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 eyeglasses 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 office- man 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 Chancellor 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.