The man was refreshing himself inside, and the horses, their big heads lowered to the ground, fed out of nose-bags steadily.

Farther on, on the opposite side of the street, another suspect patch of dim light issued from Mr Verloc's shop front, hung with papers, heaving with vague piles of cardboard boxes and the shapes of books.

The Assistant Commissioner stood observing it across the roadway.

There could be no mistake.

By the side of the front window, encumbered by the shadows of nondescript things, the door, standing ajar, let escape on the pavement a narrow, clear streak of gas-light within.
Behind the Assistant Commissioner the van and horses, merged into one mass, seemed something alive--a square-backed black monster blocking half the street, with sudden iron-shod stampings, fierce jingles, and heavy, blowing sighs.