Then，asSymecontinuedtostareatthem，hesawsomethingthathehadnotseenbefore。Hehadnotseenitliterallybecauseitwastoolargetosee。Atthenearestendofthebalcony，blockingupagreatpartoftheperspective，wasthebackofagreatmountainofaman。WhenSymehadseenhim，hisfirstthoughtwasthattheweightofhimmustbreakdownthebalconyofstone。Hisvastnessdidnotlieonlyinthefactthathewasabnormallytallandquiteincrediblyfat。Thismanwasplannedenormouslyinhisoriginalproportions，likeastatuecarveddeliberatelyascolossal。Hishead，crownedwithwhitehair，asseenfrombehindlookedbiggerthanaheadoughttobe。Theearsthatstoodoutfromitlookedlargerthanhumanears。Hewasenlargedterriblytoscale;andthissenseofsizewassostaggering，thatwhenSymesawhimalltheotherfiguresseemedquitesuddenlytodwindleandbecomedwarfish。
　　Theywerestillsittingthereasbeforewiththeirflowersandfrock—coats，butnowitlookedasifthebigmanwasentertainingfivechildrentotea。
　　AsSymeandtheguideapproachedthesidedoorofthehotel，awaitercameoutsmilingwitheverytoothinhishead。
　　"Thegentlemenareupthere，sare，"hesaid。"Theydotalkandtheydolaughatwhattheytalk。Theydosaytheywillthrowbombsatzeking。"
　　Andthewaiterhurriedawaywithanapkinoverhisarm，muchpleasedwiththesingularfrivolityofthegentlemenupstairs。
　　Thetwomenmountedthestairsinsilence。
　　SymehadneverthoughtofaskingwhetherthemonstrousmanwhoalmostfilledandbrokethebalconywasthegreatPresidentofwhomtheothersstoodinawe。Heknewitwasso，withanunaccountablebutinstantaneouscertainty。Syme，indeed，wasoneofthosemenwhoareopentoallthemorenamelesspsychologicalinfluencesinadegreealittledangeroustomentalhealth。Utterlydevoidoffearinphysicaldangers，hewasagreatdealtoosensitivetothesmellofspiritualevil。Twicealreadythatnightlittleunmeaningthingshadpeepedoutathimalmostpruriently，andgivenhimasenseofdrawingnearerandnearertothehead—quartersofhell。AndthissensebecameoverpoweringashedrewnearertothegreatPresident。
　　Theformittookwasachildishandyethatefulfancy。Ashewalkedacrosstheinnerroomtowardsthebalcony，thelargefaceofSundaygrewlargerandlarger;andSymewasgrippedwithafearthatwhenhewasquiteclosethefacewouldbetoobigtobepossible，andthathewouldscreamaloud。HerememberedthatasachildhewouldnotlookatthemaskofMemnonintheBritishMuseum，becauseitwasaface，andsolarge。
　　Byaneffort，braverthanthatofleapingoveracliff，hewenttoanemptyseatatthebreakfast—tableandsatdown。Themengreetedhimwithgood—humouredrailleryasiftheyhadalwaysknownhim。Hesoberedhimselfalittlebylookingattheirconventionalcoatsandsolid，shiningcoffee—pot;thenhelookedagainatSunday。Hisfacewasverylarge，butitwasstillpossibletohumanity。
　　InthepresenceofthePresidentthewholecompanylookedsufficientlycommonplace;nothingaboutthemcaughttheeyeatfirst，exceptthatbythePresident’scapricetheyhadbeendressedupwithafestiverespectability，whichgavethemealthelookofaweddingbreakfast。Onemanindeedstoodoutatevenasuperficialglance。HeatleastwasthecommonorgardenDynamiter。Hewore，indeed，thehighwhitecollarandsatintiethatweretheuniformoftheoccasion;butoutofthiscollartheresprangaheadquiteunmanageableandquiteunmistakable，abewilderingbushofbrownhairandbeardthatalmostobscuredtheeyeslikethoseofaSkyeterrier。Buttheeyesdidlookoutofthetangle，andtheywerethesadeyesofsomeRussianserf。TheeffectofthisfigurewasnotterriblelikethatofthePresident，butithadeverydiableriethatcancomefromtheutterlygrotesque。Ifoutofthatstifftieandcollartherehadcomeabruptlytheheadofacatoradog，itcouldnothavebeenamoreidioticcontrast。
　　Theman’sname，itseemed，wasGogol;hewasaPole，andinthiscircleofdayshewascalledTuesday。Hissoulandspeechwereincurablytragic;hecouldnotforcehimselftoplaytheprosperousandfrivolouspartdemandedofhimbyPresidentSunday。
　　And，indeed，whenSymecameinthePresident，withthatdaringdisregardofpublicsuspicionwhichwashispolicy，wasactuallychaffingGogoluponhisinabilitytoassumeconventionalgraces。
　　"OurfriendTuesday，"saidthePresidentinadeepvoiceatonceofquietudeandvolume，"ourfriendTuesdaydoesn’tseemtograsptheidea。Hedressesuplikeagentleman，butheseemstobetoogreatasoultobehavelikeone。Heinsistsonthewaysofthestageconspirator。NowifagentlemangoesaboutLondoninatophatandafrock—coat，nooneneedknowthatheisananarchist。
　　Butifagentlemanputsonatophatandafrock—coat，andthengoesaboutonhishandsandknees——well，hemayattractattention。
　　That’swhatBrotherGogoldoes。Hegoesaboutonhishandsandkneeswithsuchinexhaustiblediplomacy，thatbythistimehefindsitquitedifficulttowalkupright。"
　　"Iamnotgoodatgoncealment，"saidGogolsulkily，withathickforeignaccent;"Iamnotashamedofthecause。"
　　"Yesyouare，myboy，andsoisthecauseofyou，"saidthePresidentgood—naturedly。"Youhideasmuchasanybody;butyoucan’tdoit，yousee，you’resuchanass！Youtrytocombinetwoinconsistentmethods。Whenahouseholderfindsamanunderhisbed，hewillprobablypausetonotethecircumstance。Butifhefindsamanunderhisbedinatophat，youwillagreewithme，mydearTuesday，thatheisnotlikelyeventoforgetit。NowwhenyouwerefoundunderAdmiralBiffin’sbed——"
　　"Iamnotgoodatdeception，"saidTuesdaygloomily，flushing。
　　"Right，myboy，right，"saidthePresidentwithaponderousheartiness，"youaren’tgoodatanything。"
　　Whilethisstreamofconversationcontinued，Symewaslookingmoresteadilyatthemenaroundhim。Ashedidso，hegraduallyfeltallhissenseofsomethingspirituallyqueerreturn。
　　Hehadthoughtatfirstthattheywereallofcommonstatureandcostume，withtheevidentexceptionofthehairyGogol。Butashelookedattheothers，hebegantoseeineachofthemexactlywhathehadseeninthemanbytheriver，ademoniacdetailsomewhere。
　　Thatlop—sidedlaugh，whichwouldsuddenlydisfigurethefinefaceofhisoriginalguide，wastypicalofallthesetypes。Eachmanhadsomethingabouthim，perceivedperhapsatthetenthortwentiethglance，whichwasnotnormal，andwhichseemedhardlyhuman。Theonlymetaphorhecouldthinkofwasthis，thattheyalllookedasmenoffashionandpresencewouldlook，withtheadditionaltwistgiveninafalseandcurvedmirror。
　　Onlytheindividualexampleswillexpressthishalf—concealedeccentricity。Syme’soriginalciceroneborethetitleofMonday;
　　hewastheSecretaryoftheCouncil，andhistwistedsmilewasregardedwithmoreterrorthananything，exceptthePresident’shorrible，happylaughter。ButnowthatSymehadmorespaceandlighttoobservehim，therewereothertouches。Hisfinefacewassoemaciated，thatSymethoughtitmustbewastedwithsomedisease;yetsomehowtheverydistressofhisdarkeyesdeniedthis。Itwasnophysicalillthattroubledhim。Hiseyeswerealivewithintellectualtorture，asifpurethoughtwaspain。
　　Hewastypicalofeachofthetribe;eachmanwassubtlyanddifferentlywrong。NexttohimsatTuesday，thetousle—headedGogol，amanmoreobviouslymad。NextwasWednesday，acertainMarquisdeSt。Eustache，asufficientlycharacteristicfigure。Thefirstfewglancesfoundnothingunusualabouthim，exceptthathewastheonlymanattablewhoworethefashionableclothesasiftheywerereallyhisown。HehadablackFrenchbeardcutsquareandablackEnglishfrock—coatcutevensquarer。ButSyme，sensitivetosuchthings，feltsomehowthatthemancarriedarichatmospherewithhim，arichatmospherethatsuffocated。ItremindedoneirrationallyofdrowsyodoursandofdyinglampsinthedarkerpoemsofByronandPoe。Withthiswentasenseofhisbeingclad，notinlightercolours，butinsoftermaterials;hisblackseemedricherandwarmerthantheblackshadesabouthim，asifitwerecompoundedofprofoundcolour。Hisblackcoatlookedasifitwereonlyblackbybeingtoodenseapurple。Hisblackbeardlookedasifitwereonlyblackbybeingtoodeepablue。Andinthegloomandthicknessofthebeardhisdarkredmouthshowedsensualandscornful。WhateverhewashewasnotaFrenchman;hemightbeaJew;hemightbesomethingdeeperyetinthedarkheartoftheEast。InthebrightcolouredPersiantilesandpicturesshowingtyrantshunting，youmayseejustthosealmondeyes，thoseblue—blackbeards，thosecruel，crimsonlips。
　　ThencameSyme，andnextaveryoldman，ProfessordeWorms，whostillkeptthechairofFriday，thougheverydayitwasexpectedthathisdeathwouldleaveitempty。Saveforhisintellect，hewasinthelastdissolutionofseniledecay。Hisfacewasasgreyashislonggreybeard，hisforeheadwasliftedandfixedfinallyinafurrowofmilddespair。Innoothercase，noteventhatofGogol，didthebridegroombrilliancyofthemorningdressexpressamorepainfulcontrast。Fortheredflowerinhisbutton—holeshowedupagainstafacethatwasliterallydiscolouredlikelead;thewholehideouseffectwasasifsomedrunkendandieshadputtheirclothesuponacorpse。Whenheroseorsatdown，whichwaswithlonglabourandperil，somethingworsewasexpressedthanmereweakness，somethingindefinablyconnectedwiththehorrorofthewholescene。
　　Itdidnotexpressdecrepitudemerely，butcorruption。AnotherhatefulfancycrossedSyme’squiveringmind。Hecouldnothelpthinkingthatwheneverthemanmovedalegorarmmightfalloff。
　　RightattheendsatthemancalledSaturday，thesimplestandthemostbafflingofall。Hewasashort，squaremanwithadark，squarefaceclean—shaven，amedicalpractitionergoingbythenameofBull。Hehadthatcombinationofsavoir—fairewithasortofwell—groomedcoarsenesswhichisnotuncommoninyoungdoctors。Hecarriedhisfineclotheswithconfidenceratherthanease，andhemostlyworeasetsmile。Therewasnothingwhateveroddabouthim，exceptthatheworeapairofdark，almostopaquespectacles。Itmayhavebeenmerelyacrescendoofnervousfancythathadgonebefore，butthoseblackdiscsweredreadfultoSyme;theyremindedhimofhalf—remembereduglytales，ofsomestoryaboutpenniesbeingputontheeyesofthedead。Syme’seyealwayscaughttheblackglassesandtheblindgrin。HadthedyingProfessorwornthem，oreventhepaleSecretary，theywouldhavebeenappropriate。
　　Butontheyoungerandgrossermantheyseemedonlyanenigma。Theytookawaythekeyoftheface。Youcouldnottellwhathissmileorhisgravitymeant。Partlyfromthis，andpartlybecausehehadavulgarvirilitywantinginmostoftheothersitseemedtoSymethathemightbethewickedestofallthosewickedmen。Symeevenhadthethoughtthathiseyesmightbecoveredupbecausetheyweretoofrightfultosee。
　　CHAPTERVI
　　THEEXPOSURE
　　SUCHwerethesixmenwhohadsworntodestroytheworld。AgainandagainSymestrovetopulltogetherhiscommonsenseintheirpresence。Sometimeshesawforaninstantthatthesenotionsweresubjective，thathewasonlylookingatordinarymen，oneofwhomwasold，anothernervous，anothershort—sighted。Thesenseofanunnaturalsymbolismalwayssettledbackonhimagain。Eachfigureseemedtobe，somehow，ontheborderlandofthings，justastheirtheorywasontheborderlandofthought。Heknewthateachoneofthesemenstoodattheextremeend，sotospeak，ofsomewildroadofreasoning。Hecouldonlyfancy，asinsomeold—worldfable，thatifamanwentwestwardtotheendoftheworldhewouldfindsomething——sayatree——thatwasmoreorlessthanatree，atreepossessedbyaspirit;andthatifhewenteasttotheendoftheworldhewouldfindsomethingelsethatwasnotwhollyitself——atower，perhaps，ofwhichtheveryshapewaswicked。Sothesefiguresseemedtostandup，violentandunaccountable，againstanultimatehorizon，visionsfromtheverge。Theendsoftheearthwereclosingin。
　　Talkhadbeengoingonsteadilyashetookinthescene;andnottheleastofthecontrastsofthatbewilderingbreakfast—tablewasthecontrastbetweentheeasyandunobtrusivetoneoftalkanditsterriblepurport。Theyweredeepinthediscussionofanactualandimmediateplot。Thewaiterdownstairshadspokenquitecorrectlywhenhesaidthattheyweretalkingaboutbombsandkings。OnlythreedaysafterwardstheCzarwastomeetthePresidentoftheFrenchRepublicinParis，andovertheirbaconandeggsupontheirsunnybalconythesebeaminggentlemenhaddecidedhowbothshoulddie。Eventheinstrumentwaschosen;theblack—beardedMarquis，itappeared，wastocarrythebomb。
　　Ordinarilyspeaking，theproximityofthispositiveandobjectivecrimewouldhavesoberedSyme，andcuredhimofallhismerelymysticaltremors。Hewouldhavethoughtofnothingbuttheneedofsavingatleasttwohumanbodiesfrombeingrippedinpieceswithironandroaringgas。Butthetruthwasthatbythistimehehadbeguntofeelathirdkindoffear，morepiercingandpracticalthaneitherhismoralrevulsionorhissocialresponsibility。Verysimply，hehadnofeartosparefortheFrenchPresidentortheCzar;hehadbeguntofearforhimself。Mostofthetalkerstooklittleheedofhim，debatingnowwiththeirfacesclosertogether，andalmostuniformlygrave，savewhenforaninstantthesmileoftheSecretaryranaslantacrosshisfaceasthejaggedlightningrunsaslantacrossthesky。ButtherewasonepersistentthingwhichfirsttroubledSymeandatlastterrifiedhim。ThePresidentwasalwayslookingathim，steadily，andwithagreatandbafflinginterest。Theenormousmanwasquitequiet，buthisblueeyesstoodoutofhishead。AndtheywerealwaysfixedonSyme。
　　Symefeltmovedtospringupandleapoverthebalcony。WhenthePresident’seyeswereonhimhefeltasifheweremadeofglass。
　　HehadhardlytheshredofadoubtthatinsomesilentandextraordinarywaySundayhadfoundoutthathewasaspy。Helookedovertheedgeofthebalcony，andsawapoliceman，standingabstractedlyjustbeneath，staringatthebrightrailingsandthesunlittrees。
　　Thentherefelluponhimthegreattemptationthatwastotormenthimformanydays。Inthepresenceofthesepowerfulandrepulsivemen，whoweretheprincesofanarchy，hehadalmostforgottenthefrailandfancifulfigureofthepoetGregory，themereaestheteofanarchism。Heeventhoughtofhimnowwithanoldkindness，asiftheyhadplayedtogetherwhenchildren。ButherememberedthathewasstilltiedtoGregorybyagreatpromise。Hehadpromisednevertodotheverythingthathenowfelthimselfalmostintheactofdoing。Hehadpromisednottojumpoverthatbalconyandspeaktothatpoliceman。Hetookhiscoldhandoffthecoldstonebalustrade。Hissoulswayedinavertigoofmoralindecision。Hehadonlytosnapthethreadofarashvowmadetoavillainoussociety，andallhislifecouldbeasopenandsunnyasthesquarebeneathhim。Hehad，ontheotherhand，onlytokeephisantiquatedhonour，andbedeliveredinchbyinchintothepowerofthisgreatenemyofmankind，whoseveryintellectwasatorture—chamber。
　　Wheneverhelookeddownintothesquarehesawthecomfortablepoliceman，apillarofcommonsenseandcommonorder。Wheneverhelookedbackatthebreakfast—tablehesawthePresidentstillquietlystudyinghimwithbig，unbearableeyes。
　　Inallthetorrentofhisthoughtthereweretwothoughtsthatnevercrossedhismind。First，itneveroccurredtohimtodoubtthatthePresidentandhisCouncilcouldcrushhimifhecontinuedtostandalone。Theplacemightbepublic，theprojectmightseemimpossible。ButSundaywasnotthemanwhowouldcarryhimselfthuseasilywithouthaving，somehoworsomewhere，setopenhisirontrap。Eitherbyanonymouspoisonorsuddenstreetaccident，byhypnotismorbyfirefromhell，Sundaycouldcertainlystrikehim。Ifhedefiedthemanhewasprobablydead，eitherstruckstiffthereinhischairorlongafterwardsasbyaninnocentailment。Ifhecalledinthepolicepromptly，arrestedeveryone，toldall，andsetagainstthemthewholeenergyofEngland，hewouldprobablyescape;certainlynototherwise。Theywereabalconyfulofgentlemenoverlookingabrightandbusysquare;buthefeltnomoresafewiththemthaniftheyhadbeenaboatfulofarmedpiratesoverlookinganemptysea。
　　Therewasasecondthoughtthatnevercametohim。Itneveroccurredtohimtobespirituallywonovertotheenemy。Manymoderns，inuredtoaweakworshipofintellectandforce，mighthavewaveredintheirallegianceunderthisoppressionofagreatpersonality。TheymighthavecalledSundaythesuper—man。Ifanysuchcreaturebeconceivable，helooked，indeed，somewhatlikeit，withhisearth—shakingabstraction，asofastonestatuewalking。
　　Hemighthavebeencalledsomethingaboveman，withhislargeplans，whichweretooobvioustobedetected，withhislargeface，whichwastoofranktobeunderstood。ButthiswasakindofmodernmeannesstowhichSymecouldnotsinkeveninhisextrememorbidity。Likeanyman，hewascowardenoughtofeargreatforce;
　　buthewasnotquitecowardenoughtoadmireit。
　　Themenwereeatingastheytalked，andeveninthistheyweretypical。Dr。BullandtheMarquisatecasuallyandconventionallyofthebestthingsonthetable——coldpheasantorStrasbourgpie。
　　ButtheSecretarywasavegetarian，andhespokeearnestlyoftheprojectedmurderoverhalfarawtomatoandthreequartersofaglassoftepidwater。TheoldProfessorhadsuchslopsassuggestedasickeningsecondchildhood。AndeveninthisPresidentSundaypreservedhiscuriouspredominanceofmeremass。Forheateliketwentymen;heateincredibly，withafrightfulfreshnessofappetite，sothatitwaslikewatchingasausagefactory。Yetcontinually，whenhehadswallowedadozencrumpetsordrunkaquartofcoffee，hewouldbefoundwithhisgreatheadononesidestaringatSyme。
　　"Ihaveoftenwondered，"saidtheMarquis，takingagreatbiteoutofasliceofbreadandjam，"whetheritwouldn’tbebetterformetodoitwithaknife。Mostofthebestthingshavebeenbroughtoffwithaknife。AnditwouldbeanewemotiontogetaknifeintoaFrenchPresidentandwriggleitround。"
　　"Youarewrong，"saidtheSecretary，drawinghisblackbrowstogether。"Theknifewasmerelytheexpressionoftheoldpersonalquarrelwithapersonaltyrant。Dynamiteisnotonlyourbesttool，butourbestsymbol。ItisasperfectasymbolofusasisincenseoftheprayersoftheChristians。Itexpands;itonlydestroysbecauseitbroadens;evenso，thoughtonlydestroysbecauseitbroadens。Aman’sbrainisabomb，"hecriedout，looseningsuddenlyhisstrangepassionandstrikinghisownskullwithviolence。"Mybrainfeelslikeabomb，nightandday。Itmustexpand！Itmustexpand！Aman’sbrainmustexpand，ifitbreaksuptheuniverse。"
　　"Idon’twanttheuniversebrokenupjustyet，"drawledtheMarquis。"IwanttodoalotofbeastlythingsbeforeIdie。
　　Ithoughtofoneyesterdayinbed。"
　　"No，iftheonlyendofthethingisnothing，"saidDr。Bullwithhissphinx—likesmile，"ithardlyseemsworthdoing。"
　　TheoldProfessorwasstaringattheceilingwithdulleyes。
　　"Everymanknowsinhisheart，"hesaid，"thatnothingisworthdoing。"
　　Therewasasingularsilence，andthentheSecretarysaid——
　　"Wearewandering，however，fromthepoint。TheonlyquestionishowWednesdayistostriketheblow。Itakeitweshouldallagreewiththeoriginalnotionofabomb。Astotheactualarrangements，Ishouldsuggestthattomorrowmorningheshouldgofirstofallto——"
　　Thespeechwasbrokenoffshortunderavastshadow。PresidentSundayhadrisentohisfeet，seemingtofilltheskyabovethem。
　　"Beforewediscussthat，"hesaidinasmall，quietvoice，"letusgointoaprivateroom。Ihavesomethingventparticulartosay。"
　　Symestoodupbeforeanyoftheothers。Theinstantofchoicehadcomeatlast，thepistolwasathishead。Onthepavementbeforehecouldhearthepolicemanidlystirandstamp，forthemorning，thoughbright，wascold。
　　Abarrel—organinthestreetsuddenlysprangwithajerkintoajovialtune。Symestooduptaut，asifithadbeenabuglebeforethebattle。Hefoundhimselffilledwithasupernaturalcouragethatcamefromnowhere。Thatjinglingmusicseemedfullofthevivacity，thevulgarity，andtheirrationalvalourofthepoor，whoinallthoseuncleanstreetswereallclingingtothedecenciesandthecharitiesofChristendom。Hisyouthfulprankofbeingapolicemanhadfadedfromhismind;hedidnotthinkofhimselfastherepresentativeofthecorpsofgentlementurnedintofancyconstables，oroftheoldeccentricwholivedinthedarkroom。
　　Buthedidfeelhimselfastheambassadorofallthesecommonandkindlypeopleinthestreet，whoeverydaymarchedintobattletothemusicofthebarrel—organ。Andthishighprideinbeinghumanhadliftedhimunaccountablytoaninfiniteheightabovethemonstrousmenaroundhim。Foraninstant，atleast，helookeddownuponalltheirsprawlingeccentricitiesfromthestarrypinnacleofthecommonplace。Hefelttowardsthemallthatunconsciousandelementarysuperioritythatabravemanfeelsoverpowerfulbeastsorawisemanoverpowerfulerrors。HeknewthathehadneithertheintellectualnorthephysicalstrengthofPresidentSunday;butinthatmomenthemindeditnomorethanthefactthathehadnotthemusclesofatigerorahornonhisnoselikearhinoceros。AllwasswallowedupinanultimatecertaintythatthePresidentwaswrongandthatthebarrel—organwasright。ThereclangedinhismindthatunanswerableandterribletruisminthesongofRoland——
　　"PagensonttortetChretiensontdroit。"
　　whichintheoldnasalFrenchhastheclangandgroanofgreatiron。Thisliberationofhisspiritfromtheloadofhisweaknesswentwithaquitecleardecisiontoembracedeath。Ifthepeopleofthebarrel—organcouldkeeptheirold—worldobligations，socouldhe。Thisveryprideinkeepinghiswordwasthathewaskeepingittomiscreants。Itwashislasttriumphovertheselunaticstogodownintotheirdarkroomanddieforsomethingthattheycouldnotevenunderstand。Thebarrel—organseemedtogivethemarchingtunewiththeenergyandtheminglednoisesofawholeorchestra;andhecouldheardeepandrolling，underallthetrumpetsoftheprideoflife，thedrumsoftheprideofdeath。
　　Theconspiratorswerealreadyfilingthroughtheopenwindowandintotheroomsbehind。Symewentlast，outwardlycalm，butwithallhisbrainandbodythrobbingwithromanticrhythm。ThePresidentledthemdownanirregularsidestair，suchasmightbeusedbyservants，andintoadim，cold，emptyroom，withatableandbenches，likeanabandonedboardroom。Whentheywereallin，heclosedandlockedthedoor。
　　ThefirsttospeakwasGogol，theirreconcilable，whoseemedburstingwithinarticulategrievance。
　　"Zso！Zso！"hecried，withanobscureexcitement，hisheavyPolishaccentbecomingalmostimpenetrable。"Youzayyounod’ide。Youzayyoushowhimselves。Itisallnuzzinks。Venyouvanttalkimportanceyourunyourselvesinadarkbox！"
　　ThePresidentseemedtotaketheforeigner’sincoherentsatirewithentiregoodhumour。
　　"Youcan’tgetholdofityet，Gogol，"hesaidinafatherlyway。
　　"Whenoncetheyhaveheardustalkingnonsenseonthatbalconytheywillnotcarewherewegoafterwards。Ifwehadcomeherefirst，weshouldhavehadthewholestaffatthekeyhole。Youdon’tseemtoknowanythingaboutmankind。"
　　"Idieforzem，"criedthePoleinthickexcitement，"andIslayzareoppressors。Icarenotforthesegamesofgonzealment。Iwouldzmitezetyrantinzeopensquare。"
　　"Isee，Isee，"saidthePresident，noddingkindlyasheseatedhimselfatthetopofalongtable。"Youdieformankindfirst，andthenyougetupandsmitetheiroppressors。Sothat’sallright。
　　AndnowmayIaskyoutocontrolyourbeautifulsentiments，andsitdownwiththeothergentlemenatthistable。Forthefirsttimethismorningsomethingintelligentisgoingtobesaid。"
　　Syme，withtheperturbedpromptitudehehadshownsincetheoriginalsummons，satdownfirst。Gogolsatdownlast，grumblinginhisbrownbeardaboutgombromise。NooneexceptSymeseemedtohaveanynotionoftheblowthatwasabouttofall。Asforhim，hehadmerelythefeelingofamanmountingthescaffoldwiththeintention，atanyrate，ofmakingagoodspeech。
　　"Comrades，"saidthePresident，suddenlyrising，"wehavespunoutthisfarcelongenough。Ihavecalledyoudownheretotellyousomethingsosimpleandshockingthateventhewaitersupstairs（longinuredtoourlevities）mighthearsomenewseriousnessinmyvoice。Comrades，wewerediscussingplansandnamingplaces。I
　　propose，beforesayinganythingelse，thatthoseplansandplacesshouldnotbevotedbythismeeting，butshouldbeleftwhollyinthecontrolofsomeonereliablemember。IsuggestComradeSaturday，Dr。Bull。"
　　Theyallstaredathim;thentheyallstartedintheirseats，forthenextwords，thoughnotloud，hadalivingandsensationalemphasis。Sundaystruckthetable。
　　"Notonewordmoreabouttheplansandplacesmustbesaidatthismeeting。Notonetinydetailmoreaboutwhatwemeantodomustbementionedinthiscompany。"
　　Sundayhadspenthislifeinastonishinghisfollowers;butitseemedasifhehadneverreallyastonishedthemuntilnow。Theyallmovedfeverishlyintheirseats，exceptSyme。Hesatstiffinhis，withhishandinhispocket，andonthehandleofhisloadedrevolver。Whentheattackonhimcamehewouldsellhislifedear。
　　HewouldfindoutatleastifthePresidentwasmortal。
　　Sundaywentonsmoothly——
　　"Youwillprobablyunderstandthatthereisonlyonepossiblemotiveforforbiddingfreespeechatthisfestivaloffreedom。
　　Strangersoverhearingusmattersnothing。Theyassumethatwearejoking。Butwhatwouldmatter，evenuntodeath，isthis，thatthereshouldbeoneactuallyamonguswhoisnotofus，whoknowsourgravepurpose，butdoesnotshareit，who——"
　　TheSecretaryscreamedoutsuddenlylikeawoman。
　　"Itcan’tbe！"hecried，leaping。"Therecan’t——"
　　ThePresidentflappedhislargeflathandonthetablelikethefinofsomehugefish。
　　"Yes，"hesaidslowly，"thereisaspyinthisroom。Thereisatraitoratthistable。Iwillwastenomorewords。Hisname——"
　　Symehalfrosefromhisseat，hisfingerfirmonthetrigger。
　　"HisnameisGogol，"saidthePresident。"HeisthathairyhumbugovertherewhopretendstobeaPole。"
　　Gogolsprangtohisfeet，apistolineachhand。Withthesameflashthreemensprangathisthroat。EventheProfessormadeanefforttorise。ButSymesawlittleofthescene，forhewasblindedwithabeneficentdarkness;hehadsunkdownintohisseatshuddering，inapalsyofpassionaterelief。
　　CHAPTERVII
　　THEUNACCOUNTABLECONDUCTOFPROFESSORDEWORMS
　　"SITdown！"saidSundayinavoicethatheusedonceortwiceinhislife，avoicethatmademendropdrawnswords。
　　ThethreewhohadrisenfellawayfromGogol，andthatequivocalpersonhimselfresumedhisseat。
　　"Well，myman，"saidthePresidentbriskly，addressinghimasoneaddressesatotalstranger，"willyouobligemebyputtingyourhandinyourupperwaistcoatpocketandshowingmewhatyouhavethere？"
　　TheallegedPolewasalittlepaleunderhistangleofdarkhair，butheputtwofingersintothepocketwithapparentcoolnessandpulledoutabluestripofcard。WhenSymesawitlyingonthetable，hewokeupagaintotheworldoutsidehim。Foralthoughthecardlayattheotherextremeofthetable，andhecouldreadnothingoftheinscriptiononit，itboreastartlingresemblancetothebluecardinhisownpocket，thecardwhichhadbeengiventohimwhenhejoinedtheanti—anarchistconstabulary。
　　"PatheticSlav，"saidthePresident，"tragicchildofPoland，areyoupreparedinthepresenceofthatcardtodenythatyouareinthiscompany——shallwesaydetrop？"
　　"Rightoh！"saidthelateGogol。Itmadeeveryonejumptohearaclear，commercialandsomewhatcockneyvoicecomingoutofthatforestofforeignhair。Itwasirrational，asifaChinamanhadsuddenlyspokenwithaScotchaccent。
　　"Igatherthatyoufullyunderstandyourposition，"saidSunday。
　　"Youbet，"answeredthePole。"Iseeit’safaircop。AllIsayis，Idon’tbelieveanyPolecouldhaveimitatedmyaccentlikeIdidhis。"
　　"Iconcedethepoint，"saidSunday。"Ibelieveyourownaccenttobeinimitable，thoughIshallpractiseitinmybath。Doyoumindleavingyourbeardwithyourcard？"
　　"Notabit，"answeredGogol;andwithonefingerherippedoffthewholeofhisshaggyhead—covering，emergingwiththinredhairandapale，pertface。"Itwashot，"headded。
　　"Iwilldoyouthejusticetosay，"saidSunday，notwithoutasortofbrutaladmiration，"thatyouseemtohavekeptprettycoolunderit。Nowlistentome。Ilikeyou。TheconsequenceisthatitwouldannoymeforjustabouttwoandahalfminutesifIheardthatyouhaddiedintorments。Well，ifyouevertellthepoliceoranyhumansoulaboutus，Ishallhavethattwoandahalfminutesofdiscomfort。OnyourdiscomfortIwillnotdwell。Goodday。Mindthestep。"
　　Thered—haireddetectivewhohadmasqueradedasGogolrosetohisfeetwithoutaword，andwalkedoutoftheroomwithanairofperfectnonchalance。YettheastonishedSymewasabletorealisethatthiseasewassuddenlyassumed;fortherewasaslightstumbleoutsidethedoor，whichshowedthatthedepartingdetectivehadnotmindedthestep。
　　"Timeisflying，"saidthePresidentinhisgayestmanner，afterglancingathiswatch，whichlikeeverythingabouthimseemedbiggerthanitoughttobe。"Imustgooffatonce;IhavetotakethechairataHumanitarianmeeting。"
　　TheSecretaryturnedtohimwithworkingeyebrows。
　　"Woulditnotbebetter，"hesaidalittlesharply，"todiscussfurtherthedetailsofourproject，nowthatthespyhasleftus？"
　　"No，Ithinknot，"saidthePresidentwithayawnlikeanunobtrusiveearthquake。"Leaveitasitis。LetSaturdaysettleit。Imustbeoff。BreakfastherenextSunday。"
　　ButthelateloudsceneshadwhippedupthealmostnakednervesoftheSecretary。Hewasoneofthosemenwhoareconscientiousevenincrime。
　　"Imustprotest，President，thatthethingisirregular，"hesaid。
　　"Itisafundamentalruleofoursocietythatallplansshallbedebatedinfullcouncil。Ofcourse，Ifullyappreciateyourforethoughtwhenintheactualpresenceofatraitor——"
　　"Secretary，"saidthePresidentseriously，"ifyou’dtakeyourheadhomeandboilitforaturnipitmightbeuseful。Ican’tsay。Butitmight。
　　TheSecretaryrearedbackinakindofequineanger。
　　"Ireallyfailtounderstand——"hebeganinhighoffense。
　　"That’sit，that’sit，"saidthePresident，noddingagreatmanytimes。"That’swhereyoufailrightenough。Youfailtounderstand。
　　Why，youdancingdonkey，"heroared，rising，"youdidn’twanttobeoverheardbyaspy，didn’tyou？Howdoyouknowyouaren’toverheardnow？"
　　Andwiththesewordsheshoulderedhiswayoutoftheroom，shakingwithincomprehensiblescorn。
　　Fourofthemenleftbehindgapedafterhimwithoutanyapparentglimmeringofhismeaning。Symealonehadevenaglimmering，andsuchasitwasitfrozehimtothebone。IfthelastwordsofthePresidentmeantanything，theymeantthathehadnotafterallpassedunsuspected。TheymeantthatwhileSundaycouldnotdenouncehimlikeGogol，hestillcouldnottrusthimliketheothers。
　　Theotherfourgottotheirfeetgrumblingmoreorless，andbetookthemselveselsewheretofindlunch，foritwasalreadywellpastmidday。TheProfessorwentlast，veryslowlyandpainfully。Symesatlongaftertheresthadgone，revolvinghisstrangeposition。
　　Hehadescapedathunderbolt，buthewasstillunderacloud。AtlastheroseandmadehiswayoutofthehotelintoLeicesterSquare。Thebright，colddayhadgrownincreasinglycolder，andwhenhecameoutintothestreethewassurprisedbyafewflakesofsnow。Whilehestillcarriedthesword—stickandtherestofGregory’sportableluggage，hehadthrownthecloakdownandleftitsomewhere，perhapsonthesteam—tug，perhapsonthebalcony。
　　Hoping，therefore，thatthesnow—showermightbeslight，hesteppedbackoutofthestreetforamomentandstoodupunderthedoorwayofasmallandgreasyhair—dresser’sshop，thefrontwindowofwhichwasempty，exceptforasicklywaxladyineveningdress。
　　Snow，however，begantothickenandfallfast;andSyme，havingfoundoneglanceatthewaxladyquitesufficienttodepresshisspirits，staredoutinsteadintothewhiteandemptystreet。Hewasconsiderablyastonishedtosee，standingquitestilloutsidetheshopandstaringintothewindow，aman。HistophatwasloadedwithsnowlikethehatofFatherChristmas，thewhitedriftwasrisingroundhisbootsandankles;butitseemedasifnothingcouldtearhimawayfromthecontemplationofthecolourlesswaxdollindirtyeveningdress。ThatanyhumanbeingshouldstandinsuchweatherlookingintosuchashopwasamatterofsufficientwondertoSyme;buthisidlewonderturnedsuddenlyintoapersonalshock;forherealisedthatthemanstandingtherewastheparalyticoldProfessordeWorms。Itscarcelyseemedtheplaceforapersonofhisyearsandinfirmities。
　　Symewasreadytobelieveanythingabouttheperversionsofthisdehumanizedbrotherhood;butevenhecouldnotbelievethattheProfessorhadfalleninlovewiththatparticularwaxlady。Hecouldonlysupposethattheman’smalady（whateveritwas）involvedsomemomentaryfitsofrigidityortrance。Hewasnotinclined，however，tofeelinthiscaseanyverycompassionateconcern。Onthecontrary，herathercongratulatedhimselfthattheProfessor’sstrokeandhiselaborateandlimpingwalkwouldmakeiteasytoescapefromhimandleavehimmilesbehind。ForSymethirstedfirstandlasttogetclearofthewholepoisonousatmosphere，ifonlyforanhour。Thenhecouldcollecthisthoughts，formulatehispolicy，anddecidefinallywhetherheshouldorshouldnotkeepfaithwithGregory。
　　Hestrolledawaythroughthedancingsnow，turneduptwoorthreestreets，downthroughtwoorthreeothers，andenteredasmallSohorestaurantforlunch。Hepartookreflectivelyoffoursmallandquaintcourses，drankhalfabottleofredwine，andendedupoverblackcoffeeandablackcigar，stillthinking。Hehadtakenhisseatintheupperroomoftherestaurant，whichwasfullofthechinkofknivesandthechatterofforeigners。Herememberedthatinolddayshehadimaginedthatalltheseharmlessandkindlyalienswereanarchists。Heshuddered，rememberingtherealthing。
　　Buteventheshudderhadthedelightfulshameofescape。Thewine，thecommonfood，thefamiliarplace，thefacesofnaturalandtalkativemen，madehimalmostfeelasiftheCounciloftheSevenDayshadbeenabaddream;andalthoughheknewitwasneverthelessanobjectivereality，itwasatleastadistantone。Tallhousesandpopulousstreetslaybetweenhimandhislastsightoftheshamefulseven;hewasfreeinfreeLondon，anddrinkingwineamongthefree。Withasomewhateasieraction，hetookhishatandstickandstrolleddownthestairintotheshopbelow。
　　Whenheenteredthatlowerroomhestoodstrickenandrootedtothespot。Atasmalltable，closeuptotheblankwindowandthewhitestreetofsnow，sattheoldanarchistProfessoroveraglassofmilk，withhisliftedlividfaceandpendenteyelids。ForaninstantSymestoodasrigidasthestickheleantupon。Thenwithagestureasofblindhurry，hebrushedpasttheProfessor，dashingopenthedoorandslammingitbehindhim，andstoodoutsideinthesnow。
　　"Canthatoldcorpsebefollowingme？"heaskedhimself，bitinghisyellowmoustache。"Istoppedtoolongupinthatroom，sothatevensuchleadenfeetcouldcatchmeup。Onecomfortis，withalittlebriskwalkingIcanputamanlikethatasfarawayasTimbuctoo。
　　OramItoofanciful？Washereallyfollowingme？SurelySundaywouldnotbesuchafoolastosendalameman？"
　　Hesetoffatasmartpace，twistingandwhirlinghisstick，inthedirectionofCoventGarden。Ashecrossedthegreatmarketthesnowincreased，growingblindingandbewilderingastheafternoonbegantodarken。Thesnow—flakestormentedhimlikeaswarmofsilverbees。Gettingintohiseyesandbeard，theyaddedtheirunremittingfutilitytohisalreadyirritatednerves;andbythetimethathehadcomeataswingingpacetothebeginningofFleetStreet，helostpatience，andfindingaSundayteashop，turnedintoittotakeshelter。Heorderedanothercupofblackcoffeeasanexcuse。Scarcelyhadhedoneso，whenProfessordeWormshobbledheavilyintotheshop，satdownwithdifficultyandorderedaglassofmilk。
　　Syme’swalking—stickhadfallenfromhishandwithagreatclang，whichconfessedtheconcealedsteel。ButtheProfessordidnotlookround。Syme，whowascommonlyacoolcharacter，wasliterallygapingasarusticgapesataconjuringtrick。Hehadseennocabfollowing;hehadheardnowheelsoutsidetheshop;toallmortalappearancesthemanhadcomeonfoot。Buttheoldmancouldonlywalklikeasnail，andSymehadwalkedlikethewind。Hestartedupandsnatchedhisstick，halfcrazywiththecontradictioninmerearithmetic，andswungoutoftheswingingdoors，leavinghiscoffeeuntasted。AnomnibusgoingtotheBankwentrattlingbywithanunusualrapidity。Hehadaviolentrunofahundredyardstoreachit;buthemanagedtospring，swayinguponthesplash—boardand，pausingforaninstanttopant，heclimbedontothetop。Whenhehadbeenseatedforabouthalfaminute，heheardbehindhimasortofheavyandasthmaticbreathing。
　　Turningsharply，hesawrisinggraduallyhigherandhigheruptheomnibusstepsatophatsoiledanddrippingwithsnow，andundertheshadowofitsbrimtheshort—sightedfaceandshakyshouldersofProfessordeWorms。Helethimselfintoaseatwithcharacteristiccare，andwrappedhimselfuptothechininthemackintoshrug。
　　Everymovementoftheoldman’stotteringfigureandvaguehands，everyuncertaingestureandpanic—strickenpause，seemedtoputitbeyondquestionthathewashelpless，thathewasinthelastimbecilityofthebody。Hemovedbyinches，helethimselfdownwithlittlegaspsofcaution。Andyet，unlessthephilosophicalentitiescalledtimeandspacehavenovestigeevenofapracticalexistence，itappearedquiteunquestionablethathehadrunaftertheomnibus。
　　Symesprangerectupontherockingcar，andafterstaringwildlyatthewintrysky，thatgrewgloomiereverymoment，herandownthesteps。Hehadrepressedanelementalimpulsetoleapovertheside。
　　Toobewilderedtolookbackortoreason，herushedintooneofthelittlecourtsatthesideofFleetStreetasarabbitrushesintoahole。Hehadavagueidea，ifthisincomprehensibleoldJack—in—the—boxwasreallypursuinghim，thatinthatlabyrinthoflittlestreetshecouldsoonthrowhimoffthescent。Hedivedinandoutofthosecrookedlanes，whichweremorelikecracksthanthoroughfares;andbythetimethathehadcompletedabouttwentyalternateanglesanddescribedanunthinkablepolygon，hepausedtolistenforanysoundofpursuit。Therewasnone;therecouldnotinanycasehavebeenmuch，forthelittlestreetswerethickwiththesoundlesssnow。SomewherebehindRedLionCourt，however，henoticedaplacewheresomeenergeticcitizenhadclearedawaythesnowforaspaceofabouttwentyyards，leavingthewet，glisteningcobble—stones。Hethoughtlittleofthisashepassedit，onlyplungingintoyetanotherarmofthemaze。Butwhenafewhundredyardsfartheronhestoodstillagaintolisten，hisheartstoodstillalso，forheheardfromthatspaceofruggedstonestheclinkingcrutchandlabouringfeetoftheinfernalcripple。
　　Theskyabovewasloadedwiththecloudsofsnow，leavingLondoninadarknessandoppressionprematureforthathouroftheevening。OneachsideofSymethewallsofthealleywereblindandfeatureless;therewasnolittlewindoworanykindofeve。Hefeltanewimpulsetobreakoutofthishiveofhouses，andtogetoncemoreintotheopenandlamp—litstreet。Yetherambledanddodgedforalongtimebeforehestruckthemainthoroughfare。
　　Whenhedidso，hestruckitmuchfartherupthanhehadfancied。
　　HecameoutintowhatseemedthevastandvoidofLudgateCircus，andsawSt。Paul’sCathedralsittinginthesky。
　　Atfirsthewasstartledtofindthesegreatroadssoempty，asifapestilencehadsweptthroughthecity。Thenhetoldhimselfthatsomedegreeofemptinesswasnatural;firstbecausethesnow—stormwasevendangerouslydeep，andsecondlybecauseitwasSunday。AndattheverywordSundayhebithislip;thewordwashenceforthforhirelikesomeindecentpun。Underthewhitefogofsnowhighupintheheaventhewholeatmosphereofthecitywasturnedtoaveryqueerkindofgreentwilight，asofmenunderthesea。ThesealedandsullensunsetbehindthedarkdomeofSt。Paul’shadinitsmokyandsinistercolours——coloursofsicklygreen，deadredordecayingbronze，thatwerejustbrightenoughtoemphasisethesolidwhitenessofthesnow。Butrightupagainstthesedrearycoloursrosetheblackbulkofthecathedral;anduponthetopofthecathedralwasarandomsplashandgreatstainofsnow，stillclingingastoanAlpinepeak。Ithadfallenaccidentally，butjustsofallenastohalfdrapethedomefromitsverytopmostpoint，andtopickoutinperfectsilverthegreatorbandthecross。WhenSymesawithesuddenlystraightenedhimself，andmadewithhissword—stickaninvoluntarysalute。
　　Heknewthatthatevilfigure，hisshadow，wascreepingquicklyorslowlybehindhim，andhedidnotcare。
　　Itseemedasymbolofhumanfaithandvalourthatwhiletheskiesweredarkeningthathighplaceoftheearthwasbright。Thedevilsmighthavecapturedheaven，buttheyhadnotyetcapturedthecross。Hehadanewimpulsetotearoutthesecretofthisdancing，jumpingandpursuingparalytic;andattheentranceofthecourtasitopenedupontheCircusheturned，stickinhand，tofacehispursuer。
　　ProfessordeWormscameslowlyroundthecorneroftheirregularalleybehindhim，hisunnaturalformoutlinedagainstalonelygas—lamp，irresistiblyrecallingthatveryimaginativefigureinthenurseryrhymes，"thecrookedmanwhowentacrookedmile。"Hereallylookedasifhehadbeentwistedoutofshapebythetortuousstreetshehadbeenthreading。Hecamenearerandnearer，thelamplightshiningonhisliftedspectacles，hislifted，patientface。SymewaitedforhimasSt。Georgewaitedforthedragon，asamanwaitsforafinalexplanationorfordeath。AndtheoldProfessorcamerightuptohimandpassedhimlikeatotalstranger，withoutevenablinkofhismournfuleyelids。
　　TherewassomethinginthissilentandunexpectedinnocencethatleftSymeinafinalfury。Theman’scolourlessfaceandmannerseemedtoassertthatthewholefollowinghadbeenanaccident。
　　Symewasgalvanisedwithanenergythatwassomethingbetweenbitternessandaburstofboyishderision。Hemadeawildgestureasiftoknocktheoldman’shatoff，calledoutsomethinglike"Catchmeifyoucan，"andwentracingawayacrossthewhite，openCircus。Concealmentwasimpossiblenow;andlookingbackoverhisshoulder，hecouldseetheblackfigureoftheoldgentlemancomingafterhimwithlong，swingingstrideslikeamanwinningamilerace。Buttheheaduponthatboundingbodywasstillpale，graveandprofessional，liketheheadofalectureruponthebodyofaharlequin。
　　ThisoutrageouschasespedacrossLudgateCircus，upLudgateHill，roundSt。Paul’sCathedral，alongCheapside，Symerememberingallthenightmareshehadeverknown。ThenSymebrokeawaytowardstheriver，andendedalmostdownbythedocks。Hesawtheyellowpanesofalow，lightedpublic—house，flunghimselfintoitandorderedbeer。Itwasafoultavern，sprinkledwithforeignsailors，aplacewhereopiummightbesmokedorknivesdrawn。
　　AmomentlaterProfessordeWormsenteredtheplace，satdowncarefully，andaskedforaglassofmilk。
　　CHAPTERVIII
　　THEPROFESSOREXPLAINS
　　WHENGabrielSymefoundhimselffinallyestablishedinachair，andoppositetohim，fixedandfinalalso，theliftedeyebrowsandleadeneyelidsoftheProfessor，hisfearsfullyreturned。Thisincomprehensiblemanfromthefiercecouncil，afterall，hadcertainlypursuedhim。Ifthemanhadonecharacterasaparalyticandanothercharacterasapursuer，theantithesismightmakehimmoreinteresting，butscarcelymoresoothing。ItwouldbeaverysmallcomfortthathecouldnotfindtheProfessorout，ifbysomeseriousaccidenttheProfessorshouldfindhimout。Heemptiedawholepewterpotofalebeforetheprofessorhadtouchedhismilk。
　　Onepossibility，however，kepthimhopefulandyethelpless。Itwasjustpossiblethatthisescapadesignifiedsomethingotherthanevenaslightsuspicionofhim。Perhapsitwassomeregularformorsign。Perhapsthefoolishscamperwassomesortoffriendlysignalthatheoughttohaveunderstood。Perhapsitwasaritual。PerhapsthenewThursdaywasalwayschasedalongCheapside，asthenewLordMayorisalwaysescortedalongit。Hewasjustselectingatentativeinquiry，whentheoldProfessoroppositesuddenlyandsimplycuthimshort。BeforeSymecouldaskthefirstdiplomaticquestion，theoldanarchisthadaskedsuddenly，withoutanysortofpreparation——
　　"Areyouapoliceman？"
　　WhateverelseSymehadexpected，hehadneverexpectedanythingsobrutalandactualasthis。Evenhisgreatpresenceofmindcouldonlymanageareplywithanairofratherblunderingjocularity。
　　"Apoliceman？"hesaid，laughingvaguely。"Whatevermadeyouthinkofapolicemaninconnectionwithme？"
　　"Theprocesswassimpleenough，"answeredtheProfessorpatiently。
　　"Ithoughtyoulookedlikeapoliceman。Ithinksonow。"
　　"DidItakeapoliceman’shatbymistakeoutoftherestaurant？"
　　askedSyme，smilingwildly。"HaveIbyanychancegotanumberstuckontomesomewhere？Havemybootsgotthatwatchfullook？
　　WhymustIbeapoliceman？Do，doletmebeapostman。"
　　TheoldProfessorshookhisheadwithagravitythatgavenohope，butSymeranonwithafeverishirony。
　　"ButperhapsImisunderstoodthedelicaciesofyourGermanphilosophy。Perhapspolicemanisarelativeterm。Inanevolutionarysense，sir，theapefadessograduallyintothepoliceman，thatImyselfcanneverdetecttheshade。Themonkeyisonlythepolicemanthatmaybe。PerhapsamaidenladyonClaphamCommonisonlythepolicemanthatmighthavebeen。Idon’tmindbeingthepolicemanthatmighthavebeen。Idon’tmindbeinganythinginGermanthought。"
　　"Areyouinthepoliceservice？"saidtheoldman，ignoringallSyme’simprovisedanddesperateraillery。"Areyouadetective？"
　　Syme’sheartturnedtostone，buthisfaceneverchanged。
　　"Yoursuggestionisridiculous，"hebegan。"Whyonearth——"
　　Theoldmanstruckhispalsiedhandpassionatelyonthericketytable，nearlybreakingit。
　　"Didyouhearmeaskaplainquestion，youpatteringspy？"heshriekedinahigh，crazyvoice。"Areyou，orareyounot，apolicedetective？"
　　"No！"answeredSyme，likeamanstandingonthehangman’sdrop。
　　"Youswearit，"saidtheoldman，leaningacrosstohim，hisdeadfacebecomingasitwereloathsomelyalive。"Youswearit！Youswearit！Ifyouswearfalsely，willyoubedamned？Willyoubesurethatthedevildancesatyourfuneral？Willyouseethatthenightmaresitsonyourgrave？Willtherereallybenomistake？Youareananarchist，youareadynamiter！Aboveall，youarenotinanysenseadetective？YouarenotintheBritishpolice？"
　　Heleanthisangularelbowfaracrossthetable，andputuphislargeloosehandlikeaflaptohisear。
　　"IamnotintheBritishpolice，"saidSymewithinsanecalm。