"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 '11 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 Isuggested 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!"
