Her face was no longer stony.Anybody could have noted the subtle change on her features, in the stare of her eyes, giving her a new and startling expression; an expression seldom observed by competent persons under the conditions of leisure and security demanded for thorough analysis, but whose meaning could not be mistaken at a glance.Mrs Verloc's doubts as to the end of the bargain no longer existed; her wits no longer disconnected, were working under the control of her will.But Mr Verloc observed nothing.
He was reposing in that pathetic condition of optimism induced by excess of fatigue.He did not want any more trouble - with his wife, too - of all people in the world.He had been unanswerable in his vindication.He was loved for himself.The present phase of her silence he interpreted favourably.This was the time to make it up with her.The silence had lasted long enough.He broke it by calling to her in an undertone:
`Winnie.'
`Yes,' answered obediently Mrs Verloc the free woman.She commanded her wits now, her vocal organs; she felt herself to be in an almost preternaturally perfect control of every fibre of her body.It was all her own, because the bargain was at an end.She was clear sighted.She had become cunning.
She chose to answer him so readily for a purpose.She did not wish that man to change his position on the sofa which was very suitable to the circumstances.
She succeeded.The man did not stir.But after answering him she remained leaning negligently against the mantelpiece in the attitude of a resting wayfarer.She was unhurried.Her brow was smooth.The head and shoulders of Mr Verloc were hidden from her by the high side of the sofa.She kept her eyes fixed on his feet.
She remained thus mysteriously still and suddenly collected till Mr Verloc was heard with an accent of marital authority, and moving slightly to make room for her to sit on the edge of the sofa.
`Come here,' he said in a peculiar tone, which might have been the tone of brutality, but was intimately known to Mrs Verloc as the note of wooing.
She started forward at once, as if she was still a loyal woman bound to that man by an unbroken contract.Her right had skimmed slightly the end of the table, and when she had passed on towards the sofa the carving knife had vanished without the slightest sound from the side of the dish.
Mr Verloc heard the creaky plank in the floor, and was content.He waited.
Mrs Verloc was coming.As if the homeless soul of Stevie had flown for shelter straight to the breast of his sister, guardian and protector, the resemblance of her face with that of her brother grew at every step, even to the droop of the lower lip, even to the slight divergence of the eyes.
But Mr Verloc did not see that.He was lying on his back and staring upwards.
He saw partly on the ceiling a clenched hand holding a carving knife.It flickered up and down.Its movements were leisurely.They were leisurely enough for Mr Verloc to recognize the limb and the weapon.