Anarchists -- Fiction; Bombings -- Fiction; Conspiracies -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction; Political fiction
He knew he would be welcomed there. On entering the smaller of the two
drawing-rooms he saw his wife in a small group near the piano. A
youngish composer in pass of becoming famous was discoursing from a music
stool to two thick men whose backs looked old, and three slender women
whose backs looked young. Behind the screen the great lady had only two
persons with her: a man and a woman, who sat side by side on arm-chairs
at the foot of her couch. She extended her hand to the Assistant
Commissioner.
“I never hoped to see you here to-night. Annie told me—”
“Yes. I had no idea myself that my work would be over so soon.”
The Assistant Commissioner added in a low tone: “I am glad to tell you
that Michaelis is altogether clear of this—”
The patroness of the ex-convict received this assurance indignantly.
“Why? Were your people stupid enough to connect him with—”
“Not stupid,” interrupted the Assistant Commissioner, contradicting
deferentially. “Clever enough—quite clever enough for that.”
A silence fell. The man at the foot of the couch had stopped speaking to
the lady, and looked on with a faint smile.
“I don’t know whether you ever met before,” said the great lady.
Mr Vladimir and the Assistant Commissioner, introduced, acknowledged each
other’s existence with punctilious and guarded courtesy.
“He’s been frightening me,” declared suddenly the lady who sat by the
side of Mr Vladimir, with an inclination of the head towards that
gentleman. The Assistant Commissioner knew the lady.
“You do not look frightened,” he pronounced, after surveying her
conscientiously with his tired and equable gaze. He was thinking
meantime to himself that in this house one met everybody sooner or later.
Mr Vladimir’s rosy countenance was wreathed in smiles, because he was
witty, but his eyes remained serious, like the eyes of convinced man.
“Well, he tried to at least,” amended the lady.
“Force of habit perhaps,” said the Assistant Commissioner, moved by an
irresistible inspiration.
“He has been threatening society with all sorts of horrors,” continued
the lady, whose enunciation was caressing and slow, “apropos of this
explosion in Greenwich Park. It appears we all ought to quake in our
shoes at what’s coming if those people are not suppressed all over the
world. I had no idea this was such a grave affair.”
Mr Vladimir, affecting not to listen, leaned towards the couch, talking
amiably in subdued tones, but he heard the Assistant Commissioner say:
“I’ve no doubt that Mr Vladimir has a very precise notion of the true
importance of this affair.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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