by
JOSEPH CONRAD
secondedition
methuen &co.,
36 essex street w c.
london
First Published . . .September 1907
Second Edition . . .October 1907
TO
H. G. WELLS
the chroniclerof mr lewisham’s love
the biographer of kipps and the
historian of the ages to come
this simpletale of the xix century
is affectionately offered
Mr Verloc, going out in the morning, left his shop nominallyin charge of his brother-in-law. It could be done, becausethere was very little business at any time, and practically noneat all before the evening. Mr Verloc cared but little abouthis ostensible business. And, moreover, his wife was incharge of his brother-in-law.
The shop was small, and so was the house. It was one ofthose grimy brick houses which existed in large quantities beforethe era of reconstruction dawned upon London. The shop wasa square box of a place, with the front glazed in smallpanes. In the daytime the door remained closed; in theevening it stood discreetly but suspiciously ajar.
The window contained photographs of more or less undresseddancing girls; nondescript packages in wrappers like patentmedicines; closed yellow paper envelopes, very flimsy, and markedtwo-and-six in heavy black figures; a few numbers of ancientFrench comic publications hung across a string as if to dry; adingy blue china bowl, a casket of black wood, bottles of markingink, and rubber stamps; a few books, with titles hinting atimpropriety; a few apparently old copies of obscure newspapers,badly printed, with titles like The Torch, TheGong—rousing titles. And the two gas jets insidethe panes were always turned low, either for economy’s sakeor for the sake of the customers.
These customers were either very young men, who hung about thewindow for a time before slipping in suddenly; or men of a moremature age, but looking generally as if they were not infunds. Some of that last kind had the collars of theirovercoats turned right up to their moustaches, and traces of mudon the bottom of their nether garments, which had the appearanceof being much worn and not very valuable. And the legsinside them did not, as a general rule, seem of much accounteither. With their hands plunged deep in the side pocketsof their coats, they dodged in sideways, one shoulder first, asif afraid to start the bell going.
The bell, hung on the door by means of a curved ribbon ofsteel, was difficult to circumvent. It was hopelesslycracked; but of an evening, at the slightest provocation, itclattered behind the customer with impudent virulence.
It clattered; and at that signal, through the dusty glass doorbehind the painted deal counter, Mr Verloc would issue hastilyfrom the parlour at the back. His eyes were naturallyheavy; he had an air of having wallowed, fully dressed, all dayon an unmade bed. Another man would have felt such anappearance a distinct disadvantage. In a commercialtransaction of the retail order much depends on theseller’s engaging and amiable aspect. But Mr Verlocknew his business, and remained undisturbed by any sort ofæsthetic doubt about his appe