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