`Doyouknowhowmuchmoneythereisinthatthing？’heasked，asifaddressingslowlysomehob—goblinsittingbetweentheearsofthehorse。
　　`No，’saidMrsVerloc。`Hegaveittome。Ididn’tcount。Ithoughtnothingofitatthetime。Afterwards——’
　　Shemovedherrighthandalittle。Itwassoexpressivethatlittlemovementofthatrighthandwhichhadstruckthedeadlyblowintoaman’sheartlessthananhourbeforethatOssiponcouldnotrepressashudder。
　　Heexaggerateditthenpurposely，andmuttered:
　　`Iamcold。Igotchilledthrough。’
　　MrsVerloclookedstraightaheadattheperspectiveofherescape。Nowandthen，likeasablestreamerblownacrossaroad，thewords`Thedropgivenwasfourteenfeet’gotinthewayofhertensestare。Throughtheblackveilthewhitesofherbigeyesgleamedlustrouslyliketheeyesofamaskedwoman。
　　Ossipon’srigidityhadsomethingbusinesslike，aqueerofficialexpression。
　　Hewasheardagainallofasudden，asthoughhehadreleasedacatchinordertospeak。
　　`Lookhere！Doyouknowwhetheryour—whetherhekepthisaccountatthebankinhisownnameorinsomeothername。
　　MrsVerlocturneduponhimhermaskedfaceandthebigwhitegleamofhereyes。
　　`Othername？’shesaid，thoughtfully。
　　`Beexactinwhatyousay，’Ossiponlecturedintheswiftmotionofthehansom。`It’sextremelyimportant。Iwillexplaintoyou。Thebankhasthenumbersofthesenotes。Iftheywerepaidtohiminhisownname，thenwhenhis—hisdeathbecomesknown，thenotesmayservetotrackussincewehavenoothermoney。Youhavenoethermoneyonyou？’
　　Sheshookherheadnegatively。
　　`Nonewhatever？’heinsisted。
　　`Afewcoppers。
　　`Itwouldbedangerousinthatcase。Themoneywouldhavethentobedealtspeciallywith。Veryspecially。We’dhaveperhapstolosemorethanhalftheamountinordertogetthesenoteschangedinacertainsafeplaceIknowofinParis。Intheothercase—Imeanifhehadhisaccountandgotpaidoutundersomeothername—saySmith，forinstance—themoneyisperfectlysafetouse。Youunderstand？ThebankhasnomeansofknowingthatMrVerlocand，say，Smithareoneandthesameperson。Doyouseehowimportantitisthatyoushouldmakenomistakeinansweringme？Canyouanswerthatqueryatall？Perhapsnot。Eh？
　　Shesaidcomposedly:
　　`Iremembernow！Hedidn’tbankinhisownname。HetoldmeoncethatitwasondepositinthenameofProzor。’
　　`Youaresure？’
　　`Certain。’
　　`Youdon’tthinkthebankhadanyknowledgeofhisrealname？Oranybodyinthebankor——’
　　Sheshruggedhershoulders。
　　`HowcanIknow？Isitlikely，Tom？’
　　`No。Isupposeit’snotlikely。Itwouldhavebeenmorecomfortabletoknow……Hereweare。Getoutfirst，andwalkstraightin。Movesmartly。’
　　Heremainedbehind，andpaidthecabmanoutofhisownloosesilver。
　　Theprogrammetracedbyhisminuteforesightwascarriedout。WhenMrsVerloc，withherticketforStMaloinherhand，enteredtheladies’waiting—room，ComradeOssiponwalkedintothebar，andinsevenminutesabsorbedthreegoesofhotbrandyandwater。
　　`Tryingtodriveoutacold，’heexplainedtothebarmaid，withafriendlynodandagrimacingsmile。Thenhecameout，bringingoutfromthatfestiveinterludethefaceofamanwhohaddrunkattheveryFountainofSorrow。
　　Heraisedhiseyestotheclock。Itwastime。Hewaited。
　　Punctual，MrsVerloccameout，withherveildown，andallblack—blackascommonplacedeathitself，crownedwithafewcheapandpaleflowers。
　　Shepassedclosetoalittlegroupofmenwhowerelaughing，butwhoselaughtercouldhavebeenstruckdeadbyasingleword。Herwalkwasindolent，butherbackwasstraight，andComradeOssiponlookedafteritinterrorbeforemakingastarthimself。
　　Thetrainwasdrawnup，withhardlyanybodyaboutitsrowofopendoors。
　　Owingtothetimeoftheyearandtotheabominableweathertherewerebutfewpassengers。MrsVerlocwalkedslowlyalongthelineofemptycompartmentstillOssipontouchedherelbowfrombehind。
　　`Inhere。’
　　Shegotin，andheremainedontheplatformlookingabout。Shebentforward，andinawhisper:
　　`Whatisit，Tom？Isthereanydanger？’
　　`Waitamoment。There’stheguard。’
　　Shesawhimaccostthemaninuniform。Theytalkedforawhile。Sheheardtheguardsay`Verywell，sir，’andsawhimtouchhiscap。ThenOssiponcameback，saying:`Itoldhimnottoletanybodygetintoourcompartment。’
　　Shewasleaningforwardonherseat。`Youthinkofeverything……You’llgetmeoff，Tom？’sheaskedinagustofanguish，liftingherveilbrusquelytolookathersaviour。
　　Shehaduncoveredafacelikeadamant。Andoutofthisfacetheeyeslookedon，big，dry，enlarged，lightless，burntoutliketwoblackholesinthewhite，shiningglobes。
　　`Thereisnodanger，’hesaid，gazingintothemwithanearnestnessalmostrapt，whichtoMrsVerloc，flyingfromthegallows，seemedtobefullofforceandtenderness。Thisdevotiondeeplymovedher—andtheadamantinefacelostthesternrigidityofitsterror。ComradeOssipongazedatitasnoloverevergazedathismistress’sface。AlexanderOssipon，anarchist，nicknamedtheDoctor，authorofamedical（andimproper）pamphlet，latelectureronthesocialaspectsofhygienetoworkingmen’sclubs，wasfreefromthetrammelsofconventionalmorality—buthesubmittedtotheruleofscience。Hewasscientific，andhegazedscientificallyatthatwoman，thesisterofadegenerate，adegenerateherself—ofamurderingtype。Hegazedather，andinvokedLombroso，asanItalianpeasantrecommendshimselftohisfavouritesaint。Hegazedscientifically。Hegazedathercheeks，athernose，athereyes，atherears……Bad！……Fatal！
　　MrsVerloc’spalelipspatting，slightlyrelaxedunderhispassionatelyattentivegaze，hegazedalsoatherteeth……Notadoubtremained……amurderingtype……IfComradeOssipondidnotrecommendhisterrifiedsoultoLombroso，itwasonlybecauseonscientificgroundshecouldnotbelievethathecarriedabouthimsuchathingasasoul。Buthehadinhimthescientificspirit，whichmovedhimtotestifyontheplatformofarailwaystationinnervous，jerkyphrases。
　　`Hewasanextraordinarylad，thatbrotherofyours。Mostinterestingtostudy。Aperfecttypeinaway。Perfect！’
　　Hespokescientificallyinhissecretfear。AndMrsVerloc，hearingthesewordsofcommendationvouchsafedtoherbeloveddead，swayedforwardwithaflickeroflightinhersombreeyes，likearayofsunshineheraldingatempestofrain。
　　`Hewasthatindeed，’shewhispered，softly，withquiveringlips。`Youtookalotofnoticeofhim，Tom。Ilovedyouforit。’
　　`It’salmostincredibletheresemblancetherewasbetweenyoutwo，’
　　pursuedOssipon，givingavoicetohisabidingdread，andtryingtoconcealhisnervous，sickeningimpatienceforthetraintostart。`Yes，heresembledyou。’
　　Thesewordswerenotespeciallytouchingorsympathetic。Butthefactofthatresemblanceinsisteduponwasenoughinitselftoactuponheremotionspowerfully。Withalittlefaintcry，andthrowingherarmsout，MrsVerlocburstintotearsatlast。
　　Ossiponenteredthecarriage，hastilyclosedthedoorandlookedouttoseethetimebythestationclock。Eightminutesmore。ForthefirstthreeoftheseMrsVerlocweptviolentlyandhelplesslywithoutpauseorinterruption。Thensherecoveredsomewhat，andsobbedgentlyinanabundantfalloftears。Shetriedtotalktohersaviour，tothemanwhowasthemessengeroflife。
　　`Oh，Tom！HowcouldIfeartodieafterhewastakenawayfrommesocruelly！HowcouldI！HowcouldIbesuchacoward！’
　　Shelamentedaloudherloveoflife，thatlifewithoutgraceorcharm，andalmostwithoutdecency，butofanexaltedfaithfulnessofpurpose，evenuntomurder。And，asoftenhappensinthelamentofpoorhumanityrichinsufferingbutindigentinwords，thetruth—theverycryoftruth—wasfoundinawornandartificialshapepickedupsomewhereamongthephrasesofshamsentiment。
　　`HowcouldIbesoafraidofdeath！Tom，Itried。ButIamafraid。I
　　triedtodoawaywithmyself。AndIcouldn’t。AmIhard？Isupposethecupofhorrorswasnotfullenoughforsuchasme。Thenwhenyoucame……
　　’
　　Shepaused。Theninagustofconfidenceandgratitude:`Iwillliveallmydaysforyou，Tom！’shesobbedout。
　　`Gooverintotheothercornerofthecarriage，awayfromtheplatform，’
　　saidOssipon，solicitously。Shelethersavioursettlehercomfortably，andhewatchedthecomingonofanothercrisisofweeping，stillmoreviolentthanthefirst。Hewatchedthesymptomswithasortofmedicalair，asifcountingseconds。Heheardtheguard’swhistleatlast。Aninvoluntarycontractionoftheupperlipbaredhisteethwithalltheaspectofsavageresolutionashefeltthetrainbeginningtomove。MrsVerlocheardandfeltnothing，andOssipon，hersaviour，stoodstill。Hefeltthetrainrollquicker，rumblingheavilytothesoundofthewoman’sloudsobs，andthencrossingthecarriageintwolongstridesheopenedthedoordeliberately，andleapedout。
　　Hehadleapedoutattheveryendoftheplatform;andsuchwashisdeterminationinstickingtohisdesperateplanthathemanagedbyasortofmiracle，performedalmostintheair，toslamtothedoorofthecarriage。
　　Onlythendidhefindhimselfrolling，headoverheelslikeashotrabbit。
　　Hewasbruised，shaken，paleasdeath，andoutofbreathwhenhegotup。
　　Buthewascalm，andperfectlyabletomeettheexcitedcrowdofrailwaymenwhohadgatheredroundhiminamoment。Heexplained，ingentleandconvincingtones，thathiswifehadstartedatamoment’snoticeforBrittanytoherdyingmother;that，ofcourse，shewasgreatlyupset，andheconsiderablyconcernedatherstate;thathewastryingtocheerherup，andhadabsolutelyfailedtonoticeatfirstthatthetrainwasmovingout。Tothegeneralexclamation`Whydidn’tyougoontoSouthampton，thensir？’heobjectedtheinexperienceofayoungsister—in—lawleftaloneinthehousewiththreesmallchildren，andheralarmathisabsencethetelegraphofficesbeingclosed。Hehadactedonimpulse。`ButIdon’tthinkI’llevertrythatagain，’heconcluded;smiledallround;distributedsomesmallchange，andmarchedwithoutalimpoutofthestation。
　　Outside，ComradeOssipon，flushofsafebanknotesasneverbeforeinhislife，refusedtheofferofacab。
　　`Icanwalk，’hesaid，withalittlefriendlylaughtothecivildriver。
　　Hecouldwalk。Hewalked。Hecrossedthebridge。LateronthetowersoftheAbbeysawintheirmassiveimmobilitytheyellowbushofhishairpassingunderthelamps。ThelightsofVictoriasawhim，too，andSloaneSquare，andtherailingsofthepark。AndComradeOssipononcemorefoundhimselfonabridge。Theriver，asinistermarvel—ofstillshadowsandflowinggleamsminglingbelowinablacksilence，arrestedhisattention。
　　Hestoodlookingovertheparapetforalongtime。Theclocktowerboomedabrazenblastabovehisdroopinghead。Helookedupatthedial……HalfpasttwelveofawildnightintheChannel。
　　AndagainComradeOssiponwalked。Hisrobustformwasseenthatnightindistantpartsoftheenormoustownslumberingmonstrouslyonacarpetofmudunderaveilofrawmist。Itwasseencrossingthestreetswithoutlifeandsound，ordiminishingintheinterminablestraightperspectivesofshadowyhousesborderingemptyroadwayslinedbystringsofgas—lamps。
　　HewalkedthroughSquares，Places，Ovals，Commons，throughmonotonousstreetswithunknownnameswherethedustofhumanitysettlesinertandhopelessoutofthestreamoflife。Hewalked。Andsuddenlyturningintoastripofafrontgardenwithamangygrassplot，helethimselfintoasmallgrimyhousewithalatchkeyhetookoutofhispocket。
　　Hethrewhimselfdownonhisbedalldressed，andlaystillforawholequarterofanhourThenhesatupsuddenly，drawinguphisknees，andclaspinghislegs。Thefirstdawnfoundhimopen—eyed，inthatsameposture。Thismanwhocouldwalksolong，sofar，soaimlessly，withoutshowingasignoffatigue，couldalsoremainsittingstillforhourswithoutstirringalimboraneyelid。Butwhenthelatesunsentitsraysintotheroomheunclaspedhishands，andfellbackonthepillow。Hiseyesstaredattheceiling。Andsuddenlytheyclosed。ComradeOssiponsleptinthesunlight。
　　CONRAD:TheSecretAgent，Chapter13CHAPTER13
　　THEenormousironpadlockonthedoorsofthewallcupboardwastheonlyobjectintheroomonwhichtheeyecouldrestwithoutbecomingafflictedbythemiserableunlovelinessofformsandthepovertyofmaterial。Unsaleableintheordinarycourseofbusinessonaccountofitsnobleproportions，ithadbeencededtotheProfessorforafewpencebyamarinedealerintheeastofLondon。Theroomwaslarge，clean，respectable，andpoorwiththatpovertysuggestingthestarvationofeveryhumanneedexceptmerebread。Therewasnothingonthewallsbutthepaper，anexpanseofarsenicalgreen，soiledwithindeliblesmudgeshereandthere，andwithstainsresemblingfadedmapsofuninhabitedcontinents。
　　AtadealtablenearawindowsatComradeOssipon，holdinghisheadbetweenhisfists。TheProfessor，dressedinonlyhissuitofshoddytweeds，butflappingtoandfroonthebareboardsapairofincrediblydilapidatedslippers，hadthrusthishandsdeepintotheover—strainedpocketsofhisjacket。HewasrelatingtohisrobustguestavisithehadlatelybeenpayingCotheApostleMichaelis。ThePerfectAnarchisthadevenbeenunbendingalittle。
　　`Thefellowdidn’tknowanythingofVerloc’sdeath。Ofcourse！Heneverlooksatthenewspapers。Theymakehimtoosad，hesays。Butnevermind。
　　Iwalkedintohiscottage。Notasoulanywhere。1hadtoshouthalfadozentimesbeforeheansweredme。Ithoughthewasfastasleepyet，inbed。
　　Butnotatall。Hehadbeenwritinghisbookforfourhoursalready。Hesatinthattinycageinalitterofmanuscript。Therewasahalf—eatenrawcarrotonthetablenearhim。Hisbreakfast。Helivesonadietofrawcarrotsandalittlemilknow。’
　　`Howdoeshelookonit？’askedComradeOssipon，listlessly。
　　`Angelic……Ipickedupahandfulofhispagesfromthefloor。Thepovertyofreasoningisastonishing。Hehasnologic。Hecan’tthinkconsecutively。
　　Butthat’snothing。Hehasdividedhisbiographyintothreeparts，entitled`Faith，Hope，Charity’。Heiselaboratingnowtheideaofaworldplannedoutlikeanimmenseandnicehospital，withgardensandflowers，inwhichthestrongaretodevotethemselvestothenursingoftheweak。’
　　TheProfessorpaused。
　　`Conceiveyouthisfolly，Ossipon？Theweak！Thesourceofallevilonthisearth！’hecontinuedwithhisgrimassurance。`ItoldhimthatIdreamtofaworldlikeshambles，wheretheweakwouldbetakeninhandforutterextermination。
　　`Doyouunderstand，Ossipon？Thesourceofallevil！Theyareoursinistermasters—theweak，theflabby，thesilly，thecowardly，thefaintofheart，andtheslavishofmind。Theyhavepower。Theyarethemultitude。Theirsisthekingdomoftheearth。Exterminate，exterminate！Thatistheonlywayofprogress。Itis！Followme，Ossipon。Firstthegreatmultitudeoftheweakmustgo，thentheonlyrelativelystrong。Yousee？Firsttheblind，thenthedeafandthedumb，thenthehaltandthelame—andsoon。Everytaint，everyvice，everyprejudice，everyconventionmustmeetitsdoom。’
　　`Andwhatremains？’askedOssiponinastifledvoice。
　　`Iremain—ifIamstrongenough，’assertedthesallowlittleProfessor，whoselargeears，thinlikemembranes，andstandingfaroutfromthesidesofhisfrailskull，tookonsuddenlyadeepredtint。
　　`Haven’tIsufferedenoughfromthisoppressionoftheweak？’hecontinuedforcibly。Thentappingthebreast—pocketofhisjacket:`AndyetIamtheforce，’hewenton。`Butthetime！Thetime！Givemetime！Ah！thatmultitude，toostupidtofeeleitherpityorfear。SometimesIthinktheyhaveeverythingontheirside。Everything—evendeath—myownweapon。
　　`ComeanddrinksomebeerwithmeattheSilenus，’saidtherobustOssiponafteranintervalofsilencepervadedbytherapidflap，flapoftheslippersonthefeetofthePerfectAnarchist。Thislastaccepted。Hewasjovialthatdayinhisownpeculiarway。HeslappedOssipon’sshoulder。
　　`Beer！Sobeit！Letusdrinkandbemerry，forwearestrong，andtomorrowwedie。’
　　Hebusiedhimselfwithputtingonhisboots，andtalkedmeanwhileinhiscurt，resolutetones。
　　`What’sthematterwithyou，Ossipon？Youlookglumandseekevenmycompany。Ihearthatyouareseenconstantlyinplaceswheremenutterfoolishthingsoverglassesofliquor。Why？Haveyouabandonedyourcollectionofwomen？Theyaretheweakwhofeedthestrong—eh？’
　　Hestampedonefoot，andpickeduphisotherlacedboot，heavy，thick—soled，unblacked，mendedmanytimes。Hesmiledtohimselfgrimly。
　　`Tellme，Ossipon，terribleman，haseveroneofyourvictimskilledherselfforyou—orareyourtriumphssofarincomplete—forbloodaloneputsasealongreatness？Blood。Death。Lookathistory。’
　　`Youbedamned，’saidOssipon，withoutturninghishead。
　　`Why？Letthatbethehopeoftheweak，whosetheologyhasinventedhellforthestrong。Ossipon，myfeelingforyouisamicablecontempt。
　　Youcouldn’tkillafly。’
　　ButrollingtothefeastonthetopoftheomnibustheProfessorlosthishighspirits。Thecontemplationofthemultitudesthrongingthepavementsextinguishedhisassuranceunderaloadofdoubtanduneasinesswhichhecouldshakeoffafteraperiodofseclusionintheroomwiththelargecupboardclosedbyanenormouspadlock。
　　`Andso，’saidoverhisshoulderComradeOssipon，whosatontheseatbehind。`AndsoMichaelisdreamsofaworldlikeabeautifulandcheeryhospital。’
　　`Justso。Animmensecharityforthehealingoftheweak，’assentedtheProfessor，sardonically。
　　`That’ssilly，’admittedOssipon。`Youcan’thealweakness。ButafterallMichaelismaynotbesofarwrong。Intwohundredyearsdoctorswillruletheworld。Sciencereignsalready。Itreignsintheshademaybe—
　　butitreigns。Andallsciencemustculminateatlastinthescienceofhealing—nottheweak，butthestrong。Mankindwantstolive—tolive。’
　　`Mankind，’assertedtheProfessorwithaself—confidentglitterofhisiron—rimmedspectacles，`doesnotknowwhatitwants。’
　　`Butyoudo，’growledOssipon。`Justnowyou’vebeencryingfortime—time。Well，thedoctorswillserveyououtyourtime—ifyouaregood。
　　Youprofessyourselftobeoneofthestrong—becauseyoucarryinyourpocketenoughstufftosendyourselfand，say，twentyotherpeopleintoeternity。Buteternityisadamnedhole。It’stimethatyouneed。You—
　　ifyoumetamanwhocouldgiveyouforcertaintenyearsoftime，youwouldcallhimyourmaster。’
　　`Mydeviceis:NoGod！Nomaster，’saidtheProfessor，sententiously，asherosetogetoffthebus。
　　Ossiponfollowed。`Waittillyouarelyingflatonyourbackattheendofyourtime，’heretorted，jumpingoffthefootboardaftertheother。
　　`Yourscurvy，shabby，mangylittlebitoftime，’hecontinuedacrossthestreet，andhoppingontothekerbstone。
　　`Ossipon，Ithinkyouareahumbug，’theProfessorsaid，openingmasterfullythedoorsoftherenownedSilenus。Andwhentheyhadestablishedthemselvesatalittletablehedevelopedfurtherthisgraciousthought。`Youarenotevenadoctor。Butyouarefunny。Yournotionofahumanityuniversallyputtingoutthetongueandtakingthepillfrompoletopoleatthebiddingofafewsolemnjokersisworthyoftheprophet。Prophecy！What’sthegoodofthinkingofwhatwillbe！’Heraisedhisglass。`Tothedestructionofwhatis，’hesaid，calmly。
　　Hedrankandrelapsedintohispeculiarlyclosemannerofsilence。Thethoughtofamankindasnumerousasthesandsoftheseashore，asindestructible，asdifficulttohandle，oppressedhim。Thesoundofexplodingbombswaslostintheirimmensityofpassivegrainswithoutanecho。Forinstance，thisVerlocaffair。Whothoughtofitnow？Ossipon，asifsuddenlycompelledbysomemysteriousforce，pulledamuch—foldednewspaperoutofhispocket。
　　TheProfessorraisedhisheadattherustle。`What’sthatpaper？Anythinginit？’heasked。
　　Ossiponstartedlikeascaredsomnambulist。
　　`Nothing。Nothingwhatever。Thething’stendaysold。Iforgotitinmypocket，Isuppose。’
　　Buthedidnotthrowtheoldthingaway。Beforereturningittohispockethestoleaglanceatthelastlinesofaparagraph。Theyranthus:
　　`Animpenetrablemysteryseemsdestinedtohangforeveroverthisactofmadnessordespair。’
　　Suchweretheendwordsofanitemofnewsheaded:
　　`SuicideofLadyPassengerfromacross—ChannelBoat。’ComradeOssiponwasfamiliarwiththebeautiesofitsjournalisticstyle。`Animpenetrablemysteryseemsdestinedtohangforever……’Hekneweverywordbyheart。
　　`Animpenetrablemystery……`Andtherobustanarchist，hanginghisheadonhisbreast，fellintoalongreverie。
　　Hewasmenacedbythisthingintheverysourcesofhisexistence。Hecouldnotissueforthtomeethisvariousconquests，thosethathecourtedonbenchesinKensingtonGardens，andthosehemetneararearailings，withoutthedreadofbeginningtotalktothemofanimpenetrablemysterydestined……Hewasbecomingscientificallyafraidofinsanitylyinginwaitforhimamongsttheselines。`Tohangforeverover。’Itwasanobsession，atorture。Hehadlatelyfailedtokeepseveraloftheseappointments，whosenoteusedtobeanunboundedtrustfulnessinthelanguageofsentimentandmanlytenderness。Theconfidingdispositionofvariousclassesofwomensatisfiedtheneedofhisself—love，andputsomematerialmeansintohishandHeneededittolive。Itwasthere。Butifhecouldnolongermakeuseofit，herantheriskofstarvinghisidealsandhisbody……`Thisactofmadnessordespair。’
　　`Animpenetrablemystery’wassure`tohangforever’asfarasallmankindwasconcerned。Butwhatofthatifhealoneofallmencouldnevergetridofthecursedknowledge？AndComradeOssipon’sknowledgewasaspreciseasthenewspapermancouldmakeit—uptotheverythresholdofthe`mysterydestinedtohangforever……’。
　　ComradeOssiponwaswellinformed。Heknewwhatthegangwaymanofthesteamerhadseen:`Aladyinablackdressandablackveil，wanderingatmidnightalongsideonthequay。`Areyougoingbytheboat，ma’am，’
　　hehadaskedher，encouragingly。`Thisway。’Sheseemednottoknowwhattodo。Hehelpedheronboard。Sheseemedweak。’
　　AndOssiponknewalsowhatthestewardesshadseen:aladyinblackwithawhitefacestandinginthemiddleoftheemptyladies’cabin。Thestewardessinducedhertoliedownthere。Theladyseemedquiteunwillingtospeak，andasifshewereinsomeawfultrouble。Thenextthestewardessknewshewasgonefromtheladies’cabin。Thestewardessthenwentondecktolookforher，andComradeOssiponwasinformedthatthegoodwomanfoundtheunhappyladylyingdowninoneofthehoodedseats。Hereyeswereopen，butshewouldnotansweranythingthatwassaidtoher。Sheseemedveryill。Thestewardessfetchedthechiefsteward，andthosetwopeoplestoodbythesideofthehoodedseatconsultingovertheirextraordinaryandtragicpassenger。Theytalkedinaudiblewhispers（forsheseemedpasthearing）ofStMaloandtheConsulthere，ofcommunicatingwithherpeopleinEngland。Thentheywentawaytoarrangeforherremovaldownbelow，forindeedbywhattheycouldseeofherfacesheseemedtothemtobedying。ButComradeOssiponknewthatbehindthatwhitemaskofdespairtherewasstrugglingagainstterroranddespairavigourofvitality，aloveoflifethatcouldresistthefuriousanguishwhichdrivestomurderandthefear，theblind，madfearofthegallows。Heknew。Butthestewardessandthechiefstewardknewnothing，exceptthatwhentheycamebackforherinlessthanfiveminutestheladyinblackwasnolongerinthehoodedseat。Shewasnowhere。Shewasgone。Itwasthenfiveo’clockinthemorning，anditwasnoaccidenteither。Anhourafterwardsoneofthesteamer’shandsfoundaweddingringleftlyingontheseat。Ithadstucktothewoodinabitofwet，anditsglittercaughttheman’seye。Therewasadate，14June1879，engravedinside。`Animpenetrablemysteryisdestinedtohangforever……
　　AndComradeOssiponraisedhisbowedhead，belovedofvarioushumblewomenoftheseisles，Apollo—likeinthesunninessofitsbushofhair。
　　TheProfessorhadgrownrestlessmeantime。Herose。
　　`Stay，’saidOssipon，hurriedly。`Here，whatdoyouknowofmadnessanddespair？’
　　TheProfessorpassedthetipofhistongueonhisdry，thinlips，andsaiddoctorally:
　　`Therearenosuchthings。Allpassionislostnow。Theworldismediocre，limp，withoutforce。Andmadnessanddespairareaforce。Andforceisacrimeintheeyesofthefools，theweakandthesillywhoruletheroost。
　　Youaremediocre。Verloc，whoseaffairthepolicehasmanagedtosmothersonicely，wasmediocre。Andthepolicemurderedhim。Hewasmediocre。
　　Everybodyismediocre。Madnessanddespair！Givemethatforalever，andI’llmovetheworld。Ossipon，youhavemycordialscorn。Youareincapableofconceivingevenwhatthefat—fedcitizenwouldcallacrime。Youhavenoforce。’Hepaused，smilingsardonicallyunderthefierceglitterofhisthickglasses。
　　`Andletmetellyouthatthislittlelegacytheysayyou’vecomeintohasnotimprovedyourintelligence。Yousitatyourbeerlikeadummy。
　　Good—bye。’
　　`Willyouhaveit？’saidOssipon，lookingupwithanidioticgrin。
　　`Havewhat？’
　　`Thelegacy。Allofit。’
　　TheincorruptibleProfessoronlysmiled。Hisclotheswereallbutfallingoffhim，hisboots，shapelesswithrepairs，heavylikelead，Itwaterinateverystep。Hesaid:
　　`Iwillsendyouby—and—byasmallbillforcertainchemicalswhichIshallordertomorrow。Ineedthembadly。Understood—eh？’
　　Ossiponloweredhisheadslowly。Hewasalone。`Animpenetrablemystery……
　　’Itseemedtohimthatsuspendedintheairbeforehimhesawhisownbrainpulsatingtotherhythmofanimpenetrablemystery。Itwasdiseasedclearly。`……Thisactofmadnessordespair。’
　　Themechanicalpianonearthedoorplayedthroughavalsecheekily，thenfeltsilentallatonce，asifgonegrumpy。
　　ComradeOssipon，nicknamedtheDoctor，wentoutoftheSilenusbeer—hall。