第7章

`Doyouknowhowmuchmoneythereisinthatthing？’heasked，asifaddressingslowlysomehob—goblinsittingbetweentheearsofthehorse。

`No，’saidMrsVerloc。`Hegaveittome。Ididn’tcount。Ithoughtnothingofitatthetime。Afterwards——’

Shemovedherrighthandalittle。Itwassoexpressivethatlittlemovementofthatrighthandwhichhadstruckthedeadlyblowintoaman’sheartlessthananhourbeforethatOssiponcouldnotrepressashudder。

Heexaggerateditthenpurposely，andmuttered:

`Iamcold。Igotchilledthrough。’

MrsVerloclookedstraightaheadattheperspectiveofherescape。Nowandthen，likeasablestreamerblownacrossaroad，thewords`Thedropgivenwasfourteenfeet’gotinthewayofhertensestare。Throughtheblackveilthewhitesofherbigeyesgleamedlustrouslyliketheeyesofamaskedwoman。

Ossipon’srigidityhadsomethingbusinesslike，aqueerofficialexpression。

Hewasheardagainallofasudden，asthoughhehadreleasedacatchinordertospeak。

`Lookhere！Doyouknowwhetheryour—whetherhekepthisaccountatthebankinhisownnameorinsomeothername。

MrsVerlocturneduponhimhermaskedfaceandthebigwhitegleamofhereyes。

`Othername？’shesaid，thoughtfully。

`Beexactinwhatyousay，’Ossiponlecturedintheswiftmotionofthehansom。`It’sextremelyimportant。Iwillexplaintoyou。Thebankhasthenumbersofthesenotes。Iftheywerepaidtohiminhisownname，thenwhenhis—hisdeathbecomesknown，thenotesmayservetotrackussincewehavenoothermoney。Youhavenoethermoneyonyou？’

Sheshookherheadnegatively。

`Nonewhatever？’heinsisted。

`Afewcoppers。

`Itwouldbedangerousinthatcase。Themoneywouldhavethentobedealtspeciallywith。Veryspecially。We’dhaveperhapstolosemorethanhalftheamountinordertogetthesenoteschangedinacertainsafeplaceIknowofinParis。Intheothercase—Imeanifhehadhisaccountandgotpaidoutundersomeothername—saySmith，forinstance—themoneyisperfectlysafetouse。Youunderstand？ThebankhasnomeansofknowingthatMrVerlocand，say，Smithareoneandthesameperson。Doyouseehowimportantitisthatyoushouldmakenomistakeinansweringme？Canyouanswerthatqueryatall？Perhapsnot。Eh？

Shesaidcomposedly:

`Iremembernow！Hedidn’tbankinhisownname。HetoldmeoncethatitwasondepositinthenameofProzor。’

`Youaresure？’

`Certain。’

`Youdon’tthinkthebankhadanyknowledgeofhisrealname？Oranybodyinthebankor——’

Sheshruggedhershoulders。

`HowcanIknow？Isitlikely，Tom？’

`No。Isupposeit’snotlikely。Itwouldhavebeenmorecomfortabletoknow……Hereweare。Getoutfirst，andwalkstraightin。Movesmartly。’

Heremainedbehind，andpaidthecabmanoutofhisownloosesilver。

Theprogrammetracedbyhisminuteforesightwascarriedout。WhenMrsVerloc，withherticketforStMaloinherhand，enteredtheladies’waiting—room，ComradeOssiponwalkedintothebar，andinsevenminutesabsorbedthreegoesofhotbrandyandwater。

`Tryingtodriveoutacold，’heexplainedtothebarmaid，withafriendlynodandagrimacingsmile。Thenhecameout，bringingoutfromthatfestiveinterludethefaceofamanwhohaddrunkattheveryFountainofSorrow。

Heraisedhiseyestotheclock。Itwastime。Hewaited。

Punctual，MrsVerloccameout，withherveildown，andallblack—blackascommonplacedeathitself，crownedwithafewcheapandpaleflowers。

Shepassedclosetoalittlegroupofmenwhowerelaughing，butwhoselaughtercouldhavebeenstruckdeadbyasingleword。Herwalkwasindolent，butherbackwasstraight，andComradeOssiponlookedafteritinterrorbeforemakingastarthimself。

Thetrainwasdrawnup，withhardlyanybodyaboutitsrowofopendoors。

Owingtothetimeoftheyearandtotheabominableweathertherewerebutfewpassengers。MrsVerlocwalkedslowlyalongthelineofemptycompartmentstillOssipontouchedherelbowfrombehind。

`Inhere。’

Shegotin，andheremainedontheplatformlookingabout。Shebentforward，andinawhisper:

`Whatisit，Tom？Isthereanydanger？’

`Waitamoment。There’stheguard。’

Shesawhimaccostthemaninuniform。Theytalkedforawhile。Sheheardtheguardsay`Verywell，sir，’andsawhimtouchhiscap。ThenOssiponcameback，saying:`Itoldhimnottoletanybodygetintoourcompartment。’

Shewasleaningforwardonherseat。`Youthinkofeverything……You’llgetmeoff，Tom？’sheaskedinagustofanguish，liftingherveilbrusquelytolookathersaviour。

Shehaduncoveredafacelikeadamant。Andoutofthisfacetheeyeslookedon，big，dry，enlarged，lightless，burntoutliketwoblackholesinthewhite，shiningglobes。

`Thereisnodanger，’hesaid，gazingintothemwithanearnestnessalmostrapt，whichtoMrsVerloc，flyingfromthegallows，seemedtobefullofforceandtenderness。Thisdevotiondeeplymovedher—andtheadamantinefacelostthesternrigidityofitsterror。ComradeOssipongazedatitasnoloverevergazedathismistress’sface。AlexanderOssipon，anarchist，nicknamedtheDoctor，authorofamedical（andimproper）pamphlet，latelectureronthesocialaspectsofhygienetoworkingmen’sclubs，wasfreefromthetrammelsofconventionalmorality—buthesubmittedtotheruleofscience。Hewasscientific，andhegazedscientificallyatthatwoman，thesisterofadegenerate，adegenerateherself—ofamurderingtype。Hegazedather，andinvokedLombroso，asanItalianpeasantrecommendshimselftohisfavouritesaint。Hegazedscientifically。Hegazedathercheeks，athernose，athereyes，atherears……Bad！……Fatal！

MrsVerloc’spalelipspatting，slightlyrelaxedunderhispassionatelyattentivegaze，hegazedalsoatherteeth……Notadoubtremained……amurderingtype……IfComradeOssipondidnotrecommendhisterrifiedsoultoLombroso，itwasonlybecauseonscientificgroundshecouldnotbelievethathecarriedabouthimsuchathingasasoul。Buthehadinhimthescientificspirit，whichmovedhimtotestifyontheplatformofarailwaystationinnervous，jerkyphrases。

`Hewasanextraordinarylad，thatbrotherofyours。Mostinterestingtostudy。Aperfecttypeinaway。Perfect！’

Hespokescientificallyinhissecretfear。AndMrsVerloc，hearingthesewordsofcommendationvouchsafedtoherbeloveddead，swayedforwardwithaflickeroflightinhersombreeyes，likearayofsunshineheraldingatempestofrain。

`Hewasthatindeed，’shewhispered，softly，withquiveringlips。`Youtookalotofnoticeofhim，Tom。Ilovedyouforit。’

`It’salmostincredibletheresemblancetherewasbetweenyoutwo，’

pursuedOssipon，givingavoicetohisabidingdread，andtryingtoconcealhisnervous，sickeningimpatienceforthetraintostart。`Yes，heresembledyou。’

Thesewordswerenotespeciallytouchingorsympathetic。Butthefactofthatresemblanceinsisteduponwasenoughinitselftoactuponheremotionspowerfully。Withalittlefaintcry，andthrowingherarmsout，MrsVerlocburstintotearsatlast。

Ossiponenteredthecarriage，hastilyclosedthedoorandlookedouttoseethetimebythestationclock。Eightminutesmore。ForthefirstthreeoftheseMrsVerlocweptviolentlyandhelplesslywithoutpauseorinterruption。Thensherecoveredsomewhat，andsobbedgentlyinanabundantfalloftears。Shetriedtotalktohersaviour，tothemanwhowasthemessengeroflife。

`Oh，Tom！HowcouldIfeartodieafterhewastakenawayfrommesocruelly！HowcouldI！HowcouldIbesuchacoward！’

Shelamentedaloudherloveoflife，thatlifewithoutgraceorcharm，andalmostwithoutdecency，butofanexaltedfaithfulnessofpurpose，evenuntomurder。And，asoftenhappensinthelamentofpoorhumanityrichinsufferingbutindigentinwords，thetruth—theverycryoftruth—wasfoundinawornandartificialshapepickedupsomewhereamongthephrasesofshamsentiment。

`HowcouldIbesoafraidofdeath！Tom，Itried。ButIamafraid。I

triedtodoawaywithmyself。AndIcouldn’t。AmIhard？Isupposethecupofhorrorswasnotfullenoughforsuchasme。Thenwhenyoucame……

’

Shepaused。Theninagustofconfidenceandgratitude:`Iwillliveallmydaysforyou，Tom！’shesobbedout。

`Gooverintotheothercornerofthecarriage，awayfromtheplatform，’

saidOssipon，solicitously。Shelethersavioursettlehercomfortably，andhewatchedthecomingonofanothercrisisofweeping，stillmoreviolentthanthefirst。Hewatchedthesymptomswithasortofmedicalair，asifcountingseconds。Heheardtheguard’swhistleatlast。Aninvoluntarycontractionoftheupperlipbaredhisteethwithalltheaspectofsavageresolutionashefeltthetrainbeginningtomove。MrsVerlocheardandfeltnothing，andOssipon，hersaviour，stoodstill。Hefeltthetrainrollquicker，rumblingheavilytothesoundofthewoman’sloudsobs，andthencrossingthecarriageintwolongstridesheopenedthedoordeliberately，andleapedout。

Hehadleapedoutattheveryendoftheplatform;andsuchwashisdeterminationinstickingtohisdesperateplanthathemanagedbyasortofmiracle，performedalmostintheair，toslamtothedoorofthecarriage。

Onlythendidhefindhimselfrolling，headoverheelslikeashotrabbit。

Hewasbruised，shaken，paleasdeath，andoutofbreathwhenhegotup。

Buthewascalm，andperfectlyabletomeettheexcitedcrowdofrailwaymenwhohadgatheredroundhiminamoment。Heexplained，ingentleandconvincingtones，thathiswifehadstartedatamoment’snoticeforBrittanytoherdyingmother;that，ofcourse，shewasgreatlyupset，andheconsiderablyconcernedatherstate;thathewastryingtocheerherup，andhadabsolutelyfailedtonoticeatfirstthatthetrainwasmovingout。Tothegeneralexclamation`Whydidn’tyougoontoSouthampton，thensir？’heobjectedtheinexperienceofayoungsister—in—lawleftaloneinthehousewiththreesmallchildren，andheralarmathisabsencethetelegraphofficesbeingclosed。Hehadactedonimpulse。`ButIdon’tthinkI’llevertrythatagain，’heconcluded;smiledallround;distributedsomesmallchange，andmarchedwithoutalimpoutofthestation。

Outside，ComradeOssipon，flushofsafebanknotesasneverbeforeinhislife，refusedtheofferofacab。

`Icanwalk，’hesaid，withalittlefriendlylaughtothecivildriver。

Hecouldwalk。Hewalked。Hecrossedthebridge。LateronthetowersoftheAbbeysawintheirmassiveimmobilitytheyellowbushofhishairpassingunderthelamps。ThelightsofVictoriasawhim，too，andSloaneSquare，andtherailingsofthepark。AndComradeOssipononcemorefoundhimselfonabridge。Theriver，asinistermarvel—ofstillshadowsandflowinggleamsminglingbelowinablacksilence，arrestedhisattention。

Hestoodlookingovertheparapetforalongtime。Theclocktowerboomedabrazenblastabovehisdroopinghead。Helookedupatthedial……HalfpasttwelveofawildnightintheChannel。

AndagainComradeOssiponwalked。Hisrobustformwasseenthatnightindistantpartsoftheenormoustownslumberingmonstrouslyonacarpetofmudunderaveilofrawmist。Itwasseencrossingthestreetswithoutlifeandsound，ordiminishingintheinterminablestraightperspectivesofshadowyhousesborderingemptyroadwayslinedbystringsofgas—lamps。

HewalkedthroughSquares，Places，Ovals，Commons，throughmonotonousstreetswithunknownnameswherethedustofhumanitysettlesinertandhopelessoutofthestreamoflife。Hewalked。Andsuddenlyturningintoastripofafrontgardenwithamangygrassplot，helethimselfintoasmallgrimyhousewithalatchkeyhetookoutofhispocket。

Hethrewhimselfdownonhisbedalldressed，andlaystillforawholequarterofanhourThenhesatupsuddenly，drawinguphisknees，andclaspinghislegs。Thefirstdawnfoundhimopen—eyed，inthatsameposture。Thismanwhocouldwalksolong，sofar，soaimlessly，withoutshowingasignoffatigue，couldalsoremainsittingstillforhourswithoutstirringalimboraneyelid。Butwhenthelatesunsentitsraysintotheroomheunclaspedhishands，andfellbackonthepillow。Hiseyesstaredattheceiling。Andsuddenlytheyclosed。ComradeOssiponsleptinthesunlight。

CONRAD:TheSecretAgent，Chapter13CHAPTER13

THEenormousironpadlockonthedoorsofthewallcupboardwastheonlyobjectintheroomonwhichtheeyecouldrestwithoutbecomingafflictedbythemiserableunlovelinessofformsandthepovertyofmaterial。Unsaleableintheordinarycourseofbusinessonaccountofitsnobleproportions，ithadbeencededtotheProfessorforafewpencebyamarinedealerintheeastofLondon。Theroomwaslarge，clean，respectable，andpoorwiththatpovertysuggestingthestarvationofeveryhumanneedexceptmerebread。Therewasnothingonthewallsbutthepaper，anexpanseofarsenicalgreen，soiledwithindeliblesmudgeshereandthere，andwithstainsresemblingfadedmapsofuninhabitedcontinents。

AtadealtablenearawindowsatComradeOssipon，holdinghisheadbetweenhisfists。TheProfessor，dressedinonlyhissuitofshoddytweeds，butflappingtoandfroonthebareboardsapairofincrediblydilapidatedslippers，hadthrusthishandsdeepintotheover—strainedpocketsofhisjacket。HewasrelatingtohisrobustguestavisithehadlatelybeenpayingCotheApostleMichaelis。ThePerfectAnarchisthadevenbeenunbendingalittle。

`Thefellowdidn’tknowanythingofVerloc’sdeath。Ofcourse！Heneverlooksatthenewspapers。Theymakehimtoosad，hesays。Butnevermind。

Iwalkedintohiscottage。Notasoulanywhere。1hadtoshouthalfadozentimesbeforeheansweredme。Ithoughthewasfastasleepyet，inbed。

Butnotatall。Hehadbeenwritinghisbookforfourhoursalready。Hesatinthattinycageinalitterofmanuscript。Therewasahalf—eatenrawcarrotonthetablenearhim。Hisbreakfast。Helivesonadietofrawcarrotsandalittlemilknow。’

`Howdoeshelookonit？’askedComradeOssipon，listlessly。

`Angelic……Ipickedupahandfulofhispagesfromthefloor。Thepovertyofreasoningisastonishing。Hehasnologic。Hecan’tthinkconsecutively。

Butthat’snothing。Hehasdividedhisbiographyintothreeparts，entitled`Faith，Hope，Charity’。Heiselaboratingnowtheideaofaworldplannedoutlikeanimmenseandnicehospital，withgardensandflowers，inwhichthestrongaretodevotethem+selvestothenursingoftheweak。’

TheProfessorpaused。

`Conceiveyouthisfolly，Ossipon？Theweak！Thesourceofallevilonthisearth！’hecontinuedwithhisgrimassurance。`ItoldhimthatIdreamtofaworldlikeshambles，wheretheweakwouldbetakeninhandforutterextermination。

`Doyouunderstand，Ossipon？Thesourceofallevil！Theyareoursinistermasters—theweak，theflabby，thesilly，thecowardly，thefaintofheart，andtheslavishofmind。Theyhavepower。Theyarethemultitude。Theirsisthekingdomoftheearth。Exterminate，exterminate！Thatistheonlywayofprogress。Itis！Followme，Ossipon。Firstthegreatmultitudeoftheweakmustgo，thentheonlyrelativelystrong。Yousee？Firsttheblind，thenthedeafandthedumb，thenthehaltandthelame—andsoon。Everytaint，everyvice，everyprejudice，everyconventionmustmeetitsdoom。’

`Andwhatremains？’askedOssiponinastifledvoice。

`Iremain—ifIamstrongenough，’assertedthesallowlittleProfessor，whoselargeears，thinlikemembranes，andstandingfaroutfromthesidesofhisfrailskull，tookonsuddenlyadeepredtint。

`Haven’tIsufferedenoughfromthisoppressionoftheweak？’hecontinuedforcibly。Thentappingthebreast—pocketofhisjacket:`AndyetIamtheforce，’hewenton。`Butthetime！Thetime！Givemetime！Ah！thatmultitude，toostupidtofeeleitherpityorfear。SometimesIthinktheyhaveeverythingontheirside。Everything—evendeath—myownweapon。

`ComeanddrinksomebeerwithmeattheSilenus，’saidtherobustOssiponafteranintervalofsilencepervadedbytherapidflap，flapoftheslippersonthefeetofthePerfectAnarchist。Thislastaccepted。Hewasjovialthatdayinhisownpeculiarway。HeslappedOssipon’sshoulder。

`Beer！Sobeit！Letusdrinkandbemerry，forwearestrong，andtomorrowwedie。’

Hebusiedhimselfwithputtingonhisboots，andtalkedmeanwhileinhiscurt，resolutetones。

`What’sthematterwithyou，Ossipon？Youlookglumandseekevenmycompany。Ihearthatyouareseenconstantlyinplaceswheremenutterfoolishthingsoverglassesofliquor。Why？Haveyouabandonedyourcollectionofwomen？Theyaretheweakwhofeedthestrong—eh？’

Hestampedonefoot，andpickeduphisotherlacedboot，heavy，thick—soled，unblacked，mendedmanytimes。Hesmiledtohimselfgrimly。

`Tellme，Ossipon，terribleman，haseveroneofyourvictimskilledherselfforyou—orareyourtriumphssofarincomplete—forbloodaloneputsasealongreatness？Blood。Death。Lookathistory。’

`Youbedamned，’saidOssipon，withoutturninghishead。

`Why？Letthatbethehopeoftheweak，whosetheologyhasinventedhellforthestrong。Ossipon，myfeelingforyouisamicablecontempt。

Youcouldn’tkillafly。’

ButrollingtothefeastonthetopoftheomnibustheProfessorlosthishighspirits。Thecontemplationofthemultitudesthrongingthepavementsextinguishedhisassuranceunderaloadofdoubtanduneasinesswhichhecouldshakeoffafteraperiodofseclusionintheroomwiththelargecupboardclosedbyanenormouspadlock。

`Andso，’saidoverhisshoulderComradeOssipon，whosatontheseatbehind。`AndsoMichaelisdreamsofaworldlikeabeautifulandcheeryhospital。’

`Justso。Animmensecharityforthehealingoftheweak，’assentedtheProfessor，sardonically。

`That’ssilly，’admittedOssipon。`Youcan’thealweakness。ButafterallMichaelismaynotbesofarwrong。Intwohundredyearsdoctorswillruletheworld。Sciencereignsalready。Itreignsintheshademaybe—

butitreigns。Andallsciencemustculminateatlastinthescienceofhealing—nottheweak，butthestrong。Mankindwantstolive—tolive。’

`Mankind，’assertedtheProfessorwithaself—confidentglitterofhisiron—rimmedspectacles，`doesnotknowwhatitwants。’

`Butyoudo，’growledOssipon。`Justnowyou’vebeencryingfortime—time。Well，thedoctorswillserveyououtyourtime—ifyouaregood。

Youprofessyourselftobeoneofthestrong—becauseyoucarryinyourpocketenoughstufftosendyourselfand，say，twentyotherpeopleintoeternity。Buteternityisadamnedhole。It’stimethatyouneed。You—

ifyoumetamanwhocouldgiveyouforcertaintenyearsoftime，youwouldcallhimyourmaster。’

`Mydeviceis:NoGod！Nomaster，’saidtheProfessor，sententiously，asherosetogetoffthebus。

Ossiponfollowed。`Waittillyouarelyingflatonyourbackattheendofyourtime，’heretorted，jumpingoffthefootboardaftertheother。

`Yourscurvy，shabby，mangylittlebitoftime，’hecontinuedacrossthestreet，andhoppingontothekerbstone。

`Ossipon，Ithinkyouareahumbug，’theProfessorsaid，openingmasterfullythedoorsoftherenownedSilenus。Andwhentheyhadestablishedthemselvesatalittletablehedevelopedfurtherthisgraciousthought。`Youarenotevenadoctor。Butyouarefunny。Yournotionofahumanityuniversallyputtingoutthetongueandtakingthepillfrompoletopoleatthebiddingofafewsolemnjokersisworthyoftheprophet。Prophecy！What’sthegoodofthinkingofwhatwillbe！’Heraisedhisglass。`Tothedestructionofwhatis，’hesaid，calmly。

Hedrankandrelapsedintohispeculiarlyclosemannerofsilence。Thethoughtofamankindasnumerousasthesandsoftheseashore，asindestructible，asdifficulttohandle，oppressedhim。Thesoundofexplodingbombswaslostintheirimmensityofpassivegrainswithoutanecho。Forinstance，thisVerlocaffair。Whothoughtofitnow？Ossipon，asifsuddenlycompelledbysomemysteriousforce，pulledamuch—foldednewspaperoutofhispocket。

TheProfessorraisedhisheadattherustle。`What’sthatpaper？Anythinginit？’heasked。

Ossiponstartedlikeascaredsomnambulist。

`Nothing。Nothingwhatever。Thething’stendaysold。Iforgotitinmypocket，Isuppose。’

Buthedidnotthrowtheoldthingaway。Beforereturningittohispockethestoleaglanceatthelastlinesofaparagraph。Theyranthus:

`Animpenetrablemysteryseemsdestinedtohangforeveroverthisactofmadnessordespair。’

Suchweretheendwordsofanitemofnewsheaded:

`SuicideofLadyPassengerfromacross—ChannelBoat。’ComradeOssiponwasfamiliarwiththebeautiesofitsjournalisticstyle。`Animpenetrablemysteryseemsdestinedtohangforever……’Hekneweverywordbyheart。

`Animpenetrablemystery……`Andtherobustanarchist，hanginghisheadonhisbreast，fellintoalongreverie。

Hewasmenacedbythisthingintheverysourcesofhisexistence。Hecouldnotissueforthtomeethisvariousconquests，thosethathecourtedonbenchesinKensingtonGardens，andthosehemetneararearailings，withoutthedreadofbeginningtotalktothemofanimpenetrablemysterydestined……Hewasbecomingscientificallyafraidofinsanitylyinginwaitforhimamongsttheselines。`Tohangforeverover。’Itwasanobsession，atorture。Hehadlatelyfailedtokeepseveraloftheseappointments，whosenoteusedtobeanunboundedtrustfulnessinthelanguageofsentimentandmanlytenderness。Theconfidingdispositionofvariousclassesofwomensatisfiedtheneedofhisself—love，andputsomematerialmeansintohishandHeneededittolive。Itwasthere。Butifhecouldnolongermakeuseofit，herantheriskofstarvinghisidealsandhisbody……`Thisactofmadnessordespair。’

`Animpenetrablemystery’wassure`tohangforever’asfarasallmankindwasconcerned。Butwhatofthatifhealoneofallmencouldnevergetridofthecursedknowledge？AndComradeOssipon’sknowledgewasaspreciseasthenewspapermancouldmakeit—uptotheverythresholdofthe`mysterydestinedtohangforever……’。

ComradeOssiponwaswellinformed。Heknewwhatthegangwaymanofthesteamerhadseen:`Aladyinablackdressandablackveil，wanderingatmidnightalongsideonthequay。`Areyougoingbytheboat，ma’am，’

hehadaskedher，encouragingly。`Thisway。’Sheseemednottoknowwhattodo。Hehelpedheronboard。Sheseemedweak。’

AndOssiponknewalsowhatthestewardesshadseen:aladyinblackwithawhitefacestandinginthemiddleoftheemptyladies’cabin。Thestewardessinducedhertoliedownthere。Theladyseemedquiteunwillingtospeak，andasifshewereinsomeawfultrouble。Thenextthestewardessknewshewasgonefromtheladies’cabin。Thestewardessthenwentondecktolookforher，andComradeOssiponwasinformedthatthegoodwomanfoundtheunhappyladylyingdowninoneofthehoodedseats。Hereyeswereopen，butshewouldnotansweranythingthatwassaidtoher。Sheseemedveryill。Thestewardessfetchedthechiefsteward，andthosetwopeoplestoodbythesideofthehoodedseatconsultingovertheirextraordinaryandtragicpassenger。Theytalkedinaudiblewhispers（forsheseemedpasthearing）ofStMaloandtheConsulthere，ofcommunicatingwithherpeopleinEngland。Thentheywentawaytoarrangeforherremovaldownbelow，forindeedbywhattheycouldseeofherfacesheseemedtothemtobedying。ButComradeOssiponknewthatbehindthatwhitemaskofdespairtherewasstrugglingagainstterroranddespairavigourofvitality，aloveoflifethatcouldresistthefuriousanguishwhichdrivestomurderandthefear，theblind，madfearofthegallows。Heknew。Butthestewardessandthechiefstewardknewnothing，exceptthatwhentheycamebackforherinlessthanfiveminutestheladyinblackwasnolongerinthehoodedseat。Shewasnowhere。Shewasgone。Itwasthenfiveo’clockinthemorning，anditwasnoaccidenteither。Anhourafterwardsoneofthesteamer’shandsfoundaweddingringleftlyingontheseat。Ithadstucktothewoodinabitofwet，anditsglittercaughttheman’seye。Therewasadate，14June1879，engravedinside。`Animpenetrablemysteryisdestinedtohangforever……

AndComradeOssiponraisedhisbowedhead，belovedofvarioushumblewomenoftheseisles，Apollo—likeinthesunninessofitsbushofhair。

TheProfessorhadgrownrestlessmeantime。Herose。

`Stay，’saidOssipon，hurriedly。`Here，whatdoyouknowofmadnessanddespair？’

TheProfessorpassedthetipofhistongueonhisdry，thinlips，andsaiddoctorally:

`Therearenosuchthings。Allpassionislostnow。Theworldismediocre，limp，withoutforce。Andmadnessanddespairareaforce。Andforceisacrimeintheeyesofthefools，theweakandthesillywhoruletheroost。

Youaremediocre。Verloc，whoseaffairthepolicehasmanagedtosmothersonicely，wasmediocre。Andthepolicemurderedhim。Hewasmediocre。

Everybodyismediocre。Madnessanddespair！Givemethatforalever，andI’llmovetheworld。Ossipon，youhavemycordialscorn。Youareincapableofconceivingevenwhatthefat—fedcitizenwouldcallacrime。Youhavenoforce。’Hepaused，smilingsardonicallyunderthefierceglitterofhisthickglasses。

`Andletmetellyouthatthislittlelegacytheysayyou’vecomeintohasnotimprovedyourintelligence。Yousitatyourbeerlikeadummy。

Good—bye。’

`Willyouhaveit？’saidOssipon，lookingupwithanidioticgrin。

`Havewhat？’

`Thelegacy。Allofit。’

TheincorruptibleProfessoronlysmiled。Hisclotheswereallbutfallingoffhim，hisboots，shapelesswithrepairs，heavylikelead，Itwaterinateverystep。Hesaid:

`Iwillsendyouby—and—byasmallbillforcertainchemicalswhichIshallordertomorrow。Ineedthembadly。Understood—eh？’

Ossiponloweredhisheadslowly。Hewasalone。`Animpenetrablemystery……

’Itseemedtohimthatsuspendedintheairbeforehimhesawhisownbrainpulsatingtotherhythmofanimpenetrablemystery。Itwasdiseasedclearly。`……Thisactofmadnessordespair。’

Themechanicalpianonearthedoorplayedthroughavalsecheekily，thenfeltsilentallatonce，asifgonegrumpy。

ComradeOssipon，nicknamedtheDoctor，wentoutoftheSilenusbeer—hall。