“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.