ellow. How
long have you been drawing pay from this Embassy?"

"Eleven years," was the answer, after a moment of sulky hesitation.
"I've been charged with several missions to London while His Excellency
Baron Stott-Wartenheim was still Ambassador in Paris. Then by his
Excellency's instructions I settled down in London. I am English."

"You are! Are you? Eh?"

"A natural-born British subject," Mr Verloc said stolidly. "But my
father was French, and so--"

"Never mind explaining," interrupted the other. "I daresay you could
have been legally a Marshal of France and a Member of Parliament in
England--and then, indeed, you would have been of some use to our
Embassy."

This flight of fancy provoked something like a faint smile on Mr Verloc's
face. Mr Vladimir retained an imperturbable gravity.

"But, as I've said, you are a lazy fellow; you don't use your
opportunities. In the time of Baron Stott-Wartenheim we had a lot of
soft-headed people running this Embassy. They caused fellows of your
sort to form a false conception of the nature of a secret service fund.
It is my business to correct this misapprehension by telling you what the
secret service is not. It is not a philanthropic institution. I've had
you called here on purpose to tell you this."

Mr Vladimir observed the forced expression of bewilderment on Verloc's
face, and smiled sarcastically.

"I see that you understand me perfectly. I daresay you are intelligent
enough for your work. What we want now is activity--activity."

On repeating this last word Mr Vladimir laid a long white forefinger on
the edge of the desk. Every trace of huskiness disappeared from Verloc's
voice. The nape of his gross neck became crimson above the velvet collar
of his overcoat. His lips quivered before they came widely open.

"If you'll only be good enough to look up my record," he boomed out in
his great, clear oratorical bass, "you'll see I gave a warning only three
months ago, on the occasion of the Grand Duke Romuald's visit to Paris,
which was telegraphed from here to the French police, and--"

"Tut, tut!" broke out Mr Vladimir, with a frowning grimace. "The French
police had no use for your warning. Don't roar like this. What the
devil do you mean?"

With a note of proud humility Mr Verloc apologised for forgetting
himself. His voice,--famous for years at open-air meetings and at
workmen's assemblies in large halls, had contributed, he said, to his