The haughty droop of the eyes was focussed now upon the Assistant
Commissioner.
“True,” confessed the deep, smooth voice. “I sent for Heat. You
are still rather a novice in your new berth. And how are you
getting on over there?”
“I believe I am learning something every day.”
“Of course, of course. I hope you will get on.”
“Thank you, Sir Ethelred. I’ve learned something to-day, and even
within the last hour or so. There is much in this affair of a kind
that does not meet the eye in a usual anarchist outrage, even if
one looked into it as deep as can be. That’s why I am here.”
The great man put his arms akimbo, the backs of his big hands
resting on his hips.
“Very well. Go on. Only no details, pray. Spare me the details.”
“You shall not be troubled with them, Sir Ethelred,” the Assistant
Commissioner began, with a calm and untroubled assurance. While he
was speaking the hands on the face of the clock behind the great
man’s back – a heavy, glistening affair of massive scrolls in the
same dark marble as the mantelpiece, and with a ghostly, evanescent
tick – had moved through the space of seven minutes. He spoke with
a studious fidelity to a parenthetical manner, into which every
little fact – that is, every detail – fitted with delightful ease.
Not a murmur nor even a movement hinted at interruption. The great
Personage might have been the statue of one of his own princely
ancestors stripped of a crusader’s war harness, and put into an
ill-fitting frock coat. The Assistant Commissioner felt as though
he were at liberty to talk for an hour. But he kept his head, and
at the end of the time mentioned above he broke off with a sudden
conclusion, which, reproducing the opening statement, pleasantly
surprised Sir Ethelred by its apparent swiftness and force.
“The kind of thing which meets us under the surface of this affair,
otherwise without gravity, is unusual – in this precise form at
least – and requires special treatment.”
The tone of Sir Ethelred was deepened, full of conviction.
“I should think so – involving the Ambassador of a foreign power!”
“Oh! The Ambassador!” protested the other, erect and slender,
allowing himself a mere half smile. “It would be stupid of me to
advance anything of the kind. And it is absolutely unnecessary,
because if I am right in my surmises, whether ambassador or hall
porter it’s a mere detail.”
Sir Ethelred opened a wide mouth, like a cavern, into which the
hooked nose seemed anxious to peer; there came from it a subdued
rolling sound, as from a distant organ with the scornful
indignation stop.
“No! These people are too impossible. What do they mean by
importing their methods of Crim-Tartary here? A Turk would have
more decency.”
“You forget, Sir Ethelred, that strictly speaking we know nothing
positively – as yet.”
“No! But how would you define it? Shortly?”
“Barefaced audacity amounting to childishness of a peculiar sort.”
“We can’t put up with the innocence of nasty little children,” said
the great and expanded personage, expanding a little more, as it
were. The haughty drooping glance struck crushingly the carpet at
the Assistant Commissioner’s feet. “They’ll have to get a hard rap
on the knuckles over this affair. We must be in a position to –
What is your general idea, stated shortly? No need to go into
details.”
“No, Sir Ethelred. In principle, I should lay it down that the
existence of secret agents should not be tolerated, as tending to
augment the positive dangers of the evil against which they are
used. That the spy will fabricate his information is a mere
commonplace. But in the sphere of political and revolutionary
action, relying partly on violence, the professional spy has every
facility to fabricate the very facts themselves, and will spread
the double evil of emulation in one direction, and of panic, hasty
legislation, unreflecting hate, on the other. However, this is an
imperfect world – ”
The deep-voiced Presence on the hearthrug, motionless, with big
elbows stuck out, said hastily:
“Be lucid, please.”
“Yes, Sir Ethelred – An imperfect world. Therefore directly the