“If they let you,” said the Chief Inspector cynically. “You will be preached to, no doubt, before they put you into the dock. And in the end you may yet get let in for a sentence that will surprise you. I wouldn’t trust too much the gentleman who’s been talking to you.” Mr Verloc listened, frowning. “My advice to you is to clear out while you may. I have no instructions. There are some of them,” continued Chief Inspector Heat, laying a peculiar stress on the word “them,” “who think you are already out of the world.” “Indeed!” Mr Verloc was moved to say. Though since his return from Greenwich he had spent most of his time sitting in the tap-room of an obscure little public-house, he could hardly have hoped for such favourable news. “That’s the impression about you.” The Chief Inspector nodded at him. “Vanish. Clear out.” “Where to?” snarled Mr Verloc. He raised his head, and gazing at the closed door of the parlour, muttered feelingly: “I only wish you would take me away to-night. I would go quietly.” “I daresay,” assented sardonically the Chief Inspector, following the direction of his glance. The brow of Mr Verloc broke into slight moisture. He lowered his husky voice confidentially before the unmoved Chief Inspector. “The lad was half-witted, irresponsible. Any court would have seen that at once. Only fit for the asylum. And that was the worst that would’ve happened to him if—” The Chief Inspector, his hand on the door handle, whispered into Mr Verloc’s face. “He may’ve been half-witted, but you must have been crazy. What drove you off your head like this?” Mr Verloc, thinking of Mr Vladimir, did not hesitate in the choice of words. “A Hyperborean swine,” he hissed forcibly. “A what you might call a—a gentleman.”