The Assistant Commissioner, with his eyes lowered on the rag of blue cloth, waited for more information.As that did not come he proceeded to obtain it by a series of questions propounded with gentle patience.Thus he acquired an idea of the nature of Mr Verloc's commerce, of his personal appearance, and heard at last his name.In a pause the Assistant Commissioner raised his eyes, and discovered some animation on the Chief Inspector's face.They looked at each other in silence.
`Of course,' said the latter, `the department has no record of that man.'
`Did any of my predecessors have any knowledge of what you have told me now?' asked the Assistant Commissioner, putting his elbows on the table and raising his joined hands before his face, as if about to offer prayer, only that his eyes had not a pious expression.
`No, sir; certainly not.What would have been the object? That sort of man could never be produced publicly to any good purpose.It was sufficient for me to know who he was, and to make use of him in a way that could be used publicly.'
`And do you think that sort of private knowledge consistent with the official position you occupy?'
`Perfectly, sir.I think it's quite proper.I will take the liberty to tell you, sir, that it makes me what I am - and I am looked upon as a man who knows his work.It's a private affair of my own.A personal friend of mine in the French police gave me the hint that the fellow was an Embassy spy.Private friendship, private information, private use of it - that's how I look upon it.'
The Assistant Commissioner, after remarking to himself that the mental state of the renowned Chief Inspector seemed to affect the outline of his lower jaw, as if the lively sense of his high professional distinction had been located in that part of his anatomy, dismissed the point for the moment with a calm `I see.' Then leaning his cheek on his joined hands:
`Well, then - speaking privately if you like - how long have you been in private touch with this Embassy spy?'
To this inquiry the private answer of the Chief Inspector, so private that it was never shaped into audible words, was:
`Long before you were even thought of for your place here.' The so-to-speak public utterance was much more precise.`I saw him for the first time in my life a little more than seven years ago, when two Imperial Highnesses and the Imperial Chancellor were on a visit here.I was put in charge of all the arrangements for looking after them.Baron Stott-Wartenheim was Ambassador then.He was a very nervous old gentleman.One evening, three days before the Guildhall Banquet, he sent word that he wanted to see me for a moment.I was downstairs, and the carriages were at the door to take the Imperial Highnesses and the Chancellor to the opera.I went up at once.
I found the Baron walking up and down his bedroom in a pitiable state of distress, squeezing his hands together.He assured me he had the fullest confidence in our police and in my abilities, but he had there a man just come over from Paris whose information could be trusted implicitly.He wanted me to hear what that man had to say.He took me at once into a dressing-room next door, where I saw a big fellow in a heavy overcoat sitting all alone on a chair, and holding his hat and stick in one hand.The Baron said to him in French "Speak, my friend." The light in that room was not very good.
I talked with him for some five minutes perhaps.He certainly gave me a piece of very startling news.Then the Baron took me aside nervously to praise him up to me, and when I turned round again I discovered that the fellow had vanished like a ghost.Got up and sneaked out down some back stairs, I suppose.There was no time to run after him, as I had to hurry off after the Ambassador down the great staircase, and see the party started safe for the opera.However, I acted upon the information that very night.
Whether it was perfectly correct or not, it did look serious enough.Very likely it saved us from an ugly trouble on the day of the Imperial visit to the City.
`Some time later, a month or so after my promotion to Chief Inspector, my attention was attracted to a big burly man, I thought I had seen somewhere before, coming out in a hurry from a jeweller's shop in the Strand.I went after him, as it was on my way towards Charing Cross, and there seeing one of our detectives across the road, I beckoned him over, and pointed out the fellow to him, with instructions to watch his movements for a couple of days and then report to me.No later than next afternoon my man turned up to tell me that he fellow had married his landlady's daughter at a registrar's office that very day at 11.30 a.m., and had gone off with her to Margate or week.Our man had seen the luggage being put on the cab.There were some old Paris labels on one of the bags.Somehow I couldn't get the fellow out of my head, and the very next time I had to go to Paris on service I spoke about him to that friend of mine in the Paris police.My friend said: "From what you tell me I think you must mean a rather well-known hanger-on and emissary of the Revolutionary Red Committee.He says he is an Englishman by birth.We have an idea that he has been for a good few years now a secret agent of one of the foreign Embassies in London." This woke up my memory completely.He was the vanishing fellow I saw sitting on a chair in Baron Stott-Wartenheim's bathroom.I told my friend that he was quite right.The fellow was a secret agent to my certain knowledge.
Afterwards my friend took the trouble to ferret out the complete record of that man for me.I thought I had better know all there was to know;but I don't suppose you want to hear his history now, sir?'