Part 23 (1/2)
”You've hit it precisely, sir,” the man admitted. ”There the matter would end.”
”On the other hand,” Laverick continued, speaking as though he were reasoning this matter out to himself, ”supposing you decided not to meddle in an affair which does not concern you, supposing you were not sure as to the ident.i.ty of your customer last night, and being a little tired you could not rightly remember whether Mr. Morrison called in for a drink or not, and so, to cut the matter short, you dismissed the whole matter from your mind and let the inquest take its own course,--Laverick paused. His visitor scratched the side of his chin and nodded.
”You've put this matter plainly, sir,” he said, ”in what I call an understandable, straightforward way. I'm a poor man--I've been a poor man all my life--and I've never seed a chance before of getting away from it. I see one now.”
”You want to do the best you can for yourself?”
”So 'elp me G.o.d, sir, I do!” the man agreed.
Laverick nodded.
”You have done a remarkably wise thing,” he said, ”in coming to me and in telling me about this affair. The idea of connecting Mr.
Morrison with the murder would, of course, be ridiculous, but, on the other hand, it would be very disagreeable to him to have his name mentioned in connection with it. You have behaved discreetly, and you have done Mr. Morrison a service in trying to find him out.
You will do him a further service by adopting the second course I suggested with regard to the inquest. What do you consider that service is worth?”
”It depends, sir,” the man answered quietly, ”at what price Mr.
Morrison values his life!”
CHAPTER XVII
THE PRICE OF SILENCE
The man's manner was expressive. Laverick repeated his phrase, frowning.
”His life!”
”Yes, sir!”
Laverick shrugged his shoulders.
”Come,” he declared, ”you must not go too far with this thing. I have admitted, so as to clear the way for anything you have to say, that Mr. Morrison would not care to have his name mentioned in connection with this affair. But because he left your bar a few minutes after the murdered man, it is sheer folly to a.s.sume that therefore he is necessarily implicated in his death. I cannot conceive anything more unlikely.”
The man smiled--a slow, uncomfortable smile which suggested mirth less than anything in the world.
”There are a few other things, sir,” he remarked,--”one in especial.”
”Well?” Laverick inquired. ”Let's have it. You had better tell me everything that is in your mind.”
”The man was stabbed with a horn-handled knife.”
”I remember reading that,” Laverick admitted.
”Well?”
”The knife was mine,” his visitor affirmed, dropping his voice once more to a whisper. ”It lay on the edge of the counter, close to where Mr. Morrison was leaning, and as soon as he'd gone I missed it.”
Laverick was silent. What was there to be said?
”Horn-handled knives,” he muttered, ”are not rare not uncommon things.”