brother’s absence on this villegiature, Mrs Verloc found herself
oftener than usual all alone not only in the shop, but in the
house. For Mr Verloc had to take his walks. She was alone longer
than usual on the day of the attempted bomb outrage in Greenwich
Park, because Mr Verloc went out very early that morning and did
not come back till nearly dusk. She did not mind being alone. She
had no desire to go out. The weather was too bad, and the shop was
cosier than the streets. Sitting behind the counter with some
sewing, she did not raise her eyes from her work when Mr Verloc
entered in the aggressive clatter of the bell. She had recognised
his step on the pavement outside.
She did not raise her eyes, but as Mr Verloc, silent, and with his
hat rammed down upon his forehead, made straight for the parlour
door, she said serenely:
“What a wretched day. You’ve been perhaps to see Stevie?”
“No! I haven’t,” said Mr Verloc softly, and slammed the glazed
parlour door behind him with unexpected energy.
For some time Mrs Verloc remained quiescent, with her work dropped
in her lap, before she put it away under the counter and got up to
light the gas. This done, she went into the parlour on her way to
the kitchen. Mr Verloc would want his tea presently. Confident of
the power of her charms, Winnie did not expect from her husband in
the daily intercourse of their married life a ceremonious amenity
of address and courtliness of manner; vain and antiquated forms at
best, probably never very exactly observed, discarded nowadays even
in the highest spheres, and always foreign to the standards of her
class. She did not look for courtesies from him. But he was a
good husband, and she had a loyal respect for his rights.
Mrs Verloc would have gone through the parlour and on to her
domestic duties in the kitchen with the perfect serenity of a woman
sure of the power of her charms. But a slight, very slight, and
rapid rattling sound grew upon her hearing. Bizarre and
incomprehensible, it arrested Mrs Verloc’s attention. Then as its
character became plain to the ear she stopped short, amazed and
concerned. Striking a match on the box she held in her hand, she
turned on and lighted, above the parlour table, one of the two gas-
burners, which, being defective, first whistled as if astonished,
and then went on purring comfortably like a cat.
Mr Verloc, against his usual practice, had thrown off his overcoat.
It was lying on the sofa. His hat, which he must also have thrown
off, rested overturned under the edge of the sofa. He had dragged
a chair in front of the fireplace, and his feet planted inside the
fender, his head held between his hands, he was hanging low over
the glowing grate. His teeth rattled with an ungovernable
violence, causing his whole enormous back to tremble at the same
rate. Mrs Verloc was startled.
“You’ve been getting wet,” she said.
“Not very,” Mr Verloc managed to falter out, in a profound shudder.
By a great effort he suppressed the rattling of his teeth.
“I’ll have you laid up on my hands,” she said, with genuine
uneasiness.
“I don’t think so,” remarked Mr Verloc, snuffling huskily.
He had certainly contrived somehow to catch an abominable cold
between seven in the morning and five in the afternoon. Mrs Verloc
looked at his bowed back.
“Where have you been to-day?” she asked.
“Nowhere,” answered Mr Verloc in a low, choked nasal tone. His
attitude suggested aggrieved sulks or a severe headache. The
unsufficiency and uncandidness of his answer became painfully
apparent in the dead silence of the room. He snuffled
apologetically, and added: “I’ve been to the bank.”
Mrs Verloc became attentive.
“You have!” she said dispassionately. “What for?”
Mr Verloc mumbled, with his nose over the grate, and with marked
unwillingness.
“Draw the money out!”
“What do you mean? All of it?”
“Yes. All of it.”
Mrs Verloc spread out with care the scanty table-cloth, got two
knives and two forks out of the table drawer, and suddenly stopped