The Secret Agent (1)

Hello guys,

Here is the first part of our story by Joseph Conrad.

Enjoy!




 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 )


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