hands were pressed convulsively to her face, with the tips of the
fingers contracted against the forehead, as though the skin had
been a mask which she was ready to tear off violently. The perfect
immobility of her pose expressed the agitation of rage and despair,
all the potential violence of tragic passions, better than any
shallow display of shrieks, with the beating of a distracted head
against the walls, could have done. Chief Inspector Heat, crossing
the shop at his busy, swinging pace, gave her only a cursory
glance. And when the cracked bell ceased to tremble on its curved
ribbon of steel nothing stirred near Mrs Verloc, as if her attitude
had the locking power of a spell. Even the butterfly-shaped gas
flames posed on the ends of the suspended T-bracket burned without
a quiver. In that shop of shady wares fitted with deal shelves
painted a dull brown, which seemed to devour the sheen of the
light, the gold circlet of the wedding ring on Mrs Verloc’s left
hand glittered exceedingly with the untarnished glory of a piece
from some splendid treasure of jewels, dropped in a dust-bin.
CHAPTER X
The Assistant Commissioner, driven rapidly in a hansom from the
neighbourhood of Soho in the direction of Westminster, got out at
the very centre of the Empire on which the sun never sets. Some
stalwart constables, who did not seem particularly impressed by the
duty of watching the august spot, saluted him. Penetrating through
a portal by no means lofty into the precincts of the House which is
THE House, PAR EXCELLENCE in the minds of many millions of men, he
was met at last by the volatile and revolutionary Toodles.
That neat and nice young man concealed his astonishment at the
early appearance of the Assistant Commissioner, whom he had been
told to look out for some time about midnight. His turning up so
early he concluded to be the sign that things, whatever they were,
had gone wrong. With an extremely ready sympathy, which in nice
youngsters goes often with a joyous temperament, he felt sorry for
the great Presence he called “The Chief,” and also for the
Assistant Commissioner, whose face appeared to him more ominously
wooden than ever before, and quite wonderfully long. “What a
queer, foreign-looking chap he is,” he thought to himself, smiling
from a distance with friendly buoyancy. And directly they came
together he began to talk with the kind intention of burying the
awkwardness of failure under a heap of words. It looked as if the
great assault threatened for that night were going to fizzle out.
An inferior henchman of “that brute Cheeseman” was up boring
mercilessly a very thin House with some shamelessly cooked
statistics. He, Toodles, hoped he would bore them into a count out
every minute. But then he might be only marking time to let that
guzzling Cheeseman dine at his leisure. Anyway, the Chief could
not be persuaded to go home.
“He will see you at once, I think. He’s sitting all alone in his
room thinking of all the fishes of the sea,” concluded Toodles
airily. “Come along.”
Notwithstanding the kindness of his disposition, the young private
secretary (unpaid) was accessible to the common failings of
humanity. He did not wish to harrow the feelings of the Assistant
Commissioner, who looked to him uncommonly like a man who has made
a mess of his job. But his curiosity was too strong to be
restrained by mere compassion. He could not help, as they went
along, to throw over his shoulder lightly:
“And your sprat?”
“Got him,” answered the Assistant Commissioner with a concision
which did not mean to be repellent in the least.
“Good. You’ve no idea how these great men dislike to be
disappointed in small things.”
After this profound observation the experienced Toodles seemed to
reflect. At any rate he said nothing for quite two seconds. Then:
“I’m glad. But – I say – is it really such a very small thing as
you make it out?”
“Do you know what may be done with a sprat?” the Assistant
Commissioner asked in his turn.
“He’s sometimes put into a sardine box,” chuckled Toodles, whose