You'd think he couldn't do enough for us." Mr Verloc directed a casual and somnolent glance at Stevie, who sat on his right, delicate, pale-faced, his rosy mouth open vacantly.

It was not a critical glance.

It had no intention.

And if Mr Verloc thought for a moment that his wife's brother looked uncommonly useless, it was only a dull and fleeting thought, devoid of that force and durability which enables sometimes a thought to move the world.

Leaning back, Mr Verloc uncovered his head.