narrow street by the side of Charing Cross +Station the genius of the locality assimilated him. He +might have been but one more of the queer foreign fish that can +be seen of an evening about there flitting round the dark +corners.</p> + +<p>He came to a stand on the very edge of the pavement, and +waited. His exercised eyes had made out in the confused +movements of lights and shadows thronging the roadway the +crawling approach of a hansom. He gave no sign; but when +the low step gliding along the curbstone came to his feet he +dodged in skilfully in front of the big turning wheel, and spoke +up through the little trap door almost before the man gazing +supinely ahead from his perch was aware of having been boarded by +a fare.</p> + +<p>It was not a long drive. It ended by signal abruptly, +nowhere in particular, between two lamp-posts before a large +drapery establishment—a long range of shops already lapped +up in sheets of corrugated iron for the night. Tendering a +coin through the trap door the fare slipped out and away, leaving +an effect of uncanny, eccentric ghastliness upon the +driver’s mind. But the size of the coin was +satisfactory to his touch, and his education not being literary, +he remained untroubled by the fear of finding it presently turned +to a dead leaf in his pocket. Raised above the world of +fares by the nature of his calling, he contemplated their actions +with a limited interest. The sharp pulling of his horse +right round expressed his philosophy.</p> + +<p>Meantime the Assistant Commissioner was already giving his +order to a waiter in a little Italian restaurant round the +corner—one of those traps for the hungry, long and narrow, +baited with a perspective of mirrors and white napery; without +air, but with an atmosphere of their own—an atmosphere of +fraudulent cookery mocking an abject mankind in the most pressing +of its miserable necessities. In this immoral atmosphere +the Assistant Commissioner, reflecting upon his enterprise, +seemed to lose some more of his identity. He had a sense of +loneliness, of evil freedom. It was rather pleasant. +When, after paying for his short meal, he stood up and waited for +his change, he saw himself in the sheet of glass, and was struck +by his foreign appearance. He contemplated his own image +with a melancholy and inquisitive gaze, then by sudden +inspiration raised the collar of his jacket. This +arrangement appeared to him commendable, and he completed it by +giving an upward twist to the ends of his black moustache. +He was satisfied by the subtle modification of his personal +aspect caused by these small changes. “That’ll +do very well,” he thought. “I’ll get a +little wet, a little splashed—”</p> + +<p>He became aware of the waiter at his elbow and of a small pile +of silver coins on the edge of the table before him. The +waiter kept one eye on it, while his other eye followed the long +back of a tall, not very young girl, who passed up to a distant +table looking perfectly sightless and altogether +unapproachable. She seemed to be a habitual customer.</p> + +<p>On going out the Assistant Commissioner made to himself the +observation that the patrons of the place had lost in the +frequentation of fraudulent cookery all their national and +private characteristics. And this was strange, since the +Italian restaurant is such a peculiarly British +institution. But these people were as denationalised as the +dishes set before them with every circumstance of unstamped +respectability. Neither was their personality stamped in +any way, professionally, socially or racially. They seemed +created for the Italian restaurant, unless the Italian restaurant +had been perchance created for them. But that last +hypothesis was unthinkable, since one could not place them +anywhere outside those special establishments. One never +met these enigmatical persons elsewhere. It was impossible +to form a precise idea what occupations they followed by day and +where they went to bed at night. And he himself had become +unplaced. It would have been impossible for anybody to +guess his occupation. As to going to bed, there was a doubt +even in his own mind. Not indeed in regard to his domicile +itself, but very much so in respect of the time when he would be +able to return there. A pleasurable feeling of independence +possessed him when he heard the glass doors swing to behind his +back with a sort of imperfect baffled thud. He advanced at +once into an immensity of greasy slime and damp plaster +interspersed with lamps, and enveloped, oppressed, penetrated, +choked, and suffocated by the blackness of a wet London night, +which is composed of soot and drops of water.</p> + +<p>Brett Street was not very far away. It branched off, +narrow, from the side of an open triangular space surrounded by +dark and mysterious houses, temples of petty commerce emptied of +traders for the night. Only a fruiterer’s stall at +the corner made a violent blaze of light and colour. Beyond +all was black, and the few people passing in that direction +vanished at one stride beyond the glowing heaps of oranges and +lemons. No footsteps echoed. They would never be +heard of again. The adventurous head of the Special Crimes +Department watched these disappearances from a distance with an +interested eye. He felt light-hearted, as though he had +been ambushed all alone in a jungle many thousands of miles away +from departmental desks and official inkstands. This +joyousness and dispersion of thought before a task of some +importance seems to prove that this world of ours is not such a +very serious affair after all. For the Assistant +Commissioner was not constitutionally inclined to levity.</p> + +<p>The policeman on the beat projected his sombre and moving form +against the luminous glory of oranges and lemons, and entered +Brett Street without haste. The Assistant Commissioner, as +though he were a member of the criminal classes, lingered out of +sight, awaiting his return. But this constable seemed to be +lost for ever to the force. He never returned: must have +gone out at the other end of Brett Street.</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner, reaching this conclusion, entered +the street in his turn, and came upon a large van arrested in +front of the dimly lit window-panes of a carter’s +eating-house. The man was refreshing himself inside, and +the horses, their big heads lowered to the ground, fed out of +nose-bags steadily. Farther on, on the opposite side of the +street, another suspect patch of dim light issued from Mr +Verloc’s shop front, hung with papers, heaving with vague +piles of cardboard boxes and the shapes of books. The +Assistant Commissioner stood observing it across the +roadway. There could be no mistake. By the side of +the front window, encumbered by the shadows of nondescript +things, the door, standing ajar, let escape on the pavement a +narrow, clear streak of gas-light within.</p> + +<p>Behind the Assistant Commissioner the van and horses, merged +into one mass, seemed something alive—a square-backed black +monster blocking half the street, with sudden iron-shod +stampings, fierce jingles, and heavy, blowing sighs. The +harshly festive, ill-omened glare of a large and prosperous +public-house faced the other end of Brett Street across a wide +road. This barrier of blazing lights, opposing the shadows +gathered about the humble abode of Mr Verloc’s domestic +happiness, seemed to drive the obscurity of the street back upon +itself, make it more sullen, brooding, and sinister.</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<p>Having infused by persistent importunities some sort of heat +into the chilly interest of several licensed victuallers (the +acquaintances once upon a time of her late unlucky husband), Mrs +Verloc’s mother had at last secured her admission to +certain almshouses founded by a wealthy innkeeper for the +destitute widows of the trade.</p> + +<p>This end, conceived in the astuteness of her uneasy heart, the +old woman had pursued with secrecy and determination. That +was the time when her daughter Winnie could not help passing a +remark to Mr Verloc that “mother has been spending +half-crowns and five shillings almost every day this last week in +cab fares.” But the remark was not made +grudgingly. Winnie respected her mother’s +infirmities. She was only a little surprised at this sudden +mania for locomotion. Mr Verloc, who was sufficiently +magnificent in his way, had grunted the remark impatiently aside +as interfering with his meditations. These were frequent, +deep, and prolonged; they bore upon a matter more important than +five shillings. Distinctly more important, and beyond all +comparison more difficult to consider in all its aspects with +philosophical serenity.</p> + +<p>Her object attained in astute secrecy, the heroic old woman +had made a clean breast of it to Mrs Verloc. Her soul was +triumphant and her heart tremulous. Inwardly she quaked, +because she dreaded and admired the calm, self-contained +character of her daughter Winnie, whose displeasure was made +redoubtable by a diversity of dreadful silences. But she +did not allow her inward apprehensions to rob her of the +advantage of venerable placidity conferred upon her outward +person by her triple chin, the floating ampleness of her ancient +form, and the impotent condition of her legs.</p> + +<p>The shock of the information was so unexpected that Mrs +Verloc, against her usual practice when addressed, interrupted +the domestic occupation she was engaged upon. It was the +dusting of the furniture in the parlour behind the shop. +She turned her head towards her mother.</p> + +<p>“Whatever did you want to do that for?” she +exclaimed, in scandalised astonishment.</p> + +<p>The shock must have been severe to make her depart from that +distant and uninquiring acceptance of facts which was her force +and her safeguard in life.</p> + +<p>“Weren’t you made comfortable enough +here?”</p> + +<p>She had lapsed into these inquiries, but next moment she saved +the consistency of her conduct by resuming her dusting, while the +old woman sat scared and dumb under her dingy white cap and +lustreless dark wig.</p> + +<p>Winnie finished the chair, and ran the duster along the +mahogany at the back of the horse-hair sofa on which Mr Verloc +loved to take his ease in hat and overcoat. She was intent +on her work, but presently she permitted herself another +question.</p> + +<p>“How in the world did you manage it, mother?”</p> + +<p>As not affecting the inwardness of things, which it was Mrs +Verloc’s principle to ignore, this curiosity was +excusable. It bore merely on the methods. The old +woman welcomed it eagerly as bringing forward something that +could be talked about with much sincerity.</p> + +<p>She favoured her daughter by an exhaustive answer, full of +names and enriched by side comments upon the ravages of time as +observed in the alteration of human countenances. The names +were principally the names of licensed +victuallers—“poor daddy’s friends, my +dear.” She enlarged with special appreciation on the +kindness and condescension of a large brewer, a Baronet and an M. +P., the Chairman of the Governors of the Charity. She +expressed herself thus warmly because she had been allowed to +interview by appointment his Private Secretary—“a +very polite gentleman, all in black, with a gentle, sad voice, +but so very, very thin and quiet. He was like a shadow, my +dear.”</p> + +<p>Winnie, prolonging her dusting operations till the tale was +told to the end, walked out of the parlour into the kitchen (down +two steps) in her usual manner, without the slightest +comment.</p> + +<p>Shedding a few tears in sign of rejoicing at her +daughter’s mansuetude in this terrible affair, Mrs +Verloc’s mother gave play to her astuteness in the +direction of her furniture, because it was her own; and sometimes +she wished it hadn’t been. Heroism is all very well, +but there are circumstances when the disposal of a few tables and +chairs, brass bedsteads, and so on, may be big with remote and +disastrous consequences. She required a few pieces herself, +the Foundation which, after many importunities, had gathered her +to its charitable breast, giving nothing but bare planks and +cheaply papered bricks to the objects of its solicitude. +The delicacy guiding her choice to the least valuable and most +dilapidated articles passed unacknowledged, because +Winnie’s philosophy consisted in not taking notice of the +inside of facts; she assumed that mother took what suited her +best. As to Mr Verloc, his intense meditation, like a sort +of Chinese wall, isolated him completely from the phenomena of +this world of vain effort and illusory appearances.</p> + +<p>Her selection made, the disposal of the rest became a +perplexing question in a particular way. She was leaving it +in Brett Street, of course. But she had two children. +Winnie was provided for by her sensible union with that excellent +husband, Mr Verloc. Stevie was destitute—and a little +peculiar. His position had to be considered before the +claims of legal justice and even the promptings of +partiality. The possession of the furniture would not be in +any sense a provision. He ought to have it—the poor +boy. But to give it to him would be like tampering with his +position of complete dependence. It was a sort of claim +which she feared to weaken. Moreover, the susceptibilities +of Mr Verloc would perhaps not brook being beholden to his +brother-in-law for the chairs he sat on. In a long +experience of gentlemen lodgers, Mrs Verloc’s mother had +acquired a dismal but resigned notion of the fantastic side of +human nature. What if Mr Verloc suddenly took it into his +head to tell Stevie to take his blessed sticks somewhere out of +that? A division, on the other hand, however carefully +made, might give some cause of offence to Winnie. No, +Stevie must remain destitute and dependent. And at the +moment of leaving Brett Street she had said to her daughter: +“No use waiting till I am dead, is there? Everything +I leave here is altogether your own now, my dear.”</p> + +<p>Winnie, with her hat on, silent behind her mother’s +back, went on arranging the collar of the old woman’s +cloak. She got her hand-bag, an umbrella, with an impassive +face. The time had come for the expenditure of the sum of +three-and-sixpence on what might well be supposed the last cab +drive of Mrs Verloc’s mother’s life. They went +out at the shop door.</p> + +<p>The conveyance awaiting them would have illustrated the +proverb that “truth can be more cruel than +caricature,” if such a proverb existed. Crawling +behind an infirm horse, a metropolitan hackney carriage drew up +on wobbly wheels and with a maimed driver on the box. This +last peculiarity caused some embarrassment. Catching sight +of a hooked iron contrivance protruding from the left sleeve of +the man’s coat, Mrs Verloc’s mother lost suddenly the +heroic courage of these days. She really couldn’t +trust herself. “What do you think, +Winnie?” She hung back. The passionate +expostulations of the big-faced cabman seemed to be squeezed out +of a blocked throat. Leaning over from his box, he +whispered with mysterious indignation. What was the matter +now? Was it possible to treat a man so? His enormous +and unwashed countenance flamed red in the muddy stretch of the +street. Was it likely they would have given him a licence, +he inquired desperately, if—</p> + +<p>The police constable of the locality quieted him by a friendly +glance; then addressing himself to the two women without marked +consideration, said:</p> + +<p>“He’s been driving a cab for twenty years. I +never knew him to have an accident.”</p> + +<p>“Accident!” shouted the driver in a scornful +whisper.</p> + +<p>The policeman’s testimony settled it. The modest +assemblage of seven people, mostly under age, dispersed. +Winnie followed her mother into the cab. Stevie climbed on +the box. His vacant mouth and distressed eyes depicted the +state of his mind in regard to the transactions which were taking +place. In the narrow streets the progress of the journey +was made sensible to those within by the near fronts of the +houses gliding past slowly and shakily, with a great rattle and +jingling of glass, as if about to collapse behind the cab; and +the infirm horse, with the harness hung over his sharp backbone +flapping very loose about his thighs, appeared to be dancing +mincingly on his toes with infinite patience. Later on, in +the wider space of Whitehall, all visual evidences of motion +became imperceptible. The rattle and jingle of glass went +on indefinitely in front of the long Treasury building—and +time itself seemed to stand still.</p> + +<p>At last Winnie observed: “This isn’t a very good +horse.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes gleamed in the shadow of the cab straight ahead, +immovable. On the box, Stevie shut his vacant mouth first, +in order to ejaculate earnestly: “Don’t.”</p> + +<p>The driver, holding high the reins twisted around the hook, +took no notice. Perhaps he had not heard. +Stevie’s breast heaved.</p> + +<p>“Don’t whip.”</p> + +<p>The man turned slowly his bloated and sodden face of many +colours bristling with white hairs. His little red eyes +glistened with moisture. His big lips had a violet +tint. They remained closed. With the dirty back of +his whip-hand he rubbed the stubble sprouting on his enormous +chin.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t,” stammered out Stevie +violently. “It hurts.”</p> + +<p>“Mustn’t whip,” queried the other in a +thoughtful whisper, and immediately whipped. He did this, +not because his soul was cruel and his heart evil, but because he +had to earn his fare. And for a time the walls of St +Stephen’s, with its towers and pinnacles, contemplated in +immobility and silence a cab that jingled. It rolled too, +however. But on the bridge there was a commotion. +Stevie suddenly proceeded to get down from the box. There +were shouts on the pavement, people ran forward, the driver +pulled up, whispering curses of indignation and +astonishment. Winnie lowered the window, and put her head +out, white as a ghost. In the depths of the cab, her mother +was exclaiming, in tones of anguish: “Is that boy +hurt? Is that boy hurt?”</p> + +<p>Stevie was not hurt, he had not even fallen, but excitement as +usual had robbed him of the power of connected speech. He +could do no more than stammer at the window. “Too +heavy. Too heavy.” Winnie put out her hand on +to his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Stevie! Get up on the box directly, and +don’t try to get down again.”</p> + +<p>“No. No. Walk. Must walk.”</p> + +<p>In trying to state the nature of that necessity he stammered +himself into utter incoherence. No physical impossibility +stood in the way of his whim. Stevie could have managed +easily to keep pace with the infirm, dancing horse without +getting out of breath. But his sister withheld her consent +decisively. “The idea! Whoever heard of such a +thing! Run after a cab!” Her mother, frightened +and helpless in the depths of the conveyance, entreated: +“Oh, don’t let him, Winnie. He’ll get +lost. Don’t let him.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not. What next! Mr Verloc will be +sorry to hear of this nonsense, Stevie,—I can tell +you. He won’t be happy at all.”</p> + +<p>The idea of Mr Verloc’s grief and unhappiness acting as +usual powerfully upon Stevie’s fundamentally docile +disposition, he abandoned all resistance, and climbed up again on +the box, with a face of despair.</p> + +<p>The cabby turned at him his enormous and inflamed countenance +truculently. “Don’t you go for trying this +silly game again, young fellow.”</p> + +<p>After delivering himself thus in a stern whisper, strained +almost to extinction, he drove on, ruminating solemnly. To +his mind the incident remained somewhat obscure. But his +intellect, though it had lost its pristine vivacity in the +benumbing years of sedentary exposure to the weather, lacked not +independence or sanity. Gravely he dismissed the hypothesis +of Stevie being a drunken young nipper.</p> + +<p>Inside the cab the spell of silence, in which the two women +had endured shoulder to shoulder the jolting, rattling, and +jingling of the journey, had been broken by Stevie’s +outbreak. Winnie raised her voice.</p> + +<p>“You’ve done what you wanted, mother. +You’ll have only yourself to thank for it if you +aren’t happy afterwards. And I don’t think +you’ll be. That I don’t. Weren’t +you comfortable enough in the house? Whatever +people’ll think of us—you throwing yourself like this +on a Charity?”</p> + +<p>“My dear,” screamed the old woman earnestly above +the noise, “you’ve been the best of daughters to +me. As to Mr Verloc—there—”</p> + +<p>Words failing her on the subject of Mr Verloc’s +excellence, she turned her old tearful eyes to the roof of the +cab. Then she averted her head on the pretence of looking +out of the window, as if to judge of their progress. It was +insignificant, and went on close to the curbstone. Night, +the early dirty night, the sinister, noisy, hopeless and rowdy +night of South London, had overtaken her on her last cab +drive. In the gas-light of the low-fronted shops her big +cheeks glowed with an orange hue under a black and mauve +bonnet.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc’s mother’s complexion had become yellow +by the effect of age and from a natural predisposition to +biliousness, favoured by the trials of a difficult and worried +existence, first as wife, then as widow. It was a +complexion, that under the influence of a blush would take on an +orange tint. And this woman, modest indeed but hardened in +the fires of adversity, of an age, moreover, when blushes are not +expected, had positively blushed before her daughter. In +the privacy of a four-wheeler, on her way to a charity cottage +(one of a row) which by the exiguity of its dimensions and the +simplicity of its accommodation, might well have been devised in +kindness as a place of training for the still more straitened +circumstances of the grave, she was forced to hide from her own +child a blush of remorse and shame.</p> + +<p>Whatever people will think? She knew very well what they +did think, the people Winnie had in her mind—the old +friends of her husband, and others too, whose interest she had +solicited with such flattering success. She had not known +before what a good beggar she could be. But she guessed +very well what inference was drawn from her application. On +account of that shrinking delicacy, which exists side by side +with aggressive brutality in masculine nature, the inquiries into +her circumstances had not been pushed very far. She had +checked them by a visible compression of the lips and some +display of an emotion determined to be eloquently silent. +And the men would become suddenly incurious, after the manner of +their kind. She congratulated herself more than once on +having nothing to do with women, who being naturally more callous +and avid of details, would have been anxious to be exactly +informed by what sort of unkind conduct her daughter and +son-in-law had driven her to that sad extremity. It was +only before the Secretary of the great brewer M. P. and Chairman +of the Charity, who, acting for his principal, felt bound to be +conscientiously inquisitive as to the real circumstances of the +applicant, that she had burst into tears outright and aloud, as a +cornered woman will weep. The thin and polite gentleman, +after contemplating her with an air of being “struck all of +a heap,” abandoned his position under the cover of soothing +remarks. She must not distress herself. The deed of +the Charity did not absolutely specify “childless +widows.” In fact, it did not by any means disqualify +her. But the discretion of the Committee must be an +informed discretion. One could understand very well her +unwillingness to be a burden, etc. etc. Thereupon, to his +profound disappointment, Mrs Verloc’s mother wept some more +with an augmented vehemence.</p> + +<p>The tears of that large female in a dark, dusty wig, and +ancient silk dress festooned with dingy white cotton lace, were +the tears of genuine distress. She had wept because she was +heroic and unscrupulous and full of love for both her +children. Girls frequently get sacrificed to the welfare of +the boys. In this case she was sacrificing Winnie. By +the suppression of truth she was slandering her. Of course, +Winnie was independent, and need not care for the opinion of +people that she would never see and who would never see her; +whereas poor Stevie had nothing in the world he could call his +own except his mother’s heroism and unscrupulousness.</p> + +<p>The first sense of security following on Winnie’s +marriage wore off in time (for nothing lasts), and Mrs +Verloc’s mother, in the seclusion of the back bedroom, had +recalled the teaching of that experience which the world +impresses upon a widowed woman. But she had recalled it +without vain bitterness; her store of resignation amounted almost +to dignity. She reflected stoically that everything decays, +wears out, in this world; that the way of kindness should be made +easy to the well disposed; that her daughter Winnie was a most +devoted sister, and a very self-confident wife indeed. As +regards Winnie’s sisterly devotion, her stoicism +flinched. She excepted that sentiment from the rule of +decay affecting all things human and some things divine. +She could not help it; not to do so would have frightened her too +much. But in considering the conditions of her +daughter’s married state, she rejected firmly all +flattering illusions. She took the cold and reasonable view +that the less strain put on Mr Verloc’s kindness the longer +its effects were likely to last. That excellent man loved +his wife, of course, but he would, no doubt, prefer to keep as +few of her relations as was consistent with the proper display of +that sentiment. It would be better if its whole effect were +concentrated on poor Stevie. And the heroic old woman +resolved on going away from her children as an act of devotion +and as a move of deep policy.</p> + +<p>The “virtue” of this policy consisted in this (Mrs +Verloc’s mother was subtle in her way), that Stevie’s +moral claim would be strengthened. The poor boy—a +good, useful boy, if a little peculiar—had not a sufficient +standing. He had been taken over with his mother, somewhat +in the same way as the furniture of the Belgravian mansion had +been taken over, as if on the ground of belonging to her +exclusively. What will happen, she asked herself (for Mrs +Verloc’s mother was in a measure imaginative), when I +die? And when she asked herself that question it was with +dread. It was also terrible to think that she would not +then have the means of knowing what happened to the poor +boy. But by making him over to his sister, by going thus +away, she gave him the advantage of a directly dependent +position. This was the more subtle sanction of Mrs +Verloc’s mother’s heroism and unscrupulousness. +Her act of abandonment was really an arrangement for settling her +son permanently in life. Other people made material +sacrifices for such an object, she in that way. It was the +only way. Moreover, she would be able to see how it +worked. Ill or well she would avoid the horrible +incertitude on the death-bed. But it was hard, hard, +cruelly hard.</p> + +<p>The cab rattled, jingled, jolted; in fact, the last was quite +extraordinary. By its disproportionate violence and +magnitude it obliterated every sensation of onward movement; and +the effect was of being shaken in a stationary apparatus like a +mediæval device for the punishment of crime, or some very +newfangled invention for the cure of a sluggish liver. It +was extremely distressing; and the raising of Mrs Verloc’s +mother’s voice sounded like a wail of pain.</p> + +<p>“I know, my dear, you’ll come to see me as often +as you can spare the time. Won’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” answered Winnie shortly, staring +straight before her.</p> + +<p>And the cab jolted in front of a steamy, greasy shop in a +blaze of gas and in the smell of fried fish.</p> + +<p>The old woman raised a wail again.</p> + +<p>“And, my dear, I must see that poor boy every +Sunday. He won’t mind spending the day with his old +mother—”</p> + +<p>Winnie screamed out stolidly:</p> + +<p>“Mind! I should think not. That poor boy +will miss you something cruel. I wish you had thought a +little of that, mother.”</p> + +<p>Not think of it! The heroic woman swallowed a playful +and inconvenient object like a billiard ball, which had tried to +jump out of her throat. Winnie sat mute for a while, +pouting at the front of the cab, then snapped out, which was an +unusual tone with her:</p> + +<p>“I expect I’ll have a job with him at first, +he’ll be that restless—”</p> + +<p>“Whatever you do, don’t let him worry your +husband, my dear.”</p> + +<p>Thus they discussed on familiar lines the bearings of a new +situation. And the cab jolted. Mrs Verloc’s +mother expressed some misgivings. Could Stevie be trusted +to come all that way alone? Winnie maintained that he was +much less “absent-minded” now. They agreed as +to that. It could not be denied. Much +less—hardly at all. They shouted at each other in the +jingle with comparative cheerfulness. But suddenly the +maternal anxiety broke out afresh. There were two omnibuses +to take, and a short walk between. It was too +difficult! The old woman gave way to grief and +consternation.</p> + +<p>Winnie stared forward.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you upset yourself like this, mother. +You must see him, of course.”</p> + +<p>“No, my dear. I’ll try not to.”</p> + +<p>She mopped her streaming eyes.</p> + +<p>“But you can’t spare the time to come with him, +and if he should forget himself and lose his way and somebody +spoke to him sharply, his name and address may slip his memory, +and he’ll remain lost for days and days—”</p> + +<p>The vision of a workhouse infirmary for poor Stevie—if +only during inquiries—wrung her heart. For she was a +proud woman. Winnie’s stare had grown hard, intent, +inventive.</p> + +<p>“I can’t bring him to you myself every +week,” she cried. “But don’t you worry, +mother. I’ll see to it that he don’t get lost +for long.”</p> + +<p>They felt a peculiar bump; a vision of brick pillars lingered +before the rattling windows of the cab; a sudden cessation of +atrocious jolting and uproarious jingling dazed the two +women. What had happened? They sat motionless and +scared in the profound stillness, till the door came open, and a +rough, strained whispering was heard:</p> + +<p>“Here you are!”</p> + +<p>A range of gabled little houses, each with one dim yellow +window, on the ground floor, surrounded the dark open space of a +grass plot planted with shrubs and railed off from the patchwork +of lights and shadows in the wide road, resounding with the dull +rumble of traffic. Before the door of one of these tiny +houses—one without a light in the little downstairs +window—the cab had come to a standstill. Mrs +Verloc’s mother got out first, backwards, with a key in her +hand. Winnie lingered on the flagstone path to pay the +cabman. Stevie, after helping to carry inside a lot of +small parcels, came out and stood under the light of a gas-lamp +belonging to the Charity. The cabman looked at the pieces +of silver, which, appearing very minute in his big, grimy palm, +symbolised the insignificant results which reward the ambitious +courage and toil of a mankind whose day is short on this earth of +evil.</p> + +<p>He had been paid decently—four one-shilling +pieces—and he contemplated them in perfect stillness, as if +they had been the surprising terms of a melancholy problem. +The slow transfer of that treasure to an inner pocket demanded +much laborious groping in the depths of decayed clothing. +His form was squat and without flexibility. Stevie, +slender, his shoulders a little up, and his hands thrust deep in +the side pockets of his warm overcoat, stood at the edge of the +path, pouting.</p> + +<p>The cabman, pausing in his deliberate movements, seemed struck +by some misty recollection.</p> + +<p>“Oh! ’Ere you are, young fellow,” he +whispered. “You’ll know him +again—won’t you?”</p> + +<p>Stevie was staring at the horse, whose hind quarters appeared +unduly elevated by the effect of emaciation. The little +stiff tail seemed to have been fitted in for a heartless joke; +and at the other end the thin, flat neck, like a plank covered +with old horse-hide, drooped to the ground under the weight of an +enormous bony head. The ears hung at different angles, +negligently; and the macabre figure of that mute dweller on the +earth steamed straight up from ribs and backbone in the muggy +stillness of the air.</p> + +<p>The cabman struck lightly Stevie’s breast with the iron +hook protruding from a ragged, greasy sleeve.</p> + +<p>“Look ’ere, young feller. ’Ow’d +<i>you</i> like to sit behind this ’oss up to two +o’clock in the morning p’raps?”</p> + +<p>Stevie looked vacantly into the fierce little eyes with +red-edged lids.</p> + +<p>“He ain’t lame,” pursued the other, +whispering with energy. “He ain’t got no sore +places on ’im. ’Ere he is. ’Ow +would <i>you</i> like—”</p> + +<p>His strained, extinct voice invested his utterance with a +character of vehement secrecy. Stevie’s vacant gaze +was changing slowly into dread.</p> + +<p>“You may well look! Till three and four +o’clock in the morning. Cold and ’ungry. +Looking for fares. Drunks.”</p> + +<p>His jovial purple cheeks bristled with white hairs; and like +Virgil’s Silenus, who, his face smeared with the juice of +berries, discoursed of Olympian Gods to the innocent shepherds of +Sicily, he talked to Stevie of domestic matters and the affairs +of men whose sufferings are great and immortality by no means +assured.</p> + +<p>“I am a night cabby, I am,” he whispered, with a +sort of boastful exasperation. “I’ve got to +take out what they will blooming well give me at the yard. +I’ve got my missus and four kids at ’ome.”</p> + +<p>The monstrous nature of that declaration of paternity seemed +to strike the world dumb. A silence reigned during which +the flanks of the old horse, the steed of apocalyptic misery, +smoked upwards in the light of the charitable gas-lamp.</p> + +<p>The cabman grunted, then added in his mysterious whisper:</p> + +<p>“This ain’t an easy world.” +Stevie’s face had been twitching for some time, and at last +his feelings burst out in their usual concise form.</p> + +<p>“Bad! Bad!”</p> + +<p>His gaze remained fixed on the ribs of the horse, +self-conscious and sombre, as though he were afraid to look about +him at the badness of the world. And his slenderness, his +rosy lips and pale, clear complexion, gave him the aspect of a +delicate boy, notwithstanding the fluffy growth of golden hair on +his cheeks. He pouted in a scared way like a child. +The cabman, short and broad, eyed him with his fierce little eyes +that seemed to smart in a clear and corroding liquid.</p> + +<p>“’Ard on ’osses, but dam’ sight +’arder on poor chaps like me,” he wheezed just +audibly.</p> + +<p>“Poor! Poor!” stammered out Stevie, pushing +his hands deeper into his pockets with convulsive sympathy. +He could say nothing; for the tenderness to all pain and all +misery, the desire to make the horse happy and the cabman happy, +had reached the point of a bizarre longing to take them to bed +with him. And that, he knew, was impossible. For +Stevie was not mad. It was, as it were, a symbolic longing; +and at the same time it was very distinct, because springing from +experience, the mother of wisdom. Thus when as a child he +cowered in a dark corner scared, wretched, sore, and miserable +with the black, black misery of the soul, his sister Winnie used +to come along, and carry him off to bed with her, as into a +heaven of consoling peace. Stevie, though apt to forget +mere facts, such as his name and address for instance, had a +faithful memory of sensations. To be taken into a bed of +compassion was the supreme remedy, with the only one disadvantage +of being difficult of application on a large scale. And +looking at the cabman, Stevie perceived this clearly, because he +was reasonable.</p> + +<p>The cabman went on with his leisurely preparations as if +Stevie had not existed. He made as if to hoist himself on +the box, but at the last moment from some obscure motive, perhaps +merely from disgust with carriage exercise, desisted. He +approached instead the motionless partner of his labours, and +stooping to seize the bridle, lifted up the big, weary head to +the height of his shoulder with one effort of his right arm, like +a feat of strength.</p> + +<p>“Come on,” he whispered secretly.</p> + +<p>Limping, he led the cab away. There was an air of +austerity in this departure, the scrunched gravel of the drive +crying out under the slowly turning wheels, the horse’s +lean thighs moving with ascetic deliberation away from the light +into the obscurity of the open space bordered dimly by the +pointed roofs and the feebly shining windows of the little +alms-houses. The plaint of the gravel travelled slowly all +round the drive. Between the lamps of the charitable +gateway the slow cortege reappeared, lighted up for a moment, the +short, thick man limping busily, with the horse’s head held +aloft in his fist, the lank animal walking in stiff and forlorn +dignity, the dark, low box on wheels rolling behind comically +with an air of waddling. They turned to the left. +There was a pub down the street, within fifty yards of the +gate.</p> + +<p>Stevie left alone beside the private lamp-post of the Charity, +his hands thrust deep into his pockets, glared with vacant +sulkiness. At the bottom of his pockets his incapable weak +hands were clinched hard into a pair of angry fists. In the +face of anything which affected directly or indirectly his morbid +dread of pain, Stevie ended by turning vicious. A +magnanimous indignation swelled his frail chest to bursting, and +caused his candid eyes to squint. Supremely wise in knowing +his own powerlessness, Stevie was not wise enough to restrain his +passions. The tenderness of his universal charity had two +phases as indissolubly joined and connected as the reverse and +obverse sides of a medal. The anguish of immoderate +compassion was succeeded by the pain of an innocent but pitiless +rage. Those two states expressing themselves outwardly by +the same signs of futile bodily agitation, his sister Winnie +soothed his excitement without ever fathoming its twofold +character. Mrs Verloc wasted no portion of this transient +life in seeking for fundamental information. This is a sort +of economy having all the appearances and some of the advantages +of prudence. Obviously it may be good for one not to know +too much. And such a view accords very well with +constitutional indolence.</p> + +<p>On that evening on which it may be said that Mrs +Verloc’s mother having parted for good from her children +had also departed this life, Winnie Verloc did not investigate +her brother’s psychology. The poor boy was excited, +of course. After once more assuring the old woman on the +threshold that she would know how to guard against the risk of +Stevie losing himself for very long on his pilgrimages of filial +piety, she took her brother’s arm to walk away. +Stevie did not even mutter to himself, but with the special sense +of sisterly devotion developed in her earliest infancy, she felt +that the boy was very much excited indeed. Holding tight to +his arm, under the appearance of leaning on it, she thought of +some words suitable to the occasion.</p> + +<p>“Now, Stevie, you must look well after me at the +crossings, and get first into the ’bus, like a good +brother.”</p> + +<p>This appeal to manly protection was received by Stevie with +his usual docility. It flattered him. He raised his +head and threw out his chest.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be nervous, Winnie. Mustn’t be +nervous! ’Bus all right,” he answered in a +brusque, slurring stammer partaking of the timorousness of a +child and the resolution of a man. He advanced fearlessly +with the woman on his arm, but his lower lip dropped. +Nevertheless, on the pavement of the squalid and wide +thoroughfare, whose poverty in all the amenities of life stood +foolishly exposed by a mad profusion of gas-lights, their +resemblance to each other was so pronounced as to strike the +casual passers-by.</p> + +<p>Before the doors of the public-house at the corner, where the +profusion of gas-light reached the height of positive wickedness, +a four-wheeled cab standing by the curbstone with no one on the +box, seemed cast out into the gutter on account of irremediable +decay. Mrs Verloc recognised the conveyance. Its +aspect was so profoundly lamentable, with such a perfection of +grotesque misery and weirdness of macabre detail, as if it were +the Cab of Death itself, that Mrs Verloc, with that ready +compassion of a woman for a horse (when she is not sitting behind +him), exclaimed vaguely:</p> + +<p>“Poor brute!”</p> + +<p>Hanging back suddenly, Stevie inflicted an arresting jerk upon +his sister.</p> + +<p>“Poor! Poor!” he ejaculated +appreciatively. “Cabman poor too. He told me +himself.”</p> + +<p>The contemplation of the infirm and lonely steed overcame +him. Jostled, but obstinate, he would remain there, trying +to express the view newly opened to his sympathies of the human +and equine misery in close association. But it was very +difficult. “Poor brute, poor people!” was all +he could repeat. It did not seem forcible enough, and he +came to a stop with an angry splutter: “Shame!” +Stevie was no master of phrases, and perhaps for that very reason +his thoughts lacked clearness and precision. But he felt +with greater completeness and some profundity. That little +word contained all his sense of indignation and horror at one +sort of wretchedness having to feed upon the anguish of the +other—at the poor cabman beating the poor horse in the +name, as it were, of his poor kids at home. And Stevie knew +what it was to be beaten. He knew it from experience. +It was a bad world. Bad! Bad!</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc, his only sister, guardian, and protector, could +not pretend to such depths of insight. Moreover, she had +not experienced the magic of the cabman’s eloquence. +She was in the dark as to the inwardness of the word +“Shame.” And she said placidly:</p> + +<p>“Come along, Stevie. You can’t help +that.”</p> + +<p>The docile Stevie went along; but now he went along without +pride, shamblingly, and muttering half words, and even words that +would have been whole if they had not been made up of halves that +did not belong to each other. It was as though he had been +trying to fit all the words he could remember to his sentiments +in order to get some sort of corresponding idea. And, as a +matter of fact, he got it at last. He hung back to utter it +at once.</p> + +<p>“Bad world for poor people.”</p> + +<p>Directly he had expressed that thought he became aware that it +was familiar to him already in all its consequences. This +circumstance strengthened his conviction immensely, but also +augmented his indignation. Somebody, he felt, ought to be +punished for it—punished with great severity. Being +no sceptic, but a moral creature, he was in a manner at the mercy +of his righteous passions.</p> + +<p>“Beastly!” he added concisely.</p> + +<p>It was clear to Mrs Verloc that he was greatly excited.</p> + +<p>“Nobody can help that,” she said. “Do +come along. Is that the way you’re taking care of +me?”</p> + +<p>Stevie mended his pace obediently. He prided himself on +being a good brother. His morality, which was very +complete, demanded that from him. Yet he was pained at the +information imparted by his sister Winnie who was good. +Nobody could help that! He came along gloomily, but +presently he brightened up. Like the rest of mankind, +perplexed by the mystery of the universe, he had his moments of +consoling trust in the organised powers of the earth.</p> + +<p>“Police,” he suggested confidently.</p> + +<p>“The police aren’t for that,” observed Mrs +Verloc cursorily, hurrying on her way.</p> + +<p>Stevie’s face lengthened considerably. He was +thinking. The more intense his thinking, the slacker was +the droop of his lower jaw.</p> + +<p>And it was with an aspect of hopeless vacancy that he gave up +his intellectual enterprise.</p> + +<p>“Not for that?” he mumbled, resigned but +surprised. “Not for that?” He had formed +for himself an ideal conception of the metropolitan police as a +sort of benevolent institution for the suppression of evil. +The notion of benevolence especially was very closely associated +with his sense of the power of the men in blue. He had +liked all police constables tenderly, with a guileless +trustfulness. And he was pained. He was irritated, +too, by a suspicion of duplicity in the members of the +force. For Stevie was frank and as open as the day +himself. What did they mean by pretending then? +Unlike his sister, who put her trust in face values, he wished to +go to the bottom of the matter. He carried on his inquiry +by means of an angry challenge.</p> + +<p>“What for are they then, Winn? What are they +for? Tell me.”</p> + +<p>Winnie disliked controversy. But fearing most a fit of +black depression consequent on Stevie missing his mother very +much at first, she did not altogether decline the +discussion. Guiltless of all irony, she answered yet in a +form which was not perhaps unnatural in the wife of Mr Verloc, +Delegate of the Central Red Committee, personal friend of certain +anarchists, and a votary of social revolution.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you know what the police are for, +Stevie? They are there so that them as have nothing +shouldn’t take anything away from them who have.”</p> + +<p>She avoided using the verb “to steal,” because it +always made her brother uncomfortable. For Stevie was +delicately honest. Certain simple principles had been +instilled into him so anxiously (on account of his +“queerness”) that the mere names of certain +transgressions filled him with horror. He had been always +easily impressed by speeches. He was impressed and startled +now, and his intelligence was very alert.</p> + +<p>“What?” he asked at once anxiously. +“Not even if they were hungry? Mustn’t +they?”</p> + +<p>The two had paused in their walk.</p> + +<p>“Not if they were ever so,” said Mrs Verloc, with +the equanimity of a person untroubled by the problem of the +distribution of wealth, and exploring the perspective of the +roadway for an omnibus of the right colour. +“Certainly not. But what’s the use of talking +about all that? You aren’t ever hungry.”</p> + +<p>She cast a swift glance at the boy, like a young man, by her +side. She saw him amiable, attractive, affectionate, and +only a little, a very little, peculiar. And she could not +see him otherwise, for he was connected with what there was of +the salt of passion in her tasteless life—the passion of +indignation, of courage, of pity, and even of +self-sacrifice. She did not add: “And you +aren’t likely ever to be as long as I live.” +But she might very well have done so, since she had taken +effectual steps to that end. Mr Verloc was a very good +husband. It was her honest impression that nobody could +help liking the boy. She cried out suddenly:</p> + +<p>“Quick, Stevie. Stop that green +’bus.”</p> + +<p>And Stevie, tremulous and important with his sister Winnie on +his arm, flung up the other high above his head at the +approaching ’bus, with complete success.</p> + +<p>An hour afterwards Mr Verloc raised his eyes from a newspaper +he was reading, or at any rate looking at, behind the counter, +and in the expiring clatter of the door-bell beheld Winnie, his +wife, enter and cross the shop on her way upstairs, followed by +Stevie, his brother-in-law. The sight of his wife was +agreeable to Mr Verloc. It was his idiosyncrasy. The +figure of his brother-in-law remained imperceptible to him +because of the morose thoughtfulness that lately had fallen like +a veil between Mr Verloc and the appearances of the world of +senses. He looked after his wife fixedly, without a word, +as though she had been a phantom. His voice for home use +was husky and placid, but now it was heard not at all. It +was not heard at supper, to which he was called by his wife in +the usual brief manner: “Adolf.” He sat down to +consume it without conviction, wearing his hat pushed far back on +his head. It was not devotion to an outdoor life, but the +frequentation of foreign cafés which was responsible for +that habit, investing with a character of unceremonious +impermanency Mr Verloc’s steady fidelity to his own +fireside. Twice at the clatter of the cracked bell he arose +without a word, disappeared into the shop, and came back +silently. During these absences Mrs Verloc, becoming +acutely aware of the vacant place at her right hand, missed her +mother very much, and stared stonily; while Stevie, from the same +reason, kept on shuffling his feet, as though the floor under the +table were uncomfortably hot. When Mr Verloc returned to +sit in his place, like the very embodiment of silence, the +character of Mrs Verloc’s stare underwent a subtle change, +and Stevie ceased to fidget with his feet, because of his great +and awed regard for his sister’s husband. He directed +at him glances of respectful compassion. Mr Verloc was +sorry. His sister Winnie had impressed upon him (in the +omnibus) that Mr Verloc would be found at home in a state of +sorrow, and must not be worried. His father’s anger, +the irritability of gentlemen lodgers, and Mr Verloc’s +predisposition to immoderate grief, had been the main sanctions +of Stevie’s self-restraint. Of these sentiments, all +easily provoked, but not always easy to understand, the last had +the greatest moral efficiency—because Mr Verloc was +<i>good</i>. His mother and his sister had established that +ethical fact on an unshakable foundation. They had +established, erected, consecrated it behind Mr Verloc’s +back, for reasons that had nothing to do with abstract +morality. And Mr Verloc was not aware of it. It is +but bare justice to him to say that he had no notion of appearing +good to Stevie. Yet so it was. He was even the only +man so qualified in Stevie’s knowledge, because the +gentlemen lodgers had been too transient and too remote to have +anything very distinct about them but perhaps their boots; and as +regards the disciplinary measures of his father, the desolation +of his mother and sister shrank from setting up a theory of +goodness before the victim. It would have been too +cruel. And it was even possible that Stevie would not have +believed them. As far as Mr Verloc was concerned, nothing +could stand in the way of Stevie’s belief. Mr Verloc +was obviously yet mysteriously <i>good</i>. And the grief +of a good man is august.</p> + +<p>Stevie gave glances of reverential compassion to his +brother-in-law. Mr Verloc was sorry. The brother of +Winnie had never before felt himself in such close communion with +the mystery of that man’s goodness. It was an +understandable sorrow. And Stevie himself was sorry. +He was very sorry. The same sort of sorrow. And his +attention being drawn to this unpleasant state, Stevie shuffled +his feet. His feelings were habitually manifested by the +agitation of his limbs.</p> + +<p>“Keep your feet quiet, dear,” said Mrs Verloc, +with authority and tenderness; then turning towards her husband +in an indifferent voice, the masterly achievement of instinctive +tact: “Are you going out to-night?” she asked.</p> + +<p>The mere suggestion seemed repugnant to Mr Verloc. He +shook his head moodily, and then sat still with downcast eyes, +looking at the piece of cheese on his plate for a whole +minute. At the end of that time he got up, and went +out—went right out in the clatter of the shop-door +bell. He acted thus inconsistently, not from any desire to +make himself unpleasant, but because of an unconquerable +restlessness. It was no earthly good going out. He +could not find anywhere in London what he wanted. But he +went out. He led a cortege of dismal thoughts along dark +streets, through lighted streets, in and out of two flash bars, +as if in a half-hearted attempt to make a night of it, and +finally back again to his menaced home, where he sat down +fatigued behind the counter, and they crowded urgently round him, +like a pack of hungry black hounds. After locking up the +house and putting out the gas he took them upstairs with +him—a dreadful escort for a man going to bed. His +wife had preceded him some time before, and with her ample form +defined vaguely under the counterpane, her head on the pillow, +and a hand under the cheek offered to his distraction the view of +early drowsiness arguing the possession of an equable soul. +Her big eyes stared wide open, inert and dark against the snowy +whiteness of the linen. She did not move.</p> + +<p>She had an equable soul. She felt profoundly that things +do not stand much looking into. She made her force and her +wisdom of that instinct. But the taciturnity of Mr Verloc +had been lying heavily upon her for a good many days. It +was, as a matter of fact, affecting her nerves. Recumbent +and motionless, she said placidly:</p> + +<p>“You’ll catch cold walking about in your socks +like this.”</p> + +<p>This speech, becoming the solicitude of the wife and the +prudence of the woman, took Mr Verloc unawares. He had left +his boots downstairs, but he had forgotten to put on his +slippers, and he had been turning about the bedroom on noiseless +pads like a bear in a cage. At the sound of his +wife’s voice he stopped and stared at her with a +somnambulistic, expressionless gaze so long that Mrs Verloc moved +her limbs slightly under the bed-clothes. But she did not +move her black head sunk in the white pillow one hand under her +cheek and the big, dark, unwinking eyes.</p> + +<p>Under her husband’s expressionless stare, and +remembering her mother’s empty room across the landing, she +felt an acute pang of loneliness. She had never been parted +from her mother before. They had stood by each other. +She felt that they had, and she said to herself that now mother +was gone—gone for good. Mrs Verloc had no +illusions. Stevie remained, however. And she +said:</p> + +<p>“Mother’s done what she wanted to do. +There’s no sense in it that I can see. I’m sure +she couldn’t have thought you had enough of her. +It’s perfectly wicked, leaving us like that.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc was not a well-read person; his range of allusive +phrases was limited, but there was a peculiar aptness in +circumstances which made him think of rats leaving a doomed +ship. He very nearly said so. He had grown suspicious +and embittered. Could it be that the old woman had such an +excellent nose? But the unreasonableness of such a +suspicion was patent, and Mr Verloc held his tongue. Not +altogether, however. He muttered heavily:</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it’s just as well.”</p> + +<p>He began to undress. Mrs Verloc kept very still, +perfectly still, with her eyes fixed in a dreamy, quiet +stare. And her heart for the fraction of a second seemed to +stand still too. That night she was “not quite +herself,” as the saying is, and it was borne upon her with +some force that a simple sentence may hold several diverse +meanings—mostly disagreeable. How was it just as +well? And why? But she did not allow herself to fall +into the idleness of barren speculation. She was rather +confirmed in her belief that things did not stand being looked +into. Practical and subtle in her way, she brought Stevie +to the front without loss of time, because in her the singleness +of purpose had the unerring nature and the force of an +instinct.</p> + +<p>“What I am going to do to cheer up that boy for the +first few days I’m sure I don’t know. +He’ll be worrying himself from morning till night before he +gets used to mother being away. And he’s such a good +boy. I couldn’t do without him.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc went on divesting himself of his clothing with the +unnoticing inward concentration of a man undressing in the +solitude of a vast and hopeless desert. For thus +inhospitably did this fair earth, our common inheritance, present +itself to the mental vision of Mr Verloc. All was so still +without and within that the lonely ticking of the clock on the +landing stole into the room as if for the sake of company.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, getting into bed on his own side, remained prone +and mute behind Mrs Verloc’s back. His thick arms +rested abandoned on the outside of the counterpane like dropped +weapons, like discarded tools. At that moment he was within +a hair’s breadth of making a clean breast of it all to his +wife. The moment seemed propitious. Looking out of +the corners of his eyes, he saw her ample shoulders draped in +white, the back of her head, with the hair done for the night in +three plaits tied up with black tapes at the ends. And he +forbore. Mr Verloc loved his wife as a wife should be +loved—that is, maritally, with the regard one has for +one’s chief possession. This head arranged for the +night, those ample shoulders, had an aspect of familiar +sacredness—the sacredness of domestic peace. She +moved not, massive and shapeless like a recumbent statue in the +rough; he remembered her wide-open eyes looking into the empty +room. She was mysterious, with the mysteriousness of living +beings. The far-famed secret agent [delta] of the late +Baron Stott-Wartenheim’s alarmist despatches was not the +man to break into such mysteries. He was easily +intimidated. And he was also indolent, with the indolence +which is so often the secret of good nature. He forbore +touching that mystery out of love, timidity, and indolence. +There would be always time enough. For several minutes he +bore his sufferings silently in the drowsy silence of the +room. And then he disturbed it by a resolute +declaration.</p> + +<p>“I am going on the Continent to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>His wife might have fallen asleep already. He could not +tell. As a matter of fact, Mrs Verloc had heard him. +Her eyes remained very wide open, and she lay very still, +confirmed in her instinctive conviction that things don’t +bear looking into very much. And yet it was nothing very +unusual for Mr Verloc to take such a trip. He renewed his +stock from Paris and Brussels. Often he went over to make +his purchases personally. A little select connection of +amateurs was forming around the shop in Brett Street, a secret +connection eminently proper for any business undertaken by Mr +Verloc, who, by a mystic accord of temperament and necessity, had +been set apart to be a secret agent all his life.</p> + +<p>He waited for a while, then added: “I’ll be away a +week or perhaps a fortnight. Get Mrs Neale to come for the +day.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Neale was the charwoman of Brett Street. Victim of +her marriage with a debauched joiner, she was oppressed by the +needs of many infant children. Red-armed, and aproned in +coarse sacking up to the arm-pits, she exhaled the anguish of the +poor in a breath of soap-suds and rum, in the uproar of +scrubbing, in the clatter of tin pails.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc, full of deep purpose, spoke in the tone of the +shallowest indifference.</p> + +<p>“There is no need to have the woman here all day. +I shall do very well with Stevie.”</p> + +<p>She let the lonely clock on the landing count off fifteen +ticks into the abyss of eternity, and asked:</p> + +<p>“Shall I put the light out?”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc snapped at his wife huskily.</p> + +<p>“Put it out.”</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<p>Mr Verloc returning from the Continent at the end of ten days, +brought back a mind evidently unrefreshed by the wonders of +foreign travel and a countenance unlighted by the joys of +home-coming. He entered in the clatter of the shop bell +with an air of sombre and vexed exhaustion. His bag in +hand, his head lowered, he strode straight behind the counter, +and let himself fall into the chair, as though he had tramped all +the way from Dover. It was early morning. Stevie, +dusting various objects displayed in the front windows, turned to +gape at him with reverence and awe.</p> + +<p>“Here!” said Mr Verloc, giving a slight kick to +the gladstone bag on the floor; and Stevie flung himself upon it, +seized it, bore it off with triumphant devotion. He was so +prompt that Mr Verloc was distinctly surprised.</p> + +<p>Already at the clatter of the shop bell Mrs Neale, +blackleading the parlour grate, had looked through the door, and +rising from her knees had gone, aproned, and grimy with +everlasting toil, to tell Mrs Verloc in the kitchen that +“there was the master come back.”</p> + +<p>Winnie came no farther than the inner shop door.</p> + +<p>“You’ll want some breakfast,” she said from +a distance.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc moved his hands slightly, as if overcome by an +impossible suggestion. But once enticed into the parlour he +did not reject the food set before him. He ate as if in a +public place, his hat pushed off his forehead, the skirts of his +heavy overcoat hanging in a triangle on each side of the +chair. And across the length of the table covered with +brown oil-cloth Winnie, his wife, talked evenly at him the wifely +talk, as artfully adapted, no doubt, to the circumstances of this +return as the talk of Penelope to the return of the wandering +Odysseus. Mrs Verloc, however, had done no weaving during +her husband’s absence. But she had had all the +upstairs room cleaned thoroughly, had sold some wares, had seen +Mr Michaelis several times. He had told her the last time +that he was going away to live in a cottage in the country, +somewhere on the London, Chatham, and Dover line. Karl +Yundt had come too, once, led under the arm by that “wicked +old housekeeper of his.” He was “a disgusting +old man.” Of Comrade Ossipon, whom she had received +curtly, entrenched behind the counter with a stony face and a +faraway gaze, she said nothing, her mental reference to the +robust anarchist being marked by a short pause, with the faintest +possible blush. And bringing in her brother Stevie as soon +as she could into the current of domestic events, she mentioned +that the boy had moped a good deal.</p> + +<p>“It’s all along of mother leaving us like +this.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc neither said, “Damn!” nor yet +“Stevie be hanged!” And Mrs Verloc, not let +into the secret of his thoughts, failed to appreciate the +generosity of this restraint.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t that he doesn’t work as well as +ever,” she continued. “He’s been making +himself very useful. You’d think he couldn’t do +enough for us.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc directed a casual and somnolent glance at Stevie, +who sat on his right, delicate, pale-faced, his rosy mouth open +vacantly. It was not a critical glance. It had no +intention. And if Mr Verloc thought for a moment that his +wife’s brother looked uncommonly useless, it was only a +dull and fleeting thought, devoid of that force and durability +which enables sometimes a thought to move the world. +Leaning back, Mr Verloc uncovered his head. Before his +extended arm could put down the hat Stevie pounced upon it, and +bore it off reverently into the kitchen. And again Mr +Verloc was surprised.</p> + +<p>“You could do anything with that boy, Adolf,” Mrs +Verloc said, with her best air of inflexible calmness. +“He would go through fire for you. +He—”</p> + +<p>She paused attentive, her ear turned towards the door of the +kitchen.</p> + +<p>There Mrs Neale was scrubbing the floor. At +Stevie’s appearance she groaned lamentably, having observed +that he could be induced easily to bestow for the benefit of her +infant children the shilling his sister Winnie presented him with +from time to time. On all fours amongst the puddles, wet +and begrimed, like a sort of amphibious and domestic animal +living in ash-bins and dirty water, she uttered the usual +exordium: “It’s all very well for you, kept doing +nothing like a gentleman.” And she followed it with +the everlasting plaint of the poor, pathetically mendacious, +miserably authenticated by the horrible breath of cheap rum and +soap-suds. She scrubbed hard, snuffling all the time, and +talking volubly. And she was sincere. And on each +side of her thin red nose her bleared, misty eyes swam in tears, +because she felt really the want of some sort of stimulant in the +morning.</p> + +<p>In the parlour Mrs Verloc observed, with knowledge:</p> + +<p>“There’s Mrs Neale at it again with her harrowing +tales about her little children. They can’t be all so +little as she makes them out. Some of them must be big +enough by now to try to do something for themselves. It +only makes Stevie angry.”</p> + +<p>These words were confirmed by a thud as of a fist striking the +kitchen table. In the normal evolution of his sympathy +Stevie had become angry on discovering that he had no shilling in +his pocket. In his inability to relieve at once Mrs +Neale’s “little ’uns’” privations, +he felt that somebody should be made to suffer for it. Mrs +Verloc rose, and went into the kitchen to “stop that +nonsense.” And she did it firmly but gently. +She was well aware that directly Mrs Neale received her money she +went round the corner to drink ardent spirits in a mean and musty +public-house—the unavoidable station on the <i>via +dolorosa</i> of her life. Mrs Verloc’s comment upon +this practice had an unexpected profundity, as coming from a +person disinclined to look under the surface of things. +“Of course, what is she to do to keep up? If I were +like Mrs Neale I expect I wouldn’t act any +different.”</p> + +<p>In the afternoon of the same day, as Mr Verloc, coming with a +start out of the last of a long series of dozes before the +parlour fire, declared his intention of going out for a walk, +Winnie said from the shop:</p> + +<p>“I wish you would take that boy out with you, +Adolf.”</p> + +<p>For the third time that day Mr Verloc was surprised. He +stared stupidly at his wife. She continued in her steady +manner. The boy, whenever he was not doing anything, moped +in the house. It made her uneasy; it made her nervous, she +confessed. And that from the calm Winnie sounded like +exaggeration. But, in truth, Stevie moped in the striking +fashion of an unhappy domestic animal. He would go up on +the dark landing, to sit on the floor at the foot of the tall +clock, with his knees drawn up and his head in his hands. +To come upon his pallid face, with its big eyes gleaming in the +dusk, was discomposing; to think of him up there was +uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc got used to the startling novelty of the idea. +He was fond of his wife as a man should be—that is, +generously. But a weighty objection presented itself to his +mind, and he formulated it.</p> + +<p>“He’ll lose sight of me perhaps, and get lost in +the street,” he said.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc shook her head competently.</p> + +<p>“He won’t. You don’t know him. +That boy just worships you. But if you should miss +him—”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc paused for a moment, but only for a moment.</p> + +<p>“You just go on, and have your walk out. +Don’t worry. He’ll be all right. +He’s sure to turn up safe here before very long.”</p> + +<p>This optimism procured for Mr Verloc his fourth surprise of +the day.</p> + +<p>“Is he?” he grunted doubtfully. But perhaps +his brother-in-law was not such an idiot as he looked. His +wife would know best. He turned away his heavy eyes, saying +huskily: “Well, let him come along, then,” and +relapsed into the clutches of black care, that perhaps prefers to +sit behind a horseman, but knows also how to tread close on the +heels of people not sufficiently well off to keep +horses—like Mr Verloc, for instance.</p> + +<p>Winnie, at the shop door, did not see this fatal attendant +upon Mr Verloc’s walks. She watched the two figures +down the squalid street, one tall and burly, the other slight and +short, with a thin neck, and the peaked shoulders raised slightly +under the large semi-transparent ears. The material of +their overcoats was the same, their hats were black and round in +shape. Inspired by the similarity of wearing apparel, Mrs +Verloc gave rein to her fancy.</p> + +<p>“Might be father and son,” she said to +herself. She thought also that Mr Verloc was as much of a +father as poor Stevie ever had in his life. She was aware +also that it was her work. And with peaceful pride she +congratulated herself on a certain resolution she had taken a few +years before. It had cost her some effort, and even a few +tears.</p> + +<p>She congratulated herself still more on observing in the +course of days that Mr Verloc seemed to be taking kindly to +Stevie’s companionship. Now, when ready to go out for +his walk, Mr Verloc called aloud to the boy, in the spirit, no +doubt, in which a man invites the attendance of the household +dog, though, of course, in a different manner. In the house +Mr Verloc could be detected staring curiously at Stevie a good +deal. His own demeanour had changed. Taciturn still, +he was not so listless. Mrs Verloc thought that he was +rather jumpy at times. It might have been regarded as an +improvement. As to Stevie, he moped no longer at the foot +of the clock, but muttered to himself in corners instead in a +threatening tone. When asked “What is it you’re +saying, Stevie?” he merely opened his mouth, and squinted +at his sister. At odd times he clenched his fists without +apparent cause, and when discovered in solitude would be scowling +at the wall, with the sheet of paper and the pencil given him for +drawing circles lying blank and idle on the kitchen table. +This was a change, but it was no improvement. Mrs Verloc +including all these vagaries under the general definition of +excitement, began to fear that Stevie was hearing more than was +good for him of her husband’s conversations with his +friends. During his “walks” Mr Verloc, of +course, met and conversed with various persons. It could +hardly be otherwise. His walks were an integral part of his +outdoor activities, which his wife had never looked deeply +into. Mrs Verloc felt that the position was delicate, but +she faced it with the same impenetrable calmness which impressed +and even astonished the customers of the shop and made the other +visitors keep their distance a little wonderingly. +No! She feared that there were things not good for Stevie +to hear of, she told her husband. It only excited the poor +boy, because he could not help them being so. Nobody +could.</p> + +<p>It was in the shop. Mr Verloc made no comment. He +made no retort, and yet the retort was obvious. But he +refrained from pointing out to his wife that the idea of making +Stevie the companion of his walks was her own, and nobody +else’s. At that moment, to an impartial observer, Mr +Verloc would have appeared more than human in his +magnanimity. He took down a small cardboard box from a +shelf, peeped in to see that the contents were all right, and put +it down gently on the counter. Not till that was done did +he break the silence, to the effect that most likely Stevie would +profit greatly by being sent out of town for a while; only he +supposed his wife could not get on without him.</p> + +<p>“Could not get on without him!” repeated Mrs +Verloc slowly. “I couldn’t get on without him +if it were for his good! The idea! Of course, I can +get on without him. But there’s nowhere for him to +go.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc got out some brown paper and a ball of string; and +meanwhile he muttered that Michaelis was living in a little +cottage in the country. Michaelis wouldn’t mind +giving Stevie a room to sleep in. There were no visitors +and no talk there. Michaelis was writing a book.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc declared her affection for Michaelis; mentioned her +abhorrence of Karl Yundt, “nasty old man”; and of +Ossipon she said nothing. As to Stevie, he could be no +other than very pleased. Mr Michaelis was always so nice +and kind to him. He seemed to like the boy. Well, the +boy was a good boy.</p> + +<p>“You too seem to have grown quite fond of him of +late,” she added, after a pause, with her inflexible +assurance.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc tying up the cardboard box into a parcel for the +post, broke the string by an injudicious jerk, and muttered +several swear words confidentially to himself. Then raising +his tone to the usual husky mutter, he announced his willingness +to take Stevie into the country himself, and leave him all safe +with Michaelis.</p> + +<p>He carried out this scheme on the very next day. Stevie +offered no objection. He seemed rather eager, in a +bewildered sort of way. He turned his candid gaze +inquisitively to Mr Verloc’s heavy countenance at frequent +intervals, especially when his sister was not looking at +him. His expression was proud, apprehensive, and +concentrated, like that of a small child entrusted for the first +time with a box of matches and the permission to strike a +light. But Mrs Verloc, gratified by her brother’s +docility, recommended him not to dirty his clothes unduly in the +country. At this Stevie gave his sister, guardian and +protector a look, which for the first time in his life seemed to +lack the quality of perfect childlike trustfulness. It was +haughtily gloomy. Mrs Verloc smiled.</p> + +<p>“Goodness me! You needn’t be offended. +You know you do get yourself very untidy when you get a chance, +Stevie.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc was already gone some way down the street.</p> + +<p>Thus in consequence of her mother’s heroic proceedings, +and of her brother’s absence on this villegiature, Mrs +Verloc found herself oftener than usual all alone not only in the +shop, but in the house. For Mr Verloc had to take his +walks. She was alone longer than usual on the day of the +attempted bomb outrage in Greenwich Park, because Mr Verloc went +out very early that morning and did not come back till nearly +dusk. She did not mind being alone. She had no desire +to go out. The weather was too bad, and the shop was cosier +than the streets. Sitting behind the counter with some +sewing, she did not raise her eyes from her work when Mr Verloc +entered in the aggressive clatter of the bell. She had +recognised his step on the pavement outside.</p> + +<p>She did not raise her eyes, but as Mr Verloc, silent, and with +his hat rammed down upon his forehead, made straight for the +parlour door, she said serenely:</p> + +<p>“What a wretched day. You’ve been perhaps to +see Stevie?”</p> + +<p>“No! I haven’t,” said Mr Verloc +softly, and slammed the glazed parlour door behind him with +unexpected energy.</p> + +<p>For some time Mrs Verloc remained quiescent, with her work +dropped in her lap, before she put it away under the counter and +got up to light the gas. This done, she went into the +parlour on her way to the kitchen. Mr Verloc would want his +tea presently. Confident of the power of her charms, Winnie +did not expect from her husband in the daily intercourse of their +married life a ceremonious amenity of address and courtliness of +manner; vain and antiquated forms at best, probably never very +exactly observed, discarded nowadays even in the highest spheres, +and always foreign to the standards of her class. She did +not look for courtesies from him. But he was a good +husband, and she had a loyal respect for his rights.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc would have gone through the parlour and on to her +domestic duties in the kitchen with the perfect serenity of a +woman sure of the power of her charms. But a slight, very +slight, and rapid rattling sound grew upon her hearing. +Bizarre and incomprehensible, it arrested Mrs Verloc’s +attention. Then as its character became plain to the ear +she stopped short, amazed and concerned. Striking a match +on the box she held in her hand, she turned on and lighted, above +the parlour table, one of the two gas-burners, which, being +defective, first whistled as if astonished, and then went on +purring comfortably like a cat.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, against his usual practice, had thrown off his +overcoat. It was lying on the sofa. His hat, which he +must also have thrown off, rested overturned under the edge of +the sofa. He had dragged a chair in front of the fireplace, +and his feet planted inside the fender, his head held between his +hands, he was hanging low over the glowing grate. His teeth +rattled with an ungovernable violence, causing his whole enormous +back to tremble at the same rate. Mrs Verloc was +startled.</p> + +<p>“You’ve been getting wet,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Not very,” Mr Verloc managed to falter out, in a +profound shudder. By a great effort he suppressed the +rattling of his teeth.</p> + +<p>“I’ll have you laid up on my hands,” she +said, with genuine uneasiness.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think so,” remarked Mr Verloc, +snuffling huskily.</p> + +<p>He had certainly contrived somehow to catch an abominable cold +between seven in the morning and five in the afternoon. Mrs +Verloc looked at his bowed back.</p> + +<p>“Where have you been to-day?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Nowhere,” answered Mr Verloc in a low, choked +nasal tone. His attitude suggested aggrieved sulks or a +severe headache. The unsufficiency and uncandidness of his +answer became painfully apparent in the dead silence of the +room. He snuffled apologetically, and added: +“I’ve been to the bank.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc became attentive.</p> + +<p>“You have!” she said dispassionately. +“What for?”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc mumbled, with his nose over the grate, and with +marked unwillingness.</p> + +<p>“Draw the money out!”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean? All of it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. All of it.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc spread out with care the scanty table-cloth, got +two knives and two forks out of the table drawer, and suddenly +stopped in her methodical proceedings.</p> + +<p>“What did you do that for?”</p> + +<p>“May want it soon,” snuffled vaguely Mr Verloc, +who was coming to the end of his calculated indiscretions.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what you mean,” remarked his +wife in a tone perfectly casual, but standing stock still between +the table and the cupboard.</p> + +<p>“You know you can trust me,” Mr Verloc remarked to +the grate, with hoarse feeling.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc turned slowly towards the cupboard, saying with +deliberation:</p> + +<p>“Oh yes. I can trust you.”</p> + +<p>And she went on with her methodical proceedings. She +laid two plates, got the bread, the butter, going to and fro +quietly between the table and the cupboard in the peace and +silence of her home. On the point of taking out the jam, +she reflected practically: “He will be feeling hungry, +having been away all day,” and she returned to the cupboard +once more to get the cold beef. She set it under the +purring gas-jet, and with a passing glance at her motionless +husband hugging the fire, she went (down two steps) into the +kitchen. It was only when coming back, carving knife and +fork in hand, that she spoke again.</p> + +<p>“If I hadn’t trusted you I wouldn’t have +married you.”</p> + +<p>Bowed under the overmantel, Mr Verloc, holding his head in +both hands, seemed to have gone to sleep. Winnie made the +tea, and called out in an undertone:</p> + +<p>“Adolf.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc got up at once, and staggered a little before he sat +down at the table. His wife examining the sharp edge of the +carving knife, placed it on the dish, and called his attention to +the cold beef. He remained insensible to the suggestion, +with his chin on his breast.</p> + +<p>“You should feed your cold,” Mrs Verloc said +dogmatically.</p> + +<p>He looked up, and shook his head. His eyes were +bloodshot and his face red. His fingers had ruffled his +hair into a dissipated untidiness. Altogether he had a +disreputable aspect, expressive of the discomfort, the irritation +and the gloom following a heavy debauch. But Mr Verloc was +not a debauched man. In his conduct he was +respectable. His appearance might have been the effect of a +feverish cold. He drank three cups of tea, but abstained +from food entirely. He recoiled from it with sombre +aversion when urged by Mrs Verloc, who said at last:</p> + +<p>“Aren’t your feet wet? You had better put on +your slippers. You aren’t going out any more this +evening.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc intimated by morose grunts and signs that his feet +were not wet, and that anyhow he did not care. The proposal +as to slippers was disregarded as beneath his notice. But +the question of going out in the evening received an unexpected +development. It was not of going out in the evening that Mr +Verloc was thinking. His thoughts embraced a vaster +scheme. From moody and incomplete phrases it became +apparent that Mr Verloc had been considering the expediency of +emigrating. It was not very clear whether he had in his +mind France or California.</p> + +<p>The utter unexpectedness, improbability, and inconceivableness +of such an event robbed this vague declaration of all its +effect. Mrs Verloc, as placidly as if her husband had been +threatening her with the end of the world, said:</p> + +<p>“The idea!”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc declared himself sick and tired of everything, and +besides—She interrupted him.</p> + +<p>“You’ve a bad cold.”</p> + +<p>It was indeed obvious that Mr Verloc was not in his usual +state, physically and even mentally. A sombre irresolution +held him silent for a while. Then he murmured a few ominous +generalities on the theme of necessity.</p> + +<p>“Will have to,” repeated Winnie, sitting calmly +back, with folded arms, opposite her husband. “I +should like to know who’s to make you. You +ain’t a slave. No one need be a slave in this +country—and don’t you make yourself one.” +She paused, and with invincible and steady candour. +“The business isn’t so bad,” she went on. +“You’ve a comfortable home.”</p> + +<p>She glanced all round the parlour, from the corner cupboard to +the good fire in the grate. Ensconced cosily behind the +shop of doubtful wares, with the mysteriously dim window, and its +door suspiciously ajar in the obscure and narrow street, it was +in all essentials of domestic propriety and domestic comfort a +respectable home. Her devoted affection missed out of it +her brother Stevie, now enjoying a damp villegiature in the +Kentish lanes under the care of Mr Michaelis. She missed +him poignantly, with all the force of her protecting +passion. This was the boy’s home too—the roof, +the cupboard, the stoked grate. On this thought Mrs Verloc +rose, and walking to the other end of the table, said in the +fulness of her heart:</p> + +<p>“And you are not tired of me.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc made no sound. Winnie leaned on his shoulder +from behind, and pressed her lips to his forehead. Thus she +lingered. Not a whisper reached them from the outside +world.</p> + +<p>The sound of footsteps on the pavement died out in the +discreet dimness of the shop. Only the gas-jet above the +table went on purring equably in the brooding silence of the +parlour.</p> + +<p>During the contact of that unexpected and lingering kiss Mr +Verloc, gripping with both hands the edges of his chair, +preserved a hieratic immobility. When the pressure was +removed he let go the chair, rose, and went to stand before the +fireplace. He turned no longer his back to the room. +With his features swollen and an air of being drugged, he +followed his wife’s movements with his eyes.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc went about serenely, clearing up the table. +Her tranquil voice commented the idea thrown out in a reasonable +and domestic tone. It wouldn’t stand +examination. She condemned it from every point of +view. But her only real concern was Stevie’s +welfare. He appeared to her thought in that connection as +sufficiently “peculiar” not to be taken rashly +abroad. And that was all. But talking round that +vital point, she approached absolute vehemence in her +delivery. Meanwhile, with brusque movements, she arrayed +herself in an apron for the washing up of cups. And as if +excited by the sound of her uncontradicted voice, she went so far +as to say in a tone almost tart:</p> + +<p>“If you go abroad you’ll have to go without +me.”</p> + +<p>“You know I wouldn’t,” said Mr Verloc +huskily, and the unresonant voice of his private life trembled +with an enigmatical emotion.</p> + +<p>Already Mrs Verloc was regretting her words. They had +sounded more unkind than she meant them to be. They had +also the unwisdom of unnecessary things. In fact, she had +not meant them at all. It was a sort of phrase that is +suggested by the demon of perverse inspiration. But she +knew a way to make it as if it had not been.</p> + +<p>She turned her head over her shoulder and gave that man +planted heavily in front of the fireplace a glance, half arch, +half cruel, out of her large eyes—a glance of which the +Winnie of the Belgravian mansion days would have been incapable, +because of her respectability and her ignorance. But the +man was her husband now, and she was no longer ignorant. +She kept it on him for a whole second, with her grave face +motionless like a mask, while she said playfully:</p> + +<p>“You couldn’t. You would miss me too +much.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc started forward.</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” he said in a louder tone, throwing his +arms out and making a step towards her. Something wild and +doubtful in his expression made it appear uncertain whether he +meant to strangle or to embrace his wife. But Mrs +Verloc’s attention was called away from that manifestation +by the clatter of the shop bell.</p> + +<p>“Shop, Adolf. You go.”</p> + +<p>He stopped, his arms came down slowly.</p> + +<p>“You go,” repeated Mrs Verloc. +“I’ve got my apron on.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc obeyed woodenly, stony-eyed, and like an automaton +whose face had been painted red. And this resemblance to a +mechanical figure went so far that he had an automaton’s +absurd air of being aware of the machinery inside of him.</p> + +<p>He closed the parlour door, and Mrs Verloc moving briskly, +carried the tray into the kitchen. She washed the cups and +some other things before she stopped in her work to listen. +No sound reached her. The customer was a long time in the +shop. It was a customer, because if he had not been Mr +Verloc would have taken him inside. Undoing the strings of +her apron with a jerk, she threw it on a chair, and walked back +to the parlour slowly.</p> + +<p>At that precise moment Mr Verloc entered from the shop.</p> + +<p>He had gone in red. He came out a strange papery +white. His face, losing its drugged, feverish stupor, had +in that short time acquired a bewildered and harassed +expression. He walked straight to the sofa, and stood +looking down at his overcoat lying there, as though he were +afraid to touch it.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” asked Mrs Verloc in a +subdued voice. Through the door left ajar she could see +that the customer was not gone yet.</p> + +<p>“I find I’ll have to go out this evening,” +said Mr Verloc. He did not attempt to pick up his outer +garment.</p> + +<p>Without a word Winnie made for the shop, and shutting the door +after her, walked in behind the counter. She did not look +overtly at the customer till she had established herself +comfortably on the chair. But by that time she had noted +that he was tall and thin, and wore his moustaches twisted +up. In fact, he gave the sharp points a twist just +then. His long, bony face rose out of a turned-up +collar. He was a little splashed, a little wet. A +dark man, with the ridge of the cheek-bone well defined under the +slightly hollow temple. A complete stranger. Not a +customer either.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc looked at him placidly.</p> + +<p>“You came over from the Continent?” she said after +a time.</p> + +<p>The long, thin stranger, without exactly looking at Mrs +Verloc, answered only by a faint and peculiar smile.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc’s steady, incurious gaze rested on him.</p> + +<p>“You understand English, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes. I understand English.”</p> + +<p>There was nothing foreign in his accent, except that he seemed +in his slow enunciation to be taking pains with it. And Mrs +Verloc, in her varied experience, had come to the conclusion that +some foreigners could speak better English than the +natives. She said, looking at the door of the parlour +fixedly:</p> + +<p>“You don’t think perhaps of staying in England for +good?”</p> + +<p>The stranger gave her again a silent smile. He had a +kindly mouth and probing eyes. And he shook his head a +little sadly, it seemed.</p> + +<p>“My husband will see you through all right. +Meantime for a few days you couldn’t do better than take +lodgings with Mr Giugliani. Continental Hotel it’s +called. Private. It’s quiet. My husband +will take you there.”</p> + +<p>“A good idea,” said the thin, dark man, whose +glance had hardened suddenly.</p> + +<p>“You knew Mr Verloc before—didn’t you? +Perhaps in France?”</p> + +<p>“I have heard of him,” admitted the visitor in his +slow, painstaking tone, which yet had a certain curtness of +intention.</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Then he spoke again, in a far less +elaborate manner.</p> + +<p>“Your husband has not gone out to wait for me in the +street by chance?”</p> + +<p>“In the street!” repeated Mrs Verloc, +surprised. “He couldn’t. There’s no +other door to the house.”</p> + +<p>For a moment she sat impassive, then left her seat to go and +peep through the glazed door. Suddenly she opened it, and +disappeared into the parlour.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc had done no more than put on his overcoat. But +why he should remain afterwards leaning over the table propped up +on his two arms as though he were feeling giddy or sick, she +could not understand. “Adolf,” she called out +half aloud; and when he had raised himself:</p> + +<p>“Do you know that man?” she asked rapidly.</p> + +<p>“I’ve heard of him,” whispered uneasily Mr +Verloc, darting a wild glance at the door.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc’s fine, incurious eyes lighted up with a +flash of abhorrence.</p> + +<p>“One of Karl Yundt’s friends—beastly old +man.”</p> + +<p>“No! No!” protested Mr Verloc, busy fishing +for his hat. But when he got it from under the sofa he held +it as if he did not know the use of a hat.</p> + +<p>“Well—he’s waiting for you,” said Mrs +Verloc at last. “I say, Adolf, he ain’t one of +them Embassy people you have been bothered with of +late?”</p> + +<p>“Bothered with Embassy people,” repeated Mr +Verloc, with a heavy start of surprise and fear. +“Who’s been talking to you of the Embassy +people?”</p> + +<p>“Yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I! I! Talked of the Embassy to +you!”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc seemed scared and bewildered beyond measure. +His wife explained:</p> + +<p>“You’ve been talking a little in your sleep of +late, Adolf.”</p> + +<p>“What—what did I say? What do you +know?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing much. It seemed mostly nonsense. +Enough to let me guess that something worried you.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc rammed his hat on his head. A crimson flood of +anger ran over his face.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense—eh? The Embassy people! I +would cut their hearts out one after another. But let them +look out. I’ve got a tongue in my head.”</p> + +<p>He fumed, pacing up and down between the table and the sofa, +his open overcoat catching against the angles. The red +flood of anger ebbed out, and left his face all white, with +quivering nostrils. Mrs Verloc, for the purposes of +practical existence, put down these appearances to the cold.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said, “get rid of the man, +whoever he is, as soon as you can, and come back home to +me. You want looking after for a day or two.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc calmed down, and, with resolution imprinted on his +pale face, had already opened the door, when his wife called him +back in a whisper:</p> + +<p>“Adolf! Adolf!” He came back +startled. “What about that money you drew out?” +she asked. “You’ve got it in your pocket? +Hadn’t you better—”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc gazed stupidly into the palm of his wife’s +extended hand for some time before he slapped his brow.</p> + +<p>“Money! Yes! Yes! I didn’t know +what you meant.”</p> + +<p>He drew out of his breast pocket a new pigskin +pocket-book. Mrs Verloc received it without another word, +and stood still till the bell, clattering after Mr Verloc and Mr +Verloc’s visitor, had quieted down. Only then she +peeped in at the amount, drawing the notes out for the +purpose. After this inspection she looked round +thoughtfully, with an air of mistrust in the silence and solitude +of the house. This abode of her married life appeared to +her as lonely and unsafe as though it had been situated in the +midst of a forest. No receptacle she could think of amongst +the solid, heavy furniture seemed other but flimsy and +particularly tempting to her conception of a house-breaker. +It was an ideal conception, endowed with sublime faculties and a +miraculous insight. The till was not to be thought +of. It was the first spot a thief would make for. Mrs +Verloc unfastening hastily a couple of hooks, slipped the +pocket-book under the bodice of her dress. Having thus +disposed of her husband’s capital, she was rather glad to +hear the clatter of the door bell, announcing an arrival. +Assuming the fixed, unabashed stare and the stony expression +reserved for the casual customer, she walked in behind the +counter.</p> + +<p>A man standing in the middle of the shop was inspecting it +with a swift, cool, all-round glance. His eyes ran over the +walls, took in the ceiling, noted the floor—all in a +moment. The points of a long fair moustache fell below the +line of the jaw. He smiled the smile of an old if distant +acquaintance, and Mrs Verloc remembered having seen him +before. Not a customer. She softened her +“customer stare” to mere indifference, and faced him +across the counter.</p> + +<p>He approached, on his side, confidentially, but not too +markedly so.</p> + +<p>“Husband at home, Mrs Verloc?” he asked in an +easy, full tone.</p> + +<p>“No. He’s gone out.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry for that. I’ve called to get +from him a little private information.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I would wait for him a little if I were sure he +wouldn’t be long,” he said.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc volunteered no assurance of any kind.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc shook her head.</p> + +<p>“Can’t say.”</p> + +<p>She turned away to range some boxes on the shelves behind the +counter. Chief Inspector Heat looked at her thoughtfully +for a time.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you know who I am?” he said.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc glanced over her shoulder. Chief Inspector +Heat was amazed at her coolness.</p> + +<p>“Come! You know I am in the police,” he said +sharply.</p> + +<p>“I don’t trouble my head much about it,” Mrs +Verloc remarked, returning to the ranging of her boxes.</p> + +<p>“My name is Heat. Chief Inspector Heat of the +Special Crimes section.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“So your husband went out a quarter of an hour +ago! And he didn’t say when he would be +back?”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t go out alone,” Mrs Verloc let +fall negligently.</p> + +<p>“A friend?”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc touched the back of her hair. It was in +perfect order.</p> + +<p>“A stranger who called.”</p> + +<p>“I see. What sort of man was that stranger? +Would you mind telling me?”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc did not mind. And when Chief Inspector Heat +heard of a man dark, thin, with a long face and turned up +moustaches, he gave signs of perturbation, and exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“Dash me if I didn’t think so! He +hasn’t lost any time.”</p> + +<p>He was intensely disgusted in the secrecy of his heart at the +unofficial conduct of his immediate chief. But he was not +quixotic. He lost all desire to await Mr Verloc’s +return. What they had gone out for he did not know, but he +imagined it possible that they would return together. The +case is not followed properly, it’s being tampered with, he +thought bitterly.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid I haven’t time to wait for your +husband,” he said.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc received this declaration listlessly. Her +detachment had impressed Chief Inspector Heat all along. At +this precise moment it whetted his curiosity. Chief +Inspector Heat hung in the wind, swayed by his passions like the +most private of citizens.</p> + +<p>“I think,” he said, looking at her steadily, +“that you could give me a pretty good notion of +what’s going on if you liked.”</p> + +<p>Forcing her fine, inert eyes to return his gaze, Mrs Verloc +murmured:</p> + +<p>“Going on! What <i>is</i> going on?”</p> + +<p>“Why, the affair I came to talk about a little with your +husband.”</p> + +<p>That day Mrs Verloc had glanced at a morning paper as +usual. But she had not stirred out of doors. The +newsboys never invaded Brett Street. It was not a street +for their business. And the echo of their cries drifting +along the populous thoroughfares, expired between the dirty brick +walls without reaching the threshold of the shop. Her +husband had not brought an evening paper home. At any rate +she had not seen it. Mrs Verloc knew nothing whatever of +any affair. And she said so, with a genuine note of wonder +in her quiet voice.</p> + +<p>Chief Inspector Heat did not believe for a moment in so much +ignorance. Curtly, without amiability, he stated the bare +fact.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc turned away her eyes.</p> + +<p>“I call it silly,” she pronounced slowly. +She paused. “We ain’t downtrodden slaves +here.”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector waited watchfully. Nothing more +came.</p> + +<p>“And your husband didn’t mention anything to you +when he came home?”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc simply turned her face from right to left in sign +of negation. A languid, baffling silence reigned in the +shop. Chief Inspector Heat felt provoked beyond +endurance.</p> + +<p>“There was another small matter,” he began in a +detached tone, “which I wanted to speak to your husband +about. There came into our hands a—a—what we +believe is—a stolen overcoat.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc, with her mind specially aware of thieves that +evening, touched lightly the bosom of her dress.</p> + +<p>“We have lost no overcoat,” she said calmly.</p> + +<p>“That’s funny,” continued Private Citizen +Heat. “I see you keep a lot of marking ink +here—”</p> + +<p>He took up a small bottle, and looked at it against the +gas-jet in the middle of the shop.</p> + +<p>“Purple—isn’t it?” he remarked, +setting it down again. “As I said, it’s +strange. Because the overcoat has got a label sewn on the +inside with your address written in marking ink.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc leaned over the counter with a low exclamation.</p> + +<p>“That’s my brother’s, then.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s your brother? Can I see him?” +asked the Chief Inspector briskly. Mrs Verloc leaned a +little more over the counter.</p> + +<p>“No. He isn’t here. I wrote that label +myself.”</p> + +<p>“Where’s your brother now?”</p> + +<p>“He’s been away living with—a +friend—in the country.”</p> + +<p>“The overcoat comes from the country. And +what’s the name of the friend?”</p> + +<p>“Michaelis,” confessed Mrs Verloc in an awed +whisper.</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector let out a whistle. His eyes +snapped.</p> + +<p>“Just so. Capital. And your brother now, +what’s he like—a sturdy, darkish +chap—eh?”</p> + +<p>“Oh no,” exclaimed Mrs Verloc fervently. +“That must be the thief. Stevie’s slight and +fair.”</p> + +<p>“Good,” said the Chief Inspector in an approving +tone. And while Mrs Verloc, wavering between alarm and +wonder, stared at him, he sought for information. Why have +the address sewn like this inside the coat? And he heard +that the mangled remains he had inspected that morning with +extreme repugnance were those of a youth, nervous, absent-minded, +peculiar, and also that the woman who was speaking to him had had +the charge of that boy since he was a baby.</p> + +<p>“Easily excitable?” he suggested.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes. He is. But how did he come to lose +his coat—”</p> + +<p>Chief Inspector Heat suddenly pulled out a pink newspaper he +had bought less than half-an-hour ago. He was interested in +horses. Forced by his calling into an attitude of doubt and +suspicion towards his fellow-citizens, Chief Inspector Heat +relieved the instinct of credulity implanted in the human breast +by putting unbounded faith in the sporting prophets of that +particular evening publication. Dropping the extra special +on to the counter, he plunged his hand again into his pocket, and +pulling out the piece of cloth fate had presented him with out of +a heap of things that seemed to have been collected in shambles +and rag shops, he offered it to Mrs Verloc for inspection.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you recognise this?”</p> + +<p>She took it mechanically in both her hands. Her eyes +seemed to grow bigger as she looked.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she whispered, then raised her head, and +staggered backward a little.</p> + +<p>“Whatever for is it torn out like this?”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector snatched across the counter the cloth out +of her hands, and she sat heavily on the chair. He thought: +identification’s perfect. And in that moment he had a +glimpse into the whole amazing truth. Verloc was the +“other man.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs Verloc,” he said, “it strikes me that +you know more of this bomb affair than even you yourself are +aware of.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc sat still, amazed, lost in boundless +astonishment. What was the connection? And she became +so rigid all over that she was not able to turn her head at the +clatter of the bell, which caused the private investigator Heat +to spin round on his heel. Mr Verloc had shut the door, and +for a moment the two men looked at each other.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, without looking at his wife, walked up to the Chief +Inspector, who was relieved to see him return alone.</p> + +<p>“You here!” muttered Mr Verloc heavily. +“Who are you after?”</p> + +<p>“No one,” said Chief Inspector Heat in a low +tone. “Look here, I would like a word or two with +you.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, still pale, had brought an air of resolution with +him. Still he didn’t look at his wife. He +said:</p> + +<p>“Come in here, then.” And he led the way +into the parlour.</p> + +<p>The door was hardly shut when Mrs Verloc, jumping up from the +chair, ran to it as if to fling it open, but instead of doing so +fell on her knees, with her ear to the keyhole. The two men +must have stopped directly they were through, because she heard +plainly the Chief Inspector’s voice, though she could not +see his finger pressed against her husband’s breast +emphatically.</p> + +<p>“You are the other man, Verloc. Two men were seen +entering the park.”</p> + +<p>And the voice of Mr Verloc said:</p> + +<p>“Well, take me now. What’s to prevent +you? You have the right.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no! I know too well who you have been giving +yourself away to. He’ll have to manage this little +affair all by himself. But don’t you make a mistake, +it’s I who found you out.”</p> + +<p>Then she heard only muttering. Inspector Heat must have +been showing to Mr Verloc the piece of Stevie’s overcoat, +because Stevie’s sister, guardian, and protector heard her +husband a little louder.</p> + +<p>“I never noticed that she had hit upon that +dodge.”</p> + +<p>Again for a time Mrs Verloc heard nothing but murmurs, whose +mysteriousness was less nightmarish to her brain than the +horrible suggestions of shaped words. Then Chief Inspector +Heat, on the other side of the door, raised his voice.</p> + +<p>“You must have been mad.”</p> + +<p>And Mr Verloc’s voice answered, with a sort of gloomy +fury:</p> + +<p>“I have been mad for a month or more, but I am not mad +now. It’s all over. It shall all come out of my +head, and hang the consequences.”</p> + +<p>There was a silence, and then Private Citizen Heat +murmured:</p> + +<p>“What’s coming out?”</p> + +<p>“Everything,” exclaimed the voice of Mr Verloc, +and then sank very low.</p> + +<p>After a while it rose again.</p> + +<p>“You have known me for several years now, and +you’ve found me useful, too. You know I was a +straight man. Yes, straight.”</p> + +<p>This appeal to old acquaintance must have been extremely +distasteful to the Chief Inspector.</p> + +<p>His voice took on a warning note.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you trust so much to what you have been +promised. If I were you I would clear out. I +don’t think we will run after you.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc was heard to laugh a little.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes; you hope the others will get rid of me for +you—don’t you? No, no; you don’t shake me +off now. I have been a straight man to those people too +long, and now everything must come out.”</p> + +<p>“Let it come out, then,” the indifferent voice of +Chief Inspector Heat assented. “But tell me now how +did you get away.”</p> + +<p>“I was making for Chesterfield Walk,” Mrs Verloc +heard her husband’s voice, “when I heard the +bang. I started running then. Fog. I saw no one +till I was past the end of George Street. Don’t think +I met anyone till then.”</p> + +<p>“So easy as that!” marvelled the voice of Chief +Inspector Heat. “The bang startled you, +eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; it came too soon,” confessed the gloomy, +husky voice of Mr Verloc.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc pressed her ear to the keyhole; her lips were blue, +her hands cold as ice, and her pale face, in which the two eyes +seemed like two black holes, felt to her as if it were enveloped +in flames.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the door the voices sank very low. +She caught words now and then, sometimes in her husband’s +voice, sometimes in the smooth tones of the Chief +Inspector. She heard this last say:</p> + +<p>“We believe he stumbled against the root of a +tree?”</p> + +<p>There was a husky, voluble murmur, which lasted for some time, +and then the Chief Inspector, as if answering some inquiry, spoke +emphatically.</p> + +<p>“Of course. Blown to small bits: limbs, gravel, +clothing, bones, splinters—all mixed up together. I +tell you they had to fetch a shovel to gather him up +with.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc sprang up suddenly from her crouching position, and +stopping her ears, reeled to and fro between the counter and the +shelves on the wall towards the chair. Her crazed eyes +noted the sporting sheet left by the Chief Inspector, and as she +knocked herself against the counter she snatched it up, fell into +the chair, tore the optimistic, rosy sheet right across in trying +to open it, then flung it on the floor. On the other side +of the door, Chief Inspector Heat was saying to Mr Verloc, the +secret agent:</p> + +<p>“So your defence will be practically a full +confession?”</p> + +<p>“It will. I am going to tell the whole +story.”</p> + +<p>“You won’t be believed as much as you fancy you +will.”</p> + +<p>And the Chief Inspector remained thoughtful. The turn +this affair was taking meant the disclosure of many +things—the laying waste of fields of knowledge, which, +cultivated by a capable man, had a distinct value for the +individual and for the society. It was sorry, sorry +meddling. It would leave Michaelis unscathed; it would drag +to light the Professor’s home industry; disorganise the +whole system of supervision; make no end of a row in the papers, +which, from that point of view, appeared to him by a sudden +illumination as invariably written by fools for the reading of +imbeciles. Mentally he agreed with the words Mr Verloc let +fall at last in answer to his last remark.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps not. But it will upset many things. +I have been a straight man, and I shall keep straight in +this—”</p> + +<p>“If they let you,” said the Chief Inspector +cynically. “You will be preached to, no doubt, before +they put you into the dock. And in the end you may yet get +let in for a sentence that will surprise you. I +wouldn’t trust too much the gentleman who’s been +talking to you.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc listened, frowning.</p> + +<p>“My advice to you is to clear out while you may. I +have no instructions. There are some of them,” +continued Chief Inspector Heat, laying a peculiar stress on the +word “them,” “who think you are already out of +the world.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed!” Mr Verloc was moved to say. Though +since his return from Greenwich he had spent most of his time +sitting in the tap-room of an obscure little public-house, he +could hardly have hoped for such favourable news.</p> + +<p>“That’s the impression about you.” The +Chief Inspector nodded at him. “Vanish. Clear +out.”</p> + +<p>“Where to?” snarled Mr Verloc. He raised his +head, and gazing at the closed door of the parlour, muttered +feelingly: “I only wish you would take me away +to-night. I would go quietly.”</p> + +<p>“I daresay,” assented sardonically the Chief +Inspector, following the direction of his glance.</p> + +<p>The brow of Mr Verloc broke into slight moisture. He +lowered his husky voice confidentially before the unmoved Chief +Inspector.</p> + +<p>“The lad was half-witted, irresponsible. Any court +would have seen that at once. Only fit for the +asylum. And that was the worst that would’ve happened +to him if—”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector, his hand on the door handle, whispered +into Mr Verloc’s face.</p> + +<p>“He may’ve been half-witted, but you must have +been crazy. What drove you off your head like +this?”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, thinking of Mr Vladimir, did not hesitate in the +choice of words.</p> + +<p>“A Hyperborean swine,” he hissed forcibly. +“A what you might call a—a gentleman.”</p> + +<p>The Chief Inspector, steady-eyed, nodded briefly his +comprehension, and opened the door. Mrs Verloc, behind the +counter, might have heard but did not see his departure, pursued +by the aggressive clatter of the bell. She sat at her post +of duty behind the counter. She sat rigidly erect in the +chair with two dirty pink pieces of paper lying spread out at her +feet. The palms of her hands were pressed convulsively to +her face, with the tips of the fingers contracted against the +forehead, as though the skin had been a mask which she was ready +to tear off violently. The perfect immobility of her pose +expressed the agitation of rage and despair, all the potential +violence of tragic passions, better than any shallow display of +shrieks, with the beating of a distracted head against the walls, +could have done. Chief Inspector Heat, crossing the shop at +his busy, swinging pace, gave her only a cursory glance. +And when the cracked bell ceased to tremble on its curved ribbon +of steel nothing stirred near Mrs Verloc, as if her attitude had +the locking power of a spell. Even the butterfly-shaped gas +flames posed on the ends of the suspended T-bracket burned +without a quiver. In that shop of shady wares fitted with +deal shelves painted a dull brown, which seemed to devour the +sheen of the light, the gold circlet of the wedding ring on Mrs +Verloc’s left hand glittered exceedingly with the +untarnished glory of a piece from some splendid treasure of +jewels, dropped in a dust-bin.</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner, driven rapidly in a hansom from +the neighbourhood of Soho in the direction of Westminster, got +out at the very centre of the Empire on which the sun never +sets. Some stalwart constables, who did not seem +particularly impressed by the duty of watching the august spot, +saluted him. Penetrating through a portal by no means lofty +into the precincts of the House which is <i>the</i> House, <i>par +excellence</i> in the minds of many millions of men, he was met +at last by the volatile and revolutionary Toodles.</p> + +<p>That neat and nice young man concealed his astonishment at the +early appearance of the Assistant Commissioner, whom he had been +told to look out for some time about midnight. His turning +up so early he concluded to be the sign that things, whatever +they were, had gone wrong. With an extremely ready +sympathy, which in nice youngsters goes often with a joyous +temperament, he felt sorry for the great Presence he called +“The Chief,” and also for the Assistant Commissioner, +whose face appeared to him more ominously wooden than ever +before, and quite wonderfully long. “What a queer, +foreign-looking chap he is,” he thought to himself, smiling +from a distance with friendly buoyancy. And directly they +came together he began to talk with the kind intention of burying +the awkwardness of failure under a heap of words. It looked +as if the great assault threatened for that night were going to +fizzle out. An inferior henchman of “that brute +Cheeseman” was up boring mercilessly a very thin House with +some shamelessly cooked statistics. He, Toodles, hoped he +would bore them into a count out every minute. But then he +might be only marking time to let that guzzling Cheeseman dine at +his leisure. Anyway, the Chief could not be persuaded to go +home.</p> + +<p>“He will see you at once, I think. He’s +sitting all alone in his room thinking of all the fishes of the +sea,” concluded Toodles airily. “Come +along.”</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding the kindness of his disposition, the young +private secretary (unpaid) was accessible to the common failings +of humanity. He did not wish to harrow the feelings of the +Assistant Commissioner, who looked to him uncommonly like a man +who has made a mess of his job. But his curiosity was too +strong to be restrained by mere compassion. He could not +help, as they went along, to throw over his shoulder lightly:</p> + +<p>“And your sprat?”</p> + +<p>“Got him,” answered the Assistant Commissioner +with a concision which did not mean to be repellent in the +least.</p> + +<p>“Good. You’ve no idea how these great men +dislike to be disappointed in small things.”</p> + +<p>After this profound observation the experienced Toodles seemed +to reflect. At any rate he said nothing for quite two +seconds. Then:</p> + +<p>“I’m glad. But—I say—is it +really such a very small thing as you make it out?”</p> + +<p>“Do you know what may be done with a sprat?” the +Assistant Commissioner asked in his turn.</p> + +<p>“He’s sometimes put into a sardine box,” +chuckled Toodles, whose erudition on the subject of the fishing +industry was fresh and, in comparison with his ignorance of all +other industrial matters, immense. “There are sardine +canneries on the Spanish coast which—”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner interrupted the apprentice +statesman.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Yes. But a sprat is also thrown away +sometimes in order to catch a whale.”</p> + +<p>“A whale. Phew!” exclaimed Toodles, with +bated breath. “You’re after a whale, +then?”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly. What I am after is more like a +dog-fish. You don’t know perhaps what a dog-fish is +like.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I do. We’re buried in special books up +to our necks—whole shelves full of them—with plates. +. . . It’s a noxious, rascally-looking, altogether +detestable beast, with a sort of smooth face and +moustaches.”</p> + +<p>“Described to a T,” commended the Assistant +Commissioner. “Only mine is clean-shaven +altogether. You’ve seen him. It’s a witty +fish.”</p> + +<p>“I have seen him!” said Toodles +incredulously. “I can’t conceive where I could +have seen him.”</p> + +<p>“At the Explorers, I should say,” dropped the +Assistant Commissioner calmly. At the name of that +extremely exclusive club Toodles looked scared, and stopped +short.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense,” he protested, but in an awe-struck +tone. “What do you mean? A member?”</p> + +<p>“Honorary,” muttered the Assistant Commissioner +through his teeth.</p> + +<p>“Heavens!”</p> + +<p>Toodles looked so thunderstruck that the Assistant +Commissioner smiled faintly.</p> + +<p>“That’s between ourselves strictly,” he +said.</p> + +<p>“That’s the beastliest thing I’ve ever heard +in my life,” declared Toodles feebly, as if astonishment +had robbed him of all his buoyant strength in a second.</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner gave him an unsmiling glance. +Till they came to the door of the great man’s room, Toodles +preserved a scandalised and solemn silence, as though he were +offended with the Assistant Commissioner for exposing such an +unsavoury and disturbing fact. It revolutionised his idea +of the Explorers’ Club’s extreme selectness, of its +social purity. Toodles was revolutionary only in politics; +his social beliefs and personal feelings he wished to preserve +unchanged through all the years allotted to him on this earth +which, upon the whole, he believed to be a nice place to live +on.</p> + +<p>He stood aside.</p> + +<p>“Go in without knocking,” he said.</p> + +<p>Shades of green silk fitted low over all the lights imparted +to the room something of a forest’s deep gloom. The +haughty eyes were physically the great man’s weak +point. This point was wrapped up in secrecy. When an +opportunity offered, he rested them conscientiously.</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner entering saw at first only a big +pale hand supporting a big head, and concealing the upper part of +a big pale face. An open despatch-box stood on the +writing-table near a few oblong sheets of paper and a scattered +handful of quill pens. There was absolutely nothing else on +the large flat surface except a little bronze statuette draped in +a toga, mysteriously watchful in its shadowy immobility. +The Assistant Commissioner, invited to take a chair, sat +down. In the dim light, the salient points of his +personality, the long face, the black hair, his lankness, made +him look more foreign than ever.</p> + +<p>The great man manifested no surprise, no eagerness, no +sentiment whatever. The attitude in which he rested his +menaced eyes was profoundly meditative. He did not alter it +the least bit. But his tone was not dreamy.</p> + +<p>“Well! What is it that you’ve found out +already? You came upon something unexpected on the first +step.”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly unexpected, Sir Ethelred. What I +mainly came upon was a psychological state.”</p> + +<p>The Great Presence made a slight movement. “You +must be lucid, please.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Sir Ethelred. You know no doubt that most +criminals at some time or other feel an irresistible need of +confessing—of making a clean breast of it to +somebody—to anybody. And they do it often to the +police. In that Verloc whom Heat wished so much to screen +I’ve found a man in that particular psychological +state. The man, figuratively speaking, flung himself on my +breast. It was enough on my part to whisper to him who I +was and to add ‘I know that you are at the bottom of this +affair.’ It must have seemed miraculous to him that +we should know already, but he took it all in the stride. +The wonderfulness of it never checked him for a moment. +There remained for me only to put to him the two questions: Who +put you up to it? and Who was the man who did it? He +answered the first with remarkable emphasis. As to the +second question, I gather that the fellow with the bomb was his +brother-in-law—quite a lad—a weak-minded creature. . +. . It is rather a curious affair—too long perhaps to state +fully just now.”</p> + +<p>“What then have you learned?” asked the great +man.</p> + +<p>“First, I’ve learned that the ex-convict Michaelis +had nothing to do with it, though indeed the lad had been living +with him temporarily in the country up to eight o’clock +this morning. It is more than likely that Michaelis knows +nothing of it to this moment.”</p> + +<p>“You are positive as to that?” asked the great +man.</p> + +<p>“Quite certain, Sir Ethelred. This fellow Verloc +went there this morning, and took away the lad on the pretence of +going out for a walk in the lanes. As it was not the first +time that he did this, Michaelis could not have the slightest +suspicion of anything unusual. For the rest, Sir Ethelred, +the indignation of this man Verloc had left nothing in +doubt—nothing whatever. He had been driven out of his +mind almost by an extraordinary performance, which for you or me +it would be difficult to take as seriously meant, but which +produced a great impression obviously on him.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner then imparted briefly to the great +man, who sat still, resting his eyes under the screen of his +hand, Mr Verloc’s appreciation of Mr Vladimir’s +proceedings and character. The Assistant Commissioner did +not seem to refuse it a certain amount of competency. But +the great personage remarked:</p> + +<p>“All this seems very fantastic.”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t it? One would think a ferocious +joke. But our man took it seriously, it appears. He +felt himself threatened. In the time, you know, he was in +direct communication with old Stott-Wartenheim himself, and had +come to regard his services as indispensable. It was an +extremely rude awakening. I imagine that he lost his +head. He became angry and frightened. Upon my word, +my impression is that he thought these Embassy people quite +capable not only to throw him out but, to give him away too in +some manner or other—”</p> + +<p>“How long were you with him,” interrupted the +Presence from behind his big hand.</p> + +<p>“Some forty minutes, Sir Ethelred, in a house of bad +repute called Continental Hotel, closeted in a room which +by-the-by I took for the night. I found him under the +influence of that reaction which follows the effort of +crime. The man cannot be defined as a hardened +criminal. It is obvious that he did not plan the death of +that wretched lad—his brother-in-law. That was a +shock to him—I could see that. Perhaps he is a man of +strong sensibilities. Perhaps he was even fond of the +lad—who knows? He might have hoped that the fellow +would get clear away; in which case it would have been almost +impossible to bring this thing home to anyone. At any rate +he risked consciously nothing more but arrest for him.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner paused in his speculations to +reflect for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Though how, in that last case, he could hope to have +his own share in the business concealed is more than I can +tell,” he continued, in his ignorance of poor +Stevie’s devotion to Mr Verloc (who was <i>good</i>), and +of his truly peculiar dumbness, which in the old affair of +fireworks on the stairs had for many years resisted entreaties, +coaxing, anger, and other means of investigation used by his +beloved sister. For Stevie was loyal. . . . +“No, I can’t imagine. It’s possible that +he never thought of that at all. It sounds an extravagant +way of putting it, Sir Ethelred, but his state of dismay +suggested to me an impulsive man who, after committing suicide +with the notion that it would end all his troubles, had +discovered that it did nothing of the kind.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner gave this definition in an +apologetic voice. But in truth there is a sort of lucidity +proper to extravagant language, and the great man was not +offended. A slight jerky movement of the big body half lost +in the gloom of the green silk shades, of the big head leaning on +the big hand, accompanied an intermittent stifled but powerful +sound. The great man had laughed.</p> + +<p>“What have you done with him?”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner answered very readily:</p> + +<p>“As he seemed very anxious to get back to his wife in +the shop I let him go, Sir Ethelred.”</p> + +<p>“You did? But the fellow will +disappear.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me. I don’t think so. Where +could he go to? Moreover, you must remember that he has got +to think of the danger from his comrades too. He’s +there at his post. How could he explain leaving it? +But even if there were no obstacles to his freedom of action he +would do nothing. At present he hasn’t enough moral +energy to take a resolution of any sort. Permit me also to +point out that if I had detained him we would have been committed +to a course of action on which I wished to know your precise +intentions first.”</p> + +<p>The great personage rose heavily, an imposing shadowy form in +the greenish gloom of the room.</p> + +<p>“I’ll see the Attorney-General to-night, and will +send for you to-morrow morning. Is there anything more +you’d wish to tell me now?”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner had stood up also, slender and +flexible.</p> + +<p>“I think not, Sir Ethelred, unless I were to enter into +details which—”</p> + +<p>“No. No details, please.”</p> + +<p>The great shadowy form seemed to shrink away as if in physical +dread of details; then came forward, expanded, enormous, and +weighty, offering a large hand. “And you say that +this man has got a wife?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Sir Ethelred,” said the Assistant +Commissioner, pressing deferentially the extended hand. +“A genuine wife and a genuinely, respectably, marital +relation. He told me that after his interview at the +Embassy he would have thrown everything up, would have tried to +sell his shop, and leave the country, only he felt certain that +his wife would not even hear of going abroad. Nothing could +be more characteristic of the respectable bond than that,” +went on, with a touch of grimness, the Assistant Commissioner, +whose own wife too had refused to hear of going abroad. +“Yes, a genuine wife. And the victim was a genuine +brother-in-law. From a certain point of view we are here in +the presence of a domestic drama.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner laughed a little; but the great +man’s thoughts seemed to have wandered far away, perhaps to +the questions of his country’s domestic policy, the +battle-ground of his crusading valour against the paynim +Cheeseman. The Assistant Commissioner withdrew quietly, +unnoticed, as if already forgotten.</p> + +<p>He had his own crusading instincts. This affair, which, +in one way or another, disgusted Chief Inspector Heat, seemed to +him a providentially given starting-point for a crusade. He +had it much at heart to begin. He walked slowly home, +meditating that enterprise on the way, and thinking over Mr +Verloc’s psychology in a composite mood of repugnance and +satisfaction. He walked all the way home. Finding the +drawing-room dark, he went upstairs, and spent some time between +the bedroom and the dressing-room, changing his clothes, going to +and fro with the air of a thoughtful somnambulist. But he +shook it off before going out again to join his wife at the house +of the great lady patroness of Michaelis.</p> + +<p>He knew he would be welcomed there. On entering the +smaller of the two drawing-rooms he saw his wife in a small group +near the piano. A youngish composer in pass of becoming +famous was discoursing from a music stool to two thick men whose +backs looked old, and three slender women whose backs looked +young. Behind the screen the great lady had only two +persons with her: a man and a woman, who sat side by side on +arm-chairs at the foot of her couch. She extended her hand +to the Assistant Commissioner.</p> + +<p>“I never hoped to see you here to-night. Annie +told me—”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I had no idea myself that my work would be +over so soon.”</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner added in a low tone: “I +am glad to tell you that Michaelis is altogether clear of +this—”</p> + +<p>The patroness of the ex-convict received this assurance +indignantly.</p> + +<p>“Why? Were your people stupid enough to connect +him with—”</p> + +<p>“Not stupid,” interrupted the Assistant +Commissioner, contradicting deferentially. “Clever +enough—quite clever enough for that.”</p> + +<p>A silence fell. The man at the foot of the couch had +stopped speaking to the lady, and looked on with a faint +smile.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know whether you ever met before,” +said the great lady.</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir and the Assistant Commissioner, introduced, +acknowledged each other’s existence with punctilious and +guarded courtesy.</p> + +<p>“He’s been frightening me,” declared +suddenly the lady who sat by the side of Mr Vladimir, with an +inclination of the head towards that gentleman. The +Assistant Commissioner knew the lady.</p> + +<p>“You do not look frightened,” he pronounced, after +surveying her conscientiously with his tired and equable +gaze. He was thinking meantime to himself that in this +house one met everybody sooner or later. Mr +Vladimir’s rosy countenance was wreathed in smiles, because +he was witty, but his eyes remained serious, like the eyes of +convinced man.</p> + +<p>“Well, he tried to at least,” amended the +lady.</p> + +<p>“Force of habit perhaps,” said the Assistant +Commissioner, moved by an irresistible inspiration.</p> + +<p>“He has been threatening society with all sorts of +horrors,” continued the lady, whose enunciation was +caressing and slow, “apropos of this explosion in Greenwich +Park. It appears we all ought to quake in our shoes at +what’s coming if those people are not suppressed all over +the world. I had no idea this was such a grave +affair.”</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir, affecting not to listen, leaned towards the +couch, talking amiably in subdued tones, but he heard the +Assistant Commissioner say:</p> + +<p>“I’ve no doubt that Mr Vladimir has a very precise +notion of the true importance of this affair.”</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir asked himself what that confounded and intrusive +policeman was driving at. Descended from generations +victimised by the instruments of an arbitrary power, he was +racially, nationally, and individually afraid of the +police. It was an inherited weakness, altogether +independent of his judgment, of his reason, of his +experience. He was born to it. But that sentiment, +which resembled the irrational horror some people have of cats, +did not stand in the way of his immense contempt for the English +police. He finished the sentence addressed to the great +lady, and turned slightly in his chair.</p> + +<p>“You mean that we have a great experience of these +people. Yes; indeed, we suffer greatly from their activity, +while you”—Mr Vladimir hesitated for a moment, in +smiling perplexity—“while you suffer their presence +gladly in your midst,” he finished, displaying a dimple on +each clean-shaven cheek. Then he added more gravely: +“I may even say—because you do.”</p> + +<p>When Mr Vladimir ceased speaking the Assistant Commissioner +lowered his glance, and the conversation dropped. Almost +immediately afterwards Mr Vladimir took leave.</p> + +<p>Directly his back was turned on the couch the Assistant +Commissioner rose too.</p> + +<p>“I thought you were going to stay and take Annie +home,” said the lady patroness of Michaelis.</p> + +<p>“I find that I’ve yet a little work to do +to-night.”</p> + +<p>“In connection—?”</p> + +<p>“Well, yes—in a way.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me, what is it really—this +horror?”</p> + +<p>“It’s difficult to say what it is, but it may yet +be a <i>cause célèbre</i>,” said the +Assistant Commissioner.</p> + +<p>He left the drawing-room hurriedly, and found Mr Vladimir +still in the hall, wrapping up his throat carefully in a large +silk handkerchief. Behind him a footman waited, holding his +overcoat. Another stood ready to open the door. The +Assistant Commissioner was duly helped into his coat, and let out +at once. After descending the front steps he stopped, as if +to consider the way he should take. On seeing this through +the door held open, Mr Vladimir lingered in the hall to get out a +cigar and asked for a light. It was furnished to him by an +elderly man out of livery with an air of calm solicitude. +But the match went out; the footman then closed the door, and Mr +Vladimir lighted his large Havana with leisurely care.</p> + +<p>When at last he got out of the house, he saw with disgust the +“confounded policeman” still standing on the +pavement.</p> + +<p>“Can he be waiting for me,” thought Mr Vladimir, +looking up and down for some signs of a hansom. He saw +none. A couple of carriages waited by the curbstone, their +lamps blazing steadily, the horses standing perfectly still, as +if carved in stone, the coachmen sitting motionless under the big +fur capes, without as much as a quiver stirring the white thongs +of their big whips. Mr Vladimir walked on, and the +“confounded policeman” fell into step at his +elbow. He said nothing. At the end of the fourth +stride Mr Vladimir felt infuriated and uneasy. This could +not last.</p> + +<p>“Rotten weather,” he growled savagely.</p> + +<p>“Mild,” said the Assistant Commissioner without +passion. He remained silent for a little while. +“We’ve got hold of a man called Verloc,” he +announced casually.</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir did not stumble, did not stagger back, did not +change his stride. But he could not prevent himself from +exclaiming: “What?” The Assistant Commissioner +did not repeat his statement. “You know him,” +he went on in the same tone.</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir stopped, and became guttural. “What +makes you say that?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t. It’s Verloc who says +that.”</p> + +<p>“A lying dog of some sort,” said Mr Vladimir in +somewhat Oriental phraseology. But in his heart he was +almost awed by the miraculous cleverness of the English +police. The change of his opinion on the subject was so +violent that it made him for a moment feel slightly sick. +He threw away his cigar, and moved on.</p> + +<p>“What pleased me most in this affair,” the +Assistant went on, talking slowly, “is that it makes such +an excellent starting-point for a piece of work which I’ve +felt must be taken in hand—that is, the clearing out of +this country of all the foreign political spies, police, and that +sort of—of—dogs. In my opinion they are a +ghastly nuisance; also an element of danger. But we +can’t very well seek them out individually. The only +way is to make their employment unpleasant to their +employers. The thing’s becoming indecent. And +dangerous too, for us, here.”</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir stopped again for a moment.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“The prosecution of this Verloc will demonstrate to the +public both the danger and the indecency.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody will believe what a man of that sort +says,” said Mr Vladimir contemptuously.</p> + +<p>“The wealth and precision of detail will carry +conviction to the great mass of the public,” advanced the +Assistant Commissioner gently.</p> + +<p>“So that is seriously what you mean to do.”</p> + +<p>“We’ve got the man; we have no choice.”</p> + +<p>“You will be only feeding up the lying spirit of these +revolutionary scoundrels,” Mr Vladimir protested. +“What do you want to make a scandal for?—from +morality—or what?”</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir’s anxiety was obvious. The Assistant +Commissioner having ascertained in this way that there must be +some truth in the summary statements of Mr Verloc, said +indifferently:</p> + +<p>“There’s a practical side too. We have +really enough to do to look after the genuine article. You +can’t say we are not effective. But we don’t +intend to let ourselves be bothered by shams under any pretext +whatever.”</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir’s tone became lofty.</p> + +<p>“For my part, I can’t share your view. It is +selfish. My sentiments for my own country cannot be +doubted; but I’ve always felt that we ought to be good +Europeans besides—I mean governments and men.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the Assistant Commissioner +simply. “Only you look at Europe from its other +end. But,” he went on in a good-natured tone, +“the foreign governments cannot complain of the +inefficiency of our police. Look at this outrage; a case +specially difficult to trace inasmuch as it was a sham. In +less than twelve hours we have established the identity of a man +literally blown to shreds, have found the organiser of the +attempt, and have had a glimpse of the inciter behind him. +And we could have gone further; only we stopped at the limits of +our territory.”</p> + +<p>“So this instructive crime was planned abroad,” Mr +Vladimir said quickly. “You admit it was planned +abroad?”</p> + +<p>“Theoretically. Theoretically only, on foreign +territory; abroad only by a fiction,” said the Assistant +Commissioner, alluding to the character of Embassies, which are +supposed to be part and parcel of the country to which they +belong. “But that’s a detail. I talked to +you of this business because it’s your government that +grumbles most at our police. You see that we are not so +bad. I wanted particularly to tell you of our +success.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I’m very grateful,” muttered +Mr Vladimir through his teeth.</p> + +<p>“We can put our finger on every anarchist here,” +went on the Assistant Commissioner, as though he were quoting +Chief Inspector Heat. “All that’s wanted now is +to do away with the agent provocateur to make everything +safe.”</p> + +<p>Mr Vladimir held up his hand to a passing hansom.</p> + +<p>“You’re not going in here,” remarked the +Assistant Commissioner, looking at a building of noble +proportions and hospitable aspect, with the light of a great hall +falling through its glass doors on a broad flight of steps.</p> + +<p>But Mr Vladimir, sitting, stony-eyed, inside the hansom, drove +off without a word.</p> + +<p>The Assistant Commissioner himself did not turn into the noble +building. It was the Explorers’ Club. The +thought passed through his mind that Mr Vladimir, honorary +member, would not be seen very often there in the future. +He looked at his watch. It was only half-past ten. He +had had a very full evening.</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<p>After Chief Inspector Heat had left him Mr Verloc moved about +the parlour.</p> + +<p>From time to time he eyed his wife through the open +door. “She knows all about it now,” he thought +to himself with commiseration for her sorrow and with some +satisfaction as regarded himself. Mr Verloc’s soul, +if lacking greatness perhaps, was capable of tender +sentiments. The prospect of having to break the news to her +had put him into a fever. Chief Inspector Heat had relieved +him of the task. That was good as far as it went. It +remained for him now to face her grief.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc had never expected to have to face it on account of +death, whose catastrophic character cannot be argued away by +sophisticated reasoning or persuasive eloquence. Mr Verloc +never meant Stevie to perish with such abrupt violence. He +did not mean him to perish at all. Stevie dead was a much +greater nuisance than ever he had been when alive. Mr +Verloc had augured a favourable issue to his enterprise, basing +himself not on Stevie’s intelligence, which sometimes plays +queer tricks with a man, but on the blind docility and on the +blind devotion of the boy. Though not much of a +psychologist, Mr Verloc had gauged the depth of Stevie’s +fanaticism. He dared cherish the hope of Stevie walking +away from the walls of the Observatory as he had been instructed +to do, taking the way shown to him several times previously, and +rejoining his brother-in-law, the wise and good Mr Verloc, +outside the precincts of the park. Fifteen minutes ought to +have been enough for the veriest fool to deposit the engine and +walk away. And the Professor had guaranteed more than +fifteen minutes. But Stevie had stumbled within five +minutes of being left to himself. And Mr Verloc was shaken +morally to pieces. He had foreseen everything but +that. He had foreseen Stevie distracted and +lost—sought for—found in some police station or +provincial workhouse in the end. He had foreseen Stevie +arrested, and was not afraid, because Mr Verloc had a great +opinion of Stevie’s loyalty, which had been carefully +indoctrinated with the necessity of silence in the course of many +walks. Like a peripatetic philosopher, Mr Verloc, strolling +along the streets of London, had modified Stevie’s view of +the police by conversations full of subtle reasonings. +Never had a sage a more attentive and admiring disciple. +The submission and worship were so apparent that Mr Verloc had +come to feel something like a liking for the boy. In any +case, he had not foreseen the swift bringing home of his +connection. That his wife should hit upon the precaution of +sewing the boy’s address inside his overcoat was the last +thing Mr Verloc would have thought of. One can’t +think of everything. That was what she meant when she said +that he need not worry if he lost Stevie during their +walks. She had assured him that the boy would turn up all +right. Well, he had turned up with a vengeance!</p> + +<p>“Well, well,” muttered Mr Verloc in his +wonder. What did she mean by it? Spare him the +trouble of keeping an anxious eye on Stevie? Most likely +she had meant well. Only she ought to have told him of the +precaution she had taken.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc walked behind the counter of the shop. His +intention was not to overwhelm his wife with bitter +reproaches. Mr Verloc felt no bitterness. The +unexpected march of events had converted him to the doctrine of +fatalism. Nothing could be helped now. He said:</p> + +<p>“I didn’t mean any harm to come to the +boy.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc shuddered at the sound of her husband’s +voice. She did not uncover her face. The trusted +secret agent of the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim looked at her for +a time with a heavy, persistent, undiscerning glance. The +torn evening paper was lying at her feet. It could not have +told her much. Mr Verloc felt the need of talking to his +wife.</p> + +<p>“It’s that damned Heat—eh?” he +said. “He upset you. He’s a brute, +blurting it out like this to a woman. I made myself ill +thinking how to break it to you. I sat for hours in the +little parlour of Cheshire Cheese thinking over the best +way. You understand I never meant any harm to come to that +boy.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, the Secret Agent, was speaking the truth. It +was his marital affection that had received the greatest shock +from the premature explosion. He added:</p> + +<p>“I didn’t feel particularly gay sitting there and +thinking of you.”</p> + +<p>He observed another slight shudder of his wife, which affected +his sensibility. As she persisted in hiding her face in her +hands, he thought he had better leave her alone for a +while. On this delicate impulse Mr Verloc withdrew into the +parlour again, where the gas jet purred like a contented +cat. Mrs Verloc’s wifely forethought had left the +cold beef on the table with carving knife and fork and half a +loaf of bread for Mr Verloc’s supper. He noticed all +these things now for the first time, and cutting himself a piece +of bread and meat, began to eat.</p> + +<p>His appetite did not proceed from callousness. Mr Verloc +had not eaten any breakfast that day. He had left his home +fasting. Not being an energetic man, he found his +resolution in nervous excitement, which seemed to hold him mainly +by the throat. He could not have swallowed anything +solid. Michaelis’ cottage was as destitute of +provisions as the cell of a prisoner. The ticket-of-leave +apostle lived on a little milk and crusts of stale bread. +Moreover, when Mr Verloc arrived he had already gone upstairs +after his frugal meal. Absorbed in the toil and delight of +literary composition, he had not even answered Mr Verloc’s +shout up the little staircase.</p> + +<p>“I am taking this young fellow home for a day or +two.”</p> + +<p>And, in truth, Mr Verloc did not wait for an answer, but had +marched out of the cottage at once, followed by the obedient +Stevie.</p> + +<p>Now that all action was over and his fate taken out of his +hands with unexpected swiftness, Mr Verloc felt terribly empty +physically. He carved the meat, cut the bread, and devoured +his supper standing by the table, and now and then casting a +glance towards his wife. Her prolonged immobility disturbed +the comfort of his refection. He walked again into the +shop, and came up very close to her. This sorrow with a +veiled face made Mr Verloc uneasy. He expected, of course, +his wife to be very much upset, but he wanted her to pull herself +together. He needed all her assistance and all her loyalty +in these new conjunctures his fatalism had already accepted.</p> + +<p>“Can’t be helped,” he said in a tone of +gloomy sympathy. “Come, Winnie, we’ve got to +think of to-morrow. You’ll want all your wits about +you after I am taken away.”</p> + +<p>He paused. Mrs Verloc’s breast heaved +convulsively. This was not reassuring to Mr Verloc, in +whose view the newly created situation required from the two +people most concerned in it calmness, decision, and other +qualities incompatible with the mental disorder of passionate +sorrow. Mr Verloc was a humane man; he had come home +prepared to allow every latitude to his wife’s affection +for her brother.</p> + +<p>Only he did not understand either the nature or the whole +extent of that sentiment. And in this he was excusable, +since it was impossible for him to understand it without ceasing +to be himself. He was startled and disappointed, and his +speech conveyed it by a certain roughness of tone.</p> + +<p>“You might look at a fellow,” he observed after +waiting a while.</p> + +<p>As if forced through the hands covering Mrs Verloc’s +face the answer came, deadened, almost pitiful.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to look at you as long as I +live.”</p> + +<p>“Eh? What!” Mr Verloc was merely +startled by the superficial and literal meaning of this +declaration. It was obviously unreasonable, the mere cry of +exaggerated grief. He threw over it the mantle of his +marital indulgence. The mind of Mr Verloc lacked +profundity. Under the mistaken impression that the value of +individuals consists in what they are in themselves, he could not +possibly comprehend the value of Stevie in the eyes of Mrs +Verloc. She was taking it confoundedly hard, he thought to +himself. It was all the fault of that damned Heat. +What did he want to upset the woman for? But she +mustn’t be allowed, for her own good, to carry on so till +she got quite beside herself.</p> + +<p>“Look here! You can’t sit like this in the +shop,” he said with affected severity, in which there was +some real annoyance; for urgent practical matters must be talked +over if they had to sit up all night. “Somebody might +come in at any minute,” he added, and waited again. +No effect was produced, and the idea of the finality of death +occurred to Mr Verloc during the pause. He changed his +tone. “Come. This won’t bring him +back,” he said gently, feeling ready to take her in his +arms and press her to his breast, where impatience and compassion +dwelt side by side. But except for a short shudder Mrs +Verloc remained apparently unaffected by the force of that +terrible truism. It was Mr Verloc himself who was +moved. He was moved in his simplicity to urge moderation by +asserting the claims of his own personality.</p> + +<p>“Do be reasonable, Winnie. What would it have been +if you had lost me!”</p> + +<p>He had vaguely expected to hear her cry out. But she did +not budge. She leaned back a little, quieted down to a +complete unreadable stillness. Mr Verloc’s heart +began to beat faster with exasperation and something resembling +alarm. He laid his hand on her shoulder, saying:</p> + +<p>“Don’t be a fool, Winnie.”</p> + +<p>She gave no sign. It was impossible to talk to any +purpose with a woman whose face one cannot see. Mr Verloc +caught hold of his wife’s wrists. But her hands +seemed glued fast. She swayed forward bodily to his tug, +and nearly went off the chair. Startled to feel her so +helplessly limp, he was trying to put her back on the chair when +she stiffened suddenly all over, tore herself out of his hands, +ran out of the shop, across the parlour, and into the +kitchen. This was very swift. He had just a glimpse +of her face and that much of her eyes that he knew she had not +looked at him.</p> + +<p>It all had the appearance of a struggle for the possession of +a chair, because Mr Verloc instantly took his wife’s place +in it. Mr Verloc did not cover his face with his hands, but +a sombre thoughtfulness veiled his features. A term of +imprisonment could not be avoided. He did not wish now to +avoid it. A prison was a place as safe from certain +unlawful vengeances as the grave, with this advantage, that in a +prison there is room for hope. What he saw before him was a +term of imprisonment, an early release and then life abroad +somewhere, such as he had contemplated already, in case of +failure. Well, it was a failure, if not exactly the sort of +failure he had feared. It had been so near success that he +could have positively terrified Mr Vladimir out of his ferocious +scoffing with this proof of occult efficiency. So at least +it seemed now to Mr Verloc. His prestige with the Embassy +would have been immense if—if his wife had not had the +unlucky notion of sewing on the address inside Stevie’s +overcoat. Mr Verloc, who was no fool, had soon perceived +the extraordinary character of the influence he had over Stevie, +though he did not understand exactly its origin—the +doctrine of his supreme wisdom and goodness inculcated by two +anxious women. In all the eventualities he had foreseen Mr +Verloc had calculated with correct insight on Stevie’s +instinctive loyalty and blind discretion. The eventuality +he had not foreseen had appalled him as a humane man and a fond +husband. From every other point of view it was rather +advantageous. Nothing can equal the everlasting discretion +of death. Mr Verloc, sitting perplexed and frightened in +the small parlour of the Cheshire Cheese, could not help +acknowledging that to himself, because his sensibility did not +stand in the way of his judgment. Stevie’s violent +disintegration, however disturbing to think about, only assured +the success; for, of course, the knocking down of a wall was not +the aim of Mr Vladimir’s menaces, but the production of a +moral effect. With much trouble and distress on Mr +Verloc’s part the effect might be said to have been +produced. When, however, most unexpectedly, it came home to +roost in Brett Street, Mr Verloc, who had been struggling like a +man in a nightmare for the preservation of his position, accepted +the blow in the spirit of a convinced fatalist. The +position was gone through no one’s fault really. A +small, tiny fact had done it. It was like slipping on a bit +of orange peel in the dark and breaking your leg.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc drew a weary breath. He nourished no +resentment against his wife. He thought: She will have to +look after the shop while they keep me locked up. And +thinking also how cruelly she would miss Stevie at first, he felt +greatly concerned about her health and spirits. How would +she stand her solitude—absolutely alone in that +house? It would not do for her to break down while he was +locked up? What would become of the shop then? The +shop was an asset. Though Mr Verloc’s fatalism +accepted his undoing as a secret agent, he had no mind to be +utterly ruined, mostly, it must be owned, from regard for his +wife.</p> + +<p>Silent, and out of his line of sight in the kitchen, she +frightened him. If only she had had her mother with +her. But that silly old woman—An angry dismay +possessed Mr Verloc. He must talk with his wife. He +could tell her certainly that a man does get desperate under +certain circumstances. But he did not go incontinently to +impart to her that information. First of all, it was clear +to him that this evening was no time for business. He got +up to close the street door and put the gas out in the shop.</p> + +<p>Having thus assured a solitude around his hearthstone Mr +Verloc walked into the parlour, and glanced down into the +kitchen. Mrs Verloc was sitting in the place where poor +Stevie usually established himself of an evening with paper and +pencil for the pastime of drawing these coruscations of +innumerable circles suggesting chaos and eternity. Her arms +were folded on the table, and her head was lying on her +arms. Mr Verloc contemplated her back and the arrangement +of her hair for a time, then walked away from the kitchen +door. Mrs Verloc’s philosophical, almost disdainful +incuriosity, the foundation of their accord in domestic life made +it extremely difficult to get into contact with her, now this +tragic necessity had arisen. Mr Verloc felt this difficulty +acutely. He turned around the table in the parlour with his +usual air of a large animal in a cage.</p> + +<p>Curiosity being one of the forms of self-revelation, a +systematically incurious person remains always partly +mysterious. Every time he passed near the door Mr Verloc +glanced at his wife uneasily. It was not that he was afraid +of her. Mr Verloc imagined himself loved by that +woman. But she had not accustomed him to make +confidences. And the confidence he had to make was of a +profound psychological order. How with his want of practice +could he tell her what he himself felt but vaguely: that there +are conspiracies of fatal destiny, that a notion grows in a mind +sometimes till it acquires an outward existence, an independent +power of its own, and even a suggestive voice? He could not +inform her that a man may be haunted by a fat, witty, +clean-shaved face till the wildest expedient to get rid of it +appears a child of wisdom.</p> + +<p>On this mental reference to a First Secretary of a great +Embassy, Mr Verloc stopped in the doorway, and looking down into +the kitchen with an angry face and clenched fists, addressed his +wife.</p> + +<p>“You don’t know what a brute I had to deal +with.”</p> + +<p>He started off to make another perambulation of the table; +then when he had come to the door again he stopped, glaring in +from the height of two steps.</p> + +<p>“A silly, jeering, dangerous brute, with no more sense +than—After all these years! A man like me! And +I have been playing my head at that game. You didn’t +know. Quite right, too. What was the good of telling +you that I stood the risk of having a knife stuck into me any +time these seven years we’ve been married? I am not a +chap to worry a woman that’s fond of me. You had no +business to know.” Mr Verloc took another turn round +the parlour, fuming.</p> + +<p>“A venomous beast,” he began again from the +doorway. “Drive me out into a ditch to starve for a +joke. I could see he thought it was a damned good +joke. A man like me! Look here! Some of the +highest in the world got to thank me for walking on their two +legs to this day. That’s the man you’ve got +married to, my girl!”</p> + +<p>He perceived that his wife had sat up. Mrs +Verloc’s arms remained lying stretched on the table. +Mr Verloc watched at her back as if he could read there the +effect of his words.</p> + +<p>“There isn’t a murdering plot for the last eleven +years that I hadn’t my finger in at the risk of my +life. There’s scores of these revolutionists +I’ve sent off, with their bombs in their blamed pockets, to +get themselves caught on the frontier. The old Baron knew +what I was worth to his country. And here suddenly a swine +comes along—an ignorant, overbearing swine.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, stepping slowly down two steps, entered the +kitchen, took a tumbler off the dresser, and holding it in his +hand, approached the sink, without looking at his wife. +“It wasn’t the old Baron who would have had the +wicked folly of getting me to call on him at eleven in the +morning. There are two or three in this town that, if they +had seen me going in, would have made no bones about knocking me +on the head sooner or later. It was a silly, murderous +trick to expose for nothing a man—like me.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, turning on the tap above the sink, poured three +glasses of water, one after another, down his throat to quench +the fires of his indignation. Mr Vladimir’s conduct +was like a hot brand which set his internal economy in a +blaze. He could not get over the disloyalty of it. +This man, who would not work at the usual hard tasks which +society sets to its humbler members, had exercised his secret +industry with an indefatigable devotion. There was in Mr +Verloc a fund of loyalty. He had been loyal to his +employers, to the cause of social stability,—and to his +affections too—as became apparent when, after standing the +tumbler in the sink, he turned about, saying:</p> + +<p>“If I hadn’t thought of you I would have taken the +bullying brute by the throat and rammed his head into the +fireplace. I’d have been more than a match for that +pink-faced, smooth-shaved—”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, neglected to finish the sentence, as if there could +be no doubt of the terminal word. For the first time in his +life he was taking that incurious woman into his +confidence. The singularity of the event, the force and +importance of the personal feelings aroused in the course of this +confession, drove Stevie’s fate clean out of Mr +Verloc’s mind. The boy’s stuttering existence +of fears and indignations, together with the violence of his end, +had passed out of Mr Verloc’s mental sight for a +time. For that reason, when he looked up he was startled by +the inappropriate character of his wife’s stare. It +was not a wild stare, and it was not inattentive, but its +attention was peculiar and not satisfactory, inasmuch that it +seemed concentrated upon some point beyond Mr Verloc’s +person. The impression was so strong that Mr Verloc glanced +over his shoulder. There was nothing behind him: there was +just the whitewashed wall. The excellent husband of Winnie +Verloc saw no writing on the wall. He turned to his wife +again, repeating, with some emphasis:</p> + +<p>“I would have taken him by the throat. As true as +I stand here, if I hadn’t thought of you then I would have +half choked the life out of the brute before I let him get +up. And don’t you think he would have been anxious to +call the police either. He wouldn’t have dared. +You understand why—don’t you?”</p> + +<p>He blinked at his wife knowingly.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mrs Verloc in an unresonant voice, and +without looking at him at all. “What are you talking +about?”</p> + +<p>A great discouragement, the result of fatigue, came upon Mr +Verloc. He had had a very full day, and his nerves had been +tried to the utmost. After a month of maddening worry, +ending in an unexpected catastrophe, the storm-tossed spirit of +Mr Verloc longed for repose. His career as a secret agent +had come to an end in a way no one could have foreseen; only, +now, perhaps he could manage to get a night’s sleep at +last. But looking at his wife, he doubted it. She was +taking it very hard—not at all like herself, he +thought. He made an effort to speak.</p> + +<p>“You’ll have to pull yourself together, my +girl,” he said sympathetically. “What’s +done can’t be undone.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc gave a slight start, though not a muscle of her +white face moved in the least. Mr Verloc, who was not +looking at her, continued ponderously.</p> + +<p>“You go to bed now. What you want is a good +cry.”</p> + +<p>This opinion had nothing to recommend it but the general +consent of mankind. It is universally understood that, as +if it were nothing more substantial than vapour floating in the +sky, every emotion of a woman is bound to end in a shower. +And it is very probable that had Stevie died in his bed under her +despairing gaze, in her protecting arms, Mrs Verloc’s grief +would have found relief in a flood of bitter and pure +tears. Mrs Verloc, in common with other human beings, was +provided with a fund of unconscious resignation sufficient to +meet the normal manifestation of human destiny. Without +“troubling her head about it,” she was aware that it +“did not stand looking into very much.” But the +lamentable circumstances of Stevie’s end, which to Mr +Verloc’s mind had only an episodic character, as part of a +greater disaster, dried her tears at their very source. It +was the effect of a white-hot iron drawn across her eyes; at the +same time her heart, hardened and chilled into a lump of ice, +kept her body in an inward shudder, set her features into a +frozen contemplative immobility addressed to a whitewashed wall +with no writing on it. The exigencies of Mrs Verloc’s +temperament, which, when stripped of its philosophical reserve, +was maternal and violent, forced her to roll a series of thoughts +in her motionless head. These thoughts were rather imagined +than expressed. Mrs Verloc was a woman of singularly few +words, either for public or private use. With the rage and +dismay of a betrayed woman, she reviewed the tenor of her life in +visions concerned mostly with Stevie’s difficult existence +from its earliest days. It was a life of single purpose and +of a noble unity of inspiration, like those rare lives that have +left their mark on the thoughts and feelings of mankind. +But the visions of Mrs Verloc lacked nobility and +magnificence. She saw herself putting the boy to bed by the +light of a single candle on the deserted top floor of a +“business house,” dark under the roof and +scintillating exceedingly with lights and cut glass at the level +of the street like a fairy palace. That meretricious +splendour was the only one to be met in Mrs Verloc’s +visions. She remembered brushing the boy’s hair and +tying his pinafores—herself in a pinafore still; the +consolations administered to a small and badly scared creature by +another creature nearly as small but not quite so badly scared; +she had the vision of the blows intercepted (often with her own +head), of a door held desperately shut against a man’s rage +(not for very long); of a poker flung once (not very far), which +stilled that particular storm into the dumb and awful silence +which follows a thunder-clap. And all these scenes of +violence came and went accompanied by the unrefined noise of deep +vociferations proceeding from a man wounded in his paternal +pride, declaring himself obviously accursed since one of his kids +was a “slobbering idjut and the other a wicked +she-devil.” It was of her that this had been said +many years ago.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc heard the words again in a ghostly fashion, and +then the dreary shadow of the Belgravian mansion descended upon +her shoulders. It was a crushing memory, an exhausting +vision of countless breakfast trays carried up and down +innumerable stairs, of endless haggling over pence, of the +endless drudgery of sweeping, dusting, cleaning, from basement to +attics; while the impotent mother, staggering on swollen legs, +cooked in a grimy kitchen, and poor Stevie, the unconscious +presiding genius of all their toil, blacked the gentlemen’s +boots in the scullery. But this vision had a breath of a +hot London summer in it, and for a central figure a young man +wearing his Sunday best, with a straw hat on his dark head and a +wooden pipe in his mouth. Affectionate and jolly, he was a +fascinating companion for a voyage down the sparkling stream of +life; only his boat was very small. There was room in it +for a girl-partner at the oar, but no accommodation for +passengers. He was allowed to drift away from the threshold +of the Belgravian mansion while Winnie averted her tearful +eyes. He was not a lodger. The lodger was Mr Verloc, +indolent, and keeping late hours, sleepily jocular of a morning +from under his bed-clothes, but with gleams of infatuation in his +heavy lidded eyes, and always with some money in his +pockets. There was no sparkle of any kind on the lazy +stream of his life. It flowed through secret places. +But his barque seemed a roomy craft, and his taciturn magnanimity +accepted as a matter of course the presence of passengers.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc pursued the visions of seven years’ security +for Stevie, loyally paid for on her part; of security growing +into confidence, into a domestic feeling, stagnant and deep like +a placid pool, whose guarded surface hardly shuddered on the +occasional passage of Comrade Ossipon, the robust anarchist with +shamelessly inviting eyes, whose glance had a corrupt clearness +sufficient to enlighten any woman not absolutely imbecile.</p> + +<p>A few seconds only had elapsed since the last word had been +uttered aloud in the kitchen, and Mrs Verloc was staring already +at the vision of an episode not more than a fortnight old. +With eyes whose pupils were extremely dilated she stared at the +vision of her husband and poor Stevie walking up Brett Street +side by side away from the shop. It was the last scene of +an existence created by Mrs Verloc’s genius; an existence +foreign to all grace and charm, without beauty and almost without +decency, but admirable in the continuity of feeling and tenacity +of purpose. And this last vision had such plastic relief, +such nearness of form, such a fidelity of suggestive detail, that +it wrung from Mrs Verloc an anguished and faint murmur, +reproducing the supreme illusion of her life, an appalled murmur +that died out on her blanched lips.</p> + +<p>“Might have been father and son.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc stopped, and raised a care-worn face. +“Eh? What did you say?” he asked. +Receiving no reply, he resumed his sinister tramping. Then +with a menacing flourish of a thick, fleshy fist, he burst +out:</p> + +<p>“Yes. The Embassy people. A pretty lot, +ain’t they! Before a week’s out I’ll make +some of them wish themselves twenty feet underground. +Eh? What?”</p> + +<p>He glanced sideways, with his head down. Mrs Verloc +gazed at the whitewashed wall. A blank wall—perfectly +blank. A blankness to run at and dash your head +against. Mrs Verloc remained immovably seated. She +kept still as the population of half the globe would keep still +in astonishment and despair, were the sun suddenly put out in the +summer sky by the perfidy of a trusted providence.</p> + +<p>“The Embassy,” Mr Verloc began again, after a +preliminary grimace which bared his teeth wolfishly. +“I wish I could get loose in there with a cudgel for +half-an-hour. I would keep on hitting till there +wasn’t a single unbroken bone left amongst the whole +lot. But never mind, I’ll teach them yet what it +means trying to throw out a man like me to rot in the +streets. I’ve a tongue in my head. All the +world shall know what I’ve done for them. I am not +afraid. I don’t care. Everything’ll come +out. Every damned thing. Let them look +out!”</p> + +<p>In these terms did Mr Verloc declare his thirst for +revenge. It was a very appropriate revenge. It was in +harmony with the promptings of Mr Verloc’s genius. It +had also the advantage of being within the range of his powers +and of adjusting itself easily to the practice of his life, which +had consisted precisely in betraying the secret and unlawful +proceedings of his fellow-men. Anarchists or diplomats were +all one to him. Mr Verloc was temperamentally no respecter +of persons. His scorn was equally distributed over the +whole field of his operations. But as a member of a +revolutionary proletariat—which he undoubtedly was—he +nourished a rather inimical sentiment against social +distinction.</p> + +<p>“Nothing on earth can stop me now,” he added, and +paused, looking fixedly at his wife, who was looking fixedly at a +blank wall.</p> + +<p>The silence in the kitchen was prolonged, and Mr Verloc felt +disappointed. He had expected his wife to say +something. But Mrs Verloc’s lips, composed in their +usual form, preserved a statuesque immobility like the rest of +her face. And Mr Verloc was disappointed. Yet the +occasion did not, he recognised, demand speech from her. +She was a woman of very few words. For reasons involved in +the very foundation of his psychology, Mr Verloc was inclined to +put his trust in any woman who had given herself to him. +Therefore he trusted his wife. Their accord was perfect, +but it was not precise. It was a tacit accord, congenial to +Mrs Verloc’s incuriosity and to Mr Verloc’s habits of +mind, which were indolent and secret. They refrained from +going to the bottom of facts and motives.</p> + +<p>This reserve, expressing, in a way, their profound confidence +in each other, introduced at the same time a certain element of +vagueness into their intimacy. No system of conjugal +relations is perfect. Mr Verloc presumed that his wife had +understood him, but he would have been glad to hear her say what +she thought at the moment. It would have been a +comfort.</p> + +<p>There were several reasons why this comfort was denied +him. There was a physical obstacle: Mrs Verloc had no +sufficient command over her voice. She did not see any +alternative between screaming and silence, and instinctively she +chose the silence. Winnie Verloc was temperamentally a +silent person. And there was the paralysing atrocity of the +thought which occupied her. Her cheeks were blanched, her +lips ashy, her immobility amazing. And she thought without +looking at Mr Verloc: “This man took the boy away to murder +him. He took the boy away from his home to murder +him. He took the boy away from me to murder him!”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc’s whole being was racked by that inconclusive +and maddening thought. It was in her veins, in her bones, +in the roots of her hair. Mentally she assumed the biblical +attitude of mourning—the covered face, the rent garments; +the sound of wailing and lamentation filled her head. But +her teeth were violently clenched, and her tearless eyes were hot +with rage, because she was not a submissive creature. The +protection she had extended over her brother had been in its +origin of a fierce and indignant complexion. She had to love +him with a militant love. She had battled for +him—even against herself. His loss had the bitterness +of defeat, with the anguish of a baffled passion. It was +not an ordinary stroke of death. Moreover, it was not death +that took Stevie from her. It was Mr Verloc who took him +away. She had seen him. She had watched him, without +raising a hand, take the boy away. And she had let him go, +like—like a fool—a blind fool. Then after he +had murdered the boy he came home to her. Just came home +like any other man would come home to his wife. . . .</p> + +<p>Through her set teeth Mrs Verloc muttered at the wall:</p> + +<p>“And I thought he had caught a cold.”</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc heard these words and appropriated them.</p> + +<p>“It was nothing,” he said moodily. “I +was upset. I was upset on your account.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc, turning her head slowly, transferred her stare +from the wall to her husband’s person. Mr Verloc, +with the tips of his fingers between his lips, was looking on the +ground.</p> + +<p>“Can’t be helped,” he mumbled, letting his +hand fall. “You must pull yourself together. +You’ll want all your wits about you. It is you who +brought the police about our ears. Never mind, I +won’t say anything more about it,” continued Mr +Verloc magnanimously. “You couldn’t +know.”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t,” breathed out Mrs Verloc. +It was as if a corpse had spoken. Mr Verloc took up the +thread of his discourse.</p> + +<p>“I don’t blame you. I’ll make them sit +up. Once under lock and key it will be safe enough for me +to talk—you understand. You must reckon on me being +two years away from you,” he continued, in a tone of +sincere concern. “It will be easier for you than for +me. You’ll have something to do, while I—Look +here, Winnie, what you must do is to keep this business going for +two years. You know enough for that. You’ve a +good head on you. I’ll send you word when it’s +time to go about trying to sell. You’ll have to be +extra careful. The comrades will be keeping an eye on you +all the time. You’ll have to be as artful as you know +how, and as close as the grave. No one must know what you +are going to do. I have no mind to get a knock on the head +or a stab in the back directly I am let out.”</p> + +<p>Thus spoke Mr Verloc, applying his mind with ingenuity and +forethought to the problems of the future. His voice was +sombre, because he had a correct sentiment of the +situation. Everything which he did not wish to pass had +come to pass. The future had become precarious. His +judgment, perhaps, had been momentarily obscured by his dread of +Mr Vladimir’s truculent folly. A man somewhat over +forty may be excusably thrown into considerable disorder by the +prospect of losing his employment, especially if the man is a +secret agent of political police, dwelling secure in the +consciousness of his high value and in the esteem of high +personages. He was excusable.</p> + +<p>Now the thing had ended in a crash. Mr Verloc was cool; +but he was not cheerful. A secret agent who throws his +secrecy to the winds from desire of vengeance, and flaunts his +achievements before the public eye, becomes the mark for +desperate and bloodthirsty indignations. Without unduly +exaggerating the danger, Mr Verloc tried to bring it clearly +before his wife’s mind. He repeated that he had no +intention to let the revolutionists do away with him.</p> + +<p>He looked straight into his wife’s eyes. The +enlarged pupils of the woman received his stare into their +unfathomable depths.</p> + +<p>“I am too fond of you for that,” he said, with a +little nervous laugh.</p> + +<p>A faint flush coloured Mrs Verloc’s ghastly and +motionless face. Having done with the visions of the past, +she had not only heard, but had also understood the words uttered +by her husband. By their extreme disaccord with her mental +condition these words produced on her a slightly suffocating +effect. Mrs Verloc’s mental condition had the merit +of simplicity; but it was not sound. It was governed too +much by a fixed idea. Every nook and cranny of her brain +was filled with the thought that this man, with whom she had +lived without distaste for seven years, had taken the “poor +boy” away from her in order to kill him—the man to +whom she had grown accustomed in body and mind; the man whom she +had trusted, took the boy away to kill him! In its form, in +its substance, in its effect, which was universal, altering even +the aspect of inanimate things, it was a thought to sit still and +marvel at for ever and ever. Mrs Verloc sat still. +And across that thought (not across the kitchen) the form of Mr +Verloc went to and fro, familiarly in hat and overcoat, stamping +with his boots upon her brain. He was probably talking too; +but Mrs Verloc’s thought for the most part covered the +voice.</p> + +<p>Now and then, however, the voice would make itself +heard. Several connected words emerged at times. +Their purport was generally hopeful. On each of these +occasions Mrs Verloc’s dilated pupils, losing their far-off +fixity, followed her husband’s movements with the effect of +black care and impenetrable attention. Well informed upon +all matters relating to his secret calling, Mr Verloc augured +well for the success of his plans and combinations. He +really believed that it would be upon the whole easy for him to +escape the knife of infuriated revolutionists. He had +exaggerated the strength of their fury and the length of their +arm (for professional purposes) too often to have many illusions +one way or the other. For to exaggerate with judgment one +must begin by measuring with nicety. He knew also how much +virtue and how much infamy is forgotten in two years—two +long years. His first really confidential discourse to his +wife was optimistic from conviction. He also thought it +good policy to display all the assurance he could muster. +It would put heart into the poor woman. On his liberation, +which, harmonising with the whole tenor of his life, would be +secret, of course, they would vanish together without loss of +time. As to covering up the tracks, he begged his wife to +trust him for that. He knew how it was to be done so that +the devil himself—</p> + +<p>He waved his hand. He seemed to boast. He wished +only to put heart into her. It was a benevolent intention, +but Mr Verloc had the misfortune not to be in accord with his +audience.</p> + +<p>The self-confident tone grew upon Mrs Verloc’s ear which +let most of the words go by; for what were words to her +now? What could words do to her, for good or evil in the +face of her fixed idea? Her black glance followed that man +who was asserting his impunity—the man who had taken poor +Stevie from home to kill him somewhere. Mrs Verloc could +not remember exactly where, but her heart began to beat very +perceptibly.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc, in a soft and conjugal tone, was now expressing his +firm belief that there were yet a good few years of quiet life +before them both. He did not go into the question of +means. A quiet life it must be and, as it were, nestling in +the shade, concealed among men whose flesh is grass; modest, like +the life of violets. The words used by Mr Verloc were: +“Lie low for a bit.” And far from England, of +course. It was not clear whether Mr Verloc had in his mind +Spain or South America; but at any rate somewhere abroad.</p> + +<p>This last word, falling into Mrs Verloc’s ear, produced +a definite impression. This man was talking of going +abroad. The impression was completely disconnected; and +such is the force of mental habit that Mrs Verloc at once and +automatically asked herself: “And what of +Stevie?”</p> + +<p>It was a sort of forgetfulness; but instantly she became aware +that there was no longer any occasion for anxiety on that +score. There would never be any occasion any more. +The poor boy had been taken out and killed. The poor boy +was dead.</p> + +<p>This shaking piece of forgetfulness stimulated Mrs +Verloc’s intelligence. She began to perceive certain +consequences which would have surprised Mr Verloc. There +was no need for her now to stay there, in that kitchen, in that +house, with that man—since the boy was gone for ever. +No need whatever. And on that Mrs Verloc rose as if raised +by a spring. But neither could she see what there was to +keep her in the world at all. And this inability arrested +her. Mr Verloc watched her with marital solicitude.</p> + +<p>“You’re looking more like yourself,” he said +uneasily. Something peculiar in the blackness of his +wife’s eyes disturbed his optimism. At that precise +moment Mrs Verloc began to look upon herself as released from all +earthly ties.</p> + +<p>She had her freedom. Her contract with existence, as +represented by that man standing over there, was at an end. +She was a free woman. Had this view become in some way +perceptible to Mr Verloc he would have been extremely +shocked. In his affairs of the heart Mr Verloc had been +always carelessly generous, yet always with no other idea than +that of being loved for himself. Upon this matter, his +ethical notions being in agreement with his vanity, he was +completely incorrigible. That this should be so in the case +of his virtuous and legal connection he was perfectly +certain. He had grown older, fatter, heavier, in the belief +that he lacked no fascination for being loved for his own +sake. When he saw Mrs Verloc starting to walk out of the +kitchen without a word he was disappointed.</p> + +<p>“Where are you going to?” he called out rather +sharply. “Upstairs?”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc in the doorway turned at the voice. An +instinct of prudence born of fear, the excessive fear of being +approached and touched by that man, induced her to nod at him +slightly (from the height of two steps), with a stir of the lips +which the conjugal optimism of Mr Verloc took for a wan and +uncertain smile.</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” he encouraged her +gruffly. “Rest and quiet’s what you want. +Go on. It won’t be long before I am with +you.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc, the free woman who had had really no idea where +she was going to, obeyed the suggestion with rigid +steadiness.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc watched her. She disappeared up the +stairs. He was disappointed. There was that within +him which would have been more satisfied if she had been moved to +throw herself upon his breast. But he was generous and +indulgent. Winnie was always undemonstrative and +silent. Neither was Mr Verloc himself prodigal of +endearments and words as a rule. But this was not an +ordinary evening. It was an occasion when a man wants to be +fortified and strengthened by open proofs of sympathy and +affection. Mr Verloc sighed, and put out the gas in the +kitchen. Mr Verloc’s sympathy with his wife was +genuine and intense. It almost brought tears into his eyes +as he stood in the parlour reflecting on the loneliness hanging +over her head. In this mood Mr Verloc missed Stevie very +much out of a difficult world. He thought mournfully of his +end. If only that lad had not stupidly destroyed +himself!</p> + +<p>The sensation of unappeasable hunger, not unknown after the +strain of a hazardous enterprise to adventurers of tougher fibre +than Mr Verloc, overcame him again. The piece of roast +beef, laid out in the likeness of funereal baked meats for +Stevie’s obsequies, offered itself largely to his +notice. And Mr Verloc again partook. He partook +ravenously, without restraint and decency, cutting thick slices +with the sharp carving knife, and swallowing them without +bread. In the course of that refection it occurred to Mr +Verloc that he was not hearing his wife move about the bedroom as +he should have done. The thought of finding her perhaps +sitting on the bed in the dark not only cut Mr Verloc’s +appetite, but also took from him the inclination to follow her +upstairs just yet. Laying down the carving knife, Mr Verloc +listened with careworn attention.</p> + +<p>He was comforted by hearing her move at last. She walked +suddenly across the room, and threw the window up. After a +period of stillness up there, during which he figured her to +himself with her head out, he heard the sash being lowered +slowly. Then she made a few steps, and sat down. +Every resonance of his house was familiar to Mr Verloc, who was +thoroughly domesticated. When next he heard his +wife’s footsteps overhead he knew, as well as if he had +seen her doing it, that she had been putting on her walking +shoes. Mr Verloc wriggled his shoulders slightly at this +ominous symptom, and moving away from the table, stood with his +back to the fireplace, his head on one side, and gnawing +perplexedly at the tips of his fingers. He kept track of +her movements by the sound. She walked here and there +violently, with abrupt stoppages, now before the chest of +drawers, then in front of the wardrobe. An immense load of +weariness, the harvest of a day of shocks and surprises, weighed +Mr Verloc’s energies to the ground.</p> + +<p>He did not raise his eyes till he heard his wife descending +the stairs. It was as he had guessed. She was dressed +for going out.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc was a free woman. She had thrown open the +window of the bedroom either with the intention of screaming +Murder! Help! or of throwing herself out. For she did +not exactly know what use to make of her freedom. Her +personality seemed to have been torn into two pieces, whose +mental operations did not adjust themselves very well to each +other. The street, silent and deserted from end to end, +repelled her by taking sides with that man who was so certain of +his impunity. She was afraid to shout lest no one should +come. Obviously no one would come. Her instinct of +self-preservation recoiled from the depth of the fall into that +sort of slimy, deep trench. Mrs Verloc closed the window, +and dressed herself to go out into the street by another +way. She was a free woman. She had dressed herself +thoroughly, down to the tying of a black veil over her +face. As she appeared before him in the light of the +parlour, Mr Verloc observed that she had even her little handbag +hanging from her left wrist. . . . Flying off to her mother, of +course.</p> + +<p>The thought that women were wearisome creatures after all +presented itself to his fatigued brain. But he was too +generous to harbour it for more than an instant. This man, +hurt cruelly in his vanity, remained magnanimous in his conduct, +allowing himself no satisfaction of a bitter smile or of a +contemptuous gesture. With true greatness of soul, he only +glanced at the wooden clock on the wall, and said in a perfectly +calm but forcible manner:</p> + +<p>“Five and twenty minutes past eight, Winnie. +There’s no sense in going over there so late. You +will never manage to get back to-night.”</p> + +<p>Before his extended hand Mrs Verloc had stopped short. +He added heavily: “Your mother will be gone to bed before +you get there. This is the sort of news that can +wait.”</p> + +<p>Nothing was further from Mrs Verloc’s thoughts than +going to her mother. She recoiled at the mere idea, and +feeling a chair behind her, she obeyed the suggestion of the +touch, and sat down. Her intention had been simply to get +outside the door for ever. And if this feeling was correct, +its mental form took an unrefined shape corresponding to her +origin and station. “I would rather walk the streets +all the days of my life,” she thought. But this +creature, whose moral nature had been subjected to a shock of +which, in the physical order, the most violent earthquake of +history could only be a faint and languid rendering, was at the +mercy of mere trifles, of casual contacts. She sat +down. With her hat and veil she had the air of a visitor, +of having looked in on Mr Verloc for a moment. Her instant +docility encouraged him, whilst her aspect of only temporary and +silent acquiescence provoked him a little.</p> + +<p>“Let me tell you, Winnie,” he said with authority, +“that your place is here this evening. Hang it all! +you brought the damned police high and low about my ears. I +don’t blame you—but it’s your doing all the +same. You’d better take this confounded hat +off. I can’t let you go out, old girl,” he +added in a softened voice.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc’s mind got hold of that declaration with +morbid tenacity. The man who had taken Stevie out from +under her very eyes to murder him in a locality whose name was at +the moment not present to her memory would not allow her go +out. Of course he wouldn’t.</p> + +<p>Now he had murdered Stevie he would never let her go. He +would want to keep her for nothing. And on this +characteristic reasoning, having all the force of insane logic, +Mrs Verloc’s disconnected wits went to work +practically. She could slip by him, open the door, run +out. But he would dash out after her, seize her round the +body, drag her back into the shop. She could scratch, kick, +and bite—and stab too; but for stabbing she wanted a +knife. Mrs Verloc sat still under her black veil, in her +own house, like a masked and mysterious visitor of impenetrable +intentions.</p> + +<p>Mr Verloc’s magnanimity was not more than human. +She had exasperated him at last.</p> + +<p>“Can’t you say something? You have your own +dodges for vexing a man. Oh yes! I know your +deaf-and-dumb trick. I’ve seen you at it before +to-day. But just now it won’t do. And to begin +with, take this damned thing off. One can’t tell +whether one is talking to a dummy or to a live woman.”</p> + +<p>He advanced, and stretching out his hand, dragged the veil +off, unmasking a still, unreadable face, against which his +nervous exasperation was shattered like a glass bubble flung +against a rock. “That’s better,” he said, +to cover his momentary uneasiness, and retreated back to his old +station by the mantelpiece. It never entered his head that +his wife could give him up. He felt a little ashamed of +himself, for he was fond and generous. What could he +do? Everything had been said already. He protested +vehemently.</p> + +<p>“By heavens! You know that I hunted high and +low. I ran the risk of giving myself away to find somebody +for that accursed job. And I tell you again I +couldn’t find anyone crazy enough or hungry enough. +What do you take me for—a murderer, or what? The boy +is gone. Do you think I wanted him to blow himself +up? He’s gone. His troubles are over. +Ours are just going to begin, I tell you, precisely because he +did blow himself. I don’t blame you. But just +try to understand that it was a pure accident; as much an +accident as if he had been run over by a ’bus while +crossing the street.”</p> + +<p>His generosity was not infinite, because he was a human +being—and not a monster, as Mrs Verloc believed him to +be. He paused, and a snarl lifting his moustaches above a +gleam of white teeth gave him the expression of a reflective +beast, not very dangerous—a slow beast with a sleek head, +gloomier than a seal, and with a husky voice.</p> + +<p>“And when it comes to that, it’s as much your +doing as mine. That’s so. You may glare as much +as you like. I know what you can do in that way. +Strike me dead if I ever would have thought of the lad for that +purpose. It was you who kept on shoving him in my way when +I was half distracted with the worry of keeping the lot of us out +of trouble. What the devil made you? One would think +you were doing it on purpose. And I am damned if I know +that you didn’t. There’s no saying how much of +what’s going on you have got hold of on the sly with your +infernal don’t-care-a-damn way of looking nowhere in +particular, and saying nothing at all. . . . ”</p> + +<p>His husky domestic voice ceased for a while. Mrs Verloc +made no reply. Before that silence he felt ashamed of what +he had said. But as often happens to peaceful men in +domestic tiffs, being ashamed he pushed another point.</p> + +<p>“You have a devilish way of holding your tongue +sometimes,” he began again, without raising his +voice. “Enough to make some men go mad. +It’s lucky for you that I am not so easily put out as some +of them would be by your deaf-and-dumb sulks. I am fond of +you. But don’t you go too far. This isn’t +the time for it. We ought to be thinking of what +we’ve got to do. And I can’t let you go out +to-night, galloping off to your mother with some crazy tale or +other about me. I won’t have it. Don’t +you make any mistake about it: if you will have it that I killed +the boy, then you’ve killed him as much as I.”</p> + +<p>In sincerity of feeling and openness of statement, these words +went far beyond anything that had ever been said in this home, +kept up on the wages of a secret industry eked out by the sale of +more or less secret wares: the poor expedients devised by a +mediocre mankind for preserving an imperfect society from the +dangers of moral and physical corruption, both secret too of +their kind. They were spoken because Mr Verloc had felt +himself really outraged; but the reticent decencies of this home +life, nestling in a shady street behind a shop where the sun +never shone, remained apparently undisturbed. Mrs Verloc +heard him out with perfect propriety, and then rose from her +chair in her hat and jacket like a visitor at the end of a +call. She advanced towards her husband, one arm extended as +if for a silent leave-taking. Her net veil dangling down by +one end on the left side of her face gave an air of disorderly +formality to her restrained movements. But when she arrived +as far as the hearthrug, Mr Verloc was no longer standing +there. He had moved off in the direction of the sofa, +without raising his eyes to watch the effect of his tirade. +He was tired, resigned in a truly marital spirit. But he +felt hurt in the tender spot of his secret weakness. If she +would go on sulking in that dreadful overcharged +silence—why then she must. She was a master in that +domestic art. Mr Verloc flung himself heavily upon the +sofa, disregarding as usual the fate of his hat, which, as if +accustomed to take care of itself, made for a safe shelter under +the table.</p> + +<p>He was tired. The last particle of his nervous force had +been expended in the wonders and agonies of this day full of +surprising failures coming at the end of a harassing month of +scheming and insomnia. He was tired. A man +isn’t made of stone. Hang everything! Mr Verloc +reposed characteristically, clad in his outdoor garments. +One side of his open overcoat was lying partly on the +ground. Mr Verloc wallowed on his back. But he longed +for a more perfect rest—for sleep—for a few hours of +delicious forgetfulness. That would come later. +Provisionally he rested. And he thought: “I wish she +would give over this damned nonsense. It’s +exasperating.”</p> + +<p>There must have been something imperfect in Mrs Verloc’s +sentiment of regained freedom. Instead of taking the way of +the door she leaned back, with her shoulders against the tablet +of the mantelpiece, as a wayfarer rests against a fence. A +tinge of wildness in her aspect was derived from the black veil +hanging like a rag against her cheek, and from the fixity of her +black gaze where the light of the room was absorbed and lost +without the trace of a single gleam. This woman, capable of +a bargain the mere suspicion of which would have been infinitely +shocking to Mr Verloc’s idea of love, remained irresolute, +as if scrupulously aware of something wanting on her part for the +formal closing of the transaction.</p> + +<p>On the sofa Mr Verloc wriggled his shoulders into perfect +comfort, and from the fulness of his heart emitted a wish which +was certainly as pious as anything likely to come from such a +source.</p> + +<p>“I wish to goodness,” he growled huskily, “I +had never seen Greenwich Park or anything belonging to +it.”</p> + +<p>The veiled sound filled the small room with its moderate +volume, well adapted to the modest nature of the wish. The +waves of air of the proper length, propagated in accordance with +correct mathematical formulas, flowed around all the inanimate +things in the room, lapped against Mrs Verloc’s head as if +it had been a head of stone. And incredible as it may +appear, the eyes of Mrs Verloc seemed to grow still larger. +The audible wish of Mr Verloc’s overflowing heart flowed +into an empty place in his wife’s memory. Greenwich +Park. A park! That’s where the boy was +killed. A park—smashed branches, torn leaves, gravel, +bits of brotherly flesh and bone, all spouting up together in the +manner of a firework. She remembered now what she had +heard, and she remembered it pictorially. They had to +gather him up with the shovel. Trembling all over with +irrepressible shudders, she saw before her the very implement +with its ghastly load scraped up from the ground. Mrs +Verloc closed her eyes desperately, throwing upon that vision the +night of her eyelids, where after a rainlike fall of mangled +limbs the decapitated head of Stevie lingered suspended alone, +and fading out slowly like the last star of a pyrotechnic +display. Mrs Verloc opened her eyes.</p> + +<p>Her face was no longer stony. Anybody could have noted +the subtle change on her features, in the stare of her eyes, +giving her a new and startling expression; an expression seldom +observed by competent persons under the conditions of leisure and +security demanded for thorough analysis, but whose meaning could +not be mistaken at a glance. Mrs Verloc’s doubts as +to the end of the bargain no longer existed; her wits, no longer +disconnected, were working under the control of her will. +But Mr Verloc observed nothing. He was reposing in that +pathetic condition of optimism induced by excess of +fatigue. He did not want any more trouble—with his +wife too—of all people in the world. He had been +unanswerable in his vindication. He was loved for +himself. The present phase of her silence he interpreted +favourably. This was the time to make it up with her. +The silence had lasted long enough. He broke it by calling +to her in an undertone.</p> + +<p>“Winnie.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered obediently Mrs Verloc the free +woman. She commanded her wits now, her vocal organs; she +felt herself to be in an almost preternaturally perfect control +of every fibre of her body. It was all her own, because the +bargain was at an end. She was clear sighted. She had +become cunning. She chose to answer him so readily for a +purpose. She did not wish that man to change his position +on the sofa which was very suitable to the circumstances. +She succeeded. The man did not stir. But after +answering him she remained leaning negligently against the +mantelpiece in the attitude of a resting wayfarer. She was +unhurried. Her brow was smooth. The head and +shoulders of Mr Verloc were hidden from her by the high side of +the sofa. She kept her eyes fixed on his feet.</p> + +<p>She remained thus mysteriously still and suddenly collected +till Mr Verloc was heard with an accent of marital authority, and +moving slightly to make room for her to sit on the edge of the +sofa.</p> + +<p>“Come here,” he said in a peculiar tone, which +might have been the tone of brutality, but was intimately known +to Mrs Verloc as the note of wooing.</p> + +<p>She started forward at once, as if she were still a loyal +woman bound to that man by an unbroken contract. Her right +hand skimmed slightly the end of the table, and when she had +passed on towards the sofa the carving knife had vanished without +the slightest sound from the side of the dish. Mr Verloc +heard the creaky plank in the floor, and was content. He +waited. Mrs Verloc was coming. As if the homeless +soul of Stevie had flown for shelter straight to the breast of +his sister, guardian and protector, the resemblance of her face +with that of her brother grew at every step, even to the droop of +the lower lip, even to the slight divergence of the eyes. +But Mr Verloc did not see that. He was lying on his back +and staring upwards. He saw partly on the ceiling and +partly on the wall the moving shadow of an arm with a clenched +hand holding a carving knife. It flickered up and +down. Its movements were leisurely. They were +leisurely enough for Mr Verloc to recognise the limb and the +weapon.</p> + +<p>They were leisurely enough for him to take in the full meaning +of the portent, and to taste the flavour of death rising in his +gorge. His wife had gone raving mad—murdering +mad. They were leisurely enough for the first paralysing +effect of this discovery to pass away before a resolute +determination to come out victorious from the ghastly struggle +with that armed lunatic. They were leisurely enough for Mr +Verloc to elaborate a plan of defence involving a dash behind the +table, and the felling of the woman to the ground with a heavy +wooden chair. But they were not leisurely enough to allow +Mr Verloc the time to move either hand or foot. The knife +was already planted in his breast. It met no resistance on +its way. Hazard has such accuracies. Into that +plunging blow, delivered over the side of the couch, Mrs Verloc +had put all the inheritance of her immemorial and obscure +descent, the simple ferocity of the age of caverns, and the +unbalanced nervous fury of the age of bar-rooms. Mr Verloc, +the Secret Agent, turning slightly on his side with the force of +the blow, expired without stirring a limb, in the muttered sound +of the word “Don’t” by way of protest.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc had let go the knife, and her extraordinary +resemblance to her late brother had faded, had become very +ordinary now. She drew a deep breath, the first easy breath +since Chief Inspector Heat had exhibited to her the labelled +piece of Stevie’s overcoat. She leaned forward on her +folded arms over the side of the sofa. She adopted that +easy attitude not in order to watch or gloat over the body of Mr +Verloc, but because of the undulatory and swinging movements of +the parlour, which for some time behaved as though it were at sea +in a tempest. She was giddy but calm. She had become +a free woman with a perfection of freedom which left her nothing +to desire and absolutely nothing to do, since Stevie’s +urgent claim on her devotion no longer existed. Mrs Verloc, +who thought in images, was not troubled now by visions, because +she did not think at all. And she did not move. She +was a woman enjoying her complete irresponsibility and endless +leisure, almost in the manner of a corpse. She did not +move, she did not think. Neither did the mortal envelope of +the late Mr Verloc reposing on the sofa. Except for the +fact that Mrs Verloc breathed these two would have been perfect +in accord: that accord of prudent reserve without superfluous +words, and sparing of signs, which had been the foundation of +their respectable home life. For it had been respectable, +covering by a decent reticence the problems that may arise in the +practice of a secret profession and the commerce of shady +wares. To the last its decorum had remained undisturbed by +unseemly shrieks and other misplaced sincerities of +conduct. And after the striking of the blow, this +respectability was continued in immobility and silence.</p> + +<p>Nothing moved in the parlour till Mrs Verloc raised her head +slowly and looked at the clock with inquiring mistrust. She +had become aware of a ticking sound in the room. It grew +upon her ear, while she remembered clearly that the clock on the +wall was silent, had no audible tick. What did it mean by +beginning to tick so loudly all of a sudden? Its face +indicated ten minutes to nine. Mrs Verloc cared nothing for +time, and the ticking went on. She concluded it could not +be the clock, and her sullen gaze moved along the walls, wavered, +and became vague, while she strained her hearing to locate the +sound. Tic, tic, tic.</p> + +<p>After listening for some time Mrs Verloc lowered her gaze +deliberately on her husband’s body. Its attitude of +repose was so home-like and familiar that she could do so without +feeling embarrassed by any pronounced novelty in the phenomena of +her home life. Mr Verloc was taking his habitual +ease. He looked comfortable.</p> + +<p>By the position of the body the face of Mr Verloc was not +visible to Mrs Verloc, his widow. Her fine, sleepy eyes, +travelling downward on the track of the sound, became +contemplative on meeting a flat object of bone which protruded a +little beyond the edge of the sofa. It was the handle of +the domestic carving knife with nothing strange about it but its +position at right angles to Mr Verloc’s waistcoat and the +fact that something dripped from it. Dark drops fell on the +floorcloth one after another, with a sound of ticking growing +fast and furious like the pulse of an insane clock. At its +highest speed this ticking changed into a continuous sound of +trickling. Mrs Verloc watched that transformation with +shadows of anxiety coming and going on her face. It was a +trickle, dark, swift, thin. . . . Blood!</p> + +<p>At this unforeseen circumstance Mrs Verloc abandoned her pose +of idleness and irresponsibility.</p> + +<p>With a sudden snatch at her skirts and a faint shriek she ran +to the door, as if the trickle had been the first sign of a +destroying flood. Finding the table in her way she gave it +a push with both hands as though it had been alive, with such +force that it went for some distance on its four legs, making a +loud, scraping racket, whilst the big dish with the joint crashed +heavily on the floor.</p> + +<p>Then all became still. Mrs Verloc on reaching the door +had stopped. A round hat disclosed in the middle of the +floor by the moving of the table rocked slightly on its crown in +the wind of her flight.</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<p>Winnie Verloc, the widow of Mr Verloc, the sister of the late +faithful Stevie (blown to fragments in a state of innocence and +in the conviction of being engaged in a humanitarian enterprise), +did not run beyond the door of the parlour. She had indeed +run away so far from a mere trickle of blood, but that was a +movement of instinctive repulsion. And there she had +paused, with staring eyes and lowered head. As though she +had run through long years in her flight across the small +parlour, Mrs Verloc by the door was quite a different person from +the woman who had been leaning over the sofa, a little swimmy in +her head, but otherwise free to enjoy the profound calm of +idleness and irresponsibility. Mrs Verloc was no longer +giddy. Her head was steady. On the other hand, she +was no longer calm. She was afraid.</p> + +<p>If she avoided looking in the direction of her reposing +husband it was not because she was afraid of him. Mr Verloc +was not frightful to behold. He looked comfortable. +Moreover, he was dead. Mrs Verloc entertained no vain +delusions on the subject of the dead. Nothing brings them +back, neither love nor hate. They can do nothing to +you. They are as nothing. Her mental state was tinged +by a sort of austere contempt for that man who had let himself be +killed so easily. He had been the master of a house, the +husband of a woman, and the murderer of her Stevie. And now +he was of no account in every respect. He was of less +practical account than the clothing on his body, than his +overcoat, than his boots—than that hat lying on the +floor. He was nothing. He was not worth looking +at. He was even no longer the murderer of poor +Stevie. The only murderer that would be found in the room +when people came to look for Mr Verloc would +be—herself!</p> + +<p>Her hands shook so that she failed twice in the task of +refastening her veil. Mrs Verloc was no longer a person of +leisure and responsibility. She was afraid. The +stabbing of Mr Verloc had been only a blow. It had relieved +the pent-up agony of shrieks strangled in her throat, of tears +dried up in her hot eyes, of the maddening and indignant rage at +the atrocious part played by that man, who was less than nothing +now, in robbing her of the boy.</p> + +<p>It had been an obscurely prompted blow. The blood +trickling on the floor off the handle of the knife had turned it +into an extremely plain case of murder. Mrs Verloc, who +always refrained from looking deep into things, was compelled to +look into the very bottom of this thing. She saw there no +haunting face, no reproachful shade, no vision of remorse, no +sort of ideal conception. She saw there an object. +That object was the gallows. Mrs Verloc was afraid of the +gallows.</p> + +<p>She was terrified of them ideally. Having never set eyes +on that last argument of men’s justice except in +illustrative woodcuts to a certain type of tales, she first saw +them erect against a black and stormy background, festooned with +chains and human bones, circled about by birds that peck at dead +men’s eyes. This was frightful enough, but Mrs +Verloc, though not a well-informed woman, had a sufficient +knowledge of the institutions of her country to know that gallows +are no longer erected romantically on the banks of dismal rivers +or on wind-swept headlands, but in the yards of jails. +There within four high walls, as if into a pit, at dawn of day, +the murderer was brought out to be executed, with a horrible +quietness and, as the reports in the newspapers always said, +“in the presence of the authorities.” With her +eyes staring on the floor, her nostrils quivering with anguish +and shame, she imagined herself all alone amongst a lot of +strange gentlemen in silk hats who were calmly proceeding about +the business of hanging her by the neck. +That—never! Never! And how was it done? +The impossibility of imagining the details of such quiet +execution added something maddening to her abstract terror. +The newspapers never gave any details except one, but that one +with some affectation was always there at the end of a meagre +report. Mrs Verloc remembered its nature. It came +with a cruel burning pain into her head, as if the words +“The drop given was fourteen feet” had been scratched +on her brain with a hot needle. “The drop given was +fourteen feet.”</p> + +<p>These words affected her physically too. Her throat +became convulsed in waves to resist strangulation; and the +apprehension of the jerk was so vivid that she seized her head in +both hands as if to save it from being torn off her +shoulders. “The drop given was fourteen +feet.” No! that must never be. She could not +stand <i>that</i>. The thought of it even was not +bearable. She could not stand thinking of it. +Therefore Mrs Verloc formed the resolution to go at once and +throw herself into the river off one of the bridges.</p> + +<p>This time she managed to refasten her veil. With her +face as if masked, all black from head to foot except for some +flowers in her hat, she looked up mechanically at the +clock. She thought it must have stopped. She could +not believe that only two minutes had passed since she had looked +at it last. Of course not. It had been stopped all +the time. As a matter of fact, only three minutes had +elapsed from the moment she had drawn the first deep, easy breath +after the blow, to this moment when Mrs Verloc formed the +resolution to drown herself in the Thames. But Mrs Verloc +could not believe that. She seemed to have heard or read +that clocks and watches always stopped at the moment of murder +for the undoing of the murderer. She did not care. +“To the bridge—and over I go.” . . . But her +movements were slow.</p> + +<p>She dragged herself painfully across the shop, and had to hold +on to the handle of the door before she found the necessary +fortitude to open it. The street frightened her, since it +led either to the gallows or to the river. She floundered +over the doorstep head forward, arms thrown out, like a person +falling over the parapet of a bridge. This entrance into +the open air had a foretaste of drowning; a slimy dampness +enveloped her, entered her nostrils, clung to her hair. It +was not actually raining, but each gas lamp had a rusty little +halo of mist. The van and horses were gone, and in the +black street the curtained window of the carters’ +eating-house made a square patch of soiled blood-red light +glowing faintly very near the level of the pavement. Mrs +Verloc, dragging herself slowly towards it, thought that she was +a very friendless woman. It was true. It was so true +that, in a sudden longing to see some friendly face, she could +think of no one else but of Mrs Neale, the charwoman. She +had no acquaintances of her own. Nobody would miss her in a +social way. It must not be imagined that the Widow Verloc +had forgotten her mother. This was not so. Winnie had +been a good daughter because she had been a devoted sister. +Her mother had always leaned on her for support. No +consolation or advice could be expected there. Now that +Stevie was dead the bond seemed to be broken. She could not +face the old woman with the horrible tale. Moreover, it was +too far. The river was her present destination. Mrs +Verloc tried to forget her mother.</p> + +<p>Each step cost her an effort of will which seemed the last +possible. Mrs Verloc had dragged herself past the red glow +of the eating-house window. “To the bridge—and +over I go,” she repeated to herself with fierce +obstinacy. She put out her hand just in time to steady +herself against a lamp-post. “I’ll never get +there before morning,” she thought. The fear of death +paralysed her efforts to escape the gallows. It seemed to +her she had been staggering in that street for hours. +“I’ll never get there,” she thought. +“They’ll find me knocking about the streets. +It’s too far.” She held on, panting under her +black veil.</p> + +<p>“The drop given was fourteen feet.”</p> + +<p>She pushed the lamp-post away from her violently, and found +herself walking. But another wave of faintness overtook her +like a great sea, washing away her heart clean out of her +breast. “I will never get there,” she muttered, +suddenly arrested, swaying lightly where she stood. +“Never.”</p> + +<p>And perceiving the utter impossibility of walking as far as +the nearest bridge, Mrs Verloc thought of a flight abroad.</p> + +<p>It came to her suddenly. Murderers escaped. They +escaped abroad. Spain or California. Mere +names. The vast world created for the glory of man was only +a vast blank to Mrs Verloc. She did not know which way to +turn. Murderers had friends, relations, helpers—they +had knowledge. She had nothing. She was the most +lonely of murderers that ever struck a mortal blow. She was +alone in London: and the whole town of marvels and mud, with its +maze of streets and its mass of lights, was sunk in a hopeless +night, rested at the bottom of a black abyss from which no +unaided woman could hope to scramble out.</p> + +<p>She swayed forward, and made a fresh start blindly, with an +awful dread of falling down; but at the end of a few steps, +unexpectedly, she found a sensation of support, of +security. Raising her head, she saw a man’s face +peering closely at her veil. Comrade Ossipon was not afraid +of strange women, and no feeling of false delicacy could prevent +him from striking an acquaintance with a woman apparently very +much intoxicated. Comrade Ossipon was interested in +women. He held up this one between his two large palms, +peering at her in a business-like way till he heard her say +faintly “Mr Ossipon!” and then he very nearly let her +drop to the ground.</p> + +<p>“Mrs Verloc!” he exclaimed. “You +here!”</p> + +<p>It seemed impossible to him that she should have been +drinking. But one never knows. He did not go into +that question, but attentive not to discourage kind fate +surrendering to him the widow of Comrade Verloc, he tried to draw +her to his breast. To his astonishment she came quite +easily, and even rested on his arm for a moment before she +attempted to disengage herself. Comrade Ossipon would not +be brusque with kind fate. He withdrew his arm in a natural +way.</p> + +<p>“You recognised me,” she faltered out, standing +before him, fairly steady on her legs.</p> + +<p>“Of course I did,” said Ossipon with perfect +readiness. “I was afraid you were going to +fall. I’ve thought of you too often lately not to +recognise you anywhere, at any time. I’ve always +thought of you—ever since I first set eyes on +you.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc seemed not to hear. “You were coming to +the shop?” she said nervously.</p> + +<p>“Yes; at once,” answered Ossipon. +“Directly I read the paper.”</p> + +<p>In fact, Comrade Ossipon had been skulking for a good two +hours in the neighbourhood of Brett Street, unable to make up his +mind for a bold move. The robust anarchist was not exactly +a bold conqueror. He remembered that Mrs Verloc had never +responded to his glances by the slightest sign of +encouragement. Besides, he thought the shop might be +watched by the police, and Comrade Ossipon did not wish the +police to form an exaggerated notion of his revolutionary +sympathies. Even now he did not know precisely what to +do. In comparison with his usual amatory speculations this +was a big and serious undertaking. He ignored how much +there was in it and how far he would have to go in order to get +hold of what there was to get—supposing there was a chance +at all. These perplexities checking his elation imparted to +his tone a soberness well in keeping with the circumstances.</p> + +<p>“May I ask you where you were going?” he inquired +in a subdued voice.</p> + +<p>“Don’t ask me!” cried Mrs Verloc with a +shuddering, repressed violence. All her strong vitality +recoiled from the idea of death. “Never mind where I +was going. . . .”</p> + +<p>Ossipon concluded that she was very much excited but perfectly +sober. She remained silent by his side for moment, then all +at once she did something which he did not expect. She +slipped her hand under his arm. He was startled by the act +itself certainly, and quite as much too by the palpably resolute +character of this movement. But this being a delicate +affair, Comrade Ossipon behaved with delicacy. He contented +himself by pressing the hand slightly against his robust +ribs. At the same time he felt himself being impelled +forward, and yielded to the impulse. At the end of Brett +Street he became aware of being directed to the left. He +submitted.</p> + +<p>The fruiterer at the corner had put out the blazing glory of +his oranges and lemons, and Brett Place was all darkness, +interspersed with the misty halos of the few lamps defining its +triangular shape, with a cluster of three lights on one stand in +the middle. The dark forms of the man and woman glided +slowly arm in arm along the walls with a loverlike and homeless +aspect in the miserable night.</p> + +<p>“What would you say if I were to tell you that I was +going to find you?” Mrs Verloc asked, gripping his arm with +force.</p> + +<p>“I would say that you couldn’t find anyone more +ready to help you in your trouble,” answered Ossipon, with +a notion of making tremendous headway. In fact, the +progress of this delicate affair was almost taking his breath +away.</p> + +<p>“In my trouble!” Mrs Verloc repeated slowly.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And do you know what my trouble is?” she +whispered with strange intensity.</p> + +<p>“Ten minutes after seeing the evening paper,” +explained Ossipon with ardour, “I met a fellow whom you may +have seen once or twice at the shop perhaps, and I had a talk +with him which left no doubt whatever in my mind. Then I +started for here, wondering whether you—I’ve been +fond of you beyond words ever since I set eyes on your +face,” he cried, as if unable to command his feelings.</p> + +<p>Comrade Ossipon assumed correctly that no woman was capable of +wholly disbelieving such a statement. But he did not know +that Mrs Verloc accepted it with all the fierceness the instinct +of self-preservation puts into the grip of a drowning +person. To the widow of Mr Verloc the robust anarchist was +like a radiant messenger of life.</p> + +<p>They walked slowly, in step. “I thought so,” +Mrs Verloc murmured faintly.</p> + +<p>“You’ve read it in my eyes,” suggested +Ossipon with great assurance.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she breathed out into his inclined ear.</p> + +<p>“A love like mine could not be concealed from a woman +like you,” he went on, trying to detach his mind from +material considerations such as the business value of the shop, +and the amount of money Mr Verloc might have left in the +bank. He applied himself to the sentimental side of the +affair. In his heart of hearts he was a little shocked at +his success. Verloc had been a good fellow, and certainly a +very decent husband as far as one could see. However, +Comrade Ossipon was not going to quarrel with his luck for the +sake of a dead man. Resolutely he suppressed his sympathy +for the ghost of Comrade Verloc, and went on.</p> + +<p>“I could not conceal it. I was too full of +you. I daresay you could not help seeing it in my +eyes. But I could not guess it. You were always so +distant. . . .”</p> + +<p>“What else did you expect?” burst out Mrs +Verloc. “I was a respectable woman—”</p> + +<p>She paused, then added, as if speaking to herself, in sinister +resentment: “Till he made me what I am.”</p> + +<p>Ossipon let that pass, and took up his running. +“He never did seem to me to be quite worthy of you,” +he began, throwing loyalty to the winds. “You were +worthy of a better fate.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc interrupted bitterly:</p> + +<p>“Better fate! He cheated me out of seven years of +life.”</p> + +<p>“You seemed to live so happily with him.” +Ossipon tried to exculpate the lukewarmness of his past +conduct. “It’s that what’s made me +timid. You seemed to love him. I was +surprised—and jealous,” he added.</p> + +<p>“Love him!” Mrs Verloc cried out in a whisper, +full of scorn and rage. “Love him! I was a good +wife to him. I am a respectable woman. You thought I +loved him! You did! Look here, Tom—”</p> + +<p>The sound of this name thrilled Comrade Ossipon with +pride. For his name was Alexander, and he was called Tom by +arrangement with the most familiar of his intimates. It was +a name of friendship—of moments of expansion. He had +no idea that she had ever heard it used by anybody. It was +apparent that she had not only caught it, but had treasured it in +her memory—perhaps in her heart.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Tom! I was a young girl. I was +done up. I was tired. I had two people depending on +what I could do, and it did seem as if I couldn’t do any +more. Two people—mother and the boy. He was +much more mine than mother’s. I sat up nights and +nights with him on my lap, all alone upstairs, when I +wasn’t more than eight years old myself. And +then—He was mine, I tell you. . . . You can’t +understand that. No man can understand it. What was I +to do? There was a young fellow—”</p> + +<p>The memory of the early romance with the young butcher +survived, tenacious, like the image of a glimpsed ideal in that +heart quailing before the fear of the gallows and full of revolt +against death.</p> + +<p>“That was the man I loved then,” went on the widow +of Mr Verloc. “I suppose he could see it in my eyes +too. Five and twenty shillings a week, and his father +threatened to kick him out of the business if he made such a fool +of himself as to marry a girl with a crippled mother and a crazy +idiot of a boy on her hands. But he would hang about me, +till one evening I found the courage to slam the door in his +face. I had to do it. I loved him dearly. Five +and twenty shillings a week! There was that other +man—a good lodger. What is a girl to do? Could +I’ve gone on the streets? He seemed kind. He +wanted me, anyhow. What was I to do with mother and that +poor boy? Eh? I said yes. He seemed +good-natured, he was freehanded, he had money, he never said +anything. Seven years—seven years a good wife to him, +the kind, the good, the generous, the—And he loved +me. Oh yes. He loved me till I sometimes wished +myself—Seven years. Seven years a wife to him. +And do you know what he was, that dear friend of yours? Do +you know what he was? He was a devil!”</p> + +<p>The superhuman vehemence of that whispered statement +completely stunned Comrade Ossipon. Winnie Verloc turning +about held him by both arms, facing him under the falling mist in +the darkness and solitude of Brett Place, in which all sounds of +life seemed lost as if in a triangular well of asphalt and +bricks, of blind houses and unfeeling stones.</p> + +<p>“No; I didn’t know,” he declared, with a +sort of flabby stupidity, whose comical aspect was lost upon a +woman haunted by the fear of the gallows, “but I do +now. I—I understand,” he floundered on, his +mind speculating as to what sort of atrocities Verloc could have +practised under the sleepy, placid appearances of his married +estate. It was positively awful. “I +understand,” he repeated, and then by a sudden inspiration +uttered an—“Unhappy woman!” of lofty +commiseration instead of the more familiar “Poor +darling!” of his usual practice. This was no usual +case. He felt conscious of something abnormal going on, +while he never lost sight of the greatness of the stake. +“Unhappy, brave woman!”</p> + +<p>He was glad to have discovered that variation; but he could +discover nothing else.</p> + +<p>“Ah, but he is dead now,” was the best he could +do. And he put a remarkable amount of animosity into his +guarded exclamation. Mrs Verloc caught at his arm with a +sort of frenzy.</p> + +<p>“You guessed then he was dead,” she murmured, as +if beside herself. “You! You guessed what I had +to do. Had to!”</p> + +<p>There were suggestions of triumph, relief, gratitude in the +indefinable tone of these words. It engrossed the whole +attention of Ossipon to the detriment of mere literal +sense. He wondered what was up with her, why she had worked +herself into this state of wild excitement. He even began +to wonder whether the hidden causes of that Greenwich Park affair +did not lie deep in the unhappy circumstances of the +Verlocs’ married life. He went so far as to suspect +Mr Verloc of having selected that extraordinary manner of +committing suicide. By Jove! that would account for the +utter inanity and wrong-headedness of the thing. No +anarchist manifestation was required by the circumstances. +Quite the contrary; and Verloc was as well aware of that as any +other revolutionist of his standing. What an immense joke +if Verloc had simply made fools of the whole of Europe, of the +revolutionary world, of the police, of the press, and of the +cocksure Professor as well. Indeed, thought Ossipon, in +astonishment, it seemed almost certain that he did! Poor +beggar! It struck him as very possible that of that +household of two it wasn’t precisely the man who was the +devil.</p> + +<p>Alexander Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, was naturally +inclined to think indulgently of his men friends. He eyed +Mrs Verloc hanging on his arm. Of his women friends he +thought in a specially practical way. Why Mrs Verloc should +exclaim at his knowledge of Mr Verloc’s death, which was no +guess at all, did not disturb him beyond measure. They +often talked like lunatics. But he was curious to know how +she had been informed. The papers could tell her nothing +beyond the mere fact: the man blown to pieces in Greenwich Park +not having been identified. It was inconceivable on any +theory that Verloc should have given her an inkling of his +intention—whatever it was. This problem interested +Comrade Ossipon immensely. He stopped short. They had +gone then along the three sides of Brett Place, and were near the +end of Brett Street again.</p> + +<p>“How did you first come to hear of it?” he asked +in a tone he tried to render appropriate to the character of the +revelations which had been made to him by the woman at his +side.</p> + +<p>She shook violently for a while before she answered in a +listless voice.</p> + +<p>“From the police. A chief inspector came, Chief +Inspector Heat he said he was. He showed +me—”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc choked. “Oh, Tom, they had to gather +him up with a shovel.”</p> + +<p>Her breast heaved with dry sobs. In a moment Ossipon +found his tongue.</p> + +<p>“The police! Do you mean to say the police came +already? That Chief Inspector Heat himself actually came to +tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she confirmed in the same listless +tone. “He came just like this. He came. I +didn’t know. He showed me a piece of overcoat, +and—just like that. Do you know this? he +says.”</p> + +<p>“Heat! Heat! And what did he do?”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc’s head dropped. “Nothing. +He did nothing. He went away. The police were on that +man’s side,” she murmured tragically. +“Another one came too.”</p> + +<p>“Another—another inspector, do you mean?” +asked Ossipon, in great excitement, and very much in the tone of +a scared child.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. He came. He looked like +a foreigner. He may have been one of them Embassy +people.”</p> + +<p>Comrade Ossipon nearly collapsed under this new shock.</p> + +<p>“Embassy! Are you aware what you are saying? +What Embassy? What on earth do you mean by +Embassy?”</p> + +<p>“It’s that place in Chesham Square. The +people he cursed so. I don’t know. What does it +matter!”</p> + +<p>“And that fellow, what did he do or say to +you?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t remember. . . . Nothing . . . . I +don’t care. Don’t ask me,” she pleaded in +a weary voice.</p> + +<p>“All right. I won’t,” assented Ossipon +tenderly. And he meant it too, not because he was touched +by the pathos of the pleading voice, but because he felt himself +losing his footing in the depths of this tenebrous affair. +Police! Embassy! Phew! For fear of adventuring +his intelligence into ways where its natural lights might fail to +guide it safely he dismissed resolutely all suppositions, +surmises, and theories out of his mind. He had the woman +there, absolutely flinging herself at him, and that was the +principal consideration. But after what he had heard +nothing could astonish him any more. And when Mrs Verloc, +as if startled suddenly out of a dream of safety, began to urge +upon him wildly the necessity of an immediate flight on the +Continent, he did not exclaim in the least. He simply said +with unaffected regret that there was no train till the morning, +and stood looking thoughtfully at her face, veiled in black net, +in the light of a gas lamp veiled in a gauze of mist.</p> + +<p>Near him, her black form merged in the night, like a figure +half chiselled out of a block of black stone. It was +impossible to say what she knew, how deep she was involved with +policemen and Embassies. But if she wanted to get away, it +was not for him to object. He was anxious to be off +himself. He felt that the business, the shop so strangely +familiar to chief inspectors and members of foreign Embassies, +was not the place for him. That must be dropped. But +there was the rest. These savings. The money!</p> + +<p>“You must hide me till the morning somewhere,” she +said in a dismayed voice.</p> + +<p>“Fact is, my dear, I can’t take you where I +live. I share the room with a friend.”</p> + +<p>He was somewhat dismayed himself. In the morning the +blessed ’tecs will be out in all the stations, no +doubt. And if they once got hold of her, for one reason or +another she would be lost to him indeed.</p> + +<p>“But you must. Don’t you care for me at +all—at all? What are you thinking of?”</p> + +<p>She said this violently, but she let her clasped hands fall in +discouragement. There was a silence, while the mist fell, +and darkness reigned undisturbed over Brett Place. Not a +soul, not even the vagabond, lawless, and amorous soul of a cat, +came near the man and the woman facing each other.</p> + +<p>“It would be possible perhaps to find a safe lodging +somewhere,” Ossipon spoke at last. “But the +truth is, my dear, I have not enough money to go and try +with—only a few pence. We revolutionists are not +rich.”</p> + +<p>He had fifteen shillings in his pocket. He added:</p> + +<p>“And there’s the journey before us, +too—first thing in the morning at that.”</p> + +<p>She did not move, made no sound, and Comrade Ossipon’s +heart sank a little. Apparently she had no suggestion to +offer. Suddenly she clutched at her breast, as if she had +felt a sharp pain there.</p> + +<p>“But I have,” she gasped. “I have the +money. I have enough money. Tom! Let us go from +here.”</p> + +<p>“How much have you got?” he inquired, without +stirring to her tug; for he was a cautious man.</p> + +<p>“I have the money, I tell you. All the +money.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by it? All the money there was +in the bank, or what?” he asked incredulously, but ready +not to be surprised at anything in the way of luck.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes!” she said nervously. “All +there was. I’ve it all.”</p> + +<p>“How on earth did you manage to get hold of it +already?” he marvelled.</p> + +<p>“He gave it to me,” she murmured, suddenly subdued +and trembling. Comrade Ossipon put down his rising surprise +with a firm hand.</p> + +<p>“Why, then—we are saved,” he uttered +slowly.</p> + +<p>She leaned forward, and sank against his breast. He +welcomed her there. She had all the money. Her hat +was in the way of very marked effusion; her veil too. He +was adequate in his manifestations, but no more. She +received them without resistance and without abandonment, +passively, as if only half-sensible. She freed herself from +his lax embraces without difficulty.</p> + +<p>“You will save me, Tom,” she broke out, recoiling, +but still keeping her hold on him by the two lapels of his damp +coat. “Save me. Hide me. Don’t let +them have me. You must kill me first. I +couldn’t do it myself—I couldn’t, I +couldn’t—not even for what I am afraid of.”</p> + +<p>She was confoundedly bizarre, he thought. She was +beginning to inspire him with an indefinite uneasiness. He +said surlily, for he was busy with important thoughts:</p> + +<p>“What the devil <i>are</i> you afraid of?”</p> + +<p>“Haven’t you guessed what I was driven to +do!” cried the woman. Distracted by the vividness of +her dreadful apprehensions, her head ringing with forceful words, +that kept the horror of her position before her mind, she had +imagined her incoherence to be clearness itself. She had no +conscience of how little she had audibly said in the disjointed +phrases completed only in her thought. She had felt the +relief of a full confession, and she gave a special meaning to +every sentence spoken by Comrade Ossipon, whose knowledge did not +in the least resemble her own. “Haven’t you +guessed what I was driven to do!” Her voice +fell. “You needn’t be long in guessing then +what I am afraid of,” she continued, in a bitter and sombre +murmur. “I won’t have it. I +won’t. I won’t. I won’t. You +must promise to kill me first!” She shook the lapels +of his coat. “It must never be!”</p> + +<p>He assured her curtly that no promises on his part were +necessary, but he took good care not to contradict her in set +terms, because he had had much to do with excited women, and he +was inclined in general to let his experience guide his conduct +in preference to applying his sagacity to each special +case. His sagacity in this case was busy in other +directions. Women’s words fell into water, but the +shortcomings of time-tables remained. The insular nature of +Great Britain obtruded itself upon his notice in an odious +form. “Might just as well be put under lock and key +every night,” he thought irritably, as nonplussed as though +he had a wall to scale with the woman on his back. Suddenly +he slapped his forehead. He had by dint of cudgelling his +brains just thought of the Southampton—St Malo +service. The boat left about midnight. There was a +train at 10.30. He became cheery and ready to act.</p> + +<p>“From Waterloo. Plenty of time. We are all +right after all. . . . What’s the matter now? This +isn’t the way,” he protested.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc, having hooked her arm into his, was trying to drag +him into Brett Street again.</p> + +<p>“I’ve forgotten to shut the shop door as I went +out,” she whispered, terribly agitated.</p> + +<p>The shop and all that was in it had ceased to interest Comrade +Ossipon. He knew how to limit his desires. He was on +the point of saying “What of that? Let it be,” +but he refrained. He disliked argument about trifles. +He even mended his pace considerably on the thought that she +might have left the money in the drawer. But his +willingness lagged behind her feverish impatience.</p> + +<p>The shop seemed to be quite dark at first. The door +stood ajar. Mrs Verloc, leaning against the front, gasped +out:</p> + +<p>“Nobody has been in. Look! The +light—the light in the parlour.”</p> + +<p>Ossipon, stretching his head forward, saw a faint gleam in the +darkness of the shop.</p> + +<p>“There is,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I forgot it.” Mrs Verloc’s voice came from +behind her veil faintly. And as he stood waiting for her to +enter first, she said louder: “Go in and put it +out—or I’ll go mad.”</p> + +<p>He made no immediate objection to this proposal, so strangely +motived. “Where’s all that money?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“On me! Go, Tom. Quick! Put it out. . +. . Go in!” she cried, seizing him by both shoulders from +behind.</p> + +<p>Not prepared for a display of physical force, Comrade Ossipon +stumbled far into the shop before her push. He was +astonished at the strength of the woman and scandalised by her +proceedings. But he did not retrace his steps in order to +remonstrate with her severely in the street. He was +beginning to be disagreeably impressed by her fantastic +behaviour. Moreover, this or never was the time to humour +the woman. Comrade Ossipon avoided easily the end of the +counter, and approached calmly the glazed door of the +parlour. The curtain over the panes being drawn back a +little he, by a very natural impulse, looked in, just as he made +ready to turn the handle. He looked in without a thought, +without intention, without curiosity of any sort. He looked +in because he could not help looking in. He looked in, and +discovered Mr Verloc reposing quietly on the sofa.</p> + +<p>A yell coming from the innermost depths of his chest died out +unheard and transformed into a sort of greasy, sickly taste on +his lips. At the same time the mental personality of +Comrade Ossipon executed a frantic leap backward. But his +body, left thus without intellectual guidance, held on to the +door handle with the unthinking force of an instinct. The +robust anarchist did not even totter. And he stared, his +face close to the glass, his eyes protruding out of his +head. He would have given anything to get away, but his +returning reason informed him that it would not do to let go the +door handle. What was it—madness, a nightmare, or a +trap into which he had been decoyed with fiendish +artfulness? Why—what for? He did not +know. Without any sense of guilt in his breast, in the full +peace of his conscience as far as these people were concerned, +the idea that he would be murdered for mysterious reasons by the +couple Verloc passed not so much across his mind as across the +pit of his stomach, and went out, leaving behind a trail of +sickly faintness—an indisposition. Comrade Ossipon +did not feel very well in a very special way for a moment—a +long moment. And he stared. Mr Verloc lay very still +meanwhile, simulating sleep for reasons of his own, while that +savage woman of his was guarding the door—invisible and +silent in the dark and deserted street. Was all this a some +sort of terrifying arrangement invented by the police for his +especial benefit? His modesty shrank from that +explanation.</p> + +<p>But the true sense of the scene he was beholding came to +Ossipon through the contemplation of the hat. It seemed an +extraordinary thing, an ominous object, a sign. Black, and +rim upward, it lay on the floor before the couch as if prepared +to receive the contributions of pence from people who would come +presently to behold Mr Verloc in the fullness of his domestic +ease reposing on a sofa. From the hat the eyes of the +robust anarchist wandered to the displaced table, gazed at the +broken dish for a time, received a kind of optical shock from +observing a white gleam under the imperfectly closed eyelids of +the man on the couch. Mr Verloc did not seem so much asleep +now as lying down with a bent head and looking insistently at his +left breast. And when Comrade Ossipon had made out the +handle of the knife he turned away from the glazed door, and +retched violently.</p> + +<p>The crash of the street door flung to made his very soul leap +in a panic. This house with its harmless tenant could still +be made a trap of—a trap of a terrible kind. Comrade +Ossipon had no settled conception now of what was happening to +him. Catching his thigh against the end of the counter, he +spun round, staggered with a cry of pain, felt in the distracting +clatter of the bell his arms pinned to his side by a convulsive +hug, while the cold lips of a woman moved creepily on his very +ear to form the words:</p> + +<p>“Policeman! He has seen me!”</p> + +<p>He ceased to struggle; she never let him go. Her hands +had locked themselves with an inseparable twist of fingers on his +robust back. While the footsteps approached, they breathed +quickly, breast to breast, with hard, laboured breaths, as if +theirs had been the attitude of a deadly struggle, while, in +fact, it was the attitude of deadly fear. And the time was +long.</p> + +<p>The constable on the beat had in truth seen something of Mrs +Verloc; only coming from the lighted thoroughfare at the other +end of Brett Street, she had been no more to him than a flutter +in the darkness. And he was not even quite sure that there +had been a flutter. He had no reason to hurry up. On +coming abreast of the shop he observed that it had been closed +early. There was nothing very unusual in that. The +men on duty had special instructions about that shop: what went +on about there was not to be meddled with unless absolutely +disorderly, but any observations made were to be reported. +There were no observations to make; but from a sense of duty and +for the peace of his conscience, owing also to that doubtful +flutter of the darkness, the constable crossed the road, and +tried the door. The spring latch, whose key was reposing +for ever off duty in the late Mr Verloc’s waistcoat pocket, +held as well as usual. While the conscientious officer was +shaking the handle, Ossipon felt the cold lips of the woman +stirring again creepily against his very ear:</p> + +<p>“If he comes in kill me—kill me, Tom.”</p> + +<p>The constable moved away, flashing as he passed the light of +his dark lantern, merely for form’s sake, at the shop +window. For a moment longer the man and the woman inside +stood motionless, panting, breast to breast; then her fingers +came unlocked, her arms fell by her side slowly. Ossipon +leaned against the counter. The robust anarchist wanted +support badly. This was awful. He was almost too +disgusted for speech. Yet he managed to utter a plaintive +thought, showing at least that he realised his position.</p> + +<p>“Only a couple of minutes later and you’d have +made me blunder against the fellow poking about here with his +damned dark lantern.”</p> + +<p>The widow of Mr Verloc, motionless in the middle of the shop, +said insistently:</p> + +<p>“Go in and put that light out, Tom. It will drive +me crazy.”</p> + +<p>She saw vaguely his vehement gesture of refusal. Nothing +in the world would have induced Ossipon to go into the +parlour. He was not superstitious, but there was too much +blood on the floor; a beastly pool of it all round the hat. +He judged he had been already far too near that corpse for his +peace of mind—for the safety of his neck, perhaps!</p> + +<p>“At the meter then! There. Look. In +that corner.”</p> + +<p>The robust form of Comrade Ossipon, striding brusque and +shadowy across the shop, squatted in a corner obediently; but +this obedience was without grace. He fumbled +nervously—and suddenly in the sound of a muttered curse the +light behind the glazed door flicked out to a gasping, hysterical +sigh of a woman. Night, the inevitable reward of +men’s faithful labours on this earth, night had fallen on +Mr Verloc, the tried revolutionist—“one of the old +lot”—the humble guardian of society; the invaluable +Secret Agent [delta] of Baron Stott-Wartenheim’s +despatches; a servant of law and order, faithful, trusted, +accurate, admirable, with perhaps one single amiable weakness: +the idealistic belief in being loved for himself.</p> + +<p>Ossipon groped his way back through the stuffy atmosphere, as +black as ink now, to the counter. The voice of Mrs Verloc, +standing in the middle of the shop, vibrated after him in that +blackness with a desperate protest.</p> + +<p>“I will not be hanged, Tom. I will +not—”</p> + +<p>She broke off. Ossipon from the counter issued a +warning: “Don’t shout like this,” then seemed +to reflect profoundly. “You did this thing quite by +yourself?” he inquired in a hollow voice, but with an +appearance of masterful calmness which filled Mrs Verloc’s +heart with grateful confidence in his protecting strength.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she whispered, invisible.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t have believed it possible,” he +muttered. “Nobody would.” She heard him +move about and the snapping of a lock in the parlour door. +Comrade Ossipon had turned the key on Mr Verloc’s repose; +and this he did not from reverence for its eternal nature or any +other obscurely sentimental consideration, but for the precise +reason that he was not at all sure that there was not someone +else hiding somewhere in the house. He did not believe the +woman, or rather he was incapable by now of judging what could be +true, possible, or even probable in this astounding +universe. He was terrified out of all capacity for belief +or disbelief in regard of this extraordinary affair, which began +with police inspectors and Embassies and would end goodness knows +where—on the scaffold for someone. He was terrified +at the thought that he could not prove the use he made of his +time ever since seven o’clock, for he had been skulking +about Brett Street. He was terrified at this savage woman +who had brought him in there, and would probably saddle him with +complicity, at least if he were not careful. He was +terrified at the rapidity with which he had been involved in such +dangers—decoyed into it. It was some twenty minutes +since he had met her—not more.</p> + +<p>The voice of Mrs Verloc rose subdued, pleading piteously: +“Don’t let them hang me, Tom! Take me out of +the country. I’ll work for you. I’ll +slave for you. I’ll love you. I’ve no one +in the world. . . . Who would look at me if you +don’t!” She ceased for a moment; then in the +depths of the loneliness made round her by an insignificant +thread of blood trickling off the handle of a knife, she found a +dreadful inspiration to her—who had been the respectable +girl of the Belgravian mansion, the loyal, respectable wife of Mr +Verloc. “I won’t ask you to marry me,” +she breathed out in shame-faced accents.</p> + +<p>She moved a step forward in the darkness. He was +terrified at her. He would not have been surprised if she +had suddenly produced another knife destined for his +breast. He certainly would have made no resistance. +He had really not enough fortitude in him just then to tell her +to keep back. But he inquired in a cavernous, strange tone: +“Was he asleep?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she cried, and went on rapidly. +“He wasn’t. Not he. He had been telling +me that nothing could touch him. After taking the boy away +from under my very eyes to kill him—the loving, innocent, +harmless lad. My own, I tell you. He was lying on the +couch quite easy—after killing the boy—my boy. +I would have gone on the streets to get out of his sight. +And he says to me like this: ‘Come here,’ after +telling me I had helped to kill the boy. You hear, +Tom? He says like this: ‘Come here,’ after +taking my very heart out of me along with the boy to smash in the +dirt.”</p> + +<p>She ceased, then dreamily repeated twice: “Blood and +dirt. Blood and dirt.” A great light broke upon +Comrade Ossipon. It was that half-witted lad then who had +perished in the park. And the fooling of everybody all +round appeared more complete than ever—colossal. He +exclaimed scientifically, in the extremity of his astonishment: +“The degenerate—by heavens!”</p> + +<p>“Come here.” The voice of Mrs Verloc rose +again. “What did he think I was made of? Tell +me, Tom. Come here! Me! Like this! I had +been looking at the knife, and I thought I would come then if he +wanted me so much. Oh yes! I came—for the last +time. . . . With the knife.”</p> + +<p>He was excessively terrified at her—the sister of the +degenerate—a degenerate herself of a murdering type . . . +or else of the lying type. Comrade Ossipon might have been +said to be terrified scientifically in addition to all other +kinds of fear. It was an immeasurable and composite funk, +which from its very excess gave him in the dark a false +appearance of calm and thoughtful deliberation. For he +moved and spoke with difficulty, being as if half frozen in his +will and mind—and no one could see his ghastly face. +He felt half dead.</p> + +<p>He leaped a foot high. Unexpectedly Mrs Verloc had +desecrated the unbroken reserved decency of her home by a shrill +and terrible shriek.</p> + +<p>“Help, Tom! Save me. I won’t be +hanged!”</p> + +<p>He rushed forward, groping for her mouth with a silencing +hand, and the shriek died out. But in his rush he had +knocked her over. He felt her now clinging round his legs, +and his terror reached its culminating point, became a sort of +intoxication, entertained delusions, acquired the characteristics +of delirium tremens. He positively saw snakes now. He +saw the woman twined round him like a snake, not to be shaken +off. She was not deadly. She was death +itself—the companion of life.</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc, as if relieved by the outburst, was very far from +behaving noisily now. She was pitiful.</p> + +<p>“Tom, you can’t throw me off now,” she +murmured from the floor. “Not unless you crush my +head under your heel. I won’t leave you.”</p> + +<p>“Get up,” said Ossipon.</p> + +<p>His face was so pale as to be quite visible in the profound +black darkness of the shop; while Mrs Verloc, veiled, had no +face, almost no discernible form. The trembling of +something small and white, a flower in her hat, marked her place, +her movements.</p> + +<p>It rose in the blackness. She had got up from the floor, +and Ossipon regretted not having run out at once into the +street. But he perceived easily that it would not do. +It would not do. She would run after him. She would +pursue him shrieking till she sent every policeman within hearing +in chase. And then goodness only knew what she would say of +him. He was so frightened that for a moment the insane +notion of strangling her in the dark passed through his +mind. And he became more frightened than ever! She +had him! He saw himself living in abject terror in some +obscure hamlet in Spain or Italy; till some fine morning they +found him dead too, with a knife in his breast—like Mr +Verloc. He sighed deeply. He dared not move. +And Mrs Verloc waited in silence the good pleasure of her +saviour, deriving comfort from his reflective silence.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he spoke up in an almost natural voice. His +reflections had come to an end.</p> + +<p>“Let’s get out, or we will lose the +train.”</p> + +<p>“Where are we going to, Tom?” she asked +timidly. Mrs Verloc was no longer a free woman.</p> + +<p>“Let’s get to Paris first, the best way we can. . +. . Go out first, and see if the way’s clear.”</p> + +<p>She obeyed. Her voice came subdued through the +cautiously opened door.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right.”</p> + +<p>Ossipon came out. Notwithstanding his endeavours to be +gentle, the cracked bell clattered behind the closed door in the +empty shop, as if trying in vain to warn the reposing Mr Verloc +of the final departure of his wife—accompanied by his +friend.</p> + +<p>In the hansom they presently picked up, the robust anarchist +became explanatory. He was still awfully pale, with eyes +that seemed to have sunk a whole half-inch into his tense +face. But he seemed to have thought of everything with +extraordinary method.</p> + +<p>“When we arrive,” he discoursed in a queer, +monotonous tone, “you must go into the station ahead of me, +as if we did not know each other. I will take the tickets, +and slip in yours into your hand as I pass you. Then you +will go into the first-class ladies’ waiting-room, and sit +there till ten minutes before the train starts. Then you +come out. I will be outside. You go in first on the +platform, as if you did not know me. There may be eyes +watching there that know what’s what. Alone you are +only a woman going off by train. I am known. With me, +you may be guessed at as Mrs Verloc running away. Do you +understand, my dear?” he added, with an effort.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mrs Verloc, sitting there against him +in the hansom all rigid with the dread of the gallows and the +fear of death. “Yes, Tom.” And she added +to herself, like an awful refrain: “The drop given was +fourteen feet.”</p> + +<p>Ossipon, not looking at her, and with a face like a fresh +plaster cast of himself after a wasting illness, said: +“By-the-by, I ought to have the money for the tickets +now.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc, undoing some hooks of her bodice, while she went +on staring ahead beyond the splashboard, handed over to him the +new pigskin pocket-book. He received it without a word, and +seemed to plunge it deep somewhere into his very breast. +Then he slapped his coat on the outside.</p> + +<p>All this was done without the exchange of a single glance; +they were like two people looking out for the first sight of a +desired goal. It was not till the hansom swung round a +corner and towards the bridge that Ossipon opened his lips +again.</p> + +<p>“Do you know how much money there is in that +thing?” he asked, as if addressing slowly some hobgoblin +sitting between the ears of the horse.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mrs Verloc. “He gave it to +me. I didn’t count. I thought nothing of it at +the time. Afterwards—”</p> + +<p>She moved her right hand a little. It was so expressive +that little movement of that right hand which had struck the +deadly blow into a man’s heart less than an hour before +that Ossipon could not repress a shudder. He exaggerated it +then purposely, and muttered:</p> + +<p>“I am cold. I got chilled through.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc looked straight ahead at the perspective of her +escape. Now and then, like a sable streamer blown across a +road, the words “The drop given was fourteen feet” +got in the way of her tense stare. Through her black veil +the whites of her big eyes gleamed lustrously like the eyes of a +masked woman.</p> + +<p>Ossipon’s rigidity had something business-like, a queer +official expression. He was heard again all of a sudden, as +though he had released a catch in order to speak.</p> + +<p>“Look here! Do you know whether your—whether +he kept his account at the bank in his own name or in some other +name.”</p> + +<p>Mrs Verloc turned upon him her masked face and the big white +gleam of her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Other name?” she said thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Be exact in what you say,” Ossipon lectured in +the swift motion of the hansom. “It’s extremely +important. I will explain to you. The bank has the +numbers of these notes. If they were paid to him in his own +name, then when his—his death becomes known, the notes may +serve to track us since we have no other money. You have no +other money on you?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head negatively.</p> + +<p>“None whatever?” he insisted.</p> + +<p>“A few coppers.”</p> + +<p>“It would be dangerous in that case. The money +would have then to be dealt specially with. Very +specially. We’d have perhaps to lose more than half +the amount in order to get these notes changed in a certain safe +place I know of in Paris. In the other case I mean if he +had his account and got paid out under some other name—say +Smith, for instance—the money is perfectly safe to +use. You understand? The bank has no means of knowing +that Mr Verloc and, say, Smith are one and the same person. +Do you see how important it is that you should make no mistake in +answering me? Can you answer that query at all? +Perhaps not. Eh?”</p> + +<p>She said composedly:</p> + +<p>“I remember now! He didn’t bank in his own +name. He told me once that it was on deposit in the name of +Prozor.”</p> + +<p>“You are sure?”</p> + +<p>“Certain.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t think the bank had any knowledge of his +real name? Or anybody in the bank or—”</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“How can I know? Is it likely, Tom?</p> + +<p>“No. I suppose it’s not likely. It +would have been more comfortable to know. . . . Here we +are. Get out first, and walk straight in. Move +smartly.”</p> + +<p>He remained behind, and paid the cabman out of his own loose +silver. The programme traced by his minute foresight was +carried out. When Mrs Verloc, with her ticket for St Malo +in her hand, entered the ladies’ waiting-room, Comrade +Ossipon walked into the bar, and in seven minutes absorbed three +goes of hot brandy and water.</p> + +<p>“Trying to drive out a cold,” he explained to the +barmaid, with a friendly nod and a grimacing smile. Then he +came out, bringing out from that festive interlude the face of a +man who had drunk at the very Fountain of Sorrow. He raised +his eyes to the clock. It was time. He waited.</p> + +<p>Punctual, Mrs Verloc came out, with her veil down, and all +black—black as commonplace death itself, crowned with a few +cheap and pale flowers. She passed close to a little group +of men who were laughing, but whose laughter could have been +struck dead by a single word. Her walk was indolent, but +her back was straight, and Comrade Ossipon looked after it in +terror before making a start himself.</p> + +<p>The train was drawn up, with hardly anybody about its row of +open doors. Owing to the time of the year and to the +abominable weather there were hardly any passengers. Mrs +Verloc walked slowly along the line of empty compartments till +Ossipon touched her elbow from behind.</p> + +<p>“In here.”</p> + +<p>She got in, and he remained on the platform looking +about. She bent forward, and in a whisper:</p> + +<p>“What is it, Tom? Is there any danger? Wait +a moment. There’s the guard.”</p> + +<p>She saw him accost the man in uniform. They talked for a +while. She heard the guard say “Very well, +sir,” and saw him touch his cap. Then Ossipon came +back, saying: “I told him not to let anybody get into our +compartment.”</p> + +<p>She was leaning forward on her seat. “You think of +everything. . . . You’ll get me off, Tom?” she asked +in a gust of anguish, lifting her veil brusquely to look at her +saviour.</p> + +<p>She had uncovered a face like adamant. And out of this +face the eyes looked on, big, dry, enlarged, lightless, burnt out +like two black holes in the white, shining globes.</p> + +<p>“There is no danger,” he said, gazing into them +with an earnestness almost rapt, which to Mrs Verloc, flying from +the gallows, seemed to be full of force and tenderness. +This devotion deeply moved her—and the adamantine face lost +the stern rigidity of its terror. Comrade Ossipon gazed at +it as no lover ever gazed at his mistress’s face. +Alexander Ossipon, anarchist, nicknamed the Doctor, author of a +medical (and improper) pamphlet, late lecturer on the social +aspects of hygiene to working men’s clubs, was free from +the trammels of conventional morality—but he submitted to +the rule of science. He was scientific, and he gazed +scientifically at that woman, the sister of a degenerate, a +degenerate herself—of a murdering type. He gazed at +her, and invoked Lombroso, as an Italian peasant recommends +himself to his favourite saint. He gazed +scientifically. He gazed at her cheeks, at her nose, at her +eyes, at her ears. . . . Bad! . . . Fatal! Mrs +Verloc’s pale lips parting, slightly relaxed under his +passionately attentive gaze, he gazed also at her teeth. . . . +Not a doubt remained . . . a murdering type. . . . If Comrade +Ossipon did not recommend his terrified soul to Lombroso, it was +only because on scientific grounds he could not believe that he +carried about him such a thing as a soul. But he had in him +the scientific spirit, which moved him to testify on the platform +of a railway station in nervous jerky phrases.</p> + +<p>“He was an extraordinary lad, that brother of +yours. Most interesting to study. A perfect type in a +way. Perfect!”</p> + +<p>He spoke scientifically in his secret fear. And Mrs +Verloc, hearing these words of commendation vouchsafed to her +beloved dead, swayed forward with a flicker of light in her +sombre eyes, like a ray of sunshine heralding a tempest of +rain.</p> + +<p>“He was that indeed,” she whispered softly, with +quivering lips. “You took a lot of notice of him, +Tom. I loved you for it.”</p> + +<p>“It’s almost incredible the resemblance there was +between you two,” pursued Ossipon, giving a voice to his +abiding dread, and trying to conceal his nervous, sickening +impatience for the train to start. “Yes; he resembled +you.”</p> + +<p>These words were not especially touching or sympathetic. +But the fact of that resemblance insisted upon was enough in +itself to act upon her emotions powerfully. With a little +faint cry, and throwing her arms out, Mrs Verloc burst into tears +at last.</p> + +<p>Ossipon entered the carriage, hastily closed the door and +looked out to see the time by the station clock. Eight +minutes more. For the first three of these Mrs Verloc wept +violently and helplessly without pause or interruption. +Then she recovered somewhat, and sobbed gently in an abundant +fall of tears. She tried to talk to her saviour, to the man +who was the messenger of life.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Tom! How could I fear to die after he was +taken away from me so cruelly! How could I! How could +I be such a coward!”</p> + +<p>She lamented aloud her love of life, that life without grace +or charm, and almost without decency, but of an exalted +faithfulness of purpose, even unto murder. And, as often +happens in the lament of poor humanity, rich in suffering but +indigent in words, the truth—the very cry of +truth—was found in a worn and artificial shape picked up +somewhere among the phrases of sham sentiment.</p> + +<p>“How could I be so afraid of death! Tom, I +tried. But I am afraid. I tried to do away with +myself. And I couldn’t. Am I hard? I +suppose the cup of horrors was not full enough for such as +me. Then when you came. . . . ”</p> + +<p>She paused. Then in a gust of confidence and gratitude, +“I will live all my days for you, Tom!” she sobbed +out.</p> + +<p>“Go over into the other corner of the carriage, away +from the platform,” said Ossipon solicitously. She +let her saviour settle her comfortably, and he watched the coming +on of another crisis of weeping, still more violent than the +first. He watched the symptoms with a sort of medical air, +as if counting seconds. He heard the guard’s whistle +at last. An involuntary contraction of the upper lip bared +his teeth with all the aspect of savage resolution as he felt the +train beginning to move. Mrs Verloc heard and felt nothing, +and Ossipon, her saviour, stood still. He felt the train +roll quicker, rumbling heavily to the sound of the woman’s +loud sobs, and then crossing the carriage in two long strides he +opened the door deliberately, and leaped out.</p> + +<p>He had leaped out at the very end of the platform; and such +was his determination in sticking to his desperate plan that he +managed by a sort of miracle, performed almost in the air, to +slam to the door of the carriage. Only then did he find +himself rolling head over heels like a shot rabbit. He was +bruised, shaken, pale as death, and out of breath when he got +up. But he was calm, and perfectly able to meet the excited +crowd of railway men who had gathered round him in a +moment. He explained, in gentle and convincing tones, that +his wife had started at a moment’s notice for Brittany to +her dying mother; that, of course, she was greatly up-set, and he +considerably concerned at her state; that he was trying to cheer +her up, and had absolutely failed to notice at first that the +train was moving out. To the general exclamation, +“Why didn’t you go on to Southampton, then, +sir?” he objected the inexperience of a young sister-in-law +left alone in the house with three small children, and her alarm +at his absence, the telegraph offices being closed. He had +acted on impulse. “But I don’t think I’ll +ever try that again,” he concluded; smiled all round; +distributed some small change, and marched without a limp out of +the station.</p> + +<p>Outside, Comrade Ossipon, flush of safe banknotes as never +before in his life, refused the offer of a cab.</p> + +<p>“I can walk,” he said, with a little friendly +laugh to the civil driver.</p> + +<p>He could walk. He walked. He crossed the +bridge. Later on the towers of the Abbey saw in their +massive immobility the yellow bush of his hair passing under the +lamps. The lights of Victoria saw him too, and Sloane +Square, and the railings of the park. And Comrade Ossipon +once more found himself on a bridge. The river, a sinister +marvel of still shadows and flowing gleams mingling below in a +black silence, arrested his attention. He stood looking +over the parapet for a long time. The clock tower boomed a +brazen blast above his drooping head. He looked up at the +dial. . . . Half-past twelve of a wild night in the Channel.</p> + +<p>And again Comrade Ossipon walked. His robust form was +seen that night in distant parts of the enormous town slumbering +monstrously on a carpet of mud under a veil of raw mist. It +was seen crossing the streets without life and sound, or +diminishing in the interminable straight perspectives of shadowy +houses bordering empty roadways lined by strings of gas +lamps. He walked through Squares, Places, Ovals, Commons, +through monotonous streets with unknown names where the dust of +humanity settles inert and hopeless out of the stream of +life. He walked. And suddenly turning into a strip of +a front garden with a mangy grass plot, he let himself into a +small grimy house with a latch-key he took out of his pocket.</p> + +<p>He threw himself down on his bed all dressed, and lay still +for a whole quarter of an hour. Then he sat up suddenly, +drawing up his knees, and clasping his legs. The first dawn +found him open-eyed, in that same posture. This man who +could walk so long, so far, so aimlessly, without showing a sign +of fatigue, could also remain sitting still for hours without +stirring a limb or an eyelid. But when the late sun sent +its rays into the room he unclasped his hands, and fell back on +the pillow. His eyes stared at the ceiling. And +suddenly they closed. Comrade Ossipon slept in the +sunlight.</p> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<p>The enormous iron padlock on the doors of the wall cupboard +was the only object in the room on which the eye could rest +without becoming afflicted by the miserable unloveliness of forms +and the poverty of material. Unsaleable in the ordinary +course of business on account of its noble proportions, it had +been ceded to the Professor for a few pence by a marine dealer in +the east of London. The room was large, clean, respectable, +and poor with that poverty suggesting the starvation of every +human need except mere bread. There was nothing on the +walls but the paper, an expanse of arsenical green, soiled with +indelible smudges here and there, and with stains resembling +faded maps of uninhabited continents.</p> + +<p>At a deal table near a window sat Comrade Ossipon, holding his +head between his fists. The Professor, dressed in his only +suit of shoddy tweeds, but flapping to and fro on the bare boards +a pair of incredibly dilapidated slippers, had thrust his hands +deep into the overstrained pockets of his jacket. He was +relating to his robust guest a visit he had lately been paying to +the Apostle Michaelis. The Perfect Anarchist had even been +unbending a little.</p> + +<p>“The fellow didn’t know anything of Verloc’s +death. Of course! He never looks at the +newspapers. They make him too sad, he says. But never +mind. I walked into his cottage. Not a soul +anywhere. I had to shout half-a-dozen times before he +answered me. I thought he was fast asleep yet, in +bed. But not at all. He had been writing his book for +four hours already. He sat in that tiny cage in a litter of +manuscript. There was a half-eaten raw carrot on the table +near him. His breakfast. He lives on a diet of raw +carrots and a little milk now.”</p> + +<p>“How does he look on it?” asked Comrade Ossipon +listlessly.</p> + +<p>“Angelic. . . . I picked up a handful of his pages from +the floor. The poverty of reasoning is astonishing. +He has no logic. He can’t think consecutively. +But that’s nothing. He has divided his biography into +three parts, entitled—‘Faith, Hope, +Charity.’ He is elaborating now the idea of a world +planned out like an immense and nice hospital, with gardens and +flowers, in which the strong are to devote themselves to the +nursing of the weak.”</p> + +<p>The Professor paused.</p> + +<p>“Conceive you this folly, Ossipon? The weak! +The source of all evil on this earth!” he continued with +his grim assurance. “I told him that I dreamt of a +world like shambles, where the weak would be taken in hand for +utter extermination.”</p> + +<p>“Do you understand, Ossipon? The source of all +evil! They are our sinister masters—the weak, the +flabby, the silly, the cowardly, the faint of heart, and the +slavish of mind. They have power. They are the +multitude. Theirs is the kingdom of the earth. +Exterminate, exterminate! That is the only way of +progress. It is! Follow me, Ossipon. First the +great multitude of the weak must go, then the only relatively +strong. You see? First the blind, then the deaf and +the dumb, then the halt and the lame—and so on. Every +taint, every vice, every prejudice, every convention must meet +its doom.”</p> + +<p>“And what remains?” asked Ossipon in a stifled +voice.</p> + +<p>“I remain—if I am strong enough,” asserted +the sallow little Professor, whose large ears, thin like +membranes, and standing far out from the sides of his frail +skull, took on suddenly a deep red tint.</p> + +<p>“Haven’t I suffered enough from this oppression of +the weak?” he continued forcibly. Then tapping the +breast-pocket of his jacket: “And yet <i>I am</i> the +force,” he went on. “But the time! The +time! Give me time! Ah! that multitude, too stupid to +feel either pity or fear. Sometimes I think they have +everything on their side. Everything—even +death—my own weapon.”</p> + +<p>“Come and drink some beer with me at the Silenus,” +said the robust Ossipon after an interval of silence pervaded by +the rapid flap, flap of the slippers on the feet of the Perfect +Anarchist. This last accepted. He was jovial that day +in his own peculiar way. He slapped Ossipon’s +shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Beer! So be it! Let us drink and be merry, +for we are strong, and to-morrow we die.”</p> + +<p>He busied himself with putting on his boots, and talked +meanwhile in his curt, resolute tones.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with you, Ossipon? You +look glum and seek even my company. I hear that you are +seen constantly in places where men utter foolish things over +glasses of liquor. Why? Have you abandoned your +collection of women? They are the weak who feed the +strong—eh?”</p> + +<p>He stamped one foot, and picked up his other laced boot, +heavy, thick-soled, unblacked, mended many times. He smiled +to himself grimly.</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Ossipon, terrible man, has ever one of your +victims killed herself for you—or are your triumphs so far +incomplete—for blood alone puts a seal on greatness? +Blood. Death. Look at history.”</p> + +<p>“You be damned,” said Ossipon, without turning his +head.</p> + +<p>“Why? Let that be the hope of the weak, whose +theology has invented hell for the strong. Ossipon, my +feeling for you is amicable contempt. You couldn’t +kill a fly.”</p> + +<p>But rolling to the feast on the top of the omnibus the +Professor lost his high spirits. The contemplation of the +multitudes thronging the pavements extinguished his assurance +under a load of doubt and uneasiness which he could only shake +off after a period of seclusion in the room with the large +cupboard closed by an enormous padlock.</p> + +<p>“And so,” said over his shoulder Comrade Ossipon, +who sat on the seat behind. “And so Michaelis dreams +of a world like a beautiful and cheery hospital.”</p> + +<p>“Just so. An immense charity for the healing of +the weak,” assented the Professor sardonically.</p> + +<p>“That’s silly,” admitted Ossipon. +“You can’t heal weakness. But after all +Michaelis may not be so far wrong. In two hundred years +doctors will rule the world. Science reigns already. +It reigns in the shade maybe—but it reigns. And all +science must culminate at last in the science of +healing—not the weak, but the strong. Mankind wants +to live—to live.”</p> + +<p>“Mankind,” asserted the Professor with a +self-confident glitter of his iron-rimmed spectacles, “does +not know what it wants.”</p> + +<p>“But you do,” growled Ossipon. “Just +now you’ve been crying for time—time. +Well. The doctors will serve you out your time—if you +are good. You profess yourself to be one of the +strong—because you carry in your pocket enough stuff to +send yourself and, say, twenty other people into eternity. +But eternity is a damned hole. It’s time that you +need. You—if you met a man who could give you for +certain ten years of time, you would call him your +master.”</p> + +<p>“My device is: No God! No Master,” said the +Professor sententiously as he rose to get off the ’bus.</p> + +<p>Ossipon followed. “Wait till you are lying flat on +your back at the end of your time,” he retorted, jumping +off the footboard after the other. “Your scurvy, +shabby, mangy little bit of time,” he continued across the +street, and hopping on to the curbstone.</p> + +<p>“Ossipon, I think that you are a humbug,” the +Professor said, opening masterfully the doors of the renowned +Silenus. And when they had established themselves at a +little table he developed further this gracious thought. +“You are not even a doctor. But you are funny. +Your notion of a humanity universally putting out the tongue and +taking the pill from pole to pole at the bidding of a few solemn +jokers is worthy of the prophet. Prophecy! +What’s the good of thinking of what will be!” +He raised his glass. “To the destruction of what +is,” he said calmly.</p> + +<p>He drank and relapsed into his peculiarly close manner of +silence. The thought of a mankind as numerous as the sands +of the sea-shore, as indestructible, as difficult to handle, +oppressed him. The sound of exploding bombs was lost in +their immensity of passive grains without an echo. For +instance, this Verloc affair. Who thought of it now?</p> + +<p>Ossipon, as if suddenly compelled by some mysterious force, +pulled a much-folded newspaper out of his pocket. The +Professor raised his head at the rustle.</p> + +<p>“What’s that paper? Anything in it?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>Ossipon started like a scared somnambulist.</p> + +<p>“Nothing. Nothing whatever. The +thing’s ten days old. I forgot it in my pocket, I +suppose.”</p> + +<p>But he did not throw the old thing away. Before +returning it to his pocket he stole a glance at the last lines of +a paragraph. They ran thus: “<i>An impenetrable +mystery seems destined to hang for ever over this act of madness +or despair</i>.”</p> + +<p>Such were the end words of an item of news headed: +“Suicide of Lady Passenger from a cross-Channel +Boat.” Comrade Ossipon was familiar with the beauties +of its journalistic style. “<i>An impenetrable +mystery seems destined to hang for ever</i>. . . . ” +He knew every word by heart. “<i>An impenetrable +mystery</i>. . . . ”</p> + +<p>And the robust anarchist, hanging his head on his breast, fell +into a long reverie.</p> + +<p>He was menaced by this thing in the very sources of his +existence. He could not issue forth to meet his various +conquests, those that he courted on benches in Kensington +Gardens, and those he met near area railings, without the dread +of beginning to talk to them of an impenetrable mystery destined. +. . . He was becoming scientifically afraid of insanity lying in +wait for him amongst these lines. “<i>To hang for +ever over</i>.” It was an obsession, a torture. +He had lately failed to keep several of these appointments, whose +note used to be an unbounded trustfulness in the language of +sentiment and manly tenderness. The confiding disposition +of various classes of women satisfied the needs of his self-love, +and put some material means into his hand. He needed it to +live. It was there. But if he could no longer make +use of it, he ran the risk of starving his ideals and his body . +. . “<i>This act of madness or despair</i>.”</p> + +<p>“An impenetrable mystery” was sure “to hang +for ever” as far as all mankind was concerned. But +what of that if he alone of all men could never get rid of the +cursed knowledge? And Comrade Ossipon’s knowledge was +as precise as the newspaper man could make it—up to the +very threshold of the “<i>mystery destined to hang for +ever</i>. . . .”</p> + +<p>Comrade Ossipon was well informed. He knew what the +gangway man of the steamer had seen: “A lady in a black +dress and a black veil, wandering at midnight alongside, on the +quay. ‘Are you going by the boat, ma’am,’ +he had asked her encouragingly. ‘This +way.’ She seemed not to know what to do. He +helped her on board. She seemed weak.”</p> + +<p>And he knew also what the stewardess had seen: A lady in black +with a white face standing in the middle of the empty +ladies’ cabin. The stewardess induced her to lie down +there. The lady seemed quite unwilling to speak, and as if +she were in some awful trouble. The next the stewardess +knew she was gone from the ladies’ cabin. The +stewardess then went on deck to look for her, and Comrade Ossipon +was informed that the good woman found the unhappy lady lying +down in one of the hooded seats. Her eyes were open, but +she would not answer anything that was said to her. She +seemed very ill. The stewardess fetched the chief steward, +and those two people stood by the side of the hooded seat +consulting over their extraordinary and tragic passenger. +They talked in audible whispers (for she seemed past hearing) of +St Malo and the Consul there, of communicating with her people in +England. Then they went away to arrange for her removal +down below, for indeed by what they could see of her face she +seemed to them to be dying. But Comrade Ossipon knew that +behind that white mask of despair there was struggling against +terror and despair a vigour of vitality, a love of life that +could resist the furious anguish which drives to murder and the +fear, the blind, mad fear of the gallows. He knew. +But the stewardess and the chief steward knew nothing, except +that when they came back for her in less than five minutes the +lady in black was no longer in the hooded seat. She was +nowhere. She was gone. It was then five o’clock +in the morning, and it was no accident either. An hour +afterwards one of the steamer’s hands found a wedding ring +left lying on the seat. It had stuck to the wood in a bit +of wet, and its glitter caught the man’s eye. There +was a date, 24th June 1879, engraved inside. “<i>An +impenetrable mystery is destined to hang for ever</i>. . . . +”</p> + +<p>And Comrade Ossipon raised his bowed head, beloved of various +humble women of these isles, Apollo-like in the sunniness of its +bush of hair.</p> + +<p>The Professor had grown restless meantime. He rose.</p> + +<p>“Stay,” said Ossipon hurriedly. “Here, +what do you know of madness and despair?”</p> + +<p>The Professor passed the tip of his tongue on his dry, thin +lips, and said doctorally:</p> + +<p>“There are no such things. All passion is lost +now. The world is mediocre, limp, without force. And +madness and despair are a force. And force is a crime in +the eyes of the fools, the weak and the silly who rule the +roost. You are mediocre. Verloc, whose affair the +police has managed to smother so nicely, was mediocre. And +the police murdered him. He was mediocre. Everybody +is mediocre. Madness and despair! Give me that for a +lever, and I’ll move the world. Ossipon, you have my +cordial scorn. You are incapable of conceiving even what +the fat-fed citizen would call a crime. You have no +force.” He paused, smiling sardonically under the +fierce glitter of his thick glasses.</p> + +<p>“And let me tell you that this little legacy they say +you’ve come into has not improved your intelligence. +You sit at your beer like a dummy. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>“Will you have it?” said Ossipon, looking up with +an idiotic grin.</p> + +<p>“Have what?”</p> + +<p>“The legacy. All of it.”</p> + +<p>The incorruptible Professor only smiled. His clothes +were all but falling off him, his boots, shapeless with repairs, +heavy like lead, let water in at every step. He said:</p> + +<p>“I will send you by-and-by a small bill for certain +chemicals which I shall order to-morrow. I need them +badly. Understood—eh?”</p> + +<p>Ossipon lowered his head slowly. He was alone. +“<i>An impenetrable mystery</i>. . . . ” It +seemed to him that suspended in the air before him he saw his own +brain pulsating to the rhythm of an impenetrable mystery. +It was diseased clearly. . . . “<i>This act of +madness or despair</i>.”</p> + +<p>The mechanical piano near the door played through a valse +cheekily, then fell silent all at once, as if gone grumpy.</p> + +<p>Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, went out of the Silenus +beer-hall. At the door he hesitated, blinking at a not too +splendid sunlight—and the paper with the report of the +suicide of a lady was in his pocket. His heart was beating +against it. The suicide of a lady—<i>this act of +madness or despair</i>.</p> + +<p>He walked along the street without looking where he put his +feet; and he walked in a direction which would not bring him to +the place of appointment with another lady (an elderly nursery +governess putting her trust in an Apollo-like ambrosial +head). He was walking away from it. He could face no +woman. It was ruin. He could neither think, work, +sleep, nor eat. But he was beginning to drink with +pleasure, with anticipation, with hope. It was ruin. +His revolutionary career, sustained by the sentiment and +trustfulness of many women, was menaced by an impenetrable +mystery—the mystery of a human brain pulsating wrongfully +to the rhythm of journalistic phrases. “ . . . +<i>Will hang for ever over this act</i>. . . . It was inclining +towards the gutter . . . <i>of madness or despair</i>.”</p> + +<p>“I am seriously ill,” he muttered to himself with +scientific insight. Already his robust form, with an +Embassy’s secret-service money (inherited from Mr Verloc) +in his pockets, was marching in the gutter as if in training for +the task of an inevitable future. Already he bowed his +broad shoulders, his head of ambrosial locks, as if ready to +receive the leather yoke of the sandwich board. As on that +night, more than a week ago, Comrade Ossipon walked without +looking where he put his feet, feeling no fatigue, feeling +nothing, seeing nothing, hearing not a sound. “<i>An +impenetrable mystery</i>. . . .” He walked +disregarded. . . . “<i>This act of madness or +despair</i>.”</p> + +<p>And the incorruptible Professor walked too, averting his eyes +from the odious multitude of mankind. He had no +future. He disdained it. He was a force. His +thoughts caressed the images of ruin and destruction. He +walked frail, insignificant, shabby, miserable—and terrible +in the simplicity of his idea calling madness and despair to the +regeneration of the world. Nobody looked at him. He +passed on unsuspected and deadly, like a pest in the street full +of men.</p> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET AGENT ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ +concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Secret Agent + A Simple Tale + + +Author: Joseph Conrad + + + +Release Date: February 22, 2006 [eBook #974] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET AGENT*** + + + + + +Transcribed from the 1907 Methuen & Co edition by David Price, email +ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + + +THE SECRET AGENT +A SIMPLE TALE + + +First Published . . . September 1907 + +Second Edition . . . October 1907 + +TO +H. G. WELLS + +THE CHRONICLER OF MR LEWISHAM'S LOVE +THE BIOGRAPHER OF KIPPS AND THE +HISTORIAN OF THE AGES TO COME + +THIS SIMPLE TALE OF THE XIX CENTURY +IS AFFECTIONATELY OFFERED + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +Mr Verloc, going out in the morning, left his shop nominally in charge of +his brother-in-law. It could be done, because there was very little +business at any time, and practically none at all before the evening. Mr +Verloc cared but little about his ostensible business. And, moreover, +his wife was in charge of his brother-in-law. + +The shop was small, and so was the house. It was one of those grimy +brick houses which existed in large quantities before the era of +reconstruction dawned upon London. The shop was a square box of a place, +with the front glazed in small panes. In the daytime the door remained +closed; in the evening it stood discreetly but suspiciously ajar. + +The window contained photographs of more or less undressed dancing girls; +nondescript packages in wrappers like patent medicines; closed yellow +paper envelopes, very flimsy, and marked two-and-six in heavy black +figures; a few numbers of ancient French comic publications hung across a +string as if to dry; a dingy blue china bowl, a casket of black wood, +bottles of marking ink, and rubber stamps; a few books, with titles +hinting at impropriety; a few apparently old copies of obscure +newspapers, badly printed, with titles like _The Torch, The Gong_--rousing +titles. And the two gas jets inside the panes were always turned low, +either for economy's sake or for the sake of the customers. + +These customers were either very young men, who hung about the window for +a time before slipping in suddenly; or men of a more mature age, but +looking generally as if they were not in funds. Some of that last kind +had the collars of their overcoats turned right up to their moustaches, +and traces of mud on the bottom of their nether garments, which had the +appearance of being much worn and not very valuable. And the legs inside +them did not, as a general rule, seem of much account either. With their +hands plunged deep in the side pockets of their coats, they dodged in +sideways, one shoulder first, as if afraid to start the bell going. + +The bell, hung on the door by means of a curved ribbon of steel, was +difficult to circumvent. It was hopelessly cracked; but of an evening, +at the slightest provocation, it clattered behind the customer with +impudent virulence. + +It clattered; and at that signal, through the dusty glass door behind the +painted deal counter, Mr Verloc would issue hastily from the parlour at +the back. His eyes were naturally heavy; he had an air of having +wallowed, fully dressed, all day on an unmade bed. Another man would +have felt such an appearance a distinct disadvantage. In a commercial +transaction of the retail order much depends on the seller's engaging and +amiable aspect. But Mr Verloc knew his business, and remained +undisturbed by any sort of aesthetic doubt about his appearance. With a +firm, steady-eyed impudence, which seemed to hold back the threat of some +abominable menace, he would proceed to sell over the counter some object +looking obviously and scandalously not worth the money which passed in +the transaction: a small cardboard box with apparently nothing inside, +for instance, or one of those carefully closed yellow flimsy envelopes, +or a soiled volume in paper covers with a promising title. Now and then +it happened that one of the faded, yellow dancing girls would get sold to +an amateur, as though she had been alive and young. + +Sometimes it was Mrs Verloc who would appear at the call of the cracked +bell. Winnie Verloc was a young woman with a full bust, in a tight +bodice, and with broad hips. Her hair was very tidy. Steady-eyed like +her husband, she preserved an air of unfathomable indifference behind the +rampart of the counter. Then the customer of comparatively tender years +would get suddenly disconcerted at having to deal with a woman, and with +rage in his heart would proffer a request for a bottle of marking ink, +retail value sixpence (price in Verloc's shop one-and-sixpence), which, +once outside, he would drop stealthily into the gutter. + +The evening visitors--the men with collars turned up and soft hats rammed +down--nodded familiarly to Mrs Verloc, and with a muttered greeting, +lifted up the flap at the end of the counter in order to pass into the +back parlour, which gave access to a passage and to a steep flight of +stairs. The door of the shop was the only means of entrance to the house +in which Mr Verloc carried on his business of a seller of shady wares, +exercised his vocation of a protector of society, and cultivated his +domestic virtues. These last were pronounced. He was thoroughly +domesticated. Neither his spiritual, nor his mental, nor his physical +needs were of the kind to take him much abroad. He found at home the +ease of his body and the peace of his conscience, together with Mrs +Verloc's wifely attentions and Mrs Verloc's mother's deferential regard. + +Winnie's mother was a stout, wheezy woman, with a large brown face. She +wore a black wig under a white cap. Her swollen legs rendered her +inactive. She considered herself to be of French descent, which might +have been true; and after a good many years of married life with a +licensed victualler of the more common sort, she provided for the years +of widowhood by letting furnished apartments for gentlemen near Vauxhall +Bridge Road in a square once of some splendour and still included in the +district of Belgravia. This topographical fact was of some advantage in +advertising her rooms; but the patrons of the worthy widow were not +exactly of the fashionable kind. Such as they were, her daughter Winnie +helped to look after them. Traces of the French descent which the widow +boasted of were apparent in Winnie too. They were apparent in the +extremely neat and artistic arrangement of her glossy dark hair. Winnie +had also other charms: her youth; her full, rounded form; her clear +complexion; the provocation of her unfathomable reserve, which never went +so far as to prevent conversation, carried on on the lodgers' part with +animation, and on hers with an equable amiability. It must be that Mr +Verloc was susceptible to these fascinations. Mr Verloc was an +intermittent patron. He came and went without any very apparent reason. +He generally arrived in London (like the influenza) from the Continent, +only he arrived unheralded by the Press; and his visitations set in with +great severity. He breakfasted in bed, and remained wallowing there with +an air of quiet enjoyment till noon every day--and sometimes even to a +later hour. But when he went out he seemed to experience a great +difficulty in finding his way back to his temporary home in the +Belgravian square. He left it late, and returned to it early--as early +as three or four in the morning; and on waking up at ten addressed +Winnie, bringing in the breakfast tray, with jocular, exhausted civility, +in the hoarse, failing tones of a man who had been talking vehemently for +many hours together. His prominent, heavy-lidded eyes rolled sideways +amorously and languidly, the bedclothes were pulled up to his chin, and +his dark smooth moustache covered his thick lips capable of much honeyed +banter. + +In Winnie's mother's opinion Mr Verloc was a very nice gentleman. From +her life's experience gathered in various "business houses" the good +woman had taken into her retirement an ideal of gentlemanliness as +exhibited by the patrons of private-saloon bars. Mr Verloc approached +that ideal; he attained it, in fact. + +"Of course, we'll take over your furniture, mother," Winnie had remarked. + +The lodging-house was to be given up. It seems it would not answer to +carry it on. It would have been too much trouble for Mr Verloc. It +would not have been convenient for his other business. What his business +was he did not say; but after his engagement to Winnie he took the +trouble to get up before noon, and descending the basement stairs, make +himself pleasant to Winnie's mother in the breakfast-room downstairs +where she had her motionless being. He stroked the cat, poked the fire, +had his lunch served to him there. He left its slightly stuffy cosiness +with evident reluctance, but, all the same, remained out till the night +was far advanced. He never offered to take Winnie to theatres, as such a +nice gentleman ought to have done. His evenings were occupied. His work +was in a way political, he told Winnie once. She would have, he warned +her, to be very nice to his political friends. + +And with her straight, unfathomable glance she answered that she would be +so, of course. + +How much more he told her as to his occupation it was impossible for +Winnie's mother to discover. The married couple took her over with the +furniture. The mean aspect of the shop surprised her. The change from +the Belgravian square to the narrow street in Soho affected her legs +adversely. They became of an enormous size. On the other hand, she +experienced a complete relief from material cares. Her son-in-law's +heavy good nature inspired her with a sense of absolute safety. Her +daughter's future was obviously assured, and even as to her son Stevie +she need have no anxiety. She had not been able to conceal from herself +that he was a terrible encumbrance, that poor Stevie. But in view of +Winnie's fondness for her delicate brother, and of Mr Verloc's kind and +generous disposition, she felt that the poor boy was pretty safe in this +rough world. And in her heart of hearts she was not perhaps displeased +that the Verlocs had no children. As that circumstance seemed perfectly +indifferent to Mr Verloc, and as Winnie found an object of quasi-maternal +affection in her brother, perhaps this was just as well for poor Stevie. + +For he was difficult to dispose of, that boy. He was delicate and, in a +frail way, good-looking too, except for the vacant droop of his lower +lip. Under our excellent system of compulsory education he had learned +to read and write, notwithstanding the unfavourable aspect of the lower +lip. But as errand-boy he did not turn out a great success. He forgot +his messages; he was easily diverted from the straight path of duty by +the attractions of stray cats and dogs, which he followed down narrow +alleys into unsavoury courts; by the comedies of the streets, which he +contemplated open-mouthed, to the detriment of his employer's interests; +or by the dramas of fallen horses, whose pathos and violence induced him +sometimes to shriek pierceingly in a crowd, which disliked to be +disturbed by sounds of distress in its quiet enjoyment of the national +spectacle. When led away by a grave and protecting policeman, it would +often become apparent that poor Stevie had forgotten his address--at +least for a time. A brusque question caused him to stutter to the point +of suffocation. When startled by anything perplexing he used to squint +horribly. However, he never had any fits (which was encouraging); and +before the natural outbursts of impatience on the part of his father he +could always, in his childhood's days, run for protection behind the +short skirts of his sister Winnie. On the other hand, he might have been +suspected of hiding a fund of reckless naughtiness. When he had reached +the age of fourteen a friend of his late father, an agent for a foreign +preserved milk firm, having given him an opening as office-boy, he was +discovered one foggy afternoon, in his chief's absence, busy letting off +fireworks on the staircase. He touched off in quick succession a set of +fierce rockets, angry catherine wheels, loudly exploding squibs--and the +matter might have turned out very serious. An awful panic spread through +the whole building. Wild-eyed, choking clerks stampeded through the +passages full of smoke, silk hats and elderly business men could be seen +rolling independently down the stairs. Stevie did not seem to derive any +personal gratification from what he had done. His motives for this +stroke of originality were difficult to discover. It was only later on +that Winnie obtained from him a misty and confused confession. It seems +that two other office-boys in the building had worked upon his feelings +by tales of injustice and oppression till they had wrought his compassion +to the pitch of that frenzy. But his father's friend, of course, +dismissed him summarily as likely to ruin his business. After that +altruistic exploit Stevie was put to help wash the dishes in the basement +kitchen, and to black the boots of the gentlemen patronising the +Belgravian mansion. There was obviously no future in such work. The +gentlemen tipped him a shilling now and then. Mr Verloc showed himself +the most generous of lodgers. But altogether all that did not amount to +much either in the way of gain or prospects; so that when Winnie +announced her engagement to Mr Verloc her mother could not help +wondering, with a sigh and a glance towards the scullery, what would +become of poor Stephen now. + +It appeared that Mr Verloc was ready to take him over together with his +wife's mother and with the furniture, which was the whole visible fortune +of the family. Mr Verloc gathered everything as it came to his broad, +good-natured breast. The furniture was disposed to the best advantage +all over the house, but Mrs Verloc's mother was confined to two back +rooms on the first floor. The luckless Stevie slept in one of them. By +this time a growth of thin fluffy hair had come to blur, like a golden +mist, the sharp line of his small lower jaw. He helped his sister with +blind love and docility in her household duties. Mr Verloc thought that +some occupation would be good for him. His spare time he occupied by +drawing circles with compass and pencil on a piece of paper. He applied +himself to that pastime with great industry, with his elbows spread out +and bowed low over the kitchen table. Through the open door of the +parlour at the back of the shop Winnie, his sister, glanced at him from +time to time with maternal vigilance. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Such was the house, the household, and the business Mr Verloc left behind +him on his way westward at the hour of half-past ten in the morning. It +was unusually early for him; his whole person exhaled the charm of almost +dewy freshness; he wore his blue cloth overcoat unbuttoned; his boots +were shiny; his cheeks, freshly shaven, had a sort of gloss; and even his +heavy-lidded eyes, refreshed by a night of peaceful slumber, sent out +glances of comparative alertness. Through the park railings these +glances beheld men and women riding in the Row, couples cantering past +harmoniously, others advancing sedately at a walk, loitering groups of +three or four, solitary horsemen looking unsociable, and solitary women +followed at a long distance by a groom with a cockade to his hat and a +leather belt over his tight-fitting coat. Carriages went bowling by, +mostly two-horse broughams, with here and there a victoria with the skin +of some wild beast inside and a woman's face and hat emerging above the +folded hood. And a peculiarly London sun--against which nothing could be +said except that it looked bloodshot--glorified all this by its stare. It +hung at a moderate elevation above Hyde Park Corner with an air of +punctual and benign vigilance. The very pavement under Mr Verloc's feet +had an old-gold tinge in that diffused light, in which neither wall, nor +tree, nor beast, nor man cast a shadow. Mr Verloc was going westward +through a town without shadows in an atmosphere of powdered old gold. +There were red, coppery gleams on the roofs of houses, on the corners of +walls, on the panels of carriages, on the very coats of the horses, and +on the broad back of Mr Verloc's overcoat, where they produced a dull +effect of rustiness. But Mr Verloc was not in the least conscious of +having got rusty. He surveyed through the park railings the evidences of +the town's opulence and luxury with an approving eye. All these people +had to be protected. Protection is the first necessity of opulence and +luxury. They had to be protected; and their horses, carriages, houses, +servants had to be protected; and the source of their wealth had to be +protected in the heart of the city and the heart of the country; the +whole social order favourable to their hygienic idleness had to be +protected against the shallow enviousness of unhygienic labour. It had +to--and Mr Verloc would have rubbed his hands with satisfaction had he +not been constitutionally averse from every superfluous exertion. His +idleness was not hygienic, but it suited him very well. He was in a +manner devoted to it with a sort of inert fanaticism, or perhaps rather +with a fanatical inertness. Born of industrious parents for a life of +toil, he had embraced indolence from an impulse as profound as +inexplicable and as imperious as the impulse which directs a man's +preference for one particular woman in a given thousand. He was too lazy +even for a mere demagogue, for a workman orator, for a leader of labour. +It was too much trouble. He required a more perfect form of ease; or it +might have been that he was the victim of a philosophical unbelief in the +effectiveness of every human effort. Such a form of indolence requires, +implies, a certain amount of intelligence. Mr Verloc was not devoid of +intelligence--and at the notion of a menaced social order he would +perhaps have winked to himself if there had not been an effort to make in +that sign of scepticism. His big, prominent eyes were not well adapted +to winking. They were rather of the sort that closes solemnly in slumber +with majestic effect. + +Undemonstrative and burly in a fat-pig style, Mr Verloc, without either +rubbing his hands with satisfaction or winking sceptically at his +thoughts, proceeded on his way. He trod the pavement heavily with his +shiny boots, and his general get-up was that of a well-to-do mechanic in +business for himself. He might have been anything from a picture-frame +maker to a lock-smith; an employer of labour in a small way. But there +was also about him an indescribable air which no mechanic could have +acquired in the practice of his handicraft however dishonestly exercised: +the air common to men who live on the vices, the follies, or the baser +fears of mankind; the air of moral nihilism common to keepers of gambling +hells and disorderly houses; to private detectives and inquiry agents; to +drink sellers and, I should say, to the sellers of invigorating electric +belts and to the inventors of patent medicines. But of that last I am +not sure, not having carried my investigations so far into the depths. +For all I know, the expression of these last may be perfectly diabolic. I +shouldn't be surprised. What I want to affirm is that Mr Verloc's +expression was by no means diabolic. + +Before reaching Knightsbridge, Mr Verloc took a turn to the left out of +the busy main thoroughfare, uproarious with the traffic of swaying +omnibuses and trotting vans, in the almost silent, swift flow of hansoms. +Under his hat, worn with a slight backward tilt, his hair had been +carefully brushed into respectful sleekness; for his business was with an +Embassy. And Mr Verloc, steady like a rock--a soft kind of rock--marched +now along a street which could with every propriety be described as +private. In its breadth, emptiness, and extent it had the majesty of +inorganic nature, of matter that never dies. The only reminder of +mortality was a doctor's brougham arrested in august solitude close to +the curbstone. The polished knockers of the doors gleamed as far as the +eye could reach, the clean windows shone with a dark opaque lustre. And +all was still. But a milk cart rattled noisily across the distant +perspective; a butcher boy, driving with the noble recklessness of a +charioteer at Olympic Games, dashed round the corner sitting high above a +pair of red wheels. A guilty-looking cat issuing from under the stones +ran for a while in front of Mr Verloc, then dived into another basement; +and a thick police constable, looking a stranger to every emotion, as if +he too were part of inorganic nature, surging apparently out of a lamp- +post, took not the slightest notice of Mr Verloc. With a turn to the +left Mr Verloc pursued his way along a narrow street by the side of a +yellow wall which, for some inscrutable reason, had No. 1 Chesham Square +written on it in black letters. Chesham Square was at least sixty yards +away, and Mr Verloc, cosmopolitan enough not to be deceived by London's +topographical mysteries, held on steadily, without a sign of surprise or +indignation. At last, with business-like persistency, he reached the +Square, and made diagonally for the number 10. This belonged to an +imposing carriage gate in a high, clean wall between two houses, of which +one rationally enough bore the number 9 and the other was numbered 37; +but the fact that this last belonged to Porthill Street, a street well +known in the neighbourhood, was proclaimed by an inscription placed above +the ground-floor windows by whatever highly efficient authority is +charged with the duty of keeping track of London's strayed houses. Why +powers are not asked of Parliament (a short act would do) for compelling +those edifices to return where they belong is one of the mysteries of +municipal administration. Mr Verloc did not trouble his head about it, +his mission in life being the protection of the social mechanism, not its +perfectionment or even its criticism. + +It was so early that the porter of the Embassy issued hurriedly out of +his lodge still struggling with the left sleeve of his livery coat. His +waistcoat was red, and he wore knee-breeches, but his aspect was +flustered. Mr Verloc, aware of the rush on his flank, drove it off by +simply holding out an envelope stamped with the arms of the Embassy, and +passed on. He produced the same talisman also to the footman who opened +the door, and stood back to let him enter the hall. + +A clear fire burned in a tall fireplace, and an elderly man standing with +his back to it, in evening dress and with a chain round his neck, glanced +up from the newspaper he was holding spread out in both hands before his +calm and severe face. He didn't move; but another lackey, in brown +trousers and claw-hammer coat edged with thin yellow cord, approaching Mr +Verloc listened to the murmur of his name, and turning round on his heel +in silence, began to walk, without looking back once. Mr Verloc, thus +led along a ground-floor passage to the left of the great carpeted +staircase, was suddenly motioned to enter a quite small room furnished +with a heavy writing-table and a few chairs. The servant shut the door, +and Mr Verloc remained alone. He did not take a seat. With his hat and +stick held in one hand he glanced about, passing his other podgy hand +over his uncovered sleek head. + +Another door opened noiselessly, and Mr Verloc immobilising his glance in +that direction saw at first only black clothes, the bald top of a head, +and a drooping dark grey whisker on each side of a pair of wrinkled +hands. The person who had entered was holding a batch of papers before +his eyes and walked up to the table with a rather mincing step, turning +the papers over the while. Privy Councillor Wurmt, Chancelier +d'Ambassade, was rather short-sighted. This meritorious official laying +the papers on the table, disclosed a face of pasty complexion and of +melancholy ugliness surrounded by a lot of fine, long dark grey hairs, +barred heavily by thick and bushy eyebrows. He put on a black-framed +pince-nez upon a blunt and shapeless nose, and seemed struck by Mr +Verloc's appearance. Under the enormous eyebrows his weak eyes blinked +pathetically through the glasses. + +He made no sign of greeting; neither did Mr Verloc, who certainly knew +his place; but a subtle change about the general outlines of his +shoulders and back suggested a slight bending of Mr Verloc's spine under +the vast surface of his overcoat. The effect was of unobtrusive +deference. + +"I have here some of your reports," said the bureaucrat in an +unexpectedly soft and weary voice, and pressing the tip of his forefinger +on the papers with force. He paused; and Mr Verloc, who had recognised +his own handwriting very well, waited in an almost breathless silence. +"We are not very satisfied with the attitude of the police here," the +other continued, with every appearance of mental fatigue. + +The shoulders of Mr Verloc, without actually moving, suggested a shrug. +And for the first time since he left his home that morning his lips +opened. + +"Every country has its police," he said philosophically. But as the +official of the Embassy went on blinking at him steadily he felt +constrained to add: "Allow me to observe that I have no means of action +upon the police here." + +"What is desired," said the man of papers, "is the occurrence of +something definite which should stimulate their vigilance. That is +within your province--is it not so?" + +Mr Verloc made no answer except by a sigh, which escaped him +involuntarily, for instantly he tried to give his face a cheerful +expression. The official blinked doubtfully, as if affected by the dim +light of the room. He repeated vaguely. + +"The vigilance of the police--and the severity of the magistrates. The +general leniency of the judicial procedure here, and the utter absence of +all repressive measures, are a scandal to Europe. What is wished for +just now is the accentuation of the unrest--of the fermentation which +undoubtedly exists--" + +"Undoubtedly, undoubtedly," broke in Mr Verloc in a deep deferential bass +of an oratorical quality, so utterly different from the tone in which he +had spoken before that his interlocutor remained profoundly surprised. +"It exists to a dangerous degree. My reports for the last twelve months +make it sufficiently clear." + +"Your reports for the last twelve months," State Councillor Wurmt began +in his gentle and dispassionate tone, "have been read by me. I failed to +discover why you wrote them at all." + +A sad silence reigned for a time. Mr Verloc seemed to have swallowed his +tongue, and the other gazed at the papers on the table fixedly. At last +he gave them a slight push. + +"The state of affairs you expose there is assumed to exist as the first +condition of your employment. What is required at present is not +writing, but the bringing to light of a distinct, significant fact--I +would almost say of an alarming fact." + +"I need not say that all my endeavours shall be directed to that end," Mr +Verloc said, with convinced modulations in his conversational husky tone. +But the sense of being blinked at watchfully behind the blind glitter of +these eye-glasses on the other side of the table disconcerted him. He +stopped short with a gesture of absolute devotion. The useful, +hard-working, if obscure member of the Embassy had an air of being +impressed by some newly-born thought. + +"You are very corpulent," he said. + +This observation, really of a psychological nature, and advanced with the +modest hesitation of an officeman more familiar with ink and paper than +with the requirements of active life, stung Mr Verloc in the manner of a +rude personal remark. He stepped back a pace. + +"Eh? What were you pleased to say?" he exclaimed, with husky resentment. + +The Chancelier d'Ambassade entrusted with the conduct of this interview +seemed to find it too much for him. + +"I think," he said, "that you had better see Mr Vladimir. Yes, decidedly +I think you ought to see Mr Vladimir. Be good enough to wait here," he +added, and went out with mincing steps. + +At once Mr Verloc passed his hand over his hair. A slight perspiration +had broken out on his forehead. He let the air escape from his pursed-up +lips like a man blowing at a spoonful of hot soup. But when the servant +in brown appeared at the door silently, Mr Verloc had not moved an inch +from the place he had occupied throughout the interview. He had remained +motionless, as if feeling himself surrounded by pitfalls. + +He walked along a passage lighted by a lonely gas-jet, then up a flight +of winding stairs, and through a glazed and cheerful corridor on the +first floor. The footman threw open a door, and stood aside. The feet +of Mr Verloc felt a thick carpet. The room was large, with three +windows; and a young man with a shaven, big face, sitting in a roomy arm- +chair before a vast mahogany writing-table, said in French to the +Chancelier d'Ambassade, who was going out with, the papers in his hand: + +"You are quite right, mon cher. He's fat--the animal." + +Mr Vladimir, First Secretary, had a drawing-room reputation as an +agreeable and entertaining man. He was something of a favourite in +society. His wit consisted in discovering droll connections between +incongruous ideas; and when talking in that strain he sat well forward of +his seat, with his left hand raised, as if exhibiting his funny +demonstrations between the thumb and forefinger, while his round and +clean-shaven face wore an expression of merry perplexity. + +But there was no trace of merriment or perplexity in the way he looked at +Mr Verloc. Lying far back in the deep arm-chair, with squarely spread +elbows, and throwing one leg over a thick knee, he had with his smooth +and rosy countenance the air of a preternaturally thriving baby that will +not stand nonsense from anybody. + +"You understand French, I suppose?" he said. + +Mr Verloc stated huskily that he did. His whole vast bulk had a forward +inclination. He stood on the carpet in the middle of the room, clutching +his hat and stick in one hand; the other hung lifelessly by his side. He +muttered unobtrusively somewhere deep down in his throat something about +having done his military service in the French artillery. At once, with +contemptuous perversity, Mr Vladimir changed the language, and began to +speak idiomatic English without the slightest trace of a foreign accent. + +"Ah! Yes. Of course. Let's see. How much did you get for obtaining +the design of the improved breech-block of their new field-gun?" + +"Five years' rigorous confinement in a fortress," Mr Verloc answered +unexpectedly, but without any sign of feeling. + +"You got off easily," was Mr Vladimir's comment. "And, anyhow, it served +you right for letting yourself get caught. What made you go in for that +sort of thing--eh?" + +Mr Verloc's husky conversational voice was heard speaking of youth, of a +fatal infatuation for an unworthy-- + +"Aha! Cherchez la femme," Mr Vladimir deigned to interrupt, unbending, +but without affability; there was, on the contrary, a touch of grimness +in his condescension. "How long have you been employed by the Embassy +here?" he asked. + +"Ever since the time of the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim," Mr Verloc +answered in subdued tones, and protruding his lips sadly, in sign of +sorrow for the deceased diplomat. The First Secretary observed this play +of physiognomy steadily. + +"Ah! ever since. Well! What have you got to say for yourself?" he asked +sharply. + +Mr Verloc answered with some surprise that he was not aware of having +anything special to say. He had been summoned by a letter--And he +plunged his hand busily into the side pocket of his overcoat, but before +the mocking, cynical watchfulness of Mr Vladimir, concluded to leave it +there. + +"Bah!" said that latter. "What do you mean by getting out of condition +like this? You haven't got even the physique of your profession. You--a +member of a starving proletariat--never! You--a desperate socialist or +anarchist--which is it?" + +"Anarchist," stated Mr Verloc in a deadened tone. + +"Bosh!" went on Mr Vladimir, without raising his voice. "You startled +old Wurmt himself. You wouldn't deceive an idiot. They all are that by- +the-by, but you seem to me simply impossible. So you began your +connection with us by stealing the French gun designs. And you got +yourself caught. That must have been very disagreeable to our +Government. You don't seem to be very smart." + +Mr Verloc tried to exculpate himself huskily. + +"As I've had occasion to observe before, a fatal infatuation for an +unworthy--" + +Mr Vladimir raised a large white, plump hand. "Ah, yes. The unlucky +attachment--of your youth. She got hold of the money, and then sold you +to the police--eh?" + +The doleful change in Mr Verloc's physiognomy, the momentary drooping of +his whole person, confessed that such was the regrettable case. Mr +Vladimir's hand clasped the ankle reposing on his knee. The sock was of +dark blue silk. + +"You see, that was not very clever of you. Perhaps you are too +susceptible." + +Mr Verloc intimated in a throaty, veiled murmur that he was no longer +young. + +"Oh! That's a failing which age does not cure," Mr Vladimir remarked, +with sinister familiarity. "But no! You are too fat for that. You +could not have come to look like this if you had been at all susceptible. +I'll tell you what I think is the matter: you are a lazy fellow. How +long have you been drawing pay from this Embassy?" + +"Eleven years," was the answer, after a moment of sulky hesitation. "I've +been charged with several missions to London while His Excellency Baron +Stott-Wartenheim was still Ambassador in Paris. Then by his Excellency's +instructions I settled down in London. I am English." + +"You are! Are you? Eh?" + +"A natural-born British subject," Mr Verloc said stolidly. "But my +father was French, and so--" + +"Never mind explaining," interrupted the other. "I daresay you could +have been legally a Marshal of France and a Member of Parliament in +England--and then, indeed, you would have been of some use to our +Embassy." + +This flight of fancy provoked something like a faint smile on Mr Verloc's +face. Mr Vladimir retained an imperturbable gravity. + +"But, as I've said, you are a lazy fellow; you don't use your +opportunities. In the time of Baron Stott-Wartenheim we had a lot of +soft-headed people running this Embassy. They caused fellows of your +sort to form a false conception of the nature of a secret service fund. +It is my business to correct this misapprehension by telling you what the +secret service is not. It is not a philanthropic institution. I've had +you called here on purpose to tell you this." + +Mr Vladimir observed the forced expression of bewilderment on Verloc's +face, and smiled sarcastically. + +"I see that you understand me perfectly. I daresay you are intelligent +enough for your work. What we want now is activity--activity." + +On repeating this last word Mr Vladimir laid a long white forefinger on +the edge of the desk. Every trace of huskiness disappeared from Verloc's +voice. The nape of his gross neck became crimson above the velvet collar +of his overcoat. His lips quivered before they came widely open. + +"If you'll only be good enough to look up my record," he boomed out in +his great, clear oratorical bass, "you'll see I gave a warning only three +months ago, on the occasion of the Grand Duke Romuald's visit to Paris, +which was telegraphed from here to the French police, and--" + +"Tut, tut!" broke out Mr Vladimir, with a frowning grimace. "The French +police had no use for your warning. Don't roar like this. What the +devil do you mean?" + +With a note of proud humility Mr Verloc apologised for forgetting +himself. His voice,--famous for years at open-air meetings and at +workmen's assemblies in large halls, had contributed, he said, to his +reputation of a good and trustworthy comrade. It was, therefore, a part +of his usefulness. It had inspired confidence in his principles. "I was +always put up to speak by the leaders at a critical moment," Mr Verloc +declared, with obvious satisfaction. There was no uproar above which he +could not make himself heard, he added; and suddenly he made a +demonstration. + +"Allow me," he said. With lowered forehead, without looking up, swiftly +and ponderously he crossed the room to one of the French windows. As if +giving way to an uncontrollable impulse, he opened it a little. Mr +Vladimir, jumping up amazed from the depths of the arm-chair, looked over +his shoulder; and below, across the courtyard of the Embassy, well beyond +the open gate, could be seen the broad back of a policeman watching idly +the gorgeous perambulator of a wealthy baby being wheeled in state across +the Square. + +"Constable!" said Mr Verloc, with no more effort than if he were +whispering; and Mr Vladimir burst into a laugh on seeing the policeman +spin round as if prodded by a sharp instrument. Mr Verloc shut the +window quietly, and returned to the middle of the room. + +"With a voice like that," he said, putting on the husky conversational +pedal, "I was naturally trusted. And I knew what to say, too." + +Mr Vladimir, arranging his cravat, observed him in the glass over the +mantelpiece. + +"I daresay you have the social revolutionary jargon by heart well +enough," he said contemptuously. "Vox et. . . You haven't ever studied +Latin--have you?" + +"No," growled Mr Verloc. "You did not expect me to know it. I belong to +the million. Who knows Latin? Only a few hundred imbeciles who aren't +fit to take care of themselves." + +For some thirty seconds longer Mr Vladimir studied in the mirror the +fleshy profile, the gross bulk, of the man behind him. And at the same +time he had the advantage of seeing his own face, clean-shaved and round, +rosy about the gills, and with the thin sensitive lips formed exactly for +the utterance of those delicate witticisms which had made him such a +favourite in the very highest society. Then he turned, and advanced into +the room with such determination that the very ends of his quaintly old- +fashioned bow necktie seemed to bristle with unspeakable menaces. The +movement was so swift and fierce that Mr Verloc, casting an oblique +glance, quailed inwardly. + +"Aha! You dare be impudent," Mr Vladimir began, with an amazingly +guttural intonation not only utterly un-English, but absolutely +un-European, and startling even to Mr Verloc's experience of cosmopolitan +slums. "You dare! Well, I am going to speak plain English to you. Voice +won't do. We have no use for your voice. We don't want a voice. We +want facts--startling facts--damn you," he added, with a sort of +ferocious discretion, right into Mr Verloc's face. + +"Don't you try to come over me with your Hyperborean manners," Mr Verloc +defended himself huskily, looking at the carpet. At this his +interlocutor, smiling mockingly above the bristling bow of his necktie, +switched the conversation into French. + +"You give yourself for an 'agent provocateur.' The proper business of an +'agent provocateur' is to provoke. As far as I can judge from your +record kept here, you have done nothing to earn your money for the last +three years." + +"Nothing!" exclaimed Verloc, stirring not a limb, and not raising his +eyes, but with the note of sincere feeling in his tone. "I have several +times prevented what might have been--" + +"There is a proverb in this country which says prevention is better than +cure," interrupted Mr Vladimir, throwing himself into the arm-chair. "It +is stupid in a general way. There is no end to prevention. But it is +characteristic. They dislike finality in this country. Don't you be too +English. And in this particular instance, don't be absurd. The evil is +already here. We don't want prevention--we want cure." + +He paused, turned to the desk, and turning over some papers lying there, +spoke in a changed business-like tone, without looking at Mr Verloc. + +"You know, of course, of the International Conference assembled in +Milan?" + +Mr Verloc intimated hoarsely that he was in the habit of reading the +daily papers. To a further question his answer was that, of course, he +understood what he read. At this Mr Vladimir, smiling faintly at the +documents he was still scanning one after another, murmured "As long as +it is not written in Latin, I suppose." + +"Or Chinese," added Mr Verloc stolidly. + +"H'm. Some of your revolutionary friends' effusions are written in a +_charabia_ every bit as incomprehensible as Chinese--" Mr Vladimir let +fall disdainfully a grey sheet of printed matter. "What are all these +leaflets headed F. P., with a hammer, pen, and torch crossed? What does +it mean, this F. P.?" Mr Verloc approached the imposing writing-table. + +"The Future of the Proletariat. It's a society," he explained, standing +ponderously by the side of the arm-chair, "not anarchist in principle, +but open to all shades of revolutionary opinion." + +"Are you in it?" + +"One of the Vice-Presidents," Mr Verloc breathed out heavily; and the +First Secretary of the Embassy raised his head to look at him. + +"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself," he said incisively. "Isn't +your society capable of anything else but printing this prophetic bosh in +blunt type on this filthy paper eh? Why don't you do something? Look +here. I've this matter in hand now, and I tell you plainly that you will +have to earn your money. The good old Stott-Wartenheim times are over. +No work, no pay." + +Mr Verloc felt a queer sensation of faintness in his stout legs. He +stepped back one pace, and blew his nose loudly. + +He was, in truth, startled and alarmed. The rusty London sunshine +struggling clear of the London mist shed a lukewarm brightness into the +First Secretary's private room; and in the silence Mr Verloc heard +against a window-pane the faint buzzing of a fly--his first fly of the +year--heralding better than any number of swallows the approach of +spring. The useless fussing of that tiny energetic organism affected +unpleasantly this big man threatened in his indolence. + +In the pause Mr Vladimir formulated in his mind a series of disparaging +remarks concerning Mr Verloc's face and figure. The fellow was +unexpectedly vulgar, heavy, and impudently unintelligent. He looked +uncommonly like a master plumber come to present his bill. The First +Secretary of the Embassy, from his occasional excursions into the field +of American humour, had formed a special notion of that class of mechanic +as the embodiment of fraudulent laziness and incompetency. + +This was then the famous and trusty secret agent, so secret that he was +never designated otherwise but by the symbol [delta] in the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim's official, semi-official, and confidential +correspondence; the celebrated agent [delta], whose warnings had the +power to change the schemes and the dates of royal, imperial, grand ducal +journeys, and sometimes caused them to be put off altogether! This +fellow! And Mr Vladimir indulged mentally in an enormous and derisive +fit of merriment, partly at his own astonishment, which he judged naive, +but mostly at the expense of the universally regretted Baron +Stott-Wartenheim. His late Excellency, whom the august favour of his +Imperial master had imposed as Ambassador upon several reluctant +Ministers of Foreign Affairs, had enjoyed in his lifetime a fame for an +owlish, pessimistic gullibility. His Excellency had the social +revolution on the brain. He imagined himself to be a diplomatist set +apart by a special dispensation to watch the end of diplomacy, and pretty +nearly the end of the world, in a horrid democratic upheaval. His +prophetic and doleful despatches had been for years the joke of Foreign +Offices. He was said to have exclaimed on his deathbed (visited by his +Imperial friend and master): "Unhappy Europe! Thou shalt perish by the +moral insanity of thy children!" He was fated to be the victim of the +first humbugging rascal that came along, thought Mr Vladimir, smiling +vaguely at Mr Verloc. + +"You ought to venerate the memory of Baron Stott-Wartenheim," he +exclaimed suddenly. + +The lowered physiognomy of Mr Verloc expressed a sombre and weary +annoyance. + +"Permit me to observe to you," he said, "that I came here because I was +summoned by a peremptory letter. I have been here only twice before in +the last eleven years, and certainly never at eleven in the morning. It +isn't very wise to call me up like this. There is just a chance of being +seen. And that would be no joke for me." + +Mr Vladimir shrugged his shoulders. + +"It would destroy my usefulness," continued the other hotly. + +"That's your affair," murmured Mr Vladimir, with soft brutality. "When +you cease to be useful you shall cease to be employed. Yes. Right off. +Cut short. You shall--" Mr Vladimir, frowning, paused, at a loss for a +sufficiently idiomatic expression, and instantly brightened up, with a +grin of beautifully white teeth. "You shall be chucked," he brought out +ferociously. + +Once more Mr Verloc had to react with all the force of his will against +that sensation of faintness running down one's legs which once upon a +time had inspired some poor devil with the felicitous expression: "My +heart went down into my boots." Mr Verloc, aware of the sensation, +raised his head bravely. + +Mr Vladimir bore the look of heavy inquiry with perfect serenity. + +"What we want is to administer a tonic to the Conference in Milan," he +said airily. "Its deliberations upon international action for the +suppression of political crime don't seem to get anywhere. England lags. +This country is absurd with its sentimental regard for individual +liberty. It's intolerable to think that all your friends have got only +to come over to--" + +"In that way I have them all under my eye," Mr Verloc interrupted +huskily. + +"It would be much more to the point to have them all under lock and key. +England must be brought into line. The imbecile bourgeoisie of this +country make themselves the accomplices of the very people whose aim is +to drive them out of their houses to starve in ditches. And they have +the political power still, if they only had the sense to use it for their +preservation. I suppose you agree that the middle classes are stupid?" + +Mr Verloc agreed hoarsely. + +"They are." + +"They have no imagination. They are blinded by an idiotic vanity. What +they want just now is a jolly good scare. This is the psychological +moment to set your friends to work. I have had you called here to +develop to you my idea." + +And Mr Vladimir developed his idea from on high, with scorn and +condescension, displaying at the same time an amount of ignorance as to +the real aims, thoughts, and methods of the revolutionary world which +filled the silent Mr Verloc with inward consternation. He confounded +causes with effects more than was excusable; the most distinguished +propagandists with impulsive bomb throwers; assumed organisation where in +the nature of things it could not exist; spoke of the social +revolutionary party one moment as of a perfectly disciplined army, where +the word of chiefs was supreme, and at another as if it had been the +loosest association of desperate brigands that ever camped in a mountain +gorge. Once Mr Verloc had opened his mouth for a protest, but the +raising of a shapely, large white hand arrested him. Very soon he became +too appalled to even try to protest. He listened in a stillness of dread +which resembled the immobility of profound attention. + +"A series of outrages," Mr Vladimir continued calmly, "executed here in +this country; not only _planned_ here--that would not do--they would not +mind. Your friends could set half the Continent on fire without +influencing the public opinion here in favour of a universal repressive +legislation. They will not look outside their backyard here." + +Mr Verloc cleared his throat, but his heart failed him, and he said +nothing. + +"These outrages need not be especially sanguinary," Mr Vladimir went on, +as if delivering a scientific lecture, "but they must be sufficiently +startling--effective. Let them be directed against buildings, for +instance. What is the fetish of the hour that all the bourgeoisie +recognise--eh, Mr Verloc?" + +Mr Verloc opened his hands and shrugged his shoulders slightly. + +"You are too lazy to think," was Mr Vladimir's comment upon that gesture. +"Pay attention to what I say. The fetish of to-day is neither royalty +nor religion. Therefore the palace and the church should be left alone. +You understand what I mean, Mr Verloc?" + +The dismay and the scorn of Mr Verloc found vent in an attempt at levity. + +"Perfectly. But what of the Embassies? A series of attacks on the +various Embassies," he began; but he could not withstand the cold, +watchful stare of the First Secretary. + +"You can be facetious, I see," the latter observed carelessly. "That's +all right. It may enliven your oratory at socialistic congresses. But +this room is no place for it. It would be infinitely safer for you to +follow carefully what I am saying. As you are being called upon to +furnish facts instead of cock-and-bull stories, you had better try to +make your profit off what I am taking the trouble to explain to you. The +sacrosanct fetish of to-day is science. Why don't you get some of your +friends to go for that wooden-faced panjandrum--eh? Is it not part of +these institutions which must be swept away before the F. P. comes +along?" + +Mr Verloc said nothing. He was afraid to open his lips lest a groan +should escape him. + +"This is what you should try for. An attempt upon a crowned head or on a +president is sensational enough in a way, but not so much as it used to +be. It has entered into the general conception of the existence of all +chiefs of state. It's almost conventional--especially since so many +presidents have been assassinated. Now let us take an outrage upon--say +a church. Horrible enough at first sight, no doubt, and yet not so +effective as a person of an ordinary mind might think. No matter how +revolutionary and anarchist in inception, there would be fools enough to +give such an outrage the character of a religious manifestation. And +that would detract from the especial alarming significance we wish to +give to the act. A murderous attempt on a restaurant or a theatre would +suffer in the same way from the suggestion of non-political passion: the +exasperation of a hungry man, an act of social revenge. All this is used +up; it is no longer instructive as an object lesson in revolutionary +anarchism. Every newspaper has ready-made phrases to explain such +manifestations away. I am about to give you the philosophy of bomb +throwing from my point of view; from the point of view you pretend to +have been serving for the last eleven years. I will try not to talk +above your head. The sensibilities of the class you are attacking are +soon blunted. Property seems to them an indestructible thing. You can't +count upon their emotions either of pity or fear for very long. A bomb +outrage to have any influence on public opinion now must go beyond the +intention of vengeance or terrorism. It must be purely destructive. It +must be that, and only that, beyond the faintest suspicion of any other +object. You anarchists should make it clear that you are perfectly +determined to make a clean sweep of the whole social creation. But how +to get that appallingly absurd notion into the heads of the middle +classes so that there should be no mistake? That's the question. By +directing your blows at something outside the ordinary passions of +humanity is the answer. Of course, there is art. A bomb in the National +Gallery would make some noise. But it would not be serious enough. Art +has never been their fetish. It's like breaking a few back windows in a +man's house; whereas, if you want to make him really sit up, you must try +at least to raise the roof. There would be some screaming of course, but +from whom? Artists--art critics and such like--people of no account. +Nobody minds what they say. But there is learning--science. Any +imbecile that has got an income believes in that. He does not know why, +but he believes it matters somehow. It is the sacrosanct fetish. All +the damned professors are radicals at heart. Let them know that their +great panjandrum has got to go too, to make room for the Future of the +Proletariat. A howl from all these intellectual idiots is bound to help +forward the labours of the Milan Conference. They will be writing to the +papers. Their indignation would be above suspicion, no material +interests being openly at stake, and it will alarm every selfishness of +the class which should be impressed. They believe that in some +mysterious way science is at the source of their material prosperity. +They do. And the absurd ferocity of such a demonstration will affect +them more profoundly than the mangling of a whole street--or theatre--full +of their own kind. To that last they can always say: 'Oh! it's mere +class hate.' But what is one to say to an act of destructive ferocity so +absurd as to be incomprehensible, inexplicable, almost unthinkable; in +fact, mad? Madness alone is truly terrifying, inasmuch as you cannot +placate it either by threats, persuasion, or bribes. Moreover, I am a +civilised man. I would never dream of directing you to organise a mere +butchery, even if I expected the best results from it. But I wouldn't +expect from a butchery the result I want. Murder is always with us. It +is almost an institution. The demonstration must be against +learning--science. But not every science will do. The attack must have +all the shocking senselessness of gratuitous blasphemy. Since bombs are +your means of expression, it would be really telling if one could throw a +bomb into pure mathematics. But that is impossible. I have been trying +to educate you; I have expounded to you the higher philosophy of your +usefulness, and suggested to you some serviceable arguments. The +practical application of my teaching interests _you_ mostly. But from +the moment I have undertaken to interview you I have also given some +attention to the practical aspect of the question. What do you think of +having a go at astronomy?" + +For sometime already Mr Verloc's immobility by the side of the arm-chair +resembled a state of collapsed coma--a sort of passive insensibility +interrupted by slight convulsive starts, such as may be observed in the +domestic dog having a nightmare on the hearthrug. And it was in an +uneasy doglike growl that he repeated the word: + +"Astronomy." + +He had not recovered thoroughly as yet from that state of bewilderment +brought about by the effort to follow Mr Vladimir's rapid incisive +utterance. It had overcome his power of assimilation. It had made him +angry. This anger was complicated by incredulity. And suddenly it +dawned upon him that all this was an elaborate joke. Mr Vladimir +exhibited his white teeth in a smile, with dimples on his round, full +face posed with a complacent inclination above the bristling bow of his +neck-tie. The favourite of intelligent society women had assumed his +drawing-room attitude accompanying the delivery of delicate witticisms. +Sitting well forward, his white hand upraised, he seemed to hold +delicately between his thumb and forefinger the subtlety of his +suggestion. + +"There could be nothing better. Such an outrage combines the greatest +possible regard for humanity with the most alarming display of ferocious +imbecility. I defy the ingenuity of journalists to persuade their public +that any given member of the proletariat can have a personal grievance +against astronomy. Starvation itself could hardly be dragged in +there--eh? And there are other advantages. The whole civilised world +has heard of Greenwich. The very boot-blacks in the basement of Charing +Cross Station know something of it. See?" + +The features of Mr Vladimir, so well known in the best society by their +humorous urbanity, beamed with cynical self-satisfaction, which would +have astonished the intelligent women his wit entertained so exquisitely. +"Yes," he continued, with a contemptuous smile, "the blowing up of the +first meridian is bound to raise a howl of execration." + +"A difficult business," Mr Verloc mumbled, feeling that this was the only +safe thing to say. + +"What is the matter? Haven't you the whole gang under your hand? The +very pick of the basket? That old terrorist Yundt is here. I see him +walking about Piccadilly in his green havelock almost every day. And +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle--you don't mean to say you don't +know where he is? Because if you don't, I can tell you," Mr Vladimir +went on menacingly. "If you imagine that you are the only one on the +secret fund list, you are mistaken." + +This perfectly gratuitous suggestion caused Mr Verloc to shuffle his feet +slightly. + +"And the whole Lausanne lot--eh? Haven't they been flocking over here at +the first hint of the Milan Conference? This is an absurd country." + +"It will cost money," Mr Verloc said, by a sort of instinct. + +"That cock won't fight," Mr Vladimir retorted, with an amazingly genuine +English accent. "You'll get your screw every month, and no more till +something happens. And if nothing happens very soon you won't get even +that. What's your ostensible occupation? What are you supposed to live +by?" + +"I keep a shop," answered Mr Verloc. + +"A shop! What sort of shop?" + +"Stationery, newspapers. My wife--" + +"Your what?" interrupted Mr Vladimir in his guttural Central Asian tones. + +"My wife." Mr Verloc raised his husky voice slightly. "I am married." + +"That be damned for a yarn," exclaimed the other in unfeigned +astonishment. "Married! And you a professed anarchist, too! What is +this confounded nonsense? But I suppose it's merely a manner of +speaking. Anarchists don't marry. It's well known. They can't. It +would be apostasy." + +"My wife isn't one," Mr Verloc mumbled sulkily. "Moreover, it's no +concern of yours." + +"Oh yes, it is," snapped Mr Vladimir. "I am beginning to be convinced +that you are not at all the man for the work you've been employed on. +Why, you must have discredited yourself completely in your own world by +your marriage. Couldn't you have managed without? This is your virtuous +attachment--eh? What with one sort of attachment and another you are +doing away with your usefulness." + +Mr Verloc, puffing out his cheeks, let the air escape violently, and that +was all. He had armed himself with patience. It was not to be tried +much longer. The First Secretary became suddenly very curt, detached, +final. + +"You may go now," he said. "A dynamite outrage must be provoked. I give +you a month. The sittings of the Conference are suspended. Before it +reassembles again something must have happened here, or your connection +with us ceases." + +He changed the note once more with an unprincipled versatility. + +"Think over my philosophy, Mr--Mr--Verloc," he said, with a sort of +chaffing condescension, waving his hand towards the door. "Go for the +first meridian. You don't know the middle classes as well as I do. Their +sensibilities are jaded. The first meridian. Nothing better, and +nothing easier, I should think." + +He had got up, and with his thin sensitive lips twitching humorously, +watched in the glass over the mantelpiece Mr Verloc backing out of the +room heavily, hat and stick in hand. The door closed. + +The footman in trousers, appearing suddenly in the corridor, let Mr +Verloc another way out and through a small door in the corner of the +courtyard. The porter standing at the gate ignored his exit completely; +and Mr Verloc retraced the path of his morning's pilgrimage as if in a +dream--an angry dream. This detachment from the material world was so +complete that, though the mortal envelope of Mr Verloc had not hastened +unduly along the streets, that part of him to which it would be +unwarrantably rude to refuse immortality, found itself at the shop door +all at once, as if borne from west to east on the wings of a great wind. +He walked straight behind the counter, and sat down on a wooden chair +that stood there. No one appeared to disturb his solitude. Stevie, put +into a green baize apron, was now sweeping and dusting upstairs, intent +and conscientious, as though he were playing at it; and Mrs Verloc, +warned in the kitchen by the clatter of the cracked bell, had merely come +to the glazed door of the parlour, and putting the curtain aside a +little, had peered into the dim shop. Seeing her husband sitting there +shadowy and bulky, with his hat tilted far back on his head, she had at +once returned to her stove. An hour or more later she took the green +baize apron off her brother Stevie, and instructed him to wash his hands +and face in the peremptory tone she had used in that connection for +fifteen years or so--ever since she had, in fact, ceased to attend to the +boy's hands and face herself. She spared presently a glance away from +her dishing-up for the inspection of that face and those hands which +Stevie, approaching the kitchen table, offered for her approval with an +air of self-assurance hiding a perpetual residue of anxiety. Formerly +the anger of the father was the supremely effective sanction of these +rites, but Mr Verloc's placidity in domestic life would have made all +mention of anger incredible even to poor Stevie's nervousness. The +theory was that Mr Verloc would have been inexpressibly pained and +shocked by any deficiency of cleanliness at meal times. Winnie after the +death of her father found considerable consolation in the feeling that +she need no longer tremble for poor Stevie. She could not bear to see +the boy hurt. It maddened her. As a little girl she had often faced +with blazing eyes the irascible licensed victualler in defence of her +brother. Nothing now in Mrs Verloc's appearance could lead one to +suppose that she was capable of a passionate demonstration. + +She finished her dishing-up. The table was laid in the parlour. Going +to the foot of the stairs, she screamed out "Mother!" Then opening the +glazed door leading to the shop, she said quietly "Adolf!" Mr Verloc had +not changed his position; he had not apparently stirred a limb for an +hour and a half. He got up heavily, and came to his dinner in his +overcoat and with his hat on, without uttering a word. His silence in +itself had nothing startlingly unusual in this household, hidden in the +shades of the sordid street seldom touched by the sun, behind the dim +shop with its wares of disreputable rubbish. Only that day Mr Verloc's +taciturnity was so obviously thoughtful that the two women were impressed +by it. They sat silent themselves, keeping a watchful eye on poor +Stevie, lest he should break out into one of his fits of loquacity. He +faced Mr Verloc across the table, and remained very good and quiet, +staring vacantly. The endeavour to keep him from making himself +objectionable in any way to the master of the house put no inconsiderable +anxiety into these two women's lives. "That boy," as they alluded to him +softly between themselves, had been a source of that sort of anxiety +almost from the very day of his birth. The late licensed victualler's +humiliation at having such a very peculiar boy for a son manifested +itself by a propensity to brutal treatment; for he was a person of fine +sensibilities, and his sufferings as a man and a father were perfectly +genuine. Afterwards Stevie had to be kept from making himself a nuisance +to the single gentlemen lodgers, who are themselves a queer lot, and are +easily aggrieved. And there was always the anxiety of his mere existence +to face. Visions of a workhouse infirmary for her child had haunted the +old woman in the basement breakfast-room of the decayed Belgravian house. +"If you had not found such a good husband, my dear," she used to say to +her daughter, "I don't know what would have become of that poor boy." + +Mr Verloc extended as much recognition to Stevie as a man not +particularly fond of animals may give to his wife's beloved cat; and this +recognition, benevolent and perfunctory, was essentially of the same +quality. Both women admitted to themselves that not much more could be +reasonably expected. It was enough to earn for Mr Verloc the old woman's +reverential gratitude. In the early days, made sceptical by the trials +of friendless life, she used sometimes to ask anxiously: "You don't +think, my dear, that Mr Verloc is getting tired of seeing Stevie about?" +To this Winnie replied habitually by a slight toss of her head. Once, +however, she retorted, with a rather grim pertness: "He'll have to get +tired of me first." A long silence ensued. The mother, with her feet +propped up on a stool, seemed to be trying to get to the bottom of that +answer, whose feminine profundity had struck her all of a heap. She had +never really understood why Winnie had married Mr Verloc. It was very +sensible of her, and evidently had turned out for the best, but her girl +might have naturally hoped to find somebody of a more suitable age. There +had been a steady young fellow, only son of a butcher in the next street, +helping his father in business, with whom Winnie had been walking out +with obvious gusto. He was dependent on his father, it is true; but the +business was good, and his prospects excellent. He took her girl to the +theatre on several evenings. Then just as she began to dread to hear of +their engagement (for what could she have done with that big house alone, +with Stevie on her hands), that romance came to an abrupt end, and Winnie +went about looking very dull. But Mr Verloc, turning up providentially +to occupy the first-floor front bedroom, there had been no more question +of the young butcher. It was clearly providential. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +" . . . All idealisation makes life poorer. To beautify it is to take +away its character of complexity--it is to destroy it. Leave that to the +moralists, my boy. History is made by men, but they do not make it in +their heads. The ideas that are born in their consciousness play an +insignificant part in the march of events. History is dominated and +determined by the tool and the production--by the force of economic +conditions. Capitalism has made socialism, and the laws made by the +capitalism for the protection of property are responsible for anarchism. +No one can tell what form the social organisation may take in the future. +Then why indulge in prophetic phantasies? At best they can only +interpret the mind of the prophet, and can have no objective value. Leave +that pastime to the moralists, my boy." + +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, was speaking in an even voice, a +voice that wheezed as if deadened and oppressed by the layer of fat on +his chest. He had come out of a highly hygienic prison round like a tub, +with an enormous stomach and distended cheeks of a pale, semi-transparent +complexion, as though for fifteen years the servants of an outraged +society had made a point of stuffing him with fattening foods in a damp +and lightless cellar. And ever since he had never managed to get his +weight down as much as an ounce. + +It was said that for three seasons running a very wealthy old lady had +sent him for a cure to Marienbad--where he was about to share the public +curiosity once with a crowned head--but the police on that occasion +ordered him to leave within twelve hours. His martyrdom was continued by +forbidding him all access to the healing waters. But he was resigned +now. + +With his elbow presenting no appearance of a joint, but more like a bend +in a dummy's limb, thrown over the back of a chair, he leaned forward +slightly over his short and enormous thighs to spit into the grate. + +"Yes! I had the time to think things out a little," he added without +emphasis. "Society has given me plenty of time for meditation." + +On the other side of the fireplace, in the horse-hair arm-chair where Mrs +Verloc's mother was generally privileged to sit, Karl Yundt giggled +grimly, with a faint black grimace of a toothless mouth. The terrorist, +as he called himself, was old and bald, with a narrow, snow-white wisp of +a goatee hanging limply from his chin. An extraordinary expression of +underhand malevolence survived in his extinguished eyes. When he rose +painfully the thrusting forward of a skinny groping hand deformed by +gouty swellings suggested the effort of a moribund murderer summoning all +his remaining strength for a last stab. He leaned on a thick stick, +which trembled under his other hand. + +"I have always dreamed," he mouthed fiercely, "of a band of men absolute +in their resolve to discard all scruples in the choice of means, strong +enough to give themselves frankly the name of destroyers, and free from +the taint of that resigned pessimism which rots the world. No pity for +anything on earth, including themselves, and death enlisted for good and +all in the service of humanity--that's what I would have liked to see." + +His little bald head quivered, imparting a comical vibration to the wisp +of white goatee. His enunciation would have been almost totally +unintelligible to a stranger. His worn-out passion, resembling in its +impotent fierceness the excitement of a senile sensualist, was badly +served by a dried throat and toothless gums which seemed to catch the tip +of his tongue. Mr Verloc, established in the corner of the sofa at the +other end of the room, emitted two hearty grunts of assent. + +The old terrorist turned slowly his head on his skinny neck from side to +side. + +"And I could never get as many as three such men together. So much for +your rotten pessimism," he snarled at Michaelis, who uncrossed his thick +legs, similar to bolsters, and slid his feet abruptly under his chair in +sign of exasperation. + +He a pessimist! Preposterous! He cried out that the charge was +outrageous. He was so far from pessimism that he saw already the end of +all private property coming along logically, unavoidably, by the mere +development of its inherent viciousness. The possessors of property had +not only to face the awakened proletariat, but they had also to fight +amongst themselves. Yes. Struggle, warfare, was the condition of +private ownership. It was fatal. Ah! he did not depend upon emotional +excitement to keep up his belief, no declamations, no anger, no visions +of blood-red flags waving, or metaphorical lurid suns of vengeance rising +above the horizon of a doomed society. Not he! Cold reason, he boasted, +was the basis of his optimism. Yes, optimism-- + +His laborious wheezing stopped, then, after a gasp or two, he added: + +"Don't you think that, if I had not been the optimist I am, I could not +have found in fifteen years some means to cut my throat? And, in the +last instance, there were always the walls of my cell to dash my head +against." + +The shortness of breath took all fire, all animation out of his voice; +his great, pale cheeks hung like filled pouches, motionless, without a +quiver; but in his blue eyes, narrowed as if peering, there was the same +look of confident shrewdness, a little crazy in its fixity, they must +have had while the indomitable optimist sat thinking at night in his +cell. Before him, Karl Yundt remained standing, one wing of his faded +greenish havelock thrown back cavalierly over his shoulder. Seated in +front of the fireplace, Comrade Ossipon, ex-medical student, the +principal writer of the F. P. leaflets, stretched out his robust legs, +keeping the soles of his boots turned up to the glow in the grate. A +bush of crinkly yellow hair topped his red, freckled face, with a +flattened nose and prominent mouth cast in the rough mould of the negro +type. His almond-shaped eyes leered languidly over the high cheek-bones. +He wore a grey flannel shirt, the loose ends of a black silk tie hung +down the buttoned breast of his serge coat; and his head resting on the +back of his chair, his throat largely exposed, he raised to his lips a +cigarette in a long wooden tube, puffing jets of smoke straight up at the +ceiling. + +Michaelis pursued his idea--_the_ idea of his solitary reclusion--the +thought vouchsafed to his captivity and growing like a faith revealed in +visions. He talked to himself, indifferent to the sympathy or hostility +of his hearers, indifferent indeed to their presence, from the habit he +had acquired of thinking aloud hopefully in the solitude of the four +whitewashed walls of his cell, in the sepulchral silence of the great +blind pile of bricks near a river, sinister and ugly like a colossal +mortuary for the socially drowned. + +He was no good in discussion, not because any amount of argument could +shake his faith, but because the mere fact of hearing another voice +disconcerted him painfully, confusing his thoughts at once--these +thoughts that for so many years, in a mental solitude more barren than a +waterless desert, no living voice had ever combatted, commented, or +approved. + +No one interrupted him now, and he made again the confession of his +faith, mastering him irresistible and complete like an act of grace: the +secret of fate discovered in the material side of life; the economic +condition of the world responsible for the past and shaping the future; +the source of all history, of all ideas, guiding the mental development +of mankind and the very impulses of their passion-- + +A harsh laugh from Comrade Ossipon cut the tirade dead short in a sudden +faltering of the tongue and a bewildered unsteadiness of the apostle's +mildly exalted eyes. He closed them slowly for a moment, as if to +collect his routed thoughts. A silence fell; but what with the two gas- +jets over the table and the glowing grate the little parlour behind Mr +Verloc's shop had become frightfully hot. Mr Verloc, getting off the +sofa with ponderous reluctance, opened the door leading into the kitchen +to get more air, and thus disclosed the innocent Stevie, seated very good +and quiet at a deal table, drawing circles, circles, circles; innumerable +circles, concentric, eccentric; a coruscating whirl of circles that by +their tangled multitude of repeated curves, uniformity of form, and +confusion of intersecting lines suggested a rendering of cosmic chaos, +the symbolism of a mad art attempting the inconceivable. The artist +never turned his head; and in all his soul's application to the task his +back quivered, his thin neck, sunk into a deep hollow at the base of the +skull, seemed ready to snap. + +Mr Verloc, after a grunt of disapproving surprise, returned to the sofa. +Alexander Ossipon got up, tall in his threadbare blue serge suit under +the low ceiling, shook off the stiffness of long immobility, and strolled +away into the kitchen (down two steps) to look over Stevie's shoulder. He +came back, pronouncing oracularly: "Very good. Very characteristic, +perfectly typical." + +"What's very good?" grunted inquiringly Mr Verloc, settled again in the +corner of the sofa. The other explained his meaning negligently, with a +shade of condescension and a toss of his head towards the kitchen: + +"Typical of this form of degeneracy--these drawings, I mean." + +"You would call that lad a degenerate, would you?" mumbled Mr Verloc. + +Comrade Alexander Ossipon--nicknamed the Doctor, ex-medical student +without a degree; afterwards wandering lecturer to working-men's +associations upon the socialistic aspects of hygiene; author of a popular +quasi-medical study (in the form of a cheap pamphlet seized promptly by +the police) entitled "The Corroding Vices of the Middle Classes"; special +delegate of the more or less mysterious Red Committee, together with Karl +Yundt and Michaelis for the work of literary propaganda--turned upon the +obscure familiar of at least two Embassies that glance of insufferable, +hopelessly dense sufficiency which nothing but the frequentation of +science can give to the dulness of common mortals. + +"That's what he may be called scientifically. Very good type too, +altogether, of that sort of degenerate. It's enough to glance at the +lobes of his ears. If you read Lombroso--" + +Mr Verloc, moody and spread largely on the sofa, continued to look down +the row of his waistcoat buttons; but his cheeks became tinged by a faint +blush. Of late even the merest derivative of the word science (a term in +itself inoffensive and of indefinite meaning) had the curious power of +evoking a definitely offensive mental vision of Mr Vladimir, in his body +as he lived, with an almost supernatural clearness. And this phenomenon, +deserving justly to be classed amongst the marvels of science, induced in +Mr Verloc an emotional state of dread and exasperation tending to express +itself in violent swearing. But he said nothing. It was Karl Yundt who +was heard, implacable to his last breath. + +"Lombroso is an ass." + +Comrade Ossipon met the shock of this blasphemy by an awful, vacant +stare. And the other, his extinguished eyes without gleams blackening +the deep shadows under the great, bony forehead, mumbled, catching the +tip of his tongue between his lips at every second word as though he were +chewing it angrily: + +"Did you ever see such an idiot? For him the criminal is the prisoner. +Simple, is it not? What about those who shut him up there--forced him in +there? Exactly. Forced him in there. And what is crime? Does he know +that, this imbecile who has made his way in this world of gorged fools by +looking at the ears and teeth of a lot of poor, luckless devils? Teeth +and ears mark the criminal? Do they? And what about the law that marks +him still better--the pretty branding instrument invented by the overfed +to protect themselves against the hungry? Red-hot applications on their +vile skins--hey? Can't you smell and hear from here the thick hide of +the people burn and sizzle? That's how criminals are made for your +Lombrosos to write their silly stuff about." + +The knob of his stick and his legs shook together with passion, whilst +the trunk, draped in the wings of the havelock, preserved his historic +attitude of defiance. He seemed to sniff the tainted air of social +cruelty, to strain his ear for its atrocious sounds. There was an +extraordinary force of suggestion in this posturing. The all but +moribund veteran of dynamite wars had been a great actor in his +time--actor on platforms, in secret assemblies, in private interviews. +The famous terrorist had never in his life raised personally as much as +his little finger against the social edifice. He was no man of action; +he was not even an orator of torrential eloquence, sweeping the masses +along in the rushing noise and foam of a great enthusiasm. With a more +subtle intention, he took the part of an insolent and venomous evoker of +sinister impulses which lurk in the blind envy and exasperated vanity of +ignorance, in the suffering and misery of poverty, in all the hopeful and +noble illusions of righteous anger, pity, and revolt. The shadow of his +evil gift clung to him yet like the smell of a deadly drug in an old vial +of poison, emptied now, useless, ready to be thrown away upon the rubbish- +heap of things that had served their time. + +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, smiled vaguely with his glued +lips; his pasty moon face drooped under the weight of melancholy assent. +He had been a prisoner himself. His own skin had sizzled under the red- +hot brand, he murmured softly. But Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the +Doctor, had got over the shock by that time. + +"You don't understand," he began disdainfully, but stopped short, +intimidated by the dead blackness of the cavernous eyes in the face +turned slowly towards him with a blind stare, as if guided only by the +sound. He gave the discussion up, with a slight shrug of the shoulders. + +Stevie, accustomed to move about disregarded, had got up from the kitchen +table, carrying off his drawing to bed with him. He had reached the +parlour door in time to receive in full the shock of Karl Yundt's +eloquent imagery. The sheet of paper covered with circles dropped out of +his fingers, and he remained staring at the old terrorist, as if rooted +suddenly to the spot by his morbid horror and dread of physical pain. +Stevie knew very well that hot iron applied to one's skin hurt very much. +His scared eyes blazed with indignation: it would hurt terribly. His +mouth dropped open. + +Michaelis by staring unwinkingly at the fire had regained that sentiment +of isolation necessary for the continuity of his thought. His optimism +had begun to flow from his lips. He saw Capitalism doomed in its cradle, +born with the poison of the principle of competition in its system. The +great capitalists devouring the little capitalists, concentrating the +power and the tools of production in great masses, perfecting industrial +processes, and in the madness of self-aggrandisement only preparing, +organising, enriching, making ready the lawful inheritance of the +suffering proletariat. Michaelis pronounced the great word +"Patience"--and his clear blue glance, raised to the low ceiling of Mr +Verloc's parlour, had a character of seraphic trustfulness. In the +doorway Stevie, calmed, seemed sunk in hebetude. + +Comrade Ossipon's face twitched with exasperation. + +"Then it's no use doing anything--no use whatever." + +"I don't say that," protested Michaelis gently. His vision of truth had +grown so intense that the sound of a strange voice failed to rout it this +time. He continued to look down at the red coals. Preparation for the +future was necessary, and he was willing to admit that the great change +would perhaps come in the upheaval of a revolution. But he argued that +revolutionary propaganda was a delicate work of high conscience. It was +the education of the masters of the world. It should be as careful as +the education given to kings. He would have it advance its tenets +cautiously, even timidly, in our ignorance of the effect that may be +produced by any given economic change upon the happiness, the morals, the +intellect, the history of mankind. For history is made with tools, not +with ideas; and everything is changed by economic conditions--art, +philosophy, love, virtue--truth itself! + +The coals in the grate settled down with a slight crash; and Michaelis, +the hermit of visions in the desert of a penitentiary, got up +impetuously. Round like a distended balloon, he opened his short, thick +arms, as if in a pathetically hopeless attempt to embrace and hug to his +breast a self-regenerated universe. He gasped with ardour. + +"The future is as certain as the past--slavery, feudalism, individualism, +collectivism. This is the statement of a law, not an empty prophecy." + +The disdainful pout of Comrade Ossipon's thick lips accentuated the negro +type of his face. + +"Nonsense," he said calmly enough. "There is no law and no certainty. +The teaching propaganda be hanged. What the people knows does not +matter, were its knowledge ever so accurate. The only thing that matters +to us is the emotional state of the masses. Without emotion there is no +action." + +He paused, then added with modest firmness: + +"I am speaking now to you scientifically--scientifically--Eh? What did +you say, Verloc?" + +"Nothing," growled from the sofa Mr Verloc, who, provoked by the +abhorrent sound, had merely muttered a "Damn." + +The venomous spluttering of the old terrorist without teeth was heard. + +"Do you know how I would call the nature of the present economic +conditions? I would call it cannibalistic. That's what it is! They are +nourishing their greed on the quivering flesh and the warm blood of the +people--nothing else." + +Stevie swallowed the terrifying statement with an audible gulp, and at +once, as though it had been swift poison, sank limply in a sitting +posture on the steps of the kitchen door. + +Michaelis gave no sign of having heard anything. His lips seemed glued +together for good; not a quiver passed over his heavy cheeks. With +troubled eyes he looked for his round, hard hat, and put it on his round +head. His round and obese body seemed to float low between the chairs +under the sharp elbow of Karl Yundt. The old terrorist, raising an +uncertain and clawlike hand, gave a swaggering tilt to a black felt +sombrero shading the hollows and ridges of his wasted face. He got in +motion slowly, striking the floor with his stick at every step. It was +rather an affair to get him out of the house because, now and then, he +would stop, as if to think, and did not offer to move again till impelled +forward by Michaelis. The gentle apostle grasped his arm with brotherly +care; and behind them, his hands in his pockets, the robust Ossipon +yawned vaguely. A blue cap with a patent leather peak set well at the +back of his yellow bush of hair gave him the aspect of a Norwegian sailor +bored with the world after a thundering spree. Mr Verloc saw his guests +off the premises, attending them bareheaded, his heavy overcoat hanging +open, his eyes on the ground. + +He closed the door behind their backs with restrained violence, turned +the key, shot the bolt. He was not satisfied with his friends. In the +light of Mr Vladimir's philosophy of bomb throwing they appeared +hopelessly futile. The part of Mr Verloc in revolutionary politics +having been to observe, he could not all at once, either in his own home +or in larger assemblies, take the initiative of action. He had to be +cautious. Moved by the just indignation of a man well over forty, +menaced in what is dearest to him--his repose and his security--he asked +himself scornfully what else could have been expected from such a lot, +this Karl Yundt, this Michaelis--this Ossipon. + +Pausing in his intention to turn off the gas burning in the middle of the +shop, Mr Verloc descended into the abyss of moral reflections. With the +insight of a kindred temperament he pronounced his verdict. A lazy +lot--this Karl Yundt, nursed by a blear-eyed old woman, a woman he had +years ago enticed away from a friend, and afterwards had tried more than +once to shake off into the gutter. Jolly lucky for Yundt that she had +persisted in coming up time after time, or else there would have been no +one now to help him out of the 'bus by the Green Park railings, where +that spectre took its constitutional crawl every fine morning. When that +indomitable snarling old witch died the swaggering spectre would have to +vanish too--there would be an end to fiery Karl Yundt. And Mr Verloc's +morality was offended also by the optimism of Michaelis, annexed by his +wealthy old lady, who had taken lately to sending him to a cottage she +had in the country. The ex-prisoner could moon about the shady lanes for +days together in a delicious and humanitarian idleness. As to Ossipon, +that beggar was sure to want for nothing as long as there were silly +girls with savings-bank books in the world. And Mr Verloc, +temperamentally identical with his associates, drew fine distinctions in +his mind on the strength of insignificant differences. He drew them with +a certain complacency, because the instinct of conventional +respectability was strong within him, being only overcome by his dislike +of all kinds of recognised labour--a temperamental defect which he shared +with a large proportion of revolutionary reformers of a given social +state. For obviously one does not revolt against the advantages and +opportunities of that state, but against the price which must be paid for +the same in the coin of accepted morality, self-restraint, and toil. The +majority of revolutionises are the enemies of discipline and fatigue +mostly. There are natures too, to whose sense of justice the price +exacted looms up monstrously enormous, odious, oppressive, worrying, +humiliating, extortionate, intolerable. Those are the fanatics. The +remaining portion of social rebels is accounted for by vanity, the mother +of all noble and vile illusions, the companion of poets, reformers, +charlatans, prophets, and incendiaries. + +Lost for a whole minute in the abyss of meditation, Mr Verloc did not +reach the depth of these abstract considerations. Perhaps he was not +able. In any case he had not the time. He was pulled up painfully by +the sudden recollection of Mr Vladimir, another of his associates, whom +in virtue of subtle moral affinities he was capable of judging correctly. +He considered him as dangerous. A shade of envy crept into his thoughts. +Loafing was all very well for these fellows, who knew not Mr Vladimir, +and had women to fall back upon; whereas he had a woman to provide for-- + +At this point, by a simple association of ideas, Mr Verloc was brought +face to face with the necessity of going to bed some time or other that +evening. Then why not go now--at once? He sighed. The necessity was +not so normally pleasurable as it ought to have been for a man of his age +and temperament. He dreaded the demon of sleeplessness, which he felt +had marked him for its own. He raised his arm, and turned off the +flaring gas-jet above his head. + +A bright band of light fell through the parlour door into the part of the +shop behind the counter. It enabled Mr Verloc to ascertain at a glance +the number of silver coins in the till. These were but few; and for the +first time since he opened his shop he took a commercial survey of its +value. This survey was unfavourable. He had gone into trade for no +commercial reasons. He had been guided in the selection of this peculiar +line of business by an instinctive leaning towards shady transactions, +where money is picked up easily. Moreover, it did not take him out of +his own sphere--the sphere which is watched by the police. On the +contrary, it gave him a publicly confessed standing in that sphere, and +as Mr Verloc had unconfessed relations which made him familiar with yet +careless of the police, there was a distinct advantage in such a +situation. But as a means of livelihood it was by itself insufficient. + +He took the cash-box out of the drawer, and turning to leave the shop, +became aware that Stevie was still downstairs. + +What on earth is he doing there? Mr Verloc asked himself. What's the +meaning of these antics? He looked dubiously at his brother-in-law, but +he did not ask him for information. Mr Verloc's intercourse with Stevie +was limited to the casual mutter of a morning, after breakfast, "My +boots," and even that was more a communication at large of a need than a +direct order or request. Mr Verloc perceived with some surprise that he +did not know really what to say to Stevie. He stood still in the middle +of the parlour, and looked into the kitchen in silence. Nor yet did he +know what would happen if he did say anything. And this appeared very +queer to Mr Verloc in view of the fact, borne upon him suddenly, that he +had to provide for this fellow too. He had never given a moment's +thought till then to that aspect of Stevie's existence. + +Positively he did not know how to speak to the lad. He watched him +gesticulating and murmuring in the kitchen. Stevie prowled round the +table like an excited animal in a cage. A tentative "Hadn't you better +go to bed now?" produced no effect whatever; and Mr Verloc, abandoning +the stony contemplation of his brother-in-law's behaviour, crossed the +parlour wearily, cash-box in hand. The cause of the general lassitude he +felt while climbing the stairs being purely mental, he became alarmed by +its inexplicable character. He hoped he was not sickening for anything. +He stopped on the dark landing to examine his sensations. But a slight +and continuous sound of snoring pervading the obscurity interfered with +their clearness. The sound came from his mother-in-law's room. Another +one to provide for, he thought--and on this thought walked into the +bedroom. + +Mrs Verloc had fallen asleep with the lamp (no gas was laid upstairs) +turned up full on the table by the side of the bed. The light thrown +down by the shade fell dazzlingly on the white pillow sunk by the weight +of her head reposing with closed eyes and dark hair done up in several +plaits for the night. She woke up with the sound of her name in her +ears, and saw her husband standing over her. + +"Winnie! Winnie!" + +At first she did not stir, lying very quiet and looking at the cash-box +in Mr Verloc's hand. But when she understood that her brother was +"capering all over the place downstairs" she swung out in one sudden +movement on to the edge of the bed. Her bare feet, as if poked through +the bottom of an unadorned, sleeved calico sack buttoned tightly at neck +and wrists, felt over the rug for the slippers while she looked upward +into her husband's face. + +"I don't know how to manage him," Mr Verloc explained peevishly. "Won't +do to leave him downstairs alone with the lights." + +She said nothing, glided across the room swiftly, and the door closed +upon her white form. + +Mr Verloc deposited the cash-box on the night table, and began the +operation of undressing by flinging his overcoat on to a distant chair. +His coat and waistcoat followed. He walked about the room in his +stockinged feet, and his burly figure, with the hands worrying nervously +at his throat, passed and repassed across the long strip of looking-glass +in the door of his wife's wardrobe. Then after slipping his braces off +his shoulders he pulled up violently the venetian blind, and leaned his +forehead against the cold window-pane--a fragile film of glass stretched +between him and the enormity of cold, black, wet, muddy, inhospitable +accumulation of bricks, slates, and stones, things in themselves unlovely +and unfriendly to man. + +Mr Verloc felt the latent unfriendliness of all out of doors with a force +approaching to positive bodily anguish. There is no occupation that +fails a man more completely than that of a secret agent of police. It's +like your horse suddenly falling dead under you in the midst of an +uninhabited and thirsty plain. The comparison occurred to Mr Verloc +because he had sat astride various army horses in his time, and had now +the sensation of an incipient fall. The prospect was as black as the +window-pane against which he was leaning his forehead. And suddenly the +face of Mr Vladimir, clean-shaved and witty, appeared enhaloed in the +glow of its rosy complexion like a sort of pink seal, impressed on the +fatal darkness. + +This luminous and mutilated vision was so ghastly physically that Mr +Verloc started away from the window, letting down the venetian blind with +a great rattle. Discomposed and speechless with the apprehension of more +such visions, he beheld his wife re-enter the room and get into bed in a +calm business-like manner which made him feel hopelessly lonely in the +world. Mrs Verloc expressed her surprise at seeing him up yet. + +"I don't feel very well," he muttered, passing his hands over his moist +brow. + +"Giddiness?" + +"Yes. Not at all well." + +Mrs Verloc, with all the placidity of an experienced wife, expressed a +confident opinion as to the cause, and suggested the usual remedies; but +her husband, rooted in the middle of the room, shook his lowered head +sadly. + +"You'll catch cold standing there," she observed. + +Mr Verloc made an effort, finished undressing, and got into bed. Down +below in the quiet, narrow street measured footsteps approached the +house, then died away unhurried and firm, as if the passer-by had started +to pace out all eternity, from gas-lamp to gas-lamp in a night without +end; and the drowsy ticking of the old clock on the landing became +distinctly audible in the bedroom. + +Mrs Verloc, on her back, and staring at the ceiling, made a remark. + +"Takings very small to-day." + +Mr Verloc, in the same position, cleared his throat as if for an +important statement, but merely inquired: + +"Did you turn off the gas downstairs?" + +"Yes; I did," answered Mrs Verloc conscientiously. "That poor boy is in +a very excited state to-night," she murmured, after a pause which lasted +for three ticks of the clock. + +Mr Verloc cared nothing for Stevie's excitement, but he felt horribly +wakeful, and dreaded facing the darkness and silence that would follow +the extinguishing of the lamp. This dread led him to make the remark +that Stevie had disregarded his suggestion to go to bed. Mrs Verloc, +falling into the trap, started to demonstrate at length to her husband +that this was not "impudence" of any sort, but simply "excitement." There +was no young man of his age in London more willing and docile than +Stephen, she affirmed; none more affectionate and ready to please, and +even useful, as long as people did not upset his poor head. Mrs Verloc, +turning towards her recumbent husband, raised herself on her elbow, and +hung over him in her anxiety that he should believe Stevie to be a useful +member of the family. That ardour of protecting compassion exalted +morbidly in her childhood by the misery of another child tinged her +sallow cheeks with a faint dusky blush, made her big eyes gleam under the +dark lids. Mrs Verloc then looked younger; she looked as young as Winnie +used to look, and much more animated than the Winnie of the Belgravian +mansion days had ever allowed herself to appear to gentlemen lodgers. Mr +Verloc's anxieties had prevented him from attaching any sense to what his +wife was saying. It was as if her voice were talking on the other side +of a very thick wall. It was her aspect that recalled him to himself. + +He appreciated this woman, and the sentiment of this appreciation, +stirred by a display of something resembling emotion, only added another +pang to his mental anguish. When her voice ceased he moved uneasily, and +said: + +"I haven't been feeling well for the last few days." + +He might have meant this as an opening to a complete confidence; but Mrs +Verloc laid her head on the pillow again, and staring upward, went on: + +"That boy hears too much of what is talked about here. If I had known +they were coming to-night I would have seen to it that he went to bed at +the same time I did. He was out of his mind with something he overheard +about eating people's flesh and drinking blood. What's the good of +talking like that?" + +There was a note of indignant scorn in her voice. Mr Verloc was fully +responsive now. + +"Ask Karl Yundt," he growled savagely. + +Mrs Verloc, with great decision, pronounced Karl Yundt "a disgusting old +man." She declared openly her affection for Michaelis. Of the robust +Ossipon, in whose presence she always felt uneasy behind an attitude of +stony reserve, she said nothing whatever. And continuing to talk of that +brother, who had been for so many years an object of care and fears: + +"He isn't fit to hear what's said here. He believes it's all true. He +knows no better. He gets into his passions over it." + +Mr Verloc made no comment. + +"He glared at me, as if he didn't know who I was, when I went downstairs. +His heart was going like a hammer. He can't help being excitable. I +woke mother up, and asked her to sit with him till he went to sleep. It +isn't his fault. He's no trouble when he's left alone." + +Mr Verloc made no comment. + +"I wish he had never been to school," Mrs Verloc began again brusquely. +"He's always taking away those newspapers from the window to read. He +gets a red face poring over them. We don't get rid of a dozen numbers in +a month. They only take up room in the front window. And Mr Ossipon +brings every week a pile of these F. P. tracts to sell at a halfpenny +each. I wouldn't give a halfpenny for the whole lot. It's silly +reading--that's what it is. There's no sale for it. The other day +Stevie got hold of one, and there was a story in it of a German soldier +officer tearing half-off the ear of a recruit, and nothing was done to +him for it. The brute! I couldn't do anything with Stevie that +afternoon. The story was enough, too, to make one's blood boil. But +what's the use of printing things like that? We aren't German slaves +here, thank God. It's not our business--is it?" + +Mr Verloc made no reply. + +"I had to take the carving knife from the boy," Mrs Verloc continued, a +little sleepily now. "He was shouting and stamping and sobbing. He +can't stand the notion of any cruelty. He would have stuck that officer +like a pig if he had seen him then. It's true, too! Some people don't +deserve much mercy." Mrs Verloc's voice ceased, and the expression of +her motionless eyes became more and more contemplative and veiled during +the long pause. "Comfortable, dear?" she asked in a faint, far-away +voice. "Shall I put out the light now?" + +The dreary conviction that there was no sleep for him held Mr Verloc mute +and hopelessly inert in his fear of darkness. He made a great effort. + +"Yes. Put it out," he said at last in a hollow tone. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Most of the thirty or so little tables covered by red cloths with a white +design stood ranged at right angles to the deep brown wainscoting of the +underground hall. Bronze chandeliers with many globes depended from the +low, slightly vaulted ceiling, and the fresco paintings ran flat and dull +all round the walls without windows, representing scenes of the chase and +of outdoor revelry in mediaeval costumes. Varlets in green jerkins +brandished hunting knives and raised on high tankards of foaming beer. + +"Unless I am very much mistaken, you are the man who would know the +inside of this confounded affair," said the robust Ossipon, leaning over, +his elbows far out on the table and his feet tucked back completely under +his chair. His eyes stared with wild eagerness. + +An upright semi-grand piano near the door, flanked by two palms in pots, +executed suddenly all by itself a valse tune with aggressive virtuosity. +The din it raised was deafening. When it ceased, as abruptly as it had +started, the be-spectacled, dingy little man who faced Ossipon behind a +heavy glass mug full of beer emitted calmly what had the sound of a +general proposition. + +"In principle what one of us may or may not know as to any given fact +can't be a matter for inquiry to the others." + +"Certainly not," Comrade Ossipon agreed in a quiet undertone. "In +principle." + +With his big florid face held between his hands he continued to stare +hard, while the dingy little man in spectacles coolly took a drink of +beer and stood the glass mug back on the table. His flat, large ears +departed widely from the sides of his skull, which looked frail enough +for Ossipon to crush between thumb and forefinger; the dome of the +forehead seemed to rest on the rim of the spectacles; the flat cheeks, of +a greasy, unhealthy complexion, were merely smudged by the miserable +poverty of a thin dark whisker. The lamentable inferiority of the whole +physique was made ludicrous by the supremely self-confident bearing of +the individual. His speech was curt, and he had a particularly +impressive manner of keeping silent. + +Ossipon spoke again from between his hands in a mutter. + +"Have you been out much to-day?" + +"No. I stayed in bed all the morning," answered the other. "Why?" + +"Oh! Nothing," said Ossipon, gazing earnestly and quivering inwardly +with the desire to find out something, but obviously intimidated by the +little man's overwhelming air of unconcern. When talking with this +comrade--which happened but rarely--the big Ossipon suffered from a sense +of moral and even physical insignificance. However, he ventured another +question. "Did you walk down here?" + +"No; omnibus," the little man answered readily enough. He lived far away +in Islington, in a small house down a shabby street, littered with straw +and dirty paper, where out of school hours a troop of assorted children +ran and squabbled with a shrill, joyless, rowdy clamour. His single back +room, remarkable for having an extremely large cupboard, he rented +furnished from two elderly spinsters, dressmakers in a humble way with a +clientele of servant girls mostly. He had a heavy padlock put on the +cupboard, but otherwise he was a model lodger, giving no trouble, and +requiring practically no attendance. His oddities were that he insisted +on being present when his room was being swept, and that when he went out +he locked his door, and took the key away with him. + +Ossipon had a vision of these round black-rimmed spectacles progressing +along the streets on the top of an omnibus, their self-confident glitter +falling here and there on the walls of houses or lowered upon the heads +of the unconscious stream of people on the pavements. The ghost of a +sickly smile altered the set of Ossipon's thick lips at the thought of +the walls nodding, of people running for life at the sight of those +spectacles. If they had only known! What a panic! He murmured +interrogatively: "Been sitting long here?" + +"An hour or more," answered the other negligently, and took a pull at the +dark beer. All his movements--the way he grasped the mug, the act of +drinking, the way he set the heavy glass down and folded his arms--had a +firmness, an assured precision which made the big and muscular Ossipon, +leaning forward with staring eyes and protruding lips, look the picture +of eager indecision. + +"An hour," he said. "Then it may be you haven't heard yet the news I've +heard just now--in the street. Have you?" + +The little man shook his head negatively the least bit. But as he gave +no indication of curiosity Ossipon ventured to add that he had heard it +just outside the place. A newspaper boy had yelled the thing under his +very nose, and not being prepared for anything of that sort, he was very +much startled and upset. He had to come in there with a dry mouth. "I +never thought of finding you here," he added, murmuring steadily, with +his elbows planted on the table. + +"I come here sometimes," said the other, preserving his provoking +coolness of demeanour. + +"It's wonderful that you of all people should have heard nothing of it," +the big Ossipon continued. His eyelids snapped nervously upon the +shining eyes. "You of all people," he repeated tentatively. This +obvious restraint argued an incredible and inexplicable timidity of the +big fellow before the calm little man, who again lifted the glass mug, +drank, and put it down with brusque and assured movements. And that was +all. + +Ossipon after waiting for something, word or sign, that did not come, +made an effort to assume a sort of indifference. + +"Do you," he said, deadening his voice still more, "give your stuff to +anybody who's up to asking you for it?" + +"My absolute rule is never to refuse anybody--as long as I have a pinch +by me," answered the little man with decision. + +"That's a principle?" commented Ossipon. + +"It's a principle." + +"And you think it's sound?" + +The large round spectacles, which gave a look of staring self-confidence +to the sallow face, confronted Ossipon like sleepless, unwinking orbs +flashing a cold fire. + +"Perfectly. Always. Under every circumstance. What could stop me? Why +should I not? Why should I think twice about it?" + +Ossipon gasped, as it were, discreetly. + +"Do you mean to say you would hand it over to a 'teck' if one came to ask +you for your wares?" + +The other smiled faintly. + +"Let them come and try it on, and you will see," he said. "They know me, +but I know also every one of them. They won't come near me--not they." + +His thin livid lips snapped together firmly. Ossipon began to argue. + +"But they could send someone--rig a plant on you. Don't you see? Get +the stuff from you in that way, and then arrest you with the proof in +their hands." + +"Proof of what? Dealing in explosives without a licence perhaps." This +was meant for a contemptuous jeer, though the expression of the thin, +sickly face remained unchanged, and the utterance was negligent. "I +don't think there's one of them anxious to make that arrest. I don't +think they could get one of them to apply for a warrant. I mean one of +the best. Not one." + +"Why?" Ossipon asked. + +"Because they know very well I take care never to part with the last +handful of my wares. I've it always by me." He touched the breast of +his coat lightly. "In a thick glass flask," he added. + +"So I have been told," said Ossipon, with a shade of wonder in his voice. +"But I didn't know if--" + +"They know," interrupted the little man crisply, leaning against the +straight chair back, which rose higher than his fragile head. "I shall +never be arrested. The game isn't good enough for any policeman of them +all. To deal with a man like me you require sheer, naked, inglorious +heroism." Again his lips closed with a self-confident snap. Ossipon +repressed a movement of impatience. + +"Or recklessness--or simply ignorance," he retorted. "They've only to +get somebody for the job who does not know you carry enough stuff in your +pocket to blow yourself and everything within sixty yards of you to +pieces." + +"I never affirmed I could not be eliminated," rejoined the other. "But +that wouldn't be an arrest. Moreover, it's not so easy as it looks." + +"Bah!" Ossipon contradicted. "Don't be too sure of that. What's to +prevent half-a-dozen of them jumping upon you from behind in the street? +With your arms pinned to your sides you could do nothing--could you?" + +"Yes; I could. I am seldom out in the streets after dark," said the +little man impassively, "and never very late. I walk always with my +right hand closed round the india-rubber ball which I have in my trouser +pocket. The pressing of this ball actuates a detonator inside the flask +I carry in my pocket. It's the principle of the pneumatic instantaneous +shutter for a camera lens. The tube leads up--" + +With a swift disclosing gesture he gave Ossipon a glimpse of an india- +rubber tube, resembling a slender brown worm, issuing from the armhole of +his waistcoat and plunging into the inner breast pocket of his jacket. +His clothes, of a nondescript brown mixture, were threadbare and marked +with stains, dusty in the folds, with ragged button-holes. "The +detonator is partly mechanical, partly chemical," he explained, with +casual condescension. + +"It is instantaneous, of course?" murmured Ossipon, with a slight +shudder. + +"Far from it," confessed the other, with a reluctance which seemed to +twist his mouth dolorously. "A full twenty seconds must elapse from the +moment I press the ball till the explosion takes place." + +"Phew!" whistled Ossipon, completely appalled. "Twenty seconds! Horrors! +You mean to say that you could face that? I should go crazy--" + +"Wouldn't matter if you did. Of course, it's the weak point of this +special system, which is only for my own use. The worst is that the +manner of exploding is always the weak point with us. I am trying to +invent a detonator that would adjust itself to all conditions of action, +and even to unexpected changes of conditions. A variable and yet +perfectly precise mechanism. A really intelligent detonator." + +"Twenty seconds," muttered Ossipon again. "Ough! And then--" + +With a slight turn of the head the glitter of the spectacles seemed to +gauge the size of the beer saloon in the basement of the renowned Silenus +Restaurant. + +"Nobody in this room could hope to escape," was the verdict of that +survey. "Nor yet this couple going up the stairs now." + +The piano at the foot of the staircase clanged through a mazurka with +brazen impetuosity, as though a vulgar and impudent ghost were showing +off. The keys sank and rose mysteriously. Then all became still. For a +moment Ossipon imagined the overlighted place changed into a dreadful +black hole belching horrible fumes choked with ghastly rubbish of smashed +brickwork and mutilated corpses. He had such a distinct perception of +ruin and death that he shuddered again. The other observed, with an air +of calm sufficiency: + +"In the last instance it is character alone that makes for one's safety. +There are very few people in the world whose character is as well +established as mine." + +"I wonder how you managed it," growled Ossipon. + +"Force of personality," said the other, without raising his voice; and +coming from the mouth of that obviously miserable organism the assertion +caused the robust Ossipon to bite his lower lip. "Force of personality," +he repeated, with ostentatious calm. "I have the means to make myself +deadly, but that by itself, you understand, is absolutely nothing in the +way of protection. What is effective is the belief those people have in +my will to use the means. That's their impression. It is absolute. +Therefore I am deadly." + +"There are individuals of character amongst that lot too," muttered +Ossipon ominously. + +"Possibly. But it is a matter of degree obviously, since, for instance, +I am not impressed by them. Therefore they are inferior. They cannot be +otherwise. Their character is built upon conventional morality. It +leans on the social order. Mine stands free from everything artificial. +They are bound in all sorts of conventions. They depend on life, which, +in this connection, is a historical fact surrounded by all sorts of +restraints and considerations, a complex organised fact open to attack at +every point; whereas I depend on death, which knows no restraint and +cannot be attacked. My superiority is evident." + +"This is a transcendental way of putting it," said Ossipon, watching the +cold glitter of the round spectacles. "I've heard Karl Yundt say much +the same thing not very long ago." + +"Karl Yundt," mumbled the other contemptuously, "the delegate of the +International Red Committee, has been a posturing shadow all his life. +There are three of you delegates, aren't there? I won't define the other +two, as you are one of them. But what you say means nothing. You are +the worthy delegates for revolutionary propaganda, but the trouble is not +only that you are as unable to think independently as any respectable +grocer or journalist of them all, but that you have no character +whatever." + +Ossipon could not restrain a start of indignation. + +"But what do you want from us?" he exclaimed in a deadened voice. "What +is it you are after yourself?" + +"A perfect detonator," was the peremptory answer. "What are you making +that face for? You see, you can't even bear the mention of something +conclusive." + +"I am not making a face," growled the annoyed Ossipon bearishly. + +"You revolutionises," the other continued, with leisurely +self-confidence, "are the slaves of the social convention, which is +afraid of you; slaves of it as much as the very police that stands up in +the defence of that convention. Clearly you are, since you want to +revolutionise it. It governs your thought, of course, and your action +too, and thus neither your thought nor your action can ever be +conclusive." He paused, tranquil, with that air of close, endless +silence, then almost immediately went on. "You are not a bit better than +the forces arrayed against you--than the police, for instance. 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. He was as insignificant +as--I can't call to mind anything insignificant enough to compare him +with--except Karl Yundt perhaps. Like to like. The terrorist and the +policeman both come from the same basket. Revolution, legality--counter +moves in the same game; forms of idleness at bottom identical. He plays +his little game--so do you propagandists. But I don't play; I work +fourteen hours a day, and go hungry sometimes. My experiments cost money +now and again, and then I must do without food for a day or two. You're +looking at my beer. Yes. I have had two glasses already, and shall have +another presently. This is a little holiday, and I celebrate it alone. +Why not? I've the grit to work alone, quite alone, absolutely alone. +I've worked alone for years." + +Ossipon's face had turned dusky red. + +"At the perfect detonator--eh?" he sneered, very low. + +"Yes," retorted the other. "It is a good definition. You couldn't find +anything half so precise to define the nature of your activity with all +your committees and delegations. It is I who am the true propagandist." + +"We won't discuss that point," said Ossipon, with an air of rising above +personal considerations. "I am afraid I'll have to spoil your holiday +for you, though. There's a man blown up in Greenwich Park this morning." + +"How do you know?" + +"They have been yelling the news in the streets since two o'clock. I +bought the paper, and just ran in here. Then I saw you sitting at this +table. I've got it in my pocket now." + +He pulled the newspaper out. It was a good-sized rosy sheet, as if +flushed by the warmth of its own convictions, which were optimistic. He +scanned the pages rapidly. + +"Ah! Here it is. Bomb in Greenwich Park. There isn't much so far. Half- +past eleven. Foggy morning. Effects of explosion felt as far as Romney +Road and Park Place. Enormous hole in the ground under a tree filled +with smashed roots and broken branches. All round fragments of a man's +body blown to pieces. That's all. The rest's mere newspaper gup. No +doubt a wicked attempt to blow up the Observatory, they say. H'm. That's +hardly credible." + +He looked at the paper for a while longer in silence, then passed it to +the other, who after gazing abstractedly at the print laid it down +without comment. + +It was Ossipon who spoke first--still resentful. + +"The fragments of only _one_ man, you note. Ergo: blew _himself_ up. +That spoils your day off for you--don't it? Were you expecting that sort +of move? I hadn't the slightest idea--not the ghost of a notion of +anything of the sort being planned to come off here--in this country. +Under the present circumstances it's nothing short of criminal." + +The little man lifted his thin black eyebrows with dispassionate scorn. + +"Criminal! What is that? What is crime? What can be the meaning of +such an assertion?" + +"How am I to express myself? One must use the current words," said +Ossipon impatiently. "The meaning of this assertion is that this +business may affect our position very adversely in this country. Isn't +that crime enough for you? I am convinced you have been giving away some +of your stuff lately." + +Ossipon stared hard. The other, without flinching, lowered and raised +his head slowly. + +"You have!" burst out the editor of the F. P. leaflets in an intense +whisper. "No! And are you really handing it over at large like this, +for the asking, to the first fool that comes along?" + +"Just so! The condemned social order has not been built up on paper and +ink, and I don't fancy that a combination of paper and ink will ever put +an end to it, whatever you may think. Yes, I would give the stuff with +both hands to every man, woman, or fool that likes to come along. I know +what you are thinking about. But I am not taking my cue from the Red +Committee. I would see you all hounded out of here, or arrested--or +beheaded for that matter--without turning a hair. What happens to us as +individuals is not of the least consequence." + +He spoke carelessly, without heat, almost without feeling, and Ossipon, +secretly much affected, tried to copy this detachment. + +"If the police here knew their business they would shoot you full of +holes with revolvers, or else try to sand-bag you from behind in broad +daylight." + +The little man seemed already to have considered that point of view in +his dispassionate self-confident manner. + +"Yes," he assented with the utmost readiness. "But for that they would +have to face their own institutions. Do you see? That requires uncommon +grit. Grit of a special kind." + +Ossipon blinked. + +"I fancy that's exactly what would happen to you if you were to set up +your laboratory in the States. They don't stand on ceremony with their +institutions there." + +"I am not likely to go and see. Otherwise your remark is just," admitted +the other. "They have more character over there, and their character is +essentially anarchistic. Fertile ground for us, the States--very good +ground. The great Republic has the root of the destructive matter in +her. The collective temperament is lawless. Excellent. They may shoot +us down, but--" + +"You are too transcendental for me," growled Ossipon, with moody concern. + +"Logical," protested the other. "There are several kinds of logic. This +is the enlightened kind. America is all right. It is this country that +is dangerous, with her idealistic conception of legality. The social +spirit of this people is wrapped up in scrupulous prejudices, and that is +fatal to our work. You talk of England being our only refuge! So much +the worse. Capua! What do we want with refuges? Here you talk, print, +plot, and do nothing. I daresay it's very convenient for such Karl +Yundts." + +He shrugged his shoulders slightly, then added with the same leisurely +assurance: "To break up the superstition and worship of legality should +be our aim. Nothing would please me more than to see Inspector Heat and +his likes take to shooting us down in broad daylight with the approval of +the public. Half our battle would be won then; the disintegration of the +old morality would have set in in its very temple. That is what you +ought to aim at. But you revolutionises will never understand that. You +plan the future, you lose yourselves in reveries of economical systems +derived from what is; whereas what's wanted is a clean sweep and a clear +start for a new conception of life. That sort of future will take care +of itself if you will only make room for it. Therefore I would shovel my +stuff in heaps at the corners of the streets if I had enough for that; +and as I haven't, I do my best by perfecting a really dependable +detonator." + +Ossipon, who had been mentally swimming in deep waters, seized upon the +last word as if it were a saving plank. + +"Yes. Your detonators. I shouldn't wonder if it weren't one of your +detonators that made a clean sweep of the man in the park." + +A shade of vexation darkened the determined sallow face confronting +Ossipon. + +"My difficulty consists precisely in experimenting practically with the +various kinds. They must be tried after all. Besides--" + +Ossipon interrupted. + +"Who could that fellow be? I assure you that we in London had no +knowledge--Couldn't you describe the person you gave the stuff to?" + +The other turned his spectacles upon Ossipon like a pair of searchlights. + +"Describe him," he repeated slowly. "I don't think there can be the +slightest objection now. I will describe him to you in one word--Verloc." + +Ossipon, whom curiosity had lifted a few inches off his seat, dropped +back, as if hit in the face. + +"Verloc! Impossible." + +The self-possessed little man nodded slightly once. + +"Yes. He's the person. You can't say that in this case I was giving my +stuff to the first fool that came along. He was a prominent member of +the group as far as I understand." + +"Yes," said Ossipon. "Prominent. No, not exactly. He was the centre +for general intelligence, and usually received comrades coming over here. +More useful than important. Man of no ideas. Years ago he used to speak +at meetings--in France, I believe. Not very well, though. He was +trusted by such men as Latorre, Moser and all that old lot. The only +talent he showed really was his ability to elude the attentions of the +police somehow. Here, for instance, he did not seem to be looked after +very closely. He was regularly married, you know. I suppose it's with +her money that he started that shop. Seemed to make it pay, too." + +Ossipon paused abruptly, muttered to himself "I wonder what that woman +will do now?" and fell into thought. + +The other waited with ostentatious indifference. His parentage was +obscure, and he was generally known only by his nickname of Professor. +His title to that designation consisted in his having been once assistant +demonstrator in chemistry at some technical institute. He quarrelled +with the authorities upon a question of unfair treatment. Afterwards he +obtained a post in the laboratory of a manufactory of dyes. There too he +had been treated with revolting injustice. His struggles, his +privations, his hard work to raise himself in the social scale, had +filled him with such an exalted conviction of his merits that it was +extremely difficult for the world to treat him with justice--the standard +of that notion depending so much upon the patience of the individual. The +Professor had genius, but lacked the great social virtue of resignation. + +"Intellectually a nonentity," Ossipon pronounced aloud, abandoning +suddenly the inward contemplation of Mrs Verloc's bereaved person and +business. "Quite an ordinary personality. You are wrong in not keeping +more in touch with the comrades, Professor," he added in a reproving +tone. "Did he say anything to you--give you some idea of his intentions? +I hadn't seen him for a month. It seems impossible that he should be +gone." + +"He told me it was going to be a demonstration against a building," said +the Professor. "I had to know that much to prepare the missile. I +pointed out to him that I had hardly a sufficient quantity for a +completely destructive result, but he pressed me very earnestly to do my +best. As he wanted something that could be carried openly in the hand, I +proposed to make use of an old one-gallon copal varnish can I happened to +have by me. He was pleased at the idea. It gave me some trouble, +because I had to cut out the bottom first and solder it on again +afterwards. When prepared for use, the can enclosed a wide-mouthed, well- +corked jar of thick glass packed around with some wet clay and containing +sixteen ounces of X2 green powder. The detonator was connected with the +screw top of the can. It was ingenious--a combination of time and shock. +I explained the system to him. It was a thin tube of tin enclosing a--" + +Ossipon's attention had wandered. + +"What do you think has happened?" he interrupted. + +"Can't tell. Screwed the top on tight, which would make the connection, +and then forgot the time. It was set for twenty minutes. On the other +hand, the time contact being made, a sharp shock would bring about the +explosion at once. He either ran the time too close, or simply let the +thing fall. The contact was made all right--that's clear to me at any +rate. The system's worked perfectly. And yet you would think that a +common fool in a hurry would be much more likely to forget to make the +contact altogether. I was worrying myself about that sort of failure +mostly. But there are more kinds of fools than one can guard against. +You can't expect a detonator to be absolutely fool-proof." + +He beckoned to a waiter. Ossipon sat rigid, with the abstracted gaze of +mental travail. After the man had gone away with the money he roused +himself, with an air of profound dissatisfaction. + +"It's extremely unpleasant for me," he mused. "Karl has been in bed with +bronchitis for a week. There's an even chance that he will never get up +again. Michaelis's luxuriating in the country somewhere. A fashionable +publisher has offered him five hundred pounds for a book. It will be a +ghastly failure. He has lost the habit of consecutive thinking in +prison, you know." + +The Professor on his feet, now buttoning his coat, looked about him with +perfect indifference. + +"What are you going to do?" asked Ossipon wearily. He dreaded the blame +of the Central Red Committee, a body which had no permanent place of +abode, and of whose membership he was not exactly informed. If this +affair eventuated in the stoppage of the modest subsidy allotted to the +publication of the F. P. pamphlets, then indeed he would have to regret +Verloc's inexplicable folly. + +"Solidarity with the extremest form of action is one thing, and silly +recklessness is another," he said, with a sort of moody brutality. "I +don't know what came to Verloc. There's some mystery there. However, +he's gone. You may take it as you like, but under the circumstances the +only policy for the militant revolutionary group is to disclaim all +connection with this damned freak of yours. How to make the disclaimer +convincing enough is what bothers me." + +The little man on his feet, buttoned up and ready to go, was no taller +than the seated Ossipon. He levelled his spectacles at the latter's face +point-blank. + +"You might ask the police for a testimonial of good conduct. They know +where every one of you slept last night. Perhaps if you asked them they +would consent to publish some sort of official statement." + +"No doubt they are aware well enough that we had nothing to do with +this," mumbled Ossipon bitterly. "What they will say is another thing." +He remained thoughtful, disregarding the short, owlish, shabby figure +standing by his side. "I must lay hands on Michaelis at once, and get +him to speak from his heart at one of our gatherings. The public has a +sort of sentimental regard for that fellow. His name is known. And I am +in touch with a few reporters on the big dailies. What he would say +would be utter bosh, but he has a turn of talk that makes it go down all +the same." + +"Like treacle," interjected the Professor, rather low, keeping an +impassive expression. + +The perplexed Ossipon went on communing with himself half audibly, after +the manner of a man reflecting in perfect solitude. + +"Confounded ass! To leave such an imbecile business on my hands. And I +don't even know if--" + +He sat with compressed lips. The idea of going for news straight to the +shop lacked charm. His notion was that Verloc's shop might have been +turned already into a police trap. They will be bound to make some +arrests, he thought, with something resembling virtuous indignation, for +the even tenor of his revolutionary life was menaced by no fault of his. +And yet unless he went there he ran the risk of remaining in ignorance of +what perhaps it would be very material for him to know. Then he +reflected that, if the man in the park had been so very much blown to +pieces as the evening papers said, he could not have been identified. And +if so, the police could have no special reason for watching Verloc's shop +more closely than any other place known to be frequented by marked +anarchists--no more reason, in fact, than for watching the doors of the +Silenus. There would be a lot of watching all round, no matter where he +went. Still-- + +"I wonder what I had better do now?" he muttered, taking counsel with +himself. + +A rasping voice at his elbow said, with sedate scorn: + +"Fasten yourself upon the woman for all she's worth." + +After uttering these words the Professor walked away from the table. +Ossipon, whom that piece of insight had taken unawares, gave one +ineffectual start, and remained still, with a helpless gaze, as though +nailed fast to the seat of his chair. The lonely piano, without as much +as a music stool to help it, struck a few chords courageously, and +beginning a selection of national airs, played him out at last to the +tune of "Blue Bells of Scotland." The painfully detached notes grew +faint behind his back while he went slowly upstairs, across the hall, and +into the street. + +In front of the great doorway a dismal row of newspaper sellers standing +clear of the pavement dealt out their wares from the gutter. It was a +raw, gloomy day of the early spring; and the grimy sky, the mud of the +streets, the rags of the dirty men, harmonised excellently with the +eruption of the damp, rubbishy sheets of paper soiled with printers' ink. +The posters, maculated with filth, garnished like tapestry the sweep of +the curbstone. The trade in afternoon papers was brisk, yet, in +comparison with the swift, constant march of foot traffic, the effect was +of indifference, of a disregarded distribution. Ossipon looked hurriedly +both ways before stepping out into the cross-currents, but the Professor +was already out of sight. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The Professor had turned into a street to the left, and walked along, +with his head carried rigidly erect, in a crowd whose every individual +almost overtopped his stunted stature. It was vain to pretend to himself +that he was not disappointed. But that was mere feeling; the stoicism of +his thought could not be disturbed by this or any other failure. Next +time, or the time after next, a telling stroke would be +delivered-something really startling--a blow fit to open the first crack +in the imposing front of the great edifice of legal conceptions +sheltering the atrocious injustice of society. Of humble origin, and +with an appearance really so mean as to stand in the way of his +considerable natural abilities, his imagination had been fired early by +the tales of men rising from the depths of poverty to positions of +authority and affluence. The extreme, almost ascetic purity of his +thought, combined with an astounding ignorance of worldly conditions, had +set before him a goal of power and prestige to be attained without the +medium of arts, graces, tact, wealth--by sheer weight of merit alone. On +that view he considered himself entitled to undisputed success. His +father, a delicate dark enthusiast with a sloping forehead, had been an +itinerant and rousing preacher of some obscure but rigid Christian sect--a +man supremely confident in the privileges of his righteousness. In the +son, individualist by temperament, once the science of colleges had +replaced thoroughly the faith of conventicles, this moral attitude +translated itself into a frenzied puritanism of ambition. He nursed it +as something secularly holy. To see it thwarted opened his eyes to the +true nature of the world, whose morality was artificial, corrupt, and +blasphemous. The way of even the most justifiable revolutions is +prepared by personal impulses disguised into creeds. The Professor's +indignation found in itself a final cause that absolved him from the sin +of turning to destruction as the agent of his ambition. To destroy +public faith in legality was the imperfect formula of his pedantic +fanaticism; but the subconscious conviction that the framework of an +established social order cannot be effectually shattered except by some +form of collective or individual violence was precise and correct. He +was a moral agent--that was settled in his mind. By exercising his +agency with ruthless defiance he procured for himself the appearances of +power and personal prestige. That was undeniable to his vengeful +bitterness. It pacified its unrest; and in their own way the most ardent +of revolutionaries are perhaps doing no more but seeking for peace in +common with the rest of mankind--the peace of soothed vanity, of +satisfied appetites, or perhaps of appeased conscience. + +Lost in the crowd, miserable and undersized, he meditated confidently on +his power, keeping his hand in the left pocket of his trousers, grasping +lightly the india-rubber ball, the supreme guarantee of his sinister +freedom; but after a while he became disagreeably affected by the sight +of the roadway thronged with vehicles and of the pavement crowded with +men and women. He was in a long, straight street, peopled by a mere +fraction of an immense multitude; but all round him, on and on, even to +the limits of the horizon hidden by the enormous piles of bricks, he felt +the mass of mankind mighty in its numbers. They swarmed numerous like +locusts, industrious like ants, thoughtless like a natural force, pushing +on blind and orderly and absorbed, impervious to sentiment, to logic, to +terror too perhaps. + +That was the form of doubt he feared most. Impervious to fear! Often +while walking abroad, when he happened also to come out of himself, he +had such moments of dreadful and sane mistrust of mankind. What if +nothing could move them? Such moments come to all men whose ambition +aims at a direct grasp upon humanity--to artists, politicians, thinkers, +reformers, or saints. A despicable emotional state this, against which +solitude fortifies a superior character; and with severe exultation the +Professor thought of the refuge of his room, with its padlocked cupboard, +lost in a wilderness of poor houses, the hermitage of the perfect +anarchist. In order to reach sooner the point where he could take his +omnibus, he turned brusquely out of the populous street into a narrow and +dusky alley paved with flagstones. On one side the low brick houses had +in their dusty windows the sightless, moribund look of incurable +decay--empty shells awaiting demolition. From the other side life had +not departed wholly as yet. Facing the only gas-lamp yawned the cavern +of a second-hand furniture dealer, where, deep in the gloom of a sort of +narrow avenue winding through a bizarre forest of wardrobes, with an +undergrowth tangle of table legs, a tall pier-glass glimmered like a pool +of water in a wood. An unhappy, homeless couch, accompanied by two +unrelated chairs, stood in the open. The only human being making use of +the alley besides the Professor, coming stalwart and erect from the +opposite direction, checked his swinging pace suddenly. + +"Hallo!" he said, and stood a little on one side watchfully. + +The Professor had already stopped, with a ready half turn which brought +his shoulders very near the other wall. His right hand fell lightly on +the back of the outcast couch, the left remained purposefully plunged +deep in the trousers pocket, and the roundness of the heavy rimmed +spectacles imparted an owlish character to his moody, unperturbed face. + +It was like a meeting in a side corridor of a mansion full of life. The +stalwart man was buttoned up in a dark overcoat, and carried an umbrella. +His hat, tilted back, uncovered a good deal of forehead, which appeared +very white in the dusk. In the dark patches of the orbits the eyeballs +glimmered piercingly. Long, drooping moustaches, the colour of ripe +corn, framed with their points the square block of his shaved chin. + +"I am not looking for you," he said curtly. + +The Professor did not stir an inch. The blended noises of the enormous +town sank down to an inarticulate low murmur. Chief Inspector Heat of +the Special Crimes Department changed his tone. + +"Not in a hurry to get home?" he asked, with mocking simplicity. + +The unwholesome-looking little moral agent of destruction exulted +silently in the possession of personal prestige, keeping in check this +man armed with the defensive mandate of a menaced society. More +fortunate than Caligula, who wished that the Roman Senate had only one +head for the better satisfaction of his cruel lust, he beheld in that one +man all the forces he had set at defiance: the force of law, property, +oppression, and injustice. He beheld all his enemies, and fearlessly +confronted them all in a supreme satisfaction of his vanity. They stood +perplexed before him as if before a dreadful portent. He gloated +inwardly over the chance of this meeting affirming his superiority over +all the multitude of mankind. + +It was in reality a chance meeting. Chief Inspector Heat had had a +disagreeably busy day since his department received the first telegram +from Greenwich a little before eleven in the morning. First of all, the +fact of the outrage being attempted less than a week after he had assured +a high official that no outbreak of anarchist activity was to be +apprehended was sufficiently annoying. If he ever thought himself safe +in making a statement, it was then. He had made that statement with +infinite satisfaction to himself, because it was clear that the high +official desired greatly to hear that very thing. He had affirmed that +nothing of the sort could even be thought of without the department being +aware of it within twenty-four hours; and he had spoken thus in his +consciousness of being the great expert of his department. He had gone +even so far as to utter words which true wisdom would have kept back. But +Chief Inspector Heat was not very wise--at least not truly so. True +wisdom, which is not certain of anything in this world of contradictions, +would have prevented him from attaining his present position. It would +have alarmed his superiors, and done away with his chances of promotion. +His promotion had been very rapid. + +"There isn't one of them, sir, that we couldn't lay our hands on at any +time of night and day. We know what each of them is doing hour by hour," +he had declared. And the high official had deigned to smile. This was +so obviously the right thing to say for an officer of Chief Inspector +Heat's reputation that it was perfectly delightful. The high official +believed the declaration, which chimed in with his idea of the fitness of +things. His wisdom was of an official kind, or else he might have +reflected upon a matter not of theory but of experience that in the close- +woven stuff of relations between conspirator and police there occur +unexpected solutions of continuity, sudden holes in space and time. A +given anarchist may be watched inch by inch and minute by minute, but a +moment always comes when somehow all sight and touch of him are lost for +a few hours, during which something (generally an explosion) more or less +deplorable does happen. But the high official, carried away by his sense +of the fitness of things, had smiled, and now the recollection of that +smile was very annoying to Chief Inspector Heat, principal expert in +anarchist procedure. + +This was not the only circumstance whose recollection depressed the usual +serenity of the eminent specialist. There was another dating back only +to that very morning. The thought that when called urgently to his +Assistant Commissioner's private room he had been unable to conceal his +astonishment was distinctly vexing. His instinct of a successful man had +taught him long ago that, as a general rule, a reputation is built on +manner as much as on achievement. And he felt that his manner when +confronted with the telegram had not been impressive. He had opened his +eyes widely, and had exclaimed "Impossible!" exposing himself thereby to +the unanswerable retort of a finger-tip laid forcibly on the telegram +which the Assistant Commissioner, after reading it aloud, had flung on +the desk. To be crushed, as it were, under the tip of a forefinger was +an unpleasant experience. Very damaging, too! Furthermore, Chief +Inspector Heat was conscious of not having mended matters by allowing +himself to express a conviction. + +"One thing I can tell you at once: none of our lot had anything to do +with this." + +He was strong in his integrity of a good detective, but he saw now that +an impenetrably attentive reserve towards this incident would have served +his reputation better. On the other hand, he admitted to himself that it +was difficult to preserve one's reputation if rank outsiders were going +to take a hand in the business. Outsiders are the bane of the police as +of other professions. The tone of the Assistant Commissioner's remarks +had been sour enough to set one's teeth on edge. + +And since breakfast Chief Inspector Heat had not managed to get anything +to eat. + +Starting immediately to begin his investigation on the spot, he had +swallowed a good deal of raw, unwholesome fog in the park. Then he had +walked over to the hospital; and when the investigation in Greenwich was +concluded at last he had lost his inclination for food. Not accustomed, +as the doctors are, to examine closely the mangled remains of human +beings, he had been shocked by the sight disclosed to his view when a +waterproof sheet had been lifted off a table in a certain apartment of +the hospital. + +Another waterproof sheet was spread over that table in the manner of a +table-cloth, with the corners turned up over a sort of mound--a heap of +rags, scorched and bloodstained, half concealing what might have been an +accumulation of raw material for a cannibal feast. It required +considerable firmness of mind not to recoil before that sight. Chief +Inspector Heat, an efficient officer of his department, stood his ground, +but for a whole minute he did not advance. A local constable in uniform +cast a sidelong glance, and said, with stolid simplicity: + +"He's all there. Every bit of him. It was a job." + +He had been the first man on the spot after the explosion. He mentioned +the fact again. He had seen something like a heavy flash of lightning in +the fog. At that time he was standing at the door of the King William +Street Lodge talking to the keeper. The concussion made him tingle all +over. He ran between the trees towards the Observatory. "As fast as my +legs would carry me," he repeated twice. + +Chief Inspector Heat, bending forward over the table in a gingerly and +horrified manner, let him run on. The hospital porter and another man +turned down the corners of the cloth, and stepped aside. The Chief +Inspector's eyes searched the gruesome detail of that heap of mixed +things, which seemed to have been collected in shambles and rag shops. + +"You used a shovel," he remarked, observing a sprinkling of small gravel, +tiny brown bits of bark, and particles of splintered wood as fine as +needles. + +"Had to in one place," said the stolid constable. "I sent a keeper to +fetch a spade. When he heard me scraping the ground with it he leaned +his forehead against a tree, and was as sick as a dog." + +The Chief Inspector, stooping guardedly over the table, fought down the +unpleasant sensation in his throat. The shattering violence of +destruction which had made of that body a heap of nameless fragments +affected his feelings with a sense of ruthless cruelty, though his reason +told him the effect must have been as swift as a flash of lightning. The +man, whoever he was, had died instantaneously; and yet it seemed +impossible to believe that a human body could have reached that state of +disintegration without passing through the pangs of inconceivable agony. +No physiologist, and still less of a metaphysician, Chief Inspector Heat +rose by the force of sympathy, which is a form of fear, above the vulgar +conception of time. Instantaneous! He remembered all he had ever read +in popular publications of long and terrifying dreams dreamed in the +instant of waking; of the whole past life lived with frightful intensity +by a drowning man as his doomed head bobs up, streaming, for the last +time. The inexplicable mysteries of conscious existence beset Chief +Inspector Heat till he evolved a horrible notion that ages of atrocious +pain and mental torture could be contained between two successive winks +of an eye. And meantime the Chief Inspector went on, peering at the +table with a calm face and the slightly anxious attention of an indigent +customer bending over what may be called the by-products of a butcher's +shop with a view to an inexpensive Sunday dinner. All the time his +trained faculties of an excellent investigator, who scorns no chance of +information, followed the self-satisfied, disjointed loquacity of the +constable. + +"A fair-haired fellow," the last observed in a placid tone, and paused. +"The old woman who spoke to the sergeant noticed a fair-haired fellow +coming out of Maze Hill Station." He paused. "And he was a fair-haired +fellow. She noticed two men coming out of the station after the uptrain +had gone on," he continued slowly. "She couldn't tell if they were +together. She took no particular notice of the big one, but the other +was a fair, slight chap, carrying a tin varnish can in one hand." The +constable ceased. + +"Know the woman?" muttered the Chief Inspector, with his eyes fixed on +the table, and a vague notion in his mind of an inquest to be held +presently upon a person likely to remain for ever unknown. + +"Yes. She's housekeeper to a retired publican, and attends the chapel in +Park Place sometimes," the constable uttered weightily, and paused, with +another oblique glance at the table. + +Then suddenly: "Well, here he is--all of him I could see. Fair. +Slight--slight enough. Look at that foot there. I picked up the legs +first, one after another. He was that scattered you didn't know where to +begin." + +The constable paused; the least flicker of an innocent self-laudatory +smile invested his round face with an infantile expression. + +"Stumbled," he announced positively. "I stumbled once myself, and +pitched on my head too, while running up. Them roots do stick out all +about the place. Stumbled against the root of a tree and fell, and that +thing he was carrying must have gone off right under his chest, I +expect." + +The echo of the words "Person unknown" repeating itself in his inner +consciousness bothered the Chief Inspector considerably. He would have +liked to trace this affair back to its mysterious origin for his own +information. He was professionally curious. Before the public he would +have liked to vindicate the efficiency of his department by establishing +the identity of that man. He was a loyal servant. That, however, +appeared impossible. The first term of the problem was unreadable--lacked +all suggestion but that of atrocious cruelty. + +Overcoming his physical repugnance, Chief Inspector Heat stretched out +his hand without conviction for the salving of his conscience, and took +up the least soiled of the rags. It was a narrow strip of velvet with a +larger triangular piece of dark blue cloth hanging from it. He held it +up to his eyes; and the police constable spoke. + +"Velvet collar. Funny the old woman should have noticed the velvet +collar. Dark blue overcoat with a velvet collar, she has told us. He +was the chap she saw, and no mistake. And here he is all complete, +velvet collar and all. I don't think I missed a single piece as big as a +postage stamp." + +At this point the trained faculties of the Chief Inspector ceased to hear +the voice of the constable. He moved to one of the windows for better +light. His face, averted from the room, expressed a startled intense +interest while he examined closely the triangular piece of broad-cloth. +By a sudden jerk he detached it, and _only_ after stuffing it into his +pocket turned round to the room, and flung the velvet collar back on the +table-- + +"Cover up," he directed the attendants curtly, without another look, and, +saluted by the constable, carried off his spoil hastily. + +A convenient train whirled him up to town, alone and pondering deeply, in +a third-class compartment. That singed piece of cloth was incredibly +valuable, and he could not defend himself from astonishment at the casual +manner it had come into his possession. It was as if Fate had thrust +that clue into his hands. And after the manner of the average man, whose +ambition is to command events, he began to mistrust such a gratuitous and +accidental success--just because it seemed forced upon him. The +practical value of success depends not a little on the way you look at +it. But Fate looks at nothing. It has no discretion. He no longer +considered it eminently desirable all round to establish publicly the +identity of the man who had blown himself up that morning with such +horrible completeness. But he was not certain of the view his department +would take. A department is to those it employs a complex personality +with ideas and even fads of its own. It depends on the loyal devotion of +its servants, and the devoted loyalty of trusted servants is associated +with a certain amount of affectionate contempt, which keeps it sweet, as +it were. By a benevolent provision of Nature no man is a hero to his +valet, or else the heroes would have to brush their own clothes. Likewise +no department appears perfectly wise to the intimacy of its workers. A +department does not know so much as some of its servants. Being a +dispassionate organism, it can never be perfectly informed. It would not +be good for its efficiency to know too much. Chief Inspector Heat got +out of the train in a state of thoughtfulness entirely untainted with +disloyalty, but not quite free of that jealous mistrust which so often +springs on the ground of perfect devotion, whether to women or to +institutions. + +It was in this mental disposition, physically very empty, but still +nauseated by what he had seen, that he had come upon the Professor. Under +these conditions which make for irascibility in a sound, normal man, this +meeting was specially unwelcome to Chief Inspector Heat. He had not been +thinking of the Professor; he had not been thinking of any individual +anarchist at all. The complexion of that case had somehow forced upon +him the general idea of the absurdity of things human, which in the +abstract is sufficiently annoying to an unphilosophical temperament, and +in concrete instances becomes exasperating beyond endurance. At the +beginning of his career Chief Inspector Heat had been concerned with the +more energetic forms of thieving. He had gained his spurs in that +sphere, and naturally enough had kept for it, after his promotion to +another department, a feeling not very far removed from affection. +Thieving was not a sheer absurdity. It was a form of human industry, +perverse indeed, but still an industry exercised in an industrious world; +it was work undertaken for the same reason as the work in potteries, in +coal mines, in fields, in tool-grinding shops. It was labour, whose +practical difference from the other forms of labour consisted in the +nature of its risk, which did not lie in ankylosis, or lead poisoning, or +fire-damp, or gritty dust, but in what may be briefly defined in its own +special phraseology as "Seven years hard." Chief Inspector Heat was, of +course, not insensible to the gravity of moral differences. But neither +were the thieves he had been looking after. They submitted to the severe +sanctions of a morality familiar to Chief Inspector Heat with a certain +resignation. + +They were his fellow-citizens gone wrong because of imperfect education, +Chief Inspector Heat believed; but allowing for that difference, he could +understand the mind of a burglar, because, as a matter of fact, the mind +and the instincts of a burglar are of the same kind as the mind and the +instincts of a police officer. Both recognise the same conventions, and +have a working knowledge of each other's methods and of the routine of +their respective trades. They understand each other, which is +advantageous to both, and establishes a sort of amenity in their +relations. Products of the same machine, one classed as useful and the +other as noxious, they take the machine for granted in different ways, +but with a seriousness essentially the same. The mind of Chief Inspector +Heat was inaccessible to ideas of revolt. But his thieves were not +rebels. His bodily vigour, his cool inflexible manner, his courage and +his fairness, had secured for him much respect and some adulation in the +sphere of his early successes. He had felt himself revered and admired. +And Chief Inspector Heat, arrested within six paces of the anarchist nick- +named the Professor, gave a thought of regret to the world of +thieves--sane, without morbid ideals, working by routine, respectful of +constituted authorities, free from all taint of hate and despair. + +After paying this tribute to what is normal in the constitution of +society (for the idea of thieving appeared to his instinct as normal as +the idea of property), Chief Inspector Heat felt very angry with himself +for having stopped, for having spoken, for having taken that way at all +on the ground of it being a short cut from the station to the +headquarters. And he spoke again in his big authoritative voice, which, +being moderated, had a threatening character. + +"You are not wanted, I tell you," he repeated. + +The anarchist did not stir. An inward laugh of derision uncovered not +only his teeth but his gums as well, shook him all over, without the +slightest sound. Chief Inspector Heat was led to add, against his better +judgment: + +"Not yet. When I want you I will know where to find you." + +Those were perfectly proper words, within the tradition and suitable to +his character of a police officer addressing one of his special flock. +But the reception they got departed from tradition and propriety. It was +outrageous. The stunted, weakly figure before him spoke at last. + +"I've no doubt the papers would give you an obituary notice then. You +know best what that would be worth to you. I should think you can +imagine easily the sort of stuff that would be printed. But you may be +exposed to the unpleasantness of being buried together with me, though I +suppose your friends would make an effort to sort us out as much as +possible." + +With all his healthy contempt for the spirit dictating such speeches, the +atrocious allusiveness of the words had its effect on Chief Inspector +Heat. He had too much insight, and too much exact information as well, +to dismiss them as rot. The dusk of this narrow lane took on a sinister +tint from the dark, frail little figure, its back to the wall, and +speaking with a weak, self-confident voice. To the vigorous, tenacious +vitality of the Chief Inspector, the physical wretchedness of that being, +so obviously not fit to live, was ominous; for it seemed to him that if +he had the misfortune to be such a miserable object he would not have +cared how soon he died. Life had such a strong hold upon him that a +fresh wave of nausea broke out in slight perspiration upon his brow. The +murmur of town life, the subdued rumble of wheels in the two invisible +streets to the right and left, came through the curve of the sordid lane +to his ears with a precious familiarity and an appealing sweetness. He +was human. But Chief Inspector Heat was also a man, and he could not let +such words pass. + +"All this is good to frighten children with," he said. "I'll have you +yet." + +It was very well said, without scorn, with an almost austere quietness. + +"Doubtless," was the answer; "but there's no time like the present, +believe me. For a man of real convictions this is a fine opportunity of +self-sacrifice. You may not find another so favourable, so humane. There +isn't even a cat near us, and these condemned old houses would make a +good heap of bricks where you stand. You'll never get me at so little +cost to life and property, which you are paid to protect." + +"You don't know who you're speaking to," said Chief Inspector Heat +firmly. "If I were to lay my hands on you now I would be no better than +yourself." + +"Ah! The game!' + +"You may be sure our side will win in the end. It may yet be necessary +to make people believe that some of you ought to be shot at sight like +mad dogs. Then that will be the game. But I'll be damned if I know what +yours is. I don't believe you know yourselves. You'll never get +anything by it." + +"Meantime it's you who get something from it--so far. And you get it +easily, too. I won't speak of your salary, but haven't you made your +name simply by not understanding what we are after?" + +"What are you after, then?" asked Chief Inspector Heat, with scornful +haste, like a man in a hurry who perceives he is wasting his time. + +The perfect anarchist answered by a smile which did not part his thin +colourless lips; and the celebrated Chief Inspector felt a sense of +superiority which induced him to raise a warning finger. + +"Give it up--whatever it is," he said in an admonishing tone, but not so +kindly as if he were condescending to give good advice to a cracksman of +repute. "Give it up. You'll find we are too many for you." + +The fixed smile on the Professor's lips wavered, as if the mocking spirit +within had lost its assurance. Chief Inspector Heat went on: + +"Don't you believe me eh? Well, you've only got to look about you. We +are. And anyway, you're not doing it well. You're always making a mess +of it. Why, if the thieves didn't know their work better they would +starve." + +The hint of an invincible multitude behind that man's back roused a +sombre indignation in the breast of the Professor. He smiled no longer +his enigmatic and mocking smile. The resisting power of numbers, the +unattackable stolidity of a great multitude, was the haunting fear of his +sinister loneliness. His lips trembled for some time before he managed +to say in a strangled voice: + +"I am doing my work better than you're doing yours." + +"That'll do now," interrupted Chief Inspector Heat hurriedly; and the +Professor laughed right out this time. While still laughing he moved on; +but he did not laugh long. It was a sad-faced, miserable little man who +emerged from the narrow passage into the bustle of the broad +thoroughfare. He walked with the nerveless gait of a tramp going on, +still going on, indifferent to rain or sun in a sinister detachment from +the aspects of sky and earth. Chief Inspector Heat, on the other hand, +after watching him for a while, stepped out with the purposeful briskness +of a man disregarding indeed the inclemencies of the weather, but +conscious of having an authorised mission on this earth and the moral +support of his kind. All the inhabitants of the immense town, the +population of the whole country, and even the teeming millions struggling +upon the planet, were with him--down to the very thieves and mendicants. +Yes, the thieves themselves were sure to be with him in his present work. +The consciousness of universal support in his general activity heartened +him to grapple with the particular problem. + +The problem immediately before the Chief Inspector was that of managing +the Assistant Commissioner of his department, his immediate superior. +This is the perennial problem of trusty and loyal servants; anarchism +gave it its particular complexion, but nothing more. Truth to say, Chief +Inspector Heat thought but little of anarchism. He did not attach undue +importance to it, and could never bring himself to consider it seriously. +It had more the character of disorderly conduct; disorderly without the +human excuse of drunkenness, which at any rate implies good feeling and +an amiable leaning towards festivity. As criminals, anarchists were +distinctly no class--no class at all. And recalling the Professor, Chief +Inspector Heat, without checking his swinging pace, muttered through his +teeth: + +"Lunatic." + +Catching thieves was another matter altogether. It had that quality of +seriousness belonging to every form of open sport where the best man wins +under perfectly comprehensible rules. There were no rules for dealing +with anarchists. And that was distasteful to the Chief Inspector. It +was all foolishness, but that foolishness excited the public mind, +affected persons in high places, and touched upon international +relations. A hard, merciless contempt settled rigidly on the Chief +Inspector's face as he walked on. His mind ran over all the anarchists +of his flock. Not one of them had half the spunk of this or that burglar +he had known. Not half--not one-tenth. + +At headquarters the Chief Inspector was admitted at once to the Assistant +Commissioner's private room. He found him, pen in hand, bent over a +great table bestrewn with papers, as if worshipping an enormous double +inkstand of bronze and crystal. Speaking tubes resembling snakes were +tied by the heads to the back of the Assistant Commissioner's wooden arm- +chair, and their gaping mouths seemed ready to bite his elbows. And in +this attitude he raised only his eyes, whose lids were darker than his +face and very much creased. The reports had come in: every anarchist had +been exactly accounted for. + +After saying this he lowered his eyes, signed rapidly two single sheets +of paper, and only then laid down his pen, and sat well back, directing +an inquiring gaze at his renowned subordinate. The Chief Inspector stood +it well, deferential but inscrutable. + +"I daresay you were right," said the Assistant Commissioner, "in telling +me at first that the London anarchists had nothing to do with this. I +quite appreciate the excellent watch kept on them by your men. On the +other hand, this, for the public, does not amount to more than a +confession of ignorance." + +The Assistant Commissioner's delivery was leisurely, as it were cautious. +His thought seemed to rest poised on a word before passing to another, as +though words had been the stepping-stones for his intellect picking its +way across the waters of error. "Unless you have brought something +useful from Greenwich," he added. + +The Chief Inspector began at once the account of his investigation in a +clear matter-of-fact manner. His superior turning his chair a little, +and crossing his thin legs, leaned sideways on his elbow, with one hand +shading his eyes. His listening attitude had a sort of angular and +sorrowful grace. Gleams as of highly burnished silver played on the +sides of his ebony black head when he inclined it slowly at the end. + +Chief Inspector Heat waited with the appearance of turning over in his +mind all he had just said, but, as a matter of fact, considering the +advisability of saying something more. The Assistant Commissioner cut +his hesitation short. + +"You believe there were two men?" he asked, without uncovering his eyes. + +The Chief Inspector thought it more than probable. In his opinion, the +two men had parted from each other within a hundred yards from the +Observatory walls. He explained also how the other man could have got +out of the park speedily without being observed. The fog, though not +very dense, was in his favour. He seemed to have escorted the other to +the spot, and then to have left him there to do the job single-handed. +Taking the time those two were seen coming out of Maze Hill Station by +the old woman, and the time when the explosion was heard, the Chief +Inspector thought that the other man might have been actually at the +Greenwich Park Station, ready to catch the next train up, at the moment +his comrade was destroying himself so thoroughly. + +"Very thoroughly--eh?" murmured the Assistant Commissioner from under the +shadow of his hand. + +The Chief Inspector in a few vigorous words described the aspect of the +remains. "The coroner's jury will have a treat," he added grimly. + +The Assistant Commissioner uncovered his eyes. + +"We shall have nothing to tell them," he remarked languidly. + +He looked up, and for a time watched the markedly non-committal attitude +of his Chief Inspector. His nature was one that is not easily accessible +to illusions. He knew that a department is at the mercy of its +subordinate officers, who have their own conceptions of loyalty. His +career had begun in a tropical colony. He had liked his work there. It +was police work. He had been very successful in tracking and breaking up +certain nefarious secret societies amongst the natives. Then he took his +long leave, and got married rather impulsively. It was a good match from +a worldly point of view, but his wife formed an unfavourable opinion of +the colonial climate on hearsay evidence. On the other hand, she had +influential connections. It was an excellent match. But he did not like +the work he had to do now. He felt himself dependent on too many +subordinates and too many masters. The near presence of that strange +emotional phenomenon called public opinion weighed upon his spirits, and +alarmed him by its irrational nature. No doubt that from ignorance he +exaggerated to himself its power for good and evil--especially for evil; +and the rough east winds of the English spring (which agreed with his +wife) augmented his general mistrust of men's motives and of the +efficiency of their organisation. The futility of office work especially +appalled him on those days so trying to his sensitive liver. + +He got up, unfolding himself to his full height, and with a heaviness of +step remarkable in so slender a man, moved across the room to the window. +The panes streamed with rain, and the short street he looked down into +lay wet and empty, as if swept clear suddenly by a great flood. It was a +very trying day, choked in raw fog to begin with, and now drowned in cold +rain. The flickering, blurred flames of gas-lamps seemed to be +dissolving in a watery atmosphere. And the lofty pretensions of a +mankind oppressed by the miserable indignities of the weather appeared as +a colossal and hopeless vanity deserving of scorn, wonder, and +compassion. + +"Horrible, horrible!" thought the Assistant Commissioner to himself, with +his face near the window-pane. "We have been having this sort of thing +now for ten days; no, a fortnight--a fortnight." He ceased to think +completely for a time. That utter stillness of his brain lasted about +three seconds. Then he said perfunctorily: "You have set inquiries on +foot for tracing that other man up and down the line?" + +He had no doubt that everything needful had been done. Chief Inspector +Heat knew, of course, thoroughly the business of man-hunting. And these +were the routine steps, too, that would be taken as a matter of course by +the merest beginner. A few inquiries amongst the ticket collectors and +the porters of the two small railway stations would give additional +details as to the appearance of the two men; the inspection of the +collected tickets would show at once where they came from that morning. +It was elementary, and could not have been neglected. Accordingly the +Chief Inspector answered that all this had been done directly the old +woman had come forward with her deposition. And he mentioned the name of +a station. "That's where they came from, sir," he went on. "The porter +who took the tickets at Maze Hill remembers two chaps answering to the +description passing the barrier. They seemed to him two respectable +working men of a superior sort--sign painters or house decorators. The +big man got out of a third-class compartment backward, with a bright tin +can in his hand. On the platform he gave it to carry to the fair young +fellow who followed him. All this agrees exactly with what the old woman +told the police sergeant in Greenwich." + +The Assistant Commissioner, still with his face turned to the window, +expressed his doubt as to these two men having had anything to do with +the outrage. All this theory rested upon the utterances of an old +charwoman who had been nearly knocked down by a man in a hurry. Not a +very substantial authority indeed, unless on the ground of sudden +inspiration, which was hardly tenable. + +"Frankly now, could she have been really inspired?" he queried, with +grave irony, keeping his back to the room, as if entranced by the +contemplation of the town's colossal forms half lost in the night. He +did not even look round when he heard the mutter of the word +"Providential" from the principal subordinate of his department, whose +name, printed sometimes in the papers, was familiar to the great public +as that of one of its zealous and hard-working protectors. Chief +Inspector Heat raised his voice a little. + +"Strips and bits of bright tin were quite visible to me," he said. +"That's a pretty good corroboration." + +"And these men came from that little country station," the Assistant +Commissioner mused aloud, wondering. He was told that such was the name +on two tickets out of three given up out of that train at Maze Hill. The +third person who got out was a hawker from Gravesend well known to the +porters. The Chief Inspector imparted that information in a tone of +finality with some ill humour, as loyal servants will do in the +consciousness of their fidelity and with the sense of the value of their +loyal exertions. And still the Assistant Commissioner did not turn away +from the darkness outside, as vast as a sea. + +"Two foreign anarchists coming from that place," he said, apparently to +the window-pane. "It's rather unaccountable."' + +"Yes, sir. But it would be still more unaccountable if that Michaelis +weren't staying in a cottage in the neighbourhood." + +At the sound of that name, falling unexpectedly into this annoying +affair, the Assistant Commissioner dismissed brusquely the vague +remembrance of his daily whist party at his club. It was the most +comforting habit of his life, in a mainly successful display of his skill +without the assistance of any subordinate. He entered his club to play +from five to seven, before going home to dinner, forgetting for those two +hours whatever was distasteful in his life, as though the game were a +beneficent drug for allaying the pangs of moral discontent. His partners +were the gloomily humorous editor of a celebrated magazine; a silent, +elderly barrister with malicious little eyes; and a highly martial, +simple-minded old Colonel with nervous brown hands. They were his club +acquaintances merely. He never met them elsewhere except at the card- +table. But they all seemed to approach the game in the spirit of +co-sufferers, as if it were indeed a drug against the secret ills of +existence; and every day as the sun declined over the countless roofs of +the town, a mellow, pleasurable impatience, resembling the impulse of a +sure and profound friendship, lightened his professional labours. And +now this pleasurable sensation went out of him with something resembling +a physical shock, and was replaced by a special kind of interest in his +work of social protection--an improper sort of interest, which may be +defined best as a sudden and alert mistrust of the weapon in his hand. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +The lady patroness of Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle of +humanitarian hopes, was one of the most influential and distinguished +connections of the Assistant Commissioner's wife, whom she called Annie, +and treated still rather as a not very wise and utterly inexperienced +young girl. But she had consented to accept him on a friendly footing, +which was by no means the case with all of his wife's influential +connections. Married young and splendidly at some remote epoch of the +past, she had had for a time a close view of great affairs and even of +some great men. She herself was a great lady. Old now in the number of +her years, she had that sort of exceptional temperament which defies time +with scornful disregard, as if it were a rather vulgar convention +submitted to by the mass of inferior mankind. Many other conventions +easier to set aside, alas! failed to obtain her recognition, also on +temperamental grounds--either because they bored her, or else because +they stood in the way of her scorns and sympathies. Admiration was a +sentiment unknown to her (it was one of the secret griefs of her most +noble husband against her)--first, as always more or less tainted with +mediocrity, and next as being in a way an admission of inferiority. And +both were frankly inconceivable to her nature. To be fearlessly +outspoken in her opinions came easily to her, since she judged solely +from the standpoint of her social position. She was equally untrammelled +in her actions; and as her tactfulness proceeded from genuine humanity, +her bodily vigour remained remarkable and her superiority was serene and +cordial, three generations had admired her infinitely, and the last she +was likely to see had pronounced her a wonderful woman. Meantime +intelligent, with a sort of lofty simplicity, and curious at heart, but +not like many women merely of social gossip, she amused her age by +attracting within her ken through the power of her great, almost +historical, social prestige everything that rose above the dead level of +mankind, lawfully or unlawfully, by position, wit, audacity, fortune or +misfortune. Royal Highnesses, artists, men of science, young statesmen, +and charlatans of all ages and conditions, who, unsubstantial and light, +bobbing up like corks, show best the direction of the surface currents, +had been welcomed in that house, listened to, penetrated, understood, +appraised, for her own edification. In her own words, she liked to watch +what the world was coming to. And as she had a practical mind her +judgment of men and things, though based on special prejudices, was +seldom totally wrong, and almost never wrong-headed. Her drawing-room +was probably the only place in the wide world where an Assistant +Commissioner of Police could meet a convict liberated on a +ticket-of-leave on other than professional and official ground. Who had +brought Michaelis there one afternoon the Assistant Commissioner did not +remember very well. He had a notion it must have been a certain Member +of Parliament of illustrious parentage and unconventional sympathies, +which were the standing joke of the comic papers. The notabilities and +even the simple notorieties of the day brought each other freely to that +temple of an old woman's not ignoble curiosity. You never could guess +whom you were likely to come upon being received in semi-privacy within +the faded blue silk and gilt frame screen, making a cosy nook for a couch +and a few arm-chairs in the great drawing-room, with its hum of voices +and the groups of people seated or standing in the light of six tall +windows. + +Michaelis had been the object of a revulsion of popular sentiment, the +same sentiment which years ago had applauded the ferocity of the life +sentence passed upon him for complicity in a rather mad attempt to rescue +some prisoners from a police van. The plan of the conspirators had been +to shoot down the horses and overpower the escort. Unfortunately, one of +the police constables got shot too. He left a wife and three small +children, and the death of that man aroused through the length and +breadth of a realm for whose defence, welfare, and glory men die every +day as matter of duty, an outburst of furious indignation, of a raging +implacable pity for the victim. Three ring-leaders got hanged. +Michaelis, young and slim, locksmith by trade, and great frequenter of +evening schools, did not even know that anybody had been killed, his part +with a few others being to force open the door at the back of the special +conveyance. When arrested he had a bunch of skeleton keys in one pocket +a heavy chisel in another, and a short crowbar in his hand: neither more +nor less than a burglar. But no burglar would have received such a heavy +sentence. The death of the constable had made him miserable at heart, +but the failure of the plot also. He did not conceal either of these +sentiments from his empanelled countrymen, and that sort of compunction +appeared shockingly imperfect to the crammed court. The judge on passing +sentence commented feelingly upon the depravity and callousness of the +young prisoner. + +That made the groundless fame of his condemnation; the fame of his +release was made for him on no better grounds by people who wished to +exploit the sentimental aspect of his imprisonment either for purposes of +their own or for no intelligible purpose. He let them do so in the +innocence of his heart and the simplicity of his mind. Nothing that +happened to him individually had any importance. He was like those +saintly men whose personality is lost in the contemplation of their +faith. His ideas were not in the nature of convictions. They were +inaccessible to reasoning. They formed in all their contradictions and +obscurities an invincible and humanitarian creed, which he confessed +rather than preached, with an obstinate gentleness, a smile of pacific +assurance on his lips, and his candid blue eyes cast down because the +sight of faces troubled his inspiration developed in solitude. In that +characteristic attitude, pathetic in his grotesque and incurable obesity +which he had to drag like a galley slave's bullet to the end of his days, +the Assistant Commissioner of Police beheld the ticket-of-leave apostle +filling a privileged arm-chair within the screen. He sat there by the +head of the old lady's couch, mild-voiced and quiet, with no more self- +consciousness than a very small child, and with something of a child's +charm--the appealing charm of trustfulness. Confident of the future, +whose secret ways had been revealed to him within the four walls of a +well-known penitentiary, he had no reason to look with suspicion upon +anybody. If he could not give the great and curious lady a very definite +idea as to what the world was coming to, he had managed without effort to +impress her by his unembittered faith, by the sterling quality of his +optimism. + +A certain simplicity of thought is common to serene souls at both ends of +the social scale. The great lady was simple in her own way. His views +and beliefs had nothing in them to shock or startle her, since she judged +them from the standpoint of her lofty position. Indeed, her sympathies +were easily accessible to a man of that sort. She was not an exploiting +capitalist herself; she was, as it were, above the play of economic +conditions. And she had a great capacity of pity for the more obvious +forms of common human miseries, precisely because she was such a complete +stranger to them that she had to translate her conception into terms of +mental suffering before she could grasp the notion of their cruelty. The +Assistant Commissioner remembered very well the conversation between +these two. He had listened in silence. It was something as exciting in +a way, and even touching in its foredoomed futility, as the efforts at +moral intercourse between the inhabitants of remote planets. But this +grotesque incarnation of humanitarian passion appealed somehow, to one's +imagination. At last Michaelis rose, and taking the great lady's +extended hand, shook it, retained it for a moment in his great cushioned +palm with unembarrassed friendliness, and turned upon the semi-private +nook of the drawing-room his back, vast and square, and as if distended +under the short tweed jacket. Glancing about in serene benevolence, he +waddled along to the distant door between the knots of other visitors. +The murmur of conversations paused on his passage. He smiled innocently +at a tall, brilliant girl, whose eyes met his accidentally, and went out +unconscious of the glances following him across the room. Michaelis' +first appearance in the world was a success--a success of esteem unmarred +by a single murmur of derision. The interrupted conversations were +resumed in their proper tone, grave or light. Only a well-set-up, long- +limbed, active-looking man of forty talking with two ladies near a window +remarked aloud, with an unexpected depth of feeling: "Eighteen stone, I +should say, and not five foot six. Poor fellow! It's terrible--terrible." + +The lady of the house, gazing absently at the Assistant Commissioner, +left alone with her on the private side of the screen, seemed to be +rearranging her mental impressions behind her thoughtful immobility of a +handsome old face. Men with grey moustaches and full, healthy, vaguely +smiling countenances approached, circling round the screen; two mature +women with a matronly air of gracious resolution; a clean-shaved +individual with sunken cheeks, and dangling a gold-mounted eyeglass on a +broad black ribbon with an old-world, dandified effect. A silence +deferential, but full of reserves, reigned for a moment, and then the +great lady exclaimed, not with resentment, but with a sort of protesting +indignation: + +"And that officially is supposed to be a revolutionist! What nonsense." +She looked hard at the Assistant Commissioner, who murmured +apologetically: + +"Not a dangerous one perhaps." + +"Not dangerous--I should think not indeed. He is a mere believer. It's +the temperament of a saint," declared the great lady in a firm tone. "And +they kept him shut up for twenty years. One shudders at the stupidity of +it. And now they have let him out everybody belonging to him is gone +away somewhere or dead. His parents are dead; the girl he was to marry +has died while he was in prison; he has lost the skill necessary for his +manual occupation. He told me all this himself with the sweetest +patience; but then, he said, he had had plenty of time to think out +things for himself. A pretty compensation! If that's the stuff +revolutionists are made of some of us may well go on their knees to +them," she continued in a slightly bantering voice, while the banal +society smiles hardened on the worldly faces turned towards her with +conventional deference. "The poor creature is obviously no longer in a +position to take care of himself. Somebody will have to look after him a +little." + +"He should be recommended to follow a treatment of some sort," the +soldierly voice of the active-looking man was heard advising earnestly +from a distance. He was in the pink of condition for his age, and even +the texture of his long frock coat had a character of elastic soundness, +as if it were a living tissue. "The man is virtually a cripple," he +added with unmistakable feeling. + +Other voices, as if glad of the opening, murmured hasty compassion. +"Quite startling," "Monstrous," "Most painful to see." The lank man, +with the eyeglass on a broad ribbon, pronounced mincingly the word +"Grotesque," whose justness was appreciated by those standing near him. +They smiled at each other. + +The Assistant Commissioner had expressed no opinion either then or later, +his position making it impossible for him to ventilate any independent +view of a ticket-of-leave convict. But, in truth, he shared the view of +his wife's friend and patron that Michaelis was a humanitarian +sentimentalist, a little mad, but upon the whole incapable of hurting a +fly intentionally. So when that name cropped up suddenly in this vexing +bomb affair he realised all the danger of it for the ticket-of-leave +apostle, and his mind reverted at once to the old lady's well-established +infatuation. Her arbitrary kindness would not brook patiently any +interference with Michaelis' freedom. It was a deep, calm, convinced +infatuation. She had not only felt him to be inoffensive, but she had +said so, which last by a confusion of her absolutist mind became a sort +of incontrovertible demonstration. It was as if the monstrosity of the +man, with his candid infant's eyes and a fat angelic smile, had +fascinated her. She had come to believe almost his theory of the future, +since it was not repugnant to her prejudices. She disliked the new +element of plutocracy in the social compound, and industrialism as a +method of human development appeared to her singularly repulsive in its +mechanical and unfeeling character. The humanitarian hopes of the mild +Michaelis tended not towards utter destruction, but merely towards the +complete economic ruin of the system. And she did not really see where +was the moral harm of it. It would do away with all the multitude of the +"parvenus," whom she disliked and mistrusted, not because they had +arrived anywhere (she denied that), but because of their profound +unintelligence of the world, which was the primary cause of the crudity +of their perceptions and the aridity of their hearts. With the +annihilation of all capital they would vanish too; but universal ruin +(providing it was universal, as it was revealed to Michaelis) would leave +the social values untouched. The disappearance of the last piece of +money could not affect people of position. She could not conceive how it +could affect her position, for instance. She had developed these +discoveries to the Assistant Commissioner with all the serene +fearlessness of an old woman who had escaped the blight of indifference. +He had made for himself the rule to receive everything of that sort in a +silence which he took care from policy and inclination not to make +offensive. He had an affection for the aged disciple of Michaelis, a +complex sentiment depending a little on her prestige, on her personality, +but most of all on the instinct of flattered gratitude. He felt himself +really liked in her house. She was kindness personified. And she was +practically wise too, after the manner of experienced women. She made +his married life much easier than it would have been without her +generously full recognition of his rights as Annie's husband. Her +influence upon his wife, a woman devoured by all sorts of small +selfishnesses, small envies, small jealousies, was excellent. +Unfortunately, both her kindness and her wisdom were of unreasonable +complexion, distinctly feminine, and difficult to deal with. She +remained a perfect woman all along her full tale of years, and not as +some of them do become--a sort of slippery, pestilential old man in +petticoats. And it was as of a woman that he thought of her--the +specially choice incarnation of the feminine, wherein is recruited the +tender, ingenuous, and fierce bodyguard for all sorts of men who talk +under the influence of an emotion, true or fraudulent; for preachers, +seers, prophets, or reformers. + +Appreciating the distinguished and good friend of his wife, and himself, +in that way, the Assistant Commissioner became alarmed at the convict +Michaelis' possible fate. Once arrested on suspicion of being in some +way, however remote, a party to this outrage, the man could hardly escape +being sent back to finish his sentence at least. And that would kill +him; he would never come out alive. The Assistant Commissioner made a +reflection extremely unbecoming his official position without being +really creditable to his humanity. + +"If the fellow is laid hold of again," he thought, "she will never +forgive me." + +The frankness of such a secretly outspoken thought could not go without +some derisive self-criticism. No man engaged in a work he does not like +can preserve many saving illusions about himself. The distaste, the +absence of glamour, extend from the occupation to the personality. It is +only when our appointed activities seem by a lucky accident to obey the +particular earnestness of our temperament that we can taste the comfort +of complete self-deception. The Assistant Commissioner did not like his +work at home. The police work he had been engaged on in a distant part +of the globe had the saving character of an irregular sort of warfare or +at least the risk and excitement of open-air sport. His real abilities, +which were mainly of an administrative order, were combined with an +adventurous disposition. Chained to a desk in the thick of four millions +of men, he considered himself the victim of an ironic fate--the same, no +doubt, which had brought about his marriage with a woman exceptionally +sensitive in the matter of colonial climate, besides other limitations +testifying to the delicacy of her nature--and her tastes. Though he +judged his alarm sardonically he did not dismiss the improper thought +from his mind. The instinct of self-preservation was strong within him. +On the contrary, he repeated it mentally with profane emphasis and a +fuller precision: "Damn it! If that infernal Heat has his way the +fellow'll die in prison smothered in his fat, and she'll never forgive +me." + +His black, narrow figure, with the white band of the collar under the +silvery gleams on the close-cropped hair at the back of the head, +remained motionless. The silence had lasted such a long time that Chief +Inspector Heat ventured to clear his throat. This noise produced its +effect. The zealous and intelligent officer was asked by his superior, +whose back remained turned to him immovably: + +"You connect Michaelis with this affair?" + +Chief Inspector Heat was very positive, but cautious. + +"Well, sir," he said, "we have enough to go upon. A man like that has no +business to be at large, anyhow." + +"You will want some conclusive evidence," came the observation in a +murmur. + +Chief Inspector Heat raised his eyebrows at the black, narrow back, which +remained obstinately presented to his intelligence and his zeal. + +"There will be no difficulty in getting up sufficient evidence against +_him_," he said, with virtuous complacency. "You may trust me for that, +sir," he added, quite unnecessarily, out of the fulness of his heart; for +it seemed to him an excellent thing to have that man in hand to be thrown +down to the public should it think fit to roar with any special +indignation in this case. It was impossible to say yet whether it would +roar or not. That in the last instance depended, of course, on the +newspaper press. But in any case, Chief Inspector Heat, purveyor of +prisons by trade, and a man of legal instincts, did logically believe +that incarceration was the proper fate for every declared enemy of the +law. In the strength of that conviction he committed a fault of tact. He +allowed himself a little conceited laugh, and repeated: + +"Trust me for that, sir." + +This was too much for the forced calmness under which the Assistant +Commissioner had for upwards of eighteen months concealed his irritation +with the system and the subordinates of his office. A square peg forced +into a round hole, he had felt like a daily outrage that long established +smooth roundness into which a man of less sharply angular shape would +have fitted himself, with voluptuous acquiescence, after a shrug or two. +What he resented most was just the necessity of taking so much on trust. +At the little laugh of Chief Inspector Heat's he spun swiftly on his +heels, as if whirled away from the window-pane by an electric shock. He +caught on the latter's face not only the complacency proper to the +occasion lurking under the moustache, but the vestiges of experimental +watchfulness in the round eyes, which had been, no doubt, fastened on his +back, and now met his glance for a second before the intent character of +their stare had the time to change to a merely startled appearance. + +The Assistant Commissioner of Police had really some qualifications for +his post. Suddenly his suspicion was awakened. It is but fair to say +that his suspicions of the police methods (unless the police happened to +be a semi-military body organised by himself) was not difficult to +arouse. If it ever slumbered from sheer weariness, it was but lightly; +and his appreciation of Chief Inspector Heat's zeal and ability, moderate +in itself, excluded all notion of moral confidence. "He's up to +something," he exclaimed mentally, and at once became angry. Crossing +over to his desk with headlong strides, he sat down violently. "Here I +am stuck in a litter of paper," he reflected, with unreasonable +resentment, "supposed to hold all the threads in my hands, and yet I can +but hold what is put in my hand, and nothing else. And they can fasten +the other ends of the threads where they please." + +He raised his head, and turned towards his subordinate a long, meagre +face with the accentuated features of an energetic Don Quixote. + +"Now what is it you've got up your sleeve?" + +The other stared. He stared without winking in a perfect immobility of +his round eyes, as he was used to stare at the various members of the +criminal class when, after being duly cautioned, they made their +statements in the tones of injured innocence, or false simplicity, or +sullen resignation. But behind that professional and stony fixity there +was some surprise too, for in such a tone, combining nicely the note of +contempt and impatience, Chief Inspector Heat, the right-hand man of the +department, was not used to be addressed. He began in a procrastinating +manner, like a man taken unawares by a new and unexpected experience. + +"What I've got against that man Michaelis you mean, sir?" + +The Assistant Commissioner watched the bullet head; the points of that +Norse rover's moustache, falling below the line of the heavy jaw; the +whole full and pale physiognomy, whose determined character was marred by +too much flesh; at the cunning wrinkles radiating from the outer corners +of the eyes--and in that purposeful contemplation of the valuable and +trusted officer he drew a conviction so sudden that it moved him like an +inspiration. + +"I have reason to think that when you came into this room," he said in +measured tones, "it was not Michaelis who was in your mind; not +principally--perhaps not at all." + +"You have reason to think, sir?" muttered Chief Inspector Heat, with +every appearance of astonishment, which up to a certain point was genuine +enough. He had discovered in this affair a delicate and perplexing side, +forcing upon the discoverer a certain amount of insincerity--that sort of +insincerity which, under the names of skill, prudence, discretion, turns +up at one point or another in most human affairs. He felt at the moment +like a tight-rope artist might feel if suddenly, in the middle of the +performance, the manager of the Music Hall were to rush out of the proper +managerial seclusion and begin to shake the rope. Indignation, the sense +of moral insecurity engendered by such a treacherous proceeding joined to +the immediate apprehension of a broken neck, would, in the colloquial +phrase, put him in a state. And there would be also some scandalised +concern for his art too, since a man must identify himself with something +more tangible than his own personality, and establish his pride +somewhere, either in his social position, or in the quality of the work +he is obliged to do, or simply in the superiority of the idleness he may +be fortunate enough to enjoy. + +"Yes," said the Assistant Commissioner; "I have. I do not mean to say +that you have not thought of Michaelis at all. But you are giving the +fact you've mentioned a prominence which strikes me as not quite candid, +Inspector Heat. If that is really the track of discovery, why haven't +you followed it up at once, either personally or by sending one of your +men to that village?" + +"Do you think, sir, I have failed in my duty there?" the Chief Inspector +asked, in a tone which he sought to make simply reflective. Forced +unexpectedly to concentrate his faculties upon the task of preserving his +balance, he had seized upon that point, and exposed himself to a rebuke; +for, the Assistant Commissioner frowning slightly, observed that this was +a very improper remark to make. + +"But since you've made it," he continued coldly, "I'll tell you that this +is not my meaning." + +He paused, with a straight glance of his sunken eyes which was a full +equivalent of the unspoken termination "and you know it." The head of +the so-called Special Crimes Department debarred by his position from +going out of doors personally in quest of secrets locked up in guilty +breasts, had a propensity to exercise his considerable gifts for the +detection of incriminating truth upon his own subordinates. That +peculiar instinct could hardly be called a weakness. It was natural. He +was a born detective. It had unconsciously governed his choice of a +career, and if it ever failed him in life it was perhaps in the one +exceptional circumstance of his marriage--which was also natural. It +fed, since it could not roam abroad, upon the human material which was +brought to it in its official seclusion. We can never cease to be +ourselves. + +His elbow on the desk, his thin legs crossed, and nursing his cheek in +the palm of his meagre hand, the Assistant Commissioner in charge of the +Special Crimes branch was getting hold of the case with growing interest. +His Chief Inspector, if not an absolutely worthy foeman of his +penetration, was at any rate the most worthy of all within his reach. A +mistrust of established reputations was strictly in character with the +Assistant Commissioner's ability as detector. His memory evoked a +certain old fat and wealthy native chief in the distant colony whom it +was a tradition for the successive Colonial Governors to trust and make +much of as a firm friend and supporter of the order and legality +established by white men; whereas, when examined sceptically, he was +found out to be principally his own good friend, and nobody else's. Not +precisely a traitor, but still a man of many dangerous reservations in +his fidelity, caused by a due regard for his own advantage, comfort, and +safety. A fellow of some innocence in his naive duplicity, but none the +less dangerous. He took some finding out. He was physically a big man, +too, and (allowing for the difference of colour, of course) Chief +Inspector Heat's appearance recalled him to the memory of his superior. +It was not the eyes nor yet the lips exactly. It was bizarre. But does +not Alfred Wallace relate in his famous book on the Malay Archipelago +how, amongst the Aru Islanders, he discovered in an old and naked savage +with a sooty skin a peculiar resemblance to a dear friend at home? + +For the first time since he took up his appointment the Assistant +Commissioner felt as if he were going to do some real work for his +salary. And that was a pleasurable sensation. "I'll turn him inside out +like an old glove," thought the Assistant Commissioner, with his eyes +resting pensively upon Chief Inspector Heat. + +"No, that was not my thought," he began again. "There is no doubt about +you knowing your business--no doubt at all; and that's precisely why I--" +He stopped short, and changing his tone: "What could you bring up against +Michaelis of a definite nature? I mean apart from the fact that the two +men under suspicion--you're certain there were two of them--came last +from a railway station within three miles of the village where Michaelis +is living now." + +"This by itself is enough for us to go upon, sir, with that sort of man," +said the Chief Inspector, with returning composure. The slight approving +movement of the Assistant Commissioner's head went far to pacify the +resentful astonishment of the renowned officer. For Chief Inspector Heat +was a kind man, an excellent husband, a devoted father; and the public +and departmental confidence he enjoyed acting favourably upon an amiable +nature, disposed him to feel friendly towards the successive Assistant +Commissioners he had seen pass through that very room. There had been +three in his time. The first one, a soldierly, abrupt, red-faced person, +with white eyebrows and an explosive temper, could be managed with a +silken thread. He left on reaching the age limit. The second, a perfect +gentleman, knowing his own and everybody else's place to a nicety, on +resigning to take up a higher appointment out of England got decorated +for (really) Inspector Heat's services. To work with him had been a +pride and a pleasure. The third, a bit of a dark horse from the first, +was at the end of eighteen months something of a dark horse still to the +department. Upon the whole Chief Inspector Heat believed him to be in +the main harmless--odd-looking, but harmless. He was speaking now, and +the Chief Inspector listened with outward deference (which means nothing, +being a matter of duty) and inwardly with benevolent toleration. + +"Michaelis reported himself before leaving London for the country?" + +"Yes, sir. He did." + +"And what may he be doing there?" continued the Assistant Commissioner, +who was perfectly informed on that point. Fitted with painful tightness +into an old wooden arm-chair, before a worm-eaten oak table in an +upstairs room of a four-roomed cottage with a roof of moss-grown tiles, +Michaelis was writing night and day in a shaky, slanting hand that +"Autobiography of a Prisoner" which was to be like a book of Revelation +in the history of mankind. The conditions of confined space, seclusion, +and solitude in a small four-roomed cottage were favourable to his +inspiration. It was like being in prison, except that one was never +disturbed for the odious purpose of taking exercise according to the +tyrannical regulations of his old home in the penitentiary. He could not +tell whether the sun still shone on the earth or not. The perspiration +of the literary labour dropped from his brow. A delightful enthusiasm +urged him on. It was the liberation of his inner life, the letting out +of his soul into the wide world. And the zeal of his guileless vanity +(first awakened by the offer of five hundred pounds from a publisher) +seemed something predestined and holy. + +"It would be, of course, most desirable to be informed exactly," insisted +the Assistant Commissioner uncandidly. + +Chief Inspector Heat, conscious of renewed irritation at this display of +scrupulousness, said that the county police had been notified from the +first of Michaelis' arrival, and that a full report could be obtained in +a few hours. A wire to the superintendent-- + +Thus he spoke, rather slowly, while his mind seemed already to be +weighing the consequences. A slight knitting of the brow was the outward +sign of this. But he was interrupted by a question. + +"You've sent that wire already?" + +"No, sir," he answered, as if surprised. + +The Assistant Commissioner uncrossed his legs suddenly. The briskness of +that movement contrasted with the casual way in which he threw out a +suggestion. + +"Would you think that Michaelis had anything to do with the preparation +of that bomb, for instance?" + +The Chief Inspector assumed a reflective manner. + +"I wouldn't say so. There's no necessity to say anything at present. He +associates with men who are classed as dangerous. He was made a delegate +of the Red Committee less than a year after his release on licence. A +sort of compliment, I suppose." + +And the Chief Inspector laughed a little angrily, a little scornfully. +With a man of that sort scrupulousness was a misplaced and even an +illegal sentiment. The celebrity bestowed upon Michaelis on his release +two years ago by some emotional journalists in want of special copy had +rankled ever since in his breast. It was perfectly legal to arrest that +man on the barest suspicion. It was legal and expedient on the face of +it. His two former chiefs would have seen the point at once; whereas +this one, without saying either yes or no, sat there, as if lost in a +dream. Moreover, besides being legal and expedient, the arrest of +Michaelis solved a little personal difficulty which worried Chief +Inspector Heat somewhat. This difficulty had its bearing upon his +reputation, upon his comfort, and even upon the efficient performance of +his duties. For, if Michaelis no doubt knew something about this +outrage, the Chief Inspector was fairly certain that he did not know too +much. This was just as well. He knew much less--the Chief Inspector was +positive--than certain other individuals he had in his mind, but whose +arrest seemed to him inexpedient, besides being a more complicated +matter, on account of the rules of the game. The rules of the game did +not protect so much Michaelis, who was an ex-convict. It would be stupid +not to take advantage of legal facilities, and the journalists who had +written him up with emotional gush would be ready to write him down with +emotional indignation. + +This prospect, viewed with confidence, had the attraction of a personal +triumph for Chief Inspector Heat. And deep down in his blameless bosom +of an average married citizen, almost unconscious but potent +nevertheless, the dislike of being compelled by events to meddle with the +desperate ferocity of the Professor had its say. This dislike had been +strengthened by the chance meeting in the lane. The encounter did not +leave behind with Chief Inspector Heat that satisfactory sense of +superiority the members of the police force get from the unofficial but +intimate side of their intercourse with the criminal classes, by which +the vanity of power is soothed, and the vulgar love of domination over +our fellow-creatures is flattered as worthily as it deserves. + +The perfect anarchist was not recognised as a fellow-creature by Chief +Inspector Heat. He was impossible--a mad dog to be left alone. Not that +the Chief Inspector was afraid of him; on the contrary, he meant to have +him some day. But not yet; he meant to get hold of him in his own time, +properly and effectively according to the rules of the game. The present +was not the right time for attempting that feat, not the right time for +many reasons, personal and of public service. This being the strong +feeling of Inspector Heat, it appeared to him just and proper that this +affair should be shunted off its obscure and inconvenient track, leading +goodness knows where, into a quiet (and lawful) siding called Michaelis. +And he repeated, as if reconsidering the suggestion conscientiously: + +"The bomb. No, I would not say that exactly. We may never find that +out. But it's clear that he is connected with this in some way, which we +can find out without much trouble." + +His countenance had that look of grave, overbearing indifference once +well known and much dreaded by the better sort of thieves. Chief +Inspector Heat, though what is called a man, was not a smiling animal. +But his inward state was that of satisfaction at the passively receptive +attitude of the Assistant Commissioner, who murmured gently: + +"And you really think that the investigation should be made in that +direction?" + +"I do, sir." + +"Quite convinced? + +"I am, sir. That's the true line for us to take." + +The Assistant Commissioner withdrew the support of his hand from his +reclining head with a suddenness that, considering his languid attitude, +seemed to menace his whole person with collapse. But, on the contrary, +he sat up, extremely alert, behind the great writing-table on which his +hand had fallen with the sound of a sharp blow. + +"What I want to know is what put it out of your head till now." + +"Put it out of my head," repeated the Chief Inspector very slowly. + +"Yes. Till you were called into this room--you know." + +The Chief Inspector felt as if the air between his clothing and his skin +had become unpleasantly hot. It was the sensation of an unprecedented +and incredible experience. + +"Of course," he said, exaggerating the deliberation of his utterance to +the utmost limits of possibility, "if there is a reason, of which I know +nothing, for not interfering with the convict Michaelis, perhaps it's +just as well I didn't start the county police after him." + +This took such a long time to say that the unflagging attention of the +Assistant Commissioner seemed a wonderful feat of endurance. His retort +came without delay. + +"No reason whatever that I know of. Come, Chief Inspector, this +finessing with me is highly improper on your part--highly improper. And +it's also unfair, you know. You shouldn't leave me to puzzle things out +for myself like this. Really, I am surprised." + +He paused, then added smoothly: "I need scarcely tell you that this +conversation is altogether unofficial." + +These words were far from pacifying the Chief Inspector. The indignation +of a betrayed tight-rope performer was strong within him. In his pride +of a trusted servant he was affected by the assurance that the rope was +not shaken for the purpose of breaking his neck, as by an exhibition of +impudence. As if anybody were afraid! Assistant Commissioners come and +go, but a valuable Chief Inspector is not an ephemeral office phenomenon. +He was not afraid of getting a broken neck. To have his performance +spoiled was more than enough to account for the glow of honest +indignation. And as thought is no respecter of persons, the thought of +Chief Inspector Heat took a threatening and prophetic shape. "You, my +boy," he said to himself, keeping his round and habitually roving eyes +fastened upon the Assistant Commissioner's face--"you, my boy, you don't +know your place, and your place won't know you very long either, I bet." + +As if in provoking answer to that thought, something like the ghost of an +amiable smile passed on the lips of the Assistant Commissioner. His +manner was easy and business-like while he persisted in administering +another shake to the tight rope. + +"Let us come now to what you have discovered on the spot, Chief +Inspector," he said. + +"A fool and his job are soon parted," went on the train of prophetic +thought in Chief Inspector Heat's head. But it was immediately followed +by the reflection that a higher official, even when "fired out" (this was +the precise image), has still the time as he flies through the door to +launch a nasty kick at the shin-bones of a subordinate. Without +softening very much the basilisk nature of his stare, he said +impassively: + +"We are coming to that part of my investigation, sir." + +"That's right. Well, what have you brought away from it?" + +The Chief Inspector, who had made up his mind to jump off the rope, came +to the ground with gloomy frankness. + +"I've brought away an address," he said, pulling out of his pocket +without haste a singed rag of dark blue cloth. "This belongs to the +overcoat the fellow who got himself blown to pieces was wearing. Of +course, the overcoat may not have been his, and may even have been +stolen. But that's not at all probable if you look at this." + +The Chief Inspector, stepping up to the table, smoothed out carefully the +rag of blue cloth. He had picked it up from the repulsive heap in the +mortuary, because a tailor's name is found sometimes under the collar. It +is not often of much use, but still--He only half expected to find +anything useful, but certainly he did not expect to find--not under the +collar at all, but stitched carefully on the under side of the lapel--a +square piece of calico with an address written on it in marking ink. + +The Chief Inspector removed his smoothing hand. + +"I carried it off with me without anybody taking notice," he said. "I +thought it best. It can always be produced if required." + +The Assistant Commissioner, rising a little in his chair, pulled the +cloth over to his side of the table. He sat looking at it in silence. +Only the number 32 and the name of Brett Street were written in marking +ink on a piece of calico slightly larger than an ordinary cigarette +paper. He was genuinely surprised. + +"Can't understand why he should have gone about labelled like this," he +said, looking up at Chief Inspector Heat. "It's a most extraordinary +thing." + +"I met once in the smoking-room of a hotel an old gentleman who went +about with his name and address sewn on in all his coats in case of an +accident or sudden illness," said the Chief Inspector. "He professed to +be eighty-four years old, but he didn't look his age. He told me he was +also afraid of losing his memory suddenly, like those people he has been +reading of in the papers." + +A question from the Assistant Commissioner, who wanted to know what was +No. 32 Brett Street, interrupted that reminiscence abruptly. The Chief +Inspector, driven down to the ground by unfair artifices, had elected to +walk the path of unreserved openness. If he believed firmly that to know +too much was not good for the department, the judicious holding back of +knowledge was as far as his loyalty dared to go for the good of the +service. If the Assistant Commissioner wanted to mismanage this affair +nothing, of course, could prevent him. But, on his own part, he now saw +no reason for a display of alacrity. So he answered concisely: + +"It's a shop, sir." + +The Assistant Commissioner, with his eyes lowered on the rag of blue +cloth, waited for more information. As that did not come he proceeded to +obtain it by a series of questions propounded with gentle patience. Thus +he acquired an idea of the nature of Mr Verloc's commerce, of his +personal appearance, and heard at last his name. In a pause the +Assistant Commissioner raised his eyes, and discovered some animation on +the Chief Inspector's face. They looked at each other in silence. + +"Of course," said the latter, "the department has no record of that man." + +"Did any of my predecessors have any knowledge of what you have told me +now?" asked the Assistant Commissioner, putting his elbows on the table +and raising his joined hands before his face, as if about to offer +prayer, only that his eyes had not a pious expression. + +"No, sir; certainly not. What would have been the object? That sort of +man could never be produced publicly to any good purpose. It was +sufficient for me to know who he was, and to make use of him in a way +that could be used publicly." + +"And do you think that sort of private knowledge consistent with the +official position you occupy?" + +"Perfectly, sir. I think it's quite proper. I will take the liberty to +tell you, sir, that it makes me what I am--and I am looked upon as a man +who knows his work. It's a private affair of my own. A personal friend +of mine in the French police gave me the hint that the fellow was an +Embassy spy. Private friendship, private information, private use of +it--that's how I look upon it." + +The Assistant Commissioner after remarking to himself that the mental +state of the renowned Chief Inspector seemed to affect the outline of his +lower jaw, as if the lively sense of his high professional distinction +had been located in that part of his anatomy, dismissed the point for the +moment with a calm "I see." Then leaning his cheek on his joined hands: + +"Well then--speaking privately if you like--how long have you been in +private touch with this Embassy spy?" + +To this inquiry the private answer of the Chief Inspector, so private +that it was never shaped into audible words, was: + +"Long before you were even thought of for your place here." + +The so-to-speak public utterance was much more precise. + +"I saw him for the first time in my life a little more than seven years +ago, when two Imperial Highnesses and the Imperial Chancellor were on a +visit here. I was put in charge of all the arrangements for looking +after them. Baron Stott-Wartenheim was Ambassador then. He was a very +nervous old gentleman. One evening, three days before the Guildhall +Banquet, he sent word that he wanted to see me for a moment. I was +downstairs, and the carriages were at the door to take the Imperial +Highnesses and the Chancellor to the opera. I went up at once. I found +the Baron walking up and down his bedroom in a pitiable state of +distress, squeezing his hands together. He assured me he had the fullest +confidence in our police and in my abilities, but he had there a man just +come over from Paris whose information could be trusted simplicity. He +wanted me to hear what that man had to say. He took me at once into a +dressing-room next door, where I saw a big fellow in a heavy overcoat +sitting all alone on a chair, and holding his hat and stick in one hand. +The Baron said to him in French 'Speak, my friend.' The light in that +room was not very good. I talked with him for some five minutes perhaps. +He certainly gave me a piece of very startling news. Then the Baron took +me aside nervously to praise him up to me, and when I turned round again +I discovered that the fellow had vanished like a ghost. Got up and +sneaked out down some back stairs, I suppose. There was no time to run +after him, as I had to hurry off after the Ambassador down the great +staircase, and see the party started safe for the opera. However, I +acted upon the information that very night. Whether it was perfectly +correct or not, it did look serious enough. Very likely it saved us from +an ugly trouble on the day of the Imperial visit to the City. + +"Some time later, a month or so after my promotion to Chief Inspector, my +attention was attracted to a big burly man, I thought I had seen +somewhere before, coming out in a hurry from a jeweller's shop in the +Strand. I went after him, as it was on my way towards Charing Cross, and +there seeing one of our detectives across the road, I beckoned him over, +and pointed out the fellow to him, with instructions to watch his +movements for a couple of days, and then report to me. No later than +next afternoon my man turned up to tell me that the fellow had married +his landlady's daughter at a registrar's office that very day at 11.30 +a.m., and had gone off with her to Margate for a week. Our man had seen +the luggage being put on the cab. There were some old Paris labels on +one of the bags. Somehow I couldn't get the fellow out of my head, and +the very next time I had to go to Paris on service I spoke about him to +that friend of mine in the Paris police. My friend said: 'From what you +tell me I think you must mean a rather well-known hanger-on and emissary +of the Revolutionary Red Committee. He says he is an Englishman by +birth. We have an idea that he has been for a good few years now a +secret agent of one of the foreign Embassies in London.' This woke up my +memory completely. He was the vanishing fellow I saw sitting on a chair +in Baron Stott-Wartenheim's bathroom. I told my friend that he was quite +right. The fellow was a secret agent to my certain knowledge. Afterwards +my friend took the trouble to ferret out the complete record of that man +for me. I thought I had better know all there was to know; but I don't +suppose you want to hear his history now, sir?" + +The Assistant Commissioner shook his supported head. "The history of +your relations with that useful personage is the only thing that matters +just now," he said, closing slowly his weary, deep-set eyes, and then +opening them swiftly with a greatly refreshed glance. + +"There's nothing official about them," said the Chief Inspector bitterly. +"I went into his shop one evening, told him who I was, and reminded him +of our first meeting. He didn't as much as twitch an eyebrow. He said +that he was married and settled now, and that all he wanted was not to be +interfered in his little business. I took it upon myself to promise him +that, as long as he didn't go in for anything obviously outrageous, he +would be left alone by the police. That was worth something to him, +because a word from us to the Custom-House people would have been enough +to get some of these packages he gets from Paris and Brussels opened in +Dover, with confiscation to follow for certain, and perhaps a prosecution +as well at the end of it." + +"That's a very precarious trade," murmured the Assistant Commissioner. +"Why did he go in for that?" + +The Chief Inspector raised scornful eyebrows dispassionately. + +"Most likely got a connection--friends on the Continent--amongst people +who deal in such wares. They would be just the sort he would consort +with. He's a lazy dog, too--like the rest of them," + +"What do you get from him in exchange for your protection?" + +The Chief Inspector was not inclined to enlarge on the value of Mr +Verloc's services. + +"He would not be much good to anybody but myself. One has got to know a +good deal beforehand to make use of a man like that. I can understand +the sort of hint he can give. And when I want a hint he can generally +furnish it to me." + +The Chief Inspector lost himself suddenly in a discreet reflective mood; +and the Assistant Commissioner repressed a smile at the fleeting thought +that the reputation of Chief Inspector Heat might possibly have been made +in a great part by the Secret Agent Verloc. + +"In a more general way of being of use, all our men of the Special Crimes +section on duty at Charing Cross and Victoria have orders to take careful +notice of anybody they may see with him. He meets the new arrivals +frequently, and afterwards keeps track of them. He seems to have been +told off for that sort of duty. When I want an address in a hurry, I can +always get it from him. Of course, I know how to manage our relations. I +haven't seen him to speak to three times in the last two years. I drop +him a line, unsigned, and he answers me in the same way at my private +address." + +From time to time the Assistant Commissioner gave an almost imperceptible +nod. The Chief Inspector added that he did not suppose Mr Verloc to be +deep in the confidence of the prominent members of the Revolutionary +International Council, but that he was generally trusted of that there +could be no doubt. "Whenever I've had reason to think there was +something in the wind," he concluded, "I've always found he could tell me +something worth knowing." + +The Assistant Commissioner made a significant remark. + +"He failed you this time." + +"Neither had I wind of anything in any other way," retorted Chief +Inspector Heat. "I asked him nothing, so he could tell me nothing. He +isn't one of our men. It isn't as if he were in our pay." + +"No," muttered the Assistant Commissioner. "He's a spy in the pay of a +foreign government. We could never confess to him." + +"I must do my work in my own way," declared the Chief Inspector. "When +it comes to that I would deal with the devil himself, and take the +consequences. There are things not fit for everybody to know." + +"Your idea of secrecy seems to consist in keeping the chief of your +department in the dark. That's stretching it perhaps a little too far, +isn't it? He lives over his shop?" + +"Who--Verloc? Oh yes. He lives over his shop. The wife's mother, I +fancy, lives with them." + +"Is the house watched?" + +"Oh dear, no. It wouldn't do. Certain people who come there are +watched. My opinion is that he knows nothing of this affair." + +"How do you account for this?" The Assistant Commissioner nodded at the +cloth rag lying before him on the table. + +"I don't account for it at all, sir. It's simply unaccountable. It +can't be explained by what I know." The Chief Inspector made those +admissions with the frankness of a man whose reputation is established as +if on a rock. "At any rate not at this present moment. I think that the +man who had most to do with it will turn out to be Michaelis." + +"You do?" + +"Yes, sir; because I can answer for all the others." + +"What about that other man supposed to have escaped from the park?" + +"I should think he's far away by this time," opined the Chief Inspector. + +The Assistant Commissioner looked hard at him, and rose suddenly, as +though having made up his mind to some course of action. As a matter of +fact, he had that very moment succumbed to a fascinating temptation. The +Chief Inspector heard himself dismissed with instructions to meet his +superior early next morning for further consultation upon the case. He +listened with an impenetrable face, and walked out of the room with +measured steps. + +Whatever might have been the plans of the Assistant Commissioner they had +nothing to do with that desk work, which was the bane of his existence +because of its confined nature and apparent lack of reality. It could +not have had, or else the general air of alacrity that came upon the +Assistant Commissioner would have been inexplicable. As soon as he was +left alone he looked for his hat impulsively, and put it on his head. +Having done that, he sat down again to reconsider the whole matter. But +as his mind was already made up, this did not take long. And before +Chief Inspector Heat had gone very far on the way home, he also left the +building. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +The Assistant Commissioner walked along a short and narrow street like a +wet, muddy trench, then crossing a very broad thoroughfare entered a +public edifice, and sought speech with a young private secretary (unpaid) +of a great personage. + +This fair, smooth-faced young man, whose symmetrically arranged hair gave +him the air of a large and neat schoolboy, met the Assistant +Commissioner's request with a doubtful look, and spoke with bated breath. + +"Would he see you? I don't know about that. He has walked over from the +House an hour ago to talk with the permanent Under-Secretary, and now +he's ready to walk back again. He might have sent for him; but he does +it for the sake of a little exercise, I suppose. It's all the exercise +he can find time for while this session lasts. I don't complain; I +rather enjoy these little strolls. He leans on my arm, and doesn't open, +his lips. But, I say, he's very tired, and--well--not in the sweetest of +tempers just now." + +"It's in connection with that Greenwich affair." + +"Oh! I say! He's very bitter against you people. But I will go and +see, if you insist." + +"Do. That's a good fellow," said the Assistant Commissioner. + +The unpaid secretary admired this pluck. Composing for himself an +innocent face, he opened a door, and went in with the assurance of a nice +and privileged child. And presently he reappeared, with a nod to the +Assistant Commissioner, who passing through the same door left open for +him, found himself with the great personage in a large room. + +Vast in bulk and stature, with a long white face, which, broadened at the +base by a big double chin, appeared egg-shaped in the fringe of thin +greyish whisker, the great personage seemed an expanding man. Unfortunate +from a tailoring point of view, the cross-folds in the middle of a +buttoned black coat added to the impression, as if the fastenings of the +garment were tried to the utmost. From the head, set upward on a thick +neck, the eyes, with puffy lower lids, stared with a haughty droop on +each side of a hooked aggressive nose, nobly salient in the vast pale +circumference of the face. A shiny silk hat and a pair of worn gloves +lying ready on the end of a long table looked expanded too, enormous. + +He stood on the hearthrug in big, roomy boots, and uttered no word of +greeting. + +"I would like to know if this is the beginning of another dynamite +campaign," he asked at once in a deep, very smooth voice. "Don't go into +details. I have no time for that." + +The Assistant Commissioner's figure before this big and rustic Presence +had the frail slenderness of a reed addresssing an oak. And indeed the +unbroken record of that man's descent surpassed in the number of +centuries the age of the oldest oak in the country. + +"No. As far as one can be positive about anything I can assure you that +it is not." + +"Yes. But your idea of assurances over there," said the great man, with +a contemptuous wave of his hand towards a window giving on the broad +thoroughfare, "seems to consist mainly in making the Secretary of State +look a fool. I have been told positively in this very room less than a +month ago that nothing of the sort was even possible." + +The Assistant Commissioner glanced in the direction of the window calmly. + +"You will allow me to remark, Sir Ethelred, that so far I have had no +opportunity to give you assurances of any kind." + +The haughty droop of the eyes was focussed now upon the Assistant +Commissioner. + +"True," confessed the deep, smooth voice. "I sent for Heat. You are +still rather a novice in your new berth. And how are you getting on over +there?" + +"I believe I am learning something every day." + +"Of course, of course. I hope you will get on." + +"Thank you, Sir Ethelred. I've learned something to-day, and even within +the last hour or so. There is much in this affair of a kind that does +not meet the eye in a usual anarchist outrage, even if one looked into it +as deep as can be. That's why I am here." + +The great man put his arms akimbo, the backs of his big hands resting on +his hips. + +"Very well. Go on. Only no details, pray. Spare me the details." + +"You shall not be troubled with them, Sir Ethelred," the Assistant +Commissioner began, with a calm and untroubled assurance. While he was +speaking the hands on the face of the clock behind the great man's back--a +heavy, glistening affair of massive scrolls in the same dark marble as +the mantelpiece, and with a ghostly, evanescent tick--had moved through +the space of seven minutes. He spoke with a studious fidelity to a +parenthetical manner, into which every little fact--that is, every +detail--fitted with delightful ease. Not a murmur nor even a movement +hinted at interruption. The great Personage might have been the statue +of one of his own princely ancestors stripped of a crusader's war +harness, and put into an ill-fitting frock coat. The Assistant +Commissioner felt as though he were at liberty to talk for an hour. But +he kept his head, and at the end of the time mentioned above he broke off +with a sudden conclusion, which, reproducing the opening statement, +pleasantly surprised Sir Ethelred by its apparent swiftness and force. + +"The kind of thing which meets us under the surface of this affair, +otherwise without gravity, is unusual--in this precise form at least--and +requires special treatment." + +The tone of Sir Ethelred was deepened, full of conviction. + +"I should think so--involving the Ambassador of a foreign power!" + +"Oh! The Ambassador!" protested the other, erect and slender, allowing +himself a mere half smile. "It would be stupid of me to advance anything +of the kind. And it is absolutely unnecessary, because if I am right in +my surmises, whether ambassador or hall porter it's a mere detail." + +Sir Ethelred opened a wide mouth, like a cavern, into which the hooked +nose seemed anxious to peer; there came from it a subdued rolling sound, +as from a distant organ with the scornful indignation stop. + +"No! These people are too impossible. What do they mean by importing +their methods of Crim-Tartary here? A Turk would have more decency." + +"You forget, Sir Ethelred, that strictly speaking we know nothing +positively--as yet." + +"No! But how would you define it? Shortly?" + +"Barefaced audacity amounting to childishness of a peculiar sort." + +"We can't put up with the innocence of nasty little children," said the +great and expanded personage, expanding a little more, as it were. The +haughty drooping glance struck crushingly the carpet at the Assistant +Commissioner's feet. "They'll have to get a hard rap on the knuckles +over this affair. We must be in a position to--What is your general +idea, stated shortly? No need to go into details." + +"No, Sir Ethelred. In principle, I should lay it down that the existence +of secret agents should not be tolerated, as tending to augment the +positive dangers of the evil against which they are used. That the spy +will fabricate his information is a mere commonplace. But in the sphere +of political and revolutionary action, relying partly on violence, the +professional spy has every facility to fabricate the very facts +themselves, and will spread the double evil of emulation in one +direction, and of panic, hasty legislation, unreflecting hate, on the +other. However, this is an imperfect world--" + +The deep-voiced Presence on the hearthrug, motionless, with big elbows +stuck out, said hastily: + +"Be lucid, please." + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred--An imperfect world. Therefore directly the character +of this affair suggested itself to me, I thought it should be dealt with +with special secrecy, and ventured to come over here." + +"That's right," approved the great Personage, glancing down complacently +over his double chin. "I am glad there's somebody over at your shop who +thinks that the Secretary of State may be trusted now and then." + +The Assistant Commissioner had an amused smile. + +"I was really thinking that it might be better at this stage for Heat to +be replaced by--" + +"What! Heat? An ass--eh?" exclaimed the great man, with distinct +animosity. + +"Not at all. Pray, Sir Ethelred, don't put that unjust interpretation on +my remarks." + +"Then what? Too clever by half?" + +"Neither--at least not as a rule. All the grounds of my surmises I have +from him. The only thing I've discovered by myself is that he has been +making use of that man privately. Who could blame him? He's an old +police hand. He told me virtually that he must have tools to work with. +It occurred to me that this tool should be surrendered to the Special +Crimes division as a whole, instead of remaining the private property of +Chief Inspector Heat. I extend my conception of our departmental duties +to the suppression of the secret agent. But Chief Inspector Heat is an +old departmental hand. He would accuse me of perverting its morality and +attacking its efficiency. He would define it bitterly as protection +extended to the criminal class of revolutionises. It would mean just +that to him." + +"Yes. But what do you mean?" + +"I mean to say, first, that there's but poor comfort in being able to +declare that any given act of violence--damaging property or destroying +life--is not the work of anarchism at all, but of something else +altogether--some species of authorised scoundrelism. This, I fancy, is +much more frequent than we suppose. Next, it's obvious that the +existence of these people in the pay of foreign governments destroys in a +measure the efficiency of our supervision. A spy of that sort can afford +to be more reckless than the most reckless of conspirators. His +occupation is free from all restraint. He's without as much faith as is +necessary for complete negation, and without that much law as is implied +in lawlessness. Thirdly, the existence of these spies amongst the +revolutionary groups, which we are reproached for harbouring here, does +away with all certitude. You have received a reassuring statement from +Chief Inspector Heat some time ago. It was by no means groundless--and +yet this episode happens. I call it an episode, because this affair, I +make bold to say, is episodic; it is no part of any general scheme, +however wild. The very peculiarities which surprise and perplex Chief +Inspector Heat establish its character in my eyes. I am keeping clear of +details, Sir Ethelred." + +The Personage on the hearthrug had been listening with profound +attention. + +"Just so. Be as concise as you can." + +The Assistant Commissioner intimated by an earnest deferential gesture +that he was anxious to be concise. + +"There is a peculiar stupidity and feebleness in the conduct of this +affair which gives me excellent hopes of getting behind it and finding +there something else than an individual freak of fanaticism. For it is a +planned thing, undoubtedly. The actual perpetrator seems to have been +led by the hand to the spot, and then abandoned hurriedly to his own +devices. The inference is that he was imported from abroad for the +purpose of committing this outrage. At the same time one is forced to +the conclusion that he did not know enough English to ask his way, unless +one were to accept the fantastic theory that he was a deaf mute. I +wonder now--But this is idle. He has destroyed himself by an accident, +obviously. Not an extraordinary accident. But an extraordinary little +fact remains: the address on his clothing discovered by the merest +accident, too. It is an incredible little fact, so incredible that the +explanation which will account for it is bound to touch the bottom of +this affair. Instead of instructing Heat to go on with this case, my +intention is to seek this explanation personally--by myself, I mean where +it may be picked up. That is in a certain shop in Brett Street, and on +the lips of a certain secret agent once upon a time the confidential and +trusted spy of the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim, Ambassador of a Great +Power to the Court of St James." + +The Assistant Commissioner paused, then added: "Those fellows are a +perfect pest." In order to raise his drooping glance to the speaker's +face, the Personage on the hearthrug had gradually tilted his head +farther back, which gave him an aspect of extraordinary haughtiness. + +"Why not leave it to Heat?" + +"Because he is an old departmental hand. They have their own morality. +My line of inquiry would appear to him an awful perversion of duty. For +him the plain duty is to fasten the guilt upon as many prominent +anarchists as he can on some slight indications he had picked up in the +course of his investigation on the spot; whereas I, he would say, am bent +upon vindicating their innocence. I am trying to be as lucid as I can in +presenting this obscure matter to you without details." + +"He would, would he?" muttered the proud head of Sir Ethelred from its +lofty elevation. + +"I am afraid so--with an indignation and disgust of which you or I can +have no idea. He's an excellent servant. We must not put an undue +strain on his loyalty. That's always a mistake. Besides, I want a free +hand--a freer hand than it would be perhaps advisable to give Chief +Inspector Heat. I haven't the slightest wish to spare this man Verloc. +He will, I imagine, be extremely startled to find his connection with +this affair, whatever it may be, brought home to him so quickly. +Frightening him will not be very difficult. But our true objective lies +behind him somewhere. I want your authority to give him such assurances +of personal safety as I may think proper." + +"Certainly," said the Personage on the hearthrug. "Find out as much as +you can; find it out in your own way." + +"I must set about it without loss of time, this very evening," said the +Assistant Commissioner. + +Sir Ethelred shifted one hand under his coat tails, and tilting back his +head, looked at him steadily. + +"We'll have a late sitting to-night," he said. "Come to the House with +your discoveries if we are not gone home. I'll warn Toodles to look out +for you. He'll take you into my room." + +The numerous family and the wide connections of the youthful-looking +Private Secretary cherished for him the hope of an austere and exalted +destiny. Meantime the social sphere he adorned in his hours of idleness +chose to pet him under the above nickname. And Sir Ethelred, hearing it +on the lips of his wife and girls every day (mostly at breakfast-time), +had conferred upon it the dignity of unsmiling adoption. + +The Assistant Commissioner was surprised and gratified extremely. + +"I shall certainly bring my discoveries to the House on the chance of you +having the time to--" + +"I won't have the time," interrupted the great Personage. "But I will +see you. I haven't the time now--And you are going yourself?" + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred. I think it the best way." + +The Personage had tilted his head so far back that, in order to keep the +Assistant Commissioner under his observation, he had to nearly close his +eyes. + +"H'm. Ha! And how do you propose--Will you assume a disguise?" + +"Hardly a disguise! I'll change my clothes, of course." + +"Of course," repeated the great man, with a sort of absent-minded +loftiness. He turned his big head slowly, and over his shoulder gave a +haughty oblique stare to the ponderous marble timepiece with the sly, +feeble tick. The gilt hands had taken the opportunity to steal through +no less than five and twenty minutes behind his back. + +The Assistant Commissioner, who could not see them, grew a little nervous +in the interval. But the great man presented to him a calm and +undismayed face. + +"Very well," he said, and paused, as if in deliberate contempt of the +official clock. "But what first put you in motion in this direction?" + +"I have been always of opinion," began the Assistant Commissioner. + +"Ah. Yes! Opinion. That's of course. But the immediate motive?" + +"What shall I say, Sir Ethelred? A new man's antagonism to old methods. +A desire to know something at first hand. Some impatience. It's my old +work, but the harness is different. It has been chafing me a little in +one or two tender places." + +"I hope you'll get on over there," said the great man kindly, extending +his hand, soft to the touch, but broad and powerful like the hand of a +glorified farmer. The Assistant Commissioner shook it, and withdrew. + +In the outer room Toodles, who had been waiting perched on the edge of a +table, advanced to meet him, subduing his natural buoyancy. + +"Well? Satisfactory?" he asked, with airy importance. + +"Perfectly. You've earned my undying gratitude," answered the Assistant +Commissioner, whose long face looked wooden in contrast with the peculiar +character of the other's gravity, which seemed perpetually ready to break +into ripples and chuckles. + +"That's all right. But seriously, you can't imagine how irritated he is +by the attacks on his Bill for the Nationalisation of Fisheries. They +call it the beginning of social revolution. Of course, it is a +revolutionary measure. But these fellows have no decency. The personal +attacks--" + +"I read the papers," remarked the Assistant Commissioner. + +"Odious? Eh? And you have no notion what a mass of work he has got to +get through every day. He does it all himself. Seems unable to trust +anyone with these Fisheries." + +"And yet he's given a whole half hour to the consideration of my very +small sprat," interjected the Assistant Commissioner. + +"Small! Is it? I'm glad to hear that. But it's a pity you didn't keep +away, then. This fight takes it out of him frightfully. The man's +getting exhausted. I feel it by the way he leans on my arm as we walk +over. And, I say, is he safe in the streets? Mullins has been marching +his men up here this afternoon. There's a constable stuck by every lamp- +post, and every second person we meet between this and Palace Yard is an +obvious 'tec.' It will get on his nerves presently. I say, these +foreign scoundrels aren't likely to throw something at him--are they? It +would be a national calamity. The country can't spare him." + +"Not to mention yourself. He leans on your arm," suggested the Assistant +Commissioner soberly. "You would both go." + +"It would be an easy way for a young man to go down into history? Not so +many British Ministers have been assassinated as to make it a minor +incident. But seriously now--" + +"I am afraid that if you want to go down into history you'll have to do +something for it. Seriously, there's no danger whatever for both of you +but from overwork." + +The sympathetic Toodles welcomed this opening for a chuckle. + +"The Fisheries won't kill me. I am used to late hours," he declared, +with ingenuous levity. But, feeling an instant compunction, he began to +assume an air of statesman-like moodiness, as one draws on a glove. "His +massive intellect will stand any amount of work. It's his nerves that I +am afraid of. The reactionary gang, with that abusive brute Cheeseman at +their head, insult him every night." + +"If he will insist on beginning a revolution!" murmured the Assistant +Commissioner. + +"The time has come, and he is the only man great enough for the work," +protested the revolutionary Toodles, flaring up under the calm, +speculative gaze of the Assistant Commissioner. Somewhere in a corridor +a distant bell tinkled urgently, and with devoted vigilance the young man +pricked up his ears at the sound. "He's ready to go now," he exclaimed +in a whisper, snatched up his hat, and vanished from the room. + +The Assistant Commissioner went out by another door in a less elastic +manner. Again he crossed the wide thoroughfare, walked along a narrow +street, and re-entered hastily his own departmental buildings. He kept +up this accelerated pace to the door of his private room. Before he had +closed it fairly his eyes sought his desk. He stood still for a moment, +then walked up, looked all round on the floor, sat down in his chair, +rang a bell, and waited. + +"Chief Inspector Heat gone yet?" + +"Yes, sir. Went away half-an-hour ago." + +He nodded. "That will do." And sitting still, with his hat pushed off +his forehead, he thought that it was just like Heat's confounded cheek to +carry off quietly the only piece of material evidence. But he thought +this without animosity. Old and valued servants will take liberties. The +piece of overcoat with the address sewn on was certainly not a thing to +leave about. Dismissing from his mind this manifestation of Chief +Inspector Heat's mistrust, he wrote and despatched a note to his wife, +charging her to make his apologies to Michaelis' great lady, with whom +they were engaged to dine that evening. + +The short jacket and the low, round hat he assumed in a sort of curtained +alcove containing a washstand, a row of wooden pegs and a shelf, brought +out wonderfully the length of his grave, brown face. He stepped back +into the full light of the room, looking like the vision of a cool, +reflective Don Quixote, with the sunken eyes of a dark enthusiast and a +very deliberate manner. He left the scene of his daily labours quickly +like an unobtrusive shadow. His descent into the street was like the +descent into a slimy aquarium from which the water had been run off. A +murky, gloomy dampness enveloped him. The walls of the houses were wet, +the mud of the roadway glistened with an effect of phosphorescence, and +when he emerged into the Strand out of a narrow street by the side of +Charing Cross Station the genius of the locality assimilated him. He +might have been but one more of the queer foreign fish that can be seen +of an evening about there flitting round the dark corners. + +He came to a stand on the very edge of the pavement, and waited. His +exercised eyes had made out in the confused movements of lights and +shadows thronging the roadway the crawling approach of a hansom. He gave +no sign; but when the low step gliding along the curbstone came to his +feet he dodged in skilfully in front of the big turning wheel, and spoke +up through the little trap door almost before the man gazing supinely +ahead from his perch was aware of having been boarded by a fare. + +It was not a long drive. It ended by signal abruptly, nowhere in +particular, between two lamp-posts before a large drapery establishment--a +long range of shops already lapped up in sheets of corrugated iron for +the night. Tendering a coin through the trap door the fare slipped out +and away, leaving an effect of uncanny, eccentric ghastliness upon the +driver's mind. But the size of the coin was satisfactory to his touch, +and his education not being literary, he remained untroubled by the fear +of finding it presently turned to a dead leaf in his pocket. Raised +above the world of fares by the nature of his calling, he contemplated +their actions with a limited interest. The sharp pulling of his horse +right round expressed his philosophy. + +Meantime the Assistant Commissioner was already giving his order to a +waiter in a little Italian restaurant round the corner--one of those +traps for the hungry, long and narrow, baited with a perspective of +mirrors and white napery; without air, but with an atmosphere of their +own--an atmosphere of fraudulent cookery mocking an abject mankind in the +most pressing of its miserable necessities. In this immoral atmosphere +the Assistant Commissioner, reflecting upon his enterprise, seemed to +lose some more of his identity. He had a sense of loneliness, of evil +freedom. It was rather pleasant. When, after paying for his short meal, +he stood up and waited for his change, he saw himself in the sheet of +glass, and was struck by his foreign appearance. He contemplated his own +image with a melancholy and inquisitive gaze, then by sudden inspiration +raised the collar of his jacket. This arrangement appeared to him +commendable, and he completed it by giving an upward twist to the ends of +his black moustache. He was satisfied by the subtle modification of his +personal aspect caused by these small changes. "That'll do very well," +he thought. "I'll get a little wet, a little splashed--" + +He became aware of the waiter at his elbow and of a small pile of silver +coins on the edge of the table before him. The waiter kept one eye on +it, while his other eye followed the long back of a tall, not very young +girl, who passed up to a distant table looking perfectly sightless and +altogether unapproachable. She seemed to be a habitual customer. + +On going out the Assistant Commissioner made to himself the observation +that the patrons of the place had lost in the frequentation of fraudulent +cookery all their national and private characteristics. And this was +strange, since the Italian restaurant is such a peculiarly British +institution. But these people were as denationalised as the dishes set +before them with every circumstance of unstamped respectability. Neither +was their personality stamped in any way, professionally, socially or +racially. They seemed created for the Italian restaurant, unless the +Italian restaurant had been perchance created for them. But that last +hypothesis was unthinkable, since one could not place them anywhere +outside those special establishments. One never met these enigmatical +persons elsewhere. It was impossible to form a precise idea what +occupations they followed by day and where they went to bed at night. And +he himself had become unplaced. It would have been impossible for +anybody to guess his occupation. As to going to bed, there was a doubt +even in his own mind. Not indeed in regard to his domicile itself, but +very much so in respect of the time when he would be able to return +there. A pleasurable feeling of independence possessed him when he heard +the glass doors swing to behind his back with a sort of imperfect baffled +thud. He advanced at once into an immensity of greasy slime and damp +plaster interspersed with lamps, and enveloped, oppressed, penetrated, +choked, and suffocated by the blackness of a wet London night, which is +composed of soot and drops of water. + +Brett Street was not very far away. It branched off, narrow, from the +side of an open triangular space surrounded by dark and mysterious +houses, temples of petty commerce emptied of traders for the night. Only +a fruiterer's stall at the corner made a violent blaze of light and +colour. Beyond all was black, and the few people passing in that +direction vanished at one stride beyond the glowing heaps of oranges and +lemons. No footsteps echoed. They would never be heard of again. The +adventurous head of the Special Crimes Department watched these +disappearances from a distance with an interested eye. He felt light- +hearted, as though he had been ambushed all alone in a jungle many +thousands of miles away from departmental desks and official inkstands. +This joyousness and dispersion of thought before a task of some +importance seems to prove that this world of ours is not such a very +serious affair after all. For the Assistant Commissioner was not +constitutionally inclined to levity. + +The policeman on the beat projected his sombre and moving form against +the luminous glory of oranges and lemons, and entered Brett Street +without haste. The Assistant Commissioner, as though he were a member of +the criminal classes, lingered out of sight, awaiting his return. But +this constable seemed to be lost for ever to the force. He never +returned: must have gone out at the other end of Brett Street. + +The Assistant Commissioner, reaching this conclusion, entered the street +in his turn, and came upon a large van arrested in front of the dimly lit +window-panes of a carter's eating-house. The man was refreshing himself +inside, and the horses, their big heads lowered to the ground, fed out of +nose-bags steadily. Farther on, on the opposite side of the street, +another suspect patch of dim light issued from Mr Verloc's shop front, +hung with papers, heaving with vague piles of cardboard boxes and the +shapes of books. The Assistant Commissioner stood observing it across +the roadway. There could be no mistake. By the side of the front +window, encumbered by the shadows of nondescript things, the door, +standing ajar, let escape on the pavement a narrow, clear streak of gas- +light within. + +Behind the Assistant Commissioner the van and horses, merged into one +mass, seemed something alive--a square-backed black monster blocking half +the street, with sudden iron-shod stampings, fierce jingles, and heavy, +blowing sighs. The harshly festive, ill-omened glare of a large and +prosperous public-house faced the other end of Brett Street across a wide +road. This barrier of blazing lights, opposing the shadows gathered +about the humble abode of Mr Verloc's domestic happiness, seemed to drive +the obscurity of the street back upon itself, make it more sullen, +brooding, and sinister. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +Having infused by persistent importunities some sort of heat into the +chilly interest of several licensed victuallers (the acquaintances once +upon a time of her late unlucky husband), Mrs Verloc's mother had at last +secured her admission to certain almshouses founded by a wealthy +innkeeper for the destitute widows of the trade. + +This end, conceived in the astuteness of her uneasy heart, the old woman +had pursued with secrecy and determination. That was the time when her +daughter Winnie could not help passing a remark to Mr Verloc that "mother +has been spending half-crowns and five shillings almost every day this +last week in cab fares." But the remark was not made grudgingly. Winnie +respected her mother's infirmities. She was only a little surprised at +this sudden mania for locomotion. Mr Verloc, who was sufficiently +magnificent in his way, had grunted the remark impatiently aside as +interfering with his meditations. These were frequent, deep, and +prolonged; they bore upon a matter more important than five shillings. +Distinctly more important, and beyond all comparison more difficult to +consider in all its aspects with philosophical serenity. + +Her object attained in astute secrecy, the heroic old woman had made a +clean breast of it to Mrs Verloc. Her soul was triumphant and her heart +tremulous. Inwardly she quaked, because she dreaded and admired the +calm, self-contained character of her daughter Winnie, whose displeasure +was made redoubtable by a diversity of dreadful silences. But she did +not allow her inward apprehensions to rob her of the advantage of +venerable placidity conferred upon her outward person by her triple chin, +the floating ampleness of her ancient form, and the impotent condition of +her legs. + +The shock of the information was so unexpected that Mrs Verloc, against +her usual practice when addressed, interrupted the domestic occupation +she was engaged upon. It was the dusting of the furniture in the parlour +behind the shop. She turned her head towards her mother. + +"Whatever did you want to do that for?" she exclaimed, in scandalised +astonishment. + +The shock must have been severe to make her depart from that distant and +uninquiring acceptance of facts which was her force and her safeguard in +life. + +"Weren't you made comfortable enough here?" + +She had lapsed into these inquiries, but next moment she saved the +consistency of her conduct by resuming her dusting, while the old woman +sat scared and dumb under her dingy white cap and lustreless dark wig. + +Winnie finished the chair, and ran the duster along the mahogany at the +back of the horse-hair sofa on which Mr Verloc loved to take his ease in +hat and overcoat. She was intent on her work, but presently she +permitted herself another question. + +"How in the world did you manage it, mother?" + +As not affecting the inwardness of things, which it was Mrs Verloc's +principle to ignore, this curiosity was excusable. It bore merely on the +methods. The old woman welcomed it eagerly as bringing forward something +that could be talked about with much sincerity. + +She favoured her daughter by an exhaustive answer, full of names and +enriched by side comments upon the ravages of time as observed in the +alteration of human countenances. The names were principally the names +of licensed victuallers--"poor daddy's friends, my dear." She enlarged +with special appreciation on the kindness and condescension of a large +brewer, a Baronet and an M. P., the Chairman of the Governors of the +Charity. She expressed herself thus warmly because she had been allowed +to interview by appointment his Private Secretary--"a very polite +gentleman, all in black, with a gentle, sad voice, but so very, very thin +and quiet. He was like a shadow, my dear." + +Winnie, prolonging her dusting operations till the tale was told to the +end, walked out of the parlour into the kitchen (down two steps) in her +usual manner, without the slightest comment. + +Shedding a few tears in sign of rejoicing at her daughter's mansuetude in +this terrible affair, Mrs Verloc's mother gave play to her astuteness in +the direction of her furniture, because it was her own; and sometimes she +wished it hadn't been. Heroism is all very well, but there are +circumstances when the disposal of a few tables and chairs, brass +bedsteads, and so on, may be big with remote and disastrous consequences. +She required a few pieces herself, the Foundation which, after many +importunities, had gathered her to its charitable breast, giving nothing +but bare planks and cheaply papered bricks to the objects of its +solicitude. The delicacy guiding her choice to the least valuable and +most dilapidated articles passed unacknowledged, because Winnie's +philosophy consisted in not taking notice of the inside of facts; she +assumed that mother took what suited her best. As to Mr Verloc, his +intense meditation, like a sort of Chinese wall, isolated him completely +from the phenomena of this world of vain effort and illusory appearances. + +Her selection made, the disposal of the rest became a perplexing question +in a particular way. She was leaving it in Brett Street, of course. But +she had two children. Winnie was provided for by her sensible union with +that excellent husband, Mr Verloc. Stevie was destitute--and a little +peculiar. His position had to be considered before the claims of legal +justice and even the promptings of partiality. The possession of the +furniture would not be in any sense a provision. He ought to have it--the +poor boy. But to give it to him would be like tampering with his +position of complete dependence. It was a sort of claim which she feared +to weaken. Moreover, the susceptibilities of Mr Verloc would perhaps not +brook being beholden to his brother-in-law for the chairs he sat on. In +a long experience of gentlemen lodgers, Mrs Verloc's mother had acquired +a dismal but resigned notion of the fantastic side of human nature. What +if Mr Verloc suddenly took it into his head to tell Stevie to take his +blessed sticks somewhere out of that? A division, on the other hand, +however carefully made, might give some cause of offence to Winnie. No, +Stevie must remain destitute and dependent. And at the moment of leaving +Brett Street she had said to her daughter: "No use waiting till I am +dead, is there? Everything I leave here is altogether your own now, my +dear." + +Winnie, with her hat on, silent behind her mother's back, went on +arranging the collar of the old woman's cloak. She got her hand-bag, an +umbrella, with an impassive face. The time had come for the expenditure +of the sum of three-and-sixpence on what might well be supposed the last +cab drive of Mrs Verloc's mother's life. They went out at the shop door. + +The conveyance awaiting them would have illustrated the proverb that +"truth can be more cruel than caricature," if such a proverb existed. +Crawling behind an infirm horse, a metropolitan hackney carriage drew up +on wobbly wheels and with a maimed driver on the box. This last +peculiarity caused some embarrassment. Catching sight of a hooked iron +contrivance protruding from the left sleeve of the man's coat, Mrs +Verloc's mother lost suddenly the heroic courage of these days. She +really couldn't trust herself. "What do you think, Winnie?" She hung +back. The passionate expostulations of the big-faced cabman seemed to be +squeezed out of a blocked throat. Leaning over from his box, he +whispered with mysterious indignation. What was the matter now? Was it +possible to treat a man so? His enormous and unwashed countenance flamed +red in the muddy stretch of the street. Was it likely they would have +given him a licence, he inquired desperately, if-- + +The police constable of the locality quieted him by a friendly glance; +then addressing himself to the two women without marked consideration, +said: + +"He's been driving a cab for twenty years. I never knew him to have an +accident." + +"Accident!" shouted the driver in a scornful whisper. + +The policeman's testimony settled it. The modest assemblage of seven +people, mostly under age, dispersed. Winnie followed her mother into the +cab. Stevie climbed on the box. His vacant mouth and distressed eyes +depicted the state of his mind in regard to the transactions which were +taking place. In the narrow streets the progress of the journey was made +sensible to those within by the near fronts of the houses gliding past +slowly and shakily, with a great rattle and jingling of glass, as if +about to collapse behind the cab; and the infirm horse, with the harness +hung over his sharp backbone flapping very loose about his thighs, +appeared to be dancing mincingly on his toes with infinite patience. +Later on, in the wider space of Whitehall, all visual evidences of motion +became imperceptible. The rattle and jingle of glass went on +indefinitely in front of the long Treasury building--and time itself +seemed to stand still. + +At last Winnie observed: "This isn't a very good horse." + +Her eyes gleamed in the shadow of the cab straight ahead, immovable. On +the box, Stevie shut his vacant mouth first, in order to ejaculate +earnestly: "Don't." + +The driver, holding high the reins twisted around the hook, took no +notice. Perhaps he had not heard. Stevie's breast heaved. + +"Don't whip." + +The man turned slowly his bloated and sodden face of many colours +bristling with white hairs. His little red eyes glistened with moisture. +His big lips had a violet tint. They remained closed. With the dirty +back of his whip-hand he rubbed the stubble sprouting on his enormous +chin. + +"You mustn't," stammered out Stevie violently. "It hurts." + +"Mustn't whip," queried the other in a thoughtful whisper, and +immediately whipped. He did this, not because his soul was cruel and his +heart evil, but because he had to earn his fare. And for a time the +walls of St Stephen's, with its towers and pinnacles, contemplated in +immobility and silence a cab that jingled. It rolled too, however. But +on the bridge there was a commotion. Stevie suddenly proceeded to get +down from the box. There were shouts on the pavement, people ran +forward, the driver pulled up, whispering curses of indignation and +astonishment. Winnie lowered the window, and put her head out, white as +a ghost. In the depths of the cab, her mother was exclaiming, in tones +of anguish: "Is that boy hurt? Is that boy hurt?" + +Stevie was not hurt, he had not even fallen, but excitement as usual had +robbed him of the power of connected speech. He could do no more than +stammer at the window. "Too heavy. Too heavy." Winnie put out her hand +on to his shoulder. + +"Stevie! Get up on the box directly, and don't try to get down again." + +"No. No. Walk. Must walk." + +In trying to state the nature of that necessity he stammered himself into +utter incoherence. No physical impossibility stood in the way of his +whim. Stevie could have managed easily to keep pace with the infirm, +dancing horse without getting out of breath. But his sister withheld her +consent decisively. "The idea! Whoever heard of such a thing! Run +after a cab!" Her mother, frightened and helpless in the depths of the +conveyance, entreated: "Oh, don't let him, Winnie. He'll get lost. Don't +let him." + +"Certainly not. What next! Mr Verloc will be sorry to hear of this +nonsense, Stevie,--I can tell you. He won't be happy at all." + +The idea of Mr. Verloc's grief and unhappiness acting as usual powerfully +upon Stevie's fundamentally docile disposition, he abandoned all +resistance, and climbed up again on the box, with a face of despair. + +The cabby turned at him his enormous and inflamed countenance +truculently. "Don't you go for trying this silly game again, young +fellow." + +After delivering himself thus in a stern whisper, strained almost to +extinction, he drove on, ruminating solemnly. To his mind the incident +remained somewhat obscure. But his intellect, though it had lost its +pristine vivacity in the benumbing years of sedentary exposure to the +weather, lacked not independence or sanity. Gravely he dismissed the +hypothesis of Stevie being a drunken young nipper. + +Inside the cab the spell of silence, in which the two women had endured +shoulder to shoulder the jolting, rattling, and jingling of the journey, +had been broken by Stevie's outbreak. Winnie raised her voice. + +"You've done what you wanted, mother. You'll have only yourself to thank +for it if you aren't happy afterwards. And I don't think you'll be. That +I don't. Weren't you comfortable enough in the house? Whatever +people'll think of us--you throwing yourself like this on a Charity?" + +"My dear," screamed the old woman earnestly above the noise, "you've been +the best of daughters to me. As to Mr Verloc--there--" + +Words failing her on the subject of Mr Verloc's excellence, she turned +her old tearful eyes to the roof of the cab. Then she averted her head +on the pretence of looking out of the window, as if to judge of their +progress. It was insignificant, and went on close to the curbstone. +Night, the early dirty night, the sinister, noisy, hopeless and rowdy +night of South London, had overtaken her on her last cab drive. In the +gas-light of the low-fronted shops her big cheeks glowed with an orange +hue under a black and mauve bonnet. + +Mrs Verloc's mother's complexion had become yellow by the effect of age +and from a natural predisposition to biliousness, favoured by the trials +of a difficult and worried existence, first as wife, then as widow. It +was a complexion, that under the influence of a blush would take on an +orange tint. And this woman, modest indeed but hardened in the fires of +adversity, of an age, moreover, when blushes are not expected, had +positively blushed before her daughter. In the privacy of a +four-wheeler, on her way to a charity cottage (one of a row) which by the +exiguity of its dimensions and the simplicity of its accommodation, might +well have been devised in kindness as a place of training for the still +more straitened circumstances of the grave, she was forced to hid from +her own child a blush of remorse and shame. + +Whatever people will think? She knew very well what they did think, the +people Winnie had in her mind--the old friends of her husband, and others +too, whose interest she had solicited with such flattering success. She +had not known before what a good beggar she could be. But she guessed +very well what inference was drawn from her application. On account of +that shrinking delicacy, which exists side by side with aggressive +brutality in masculine nature, the inquiries into her circumstances had +not been pushed very far. She had checked them by a visible compression +of the lips and some display of an emotion determined to be eloquently +silent. And the men would become suddenly incurious, after the manner of +their kind. She congratulated herself more than once on having nothing +to do with women, who being naturally more callous and avid of details, +would have been anxious to be exactly informed by what sort of unkind +conduct her daughter and son-in-law had driven her to that sad extremity. +It was only before the Secretary of the great brewer M. P. and Chairman +of the Charity, who, acting for his principal, felt bound to be +conscientiously inquisitive as to the real circumstances of the +applicant, that she had burst into tears outright and aloud, as a +cornered woman will weep. The thin and polite gentleman, after +contemplating her with an air of being "struck all of a heap," abandoned +his position under the cover of soothing remarks. She must not distress +herself. The deed of the Charity did not absolutely specify "childless +widows." In fact, it did not by any means disqualify her. But the +discretion of the Committee must be an informed discretion. One could +understand very well her unwillingness to be a burden, etc. etc. +Thereupon, to his profound disappointment, Mrs Verloc's mother wept some +more with an augmented vehemence. + +The tears of that large female in a dark, dusty wig, and ancient silk +dress festooned with dingy white cotton lace, were the tears of genuine +distress. She had wept because she was heroic and unscrupulous and full +of love for both her children. Girls frequently get sacrificed to the +welfare of the boys. In this case she was sacrificing Winnie. By the +suppression of truth she was slandering her. Of course, Winnie was +independent, and need not care for the opinion of people that she would +never see and who would never see her; whereas poor Stevie had nothing in +the world he could call his own except his mother's heroism and +unscrupulousness. + +The first sense of security following on Winnie's marriage wore off in +time (for nothing lasts), and Mrs Verloc's mother, in the seclusion of +the back bedroom, had recalled the teaching of that experience which the +world impresses upon a widowed woman. But she had recalled it without +vain bitterness; her store of resignation amounted almost to dignity. She +reflected stoically that everything decays, wears out, in this world; +that the way of kindness should be made easy to the well disposed; that +her daughter Winnie was a most devoted sister, and a very self-confident +wife indeed. As regards Winnie's sisterly devotion, her stoicism +flinched. She excepted that sentiment from the rule of decay affecting +all things human and some things divine. She could not help it; not to +do so would have frightened her too much. But in considering the +conditions of her daughter's married state, she rejected firmly all +flattering illusions. She took the cold and reasonable view that the +less strain put on Mr Verloc's kindness the longer its effects were +likely to last. That excellent man loved his wife, of course, but he +would, no doubt, prefer to keep as few of her relations as was consistent +with the proper display of that sentiment. It would be better if its +whole effect were concentrated on poor Stevie. And the heroic old woman +resolved on going away from her children as an act of devotion and as a +move of deep policy. + +The "virtue" of this policy consisted in this (Mrs Verloc's mother was +subtle in her way), that Stevie's moral claim would be strengthened. The +poor boy--a good, useful boy, if a little peculiar--had not a sufficient +standing. He had been taken over with his mother, somewhat in the same +way as the furniture of the Belgravian mansion had been taken over, as if +on the ground of belonging to her exclusively. What will happen, she +asked herself (for Mrs Verloc's mother was in a measure imaginative), +when I die? And when she asked herself that question it was with dread. +It was also terrible to think that she would not then have the means of +knowing what happened to the poor boy. But by making him over to his +sister, by going thus away, she gave him the advantage of a directly +dependent position. This was the more subtle sanction of Mrs Verloc's +mother's heroism and unscrupulousness. Her act of abandonment was really +an arrangement for settling her son permanently in life. Other people +made material sacrifices for such an object, she in that way. It was the +only way. Moreover, she would be able to see how it worked. Ill or well +she would avoid the horrible incertitude on the death-bed. But it was +hard, hard, cruelly hard. + +The cab rattled, jingled, jolted; in fact, the last was quite +extraordinary. By its disproportionate violence and magnitude it +obliterated every sensation of onward movement; and the effect was of +being shaken in a stationary apparatus like a mediaeval device for the +punishment of crime, or some very newfangled invention for the cure of a +sluggish liver. It was extremely distressing; and the raising of Mrs +Verloc's mother's voice sounded like a wail of pain. + +"I know, my dear, you'll come to see me as often as you can spare the +time. Won't you?" + +"Of course," answered Winnie shortly, staring straight before her. + +And the cab jolted in front of a steamy, greasy shop in a blaze of gas +and in the smell of fried fish. + +The old woman raised a wail again. + +"And, my dear, I must see that poor boy every Sunday. He won't mind +spending the day with his old mother--" + +Winnie screamed out stolidly: + +"Mind! I should think not. That poor boy will miss you something cruel. +I wish you had thought a little of that, mother." + +Not think of it! The heroic woman swallowed a playful and inconvenient +object like a billiard ball, which had tried to jump out of her throat. +Winnie sat mute for a while, pouting at the front of the cab, then +snapped out, which was an unusual tone with her: + +"I expect I'll have a job with him at first, he'll be that restless--" + +"Whatever you do, don't let him worry your husband, my dear." + +Thus they discussed on familiar lines the bearings of a new situation. +And the cab jolted. Mrs Verloc's mother expressed some misgivings. Could +Stevie be trusted to come all that way alone? Winnie maintained that he +was much less "absent-minded" now. They agreed as to that. It could not +be denied. Much less--hardly at all. They shouted at each other in the +jingle with comparative cheerfulness. But suddenly the maternal anxiety +broke out afresh. There were two omnibuses to take, and a short walk +between. It was too difficult! The old woman gave way to grief and +consternation. + +Winnie stared forward. + +"Don't you upset yourself like this, mother. You must see him, of +course." + +"No, my dear. I'll try not to." + +She mopped her streaming eyes. + +"But you can't spare the time to come with him, and if he should forget +himself and lose his way and somebody spoke to him sharply, his name and +address may slip his memory, and he'll remain lost for days and days--" + +The vision of a workhouse infirmary for poor Stevie--if only during +inquiries--wrung her heart. For she was a proud woman. Winnie's stare +had grown hard, intent, inventive. + +"I can't bring him to you myself every week," she cried. "But don't you +worry, mother. I'll see to it that he don't get lost for long." + +They felt a peculiar bump; a vision of brick pillars lingered before the +rattling windows of the cab; a sudden cessation of atrocious jolting and +uproarious jingling dazed the two women. What had happened? They sat +motionless and scared in the profound stillness, till the door came open, +and a rough, strained whispering was heard: + +"Here you are!" + +A range of gabled little houses, each with one dim yellow window, on the +ground floor, surrounded the dark open space of a grass plot planted with +shrubs and railed off from the patchwork of lights and shadows in the +wide road, resounding with the dull rumble of traffic. Before the door +of one of these tiny houses--one without a light in the little downstairs +window--the cab had come to a standstill. Mrs Verloc's mother got out +first, backwards, with a key in her hand. Winnie lingered on the +flagstone path to pay the cabman. Stevie, after helping to carry inside +a lot of small parcels, came out and stood under the light of a gas-lamp +belonging to the Charity. The cabman looked at the pieces of silver, +which, appearing very minute in his big, grimy palm, symbolised the +insignificant results which reward the ambitious courage and toil of a +mankind whose day is short on this earth of evil. + +He had been paid decently--four one-shilling pieces--and he contemplated +them in perfect stillness, as if they had been the surprising terms of a +melancholy problem. The slow transfer of that treasure to an inner +pocket demanded much laborious groping in the depths of decayed clothing. +His form was squat and without flexibility. Stevie, slender, his +shoulders a little up, and his hands thrust deep in the side pockets of +his warm overcoat, stood at the edge of the path, pouting. + +The cabman, pausing in his deliberate movements, seemed struck by some +misty recollection. + +"Oh! 'Ere you are, young fellow," he whispered. "You'll know him +again--won't you?" + +Stevie was staring at the horse, whose hind quarters appeared unduly +elevated by the effect of emaciation. The little stiff tail seemed to +have been fitted in for a heartless joke; and at the other end the thin, +flat neck, like a plank covered with old horse-hide, drooped to the +ground under the weight of an enormous bony head. The ears hung at +different angles, negligently; and the macabre figure of that mute +dweller on the earth steamed straight up from ribs and backbone in the +muggy stillness of the air. + +The cabman struck lightly Stevie's breast with the iron hook protruding +from a ragged, greasy sleeve. + +"Look 'ere, young feller. 'Ow'd _you_ like to sit behind this 'oss up to +two o'clock in the morning p'raps?" + +Stevie looked vacantly into the fierce little eyes with red-edged lids. + +"He ain't lame," pursued the other, whispering with energy. "He ain't +got no sore places on 'im. 'Ere he is. 'Ow would _you_ like--" + +His strained, extinct voice invested his utterance with a character of +vehement secrecy. Stevie's vacant gaze was changing slowly into dread. + +"You may well look! Till three and four o'clock in the morning. Cold +and 'ungry. Looking for fares. Drunks." + +His jovial purple cheeks bristled with white hairs; and like Virgil's +Silenus, who, his face smeared with the juice of berries, discoursed of +Olympian Gods to the innocent shepherds of Sicily, he talked to Stevie of +domestic matters and the affairs of men whose sufferings are great and +immortality by no means assured. + +"I am a night cabby, I am," he whispered, with a sort of boastful +exasperation. "I've got to take out what they will blooming well give me +at the yard. I've got my missus and four kids at 'ome." + +The monstrous nature of that declaration of paternity seemed to strike +the world dumb. A silence reigned during which the flanks of the old +horse, the steed of apocalyptic misery, smoked upwards in the light of +the charitable gas-lamp. + +The cabman grunted, then added in his mysterious whisper: + +"This ain't an easy world." Stevie's face had been twitching for some +time, and at last his feelings burst out in their usual concise form. + +"Bad! Bad!" + +His gaze remained fixed on the ribs of the horse, self-conscious and +sombre, as though he were afraid to look about him at the badness of the +world. And his slenderness, his rosy lips and pale, clear complexion, +gave him the aspect of a delicate boy, notwithstanding the fluffy growth +of golden hair on his cheeks. He pouted in a scared way like a child. +The cabman, short and broad, eyed him with his fierce little eyes that +seemed to smart in a clear and corroding liquid. + +"'Ard on 'osses, but dam' sight 'arder on poor chaps like me," he wheezed +just audibly. + +"Poor! Poor!" stammered out Stevie, pushing his hands deeper into his +pockets with convulsive sympathy. He could say nothing; for the +tenderness to all pain and all misery, the desire to make the horse happy +and the cabman happy, had reached the point of a bizarre longing to take +them to bed with him. And that, he knew, was impossible. For Stevie was +not mad. It was, as it were, a symbolic longing; and at the same time it +was very distinct, because springing from experience, the mother of +wisdom. Thus when as a child he cowered in a dark corner scared, +wretched, sore, and miserable with the black, black misery of the soul, +his sister Winnie used to come along, and carry him off to bed with her, +as into a heaven of consoling peace. Stevie, though apt to forget mere +facts, such as his name and address for instance, had a faithful memory +of sensations. To be taken into a bed of compassion was the supreme +remedy, with the only one disadvantage of being difficult of application +on a large scale. And looking at the cabman, Stevie perceived this +clearly, because he was reasonable. + +The cabman went on with his leisurely preparations as if Stevie had not +existed. He made as if to hoist himself on the box, but at the last +moment from some obscure motive, perhaps merely from disgust with +carriage exercise, desisted. He approached instead the motionless +partner of his labours, and stooping to seize the bridle, lifted up the +big, weary head to the height of his shoulder with one effort of his +right arm, like a feat of strength. + +"Come on," he whispered secretly. + +Limping, he led the cab away. There was an air of austerity in this +departure, the scrunched gravel of the drive crying out under the slowly +turning wheels, the horse's lean thighs moving with ascetic deliberation +away from the light into the obscurity of the open space bordered dimly +by the pointed roofs and the feebly shining windows of the little alms- +houses. The plaint of the gravel travelled slowly all round the drive. +Between the lamps of the charitable gateway the slow cortege reappeared, +lighted up for a moment, the short, thick man limping busily, with the +horse's head held aloft in his fist, the lank animal walking in stiff and +forlorn dignity, the dark, low box on wheels rolling behind comically +with an air of waddling. They turned to the left. There was a pub down +the street, within fifty yards of the gate. + +Stevie left alone beside the private lamp-post of the Charity, his hands +thrust deep into his pockets, glared with vacant sulkiness. At the +bottom of his pockets his incapable weak hands were clinched hard into a +pair of angry fists. In the face of anything which affected directly or +indirectly his morbid dread of pain, Stevie ended by turning vicious. A +magnanimous indignation swelled his frail chest to bursting, and caused +his candid eyes to squint. Supremely wise in knowing his own +powerlessness, Stevie was not wise enough to restrain his passions. The +tenderness of his universal charity had two phases as indissolubly joined +and connected as the reverse and obverse sides of a medal. The anguish +of immoderate compassion was succeeded by the pain of an innocent but +pitiless rage. Those two states expressing themselves outwardly by the +same signs of futile bodily agitation, his sister Winnie soothed his +excitement without ever fathoming its twofold character. Mrs Verloc +wasted no portion of this transient life in seeking for fundamental +information. This is a sort of economy having all the appearances and +some of the advantages of prudence. Obviously it may be good for one not +to know too much. And such a view accords very well with constitutional +indolence. + +On that evening on which it may be said that Mrs Verloc's mother having +parted for good from her children had also departed this life, Winnie +Verloc did not investigate her brother's psychology. The poor boy was +excited, of course. After once more assuring the old woman on the +threshold that she would know how to guard against the risk of Stevie +losing himself for very long on his pilgrimages of filial piety, she took +her brother's arm to walk away. Stevie did not even mutter to himself, +but with the special sense of sisterly devotion developed in her earliest +infancy, she felt that the boy was very much excited indeed. Holding +tight to his arm, under the appearance of leaning on it, she thought of +some words suitable to the occasion. + +"Now, Stevie, you must look well after me at the crossings, and get first +into the 'bus, like a good brother." + +This appeal to manly protection was received by Stevie with his usual +docility. It flattered him. He raised his head and threw out his chest. + +"Don't be nervous, Winnie. Mustn't be nervous! 'Bus all right," he +answered in a brusque, slurring stammer partaking of the timorousness of +a child and the resolution of a man. He advanced fearlessly with the +woman on his arm, but his lower lip dropped. Nevertheless, on the +pavement of the squalid and wide thoroughfare, whose poverty in all the +amenities of life stood foolishly exposed by a mad profusion of +gas-lights, their resemblance to each other was so pronounced as to +strike the casual passers-by. + +Before the doors of the public-house at the corner, where the profusion +of gas-light reached the height of positive wickedness, a four-wheeled +cab standing by the curbstone with no one on the box, seemed cast out +into the gutter on account of irremediable decay. Mrs Verloc recognised +the conveyance. Its aspect was so profoundly lamentable, with such a +perfection of grotesque misery and weirdness of macabre detail, as if it +were the Cab of Death itself, that Mrs Verloc, with that ready compassion +of a woman for a horse (when she is not sitting behind him), exclaimed +vaguely: + +"Poor brute:" + +Hanging back suddenly, Stevie inflicted an arresting jerk upon his +sister. + +"Poor! Poor!" he ejaculated appreciatively. "Cabman poor too. He told +me himself." + +The contemplation of the infirm and lonely steed overcame him. Jostled, +but obstinate, he would remain there, trying to express the view newly +opened to his sympathies of the human and equine misery in close +association. But it was very difficult. "Poor brute, poor people!" was +all he could repeat. It did not seem forcible enough, and he came to a +stop with an angry splutter: "Shame!" Stevie was no master of phrases, +and perhaps for that very reason his thoughts lacked clearness and +precision. But he felt with greater completeness and some profundity. +That little word contained all his sense of indignation and horror at one +sort of wretchedness having to feed upon the anguish of the other--at the +poor cabman beating the poor horse in the name, as it were, of his poor +kids at home. And Stevie knew what it was to be beaten. He knew it from +experience. It was a bad world. Bad! Bad! + +Mrs Verloc, his only sister, guardian, and protector, could not pretend +to such depths of insight. Moreover, she had not experienced the magic +of the cabman's eloquence. She was in the dark as to the inwardness of +the word "Shame." And she said placidly: + +"Come along, Stevie. You can't help that." + +The docile Stevie went along; but now he went along without pride, +shamblingly, and muttering half words, and even words that would have +been whole if they had not been made up of halves that did not belong to +each other. It was as though he had been trying to fit all the words he +could remember to his sentiments in order to get some sort of +corresponding idea. And, as a matter of fact, he got it at last. He +hung back to utter it at once. + +"Bad world for poor people." + +Directly he had expressed that thought he became aware that it was +familiar to him already in all its consequences. This circumstance +strengthened his conviction immensely, but also augmented his +indignation. Somebody, he felt, ought to be punished for it--punished +with great severity. Being no sceptic, but a moral creature, he was in a +manner at the mercy of his righteous passions. + +"Beastly!" he added concisely. + +It was clear to Mrs Verloc that he was greatly excited. + +"Nobody can help that," she said. "Do come along. Is that the way +you're taking care of me?" + +Stevie mended his pace obediently. He prided himself on being a good +brother. His morality, which was very complete, demanded that from him. +Yet he was pained at the information imparted by his sister Winnie who +was good. Nobody could help that! He came along gloomily, but presently +he brightened up. Like the rest of mankind, perplexed by the mystery of +the universe, he had his moments of consoling trust in the organised +powers of the earth. + +"Police," he suggested confidently. + +"The police aren't for that," observed Mrs Verloc cursorily, hurrying on +her way. + +Stevie's face lengthened considerably. He was thinking. The more +intense his thinking, the slacker was the droop of his lower jaw. + +And it was with an aspect of hopeless vacancy that he gave up his +intellectual enterprise. + +"Not for that?" he mumbled, resigned but surprised. "Not for that?" He +had formed for himself an ideal conception of the metropolitan police as +a sort of benevolent institution for the suppression of evil. The notion +of benevolence especially was very closely associated with his sense of +the power of the men in blue. He had liked all police constables +tenderly, with a guileless trustfulness. And he was pained. He was +irritated, too, by a suspicion of duplicity in the members of the force. +For Stevie was frank and as open as the day himself. What did they mean +by pretending then? Unlike his sister, who put her trust in face values, +he wished to go to the bottom of the matter. He carried on his inquiry +by means of an angry challenge. + +"What for are they then, Winn? What are they for? Tell me." + +Winnie disliked controversy. But fearing most a fit of black depression +consequent on Stevie missing his mother very much at first, she did not +altogether decline the discussion. Guiltless of all irony, she answered +yet in a form which was not perhaps unnatural in the wife of Mr Verloc, +Delegate of the Central Red Committee, personal friend of certain +anarchists, and a votary of social revolution. + +"Don't you know what the police are for, Stevie? They are there so that +them as have nothing shouldn't take anything away from them who have." + +She avoided using the verb "to steal," because it always made her brother +uncomfortable. For Stevie was delicately honest. Certain simple +principles had been instilled into him so anxiously (on account of his +"queerness") that the mere names of certain transgressions filled him +with horror. He had been always easily impressed by speeches. He was +impressed and startled now, and his intelligence was very alert. + +"What?" he asked at once anxiously. "Not even if they were hungry? +Mustn't they?" + +The two had paused in their walk. + +"Not if they were ever so," said Mrs Verloc, with the equanimity of a +person untroubled by the problem of the distribution of wealth, and +exploring the perspective of the roadway for an omnibus of the right +colour. "Certainly not. But what's the use of talking about all that? +You aren't ever hungry." + +She cast a swift glance at the boy, like a young man, by her side. She +saw him amiable, attractive, affectionate, and only a little, a very +little, peculiar. And she could not see him otherwise, for he was +connected with what there was of the salt of passion in her tasteless +life--the passion of indignation, of courage, of pity, and even of self- +sacrifice. She did not add: "And you aren't likely ever to be as long as +I live." But she might very well have done so, since she had taken +effectual steps to that end. Mr Verloc was a very good husband. It was +her honest impression that nobody could help liking the boy. She cried +out suddenly: + +"Quick, Stevie. Stop that green 'bus." + +And Stevie, tremulous and important with his sister Winnie on his arm, +flung up the other high above his head at the approaching 'bus, with +complete success. + +An hour afterwards Mr Verloc raised his eyes from a newspaper he was +reading, or at any rate looking at, behind the counter, and in the +expiring clatter of the door-bell beheld Winnie, his wife, enter and +cross the shop on her way upstairs, followed by Stevie, his brother-in- +law. The sight of his wife was agreeable to Mr Verloc. It was his +idiosyncrasy. The figure of his brother-in-law remained imperceptible to +him because of the morose thoughtfulness that lately had fallen like a +veil between Mr Verloc and the appearances of the world of senses. He +looked after his wife fixedly, without a word, as though she had been a +phantom. His voice for home use was husky and placid, but now it was +heard not at all. It was not heard at supper, to which he was called by +his wife in the usual brief manner: "Adolf." He sat down to consume it +without conviction, wearing his hat pushed far back on his head. It was +not devotion to an outdoor life, but the frequentation of foreign cafes +which was responsible for that habit, investing with a character of +unceremonious impermanency Mr Verloc's steady fidelity to his own +fireside. Twice at the clatter of the cracked bell he arose without a +word, disappeared into the shop, and came back silently. During these +absences Mrs Verloc, becoming acutely aware of the vacant place at her +right hand, missed her mother very much, and stared stonily; while +Stevie, from the same reason, kept on shuffling his feet, as though the +floor under the table were uncomfortably hot. When Mr Verloc returned to +sit in his place, like the very embodiment of silence, the character of +Mrs Verloc's stare underwent a subtle change, and Stevie ceased to fidget +with his feet, because of his great and awed regard for his sister's +husband. He directed at him glances of respectful compassion. Mr Verloc +was sorry. His sister Winnie had impressed upon him (in the omnibus) +that Mr Verloc would be found at home in a state of sorrow, and must not +be worried. His father's anger, the irritability of gentlemen lodgers, +and Mr Verloc's predisposition to immoderate grief, had been the main +sanctions of Stevie's self-restraint. Of these sentiments, all easily +provoked, but not always easy to understand, the last had the greatest +moral efficiency--because Mr Verloc was _good_. His mother and his +sister had established that ethical fact on an unshakable foundation. +They had established, erected, consecrated it behind Mr Verloc's back, +for reasons that had nothing to do with abstract morality. And Mr Verloc +was not aware of it. It is but bare justice to him to say that he had no +notion of appearing good to Stevie. Yet so it was. He was even the only +man so qualified in Stevie's knowledge, because the gentlemen lodgers had +been too transient and too remote to have anything very distinct about +them but perhaps their boots; and as regards the disciplinary measures of +his father, the desolation of his mother and sister shrank from setting +up a theory of goodness before the victim. It would have been too cruel. +And it was even possible that Stevie would not have believed them. As +far as Mr Verloc was concerned, nothing could stand in the way of +Stevie's belief. Mr Verloc was obviously yet mysteriously _good_. And +the grief of a good man is august. + +Stevie gave glances of reverential compassion to his brother-in-law. Mr +Verloc was sorry. The brother of Winnie had never before felt himself in +such close communion with the mystery of that man's goodness. It was an +understandable sorrow. And Stevie himself was sorry. He was very sorry. +The same sort of sorrow. And his attention being drawn to this +unpleasant state, Stevie shuffled his feet. His feelings were habitually +manifested by the agitation of his limbs. + +"Keep your feet quiet, dear," said Mrs Verloc, with authority and +tenderness; then turning towards her husband in an indifferent voice, the +masterly achievement of instinctive tact: "Are you going out to-night?" +she asked. + +The mere suggestion seemed repugnant to Mr Verloc. He shook his head +moodily, and then sat still with downcast eyes, looking at the piece of +cheese on his plate for a whole minute. At the end of that time he got +up, and went out--went right out in the clatter of the shop-door bell. He +acted thus inconsistently, not from any desire to make himself +unpleasant, but because of an unconquerable restlessness. It was no +earthly good going out. He could not find anywhere in London what he +wanted. But he went out. He led a cortege of dismal thoughts along dark +streets, through lighted streets, in and out of two flash bars, as if in +a half-hearted attempt to make a night of it, and finally back again to +his menaced home, where he sat down fatigued behind the counter, and they +crowded urgently round him, like a pack of hungry black hounds. After +locking up the house and putting out the gas he took them upstairs with +him--a dreadful escort for a man going to bed. His wife had preceded him +some time before, and with her ample form defined vaguely under the +counterpane, her head on the pillow, and a hand under the cheek offered +to his distraction the view of early drowsiness arguing the possession of +an equable soul. Her big eyes stared wide open, inert and dark against +the snowy whiteness of the linen. She did not move. + +She had an equable soul. She felt profoundly that things do not stand +much looking into. She made her force and her wisdom of that instinct. +But the taciturnity of Mr Verloc had been lying heavily upon her for a +good many days. It was, as a matter of fact, affecting her nerves. +Recumbent and motionless, she said placidly: + +"You'll catch cold walking about in your socks like this." + +This speech, becoming the solicitude of the wife and the prudence of the +woman, took Mr Verloc unawares. He had left his boots downstairs, but he +had forgotten to put on his slippers, and he had been turning about the +bedroom on noiseless pads like a bear in a cage. At the sound of his +wife's voice he stopped and stared at her with a somnambulistic, +expressionless gaze so long that Mrs Verloc moved her limbs slightly +under the bed-clothes. But she did not move her black head sunk in the +white pillow one hand under her cheek and the big, dark, unwinking eyes. + +Under her husband's expressionless stare, and remembering her mother's +empty room across the landing, she felt an acute pang of loneliness. She +had never been parted from her mother before. They had stood by each +other. She felt that they had, and she said to herself that now mother +was gone--gone for good. Mrs Verloc had no illusions. Stevie remained, +however. And she said: + +"Mother's done what she wanted to do. There's no sense in it that I can +see. I'm sure she couldn't have thought you had enough of her. It's +perfectly wicked, leaving us like that." + +Mr Verloc was not a well-read person; his range of allusive phrases was +limited, but there was a peculiar aptness in circumstances which made him +think of rats leaving a doomed ship. He very nearly said so. He had +grown suspicious and embittered. Could it be that the old woman had such +an excellent nose? But the unreasonableness of such a suspicion was +patent, and Mr Verloc held his tongue. Not altogether, however. He +muttered heavily: + +"Perhaps it's just as well." + +He began to undress. Mrs Verloc kept very still, perfectly still, with +her eyes fixed in a dreamy, quiet stare. And her heart for the fraction +of a second seemed to stand still too. That night she was "not quite +herself," as the saying is, and it was borne upon her with some force +that a simple sentence may hold several diverse meanings--mostly +disagreeable. How was it just as well? And why? But she did not allow +herself to fall into the idleness of barren speculation. She was rather +confirmed in her belief that things did not stand being looked into. +Practical and subtle in her way, she brought Stevie to the front without +loss of time, because in her the singleness of purpose had the unerring +nature and the force of an instinct. + +"What I am going to do to cheer up that boy for the first few days I'm +sure I don't know. He'll be worrying himself from morning till night +before he gets used to mother being away. And he's such a good boy. I +couldn't do without him." + +Mr Verloc went on divesting himself of his clothing with the unnoticing +inward concentration of a man undressing in the solitude of a vast and +hopeless desert. For thus inhospitably did this fair earth, our common +inheritance, present itself to the mental vision of Mr Verloc. All was +so still without and within that the lonely ticking of the clock on the +landing stole into the room as if for the sake of company. + +Mr Verloc, getting into bed on his own side, remained prone and mute +behind Mrs Verloc's back. His thick arms rested abandoned on the outside +of the counterpane like dropped weapons, like discarded tools. At that +moment he was within a hair's breadth of making a clean breast of it all +to his wife. The moment seemed propitious. Looking out of the corners +of his eyes, he saw her ample shoulders draped in white, the back of her +head, with the hair done for the night in three plaits tied up with black +tapes at the ends. And he forbore. Mr Verloc loved his wife as a wife +should be loved--that is, maritally, with the regard one has for one's +chief possession. This head arranged for the night, those ample +shoulders, had an aspect of familiar sacredness--the sacredness of +domestic peace. She moved not, massive and shapeless like a recumbent +statue in the rough; he remembered her wide-open eyes looking into the +empty room. She was mysterious, with the mysteriousness of living +beings. The far-famed secret agent [delta] of the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim's alarmist despatches was not the man to break into such +mysteries. He was easily intimidated. And he was also indolent, with +the indolence which is so often the secret of good nature. He forbore +touching that mystery out of love, timidity, and indolence. There would +be always time enough. For several minutes he bore his sufferings +silently in the drowsy silence of the room. And then he disturbed it by +a resolute declaration. + +"I am going on the Continent to-morrow." + +His wife might have fallen asleep already. He could not tell. As a +matter of fact, Mrs Verloc had heard him. Her eyes remained very wide +open, and she lay very still, confirmed in her instinctive conviction +that things don't bear looking into very much. And yet it was nothing +very unusual for Mr Verloc to take such a trip. He renewed his stock +from Paris and Brussels. Often he went over to make his purchases +personally. A little select connection of amateurs was forming around +the shop in Brett Street, a secret connection eminently proper for any +business undertaken by Mr Verloc, who, by a mystic accord of temperament +and necessity, had been set apart to be a secret agent all his life. + +He waited for a while, then added: "I'll be away a week or perhaps a +fortnight. Get Mrs Neale to come for the day." + +Mrs Neale was the charwoman of Brett Street. Victim of her marriage with +a debauched joiner, she was oppressed by the needs of many infant +children. Red-armed, and aproned in coarse sacking up to the arm-pits, +she exhaled the anguish of the poor in a breath of soap-suds and rum, in +the uproar of scrubbing, in the clatter of tin pails. + +Mrs Verloc, full of deep purpose, spoke in the tone of the shallowest +indifference. + +"There is no need to have the woman here all day. I shall do very well +with Stevie." + +She let the lonely clock on the landing count off fifteen ticks into the +abyss of eternity, and asked: + +"Shall I put the light out?" + +Mr Verloc snapped at his wife huskily. + +"Put it out." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +Mr Verloc returning from the Continent at the end of ten days, brought +back a mind evidently unrefreshed by the wonders of foreign travel and a +countenance unlighted by the joys of home-coming. He entered in the +clatter of the shop bell with an air of sombre and vexed exhaustion. His +bag in hand, his head lowered, he strode straight behind the counter, and +let himself fall into the chair, as though he had tramped all the way +from Dover. It was early morning. Stevie, dusting various objects +displayed in the front windows, turned to gape at him with reverence and +awe. + +"Here!" said Mr Verloc, giving a slight kick to the gladstone bag on the +floor; and Stevie flung himself upon it, seized it, bore it off with +triumphant devotion. He was so prompt that Mr Verloc was distinctly +surprised. + +Already at the clatter of the shop bell Mrs Neale, blackleading the +parlour grate, had looked through the door, and rising from her knees had +gone, aproned, and grimy with everlasting toll, to tell Mrs Verloc in the +kitchen that "there was the master come back." + +Winnie came no farther than the inner shop door. + +"You'll want some breakfast," she said from a distance. + +Mr Verloc moved his hands slightly, as if overcome by an impossible +suggestion. But once enticed into the parlour he did not reject the food +set before him. He ate as if in a public place, his hat pushed off his +forehead, the skirts of his heavy overcoat hanging in a triangle on each +side of the chair. And across the length of the table covered with brown +oil-cloth Winnie, his wife, talked evenly at him the wifely talk, as +artfully adapted, no doubt, to the circumstances of this return as the +talk of Penelope to the return of the wandering Odysseus. Mrs Verloc, +however, had done no weaving during her husband's absence. But she had +had all the upstairs room cleaned thoroughly, had sold some wares, had +seen Mr Michaelis several times. He had told her the last time that he +was going away to live in a cottage in the country, somewhere on the +London, Chatham, and Dover line. Karl Yundt had come too, once, led +under the arm by that "wicked old housekeeper of his." He was "a +disgusting old man." Of Comrade Ossipon, whom she had received curtly, +entrenched behind the counter with a stony face and a faraway gaze, she +said nothing, her mental reference to the robust anarchist being marked +by a short pause, with the faintest possible blush. And bringing in her +brother Stevie as soon as she could into the current of domestic events, +she mentioned that the boy had moped a good deal. + +"It's all along of mother leaving us like this." + +Mr Verloc neither said, "Damn!" nor yet "Stevie be hanged!" And Mrs +Verloc, not let into the secret of his thoughts, failed to appreciate the +generosity of this restraint. + +"It isn't that he doesn't work as well as ever," she continued. "He's +been making himself very useful. You'd think he couldn't do enough for +us." + +Mr Verloc directed a casual and somnolent glance at Stevie, who sat on +his right, delicate, pale-faced, his rosy mouth open vacantly. It was +not a critical glance. It had no intention. And if Mr Verloc thought +for a moment that his wife's brother looked uncommonly useless, it was +only a dull and fleeting thought, devoid of that force and durability +which enables sometimes a thought to move the world. Leaning back, Mr +Verloc uncovered his head. Before his extended arm could put down the +hat Stevie pounced upon it, and bore it off reverently into the kitchen. +And again Mr Verloc was surprised. + +"You could do anything with that boy, Adolf," Mrs Verloc said, with her +best air of inflexible calmness. "He would go through fire for you. He--" + +She paused attentive, her ear turned towards the door of the kitchen. + +There Mrs Neale was scrubbing the floor. At Stevie's appearance she +groaned lamentably, having observed that he could be induced easily to +bestow for the benefit of her infant children the shilling his sister +Winnie presented him with from time to time. On all fours amongst the +puddles, wet and begrimed, like a sort of amphibious and domestic animal +living in ash-bins and dirty water, she uttered the usual exordium: "It's +all very well for you, kept doing nothing like a gentleman." And she +followed it with the everlasting plaint of the poor, pathetically +mendacious, miserably authenticated by the horrible breath of cheap rum +and soap-suds. She scrubbed hard, snuffling all the time, and talking +volubly. And she was sincere. And on each side of her thin red nose her +bleared, misty eyes swam in tears, because she felt really the want of +some sort of stimulant in the morning. + +In the parlour Mrs Verloc observed, with knowledge: + +"There's Mrs Neale at it again with her harrowing tales about her little +children. They can't be all so little as she makes them out. Some of +them must be big enough by now to try to do something for themselves. It +only makes Stevie angry." + +These words were confirmed by a thud as of a fist striking the kitchen +table. In the normal evolution of his sympathy Stevie had become angry +on discovering that he had no shilling in his pocket. In his inability +to relieve at once Mrs Neale's "little 'uns'," privations he felt that +somebody should be made to suffer for it. Mrs Verloc rose, and went into +the kitchen to "stop that nonsense." And she did it firmly but gently. +She was well aware that directly Mrs Neale received her money she went +round the corner to drink ardent spirits in a mean and musty +public-house--the unavoidable station on the _via dolorosa_ of her life. +Mrs Verloc's comment upon this practice had an unexpected profundity, as +coming from a person disinclined to look under the surface of things. "Of +course, what is she to do to keep up? If I were like Mrs Neale I expect +I wouldn't act any different." + +In the afternoon of the same day, as Mr Verloc, coming with a start out +of the last of a long series of dozes before the parlour fire, declared +his intention of going out for a walk, Winnie said from the shop: + +"I wish you would take that boy out with you, Adolf." + +For the third time that day Mr Verloc was surprised. He stared stupidly +at his wife. She continued in her steady manner. The boy, whenever he +was not doing anything, moped in the house. It made her uneasy; it made +her nervous, she confessed. And that from the calm Winnie sounded like +exaggeration. But, in truth, Stevie moped in the striking fashion of an +unhappy domestic animal. He would go up on the dark landing, to sit on +the floor at the foot of the tall clock, with his knees drawn up and his +head in his hands. To come upon his pallid face, with its big eyes +gleaming in the dusk, was discomposing; to think of him up there was +uncomfortable. + +Mr Verloc got used to the startling novelty of the idea. He was fond of +his wife as a man should be--that is, generously. But a weighty +objection presented itself to his mind, and he formulated it. + +"He'll lose sight of me perhaps, and get lost in the street," he said. + +Mrs Verloc shook her head competently. + +"He won't. You don't know him. That boy just worships you. But if you +should miss him--" + +Mrs Verloc paused for a moment, but only for a moment. + +"You just go on, and have your walk out. Don't worry. He'll be all +right. He's sure to turn up safe here before very long." + +This optimism procured for Mr Verloc his fourth surprise of the day. + +"Is he?" he grunted doubtfully. But perhaps his brother-in-law was not +such an idiot as he looked. His wife would know best. He turned away +his heavy eyes, saying huskily: "Well, let him come along, then," and +relapsed into the clutches of black care, that perhaps prefers to sit +behind a horseman, but knows also how to tread close on the heels of +people not sufficiently well off to keep horses--like Mr Verloc, for +instance. + +Winnie, at the shop door, did not see this fatal attendant upon Mr +Verloc's walks. She watched the two figures down the squalid street, one +tall and burly, the other slight and short, with a thin neck, and the +peaked shoulders raised slightly under the large semi-transparent ears. +The material of their overcoats was the same, their hats were black and +round in shape. Inspired by the similarity of wearing apparel, Mrs +Verloc gave rein to her fancy. + +"Might be father and son," she said to herself. She thought also that Mr +Verloc was as much of a father as poor Stevie ever had in his life. She +was aware also that it was her work. And with peaceful pride she +congratulated herself on a certain resolution she had taken a few years +before. It had cost her some effort, and even a few tears. + +She congratulated herself still more on observing in the course of days +that Mr Verloc seemed to be taking kindly to Stevie's companionship. Now, +when ready to go out for his walk, Mr Verloc called aloud to the boy, in +the spirit, no doubt, in which a man invites the attendance of the +household dog, though, of course, in a different manner. In the house Mr +Verloc could be detected staring curiously at Stevie a good deal. His +own demeanour had changed. Taciturn still, he was not so listless. Mrs +Verloc thought that he was rather jumpy at times. It might have been +regarded as an improvement. As to Stevie, he moped no longer at the foot +of the clock, but muttered to himself in corners instead in a threatening +tone. When asked "What is it you're saying, Stevie?" he merely opened +his mouth, and squinted at his sister. At odd times he clenched his +fists without apparent cause, and when discovered in solitude would be +scowling at the wall, with the sheet of paper and the pencil given him +for drawing circles lying blank and idle on the kitchen table. This was +a change, but it was no improvement. Mrs Verloc including all these +vagaries under the general definition of excitement, began to fear that +Stevie was hearing more than was good for him of her husband's +conversations with his friends. During his "walks" Mr Verloc, of course, +met and conversed with various persons. It could hardly be otherwise. +His walks were an integral part of his outdoor activities, which his wife +had never looked deeply into. Mrs Verloc felt that the position was +delicate, but she faced it with the same impenetrable calmness which +impressed and even astonished the customers of the shop and made the +other visitors keep their distance a little wonderingly. No! She feared +that there were things not good for Stevie to hear of, she told her +husband. It only excited the poor boy, because he could not help them +being so. Nobody could. + +It was in the shop. Mr Verloc made no comment. He made no retort, and +yet the retort was obvious. But he refrained from pointing out to his +wife that the idea of making Stevie the companion of his walks was her +own, and nobody else's. At that moment, to an impartial observer, Mr +Verloc would have appeared more than human in his magnanimity. He took +down a small cardboard box from a shelf, peeped in to see that the +contents were all right, and put it down gently on the counter. Not till +that was done did he break the silence, to the effect that most likely +Stevie would profit greatly by being sent out of town for a while; only +he supposed his wife could not get on without him. + +"Could not get on without him!" repeated Mrs Verloc slowly. "I couldn't +get on without him if it were for his good! The idea! Of course, I can +get on without him. But there's nowhere for him to go." + +Mr Verloc got out some brown paper and a ball of string; and meanwhile he +muttered that Michaelis was living in a little cottage in the country. +Michaelis wouldn't mind giving Stevie a room to sleep in. There were no +visitors and no talk there. Michaelis was writing a book. + +Mrs Verloc declared her affection for Michaelis; mentioned her abhorrence +of Karl Yundt, "nasty old man"; and of Ossipon she said nothing. As to +Stevie, he could be no other than very pleased. Mr Michaelis was always +so nice and kind to him. He seemed to like the boy. Well, the boy was a +good boy. + +"You too seem to have grown quite fond of him of late," she added, after +a pause, with her inflexible assurance. + +Mr Verloc tying up the cardboard box into a parcel for the post, broke +the string by an injudicious jerk, and muttered several swear words +confidentially to himself. Then raising his tone to the usual husky +mutter, he announced his willingness to take Stevie into the country +himself, and leave him all safe with Michaelis. + +He carried out this scheme on the very next day. Stevie offered no +objection. He seemed rather eager, in a bewildered sort of way. He +turned his candid gaze inquisitively to Mr Verloc's heavy countenance at +frequent intervals, especially when his sister was not looking at him. +His expression was proud, apprehensive, and concentrated, like that of a +small child entrusted for the first time with a box of matches and the +permission to strike a light. But Mrs Verloc, gratified by her brother's +docility, recommended him not to dirty his clothes unduly in the country. +At this Stevie gave his sister, guardian and protector a look, which for +the first time in his life seemed to lack the quality of perfect +childlike trustfulness. It was haughtily gloomy. Mrs Verloc smiled. + +"Goodness me! You needn't be offended. You know you do get yourself +very untidy when you get a chance, Stevie." + +Mr Verloc was already gone some way down the street. + +Thus in consequence of her mother's heroic proceedings, and of her +brother's absence on this villegiature, Mrs Verloc found herself oftener +than usual all alone not only in the shop, but in the house. For Mr +Verloc had to take his walks. She was alone longer than usual on the day +of the attempted bomb outrage in Greenwich Park, because Mr Verloc went +out very early that morning and did not come back till nearly dusk. She +did not mind being alone. She had no desire to go out. The weather was +too bad, and the shop was cosier than the streets. Sitting behind the +counter with some sewing, she did not raise her eyes from her work when +Mr Verloc entered in the aggressive clatter of the bell. She had +recognised his step on the pavement outside. + +She did not raise her eyes, but as Mr Verloc, silent, and with his hat +rammed down upon his forehead, made straight for the parlour door, she +said serenely: + +"What a wretched day. You've been perhaps to see Stevie?" + +"No! I haven't," said Mr Verloc softly, and slammed the glazed parlour +door behind him with unexpected energy. + +For some time Mrs Verloc remained quiescent, with her work dropped in her +lap, before she put it away under the counter and got up to light the +gas. This done, she went into the parlour on her way to the kitchen. Mr +Verloc would want his tea presently. Confident of the power of her +charms, Winnie did not expect from her husband in the daily intercourse +of their married life a ceremonious amenity of address and courtliness of +manner; vain and antiquated forms at best, probably never very exactly +observed, discarded nowadays even in the highest spheres, and always +foreign to the standards of her class. She did not look for courtesies +from him. But he was a good husband, and she had a loyal respect for his +rights. + +Mrs Verloc would have gone through the parlour and on to her domestic +duties in the kitchen with the perfect serenity of a woman sure of the +power of her charms. But a slight, very slight, and rapid rattling sound +grew upon her hearing. Bizarre and incomprehensible, it arrested Mrs +Verloc's attention. Then as its character became plain to the ear she +stopped short, amazed and concerned. Striking a match on the box she +held in her hand, she turned on and lighted, above the parlour table, one +of the two gas-burners, which, being defective, first whistled as if +astonished, and then went on purring comfortably like a cat. + +Mr Verloc, against his usual practice, had thrown off his overcoat. It +was lying on the sofa. His hat, which he must also have thrown off, +rested overturned under the edge of the sofa. He had dragged a chair in +front of the fireplace, and his feet planted inside the fender, his head +held between his hands, he was hanging low over the glowing grate. His +teeth rattled with an ungovernable violence, causing his whole enormous +back to tremble at the same rate. Mrs Verloc was startled. + +"You've been getting wet," she said. + +"Not very," Mr Verloc managed to falter out, in a profound shudder. By a +great effort he suppressed the rattling of his teeth. + +"I'll have you laid up on my hands," she said, with genuine uneasiness. + +"I don't think so," remarked Mr Verloc, snuffling huskily. + +He had certainly contrived somehow to catch an abominable cold between +seven in the morning and five in the afternoon. Mrs Verloc looked at his +bowed back. + +"Where have you been to-day?" she asked. + +"Nowhere," answered Mr Verloc in a low, choked nasal tone. His attitude +suggested aggrieved sulks or a severe headache. The unsufficiency and +uncandidness of his answer became painfully apparent in the dead silence +of the room. He snuffled apologetically, and added: "I've been to the +bank." + +Mrs Verloc became attentive. + +"You have!" she said dispassionately. "What for?" + +Mr Verloc mumbled, with his nose over the grate, and with marked +unwillingness. + +"Draw the money out!" + +"What do you mean? All of it?" + +"Yes. All of it." + +Mrs Verloc spread out with care the scanty table-cloth, got two knives +and two forks out of the table drawer, and suddenly stopped in her +methodical proceedings. + +"What did you do that for?" + +"May want it soon," snuffled vaguely Mr Verloc, who was coming to the end +of his calculated indiscretions. + +"I don't know what you mean," remarked his wife in a tone perfectly +casual, but standing stock still between the table and the cupboard. + +"You know you can trust me," Mr Verloc remarked to the grate, with hoarse +feeling. + +Mrs Verloc turned slowly towards the cupboard, saying with deliberation: + +"Oh yes. I can trust you." + +And she went on with her methodical proceedings. She laid two plates, +got the bread, the butter, going to and fro quietly between the table and +the cupboard in the peace and silence of her home. On the point of +taking out the jam, she reflected practically: "He will be feeling +hungry, having been away all day," and she returned to the cupboard once +more to get the cold beef. She set it under the purring gas-jet, and +with a passing glance at her motionless husband hugging the fire, she +went (down two steps) into the kitchen. It was only when coming back, +carving knife and fork in hand, that she spoke again. + +"If I hadn't trusted you I wouldn't have married you." + +Bowed under the overmantel, Mr Verloc, holding his head in both hands, +seemed to have gone to sleep. Winnie made the tea, and called out in an +undertone: + +"Adolf." + +Mr Verloc got up at once, and staggered a little before he sat down at +the table. His wife examining the sharp edge of the carving knife, +placed it on the dish, and called his attention to the cold beef. He +remained insensible to the suggestion, with his chin on his breast. + +"You should feed your cold," Mrs Verloc said dogmatically. + +He looked up, and shook his head. His eyes were bloodshot and his face +red. His fingers had ruffled his hair into a dissipated untidiness. +Altogether he had a disreputable aspect, expressive of the discomfort, +the irritation and the gloom following a heavy debauch. But Mr Verloc +was not a debauched man. In his conduct he was respectable. His +appearance might have been the effect of a feverish cold. He drank three +cups of tea, but abstained from food entirely. He recoiled from it with +sombre aversion when urged by Mrs Verloc, who said at last: + +"Aren't your feet wet? You had better put on your slippers. You aren't +going out any more this evening." + +Mr Verloc intimated by morose grunts and signs that his feet were not +wet, and that anyhow he did not care. The proposal as to slippers was +disregarded as beneath his notice. But the question of going out in the +evening received an unexpected development. It was not of going out in +the evening that Mr Verloc was thinking. His thoughts embraced a vaster +scheme. From moody and incomplete phrases it became apparent that Mr +Verloc had been considering the expediency of emigrating. It was not +very clear whether he had in his mind France or California. + +The utter unexpectedness, improbability, and inconceivableness of such an +event robbed this vague declaration of all its effect. Mrs Verloc, as +placidly as if her husband had been threatening her with the end of the +world, said: + +"The idea!" + +Mr Verloc declared himself sick and tired of everything, and besides--She +interrupted him. + +"You've a bad cold." + +It was indeed obvious that Mr Verloc was not in his usual state, +physically and even mentally. A sombre irresolution held him silent for +a while. Then he murmured a few ominous generalities on the theme of +necessity. + +"Will have to," repeated Winnie, sitting calmly back, with folded arms, +opposite her husband. "I should like to know who's to make you. You +ain't a slave. No one need be a slave in this country--and don't you +make yourself one." She paused, and with invincible and steady candour. +"The business isn't so bad," she went on. "You've a comfortable home." + +She glanced all round the parlour, from the corner cupboard to the good +fire in the grate. Ensconced cosily behind the shop of doubtful wares, +with the mysteriously dim window, and its door suspiciously ajar in the +obscure and narrow street, it was in all essentials of domestic propriety +and domestic comfort a respectable home. Her devoted affection missed +out of it her brother Stevie, now enjoying a damp villegiature in the +Kentish lanes under the care of Mr Michaelis. She missed him poignantly, +with all the force of her protecting passion. This was the boy's home +too--the roof, the cupboard, the stoked grate. On this thought Mrs +Verloc rose, and walking to the other end of the table, said in the +fulness of her heart: + +"And you are not tired of me." + +Mr Verloc made no sound. Winnie leaned on his shoulder from behind, and +pressed her lips to his forehead. Thus she lingered. Not a whisper +reached them from the outside world. + +The sound of footsteps on the pavement died out in the discreet dimness +of the shop. Only the gas-jet above the table went on purring equably in +the brooding silence of the parlour. + +During the contact of that unexpected and lingering kiss Mr Verloc, +gripping with both hands the edges of his chair, preserved a hieratic +immobility. When the pressure was removed he let go the chair, rose, and +went to stand before the fireplace. He turned no longer his back to the +room. With his features swollen and an air of being drugged, he followed +his wife's movements with his eyes. + +Mrs Verloc went about serenely, clearing up the table. Her tranquil +voice commented the idea thrown out in a reasonable and domestic tone. It +wouldn't stand examination. She condemned it from every point of view. +But her only real concern was Stevie's welfare. He appeared to her +thought in that connection as sufficiently "peculiar" not to be taken +rashly abroad. And that was all. But talking round that vital point, +she approached absolute vehemence in her delivery. Meanwhile, with +brusque movements, she arrayed herself in an apron for the washing up of +cups. And as if excited by the sound of her uncontradicted voice, she +went so far as to say in a tone almost tart: + +"If you go abroad you'll have to go without me." + +"You know I wouldn't," said Mr Verloc huskily, and the unresonant voice +of his private life trembled with an enigmatical emotion. + +Already Mrs Verloc was regretting her words. They had sounded more +unkind than she meant them to be. They had also the unwisdom of +unnecessary things. In fact, she had not meant them at all. It was a +sort of phrase that is suggested by the demon of perverse inspiration. +But she knew a way to make it as if it had not been. + +She turned her head over her shoulder and gave that man planted heavily +in front of the fireplace a glance, half arch, half cruel, out of her +large eyes--a glance of which the Winnie of the Belgravian mansion days +would have been incapable, because of her respectability and her +ignorance. But the man was her husband now, and she was no longer +ignorant. She kept it on him for a whole second, with her grave face +motionless like a mask, while she said playfully: + +"You couldn't. You would miss me too much." + +Mr Verloc started forward. + +"Exactly," he said in a louder tone, throwing his arms out and making a +step towards her. Something wild and doubtful in his expression made it +appear uncertain whether he meant to strangle or to embrace his wife. But +Mrs Verloc's attention was called away from that manifestation by the +clatter of the shop bell. + +"Shop, Adolf. You go." + +He stopped, his arms came down slowly. + +"You go," repeated Mrs Verloc. "I've got my apron on." + +Mr Verloc obeyed woodenly, stony-eyed, and like an automaton whose face +had been painted red. And this resemblance to a mechanical figure went +so far that he had an automaton's absurd air of being aware of the +machinery inside of him. + +He closed the parlour door, and Mrs Verloc moving briskly, carried the +tray into the kitchen. She washed the cups and some other things before +she stopped in her work to listen. No sound reached her. The customer +was a long time in the shop. It was a customer, because if he had not +been Mr Verloc would have taken him inside. Undoing the strings of her +apron with a jerk, she threw it on a chair, and walked back to the +parlour slowly. + +At that precise moment Mr Verloc entered from the shop. + +He had gone in red. He came out a strange papery white. His face, +losing its drugged, feverish stupor, had in that short time acquired a +bewildered and harassed expression. He walked straight to the sofa, and +stood looking down at his overcoat lying there, as though he were afraid +to touch it. + +"What's the matter?" asked Mrs Verloc in a subdued voice. Through the +door left ajar she could see that the customer was not gone yet. + +"I find I'll have to go out this evening," said Mr Verloc. He did not +attempt to pick up his outer garment. + +Without a word Winnie made for the shop, and shutting the door after her, +walked in behind the counter. She did not look overtly at the customer +till she had established herself comfortably on the chair. But by that +time she had noted that he was tall and thin, and wore his moustaches +twisted up. In fact, he gave the sharp points a twist just then. His +long, bony face rose out of a turned-up collar. He was a little +splashed, a little wet. A dark man, with the ridge of the cheek-bone +well defined under the slightly hollow temple. A complete stranger. Not +a customer either. + +Mrs Verloc looked at him placidly. + +"You came over from the Continent?" she said after a time. + +The long, thin stranger, without exactly looking at Mrs Verloc, answered +only by a faint and peculiar smile. + +Mrs Verloc's steady, incurious gaze rested on him. + +"You understand English, don't you?" + +"Oh yes. I understand English." + +There was nothing foreign in his accent, except that he seemed in his +slow enunciation to be taking pains with it. And Mrs Verloc, in her +varied experience, had come to the conclusion that some foreigners could +speak better English than the natives. She said, looking at the door of +the parlour fixedly: + +"You don't think perhaps of staying in England for good?" + +The stranger gave her again a silent smile. He had a kindly mouth and +probing eyes. And he shook his head a little sadly, it seemed. + +"My husband will see you through all right. Meantime for a few days you +couldn't do better than take lodgings with Mr Giugliani. Continental +Hotel it's called. Private. It's quiet. My husband will take you +there." + +"A good idea," said the thin, dark man, whose glance had hardened +suddenly. + +"You knew Mr Verloc before--didn't you? Perhaps in France?" + +"I have heard of him," admitted the visitor in his slow, painstaking +tone, which yet had a certain curtness of intention. + +There was a pause. Then he spoke again, in a far less elaborate manner. + +"Your husband has not gone out to wait for me in the street by chance?" + +"In the street!" repeated Mrs Verloc, surprised. "He couldn't. There's +no other door to the house." + +For a moment she sat impassive, then left her seat to go and peep through +the glazed door. Suddenly she opened it, and disappeared into the +parlour. + +Mr Verloc had done no more than put on his overcoat. But why he should +remain afterwards leaning over the table propped up on his two arms as +though he were feeling giddy or sick, she could not understand. "Adolf," +she called out half aloud; and when he had raised himself: + +"Do you know that man?" she asked rapidly. + +"I've heard of him," whispered uneasily Mr Verloc, darting a wild glance +at the door. + +Mrs Verloc's fine, incurious eyes lighted up with a flash of abhorrence. + +"One of Karl Yundt's friends--beastly old man." + +"No! No!" protested Mr Verloc, busy fishing for his hat. But when he +got it from under the sofa he held it as if he did not know the use of a +hat. + +"Well--he's waiting for you," said Mrs Verloc at last. "I say, Adolf, he +ain't one of them Embassy people you have been bothered with of late?" + +"Bothered with Embassy people," repeated Mr Verloc, with a heavy start of +surprise and fear. "Who's been talking to you of the Embassy people?" + +"Yourself." + +"I! I! Talked of the Embassy to you!" + +Mr Verloc seemed scared and bewildered beyond measure. His wife +explained: + +"You've been talking a little in your sleep of late, Adolf." + +"What--what did I say? What do you know?" + +"Nothing much. It seemed mostly nonsense. Enough to let me guess that +something worried you." + +Mr Verloc rammed his hat on his head. A crimson flood of anger ran over +his face. + +"Nonsense--eh? The Embassy people! I would cut their hearts out one +after another. But let them look out. I've got a tongue in my head." + +He fumed, pacing up and down between the table and the sofa, his open +overcoat catching against the angles. The red flood of anger ebbed out, +and left his face all white, with quivering nostrils. Mrs Verloc, for +the purposes of practical existence, put down these appearances to the +cold. + +"Well," she said, "get rid of the man, whoever he is, as soon as you can, +and come back home to me. You want looking after for a day or two." + +Mr Verloc calmed down, and, with resolution imprinted on his pale face, +had already opened the door, when his wife called him back in a whisper: + +"Adolf! Adolf!" He came back startled. "What about that money you drew +out?" she asked. "You've got it in your pocket? Hadn't you better--" + +Mr Verloc gazed stupidly into the palm of his wife's extended hand for +some time before he slapped his brow. + +"Money! Yes! Yes! I didn't know what you meant." + +He drew out of his breast pocket a new pigskin pocket-book. Mrs Verloc +received it without another word, and stood still till the bell, +clattering after Mr Verloc and Mr Verloc's visitor, had quieted down. +Only then she peeped in at the amount, drawing the notes out for the +purpose. After this inspection she looked round thoughtfully, with an +air of mistrust in the silence and solitude of the house. This abode of +her married life appeared to her as lonely and unsafe as though it had +been situated in the midst of a forest. No receptacle she could think of +amongst the solid, heavy furniture seemed other but flimsy and +particularly tempting to her conception of a house-breaker. It was an +ideal conception, endowed with sublime faculties and a miraculous +insight. The till was not to be thought of it was the first spot a thief +would make for. Mrs Verloc unfastening hastily a couple of hooks, +slipped the pocket-book under the bodice of her dress. Having thus +disposed of her husband's capital, she was rather glad to hear the +clatter of the door bell, announcing an arrival. Assuming the fixed, +unabashed stare and the stony expression reserved for the casual +customer, she walked in behind the counter. + +A man standing in the middle of the shop was inspecting it with a swift, +cool, all-round glance. His eyes ran over the walls, took in the +ceiling, noted the floor--all in a moment. The points of a long fair +moustache fell below the line of the jaw. He smiled the smile of an old +if distant acquaintance, and Mrs Verloc remembered having seen him +before. Not a customer. She softened her "customer stare" to mere +indifference, and faced him across the counter. + +He approached, on his side, confidentially, but not too markedly so. + +"Husband at home, Mrs Verloc?" he asked in an easy, full tone. + +"No. He's gone out." + +"I am sorry for that. I've called to get from him a little private +information." + +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. Find--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?" + +Mrs Verloc did not mind. And when Chief Inspector Heat heard of a man +dark, thin, with a long face and turned up moustaches, he gave signs of +perturbation, and exclaimed: + +"Dash me if I didn't think so! He hasn't lost any time." + +He was intensely disgusted in the secrecy of his heart at the unofficial +conduct of his immediate chief. But he was not quixotic. He lost all +desire to await Mr Verloc's return. What they had gone out for he did +not know, but he imagined it possible that they would return together. +The case is not followed properly, it's being tampered with, he thought +bitterly. + +"I am afraid I haven't time to wait for your husband," he said. + +Mrs Verloc received this declaration listlessly. Her detachment had +impressed Chief Inspector Heat all along. At this precise moment it +whetted his curiosity. Chief Inspector Heat hung in the wind, swayed by +his passions like the most private of citizens. + +"I think," he said, looking at her steadily, "that you could give me a +pretty good notion of what's going on if you liked." + +Forcing her fine, inert eyes to return his gaze, Mrs Verloc murmured: + +"Going on! What _is_ going on?" + +"Why, the affair I came to talk about a little with your husband." + +That day Mrs Verloc had glanced at a morning paper as usual. But she had +not stirred out of doors. The newsboys never invaded Brett Street. It +was not a street for their business. And the echo of their cries +drifting along the populous thoroughfares, expired between the dirty +brick walls without reaching the threshold of the shop. Her husband had +not brought an evening paper home. At any rate she had not seen it. Mrs +Verloc knew nothing whatever of any affair. And she said so, with a +genuine note of wonder in her quiet voice. + +Chief Inspector Heat did not believe for a moment in so much ignorance. +Curtly, without amiability, he stated the bare fact. + +Mrs Verloc turned away her eyes. + +"I call it silly," she pronounced slowly. She paused. "We ain't +downtrodden slaves here." + +The Chief Inspector waited watchfully. Nothing more came. + +"And your husband didn't mention anything to you when he came home?" + +Mrs Verloc simply turned her face from right to left in sign of negation. +A languid, baffling silence reigned in the shop. Chief Inspector Heat +felt provoked beyond endurance. + +"There was another small matter," he began in a detached tone, "which I +wanted to speak to your husband about. There came into our hands +a--a--what we believe is--a stolen overcoat." + +Mrs Verloc, with her mind specially aware of thieves that evening, +touched lightly the bosom of her dress. + +"We have lost no overcoat," she said calmly. + +"That's funny," continued Private Citizen Heat. "I see you keep a lot of +marking ink here--" + +He took up a small bottle, and looked at it against the gas-jet in the +middle of the shop. + +"Purple--isn't it?" he remarked, setting it down again. "As I said, it's +strange. Because the overcoat has got a label sewn on the inside with +your address written in marking ink." + +Mrs Verloc leaned over the counter with a low exclamation. + +"That's my brother's, then." + +"Where's your brother? Can I see him?" asked the Chief Inspector +briskly. Mrs Verloc leaned a little more over the counter. + +"No. He isn't here. I wrote that label myself." + +"Where's your brother now?" + +"He's been away living with--a friend--in the country." + +"The overcoat comes from the country. And what's the name of the +friend?" + +"Michaelis," confessed Mrs Verloc in an awed whisper. + +The Chief Inspector let out a whistle. His eyes snapped. + +"Just so. Capital. And your brother now, what's he like--a sturdy, +darkish chap--eh?" + +"Oh no," exclaimed Mrs Verloc fervently. "That must be the thief. +Stevie's slight and fair." + +"Good," said the Chief Inspector in an approving tone. And while Mrs +Verloc, wavering between alarm and wonder, stared at him, he sought for +information. Why have the address sewn like this inside the coat? And +he heard that the mangled remains he had inspected that morning with +extreme repugnance were those of a youth, nervous, absent-minded, +peculiar, and also that the woman who was speaking to him had had the +charge of that boy since he was a baby. + +"Easily excitable?" he suggested. + +"Oh yes. He is. But how did he come to lose his coat--" + +Chief Inspector Heat suddenly pulled out a pink newspaper he had bought +less than half-an-hour ago. He was interested in horses. Forced by his +calling into an attitude of doubt and suspicion towards his +fellow-citizens, Chief Inspector Heat relieved the instinct of credulity +implanted in the human breast by putting unbounded faith in the sporting +prophets of that particular evening publication. Dropping the extra +special on to the counter, he plunged his hand again into his pocket, and +pulling out the piece of cloth fate had presented him with out of a heap +of things that seemed to have been collected in shambles and rag shops, +he offered it to Mrs Verloc for inspection. + +"I suppose you recognise this?" + +She took it mechanically in both her hands. Her eyes seemed to grow +bigger as she looked. + +"Yes," she whispered, then raised her head, and staggered backward a +little. + +"Whatever for is it torn out like this?" + +The Chief Inspector snatched across the counter the cloth out of her +hands, and she sat heavily on the chair. He thought: identification's +perfect. And in that moment he had a glimpse into the whole amazing +truth. Verloc was the "other man." + +"Mrs Verloc," he said, "it strikes me that you know more of this bomb +affair than even you yourself are aware of." + +Mrs Verloc sat still, amazed, lost in boundless astonishment. What was +the connection? And she became so rigid all over that she was not able +to turn her head at the clatter of the bell, which caused the private +investigator Heat to spin round on his heel. Mr Verloc had shut the +door, and for a moment the two men looked at each other. + +Mr Verloc, without looking at his wife, walked up to the Chief Inspector, +who was relieved to see him return alone. + +"You here!" muttered Mr Verloc heavily. "Who are you after?" + +"No one," said Chief Inspector Heat in a low tone. "Look here, I would +like a word or two with you." + +Mr Verloc, still pale, had brought an air of resolution with him. Still +he didn't look at his wife. He said: + +"Come in here, then." And he led the way into the parlour. + +The door was hardly shut when Mrs Verloc, jumping up from the chair, ran +to it as if to fling it open, but instead of doing so fell on her knees, +with her ear to the keyhole. The two men must have stopped directly they +were through, because she heard plainly the Chief Inspector's voice, +though she could not see his finger pressed against her husband's breast +emphatically. + +"You are the other man, Verloc. Two men were seen entering the park." + +And the voice of Mr Verloc said: + +"Well, take me now. What's to prevent you? You have the right." + +"Oh no! I know too well who you have been giving yourself away to. He'll +have to manage this little affair all by himself. But don't you make a +mistake, it's I who found you out." + +Then she heard only muttering. Inspector Heat must have been showing to +Mr Verloc the piece of Stevie's overcoat, because Stevie's sister, +guardian, and protector heard her husband a little louder. + +"I never noticed that she had hit upon that dodge." + +Again for a time Mrs Verloc heard nothing but murmurs, whose +mysteriousness was less nightmarish to her brain than the horrible +suggestions of shaped words. Then Chief Inspector Heat, on the other +side of the door, raised his voice. + +"You must have been mad." + +And Mr Verloc's voice answered, with a sort of gloomy fury: + +"I have been mad for a month or more, but I am not mad now. It's all +over. It shall all come out of my head, and hang the consequences." + +There was a silence, and then Private Citizen Heat murmured: + +"What's coming out?" + +"Everything," exclaimed the voice of Mr Verloc, and then sank very low. + +After a while it rose again. + +"You have known me for several years now, and you've found me useful, +too. You know I was a straight man. Yes, straight." + +This appeal to old acquaintance must have been extremely distasteful to +the Chief Inspector. + +His voice took on a warning note. + +"Don't you trust so much to what you have been promised. If I were you I +would clear out. I don't think we will run after you." + +Mr Verloc was heard to laugh a little. + +"Oh yes; you hope the others will get rid of me for you--don't you? No, +no; you don't shake me off now. I have been a straight man to those +people too long, and now everything must come out." + +"Let it come out, then," the indifferent voice of Chief Inspector Heat +assented. "But tell me now how did you get away." + +"I was making for Chesterfield Walk," Mrs Verloc heard her husband's +voice, "when I heard the bang. I started running then. Fog. I saw no +one till I was past the end of George Street. Don't think I met anyone +till then." + +"So easy as that!" marvelled the voice of Chief Inspector Heat. "The +bang startled you, eh?" + +"Yes; it came too soon," confessed the gloomy, husky voice of Mr Verloc. + +Mrs Verloc pressed her ear to the keyhole; her lips were blue, her hands +cold as ice, and her pale face, in which the two eyes seemed like two +black holes, felt to her as if it were enveloped in flames. + +On the other side of the door the voices sank very low. She caught words +now and then, sometimes in her husband's voice, sometimes in the smooth +tones of the Chief Inspector. She heard this last say: + +"We believe he stumbled against the root of a tree?" + +There was a husky, voluble murmur, which lasted for some time, and then +the Chief Inspector, as if answering some inquiry, spoke emphatically. + +"Of course. Blown to small bits: limbs, gravel, clothing, bones, +splinters--all mixed up together. I tell you they had to fetch a shovel +to gather him up with." + +Mrs Verloc sprang up suddenly from her crouching position, and stopping +her ears, reeled to and fro between the counter and the shelves on the +wall towards the chair. Her crazed eyes noted the sporting sheet left by +the Chief Inspector, and as she knocked herself against the counter she +snatched it up, fell into the chair, tore the optimistic, rosy sheet +right across in trying to open it, then flung it on the floor. On the +other side of the door, Chief Inspector Heat was saying to Mr Verloc, the +secret agent: + +"So your defence will be practically a full confession?" + +"It will. I am going to tell the whole story." + +"You won't be believed as much as you fancy you will." + +And the Chief Inspector remained thoughtful. The turn this affair was +taking meant the disclosure of many things--the laying waste of fields of +knowledge, which, cultivated by a capable man, had a distinct value for +the individual and for the society. It was sorry, sorry meddling. It +would leave Michaelis unscathed; it would drag to light the Professor's +home industry; disorganise the whole system of supervision; make no end +of a row in the papers, which, from that point of view, appeared to him +by a sudden illumination as invariably written by fools for the reading +of imbeciles. Mentally he agreed with the words Mr Verloc let fall at +last in answer to his last remark. + +"Perhaps not. But it will upset many things. I have been a straight +man, and I shall keep straight in this--" + +"If they let you," said the Chief Inspector cynically. "You will be +preached to, no doubt, before they put you into the dock. And in the end +you may yet get let in for a sentence that will surprise you. I wouldn't +trust too much the gentleman who's been talking to you." + +Mr Verloc listened, frowning. + +"My advice to you is to clear out while you may. I have no instructions. +There are some of them," continued Chief Inspector Heat, laying a +peculiar stress on the word "them," "who think you are already out of the +world." + +"Indeed!" Mr Verloc was moved to say. Though since his return from +Greenwich he had spent most of his time sitting in the tap-room of an +obscure little public-house, he could hardly have hoped for such +favourable news. + +"That's the impression about you." The Chief Inspector nodded at him. +"Vanish. Clear out." + +"Where to?" snarled Mr Verloc. He raised his head, and gazing at the +closed door of the parlour, muttered feelingly: "I only wish you would +take me away to-night. I would go quietly." + +"I daresay," assented sardonically the Chief Inspector, following the +direction of his glance. + +The brow of Mr Verloc broke into slight moisture. He lowered his husky +voice confidentially before the unmoved Chief Inspector. + +"The lad was half-witted, irresponsible. Any court would have seen that +at once. Only fit for the asylum. And that was the worst that would've +happened to him if--" + +The Chief Inspector, his hand on the door handle, whispered into Mr +Verloc's face. + +"He may've been half-witted, but you must have been crazy. What drove +you off your head like this?" + +Mr Verloc, thinking of Mr Vladimir, did not hesitate in the choice of +words. + +"A Hyperborean swine," he hissed forcibly. "A what you might call a--a +gentleman." + +The Chief Inspector, steady-eyed, nodded briefly his comprehension, and +opened the door. Mrs Verloc, behind the counter, might have heard but +did not see his departure, pursued by the aggressive clatter of the bell. +She sat at her post of duty behind the counter. She sat rigidly erect in +the chair with two dirty pink pieces of paper lying spread out at her +feet. The palms of her hands were pressed convulsively to her face, with +the tips of the fingers contracted against the forehead, as though the +skin had been a mask which she was ready to tear off violently. The +perfect immobility of her pose expressed the agitation of rage and +despair, all the potential violence of tragic passions, better than any +shallow display of shrieks, with the beating of a distracted head against +the walls, could have done. Chief Inspector Heat, crossing the shop at +his busy, swinging pace, gave her only a cursory glance. And when the +cracked bell ceased to tremble on its curved ribbon of steel nothing +stirred near Mrs Verloc, as if her attitude had the locking power of a +spell. Even the butterfly-shaped gas flames posed on the ends of the +suspended T-bracket burned without a quiver. In that shop of shady wares +fitted with deal shelves painted a dull brown, which seemed to devour the +sheen of the light, the gold circlet of the wedding ring on Mrs Verloc's +left hand glittered exceedingly with the untarnished glory of a piece +from some splendid treasure of jewels, dropped in a dust-bin. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +The Assistant Commissioner, driven rapidly in a hansom from the +neighbourhood of Soho in the direction of Westminster, got out at the +very centre of the Empire on which the sun never sets. Some stalwart +constables, who did not seem particularly impressed by the duty of +watching the august spot, saluted him. Penetrating through a portal by +no means lofty into the precincts of the House which is _the_ House, _par +excellence_ in the minds of many millions of men, he was met at last by +the volatile and revolutionary Toodles. + +That neat and nice young man concealed his astonishment at the early +appearance of the Assistant Commissioner, whom he had been told to look +out for some time about midnight. His turning up so early he concluded +to be the sign that things, whatever they were, had gone wrong. With an +extremely ready sympathy, which in nice youngsters goes often with a +joyous temperament, he felt sorry for the great Presence he called "The +Chief," and also for the Assistant Commissioner, whose face appeared to +him more ominously wooden than ever before, and quite wonderfully long. +"What a queer, foreign-looking chap he is," he thought to himself, +smiling from a distance with friendly buoyancy. And directly they came +together he began to talk with the kind intention of burying the +awkwardness of failure under a heap of words. It looked as if the great +assault threatened for that night were going to fizzle out. An inferior +henchman of "that brute Cheeseman" was up boring mercilessly a very thin +House with some shamelessly cooked statistics. He, Toodles, hoped he +would bore them into a count out every minute. But then he might be only +marking time to let that guzzling Cheeseman dine at his leisure. Anyway, +the Chief could not be persuaded to go home. + +"He will see you at once, I think. He's sitting all alone in his room +thinking of all the fishes of the sea," concluded Toodles airily. "Come +along." + +Notwithstanding the kindness of his disposition, the young private +secretary (unpaid) was accessible to the common failings of humanity. He +did not wish to harrow the feelings of the Assistant Commissioner, who +looked to him uncommonly like a man who has made a mess of his job. But +his curiosity was too strong to be restrained by mere compassion. He +could not help, as they went along, to throw over his shoulder lightly: + +"And your sprat?" + +"Got him," answered the Assistant Commissioner with a concision which did +not mean to be repellent in the least. + +"Good. You've no idea how these great men dislike to be disappointed in +small things." + +After this profound observation the experienced Toodles seemed to +reflect. At any rate he said nothing for quite two seconds. Then: + +"I'm glad. But--I say--is it really such a very small thing as you make +it out?" + +"Do you know what may be done with a sprat?" the Assistant Commissioner +asked in his turn. + +"He's sometimes put into a sardine box," chuckled Toodles, whose +erudition on the subject of the fishing industry was fresh and, in +comparison with his ignorance of all other industrial matters, immense. +"There are sardine canneries on the Spanish coast which--" + +The Assistant Commissioner interrupted the apprentice statesman. + +"Yes. Yes. But a sprat is also thrown away sometimes in order to catch +a whale." + +"A whale. Phew!" exclaimed Toodles, with bated breath. "You're after a +whale, then?" + +"Not exactly. What I am after is more like a dog-fish. You don't know +perhaps what a dog-fish is like." + +"Yes; I do. We're buried in special books up to our necks--whole shelves +full of them--with plates. . . . It's a noxious, rascally-looking, +altogether detestable beast, with a sort of smooth face and moustaches." + +"Described to a T," commended the Assistant Commissioner. "Only mine is +clean-shaven altogether. You've seen him. It's a witty fish." + +"I have seen him!" said Toodles incredulously. "I can't conceive where I +could have seen him." + +"At the Explorers, I should say," dropped the Assistant Commissioner +calmly. At the name of that extremely exclusive club Toodles looked +scared, and stopped short. + +"Nonsense," he protested, but in an awe-struck tone. "What do you mean? +A member?" + +"Honorary," muttered the Assistant Commissioner through his teeth. + +"Heavens!" + +Toodles looked so thunderstruck that the Assistant Commissioner smiled +faintly. + +"That's between ourselves strictly," he said. + +"That's the beastliest thing I've ever heard in my life," declared +Toodles feebly, as if astonishment had robbed him of all his buoyant +strength in a second. + +The Assistant Commissioner gave him an unsmiling glance. Till they came +to the door of the great man's room, Toodles preserved a scandalised and +solemn silence, as though he were offended with the Assistant +Commissioner for exposing such an unsavoury and disturbing fact. It +revolutionised his idea of the Explorers' Club's extreme selectness, of +its social purity. Toodles was revolutionary only in politics; his +social beliefs and personal feelings he wished to preserve unchanged +through all the years allotted to him on this earth which, upon the +whole, he believed to be a nice place to live on. + +He stood aside. + +"Go in without knocking," he said. + +Shades of green silk fitted low over all the lights imparted to the room +something of a forest's deep gloom. The haughty eyes were physically the +great man's weak point. This point was wrapped up in secrecy. When an +opportunity offered, he rested them conscientiously. + +The Assistant Commissioner entering saw at first only a big pale hand +supporting a big head, and concealing the upper part of a big pale face. +An open despatch-box stood on the writing-table near a few oblong sheets +of paper and a scattered handful of quill pens. There was absolutely +nothing else on the large flat surface except a little bronze statuette +draped in a toga, mysteriously watchful in its shadowy immobility. The +Assistant Commissioner, invited to take a chair, sat down. In the dim +light, the salient points of his personality, the long face, the black +hair, his lankness, made him look more foreign than ever. + +The great man manifested no surprise, no eagerness, no sentiment +whatever. The attitude in which he rested his menaced eyes was +profoundly meditative. He did not alter it the least bit. But his tone +was not dreamy. + +"Well! What is it that you've found out already? You came upon +something unexpected on the first step." + +"Not exactly unexpected, Sir Ethelred. What I mainly came upon was a +psychological state." + +The Great Presence made a slight movement. "You must be lucid, please." + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred. You know no doubt that most criminals at some time +or other feel an irresistible need of confessing--of making a clean +breast of it to somebody--to anybody. And they do it often to the +police. In that Verloc whom Heat wished so much to screen I've found a +man in that particular psychological state. The man, figuratively +speaking, flung himself on my breast. It was enough on my part to +whisper to him who I was and to add 'I know that you are at the bottom of +this affair.' It must have seemed miraculous to him that we should know +already, but he took it all in the stride. The wonderfulness of it never +checked him for a moment. There remained for me only to put to him the +two questions: Who put you up to it? and Who was the man who did it? He +answered the first with remarkable emphasis. As to the second question, +I gather that the fellow with the bomb was his brother-in-law--quite a +lad--a weak-minded creature. . . . It is rather a curious affair--too +long perhaps to state fully just now." + +"What then have you learned?" asked the great man. + +"First, I've learned that the ex-convict Michaelis had nothing to do with +it, though indeed the lad had been living with him temporarily in the +country up to eight o'clock this morning. It is more than likely that +Michaelis knows nothing of it to this moment." + +"You are positive as to that?" asked the great man. + +"Quite certain, Sir Ethelred. This fellow Verloc went there this +morning, and took away the lad on the pretence of going out for a walk in +the lanes. As it was not the first time that he did this, Michaelis +could not have the slightest suspicion of anything unusual. For the +rest, Sir Ethelred, the indignation of this man Verloc had left nothing +in doubt--nothing whatever. He had been driven out of his mind almost by +an extraordinary performance, which for you or me it would be difficult +to take as seriously meant, but which produced a great impression +obviously on him." + +The Assistant Commissioner then imparted briefly to the great man, who +sat still, resting his eyes under the screen of his hand, Mr Verloc's +appreciation of Mr Vladimir's proceedings and character. The Assistant +Commissioner did not seem to refuse it a certain amount of competency. +But the great personage remarked: + +"All this seems very fantastic." + +"Doesn't it? One would think a ferocious joke. But our man took it +seriously, it appears. He felt himself threatened. In the time, you +know, he was in direct communication with old Stott-Wartenheim himself, +and had come to regard his services as indispensable. It was an +extremely rude awakening. I imagine that he lost his head. He became +angry and frightened. Upon my word, my impression is that he thought +these Embassy people quite capable not only to throw him out but, to give +him away too in some manner or other--" + +"How long were you with him," interrupted the Presence from behind his +big hand. + +"Some forty minutes Sir Ethelred, in a house of bad repute called +Continental Hotel, closeted in a room which by-the-by I took for the +night. I found him under the influence of that reaction which follows +the effort of crime. The man cannot be defined as a hardened criminal. +It is obvious that he did not plan the death of that wretched lad--his +brother-in-law. That was a shock to him--I could see that. Perhaps he +is a man of strong sensibilities. Perhaps he was even fond of the +lad--who knows? He might have hoped that the fellow would get clear +away; in which case it would have been almost impossible to bring this +thing home to anyone. At any rate he risked consciously nothing more but +arrest for him." + +The Assistant Commissioner paused in his speculations to reflect for a +moment. + +"Though how, in that last case, he could hope to have his own share in +the business concealed is more than I can tell," he continued, in his +ignorance of poor Stevie's devotion to Mr Verloc (who was _good_), and of +his truly peculiar dumbness, which in the old affair of fireworks on the +stairs had for many years resisted entreaties, coaxing, anger, and other +means of investigation used by his beloved sister. For Stevie was loyal. +. . . "No, I can't imagine. It's possible that he never thought of that +at all. It sounds an extravagant way of putting it, Sir Ethelred, but +his state of dismay suggested to me an impulsive man who, after +committing suicide with the notion that it would end all his troubles, +had discovered that it did nothing of the kind." + +The Assistant Commissioner gave this definition in an apologetic voice. +But in truth there is a sort of lucidity proper to extravagant language, +and the great man was not offended. A slight jerky movement of the big +body half lost in the gloom of the green silk shades, of the big head +leaning on the big hand, accompanied an intermittent stifled but powerful +sound. The great man had laughed. + +"What have you done with him?" + +The Assistant Commissioner answered very readily: + +"As he seemed very anxious to get back to his wife in the shop I let him +go, Sir Ethelred." + +"You did? But the fellow will disappear." + +"Pardon me. I don't think so. Where could he go to? Moreover, you must +remember that he has got to think of the danger from his comrades too. +He's there at his post. How could he explain leaving it? But even if +there were no obstacles to his freedom of action he would do nothing. At +present he hasn't enough moral energy to take a resolution of any sort. +Permit me also to point out that if I had detained him we would have been +committed to a course of action on which I wished to know your precise +intentions first." + +The great personage rose heavily, an imposing shadowy form in the +greenish gloom of the room. + +"I'll see the Attorney-General to-night, and will send for you to-morrow +morning. Is there anything more you'd wish to tell me now?" + +The Assistant Commissioner had stood up also, slender and flexible. + +"I think not, Sir Ethelred, unless I were to enter into details which--" + +"No. No details, please." + +The great shadowy form seemed to shrink away as if in physical dread of +details; then came forward, expanded, enormous, and weighty, offering a +large hand. "And you say that this man has got a wife?" + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred," said the Assistant Commissioner, pressing +deferentially the extended hand. "A genuine wife and a genuinely, +respectably, marital relation. He told me that after his interview at +the Embassy he would have thrown everything up, would have tried to sell +his shop, and leave the country, only he felt certain that his wife would +not even hear of going abroad. Nothing could be more characteristic of +the respectable bond than that," went on, with a touch of grimness, the +Assistant Commissioner, whose own wife too had refused to hear of going +abroad. "Yes, a genuine wife. And the victim was a genuine brother-in- +law. From a certain point of view we are here in the presence of a +domestic drama." + +The Assistant Commissioner laughed a little; but the great man's thoughts +seemed to have wandered far away, perhaps to the questions of his +country's domestic policy, the battle-ground of his crusading valour +against the paynim Cheeseman. The Assistant Commissioner withdrew +quietly, unnoticed, as if already forgotten. + +He had his own crusading instincts. This affair, which, in one way or +another, disgusted Chief Inspector Heat, seemed to him a providentially +given starting-point for a crusade. He had it much at heart to begin. He +walked slowly home, meditating that enterprise on the way, and thinking +over Mr Verloc's psychology in a composite mood of repugnance and +satisfaction. He walked all the way home. Finding the drawing-room +dark, he went upstairs, and spent some time between the bedroom and the +dressing-room, changing his clothes, going to and fro with the air of a +thoughtful somnambulist. But he shook it off before going out again to +join his wife at the house of the great lady patroness of Michaelis. + +He knew he would be welcomed there. On entering the smaller of the two +drawing-rooms he saw his wife in a small group near the piano. A +youngish composer in pass of becoming famous was discoursing from a music +stool to two thick men whose backs looked old, and three slender women +whose backs looked young. Behind the screen the great lady had only two +persons with her: a man and a woman, who sat side by side on arm-chairs +at the foot of her couch. She extended her hand to the Assistant +Commissioner. + +"I never hoped to see you here to-night. Annie told me--" + +"Yes. I had no idea myself that my work would be over so soon." + +The Assistant Commissioner added in a low tone. "I am glad to tell you +that Michaelis is altogether clear of this--" + +The patroness of the ex-convict received this assurance indignantly. + +"Why? Were your people stupid enough to connect him with--" + +"Not stupid," interrupted the Assistant Commissioner, contradicting +deferentially. "Clever enough--quite clever enough for that." + +A silence fell. The man at the foot of the couch had stopped speaking to +the lady, and looked on with a faint smile. + +"I don't know whether you ever met before," said the great lady. + +Mr Vladimir and the Assistant Commissioner, introduced, acknowledged each +other's existence with punctilious and guarded courtesy. + +"He's been frightening me," declared suddenly the lady who sat by the +side of Mr Vladimir, with an inclination of the head towards that +gentleman. The Assistant Commissioner knew the lady. + +"You do not look frightened," he pronounced, after surveying her +conscientiously with his tired and equable gaze. He was thinking +meantime to himself that in this house one met everybody sooner or later. +Mr Vladimir's rosy countenance was wreathed in smiles, because he was +witty, but his eyes remained serious, like the eyes of convinced man. + +"Well, he tried to at least," amended the lady. + +"Force of habit perhaps," said the Assistant Commissioner, moved by an +irresistible inspiration. + +"He has been threatening society with all sorts of horrors," continued +the lady, whose enunciation was caressing and slow, "apropos of this +explosion in Greenwich Park. It appears we all ought to quake in our +shoes at what's coming if those people are not suppressed all over the +world. I had no idea this was such a grave affair." + +Mr Vladimir, affecting not to listen, leaned towards the couch, talking +amiably in subdued tones, but he heard the Assistant Commissioner say: + +"I've no doubt that Mr Vladimir has a very precise notion of the true +importance of this affair." + +Mr Vladimir asked himself what that confounded and intrusive policeman +was driving at. Descended from generations victimised by the instruments +of an arbitrary power, he was racially, nationally, and individually +afraid of the police. It was an inherited weakness, altogether +independent of his judgment, of his reason, of his experience. He was +born to it. But that sentiment, which resembled the irrational horror +some people have of cats, did not stand in the way of his immense +contempt for the English police. He finished the sentence addressed to +the great lady, and turned slightly in his chair. + +"You mean that we have a great experience of these people. Yes; indeed, +we suffer greatly from their activity, while you"--Mr Vladimir hesitated +for a moment, in smiling perplexity--"while you suffer their presence +gladly in your midst," he finished, displaying a dimple on each clean- +shaven cheek. Then he added more gravely: "I may even say--because you +do." + +When Mr Vladimir ceased speaking the Assistant Commissioner lowered his +glance, and the conversation dropped. Almost immediately afterwards Mr +Vladimir took leave. + +Directly his back was turned on the couch the Assistant Commissioner rose +too. + +"I thought you were going to stay and take Annie home," said the lady +patroness of Michaelis. + +"I find that I've yet a little work to do to-night." + +"In connection--?" + +"Well, yes--in a way." + +"Tell me, what is it really--this horror?" + +"It's difficult to say what it is, but it may yet be a _cause celebre_," +said the Assistant Commissioner. + +He left the drawing-room hurriedly, and found Mr Vladimir still in the +hall, wrapping up his throat carefully in a large silk handkerchief. +Behind him a footman waited, holding his overcoat. Another stood ready +to open the door. The Assistant Commissioner was duly helped into his +coat, and let out at once. After descending the front steps he stopped, +as if to consider the way he should take. On seeing this through the +door held open, Mr Vladimir lingered in the hall to get out a cigar and +asked for a light. It was furnished to him by an elderly man out of +livery with an air of calm solicitude. But the match went out; the +footman then closed the door, and Mr Vladimir lighted his large Havana +with leisurely care. + +When at last he got out of the house, he saw with disgust the "confounded +policeman" still standing on the pavement. + +"Can he be waiting for me," thought Mr Vladimir, looking up and down for +some signs of a hansom. He saw none. A couple of carriages waited by +the curbstone, their lamps blazing steadily, the horses standing +perfectly still, as if carved in stone, the coachmen sitting motionless +under the big fur capes, without as much as a quiver stirring the white +thongs of their big whips. Mr Vladimir walked on, and the "confounded +policeman" fell into step at his elbow. He said nothing. At the end of +the fourth stride Mr Vladimir felt infuriated and uneasy. This could not +last. + +"Rotten weather," he growled savagely. + +"Mild," said the Assistant Commissioner without passion. He remained +silent for a little while. "We've got hold of a man called Verloc," he +announced casually. + +Mr Vladimir did not stumble, did not stagger back, did not change his +stride. But he could not prevent himself from exclaiming: "What?" The +Assistant Commissioner did not repeat his statement. "You know him," he +went on in the same tone. + +Mr Vladimir stopped, and became guttural. "What makes you say that?" + +"I don't. It's Verloc who says that." + +"A lying dog of some sort," said Mr Vladimir in somewhat Oriental +phraseology. But in his heart he was almost awed by the miraculous +cleverness of the English police. The change of his opinion on the +subject was so violent that it made him for a moment feel slightly sick. +He threw away his cigar, and moved on. + +"What pleased me most in this affair," the Assistant went on, talking +slowly, "is that it makes such an excellent starting-point for a piece of +work which I've felt must be taken in hand--that is, the clearing out of +this country of all the foreign political spies, police, and that sort +of--of--dogs. In my opinion they are a ghastly nuisance; also an element +of danger. But we can't very well seek them out individually. The only +way is to make their employment unpleasant to their employers. The +thing's becoming indecent. And dangerous too, for us, here." + +Mr Vladimir stopped again for a moment. + +"What do you mean?" + +"The prosecution of this Verloc will demonstrate to the public both the +danger and the indecency." + +"Nobody will believe what a man of that sort says," said Mr Vladimir +contemptuously. + +"The wealth and precision of detail will carry conviction to the great +mass of the public," advanced the Assistant Commissioner gently. + +"So that is seriously what you mean to do." + +"We've got the man; we have no choice." + +"You will be only feeding up the lying spirit of these revolutionary +scoundrels," Mr Vladimir protested. "What do you want to make a scandal +for?--from morality--or what?" + +Mr Vladimir's anxiety was obvious. The Assistant Commissioner having +ascertained in this way that there must be some truth in the summary +statements of Mr Verloc, said indifferently: + +"There's a practical side too. We have really enough to do to look after +the genuine article. You can't say we are not effective. But we don't +intend to let ourselves be bothered by shams under any pretext whatever." + +Mr Vladimir's tone became lofty. + +"For my part, I can't share your view. It is selfish. My sentiments for +my own country cannot be doubted; but I've always felt that we ought to +be good Europeans besides--I mean governments and men." + +"Yes," said the Assistant Commissioner simply. "Only you look at Europe +from its other end. But," he went on in a good-natured tone, "the +foreign governments cannot complain of the inefficiency of our police. +Look at this outrage; a case specially difficult to trace inasmuch as it +was a sham. In less than twelve hours we have established the identity +of a man literally blown to shreds, have found the organiser of the +attempt, and have had a glimpse of the inciter behind him. And we could +have gone further; only we stopped at the limits of our territory." + +"So this instructive crime was planned abroad," Mr Vladimir said quickly. +"You admit it was planned abroad?" + +"Theoretically. Theoretically only, on foreign territory; abroad only by +a fiction," said the Assistant Commissioner, alluding to the character of +Embassies, which are supposed to be part and parcel of the country to +which they belong. "But that's a detail. I talked to you of this +business because its your government that grumbles most at our police. +You see that we are not so bad. I wanted particularly to tell you of our +success." + +"I'm sure I'm very grateful," muttered Mr Vladimir through his teeth. + +"We can put our finger on every anarchist here," went on the Assistant +Commissioner, as though he were quoting Chief Inspector Heat. "All +that's wanted now is to do away with the agent provocateur to make +everything safe." + +Mr Vladimir held up his hand to a passing hansom. + +"You're not going in here," remarked the Assistant Commissioner, looking +at a building of noble proportions and hospitable aspect, with the light +of a great hall falling through its glass doors on a broad flight of +steps. + +But Mr Vladimir, sitting, stony-eyed, inside the hansom, drove off +without a word. + +The Assistant Commissioner himself did not turn into the noble building. +It was the Explorers' Club. The thought passed through his mind that Mr +Vladimir, honorary member, would not be seen very often there in the +future. He looked at his watch. It was only half-past ten. He had had +a very full evening. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +After Chief Inspector Heat had left him Mr Verloc moved about the +parlour. + +From time to time he eyed his wife through the open door. "She knows all +about it now," he thought to himself with commiseration for her sorrow +and with some satisfaction as regarded himself. Mr Verloc's soul, if +lacking greatness perhaps, was capable of tender sentiments. The +prospect of having to break the news to her had put him into a fever. +Chief Inspector Heat had relieved him of the task. That was good as far +as it went. It remained for him now to face her grief. + +Mr Verloc had never expected to have to face it on account of death, +whose catastrophic character cannot be argued away by sophisticated +reasoning or persuasive eloquence. Mr Verloc never meant Stevie to +perish with such abrupt violence. He did not mean him to perish at all. +Stevie dead was a much greater nuisance than ever he had been when alive. +Mr Verloc had augured a favourable issue to his enterprise, basing +himself not on Stevie's intelligence, which sometimes plays queer tricks +with a man, but on the blind docility and on the blind devotion of the +boy. Though not much of a psychologist, Mr Verloc had gauged the depth +of Stevie's fanaticism. He dared cherish the hope of Stevie walking away +from the walls of the Observatory as he had been instructed to do, taking +the way shown to him several times previously, and rejoining his brother- +in-law, the wise and good Mr Verloc, outside the precincts of the park. +Fifteen minutes ought to have been enough for the veriest fool to deposit +the engine and walk away. And the Professor had guaranteed more than +fifteen minutes. But Stevie had stumbled within five minutes of being +left to himself. And Mr Verloc was shaken morally to pieces. He had +foreseen everything but that. He had foreseen Stevie distracted and +lost--sought for--found in some police station or provincial workhouse in +the end. He had foreseen Stevie arrested, and was not afraid, because Mr +Verloc had a great opinion of Stevie's loyalty, which had been carefully +indoctrinated with the necessity of silence in the course of many walks. +Like a peripatetic philosopher, Mr Verloc, strolling along the streets of +London, had modified Stevie's view of the police by conversations full of +subtle reasonings. Never had a sage a more attentive and admiring +disciple. The submission and worship were so apparent that Mr Verloc had +come to feel something like a liking for the boy. In any case, he had +not foreseen the swift bringing home of his connection. That his wife +should hit upon the precaution of sewing the boy's address inside his +overcoat was the last thing Mr Verloc would have thought of. One can't +think of everything. That was what she meant when she said that he need +not worry if he lost Stevie during their walks. She had assured him that +the boy would turn up all right. Well, he had turned up with a +vengeance! + +"Well, well," muttered Mr Verloc in his wonder. What did she mean by it? +Spare him the trouble of keeping an anxious eye on Stevie? Most likely +she had meant well. Only she ought to have told him of the precaution +she had taken. + +Mr Verloc walked behind the counter of the shop. His intention was not +to overwhelm his wife with bitter reproaches. Mr Verloc felt no +bitterness. The unexpected march of events had converted him to the +doctrine of fatalism. Nothing could be helped now. He said: + +"I didn't mean any harm to come to the boy." + +Mrs Verloc shuddered at the sound of her husband's voice. She did not +uncover her face. The trusted secret agent of the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim looked at her for a time with a heavy, persistent, +undiscerning glance. The torn evening paper was lying at her feet. It +could not have told her much. Mr Verloc felt the need of talking to his +wife. + +"It's that damned Heat--eh?" he said. "He upset you. He's a brute, +blurting it out like this to a woman. I made myself ill thinking how to +break it to you. I sat for hours in the little parlour of Cheshire +Cheese thinking over the best way. You understand I never meant any harm +to come to that boy." + +Mr Verloc, the Secret Agent, was speaking the truth. It was his marital +affection that had received the greatest shock from the premature +explosion. He added: + +"I didn't feel particularly gay sitting there and thinking of you." + +He observed another slight shudder of his wife, which affected his +sensibility. As she persisted in hiding her face in her hands, he +thought he had better leave her alone for a while. On this delicate +impulse Mr Verloc withdrew into the parlour again, where the gas jet +purred like a contented cat. Mrs Verloc's wifely forethought had left +the cold beef on the table with carving knife and fork and half a loaf of +bread for Mr Verloc's supper. He noticed all these things now for the +first time, and cutting himself a piece of bread and meat, began to eat. + +His appetite did not proceed from callousness. Mr Verloc had not eaten +any breakfast that day. He had left his home fasting. Not being an +energetic man, he found his resolution in nervous excitement, which +seemed to hold him mainly by the throat. He could not have swallowed +anything solid. Michaelis' cottage was as destitute of provisions as the +cell of a prisoner. The ticket-of-leave apostle lived on a little milk +and crusts of stale bread. Moreover, when Mr Verloc arrived he had +already gone upstairs after his frugal meal. Absorbed in the toil and +delight of literary composition, he had not even answered Mr Verloc's +shout up the little staircase. + +"I am taking this young fellow home for a day or two." + +And, in truth, Mr Verloc did not wait for an answer, but had marched out +of the cottage at once, followed by the obedient Stevie. + +Now that all action was over and his fate taken out of his hands with +unexpected swiftness, Mr Verloc felt terribly empty physically. He +carved the meat, cut the bread, and devoured his supper standing by the +table, and now and then casting a glance towards his wife. Her prolonged +immobility disturbed the comfort of his refection. He walked again into +the shop, and came up very close to her. This sorrow with a veiled face +made Mr Verloc uneasy. He expected, of course, his wife to be very much +upset, but he wanted her to pull herself together. He needed all her +assistance and all her loyalty in these new conjunctures his fatalism had +already accepted. + +"Can't be helped," he said in a tone of gloomy sympathy. "Come, Winnie, +we've got to think of to-morrow. You'll want all your wits about you +after I am taken away." + +He paused. Mrs Verloc's breast heaved convulsively. This was not +reassuring to Mr Verloc, in whose view the newly created situation +required from the two people most concerned in it calmness, decision, and +other qualities incompatible with the mental disorder of passionate +sorrow. Mr Verloc was a humane man; he had come home prepared to allow +every latitude to his wife's affection for her brother. + +Only he did not understand either the nature or the whole extent of that +sentiment. And in this he was excusable, since it was impossible for him +to understand it without ceasing to be himself. He was startled and +disappointed, and his speech conveyed it by a certain roughness of tone. + +"You might look at a fellow," he observed after waiting a while. + +As if forced through the hands covering Mrs Verloc's face the answer +came, deadened, almost pitiful. + +"I don't want to look at you as long as I live." + +"Eh? What!" Mr Verloc was merely startled by the superficial and +literal meaning of this declaration. It was obviously unreasonable, the +mere cry of exaggerated grief. He threw over it the mantle of his +marital indulgence. The mind of Mr Verloc lacked profundity. Under the +mistaken impression that the value of individuals consists in what they +are in themselves, he could not possibly comprehend the value of Stevie +in the eyes of Mrs Verloc. She was taking it confoundedly hard, he +thought to himself. It was all the fault of that damned Heat. What did +he want to upset the woman for? But she mustn't be allowed, for her own +good, to carry on so till she got quite beside herself. + +"Look here! You can't sit like this in the shop," he said with affected +severity, in which there was some real annoyance; for urgent practical +matters must be talked over if they had to sit up all night. "Somebody +might come in at any minute," he added, and waited again. No effect was +produced, and the idea of the finality of death occurred to Mr Verloc +during the pause. He changed his tone. "Come. This won't bring him +back," he said gently, feeling ready to take her in his arms and press +her to his breast, where impatience and compassion dwelt side by side. +But except for a short shudder Mrs Verloc remained apparently unaffected +by the force of that terrible truism. It was Mr Verloc himself who was +moved. He was moved in his simplicity to urge moderation by asserting +the claims of his own personality. + +"Do be reasonable, Winnie. What would it have been if you had lost me!" + +He had vaguely expected to hear her cry out. But she did not budge. She +leaned back a little, quieted down to a complete unreadable stillness. Mr +Verloc's heart began to beat faster with exasperation and something +resembling alarm. He laid his hand on her shoulder, saying: + +"Don't be a fool, Winnie." + +She gave no sign. It was impossible to talk to any purpose with a woman +whose face one cannot see. Mr Verloc caught hold of his wife's wrists. +But her hands seemed glued fast. She swayed forward bodily to his tug, +and nearly went off the chair. Startled to feel her so helplessly limp, +he was trying to put her back on the chair when she stiffened suddenly +all over, tore herself out of his hands, ran out of the shop, across the +parlour, and into the kitchen. This was very swift. He had just a +glimpse of her face and that much of her eyes that he knew she had not +looked at him. + +It all had the appearance of a struggle for the possession of a chair, +because Mr Verloc instantly took his wife's place in it. Mr Verloc did +not cover his face with his hands, but a sombre thoughtfulness veiled his +features. A term of imprisonment could not be avoided. He did not wish +now to avoid it. A prison was a place as safe from certain unlawful +vengeances as the grave, with this advantage, that in a prison there is +room for hope. What he saw before him was a term of imprisonment, an +early release and then life abroad somewhere, such as he had contemplated +already, in case of failure. Well, it was a failure, if not exactly the +sort of failure he had feared. It had been so near success that he could +have positively terrified Mr Vladimir out of his ferocious scoffing with +this proof of occult efficiency. So at least it seemed now to Mr Verloc. +His prestige with the Embassy would have been immense if--if his wife had +not had the unlucky notion of sewing on the address inside Stevie's +overcoat. Mr Verloc, who was no fool, had soon perceived the +extraordinary character of the influence he had over Stevie, though he +did not understand exactly its origin--the doctrine of his supreme wisdom +and goodness inculcated by two anxious women. In all the eventualities +he had foreseen Mr Verloc had calculated with correct insight on Stevie's +instinctive loyalty and blind discretion. The eventuality he had not +foreseen had appalled him as a humane man and a fond husband. From every +other point of view it was rather advantageous. Nothing can equal the +everlasting discretion of death. Mr Verloc, sitting perplexed and +frightened in the small parlour of the Cheshire Cheese, could not help +acknowledging that to himself, because his sensibility did not stand in +the way of his judgment. Stevie's violent disintegration, however +disturbing to think about, only assured the success; for, of course, the +knocking down of a wall was not the aim of Mr Vladimir's menaces, but the +production of a moral effect. With much trouble and distress on Mr +Verloc's part the effect might be said to have been produced. When, +however, most unexpectedly, it came home to roost in Brett Street, Mr +Verloc, who had been struggling like a man in a nightmare for the +preservation of his position, accepted the blow in the spirit of a +convinced fatalist. The position was gone through no one's fault really. +A small, tiny fact had done it. It was like slipping on a bit of orange +peel in the dark and breaking your leg. + +Mr Verloc drew a weary breath. He nourished no resentment against his +wife. He thought: She will have to look after the shop while they keep +me locked up. And thinking also how cruelly she would miss Stevie at +first, he felt greatly concerned about her health and spirits. How would +she stand her solitude--absolutely alone in that house? It would not do +for her to break down while he was locked up? What would become of the +shop then? The shop was an asset. Though Mr Verloc's fatalism accepted +his undoing as a secret agent, he had no mind to be utterly ruined, +mostly, it must be owned, from regard for his wife. + +Silent, and out of his line of sight in the kitchen, she frightened him. +If only she had had her mother with her. But that silly old woman--An +angry dismay possessed Mr Verloc. He must talk with his wife. He could +tell her certainly that a man does get desperate under certain +circumstances. But he did not go incontinently to impart to her that +information. First of all, it was clear to him that this evening was no +time for business. He got up to close the street door and put the gas +out in the shop. + +Having thus assured a solitude around his hearthstone Mr Verloc walked +into the parlour, and glanced down into the kitchen. Mrs Verloc was +sitting in the place where poor Stevie usually established himself of an +evening with paper and pencil for the pastime of drawing these +coruscations of innumerable circles suggesting chaos and eternity. Her +arms were folded on the table, and her head was lying on her arms. Mr +Verloc contemplated her back and the arrangement of her hair for a time, +then walked away from the kitchen door. Mrs Verloc's philosophical, +almost disdainful incuriosity, the foundation of their accord in domestic +life made it extremely difficult to get into contact with her, now this +tragic necessity had arisen. Mr Verloc felt this difficulty acutely. He +turned around the table in the parlour with his usual air of a large +animal in a cage. + +Curiosity being one of the forms of self-revelation,--a systematically +incurious person remains always partly mysterious. Every time he passed +near the door Mr Verloc glanced at his wife uneasily. It was not that he +was afraid of her. Mr Verloc imagined himself loved by that woman. But +she had not accustomed him to make confidences. And the confidence he +had to make was of a profound psychological order. How with his want of +practice could he tell her what he himself felt but vaguely: that there +are conspiracies of fatal destiny, that a notion grows in a mind +sometimes till it acquires an outward existence, an independent power of +its own, and even a suggestive voice? He could not inform her that a man +may be haunted by a fat, witty, clean-shaved face till the wildest +expedient to get rid of it appears a child of wisdom. + +On this mental reference to a First Secretary of a great Embassy, Mr +Verloc stopped in the doorway, and looking down into the kitchen with an +angry face and clenched fists, addressed his wife. + +"You don't know what a brute I had to deal with." + +He started off to make another perambulation of the table; then when he +had come to the door again he stopped, glaring in from the height of two +steps. + +"A silly, jeering, dangerous brute, with no more sense than--After all +these years! A man like me! And I have been playing my head at that +game. You didn't know. Quite right, too. What was the good of telling +you that I stood the risk of having a knife stuck into me any time these +seven years we've been married? I am not a chap to worry a woman that's +fond of me. You had no business to know." Mr Verloc took another turn +round the parlour, fuming. + +"A venomous beast," he began again from the doorway. "Drive me out into +a ditch to starve for a joke. I could see he thought it was a damned +good joke. A man like me! Look here! Some of the highest in the world +got to thank me for walking on their two legs to this day. That's the +man you've got married to, my girl!" + +He perceived that his wife had sat up. Mrs Verloc's arms remained lying +stretched on the table. Mr Verloc watched at her back as if he could +read there the effect of his words. + +"There isn't a murdering plot for the last eleven years that I hadn't my +finger in at the risk of my life. There's scores of these revolutionists +I've sent off, with their bombs in their blamed pockets, to get +themselves caught on the frontier. The old Baron knew what I was worth +to his country. And here suddenly a swine comes along--an ignorant, +overbearing swine." + +Mr Verloc, stepping slowly down two steps, entered the kitchen, took a +tumbler off the dresser, and holding it in his hand, approached the sink, +without looking at his wife. "It wasn't the old Baron who would have had +the wicked folly of getting me to call on him at eleven in the morning. +There are two or three in this town that, if they had seen me going in, +would have made no bones about knocking me on the head sooner or later. +It was a silly, murderous trick to expose for nothing a man--like me." + +Mr Verloc, turning on the tap above the sink, poured three glasses of +water, one after another, down his throat to quench the fires of his +indignation. Mr Vladimir's conduct was like a hot brand which set his +internal economy in a blaze. He could not get over the disloyalty of it. +This man, who would not work at the usual hard tasks which society sets +to its humbler members, had exercised his secret industry with an +indefatigable devotion. There was in Mr Verloc a fund of loyalty. He +had been loyal to his employers, to the cause of social stability,--and +to his affections too--as became apparent when, after standing the +tumbler in the sink, he turned about, saying: + +"If I hadn't thought of you I would have taken the bullying brute by the +throat and rammed his head into the fireplace. I'd have been more than a +match for that pink-faced, smooth-shaved--" + +Mr Verloc, neglected to finish the sentence, as if there could be no +doubt of the terminal word. For the first time in his life he was taking +that incurious woman into his confidence. The singularity of the event, +the force and importance of the personal feelings aroused in the course +of this confession, drove Stevie's fate clean out of Mr Verloc's mind. +The boy's stuttering existence of fears and indignations, together with +the violence of his end, had passed out of Mr Verloc's mental sight for a +time. For that reason, when he looked up he was startled by the +inappropriate character of his wife's stare. It was not a wild stare, +and it was not inattentive, but its attention was peculiar and not +satisfactory, inasmuch that it seemed concentrated upon some point beyond +Mr Verloc's person. The impression was so strong that Mr Verloc glanced +over his shoulder. There was nothing behind him: there was just the +whitewashed wall. The excellent husband of Winnie Verloc saw no writing +on the wall. He turned to his wife again, repeating, with some emphasis: + +"I would have taken him by the throat. As true as I stand here, if I +hadn't thought of you then I would have half choked the life out of the +brute before I let him get up. And don't you think he would have been +anxious to call the police either. He wouldn't have dared. You +understand why--don't you?" + +He blinked at his wife knowingly. + +"No," said Mrs Verloc in an unresonant voice, and without looking at him +at all. "What are you talking about?" + +A great discouragement, the result of fatigue, came upon Mr Verloc. He +had had a very full day, and his nerves had been tried to the utmost. +After a month of maddening worry, ending in an unexpected catastrophe, +the storm-tossed spirit of Mr Verloc longed for repose. His career as a +secret agent had come to an end in a way no one could have foreseen; +only, now, perhaps he could manage to get a night's sleep at last. But +looking at his wife, he doubted it. She was taking it very hard--not at +all like herself, he thought. He made an effort to speak. + +"You'll have to pull yourself together, my girl," he said +sympathetically. "What's done can't be undone." + +Mrs Verloc gave a slight start, though not a muscle of her white face +moved in the least. Mr Verloc, who was not looking at her, continued +ponderously. + +"You go to bed now. What you want is a good cry." + +This opinion had nothing to recommend it but the general consent of +mankind. It is universally understood that, as if it were nothing more +substantial than vapour floating in the sky, every emotion of a woman is +bound to end in a shower. And it is very probable that had Stevie died +in his bed under her despairing gaze, in her protecting arms, Mrs +Verloc's grief would have found relief in a flood of bitter and pure +tears. Mrs Verloc, in common with other human beings, was provided with +a fund of unconscious resignation sufficient to meet the normal +manifestation of human destiny. Without "troubling her head about it," +she was aware that it "did not stand looking into very much." But the +lamentable circumstances of Stevie's end, which to Mr Verloc's mind had +only an episodic character, as part of a greater disaster, dried her +tears at their very source. It was the effect of a white-hot iron drawn +across her eyes; at the same time her heart, hardened and chilled into a +lump of ice, kept her body in an inward shudder, set her features into a +frozen contemplative immobility addressed to a whitewashed wall with no +writing on it. The exigencies of Mrs Verloc's temperament, which, when +stripped of its philosophical reserve, was maternal and violent, forced +her to roll a series of thoughts in her motionless head. These thoughts +were rather imagined than expressed. Mrs Verloc was a woman of +singularly few words, either for public or private use. With the rage +and dismay of a betrayed woman, she reviewed the tenor of her life in +visions concerned mostly with Stevie's difficult existence from its +earliest days. It was a life of single purpose and of a noble unity of +inspiration, like those rare lives that have left their mark on the +thoughts and feelings of mankind. But the visions of Mrs Verloc lacked +nobility and magnificence. She saw herself putting the boy to bed by the +light of a single candle on the deserted top floor of a "business house," +dark under the roof and scintillating exceedingly with lights and cut +glass at the level of the street like a fairy palace. That meretricious +splendour was the only one to be met in Mrs Verloc's visions. She +remembered brushing the boy's hair and tying his pinafores--herself in a +pinafore still; the consolations administered to a small and badly scared +creature by another creature nearly as small but not quite so badly +scared; she had the vision of the blows intercepted (often with her own +head), of a door held desperately shut against a man's rage (not for very +long); of a poker flung once (not very far), which stilled that +particular storm into the dumb and awful silence which follows a thunder- +clap. And all these scenes of violence came and went accompanied by the +unrefined noise of deep vociferations proceeding from a man wounded in +his paternal pride, declaring himself obviously accursed since one of his +kids was a "slobbering idjut and the other a wicked she-devil." It was +of her that this had been said many years ago. + +Mrs Verloc heard the words again in a ghostly fashion, and then the +dreary shadow of the Belgravian mansion descended upon her shoulders. It +was a crushing memory, an exhausting vision of countless breakfast trays +carried up and down innumerable stairs, of endless haggling over pence, +of the endless drudgery of sweeping, dusting, cleaning, from basement to +attics; while the impotent mother, staggering on swollen legs, cooked in +a grimy kitchen, and poor Stevie, the unconscious presiding genius of all +their toil, blacked the gentlemen's boots in the scullery. But this +vision had a breath of a hot London summer in it, and for a central +figure a young man wearing his Sunday best, with a straw hat on his dark +head and a wooden pipe in his mouth. Affectionate and jolly, he was a +fascinating companion for a voyage down the sparkling stream of life; +only his boat was very small. There was room in it for a girl-partner at +the oar, but no accommodation for passengers. He was allowed to drift +away from the threshold of the Belgravian mansion while Winnie averted +her tearful eyes. He was not a lodger. The lodger was Mr Verloc, +indolent, and keeping late hours, sleepily jocular of a morning from +under his bed-clothes, but with gleams of infatuation in his heavy lidded +eyes, and always with some money in his pockets. There was no sparkle of +any kind on the lazy stream of his life. It flowed through secret +places. But his barque seemed a roomy craft, and his taciturn +magnanimity accepted as a matter of course the presence of passengers. + +Mrs Verloc pursued the visions of seven years' security for Stevie, +loyally paid for on her part; of security growing into confidence, into a +domestic feeling, stagnant and deep like a placid pool, whose guarded +surface hardly shuddered on the occasional passage of Comrade Ossipon, +the robust anarchist with shamelessly inviting eyes, whose glance had a +corrupt clearness sufficient to enlighten any woman not absolutely +imbecile. + +A few seconds only had elapsed since the last word had been uttered aloud +in the kitchen, and Mrs Verloc was staring already at the vision of an +episode not more than a fortnight old. With eyes whose pupils were +extremely dilated she stared at the vision of her husband and poor Stevie +walking up Brett Street side by side away from the shop. It was the last +scene of an existence created by Mrs Verloc's genius; an existence +foreign to all grace and charm, without beauty and almost without +decency, but admirable in the continuity of feeling and tenacity of +purpose. And this last vision has such plastic relief, such nearness of +form, such a fidelity of suggestive detail, that it wrung from Mrs Verloc +an anguished and faint murmur, reproducing the supreme illusion of her +life, an appalled murmur that died out on her blanched lips. + +"Might have been father and son." + +Mr Verloc stopped, and raised a care-worn face. "Eh? What did you say?" +he asked. Receiving no reply, he resumed his sinister tramping. Then +with a menacing flourish of a thick, fleshy fist, he burst out: + +"Yes. The Embassy people. A pretty lot, ain't they! Before a week's +out I'll make some of them wish themselves twenty feet underground. Eh? +What?" + +He glanced sideways, with his head down. Mrs Verloc gazed at the +whitewashed wall. A blank wall--perfectly blank. A blankness to run at +and dash your head against. Mrs Verloc remained immovably seated. She +kept still as the population of half the globe would keep still in +astonishment and despair, were the sun suddenly put out in the summer sky +by the perfidy of a trusted providence. + +"The Embassy," Mr Verloc began again, after a preliminary grimace which +bared his teeth wolfishly. "I wish I could get loose in there with a +cudgel for half-an-hour. I would keep on hitting till there wasn't a +single unbroken bone left amongst the whole lot. But never mind, I'll +teach them yet what it means trying to throw out a man like me to rot in +the streets. I've a tongue in my head. All the world shall know what +I've done for them. I am not afraid. I don't care. Everything'll come +out. Every damned thing. Let them look out!" + +In these terms did Mr Verloc declare his thirst for revenge. It was a +very appropriate revenge. It was in harmony with the promptings of Mr +Verloc's genius. It had also the advantage of being within the range of +his powers and of adjusting itself easily to the practice of his life, +which had consisted precisely in betraying the secret and unlawful +proceedings of his fellow-men. Anarchists or diplomats were all one to +him. Mr Verloc was temperamentally no respecter of persons. His scorn +was equally distributed over the whole field of his operations. But as a +member of a revolutionary proletariat--which he undoubtedly was--he +nourished a rather inimical sentiment against social distinction. + +"Nothing on earth can stop me now," he added, and paused, looking fixedly +at his wife, who was looking fixedly at a blank wall. + +The silence in the kitchen was prolonged, and Mr Verloc felt +disappointed. He had expected his wife to say something. But Mrs +Verloc's lips, composed in their usual form, preserved a statuesque +immobility like the rest of her face. And Mr Verloc was disappointed. +Yet the occasion did not, he recognised, demand speech from her. She was +a woman of very few words. For reasons involved in the very foundation +of his psychology, Mr Verloc was inclined to put his trust in any woman +who had given herself to him. Therefore he trusted his wife. Their +accord was perfect, but it was not precise. It was a tacit accord, +congenial to Mrs Verloc's incuriosity and to Mr Verloc's habits of mind, +which were indolent and secret. They refrained from going to the bottom +of facts and motives. + +This reserve, expressing, in a way, their profound confidence in each +other, introduced at the same time a certain element of vagueness into +their intimacy. No system of conjugal relations is perfect. Mr Verloc +presumed that his wife had understood him, but he would have been glad to +hear her say what she thought at the moment. It would have been a +comfort. + +There were several reasons why this comfort was denied him. There was a +physical obstacle: Mrs Verloc had no sufficient command over her voice. +She did not see any alternative between screaming and silence, and +instinctively she chose the silence. Winnie Verloc was temperamentally a +silent person. And there was the paralysing atrocity of the thought +which occupied her. Her cheeks were blanched, her lips ashy, her +immobility amazing. And she thought without looking at Mr Verloc: "This +man took the boy away to murder him. He took the boy away from his home +to murder him. He took the boy away from me to murder him!" + +Mrs Verloc's whole being was racked by that inconclusive and maddening +thought. It was in her veins, in her bones, in the roots of her hair. +Mentally she assumed the biblical attitude of mourning--the covered face, +the rent garments; the sound of wailing and lamentation filled her head. +But her teeth were violently clenched, and her tearless eyes were hot +with rage, because she was not a submissive creature. The protection she +had extended over her brother had been in its origin of a fierce an +indignant complexion. She had to love him with a militant love. She had +battled for him--even against herself. His loss had the bitterness of +defeat, with the anguish of a baffled passion. It was not an ordinary +stroke of death. Moreover, it was not death that took Stevie from her. +It was Mr Verloc who took him away. She had seen him. She had watched +him, without raising a hand, take the boy away. And she had let him go, +like--like a fool--a blind fool. Then after he had murdered the boy he +came home to her. Just came home like any other man would come home to +his wife. . . . + +Through her set teeth Mrs Verloc muttered at the wall: + +"And I thought he had caught a cold." + +Mr Verloc heard these words and appropriated them. + +"It was nothing," he said moodily. "I was upset. I was upset on your +account." + +Mrs Verloc, turning her head slowly, transferred her stare from the wall +to her husband's person. Mr Verloc, with the tips of his fingers between +his lips, was looking on the ground. + +"Can't be helped," he mumbled, letting his hand fall. "You must pull +yourself together. You'll want all your wits about you. It is you who +brought the police about our ears. Never mind, I won't say anything more +about it," continued Mr Verloc magnanimously. "You couldn't know." + +"I couldn't," breathed out Mrs Verloc. It was as if a corpse had spoken. +Mr Verloc took up the thread of his discourse. + +"I don't blame you. I'll make them sit up. Once under lock and key it +will be safe enough for me to talk--you understand. You must reckon on +me being two years away from you," he continued, in a tone of sincere +concern. "It will be easier for you than for me. You'll have something +to do, while I--Look here, Winnie, what you must do is to keep this +business going for two years. You know enough for that. You've a good +head on you. I'll send you word when it's time to go about trying to +sell. You'll have to be extra careful. The comrades will be keeping an +eye on you all the time. You'll have to be as artful as you know how, +and as close as the grave. No one must know what you are going to do. I +have no mind to get a knock on the head or a stab in the back directly I +am let out." + +Thus spoke Mr Verloc, applying his mind with ingenuity and forethought to +the problems of the future. His voice was sombre, because he had a +correct sentiment of the situation. Everything which he did not wish to +pass had come to pass. The future had become precarious. His judgment, +perhaps, had been momentarily obscured by his dread of Mr Vladimir's +truculent folly. A man somewhat over forty may be excusably thrown into +considerable disorder by the prospect of losing his employment, +especially if the man is a secret agent of political police, dwelling +secure in the consciousness of his high value and in the esteem of high +personages. He was excusable. + +Now the thing had ended in a crash. Mr Verloc was cool; but he was not +cheerful. A secret agent who throws his secrecy to the winds from desire +of vengeance, and flaunts his achievements before the public eye, becomes +the mark for desperate and bloodthirsty indignations. Without unduly +exaggerating the danger, Mr Verloc tried to bring it clearly before his +wife's mind. He repeated that he had no intention to let the +revolutionises do away with him. + +He looked straight into his wife's eyes. The enlarged pupils of the +woman received his stare into their unfathomable depths. + +"I am too fond of you for that," he said, with a little nervous laugh. + +A faint flush coloured Mrs Verloc's ghastly and motionless face. Having +done with the visions of the past, she had not only heard, but had also +understood the words uttered by her husband. By their extreme disaccord +with her mental condition these words produced on her a slightly +suffocating effect. Mrs Verloc's mental condition had the merit of +simplicity; but it was not sound. It was governed too much by a fixed +idea. Every nook and cranny of her brain was filled with the thought +that this man, with whom she had lived without distaste for seven years, +had taken the "poor boy" away from her in order to kill him--the man to +whom she had grown accustomed in body and mind; the man whom she had +trusted, took the boy away to kill him! In its form, in its substance, +in its effect, which was universal, altering even the aspect of inanimate +things, it was a thought to sit still and marvel at for ever and ever. +Mrs Verloc sat still. And across that thought (not across the kitchen) +the form of Mr Verloc went to and fro, familiarly in hat and overcoat, +stamping with his boots upon her brain. He was probably talking too; but +Mrs Verloc's thought for the most part covered the voice. + +Now and then, however, the voice would make itself heard. Several +connected words emerged at times. Their purport was generally hopeful. +On each of these occasions Mrs Verloc's dilated pupils, losing their far- +off fixity, followed her husband's movements with the effect of black +care and, impenetrable attention. Well informed upon all matters +relating to his secret calling, Mr Verloc augured well for the success of +his plans and combinations. He really believed that it would be upon the +whole easy for him to escape the knife of infuriated revolutionists. He +had exaggerated the strength of their fury and the length of their arm +(for professional purposes) too often to have many illusions one way or +the other. For to exaggerate with judgment one must begin by measuring +with nicety. He knew also how much virtue and how much infamy is +forgotten in two years--two long years. His first really confidential +discourse to his wife was optimistic from conviction. He also thought it +good policy to display all the assurance he could muster. It would put +heart into the poor woman. On his liberation, which, harmonising with +the whole tenor of his life, would be secret, of course, they would +vanish together without loss of time. As to covering up the tracks, he +begged his wife to trust him for that. He knew how it was to be done so +that the devil himself-- + +He waved his hand. He seemed to boast. He wished only to put heart into +her. It was a benevolent intention, but Mr Verloc had the misfortune not +to be in accord with his audience. + +The self-confident tone grew upon Mrs Verloc's ear which let most of the +words go by; for what were words to her now? What could words do to her, +for good or evil in the face of her fixed idea? Her black glance +followed that man who was asserting his impunity--the man who had taken +poor Stevie from home to kill him somewhere. Mrs Verloc could not +remember exactly where, but her heart began to beat very perceptibly. + +Mr Verloc, in a soft and conjugal tone, was now expressing his firm +belief that there were yet a good few years of quiet life before them +both. He did not go into the question of means. A quiet life it must be +and, as it were, nestling in the shade, concealed among men whose flesh +is grass; modest, like the life of violets. The words used by Mr Verloc +were: "Lie low for a bit." And far from England, of course. It was not +clear whether Mr Verloc had in his mind Spain or South America; but at +any rate somewhere abroad. + +This last word, falling into Mrs Verloc's ear, produced a definite +impression. This man was talking of going abroad. The impression was +completely disconnected; and such is the force of mental habit that Mrs +Verloc at once and automatically asked herself: "And what of Stevie?" + +It was a sort of forgetfulness; but instantly she became aware that there +was no longer any occasion for anxiety on that score. There would never +be any occasion any more. The poor boy had been taken out and killed. +The poor boy was dead. + +This shaking piece of forgetfulness stimulated Mrs Verloc's intelligence. +She began to perceive certain consequences which would have surprised Mr +Verloc. There was no need for her now to stay there, in that kitchen, in +that house, with that man--since the boy was gone for ever. No need +whatever. And on that Mrs Verloc rose as if raised by a spring. But +neither could she see what there was to keep her in the world at all. And +this inability arrested her. Mr Verloc watched her with marital +solicitude. + +"You're looking more like yourself," he said uneasily. Something +peculiar in the blackness of his wife's eyes disturbed his optimism. At +that precise moment Mrs Verloc began to look upon herself as released +from all earthly ties. + +She had her freedom. Her contract with existence, as represented by that +man standing over there, was at an end. She was a free woman. Had this +view become in some way perceptible to Mr Verloc he would have been +extremely shocked. In his affairs of the heart Mr Verloc had been always +carelessly generous, yet always with no other idea than that of being +loved for himself. Upon this matter, his ethical notions being in +agreement with his vanity, he was completely incorrigible. That this +should be so in the case of his virtuous and legal connection he was +perfectly certain. He had grown older, fatter, heavier, in the belief +that he lacked no fascination for being loved for his own sake. When he +saw Mrs Verloc starting to walk out of the kitchen without a word he was +disappointed. + +"Where are you going to?" he called out rather sharply. "Upstairs?" + +Mrs Verloc in the doorway turned at the voice. An instinct of prudence +born of fear, the excessive fear of being approached and touched by that +man, induced her to nod at him slightly (from the height of two steps), +with a stir of the lips which the conjugal optimism of Mr Verloc took for +a wan and uncertain smile. + +"That's right," he encouraged her gruffly. "Rest and quiet's what you +want. Go on. It won't be long before I am with you." + +Mrs Verloc, the free woman who had had really no idea where she was going +to, obeyed the suggestion with rigid steadiness. + +Mr Verloc watched her. She disappeared up the stairs. He was +disappointed. There was that within him which would have been more +satisfied if she had been moved to throw herself upon his breast. But he +was generous and indulgent. Winnie was always undemonstrative and +silent. Neither was Mr Verloc himself prodigal of endearments and words +as a rule. But this was not an ordinary evening. It was an occasion +when a man wants to be fortified and strengthened by open proofs of +sympathy and affection. Mr Verloc sighed, and put out the gas in the +kitchen. Mr Verloc's sympathy with his wife was genuine and intense. It +almost brought tears into his eyes as he stood in the parlour reflecting +on the loneliness hanging over her head. In this mood Mr Verloc missed +Stevie very much out of a difficult world. He thought mournfully of his +end. If only that lad had not stupidly destroyed himself! + +The sensation of unappeasable hunger, not unknown after the strain of a +hazardous enterprise to adventurers of tougher fibre than Mr Verloc, +overcame him again. The piece of roast beef, laid out in the likeness of +funereal baked meats for Stevie's obsequies, offered itself largely to +his notice. And Mr Verloc again partook. He partook ravenously, without +restraint and decency, cutting thick slices with the sharp carving knife, +and swallowing them without bread. In the course of that refection it +occurred to Mr Verloc that he was not hearing his wife move about the +bedroom as he should have done. The thought of finding her perhaps +sitting on the bed in the dark not only cut Mr Verloc's appetite, but +also took from him the inclination to follow her upstairs just yet. +Laying down the carving knife, Mr Verloc listened with careworn +attention. + +He was comforted by hearing her move at last. She walked suddenly across +the room, and threw the window up. After a period of stillness up there, +during which he figured her to himself with her head out, he heard the +sash being lowered slowly. Then she made a few steps, and sat down. +Every resonance of his house was familiar to Mr Verloc, who was +thoroughly domesticated. When next he heard his wife's footsteps +overhead he knew, as well as if he had seen her doing it, that she had +been putting on her walking shoes. Mr Verloc wriggled his shoulders +slightly at this ominous symptom, and moving away from the table, stood +with his back to the fireplace, his head on one side, and gnawing +perplexedly at the tips of his fingers. He kept track of her movements +by the sound. She walked here and there violently, with abrupt +stoppages, now before the chest of drawers, then in front of the +wardrobe. An immense load of weariness, the harvest of a day of shocks +and surprises, weighed Mr Verloc's energies to the ground. + +He did not raise his eyes till he heard his wife descending the stairs. +It was as he had guessed. She was dressed for going out. + +Mrs Verloc was a free woman. She had thrown open the window of the +bedroom either with the intention of screaming Murder! Help! or of +throwing herself out. For she did not exactly know what use to make of +her freedom. Her personality seemed to have been torn into two pieces, +whose mental operations did not adjust themselves very well to each +other. The street, silent and deserted from end to end, repelled her by +taking sides with that man who was so certain of his impunity. She was +afraid to shout lest no one should come. Obviously no one would come. +Her instinct of self-preservation recoiled from the depth of the fall +into that sort of slimy, deep trench. Mrs Verloc closed the window, and +dressed herself to go out into the street by another way. She was a free +woman. She had dressed herself thoroughly, down to the tying of a black +veil over her face. As she appeared before him in the light of the +parlour, Mr Verloc observed that she had even her little handbag hanging +from her left wrist. . . . Flying off to her mother, of course. + +The thought that women were wearisome creatures after all presented +itself to his fatigued brain. But he was too generous to harbour it for +more than an instant. This man, hurt cruelly in his vanity, remained +magnanimous in his conduct, allowing himself no satisfaction of a bitter +smile or of a contemptuous gesture. With true greatness of soul, he only +glanced at the wooden clock on the wall, and said in a perfectly calm but +forcible manner: + +"Five and twenty minutes past eight, Winnie. There's no sense in going +over there so late. You will never manage to get back to-night." + +Before his extended hand Mrs Verloc had stopped short. He added heavily: +"Your mother will be gone to bed before you get there. This is the sort +of news that can wait." + +Nothing was further from Mrs Verloc's thoughts than going to her mother. +She recoiled at the mere idea, and feeling a chair behind her, she obeyed +the suggestion of the touch, and sat down. Her intention had been simply +to get outside the door for ever. And if this feeling was correct, its +mental form took an unrefined shape corresponding to her origin and +station. "I would rather walk the streets all the days of my life," she +thought. But this creature, whose moral nature had been subjected to a +shock of which, in the physical order, the most violent earthquake of +history could only be a faint and languid rendering, was at the mercy of +mere trifles, of casual contacts. She sat down. With her hat and veil +she had the air of a visitor, of having looked in on Mr Verloc for a +moment. Her instant docility encouraged him, whilst her aspect of only +temporary and silent acquiescence provoked him a little. + +"Let me tell you, Winnie," he said with authority, "that your place is +here this evening. Hang it all! you brought the damned police high and +low about my ears. I don't blame you--but it's your doing all the same. +You'd better take this confounded hat off. I can't let you go out, old +girl," he added in a softened voice. + +Mrs Verloc's mind got hold of that declaration with morbid tenacity. The +man who had taken Stevie out from under her very eyes to murder him in a +locality whose name was at the moment not present to her memory would not +allow her go out. Of course he wouldn't. + +Now he had murdered Stevie he would never let her go. He would want to +keep her for nothing. And on this characteristic reasoning, having all +the force of insane logic, Mrs Verloc's disconnected wits went to work +practically. She could slip by him, open the door, run out. But he +would dash out after her, seize her round the body, drag her back into +the shop. She could scratch, kick, and bite--and stab too; but for +stabbing she wanted a knife. Mrs Verloc sat still under her black veil, +in her own house, like a masked and mysterious visitor of impenetrable +intentions. + +Mr Verloc's magnanimity was not more than human. She had exasperated him +at last. + +"Can't you say something? You have your own dodges for vexing a man. Oh +yes! I know your deaf-and-dumb trick. I've seen you at it before to- +day. But just now it won't do. And to begin with, take this damned +thing off. One can't tell whether one is talking to a dummy or to a live +woman." + +He advanced, and stretching out his hand, dragged the veil off, unmasking +a still, unreadable face, against which his nervous exasperation was +shattered like a glass bubble flung against a rock. "That's better," he +said, to cover his momentary uneasiness, and retreated back to his old +station by the mantelpiece. It never entered his head that his wife +could give him up. He felt a little ashamed of himself, for he was fond +and generous. What could he do? Everything had been said already. He +protested vehemently. + +"By heavens! You know that I hunted high and low. I ran the risk of +giving myself away to find somebody for that accursed job. And I tell +you again I couldn't find anyone crazy enough or hungry enough. What do +you take me for--a murderer, or what? The boy is gone. Do you think I +wanted him to blow himself up? He's gone. His troubles are over. Ours +are just going to begin, I tell you, precisely because he did blow +himself. I don't blame you. But just try to understand that it was a +pure accident; as much an accident as if he had been run over by a 'bus +while crossing the street." + +His generosity was not infinite, because he was a human being--and not a +monster, as Mrs Verloc believed him to be. He paused, and a snarl +lifting his moustaches above a gleam of white teeth gave him the +expression of a reflective beast, not very dangerous--a slow beast with a +sleek head, gloomier than a seal, and with a husky voice. + +"And when it comes to that, it's as much your doing as mine. That's so. +You may glare as much as you like. I know what you can do in that way. +Strike me dead if I ever would have thought of the lad for that purpose. +It was you who kept on shoving him in my way when I was half distracted +with the worry of keeping the lot of us out of trouble. What the devil +made you? One would think you were doing it on purpose. And I am damned +if I know that you didn't. There's no saying how much of what's going on +you have got hold of on the sly with your infernal don't-care-a-damn way +of looking nowhere in particular, and saying nothing at all. . . . " + +His husky domestic voice ceased for a while. Mrs Verloc made no reply. +Before that silence he felt ashamed of what he had said. But as often +happens to peaceful men in domestic tiffs, being ashamed he pushed +another point. + +"You have a devilish way of holding your tongue sometimes," he began +again, without raising his voice. "Enough to make some men go mad. It's +lucky for you that I am not so easily put out as some of them would be by +your deaf-and-dumb sulks. I am fond of you. But don't you go too far. +This isn't the time for it. We ought to be thinking of what we've got to +do. And I can't let you go out to-night, galloping off to your mother +with some crazy tale or other about me. I won't have it. Don't you make +any mistake about it: if you will have it that I killed the boy, then +you've killed him as much as I." + +In sincerity of feeling and openness of statement, these words went far +beyond anything that had ever been said in this home, kept up on the +wages of a secret industry eked out by the sale of more or less secret +wares: the poor expedients devised by a mediocre mankind for preserving +an imperfect society from the dangers of moral and physical corruption, +both secret too of their kind. They were spoken because Mr Verloc had +felt himself really outraged; but the reticent decencies of this home +life, nestling in a shady street behind a shop where the sun never shone, +remained apparently undisturbed. Mrs Verloc heard him out with perfect +propriety, and then rose from her chair in her hat and jacket like a +visitor at the end of a call. She advanced towards her husband, one arm +extended as if for a silent leave-taking. Her net veil dangling down by +one end on the left side of her face gave an air of disorderly formality +to her restrained movements. But when she arrived as far as the +hearthrug, Mr Verloc was no longer standing there. He had moved off in +the direction of the sofa, without raising his eyes to watch the effect +of his tirade. He was tired, resigned in a truly marital spirit. But he +felt hurt in the tender spot of his secret weakness. If she would go on +sulking in that dreadful overcharged silence--why then she must. She was +a master in that domestic art. Mr Verloc flung himself heavily upon the +sofa, disregarding as usual the fate of his hat, which, as if accustomed +to take care of itself, made for a safe shelter under the table. + +He was tired. The last particle of his nervous force had been expended +in the wonders and agonies of this day full of surprising failures coming +at the end of a harassing month of scheming and insomnia. He was tired. +A man isn't made of stone. Hang everything! Mr Verloc reposed +characteristically, clad in his outdoor garments. One side of his open +overcoat was lying partly on the ground. Mr Verloc wallowed on his back. +But he longed for a more perfect rest--for sleep--for a few hours of +delicious forgetfulness. That would come later. Provisionally he +rested. And he thought: "I wish she would give over this damned +nonsense. It's exasperating." + +There must have been something imperfect in Mrs Verloc's sentiment of +regained freedom. Instead of taking the way of the door she leaned back, +with her shoulders against the tablet of the mantelpiece, as a wayfarer +rests against a fence. A tinge of wildness in her aspect was derived +from the black veil hanging like a rag against her cheek, and from the +fixity of her black gaze where the light of the room was absorbed and +lost without the trace of a single gleam. This woman, capable of a +bargain the mere suspicion of which would have been infinitely shocking +to Mr Verloc's idea of love, remained irresolute, as if scrupulously +aware of something wanting on her part for the formal closing of the +transaction. + +On the sofa Mr Verloc wriggled his shoulders into perfect comfort, and +from the fulness of his heart emitted a wish which was certainly as pious +as anything likely to come from such a source. + +"I wish to goodness," he growled huskily, "I had never seen Greenwich +Park or anything belonging to it." + +The veiled sound filled the small room with its moderate volume, well +adapted to the modest nature of the wish. The waves of air of the proper +length, propagated in accordance with correct mathematical formulas, +flowed around all the inanimate things in the room, lapped against Mrs +Verloc's head as if it had been a head of stone. And incredible as it +may appear, the eyes of Mrs Verloc seemed to grow still larger. The +audible wish of Mr Verloc's overflowing heart flowed into an empty place +in his wife's memory. Greenwich Park. A park! That's where the boy was +killed. A park--smashed branches, torn leaves, gravel, bits of brotherly +flesh and bone, all spouting up together in the manner of a firework. She +remembered now what she had heard, and she remembered it pictorially. +They had to gather him up with the shovel. Trembling all over with +irrepressible shudders, she saw before her the very implement with its +ghastly load scraped up from the ground. Mrs Verloc closed her eyes +desperately, throwing upon that vision the night of her eyelids, where +after a rainlike fall of mangled limbs the decapitated head of Stevie +lingered suspended alone, and fading out slowly like the last star of a +pyrotechnic display. Mrs Verloc opened her eyes. + +Her face was no longer stony. Anybody could have noted the subtle change +on her features, in the stare of her eyes, giving her a new and startling +expression; an expression seldom observed by competent persons under the +conditions of leisure and security demanded for thorough analysis, but +whose meaning could not be mistaken at a glance. Mrs Verloc's doubts as +to the end of the bargain no longer existed; her wits, no longer +disconnected, were working under the control of her will. But Mr Verloc +observed nothing. He was reposing in that pathetic condition of optimism +induced by excess of fatigue. He did not want any more trouble--with his +wife too--of all people in the world. He had been unanswerable in his +vindication. He was loved for himself. The present phase of her silence +he interpreted favourably. This was the time to make it up with her. The +silence had lasted long enough. He broke it by calling to her in an +undertone. + +"Winnie." + +"Yes," answered obediently Mrs Verloc the free woman. She commanded her +wits now, her vocal organs; she felt herself to be in an almost +preternaturally perfect control of every fibre of her body. It was all +her own, because the bargain was at an end. She was clear sighted. She +had become cunning. She chose to answer him so readily for a purpose. +She did not wish that man to change his position on the sofa which was +very suitable to the circumstances. She succeeded. The man did not +stir. But after answering him she remained leaning negligently against +the mantelpiece in the attitude of a resting wayfarer. She was +unhurried. Her brow was smooth. The head and shoulders of Mr Verloc +were hidden from her by the high side of the sofa. She kept her eyes +fixed on his feet. + +She remained thus mysteriously still and suddenly collected till Mr +Verloc was heard with an accent of marital authority, and moving slightly +to make room for her to sit on the edge of the sofa. + +"Come here," he said in a peculiar tone, which might have been the tone +of brutality, but, was intimately known to Mrs Verloc as the note of +wooing. + +She started forward at once, as if she were still a loyal woman bound to +that man by an unbroken contract. Her right hand skimmed slightly the +end of the table, and when she had passed on towards the sofa the carving +knife had vanished without the slightest sound from the side of the dish. +Mr Verloc heard the creaky plank in the floor, and was content. He +waited. Mrs Verloc was coming. As if the homeless soul of Stevie had +flown for shelter straight to the breast of his sister, guardian and +protector, the resemblance of her face with that of her brother grew at +every step, even to the droop of the lower lip, even to the slight +divergence of the eyes. But Mr Verloc did not see that. He was lying on +his back and staring upwards. He saw partly on the ceiling and partly on +the wall the moving shadow of an arm with a clenched hand holding a +carving knife. It flickered up and down. It's movements were leisurely. +They were leisurely enough for Mr Verloc to recognise the limb and the +weapon. + +They were leisurely enough for him to take in the full meaning of the +portent, and to taste the flavour of death rising in his gorge. His wife +had gone raving mad--murdering mad. They were leisurely enough for the +first paralysing effect of this discovery to pass away before a resolute +determination to come out victorious from the ghastly struggle with that +armed lunatic. They were leisurely enough for Mr Verloc to elaborate a +plan of defence involving a dash behind the table, and the felling of the +woman to the ground with a heavy wooden chair. But they were not +leisurely enough to allow Mr Verloc the time to move either hand or foot. +The knife was already planted in his breast. It met no resistance on its +way. Hazard has such accuracies. Into that plunging blow, delivered +over the side of the couch, Mrs Verloc had put all the inheritance of her +immemorial and obscure descent, the simple ferocity of the age of +caverns, and the unbalanced nervous fury of the age of bar-rooms. Mr +Verloc, the Secret Agent, turning slightly on his side with the force of +the blow, expired without stirring a limb, in the muttered sound of the +word "Don't" by way of protest. + +Mrs Verloc had let go the knife, and her extraordinary resemblance to her +late brother had faded, had become very ordinary now. She drew a deep +breath, the first easy breath since Chief Inspector Heat had exhibited to +her the labelled piece of Stevie's overcoat. She leaned forward on her +folded arms over the side of the sofa. She adopted that easy attitude +not in order to watch or gloat over the body of Mr Verloc, but because of +the undulatory and swinging movements of the parlour, which for some time +behaved as though it were at sea in a tempest. She was giddy but calm. +She had become a free woman with a perfection of freedom which left her +nothing to desire and absolutely nothing to do, since Stevie's urgent +claim on her devotion no longer existed. Mrs Verloc, who thought in +images, was not troubled now by visions, because she did not think at +all. And she did not move. She was a woman enjoying her complete +irresponsibility and endless leisure, almost in the manner of a corpse. +She did not move, she did not think. Neither did the mortal envelope of +the late Mr Verloc reposing on the sofa. Except for the fact that Mrs +Verloc breathed these two would have been perfect in accord: that accord +of prudent reserve without superfluous words, and sparing of signs, which +had been the foundation of their respectable home life. For it had been +respectable, covering by a decent reticence the problems that may arise +in the practice of a secret profession and the commerce of shady wares. +To the last its decorum had remained undisturbed by unseemly shrieks and +other misplaced sincerities of conduct. And after the striking of the +blow, this respectability was continued in immobility and silence. + +Nothing moved in the parlour till Mrs Verloc raised her head slowly and +looked at the clock with inquiring mistrust. She had become aware of a +ticking sound in the room. It grew upon her ear, while she remembered +clearly that the clock on the wall was silent, had no audible tick. What +did it mean by beginning to tick so loudly all of a sudden? Its face +indicated ten minutes to nine. Mrs Verloc cared nothing for time, and +the ticking went on. She concluded it could not be the clock, and her +sullen gaze moved along the walls, wavered, and became vague, while she +strained her hearing to locate the sound. Tic, tic, tic. + +After listening for some time Mrs Verloc lowered her gaze deliberately on +her husband's body. It's attitude of repose was so home-like and +familiar that she could do so without feeling embarrassed by any +pronounced novelty in the phenomena of her home life. Mr Verloc was +taking his habitual ease. He looked comfortable. + +By the position of the body the face of Mr Verloc was not visible to Mrs +Verloc, his widow. Her fine, sleepy eyes, travelling downward on the +track of the sound, became contemplative on meeting a flat object of bone +which protruded a little beyond the edge of the sofa. It was the handle +of the domestic carving knife with nothing strange about it but its +position at right angles to Mr Verloc's waistcoat and the fact that +something dripped from it. Dark drops fell on the floorcloth one after +another, with a sound of ticking growing fast and furious like the pulse +of an insane clock. At its highest speed this ticking changed into a +continuous sound of trickling. Mrs Verloc watched that transformation +with shadows of anxiety coming and going on her face. It was a trickle, +dark, swift, thin. . . . Blood! + +At this unforeseen circumstance Mrs Verloc abandoned her pose of idleness +and irresponsibility. + +With a sudden snatch at her skirts and a faint shriek she ran to the +door, as if the trickle had been the first sign of a destroying flood. +Finding the table in her way she gave it a push with both hands as though +it had been alive, with such force that it went for some distance on its +four legs, making a loud, scraping racket, whilst the big dish with the +joint crashed heavily on the floor. + +Then all became still. Mrs Verloc on reaching the door had stopped. A +round hat disclosed in the middle of the floor by the moving of the table +rocked slightly on its crown in the wind of her flight. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Winnie Verloc, the widow of Mr Verloc, the sister of the late faithful +Stevie (blown to fragments in a state of innocence and in the conviction +of being engaged in a humanitarian enterprise), did not run beyond the +door of the parlour. She had indeed run away so far from a mere trickle +of blood, but that was a movement of instinctive repulsion. And there +she had paused, with staring eyes and lowered head. As though she had +run through long years in her flight across the small parlour, Mrs Verloc +by the door was quite a different person from the woman who had been +leaning over the sofa, a little swimmy in her head, but otherwise free to +enjoy the profound calm of idleness and irresponsibility. Mrs Verloc was +no longer giddy. Her head was steady. On the other hand, she was no +longer calm. She was afraid. + +If she avoided looking in the direction of her reposing husband it was +not because she was afraid of him. Mr Verloc was not frightful to +behold. He looked comfortable. Moreover, he was dead. Mrs Verloc +entertained no vain delusions on the subject of the dead. Nothing brings +them back, neither love nor hate. They can do nothing to you. They are +as nothing. Her mental state was tinged by a sort of austere contempt +for that man who had let himself be killed so easily. He had been the +master of a house, the husband of a woman, and the murderer of her +Stevie. And now he was of no account in every respect. He was of less +practical account than the clothing on his body, than his overcoat, than +his boots--than that hat lying on the floor. He was nothing. He was not +worth looking at. He was even no longer the murderer of poor Stevie. The +only murderer that would be found in the room when people came to look +for Mr Verloc would be--herself! + +Her hands shook so that she failed twice in the task of refastening her +veil. Mrs Verloc was no longer a person of leisure and responsibility. +She was afraid. The stabbing of Mr Verloc had been only a blow. It had +relieved the pent-up agony of shrieks strangled in her throat, of tears +dried up in her hot eyes, of the maddening and indignant rage at the +atrocious part played by that man, who was less than nothing now, in +robbing her of the boy. + +It had been an obscurely prompted blow. The blood trickling on the floor +off the handle of the knife had turned it into an extremely plain case of +murder. Mrs Verloc, who always refrained from looking deep into things, +was compelled to look into the very bottom of this thing. She saw there +no haunting face, no reproachful shade, no vision of remorse, no sort of +ideal conception. She saw there an object. That object was the gallows. +Mrs Verloc was afraid of the gallows. + +She was terrified of them ideally. Having never set eyes on that last +argument of men's justice except in illustrative woodcuts to a certain +type of tales, she first saw them erect against a black and stormy +background, festooned with chains and human bones, circled about by birds +that peck at dead men's eyes. This was frightful enough, but Mrs Verloc, +though not a well-informed woman, had a sufficient knowledge of the +institutions of her country to know that gallows are no longer erected +romantically on the banks of dismal rivers or on wind-swept headlands, +but in the yards of jails. There within four high walls, as if into a +pit, at dawn of day, the murderer was brought out to be executed, with a +horrible quietness and, as the reports in the newspapers always said, "in +the presence of the authorities." With her eyes staring on the floor, +her nostrils quivering with anguish and shame, she imagined herself all +alone amongst a lot of strange gentlemen in silk hats who were calmly +proceeding about the business of hanging her by the neck. That--never! +Never! And how was it done? The impossibility of imagining the details +of such quiet execution added something maddening to her abstract terror. +The newspapers never gave any details except one, but that one with some +affectation was always there at the end of a meagre report. Mrs Verloc +remembered its nature. It came with a cruel burning pain into her head, +as if the words "The drop given was fourteen feet" had been scratched on +her brain with a hot needle. "The drop given was fourteen feet." + +These words affected her physically too. Her throat became convulsed in +waves to resist strangulation; and the apprehension of the jerk was so +vivid that she seized her head in both hands as if to save it from being +torn off her shoulders. "The drop given was fourteen feet." No! that +must never be. She could not stand _that_. The thought of it even was +not bearable. She could not stand thinking of it. Therefore Mrs Verloc +formed the resolution to go at once and throw herself into the river off +one of the bridges. + +This time she managed to refasten her veil. With her face as if masked, +all black from head to foot except for some flowers in her hat, she +looked up mechanically at the clock. She thought it must have stopped. +She could not believe that only two minutes had passed since she had +looked at it last. Of course not. It had been stopped all the time. As +a matter of fact, only three minutes had elapsed from the moment she had +drawn the first deep, easy breath after the blow, to this moment when Mrs +Verloc formed the resolution to drown herself in the Thames. But Mrs +Verloc could not believe that. She seemed to have heard or read that +clocks and watches always stopped at the moment of murder for the undoing +of the murderer. She did not care. "To the bridge--and over I go." . . . +But her movements were slow. + +She dragged herself painfully across the shop, and had to hold on to the +handle of the door before she found the necessary fortitude to open it. +The street frightened her, since it led either to the gallows or to the +river. She floundered over the doorstep head forward, arms thrown out, +like a person falling over the parapet of a bridge. This entrance into +the open air had a foretaste of drowning; a slimy dampness enveloped her, +entered her nostrils, clung to her hair. It was not actually raining, +but each gas lamp had a rusty little halo of mist. The van and horses +were gone, and in the black street the curtained window of the carters' +eating-house made a square patch of soiled blood-red light glowing +faintly very near the level of the pavement. Mrs Verloc, dragging +herself slowly towards it, thought that she was a very friendless woman. +It was true. It was so true that, in a sudden longing to see some +friendly face, she could think of no one else but of Mrs Neale, the +charwoman. She had no acquaintances of her own. Nobody would miss her +in a social way. It must not be imagined that the Widow Verloc had +forgotten her mother. This was not so. Winnie had been a good daughter +because she had been a devoted sister. Her mother had always leaned on +her for support. No consolation or advice could be expected there. Now +that Stevie was dead the bond seemed to be broken. She could not face +the old woman with the horrible tale. Moreover, it was too far. The +river was her present destination. Mrs Verloc tried to forget her +mother. + +Each step cost her an effort of will which seemed the last possible. Mrs +Verloc had dragged herself past the red glow of the eating-house window. +"To the bridge--and over I go," she repeated to herself with fierce +obstinacy. She put out her hand just in time to steady herself against a +lamp-post. "I'll never get there before morning," she thought. The fear +of death paralysed her efforts to escape the gallows. It seemed to her +she had been staggering in that street for hours. "I'll never get +there," she thought. "They'll find me knocking about the streets. It's +too far." She held on, panting under her black veil. + +"The drop given was fourteen feet." + +She pushed the lamp-post away from her violently, and found herself +walking. But another wave of faintness overtook her like a great sea, +washing away her heart clean out of her breast. "I will never get +there," she muttered, suddenly arrested, swaying lightly where she stood. +"Never." + +And perceiving the utter impossibility of walking as far as the nearest +bridge, Mrs Verloc thought of a flight abroad. + +It came to her suddenly. Murderers escaped. They escaped abroad. Spain +or California. Mere names. The vast world created for the glory of man +was only a vast blank to Mrs Verloc. She did not know which way to turn. +Murderers had friends, relations, helpers--they had knowledge. She had +nothing. She was the most lonely of murderers that ever struck a mortal +blow. She was alone in London: and the whole town of marvels and mud, +with its maze of streets and its mass of lights, was sunk in a hopeless +night, rested at the bottom of a black abyss from which no unaided woman +could hope to scramble out. + +She swayed forward, and made a fresh start blindly, with an awful dread +of falling down; but at the end of a few steps, unexpectedly, she found a +sensation of support, of security. Raising her head, she saw a man's +face peering closely at her veil. Comrade Ossipon was not afraid of +strange women, and no feeling of false delicacy could prevent him from +striking an acquaintance with a woman apparently very much intoxicated. +Comrade Ossipon was interested in women. He held up this one between his +two large palms, peering at her in a business-like way till he heard her +say faintly "Mr Ossipon!" and then he very nearly let her drop to the +ground. + +"Mrs Verloc!" he exclaimed. "You here!" + +It seemed impossible to him that she should have been drinking. But one +never knows. He did not go into that question, but attentive not to +discourage kind fate surrendering to him the widow of Comrade Verloc, he +tried to draw her to his breast. To his astonishment she came quite +easily, and even rested on his arm for a moment before she attempted to +disengage herself. Comrade Ossipon would not be brusque with kind fate. +He withdrew his arm in a natural way. + +"You recognised me," she faltered out, standing before him, fairly steady +on her legs. + +"Of course I did," said Ossipon with perfect readiness. "I was afraid +you were going to fall. I've thought of you too often lately not to +recognise you anywhere, at any time. I've always thought of you--ever +since I first set eyes on you." + +Mrs Verloc seemed not to hear. "You were coming to the shop?" she said +nervously. + +"Yes; at once," answered Ossipon. "Directly I read the paper." + +In fact, Comrade Ossipon had been skulking for a good two hours in the +neighbourhood of Brett Street, unable to make up his mind for a bold +move. The robust anarchist was not exactly a bold conqueror. He +remembered that Mrs Verloc had never responded to his glances by the +slightest sign of encouragement. Besides, he thought the shop might be +watched by the police, and Comrade Ossipon did not wish the police to +form an exaggerated notion of his revolutionary sympathies. Even now he +did not know precisely what to do. In comparison with his usual amatory +speculations this was a big and serious undertaking. He ignored how much +there was in it and how far he would have to go in order to get hold of +what there was to get--supposing there was a chance at all. These +perplexities checking his elation imparted to his tone a soberness well +in keeping with the circumstances. + +"May I ask you where you were going?" he inquired in a subdued voice. + +"Don't ask me!" cried Mrs Verloc with a shuddering, repressed violence. +All her strong vitality recoiled from the idea of death. "Never mind +where I was going. . . ." + +Ossipon concluded that she was very much excited but perfectly sober. She +remained silent by his side for moment, then all at once she did +something which he did not expect. She slipped her hand under his arm. +He was startled by the act itself certainly, and quite as much too by the +palpably resolute character of this movement. But this being a delicate +affair, Comrade Ossipon behaved with delicacy. He contented himself by +pressing the hand slightly against his robust ribs. At the same time he +felt himself being impelled forward, and yielded to the impulse. At the +end of Brett Street he became aware of being directed to the left. He +submitted. + +The fruiterer at the corner had put out the blazing glory of his oranges +and lemons, and Brett Place was all darkness, interspersed with the misty +halos of the few lamps defining its triangular shape, with a cluster of +three lights on one stand in the middle. The dark forms of the man and +woman glided slowly arm in arm along the walls with a loverlike and +homeless aspect in the miserable night. + +"What would you say if I were to tell you that I was going to find you?" +Mrs Verloc asked, gripping his arm with force. + +"I would say that you couldn't find anyone more ready to help you in your +trouble," answered Ossipon, with a notion of making tremendous headway. +In fact, the progress of this delicate affair was almost taking his +breath away. + +"In my trouble!" Mrs Verloc repeated slowly. + +"Yes." + +"And do you know what my trouble is?" she whispered with strange +intensity. + +"Ten minutes after seeing the evening paper," explained Ossipon with +ardour, "I met a fellow whom you may have seen once or twice at the shop +perhaps, and I had a talk with him which left no doubt whatever in my +mind. Then I started for here, wondering whether you--I've been fond of +you beyond words ever since I set eyes on your face," he cried, as if +unable to command his feelings. + +Comrade Ossipon assumed correctly that no woman was capable of wholly +disbelieving such a statement. But he did not know that Mrs Verloc +accepted it with all the fierceness the instinct of self-preservation +puts into the grip of a drowning person. To the widow of Mr Verloc the +robust anarchist was like a radiant messenger of life. + +They walked slowly, in step. "I thought so," Mrs Verloc murmured +faintly. + +"You've read it in my eyes," suggested Ossipon with great assurance. + +"Yes," she breathed out into his inclined ear. + +"A love like mine could not be concealed from a woman like you," he went +on, trying to detach his mind from material considerations such as the +business value of the shop, and the amount of money Mr Verloc might have +left in the bank. He applied himself to the sentimental side of the +affair. In his heart of hearts he was a little shocked at his success. +Verloc had been a good fellow, and certainly a very decent husband as far +as one could see. However, Comrade Ossipon was not going to quarrel with +his luck for the sake of a dead man. Resolutely he suppressed his +sympathy for the ghost of Comrade Verloc, and went on. + +"I could not conceal it. I was too full of you. I daresay you could not +help seeing it in my eyes. But I could not guess it. You were always so +distant. . . ." + +"What else did you expect?" burst out Mrs Verloc. "I was a respectable +woman--" + +She paused, then added, as if speaking to herself, in sinister +resentment: "Till he made me what I am." + +Ossipon let that pass, and took up his running. "He never did seem to me +to be quite worthy of you," he began, throwing loyalty to the winds. "You +were worthy of a better fate." + +Mrs Verloc interrupted bitterly: + +"Better fate! He cheated me out of seven years of life." + +"You seemed to live so happily with him." Ossipon tried to exculpate the +lukewarmness of his past conduct. "It's that what's made me timid. You +seemed to love him. I was surprised--and jealous," he added. + +"Love him!" Mrs Verloc cried out in a whisper, full of scorn and rage. +"Love him! I was a good wife to him. I am a respectable woman. You +thought I loved him! You did! Look here, Tom--" + +The sound of this name thrilled Comrade Ossipon with pride. For his name +was Alexander, and he was called Tom by arrangement with the most +familiar of his intimates. It was a name of friendship--of moments of +expansion. He had no idea that she had ever heard it used by anybody. It +was apparent that she had not only caught it, but had treasured it in her +memory--perhaps in her heart. + +"Look here, Tom! I was a young girl. I was done up. I was tired. I +had two people depending on what I could do, and it did seem as if I +couldn't do any more. Two people--mother and the boy. He was much more +mine than mother's. I sat up nights and nights with him on my lap, all +alone upstairs, when I wasn't more than eight years old myself. And +then--He was mine, I tell you. . . . You can't understand that. No man +can understand it. What was I to do? There was a young fellow--" + +The memory of the early romance with the young butcher survived, +tenacious, like the image of a glimpsed ideal in that heart quailing +before the fear of the gallows and full of revolt against death. + +"That was the man I loved then," went on the widow of Mr Verloc. "I +suppose he could see it in my eyes too. Five and twenty shillings a +week, and his father threatened to kick him out of the business if he +made such a fool of himself as to marry a girl with a crippled mother and +a crazy idiot of a boy on her hands. But he would hang about me, till +one evening I found the courage to slam the door in his face. I had to +do it. I loved him dearly. Five and twenty shillings a week! There was +that other man--a good lodger. What is a girl to do? Could I've gone on +the streets? He seemed kind. He wanted me, anyhow. What was I to do +with mother and that poor boy? Eh? I said yes. He seemed good-natured, +he was freehanded, he had money, he never said anything. Seven +years--seven years a good wife to him, the kind, the good, the generous, +the--And he loved me. Oh yes. He loved me till I sometimes wished +myself--Seven years. Seven years a wife to him. And do you know what he +was, that dear friend of yours? Do you know what he was? He was a +devil!" + +The superhuman vehemence of that whispered statement completely stunned +Comrade Ossipon. Winnie Verloc turning about held him by both arms, +facing him under the falling mist in the darkness and solitude of Brett +Place, in which all sounds of life seemed lost as if in a triangular well +of asphalt and bricks, of blind houses and unfeeling stones. + +"No; I didn't know," he declared, with a sort of flabby stupidity, whose +comical aspect was lost upon a woman haunted by the fear of the gallows, +"but I do now. I--I understand," he floundered on, his mind speculating +as to what sort of atrocities Verloc could have practised under the +sleepy, placid appearances of his married estate. It was positively +awful. "I understand," he repeated, and then by a sudden inspiration +uttered an--"Unhappy woman!" of lofty commiseration instead of the more +familiar "Poor darling!" of his usual practice. This was no usual case. +He felt conscious of something abnormal going on, while he never lost +sight of the greatness of the stake. "Unhappy, brave woman!" + +He was glad to have discovered that variation; but he could discover +nothing else. + +"Ah, but he is dead now," was the best he could do. And he put a +remarkable amount of animosity into his guarded exclamation. Mrs Verloc +caught at his arm with a sort of frenzy. + +"You guessed then he was dead," she murmured, as if beside herself. "You! +You guessed what I had to do. Had to!" + +There were suggestions of triumph, relief, gratitude in the indefinable +tone of these words. It engrossed the whole attention of Ossipon to the +detriment of mere literal sense. He wondered what was up with her, why +she had worked herself into this state of wild excitement. He even began +to wonder whether the hidden causes of that Greenwich Park affair did not +lie deep in the unhappy circumstances of the Verlocs' married life. He +went so far as to suspect Mr Verloc of having selected that extraordinary +manner of committing suicide. By Jove! that would account for the utter +inanity and wrong-headedness of the thing. No anarchist manifestation +was required by the circumstances. Quite the contrary; and Verloc was as +well aware of that as any other revolutionist of his standing. What an +immense joke if Verloc had simply made fools of the whole of Europe, of +the revolutionary world, of the police, of the press, and of the cocksure +Professor as well. Indeed, thought Ossipon, in astonishment, it seemed +almost certain that he did! Poor beggar! It struck him as very possible +that of that household of two it wasn't precisely the man who was the +devil. + +Alexander Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, was naturally inclined to think +indulgently of his men friends. He eyed Mrs Verloc hanging on his arm. +Of his women friends he thought in a specially practical way. Why Mrs +Verloc should exclaim at his knowledge of Mr Verloc's death, which was no +guess at all, did not disturb him beyond measure. They often talked like +lunatics. But he was curious to know how she had been informed. The +papers could tell her nothing beyond the mere fact: the man blown to +pieces in Greenwich Park not having been identified. It was +inconceivable on any theory that Verloc should have given her an inkling +of his intention--whatever it was. This problem interested Comrade +Ossipon immensely. He stopped short. They had gone then along the three +sides of Brett Place, and were near the end of Brett Street again. + +"How did you first come to hear of it?" he asked in a tone he tried to +render appropriate to the character of the revelations which had been +made to him by the woman at his side. + +She shook violently for a while before she answered in a listless voice. + +"From the police. A chief inspector came, Chief Inspector Heat he said +he was. He showed me--" + +Mrs Verloc choked. "Oh, Tom, they had to gather him up with a shovel." + +Her breast heaved with dry sobs. In a moment Ossipon found his tongue. + +"The police! Do you mean to say the police came already? That Chief +Inspector Heat himself actually came to tell you." + +"Yes," she confirmed in the same listless tone. "He came just like this. +He came. I didn't know. He showed me a piece of overcoat, and--just +like that. Do you know this? he says." + +"Heat! Heat! And what did he do?" + +Mrs Verloc's head dropped. "Nothing. He did nothing. He went away. The +police were on that man's side," she murmured tragically. "Another one +came too." + +"Another--another inspector, do you mean?" asked Ossipon, in great +excitement, and very much in the tone of a scared child. + +"I don't know. He came. He looked like a foreigner. He may have been +one of them Embassy people." + +Comrade Ossipon nearly collapsed under this new shock. + +"Embassy! Are you aware what you are saying? What Embassy? What on +earth do you mean by Embassy?" + +"It's that place in Chesham Square. The people he cursed so. I don't +know. What does it matter!" + +"And that fellow, what did he do or say to you?" + +"I don't remember. . . . Nothing . . . . I don't care. Don't ask me," +she pleaded in a weary voice. + +"All right. I won't," assented Ossipon tenderly. And he meant it too, +not because he was touched by the pathos of the pleading voice, but +because he felt himself losing his footing in the depths of this +tenebrous affair. Police! Embassy! Phew! For fear of adventuring his +intelligence into ways where its natural lights might fail to guide it +safely he dismissed resolutely all suppositions, surmises, and theories +out of his mind. He had the woman there, absolutely flinging herself at +him, and that was the principal consideration. But after what he had +heard nothing could astonish him any more. And when Mrs Verloc, as if +startled suddenly out of a dream of safety, began to urge upon him wildly +the necessity of an immediate flight on the Continent, he did not exclaim +in the least. He simply said with unaffected regret that there was no +train till the morning, and stood looking thoughtfully at her face, +veiled in black net, in the light of a gas lamp veiled in a gauze of +mist. + +Near him, her black form merged in the night, like a figure half +chiselled out of a block of black stone. It was impossible to say what +she knew, how deep she was involved with policemen and Embassies. But if +she wanted to get away, it was not for him to object. He was anxious to +be off himself. He felt that the business, the shop so strangely +familiar to chief inspectors and members of foreign Embassies, was not +the place for him. That must be dropped. But there was the rest. These +savings. The money! + +"You must hide me till the morning somewhere," she said in a dismayed +voice. + +"Fact is, my dear, I can't take you where I live. I share the room with +a friend." + +He was somewhat dismayed himself. In the morning the blessed 'tecs will +be out in all the stations, no doubt. And if they once got hold of her, +for one reason or another she would be lost to him indeed. + +"But you must. Don't you care for me at all--at all? What are you +thinking of?" + +She said this violently, but she let her clasped hands fall in +discouragement. There was a silence, while the mist fell, and darkness +reigned undisturbed over Brett Place. Not a soul, not even the vagabond, +lawless, and amorous soul of a cat, came near the man and the woman +facing each other. + +"It would be possible perhaps to find a safe lodging somewhere," Ossipon +spoke at last. "But the truth is, my dear, I have not enough money to go +and try with--only a few pence. We revolutionists are not rich." + +He had fifteen shillings in his pocket. He added: + +"And there's the journey before us, too--first thing in the morning at +that." + +She did not move, made no sound, and Comrade Ossipon's heart sank a +little. Apparently she had no suggestion to offer. Suddenly she +clutched at her breast, as if she had felt a sharp pain there. + +"But I have," she gasped. "I have the money. I have enough money. Tom! +Let us go from here." + +"How much have you got?" he inquired, without stirring to her tug; for he +was a cautious man. + +"I have the money, I tell you. All the money." + +"What do you mean by it? All the money there was in the bank, or what?" +he asked incredulously, but ready not to be surprised at anything in the +way of luck. + +"Yes, yes!" she said nervously. "All there was. I've it all." + +"How on earth did you manage to get hold of it already?" he marvelled. + +"He gave it to me," she murmured, suddenly subdued and trembling. Comrade +Ossipon put down his rising surprise with a firm hand. + +"Why, then--we are saved," he uttered slowly. + +She leaned forward, and sank against his breast. He welcomed her there. +She had all the money. Her hat was in the way of very marked effusion; +her veil too. He was adequate in his manifestations, but no more. She +received them without resistance and without abandonment, passively, as +if only half-sensible. She freed herself from his lax embraces without +difficulty. + +"You will save me, Tom," she broke out, recoiling, but still keeping her +hold on him by the two lapels of his damp coat. "Save me. Hide me. +Don't let them have me. You must kill me first. I couldn't do it +myself--I couldn't, I couldn't--not even for what I am afraid of." + +She was confoundedly bizarre, he thought. She was beginning to inspire +him with an indefinite uneasiness. He said surlily, for he was busy with +important thoughts: + +"What the devil _are_ you afraid of?" + +"Haven't you guessed what I was driven to do!" cried the woman. +Distracted by the vividness of her dreadful apprehensions, her head +ringing with forceful words, that kept the horror of her position before +her mind, she had imagined her incoherence to be clearness itself. She +had no conscience of how little she had audibly said in the disjointed +phrases completed only in her thought. She had felt the relief of a full +confession, and she gave a special meaning to every sentence spoken by +Comrade Ossipon, whose knowledge did not in the least resemble her own. +"Haven't you guessed what I was driven to do!" Her voice fell. "You +needn't be long in guessing then what I am afraid of," she continued, in +a bitter and sombre murmur. "I won't have it. I won't. I won't. I +won't. You must promise to kill me first!" She shook the lapels of his +coat. "It must never be!" + +He assured her curtly that no promises on his part were necessary, but he +took good care not to contradict her in set terms, because he had had +much to do with excited women, and he was inclined in general to let his +experience guide his conduct in preference to applying his sagacity to +each special case. His sagacity in this case was busy in other +directions. Women's words fell into water, but the shortcomings of time- +tables remained. The insular nature of Great Britain obtruded itself +upon his notice in an odious form. "Might just as well be put under lock +and key every night," he thought irritably, as nonplussed as though he +had a wall to scale with the woman on his back. Suddenly he slapped his +forehead. He had by dint of cudgelling his brains just thought of the +Southampton--St Malo service. The boat left about midnight. There was a +train at 10.30. He became cheery and ready to act. + +"From Waterloo. Plenty of time. We are all right after all. . . . +What's the matter now? This isn't the way," he protested. + +Mrs Verloc, having hooked her arm into his, was trying to drag him into +Brett Street again. + +"I've forgotten to shut the shop door as I went out," she whispered, +terribly agitated. + +The shop and all that was in it had ceased to interest Comrade Ossipon. +He knew how to limit his desires. He was on the point of saying "What of +that? Let it be," but he refrained. He disliked argument about trifles. +He even mended his pace considerably on the thought that she might have +left the money in the drawer. But his willingness lagged behind her +feverish impatience. + +The shop seemed to be quite dark at first. The door stood ajar. Mrs +Verloc, leaning against the front, gasped out: + +"Nobody has been in. Look! The light--the light in the parlour." + +Ossipon, stretching his head forward, saw a faint gleam in the darkness +of the shop. + +"There is," he said. + +"I forgot it." Mrs Verloc's voice came from behind her veil faintly. And +as he stood waiting for her to enter first, she said louder: "Go in and +put it out--or I'll go mad." + +He made no immediate objection to this proposal, so strangely motived. +"Where's all that money?" he asked. + +"On me! Go, Tom. Quick! Put it out. . . . Go in!" she cried, seizing +him by both shoulders from behind. + +Not prepared for a display of physical force, Comrade Ossipon stumbled +far into the shop before her push. He was astonished at the strength of +the woman and scandalised by her proceedings. But he did not retrace his +steps in order to remonstrate with her severely in the street. He was +beginning to be disagreeably impressed by her fantastic behaviour. +Moreover, this or never was the time to humour the woman. Comrade +Ossipon avoided easily the end of the counter, and approached calmly the +glazed door of the parlour. The curtain over the panes being drawn back +a little he, by a very natural impulse, looked in, just as he made ready +to turn the handle. He looked in without a thought, without intention, +without curiosity of any sort. He looked in because he could not help +looking in. He looked in, and discovered Mr Verloc reposing quietly on +the sofa. + +A yell coming from the innermost depths of his chest died out unheard and +transformed into a sort of greasy, sickly taste on his lips. At the same +time the mental personality of Comrade Ossipon executed a frantic leap +backward. But his body, left thus without intellectual guidance, held on +to the door handle with the unthinking force of an instinct. The robust +anarchist did not even totter. And he stared, his face close to the +glass, his eyes protruding out of his head. He would have given anything +to get away, but his returning reason informed him that it would not do +to let go the door handle. What was it--madness, a nightmare, or a trap +into which he had been decoyed with fiendish artfulness? Why--what for? +He did not know. Without any sense of guilt in his breast, in the full +peace of his conscience as far as these people were concerned, the idea +that he would be murdered for mysterious reasons by the couple Verloc +passed not so much across his mind as across the pit of his stomach, and +went out, leaving behind a trail of sickly faintness--an indisposition. +Comrade Ossipon did not feel very well in a very special way for a +moment--a long moment. And he stared. Mr Verloc lay very still +meanwhile, simulating sleep for reasons of his own, while that savage +woman of his was guarding the door--invisible and silent in the dark and +deserted street. Was all this a some sort of terrifying arrangement +invented by the police for his especial benefit? His modesty shrank from +that explanation. + +But the true sense of the scene he was beholding came to Ossipon through +the contemplation of the hat. It seemed an extraordinary thing, an +ominous object, a sign. Black, and rim upward, it lay on the floor +before the couch as if prepared to receive the contributions of pence +from people who would come presently to behold Mr Verloc in the fullness +of his domestic ease reposing on a sofa. From the hat the eyes of the +robust anarchist wandered to the displaced table, gazed at the broken +dish for a time, received a kind of optical shock from observing a white +gleam under the imperfectly closed eyelids of the man on the couch. Mr +Verloc did not seem so much asleep now as lying down with a bent head and +looking insistently at his left breast. And when Comrade Ossipon had +made out the handle of the knife he turned away from the glazed door, and +retched violently. + +The crash of the street door flung to made his very soul leap in a panic. +This house with its harmless tenant could still be made a trap of--a trap +of a terrible kind. Comrade Ossipon had no settled conception now of +what was happening to him. Catching his thigh against the end of the +counter, he spun round, staggered with a cry of pain, felt in the +distracting clatter of the bell his arms pinned to his side by a +convulsive hug, while the cold lips of a woman moved creepily on his very +ear to form the words: + +"Policeman! He has seen me!" + +He ceased to struggle; she never let him go. Her hands had locked +themselves with an inseparable twist of fingers on his robust back. While +the footsteps approached, they breathed quickly, breast to breast, with +hard, laboured breaths, as if theirs had been the attitude of a deadly +struggle, while, in fact, it was the attitude of deadly fear. And the +time was long. + +The constable on the beat had in truth seen something of Mrs Verloc; only +coming from the lighted thoroughfare at the other end of Brett Street, +she had been no more to him than a flutter in the darkness. And he was +not even quite sure that there had been a flutter. He had no reason to +hurry up. On coming abreast of the shop he observed that it had been +closed early. There was nothing very unusual in that. The men on duty +had special instructions about that shop: what went on about there was +not to be meddled with unless absolutely disorderly, but any observations +made were to be reported. There were no observations to make; but from a +sense of duty and for the peace of his conscience, owing also to that +doubtful flutter of the darkness, the constable crossed the road, and +tried the door. The spring latch, whose key was reposing for ever off +duty in the late Mr Verloc's waistcoat pocket, held as well as usual. +While the conscientious officer was shaking the handle, Ossipon felt the +cold lips of the woman stirring again creepily against his very ear: + +"If he comes in kill me--kill me, Tom." + +The constable moved away, flashing as he passed the light of his dark +lantern, merely for form's sake, at the shop window. For a moment longer +the man and the woman inside stood motionless, panting, breast to breast; +then her fingers came unlocked, her arms fell by her side slowly. Ossipon +leaned against the counter. The robust anarchist wanted support badly. +This was awful. He was almost too disgusted for speech. Yet he managed +to utter a plaintive thought, showing at least that he realised his +position. + +"Only a couple of minutes later and you'd have made me blunder against +the fellow poking about here with his damned dark lantern." + +The widow of Mr Verloc, motionless in the middle of the shop, said +insistently: + +"Go in and put that light out, Tom. It will drive me crazy." + +She saw vaguely his vehement gesture of refusal. Nothing in the world +would have induced Ossipon to go into the parlour. He was not +superstitious, but there was too much blood on the floor; a beastly pool +of it all round the hat. He judged he had been already far too near that +corpse for his peace of mind--for the safety of his neck, perhaps! + +"At the meter then! There. Look. In that corner." + +The robust form of Comrade Ossipon, striding brusque and shadowy across +the shop, squatted in a corner obediently; but this obedience was without +grace. He fumbled nervously--and suddenly in the sound of a muttered +curse the light behind the glazed door flicked out to a gasping, +hysterical sigh of a woman. Night, the inevitable reward of men's +faithful labours on this earth, night had fallen on Mr Verloc, the tried +revolutionist--"one of the old lot"--the humble guardian of society; the +invaluable Secret Agent [delta] of Baron Stott-Wartenheim's despatches; a +servant of law and order, faithful, trusted, accurate, admirable, with +perhaps one single amiable weakness: the idealistic belief in being loved +for himself. + +Ossipon groped his way back through the stuffy atmosphere, as black as +ink now, to the counter. The voice of Mrs Verloc, standing in the middle +of the shop, vibrated after him in that blackness with a desperate +protest. + +"I will not be hanged, Tom. I will not--" + +She broke off. Ossipon from the counter issued a warning: "Don't shout +like this," then seemed to reflect profoundly. "You did this thing quite +by yourself?" he inquired in a hollow voice, but with an appearance of +masterful calmness which filled Mrs Verloc's heart with grateful +confidence in his protecting strength. + +"Yes," she whispered, invisible. + +"I wouldn't have believed it possible," he muttered. "Nobody would." She +heard him move about and the snapping of a lock in the parlour door. +Comrade Ossipon had turned the key on Mr Verloc's repose; and this he did +not from reverence for its eternal nature or any other obscurely +sentimental consideration, but for the precise reason that he was not at +all sure that there was not someone else hiding somewhere in the house. +He did not believe the woman, or rather he was incapable by now of +judging what could be true, possible, or even probable in this astounding +universe. He was terrified out of all capacity for belief or disbelief +in regard of this extraordinary affair, which began with police +inspectors and Embassies and would end goodness knows where--on the +scaffold for someone. He was terrified at the thought that he could not +prove the use he made of his time ever since seven o'clock, for he had +been skulking about Brett Street. He was terrified at this savage woman +who had brought him in there, and would probably saddle him with +complicity, at least if he were not careful. He was terrified at the +rapidity with which he had been involved in such dangers--decoyed into +it. It was some twenty minutes since he had met her--not more. + +The voice of Mrs Verloc rose subdued, pleading piteously: "Don't let them +hang me, Tom! Take me out of the country. I'll work for you. I'll +slave for you. I'll love you. I've no one in the world. . . . Who +would look at me if you don't!" She ceased for a moment; then in the +depths of the loneliness made round her by an insignificant thread of +blood trickling off the handle of a knife, she found a dreadful +inspiration to her--who had been the respectable girl of the Belgravian +mansion, the loyal, respectable wife of Mr Verloc. "I won't ask you to +marry me," she breathed out in shame-faced accents. + +She moved a step forward in the darkness. He was terrified at her. He +would not have been surprised if she had suddenly produced another knife +destined for his breast. He certainly would have made no resistance. He +had really not enough fortitude in him just then to tell her to keep +back. But he inquired in a cavernous, strange tone: "Was he asleep?" + +"No," she cried, and went on rapidly. "He wasn't. Not he. He had been +telling me that nothing could touch him. After taking the boy away from +under my very eyes to kill him--the loving, innocent, harmless lad. My +own, I tell you. He was lying on the couch quite easy--after killing the +boy--my boy. I would have gone on the streets to get out of his sight. +And he says to me like this: 'Come here,' after telling me I had helped +to kill the boy. You hear, Tom? He says like this: 'Come here,' after +taking my very heart out of me along with the boy to smash in the dirt." + +She ceased, then dreamily repeated twice: "Blood and dirt. Blood and +dirt." A great light broke upon Comrade Ossipon. It was that +half-witted lad then who had perished in the park. And the fooling of +everybody all round appeared more complete than ever--colossal. He +exclaimed scientifically, in the extremity of his astonishment: "The +degenerate--by heavens!" + +"Come here." The voice of Mrs Verloc rose again. "What did he think I +was made of? Tell me, Tom. Come here! Me! Like this! I had been +looking at the knife, and I thought I would come then if he wanted me so +much. Oh yes! I came--for the last time. . . . With the knife." + +He was excessively terrified at her--the sister of the degenerate--a +degenerate herself of a murdering type . . . or else of the lying type. +Comrade Ossipon might have been said to be terrified scientifically in +addition to all other kinds of fear. It was an immeasurable and +composite funk, which from its very excess gave him in the dark a false +appearance of calm and thoughtful deliberation. For he moved and spoke +with difficulty, being as if half frozen in his will and mind--and no one +could see his ghastly face. He felt half dead. + +He leaped a foot high. Unexpectedly Mrs Verloc had desecrated the +unbroken reserved decency of her home by a shrill and terrible shriek. + +"Help, Tom! Save me. I won't be hanged!" + +He rushed forward, groping for her mouth with a silencing hand, and the +shriek died out. But in his rush he had knocked her over. He felt her +now clinging round his legs, and his terror reached its culminating +point, became a sort of intoxication, entertained delusions, acquired the +characteristics of delirium tremens. He positively saw snakes now. He +saw the woman twined round him like a snake, not to be shaken off. She +was not deadly. She was death itself--the companion of life. + +Mrs Verloc, as if relieved by the outburst, was very far from behaving +noisily now. She was pitiful. + +"Tom, you can't throw me off now," she murmured from the floor. "Not +unless you crush my head under your heel. I won't leave you." + +"Get up," said Ossipon. + +His face was so pale as to be quite visible in the profound black +darkness of the shop; while Mrs Verloc, veiled, had no face, almost no +discernible form. The trembling of something small and white, a flower +in her hat, marked her place, her movements. + +It rose in the blackness. She had got up from the floor, and Ossipon +regretted not having, run out at once into the street. But he perceived +easily that it would not do. It would not do. She would run after him. +She would pursue him shrieking till she sent every policeman within +hearing in chase. And then goodness only knew what she would say of him. +He was so frightened that for a moment the insane notion of strangling +her in the dark passed through his mind. And he became more frightened +than ever! She had him! He saw himself living in abject terror in some +obscure hamlet in Spain or Italy; till some fine morning they found him +dead too, with a knife in his breast--like Mr Verloc. He sighed deeply. +He dared not move. And Mrs Verloc waited in silence the good pleasure of +her saviour, deriving comfort from his reflective silence. + +Suddenly he spoke up in an almost natural voice. His reflections had +come to an end. + +"Let's get out, or we will lose the train." + +"Where are we going to, Tom?" she asked timidly. Mrs Verloc was no +longer a free woman. + +"Let's get to Paris first, the best way we can. . . . Go out first, and +see if the way's clear." + +She obeyed. Her voice came subdued through the cautiously opened door. + +"It's all right." + +Ossipon came out. Notwithstanding his endeavours to be gentle, the +cracked bell clattered behind the closed door in the empty shop, as if +trying in vain to warn the reposing Mr Verloc of the final departure of +his wife--accompanied by his friend. + +In the hansom, they presently picked up, the robust anarchist became +explanatory. He was still awfully pale, with eyes that seemed to have +sunk a whole half-inch into his tense face. But he seemed to have +thought of everything with extraordinary method. + +"When we arrive," he discoursed in a queer, monotonous tone, "you must go +into the station ahead of me, as if we did not know each other. I will +take the tickets, and slip in yours into your hand as I pass you. Then +you will go into the first-class ladies' waiting-room, and sit there till +ten minutes before the train starts. Then you come out. I will be +outside. You go in first on the platform, as if you did not know me. +There may be eyes watching there that know what's what. Alone you are +only a woman going off by train. I am known. With me, you may be +guessed at as Mrs Verloc running away. Do you understand, my dear?" he +added, with an effort. + +"Yes," said Mrs Verloc, sitting there against him in the hansom all rigid +with the dread of the gallows and the fear of death. "Yes, Tom." And +she added to herself, like an awful refrain: "The drop given was fourteen +feet." + +Ossipon, not looking at her, and with a face like a fresh plaster cast of +himself after a wasting illness, said: "By-the-by, I ought to have the +money for the tickets now." + +Mrs Verloc, undoing some hooks of her bodice, while she went on staring +ahead beyond the splashboard, handed over to him the new pigskin pocket- +book. He received it without a word, and seemed to plunge it deep +somewhere into his very breast. Then he slapped his coat on the outside. + +All this was done without the exchange of a single glance; they were like +two people looking out for the first sight of a desired goal. It was not +till the hansom swung round a corner and towards the bridge that Ossipon +opened his lips again. + +"Do you know how much money there is in that thing?" he asked, as if +addressing slowly some hobgoblin sitting between the ears of the horse. + +"No," said Mrs Verloc. "He gave it to me. I didn't count. I thought +nothing of it at the time. Afterwards--" + +She moved her right hand a little. It was so expressive that little +movement of that right hand which had struck the deadly blow into a man's +heart less than an hour before that Ossipon could not repress a shudder. +He exaggerated it then purposely, and muttered: + +"I am cold. I got chilled through." + +Mrs Verloc looked straight ahead at the perspective of her escape. Now +and then, like a sable streamer blown across a road, the words "The drop +given was fourteen feet" got in the way of her tense stare. Through her +black veil the whites of her big eyes gleamed lustrously like the eyes of +a masked woman. + +Ossipon's rigidity had something business-like, a queer official +expression. He was heard again all of a sudden, as though he had +released a catch in order to speak. + +"Look here! Do you know whether your--whether he kept his account at the +bank in his own name or in some other name." + +Mrs Verloc turned upon him her masked face and the big white gleam of her +eyes. + +"Other name?" she said thoughtfully. + +"Be exact in what you say," Ossipon lectured in the swift motion of the +hansom. "It's extremely important. I will explain to you. The bank has +the numbers of these notes. If they were paid to him in his own name, +then when his--his death becomes known, the notes may serve to track us +since we have no other money. You have no other money on you?" + +She shook her head negatively. + +"None whatever?" he insisted. + +"A few coppers." + +"It would be dangerous in that case. The money would have then to be +dealt specially with. Very specially. We'd have perhaps to lose more +than half the amount in order to get these notes changed in a certain +safe place I know of in Paris. In the other case I mean if he had his +account and got paid out under some other name--say Smith, for +instance--the money is perfectly safe to use. You understand? The bank +has no means of knowing that Mr Verloc and, say, Smith are one and the +same person. Do you see how important it is that you should make no +mistake in answering me? Can you answer that query at all? Perhaps not. +Eh?" + +She said composedly: + +"I remember now! He didn't bank in his own name. He told me once that +it was on deposit in the name of Prozor." + +"You are sure?" + +"Certain." + +"You don't think the bank had any knowledge of his real name? Or anybody +in the bank or--" + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +"How can I know? Is it likely, Tom? + +"No. I suppose it's not likely. It would have been more comfortable to +know. . . . Here we are. Get out first, and walk straight in. Move +smartly." + +He remained behind, and paid the cabman out of his own loose silver. The +programme traced by his minute foresight was carried out. When Mrs +Verloc, with her ticket for St Malo in her hand, entered the ladies' +waiting-room, Comrade Ossipon walked into the bar, and in seven minutes +absorbed three goes of hot brandy and water. + +"Trying to drive out a cold," he explained to the barmaid, with a +friendly nod and a grimacing smile. Then he came out, bringing out from +that festive interlude the face of a man who had drunk at the very +Fountain of Sorrow. He raised his eyes to the clock. It was time. He +waited. + +Punctual, Mrs Verloc came out, with her veil down, and all black--black +as commonplace death itself, crowned with a few cheap and pale flowers. +She passed close to a little group of men who were laughing, but whose +laughter could have been struck dead by a single word. Her walk was +indolent, but her back was straight, and Comrade Ossipon looked after it +in terror before making a start himself. + +The train was drawn up, with hardly anybody about its row of open doors. +Owing to the time of the year and to the abominable weather there were +hardly any passengers. Mrs Verloc walked slowly along the line of empty +compartments till Ossipon touched her elbow from behind. + +"In here." + +She got in, and he remained on the platform looking about. She bent +forward, and in a whisper: + +"What is it, Tom? Is there any danger? Wait a moment. There's the +guard." + +She saw him accost the man in uniform. They talked for a while. She +heard the guard say "Very well, sir," and saw him touch his cap. Then +Ossipon came back, saying: "I told him not to let anybody get into our +compartment." + +She was leaning forward on her seat. "You think of everything. . . . +You'll get me off, Tom?" she asked in a gust of anguish, lifting her veil +brusquely to look at her saviour. + +She had uncovered a face like adamant. And out of this face the eyes +looked on, big, dry, enlarged, lightless, burnt out like two black holes +in the white, shining globes. + +"There is no danger," he said, gazing into them with an earnestness +almost rapt, which to Mrs Verloc, flying from the gallows, seemed to be +full of force and tenderness. This devotion deeply moved her--and the +adamantine face lost the stern rigidity of its terror. Comrade Ossipon +gazed at it as no lover ever gazed at his mistress's face. Alexander +Ossipon, anarchist, nicknamed the Doctor, author of a medical (and +improper) pamphlet, late lecturer on the social aspects of hygiene to +working men's clubs, was free from the trammels of conventional +morality--but he submitted to the rule of science. He was scientific, +and he gazed scientifically at that woman, the sister of a degenerate, a +degenerate herself--of a murdering type. He gazed at her, and invoked +Lombroso, as an Italian peasant recommends himself to his favourite +saint. He gazed scientifically. He gazed at her cheeks, at her nose, at +her eyes, at her ears. . . . Bad! . . . Fatal! Mrs Verloc's pale lips +parting, slightly relaxed under his passionately attentive gaze, he gazed +also at her teeth. . . . Not a doubt remained . . . a murdering type. . . . +If Comrade Ossipon did not recommend his terrified soul to Lombroso, it +was only because on scientific grounds he could not believe that he +carried about him such a thing as a soul. But he had in him the +scientific spirit, which moved him to testify on the platform of a +railway station in nervous jerky phrases. + +"He was an extraordinary lad, that brother of yours. Most interesting to +study. A perfect type in a way. Perfect!" + +He spoke scientifically in his secret fear. And Mrs Verloc, hearing +these words of commendation vouchsafed to her beloved dead, swayed +forward with a flicker of light in her sombre eyes, like a ray of +sunshine heralding a tempest of rain. + +"He was that indeed," she whispered softly, with quivering lips. "You +took a lot of notice of him, Tom. I loved you for it." + +"It's almost incredible the resemblance there was between you two," +pursued Ossipon, giving a voice to his abiding dread, and trying to +conceal his nervous, sickening impatience for the train to start. "Yes; +he resembled you." + +These words were not especially touching or sympathetic. But the fact of +that resemblance insisted upon was enough in itself to act upon her +emotions powerfully. With a little faint cry, and throwing her arms out, +Mrs Verloc burst into tears at last. + +Ossipon entered the carriage, hastily closed the door and looked out to +see the time by the station clock. Eight minutes more. For the first +three of these Mrs Verloc wept violently and helplessly without pause or +interruption. Then she recovered somewhat, and sobbed gently in an +abundant fall of tears. She tried to talk to her saviour, to the man who +was the messenger of life. + +"Oh, Tom! How could I fear to die after he was taken away from me so +cruelly! How could I! How could I be such a coward!" + +She lamented aloud her love of life, that life without grace or charm, +and almost without decency, but of an exalted faithfulness of purpose, +even unto murder. And, as often happens in the lament of poor humanity, +rich in suffering but indigent in words, the truth--the very cry of +truth--was found in a worn and artificial shape picked up somewhere among +the phrases of sham sentiment. + +"How could I be so afraid of death! Tom, I tried. But I am afraid. I +tried to do away with myself. And I couldn't. Am I hard? I suppose the +cup of horrors was not full enough for such as me. Then when you came. . . ." + +She paused. Then in a gust of confidence and gratitude, "I will live all +my days for you, Tom!" she sobbed out. + +"Go over into the other corner of the carriage, away from the platform," +said Ossipon solicitously. She let her saviour settle her comfortably, +and he watched the coming on of another crisis of weeping, still more +violent than the first. He watched the symptoms with a sort of medical +air, as if counting seconds. He heard the guard's whistle at last. An +involuntary contraction of the upper lip bared his teeth with all the +aspect of savage resolution as he felt the train beginning to move. Mrs +Verloc heard and felt nothing, and Ossipon, her saviour, stood still. He +felt the train roll quicker, rumbling heavily to the sound of the woman's +loud sobs, and then crossing the carriage in two long strides he opened +the door deliberately, and leaped out. + +He had leaped out at the very end of the platform; and such was his +determination in sticking to his desperate plan that he managed by a sort +of miracle, performed almost in the air, to slam to the door of the +carriage. Only then did he find himself rolling head over heels like a +shot rabbit. He was bruised, shaken, pale as death, and out of breath +when he got up. But he was calm, and perfectly able to meet the excited +crowd of railway men who had gathered round him in a moment. He +explained, in gentle and convincing tones, that his wife had started at a +moment's notice for Brittany to her dying mother; that, of course, she +was greatly up-set, and he considerably concerned at her state; that he +was trying to cheer her up, and had absolutely failed to notice at first +that the train was moving out. To the general exclamation, "Why didn't +you go on to Southampton, then, sir?" he objected the inexperience of a +young sister-in-law left alone in the house with three small children, +and her alarm at his absence, the telegraph offices being closed. He had +acted on impulse. "But I don't think I'll ever try that again," he +concluded; smiled all round; distributed some small change, and marched +without a limp out of the station. + +Outside, Comrade Ossipon, flush of safe banknotes as never before in his +life, refused the offer of a cab. + +"I can walk," he said, with a little friendly laugh to the civil driver. + +He could walk. He walked. He crossed the bridge. Later on the towers +of the Abbey saw in their massive immobility the yellow bush of his hair +passing under the lamps. The lights of Victoria saw him too, and Sloane +Square, and the railings of the park. And Comrade Ossipon once more +found himself on a bridge. The river, a sinister marvel of still shadows +and flowing gleams mingling below in a black silence, arrested his +attention. He stood looking over the parapet for a long time. The clock +tower boomed a brazen blast above his drooping head. He looked up at the +dial. . . . Half-past twelve of a wild night in the Channel. + +And again Comrade Ossipon walked. His robust form was seen that night in +distant parts of the enormous town slumbering monstrously on a carpet of +mud under a veil of raw mist. It was seen crossing the streets without +life and sound, or diminishing in the interminable straight perspectives +of shadowy houses bordering empty roadways lined by strings of gas lamps. +He walked through Squares, Places, Ovals, Commons, through monotonous +streets with unknown names where the dust of humanity settles inert and +hopeless out of the stream of life. He walked. And suddenly turning +into a strip of a front garden with a mangy grass plot, he let himself +into a small grimy house with a latch-key he took out of his pocket. + +He threw himself down on his bed all dressed, and lay still for a whole +quarter of an hour. Then he sat up suddenly, drawing up his knees, and +clasping his legs. The first dawn found him open-eyed, in that same +posture. This man who could walk so long, so far, so aimlessly, without +showing a sign of fatigue, could also remain sitting still for hours +without stirring a limb or an eyelid. But when the late sun sent its +rays into the room he unclasped his hands, and fell back on the pillow. +His eyes stared at the ceiling. And suddenly they closed. Comrade +Ossipon slept in the sunlight. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +The enormous iron padlock on the doors of the wall cupboard was the only +object in the room on which the eye could rest without becoming afflicted +by the miserable unloveliness of forms and the poverty of material. +Unsaleable in the ordinary course of business on account of its noble +proportions, it had been ceded to the Professor for a few pence by a +marine dealer in the east of London. The room was large, clean, +respectable, and poor with that poverty suggesting the starvation of +every human need except mere bread. There was nothing on the walls but +the paper, an expanse of arsenical green, soiled with indelible smudges +here and there, and with stains resembling faded maps of uninhabited +continents. + +At a deal table near a window sat Comrade Ossipon, holding his head +between his fists. The Professor, dressed in his only suit of shoddy +tweeds, but flapping to and fro on the bare boards a pair of incredibly +dilapidated slippers, had thrust his hands deep into the overstrained +pockets of his jacket. He was relating to his robust guest a visit he +had lately been paying to the Apostle Michaelis. The Perfect Anarchist +had even been unbending a little. + +"The fellow didn't know anything of Verloc's death. Of course! He never +looks at the newspapers. They make him too sad, he says. But never +mind. I walked into his cottage. Not a soul anywhere. I had to shout +half-a-dozen times before he answered me. I thought he was fast asleep +yet, in bed. But not at all. He had been writing his book for four +hours already. He sat in that tiny cage in a litter of manuscript. There +was a half-eaten raw carrot on the table near him. His breakfast. He +lives on a diet of raw carrots and a little milk now." + +"How does he look on it?" asked Comrade Ossipon listlessly. + +"Angelic. . . . I picked up a handful of his pages from the floor. The +poverty of reasoning is astonishing. He has no logic. He can't think +consecutively. But that's nothing. He has divided his biography into +three parts, entitled--'Faith, Hope, Charity.' He is elaborating now the +idea of a world planned out like an immense and nice hospital, with +gardens and flowers, in which the strong are to devote themselves to the +nursing of the weak." + +The Professor paused. + +"Conceive you this folly, Ossipon? The weak! The source of all evil on +this earth!" he continued with his grim assurance. "I told him that I +dreamt of a world like shambles, where the weak would be taken in hand +for utter extermination." + +"Do you understand, Ossipon? The source of all evil! They are our +sinister masters--the weak, the flabby, the silly, the cowardly, the +faint of heart, and the slavish of mind. They have power. They are the +multitude. Theirs is the kingdom of the earth. Exterminate, +exterminate! That is the only way of progress. It is! Follow me, +Ossipon. First the great multitude of the weak must go, then the only +relatively strong. You see? First the blind, then the deaf and the +dumb, then the halt and the lame--and so on. Every taint, every vice, +every prejudice, every convention must meet its doom." + +"And what remains?" asked Ossipon in a stifled voice. + +"I remain--if I am strong enough," asserted the sallow little Professor, +whose large ears, thin like membranes, and standing far out from the +sides of his frail skull, took on suddenly a deep red tint. + +"Haven't I suffered enough from this oppression of the weak?" he +continued forcibly. Then tapping the breast-pocket of his jacket: "And +yet _I am_ the force," he went on. "But the time! The time! Give me +time! Ah! that multitude, too stupid to feel either pity or fear. +Sometimes I think they have everything on their side. Everything--even +death--my own weapon." + +"Come and drink some beer with me at the Silenus," said the robust +Ossipon after an interval of silence pervaded by the rapid flap, flap of +the slippers on the feet of the Perfect Anarchist. This last accepted. +He was jovial that day in his own peculiar way. He slapped Ossipon's +shoulder. + +"Beer! So be it! Let us drink and he merry, for we are strong, and to- +morrow we die." + +He busied himself with putting on his boots, and talked meanwhile in his +curt, resolute tones. + +"What's the matter with you, Ossipon? You look glum and seek even my +company. I hear that you are seen constantly in places where men utter +foolish things over glasses of liquor. Why? Have you abandoned your +collection of women? They are the weak who feed the strong--eh?" + +He stamped one foot, and picked up his other laced boot, heavy, thick- +soled, unblacked, mended many times. He smiled to himself grimly. + +"Tell me, Ossipon, terrible man, has ever one of your victims killed +herself for you--or are your triumphs so far incomplete--for blood alone +puts a seal on greatness? Blood. Death. Look at history." + +"You be damned," said Ossipon, without turning his head. + +"Why? Let that be the hope of the weak, whose theology has invented hell +for the strong. Ossipon, my feeling for you is amicable contempt. You +couldn't kill a fly." + +But rolling to the feast on the top of the omnibus the Professor lost his +high spirits. The contemplation of the multitudes thronging the +pavements extinguished his assurance under a load of doubt and uneasiness +which he could only shake off after a period of seclusion in the room +with the large cupboard closed by an enormous padlock. + +"And so," said over his shoulder Comrade Ossipon, who sat on the seat +behind. "And so Michaelis dreams of a world like a beautiful and cheery +hospital." + +"Just so. An immense charity for the healing of the weak," assented the +Professor sardonically. + +"That's silly," admitted Ossipon. "You can't heal weakness. But after +all Michaelis may not be so far wrong. In two hundred years doctors will +rule the world. Science reigns already. It reigns in the shade +maybe--but it reigns. And all science must culminate at last in the +science of healing--not the weak, but the strong. Mankind wants to +live--to live." + +"Mankind," asserted the Professor with a self-confident glitter of his +iron-rimmed spectacles, "does not know what it wants." + +"But you do," growled Ossipon. "Just now you've been crying for +time--time. Well. The doctors will serve you out your time--if you are +good. You profess yourself to be one of the strong--because you carry in +your pocket enough stuff to send yourself and, say, twenty other people +into eternity. But eternity is a damned hole. It's time that you need. +You--if you met a man who could give you for certain ten years of time, +you would call him your master." + +"My device is: No God! No Master," said the Professor sententiously as +he rose to get off the 'bus. + +Ossipon followed. "Wait till you are lying flat on your back at the end +of your time," he retorted, jumping off the footboard after the other. +"Your scurvy, shabby, mangy little bit of time," he continued across the +street, and hopping on to the curbstone. + +"Ossipon, I think that you are a humbug," the Professor said, opening +masterfully the doors of the renowned Silenus. And when they had +established themselves at a little table he developed further this +gracious thought. "You are not even a doctor. But you are funny. Your +notion of a humanity universally putting out the tongue and taking the +pill from pole to pole at the bidding of a few solemn jokers is worthy of +the prophet. Prophecy! What's the good of thinking of what will be!" He +raised his glass. "To the destruction of what is," he said calmly. + +He drank and relapsed into his peculiarly close manner of silence. The +thought of a mankind as numerous as the sands of the sea-shore, as +indestructible, as difficult to handle, oppressed him. The sound of +exploding bombs was lost in their immensity of passive grains without an +echo. For instance, this Verloc affair. Who thought of it now? + +Ossipon, as if suddenly compelled by some mysterious force, pulled a much- +folded newspaper out of is pocket. The Professor raised his head at the +rustle. + +"What's that paper? Anything in it?" he asked. + +Ossipon started like a scared somnambulist. + +"Nothing. Nothing whatever. The thing's ten days old. I forgot it in +my pocket, I suppose." + +But he did not throw the old thing away. Before returning it to his +pocket he stole a glance at the last lines of a paragraph. They ran +thus: "_An impenetrable mystery seems destined to hang for ever over this +act of madness or despair_." + +Such were the end words of an item of news headed: "Suicide of Lady +Passenger from a cross-Channel Boat." Comrade Ossipon was familiar with +the beauties of its journalistic style. "_An impenetrable mystery seems +destined to hang for ever_. . . " He knew every word by heart. "_An +impenetrable mystery_. . . . " + +And the robust anarchist, hanging his head on his breast, fell into a +long reverie. + +He was menaced by this thing in the very sources of his existence. He +could not issue forth to meet his various conquests, those that he +courted on benches in Kensington Gardens, and those he met near area +railings, without the dread of beginning to talk to them of an +impenetrable mystery destined. . . . He was becoming scientifically +afraid of insanity lying in wait for him amongst these lines. "_To hang +for ever over_." It was an obsession, a torture. He had lately failed +to keep several of these appointments, whose note used to be an unbounded +trustfulness in the language of sentiment and manly tenderness. The +confiding disposition of various classes of women satisfied the needs of +his self-love, and put some material means into his hand. He needed it +to live. It was there. But if he could no longer make use of it, he ran +the risk of starving his ideals and his body . . . "_This act of madness +or despair_." + +"An impenetrable mystery" was sure "to hang for ever" as far as all +mankind was concerned. But what of that if he alone of all men could +never get rid of the cursed knowledge? And Comrade Ossipon's knowledge +was as precise as the newspaper man could make it--up to the very +threshold of the "_mystery destined to hang for ever_. . . ." + +Comrade Ossipon was well informed. He knew what the gangway man of the +steamer had seen: "A lady in a black dress and a black veil, wandering at +midnight alongside, on the quay. 'Are you going by the boat, ma'am,' he +had asked her encouragingly. 'This way.' She seemed not to know what to +do. He helped her on board. She seemed weak." + +And he knew also what the stewardess had seen: A lady in black with a +white face standing in the middle of the empty ladies' cabin. The +stewardess induced her to lie down there. The lady seemed quite +unwilling to speak, and as if she were in some awful trouble. The next +the stewardess knew she was gone from the ladies' cabin. The stewardess +then went on deck to look for her, and Comrade Ossipon was informed that +the good woman found the unhappy lady lying down in one of the hooded +seats. Her eyes were open, but she would not answer anything that was +said to her. She seemed very ill. The stewardess fetched the chief +steward, and those two people stood by the side of the hooded seat +consulting over their extraordinary and tragic passenger. They talked in +audible whispers (for she seemed past hearing) of St Malo and the Consul +there, of communicating with her people in England. Then they went away +to arrange for her removal down below, for indeed by what they could see +of her face she seemed to them to be dying. But Comrade Ossipon knew +that behind that white mask of despair there was struggling against +terror and despair a vigour of vitality, a love of life that could resist +the furious anguish which drives to murder and the fear, the blind, mad +fear of the gallows. He knew. But the stewardess and the chief steward +knew nothing, except that when they came back for her in less than five +minutes the lady in black was no longer in the hooded seat. She was +nowhere. She was gone. It was then five o'clock in the morning, and it +was no accident either. An hour afterwards one of the steamer's hands +found a wedding ring left lying on the seat. It had stuck to the wood in +a bit of wet, and its glitter caught the man's eye. There was a date, +24th June 1879, engraved inside. "_An impenetrable mystery is destined +to hang for ever_. . . . " + +And Comrade Ossipon raised his bowed head, beloved of various humble +women of these isles, Apollo-like in the sunniness of its bush of hair. + +The Professor had grown restless meantime. He rose. + +"Stay," said Ossipon hurriedly. "Here, what do you know of madness and +despair?" + +The Professor passed the tip of his tongue on his dry, thin lips, and +said doctorally: + +"There are no such things. All passion is lost now. The world is +mediocre, limp, without force. And madness and despair are a force. And +force is a crime in the eyes of the fools, the weak and the silly who +rule the roost. You are mediocre. Verloc, whose affair the police has +managed to smother so nicely, was mediocre. And the police murdered him. +He was mediocre. Everybody is mediocre. Madness and despair! Give me +that for a lever, and I'll move the world. Ossipon, you have my cordial +scorn. You are incapable of conceiving even what the fat-fed citizen +would call a crime. You have no force." He paused, smiling sardonically +under the fierce glitter of his thick glasses. + +"And let me tell you that this little legacy they say you've come into +has not improved your intelligence. You sit at your beer like a dummy. +Good-bye." + +"Will you have it?" said Ossipon, looking up with an idiotic grin. + +"Have what?" + +"The legacy. All of it." + +The incorruptible Professor only smiled. His clothes were all but +falling off him, his boots, shapeless with repairs, heavy like lead, let +water in at every step. He said: + +"I will send you by-and-by a small bill for certain chemicals which I +shall order to-morrow. I need them badly. Understood--eh?" + +Ossipon lowered his head slowly. He was alone. "_An impenetrable +mystery_. . . . " It seemed to him that suspended in the air before him +he saw his own brain pulsating to the rhythm of an impenetrable mystery. +It was diseased clearly. . . . "_This act of madness or despair_." + +The mechanical piano near the door played through a valse cheekily, then +fell silent all at once, as if gone grumpy. + +Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, went out of the Silenus beer-hall. +At the door he hesitated, blinking at a not too splendid sunlight--and +the paper with the report of the suicide of a lady was in his pocket. His +heart was beating against it. The suicide of a lady--_this act of +madness or despair_. + +He walked along the street without looking where he put his feet; and he +walked in a direction which would not bring him to the place of +appointment with another lady (an elderly nursery governess putting her +trust in an Apollo-like ambrosial head). He was walking away from it. He +could face no woman. It was ruin. He could neither think, work, sleep, +nor eat. But he was beginning to drink with pleasure, with anticipation, +with hope. It was ruin. His revolutionary career, sustained by the +sentiment and trustfulness of many women, was menaced by an impenetrable +mystery--the mystery of a human brain pulsating wrongfully to the rhythm +of journalistic phrases. " . . . _Will hang for ever over this act_. . . . +It was inclining towards the gutter . . . _of madness or despair_." + +"I am seriously ill," he muttered to himself with scientific insight. +Already his robust form, with an Embassy's secret-service money +(inherited from Mr Verloc) in his pockets, was marching in the gutter as +if in training for the task of an inevitable future. Already he bowed +his broad shoulders, his head of ambrosial locks, as if ready to receive +the leather yoke of the sandwich board. As on that night, more than a +week ago, Comrade Ossipon walked without looking where he put his feet, +feeling no fatigue, feeling nothing, seeing nothing, hearing not a sound. +"_An impenetrable mystery_. . . ." He walked disregarded. . . . "_This +act of madness or despair_." + +And the incorruptible Professor walked too, averting his eyes from the +odious multitude of mankind. He had no future. He disdained it. He was +a force. His thoughts caressed the images of ruin and destruction. He +walked frail, insignificant, shabby, miserable--and terrible in the +simplicity of his idea calling madness and despair to the regeneration of +the world. Nobody looked at him. He passed on unsuspected and deadly, +like a pest in the street full of men. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SECRET AGENT*** + + +******* This file should be named 974.txt or 974.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/9/7/974 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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It could be done, because there was +very little business at any time, and practically none at all +before the evening. Mr Verloc cared but little about his +ostensible business. And, moreover, his wife was in charge of his +brother-in-law. + +The shop was small, and so was the house. It was one of those +grimy brick houses which existed in large quantities before the era +of reconstruction dawned upon London. The shop was a square box of +a place, with the front glazed in small panes. In the daytime the +door remained closed; in the evening it stood discreetly but +suspiciously ajar. + +The window contained photographs of more or less undressed dancing +girls; nondescript packages in wrappers like patent medicines; +closed yellow paper envelopes, very flimsy, and marked two-and-six +in heavy black figures; a few numbers of ancient French comic +publications hung across a string as if to dry; a dingy blue china +bowl, a casket of black wood, bottles of marking ink, and rubber +stamps; a few books, with titles hinting at impropriety; a few +apparently old copies of obscure newspapers, badly printed, with +titles like THE TORCH, THE GONG - rousing titles. And the two gas +jets inside the panes were always turned low, either for economy's +sake or for the sake of the customers. + +These customers were either very young men, who hung about the +window for a time before slipping in suddenly; or men of a more +mature age, but looking generally as if they were not in funds. +Some of that last kind had the collars of their overcoats turned +right up to their moustaches, and traces of mud on the bottom of +their nether garments, which had the appearance of being much worn +and not very valuable. And the legs inside them did not, as a +general rule, seem of much account either. With their hands +plunged deep in the side pockets of their coats, they dodged in +sideways, one shoulder first, as if afraid to start the bell going. + +The bell, hung on the door by means of a curved ribbon of steel, +was difficult to circumvent. It was hopelessly cracked; but of an +evening, at the slightest provocation, it clattered behind the +customer with impudent virulence. + +It clattered; and at that signal, through the dusty glass door +behind the painted deal counter, Mr Verloc would issue hastily from +the parlour at the back. His eyes were naturally heavy; he had an +air of having wallowed, fully dressed, all day on an unmade bed. +Another man would have felt such an appearance a distinct +disadvantage. In a commercial transaction of the retail order much +depends on the seller's engaging and amiable aspect. But Mr Verloc +knew his business, and remained undisturbed by any sort of +aesthetic doubt about his appearance. With a firm, steady-eyed +impudence, which seemed to hold back the threat of some abominable +menace, he would proceed to sell over the counter some object +looking obviously and scandalously not worth the money which passed +in the transaction: a small cardboard box with apparently nothing +inside, for instance, or one of those carefully closed yellow +flimsy envelopes, or a soiled volume in paper covers with a +promising title. Now and then it happened that one of the faded, +yellow dancing girls would get sold to an amateur, as though she +had been alive and young. + +Sometimes it was Mrs Verloc who would appear at the call of the +cracked bell. Winnie Verloc was a young woman with a full bust, in +a tight bodice, and with broad hips. Her hair was very tidy. +Steady-eyed like her husband, she preserved an air of unfathomable +indifference behind the rampart of the counter. Then the customer +of comparatively tender years would get suddenly disconcerted at +having to deal with a woman, and with rage in his heart would +proffer a request for a bottle of marking ink, retail value +sixpence (price in Verloc's shop one-and-sixpence), which, once +outside, he would drop stealthily into the gutter. + +The evening visitors - the men with collars turned up and soft hats +rammed down - nodded familiarly to Mrs Verloc, and with a muttered +greeting, lifted up the flap at the end of the counter in order to +pass into the back parlour, which gave access to a passage and to a +steep flight of stairs. The door of the shop was the only means of +entrance to the house in which Mr Verloc carried on his business of +a seller of shady wares, exercised his vocation of a protector of +society, and cultivated his domestic virtues. These last were +pronounced. He was thoroughly domesticated. Neither his +spiritual, nor his mental, nor his physical needs were of the kind +to take him much abroad. He found at home the ease of his body and +the peace of his conscience, together with Mrs Verloc's wifely +attentions and Mrs Verloc's mother's deferential regard. + +Winnie's mother was a stout, wheezy woman, with a large brown face. +She wore a black wig under a white cap. Her swollen legs rendered +her inactive. She considered herself to be of French descent, +which might have been true; and after a good many years of married +life with a licensed victualler of the more common sort, she +provided for the years of widowhood by letting furnished apartments +for gentlemen near Vauxhall Bridge Road in a square once of some +splendour and still included in the district of Belgravia. This +topographical fact was of some advantage in advertising her rooms; +but the patrons of the worthy widow were not exactly of the +fashionable kind. Such as they were, her daughter Winnie helped to +look after them. Traces of the French descent which the widow +boasted of were apparent in Winnie too. They were apparent in the +extremely neat and artistic arrangement of her glossy dark hair. +Winnie had also other charms: her youth; her full, rounded form; +her clear complexion; the provocation of her unfathomable reserve, +which never went so far as to prevent conversation, carried on on +the lodgers' part with animation, and on hers with an equable +amiability. It must be that Mr Verloc was susceptible to these +fascinations. Mr Verloc was an intermittent patron. He came and +went without any very apparent reason. He generally arrived in +London (like the influenza) from the Continent, only he arrived +unheralded by the Press; and his visitations set in with great +severity. He breakfasted in bed, and remained wallowing there with +an air of quiet enjoyment till noon every day - and sometimes even +to a later hour. But when he went out he seemed to experience a +great difficulty in finding his way back to his temporary home in +the Belgravian square. He left it late, and returned to it early - +as early as three or four in the morning; and on waking up at ten +addressed Winnie, bringing in the breakfast tray, with jocular, +exhausted civility, in the hoarse, failing tones of a man who had +been talking vehemently for many hours together. His prominent, +heavy-lidded eyes rolled sideways amorously and languidly, the +bedclothes were pulled up to his chin, and his dark smooth +moustache covered his thick lips capable of much honeyed banter. + +In Winnie's mother's opinion Mr Verloc was a very nice gentleman. +From her life's experience gathered in various "business houses" +the good woman had taken into her retirement an ideal of +gentlemanliness as exhibited by the patrons of private-saloon bars. +Mr Verloc approached that ideal; he attained it, in fact. + +"Of course, we'll take over your furniture, mother," Winnie had +remarked. + +The lodging-house was to be given up. It seems it would not answer +to carry it on. It would have been too much trouble for Mr Verloc. +It would not have been convenient for his other business. What his +business was he did not say; but after his engagement to Winnie he +took the trouble to get up before noon, and descending the basement +stairs, make himself pleasant to Winnie's mother in the breakfast- +room downstairs where she had her motionless being. He stroked the +cat, poked the fire, had his lunch served to him there. He left +its slightly stuffy cosiness with evident reluctance, but, all the +same, remained out till the night was far advanced. He never +offered to take Winnie to theatres, as such a nice gentleman ought +to have done. His evenings were occupied. His work was in a way +political, he told Winnie once. She would have, he warned her, to +be very nice to his political friends. + +And with her straight, unfathomable glance she answered that she +would be so, of course. + +How much more he told her as to his occupation it was impossible +for Winnie's mother to discover. The married couple took her over +with the furniture. The mean aspect of the shop surprised her. +The change from the Belgravian square to the narrow street in Soho +affected her legs adversely. They became of an enormous size. On +the other hand, she experienced a complete relief from material +cares. Her son-in-law's heavy good nature inspired her with a +sense of absolute safety. Her daughter's future was obviously +assured, and even as to her son Stevie she need have no anxiety. +She had not been able to conceal from herself that he was a +terrible encumbrance, that poor Stevie. But in view of Winnie's +fondness for her delicate brother, and of Mr Verloc's kind and +generous disposition, she felt that the poor boy was pretty safe in +this rough world. And in her heart of hearts she was not perhaps +displeased that the Verlocs had no children. As that circumstance +seemed perfectly indifferent to Mr Verloc, and as Winnie found an +object of quasi-maternal affection in her brother, perhaps this was +just as well for poor Stevie. + +For he was difficult to dispose of, that boy. He was delicate and, +in a frail way, good-looking too, except for the vacant droop of +his lower lip. Under our excellent system of compulsory education +he had learned to read and write, notwithstanding the unfavourable +aspect of the lower lip. But as errand-boy he did not turn out a +great success. He forgot his messages; he was easily diverted from +the straight path of duty by the attractions of stray cats and +dogs, which he followed down narrow alleys into unsavoury courts; +by the comedies of the streets, which he contemplated open-mouthed, +to the detriment of his employer's interests; or by the dramas of +fallen horses, whose pathos and violence induced him sometimes to +shriek pierceingly in a crowd, which disliked to be disturbed by +sounds of distress in its quiet enjoyment of the national +spectacle. When led away by a grave and protecting policeman, it +would often become apparent that poor Stevie had forgotten his +address - at least for a time. A brusque question caused him to +stutter to the point of suffocation. When startled by anything +perplexing he used to squint horribly. However, he never had any +fits (which was encouraging); and before the natural outbursts of +impatience on the part of his father he could always, in his +childhood's days, run for protection behind the short skirts of his +sister Winnie. On the other hand, he might have been suspected of +hiding a fund of reckless naughtiness. When he had reached the age +of fourteen a friend of his late father, an agent for a foreign +preserved milk firm, having given him an opening as office-boy, he +was discovered one foggy afternoon, in his chief's absence, busy +letting off fireworks on the staircase. He touched off in quick +succession a set of fierce rockets, angry catherine wheels, loudly +exploding squibs - and the matter might have turned out very +serious. An awful panic spread through the whole building. Wild- +eyed, choking clerks stampeded through the passages full of smoke, +silk hats and elderly business men could be seen rolling +independently down the stairs. Stevie did not seem to derive any +personal gratification from what he had done. His motives for this +stroke of originality were difficult to discover. It was only +later on that Winnie obtained from him a misty and confused +confession. It seems that two other office-boys in the building +had worked upon his feelings by tales of injustice and oppression +till they had wrought his compassion to the pitch of that frenzy. +But his father's friend, of course, dismissed him summarily as +likely to ruin his business. After that altruistic exploit Stevie +was put to help wash the dishes in the basement kitchen, and to +black the boots of the gentlemen patronising the Belgravian +mansion. There was obviously no future in such work. The +gentlemen tipped him a shilling now and then. Mr Verloc showed +himself the most generous of lodgers. But altogether all that did +not amount to much either in the way of gain or prospects; so that +when Winnie announced her engagement to Mr Verloc her mother could +not help wondering, with a sigh and a glance towards the scullery, +what would become of poor Stephen now. + +It appeared that Mr Verloc was ready to take him over together with +his wife's mother and with the furniture, which was the whole +visible fortune of the family. Mr Verloc gathered everything as it +came to his broad, good-natured breast. The furniture was disposed +to the best advantage all over the house, but Mrs Verloc's mother +was confined to two back rooms on the first floor. The luckless +Stevie slept in one of them. By this time a growth of thin fluffy +hair had come to blur, like a golden mist, the sharp line of his +small lower jaw. He helped his sister with blind love and docility +in her household duties. Mr Verloc thought that some occupation +would be good for him. His spare time he occupied by drawing +circles with compass and pencil on a piece of paper. He applied +himself to that pastime with great industry, with his elbows spread +out and bowed low over the kitchen table. Through the open door of +the parlour at the back of the shop Winnie, his sister, glanced at +him from time to time with maternal vigilance. + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Such was the house, the household, and the business Mr Verloc left +behind him on his way westward at the hour of half-past ten in the +morning. It was unusually early for him; his whole person exhaled +the charm of almost dewy freshness; he wore his blue cloth overcoat +unbuttoned; his boots were shiny; his cheeks, freshly shaven, had a +sort of gloss; and even his heavy-lidded eyes, refreshed by a night +of peaceful slumber, sent out glances of comparative alertness. +Through the park railings these glances beheld men and women riding +in the Row, couples cantering past harmoniously, others advancing +sedately at a walk, loitering groups of three or four, solitary +horsemen looking unsociable, and solitary women followed at a long +distance by a groom with a cockade to his hat and a leather belt +over his tight-fitting coat. Carriages went bowling by, mostly +two-horse broughams, with here and there a victoria with the skin +of some wild beast inside and a woman's face and hat emerging above +the folded hood. And a peculiarly London sun - against which +nothing could be said except that it looked bloodshot - glorified +all this by its stare. It hung at a moderate elevation above Hyde +Park Corner with an air of punctual and benign vigilance. The very +pavement under Mr Verloc's feet had an old-gold tinge in that +diffused light, in which neither wall, nor tree, nor beast, nor man +cast a shadow. Mr Verloc was going westward through a town without +shadows in an atmosphere of powdered old gold. There were red, +coppery gleams on the roofs of houses, on the corners of walls, on +the panels of carriages, on the very coats of the horses, and on +the broad back of Mr Verloc's overcoat, where they produced a dull +effect of rustiness. But Mr Verloc was not in the least conscious +of having got rusty. He surveyed through the park railings the +evidences of the town's opulence and luxury with an approving eye. +All these people had to be protected. Protection is the first +necessity of opulence and luxury. They had to be protected; and +their horses, carriages, houses, servants had to be protected; and +the source of their wealth had to be protected in the heart of the +city and the heart of the country; the whole social order +favourable to their hygienic idleness had to be protected against +the shallow enviousness of unhygienic labour. It had to - and Mr +Verloc would have rubbed his hands with satisfaction had he not +been constitutionally averse from every superfluous exertion. His +idleness was not hygienic, but it suited him very well. He was in +a manner devoted to it with a sort of inert fanaticism, or perhaps +rather with a fanatical inertness. Born of industrious parents for +a life of toil, he had embraced indolence from an impulse as +profound as inexplicable and as imperious as the impulse which +directs a man's preference for one particular woman in a given +thousand. He was too lazy even for a mere demagogue, for a workman +orator, for a leader of labour. It was too much trouble. He +required a more perfect form of ease; or it might have been that he +was the victim of a philosophical unbelief in the effectiveness of +every human effort. Such a form of indolence requires, implies, a +certain amount of intelligence. Mr Verloc was not devoid of +intelligence - and at the notion of a menaced social order he would +perhaps have winked to himself if there had not been an effort to +make in that sign of scepticism. His big, prominent eyes were not +well adapted to winking. They were rather of the sort that closes +solemnly in slumber with majestic effect. + +Undemonstrative and burly in a fat-pig style, Mr Verloc, without +either rubbing his hands with satisfaction or winking sceptically +at his thoughts, proceeded on his way. He trod the pavement +heavily with his shiny boots, and his general get-up was that of a +well-to-do mechanic in business for himself. He might have been +anything from a picture-frame maker to a lock-smith; an employer of +labour in a small way. But there was also about him an +indescribable air which no mechanic could have acquired in the +practice of his handicraft however dishonestly exercised: the air +common to men who live on the vices, the follies, or the baser +fears of mankind; the air of moral nihilism common to keepers of +gambling hells and disorderly houses; to private detectives and +inquiry agents; to drink sellers and, I should say, to the sellers +of invigorating electric belts and to the inventors of patent +medicines. But of that last I am not sure, not having carried my +investigations so far into the depths. For all I know, the +expression of these last may be perfectly diabolic. I shouldn't be +surprised. What I want to affirm is that Mr Verloc's expression +was by no means diabolic. + +Before reaching Knightsbridge, Mr Verloc took a turn to the left +out of the busy main thoroughfare, uproarious with the traffic of +swaying omnibuses and trotting vans, in the almost silent, swift +flow of hansoms. Under his hat, worn with a slight backward tilt, +his hair had been carefully brushed into respectful sleekness; for +his business was with an Embassy. And Mr Verloc, steady like a +rock - a soft kind of rock - marched now along a street which could +with every propriety be described as private. In its breadth, +emptiness, and extent it had the majesty of inorganic nature, of +matter that never dies. The only reminder of mortality was a +doctor's brougham arrested in august solitude close to the +curbstone. The polished knockers of the doors gleamed as far as +the eye could reach, the clean windows shone with a dark opaque +lustre. And all was still. But a milk cart rattled noisily across +the distant perspective; a butcher boy, driving with the noble +recklessness of a charioteer at Olympic Games, dashed round the +corner sitting high above a pair of red wheels. A guilty-looking +cat issuing from under the stones ran for a while in front of Mr +Verloc, then dived into another basement; and a thick police +constable, looking a stranger to every emotion, as if he too were +part of inorganic nature, surging apparently out of a lamp-post, +took not the slightest notice of Mr Verloc. With a turn to the +left Mr Verloc pursued his way along a narrow street by the side of +a yellow wall which, for some inscrutable reason, had No. 1 Chesham +Square written on it in black letters. Chesham Square was at least +sixty yards away, and Mr Verloc, cosmopolitan enough not to be +deceived by London's topographical mysteries, held on steadily, +without a sign of surprise or indignation. At last, with business- +like persistency, he reached the Square, and made diagonally for +the number 10. This belonged to an imposing carriage gate in a +high, clean wall between two houses, of which one rationally enough +bore the number 9 and the other was numbered 37; but the fact that +this last belonged to Porthill Street, a street well known in the +neighbourhood, was proclaimed by an inscription placed above the +ground-floor windows by whatever highly efficient authority is +charged with the duty of keeping track of London's strayed houses. +Why powers are not asked of Parliament (a short act would do) for +compelling those edifices to return where they belong is one of the +mysteries of municipal administration. Mr Verloc did not trouble +his head about it, his mission in life being the protection of the +social mechanism, not its perfectionment or even its criticism. + +It was so early that the porter of the Embassy issued hurriedly out +of his lodge still struggling with the left sleeve of his livery +coat. His waistcoat was red, and he wore knee-breeches, but his +aspect was flustered. Mr Verloc, aware of the rush on his flank, +drove it off by simply holding out an envelope stamped with the +arms of the Embassy, and passed on. He produced the same talisman +also to the footman who opened the door, and stood back to let him +enter the hall. + +A clear fire burned in a tall fireplace, and an elderly man +standing with his back to it, in evening dress and with a chain +round his neck, glanced up from the newspaper he was holding spread +out in both hands before his calm and severe face. He didn't move; +but another lackey, in brown trousers and claw-hammer coat edged +with thin yellow cord, approaching Mr Verloc listened to the murmur +of his name, and turning round on his heel in silence, began to +walk, without looking back once. Mr Verloc, thus led along a +ground-floor passage to the left of the great carpeted staircase, +was suddenly motioned to enter a quite small room furnished with a +heavy writing-table and a few chairs. The servant shut the door, +and Mr Verloc remained alone. He did not take a seat. With his +hat and stick held in one hand he glanced about, passing his other +podgy hand over his uncovered sleek head. + +Another door opened noiselessly, and Mr Verloc immobilising his +glance in that direction saw at first only black clothes, the bald +top of a head, and a drooping dark grey whisker on each side of a +pair of wrinkled hands. The person who had entered was holding a +batch of papers before his eyes and walked up to the table with a +rather mincing step, turning the papers over the while. Privy +Councillor Wurmt, Chancelier d'Ambassade, was rather short-sighted. +This meritorious official laying the papers on the table, disclosed +a face of pasty complexion and of melancholy ugliness surrounded by +a lot of fine, long dark grey hairs, barred heavily by thick and +bushy eyebrows. He put on a black-framed pince-nez upon a blunt +and shapeless nose, and seemed struck by Mr Verloc's appearance. +Under the enormous eyebrows his weak eyes blinked pathetically +through the glasses. + +He made no sign of greeting; neither did Mr Verloc, who certainly +knew his place; but a subtle change about the general outlines of +his shoulders and back suggested a slight bending of Mr Verloc's +spine under the vast surface of his overcoat. The effect was of +unobtrusive deference. + +"I have here some of your reports," said the bureaucrat in an +unexpectedly soft and weary voice, and pressing the tip of his +forefinger on the papers with force. He paused; and Mr Verloc, who +had recognised his own handwriting very well, waited in an almost +breathless silence. "We are not very satisfied with the attitude +of the police here," the other continued, with every appearance of +mental fatigue. + +The shoulders of Mr Verloc, without actually moving, suggested a +shrug. And for the first time since he left his home that morning +his lips opened. + +"Every country has its police," he said philosophically. But as +the official of the Embassy went on blinking at him steadily he +felt constrained to add: "Allow me to observe that I have no means +of action upon the police here." + +"What is desired," said the man of papers, "is the occurrence of +something definite which should stimulate their vigilance. That is +within your province - is it not so?" + +Mr Verloc made no answer except by a sigh, which escaped him +involuntarily, for instantly he tried to give his face a cheerful +expression. The official blinked doubtfully, as if affected by the +dim light of the room. He repeated vaguely. + +"The vigilance of the police - and the severity of the magistrates. +The general leniency of the judicial procedure here, and the utter +absence of all repressive measures, are a scandal to Europe. What +is wished for just now is the accentuation of the unrest - of the +fermentation which undoubtedly exists - " + +"Undoubtedly, undoubtedly," broke in Mr Verloc in a deep +deferential bass of an oratorical quality, so utterly different +from the tone in which he had spoken before that his interlocutor +remained profoundly surprised. "It exists to a dangerous degree. +My reports for the last twelve months make it sufficiently clear." + +"Your reports for the last twelve months," State Councillor Wurmt +began in his gentle and dispassionate tone, "have been read by me. +I failed to discover why you wrote them at all." + +A sad silence reigned for a time. Mr Verloc seemed to have +swallowed his tongue, and the other gazed at the papers on the +table fixedly. At last he gave them a slight push. + +"The state of affairs you expose there is assumed to exist as the +first condition of your employment. What is required at present is +not writing, but the bringing to light of a distinct, significant +fact - I would almost say of an alarming fact." + +"I need not say that all my endeavours shall be directed to that +end," Mr Verloc said, with convinced modulations in his +conversational husky tone. But the sense of being blinked at +watchfully behind the blind glitter of these eye-glasses on the +other side of the table disconcerted him. He stopped short with a +gesture of absolute devotion. The useful, hard-working, if obscure +member of the Embassy had an air of being impressed by some newly- +born thought. + +"You are very corpulent," he said. + +This observation, really of a psychological nature, and advanced +with the modest hesitation of an officeman more familiar with ink +and paper than with the requirements of active life, stung Mr +Verloc in the manner of a rude personal remark. He stepped back a +pace. + +"Eh? What were you pleased to say?" he exclaimed, with husky +resentment. + +The Chancelier d'Ambassade entrusted with the conduct of this +interview seemed to find it too much for him. + +"I think," he said, "that you had better see Mr Vladimir. Yes, +decidedly I think you ought to see Mr Vladimir. Be good enough to +wait here," he added, and went out with mincing steps. + +At once Mr Verloc passed his hand over his hair. A slight +perspiration had broken out on his forehead. He let the air escape +from his pursed-up lips like a man blowing at a spoonful of hot +soup. But when the servant in brown appeared at the door silently, +Mr Verloc had not moved an inch from the place he had occupied +throughout the interview. He had remained motionless, as if +feeling himself surrounded by pitfalls. + +He walked along a passage lighted by a lonely gas-jet, then up a +flight of winding stairs, and through a glazed and cheerful +corridor on the first floor. The footman threw open a door, and +stood aside. The feet of Mr Verloc felt a thick carpet. The room +was large, with three windows; and a young man with a shaven, big +face, sitting in a roomy arm-chair before a vast mahogany writing- +table, said in French to the Chancelier d'Ambassade, who was going +out with, the papers in his hand: + +"You are quite right, mon cher. He's fat - the animal." + +Mr Vladimir, First Secretary, had a drawing-room reputation as an +agreeable and entertaining man. He was something of a favourite in +society. His wit consisted in discovering droll connections +between incongruous ideas; and when talking in that strain he sat +well forward of his seat, with his left hand raised, as if +exhibiting his funny demonstrations between the thumb and +forefinger, while his round and clean-shaven face wore an +expression of merry perplexity. + +But there was no trace of merriment or perplexity in the way he +looked at Mr Verloc. Lying far back in the deep arm-chair, with +squarely spread elbows, and throwing one leg over a thick knee, he +had with his smooth and rosy countenance the air of a +preternaturally thriving baby that will not stand nonsense from +anybody. + +"You understand French, I suppose?" he said. + +Mr Verloc stated huskily that he did. His whole vast bulk had a +forward inclination. He stood on the carpet in the middle of the +room, clutching his hat and stick in one hand; the other hung +lifelessly by his side. He muttered unobtrusively somewhere deep +down in his throat something about having done his military service +in the French artillery. At once, with contemptuous perversity, Mr +Vladimir changed the language, and began to speak idiomatic English +without the slightest trace of a foreign accent. + +"Ah! Yes. Of course. Let's see. How much did you get for +obtaining the design of the improved breech-block of their new +field-gun?" + +"Five years' rigorous confinement in a fortress," Mr Verloc +answered unexpectedly, but without any sign of feeling. + +"You got off easily," was Mr Vladimir's comment. "And, anyhow, it +served you right for letting yourself get caught. What made you go +in for that sort of thing - eh?" + +Mr Verloc's husky conversational voice was heard speaking of youth, +of a fatal infatuation for an unworthy - + +"Aha! Cherchez la femme," Mr Vladimir deigned to interrupt, +unbending, but without affability; there was, on the contrary, a +touch of grimness in his condescension. "How long have you been +employed by the Embassy here?" he asked. + +"Ever since the time of the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim," Mr Verloc +answered in subdued tones, and protruding his lips sadly, in sign +of sorrow for the deceased diplomat. The First Secretary observed +this play of physiognomy steadily. + +"Ah! ever since. Well! What have you got to say for yourself?" he +asked sharply. + +Mr Verloc answered with some surprise that he was not aware of +having anything special to say. He had been summoned by a letter - +And he plunged his hand busily into the side pocket of his +overcoat, but before the mocking, cynical watchfulness of Mr +Vladimir, concluded to leave it there. + +"Bah!" said that latter. "What do you mean by getting out of +condition like this? You haven't got even the physique of your +profession. You - a member of a starving proletariat - never! You +- a desperate socialist or anarchist - which is it?" + +"Anarchist," stated Mr Verloc in a deadened tone. + +"Bosh!" went on Mr Vladimir, without raising his voice. "You +startled old Wurmt himself. You wouldn't deceive an idiot. They +all are that by-the-by, but you seem to me simply impossible. So +you began your connection with us by stealing the French gun +designs. And you got yourself caught. That must have been very +disagreeable to our Government. You don't seem to be very smart." + +Mr Verloc tried to exculpate himself huskily. + +"As I've had occasion to observe before, a fatal infatuation for an +unworthy - " + +Mr Vladimir raised a large white, plump hand. "Ah, yes. The +unlucky attachment - of your youth. She got hold of the money, and +then sold you to the police - eh?" + +The doleful change in Mr Verloc's physiognomy, the momentary +drooping of his whole person, confessed that such was the +regrettable case. Mr Vladimir's hand clasped the ankle reposing on +his knee. The sock was of dark blue silk. + +"You see, that was not very clever of you. Perhaps you are too +susceptible." + +Mr Verloc intimated in a throaty, veiled murmur that he was no +longer young. + +"Oh! That's a failing which age does not cure," Mr Vladimir +remarked, with sinister familiarity. "But no! You are too fat for +that. You could not have come to look like this if you had been at +all susceptible. I'll tell you what I think is the matter: you are +a lazy fellow. How long have you been drawing pay from this +Embassy?" + +"Eleven years," was the answer, after a moment of sulky hesitation. +"I've been charged with several missions to London while His +Excellency Baron Stott-Wartenheim was still Ambassador in Paris. +Then by his Excellency's instructions I settled down in London. I +am English." + +"You are! Are you? Eh?" + +"A natural-born British subject," Mr Verloc said stolidly. "But my +father was French, and so - " + +"Never mind explaining," interrupted the other. "I daresay you +could have been legally a Marshal of France and a Member of +Parliament in England - and then, indeed, you would have been of +some use to our Embassy." + +This flight of fancy provoked something like a faint smile on Mr +Verloc's face. Mr Vladimir retained an imperturbable gravity. + +"But, as I've said, you are a lazy fellow; you don't use your +opportunities. In the time of Baron Stott-Wartenheim we had a lot +of soft-headed people running this Embassy. They caused fellows of +your sort to form a false conception of the nature of a secret +service fund. It is my business to correct this misapprehension by +telling you what the secret service is not. It is not a +philanthropic institution. I've had you called here on purpose to +tell you this." + +Mr Vladimir observed the forced expression of bewilderment on +Verloc's face, and smiled sarcastically. + +"I see that you understand me perfectly. I daresay you are +intelligent enough for your work. What we want now is activity - +activity." + +On repeating this last word Mr Vladimir laid a long white +forefinger on the edge of the desk. Every trace of huskiness +disappeared from Verloc's voice. The nape of his gross neck became +crimson above the velvet collar of his overcoat. His lips quivered +before they came widely open. + +"If you'll only be good enough to look up my record," he boomed out +in his great, clear oratorical bass, "you'll see I gave a warning +only three months ago, on the occasion of the Grand Duke Romuald's +visit to Paris, which was telegraphed from here to the French +police, and - " + +"Tut, tut!" broke out Mr Vladimir, with a frowning grimace. "The +French police had no use for your warning. Don't roar like this. +What the devil do you mean?" + +With a note of proud humility Mr Verloc apologised for forgetting +himself. His voice, - famous for years at open-air meetings and at +workmen's assemblies in large halls, had contributed, he said, to +his reputation of a good and trustworthy comrade. It was, +therefore, a part of his usefulness. It had inspired confidence in +his principles. "I was always put up to speak by the leaders at a +critical moment," Mr Verloc declared, with obvious satisfaction. +There was no uproar above which he could not make himself heard, he +added; and suddenly he made a demonstration. + +"Allow me," he said. With lowered forehead, without looking up, +swiftly and ponderously he crossed the room to one of the French +windows. As if giving way to an uncontrollable impulse, he opened +it a little. Mr Vladimir, jumping up amazed from the depths of the +arm-chair, looked over his shoulder; and below, across the +courtyard of the Embassy, well beyond the open gate, could be seen +the broad back of a policeman watching idly the gorgeous +perambulator of a wealthy baby being wheeled in state across the +Square. + +"Constable!" said Mr Verloc, with no more effort than if he were +whispering; and Mr Vladimir burst into a laugh on seeing the +policeman spin round as if prodded by a sharp instrument. Mr +Verloc shut the window quietly, and returned to the middle of the +room. + +"With a voice like that," he said, putting on the husky +conversational pedal, "I was naturally trusted. And I knew what to +say, too." + +Mr Vladimir, arranging his cravat, observed him in the glass over +the mantelpiece. + +"I daresay you have the social revolutionary jargon by heart well +enough," he said contemptuously. "Vox et. . . You haven't ever +studied Latin - have you?" + +"No," growled Mr Verloc. "You did not expect me to know it. I +belong to the million. Who knows Latin? Only a few hundred +imbeciles who aren't fit to take care of themselves." + +For some thirty seconds longer Mr Vladimir studied in the mirror +the fleshy profile, the gross bulk, of the man behind him. And at +the same time he had the advantage of seeing his own face, clean- +shaved and round, rosy about the gills, and with the thin sensitive +lips formed exactly for the utterance of those delicate witticisms +which had made him such a favourite in the very highest society. +Then he turned, and advanced into the room with such determination +that the very ends of his quaintly old-fashioned bow necktie seemed +to bristle with unspeakable menaces. The movement was so swift and +fierce that Mr Verloc, casting an oblique glance, quailed inwardly. + +"Aha! You dare be impudent," Mr Vladimir began, with an amazingly +guttural intonation not only utterly un-English, but absolutely un- +European, and startling even to Mr Verloc's experience of +cosmopolitan slums. "You dare! Well, I am going to speak plain +English to you. Voice won't do. We have no use for your voice. +We don't want a voice. We want facts - startling facts - damn +you," he added, with a sort of ferocious discretion, right into Mr +Verloc's face. + +"Don't you try to come over me with your Hyperborean manners," Mr +Verloc defended himself huskily, looking at the carpet. At this +his interlocutor, smiling mockingly above the bristling bow of his +necktie, switched the conversation into French. + +"You give yourself for an `agent provocateur.' The proper business +of an `agent provocateur' is to provoke. As far as I can judge +from your record kept here, you have done nothing to earn your +money for the last three years." + +"Nothing!" exclaimed Verloc, stirring not a limb, and not raising +his eyes, but with the note of sincere feeling in his tone. "I +have several times prevented what might have been - " + +"There is a proverb in this country which says prevention is better +than cure," interrupted Mr Vladimir, throwing himself into the arm- +chair. "It is stupid in a general way. There is no end to +prevention. But it is characteristic. They dislike finality in +this country. Don't you be too English. And in this particular +instance, don't be absurd. The evil is already here. We don't +want prevention - we want cure." + +He paused, turned to the desk, and turning over some papers lying +there, spoke in a changed business-like tone, without looking at Mr +Verloc. + +"You know, of course, of the International Conference assembled in +Milan?" + +Mr Verloc intimated hoarsely that he was in the habit of reading +the daily papers. To a further question his answer was that, of +course, he understood what he read. At this Mr Vladimir, smiling +faintly at the documents he was still scanning one after another, +murmured "As long as it is not written in Latin, I suppose." + +"Or Chinese," added Mr Verloc stolidly. + +"H'm. Some of your revolutionary friends' effusions are written in +a CHARABIA every bit as incomprehensible as Chinese - " Mr +Vladimir let fall disdainfully a grey sheet of printed matter. +"What are all these leaflets headed F. P., with a hammer, pen, and +torch crossed? What does it mean, this F. P.?" Mr Verloc +approached the imposing writing-table. + +"The Future of the Proletariat. It's a society," he explained, +standing ponderously by the side of the arm-chair, "not anarchist +in principle, but open to all shades of revolutionary opinion." + +"Are you in it?" + +"One of the Vice-Presidents," Mr Verloc breathed out heavily; and +the First Secretary of the Embassy raised his head to look at him. + +"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself," he said incisively. +"Isn't your society capable of anything else but printing this +prophetic bosh in blunt type on this filthy paper eh? Why don't +you do something? Look here. I've this matter in hand now, and I +tell you plainly that you will have to earn your money. The good +old Stott-Wartenheim times are over. No work, no pay." + +Mr Verloc felt a queer sensation of faintness in his stout legs. +He stepped back one pace, and blew his nose loudly. + +He was, in truth, startled and alarmed. The rusty London sunshine +struggling clear of the London mist shed a lukewarm brightness into +the First Secretary's private room; and in the silence Mr Verloc +heard against a window-pane the faint buzzing of a fly - his first +fly of the year - heralding better than any number of swallows the +approach of spring. The useless fussing of that tiny energetic +organism affected unpleasantly this big man threatened in his +indolence. + +In the pause Mr Vladimir formulated in his mind a series of +disparaging remarks concerning Mr Verloc's face and figure. The +fellow was unexpectedly vulgar, heavy, and impudently +unintelligent. He looked uncommonly like a master plumber come to +present his bill. The First Secretary of the Embassy, from his +occasional excursions into the field of American humour, had formed +a special notion of that class of mechanic as the embodiment of +fraudulent laziness and incompetency. + +This was then the famous and trusty secret agent, so secret that he +was never designated otherwise but by the symbol [delta] in the +late Baron Stott-Wartenheim's official, semi-official, and +confidential correspondence; the celebrated agent [delta], whose +warnings had the power to change the schemes and the dates of +royal, imperial, grand ducal journeys, and sometimes caused them to +be put off altogether! This fellow! And Mr Vladimir indulged +mentally in an enormous and derisive fit of merriment, partly at +his own astonishment, which he judged naive, but mostly at the +expense of the universally regretted Baron Stott-Wartenheim. His +late Excellency, whom the august favour of his Imperial master had +imposed as Ambassador upon several reluctant Ministers of Foreign +Affairs, had enjoyed in his lifetime a fame for an owlish, +pessimistic gullibility. His Excellency had the social revolution +on the brain. He imagined himself to be a diplomatist set apart by +a special dispensation to watch the end of diplomacy, and pretty +nearly the end of the world, in a horrid democratic upheaval. His +prophetic and doleful despatches had been for years the joke of +Foreign Offices. He was said to have exclaimed on his deathbed +(visited by his Imperial friend and master): "Unhappy Europe! Thou +shalt perish by the moral insanity of thy children!" He was fated +to be the victim of the first humbugging rascal that came along, +thought Mr Vladimir, smiling vaguely at Mr Verloc. + +"You ought to venerate the memory of Baron Stott-Wartenheim," he +exclaimed suddenly. + +The lowered physiognomy of Mr Verloc expressed a sombre and weary +annoyance. + +"Permit me to observe to you," he said, "that I came here because I +was summoned by a peremptory letter. I have been here only twice +before in the last eleven years, and certainly never at eleven in +the morning. It isn't very wise to call me up like this. There is +just a chance of being seen. And that would be no joke for me." + +Mr Vladimir shrugged his shoulders. + +"It would destroy my usefulness," continued the other hotly. + +"That's your affair," murmured Mr Vladimir, with soft brutality. +"When you cease to be useful you shall cease to be employed. Yes. +Right off. Cut short. You shall - " Mr Vladimir, frowning, +paused, at a loss for a sufficiently idiomatic expression, and +instantly brightened up, with a grin of beautifully white teeth. +"You shall be chucked," he brought out ferociously. + +Once more Mr Verloc had to react with all the force of his will +against that sensation of faintness running down one's legs which +once upon a time had inspired some poor devil with the felicitous +expression: "My heart went down into my boots." Mr Verloc, aware +of the sensation, raised his head bravely. + +Mr Vladimir bore the look of heavy inquiry with perfect serenity. + +"What we want is to administer a tonic to the Conference in Milan," +he said airily. "Its deliberations upon international action for +the suppression of political crime don't seem to get anywhere. +England lags. This country is absurd with its sentimental regard +for individual liberty. It's intolerable to think that all your +friends have got only to come over to - " + +"In that way I have them all under my eye," Mr Verloc interrupted +huskily. + +"It would be much more to the point to have them all under lock and +key. England must be brought into line. The imbecile bourgeoisie +of this country make themselves the accomplices of the very people +whose aim is to drive them out of their houses to starve in +ditches. And they have the political power still, if they only had +the sense to use it for their preservation. I suppose you agree +that the middle classes are stupid?" + +Mr Verloc agreed hoarsely. + +"They are." + +"They have no imagination. They are blinded by an idiotic vanity. +What they want just now is a jolly good scare. This is the +psychological moment to set your friends to work. I have had you +called here to develop to you my idea." + +And Mr Vladimir developed his idea from on high, with scorn and +condescension, displaying at the same time an amount of ignorance +as to the real aims, thoughts, and methods of the revolutionary +world which filled the silent Mr Verloc with inward consternation. +He confounded causes with effects more than was excusable; the most +distinguished propagandists with impulsive bomb throwers; assumed +organisation where in the nature of things it could not exist; +spoke of the social revolutionary party one moment as of a +perfectly disciplined army, where the word of chiefs was supreme, +and at another as if it had been the loosest association of +desperate brigands that ever camped in a mountain gorge. Once Mr +Verloc had opened his mouth for a protest, but the raising of a +shapely, large white hand arrested him. Very soon he became too +appalled to even try to protest. He listened in a stillness of +dread which resembled the immobility of profound attention. + +"A series of outrages," Mr Vladimir continued calmly, "executed +here in this country; not only PLANNED here - that would not do - +they would not mind. Your friends could set half the Continent on +fire without influencing the public opinion here in favour of a +universal repressive legislation. They will not look outside their +backyard here." + +Mr Verloc cleared his throat, but his heart failed him, and he said +nothing. + +"These outrages need not be especially sanguinary," Mr Vladimir +went on, as if delivering a scientific lecture, "but they must be +sufficiently startling - effective. Let them be directed against +buildings, for instance. What is the fetish of the hour that all +the bourgeoisie recognise - eh, Mr Verloc?" + +Mr Verloc opened his hands and shrugged his shoulders slightly. + +"You are too lazy to think," was Mr Vladimir's comment upon that +gesture. "Pay attention to what I say. The fetish of to-day is +neither royalty nor religion. Therefore the palace and the church +should be left alone. You understand what I mean, Mr Verloc?" + +The dismay and the scorn of Mr Verloc found vent in an attempt at +levity. + +"Perfectly. But what of the Embassies? A series of attacks on the +various Embassies," he began; but he could not withstand the cold, +watchful stare of the First Secretary. + +"You can be facetious, I see," the latter observed carelessly. +"That's all right. It may enliven your oratory at socialistic +congresses. But this room is no place for it. It would be +infinitely safer for you to follow carefully what I am saying. As +you are being called upon to furnish facts instead of cock-and-bull +stories, you had better try to make your profit off what I am +taking the trouble to explain to you. The sacrosanct fetish of to- +day is science. Why don't you get some of your friends to go for +that wooden-faced panjandrum - eh? Is it not part of these +institutions which must be swept away before the F. P. comes +along?" + +Mr Verloc said nothing. He was afraid to open his lips lest a +groan should escape him. + +"This is what you should try for. An attempt upon a crowned head +or on a president is sensational enough in a way, but not so much +as it used to be. It has entered into the general conception of +the existence of all chiefs of state. It's almost conventional - +especially since so many presidents have been assassinated. Now +let us take an outrage upon - say a church. Horrible enough at +first sight, no doubt, and yet not so effective as a person of an +ordinary mind might think. No matter how revolutionary and +anarchist in inception, there would be fools enough to give such an +outrage the character of a religious manifestation. And that would +detract from the especial alarming significance we wish to give to +the act. A murderous attempt on a restaurant or a theatre would +suffer in the same way from the suggestion of non-political +passion: the exasperation of a hungry man, an act of social +revenge. All this is used up; it is no longer instructive as an +object lesson in revolutionary anarchism. Every newspaper has +ready-made phrases to explain such manifestations away. I am about +to give you the philosophy of bomb throwing from my point of view; +from the point of view you pretend to have been serving for the +last eleven years. I will try not to talk above your head. The +sensibilities of the class you are attacking are soon blunted. +Property seems to them an indestructible thing. You can't count +upon their emotions either of pity or fear for very long. A bomb +outrage to have any influence on public opinion now must go beyond +the intention of vengeance or terrorism. It must be purely +destructive. It must be that, and only that, beyond the faintest +suspicion of any other object. You anarchists should make it clear +that you are perfectly determined to make a clean sweep of the +whole social creation. But how to get that appallingly absurd +notion into the heads of the middle classes so that there should be +no mistake? That's the question. By directing your blows at +something outside the ordinary passions of humanity is the answer. +Of course, there is art. A bomb in the National Gallery would make +some noise. But it would not be serious enough. Art has never +been their fetish. It's like breaking a few back windows in a +man's house; whereas, if you want to make him really sit up, you +must try at least to raise the roof. There would be some screaming +of course, but from whom? Artists - art critics and such like - +people of no account. Nobody minds what they say. But there is +learning - science. Any imbecile that has got an income believes +in that. He does not know why, but he believes it matters somehow. +It is the sacrosanct fetish. All the damned professors are +radicals at heart. Let them know that their great panjandrum has +got to go too, to make room for the Future of the Proletariat. A +howl from all these intellectual idiots is bound to help forward +the labours of the Milan Conference. They will be writing to the +papers. Their indignation would be above suspicion, no material +interests being openly at stake, and it will alarm every +selfishness of the class which should be impressed. They believe +that in some mysterious way science is at the source of their +material prosperity. They do. And the absurd ferocity of such a +demonstration will affect them more profoundly than the mangling of +a whole street - or theatre - full of their own kind. To that last +they can always say: `Oh! it's mere class hate.' But what is one +to say to an act of destructive ferocity so absurd as to be +incomprehensible, inexplicable, almost unthinkable; in fact, mad? +Madness alone is truly terrifying, inasmuch as you cannot placate +it either by threats, persuasion, or bribes. Moreover, I am a +civilised man. I would never dream of directing you to organise a +mere butchery, even if I expected the best results from it. But I +wouldn't expect from a butchery the result I want. Murder is +always with us. It is almost an institution. The demonstration +must be against learning - science. But not every science will +do. The attack must have all the shocking senselessness of +gratuitous blasphemy. Since bombs are your means of expression, it +would be really telling if one could throw a bomb into pure +mathematics. But that is impossible. I have been trying to +educate you; I have expounded to you the higher philosophy of your +usefulness, and suggested to you some serviceable arguments. The +practical application of my teaching interests YOU mostly. But +from the moment I have undertaken to interview you I have also +given some attention to the practical aspect of the question. What +do you think of having a go at astronomy?" + +For sometime already Mr Verloc's immobility by the side of the arm- +chair resembled a state of collapsed coma - a sort of passive +insensibility interrupted by slight convulsive starts, such as may +be observed in the domestic dog having a nightmare on the +hearthrug. And it was in an uneasy doglike growl that he repeated +the word: + +"Astronomy." + +He had not recovered thoroughly as yet from that state of +bewilderment brought about by the effort to follow Mr Vladimir's +rapid incisive utterance. It had overcome his power of +assimilation. It had made him angry. This anger was complicated +by incredulity. And suddenly it dawned upon him that all this was +an elaborate joke. Mr Vladimir exhibited his white teeth in a +smile, with dimples on his round, full face posed with a complacent +inclination above the bristling bow of his neck-tie. The favourite +of intelligent society women had assumed his drawing-room attitude +accompanying the delivery of delicate witticisms. Sitting well +forward, his white hand upraised, he seemed to hold delicately +between his thumb and forefinger the subtlety of his suggestion. + +"There could be nothing better. Such an outrage combines the +greatest possible regard for humanity with the most alarming +display of ferocious imbecility. I defy the ingenuity of +journalists to persuade their public that any given member of the +proletariat can have a personal grievance against astronomy. +Starvation itself could hardly be dragged in there - eh? And there +are other advantages. The whole civilised world has heard of +Greenwich. The very boot-blacks in the basement of Charing Cross +Station know something of it. See?" + +The features of Mr Vladimir, so well known in the best society by +their humorous urbanity, beamed with cynical self-satisfaction, +which would have astonished the intelligent women his wit +entertained so exquisitely. "Yes," he continued, with a +contemptuous smile, "the blowing up of the first meridian is bound +to raise a howl of execration." + +"A difficult business," Mr Verloc mumbled, feeling that this was +the only safe thing to say. + +"What is the matter? Haven't you the whole gang under your hand? +The very pick of the basket? That old terrorist Yundt is here. I +see him walking about Piccadilly in his green havelock almost every +day. And Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle - you don't mean +to say you don't know where he is? Because if you don't, I can +tell you," Mr Vladimir went on menacingly. "If you imagine that +you are the only one on the secret fund list, you are mistaken." + +This perfectly gratuitous suggestion caused Mr Verloc to shuffle +his feet slightly. + +"And the whole Lausanne lot - eh? Haven't they been flocking over +here at the first hint of the Milan Conference? This is an absurd +country." + +"It will cost money," Mr Verloc said, by a sort of instinct. + +"That cock won't fight," Mr Vladimir retorted, with an amazingly +genuine English accent. "You'll get your screw every month, and no +more till something happens. And if nothing happens very soon you +won't get even that. What's your ostensible occupation? What are +you supposed to live by?" + +"I keep a shop," answered Mr Verloc. + +"A shop! What sort of shop?" + +"Stationery, newspapers. My wife - " + +"Your what?" interrupted Mr Vladimir in his guttural Central Asian +tones. + +"My wife." Mr Verloc raised his husky voice slightly. "I am +married." + +"That be damned for a yarn," exclaimed the other in unfeigned +astonishment. "Married! And you a professed anarchist, too! What +is this confounded nonsense? But I suppose it's merely a manner of +speaking. Anarchists don't marry. It's well known. They can't. +It would be apostasy." + +"My wife isn't one," Mr Verloc mumbled sulkily. "Moreover, it's no +concern of yours." + +"Oh yes, it is," snapped Mr Vladimir. "I am beginning to be +convinced that you are not at all the man for the work you've been +employed on. Why, you must have discredited yourself completely in +your own world by your marriage. Couldn't you have managed +without? This is your virtuous attachment - eh? What with one +sort of attachment and another you are doing away with your +usefulness." + +Mr Verloc, puffing out his cheeks, let the air escape violently, +and that was all. He had armed himself with patience. It was not +to be tried much longer. The First Secretary became suddenly very +curt, detached, final. + +"You may go now," he said. "A dynamite outrage must be provoked. +I give you a month. The sittings of the Conference are suspended. +Before it reassembles again something must have happened here, or +your connection with us ceases." + +He changed the note once more with an unprincipled versatility. + +"Think over my philosophy, Mr - Mr - Verloc," he said, with a sort +of chaffing condescension, waving his hand towards the door. "Go +for the first meridian. You don't know the middle classes as well +as I do. Their sensibilities are jaded. The first meridian. +Nothing better, and nothing easier, I should think." + +He had got up, and with his thin sensitive lips twitching +humorously, watched in the glass over the mantelpiece Mr Verloc +backing out of the room heavily, hat and stick in hand. The door +closed. + +The footman in trousers, appearing suddenly in the corridor, let Mr +Verloc another way out and through a small door in the corner of +the courtyard. The porter standing at the gate ignored his exit +completely; and Mr Verloc retraced the path of his morning's +pilgrimage as if in a dream - an angry dream. This detachment from +the material world was so complete that, though the mortal envelope +of Mr Verloc had not hastened unduly along the streets, that part +of him to which it would be unwarrantably rude to refuse +immortality, found itself at the shop door all at once, as if borne +from west to east on the wings of a great wind. He walked straight +behind the counter, and sat down on a wooden chair that stood +there. No one appeared to disturb his solitude. Stevie, put into +a green baize apron, was now sweeping and dusting upstairs, intent +and conscientious, as though he were playing at it; and Mrs Verloc, +warned in the kitchen by the clatter of the cracked bell, had +merely come to the glazed door of the parlour, and putting the +curtain aside a little, had peered into the dim shop. Seeing her +husband sitting there shadowy and bulky, with his hat tilted far +back on his head, she had at once returned to her stove. An hour +or more later she took the green baize apron off her brother +Stevie, and instructed him to wash his hands and face in the +peremptory tone she had used in that connection for fifteen years +or so - ever since she had, in fact, ceased to attend to the boy's +hands and face herself. She spared presently a glance away from +her dishing-up for the inspection of that face and those hands +which Stevie, approaching the kitchen table, offered for her +approval with an air of self-assurance hiding a perpetual residue +of anxiety. Formerly the anger of the father was the supremely +effective sanction of these rites, but Mr Verloc's placidity in +domestic life would have made all mention of anger incredible even +to poor Stevie's nervousness. The theory was that Mr Verloc would +have been inexpressibly pained and shocked by any deficiency of +cleanliness at meal times. Winnie after the death of her father +found considerable consolation in the feeling that she need no +longer tremble for poor Stevie. She could not bear to see the boy +hurt. It maddened her. As a little girl she had often faced with +blazing eyes the irascible licensed victualler in defence of her +brother. Nothing now in Mrs Verloc's appearance could lead one to +suppose that she was capable of a passionate demonstration. + +She finished her dishing-up. The table was laid in the parlour. +Going to the foot of the stairs, she screamed out "Mother!" Then +opening the glazed door leading to the shop, she said quietly +"Adolf!" Mr Verloc had not changed his position; he had not +apparently stirred a limb for an hour and a half. He got up +heavily, and came to his dinner in his overcoat and with his hat +on, without uttering a word. His silence in itself had nothing +startlingly unusual in this household, hidden in the shades of the +sordid street seldom touched by the sun, behind the dim shop with +its wares of disreputable rubbish. Only that day Mr Verloc's +taciturnity was so obviously thoughtful that the two women were +impressed by it. They sat silent themselves, keeping a watchful +eye on poor Stevie, lest he should break out into one of his fits +of loquacity. He faced Mr Verloc across the table, and remained +very good and quiet, staring vacantly. The endeavour to keep him +from making himself objectionable in any way to the master of the +house put no inconsiderable anxiety into these two women's lives. +"That boy," as they alluded to him softly between themselves, had +been a source of that sort of anxiety almost from the very day of +his birth. The late licensed victualler's humiliation at having +such a very peculiar boy for a son manifested itself by a +propensity to brutal treatment; for he was a person of fine +sensibilities, and his sufferings as a man and a father were +perfectly genuine. Afterwards Stevie had to be kept from making +himself a nuisance to the single gentlemen lodgers, who are +themselves a queer lot, and are easily aggrieved. And there was +always the anxiety of his mere existence to face. Visions of a +workhouse infirmary for her child had haunted the old woman in the +basement breakfast-room of the decayed Belgravian house. "If you +had not found such a good husband, my dear," she used to say to her +daughter, "I don't know what would have become of that poor boy." + +Mr Verloc extended as much recognition to Stevie as a man not +particularly fond of animals may give to his wife's beloved cat; +and this recognition, benevolent and perfunctory, was essentially +of the same quality. Both women admitted to themselves that not +much more could be reasonably expected. It was enough to earn for +Mr Verloc the old woman's reverential gratitude. In the early +days, made sceptical by the trials of friendless life, she used +sometimes to ask anxiously: "You don't think, my dear, that Mr +Verloc is getting tired of seeing Stevie about?" To this Winnie +replied habitually by a slight toss of her head. Once, however, +she retorted, with a rather grim pertness: "He'll have to get tired +of me first." A long silence ensued. The mother, with her feet +propped up on a stool, seemed to be trying to get to the bottom of +that answer, whose feminine profundity had struck her all of a +heap. She had never really understood why Winnie had married Mr +Verloc. It was very sensible of her, and evidently had turned out +for the best, but her girl might have naturally hoped to find +somebody of a more suitable age. There had been a steady young +fellow, only son of a butcher in the next street, helping his +father in business, with whom Winnie had been walking out with +obvious gusto. He was dependent on his father, it is true; but the +business was good, and his prospects excellent. He took her girl +to the theatre on several evenings. Then just as she began to +dread to hear of their engagement (for what could she have done +with that big house alone, with Stevie on her hands), that romance +came to an abrupt end, and Winnie went about looking very dull. +But Mr Verloc, turning up providentially to occupy the first-floor +front bedroom, there had been no more question of the young +butcher. It was clearly providential. + + + +CHAPTER III + + + +" . . . All idealisation makes life poorer. To beautify it is to +take away its character of complexity - it is to destroy it. Leave +that to the moralists, my boy. History is made by men, but they do +not make it in their heads. The ideas that are born in their +consciousness play an insignificant part in the march of events. +History is dominated and determined by the tool and the production +- by the force of economic conditions. Capitalism has made +socialism, and the laws made by the capitalism for the protection +of property are responsible for anarchism. No one can tell what +form the social organisation may take in the future. Then why +indulge in prophetic phantasies? At best they can only interpret +the mind of the prophet, and can have no objective value. Leave +that pastime to the moralists, my boy." + +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, was speaking in an even +voice, a voice that wheezed as if deadened and oppressed by the +layer of fat on his chest. He had come out of a highly hygienic +prison round like a tub, with an enormous stomach and distended +cheeks of a pale, semi-transparent complexion, as though for +fifteen years the servants of an outraged society had made a point +of stuffing him with fattening foods in a damp and lightless +cellar. And ever since he had never managed to get his weight down +as much as an ounce. + +It was said that for three seasons running a very wealthy old lady +had sent him for a cure to Marienbad - where he was about to share +the public curiosity once with a crowned head - but the police on +that occasion ordered him to leave within twelve hours. His +martyrdom was continued by forbidding him all access to the healing +waters. But he was resigned now. + +With his elbow presenting no appearance of a joint, but more like a +bend in a dummy's limb, thrown over the back of a chair, he leaned +forward slightly over his short and enormous thighs to spit into +the grate. + +"Yes! I had the time to think things out a little," he added +without emphasis. "Society has given me plenty of time for +meditation." + +On the other side of the fireplace, in the horse-hair arm-chair +where Mrs Verloc's mother was generally privileged to sit, Karl +Yundt giggled grimly, with a faint black grimace of a toothless +mouth. The terrorist, as he called himself, was old and bald, with +a narrow, snow-white wisp of a goatee hanging limply from his chin. +An extraordinary expression of underhand malevolence survived in +his extinguished eyes. When he rose painfully the thrusting +forward of a skinny groping hand deformed by gouty swellings +suggested the effort of a moribund murderer summoning all his +remaining strength for a last stab. He leaned on a thick stick, +which trembled under his other hand. + +"I have always dreamed," he mouthed fiercely, "of a band of men +absolute in their resolve to discard all scruples in the choice of +means, strong enough to give themselves frankly the name of +destroyers, and free from the taint of that resigned pessimism +which rots the world. No pity for anything on earth, including +themselves, and death enlisted for good and all in the service of +humanity - that's what I would have liked to see." + +His little bald head quivered, imparting a comical vibration to the +wisp of white goatee. His enunciation would have been almost +totally unintelligible to a stranger. His worn-out passion, +resembling in its impotent fierceness the excitement of a senile +sensualist, was badly served by a dried throat and toothless gums +which seemed to catch the tip of his tongue. Mr Verloc, +established in the corner of the sofa at the other end of the room, +emitted two hearty grunts of assent. + +The old terrorist turned slowly his head on his skinny neck from +side to side. + +"And I could never get as many as three such men together. So much +for your rotten pessimism," he snarled at Michaelis, who uncrossed +his thick legs, similar to bolsters, and slid his feet abruptly +under his chair in sign of exasperation. + +He a pessimist! Preposterous! He cried out that the charge was +outrageous. He was so far from pessimism that he saw already the +end of all private property coming along logically, unavoidably, by +the mere development of its inherent viciousness. The possessors +of property had not only to face the awakened proletariat, but they +had also to fight amongst themselves. Yes. Struggle, warfare, was +the condition of private ownership. It was fatal. Ah! he did not +depend upon emotional excitement to keep up his belief, no +declamations, no anger, no visions of blood-red flags waving, or +metaphorical lurid suns of vengeance rising above the horizon of a +doomed society. Not he! Cold reason, he boasted, was the basis of +his optimism. Yes, optimism - + +His laborious wheezing stopped, then, after a gasp or two, he +added: + +"Don't you think that, if I had not been the optimist I am, I could +not have found in fifteen years some means to cut my throat? And, +in the last instance, there were always the walls of my cell to +dash my head against." + +The shortness of breath took all fire, all animation out of his +voice; his great, pale cheeks hung like filled pouches, motionless, +without a quiver; but in his blue eyes, narrowed as if peering, +there was the same look of confident shrewdness, a little crazy in +its fixity, they must have had while the indomitable optimist sat +thinking at night in his cell. Before him, Karl Yundt remained +standing, one wing of his faded greenish havelock thrown back +cavalierly over his shoulder. Seated in front of the fireplace, +Comrade Ossipon, ex-medical student, the principal writer of the F. +P. leaflets, stretched out his robust legs, keeping the soles of +his boots turned up to the glow in the grate. A bush of crinkly +yellow hair topped his red, freckled face, with a flattened nose +and prominent mouth cast in the rough mould of the negro type. His +almond-shaped eyes leered languidly over the high cheek-bones. He +wore a grey flannel shirt, the loose ends of a black silk tie hung +down the buttoned breast of his serge coat; and his head resting on +the back of his chair, his throat largely exposed, he raised to his +lips a cigarette in a long wooden tube, puffing jets of smoke +straight up at the ceiling. + +Michaelis pursued his idea - THE idea of his solitary reclusion - +the thought vouchsafed to his captivity and growing like a faith +revealed in visions. He talked to himself, indifferent to the +sympathy or hostility of his hearers, indifferent indeed to their +presence, from the habit he had acquired of thinking aloud +hopefully in the solitude of the four whitewashed walls of his +cell, in the sepulchral silence of the great blind pile of bricks +near a river, sinister and ugly like a colossal mortuary for the +socially drowned. + +He was no good in discussion, not because any amount of argument +could shake his faith, but because the mere fact of hearing another +voice disconcerted him painfully, confusing his thoughts at once - +these thoughts that for so many years, in a mental solitude more +barren than a waterless desert, no living voice had ever combatted, +commented, or approved. + +No one interrupted him now, and he made again the confession of his +faith, mastering him irresistible and complete like an act of +grace: the secret of fate discovered in the material side of life; +the economic condition of the world responsible for the past and +shaping the future; the source of all history, of all ideas, +guiding the mental development of mankind and the very impulses of +their passion - + +A harsh laugh from Comrade Ossipon cut the tirade dead short in a +sudden faltering of the tongue and a bewildered unsteadiness of the +apostle's mildly exalted eyes. He closed them slowly for a moment, +as if to collect his routed thoughts. A silence fell; but what +with the two gas-jets over the table and the glowing grate the +little parlour behind Mr Verloc's shop had become frightfully hot. +Mr Verloc, getting off the sofa with ponderous reluctance, opened +the door leading into the kitchen to get more air, and thus +disclosed the innocent Stevie, seated very good and quiet at a deal +table, drawing circles, circles, circles; innumerable circles, +concentric, eccentric; a coruscating whirl of circles that by their +tangled multitude of repeated curves, uniformity of form, and +confusion of intersecting lines suggested a rendering of cosmic +chaos, the symbolism of a mad art attempting the inconceivable. +The artist never turned his head; and in all his soul's application +to the task his back quivered, his thin neck, sunk into a deep +hollow at the base of the skull, seemed ready to snap. + +Mr Verloc, after a grunt of disapproving surprise, returned to the +sofa. Alexander Ossipon got up, tall in his threadbare blue serge +suit under the low ceiling, shook off the stiffness of long +immobility, and strolled away into the kitchen (down two steps) to +look over Stevie's shoulder. He came back, pronouncing oracularly: +"Very good. Very characteristic, perfectly typical." + +"What's very good?" grunted inquiringly Mr Verloc, settled again in +the corner of the sofa. The other explained his meaning +negligently, with a shade of condescension and a toss of his head +towards the kitchen: + +"Typical of this form of degeneracy - these drawings, I mean." + +"You would call that lad a degenerate, would you?" mumbled Mr +Verloc. + +Comrade Alexander Ossipon - nicknamed the Doctor, ex-medical +student without a degree; afterwards wandering lecturer to working- +men's associations upon the socialistic aspects of hygiene; author +of a popular quasi-medical study (in the form of a cheap pamphlet +seized promptly by the police) entitled "The Corroding Vices of the +Middle Classes"; special delegate of the more or less mysterious +Red Committee, together with Karl Yundt and Michaelis for the work +of literary propaganda - turned upon the obscure familiar of at +least two Embassies that glance of insufferable, hopelessly dense +sufficiency which nothing but the frequentation of science can give +to the dulness of common mortals. + +"That's what he may be called scientifically. Very good type too, +altogether, of that sort of degenerate. It's enough to glance at +the lobes of his ears. If you read Lombroso - " + +Mr Verloc, moody and spread largely on the sofa, continued to look +down the row of his waistcoat buttons; but his cheeks became tinged +by a faint blush. Of late even the merest derivative of the word +science (a term in itself inoffensive and of indefinite meaning) +had the curious power of evoking a definitely offensive mental +vision of Mr Vladimir, in his body as he lived, with an almost +supernatural clearness. And this phenomenon, deserving justly to +be classed amongst the marvels of science, induced in Mr Verloc an +emotional state of dread and exasperation tending to express itself +in violent swearing. But he said nothing. It was Karl Yundt who +was heard, implacable to his last breath. + +"Lombroso is an ass." + +Comrade Ossipon met the shock of this blasphemy by an awful, vacant +stare. And the other, his extinguished eyes without gleams +blackening the deep shadows under the great, bony forehead, +mumbled, catching the tip of his tongue between his lips at every +second word as though he were chewing it angrily: + +"Did you ever see such an idiot? For him the criminal is the +prisoner. Simple, is it not? What about those who shut him up +there - forced him in there? Exactly. Forced him in there. And +what is crime? Does he know that, this imbecile who has made his +way in this world of gorged fools by looking at the ears and teeth +of a lot of poor, luckless devils? Teeth and ears mark the +criminal? Do they? And what about the law that marks him still +better - the pretty branding instrument invented by the overfed to +protect themselves against the hungry? Red-hot applications on +their vile skins - hey? Can't you smell and hear from here the +thick hide of the people burn and sizzle? That's how criminals are +made for your Lombrosos to write their silly stuff about." + +The knob of his stick and his legs shook together with passion, +whilst the trunk, draped in the wings of the havelock, preserved +his historic attitude of defiance. He seemed to sniff the tainted +air of social cruelty, to strain his ear for its atrocious sounds. +There was an extraordinary force of suggestion in this posturing. +The all but moribund veteran of dynamite wars had been a great +actor in his time - actor on platforms, in secret assemblies, in +private interviews. The famous terrorist had never in his life +raised personally as much as his little finger against the social +edifice. He was no man of action; he was not even an orator of +torrential eloquence, sweeping the masses along in the rushing +noise and foam of a great enthusiasm. With a more subtle +intention, he took the part of an insolent and venomous evoker of +sinister impulses which lurk in the blind envy and exasperated +vanity of ignorance, in the suffering and misery of poverty, in all +the hopeful and noble illusions of righteous anger, pity, and +revolt. The shadow of his evil gift clung to him yet like the +smell of a deadly drug in an old vial of poison, emptied now, +useless, ready to be thrown away upon the rubbish-heap of things +that had served their time. + +Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle, smiled vaguely with his +glued lips; his pasty moon face drooped under the weight of +melancholy assent. He had been a prisoner himself. His own skin +had sizzled under the red-hot brand, he murmured softly. But +Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, had got over the shock by +that time. + +"You don't understand," he began disdainfully, but stopped short, +intimidated by the dead blackness of the cavernous eyes in the face +turned slowly towards him with a blind stare, as if guided only by +the sound. He gave the discussion up, with a slight shrug of the +shoulders. + +Stevie, accustomed to move about disregarded, had got up from the +kitchen table, carrying off his drawing to bed with him. He had +reached the parlour door in time to receive in full the shock of +Karl Yundt's eloquent imagery. The sheet of paper covered with +circles dropped out of his fingers, and he remained staring at the +old terrorist, as if rooted suddenly to the spot by his morbid +horror and dread of physical pain. Stevie knew very well that hot +iron applied to one's skin hurt very much. His scared eyes blazed +with indignation: it would hurt terribly. His mouth dropped open. + +Michaelis by staring unwinkingly at the fire had regained that +sentiment of isolation necessary for the continuity of his thought. +His optimism had begun to flow from his lips. He saw Capitalism +doomed in its cradle, born with the poison of the principle of +competition in its system. The great capitalists devouring the +little capitalists, concentrating the power and the tools of +production in great masses, perfecting industrial processes, and in +the madness of self-aggrandisement only preparing, organising, +enriching, making ready the lawful inheritance of the suffering +proletariat. Michaelis pronounced the great word "Patience" - and +his clear blue glance, raised to the low ceiling of Mr Verloc's +parlour, had a character of seraphic trustfulness. In the doorway +Stevie, calmed, seemed sunk in hebetude. + +Comrade Ossipon's face twitched with exasperation. + +"Then it's no use doing anything - no use whatever." + +"I don't say that," protested Michaelis gently. His vision of +truth had grown so intense that the sound of a strange voice failed +to rout it this time. He continued to look down at the red coals. +Preparation for the future was necessary, and he was willing to +admit that the great change would perhaps come in the upheaval of a +revolution. But he argued that revolutionary propaganda was a +delicate work of high conscience. It was the education of the +masters of the world. It should be as careful as the education +given to kings. He would have it advance its tenets cautiously, +even timidly, in our ignorance of the effect that may be produced +by any given economic change upon the happiness, the morals, the +intellect, the history of mankind. For history is made with tools, +not with ideas; and everything is changed by economic conditions - +art, philosophy, love, virtue - truth itself! + +The coals in the grate settled down with a slight crash; and +Michaelis, the hermit of visions in the desert of a penitentiary, +got up impetuously. Round like a distended balloon, he opened his +short, thick arms, as if in a pathetically hopeless attempt to +embrace and hug to his breast a self-regenerated universe. He +gasped with ardour. + +"The future is as certain as the past - slavery, feudalism, +individualism, collectivism. This is the statement of a law, not +an empty prophecy." + +The disdainful pout of Comrade Ossipon's thick lips accentuated the +negro type of his face. + +"Nonsense," he said calmly enough. "There is no law and no +certainty. The teaching propaganda be hanged. What the people +knows does not matter, were its knowledge ever so accurate. The +only thing that matters to us is the emotional state of the masses. +Without emotion there is no action." + +He paused, then added with modest firmness: + +"I am speaking now to you scientifically - scientifically - Eh? +What did you say, Verloc?" + +"Nothing," growled from the sofa Mr Verloc, who, provoked by the +abhorrent sound, had merely muttered a "Damn." + +The venomous spluttering of the old terrorist without teeth was +heard. + +"Do you know how I would call the nature of the present economic +conditions? I would call it cannibalistic. That's what it is! +They are nourishing their greed on the quivering flesh and the warm +blood of the people - nothing else." + +Stevie swallowed the terrifying statement with an audible gulp, and +at once, as though it had been swift poison, sank limply in a +sitting posture on the steps of the kitchen door. + +Michaelis gave no sign of having heard anything. His lips seemed +glued together for good; not a quiver passed over his heavy cheeks. +With troubled eyes he looked for his round, hard hat, and put it on +his round head. His round and obese body seemed to float low +between the chairs under the sharp elbow of Karl Yundt. The old +terrorist, raising an uncertain and clawlike hand, gave a +swaggering tilt to a black felt sombrero shading the hollows and +ridges of his wasted face. He got in motion slowly, striking the +floor with his stick at every step. It was rather an affair to get +him out of the house because, now and then, he would stop, as if to +think, and did not offer to move again till impelled forward by +Michaelis. The gentle apostle grasped his arm with brotherly care; +and behind them, his hands in his pockets, the robust Ossipon +yawned vaguely. A blue cap with a patent leather peak set well at +the back of his yellow bush of hair gave him the aspect of a +Norwegian sailor bored with the world after a thundering spree. Mr +Verloc saw his guests off the premises, attending them bareheaded, +his heavy overcoat hanging open, his eyes on the ground. + +He closed the door behind their backs with restrained violence, +turned the key, shot the bolt. He was not satisfied with his +friends. In the light of Mr Vladimir's philosophy of bomb throwing +they appeared hopelessly futile. The part of Mr Verloc in +revolutionary politics having been to observe, he could not all at +once, either in his own home or in larger assemblies, take the +initiative of action. He had to be cautious. Moved by the just +indignation of a man well over forty, menaced in what is dearest to +him - his repose and his security - he asked himself scornfully +what else could have been expected from such a lot, this Karl +Yundt, this Michaelis - this Ossipon. + +Pausing in his intention to turn off the gas burning in the middle +of the shop, Mr Verloc descended into the abyss of moral +reflections. With the insight of a kindred temperament he +pronounced his verdict. A lazy lot - this Karl Yundt, nursed by a +blear-eyed old woman, a woman he had years ago enticed away from a +friend, and afterwards had tried more than once to shake off into +the gutter. Jolly lucky for Yundt that she had persisted in coming +up time after time, or else there would have been no one now to +help him out of the `bus by the Green Park railings, where that +spectre took its constitutional crawl every fine morning. When +that indomitable snarling old witch died the swaggering spectre +would have to vanish too - there would be an end to fiery Karl +Yundt. And Mr Verloc's morality was offended also by the optimism +of Michaelis, annexed by his wealthy old lady, who had taken lately +to sending him to a cottage she had in the country. The ex- +prisoner could moon about the shady lanes for days together in a +delicious and humanitarian idleness. As to Ossipon, that beggar +was sure to want for nothing as long as there were silly girls with +savings-bank books in the world. And Mr Verloc, temperamentally +identical with his associates, drew fine distinctions in his mind +on the strength of insignificant differences. He drew them with a +certain complacency, because the instinct of conventional +respectability was strong within him, being only overcome by his +dislike of all kinds of recognised labour - a temperamental defect +which he shared with a large proportion of revolutionary reformers +of a given social state. For obviously one does not revolt against +the advantages and opportunities of that state, but against the +price which must be paid for the same in the coin of accepted +morality, self-restraint, and toil. The majority of revolutionises +are the enemies of discipline and fatigue mostly. There are +natures too, to whose sense of justice the price exacted looms up +monstrously enormous, odious, oppressive, worrying, humiliating, +extortionate, intolerable. Those are the fanatics. The remaining +portion of social rebels is accounted for by vanity, the mother of +all noble and vile illusions, the companion of poets, reformers, +charlatans, prophets, and incendiaries. + +Lost for a whole minute in the abyss of meditation, Mr Verloc did +not reach the depth of these abstract considerations. Perhaps he +was not able. In any case he had not the time. He was pulled up +painfully by the sudden recollection of Mr Vladimir, another of his +associates, whom in virtue of subtle moral affinities he was +capable of judging correctly. He considered him as dangerous. A +shade of envy crept into his thoughts. Loafing was all very well +for these fellows, who knew not Mr Vladimir, and had women to fall +back upon; whereas he had a woman to provide for - + +At this point, by a simple association of ideas, Mr Verloc was +brought face to face with the necessity of going to bed some time +or other that evening. Then why not go now - at once? He sighed. +The necessity was not so normally pleasurable as it ought to have +been for a man of his age and temperament. He dreaded the demon of +sleeplessness, which he felt had marked him for its own. He raised +his arm, and turned off the flaring gas-jet above his head. + +A bright band of light fell through the parlour door into the part +of the shop behind the counter. It enabled Mr Verloc to ascertain +at a glance the number of silver coins in the till. These were but +few; and for the first time since he opened his shop he took a +commercial survey of its value. This survey was unfavourable. He +had gone into trade for no commercial reasons. He had been guided +in the selection of this peculiar line of business by an +instinctive leaning towards shady transactions, where money is +picked up easily. Moreover, it did not take him out of his own +sphere - the sphere which is watched by the police. On the +contrary, it gave him a publicly confessed standing in that sphere, +and as Mr Verloc had unconfessed relations which made him familiar +with yet careless of the police, there was a distinct advantage in +such a situation. But as a means of livelihood it was by itself +insufficient. + +He took the cash-box out of the drawer, and turning to leave the +shop, became aware that Stevie was still downstairs. + +What on earth is he doing there? Mr Verloc asked himself. What's +the meaning of these antics? He looked dubiously at his brother- +in-law, but he did not ask him for information. Mr Verloc's +intercourse with Stevie was limited to the casual mutter of a +morning, after breakfast, "My boots," and even that was more a +communication at large of a need than a direct order or request. +Mr Verloc perceived with some surprise that he did not know really +what to say to Stevie. He stood still in the middle of the +parlour, and looked into the kitchen in silence. Nor yet did he +know what would happen if he did say anything. And this appeared +very queer to Mr Verloc in view of the fact, borne upon him +suddenly, that he had to provide for this fellow too. He had never +given a moment's thought till then to that aspect of Stevie's +existence. + +Positively he did not know how to speak to the lad. He watched him +gesticulating and murmuring in the kitchen. Stevie prowled round +the table like an excited animal in a cage. A tentative "Hadn't +you better go to bed now?" produced no effect whatever; and Mr +Verloc, abandoning the stony contemplation of his brother-in-law's +behaviour, crossed the parlour wearily, cash-box in hand. The +cause of the general lassitude he felt while climbing the stairs +being purely mental, he became alarmed by its inexplicable +character. He hoped he was not sickening for anything. He stopped +on the dark landing to examine his sensations. But a slight and +continuous sound of snoring pervading the obscurity interfered with +their clearness. The sound came from his mother-in-law's room. +Another one to provide for, he thought - and on this thought walked +into the bedroom. + +Mrs Verloc had fallen asleep with the lamp (no gas was laid +upstairs) turned up full on the table by the side of the bed. The +light thrown down by the shade fell dazzlingly on the white pillow +sunk by the weight of her head reposing with closed eyes and dark +hair done up in several plaits for the night. She woke up with the +sound of her name in her ears, and saw her husband standing over +her. + +"Winnie! Winnie!" + +At first she did not stir, lying very quiet and looking at the +cash-box in Mr Verloc's hand. But when she understood that her +brother was "capering all over the place downstairs" she swung out +in one sudden movement on to the edge of the bed. Her bare feet, +as if poked through the bottom of an unadorned, sleeved calico sack +buttoned tightly at neck and wrists, felt over the rug for the +slippers while she looked upward into her husband's face. + +"I don't know how to manage him," Mr Verloc explained peevishly. +"Won't do to leave him downstairs alone with the lights." + +She said nothing, glided across the room swiftly, and the door +closed upon her white form. + +Mr Verloc deposited the cash-box on the night table, and began the +operation of undressing by flinging his overcoat on to a distant +chair. His coat and waistcoat followed. He walked about the room +in his stockinged feet, and his burly figure, with the hands +worrying nervously at his throat, passed and repassed across the +long strip of looking-glass in the door of his wife's wardrobe. +Then after slipping his braces off his shoulders he pulled up +violently the venetian blind, and leaned his forehead against the +cold window-pane - a fragile film of glass stretched between him +and the enormity of cold, black, wet, muddy, inhospitable +accumulation of bricks, slates, and stones, things in themselves +unlovely and unfriendly to man. + +Mr Verloc felt the latent unfriendliness of all out of doors with a +force approaching to positive bodily anguish. There is no +occupation that fails a man more completely than that of a secret +agent of police. It's like your horse suddenly falling dead under +you in the midst of an uninhabited and thirsty plain. The +comparison occurred to Mr Verloc because he had sat astride various +army horses in his time, and had now the sensation of an incipient +fall. The prospect was as black as the window-pane against which +he was leaning his forehead. And suddenly the face of Mr Vladimir, +clean-shaved and witty, appeared enhaloed in the glow of its rosy +complexion like a sort of pink seal, impressed on the fatal +darkness. + +This luminous and mutilated vision was so ghastly physically that +Mr Verloc started away from the window, letting down the venetian +blind with a great rattle. Discomposed and speechless with the +apprehension of more such visions, he beheld his wife re-enter the +room and get into bed in a calm business-like manner which made him +feel hopelessly lonely in the world. Mrs Verloc expressed her +surprise at seeing him up yet. + +"I don't feel very well," he muttered, passing his hands over his +moist brow. + +"Giddiness?" + +"Yes. Not at all well." + +Mrs Verloc, with all the placidity of an experienced wife, +expressed a confident opinion as to the cause, and suggested the +usual remedies; but her husband, rooted in the middle of the room, +shook his lowered head sadly. + +"You'll catch cold standing there," she observed. + +Mr Verloc made an effort, finished undressing, and got into bed. +Down below in the quiet, narrow street measured footsteps +approached the house, then died away unhurried and firm, as if the +passer-by had started to pace out all eternity, from gas-lamp to +gas-lamp in a night without end; and the drowsy ticking of the old +clock on the landing became distinctly audible in the bedroom. + +Mrs Verloc, on her back, and staring at the ceiling, made a remark. + +"Takings very small to-day." + +Mr Verloc, in the same position, cleared his throat as if for an +important statement, but merely inquired: + +"Did you turn off the gas downstairs?" + +"Yes; I did," answered Mrs Verloc conscientiously. "That poor boy +is in a very excited state to-night," she murmured, after a pause +which lasted for three ticks of the clock. + +Mr Verloc cared nothing for Stevie's excitement, but he felt +horribly wakeful, and dreaded facing the darkness and silence that +would follow the extinguishing of the lamp. This dread led him to +make the remark that Stevie had disregarded his suggestion to go to +bed. Mrs Verloc, falling into the trap, started to demonstrate at +length to her husband that this was not "impudence" of any sort, +but simply "excitement." There was no young man of his age in +London more willing and docile than Stephen, she affirmed; none +more affectionate and ready to please, and even useful, as long as +people did not upset his poor head. Mrs Verloc, turning towards +her recumbent husband, raised herself on her elbow, and hung over +him in her anxiety that he should believe Stevie to be a useful +member of the family. That ardour of protecting compassion exalted +morbidly in her childhood by the misery of another child tinged her +sallow cheeks with a faint dusky blush, made her big eyes gleam +under the dark lids. Mrs Verloc then looked younger; she looked as +young as Winnie used to look, and much more animated than the +Winnie of the Belgravian mansion days had ever allowed herself to +appear to gentlemen lodgers. Mr Verloc's anxieties had prevented +him from attaching any sense to what his wife was saying. It was +as if her voice were talking on the other side of a very thick +wall. It was her aspect that recalled him to himself. + +He appreciated this woman, and the sentiment of this appreciation, +stirred by a display of something resembling emotion, only added +another pang to his mental anguish. When her voice ceased he moved +uneasily, and said: + +"I haven't been feeling well for the last few days." + +He might have meant this as an opening to a complete confidence; +but Mrs Verloc laid her head on the pillow again, and staring +upward, went on: + +"That boy hears too much of what is talked about here. If I had +known they were coming to-night I would have seen to it that he +went to bed at the same time I did. He was out of his mind with +something he overheard about eating people's flesh and drinking +blood. What's the good of talking like that?" + +There was a note of indignant scorn in her voice. Mr Verloc was +fully responsive now. + +"Ask Karl Yundt," he growled savagely. + +Mrs Verloc, with great decision, pronounced Karl Yundt "a +disgusting old man." She declared openly her affection for +Michaelis. Of the robust Ossipon, in whose presence she always +felt uneasy behind an attitude of stony reserve, she said nothing +whatever. And continuing to talk of that brother, who had been for +so many years an object of care and fears: + +"He isn't fit to hear what's said here. He believes it's all true. +He knows no better. He gets into his passions over it." + +Mr Verloc made no comment. + +"He glared at me, as if he didn't know who I was, when I went +downstairs. His heart was going like a hammer. He can't help +being excitable. I woke mother up, and asked her to sit with him +till he went to sleep. It isn't his fault. He's no trouble when +he's left alone." + +Mr Verloc made no comment. + +"I wish he had never been to school," Mrs Verloc began again +brusquely. "He's always taking away those newspapers from the +window to read. He gets a red face poring over them. We don't get +rid of a dozen numbers in a month. They only take up room in the +front window. And Mr Ossipon brings every week a pile of these F. +P. tracts to sell at a halfpenny each. I wouldn't give a halfpenny +for the whole lot. It's silly reading - that's what it is. +There's no sale for it. The other day Stevie got hold of one, and +there was a story in it of a German soldier officer tearing half- +off the ear of a recruit, and nothing was done to him for it. The +brute! I couldn't do anything with Stevie that afternoon. The +story was enough, too, to make one's blood boil. But what's the +use of printing things like that? We aren't German slaves here, +thank God. It's not our business - is it?" + +Mr Verloc made no reply. + +"I had to take the carving knife from the boy," Mrs Verloc +continued, a little sleepily now. "He was shouting and stamping +and sobbing. He can't stand the notion of any cruelty. He would +have stuck that officer like a pig if he had seen him then. It's +true, too! Some people don't deserve much mercy." Mrs Verloc's +voice ceased, and the expression of her motionless eyes became more +and more contemplative and veiled during the long pause. +"Comfortable, dear?" she asked in a faint, far-away voice. "Shall +I put out the light now?" + +The dreary conviction that there was no sleep for him held Mr +Verloc mute and hopelessly inert in his fear of darkness. He made +a great effort. + +"Yes. Put it out," he said at last in a hollow tone. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + + +Most of the thirty or so little tables covered by red cloths with a +white design stood ranged at right angles to the deep brown +wainscoting of the underground hall. Bronze chandeliers with many +globes depended from the low, slightly vaulted ceiling, and the +fresco paintings ran flat and dull all round the walls without +windows, representing scenes of the chase and of outdoor revelry in +mediaeval costumes. Varlets in green jerkins brandished hunting +knives and raised on high tankards of foaming beer. + +"Unless I am very much mistaken, you are the man who would know the +inside of this confounded affair," said the robust Ossipon, leaning +over, his elbows far out on the table and his feet tucked back +completely under his chair. His eyes stared with wild eagerness. + +An upright semi-grand piano near the door, flanked by two palms in +pots, executed suddenly all by itself a valse tune with aggressive +virtuosity. The din it raised was deafening. When it ceased, as +abruptly as it had started, the be-spectacled, dingy little man who +faced Ossipon behind a heavy glass mug full of beer emitted calmly +what had the sound of a general proposition. + +"In principle what one of us may or may not know as to any given +fact can't be a matter for inquiry to the others." + +"Certainly not," Comrade Ossipon agreed in a quiet undertone. "In +principle." + +With his big florid face held between his hands he continued to +stare hard, while the dingy little man in spectacles coolly took a +drink of beer and stood the glass mug back on the table. His flat, +large ears departed widely from the sides of his skull, which +looked frail enough for Ossipon to crush between thumb and +forefinger; the dome of the forehead seemed to rest on the rim of +the spectacles; the flat cheeks, of a greasy, unhealthy complexion, +were merely smudged by the miserable poverty of a thin dark +whisker. The lamentable inferiority of the whole physique was made +ludicrous by the supremely self-confident bearing of the +individual. His speech was curt, and he had a particularly +impressive manner of keeping silent. + +Ossipon spoke again from between his hands in a mutter. + +"Have you been out much to-day?" + +"No. I stayed in bed all the morning," answered the other. "Why?" + +"Oh! Nothing," said Ossipon, gazing earnestly and quivering +inwardly with the desire to find out something, but obviously +intimidated by the little man's overwhelming air of unconcern. +When talking with this comrade - which happened but rarely - the +big Ossipon suffered from a sense of moral and even physical +insignificance. However, he ventured another question. "Did you +walk down here?" + +"No; omnibus," the little man answered readily enough. He lived +far away in Islington, in a small house down a shabby street, +littered with straw and dirty paper, where out of school hours a +troop of assorted children ran and squabbled with a shrill, +joyless, rowdy clamour. His single back room, remarkable for +having an extremely large cupboard, he rented furnished from two +elderly spinsters, dressmakers in a humble way with a clientele of +servant girls mostly. He had a heavy padlock put on the cupboard, +but otherwise he was a model lodger, giving no trouble, and +requiring practically no attendance. His oddities were that he +insisted on being present when his room was being swept, and that +when he went out he locked his door, and took the key away with +him. + +Ossipon had a vision of these round black-rimmed spectacles +progressing along the streets on the top of an omnibus, their self- +confident glitter falling here and there on the walls of houses or +lowered upon the heads of the unconscious stream of people on the +pavements. The ghost of a sickly smile altered the set of +Ossipon's thick lips at the thought of the walls nodding, of people +running for life at the sight of those spectacles. If they had +only known! What a panic! He murmured interrogatively: "Been +sitting long here?" + +"An hour or more," answered the other negligently, and took a pull +at the dark beer. All his movements - the way he grasped the mug, +the act of drinking, the way he set the heavy glass down and folded +his arms - had a firmness, an assured precision which made the big +and muscular Ossipon, leaning forward with staring eyes and +protruding lips, look the picture of eager indecision. + +"An hour," he said. "Then it may be you haven't heard yet the news +I've heard just now - in the street. Have you?" + +The little man shook his head negatively the least bit. But as he +gave no indication of curiosity Ossipon ventured to add that he had +heard it just outside the place. A newspaper boy had yelled the +thing under his very nose, and not being prepared for anything of +that sort, he was very much startled and upset. He had to come in +there with a dry mouth. "I never thought of finding you here," he +added, murmuring steadily, with his elbows planted on the table. + +"I come here sometimes," said the other, preserving his provoking +coolness of demeanour. + +"It's wonderful that you of all people should have heard nothing of +it," the big Ossipon continued. His eyelids snapped nervously upon +the shining eyes. "You of all people," he repeated tentatively. +This obvious restraint argued an incredible and inexplicable +timidity of the big fellow before the calm little man, who again +lifted the glass mug, drank, and put it down with brusque and +assured movements. And that was all. + +Ossipon after waiting for something, word or sign, that did not +come, made an effort to assume a sort of indifference. + +"Do you," he said, deadening his voice still more, "give your stuff +to anybody who's up to asking you for it?" + +"My absolute rule is never to refuse anybody - as long as I have a +pinch by me," answered the little man with decision. + +"That's a principle?" commented Ossipon. + +"It's a principle." + +"And you think it's sound?" + +The large round spectacles, which gave a look of staring self- +confidence to the sallow face, confronted Ossipon like sleepless, +unwinking orbs flashing a cold fire. + +"Perfectly. Always. Under every circumstance. What could stop +me? Why should I not? Why should I think twice about it?" + +Ossipon gasped, as it were, discreetly. + +"Do you mean to say you would hand it over to a `teck' if one came +to ask you for your wares?" + +The other smiled faintly. + +"Let them come and try it on, and you will see," he said. "They +know me, but I know also every one of them. They won't come near +me - not they." + +His thin livid lips snapped together firmly. Ossipon began to +argue. + +"But they could send someone - rig a plant on you. Don't you see? +Get the stuff from you in that way, and then arrest you with the +proof in their hands." + +"Proof of what? Dealing in explosives without a licence perhaps." +This was meant for a contemptuous jeer, though the expression of +the thin, sickly face remained unchanged, and the utterance was +negligent. "I don't think there's one of them anxious to make that +arrest. I don't think they could get one of them to apply for a +warrant. I mean one of the best. Not one." + +"Why?" Ossipon asked. + +"Because they know very well I take care never to part with the +last handful of my wares. I've it always by me." He touched the +breast of his coat lightly. "In a thick glass flask," he added. + +"So I have been told," said Ossipon, with a shade of wonder in his +voice. "But I didn't know if - " + +"They know," interrupted the little man crisply, leaning against +the straight chair back, which rose higher than his fragile head. +"I shall never be arrested. The game isn't good enough for any +policeman of them all. To deal with a man like me you require +sheer, naked, inglorious heroism." Again his lips closed with a +self-confident snap. Ossipon repressed a movement of impatience. + +"Or recklessness - or simply ignorance," he retorted. "They've +only to get somebody for the job who does not know you carry enough +stuff in your pocket to blow yourself and everything within sixty +yards of you to pieces." + +"I never affirmed I could not be eliminated," rejoined the other. +"But that wouldn't be an arrest. Moreover, it's not so easy as it +looks." + +"Bah!" Ossipon contradicted. "Don't be too sure of that. What's +to prevent half-a-dozen of them jumping upon you from behind in the +street? With your arms pinned to your sides you could do nothing - +could you?" + +"Yes; I could. I am seldom out in the streets after dark," said +the little man impassively, "and never very late. I walk always +with my right hand closed round the india-rubber ball which I have +in my trouser pocket. The pressing of this ball actuates a +detonator inside the flask I carry in my pocket. It's the +principle of the pneumatic instantaneous shutter for a camera lens. +The tube leads up - " + +With a swift disclosing gesture he gave Ossipon a glimpse of an +india-rubber tube, resembling a slender brown worm, issuing from +the armhole of his waistcoat and plunging into the inner breast +pocket of his jacket. His clothes, of a nondescript brown mixture, +were threadbare and marked with stains, dusty in the folds, with +ragged button-holes. "The detonator is partly mechanical, partly +chemical," he explained, with casual condescension. + +"It is instantaneous, of course?" murmured Ossipon, with a slight +shudder. + +"Far from it," confessed the other, with a reluctance which seemed +to twist his mouth dolorously. "A full twenty seconds must elapse +from the moment I press the ball till the explosion takes place." + +"Phew!" whistled Ossipon, completely appalled. "Twenty seconds! +Horrors! You mean to say that you could face that? I should go +crazy - " + +"Wouldn't matter if you did. Of course, it's the weak point of +this special system, which is only for my own use. The worst is +that the manner of exploding is always the weak point with us. I +am trying to invent a detonator that would adjust itself to all +conditions of action, and even to unexpected changes of conditions. +A variable and yet perfectly precise mechanism. A really +intelligent detonator." + +"Twenty seconds," muttered Ossipon again. "Ough! And then - " + +With a slight turn of the head the glitter of the spectacles seemed +to gauge the size of the beer saloon in the basement of the +renowned Silenus Restaurant. + +"Nobody in this room could hope to escape," was the verdict of that +survey. "Nor yet this couple going up the stairs now." + +The piano at the foot of the staircase clanged through a mazurka +with brazen impetuosity, as though a vulgar and impudent ghost were +showing off. The keys sank and rose mysteriously. Then all became +still. For a moment Ossipon imagined the overlighted place changed +into a dreadful black hole belching horrible fumes choked with +ghastly rubbish of smashed brickwork and mutilated corpses. He had +such a distinct perception of ruin and death that he shuddered +again. The other observed, with an air of calm sufficiency: + +"In the last instance it is character alone that makes for one's +safety. There are very few people in the world whose character is +as well established as mine." + +"I wonder how you managed it," growled Ossipon. + +"Force of personality," said the other, without raising his voice; +and coming from the mouth of that obviously miserable organism the +assertion caused the robust Ossipon to bite his lower lip. "Force +of personality," he repeated, with ostentatious calm. "I have the +means to make myself deadly, but that by itself, you understand, is +absolutely nothing in the way of protection. What is effective is +the belief those people have in my will to use the means. That's +their impression. It is absolute. Therefore I am deadly." + +"There are individuals of character amongst that lot too," muttered +Ossipon ominously. + +"Possibly. But it is a matter of degree obviously, since, for +instance, I am not impressed by them. Therefore they are inferior. +They cannot be otherwise. Their character is built upon +conventional morality. It leans on the social order. Mine stands +free from everything artificial. They are bound in all sorts of +conventions. They depend on life, which, in this connection, is a +historical fact surrounded by all sorts of restraints and +considerations, a complex organised fact open to attack at every +point; whereas I depend on death, which knows no restraint and +cannot be attacked. My superiority is evident." + +"This is a transcendental way of putting it," said Ossipon, +watching the cold glitter of the round spectacles. "I've heard +Karl Yundt say much the same thing not very long ago." + +"Karl Yundt," mumbled the other contemptuously, "the delegate of +the International Red Committee, has been a posturing shadow all +his life. There are three of you delegates, aren't there? I won't +define the other two, as you are one of them. But what you say +means nothing. You are the worthy delegates for revolutionary +propaganda, but the trouble is not only that you are as unable to +think independently as any respectable grocer or journalist of them +all, but that you have no character whatever." + +Ossipon could not restrain a start of indignation. + +"But what do you want from us?" he exclaimed in a deadened voice. +"What is it you are after yourself?" + +"A perfect detonator," was the peremptory answer. "What are you +making that face for? You see, you can't even bear the mention of +something conclusive." + +"I am not making a face," growled the annoyed Ossipon bearishly. + +"You revolutionises," the other continued, with leisurely self- +confidence, "are the slaves of the social convention, which is +afraid of you; slaves of it as much as the very police that stands +up in the defence of that convention. Clearly you are, since you +want to revolutionise it. It governs your thought, of course, and +your action too, and thus neither your thought nor your action can +ever be conclusive." He paused, tranquil, with that air of close, +endless silence, then almost immediately went on. "You are not a +bit better than the forces arrayed against you - than the police, +for instance. 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. He was as insignificant as - I +can't call to mind anything insignificant enough to compare him +with - except Karl Yundt perhaps. Like to like. The terrorist and +the policeman both come from the same basket. Revolution, legality +- counter moves in the same game; forms of idleness at bottom +identical. He plays his little game - so do you propagandists. +But I don't play; I work fourteen hours a day, and go hungry +sometimes. My experiments cost money now and again, and then I +must do without food for a day or two. You're looking at my beer. +Yes. I have had two glasses already, and shall have another +presently. This is a little holiday, and I celebrate it alone. +Why not? I've the grit to work alone, quite alone, absolutely +alone. I've worked alone for years." + +Ossipon's face had turned dusky red. + +"At the perfect detonator - eh?" he sneered, very low. + +"Yes," retorted the other. "It is a good definition. You couldn't +find anything half so precise to define the nature of your activity +with all your committees and delegations. It is I who am the true +propagandist." + +"We won't discuss that point," said Ossipon, with an air of rising +above personal considerations. "I am afraid I'll have to spoil +your holiday for you, though. There's a man blown up in Greenwich +Park this morning." + +"How do you know?" + +"They have been yelling the news in the streets since two o'clock. +I bought the paper, and just ran in here. Then I saw you sitting +at this table. I've got it in my pocket now." + +He pulled the newspaper out. It was a good-sized rosy sheet, as if +flushed by the warmth of its own convictions, which were +optimistic. He scanned the pages rapidly. + +"Ah! Here it is. Bomb in Greenwich Park. There isn't much so +far. Half-past eleven. Foggy morning. Effects of explosion felt +as far as Romney Road and Park Place. Enormous hole in the ground +under a tree filled with smashed roots and broken branches. All +round fragments of a man's body blown to pieces. That's all. The +rest's mere newspaper gup. No doubt a wicked attempt to blow up +the Observatory, they say. H'm. That's hardly credible." + +He looked at the paper for a while longer in silence, then passed +it to the other, who after gazing abstractedly at the print laid it +down without comment. + +It was Ossipon who spoke first - still resentful. + +"The fragments of only ONE man, you note. Ergo: blew HIMSELF up. +That spoils your day off for you - don't it? Were you expecting +that sort of move? I hadn't the slightest idea - not the ghost of +a notion of anything of the sort being planned to come off here - +in this country. Under the present circumstances it's nothing +short of criminal." + +The little man lifted his thin black eyebrows with dispassionate +scorn. + +"Criminal! What is that? What is crime? What can be the meaning +of such an assertion?" + +"How am I to express myself? One must use the current words," said +Ossipon impatiently. "The meaning of this assertion is that this +business may affect our position very adversely in this country. +Isn't that crime enough for you? I am convinced you have been +giving away some of your stuff lately." + +Ossipon stared hard. The other, without flinching, lowered and +raised his head slowly. + +"You have!" burst out the editor of the F. P. leaflets in an +intense whisper. "No! And are you really handing it over at large +like this, for the asking, to the first fool that comes along?" + +"Just so! The condemned social order has not been built up on +paper and ink, and I don't fancy that a combination of paper and +ink will ever put an end to it, whatever you may think. Yes, I +would give the stuff with both hands to every man, woman, or fool +that likes to come along. I know what you are thinking about. But +I am not taking my cue from the Red Committee. I would see you all +hounded out of here, or arrested - or beheaded for that matter - +without turning a hair. What happens to us as individuals is not +of the least consequence." + +He spoke carelessly, without heat, almost without feeling, and +Ossipon, secretly much affected, tried to copy this detachment. + +"If the police here knew their business they would shoot you full +of holes with revolvers, or else try to sand-bag you from behind in +broad daylight." + +The little man seemed already to have considered that point of view +in his dispassionate self-confident manner. + +"Yes," he assented with the utmost readiness. "But for that they +would have to face their own institutions. Do you see? That +requires uncommon grit. Grit of a special kind." + +Ossipon blinked. + +"I fancy that's exactly what would happen to you if you were to set +up your laboratory in the States. They don't stand on ceremony +with their institutions there." + +"I am not likely to go and see. Otherwise your remark is just," +admitted the other. "They have more character over there, and +their character is essentially anarchistic. Fertile ground for us, +the States - very good ground. The great Republic has the root of +the destructive matter in her. The collective temperament is +lawless. Excellent. They may shoot us down, but - " + +"You are too transcendental for me," growled Ossipon, with moody +concern. + +"Logical," protested the other. "There are several kinds of logic. +This is the enlightened kind. America is all right. It is this +country that is dangerous, with her idealistic conception of +legality. The social spirit of this people is wrapped up in +scrupulous prejudices, and that is fatal to our work. You talk of +England being our only refuge! So much the worse. Capua! What do +we want with refuges? Here you talk, print, plot, and do nothing. +I daresay it's very convenient for such Karl Yundts." + +He shrugged his shoulders slightly, then added with the same +leisurely assurance: "To break up the superstition and worship of +legality should be our aim. Nothing would please me more than to +see Inspector Heat and his likes take to shooting us down in broad +daylight with the approval of the public. Half our battle would be +won then; the disintegration of the old morality would have set in +in its very temple. That is what you ought to aim at. But you +revolutionises will never understand that. You plan the future, +you lose yourselves in reveries of economical systems derived from +what is; whereas what's wanted is a clean sweep and a clear start +for a new conception of life. That sort of future will take care +of itself if you will only make room for it. Therefore I would +shovel my stuff in heaps at the corners of the streets if I had +enough for that; and as I haven't, I do my best by perfecting a +really dependable detonator." + +Ossipon, who had been mentally swimming in deep waters, seized upon +the last word as if it were a saving plank. + +"Yes. Your detonators. I shouldn't wonder if it weren't one of +your detonators that made a clean sweep of the man in the park." + +A shade of vexation darkened the determined sallow face confronting +Ossipon. + +"My difficulty consists precisely in experimenting practically with +the various kinds. They must be tried after all. Besides - " + +Ossipon interrupted. + +"Who could that fellow be? I assure you that we in London had no +knowledge - Couldn't you describe the person you gave the stuff +to?" + +The other turned his spectacles upon Ossipon like a pair of +searchlights. + +"Describe him," he repeated slowly. "I don't think there can be +the slightest objection now. I will describe him to you in one +word - Verloc." + +Ossipon, whom curiosity had lifted a few inches off his seat, +dropped back, as if hit in the face. + +"Verloc! Impossible." + +The self-possessed little man nodded slightly once. + +"Yes. He's the person. You can't say that in this case I was +giving my stuff to the first fool that came along. He was a +prominent member of the group as far as I understand." + +"Yes," said Ossipon. "Prominent. No, not exactly. He was the +centre for general intelligence, and usually received comrades +coming over here. More useful than important. Man of no ideas. +Years ago he used to speak at meetings - in France, I believe. Not +very well, though. He was trusted by such men as Latorre, Moser +and all that old lot. The only talent he showed really was his +ability to elude the attentions of the police somehow. Here, for +instance, he did not seem to be looked after very closely. He was +regularly married, you know. I suppose it's with her money that he +started that shop. Seemed to make it pay, too." + +Ossipon paused abruptly, muttered to himself "I wonder what that +woman will do now?" and fell into thought. + +The other waited with ostentatious indifference. His parentage was +obscure, and he was generally known only by his nickname of +Professor. His title to that designation consisted in his having +been once assistant demonstrator in chemistry at some technical +institute. He quarrelled with the authorities upon a question of +unfair treatment. Afterwards he obtained a post in the laboratory +of a manufactory of dyes. There too he had been treated with +revolting injustice. His struggles, his privations, his hard work +to raise himself in the social scale, had filled him with such an +exalted conviction of his merits that it was extremely difficult +for the world to treat him with justice - the standard of that +notion depending so much upon the patience of the individual. The +Professor had genius, but lacked the great social virtue of +resignation. + +"Intellectually a nonentity," Ossipon pronounced aloud, abandoning +suddenly the inward contemplation of Mrs Verloc's bereaved person +and business. "Quite an ordinary personality. You are wrong in +not keeping more in touch with the comrades, Professor," he added +in a reproving tone. "Did he say anything to you - give you some +idea of his intentions? I hadn't seen him for a month. It seems +impossible that he should be gone." + +"He told me it was going to be a demonstration against a building," +said the Professor. "I had to know that much to prepare the +missile. I pointed out to him that I had hardly a sufficient +quantity for a completely destructive result, but he pressed me +very earnestly to do my best. As he wanted something that could be +carried openly in the hand, I proposed to make use of an old one- +gallon copal varnish can I happened to have by me. He was pleased +at the idea. It gave me some trouble, because I had to cut out the +bottom first and solder it on again afterwards. When prepared for +use, the can enclosed a wide-mouthed, well-corked jar of thick +glass packed around with some wet clay and containing sixteen +ounces of X2 green powder. The detonator was connected with the +screw top of the can. It was ingenious - a combination of time and +shock. I explained the system to him. It was a thin tube of tin +enclosing a - " + +Ossipon's attention had wandered. + +"What do you think has happened?" he interrupted. + +"Can't tell. Screwed the top on tight, which would make the +connection, and then forgot the time. It was set for twenty +minutes. On the other hand, the time contact being made, a sharp +shock would bring about the explosion at once. He either ran the +time too close, or simply let the thing fall. The contact was made +all right - that's clear to me at any rate. The system's worked +perfectly. And yet you would think that a common fool in a hurry +would be much more likely to forget to make the contact altogether. +I was worrying myself about that sort of failure mostly. But there +are more kinds of fools than one can guard against. You can't +expect a detonator to be absolutely fool-proof." + +He beckoned to a waiter. Ossipon sat rigid, with the abstracted +gaze of mental travail. After the man had gone away with the money +he roused himself, with an air of profound dissatisfaction. + +"It's extremely unpleasant for me," he mused. "Karl has been in +bed with bronchitis for a week. There's an even chance that he +will never get up again. Michaelis's luxuriating in the country +somewhere. A fashionable publisher has offered him five hundred +pounds for a book. It will be a ghastly failure. He has lost the +habit of consecutive thinking in prison, you know." + +The Professor on his feet, now buttoning his coat, looked about him +with perfect indifference. + +"What are you going to do?" asked Ossipon wearily. He dreaded the +blame of the Central Red Committee, a body which had no permanent +place of abode, and of whose membership he was not exactly +informed. If this affair eventuated in the stoppage of the modest +subsidy allotted to the publication of the F. P. pamphlets, then +indeed he would have to regret Verloc's inexplicable folly. + +"Solidarity with the extremest form of action is one thing, and +silly recklessness is another," he said, with a sort of moody +brutality. "I don't know what came to Verloc. There's some +mystery there. However, he's gone. You may take it as you like, +but under the circumstances the only policy for the militant +revolutionary group is to disclaim all connection with this damned +freak of yours. How to make the disclaimer convincing enough is +what bothers me." + +The little man on his feet, buttoned up and ready to go, was no +taller than the seated Ossipon. He levelled his spectacles at the +latter's face point-blank. + +"You might ask the police for a testimonial of good conduct. They +know where every one of you slept last night. Perhaps if you asked +them they would consent to publish some sort of official +statement." + +"No doubt they are aware well enough that we had nothing to do with +this," mumbled Ossipon bitterly. "What they will say is another +thing." He remained thoughtful, disregarding the short, owlish, +shabby figure standing by his side. "I must lay hands on Michaelis +at once, and get him to speak from his heart at one of our +gatherings. The public has a sort of sentimental regard for that +fellow. His name is known. And I am in touch with a few reporters +on the big dailies. What he would say would be utter bosh, but he +has a turn of talk that makes it go down all the same." + +"Like treacle," interjected the Professor, rather low, keeping an +impassive expression. + +The perplexed Ossipon went on communing with himself half audibly, +after the manner of a man reflecting in perfect solitude. + +"Confounded ass! To leave such an imbecile business on my hands. +And I don't even know if - " + +He sat with compressed lips. The idea of going for news straight +to the shop lacked charm. His notion was that Verloc's shop might +have been turned already into a police trap. They will be bound to +make some arrests, he thought, with something resembling virtuous +indignation, for the even tenor of his revolutionary life was +menaced by no fault of his. And yet unless he went there he ran +the risk of remaining in ignorance of what perhaps it would be very +material for him to know. Then he reflected that, if the man in +the park had been so very much blown to pieces as the evening +papers said, he could not have been identified. And if so, the +police could have no special reason for watching Verloc's shop more +closely than any other place known to be frequented by marked +anarchists - no more reason, in fact, than for watching the doors +of the Silenus. There would be a lot of watching all round, no +matter where he went. Still - + +"I wonder what I had better do now?" he muttered, taking counsel +with himself. + +A rasping voice at his elbow said, with sedate scorn: + +"Fasten yourself upon the woman for all she's worth." + +After uttering these words the Professor walked away from the +table. Ossipon, whom that piece of insight had taken unawares, +gave one ineffectual start, and remained still, with a helpless +gaze, as though nailed fast to the seat of his chair. The lonely +piano, without as much as a music stool to help it, struck a few +chords courageously, and beginning a selection of national airs, +played him out at last to the tune of "Blue Bells of Scotland." +The painfully detached notes grew faint behind his back while he +went slowly upstairs, across the hall, and into the street. + +In front of the great doorway a dismal row of newspaper sellers +standing clear of the pavement dealt out their wares from the +gutter. It was a raw, gloomy day of the early spring; and the +grimy sky, the mud of the streets, the rags of the dirty men, +harmonised excellently with the eruption of the damp, rubbishy +sheets of paper soiled with printers' ink. The posters, maculated +with filth, garnished like tapestry the sweep of the curbstone. +The trade in afternoon papers was brisk, yet, in comparison with +the swift, constant march of foot traffic, the effect was of +indifference, of a disregarded distribution. Ossipon looked +hurriedly both ways before stepping out into the cross-currents, +but the Professor was already out of sight. + + + +CHAPTER V + + + +The Professor had turned into a street to the left, and walked +along, with his head carried rigidly erect, in a crowd whose every +individual almost overtopped his stunted stature. It was vain to +pretend to himself that he was not disappointed. But that was mere +feeling; the stoicism of his thought could not be disturbed by this +or any other failure. Next time, or the time after next, a telling +stroke would be delivered-something really startling - a blow fit +to open the first crack in the imposing front of the great edifice +of legal conceptions sheltering the atrocious injustice of society. +Of humble origin, and with an appearance really so mean as to stand +in the way of his considerable natural abilities, his imagination +had been fired early by the tales of men rising from the depths of +poverty to positions of authority and affluence. The extreme, +almost ascetic purity of his thought, combined with an astounding +ignorance of worldly conditions, had set before him a goal of power +and prestige to be attained without the medium of arts, graces, +tact, wealth - by sheer weight of merit alone. On that view he +considered himself entitled to undisputed success. His father, a +delicate dark enthusiast with a sloping forehead, had been an +itinerant and rousing preacher of some obscure but rigid Christian +sect - a man supremely confident in the privileges of his +righteousness. In the son, individualist by temperament, once the +science of colleges had replaced thoroughly the faith of +conventicles, this moral attitude translated itself into a frenzied +puritanism of ambition. He nursed it as something secularly holy. +To see it thwarted opened his eyes to the true nature of the world, +whose morality was artificial, corrupt, and blasphemous. The way +of even the most justifiable revolutions is prepared by personal +impulses disguised into creeds. The Professor's indignation found +in itself a final cause that absolved him from the sin of turning +to destruction as the agent of his ambition. To destroy public +faith in legality was the imperfect formula of his pedantic +fanaticism; but the subconscious conviction that the framework of +an established social order cannot be effectually shattered except +by some form of collective or individual violence was precise and +correct. He was a moral agent - that was settled in his mind. By +exercising his agency with ruthless defiance he procured for +himself the appearances of power and personal prestige. That was +undeniable to his vengeful bitterness. It pacified its unrest; and +in their own way the most ardent of revolutionaries are perhaps +doing no more but seeking for peace in common with the rest of +mankind - the peace of soothed vanity, of satisfied appetites, or +perhaps of appeased conscience. + +Lost in the crowd, miserable and undersized, he meditated +confidently on his power, keeping his hand in the left pocket of +his trousers, grasping lightly the india-rubber ball, the supreme +guarantee of his sinister freedom; but after a while he became +disagreeably affected by the sight of the roadway thronged with +vehicles and of the pavement crowded with men and women. He was in +a long, straight street, peopled by a mere fraction of an immense +multitude; but all round him, on and on, even to the limits of the +horizon hidden by the enormous piles of bricks, he felt the mass of +mankind mighty in its numbers. They swarmed numerous like locusts, +industrious like ants, thoughtless like a natural force, pushing on +blind and orderly and absorbed, impervious to sentiment, to logic, +to terror too perhaps. + +That was the form of doubt he feared most. Impervious to fear! +Often while walking abroad, when he happened also to come out of +himself, he had such moments of dreadful and sane mistrust of +mankind. What if nothing could move them? Such moments come to +all men whose ambition aims at a direct grasp upon humanity - to +artists, politicians, thinkers, reformers, or saints. A despicable +emotional state this, against which solitude fortifies a superior +character; and with severe exultation the Professor thought of the +refuge of his room, with its padlocked cupboard, lost in a +wilderness of poor houses, the hermitage of the perfect anarchist. +In order to reach sooner the point where he could take his omnibus, +he turned brusquely out of the populous street into a narrow and +dusky alley paved with flagstones. On one side the low brick +houses had in their dusty windows the sightless, moribund look of +incurable decay - empty shells awaiting demolition. From the other +side life had not departed wholly as yet. Facing the only gas-lamp +yawned the cavern of a second-hand furniture dealer, where, deep in +the gloom of a sort of narrow avenue winding through a bizarre +forest of wardrobes, with an undergrowth tangle of table legs, a +tall pier-glass glimmered like a pool of water in a wood. An +unhappy, homeless couch, accompanied by two unrelated chairs, stood +in the open. The only human being making use of the alley besides +the Professor, coming stalwart and erect from the opposite +direction, checked his swinging pace suddenly. + +"Hallo!" he said, and stood a little on one side watchfully. + +The Professor had already stopped, with a ready half turn which +brought his shoulders very near the other wall. His right hand +fell lightly on the back of the outcast couch, the left remained +purposefully plunged deep in the trousers pocket, and the roundness +of the heavy rimmed spectacles imparted an owlish character to his +moody, unperturbed face. + +It was like a meeting in a side corridor of a mansion full of life. +The stalwart man was buttoned up in a dark overcoat, and carried an +umbrella. His hat, tilted back, uncovered a good deal of forehead, +which appeared very white in the dusk. In the dark patches of the +orbits the eyeballs glimmered piercingly. Long, drooping +moustaches, the colour of ripe corn, framed with their points the +square block of his shaved chin. + +"I am not looking for you," he said curtly. + +The Professor did not stir an inch. The blended noises of the +enormous town sank down to an inarticulate low murmur. Chief +Inspector Heat of the Special Crimes Department changed his tone. + +"Not in a hurry to get home?" he asked, with mocking simplicity. + +The unwholesome-looking little moral agent of destruction exulted +silently in the possession of personal prestige, keeping in check +this man armed with the defensive mandate of a menaced society. +More fortunate than Caligula, who wished that the Roman Senate had +only one head for the better satisfaction of his cruel lust, he +beheld in that one man all the forces he had set at defiance: the +force of law, property, oppression, and injustice. He beheld all +his enemies, and fearlessly confronted them all in a supreme +satisfaction of his vanity. They stood perplexed before him as if +before a dreadful portent. He gloated inwardly over the chance of +this meeting affirming his superiority over all the multitude of +mankind. + +It was in reality a chance meeting. Chief Inspector Heat had had a +disagreeably busy day since his department received the first +telegram from Greenwich a little before eleven in the morning. +First of all, the fact of the outrage being attempted less than a +week after he had assured a high official that no outbreak of +anarchist activity was to be apprehended was sufficiently annoying. +If he ever thought himself safe in making a statement, it was then. +He had made that statement with infinite satisfaction to himself, +because it was clear that the high official desired greatly to hear +that very thing. He had affirmed that nothing of the sort could +even be thought of without the department being aware of it within +twenty-four hours; and he had spoken thus in his consciousness of +being the great expert of his department. He had gone even so far +as to utter words which true wisdom would have kept back. But +Chief Inspector Heat was not very wise - at least not truly so. +True wisdom, which is not certain of anything in this world of +contradictions, would have prevented him from attaining his present +position. It would have alarmed his superiors, and done away with +his chances of promotion. His promotion had been very rapid. + +"There isn't one of them, sir, that we couldn't lay our hands on at +any time of night and day. We know what each of them is doing hour +by hour," he had declared. And the high official had deigned to +smile. This was so obviously the right thing to say for an officer +of Chief Inspector Heat's reputation that it was perfectly +delightful. The high official believed the declaration, which +chimed in with his idea of the fitness of things. His wisdom was +of an official kind, or else he might have reflected upon a matter +not of theory but of experience that in the close-woven stuff of +relations between conspirator and police there occur unexpected +solutions of continuity, sudden holes in space and time. A given +anarchist may be watched inch by inch and minute by minute, but a +moment always comes when somehow all sight and touch of him are +lost for a few hours, during which something (generally an +explosion) more or less deplorable does happen. But the high +official, carried away by his sense of the fitness of things, had +smiled, and now the recollection of that smile was very annoying to +Chief Inspector Heat, principal expert in anarchist procedure. + +This was not the only circumstance whose recollection depressed the +usual serenity of the eminent specialist. There was another dating +back only to that very morning. The thought that when called +urgently to his Assistant Commissioner's private room he had been +unable to conceal his astonishment was distinctly vexing. His +instinct of a successful man had taught him long ago that, as a +general rule, a reputation is built on manner as much as on +achievement. And he felt that his manner when confronted with the +telegram had not been impressive. He had opened his eyes widely, +and had exclaimed "Impossible!" exposing himself thereby to the +unanswerable retort of a finger-tip laid forcibly on the telegram +which the Assistant Commissioner, after reading it aloud, had flung +on the desk. To be crushed, as it were, under the tip of a +forefinger was an unpleasant experience. Very damaging, too! +Furthermore, Chief Inspector Heat was conscious of not having +mended matters by allowing himself to express a conviction. + +"One thing I can tell you at once: none of our lot had anything to +do with this." + +He was strong in his integrity of a good detective, but he saw now +that an impenetrably attentive reserve towards this incident would +have served his reputation better. On the other hand, he admitted +to himself that it was difficult to preserve one's reputation if +rank outsiders were going to take a hand in the business. +Outsiders are the bane of the police as of other professions. The +tone of the Assistant Commissioner's remarks had been sour enough +to set one's teeth on edge. + +And since breakfast Chief Inspector Heat had not managed to get +anything to eat. + +Starting immediately to begin his investigation on the spot, he had +swallowed a good deal of raw, unwholesome fog in the park. Then he +had walked over to the hospital; and when the investigation in +Greenwich was concluded at last he had lost his inclination for +food. Not accustomed, as the doctors are, to examine closely the +mangled remains of human beings, he had been shocked by the sight +disclosed to his view when a waterproof sheet had been lifted off a +table in a certain apartment of the hospital. + +Another waterproof sheet was spread over that table in the manner +of a table-cloth, with the corners turned up over a sort of mound - +a heap of rags, scorched and bloodstained, half concealing what +might have been an accumulation of raw material for a cannibal +feast. It required considerable firmness of mind not to recoil +before that sight. Chief Inspector Heat, an efficient officer of +his department, stood his ground, but for a whole minute he did not +advance. A local constable in uniform cast a sidelong glance, and +said, with stolid simplicity: + +"He's all there. Every bit of him. It was a job." + +He had been the first man on the spot after the explosion. He +mentioned the fact again. He had seen something like a heavy flash +of lightning in the fog. At that time he was standing at the door +of the King William Street Lodge talking to the keeper. The +concussion made him tingle all over. He ran between the trees +towards the Observatory. "As fast as my legs would carry me," he +repeated twice. + +Chief Inspector Heat, bending forward over the table in a gingerly +and horrified manner, let him run on. The hospital porter and +another man turned down the corners of the cloth, and stepped +aside. The Chief Inspector's eyes searched the gruesome detail of +that heap of mixed things, which seemed to have been collected in +shambles and rag shops. + +"You used a shovel," he remarked, observing a sprinkling of small +gravel, tiny brown bits of bark, and particles of splintered wood +as fine as needles. + +"Had to in one place," said the stolid constable. "I sent a keeper +to fetch a spade. When he heard me scraping the ground with it he +leaned his forehead against a tree, and was as sick as a dog." + +The Chief Inspector, stooping guardedly over the table, fought down +the unpleasant sensation in his throat. The shattering violence of +destruction which had made of that body a heap of nameless +fragments affected his feelings with a sense of ruthless cruelty, +though his reason told him the effect must have been as swift as a +flash of lightning. The man, whoever he was, had died +instantaneously; and yet it seemed impossible to believe that a +human body could have reached that state of disintegration without +passing through the pangs of inconceivable agony. No physiologist, +and still less of a metaphysician, Chief Inspector Heat rose by the +force of sympathy, which is a form of fear, above the vulgar +conception of time. Instantaneous! He remembered all he had ever +read in popular publications of long and terrifying dreams dreamed +in the instant of waking; of the whole past life lived with +frightful intensity by a drowning man as his doomed head bobs up, +streaming, for the last time. The inexplicable mysteries of +conscious existence beset Chief Inspector Heat till he evolved a +horrible notion that ages of atrocious pain and mental torture +could be contained between two successive winks of an eye. And +meantime the Chief Inspector went on, peering at the table with a +calm face and the slightly anxious attention of an indigent +customer bending over what may be called the by-products of a +butcher's shop with a view to an inexpensive Sunday dinner. All +the time his trained faculties of an excellent investigator, who +scorns no chance of information, followed the self-satisfied, +disjointed loquacity of the constable. + +"A fair-haired fellow," the last observed in a placid tone, and +paused. "The old woman who spoke to the sergeant noticed a fair- +haired fellow coming out of Maze Hill Station." He paused. "And +he was a fair-haired fellow. She noticed two men coming out of the +station after the uptrain had gone on," he continued slowly. "She +couldn't tell if they were together. She took no particular notice +of the big one, but the other was a fair, slight chap, carrying a +tin varnish can in one hand." The constable ceased. + +"Know the woman?" muttered the Chief Inspector, with his eyes fixed +on the table, and a vague notion in his mind of an inquest to be +held presently upon a person likely to remain for ever unknown. + +"Yes. She's housekeeper to a retired publican, and attends the +chapel in Park Place sometimes," the constable uttered weightily, +and paused, with another oblique glance at the table. + +Then suddenly: "Well, here he is - all of him I could see. Fair. +Slight - slight enough. Look at that foot there. I picked up the +legs first, one after another. He was that scattered you didn't +know where to begin." + +The constable paused; the least flicker of an innocent self- +laudatory smile invested his round face with an infantile +expression. + +"Stumbled," he announced positively. "I stumbled once myself, and +pitched on my head too, while running up. Them roots do stick out +all about the place. Stumbled against the root of a tree and fell, +and that thing he was carrying must have gone off right under his +chest, I expect." + +The echo of the words "Person unknown" repeating itself in his +inner consciousness bothered the Chief Inspector considerably. He +would have liked to trace this affair back to its mysterious origin +for his own information. He was professionally curious. Before +the public he would have liked to vindicate the efficiency of his +department by establishing the identity of that man. He was a +loyal servant. That, however, appeared impossible. The first term +of the problem was unreadable - lacked all suggestion but that of +atrocious cruelty. + +Overcoming his physical repugnance, Chief Inspector Heat stretched +out his hand without conviction for the salving of his conscience, +and took up the least soiled of the rags. It was a narrow strip of +velvet with a larger triangular piece of dark blue cloth hanging +from it. He held it up to his eyes; and the police constable +spoke. + +"Velvet collar. Funny the old woman should have noticed the velvet +collar. Dark blue overcoat with a velvet collar, she has told us. +He was the chap she saw, and no mistake. And here he is all +complete, velvet collar and all. I don't think I missed a single +piece as big as a postage stamp." + +At this point the trained faculties of the Chief Inspector ceased +to hear the voice of the constable. He moved to one of the windows +for better light. His face, averted from the room, expressed a +startled intense interest while he examined closely the triangular +piece of broad-cloth. By a sudden jerk he detached it, and ONLY +after stuffing it into his pocket turned round to the room, and +flung the velvet collar back on the table - + +"Cover up," he directed the attendants curtly, without another +look, and, saluted by the constable, carried off his spoil hastily. + +A convenient train whirled him up to town, alone and pondering +deeply, in a third-class compartment. That singed piece of cloth +was incredibly valuable, and he could not defend himself from +astonishment at the casual manner it had come into his possession. +It was as if Fate had thrust that clue into his hands. And after +the manner of the average man, whose ambition is to command events, +he began to mistrust such a gratuitous and accidental success - +just because it seemed forced upon him. The practical value of +success depends not a little on the way you look at it. But Fate +looks at nothing. It has no discretion. He no longer considered +it eminently desirable all round to establish publicly the identity +of the man who had blown himself up that morning with such horrible +completeness. But he was not certain of the view his department +would take. A department is to those it employs a complex +personality with ideas and even fads of its own. It depends on the +loyal devotion of its servants, and the devoted loyalty of trusted +servants is associated with a certain amount of affectionate +contempt, which keeps it sweet, as it were. By a benevolent +provision of Nature no man is a hero to his valet, or else the +heroes would have to brush their own clothes. Likewise no +department appears perfectly wise to the intimacy of its workers. +A department does not know so much as some of its servants. Being +a dispassionate organism, it can never be perfectly informed. It +would not be good for its efficiency to know too much. Chief +Inspector Heat got out of the train in a state of thoughtfulness +entirely untainted with disloyalty, but not quite free of that +jealous mistrust which so often springs on the ground of perfect +devotion, whether to women or to institutions. + +It was in this mental disposition, physically very empty, but still +nauseated by what he had seen, that he had come upon the Professor. +Under these conditions which make for irascibility in a sound, +normal man, this meeting was specially unwelcome to Chief Inspector +Heat. He had not been thinking of the Professor; he had not been +thinking of any individual anarchist at all. The complexion of +that case had somehow forced upon him the general idea of the +absurdity of things human, which in the abstract is sufficiently +annoying to an unphilosophical temperament, and in concrete +instances becomes exasperating beyond endurance. At the beginning +of his career Chief Inspector Heat had been concerned with the more +energetic forms of thieving. He had gained his spurs in that +sphere, and naturally enough had kept for it, after his promotion +to another department, a feeling not very far removed from +affection. Thieving was not a sheer absurdity. It was a form of +human industry, perverse indeed, but still an industry exercised in +an industrious world; it was work undertaken for the same reason as +the work in potteries, in coal mines, in fields, in tool-grinding +shops. It was labour, whose practical difference from the other +forms of labour consisted in the nature of its risk, which did not +lie in ankylosis, or lead poisoning, or fire-damp, or gritty dust, +but in what may be briefly defined in its own special phraseology +as "Seven years hard." Chief Inspector Heat was, of course, not +insensible to the gravity of moral differences. But neither were +the thieves he had been looking after. They submitted to the +severe sanctions of a morality familiar to Chief Inspector Heat +with a certain resignation. + +They were his fellow-citizens gone wrong because of imperfect +education, Chief Inspector Heat believed; but allowing for that +difference, he could understand the mind of a burglar, because, as +a matter of fact, the mind and the instincts of a burglar are of +the same kind as the mind and the instincts of a police officer. +Both recognise the same conventions, and have a working knowledge +of each other's methods and of the routine of their respective +trades. They understand each other, which is advantageous to both, +and establishes a sort of amenity in their relations. Products of +the same machine, one classed as useful and the other as noxious, +they take the machine for granted in different ways, but with a +seriousness essentially the same. The mind of Chief Inspector Heat +was inaccessible to ideas of revolt. But his thieves were not +rebels. His bodily vigour, his cool inflexible manner, his courage +and his fairness, had secured for him much respect and some +adulation in the sphere of his early successes. He had felt +himself revered and admired. And Chief Inspector Heat, arrested +within six paces of the anarchist nick-named the Professor, gave a +thought of regret to the world of thieves - sane, without morbid +ideals, working by routine, respectful of constituted authorities, +free from all taint of hate and despair. + +After paying this tribute to what is normal in the constitution of +society (for the idea of thieving appeared to his instinct as +normal as the idea of property), Chief Inspector Heat felt very +angry with himself for having stopped, for having spoken, for +having taken that way at all on the ground of it being a short cut +from the station to the headquarters. And he spoke again in his +big authoritative voice, which, being moderated, had a threatening +character. + +"You are not wanted, I tell you," he repeated. + +The anarchist did not stir. An inward laugh of derision uncovered +not only his teeth but his gums as well, shook him all over, +without the slightest sound. Chief Inspector Heat was led to add, +against his better judgment: + +"Not yet. When I want you I will know where to find you." + +Those were perfectly proper words, within the tradition and +suitable to his character of a police officer addressing one of his +special flock. But the reception they got departed from tradition +and propriety. It was outrageous. The stunted, weakly figure +before him spoke at last. + +"I've no doubt the papers would give you an obituary notice then. +You know best what that would be worth to you. I should think you +can imagine easily the sort of stuff that would be printed. But +you may be exposed to the unpleasantness of being buried together +with me, though I suppose your friends would make an effort to sort +us out as much as possible." + +With all his healthy contempt for the spirit dictating such +speeches, the atrocious allusiveness of the words had its effect on +Chief Inspector Heat. He had too much insight, and too much exact +information as well, to dismiss them as rot. The dusk of this +narrow lane took on a sinister tint from the dark, frail little +figure, its back to the wall, and speaking with a weak, self- +confident voice. To the vigorous, tenacious vitality of the Chief +Inspector, the physical wretchedness of that being, so obviously +not fit to live, was ominous; for it seemed to him that if he had +the misfortune to be such a miserable object he would not have +cared how soon he died. Life had such a strong hold upon him that +a fresh wave of nausea broke out in slight perspiration upon his +brow. The murmur of town life, the subdued rumble of wheels in the +two invisible streets to the right and left, came through the curve +of the sordid lane to his ears with a precious familiarity and an +appealing sweetness. He was human. But Chief Inspector Heat was +also a man, and he could not let such words pass. + +"All this is good to frighten children with," he said. "I'll have +you yet." + +It was very well said, without scorn, with an almost austere +quietness. + +"Doubtless," was the answer; "but there's no time like the present, +believe me. For a man of real convictions this is a fine +opportunity of self-sacrifice. You may not find another so +favourable, so humane. There isn't even a cat near us, and these +condemned old houses would make a good heap of bricks where you +stand. You'll never get me at so little cost to life and property, +which you are paid to protect." + +"You don't know who you're speaking to," said Chief Inspector Heat +firmly. "If I were to lay my hands on you now I would be no better +than yourself." + +"Ah! The game!' + +"You may be sure our side will win in the end. It may yet be +necessary to make people believe that some of you ought to be shot +at sight like mad dogs. Then that will be the game. But I'll be +damned if I know what yours is. I don't believe you know +yourselves. You'll never get anything by it." + +"Meantime it's you who get something from it - so far. And you get +it easily, too. I won't speak of your salary, but haven't you made +your name simply by not understanding what we are after?" + +"What are you after, then?" asked Chief Inspector Heat, with +scornful haste, like a man in a hurry who perceives he is wasting +his time. + +The perfect anarchist answered by a smile which did not part his +thin colourless lips; and the celebrated Chief Inspector felt a +sense of superiority which induced him to raise a warning finger. + +"Give it up - whatever it is," he said in an admonishing tone, but +not so kindly as if he were condescending to give good advice to a +cracksman of repute. "Give it up. You'll find we are too many for +you." + +The fixed smile on the Professor's lips wavered, as if the mocking +spirit within had lost its assurance. Chief Inspector Heat went +on: + +"Don't you believe me eh? Well, you've only got to look about you. +We are. And anyway, you're not doing it well. You're always +making a mess of it. Why, if the thieves didn't know their work +better they would starve." + +The hint of an invincible multitude behind that man's back roused a +sombre indignation in the breast of the Professor. He smiled no +longer his enigmatic and mocking smile. The resisting power of +numbers, the unattackable stolidity of a great multitude, was the +haunting fear of his sinister loneliness. His lips trembled for +some time before he managed to say in a strangled voice: + +"I am doing my work better than you're doing yours." + +"That'll do now," interrupted Chief Inspector Heat hurriedly; and +the Professor laughed right out this time. While still laughing he +moved on; but he did not laugh long. It was a sad-faced, miserable +little man who emerged from the narrow passage into the bustle of +the broad thoroughfare. He walked with the nerveless gait of a +tramp going on, still going on, indifferent to rain or sun in a +sinister detachment from the aspects of sky and earth. Chief +Inspector Heat, on the other hand, after watching him for a while, +stepped out with the purposeful briskness of a man disregarding +indeed the inclemencies of the weather, but conscious of having an +authorised mission on this earth and the moral support of his kind. +All the inhabitants of the immense town, the population of the +whole country, and even the teeming millions struggling upon the +planet, were with him - down to the very thieves and mendicants. +Yes, the thieves themselves were sure to be with him in his present +work. The consciousness of universal support in his general +activity heartened him to grapple with the particular problem. + +The problem immediately before the Chief Inspector was that of +managing the Assistant Commissioner of his department, his +immediate superior. This is the perennial problem of trusty and +loyal servants; anarchism gave it its particular complexion, but +nothing more. Truth to say, Chief Inspector Heat thought but +little of anarchism. He did not attach undue importance to it, and +could never bring himself to consider it seriously. It had more +the character of disorderly conduct; disorderly without the human +excuse of drunkenness, which at any rate implies good feeling and +an amiable leaning towards festivity. As criminals, anarchists +were distinctly no class - no class at all. And recalling the +Professor, Chief Inspector Heat, without checking his swinging +pace, muttered through his teeth: + +"Lunatic." + +Catching thieves was another matter altogether. It had that +quality of seriousness belonging to every form of open sport where +the best man wins under perfectly comprehensible rules. There were +no rules for dealing with anarchists. And that was distasteful to +the Chief Inspector. It was all foolishness, but that foolishness +excited the public mind, affected persons in high places, and +touched upon international relations. A hard, merciless contempt +settled rigidly on the Chief Inspector's face as he walked on. His +mind ran over all the anarchists of his flock. Not one of them had +half the spunk of this or that burglar he had known. Not half - +not one-tenth. + +At headquarters the Chief Inspector was admitted at once to the +Assistant Commissioner's private room. He found him, pen in hand, +bent over a great table bestrewn with papers, as if worshipping an +enormous double inkstand of bronze and crystal. Speaking tubes +resembling snakes were tied by the heads to the back of the +Assistant Commissioner's wooden arm-chair, and their gaping mouths +seemed ready to bite his elbows. And in this attitude he raised +only his eyes, whose lids were darker than his face and very much +creased. The reports had come in: every anarchist had been exactly +accounted for. + +After saying this he lowered his eyes, signed rapidly two single +sheets of paper, and only then laid down his pen, and sat well +back, directing an inquiring gaze at his renowned subordinate. The +Chief Inspector stood it well, deferential but inscrutable. + +"I daresay you were right," said the Assistant Commissioner, "in +telling me at first that the London anarchists had nothing to do +with this. I quite appreciate the excellent watch kept on them by +your men. On the other hand, this, for the public, does not amount +to more than a confession of ignorance." + +The Assistant Commissioner's delivery was leisurely, as it were +cautious. His thought seemed to rest poised on a word before +passing to another, as though words had been the stepping-stones +for his intellect picking its way across the waters of error. +"Unless you have brought something useful from Greenwich," he +added. + +The Chief Inspector began at once the account of his investigation +in a clear matter-of-fact manner. His superior turning his chair a +little, and crossing his thin legs, leaned sideways on his elbow, +with one hand shading his eyes. His listening attitude had a sort +of angular and sorrowful grace. Gleams as of highly burnished +silver played on the sides of his ebony black head when he inclined +it slowly at the end. + +Chief Inspector Heat waited with the appearance of turning over in +his mind all he had just said, but, as a matter of fact, +considering the advisability of saying something more. The +Assistant Commissioner cut his hesitation short. + +"You believe there were two men?" he asked, without uncovering his +eyes. + +The Chief Inspector thought it more than probable. In his opinion, +the two men had parted from each other within a hundred yards from +the Observatory walls. He explained also how the other man could +have got out of the park speedily without being observed. The fog, +though not very dense, was in his favour. He seemed to have +escorted the other to the spot, and then to have left him there to +do the job single-handed. Taking the time those two were seen +coming out of Maze Hill Station by the old woman, and the time when +the explosion was heard, the Chief Inspector thought that the other +man might have been actually at the Greenwich Park Station, ready +to catch the next train up, at the moment his comrade was +destroying himself so thoroughly. + +"Very thoroughly - eh?" murmured the Assistant Commissioner from +under the shadow of his hand. + +The Chief Inspector in a few vigorous words described the aspect of +the remains. "The coroner's jury will have a treat," he added +grimly. + +The Assistant Commissioner uncovered his eyes. + +"We shall have nothing to tell them," he remarked languidly. + +He looked up, and for a time watched the markedly non-committal +attitude of his Chief Inspector. His nature was one that is not +easily accessible to illusions. He knew that a department is at +the mercy of its subordinate officers, who have their own +conceptions of loyalty. His career had begun in a tropical colony. +He had liked his work there. It was police work. He had been very +successful in tracking and breaking up certain nefarious secret +societies amongst the natives. Then he took his long leave, and +got married rather impulsively. It was a good match from a worldly +point of view, but his wife formed an unfavourable opinion of the +colonial climate on hearsay evidence. On the other hand, she had +influential connections. It was an excellent match. But he did +not like the work he had to do now. He felt himself dependent on +too many subordinates and too many masters. The near presence of +that strange emotional phenomenon called public opinion weighed +upon his spirits, and alarmed him by its irrational nature. No +doubt that from ignorance he exaggerated to himself its power for +good and evil - especially for evil; and the rough east winds of +the English spring (which agreed with his wife) augmented his +general mistrust of men's motives and of the efficiency of their +organisation. The futility of office work especially appalled him +on those days so trying to his sensitive liver. + +He got up, unfolding himself to his full height, and with a +heaviness of step remarkable in so slender a man, moved across the +room to the window. The panes streamed with rain, and the short +street he looked down into lay wet and empty, as if swept clear +suddenly by a great flood. It was a very trying day, choked in raw +fog to begin with, and now drowned in cold rain. The flickering, +blurred flames of gas-lamps seemed to be dissolving in a watery +atmosphere. And the lofty pretensions of a mankind oppressed by +the miserable indignities of the weather appeared as a colossal and +hopeless vanity deserving of scorn, wonder, and compassion. + +"Horrible, horrible!" thought the Assistant Commissioner to +himself, with his face near the window-pane. "We have been having +this sort of thing now for ten days; no, a fortnight - a +fortnight." He ceased to think completely for a time. That utter +stillness of his brain lasted about three seconds. Then he said +perfunctorily: "You have set inquiries on foot for tracing that +other man up and down the line?" + +He had no doubt that everything needful had been done. Chief +Inspector Heat knew, of course, thoroughly the business of man- +hunting. And these were the routine steps, too, that would be +taken as a matter of course by the merest beginner. A few +inquiries amongst the ticket collectors and the porters of the two +small railway stations would give additional details as to the +appearance of the two men; the inspection of the collected tickets +would show at once where they came from that morning. It was +elementary, and could not have been neglected. Accordingly the +Chief Inspector answered that all this had been done directly the +old woman had come forward with her deposition. And he mentioned +the name of a station. "That's where they came from, sir," he went +on. "The porter who took the tickets at Maze Hill remembers two +chaps answering to the description passing the barrier. They +seemed to him two respectable working men of a superior sort - sign +painters or house decorators. The big man got out of a third-class +compartment backward, with a bright tin can in his hand. On the +platform he gave it to carry to the fair young fellow who followed +him. All this agrees exactly with what the old woman told the +police sergeant in Greenwich." + +The Assistant Commissioner, still with his face turned to the +window, expressed his doubt as to these two men having had anything +to do with the outrage. All this theory rested upon the utterances +of an old charwoman who had been nearly knocked down by a man in a +hurry. Not a very substantial authority indeed, unless on the +ground of sudden inspiration, which was hardly tenable. + +"Frankly now, could she have been really inspired?" he queried, +with grave irony, keeping his back to the room, as if entranced by +the contemplation of the town's colossal forms half lost in the +night. He did not even look round when he heard the mutter of the +word "Providential" from the principal subordinate of his +department, whose name, printed sometimes in the papers, was +familiar to the great public as that of one of its zealous and +hard-working protectors. Chief Inspector Heat raised his voice a +little. + +"Strips and bits of bright tin were quite visible to me," he said. +"That's a pretty good corroboration." + +"And these men came from that little country station," the +Assistant Commissioner mused aloud, wondering. He was told that +such was the name on two tickets out of three given up out of that +train at Maze Hill. The third person who got out was a hawker from +Gravesend well known to the porters. The Chief Inspector imparted +that information in a tone of finality with some ill humour, as +loyal servants will do in the consciousness of their fidelity and +with the sense of the value of their loyal exertions. And still +the Assistant Commissioner did not turn away from the darkness +outside, as vast as a sea. + +"Two foreign anarchists coming from that place," he said, +apparently to the window-pane. "It's rather unaccountable."' + +"Yes, sir. But it would be still more unaccountable if that +Michaelis weren't staying in a cottage in the neighbourhood." + +At the sound of that name, falling unexpectedly into this annoying +affair, the Assistant Commissioner dismissed brusquely the vague +remembrance of his daily whist party at his club. It was the most +comforting habit of his life, in a mainly successful display of his +skill without the assistance of any subordinate. He entered his +club to play from five to seven, before going home to dinner, +forgetting for those two hours whatever was distasteful in his +life, as though the game were a beneficent drug for allaying the +pangs of moral discontent. His partners were the gloomily humorous +editor of a celebrated magazine; a silent, elderly barrister with +malicious little eyes; and a highly martial, simple-minded old +Colonel with nervous brown hands. They were his club acquaintances +merely. He never met them elsewhere except at the card-table. But +they all seemed to approach the game in the spirit of co-sufferers, +as if it were indeed a drug against the secret ills of existence; +and every day as the sun declined over the countless roofs of the +town, a mellow, pleasurable impatience, resembling the impulse of a +sure and profound friendship, lightened his professional labours. +And now this pleasurable sensation went out of him with something +resembling a physical shock, and was replaced by a special kind of +interest in his work of social protection - an improper sort of +interest, which may be defined best as a sudden and alert mistrust +of the weapon in his hand. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + + +The lady patroness of Michaelis, the ticket-of-leave apostle of +humanitarian hopes, was one of the most influential and +distinguished connections of the Assistant Commissioner's wife, +whom she called Annie, and treated still rather as a not very wise +and utterly inexperienced young girl. But she had consented to +accept him on a friendly footing, which was by no means the case +with all of his wife's influential connections. Married young and +splendidly at some remote epoch of the past, she had had for a time +a close view of great affairs and even of some great men. She +herself was a great lady. Old now in the number of her years, she +had that sort of exceptional temperament which defies time with +scornful disregard, as if it were a rather vulgar convention +submitted to by the mass of inferior mankind. Many other +conventions easier to set aside, alas! failed to obtain her +recognition, also on temperamental grounds - either because they +bored her, or else because they stood in the way of her scorns and +sympathies. Admiration was a sentiment unknown to her (it was one +of the secret griefs of her most noble husband against her) - +first, as always more or less tainted with mediocrity, and next as +being in a way an admission of inferiority. And both were frankly +inconceivable to her nature. To be fearlessly outspoken in her +opinions came easily to her, since she judged solely from the +standpoint of her social position. She was equally untrammelled in +her actions; and as her tactfulness proceeded from genuine +humanity, her bodily vigour remained remarkable and her superiority +was serene and cordial, three generations had admired her +infinitely, and the last she was likely to see had pronounced her a +wonderful woman. Meantime intelligent, with a sort of lofty +simplicity, and curious at heart, but not like many women merely of +social gossip, she amused her age by attracting within her ken +through the power of her great, almost historical, social prestige +everything that rose above the dead level of mankind, lawfully or +unlawfully, by position, wit, audacity, fortune or misfortune. +Royal Highnesses, artists, men of science, young statesmen, and +charlatans of all ages and conditions, who, unsubstantial and +light, bobbing up like corks, show best the direction of the +surface currents, had been welcomed in that house, listened to, +penetrated, understood, appraised, for her own edification. In her +own words, she liked to watch what the world was coming to. And as +she had a practical mind her judgment of men and things, though +based on special prejudices, was seldom totally wrong, and almost +never wrong-headed. Her drawing-room was probably the only place +in the wide world where an Assistant Commissioner of Police could +meet a convict liberated on a ticket-of-leave on other than +professional and official ground. Who had brought Michaelis there +one afternoon the Assistant Commissioner did not remember very +well. He had a notion it must have been a certain Member of +Parliament of illustrious parentage and unconventional sympathies, +which were the standing joke of the comic papers. The notabilities +and even the simple notorieties of the day brought each other +freely to that temple of an old woman's not ignoble curiosity. You +never could guess whom you were likely to come upon being received +in semi-privacy within the faded blue silk and gilt frame screen, +making a cosy nook for a couch and a few arm-chairs in the great +drawing-room, with its hum of voices and the groups of people +seated or standing in the light of six tall windows. + +Michaelis had been the object of a revulsion of popular sentiment, +the same sentiment which years ago had applauded the ferocity of +the life sentence passed upon him for complicity in a rather mad +attempt to rescue some prisoners from a police van. The plan of +the conspirators had been to shoot down the horses and overpower +the escort. Unfortunately, one of the police constables got shot +too. He left a wife and three small children, and the death of +that man aroused through the length and breadth of a realm for +whose defence, welfare, and glory men die every day as matter of +duty, an outburst of furious indignation, of a raging implacable +pity for the victim. Three ring-leaders got hanged. Michaelis, +young and slim, locksmith by trade, and great frequenter of evening +schools, did not even know that anybody had been killed, his part +with a few others being to force open the door at the back of the +special conveyance. When arrested he had a bunch of skeleton keys +in one pocket a heavy chisel in another, and a short crowbar in his +hand: neither more nor less than a burglar. But no burglar would +have received such a heavy sentence. The death of the constable +had made him miserable at heart, but the failure of the plot also. +He did not conceal either of these sentiments from his empanelled +countrymen, and that sort of compunction appeared shockingly +imperfect to the crammed court. The judge on passing sentence +commented feelingly upon the depravity and callousness of the young +prisoner. + +That made the groundless fame of his condemnation; the fame of his +release was made for him on no better grounds by people who wished +to exploit the sentimental aspect of his imprisonment either for +purposes of their own or for no intelligible purpose. He let them +do so in the innocence of his heart and the simplicity of his mind. +Nothing that happened to him individually had any importance. He +was like those saintly men whose personality is lost in the +contemplation of their faith. His ideas were not in the nature of +convictions. They were inaccessible to reasoning. They formed in +all their contradictions and obscurities an invincible and +humanitarian creed, which he confessed rather than preached, with +an obstinate gentleness, a smile of pacific assurance on his lips, +and his candid blue eyes cast down because the sight of faces +troubled his inspiration developed in solitude. In that +characteristic attitude, pathetic in his grotesque and incurable +obesity which he had to drag like a galley slave's bullet to the +end of his days, the Assistant Commissioner of Police beheld the +ticket-of-leave apostle filling a privileged arm-chair within the +screen. He sat there by the head of the old lady's couch, mild- +voiced and quiet, with no more self-consciousness than a very small +child, and with something of a child's charm - the appealing charm +of trustfulness. Confident of the future, whose secret ways had +been revealed to him within the four walls of a well-known +penitentiary, he had no reason to look with suspicion upon anybody. +If he could not give the great and curious lady a very definite +idea as to what the world was coming to, he had managed without +effort to impress her by his unembittered faith, by the sterling +quality of his optimism. + +A certain simplicity of thought is common to serene souls at both +ends of the social scale. The great lady was simple in her own +way. His views and beliefs had nothing in them to shock or startle +her, since she judged them from the standpoint of her lofty +position. Indeed, her sympathies were easily accessible to a man +of that sort. She was not an exploiting capitalist herself; she +was, as it were, above the play of economic conditions. And she +had a great capacity of pity for the more obvious forms of common +human miseries, precisely because she was such a complete stranger +to them that she had to translate her conception into terms of +mental suffering before she could grasp the notion of their +cruelty. The Assistant Commissioner remembered very well the +conversation between these two. He had listened in silence. It +was something as exciting in a way, and even touching in its +foredoomed futility, as the efforts at moral intercourse between +the inhabitants of remote planets. But this grotesque incarnation +of humanitarian passion appealed somehow, to one's imagination. At +last Michaelis rose, and taking the great lady's extended hand, +shook it, retained it for a moment in his great cushioned palm with +unembarrassed friendliness, and turned upon the semi-private nook +of the drawing-room his back, vast and square, and as if distended +under the short tweed jacket. Glancing about in serene +benevolence, he waddled along to the distant door between the knots +of other visitors. The murmur of conversations paused on his +passage. He smiled innocently at a tall, brilliant girl, whose +eyes met his accidentally, and went out unconscious of the glances +following him across the room. Michaelis' first appearance in the +world was a success - a success of esteem unmarred by a single +murmur of derision. The interrupted conversations were resumed in +their proper tone, grave or light. Only a well-set-up, long- +limbed, active-looking man of forty talking with two ladies near a +window remarked aloud, with an unexpected depth of feeling: +"Eighteen stone, I should say, and not five foot six. Poor fellow! +It's terrible - terrible." + +The lady of the house, gazing absently at the Assistant +Commissioner, left alone with her on the private side of the +screen, seemed to be rearranging her mental impressions behind her +thoughtful immobility of a handsome old face. Men with grey +moustaches and full, healthy, vaguely smiling countenances +approached, circling round the screen; two mature women with a +matronly air of gracious resolution; a clean-shaved individual with +sunken cheeks, and dangling a gold-mounted eyeglass on a broad +black ribbon with an old-world, dandified effect. A silence +deferential, but full of reserves, reigned for a moment, and then +the great lady exclaimed, not with resentment, but with a sort of +protesting indignation: + +"And that officially is supposed to be a revolutionist! What +nonsense." She looked hard at the Assistant Commissioner, who +murmured apologetically: + +"Not a dangerous one perhaps." + +"Not dangerous - I should think not indeed. He is a mere believer. +It's the temperament of a saint," declared the great lady in a firm +tone. "And they kept him shut up for twenty years. One shudders +at the stupidity of it. And now they have let him out everybody +belonging to him is gone away somewhere or dead. His parents are +dead; the girl he was to marry has died while he was in prison; he +has lost the skill necessary for his manual occupation. He told me +all this himself with the sweetest patience; but then, he said, he +had had plenty of time to think out things for himself. A pretty +compensation! If that's the stuff revolutionists are made of some +of us may well go on their knees to them," she continued in a +slightly bantering voice, while the banal society smiles hardened +on the worldly faces turned towards her with conventional +deference. "The poor creature is obviously no longer in a position +to take care of himself. Somebody will have to look after him a +little." + +"He should be recommended to follow a treatment of some sort," the +soldierly voice of the active-looking man was heard advising +earnestly from a distance. He was in the pink of condition for his +age, and even the texture of his long frock coat had a character of +elastic soundness, as if it were a living tissue. "The man is +virtually a cripple," he added with unmistakable feeling. + +Other voices, as if glad of the opening, murmured hasty compassion. +"Quite startling," "Monstrous," "Most painful to see." The lank +man, with the eyeglass on a broad ribbon, pronounced mincingly the +word "Grotesque," whose justness was appreciated by those standing +near him. They smiled at each other. + +The Assistant Commissioner had expressed no opinion either then or +later, his position making it impossible for him to ventilate any +independent view of a ticket-of-leave convict. But, in truth, he +shared the view of his wife's friend and patron that Michaelis was +a humanitarian sentimentalist, a little mad, but upon the whole +incapable of hurting a fly intentionally. So when that name +cropped up suddenly in this vexing bomb affair he realised all the +danger of it for the ticket-of-leave apostle, and his mind reverted +at once to the old lady's well-established infatuation. Her +arbitrary kindness would not brook patiently any interference with +Michaelis' freedom. It was a deep, calm, convinced infatuation. +She had not only felt him to be inoffensive, but she had said so, +which last by a confusion of her absolutist mind became a sort of +incontrovertible demonstration. It was as if the monstrosity of +the man, with his candid infant's eyes and a fat angelic smile, had +fascinated her. She had come to believe almost his theory of the +future, since it was not repugnant to her prejudices. She disliked +the new element of plutocracy in the social compound, and +industrialism as a method of human development appeared to her +singularly repulsive in its mechanical and unfeeling character. +The humanitarian hopes of the mild Michaelis tended not towards +utter destruction, but merely towards the complete economic ruin of +the system. And she did not really see where was the moral harm of +it. It would do away with all the multitude of the "parvenus," +whom she disliked and mistrusted, not because they had arrived +anywhere (she denied that), but because of their profound +unintelligence of the world, which was the primary cause of the +crudity of their perceptions and the aridity of their hearts. With +the annihilation of all capital they would vanish too; but +universal ruin (providing it was universal, as it was revealed to +Michaelis) would leave the social values untouched. The +disappearance of the last piece of money could not affect people of +position. She could not conceive how it could affect her position, +for instance. She had developed these discoveries to the Assistant +Commissioner with all the serene fearlessness of an old woman who +had escaped the blight of indifference. He had made for himself +the rule to receive everything of that sort in a silence which he +took care from policy and inclination not to make offensive. He +had an affection for the aged disciple of Michaelis, a complex +sentiment depending a little on her prestige, on her personality, +but most of all on the instinct of flattered gratitude. He felt +himself really liked in her house. She was kindness personified. +And she was practically wise too, after the manner of experienced +women. She made his married life much easier than it would have +been without her generously full recognition of his rights as +Annie's husband. Her influence upon his wife, a woman devoured by +all sorts of small selfishnesses, small envies, small jealousies, +was excellent. Unfortunately, both her kindness and her wisdom +were of unreasonable complexion, distinctly feminine, and difficult +to deal with. She remained a perfect woman all along her full tale +of years, and not as some of them do become - a sort of slippery, +pestilential old man in petticoats. And it was as of a woman that +he thought of her - the specially choice incarnation of the +feminine, wherein is recruited the tender, ingenuous, and fierce +bodyguard for all sorts of men who talk under the influence of an +emotion, true or fraudulent; for preachers, seers, prophets, or +reformers. + +Appreciating the distinguished and good friend of his wife, and +himself, in that way, the Assistant Commissioner became alarmed at +the convict Michaelis' possible fate. Once arrested on suspicion +of being in some way, however remote, a party to this outrage, the +man could hardly escape being sent back to finish his sentence at +least. And that would kill him; he would never come out alive. +The Assistant Commissioner made a reflection extremely unbecoming +his official position without being really creditable to his +humanity. + +"If the fellow is laid hold of again," he thought, "she will never +forgive me." + +The frankness of such a secretly outspoken thought could not go +without some derisive self-criticism. No man engaged in a work he +does not like can preserve many saving illusions about himself. +The distaste, the absence of glamour, extend from the occupation to +the personality. It is only when our appointed activities seem by +a lucky accident to obey the particular earnestness of our +temperament that we can taste the comfort of complete self- +deception. The Assistant Commissioner did not like his work at +home. The police work he had been engaged on in a distant part of +the globe had the saving character of an irregular sort of warfare +or at least the risk and excitement of open-air sport. His real +abilities, which were mainly of an administrative order, were +combined with an adventurous disposition. Chained to a desk in the +thick of four millions of men, he considered himself the victim of +an ironic fate - the same, no doubt, which had brought about his +marriage with a woman exceptionally sensitive in the matter of +colonial climate, besides other limitations testifying to the +delicacy of her nature - and her tastes. Though he judged his +alarm sardonically he did not dismiss the improper thought from his +mind. The instinct of self-preservation was strong within him. On +the contrary, he repeated it mentally with profane emphasis and a +fuller precision: "Damn it! If that infernal Heat has his way the +fellow'll die in prison smothered in his fat, and she'll never +forgive me." + +His black, narrow figure, with the white band of the collar under +the silvery gleams on the close-cropped hair at the back of the +head, remained motionless. The silence had lasted such a long time +that Chief Inspector Heat ventured to clear his throat. This noise +produced its effect. The zealous and intelligent officer was asked +by his superior, whose back remained turned to him immovably: + +"You connect Michaelis with this affair?" + +Chief Inspector Heat was very positive, but cautious. + +"Well, sir," he said, "we have enough to go upon. A man like that +has no business to be at large, anyhow." + +"You will want some conclusive evidence," came the observation in a +murmur. + +Chief Inspector Heat raised his eyebrows at the black, narrow back, +which remained obstinately presented to his intelligence and his +zeal. + +"There will be no difficulty in getting up sufficient evidence +against HIM," he said, with virtuous complacency. "You may trust +me for that, sir," he added, quite unnecessarily, out of the +fulness of his heart; for it seemed to him an excellent thing to +have that man in hand to be thrown down to the public should it +think fit to roar with any special indignation in this case. It +was impossible to say yet whether it would roar or not. That in +the last instance depended, of course, on the newspaper press. But +in any case, Chief Inspector Heat, purveyor of prisons by trade, +and a man of legal instincts, did logically believe that +incarceration was the proper fate for every declared enemy of the +law. In the strength of that conviction he committed a fault of +tact. He allowed himself a little conceited laugh, and repeated: + +"Trust me for that, sir." + +This was too much for the forced calmness under which the Assistant +Commissioner had for upwards of eighteen months concealed his +irritation with the system and the subordinates of his office. A +square peg forced into a round hole, he had felt like a daily +outrage that long established smooth roundness into which a man of +less sharply angular shape would have fitted himself, with +voluptuous acquiescence, after a shrug or two. What he resented +most was just the necessity of taking so much on trust. At the +little laugh of Chief Inspector Heat's he spun swiftly on his +heels, as if whirled away from the window-pane by an electric +shock. He caught on the latter's face not only the complacency +proper to the occasion lurking under the moustache, but the +vestiges of experimental watchfulness in the round eyes, which had +been, no doubt, fastened on his back, and now met his glance for a +second before the intent character of their stare had the time to +change to a merely startled appearance. + +The Assistant Commissioner of Police had really some qualifications +for his post. Suddenly his suspicion was awakened. It is but fair +to say that his suspicions of the police methods (unless the police +happened to be a semi-military body organised by himself) was not +difficult to arouse. If it ever slumbered from sheer weariness, it +was but lightly; and his appreciation of Chief Inspector Heat's +zeal and ability, moderate in itself, excluded all notion of moral +confidence. "He's up to something," he exclaimed mentally, and at +once became angry. Crossing over to his desk with headlong +strides, he sat down violently. "Here I am stuck in a litter of +paper," he reflected, with unreasonable resentment, "supposed to +hold all the threads in my hands, and yet I can but hold what is +put in my hand, and nothing else. And they can fasten the other +ends of the threads where they please." + +He raised his head, and turned towards his subordinate a long, +meagre face with the accentuated features of an energetic Don +Quixote. + +"Now what is it you've got up your sleeve?" + +The other stared. He stared without winking in a perfect +immobility of his round eyes, as he was used to stare at the +various members of the criminal class when, after being duly +cautioned, they made their statements in the tones of injured +innocence, or false simplicity, or sullen resignation. But behind +that professional and stony fixity there was some surprise too, for +in such a tone, combining nicely the note of contempt and +impatience, Chief Inspector Heat, the right-hand man of the +department, was not used to be addressed. He began in a +procrastinating manner, like a man taken unawares by a new and +unexpected experience. + +"What I've got against that man Michaelis you mean, sir?" + +The Assistant Commissioner watched the bullet head; the points of +that Norse rover's moustache, falling below the line of the heavy +jaw; the whole full and pale physiognomy, whose determined +character was marred by too much flesh; at the cunning wrinkles +radiating from the outer corners of the eyes - and in that +purposeful contemplation of the valuable and trusted officer he +drew a conviction so sudden that it moved him like an inspiration. + +"I have reason to think that when you came into this room," he said +in measured tones, "it was not Michaelis who was in your mind; not +principally - perhaps not at all." + +"You have reason to think, sir?" muttered Chief Inspector Heat, +with every appearance of astonishment, which up to a certain point +was genuine enough. He had discovered in this affair a delicate +and perplexing side, forcing upon the discoverer a certain amount +of insincerity - that sort of insincerity which, under the names of +skill, prudence, discretion, turns up at one point or another in +most human affairs. He felt at the moment like a tight-rope artist +might feel if suddenly, in the middle of the performance, the +manager of the Music Hall were to rush out of the proper managerial +seclusion and begin to shake the rope. Indignation, the sense of +moral insecurity engendered by such a treacherous proceeding joined +to the immediate apprehension of a broken neck, would, in the +colloquial phrase, put him in a state. And there would be also +some scandalised concern for his art too, since a man must identify +himself with something more tangible than his own personality, and +establish his pride somewhere, either in his social position, or in +the quality of the work he is obliged to do, or simply in the +superiority of the idleness he may be fortunate enough to enjoy. + +"Yes," said the Assistant Commissioner; "I have. I do not mean to +say that you have not thought of Michaelis at all. But you are +giving the fact you've mentioned a prominence which strikes me as +not quite candid, Inspector Heat. If that is really the track of +discovery, why haven't you followed it up at once, either +personally or by sending one of your men to that village?" + +"Do you think, sir, I have failed in my duty there?" the Chief +Inspector asked, in a tone which he sought to make simply +reflective. Forced unexpectedly to concentrate his faculties upon +the task of preserving his balance, he had seized upon that point, +and exposed himself to a rebuke; for, the Assistant Commissioner +frowning slightly, observed that this was a very improper remark to +make. + +"But since you've made it," he continued coldly, "I'll tell you +that this is not my meaning." + +He paused, with a straight glance of his sunken eyes which was a +full equivalent of the unspoken termination "and you know it." The +head of the so-called Special Crimes Department debarred by his +position from going out of doors personally in quest of secrets +locked up in guilty breasts, had a propensity to exercise his +considerable gifts for the detection of incriminating truth upon +his own subordinates. That peculiar instinct could hardly be +called a weakness. It was natural. He was a born detective. It +had unconsciously governed his choice of a career, and if it ever +failed him in life it was perhaps in the one exceptional +circumstance of his marriage - which was also natural. It fed, +since it could not roam abroad, upon the human material which was +brought to it in its official seclusion. We can never cease to be +ourselves. + +His elbow on the desk, his thin legs crossed, and nursing his cheek +in the palm of his meagre hand, the Assistant Commissioner in +charge of the Special Crimes branch was getting hold of the case +with growing interest. His Chief Inspector, if not an absolutely +worthy foeman of his penetration, was at any rate the most worthy +of all within his reach. A mistrust of established reputations was +strictly in character with the Assistant Commissioner's ability as +detector. His memory evoked a certain old fat and wealthy native +chief in the distant colony whom it was a tradition for the +successive Colonial Governors to trust and make much of as a firm +friend and supporter of the order and legality established by white +men; whereas, when examined sceptically, he was found out to be +principally his own good friend, and nobody else's. Not precisely +a traitor, but still a man of many dangerous reservations in his +fidelity, caused by a due regard for his own advantage, comfort, +and safety. A fellow of some innocence in his naive duplicity, but +none the less dangerous. He took some finding out. He was +physically a big man, too, and (allowing for the difference of +colour, of course) Chief Inspector Heat's appearance recalled him +to the memory of his superior. It was not the eyes nor yet the +lips exactly. It was bizarre. But does not Alfred Wallace relate +in his famous book on the Malay Archipelago how, amongst the Aru +Islanders, he discovered in an old and naked savage with a sooty +skin a peculiar resemblance to a dear friend at home? + +For the first time since he took up his appointment the Assistant +Commissioner felt as if he were going to do some real work for his +salary. And that was a pleasurable sensation. "I'll turn him +inside out like an old glove," thought the Assistant Commissioner, +with his eyes resting pensively upon Chief Inspector Heat. + +"No, that was not my thought," he began again. "There is no doubt +about you knowing your business - no doubt at all; and that's +precisely why I - " He stopped short, and changing his tone: "What +could you bring up against Michaelis of a definite nature? I mean +apart from the fact that the two men under suspicion - you're +certain there were two of them - came last from a railway station +within three miles of the village where Michaelis is living now." + +"This by itself is enough for us to go upon, sir, with that sort of +man," said the Chief Inspector, with returning composure. The +slight approving movement of the Assistant Commissioner's head went +far to pacify the resentful astonishment of the renowned officer. +For Chief Inspector Heat was a kind man, an excellent husband, a +devoted father; and the public and departmental confidence he +enjoyed acting favourably upon an amiable nature, disposed him to +feel friendly towards the successive Assistant Commissioners he had +seen pass through that very room. There had been three in his +time. The first one, a soldierly, abrupt, red-faced person, with +white eyebrows and an explosive temper, could be managed with a +silken thread. He left on reaching the age limit. The second, a +perfect gentleman, knowing his own and everybody else's place to a +nicety, on resigning to take up a higher appointment out of England +got decorated for (really) Inspector Heat's services. To work with +him had been a pride and a pleasure. The third, a bit of a dark +horse from the first, was at the end of eighteen months something +of a dark horse still to the department. Upon the whole Chief +Inspector Heat believed him to be in the main harmless - odd- +looking, but harmless. He was speaking now, and the Chief +Inspector listened with outward deference (which means nothing, +being a matter of duty) and inwardly with benevolent toleration. + +"Michaelis reported himself before leaving London for the country?" + +"Yes, sir. He did." + +"And what may he be doing there?" continued the Assistant +Commissioner, who was perfectly informed on that point. Fitted +with painful tightness into an old wooden arm-chair, before a worm- +eaten oak table in an upstairs room of a four-roomed cottage with a +roof of moss-grown tiles, Michaelis was writing night and day in a +shaky, slanting hand that "Autobiography of a Prisoner" which was +to be like a book of Revelation in the history of mankind. The +conditions of confined space, seclusion, and solitude in a small +four-roomed cottage were favourable to his inspiration. It was +like being in prison, except that one was never disturbed for the +odious purpose of taking exercise according to the tyrannical +regulations of his old home in the penitentiary. He could not tell +whether the sun still shone on the earth or not. The perspiration +of the literary labour dropped from his brow. A delightful +enthusiasm urged him on. It was the liberation of his inner life, +the letting out of his soul into the wide world. And the zeal of +his guileless vanity (first awakened by the offer of five hundred +pounds from a publisher) seemed something predestined and holy. + +"It would be, of course, most desirable to be informed exactly," +insisted the Assistant Commissioner uncandidly. + +Chief Inspector Heat, conscious of renewed irritation at this +display of scrupulousness, said that the county police had been +notified from the first of Michaelis' arrival, and that a full +report could be obtained in a few hours. A wire to the +superintendent - + +Thus he spoke, rather slowly, while his mind seemed already to be +weighing the consequences. A slight knitting of the brow was the +outward sign of this. But he was interrupted by a question. + +"You've sent that wire already?" + +"No, sir," he answered, as if surprised. + +The Assistant Commissioner uncrossed his legs suddenly. The +briskness of that movement contrasted with the casual way in which +he threw out a suggestion. + +"Would you think that Michaelis had anything to do with the +preparation of that bomb, for instance?" + +The Chief Inspector assumed a reflective manner. + +"I wouldn't say so. There's no necessity to say anything at +present. He associates with men who are classed as dangerous. He +was made a delegate of the Red Committee less than a year after his +release on licence. A sort of compliment, I suppose." + +And the Chief Inspector laughed a little angrily, a little +scornfully. With a man of that sort scrupulousness was a misplaced +and even an illegal sentiment. The celebrity bestowed upon +Michaelis on his release two years ago by some emotional +journalists in want of special copy had rankled ever since in his +breast. It was perfectly legal to arrest that man on the barest +suspicion. It was legal and expedient on the face of it. His two +former chiefs would have seen the point at once; whereas this one, +without saying either yes or no, sat there, as if lost in a dream. +Moreover, besides being legal and expedient, the arrest of +Michaelis solved a little personal difficulty which worried Chief +Inspector Heat somewhat. This difficulty had its bearing upon his +reputation, upon his comfort, and even upon the efficient +performance of his duties. For, if Michaelis no doubt knew +something about this outrage, the Chief Inspector was fairly +certain that he did not know too much. This was just as well. He +knew much less - the Chief Inspector was positive - than certain +other individuals he had in his mind, but whose arrest seemed to +him inexpedient, besides being a more complicated matter, on +account of the rules of the game. The rules of the game did not +protect so much Michaelis, who was an ex-convict. It would be +stupid not to take advantage of legal facilities, and the +journalists who had written him up with emotional gush would be +ready to write him down with emotional indignation. + +This prospect, viewed with confidence, had the attraction of a +personal triumph for Chief Inspector Heat. And deep down in his +blameless bosom of an average married citizen, almost unconscious +but potent nevertheless, the dislike of being compelled by events +to meddle with the desperate ferocity of the Professor had its say. +This dislike had been strengthened by the chance meeting in the +lane. The encounter did not leave behind with Chief Inspector Heat +that satisfactory sense of superiority the members of the police +force get from the unofficial but intimate side of their +intercourse with the criminal classes, by which the vanity of power +is soothed, and the vulgar love of domination over our fellow- +creatures is flattered as worthily as it deserves. + +The perfect anarchist was not recognised as a fellow-creature by +Chief Inspector Heat. He was impossible - a mad dog to be left +alone. Not that the Chief Inspector was afraid of him; on the +contrary, he meant to have him some day. But not yet; he meant to +get hold of him in his own time, properly and effectively according +to the rules of the game. The present was not the right time for +attempting that feat, not the right time for many reasons, personal +and of public service. This being the strong feeling of Inspector +Heat, it appeared to him just and proper that this affair should be +shunted off its obscure and inconvenient track, leading goodness +knows where, into a quiet (and lawful) siding called Michaelis. +And he repeated, as if reconsidering the suggestion +conscientiously: + +"The bomb. No, I would not say that exactly. We may never find +that out. But it's clear that he is connected with this in some +way, which we can find out without much trouble." + +His countenance had that look of grave, overbearing indifference +once well known and much dreaded by the better sort of thieves. +Chief Inspector Heat, though what is called a man, was not a +smiling animal. But his inward state was that of satisfaction at +the passively receptive attitude of the Assistant Commissioner, who +murmured gently: + +"And you really think that the investigation should be made in that +direction?" + +"I do, sir." + +"Quite convinced? + +"I am, sir. That's the true line for us to take." + +The Assistant Commissioner withdrew the support of his hand from +his reclining head with a suddenness that, considering his languid +attitude, seemed to menace his whole person with collapse. But, on +the contrary, he sat up, extremely alert, behind the great writing- +table on which his hand had fallen with the sound of a sharp blow. + +"What I want to know is what put it out of your head till now." + +"Put it out of my head," repeated the Chief Inspector very slowly. + +"Yes. Till you were called into this room - you know." + +The Chief Inspector felt as if the air between his clothing and his +skin had become unpleasantly hot. It was the sensation of an +unprecedented and incredible experience. + +"Of course," he said, exaggerating the deliberation of his +utterance to the utmost limits of possibility, "if there is a +reason, of which I know nothing, for not interfering with the +convict Michaelis, perhaps it's just as well I didn't start the +county police after him." + +This took such a long time to say that the unflagging attention of +the Assistant Commissioner seemed a wonderful feat of endurance. +His retort came without delay. + +"No reason whatever that I know of. Come, Chief Inspector, this +finessing with me is highly improper on your part - highly +improper. And it's also unfair, you know. You shouldn't leave me +to puzzle things out for myself like this. Really, I am +surprised." + +He paused, then added smoothly: "I need scarcely tell you that this +conversation is altogether unofficial." + +These words were far from pacifying the Chief Inspector. The +indignation of a betrayed tight-rope performer was strong within +him. In his pride of a trusted servant he was affected by the +assurance that the rope was not shaken for the purpose of breaking +his neck, as by an exhibition of impudence. As if anybody were +afraid! Assistant Commissioners come and go, but a valuable Chief +Inspector is not an ephemeral office phenomenon. He was not afraid +of getting a broken neck. To have his performance spoiled was more +than enough to account for the glow of honest indignation. And as +thought is no respecter of persons, the thought of Chief Inspector +Heat took a threatening and prophetic shape. "You, my boy," he +said to himself, keeping his round and habitually roving eyes +fastened upon the Assistant Commissioner's face - "you, my boy, you +don't know your place, and your place won't know you very long +either, I bet." + +As if in provoking answer to that thought, something like the ghost +of an amiable smile passed on the lips of the Assistant +Commissioner. His manner was easy and business-like while he +persisted in administering another shake to the tight rope. + +"Let us come now to what you have discovered on the spot, Chief +Inspector," he said. + +"A fool and his job are soon parted," went on the train of +prophetic thought in Chief Inspector Heat's head. But it was +immediately followed by the reflection that a higher official, even +when "fired out" (this was the precise image), has still the time +as he flies through the door to launch a nasty kick at the shin- +bones of a subordinate. Without softening very much the basilisk +nature of his stare, he said impassively: + +"We are coming to that part of my investigation, sir." + +"That's right. Well, what have you brought away from it?" + +The Chief Inspector, who had made up his mind to jump off the rope, +came to the ground with gloomy frankness. + +"I've brought away an address," he said, pulling out of his pocket +without haste a singed rag of dark blue cloth. "This belongs to +the overcoat the fellow who got himself blown to pieces was +wearing. Of course, the overcoat may not have been his, and may +even have been stolen. But that's not at all probable if you look +at this." + +The Chief Inspector, stepping up to the table, smoothed out +carefully the rag of blue cloth. He had picked it up from the +repulsive heap in the mortuary, because a tailor's name is found +sometimes under the collar. It is not often of much use, but still +- He only half expected to find anything useful, but certainly he +did not expect to find - not under the collar at all, but stitched +carefully on the under side of the lapel - a square piece of calico +with an address written on it in marking ink. + +The Chief Inspector removed his smoothing hand. + +"I carried it off with me without anybody taking notice," he said. +"I thought it best. It can always be produced if required." + +The Assistant Commissioner, rising a little in his chair, pulled +the cloth over to his side of the table. He sat looking at it in +silence. Only the number 32 and the name of Brett Street were +written in marking ink on a piece of calico slightly larger than an +ordinary cigarette paper. He was genuinely surprised. + +"Can't understand why he should have gone about labelled like +this," he said, looking up at Chief Inspector Heat. "It's a most +extraordinary thing." + +"I met once in the smoking-room of a hotel an old gentleman who +went about with his name and address sewn on in all his coats in +case of an accident or sudden illness," said the Chief Inspector. +"He professed to be eighty-four years old, but he didn't look his +age. He told me he was also afraid of losing his memory suddenly, +like those people he has been reading of in the papers." + +A question from the Assistant Commissioner, who wanted to know what +was No. 32 Brett Street, interrupted that reminiscence abruptly. +The Chief Inspector, driven down to the ground by unfair artifices, +had elected to walk the path of unreserved openness. If he +believed firmly that to know too much was not good for the +department, the judicious holding back of knowledge was as far as +his loyalty dared to go for the good of the service. If the +Assistant Commissioner wanted to mismanage this affair nothing, of +course, could prevent him. But, on his own part, he now saw no +reason for a display of alacrity. So he answered concisely: + +"It's a shop, sir." + +The Assistant Commissioner, with his eyes lowered on the rag of +blue cloth, waited for more information. As that did not come he +proceeded to obtain it by a series of questions propounded with +gentle patience. Thus he acquired an idea of the nature of Mr +Verloc's commerce, of his personal appearance, and heard at last +his name. In a pause the Assistant Commissioner raised his eyes, +and discovered some animation on the Chief Inspector's face. They +looked at each other in silence. + +"Of course," said the latter, "the department has no record of that +man." + +"Did any of my predecessors have any knowledge of what you have +told me now?" asked the Assistant Commissioner, putting his elbows +on the table and raising his joined hands before his face, as if +about to offer prayer, only that his eyes had not a pious +expression. + +"No, sir; certainly not. What would have been the object? That +sort of man could never be produced publicly to any good purpose. +It was sufficient for me to know who he was, and to make use of him +in a way that could be used publicly." + +"And do you think that sort of private knowledge consistent with +the official position you occupy?" + +"Perfectly, sir. I think it's quite proper. I will take the +liberty to tell you, sir, that it makes me what I am - and I am +looked upon as a man who knows his work. It's a private affair of +my own. A personal friend of mine in the French police gave me the +hint that the fellow was an Embassy spy. Private friendship, +private information, private use of it - that's how I look upon +it." + +The Assistant Commissioner after remarking to himself that the +mental state of the renowned Chief Inspector seemed to affect the +outline of his lower jaw, as if the lively sense of his high +professional distinction had been located in that part of his +anatomy, dismissed the point for the moment with a calm "I see." +Then leaning his cheek on his joined hands: + +"Well then - speaking privately if you like - how long have you +been in private touch with this Embassy spy?" + +To this inquiry the private answer of the Chief Inspector, so +private that it was never shaped into audible words, was: + +"Long before you were even thought of for your place here." + +The so-to-speak public utterance was much more precise. + +"I saw him for the first time in my life a little more than seven +years ago, when two Imperial Highnesses and the Imperial Chancellor +were on a visit here. I was put in charge of all the arrangements +for looking after them. Baron Stott-Wartenheim was Ambassador +then. He was a very nervous old gentleman. One evening, three +days before the Guildhall Banquet, he sent word that he wanted to +see me for a moment. I was downstairs, and the carriages were at +the door to take the Imperial Highnesses and the Chancellor to the +opera. I went up at once. I found the Baron walking up and down +his bedroom in a pitiable state of distress, squeezing his hands +together. He assured me he had the fullest confidence in our +police and in my abilities, but he had there a man just come over +from Paris whose information could be trusted simplicity. He +wanted me to hear what that man had to say. He took me at once +into a dressing-room next door, where I saw a big fellow in a heavy +overcoat sitting all alone on a chair, and holding his hat and +stick in one hand. The Baron said to him in French `Speak, my +friend.' The light in that room was not very good. I talked with +him for some five minutes perhaps. He certainly gave me a piece of +very startling news. Then the Baron took me aside nervously to +praise him up to me, and when I turned round again I discovered +that the fellow had vanished like a ghost. Got up and sneaked out +down some back stairs, I suppose. There was no time to run after +him, as I had to hurry off after the Ambassador down the great +staircase, and see the party started safe for the opera. However, +I acted upon the information that very night. Whether it was +perfectly correct or not, it did look serious enough. Very likely +it saved us from an ugly trouble on the day of the Imperial visit +to the City. + +"Some time later, a month or so after my promotion to Chief +Inspector, my attention was attracted to a big burly man, I thought +I had seen somewhere before, coming out in a hurry from a +jeweller's shop in the Strand. I went after him, as it was on my +way towards Charing Cross, and there seeing one of our detectives +across the road, I beckoned him over, and pointed out the fellow to +him, with instructions to watch his movements for a couple of days, +and then report to me. No later than next afternoon my man turned +up to tell me that the fellow had married his landlady's daughter +at a registrar's office that very day at 11.30 a.m., and had gone +off with her to Margate for a week. Our man had seen the luggage +being put on the cab. There were some old Paris labels on one of +the bags. Somehow I couldn't get the fellow out of my head, and +the very next time I had to go to Paris on service I spoke about +him to that friend of mine in the Paris police. My friend said: +`From what you tell me I think you must mean a rather well-known +hanger-on and emissary of the Revolutionary Red Committee. He says +he is an Englishman by birth. We have an idea that he has been for +a good few years now a secret agent of one of the foreign Embassies +in London.' This woke up my memory completely. He was the +vanishing fellow I saw sitting on a chair in Baron Stott- +Wartenheim's bathroom. I told my friend that he was quite right. +The fellow was a secret agent to my certain knowledge. Afterwards +my friend took the trouble to ferret out the complete record of +that man for me. I thought I had better know all there was to +know; but I don't suppose you want to hear his history now, sir?" + +The Assistant Commissioner shook his supported head. "The history +of your relations with that useful personage is the only thing that +matters just now," he said, closing slowly his weary, deep-set +eyes, and then opening them swiftly with a greatly refreshed +glance. + +"There's nothing official about them," said the Chief Inspector +bitterly. "I went into his shop one evening, told him who I was, +and reminded him of our first meeting. He didn't as much as twitch +an eyebrow. He said that he was married and settled now, and that +all he wanted was not to be interfered in his little business. I +took it upon myself to promise him that, as long as he didn't go in +for anything obviously outrageous, he would be left alone by the +police. That was worth something to him, because a word from us to +the Custom-House people would have been enough to get some of these +packages he gets from Paris and Brussels opened in Dover, with +confiscation to follow for certain, and perhaps a prosecution as +well at the end of it." + +"That's a very precarious trade," murmured the Assistant +Commissioner. "Why did he go in for that?" + +The Chief Inspector raised scornful eyebrows dispassionately. + +"Most likely got a connection - friends on the Continent - amongst +people who deal in such wares. They would be just the sort he +would consort with. He's a lazy dog, too - like the rest of them," + +"What do you get from him in exchange for your protection?" + +The Chief Inspector was not inclined to enlarge on the value of Mr +Verloc's services. + +"He would not be much good to anybody but myself. One has got to +know a good deal beforehand to make use of a man like that. I can +understand the sort of hint he can give. And when I want a hint he +can generally furnish it to me." + +The Chief Inspector lost himself suddenly in a discreet reflective +mood; and the Assistant Commissioner repressed a smile at the +fleeting thought that the reputation of Chief Inspector Heat might +possibly have been made in a great part by the Secret Agent Verloc. + +"In a more general way of being of use, all our men of the Special +Crimes section on duty at Charing Cross and Victoria have orders to +take careful notice of anybody they may see with him. He meets the +new arrivals frequently, and afterwards keeps track of them. He +seems to have been told off for that sort of duty. When I want an +address in a hurry, I can always get it from him. Of course, I +know how to manage our relations. I haven't seen him to speak to +three times in the last two years. I drop him a line, unsigned, +and he answers me in the same way at my private address." + +From time to time the Assistant Commissioner gave an almost +imperceptible nod. The Chief Inspector added that he did not +suppose Mr Verloc to be deep in the confidence of the prominent +members of the Revolutionary International Council, but that he was +generally trusted of that there could be no doubt. "Whenever I've +had reason to think there was something in the wind," he concluded, +"I've always found he could tell me something worth knowing." + +The Assistant Commissioner made a significant remark. + +"He failed you this time." + +"Neither had I wind of anything in any other way," retorted Chief +Inspector Heat. "I asked him nothing, so he could tell me nothing. +He isn't one of our men. It isn't as if he were in our pay." + +"No," muttered the Assistant Commissioner. "He's a spy in the pay +of a foreign government. We could never confess to him." + +"I must do my work in my own way," declared the Chief Inspector. +"When it comes to that I would deal with the devil himself, and +take the consequences. There are things not fit for everybody to +know." + +"Your idea of secrecy seems to consist in keeping the chief of your +department in the dark. That's stretching it perhaps a little too +far, isn't it? He lives over his shop?" + +"Who - Verloc? Oh yes. He lives over his shop. The wife's +mother, I fancy, lives with them." + +"Is the house watched?" + +"Oh dear, no. It wouldn't do. Certain people who come there are +watched. My opinion is that he knows nothing of this affair." + +"How do you account for this?" The Assistant Commissioner nodded +at the cloth rag lying before him on the table. + +"I don't account for it at all, sir. It's simply unaccountable. +It can't be explained by what I know." The Chief Inspector made +those admissions with the frankness of a man whose reputation is +established as if on a rock. "At any rate not at this present +moment. I think that the man who had most to do with it will turn +out to be Michaelis." + +"You do?" + +"Yes, sir; because I can answer for all the others." + +"What about that other man supposed to have escaped from the park?" + +"I should think he's far away by this time," opined the Chief +Inspector. + +The Assistant Commissioner looked hard at him, and rose suddenly, +as though having made up his mind to some course of action. As a +matter of fact, he had that very moment succumbed to a fascinating +temptation. The Chief Inspector heard himself dismissed with +instructions to meet his superior early next morning for further +consultation upon the case. He listened with an impenetrable face, +and walked out of the room with measured steps. + +Whatever might have been the plans of the Assistant Commissioner +they had nothing to do with that desk work, which was the bane of +his existence because of its confined nature and apparent lack of +reality. It could not have had, or else the general air of +alacrity that came upon the Assistant Commissioner would have been +inexplicable. As soon as he was left alone he looked for his hat +impulsively, and put it on his head. Having done that, he sat down +again to reconsider the whole matter. But as his mind was already +made up, this did not take long. And before Chief Inspector Heat +had gone very far on the way home, he also left the building. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + + +The Assistant Commissioner walked along a short and narrow street +like a wet, muddy trench, then crossing a very broad thoroughfare +entered a public edifice, and sought speech with a young private +secretary (unpaid) of a great personage. + +This fair, smooth-faced young man, whose symmetrically arranged +hair gave him the air of a large and neat schoolboy, met the +Assistant Commissioner's request with a doubtful look, and spoke +with bated breath. + +"Would he see you? I don't know about that. He has walked over +from the House an hour ago to talk with the permanent Under- +Secretary, and now he's ready to walk back again. He might have +sent for him; but he does it for the sake of a little exercise, I +suppose. It's all the exercise he can find time for while this +session lasts. I don't complain; I rather enjoy these little +strolls. He leans on my arm, and doesn't open, his lips. But, I +say, he's very tired, and - well - not in the sweetest of tempers +just now." + +"It's in connection with that Greenwich affair." + +"Oh! I say! He's very bitter against you people. But I will go +and see, if you insist." + +"Do. That's a good fellow," said the Assistant Commissioner. + +The unpaid secretary admired this pluck. Composing for himself an +innocent face, he opened a door, and went in with the assurance of +a nice and privileged child. And presently he reappeared, with a +nod to the Assistant Commissioner, who passing through the same +door left open for him, found himself with the great personage in a +large room. + +Vast in bulk and stature, with a long white face, which, broadened +at the base by a big double chin, appeared egg-shaped in the fringe +of thin greyish whisker, the great personage seemed an expanding +man. Unfortunate from a tailoring point of view, the cross-folds +in the middle of a buttoned black coat added to the impression, as +if the fastenings of the garment were tried to the utmost. From +the head, set upward on a thick neck, the eyes, with puffy lower +lids, stared with a haughty droop on each side of a hooked +aggressive nose, nobly salient in the vast pale circumference of +the face. A shiny silk hat and a pair of worn gloves lying ready +on the end of a long table looked expanded too, enormous. + +He stood on the hearthrug in big, roomy boots, and uttered no word +of greeting. + +"I would like to know if this is the beginning of another dynamite +campaign," he asked at once in a deep, very smooth voice. "Don't +go into details. I have no time for that." + +The Assistant Commissioner's figure before this big and rustic +Presence had the frail slenderness of a reed addresssing an oak. +And indeed the unbroken record of that man's descent surpassed in +the number of centuries the age of the oldest oak in the country. + +"No. As far as one can be positive about anything I can assure you +that it is not." + +"Yes. But your idea of assurances over there," said the great man, +with a contemptuous wave of his hand towards a window giving on the +broad thoroughfare, "seems to consist mainly in making the +Secretary of State look a fool. I have been told positively in +this very room less than a month ago that nothing of the sort was +even possible." + +The Assistant Commissioner glanced in the direction of the window +calmly. + +"You will allow me to remark, Sir Ethelred, that so far I have had +no opportunity to give you assurances of any kind." + +The haughty droop of the eyes was focussed now upon the Assistant +Commissioner. + +"True," confessed the deep, smooth voice. "I sent for Heat. You +are still rather a novice in your new berth. And how are you +getting on over there?" + +"I believe I am learning something every day." + +"Of course, of course. I hope you will get on." + +"Thank you, Sir Ethelred. I've learned something to-day, and even +within the last hour or so. There is much in this affair of a kind +that does not meet the eye in a usual anarchist outrage, even if +one looked into it as deep as can be. That's why I am here." + +The great man put his arms akimbo, the backs of his big hands +resting on his hips. + +"Very well. Go on. Only no details, pray. Spare me the details." + +"You shall not be troubled with them, Sir Ethelred," the Assistant +Commissioner began, with a calm and untroubled assurance. While he +was speaking the hands on the face of the clock behind the great +man's back - a heavy, glistening affair of massive scrolls in the +same dark marble as the mantelpiece, and with a ghostly, evanescent +tick - had moved through the space of seven minutes. He spoke with +a studious fidelity to a parenthetical manner, into which every +little fact - that is, every detail - fitted with delightful ease. +Not a murmur nor even a movement hinted at interruption. The great +Personage might have been the statue of one of his own princely +ancestors stripped of a crusader's war harness, and put into an +ill-fitting frock coat. The Assistant Commissioner felt as though +he were at liberty to talk for an hour. But he kept his head, and +at the end of the time mentioned above he broke off with a sudden +conclusion, which, reproducing the opening statement, pleasantly +surprised Sir Ethelred by its apparent swiftness and force. + +"The kind of thing which meets us under the surface of this affair, +otherwise without gravity, is unusual - in this precise form at +least - and requires special treatment." + +The tone of Sir Ethelred was deepened, full of conviction. + +"I should think so - involving the Ambassador of a foreign power!" + +"Oh! The Ambassador!" protested the other, erect and slender, +allowing himself a mere half smile. "It would be stupid of me to +advance anything of the kind. And it is absolutely unnecessary, +because if I am right in my surmises, whether ambassador or hall +porter it's a mere detail." + +Sir Ethelred opened a wide mouth, like a cavern, into which the +hooked nose seemed anxious to peer; there came from it a subdued +rolling sound, as from a distant organ with the scornful +indignation stop. + +"No! These people are too impossible. What do they mean by +importing their methods of Crim-Tartary here? A Turk would have +more decency." + +"You forget, Sir Ethelred, that strictly speaking we know nothing +positively - as yet." + +"No! But how would you define it? Shortly?" + +"Barefaced audacity amounting to childishness of a peculiar sort." + +"We can't put up with the innocence of nasty little children," said +the great and expanded personage, expanding a little more, as it +were. The haughty drooping glance struck crushingly the carpet at +the Assistant Commissioner's feet. "They'll have to get a hard rap +on the knuckles over this affair. We must be in a position to - +What is your general idea, stated shortly? No need to go into +details." + +"No, Sir Ethelred. In principle, I should lay it down that the +existence of secret agents should not be tolerated, as tending to +augment the positive dangers of the evil against which they are +used. That the spy will fabricate his information is a mere +commonplace. But in the sphere of political and revolutionary +action, relying partly on violence, the professional spy has every +facility to fabricate the very facts themselves, and will spread +the double evil of emulation in one direction, and of panic, hasty +legislation, unreflecting hate, on the other. However, this is an +imperfect world - " + +The deep-voiced Presence on the hearthrug, motionless, with big +elbows stuck out, said hastily: + +"Be lucid, please." + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred - An imperfect world. Therefore directly the +character of this affair suggested itself to me, I thought it +should be dealt with with special secrecy, and ventured to come +over here." + +"That's right," approved the great Personage, glancing down +complacently over his double chin. "I am glad there's somebody +over at your shop who thinks that the Secretary of State may be +trusted now and then." + +The Assistant Commissioner had an amused smile. + +"I was really thinking that it might be better at this stage for +Heat to be replaced by - " + +"What! Heat? An ass - eh?" exclaimed the great man, with distinct +animosity. + +"Not at all. Pray, Sir Ethelred, don't put that unjust +interpretation on my remarks." + +"Then what? Too clever by half?" + +"Neither - at least not as a rule. All the grounds of my surmises +I have from him. The only thing I've discovered by myself is that +he has been making use of that man privately. Who could blame him? +He's an old police hand. He told me virtually that he must have +tools to work with. It occurred to me that this tool should be +surrendered to the Special Crimes division as a whole, instead of +remaining the private property of Chief Inspector Heat. I extend +my conception of our departmental duties to the suppression of the +secret agent. But Chief Inspector Heat is an old departmental +hand. He would accuse me of perverting its morality and attacking +its efficiency. He would define it bitterly as protection extended +to the criminal class of revolutionises. It would mean just that +to him." + +"Yes. But what do you mean?" + +"I mean to say, first, that there's but poor comfort in being able +to declare that any given act of violence - damaging property or +destroying life - is not the work of anarchism at all, but of +something else altogether - some species of authorised +scoundrelism. This, I fancy, is much more frequent than we +suppose. Next, it's obvious that the existence of these people in +the pay of foreign governments destroys in a measure the efficiency +of our supervision. A spy of that sort can afford to be more +reckless than the most reckless of conspirators. His occupation is +free from all restraint. He's without as much faith as is +necessary for complete negation, and without that much law as is +implied in lawlessness. Thirdly, the existence of these spies +amongst the revolutionary groups, which we are reproached for +harbouring here, does away with all certitude. You have received a +reassuring statement from Chief Inspector Heat some time ago. It +was by no means groundless - and yet this episode happens. I call +it an episode, because this affair, I make bold to say, is +episodic; it is no part of any general scheme, however wild. The +very peculiarities which surprise and perplex Chief Inspector Heat +establish its character in my eyes. I am keeping clear of details, +Sir Ethelred." + +The Personage on the hearthrug had been listening with profound +attention. + +"Just so. Be as concise as you can." + +The Assistant Commissioner intimated by an earnest deferential +gesture that he was anxious to be concise. + +"There is a peculiar stupidity and feebleness in the conduct of +this affair which gives me excellent hopes of getting behind it and +finding there something else than an individual freak of +fanaticism. For it is a planned thing, undoubtedly. The actual +perpetrator seems to have been led by the hand to the spot, and +then abandoned hurriedly to his own devices. The inference is that +he was imported from abroad for the purpose of committing this +outrage. At the same time one is forced to the conclusion that he +did not know enough English to ask his way, unless one were to +accept the fantastic theory that he was a deaf mute. I wonder now +- But this is idle. He has destroyed himself by an accident, +obviously. Not an extraordinary accident. But an extraordinary +little fact remains: the address on his clothing discovered by the +merest accident, too. It is an incredible little fact, so +incredible that the explanation which will account for it is bound +to touch the bottom of this affair. Instead of instructing Heat to +go on with this case, my intention is to seek this explanation +personally - by myself, I mean where it may be picked up. That is +in a certain shop in Brett Street, and on the lips of a certain +secret agent once upon a time the confidential and trusted spy of +the late Baron Stott-Wartenheim, Ambassador of a Great Power to the +Court of St James." + +The Assistant Commissioner paused, then added: "Those fellows are a +perfect pest." In order to raise his drooping glance to the +speaker's face, the Personage on the hearthrug had gradually tilted +his head farther back, which gave him an aspect of extraordinary +haughtiness. + +"Why not leave it to Heat?" + +"Because he is an old departmental hand. They have their own +morality. My line of inquiry would appear to him an awful +perversion of duty. For him the plain duty is to fasten the guilt +upon as many prominent anarchists as he can on some slight +indications he had picked up in the course of his investigation on +the spot; whereas I, he would say, am bent upon vindicating their +innocence. I am trying to be as lucid as I can in presenting this +obscure matter to you without details." + +"He would, would he?" muttered the proud head of Sir Ethelred from +its lofty elevation. + +"I am afraid so - with an indignation and disgust of which you or I +can have no idea. He's an excellent servant. We must not put an +undue strain on his loyalty. That's always a mistake. Besides, I +want a free hand - a freer hand than it would be perhaps advisable +to give Chief Inspector Heat. I haven't the slightest wish to +spare this man Verloc. He will, I imagine, be extremely startled +to find his connection with this affair, whatever it may be, +brought home to him so quickly. Frightening him will not be very +difficult. But our true objective lies behind him somewhere. I +want your authority to give him such assurances of personal safety +as I may think proper." + +"Certainly," said the Personage on the hearthrug. "Find out as +much as you can; find it out in your own way." + +"I must set about it without loss of time, this very evening," said +the Assistant Commissioner. + +Sir Ethelred shifted one hand under his coat tails, and tilting +back his head, looked at him steadily. + +"We'll have a late sitting to-night," he said. "Come to the House +with your discoveries if we are not gone home. I'll warn Toodles +to look out for you. He'll take you into my room." + +The numerous family and the wide connections of the youthful- +looking Private Secretary cherished for him the hope of an austere +and exalted destiny. Meantime the social sphere he adorned in his +hours of idleness chose to pet him under the above nickname. And +Sir Ethelred, hearing it on the lips of his wife and girls every +day (mostly at breakfast-time), had conferred upon it the dignity +of unsmiling adoption. + +The Assistant Commissioner was surprised and gratified extremely. + +"I shall certainly bring my discoveries to the House on the chance +of you having the time to - " + +"I won't have the time," interrupted the great Personage. "But I +will see you. I haven't the time now - And you are going +yourself?" + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred. I think it the best way." + +The Personage had tilted his head so far back that, in order to +keep the Assistant Commissioner under his observation, he had to +nearly close his eyes. + +"H'm. Ha! And how do you propose - Will you assume a disguise?" + +"Hardly a disguise! I'll change my clothes, of course." + +"Of course," repeated the great man, with a sort of absent-minded +loftiness. He turned his big head slowly, and over his shoulder +gave a haughty oblique stare to the ponderous marble timepiece with +the sly, feeble tick. The gilt hands had taken the opportunity to +steal through no less than five and twenty minutes behind his back. + +The Assistant Commissioner, who could not see them, grew a little +nervous in the interval. But the great man presented to him a calm +and undismayed face. + +"Very well," he said, and paused, as if in deliberate contempt of +the official clock. "But what first put you in motion in this +direction?" + +"I have been always of opinion," began the Assistant Commissioner. + +"Ah. Yes! Opinion. That's of course. But the immediate motive?" + +"What shall I say, Sir Ethelred? A new man's antagonism to old +methods. A desire to know something at first hand. Some +impatience. It's my old work, but the harness is different. It +has been chafing me a little in one or two tender places." + +"I hope you'll get on over there," said the great man kindly, +extending his hand, soft to the touch, but broad and powerful like +the hand of a glorified farmer. The Assistant Commissioner shook +it, and withdrew. + +In the outer room Toodles, who had been waiting perched on the edge +of a table, advanced to meet him, subduing his natural buoyancy. + +"Well? Satisfactory?" he asked, with airy importance. + +"Perfectly. You've earned my undying gratitude," answered the +Assistant Commissioner, whose long face looked wooden in contrast +with the peculiar character of the other's gravity, which seemed +perpetually ready to break into ripples and chuckles. + +"That's all right. But seriously, you can't imagine how irritated +he is by the attacks on his Bill for the Nationalisation of +Fisheries. They call it the beginning of social revolution. Of +course, it is a revolutionary measure. But these fellows have no +decency. The personal attacks - " + +"I read the papers," remarked the Assistant Commissioner. + +"Odious? Eh? And you have no notion what a mass of work he has +got to get through every day. He does it all himself. Seems +unable to trust anyone with these Fisheries." + +"And yet he's given a whole half hour to the consideration of my +very small sprat," interjected the Assistant Commissioner. + +"Small! Is it? I'm glad to hear that. But it's a pity you didn't +keep away, then. This fight takes it out of him frightfully. The +man's getting exhausted. I feel it by the way he leans on my arm +as we walk over. And, I say, is he safe in the streets? Mullins +has been marching his men up here this afternoon. There's a +constable stuck by every lamp-post, and every second person we meet +between this and Palace Yard is an obvious `tec.' It will get on +his nerves presently. I say, these foreign scoundrels aren't +likely to throw something at him - are they? It would be a +national calamity. The country can't spare him." + +"Not to mention yourself. He leans on your arm," suggested the +Assistant Commissioner soberly. "You would both go." + +"It would be an easy way for a young man to go down into history? +Not so many British Ministers have been assassinated as to make it +a minor incident. But seriously now - " + +"I am afraid that if you want to go down into history you'll have +to do something for it. Seriously, there's no danger whatever for +both of you but from overwork." + +The sympathetic Toodles welcomed this opening for a chuckle. + +"The Fisheries won't kill me. I am used to late hours," he +declared, with ingenuous levity. But, feeling an instant +compunction, he began to assume an air of statesman-like moodiness, +as one draws on a glove. "His massive intellect will stand any +amount of work. It's his nerves that I am afraid of. The +reactionary gang, with that abusive brute Cheeseman at their head, +insult him every night." + +"If he will insist on beginning a revolution!" murmured the +Assistant Commissioner. + +"The time has come, and he is the only man great enough for the +work," protested the revolutionary Toodles, flaring up under the +calm, speculative gaze of the Assistant Commissioner. Somewhere in +a corridor a distant bell tinkled urgently, and with devoted +vigilance the young man pricked up his ears at the sound. "He's +ready to go now," he exclaimed in a whisper, snatched up his hat, +and vanished from the room. + +The Assistant Commissioner went out by another door in a less +elastic manner. Again he crossed the wide thoroughfare, walked +along a narrow street, and re-entered hastily his own departmental +buildings. He kept up this accelerated pace to the door of his +private room. Before he had closed it fairly his eyes sought his +desk. He stood still for a moment, then walked up, looked all +round on the floor, sat down in his chair, rang a bell, and waited. + +"Chief Inspector Heat gone yet?" + +"Yes, sir. Went away half-an-hour ago." + +He nodded. "That will do." And sitting still, with his hat pushed +off his forehead, he thought that it was just like Heat's +confounded cheek to carry off quietly the only piece of material +evidence. But he thought this without animosity. Old and valued +servants will take liberties. The piece of overcoat with the +address sewn on was certainly not a thing to leave about. +Dismissing from his mind this manifestation of Chief Inspector +Heat's mistrust, he wrote and despatched a note to his wife, +charging her to make his apologies to Michaelis' great lady, with +whom they were engaged to dine that evening. + +The short jacket and the low, round hat he assumed in a sort of +curtained alcove containing a washstand, a row of wooden pegs and a +shelf, brought out wonderfully the length of his grave, brown face. +He stepped back into the full light of the room, looking like the +vision of a cool, reflective Don Quixote, with the sunken eyes of a +dark enthusiast and a very deliberate manner. He left the scene of +his daily labours quickly like an unobtrusive shadow. His descent +into the street was like the descent into a slimy aquarium from +which the water had been run off. A murky, gloomy dampness +enveloped him. The walls of the houses were wet, the mud of the +roadway glistened with an effect of phosphorescence, and when he +emerged into the Strand out of a narrow street by the side of +Charing Cross Station the genius of the locality assimilated him. +He might have been but one more of the queer foreign fish that can +be seen of an evening about there flitting round the dark corners. + +He came to a stand on the very edge of the pavement, and waited. +His exercised eyes had made out in the confused movements of lights +and shadows thronging the roadway the crawling approach of a +hansom. He gave no sign; but when the low step gliding along the +curbstone came to his feet he dodged in skilfully in front of the +big turning wheel, and spoke up through the little trap door almost +before the man gazing supinely ahead from his perch was aware of +having been boarded by a fare. + +It was not a long drive. It ended by signal abruptly, nowhere in +particular, between two lamp-posts before a large drapery +establishment - a long range of shops already lapped up in sheets +of corrugated iron for the night. Tendering a coin through the +trap door the fare slipped out and away, leaving an effect of +uncanny, eccentric ghastliness upon the driver's mind. But the +size of the coin was satisfactory to his touch, and his education +not being literary, he remained untroubled by the fear of finding +it presently turned to a dead leaf in his pocket. Raised above the +world of fares by the nature of his calling, he contemplated their +actions with a limited interest. The sharp pulling of his horse +right round expressed his philosophy. + +Meantime the Assistant Commissioner was already giving his order to +a waiter in a little Italian restaurant round the corner - one of +those traps for the hungry, long and narrow, baited with a +perspective of mirrors and white napery; without air, but with an +atmosphere of their own - an atmosphere of fraudulent cookery +mocking an abject mankind in the most pressing of its miserable +necessities. In this immoral atmosphere the Assistant +Commissioner, reflecting upon his enterprise, seemed to lose some +more of his identity. He had a sense of loneliness, of evil +freedom. It was rather pleasant. When, after paying for his short +meal, he stood up and waited for his change, he saw himself in the +sheet of glass, and was struck by his foreign appearance. He +contemplated his own image with a melancholy and inquisitive gaze, +then by sudden inspiration raised the collar of his jacket. This +arrangement appeared to him commendable, and he completed it by +giving an upward twist to the ends of his black moustache. He was +satisfied by the subtle modification of his personal aspect caused +by these small changes. "That'll do very well," he thought. "I'll +get a little wet, a little splashed - " + +He became aware of the waiter at his elbow and of a small pile of +silver coins on the edge of the table before him. The waiter kept +one eye on it, while his other eye followed the long back of a +tall, not very young girl, who passed up to a distant table looking +perfectly sightless and altogether unapproachable. She seemed to +be a habitual customer. + +On going out the Assistant Commissioner made to himself the +observation that the patrons of the place had lost in the +frequentation of fraudulent cookery all their national and private +characteristics. And this was strange, since the Italian +restaurant is such a peculiarly British institution. But these +people were as denationalised as the dishes set before them with +every circumstance of unstamped respectability. Neither was their +personality stamped in any way, professionally, socially or +racially. They seemed created for the Italian restaurant, unless +the Italian restaurant had been perchance created for them. But +that last hypothesis was unthinkable, since one could not place +them anywhere outside those special establishments. One never met +these enigmatical persons elsewhere. It was impossible to form a +precise idea what occupations they followed by day and where they +went to bed at night. And he himself had become unplaced. It +would have been impossible for anybody to guess his occupation. As +to going to bed, there was a doubt even in his own mind. Not +indeed in regard to his domicile itself, but very much so in +respect of the time when he would be able to return there. A +pleasurable feeling of independence possessed him when he heard the +glass doors swing to behind his back with a sort of imperfect +baffled thud. He advanced at once into an immensity of greasy +slime and damp plaster interspersed with lamps, and enveloped, +oppressed, penetrated, choked, and suffocated by the blackness of a +wet London night, which is composed of soot and drops of water. + +Brett Street was not very far away. It branched off, narrow, from +the side of an open triangular space surrounded by dark and +mysterious houses, temples of petty commerce emptied of traders for +the night. Only a fruiterer's stall at the corner made a violent +blaze of light and colour. Beyond all was black, and the few +people passing in that direction vanished at one stride beyond the +glowing heaps of oranges and lemons. No footsteps echoed. They +would never be heard of again. The adventurous head of the Special +Crimes Department watched these disappearances from a distance with +an interested eye. He felt light-hearted, as though he had been +ambushed all alone in a jungle many thousands of miles away from +departmental desks and official inkstands. This joyousness and +dispersion of thought before a task of some importance seems to +prove that this world of ours is not such a very serious affair +after all. For the Assistant Commissioner was not constitutionally +inclined to levity. + +The policeman on the beat projected his sombre and moving form +against the luminous glory of oranges and lemons, and entered Brett +Street without haste. The Assistant Commissioner, as though he +were a member of the criminal classes, lingered out of sight, +awaiting his return. But this constable seemed to be lost for ever +to the force. He never returned: must have gone out at the other +end of Brett Street. + +The Assistant Commissioner, reaching this conclusion, entered the +street in his turn, and came upon a large van arrested in front of +the dimly lit window-panes of a carter's eating-house. The man was +refreshing himself inside, and the horses, their big heads lowered +to the ground, fed out of nose-bags steadily. Farther on, on the +opposite side of the street, another suspect patch of dim light +issued from Mr Verloc's shop front, hung with papers, heaving with +vague piles of cardboard boxes and the shapes of books. The +Assistant Commissioner stood observing it across the roadway. +There could be no mistake. By the side of the front window, +encumbered by the shadows of nondescript things, the door, standing +ajar, let escape on the pavement a narrow, clear streak of gas- +light within. + +Behind the Assistant Commissioner the van and horses, merged into +one mass, seemed something alive - a square-backed black monster +blocking half the street, with sudden iron-shod stampings, fierce +jingles, and heavy, blowing sighs. The harshly festive, ill-omened +glare of a large and prosperous public-house faced the other end of +Brett Street across a wide road. This barrier of blazing lights, +opposing the shadows gathered about the humble abode of Mr Verloc's +domestic happiness, seemed to drive the obscurity of the street +back upon itself, make it more sullen, brooding, and sinister. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + + +Having infused by persistent importunities some sort of heat into +the chilly interest of several licensed victuallers (the +acquaintances once upon a time of her late unlucky husband), Mrs +Verloc's mother had at last secured her admission to certain +almshouses founded by a wealthy innkeeper for the destitute widows +of the trade. + +This end, conceived in the astuteness of her uneasy heart, the old +woman had pursued with secrecy and determination. That was the +time when her daughter Winnie could not help passing a remark to Mr +Verloc that "mother has been spending half-crowns and five +shillings almost every day this last week in cab fares." But the +remark was not made grudgingly. Winnie respected her mother's +infirmities. She was only a little surprised at this sudden mania +for locomotion. Mr Verloc, who was sufficiently magnificent in his +way, had grunted the remark impatiently aside as interfering with +his meditations. These were frequent, deep, and prolonged; they +bore upon a matter more important than five shillings. Distinctly +more important, and beyond all comparison more difficult to +consider in all its aspects with philosophical serenity. + +Her object attained in astute secrecy, the heroic old woman had +made a clean breast of it to Mrs Verloc. Her soul was triumphant +and her heart tremulous. Inwardly she quaked, because she dreaded +and admired the calm, self-contained character of her daughter +Winnie, whose displeasure was made redoubtable by a diversity of +dreadful silences. But she did not allow her inward apprehensions +to rob her of the advantage of venerable placidity conferred upon +her outward person by her triple chin, the floating ampleness of +her ancient form, and the impotent condition of her legs. + +The shock of the information was so unexpected that Mrs Verloc, +against her usual practice when addressed, interrupted the domestic +occupation she was engaged upon. It was the dusting of the +furniture in the parlour behind the shop. She turned her head +towards her mother. + +"Whatever did you want to do that for?" she exclaimed, in +scandalised astonishment. + +The shock must have been severe to make her depart from that +distant and uninquiring acceptance of facts which was her force and +her safeguard in life. + +"Weren't you made comfortable enough here?" + +She had lapsed into these inquiries, but next moment she saved the +consistency of her conduct by resuming her dusting, while the old +woman sat scared and dumb under her dingy white cap and lustreless +dark wig. + +Winnie finished the chair, and ran the duster along the mahogany at +the back of the horse-hair sofa on which Mr Verloc loved to take +his ease in hat and overcoat. She was intent on her work, but +presently she permitted herself another question. + +"How in the world did you manage it, mother?" + +As not affecting the inwardness of things, which it was Mrs +Verloc's principle to ignore, this curiosity was excusable. It +bore merely on the methods. The old woman welcomed it eagerly as +bringing forward something that could be talked about with much +sincerity. + +She favoured her daughter by an exhaustive answer, full of names +and enriched by side comments upon the ravages of time as observed +in the alteration of human countenances. The names were +principally the names of licensed victuallers - "poor daddy's +friends, my dear." She enlarged with special appreciation on the +kindness and condescension of a large brewer, a Baronet and an M. +P., the Chairman of the Governors of the Charity. She expressed +herself thus warmly because she had been allowed to interview by +appointment his Private Secretary - "a very polite gentleman, all +in black, with a gentle, sad voice, but so very, very thin and +quiet. He was like a shadow, my dear." + +Winnie, prolonging her dusting operations till the tale was told to +the end, walked out of the parlour into the kitchen (down two +steps) in her usual manner, without the slightest comment. + +Shedding a few tears in sign of rejoicing at her daughter's +mansuetude in this terrible affair, Mrs Verloc's mother gave play +to her astuteness in the direction of her furniture, because it was +her own; and sometimes she wished it hadn't been. Heroism is all +very well, but there are circumstances when the disposal of a few +tables and chairs, brass bedsteads, and so on, may be big with +remote and disastrous consequences. She required a few pieces +herself, the Foundation which, after many importunities, had +gathered her to its charitable breast, giving nothing but bare +planks and cheaply papered bricks to the objects of its solicitude. +The delicacy guiding her choice to the least valuable and most +dilapidated articles passed unacknowledged, because Winnie's +philosophy consisted in not taking notice of the inside of facts; +she assumed that mother took what suited her best. As to Mr +Verloc, his intense meditation, like a sort of Chinese wall, +isolated him completely from the phenomena of this world of vain +effort and illusory appearances. + +Her selection made, the disposal of the rest became a perplexing +question in a particular way. She was leaving it in Brett Street, +of course. But she had two children. Winnie was provided for by +her sensible union with that excellent husband, Mr Verloc. Stevie +was destitute - and a little peculiar. His position had to be +considered before the claims of legal justice and even the +promptings of partiality. The possession of the furniture would +not be in any sense a provision. He ought to have it - the poor +boy. But to give it to him would be like tampering with his +position of complete dependence. It was a sort of claim which she +feared to weaken. Moreover, the susceptibilities of Mr Verloc +would perhaps not brook being beholden to his brother-in-law for +the chairs he sat on. In a long experience of gentlemen lodgers, +Mrs Verloc's mother had acquired a dismal but resigned notion of +the fantastic side of human nature. What if Mr Verloc suddenly +took it into his head to tell Stevie to take his blessed sticks +somewhere out of that? A division, on the other hand, however +carefully made, might give some cause of offence to Winnie. No, +Stevie must remain destitute and dependent. And at the moment of +leaving Brett Street she had said to her daughter: "No use waiting +till I am dead, is there? Everything I leave here is altogether +your own now, my dear." + +Winnie, with her hat on, silent behind her mother's back, went on +arranging the collar of the old woman's cloak. She got her hand- +bag, an umbrella, with an impassive face. The time had come for +the expenditure of the sum of three-and-sixpence on what might well +be supposed the last cab drive of Mrs Verloc's mother's life. They +went out at the shop door. + +The conveyance awaiting them would have illustrated the proverb +that "truth can be more cruel than caricature," if such a proverb +existed. Crawling behind an infirm horse, a metropolitan hackney +carriage drew up on wobbly wheels and with a maimed driver on the +box. This last peculiarity caused some embarrassment. Catching +sight of a hooked iron contrivance protruding from the left sleeve +of the man's coat, Mrs Verloc's mother lost suddenly the heroic +courage of these days. She really couldn't trust herself. "What +do you think, Winnie?" She hung back. The passionate +expostulations of the big-faced cabman seemed to be squeezed out of +a blocked throat. Leaning over from his box, he whispered with +mysterious indignation. What was the matter now? Was it possible +to treat a man so? His enormous and unwashed countenance flamed +red in the muddy stretch of the street. Was it likely they would +have given him a licence, he inquired desperately, if - + +The police constable of the locality quieted him by a friendly +glance; then addressing himself to the two women without marked +consideration, said: + +"He's been driving a cab for twenty years. I never knew him to +have an accident." + +"Accident!" shouted the driver in a scornful whisper. + +The policeman's testimony settled it. The modest assemblage of +seven people, mostly under age, dispersed. Winnie followed her +mother into the cab. Stevie climbed on the box. His vacant mouth +and distressed eyes depicted the state of his mind in regard to the +transactions which were taking place. In the narrow streets the +progress of the journey was made sensible to those within by the +near fronts of the houses gliding past slowly and shakily, with a +great rattle and jingling of glass, as if about to collapse behind +the cab; and the infirm horse, with the harness hung over his sharp +backbone flapping very loose about his thighs, appeared to be +dancing mincingly on his toes with infinite patience. Later on, in +the wider space of Whitehall, all visual evidences of motion became +imperceptible. The rattle and jingle of glass went on indefinitely +in front of the long Treasury building - and time itself seemed to +stand still. + +At last Winnie observed: "This isn't a very good horse." + +Her eyes gleamed in the shadow of the cab straight ahead, +immovable. On the box, Stevie shut his vacant mouth first, in +order to ejaculate earnestly: "Don't." + +The driver, holding high the reins twisted around the hook, took no +notice. Perhaps he had not heard. Stevie's breast heaved. + +"Don't whip." + +The man turned slowly his bloated and sodden face of many colours +bristling with white hairs. His little red eyes glistened with +moisture. His big lips had a violet tint. They remained closed. +With the dirty back of his whip-hand he rubbed the stubble +sprouting on his enormous chin. + +"You mustn't," stammered out Stevie violently. "It hurts." + +"Mustn't whip," queried the other in a thoughtful whisper, and +immediately whipped. He did this, not because his soul was cruel +and his heart evil, but because he had to earn his fare. And for a +time the walls of St Stephen's, with its towers and pinnacles, +contemplated in immobility and silence a cab that jingled. It +rolled too, however. But on the bridge there was a commotion. +Stevie suddenly proceeded to get down from the box. There were +shouts on the pavement, people ran forward, the driver pulled up, +whispering curses of indignation and astonishment. Winnie lowered +the window, and put her head out, white as a ghost. In the depths +of the cab, her mother was exclaiming, in tones of anguish: "Is +that boy hurt? Is that boy hurt?" + +Stevie was not hurt, he had not even fallen, but excitement as +usual had robbed him of the power of connected speech. He could do +no more than stammer at the window. "Too heavy. Too heavy." +Winnie put out her hand on to his shoulder. + +"Stevie! Get up on the box directly, and don't try to get down +again." + +"No. No. Walk. Must walk." + +In trying to state the nature of that necessity he stammered +himself into utter incoherence. No physical impossibility stood in +the way of his whim. Stevie could have managed easily to keep pace +with the infirm, dancing horse without getting out of breath. But +his sister withheld her consent decisively. "The idea! Whoever +heard of such a thing! Run after a cab!" Her mother, frightened +and helpless in the depths of the conveyance, entreated: "Oh, don't +let him, Winnie. He'll get lost. Don't let him." + +"Certainly not. What next! Mr Verloc will be sorry to hear of +this nonsense, Stevie, - I can tell you. He won't be happy at +all." + +The idea of Mr. Verloc's grief and unhappiness acting as usual +powerfully upon Stevie's fundamentally docile disposition, he +abandoned all resistance, and climbed up again on the box, with a +face of despair. + +The cabby turned at him his enormous and inflamed countenance +truculently. "Don't you go for trying this silly game again, young +fellow." + +After delivering himself thus in a stern whisper, strained almost +to extinction, he drove on, ruminating solemnly. To his mind the +incident remained somewhat obscure. But his intellect, though it +had lost its pristine vivacity in the benumbing years of sedentary +exposure to the weather, lacked not independence or sanity. +Gravely he dismissed the hypothesis of Stevie being a drunken young +nipper. + +Inside the cab the spell of silence, in which the two women had +endured shoulder to shoulder the jolting, rattling, and jingling of +the journey, had been broken by Stevie's outbreak. Winnie raised +her voice. + +"You've done what you wanted, mother. You'll have only yourself to +thank for it if you aren't happy afterwards. And I don't think +you'll be. That I don't. Weren't you comfortable enough in the +house? Whatever people'll think of us - you throwing yourself like +this on a Charity?" + +"My dear," screamed the old woman earnestly above the noise, +"you've been the best of daughters to me. As to Mr Verloc - there +- " + +Words failing her on the subject of Mr Verloc's excellence, she +turned her old tearful eyes to the roof of the cab. Then she +averted her head on the pretence of looking out of the window, as +if to judge of their progress. It was insignificant, and went on +close to the curbstone. Night, the early dirty night, the +sinister, noisy, hopeless and rowdy night of South London, had +overtaken her on her last cab drive. In the gas-light of the low- +fronted shops her big cheeks glowed with an orange hue under a +black and mauve bonnet. + +Mrs Verloc's mother's complexion had become yellow by the effect of +age and from a natural predisposition to biliousness, favoured by +the trials of a difficult and worried existence, first as wife, +then as widow. It was a complexion, that under the influence of a +blush would take on an orange tint. And this woman, modest indeed +but hardened in the fires of adversity, of an age, moreover, when +blushes are not expected, had positively blushed before her +daughter. In the privacy of a four-wheeler, on her way to a +charity cottage (one of a row) which by the exiguity of its +dimensions and the simplicity of its accommodation, might well have +been devised in kindness as a place of training for the still more +straitened circumstances of the grave, she was forced to hid from +her own child a blush of remorse and shame. + +Whatever people will think? She knew very well what they did +think, the people Winnie had in her mind - the old friends of her +husband, and others too, whose interest she had solicited with such +flattering success. She had not known before what a good beggar +she could be. But she guessed very well what inference was drawn +from her application. On account of that shrinking delicacy, which +exists side by side with aggressive brutality in masculine nature, +the inquiries into her circumstances had not been pushed very far. +She had checked them by a visible compression of the lips and some +display of an emotion determined to be eloquently silent. And the +men would become suddenly incurious, after the manner of their +kind. She congratulated herself more than once on having nothing +to do with women, who being naturally more callous and avid of +details, would have been anxious to be exactly informed by what +sort of unkind conduct her daughter and son-in-law had driven her +to that sad extremity. It was only before the Secretary of the +great brewer M. P. and Chairman of the Charity, who, acting for his +principal, felt bound to be conscientiously inquisitive as to the +real circumstances of the applicant, that she had burst into tears +outright and aloud, as a cornered woman will weep. The thin and +polite gentleman, after contemplating her with an air of being +"struck all of a heap," abandoned his position under the cover of +soothing remarks. She must not distress herself. The deed of the +Charity did not absolutely specify "childless widows." In fact, it +did not by any means disqualify her. But the discretion of the +Committee must be an informed discretion. One could understand +very well her unwillingness to be a burden, etc. etc. Thereupon, +to his profound disappointment, Mrs Verloc's mother wept some more +with an augmented vehemence. + +The tears of that large female in a dark, dusty wig, and ancient +silk dress festooned with dingy white cotton lace, were the tears +of genuine distress. She had wept because she was heroic and +unscrupulous and full of love for both her children. Girls +frequently get sacrificed to the welfare of the boys. In this case +she was sacrificing Winnie. By the suppression of truth she was +slandering her. Of course, Winnie was independent, and need not +care for the opinion of people that she would never see and who +would never see her; whereas poor Stevie had nothing in the world +he could call his own except his mother's heroism and +unscrupulousness. + +The first sense of security following on Winnie's marriage wore off +in time (for nothing lasts), and Mrs Verloc's mother, in the +seclusion of the back bedroom, had recalled the teaching of that +experience which the world impresses upon a widowed woman. But she +had recalled it without vain bitterness; her store of resignation +amounted almost to dignity. She reflected stoically that +everything decays, wears out, in this world; that the way of +kindness should be made easy to the well disposed; that her +daughter Winnie was a most devoted sister, and a very self- +confident wife indeed. As regards Winnie's sisterly devotion, her +stoicism flinched. She excepted that sentiment from the rule of +decay affecting all things human and some things divine. She could +not help it; not to do so would have frightened her too much. But +in considering the conditions of her daughter's married state, she +rejected firmly all flattering illusions. She took the cold and +reasonable view that the less strain put on Mr Verloc's kindness +the longer its effects were likely to last. That excellent man +loved his wife, of course, but he would, no doubt, prefer to keep +as few of her relations as was consistent with the proper display +of that sentiment. It would be better if its whole effect were +concentrated on poor Stevie. And the heroic old woman resolved on +going away from her children as an act of devotion and as a move of +deep policy. + +The "virtue" of this policy consisted in this (Mrs Verloc's mother +was subtle in her way), that Stevie's moral claim would be +strengthened. The poor boy - a good, useful boy, if a little +peculiar - had not a sufficient standing. He had been taken over +with his mother, somewhat in the same way as the furniture of the +Belgravian mansion had been taken over, as if on the ground of +belonging to her exclusively. What will happen, she asked herself +(for Mrs Verloc's mother was in a measure imaginative), when I die? +And when she asked herself that question it was with dread. It was +also terrible to think that she would not then have the means of +knowing what happened to the poor boy. But by making him over to +his sister, by going thus away, she gave him the advantage of a +directly dependent position. This was the more subtle sanction of +Mrs Verloc's mother's heroism and unscrupulousness. Her act of +abandonment was really an arrangement for settling her son +permanently in life. Other people made material sacrifices for +such an object, she in that way. It was the only way. Moreover, +she would be able to see how it worked. Ill or well she would +avoid the horrible incertitude on the death-bed. But it was hard, +hard, cruelly hard. + +The cab rattled, jingled, jolted; in fact, the last was quite +extraordinary. By its disproportionate violence and magnitude it +obliterated every sensation of onward movement; and the effect was +of being shaken in a stationary apparatus like a mediaeval device +for the punishment of crime, or some very newfangled invention for +the cure of a sluggish liver. It was extremely distressing; and +the raising of Mrs Verloc's mother's voice sounded like a wail of +pain. + +"I know, my dear, you'll come to see me as often as you can spare +the time. Won't you?" + +"Of course," answered Winnie shortly, staring straight before her. + +And the cab jolted in front of a steamy, greasy shop in a blaze of +gas and in the smell of fried fish. + +The old woman raised a wail again. + +"And, my dear, I must see that poor boy every Sunday. He won't +mind spending the day with his old mother - " + +Winnie screamed out stolidly: + +"Mind! I should think not. That poor boy will miss you something +cruel. I wish you had thought a little of that, mother." + +Not think of it! The heroic woman swallowed a playful and +inconvenient object like a billiard ball, which had tried to jump +out of her throat. Winnie sat mute for a while, pouting at the +front of the cab, then snapped out, which was an unusual tone with +her: + +"I expect I'll have a job with him at first, he'll be that restless +- " + +"Whatever you do, don't let him worry your husband, my dear." + +Thus they discussed on familiar lines the bearings of a new +situation. And the cab jolted. Mrs Verloc's mother expressed some +misgivings. Could Stevie be trusted to come all that way alone? +Winnie maintained that he was much less "absent-minded" now. They +agreed as to that. It could not be denied. Much less - hardly at +all. They shouted at each other in the jingle with comparative +cheerfulness. But suddenly the maternal anxiety broke out afresh. +There were two omnibuses to take, and a short walk between. It was +too difficult! The old woman gave way to grief and consternation. + +Winnie stared forward. + +"Don't you upset yourself like this, mother. You must see him, of +course." + +"No, my dear. I'll try not to." + +She mopped her streaming eyes. + +"But you can't spare the time to come with him, and if he should +forget himself and lose his way and somebody spoke to him sharply, +his name and address may slip his memory, and he'll remain lost for +days and days - " + +The vision of a workhouse infirmary for poor Stevie - if only +during inquiries - wrung her heart. For she was a proud woman. +Winnie's stare had grown hard, intent, inventive. + +"I can't bring him to you myself every week," she cried. "But +don't you worry, mother. I'll see to it that he don't get lost for +long." + +They felt a peculiar bump; a vision of brick pillars lingered +before the rattling windows of the cab; a sudden cessation of +atrocious jolting and uproarious jingling dazed the two women. +What had happened? They sat motionless and scared in the profound +stillness, till the door came open, and a rough, strained +whispering was heard: + +"Here you are!" + +A range of gabled little houses, each with one dim yellow window, +on the ground floor, surrounded the dark open space of a grass plot +planted with shrubs and railed off from the patchwork of lights and +shadows in the wide road, resounding with the dull rumble of +traffic. Before the door of one of these tiny houses - one without +a light in the little downstairs window - the cab had come to a +standstill. Mrs Verloc's mother got out first, backwards, with a +key in her hand. Winnie lingered on the flagstone path to pay the +cabman. Stevie, after helping to carry inside a lot of small +parcels, came out and stood under the light of a gas-lamp belonging +to the Charity. The cabman looked at the pieces of silver, which, +appearing very minute in his big, grimy palm, symbolised the +insignificant results which reward the ambitious courage and toil +of a mankind whose day is short on this earth of evil. + +He had been paid decently - four one-shilling pieces - and he +contemplated them in perfect stillness, as if they had been the +surprising terms of a melancholy problem. The slow transfer of +that treasure to an inner pocket demanded much laborious groping in +the depths of decayed clothing. His form was squat and without +flexibility. Stevie, slender, his shoulders a little up, and his +hands thrust deep in the side pockets of his warm overcoat, stood +at the edge of the path, pouting. + +The cabman, pausing in his deliberate movements, seemed struck by +some misty recollection. + +"Oh! `Ere you are, young fellow," he whispered. "You'll know him +again - won't you?" + +Stevie was staring at the horse, whose hind quarters appeared +unduly elevated by the effect of emaciation. The little stiff tail +seemed to have been fitted in for a heartless joke; and at the +other end the thin, flat neck, like a plank covered with old horse- +hide, drooped to the ground under the weight of an enormous bony +head. The ears hung at different angles, negligently; and the +macabre figure of that mute dweller on the earth steamed straight +up from ribs and backbone in the muggy stillness of the air. + +The cabman struck lightly Stevie's breast with the iron hook +protruding from a ragged, greasy sleeve. + +"Look `ere, young feller. `Ow'd YOU like to sit behind this `oss +up to two o'clock in the morning p'raps?" + +Stevie looked vacantly into the fierce little eyes with red-edged +lids. + +"He ain't lame," pursued the other, whispering with energy. "He +ain't got no sore places on `im. `Ere he is. `Ow would YOU like - +" + +His strained, extinct voice invested his utterance with a character +of vehement secrecy. Stevie's vacant gaze was changing slowly into +dread. + +"You may well look! Till three and four o'clock in the morning. +Cold and `ungry. Looking for fares. Drunks." + +His jovial purple cheeks bristled with white hairs; and like +Virgil's Silenus, who, his face smeared with the juice of berries, +discoursed of Olympian Gods to the innocent shepherds of Sicily, he +talked to Stevie of domestic matters and the affairs of men whose +sufferings are great and immortality by no means assured. + +"I am a night cabby, I am," he whispered, with a sort of boastful +exasperation. "I've got to take out what they will blooming well +give me at the yard. I've got my missus and four kids at `ome." + +The monstrous nature of that declaration of paternity seemed to +strike the world dumb. A silence reigned during which the flanks +of the old horse, the steed of apocalyptic misery, smoked upwards +in the light of the charitable gas-lamp. + +The cabman grunted, then added in his mysterious whisper: + +"This ain't an easy world." Stevie's face had been twitching for +some time, and at last his feelings burst out in their usual +concise form. + +"Bad! Bad!" + +His gaze remained fixed on the ribs of the horse, self-conscious +and sombre, as though he were afraid to look about him at the +badness of the world. And his slenderness, his rosy lips and pale, +clear complexion, gave him the aspect of a delicate boy, +notwithstanding the fluffy growth of golden hair on his cheeks. He +pouted in a scared way like a child. The cabman, short and broad, +eyed him with his fierce little eyes that seemed to smart in a +clear and corroding liquid. + +"'Ard on `osses, but dam' sight `arder on poor chaps like me," he +wheezed just audibly. + +"Poor! Poor!" stammered out Stevie, pushing his hands deeper into +his pockets with convulsive sympathy. He could say nothing; for +the tenderness to all pain and all misery, the desire to make the +horse happy and the cabman happy, had reached the point of a +bizarre longing to take them to bed with him. And that, he knew, +was impossible. For Stevie was not mad. It was, as it were, a +symbolic longing; and at the same time it was very distinct, +because springing from experience, the mother of wisdom. Thus when +as a child he cowered in a dark corner scared, wretched, sore, and +miserable with the black, black misery of the soul, his sister +Winnie used to come along, and carry him off to bed with her, as +into a heaven of consoling peace. Stevie, though apt to forget +mere facts, such as his name and address for instance, had a +faithful memory of sensations. To be taken into a bed of +compassion was the supreme remedy, with the only one disadvantage +of being difficult of application on a large scale. And looking at +the cabman, Stevie perceived this clearly, because he was +reasonable. + +The cabman went on with his leisurely preparations as if Stevie had +not existed. He made as if to hoist himself on the box, but at the +last moment from some obscure motive, perhaps merely from disgust +with carriage exercise, desisted. He approached instead the +motionless partner of his labours, and stooping to seize the +bridle, lifted up the big, weary head to the height of his shoulder +with one effort of his right arm, like a feat of strength. + +"Come on," he whispered secretly. + +Limping, he led the cab away. There was an air of austerity in +this departure, the scrunched gravel of the drive crying out under +the slowly turning wheels, the horse's lean thighs moving with +ascetic deliberation away from the light into the obscurity of the +open space bordered dimly by the pointed roofs and the feebly +shining windows of the little alms-houses. The plaint of the +gravel travelled slowly all round the drive. Between the lamps of +the charitable gateway the slow cortege reappeared, lighted up for +a moment, the short, thick man limping busily, with the horse's +head held aloft in his fist, the lank animal walking in stiff and +forlorn dignity, the dark, low box on wheels rolling behind +comically with an air of waddling. They turned to the left. There +was a pub down the street, within fifty yards of the gate. + +Stevie left alone beside the private lamp-post of the Charity, his +hands thrust deep into his pockets, glared with vacant sulkiness. +At the bottom of his pockets his incapable weak hands were clinched +hard into a pair of angry fists. In the face of anything which +affected directly or indirectly his morbid dread of pain, Stevie +ended by turning vicious. A magnanimous indignation swelled his +frail chest to bursting, and caused his candid eyes to squint. +Supremely wise in knowing his own powerlessness, Stevie was not +wise enough to restrain his passions. The tenderness of his +universal charity had two phases as indissolubly joined and +connected as the reverse and obverse sides of a medal. The anguish +of immoderate compassion was succeeded by the pain of an innocent +but pitiless rage. Those two states expressing themselves +outwardly by the same signs of futile bodily agitation, his sister +Winnie soothed his excitement without ever fathoming its twofold +character. Mrs Verloc wasted no portion of this transient life in +seeking for fundamental information. This is a sort of economy +having all the appearances and some of the advantages of prudence. +Obviously it may be good for one not to know too much. And such a +view accords very well with constitutional indolence. + +On that evening on which it may be said that Mrs Verloc's mother +having parted for good from her children had also departed this +life, Winnie Verloc did not investigate her brother's psychology. +The poor boy was excited, of course. After once more assuring the +old woman on the threshold that she would know how to guard against +the risk of Stevie losing himself for very long on his pilgrimages +of filial piety, she took her brother's arm to walk away. Stevie +did not even mutter to himself, but with the special sense of +sisterly devotion developed in her earliest infancy, she felt that +the boy was very much excited indeed. Holding tight to his arm, +under the appearance of leaning on it, she thought of some words +suitable to the occasion. + +"Now, Stevie, you must look well after me at the crossings, and get +first into the `bus, like a good brother." + +This appeal to manly protection was received by Stevie with his +usual docility. It flattered him. He raised his head and threw +out his chest. + +"Don't be nervous, Winnie. Mustn't be nervous! `Bus all right," +he answered in a brusque, slurring stammer partaking of the +timorousness of a child and the resolution of a man. He advanced +fearlessly with the woman on his arm, but his lower lip dropped. +Nevertheless, on the pavement of the squalid and wide thoroughfare, +whose poverty in all the amenities of life stood foolishly exposed +by a mad profusion of gas-lights, their resemblance to each other +was so pronounced as to strike the casual passers-by. + +Before the doors of the public-house at the corner, where the +profusion of gas-light reached the height of positive wickedness, a +four-wheeled cab standing by the curbstone with no one on the box, +seemed cast out into the gutter on account of irremediable decay. +Mrs Verloc recognised the conveyance. Its aspect was so profoundly +lamentable, with such a perfection of grotesque misery and +weirdness of macabre detail, as if it were the Cab of Death itself, +that Mrs Verloc, with that ready compassion of a woman for a horse +(when she is not sitting behind him), exclaimed vaguely: + +"Poor brute:" + +Hanging back suddenly, Stevie inflicted an arresting jerk upon his +sister. + +"Poor! Poor!" he ejaculated appreciatively. "Cabman poor too. He +told me himself." + +The contemplation of the infirm and lonely steed overcame him. +Jostled, but obstinate, he would remain there, trying to express +the view newly opened to his sympathies of the human and equine +misery in close association. But it was very difficult. "Poor +brute, poor people!" was all he could repeat. It did not seem +forcible enough, and he came to a stop with an angry splutter: +"Shame!" Stevie was no master of phrases, and perhaps for that +very reason his thoughts lacked clearness and precision. But he +felt with greater completeness and some profundity. That little +word contained all his sense of indignation and horror at one sort +of wretchedness having to feed upon the anguish of the other - at +the poor cabman beating the poor horse in the name, as it were, of +his poor kids at home. And Stevie knew what it was to be beaten. +He knew it from experience. It was a bad world. Bad! Bad! + +Mrs Verloc, his only sister, guardian, and protector, could not +pretend to such depths of insight. Moreover, she had not +experienced the magic of the cabman's eloquence. She was in the +dark as to the inwardness of the word "Shame." And she said +placidly: + +"Come along, Stevie. You can't help that." + +The docile Stevie went along; but now he went along without pride, +shamblingly, and muttering half words, and even words that would +have been whole if they had not been made up of halves that did not +belong to each other. It was as though he had been trying to fit +all the words he could remember to his sentiments in order to get +some sort of corresponding idea. And, as a matter of fact, he got +it at last. He hung back to utter it at once. + +"Bad world for poor people." + +Directly he had expressed that thought he became aware that it was +familiar to him already in all its consequences. This circumstance +strengthened his conviction immensely, but also augmented his +indignation. Somebody, he felt, ought to be punished for it - +punished with great severity. Being no sceptic, but a moral +creature, he was in a manner at the mercy of his righteous +passions. + +"Beastly!" he added concisely. + +It was clear to Mrs Verloc that he was greatly excited. + +"Nobody can help that," she said. "Do come along. Is that the way +you're taking care of me?" + +Stevie mended his pace obediently. He prided himself on being a +good brother. His morality, which was very complete, demanded that +from him. Yet he was pained at the information imparted by his +sister Winnie who was good. Nobody could help that! He came along +gloomily, but presently he brightened up. Like the rest of +mankind, perplexed by the mystery of the universe, he had his +moments of consoling trust in the organised powers of the earth. + +"Police," he suggested confidently. + +"The police aren't for that," observed Mrs Verloc cursorily, +hurrying on her way. + +Stevie's face lengthened considerably. He was thinking. The more +intense his thinking, the slacker was the droop of his lower jaw. + +And it was with an aspect of hopeless vacancy that he gave up his +intellectual enterprise. + +"Not for that?" he mumbled, resigned but surprised. "Not for +that?" He had formed for himself an ideal conception of the +metropolitan police as a sort of benevolent institution for the +suppression of evil. The notion of benevolence especially was very +closely associated with his sense of the power of the men in blue. +He had liked all police constables tenderly, with a guileless +trustfulness. And he was pained. He was irritated, too, by a +suspicion of duplicity in the members of the force. For Stevie was +frank and as open as the day himself. What did they mean by +pretending then? Unlike his sister, who put her trust in face +values, he wished to go to the bottom of the matter. He carried on +his inquiry by means of an angry challenge. + +"What for are they then, Winn? What are they for? Tell me." + +Winnie disliked controversy. But fearing most a fit of black +depression consequent on Stevie missing his mother very much at +first, she did not altogether decline the discussion. Guiltless of +all irony, she answered yet in a form which was not perhaps +unnatural in the wife of Mr Verloc, Delegate of the Central Red +Committee, personal friend of certain anarchists, and a votary of +social revolution. + +"Don't you know what the police are for, Stevie? They are there so +that them as have nothing shouldn't take anything away from them +who have." + +She avoided using the verb "to steal," because it always made her +brother uncomfortable. For Stevie was delicately honest. Certain +simple principles had been instilled into him so anxiously (on +account of his "queerness") that the mere names of certain +transgressions filled him with horror. He had been always easily +impressed by speeches. He was impressed and startled now, and his +intelligence was very alert. + +"What?" he asked at once anxiously. "Not even if they were hungry? +Mustn't they?" + +The two had paused in their walk. + +"Not if they were ever so," said Mrs Verloc, with the equanimity of +a person untroubled by the problem of the distribution of wealth, +and exploring the perspective of the roadway for an omnibus of the +right colour. "Certainly not. But what's the use of talking about +all that? You aren't ever hungry." + +She cast a swift glance at the boy, like a young man, by her side. +She saw him amiable, attractive, affectionate, and only a little, a +very little, peculiar. And she could not see him otherwise, for he +was connected with what there was of the salt of passion in her +tasteless life - the passion of indignation, of courage, of pity, +and even of self-sacrifice. She did not add: "And you aren't +likely ever to be as long as I live." But she might very well have +done so, since she had taken effectual steps to that end. Mr +Verloc was a very good husband. It was her honest impression that +nobody could help liking the boy. She cried out suddenly: + +"Quick, Stevie. Stop that green `bus." + +And Stevie, tremulous and important with his sister Winnie on his +arm, flung up the other high above his head at the approaching +`bus, with complete success. + +An hour afterwards Mr Verloc raised his eyes from a newspaper he +was reading, or at any rate looking at, behind the counter, and in +the expiring clatter of the door-bell beheld Winnie, his wife, +enter and cross the shop on her way upstairs, followed by Stevie, +his brother-in-law. The sight of his wife was agreeable to Mr +Verloc. It was his idiosyncrasy. The figure of his brother-in-law +remained imperceptible to him because of the morose thoughtfulness +that lately had fallen like a veil between Mr Verloc and the +appearances of the world of senses. He looked after his wife +fixedly, without a word, as though she had been a phantom. His +voice for home use was husky and placid, but now it was heard not +at all. It was not heard at supper, to which he was called by his +wife in the usual brief manner: "Adolf." He sat down to consume it +without conviction, wearing his hat pushed far back on his head. +It was not devotion to an outdoor life, but the frequentation of +foreign cafes which was responsible for that habit, investing with +a character of unceremonious impermanency Mr Verloc's steady +fidelity to his own fireside. Twice at the clatter of the cracked +bell he arose without a word, disappeared into the shop, and came +back silently. During these absences Mrs Verloc, becoming acutely +aware of the vacant place at her right hand, missed her mother very +much, and stared stonily; while Stevie, from the same reason, kept +on shuffling his feet, as though the floor under the table were +uncomfortably hot. When Mr Verloc returned to sit in his place, +like the very embodiment of silence, the character of Mrs Verloc's +stare underwent a subtle change, and Stevie ceased to fidget with +his feet, because of his great and awed regard for his sister's +husband. He directed at him glances of respectful compassion. Mr +Verloc was sorry. His sister Winnie had impressed upon him (in the +omnibus) that Mr Verloc would be found at home in a state of +sorrow, and must not be worried. His father's anger, the +irritability of gentlemen lodgers, and Mr Verloc's predisposition +to immoderate grief, had been the main sanctions of Stevie's self- +restraint. Of these sentiments, all easily provoked, but not +always easy to understand, the last had the greatest moral +efficiency - because Mr Verloc was GOOD. His mother and his sister +had established that ethical fact on an unshakable foundation. +They had established, erected, consecrated it behind Mr Verloc's +back, for reasons that had nothing to do with abstract morality. +And Mr Verloc was not aware of it. It is but bare justice to him +to say that he had no notion of appearing good to Stevie. Yet so +it was. He was even the only man so qualified in Stevie's +knowledge, because the gentlemen lodgers had been too transient and +too remote to have anything very distinct about them but perhaps +their boots; and as regards the disciplinary measures of his +father, the desolation of his mother and sister shrank from setting +up a theory of goodness before the victim. It would have been too +cruel. And it was even possible that Stevie would not have +believed them. As far as Mr Verloc was concerned, nothing could +stand in the way of Stevie's belief. Mr Verloc was obviously yet +mysteriously GOOD. And the grief of a good man is august. + +Stevie gave glances of reverential compassion to his brother-in- +law. Mr Verloc was sorry. The brother of Winnie had never before +felt himself in such close communion with the mystery of that man's +goodness. It was an understandable sorrow. And Stevie himself was +sorry. He was very sorry. The same sort of sorrow. And his +attention being drawn to this unpleasant state, Stevie shuffled his +feet. His feelings were habitually manifested by the agitation of +his limbs. + +"Keep your feet quiet, dear," said Mrs Verloc, with authority and +tenderness; then turning towards her husband in an indifferent +voice, the masterly achievement of instinctive tact: "Are you going +out to-night?" she asked. + +The mere suggestion seemed repugnant to Mr Verloc. He shook his +head moodily, and then sat still with downcast eyes, looking at the +piece of cheese on his plate for a whole minute. At the end of +that time he got up, and went out - went right out in the clatter +of the shop-door bell. He acted thus inconsistently, not from any +desire to make himself unpleasant, but because of an unconquerable +restlessness. It was no earthly good going out. He could not find +anywhere in London what he wanted. But he went out. He led a +cortege of dismal thoughts along dark streets, through lighted +streets, in and out of two flash bars, as if in a half-hearted +attempt to make a night of it, and finally back again to his +menaced home, where he sat down fatigued behind the counter, and +they crowded urgently round him, like a pack of hungry black +hounds. After locking up the house and putting out the gas he took +them upstairs with him - a dreadful escort for a man going to bed. +His wife had preceded him some time before, and with her ample form +defined vaguely under the counterpane, her head on the pillow, and +a hand under the cheek offered to his distraction the view of early +drowsiness arguing the possession of an equable soul. Her big eyes +stared wide open, inert and dark against the snowy whiteness of the +linen. She did not move. + +She had an equable soul. She felt profoundly that things do not +stand much looking into. She made her force and her wisdom of that +instinct. But the taciturnity of Mr Verloc had been lying heavily +upon her for a good many days. It was, as a matter of fact, +affecting her nerves. Recumbent and motionless, she said placidly: + +"You'll catch cold walking about in your socks like this." + +This speech, becoming the solicitude of the wife and the prudence +of the woman, took Mr Verloc unawares. He had left his boots +downstairs, but he had forgotten to put on his slippers, and he had +been turning about the bedroom on noiseless pads like a bear in a +cage. At the sound of his wife's voice he stopped and stared at +her with a somnambulistic, expressionless gaze so long that Mrs +Verloc moved her limbs slightly under the bed-clothes. But she did +not move her black head sunk in the white pillow one hand under her +cheek and the big, dark, unwinking eyes. + +Under her husband's expressionless stare, and remembering her +mother's empty room across the landing, she felt an acute pang of +loneliness. She had never been parted from her mother before. +They had stood by each other. She felt that they had, and she said +to herself that now mother was gone - gone for good. Mrs Verloc +had no illusions. Stevie remained, however. And she said: + +"Mother's done what she wanted to do. There's no sense in it that +I can see. I'm sure she couldn't have thought you had enough of +her. It's perfectly wicked, leaving us like that." + +Mr Verloc was not a well-read person; his range of allusive phrases +was limited, but there was a peculiar aptness in circumstances +which made him think of rats leaving a doomed ship. He very nearly +said so. He had grown suspicious and embittered. Could it be that +the old woman had such an excellent nose? But the unreasonableness +of such a suspicion was patent, and Mr Verloc held his tongue. Not +altogether, however. He muttered heavily: + +"Perhaps it's just as well." + +He began to undress. Mrs Verloc kept very still, perfectly still, +with her eyes fixed in a dreamy, quiet stare. And her heart for +the fraction of a second seemed to stand still too. That night she +was "not quite herself," as the saying is, and it was borne upon +her with some force that a simple sentence may hold several diverse +meanings - mostly disagreeable. How was it just as well? And why? +But she did not allow herself to fall into the idleness of barren +speculation. She was rather confirmed in her belief that things +did not stand being looked into. Practical and subtle in her way, +she brought Stevie to the front without loss of time, because in +her the singleness of purpose had the unerring nature and the force +of an instinct. + +"What I am going to do to cheer up that boy for the first few days +I'm sure I don't know. He'll be worrying himself from morning till +night before he gets used to mother being away. And he's such a +good boy. I couldn't do without him." + +Mr Verloc went on divesting himself of his clothing with the +unnoticing inward concentration of a man undressing in the solitude +of a vast and hopeless desert. For thus inhospitably did this fair +earth, our common inheritance, present itself to the mental vision +of Mr Verloc. All was so still without and within that the lonely +ticking of the clock on the landing stole into the room as if for +the sake of company. + +Mr Verloc, getting into bed on his own side, remained prone and +mute behind Mrs Verloc's back. His thick arms rested abandoned on +the outside of the counterpane like dropped weapons, like discarded +tools. At that moment he was within a hair's breadth of making a +clean breast of it all to his wife. The moment seemed propitious. +Looking out of the corners of his eyes, he saw her ample shoulders +draped in white, the back of her head, with the hair done for the +night in three plaits tied up with black tapes at the ends. And he +forbore. Mr Verloc loved his wife as a wife should be loved - that +is, maritally, with the regard one has for one's chief possession. +This head arranged for the night, those ample shoulders, had an +aspect of familiar sacredness - the sacredness of domestic peace. +She moved not, massive and shapeless like a recumbent statue in the +rough; he remembered her wide-open eyes looking into the empty +room. She was mysterious, with the mysteriousness of living +beings. The far-famed secret agent [delta] of the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim's alarmist despatches was not the man to break +into such mysteries. He was easily intimidated. And he was also +indolent, with the indolence which is so often the secret of good +nature. He forbore touching that mystery out of love, timidity, +and indolence. There would be always time enough. For several +minutes he bore his sufferings silently in the drowsy silence of +the room. And then he disturbed it by a resolute declaration. + +"I am going on the Continent to-morrow." + +His wife might have fallen asleep already. He could not tell. As +a matter of fact, Mrs Verloc had heard him. Her eyes remained very +wide open, and she lay very still, confirmed in her instinctive +conviction that things don't bear looking into very much. And yet +it was nothing very unusual for Mr Verloc to take such a trip. He +renewed his stock from Paris and Brussels. Often he went over to +make his purchases personally. A little select connection of +amateurs was forming around the shop in Brett Street, a secret +connection eminently proper for any business undertaken by Mr +Verloc, who, by a mystic accord of temperament and necessity, had +been set apart to be a secret agent all his life. + +He waited for a while, then added: "I'll be away a week or perhaps +a fortnight. Get Mrs Neale to come for the day." + +Mrs Neale was the charwoman of Brett Street. Victim of her +marriage with a debauched joiner, she was oppressed by the needs of +many infant children. Red-armed, and aproned in coarse sacking up +to the arm-pits, she exhaled the anguish of the poor in a breath of +soap-suds and rum, in the uproar of scrubbing, in the clatter of +tin pails. + +Mrs Verloc, full of deep purpose, spoke in the tone of the +shallowest indifference. + +"There is no need to have the woman here all day. I shall do very +well with Stevie." + +She let the lonely clock on the landing count off fifteen ticks +into the abyss of eternity, and asked: + +"Shall I put the light out?" + +Mr Verloc snapped at his wife huskily. + +"Put it out." + + + +CHAPTER IX + + + +Mr Verloc returning from the Continent at the end of ten days, +brought back a mind evidently unrefreshed by the wonders of foreign +travel and a countenance unlighted by the joys of home-coming. He +entered in the clatter of the shop bell with an air of sombre and +vexed exhaustion. His bag in hand, his head lowered, he strode +straight behind the counter, and let himself fall into the chair, +as though he had tramped all the way from Dover. It was early +morning. Stevie, dusting various objects displayed in the front +windows, turned to gape at him with reverence and awe. + +"Here!" said Mr Verloc, giving a slight kick to the gladstone bag +on the floor; and Stevie flung himself upon it, seized it, bore it +off with triumphant devotion. He was so prompt that Mr Verloc was +distinctly surprised. + +Already at the clatter of the shop bell Mrs Neale, blackleading the +parlour grate, had looked through the door, and rising from her +knees had gone, aproned, and grimy with everlasting toll, to tell +Mrs Verloc in the kitchen that "there was the master come back." + +Winnie came no farther than the inner shop door. + +"You'll want some breakfast," she said from a distance. + +Mr Verloc moved his hands slightly, as if overcome by an impossible +suggestion. But once enticed into the parlour he did not reject +the food set before him. He ate as if in a public place, his hat +pushed off his forehead, the skirts of his heavy overcoat hanging +in a triangle on each side of the chair. And across the length of +the table covered with brown oil-cloth Winnie, his wife, talked +evenly at him the wifely talk, as artfully adapted, no doubt, to +the circumstances of this return as the talk of Penelope to the +return of the wandering Odysseus. Mrs Verloc, however, had done no +weaving during her husband's absence. But she had had all the +upstairs room cleaned thoroughly, had sold some wares, had seen Mr +Michaelis several times. He had told her the last time that he was +going away to live in a cottage in the country, somewhere on the +London, Chatham, and Dover line. Karl Yundt had come too, once, +led under the arm by that "wicked old housekeeper of his." He was +"a disgusting old man." Of Comrade Ossipon, whom she had received +curtly, entrenched behind the counter with a stony face and a +faraway gaze, she said nothing, her mental reference to the robust +anarchist being marked by a short pause, with the faintest possible +blush. And bringing in her brother Stevie as soon as she could +into the current of domestic events, she mentioned that the boy had +moped a good deal. + +"It's all along of mother leaving us like this." + +Mr Verloc neither said, "Damn!" nor yet "Stevie be hanged!" And +Mrs Verloc, not let into the secret of his thoughts, failed to +appreciate the generosity of this restraint. + +"It isn't that he doesn't work as well as ever," she continued. +"He's been making himself very useful. You'd think he couldn't do +enough for us." + +Mr Verloc directed a casual and somnolent glance at Stevie, who sat +on his right, delicate, pale-faced, his rosy mouth open vacantly. +It was not a critical glance. It had no intention. And if Mr +Verloc thought for a moment that his wife's brother looked +uncommonly useless, it was only a dull and fleeting thought, devoid +of that force and durability which enables sometimes a thought to +move the world. Leaning back, Mr Verloc uncovered his head. +Before his extended arm could put down the hat Stevie pounced upon +it, and bore it off reverently into the kitchen. And again Mr +Verloc was surprised. + +"You could do anything with that boy, Adolf," Mrs Verloc said, with +her best air of inflexible calmness. "He would go through fire for +you. He - " + +She paused attentive, her ear turned towards the door of the +kitchen. + +There Mrs Neale was scrubbing the floor. At Stevie's appearance +she groaned lamentably, having observed that he could be induced +easily to bestow for the benefit of her infant children the +shilling his sister Winnie presented him with from time to time. +On all fours amongst the puddles, wet and begrimed, like a sort of +amphibious and domestic animal living in ash-bins and dirty water, +she uttered the usual exordium: "It's all very well for you, kept +doing nothing like a gentleman." And she followed it with the +everlasting plaint of the poor, pathetically mendacious, miserably +authenticated by the horrible breath of cheap rum and soap-suds. +She scrubbed hard, snuffling all the time, and talking volubly. +And she was sincere. And on each side of her thin red nose her +bleared, misty eyes swam in tears, because she felt really the want +of some sort of stimulant in the morning. + +In the parlour Mrs Verloc observed, with knowledge: + +"There's Mrs Neale at it again with her harrowing tales about her +little children. They can't be all so little as she makes them +out. Some of them must be big enough by now to try to do something +for themselves. It only makes Stevie angry." + +These words were confirmed by a thud as of a fist striking the +kitchen table. In the normal evolution of his sympathy Stevie had +become angry on discovering that he had no shilling in his pocket. +In his inability to relieve at once Mrs Neale's "little 'uns'," +privations he felt that somebody should be made to suffer for it. +Mrs Verloc rose, and went into the kitchen to "stop that nonsense." +And she did it firmly but gently. She was well aware that directly +Mrs Neale received her money she went round the corner to drink +ardent spirits in a mean and musty public-house - the unavoidable +station on the VIA DOLOROSA of her life. Mrs Verloc's comment upon +this practice had an unexpected profundity, as coming from a person +disinclined to look under the surface of things. "Of course, what +is she to do to keep up? If I were like Mrs Neale I expect I +wouldn't act any different." + +In the afternoon of the same day, as Mr Verloc, coming with a start +out of the last of a long series of dozes before the parlour fire, +declared his intention of going out for a walk, Winnie said from +the shop: + +"I wish you would take that boy out with you, Adolf." + +For the third time that day Mr Verloc was surprised. He stared +stupidly at his wife. She continued in her steady manner. The +boy, whenever he was not doing anything, moped in the house. It +made her uneasy; it made her nervous, she confessed. And that from +the calm Winnie sounded like exaggeration. But, in truth, Stevie +moped in the striking fashion of an unhappy domestic animal. He +would go up on the dark landing, to sit on the floor at the foot of +the tall clock, with his knees drawn up and his head in his hands. +To come upon his pallid face, with its big eyes gleaming in the +dusk, was discomposing; to think of him up there was uncomfortable. + +Mr Verloc got used to the startling novelty of the idea. He was +fond of his wife as a man should be - that is, generously. But a +weighty objection presented itself to his mind, and he formulated +it. + +"He'll lose sight of me perhaps, and get lost in the street," he +said. + +Mrs Verloc shook her head competently. + +"He won't. You don't know him. That boy just worships you. But +if you should miss him - " + +Mrs Verloc paused for a moment, but only for a moment. + +"You just go on, and have your walk out. Don't worry. He'll be +all right. He's sure to turn up safe here before very long." + +This optimism procured for Mr Verloc his fourth surprise of the +day. + +"Is he?" he grunted doubtfully. But perhaps his brother-in-law was +not such an idiot as he looked. His wife would know best. He +turned away his heavy eyes, saying huskily: "Well, let him come +along, then," and relapsed into the clutches of black care, that +perhaps prefers to sit behind a horseman, but knows also how to +tread close on the heels of people not sufficiently well off to +keep horses - like Mr Verloc, for instance. + +Winnie, at the shop door, did not see this fatal attendant upon Mr +Verloc's walks. She watched the two figures down the squalid +street, one tall and burly, the other slight and short, with a thin +neck, and the peaked shoulders raised slightly under the large +semi-transparent ears. The material of their overcoats was the +same, their hats were black and round in shape. Inspired by the +similarity of wearing apparel, Mrs Verloc gave rein to her fancy. + +"Might be father and son," she said to herself. She thought also +that Mr Verloc was as much of a father as poor Stevie ever had in +his life. She was aware also that it was her work. And with +peaceful pride she congratulated herself on a certain resolution +she had taken a few years before. It had cost her some effort, and +even a few tears. + +She congratulated herself still more on observing in the course of +days that Mr Verloc seemed to be taking kindly to Stevie's +companionship. Now, when ready to go out for his walk, Mr Verloc +called aloud to the boy, in the spirit, no doubt, in which a man +invites the attendance of the household dog, though, of course, in +a different manner. In the house Mr Verloc could be detected +staring curiously at Stevie a good deal. His own demeanour had +changed. Taciturn still, he was not so listless. Mrs Verloc +thought that he was rather jumpy at times. It might have been +regarded as an improvement. As to Stevie, he moped no longer at +the foot of the clock, but muttered to himself in corners instead +in a threatening tone. When asked "What is it you're saying, +Stevie?" he merely opened his mouth, and squinted at his sister. +At odd times he clenched his fists without apparent cause, and when +discovered in solitude would be scowling at the wall, with the +sheet of paper and the pencil given him for drawing circles lying +blank and idle on the kitchen table. This was a change, but it was +no improvement. Mrs Verloc including all these vagaries under the +general definition of excitement, began to fear that Stevie was +hearing more than was good for him of her husband's conversations +with his friends. During his "walks" Mr Verloc, of course, met and +conversed with various persons. It could hardly be otherwise. His +walks were an integral part of his outdoor activities, which his +wife had never looked deeply into. Mrs Verloc felt that the +position was delicate, but she faced it with the same impenetrable +calmness which impressed and even astonished the customers of the +shop and made the other visitors keep their distance a little +wonderingly. No! She feared that there were things not good for +Stevie to hear of, she told her husband. It only excited the poor +boy, because he could not help them being so. Nobody could. + +It was in the shop. Mr Verloc made no comment. He made no retort, +and yet the retort was obvious. But he refrained from pointing out +to his wife that the idea of making Stevie the companion of his +walks was her own, and nobody else's. At that moment, to an +impartial observer, Mr Verloc would have appeared more than human +in his magnanimity. He took down a small cardboard box from a +shelf, peeped in to see that the contents were all right, and put +it down gently on the counter. Not till that was done did he break +the silence, to the effect that most likely Stevie would profit +greatly by being sent out of town for a while; only he supposed his +wife could not get on without him. + +"Could not get on without him!" repeated Mrs Verloc slowly. "I +couldn't get on without him if it were for his good! The idea! Of +course, I can get on without him. But there's nowhere for him to +go." + +Mr Verloc got out some brown paper and a ball of string; and +meanwhile he muttered that Michaelis was living in a little cottage +in the country. Michaelis wouldn't mind giving Stevie a room to +sleep in. There were no visitors and no talk there. Michaelis was +writing a book. + +Mrs Verloc declared her affection for Michaelis; mentioned her +abhorrence of Karl Yundt, "nasty old man"; and of Ossipon she said +nothing. As to Stevie, he could be no other than very pleased. Mr +Michaelis was always so nice and kind to him. He seemed to like +the boy. Well, the boy was a good boy. + +"You too seem to have grown quite fond of him of late," she added, +after a pause, with her inflexible assurance. + +Mr Verloc tying up the cardboard box into a parcel for the post, +broke the string by an injudicious jerk, and muttered several swear +words confidentially to himself. Then raising his tone to the +usual husky mutter, he announced his willingness to take Stevie +into the country himself, and leave him all safe with Michaelis. + +He carried out this scheme on the very next day. Stevie offered no +objection. He seemed rather eager, in a bewildered sort of way. +He turned his candid gaze inquisitively to Mr Verloc's heavy +countenance at frequent intervals, especially when his sister was +not looking at him. His expression was proud, apprehensive, and +concentrated, like that of a small child entrusted for the first +time with a box of matches and the permission to strike a light. +But Mrs Verloc, gratified by her brother's docility, recommended +him not to dirty his clothes unduly in the country. At this Stevie +gave his sister, guardian and protector a look, which for the first +time in his life seemed to lack the quality of perfect childlike +trustfulness. It was haughtily gloomy. Mrs Verloc smiled. + +"Goodness me! You needn't be offended. You know you do get +yourself very untidy when you get a chance, Stevie." + +Mr Verloc was already gone some way down the street. + +Thus in consequence of her mother's heroic proceedings, and of her +brother's absence on this villegiature, Mrs Verloc found herself +oftener than usual all alone not only in the shop, but in the +house. For Mr Verloc had to take his walks. She was alone longer +than usual on the day of the attempted bomb outrage in Greenwich +Park, because Mr Verloc went out very early that morning and did +not come back till nearly dusk. She did not mind being alone. She +had no desire to go out. The weather was too bad, and the shop was +cosier than the streets. Sitting behind the counter with some +sewing, she did not raise her eyes from her work when Mr Verloc +entered in the aggressive clatter of the bell. She had recognised +his step on the pavement outside. + +She did not raise her eyes, but as Mr Verloc, silent, and with his +hat rammed down upon his forehead, made straight for the parlour +door, she said serenely: + +"What a wretched day. You've been perhaps to see Stevie?" + +"No! I haven't," said Mr Verloc softly, and slammed the glazed +parlour door behind him with unexpected energy. + +For some time Mrs Verloc remained quiescent, with her work dropped +in her lap, before she put it away under the counter and got up to +light the gas. This done, she went into the parlour on her way to +the kitchen. Mr Verloc would want his tea presently. Confident of +the power of her charms, Winnie did not expect from her husband in +the daily intercourse of their married life a ceremonious amenity +of address and courtliness of manner; vain and antiquated forms at +best, probably never very exactly observed, discarded nowadays even +in the highest spheres, and always foreign to the standards of her +class. She did not look for courtesies from him. But he was a +good husband, and she had a loyal respect for his rights. + +Mrs Verloc would have gone through the parlour and on to her +domestic duties in the kitchen with the perfect serenity of a woman +sure of the power of her charms. But a slight, very slight, and +rapid rattling sound grew upon her hearing. Bizarre and +incomprehensible, it arrested Mrs Verloc's attention. Then as its +character became plain to the ear she stopped short, amazed and +concerned. Striking a match on the box she held in her hand, she +turned on and lighted, above the parlour table, one of the two gas- +burners, which, being defective, first whistled as if astonished, +and then went on purring comfortably like a cat. + +Mr Verloc, against his usual practice, had thrown off his overcoat. +It was lying on the sofa. His hat, which he must also have thrown +off, rested overturned under the edge of the sofa. He had dragged +a chair in front of the fireplace, and his feet planted inside the +fender, his head held between his hands, he was hanging low over +the glowing grate. His teeth rattled with an ungovernable +violence, causing his whole enormous back to tremble at the same +rate. Mrs Verloc was startled. + +"You've been getting wet," she said. + +"Not very," Mr Verloc managed to falter out, in a profound shudder. +By a great effort he suppressed the rattling of his teeth. + +"I'll have you laid up on my hands," she said, with genuine +uneasiness. + +"I don't think so," remarked Mr Verloc, snuffling huskily. + +He had certainly contrived somehow to catch an abominable cold +between seven in the morning and five in the afternoon. Mrs Verloc +looked at his bowed back. + +"Where have you been to-day?" she asked. + +"Nowhere," answered Mr Verloc in a low, choked nasal tone. His +attitude suggested aggrieved sulks or a severe headache. The +unsufficiency and uncandidness of his answer became painfully +apparent in the dead silence of the room. He snuffled +apologetically, and added: "I've been to the bank." + +Mrs Verloc became attentive. + +"You have!" she said dispassionately. "What for?" + +Mr Verloc mumbled, with his nose over the grate, and with marked +unwillingness. + +"Draw the money out!" + +"What do you mean? All of it?" + +"Yes. All of it." + +Mrs Verloc spread out with care the scanty table-cloth, got two +knives and two forks out of the table drawer, and suddenly stopped +in her methodical proceedings. + +"What did you do that for?" + +"May want it soon," snuffled vaguely Mr Verloc, who was coming to +the end of his calculated indiscretions. + +"I don't know what you mean," remarked his wife in a tone perfectly +casual, but standing stock still between the table and the +cupboard. + +"You know you can trust me," Mr Verloc remarked to the grate, with +hoarse feeling. + +Mrs Verloc turned slowly towards the cupboard, saying with +deliberation: + +"Oh yes. I can trust you." + +And she went on with her methodical proceedings. She laid two +plates, got the bread, the butter, going to and fro quietly between +the table and the cupboard in the peace and silence of her home. +On the point of taking out the jam, she reflected practically: "He +will be feeling hungry, having been away all day," and she returned +to the cupboard once more to get the cold beef. She set it under +the purring gas-jet, and with a passing glance at her motionless +husband hugging the fire, she went (down two steps) into the +kitchen. It was only when coming back, carving knife and fork in +hand, that she spoke again. + +"If I hadn't trusted you I wouldn't have married you." + +Bowed under the overmantel, Mr Verloc, holding his head in both +hands, seemed to have gone to sleep. Winnie made the tea, and +called out in an undertone: + +"Adolf." + +Mr Verloc got up at once, and staggered a little before he sat down +at the table. His wife examining the sharp edge of the carving +knife, placed it on the dish, and called his attention to the cold +beef. He remained insensible to the suggestion, with his chin on +his breast. + +"You should feed your cold," Mrs Verloc said dogmatically. + +He looked up, and shook his head. His eyes were bloodshot and his +face red. His fingers had ruffled his hair into a dissipated +untidiness. Altogether he had a disreputable aspect, expressive of +the discomfort, the irritation and the gloom following a heavy +debauch. But Mr Verloc was not a debauched man. In his conduct he +was respectable. His appearance might have been the effect of a +feverish cold. He drank three cups of tea, but abstained from food +entirely. He recoiled from it with sombre aversion when urged by +Mrs Verloc, who said at last: + +"Aren't your feet wet? You had better put on your slippers. You +aren't going out any more this evening." + +Mr Verloc intimated by morose grunts and signs that his feet were +not wet, and that anyhow he did not care. The proposal as to +slippers was disregarded as beneath his notice. But the question +of going out in the evening received an unexpected development. It +was not of going out in the evening that Mr Verloc was thinking. +His thoughts embraced a vaster scheme. From moody and incomplete +phrases it became apparent that Mr Verloc had been considering the +expediency of emigrating. It was not very clear whether he had in +his mind France or California. + +The utter unexpectedness, improbability, and inconceivableness of +such an event robbed this vague declaration of all its effect. Mrs +Verloc, as placidly as if her husband had been threatening her with +the end of the world, said: + +"The idea!" + +Mr Verloc declared himself sick and tired of everything, and +besides - She interrupted him. + +"You've a bad cold." + +It was indeed obvious that Mr Verloc was not in his usual state, +physically and even mentally. A sombre irresolution held him +silent for a while. Then he murmured a few ominous generalities on +the theme of necessity. + +"Will have to," repeated Winnie, sitting calmly back, with folded +arms, opposite her husband. "I should like to know who's to make +you. You ain't a slave. No one need be a slave in this country - +and don't you make yourself one." She paused, and with invincible +and steady candour. "The business isn't so bad," she went on. +"You've a comfortable home." + +She glanced all round the parlour, from the corner cupboard to the +good fire in the grate. Ensconced cosily behind the shop of +doubtful wares, with the mysteriously dim window, and its door +suspiciously ajar in the obscure and narrow street, it was in all +essentials of domestic propriety and domestic comfort a respectable +home. Her devoted affection missed out of it her brother Stevie, +now enjoying a damp villegiature in the Kentish lanes under the +care of Mr Michaelis. She missed him poignantly, with all the +force of her protecting passion. This was the boy's home too - the +roof, the cupboard, the stoked grate. On this thought Mrs Verloc +rose, and walking to the other end of the table, said in the +fulness of her heart: + +"And you are not tired of me." + +Mr Verloc made no sound. Winnie leaned on his shoulder from +behind, and pressed her lips to his forehead. Thus she lingered. +Not a whisper reached them from the outside world. + +The sound of footsteps on the pavement died out in the discreet +dimness of the shop. Only the gas-jet above the table went on +purring equably in the brooding silence of the parlour. + +During the contact of that unexpected and lingering kiss Mr Verloc, +gripping with both hands the edges of his chair, preserved a +hieratic immobility. When the pressure was removed he let go the +chair, rose, and went to stand before the fireplace. He turned no +longer his back to the room. With his features swollen and an air +of being drugged, he followed his wife's movements with his eyes. + +Mrs Verloc went about serenely, clearing up the table. Her +tranquil voice commented the idea thrown out in a reasonable and +domestic tone. It wouldn't stand examination. She condemned it +from every point of view. But her only real concern was Stevie's +welfare. He appeared to her thought in that connection as +sufficiently "peculiar" not to be taken rashly abroad. And that +was all. But talking round that vital point, she approached +absolute vehemence in her delivery. Meanwhile, with brusque +movements, she arrayed herself in an apron for the washing up of +cups. And as if excited by the sound of her uncontradicted voice, +she went so far as to say in a tone almost tart: + +"If you go abroad you'll have to go without me." + +"You know I wouldn't," said Mr Verloc huskily, and the unresonant +voice of his private life trembled with an enigmatical emotion. + +Already Mrs Verloc was regretting her words. They had sounded more +unkind than she meant them to be. They had also the unwisdom of +unnecessary things. In fact, she had not meant them at all. It +was a sort of phrase that is suggested by the demon of perverse +inspiration. But she knew a way to make it as if it had not been. + +She turned her head over her shoulder and gave that man planted +heavily in front of the fireplace a glance, half arch, half cruel, +out of her large eyes - a glance of which the Winnie of the +Belgravian mansion days would have been incapable, because of her +respectability and her ignorance. But the man was her husband now, +and she was no longer ignorant. She kept it on him for a whole +second, with her grave face motionless like a mask, while she said +playfully: + +"You couldn't. You would miss me too much." + +Mr Verloc started forward. + +"Exactly," he said in a louder tone, throwing his arms out and +making a step towards her. Something wild and doubtful in his +expression made it appear uncertain whether he meant to strangle or +to embrace his wife. But Mrs Verloc's attention was called away +from that manifestation by the clatter of the shop bell. + +"Shop, Adolf. You go." + +He stopped, his arms came down slowly. + +"You go," repeated Mrs Verloc. "I've got my apron on." + +Mr Verloc obeyed woodenly, stony-eyed, and like an automaton whose +face had been painted red. And this resemblance to a mechanical +figure went so far that he had an automaton's absurd air of being +aware of the machinery inside of him. + +He closed the parlour door, and Mrs Verloc moving briskly, carried +the tray into the kitchen. She washed the cups and some other +things before she stopped in her work to listen. No sound reached +her. The customer was a long time in the shop. It was a customer, +because if he had not been Mr Verloc would have taken him inside. +Undoing the strings of her apron with a jerk, she threw it on a +chair, and walked back to the parlour slowly. + +At that precise moment Mr Verloc entered from the shop. + +He had gone in red. He came out a strange papery white. His face, +losing its drugged, feverish stupor, had in that short time +acquired a bewildered and harassed expression. He walked straight +to the sofa, and stood looking down at his overcoat lying there, as +though he were afraid to touch it. + +"What's the matter?" asked Mrs Verloc in a subdued voice. Through +the door left ajar she could see that the customer was not gone +yet. + +"I find I'll have to go out this evening," said Mr Verloc. He did +not attempt to pick up his outer garment. + +Without a word Winnie made for the shop, and shutting the door +after her, walked in behind the counter. She did not look overtly +at the customer till she had established herself comfortably on the +chair. But by that time she had noted that he was tall and thin, +and wore his moustaches twisted up. In fact, he gave the sharp +points a twist just then. His long, bony face rose out of a +turned-up collar. He was a little splashed, a little wet. A dark +man, with the ridge of the cheek-bone well defined under the +slightly hollow temple. A complete stranger. Not a customer +either. + +Mrs Verloc looked at him placidly. + +"You came over from the Continent?" she said after a time. + +The long, thin stranger, without exactly looking at Mrs Verloc, +answered only by a faint and peculiar smile. + +Mrs Verloc's steady, incurious gaze rested on him. + +"You understand English, don't you?" + +"Oh yes. I understand English." + +There was nothing foreign in his accent, except that he seemed in +his slow enunciation to be taking pains with it. And Mrs Verloc, +in her varied experience, had come to the conclusion that some +foreigners could speak better English than the natives. She said, +looking at the door of the parlour fixedly: + +"You don't think perhaps of staying in England for good?" + +The stranger gave her again a silent smile. He had a kindly mouth +and probing eyes. And he shook his head a little sadly, it seemed. + +"My husband will see you through all right. Meantime for a few +days you couldn't do better than take lodgings with Mr Giugliani. +Continental Hotel it's called. Private. It's quiet. My husband +will take you there." + +"A good idea," said the thin, dark man, whose glance had hardened +suddenly. + +"You knew Mr Verloc before - didn't you? Perhaps in France?" + +"I have heard of him," admitted the visitor in his slow, +painstaking tone, which yet had a certain curtness of intention. + +There was a pause. Then he spoke again, in a far less elaborate +manner. + +"Your husband has not gone out to wait for me in the street by +chance?" + +"In the street!" repeated Mrs Verloc, surprised. "He couldn't. +There's no other door to the house." + +For a moment she sat impassive, then left her seat to go and peep +through the glazed door. Suddenly she opened it, and disappeared +into the parlour. + +Mr Verloc had done no more than put on his overcoat. But why he +should remain afterwards leaning over the table propped up on his +two arms as though he were feeling giddy or sick, she could not +understand. "Adolf," she called out half aloud; and when he had +raised himself: + +"Do you know that man?" she asked rapidly. + +"I've heard of him," whispered uneasily Mr Verloc, darting a wild +glance at the door. + +Mrs Verloc's fine, incurious eyes lighted up with a flash of +abhorrence. + +"One of Karl Yundt's friends - beastly old man." + +"No! No!" protested Mr Verloc, busy fishing for his hat. But when +he got it from under the sofa he held it as if he did not know the +use of a hat. + +"Well - he's waiting for you," said Mrs Verloc at last. "I say, +Adolf, he ain't one of them Embassy people you have been bothered +with of late?" + +"Bothered with Embassy people," repeated Mr Verloc, with a heavy +start of surprise and fear. "Who's been talking to you of the +Embassy people?" + +"Yourself." + +"I! I! Talked of the Embassy to you!" + +Mr Verloc seemed scared and bewildered beyond measure. His wife +explained: + +"You've been talking a little in your sleep of late, Adolf." + +"What - what did I say? What do you know?" + +"Nothing much. It seemed mostly nonsense. Enough to let me guess +that something worried you." + +Mr Verloc rammed his hat on his head. A crimson flood of anger ran +over his face. + +"Nonsense - eh? The Embassy people! I would cut their hearts out +one after another. But let them look out. I've got a tongue in my +head." + +He fumed, pacing up and down between the table and the sofa, his +open overcoat catching against the angles. The red flood of anger +ebbed out, and left his face all white, with quivering nostrils. +Mrs Verloc, for the purposes of practical existence, put down these +appearances to the cold. + +"Well," she said, "get rid of the man, whoever he is, as soon as +you can, and come back home to me. You want looking after for a +day or two." + +Mr Verloc calmed down, and, with resolution imprinted on his pale +face, had already opened the door, when his wife called him back in +a whisper: + +"Adolf! Adolf!" He came back startled. "What about that money +you drew out?" she asked. "You've got it in your pocket? Hadn't +you better - " + +Mr Verloc gazed stupidly into the palm of his wife's extended hand +for some time before he slapped his brow. + +"Money! Yes! Yes! I didn't know what you meant." + +He drew out of his breast pocket a new pigskin pocket-book. Mrs +Verloc received it without another word, and stood still till the +bell, clattering after Mr Verloc and Mr Verloc's visitor, had +quieted down. Only then she peeped in at the amount, drawing the +notes out for the purpose. After this inspection she looked round +thoughtfully, with an air of mistrust in the silence and solitude +of the house. This abode of her married life appeared to her as +lonely and unsafe as though it had been situated in the midst of a +forest. No receptacle she could think of amongst the solid, heavy +furniture seemed other but flimsy and particularly tempting to her +conception of a house-breaker. It was an ideal conception, endowed +with sublime faculties and a miraculous insight. The till was not +to be thought of it was the first spot a thief would make for. Mrs +Verloc unfastening hastily a couple of hooks, slipped the pocket- +book under the bodice of her dress. Having thus disposed of her +husband's capital, she was rather glad to hear the clatter of the +door bell, announcing an arrival. Assuming the fixed, unabashed +stare and the stony expression reserved for the casual customer, +she walked in behind the counter. + +A man standing in the middle of the shop was inspecting it with a +swift, cool, all-round glance. His eyes ran over the walls, took +in the ceiling, noted the floor - all in a moment. The points of a +long fair moustache fell below the line of the jaw. He smiled the +smile of an old if distant acquaintance, and Mrs Verloc remembered +having seen him before. Not a customer. She softened her +"customer stare" to mere indifference, and faced him across the +counter. + +He approached, on his side, confidentially, but not too markedly +so. + +"Husband at home, Mrs Verloc?" he asked in an easy, full tone. + +"No. He's gone out." + +"I am sorry for that. I've called to get from him a little private +information." + +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. Find - 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?" + +Mrs Verloc did not mind. And when Chief Inspector Heat heard of a +man dark, thin, with a long face and turned up moustaches, he gave +signs of perturbation, and exclaimed: + +"Dash me if I didn't think so! He hasn't lost any time." + +He was intensely disgusted in the secrecy of his heart at the +unofficial conduct of his immediate chief. But he was not +quixotic. He lost all desire to await Mr Verloc's return. What +they had gone out for he did not know, but he imagined it possible +that they would return together. The case is not followed +properly, it's being tampered with, he thought bitterly. + +"I am afraid I haven't time to wait for your husband," he said. + +Mrs Verloc received this declaration listlessly. Her detachment +had impressed Chief Inspector Heat all along. At this precise +moment it whetted his curiosity. Chief Inspector Heat hung in the +wind, swayed by his passions like the most private of citizens. + +"I think," he said, looking at her steadily, "that you could give +me a pretty good notion of what's going on if you liked." + +Forcing her fine, inert eyes to return his gaze, Mrs Verloc +murmured: + +"Going on! What IS going on?" + +"Why, the affair I came to talk about a little with your husband." + +That day Mrs Verloc had glanced at a morning paper as usual. But +she had not stirred out of doors. The newsboys never invaded Brett +Street. It was not a street for their business. And the echo of +their cries drifting along the populous thoroughfares, expired +between the dirty brick walls without reaching the threshold of the +shop. Her husband had not brought an evening paper home. At any +rate she had not seen it. Mrs Verloc knew nothing whatever of any +affair. And she said so, with a genuine note of wonder in her +quiet voice. + +Chief Inspector Heat did not believe for a moment in so much +ignorance. Curtly, without amiability, he stated the bare fact. + +Mrs Verloc turned away her eyes. + +"I call it silly," she pronounced slowly. She paused. "We ain't +downtrodden slaves here." + +The Chief Inspector waited watchfully. Nothing more came. + +"And your husband didn't mention anything to you when he came +home?" + +Mrs Verloc simply turned her face from right to left in sign of +negation. A languid, baffling silence reigned in the shop. Chief +Inspector Heat felt provoked beyond endurance. + +"There was another small matter," he began in a detached tone, +"which I wanted to speak to your husband about. There came into +our hands a - a - what we believe is - a stolen overcoat." + +Mrs Verloc, with her mind specially aware of thieves that evening, +touched lightly the bosom of her dress. + +"We have lost no overcoat," she said calmly. + +"That's funny," continued Private Citizen Heat. "I see you keep a +lot of marking ink here - " + +He took up a small bottle, and looked at it against the gas-jet in +the middle of the shop. + +"Purple - isn't it?" he remarked, setting it down again. "As I +said, it's strange. Because the overcoat has got a label sewn on +the inside with your address written in marking ink." + +Mrs Verloc leaned over the counter with a low exclamation. + +"That's my brother's, then." + +"Where's your brother? Can I see him?" asked the Chief Inspector +briskly. Mrs Verloc leaned a little more over the counter. + +"No. He isn't here. I wrote that label myself." + +"Where's your brother now?" + +"He's been away living with - a friend - in the country." + +"The overcoat comes from the country. And what's the name of the +friend?" + +"Michaelis," confessed Mrs Verloc in an awed whisper. + +The Chief Inspector let out a whistle. His eyes snapped. + +"Just so. Capital. And your brother now, what's he like - a +sturdy, darkish chap - eh?" + +"Oh no," exclaimed Mrs Verloc fervently. "That must be the thief. +Stevie's slight and fair." + +"Good," said the Chief Inspector in an approving tone. And while +Mrs Verloc, wavering between alarm and wonder, stared at him, he +sought for information. Why have the address sewn like this inside +the coat? And he heard that the mangled remains he had inspected +that morning with extreme repugnance were those of a youth, +nervous, absent-minded, peculiar, and also that the woman who was +speaking to him had had the charge of that boy since he was a baby. + +"Easily excitable?" he suggested. + +"Oh yes. He is. But how did he come to lose his coat - " + +Chief Inspector Heat suddenly pulled out a pink newspaper he had +bought less than half-an-hour ago. He was interested in horses. +Forced by his calling into an attitude of doubt and suspicion +towards his fellow-citizens, Chief Inspector Heat relieved the +instinct of credulity implanted in the human breast by putting +unbounded faith in the sporting prophets of that particular evening +publication. Dropping the extra special on to the counter, he +plunged his hand again into his pocket, and pulling out the piece +of cloth fate had presented him with out of a heap of things that +seemed to have been collected in shambles and rag shops, he offered +it to Mrs Verloc for inspection. + +"I suppose you recognise this?" + +She took it mechanically in both her hands. Her eyes seemed to +grow bigger as she looked. + +"Yes," she whispered, then raised her head, and staggered backward +a little. + +"Whatever for is it torn out like this?" + +The Chief Inspector snatched across the counter the cloth out of +her hands, and she sat heavily on the chair. He thought: +identification's perfect. And in that moment he had a glimpse into +the whole amazing truth. Verloc was the "other man." + +"Mrs Verloc," he said, "it strikes me that you know more of this +bomb affair than even you yourself are aware of." + +Mrs Verloc sat still, amazed, lost in boundless astonishment. What +was the connection? And she became so rigid all over that she was +not able to turn her head at the clatter of the bell, which caused +the private investigator Heat to spin round on his heel. Mr Verloc +had shut the door, and for a moment the two men looked at each +other. + +Mr Verloc, without looking at his wife, walked up to the Chief +Inspector, who was relieved to see him return alone. + +"You here!" muttered Mr Verloc heavily. "Who are you after?" + +"No one," said Chief Inspector Heat in a low tone. "Look here, I +would like a word or two with you." + +Mr Verloc, still pale, had brought an air of resolution with him. +Still he didn't look at his wife. He said: + +"Come in here, then." And he led the way into the parlour. + +The door was hardly shut when Mrs Verloc, jumping up from the +chair, ran to it as if to fling it open, but instead of doing so +fell on her knees, with her ear to the keyhole. The two men must +have stopped directly they were through, because she heard plainly +the Chief Inspector's voice, though she could not see his finger +pressed against her husband's breast emphatically. + +"You are the other man, Verloc. Two men were seen entering the +park." + +And the voice of Mr Verloc said: + +"Well, take me now. What's to prevent you? You have the right." + +"Oh no! I know too well who you have been giving yourself away to. +He'll have to manage this little affair all by himself. But don't +you make a mistake, it's I who found you out." + +Then she heard only muttering. Inspector Heat must have been +showing to Mr Verloc the piece of Stevie's overcoat, because +Stevie's sister, guardian, and protector heard her husband a little +louder. + +"I never noticed that she had hit upon that dodge." + +Again for a time Mrs Verloc heard nothing but murmurs, whose +mysteriousness was less nightmarish to her brain than the horrible +suggestions of shaped words. Then Chief Inspector Heat, on the +other side of the door, raised his voice. + +"You must have been mad." + +And Mr Verloc's voice answered, with a sort of gloomy fury: + +"I have been mad for a month or more, but I am not mad now. It's +all over. It shall all come out of my head, and hang the +consequences." + +There was a silence, and then Private Citizen Heat murmured: + +"What's coming out?" + +"Everything," exclaimed the voice of Mr Verloc, and then sank very +low. + +After a while it rose again. + +"You have known me for several years now, and you've found me +useful, too. You know I was a straight man. Yes, straight." + +This appeal to old acquaintance must have been extremely +distasteful to the Chief Inspector. + +His voice took on a warning note. + +"Don't you trust so much to what you have been promised. If I were +you I would clear out. I don't think we will run after you." + +Mr Verloc was heard to laugh a little. + +"Oh yes; you hope the others will get rid of me for you - don't +you? No, no; you don't shake me off now. I have been a straight +man to those people too long, and now everything must come out." + +"Let it come out, then," the indifferent voice of Chief Inspector +Heat assented. "But tell me now how did you get away." + +"I was making for Chesterfield Walk," Mrs Verloc heard her +husband's voice, "when I heard the bang. I started running then. +Fog. I saw no one till I was past the end of George Street. Don't +think I met anyone till then." + +"So easy as that!" marvelled the voice of Chief Inspector Heat. +"The bang startled you, eh?" + +"Yes; it came too soon," confessed the gloomy, husky voice of Mr +Verloc. + +Mrs Verloc pressed her ear to the keyhole; her lips were blue, her +hands cold as ice, and her pale face, in which the two eyes seemed +like two black holes, felt to her as if it were enveloped in +flames. + +On the other side of the door the voices sank very low. She caught +words now and then, sometimes in her husband's voice, sometimes in +the smooth tones of the Chief Inspector. She heard this last say: + +"We believe he stumbled against the root of a tree?" + +There was a husky, voluble murmur, which lasted for some time, and +then the Chief Inspector, as if answering some inquiry, spoke +emphatically. + +"Of course. Blown to small bits: limbs, gravel, clothing, bones, +splinters - all mixed up together. I tell you they had to fetch a +shovel to gather him up with." + +Mrs Verloc sprang up suddenly from her crouching position, and +stopping her ears, reeled to and fro between the counter and the +shelves on the wall towards the chair. Her crazed eyes noted the +sporting sheet left by the Chief Inspector, and as she knocked +herself against the counter she snatched it up, fell into the +chair, tore the optimistic, rosy sheet right across in trying to +open it, then flung it on the floor. On the other side of the +door, Chief Inspector Heat was saying to Mr Verloc, the secret +agent: + +"So your defence will be practically a full confession?" + +"It will. I am going to tell the whole story." + +"You won't be believed as much as you fancy you will." + +And the Chief Inspector remained thoughtful. The turn this affair +was taking meant the disclosure of many things - the laying waste +of fields of knowledge, which, cultivated by a capable man, had a +distinct value for the individual and for the society. It was +sorry, sorry meddling. It would leave Michaelis unscathed; it +would drag to light the Professor's home industry; disorganise the +whole system of supervision; make no end of a row in the papers, +which, from that point of view, appeared to him by a sudden +illumination as invariably written by fools for the reading of +imbeciles. Mentally he agreed with the words Mr Verloc let fall at +last in answer to his last remark. + +"Perhaps not. But it will upset many things. I have been a +straight man, and I shall keep straight in this - " + +"If they let you," said the Chief Inspector cynically. "You will +be preached to, no doubt, before they put you into the dock. And +in the end you may yet get let in for a sentence that will surprise +you. I wouldn't trust too much the gentleman who's been talking to +you." + +Mr Verloc listened, frowning. + +"My advice to you is to clear out while you may. I have no +instructions. There are some of them," continued Chief Inspector +Heat, laying a peculiar stress on the word "them," "who think you +are already out of the world." + +"Indeed!" Mr Verloc was moved to say. Though since his return from +Greenwich he had spent most of his time sitting in the tap-room of +an obscure little public-house, he could hardly have hoped for such +favourable news. + +"That's the impression about you." The Chief Inspector nodded at +him. "Vanish. Clear out." + +"Where to?" snarled Mr Verloc. He raised his head, and gazing at +the closed door of the parlour, muttered feelingly: "I only wish +you would take me away to-night. I would go quietly." + +"I daresay," assented sardonically the Chief Inspector, following +the direction of his glance. + +The brow of Mr Verloc broke into slight moisture. He lowered his +husky voice confidentially before the unmoved Chief Inspector. + +"The lad was half-witted, irresponsible. Any court would have seen +that at once. Only fit for the asylum. And that was the worst +that would've happened to him if - " + +The Chief Inspector, his hand on the door handle, whispered into Mr +Verloc's face. + +"He may've been half-witted, but you must have been crazy. What +drove you off your head like this?" + +Mr Verloc, thinking of Mr Vladimir, did not hesitate in the choice +of words. + +"A Hyperborean swine," he hissed forcibly. "A what you might call +a - a gentleman." + +The Chief Inspector, steady-eyed, nodded briefly his comprehension, +and opened the door. Mrs Verloc, behind the counter, might have +heard but did not see his departure, pursued by the aggressive +clatter of the bell. She sat at her post of duty behind the +counter. She sat rigidly erect in the chair with two dirty pink +pieces of paper lying spread out at her feet. The palms of her +hands were pressed convulsively to her face, with the tips of the +fingers contracted against the forehead, as though the skin had +been a mask which she was ready to tear off violently. The perfect +immobility of her pose expressed the agitation of rage and despair, +all the potential violence of tragic passions, better than any +shallow display of shrieks, with the beating of a distracted head +against the walls, could have done. Chief Inspector Heat, crossing +the shop at his busy, swinging pace, gave her only a cursory +glance. And when the cracked bell ceased to tremble on its curved +ribbon of steel nothing stirred near Mrs Verloc, as if her attitude +had the locking power of a spell. Even the butterfly-shaped gas +flames posed on the ends of the suspended T-bracket burned without +a quiver. In that shop of shady wares fitted with deal shelves +painted a dull brown, which seemed to devour the sheen of the +light, the gold circlet of the wedding ring on Mrs Verloc's left +hand glittered exceedingly with the untarnished glory of a piece +from some splendid treasure of jewels, dropped in a dust-bin. + + + +CHAPTER X + + + +The Assistant Commissioner, driven rapidly in a hansom from the +neighbourhood of Soho in the direction of Westminster, got out at +the very centre of the Empire on which the sun never sets. Some +stalwart constables, who did not seem particularly impressed by the +duty of watching the august spot, saluted him. Penetrating through +a portal by no means lofty into the precincts of the House which is +THE House, PAR EXCELLENCE in the minds of many millions of men, he +was met at last by the volatile and revolutionary Toodles. + +That neat and nice young man concealed his astonishment at the +early appearance of the Assistant Commissioner, whom he had been +told to look out for some time about midnight. His turning up so +early he concluded to be the sign that things, whatever they were, +had gone wrong. With an extremely ready sympathy, which in nice +youngsters goes often with a joyous temperament, he felt sorry for +the great Presence he called "The Chief," and also for the +Assistant Commissioner, whose face appeared to him more ominously +wooden than ever before, and quite wonderfully long. "What a +queer, foreign-looking chap he is," he thought to himself, smiling +from a distance with friendly buoyancy. And directly they came +together he began to talk with the kind intention of burying the +awkwardness of failure under a heap of words. It looked as if the +great assault threatened for that night were going to fizzle out. +An inferior henchman of "that brute Cheeseman" was up boring +mercilessly a very thin House with some shamelessly cooked +statistics. He, Toodles, hoped he would bore them into a count out +every minute. But then he might be only marking time to let that +guzzling Cheeseman dine at his leisure. Anyway, the Chief could +not be persuaded to go home. + +"He will see you at once, I think. He's sitting all alone in his +room thinking of all the fishes of the sea," concluded Toodles +airily. "Come along." + +Notwithstanding the kindness of his disposition, the young private +secretary (unpaid) was accessible to the common failings of +humanity. He did not wish to harrow the feelings of the Assistant +Commissioner, who looked to him uncommonly like a man who has made +a mess of his job. But his curiosity was too strong to be +restrained by mere compassion. He could not help, as they went +along, to throw over his shoulder lightly: + +"And your sprat?" + +"Got him," answered the Assistant Commissioner with a concision +which did not mean to be repellent in the least. + +"Good. You've no idea how these great men dislike to be +disappointed in small things." + +After this profound observation the experienced Toodles seemed to +reflect. At any rate he said nothing for quite two seconds. Then: + +"I'm glad. But - I say - is it really such a very small thing as +you make it out?" + +"Do you know what may be done with a sprat?" the Assistant +Commissioner asked in his turn. + +"He's sometimes put into a sardine box," chuckled Toodles, whose +erudition on the subject of the fishing industry was fresh and, in +comparison with his ignorance of all other industrial matters, +immense. "There are sardine canneries on the Spanish coast which - +" + +The Assistant Commissioner interrupted the apprentice statesman. + +"Yes. Yes. But a sprat is also thrown away sometimes in order to +catch a whale." + +"A whale. Phew!" exclaimed Toodles, with bated breath. "You're +after a whale, then?" + +"Not exactly. What I am after is more like a dog-fish. You don't +know perhaps what a dog-fish is like." + +"Yes; I do. We're buried in special books up to our necks - whole +shelves full of them - with plates. . . . It's a noxious, rascally- +looking, altogether detestable beast, with a sort of smooth face +and moustaches." + +"Described to a T," commended the Assistant Commissioner. "Only +mine is clean-shaven altogether. You've seen him. It's a witty +fish." + +"I have seen him!" said Toodles incredulously. "I can't conceive +where I could have seen him." + +"At the Explorers, I should say," dropped the Assistant +Commissioner calmly. At the name of that extremely exclusive club +Toodles looked scared, and stopped short. + +"Nonsense," he protested, but in an awe-struck tone. "What do you +mean? A member?" + +"Honorary," muttered the Assistant Commissioner through his teeth. + +"Heavens!" + +Toodles looked so thunderstruck that the Assistant Commissioner +smiled faintly. + +"That's between ourselves strictly," he said. + +"That's the beastliest thing I've ever heard in my life," declared +Toodles feebly, as if astonishment had robbed him of all his +buoyant strength in a second. + +The Assistant Commissioner gave him an unsmiling glance. Till they +came to the door of the great man's room, Toodles preserved a +scandalised and solemn silence, as though he were offended with the +Assistant Commissioner for exposing such an unsavoury and +disturbing fact. It revolutionised his idea of the Explorers' +Club's extreme selectness, of its social purity. Toodles was +revolutionary only in politics; his social beliefs and personal +feelings he wished to preserve unchanged through all the years +allotted to him on this earth which, upon the whole, he believed to +be a nice place to live on. + +He stood aside. + +"Go in without knocking," he said. + +Shades of green silk fitted low over all the lights imparted to the +room something of a forest's deep gloom. The haughty eyes were +physically the great man's weak point. This point was wrapped up +in secrecy. When an opportunity offered, he rested them +conscientiously. + +The Assistant Commissioner entering saw at first only a big pale +hand supporting a big head, and concealing the upper part of a big +pale face. An open despatch-box stood on the writing-table near a +few oblong sheets of paper and a scattered handful of quill pens. +There was absolutely nothing else on the large flat surface except +a little bronze statuette draped in a toga, mysteriously watchful +in its shadowy immobility. The Assistant Commissioner, invited to +take a chair, sat down. In the dim light, the salient points of +his personality, the long face, the black hair, his lankness, made +him look more foreign than ever. + +The great man manifested no surprise, no eagerness, no sentiment +whatever. The attitude in which he rested his menaced eyes was +profoundly meditative. He did not alter it the least bit. But his +tone was not dreamy. + +"Well! What is it that you've found out already? You came upon +something unexpected on the first step." + +"Not exactly unexpected, Sir Ethelred. What I mainly came upon was +a psychological state." + +The Great Presence made a slight movement. "You must be lucid, +please." + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred. You know no doubt that most criminals at some +time or other feel an irresistible need of confessing - of making a +clean breast of it to somebody - to anybody. And they do it often +to the police. In that Verloc whom Heat wished so much to screen +I've found a man in that particular psychological state. The man, +figuratively speaking, flung himself on my breast. It was enough +on my part to whisper to him who I was and to add `I know that you +are at the bottom of this affair.' It must have seemed miraculous +to him that we should know already, but he took it all in the +stride. The wonderfulness of it never checked him for a moment. +There remained for me only to put to him the two questions: Who put +you up to it? and Who was the man who did it? He answered the +first with remarkable emphasis. As to the second question, I +gather that the fellow with the bomb was his brother-in-law - quite +a lad - a weak-minded creature. . . . It is rather a curious affair +- too long perhaps to state fully just now." + +"What then have you learned?" asked the great man. + +"First, I've learned that the ex-convict Michaelis had nothing to +do with it, though indeed the lad had been living with him +temporarily in the country up to eight o'clock this morning. It is +more than likely that Michaelis knows nothing of it to this +moment." + +"You are positive as to that?" asked the great man. + +"Quite certain, Sir Ethelred. This fellow Verloc went there this +morning, and took away the lad on the pretence of going out for a +walk in the lanes. As it was not the first time that he did this, +Michaelis could not have the slightest suspicion of anything +unusual. For the rest, Sir Ethelred, the indignation of this man +Verloc had left nothing in doubt - nothing whatever. He had been +driven out of his mind almost by an extraordinary performance, +which for you or me it would be difficult to take as seriously +meant, but which produced a great impression obviously on him." + +The Assistant Commissioner then imparted briefly to the great man, +who sat still, resting his eyes under the screen of his hand, Mr +Verloc's appreciation of Mr Vladimir's proceedings and character. +The Assistant Commissioner did not seem to refuse it a certain +amount of competency. But the great personage remarked: + +"All this seems very fantastic." + +"Doesn't it? One would think a ferocious joke. But our man took +it seriously, it appears. He felt himself threatened. In the +time, you know, he was in direct communication with old Stott- +Wartenheim himself, and had come to regard his services as +indispensable. It was an extremely rude awakening. I imagine that +he lost his head. He became angry and frightened. Upon my word, +my impression is that he thought these Embassy people quite capable +not only to throw him out but, to give him away too in some manner +or other - " + +"How long were you with him," interrupted the Presence from behind +his big hand. + +"Some forty minutes Sir Ethelred, in a house of bad repute called +Continental Hotel, closeted in a room which by-the-by I took for +the night. I found him under the influence of that reaction which +follows the effort of crime. The man cannot be defined as a +hardened criminal. It is obvious that he did not plan the death of +that wretched lad - his brother-in-law. That was a shock to him - +I could see that. Perhaps he is a man of strong sensibilities. +Perhaps he was even fond of the lad - who knows? He might have +hoped that the fellow would get clear away; in which case it would +have been almost impossible to bring this thing home to anyone. At +any rate he risked consciously nothing more but arrest for him." + +The Assistant Commissioner paused in his speculations to reflect +for a moment. + +"Though how, in that last case, he could hope to have his own share +in the business concealed is more than I can tell," he continued, +in his ignorance of poor Stevie's devotion to Mr Verloc (who was +GOOD), and of his truly peculiar dumbness, which in the old affair +of fireworks on the stairs had for many years resisted entreaties, +coaxing, anger, and other means of investigation used by his +beloved sister. For Stevie was loyal. . . . "No, I can't imagine. +It's possible that he never thought of that at all. It sounds an +extravagant way of putting it, Sir Ethelred, but his state of +dismay suggested to me an impulsive man who, after committing +suicide with the notion that it would end all his troubles, had +discovered that it did nothing of the kind." + +The Assistant Commissioner gave this definition in an apologetic +voice. But in truth there is a sort of lucidity proper to +extravagant language, and the great man was not offended. A slight +jerky movement of the big body half lost in the gloom of the green +silk shades, of the big head leaning on the big hand, accompanied +an intermittent stifled but powerful sound. The great man had +laughed. + +"What have you done with him?" + +The Assistant Commissioner answered very readily: + +"As he seemed very anxious to get back to his wife in the shop I +let him go, Sir Ethelred." + +"You did? But the fellow will disappear." + +"Pardon me. I don't think so. Where could he go to? Moreover, +you must remember that he has got to think of the danger from his +comrades too. He's there at his post. How could he explain +leaving it? But even if there were no obstacles to his freedom of +action he would do nothing. At present he hasn't enough moral +energy to take a resolution of any sort. Permit me also to point +out that if I had detained him we would have been committed to a +course of action on which I wished to know your precise intentions +first." + +The great personage rose heavily, an imposing shadowy form in the +greenish gloom of the room. + +"I'll see the Attorney-General to-night, and will send for you to- +morrow morning. Is there anything more you'd wish to tell me now?" + +The Assistant Commissioner had stood up also, slender and flexible. + +"I think not, Sir Ethelred, unless I were to enter into details +which - " + +"No. No details, please." + +The great shadowy form seemed to shrink away as if in physical +dread of details; then came forward, expanded, enormous, and +weighty, offering a large hand. "And you say that this man has got +a wife?" + +"Yes, Sir Ethelred," said the Assistant Commissioner, pressing +deferentially the extended hand. "A genuine wife and a genuinely, +respectably, marital relation. He told me that after his interview +at the Embassy he would have thrown everything up, would have tried +to sell his shop, and leave the country, only he felt certain that +his wife would not even hear of going abroad. Nothing could be +more characteristic of the respectable bond than that," went on, +with a touch of grimness, the Assistant Commissioner, whose own +wife too had refused to hear of going abroad. "Yes, a genuine +wife. And the victim was a genuine brother-in-law. From a certain +point of view we are here in the presence of a domestic drama." + +The Assistant Commissioner laughed a little; but the great man's +thoughts seemed to have wandered far away, perhaps to the questions +of his country's domestic policy, the battle-ground of his +crusading valour against the paynim Cheeseman. The Assistant +Commissioner withdrew quietly, unnoticed, as if already forgotten. + +He had his own crusading instincts. This affair, which, in one way +or another, disgusted Chief Inspector Heat, seemed to him a +providentially given starting-point for a crusade. He had it much +at heart to begin. He walked slowly home, meditating that +enterprise on the way, and thinking over Mr Verloc's psychology in +a composite mood of repugnance and satisfaction. He walked all the +way home. Finding the drawing-room dark, he went upstairs, and +spent some time between the bedroom and the dressing-room, changing +his clothes, going to and fro with the air of a thoughtful +somnambulist. But he shook it off before going out again to join +his wife at the house of the great lady patroness of Michaelis. + +He knew he would be welcomed there. On entering the smaller of the +two drawing-rooms he saw his wife in a small group near the piano. +A youngish composer in pass of becoming famous was discoursing from +a music stool to two thick men whose backs looked old, and three +slender women whose backs looked young. Behind the screen the +great lady had only two persons with her: a man and a woman, who +sat side by side on arm-chairs at the foot of her couch. She +extended her hand to the Assistant Commissioner. + +"I never hoped to see you here to-night. Annie told me - " + +"Yes. I had no idea myself that my work would be over so soon." + +The Assistant Commissioner added in a low tone. "I am glad to tell +you that Michaelis is altogether clear of this - " + +The patroness of the ex-convict received this assurance +indignantly. + +"Why? Were your people stupid enough to connect him with - " + +"Not stupid," interrupted the Assistant Commissioner, contradicting +deferentially. "Clever enough - quite clever enough for that." + +A silence fell. The man at the foot of the couch had stopped +speaking to the lady, and looked on with a faint smile. + +"I don't know whether you ever met before," said the great lady. + +Mr Vladimir and the Assistant Commissioner, introduced, +acknowledged each other's existence with punctilious and guarded +courtesy. + +"He's been frightening me," declared suddenly the lady who sat by +the side of Mr Vladimir, with an inclination of the head towards +that gentleman. The Assistant Commissioner knew the lady. + +"You do not look frightened," he pronounced, after surveying her +conscientiously with his tired and equable gaze. He was thinking +meantime to himself that in this house one met everybody sooner or +later. Mr Vladimir's rosy countenance was wreathed in smiles, +because he was witty, but his eyes remained serious, like the eyes +of convinced man. + +"Well, he tried to at least," amended the lady. + +"Force of habit perhaps," said the Assistant Commissioner, moved by +an irresistible inspiration. + +"He has been threatening society with all sorts of horrors," +continued the lady, whose enunciation was caressing and slow, +"apropos of this explosion in Greenwich Park. It appears we all +ought to quake in our shoes at what's coming if those people are +not suppressed all over the world. I had no idea this was such a +grave affair." + +Mr Vladimir, affecting not to listen, leaned towards the couch, +talking amiably in subdued tones, but he heard the Assistant +Commissioner say: + +"I've no doubt that Mr Vladimir has a very precise notion of the +true importance of this affair." + +Mr Vladimir asked himself what that confounded and intrusive +policeman was driving at. Descended from generations victimised by +the instruments of an arbitrary power, he was racially, nationally, +and individually afraid of the police. It was an inherited +weakness, altogether independent of his judgment, of his reason, of +his experience. He was born to it. But that sentiment, which +resembled the irrational horror some people have of cats, did not +stand in the way of his immense contempt for the English police. +He finished the sentence addressed to the great lady, and turned +slightly in his chair. + +"You mean that we have a great experience of these people. Yes; +indeed, we suffer greatly from their activity, while you" - Mr +Vladimir hesitated for a moment, in smiling perplexity - "while you +suffer their presence gladly in your midst," he finished, +displaying a dimple on each clean-shaven cheek. Then he added more +gravely: "I may even say - because you do." + +When Mr Vladimir ceased speaking the Assistant Commissioner lowered +his glance, and the conversation dropped. Almost immediately +afterwards Mr Vladimir took leave. + +Directly his back was turned on the couch the Assistant +Commissioner rose too. + +"I thought you were going to stay and take Annie home," said the +lady patroness of Michaelis. + +"I find that I've yet a little work to do to-night." + +"In connection - ?" + +"Well, yes - in a way." + +"Tell me, what is it really - this horror?" + +"It's difficult to say what it is, but it may yet be a CAUSE +CELEBRE," said the Assistant Commissioner. + +He left the drawing-room hurriedly, and found Mr Vladimir still in +the hall, wrapping up his throat carefully in a large silk +handkerchief. Behind him a footman waited, holding his overcoat. +Another stood ready to open the door. The Assistant Commissioner +was duly helped into his coat, and let out at once. After +descending the front steps he stopped, as if to consider the way he +should take. On seeing this through the door held open, Mr +Vladimir lingered in the hall to get out a cigar and asked for a +light. It was furnished to him by an elderly man out of livery +with an air of calm solicitude. But the match went out; the +footman then closed the door, and Mr Vladimir lighted his large +Havana with leisurely care. + +When at last he got out of the house, he saw with disgust the +"confounded policeman" still standing on the pavement. + +"Can he be waiting for me," thought Mr Vladimir, looking up and +down for some signs of a hansom. He saw none. A couple of +carriages waited by the curbstone, their lamps blazing steadily, +the horses standing perfectly still, as if carved in stone, the +coachmen sitting motionless under the big fur capes, without as +much as a quiver stirring the white thongs of their big whips. Mr +Vladimir walked on, and the "confounded policeman" fell into step +at his elbow. He said nothing. At the end of the fourth stride Mr +Vladimir felt infuriated and uneasy. This could not last. + +"Rotten weather," he growled savagely. + +"Mild," said the Assistant Commissioner without passion. He +remained silent for a little while. "We've got hold of a man +called Verloc," he announced casually. + +Mr Vladimir did not stumble, did not stagger back, did not change +his stride. But he could not prevent himself from exclaiming: +"What?" The Assistant Commissioner did not repeat his statement. +"You know him," he went on in the same tone. + +Mr Vladimir stopped, and became guttural. "What makes you say +that?" + +"I don't. It's Verloc who says that." + +"A lying dog of some sort," said Mr Vladimir in somewhat Oriental +phraseology. But in his heart he was almost awed by the miraculous +cleverness of the English police. The change of his opinion on the +subject was so violent that it made him for a moment feel slightly +sick. He threw away his cigar, and moved on. + +"What pleased me most in this affair," the Assistant went on, +talking slowly, "is that it makes such an excellent starting-point +for a piece of work which I've felt must be taken in hand - that +is, the clearing out of this country of all the foreign political +spies, police, and that sort of - of - dogs. In my opinion they +are a ghastly nuisance; also an element of danger. But we can't +very well seek them out individually. The only way is to make +their employment unpleasant to their employers. The thing's +becoming indecent. And dangerous too, for us, here." + +Mr Vladimir stopped again for a moment. + +"What do you mean?" + +"The prosecution of this Verloc will demonstrate to the public both +the danger and the indecency." + +"Nobody will believe what a man of that sort says," said Mr +Vladimir contemptuously. + +"The wealth and precision of detail will carry conviction to the +great mass of the public," advanced the Assistant Commissioner +gently. + +"So that is seriously what you mean to do." + +"We've got the man; we have no choice." + +"You will be only feeding up the lying spirit of these +revolutionary scoundrels," Mr Vladimir protested. "What do you +want to make a scandal for? - from morality - or what?" + +Mr Vladimir's anxiety was obvious. The Assistant Commissioner +having ascertained in this way that there must be some truth in the +summary statements of Mr Verloc, said indifferently: + +"There's a practical side too. We have really enough to do to look +after the genuine article. You can't say we are not effective. +But we don't intend to let ourselves be bothered by shams under any +pretext whatever." + +Mr Vladimir's tone became lofty. + +"For my part, I can't share your view. It is selfish. My +sentiments for my own country cannot be doubted; but I've always +felt that we ought to be good Europeans besides - I mean +governments and men." + +"Yes," said the Assistant Commissioner simply. "Only you look at +Europe from its other end. But," he went on in a good-natured +tone, "the foreign governments cannot complain of the inefficiency +of our police. Look at this outrage; a case specially difficult to +trace inasmuch as it was a sham. In less than twelve hours we have +established the identity of a man literally blown to shreds, have +found the organiser of the attempt, and have had a glimpse of the +inciter behind him. And we could have gone further; only we +stopped at the limits of our territory." + +"So this instructive crime was planned abroad," Mr Vladimir said +quickly. "You admit it was planned abroad?" + +"Theoretically. Theoretically only, on foreign territory; abroad +only by a fiction," said the Assistant Commissioner, alluding to +the character of Embassies, which are supposed to be part and +parcel of the country to which they belong. "But that's a detail. +I talked to you of this business because its your government that +grumbles most at our police. You see that we are not so bad. I +wanted particularly to tell you of our success." + +"I'm sure I'm very grateful," muttered Mr Vladimir through his +teeth. + +"We can put our finger on every anarchist here," went on the +Assistant Commissioner, as though he were quoting Chief Inspector +Heat. "All that's wanted now is to do away with the agent +provocateur to make everything safe." + +Mr Vladimir held up his hand to a passing hansom. + +"You're not going in here," remarked the Assistant Commissioner, +looking at a building of noble proportions and hospitable aspect, +with the light of a great hall falling through its glass doors on a +broad flight of steps. + +But Mr Vladimir, sitting, stony-eyed, inside the hansom, drove off +without a word. + +The Assistant Commissioner himself did not turn into the noble +building. It was the Explorers' Club. The thought passed through +his mind that Mr Vladimir, honorary member, would not be seen very +often there in the future. He looked at his watch. It was only +half-past ten. He had had a very full evening. + + + +CHAPTER XI + + + +After Chief Inspector Heat had left him Mr Verloc moved about the +parlour. + +From time to time he eyed his wife through the open door. "She +knows all about it now," he thought to himself with commiseration +for her sorrow and with some satisfaction as regarded himself. Mr +Verloc's soul, if lacking greatness perhaps, was capable of tender +sentiments. The prospect of having to break the news to her had +put him into a fever. Chief Inspector Heat had relieved him of the +task. That was good as far as it went. It remained for him now to +face her grief. + +Mr Verloc had never expected to have to face it on account of +death, whose catastrophic character cannot be argued away by +sophisticated reasoning or persuasive eloquence. Mr Verloc never +meant Stevie to perish with such abrupt violence. He did not mean +him to perish at all. Stevie dead was a much greater nuisance than +ever he had been when alive. Mr Verloc had augured a favourable +issue to his enterprise, basing himself not on Stevie's +intelligence, which sometimes plays queer tricks with a man, but on +the blind docility and on the blind devotion of the boy. Though +not much of a psychologist, Mr Verloc had gauged the depth of +Stevie's fanaticism. He dared cherish the hope of Stevie walking +away from the walls of the Observatory as he had been instructed to +do, taking the way shown to him several times previously, and +rejoining his brother-in-law, the wise and good Mr Verloc, outside +the precincts of the park. Fifteen minutes ought to have been +enough for the veriest fool to deposit the engine and walk away. +And the Professor had guaranteed more than fifteen minutes. But +Stevie had stumbled within five minutes of being left to himself. +And Mr Verloc was shaken morally to pieces. He had foreseen +everything but that. He had foreseen Stevie distracted and lost - +sought for - found in some police station or provincial workhouse +in the end. He had foreseen Stevie arrested, and was not afraid, +because Mr Verloc had a great opinion of Stevie's loyalty, which +had been carefully indoctrinated with the necessity of silence in +the course of many walks. Like a peripatetic philosopher, Mr +Verloc, strolling along the streets of London, had modified +Stevie's view of the police by conversations full of subtle +reasonings. Never had a sage a more attentive and admiring +disciple. The submission and worship were so apparent that Mr +Verloc had come to feel something like a liking for the boy. In +any case, he had not foreseen the swift bringing home of his +connection. That his wife should hit upon the precaution of sewing +the boy's address inside his overcoat was the last thing Mr Verloc +would have thought of. One can't think of everything. That was +what she meant when she said that he need not worry if he lost +Stevie during their walks. She had assured him that the boy would +turn up all right. Well, he had turned up with a vengeance! + +"Well, well," muttered Mr Verloc in his wonder. What did she mean +by it? Spare him the trouble of keeping an anxious eye on Stevie? +Most likely she had meant well. Only she ought to have told him of +the precaution she had taken. + +Mr Verloc walked behind the counter of the shop. His intention was +not to overwhelm his wife with bitter reproaches. Mr Verloc felt +no bitterness. The unexpected march of events had converted him to +the doctrine of fatalism. Nothing could be helped now. He said: + +"I didn't mean any harm to come to the boy." + +Mrs Verloc shuddered at the sound of her husband's voice. She did +not uncover her face. The trusted secret agent of the late Baron +Stott-Wartenheim looked at her for a time with a heavy, persistent, +undiscerning glance. The torn evening paper was lying at her feet. +It could not have told her much. Mr Verloc felt the need of +talking to his wife. + +"It's that damned Heat - eh?" he said. "He upset you. He's a +brute, blurting it out like this to a woman. I made myself ill +thinking how to break it to you. I sat for hours in the little +parlour of Cheshire Cheese thinking over the best way. You +understand I never meant any harm to come to that boy." + +Mr Verloc, the Secret Agent, was speaking the truth. It was his +marital affection that had received the greatest shock from the +premature explosion. He added: + +"I didn't feel particularly gay sitting there and thinking of you." + +He observed another slight shudder of his wife, which affected his +sensibility. As she persisted in hiding her face in her hands, he +thought he had better leave her alone for a while. On this +delicate impulse Mr Verloc withdrew into the parlour again, where +the gas jet purred like a contented cat. Mrs Verloc's wifely +forethought had left the cold beef on the table with carving knife +and fork and half a loaf of bread for Mr Verloc's supper. He +noticed all these things now for the first time, and cutting +himself a piece of bread and meat, began to eat. + +His appetite did not proceed from callousness. Mr Verloc had not +eaten any breakfast that day. He had left his home fasting. Not +being an energetic man, he found his resolution in nervous +excitement, which seemed to hold him mainly by the throat. He +could not have swallowed anything solid. Michaelis' cottage was as +destitute of provisions as the cell of a prisoner. The ticket-of- +leave apostle lived on a little milk and crusts of stale bread. +Moreover, when Mr Verloc arrived he had already gone upstairs after +his frugal meal. Absorbed in the toil and delight of literary +composition, he had not even answered Mr Verloc's shout up the +little staircase. + +"I am taking this young fellow home for a day or two." + +And, in truth, Mr Verloc did not wait for an answer, but had +marched out of the cottage at once, followed by the obedient +Stevie. + +Now that all action was over and his fate taken out of his hands +with unexpected swiftness, Mr Verloc felt terribly empty +physically. He carved the meat, cut the bread, and devoured his +supper standing by the table, and now and then casting a glance +towards his wife. Her prolonged immobility disturbed the comfort +of his refection. He walked again into the shop, and came up very +close to her. This sorrow with a veiled face made Mr Verloc +uneasy. He expected, of course, his wife to be very much upset, +but he wanted her to pull herself together. He needed all her +assistance and all her loyalty in these new conjunctures his +fatalism had already accepted. + +"Can't be helped," he said in a tone of gloomy sympathy. "Come, +Winnie, we've got to think of to-morrow. You'll want all your wits +about you after I am taken away." + +He paused. Mrs Verloc's breast heaved convulsively. This was not +reassuring to Mr Verloc, in whose view the newly created situation +required from the two people most concerned in it calmness, +decision, and other qualities incompatible with the mental disorder +of passionate sorrow. Mr Verloc was a humane man; he had come home +prepared to allow every latitude to his wife's affection for her +brother. + +Only he did not understand either the nature or the whole extent of +that sentiment. And in this he was excusable, since it was +impossible for him to understand it without ceasing to be himself. +He was startled and disappointed, and his speech conveyed it by a +certain roughness of tone. + +"You might look at a fellow," he observed after waiting a while. + +As if forced through the hands covering Mrs Verloc's face the +answer came, deadened, almost pitiful. + +"I don't want to look at you as long as I live." + +"Eh? What!" Mr Verloc was merely startled by the superficial and +literal meaning of this declaration. It was obviously +unreasonable, the mere cry of exaggerated grief. He threw over it +the mantle of his marital indulgence. The mind of Mr Verloc lacked +profundity. Under the mistaken impression that the value of +individuals consists in what they are in themselves, he could not +possibly comprehend the value of Stevie in the eyes of Mrs Verloc. +She was taking it confoundedly hard, he thought to himself. It was +all the fault of that damned Heat. What did he want to upset the +woman for? But she mustn't be allowed, for her own good, to carry +on so till she got quite beside herself. + +"Look here! You can't sit like this in the shop," he said with +affected severity, in which there was some real annoyance; for +urgent practical matters must be talked over if they had to sit up +all night. "Somebody might come in at any minute," he added, and +waited again. No effect was produced, and the idea of the finality +of death occurred to Mr Verloc during the pause. He changed his +tone. "Come. This won't bring him back," he said gently, feeling +ready to take her in his arms and press her to his breast, where +impatience and compassion dwelt side by side. But except for a +short shudder Mrs Verloc remained apparently unaffected by the +force of that terrible truism. It was Mr Verloc himself who was +moved. He was moved in his simplicity to urge moderation by +asserting the claims of his own personality. + +"Do be reasonable, Winnie. What would it have been if you had lost +me!" + +He had vaguely expected to hear her cry out. But she did not +budge. She leaned back a little, quieted down to a complete +unreadable stillness. Mr Verloc's heart began to beat faster with +exasperation and something resembling alarm. He laid his hand on +her shoulder, saying: + +"Don't be a fool, Winnie." + +She gave no sign. It was impossible to talk to any purpose with a +woman whose face one cannot see. Mr Verloc caught hold of his +wife's wrists. But her hands seemed glued fast. She swayed +forward bodily to his tug, and nearly went off the chair. Startled +to feel her so helplessly limp, he was trying to put her back on +the chair when she stiffened suddenly all over, tore herself out of +his hands, ran out of the shop, across the parlour, and into the +kitchen. This was very swift. He had just a glimpse of her face +and that much of her eyes that he knew she had not looked at him. + +It all had the appearance of a struggle for the possession of a +chair, because Mr Verloc instantly took his wife's place in it. Mr +Verloc did not cover his face with his hands, but a sombre +thoughtfulness veiled his features. A term of imprisonment could +not be avoided. He did not wish now to avoid it. A prison was a +place as safe from certain unlawful vengeances as the grave, with +this advantage, that in a prison there is room for hope. What he +saw before him was a term of imprisonment, an early release and +then life abroad somewhere, such as he had contemplated already, in +case of failure. Well, it was a failure, if not exactly the sort +of failure he had feared. It had been so near success that he +could have positively terrified Mr Vladimir out of his ferocious +scoffing with this proof of occult efficiency. So at least it +seemed now to Mr Verloc. His prestige with the Embassy would have +been immense if - if his wife had not had the unlucky notion of +sewing on the address inside Stevie's overcoat. Mr Verloc, who was +no fool, had soon perceived the extraordinary character of the +influence he had over Stevie, though he did not understand exactly +its origin - the doctrine of his supreme wisdom and goodness +inculcated by two anxious women. In all the eventualities he had +foreseen Mr Verloc had calculated with correct insight on Stevie's +instinctive loyalty and blind discretion. The eventuality he had +not foreseen had appalled him as a humane man and a fond husband. +From every other point of view it was rather advantageous. Nothing +can equal the everlasting discretion of death. Mr Verloc, sitting +perplexed and frightened in the small parlour of the Cheshire +Cheese, could not help acknowledging that to himself, because his +sensibility did not stand in the way of his judgment. Stevie's +violent disintegration, however disturbing to think about, only +assured the success; for, of course, the knocking down of a wall +was not the aim of Mr Vladimir's menaces, but the production of a +moral effect. With much trouble and distress on Mr Verloc's part +the effect might be said to have been produced. When, however, +most unexpectedly, it came home to roost in Brett Street, Mr +Verloc, who had been struggling like a man in a nightmare for the +preservation of his position, accepted the blow in the spirit of a +convinced fatalist. The position was gone through no one's fault +really. A small, tiny fact had done it. It was like slipping on a +bit of orange peel in the dark and breaking your leg. + +Mr Verloc drew a weary breath. He nourished no resentment against +his wife. He thought: She will have to look after the shop while +they keep me locked up. And thinking also how cruelly she would +miss Stevie at first, he felt greatly concerned about her health +and spirits. How would she stand her solitude - absolutely alone +in that house? It would not do for her to break down while he was +locked up? What would become of the shop then? The shop was an +asset. Though Mr Verloc's fatalism accepted his undoing as a +secret agent, he had no mind to be utterly ruined, mostly, it must +be owned, from regard for his wife. + +Silent, and out of his line of sight in the kitchen, she frightened +him. If only she had had her mother with her. But that silly old +woman - An angry dismay possessed Mr Verloc. He must talk with his +wife. He could tell her certainly that a man does get desperate +under certain circumstances. But he did not go incontinently to +impart to her that information. First of all, it was clear to him +that this evening was no time for business. He got up to close the +street door and put the gas out in the shop. + +Having thus assured a solitude around his hearthstone Mr Verloc +walked into the parlour, and glanced down into the kitchen. Mrs +Verloc was sitting in the place where poor Stevie usually +established himself of an evening with paper and pencil for the +pastime of drawing these coruscations of innumerable circles +suggesting chaos and eternity. Her arms were folded on the table, +and her head was lying on her arms. Mr Verloc contemplated her +back and the arrangement of her hair for a time, then walked away +from the kitchen door. Mrs Verloc's philosophical, almost +disdainful incuriosity, the foundation of their accord in domestic +life made it extremely difficult to get into contact with her, now +this tragic necessity had arisen. Mr Verloc felt this difficulty +acutely. He turned around the table in the parlour with his usual +air of a large animal in a cage. + +Curiosity being one of the forms of self-revelation, - a +systematically incurious person remains always partly mysterious. +Every time he passed near the door Mr Verloc glanced at his wife +uneasily. It was not that he was afraid of her. Mr Verloc +imagined himself loved by that woman. But she had not accustomed +him to make confidences. And the confidence he had to make was of +a profound psychological order. How with his want of practice +could he tell her what he himself felt but vaguely: that there are +conspiracies of fatal destiny, that a notion grows in a mind +sometimes till it acquires an outward existence, an independent +power of its own, and even a suggestive voice? He could not inform +her that a man may be haunted by a fat, witty, clean-shaved face +till the wildest expedient to get rid of it appears a child of +wisdom. + +On this mental reference to a First Secretary of a great Embassy, +Mr Verloc stopped in the doorway, and looking down into the kitchen +with an angry face and clenched fists, addressed his wife. + +"You don't know what a brute I had to deal with." + +He started off to make another perambulation of the table; then +when he had come to the door again he stopped, glaring in from the +height of two steps. + +"A silly, jeering, dangerous brute, with no more sense than - +After all these years! A man like me! And I have been playing my +head at that game. You didn't know. Quite right, too. What was +the good of telling you that I stood the risk of having a knife +stuck into me any time these seven years we've been married? I am +not a chap to worry a woman that's fond of me. You had no business +to know." Mr Verloc took another turn round the parlour, fuming. + +"A venomous beast," he began again from the doorway. "Drive me out +into a ditch to starve for a joke. I could see he thought it was a +damned good joke. A man like me! Look here! Some of the highest +in the world got to thank me for walking on their two legs to this +day. That's the man you've got married to, my girl!" + +He perceived that his wife had sat up. Mrs Verloc's arms remained +lying stretched on the table. Mr Verloc watched at her back as if +he could read there the effect of his words. + +"There isn't a murdering plot for the last eleven years that I +hadn't my finger in at the risk of my life. There's scores of +these revolutionists I've sent off, with their bombs in their +blamed pockets, to get themselves caught on the frontier. The old +Baron knew what I was worth to his country. And here suddenly a +swine comes along - an ignorant, overbearing swine." + +Mr Verloc, stepping slowly down two steps, entered the kitchen, +took a tumbler off the dresser, and holding it in his hand, +approached the sink, without looking at his wife. "It wasn't the +old Baron who would have had the wicked folly of getting me to call +on him at eleven in the morning. There are two or three in this +town that, if they had seen me going in, would have made no bones +about knocking me on the head sooner or later. It was a silly, +murderous trick to expose for nothing a man - like me." + +Mr Verloc, turning on the tap above the sink, poured three glasses +of water, one after another, down his throat to quench the fires of +his indignation. Mr Vladimir's conduct was like a hot brand which +set his internal economy in a blaze. He could not get over the +disloyalty of it. This man, who would not work at the usual hard +tasks which society sets to its humbler members, had exercised his +secret industry with an indefatigable devotion. There was in Mr +Verloc a fund of loyalty. He had been loyal to his employers, to +the cause of social stability, - and to his affections too - as +became apparent when, after standing the tumbler in the sink, he +turned about, saying: + +"If I hadn't thought of you I would have taken the bullying brute +by the throat and rammed his head into the fireplace. I'd have +been more than a match for that pink-faced, smooth-shaved - " + +Mr Verloc, neglected to finish the sentence, as if there could be +no doubt of the terminal word. For the first time in his life he +was taking that incurious woman into his confidence. The +singularity of the event, the force and importance of the personal +feelings aroused in the course of this confession, drove Stevie's +fate clean out of Mr Verloc's mind. The boy's stuttering existence +of fears and indignations, together with the violence of his end, +had passed out of Mr Verloc's mental sight for a time. For that +reason, when he looked up he was startled by the inappropriate +character of his wife's stare. It was not a wild stare, and it was +not inattentive, but its attention was peculiar and not +satisfactory, inasmuch that it seemed concentrated upon some point +beyond Mr Verloc's person. The impression was so strong that Mr +Verloc glanced over his shoulder. There was nothing behind him: +there was just the whitewashed wall. The excellent husband of +Winnie Verloc saw no writing on the wall. He turned to his wife +again, repeating, with some emphasis: + +"I would have taken him by the throat. As true as I stand here, if +I hadn't thought of you then I would have half choked the life out +of the brute before I let him get up. And don't you think he would +have been anxious to call the police either. He wouldn't have +dared. You understand why - don't you?" + +He blinked at his wife knowingly. + +"No," said Mrs Verloc in an unresonant voice, and without looking +at him at all. "What are you talking about?" + +A great discouragement, the result of fatigue, came upon Mr Verloc. +He had had a very full day, and his nerves had been tried to the +utmost. After a month of maddening worry, ending in an unexpected +catastrophe, the storm-tossed spirit of Mr Verloc longed for +repose. His career as a secret agent had come to an end in a way +no one could have foreseen; only, now, perhaps he could manage to +get a night's sleep at last. But looking at his wife, he doubted +it. She was taking it very hard - not at all like herself, he +thought. He made an effort to speak. + +"You'll have to pull yourself together, my girl," he said +sympathetically. "What's done can't be undone." + +Mrs Verloc gave a slight start, though not a muscle of her white +face moved in the least. Mr Verloc, who was not looking at her, +continued ponderously. + +"You go to bed now. What you want is a good cry." + +This opinion had nothing to recommend it but the general consent of +mankind. It is universally understood that, as if it were nothing +more substantial than vapour floating in the sky, every emotion of +a woman is bound to end in a shower. And it is very probable that +had Stevie died in his bed under her despairing gaze, in her +protecting arms, Mrs Verloc's grief would have found relief in a +flood of bitter and pure tears. Mrs Verloc, in common with other +human beings, was provided with a fund of unconscious resignation +sufficient to meet the normal manifestation of human destiny. +Without "troubling her head about it," she was aware that it "did +not stand looking into very much." But the lamentable +circumstances of Stevie's end, which to Mr Verloc's mind had only +an episodic character, as part of a greater disaster, dried her +tears at their very source. It was the effect of a white-hot iron +drawn across her eyes; at the same time her heart, hardened and +chilled into a lump of ice, kept her body in an inward shudder, set +her features into a frozen contemplative immobility addressed to a +whitewashed wall with no writing on it. The exigencies of Mrs +Verloc's temperament, which, when stripped of its philosophical +reserve, was maternal and violent, forced her to roll a series of +thoughts in her motionless head. These thoughts were rather +imagined than expressed. Mrs Verloc was a woman of singularly few +words, either for public or private use. With the rage and dismay +of a betrayed woman, she reviewed the tenor of her life in visions +concerned mostly with Stevie's difficult existence from its +earliest days. It was a life of single purpose and of a noble +unity of inspiration, like those rare lives that have left their +mark on the thoughts and feelings of mankind. But the visions of +Mrs Verloc lacked nobility and magnificence. She saw herself +putting the boy to bed by the light of a single candle on the +deserted top floor of a "business house," dark under the roof and +scintillating exceedingly with lights and cut glass at the level of +the street like a fairy palace. That meretricious splendour was +the only one to be met in Mrs Verloc's visions. She remembered +brushing the boy's hair and tying his pinafores - herself in a +pinafore still; the consolations administered to a small and badly +scared creature by another creature nearly as small but not quite +so badly scared; she had the vision of the blows intercepted (often +with her own head), of a door held desperately shut against a man's +rage (not for very long); of a poker flung once (not very far), +which stilled that particular storm into the dumb and awful silence +which follows a thunder-clap. And all these scenes of violence +came and went accompanied by the unrefined noise of deep +vociferations proceeding from a man wounded in his paternal pride, +declaring himself obviously accursed since one of his kids was a +"slobbering idjut and the other a wicked she-devil." It was of her +that this had been said many years ago. + +Mrs Verloc heard the words again in a ghostly fashion, and then the +dreary shadow of the Belgravian mansion descended upon her +shoulders. It was a crushing memory, an exhausting vision of +countless breakfast trays carried up and down innumerable stairs, +of endless haggling over pence, of the endless drudgery of +sweeping, dusting, cleaning, from basement to attics; while the +impotent mother, staggering on swollen legs, cooked in a grimy +kitchen, and poor Stevie, the unconscious presiding genius of all +their toil, blacked the gentlemen's boots in the scullery. But +this vision had a breath of a hot London summer in it, and for a +central figure a young man wearing his Sunday best, with a straw +hat on his dark head and a wooden pipe in his mouth. Affectionate +and jolly, he was a fascinating companion for a voyage down the +sparkling stream of life; only his boat was very small. There was +room in it for a girl-partner at the oar, but no accommodation for +passengers. He was allowed to drift away from the threshold of the +Belgravian mansion while Winnie averted her tearful eyes. He was +not a lodger. The lodger was Mr Verloc, indolent, and keeping late +hours, sleepily jocular of a morning from under his bed-clothes, +but with gleams of infatuation in his heavy lidded eyes, and always +with some money in his pockets. There was no sparkle of any kind +on the lazy stream of his life. It flowed through secret places. +But his barque seemed a roomy craft, and his taciturn magnanimity +accepted as a matter of course the presence of passengers. + +Mrs Verloc pursued the visions of seven years' security for Stevie, +loyally paid for on her part; of security growing into confidence, +into a domestic feeling, stagnant and deep like a placid pool, +whose guarded surface hardly shuddered on the occasional passage of +Comrade Ossipon, the robust anarchist with shamelessly inviting +eyes, whose glance had a corrupt clearness sufficient to enlighten +any woman not absolutely imbecile. + +A few seconds only had elapsed since the last word had been uttered +aloud in the kitchen, and Mrs Verloc was staring already at the +vision of an episode not more than a fortnight old. With eyes +whose pupils were extremely dilated she stared at the vision of her +husband and poor Stevie walking up Brett Street side by side away +from the shop. It was the last scene of an existence created by +Mrs Verloc's genius; an existence foreign to all grace and charm, +without beauty and almost without decency, but admirable in the +continuity of feeling and tenacity of purpose. And this last +vision has such plastic relief, such nearness of form, such a +fidelity of suggestive detail, that it wrung from Mrs Verloc an +anguished and faint murmur, reproducing the supreme illusion of her +life, an appalled murmur that died out on her blanched lips. + +"Might have been father and son." + +Mr Verloc stopped, and raised a care-worn face. "Eh? What did you +say?" he asked. Receiving no reply, he resumed his sinister +tramping. Then with a menacing flourish of a thick, fleshy fist, +he burst out: + +"Yes. The Embassy people. A pretty lot, ain't they! Before a +week's out I'll make some of them wish themselves twenty feet +underground. Eh? What?" + +He glanced sideways, with his head down. Mrs Verloc gazed at the +whitewashed wall. A blank wall - perfectly blank. A blankness to +run at and dash your head against. Mrs Verloc remained immovably +seated. She kept still as the population of half the globe would +keep still in astonishment and despair, were the sun suddenly put +out in the summer sky by the perfidy of a trusted providence. + +"The Embassy," Mr Verloc began again, after a preliminary grimace +which bared his teeth wolfishly. "I wish I could get loose in +there with a cudgel for half-an-hour. I would keep on hitting till +there wasn't a single unbroken bone left amongst the whole lot. +But never mind, I'll teach them yet what it means trying to throw +out a man like me to rot in the streets. I've a tongue in my head. +All the world shall know what I've done for them. I am not afraid. +I don't care. Everything'll come out. Every damned thing. Let +them look out!" + +In these terms did Mr Verloc declare his thirst for revenge. It +was a very appropriate revenge. It was in harmony with the +promptings of Mr Verloc's genius. It had also the advantage of +being within the range of his powers and of adjusting itself easily +to the practice of his life, which had consisted precisely in +betraying the secret and unlawful proceedings of his fellow-men. +Anarchists or diplomats were all one to him. Mr Verloc was +temperamentally no respecter of persons. His scorn was equally +distributed over the whole field of his operations. But as a +member of a revolutionary proletariat - which he undoubtedly was - +he nourished a rather inimical sentiment against social +distinction. + +"Nothing on earth can stop me now," he added, and paused, looking +fixedly at his wife, who was looking fixedly at a blank wall. + +The silence in the kitchen was prolonged, and Mr Verloc felt +disappointed. He had expected his wife to say something. But Mrs +Verloc's lips, composed in their usual form, preserved a statuesque +immobility like the rest of her face. And Mr Verloc was +disappointed. Yet the occasion did not, he recognised, demand +speech from her. She was a woman of very few words. For reasons +involved in the very foundation of his psychology, Mr Verloc was +inclined to put his trust in any woman who had given herself to +him. Therefore he trusted his wife. Their accord was perfect, but +it was not precise. It was a tacit accord, congenial to Mrs +Verloc's incuriosity and to Mr Verloc's habits of mind, which were +indolent and secret. They refrained from going to the bottom of +facts and motives. + +This reserve, expressing, in a way, their profound confidence in +each other, introduced at the same time a certain element of +vagueness into their intimacy. No system of conjugal relations is +perfect. Mr Verloc presumed that his wife had understood him, but +he would have been glad to hear her say what she thought at the +moment. It would have been a comfort. + +There were several reasons why this comfort was denied him. There +was a physical obstacle: Mrs Verloc had no sufficient command over +her voice. She did not see any alternative between screaming and +silence, and instinctively she chose the silence. Winnie Verloc +was temperamentally a silent person. And there was the paralysing +atrocity of the thought which occupied her. Her cheeks were +blanched, her lips ashy, her immobility amazing. And she thought +without looking at Mr Verloc: "This man took the boy away to murder +him. He took the boy away from his home to murder him. He took +the boy away from me to murder him!" + +Mrs Verloc's whole being was racked by that inconclusive and +maddening thought. It was in her veins, in her bones, in the roots +of her hair. Mentally she assumed the biblical attitude of +mourning - the covered face, the rent garments; the sound of +wailing and lamentation filled her head. But her teeth were +violently clenched, and her tearless eyes were hot with rage, +because she was not a submissive creature. The protection she had +extended over her brother had been in its origin of a fierce an +indignant complexion. She had to love him with a militant love. +She had battled for him - even against herself. His loss had the +bitterness of defeat, with the anguish of a baffled passion. It +was not an ordinary stroke of death. Moreover, it was not death +that took Stevie from her. It was Mr Verloc who took him away. +She had seen him. She had watched him, without raising a hand, +take the boy away. And she had let him go, like - like a fool - a +blind fool. Then after he had murdered the boy he came home to +her. Just came home like any other man would come home to his +wife. . . . + +Through her set teeth Mrs Verloc muttered at the wall: + +"And I thought he had caught a cold." + +Mr Verloc heard these words and appropriated them. + +"It was nothing," he said moodily. "I was upset. I was upset on +your account." + +Mrs Verloc, turning her head slowly, transferred her stare from the +wall to her husband's person. Mr Verloc, with the tips of his +fingers between his lips, was looking on the ground. + +"Can't be helped," he mumbled, letting his hand fall. "You must +pull yourself together. You'll want all your wits about you. It +is you who brought the police about our ears. Never mind, I won't +say anything more about it," continued Mr Verloc magnanimously. +"You couldn't know." + +"I couldn't," breathed out Mrs Verloc. It was as if a corpse had +spoken. Mr Verloc took up the thread of his discourse. + +"I don't blame you. I'll make them sit up. Once under lock and +key it will be safe enough for me to talk - you understand. You +must reckon on me being two years away from you," he continued, in +a tone of sincere concern. "It will be easier for you than for me. +You'll have something to do, while I - Look here, Winnie, what you +must do is to keep this business going for two years. You know +enough for that. You've a good head on you. I'll send you word +when it's time to go about trying to sell. You'll have to be extra +careful. The comrades will be keeping an eye on you all the time. +You'll have to be as artful as you know how, and as close as the +grave. No one must know what you are going to do. I have no mind +to get a knock on the head or a stab in the back directly I am let +out." + +Thus spoke Mr Verloc, applying his mind with ingenuity and +forethought to the problems of the future. His voice was sombre, +because he had a correct sentiment of the situation. Everything +which he did not wish to pass had come to pass. The future had +become precarious. His judgment, perhaps, had been momentarily +obscured by his dread of Mr Vladimir's truculent folly. A man +somewhat over forty may be excusably thrown into considerable +disorder by the prospect of losing his employment, especially if +the man is a secret agent of political police, dwelling secure in +the consciousness of his high value and in the esteem of high +personages. He was excusable. + +Now the thing had ended in a crash. Mr Verloc was cool; but he was +not cheerful. A secret agent who throws his secrecy to the winds +from desire of vengeance, and flaunts his achievements before the +public eye, becomes the mark for desperate and bloodthirsty +indignations. Without unduly exaggerating the danger, Mr Verloc +tried to bring it clearly before his wife's mind. He repeated that +he had no intention to let the revolutionises do away with him. + +He looked straight into his wife's eyes. The enlarged pupils of +the woman received his stare into their unfathomable depths. + +"I am too fond of you for that," he said, with a little nervous +laugh. + +A faint flush coloured Mrs Verloc's ghastly and motionless face. +Having done with the visions of the past, she had not only heard, +but had also understood the words uttered by her husband. By their +extreme disaccord with her mental condition these words produced on +her a slightly suffocating effect. Mrs Verloc's mental condition +had the merit of simplicity; but it was not sound. It was governed +too much by a fixed idea. Every nook and cranny of her brain was +filled with the thought that this man, with whom she had lived +without distaste for seven years, had taken the "poor boy" away +from her in order to kill him - the man to whom she had grown +accustomed in body and mind; the man whom she had trusted, took the +boy away to kill him! In its form, in its substance, in its +effect, which was universal, altering even the aspect of inanimate +things, it was a thought to sit still and marvel at for ever and +ever. Mrs Verloc sat still. And across that thought (not across +the kitchen) the form of Mr Verloc went to and fro, familiarly in +hat and overcoat, stamping with his boots upon her brain. He was +probably talking too; but Mrs Verloc's thought for the most part +covered the voice. + +Now and then, however, the voice would make itself heard. Several +connected words emerged at times. Their purport was generally +hopeful. On each of these occasions Mrs Verloc's dilated pupils, +losing their far-off fixity, followed her husband's movements with +the effect of black care and, impenetrable attention. Well +informed upon all matters relating to his secret calling, Mr Verloc +augured well for the success of his plans and combinations. He +really believed that it would be upon the whole easy for him to +escape the knife of infuriated revolutionists. He had exaggerated +the strength of their fury and the length of their arm (for +professional purposes) too often to have many illusions one way or +the other. For to exaggerate with judgment one must begin by +measuring with nicety. He knew also how much virtue and how much +infamy is forgotten in two years - two long years. His first +really confidential discourse to his wife was optimistic from +conviction. He also thought it good policy to display all the +assurance he could muster. It would put heart into the poor woman. +On his liberation, which, harmonising with the whole tenor of his +life, would be secret, of course, they would vanish together +without loss of time. As to covering up the tracks, he begged his +wife to trust him for that. He knew how it was to be done so that +the devil himself - + +He waved his hand. He seemed to boast. He wished only to put +heart into her. It was a benevolent intention, but Mr Verloc had +the misfortune not to be in accord with his audience. + +The self-confident tone grew upon Mrs Verloc's ear which let most +of the words go by; for what were words to her now? What could +words do to her, for good or evil in the face of her fixed idea? +Her black glance followed that man who was asserting his impunity - +the man who had taken poor Stevie from home to kill him somewhere. +Mrs Verloc could not remember exactly where, but her heart began to +beat very perceptibly. + +Mr Verloc, in a soft and conjugal tone, was now expressing his firm +belief that there were yet a good few years of quiet life before +them both. He did not go into the question of means. A quiet life +it must be and, as it were, nestling in the shade, concealed among +men whose flesh is grass; modest, like the life of violets. The +words used by Mr Verloc were: "Lie low for a bit." And far from +England, of course. It was not clear whether Mr Verloc had in his +mind Spain or South America; but at any rate somewhere abroad. + +This last word, falling into Mrs Verloc's ear, produced a definite +impression. This man was talking of going abroad. The impression +was completely disconnected; and such is the force of mental habit +that Mrs Verloc at once and automatically asked herself: "And what +of Stevie?" + +It was a sort of forgetfulness; but instantly she became aware that +there was no longer any occasion for anxiety on that score. There +would never be any occasion any more. The poor boy had been taken +out and killed. The poor boy was dead. + +This shaking piece of forgetfulness stimulated Mrs Verloc's +intelligence. She began to perceive certain consequences which +would have surprised Mr Verloc. There was no need for her now to +stay there, in that kitchen, in that house, with that man - since +the boy was gone for ever. No need whatever. And on that Mrs +Verloc rose as if raised by a spring. But neither could she see +what there was to keep her in the world at all. And this inability +arrested her. Mr Verloc watched her with marital solicitude. + +"You're looking more like yourself," he said uneasily. Something +peculiar in the blackness of his wife's eyes disturbed his +optimism. At that precise moment Mrs Verloc began to look upon +herself as released from all earthly ties. + +She had her freedom. Her contract with existence, as represented +by that man standing over there, was at an end. She was a free +woman. Had this view become in some way perceptible to Mr Verloc +he would have been extremely shocked. In his affairs of the heart +Mr Verloc had been always carelessly generous, yet always with no +other idea than that of being loved for himself. Upon this matter, +his ethical notions being in agreement with his vanity, he was +completely incorrigible. That this should be so in the case of his +virtuous and legal connection he was perfectly certain. He had +grown older, fatter, heavier, in the belief that he lacked no +fascination for being loved for his own sake. When he saw Mrs +Verloc starting to walk out of the kitchen without a word he was +disappointed. + +"Where are you going to?" he called out rather sharply. +"Upstairs?" + +Mrs Verloc in the doorway turned at the voice. An instinct of +prudence born of fear, the excessive fear of being approached and +touched by that man, induced her to nod at him slightly (from the +height of two steps), with a stir of the lips which the conjugal +optimism of Mr Verloc took for a wan and uncertain smile. + +"That's right," he encouraged her gruffly. "Rest and quiet's what +you want. Go on. It won't be long before I am with you." + +Mrs Verloc, the free woman who had had really no idea where she was +going to, obeyed the suggestion with rigid steadiness. + +Mr Verloc watched her. She disappeared up the stairs. He was +disappointed. There was that within him which would have been more +satisfied if she had been moved to throw herself upon his breast. +But he was generous and indulgent. Winnie was always +undemonstrative and silent. Neither was Mr Verloc himself prodigal +of endearments and words as a rule. But this was not an ordinary +evening. It was an occasion when a man wants to be fortified and +strengthened by open proofs of sympathy and affection. Mr Verloc +sighed, and put out the gas in the kitchen. Mr Verloc's sympathy +with his wife was genuine and intense. It almost brought tears +into his eyes as he stood in the parlour reflecting on the +loneliness hanging over her head. In this mood Mr Verloc missed +Stevie very much out of a difficult world. He thought mournfully +of his end. If only that lad had not stupidly destroyed himself! + +The sensation of unappeasable hunger, not unknown after the strain +of a hazardous enterprise to adventurers of tougher fibre than Mr +Verloc, overcame him again. The piece of roast beef, laid out in +the likeness of funereal baked meats for Stevie's obsequies, +offered itself largely to his notice. And Mr Verloc again partook. +He partook ravenously, without restraint and decency, cutting thick +slices with the sharp carving knife, and swallowing them without +bread. In the course of that refection it occurred to Mr Verloc +that he was not hearing his wife move about the bedroom as he +should have done. The thought of finding her perhaps sitting on +the bed in the dark not only cut Mr Verloc's appetite, but also +took from him the inclination to follow her upstairs just yet. +Laying down the carving knife, Mr Verloc listened with careworn +attention. + +He was comforted by hearing her move at last. She walked suddenly +across the room, and threw the window up. After a period of +stillness up there, during which he figured her to himself with her +head out, he heard the sash being lowered slowly. Then she made a +few steps, and sat down. Every resonance of his house was familiar +to Mr Verloc, who was thoroughly domesticated. When next he heard +his wife's footsteps overhead he knew, as well as if he had seen +her doing it, that she had been putting on her walking shoes. Mr +Verloc wriggled his shoulders slightly at this ominous symptom, and +moving away from the table, stood with his back to the fireplace, +his head on one side, and gnawing perplexedly at the tips of his +fingers. He kept track of her movements by the sound. She walked +here and there violently, with abrupt stoppages, now before the +chest of drawers, then in front of the wardrobe. An immense load +of weariness, the harvest of a day of shocks and surprises, weighed +Mr Verloc's energies to the ground. + +He did not raise his eyes till he heard his wife descending the +stairs. It was as he had guessed. She was dressed for going out. + +Mrs Verloc was a free woman. She had thrown open the window of the +bedroom either with the intention of screaming Murder! Help! or of +throwing herself out. For she did not exactly know what use to +make of her freedom. Her personality seemed to have been torn into +two pieces, whose mental operations did not adjust themselves very +well to each other. The street, silent and deserted from end to +end, repelled her by taking sides with that man who was so certain +of his impunity. She was afraid to shout lest no one should come. +Obviously no one would come. Her instinct of self-preservation +recoiled from the depth of the fall into that sort of slimy, deep +trench. Mrs Verloc closed the window, and dressed herself to go +out into the street by another way. She was a free woman. She had +dressed herself thoroughly, down to the tying of a black veil over +her face. As she appeared before him in the light of the parlour, +Mr Verloc observed that she had even her little handbag hanging +from her left wrist. . . . Flying off to her mother, of course. + +The thought that women were wearisome creatures after all presented +itself to his fatigued brain. But he was too generous to harbour +it for more than an instant. This man, hurt cruelly in his vanity, +remained magnanimous in his conduct, allowing himself no +satisfaction of a bitter smile or of a contemptuous gesture. With +true greatness of soul, he only glanced at the wooden clock on the +wall, and said in a perfectly calm but forcible manner: + +"Five and twenty minutes past eight, Winnie. There's no sense in +going over there so late. You will never manage to get back to- +night." + +Before his extended hand Mrs Verloc had stopped short. He added +heavily: "Your mother will be gone to bed before you get there. +This is the sort of news that can wait." + +Nothing was further from Mrs Verloc's thoughts than going to her +mother. She recoiled at the mere idea, and feeling a chair behind +her, she obeyed the suggestion of the touch, and sat down. Her +intention had been simply to get outside the door for ever. And if +this feeling was correct, its mental form took an unrefined shape +corresponding to her origin and station. "I would rather walk the +streets all the days of my life," she thought. But this creature, +whose moral nature had been subjected to a shock of which, in the +physical order, the most violent earthquake of history could only +be a faint and languid rendering, was at the mercy of mere trifles, +of casual contacts. She sat down. With her hat and veil she had +the air of a visitor, of having looked in on Mr Verloc for a +moment. Her instant docility encouraged him, whilst her aspect of +only temporary and silent acquiescence provoked him a little. + +"Let me tell you, Winnie," he said with authority, "that your place +is here this evening. Hang it all! you brought the damned police +high and low about my ears. I don't blame you - but it's your +doing all the same. You'd better take this confounded hat off. I +can't let you go out, old girl," he added in a softened voice. + +Mrs Verloc's mind got hold of that declaration with morbid +tenacity. The man who had taken Stevie out from under her very +eyes to murder him in a locality whose name was at the moment not +present to her memory would not allow her go out. Of course he +wouldn't. + +Now he had murdered Stevie he would never let her go. He would +want to keep her for nothing. And on this characteristic +reasoning, having all the force of insane logic, Mrs Verloc's +disconnected wits went to work practically. She could slip by him, +open the door, run out. But he would dash out after her, seize her +round the body, drag her back into the shop. She could scratch, +kick, and bite - and stab too; but for stabbing she wanted a knife. +Mrs Verloc sat still under her black veil, in her own house, like a +masked and mysterious visitor of impenetrable intentions. + +Mr Verloc's magnanimity was not more than human. She had +exasperated him at last. + +"Can't you say something? You have your own dodges for vexing a +man. Oh yes! I know your deaf-and-dumb trick. I've seen you at +it before to-day. But just now it won't do. And to begin with, +take this damned thing off. One can't tell whether one is talking +to a dummy or to a live woman." + +He advanced, and stretching out his hand, dragged the veil off, +unmasking a still, unreadable face, against which his nervous +exasperation was shattered like a glass bubble flung against a +rock. "That's better," he said, to cover his momentary uneasiness, +and retreated back to his old station by the mantelpiece. It never +entered his head that his wife could give him up. He felt a little +ashamed of himself, for he was fond and generous. What could he +do? Everything had been said already. He protested vehemently. + +"By heavens! You know that I hunted high and low. I ran the risk +of giving myself away to find somebody for that accursed job. And +I tell you again I couldn't find anyone crazy enough or hungry +enough. What do you take me for - a murderer, or what? The boy is +gone. Do you think I wanted him to blow himself up? He's gone. +His troubles are over. Ours are just going to begin, I tell you, +precisely because he did blow himself. I don't blame you. But +just try to understand that it was a pure accident; as much an +accident as if he had been run over by a `bus while crossing the +street." + +His generosity was not infinite, because he was a human being - and +not a monster, as Mrs Verloc believed him to be. He paused, and a +snarl lifting his moustaches above a gleam of white teeth gave him +the expression of a reflective beast, not very dangerous - a slow +beast with a sleek head, gloomier than a seal, and with a husky +voice. + +"And when it comes to that, it's as much your doing as mine. +That's so. You may glare as much as you like. I know what you can +do in that way. Strike me dead if I ever would have thought of the +lad for that purpose. It was you who kept on shoving him in my way +when I was half distracted with the worry of keeping the lot of us +out of trouble. What the devil made you? One would think you were +doing it on purpose. And I am damned if I know that you didn't. +There's no saying how much of what's going on you have got hold of +on the sly with your infernal don't-care-a-damn way of looking +nowhere in particular, and saying nothing at all. . . . " + +His husky domestic voice ceased for a while. Mrs Verloc made no +reply. Before that silence he felt ashamed of what he had said. +But as often happens to peaceful men in domestic tiffs, being +ashamed he pushed another point. + +"You have a devilish way of holding your tongue sometimes," he +began again, without raising his voice. "Enough to make some men +go mad. It's lucky for you that I am not so easily put out as some +of them would be by your deaf-and-dumb sulks. I am fond of you. +But don't you go too far. This isn't the time for it. We ought to +be thinking of what we've got to do. And I can't let you go out +to-night, galloping off to your mother with some crazy tale or +other about me. I won't have it. Don't you make any mistake about +it: if you will have it that I killed the boy, then you've killed +him as much as I." + +In sincerity of feeling and openness of statement, these words went +far beyond anything that had ever been said in this home, kept up +on the wages of a secret industry eked out by the sale of more or +less secret wares: the poor expedients devised by a mediocre +mankind for preserving an imperfect society from the dangers of +moral and physical corruption, both secret too of their kind. They +were spoken because Mr Verloc had felt himself really outraged; but +the reticent decencies of this home life, nestling in a shady +street behind a shop where the sun never shone, remained apparently +undisturbed. Mrs Verloc heard him out with perfect propriety, and +then rose from her chair in her hat and jacket like a visitor at +the end of a call. She advanced towards her husband, one arm +extended as if for a silent leave-taking. Her net veil dangling +down by one end on the left side of her face gave an air of +disorderly formality to her restrained movements. But when she +arrived as far as the hearthrug, Mr Verloc was no longer standing +there. He had moved off in the direction of the sofa, without +raising his eyes to watch the effect of his tirade. He was tired, +resigned in a truly marital spirit. But he felt hurt in the tender +spot of his secret weakness. If she would go on sulking in that +dreadful overcharged silence - why then she must. She was a master +in that domestic art. Mr Verloc flung himself heavily upon the +sofa, disregarding as usual the fate of his hat, which, as if +accustomed to take care of itself, made for a safe shelter under +the table. + +He was tired. The last particle of his nervous force had been +expended in the wonders and agonies of this day full of surprising +failures coming at the end of a harassing month of scheming and +insomnia. He was tired. A man isn't made of stone. Hang +everything! Mr Verloc reposed characteristically, clad in his +outdoor garments. One side of his open overcoat was lying partly +on the ground. Mr Verloc wallowed on his back. But he longed for +a more perfect rest - for sleep - for a few hours of delicious +forgetfulness. That would come later. Provisionally he rested. +And he thought: "I wish she would give over this damned nonsense. +It's exasperating." + +There must have been something imperfect in Mrs Verloc's sentiment +of regained freedom. Instead of taking the way of the door she +leaned back, with her shoulders against the tablet of the +mantelpiece, as a wayfarer rests against a fence. A tinge of +wildness in her aspect was derived from the black veil hanging like +a rag against her cheek, and from the fixity of her black gaze +where the light of the room was absorbed and lost without the trace +of a single gleam. This woman, capable of a bargain the mere +suspicion of which would have been infinitely shocking to Mr +Verloc's idea of love, remained irresolute, as if scrupulously +aware of something wanting on her part for the formal closing of +the transaction. + +On the sofa Mr Verloc wriggled his shoulders into perfect comfort, +and from the fulness of his heart emitted a wish which was +certainly as pious as anything likely to come from such a source. + +"I wish to goodness," he growled huskily, "I had never seen +Greenwich Park or anything belonging to it." + +The veiled sound filled the small room with its moderate volume, +well adapted to the modest nature of the wish. The waves of air of +the proper length, propagated in accordance with correct +mathematical formulas, flowed around all the inanimate things in +the room, lapped against Mrs Verloc's head as if it had been a head +of stone. And incredible as it may appear, the eyes of Mrs Verloc +seemed to grow still larger. The audible wish of Mr Verloc's +overflowing heart flowed into an empty place in his wife's memory. +Greenwich Park. A park! That's where the boy was killed. A park +- smashed branches, torn leaves, gravel, bits of brotherly flesh +and bone, all spouting up together in the manner of a firework. +She remembered now what she had heard, and she remembered it +pictorially. They had to gather him up with the shovel. Trembling +all over with irrepressible shudders, she saw before her the very +implement with its ghastly load scraped up from the ground. Mrs +Verloc closed her eyes desperately, throwing upon that vision the +night of her eyelids, where after a rainlike fall of mangled limbs +the decapitated head of Stevie lingered suspended alone, and fading +out slowly like the last star of a pyrotechnic display. Mrs Verloc +opened her eyes. + +Her face was no longer stony. Anybody could have noted the subtle +change on her features, in the stare of her eyes, giving her a new +and startling expression; an expression seldom observed by +competent persons under the conditions of leisure and security +demanded for thorough analysis, but whose meaning could not be +mistaken at a glance. Mrs Verloc's doubts as to the end of the +bargain no longer existed; her wits, no longer disconnected, were +working under the control of her will. But Mr Verloc observed +nothing. He was reposing in that pathetic condition of optimism +induced by excess of fatigue. He did not want any more trouble - +with his wife too - of all people in the world. He had been +unanswerable in his vindication. He was loved for himself. The +present phase of her silence he interpreted favourably. This was +the time to make it up with her. The silence had lasted long +enough. He broke it by calling to her in an undertone. + +"Winnie." + +"Yes," answered obediently Mrs Verloc the free woman. She +commanded her wits now, her vocal organs; she felt herself to be in +an almost preternaturally perfect control of every fibre of her +body. It was all her own, because the bargain was at an end. She +was clear sighted. She had become cunning. She chose to answer +him so readily for a purpose. She did not wish that man to change +his position on the sofa which was very suitable to the +circumstances. She succeeded. The man did not stir. But after +answering him she remained leaning negligently against the +mantelpiece in the attitude of a resting wayfarer. She was +unhurried. Her brow was smooth. The head and shoulders of Mr +Verloc were hidden from her by the high side of the sofa. She kept +her eyes fixed on his feet. + +She remained thus mysteriously still and suddenly collected till Mr +Verloc was heard with an accent of marital authority, and moving +slightly to make room for her to sit on the edge of the sofa. + +"Come here," he said in a peculiar tone, which might have been the +tone of brutality, but, was intimately known to Mrs Verloc as the +note of wooing. + +She started forward at once, as if she were still a loyal woman +bound to that man by an unbroken contract. Her right hand skimmed +slightly the end of the table, and when she had passed on towards +the sofa the carving knife had vanished without the slightest sound +from the side of the dish. Mr Verloc heard the creaky plank in the +floor, and was content. He waited. Mrs Verloc was coming. As if +the homeless soul of Stevie had flown for shelter straight to the +breast of his sister, guardian and protector, the resemblance of +her face with that of her brother grew at every step, even to the +droop of the lower lip, even to the slight divergence of the eyes. +But Mr Verloc did not see that. He was lying on his back and +staring upwards. He saw partly on the ceiling and partly on the +wall the moving shadow of an arm with a clenched hand holding a +carving knife. It flickered up and down. It's movements were +leisurely. They were leisurely enough for Mr Verloc to recognise +the limb and the weapon. + +They were leisurely enough for him to take in the full meaning of +the portent, and to taste the flavour of death rising in his gorge. +His wife had gone raving mad - murdering mad. They were leisurely +enough for the first paralysing effect of this discovery to pass +away before a resolute determination to come out victorious from +the ghastly struggle with that armed lunatic. They were leisurely +enough for Mr Verloc to elaborate a plan of defence involving a +dash behind the table, and the felling of the woman to the ground +with a heavy wooden chair. But they were not leisurely enough to +allow Mr Verloc the time to move either hand or foot. The knife +was already planted in his breast. It met no resistance on its +way. Hazard has such accuracies. Into that plunging blow, +delivered over the side of the couch, Mrs Verloc had put all the +inheritance of her immemorial and obscure descent, the simple +ferocity of the age of caverns, and the unbalanced nervous fury of +the age of bar-rooms. Mr Verloc, the Secret Agent, turning +slightly on his side with the force of the blow, expired without +stirring a limb, in the muttered sound of the word "Don't" by way +of protest. + +Mrs Verloc had let go the knife, and her extraordinary resemblance +to her late brother had faded, had become very ordinary now. She +drew a deep breath, the first easy breath since Chief Inspector +Heat had exhibited to her the labelled piece of Stevie's overcoat. +She leaned forward on her folded arms over the side of the sofa. +She adopted that easy attitude not in order to watch or gloat over +the body of Mr Verloc, but because of the undulatory and swinging +movements of the parlour, which for some time behaved as though it +were at sea in a tempest. She was giddy but calm. She had become +a free woman with a perfection of freedom which left her nothing to +desire and absolutely nothing to do, since Stevie's urgent claim on +her devotion no longer existed. Mrs Verloc, who thought in images, +was not troubled now by visions, because she did not think at all. +And she did not move. She was a woman enjoying her complete +irresponsibility and endless leisure, almost in the manner of a +corpse. She did not move, she did not think. Neither did the +mortal envelope of the late Mr Verloc reposing on the sofa. Except +for the fact that Mrs Verloc breathed these two would have been +perfect in accord: that accord of prudent reserve without +superfluous words, and sparing of signs, which had been the +foundation of their respectable home life. For it had been +respectable, covering by a decent reticence the problems that may +arise in the practice of a secret profession and the commerce of +shady wares. To the last its decorum had remained undisturbed by +unseemly shrieks and other misplaced sincerities of conduct. And +after the striking of the blow, this respectability was continued +in immobility and silence. + +Nothing moved in the parlour till Mrs Verloc raised her head slowly +and looked at the clock with inquiring mistrust. She had become +aware of a ticking sound in the room. It grew upon her ear, while +she remembered clearly that the clock on the wall was silent, had +no audible tick. What did it mean by beginning to tick so loudly +all of a sudden? Its face indicated ten minutes to nine. Mrs +Verloc cared nothing for time, and the ticking went on. She +concluded it could not be the clock, and her sullen gaze moved +along the walls, wavered, and became vague, while she strained her +hearing to locate the sound. Tic, tic, tic. + +After listening for some time Mrs Verloc lowered her gaze +deliberately on her husband's body. It's attitude of repose was so +home-like and familiar that she could do so without feeling +embarrassed by any pronounced novelty in the phenomena of her home +life. Mr Verloc was taking his habitual ease. He looked +comfortable. + +By the position of the body the face of Mr Verloc was not visible +to Mrs Verloc, his widow. Her fine, sleepy eyes, travelling +downward on the track of the sound, became contemplative on meeting +a flat object of bone which protruded a little beyond the edge of +the sofa. It was the handle of the domestic carving knife with +nothing strange about it but its position at right angles to Mr +Verloc's waistcoat and the fact that something dripped from it. +Dark drops fell on the floorcloth one after another, with a sound +of ticking growing fast and furious like the pulse of an insane +clock. At its highest speed this ticking changed into a continuous +sound of trickling. Mrs Verloc watched that transformation with +shadows of anxiety coming and going on her face. It was a trickle, +dark, swift, thin. . . . Blood! + +At this unforeseen circumstance Mrs Verloc abandoned her pose of +idleness and irresponsibility. + +With a sudden snatch at her skirts and a faint shriek she ran to +the door, as if the trickle had been the first sign of a destroying +flood. Finding the table in her way she gave it a push with both +hands as though it had been alive, with such force that it went for +some distance on its four legs, making a loud, scraping racket, +whilst the big dish with the joint crashed heavily on the floor. + +Then all became still. Mrs Verloc on reaching the door had +stopped. A round hat disclosed in the middle of the floor by the +moving of the table rocked slightly on its crown in the wind of her +flight. + + + +CHAPTER XII + + + +Winnie Verloc, the widow of Mr Verloc, the sister of the late +faithful Stevie (blown to fragments in a state of innocence and in +the conviction of being engaged in a humanitarian enterprise), did +not run beyond the door of the parlour. She had indeed run away so +far from a mere trickle of blood, but that was a movement of +instinctive repulsion. And there she had paused, with staring eyes +and lowered head. As though she had run through long years in her +flight across the small parlour, Mrs Verloc by the door was quite a +different person from the woman who had been leaning over the sofa, +a little swimmy in her head, but otherwise free to enjoy the +profound calm of idleness and irresponsibility. Mrs Verloc was no +longer giddy. Her head was steady. On the other hand, she was no +longer calm. She was afraid. + +If she avoided looking in the direction of her reposing husband it +was not because she was afraid of him. Mr Verloc was not frightful +to behold. He looked comfortable. Moreover, he was dead. Mrs +Verloc entertained no vain delusions on the subject of the dead. +Nothing brings them back, neither love nor hate. They can do +nothing to you. They are as nothing. Her mental state was tinged +by a sort of austere contempt for that man who had let himself be +killed so easily. He had been the master of a house, the husband +of a woman, and the murderer of her Stevie. And now he was of no +account in every respect. He was of less practical account than +the clothing on his body, than his overcoat, than his boots - than +that hat lying on the floor. He was nothing. He was not worth +looking at. He was even no longer the murderer of poor Stevie. +The only murderer that would be found in the room when people came +to look for Mr Verloc would be - herself! + +Her hands shook so that she failed twice in the task of refastening +her veil. Mrs Verloc was no longer a person of leisure and +responsibility. She was afraid. The stabbing of Mr Verloc had +been only a blow. It had relieved the pent-up agony of shrieks +strangled in her throat, of tears dried up in her hot eyes, of the +maddening and indignant rage at the atrocious part played by that +man, who was less than nothing now, in robbing her of the boy. + +It had been an obscurely prompted blow. The blood trickling on the +floor off the handle of the knife had turned it into an extremely +plain case of murder. Mrs Verloc, who always refrained from +looking deep into things, was compelled to look into the very +bottom of this thing. She saw there no haunting face, no +reproachful shade, no vision of remorse, no sort of ideal +conception. She saw there an object. That object was the gallows. +Mrs Verloc was afraid of the gallows. + +She was terrified of them ideally. Having never set eyes on that +last argument of men's justice except in illustrative woodcuts to a +certain type of tales, she first saw them erect against a black and +stormy background, festooned with chains and human bones, circled +about by birds that peck at dead men's eyes. This was frightful +enough, but Mrs Verloc, though not a well-informed woman, had a +sufficient knowledge of the institutions of her country to know +that gallows are no longer erected romantically on the banks of +dismal rivers or on wind-swept headlands, but in the yards of +jails. There within four high walls, as if into a pit, at dawn of +day, the murderer was brought out to be executed, with a horrible +quietness and, as the reports in the newspapers always said, "in +the presence of the authorities." With her eyes staring on the +floor, her nostrils quivering with anguish and shame, she imagined +herself all alone amongst a lot of strange gentlemen in silk hats +who were calmly proceeding about the business of hanging her by the +neck. That - never! Never! And how was it done? The +impossibility of imagining the details of such quiet execution +added something maddening to her abstract terror. The newspapers +never gave any details except one, but that one with some +affectation was always there at the end of a meagre report. Mrs +Verloc remembered its nature. It came with a cruel burning pain +into her head, as if the words "The drop given was fourteen feet" +had been scratched on her brain with a hot needle. "The drop given +was fourteen feet." + +These words affected her physically too. Her throat became +convulsed in waves to resist strangulation; and the apprehension of +the jerk was so vivid that she seized her head in both hands as if +to save it from being torn off her shoulders. "The drop given was +fourteen feet." No! that must never be. She could not stand THAT. +The thought of it even was not bearable. She could not stand +thinking of it. Therefore Mrs Verloc formed the resolution to go +at once and throw herself into the river off one of the bridges. + +This time she managed to refasten her veil. With her face as if +masked, all black from head to foot except for some flowers in her +hat, she looked up mechanically at the clock. She thought it must +have stopped. She could not believe that only two minutes had +passed since she had looked at it last. Of course not. It had +been stopped all the time. As a matter of fact, only three minutes +had elapsed from the moment she had drawn the first deep, easy +breath after the blow, to this moment when Mrs Verloc formed the +resolution to drown herself in the Thames. But Mrs Verloc could +not believe that. She seemed to have heard or read that clocks and +watches always stopped at the moment of murder for the undoing of +the murderer. She did not care. "To the bridge - and over I go." +. . . But her movements were slow. + +She dragged herself painfully across the shop, and had to hold on +to the handle of the door before she found the necessary fortitude +to open it. The street frightened her, since it led either to the +gallows or to the river. She floundered over the doorstep head +forward, arms thrown out, like a person falling over the parapet of +a bridge. This entrance into the open air had a foretaste of +drowning; a slimy dampness enveloped her, entered her nostrils, +clung to her hair. It was not actually raining, but each gas lamp +had a rusty little halo of mist. The van and horses were gone, and +in the black street the curtained window of the carters' eating- +house made a square patch of soiled blood-red light glowing faintly +very near the level of the pavement. Mrs Verloc, dragging herself +slowly towards it, thought that she was a very friendless woman. +It was true. It was so true that, in a sudden longing to see some +friendly face, she could think of no one else but of Mrs Neale, the +charwoman. She had no acquaintances of her own. Nobody would miss +her in a social way. It must not be imagined that the Widow Verloc +had forgotten her mother. This was not so. Winnie had been a good +daughter because she had been a devoted sister. Her mother had +always leaned on her for support. No consolation or advice could +be expected there. Now that Stevie was dead the bond seemed to be +broken. She could not face the old woman with the horrible tale. +Moreover, it was too far. The river was her present destination. +Mrs Verloc tried to forget her mother. + +Each step cost her an effort of will which seemed the last +possible. Mrs Verloc had dragged herself past the red glow of the +eating-house window. "To the bridge - and over I go," she repeated +to herself with fierce obstinacy. She put out her hand just in +time to steady herself against a lamp-post. "I'll never get there +before morning," she thought. The fear of death paralysed her +efforts to escape the gallows. It seemed to her she had been +staggering in that street for hours. "I'll never get there," she +thought. "They'll find me knocking about the streets. It's too +far." She held on, panting under her black veil. + +"The drop given was fourteen feet." + +She pushed the lamp-post away from her violently, and found herself +walking. But another wave of faintness overtook her like a great +sea, washing away her heart clean out of her breast. "I will never +get there," she muttered, suddenly arrested, swaying lightly where +she stood. "Never." + +And perceiving the utter impossibility of walking as far as the +nearest bridge, Mrs Verloc thought of a flight abroad. + +It came to her suddenly. Murderers escaped. They escaped abroad. +Spain or California. Mere names. The vast world created for the +glory of man was only a vast blank to Mrs Verloc. She did not know +which way to turn. Murderers had friends, relations, helpers - +they had knowledge. She had nothing. She was the most lonely of +murderers that ever struck a mortal blow. She was alone in London: +and the whole town of marvels and mud, with its maze of streets and +its mass of lights, was sunk in a hopeless night, rested at the +bottom of a black abyss from which no unaided woman could hope to +scramble out. + +She swayed forward, and made a fresh start blindly, with an awful +dread of falling down; but at the end of a few steps, unexpectedly, +she found a sensation of support, of security. Raising her head, +she saw a man's face peering closely at her veil. Comrade Ossipon +was not afraid of strange women, and no feeling of false delicacy +could prevent him from striking an acquaintance with a woman +apparently very much intoxicated. Comrade Ossipon was interested +in women. He held up this one between his two large palms, peering +at her in a business-like way till he heard her say faintly "Mr +Ossipon!" and then he very nearly let her drop to the ground. + +"Mrs Verloc!" he exclaimed. "You here!" + +It seemed impossible to him that she should have been drinking. +But one never knows. He did not go into that question, but +attentive not to discourage kind fate surrendering to him the widow +of Comrade Verloc, he tried to draw her to his breast. To his +astonishment she came quite easily, and even rested on his arm for +a moment before she attempted to disengage herself. Comrade +Ossipon would not be brusque with kind fate. He withdrew his arm +in a natural way. + +"You recognised me," she faltered out, standing before him, fairly +steady on her legs. + +"Of course I did," said Ossipon with perfect readiness. "I was +afraid you were going to fall. I've thought of you too often +lately not to recognise you anywhere, at any time. I've always +thought of you - ever since I first set eyes on you." + +Mrs Verloc seemed not to hear. "You were coming to the shop?" she +said nervously. + +"Yes; at once," answered Ossipon. "Directly I read the paper." + +In fact, Comrade Ossipon had been skulking for a good two hours in +the neighbourhood of Brett Street, unable to make up his mind for a +bold move. The robust anarchist was not exactly a bold conqueror. +He remembered that Mrs Verloc had never responded to his glances by +the slightest sign of encouragement. Besides, he thought the shop +might be watched by the police, and Comrade Ossipon did not wish +the police to form an exaggerated notion of his revolutionary +sympathies. Even now he did not know precisely what to do. In +comparison with his usual amatory speculations this was a big and +serious undertaking. He ignored how much there was in it and how +far he would have to go in order to get hold of what there was to +get - supposing there was a chance at all. These perplexities +checking his elation imparted to his tone a soberness well in +keeping with the circumstances. + +"May I ask you where you were going?" he inquired in a subdued +voice. + +"Don't ask me!" cried Mrs Verloc with a shuddering, repressed +violence. All her strong vitality recoiled from the idea of death. +"Never mind where I was going. . . ." + +Ossipon concluded that she was very much excited but perfectly +sober. She remained silent by his side for moment, then all at +once she did something which he did not expect. She slipped her +hand under his arm. He was startled by the act itself certainly, +and quite as much too by the palpably resolute character of this +movement. But this being a delicate affair, Comrade Ossipon +behaved with delicacy. He contented himself by pressing the hand +slightly against his robust ribs. At the same time he felt himself +being impelled forward, and yielded to the impulse. At the end of +Brett Street he became aware of being directed to the left. He +submitted. + +The fruiterer at the corner had put out the blazing glory of his +oranges and lemons, and Brett Place was all darkness, interspersed +with the misty halos of the few lamps defining its triangular +shape, with a cluster of three lights on one stand in the middle. +The dark forms of the man and woman glided slowly arm in arm along +the walls with a loverlike and homeless aspect in the miserable +night. + +"What would you say if I were to tell you that I was going to find +you?" Mrs Verloc asked, gripping his arm with force. + +"I would say that you couldn't find anyone more ready to help you +in your trouble," answered Ossipon, with a notion of making +tremendous headway. In fact, the progress of this delicate affair +was almost taking his breath away. + +"In my trouble!" Mrs Verloc repeated slowly. + +"Yes." + +"And do you know what my trouble is?" she whispered with strange +intensity. + +"Ten minutes after seeing the evening paper," explained Ossipon +with ardour, "I met a fellow whom you may have seen once or twice +at the shop perhaps, and I had a talk with him which left no doubt +whatever in my mind. Then I started for here, wondering whether +you - I've been fond of you beyond words ever since I set eyes on +your face," he cried, as if unable to command his feelings. + +Comrade Ossipon assumed correctly that no woman was capable of +wholly disbelieving such a statement. But he did not know that Mrs +Verloc accepted it with all the fierceness the instinct of self- +preservation puts into the grip of a drowning person. To the widow +of Mr Verloc the robust anarchist was like a radiant messenger of +life. + +They walked slowly, in step. "I thought so," Mrs Verloc murmured +faintly. + +"You've read it in my eyes," suggested Ossipon with great +assurance. + +"Yes," she breathed out into his inclined ear. + +"A love like mine could not be concealed from a woman like you," he +went on, trying to detach his mind from material considerations +such as the business value of the shop, and the amount of money Mr +Verloc might have left in the bank. He applied himself to the +sentimental side of the affair. In his heart of hearts he was a +little shocked at his success. Verloc had been a good fellow, and +certainly a very decent husband as far as one could see. However, +Comrade Ossipon was not going to quarrel with his luck for the sake +of a dead man. Resolutely he suppressed his sympathy for the ghost +of Comrade Verloc, and went on. + +"I could not conceal it. I was too full of you. I daresay you +could not help seeing it in my eyes. But I could not guess it. +You were always so distant. . . ." + +"What else did you expect?" burst out Mrs Verloc. "I was a +respectable woman - " + +She paused, then added, as if speaking to herself, in sinister +resentment: "Till he made me what I am." + +Ossipon let that pass, and took up his running. "He never did seem +to me to be quite worthy of you," he began, throwing loyalty to the +winds. "You were worthy of a better fate." + +Mrs Verloc interrupted bitterly: + +"Better fate! He cheated me out of seven years of life." + +"You seemed to live so happily with him." Ossipon tried to +exculpate the lukewarmness of his past conduct. "It's that what's +made me timid. You seemed to love him. I was surprised - and +jealous," he added. + +"Love him!" Mrs Verloc cried out in a whisper, full of scorn and +rage. "Love him! I was a good wife to him. I am a respectable +woman. You thought I loved him! You did! Look here, Tom - " + +The sound of this name thrilled Comrade Ossipon with pride. For +his name was Alexander, and he was called Tom by arrangement with +the most familiar of his intimates. It was a name of friendship - +of moments of expansion. He had no idea that she had ever heard it +used by anybody. It was apparent that she had not only caught it, +but had treasured it in her memory - perhaps in her heart. + +"Look here, Tom! I was a young girl. I was done up. I was tired. +I had two people depending on what I could do, and it did seem as +if I couldn't do any more. Two people - mother and the boy. He +was much more mine than mother's. I sat up nights and nights with +him on my lap, all alone upstairs, when I wasn't more than eight +years old myself. And then - He was mine, I tell you. . . . You +can't understand that. No man can understand it. What was I to +do? There was a young fellow - " + +The memory of the early romance with the young butcher survived, +tenacious, like the image of a glimpsed ideal in that heart +quailing before the fear of the gallows and full of revolt against +death. + +"That was the man I loved then," went on the widow of Mr Verloc. +"I suppose he could see it in my eyes too. Five and twenty +shillings a week, and his father threatened to kick him out of the +business if he made such a fool of himself as to marry a girl with +a crippled mother and a crazy idiot of a boy on her hands. But he +would hang about me, till one evening I found the courage to slam +the door in his face. I had to do it. I loved him dearly. Five +and twenty shillings a week! There was that other man - a good +lodger. What is a girl to do? Could I've gone on the streets? He +seemed kind. He wanted me, anyhow. What was I to do with mother +and that poor boy? Eh? I said yes. He seemed good-natured, he +was freehanded, he had money, he never said anything. Seven years +- seven years a good wife to him, the kind, the good, the generous, +the - And he loved me. Oh yes. He loved me till I sometimes +wished myself - Seven years. Seven years a wife to him. And do +you know what he was, that dear friend of yours? Do you know what +he was? He was a devil!" + +The superhuman vehemence of that whispered statement completely +stunned Comrade Ossipon. Winnie Verloc turning about held him by +both arms, facing him under the falling mist in the darkness and +solitude of Brett Place, in which all sounds of life seemed lost as +if in a triangular well of asphalt and bricks, of blind houses and +unfeeling stones. + +"No; I didn't know," he declared, with a sort of flabby stupidity, +whose comical aspect was lost upon a woman haunted by the fear of +the gallows, "but I do now. I - I understand," he floundered on, +his mind speculating as to what sort of atrocities Verloc could +have practised under the sleepy, placid appearances of his married +estate. It was positively awful. "I understand," he repeated, and +then by a sudden inspiration uttered an - "Unhappy woman!" of lofty +commiseration instead of the more familiar "Poor darling!" of his +usual practice. This was no usual case. He felt conscious of +something abnormal going on, while he never lost sight of the +greatness of the stake. "Unhappy, brave woman!" + +He was glad to have discovered that variation; but he could +discover nothing else. + +"Ah, but he is dead now," was the best he could do. And he put a +remarkable amount of animosity into his guarded exclamation. Mrs +Verloc caught at his arm with a sort of frenzy. + +"You guessed then he was dead," she murmured, as if beside herself. +"You! You guessed what I had to do. Had to!" + +There were suggestions of triumph, relief, gratitude in the +indefinable tone of these words. It engrossed the whole attention +of Ossipon to the detriment of mere literal sense. He wondered +what was up with her, why she had worked herself into this state of +wild excitement. He even began to wonder whether the hidden causes +of that Greenwich Park affair did not lie deep in the unhappy +circumstances of the Verlocs' married life. He went so far as to +suspect Mr Verloc of having selected that extraordinary manner of +committing suicide. By Jove! that would account for the utter +inanity and wrong-headedness of the thing. No anarchist +manifestation was required by the circumstances. Quite the +contrary; and Verloc was as well aware of that as any other +revolutionist of his standing. What an immense joke if Verloc had +simply made fools of the whole of Europe, of the revolutionary +world, of the police, of the press, and of the cocksure Professor +as well. Indeed, thought Ossipon, in astonishment, it seemed +almost certain that he did! Poor beggar! It struck him as very +possible that of that household of two it wasn't precisely the man +who was the devil. + +Alexander Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, was naturally inclined to +think indulgently of his men friends. He eyed Mrs Verloc hanging +on his arm. Of his women friends he thought in a specially +practical way. Why Mrs Verloc should exclaim at his knowledge of +Mr Verloc's death, which was no guess at all, did not disturb him +beyond measure. They often talked like lunatics. But he was +curious to know how she had been informed. The papers could tell +her nothing beyond the mere fact: the man blown to pieces in +Greenwich Park not having been identified. It was inconceivable on +any theory that Verloc should have given her an inkling of his +intention - whatever it was. This problem interested Comrade +Ossipon immensely. He stopped short. They had gone then along the +three sides of Brett Place, and were near the end of Brett Street +again. + +"How did you first come to hear of it?" he asked in a tone he tried +to render appropriate to the character of the revelations which had +been made to him by the woman at his side. + +She shook violently for a while before she answered in a listless +voice. + +"From the police. A chief inspector came, Chief Inspector Heat he +said he was. He showed me - " + +Mrs Verloc choked. "Oh, Tom, they had to gather him up with a +shovel." + +Her breast heaved with dry sobs. In a moment Ossipon found his +tongue. + +"The police! Do you mean to say the police came already? That +Chief Inspector Heat himself actually came to tell you." + +"Yes," she confirmed in the same listless tone. "He came just like +this. He came. I didn't know. He showed me a piece of overcoat, +and - just like that. Do you know this? he says." + +"Heat! Heat! And what did he do?" + +Mrs Verloc's head dropped. "Nothing. He did nothing. He went +away. The police were on that man's side," she murmured +tragically. "Another one came too." + +"Another - another inspector, do you mean?" asked Ossipon, in great +excitement, and very much in the tone of a scared child. + +"I don't know. He came. He looked like a foreigner. He may have +been one of them Embassy people." + +Comrade Ossipon nearly collapsed under this new shock. + +"Embassy! Are you aware what you are saying? What Embassy? What +on earth do you mean by Embassy?" + +"It's that place in Chesham Square. The people he cursed so. I +don't know. What does it matter!" + +"And that fellow, what did he do or say to you?" + +"I don't remember. . . . Nothing . . . . I don't care. Don't ask +me," she pleaded in a weary voice. + +"All right. I won't," assented Ossipon tenderly. And he meant it +too, not because he was touched by the pathos of the pleading +voice, but because he felt himself losing his footing in the depths +of this tenebrous affair. Police! Embassy! Phew! For fear of +adventuring his intelligence into ways where its natural lights +might fail to guide it safely he dismissed resolutely all +suppositions, surmises, and theories out of his mind. He had the +woman there, absolutely flinging herself at him, and that was the +principal consideration. But after what he had heard nothing could +astonish him any more. And when Mrs Verloc, as if startled +suddenly out of a dream of safety, began to urge upon him wildly +the necessity of an immediate flight on the Continent, he did not +exclaim in the least. He simply said with unaffected regret that +there was no train till the morning, and stood looking thoughtfully +at her face, veiled in black net, in the light of a gas lamp veiled +in a gauze of mist. + +Near him, her black form merged in the night, like a figure half +chiselled out of a block of black stone. It was impossible to say +what she knew, how deep she was involved with policemen and +Embassies. But if she wanted to get away, it was not for him to +object. He was anxious to be off himself. He felt that the +business, the shop so strangely familiar to chief inspectors and +members of foreign Embassies, was not the place for him. That must +be dropped. But there was the rest. These savings. The money! + +"You must hide me till the morning somewhere," she said in a +dismayed voice. + +"Fact is, my dear, I can't take you where I live. I share the room +with a friend." + +He was somewhat dismayed himself. In the morning the blessed `tecs +will be out in all the stations, no doubt. And if they once got +hold of her, for one reason or another she would be lost to him +indeed. + +"But you must. Don't you care for me at all - at all? What are +you thinking of?" + +She said this violently, but she let her clasped hands fall in +discouragement. There was a silence, while the mist fell, and +darkness reigned undisturbed over Brett Place. Not a soul, not +even the vagabond, lawless, and amorous soul of a cat, came near +the man and the woman facing each other. + +"It would be possible perhaps to find a safe lodging somewhere," +Ossipon spoke at last. "But the truth is, my dear, I have not +enough money to go and try with - only a few pence. We +revolutionists are not rich." + +He had fifteen shillings in his pocket. He added: + +"And there's the journey before us, too - first thing in the +morning at that." + +She did not move, made no sound, and Comrade Ossipon's heart sank a +little. Apparently she had no suggestion to offer. Suddenly she +clutched at her breast, as if she had felt a sharp pain there. + +"But I have," she gasped. "I have the money. I have enough money. +Tom! Let us go from here." + +"How much have you got?" he inquired, without stirring to her tug; +for he was a cautious man. + +"I have the money, I tell you. All the money." + +"What do you mean by it? All the money there was in the bank, or +what?" he asked incredulously, but ready not to be surprised at +anything in the way of luck. + +"Yes, yes!" she said nervously. "All there was. I've it all." + +"How on earth did you manage to get hold of it already?" he +marvelled. + +"He gave it to me," she murmured, suddenly subdued and trembling. +Comrade Ossipon put down his rising surprise with a firm hand. + +"Why, then - we are saved," he uttered slowly. + +She leaned forward, and sank against his breast. He welcomed her +there. She had all the money. Her hat was in the way of very +marked effusion; her veil too. He was adequate in his +manifestations, but no more. She received them without resistance +and without abandonment, passively, as if only half-sensible. She +freed herself from his lax embraces without difficulty. + +"You will save me, Tom," she broke out, recoiling, but still +keeping her hold on him by the two lapels of his damp coat. "Save +me. Hide me. Don't let them have me. You must kill me first. I +couldn't do it myself - I couldn't, I couldn't - not even for what +I am afraid of." + +She was confoundedly bizarre, he thought. She was beginning to +inspire him with an indefinite uneasiness. He said surlily, for he +was busy with important thoughts: + +"What the devil ARE you afraid of?" + +"Haven't you guessed what I was driven to do!" cried the woman. +Distracted by the vividness of her dreadful apprehensions, her head +ringing with forceful words, that kept the horror of her position +before her mind, she had imagined her incoherence to be clearness +itself. She had no conscience of how little she had audibly said +in the disjointed phrases completed only in her thought. She had +felt the relief of a full confession, and she gave a special +meaning to every sentence spoken by Comrade Ossipon, whose +knowledge did not in the least resemble her own. "Haven't you +guessed what I was driven to do!" Her voice fell. "You needn't be +long in guessing then what I am afraid of," she continued, in a +bitter and sombre murmur. "I won't have it. I won't. I won't. I +won't. You must promise to kill me first!" She shook the lapels +of his coat. "It must never be!" + +He assured her curtly that no promises on his part were necessary, +but he took good care not to contradict her in set terms, because +he had had much to do with excited women, and he was inclined in +general to let his experience guide his conduct in preference to +applying his sagacity to each special case. His sagacity in this +case was busy in other directions. Women's words fell into water, +but the shortcomings of time-tables remained. The insular nature +of Great Britain obtruded itself upon his notice in an odious form. +"Might just as well be put under lock and key every night," he +thought irritably, as nonplussed as though he had a wall to scale +with the woman on his back. Suddenly he slapped his forehead. He +had by dint of cudgelling his brains just thought of the +Southampton - St Malo service. The boat left about midnight. +There was a train at 10.30. He became cheery and ready to act. + +"From Waterloo. Plenty of time. We are all right after all. . . . +What's the matter now? This isn't the way," he protested. + +Mrs Verloc, having hooked her arm into his, was trying to drag him +into Brett Street again. + +"I've forgotten to shut the shop door as I went out," she +whispered, terribly agitated. + +The shop and all that was in it had ceased to interest Comrade +Ossipon. He knew how to limit his desires. He was on the point of +saying "What of that? Let it be," but he refrained. He disliked +argument about trifles. He even mended his pace considerably on +the thought that she might have left the money in the drawer. But +his willingness lagged behind her feverish impatience. + +The shop seemed to be quite dark at first. The door stood ajar. +Mrs Verloc, leaning against the front, gasped out: + +"Nobody has been in. Look! The light - the light in the parlour." + +Ossipon, stretching his head forward, saw a faint gleam in the +darkness of the shop. + +"There is," he said. + +"I forgot it." Mrs Verloc's voice came from behind her veil +faintly. And as he stood waiting for her to enter first, she said +louder: "Go in and put it out - or I'll go mad." + +He made no immediate objection to this proposal, so strangely +motived. "Where's all that money?" he asked. + +"On me! Go, Tom. Quick! Put it out. . . . Go in!" she cried, +seizing him by both shoulders from behind. + +Not prepared for a display of physical force, Comrade Ossipon +stumbled far into the shop before her push. He was astonished at +the strength of the woman and scandalised by her proceedings. But +he did not retrace his steps in order to remonstrate with her +severely in the street. He was beginning to be disagreeably +impressed by her fantastic behaviour. Moreover, this or never was +the time to humour the woman. Comrade Ossipon avoided easily the +end of the counter, and approached calmly the glazed door of the +parlour. The curtain over the panes being drawn back a little he, +by a very natural impulse, looked in, just as he made ready to turn +the handle. He looked in without a thought, without intention, +without curiosity of any sort. He looked in because he could not +help looking in. He looked in, and discovered Mr Verloc reposing +quietly on the sofa. + +A yell coming from the innermost depths of his chest died out +unheard and transformed into a sort of greasy, sickly taste on his +lips. At the same time the mental personality of Comrade Ossipon +executed a frantic leap backward. But his body, left thus without +intellectual guidance, held on to the door handle with the +unthinking force of an instinct. The robust anarchist did not even +totter. And he stared, his face close to the glass, his eyes +protruding out of his head. He would have given anything to get +away, but his returning reason informed him that it would not do to +let go the door handle. What was it - madness, a nightmare, or a +trap into which he had been decoyed with fiendish artfulness? Why +- what for? He did not know. Without any sense of guilt in his +breast, in the full peace of his conscience as far as these people +were concerned, the idea that he would be murdered for mysterious +reasons by the couple Verloc passed not so much across his mind as +across the pit of his stomach, and went out, leaving behind a trail +of sickly faintness - an indisposition. Comrade Ossipon did not +feel very well in a very special way for a moment - a long moment. +And he stared. Mr Verloc lay very still meanwhile, simulating +sleep for reasons of his own, while that savage woman of his was +guarding the door - invisible and silent in the dark and deserted +street. Was all this a some sort of terrifying arrangement +invented by the police for his especial benefit? His modesty +shrank from that explanation. + +But the true sense of the scene he was beholding came to Ossipon +through the contemplation of the hat. It seemed an extraordinary +thing, an ominous object, a sign. Black, and rim upward, it lay on +the floor before the couch as if prepared to receive the +contributions of pence from people who would come presently to +behold Mr Verloc in the fullness of his domestic ease reposing on a +sofa. From the hat the eyes of the robust anarchist wandered to +the displaced table, gazed at the broken dish for a time, received +a kind of optical shock from observing a white gleam under the +imperfectly closed eyelids of the man on the couch. Mr Verloc did +not seem so much asleep now as lying down with a bent head and +looking insistently at his left breast. And when Comrade Ossipon +had made out the handle of the knife he turned away from the glazed +door, and retched violently. + +The crash of the street door flung to made his very soul leap in a +panic. This house with its harmless tenant could still be made a +trap of - a trap of a terrible kind. Comrade Ossipon had no +settled conception now of what was happening to him. Catching his +thigh against the end of the counter, he spun round, staggered with +a cry of pain, felt in the distracting clatter of the bell his arms +pinned to his side by a convulsive hug, while the cold lips of a +woman moved creepily on his very ear to form the words: + +"Policeman! He has seen me!" + +He ceased to struggle; she never let him go. Her hands had locked +themselves with an inseparable twist of fingers on his robust back. +While the footsteps approached, they breathed quickly, breast to +breast, with hard, laboured breaths, as if theirs had been the +attitude of a deadly struggle, while, in fact, it was the attitude +of deadly fear. And the time was long. + +The constable on the beat had in truth seen something of Mrs +Verloc; only coming from the lighted thoroughfare at the other end +of Brett Street, she had been no more to him than a flutter in the +darkness. And he was not even quite sure that there had been a +flutter. He had no reason to hurry up. On coming abreast of the +shop he observed that it had been closed early. There was nothing +very unusual in that. The men on duty had special instructions +about that shop: what went on about there was not to be meddled +with unless absolutely disorderly, but any observations made were +to be reported. There were no observations to make; but from a +sense of duty and for the peace of his conscience, owing also to +that doubtful flutter of the darkness, the constable crossed the +road, and tried the door. The spring latch, whose key was reposing +for ever off duty in the late Mr Verloc's waistcoat pocket, held as +well as usual. While the conscientious officer was shaking the +handle, Ossipon felt the cold lips of the woman stirring again +creepily against his very ear: + +"If he comes in kill me - kill me, Tom." + +The constable moved away, flashing as he passed the light of his +dark lantern, merely for form's sake, at the shop window. For a +moment longer the man and the woman inside stood motionless, +panting, breast to breast; then her fingers came unlocked, her arms +fell by her side slowly. Ossipon leaned against the counter. The +robust anarchist wanted support badly. This was awful. He was +almost too disgusted for speech. Yet he managed to utter a +plaintive thought, showing at least that he realised his position. + +"Only a couple of minutes later and you'd have made me blunder +against the fellow poking about here with his damned dark lantern." + +The widow of Mr Verloc, motionless in the middle of the shop, said +insistently: + +"Go in and put that light out, Tom. It will drive me crazy." + +She saw vaguely his vehement gesture of refusal. Nothing in the +world would have induced Ossipon to go into the parlour. He was +not superstitious, but there was too much blood on the floor; a +beastly pool of it all round the hat. He judged he had been +already far too near that corpse for his peace of mind - for the +safety of his neck, perhaps! + +"At the meter then! There. Look. In that corner." + +The robust form of Comrade Ossipon, striding brusque and shadowy +across the shop, squatted in a corner obediently; but this +obedience was without grace. He fumbled nervously - and suddenly +in the sound of a muttered curse the light behind the glazed door +flicked out to a gasping, hysterical sigh of a woman. Night, the +inevitable reward of men's faithful labours on this earth, night +had fallen on Mr Verloc, the tried revolutionist - "one of the old +lot" - the humble guardian of society; the invaluable Secret Agent +[delta] of Baron Stott-Wartenheim's despatches; a servant of law +and order, faithful, trusted, accurate, admirable, with perhaps one +single amiable weakness: the idealistic belief in being loved for +himself. + +Ossipon groped his way back through the stuffy atmosphere, as black +as ink now, to the counter. The voice of Mrs Verloc, standing in +the middle of the shop, vibrated after him in that blackness with a +desperate protest. + +"I will not be hanged, Tom. I will not - " + +She broke off. Ossipon from the counter issued a warning: "Don't +shout like this," then seemed to reflect profoundly. "You did this +thing quite by yourself?" he inquired in a hollow voice, but with +an appearance of masterful calmness which filled Mrs Verloc's heart +with grateful confidence in his protecting strength. + +"Yes," she whispered, invisible. + +"I wouldn't have believed it possible," he muttered. "Nobody +would." She heard him move about and the snapping of a lock in the +parlour door. Comrade Ossipon had turned the key on Mr Verloc's +repose; and this he did not from reverence for its eternal nature +or any other obscurely sentimental consideration, but for the +precise reason that he was not at all sure that there was not +someone else hiding somewhere in the house. He did not believe the +woman, or rather he was incapable by now of judging what could be +true, possible, or even probable in this astounding universe. He +was terrified out of all capacity for belief or disbelief in regard +of this extraordinary affair, which began with police inspectors +and Embassies and would end goodness knows where - on the scaffold +for someone. He was terrified at the thought that he could not +prove the use he made of his time ever since seven o'clock, for he +had been skulking about Brett Street. He was terrified at this +savage woman who had brought him in there, and would probably +saddle him with complicity, at least if he were not careful. He +was terrified at the rapidity with which he had been involved in +such dangers - decoyed into it. It was some twenty minutes since +he had met her - not more. + +The voice of Mrs Verloc rose subdued, pleading piteously: "Don't +let them hang me, Tom! Take me out of the country. I'll work for +you. I'll slave for you. I'll love you. I've no one in the +world. . . . Who would look at me if you don't!" She ceased for a +moment; then in the depths of the loneliness made round her by an +insignificant thread of blood trickling off the handle of a knife, +she found a dreadful inspiration to her - who had been the +respectable girl of the Belgravian mansion, the loyal, respectable +wife of Mr Verloc. "I won't ask you to marry me," she breathed out +in shame-faced accents. + +She moved a step forward in the darkness. He was terrified at her. +He would not have been surprised if she had suddenly produced +another knife destined for his breast. He certainly would have +made no resistance. He had really not enough fortitude in him just +then to tell her to keep back. But he inquired in a cavernous, +strange tone: "Was he asleep?" + +"No," she cried, and went on rapidly. "He wasn't. Not he. He had +been telling me that nothing could touch him. After taking the boy +away from under my very eyes to kill him - the loving, innocent, +harmless lad. My own, I tell you. He was lying on the couch quite +easy - after killing the boy - my boy. I would have gone on the +streets to get out of his sight. And he says to me like this: +`Come here,' after telling me I had helped to kill the boy. You +hear, Tom? He says like this: `Come here,' after taking my very +heart out of me along with the boy to smash in the dirt." + +She ceased, then dreamily repeated twice: "Blood and dirt. Blood +and dirt." A great light broke upon Comrade Ossipon. It was that +half-witted lad then who had perished in the park. And the fooling +of everybody all round appeared more complete than ever - colossal. +He exclaimed scientifically, in the extremity of his astonishment: +"The degenerate - by heavens!" + +"Come here." The voice of Mrs Verloc rose again. "What did he +think I was made of? Tell me, Tom. Come here! Me! Like this! I +had been looking at the knife, and I thought I would come then if +he wanted me so much. Oh yes! I came - for the last time. . . . +With the knife." + +He was excessively terrified at her - the sister of the degenerate +- a degenerate herself of a murdering type . . . or else of the +lying type. Comrade Ossipon might have been said to be terrified +scientifically in addition to all other kinds of fear. It was an +immeasurable and composite funk, which from its very excess gave +him in the dark a false appearance of calm and thoughtful +deliberation. For he moved and spoke with difficulty, being as if +half frozen in his will and mind - and no one could see his ghastly +face. He felt half dead. + +He leaped a foot high. Unexpectedly Mrs Verloc had desecrated the +unbroken reserved decency of her home by a shrill and terrible +shriek. + +"Help, Tom! Save me. I won't be hanged!" + +He rushed forward, groping for her mouth with a silencing hand, and +the shriek died out. But in his rush he had knocked her over. He +felt her now clinging round his legs, and his terror reached its +culminating point, became a sort of intoxication, entertained +delusions, acquired the characteristics of delirium tremens. He +positively saw snakes now. He saw the woman twined round him like +a snake, not to be shaken off. She was not deadly. She was death +itself - the companion of life. + +Mrs Verloc, as if relieved by the outburst, was very far from +behaving noisily now. She was pitiful. + +"Tom, you can't throw me off now," she murmured from the floor. +"Not unless you crush my head under your heel. I won't leave you." + +"Get up," said Ossipon. + +His face was so pale as to be quite visible in the profound black +darkness of the shop; while Mrs Verloc, veiled, had no face, almost +no discernible form. The trembling of something small and white, a +flower in her hat, marked her place, her movements. + +It rose in the blackness. She had got up from the floor, and +Ossipon regretted not having, run out at once into the street. But +he perceived easily that it would not do. It would not do. She +would run after him. She would pursue him shrieking till she sent +every policeman within hearing in chase. And then goodness only +knew what she would say of him. He was so frightened that for a +moment the insane notion of strangling her in the dark passed +through his mind. And he became more frightened than ever! She +had him! He saw himself living in abject terror in some obscure +hamlet in Spain or Italy; till some fine morning they found him +dead too, with a knife in his breast - like Mr Verloc. He sighed +deeply. He dared not move. And Mrs Verloc waited in silence the +good pleasure of her saviour, deriving comfort from his reflective +silence. + +Suddenly he spoke up in an almost natural voice. His reflections +had come to an end. + +"Let's get out, or we will lose the train." + +"Where are we going to, Tom?" she asked timidly. Mrs Verloc was no +longer a free woman. + +"Let's get to Paris first, the best way we can. . . . Go out first, +and see if the way's clear." + +She obeyed. Her voice came subdued through the cautiously opened +door. + +"It's all right." + +Ossipon came out. Notwithstanding his endeavours to be gentle, the +cracked bell clattered behind the closed door in the empty shop, as +if trying in vain to warn the reposing Mr Verloc of the final +departure of his wife - accompanied by his friend. + +In the hansom, they presently picked up, the robust anarchist +became explanatory. He was still awfully pale, with eyes that +seemed to have sunk a whole half-inch into his tense face. But he +seemed to have thought of everything with extraordinary method. + +"When we arrive," he discoursed in a queer, monotonous tone, "you +must go into the station ahead of me, as if we did not know each +other. I will take the tickets, and slip in yours into your hand +as I pass you. Then you will go into the first-class ladies' +waiting-room, and sit there till ten minutes before the train +starts. Then you come out. I will be outside. You go in first on +the platform, as if you did not know me. There may be eyes +watching there that know what's what. Alone you are only a woman +going off by train. I am known. With me, you may be guessed at as +Mrs Verloc running away. Do you understand, my dear?" he added, +with an effort. + +"Yes," said Mrs Verloc, sitting there against him in the hansom all +rigid with the dread of the gallows and the fear of death. "Yes, +Tom." And she added to herself, like an awful refrain: "The drop +given was fourteen feet." + +Ossipon, not looking at her, and with a face like a fresh plaster +cast of himself after a wasting illness, said: "By-the-by, I ought +to have the money for the tickets now." + +Mrs Verloc, undoing some hooks of her bodice, while she went on +staring ahead beyond the splashboard, handed over to him the new +pigskin pocket-book. He received it without a word, and seemed to +plunge it deep somewhere into his very breast. Then he slapped his +coat on the outside. + +All this was done without the exchange of a single glance; they +were like two people looking out for the first sight of a desired +goal. It was not till the hansom swung round a corner and towards +the bridge that Ossipon opened his lips again. + +"Do you know how much money there is in that thing?" he asked, as +if addressing slowly some hobgoblin sitting between the ears of the +horse. + +"No," said Mrs Verloc. "He gave it to me. I didn't count. I +thought nothing of it at the time. Afterwards - " + +She moved her right hand a little. It was so expressive that +little movement of that right hand which had struck the deadly blow +into a man's heart less than an hour before that Ossipon could not +repress a shudder. He exaggerated it then purposely, and muttered: + +"I am cold. I got chilled through." + +Mrs Verloc looked straight ahead at the perspective of her escape. +Now and then, like a sable streamer blown across a road, the words +"The drop given was fourteen feet" got in the way of her tense +stare. Through her black veil the whites of her big eyes gleamed +lustrously like the eyes of a masked woman. + +Ossipon's rigidity had something business-like, a queer official +expression. He was heard again all of a sudden, as though he had +released a catch in order to speak. + +"Look here! Do you know whether your - whether he kept his account +at the bank in his own name or in some other name." + +Mrs Verloc turned upon him her masked face and the big white gleam +of her eyes. + +"Other name?" she said thoughtfully. + +"Be exact in what you say," Ossipon lectured in the swift motion of +the hansom. "It's extremely important. I will explain to you. +The bank has the numbers of these notes. If they were paid to him +in his own name, then when his - his death becomes known, the notes +may serve to track us since we have no other money. You have no +other money on you?" + +She shook her head negatively. + +"None whatever?" he insisted. + +"A few coppers." + +"It would be dangerous in that case. The money would have then to +be dealt specially with. Very specially. We'd have perhaps to +lose more than half the amount in order to get these notes changed +in a certain safe place I know of in Paris. In the other case I +mean if he had his account and got paid out under some other name - +say Smith, for instance - the money is perfectly safe to use. You +understand? The bank has no means of knowing that Mr Verloc and, +say, Smith are one and the same person. Do you see how important +it is that you should make no mistake in answering me? Can you +answer that query at all? Perhaps not. Eh?" + +She said composedly: + +"I remember now! He didn't bank in his own name. He told me once +that it was on deposit in the name of Prozor." + +"You are sure?" + +"Certain." + +"You don't think the bank had any knowledge of his real name? Or +anybody in the bank or - " + +She shrugged her shoulders. + +"How can I know? Is it likely, Tom? + +"No. I suppose it's not likely. It would have been more +comfortable to know. . . . Here we are. Get out first, and walk +straight in. Move smartly." + +He remained behind, and paid the cabman out of his own loose +silver. The programme traced by his minute foresight was carried +out. When Mrs Verloc, with her ticket for St Malo in her hand, +entered the ladies' waiting-room, Comrade Ossipon walked into the +bar, and in seven minutes absorbed three goes of hot brandy and +water. + +"Trying to drive out a cold," he explained to the barmaid, with a +friendly nod and a grimacing smile. Then he came out, bringing out +from that festive interlude the face of a man who had drunk at the +very Fountain of Sorrow. He raised his eyes to the clock. It was +time. He waited. + +Punctual, Mrs Verloc came out, with her veil down, and all black - +black as commonplace death itself, crowned with a few cheap and +pale flowers. She passed close to a little group of men who were +laughing, but whose laughter could have been struck dead by a +single word. Her walk was indolent, but her back was straight, and +Comrade Ossipon looked after it in terror before making a start +himself. + +The train was drawn up, with hardly anybody about its row of open +doors. Owing to the time of the year and to the abominable weather +there were hardly any passengers. Mrs Verloc walked slowly along +the line of empty compartments till Ossipon touched her elbow from +behind. + +"In here." + +She got in, and he remained on the platform looking about. She +bent forward, and in a whisper: + +"What is it, Tom? Is there any danger? Wait a moment. There's +the guard." + +She saw him accost the man in uniform. They talked for a while. +She heard the guard say "Very well, sir," and saw him touch his +cap. Then Ossipon came back, saying: "I told him not to let +anybody get into our compartment." + +She was leaning forward on her seat. "You think of everything. . . +. You'll get me off, Tom?" she asked in a gust of anguish, lifting +her veil brusquely to look at her saviour. + +She had uncovered a face like adamant. And out of this face the +eyes looked on, big, dry, enlarged, lightless, burnt out like two +black holes in the white, shining globes. + +"There is no danger," he said, gazing into them with an earnestness +almost rapt, which to Mrs Verloc, flying from the gallows, seemed +to be full of force and tenderness. This devotion deeply moved her +- and the adamantine face lost the stern rigidity of its terror. +Comrade Ossipon gazed at it as no lover ever gazed at his +mistress's face. Alexander Ossipon, anarchist, nicknamed the +Doctor, author of a medical (and improper) pamphlet, late lecturer +on the social aspects of hygiene to working men's clubs, was free +from the trammels of conventional morality - but he submitted to +the rule of science. He was scientific, and he gazed +scientifically at that woman, the sister of a degenerate, a +degenerate herself - of a murdering type. He gazed at her, and +invoked Lombroso, as an Italian peasant recommends himself to his +favourite saint. He gazed scientifically. He gazed at her cheeks, +at her nose, at her eyes, at her ears. . . . Bad! . . . Fatal! Mrs +Verloc's pale lips parting, slightly relaxed under his passionately +attentive gaze, he gazed also at her teeth. . . . Not a doubt +remained . . . a murdering type. . . . If Comrade Ossipon did not +recommend his terrified soul to Lombroso, it was only because on +scientific grounds he could not believe that he carried about him +such a thing as a soul. But he had in him the scientific spirit, +which moved him to testify on the platform of a railway station in +nervous jerky phrases. + +"He was an extraordinary lad, that brother of yours. Most +interesting to study. A perfect type in a way. Perfect!" + +He spoke scientifically in his secret fear. And Mrs Verloc, +hearing these words of commendation vouchsafed to her beloved dead, +swayed forward with a flicker of light in her sombre eyes, like a +ray of sunshine heralding a tempest of rain. + +"He was that indeed," she whispered softly, with quivering lips. +"You took a lot of notice of him, Tom. I loved you for it." + +"It's almost incredible the resemblance there was between you two," +pursued Ossipon, giving a voice to his abiding dread, and trying to +conceal his nervous, sickening impatience for the train to start. +"Yes; he resembled you." + +These words were not especially touching or sympathetic. But the +fact of that resemblance insisted upon was enough in itself to act +upon her emotions powerfully. With a little faint cry, and +throwing her arms out, Mrs Verloc burst into tears at last. + +Ossipon entered the carriage, hastily closed the door and looked +out to see the time by the station clock. Eight minutes more. For +the first three of these Mrs Verloc wept violently and helplessly +without pause or interruption. Then she recovered somewhat, and +sobbed gently in an abundant fall of tears. She tried to talk to +her saviour, to the man who was the messenger of life. + +"Oh, Tom! How could I fear to die after he was taken away from me +so cruelly! How could I! How could I be such a coward!" + +She lamented aloud her love of life, that life without grace or +charm, and almost without decency, but of an exalted faithfulness +of purpose, even unto murder. And, as often happens in the lament +of poor humanity, rich in suffering but indigent in words, the +truth - the very cry of truth - was found in a worn and artificial +shape picked up somewhere among the phrases of sham sentiment. + +"How could I be so afraid of death! Tom, I tried. But I am +afraid. I tried to do away with myself. And I couldn't. Am I +hard? I suppose the cup of horrors was not full enough for such as +me. Then when you came. . . . " + +She paused. Then in a gust of confidence and gratitude, "I will +live all my days for you, Tom!" she sobbed out. + +"Go over into the other corner of the carriage, away from the +platform," said Ossipon solicitously. She let her saviour settle +her comfortably, and he watched the coming on of another crisis of +weeping, still more violent than the first. He watched the +symptoms with a sort of medical air, as if counting seconds. He +heard the guard's whistle at last. An involuntary contraction of +the upper lip bared his teeth with all the aspect of savage +resolution as he felt the train beginning to move. Mrs Verloc +heard and felt nothing, and Ossipon, her saviour, stood still. He +felt the train roll quicker, rumbling heavily to the sound of the +woman's loud sobs, and then crossing the carriage in two long +strides he opened the door deliberately, and leaped out. + +He had leaped out at the very end of the platform; and such was his +determination in sticking to his desperate plan that he managed by +a sort of miracle, performed almost in the air, to slam to the door +of the carriage. Only then did he find himself rolling head over +heels like a shot rabbit. He was bruised, shaken, pale as death, +and out of breath when he got up. But he was calm, and perfectly +able to meet the excited crowd of railway men who had gathered +round him in a moment. He explained, in gentle and convincing +tones, that his wife had started at a moment's notice for Brittany +to her dying mother; that, of course, she was greatly up-set, and +he considerably concerned at her state; that he was trying to cheer +her up, and had absolutely failed to notice at first that the train +was moving out. To the general exclamation, "Why didn't you go on +to Southampton, then, sir?" he objected the inexperience of a young +sister-in-law left alone in the house with three small children, +and her alarm at his absence, the telegraph offices being closed. +He had acted on impulse. "But I don't think I'll ever try that +again," he concluded; smiled all round; distributed some small +change, and marched without a limp out of the station. + +Outside, Comrade Ossipon, flush of safe banknotes as never before +in his life, refused the offer of a cab. + +"I can walk," he said, with a little friendly laugh to the civil +driver. + +He could walk. He walked. He crossed the bridge. Later on the +towers of the Abbey saw in their massive immobility the yellow bush +of his hair passing under the lamps. The lights of Victoria saw +him too, and Sloane Square, and the railings of the park. And +Comrade Ossipon once more found himself on a bridge. The river, a +sinister marvel of still shadows and flowing gleams mingling below +in a black silence, arrested his attention. He stood looking over +the parapet for a long time. The clock tower boomed a brazen blast +above his drooping head. He looked up at the dial. . . . Half-past +twelve of a wild night in the Channel. + +And again Comrade Ossipon walked. His robust form was seen that +night in distant parts of the enormous town slumbering monstrously +on a carpet of mud under a veil of raw mist. It was seen crossing +the streets without life and sound, or diminishing in the +interminable straight perspectives of shadowy houses bordering +empty roadways lined by strings of gas lamps. He walked through +Squares, Places, Ovals, Commons, through monotonous streets with +unknown names where the dust of humanity settles inert and hopeless +out of the stream of life. He walked. And suddenly turning into a +strip of a front garden with a mangy grass plot, he let himself +into a small grimy house with a latch-key he took out of his +pocket. + +He threw himself down on his bed all dressed, and lay still for a +whole quarter of an hour. Then he sat up suddenly, drawing up his +knees, and clasping his legs. The first dawn found him open-eyed, +in that same posture. This man who could walk so long, so far, so +aimlessly, without showing a sign of fatigue, could also remain +sitting still for hours without stirring a limb or an eyelid. But +when the late sun sent its rays into the room he unclasped his +hands, and fell back on the pillow. His eyes stared at the +ceiling. And suddenly they closed. Comrade Ossipon slept in the +sunlight. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + + +The enormous iron padlock on the doors of the wall cupboard was the +only object in the room on which the eye could rest without +becoming afflicted by the miserable unloveliness of forms and the +poverty of material. Unsaleable in the ordinary course of business +on account of its noble proportions, it had been ceded to the +Professor for a few pence by a marine dealer in the east of London. +The room was large, clean, respectable, and poor with that poverty +suggesting the starvation of every human need except mere bread. +There was nothing on the walls but the paper, an expanse of +arsenical green, soiled with indelible smudges here and there, and +with stains resembling faded maps of uninhabited continents. + +At a deal table near a window sat Comrade Ossipon, holding his head +between his fists. The Professor, dressed in his only suit of +shoddy tweeds, but flapping to and fro on the bare boards a pair of +incredibly dilapidated slippers, had thrust his hands deep into the +overstrained pockets of his jacket. He was relating to his robust +guest a visit he had lately been paying to the Apostle Michaelis. +The Perfect Anarchist had even been unbending a little. + +"The fellow didn't know anything of Verloc's death. Of course! He +never looks at the newspapers. They make him too sad, he says. +But never mind. I walked into his cottage. Not a soul anywhere. +I had to shout half-a-dozen times before he answered me. I thought +he was fast asleep yet, in bed. But not at all. He had been +writing his book for four hours already. He sat in that tiny cage +in a litter of manuscript. There was a half-eaten raw carrot on +the table near him. His breakfast. He lives on a diet of raw +carrots and a little milk now." + +"How does he look on it?" asked Comrade Ossipon listlessly. + +"Angelic. . . . I picked up a handful of his pages from the floor. +The poverty of reasoning is astonishing. He has no logic. He +can't think consecutively. But that's nothing. He has divided his +biography into three parts, entitled - `Faith, Hope, Charity.' He +is elaborating now the idea of a world planned out like an immense +and nice hospital, with gardens and flowers, in which the strong +are to devote themselves to the nursing of the weak." + +The Professor paused. + +"Conceive you this folly, Ossipon? The weak! The source of all +evil on this earth!" he continued with his grim assurance. "I told +him that I dreamt of a world like shambles, where the weak would be +taken in hand for utter extermination." + +"Do you understand, Ossipon? The source of all evil! They are our +sinister masters - the weak, the flabby, the silly, the cowardly, +the faint of heart, and the slavish of mind. They have power. +They are the multitude. Theirs is the kingdom of the earth. +Exterminate, exterminate! That is the only way of progress. It +is! Follow me, Ossipon. First the great multitude of the weak +must go, then the only relatively strong. You see? First the +blind, then the deaf and the dumb, then the halt and the lame - and +so on. Every taint, every vice, every prejudice, every convention +must meet its doom." + +"And what remains?" asked Ossipon in a stifled voice. + +"I remain - if I am strong enough," asserted the sallow little +Professor, whose large ears, thin like membranes, and standing far +out from the sides of his frail skull, took on suddenly a deep red +tint. + +"Haven't I suffered enough from this oppression of the weak?" he +continued forcibly. Then tapping the breast-pocket of his jacket: +"And yet I AM the force," he went on. "But the time! The time! +Give me time! Ah! that multitude, too stupid to feel either pity +or fear. Sometimes I think they have everything on their side. +Everything - even death - my own weapon." + +"Come and drink some beer with me at the Silenus," said the robust +Ossipon after an interval of silence pervaded by the rapid flap, +flap of the slippers on the feet of the Perfect Anarchist. This +last accepted. He was jovial that day in his own peculiar way. He +slapped Ossipon's shoulder. + +"Beer! So be it! Let us drink and he merry, for we are strong, +and to-morrow we die." + +He busied himself with putting on his boots, and talked meanwhile +in his curt, resolute tones. + +"What's the matter with you, Ossipon? You look glum and seek even +my company. I hear that you are seen constantly in places where +men utter foolish things over glasses of liquor. Why? Have you +abandoned your collection of women? They are the weak who feed the +strong - eh?" + +He stamped one foot, and picked up his other laced boot, heavy, +thick-soled, unblacked, mended many times. He smiled to himself +grimly. + +"Tell me, Ossipon, terrible man, has ever one of your victims +killed herself for you - or are your triumphs so far incomplete - +for blood alone puts a seal on greatness? Blood. Death. Look at +history." + +"You be damned," said Ossipon, without turning his head. + +"Why? Let that be the hope of the weak, whose theology has +invented hell for the strong. Ossipon, my feeling for you is +amicable contempt. You couldn't kill a fly." + +But rolling to the feast on the top of the omnibus the Professor +lost his high spirits. The contemplation of the multitudes +thronging the pavements extinguished his assurance under a load of +doubt and uneasiness which he could only shake off after a period +of seclusion in the room with the large cupboard closed by an +enormous padlock. + +"And so," said over his shoulder Comrade Ossipon, who sat on the +seat behind. "And so Michaelis dreams of a world like a beautiful +and cheery hospital." + +"Just so. An immense charity for the healing of the weak," +assented the Professor sardonically. + +"That's silly," admitted Ossipon. "You can't heal weakness. But +after all Michaelis may not be so far wrong. In two hundred years +doctors will rule the world. Science reigns already. It reigns in +the shade maybe - but it reigns. And all science must culminate at +last in the science of healing - not the weak, but the strong. +Mankind wants to live - to live." + +"Mankind," asserted the Professor with a self-confident glitter of +his iron-rimmed spectacles, "does not know what it wants." + +"But you do," growled Ossipon. "Just now you've been crying for +time - time. Well. The doctors will serve you out your time - if +you are good. You profess yourself to be one of the strong - +because you carry in your pocket enough stuff to send yourself and, +say, twenty other people into eternity. But eternity is a damned +hole. It's time that you need. You - if you met a man who could +give you for certain ten years of time, you would call him your +master." + +"My device is: No God! No Master," said the Professor +sententiously as he rose to get off the `bus. + +Ossipon followed. "Wait till you are lying flat on your back at +the end of your time," he retorted, jumping off the footboard after +the other. "Your scurvy, shabby, mangy little bit of time," he +continued across the street, and hopping on to the curbstone. + +"Ossipon, I think that you are a humbug," the Professor said, +opening masterfully the doors of the renowned Silenus. And when +they had established themselves at a little table he developed +further this gracious thought. "You are not even a doctor. But +you are funny. Your notion of a humanity universally putting out +the tongue and taking the pill from pole to pole at the bidding of +a few solemn jokers is worthy of the prophet. Prophecy! What's +the good of thinking of what will be!" He raised his glass. "To +the destruction of what is," he said calmly. + +He drank and relapsed into his peculiarly close manner of silence. +The thought of a mankind as numerous as the sands of the sea-shore, +as indestructible, as difficult to handle, oppressed him. The +sound of exploding bombs was lost in their immensity of passive +grains without an echo. For instance, this Verloc affair. Who +thought of it now? + +Ossipon, as if suddenly compelled by some mysterious force, pulled +a much-folded newspaper out of is pocket. The Professor raised his +head at the rustle. + +"What's that paper? Anything in it?" he asked. + +Ossipon started like a scared somnambulist. + +"Nothing. Nothing whatever. The thing's ten days old. I forgot +it in my pocket, I suppose." + +But he did not throw the old thing away. Before returning it to +his pocket he stole a glance at the last lines of a paragraph. +They ran thus: "AN IMPENETRABLE MYSTERY SEEMS DESTINED TO HANG FOR +EVER OVER THIS ACT OF MADNESS OR DESPAIR." + +Such were the end words of an item of news headed: "Suicide of Lady +Passenger from a cross-Channel Boat." Comrade Ossipon was familiar +with the beauties of its journalistic style. "AN IMPENETRABLE +MYSTERY SEEMS DESTINED TO HANG FOR EVER. . . " He knew every word +by heart. "AN IMPENETRABLE MYSTERY. . . . " + +And the robust anarchist, hanging his head on his breast, fell into +a long reverie. + +He was menaced by this thing in the very sources of his existence. +He could not issue forth to meet his various conquests, those that +he courted on benches in Kensington Gardens, and those he met near +area railings, without the dread of beginning to talk to them of an +impenetrable mystery destined. . . . He was becoming scientifically +afraid of insanity lying in wait for him amongst these lines. "TO +HANG FOR EVER OVER." It was an obsession, a torture. He had +lately failed to keep several of these appointments, whose note +used to be an unbounded trustfulness in the language of sentiment +and manly tenderness. The confiding disposition of various classes +of women satisfied the needs of his self-love, and put some +material means into his hand. He needed it to live. It was there. +But if he could no longer make use of it, he ran the risk of +starving his ideals and his body . . . "THIS ACT OF MADNESS OR +DESPAIR." + +"An impenetrable mystery" was sure "to hang for ever" as far as all +mankind was concerned. But what of that if he alone of all men +could never get rid of the cursed knowledge? And Comrade Ossipon's +knowledge was as precise as the newspaper man could make it - up to +the very threshold of the "MYSTERY DESTINED TO HANG FOR EVER. . . +." + +Comrade Ossipon was well informed. He knew what the gangway man of +the steamer had seen: "A lady in a black dress and a black veil, +wandering at midnight alongside, on the quay. `Are you going by +the boat, ma'am,' he had asked her encouragingly. `This way.' She +seemed not to know what to do. He helped her on board. She seemed +weak." + +And he knew also what the stewardess had seen: A lady in black with +a white face standing in the middle of the empty ladies' cabin. +The stewardess induced her to lie down there. The lady seemed +quite unwilling to speak, and as if she were in some awful trouble. +The next the stewardess knew she was gone from the ladies' cabin. +The stewardess then went on deck to look for her, and Comrade +Ossipon was informed that the good woman found the unhappy lady +lying down in one of the hooded seats. Her eyes were open, but she +would not answer anything that was said to her. She seemed very +ill. The stewardess fetched the chief steward, and those two +people stood by the side of the hooded seat consulting over their +extraordinary and tragic passenger. They talked in audible +whispers (for she seemed past hearing) of St Malo and the Consul +there, of communicating with her people in England. Then they went +away to arrange for her removal down below, for indeed by what they +could see of her face she seemed to them to be dying. But Comrade +Ossipon knew that behind that white mask of despair there was +struggling against terror and despair a vigour of vitality, a love +of life that could resist the furious anguish which drives to +murder and the fear, the blind, mad fear of the gallows. He knew. +But the stewardess and the chief steward knew nothing, except that +when they came back for her in less than five minutes the lady in +black was no longer in the hooded seat. She was nowhere. She was +gone. It was then five o'clock in the morning, and it was no +accident either. An hour afterwards one of the steamer's hands +found a wedding ring left lying on the seat. It had stuck to the +wood in a bit of wet, and its glitter caught the man's eye. There +was a date, 24th June 1879, engraved inside. "AN IMPENETRABLE +MYSTERY IS DESTINED TO HANG FOR EVER. . . . " + +And Comrade Ossipon raised his bowed head, beloved of various +humble women of these isles, Apollo-like in the sunniness of its +bush of hair. + +The Professor had grown restless meantime. He rose. + +"Stay," said Ossipon hurriedly. "Here, what do you know of madness +and despair?" + +The Professor passed the tip of his tongue on his dry, thin lips, +and said doctorally: + +"There are no such things. All passion is lost now. The world is +mediocre, limp, without force. And madness and despair are a +force. And force is a crime in the eyes of the fools, the weak and +the silly who rule the roost. You are mediocre. Verloc, whose +affair the police has managed to smother so nicely, was mediocre. +And the police murdered him. He was mediocre. Everybody is +mediocre. Madness and despair! Give me that for a lever, and I'll +move the world. Ossipon, you have my cordial scorn. You are +incapable of conceiving even what the fat-fed citizen would call a +crime. You have no force." He paused, smiling sardonically under +the fierce glitter of his thick glasses. + +"And let me tell you that this little legacy they say you've come +into has not improved your intelligence. You sit at your beer like +a dummy. Good-bye." + +"Will you have it?" said Ossipon, looking up with an idiotic grin. + +"Have what?" + +"The legacy. All of it." + +The incorruptible Professor only smiled. His clothes were all but +falling off him, his boots, shapeless with repairs, heavy like +lead, let water in at every step. He said: + +"I will send you by-and-by a small bill for certain chemicals which +I shall order to-morrow. I need them badly. Understood - eh?" + +Ossipon lowered his head slowly. He was alone. "AN IMPENETRABLE +MYSTERY. . . . . " It seemed to him that suspended in the air +before him he saw his own brain pulsating to the rhythm of an +impenetrable mystery. It was diseased clearly. . . . "THIS ACT OF +MADNESS OR DESPAIR." + +The mechanical piano near the door played through a valse cheekily, +then fell silent all at once, as if gone grumpy. + +Comrade Ossipon, nicknamed the Doctor, went out of the Silenus +beer-hall. At the door he hesitated, blinking at a not too +splendid sunlight - and the paper with the report of the suicide of +a lady was in his pocket. His heart was beating against it. The +suicide of a lady - THIS ACT OF MADNESS OR DESPAIR. + +He walked along the street without looking where he put his feet; +and he walked in a direction which would not bring him to the place +of appointment with another lady (an elderly nursery governess +putting her trust in an Apollo-like ambrosial head). He was +walking away from it. He could face no woman. It was ruin. He +could neither think, work, sleep, nor eat. But he was beginning to +drink with pleasure, with anticipation, with hope. It was ruin. +His revolutionary career, sustained by the sentiment and +trustfulness of many women, was menaced by an impenetrable mystery +- the mystery of a human brain pulsating wrongfully to the rhythm +of journalistic phrases. " . . . WILL HANG FOR EVER OVER THIS ACT. +. . . It was inclining towards the gutter . . . OF MADNESS OR +DESPAIR." + +"I am seriously ill," he muttered to himself with scientific +insight. Already his robust form, with an Embassy's secret-service +money (inherited from Mr Verloc) in his pockets, was marching in +the gutter as if in training for the task of an inevitable future. +Already he bowed his broad shoulders, his head of ambrosial locks, +as if ready to receive the leather yoke of the sandwich board. As +on that night, more than a week ago, Comrade Ossipon walked without +looking where he put his feet, feeling no fatigue, feeling nothing, +seeing nothing, hearing not a sound. "AN IMPENETRABLE MYSTERY. . . +." He walked disregarded. . . . "THIS ACT OF MADNESS OR DESPAIR." + +And the incorruptible Professor walked too, averting his eyes from +the odious multitude of mankind. He had no future. He disdained +it. He was a force. His thoughts caressed the images of ruin and +destruction. He walked frail, insignificant, shabby, miserable - +and terrible in the simplicity of his idea calling madness and +despair to the regeneration of the world. Nobody looked at him. +He passed on unsuspected and deadly, like a pest in the street full +of men. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Etext of The Secret Agent, by Joseph Conrad + diff --git a/old/agent10.zip b/old/agent10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b21cb4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/agent10.zip |