rstand English, don't you?"

"Oh yes. I understand English."

There was nothing foreign in his accent, except that he seemed in his
slow enunciation to be taking pains with it. And Mrs Verloc, in her
varied experience, had come to the conclusion that some foreigners could
speak better English than the natives. She said, looking at the door of
the parlour fixedly:

"You don't think perhaps of staying in England for good?"

The stranger gave her again a silent smile. He had a kindly mouth and
probing eyes. And he shook his head a little sadly, it seemed.

"My husband will see you through all right. Meantime for a few days you
couldn't do better than take lodgings with Mr Giugliani. Continental
Hotel it's called. Private. It's quiet. My husband will take you
there."

"A good idea," said the thin, dark man, whose glance had hardened
suddenly.

"You knew Mr Verloc before--didn't you? Perhaps in France?"

"I have heard of him," admitted the visitor in his slow, painstaking
tone, which yet had a certain curtness of intention.

There was a pause. Then he spoke again, in a far less elaborate manner.

"Your husband has not gone out to wait for me in the street by chance?"

"In the street!" repeated Mrs Verloc, surprised. "He couldn't. There's
no other door to the house."

For a moment she sat impassive, then left her seat to go and peep through
the glazed door. Suddenly she opened it, and disappeared into the
parlour.

Mr Verloc had done no more than put on his overcoat. But why he should
remain afterwards leaning over the table propped up on his two arms as
though he were feeling giddy or sick, she could not understand. "Adolf,"
she called out half aloud; and when he had raised himself:

"Do you know that man?" she asked rapidly.

"I've heard of him," whispered uneasily Mr Verloc, darting a wild glance
at the door.

Mrs Verloc's fine, incurious eyes lighted up with a flash of abhorrence.

"One of Karl Yundt's friends--beastly old man."

"No! No!" protested Mr Verloc, busy fishing for his hat. But when he
got it from under the sofa he held it as if he did not know the use of a
hat.

"Well--he's waiting for you," said Mrs Verloc at last. "I say, Adolf, he
ain't one of them Embassy people you have been bothered with of late?"

"Bothered with Embassy people," repeated Mr Verloc, with a heavy start of
surprise and fear. "Who's been talking to you of the Embassy people?"

"Yourself."

"