Chapter three
A bomb in Greenwich Park
The bar, which was below ground, had a low roof, no windows,
and pictures of people drinking and dancing on the walls. At one of the thirty
small tables sat Comrade Ossipon. Opposite him there was a dirty little man who
was drinking calmly from a large glass full of beer. He wore glasses, and on
the sides of his small head he had ears which were too big for his face.
Ossipon didn’t feel very important. He stared at the Professor, wondering how
to get from the little man information that he wanted.
‘Have you been out much today?’ he said finally.
‘No. I stayed in bed all the morning. Why?’
The Professor lived far away in a poor part of London where
he rented a room in which, it seemed, mysterious things happened. His biggest
piece of furniture was a very large cupboard which he kept locked at all times.
He always stayed in his room when his landlady came to clean it and when he
went out he always locked the door and took the key with him.
‘Have you heard the news?’ asked Ossipon.
The Professor shook his head. Ossipon waited for a moment
and tried again.
‘Tell me, do you give your explosives to anybody who asks
for them?’
‘Yes, why not?’
‘Have you ever given any to a detective, for example?’
The little man smiled. He was very sure of himself. ‘The
police won’t come near me.’
‘But they could get the explosives from you and then arrest
you.’
‘I don’t think so. They know what I always carry with me.’
The Professor touched his coat lightly.
‘Yes, enough explosive to kill yourself and everyone near
you,’ said Ossipon in a voice full of both wonder and fear.
‘I always have my hand around the rubber ball inside my
pocket. It activates the detonator inside the glass jar. The tube goes up
here.’ He quickly showed the brown rubber tube that disappeared into the inside
pocket of his coat.
‘Does it explode immediately?’
‘No. it takes twenty seconds from the time I touch the
ball.’
‘Twenty seconds!’ Ossipon couldn’t believe it. ‘That’s
terrible!’
‘It is the weak part of the system. I am trying to invent
something better. A really intelligent detonator.’
‘Twenty seconds,’ repeated Ossipon shaking his head.
‘Nobody in this room could hope to escape,’ said the little
man looking around him.
Ossipon shook his head again as he pictured the terrible
destruction of a bomb in that room. But the Professor went on talking calmly.
‘Other people believe that I will use my bomb. That’s what
makes me free. They need order and life. I need nothing but death – and that
makes me strong.’
‘Karl Yundt said something like that a short while ago.’
‘Karl Yundt knows nothing. None of you people know
anything.’
‘But what do you want us to do?’ asked Ossipon angrily.
‘Invent the perfect detonator! That’s what you should be
thinking about. You aren’t nay better than the police. I met Inspector Heat the
other day. He was thinking of so many things – his boss, his money, the newspapers
– and you and your friends are the same as him. You talk and talk and you do
nothing. I work fourteen hours a day inventing the perfect detonator. If
necessary, I don’t eat. And I work alone.’
Ossipon’s face had gone red. ‘Let’s leave all that. What
about the news, eh?’ He took a newspaper out of his pocket. ‘There was a bomb
in Greenwich Park this morning at half-past ten. It left a big hole in the
ground under a tree and there were pieces of a man’s body all over the place.
He blew himself up. Did you have anything to do with it?’
The Professor said ‘Yes’, almost smiling.
‘I knew it!’ cried Ossipon. ‘You give your explosive to the
first stupid person that asks!’
‘Right! And why not? I don’t take my orders from you! You
aren’t important enough.’
‘Your detonator wasn’t very good this time,’ said Ossipon
coldly. ‘It killed the man.’
The Professor looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Yes, weel,
someone has to try them.’
‘Can’t you describe the person you gave it to?’
‘I can do more than just describe him. It was Verloc.’
‘Verloc! Impossible.’
‘Yes. Wasn’t he an important man in your group?’
‘Well, not really. He usually received comrades who were
coming to England but he wasn’t really important. He had no ideas. Years ago,
he used to speak at meetings in France, I believe, but he didn’t do it very
well. The police left him alone, I don’t know why. He was married, you know. I
suppose he started that shop with his wife’s money. He seemed to do all right.’
Ossipon paused and spoke almost to himself: ‘I wonder what
that woman will do now?’
‘Verloc told me that he wanted to destroy a building,’ said
the Professor. ‘I gave him a thick glass jar full of explosive inside an old
tin. Perhaps he activated the detonator and then forgot the time. He had twenty
minutes. Or perhaps he dropped it. The detonator was fine, I’m sure.’
Ossipon was worried. ‘All of this isn’t very nice for me,’
he said, as the Professor called the waiter and paid the bill. ‘Karl has been
ill in bed for a week and Michaelis is in the country writing a book. The
police might get interested in me.’
‘I don’t know what happened to Verloc. It’s a mystery,’ said
the Professor. ‘But he’s gone. The police know you did not help him.’
‘I’m not so sure. But perhaps our friend Michaelis could
support us when he speaks at one of our meetings. Michaelis is stupid, but
people like him. And I could talk to a few newspapers.’
Ossipon thought about Verloc’s shop in Brett Street. Were
the police already there, asking questions? Then, he wondered how the police
would identify Verloc after the bomb had done its violent work. Perhaps he was
safe after all. Or perhaps not.
‘What should I do now?’ he said half to himself.
‘Get what you can from the woman,’ said the Professor, who
had heard his words.
The little man finished his beer, got up and walked away
from the table and Ossipon, surprised at the Professor’s words, sat alone for a
little longer thinking. When he came out of the bar into the grey, dirty
street, the Professor had already disappeared.
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