Havoc

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"If you really mean it," she said, "I should be so glad."

"Supposing we start to-day," he suggested, smiling. "I cannot ask
you to lunch, as I have a busy day before me, but we might have
dinner together quite early. Then I would take you to the theatre
and meet you afterwards, if you liked."

"If I liked!" she whispered. "Oh, how good you are."

"I am not at all sure about that. Now I'll put you in this taxi
and send you home."

She laughed.

"You mustn't do anything so extravagant. I can get a 'bus just
outside. I never have taxicabs."

"Just this morning," he insisted, "and I think he won't trouble you
for his fare. You must let me, please. Remember that there's a
large account open still between your half-brother and me, so you
needn't mind these trifles. Till this evening, then. Shall I
fetch you or will you come to me?"

"Let me fetch you, if I may," she said. "It isn't nice for you to
come down to where I live. It's such a horrid part."

"Just as you like," he answered. "I'd be very glad to fetch you
if you prefer it, but it would give me more time if you came. Shall
we say seven o'clock? I've written the address down on this card
so that you can make no mistake."

She laughed gayly.

"You know, all the time," she said, "I feel that you are treating
me as though I were a baby. I'll be there punctually, and I don't
think I need tie the card around my neck."

The cab glided off. Laverick caught a glimpse of a wan little face
with a faint smile quivering at the corner of her lips as she
leaned out for a moment to say good-bye. Then he went back to his
rooms, breakfasted, and made his way to his office.

The morning papers had nothing new to report concerning the murder
in Crooked Friars' Alley. Evidently what information the police
had obtained they were keeping for the inquest. Laverick, from the
moment when he entered the office, had little or no time to think
of the tragedy under whose shadow he had come. The long-predicted
boom had arrived at last. Without lunch, he and all his clerks
worked until after six o'clock. Even then Laverick found it hard
to leave. During the day, a dozen people or so had been in to ask
for Morrison. To all of them he had given the same reply, - Morrison
had gone abroad on private business for the firm. Very few were
deceived by Laverick's dry statement. He was quite aware that he
was looked upon either as one of the luckiest men on earth, or as
a financier of consummate skill. The failure of Laverick & Morrison
had been looked upon as a certainty. How they had tided over that
twenty-four hours had been known to no one - to no one but Laverick
himself and the manager of his bank.

Just before four o'clock, the telephone rang at his elbow.

"Mr. Fenwick from the bank, sir, is wishing to speak to you for a
moment," his head-clerk announced.

Laverick took up the telephone.

"Yes," he said, "I am Laverick. Good afternoon, Mr. Fenwick!
Absolutely impossible to spare any time to-day. What is it? The
account is all right, isn't it?"

"Quite right, Mr. Laverick," was the answer. "At the same time,
if you could spare me a moment I should be glad to see you
concerning the deposit you made yesterday."

"I will come in to-morrow," Laverick promised. "This afternoon it
is quite out of the question. I have a crowd of people waiting to
see me, and several important engagements for which I am late
already."

The banker seemed scarcely satisfied.

"I may rely upon seeing you to-morrow?" he pressed.

"To-morrow," Laverick repeated, ringing off.

For a time this last message troubled him. As soon as the day's
work was over, however, and he stepped into his cab, he dismissed
it entirely from his thoughts. It was curious how, notwithstanding
this new seriousness which had come into his life, notwithstanding
that sensation of walking all the time on the brink of a precipice,
he set his face homeward and looked forward to his evening, with a
pleasure which he had not felt for many months. The whirl of the
day faded easily from his mind. He lived no more in an atmosphere
of wild excitement, of changing prices, of feverish anxiety. How
empty his life must have unconsciously grown that he could find so
much pleasure in being kind to a pretty child! It was hard to think
of her otherwise - impossible. A strange heritage, this, to have
been left him by such a person as Arthur Morrison. How in the world,
he wondered, did he happen to have such a connection.

She was a little shy when she arrived. Laverick had left special
orders downstairs, and she was brought up into his sitting-room
immediately. She was very quietly dressed except for her hat,
which was large and wavy. He found it becoming, but he knew enough
to understand that her clothes were very simple and very inexpensive,
and he was conscious of being curiously glad of the fact.

"I am afraid," she said timidly, with a glance at his evening attire,
"that we must go somewhere very quiet. You see, I have only one
evening gown and I couldn't wear that. There wouldn't be time to
change afterwards. Besides, one's clothes do get so knocked about
in the dressing-rooms."

"There are heaps of places we can go to," he assured her pleasantly.
"Of course you can't, dress for the evening when you have to go on
to work, but you must remember that there are a good many other
smart young ladies in the same position. I had to change because I
have taken a stall to see your performance. Tell me, how are you
feeling now?"

"Rather lonely," she admitted, making a pathetic little grimace.
"That is to say I have been feeling lonely," she added softly. "I
don't now, of course.

"You are a queer little person," he said kindly, as they went down
in the lift. "Haven't you any friends?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"What sort of friends could I have?" she asked. "The girls in the
chorus with me are very nice, some of them, but they know so many
people whom I don't, and they are always out to supper, or something
of the sort."

"And you?"

She shook her head.

"I went to one supper-party with the girl who is near me," she said.
"I liked it very much, but they didn't ask me again."

"I wonder why?" he remarked.

"Oh, I don't know!" she went on drearily. "You see, I think the
men who take out girls who are in the chorus, generally expect to
be allowed to make love to them. At any rate, they behaved like
that. Such a horrid man tried to say nice things to me and I didn't
like it a bit. So they left me alone afterwards. The girl I lived
with and her mother are quite nice, and they have a few friends we
go to see sometimes on Sunday or holidays. It's dull, though, very
dull, especially now they're away."

"What on earth made you think of going on the stage at all?" he
asked.

"What could one do?" she answered. "My mother's money died with
her - she had only an annuity - and my stepfather, who had promised
to look after me, lost all his money and died quite suddenly. Arthur
was in a stockbroker's office and he couldn't save anything. My only
friend was my old music-master, and he had given up teaching and was
director of the orchestra at the Universal. All he could do for me
was to get me a place in the chorus. I have been there ever since.
They keep on promising me a little part but I never get it. It's
always like that in theatres. You have to be a favorite of the
manager's, for some reason or other, or you never get your chance
unless you are unusually lucky."

"I don't know much about theatres," he admitted. "I am afraid I am
rather a stupid person. When I can get away from work I go into
the country and play cricket or golf, or anything that's going.
When I am up in town, I am generally content with looking up a few
friends, or playing bridge at the club. I never have been a
theatre-goer.

"I wonder," she asked, as they seated themselves at a small round
table in the restaurant which he had chosen, - "I wonder why every
now and then you look so serious."

"I didn't know that I did," he answered. "We've had thundering
hard times lately in business, though. I suppose that makes a man
look thoughtful."

"Poor Mr. Laverick," she murmured softly. "Are things any better
now?"

"Much better."

"Then you have nothing really to bother you?" she persisted.

"I suppose we all have something," he replied, suddenly grave.
"Why do you ask that?"

She leaned across the table. In the shaded light, her oval face
with its little halo of deep brown hair seemed to him as though
it might have belonged to some old miniature. She was delightful,
like Watteau-work upon a piece of priceless porcelain - delightful
when the lights played in her eyes and the smile quivered at the
corner of her lips. Just now, however, she became very much in
earnest.

"I will tell you why I ask that question," she said. "I cannot
help worrying still about Arthur. You know you admitted last
night that he had done something. You saw how terribly frightened
he was this morning, and how he kept on looking around as though
he were afraid that he would see somebody whom he wished to avoid.
Oh! I don't want to worry you," she went on, "but I feel so
terrified sometimes. I feel that he must have done something - bad.
It was not an ordinary business trouble which took the life out of
him so completely."

"It was not," Laverick admitted at once. "He has done something, I
believe, quite foolish; but the matter is in my hands to arrange,
and I think you can assure yourself that nothing will come of it."

"Did you tell him so this morning?" she asked eagerly.

"I did not," he answered. "I told him nothing. For many reasons
it was better to keep him ignorant. He and I might not have seen
things the same way, and I am sure that what I am doing is for the
best. If I were you, Miss Leneveu, I think I wouldn't worry any
more. Soon you will hear from your brother that he is safe in
New York, and I think I can promise you that the trouble will
never come to anything serious."

"Why have you been so kind to him?" she asked timidly. "From what
he said, I do not think that he was very useful to you, and, indeed,
you and he are so different."

Laverick was silent for a moment.

"To be honest," he said, "I think that I should not have taken so
much trouble for his sake alone. You see," he continued, smiling,
"you are rather a delightful young person, and you were very
anxious, weren't you?"

Her hand came across the table - an impulsive little gesture,
which he nevertheless found perfectly natural and delightful. He
took it into his, and would have raised the fingers to his lips
but for the waiters who were hovering around.

"You are so kind," she said, "and I am so fortunate. I think that
I wanted a friend."

"You poor child," he answered, "I should think you did. You are
not drinking your wine."

She shook her head.

"Do you mind?" she asked. "A very little gets into my head
because I take it so seldom, and the manager is cross if one makes
the least bit of a mistake. Besides, I do not think that I like
to drink wine. If one does not take it at all, there is an excuse
for never having anything when the girls ask you."

He nodded sympathetically.

"I believe you are quite right," he said; "in a general way, at any
rate. Well, I will drink by myself to your brother's safe arrival
in New York. Are you ready?"

She glanced at the clock.

"I must be there in a quarter of an hour," she told him.

"I will drive you to the theatre," he said, "and then go round and
fetch my ticket."

As he waited for her in the reception hall of the restaurant, he
took an evening paper from the stall. A brief paragraph at once
attracted his attention.

Murder in the City. - We understand that very important
information has come into the hands of the police. An
ARREST is expected to-night or to-morrow at the latest.

He crushed the paper in his hand and threw it on one side. It was
the usual sort of thing. There was nothing they could have found
out - nothing, he told himself.

CHAPTER XIX

MYSTERIOUS INQUIRIES

As soon as he had gone through his letters on the following morning,
Laverick, in response to a second and more urgent message, went
round to his bank. Mr. Fenwick greeted him gravely. He was feeling
keenly the responsibilities of his position. Just how much to say
and how much to leave unsaid was a question which called for a full
measure of diplomacy.

"You understand, Mr. Laverick," he began, "that I wished to see you
with regard to the arrangement we came to the day before yesterday."

Laverick nodded. It suited him to remain monosyllabic.

"Well?" he asked.

"The arrangement, of course, was most unusual," the manager continued.
"I agreed to it as you were an old customer and the matter was an
urgent one."

"I do not quite follow you," Laverick remarked, frowning. "What is
it you wish me to do? Withdraw my account?"

"Not in the least," the manager answered hastily.

"You know the position of our market, of course," Laverick went on.
"Three days ago I was in a situation which might have been called
desperate. I could quite understand that you needed security to
go on making the necessary payments on my behalf. To-day, things
are entirely different. I am twenty thousand pounds better off,
and if necessary I could realize sufficient to pay off the whole of
my overdraft within half-an-hour. That I do not do so is simply a
matter of policy and prices."

"I quite understand that, my dear Mr. Laverick," the bank manager
declared. "The position is simply this. We have had a most unusual
and a strictly private inquiry, of a nature which I cannot divulge
to you, asking whether any large sum in five hundred pound banknotes
has been passed through our account during the last few days."

"You have actually had this inquiry?" Laverick asked calmly.

"We have. I can tell you no more. The source of the inquiry was,
in a sense, amazing."

"May I ask what your reply was?"

"My reply was," Mr. Fenwick said slowly, "that no such notes had
passed through our account. We asked them, however, without giving
any reasons, to repeat their question in a few days' time. Our
reply was perfectly truthful. Owing to your peculiar stipulations,
we are simply holding a certain packet for you in our security
chamber. We know it to contain bank-notes, and there is very little
doubt but that it contains the notes which have been the subject of
this inquiry. I want to ask you, Mr. Laverick, to be so good as to
open that packet, let me credit the notes to your account in the
usual way, and leave me free to reply as I ought to have done in
the first instance to this inquiry."

"The course which you suggest," replied the other, "is one which I
absolutely decline to take. It is not for me to tell you the nature
of the relations which should exist between a banker and his client.
All that I can say is that those notes are deposited with you and
must remain on deposit, and that the transaction is one which must
be treated entirely as a confidential one. If you decline to do
this, I must remove my account, in which case I shall, of course,
take the packet away with me. To be plain with you, Mr. Fenwick,"
he wound up, "I do not intend to make use of those notes, I never
intended to do so. I simply deposited them as security until the
turn in price of 'Unions' came.

"It is a very nice point, Mr. Laverick," the bank manager remarked.
"I should consider that you had already made use of them."

"Every one to his own conscience," Laverick answered calmly.

"You place me in a very embarrassing position, Mr. Laverick."

"I cannot admit that at all," Laverick replied. "There is only one
inquiry which you could have had which could justify you in insisting
upon what you have suggested. It emanated, I presume, from Scotland
Yard?"

"If it had," Mr. Fenwick answered, "no considerations of etiquette
would have intervened at all. I should have felt it my duty to
have revealed at once the fact of your deposit. At the same time,
the inquiry comes from an even more important source, - a source
which cannot be ignored."

Laverick thought for a moment.

"After all, the matter is a very simple one," he declared. "By
four o'clock this afternoon my account shall be within its limits.
You will then automatically restore to me the packet which you hold
on my behalf, and the possession of which seems to embarrass you."

"If you do not mind," the banker answered, "I should be glad if you
would take it with you. It means, I think, a matter of six or
seven thousand pounds added to your overdraft, but as a temporary
thing we will pass that."

"As you will," Laverick assented carelessly. "The charge of those
documents is a trust with me as well as with yourself. I have no
doubt that I can arrange for their being held in a secure place
elsewhere."

The usual formalities were gone through, and Laverick left the bank
with the brown leather pocket-book in his breast-coat pocket.
Arrived at his office, he locked it up at once in his private safe
and proceeded with the usual business of the day. Even with an
added staff of clerks, the office was almost in an uproar. Laverick
threw himself into the struggle with a whole-hearted desire to
escape from these unpleasant memories. He succeeded perfectly. It
was two hours before he was able to sit down even for a moment. His
head-clerk, almost as exhausted, followed him into his room.

"I forgot to tell you, sir," he announced, "that there s a man
outside - Mr. Shepherd was his name, I believe - said he had a small
investment to make which you promised to look after personally. He
would insist on seeing you - said he was a waiter at a restaurant
which you visited sometimes."

"That's all right," Laverick declared. "You can show him in. We'll
probably give him American rails."

"Can't we attend to it in the office for you, sir?" the clerk asked.
"I suppose it's only a matter of a few hundreds."

"Less than that, probably, but I promised the fellow I'd look after
it myself. Send him in, Scropes."

There was a brief delay and then Mr. Shepherd was announced.
Laverick, who was sitting with his coat off, smoking a well-earned
cigarette, looked up and nodded to his visitor as the door was closed.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," he remarked. "We're having a bit of a
rush."

The man laid down his hat and came up to Laverick's side.

"I guess that, sir," he said, "from the number of people we've had
in the 'Black Post' to-day, and the way they've all been shouting
and talking. They don't seem to eat much these days, but there's
some of them can shift the drink."

"I've got some sound stocks looked out for you," Laverick remarked,
"two hundred and fifty pounds' worth. If you'll just approve that
list as a matter of form," he added, pushing a piece of paper across,
"you can come in to-morrow and have the certificates. I shall tell
them to debit the purchase money to my private account, so that if
any one asks you anything, you can say that you paid me for them."

"I'm sure I'm much obliged, sir," the man said. "To tell 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.

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