Chapter one
A visit to the embassy
Mr Verloc went out that morning
leaving his young brother-in-law. The shop was a small dark building, which
stood in a narrow street in Soho, London. In the window there were photographs
of dancing girls wearing very few clothes and beside these there were
mysterious packets, yellow envelopes, bottles of ink, old books and newspapers.
There were two gas lights in the window, but these never burned strongly at
night, perhaps in order to save money, or perhaps to make it difficult to see
customers going into the shop.
The door was closed during the day.
In the evening it was left half open. Few people came into the shop. They were
usually men in cheap clothes who entered in a secretive way with their faces
half hidden by their hats and coats. Each time a customer arrived, and old
cracked bell rang to warn the people in the house behind the shop.
Mr Verloc owned the shop and the
house. At the sound of the bell, he usually came out of the room behind the
shop. He was a large man with a dangerous look hidden in his sleepy eyes. While
he started at them, customers gave him money and he gave them what they asked
for. Everything was strangely expensive in that dark little shop of his.
Sometimes, Mrs Verlock appeared.
She was young with a full figure, clear skin, and tidy hair. The younger men felt
uncomfortable with her. If she came out to help them, they usually bought
something that they did not really want, like a bottle of ink, and they dropped
it on the ground outside the shop when they left. The men who came in the
evening were different. They spoke to Mrs Verlock in a friendly way as they
went through the shop into the back room. The shop door was the only entrance
to the house.
Mr Verlock lived in the house with
his wife., Winnie, her brother, Stevie, and her mother. Winnie’s mother was a
fat woman who could not walk very well. Her husband, who had owned a pub, was
dead and for years she kept a house where gentlemen could rent rooms in
Belgravia, a quiet part of London. Mr Verloc had sometimes taken rooms there.
He travelled abroad on business but nobody really knew what he did. When he was
in London, he stayed in bed until very late. He went out in the evening and
came back at three or four o’clock in the morning. Winnie took his breakfast to
him in bed. She was pleasant but she did not say much. Mr Verlock thought she was
pretty, and he began to speak more often to her mother. Winnie’s mother thought
that Mr Verlock was a nice respectable
gentleman, but he did not take Winnie out at night to the theatre like
respectable gentlemen usually do. He was busy in the evenings.
After a short time, Mr Verlock and
Winnie were married. He told her that his work was political and that she would
have to be pleasant to his political friends. Winnie agreed to do what he asked
and they moved to Soho.
‘Of course we’ll take care of your
furniture, mother’ Winnie had said.
Winnie’s mother left Belgravia, and
she and Stevie went to live in Soho, too. Now Mr Verlock had a respectable
family. Winnie’s mother felt safe with Mr Verlock. She thought that her
daughter and son Stevie were safe too.
Feeling safe was important because
Stevie was a problem. Although he was old enough to have a beard, which was
starting to grow on his weak face, he was like a little child. When he had to
take a message to someone, he often got lost. He forgot his address and when he
was horrified he stuttered. He got a job as an office-boy when he was fourteen,
but one day he exploded some fireworks on the stairs and the other workers were
frightened. Some of the other young office boys had given him the idea, and he
was easily excited by things that he heard or saw. After that, Stevie lost his
job, of course, and he had to wash plates and clean shoes at home instead. He had
no future. Winnie’s mother was very happy that Mr Verlock was so kind and
wanted to take care of all her family.
In the house in Soho, Stevie tried
to help his sister. He loved her and was happy to do anything for her. In his
free time, he sat in the kitchen and spent hours drawing circles on pieces of
paper. Winnie watched him carefully. She was like a mother to him.
£££££
This then was the house and family
that Mr Verlock left behind him as he walked west through London at 10.30 in
the morning. He was going to a foreign embassy in Knightsbridge, a rich part of
London. It was his second visit in eleven years. He wore a dark coat and a hat,
his boots shone, and his hair was carefully brushed.
The sun was red over London that
morning and there was a golden light in the air. The roofs of the buildings
were red-gold in the sun and the back of Verloc’s coat was touched with red too,
like old gold. But Verloc did not feel old.
As he walked past Hyde Park, he
noticed rich people riding their horses and walking in the park, and thought: “We
must protect the money at the heart of this city, at the heart of this country,
from the poor.’ But his face did not show his feelings. Showing feelings was
hard and Verloc was lazy.
He turned left into a quieter,
smaller street. All the windows in the houses here were bright and clean and
their front doors shone. Everything here seemed so empty and so strangely
unreal, that it was like a dream which went on for ever.
At the entrance to the Embassy Verloc
showed the porter a special embassy envelope and continued on his way through the
embassy garden. He showed the same envelop to another man who opened the front
door of the embassy building. He was then taken through a large entrance hall
and upstairs into a small room with a writing table and two chairs in it. here
he waited, standing, with his hat and his stick in his hand. After some time, another
door opened quietly and a man entered carrying some papers. He had an ugly
white face with long thin grey hairs on the top of his head. He put on some
glasses and Verloc’s appearance seemed at once to surprise him. This was Wurmt,
the Ambassador’s assistant. Neither he nor Verlock said hello.
‘I have some of your reports here,’
said Wurmt in a tired voice.
‘We do not like the way the police
act in this country.’
Verloc spoke for the first time
that morning.
‘Every country has its police. I can’t
do anything about that.’
‘What we want,’ replied Wurmt,’is
something to wake the police up. You can do that, can’t you?’
Verloc said nothing, but he sighed.
Then, realizing his mistake, he immediately tried to smile.
‘The law is too soft here,’ continued
Wurmt, staring through his glasses at Verloc. ‘And some people aren’t happy
about that –’
‘No, they aren’t,’ interrupted
Verloc. ‘My reports from the last twelve months say that clearly.’
‘I have read your reports,’ replied
Wurmt softly. ‘But I don’t understand why you wrote them.’
There was silence. Verloc bit his
lip and Wurmt looked down at the papers on the table in front of him. At last
he continued.
‘Everything in these reports was
already known when you began working for us. We want to hear something
important, something surprising, something new.’
‘I shall try in future to please
you,’ said Verloc uncomfortably. Wurmt stared at Verloc.
‘You are very overweight,’ he said.
‘Overweight?’ said Verloc angrily. He
could not believe what he was hearing.
Wurmt did not answer for some time. In
the end he said, ‘I think you should see Mr Vladimir. Please wait here.’
(To be continued )
Aucun commentaire:
Enregistrer un commentaire