august favour of his Imperial
master had imposed as Ambassador upon several reluctant Ministers of Foreign
Affairs, had enjoyed in his lifetime a fame for an owlish, pessimistic
gullibility. His Excellency had the social revolution on the brain. He imagined
himself to be a diplomatist set apart by a special dispensation to watch the end
of diplomacy, and pretty nearly the end of the world, in a horrid, democratic
upheaval. His prophetic and doleful despatches had been for years the joke of
Foreign Offices. He was said to have exclaimed on his deathbed (visited by his
Imperial friend and master): »Unhappy Europe! Thou shalt perish by the moral
insanity of thy children!« He was fated to be the victim of the first humbugging
rascal that came along, thought Mr. Vladimir, smiling vaguely at Mr. Verloc.
    »You ought to venerate the memory of Baron Stott-Wartenheim,« he exclaimed,
suddenly.
    The lowered physiognomy of Mr. Verloc expressed a sombre and weary
annoyance.
    »Permit me to observe to you,« he said, »that I came here because I was
summoned by a peremptory letter. I have been here only twice before in the last
eleven years, and certainly never at eleven in the morning. It isn't very wise
to call me up like this. There is just a chance of being seen. And that would be
no joke for me.«
    Mr. Vladimir shrugged his shoulders.
    »It would destroy my usefulness,« continued the other hotly.
    »That's your affair,« murmured Mr. Vladimir, with soft brutality. »When you
cease to be useful you shall cease to be employed. Yes. Right off. Cut short.
You shall -« Mr. Vladimir, frowning, paused, at a loss for a sufficiently
idiomatic expression, and instantly brightened up, with a grin of beautifully
white teeth. »You shall be chucked,« he brought out, ferociously.
    Once more Mr. Verloc had to react with all the force of his will against
that sensation of faintness running down one's legs which once upon a time had
inspired some poor devil with the felicitous expression: »My heart went down
into my boots.« Mr. Verloc, aware of the sensation, raised his head bravely.
    Mr. Vladimir bore the look of heavy inquiry with perfect serenity.
    »What we want is to administer a tonic to the Conference in Milan,« he said,
airily. »Its deliberations upon international action for the suppression of
political crime don't seem to get anywhere. England lags. This country is