E. Phillips Oppenheim - 21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

Laverick folded up the paper and leaned back in his chair. The strain of the last twenty-four hours was beginning to tell even upon his robust constitution. The atmosphere of the room, too, was close. He leaned back in his chair and was suddenly weary. Perhaps he dozed. At any rate, the whisper which called him back to realization of where he was, came to him so unexpectedly that he sat up with a sudden start.

Morrison’s eyes were open, he had raised himself on his elbow, his lips were parted. His manner was quieter, but there were black lines deep engraven under his eyes, in which there still shone something of that haunting fear.

“Laverick!” he repeated hoarsely.

Laverick, fully awakened now, leaned towards him.

“Hullo,” he said, “are you feeling more like yourself?”

Morrison nodded.

“Yes,” he admitted, “I am feeling—better. How did you come here? I can’t remember anything.”

“You sent for me,” Laverick answered. “I arrived to find you pretty well in a state of collapse. Your sister has gone round to the theatre to ask them to excuse her this evening.”

“I remember now that I sent for you,” Morrison continued. “Tell me, has any one been around at the office asking after me?”

“No one particular,” Laverick answered,—“no one at all that I can think of. There were one or two inquiries through the telephone, but they were all ordinary business matters.”

The man on the bed drew a little breath which sounded like a sigh of relief.

“I have made a fool of myself, Laverick,” he said hoarsely.

“You are making a worse one of yourself by lying here and giving way,” Laverick declared, “besides frightening your sister half to death.”

Morrison passed his hand across his forehead.

“We talked—some time ago,” he went on, “about my getting away. You promised that you would help me. You said that I could get off to Africa or America to-morrow.”

“Not the slightest difficulty about that,” Laverick answered. “There are half-a-dozen steamers sailing, at least. At the same time, I suppose I ought to remind you that the firm is going to pull through. Mind—don’t take this unkindly but the truth is best—I will not have you back again. There may have to be a more definite readjustment of our affairs now, but the old business is finished with.”

“I don’t want to come back,” Morrison murmured. “I have had enough of the city for the rest of my life. I’d rather get away somewhere and make a fresh start. You’ll help me, Laverick, won’t you?”

“Yes, I will help you,” Laverick promised.

“You were always a good sort,” Morrison continued, “much too good for me. It was a rotten partnership for you. We could never have pulled together.”

“Let that go,” Laverick interrupted. “If you really mean getting away, that simplifies matters, of course. Have you made any plans at all? Where do you want to go?”

“To New York,” answered Morrison; “New York would suit me best. There is money to be made there if one has something to make a start with.”

“There will be some more money to come to you,” Laverick answered, “probably a great deal more. I shall place our affairs in the hands of an accountant, and shall have an estimate drawn up to yesterday. You shall have every penny that is due to you. You have quite enough, however, to get there with. I will see to your ticket to-night, if possible. When you’ve arrived you can cable me your address, or you can decide where you will stay before you leave, and I will send you a further remittance.”

“You’re a good sort, Laverick,” Morrison mumbled.

“You’d better give me the key of your rooms,” Laverick continued, “and I will go back and put together some of your things. I suppose you will not want much to go away with. The rest can be sent on afterwards. And what about your letters?”

Morrison, with a sudden movement, threw himself almost out of the bed. He clutched at Laverick’s shoulder frantically.

“Don’t go near my rooms, Laverick!” he begged. “Promise me that you won’t! I don’t want any letters! I don’t want any of my things!”

Laverick was dumfounded.

“You mean you want to go away without—”

“I mean just what I have said,” Morrison continued hysterically. “If you go there they will watch you, they will follow you, they will find out where I am. I should be there now but for that.”

Laverick was silent for a moment. The matter was becoming serious.

“Very well,” he said, “I will do as you say. I will not go near your rooms. I will get you a few things somewhere to start with.”

Morrison sank back upon his pillow.

“Thank you, Laverick,” he said; “thank you. I wish—I wish—”

His voice seemed to die away. Laverick glanced towards him, wondering at the unfinished sentence. Once again the man’s face seemed to be convulsed with horror. He flung himself face downward upon the bed and tore at the sheets with both his hands.

“Don’t be a fool,” Laverick said sternly. “If you’ve anything on your mind apart from business, tell me about it and I’ll do what I can to help you.”

Morrison made no reply. He was sobbing now like a child. Laverick rose to his feet and went to the window. What was to be done with such a creature! When he got back, Morrison had raised himself once more into a sitting posture. His appearance was absolutely spectral.

“Laverick,” he said feebly, “there is something else, but I cannot tell you—I cannot tell any one.”

“Just as you please, of course,” Laverick answered. “I am simply anxious to help you.”

“You can do that as it is!” Morrison exclaimed feverishly. “You must promise me something—promise that if any one asks for me to-morrow before I get away, you will not tell them where I am. Say you suppose that I am at my rooms, or that I have gone into the country for a few days. Say that you are expecting me back. Don’t let any one know that I have gone abroad, until I am safely away. And then don’t tell a soul where I have gone.”

“Have you been up to any tricks with your friends?” Laverick asked sternly.

“I haven’t—I swear that I haven’t,” Morrison declared. “It’s something quite outside business—quite outside business altogether.”

“Very well,” answered Laverick, “I will promise what you have asked, then. Listen—here is your sister back again,” he added, as he heard the taxicab stop outside. “Pull yourself together and don’t frighten her so much. I am going down to meet her. I shall tell her that you are better. Try and buck up when she comes in to see you.”

“I’ll do my best,” Morrison said humbly. “If you knew! If you only knew!”

He began to sob again. Laverick left the room and, descending the stairs, met the girl in the hall. Her white face questioned him before her lips had time to frame the speech.

“Your brother is very much better,” Laverick said. “I am sure that you need not be anxious about him.”

“I am so glad,” she murmured. “They let me off but I had to pay a fine. I had no idea before that I was so important. Shall I go to him now?”

“One moment,” Laverick answered, holding open the door of the sitting-room. “Miss Morrison,” he went on,—

“Miss Leneven is my name,” she interrupted.

“I beg your pardon. Your brother evidently has something on his mind apart from business. I am afraid that he has been getting into some sort of trouble. I don’t think there is any object in bothering him about it, but the great thing is to get him away.”

“You will help?” she begged.

“I will help, certainly,” Laverick answered. “I have promised to. You must see that he is ready to leave here at seven o’clock to-morrow morning. He wants to go to New York, and the special to catch the German boat will leave Waterloo somewhere about eight to eight-thirty.”