The Secret Agent (4)

Hello guys,

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

Enjoy!





Chapter four

 

Chief Inspector Heat

 

The Professor walked along the busy street. He felt the rubber ball in his left pocket and smiled to himself. He left the crowds and turned into a quiet, narrow street. A tall, well-built man was coming towards him. He stopped in surprise when he saw the Professor.

Chief Inspector Heat of the Special Crime Department had not had a good day. Just before eleven o’clock that morning, he had received news from Greenwich about the bomb. Less than a week before, he had told a very important person that the anarchists were not planning anything violent. The important man had believed him. and now Heat felt stupid. He had gone to the park and to the hospital where he had seen what was left of the body of the Greenwich bomber. It was impossible to identify. He then talked to the policeman who had arrived immediately after the bomb exploded.

‘He’s all there, sir. Every bit of him. I heard the bang and felt the ground shake. Then I saw a light through the fog and ran through the trees towards the Observatory.’

‘You used a shovel,’ said Heat, noticing some small stones among the pieces of body.

‘Yes, I had to.’

Heat felt sick.

‘An old woman saw two men coming out of the station,’ said the policeman. ‘One was tall and thin and carrying a tin. The other was fatter.’ He looked at the body. ‘Well, here’s the tall, thin one. I suppose he fell over and the thing that he was carrying exploded.’

Heat picked up a piece of dark blue cloth with a narrow edge of blue velvet. The policeman spoke.

“The old woman noticed that. “A dark blue coat with a velvet collar," she said.’

Heat moved towards the window and looked interestedly at the cloth. Quickly. he pulled the cloth from the collar and put it in his pocket. Then he threw the piece of velvet back onto the table.

‘Cover him up.’ he ordered, and then he left.

On the train back to town, Heat thought about his discovery. He wasn’t going to say much about the man who had blown himself up.

 

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When Inspector Heat met the Professor he said to the little man

'You are not wanted — yet. But when I want you I will know where to find you.’

‘Well, if anything happens and we’re both blown up, I suppose they will say nice things about you in the newspapers. Just think, they might bury us together!’

Heat was very angry but he spoke quietly.

‘I’ll get you in the end.'

‘I’m sure you will,’ replied the Professor. ‘But why not now? There's no one near us. It's the perfect chance.’

‘Do you think I’m stupid? The law will win in the end. I don’t know what your game is. I don't believe you know yourselves. Stop doing it — there are more of us than you.’

The Professor spoke more bravely than he felt: ‘l am doing my job better than you’re doing yours.’

‘That’s enough,’ said Heat quickly.

The Professor laughed and continued on his way. He wanted to return to his lonely room as quickly as possible, far from the real world of the crowded city.

‘The man’s mad,’ thought Heat as he watched the Professor leave. Now he had a more important problem to think about; what to say to his boss, the Assistant Commissioner.

 

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The Assistant Commissioner was working at his desk. He had a foreign-looking face with dark hair and a dark beard. When Heat entered the room, he looked up.

‘Ah, Heat. I suppose you were right when you said the London anarchists had nothing to do with this business. But we need to know who did it. Have you brought anything useful from Greenwich?’

Heat made his report. He explained that he believed two men had taken part in the bombing. One man had shown the other where to put the explosive and then left. He was probably waiting for the train when the bomb exploded.

The Assistant Commissioner watched Heat as he talked. He did not enjoy his job in London. He had begun working as a policeman abroad and he had liked it there. But then he had married while he was on holiday in England and his wife did not want to go abroad. She knew a lot of important people in England and this had helped him. But he hated working at his desk all day and he hated the English weather.

‘Are you looking for the other man? he asked.

‘Yes, sir. The porter at the station in Greenwich remembers them. The fat man was carrying a tin and he gave it to the thin young man in the station. This agrees with what the old woman told the police in Greenwich Park. And I saw bits of tin among the remains of the body.’

‘And they caught the train to Greenwich? Two foreign anarchists going there from that small country station. That’s strange.'

‘It isn’t so strange when you remember that Michaelis is staying in a cottage near the small country station.'

When the Assistant Commissioner heard the name ‘Michaelis’, he‘ showed more interest in the case. The ex-prisoner was supported by a rich and important lady who was one of his wife's best friends. All kinds of people met at her house: kings, queens, artists, men of science, politicians, and even criminals.

Years before, Michaelis and some other men had tried to help some prisoners to escape from the police. The plan had gone wrong and one of the policemen was killed. Michaelis knew nothing about the shooting but later he stupidly said he was sorry that the plan to help the prisoners had not worked. For that Michaelis was sent to prison for life.

This made him famous. After fifteen years, he came out of prison on bail. Even after all the years in prison, he was still optimistic and continued to believe that people were naturally good. The Assistant Commissioner had been there when Michaelis first came to the great lady’s house. She liked Michaelis a lot.

When he left she said, ‘And that is what some people call a revolutionary! A good, kind man and they put him in prison for fifteen years. Now his parents and the girl he was going to marry are dead. Someone will have to look after him.’

The Assistant Commissioner secretly agreed with the lady. Michaelis was strange but not dangerous. ‘If they send that man to prison again, she will never forgive me,’ he thought.

          (to be continued)

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