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.