Mr Verloc, turning on the tap above the sink, poured three glasses of water, one after another, down his throat to quench the fires of his indignation.
Mr Vladimir's conduct was like a hot brand which set his internal economy in a blaze.He could not get over the disloyalty of it.This man, who would not work at the usual hard tasks which society sets to its humbler members, had exercised his secret industry with an indefatigable devotion.There was in Mr Verloc a fund of loyalty.He had been loyal to his employers, to the cause of social stability - and to his affections, too - as became apparent when, after standing the tumbler in the sink, he turned about, saying:
`If I hadn't thought of you I would have taken the bullying brute by the throat and rammed his head into the fireplace.I'd have been more than a match for that pink-faced, smooth-shaved-'
Mr Verloc neglected to finish the sentence, as if there could be no doubt of the terminal word.For the first time in his life he was taking that incurious woman into his confidence.The singularity of the event, the force and importance of the personal feelings aroused in the course of this confession, drove Stevie's fate clean out of Mr Verloc's mind.
The boy's stuttering existence of fears and indignations, together with the violence of his end, had passed out of Mr Verloc's mental sight for a time.For that reason, when he looked up he was startled by the inappropriate character of his wife's stare.It was not a wild stare, and it was not inattentive, but its attention was peculiar and not satisfactory, inasmuch that it seemed concentrated upon some point beyond Mr Verloc's person.
The impression was so strong that Mr Verloc glanced over his shoulder.
There was nothing behind him: there was just the whitewashed wall.The excellent husband of Winnie Verloc saw no writing on the wall.He turned to his wife again, repeating, with some emphasis:
`I would have taken him by the throat.As true as I stand here, if Ihadn't thought of you then I would have half choked the life out of the brute before I let him get up.And don't you think he would have been anxious to call the police - either.He wouldn't have dared.You understand why - don't you?'
He blinked at his wife knowingly.
`No,' said Mrs Verloc in an unresonant voice, and without looking at him at all.`What are you talking about?'
A great discouragement, the result of fatigue, came upon Mr Verloc.
He had had a very full day, and his nerves had been tried to the utmost.
After a month of maddening worry, ending in an unexpected catastrophe, the storm-tossed spirit of Mr Verloc longed for repose.His career as a secret agent had come to an end in a way no one could have foreseen; only, now, perhaps he could manage to get a night's sleep at last.But looking at his wife, he doubted it.She was taking it very hard - not at all like herself, he thought.He made an effort to speak.
`You'll have to pull yourself together, my girl,' he said, sympathetically.
`What's done can't be undone.'
Mrs Verloc gave a slight start, though not a muscle of her white face moved in the least.Mr Verloc, who was not looking at her, continued ponderously:
`You go to bed now.What you want is a good cry.'
