He smiled the smile of an old if distant acquaintance, and Mrs Verloc remembered having seen him before.

Not a customer.

She softened her "customer stare" to mere indifference, and faced him across the counter.
He approached, on his side, confidentially, but not too markedly so.
"Husband at home, Mrs Verloc ?" he asked in an easy, full tone.
"No.

He's gone out." "I am sorry for that.

I've called to get from him a little private information." This was the exact truth.