`Doyouknowhowmuchmoneythereisinthatthing？’heasked，asifaddressingslowlysomehob—goblinsittingbetweentheearsofthehorse。
`No，’saidMrsVerloc。`Hegaveittome。Ididn’tcount。Ithoughtnothingofitatthetime。Afterwards——’
Shemovedherrighthandalittle。Itwassoexpressivethatlittlemovementofthatrighthandwhichhadstruckthedeadlyblowintoaman’sheartlessthananhourbeforethatOssiponcouldnotrepressashudder。
Heexaggerateditthenpurposely，andmuttered:
`Iamcold。Igotchilledthrough。’
MrsVerloclookedstraightaheadattheperspectiveofherescape。Nowandthen，likeasablestreamerblownacrossaroad，thewords`Thedropgivenwasfourteenfeet’gotinthewayofhertensestare。Throughtheblackveilthewhitesofherbigeyesgleamedlustrouslyliketheeyesofamaskedwoman。
Ossipon’srigidityhadsomethingbusinesslike，aqueerofficialexpression。
Hewasheardagainallofasudden，asthoughhehadreleasedacatchinordertospeak。
`Lookhere！Doyouknowwhetheryour—whetherhekepthisaccountatthebankinhisownnameorinsomeothername。
MrsVerlocturneduponhimhermaskedfaceandthebigwhitegleamofhereyes。
`Othername？’shesaid，thoughtfully。
`Beexactinwhatyousay，’Ossiponlecturedintheswiftmotionofthehansom。`It’sextremelyimportant。Iwillexplaintoyou。Thebankhasthenumbersofthesenotes。Iftheywerepaidtohiminhisownname，thenwhenhis—hisdeathbecomesknown，thenotesmayservetotrackussincewehavenoothermoney。Youhavenoethermoneyonyou？’
Sheshookherheadnegatively。
`Nonewhatever？’heinsisted。
`Afewcoppers。
`Itwouldbedangerousinthatcase。Themoneywouldhavethentobedealtspeciallywith。Veryspecially。We’dhaveperhapstolosemorethanhalftheamountinordertogetthesenoteschangedinacertainsafeplaceIknowofinParis。Intheothercase—Imeanifhehadhisaccountandgotpaidoutundersomeothername—saySmith，forinstance—themoneyisperfectlysafetouse。Youunderstand？ThebankhasnomeansofknowingthatMrVerlocand，say，Smithareoneandthesameperson。Doyouseehowimportantitisthatyoushouldmakenomistakeinansweringme？Canyouanswerthatqueryatall？Perhapsnot。Eh？
Shesaidcomposedly:
`Iremembernow！Hedidn’tbankinhisownname。HetoldmeoncethatitwasondepositinthenameofProzor。’
`Youaresure？’
`Certain。’
`Youdon’tthinkthebankhadanyknowledgeofhisrealname？Oranybodyinthebankor——’
Sheshruggedhershoulders。
`HowcanIknow？Isitlikely，Tom？’
`No。Isupposeit’snotlikely。Itwouldhavebeenmorecomfortabletoknow……Hereweare。Getoutfirst，andwalkstraightin。Movesmartly。’
Heremainedbehind，andpaidthecabmanoutofhisownloosesilver。
Theprogrammetracedbyhisminuteforesightwascarriedout。WhenMrsVerloc，withherticketforStMaloinherhand，enteredtheladies’waiting—room，ComradeOssiponwalkedintothebar，andinsevenminutesabsorbedthreegoesofhotbrandyandwater。
`Tryingtodriveoutacold，’heexplainedtothebarmaid，withafriendlynodandagrimacingsmile。Thenhecameout，bringingoutfromthatfestiveinterludethefaceofamanwhohaddrunkattheveryFountainofSorrow。
Heraisedhiseyestotheclock。Itwastime。Hewaited。
Punctual，MrsVerloccameout，withherveildown，andallblack—blackascommonplacedeathitself，crownedwithafewcheapandpaleflowers。
Shepassedclosetoalittlegroupofmenwhowerelaughing，butwhoselaughtercouldhavebeenstruckdeadbyasingleword。Herwalkwasindolent，butherbackwasstraight，andComradeOssiponlookedafteritinterrorbeforemakingastarthimself。
Thetrainwasdrawnup，withhardlyanybodyaboutitsrowofopendoors。
Owingtothetimeoftheyearandtotheabominableweathertherewerebutfewpassengers。MrsVerlocwalkedslowlyalongthelineofemptycompartmentstillOssipontouchedherelbowfrombehind。
`Inhere。’
Shegotin，andheremainedontheplatformlookingabout。Shebentforward，andinawhisper:
`Whatisit，Tom？Isthereanydanger？’
`Waitamoment。There’stheguard。’
Shesawhimaccostthemaninuniform。Theytalkedforawhile。Sheheardtheguardsay`Verywell，sir，’andsawhimtouchhiscap。ThenOssiponcameback，saying:`Itoldhimnottoletanybodygetintoourcompartment。’
Shewasleaningforwardonherseat。`Youthinkofeverything……You’llgetmeoff，Tom？’sheaskedinagustofanguish，liftingherveilbrusquelytolookathersaviour。
Shehaduncoveredafacelikeadamant。Andoutofthisfacetheeyeslookedon，big，dry，enlarged，lightless，burntoutliketwoblackholesinthewhite，shiningglobes。
`Thereisnodanger，’hesaid，gazingintothemwithanearnestnessalmostrapt，whichtoMrsVerloc，flyingfromthegallows，seemedtobefullofforceandtenderness。Thisdevotiondeeplymovedher—andtheadamantinefacelostthesternrigidityofitsterror。ComradeOssipongazedatitasnoloverevergazedathismistress’sface。AlexanderOssipon，anarchist，nicknamedtheDoctor，authorofamedical（andimproper）pamphlet，latelectureronthesocialaspectsofhygienetoworkingmen’sclubs，wasfreefromthetrammelsofconventionalmorality—buthesubmittedtotheruleofscience。Hewasscientific，andhegazedscientificallyatthatwoman，thesisterofadegenerate，adegenerateherself—ofamurderingtype。Hegazedather，andinvokedLombroso，asanItalianpeasantrecommendshimselftohisfavouritesaint。Hegazedscientifically。Hegazedathercheeks，athernose，athereyes，atherears……Bad！……Fatal！
MrsVerloc’spalelipspatting，slightlyrelaxedunderhispassionatelyattentivegaze，hegazedalsoatherteeth……Notadoubtremained……amurderingtype……IfComradeOssipondidnotrecommendhisterrifiedsoultoLombroso，itwasonlybecauseonscientificgroundshecouldnotbelievethathecarriedabouthimsuchathingasasoul。Buthehadinhimthescientificspirit，whichmovedhimtotestifyontheplatformofarailwaystationinnervous，jerkyphrases。
`Hewasanextraordinarylad，thatbrotherofyours。Mostinterestingtostudy。Aperfecttypeinaway。Perfect！’
Hespokescientificallyinhissecretfear。AndMrsVerloc，hearingthesewordsofcommendationvouchsafedtoherbeloveddead，swayedforwardwithaflickeroflightinhersombreeyes，likearayofsunshineheraldingatempestofrain。
`Hewasthatindeed，’shewhispered，softly，withquiveringlips。`Youtookalotofnoticeofhim，Tom。Ilovedyouforit。’
`It’salmostincredibletheresemblancetherewasbetweenyoutwo，’
pursuedOssipon，givingavoicetohisabidingdread，andtryingtoconcealhisnervous，sickeningimpatienceforthetraintostart。`Yes，heresembledyou。’
Thesewordswerenotespeciallytouchingorsympathetic。Butthefactofthatresemblanceinsisteduponwasenoughinitselftoactuponheremotionspowerfully。Withalittlefaintcry，andthrowingherarmsout，MrsVerlocburstintotearsatlast。
Ossiponenteredthecarriage，hastilyclosedthedoorandlookedouttoseethetimebythestationclock。Eightminutesmore。ForthefirstthreeoftheseMrsVerlocweptviolentlyandhelplesslywithoutpauseorinterruption。Thensherecoveredsomewhat，andsobbedgentlyinanabundantfalloftears。Shetriedtotalktohersaviour，tothemanwhowasthemessengeroflife。
`Oh，Tom！HowcouldIfeartodieafterhewastakenawayfrommesocruelly！HowcouldI！HowcouldIbesuchacoward！’
Shelamentedaloudherloveoflife，thatlifewithoutgraceorcharm，andalmostwithoutdecency，butofanexaltedfaithfulnessofpurpose，evenuntomurder。And，asoftenhappensinthelamentofpoorhumanityrichinsufferingbutindigentinwords，thetruth—theverycryoftruth—wasfoundinawornandartificialshapepickedupsomewhereamongthephrasesofshamsentiment。
`HowcouldIbesoafraidofdeath！Tom，Itried。ButIamafraid。I
triedtodoawaywithmyself。AndIcouldn’t。AmIhard？Isupposethecupofhorrorswasnotfullenoughforsuchasme。Thenwhenyoucame……
’
Shepaused。Theninagustofconfidenceandgratitude:`Iwillliveallmydaysforyou，Tom！’shesobbedout。
`Gooverintotheothercornerofthecarriage，awayfromtheplatform，’
saidOssipon，solicitously。Shelethersavioursettlehercomfortably，andhewatchedthecomingonofanothercrisisofweeping，stillmoreviolentthanthefirst。Hewatchedthesymptomswithasortofmedicalair，asifcountingseconds。Heheardtheguard’swhistleatlast。Aninvoluntarycontractionoftheupperlipbaredhisteethwithalltheaspectofsavageresolutionashefeltthetrainbeginningtomove。MrsVerlocheardandfeltnothing，andOssipon，hersaviour，stoodstill。Hefeltthetrainrollquicker，rumblingheavilytothesoundofthewoman’sloudsobs，andthencrossingthecarriageintwolongstridesheopenedthedoordeliberately，andleapedout。
Hehadleapedoutattheveryendoftheplatform;andsuchwashisdeterminationinstickingtohisdesperateplanthathemanagedbyasortofmiracle，performedalmostintheair，toslamtothedoorofthecarriage。
Onlythendidhefindhimselfrolling，headoverheelslikeashotrabbit。
Hewasbruised，shaken，paleasdeath，andoutofbreathwhenhegotup。
Buthewascalm，andperfectlyabletomeettheexcitedcrowdofrailwaymenwhohadgatheredroundhiminamoment。Heexplained，ingentleandconvincingtones，thathiswifehadstartedatamoment’snoticeforBrittanytoherdyingmother;that，ofcourse，shewasgreatlyupset，andheconsiderablyconcernedatherstate;thathewastryingtocheerherup，andhadabsolutelyfailedtonoticeatfirstthatthetrainwasmovingout。Tothegeneralexclamation`Whydidn’tyougoontoSouthampton，thensir？’heobjectedtheinexperienceofayoungsister—in—lawleftaloneinthehousewiththreesmallchildren，andheralarmathisabsencethetelegraphofficesbeingclosed。Hehadactedonimpulse。`ButIdon’tthinkI’llevertrythatagain，’heconcluded;smiledallround;distributedsomesmallchange，andmarchedwithoutalimpoutofthestation。
Outside，ComradeOssipon，flushofsafebanknotesasneverbeforeinhislife，refusedtheofferofacab。
`Icanwalk，’hesaid，withalittlefriendlylaughtothecivildriver。
Hecouldwalk。Hewalked。Hecrossedthebridge。LateronthetowersoftheAbbeysawintheirmassiveimmobilitytheyellowbushofhishairpassingunderthelamps。ThelightsofVictoriasawhim，too，andSloaneSquare，andtherailingsofthepark。AndComradeOssipononcemorefoundhimselfonabridge。Theriver，asinistermarvel—ofstillshadowsandflowinggleamsminglingbelowinablacksilence，arrestedhisattention。
Hestoodlookingovertheparapetforalongtime。Theclocktowerboomedabrazenblastabovehisdroopinghead。Helookedupatthedial……HalfpasttwelveofawildnightintheChannel。
AndagainComradeOssiponwalked。Hisrobustformwasseenthatnightindistantpartsoftheenormoustownslumberingmonstrouslyonacarpetofmudunderaveilofrawmist。Itwasseencrossingthestreetswithoutlifeandsound，ordiminishingintheinterminablestraightperspectivesofshadowyhousesborderingemptyroadwayslinedbystringsofgas—lamps。
HewalkedthroughSquares，Places，Ovals，Commons，throughmonotonousstreetswithunknownnameswherethedustofhumanitysettlesinertandhopelessoutofthestreamoflife。Hewalked。Andsuddenlyturningintoastripofafrontgardenwithamangygrassplot，helethimselfintoasmallgrimyhousewithalatchkeyhetookoutofhispocket。
Hethrewhimselfdownonhisbedalldressed，andlaystillforawholequarterofanhourThenhesatupsuddenly，drawinguphisknees，andclaspinghislegs。Thefirstdawnfoundhimopen—eyed，inthatsameposture。Thismanwhocouldwalksolong，sofar，soaimlessly，withoutshowingasignoffatigue，couldalsoremainsittingstillforhourswithoutstirringalimboraneyelid。Butwhenthelatesunsentitsraysintotheroomheunclaspedhishands，andfellbackonthepillow。Hiseyesstaredattheceiling。Andsuddenlytheyclosed。ComradeOssiponsleptinthesunlight。
CONRAD:TheSecretAgent，Chapter13CHAPTER13
THEenormousironpadlockonthedoorsofthewallcupboardwastheonlyobjectintheroomonwhichtheeyecouldrestwithoutbecomingafflictedbythemiserableunlovelinessofformsandthepovertyofmaterial。Unsaleableintheordinarycourseofbusinessonaccountofitsnobleproportions，ithadbeencededtotheProfessorforafewpencebyamarinedealerintheeastofLondon。Theroomwaslarge，clean，respectable，andpoorwiththatpovertysuggestingthestarvationofeveryhumanneedexceptmerebread。Therewasnothingonthewallsbutthepaper，anexpanseofarsenicalgreen，soiledwithindeliblesmudgeshereandthere，andwithstainsresemblingfadedmapsofuninhabitedcontinents。
AtadealtablenearawindowsatComradeOssipon，holdinghisheadbetweenhisfists。TheProfessor，dressedinonlyhissuitofshoddytweeds，butflappingtoandfroonthebareboardsapairofincrediblydilapidatedslippers，hadthrusthishandsdeepintotheover—strainedpocketsofhisjacket。HewasrelatingtohisrobustguestavisithehadlatelybeenpayingCotheApostleMichaelis。ThePerfectAnarchisthadevenbeenunbendingalittle。
`Thefellowdidn’tknowanythingofVerloc’sdeath。Ofcourse！Heneverlooksatthenewspapers。Theymakehimtoosad，hesays。Butnevermind。
Iwalkedintohiscottage。Notasoulanywhere。1hadtoshouthalfadozentimesbeforeheansweredme。Ithoughthewasfastasleepyet，inbed。
Butnotatall。Hehadbeenwritinghisbookforfourhoursalready。Hesatinthattinycageinalitterofmanuscript。Therewasahalf—eatenrawcarrotonthetablenearhim。Hisbreakfast。Helivesonadietofrawcarrotsandalittlemilknow。’
`Howdoeshelookonit？’askedComradeOssipon，listlessly。
`Angelic……Ipickedupahandfulofhispagesfromthefloor。Thepovertyofreasoningisastonishing。Hehasnologic。Hecan’tthinkconsecutively。
Butthat’snothing。Hehasdividedhisbiographyintothreeparts，entitled`Faith，Hope，Charity’。Heiselaboratingnowtheideaofaworldplannedoutlikeanimmenseandnicehospital，withgardensandflowers，inwhichthestrongaretodevotethemselvestothenursingoftheweak。’
TheProfessorpaused。
`Conceiveyouthisfolly，Ossipon？Theweak！Thesourceofallevilonthisearth！’hecontinuedwithhisgrimassurance。`ItoldhimthatIdreamtofaworldlikeshambles，wheretheweakwouldbetakeninhandforutterextermination。
`Doyouunderstand，Ossipon？Thesourceofallevil！Theyareoursinistermasters—theweak，theflabby，thesilly，thecowardly，thefaintofheart，andtheslavishofmind。Theyhavepower。Theyarethemultitude。Theirsisthekingdomoftheearth。Exterminate，exterminate！Thatistheonlywayofprogress。Itis！Followme，Ossipon。Firstthegreatmultitudeoftheweakmustgo，thentheonlyrelativelystrong。Yousee？Firsttheblind，thenthedeafandthedumb，thenthehaltandthelame—andsoon。Everytaint，everyvice，everyprejudice，everyconventionmustmeetitsdoom。’
`Andwhatremains？’askedOssiponinastifledvoice。
`Iremain—ifIamstrongenough，’assertedthesallowlittleProfessor，whoselargeears，thinlikemembranes，andstandingfaroutfromthesidesofhisfrailskull，tookonsuddenlyadeepredtint。
`Haven’tIsufferedenoughfromthisoppressionoftheweak？’hecontinuedforcibly。Thentappingthebreast—pocketofhisjacket:`AndyetIamtheforce，’hewenton。`Butthetime！Thetime！Givemetime！Ah！thatmultitude，toostupidtofeeleitherpityorfear。SometimesIthinktheyhaveeverythingontheirside。Everything—evendeath—myownweapon。
`ComeanddrinksomebeerwithmeattheSilenus，’saidtherobustOssiponafteranintervalofsilencepervadedbytherapidflap，flapoftheslippersonthefeetofthePerfectAnarchist。Thislastaccepted。Hewasjovialthatdayinhisownpeculiarway。HeslappedOssipon’sshoulder。
`Beer！Sobeit！Letusdrinkandbemerry，forwearestrong，andtomorrowwedie。’
Hebusiedhimselfwithputtingonhisboots，andtalkedmeanwhileinhiscurt，resolutetones。
`What’sthematterwithyou，Ossipon？Youlookglumandseekevenmycompany。Ihearthatyouareseenconstantlyinplaceswheremenutterfoolishthingsoverglassesofliquor。Why？Haveyouabandonedyourcollectionofwomen？Theyaretheweakwhofeedthestrong—eh？’
Hestampedonefoot，andpickeduphisotherlacedboot，heavy，thick—soled，unblacked，mendedmanytimes。Hesmiledtohimselfgrimly。
`Tellme，Ossipon，terribleman，haseveroneofyourvictimskilledherselfforyou—orareyourtriumphssofarincomplete—forbloodaloneputsasealongreatness？Blood。Death。Lookathistory。’
`Youbedamned，’saidOssipon，withoutturninghishead。
`Why？Letthatbethehopeoftheweak，whosetheologyhasinventedhellforthestrong。Ossipon，myfeelingforyouisamicablecontempt。
Youcouldn’tkillafly。’
ButrollingtothefeastonthetopoftheomnibustheProfessorlosthishighspirits。Thecontemplationofthemultitudesthrongingthepavementsextinguishedhisassuranceunderaloadofdoubtanduneasinesswhichhecouldshakeoffafteraperiodofseclusionintheroomwiththelargecupboardclosedbyanenormouspadlock。
`Andso，’saidoverhisshoulderComradeOssipon，whosatontheseatbehind。`AndsoMichaelisdreamsofaworldlikeabeautifulandcheeryhospital。’
`Justso。Animmensecharityforthehealingoftheweak，’assentedtheProfessor，sardonically。
`That’ssilly，’admittedOssipon。`Youcan’thealweakness。ButafterallMichaelismaynotbesofarwrong。Intwohundredyearsdoctorswillruletheworld。Sciencereignsalready。Itreignsintheshademaybe—
butitreigns。Andallsciencemustculminateatlastinthescienceofhealing—nottheweak，butthestrong。Mankindwantstolive—tolive。’
`Mankind，’assertedtheProfessorwithaself—confidentglitterofhisiron—rimmedspectacles，`doesnotknowwhatitwants。’
`Butyoudo，’growledOssipon。`Justnowyou’vebeencryingfortime—time。Well，thedoctorswillserveyououtyourtime—ifyouaregood。
Youprofessyourselftobeoneofthestrong—becauseyoucarryinyourpocketenoughstufftosendyourselfand，say，twentyotherpeopleintoeternity。Buteternityisadamnedhole。It’stimethatyouneed。You—
ifyoumetamanwhocouldgiveyouforcertaintenyearsoftime，youwouldcallhimyourmaster。’
`Mydeviceis:NoGod！Nomaster，’saidtheProfessor，sententiously，asherosetogetoffthebus。
Ossiponfollowed。`Waittillyouarelyingflatonyourbackattheendofyourtime，’heretorted，jumpingoffthefootboardaftertheother。
`Yourscurvy，shabby，mangylittlebitoftime，’hecontinuedacrossthestreet，andhoppingontothekerbstone。
`Ossipon，Ithinkyouareahumbug，’theProfessorsaid，openingmasterfullythedoorsoftherenownedSilenus。Andwhentheyhadestablishedthemselvesatalittletablehedevelopedfurtherthisgraciousthought。`Youarenotevenadoctor。Butyouarefunny。Yournotionofahumanityuniversallyputtingoutthetongueandtakingthepillfrompoletopoleatthebiddingofafewsolemnjokersisworthyoftheprophet。Prophecy！What’sthegoodofthinkingofwhatwillbe！’Heraisedhisglass。`Tothedestructionofwhatis，’hesaid，calmly。
Hedrankandrelapsedintohispeculiarlyclosemannerofsilence。Thethoughtofamankindasnumerousasthesandsoftheseashore，asindestructible，asdifficulttohandle，oppressedhim。Thesoundofexplodingbombswaslostintheirimmensityofpassivegrainswithoutanecho。Forinstance，thisVerlocaffair。Whothoughtofitnow？Ossipon，asifsuddenlycompelledbysomemysteriousforce，pulledamuch—foldednewspaperoutofhispocket。
TheProfessorraisedhisheadattherustle。`What’sthatpaper？Anythinginit？’heasked。
Ossiponstartedlikeascaredsomnambulist。
`Nothing。Nothingwhatever。Thething’stendaysold。Iforgotitinmypocket，Isuppose。’
Buthedidnotthrowtheoldthingaway。Beforereturningittohispockethestoleaglanceatthelastlinesofaparagraph。Theyranthus:
`Animpenetrablemysteryseemsdestinedtohangforeveroverthisactofmadnessordespair。’
Suchweretheendwordsofanitemofnewsheaded:
`SuicideofLadyPassengerfromacross—ChannelBoat。’ComradeOssiponwasfamiliarwiththebeautiesofitsjournalisticstyle。`Animpenetrablemysteryseemsdestinedtohangforever……’Hekneweverywordbyheart。
`Animpenetrablemystery……`Andtherobustanarchist，hanginghisheadonhisbreast，fellintoalongreverie。
Hewasmenacedbythisthingintheverysourcesofhisexistence。Hecouldnotissueforthtomeethisvariousconquests，thosethathecourtedonbenchesinKensingtonGardens，andthosehemetneararearailings，withoutthedreadofbeginningtotalktothemofanimpenetrablemysterydestined……Hewasbecomingscientificallyafraidofinsanitylyinginwaitforhimamongsttheselines。`Tohangforeverover。’Itwasanobsession，atorture。Hehadlatelyfailedtokeepseveraloftheseappointments，whosenoteusedtobeanunboundedtrustfulnessinthelanguageofsentimentandmanlytenderness。Theconfidingdispositionofvariousclassesofwomensatisfiedtheneedofhisself—love，andputsomematerialmeansintohishandHeneededittolive。Itwasthere。Butifhecouldnolongermakeuseofit，herantheriskofstarvinghisidealsandhisbody……`Thisactofmadnessordespair。’
`Animpenetrablemystery’wassure`tohangforever’asfarasallmankindwasconcerned。Butwhatofthatifhealoneofallmencouldnevergetridofthecursedknowledge？AndComradeOssipon’sknowledgewasaspreciseasthenewspapermancouldmakeit—uptotheverythresholdofthe`mysterydestinedtohangforever……’。
ComradeOssiponwaswellinformed。Heknewwhatthegangwaymanofthesteamerhadseen:`Aladyinablackdressandablackveil，wanderingatmidnightalongsideonthequay。`Areyougoingbytheboat，ma’am，’
hehadaskedher，encouragingly。`Thisway。’Sheseemednottoknowwhattodo。Hehelpedheronboard。Sheseemedweak。’
AndOssiponknewalsowhatthestewardesshadseen:aladyinblackwithawhitefacestandinginthemiddleoftheemptyladies’cabin。Thestewardessinducedhertoliedownthere。Theladyseemedquiteunwillingtospeak，andasifshewereinsomeawfultrouble。Thenextthestewardessknewshewasgonefromtheladies’cabin。Thestewardessthenwentondecktolookforher，andComradeOssiponwasinformedthatthegoodwomanfoundtheunhappyladylyingdowninoneofthehoodedseats。Hereyeswereopen，butshewouldnotansweranythingthatwassaidtoher。Sheseemedveryill。Thestewardessfetchedthechiefsteward，andthosetwopeoplestoodbythesideofthehoodedseatconsultingovertheirextraordinaryandtragicpassenger。Theytalkedinaudiblewhispers（forsheseemedpasthearing）ofStMaloandtheConsulthere，ofcommunicatingwithherpeopleinEngland。Thentheywentawaytoarrangeforherremovaldownbelow，forindeedbywhattheycouldseeofherfacesheseemedtothemtobedying。ButComradeOssiponknewthatbehindthatwhitemaskofdespairtherewasstrugglingagainstterroranddespairavigourofvitality，aloveoflifethatcouldresistthefuriousanguishwhichdrivestomurderandthefear，theblind，madfearofthegallows。Heknew。Butthestewardessandthechiefstewardknewnothing，exceptthatwhentheycamebackforherinlessthanfiveminutestheladyinblackwasnolongerinthehoodedseat。Shewasnowhere。Shewasgone。Itwasthenfiveo’clockinthemorning，anditwasnoaccidenteither。Anhourafterwardsoneofthesteamer’shandsfoundaweddingringleftlyingontheseat。Ithadstucktothewoodinabitofwet，anditsglittercaughttheman’seye。Therewasadate，14June1879，engravedinside。`Animpenetrablemysteryisdestinedtohangforever……
AndComradeOssiponraisedhisbowedhead，belovedofvarioushumblewomenoftheseisles，Apollo—likeinthesunninessofitsbushofhair。
TheProfessorhadgrownrestlessmeantime。Herose。
`Stay，’saidOssipon，hurriedly。`Here，whatdoyouknowofmadnessanddespair？’
TheProfessorpassedthetipofhistongueonhisdry，thinlips，andsaiddoctorally:
`Therearenosuchthings。Allpassionislostnow。Theworldismediocre，limp，withoutforce。Andmadnessanddespairareaforce。Andforceisacrimeintheeyesofthefools，theweakandthesillywhoruletheroost。
Youaremediocre。Verloc，whoseaffairthepolicehasmanagedtosmothersonicely，wasmediocre。Andthepolicemurderedhim。Hewasmediocre。
Everybodyismediocre。Madnessanddespair！Givemethatforalever，andI’llmovetheworld。Ossipon，youhavemycordialscorn。Youareincapableofconceivingevenwhatthefat—fedcitizenwouldcallacrime。Youhavenoforce。’Hepaused，smilingsardonicallyunderthefierceglitterofhisthickglasses。
`Andletmetellyouthatthislittlelegacytheysayyou’vecomeintohasnotimprovedyourintelligence。Yousitatyourbeerlikeadummy。
Good—bye。’
`Willyouhaveit？’saidOssipon，lookingupwithanidioticgrin。
`Havewhat？’
`Thelegacy。Allofit。’
TheincorruptibleProfessoronlysmiled。Hisclotheswereallbutfallingoffhim，hisboots，shapelesswithrepairs，heavylikelead，Itwaterinateverystep。Hesaid:
`Iwillsendyouby—and—byasmallbillforcertainchemicalswhichIshallordertomorrow。Ineedthembadly。Understood—eh？’
Ossiponloweredhisheadslowly。Hewasalone。`Animpenetrablemystery……
’Itseemedtohimthatsuspendedintheairbeforehimhesawhisownbrainpulsatingtotherhythmofanimpenetrablemystery。Itwasdiseasedclearly。`……Thisactofmadnessordespair。’
Themechanicalpianonearthedoorplayedthroughavalsecheekily，thenfeltsilentallatonce，asifgonegrumpy。
ComradeOssipon，nicknamedtheDoctor，wentoutoftheSilenusbeer—hall。