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.