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