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+The Project Gutenberg eBook of Havoc, by E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
+whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
+of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
+www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you
+will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before
+using this eBook.
+
+Title: Havoc
+
+Author: E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+Release Date: August, 2000 [eBook #2287]
+[Most recently updated: November 30, 2020]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+Produced by: an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer. HTML version by Al Haines.
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAVOC ***
+
+[Illustration]
+
+
+
+
+Havoc
+
+by E. Phillips Oppenheim
+
+
+Contents
+
+ Chapter I CROWNED HEADS MEET
+ Chapter II ARTHUR DORWARD’S “SCOOP”
+ Chapter III “OURS IS A STRANGE COURTSHIP”
+ Chapter IV THE NIGHT TRAIN FROM VIENNA
+ Chapter V “VON BEHRLING HAS THE PACKET”
+ Chapter VI VON BEHRLING IS TEMPTED
+ Chapter VII “WE PLAY FOR GREAT STAKES”
+ Chapter VIII THE HAND OF MISFORTUNE
+ Chapter IX ROBBING THE DEAD
+ Chapter X BELLAMY IS OUTWITTED
+ Chapter XI VON BEHRLING’S FATE
+ Chapter XII BARON DE STREUSS’ PROPOSAL
+ Chapter XIII STEPHEN LAVERICK’S CONSCIENCE
+ Chapter XIV ARTHUR MORRISON’S COLLAPSE
+ Chapter XV LAVERICK’S PARTNER FLEES
+ Chapter XVI THE WAITER AT THE "BLACK POST"
+ Chapter XVII THE PRICE OF SILENCE
+ Chapter XVIII THE LONELY CHORUS GIRL
+ Chapter XIX MYSTERIOUS INQUIRIES
+ Chapter XX LAVERICK IS CROSS EXAMINED
+ Chapter XXI MADEMOISELLE IDIALE’S VISIT
+ Chapter XXII ACTIVITY OF AUSTRIAN SPIES
+ Chapter XXIII LAVERICK AT THE OPERA
+ Chapter XXIV A SUPPER PARTY AT LUIGI’S
+ Chapter XXV JIM SHEPHERD’S SCARE
+ Chapter XXVI THE DOCUMENT DISCOVERED
+ Chapter XXVII PENETRATING A MYSTERY
+ Chapter XXVIII LAVERICK’S NARROW ESCAPE
+ Chapter XXIX LASSEN’S TREACHERY DISCOVERED
+ Chapter XXX THE CONTEST FOR THE PAPERS
+ Chapter XXXI MISS LENEVEU’S MESSAGE
+ Chapter XXXII MORRISON IS DESPERATE
+ Chapter XXXIII LAVERICK’S ARREST
+ Chapter XXXIV MORRISON’S DISCLOSURE
+ Chapter XXXV BELLAMY’S SUCCESS
+ Chapter XXXVI LAVERICK ACQUITTED
+ Chapter XXXVII THE PLOT TEAT FAILED
+ Chapter XXXVIII A FAREWELL APPEARANCE
+
+
+Illustrations
+
+ Laverick, with a single bound, was upon his assailant.
+ “Tell me, are they afraid of me, your friends?”
+ There was no doubt about her beauty
+ Zoe had fallen asleep in a small, uncomfortable easy-chair
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I CROWNED HEADS MEET
+
+
+Bellamy, King’s Spy, and Dorward, journalist, known to fame in every
+English-speaking country, stood before the double window of their
+spacious sitting-room, looking down upon the thoroughfare beneath. Both
+men were laboring under a bitter sense of failure. Bellamy’s face was
+dark with forebodings; Dorward was irritated and nervous. Failure was a
+new thing to him—a thing which those behind the great journals which he
+represented understood less, even, than he. Bellamy loved his country,
+and fear was gnawing at his heart.
+
+Below, the crowds which had been waiting patiently for many hours broke
+into a tumult of welcoming voices. Down their thickly-packed lines the
+volume of sound arose and grew, a faint murmur at first, swelling and
+growing to a thunderous roar. Myriads of hats were suddenly torn from
+the heads of the excited multitude, handkerchiefs waved from every
+window. It was a wonderful greeting, this.
+
+“The Czar on his way to the railway station,” Bellamy remarked.
+
+The broad avenue was suddenly thronged with a mass of
+soldiery—guardsmen of the most famous of Austrian regiments, brilliant
+in their white uniforms, their flashing helmets. The small brougham
+with its great black horses was almost hidden within a ring of naked
+steel. Dorward, an American to the backbone and a bitter democrat,
+thrust out his under-lip.
+
+“The Anointed of the Lord!” he muttered.
+
+Far away from some other quarter came the same roar of voices, muffled
+yet insistent, charged with that faint, exciting timbre which seems
+always to live in the cry of the multitude.
+
+“The Emperor,” declared Bellamy. “He goes to the West station.”
+
+The commotion had passed. The crowds in the street below were on the
+move, melting away now with a muffled trampling of feet and a murmur of
+voices. The two men turned from their window back into the room.
+Dorward commenced to roll a cigarette with yellow-stained, nervous
+fingers, while Bellamy threw himself into an easy-chair with a gesture
+of depression.
+
+“So it is over, this long-talked-of meeting,” he said, half to himself,
+half to Dorward. “It is over, and Europe is left to wonder.”
+
+“They were together for scarcely more than an hour,” Dorward murmured.
+
+“Long enough,” Bellamy answered. “That little room in the Palace, my
+friend, may yet become famous.”
+
+“If you and I could buy its secrets,” Dorward remarked, finally shaping
+a cigarette and lighting it, “we should be big bidders, I think. I’d
+give fifty thousand dollars myself to be able to cable even a hundred
+words of their conversation.”
+
+“For the truth,” Bellamy said, “the whole truth, there could be no
+price sufficient. We made our effort in different directions, both of
+us. With infinite pains I planted—I may tell you this now that the
+thing is over—seven spies in the Palace. They have been of as much use
+as rabbits. I don’t believe that a single one of them got any further
+than the kitchens.”
+
+Dorward nodded gloomily.
+
+“I guess they weren’t taking any chances up there,” he remarked. “There
+wasn’t a secretary in the room. Carstairs was nearly thrown out, and he
+had a permit to enter the Palace. The great staircase was held with
+soldiers, and Dick swore that there were Maxims in the corridors.”
+
+Bellamy sighed.
+
+“We shall hear the roar of bigger guns before we are many months older,
+Dorward,” he declared.
+
+The journalist glanced at his friend keenly. “You believe that?”
+
+Bellamy shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Do you suppose that this meeting is for nothing?” he asked. “When
+Austria, Germany and Russia stand whispering in a corner, can’t you
+believe it is across the North Sea that they point? Things have been
+shaping that way for years, and the time is almost ripe.”
+
+“You English are too nervous to live, nowadays,” Dorward declared
+impatiently. “I’d just like to know what they said about America.”
+
+Bellamy smiled with faint but delicate irony.
+
+“Without a doubt, the Prince will tell you,” he said. “He can scarcely
+do more to show his regard for your country. He is giving you a special
+interview—you alone out of about two hundred journalists. Very likely
+he will give you an exact account of everything that transpired. First
+of all, he will assure you that this meeting has been brought about in
+the interests of peace. He will tell you that the welfare of your dear
+country is foremost in the thoughts of his master. He will assure you—”
+
+“Say, you’re jealous, my friend,” Dorward interrupted calmly. “I wonder
+what you’d give me for my ten minutes alone with the Chancellor, eh?”
+
+“If he told me the truth,” Bellamy asserted, “I’d give my life for it.
+For the sort of stuff you’re going to hear, I’d give nothing. Can’t you
+realize that for yourself, Dorward? You know the man—false as Hell but
+with the tongue of a serpent. He will grasp your hand; he will declare
+himself glad to speak through you to the great Anglo-Saxon races—to
+England and to his dear friends the Americans. He is only too pleased
+to have the opportunity of expressing himself candidly and openly.
+Peace is to be the watchword of the future. The white doves have
+hovered over the Palace. The rulers of the earth have met that the
+crash of arms may be stilled and that this terrible unrest which broods
+over Europe shall finally be broken up. They have pledged themselves
+hand in hand to work together for this object,—Russia, broken and
+humiliated, but with an immense army still available, whose only chance
+of holding her place among the nations is another and a successful war;
+Austria, on fire for the seaboard—Austria, to whom war would give the
+desire of her existence; Germany, with Bismarck’s last but secret words
+written in letters of fire on the walls of her palaces, in the hearts
+of her rulers, in the brain of her great Emperor. Colonies! Expansion!
+Empire! Whose colonies, I wonder? Whose empire? Will he tell you that,
+my friend Dorward?”
+
+The journalist shrugged his shoulders and glanced at the clock.
+
+“I guess he’ll tell me what he chooses and I shall print it,” he
+answered indifferently. “It’s all part of the game, of course. I am not
+exactly chicken enough to expect the truth. All the same, my message
+will come from the lips of the Chancellor immediately after this
+wonderful meeting.”
+
+“He makes use of you,” Bellamy declared, “to throw dust into our eyes
+and yours.”
+
+“Even so,” Dorward admitted, “I don’t care so long as I get the copy.
+It’s good-bye, I suppose?”
+
+Bellamy nodded.
+
+“I shall go on to Berlin, perhaps, to-morrow,” he said. “I can do no
+more good here. And you?”
+
+“After I’ve sent my cable I’m off to Belgrade for a week, at any rate,”
+Dorward answered. “I hear the women are forming rifle clubs all through
+Servia.”
+
+Bellamy smiled thoughtfully.
+
+“I know one who’ll want a place among the leaders,” he murmured.
+
+“Mademoiselle Idiale, I suppose?”
+
+Bellamy assented.
+
+“It’s a queer position hers, if you like,” he said. “All Vienna raves
+about her. They throng the Opera House every night to hear her sing,
+and they pay her the biggest salary which has ever been known here.
+Three parts of it she sends to Belgrade to the Chief of the Committee
+for National Defence. The jewels that are sent her anonymously go to
+the same place, all to buy arms to fight these people who worship her.
+I tell you, Dorward,” he added, rising to his feet and walking to the
+window, “the patriotism of these people is something we colder races
+scarcely understand. Perhaps it is because we have never dwelt under
+the shadow of a conqueror. If ever Austria is given a free hand, it
+will be no mere war upon which she enters,—it will be a carnage, an
+extermination!”
+
+Dorward looked once more at the clock and rose slowly to his feet.
+
+“Well,” he said, “I mustn’t keep His Excellency waiting. Good-bye, and
+cheer up, Bellamy! Your old country isn’t going to turn up her heels
+yet.”
+
+Out he went—long, lank, uncouth, with yellow-stained fingers and
+hatchet-shaped, gray face—a strange figure but yet a power. Bellamy
+remained. For a while he seemed doubtful how to pass the time. He stood
+in front of the window, watching the dispersal of the crowds and the
+marching by of a regiment of soldiers, whose movements he followed with
+critical interest, for he, too, had been in the service. He had still a
+military bearing,—tall, and with complexion inclined to be dusky, a
+small black moustache, dark eyes, a silent mouth,—a man of many
+reserves. Even his intimates knew little of him. Nevertheless, his was
+the reticence which befitted well his profession.
+
+After a time he sat down and wrote some letters. He had just finished
+when there came a sharp tap at the door. Before he could open his lips
+some one had entered. He heard the soft swirl of draperies and turned
+sharply round, then sprang to his feet and held out both his hands.
+There was expression in his face now—as much as he ever suffered to
+appear there.
+
+“Louise!” he exclaimed. “What good fortune!”
+
+She held his fingers for a moment in a manner which betokened a more
+than common intimacy. Then she threw herself into an easy-chair and
+raised her thick veil. Bellamy looked at her for a moment in sorrowful
+silence. There were violet lines underneath her beautiful eyes, her
+cheeks were destitute of any color. There was an abandonment of grief
+about her attitude which moved him. She sat as one broken-spirited, in
+whom the power of resistance was dead.
+
+“It is over, then,” she said softly, “this meeting. The word has been
+spoken.”
+
+He came and stood by her side.
+
+“As yet,” he reminded her, “we do not know what that word may be.”
+
+She shook her head mournfully.
+
+“Who can doubt?” she exclaimed. “For myself, I feel it in the air! I
+can see it in the faces of the people who throng the city! I can hear
+it in the peals of those awful bells! You know nothing? You have heard
+nothing?”
+
+Bellamy shook his head.
+
+“I did all that was humanly possible,” he said, dropping his voice. “An
+Englishman in Vienna to-day has very little opportunity. I filled the
+Palace with spies, but they hadn’t a dog’s chance. There wasn’t even a
+secretary present. The Czar, the two Emperors and the Chancellor,—not
+another soul was in the room.”
+
+“If only Von Behrling had been taken!” she exclaimed. “He was there in
+reserve, I know, as stenographer. I have but to lift my hand and it is
+enough. I would have had the truth from him, whatever it cost me.”
+
+Bellamy looked at her thoughtfully. It was not for nothing that the
+Press of every European nation had called her the most beautiful woman
+in the world. He frowned slightly at her last words, for he loved her.
+
+“Von Behrling was not even allowed to cross the threshold,” he said
+sharply.
+
+She moved her head and looked up at him. She was leaning a little
+forward now, her chin resting upon her hands. Something about the lines
+of her long, supple body suggested to him the savage animal crouching
+for a spring. She was quiet, but her bosom was heaving, and he could
+guess at the passion within. With purpose he spoke to set it loose.
+
+“You sing to-night?” he asked.
+
+“Before God, no!” she answered, the anger blazing out of her eyes,
+shaking in her voice. “I sing no more in this accursed city!”
+
+“There will be a revolution,” Bellamy remarked. “I see that the whole
+city is placarded with notices. It is to be a gala night at the Opera.
+The royal party is to be present.”
+
+Her body seemed to quiver like a tree shaken by the wind.
+
+“What do I care—I—I—for their gala night! If I were like Samson, if I
+could pull down the pillars of their Opera House and bury them all in
+its ruins, I would do it!”
+
+He took her hand and smoothed it in his.
+
+“Dear Louise, it is useless, this. You do everything that can be done
+for your country.”
+
+Her eyes were streaming and her fingers sought his.
+
+“My friend David,” she said, “you do not understand. None of you
+English yet can understand what it is to crouch in the shadow of this
+black fear, to feel a tyrant’s hand come creeping out, to know that
+your life-blood and the life-blood of all your people must be shed, and
+shed in vain. To rob a nation of their liberty, ah! it is worse, this,
+than murder,—a worse crime than his who stains the soul of a poor
+innocent girl! It is a sin against nature herself!”
+
+She was sobbing now, and she clutched his hands passionately.
+
+“Forgive me,” she murmured, “I am overwrought. I have borne up against
+this thing so long. I can do no more good here. I come to tell you that
+I go away till the time comes. I go to your London. They want me to
+sing for them there. I shall do it.”
+
+“You will break your engagement?”
+
+She laughed at him scornfully.
+
+“I am Idiale,” she declared. “I keep no engagement if I do not choose.
+I will sing no more to this people whom I hate. My friend David, I have
+suffered enough. Their applause I loathe—their covetous eyes as they
+watch me move about the stage—oh, I could strike them all dead! They
+come to me, these young Austrian noblemen, as though I were already one
+of a conquered race. I keep their diamonds but I destroy their
+messages. Their jewels go to my chorus girls or to arm my people. But
+no one of them has had a kind word from me save where there has been
+something to be gained. Even Von Behrling I have fooled with promises.
+No Austrian shall ever touch my lips—I have sworn it!”
+
+Bellamy nodded.
+
+“Yes,” he assented, “they call you cold here in the capital! Even in
+the Palace—”
+
+She held out her hand.
+
+“It is finished!” she declared. “I sing no more. I have sent word to
+the Opera House. I came here to be in hiding for a while. They will
+search for me everywhere. To-night or to-morrow I leave for England.”
+
+Bellamy stood thoughtfully silent.
+
+“I am not sure that you are wise,” he said. “You take it too much for
+granted that the end has come.”
+
+“And do you not yourself believe it?” she demanded. He hesitated.
+
+“As yet there is no proof,” he reminded her.
+
+“Proof!”
+
+She sat upright in her chair. Her hands thrust him from her, her bosom
+heaved, a spot of color flared in her cheeks.
+
+“Proof!” she cried. “What do you suppose, then, that these wolves have
+plotted for? What else do you suppose could be Austria’s share of the
+feast? Couldn’t you hear our fate in the thunder of their voices when
+that miserable monarch rode back to his captivity? We are
+doomed—betrayed! You remember the Massacre of St. Bartholomew, a
+blood-stained page of history for all time. The world would tell you
+that we have outlived the age of such barbarous doings. It is not true.
+My friend David, it is not true. It is a more terrible thing, this
+which is coming. Body and soul we are to perish.”
+
+He came over to her side once more and laid his hand soothingly on
+hers. It was heart-rending to witness the agony of the woman he loved.
+
+“Dear Louise,” he said, “after all, this is profitless. There may yet
+be compromises.”
+
+She suffered her hand to remain in his, but the bitterness did not pass
+out of her face or tone.
+
+“Compromises!” she repeated. “Do you believe, then, that we are like
+those ancient races who felt the presence of a conqueror because their
+hosts were scattered in battle, and who suffered themselves passively
+to be led into captivity? My country can be conquered in one way, and
+one way only,—not until her sons, ay, and her daughters too, have
+perished, can these people rule. They will come to an empty and a
+stricken country—a country red with blood, desolate, with blackened
+houses and empty cities. The horror of it! Think, my friend David, the
+horror of it!”
+
+Bellamy threw his head back with a sudden gesture of impatience.
+
+“You take too much for granted,” he declared. “England, at any rate, is
+not yet a conquered race. And there is France—Italy, too, if she is
+wise, will never suffer this thing from her ancient enemy.”
+
+“It is the might of the world which threatens,” she murmured. “Your
+country may defend herself, but here she is powerless. Already it has
+been proved. Last year you declared yourself our friend—you and even
+Russia. Of what avail was it? Word came from Berlin and you were
+powerless.”
+
+Then tragedy broke into the room, tragedy in the shape of a man
+demented. For fifteen years Bellamy had known Arthur Dorward, but this
+man was surely a stranger! He was hatless, dishevelled, wild. A dull
+streak of color had mounted almost to his forehead, his eyes were on
+fire.
+
+“Bellamy!” he cried. “Bellamy!”
+
+Words failed him suddenly. He leaned against the table, breathless,
+panting heavily.
+
+“For God’s sake, man,” Bellamy began,—
+
+“Alone!” Dorward interrupted. “I must see you alone! I have news!”
+
+Mademoiselle Idiale rose. She touched Bellamy on the shoulder.
+
+“You will come to me, or telephone,” she whispered. “So?”
+
+Bellamy opened the door and she passed out, with a farewell pressure of
+his fingers. Then he closed it firmly and came back.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II ARTHUR DORWARD’S “SCOOP”
+
+
+“What’s wrong, old man?” Bellamy asked quickly.
+
+Dorward from a side table had seized the bottle of whiskey and a
+siphon, and was mixing himself a drink with trembling fingers. He
+tossed it off before he spoke a word. Then he turned around and faced
+his companion. “Bellamy,” he ordered, “lock the door.”
+
+Bellamy obeyed. He had no doubt now but that Dorward had lost his head
+in the Chancellor’s presence—had made some absurd attempt to gain the
+knowledge which they both craved, and had failed.
+
+“Bellamy,” Dorward exclaimed, speaking hoarsely and still a little out
+of breath, “I guess I’ve had the biggest slice of luck that was ever
+dealt out to a human being. If only I can get safe out of this city, I
+tell you I’ve got the greatest scoop that living man ever handled.”
+
+“You don’t mean that—”
+
+Dorward wiped his forehead and interrupted.
+
+“It’s the most amazing thing that ever happened,” he declared, “but
+I’ve got it here in my pocket, got it in black and white, in the
+Chancellor’s own handwriting.”
+
+“Got what?”
+
+“Why, what you and I, an hour ago, would have given a million for,”
+Dorward replied.
+
+Bellamy’s expression was one of blank but wondering incredulity.
+
+“You can’t mean this, Dorward!” he exclaimed. “You may have
+something—just what the Chancellor wants you to print. You’re not
+supposing for an instant that you’ve got the whole truth?”
+
+Dorward’s smile was the smile of certainty, his face that of a
+conqueror.
+
+“Here in my pocket,” he declared, striking his chest, “in the
+Chancellor’s own handwriting. I tell you I’ve got the original verbatim
+copy of everything that passed and was resolved upon this afternoon
+between the Czar of Russia, the Emperor of Austria and the Emperor of
+Germany. I’ve got it word for word as the Chancellor took it down. I’ve
+got their decision. I’ve got their several undertakings.”
+
+Bellamy for a moment was stricken dumb. He looked toward the door and
+back into his friend’s face aglow with triumph. Then his power of
+speech returned.
+
+“Do you mean to say that you stole it?”
+
+Dorward struck the table with his fist.
+
+“Not I! I tell you that the Chancellor gave it to me, gave it to me
+with his own hands, willingly,—pressed it upon me. No, don’t scoff!” he
+went on quickly. “Listen! This is a genuine thing. The Chancellor’s
+mad. He was lying in a fit when I left the Palace. It will be in all
+the evening papers. You will hear the boys shouting it in the streets
+within a few minutes. Don’t interrupt and I’ll tell you the whole
+truth. You can believe me or not, as you like. It makes no odds. I
+arrived punctually and was shown up into the anteroom. Even from there
+I could hear loud voices in the inner chamber and I knew that something
+was up. Presently a little fellow came out to me—a dark-bearded chap
+with gold-rimmed glasses. He was very polite, introduced himself as the
+Chancellor’s physician, regretted exceedingly that the Chancellor was
+unwell and could see no one,—the excitement and hard work of the last
+few days had knocked him out. Well, I stood there arguing as pleasantly
+as I could about it, and then all of a sudden the door of the inner
+room was thrown open. The Chancellor himself stood on the threshold.
+There was no doubt about his being ill; his face was as pale as
+parchment, his eyes were simply wild, and his hair was all ruffled as
+though he had been standing upon his head. He began to talk to the
+physician in German. I didn’t understand him until he began to
+swear,—then it was wonderful! In the end he brushed them all away and,
+taking me by the arm, led me right into the inner room. For a long time
+he went on jabbering away half to himself, and I was wondering how on
+earth to bring the conversation round to the things I wanted to know
+about. Then, all of a sudden, he turned to me and seemed to remember
+who I was and what I wanted. ‘Ah!’ he said, ‘you are Dorward, the
+American journalist. I remember you now. Lock the door.’ I obeyed him
+pretty quick, for I had noticed they were mighty uneasy outside, and I
+was afraid they’d be disturbing us every moment. ‘Come and sit down,’
+he ordered. I did so at once. ‘You’re a sensible fellow,’ he declared.
+‘To-day every one is worrying me. They think that I am not well. It is
+foolish. I am quite well. Who would not be well on such a day as this?’
+I told him that I had never seen him looking better in my life, and he
+nodded and seemed pleased. ‘You have come to hear the truth about the
+meeting of my master with the Czar and the Emperor of Germany?’ he
+asked. ‘That’s so,’ I told him. ‘America’s more than a little
+interested in these things, and I want to know what to tell her.’ Then
+he leaned across the table. ‘My young friend,’ he said, ‘I like you.
+You are straightforward. You speak plainly and you do not worry me. It
+is good. You shall tell your country what it is that we have planned,
+what the things are that are coming. Yours is a great and wise country.
+When they know the truth, they will remember that Europe is a long way
+off and that the things which happen there are really no concern of
+theirs.’ ‘You are right,’ I assured him,—‘dead right. Treat us openly,
+that’s all we ask.’ ‘Shall I not do that, my young friend?’ he
+answered. ‘Now look, I give you this.’ He fumbled through all his
+pockets and at last he drew out a long envelope, sealed at both ends
+with black sealing wax on which was printed a coat of arms with two
+tigers facing each other. He looked toward the door cautiously, and
+there was just that gleam in his eyes which madmen always have. ‘Here
+it is,’ he whispered, ‘written with my own hand. This will tell you
+exactly what passed this afternoon. It will tell you our plans. It will
+tell you of the share which my master and the other two are taking.
+Button it up safely,’ he said, ‘and, whatever you do, do not let them
+know outside that you have got it. Between you and me,’ he went on,
+leaning across the table, ‘something seems to have happened to them all
+to-day. There’s my old doctor there. He is worrying all the time, but
+he himself is not well. I can see it whenever he comes near me.’ I
+nodded as though I understood and the Chancellor tapped his forehead
+and grinned. Then I got up as casually as I could, for I was terribly
+afraid that he wouldn’t let me go. We shook hands, and I tell you his
+fingers were like pieces of burning coal. Just as I was moving, some
+one knocked at the door. Then he began to storm again, kicked his chair
+over, threw a paperweight at the window, and talked such nonsense that
+I couldn’t follow him. I unlocked the door myself and found the doctor
+there. I contrived to look as frightened as possible. ‘His Highness is
+not well enough to talk to me,’ I whispered. ‘You had better look after
+him.’ I heard a shout behind and a heavy fall. Then I closed the door
+and slipped away as quietly as I could—and here I am.”
+
+Bellamy drew a long breath.
+
+“My God, but this is wonderful!” he muttered. “How long is it since you
+left the Palace?”
+
+“About ten minutes or a quarter of an hour,” Dorward answered.
+
+“They’ll find it out at once,” declared the other. “They’ll miss the
+paper. Perhaps he’ll tell them himself that he has given it to you.
+Don’t let us run any risks, Dorward. Tear it open. Let us know the
+truth, at any rate. If you have to part with the document, we can
+remember its contents. Out with it, man, quick! They may be here at any
+moment.”
+
+Dorward drew a few steps back. Then he shook his head.
+
+“I guess not,” he said firmly.
+
+Bellamy regarded his friend in blank and uncomprehending amazement.
+
+“What do you mean?” he exclaimed. “You’re not going to keep it to
+yourself? You know what it means to me—to England?”
+
+“Your old country can look after herself pretty well,” Dorward
+declared. “Anyhow, she’ll have to take her chance. I am not here as a
+philanthropist. I am an American journalist, and I’ll part to nobody
+with the biggest thing that’s ever come into any man’s bands.”
+
+Bellamy, with a tremendous effort, maintained his self-control.
+
+“What are you going to do with it?” he asked quickly.
+
+“I tell you I’m off out of the country to-night,” Dorward declared. “I
+shall head for England. Pearce is there himself, and I tell you it will
+be just the greatest day of my life when I put this packet in his hand.
+We’ll make New York hum, I can promise you, and Europe too.”
+
+Bellamy’s manner was perfectly quiet—too quiet to be altogether
+natural. His hand was straying towards his pocket.
+
+“Dorward,” he said, speaking rapidly, and keeping his back to the door,
+“you don’t realize what you’re up against. This sort of thing is new to
+you. You haven’t a dog’s chance of leaving Vienna alive with that in
+your pocket. If you trust yourself in the Orient Express to-night,
+you’ll never be allowed to cross the frontier. By this time they know
+that the packet is missing; they know, too, that you are the only man
+who could have it, whether the Chancellor has told them the truth or
+not. Open it at once so that we get some good out of it. Then we’ll go
+round to the Embassy. We can slip out by the back way, perhaps.
+Remember I have spent my life in the service, and I tell you that
+there’s no other place in the city where your life is worth a snap of
+the fingers but at your Embassy or mine. Open the packet, man.”
+
+“I think not,” Dorward answered firmly. “I am an American citizen. I
+have broken no laws and done no one any harm. If there’s any
+slaughtering about, I guess they’ll hesitate before they begin with
+Arthur Dorward.... Don’t be a fool, man!”
+
+He took a quick step backward,—he was looking into the muzzle of
+Bellamy’s revolver.
+
+“Dorward,” the latter exclaimed, “I can’t help it! Yours is only a
+personal ambition—I stand for my country. Share the knowledge of that
+packet with me or I shall shoot.”
+
+“Then shoot and be d—d to you!” Dorward declared fiercely. “This is my
+show, not yours. You and your country can go to—”
+
+He broke off without finishing his sentence. There was a thunderous
+knocking at the door. The two men looked at one another for a moment,
+speechless. Then Bellamy, with a smothered oath, replaced the revolver
+in his pocket.
+
+“You’ve thrown away our chance,” he said bitterly.
+
+The knocking was repeated. When Bellamy with a shrug of the shoulders
+answered the summons, three men in plain clothes entered. They saluted
+Bellamy, but their eyes were traveling around the room.
+
+“We are seeking Herr Dorward, the American journalist!” one exclaimed.
+“He was here but a moment ago.”
+
+Bellamy pointed to the inner door. He had had too much experience in
+such matters to attempt any prevarication. The three men crossed the
+room quickly and Bellamy followed in the rear. He heard a cry of
+disappointment from the foremost as he opened the door. The inner room
+was empty!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III “OURS IS A STRANGE COURTSHIP”
+
+
+Louise looked up eagerly as he entered.
+
+“There is news!” she exclaimed. “I can see it in your face.”
+
+“Yes,” Bellamy answered, “there is news! That is why I have come. Where
+can we talk?”
+
+She rose to her feet. Before them the open French windows led on to a
+smooth green lawn. She took his arm.
+
+“Come outside with me,” she said. “I am shut up here because I will not
+see the doctors whom they send, or any one from the Opera House. An
+envoy from the Palace has been and I have sent him away.”
+
+“You mean to keep your word, then?”
+
+“Have I ever broken it? Never again will I sing in this City. It is
+so.”
+
+Bellamy looked around. The garden of the villa was enclosed by high
+gray stone walls. They were secure here, at least, from eavesdroppers.
+She rested her fingers lightly upon his arm, holding up the skirts of
+her loose gown with her other hand.
+
+“I have spoken to you,” he said, “of Dorward, the American journalist.”
+
+She nodded.
+
+“Of course,” she assented. “You told me that the Chancellor had
+promised him an interview for to-day.”
+
+“Well, he went to the Palace and the Chancellor saw him.”
+
+She looked at him with upraised eyebrows.
+
+“The newspapers are full of lies as usual, then, I suppose. The latest
+telegrams say that the Chancellor is dangerously ill.”
+
+“It is quite true,” Bellamy declared. “What I am going to tell you is
+surprising, but I had it from Dorward himself. When he reached the
+Palace, the Chancellor was practically insane. His doctors were trying
+to persuade him to go to his room and lie down, but he heard Dorward’s
+voice and insisted upon seeing him. The man was mad—on the verge of a
+collapse—and he handed over to Dorward his notes, and a verbatim report
+of all that passed at the Palace this morning.”
+
+She looked at him incredulously.
+
+“My dear David!” she exclaimed.
+
+“It is amazing,” he admitted, “but it is the truth. I know it for a
+fact. The man was absolutely beside himself, he had no idea what he was
+doing.”
+
+“Where is it?” she asked quickly. “You have seen it?”
+
+“Dorward would not give it up,” he said bitterly. “While we argued in
+our sitting-room at the hotel the police arrived. Dorward escaped
+through the bedroom and down the service stairs. He spoke of trying to
+catch the Orient Express to-night, but I doubt if they will ever let
+him leave the city.”
+
+“It is wonderful, this,” she murmured softly. “What are you going to
+do?”
+
+“Louise, you and I have few secrets from each other. I would have
+killed Dorward to obtain that sealed envelope, because I believe that
+the knowledge of its contents in London to-day would save us from
+disaster. To know how far each is pledged, and from which direction the
+first blow is to come, would be our salvation.”
+
+“I cannot understand,” she said, “why he should have refused to share
+his knowledge with you. He is an American—it is almost the same thing
+as being an Englishman. And you are friends,—I am sure that you have
+helped him often.”
+
+“It was a matter of vanity—simply cursed vanity,” Bellamy answered. “It
+would have been the greatest journalistic success of modern times for
+him to have printed that document, word for word, in his paper. He
+fights for his own hand alone.”
+
+“And you?” she whispered.
+
+“He will have to reckon with me,” Bellamy declared. “I know that he is
+going to try and leave Vienna to-night, and if he does I shall be at
+his heels.”
+
+She nodded her head thoughtfully.
+
+“I, too,” she announced. “I come with you, my friend. I do no more good
+here, and they worry my life out all the time. I come to sing in London
+at Covent Garden. I have agreements there which only await my
+signature. We will go together; is it not so?”
+
+“Very well,” he answered, “only remember that my movements must depend
+very largely upon Dorward’s. The train leaves at eight o’clock, station
+time. I have already a coupe reserved.”
+
+“I come with you,” she murmured. “I am very weary of this city.”
+
+They walked on for a few paces in silence. Bellamy looked around the
+gardens, brilliant with flowering shrubs and rose trees, with here and
+there some delicate piece of statuary half-hidden amongst the wealth of
+foliage. The villa had once belonged to a royal favorite, and the
+grounds had been its chief glory. They reached a sheltered seat and sat
+down. A few yards away a tiny waterfall came tumbling over the rocks
+into a deep pool. They were hidden from the windows of the villa by the
+boughs of a drooping chestnut tree. Bellamy stooped and kissed her upon
+the lips.
+
+“Ours is a strange courtship, Louise,” he whispered softly.
+
+She took his hand in hers and smoothed it. She had returned his kiss,
+but she drew a little further away from him.
+
+“Ah! my dear friend,” looking at him with sorrow in her eyes,
+“courtship is scarcely the word, is it? For you and me there is nothing
+to hope for, nothing beyond.”
+
+He leaned towards her.
+
+“Never believe that,” he begged. “These days are dark enough, Heaven
+knows, yet the work of every one has its goal. Even our turn may come.”
+
+Something flickered for a moment in her face, something which seemed to
+make a different woman of her. Bellamy saw it, and hardened though he
+was he felt the slow stirring of his own pulses. He kissed her hand
+passionately and she shivered.
+
+“We must not talk of these things,” she said. “We must not think of
+them. At least our friendship has been wonderful. Now I must go in. I
+must tell my maid and arrange to steal away to-night.”
+
+They stood up, and he held her in his arms for a moment. Though her
+lips met his freely enough, he was very conscious of the reserve with
+which she yielded herself to him, conscious of it and thankful, too.
+They walked up the path together, and as they went she plucked a red
+rose and thrust it through his buttonhole.
+
+“If we had no dreams,” she said softly, “life would not be possible.
+Perhaps some day even we may pluck roses together.”
+
+He raised her fingers to his lips. It was not often that they lapsed
+into sentiment. When she spoke again it was finished.
+
+“You had better leave,” she told him, “by the garden gate. There are
+the usual crowd in my anteroom, and it is well that you and I are not
+seen too much together.”
+
+“Till this evening,” he whispered, as he turned away. “I shall be at
+the station early. If Dorward is taken, I shall still leave Vienna. If
+he goes, it may be an eventful journey.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV THE NIGHT TRAIN FROM VIENNA
+
+
+Dorward, whistling softly to himself, sat in a corner of his coupe
+rolling innumerable cigarettes. He was a man of unbounded courage and
+wonderful resource, but with a slightly exaggerated idea as to the
+sanctity of an American citizen. He had served his apprenticeship in
+his own country, and his name had become a household word owing to his
+brilliant success as war correspondent in the Russo-Japanese War. His
+experience of European countries, however, was limited. After the more
+obvious dangers with which he had grappled and which he had overcome
+during his adventurous career, he was disposed to be a little
+contemptuous of the subtler perils at which his friend Bellamy had
+plainly hinted. He had made his escape from the hotel without any very
+serious difficulty, and since that time, although he had taken no
+particular precautions, he had remained unmolested. From his own point
+of view, therefore, it was perhaps only reasonable that he should no
+longer have any misgiving as to his personal safety. Arrest as a thief
+was the worst which he had feared. Even that he seemed now to have
+evaded.
+
+The coupe was exceedingly comfortable and, after all, he had had a
+somewhat exciting day. He lit a cigarette and stretched himself out
+with a murmur of immense satisfaction. He was close upon the great
+triumph of his life. He was perfectly content to lie there and look out
+upon the flying landscape, upon which the shadows were now fast
+descending. He was safe, absolutely safe, he assured himself.
+Nevertheless, when the door of his coupe was opened, he started almost
+like a guilty man. The relief in his face as he recognized his visitor
+was obvious. It was Bellamy who entered and dropped into a seat by his
+side.
+
+“Wasting your time, aren’t you?” the latter remarked, pointing to the
+growing heap of cigarettes.
+
+“Well, I guess not,” Dorward answered. “I can smoke this lot before we
+reach London.”
+
+Bellamy smiled enigmatically.
+
+“I don’t think that you will,” he said.
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“You are such a sanguine person,” Bellamy sighed. “Personally, I do not
+think that there is the slightest chance of your reaching London at
+all.”
+
+Dorward laughed scornfully.
+
+“And why not?” he asked.
+
+Bellamy merely shrugged his shoulders. Dorward seemed to find the
+gesture irritating.
+
+“You’ve got espionage on the brain, my dear friend,” he declared dryly.
+“I suppose it’s the result of your profession. I may not know so much
+about Europe as you do, but I am inclined to think that an American
+citizen traveling with his passport on a train like this is moderately
+safe, especially when he’s not above a scrap by way of taking care of
+himself.”
+
+“You’re a plucky fellow,” remarked Bellamy.
+
+“I don’t see any pluck about it. In Vienna, I must admit, I shouldn’t
+have been surprised if they’d tried to fake up some sort of charge
+against me, but anyhow they didn’t. Guess they’d find it a pretty tall
+order trying to interfere with an American citizen.”
+
+Bellamy looked at his friend curiously.
+
+“I suppose you’re not bluffing, by any chance, Dorward?” he said. “You
+really believe what you say?”
+
+“Why in thunder shouldn’t I?” Dorward asked.
+
+Bellamy sighed.
+
+“My dear Dorward,” he said, “it is amazing to me that a man of your
+experience should talk and behave like a baby. You’ve taken some notice
+of your fellow-passengers, I suppose?”
+
+“I’ve seen a few of them,” Dorward answered carelessly. “What about
+them?”
+
+“Nothing much,” Bellamy declared, “except that there are, to my certain
+knowledge, three high officials of the Secret Police of Austria in the
+next coupe but one, and at least four or five of their subordinates
+somewhere on board the train.”
+
+Dorward withdrew his cigarette from his mouth and looked at his friend
+keenly.
+
+“I guess you’re trying to scare me, Bellamy,” he remarked.
+
+But Bellamy was suddenly grave. There had come into his face an utterly
+altered expression. His tone, when he spoke, was almost solemn.
+
+“Dorward,” he said, “upon my honor, I assure you that what I have told
+you is the truth. I cannot seem to make you realize the seriousness of
+your position. When you left the Palace with that paper in your pocket,
+you were, to all intents and purposes, a doomed man. Your passport and
+your American citizenship count for absolutely nothing. I have come in
+to warn you that if you have any last messages to leave, you had better
+give them to me now.”
+
+“This is a pretty good bluff you’re putting up!” Dorward exclaimed
+contemptuously. “The long and short of it is, I suppose, that you want
+me to break the seal of this document and let you read it.”
+
+Bellamy shook his head.
+
+“It is too late for that, Dorward,” he said. “If the seal were broken,
+they’d very soon guess where I came in, and it wouldn’t help the work I
+have in hand for me to be picked up with a bullet in my forehead on the
+railway track.”
+
+Dorward frowned uneasily.
+
+“What are you here for, anyway, then?” he asked.
+
+“Well, frankly, not to argue with you,” Bellamy answered. “As a matter
+of fact, you are of no use to me any longer. I am sorry, old man. You
+can’t say that I didn’t give you good advice. I am bound to play for my
+own hand, though, in this matter, and if I get any benefit at all out
+of my journey, it will be after some regrettable accident has happened
+to you.”
+
+“Say, ring the bell for drinks and chuck this!” Dorward exclaimed.
+“I’ve had about enough of it. I am not denying anything you say, but if
+these fellows really are on board, they’ll think twice before they
+meddle with me.”
+
+“On the contrary,” Bellamy assured him, “they will not take the trouble
+to think at all. Their minds are perfectly made up as to what they are
+going to do. However, that’s finished. I have nothing more to say.”
+
+Dorward gazed for a minute or two fixedly out of the window.
+
+“Look here, Bellamy,” he said, turning abruptly round, “supposing I
+change my mind, supposing I open this precious document and let you
+read it over with me?”
+
+Bellamy rose hastily to his feet.
+
+“You must not think of it!” he exclaimed. “You would simply write my
+death-warrant. Don’t allude to that matter again. I have risked enough
+in coming in here to sit with you.”
+
+“Then, for Heaven’s sake, don’t stop any longer!” Dorward said
+irritably. “You get on my nerves with all this foolish talk. In an
+hour’s time I am going to bolt my door and go to sleep. We’ll breakfast
+together in the morning, if you like.”
+
+Bellamy said nothing. The steward had brought them the whiskies and
+sodas which Dorward had ordered. Bellamy raised his tumbler to his lips
+and set it down again.
+
+“Forgive me,” he said, “I do not think that I am thirsty.”
+
+Dorward drank his off at a gulp. Almost immediately he closed his eyes.
+Bellamy, with a little shrug of the shoulders, left him alone. As he
+passed along to his own coupe, he met Louise in the corridor.
+
+“You have seen Von Behrling?” he whispered. She nodded.
+
+“He is in that coupe, number 7, alone,” she said. “I invited him to
+come in with me but he seemed embarrassed. It is his companions who
+watch him all the time. He has promised to talk with me later.”
+
+In the middle of the night, Louise opened her eyes to find Bellamy
+bending over her.
+
+“Louise,” he whispered, “it is Von Behrling who will take possession of
+the packet. They have been discussing whether it will not be safer to
+go on to London instead of doubling back. See Von Behrling again. Do
+all you can to persuade him to come to London,—all you can, Louise,
+remember.”
+
+“So!” she whispered. “I shall put on my dressing-gown and sit in the
+corridor. It is hot here.”
+
+Bellamy glided out, closing the door softly behind him. The train was
+rushing on now through the blackness of an unusually dark night. For
+some time he sat in his own compartment, listening. The voices whose
+muttered conversation he had overheard were silent now, but once he
+fancied that he heard shuffling footsteps and a little cry. In his
+heart he knew well that before morning Dorward would have disappeared.
+The man within him was hard to subdue. He longed to make his way to
+Dorward’s side, to interfere in this terribly unequal struggle, yet he
+made no movement. Dorward was a man and a friend, but what was a life
+more or less? It was to a greater cause that he was pledged. Towards
+three o’clock he lay down on his bed and slept....
+
+The train attendant brought him his coffee soon after daylight. The
+man’s hands were trembling.
+
+“Where are we?” Bellamy asked sleepily.
+
+“Near Munich, Monsieur,” the man answered. “Monsieur noticed, perhaps,
+that we stopped for some time in the night?”
+
+Bellamy shook his head.
+
+“I sleep soundly,” he said. “I heard nothing.”
+
+“There has been an accident,” the man declared. “An American gentleman
+who got in at Vienna was drinking whiskey all night and became very
+drunk. In a tunnel he threw himself out upon the line.”
+
+Bellamy shuddered a little. He had been prepared, but none the less it
+was an awful thing, this.
+
+“You are sure that he is dead?” he asked.
+
+The man was very sure indeed.
+
+“There is a doctor from Vienna upon the train, sir,” he said. “He
+examined him at once, but death must have been instantaneous.”
+
+Bellamy drew a long breath and commenced to put on his clothes. The
+next move was for him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V “VON BEHRLING HAS THE PACKET”
+
+
+Bellamy stole along the half-lit corridors of the train until he came
+to the coupé which had been reserved for Mademoiselle Idiale. Assured
+that he was not watched, he softly turned the handle of the door and
+entered. Louise was sitting up in her dressing-gown, drinking her
+coffee. He held up his finger and she greeted him only with a nod.
+
+“Forgive me, Louise,” he whispered, “I dared not knock, and I was
+obliged to see you at once.”
+
+She smiled.
+
+“It is of no consequence,” she said. “One is always prepared here. The
+porter, the ticket-man, and at the customs—they all enter. Is anything
+wrong?”
+
+“It has happened,” he answered.
+
+She shivered a little and her face became grave.
+
+“Poor fellow!” she murmured.
+
+“He simply sat still and asked for it,” Bellamy declared, still
+speaking in a cautious undertone. “He would not be warned. I could have
+saved him, if any one could, but he would not hear reason.”
+
+“He was what you call pig-headed,” she remarked.
+
+“He has paid the penalty,” Bellamy continued. “Now listen to me,
+Louise. I got into that small coupe next to Von Behrling’s, and I feel
+sure, from what I overheard, that they will go on to London, all three
+of them.”
+
+“Who is there on the train?” she demanded.
+
+“Baron Streuss, who is head of the Secret Police, Von Behrling and
+Adolf Kahn,” Bellamy answered. “Then there are four or five Secret
+Service men of the rank and file, but they are all traveling
+separately. Von Behrling has the packet. The others form a sort of
+cordon around him.”
+
+“But why,” she asked, “does he go on to London? Why not return to
+Vienna?”
+
+“For one thing,” Bellamy replied, with a grim smile, “they are afraid
+of me. Then you must remember that this affair of Dorward will be
+talked about. They do not want to seem in any way implicated. To return
+from any one of these stations down the line would create suspicion.”
+
+She nodded.
+
+“Well?”
+
+“I am going to leave the train at the next stop,” he continued. “I find
+that I shall just catch the Northern Express to Berlin. From there I
+shall come on to London as quickly as I can. You know the address of my
+rooms?”
+
+She nodded.
+
+“15, Fitzroy Street.”
+
+“When I get there, let me have a line waiting to tell me where I can
+see you. While I am on the train you will find Von Behrling almost
+inaccessible. Directly I have gone it will be different. Play with him
+carefully. He should not be difficult. To tell you the truth, I am
+rather surprised that he has been trusted upon a mission like this. He
+was in disgrace with the Chancellor a short while ago, and I know that
+he was hurt at not being allowed to attend the conference. The others
+will watch him closely, but they cannot overhear everything that passes
+between you two. Von Behrling is a poor man. You will know how to make
+him wish he were rich.”
+
+Very slowly her eyebrows rose up. She looked at him doubtfully.
+
+“It is a slender chance, David,” she remarked. “Von Behrling is a
+little wild, I know, and he pretends to be very much in love with me,
+but I do not think that he would sell his country. Then, too, see how
+he will be watched. I do not suppose that they will leave us alone for
+a moment.”
+
+Bellamy took her hands in his, gripping them with almost unnatural
+force.
+
+“Louise,” he declared earnestly, “you don’t quite realize Von
+Behrling’s special weakness and your extraordinary strength. You know
+that you are beautiful, I suppose, but you do not quite know what that
+means. I have heard men talk about you till one would think that they
+were children. You have something of that art or guile—call it what you
+will—which passes from you through a man’s blood to his brain, and
+carries him indeed to Heaven—but carries him there mad. Louise, don’t
+be angry with me for what I say. Remember that I know my sex. I know
+you, too, and I trust you, but you can turn Von Behrling from a sane,
+honorable man into what you will, without suffering even his lips to
+touch your fingers. Von Behrling has that packet in his possession.
+When I come to see you in London, I will bring you twenty thousand
+pounds in Bank of England notes. With that Von Behrling might fancy
+himself on his way to America—with you.”
+
+She closed her eyes for a moment. Perhaps she wished to keep hidden
+from him the thoughts which chased one another through her brain. He
+wished to make use of her—of her, the woman whom he loved. Then she
+remembered that it was for her country and his, and the anger passed.
+
+“But I am afraid,” she said softly, “that the moment they reach London
+this document will be taken to the Austrian Embassy.”
+
+“Before then,” Bellamy declared, “Von Behrling must not know whether he
+is in heaven or upon earth. It will not be opened in London. He can
+make up another packet to resemble precisely the one of which he robbed
+Dorward. Oh! it is a difficult game, I know, but it is worth playing.
+Remember, Louise, that we are not petty conspirators. It is your
+country’s very existence that is threatened. It is for her sake as well
+as for England.”
+
+“I shall do my best,” she murmured, looking into his face. “Oh, you may
+be sure that I shall do my best!”
+
+Bellamy raised her fingers to his lips and stole away. The electric
+lamps had been turned out, but the morning was cloudy and the light
+dim. Back in his own berth, he put his things together, ready to leave
+at Munich. Then he rang for the porter.
+
+“I am getting out at the next stop,” he announced.
+
+“Very good, Monsieur,” the man answered.
+
+Bellamy looked at him closely.
+
+“You are a Frenchman?”
+
+“It is so, Monsieur!”
+
+“I may be wrong,” Bellamy continued slowly, “but I believe that if I
+asked you a question and it concerned some Germans and Austrians you
+would tell me the truth.”
+
+The man’s gesture was inimitable. Englishmen to him were obviously the
+salt of the earth. Germans and Austrians—why, they existed as the
+cattle in the fields—nothing more. Bellamy gave him a sovereign.
+
+“There were three Austrians who got in at Vienna,” he said. “They are
+in numbers ten and eleven.”
+
+“But yes, Monsieur!” the man assented. “As yet I think they are fast
+asleep. Not one of them has rung for his coffee.”
+
+“Where are they booked for?”
+
+“For London, Monsieur.”
+
+“You do not happen,” Bellamy continued, “to have heard them say
+anything about leaving the train before then?”
+
+“On the contrary, sir,” the porter answered, “two of the gentlemen have
+been inquiring about the boat across to Dover. They were very anxious
+to travel by a turbine.”
+
+Bellamy nodded.
+
+“Thank you very much. You will be so discreet as to forget that I have
+asked you any questions concerning them. As for me, if one would know,
+I am on my way to Berlin.”
+
+The bell rang. The man looked outside and put his head once more in
+Bellamy’s coupe.
+
+“It is one of the gentleman who has rung,” he declared. “If anything is
+said about leaving the train, I shall report it at once to Monsieur.”
+
+“You will do well,” Bellamy answered.
+
+The porter returned in a few moments.
+
+“Two of the gentlemen, sir,” he announced, “are undressed and in their
+pyjamas. They have ordered their breakfast to be served after we leave
+Munich.”
+
+Bellamy nodded.
+
+“Further, sir,” the man continued, coming a little closer, “one of them
+asked me whether the English gentleman—meaning you—was going through to
+London or not. I told them that you were getting out at the next
+station and that I thought you were going to Berlin.”
+
+“Quite right,” Bellamy said. “If they ask any more questions, let me
+know.”
+
+Mademoiselle Idiale, with the aid of one of the two maids who were
+traveling with her, was able to make a sufficiently effective toilette.
+At a few minutes before the time for luncheon, she walked down the
+corridor and recognized Von Behrling, who was sitting with his
+companions in one of the compartments.
+
+“Ah, it is indeed you, then!” she exclaimed, smiling at him.
+
+He rose to his feet and came out. Tall, with a fair moustache and blue
+eyes, he was often taken for an Englishman and was inclined to be proud
+of the fact.
+
+“You have rested well, I trust, Mademoiselle?” he asked, bowing low
+over her fingers.
+
+“Excellently,” replied Louise. “Will you not take me in to luncheon?
+The car is full of men and I am not comfortable alone. It is not
+pleasant, either, to eat with one’s maids.”
+
+“I am honored,” he declared. “Will you permit me for one moment?”
+
+He turned and spoke to his companions. Louise saw at once that they
+were protesting vigorously. She saw, too, that Von Behrling only became
+more obstinate and that he was very nearly angry. She moved a few steps
+on down the corridor, and stood looking out of the window. He joined
+her almost immediately.
+
+“Come,” he said, “they will be serving luncheon in five minutes. We
+will go and take a good place.”
+
+“Your friends, I am afraid,” she remarked, “did not like your leaving
+them. They are not very gallant.”
+
+“To me it is indifferent,” he answered, fiercely twirling his
+moustache. “Streuss there is an old fool. He has always some fancy in
+his brain.”
+
+Louise raised her eyebrows slightly.
+
+“You are your own master, I suppose,” she said. “The Baron is used to
+command his policemen, and sometimes he forgets. There are many people
+who find him too autocratic.”
+
+“He means well,” Von Behrling asserted. “It is his manner only which is
+against him.”
+
+They found a comfortable table, and she sat smiling at him across the
+white cloth.
+
+“If this is not Sachers,” she said, “it is at least more pleasant than
+lunching alone.”
+
+“I can assure you, Mademoiselle,” he declared, with a vigorous twirl of
+his moustache, “that I find it so.”
+
+“Always gallant,” she murmured. “Tell me, is it true of you—the news
+which I heard just before I left Vienna? Have you really resigned your
+post with the Chancellor?”
+
+“You heard that?” he asked slowly.
+
+She hesitated for a moment.
+
+“I heard something of the sort,” she admitted. “To be quite candid with
+you, I think it was reported that the Chancellor was making a change on
+his own account.”
+
+“So that is what they say, is it? What do they know about it—these
+gossipers?”
+
+“You were not allowed at the conference yesterday,” she remarked.
+
+“No one was allowed there, so that goes for nothing.”
+
+“Ah! well,” she said, looking meditatively out upon the landscape, “a
+year ago the thought of that conference would have driven me wild. I
+should not have been content until I had learned somehow or other what
+had transpired. Lately, I am afraid, my interest in my country seems to
+have grown a trifle cold. Perhaps because I have lived in Vienna I have
+learned to look at things from your point of view. Then, too, the world
+is a selfish place, and our own little careers are, after all, the most
+important part of it.”
+
+Von Behrling eyed her curiously.
+
+“It seems strange to hear you talk like this,” he remarked.
+
+She looked out of the window for a moment.
+
+“Oh! I still love my country, in a way,” she answered, “and I still
+hate all Austrians, in a way, but it is not as it used to be with me, I
+must admit. If we had two lives, I would give one to my country and
+keep one for myself. Since we have only one, I am afraid, after all,
+that I am human, and I want to taste some of its pleasures.”
+
+“Some of its pleasures,” Von Behrling repeated, a little gloomily. “Ah,
+that is easy enough for you, Mademoiselle!”
+
+“Not so easy as it may appear,” she answered. “One needs many things to
+get the best out of life. One needs wealth and one needs love, and one
+needs them while one is young, while one can enjoy.”
+
+“It is true,” Von Behrling admitted,—“quite true.”
+
+“If one is not careful,” she continued, “one lets the years slip by.
+They can never come again. If one does not live while one is young,
+there is no other chance.”
+
+Von Behrling assented with renewed gloom. He was twenty-five years old,
+and his income barely paid for his uniforms. Of late, this fact had
+materially interfered with his enjoyments.
+
+“It is strange,” he said, “that you should talk like this. You have the
+world at your feet, Mademoiselle. You have only to throw the
+handkerchief.”
+
+Her lips parted in a dazzling smile. The bluest eyes in the world grew
+softer as they looked into his. Von Behrling felt his cheeks burn.
+
+“My friend, it is not so easy,” she murmured. “Tell me,” she continued,
+“why it is that you have so little self-confidence. Is it because you
+are poor?”
+
+“I am a beggar,”—bitterly.
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“Well,” she said, glancing down the menu which the waiter had brought,
+“if you are poor and content to remain so, one must presume that you
+have compensations.”
+
+“But I have none!” he declared. “You should know that—you,
+Mademoiselle. Life for me means one thing and one thing only!”
+
+She looked at him, for a moment, and down upon the tablecloth. Von
+Behrling shook like a man in the throes of some great passion.
+
+“We talk too intimately,” she whispered, as the people began to file in
+to take their places. “After luncheon we will take our coffee in my
+coupe. Then, if you like, we will speak of these matters. I have a
+headache. Will you order me some champagne? It is a terrible thing, I
+know, to drink wine in the morning, but when one travels, what can one
+do? Here come your bodyguard. They look at me as though I had stolen
+you away. Remember we take our coffee together afterwards. I am bored
+with so much traveling, and I look to you to amuse me.”
+
+Von Behrling’s journey was, after all, marked with sharp contrasts. The
+kindness of the woman whom he adored was sufficient in itself to have
+transported him into a seventh heaven. On the other hand, he had
+trouble with his friends. Streuss drew him on one side at Ostend, and
+talked to him plainly.
+
+“Von Behrling,” he said, “I speak to you on behalf of Kahn and myself.
+Wine and women and pleasure are good things. We two, we love them,
+perhaps, as you do, but there is a place and a time for them, and it is
+not now. Our mission is too serious.”
+
+“Well, well!” Von Behrling exclaimed impatiently, “what is all this?
+What do I do wrong? What have you to say against me? If I talk with
+Mademoiselle Idiale, it is because it is the natural thing for me to
+do. Would you have us three—you and Kahn and myself—travel arm in arm
+and speak never a word to our fellow passengers? Would you have us
+proclaim to all the world that we are on a secret mission, carrying a
+secret document, to obtain which we have already committed a crime?
+These are old-fashioned methods, Streuss. It is better that we behave
+like ordinary mortals. You talk foolishly, Streuss!”
+
+“It is you,” the older man declared, “who play the fool, and we will
+not have it! Mademoiselle Idiale is a Servian and a patriot. She is the
+friend, too, of Bellamy, the Englishman. She and he were together last
+night.”
+
+“Bellamy is not even on the train,” Von Behrling protested. “He went
+north to Berlin. That itself is the proof that they know nothing. If he
+had had the merest suspicion, do you not think that he would have
+stayed with us?”
+
+“Bellamy is very clever,” Streuss answered. “There are too many of us
+to deal with,—he knew that. Mademoiselle Idiale is clever, too.
+Remember that half the trouble in life has come about through false
+women.
+
+“What is it that you want?” Von Behrling demanded.
+
+“That you travel the rest of the way with us, and speak no more with
+Mademoiselle.”
+
+Von Behrling drew himself up. After all, it was he who was noble;
+Streuss was little more than a policeman.
+
+“I refuse!” he exclaimed. “Let me remind you, Streuss, that I am in
+charge of this expedition. It was I who planned it. It was I”—he
+dropped his voice and touched his chest—“who struck the first blow for
+its success. I think that we need talk no more,” he went on. “I welcome
+your companionship. It makes for strength that we travel together. But
+for the rest, the enterprise has been mine, the success so far has been
+mine, and the termination of it shall be mine. Watch me, if you like.
+Stay with me and see that I am not robbed, if you fear that I am not
+able to take care of myself, but do not ask me to behave like an
+idiot.”
+
+Von Behrling stepped away quickly. The siren was already blowing from
+the steamer.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI VON BEHRLING IS TEMPTED
+
+
+The night was dark but fine, and the crossing smooth. Louise, wrapped
+in furs, abandoned her private cabin directly they had left the harbor,
+and had a chair placed on the upper deck. Von Behrling found her there,
+but not before they were nearly half-way across. She beckoned him to
+her side. Her eyes glowed at him through the darkness.
+
+“You are not looking after me, my friend,” she declared. “By myself I
+had to find this place.”
+
+Von Behrling was ruffled. He was also humbly apologetic.
+
+“It is those idiots who are with me,” he said. “All the time they
+worry.”
+
+She laughed and drew him down so that she could whisper in his ear.
+
+“I know what it is,” she said. “You have secrets which you are taking
+to London, and they are afraid of me because I am a Servian. Tell me,
+is it not so? Perhaps, even, they think that I am a spy.”
+
+Von Behrling hesitated. She drew him closer towards her.
+
+“Sit down on the deck,” she continued, “and lean against the rail. You
+are too big to talk to up there. So! Now you can come underneath my
+rug. Tell me, are they afraid of me, your friends?”
+
+[Illustration]
+
+“Is it without reason?” he asked. “Would not any one be afraid of
+you—if, indeed, they believed that you wished to know our secrets? I
+wonder if there is a man alive whom you could not turn round your
+little finger.”
+
+She laughed at him softly.
+
+“Ah, no!” she said. “Men are not like that, nowadays. They talk and
+they talk, but it is not much they would do for a woman’s sake.”
+
+“You believe that?” he asked, in a low tone.
+
+“I do, indeed. One reads love-stories—no, I do not mean romances, but
+memoirs—memoirs of the French and Austrian Courts—memoirs, even,
+written by Englishmen. Men were different a generation ago. Honor was
+dear to them then, honor and position and wealth, and yet there were
+many, very many then who were willing to give all these things for the
+love of a woman.
+
+“And do you think there are none now?” he whispered hoarsely.
+
+“My friend,” she answered, looking down at him, “I think that there are
+very few.”
+
+She heard his breath come fast between his teeth, and she realized his
+state of excitement.
+
+“Mademoiselle Louise,” he said, “my love for you has made me a
+laughing-stock in the clubs of Vienna. I—the poverty-stricken, who have
+nothing but a noble name, nothing to offer you—have dared to show
+others what I think, have dared to place you in my heart above all the
+women on earth.”
+
+“It is very nice of you,” she murmured. “Why do you tell me this now?”
+
+“Why, indeed?” he answered. “What have I to hope for?”
+
+She looked along the deck. Not a dozen yards away, two cigar ends
+burned red through the gloom. She knew very well that those cigar ends
+belonged to Streuss and his friend. She laughed softly and once more
+she bent her head.
+
+“How they watch you, those men!” she said. “Listen, my friend Rudolph.
+Supposing their fears were true, supposing I were really a spy,
+supposing I offered you wealth and with it whatever else you might
+claim from me, for the secret which you carry to England!”
+
+“How do you know that I am carrying a secret?” he asked hoarsely.
+
+She laughed.
+
+“My friend,” she said, “with your two absurd companions shadowing you
+all the time and glowering at me, how could one possibly doubt it? The
+Baron Streuss is, I believe, the Chief of your Secret Service
+Department, is he not? To me he seems the most obvious policeman I ever
+saw dressed as a gentleman.”
+
+“You don’t mean it!” he muttered. “You can’t mean what you said just
+now!”
+
+She was silent for a few moments. Some one passing struck a match, and
+she caught a glimpse of the white face of the man who sat by her
+side—strained now and curiously intense.
+
+“Supposing I did!”
+
+“You must be mad!” he declared. “You must not talk to me like this,
+Mademoiselle. I have no secret. It is your humor, I know, but it is
+dangerous.”
+
+“There is no danger,” she murmured, “for we are alone. I say again,
+Rudolph, supposing this were true?”
+
+His hand passed across his forehead. She fancied that he made a motion
+as though to rise to his feet, but she laid her hand upon his.
+
+“Stay here,” she whispered. “No, I do not wish to drive you away. Now
+you are here you shall listen to me.”
+
+“But you are not in earnest!” he faltered. “Don’t tell me that you are
+in earnest. It is treason. I am Rudolph Von Behrling, Secretary to the
+Chancellor.”
+
+Again she leaned towards him so that he could see into her eyes.
+
+“Rudolph,” she said, “you are indeed Rudolph Von Behrling, you are
+indeed the Chancellor’s secretary. What do you gain from it? A
+pittance! Many hours work a day and a pittance. What have you to look
+forward to? A little official life, a stupid official position.
+Rudolph, here am I, and there is the world. Do I not represent other
+things?”
+
+“God knows you do!” he muttered.
+
+“I, too, am weary of singing. I want a long rest—a long rest and a
+better name than my own. Don’t shrink away from me. It isn’t so
+wonderful, after all. Bellamy, the Englishman, came to me a few hours
+ago. He was Dorward’s friend. He knew well what Dorward carried. It was
+not his affair, he told me, and interposition from him was hopeless,
+but he knew that you and I were friends.”
+
+“You must stop!” Von Behrling declared. “You must stop! I must not
+listen to this!”
+
+“He offered me twenty thousand pounds,” she went on, “for the packet in
+your pocket. Think of that, my friend. It would be a start in life,
+would it not? I am an extravagant woman. Even if I would, I dared not
+think of a poor man. But twenty thousand pounds is sufficient. When I
+reach London, I am going to a flat which has been waiting for me for
+weeks—15, Dover Street. If you bring that packet to me instead of
+taking it to the Austrian Embassy, there will be twenty thousand pounds
+and—”
+
+Her fingers suddenly held his. She could almost hear his heart beating.
+Her eyes, by now accustomed to the gloom, could see the tumult which
+was passing within the man, reflected in his face. She whispered a
+warning under her breath. The two cigar ends had moved nearer. The
+forms of the two men were now distinct. One was leaning over the side
+of the ship by Von Behrling’s side. The other stood a few feet away,
+gazing at the lights of Dover. Von Behrling staggered to his feet. He
+said something in an angry undertone to Streuss. Louise rose and shook
+out her furs.
+
+“My friend,” she said, turning to Von Behrling, “if your friends can
+spare you so long, will you fetch one of my maids? You will find them
+both in my cabin, number three. I wish to walk for a few moments before
+we arrive.”
+
+Von Behrling turned away like a man in a dream. Mademoiselle Idiale
+followed him slowly, and behind her came Von Behrling’s companions.
+
+The details of the great singer’s journey had been most carefully
+planned by an excited manager who had received the telegram announcing
+her journey to London. There was an engaged carriage at Dover, into
+which she was duly escorted by a representative of the Opera Syndicate,
+who had been sent down from London to receive her. Von Behrling seemed
+to be missing. She had seen nothing of him since he had descended to
+summon her maids. But just as the train was starting, she heard the
+sound of angry voices, and a moment later his white face was pressed
+through the open window of the carriage.
+
+“Louise,” he muttered, “I am on fire! I cannot talk to you! I fear that
+they suspect something. They have told me that if I travel with you
+they will force their way in. Even now, Streuss comes. Listen for your
+telephone to-night or whenever I can. I must think—I must think!”
+
+He passed on, and Louise, leaning back in her seat, closed her eyes.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII “WE PLAY FOR GREAT STAKES”
+
+
+Bellamy, travel-stained and weary, arrived at his rooms at two o’clock
+on the following afternoon to find amongst a pile of correspondence a
+penciled message awaiting him in a handwriting he knew well. He tore
+open the envelope.
+
+DAVID DEAR,—I have just arrived and I am sending you these few lines at
+once. As to what progress I have made, I cannot say for certain, but
+there is a chance. You had better get the money ready and come to me
+here. If R. could only escape from Streuss and those who watch him all
+the time, I should be quite sure, but they are suspicious. What may
+happen I cannot tell. I do my best and I have hated it. Get the money
+ready and come to me.
+
+
+LOUISE.
+
+
+Bellamy drew a little breath and tore the note into pieces. Then he
+rang for his servant. “A bath and some clean clothes quickly,” he
+ordered. “While I am changing, ring up Downing Street and see if Sir
+James is there. If not, find out exactly where he is. I must see him
+within half an hour. Afterwards, get me a taxicab.”
+
+The man obeyed with the swift efficiency of the thoroughly trained
+servant. In rather less than the time which he had stated, Bellamy had
+left his rooms. Before four o’clock he had arrived at the address which
+Louise had given him. A commissionaire telephoned his name to the first
+floor, and in a very few moments a pale-faced French man-servant, in
+sombre black livery, descended and bowed to Bellamy.
+
+“Monsieur will be so good as to come this way,” he directed.
+
+Bellamy followed him into the lift, which stopped at the first floor.
+He was ushered into a small boudoir, already smothered with roses.
+
+“Mademoiselle will be here immediately,” the man announced. “She is
+engaged with a gentleman from the Opera, but she will leave him to
+receive Monsieur.”
+
+Bellamy nodded.
+
+“Pray let Mademoiselle understand,” he said, “that I am entirely at her
+service. My time is of no consequence.”
+
+The man bowed and withdrew. Louise came to him almost directly from an
+inner chamber. She was wearing a loose gown, but the fatigue of her
+journey seemed already to have passed away. Her eyes were bright, and a
+faint color glowed in her cheeks.
+
+“David,” she exclaimed, “thank Heaven that you are here!”
+
+She took both his hands and held them for a moment. Then she walked to
+the door, made sure that it was securely fastened, and stood there
+listening for a moment.
+
+“I suppose I am foolish,” she said, coming back to him, “and yet I
+cannot help fancying that I am being watched on every side since we
+landed in England. I detest my new manager, and I don’t trust any of
+the servants he has engaged for me. You got my note?”
+
+“Yes,” he answered, “I had your note—and I am here.”
+
+The restraint of his manner was obvious. He was standing a little away
+from her. She came suddenly up to him, her hands fell upon his
+shoulders, her face was upturned to his. Even then he made no motion to
+embrace her.
+
+“David,” she whispered softly, “what I am doing—what I have done—was at
+your suggestion. I do it for you, I do it for my country, I do it
+against every natural feeling I possess. I hate and loathe the lies I
+tell. Are you remembering that? Is it in your heart at this moment?”
+
+He stooped and kissed her.
+
+“Forgive me,” he said, “it is I who am to blame, but I am only human.
+We play for great stakes, Louise, but sometimes one forgets.”
+
+“As I live,” she murmured, “the kiss you gave me last is still upon my
+lips. What I have promised goes for nothing. What he has promised is
+this—the papers to-night.”
+
+“Unopened?”
+
+“Unopened,” she repeated, softly.
+
+“But how is it to be done?” Bellamy asked. “He must have arrived in
+London when you did last night. How is it they are not already at the
+Embassy?”
+
+“The Ambassador was commanded to Cowes,” she explained. “He cannot be
+back until late to-night. No one else has a key to the treaty safe, and
+Von Behrling declined to give up the document to any one save the
+Ambassador himself.”
+
+Bellamy nodded.
+
+“What about Streuss?”
+
+“Streuss and the others are all furious,” Louise said. “Yet, after all,
+Behrling has a certain measure of right on his side. His orders were to
+see with his own eyes this envelope deposited in the safe by the
+Ambassador himself.”
+
+“He returns to-night!” Bellamy exclaimed quickly.
+
+She nodded.
+
+“Before he comes,” she declared, “I think that the document will be in
+your hands.”
+
+“How is it to be done?”
+
+“The report is written,” she explained, “on five pages of foolscap.
+They are contained in a long envelope, scaled with the Chancellor’s
+crest. Von Behrling, being one of the family, has the same crest. He
+has prepared another envelope, the same size and weight, and signed it
+with his seal. It is this which he will hand over to the Ambassador if
+he should return unexpectedly. The real one he has concealed.”
+
+“Is he here?” Bellamy inquired.
+
+“Thank Heavens, no!” she answered. “My dear David, what are you
+thinking of? He is not here and he dare not come here. You are to go to
+your rooms,” she added, glancing at the clock, “and between five and
+six o’clock this evening you will be rung up on the telephone. A
+rendezvous will be given you for later on to-night. You must take the
+money there and receive the packet. Von Behrling will be disguised and
+prepared for flight.”
+
+Bellamy’s eyes glowed.
+
+“You believe this?” he exclaimed.
+
+“I believe it,” she replied. “He is going to do it. After he has seen
+you, he will make his way to Plymouth. I have promised—don’t look at
+me, David—I have promised to join him there.”
+
+Bellamy was grave.
+
+“There will be trouble,” he said. “He will come back. He will want to
+shoot you. He may be slow-witted in some things, but he is passionate.”
+
+“Am I a coward?” she asked, with a scornful laugh. “Have I ever shown
+fear of my life? No, David! It is not that of which I am afraid. It is
+the memory of the man’s touch, it is the look which was in your face
+when you came into the room. These are the things I fear—not death.”
+
+Bellamy drew her into his arms and kissed her.
+
+“Forgive me,” he begged. “At such times a man is a weak thing—a weak
+and selfish thing. I am ashamed of myself. I should have known better
+than to have doubted you for a moment. I know you so well, Louise. I
+know what you are.”
+
+She smiled.
+
+“Dear,” she said, “you have made me happy. And now you must go away.
+Remember that these few minutes are only an interlude. Over here I am
+Mademoiselle Idiale who sings to-night at Covent Garden. See my roses.
+There are two rooms full of reporters and photographers in the place
+now. The leader of the orchestra is in my bedroom, and two of the
+directors are drinking whiskies and sodas with this new manager of mine
+in the dining-room. Between five and six o’clock this afternoon you
+will get the message. It is somewhere, I think, in the city that you
+will have to go. There will be no trouble about the money? Nothing but
+notes or gold will be of any use.”
+
+“I have it in my pocket,” he answered. “I have it in notes, but he need
+never fear that they will be traced. The numbers of notes given for
+Secret Service purposes are expunged from every one’s memory.”
+
+She drew a little sigh.
+
+“It is a great sum,” she said. “After all, he should be grateful to me.
+If only he would be sensible and get away to the United States or to
+South America! He could live there like a prince, poor fellow. He would
+be far happier.”
+
+“I only hope that he will go,” Bellamy agreed. “There is one thing to
+be remembered. If he does not go, if he stays for twenty-four hours in
+this country, I do not believe that he will live to do you harm. The
+men who are with him are not the sort to stop short at trifles. Besides
+Streuss and Kahn, they have a regular army of spies at their bidding
+here. If they find out that he has tricked them, they will hunt him
+down, and before long.”
+
+Louise shivered.
+
+“Oh, I hope,” she exclaimed, “that he gets away! He is a traitor, of
+course, but he is a traitor to a hateful cause, and, after all, I think
+it is less for the money than for my sake that he does it. That sounds
+very conceited, I suppose,” she added, with a faint smile. “Ah! well,
+you see, for five years so many have been trying to turn my head. No
+wonder if I begin to believe some of their stories. David, I must go. I
+must not keep Dr. Henschell waiting any longer.”
+
+“To-morrow,” he said, “to-morrow early I shall come. I am afraid I
+shall miss your first appearance in England, Louise.”
+
+The sound of a violin came floating out from the inner room.
+
+“That is my signal,” she declared smiling. “Dr. Henschell was almost
+beside himself that I came away. I come, Doctor,” she called out.
+“David, good fortune!” she added, giving him her hands. “Now go, dear.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII THE HAND OF MISFORTUNE
+
+
+Between the two men, seated opposite each other in the large but
+somewhat barely furnished office, the radical differences, both in
+appearance and mannerisms, perhaps, also, in disposition, had never
+been more strongly evident. They were partners in business and face to
+face with ruin. Stephen Laverick, senior member of the firm, although
+an air of steadfast gloom had settled upon his clean-cut, powerful
+countenance, retained even in despair something of that dogged
+composure, temperamental and wholly British, which had served him well
+along the road to fortune. Arthur Morrison, the man who sat on the
+other side of the table, a Jew to his finger-tips notwithstanding his
+altered name, sat like a broken thing, with tears in his terrified
+eyes, disordered hair, and parchment-pale face. Words had flown from
+his lips in a continual stream. He floundered in his misery, sobbed
+about it like a child. The hand of misfortune had stripped him naked,
+and one man, at least, saw him as he really was.
+
+“I can’t stand it, Laverick,—I couldn’t face them all. It’s too
+cruel—too horrible! Eighteen thousand pounds gone in one week, forty
+thousand in a month! Forty thousand pounds! Oh, my God!”
+
+He writhed in agony. The man on the other side of the table said
+nothing.
+
+“If we could only have held on a little longer! ‘Unions’ must turn!
+They will turn! Laverick, have you tried all your friends? Think! Have
+you tried them all? Twenty thousand pounds would see us through it. We
+should get our own money back—I am sure of it. There’s Rendell,
+Laverick. He’d do anything for you. You’re always shooting or playing
+cricket with him. Have you asked him, Laverick? He’d never miss the
+money.”
+
+“You and I see things differently, Morrison,” Laverick answered.
+“Nothing would induce me to borrow money from a friend.”
+
+“But at a time like this,” Morrison pleaded passionately. “Every one
+does it sometimes. He’d be glad to help you. I know he would. Have you
+ever thought what it will be like, Laverick, to be hammered?”
+
+“I have,” Laverick admitted wearily. “God knows it seems as terrible a
+thing to me as it can to you! But if we go down, we must go down with
+clean hands. I’ve no faith in your infernal market, and not one penny
+will I borrow from a friend.”
+
+The Jew’s face was almost piteous. He stretched himself across the
+table. There were genuine tears in his eyes.
+
+“Laverick,” he said, “old man, you’re wrong. I know you think I’ve been
+led away. I’ve taken you out of our depth, but the only trouble has
+been that we haven’t had enough capital, and no backing. Those who
+stand up will win. They will make money.”
+
+“Unfortunately,” Laverick remarked, “we cannot stand up. Please
+understand that I will not discuss this matter with you in any way. I
+will not borrow money from Rendell or any friend. I have asked the bank
+and I have asked Pages, who will be our largest creditors. To help us
+would simply be a business proposition, so far as they are concerned.
+As you know, they have refused. If you see any hope in that direction,
+why don’t you try some of your own friends? For every one man I know in
+the House, you have seemed to be bosom friends with at least twenty.”
+
+Morrison groaned.
+
+“Those I know are not that sort of friend,” he answered. “They will
+drink with you and spend a night out or a week-end at Brighton, but
+they do not lend money. If they would, do you think I would mind
+asking? Why, I would go on my knees to any man who would lend us the
+money. I would even kiss his feet. I cannot bear it, Laverick! I
+cannot! I cannot!”
+
+Laverick said nothing. Words were useless things, wasted upon such a
+creature. He eyed his partner with a contempt which he took no pains to
+conceal. This, then, was the smart young fellow recommended to him on
+all sides, a few years ago, as one of the shrewdest young men in his
+own particular department, a person bound to succeed, a money-maker if
+ever there was one! Laverick thought of him as he appeared at the
+office day by day, glossy and immaculately dressed, with a flower in
+his buttonhole, boots that were a trifle too shiny, hat and coat,
+gloves and manner, all imitation but all very near the real thing. What
+a collapse!
+
+“You’re going to stay and see it through?” he whined across the table.
+
+“Certainly,” Laverick answered.
+
+The young man buried his face in his hands.
+
+“I can’t! I can’t!” he moaned. “I couldn’t bear seeing all the fellows,
+hearing them whisper things—oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!... Laverick, we’ve a
+few hundreds left. Give me something and let me out of it. You’re a
+stronger sort of man than I am. You can face it,—I can’t! Give me
+enough to get abroad with, and if ever I do any good I’ll remember it,
+I will indeed.”
+
+Laverick was silent for a moment. His companion watched his face
+eagerly. After all, why not let him go? He was no help, no comfort. The
+very sight of him was contemptible.
+
+“I have paid no money into the bank for several days,” Laverick said
+slowly. “When they refused to help us, it was, of course, obvious that
+they guessed how things were.”
+
+“Quite right, quite right!” the young man interrupted feverishly. “They
+would have stuck to it against the overdraft. How much have we got in
+the safe?”
+
+“This afternoon,” Laverick continued, “I changed all our cheques. You
+can count the proceeds for yourself. There are, I think, eleven hundred
+pounds. You can take two hundred and fifty, and you can take them with
+you—to any place you like.”
+
+The young man was already at the safe. The notes were between them, on
+the table. He counted quickly with the fingers of a born manipulator of
+money. When he had gathered up two hundred and fifty pounds, Laverick’s
+hand fell upon his.
+
+“No more,” he ordered sternly.
+
+“But, my dear fellow,” Morrison protested, “half of eleven hundred is
+five hundred and fifty. Why should we not go halves? That is only fair,
+Laverick. It is little enough. We ought to have had a great deal more.”
+
+Laverick pushed him contemptuously away and locked up the remainder of
+the notes.
+
+“I am letting you take two hundred and fifty pounds of this money,” he
+said, “for various reasons. For one, I can bear this thing better
+alone. As for the rest of the money, it remains there for the
+accountant who liquidates our affairs. I do not propose to touch a
+penny of it.”
+
+The young man buttoned up his coat with an hysterical little laugh.
+Such ways were not his ways. They were not, indeed, within the limit of
+his understanding. But of his partner he had learned one thing, at
+least. The word of Stephen Laverick was the word of truth. He shambled
+toward the door. On the whole, he was lucky to have got the two hundred
+and fifty pounds.
+
+“So long, Laverick,” he said from the door. “I’m—I’m sorry.”
+
+It was characteristic of him that he did not venture to offer his hand.
+Laverick nodded, not unkindly. After all, this young man was as he had
+been made.
+
+“I wish you good luck, Morrison,” he said. “Try South Africa.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX ROBBING THE DEAD
+
+
+The roar of the day was long since over. The rattle of vehicles, the
+tinkling of hansom bells, the tooting of horns from motor-cars and
+cabs, the ceaseless tramp of footsteps, all had died away. Outside, the
+streets were almost deserted. An occasional wayfarer passed along the
+flagged pavement with speedy footsteps. Here and there a few lights
+glimmered at the windows of some of the larger blocks of offices. The
+bustle of the day was finished. There is no place in London so
+strangely quiet as the narrow thoroughfares of the city proper when the
+hour approaches midnight.
+
+Laverick, who since his partner’s departure had been studying with
+infinite care his private ledger, closed it at last with a little snap
+and leaned back in his chair. After all, save that he had got rid of
+Morrison, it had been a wasted evening. Not even he, whose financial
+astuteness no man had ever questioned, could raise from those piles of
+figures any other answer save the one inevitable one, the knowledge of
+which had been like a black nightmare stalking by his side for the last
+thirty-six hours. One by one during the evening his clerks had left
+him, and it was a proof not only of his wonderful self-control but also
+of the confidence which he invariably inspired, that not a single one
+of them had the slightest idea how things were. Not a soul knew that
+the firm of Laverick & Morrison was already practically derelict, that
+they had on the morrow twenty-five thousand pounds to find, neither
+credit nor balance at their bankers, and eight hundred and fifty pounds
+in the safe.
+
+Laverick, haggard from his long vigil, locked up his books at last,
+turned out the lights, and locking the doors behind him walked into the
+silent street. Instinctively he turned his steps westwards. This might
+well be the last night on which he would care to show himself in his
+accustomed haunts, the last night on which he could mix with his
+fellows freely, and without that terrible sense of consciousness which
+follows upon disaster. Already there was little enough left of it. It
+was too late to change and go to his club. The places of amusement were
+already closed. To-morrow night, both club and theatres would lie
+outside his world. He walked slowly, yet he had scarcely taken, in
+fact, a dozen steps when, with a purely mechanical impulse, he paused
+by a stone-flagged entry to light a cigarette. It was a passage, almost
+a tunnel for a few yards, leading to an open space, on one side of
+which was an old churchyard—strange survival in such a part—and on the
+other the offices of several firms of stockbrokers, a Russian banker,
+an actuary. It was the barest of impulses which led him to glance up
+the entry before he blew out the match. Then he gave a quick start and
+became for a moment paralyzed. Within a few feet of him something was
+lying on the ground—a dark mass, black and soft—the body of a man,
+perhaps. Just above it, a pair of eyes gleamed at him through the
+semi-darkness.
+
+Laverick at first had no thought of tragedy. It might be a tramp or a
+drunkard, perhaps,—a fight, or a man taken ill. Then something sinister
+about the light of those burning eyes set his heart beating faster. He
+struck another match with firm fingers, and bent forward. What he saw
+upon the ground made him feel a little sick. What he saw racing away
+down the passage prompted him to swift pursuit. Down the arched court
+into the open space he ran, himself an athlete, but mocked by the
+swiftness of the shadowlike form which he pursued. At the end was
+another street—empty. He looked up and down, seeking in vain for any
+signs of life. There was nothing to tell him which way to turn.
+Opposite was a very labyrinth of courts and turnings. There was not
+even the sound of a footfall to guide him. Slowly he retraced his
+steps, lit another match, and leaned over the prostrate figure. Then he
+knew that it was a tragedy indeed upon which he had stumbled.
+
+The man was dead, and he had met with his death by unusual means. These
+were the first two things of which Laverick assured himself. Without
+any doubt, a savage and a terrible crime had been committed. A
+hornhandled knife of unusual length had been driven up to the hilt
+through the heart of the murdered man. There had been other blows,
+notably about the head. There was not much blood, but the position of
+the knife alone told its ugly story. Laverick, though his nerves were
+of the strongest, felt his head swim as he looked. He rose to his feet
+and walked to the opening of the passage, gasping. The street was no
+longer empty.
+
+About thirty yards away, looking westwards, a man was standing in the
+middle of the road. The light from the lamp-post escaped his face.
+Laverick could only see that he was slim, of medium height, dressed in
+dark clothes, with his hands in the pockets of his overcoat. To all
+appearance, he was watching the entry. Laverick took a step towards
+him—the man as deliberately took a step further away. Laverick held up
+his hand.
+
+“Hullo!” he called out, and beckoned.
+
+The person addressed took no notice. Laverick advanced another two or
+three steps—the man retreated a similar distance. Laverick changed his
+tactics and made a sudden spring forward. The man hesitated no
+longer—he turned and ran as though for his life. In a few minutes he
+was round the corner of the street and out of sight. Laverick returned
+slowly to the entry.
+
+A distant clock struck midnight. A couple of clerks came along the
+pavement on the other side, their hands and arms full of letters.
+Laverick hesitated. He was never afterwards able to account for the
+impulse which prevented his calling out to them. Instead he lurked in
+the shadows and watched them go by. When he was sure that they had
+disappeared, he bent once more over the body of the murdered man.
+Already that huddled-up heap was beginning to exercise a nameless and
+terrible fascination for him. His first feelings of horror were mingled
+now with an insatiable curiosity. What manner of man was he? He was
+tall and strongly built; fair—of almost florid complexion. His clothes
+were very shabby and apparently ready-made. His moustache was upturned,
+and his hair was trimmed closer than is the custom amongst Englishmen.
+Laverick stooped lower and lower until he found himself almost on his
+knees. There was something projecting from the man’s pocket as though
+it had been half snatched out—a large portfolio of brown leather,
+almost the size of a satchel. Laverick drew it out, holding it in one
+hand whilst with firm fingers he struck another match. Then, for the
+first time, a little cry broke from his lips. Both sides of the
+pocket-book were filled with bank-notes. As his match flickered out, he
+caught a glimpse of the figures in the left-hand corner—500
+pounds!—great rolls of them! Laverick rose gasping to his feet. It was
+a new Arabian Nights, this!—a dream!—a continuation of the nightmare
+which had threatened him all day! Or was it, perhaps, the madness
+coming—the madness which he had begun only an hour or so ago to fear!
+
+He walked into the gaslit streets and looked up and down. The
+mysterious stranger had vanished. There was not a soul in sight. He
+clutched the rough stone wall with his hands, he kicked the pavement
+with his heels. There was no doubt about it—everything around him was
+real. Most real of all was the fact that within a few feet of him lay a
+murdered man, and that in his hands was that brown leather pocket-book
+with its miraculous contents. For the last time Laverick retraced his
+steps and bent over that huddled-up shape. One by one he went through
+the other pockets. There was a packet of Russian cigarettes; an empty
+card-case of chased silver, and obviously of foreign workmanship; a
+cigarette holder stained with much use, but of the finest amber, with
+rich gold mountings. There was nothing else upon the dead man, no means
+of identification of any sort. Laverick stood up, giddy, half terrified
+with the thoughts that went tearing through his brain. The pocket-book
+began to burn his hand; he felt the perspiration breaking out anew upon
+his forehead. Yet he never hesitated. He walked like a man in a dream,
+but his footsteps were steady and short. Deliberately, and without any
+sign of hurry, he made his way towards his offices. If a policeman had
+come in sight up or down the street, he had decided to call him and to
+acquaint him with what had happened. It was the one chance he held
+against himself,—the gambler’s method of decision, perhaps,
+unconsciously arrived at. As it turned out, there was still not a soul
+in sight. Laverick opened the outer door with his latchkey, let himself
+in and closed it. Then he groped his way through the clerk’s office
+into his own room, switched on the electric light and once more sat
+down before his desk.
+
+He drew his shaded writing lamp towards him and looked around with a
+nervousness wholly unfamiliar. Then he opened the pocket-book, drew out
+the roll of bank-notes and counted them. It was curious that he felt no
+surprise at their value. Bank-notes for five hundred pounds are not
+exactly common, and yet he proceeded with his task without the
+slightest instinct of surprise. Then he leaned back in his chair.
+Twenty thousand pounds in Bank of England notes! There they lay on the
+table before him. A man had died for their sake,—another must go
+through all the days with the price of blood upon his head—a murderer—a
+haunted creature for the rest of his life. And there on the table were
+the spoils. Laverick tried to think the matter out dispassionately. He
+was a man of average moral fibre—that is to say, he was honest in his
+dealings with other men because his father and his grandfather before
+him had been honest, and because the penalty for dishonesty was
+shameful. Here, however, he was face to face with an altogether unusual
+problem. These notes belonged, without a doubt, to the dead man. Save
+for his own interference, they would have been in the hands of his
+murderer. The use of them for a few days could do no one any harm. Such
+risk as there was he took himself. That it was a risk he knew and fully
+realized. Laverick had sat in his place unmoved when his partner had
+poured out his wail of fear and misery. Yet of the two men it was
+probable that Laverick himself had felt their position the more keenly.
+He was a man of some social standing, with a large circle of friends; a
+sportsman, and with many interests outside the daily routine of his
+city life. To him failure meant more than the loss of money; it would
+rob him of everything in life worth having. The days to come had been
+emptied of all promise. He had held himself stubbornly because he was a
+man, because he had strength enough to refuse to let his mind dwell
+upon the indignities and humiliation to come. And here before him was
+possible salvation. There was a price to be paid, of course, a risk to
+be run in making use even for an hour of this money. Yet from the first
+he had known that he meant to do it.
+
+Quite cool now, he opened his private safe, thrust the pocket-book into
+one of the drawers, and locked it up. Then he lit a cigarette, finally
+shut up the office and walked down the street. As he passed the entry
+he turned his head slowly. Apparently no one had been there, nothing
+had been disturbed. Straining his eyes through the darkness, he could
+even see that dark shape still lying huddled up on the ground. Then he
+walked on. He had burned his boats now and was prepared for all
+emergencies. At the corner he met a policeman, to whom he wished a
+cheery good-night. He told himself that the thing which he had done was
+for the best. He owed it to himself. He owed it to those who had
+trusted him. After all, it was the chief part of his life—his city
+career. It was here that his friends lived. It was here that his
+ambitions flourished. Disgrace here was eternal disgrace. His father
+and his grandfather before him had been men honored and respected in
+this same circle. Disgrace to him, such disgrace as that with which he
+had stood face to face a few hours ago, would have been, in a certain
+sense, a reflection upon their memories. The names upon the brass
+plates to right and to left of him were the names of men he knew, men
+with whom he desired to stand well, whose friendship or contempt made
+life worth living or the reverse. It was worth a great risk—this effort
+of his to keep his place. His one mistake—this association with
+Morrison—had been such an unparalleled stroke of bad luck. He was rid
+of the fellow now. For the future there should be no more partners. He
+had his life to live. It was not reasonable that he should allow
+himself to be dragged down into the mire by such a creature. He found
+an empty taxicab at the corner of Queen Victoria Street, and hailed it.
+
+“Whitehall Court,” he told the driver.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X BELLAMY IS OUTWITTED
+
+
+Bellamy was a man used to all hazards, whose supreme effort of life it
+was to meet success and disaster with unvarying mien. But this was
+disaster too appalling even for his self-control. He felt his knees
+shake so that he caught at the edge of the table before which he was
+standing. There was no possible doubt about it, he had been tricked.
+Von Behrling, after all,—Von Behrling, whom he had looked upon merely
+as a stupid, infatuated Austrian, ready to sell his country for the
+sake of a woman, had fooled him utterly!
+
+The man who sat at the head of the table—the only other occupant of the
+room—was in Court dress, with many orders upon his coat. He had just
+been attending a Court function, from which Bellamy’s message had
+summoned him. Before him on the table was an envelope, hastily torn
+open, and several sheets of blank paper. It was upon these that
+Bellamy’s eyes were fixed with an expression of mingled horror and
+amazement. The Cabinet Minister had already pushed them away with a
+little gesture of contempt.
+
+“Bellamy,” he said gravely, “it is not like you to make so serious an
+error.
+
+“I hope not, sir,” Bellamy answered. “I—yes, I have been deceived.”
+
+The Minister glanced at the clock.
+
+“What is to be done?” he asked.
+
+Bellamy, with an effort, pulled himself together. He caught up the
+envelope, looked once more inside, held up the blank sheets of paper to
+the lamp and laid them down. Then with clenched fists he walked to the
+other side of the room and returned. He was himself again.
+
+“Sir James, I will not waste your time by saying that I am sorry. Only
+an hour ago I met Von Behrling in a little restaurant in the city, and
+gave him twenty thousand pounds for that envelope.”
+
+“You paid him the money,” the Minister remarked slowly, “without
+opening the envelope.”
+
+Bellamy admitted it.
+
+“In such transactions as these,” he declared, “great risks are almost
+inevitable. I took what must seem to you now to be an absurd risk. To
+tell you the honest truth, sir, and I have had experience in these
+things, I thought it no risk at all when I handed over the money. Von
+Behrling was there in disguise. The men with whom he came to this
+country are furious with him. To all appearance, he seemed to have
+broken with them absolutely. Even now—
+
+“Well?”
+
+“Even now,” Bellamy said slowly, with his eyes fixed upon the wall of
+the room, and a dawning light growing stronger every moment in his
+face, “even now I believe that Von Behrling made a mistake. An envelope
+such as this had been arranged for him to show the others or leave at
+the Austrian Embassy in case of emergency. He had it with him in his
+pocket-book. He even told me so. God in Heaven, he gave me the wrong
+one!”
+
+The Minister glanced once more at the clock.
+
+“In that case,” he said, “perhaps he would not go to the Embassy
+to-night, especially if he was in disguise. You may still be able to
+find him and repair the error.
+
+“I will try,” answered Bellamy. “Thank Heaven!” he added, with a sudden
+gleam of satisfaction, “my watchers are still dogging his footsteps. I
+can find out before morning where he went when he left our rendezvous.
+There is another way, too. Mademoiselle—this man Von Behrling believed
+that she was leaving the country with him. She was to have had a
+message within the next few hours.”
+
+The Minister nodded thoughtfully.
+
+“Bellamy, I have been your friend and you have done us good service
+often. The Secret Service estimates, as you know, are above
+supervision, but twenty thousand pounds is a great deal of money to
+have paid for this.”
+
+He touched the sheets of blank paper with his forefinger. Bellamy’s
+teeth were clenched.
+
+“The money shall be returned, sir.
+
+“Do not misunderstand me,” Sir James went on, speaking a little more
+kindly. “The money, after all, in comparison with what it was destined
+to purchase, is nothing. We might even count it a fair risk if it was
+lost.”
+
+“It shall not be lost,” Bellamy promised. “If Von Behrling has played
+the traitor to us, then he will go back to his country. In that case, I
+will have the money from him without a doubt. If, on the other hand, he
+was honest to us and a traitor to his country, as I firmly believe, it
+may not yet be too late.”
+
+“Let us hope not,” Sir James declared. “Bellamy,” he continued, a note
+of agitation trembling in his tone, “I need not tell you, I am sure,
+how important this matter is. You work like a mole in the dark, yet you
+have brains,—you understand. Let me tell you how things are with us. A
+certain amount of confidence is due to you, if to any one. I may tell
+you that at the Cabinet Council to-day a very serious tone prevailed.
+We do not understand in the least the attitude of several of the
+European Powers. It can be understood only under certain assumptions. A
+note of ours sent through the Ambassador to Vienna has remained
+unanswered for two days. The German Ambassador has left unexpectedly
+for Berlin on urgent business. We have just heard, too, that a secret
+mission from Russia left St. Petersburg last night for Paris. Side by
+side with all this,” Sir James continued, “the Czar is trying to evade
+his promised visit here. The note we have received speaks of his
+health. Well, we know all about that. We know, I may tell you, that his
+health has never been better than at the present moment.”
+
+“It all means one thing and one thing only,” Bellamy affirmed. “In
+Vienna and Berlin to-day they look at an Englishman and smile. Even the
+man in the street seems to know what is coming.”
+
+Sir James leaned a little back in his seat. His hands were tightly
+clenched, and there was a fierce light in his hollow eyes. Those who
+were intimate with him knew that he had aged many years during the last
+few weeks.
+
+“The cruel part is,” he said softly, “that it should have come in my
+administration, when for ten years I have prayed from the Opposition
+benches for the one thing which would have made us safe to-day.”
+
+“An army,” murmured Bellamy.
+
+“The days are coming,” Sir James continued, “when those who prated of
+militarism and the security of our island walls will see with their own
+eyes the ruin they have brought upon us. Secretly we are mobilizing all
+that we have to mobilize,” he added, with a little sigh. “At the very
+best, however, our position is pitiful. Even if we are prepared to
+defend, I am afraid that we shall see things on the Continent in which
+we shall be driven to interfere, or else suffer the greatest blow which
+our prestige has ever known. If we could only tell what was coming!” he
+wound up, looking once more at those empty sheets of paper. “It is this
+darkness which is so alarming!”
+
+Bellamy turned toward the door.
+
+“You have the telephone in your bedroom, sir?” he asked.
+
+“Yes, ring me up at any time in the night or morning, if you have
+news.”
+
+Bellamy drove at once to Dover Street. It was half-past one, but he had
+no fear of not being admitted. Louise’s French maid answered the bell.
+
+“Madame has not retired?” Bellamy inquired.
+
+“But no, sir,” the woman assured him, with a welcoming smile. “It is
+only a few minutes ago that she has returned.”
+
+Bellamy was ushered at once into her room. She was gorgeous in blue
+satin and pearls. Her other maid was taking off her jewels. She
+dismissed both the women abruptly.
+
+“I absolutely couldn’t avoid a supper-party,” she said, holding out her
+hands. “You expected that, of course. You were not at the Opera House?”
+
+He shook his head, and walking to the door tried the handle. It was
+securely closed. He came back slowly to her side. Her eyes were
+questioning him fiercely.
+
+“Well?” she exclaimed. “Well?”
+
+“Have you heard from Von Behrling?”
+
+“No,” she answered. “He knew that I must sing to-night. I have been
+expecting him to telephone every moment since I got home. You have seen
+him?”
+
+“I have seen him,” Bellamy admitted. “Either he has deceived us both,
+or the most unfortunate mistake in the world has happened. Listen. I
+met him where he appointed. He was there, disguised, almost
+unrecognizable. He was nervous and desperate; he had the air of a man
+who has cut himself adrift from the world. I gave him the money,—twenty
+thousand pounds in Bank of England notes, Louise,—and he gave me the
+papers, or what we thought were the papers. He told me that he was
+keeping a false duplicate upon him for a little time, in case he was
+seized, but that he was going to Liverpool Street station to wait, and
+would telephone you from the hotel there later on. You have not heard
+yet, then?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“There has been no message, but go on.”
+
+“He gave me the wrong document—the wrong envelope,” continued Bellamy.
+“When I took it to—to Downing Street, it was full of blank paper.”
+
+The color slowly left her cheeks. She looked at him with horror in her
+face.
+
+“Do you think that he meant to do it?” she exclaimed.
+
+“We cannot tell,” Bellamy answered. “My own impression is that he did
+not. We must find out at once what has become of him. He might even, if
+he fancies himself safe, destroy the envelope he has, believing it to
+be the duplicate. He is sure to telephone you. The moment you hear you
+must let me know.”
+
+“You had better stay here,” she declared. “There are plenty of rooms.
+You will be on the spot then.”
+
+Bellamy shook his head.
+
+“The joke of it is that I, too, am being watched whereever I go. That
+fellow Streuss has spies everywhere. That is one reason why I believe
+that Von Behrling was serious.
+
+“Oh, he was serious!” Louise repeated.
+
+“You are sure?” Bellamy asked. “You have never had even any doubt about
+him?”
+
+“Never,” she answered firmly. “David, I had not meant to tell you this.
+You know that I saw him for a moment this morning. He was in deadly
+earnest. He gave me a ring—a trifle—but it had belonged to his mother.
+He would not have done this if he had been playing us false.”
+
+Bellamy sprang to his feet.
+
+“You are right, Louise!” he exclaimed. “I shall go back to my rooms at
+once. Fortunately, I had a man shadowing Von Behrling, and there may be
+a report for me. If anything comes here, you will telephone at once?”
+
+“Of course,” she assented.
+
+“You do not think it possible,” he asked slowly, “that he would attempt
+to see you here?”
+
+Louise shuddered for a moment.
+
+“I absolutely forbade it, so I am sure there is no chance of that.”
+
+“Very well, then,” he decided, “we will wait. Dear,” he added, in an
+altered tone, “how splendid you look!”
+
+Her face suddenly softened.
+
+“Ah, David!” she murmured, “to hear you speak naturally even for a
+moment—it makes everything seem so different!”
+
+He held out his arms and she came to him with a little sigh of
+satisfaction.
+
+“Louise,” he said, “some day the time may come when we shall be able to
+give up this life of anxiety and terrors. But it cannot be yet—not for
+your country’s sake or mine.”
+
+She kissed him fondly.
+
+“So long as there is hope!” she whispered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI VON BEHRLING’S FATE
+
+
+It seemed to Louise that she had scarcely been in bed an hour when the
+more confidential of her maids—Annette, the Frenchwoman—woke her with a
+light touch of the arm. She sat up in bed sleepily.
+
+“What is it, Annette?” she asked. “Surely it is not mid-day yet? Why do
+you disturb me?”
+
+“It is barely nine o’clock, Mademoiselle, but Monsieur
+Bellamy—Mademoiselle told me that she wished to receive him whenever he
+came. He is in the boudoir now, and very impatient.”
+
+“Did he send any message?”
+
+“Only that his business was of the most urgent,” the maid replied.
+
+Louise sighed,—she was really very sleepy. Then, as the thoughts began
+to crowd into her brain, she began also to remember. Some part of the
+excitement of a few hours ago returned.
+
+“My bath, Annette, and a dressing-gown,” she ordered. “Tell Monsieur
+Bellamy that I hurry. I will be with him in twenty minutes.”
+
+To Bellamy, the twenty minutes were minutes of purgatory. She came at
+last, however, fresh and eager; her hair tied up with ribbon, she
+herself clad in a pink dressing-gown and pink slippers.
+
+“David!” she cried,—“my dear David—!”
+
+Then she broke off.
+
+“What is it?” she asked, in a different tone.
+
+He showed her the headlines of the newspaper he was carrying.
+
+“Tragedy!” he answered hoarsely. “Von Behrling was true, after all,—at
+least, it seems so.”
+
+“What has happened?” she demanded.
+
+Bellamy pointed once more to the newspaper.
+
+“He was murdered last night, within fifty yards of the place of our
+rendezvous.”
+
+A little exclamation broke from Louise’s lips. She sat down suddenly.
+The color called into her cheeks by the exercise of her bath was
+rapidly fading away.
+
+“David,” she murmured, “is this true?”
+
+“It is indeed,” Bellamy assured her. “Not only that, but there is no
+mention of his pocket-book in the account of his murder. It must have
+been engineered by Streuss and the others, and they have got away with
+the pocket-book and the money.”
+
+“What can we do?” she asked.
+
+“There is nothing to be done,” Bellamy declared calmly. “We are
+defeated. The thing is quite apparent. Von Behrling never succeeded,
+after all, in shaking off the espionage of the men who were watching
+him. They tracked him to our rendezvous, they waited about while I met
+him. Afterwards, he had to pass along a narrow passage. It was there
+that he was found murdered.”
+
+“But, David, I don’t understand! Why did they wait until after he had
+seen you? How did they know that he had not parted with the paper in
+the restaurant? To all intents and purposes he ought to have done so.”
+
+“I cannot understand that myself,” Bellamy admitted. “In fact, it is
+inexplicable.”
+
+She took up the newspaper and glanced at the report. Then, “You are
+sure, I suppose, that this does refer to Von Behrling? He is quite
+unidentified, you see.”
+
+“There is no doubt about it,” Bellamy declared. “I have been to the
+Mortuary. It is certainly he. All our work has been in vain—just as I
+thought, too, that we had made a splendid success of it.”
+
+She looked at him compassionately.
+
+“It is hard lines, dear,” she admitted. “You are tired, too. You look
+as though you had been up all night.”
+
+“Yes, I am tired,” he answered, sinking into a chair. “I am worse than
+tired. This has been the grossest failure of my career, and I am afraid
+that it is the end of everything. I have lost twenty thousand pounds of
+Secret Service money; I have lost the one chance which might have saved
+England. They will never trust me again.”
+
+“You did your best,” she said, coming over and sitting on the arm of
+his chair. “You did your best, David.”
+
+She laid her hands upon his forehead, her cheek against his—smooth and
+cold—exquisitely refreshing it seemed to his jaded nerves.
+
+“Ah, Louise!” he murmured, “life is getting a little too strenuous.
+Perhaps we have given too much of it up to others. What do you think?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“Dear, I have felt like that sometimes, yet what can we do? Could we be
+happy, you and I, in exile, if the things which we dread were coming to
+pass? Could I go away and hide while my countrymen were being butchered
+out of existence?— And you—you are not the sort of man to be content
+with an ignoble peace. No, it isn’t possible. Our work may not be over
+yet—”
+
+There was a knock at the door, and Annette entered with many apologies.
+
+“Mademoiselle,” she explained, “a thousand pardons, and to Monsieur
+also, but there is a gentleman here who says that his business is of
+the most urgent importance, and that he must see you at once. I have
+done all that I can, but he will not go away. He knows that Monsieur
+Bellamy is here, too,” she added, turning to him, “and he says his
+business has to do with Monsieur as well as Mademoiselle.”
+
+Bellamy almost snatched the card from the girl’s fingers. He read out
+the name in blank amazement.
+
+“Baron de Streuss!”
+
+There was a moment’s silence. Louise and he exchanged wondering
+glances.
+
+“What can this mean?” she asked hoarsely.
+
+“Heaven knows!” he answered. “Let us see him together. After all—after
+all—”
+
+“You can show the gentleman in, Annette,” her mistress ordered.
+
+“If he has the papers,” Bellamy continued slowly, “why does he come to
+us? It is not like these men to be vindictive. Diplomacy to them is
+nothing—a game of chess. I do not understand.”
+
+The door opened. Annette announced their visitor. Streuss bowed low to
+Louise—he bowed, also, to Bellamy.
+
+“I need not introduce myself,” he said. “With Mr. Bellamy I have the
+honor to be well acquainted. Madame is known to all the world.”
+
+Louise nodded, somewhat coldly.
+
+“We can dispense with an introduction, I think, Monsieur le Baron,” she
+said. “At the same time, you will perhaps explain to what I owe this
+somewhat unexpected pleasure?”
+
+“Mademoiselle, an explanation there must certainly be. I know that it
+is an impossible hour. I know, too, that to have forced my presence
+upon you in this manner may seem discourteous. Yet the urgency of the
+matter, I am convinced, justifies me.”
+
+Louise motioned him to a chair, but he declined with a little bow of
+thanks.
+
+“Mademoiselle,” he said, “and you, Mr. Bellamy, we need not waste
+words. We have played a game of chess together. You, Mademoiselle, and
+Mr. Bellamy on the one side—I and my friends upon the other. The honor
+of Rudolph Von Behrling was the pawn for which we fought. The victory
+remains with you.”
+
+Bellamy never moved a muscle. Louise, on the contrary, could not help a
+slight start.
+
+“Under the circumstances,” the Baron continued smoothly, “the struggle
+was uneven. I do myself the justice to remember that from the first I
+realized that we played a losing game. Mademoiselle,” he added, “from
+the days of Cleopatra—ay, and throughout those shadowy days which lie
+beyond—the diplomats of the world have been powerless when matched
+against your sex. Rudolph Von Behrling was an honest fellow enough
+until he looked into your eyes. Mademoiselle, you have gifts which
+might, perhaps, have driven from his senses a stronger man.”
+
+Louise smiled, but there was no suggestion of mirth in the curl of her
+lips. Her eyes all the time sought his questioningly. She did not
+understand.
+
+“You flatter me, Baron,” she murmured.
+
+“No, I do not flatter you, I speak the truth. This plain talking is
+pleasant enough when the time comes that one may indulge in it. That
+time, I think, is now. Rudolph Von Behrling, against my advice, but
+because he was the Chancellor’s nephew, was associated with me in a
+certain enterprise, the nature of which is no secret to you,
+Mademoiselle, or to Mr. Bellamy here. We followed a man who, by some
+strange chance, was in possession of a few sheets of foolscap, the
+contents of which were alike priceless to my country and priceless to
+yours. The subsequent history of those papers should have been
+automatic. The first step was fulfilled readily enough. The man
+disappeared—the papers were ours. Von Behrling was the man who secured
+them, and Von Behrling it was who retained them. If my advice had been
+followed, I admit frankly that we should have ignored all possible
+comment and returned with them at once to Vienna. The others thought
+differently. They ruled that we should come on to London and deposit
+the packet with our Ambassador here. In a weak moment I consented. It
+was your opportunity, Mademoiselle, an opportunity of which you have
+splendidly availed yourself.”
+
+This time Louise held herself with composure. Bellamy’s brain was in a
+whirl but he remained silent.
+
+“I come to you both,” the Baron continued, “with my hands open. I
+come—I make no secret of it—I come to make terms. But first of all I
+must know whether I am in time. There is one question which I must ask.
+I address it, sir, to you,” he added, turning to Bellamy. “Have you yet
+placed in the hands of your Government the papers which you obtained
+from Von Behrling?”
+
+Bellamy shook his head.
+
+The Baron drew a long breath of relief. Though he had maintained his
+savoir faire perfectly, the fingers which for a moment played with his
+tie, as though to rearrange it, were trembling.
+
+“Well, then, I am in time. Will you see my hand?”
+
+“Mademoiselle and I,” answered Bellamy, “are at least ready to listen
+to anything you may have to say.”
+
+“You know quite well,” the Baron continued, “what it is that I have
+come to say, yet I want you to remember this. I do not come to bribe
+you in any ordinary manner. The things which are to come will happen;
+they must happen, if not this year, next,—if not next year, within half
+a decade of years. History is an absolute science. The future as well
+as the past can be read by those who know the signs. The thing which
+has been resolved upon is certain. The knowledge of the contents of
+those papers by your Government might delay the final catastrophe for a
+short while; it could do no more. In the long run, it would be better
+for your country, Mr. Bellamy, in every way, that the end come soon.
+Therefore, I ask you to perform no traitorous deed. I ask you to do
+that which is simply reasonable for all of us, which is, indeed, for
+the advantage of all of us. restore those papers to me instead of
+handing them to your Government, and I will pay you for them the sum of
+one hundred thousand pounds!”
+
+“One hundred thousand pounds,” Bellamy repeated.
+
+“One hundred thousand pounds!” murmured Louise.
+
+There was a brief, intense pause. Louise waited, warned by the
+expression in Bellamy’s face. Silence, she felt, was safest, and it was
+Bellamy who spoke.
+
+“Baron,” said he, “your visit and your proposal are both a little
+amazing. Forgive me if I speak alone with Mademoiselle for a moment.”
+
+“Most certainly,” the Baron agreed. “I go away and leave you—out of the
+room, if you will.”
+
+“It is not necessary,” Bellamy replied. “Louise!” The Baron withdrew to
+the window, and Bellamy led Louise into the furthest corner of the
+room.
+
+“What can it mean?” he whispered. “What do you suppose has happened?”
+
+“I cannot imagine. My brain is in a whirl.”
+
+“If they have not got the pocket-book,” Bellamy muttered, “it must have
+gone with Von Behrling to the Mortuary. If so, there is a chance.
+Louise, say nothing; leave this to me.”
+
+“As you will,” she assented. “I have no wish to interfere. I only hope
+that he does not ask me any questions.”
+
+They came once more into the middle of the room, and the Baron turned
+to meet them.
+
+“You must forgive Mademoiselle,” said Bellamy, “if she is a little
+upset this morning. She knows, of course, as I know and you know, that
+Von Behrling was playing a desperate game, and that he carried his life
+in his hands. Yet his death has been a shock—has been a shock, I may
+say, to both of us. From your point of view,” Bellamy went on, “it was
+doubtless deserved, but—”
+
+“What, in God’s name, is this that you say?” the Baron interrupted. “I
+do not understand at all! You speak of Von Behrling’s death! What do
+you mean?”
+
+Bellamy looked at him as one who listens to strange words.
+
+“Baron,” he said, “between us who know so much there is surely no need
+for you to play a part. Von Behrling knew that you were watching him.
+Your spies were shadowing him as they have done me. He knew that he was
+running terrible risks. He was not unprepared and he has paid. It is
+not for us—”
+
+“Now, in God’s name, tell me the truth!” Baron de Streuss interrupted
+once more. “What is it that you are saying about Von Behrling’s death?”
+
+Bellamy drew a little breath between his teeth. He leaned forward with
+his hands resting upon the table.
+
+“Do you mean to say that you do not know?”
+
+“Upon my soul, no!” replied the Baron.
+
+Bellamy threw open the newspaper before him.
+
+“Von Behrling was murdered last night, ten minutes after our
+interview.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII BARON DE STREUSS’ PROPOSAL
+
+
+The Baron adjusted his eyeglass with shaking fingers. His face now was
+waxen-white as he spread out the newspaper upon the table and read the
+paragraph word by word.
+
+TERRIBLE CRIME IN THE CITY
+
+
+Early this morning the body of a man was discovered in a narrow
+passageway leading from Crooked Friars to Royal Street, under
+circumstances which leave little doubt but that the man’s death was
+owing to foul play. The deceased had apparently been stabbed, and had
+received several severe blows about the head. He was shabbily dressed
+but was well supplied with money, and he was wearing a gold watch and
+chain when he was found.
+
+
+LATER
+
+
+There appears to be no further doubt but that the man found in the
+entry leading from Crooked Friars had been the victim of a particularly
+murderous assault. Neither his clothes nor his linen bore any mark by
+means of which he could be identified. The body has been removed to the
+nearest mortuary, and an inquest will shortly be held.
+
+
+Streuss looked up from the newspaper and the reality of his surprise
+was apparent. He had all the appearance of a man shaken with emotion.
+While he looked at his two companions wonderingly, strange thoughts
+were forming in his mind.
+
+“Von Behrling dead!” he muttered. “But who—who could have done this?”
+
+“Until this moment,” Bellamy answered dryly, “it was not a matter
+concerning which we had any doubt. The only wonder to us was that it
+should have been done too late.”
+
+“You mean,” Streuss said slowly, “that he was murdered after he had
+completed his bargain with you?”
+
+“Naturally.”
+
+“I suppose,” the Baron continued, “there is no question but that it was
+done afterwards? You smile,” he exclaimed, “but what am I to think?
+Neither I nor my people had any hand in this deed. How about yours?”
+
+Bellamy shook his head.
+
+“We do not fight that way,” he replied. “I had bought Von Behrling. He
+was of no further interest to me. I did not care whether he lived or
+died.”
+
+“There is something very strange about this,” the Baron said. “If
+neither you nor I were responsible for his death, who was?”
+
+“That I can’t tell you. Perhaps later in the day we shall hear from the
+police. It is scarcely the sort of murder which would remain long
+undetected, especially as he was robbed of a large sum in bank-notes.”
+
+“Supplied by His Majesty’s Government, I presume?” Streuss remarked.
+
+“Precisely,” Bellamy assented, “and paid to him by me.”
+
+“At any rate,” Streuss said grimly, “we have now no more secrets from
+one another. I will ask you one last question. Where is that packet at
+the present moment?”
+
+Bellamy raised his eyebrows.
+
+“It is a question,” he declared, “which you could scarcely expect me to
+answer.”
+
+“I will put it another way,” Streuss continued. “Supposing you decide
+to accept my offer, how long will it be before the packet can be placed
+in my hands?”
+
+“If we decide to accept,” Bellamy answered, “there is no reason why
+there should be any delay at all.”
+
+Streuss was silent for several moments. His hands were thrust deep down
+into the pockets of his overcoat. With eyes fixed upon the tablecloth,
+he seemed to be thinking deeply, till presently he raised his head and
+looked steadily at Bellamy.
+
+“You are sure that Von Behrling has not fooled you? You are sure that
+you have that identical packet?”
+
+“I am absolutely certain that I have,” Bellamy answered, without
+flinching.
+
+“Then accept my price and have done with this matter,” Streuss begged.
+“I will sign a draft for you here, and I will undertake to bring you
+the money, or honor it wherever you say, within twenty-four hours.”
+
+“I cannot decide so quickly,” said Bellamy, shaking his head.
+“Mademoiselle Idiale and I must talk together first. I am not sure,” he
+added, “whether I might not find a higher bidder.”
+
+Streuss laughed mirthlessly.
+
+“There is little fear of that,” he said. “The papers are of no use
+except to us and to England. To England, I will admit that the
+foreknowledge of what is to come would be worth much, although the
+eventful result would be the same. It is for that reason that I am
+here, for that reason that I have made you this offer.”
+
+“Mademoiselle and I must discuss it,” Bellamy declared. “It is not a
+matter to be decided upon off-hand. Remember that it is not only the
+packet which you are offering to buy, but also my career and my honor.”
+
+“One hundred thousand pounds,” Streuss said slowly. “From your own side
+you get nothing—nothing but your beggarly salary and an occasional
+reprimand. One hundred thousand pounds is not immense wealth, but it is
+something.”
+
+“Your offer is a generous one,” admitted Bellamy, “there is no doubt
+about that. On the other hand, I cannot decide without further
+consideration. It is a big thing for us, remember. I have worked very
+hard for the contents of that packet.”
+
+Once more Streuss felt an uneasy pang of incredulity. After all, was
+this Englishman playing with him? So he asked: “You are quite sure that
+you have it?”
+
+“There is no means of convincing you of which I care to make use. You
+must be content with my word. I have the packet. I paid Von Behrling
+for it and he gave it to me with his own hands.”
+
+“I must accept your word,” Streuss declared. “I give you three days for
+reflection. Before I go, Mr. Bellamy, forgive me if I refer once more
+to this,”—touching the newspaper which still lay upon the table.
+“Remember that Rudolph Von Behrling moved about a marked man. Your
+spies and mine were most of the time upon his heels. Yet in the end
+some third person seems to have intervened. Are you quite sure that you
+know nothing of this?”
+
+“Upon my honor,” Bellamy replied, “I have not the slightest information
+concerning Von Behrling’s death beyond what you can read there. It was
+as great a surprise to me as to you.”
+
+“It is incomprehensible,” Streuss murmured.
+
+“One can only conclude,” Bellamy remarked thoughtfully, “that someone
+must have seen him with those notes. There were people moving about in
+the little restaurant where we met. The rustle of bank-notes has cost
+more than one man his life.
+
+“For the present,” Streuss said, “we must believe that it was so.
+Listen to me, both of you. You will be wiser if you do not delay. You
+are young people, and the world is before you. With money one can do
+everything. Without it, life is but a slavery. The world is full of
+beautiful dwelling-places for those who have the means to choose.
+Remember, too, that not a soul will ever know of this transaction, if
+you should decide to accept my offer.”
+
+“We shall remember all those things,” Bellamy assured him.
+
+Streuss took up his hat and gloves.
+
+“With your permission, then, Mademoiselle,” he concluded, turning to
+Louise, “I go. I must try and understand for myself the meaning of this
+thing which has happened to Von Behrling.”
+
+“Do not forget,” Bellamy said, “that if you discover anything, we are
+equally interested.”...
+
+They heard him go out. Bellamy purposely held the door open until he
+saw the lift descend. Then he closed it firmly and came back into the
+room. Louise and he looked at each other, their faces full of anxious
+questioning.
+
+“What does it mean?” Louise cried. “What can it mean?”
+
+“Heaven alone knows!” Bellamy answered. “There is not a gleam of
+daylight. My people are absolutely innocent of any attempt upon Von
+Behrling. If Streuss tells the truth, and I believe he does, his people
+are in the same position. Who, then, in the name of all that is
+miraculous, can have murdered and robbed Von Behrling?”
+
+“In London, too,” Louise murmured. “It is not Vienna, this, or
+Belgrade.”
+
+“You are right,” Bellamy agreed. “London is one of the most law-abiding
+cities in Europe. Besides, the quarter where the murder occurred is
+entirely unfrequented by the criminal classes. It is simply a region of
+great banks and the offices of merchant princes.
+
+“Is it possible that there is some one else who knew about that
+document?” Louise asked,—“some one else who has been watching Von
+Behrling?”
+
+Bellamy shook his head.
+
+“How can that be? Besides, if any one else were really on his track,
+they must have believed that he had parted with it to me. I shall go
+back now to Downing Street to ask for a letter to the Chief of Scotland
+Yard. If anything comes out, I must have plenty of warning.”
+
+“And I,” she said, with an approving nod, “shall go back to bed again.
+These days are too strenuous for me. Won’t you stay and take your
+coffee with me?”
+
+Bellamy held her hand for a moment in his.
+
+“Dear,” he said, “I would stay, but you understand, don’t you, what a
+maze this is into which we have wandered. Von Behrling has been
+murdered by some person who seems to have dropped from the skies.
+Whoever they may be, they have in their possession my twenty thousand
+pounds and the packet which should have been mine. I must trace them if
+I can, Louise. It is a poor chance, but I must do my best. I myself am
+of the opinion that Von Behrling was murdered for the money, and for
+the money only. If so, that packet may be in the hands of people who
+have no idea what use to make of it. They may even destroy it. If
+Streuss returns and you are forced to see him, be careful. Remember, we
+have the document—we are hesitating. So long as he believes that it is
+in our possession, he will not look elsewhere.”
+
+“I will be careful,” Louise promised, with her arms around his neck.
+“And, dear, take care. When I think of poor Rudolph Von Behrling, I
+tremble, also, for you. It seems to me that your danger is no less than
+his.”
+
+“I do not go about with twenty thousand pounds in my pocket-book,” with
+a smile.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“No, but Streuss believes that you have the document which he is
+pledged to recover. Be careful that they do not lead you into a trap.
+They are not above anything, these men. I heard once of a Bulgarian in
+Vienna who was tortured—tortured almost to death—before he spoke. Then
+they thrust him into a lunatic asylum. Remember, dear, they have no
+consciences and no pity.”
+
+“We are in London,” he reminded her.
+
+“So was Von Behrling,” she answered quickly,—“not only in London but in
+a safe part of London. Yet he is dead.”
+
+“It was not their doing,” he declared. “In their own country, they have
+the whole machinery of their wonderful police system at their backs,
+and no fear of the law in their hearts. Here they must needs go
+cautiously. I don’t think you need be afraid,” he added, smiling, as he
+opened the door. “I think I can promise you that if you will do me the
+honor we will sup together to-night.”
+
+“You must fetch me from the Opera House,” Louise insisted. “It is a
+bargain. I have suffered enough neglect at your hands. One thing,
+David,—where do you go first from here?”
+
+“To find the man,” Bellamy answered gravely, “who was watching Von
+Behrling when he left me. If any man in England knows anything of the
+murder, it must be he. He should be at my rooms by now.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII STEPHEN LAVERICK’S CONSCIENCE
+
+
+Stephen Laverick was a bachelor—his friends called him an incorrigible
+one. He had a small but pleasantly situated suite of rooms in Whitehall
+Court, looking out upon the river. His habits were almost monotonous in
+their regularity, and the morning following his late night in the city
+was no exception to the general rule. At eight o’clock, the valet
+attached to the suite knocked at his door and informed him that his
+bath was ready. He awoke at once from a sound sleep, sat up in bed, and
+remembered the events of the preceding evening.
+
+At first he was inclined to doubt that slowly stirring effort of
+memory. He was a man of unromantic temperament, unimaginative, and by
+no means of an adventurous turn of mind. He sought naturally for the
+most reasonable explanation of this strange picture, which no effort of
+his will could dismiss from his memory. It was a dream, of course. But
+the dream did not fade. Slowly it spread itself out so that he could no
+longer doubt. He knew very well as he sat there on the edge of his bed
+that the thing was truth. He, Stephen Laverick, a man hitherto of
+upright character, with a reputation of which unconsciously he was
+proud, had robbed a dead man, had looked into the burning eyes of his
+murderer, had stolen away with twenty thousand pounds of someone else’s
+money. Morally, at any rate,—probably legally as well,—he was a thief.
+A glimpse inside his safe on the part of an astute detective might very
+easily bring him under the grave suspicion of being a criminal of
+altogether deeper dye.
+
+Stephen Laverick was, in his way, something of a philosopher. In the
+cold daylight, with the sound of the water running into his bath, this
+deed which he had done seemed to him foolish and reprehensible.
+Nevertheless, he realized the absolute finality of his action. The
+thing was done; he must make the best of it. Behaving in every way like
+a sensible man, he did not send for the newspapers and search
+hysterically for their account of last night’s tragedy, but took his
+bath as usual, dressed with more than ordinary care, and sat down to
+his breakfast before he even unfolded the paper. The item for which he
+searched occupied by no means so prominent a position as he had
+expected. It appeared under one of the leading headlines, but it
+consisted of only a few words. He read them with interest but without
+emotion. Afterwards he turned to the Stock Exchange quotations and made
+notes of a few prices in which he was interested.
+
+He completed in leisurely fashion an excellent breakfast and followed
+his usual custom of walking along the Embankment as far as the Royal
+Hotel, where he called a taxicab and drove to his offices. A little
+crowd had gathered around the end of the passage which led from Crooked
+Friars, and Laverick himself leaned forward and looked curiously at the
+spot where the body of the murdered man had lain. It seemed hard to him
+to reconstruct last night’s scene in his mind now that the narrow
+street was filled with hurrying men and a stream of vehicles blocked
+every inch of the roadway. In his early morning mood the thing was
+impossible. In a moment or two he paid his driver and dismissed him.
+
+He fancied that a certain relief was visible among his clerks when he
+opened the door at precisely his usual time and with a cheerful
+“Good-morning!” made his way into the private office. He lit his
+customary cigarette and dealt rapidly with the correspondence which was
+brought in to him by his head-clerk. Afterwards, as soon as he was
+alone, he opened the safe, thrust the contents of that inner drawer
+into his breast-pocket, and took up once more his hat and gloves.
+
+“I am going around to the bank,” he told his clerk as he passed out. “I
+shall be back in half-an-hour—perhaps less.”
+
+“Very good, sir,” the man answered. “Will Mr. Morrison be here this
+morning?”
+
+Laverick hesitated.
+
+“No, Mr. Morrison will not be here to-day.”
+
+It was only a few steps to his bankers, and his request for an
+interview with the manager was immediately granted. The latter received
+him kindly but with a certain restraint. There are not many secrets in
+the city, and Morrison’s big plunge on a particular mining share,
+notwithstanding its steady drop, had been freely commented upon.
+
+“What can I do for you, Mr. Laverick?” the banker asked.
+
+“I am not sure,” answered Laverick. “To tell you the truth, I am in a
+somewhat singular position.”
+
+The banker nodded. He had not a doubt but that he understood exactly
+what that position was.
+
+“You have perhaps heard,” Laverick continued slowly, “that my late
+partner, Mr. Morrison,—”
+
+“Late partner?” the manager interrupted.
+
+Laverick assented.
+
+“We had a few words last night,” he explained “and Mr. Morrison left
+the office with an understanding between us that he should not return.
+You will receive a formal intimation of that during the course of the
+next day or so. We will revert to the matter presently, if you wish. My
+immediate business with you is to discuss the fact that I have to
+provide something like twenty thousand pounds to-day if I decide to
+take up the purchases of stock which Morrison has made.”
+
+“You understand the position, of course, Mr. Laverick, if you fail to
+do so?” the manager remarked gravely.
+
+“Naturally,” Laverick answered. “I am quite aware of the fact that
+Morrison acted on behalf of the firm and that I am responsible for his
+transactions. He has plunged pretty deeply, though, a great deal more
+deeply than our capital warranted. I may add that I had not the
+slightest idea as to the extent of his dealings.”
+
+The bank manager adopted a sympathetic but serious attitude.
+
+“Twenty thousand pounds,” he declared, “is a great deal of money, Mr.
+Laverick.”
+
+“It is a great deal of money,” Laverick admitted. “I am here to ask you
+to lend it to me.”
+
+The bank manager raised his eyebrows.
+
+“My dear Mr. Laverick!” he exclaimed reproachfully.
+
+“Upon unimpeachable security,” Laverick continued. The bank manager was
+conscious that he had allowed a little start of surprise to escape him,
+and bit his lip with annoyance. It was entirely contrary to his tenets
+to display at any time during office hours any sort of emotion.
+
+“Unimpeachable security,” he repeated. “Of course, if you have that to
+offer, Mr. Laverick, although the sum is a large one, it is our
+business to see what we can do for you.”
+
+“My security is of the best,” Laverick declared grimly. “I have
+bank-notes here, Mr. Fenwick, for twenty thousand pounds.”
+
+The bank manager was again guilty of an unprofessional action. He
+whistled softly under his breath. A very respectable client he had
+always considered Mr. Stephen Laverick, but he had certainly never
+suspected him of being able to produce at a pinch such evidence of
+means. Laverick smoothed out the notes and laid them upon the table.
+
+“Mr. Fenwick,” he said, “I believe I am right in assuming that when one
+comes to one’s bankers, one enters, as it were, into a confessional. I
+feel convinced that nothing which I say to you will be repeated outside
+this office, or will be allowed to dwell in your own mind except with
+reference to this particular transaction between you and me. I have the
+right, have I not, to take that for granted?”
+
+“Most certainly,” the banker agreed.
+
+“From a strictly ethical point of view,” Laverick went on, “this money
+is not mine. I hold it in trust for its owner, but I hold it without
+any conditions. I have power to make what use I wish of it, and I
+choose to-day to use it on my own behalf. Whether I am justified or not
+is scarcely a matter, I presume, which concerns this excellent banking
+establishment over which you preside so ably. I do not pay these
+bank-notes in to my account and ask you to credit me with twenty
+thousand pounds. I ask you to allow me to deposit them here for seven
+days as security against an overdraft. You can then advance me enough
+money to meet my engagements of to-day.”
+
+The banker took up the notes and looked them through, one by one. They
+were very crisp, very new, and absolutely genuine.
+
+“This is somewhat an extraordinary proceeding, Mr. Laverick,” he said.
+
+“I have no doubt that it must seem so to you,” Laverick admitted. “At
+the same time, there the money is. You can run no risk. If I am
+exceeding my moral right in making use of these notes, it is I who will
+have to pay. Will you do as I ask?”
+
+The banker hesitated. The transaction was somewhat a peculiar one, but
+on the face of it there could be no possible risk. At the same time,
+there was something about it which he could not understand.
+
+“Your wish, Mr. Laverick,” he remarked, looking at him thoughtfully,
+“seems to be to keep these notes out of circulation.”
+
+Laverick returned his gaze without flinching.
+
+“In a sense, that is so,” he assented.
+
+“On the whole,” the banker declared, “I should prefer to credit them to
+your account in the usual way.”
+
+“I am sorry,” Laverick answered, “but I have a sentimental feeling
+about it. I prefer to keep the notes intact. If you cannot follow out
+my suggestion, I must remove my account at once. This isn’t a threat,
+Mr. Fenwick,—you will understand that, I am sure. It is simply a matter
+of business, and owing to Morrison’s speculations I have no time for
+arguments. I am quite satisfied to remain in your hands, but my feeling
+in the matter is exactly as I have stated, and I cannot change. If you
+are to retain my account, my engagements for to-day must be met
+precisely in the way I have pointed out.”
+
+The banker excused himself and left the room for a few moments. When he
+returned, he shrugged his shoulders with the air of one who is giving
+in to an unreasonable client.
+
+“It shall be as you say, Mr. Laverick,” he announced. “The notes are
+placed upon deposit. Your engagements to-day up to twenty thousand
+pounds shall be duly honored.”
+
+Laverick shook hands with him, talked for a moment or two about
+indifferent matters, and strolled back towards his office. He had
+rather the sense of a man who moves in a dream, who is living, somehow,
+in a life which doesn’t belong to him. He was doing the impossible. He
+knew very well that his name was in every one’s mouth. People were
+looking at him sympathetically, wondering how he could have been such a
+fool as to become the victim of an irresponsible speculator. No one
+ever imagined that he would be able to keep his engagements. And he had
+done it. The price might be a great one, but he was prepared to pay. At
+any moment the sensational news might be upon the placards, and the
+whole world might know that the man who had been murdered in Crooked
+Friars last night had first been robbed of twenty thousand pounds. So
+far he had felt himself curiously free from anything in the shape of
+direct apprehensions. Already, however, the shadow was beginning to
+fall. Even as he entered his office, the sight of a stranger offering
+office files for sale made him start. He half expected to feel a hand
+upon his shoulder, a few words whispered in his ear. He set his teeth
+tight. This was his risk and he must take it.
+
+For several hours he remained in his office, engaged in a scheme for
+the redirection of its policy. With the absence of Morrison, too, there
+were other changes to be made,—changes in the nature of the business
+they were prepared to handle, limits to be fixed. It was not until
+nearly luncheon time that the telephone, the simultaneous arrival of
+several clients, and the breathless entry of his own head-clerk rushing
+in from the house, told him what was going on.
+
+“‘Unions’ have taken their turn at last!” the clerk announced, in an
+excited tone. “They sagged a little this morning, but since eleven they
+have been going steadily up. Just now there seems to be a boom.
+Listen.”
+
+Laverick heard the roar of voices in the street, and nodded. He was
+prepared to be surprised at nothing.
+
+“They were bound to go within a day or two,” he remarked. “Morrison
+wasn’t an absolute idiot.”
+
+The luncheon hour passed. The excitement in the city grew. By three
+o’clock, ten thousand pounds would have covered all of Laverick’s
+engagements. Just before closing-time, it was even doubtful whether he
+might not have borrowed every penny without security at all. He took it
+all quite calmly and as a matter of course. He left the office a little
+earlier than usual, and every man whom he met stopped to slap him on
+the back and chaff him. He escaped as soon as he could, bought the
+evening papers, found a taxicab, and as soon as he had started spread
+them open. It was a remarkable proof of the man’s self-restraint that
+at no time during the afternoon had he sent out for one of these early
+editions. He turned them over now with firm fingers. There was
+absolutely no fresh news. No one had come forward with any suggestion
+as to the identity of the murdered man. All day long the body had lain
+in the Mortuary, visited by a constant stream of the curious, but
+presumably unrecognized. Laverick could scarcely believe the words he
+read. The thing seemed ludicrously impossible. The twenty thousand
+pounds must have come from some one. Why did they keep silence? What
+was the mystery about it? Could it be that they were not in a position
+to disclose the fact? Curiously enough, this unnatural absence of news
+inspired him with something which was almost fear. He had taken his
+risks boldly enough. Now that Fate was playing him this unexpectedly
+good turn, he was conscious of a growing nervousness. Who could he have
+been, this man? Whence could he have derived this great sum? One person
+at least must know that he had been robbed—the man who murdered him
+must know it. A cold shiver passed through Laverick’s veins at the
+thought. Somewhere in London there must be a man thirsting for his
+blood, a man who had committed a murder in vain and been robbed of his
+spoil.
+
+Laverick had no engagements for that evening, but instead of going to
+his club he drove straight to his rooms, meaning to change a little
+early for dinner and go to a theatre. He found there, however, a small
+boy waiting for him with a note in his hand. It was addressed in pencil
+only, and his name was printed upon it.
+
+Laverick tore it open with a haste which he only imperfectly concealed.
+There was something ominous to him in those printed characters. Its
+contents, however, were short enough.
+
+   DEAR LAVERICK,
+   I must see you. Come the moment you get this. Come without fail, for
+   your own sake and mine. A. M.
+
+Laverick looked at the boy. His fingers were trembling, but it was with
+relief. The note was from Morrison.
+
+“There is no address here,” he remarked.
+
+“The gent said as I was to take you back with me,” the boy answered.
+
+“Is it far?” Laverick asked.
+
+“Close to Red Lion Square,” the boy declared. “Not more nor five
+minutes in one of them taxicabs. The gent said we was to take one. He
+is in a great hurry to see you.”
+
+Laverick did not hesitate a moment.
+
+“Very well,” he said, “we’ll start at once.”
+
+He put on his hat again and waited while the commissionaire called them
+a taxicab.
+
+“What address?” he asked.
+
+“Number 7, Theobald Square,” the boy said. Laverick nodded and repeated
+the address to the driver.
+
+“What the dickens can Morrison be doing in a part like that!” he
+thought, as they passed up Northumberland Avenue.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV ARTHUR MORRISON’S COLLAPSE
+
+
+The Square was a small one, and in a particularly unsavory
+neighborhood. Laverick, who had once visited his partner’s somewhat
+extensive suite of rooms in Jermyn Street, rang the bell doubtfully.
+The door was opened almost at once, not by a servant but by a young
+lady who was obviously expecting him. Before he could open his lips to
+frame an inquiry, she had closed the door behind him.
+
+“Will you please come this way?” she said timidly.
+
+Laverick found himself in a small sitting-room, unexpectedly neat, and
+with the plainness of its furniture relieved by certain undeniable
+traces of some cultured presence. The girl who had followed him stood
+with her back to the door, a little out of breath. Laverick
+contemplated her in surprise. She was under medium height, with small
+pale face and wonderful dark eyes. Her brown hair was parted in the
+middle and arranged low down, so that at first, taking into account her
+obvious nervousness, he thought that she was a child. When she spoke,
+however, he knew that for some reason she was afraid. Her voice was
+soft and low, but it was the voice of a woman.
+
+“It is Mr. Laverick, is it not?” she asked, looking at him eagerly.
+
+“My name is Stephen Laverick,” he admitted. “I understood that I should
+find Mr. Arthur Morrison here.”
+
+“Yes,” the girl answered, “he sent for you. The note was from him. He
+is here.”
+
+She made no movement to summon him. She still stood, in fact, with her
+back to the door. Laverick was distinctly puzzled. He felt himself
+unable to place this timid, childlike woman, with her terrified face
+and beautiful eyes. He had never heard Morrison speak of having any
+relations. His presence in such a locality, indeed, was hard to
+understand unless he had met with an accident. Morrison was one of
+those young men who would have chosen Hell with a “W” rather than
+Heaven E. C.
+
+“I am afraid,” Laverick said, “that for some reason or other you are
+afraid of me. I can assure you that I am quite harmless,” he added
+smiling. “Won’t you sit down and tell me what is the matter? Is Mr.
+Morrison in any trouble?”
+
+“Yes,” she answered, “he is. As for me, I am terrified.”
+
+She came a little away from the door. Laverick was a man who inspired
+trust. His tone, too, was unusually kind. He had the protective
+instinct of a big man toward a small woman.
+
+“Come and tell me all about it,” he suggested. “I expected to hear that
+he had gone abroad.”
+
+“Mr. Laverick,” she said, looking up at him tremulously. “I was hoping
+that you could have told me what it was that had come to him.”
+
+“Well, that rather depends,” Laverick answered. “We certainly had a
+terribly anxious time yesterday. Our business has been most
+unfortunate—”
+
+“Yes, yes!” the girl interrupted. “Please go on. There have been
+business troubles, then.”
+
+“Rather,” Laverick continued. “Last night they reached such a pitch
+that I gave Morrison some money and it was agreed that he should leave
+the firm and try his luck somewhere else. I quite understood that he
+was going abroad.”
+
+The girl seemed, for some reason, relieved.
+
+“There was something, then,” she said, half to herself. “There was
+something. Oh, I am glad of that! You were angry with him, perhaps, Mr.
+Laverick?”
+
+Laverick stood with his back to the little fireplace and with his hands
+behind him—a commanding figure in the tiny room full of feminine
+trifles. He looked a great deal more at his ease than he really was.
+
+“Perhaps I was inclined to be short-tempered,” he admitted. “You see,
+to be frank with you, the department of our business that was going
+wrong was the one over which Morrison has had sole control. He had
+entered into certain speculations which I considered unjustifiable.
+To-day, however, matters took an unexpected turn for the better.”
+
+Almost as he spoke his face clouded. Morrison, of course, would be
+triumphant. Perhaps he would even expect to be reinstated. For many
+reasons, this was a thing which Laverick did not desire.
+
+“Now tell me,” he continued, “what is the matter with Morrison, and why
+has he sent for me, and, if you will pardon my saying so, why is he
+here instead of in his own rooms?”
+
+“I will explain,” she began softly.
+
+“You will please explain sitting down,” he said firmly. “And don’t look
+so terrified,” he added, with a little laugh. “I can assure you that I
+am not going to eat you, or anything of that sort. You make me feel
+quite uncomfortable.”
+
+She smiled for the first time, and Laverick thought that he had never
+seen anything so wonderful as the change in her features. The strained
+rigidity passed away. An altogether softer light gleamed in her
+wonderful eyes. She was certainly by far the prettiest child he had
+ever seen. As yet he could not take her altogether seriously.
+
+“Thank you,” she said, sinking down upon the arm of an easy-chair.
+“first of all, then, Arthur is here because he is my brother.”
+
+“Your brother!” Laverick repeated wonderingly.
+
+Somehow or other, he had never associated Morrison with relations.
+Besides, this meant that she must be of his race. There was nothing in
+her face to denote it except the darkness of her eyes, and that
+nameless charm of manner, a sort of ultra-sensitiveness, which belongs
+sometimes to the highest type of Jews. It was not a quality, Laverick
+thought, which he should have associated with Morrison’s sister.
+
+“My brother, in a way,” she resumed. “Arthur’s father was a widower and
+my mother was a widow when they were married. You are surprised?”
+
+“There is no reason why I should be,” he answered, curiously relieved
+at her last statement. “Your brother and I have been connected in
+business for some years. We have seen very little of one another
+outside.”
+
+“I dare say,” she continued, still timidly, “that Arthur’s friends
+would not be your friends, and that he wouldn’t care for the same sort
+of things. You see, my mother is dead and also his father, and as we
+aren’t really related at all, I cannot expect that he would come to see
+me very often. Last night, though, quite late—long after I had gone to
+bed—he rang the bell here. I was frightened, for just now I am all
+alone, and my servant only comes in the morning. So I looked out of the
+window and I saw him on the pavement, huddled up against the door. I
+hurried down and let him in. Mr. Laverick,” she went on, with an
+appealing glance at him, “I have never seen any one look like it. He
+was terrified to death. Something seemed to have happened which had
+taken away from him even the power of speech. He pushed past me into
+this room, threw himself into that chair,” she added, pointing across
+the room, “and he sobbed and beat his hands upon his knees as though he
+were a woman in a fit of hysterics. His clothes were all untidy, he was
+as pale as death, and his eyes looked as though they were ready to
+start out of his head.”
+
+“You must indeed have been frightened,” Laverick said softly.
+
+“Frightened! I shall never forget it! I did not sleep all night. He
+would tell me nothing—he has scarcely spoken a sensible word. Early
+this morning I persuaded him to go upstairs, and made him lie down. He
+has taken two draughts which I bought from the chemist, but he has not
+slept. Every now and then he tries to get up, but in a minute or two he
+throws himself down on the bed again and hides his face. If any one
+rings at the bell, he shrieks. If he hears a footfall in the street,
+even, he calls out for me. Mr. Laverick, I have never been so
+frightened in my life. I didn’t know whom to send for or what to do.
+When he wrote that note to you I was so relieved. You can’t imagine how
+glad I am to think you have come!”
+
+Laverick’s eyes were full of sympathy. One could see that the scene of
+last night had risen up again before her eyes. She was shrinking back,
+and the terror was upon her once more. He moved over to her side, and
+with an impulse which, when he thought of it afterwards, amazed him,
+laid his hand gently upon her shoulder.
+
+“Don’t worry yourself thinking about it,” he said. “I will talk to your
+brother. We did have words, I’ll admit, last night, but there wasn’t
+the slightest reason why it should have upset him in this way. Things
+in the city were shocking yesterday, but they have improved a great
+deal to-day. Let me go upstairs and I’ll try and pump some courage into
+him.”
+
+“You are so kind,” she murmured, suddenly dropping her hands from
+before her face and looking up at him with shining eyes, “so very kind.
+Will you come, then?”
+
+She rose and he followed her out of the room, up the stairs, and into a
+tiny bedroom. Laverick had no time to look around, but it seemed to
+him, notwithstanding the cheap white furniture and very ordinary
+appointments, that the same note of dainty femininity pervaded this
+little apartment as the one below.
+
+“It is my room,” she said shyly. “There is no other properly furnished,
+and I thought that he might sleep upon the bed.”
+
+“Perhaps he is asleep now,” Laverick whispered.
+
+Even as he spoke, the dark figure stretched upon the sheets sprang into
+a sitting posture. Laverick was conscious of a distinct shock. It was
+Morrison, still wearing the clothes in which he had left the office,
+his collar crushed out of all shape, his tie vanished. His black hair,
+usually so shiny and perfectly arranged, was all disordered. Out of his
+staring eyes flashed an expression which one sees seldom in life,—an
+expression of real and mortal terror.
+
+“Who is it?” he cried out, and even his voice was unrecognizable. “Who
+is that? What do you want?”
+
+“It is I—Laverick,” Laverick answered. “What on earth is the matter
+with you, man?”
+
+Morrison drew a quick breath. Some part of the terror seemed to leave
+his face, but he was still an alarming-looking object. Laverick quietly
+opened the door and laid his hand upon the girl’s shoulder.
+
+“Will you leave us alone?” he asked. “I will come and talk to you
+afterwards, if I may.”
+
+She nodded understandingly, and passed out. Laverick closed the door
+and came up to the bedside.
+
+“What in the name of thunder has come over you, Morrison?” he said.
+“Are you ill, or what is it?”
+
+Morrison opened his lips—opened them twice—without any sort of sound
+issuing.
+
+“This is absurd!” Laverick exclaimed protestingly. “I have been feeling
+worried myself, but there’s nothing so terrifying in losing one’s
+money, after all. As a matter of fact, things are altogether better in
+the city to-day. You made a big mistake in taking us out of our depth,
+but we are going to pull through, after all. ‘Unions’ have been going
+up all day.”
+
+Laverick’s presence, and the sound of his even, matter-of-fact tone,
+seemed to act like a tonic upon his late partner. He made no reference,
+however, to Laverick’s words.
+
+“You got my note?” he asked hoarsely.
+
+“Naturally I got it,” Laverick answered impatiently, “and I came at
+once. Try and pull yourself together. Sit up and tell me what you are
+doing here, frightening your sister out of her life.”
+
+Morrison groaned.
+
+“I came here,” he muttered, “because I dared not go to my own rooms. I
+was afraid!”
+
+Laverick struggled with the contempt he felt.
+
+“Man alive,” he exclaimed, “what was there to be afraid of?”
+
+“You don’t know!” Morrison faltered. “You don’t know!”
+
+Then, for the first time, it occurred to Laverick that perhaps the
+financial crisis in their affairs was not the only thing which had
+reduced his late partner to this hopeless state. He looked at him
+narrowly.
+
+“Where did you go last night,” he asked, “when you left me?”
+
+“Nowhere,” Morrison gasped. “I came here.”
+
+Laverick made a space for himself at the end of the bed, and sat down.
+
+“Look here,” he said, “it’s no use sending for me unless you mean to
+tell me everything. Have you been getting yourself into any trouble
+apart from our affairs, or is there anything in connection with them
+which I don’t know?”
+
+Again Morrison opened his lips, and again, for some reason or other, he
+remained speechless. Then a certain fear came also upon Laverick. There
+was something in Morrison’s state which was in itself terrifying.
+
+“You had better tell me all about it,” Laverick persisted, “whatever it
+is. I will help you if I can.”
+
+Morrison shook his head. There was a glass of water by his side. He
+thrust his finger into it and passed it across his lips. They were dry,
+almost cracking.
+
+“Look here,” he said, “I’ve got a breakdown—that’s what’s the matter
+with me. My nerves were never good. I’m afraid of going mad. The
+anxiety of the last few weeks has been too much for me. I want to get
+out of the country quickly, and I don’t know how to manage it. I can’t
+think. Directly I try to think my head goes round.”
+
+“There is nothing in the world to prevent your going away,” Laverick
+answered. “It is the simplest matter possible. Even if we had gone
+under to-day, no one could have stopped your going wherever you chose
+to go. Ruin, even if it had been ruin,—and I told you just now that
+business was better,—is not a crime. Pull yourself together, for
+Heaven’s sake, man! You should be ashamed to come here and frighten
+that poor little girl downstairs almost to death.”
+
+Morrison gripped his partner’s arm.
+
+“You must do as I ask,” he declared hoarsely. “It doesn’t matter about
+prices being better. I want to get away. You must help me.”
+
+Laverick looked at him steadily. Morrison was an ordinary young man of
+his type, something of a swaggerer, probably at heart a coward. But
+this was no ordinary fear—not even the ordinary fear of a coward.
+Laverick’s face became graver. There was something else, then!
+
+“I will get you out of the country if I can,” said he. “There is no
+difficulty about it at all unless you are concealing something from me.
+You can catch a fast steamer to-morrow, either for South Africa or New
+York, but before I make any definite plans, hadn’t you better tell me
+exactly what happened last night?”
+
+Once more Morrison’s lips parted without the ability to frame words.
+Then a feeble moan escaped him. He threw up his hands and his head fell
+back. The ghastliness of his face spread almost to his lips, and he
+sank back among the pillows. Laverick strode across the room to the
+door.
+
+“Are you anywhere about?” he called out.
+
+The girl was by his side in a moment.
+
+“There is nothing to be alarmed at,” he said, “but your brother has
+fainted. Bring me some sal volatile if you have it, and I think that
+you had better run out and get a doctor. I will stay with him. I know
+exactly what to do.”
+
+She pointed to the dressing-table, where a little bottle was standing,
+and ran downstairs without a word. Laverick mixed some of the spirit,
+and moved over to the side of the fainting man.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV LAVERICK’s PARTNER FLEES
+
+
+The doctor, a grave, incurious person, arrived within a few minutes to
+find Morrison already conscious but absolutely exhausted. He felt his
+patient’s pulse, prescribed a draught, and followed Laverick down into
+the sitting room.
+
+“An ordinary case of nervous exhaustion,” he pronounced. “The patient
+appears to have had a very severe shock lately. He will be all right
+with proper diet and treatment, and a complete rest. I will call again
+to-morrow.”
+
+He accepted the fee which Laverick slipped into his hand, and took his
+departure. Once more Laverick was alone with the girl, who had followed
+them downstairs.
+
+“There is nothing to be alarmed at, you see,” he remarked.
+
+“It is not his health which frightens me. I am sure—I am quite sure
+that he has something upon his mind. Did he tell you nothing?”
+
+“Nothing at all,” Laverick answered, with an inward sense of
+thankfulness. “To tell you the truth, though, I am afraid you are right
+and that he did get into some sort of trouble last night. He was just
+about to tell me something when he fainted.”
+
+Upstairs they could hear him moaning. The girl listened with pitiful
+face.
+
+“What am I to do?” she asked. “I cannot leave him like this, and if I
+am not at the theatre in twenty minutes, I shall be fined.”
+
+“The theatre?” Laverick repeated.
+
+She nodded.
+
+“I am on the stage,” she said,—“only a chorus girl at the Universal,
+worse luck. Still, they don’t allow us to stay away, and I can’t afford
+to lose my place.”
+
+“Do you mean to say that you have been keeping yourself here, then?”
+Laverick asked bluntly.
+
+“Of course,” she answered. “I do not like to be a burden on any one,
+and after all, you see, Arthur and I are really not related at all. He
+has always told me, too, that times have been so bad lately.”
+
+Laverick was on the point of telling her that bad though they had been
+Arthur Morrison had never drawn less than fifteen hundred a year, but
+he checked himself. It was not his business to interfere.
+
+“I think,” he said, “that your brother ought to have provided for you.
+He could have done so with very little effort.”
+
+“But what am I to do now?” she asked him. “If I am absent, I shall lose
+my place.”
+
+Laverick thought for a moment.
+
+“If you went round there and told them,” he suggested, “would that make
+any difference? I could stay until you came back.”
+
+“Do you mind?” she asked eagerly. “It would be so kind of you.”
+
+“Not at all,” he answered. “Perhaps you would be good enough to bring a
+taxicab back, and I could take it on to my rooms. Take one from here,
+if you can find it. There are always some at the corner.”
+
+“I’d love to,” she answered. “I must run upstairs and get my hat and
+coat.”
+
+He watched her go up on tiptoe for fear of disturbing her brother. Her
+feet seemed almost unearthly in the lightness of their pressure. Not a
+board creaked. She seemed to float down to him in a most becoming
+little hat but a shockingly shabby jacket, of whose deficiencies she
+seemed wholly unaware. Her lips were parted once more in a smile.
+
+“He is fast asleep and breathing quite regularly,” she announced. “It
+is nice of you to stay.”
+
+He looked at her almost jealously.
+
+“Do you know,” he said, “you ought not to go about alone?”
+
+She laughed, softly but heartily.
+
+“Have you any idea how old I am?”
+
+“I took you for fourteen when I came inside,” he answered. “Afterwards
+I thought you might be sixteen. Later on, it seemed to me possible that
+you were eighteen. I am absolutely certain that you are not more than
+nineteen.”
+
+“That shows how little you know about it. I am twenty, and I am quite
+used to going about alone. Will you sit upstairs or here? I am so sorry
+that I have nothing to offer you.”
+
+“Thanks, I need nothing. I think I will sit upstairs in case he wakes.”
+
+She nodded and stole out, closing the door behind her noiselessly.
+Laverick watched her from the window until she was out of sight, moving
+without any appearance of haste, yet with an incredible swiftness. When
+she had turned the corner, he went slowly upstairs and into the room
+where Morrison still lay asleep. He drew a chair to the bedside and
+leaning forward opened out the evening paper. The events of the last
+hour or so had completely blotted out from his mind, for the time
+being, his own expedition into the world of tragical happenings. He
+glanced at the sleeping man, then opened his paper. There was very
+little fresh news except that this time the fact was mentioned that
+upon the body of the murdered man was discovered a sum larger than was
+at first supposed. It seemed doubtful, therefore, whether robbery,
+after all, was the motive of the crime, especially as it took place in
+a neighborhood which was by no means infested with criminals. There was
+a suggestion of political motive, a reference to the “Black Hand,”
+concerning whose doings the papers had been full since the murder of a
+well-known detective a few weeks ago. But apart from this there was
+nothing fresh.
+
+Laverick folded up the paper and leaned back in his chair. The strain
+of the last twenty-four hours was beginning to tell even upon his
+robust constitution. The atmosphere of the room, too, was close. He
+leaned back in his chair and was suddenly weary. Perhaps he dozed. At
+any rate, the whisper which called him back to realization of where he
+was, came to him so unexpectedly that he sat up with a sudden start.
+
+Morrison’s eyes were open, he had raised himself on his elbow, his lips
+were parted. His manner was quieter, but there were black lines deep
+engraven under his eyes, in which there still shone something of that
+haunting fear.
+
+“Laverick!” he repeated hoarsely.
+
+Laverick, fully awakened now, leaned towards him.
+
+“Hullo,” he said, “are you feeling more like yourself?”
+
+Morrison nodded.
+
+“Yes,” he admitted, “I am feeling—better. How did you come here? I
+can’t remember anything.”
+
+“You sent for me,” Laverick answered. “I arrived to find you pretty
+well in a state of collapse. Your sister has gone round to the theatre
+to ask them to excuse her this evening.”
+
+“I remember now that I sent for you,” Morrison continued. “Tell me, has
+any one been around at the office asking after me?”
+
+“No one particular,” Laverick answered,—“no one at all that I can think
+of. There were one or two inquiries through the telephone, but they
+were all ordinary business matters.”
+
+The man on the bed drew a little breath which sounded like a sigh of
+relief.
+
+“I have made a fool of myself, Laverick,” he said hoarsely.
+
+“You are making a worse one of yourself by lying here and giving way,”
+Laverick declared, “besides frightening your sister half to death.”
+
+Morrison passed his hand across his forehead.
+
+“We talked—some time ago,” he went on, “about my getting away. You
+promised that you would help me. You said that I could get off to
+Africa or America to-morrow.”
+
+“Not the slightest difficulty about that,” Laverick answered. “There
+are half-a-dozen steamers sailing, at least. At the same time, I
+suppose I ought to remind you that the firm is going to pull through.
+Mind—don’t take this unkindly but the truth is best—I will not have you
+back again. There may have to be a more definite readjustment of our
+affairs now, but the old business is finished with.”
+
+“I don’t want to come back,” Morrison murmured. “I have had enough of
+the city for the rest of my life. I’d rather get away somewhere and
+make a fresh start. You’ll help me, Laverick, won’t you?”
+
+“Yes, I will help you,” Laverick promised.
+
+“You were always a good sort,” Morrison continued, “much too good for
+me. It was a rotten partnership for you. We could never have pulled
+together.”
+
+“Let that go,” Laverick interrupted. “If you really mean getting away,
+that simplifies matters, of course. Have you made any plans at all?
+Where do you want to go?”
+
+“To New York,” answered Morrison; “New York would suit me best. There
+is money to be made there if one has something to make a start with.”
+
+“There will be some more money to come to you,” Laverick answered,
+“probably a great deal more. I shall place our affairs in the hands of
+an accountant, and shall have an estimate drawn up to yesterday. You
+shall have every penny that is due to you. You have quite enough,
+however, to get there with. I will see to your ticket to-night, if
+possible. When you’ve arrived you can cable me your address, or you can
+decide where you will stay before you leave, and I will send you a
+further remittance.”
+
+“You’re a good sort, Laverick,” Morrison mumbled.
+
+“You’d better give me the key of your rooms,” Laverick continued, “and
+I will go back and put together some of your things. I suppose you will
+not want much to go away with. The rest can be sent on afterwards. And
+what about your letters?”
+
+Morrison, with a sudden movement, threw himself almost out of the bed.
+He clutched at Laverick’s shoulder frantically.
+
+“Don’t go near my rooms, Laverick!” he begged. “Promise me that you
+won’t! I don’t want any letters! I don’t want any of my things!”
+
+Laverick was dumfounded.
+
+“You mean you want to go away without—”
+
+“I mean just what I have said,” Morrison continued hysterically. “If
+you go there they will watch you, they will follow you, they will find
+out where I am. I should be there now but for that.”
+
+Laverick was silent for a moment. The matter was becoming serious.
+
+“Very well,” he said, “I will do as you say. I will not go near your
+rooms. I will get you a few things somewhere to start with.”
+
+Morrison sank back upon his pillow.
+
+“Thank you, Laverick,” he said; “thank you. I wish—I wish—”
+
+His voice seemed to die away. Laverick glanced towards him, wondering
+at the unfinished sentence. Once again the man’s face seemed to be
+convulsed with horror. He flung himself face downward upon the bed and
+tore at the sheets with both his hands.
+
+“Don’t be a fool,” Laverick said sternly. “If you’ve anything on your
+mind apart from business, tell me about it and I’ll do what I can to
+help you.”
+
+Morrison made no reply. He was sobbing now like a child. Laverick rose
+to his feet and went to the window. What was to be done with such a
+creature! When he got back, Morrison had raised himself once more into
+a sitting posture. His appearance was absolutely spectral.
+
+“Laverick,” he said feebly, “there is something else, but I cannot tell
+you—I cannot tell any one.”
+
+“Just as you please, of course,” Laverick answered. “I am simply
+anxious to help you.”
+
+“You can do that as it is!” Morrison exclaimed feverishly. “You must
+promise me something—promise that if any one asks for me to-morrow
+before I get away, you will not tell them where I am. Say you suppose
+that I am at my rooms, or that I have gone into the country for a few
+days. Say that you are expecting me back. Don’t let any one know that I
+have gone abroad, until I am safely away. And then don’t tell a soul
+where I have gone.”
+
+“Have you been up to any tricks with your friends?” Laverick asked
+sternly.
+
+“I haven’t—I swear that I haven’t,” Morrison declared. “It’s something
+quite outside business—quite outside business altogether.”
+
+“Very well,” answered Laverick, “I will promise what you have asked,
+then. Listen—here is your sister back again,” he added, as he heard the
+taxicab stop outside. “Pull yourself together and don’t frighten her so
+much. I am going down to meet her. I shall tell her that you are
+better. Try and buck up when she comes in to see you.”
+
+“I’ll do my best,” Morrison said humbly. “If you knew! If you only
+knew!”
+
+He began to sob again. Laverick left the room and, descending the
+stairs, met the girl in the hall. Her white face questioned him before
+her lips had time to frame the speech.
+
+“Your brother is very much better,” Laverick said. “I am sure that you
+need not be anxious about him.”
+
+“I am so glad,” she murmured. “They let me off but I had to pay a fine.
+I had no idea before that I was so important. Shall I go to him now?”
+
+“One moment,” Laverick answered, holding open the door of the
+sitting-room. “Miss Morrison,” he went on,—
+
+“Miss Leneveu is my name,” she interrupted.
+
+“I beg your pardon. Your brother evidently has something on his mind
+apart from business. I am afraid that he has been getting into some
+sort of trouble. I don’t think there is any object in bothering him
+about it, but the great thing is to get him away.”
+
+“You will help?” she begged.
+
+“I will help, certainly,” Laverick answered. “I have promised to. You
+must see that he is ready to leave here at seven o’clock to-morrow
+morning. He wants to go to New York, and the special to catch the
+German boat will leave Waterloo somewhere about eight to eight-thirty.”
+
+“But his clothes!” she cried. “How can he be ready by then?”
+
+“Your brother does not wish me or any one to go near his rooms or to
+send him any of his belongings,” Laverick continued quietly.
+
+“But how strange!” the girl exclaimed. “Do you mean to say, then, that
+he is going without anything?”
+
+“I am afraid,” Laverick said kindly, “that we must take it for granted
+that your brother has got mixed up in some undesirable business or
+other. He is nervously anxious to keep his whereabouts an entire
+secret. He has been asking me whether any one has been to the office to
+inquire for him. Under the circumstances, I think the best thing we can
+do is to humor him. I shall buy him before to-morrow morning a cheap
+dressing-case and a ready-made suit of clothes, and a few things for
+the voyage. Then I shall send a cab for you both at seven o’clock and
+meet you at the station.
+
+“You are very kind,” she murmured. “What should I have done without
+you? Oh, I cannot think!”
+
+The protective instinct in the man was suddenly strong. Naturally
+unaffectionate, he was conscious of an almost overmastering desire to
+take her hands in his, even to lift her up and kiss away the tears
+which shone in her deep, childlike eyes. He reminded himself that she
+was a stranger, that her appearance of youth was a delusion, that she
+could only construe such an action as a liberty, an impertinence,
+offered under circumstances for which there could be no possible
+excuse.
+
+He moved away towards the door.
+
+“Naturally,” he said, “I am glad to be of use to your brother. You
+see,” he explained, a little awkwardly, “after all, we have been
+partners in business.”
+
+He caught a look upon her face and smiled.
+
+“Naturally, too,” he continued, “it has been a great pleasure for me to
+do anything to relieve your anxiety.”
+
+She gave him her hands then of her own accord. The gratitude which
+shone out of her swimming eyes seemed mingled with something which was
+almost invitation. Laverick was suddenly swept off his feet. Something
+had come into his life—something absurd, uncounted upon,
+incomprehensible. The atmosphere of the room seemed electrified. In a
+moment, he had done what only a second or two before he had told
+himself would be the action of a cad. He had taken her, unresisting, up
+into his arms, kissed her eyes and lips. Afterwards, he was never able
+to remember those few moments clearly, only it seemed to him that she
+had accepted his caress almost without hesitation, with the effortless
+serenity of a child receiving a natural consolation in a time of
+trouble. But Laverick was conscious of other feelings as he leaned hard
+back in the corner of his taxicab and was driven swiftly away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI THE WAITER AT THE “BLACK POST”
+
+
+Laverick, notwithstanding that the hour was becoming late, found an
+outfitter’s shop in the Strand still open, and made such purchases as
+he could on Morrison’s behalf. Then, with the bag ready packed, he
+returned to his rooms. Time had passed quickly during the last three
+hours. It was nearly nine o’clock when he stepped out of the lift and
+opened the door of his small suite of rooms with the latchkey which
+hung from his chain. He began to change his clothes mechanically, and
+he had nearly finished when the telephone bell upon his table rang.
+
+“Who’s that?” he asked, taking up the receiver.
+
+“Hall-porter, sir,” was the answer. “Person here wishes to see you
+particularly.”
+
+“A person!” Laverick repeated. “Man or woman?”
+
+“Man, sir.
+
+“Better send him up,” Laverick ordered.
+
+“He’s a seedy-looking lot, sir,” the porter explained “I told him that
+I scarcely thought you’d see him.”
+
+“Never mind,” Laverick answered. “I can soon get rid of the fellow if
+he’s cadging.”
+
+He went back to his room and finished fastening his tie. His own
+affairs had sunk a little into the background lately, but the
+announcement of this unusual visitor brought them back into his mind
+with a rush. Notwithstanding his iron nerves, his fingers shook as he
+drew on his dinner-jacket and walked out to the passageway to answer
+the bell which rang a few seconds later. A man stood outside, dressed
+in shabby black clothes, whose face somehow was familiar to him,
+although he could not, for the moment, place it.
+
+“Do you want to see me?” Laverick asked.
+
+“If you please, Mr. Laverick,” the man replied, “if you could spare me
+just a moment.”
+
+“You had better come inside, then,” Laverick said, closing the door and
+preceding the way into the sitting-room. At any rate, there was nothing
+threatening about the appearance of this visitor—nor anything official.
+
+“I have taken the liberty of coming, sir,” the man announced, “to ask
+you if you can tell me where I can find Mr. Arthur Morrison.”
+
+Laverick’s face showed no sign of his relief. What he felt he succeeded
+in keeping to himself.
+
+“You mean Morrison—my partner, I suppose?” he answered.
+
+“If you please, sir,” the man admitted. “I wanted a word or two with
+him most particular. I found out his address from the caretaker of your
+office, but he don’t seem to have been home to his rooms at all last
+night, and they know nothing about him there.”
+
+“Your face seems familiar to me,” Laverick remarked. “Where do you come
+from?”
+
+The man hesitated.
+
+“I am the waiter, sir, at the ‘Black Post,’—little bar and restaurant,
+you know,” he added, “just behind your offices, sir, at the end of
+Crooked Friars’ Alley. You’ve been in once or twice, Mr. Laverick, I
+think. Mr. Morrison’s a regular customer. He comes in for a drink most
+mornings.”
+
+Laverick nodded.
+
+“I knew I’d seen your face somewhere,” he said. “What do you want with
+Mr. Morrison?”
+
+The man was silent. He twirled his hat and looked embarrassed.
+
+“It’s a matter I shouldn’t like to mention to any one except Mr.
+Morrison himself, sir,” he declared finally. “If you could put me in
+the way of seeing him, I’d be glad. I may say that it would be to his
+advantage, too.”
+
+Laverick was thoughtful for a moment.
+
+“As it happens, that’s a little difficult,” he explained. “Mr. Morrison
+and I disagreed on a matter of business last night. I undertook certain
+responsibilities which he should have shared, and he arranged to leave
+the firm and the country at once. We parted—well, not exactly the best
+of friends. I am afraid I cannot give you any information.”
+
+“You haven’t seen him since then, sir?” the man asked.
+
+Laverick lied promptly but he lied badly. His visitor was not in the
+least convinced.
+
+“I am afraid I haven’t made myself quite plain, sir,” he said. “It’s to
+do him a bit o’ good that I’m here. I’m not wishing him any harm at
+all. On the contrary, it’s a great deal more to his advantage to see me
+than it will be mine to find him.”
+
+“I think,” Laverick suggested, “that you had better be frank with me.
+Supposing I knew where to catch Morrison before he left the country, I
+could easily deal with you on his behalf.”
+
+The man looked doubtful.
+
+“You see, sir,” he replied awkwardly, “it’s a matter I wouldn’t like to
+breathe a word about to any one but Mr. Morrison himself. It’s—it’s a
+bit serious.”
+
+The man’s face gave weight to his words. Curiously enough, the gleam of
+terror which Laverick caught in his white face reminded him of a
+similar look which he had seen in Morrison’s eyes barely an hour ago.
+To gain time, Laverick moved across the room, took a cigarette from a
+box and lit it. A conviction was forming itself in his mind. There was
+something definite behind these hysterical paroxysms of his late
+partner, something of which this man had an inkling.
+
+“Look here,” he said, throwing himself into an easychair, “I think you
+had better be frank with me. I must know more than I know at present
+before I help you to find Morrison, even if he is to be found. We
+didn’t part very good friends, but I’m his friend enough—for the sake
+of others,” he added, after a moment’s hesitation, “to do all that I
+could to help him out of any difficulty he may have stumbled into. So
+you see that so far as anything you may have to say to him is
+concerned, I think you might as well say it to me.”
+
+“You couldn’t see your way, then, sir,” the man continued doggedly, “to
+tell me where I could find Mr. Morrison himself?”
+
+“No, I couldn’t,” Laverick decided. “Even if I knew exactly where he
+was—and I’m not admitting that—I couldn’t put you in touch with him
+unless I knew what your business was.”
+
+The man’s eyes gleamed. He was a typical waiter—pasty-faced,
+unwholesome-looking—but he had small eyes of a greenish cast, and they
+were expressive.
+
+“I think, sir,” he said, “you’ve some idea yourself, then, that Mr.
+Morrison has been getting into a bit of trouble.”
+
+“We won’t discuss that,” Laverick answered. “You must either go
+away—it’s past nine o’clock and I haven’t had my dinner yet—or you must
+treat me as you would Mr. Morrison.”
+
+The man looked upon the carpet for several moments.
+
+“Very well, sir,” he said, “there’s no great reason why I should put
+myself out about this at all. The only thing is—”
+
+He hesitated.
+
+“Well, go on,” Laverick said encouragingly.
+
+“I think,” the man continued, “that Mr. Morrison—knowing, as I well do,
+sir, the sort of gent he is—would be more likely to talk common sense
+with me about this matter than you, sir.”
+
+“I’ll imagine I’m Morrison, for the moment,” Laverick said smiling,
+“especially as I’m acting for him.”
+
+The man looked around the room. The door behind had been left ajar. He
+stepped backward and closed it.
+
+“You’ll pardon the liberty, sir,” he said, “but this is a serious
+matter I’m going to speak about. I’ll just tell you a little thing and
+you can form your own conclusions. Last night we was open late at the
+‘Black Post.’ We keep open, sir, as you know, when you gentlemen at the
+Stock Exchange are busy. About nine o’clock there was a strange
+customer came in. He had two drinks and he sat as though he were
+waiting. In about ’arf-an-hour another gent came in, and they went into
+a corner together and seemed to be doing some sort of business.
+Anyways, there was papers passed between them. I was fairly busy about
+then, as there were one or two more customers in the place, but I
+noticed these two talking together, and I noticed the dark gentleman
+leave. The others went out a few minutes afterwards, and the gent who
+had come first was alone in the place. He sat in the corner and he had
+a pocket-book on the table before him. I had a sort of casual glance at
+it when I brought him a drink, and it seemed to me that it was full of
+bank-notes. He sat there just like a man extra deep in thought. Just
+after eleven, in came Mr. Morrison. I could see he was rare and put
+out, for he was white, and shaking all over. ‘Give me a drink, Jim,’ he
+said,—‘a big brandy and soda, big as you make ’em.’”
+
+The man paused for a moment as though to collect himself. Laverick was
+suddenly conscious of a strange thrill creeping through his pulses.
+
+“Go on,” he said. “That was after he left me. Go on.”
+
+“He was quite close to the other gent, Mr. Morrison was,” the waiter
+continued, “but they didn’t say nowt to each other. All of a sudden I
+see Mr. Morrison set down his glass and stare at the other chap as
+though he’d seen something that had given him a turn. I leaned over the
+counter and had a look, too. There he sat—this tall, fair chap who had
+been in the place so long—with his big pocket-book on the table in
+front of him, and even from where I was I could see that there was a
+great pile of bank-notes sticking out from it. All of a sudden he looks
+up and sees Mr. Morrison a-watching him and me from behind the counter.
+Back he whisks the pocket-book into his pocket, calls me for my bill,
+gives me two mouldy pennies for a tip, buttons up his coat and walks
+out.”
+
+“You know who he was?” Laverick inquired.
+
+Again the waiter paused for a moment before he answered—paused and
+looked nervously around the room. His voice shook.
+
+“He was the man as was murdered about a hundred yards off the ‘Black
+Post’ last night, sir,” he said.
+
+“How do you know?” Laverick asked.
+
+“I got an hour off to-day,” the waiter continued, “and went down to the
+Mortuary. There was no doubt about it. There he was—same chap, same
+clothes. I could swear to him anywhere, and I reckon I’ll have to at
+the inquest.”
+
+Laverick’s cigarette burned away between his fingers. It seemed to him
+that he was no longer in the room. He was listening to Big Ben striking
+the hour, he was back again in that tiny little bedroom with its
+spotless sheets and lace curtains. The man on the bed was looking at
+him. Laverick remembered the look and shivered.
+
+“What has this to do with Morrison?” he demanded.
+
+Once more the waiter looked around in that half mysterious, half
+terrified way.
+
+“Mr. Morrison, sir,” he said, dropping his voice to a hoarse whisper,
+“he followed the other chap out within thirty seconds. A sort of queer
+look he’d got in his face too, and he went out without paying me. I’ve
+read the papers pretty careful, sir,” the man went on, “but I ain’t
+seen no word of that pocket-book of bank-notes being found on the man
+as was murdered.”
+
+Laverick threw the end of his burning cigarette away. He walked to the
+window, keeping his back deliberately turned on his visitor. His eyes
+followed the glittering arc of lights which fringed the Thames
+Embankment, were caught by the flaring sky-sign on the other side of
+the river. He felt his heart beating with unaccustomed vigor. Was this,
+then, the secret of Morrison’s terror? He wondered no longer at his
+collapse. The terror was upon him, too. He felt his forehead, and his
+hand, when he drew it away, was wet. It was not Morrison alone but he
+himself who might be implicated in this man’s knowledge. The thoughts
+flitted through his brain like parts of a nightmare. He saw Morrison
+arrested, he saw the whole story of the missing pocket-book in the
+papers, he imagined his bank manager reading it and thinking of that
+parcel of mysterious bank-notes deposited in his keeping on the morning
+after the tragedy... Laverick was a strong man, and his moment of
+weakness, poignant though it had been, passed. This was no new thing
+with which he was confronted. All the time he had known that the
+probabilities were in favor of such a discovery. He set his teeth and
+turned to face his visitor.
+
+“This is a very serious thing which you have told me,” he said. “Have
+you spoken about it to any one else?”
+
+“Not a soul, sir,” the man answered. “I thought it best to have a word
+or two first with Mr. Morrison.”
+
+“You were thinking of attending the inquest,” Laverick said
+thoughtfully. “The police would thank you for your evidence, and there,
+I suppose, the matter would end.”
+
+“You’ve hit it precisely, sir,” the man admitted. “There the matter
+would end.”
+
+“On the other hand,” Laverick continued, speaking as though he were
+reasoning this matter out to himself, “supposing you decided not to
+meddle in an affair which does not concern you, supposing you were not
+sure as to the identity of your customer last night, and being a little
+tired you could not rightly remember whether Mr. Morrison called in for
+a drink or not, and so, to cut the matter short, you dismissed the
+whole matter from your mind and let the inquest take its own
+course,—”
+
+Laverick paused. His visitor scratched the side of his chin and nodded.
+
+“You’ve put this matter plainly, sir,” he said, “in what I call an
+understandable, straightforward way. I’m a poor man—I’ve been a poor
+man all my life—and I’ve never seed a chance before of getting away
+from it. I see one now.”
+
+“You want to do the best you can for yourself?”
+
+“So ’elp me God, sir, I do!” the man agreed.
+
+Laverick nodded.
+
+“You have done a remarkably wise thing,” he said, “in coming to me and
+in telling me about this affair. The idea of connecting Mr. Morrison
+with the murder would, of course, be ridiculous, but, on the other
+hand, it would be very disagreeable to him to have his name mentioned
+in connection with it. You have behaved discreetly, and you have done
+Mr. Morrison a service in trying to find him out. You will do him a
+further service by adopting the second course I suggested with regard
+to the inquest. What do you consider that service is worth?”
+
+“It depends, sir,” the man answered quietly, “at what price Mr.
+Morrison values his life!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII THE PRICE OF SILENCE
+
+
+The man’s manner was expressive. Laverick repeated his phrase,
+frowning.
+
+“His life!”
+
+“Yes, sir!”
+
+Laverick shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Come,” he declared, “you must not go too far with this thing. I have
+admitted, so as to clear the way for anything you have to say, that Mr.
+Morrison would not care to have his name mentioned in connection with
+this affair. But because he left your bar a few minutes after the
+murdered man, it is sheer folly to assume that therefore he is
+necessarily implicated in his death. I cannot conceive anything more
+unlikely.”
+
+The man smiled—a slow, uncomfortable smile which suggested mirth less
+than anything in the world.
+
+“There are a few other things, sir,” he remarked,—“one in especial.”
+
+“Well?” Laverick inquired. “Let’s have it. You had better tell me
+everything that is in your mind.”
+
+“The man was stabbed with a horn-handled knife.”
+
+“I remember reading that,” Laverick admitted.
+
+“Well?”
+
+“The knife was mine,” his visitor affirmed, dropping his voice once
+more to a whisper. “It lay on the edge of the counter, close to where
+Mr. Morrison was leaning, and as soon as he’d gone I missed it.”
+
+Laverick was silent. What was there to be said?
+
+“Horn-handled knives,” he muttered, “are not rare not uncommon things.”
+
+“One don’t possess a knife for a matter of eight or nine years without
+being able to swear to it,” the other remarked dryly.
+
+“Is there anything more?”
+
+“There don’t need to be,” was the quiet reply. “You know that, sir. So
+do I. There don’t need to be any more evidence than mine to send Mr.
+Morrison to the gallows.”
+
+“We will waive that point,” Laverick declared. “The jury sometimes are
+very hard to convince by circumstantial evidence alone. However, as I
+have said, let us waive that point. Your position is clear enough. You
+go to the inquest, you tell all you know, and you get nothing. You are
+a poor man, you have worked hard all your life. The chance has come in
+your way to do yourself a little good. Now take my advice. Don’t spoil
+it all by asking for anything ridiculous. It won’t do for you to come
+into a fortune a few days after this affair, especially if it ever
+comes out that the murdered man was in your place. I am here to act for
+Mr. Morrison. What is it that you want?”
+
+“You are talking like a gent, sir,” the man said,—“like a sensible
+gent, too. I’d have to keep it quiet, of course, that I’d come into a
+bit of money,—just at present, at any rate. I could easy find an excuse
+for changing my job—perhaps get away from London altogether. I’ve got a
+few pounds saved and I’ve always wanted to open a banking account. A
+gent like you, perhaps, could put me in the way of doing it.”
+
+“How much do you consider would be a satisfactory balance to commence
+with?” Laverick asked.
+
+“I was thinking of a thousand pounds, sir.”
+
+Laverick was thoughtful for a few moments.
+
+“By the way, what is your name?” he inquired at last.
+
+“James Shepherd, sir,” the man answered,—“generally called Jim, sir.”
+
+“Well, you see, Shepherd,” Laverick continued, “the difficulty is, in
+your case, as in all similar ones, that one never knows where the thing
+will end. A thousand pounds is a considerable sum, but in four amounts,
+with three months interval between each, it could be arranged. This
+would be better for you, in any case. Two hundred and fifty pounds is
+not an unheard-of sum for you to have saved or got together. After that
+your investments would be my lookout, and they would produce, as I have
+said, another seven hundred and fifty pounds. But what security have
+I—has Mr. Morrison, let us say—that you will be content with this sum?”
+
+“He hasn’t any, sir,” the man admitted at once. “He couldn’t have any.
+I’m a modest-living man, and I’ve no desire to go shouting around that
+I’m independent all of a sudden. That wouldn’t do nohow. A thousand
+pounds would bring me in near enough a pound a week if I invested it,
+or two pounds a week for an annuity, my health being none too good.
+I’ve no wife or children, sir. I was thinking of an annuity. With two
+pounds a week I’d have no cause to trouble any one again.”
+
+Laverick considered.
+
+“It shall be done,” he said. “To-morrow I shall buy shares for you to
+the extent of two hundred and fifty pounds. They will be deposited in a
+bank. Some day you can look in and see me, and I will take you round
+there. You are my client who has speculated under my instructions
+successfully, and you will sign your name and become a customer. After
+that, you will speculate again. When your thousand pounds has been
+made, I will show you how to buy an annuity. Keep your mouth shut, and
+last night will be the luckiest night of your life. Do you drink?”
+
+“A drop or two, sir,” the man admitted. “If I didn’t, I guess I’d go
+off my chump.”
+
+“Do you talk when you’re drunk?” Laverick asked.
+
+“Never, sir,” the man declared. “I’ve a way of getting a drop too much
+when I’m by myself. Then I tumbles off to sleep and that’s the end of
+it. I’ve no fancy for company at such times.”
+
+“It’s a good thing,” Laverick remarked, thrusting his hand into his
+pocket. “Here’s a five-pound note on account. I daresay you can manage
+to keep sober to-night, at any rate. That’s all, isn’t it?”
+
+“That’s all, sir,” the man answered, “unless I might make so bold as to
+ask whether Mr. Morrison has really hooked it?”
+
+“Mr. Morrison had decided to hook it, as you graphically say, before he
+came in for that drink to your bar, Shepherd,” Laverick affirmed.
+“Business had been none too good with us, and we had had a
+disagreement.”
+
+The man nodded.
+
+“I see, sir,” he said, taking up his hat. “Good night, sir!”
+
+“Good night!” Laverick answered. “You can find your way down?”
+
+“Quite well, sir, and thank you,” declared Mr. Shepherd, closing the
+door softly behind him.
+
+Laverick sat down in his chair. He had forgotten that he was hungry. He
+was faced now with a new tragedy.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII THE LONELY CHORUS GIRL
+
+
+They stood together upon the platform watching the receding train. The
+girl’s eyes were filled with tears, but Laverick was conscious of a
+sense of immense relief. Morrison had been at the station some time
+before the train was due to leave, and, although a physical wreck, he
+seemed only too anxious to depart. He had all the appearance of a
+broken-spirited man. He looked about him on the platform, and even from
+the carriage, in the furtive way of a criminal expecting apprehension
+at any moment. The whistle of the train had been a relief as great to
+him as to Laverick.
+
+“We’ll write you to New York, care of Barclays,” Laverick called out.
+“Good luck, Morrison! Pull yourself together and make a fresh start.”
+
+Morrison’s only reply was a somewhat feeble nod. Laverick had not
+attempted to shake hands. He felt himself at the last moment, stirred
+almost to anger by the perfunctory farewell which was all this man had
+offered to the girl he had treated so inconsiderately. His thoughts
+were engrossed upon himself and his own danger. He would not even have
+kissed her if she had not drawn his face down to hers and whispered a
+reassuring little message. Laverick turned away. For some reason or
+other he felt himself shuddering. Conversation during those last few
+moments had been increasingly difficult. The train was off at last,
+however, and they were alone.
+
+The girl drew a long breath, which might very well have been one of
+relief. They turned silently toward the exit.
+
+“Are you going back home?” Laverick asked.
+
+“Yes,” she answered listlessly. “There is nothing else to do.”
+
+“Isn’t it rather sad for you there by yourself?”
+
+She nodded.
+
+“It is the first time,” she said. “Another girl and her mother have
+lived with me always. They started off last week, touring. They are
+paying a little toward the house or I should have to go into rooms. As
+it is, I think that it would be more comfortable.”
+
+Laverick looked at her wonderingly.
+
+“You seem such a child,” he said, “to be left all alone in the world
+like this.”
+
+“But I am not a child actually, you see,” she answered, with an effort
+at lightness. “Somehow, though, I do miss Arthur’s going. His father
+was always very good to me, and made him promise that he would do what
+he could. I didn’t see much of him, but one felt always that there was
+somebody. It’s different now. It makes one feel very lonely.”
+
+“I, too,” Laverick said, with commendable mendacity, “am rather a
+lonely person. You must let me see something of you now and then.”
+
+She looked up at him quickly. Her gaze was altogether disingenuous, but
+her eyes—those wonderful eyes—spoke volumes.
+
+“If you really mean it,” she said, “I should be so glad.”
+
+“Supposing we start to-day,” he suggested, smiling. “I cannot ask you
+to lunch, as I have a busy day before me, but we might have dinner
+together quite early. Then I would take you to the theatre and meet you
+afterwards, if you liked.”
+
+“If I liked!” she whispered. “Oh, how good you are.”
+
+“I am not at all sure about that. Now I’ll put you in this taxi and
+send you home.”
+
+She laughed.
+
+“You mustn’t do anything so extravagant. I can get a ’bus just outside.
+I never have taxicabs.”
+
+“Just this morning,” he insisted, “and I think he won’t trouble you for
+his fare. You must let me, please. Remember that there’s a large
+account open still between your half-brother and me, so you needn’t
+mind these trifles. Till this evening, then. Shall I fetch you or will
+you come to me?”
+
+“Let me fetch you, if I may,” she said. “It isn’t nice for you to come
+down to where I live. It’s such a horrid part.”
+
+“Just as you like,” he answered. “I’d be very glad to fetch you if you
+prefer it, but it would give me more time if you came. Shall we say
+seven o’clock? I’ve written the address down on this card so that you
+can make no mistake.”
+
+She laughed gayly.
+
+“You know, all the time,” she said, “I feel that you are treating me as
+though I were a baby. I’ll be there punctually, and I don’t think I
+need tie the card around my neck.”
+
+The cab glided off. Laverick caught a glimpse of a wan little face with
+a faint smile quivering at the corner of her lips as she leaned out for
+a moment to say good-bye. Then he went back to his rooms, breakfasted,
+and made his way to his office.
+
+The morning papers had nothing new to report concerning the murder in
+Crooked Friars’ Alley. Evidently what information the police had
+obtained they were keeping for the inquest. Laverick, from the moment
+when he entered the office, had little or no time to think of the
+tragedy under whose shadow he had come. The long-predicted boom had
+arrived at last. Without lunch, he and all his clerks worked until
+after six o’clock. Even then Laverick found it hard to leave. During
+the day, a dozen people or so had been in to ask for Morrison. To all
+of them he had given the same reply,—Morrison had gone abroad on
+private business for the firm. Very few were deceived by Laverick’s dry
+statement. He was quite aware that he was looked upon either as one of
+the luckiest men on earth, or as a financier of consummate skill. The
+failure of Laverick & Morrison had been looked upon as a certainty. How
+they had tided over that twenty-four hours had been known to no one—to
+no one but Laverick himself and the manager of his bank.
+
+Just before four o’clock, the telephone rang at his elbow.
+
+“Mr. Fenwick from the bank, sir, is wishing to speak to you for a
+moment,” his head-clerk announced.
+
+Laverick took up the telephone.
+
+“Yes,” he said, “I am Laverick. Good afternoon, Mr. Fenwick! Absolutely
+impossible to spare any time to-day. What is it? The account is all
+right, isn’t it?”
+
+“Quite right, Mr. Laverick,” was the answer. “At the same time, if you
+could spare me a moment I should be glad to see you concerning the
+deposit you made yesterday.”
+
+“I will come in to-morrow,” Laverick promised. “This afternoon it is
+quite out of the question. I have a crowd of people waiting to see me,
+and several important engagements for which I am late already.”
+
+The banker seemed scarcely satisfied.
+
+“I may rely upon seeing you to-morrow?” he pressed.
+
+“To-morrow,” Laverick repeated, ringing off.
+
+For a time this last message troubled him. As soon as the day’s work
+was over, however, and he stepped into his cab, he dismissed it
+entirely from his thoughts. It was curious how, notwithstanding this
+new seriousness which had come into his life, notwithstanding that
+sensation of walking all the time on the brink of a precipice, he set
+his face homeward and looked forward to his evening, with a pleasure
+which he had not felt for many months. The whirl of the day faded
+easily from his mind. He lived no more in an atmosphere of wild
+excitement, of changing prices, of feverish anxiety. How empty his life
+must have unconsciously grown that he could find so much pleasure in
+being kind to a pretty child! It was hard to think of her
+otherwise—impossible. A strange heritage, this, to have been left him
+by such a person as Arthur Morrison. How in the world, he wondered, did
+he happen to have such a connection.
+
+She was a little shy when she arrived. Laverick had left special orders
+downstairs, and she was brought up into his sitting-room immediately.
+She was very quietly dressed except for her hat, which was large and
+wavy. He found it becoming, but he knew enough to understand that her
+clothes were very simple and very inexpensive, and he was conscious of
+being curiously glad of the fact.
+
+“I am afraid,” she said timidly, with a glance at his evening attire,
+“that we must go somewhere very quiet. You see, I have only one evening
+gown and I couldn’t wear that. There wouldn’t be time to change
+afterwards. Besides, one’s clothes do get so knocked about in the
+dressing-rooms.”
+
+“There are heaps of places we can go to,” he assured her pleasantly.
+“Of course you can’t dress for the evening when you have to go on to
+work, but you must remember that there are a good many other smart
+young ladies in the same position. I had to change because I have taken
+a stall to see your performance. Tell me, how are you feeling now?”
+
+“Rather lonely,” she admitted, making a pathetic little grimace. “That
+is to say I have been feeling lonely,” she added softly. “I don’t now,
+of course.
+
+“You are a queer little person,” he said kindly, as they went down in
+the lift. “Haven’t you any friends?”
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“What sort of friends could I have?” she asked. “The girls in the
+chorus with me are very nice, some of them, but they know so many
+people whom I don’t, and they are always out to supper, or something of
+the sort.”
+
+“And you?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“I went to one supper-party with the girl who is near me,” she said. “I
+liked it very much, but they didn’t ask me again.”
+
+“I wonder why?” he remarked.
+
+“Oh, I don’t know!” she went on drearily. “You see, I think the men who
+take out girls who are in the chorus, generally expect to be allowed to
+make love to them. At any rate, they behaved like that. Such a horrid
+man tried to say nice things to me and I didn’t like it a bit. So they
+left me alone afterwards. The girl I lived with and her mother are
+quite nice, and they have a few friends we go to see sometimes on
+Sunday or holidays. It’s dull, though, very dull, especially now
+they’re away.”
+
+“What on earth made you think of going on the stage at all?” he asked.
+
+“What could one do?” she answered. “My mother’s money died with her—she
+had only an annuity—and my stepfather, who had promised to look after
+me, lost all his money and died quite suddenly. Arthur was in a
+stockbroker’s office and he couldn’t save anything. My only friend was
+my old music-master, and he had given up teaching and was director of
+the orchestra at the Universal. All he could do for me was to get me a
+place in the chorus. I have been there ever since. They keep on
+promising me a little part but I never get it. It’s always like that in
+theatres. You have to be a favorite of the manager’s, for some reason
+or other, or you never get your chance unless you are unusually lucky.”
+
+“I don’t know much about theatres,” he admitted. “I am afraid I am
+rather a stupid person. When I can get away from work I go into the
+country and play cricket or golf, or anything that’s going. When I am
+up in town, I am generally content with looking up a few friends, or
+playing bridge at the club. I never have been a theatre-goer.
+
+“I wonder,” she asked, as they seated themselves at a small round table
+in the restaurant which he had chosen,—“I wonder why every now and then
+you look so serious.”
+
+“I didn’t know that I did,” he answered. “We’ve had thundering hard
+times lately in business, though. I suppose that makes a man look
+thoughtful.”
+
+“Poor Mr. Laverick,” she murmured softly. “Are things any better now?”
+
+“Much better.”
+
+“Then you have nothing really to bother you?” she persisted.
+
+“I suppose we all have something,” he replied, suddenly grave. “Why do
+you ask that?”
+
+She leaned across the table. In the shaded light, her oval face with
+its little halo of deep brown hair seemed to him as though it might
+have belonged to some old miniature. She was delightful, like
+Watteau-work upon a piece of priceless porcelain—delightful when the
+lights played in her eyes and the smile quivered at the corner of her
+lips. Just now, however, she became very much in earnest.
+
+“I will tell you why I ask that question,” she said. “I cannot help
+worrying still about Arthur. You know you admitted last night that he
+had done something. You saw how terribly frightened he was this
+morning, and how he kept on looking around as though he were afraid
+that he would see somebody whom he wished to avoid. Oh! I don’t want to
+worry you,” she went on, “but I feel so terrified sometimes. I feel
+that he must have done something—bad. It was not an ordinary business
+trouble which took the life out of him so completely.”
+
+“It was not,” Laverick admitted at once. “He has done something, I
+believe, quite foolish; but the matter is in my hands to arrange, and I
+think you can assure yourself that nothing will come of it.”
+
+“Did you tell him so this morning?” she asked eagerly.
+
+“I did not,” he answered. “I told him nothing. For many reasons it was
+better to keep him ignorant. He and I might not have seen things the
+same way, and I am sure that what I am doing is for the best. If I were
+you, Miss Leneveu, I think I wouldn’t worry any more. Soon you will
+hear from your brother that he is safe in New York, and I think I can
+promise you that the trouble will never come to anything serious.”
+
+“Why have you been so kind to him?” she asked timidly. “From what he
+said, I do not think that he was very useful to you, and, indeed, you
+and he are so different.”
+
+Laverick was silent for a moment.
+
+“To be honest,” he said, “I think that I should not have taken so much
+trouble for his sake alone. You see,” he continued, smiling, “you are
+rather a delightful young person, and you were very anxious, weren’t
+you?”
+
+Her hand came across the table—an impulsive little gesture, which he
+nevertheless found perfectly natural and delightful. He took it into
+his, and would have raised the fingers to his lips but for the waiters
+who were hovering around.
+
+“You are so kind,” she said, “and I am so fortunate. I think that I
+wanted a friend.”
+
+“You poor child,” he answered, “I should think you did. You are not
+drinking your wine.”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“Do you mind?” she asked. “A very little gets into my head because I
+take it so seldom, and the manager is cross if one makes the least bit
+of a mistake. Besides, I do not think that I like to drink wine. If one
+does not take it at all, there is an excuse for never having anything
+when the girls ask you.”
+
+He nodded sympathetically.
+
+“I believe you are quite right,” he said; “in a general way, at any
+rate. Well, I will drink by myself to your brother’s safe arrival in
+New York. Are you ready?”
+
+She glanced at the clock.
+
+“I must be there in a quarter of an hour,” she told him.
+
+“I will drive you to the theatre,” he said, “and then go round and
+fetch my ticket.”
+
+As he waited for her in the reception hall of the restaurant, he took
+an evening paper from the stall. A brief paragraph at once attracted
+his attention.
+
+_Murder in the City_.—We understand that very important information has
+come into the hands of the police. An arrest is expected to-night or
+to-morrow at the latest.
+
+
+He crushed the paper in his hand and threw it on one side. It was the
+usual sort of thing. There was nothing they could have found
+out—nothing, he told himself.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX MYSTERIOUS INQUIRIES
+
+
+As soon as he had gone through his letters on the following morning,
+Laverick, in response to a second and more urgent message, went round
+to his bank. Mr. Fenwick greeted him gravely. He was feeling keenly the
+responsibilities of his position. Just how much to say and how much to
+leave unsaid was a question which called for a full measure of
+diplomacy.
+
+“You understand, Mr. Laverick,” he began, “that I wished to see you
+with regard to the arrangement we came to the day before yesterday.”
+
+Laverick nodded. It suited him to remain monosyllabic.
+
+“Well?” he asked.
+
+“The arrangement, of course, was most unusual,” the manager continued.
+“I agreed to it as you were an old customer and the matter was an
+urgent one.”
+
+“I do not quite follow you,” Laverick remarked, frowning. “What is it
+you wish me to do? Withdraw my account?”
+
+“Not in the least,” the manager answered hastily.
+
+“You know the position of our market, of course,” Laverick went on.
+“Three days ago I was in a situation which might have been called
+desperate. I could quite understand that you needed security to go on
+making the necessary payments on my behalf. To-day, things are entirely
+different. I am twenty thousand pounds better off, and if necessary I
+could realize sufficient to pay off the whole of my overdraft within
+half-an-hour. That I do not do so is simply a matter of policy and
+prices.”
+
+“I quite understand that, my dear Mr. Laverick,” the bank manager
+declared. “The position is simply this. We have had a most unusual and
+a strictly private inquiry, of a nature which I cannot divulge to you,
+asking whether any large sum in five hundred pound banknotes has been
+passed through our account during the last few days.”
+
+“You have actually had this inquiry?” Laverick asked calmly.
+
+“We have. I can tell you no more. The source of the inquiry was, in a
+sense, amazing.”
+
+“May I ask what your reply was?”
+
+“My reply was,” Mr. Fenwick said slowly, “that no such notes had passed
+through our account. We asked them, however, without giving any
+reasons, to repeat their question in a few days’ time. Our reply was
+perfectly truthful. Owing to your peculiar stipulations, we are simply
+holding a certain packet for you in our security chamber. We know it to
+contain bank-notes, and there is very little doubt but that it contains
+the notes which have been the subject of this inquiry. I want to ask
+you, Mr. Laverick, to be so good as to open that packet, let me credit
+the notes to your account in the usual way, and leave me free to reply
+as I ought to have done in the first instance to this inquiry.”
+
+“The course which you suggest,” replied the other, “is one which I
+absolutely decline to take. It is not for me to tell you the nature of
+the relations which should exist between a banker and his client. All
+that I can say is that those notes are deposited with you and must
+remain on deposit, and that the transaction is one which must be
+treated entirely as a confidential one. If you decline to do this, I
+must remove my account, in which case I shall, of course, take the
+packet away with me. To be plain with you, Mr. Fenwick,” he wound up,
+“I do not intend to make use of those notes, I never intended to do so.
+I simply deposited them as security until the turn in price of ‘Unions’
+came.
+
+“It is a very nice point, Mr. Laverick,” the bank manager remarked. “I
+should consider that you had already made use of them.”
+
+“Every one to his own conscience,” Laverick answered calmly.
+
+“You place me in a very embarrassing position, Mr. Laverick.”
+
+“I cannot admit that at all,” Laverick replied. “There is only one
+inquiry which you could have had which could justify you in insisting
+upon what you have suggested. It emanated, I presume, from Scotland
+Yard?”
+
+“If it had,” Mr. Fenwick answered, “no considerations of etiquette
+would have intervened at all. I should have felt it my duty to have
+revealed at once the fact of your deposit. At the same time, the
+inquiry comes from an even more important source,—a source which cannot
+be ignored.”
+
+Laverick thought for a moment.
+
+“After all, the matter is a very simple one,” he declared. “By four
+o’clock this afternoon my account shall be within its limits. You will
+then automatically restore to me the packet which you hold on my
+behalf, and the possession of which seems to embarrass you.”
+
+“If you do not mind,” the banker answered, “I should be glad if you
+would take it with you. It means, I think, a matter of six or seven
+thousand pounds added to your overdraft, but as a temporary thing we
+will pass that.”
+
+“As you will,” Laverick assented carelessly. “The charge of those
+documents is a trust with me as well as with yourself. I have no doubt
+that I can arrange for their being held in a secure place elsewhere.”
+
+The usual formalities were gone through, and Laverick left the bank
+with the brown leather pocket-book in his breast-coat pocket. Arrived
+at his office, he locked it up at once in his private safe and
+proceeded with the usual business of the day. Even with an added staff
+of clerks, the office was almost in an uproar. Laverick threw himself
+into the struggle with a whole-hearted desire to escape from these
+unpleasant memories. He succeeded perfectly. It was two hours before he
+was able to sit down even for a moment. His head-clerk, almost as
+exhausted, followed him into his room.
+
+“I forgot to tell you, sir,” he announced, “that there s a man
+outside—Mr. Shepherd was his name, I believe—said he had a small
+investment to make which you promised to look after personally. He
+would insist on seeing you—said he was a waiter at a restaurant which
+you visited sometimes.”
+
+“That’s all right,” Laverick declared. “You can show him in. We’ll
+probably give him American rails.”
+
+“Can’t we attend to it in the office for you, sir?” the clerk asked. “I
+suppose it’s only a matter of a few hundreds.”
+
+“Less than that, probably, but I promised the fellow I’d look after it
+myself. Send him in, Scropes.”
+
+There was a brief delay and then Mr. Shepherd was announced. Laverick,
+who was sitting with his coat off, smoking a well-earned cigarette,
+looked up and nodded to his visitor as the door was closed.
+
+“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he remarked. “We’re having a bit of a
+rush.”
+
+The man laid down his hat and came up to Laverick’s side.
+
+“I guess that, sir,” he said, “from the number of people we’ve had in
+the ‘Black Post’ to-day, and the way they’ve all been shouting and
+talking. They don’t seem to eat much these days, but there’s some of
+them can shift the drink.”
+
+“I’ve got some sound stocks looked out for you,” Laverick remarked,
+“two hundred and fifty pounds’ worth. If you’ll just approve that list
+as a matter of form,” he added, pushing a piece of paper across, “you
+can come in to-morrow and have the certificates. I shall tell them to
+debit the purchase money to my private account, so that if any one asks
+you anything, you can say that you paid me for them.”
+
+“I’m sure I’m much obliged, sir,” the man said. “To tell you the
+truth,” he went on, “I’ve had a bit of a scare to-day.”
+
+Laverick looked up quickly.
+
+“What do you mean?” he demanded.
+
+“May I sit down, sir? I’m a bit worn out. I’ve been on the go since
+half-past ten.”
+
+Laverick nodded and pointed to a chair. Shepherd brought it up to the
+side of the table and leaned forward.
+
+“There’s been two men in to-day,” he said, “asking questions. They
+wanted to know how many customers I had there on Monday night, and
+could I describe them. Was there any one I recognized, and so on.”
+
+“What did you say?”
+
+“I declared I couldn’t remember any one. To the best of my
+recollection, I told them, there was no one served at all after ten
+o’clock. I wouldn’t say for certain—it looked as though I might have
+had a reason.”
+
+“And were they satisfied?”
+
+“I don’t think they were,” Shepherd admitted. “Not altogether, that is
+to say.”
+
+“Did they mention any names?” asked Laverick—“Morrison’s, for instance?
+Did they want to know whether he was a regular customer?”
+
+“They didn’t mention no names at all, sir,” the man answered, “but they
+did begin to ask questions about my regular clients. Fortunate like,
+the place was so crowded that I had every excuse for not paying any too
+much attention to them. It was all I could do to keep on getting orders
+attended to.”
+
+“What sort of men were they?” Laverick asked. “Do you think that they
+came from the police?”
+
+“I shouldn’t have said so,” Shepherd replied, “but one can’t tell, and
+these gentlemen from Scotland Yard do make themselves up so sometimes
+on purpose to deceive. I should have said that these two were
+foreigners, the same kidney as the poor chap as was murdered. I heard a
+word or two pass, and I sort of gathered that they’d a shrewd idea as
+to that meeting in the ‘Black Post’ between the man who was murdered
+and the little dark fellow.”
+
+Laverick nodded.
+
+“Jim Shepherd,” he declared, “you appear to me to be a very sagacious
+person.”
+
+“I’m sure I’m much obliged, sir; I can tell you, though,” he added, “I
+don’t half like these chaps coming round making inquiries. My nerves
+ain’t quite what they were, and it gives me the jumps.”
+
+Laverick was thoughtful for a few moments.
+
+“After all, there was no one else in the bar that night,” he
+remarked,—“no one who could contradict you?”
+
+“Not a soul,” Jim Shepherd agreed.
+
+“Then don’t you bother,” Laverick continued. “You see, you’ve been
+wise. You haven’t given yourself away altogether. You’ve simply said
+that you don’t recollect any one coming in. Why should you recollect?
+At the end of a day’s work you are not likely to notice every stray
+customer. Stick to it, and, if you take my advice, don’t go throwing
+any money about, and don’t give your notice in for another week or so.
+Pave the way for it a bit. Ask the governor for a rise—say you’re not
+making a living out of it.”
+
+“I’m on,” Jim Shepherd remarked, nodding his head. “I’m on to it, sir.
+I don’t want to get into no trouble, I’m sure.”
+
+“You can’t,” Laverick answered dryly, “unless you chuck yourself in.
+You’re not obliged to remember anything. No one can ever prove that you
+remembered anything. Keep your eyes open, and let me hear if these
+fellows turn up again.”
+
+“I’m pretty certain they will, sir,” the man declared. “They sat about
+waiting for me to be disengaged, but when my time off came, I hopped
+out the back way. They’ll be there again to-night, sure enough.”
+
+Laverick nodded.
+
+“Well, you must let me know,” he said, “what happens.”
+
+Jim Shepherd leaned across the corner of the table and dropped his
+voice.
+
+“It’s an awful thing to think of, sir,” he whispered, blinking rapidly.
+“I wouldn’t be that young Mr. Morrison for all that great pocketful of
+notes. But my! there was a sight of money there, sir! He’ll be a rich
+man for all his days if nothing comes out.”
+
+“We won’t talk any more about it,” Laverick insisted. “It isn’t a
+pleasant thing to think about or talk about. We won’t know anything,
+Shepherd. We shall be better off.”
+
+The man took his departure and the whirl of business recommenced.
+Laverick turned his back upon the city only a few minutes before eight
+and, tired out, he dined at a restaurant on his homeward way. When at
+last he reached his sitting-room he threw himself on the sofa and lit a
+cigar. Once more the evening papers had no particular news. This time,
+however, one of them had a leading article upon the English police
+system. The fact that an undetected murder should take place in a
+wealthy neighborhood, away from the slums, a murder which must have
+been premeditated, was in itself alarming. Until the inquest had been
+held, it was better to make little comment upon the facts of the case
+so far as they were known. At the same time, the circumstance could not
+fail to incite a considerable amount of alarm among those who had
+offices in the vicinity of the tragedy. It was rumored that some
+mysterious inquiries were being circulated around London banks. It was
+possible that robbery, after all, had been the real motive of the
+crime, but robbery on a scale as yet unimagined. The whole interest of
+the case now was centred upon the discovery of the man’s identity. As
+soon as this was solved, some very startling developments might be
+expected.
+
+Laverick threw the paper away. He tried to rest upon the sofa, but
+tried in vain. He found himself continually glancing at the clock.
+
+“To-night,” he muttered to himself,—“no, I will not go to-night! It is
+not fair to the child. It is absurd. Why, she would think that I was—”
+
+He stopped short.
+
+“I’ll change and go to the club,” he decided.
+
+He rose to his feet. Just then there was a ring at his bell. He opened
+the door and found a messenger boy standing in the vestibule.
+
+“Note, sir, for Mr. Stephen Laverick,” the boy announced, opening his
+wallet.
+
+Laverick held out his hand. The boy gave him a large square envelope,
+and upon the back of it was “Universal Theatre.” Laverick tried to
+assure himself that he was not so ridiculously pleased. He stepped back
+into the room, tore open the envelope, and read the few lines traced in
+rather faint but delicate handwriting.
+
+Are you coming to fetch me to-night? Don’t let me be a nuisance, but do
+come if you have nothing to do. I have something to tell you.
+
+
+ZOE.
+
+
+Laverick gave the boy a shilling for himself and suddenly forgot that
+he was tired. He changed his clothes, whistling softly to himself all
+the time. At eleven o’clock, he was at the stage-door of the Universal
+Theatre, waiting in a taxicab.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX LAVERICK IS CROSS-EXAMINED
+
+
+One by one the young ladies of the chorus came out from the stage-door
+of the Universal, in most cases to be assisted into a waiting hansom or
+taxicab by an attendant cavalier. Laverick stood back in the shadows as
+much as possible, smiling now and then to himself at this, to him,
+somewhat novel way of spending the evening. Zoe was among the last to
+appear. She came up to him with a delightful little gesture of
+pleasure, and took his arm as a matter of course as he led her across
+to the waiting cab.
+
+“This sort of thing is making me feel absurdly young,” he declared.
+“Luigi’s for supper, I suppose?”
+
+“Supper!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands. “Delightful! Two nights
+following, too! I did love last night.”
+
+“We had better engage a table at Luigi’s permanently,” he remarked.
+
+“If only you meant it!” she sighed.
+
+He laughed at her, but he was thoughtful for a few minutes. Afterwards,
+when they sat at a small round table in the somewhat Bohemian
+restaurant which was the fashionable rendezvous of the moment for
+ladies of the theatrical profession, he asked her a question.
+
+“Tell me what you meant in your note,” he begged. “You said that you
+had some information for me.
+
+“I’m afraid it wasn’t anything very much,” she admitted. “I found out
+to-day that some one had been inquiring at the stage-door about me, and
+whether I was connected in any way with a Mr. Arthur Morrison, the
+stockbroker.”
+
+“Do you know who it was?” he asked.
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“The man left no name at all. I tried to get the doorkeeper to tell me
+about him, but he’s such a surly old fellow, and he’s so used to that
+sort of thing, that he pretended he didn’t remember anything.”
+
+“It seems odd,” he remarked thoughtfully, “that any one should have
+found you out. You were so seldom with Morrison. I dare say,” he added,
+“it was just some one to whom your brother owes some small sum of
+money.”
+
+“Very likely,” she answered. “But I was going to tell you. He came
+again to-night while the performance was on, and sent a note round. I
+have brought it for you to see.”
+
+The note—it was really little more than a message—was written on the
+back of a programme and enclosed in an envelope evidently borrowed from
+the box-office. It read as follows:
+
+DEAR MISS LENEVEU,
+
+I believe that Mr. Arthur Morrison is a connection of yours, and I am
+venturing to introduce myself to you as a friend of his. Could you
+spare me half-an-hour of your company after the performance of this
+evening? If you could honor me so much, you might perhaps allow me to
+give you some supper.
+
+
+Sincerely, PHILIP E. MILES.
+
+
+Laverick felt an absurd pang of jealousy as he handed back the
+programme.
+
+“I should say,” he declared, “that this was simply some young man who
+was trying to scrape an acquaintance with you because he was or had
+been a friend of Morrison’s.”
+
+“In that case,” answered Zoe, “he is very soon forgotten.”
+
+She tore the programme into two pieces, and Laverick was conscious of a
+ridiculous feeling of pleasure at her indifference.
+
+“If you hear anything more about him,” he said, “you might let me know.
+You are a brave young lady to dismiss your admirers so summarily.”
+
+“Perhaps I am quite satisfied with one,” laughing softly.
+
+Laverick told himself that at his age he was behaving like an idiot,
+nevertheless his eyes across the table expressed his appreciation of
+her speech.
+
+“Tell me something about yourself, Mr. Laverick,” she begged.
+
+“For instance?”
+
+“First of all, then, how old are you?”
+
+He made a grimace.
+
+“Thirty-eight—thirty-nine my next birthday. Doesn’t that seem
+grandfatherly to you?”
+
+“You must not be absurd!” she exclaimed. “It is not even middle-aged.
+Now tell me—how do you spend your time generally? Do you really mean
+that you go and play cards at your club most evenings?”
+
+“I have a good many friends, and I dine out quite a great deal.”
+
+“You have no sisters?”
+
+“I have no relatives at all in London,” he explained.
+
+“It is to be a real cross-examination,” she warned him.
+
+“I am quite content,” he answered. “Go ahead, but remember, though,
+that I am a very dull person.”
+
+“You look so young for your years,” she declared. “I wonder, have you
+ever been in love?”
+
+He laughed heartily.
+
+“About a dozen times, I suppose. Why? Do I seem to you like a
+misanthrope?”
+
+“I don’t know,” she admitted, hesitatingly. “You don’t seem to me as
+though you cared to make friends very easily. I just felt I wanted to
+ask you. Have you ever been engaged?”
+
+“Never,” he assured her.
+
+“And when was the last time,” she asked, “that you felt you cared a
+little for any one?”
+
+“It dates from the day before yesterday,” he declared, filling her
+glass.
+
+She laughed at him.
+
+“Of course, it is nonsense to talk to you like this!” she said. “You
+are quite right to make fun of me.”
+
+“On the contrary,” he insisted. “I am very much in earnest.”
+
+“Very well, then,” she answered, “if you are in earnest you shall be in
+love with me. You shall take me about, give me supper every night, send
+me some sweets and cigarettes to the theatre—oh, and there are heaps of
+things you ought to do if you really mean it!” she wound up.
+
+“If those things mean being fond of you,” he answered, “I’ll prove it
+with pleasure. Sweets, cigarettes, suppers, taxicabs at the
+stage-door.”
+
+“It all sounds very terrible,” she sighed. “It’s a horrid little life.”
+
+“Yet I suppose you enjoy it?” he remarked tentatively.
+
+“I hate it, but I must do something. I could not live on charity. If I
+knew any other way I could make money, I would rather, but there is no
+other way. I tried once to give music lessons. I had a few pupils, but
+they never paid—they never do pay.
+
+“I wish I could think of something,” Laverick said thoughtfully. “Of
+course, it is occupation you want. So far as regards the monetary part
+of it, I still owe your brother a great deal—”
+
+She shook her head, interrupting him with a quick little gesture.
+
+“No, no!” she declared. “I have never complained about Arthur.
+Sometimes he made me suffer, because I know that he was ashamed of
+having a relative in the chorus, but I am quite sure that I do not wish
+to take any of his money—or of anybody else’s,” she added. “I want
+always to earn my own living.”
+
+“For such a child,” he remarked, smiling, “you are wonderfully
+independent.”
+
+“Why not?” she answered softly. “It is years since I had any one to do
+very much for me. Necessity teaches us a good many things. Oh, I was
+helpless enough when it began!” she added, with a little sigh. “I got
+over it. We all do. Tell me—who is that woman, and why does she stare
+so at you?”
+
+Laverick looked across the room. Louise and Bellamy were sitting at the
+opposite table. The former was strikingly handsome and very wonderfully
+dressed. Her closely-clinging gown, cut slightly open in front,
+displayed her marvelous figure. She wore long pearl earrings, and a hat
+with white feathers which drooped over her fair hair. Laverick
+recognized her at once.
+
+“It is Mademoiselle Idiale,” he said, “the most wonderful soprano in
+the world.”
+
+“Why does she look so at you?” Zoe asked.
+
+Laverick shook his head.
+
+“I do not know her,” he said. “I know who she is, of course,—every one
+does. She is a Servian, and they say that she is devoted to her
+country. She left Vienna at a moment’s notice, only a few days ago, and
+they say that it was because she had sworn never to sing again before
+the enemies of her country. She had been engaged a long time to appear
+at Covent Garden, but no one believed that she would really come. She
+breaks her engagements just when she chooses. In fact, she is a very
+wonderful person altogether.”
+
+“I never saw such pearls in my life,” Zoe whispered. “And how lovely
+she is! I do not understand, though, why she is so interested in you.”
+
+“She mistakes me for some one, perhaps.”
+
+It certainly seemed probable. Even at that moment she touched her
+escort upon the arm, and he distinctly looked across at Laverick. It
+was obvious that he was the subject of her conversation.
+
+“I know the man,” Laverick said. “He was at Harrow with me, and I have
+played cricket with him since. But I have certainly never met
+Mademoiselle Idiale. One does not forget that sort of person.”
+
+“Her figure is magnificent,” Zoe murmured wistfully. “Do you like tall
+women very much, Mr. Laverick?”
+
+“I adore them,” he answered, smiling, “but I prefer small ones.”
+
+“We are very foolish people, you and I,” she laughed. “We came together
+so strangely and yet we talk such frivolous nonsense.”
+
+“You are making me young again,” he declared.
+
+“Oh, you are quite young enough!” she assured him. “To tell you the
+truth, I am jealous. Mademoiselle Idiale looks at you all the time.
+Look at her now. Is she not beautiful?”
+
+There was no doubt about her beauty, but those who were criticising
+her—and she was by far the most interesting person in the room—thought
+her a little sad. Though Bellamy was doing his utmost to be
+entertaining, her eyes seemed to travel every now and then over his
+head and out of the room. Wherever her thoughts were, one could be very
+sure that they were not fixed upon the subject under discussion.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+“She is like that when she sings,” Laverick remarked. “She has none of
+the vivacity of the Frenchwomen. Yet there was never anything so
+graceful in the world as the way she moves about the stage.”
+
+“If I were a man,” Zoe sighed, “that is the sort of woman I would die
+for.”
+
+“If you were a man,” he replied, “you would probably find some one whom
+you preferred to live for. Do you know, you are rather a morbid sort of
+person, Miss Zoe?”
+
+“Ah, I like that!” she declared. “I will not be called Miss Leneveu any
+more by you. You must call me Miss Zoe, please,—Zoe, if you like.”
+
+“Zoe, by all means. Under the circumstances, I think it is only
+fitting.”
+
+His eyes wandered across the room again.
+
+“Ah!” she cried softly, “you, too, are coming under the spell, then. I
+was reading about her only the other day. They say that so many men
+fall in love with her—so many men to whom she gives no encouragement at
+all.”
+
+Laverick looked into his companion’s face.
+
+“Come,” he said, “my heart is not so easily won. I can assure you that
+I never aspire to so mighty a personage as a Covent Garden star. Don’t
+you know that she gets a salary of five hundred pounds a week, and
+wears ropes of pearls which would represent ten times my entire income?
+Heaven alone knows what her gowns cost!”
+
+“After all, though,” murmured Zoe, “she is a woman. See, your friend is
+coming to speak to you.”
+
+Bellamy was indeed crossing the room. He nodded to Laverick and bowed
+to his companion.
+
+“Forgive my intruding, Laverick,” he said. “You do remember me, I hope?
+Bellamy, you know.”
+
+“I remember you quite well. We used to play together at Lord’s, even
+after we left school.”
+
+Bellamy smiled.
+
+“That is so,” he answered. “I see by the papers that you have kept up
+your cricket. Mine, alas! has had to go. I have been too much of a
+rolling stone lately. Do you know that I have come to ask you a favor?”
+
+“Go ahead,” Laverick interposed.
+
+“Mademoiselle Idiale has a fancy to meet you,” Bellamy explained. “You
+know, or I dare say you have heard, what a creature of whims she is. If
+you won’t come across and be introduced like a good fellow, she
+probably won’t speak a word all through supper-time, go off in a huff,
+and my evening will be spoiled.”
+
+Laverick laughed heartily. A little smile played at the corner of Zoe’s
+lips—nevertheless, she was looking slightly anxious.
+
+“Under those circumstances,” remarked Laverick, “perhaps I had better
+go. You will understand,” he added, with a glance at Zoe, “that I
+cannot stay for more than a second.”
+
+“Naturally,” Bellamy answered. “If Mademoiselle really has anything to
+say to you, I will, if I am permitted, return for a moment.”
+
+Laverick introduced him to Zoe.
+
+“I am sure I have seen you at the Universal,” he declared. “You’re in
+the front row, aren’t you? I have seen you in that clever little
+step-dance and song in the second act.”
+
+She nodded, evidently pleased.
+
+“Does it seem clever to you?” she asked wistfully. “You see, we are all
+so tired of it.”
+
+“I think it is ripping,” Bellamy declared. “I shall have the pleasure
+again directly,” he added, with a bow.
+
+The two men crossed the room.
+
+“What the dickens does Mademoiselle Idiale want with me?” Laverick
+demanded. “Does she know that I am a poor stockbroker, struggling
+against hard times?”
+
+Bellamy shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“She isn’t the sort to care who or what you are,” he answered. “And as
+for the rest, I suppose she could buy any of us up if she wanted to.
+Her interest in you is rather a curious one. No time to explain it now.
+She’ll tell you.”
+
+Louise smiled as he paused before her. She was certainly exquisitely
+beautiful. Her dress, her carriage, her delicate hands, even her voice,
+were all perfection. She gave him the tips of her fingers as Bellamy
+pronounced his name.
+
+“It is so kind of you,” she said, “to come and speak to me. And indeed
+you will laugh when I tell you why I thought that I would like to say
+one word with you.”
+
+Laverick bowed.
+
+“I am thankful, Mademoiselle,” he replied, “for anything which procures
+me such a pleasure.”
+
+She smiled.
+
+“Ah! you, too, are gallant,” she said. “But indeed, then, I fear you
+will not be flattered when I tell you why I was so interested. I read
+all your newspapers. I read of that terrible murder in Crooked Friars’
+Alley only a few days ago,—is not that how you call the place?”
+
+Laverick was suddenly grave. What was this that was coming?
+
+“One of the reports,” she continued, “says that the man was a
+foreigner. The maker’s name upon his clothes was Austrian. I, too, come
+from that part of Europe—if not from Austria, from a country very
+near—and I am always interested in my country-people. A few moments ago
+I asked my friend Mr. Bellamy, ‘Where is this Crooked Friars’ Alley?’
+Just then he bowed to you, and he answered me, ‘It is in the city. It
+is within a yard or two of the offices of the gentleman to whom I just
+have said good-evening.’ So I looked across at you and I thought that
+it was strange.”
+
+Laverick scarcely knew what to say.
+
+“It was a terrible affair,” he admitted, “and, as Mr. Bellamy has told
+you, it occurred within a few steps of my office. So far, too, the
+police seem completely at a loss.”
+
+“Ah!” she went on, shaking her head, “your police, I am afraid they are
+not very clever. It is too bad, but I am afraid that it is so. Tell me,
+Mr. Laverick, is this, then, a very lonely spot where your offices
+are?”
+
+“Not at all,” Laverick replied. “On the contrary, in the daytime it
+might be called the heart of the city—of the money-making part of the
+city, at any rate. Only this thing, you see, seems to have taken place
+very late at night.”
+
+“When all the offices were closed,” she remarked.
+
+“Most of them,” Laverick answered. “Mine, as it happened, was open late
+that night. I passed the spot within half-an-hour or so of the time
+when the murder must have been committed.”
+
+“But that is terrible!” she declared, shaking her head. “Tell me, Mr.
+Laverick, if I drive to your office some morning you will show me this
+place,—yes?”
+
+“If you are in earnest, Mademoiselle, I will certainly do so, but there
+is nothing there. It is just a passage.”
+
+“You give me your address,” she insisted, “and I think that I will
+come. You are a stockbroker, Mr. Bellamy tells me. Well, sometimes I
+have a good deal of money to invest. I come to you and you will give me
+your advice. So! You have a card!”
+
+Laverick found one and scribbled his city address upon it. She thanked
+him and once more held out the tips of her fingers.
+
+“So I shall see you again some day, Mr. Laverick.”
+
+He bowed and recrossed the room. Bellamy was standing talking to Zoe.
+
+“Well,” he asked, as Laverick returned, “are you, too, going to throw
+yourself beneath the car?”
+
+Laverick shook his head.
+
+“I do not think so,” he answered. “Our acquaintance promises to be a
+business one. Mademoiselle spoke of investing some money though me.”
+
+Bellamy laughed.
+
+“Then you have kept your heart,” he remarked. “Ah, well, you have every
+reason!”
+
+He bowed to Zoe, nodded to Laverick, and returned to his place.
+Laverick looked after him a little compassionately.
+
+“Poor fellow,” he said.
+
+“Who is he?”
+
+“He has some sort of a Government appointment,” Laverick answered.
+“They say he is hopelessly in love with Mademoiselle Idiale.”
+
+“Why not?” Zoe exclaimed. “He is nice. She must care for some one. Why
+do you pity him?”
+
+“They say, too, that she has no more heart than a stone,” Laverick
+continued, “and that never a man has had even a kind word from her. She
+is very patriotic, and all the thoughts and love she has to spare from
+herself are given to her country.”
+
+Zoe shuddered.
+
+“Ah!” she murmured, “I do not like to think of heartless women. Perhaps
+she is not so cruel, after all. To me she seems only very, very sad.
+Tell me, Mr. Laverick, why did she send for you?”
+
+“I imagine,” said he, “that it was a whim. It must have been a whim.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI MADEMOISELLE IDIALE’S VISIT
+
+
+Laverick, on the following morning, found many things to think about.
+He was accustomed to lunch always at the same restaurant, within a few
+yards of his office, and with the same little company of friends. Just
+as he was leaving, an outside broker whom he knew slightly came across
+the room to him.
+
+“Tell me, Laverick,” he asked, “what’s become of your partner?”
+
+“He has gone abroad for a few weeks. As a matter of fact, we shall be
+announcing a change in the firm shortly.”
+
+“Queer thing,” the broker remarked. “I was in Liverpool yesterday, and
+I could have sworn that I saw him hanging around the docks. I should
+never have doubted it, but Morrison was always so careful about his
+appearance, and this fellow was such a seedy-looking individual. I
+called out to him and he vanished like a streak.”
+
+“It could scarcely have been Morrison,” Laverick said. “He sailed
+several days ago for New York.”
+
+“That settles it,” the man declared, passing on. “All the same, it was
+the most extraordinary likeness I ever saw.”
+
+Laverick, on his way back, went into a cable office and wrote out a
+marconigram to the _Lusitania_,
+
+Have you passenger Arthur Morrison on board? Reply.
+
+
+He signed his name and paid for an answer. Then he went back to his
+office.
+
+“Any one to see me?” he inquired.
+
+“Mr. Shepherd is here waiting,” his clerk told him,—“queer looking
+fellow who paid you two hundred and fifty pounds in cash for some
+railway stock.”
+
+Laverick nodded.
+
+“I’ll see him,” he said. “Anything else?”
+
+“A lady rang up—name sounded like a French one, but we could none of us
+catch what it was—to say that she was coming down to see you.”
+
+“If it is Mademoiselle Idiale,” Laverick directed, “I must see her
+directly she arrives. How are you, Shepherd?” he added, nodding to the
+waiter as he passed towards his room. “Come in, will you? You’ve got
+your certificates all right?”
+
+Mr. James Shepherd had the air of a man with whom prosperity had not
+wholly agreed. He was paler and pastier-looking than ever, and his
+little green eyes seemed even more restless. His attire—a long rough
+overcoat over the livery of his profession—scarcely enhanced the
+dignity of his appearance.
+
+“Well, what is it?” Laverick asked, as soon as the door was closed.
+
+“Our bar is being watched,” the man declared. “I don’t think it’s
+anything to do with the police. Seems to be a sort of foreign gang.
+They’re all round the place, morning, noon, and night. They’ve pumped
+everybody.”
+
+“There isn’t very much,” Laverick remarked slowly, “for them to find
+out except from you.”
+
+“They’ve found out something, anyway,” Shepherd continued. “My junior
+waiter, unfortunately, who was asleep in the sitting-room, told them he
+was sure there were customers in the place between ten and twelve on
+Monday night, because they woke him up twice, talking. They’re
+beginning to look at me a bit doubtful.”
+
+“I shouldn’t worry,” Laverick advised. “The inquest’s on now and you
+haven’t been called. I don’t fancy you’re running any sort of risk. Any
+one may say they believe there were people in the bar between those
+hours, but there isn’t any one who can contradict you outright.
+Besides, you haven’t sworn to anything. You’ve simply said, as might be
+very possible, that you don’t remember any one.”
+
+“It makes me a bit nervous, though,” Shepherd remarked apologetically.
+“They’re a regular keen-looking tribe, I can tell you. Their eyes seem
+to follow you all over the place.”
+
+“I shall come in for a drink presently myself,” Laverick declared. “I
+should like to see them. I might get an idea as to their nationality,
+at any rate.”
+
+“Very good, sir. I’m sure I’m doing just as you suggested. I’ve said
+nothing about leaving, but I’m beginning to grumble a bit at the work,
+so as to pave the way. It’s a hard job, and no mistake. I had
+thirty-nine chops between one and half-past, single-handed, too, with
+only a boy to carry the bread and that, and no one to serve the drinks
+unless they go to the counter for them. It’s more than one man’s work,
+Mr. Laverick.”
+
+Laverick assented.
+
+“So much the better,” he declared. “All the more excuse for your
+leaving.
+
+“You’ll be round sometime to-day, sir, then?” the man asked, taking up
+his hat.
+
+“I shall look in for a few moments, for certain,” Laverick answered.
+“If you get a chance you must point out to me one of those fellows.”
+
+Jim Shepherd departed. There was a shouting of newspaper boys in the
+street outside. Laverick sent out for a paper. The account of the
+inquest was brief enough, and there were no witnesses called except the
+men who had found the dead body. The nature of the wounds was explained
+to the jury, also the impossibility of their having been
+self-inflicted. In the absence of any police evidence or any
+identification, the discussion as to the manner of the death was
+naturally limited. The jury contented themselves by bringing in a
+verdict of “Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown.”
+Laverick laid down the paper. The completion of the inquest was at
+least the first definite step toward safety. The question now before
+him was what to do with that twenty thousand pounds. He sat at his
+desk, looking into vacancy. After all, had he paid too great a price?
+The millstone was gone from around his neck, something new and
+incomprehensible had crept into his life. Yet for a background there
+was always this secret knowledge.
+
+A clerk announcing Mademoiselle Idiale broke in upon his reflections.
+Laverick rose from his seat to greet his visitor. She was wonderfully
+dressed, as usual, yet with the utmost simplicity,—a white serge gown
+with a large black hat, but a gown that seemed to have been moulded on
+to her slim, faultless figure. She brought with her a musical rustle, a
+slight suggestion of subtle perfumes—a perfume so thin and ethereal
+that it was unrecognizable except in its faint suggestion of hothouse
+flowers. She held out her hand to Laverick, who placed for her at once
+an easy-chair.
+
+“This is indeed an honor, Mademoiselle.”
+
+She inclined her head graciously.
+
+“You are very kind,” said she. “I know that here in the city you are
+very busy making money all the time, so I must not stay long. Will you
+buy me some stocks,—some good safe stocks, which will bring me in at
+least four per cent?”
+
+“I can promise to do that,” Laverick answered. “Have you any choice?”
+
+“No, I have no choice,” Louise told him. “I bring with me a
+cheque,—see, I give it to you,—it is for six thousand pounds. I would
+like to buy some stocks with this, and to know the names so that I may
+watch them in the paper. I like to see whether they go up or down, but
+I do not wish to risk their going down too much. It is something like
+gambling but it is no trouble.”
+
+“Your money shall be spent in a few minutes, Mademoiselle,” Laverick
+assured her, “and I think I can promise you that for a week or two, at
+any rate, your stocks will go up. With regard to selling—”
+
+“I leave everything to you,” she interrupted, “only let me know what
+you propose.”
+
+“We will do our best,” Laverick promised.
+
+“It is good,” she said. “Money is a wonderful thing. Without it one can
+do little. You have not forgotten, Mr. Laverick, that you were going to
+show me this passage?”
+
+“Certainly not. Come with me now, if you will. It is only a yard or two
+away.”
+
+He took her out into the street. Every clerk in the office forgot his
+manners and craned his neck. Outside, Mademoiselle let fall her veil
+and passed unrecognized. Laverick showed her the entry.
+
+“It was just there,” he explained, “about half a dozen yards up on the
+left, that the body was found.”
+
+She looked at the place steadily. Then she looked along the passage.
+
+“Where does it lead to—that?” she asked.
+
+“Come and I will show you. On the left”—as they passed along the
+flagged pavement—“is St. Nicholas Church and churchyard. On the right
+here there are just offices. The street in front of us is Henschell
+Street. All of those buildings are stockbrokers’ offices.”
+
+“And directly opposite,” she asked,—“that is a café, is it not,—a
+restaurant, as you would call it?”
+
+Laverick nodded.
+
+“That is so,” he agreed. “One goes in there sometimes for a drink.”
+
+“And a meeting place, perhaps?” she inquired. “It would probably be a
+meeting place. One might leave there and walk down this passage
+naturally enough.”
+
+Laverick inclined his head.
+
+“As a matter of fact,” he declared, “I think that the evidence went to
+prove that there were no visitors in the restaurant that night. You
+see, all these offices round here close at six or seven o’clock, and
+the whole neighborhood becomes deserted.”
+
+She shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
+
+“Your English police, they do not know how to collect evidence. In the
+hands of Frenchmen, this mystery would have been solved long before
+now. The guilty person would be in the hands of the law. As it is, I
+suppose that he will go free.”
+
+“Well, we must give the police a chance, at any rate,” answered
+Laverick. “They haven’t had much time so far.”
+
+“No,” she admitted, “they have not had much time. I wonder—” She
+hesitated for a moment and did not conclude her sentence. “Come,” she
+exclaimed, with a little shiver, “let us go back to your office! This
+place is not cheerful. All the time I think of that poor man. It does
+make me frightened.”
+
+Laverick escorted his visitor back to the electric brougham which was
+waiting before his door.
+
+“A list of stocks purchased on your behalf will reach you by to-night’s
+post,” he promised her. “We shall do our best in your interests.”
+
+He held out his hand, but she seemed in no hurry to let him go.
+
+“You are very kind, Mr. Laverick. I would like to see you again very
+soon. You have heard me sing in _Samson and Delilah?_”
+
+“Not yet, but I am hoping to very shortly.”
+
+“To-night,” she declared, “you must come to the Opera House. I leave a
+box for you at the door. Send me round a note that you are there, and
+it is possible that I may see you. It is against the rules, but for me
+there are no rules.”
+
+Laverick hesitating, she leaned forward and looked into his face.
+
+“You are doing something else?” she protested. “You were, perhaps,
+thinking of taking out again the little girl with whom you were sitting
+last night?”
+
+“I had half promised—”
+
+“No, no!” she exclaimed, holding his hand tighter. “She is not for
+you—that child. She is too young. She knows nothing. Better to leave
+her alone. She is not for a man of the world like you. Soon she would
+cease to amuse you. You would be dull and she would still care. Oh,
+there is so much tragedy in these things, Mr. Laverick—so much tragedy
+for the woman! It is she always who suffers. You will take my advice.
+You will leave that little girl alone.”
+
+Laverick smiled.
+
+“I am afraid,” said he, “that I cannot promise that so quickly. You
+see, I have not known her long, but she has very few friends and I
+think that she would miss me. Perhaps,” he added, after a second’s
+pause, “I care for her too much.”
+
+“It is not for you,” she answered scornfully, “to care too much. An
+Englishman, he cares never enough. A woman to him is something
+amusing,—his companion for a little of his spare time, something to be
+pleased about, to show off to his friends,—to share, even, the passion
+of the moment. But an Englishman he does not care too much. He never
+cares enough. He does not know what it is to care enough.”
+
+“Mademoiselle, there may be truth in what you say, and again there may
+not. We have the name, I know, of being cold lovers, but at least we
+are faithful.”
+
+She held up her hand with a little grimace.
+
+“Oh, how I do hate that word!” she exclaimed. “Who is there, indeed,
+who wishes that you would be faithful? How much we poor women do suffer
+from that! Why can you never understand that a woman would be cared for
+very, very much, with all the strength and all the passion you can
+conceive, but let it not last for too long. It gets weary. It gets
+stale. It is as you say,—the Englishman he cares very little, perhaps,
+but he cares always; and the woman, if she be an artiste and a woman,
+she tires. But good afternoon, Mr. Laverick! I must not keep you here
+on the pavement talking of these frivolous matters. You come to-night?”
+
+“You are very kind,” Laverick said. “If I may come until eleven
+o’clock, it would give me the greatest pleasure.”
+
+“As you will,” she declared. “We shall see. I expect you, then. You ask
+for your box.”
+
+“If you wish it, certainly.”
+
+She smiled and waved her hand.
+
+“You will tell him, please,” she directed, “to drive to Bond Street.”
+
+Laverick re-entered his office, pausing for a minute to give his clerk
+instructions for the purchase of stocks for Mademoiselle Idiale. He had
+scarcely reached his own room when he was told that Mr. James Shepherd
+wished to speak to him for a moment upon the telephone. He took up the
+receiver.
+
+“Who is it?” he asked.
+
+“It is Shepherd,” was the answer. “Is that Mr. Laverick?”
+
+“Yes!”
+
+“You were outside the restaurant here a few minutes ago,” Shepherd
+continued. “You had with you a lady—a young, tall lady with a veil.”
+
+“That’s right,” Laverick admitted. “What about her?”
+
+“One of the two men who watch always here was reading the paper in the
+window,” Shepherd went on hoarsely. “He saw her with you and I heard
+him mutter something as though he had received a shock. He dropped his
+glass and his paper. He watched you every second of the time you were
+there until you had disappeared. Then he, too, put on his hat and went
+out.”
+
+“Anything else?”
+
+“Nothing else,” was the reply. “I thought you might like to know this,
+sir. The man recognized the lady right enough.”
+
+“It seems queer,” Laverick admitted. “Thank you for ringing me up,
+Shepherd. Good morning!”
+
+Laverick leaned back in his chair. There was no doubt whatever now in
+his mind but that Mademoiselle Idiale, for some reason or other, was
+interested in this crime. Her wish to see the place, her introduction
+to him last night and her purchase of stocks, were all part of a
+scheme. He was suddenly and absolutely convinced of it. As friend or
+foe, she was very certainly about to take her place amongst the few
+people over whom this tragedy loomed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII ACTIVITY OF AUSTRIAN SPIES
+
+
+Louise left her brougham in Piccadilly and walked across the Green
+Park. Bellamy, who was waiting, rose up from a seat, hat in hand. She
+took his arm in foreign fashion. They walked together towards
+Buckingham Palace—a strangely distinguished-looking couple.
+
+“My dear David,” she said, “the man perplexes me. To look at him, to
+hear him speak, one would swear that he was honest. He has just those
+clear blue eyes and the stolid face, half stupid and half splendid, of
+your athletic Englishman. One would imagine him doing a foolishly
+honorable thing, but he is not my conception of a criminal at all.”
+
+Bellamy kicked a pebble from the path. His forehead wore a perplexed
+frown.
+
+“He didn’t give himself away, then?”
+
+“Not in the least.”
+
+“He took you out and showed you the spot where it happened?”
+
+“Without an instant’s hesitation.”
+
+“As a matter of curiosity,” asked Bellamy, “did he try to make love to
+you?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“I even gave him an opening,” she said. “Of flirtation he has no more
+idea than the average stupid Englishman one meets.”
+
+Bellamy was silent for several moments.
+
+“I can’t believe,” he said, “that there is the least doubt but that he
+has the money and the portfolio. I have made one or two other
+inquiries, and I find that his firm was in very low water indeed only a
+week ago. They were spoken of, in fact, as being hopelessly insolvent.
+No one can imagine how they tided over the crisis.”
+
+“The man who was watching for you?” she inquired.
+
+“He makes no mistakes,” Bellamy assured her. “He saw Laverick enter
+that passage and come out. Afterwards he went back to his office,
+although he had closed up there and had been on his homeward way. The
+thing could not have been accidental.”
+
+“Why do you not go to him openly?” she suggested. “He is, after all, an
+Englishman, and when you tell him what you know he will be very much in
+your power. Tell him of the value of that document. Tell him that you
+must have it.”
+
+“It could be done,” Bellamy admitted. “I think that one of us must talk
+plainly to him. Listen, Louise,—are you seeing him again?”
+
+“I have invited him to come to the Opera House to-night.”
+
+“See what you can do,” he begged. “I would rather keep away from him
+myself, if I can. Have you heard anything of Streuss?”
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“Nothing directly,” she replied, “but my rooms have been searched—even
+my dressing-room at the Opera House. That man’s spies are simply
+wonderful. He seems able to plant them everywhere. And, David!—”
+
+“Yes, dear?”
+
+“He has got hold of Lassen,” she continued. “I am perfectly certain of
+it.”
+
+“Then the sooner you get rid of Lassen, the better,” Bellamy declared.
+
+“It is so difficult,” she murmured, in a perplexed tone. “The man has
+all my affairs in his hands. Up till now, although he is uncomely, and
+a brute in many ways, he has served me well.”
+
+“If he is Streuss’s creature he must go,” Bellamy insisted.
+
+She nodded.
+
+“Let us sit down for a few minutes,” she said. “I am tired.”
+
+She sank on to a seat and Bellamy sat by her side. In full view of them
+was Buckingham Palace with its flag flying. She looked thoughtfully at
+it and across to Westminster.
+
+“Do they know, I wonder, your country-people?” she asked.
+
+“Half-a-dozen of them, perhaps,” he answered gloomily, no more.
+
+“To-day,” she declared, “I seem to have lost confidence. I seem to feel
+the sense of impending calamity, to hear the guns as I walk, to see the
+terror fall upon the faces of all these great crowds who throng your
+streets. They are a stolid, unbelieving people—these. The blow, when it
+comes, will be the harder.”
+
+Bellamy sighed.
+
+“You are right,” he said. “When one comes to think of it, it is
+amazing. How long the prophets of woe have preached, and how completely
+their teachings have been ignored! The invasion bogey has been so long
+among us that it has become nothing but a jest. Even I, in a way, am
+one of the unbelievers.”
+
+“You are not serious, David!” she exclaimed.
+
+“I am,” he affirmed. “I think that if we could read that document we
+should see that there is no plan there for the immediate invasion of
+England. I think you would find that the blow would be struck
+simultaneously at our Colonies. We should either have to submit or send
+a considerable fleet away from home waters. Then, I presume, the
+question of invasion would come again. All the time, of course, the
+gage would be flung down, treaties would be defied, we should be
+scorned as though we were a nation of weaklings. Austria would gather
+in what she wanted, and there would be no one to interfere.”
+
+Louise was very pale but her eyes were flashing fire.
+
+“It is the most terrible thing which has happened in history,” she
+said, “this decadence of your country. Once England held the scales of
+justice for the world. Now she is no longer strong enough, and there is
+none to take her place. David, even if you know what that document
+contains, even then will it help very much?”
+
+“Very much indeed. Don’t you see that there is one hope left to us—one
+hope—and that is Russia? The Czar must be made to withdraw from that
+compact. We want to know his share in it. When we know that, there will
+be a secret mission sent to Russia. Germany and Austria are strong, but
+they are not all the world. With Russia behind and France and England
+westward, the struggle is at least an equal one. They have to face both
+directions, they have to face two great armies working from the east
+and from the west.”
+
+She nodded, and they sat there in silence for several moments. Bellamy
+was thinking deeply.
+
+“You say, Louise,” he asked, looking up quickly, “that your rooms have
+been searched. When was this?”
+
+“Only last night,” she replied.
+
+Bellamy drew a little sigh of relief.
+
+“At any rate,” he said, “Streuss has no idea that the document is not
+in our possession. He knows nothing about Laverick. How are we going to
+deal with him, Louise, when he comes for his answer?”
+
+“You have a plan?” she asked.
+
+“There is only one thing to be done,” Bellamy declared. “I shall say
+that we have already handed over the document to the English
+Government. It will be a bluff, pure and simple. He may believe it or
+he may not.”
+
+“You will break your compact then,” she reminded him.
+
+“I shall call myself justified,” he continued. “He has attempted to rob
+us of the document. You are sure of what you say—that your rooms and
+dressing-room have been searched?”
+
+“Absolutely certain,” she declared.
+
+“That will be sufficient,” Bellamy decided. “If Streuss comes to me, I
+shall meet him frankly. I shall tell him that he has tried to play the
+burglar and that it must be war. I shall tell him that the compact is
+in the hands of the Prime Minister, and that he and his spies had
+better clear out.”
+
+She looked at him questioningly.
+
+“Of course, you understand,” he added, “there is one thing we can do,
+and one thing only. We must send a mission to Russia and another to
+France, and before the German fleet can pass down the North Sea we must
+declare war. It is the only thing left to us—a bold front. Without that
+packet we have no casus belli. With it, we can strike, and strike hard.
+I still believe that if we declare war within seven days, we shall save
+ourselves.”
+
+Streuss and Kahn looked, too, across the panorama of London, across the
+dingy Adelphi Gardens, the turbid Thames, the smoke-hung world beyond.
+They were together in Streuss’s sitting-room on the seventh floor of
+one of the great Strand hotels.
+
+“Our enterprise is a failure!” Kahn exclaimed gloomily. “We cannot
+doubt it any longer. I think, Streuss, that the best course you and I
+could adopt would be to realize it and to get back. We do no good here.
+We only run needless risks.”
+
+The face of the other man was dark with anger. His tone, when he spoke,
+shook with passion.
+
+“You don’t know what you say, Kahn!” he cried hoarsely. “I tell you
+that we must succeed. If that document reaches the hands of any one in
+authority here, it would be the worst disaster which has fallen upon
+our country since you or I were born. You don’t understand, Kahn! You
+keep your eyes closed!”
+
+“What men can do we have done,” the other answered. “Von Behrling
+played us false. He has died a traitor’s death, but it is very certain
+that he parted with his document before he received that twenty
+thousand pounds.”
+
+“Once and for all, I do not believe it!” Streuss declared. “At mid-day,
+I can swear to it that the contents of that envelope were unknown to
+the Ministers of the King here. Now if Von Behrling had parted with
+that document last Monday night, don’t you suppose that everything
+would be known by now? He did not part with it. Bellamy and
+Mademoiselle lie when they say that they possess it. That document
+remains in the possession of Von Behrling’s murderer, and it is for us
+to find him.”
+
+Kahn sighed.
+
+“It is outside our sphere—that. What can we do against the police of
+this country working in their own land?”
+
+Streuss struck the table before which they were standing. The veins in
+his temples were like whipcord.
+
+“Adolf,” he muttered, “you talk like a fool! Can’t you see what it
+means? If that document reaches its destination, what do you suppose
+will happen?”
+
+“They will know our plans, of course,” Kahn answered. “They will have
+time to make preparation.”
+
+Streuss laughed bitterly.
+
+“Worse than that!” he exclaimed. “They are not all fools, these English
+statesmen, though one would think so to read their speeches. Can’t you
+see what the result would be if that document reaches Downing Street?
+War at a moment’s notice, war six months too soon! Don’t you know that
+every shipbuilding yard in Germany is working night and day? Don’t you
+know that every nerve is being strained, that the muscles of the
+country are hammering the rivets into our new battleships? There is but
+one chance for this country, and if her statesmen read that document
+they will know what it is. It is open to them to destroy the German
+navy utterly, to render themselves secure against attack.”
+
+“They would never have the courage,” Kahn declared. “They might make a
+show of defending themselves if they were attacked, but to take the
+initiative—no! I do not believe it.”
+
+“There is one man who has wit enough to do it,” Streuss said. “He may
+not be in the Cabinet, but he commands it. Kahn, wake up, man! You and
+I together have never known what failure means. I tell you that that
+document is still to be bought or fought for, and we must find it. This
+morning Mademoiselle drove into the city and called at the offices of a
+stockbroker within a dozen yards of Crooked Friars’ Alley. She was
+there a long time. The stockbroker himself came out with her into the
+street, took her to see the entry, stood with her there and returned.
+What was her interest in him, Kahn? His name is Laverick. Four days ago
+he was on the brink of ruin. To the amazement of every one, he met all
+his engagements. Why did Mademoiselle go to the city to see him? He was
+at his office late that Tuesday night. He had a partner who has
+disappeared.”
+
+Kahn looked at his companion with admiration.
+
+“You have found all this out!” he exclaimed.
+
+“And more,” Streuss declared. “For twenty-four hours, this man Laverick
+has not moved without my spies at his heels.”
+
+“Why not approach him boldly?” Kahn suggested. “If he has the document,
+let us outbid Mademoiselle Louise, and do it quickly.”
+
+Streuss shook his head.
+
+“You don’t know the man. He is an Englishman, and if he had any idea
+what that document contained, our chances of buying it would be small
+indeed. This is what I think will happen. Mademoiselle will try to
+obtain it, and try in vain. Then Bellamy will tell him the truth, and
+he will part with it willingly. In the meantime, I believe that it is
+in his possession.
+
+“The evidence is slender enough,” objected Kahn.
+
+“What if it is!” Streuss exclaimed. “If it is only a hundred to one
+chance, we have to take it. I have no fancy for disgrace, Adolf, and I
+know very well what will happen if we go back empty-handed.”
+
+The telephone bell rang. Streuss took off the receiver and held it to
+his ear. The words which he spoke were few, but when he laid the
+instrument down there was a certain amount of satisfaction in his face.
+
+“At any rate,” he announced, “this man Laverick did not part with the
+document to-day. Mademoiselle Louise and Bellamy have been sitting in
+the Park for an hour. When they separated, she drove home and dropped
+him at his club. Up till now, then, they have not the document. We
+shall see what Mr. Laverick does when he leaves business this evening;
+if he goes straight home, either the document has never been in his
+possession, or else it is in the safe in his office; if he goes to
+Mademoiselle Idiale’s—”
+
+“Well?” Kahn asked eagerly.
+
+“If he goes to Mademoiselle Idiale’s,” Streuss repeated slowly, “there
+is still a chance for us!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII LAVERICK AT THE OPERA
+
+
+Laverick, in presenting his card at the box office at Covent Garden
+that evening, did so without the slightest misconception of the reasons
+which had prompted Mademoiselle Idiale to beg him to become her guest.
+It was sheer curiosity which prompted him to pursue this adventure. He
+was perfectly convinced that personally he had no interest for her. In
+some way or other he had become connected in her mind with the murder
+which had taken place within a few yards of his office, and in some
+other equally mysterious manner that murder had become a subject of
+interest to her. Either that, or this was one of the whims of a spoiled
+and pleasure-surfeited woman.
+
+He found an excellent box reserved for him, and a measure of courtesy
+from the attendants not often vouchsafed to an ordinary visitor. The
+opera was Samson and Delilah, and even before her wonderful voice
+thrilled the house, it seemed to Laverick that no person more lovely
+than the woman he had come to see had ever moved upon any stage. It
+appeared impossible that movement so graceful and passionate should
+remain so absolutely effortless. There seemed to be some strange power
+inside the woman. Surely her will guided her feet! The necessity for
+physical effort never once appeared. Notwithstanding the slight
+prejudice which he had felt against her, it was impossible to keep his
+admiration altogether in check. The fascination of her wonderful
+presence, and then her glorious voice, moved him with the rest of the
+audience. He clapped as the others did at the end of the first act, and
+he leaned forward just as eagerly to catch a glimpse of her when she
+reappeared and stood there with that marvelous smile upon her lips,
+accepting with faint, deprecating gratitude the homage of the packed
+house.
+
+Just before the curtain rose upon the second act, there was a knock at
+his box door. One of the attendants ushered in a short man of somewhat
+remarkable personality. He was barely five feet in height, and an
+extremely fat neck and a corpulent body gave him almost the appearance
+of a hunchback. He had black, beady eyes, a black moustache fiercely
+turned up, and sallow skin. His white gloves had curious stitchings on
+the back not common in England, and his silk hat, exceedingly glossy,
+had wider brims than are usually associated with Bond Street.
+
+Laverick half rose, but the little man spread out one hand and
+commenced to speak. His accent was foreign, but, if not an Englishman,
+he at any rate spoke the language with confidence.
+
+“My dear sir,” he began, “I owe you many apologies. It was Mademoiselle
+Idiale’s wish that I should make your acquaintance. My name is Lassen.
+I have the fortune to be Mademoiselle’s business manager.
+
+“I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Lassen,” said Laverick. “Will you sit
+down?”
+
+Mr. Lassen thereupon hung his hat upon a peg, removed his overcoat,
+straightened his white tie with the aid of a looking-glass, brushed
+back his glossy black hair with the palms of his hands, and took the
+seat opposite Laverick. His first question was inevitable.
+
+“What do you think of the opera, sir?”
+
+“It is like Mademoiselle Idiale herself,” Laverick answered. “It is
+above criticism.”
+
+“She is,” Mr. Lassen said firmly, “the loveliest woman in Europe and
+her voice is the most wonderful. It is a great combination, this. I
+myself have managed for many stars, I have brought to England most of
+those whose names are known during the last ten years; but there has
+never been another Louise Idiale,—never will be.”
+
+“I can believe it,” Laverick admitted.
+
+“She has wonderful qualities, too,” continued Mr. Lassen. “Your
+acquaintance with her, I believe, sir, is of the shortest.”
+
+“That is so,” Laverick answered, a little coldly. He was not
+particularly taken with his visitor.
+
+“Mademoiselle has spoken to me of you,” the latter proceeded. “She
+desired that I should pay my respects during the performance.”
+
+“It is very kind of you,” Laverick answered. “As a matter of fact, it
+is exceedingly kind, also, of Mademoiselle Idiale to insist upon my
+coming here to-night. She did me the honor, as you may know, of paying
+me a visit in the city this morning.”
+
+“So she did tell me,” Mr. Lassen declared. “Mademoiselle is a great
+woman of business. Most of her investments she controls herself. She
+has whims, however, and it never does to contradict her. She has also,
+curiously enough, a preference for the men of affairs.”
+
+Laverick had reached that stage when he felt indisposed to discuss
+Mademoiselle any longer with a stranger, even though that stranger
+should be her manager. He nodded and took up his programme. As he did
+so, the curtain rang up upon the next act. Laverick turned deliberately
+towards the stage. The little man had paid his respects, as he put it.
+Laverick felt disinclined for further conversation with him. Yet,
+though his head was turned, he knew very well that his companion’s eyes
+were fixed upon him. He had an uncomfortable sense that he was an
+object of more than ordinary interest to this visitor, that he had come
+for some specific object which as yet he had not declared.
+
+“You will like to go round and see Mademoiselle,” the latter remarked,
+some time afterwards.
+
+Laverick shook his head.
+
+“I shall find another opportunity, I hope, to congratulate her.”
+
+“But, my dear sir, she expects to see you,” Mr. Lassen protested. “You
+are here at her invitation. It is usual, I can assure you.”
+
+“Mademoiselle Idiale will perhaps excuse me,” Laverick said. “I have an
+engagement immediately after the performance is over.”
+
+His companion muttered something which Laverick could not catch, and
+made some excuse to leave the box a few minutes later. When he
+returned, he carried a little, note which he presented to Laverick with
+an air of triumph.
+
+“It is as I said!” he exclaimed. “Mademoiselle expects you.”
+
+Laverick read the few lines which she had written.
+
+I wish to see you after the performance. If you cannot come round or
+escort me yourself, will you come later to the restaurant of Luigi,
+where, as always, I shall sup. Do not fail.
+
+
+LOUISE IDIALE.
+
+
+Laverick placed the note in his waistcoat pocket without immediate
+remark. Later on he turned to his companion.
+
+“Will you tell Mademoiselle Idiale,” he said, “that I will do myself
+the honor of coming to her at Luigi’s restaurant. I have an engagement
+after the performance which I must keep.”
+
+“You will certainly come?” Lassen asked anxiously.
+
+“Without a doubt,” Laverick promised.
+
+Mr. Lassen took up his hat...
+
+“I will go and tell Mademoiselle. For some reason or other she seemed
+particularly desirous of seeing you this evening. She has her whims,
+and those who have most to do with her, like myself, find it well to
+keep them gratified. If I do not see you again, sir, permit me to wish
+you good evening.”
+
+He disappeared with several bows of his pudgy little person, and
+Laverick was left with another puzzle to solve. He was not in the least
+conceited, and he did not for a moment misinterpret this woman’s
+interest in him. Her invitation, he knew very well, was one which half
+London would have coveted. Yet it meant nothing personal, he was sure
+of that. It simply meant that for some mysterious reason, the same
+reason which had prompted her to visit him in the city he was of
+interest to her.
+
+At a few minutes before eleven Laverick left the place and drove to the
+stage-door of the Universal Theatre. Zoe came out among the first and
+paused upon the threshold, looking up and down the street eagerly. When
+she recognized him, her smile was heavenly.
+
+“Oh, how nice of you!” she exclaimed, stepping at once into his
+taxicab. “You don’t know how different it feels to hope that there is
+some one waiting for you and then to find your hope come true. To-night
+I was not sure. You had said nothing about it, and yet I could not help
+believing that you would be here.”
+
+“I was hoping,” he said, “that we might have another supper together.
+Unfortunately, I have an engagement.”
+
+“An engagement?” she repeated, her face falling.
+
+Laverick loved the truth and he seldom hesitated to tell it.
+
+“It is rather an odd thing,” he declared. “You remember that woman at
+Luigi’s last night—Mademoiselle Idiale?”
+
+“Of course.”
+
+“She came to my office to-day and gave me six thousand pounds to invest
+for her. She made me take her out and show her where the murder was
+committed, and asked a great many questions about it. Then she insisted
+that I should go and hear her sing this evening, and I find that I was
+expected to take her on to supper afterwards. I excused myself for a
+little while, but I have promised to go to Luigi’s, where she will be.”
+
+The girl was silent for a moment.
+
+“Where are we going now, then?” she asked.
+
+“Wherever you like. I can take you home first, or I can leave you
+anywhere.”
+
+She looked at him with a piteous little smile.
+
+“The last two nights you have spoiled me,” she said. “I have so many
+evil thoughts and I am afraid to go home.”
+
+“I am sorry. If I could think of anything or anywhere—”
+
+“No, you must take me home, please,” said she. “It was selfish of me.
+Only Mademoiselle Idiale is such a wonderful person. Do you think that
+she will want you every night?”
+
+“Of course not,” he laughed. “Come, I will make an engagement with you.
+We will have supper together to-morrow evening.”
+
+She brightened up at once.
+
+“I wonder,” she asked timidly, a few minutes afterwards, “have you
+heard anything from Arthur? He promised to send a telegram from
+Queenstown.”
+
+Laverick shook his head. He said nothing about the marconigram he had
+sent, or the answer which he had received informing him that there was
+no such person on board. It seemed scarcely worth while to worry her.
+
+“I have heard nothing,” he replied. “Of course, he must be half-way to
+America by now.”
+
+“There have been no more inquiries about him?” she asked.
+
+“No more than the usual ones from his friends, and a few creditors. The
+latter I am paying as they come. But there is one thing you ought to do
+with me. I think we ought to go to his rooms and lock up his papers and
+letters. He never even went back, you know, after that night.”
+
+She nodded thoughtfully.
+
+“When would you like to do this?”
+
+“I am so busy just now that I am afraid I can spare no time until
+Monday afternoon. Would you go with me then?”
+
+“Of course... My time is my own. We have no matinee, and I have nothing
+to do except in the evening.”
+
+They had reached her home. It looked very dark and very uninviting. She
+shivered as she took her latchkey from the bag which she was carrying.
+
+“Come in with me, please, while I light the gas,” she begged. “It looks
+so dreary, doesn’t it?”
+
+“You ought to have some one with you,” he declared, “especially in a
+part like this.”
+
+“Oh, I am not really afraid,” she answered. “I am only lonely.”
+
+He stood in the passage while she felt for a box of matches and lit the
+gas jet. In the parlor there was a bowl of milk standing waiting for
+her, and some bread.
+
+“Thank you so much,” she said. “Now I am going to make up the fire and
+read for a short time. I hope that you will enjoy your supper—well,
+moderately,” she added, with a little laugh.
+
+“I can promise you,” he answered, “that I shall enjoy it no more than
+last night’s or to-morrow night’s.”
+
+She sighed.
+
+“Poor little me!” she exclaimed. “It is not fair to have to compete
+with Mademoiselle Idiale. Good night!”
+
+Something he saw in her eyes moved him strangely as he turned away.
+
+“Would you like me,” he asked hesitatingly, “supposing I get away
+early—would you like me to come in and say good night to you later on?”
+
+Her face was suddenly flushed with joy.
+
+“Oh, do!” she begged. “Do!”
+
+He turned away with a smile.
+
+“Very well,” he said. “Don’t shut up just yet and I will try.”
+
+“I shall stay here until three o’clock,” she declared,—“until four,
+even. You must come. Remember, you must come. See.”
+
+She held out to him her key.
+
+“I can knock at the door,” he protested. “You would hear me.”
+
+“But I might fall asleep,” she answered. “I am afraid. If you have the
+key, I am sure that you will come.”
+
+He put it in his waistcoat pocket with a laugh.
+
+“Very well,” he said, “if it is only for five minutes, I will come.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV A SUPPER PARTY AT LUIGI’S
+
+
+Laverick walked into Luigi’s Restaurant at about a quarter to twelve,
+and found the place crowded with many little supper-parties on their
+way to a fancy dress ball. The demand for tables was far in excess of
+the supply, but he had scarcely shown himself before the head maitre
+d’hotel came hurrying up.
+
+“Mademoiselle Idiale is waiting for you, sir,” he announced at once.
+“Will you be so good as to come this way?”
+
+Laverick followed him. She was sitting at the same table as last night,
+but she was alone, and it was laid, he noticed with surprise, only for
+two.
+
+“You have treated me,” she said, as she held out her fingers, “to a new
+sensation. I have waited for you alone here for a quarter of an hour—I!
+Such a thing has never happened to me before.”
+
+“You do me too much honor,” Laverick declared, seating himself and
+taking up the carte.
+
+“Then, too,” she continued, “I sup alone with you. That is what I
+seldom do with any man. Not that I care for the appearance,” she added,
+with a contemptuous wave of the hand. “Nothing troubles me less. It is
+simply that one man alone wearies me. Almost always he will make love,
+and that I do not like. You, Mr. Laverick, I am not afraid of. I do not
+think that you will make love to me.”
+
+“Any intentions I may have had,” Laverick remarked, with a sigh, “I
+forthwith banish. You ask a hard task of your cavaliers, though,
+Mademoiselle.”
+
+She smiled and looked at him from under her eyelids.
+
+“Not of you, I fancy, Mr. Laverick,” she said. “I do not think that you
+are one of those who make love to every woman because she is
+good-looking or famous.”
+
+“To tell you the truth,” Laverick admitted, “I find it hard to make
+love to any one. I often feel the most profound admiration for
+individual members of your sex, but to express one’s self is
+difficult—sometimes it is even embarrassing. For supper?”
+
+“It is ordered,” she declared. “You are my guest.”
+
+“Impossible!” Laverick asserted firmly. “I have been your guest at the
+Opera. You at least owe me the honor of being mine for supper.”
+
+She frowned a little. She was obviously unused to being contradicted.
+
+“I sup with you, then, another night,” she insisted. “No,” she
+continued, “If you are going to look like that, I take it back. I sup
+with you to-night. This is an ill omen for our future acquaintance. I
+have given in to you already—I, who give in to no man. Give me some
+champagne, please.”
+
+Laverick took the bottle from the ice-pail by his side, but the
+sommelier darted forward and served them.
+
+“I drink to our better understanding of one another, Mr. Laverick,” she
+said, raising her glass, “and, if you would like a double toast, I
+drink also to the early gratification of the curiosity which is
+consuming you.”
+
+“The curiosity?”
+
+“Yes! You are wondering all the time why it is that I chose last night
+to send and have you presented to me, why I came to your office in the
+city to-day with the excuse of investing money with you, why I invited
+you to the Opera to-night, why I commanded you to supper here and am
+supping with you alone. Now confess the truth; you are full of
+curiosity, is it not so?”
+
+“Frankly, I am.”
+
+She smiled good-humoredly.
+
+“I knew it quite well. You are not conceited. You do not believe, as so
+many men would, that I have fallen in love with you. You think that
+there must be some object, and you ask yourself all the time, ‘What is
+it?’ in your heart, Mr. Laverick, I wonder whether you have any idea.”
+
+Her voice had fallen almost to a whisper. She looked at him with a
+suggestion of stealthiness from under her eyelids, a look which only
+needed the slightest softening of her face to have made it something
+almost irresistible.
+
+“I can assure you,” Laverick said firmly, “that I have no idea.”
+
+“Do you remember almost my first question to you?” she asked.
+
+“It was about the murder. You seemed interested in the fact that my
+office was within a few yards of the passage where it occurred.”
+
+“Quite right,” she admitted. “I see that your memory is very good.
+There, then, Mr. Laverick, you have the secret of my desire to meet
+you.”
+
+Laverick drank his wine slowly. The woman knew! Impossible! Her eyes
+were watching his face, but he held himself bravely. What could she
+know? How could she guess?
+
+“Frankly,” he said, “I do not understand. Your interest in me arises
+from the fact that my offices are near the scene of that murder. Well,
+to begin with, what concern have you in that?”
+
+“The murdered man,” she declared thoughtfully, “was an acquaintance of
+mine.”
+
+“An acquaintance of yours!” Laverick exclaimed. “Why, he has not been
+identified. No one knows who he was.”
+
+She raised her eyebrows very slightly.
+
+“Mr. Laverick,” she murmured, “the newspapers do not tell you
+everything. I repeat that the murdered man was an acquaintance of mine.
+Only three days ago I traveled part of the way from Vienna with him.”
+
+Laverick was intensely interested.
+
+“You could, perhaps, throw some light, then, upon his death?”
+
+“Perhaps I could,” she answered. “I can tell you one thing, at any
+rate, Mr. Laverick, if it is news to you. At the time when he was
+murdered, he was carrying a very large sum of money with him. This is a
+fact which has not been spoken of in the Press.”
+
+Once again Laverick was thankful for those nerves of his. He sat quite
+still. His face exhibited nothing more than the blank amazement which
+he certainly felt.
+
+“This is marvelous,” he said. “Have you told the police?”
+
+“I have not,” she answered. “I wish, if I can, to avoid telling the
+police.”
+
+“But the money? To whom did it belong?”
+
+“Not to the murdered man.”
+
+“To any one whom you know of?” he inquired.
+
+“I wonder,” she said, after a moment of hesitation, “whether I am
+telling you too much.”
+
+“You are telling me a good deal,” he admitted frankly.
+
+“I wonder how far,” she asked, “you will be inclined to reciprocate?”
+
+“I reciprocate!” he exclaimed. “But what can I do? What do I know of
+these things?”
+
+She stretched out her hand lazily, and drew towards her a wonderful
+gold purse set with emeralds. Carefully opening it, she drew from the
+interior a small flat pocketbook, also of gold, with a great uncut
+emerald set into its centre. This, too, she opened, and drew out
+several sheets of foreign note-paper pinned together at the top. These
+she glanced through until she came to the third or fourth. Then she
+bent it down and passed it across the table to Laverick.
+
+“You may read that,” she said. “It is part of a report which I have had
+in my possession since Wednesday morning.”
+
+Laverick drew the sheet towards him and read, in thin, angular
+characters, very distinct and plain:
+
+Some ten minutes after the assault, a policeman passed down the street
+but did not glance toward the passage. The next person to appear was a
+gentleman who left some offices on the same side as the passage, and
+walked down evidently on his homeward way. He glanced up the passage
+and saw the body lying there. He disappeared for a moment and struck a
+match. A minute afterwards he emerged from the passage, looked up and
+down the street, and finding it empty returned to the office from which
+he had issued, let himself in with his latchkey, and closed the door
+behind him. He was there for about ten minutes. When he reappeared, he
+walked quickly down the street and for obvious reasons I was unable to
+follow him. The address of the offices which he left and re-entered was
+Messrs. Laverick & Morrison, Stockbrokers.
+
+
+“That interests you, Mr. Laverick?” she asked softly.
+
+He handed it back to her.
+
+“It interests me very much,” he answered. “Who was this unseen person
+who wrote from the clouds?”
+
+“I may not tell you all my secrets, Mr. Laverick,” she declared. “What
+have you done with that twenty thousand pounds?”
+
+Laverick helped himself to champagne. He listened for a moment to the
+music, and looked into the wonderful eyes which shone from that
+beautiful face a few feet away. Her lips were slightly parted, her
+forehead wrinkled. There was nothing of the accuser in her countenance;
+a gentle irony was its most poignant expression.
+
+“Is this a fairy tale, Mademoiselle Idiale?”
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“It might seem so,” she answered. “Sometimes I think that all the time
+we live two lives,—the life of which the world sees the outside, and
+the life inside of which no one save ourselves knows anything at all.
+Look, for instance, at all these people—these chorus girls and young
+men about town—the older ones, too—all hungry for pleasure, all
+drinking at the cup of life as though they had indeed but to-day and
+to-morrow in which to live and enjoy. Have they no shadows, too, no
+secrets? They seem so harmless, yet if the great white truth shone
+down, might one not find a murderer there, a dying man who knew his
+terrible secret, yonder a Croesus on the verge of bankruptcy, a strong
+man playing with dishonor? But those are the things of the other world
+which we do not see. The men look at us to-night and they envy you
+because you are with me. The women envy me more because I have emeralds
+upon my neck and shoulders for which they would give their souls, and a
+fame throughout Europe which would turn their foolish heads in a very
+few minutes. But they do not know. There are the shadows across my
+path, and I think that there are the shadows across yours. What do you
+say, Mr. Laverick?”
+
+He looked at her, curiously moved. Now at last he began to believe that
+it was true what they said of her, that she was indeed a marvelous
+woman. She had a fame which would have contented nine hundred and
+ninety-nine women out of a thousand. She had beauty, and, more
+wonderful still, the grace, the fascination which are irresistible. She
+had but to lift a finger and there were few who would not kneel to do
+her bidding. And yet, behind it all there were other things in her
+life. Had she sought them, or had they come to her?
+
+“You are one of those wise people, Mr. Laverick,” she said, “who
+realize the danger of words. You believe in silence. Well, silence is
+often good. You do not choose to admit anything.”
+
+“What is there for me to admit? Do you want to know whether I am the
+man who left those offices, who disappeared into the passage, who
+reappeared again—”
+
+“With a pocket-book containing twenty thousand pounds,” she murmured
+across the flowers.
+
+“At least tell me this?” he demanded. “Was the money yours?”
+
+“I am not like you,” she replied. “I have talked a great deal and I
+have reached the limit of the things which I may tell you.”
+
+“But where are we?” he asked. “Are you seriously accusing me of having
+robbed this murdered man?”
+
+“Be thankful,” she declared, “that I am not accusing you of having
+murdered him.”
+
+“But seriously,” he insisted, “am I on my defence—have I to account for
+my movements that night as against the written word of your mysterious
+informant? Is it you who are charging me with being a thief? Is it to
+you I am to account for my actions, to defend myself or to plead
+guilty?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“No,” she answered. “I have said almost my last word to you upon this
+subject. All that I have to ask of you is this. If that pocket-book is
+in your possession, empty it first of its contents, then go over it
+carefully with your fingers and see if there is not a secret pocket. If
+you discover that, I think that you will find in it a sealed document.
+If you find that document, you must bring it to me.”
+
+The lights went down. The voice of the waiter murmured something in his
+ears.
+
+“It is after hours,” Mademoiselle Idiale said, “but Luigi does not wish
+to disturb us. Still, perhaps we had better go.”
+
+They passed down the room. To Laverick it was all—like a dream—the
+laughing crowd, the flushed men and bright-eyed women, the lowered
+lights, the air of voluptuousness which somehow seemed to have enfolded
+the place. In the hall her maid came up. A small motor-brougham, with
+two servants on the box, was standing at the doorway. Mademoiselle
+turned suddenly and gave him her hand.
+
+“Our supper-party, I think, Mr. Laverick,” she said, “has been quite a
+success. We shall before long, I hope, meet again.”
+
+He handed her into the carriage. Her maid walked with them. The footman
+stood erect by his side. There were no further words to be spoken. A
+little crowd in the doorway envied him as he stood bareheaded upon the
+pavement.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV JIM SHEPHERD’S SCARE
+
+
+It was, in its way, a pathetic sight upon which Laverick gazed when he
+stole into that shabby little sitting-room. Zoe had fallen asleep in a
+small, uncomfortable easy-chair with its back to the window. Her supper
+of bread and milk was half finished, her hat lay upon the table. A book
+was upon her lap as though she had started to read only to find it slip
+through her fingers. He stood with his elbow upon the mantelpiece,
+looking down at her. Her eyelashes, long and silky, were more beautiful
+than ever now that her eyes were closed. Her complexion, pale though
+she was, seemed more the creamy pallor of some southern race than the
+whiteness of ill-health. The bodice of her dress was open a few inches
+at the neck, showing the faint white smoothness of her flawless skin.
+Not even her shabby shoes could conceal the perfect shape of her feet
+and ankles. Once more he remembered his first simile, his first thought
+of her. She seemed, indeed, like some dainty statuette, uncouthly clad,
+who had strayed from a world of her own upon rough days and found
+herself ill-equipped indeed for the struggle. His heart grew hot with
+anger against Morrison as he stood and watched her. Supposing she had
+been different! It would have been his fault, leaving her alone to
+battle her way through the most difficult of all lives. Brute!
+
+[Illustration]
+
+He had muttered the word half aloud and she suddenly opened her eyes.
+At first she seemed bewildered. Then she smiled and sat up.
+
+“I have been asleep!” she exclaimed.
+
+“A most unnecessary statement,” he answered, smiling. “I have been
+standing looking at you for five minutes at least.”
+
+“How fortunate that I gave you the key!” she declared. “I don’t suppose
+I should ever have heard you. Now please stand there in the light and
+let me look at you.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“I want to look at a man who has had supper with Mademoiselle Idiale.”
+
+He shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Am I supposed to be a wanderer out of Paradise, then?”
+
+She looked at him doubtfully.
+
+“They tell strange stories about her,” she said; “but oh, she is so
+beautiful! If I were a man, I should fall in love with her if she even
+looked my way.”
+
+“Then I am glad,” he answered, “that I am less impressionable.”
+
+“And you are not in love with her?” she asked eagerly.
+
+“Why should I be?” he laughed. “She is like a wonderful picture, a
+marvelous statue, if you will. Everything about her is faultless. But
+one looks at these things calmly enough, you know. It is life which
+stirs life.”
+
+“Do you think that there is no life in her veins, then?” Zoe asked.
+
+“If there is,” he answered, “I do not think that I am the man to stir
+it.”
+
+She drew a little sigh of content.
+
+“You see,” she said, “you are my first admirer, and I haven’t the least
+desire to let you go.”
+
+“Incredible!” he declared.
+
+“But it is true,” she answered earnestly. “You would not have me talk
+to these boys who come and hang on at the stage-door. The men to whom I
+have been introduced by the other girls have been very few, and they
+have not been very nice, and they have not cared for me and I have not
+cared for them. I think,” she said, disconsolately, “I am too small.
+Every one to-day seems to like big women. Cora Sinclair, who is just
+behind me in the chorus, gets bouquets every night, and simply chooses
+with whom she should go out to supper.”
+
+Laverick looked grave.
+
+“You are not envying her?” he asked.
+
+“Not in the least, as long as I too am taken out sometimes.”
+
+Laverick smiled and sat on the arm of her chair.
+
+“Miss Zoe,” he said, “I have come because you told me to, just to
+prove, you see, that I am not in the toils of Mademoiselle Idiale. But
+do you know that it is half past one? I must not stay here any longer.”
+
+She sighed once more.
+
+“You are right,” she admitted, “but it is so lonely. I have never been
+here without May and her mother. I have never slept alone in the house
+before the other night. If I had known that they were going away, I
+should never have dared to come here.”
+
+“It is too bad,” he declared. “Couldn’t you get one of the other girls
+to stay with you?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“There are one or two whom I would like to have,” she said, “but they
+are all living either at home or with relatives. The others I am afraid
+about. They seem to like to sit up so late and—”
+
+“You are quite right,” he interrupted hastily,—“quite right. You are
+better alone. But you ought to have a servant.”
+
+She laughed.
+
+“On two pounds fifteen a week?” she asked. “You must remember that I
+could not even live here, only I have practically no rent to pay.”
+
+He fidgeted for a moment.
+
+“Miss Zoe,” he said, “I am perfectly serious when I tell you that I
+have money which should go to your brother. Why will you not let me
+alter your arrangements just a little? I cannot bear to think of you
+here all alone.”
+
+“It is very kind of you,” she answered doubtfully; “but please, no.
+Somehow, I think that it would spoil everything if I accepted that sort
+of help from you. If you have any money of Arthur’s, keep it for a time
+and I think when you write him—I do not want to seem grasping—but I
+think if he has any to spare you might suggest that he does give me
+just a little. I have never had anything from him at all. Perhaps he
+does not quite understand how hard it is for me.
+
+“I will do that, of course,” Laverick answered, “but I wish you would
+let me at least pay over a little of what I consider due to you. I will
+take the responsibility for it. It will come from him and not from me.”
+
+She remained unconvinced.
+
+“I would rather wait,” she said. “If you really want to give me
+something, I will let you—out of my brother’s money, of course, I
+mean,” she added. “I haven’t anything saved at all, or I wouldn’t have
+that. But one day you shall take me out and buy me a dress and hat. You
+can tell Arthur directly you write to him. I don’t mind that, for
+sometimes I do feel ashamed—I did the other night to have you sit with
+me there, and to feel that I was dressed so very differently from all
+of them.”
+
+He laughed reassuringly.
+
+“I don’t think men notice those things. To me you seemed just as you
+should seem. I only know that I was glad enough to be there with you.”
+
+“Were you?”—rather wistfully.
+
+“Of course I was. Now I am going, but before I go, don’t forget Monday
+afternoon. We’ll have lunch and then go to your brother’s rooms.”
+
+She glanced at the clock.
+
+“Is it really so late?” she asked.
+
+“It is. Don’t you notice how quiet it is outside?”
+
+They stood hand in hand for a moment. A strange silence seemed to have
+fallen upon the streets. Laverick was suddenly conscious of something
+which he had never felt when Mademoiselle Idiale had smiled upon him—a
+quickening of the pulses, a sense of gathering excitement which almost
+took his breath away. His eyes were fixed upon hers, and he seemed to
+see the reflection of that same wave of feeling in her own expressive
+face. Her lips trembled, her eyes were deeper and softer than ever.
+They seemed to be asking him a question, asking and asking till every
+fibre of his body was concentrated in the desperate effort with, which
+he kept her at arm’s length.
+
+“Is it so very late?” she whispered, coming just a little closer, so
+that she was indeed almost within the shelter of his arms.
+
+He clutched her hands almost roughly and raised them to his lips.
+
+“Much too late for me to stay here, child,” he said, and his voice even
+to himself sounded hard and unnatural.
+
+“Run along to bed. To-morrow night—to-morrow night, then, I will fetch
+you. Good-bye!”
+
+He let himself out. He did not even look behind to the spot where he
+had left her. He closed the front door and walked with swift, almost
+savage footsteps down the quiet Street, across the Square, and into New
+Oxford Street. Here he seemed to breathe more freely. He called a
+hansom and drove to his rooms.
+
+The hall-porter had left his post in the front hall, and there was no
+one to inform Laverick that a visitor was awaiting him. When he entered
+his sitting-room, however, he gave a little start of surprise. Mr.
+James Shepherd was reclining in his easy-chair with his hands upon his
+knees—Mr. James Shepherd with his face more pasty even than usual, his
+eyes a trifle greener, his whole demeanor one of unconcealed and
+unaffected terror.
+
+“Hullo!” Laverick exclaimed. “What the dickens—what do you want here,
+Shepherd?”
+
+“Upon my word, sir, I’m not sure that I know,” the man replied, “but
+I’m scared. I’ve brought you back the certificates of them shares. I
+want you to keep them for me. I’m terrified lest they come and search
+my room. I am, I tell you fair. I’m terrified to order a pint of beer
+for myself. They’re watching me all the time.”
+
+“Who are?” Laverick demanded.
+
+“Lord knows who;” Shepherd answered, “but there’s two of them at it. I
+told you about them as asked questions, and I thought there we’d done
+and finished with it. Not a bit of it! There was another one there this
+afternoon, said he was a journalist, making sketches of the passage and
+asking me no end of questions. He wasn’t no journalist, I’ll swear to
+that. I asked him about his paper. ‘Half-a-dozen,’ he declared.
+‘They’re all glad to have what I send them.’ Journalist! Lord knows who
+the other chap was and what he was asking questions for, but this one
+was a ’tec, straight. Joe Forman, he was in to-day looking after my
+place, for I’d given a month’s notice, and he says to me, ‘You see that
+big chap?’—meaning him as had been asking me the questions—and I says
+‘Yes!’ and he says, ‘That’s a ’tee. I’ve seed him in a police court,
+giving evidence.’ I went all of a shiver so that you could have knocked
+me down.”
+
+“Come, come!” said Laverick. “There’s no need for you to be feeling
+like this about it. All that you’ve done is not to have remembered
+those two customers who were in your restaurant late one night. There’s
+nothing criminal in that.”
+
+“There’s something criminal in having two hundred and fifty pounds’
+worth of shares in one’s pocket—something suspicious, anyway,” Shepherd
+declared, plumping them down on the table. “I ain’t giving you these
+back, mind, but you must keep ’em for me. I wish I’d never given
+notice. I think I’ll ask the boss to keep me on.”
+
+“Why do you suppose that this man is particularly interested in you?”
+Laverick inquired.
+
+“Ain’t I told you?” Shepherd exclaimed, sitting up. “Why, he’s been to
+my place down in ’Ammersmith, asking questions about me. My landlady
+swears he didn’t go into my room, but who can tell whether he did or
+not? Those sort of chaps can get in anywhere. Then I went out for a bit
+of an airing after the one o’clock rush was over to-day, and I’m danged
+if he wasn’t at my ’eels. I seed him coming round by Liverpool Street
+just as I went in a bar to get a drop of something.”
+
+Laverick frowned.
+
+“If there is anything in this story, Shepherd,” he said, “if you are
+really being followed, what a thundering fool you were to come here!
+All the world knows that Arthur Morrison was my partner.”
+
+“I couldn’t help it, sir,” the man declared. “I couldn’t, indeed. I was
+so scared, I felt I must speak about it to some one. And then there
+were these shares. There was nowhere I could keep ’em safe.”
+
+“Look here,” Laverick went on, “you’re alarming yourself about nothing.
+In any case, there is only one thing for you to do. Pull yourself
+together and put a bold face upon it. I’ll keep these certificates for
+you, and when you want some money you can come to me for it. Go back to
+your place, and if your master is willing to keep you on perhaps it
+would be a good thing to stay there for another month or so. But don’t
+let any one see that you’re frightened. Remember, there’s nothing that
+you can get into trouble for. No one’s obliged to answer such questions
+as you’ve been asked, except in a court and under oath. Stick to your
+story, and if you take my advice,” Laverick added, glancing at his
+visitor’s shaking fingers, “you will keep away from the drink.”
+
+“It’s little enough I’ve had, sir,” Shepherd assured him. “A drop now
+and then just to keep up one’s spirits—nothing that amounts to
+anything.”
+
+“Make it as little as possible,” Laverick said. “Remember, I’m back of
+you, I’ll see that you get into no trouble. And don’t come here again.
+Come to my office, if you like—there’s nothing in that—but don’t come
+here, you understand?”
+
+Shepherd took up his hat.
+
+“I understand, sir. I’m sorry to have troubled you, but the sight of
+that man following me about fairly gave me the shivers.”
+
+“Come into the office as often as you like, in reason,” Laverick said,
+showing him out, “but not here again. Keep your eyes open, and let me
+know if you think you’ve been followed here.”
+
+“There’s no more news in the papers, sir? Nothing turned up?”
+
+“Nothing,” replied Laverick. “If the police have found out anything at
+all, they will keep it until after the inquest.”
+
+“And you’ve heard nothing, sir,” Shepherd asked, speaking in a hoarse
+whisper, “of Mr. Morrison?”
+
+“Nothing,” Laverick answered. “Mr. Morrison is abroad.”
+
+The man wiped his forehead with his hand.
+
+“Of course!” he muttered. “A good job, too, for him!”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI THE DOCUMENT DISCOVERED
+
+
+On the following morning, Laverick surprised his office cleaner and one
+errand-boy by appearing at about a quarter to nine. He found a woman
+busy brushing out his room and a man Cleaning the windows. They stared
+at him in amazement. His arrival at such an hour was absolutely
+unprecedented.
+
+“You can leave the office just as it is, if you please,” he told them.
+“I have a few things to attend to at once.”
+
+He was accordingly left alone. He had reckoned upon this as being the
+one period during the day when he could rely upon not being disturbed.
+Nevertheless, he locked the door so as to be secure against any
+possible intruder. Then he went to his safe, unlocked it, and drew from
+its secret drawer the worn brown-leather pocket-book.
+
+First of all he took out the notes and laid them upon the table. Then
+he felt the pocket-book all over and his heart gave a little leap. It
+was true what Mademoiselle Idiale had told him. On one side there was
+distinctly a rustling as of paper. He opened the case quite flat and
+passed his fingers carefully over the lining. Very soon he found the
+opening—it was simply a matter of drawing down the stiff silk lining
+from underneath the overlapping edge. Thrusting in his fingers, he drew
+out a long foreign envelope, securely sealed. Scarcely stopping to
+glance at it, he rearranged the pocket-book, replaced the notes, and
+locked it up again. Then he unbolted his door and sat down at his desk,
+with the document which he had discovered, on the pad in front of him.
+
+There was not much to be made of it. There was no address, but the
+black seal at the end bore the impression of a foreign coat of arms,
+and a motto which to him was indecipherable. He held it up to the
+light, but the outside sheet had not been written on, and he gained no
+idea as to its contents. He leaned back in his chair for a moment, and
+looked at it. So this was the document which would probably reveal the
+secret of the murder in Crooked Friars’ Alley! This was the document
+which Mademoiselle Idiale considered of so much more importance than
+the fortune represented by that packet of bank-notes! What did it all
+mean? Was this man, who had either expiated a crime or been the victim
+of a terrible vengeance,—was he a politician, a dealer in trade
+secrets, a member of a secret society, an informer? Or was he one of
+the underground criminals of the world, one of those who crawl beneath
+the surface of known things—a creature of the dark places? Perhaps
+during those few minutes, when his brain was cool and active, with the
+great city awakening all around him, Laverick realized more completely
+than ever before exactly how he stood. Without doubt he was walking on
+the brink of a precipice. Four days ago there had been nothing for him
+but ruin. The means of salvation had suddenly presented themselves in
+this startling and dramatic manner, and without hesitation he had
+embraced them. What did it all amount to? How far was he guilty, and of
+what? Was he a thief? The law would probably call him so. The law might
+have even more to say. It would say that by keeping his mouth closed as
+to his adventure on that night he had ranged himself on the side of the
+criminals,—he was guilty not only of technical theft, but of a criminal
+knowledge of this terrible crime. Events had followed upon one another
+so rapidly during these last few days that he had little enough time
+for reflection, little time to realize exactly how he stood. The
+long-expected boom in “Unions,” the coming of Zoe, the strange advances
+made to him by Mademoiselle Idiale, her incomprehensible connection
+with this tragedy across which he had stumbled, and her apparent
+knowledge of his share in it,—these things were sufficient, indeed, to
+give him food for thought. Laverick was not by nature a pessimist.
+Other things being equal, he would have made, without doubt, a
+magnificent soldier, for he had courage of a rare and high order. It
+never occurred to him to sit and brood upon his own danger. He rather
+welcomed the opportunity of occupying his mind with other thoughts. Yet
+in those few minutes, while he waited for the business of the day to
+commence, he looked his exact position in the face and he realized more
+thoroughly how grave it really was. How was he to find a way out—to set
+himself right with the law? What could he do with those notes? They
+were there untouched. He had only made use of them in an indirect way.
+They were there intact, as he had picked them up upon that fateful
+night. Was there any possible chance by means of which he might
+discover the owner and restore them in such a way that his name might
+never be mentioned? His eyes repeatedly sought that envelope which lay
+before him. Inside it must lie the secret of the whole tragedy. Should
+he risk everything and break the seal, or should he risk perhaps as
+much and tell the whole truth to Mademoiselle Idiale? It was a strange
+dilemma for a man to find himself in.
+
+Then, as he sat there, the business of the day commenced. A pile of
+letters was brought in, the telephones in the outer office began to
+ring. He thrust the sealed envelope into the breast-pocket of his coat
+and buttoned it up. There, for the present, it must remain. He owed it
+to himself to devote every energy he possessed to make the most of this
+great tide of business. With set face he closed the doors upon the
+unreal world, and took hold of the levers which were to guide his
+passage through the one in which he was an actual figure.
+
+Her visit was not altogether unexpected, and yet, when they told him
+that Mademoiselle Idiale was outside, he hesitated.
+
+“It is the lady who was here the other day,” his head clerk reminded
+him. “We made a remarkably good choice of stocks for her. They must be
+showing nearly sixteen hundred pounds profit. Perhaps she wants to
+realize.”
+
+“In any case, you had better show her in,” said Laverick.
+
+She came, bringing with her, notwithstanding her black clothes and
+heavy veil, the atmosphere of a strange world into his somewhat
+severely furnished office. Her skirts swept his carpet with a musical
+swirl. She carried with her a faint, indefinable perfume of violets,—a
+perfume altogether peculiar, dedicated to her by a famous chemist in
+the Rue Royale, and supplied to no other person upon earth. Who else
+was there, indeed, who could have walked those few yards as she walked?
+
+He rose to his feet and pointed to a chair.
+
+“You have come to ask about your shares?” he asked politely. “So far,
+we have nothing but good news for you.”
+
+She recognized that he spoke to her in the presence of his clerk, and
+she waved her hand.
+
+“Women who will come themselves to look after their poor investments
+are a nuisance, I suppose,” she said. “But indeed I will not keep you
+long. A few minutes are all that I shall ask of you. I am beginning to
+find city affairs so interesting.”
+
+They were alone by now and Louise raised her veil, raised it so high
+that he could see her eyes. She leaned back in her chair, supporting
+her chin with the long, exquisite fingers of her right hand. She looked
+at him thoughtfully.
+
+“You have examined the pocket-book?” she asked.
+
+“I have.”
+
+“And the document was there?”
+
+“The document was there,” he admitted. “Perhaps you can tell me how it
+would be addressed?”
+
+Looking at her closely, it came to him that her indifference was
+assumed. She was shivering slightly, as though with cold.
+
+“I imagine that there would be no address,” she said.
+
+“You are right. That document is in my pocket.”
+
+“What are you going to do with it?” she asked.
+
+“What do you advise me to do with it?”
+
+“Give it to me.”
+
+“Have you any claim?”
+
+She leaned a little nearer to him.
+
+“At least I have more claim to it,” she whispered, “than you to that
+twenty thousand pounds.”
+
+“I do not claim them,” he replied. “They are in my safe at this moment,
+untouched. They are there ready to be returned to their proper owner.”
+
+“Why do you not find him?”—with a note of incredulity in her tone.
+
+“How am I to do that?” Laverick demanded.
+
+“We waste words,” she continued coldly. “I think that if I leave you
+with the contents of your safe, it will be wise for you to hand me that
+document.”
+
+“I am inclined to do so,” Laverick admitted. “The very fact that you
+knew of its existence would seem to give you a sort of claim to it.
+But, Mademoiselle Idiale, will you answer me a few questions?”
+
+“I think,” she said, “that it would be better if you asked me none.”
+
+“But listen,” he begged. “You are the only person with whom I have come
+into touch who seems to know anything about this affair. I should
+rather like to tell you exactly how I stumbled in upon it. Why can we
+not exchange confidence for confidence? I want neither the twenty
+thousand pounds nor the document. I want, to be frank with you, nothing
+but to escape from the position I am now in of being half a thief and
+half a criminal. Show me some claim to that document and you shall have
+it. Tell me to whom that money belongs, and it shall be restored.”
+
+“You are incomprehensible,” she declared. “Are you, by any chance,
+playing a part with me? Do you think that it is worth while?”
+
+“Mademoiselle Idiale,” Laverick protested earnestly, “nothing in the
+world is further from my thoughts. There is very little of the
+conspirator about me. I am a plain man of business who stumbled in upon
+this affair at a critical moment and dared to make temporary use of his
+discovery. You can put it, if you like, that I am afraid. I want to get
+out. Nothing would give me greater pleasure, if such a thing were
+possible, than to send this pocket-book and its contents anonymously to
+Scotland Yard, and never hear about them again.”
+
+She listened to him with unchanged face. Yet for some moments after he
+had finished speaking she was thoughtful.
+
+“You may be speaking the truth,” she said. “If so, I have been
+deceived. You are not quite the sort of man I did believe you were.
+What you tell me is amazing, but it may be true.”
+
+“It is the truth,” Laverick repeated calmly.
+
+“Listen,” she said, after a brief pause. “You were at school, were you
+not, with Mr. David Bellamy? You know well who he is?”
+
+“Perfectly well,” Laverick admitted.
+
+“You would consider him a person to be trusted?”
+
+“Absolutely.”
+
+“Very well, then,” she declared. “You shall come to my fiat at five
+o’clock this afternoon and bring that document. If it is possible,
+David Bellamy shall be there himself. We will try then and prove to you
+that you do no harm in parting with that document to us.”
+
+“I will come,” Laverick promised, “at five o’clock; but you must tell
+me where.”
+
+“You will put it down, please,” she said. “There must not be any
+mistake. You must come, and you must come to-day. I am staying at
+number 15, Dover Street. I will leave orders that you are shown in at
+once.”
+
+She rose to her feet and he walked to the door with her. On the way she
+hesitated.
+
+“Take care of yourself to-day, Mr. Laverick,” she begged. “There are
+others beside myself who are interested in that packet you carry with
+you. You represent to them things beside which life and death are
+trivial happenings.”
+
+Laverick laughed shortly. He was a matter-of-fact man, and there seemed
+something a little absurd in such a warning.
+
+“I do not think,” he declared, “that you need have any fear. London is,
+as you doubtless find it, a dull old city, but it is a remarkably safe
+one to live in.”
+
+“Nevertheless, Mr. Laverick,” she repeated earnestly, “be on your guard
+to-day, for all our sakes.”
+
+He bowed and changed the subject.
+
+“Your investments,” he remarked, “you will be content, perhaps, to
+leave as they are. It is, no doubt, of some interest to you to know
+that they are showing already a profit of considerably over a thousand
+pounds.”
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+“It was an excuse—that investment,” she declared. “Yet money is always
+good. Keep it for me, Mr. Laverick, and do what you will. I will trust
+your judgment. Buy or sell as you please. You will let nothing prevent
+your coming this afternoon?”
+
+“Nothing,” he promised her.
+
+From the window of her beautifully appointed little electric brougham
+she held out her hand in farewell.
+
+“You think me foolish, I know, that I persist,” she said, “but I do beg
+that you will remember what I say. Do not be alone to-day more than you
+can help. Suspect every one who comes near to you. There may be a trap
+before your feet at any moment. Be wary always and do not forget—at
+five o’clock I expect you.”
+
+Laverick smiled as he bowed his adieux.
+
+“It is a promise, Mademoiselle,” he assured her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII PENETRATING A MYSTERY
+
+
+About an hour after Mademoiselle Idiale’s departure a note marked
+“Urgent” was brought in and handed to Laverick. He tore it open. It was
+dated from the address of a firm of stockbrokers, with two of the
+partners of which he was on friendly terms. It ran thus:
+
+MY DEAR LAVERICK,—I want a chat with you, if you can spare five minutes
+at lunch time. Come to Lyons’ a little earlier than usual, if you don’t
+mind,—say at a quarter to one.
+
+
+J. HENSHAW.
+
+
+Laverick read the typewritten note carelessly enough at first. He had
+even laid it down and glanced at the clock, with the intention of
+starting out, when a thought struck him. He took it up and read it
+though again. Then he turned to the telephone.
+
+“Put me on to the office of Henshaw & Allen. I want to speak to Mr.
+Henshaw particularly.”
+
+Two minutes passed. Laverick, meanwhile, had been washing his hands
+ready to go out. Then the telephone bell rang. He took up the receiver.
+
+“Hullo! Is that Henshaw?”
+
+“I’m Henshaw,” was the answer. “That’s Laverick, isn’t it? How are you,
+old fellow?”
+
+“I’m all right,” Laverick replied. “What is it that you want to see me
+about?”
+
+“Nothing particular that I know of. Who told you that I wanted to?”
+
+Laverick, who had been standing with the instrument in his hand, sat
+down in his chair.
+
+“Look here,” he said, “Didn’t you send me a note a few minutes ago,
+asking me to come out to lunch at a quarter to one and meet you at
+Lyons’?”
+
+Henshaw’s laugh was sufficient response.
+
+“Delighted to lunch with you there or anywhere, old chap,—you know
+that,” was the answer, “but some one’s been putting up a practical joke
+on you.”
+
+“You did not send me a note round this morning, then?” Laverick
+insisted.
+
+“I’ll swear I didn’t,” came the reply. “Do you seriously mean that
+you’ve had one purporting to come from me?”
+
+Laverick pulled himself together.
+
+“Well, the signature’s such a scrawl,” he said, “that no one could tell
+what the name really was. I guessed at you but I seem to have guessed
+wrong. Good-bye!”
+
+He set down the receiver and rang off to escape further questioning.
+Now indeed the plot was commencing to thicken. This was a deliberate
+effort on the part of some one to secure his absence from his offices
+at a quarter to one.
+
+With the document in his pocket and the safe securely locked, Laverick
+felt at ease as to the result of any attempted burglary of his
+premises. At the same time his curiosity was excited. Here, perhaps,
+was a chance of finding some clue to this impenetrable mystery.
+
+There were thee clerks in the outer office. He put on his hat and
+despatched two of them on errands in different directions. The last he
+was obliged to take into his confidence.
+
+“Halsey,” he said, “I am going out to lunch. At least, I wish it to be
+thought that I am going out to lunch. As a matter of fact, I shall
+return in about ten minutes by the back way. I do not wish you,
+however, to know this. I want you to have it in your mind that I have
+gone to lunch and shall not be back until a quarter past two. If there
+are visitors for me—inquirers of any sort—act exactly as you would have
+done if you really believed that I was not in the building.”
+
+Halsey appeared a good deal mystified. Laverick took him even further
+into his confidence.
+
+“To tell you the truth, Halsey,” he said, “I have just received a bogus
+letter from Mr. Henshaw, asking me to lunch with him. Some one was
+evidently anxious to get me out of my office for an hour or so. I want
+to find out for myself what this means, if possible. You understand?”
+
+“I think so, sir,” the man replied doubtfully. “I am not to be aware
+that you have returned, then?”
+
+“Certainly not,” Laverick answered. “Please be quite clear about that.
+If you hear any commotion in the office, you can come in, but do not
+send for the police unless I tell you to. I wish to look into this
+affair for myself.”
+
+Halsey, who had started life as a lawyer’s clerk, and was distinctly
+formal in his ideas, was a little shocked.
+
+“Would it not be better, sir,” he suggested, “for me to communicate
+with the police in the first case? If this should really turn out to be
+an attempt at burglary, it would surely be best to leave the matter to
+them.”
+
+Laverick frowned.
+
+“For certain reasons, Halsey, which I do not think it necessary to tell
+you, I have a strong desire to investigate this matter personally.
+Please do exactly as I say.”
+
+He left the office and strolled up the street in the direction of the
+restaurant which he chiefly frequented. He reached it in a moment or
+two, but left it at once by another entrance. Within ten minutes he was
+back at his office.
+
+“Has any one been, Halsey?”
+
+“No one, sir,” the clerk answered.
+
+“You will be so good,” Laverick continued, “as to forget that I have
+returned.”
+
+He passed on quickly into his own room and made his way into the small
+closet where he kept his coat and washed his hands. He had scarcely
+been there a minute when he heard voices in the outside hall. The door
+of his office was opened.
+
+“Mr. Laverick said nothing about an appointment at this hour,” he heard
+Halsey protest in a somewhat deprecating tone.
+
+“He had, perhaps, forgotten,” was the answer, in a totally unfamiliar
+voice. “At any rate, I am not in a great hurry. The matter is of some
+importance, however, and I will wait for Mr. Laverick.”
+
+The visitor was shown in. Laverick investigated his appearance through
+a crack in the door. He was a man of medium height, well-dressed,
+clean-shaven, and wore gold-rimmed spectacles. He made himself
+comfortable in Laverick’s easy-chair, and accepted the paper which
+Halsey offered him.
+
+“I shall be quite glad of a rest,” he remarked genially. “I have been
+running about all the morning.”
+
+“Mr. Laverick is never very long out for lunch, sir,” Halsey said. “I
+daresay he will not keep you more than a quarter of an hour or twenty
+minutes.”
+
+The clerk withdrew and closed the door. The man in the chair waited for
+a moment. Then he laid down his newspaper and looked cautiously around
+the room. Satisfied apparently that he was alone, he rose to his feet
+and walked swiftly to Laverick’s writing-table. With fingers which
+seemed gifted with a lightning-like capacity for movement, he swung
+open the drawers, one by one, and turned over the papers. His eyes were
+everywhere. Every document seemed to be scanned and as rapidly
+discarded. At last he found something which interested him. He held it
+up and paused in his search. Laverick heard a little breath come though
+his teeth, and with a thrill he recognized the paper as one which he
+had torn from a memorandum tablet and upon which he had written down
+the address which Mademoiselle Idiale had given him. The man with the
+gold-rimmed glasses replaced the paper where he had found it. Evidently
+he had done with the writing-table. He moved swiftly over to the safe
+and stood there listening for a few seconds. Then from his pocket he
+drew a bunch of keys. To Laverick’s surprise, at the stranger’s first
+effort the great door of the safe swung open. He saw the man lean
+forward, saw his hand reappear almost directly with the pocket-book
+clenched in his fingers. Then he stood once more quite still,
+listening. Satisfied that no one was disturbed, he closed the door of
+the safe softly and moved once more to the writing-table. With
+marvelous swiftness the notes were laid upon the table, the pocket-book
+was turned upside down, the secret place disclosed—the secret place
+which was empty. It seemed to Laverick that from his hiding-place he
+could hear the little oath of disappointment which broke from the thin
+red lips. The man replaced the notes and, with the pocket-book in his
+hand, hesitated. Laverick, who thought that things had gone far enough,
+stepped lightly out from his hiding-place and stood between his
+unbidden visitor and the door.
+
+“You had better put down that pocket-book,” he ordered quietly.
+
+The man was upon him with a single spring, but Laverick, without the
+slightest hesitation, knocked him prone upon the floor, where he lay,
+for a moment, motionless. Then he slowly picked himself up. His
+spectacles were broken—he blinked as he stood there.
+
+“Sorry to be so rough,” Laverick said. “Perhaps if you will kindly
+realize that of the two I am much the stronger man, you will be so good
+as to sit in that chair and tell me the meaning of your intrusion.”
+
+The man obeyed. He covered his eyes with his hand, for a moment, as
+though in pain.
+
+“I imagine,” he said—and it seemed to Laverick that his voice had a
+slight foreign accent—“I imagine that the motive for my paying you this
+visit is fairly clear to you. People who have compromising possessions
+may always expect visits of this sort. You see, one runs so little
+risk.”
+
+“So little risk!” Laverick repeated.
+
+“Exactly,” the other answered. “Confess that you are not in the least
+inclined to ring your bell and send for a constable to give me in
+charge for being in possession of a pocket-book abstracted from your
+safe, containing twenty thousand pounds in Bank of England notes.”
+
+“It wouldn’t do at all,” Laverick admitted.
+
+“You are a man of common sense,” declared the other. “It would not do.
+Now comes the time when I have a question to ask you. There was a
+sealed document in this pocket-book. Where is it? What have you done
+with it?”
+
+“Can you tell me,” Laverick asked, “why I should answer questions from
+a person whom I discover apparently engaged in a nefarious attempt at
+burglary?”
+
+The man’s hand shot out from his trouser-pocket, and Laverick looked
+into the gleaming muzzle of a revolver.
+
+“Because if you don’t, you die,” was the quick reply. “Whether you’ve
+read that document or not, I want it. If you’ve read it, you know the
+sort of men you’ve got to deal with. If you haven’t, take my word for
+it that we waste no time. The document! Will you give it me?”
+
+“Do I understand that you are threatening me?” Laverick asked,
+retreating a few steps.
+
+“You may understand that this is a repeating revolver, and that I
+seldom miss a half-crown at twenty paces,” his visitor answered. “If
+you put out your hand toward that bell, it will be the last movement
+you’ll ever make on earth.”
+
+“London isn’t really the place for this sort of thing,” Laverick said.
+“If you discharge that revolver, you haven’t a dog’s chance of getting
+clear of the building. My clerks would rush out after you into the
+street. You’d find yourself surrounded by a crowd of business men. You
+couldn’t make your way through anywhere. You’d be held up before you’d
+gone a dozen yards. Put down your revolver. We can perhaps settle this
+little matter without it.”
+
+“The document!” the man ordered. “You’ve got it! You must have it! You
+took that pocket-book from a dead man, and in that pocket-book was the
+document. We must have it. We intend to have it.”
+
+“And who, may I ask, are we?” Laverick inquired.
+
+“If you do not know, what does it matter? Will you give it to me?”
+
+Laverick shook his head.
+
+“I have no document.”
+
+The man in the chair leaned forward. The muzzle of his revolver was
+very bright, and he held it in fingers which were firm as a rock.
+
+“Give it to me!” he repeated. “You ought to know that you are not
+dealing with men who are unaccustomed to death. You have it about you.
+Produce it, and I’ve done with you. Deny me, and you have not time to
+say your prayers!”
+
+Laverick was leaning against a small table which stood near the door.
+His fingers suddenly gripped the ledger which lay upon it. He held it
+in front of his face for a single moment, and then dashed it at his
+visitor. He followed behind with one desperate spring. Once, twice, the
+revolver barked out. Laverick felt the skin of his temple burn and a
+flick on the ear which reminded him of his school-days. Then his hand
+was upon the other man’s throat and the revolver lay upon the carpet.
+
+“We’ll see about that. By the Lord, I’ve a good mind to wring the life
+out of you. That bullet of yours might have been in my temple.”
+
+“It was meant to be there,” the man gasped. “Hand over the document,
+you pig-headed fool! It’ll cost you your life—if not to-day,
+to-morrow.”
+
+“I’ll be hanged if you get it, anyway!” Laverick answered fiercely.
+“You assassin! Scoundrel! To come here and make a cold-blooded effort
+at murder! You shall see what you think of the inside of an English
+prison.”
+
+The man laughed contemptuously.
+
+“And what about the pocket-book?” he asked.
+
+Laverick was silent. His assailant smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Come,” he said, “I have made my effort and failed. You have twenty
+thousand pounds. That’s a fair price, but I’ll add another twenty
+thousand for that document unopened.”
+
+“It is possible that we might deal,” Laverick remarked, kicking the
+revolver a little further away. “Unfortunately, I am too much in the
+dark. Tell me the real position of the murdered man? Tell me why he was
+murdered? Tell me the contents of this document and why it was in his
+possession? Perhaps I may then be inclined to treat with you.”
+
+“You are either an astonishingly ingenuous person, Mr. Laverick,” his
+visitor declared, “or you’re too subtle for me. You do not expect me to
+believe that you are in this with your eyes blindfolded? You do not
+expect me to believe that you do not know what is in that sealed
+envelope? Bah! It is a child’s game, that, and we play as men with
+men.”
+
+Laverick shook his head.
+
+“Your offer,” he asked, “what is it exactly?”
+
+“Twenty thousand pounds,” the man answered. “The document is worth no
+more than that to you. How you came into this thing is a mystery, but
+you are in and, what is more, you have possession. Twenty thousand
+pounds, Mr. Laverick. It is a large sum of money. You find it
+interesting?”
+
+“I find it interesting,” Laverick answered dryly, “but I am not a
+seller.”
+
+The intruder moved his hand away from his eyes. His expression was full
+of wonder.
+
+“Consider for a moment,” he said. “While that document remains in your
+possession, you walk the narrow way, your life hangs upon a thread.
+Better surrender it and attend to your stocks and shares. Heaven knows
+how you first came into our affairs, but the sooner you are out of them
+the better. What do you say now to my offer?”
+
+“It is refused,” Laverick declared. “I regret to add,” he continued,
+“that I have already spared you all the time I have at my disposal.
+Forgive me.”
+
+He pressed a button with his finger. His visitor rose up in anger.
+
+“You are not such a fool!” he exclaimed. “You are not going to send me
+away without it? Why, I tell you that there won’t be a safe corner in
+the world for you!”
+
+Halsey opened the door. Laverick nodded toward his visitor.
+
+“Show this gentleman out, Halsey,” he ordered.
+
+Halsey started. The noise of the revolver shot had evidently been
+muffled by the heavy connecting doors, but there was a smell of
+gunpowder in the room, and a little wreath of smoke. The man rose
+slowly to his feet, still blinking.
+
+“It must be as you will, of course. I wonder if you would be so good as
+to let your clerk direct me to an oculist? I am, unfortunately, a
+helpless man in this condition.”
+
+“There is one a few yards off,” Laverick answered. “Put on your hat,
+Halsey, and show this gentleman where he can get some glasses.”
+
+His visitor leaned towards Laverick.
+
+“It is your life which is in question, not my eyesight,” he muttered.
+“Do you accept my offer? Will you give me the document?”
+
+“I do not and I will not,” Laverick replied. “I shall not part with
+anything until I know more than I know at present.”
+
+The man stood motionless for a moment. His fingers seemed to be
+twitching. Laverick had a fancy that he was about to spring, but if
+ever he had had any thoughts of the kind, Halsey’s reappearance checked
+them.
+
+“I am much obliged to you, Mr. Laverick,” he said quietly. “We shall,
+perhaps, resume this discussion at some future date.”
+
+With that he turned and followed Halsey out of the room. Laverick went
+to the window and threw it wide open. The smoke floated out, the smell
+of gunpowder was gradually dispersed. Then he walked back to his seat.
+Once more he locked up the notes. The document was safe in his pocket.
+There was a slight mark by the side of his temple, and his ear, he
+discovered, was bleeding. He rang the bell and Halsey entered.
+
+“Has our friend gone, Halsey?”
+
+“I left him in the optician’s, sir,” the clerk answered. “He was buying
+some spectacles.”
+
+Laverick glanced at the floor, where the remains of those gold-rimmed
+glasses were scattered.
+
+“You had better send for a locksmith at once,” he said. “The gentleman
+who has been here had a skeleton key to my safe. We’ll have a
+combination put on.”
+
+“Very good, sir,” Halsey answered.
+
+“And, Halsey,” his master continued, “be careful about one thing, for
+your own sake as well as mine. If that man presents himself again,
+don’t let him come into my room unannounced. If you can help it, don’t
+let him come in at all. I have an idea that he might be dangerous.”
+
+The clerk’s face was a study.
+
+“If he presents himself here, sir,” he announced stiffly, “I shall take
+the liberty of sending for the police.”
+
+Laverick made no reply.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII LAVERICK’S NARROW ESCAPE
+
+
+At precisely a quarter past four, nothing having happened in the
+meantime but a steady rush of business, Laverick ordered a taxicab to
+be summoned. He then unlocked his safe, placed the pocket-book securely
+in his breast pocket, walked through the office, and directed the man
+to drive to Chancery Lane. Here at the headquarters of the Safe Deposit
+Company he engaged a compartment, and down in the strong-room locked up
+the pocket-book. There was only now the document left. Stepping once
+more into the street, he found that his taxicab had vanished. He looked
+up and down in vain. The man had not been paid and there seemed to be
+no reason for his departure. A policeman who was standing by touched
+his hat and addressed him.
+
+“Were you looking for that taxi you stepped out of a few minutes ago,
+sir?” he asked.
+
+“I was,” Laverick answered. “I hadn’t paid him and I told him to wait.”
+
+“I thought there was something queer about it,” the policeman remarked.
+“Soon after you had gone inside, two gentlemen drove up in a hansom.
+They got out here and one of them spoke to your driver, who shook his
+head and pointed to his flag. The gent then said something else to
+him—can’t say as I heard what it was, but it was probably offering him
+double fare. Anyway, they both got in and off went your taxi, sir.”
+
+“Thank you,” Laverick said thoughtfully. “It sounds a little
+perplexing.”
+
+He hesitated for a moment.
+
+“Constable,” he continued, “I have just made a very valuable deposit in
+there, and I had an idea that I might be followed. I have still in my
+pocket a document of great importance. I have no doubt whatever but
+that the object of the men who have taken my taxicab is to leave me in
+the street here alone under circumstances which will render a quick
+attack upon me likely to be successful.”
+
+The policeman turned his head and looked at Laverick incredulously. He
+was more than half inclined to believe that this was a practical joke.
+Were they not standing on the pavement in Chancery Lane, and was not he
+an able-bodied policeman of great bulk and immense muscle! Yet his
+companion did not look by any means a man of the nervous order.
+Laverick was broad-shouldered, his skin was tanned a wholesome color,
+his bearing was the bearing of a man prepared to defend himself at any
+time. The constable smiled in a non-committal manner.
+
+“If you’ll excuse my saying so, sir,” he remarked, “I don’t think this
+is exactly the spot any one would choose for an assault.”
+
+“I agree with you,” Laverick answered, “but, on the other hand, you
+must remember that these gentlemen have had no choice. I stepped from
+my office direct into the taxi, and I proposed to drive straight from
+here to the place where I shall probably leave the other document I am
+carrying with me. Why I have taken you into my confidence is to ask you
+this. Can you walk with me to the corner of the street, or until we
+meet a taxicab? It sounds cowardly, but, as a matter of fact, I am not
+afraid. I simply want to make sure of delivering this document to the
+person to whom it belongs.”
+
+The constable stood still, a little perplexed.
+
+“My beat, sir,” he said, “only goes about twenty-five yards further on.
+I will walk to the corner of Holborn with you, if you desire it. At the
+same time, I may say that I am breaking regulations. How do I know that
+it is not your scheme to get me away from this neighborhood for some
+purpose of your own?”
+
+“You don’t believe anything of the sort,” Laverick declared, with a
+smile.
+
+“I do not, sir,” the policeman admitted. “Keep by my side, and I think
+that nothing will happen to you before we reach Holborn.”
+
+Laverick was a man of more than medium height, but by the side of the
+policeman he seemed short. Both scanned the faces of the passers-by
+closely—the police-man with mild interest, Laverick with almost
+feverish anxiety. It was a gray afternoon, pleasant but close. There
+seemed to be nothing whatever to account for the feeling of nervousness
+which had suddenly come over Laverick. He felt himself in danger—he had
+no idea how, or in what way—but the conviction was there. He took every
+step fully alert, absolutely on his guard.
+
+They were almost within sight of Holborn when a cry from the bystanders
+caused them to look away into the middle of the road. Laverick only
+cast one glance there and abandoned every instinct of curiosity,
+thinking once more only of himself and his own position. With the
+constable, however, it was naturally different. He saw something which
+called at once for his intervention, and he immediately forgot the
+somewhat singular task upon which he was engaged. A man had fallen in
+the middle of the street, either knocked down by the shaft of a passing
+vehicle or in some sort of fit. There was a tangle of rearing horses,
+an omnibus was making desperate efforts to avoid the prostrate body.
+The constable sprang to the rescue. Laverick, instantly suspicious and
+realizing that there was no one in front of him, turned swiftly around.
+He was just in time to receive upon his left arm the blow which had
+been meant for the back of his head. He was confronted by a man dressed
+exactly as he himself was, in morning coat and silk hat, a man with
+long, lean face and legal appearance, such a person as would have
+passed anywhere without attracting a moment’s suspicion. Yet, in the
+space of a few seconds he had whipped out from one pocket, with the
+skill almost of a juggler, a vicious-looking life-preserver, and from
+the other a pocket-handkerchief soaked with chloroform. Laverick, quick
+and resourceful, feeling his left arm sink helpless, struck at the man
+with his right and sent him staggering against the wall. The
+handkerchief, with its load of sickening odor, fell to the pavement.
+The man was obviously worsted. Laverick sprang at him. They were almost
+unobserved, for the crowd was all intent upon the accident in the
+roadway. With wonderful skill, his assailant eluded his attempt to
+close, and tore at his coat. Laverick struck at him again but met only
+the air. The man’s fingers now were upon his pocket, but this time
+Laverick made no mistake. He struck downward so hard that with a fierce
+cry of pain the man relaxed his hold. Before he could recover, Laverick
+had struck him again. He reeled into the crowd that was fast gathering
+around them, attracted by what seemed to be a fight between two men of
+unexceptionable appearance. But there was to be no more fight. Through
+the people, swift-footed, cunning, resourceful, his assailant seemed to
+find some hidden way. Laverick glared fiercely around him, but the man
+had gone. His left hand crept to his chest. The victory was with him;
+the document was still there.
+
+At the outside of the double crowd he perceived a taxi. Ignoring the
+storm of questions with which he was assailed, and the advancing helmet
+of his friend the policeman at the back of the crowd, Laverick hailed
+it and stepped quickly inside.
+
+“Back out of this and drive to Dover Street,” he directed. The man
+obeyed him. People raced to look through the window at him. The other
+commotion had died away,—the man in the road had got up and walked off.
+A policeman came hurrying along but he was just too late. Very soon
+they were on their way down Holborn. Once more Laverick had escaped.
+
+A French man-servant, with the sad face and immaculate dress of a
+High-Church cleric, took possession of him as soon as he had asked for
+Mademoiselle Idiale. He was shown into one of the most delightful
+little rooms he had ever even dreamed of. The walls were hung with that
+peculiar shade of blue satin which Mademoiselle so often affected in
+her clothes. Laverick, who was something of a connoisseur, saw nowhere
+any object which was not, of its sort, priceless,—French furniture of
+the best and choicest period, a statuette which made him, for a moment,
+almost forget the scene from which he had just arrived. The air in the
+room seemed as though it had passed through a grove of lemon trees,—it
+was fresh and sweet yet curiously fragrant. Laverick sank down into one
+of the luxurious blue-brocaded chairs, conscious for the first time
+that he was out of breath. Then the door opened silently and there
+entered not the woman whom he had been expecting, but Mr. Lassen.
+Laverick rose to his feet half doubtfully. Lassen’s small,
+queerly-shaped face seemed to have become one huge ingratiating smile.
+
+“I am very glad to see you, Mr. Laverick,” he said,—“very glad indeed.”
+
+“I have come to call upon Mademoiselle Idiale,” Laverick answered,
+somewhat curtly. He had disliked this man from the first moment he had
+seen him, and he saw no particular reason why he should conceal his
+feelings.
+
+“I am here to explain,” Mr. Lassen continued, seating himself opposite
+to Laverick. “Mademoiselle Idiale is unfortunately prevented from
+seeing you. She has a severe nervous headache, and her only chance of
+appearing tonight is to remain perfectly undisturbed. Women of her
+position, as you may understand, have to be exceptionally careful. It
+would be a very serious matter indeed if she were unable to sing
+to-night.”
+
+“I am exceedingly sorry to hear it,” Laverick answered. “In that case,
+I will call again when Mademoiselle Idiale has recovered.”
+
+“By all means, my dear sir!” Mr. Lassen exclaimed. “Many times, let us
+hope. But in the meantime, there is a little affair of a document which
+you were going to deliver to Mademoiselle. She is most anxious that you
+should hand it to me—most anxious. She will tender you her thanks
+personally, tomorrow or the next day, if she is well enough to
+receive.”
+
+Laverick shook his head firmly.
+
+“Under no circumstances,” he declared, “should I think of delivering
+the document into any other hands save those of Mademoiselle Idiale. To
+tell you the truth, I had not fully decided whether to part with it
+even to her. I was simply prepared to hear what she had to say. But it
+may save time if I assure you, Mr. Lassen, that nothing would induce me
+to part with it to any one else.”
+
+There was no trace left of that ingratiating smile upon Mr. Lassen’s
+face. He had the appearance now of an ugly animal about to show its
+teeth. Laverick was suddenly on his guard. More adventures, he thought,
+casting a somewhat contemptuous glance at the physique of the other
+man. He laid his fingers as though carelessly upon a small bronze
+ornament which reposed amongst others on a table by his side. If Mr.
+Lassen’s fat and ugly hand should steal toward his pocket, Laverick was
+prepared to hurl the ornament at his head.
+
+“I am very sorry to hear you say that, Mr. Laverick,” Lassen said
+slowly. “I hope very much that you will see your way clear to change
+your mind. I can assure you that I have as much right to the document
+as Mademoiselle Idiale, and that it is her earnest wish that you should
+hand it over to me. Further, I may inform you that the document itself
+is a most incriminating one. Its possession upon your person, or upon
+the person of any one who was not upon his guard, might be a very
+serious matter indeed.”
+
+Laverick shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“As a matter of fact,” he declared, “I certainly have no idea of
+carrying it about with me. On the other hand, I shall part with it to
+no one. I might discuss the matter with Mademoiselle Idiale as soon as
+she is recovered. I am not disposed—I mean no offence, sir—but I may
+say frankly that I am not disposed even to do as much with you.”
+
+Laverick rose to his feet with the obvious intention of leaving. Lassen
+followed his example and confronted him.
+
+“Mr. Laverick,” he said, “in your own interests you must not talk like
+that,—in your own interests, I say.”
+
+“At any rate,” Laverick remarked, “my interests are better looked after
+by myself than by strangers. You must forgive my adding, Mr. Lassen,
+that you are a stranger to me.”
+
+“No more so than Mademoiselle Idiale!” the little man exclaimed.
+
+“Mademoiselle Idiale has given me certain proof that she knew at least
+of the existence of this document,” Laverick answered. “She has
+established, therefore, a certain claim to my consideration. You
+announce yourself as Mademoiselle Idiale’s deputy, but you bring me no
+proof of the fact, nor, in any case, am I disposed to treat with you.
+You must allow me to wish you good afternoon.”
+
+Lassen shook his head.
+
+“Mr. Laverick,” he declared, “you are too impetuous. You force me to
+remind you that your own position as holder of that document is not a
+very secure one. All the police in this capital are searching to-day
+for the man who killed that unfortunate creature who was found murdered
+in Crooked Friars’ Alley. If they could find the man who was in
+possession of his pocket-book, who was in possession of twenty thousand
+pounds taken from the dead man’s body and with it had saved his
+business and his credit, how then, do you think? I say nothing of the
+document.”
+
+Laverick was silent for a moment. He realized, however, that to make
+terms with this man was impossible. Besides, he did not trust him. He
+did not even trust him so far as to believe him the accredited envoy of
+Mademoiselle.
+
+“My unfortunate position,” Laverick said, “has nothing whatever to do
+with the matter. Where you got your information from I cannot say. I
+neither accept nor deny it. But I can assure you that I am not to be
+intimidated. This document will remain in my possession until some one
+can show me a very good reason for parting with it.”
+
+Lassen beat the back of the chair against which he was standing with
+his clenched fist.
+
+“A reason why you should part with it!” he exclaimed fiercely. “Man, it
+stares you there in the face! If you do not part with it, you will be
+arrested within twenty-four hours for the murder or complicity in the
+murder of Rudolph Von Behrling! That I swear! That I shall see to
+myself!”
+
+“In which case,” Laverick remarked, “the document will fall into the
+hands of the English police.”
+
+The shot told. Laverick could have laughed as he watched its effect
+upon his listener. Mr. Lassen’s face was black with unuttered curses.
+He looked as though he would have fallen upon Laverick bodily.
+
+“What do you know about its contents?” he hissed. “Why do you suppose
+it would not suit my purpose to have it fall into the hands of the
+English police?”
+
+“I can see no reason whatever,” Laverick answered, “why I should take
+you into my confidence as to how much I know and how much I do not
+know. I wish you good afternoon, Mr. Lassen! I shall be ready to wait
+upon Mademoiselle Idiale at any time she sends for me. But in case it
+should interest you to be made aware of the fact,” he added, with a
+little bow, “I am not going round with this terrible document in my
+possession.”
+
+He moved to the door. Already his hand was upon the knob when he saw
+the movement for which he had watched. Laverick, with a single bound,
+was upon his would-be assailant. The hand which had already closed upon
+the butt of the small revolver was gripped as though in a vice. With a
+scream of pain Lassen dropped the weapon upon the floor. Laverick
+picked it up, thrust it into his coat pocket and, taking the man’s
+collar with both hands, he shook him till the eyes seemed starting from
+his head and his shrieks of fear were changed into moans. Then he flung
+him into a corner of the room.
+
+[Illustration]
+
+“You cowardly brute!” he exclaimed. “You come of the breed of men who
+shoot from behind. If ever I lay my hands upon you again, you’ll be
+lucky if you live to whimper about it.”
+
+He left the room and rang for the lift. He saw no trace of any servants
+in the hall, nor heard any sound of any one moving. From Dover Street
+he drove straight to Zoe’s house. Keeping the cab waiting, he knocked
+at the door. She opened it herself at once, and her eyes glowed with
+pleasure.
+
+“How delightful!” she cried. “Please come in. Have you come to take me
+to the theatre?”
+
+He followed her into the parlor and closed the door behind them.
+
+“Zoe,” he said, “I am going to ask you a favor.”
+
+“Me a favor?” she repeated. “I think you know how happy it will make me
+if there is anything—anything at all in the world that I could do.”
+
+“A week ago,” Laverick continued, “I was an honest but not very
+successful stockbroker, with a natural longing for adventures which
+never came my way. Since then things have altered. I have stumbled in
+upon the most curious little chain of happenings which ever became
+entwined with the life of a commonplace being like myself. The net
+result, for the moment, is this. Every one is trying to steal from me a
+certain document which I have in my pocket. I want to hide it for the
+night. I cannot go to the police, it is too late to go back to Chancery
+Lane, and I have an instinctive feeling that my flat is absolutely at
+the mercy of my enemies. May I hide my document in your room? I do not
+believe for a moment that any one would think of searching here.”
+
+“Of course you may,” she answered. “But listen. Can you see out into
+the street without moving very much?”
+
+He turned his head. He had been standing with his back to the window,
+and Zoe had been facing it.
+
+“Yes, I can see into the street,” he assented.
+
+“Tell me—you see that taxi on the other side of the way?” she asked.
+
+He nodded.
+
+“It wasn’t there when I drove up,” he remarked.
+
+“I was at the window, looking out, when you came,” she said. “It
+followed you out from the Square into this street. Directly you
+stopped, I saw the man put on the brake and pull up his cab. It seemed
+to me so strange, just as though some one were watching you all the
+time.”
+
+Laverick stood still, looking out of the window.
+
+“Who lives in the house opposite?” he asked.
+
+“I am afraid,” she answered, “that there are no very nice people who
+live round here. The people whom I see coming in and out of that house
+are not nice people at all.”
+
+“I understand,” he said. “Thank you, Zoe. You are right. Whatever I do
+with my precious document, I will not leave it here. To tell you the
+truth, I thought, for certain reasons, that after I had paid my last
+call this afternoon I should not be followed any more. Come back with
+me and I will give you some dinner before you go to the theatre.”
+
+She clapped her hands.
+
+“I shall love it,” she declared. “But what shall you do with the
+document?”
+
+“I shall take a room at the Milan Hotel,” he said, “and give it to the
+cashier. They have a wonderful safe there. It is the best thing I can
+think of. Can you suggest anything?”
+
+She considered for a moment.
+
+“Do you know what is inside?” she asked.
+
+He shook his head.
+
+“I have no idea. It is the most mysterious document in the world, so
+far as I am concerned.”
+
+“Why not open it and read it?” she suggested; “then you will know
+exactly what it is all about. You can learn it by heart and tear it
+up.”
+
+“I must think that over,” he said. “One second before we go out.”
+
+He took from his pocket the revolver which Lassen had dropped. It was a
+perfect little weapon, and fully charged. He replaced it in his pocket,
+keeping his finger upon the trigger.
+
+“Now, Zoe, if you are ready,” he said, “come along.”
+
+They stepped out and entered the taxi, unmolested, and Laverick
+ordered:
+
+“To the Milan Hotel.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX LASSEN’S TREACHERY DISCOVERED
+
+
+About twenty minutes past six on the same evening, Bellamy, his clothes
+thick with dust, his face dark with anger, jumped lightly from a sixty
+horse-power car and rang the bell of the lift at number 15, Dover
+Street. Arrived on the first floor, he was confronted almost
+immediately by the sad-faced man-servant of Mademoiselle Idiale.
+
+“Mademoiselle is in?” Bellamy asked quickly.
+
+The man’s expression was one of sombre regret.
+
+“Mademoiselle is spending the day in the country, sir. Bellamy took him
+by the shoulders and flung him against the wall.
+
+“Thank you,” he said, “I’ve heard that before.”
+
+He walked down the passage and knocked softly at the door of Louise’s
+sleeping apartment. There was no answer. He knocked again and listened
+at the key-hole. There was some movement inside but no one spoke.
+
+“Louise,” he cried softly, “let me in. It is I—David.”
+
+Again the only reply was the strangest of sounds. Almost it seemed as
+though a woman were trying to speak with a hand over her mouth. Then
+Bellamy suddenly stiffened into rigid attention. There were voices in
+the small reception room,—the voice of Henri, the butler, and another.
+Reluctantly he turned away from the closed door and walked swiftly down
+the passage. He entered the reception room and looked around him in
+amazement. It was still in disorder. Lassen sat in an easy-chair with a
+tumbler of brandy by his side. Henri was tying a bandage around his
+head, his collar was torn, there were marks of blood about his shirt.
+Bellamy’s eyes sparkled. He closed the door behind him.
+
+“Come,” he exclaimed, “after all, I fancy that my arrival is somewhat
+opportune!”
+
+Henri turned towards him with a reproachful gesture.
+
+“Monsieur Lassen has been unwell, Monsieur,” he said. “He has had a fit
+and fallen down.”
+
+Bellamy laughed contemptuously.
+
+“I think I can reconstruct the scene a little better than that,” he
+declared. “What do you say, Mr. Lassen?”
+
+The man glared at him viciously.
+
+“I do not know what you are talking about,” he said. “I do not wish to
+speak to you. I am ill. You had better go and persuade Mademoiselle to
+return. She is at Dover, waiting.”
+
+“You are a liar!” Bellamy answered. “She is in her room now, locked
+up—guarded, perhaps, by one of your creatures. I have been half-way to
+Dover, but I tumbled to your scheme in time, Mr. Lassen. You found our
+friend Laverick a trifle awkward, I fancy.”
+
+Lassen swore through his teeth but said nothing.
+
+“From your somewhat dishevelled appearance,” Bellamy continued, “I
+think I may conclude that you were not able to come to any amicable
+arrangement with Mademoiselle’s visitor. He declined to accept you as
+her proxy, I imagine. Still, one must make sure.”
+
+He advanced quickly. Lassen shrank back in his chair.
+
+“What do you mean?” he asked gruffly. “Keep him away from me, Henri.
+Ring the bell for your other man. This fellow will do me a mischief.”
+
+“Not I,” Bellamy answered scornfully. “Stay where you are, Henri. To
+your other accomplishments I have no doubt you include that of
+valeting. Take off his coat.”
+
+“But, Monsieur!” Henri protested.
+
+“I’m d—d if he shall!” the man in the chair snarled.
+
+Bellamy turned to the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.
+
+“Look here,” he said, “I do not for one moment believe that Laverick
+handed over to you the document you were so anxious to obtain. On the
+other hand, I imagine that your somewhat battered appearance is the
+result of fruitless argument on your part with a view to inducing him
+to do so. Nevertheless, I can afford to run no risks. The coat first,
+please, Henri. It is necessary that I search it thoroughly.”
+
+There was a brief hesitation. Bellamy’s hand went reluctantly into his
+pocket.
+
+“I hate to seem melodramatic,” he declared, “and I never carry
+firearms, but I have a little life-preserver here which I have learned
+how to use pretty effectively. Come, you know, it isn’t a fair fight.
+You’ve had all you want, Lassen, and Henri there hasn’t the muscle of a
+chicken.”
+
+Lassen rose, groaning, to his feet and allowed his coat to be removed.
+Bellamy glanced through the pockets, holding one letter for a moment in
+his hands as he glanced at the address.
+
+“The writing of our friend Streuss,” he remarked, with a smile. “No,
+you need not fear, Lassen! I am not going to read it. There is plenty
+of proof of your treachery without this.”
+
+Lassen’s face was livid and his eyes seemed like beads. Bellamy handed
+back the coat.
+
+“That’s all right,” he said. “Nothing there, I am glad to see—or in the
+waistcoat,” he added, passing his hands over it. “I’ll trouble you to
+stand up for a moment, Mr. Lassen.”
+
+The man did as he was bid and Bellamy felt him all over. When he had
+finished, he held in his hand a key.
+
+“The key of Mademoiselle’s chamber, I have no doubt,” he announced, “I
+will leave you, then, while I see what deviltry you have been up to.”
+
+He walked calmly to the table which stood by the window and
+deliberately cut the telephone wire. With the instrument under his arm,
+he left the room. Lassen blundered to his feet as though to intercept
+him, but Bellamy’s eyes suddenly flashed red fury, and the
+life-preserver of which he had spoken glittered above his head. Lassen
+staggered away.
+
+“I’m a long-suffering man,” Bellamy said, “and if you don’t remember
+now that you’re the beaten dog, I may lose my temper.”
+
+He locked them in, walked down the passage and opened the door of
+Louise’s bedchamber with fingers that trembled a little. With a
+smothered oath he cut the cord from the arms of the maid and the gag
+from her mouth. Louise, clad in a loose afternoon gown, was lying upon
+the bed, as though asleep. Bellamy saw with an impulse of relief that
+she was breathing regularly.
+
+“This is Lassen’s work, of course!” he exclaimed. “What have they done
+to her?”
+
+The maid spoke thickly. She was very pale, and unsteady upon her feet.
+
+“It was something they put in her wine,” she faltered. “I heard Mr.
+Lassen say that it would keep her quiet for three or four hours. I
+think—I think that she is waking now.”
+
+Louise opened her eyes and looked at them with amazement. Bellamy sat
+by the side of the bed and supported her with his arm.
+
+“It is only a skirmish, dear,” he whispered, “and it is a drawn battle,
+although you got the worst of it.”
+
+She put her hand to her head, struggling to remember.
+
+“Mr. Laverick has been here?” she asked.
+
+“He has. Your friend Lassen has been taking a hand in the game. I came
+here to find you like this and Annette tied up. Henri is in with him.
+What has become of your other servants I don’t know.”
+
+“Henri asked for a holiday for them,” she said, the color slowly
+returning to her cheeks. “I begin to understand. But tell me, what
+happened when Mr. Laverick came?”
+
+“I can only guess,” Bellamy answered, “but it seems that Lassen must
+have received him as though with your authority.”
+
+“And what then?” she asked quickly.
+
+“I am almost certain,” Bellamy declared, “that Laverick refused to have
+anything to do with him. I received a wire from Dover to say that you
+were on your way home, and asking me to meet you at the Lord Warden
+Hotel. I borrowed Montresor’s racing-car, but I sent telegrams, and I
+was pretty soon on my way back. When I arrived here, I found Lassen in
+your little room with a broken head. Evidently Laverick and he had a
+scrimmage and he got the worst of it. I have searched him to his bones
+and he has no paper. Laverick brought it here, without a doubt, and has
+taken it away again.”
+
+She rose to her feet.
+
+“Go and let Lassen out,” she said. “Tell him he must never come here
+again. I will see him at the Opera House to-night or to-morrow
+night—that is, if I can get there. I do not know whether I shall feel
+fit to sing.”
+
+“I shall take the liberty, also,” remarked Bellamy, “of kicking Henri
+out.”
+
+Louise sighed.
+
+“He was such a good servant. I think it must have cost our friend
+Streuss a good deal to buy Henri. You will come back to me when you
+have finished with them?”
+
+Bellamy made short work of his discomfited prisoners. Lassen was surly
+but only eager to depart; Henri was resigned but tearful. Almost as they
+went the other servants began to return from their various missions.
+Bellamy went back to Louise, who was lying down again and drinking some
+tea. She motioned Bellamy to come over to her side.
+
+“Tell me,” she asked, “what are you going to do now?”
+
+“I am going to do what I ought to have done before,” Bellamy answered.
+“Laverick’s connection with this affair is suspicious enough, but after
+all he is a sportsman and an Englishman. I am going to tell him what
+that envelope contains—tell him the truth.”
+
+“You are right!” she exclaimed. “Whatever he may have done, if you tell
+him the truth he will give you that document. I am sure of it. Do you
+know where to find him?”
+
+“I shall go to his rooms,” Bellamy declared. “I must be quick, too, for
+Lassen is free—they will know that he has failed.”
+
+“Come back to me, David,” she begged, and he kissed her fingers and
+hurried out.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX THE CONTEST FOR THE PAPERS
+
+
+Laverick, sitting with Zoe at dinner, caught his companion looking
+around the restaurant with an expression in her face which he did not
+wholly understand.
+
+“Something is the matter with you this evening, Zoe,” he said
+anxiously. “Tell me what it is. You don’t like this place, perhaps?”
+
+“Of course I do.”
+
+“It is your dinner, then, or me?” he persisted. “Come, out with it.
+Haven’t we promised to tell each other the truth always?”
+
+The pink color came slowly into her cheeks. Her eyes, raised for a
+moment to his, were almost reproachful.
+
+“You know very well that it is not anything to do with you,” she
+whispered. “You are too kind to me all the time. Only,” she went on, a
+little hesitatingly, “don’t you realize—can’t you see how differently
+most of the girls here are dressed? I don’t mind so much for myself—but
+you—you have so many friends. You keep on seeing people whom you know.
+I am afraid they will think that I ought not to be here.”
+
+He looked at her in surprise, mingled, perhaps, with compunction. For
+the first time he appreciated the actual shabbiness of her clothes.
+Everything about her was so neat—pathetically neat, as it seemed to him
+in one illuminating moment of realization. The white linen collar,
+notwithstanding its frayed edges, was spotlessly clean. The black bow
+was carefully tied to conceal its worn parts. Her gloves had been
+stitched a good many times. Her gown, although it was tidy, was
+old-fashioned and had distinctly seen its best days. He suddenly
+recognized the effort—the almost despairing effort—which her toilette
+had cost her.
+
+“I don’t think that men notice these things,” he said simply. “To me
+you look just as you should look—and I wouldn’t change places with any
+other man in the room for a great deal.”
+
+Her eyes were soft—perilously soft—as she looked at him with uplifted
+eyebrows and a faint smile struggling at the corners of her lips. A
+wave of tenderness crept into his heart. What a brave little child she
+was!
+
+“You will quite spoil me if you make such nice speeches,” she murmured.
+
+“Anyhow,” he went on, speaking with decision, “so long as you feel like
+that, you are going to have a new gown—or two—and a new hat, and you
+are going to have them at once. They are going to be bought with your
+brother’s money, mind. Shall I come shopping with you?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“Mind, it is partly for your sake that I give in,” she said. “It would
+be lovely to have you come, but you would spend far too much money. You
+really mean it all?”
+
+“Absolutely,” he answered. “I insist upon it.”
+
+She leaned towards him with dancing eyes. After all, she was very much
+of a child. The prospect of a new gown, now that she permitted herself
+to think of it, was enthralling.
+
+“I might get a coat and skirt,” she remarked thoughtfully, “and a
+simple white dress. A black hat would do for both of them, then.”
+
+“Don’t you study your brother too much,” Laverick declared. “His stock
+is going up all the time.”
+
+“Tell me your favorite color,” she begged confidentially.
+
+“I can’t conceive your looking nicer than you do in black,” he replied.
+
+She made a wry face.
+
+“I suppose it must be black,” she murmured doubtfully. “It is much more
+economical than anything—”
+
+She broke off to bow to a stout, red-faced man who, after a rude stare,
+had greeted her with a patronizing nod. Laverick frowned.
+
+“Who is that fellow?” he asked.
+
+“Mr. Heepman, our stage-manager,” Zoe answered, a little timidly.
+
+“Is there any particular reason why he should behave like a boor?”
+Laverick continued, raising his voice a little.
+
+She caught at his arm in terror. The man was sitting at the next table.
+
+“Don’t, please!” she implored. “He might hear you. He is just behind
+there.”
+
+Laverick half turned in his chair. She guessed what he was about to
+say, and went on rapidly.
+
+“He has been so foolish,” she whispered. “He has asked me so often to
+go out with him. And he could get me sent away, if he wanted, any time.
+He almost threatened it, the last time I refused. Now that he has seen
+me with you, he will be worse than ever.”
+
+Laverick’s face darkened, and there was a peculiar flash in his eyes.
+The man was certainly looking at them in a rude manner.
+
+“There are so many of the girls who would only be too pleased to go
+with him,” Zoe continued, in a terrified undertone. “I can’t think why
+he bothers me.”
+
+“I can,” Laverick muttered. “Let’s forget about the brute.”
+
+But the dinner was already spoiled for Zoe, so Laverick paid the bill a
+few minutes later, and walked across to the stage-door of the theatre
+with her. Her little hand, when she gave it to him at parting, was
+quite cold.
+
+“I’m as nervous as I can be,” she confessed. “Mr. Heepman will be
+watching all the night for something to find fault with me about.”
+
+“Don’t you let him bully you,” Laverick begged.
+
+“I won’t,” she promised. “Good-bye! Thanks so much for my dinner.”
+
+She turned away with a brave attempt at a smile, but it was only an
+attempt. Laverick walked on to his club. There was no one in the
+dining-room whom he knew, and the card-room was empty. He played one
+game of billiards, but he played badly. He was upset. His nerves were
+wrong he told himself, and little wonder. There seemed to be no chance
+of a rubber at bridge, so he sallied out again and walked aimlessly
+towards Covent Garden. Outside the Opera House he hesitated and finally
+entered, yielding to an impulse the nature of which he scarcely
+recognized. While he was inquiring about a stall, a small printed
+notice was thrust into his hand. He read it with a slight start.
+
+We regret to announce that owing to indisposition Mademoiselle Idiale
+will not be able to appear this evening. The part of Delilah will be
+taken by Mademoiselle Blanche Temoigne, late of the Royal Opera House,
+St. Petersburg.
+
+
+Ten minutes later, Laverick rang the bell of her flat in Dover Street.
+A strange man-servant answered him.
+
+“I came to inquire after Mademoiselle Idiale,” Laverick said.
+
+The man held out a tray on which was already a small heap of cards.
+Laverick, however, retained his.
+
+“I should be glad if you would take mine in to her,” he said. “I think
+it is just likely that she may see me for a moment.”
+
+The servant’s attitude was one of civil but unconcealed hostility. He
+would have closed the door had not Laverick already passed over the
+threshold.
+
+“Madame is not well enough to receive visitors, sir,” the man declared.
+“She shall have your card as soon as possible.”
+
+“I should like her to have it now,” Laverick persisted, drawing a
+five-pound note from his pocket.
+
+The man looked at the note longingly.
+
+“It would be only waste of time, sir,” he declared. “Mademoiselle is
+confined to her bedroom and my orders are absolute.”
+
+“You are not the man who was here earlier in the day,” Laverick
+remarked. “I wonder,” he continued, with a sudden inspiration, “whether
+you are not Mr. Bellamy’s servant?”
+
+“That is so, sir. Mr. Bellamy has sent me here to see that no one has
+access to Mademoiselle Idiale.”
+
+“Then there is no harm whatever in taking in my card,” Laverick
+declared convincingly. “You can put that note in your pocket. I am
+perfectly certain that Mademoiselle Idiale will see me, and that your
+master would wish her to do so.”
+
+“I will take the risk, sir,” the man decided, “but the orders I have
+received were stringent.”
+
+He disappeared and was gone for several moments. When he came back he
+was accompanied by a pale-faced woman dressed in black, obviously a
+maid.
+
+“Monsieur Laverick,” she said, “Mademoiselle Idiale will receive you.
+If you will come this way?”
+
+She opened the door of the little reception-room, and Laverick followed
+her. The man returned to his place in the hall.
+
+“Madame will be here in a moment,” the maid said. “She will be glad to
+see you, but she has been very badly frightened.”
+
+Laverick bowed sympathetically. The woman herself was gray-faced,
+terror-stricken.
+
+“It is Monsieur Lassen, the manager of Madame, who has caused a great
+deal of trouble here,” she said. “Madame never trusted him and now we
+have discovered that he is a spy.”
+
+The woman seemed to fade away. The door of the inner room was opened
+and Louise came out. She was still exceedingly pale, and there were
+dark rims under her eyes. She came across the room with outstretched
+hands. There was no doubt whatever as to her pleasure.
+
+“You have seen Mr. Bellamy?” she asked.
+
+Laverick shook his head.
+
+“No, I have seen nothing of Bellamy to-day. I came to call upon you
+this afternoon.”
+
+She wrung her hands.
+
+“You understand, of course!” she exclaimed. “I did not trust Lassen,
+but I never imagined anything like this. He is an Austrian. Only a few
+hours ago I learned that he is one of their most heavily paid spies.
+Streuss got hold of him. But there, I forgot—you do not understand
+this. It is enough that he laid a plot to get that document from you.
+Where is it, Mr. Laverick? You have brought it now?”
+
+“Why, no,” Laverick answered, “I have not.”
+
+Her eyes were round with terror. She held out her hands as though to
+keep away some tormenting thought.
+
+“Where is it?” she cried. “You have not parted with it?
+
+“I have not,” Laverick replied gravely. “It is in the safe deposit of a
+hotel to which I have moved.”
+
+She closed her eyes and drew a long breath of relief.
+
+“You are not well,” Laverick said. “Let me help you to a chair.”
+
+She sat down wearily.
+
+“Why have you moved to a hotel?” she asked.
+
+“To tell you the truth,” Laverick answered, “I seem to have wandered
+into a sort of modern Arabian Nights. Three times to-day attempts have
+been made to get that document from me by force. I have been followed
+whereever I went. I felt that it was not safe in my chambers, so I
+moved to a hotel and deposited it in their strong-room. I have come to
+the conclusion that the best thing I can do is to open it to-morrow
+morning, and decide for myself as to its destination.”
+
+Louise sat quite still for several moments. Then she opened her eyes.
+
+“What you say is an immense relief to me, Mr. Laverick,” she declared.
+“I perceive now that we have made a mistake. We should have told you
+the whole truth from the first. This afternoon when Mr. Bellamy left
+me, it was to come to you and tell you everything.”
+
+Laverick listened gravely.
+
+“Really,” he said, “it seems to me the wisest course. I haven’t the
+least desire to keep the document. I cannot think why Bellamy did not
+treat me with confidence from the first—”
+
+He stopped short. Suddenly he understood. Something in Louise’s face
+gave him the hint.
+
+“Of course!” he murmured to himself.
+
+“Mr. Laverick,” Louise said quietly, “in this matter I am no man’s
+judge, yet, as you and I know well, that paper could have come into
+your hands in one way, and one way only. There may be some explanation.
+If so, it is for you to offer it or not, as you think best. Mr. Bellamy
+and I are allies in this matter. It is not our business to interfere
+with the course of justice. You will run no risk in parting with that
+paper.
+
+“Where can I see Bellamy?” Laverick Inquired, rising and taking up his
+hat.
+
+“He would go straight to your rooms,” she answered. “Did you leave word
+there where you had gone?”
+
+“Purposely I did not,” Laverick replied. “I had better try and find
+him, perhaps.”
+
+“It is not necessary,” she announced. “No wonder that you feel yourself
+to have wandered into the Arabian Nights, Mr. Laverick. There are two
+sets of spies who follow you everywhere—two sets that I know of. There
+may be another.”
+
+“You think that Bellamy will find me?” he asked.
+
+“I am sure of it.”
+
+“Then I’ll go back to the hotel and wait.”
+
+She hurried him away, but at the door she detained him for a moment.
+
+“Mr. Laverick,” she said, looking at him earnestly, “somehow or other I
+cannot help believing that you are an honest man.”
+
+Laverick sighed. He opened his lips but closed them again.
+
+“You are very kind, Mademoiselle,” he declared simply.
+
+Laverick, as he entered the reception hall at the Milan Hotel, noticed
+a man leaning over the cashier’s desk talking confidentially to the
+clerk in charge. The latter recognized Laverick with obvious relief,
+and at once directed his questioner’s attention to him. Kahn turned
+swiftly around and without a moment’s hesitation came smiling towards
+Laverick with the apparent intention of accosting him. He was correctly
+garbed, tall and fair, with every appearance of being a man of
+breeding. He glanced at Laverick carelessly as he passed, but, as
+though changing his original purpose, made no attempt to address him.
+The cashier, who had been watching, gave vent to a little exclamation
+of surprise and sprang over the counter. He approached Laverick
+hastily.
+
+“Do you know that gentleman just going out, sir?” he asked.
+
+“I never saw him before in my life,” Laverick answered. “Why?”
+
+“Is this your handwriting, sir?” the man inquired, touching with his
+forefinger the half sheet of note-paper which he had been carrying.
+
+Laverick read quickly,—
+
+To the Cashier at the Milan Hotel,—Deliver to bearer document deposited
+with you.
+
+
+STEPHEN LAVERICK.
+
+
+“It is not,” he declared promptly. “It is an impudent forgery. Good
+God! You don’t mean to say that you parted with my property to—”
+
+The cashier stopped his breathless question.
+
+“I haven’t parted with anything, sir,” he said. “I was just wondering
+what to do when you came in. I’d no reason to believe that the
+signature was a forgery, but I didn’t like the look of it, somehow.
+We’d better be after him. Come along, sir.”
+
+They hurried outside. The man was nowhere in sight. The cashier
+summoned the head porter.
+
+“A gentleman has just come out,” he exclaimed,—“tall and fair, very
+carefully dressed, with a single eyeglass! Which way did he go?”
+
+“He’s just driven off in a big Daimler car, sir,” the porter answered.
+“I noticed him particularly. He spoke to the chauffeur in Austrian.”
+
+Laverick looked out into the Strand.
+
+“Can’t we stop him?” he asked rapidly.
+
+The porter smiled as he shook his head.
+
+“Not the ghost of a chance, sir. He shot round the corner there as
+though he were in a desperate hurry, and went the wrong side of the
+island. I heard the police calling to him. I hope there’s nothing
+wrong, Mr. Dean?”
+
+The cashier hesitated and glanced at Laverick.
+
+“Nothing much,” Laverick answered. “We should have liked to have asked
+him a question—that is all.”
+
+Bellamy came out from the hotel and paused to light a cigarette.
+
+“How are you, Laverick?” he said quietly. “Nothing the matter, I hope?”
+
+“Nothing worth mentioning,” Laverick replied.
+
+The cashier returned to his duties. The two men were alone. Bellamy,
+most carefully dressed, with his silver-headed cane under his arm, and
+his silk hat at precisely the correct angle, seemed very far removed
+from the work of intrigue into which Laverick felt himself to have
+blundered. He looked down for a moment at the tips of his patent shoes
+and up again at the sky, as though anxious about the weather.
+
+“What about a drink, Laverick?” he asked nonchalantly.
+
+“Delighted!” Laverick assented.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI MISS LENEVEU’S MESSAGE
+
+
+The two men stepped back into the hotel. The cashier had returned to
+his desk, and the incident which had just transpired seemed to have
+passed unnoticed. Nevertheless, Laverick felt that the studied
+indifference of his companion’s manner had its significance, and he
+endeavored to imitate it.
+
+“Shall we go through into the bar?” he asked. “There’s very seldom any
+one there at this time.”
+
+“Anywhere you say,” Bellamy answered. “It’s years since we had a drink
+together.”
+
+They passed into the inner room and, finding it empty, drew two chairs
+into the further corner. Bellamy summoned the waiter.
+
+“Two whiskies and sodas quick, Tim,” he ordered. “Now, Laverick, listen
+to me,” he added, as the waiter turned away. “We are alone for the
+moment but it won’t be for long. You know very well that it wasn’t to
+renew our schoolboy acquaintance that I’ve asked you to come in here
+with me.”
+
+Laverick drew a little breath.
+
+“Please go on,” he said. “I am as anxious as you can be to grasp this
+affair properly.”
+
+“When we left school,” Bellamy remarked, “you were destined for the
+Stock Exchange. I went first to Magdalen. Did you ever hear what became
+of me afterwards?”
+
+“I always understood,” Laverick answered, “that you went into one of
+the Government offices.”
+
+“Quite right,” Bellamy assented. “I did. At this moment I have the
+honor to serve His Majesty.”
+
+“Two thousand a year and two hours work a day,” Laverick laughed. “I
+know the sort of thing.”
+
+“You evidently don’t,” Bellamy answered. “I often work twenty hours a
+day, I don’t get half two thousand a year, and most of the time I carry
+my life in my hands. When I am working—and I am working now—I am never
+sure of the morrow.”
+
+Laverick looked at him incredulously.
+
+“You’re not joking, Bellamy?” he asked.
+
+“Not by any manner of means. I have the honor to be a humble member of
+His Majesty’s Secret Service.”
+
+Laverick glanced at his companion wonderingly.
+
+“I really didn’t know,” he said, “that such a service had any actual
+existence except in novels.”
+
+“I am a proof to the contrary,” Bellamy declared grimly. “Abroad, I run
+always the risk of being dubbed a spy and treated like one. At home, I
+am simply the head of the A2 Branch of the Secret Service. Here come
+our drinks.”
+
+Laverick raised his whiskey and soda to his lips mechanically.
+
+“Here’s luck!” he exclaimed. “Now go on, Bellamy,” he continued. “The
+waiter can’t overhear.”
+
+Bellamy smiled.
+
+“Tim is one of the few persons in the place,” he said, “whom one can
+trust. As a matter of fact, he has been very useful to me more than
+once. Now listen to me attentively, Laverick. I am going to speak to
+you as one man to another.”
+
+Laverick nodded.
+
+“I am ready,” he said.
+
+“Last Monday,” Bellamy went on, leaning forward and speaking in a soft
+but very distinct undertone, “a man was murdered late at night in the
+heart of the city—within one hundred yards of the Stock Exchange. The
+papers called it a mysterious murder. No one knows who the man was, or
+who committed the crime, or why. You and I, Laverick, both know a
+little more than the rest of the world.”
+
+“Well?”
+
+“The murder,” Bellamy continued, with a strange light in his eyes, “was
+accomplished only a stone’s throw from your office.”
+
+Laverick lit a cigarette and threw the match away.
+
+“Horrible affair it was,” he remarked.
+
+Bellamy glanced toward the door,—a man had looked in and departed.
+
+“Enough of this fencing, Laverick,” he said. “A theft was committed
+from the person of that murdered man, of which the general public knows
+nothing. A pocketbook was stolen from him containing twenty thousand
+pounds and a sealed document. As to who murdered the man, I want you to
+understand that that is not my affair. As to what has become of that
+twenty thousand pounds, I have not the slightest curiosity. I want the
+document.”
+
+“What claim have you to it?” Laverick asked quickly.
+
+“I might retort, but I will not,” Bellamy replied. “Time is too short.
+I will answer you by explaining who the man was and what that document
+consists of. The man’s name was Von Behrling, and he was a trusted
+agent of the Austrian Secret Service. The document of which he was
+robbed contains a verbatim report of the conference which recently took
+place at Vienna between the Emperor of Germany, the Emperor of Austria,
+and the Czar of Russia. It contains the details of a plot against this
+country and the undertakings entered into by those several Powers. I
+want that document, Laverick. Have I established my claim?”
+
+“You have,” Laverick answered. “Why on earth Didn’t you come to me
+before? Don’t you believe that I should have listened to you as readily
+as to Mademoiselle Idiale?”
+
+“I wish that I had come,” Bellamy admitted, “and yet, here is the
+truth, Laverick, because the truth is best. Twenty-two years lie
+between us and the time when we knew anything of one another. To me,
+therefore, you are a stranger. I had my spies following Von Behrling
+that night. I know that you took the pocket-book from his dead body. If
+you did not murder him yourself, the deed was done by an accomplice of
+yours. How was I to trust you? We are speaking naked words, my friend.
+We are dealing with naked truths. To me you were a murderer and a
+thief. A word from me and you would have realized the value of that
+document. I tell you frankly that Austria would give you almost any sum
+for it to-day.”
+
+Laverick, strong man though he was, was conscious of a sudden weakness.
+He raised his hand to his forehead and drew it away—wet. He struggled
+desperately for self-control.
+
+“Bellamy,” he said, “here’s truth for truth. I am not on my trial
+before you. Believe me, man, for God’s sake!”
+
+“I’ll try,” Bellamy promised. “Go on.”
+
+“That night I stayed at my office late because I saw ruin before me on
+the morrow. I left it meaning to go straight home. I lit a cigarette
+near that entry, and by the light of a match, as I was throwing it
+away, I saw the murdered man. I think for a time I was paralyzed. The
+pocket-book was half dragged out from his pocket. Why I looked inside
+it I don’t know. I had some sort of wild idea that I must find out who
+he was. Mind you, though, I should have given the alarm at once, but
+there wasn’t a soul in the street. There was a man lurking in the entry
+and I chased him, unsuccessfully. When I came back, the body was still
+there and the street empty. I looked inside that pocket-book, which
+would have been in the possession of his murderer but for my unexpected
+appearance. I saw the notes there. Once more I went out into the
+street. I gave no alarm,—I am not attempting to explain why. I was like
+a man made suddenly mad. I went back to my office and shut myself in.”
+
+Bellamy pointed to the glasses silently. The waiter came forward and
+refilled them.
+
+“Bellamy,” Laverick continued, “your career and mine lie far apart, and
+yet, at their backbone, as there is at the backbone of every man’s
+life, there must be something of the same sort of ambition. My
+grandfather lived and died a member of the Stock Exchange, honored and
+well thought of. My father followed in his footsteps. I, too, was
+there. Without becoming wealthy, the name I bear has become known and
+respected. Failure, whatever one may say, means a broken life and a
+broken honor. I sat in my office and I knew that the use of those notes
+for a few days might save me from disgrace, might keep the name, which
+my father and grandfather had guarded so jealously, free from shame. I
+would have paid any price for the use of them. I would have paid with
+my life, if that had been possible. Think of the risk I ran—the danger
+I am now in. I deposited those notes on the morrow as security at my
+bank, and I met all my engagements. The crisis is over! Those notes are
+in a safe deposit vault in Chancery Lane! I only wish to Heaven that I
+could find the owner!”
+
+“And the document?” Bellamy asked. “The document?”
+
+“It is in the hotel safe,” Laverick answered.
+
+Bellamy drew a long sigh of relief. Then he emptied his tumbler and lit
+a cigarette.
+
+“Laverick,” he declared, “I believe you.”
+
+“Thank God!” Laverick muttered.
+
+“I am no crime investigator,” Bellamy went on thoughtfully. “As to who
+killed Von Behrling, or why, I cannot now form the slightest idea. That
+twenty thousand pounds, Laverick, is Secret Service money, paid by me
+to Von Behrling only half-an-hour before he was murdered, in a small
+restaurant there, for what I supposed to be the document. He deceived
+me by making up a false packet. The real one he kept. He deserved to
+die, and I am glad he is dead.”
+
+Laverick’s face was suddenly hopeful.
+
+“Then you can take these notes!” he exclaimed.
+
+Bellamy nodded.
+
+“In a few days,” he said, “I shall take you with me to a friend of
+mine—a Cabinet Minister. You shall tell him the story exactly as you’ve
+told it to me, and restore the money.”
+
+Laverick laughed like a child.
+
+“Don’t think I’m mad,” he apologized, “but I am not a person like you,
+Bellamy,—used to adventures and this sort of wild happenings. I’m a
+steady-going, matter-of-fact Englishman, and this thing has been like a
+hateful nightmare to me. I can’t believe that I’m going to get rid of
+it.”
+
+Bellamy smiled.
+
+“It’s a great adventure,” he declared, “to come to any one like you. To
+tell you the truth, I can’t imagine how you had the pluck—don’t
+misunderstand me, I mean the moral pluck—to run such a risk. Why, at
+the moment you used those notes,” Bellamy continued, “the odds must
+have been about twenty to one against your not being found out.”
+
+“One doesn’t stop to count the odds,” Laverick said grimly. “I saw a
+chance of salvation and I went for it. And now about this letter.”
+
+Bellamy rose to his feet.
+
+“On the King’s service!” he whispered softly.
+
+They walked once more to the cashier’s desk. A stranger greeted them.
+Laverick produced his receipt.
+
+“I should like the packet I deposited here this evening,” he said. “I
+am sorry to trouble you, but I find that I require it unexpectedly.”
+
+The clerk glanced at the receipt and up at the clock. “I am afraid,
+sir,” he answered, “that we cannot get at it before the morning.”
+
+“Why not?” Laverick demanded, frowning.
+
+“Mr. Dean has just gone home,” the man declared, “and he is the only
+one who knows the combination on the ‘L’ safe. You see, sir,” he
+continued, “we keep this particular safe for documents, and we did not
+expect that anything would be required from it to-night.”
+
+Bellamy drew Laverick away.
+
+“After all,” he said, “perhaps to-morrow morning would be better.
+There’s no need to get shirty with these fellows. As a matter of fact,
+I don’t think that I should have dared to receive it without making
+some special preparations. I can get some plain clothes men here upon
+whom I can rely, at nine o’clock.”
+
+They strolled back into the hall.
+
+“Tell me,” Laverick asked, “do you know who the man was who forged my
+name to the order a few hours ago?”
+
+Bellamy nodded.
+
+“It was Adolf Kahn, an Austrian spy. I have been watching him for days.
+If they’d given him the paper I had four men at the door, but it would
+have been touch and go. He is a very prince of conspirators, that
+fellow. To tell you the truth, I think I might as well go home.”
+
+Bellamy was drawing on his gloves when the hall-porter brought a note
+to Laverick.
+
+“A messenger has just left this for you, sir,” he explained.
+
+Laverick tore open the envelope. The contents consisted of a few words
+only, written on plain note-paper and in a handwriting which was
+strange to him.
+
+“Ring up 1232 Gerrard.”
+
+
+Laverick frowned, turned over the half sheet of paper and looked once
+more at the envelope. Then he passed it on to his companion.
+
+“What do you make of that, Bellamy?” he asked.
+
+Bellamy smiled as he perused and returned it.
+
+“What could any one make of it?” he remarked, laconically. “Do you know
+the handwriting?”
+
+“Never saw it before, to my knowledge,” Laverick answered. “What should
+you do about it?”
+
+“I think,” Bellamy suggested, “that I should ring up number 1232
+Gerrard.”
+
+They crossed the hall and Laverick entered one of the telephone booths.
+
+“1232 Gerrard,” he said.
+
+The connection was made almost at once.
+
+“Who are you?” Laverick asked.
+
+“I am speaking for Miss Zoe Leneveu,” was the reply. “Are you Mr.
+Laverick?”
+
+“I am,” Laverick answered. “Is Miss Leneveu there? Can she speak to me
+herself?”
+
+“She is not here,” the voice continued. “She was fetched away in a
+hurry from the theatre—we understood by her brother. She left two and
+sixpence with the doorkeeper here to ring you up and explain that she
+had been summoned to her brother’s rooms, 25, Jermyn Street, and would
+you kindly go on there.”
+
+“Who are you?” Laverick demanded.
+
+There was no reply. Laverick remained speechless, listening intently.
+He stood still with the receiver pressed to his ear. Was it his fancy,
+or was that really Zoe’s protesting voice which he heard in the
+background? It was a woman or a child who was speaking—he was almost
+sure that it was Zoe.
+
+“Who are you?” he asked fiercely. “Miss Leneveu is there with you. Why
+does she not speak for herself?”
+
+“Miss Leneveu is not here,” was the answer. “I have done what she
+desired. You can please yourself whether you go or not. The address is
+25, Jermyn Street. Ring off.”
+
+The connection was gone. Laverick laid down the receiver and stepped
+out of the booth.
+
+“I must be off at once,” he said to Bellamy. “You’ll be round in the
+morning?”
+
+Bellamy smiled.
+
+“After all,” he remarked, “I have changed my plans. I shall not leave
+the hotel. I am going to telephone round to my man to bring me some
+clothes. By the bye, do you mind telling me whether this message which
+you have just received had anything to do with the little affair in
+which we are interested?”
+
+“Not directly,” Laverick answered, after a moment’s hesitation. “The
+message was from a young lady. I have to go and meet her.”
+
+“A young lady whom you can trust?” Bellamy inquired quietly.
+
+“Implicitly,” Laverick assured him.
+
+“She spoke herself?”
+
+“No, she sent a message. Excuse me, Bellamy, won’t you, but I must
+really go.”
+
+“By all means,” Bellamy answered.
+
+They stood at the entrance to the hotel together while a taxicab was
+summoned. Laverick stepped quickly in.
+
+“25, Jermyn Street,” he ordered.
+
+Bellamy watched him drive off. Then he sighed.
+
+“I think, my friend Laverick,” he said softly, “that you will need some
+one to look after you to-night.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII MORRISON IS DESPERATE
+
+
+Certainly it was a strange little gathering that waited in Morrison’s
+room for the coming of Laverick. There was Lassen—flushed, ugly,
+breathing heavily, and watching the door with fixed, beady eyes. There
+was Adolf Kahn, the man who had strolled out from the Milan Hotel as
+Laverick had entered it, leaving the forged order behind him. There was
+Streuss—stern, and desperate with anxiety. There was Morrison himself,
+in the clothes of a workman, worn to a shadow, with the furtive gleam
+of terrified guilt shining in his sunken eyes, and the slouched
+shoulders and broken mien of the habitual criminal. There was Zoe,
+around whom they were all standing, with anger burning in her cheeks
+and gleaming out of her passion-filled eyes. She, too, like the others,
+watched the door. So they waited.
+
+Streuss, not for the first time, moved to the window and drawing aside
+the curtains looked down into the street.
+
+“Will he come—this Englishman?” he muttered. “Has he courage?”
+
+“More courage than you who keep a girl here against her will!” Zoe
+panted, looking at him defiantly. “More courage than my poor brother,
+who stands there like a coward!”
+
+“Shut up, Zoe!” Morrison exclaimed harshly. “There is nothing for you
+to be furious about or frightened. No one wants to ill-treat you. These
+gentlemen all want to behave kindly to us. It is Laverick they want.”
+
+“And you,” she cried, “are content to stand by and let him walk into a
+trap—you let them even use my name to bring him here! Arthur, be a man!
+Have nothing more to do with them. Help me to get away from this place.
+Call out. Do something instead of standing there and wasting the
+precious minutes.”
+
+He came towards her—ugly and threatening.
+
+“I’ll do something in a minute,” he declared savagely,—“something you
+won’t like, either. Keep your mouth shut, I tell you. It’s me or him,
+and, by Heavens, he deserves what he’ll get!”
+
+Streuss turned away from the window and looked towards Zoe.
+
+“Young lady,” he said quietly, “let me beg you not to distress yourself
+so. I sincerely trust that nothing unpleasant will happen. If it does,
+I promise you that we will arrange for your temporary absence. You
+shall not be disturbed in any way.”
+
+“And as regards your brother, have a care, young lady,” Lassen growled.
+“If any one’s in danger, it’s he. He’ll be lucky if he saves his own
+skin.”
+
+The young man glowered at her.
+
+“You hear that, you little fool!” he muttered. “Keep still, can’t you?”
+
+Her face was full of defiance. He came nearer to her and changed his
+tone.
+
+“Zoe,” he whispered hoarsely, “don’t you understand? If they can’t get
+what they want from Laverick, they’ll visit it upon me. They’re
+desperate, I tell you. They mean mischief all the time.”
+
+“Yet you let him be brought here, your partner who looked after you
+when you were ill, and who helped you to get away!” she cried
+indignantly.
+
+He laughed unpleasantly.
+
+“When it comes to a matter of life or death, it’s every man for
+himself. Besides, if I’d known as much about Laverick as I know now,
+I’m not sure that I should have been so ready to go—not empty-handed,
+by any manner of means.”
+
+“What have you done that you should be so much in the power of these
+people?” she demanded, fixing her dark eyes upon him searchingly.
+
+The terror whitened his face once more. The perspiration stood out in
+beads upon his forehead.
+
+“Don’t dare to ask me questions!” he exclaimed nervously. “I should
+like to know what Laverick is to you, eh, that you take so much
+interest in him? Listen here, my fine young lady. If I’ve been mug
+enough to do the dirty work, he hasn’t made any bones about taking
+advantage of it. He’s a nice sort of sportsman, I can tell you.”
+
+The man at the window suddenly dropped the curtain and spoke across the
+room to them all.
+
+“He is here,” he announced.
+
+“Alone?” Lassen asked thickly.
+
+“Alone,” Streuss echoed.
+
+A little thrill seemed to pass through the room. Zoe made no attempt to
+cry out. Instead she leaned forward towards the door, as though
+listening. Her attitude seemed harmless enough. No one took any more
+notice of her. They all watched the entrance to the apartment. Zoe
+remembered the two flights of stairs. She was absorbed in a breathless
+calculation. Now—now he should be coming quite close. Her whole being
+was concentrated upon one effort of listening. At last she raised her
+head. The room resounded with her cries.
+
+“Don’t come in! Don’t come in here!” she shrieked. “Mr. Laverick, do
+you hear? Go away! Don’t come in here alone!”
+
+Her brother was the first to reach her, his hand fell upon her mouth
+brutally. Her little effort was naturally a failure—defeating, in fact,
+its own object. Laverick, hearing her cries, simply hastened his
+coming, threw open the door without waiting to knock, and stepped
+quickly across the threshold. He saw a man dressed in shabby workman’s
+clothes, unshaven, dishevelled, holding Zoe in a rough grasp, and with
+a single well-directed blow he sent him reeling across the room. Then
+something in the man’s cry, a momentary glimpse of his white face,
+revealed his identity.
+
+“Morrison!” he cried. “Good God, it’s Morrison!”
+
+Arthur Morrison was crouching in a corner of the room, his evil face
+turned upon his aggressor. Laverick took quick stock of his
+surroundings. There was the tall, fair young man—Adolf Kahn—whom he had
+seen at the Milan a few hours ago—the man who had unsuccessfully forged
+his name. There was Lassen, the man who, under pretence of being her
+manager, had been a spy upon Louise. There was Streuss, with blanched
+face and hard features, standing with his back to the door. There was
+Zoe, and, behind, her brother. She held out her hands timidly towards
+him, and her eyes were soft with pleading.
+
+“I did not want you to come here, Mr. Laverick,” she cried softly. “I
+tried so hard to stop you. It was not I who sent that message.”
+
+He took her cold little fingers and raised them to his lips.
+
+“I know it, dear,” he murmured.
+
+Then a movement in the room warned him, and he was suddenly on guard.
+Lassen was close to his side, some evil purpose plainly enough written
+in his pasty face and unwholesome eyes. Laverick gave him his left
+shoulder and sent him staggering across the floor. He was angry at
+having been outwitted and his eyes gleamed ominously.
+
+“Well, gentlemen,” he exclaimed, “you seem to have taken unusual pains
+to secure my presence here! Tell me now, what can I do for you?”
+
+It was Streuss who became spokesman. He addressed Laverick with the
+consideration of one gentleman addressing another. His voice had many
+agreeable qualities. His demeanor was entirely amicable.
+
+“Mr. Laverick,” he answered, “let us first apologize if we used a
+little subterfuge to procure for us the pleasure of your visit. We are
+men who are in earnest, and across whose path you have either wilfully
+or accidentally strayed. An understanding between us has become a
+necessity.”
+
+“Go on,” Laverick interrupted. “Tell me exactly who you are and what
+you want.”
+
+“As to who we are,” Streuss answered, “does that really matter? I
+repeat that we are men who are in earnest—let that be enough. As to
+what we want, it is a certain document to which we have every claim,
+and which has come into your possession—I flatter you somewhat, Mr.
+Laverick, if I say by chance.”
+
+Laverick shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“Let that go,” he said. “I know all about the document you refer to,
+and the notes. They were contained in a pocket-book which it is
+perfectly true has come into my possession. Prove your claim to both
+and you shall have them.”
+
+Streuss smiled.
+
+“You will admit that our claim, since we know of its existence,” he
+asked suavely, “is equal to yours?”
+
+“Certainly,” Laverick answered, “but then I never had any idea of
+keeping either the document or the money. That your claim is better
+than mine is no guarantee that there is not some one else whose title
+is better still.”
+
+Streuss frowned.
+
+“Be reasonable, Mr. Laverick,” he begged. “We are men of peace—when
+peace is possible. The money of which you spoke you can consider as
+treasure trove, if you will, but it is our intention to possess
+ourselves of the document. It is for that reason that we are here in
+London. I, personally, am committed to the extent of my life and my
+honor to its recovery.”
+
+A declaration of war, courteously veiled but decisive. Laverick looked
+around him a little defiantly, and shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“You know very well that I do not carry it about with me,” he said.
+“The gentleman on my left,” he added, pointing to Kahn, “can tell you
+where it is kept.”
+
+“Quite so,” Streuss admitted. “We are not doing you the injustice to
+suppose that you would be so foolhardy as to trust yourself anywhere
+with that document upon your person. It is in the safe at the Milan
+Hotel. I may add that probably, if it had not occurred to you to change
+your quarters, it would have been in our possession before now. We are
+hoping to persuade you to return to the hotel with one of our friends
+here, and procure it.”
+
+“As it happens,” Laverick remarked, “that is impossible. The man who
+set the combination for that particular safe has gone off duty, and
+will not be back again at the hotel till to-morrow morning.”
+
+“But he is to be found,” Streuss answered easily. “His present
+whereabouts and his address are known to us. He lives with his family
+at Harvard Court, Hampstead. We shall assist you in making it worth his
+while to return to the hotel or to give you the combination word for
+the safe.”
+
+“You are rather great on detail!” Laverick exclaimed.
+
+“It is our business. The question for you to decide, and to decide
+immediately, is whether you are ready to end this, in some respects,
+constrained situation, and give your word to place that document in our
+hands.”
+
+“You are ready to accept my word, then?” Laverick asked.
+
+“We have a certain hold upon you,” Streuss continued slowly. “Your
+partner Mr. Morrison’s position in connection with the murder in
+Crooked Friars’ Alley is, as you may have surmised, a somewhat
+unfortunate one. Your own I will not allude to. I will simply suggest
+that for both your sakes publicity—any measure of publicity, in fact,
+as regards this little affair—would not be desirable.”
+
+Laverick hesitated. He understood all that was implied. Morrison’s eyes
+were fixed upon him—the eyes of a craven coward. He felt the intensity
+of the moment. Then Zoe turned suddenly towards him.
+
+“You are not to give it up!” she cried, with trembling lips. “They
+cannot hurt you, and it is not true—about Arthur.”
+
+Kahn, who was nearest, clapped his hand over her mouth and Laverick
+knocked him down. Instantly the pacific atmosphere of the room was
+changed. Lassen and Morrison closed swiftly upon Laverick from
+different sides. Streuss covered him with the shining barrel of a
+revolver.
+
+“Mr. Laverick,” he said, “we are not here to be trifled with. Keep your
+sister quiet, Morrison, or, by God, you’ll swing!”
+
+Laverick looked at the revolver—fascinated, for an instant, by its
+unexpected appearance. The face of the man who held it had changed.
+There was lightning playing about the room.
+
+“It’s the dock for you both!” Streuss exclaimed fiercely,—“for you,
+Laverick, and you, Morrison, too, if you play with us any longer! One
+of you’s a murderer and the other receives the booty. Who are you to
+have scruples—criminals, both of you? Your place is in the dock, and
+you shall be there within twenty-four hours if there are any more
+evasions. Now, Laverick, will you fetch that document? It is your last
+chance.”
+
+Upon the breathless silence that followed a quiet voice intervened—a
+voice calm and emotionless, tinged with a measure of polite inquiry.
+Yet its level utterance fell like a bomb among the little company. The
+curtain separating this from the inner room had been drawn a few feet
+back, and Bellamy was standing there, in black overcoat and white
+muffler, his silk hat on the back of his head, his left hand, carefully
+gloved, resting still upon the curtain which he had drawn aside.
+
+“I hope I am not disturbing you at all?” he murmured softly.
+
+For a moment the development of the situation remained uncertain. The
+gleaming barrel of Streuss’s revolver changed its destination. Bellamy
+glanced at it with the pleased curiosity of a child.
+
+“I really ought not to have intruded,” he continued amiably. “I
+happened to hear the address my friend Laverick gave to the taxicab
+driver, and I was particularly anxious to have a word or two with him
+before I left for the Continent.”
+
+Streuss was surely something of a charlatan! His revolver had
+disappeared. The smile upon his lips was both gracious and
+unembarrassed.
+
+“One is always only too pleased to welcome Mr. Bellamy
+anywhere—anyhow,” he declared. “If apologies are needed at all,” he
+continued, “it is to our friend and host—Mr. Morrison here. Permit
+me—Mr. Arthur Morrison—the Honorable David Bellamy! These are Mr.
+Morrison’s rooms.”
+
+Morrison could do no more than stare. Bellamy, on the contrary, with a
+little bow came further into the apartment, removing his hat from his
+head. Lassen glided round behind him, remaining between Bellamy and the
+heavy curtains. Adolf Kahn moved as though unconsciously in front of
+the door of the room in which they were.
+
+Bellamy smiled courteously.
+
+“I am afraid,” he said, “that I must not stay for more than a moment. I
+have a car full of friends below—we are on our way, in fact, to the
+Covent Garden Ball—and one or two of them, I fear,” he added
+indulgently, “have already reached that stage of exhilaration which
+such an entertainment in England seems to demand. They will certainly
+come and rout me out if I am here much longer. There!” he exclaimed,
+“you hear that?”
+
+There was the sound of a motor horn from the street below. Streuss,
+with an oath trembling upon his lips, lifted the blind. There were two
+motor-cars waiting there—large cars with Limousine bodies, and
+apparently full of men. After all, it was to be expected. Bellamy was
+no fool!
+
+“Since we are to lose you, then Mr. Laverick,” Streuss remarked with a
+gesture of farewell, “let us say good night. The little matter of
+business which we were discussing can be concluded with your partner.”
+
+Laverick turned toward Zoe. Their eyes met and he read their message of
+terror.
+
+“You are coming back to your own rooms, Miss Leneveu,” he said. “You
+must let me offer you my escort.”
+
+She half rose, but in obedience to a gesture from Streuss Morrison
+moved near to them.
+
+“If you leave me here, Laverick,” he muttered beneath his breath,—“if
+you leave me to these hounds, do you know what they will do? They will
+hand me over to the police—they have sworn it!”
+
+“Why did you come back?” Laverick asked quickly.
+
+“They stopped me as I was boarding the steamer,” Morrison declared. “I
+tell you they have eyes everywhere. You cannot move without their
+knowledge. I had to come. Now that I am here they have told me plainly
+the price of my freedom. It is that document. Laverick, it is my life!
+You must give in—you must, indeed! Remember you’re in it, too.”
+
+“Am I?” Laverick asked quietly.
+
+“You fool, of course you are!” Morrison whispered hoarsely. “Didn’t you
+come into the entry and take the pocket-book? Heaven knows what
+possessed you to do it! Heaven knows how you found the pluck to use the
+money! But you did it, and you are a criminal—a criminal as I am. Don’t
+be a fool, Laverick. Make terms with these people. They want the
+document—the document—nothing but the document! They will let us keep
+the money.”
+
+“And you?” Laverick asked, turning suddenly to Zoe. “What do you say
+about all this?”
+
+She looked at him fearlessly.
+
+“I trust you,” she said. “I trust you to do what is right.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII LAVERICK’S ARREST
+
+
+“At last, David!”
+
+Louise welcomed her visitor eagerly with outstretched hands, which
+Bellamy raised for a moment to his lips. Then she turned toward the
+third person, who had also risen at the opening of the door—a short,
+somewhat thick-set man, with swarthy complexion, close-cropped black
+hair, and upturned black moustache.
+
+“You remember Prince Rosmaran?” she said to Bellamy. “He left Servia
+only the day before yesterday. He has come to England on a special
+mission to the King.”
+
+Bellamy shook hands.
+
+“I think,” he remarked, “I had the honor of meeting you once before,
+Prince, at the opening of the Servian Parliament two years ago. It was
+just then, I believe, that you were elected to lead the patriotic
+party.”
+
+The Prince bowed sadly.
+
+“My leadership, I fear,” he declared, “has brought little good to my
+unhappy country.”
+
+“It is a terrible crisis through which your nation is passing,” Bellamy
+reminded him sympathetically. “At the same time, we must not despair.
+Austria holds out her clenched hands, but as yet she has not dared to
+strike.”
+
+The face of the Prince was dark with passion.
+
+“As yet, no!” he answered. “But how long—how long, I wonder—before the
+blow falls? We in Servia have been blamed for arming ourselves, but I
+tell you that to-day the Austrian troops are being secretly
+concentrated on the frontier. Their arsenals are working night and day.
+Her soldiers are manoeuvering almost within sight of Belgrade. We have
+hoped against hope, yet in our hearts we know that our fate was sealed
+when the Czar of Russia left Vienna last week.”
+
+“Nothing is certain,” Bellamy declared restlessly. “England has been
+ill-governed for a great many years, but we are not yet a negligible
+Power.”
+
+Louise leaned a little towards him.
+
+“David,” she whispered, “the compact!”
+
+He answered her unspoken question.
+
+“It is arranged,” he said,—“finished. To-morrow morning at nine o’clock
+I receive it.”
+
+“You are sure?” she begged. “Why need there be any delay?”
+
+“It is locked up in a powerful safe,” he explained, “and the clerk who
+has the combination will not be on duty again till nine. Laverick is
+there simply waiting for the hour. You were right, Louise, as usual. I
+should have trusted him from the first.”
+
+The Prince had been listening to their conversation with undisguised
+interest.
+
+“There is a rumor,” he said, “that some secret information concerning
+the compact of Vienna has found its way to this country.”
+
+Bellamy smiled.
+
+“Hence, I presume, your mission, Prince.”
+
+“We three have no secrets from one another,” the Prince declared. “Our
+interests in this matter are absolutely identical. What you suggest,
+Mr. Bellamy, is the truth. There is a rumor that the Chancellor, in the
+first few moments of his illness, gave valuable information to some one
+who is likely to have communicated it to the Government here. To be
+forewarned is to be forearmed. That, I know, is one of your own
+mottoes. So I am here to know if there is anything to be learned.”
+
+Bellamy nodded.
+
+“Your arrival is not inopportune, Prince. When did you come?”
+
+“I reached Charing Cross at midnight,” the Prince answered. “Our train
+was an hour late. I am presenting my credentials early this morning,
+and I am hoping for an interview during the afternoon.”
+
+Bellamy considered for a moment.
+
+“It is true!” he said. “Between us three there is indeed no need for
+secrecy. The information you speak of will be in our hands within a few
+hours. I have no doubt whatever but that your Minister will share in
+it.”
+
+“You know of what it consists?” the Prince inquired curiously.
+
+“I think so,” Bellamy answered, glancing at the clock. “For my own
+part, although the information itself is invaluable, I see another and
+a profounder source of interest in that document. If, indeed, it is
+what we believe it to be, it amounts to a casus belli.”
+
+“You mean that you would provoke war?” Prince Rosmaran asked.
+
+Bellamy shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“I,” said he,—“I am not even a politician. But, you know, the
+lookers-on see a good deal of the game, and in my opinion there is only
+one course open for this country,—to work upon Russia so that she
+withdraws from any compact she may have entered into with Austria and
+Germany, to accept Germany’s cooperation with Austria in the
+despoilment of your country as a casus belli, and to declare war at
+once while our fleet is invincible and our Colonies free from danger.”
+
+The Prince nodded.
+
+“It is good,” he admitted, “to hear man’s talk once more. Wherever one
+moves, people bow the head before the might of Germany and Austria. Let
+them alone but a little longer, and they will indeed rule Europe.”
+
+Three o’clock struck. The Prince rose.
+
+“I go,” he announced.
+
+“And I,” Bellamy declared. “Come to my rooms at ten o’clock tomorrow
+morning, Prince, and you shall hear the news.”
+
+Bellamy lingered behind. For a moment he held Louise in his arms and
+gazed sorrowfully into her weary face.
+
+“Is it worth while, I wonder?” he asked bitterly.
+
+“Worth while,” she answered, opening her eyes and looking at him, “to
+feel the mother love? Who can help it who would not be ignoble?”
+
+“But yours, dear,” he murmured, “is all grief. Even now I am afraid.”
+
+“We can do no more than toil to the end,” she said. “David, you are
+sure this time?”
+
+“I am sure,” he replied. “I am going back now to the hotel where
+Laverick is staying. We are going to sit together and smoke until the
+morning. Nothing short of an army could storm the hotel. I was with
+them all only an hour ago,—Streuss, that blackguard Lassen, and Adolf
+Kahn, the police spy. They are beaten men and they know it. They had
+Laverick, had him by a trick, but I made a dramatic entrance and the
+game was up.”
+
+“Telephone me directly you have taken it safely to Downing Street,” she
+begged.
+
+“I will,” he promised.
+
+Bellamy walked from Dover Street to the Strand. The streets were almost
+brilliant with the cold, hard moonlight. The air seemed curiously keen.
+Once or twice the fall of his feet upon the pavement was so clear and
+distinct that he fancied he was being followed and glanced sharply
+around. He reached the Milan Hotel, however, without adventure, and
+looked towards the little open space in the hall where he had expected
+to find Laverick. There was no one there! He stood still for a moment,
+troubled with a sudden sense of apprehension. The place was deserted
+except for a couple of sleepy-looking clerks and a small army of
+cleaners busy with their machines down in the restaurant, moving about
+like mysterious figures in the dim light.
+
+Bellamy turned back to the hall-porter who had admitted him.
+
+“Do you happen to know what has become of the gentleman whom I was with
+about an hour ago?” he asked,—“a tall, fair gentleman—Mr. Laverick his
+name was?”
+
+The hall-porter recognized Bellamy and touched his hat.
+
+“Why, yes, sir!” he answered with a somewhat mysterious air. “Mr.
+Laverick was sitting over there in an easy-chair until about
+half-an-hour ago. Then two gentle-men arrived in a taxicab and inquired
+for him. They talked for a little time, and finally Mr. Laverick went
+away with them.”
+
+Bellamy was puzzled.
+
+“Went away with them?” he repeated. “I don’t understand that, Reynolds.
+He was to have waited here till I returned.”
+
+The man hesitated.
+
+“It didn’t strike me, sir,” he said, “that Mr. Laverick was very
+wishful to go. It seemed as though he hadn’t much choice about the
+matter.”
+
+Bellamy looked at him keenly.
+
+“Tell me what is in your mind?” he asked.
+
+“Mr. Bellamy, sir,” the hall-porter replied, “I knew one of those
+gentlemen by sight. He was a detective from Scotland Yard, and the one
+who was with him was a policeman in plain clothes.”
+
+“Good God!” Bellamy exclaimed. “You think, then,—”
+
+“I am afraid there was no doubt about it, sir,” the man answered. “Mr.
+Laverick was arrested on some charge.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV MORRISON’S DISCLOSURE
+
+
+Into New Oxford Street, one of the ceaseless streams of polyglot
+humanity, came Zoe from her cheerless day bound for the theatre. She
+was a little whiter, a little more tired than usual. All day long she
+had heard nothing of Laverick. All day long she had sat in her tiny
+room with the memory of that horrible night before her. She had tried
+in vain to sleep,—she had made no effort whatever to eat. She knew now
+why Arthur Morrison had fled away. She knew the cause of that paroxysm
+of fear in which he had sought her out. The horror of the whole thing
+had crept into her blood like poison. Life was once more a dreary,
+profitless struggle. All the wonderful dreams, which had made existence
+seem almost like a fairy-tale for this last week, had faded away. She
+was once more a mournful little waif among the pitiless crowds.
+
+She turned to the left and past the Holborn Tube. Boys were shouting
+everywhere the contents of the evening papers. Nearly every one seemed
+to be carrying one of the pink sheets. She herself passed on with
+unseeing eyes. News was nothing to her. Governments might rise and
+fall, war might come and go,—she had still life to support, a
+friendless little life, too, on two pounds fifteen shillings a week.
+The news they shouted fell upon deaf ears, but one boy unfurled almost
+before her eyes the headlines of his sheet.
+
+SENSATIONAL ARREST OF A WELL-KNOWN STOCKBROKER. CHARGE OF MURDER.
+
+
+She came to a sudden stop and pulled out her purse. Her fingers
+trembled so that the penny fell on to the pavement. The boy picked it
+up willingly enough, however, and she passed on with the paper in her
+hand. There it was on the front page—staring her in the face:
+
+Early yesterday morning Mr. Stephen Laverick, of the firm of Laverick &
+Morrison, Stockbrokers, Old Broad Street, was arrested at the Milan
+Hotel on the charge of being concerned in the murder of a person
+unknown, in Crooked Friars’ Alley, on Monday last. The accused, who
+made no reply to the charge, was removed to Bow Street Police-Station.
+Particulars of his examination before the magistrates will be found on
+page 4.
+
+
+There was a dull singing in her ears. An electric tram, coming up from
+the underground passage, seemed to bring with it some sort of thunder
+from an unknown world. She staggered on, unseeing, gasping for breath.
+If she could find somewhere to sit down! If she could only rest for a
+moment! Then a sudden wave of strength came to her, the blood flowed
+once more in her veins—blood that was hot with anger, that stained her
+cheeks with a spot of red. It was the man she loved, this, being made
+to suffer falsely. It was the fulfilment of their threat—a deliberate
+plot against him. The murderer of Crooked Friars’ Alley—she knew who
+that was!—she knew! Perhaps she might help!
+
+She had not the slightest recollection of the remainder of that walk,
+but she found herself presently sitting in a quiet corner of the
+theatre with the paper spread out before her. She read that Stephen
+Laverick had been brought before Mr. Rawson, the magistrate of Bow
+Street Police Court, on a warrant charging him with having been
+concerned with the murder of a person unknown, and that he had pleaded
+“Not Guilty!” Her eyes glittered as she read that the first witness
+called was Mr. Arthur Morrison, late partner of the accused. She read
+his deposition—that he had left Laverick at their offices at eleven
+o’clock on the night in question, that they were at that time
+absolutely without means, and had no prospect of meeting their
+engagements on the morrow. She read the evidence of Mr. Fenwick, bank
+manager, to the effect that Mr. Laverick had, on the following morning,
+deposited with him the sum of twenty thousand pounds in Bank of England
+notes, by means of which the engagements of the firm were duly met,
+that those notes had since been redeemed, and that he had no idea of
+their present whereabouts. She read, too, the evidence of Adolf Kahn,
+an Austrian visiting this country upon private business, who deposed
+that he was in the vicinity just before midnight, that he saw a person,
+whom he identified as the accused, walking down the street and, after
+disappearing for a few minutes down the entry, return and re-enter the
+offices from which he had issued. He explained his presence there by
+the fact that he was waiting for a clerk employed by the Goldfields’
+Corporation, Limited, whose offices were close by. Further formal
+evidence was given, and a remand asked for. The accused’s solicitor was
+on the point of addressing the court when Mr. Rawson was unfortunately
+taken ill. After waiting for some time, the case was adjourned until
+the next day, and the accused man was removed in custody.
+
+Zoe laid down the paper and rose to her feet. She made her way to where
+the stage-manager was superintending the erection of some new scenery.
+
+“Mr. Heepman,” she exclaimed, “I cannot stay to rehearsal! I have to go
+out.”
+
+He turned heavily round and looked at her.
+
+“Rehearsal postponed,” he declared solemnly. “Shall you be back for the
+evening performance, or shall we close the theatre?”
+
+His clumsy irony missed its mark. Her thoughts were too intensely
+focussed upon one thing.
+
+“I am sorry,” she replied, turning away. “I will come back as soon as I
+can.”
+
+He called out after her and she paused.
+
+“Look here,” he said, “you were absent from the performance the other
+evening, and now you are skipping rehearsal without even waiting for
+permission. It can’t be done, young lady. You must do your playing
+around some other time. If you’re not here when you’re called, you
+needn’t trouble to turn up again. Do you understand?”
+
+Her lips quivered and the sense of impending disaster which seemed to
+be brooding over her life became almost overwhelming.
+
+“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” she promised, with a little break in
+her voice,—“as soon as ever I can, Mr. Heepman.”
+
+She hurried out of the theatre and took her place once more among the
+hurrying throng of pedestrians. Several people turned round to look at
+her. Her white face, tight-drawn mouth, and eyes almost unnaturally
+large, seemed to have become the abiding-place for tragedy. She herself
+saw no one. She would have taken a cab, but a glimpse at the contents
+of her purse dissuaded her. She walked steadily on to Jermyn Street,
+walked up the stairs to the third floor, and knocked at her brother’s
+door. No one answered her at first. She turned the handle and entered
+to find the room empty. There were sounds, however, in the further
+apartment, and she called out to him.
+
+“Arthur,” she cried, “are you there?”
+
+“Who is it?” he demanded.
+
+“It is I—Zoe!” she exclaimed.
+
+“What do you want?”
+
+“I want to speak to you, Arthur. I must speak to you. Please come as
+quickly as you can.”
+
+He growled something and in a few moments he appeared. He was wearing
+the morning clothes in which he had attended court earlier in the day,
+but the change in him was perhaps all the more marked by reason of this
+resumption of his old attire. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes scarcely
+for an instant seemed to lose that feverish gleam of terror with which
+he had returned from Liverpool. He knew very well what she had come
+about, and he began nervously to try and bully her.
+
+“I wish you wouldn’t come to these rooms, Zoe,” he said. “I’ve told you
+before they’re bachelors’ apartments, and they don’t like women about
+the place. What is it? What do you want?”
+
+“I was brought here last time without any particular desire on my
+part,” she answered, looking him in the face. “I’ve come now to ask you
+what accursed plot this is against Stephen Laverick? What were you
+doing in the court this morning, lying? What is the meaning of it,
+Arthur?”
+
+“If you’ve come to talk rubbish like that,” he declared roughly, “you’d
+better be off.”
+
+“No, it is not rubbish!” she went on fearlessly. “I think I can
+understand what it is that has happened. They have terrified you and
+bribed you until you are willing to do any despicable thing—even this.
+Your father was good to my mother, Arthur, and I have tried to feel
+towards you as though you were indeed a relation. But nothing of that
+counts. I want you to realize that I know the truth, and that I will
+not see an innocent man convicted while the guilty go free.”
+
+He moved a step towards her. They were on opposite sides of the small
+round table which stood in the centre of the apartment.
+
+“What do you mean?” he demanded hoarsely.
+
+“Isn’t it plain enough?” she exclaimed. “You came to my rooms a week or
+so ago, a terrified, broken-down man. If ever there was guilt in a
+man’s face, it was in yours. You sent for Laverick. He pitied you and
+helped you away. At Liverpool they would not let you embark—these men.
+They have brought you back here. You are their tool. But you know very
+well, Arthur, that it was not Stephen Laverick who killed the man in
+Crooked Friars’ Alley! You know very well that it was not Stephen
+Laverick!”
+
+“Why the devil should I know anything about it?” he asked fiercely.
+
+A note of passion suddenly crept into her voice. Her little white hand,
+with its accusing forefinger, shot out towards him.
+
+“Because it was you, Arthur Morrison, who committed that crime,” she
+cried, “and sooner than another man should suffer for it, I shall go to
+court myself and tell the truth.”
+
+He was, for the moment, absolutely speechless, pale as death, with
+nervously twitching lips and fingers. But there was murder in his eyes.
+
+“What do you know about this?” he muttered.
+
+“Never mind,” she answered. “I know and I guess quite enough to
+convince me—and I think anybody else—that you are the guilty man. I
+would have helped you and shielded you, whatever it cost me, but I will
+not do so at Stephen Laverick’s expense.”
+
+“What is Laverick to you?” he growled.
+
+“He is nothing to me,” she replied, “but the best of friends. Even were
+he less than that, do you suppose that I would let an innocent man
+suffer?”
+
+He moistened his dry lips rapidly.
+
+“You are talking nonsense, Zoe,” he said,—“nonsense! Even if there has
+been some little mistake, what could I do now? I have given my
+evidence. So far as I am concerned, the case is finished. I shall not
+be called again until the trial.”
+
+“Then you had better go to the magistrates tomorrow morning and take
+back your evidence,” she declared boldly, “for if you do not, I shall
+be there and I shall tell the truth.”
+
+“Zoe,” he gasped, “don’t try me too high. This thing has upset me. I’m
+ill. Can’t you see it, Zoe? Look at me. I haven’t slept for weeks.
+Night and day I’ve had the fear—the fear always with me. You don’t know
+what it is—you can’t imagine. It’s like a terrible ghost, keeping pace
+with you wherever you go, laying his icy finger upon you whenever you
+would rest, mocking at you when you try to drown thought even for a
+moment. Don’t you try me too far, Zoe. I’m not responsible. Laverick
+isn’t the man you think him to be. He isn’t the man I believed. He did
+have that money—he did, indeed.”
+
+“That,” she said, “is to be explained. But he is not a murderer.”
+
+“Listen to me, Zoe,” Morrison continued, leaning across the table.
+“Come and stay with me for a time and we will go away for a
+week—somewhere to the seaside. We will talk about this and think it
+over. I want to get away from London. We will go to Brighton, if you
+like. I must do something for you, Zoe. I’m afraid I’ve neglected you a
+good deal. Perhaps I could get you a better part at one of the
+theatres. I must make you an allowance. You ought to be wearing better
+clothes.”
+
+She drew a little away.
+
+“I want nothing from you, Arthur,” she said, “except this—that you
+speak the truth.”
+
+He wiped his forehead and struck the table before her.
+
+“But, good God, Zoe!” he exclaimed, “do you know what it is that you
+are asking me? Do you want me to go into court and say—‘That isn’t the
+man... It is I who am the murderer’? Do you want me to feel their hands
+upon my shoulder, to be put there in the dock and have all the people
+staring at me curiously because they know that before very long I am to
+stand upon the scaffold and have that rope around my neck and—”
+
+He broke off with a low cry, wringing his hands like a child in a fit
+of impotent terror. But the girl in front of him never flinched.
+
+“Arthur,” she said, “crime is a terrible thing, but nothing in the
+world can alter its punishment. If it is frightful for you to think of
+this, what must it be for him? And you are guilty and he is not.”
+
+“I was mad!” Morrison went on, now almost beside himself. “Zoe, I was
+mad! I called there to have a drink. We were broke,—the firm was broke.
+I’d a hundred or so in my pocket and I was going to bolt the next day.
+And there, within a few yards of me, was that man, with such a roll of
+notes as I had never seen in my life. Five hundred pounds, every one of
+them, and a wad as thick as my fists. Zoe, they fascinated me. I had
+two drinks quickly and I followed him out. Somehow or other, I found
+that I’d caught up a knife that was on the counter. I never meant to
+hurt him seriously, but I wanted some of those notes! I was leaving the
+next day for Africa and I hadn’t enough money to make a fair start. I
+wanted it—my God, how I wanted money!”
+
+“It couldn’t have been worth—that!” she cried, looking at him
+wonderingly.
+
+“I was mad,” he continued. “I saw the notes and they went to my head.
+Men do wild things sometimes when they are drunk, or for love. I don’t
+drink much, and I’m not over fond of women, but, my God, money is like
+the blood of my body to me! I saw it, and I wanted it and I wanted it,
+and I went mad! Zoe, you won’t give me away? Say you won’t!”
+
+“But what am I to do?” she protested. “He must not suffer.”
+
+“He’ll get off,” Morrison assured her thickly. “I tell you he’ll get
+off. He’s only to part with the document, which never belonged to him,
+and the charge will be withdrawn. They know who the murdered man was.
+They know where the money came from which he was carrying. I tell you
+he can save himself. You wouldn’t dream of sending me to the gallows,
+Zoe!”
+
+“Stephen Laverick will never give up that document to those people,”
+she declared. “I am sure of that.”
+
+“It’s his own lookout,” Morrison muttered. “He has the chance, anyway.”
+
+She turned toward the door.
+
+“I must go away,” she said. “I must go away and think. It is all too
+horrible.”
+
+He came round the table swiftly and caught at her wrists.
+
+“Listen,” he said, “I can’t let you go like this. You must tell me that
+you are not going to give me up. Do you hear?”
+
+“I can make no promises, Arthur,” she answered sadly, “only this—I
+shall not let Stephen Laverick suffer in your stead.”
+
+He opened his hand and she shrank back, terrified, when she saw what it
+was that he was holding. Then he struck her down and without a backward
+glance fled out of the place.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV BELLAMY’S SUCCESS
+
+
+Late that afternoon the hall-porter at the Milan Hotel, the
+commissionaire, and the chief maitre d’hotel from the Café, who
+happened to be in the hall, together with several others around the
+place who knew Stephen Laverick by sight, were treated to an unexpected
+surprise. A large closed motor-car drove up to the front entrance and
+several men descended, among whom was Laverick himself. He nodded to
+the hall-porter, whose salute was purely mechanical, and making his way
+without hesitation to the interior of the hotel, presented his receipt
+at the cashier’s desk and asked for his packet. The clerk looked up at
+him in amazement. He did not, for the moment, notice that the two men
+standing immediately behind bore the stamp of plain-clothes policemen.
+He had only a few minutes ago finished reading the report of Laverick’s
+examination before the magistrates and his remand until the morrow,
+upon the charge of murder. His knowledge of English law was by no means
+perfect, but he was at least aware that Laverick’s appearance outside
+the purlieus of the prison was an unusual happening.
+
+“Your packet, sir!” he repeated, in amazement. “Why, this is Mr.
+Laverick himself, is it not?”
+
+“Certainly,” was the quiet reply. “I am Stephen Laverick.”
+
+The clerk called the head cashier, who also stared at Laverick as
+though he were a ghost. They whispered together in the background for a
+moment, and their faces were a study in perplexity. Of Laverick’s
+identity, however, there was no manner of doubt. Besides, the presence
+of what was obviously a very ample escort somewhat reassured them. The
+cashier himself came forward.
+
+“We shall be exceedingly glad, Mr. Laverick,” he said dryly, “to get
+rid of your packet. Your instructions were that we should disregard all
+orders to hand it over to any person whatsoever, and I may say that
+they have been strictly adhered to. We have, however, had two
+applications in your name this morning.”
+
+“They were both forgeries,” Laverick declared.
+
+The cashier hesitated. Then he leaned across the broad mahogany counter
+towards Laverick. One of the men who appeared to form part of the
+escort detached himself from them and approached a few steps nearer.
+
+“This gentleman is your friend, sir?” the cashier asked, glancing
+towards him.
+
+“He is my solicitor,” Laverick answered, “and is entirely in my
+confidence. If you have anything to tell me, I should like Mr. Bellamy
+also to hear.”
+
+Bellamy, who was standing a little in the background, took his place by
+Laverick’s side. The cashier, who knew him by sight, bowed.
+
+“Beside these two forged orders, sir,” he said, turning again to
+Laverick, “we have had a man who took a room in the hotel leave a small
+black bag here, which he insisted upon having deposited in our document
+safe. My assistant had accepted it and was actually locking it up when
+he noticed a faint sound inside which he could not understand. The bag
+was opened and found to contain an infernal machine which would have
+exploded in a quarter of an hour.”
+
+Bellamy drew his breath sharply between his teeth.
+
+“We should have thought of that!” he exclaimed softly. “That’s Kahn’s
+work!”
+
+“I seem to have given you a great deal of trouble,” Laverick remarked
+quietly. “I gather, however, from what you say, that my packet is still
+in your possession?”
+
+“It is, sir,” the man assented. “We have two detectives from Scotland
+Yard here at the present moment, though, and we had almost decided to
+place it in their charge for greater security.”
+
+“It will be well taken care of from now, I promise you,” Laverick
+declared.
+
+The cashier and his clerk led the way into the inner office. At their
+invitation Laverick and his solicitor followed, and a few yards behind
+came the two plain-clothes policemen, Bellamy, and the superintendent.
+The safe was opened and the packet placed in Laverick’s hands. He
+passed it on at once to Bellamy, and immediately afterwards the doorway
+behind was thronged with men, apparently ordinary loiterers around the
+hotel. They made a slow and exceedingly cautious exit. Once outside,
+Bellamy turned to Laverick with outstretched hand.
+
+“Au revoir and good luck, old chap!” he said heartily. “I think you’ll
+find things go your way all right to-morrow morning.”
+
+He departed, forming one of a somewhat singular cavalcade—two of his
+friends on either side, two in front, and two behind. It had almost the
+appearance of a procession. The whole party stepped into a closed
+motor-car. Three or four men were lounging on the pavement and there
+was some excited whispering, but no one actually interfered. As soon as
+they had left the courtyard, Laverick and his solicitor, with his own
+guard, re-entered the motor-car in which they had arrived, and drove
+back to Bow Street. Very few words were exchanged during the short
+journey. His solicitor, however, bade him good-night cheerfully, and
+Laverick’s bearing was by no means the bearing of a man in despair.
+
+In Downing Street, within the next half-an-hour, a somewhat remarkable
+little gathering took place. The two men chiefly responsible for the
+destinies of the nation—the Prime Minister and the Secretary of State
+for Foreign Affairs—sat side by side before a small table. Facing them
+was Bellamy, and spread out in front were those few pages of foolscap,
+released from their envelope a few minutes ago for the first time since
+the hand of the great Chancellor himself had pressed down the seal. The
+Foreign Minister had just finished a translation for the benefit of his
+colleague, and the two men were silent, as men are in the presence of
+big events.
+
+“Bellamy,” the Prime Minister said slowly, “you are willing to stake, I
+presume, your reputation upon the authenticity of this document?”
+
+“My honor and my life, if you will,” Bellamy answered earnestly. “That
+is no copy which you have there. On the contrary, the handwriting is
+the handwriting of the Chancellor himself.”
+
+The Prime Minister turned silently towards his colleague. The latter,
+whose eyes still seemed glued to those fateful words, looked up.
+
+“All I can say is this,” he remarked impressively, “that never in my
+time have I seen written words possessed of so much significance. One
+moment, if you please.”
+
+He touched the bell, and his private secretary entered at once from an
+adjoining room.
+
+“Anthony,” he said, “telephone to the Great Western Railway Company at
+Paddington. Ask for the station master in my name, and see that a
+special train is held ready to depart for Windsor in half-an-hour. Tell
+the station-master that all ordinary traffic must be held up, but that
+the destination of the special is not to be divulged.”
+
+The young man bowed and withdrew.
+
+“The more I consider this matter,” the Foreign Minister went on, “the
+more miraculous does the appearance of this document seem. We know now
+why the Czar is struggling so frantically to curtail his visit—why he
+came, as it were, under protest, and seeks everywhere for an
+opportunity to leave before the appointed time. His health is all
+right. He has had a hint from Vienna that there has been a leakage. His
+special mission only reached Paris this morning. The President is in
+the country and their audience is not fixed until to-morrow. Rawson
+will go over with a copy of these papers and a dispatch from His
+Majesty by the nine o’clock train. It is not often that we have had the
+chance of such a ‘coup’ as this.”
+
+He drew his chief a few steps away. They whispered together for several
+moments. When they returned, the Foreign Minister rang the bell again
+for his secretary.
+
+“Anthony,” he said, “Sir James and I will be leaving in a few minutes
+for Windsor. Go round yourself to General Hamilton, telephone to
+Aldershot for Lord Neville, and call round at the Admiralty Board for
+Sir John Harrison. Tell them all to be here at ten o’clock tonight. If
+I am not back, they must wait. If either of them have royal commands,
+you need only repeat the word ‘Finisterre.’ They will understand.”
+
+The young man once more withdrew. The Prime Minister turned back to the
+papers.
+
+“It will be worth a great deal,” he remarked, with a grim smile, “to
+see His Majesty’s face when he reads this.”
+
+“It would be worth a great deal more,” his fellow statesman answered
+dryly, “to be with his August cousin at the interview which will
+follow. A month ago, the thought that war might come under our
+administration was a continual terror to me. To-day things are entirely
+different. To-day it really seems that if war does come, it may be the
+most glorious happening for England of this century. You saw the last
+report from Kiel?”
+
+Sir James nodded.
+
+“There isn’t a battleship or a cruiser worth a snap of the fingers
+south of the German Ocean,” his colleague continued earnestly. “They
+are cooped up—safe enough, they think—under the shelter of their
+fortifications. Hamilton has another idea. Between you and me, Sir
+James, so have I. I tell you,” he went on, in a deeper and more
+passionate tone, “it’s like the passing of a terrible nightmare—this.
+We have had ten years of panic, of nervous fears of a German invasion,
+and no one knows more than you and I, Sir James, how much cause we have
+had for those fears. It will seem strange if, after all, history has to
+write that chapter differently.”
+
+The secretary re-entered and announced the result of his telephone
+interview with the superintendent at Paddington. The two great men
+rose. The Prime Minister held out his hand to Bellamy.
+
+“Bellamy,” he declared, “you’ve done us one more important service.
+There may be work for you within the next few weeks, but you’ve earned
+a rest for a day or two, at any rate. There is nothing more we can do?”
+
+“Nothing except a letter to the Home Secretary, Sir James,” Bellamy
+answered. “Remember, sir, that although I have worked hard, the man to
+whom we really owe those papers is Stephen Laverick.”
+
+The Prime Minister frowned thoughtfully.
+
+“It’s a difficult situation, Bellamy,” he said. “You are asking a great
+deal when you suggest that we should interfere in the slightest manner
+with the course of justice. You are absolutely convinced, I suppose,
+that this man Laverick had nothing to do with the murder?”
+
+“Absolutely and entirely, sir,” Bellamy replied.
+
+“The murdered man has never been identified by the police,” Sir James
+remarked. “Who was he?”
+
+“His name was Rudolph Von Behrling,” Bellamy announced, “and he was
+actually the Chancellor’s nephew, also his private secretary. I have
+told you the history, sir, of those papers. It was Von Behrling who,
+without a doubt, murdered the American journalist and secured them. It
+was he who insisted upon coming to London instead of returning with
+them to Vienna, which would have been the most obvious course for him
+to have adopted. He was a pauper, and desperately in love with a
+certain lady who has helped me throughout this matter. He agreed to
+part with the papers for twenty thousand pounds, and the lady
+incidentally promised to elope with him the same night. I met him by
+appointment at that little restaurant in the city, paid him the twenty
+thousand pounds, and received the false packet which you remember I
+brought to you, sir. As a matter of fact, Von Behrling, either by
+accident or design, and no man now will ever know which, left me with
+those papers which I was supposed to have bought in his possession, and
+also the money. Within five minutes he was murdered. Doubtless we shall
+know sometime by whom, but it was not by Stephen Laverick. Laverick’s
+share in the whole thing was nothing but this—that he found the
+pocket-book, and that he made use of the notes in his business for
+twenty-four hours to save himself from ruin. That was unjustifiable, of
+course. He has made atonement. The notes at this minute are in a safe
+deposit vault and will be returned intact to the fund from which they
+came. I want, also, to impress upon you, Sir James, the fact that Baron
+de Streuss offered one hundred thousand pounds for that letter.”
+
+Sir James nodded thoughtfully. He stooped down and scrawled a few lines
+on half a sheet of note-paper.
+
+“You must take this to Lord Estcourt at once,” he said, “and tell him
+the whole affair, omitting all specific information as to the nature of
+the papers. The thing must be arranged, of course.”
+
+Half-a-dozen reporters, who had somehow got hold of the fact that the
+Prime Minister and his colleague from the Foreign Office were going
+down to Windsor on a special mission, followed them, but even they
+remained altogether in the dark as to the events which were really
+transpiring. They knew nothing of the interview between the Czar and
+his August host—an interview which in itself was a chapter in the
+history of these times. They knew nothing of the reason of their royal
+visitor’s decision to prolong his visit instead of shortening it, or of
+his autograph letter to the President of the French Republic, which
+reached Paris even before the special mission from St. Petersburg had
+presented themselves. The one thing which they did know, and that alone
+was significant enough, was that the Czar’s Foreign Minister was cabled
+for that night to come to his master by special train from St.
+Petersburg. At the Austrian and German Embassies, forewarned by a
+report from Baron de Streuss, something like consternation reigned. The
+Russian Ambassador, heckled to death, took refuge at Windsor under
+pretence of a command from his royal master. The happiest man in London
+was Prince Rosmaran.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI LAVERICK ACQUITTED
+
+
+At mid-day on the following morning Laverick stepped down from the dock
+at Bow Street and, as the evening papers put it, “in company with his
+friends left the court.” The proceedings altogether took scarcely more
+than half-an-hour. Laverick’s solicitor first put Shepherd in the box,
+who gave his account of Morrison’s visit to the restaurant, spoke of
+his hurried exit, and identified the knife which he had seen him snatch
+up. Cross-examined as to why he had kept silent, he explained that Mr.
+Morrison had been a good customer and he saw no reason why he should
+give unsolicited evidence which would cost a man his life. Directly,
+however, another man had been accused, the matter appeared to him to be
+altogether different. He had come forward the moment he had heard of
+Laverick’s arrest, to offer his evidence.
+
+While the opinion of the court was still undecided, Laverick’s
+solicitor called Miss Zoe Leneveu. A little murmur of interest ran
+though the court. Laverick himself started. Zoe stepped into the
+witness-box, looking exceedingly pale, and with a bandage over the
+upper part of her head. She admitted that she was the half-sister of
+Arthur Morrison, although there was no blood relationship. She
+described his sudden visit to her rooms on the night of the murder, and
+his state of great alarm. She declared that he had confessed to her on
+the previous afternoon that he had been guilty of the murder in
+question.
+
+Her place in the witness-box was taken by the Honorable David Bellamy.
+He declared that the prisoner was an old friend of his, and that the
+twenty thousand pounds of which he had been recently possessed, had
+come from him for investment in Laverick’s business. The circumstances,
+he admitted, were somewhat peculiar, and until negotiations had been
+concluded Mr. Laverick had doubtless felt uncertain how to make use of
+the money. But he assured the court that there was no person who had
+any claim to the sum of money in question save himself, and that he was
+perfectly aware of the use to which Laverick had put it.
+
+Laverick was discharged within a very few minutes, and a warrant was
+issued for the apprehension of Morrison. Laverick found Bellamy waiting
+for him, and was hurried into his motor.
+
+“Well, you see,” the latter exclaimed, “we kept our word! That dear
+plucky little friend of yours turned the scale, but in any case I think
+that there would not have been much trouble about the matter. The
+magistrate had received a communication direct from the Home Secretary
+concerning your case.”
+
+“I am very grateful indeed,” Laverick declared. “I tell you I think I
+am very lucky. I wish I knew what had become of Miss Leneveu. The usher
+told me she left the court before we came out.”
+
+“I asked her to go straight back to her rooms,” Bellamy said. “You must
+excuse me for interfering, Laverick, but I found her almost in a state
+of collapse last night in Jermyn Street. I was having Morrison watched,
+and my man reported to me that he had left his rooms in a state of
+great excitement, and that a young lady was there who appeared to be
+seriously injured.”
+
+“D—d scamp!” Laverick muttered.
+
+“I did everything I could,” Bellamy continued. “I fetched her at once
+and sent her back to her house with a hospital nurse and some one to
+look after her. The wound wasn’t serious, but the fellow must have been
+a brute indeed to have lifted his hand against such a child. I wonder
+whether he’ll get away.”
+
+“I should doubt it,” Laverick remarked. “He hasn’t the nerve. He’ll
+probably get drunk and blow his brains out. He’s a broken-spirited cur,
+after all.”
+
+“You’ll have some lunch?” Bellamy asked.
+
+Laverick shook his head.
+
+“If you don’t mind, I’d like to go on and see Miss Leneveu.”
+
+“Put me down at the club, then, and take my car on, if you will.”
+
+Laverick walked up and down the pavement outside Zoe’s little house for
+nearly half-an-hour. He had found the door closed and locked, and a
+neighbor had informed him that Miss Leneveu had gone out in a cab with
+the nurse, some time ago, and had not returned. Laverick sent Bellamy’s
+car back and waited. Presently a four-wheel cab came round the corner
+and stopped in front of her house. Laverick opened the door and helped
+Zoe out. She was as white as death, and the nurse who was with her was
+looking anxious.
+
+“You are safe, then?” she murmured, holding out her hands.
+
+“Quite,” he answered. “You dear little girl!”
+
+Zoe had fainted, however, and Laverick hurried out for the doctor.
+Curiously enough, it was the same man who only a week or so ago had
+come to see Arthur Morrison.
+
+“She has had a bad scalp wound,” he declared, “and her nervous system
+is very much run down. There is nothing serious. She seems to have just
+escaped concussion. The nurse had better stay with her for another day,
+at any rate.”
+
+“You are sure that it isn’t serious?” Laverick asked eagerly.
+
+“Not in the least,” the doctor answered dryly. “I see worse wounds
+every day of my life. I’ll come again to-morrow, if you like, but it
+really isn’t necessary with the nurse on the spot.”
+
+His natural pessimism was for a moment lightened by the fee which
+Laverick pressed upon him, and he departed with a few more encouraging
+words. Laverick stayed and talked for a short time with the nurse.
+
+“She has gone off to sleep now, sir,” the latter announced. “There
+isn’t anything to worry about. She seems as though she had been having
+a hard time, though. There was scarcely a thing in the house but half a
+packet of tea—and these.”
+
+She held up a packet of pawn tickets.
+
+“I found these in a drawer when I came,” she said. “I had to look
+round, because there was no money and nothing whatever in the house.”
+
+Laverick was suddenly conscious of an absurd mistiness before his eyes.
+
+“Poor little woman!” he murmured. “I think she’d sooner have starved
+than ask for help.”
+
+The nurse smiled.
+
+“I thought at first that she was rather a vain young lady,” she
+remarked. “An empty larder and a pile of pawn tickets, and a new hat
+with a receipted bill for thirty shillings,” she added, pointing to the
+sofa.
+
+Laverick placed some notes in her hands.
+
+“Please keep these,” he begged, “and see that she has everything she
+wants. I shall be here again later in the day. There is not the
+slightest need for all this. She will be quite well off for the rest of
+her life. Will you try and engage some one for a day or two to come in
+until she is able to be moved?”
+
+“I’ll look after her,” the nurse promised.
+
+Laverick went reluctantly away. The events of the last few days were
+becoming more and more like a dream to him. He went to his club almost
+from habit. Presently the excitement which all London seemed to be
+sharing drove his own personal feelings a little into the background.
+The air was full of rumors. The Prime Minister and the Foreign
+Secretary were spoken of as one speaks of heroes. Nothing was
+definitely known, but there was a splendid feeling of confidence that
+for once in her history England was preparing to justify her existence
+as a great Power.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII THE PLOT THAT FAILED
+
+
+The progress of the Czar from Buckingham Palace to the Mansion House,
+where he had, after all, consented to lunch with the Lord Mayor,
+witnessed a popular outburst of enthusiasm absolutely inexplicable to
+the general public. It was known that affairs in Central Europe were in
+a dangerously precarious state, and it was felt that the Czar’s visit
+here, and the urgent summons which had brought from St. Petersburg his
+Foreign Minister, were indications that the long wished-for entente
+between Russia and this country was now actually at hand. There was in
+the Press a curious reticence with regard to the development of the
+political situation. One felt everywhere that it was the calm before
+the storm—that at any moment the great black headlines might tell of
+some startling stroke of diplomacy, some dangerous peril averted or
+defied. The circumstances themselves of the Czar’s visit had been a
+little peculiar. On his arrival it was announced that, for reasons of
+health, the original period of his stay, namely a week, was to be cut
+down to two days. No sooner had he arrived at Windsor, however, than a
+change was announced. The Czar had so far recovered as to be able even
+to extend the period at first fixed for his visit. Simultaneously with
+this, the German and Austrian Press were full of bitter and barely
+veiled articles, whose meaning was unmistakable. The Czar had thrown in
+his lot at first with Austria and Germany. That he was going
+deliberately to break away from that arrangement there seemed now
+scarcely any manner of doubt.
+
+Bellamy and Louise, from a window in Fleet Street, watched him go by.
+Prince Rosmaran had been specially bidden to the luncheon, but he, too,
+had been with them earlier in the morning. Afterwards they turned their
+backs upon the city, and as soon as the crowd had thinned made their
+way to one of the west-end restaurants.
+
+“It seems too good to be true,” declared Louise. Bellamy nodded.
+
+“Nevertheless I am convinced that it is true. The humor of the whole
+thing is that it was our friends in Germany themselves who pressed the
+Czar not to altogether cancel his visit for fear of exciting suspicion.
+That, of course, was when there seemed to be no question of the news of
+the Vienna compact leaking out. They would never have dared to expose a
+man to such a trial as the Czar must have faced when the resume of the
+Vienna proceedings, in the Chancellor’s own handwriting, was read to
+him at Windsor.”
+
+“You saw the telegram from Paris?” Louise interposed. “The special
+mission from St. Petersburg has been recalled.”
+
+Bellamy smiled.
+
+“It all goes to prove what I say,” he went on. “Any morning you may
+expect to hear that Austria and Germany have received an ultimatum.”
+
+“I wonder,” she remarked, “what became of Streuss.”
+
+“He is hiding somewhere in London, without a doubt,” Bellamy answered.
+“There’s always plenty of work for spies.”
+
+“Don’t use that word,” she begged.
+
+He made a little grimace.
+
+“You are thinking of my own connection with the profession, are you
+not?” he asked. “Well, that counts for nothing now. I hope I may still
+serve my country for many years, but it must be in a different way.”
+
+“What do you mean?” she demanded.
+
+“I heard from my uncle’s solicitors this morning,” Bellamy continued,
+“that he is very feeble and cannot live more than a few months. When he
+dies, of course, I must take my place in the House of Lords. It is his
+wish that I should not leave England again now, so I suppose there is
+nothing left for me but to give it up. I have done my share of
+traveling and work, after all,” he concluded, thoughtfully.
+
+“Your share, indeed,” she murmured. “Remember that but for that
+document which was read to the Czar at Windsor, Servia must have gone
+down, and England would have had to take a place among the second-class
+Powers. There may be war now, it is true, but it will be a glorious
+war.”
+
+“Louise, very soon we shall know. Until then I will say nothing. But I
+do not want you altogether to forget that there has been something in
+my life dearer to me even than my career for these last few years.”
+
+Her blue eyes were suddenly soft. She looked across towards him
+wistfully.
+
+“Dear,” she whispered, “things will be altered with you now. I am not
+fit to be the wife of an English peer—I am not noble.”
+
+He laughed.
+
+“I am afraid,” he assured her, “that I am democrat enough to think you
+one of the noblest women on earth. Why should I not? Your life itself
+has been a study in devotion. The modern virtues seem almost to ignore
+patriotism, yet the love of one’s country is a splendid thing. But
+don’t you think, Louise, that we have done our work—that it is time to
+think of ourselves?”
+
+She gave him her hand.
+
+“Let us see,” she said. “Let us wait for a little time and see what
+comes.”
+
+That night another proof of the popular feeling, absolutely
+spontaneous, broke out in one of the least expected places. Louise was
+encored for her wonderful solo in a modern opera of bellicose trend,
+and instead of repeating it she came alone on the stage after a few
+minutes’ absence, dressed in Servian national dress. For a short time
+the costume was not recognized. Then the music—the national hymn of
+Servia, and the recollection of her parentage, brought the thing home
+to the audience. They did not even wait for her to finish. In the
+middle of her song the applause broke like a crash of thunder. From the
+packed gallery to the stalls they cheered her wildly, madly. A dozen
+times she came before the curtain. It seemed impossible that they would
+ever let her go. Directly she turned to leave the stage, the uproar
+broke out again. The manager at last insisted upon it that she should
+speak a few words. She stood in the centre of the stage amid a silence
+as complete as the previous applause had been unanimous. Her voice
+reached easily to every place in the House.
+
+“I thank you all very much,” she said. “I am very happy indeed to be in
+London, because it is the capital city of the most generous country in
+the world—the country that is always ready to protect and help her
+weaker neighbors. I am a Servian, and I love my country, and
+therefore,” she added, with a little break in her voice,—“therefore I
+love you all.”
+
+It was nearly midnight before the audience was got rid of, and the
+streets of London had not been so impassable for years. Crowds made
+their way to the front of Buckingham Palace and on to the War Office,
+where men were working late. Everything seemed to denote that the
+spirit of the country was roused: The papers next morning made immense
+capital of the incident, and for the following twenty-four hours
+suspense throughout the country was almost at fever height. It was
+known that the Cabinet Council had been sitting for six hours. It was
+known, too, that without the least commotion, with scarcely any
+movements of ships that could be called directly threatening, the
+greatest naval force which the world had ever known was assembling off
+Dover. The stock markets were wildly excited. Laverick, back again in
+his office, found that his return to his accustomed haunts occasioned
+scarcely any comment. More startling events were shaping themselves.
+His own remarkable adventure remained, curiously enough, almost
+undiscussed.
+
+He left the office shortly before his usual time, notwithstanding the
+rush of business, and drove at once to the little house in Theobald
+Square. Zoe was lying on the sofa, still white, but eager to declare
+that the pain had gone and that she was no longer suffering.
+
+“It is too absurd,” she declared, smiling, “my having this nurse here.
+Really, there is nothing whatever the matter with me. I should have
+gone to the theatre, but you see it is no use.”
+
+She passed him the letter which she had been reading, and which
+contained her somewhat curt dismissal. He laughed as he tore it into
+pieces.
+
+“Are you so sorry, Zoe? Is the stage so wonderful a place that you
+could not bear to think of leaving it?”
+
+She shook her head.
+
+“It is not that,” she whispered. “You know that it is not that.”
+
+He smiled as he took her confidently into his arms.
+
+“There is a much more arduous life in front of you, dear,” he said.
+“You have to come and look after me for the rest of your days. A
+bachelor who marries as late in life as I do, you know, is a trying
+sort of person.”
+
+She shrank away a little.
+
+“You don’t mean it,” she murmured.
+
+“You know very well that I mean it,” he answered, kissing her. “I think
+you knew from the very first that sooner or later you were doomed to
+become my wife.”
+
+She sighed faintly and half-closed her eyes. For the moment she had
+forgotten everything. She was absolutely and completely happy.
+
+Later on he made her dress and come out to dinner, and afterwards, as
+they sat talking, he laid an evening paper before her.
+
+“Zoe,” he declared, “the best thing that could has happened. You will
+not be foolish, dear, about it, I know. Remember the alternative—and
+read that.”
+
+She glanced at the few lines which announced the finding of Arthur
+Morrison in a house in Bloomsbury Square. The police had apparently
+tracked him down, and he had shot himself at the final moment. The
+details of his last few hours were indescribable. Zoe shuddered, and
+her eyes filled with tears. She smiled bravely in his face, however.
+
+“It is terrible,” she whispered simply, “but, after all, he was no
+relation of mine, and he tried to do you a frightful injury. When I
+think of that, I find it hard even to be sorry.”
+
+There was indeed almost a pitiless look in her face as she folded up
+the paper, as though she felt something of that common instinct of her
+sex which transforms a gentle woman so quickly into a hard, merciless
+creature when the being whom she loves is threatened.
+
+Laverick smiled.
+
+“Let us go out into the streets,” he said, “and hear what all this
+excitement is about.”
+
+They bought a late edition, and there it was at last in black and
+white. An ultimatum had been presented at Berlin and Vienna. Certain
+treaty rights which had been broken with regard to Austria’s action in
+the East were insisted upon by Great Britain. It was demanded that
+Austria should cease the mobilization of her troops upon the Servian
+frontier, and renounce all rights to a protectorate over that country,
+whose independence Great Britain felt called upon, from that time
+forward, to guarantee. It was further announced that England, France,
+and Russia were acting in this matter in complete concert, and that the
+neutrality of Italy was assured. Further, it was known that the great
+English fleet had left for the North Sea with sealed orders.
+
+Laverick took Zoe home early and called later at Bellamy’s rooms.
+Bellamy greeted him heartily. He was on the point of going out, and the
+two men drove off together in the latter’s car.
+
+“See, my dear friend,” Bellamy exclaimed, “what great things come from
+small means! The document which you preserved for us, and for which we
+had to fight so hard, has done all this.”
+
+“It is marvelous!” Laverick murmured.
+
+“It is very simple,” Bellamy declared. “That meeting in Vienna was
+meant to force our hands. It is all a question of the balance of
+strength. Germany and Austria together, with Russia friendly,—even with
+Russia neutral,—could have defied Europe. Germany could have spread out
+her army westwards while Austria seized upon her prey. It was a
+splendid plot, and it was going very well until the Czar himself was
+suddenly confronted by our King and his Ministers with a revelation of
+the whole affair. At Windsor the thing seemed different to him. The
+French Government behaved splendidly, and the Czar behaved like a man.
+Germany and Austria are left _planté la_. If they fight, well, it will
+be no one-sided affair. They have no fleet, or rather they will have
+none in a fortnight’s time. They have no means of landing an army here.
+Austria, perhaps, can hold Russia, but with a French army in better
+shape than it has been for years, and the English landing as many men
+as they care to do, with ease, anywhere on the north coast of Germany,
+the entire scheme proved abortive. Come into the club and have a drink,
+Laverick. To-day great things have happened to me.”
+
+“And to me,” Laverick interposed.
+
+“You can guess my news, perhaps,” Bellamy said, as they seated
+themselves in easy-chairs. “Mademoiselle Idiale has promised to be my
+wife.”
+
+Laverick held out his hand.
+
+“I congratulate you heartily!” he exclaimed. “I have been an engaged
+man myself for something like half-an-hour.”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII A FAREWELL APPEARANCE
+
+
+“One thing, at least, these recent adventures should teach whoever may
+be responsible for the government of this country,” Bellamy remarked to
+his wife, as he laid down the morning paper. “For the first time in
+many years we have taken the aggressive against Powers of equal
+standing. We were always rather good at bullying smaller countries, but
+the bare idea of an ultimatum to Germany would have made our late
+Premier go lightheaded.”
+
+“And yet it succeeded,” Louise reminded him.
+
+“Absolutely,” he affirmed. “To-day’s news makes peace a certainty. If
+your country knew everything, Louise, they’d give us a royal welcome
+next month.”
+
+“You really mean that we are to go there, then?” she asked.
+
+“It isn’t exactly one of my privileges,” he declared, “to fix upon the
+spot where we shall take our belated honeymoon, but I haven’t been in
+Belgrade for years, and I know you’d like to see your people.”
+
+“It will be more happiness than I ever dreamed of,” she murmured. “Do
+you think we shall be safe in passing through Vienna?”
+
+Bellamy laughed.
+
+“Remember,” he said, “that I am no longer David Bellamy, with a silver
+greyhound attached to my watch-chain and an obnoxious reputation in
+foreign countries. I am Lord Denchester of Denchester, a harmless
+English peer traveling on his honeymoon. By the way, I hope you like
+the title.”
+
+“I shall love it when I get used to it,” she declared. “To be an
+English Countess is dazzling, but I do think that I ought not to go on
+singing at Covent Garden.”
+
+“To-morrow will be your last night,” he reminded her. “I have asked
+Laverick and the dear little girl he is going to marry to come with me.
+Afterwards we must all have supper together.”
+
+“How nice of you!” she exclaimed.
+
+“I don’t know about that,” Bellamy said, smiling. “I really like
+Laverick. He is a decent fellow and a good sort. Incidentally, he was
+thundering useful to us, and pretty plucky about it. He interests me,
+too, in another way. He is a man who, face to face with a moral
+problem, acted exactly as I should have done myself!”
+
+“You mean about the twenty thousand pounds?” she asked.
+
+Bellamy assented.
+
+“He was practically dishonest,” he pointed out. “He had no right to use
+that money and he ought to have taken the pocket-book to the
+police-station. If he had done so—that is to say, if he had waited
+there for the police, if he had been seen to hold out that pocket-book,
+to have discussed it with any one, it is ten to one that there would
+have been another tragedy that night. At any rate, the document would
+never have come to us.”
+
+She smiled.
+
+“My moral judgment is warped,” she asserted, “from the fact that
+Laverick’s decision brought us the document.”
+
+He nodded.
+
+“Perhaps so,” he agreed, “and yet, there was the man face to face with
+ruin. The use of that money for a few hours did no one any harm, and
+saved him. I say that such a deed is always a matter of calculation,
+and in this case that he was justified.”
+
+“I wonder what he really thinks about it himself,” she remarked.
+
+“Perhaps I’ll ask him.”
+
+But when the time came, and he sat in the box with Laverick and Zoe, he
+forgot everything else in the joy of watching the woman whom he had
+loved so long. She moved about the stage that night as though her feet
+indeed fell upon the air. She appeared to be singing always with
+restraint, yet with some new power in her voice, a quality which even
+in her simpler notes left the great audience thrilled. Already there
+was a rumor that it was her last appearance. Her marriage to Bellamy
+had been that day announced in the _Morning Post_. When, in the last
+act, she sang alone on the stage the famous love song, it seemed to
+them all that although her voice trembled more than once, it was a new
+thing to which they listened. Zoe found herself clasping Laverick’s
+hand in tremulous excitement. Bellamy sat like a statue, a little back
+in the box, his clean-cut face thrown into powerful relief by the
+shadows beyond. Yet, as he listened, his eyes, too, were marvelously
+soft. The song grew and grew till, with the last notes, the whole story
+of an exquisite and expectant passion seemed trembling in her voice.
+The last note came from her lips almost as though unwillingly, and was
+prolonged for an extraordinary period. When it died away, its passing
+seemed something almost unrealizable. It quivered away into a silence
+which lasted for many seconds before the gathering roar of applause
+swept the house. And in those last few seconds she had turned and faced
+Bellamy. Their eyes met, and the light which flashed from his seemed
+answered by the quivering of her throat. It was her good-bye. She was
+singing a new love-song, singing her way into the life of the man whom
+she loved, singing her way into love itself. Once more the great house,
+packed to the ceiling, was worked up to a state of frenzied excitement.
+Bellamy was recognized, and the significance of her song sent a wave of
+sentiment through the house whose only possible form of expression took
+to itself shape in the frantic greetings which called her to the front
+again and again. But the three in the box were silent. Bellamy stood
+back in the shadows. Laverick and Zoe seemed suddenly to become
+immersed in themselves. Bellamy threw open the door of the box and
+pointed outside.
+
+“At Luigi’s in half-an-hour,” said he softly. “You will excuse me for a
+few minutes? I am going to Louise.”
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAVOC ***
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