“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.”