ld not be avoided. He did not wish
now to avoid it. A prison was a place as safe from certain unlawful
vengeances as the grave, with this advantage, that in a prison there is
room for hope. What he saw before him was a term of imprisonment, an
early release and then life abroad somewhere, such as he had contemplated
already, in case of failure. Well, it was a failure, if not exactly the
sort of failure he had feared. It had been so near success that he could
have positively terrified Mr Vladimir out of his ferocious scoffing with
this proof of occult efficiency. So at least it seemed now to Mr Verloc.
His prestige with the Embassy would have been immense if--if his wife had
not had the unlucky notion of sewing on the address inside Stevie's
overcoat. Mr Verloc, who was no fool, had soon perceived the
extraordinary character of the influence he had over Stevie, though he
did not understand exactly its origin--the doctrine of his supreme wisdom
and goodness inculcated by two anxious women. In all the eventualities
he had foreseen Mr Verloc had calculated with correct insight on Stevie's
instinctive loyalty and blind discretion. The eventuality he had not
foreseen had appalled him as a humane man and a fond husband. From every
other point of view it was rather advantageous. Nothing can equal the
everlasting discretion of death. Mr Verloc, sitting perplexed and
frightened in the small parlour of the Cheshire Cheese, could not help
acknowledging that to himself, because his sensibility did not stand in
the way of his judgment. Stevie's violent disintegration, however
disturbing to think about, only assured the success; for, of course, the
knocking down of a wall was not the aim of Mr Vladimir's menaces, but the
production of a moral effect. With much trouble and distress on Mr
Verloc's part the effect might be said to have been produced. When,
however, most unexpectedly, it came home to roost in Brett Street, Mr
Verloc, who had been struggling like a man in a nightmare for the
preservation of his position, accepted the blow in the spirit of a
convinced fatalist. The position was gone through no one's fault really.
A small, tiny fact had done it. It was like slipping on a bit of orange
peel in the dark and breaking your leg.

Mr Verloc drew a weary breath. He nourished no resentment against his
wife. He thought: She will have to look after the shop while they keep
me locked up. And thinking also how cruelly