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.