The Secret Agent (3)

Hello guys,

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

Enjoy!



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.

 

                                                                  (To be continued)


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