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