The programme traced by his minute foresight was carried out.

When Mrs Verloc, with her ticket for St Malo in her hand, entered the ladies' waiting-room, Comrade Ossipon walked into the bar, and in seven minutes absorbed three goes of hot brandy and water.
"Trying to drive out a cold," he explained to the barmaid, with a friendly nod and a grimacing smile.

Then he came out, bringing out from that festive interlude the face of a man who had drunk at the very Fountain of Sorrow.

He raised his eyes to the clock.

It was time.