Part 20 (1/2)

He looked at her almost jealously.

”Do you know,” he said, ”you ought not to go about alone?”

She laughed, softly but heartily.

”Have you any idea how old I am?”

”I took you for fourteen when I came inside,” he answered.

”Afterwards I thought you might be sixteen. Later on, it seemed to me possible that you were eighteen. I am absolutely certain that you are not more than nineteen.”

”That shows how little you know about it. I am twenty, and I am quite used to going about alone. Will you sit upstairs or here?

I am so sorry that I have nothing to offer you.”

”Thanks, I need nothing. I think I will sit upstairs in case he wakes.”

She nodded and stole out, closing the door behind her noiselessly.

Laverick watched her from the window until she was out of sight, moving without any appearance of haste, yet with an incredible swiftness. When she had turned the corner, he went slowly upstairs and into the room where Morrison still lay asleep. He drew a chair to the bedside and leaning forward opened out the evening paper. The events of the last hour or so had completely blotted out from his mind, for the time being, his own expedition into the world of tragical happenings. He glanced at the sleeping man, then opened his paper. There was very little fresh news except that this time the fact was mentioned that upon the body of the murdered man was discovered a sum larger than was at first supposed. It seemed doubtful, therefore, whether robbery, after all, was the motive of the crime, especially as it took place in a neighborhood which was by no means infested with criminals. There was a suggestion of political motive, a reference to the ”Black Hand,” concerning whose doings the papers had been full since the murder of a well-known detective a few weeks ago. But apart from this there was nothing fresh.

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 const.i.tution. 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 hoa.r.s.ely.

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 hoa.r.s.ely.

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

Morrison pa.s.sed his hand across his forehead.

”We talked--some time ago,” he went on, ”about my getting away.