“A good idea,” said the thin, dark man, whose glance had hardened suddenly. “You knew Mr Verloc before—didn’t you? Perhaps in France?” “I have heard of him,” admitted the visitor in his slow, painstaking tone, which yet had a certain curtness of intention. There was a pause. Then he spoke again, in a far less elaborate manner. “Your husband has not gone out to wait for me in the street by chance?” “In the street!” repeated Mrs Verloc, surprised. “He couldn’t. There’s no other door to the house.” For a moment she sat impassive, then left her seat to go and peep through the glazed door. Suddenly she opened it, and disappeared into the parlour. Mr Verloc had done no more than put on his overcoat. But why he should remain afterwards leaning over the table propped up on his two arms as though he were feeling giddy or sick, she could not understand. “Adolf,” she called out half aloud; and when he had raised himself: “Do you know that man?” she asked rapidly. “I’ve heard of him,” whispered uneasily Mr Verloc, darting a wild glance at the door. Mrs Verloc’s fine, incurious eyes lighted up with a flash of abhorrence. “One of Karl Yundt’s friends—beastly old man.” “No! No!” protested Mr Verloc, busy fishing for his hat. But when he got it from under the sofa he held it as if he did not know the use of a hat. “Well—he’s waiting for you,” said Mrs Verloc at last. “I say, Adolf, he ain’t one of them Embassy people you have been bothered with of late?” “Bothered with Embassy people,” repeated Mr Verloc, with a heavy start of surprise and fear. “Who’s been talking to you of the Embassy people?” “Yourself.” “I! I! Talked of the Embassy to you!” Mr Verloc seemed scared and bewildered beyond measure. His wife explained: “You’ve been talking a little in your sleep of late, Adolf.” “What—what did I say? What do you know?” “Nothing much. It seemed mostly nonsense. Enough to let me guess that something worried you.” Mr Verloc rammed his hat on his head. A crimson flood of anger ran over his face. “Nonsense—eh? The Embassy people! I would cut their hearts out one after another. But let them look out. I’ve got a tongue in my head.” He fumed, pacing up and down between the table and the sofa, his open overcoat catching against the angles. The red flood of anger ebbed out, and left his face all white, with quivering nostrils. Mrs Verloc, for the purposes of practical existence, put down these appearances to the cold. “Well,” she said, “get rid of the man, whoever he is, as soon as you can, and come back home to me. You want looking after for a day or two.” Mr Verloc calmed down, and, with resolution imprinted on his pale face, had already opened the door, when his wife called him back in a whisper: “Adolf! Adolf!” He came back startled. “What about that money you drew out?” she asked. “You’ve got it in your pocket? Hadn’t you better—”