Part 10 (2/2)
The young man buried his face in his hands.
”I can't! I can't!” he moaned. ”I couldn't bear seeing all the fellows, hearing them whisper things--oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!...
Laverick, we've a few hundreds left. Give me something and let me out of it. You're a stronger sort of man than I am. You can face it,--I can't! Give me enough to get abroad with, and if ever I do any good I'll remember it, I will indeed.”
Laverick was silent for a moment. His companion watched his face eagerly. After all, why not let him go? He was no help, no comfort.
The very sight of him was contemptible.
”I have paid no money into the bank for several days,” Laverick said slowly. ”When they refused to help us, it was, of course, obvious that they guessed how things were.”
”Quite right, quite right!” the young man interrupted feverishly.
”They would have stuck to it against the overdraft. How much have we got in the safe?”
”This afternoon,” Laverick continued, ”I changed all our cheques.
You can count the proceeds for yourself. There are, I think, eleven hundred pounds. You can take two hundred and fifty, and you can take them with you--to any place you like.”
The young man was already at the safe. The notes were between them, on the table. He counted quickly with the fingers of a born manipulator of money. When he had gathered up two hundred and fifty pounds, Laverick's hand fell upon his.
”No more,” he ordered sternly.
”But, my dear fellow,” Morrison protested, ”half of eleven hundred is five hundred and fifty. Why should we not go halves? That is only fair, Laverick. It is little enough. We ought to have had a great deal more.”
Laverick pushed him contemptuously away and locked up the remainder of the notes.
”I am letting you take two hundred and fifty pounds of this money,”
he said, ”for various reasons. For one, I can bear this thing better alone. As for the rest of the money, it remains there for the accountant who liquidates our affairs. I do not propose to touch a penny of it.”
The young man b.u.t.toned up his coat with an hysterical little laugh.
Such ways were not his ways. They were not, indeed, within the limit of his understanding. But of his partner he had learned one thing, at least. The word of Stephen Laverick was the word of truth.
He shambled toward the door. On the whole, he was lucky to have got the two hundred and fifty pounds.
”So long, Laverick,” he said from the door. ”I'm--I'm sorry.”
It was characteristic of him that he did not venture to offer his hand. Laverick nodded, not unkindly. After all, this young man was as he had been made.
”I wish you good luck, Morrison,” he said. ”Try South Africa.”
CHAPTER IX
ROBBING THE DEAD
The roar of the day was long since over. The rattle of vehicles, the tinkling of hansom bells, the tooting of horns from motor-cars and cabs, the ceaseless tramp of footsteps, all had died away.
Outside, the streets were almost deserted. An occasional wayfarer pa.s.sed along the flagged pavement with speedy footsteps. Here and there a few lights glimmered at the windows of some of the larger blocks of offices. The bustle of the day was finished. There is no place in London so strangely quiet as the narrow thoroughfares of the city proper when the hour approaches midnight.
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