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

“It could scarcely have been Morrison,” Laverick said. “He sailed several days ago for New York.”

“That settles it,” the man declared, passing on. “All the same, it was the most extraordinary likeness I ever saw.”

Laverick, on his way back, went into a cable office and wrote out a marconigram to the Lusitania,

Have you passenger Arthur Morrison on board? Reply.

He signed his name and paid for an answer. Then he went back to his office.

“Any one to see me?” he inquired.

“Mr. Shepherd is here waiting,” his clerk told him,—“queer looking fellow who paid you two hundred and fifty pounds in cash for some railway stock.”

Laverick nodded.

“I’ll see him,” he said. “Anything else?”

“A lady rang up—name sounded like a French one, but we could none of us catch what it was—to say that she was coming down to see you.”

“If it is Mademoiselle Idiale,” Laverick directed, “I must see her directly she arrives. How are you, Shepherd?” he added, nodding to the waiter as he passed towards his room. “Come in, will you? You’ve got your certificates all right?”

Mr. James Shepherd had the air of a man with whom prosperity had not wholly agreed. He was paler and pastier-looking than ever, and his little green eyes seemed even more restless. His attire—a long rough overcoat over the livery of his profession—scarcely enhanced the dignity of his appearance.

“Well, what is it?” Laverick asked, as soon as the door was closed.

“Our bar is being watched,” the man declared. “I don’t think it’s anything to do with the police. Seems to be a sort of foreign gang. They’re all round the place, morning, noon, and night. They’ve pumped everybody.”

“There isn’t very much,” Laverick remarked slowly, “for them to find out except from you.”

“They’ve found out something, anyway,” Shepherd continued. “My junior waiter, unfortunately, who was asleep in the sitting-room, told them he was sure there were customers in the place between ten and twelve on Monday night, because they woke him up twice, talking. They’re beginning to look at me a bit doubtful.”

“I shouldn’t worry,” Laverick advised. “The inquest’s on now and you haven’t been called. I don’t fancy you’re running any sort of risk. Any one may say they believe there were people in the bar between those hours, but there isn’t any one who can contradict you outright. Besides, you haven’t sworn to anything. You’ve simply said, as might be very possible, that you don’t remember any one.”

“It makes me a bit nervous, though,” Shepherd remarked apologetically. “They’re a regular keen-looking tribe, I can tell you. Their eyes seem to follow you all over the place.”

“I shall come in for a drink presently myself,” Laverick declared. “I should like to see them. I might get an idea as to their nationality, at any rate.”

“Very good, sir. I’m sure I’m doing just as you suggested. I’ve said nothing about leaving, but I’m beginning to grumble a bit at the work, so as to pave the way. It’s a hard job, and no mistake. I had thirty-nine chops between one and half-past, single-handed, too, with only a boy to carry the bread and that, and no one to serve the drinks unless they go to the counter for them. It’s more than one man’s work, Mr. Laverick.”

Laverick assented.

“So much the better,” he declared. “All the more excuse for your leaving.

“You’ll be round sometime to-day, sir, then?” the man asked, taking up his hat.

“I shall look in for a few moments, for certain,” Laverick answered. “If you get a chance you must point out to me one of those fellows.”

Jim Shepherd departed. There was a shouting of newspaper boys in the street outside. Laverick sent out for a paper. The account of the inquest was brief enough, and there were no witnesses called except the men who had found the dead body. The nature of the wounds was explained to the jury, also the impossibility of their having been self-inflicted. In the absence of any police evidence or any identification, the discussion as to the manner of the death was naturally limited. The jury contented themselves by bringing in a verdict of “Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown.” Laverick laid down the paper. The completion of the inquest was at least the first definite step toward safety. The question now before him was what to do with that twenty thousand pounds. He sat at his desk, looking into vacancy. After all, had he paid too great a price? The millstone was gone from around his neck, something new and incomprehensible had crept into his life. Yet for a background there was always this secret knowledge.

A clerk announcing Mademoiselle Idiale broke in upon his reflections. Laverick rose from his seat to greet his visitor. She was wonderfully dressed, as usual, yet with the utmost simplicity,—a white serge gown with a large black hat, but a gown that seemed to have been moulded on to her slim, faultless figure. She brought with her a musical rustle, a slight suggestion of subtle perfumes—a perfume so thin and ethereal that it was unrecognizable except in its faint suggestion of hothouse flowers. She held out her hand to Laverick, who placed for her at once an easy-chair.

“This is indeed an honor, Mademoiselle.”

She inclined her head graciously.

“You are very kind,” said she. “I know that here in the city you are very busy making money all the time, so I must not stay long. Will you buy me some stocks,—some good safe stocks, which will bring me in at least four per cent?”

“I can promise to do that,” Laverick answered. “Have you any choice?”

“No, I have no choice,” Louise told him. “I bring with me a cheque,—see, I give it to you,—it is for six thousand pounds. I would like to buy some stocks with this, and to know the names so that I may watch them in the paper. I like to see whether they go up or down, but I do not wish to risk their going down too much. It is something like gambling but it is no trouble.”

“Your money shall be spent in a few minutes, Mademoiselle,” Laverick assured her, “and I think I can promise you that for a week or two, at any rate, your stocks will go up. With regard to selling—”

“I leave everything to you,” she interrupted, “only let me know what you propose.”

“We will do our best,” Laverick promised.

“It is good,” she said. “Money is a wonderful thing. Without it one can do little. You have not forgotten, Mr. Laverick, that you were going to show me this passage?”

“Certainly not. Come with me now, if you will. It is only a yard or two away.”

He took her out into the street. Every clerk in the office forgot his manners and craned his neck. Outside, Mademoiselle let fall her veil and passed unrecognized. Laverick showed her the entry.

“It was just there,” he explained, “about half a dozen yards up on the left, that the body was found.”

She looked at the place steadily. Then she looked along the passage.

“Where does it lead to—that?” she asked.

“Come and I will show you. On the left”—as they passed along the flagged pavement—“is St. Nicholas Church and churchyard. On the right here there are just offices. The street in front of us is Henschell Street. All of those buildings are stockbrokers’ offices.”

“And directly opposite,” she asked,—“that is a café, is it not,—a restaurant, as you would call it?”

Laverick nodded.

“That is so,” he agreed. “One goes in there sometimes for a drink.”

“And a meeting place, perhaps?” she inquired. “It would probably be a meeting place. One might leave there and walk down this passage naturally enough.”