back, as if hit in the face.

"Verloc! Impossible."

The self-possessed little man nodded slightly once.

"Yes. He's the person. You can't say that in this case I was giving my
stuff to the first fool that came along. He was a prominent member of
the group as far as I understand."

"Yes," said Ossipon. "Prominent. No, not exactly. He was the centre
for general intelligence, and usually received comrades coming over here.
More useful than important. Man of no ideas. Years ago he used to speak
at meetings--in France, I believe. Not very well, though. He was
trusted by such men as Latorre, Moser and all that old lot. The only
talent he showed really was his ability to elude the attentions of the
police somehow. Here, for instance, he did not seem to be looked after
very closely. He was regularly married, you know. I suppose it's with
her money that he started that shop. Seemed to make it pay, too."

Ossipon paused abruptly, muttered to himself "I wonder what that woman
will do now?" and fell into thought.

The other waited with ostentatious indifference. His parentage was
obscure, and he was generally known only by his nickname of Professor.
His title to that designation consisted in his having been once assistant
demonstrator in chemistry at some technical institute. He quarrelled
with the authorities upon a question of unfair treatment. Afterwards he
obtained a post in the laboratory of a manufactory of dyes. There too he
had been treated with revolting injustice. His struggles, his