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 absurd with its sentimental regard for individual
liberty. It's intolerable to think t