21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series). E. Phillips Oppenheim
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you the truth,” he went on, “I’ve had a bit of a scare to-day.”
Laverick looked up quickly.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
“May I sit down, sir? I’m a bit worn out. I’ve been on the go since half-past ten.”
Laverick nodded and pointed to a chair. Shepherd brought it up to the side of the table and leaned forward.
“There’s been two men in to-day,” he said, “asking questions. They wanted to know how many customers I had there on Monday night, and could I describe them. Was there any one I recognized, and so on.”
“What did you say?”
“I declared I couldn’t remember any one. To the best of my recollection, I told them, there was no one served at all after ten o’clock. I wouldn’t say for certain—it looked as though I might have had a reason.”
“And were they satisfied?”
“I don’t think they were,” Shepherd admitted. “Not altogether, that is to say.”
“Did they mention any names?” asked Laverick—“Morrison’s, for instance? Did they want to know whether he was a regular customer?”
“They didn’t mention no names at all, sir,” the man answered, “but they did begin to ask questions about my regular clients. Fortunate like, the place was so crowded that I had every excuse for not paying any too much attention to them. It was all I could do to keep on getting orders attended to.”
“What sort of men were they?” Laverick asked. “Do you think that they came from the police?”
“I shouldn’t have said so,” Shepherd replied, “but one can’t tell, and these gentlemen from Scotland Yard do make themselves up so sometimes on purpose to deceive. I should have said that these two were foreigners, the same kidney as the poor chap as was murdered. I heard a word or two pass, and I sort of gathered that they’d a shrewd idea as to that meeting in the ‘Black Post’ between the man who was murdered and the little dark fellow.”
Laverick nodded.
“Jim Shepherd,” he declared, “you appear to me to be a very sagacious person.”
“I’m sure I’m much obliged, sir; I can tell you, though,” he added, “I don’t half like these chaps coming round making inquiries. My nerves ain’t quite what they were, and it gives me the jumps.”
Laverick was thoughtful for a few moments.
“After all, there was no one else in the bar that night,” he remarked,—“no one who could contradict you?”
“Not a soul,” Jim Shepherd agreed.
“Then don’t you bother,” Laverick continued. “You see, you’ve been wise. You haven’t given yourself away altogether. You’ve simply said that you don’t recollect any one coming in. Why should you recollect? At the end of a day’s work you are not likely to notice every stray customer. Stick to it, and, if you take my advice, don’t go throwing any money about, and don’t give your notice in for another week or so. Pave the way for it a bit. Ask the governor for a rise—say you’re not making a living out of it.”
“I’m on,” Jim Shepherd remarked, nodding his head. “I’m on to it, sir. I don’t want to get into no trouble, I’m sure.”
“You can’t,” Laverick answered dryly, “unless you chuck yourself in. You’re not obliged to remember anything. No one can ever prove that you remembered anything. Keep your eyes open, and let me hear if these fellows turn up again.”
“I’m pretty certain they will, sir,” the man declared. “They sat about waiting for me to be disengaged, but when my time off came, I hopped out the back way. They’ll be there again to-night, sure enough.”
Laverick nodded.
“Well, you must let me know,” he said, “what happens.”
Jim Shepherd leaned across the corner of the table and dropped his voice.
“It’s an awful thing to think of, sir,” he whispered, blinking rapidly. “I wouldn’t be that young Mr. Morrison for all that great pocketful of notes. But my! there was a sight of money there, sir! He’ll be a rich man for all his days if nothing comes out.”
“We won’t talk any more about it,” Laverick insisted. “It isn’t a pleasant thing to think about or talk about. We won’t know anything, Shepherd. We shall be better off.”
The man took his departure and the whirl of business recommenced. Laverick turned his back upon the city only a few minutes before eight and, tired out, he dined at a restaurant on his homeward way. When at last he reached his sitting-room he threw himself on the sofa and lit a cigar. Once more the evening papers had no particular news. This time, however, one of them had a leading article upon the English police system. The fact that an undetected murder should take place in a wealthy neighborhood, away from the slums, a murder which must have been premeditated, was in itself alarming. Until the inquest had been held, it was better to make little comment upon the facts of the case so far as they were known. At the same time, the circumstance could not fail to incite a considerable amount of alarm among those who had offices in the vicinity of the tragedy. It was rumored that some mysterious inquiries were being circulated around London banks. It was possible that robbery, after all, had been the real motive of the crime, but robbery on a scale as yet unimagined. The whole interest of the case now was centred upon the discovery of the man’s identity. As soon as this was solved, some very startling developments might be expected.
Laverick threw the paper away. He tried to rest upon the sofa, but tried in vain. He found himself continually glancing at the clock.
“To-night,” he muttered to himself,—“no, I will not go to-night! It is not fair to the child. It is absurd. Why, she would think that I was—”
He stopped short.
“I’ll change and go to the club,” he decided.
He rose to his feet. Just then there was a ring at his bell. He opened the door and found a messenger boy standing in the vestibule.
“Note, sir, for Mr. Stephen Laverick,” the boy announced, opening his wallet.
Laverick held out his hand. The boy gave him a large square envelope, and upon the back of it was “Universal Theatre.” Laverick tried to assure himself that he was not so ridiculously pleased. He stepped back into the room, tore open the envelope, and read the few lines traced in rather faint but delicate handwriting.
Are you coming to fetch me to-night? Don’t let me be a nuisance, but do come if you have nothing to do. I have something to tell you.
ZOE.
Laverick gave the boy a shilling for himself and suddenly forgot that he was tired. He changed his clothes, whistling softly to himself all the time. At eleven o’clock, he was at the stage-door of the Universal Theatre, waiting in a taxicab.
XX. LAVERICK IS CROSS-EXAMINED
One by one the young ladies of the chorus came out from the stage-door of the Universal, in most cases to be assisted into a waiting hansom or taxicab by an attendant cavalier. Laverick stood back in the shadows as much as possible, smiling now and then to himself at this, to him, somewhat novel way of spending the evening. Zoe was among the last to appear. She came up to him with a delightful little gesture of pleasure, and took his arm as a matter of course as he led her across to the waiting cab.
“This sort of thing is making me feel absurdly young,” he declared. “Luigi’s for supper, I suppose?”
“Supper!” she exclaimed,