The Secret Agent by Joseph Conrad

of the least consequence.”

He spoke carelessly, without heat, almost without feeling, and

Ossipon, secretly much affected, tried to copy this detachment.

“If the police here knew their business they would shoot you full

of holes with revolvers, or else try to sand-bag you from behind in

broad daylight.”

The little man seemed already to have considered that point of view

in his dispassionate self-confident manner.

“Yes,” he assented with the utmost readiness. “But for that they

would have to face their own institutions. Do you see? That

requires uncommon grit. Grit of a special kind.”

Ossipon blinked.

“I fancy that’s exactly what would happen to you if you were to set

up your laboratory in the States. They don’t stand on ceremony

with their institutions there.”

“I am not likely to go and see. Otherwise your remark is just,”

admitted the other. “They have more character over there, and

their character is essentially anarchistic. Fertile ground for us,

the States – very good ground. The great Republic has the root of

the destructive matter in her. The collective temperament is

lawless. Excellent. They may shoot us down, but – ”

“You are too transcendental for me,” growled Ossipon, with moody

concern.

“Logical,” protested the other. “There are several kinds of logic.

This is the enlightened kind. America is all right. It is this

country that is dangerous, with her idealistic conception of

legality. The social spirit of this people is wrapped up in

scrupulous prejudices, and that is fatal to our work. You talk of

England being our only refuge! So much the worse. Capua! What do

we want with refuges? Here you talk, print, plot, and do nothing.

I daresay it’s very convenient for such Karl Yundts.”

He shrugged his shoulders slightly, then added with the same

leisurely assurance: “To break up the superstition and worship of

legality should be our aim. Nothing would please me more than to

see Inspector Heat and his likes take to shooting us down in broad

daylight with the approval of the public. Half our battle would be

won then; the disintegration of the old morality would have set in

in its very temple. That is what you ought to aim at. But you

revolutionises will never understand that. You plan the future,

you lose yourselves in reveries of economical systems derived from

what is; whereas what’s wanted is a clean sweep and a clear start

for a new conception of life. That sort of future will take care

of itself if you will only make room for it. Therefore I would

shovel my stuff in heaps at the corners of the streets if I had

enough for that; and as I haven’t, I do my best by perfecting a

really dependable detonator.”

Ossipon, who had been mentally swimming in deep waters, seized upon

the last word as if it were a saving plank.

“Yes. Your detonators. I shouldn’t wonder if it weren’t one of

your detonators that made a clean sweep of the man in the park.”

A shade of vexation darkened the determined sallow face confronting

Ossipon.

“My difficulty consists precisely in experimenting practically with

the various kinds. They must be tried after all. Besides – ”

Ossipon interrupted.

“Who could that fellow be? I assure you that we in London had no

knowledge – Couldn’t you describe the person you gave the stuff

to?”

The other turned his spectacles upon Ossipon like a pair of

searchlights.

“Describe him,” he repeated slowly. “I don’t think there can be

the slightest objection now. I will describe him to you in one

word – Verloc.”

Ossipon, whom curiosity had lifted a few inches off his seat,

dropped 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

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