“If you were a man,” he replied, “you would probably find some one whom you preferred to live for. Do you know, you are rather a morbid sort of person, Miss Zoe?”
“Ah, I like that!” she declared. “I will not be called Miss Leneveu any more by you. You must call me Miss Zoe, please,—Zoe, if you like.”
“Zoe, by all means. Under the circumstances, I think it is only fitting.”
His eyes wandered across the room again.
“Ah!” she cried softly, “you, too, are coming under the spell, then. I was reading about her only the other day. They say that so many men fall in love with her—so many men to whom she gives no encouragement at all.”
Laverick looked into his companion’s face.
“Come,” he said, “my heart is not so easily won. I can assure you that I never aspire to so mighty a personage as a Covent Garden star. Don’t you know that she gets a salary of five hundred pounds a week, and wears ropes of pearls which would represent ten times my entire income? Heaven alone knows what her gowns cost!”
“After all, though,” murmured Zoe, “she is a woman. See, your friend is coming to speak to you.”
Bellamy was indeed crossing the room. He nodded to Laverick and bowed to his companion.
“Forgive my intruding, Laverick,” he said. “You do remember me, I hope? Bellamy, you know.”
“I remember you quite well. We used to play together at Lord’s, even after we left school.”
Bellamy smiled.
“That is so,” he answered. “I see by the papers that you have kept up your cricket. Mine, alas! has had to go. I have been too much of a rolling stone lately. Do you know that I have come to ask you a favor?”
“Go ahead,” Laverick interposed.
“Mademoiselle Idiale has a fancy to meet you,” Bellamy explained. “You know, or I dare say you have heard, what a creature of whims she is. If you won’t come across and be introduced like a good fellow, she probably won’t speak a word all through supper-time, go off in a huff, and my evening will be spoiled.”
Laverick laughed heartily. A little smile played at the corner of Zoe’s lips—nevertheless, she was looking slightly anxious.
“Under those circumstances,” remarked Laverick, “perhaps I had better go. You will understand,” he added, with a glance at Zoe, “that I cannot stay for more than a second.”
“Naturally,” Bellamy answered. “If Mademoiselle really has anything to say to you, I will, if I am permitted, return for a moment.”
Laverick introduced him to Zoe.
“I am sure I have seen you at the Universal,” he declared. “You’re in the front row, aren’t you? I have seen you in that clever little step-dance and song in the second act.”
She nodded, evidently pleased.
“Does it seem clever to you?” she asked wistfully. “You see, we are all so tired of it.”
“I think it is ripping,” Bellamy declared. “I shall have the pleasure again directly,” he added, with a bow.
The two men crossed the room.
“What the dickens does Mademoiselle Idiale want with me?” Laverick demanded. “Does she know that I am a poor stockbroker, struggling against hard times?”
Bellamy shrugged his shoulders.
“She isn’t the sort to care who or what you are,” he answered. “And as for the rest, I suppose she could buy any of us up if she wanted to. Her interest in you is rather a curious one. No time to explain it now. She’ll tell you.”
Louise smiled as he paused before her. She was certainly exquisitely beautiful. Her dress, her carriage, her delicate hands, even her voice, were all perfection. She gave him the tips of her fingers as Bellamy pronounced his name.
“It is so kind of you,” she said, “to come and speak to me. And indeed you will laugh when I tell you why I thought that I would like to say one word with you.”
Laverick bowed.
“I am thankful, Mademoiselle,” he replied, “for anything which procures me such a pleasure.”
She smiled.
“Ah! you, too, are gallant,” she said. “But indeed, then, I fear you will not be flattered when I tell you why I was so interested. I read all your newspapers. I read of that terrible murder in Crooked Friars’ Alley only a few days ago,—is not that how you call the place?”
Laverick was suddenly grave. What was this that was coming?
“One of the reports,” she continued, “says that the man was a foreigner. The maker’s name upon his clothes was Austrian. I, too, come from that part of Europe—if not from Austria, from a country very near—and I am always interested in my country-people. A few moments ago I asked my friend Mr. Bellamy, ‘Where is this Crooked Friars’ Alley?’ Just then he bowed to you, and he answered me, ‘It is in the city. It is within a yard or two of the offices of the gentleman to whom I just have said good-evening.’ So I looked across at you and I thought that it was strange.”
Laverick scarcely knew what to say.
“It was a terrible affair,” he admitted, “and, as Mr. Bellamy has told you, it occurred within a few steps of my office. So far, too, the police seem completely at a loss.”
“Ah!” she went on, shaking her head, “your police, I am afraid they are not very clever. It is too bad, but I am afraid that it is so. Tell me, Mr. Laverick, is this, then, a very lonely spot where your offices are?”
“Not at all,” Laverick replied. “On the contrary, in the daytime it might be called the heart of the city—of the money-making part of the city, at any rate. Only this thing, you see, seems to have taken place very late at night.”
“When all the offices were closed,” she remarked.
“Most of them,” Laverick answered. “Mine, as it happened, was open late that night. I passed the spot within half-an-hour or so of the time when the murder must have been committed.”
“But that is terrible!” she declared, shaking her head. “Tell me, Mr. Laverick, if I drive to your office some morning you will show me this place,—yes?”
“If you are in earnest, Mademoiselle, I will certainly do so, but there is nothing there. It is just a passage.”
“You give me your address,” she insisted, “and I think that I will come. You are a stockbroker, Mr. Bellamy tells me. Well, sometimes I have a good deal of money to invest. I come to you and you will give me your advice. So! You have a card!”
Laverick found one and scribbled his city address upon it. She thanked him and once more held out the tips of her fingers.
“So I shall see you again some day, Mr. Laverick.”
He bowed and recrossed the room. Bellamy was standing talking to Zoe.
“Well,” he asked, as Laverick returned, “are you, too, going to throw yourself beneath the car?”
Laverick shook his head.
“I do not think so,” he answered. “Our acquaintance promises to be a business one. Mademoiselle spoke of investing some money though me.”
Bellamy laughed.
“Then you have kept your heart,” he remarked. “Ah, well, you have every reason!”
He bowed to Zoe, nodded to Laverick, and returned to his place. Laverick looked after him a little compassionately.
“Poor fellow,” he said.
“Who is he?”
“He has some sort of a Government appointment,” Laverick answered. “They say he is hopelessly in love with Mademoiselle Idiale.”
“Why not?” Zoe exclaimed. “He is nice. She must care for some one. Why do you pity him?”
“They say, too, that she has no more heart than a stone,” Laverick continued, “and that never a man has had even a kind word from her. She is very patriotic, and all the thoughts and love she has to spare from herself are given to her country.”
Zoe shuddered.
“Ah!” she murmured, “I do not like to think of heartless women. Perhaps she is not so cruel, after all. To me she seems only very, very sad. Tell me, Mr. Laverick, why did she send for you?”
“I imag
ine,” said he, “that it was a whim. It must have been a whim.”
XXI. MADEMOISELLE IDIALE’S VISIT
Table of Contents
Laverick, on the following morning, found many things to think about. He was accustomed to lunch always at the same restaurant, within a few yards of his office, and with the same little company of friends. Just as he was leaving, an outside broker whom he knew slightly came across the room to him.
“Tell me, Laverick,” he asked, “what’s become of your partner?”
“He has gone abroad for a few weeks. As a matter of fact, we shall be announcing a change in the firm shortly.”
“Queer thing,” the broker remarked. “I was in Liverpool yesterday, and I could have sworn that I saw him hanging around the docks. I should never have doubted it, but Morrison was always so careful about his appearance, and this fellow was such a seedy-looking individual. I called out to him and he vanished like a streak.”
“It could scarcely have been Morrison,” Laverick said. “He sailed several days ago for New York.”
“That settles it,” the man declared, passing on. “All the same, it was the most extraordinary likeness I ever saw.”
Laverick, on his way back, went into a cable office and wrote out a marconigram to the Lusitania,
Have you passenger Arthur Morrison on board? Reply.
He signed his name and paid for an answer. Then he went back to his office.
“Any one to see me?” he inquired.
“Mr. Shepherd is here waiting,” his clerk told him,—“queer looking fellow who paid you two hundred and fifty pounds in cash for some railway stock.”
Laverick nodded.
“I’ll see him,” he said. “Anything else?”
“A lady rang up—name sounded like a French one, but we could none of us catch what it was—to say that she was coming down to see you.”
“If it is Mademoiselle Idiale,” Laverick directed, “I must see her directly she arrives. How are you, Shepherd?” he added, nodding to the waiter as he passed towards his room. “Come in, will you? You’ve got your certificates all right?”
Mr. James Shepherd had the air of a man with whom prosperity had not wholly agreed. He was paler and pastier-looking than ever, and his little green eyes seemed even more restless. His attire—a long rough overcoat over the livery of his profession—scarcely enhanced the dignity of his appearance.
“Well, what is it?” Laverick asked, as soon as the door was closed.
“Our bar is being watched,” the man declared. “I don’t think it’s anything to do with the police. Seems to be a sort of foreign gang. They’re all round the place, morning, noon, and night. They’ve pumped everybody.”
“There isn’t very much,” Laverick remarked slowly, “for them to find out except from you.”
“They’ve found out something, anyway,” Shepherd continued. “My junior waiter, unfortunately, who was asleep in the sitting-room, told them he was sure there were customers in the place between ten and twelve on Monday night, because they woke him up twice, talking. They’re beginning to look at me a bit doubtful.”
“I shouldn’t worry,” Laverick advised. “The inquest’s on now and you haven’t been called. I don’t fancy you’re running any sort of risk. Any one may say they believe there were people in the bar between those hours, but there isn’t any one who can contradict you outright. Besides, you haven’t sworn to anything. You’ve simply said, as might be very possible, that you don’t remember any one.”
“It makes me a bit nervous, though,” Shepherd remarked apologetically. “They’re a regular keen-looking tribe, I can tell you. Their eyes seem to follow you all over the place.”
“I shall come in for a drink presently myself,” Laverick declared. “I should like to see them. I might get an idea as to their nationality, at any rate.”
“Very good, sir. I’m sure I’m doing just as you suggested. I’ve said nothing about leaving, but I’m beginning to grumble a bit at the work, so as to pave the way. It’s a hard job, and no mistake. I had thirty-nine chops between one and half-past, single-handed, too, with only a boy to carry the bread and that, and no one to serve the drinks unless they go to the counter for them. It’s more than one man’s work, Mr. Laverick.”
Laverick assented.
“So much the better,” he declared. “All the more excuse for your leaving.
“You’ll be round sometime to-day, sir, then?” the man asked, taking up his hat.
“I shall look in for a few moments, for certain,” Laverick answered. “If you get a chance you must point out to me one of those fellows.”
Jim Shepherd departed. There was a shouting of newspaper boys in the street outside. Laverick sent out for a paper. The account of the inquest was brief enough, and there were no witnesses called except the men who had found the dead body. The nature of the wounds was explained to the jury, also the impossibility of their having been self-inflicted. In the absence of any police evidence or any identification, the discussion as to the manner of the death was naturally limited. The jury contented themselves by bringing in a verdict of “Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown.” Laverick laid down the paper. The completion of the inquest was at least the first definite step toward safety. The question now before him was what to do with that twenty thousand pounds. He sat at his desk, looking into vacancy. After all, had he paid too great a price? The millstone was gone from around his neck, something new and incomprehensible had crept into his life. Yet for a background there was always this secret knowledge.
A clerk announcing Mademoiselle Idiale broke in upon his reflections. Laverick rose from his seat to greet his visitor. She was wonderfully dressed, as usual, yet with the utmost simplicity,—a white serge gown with a large black hat, but a gown that seemed to have been moulded on to her slim, faultless figure. She brought with her a musical rustle, a slight suggestion of subtle perfumes—a perfume so thin and ethereal that it was unrecognizable except in its faint suggestion of hothouse flowers. She held out her hand to Laverick, who placed for her at once an easy-chair.
“This is indeed an honor, Mademoiselle.”
She inclined her head graciously.
“You are very kind,” said she. “I know that here in the city you are very busy making money all the time, so I must not stay long. Will you buy me some stocks,—some good safe stocks, which will bring me in at least four per cent?”
“I can promise to do that,” Laverick answered. “Have you any choice?”
“No, I have no choice,” Louise told him. “I bring with me a cheque,—see, I give it to you,—it is for six thousand pounds. I would like to buy some stocks with this, and to know the names so that I may watch them in the paper. I like to see whether they go up or down, but I do not wish to risk their going down too much. It is something like gambling but it is no trouble.”
“Your money shall be spent in a few minutes, Mademoiselle,” Laverick assured her, “and I think I can promise you that for a week or two, at any rate, your stocks will go up. With regard to selling—”
“I leave everything to you,” she interrupted, “only let me know what you propose.”
“We will do our best,” Laverick promised.
“It is good,” she said. “Money is a wonderful thing. Without it one can do little. You have not forgotten, Mr. Laverick, that you were going to show me this passage?”
“Certainly not. Come with me now, if you will. It is only a yard or two away.”
He took her out into the street. Every clerk in the office forgot his manners and craned his neck. Outside, Mademoiselle let fall her veil and passed unrecognized. Laverick showed her the entry.
“It was just there,” he explained, “about half a dozen yards up on the left, that the body was found.”
She looked at the place steadily. Then she looked along the passage.
“Where does it lead to—that?” she asked.
“Come and I will show you. On the l
eft”—as they passed along the flagged pavement—“is St. Nicholas Church and churchyard. On the right here there are just offices. The street in front of us is Henschell Street. All of those buildings are stockbrokers’ offices.”
“And directly opposite,” she asked,—“that is a café, is it not,—a restaurant, as you would call it?”
Laverick nodded.
“That is so,” he agreed. “One goes in there sometimes for a drink.”
“And a meeting place, perhaps?” she inquired. “It would probably be a meeting place. One might leave there and walk down this passage naturally enough.”
Laverick inclined his head.
“As a matter of fact,” he declared, “I think that the evidence went to prove that there were no visitors in the restaurant that night. You see, all these offices round here close at six or seven o’clock, and the whole neighborhood becomes deserted.”
She shrugged her shoulders impatiently.
“Your English police, they do not know how to collect evidence. In the hands of Frenchmen, this mystery would have been solved long before now. The guilty person would be in the hands of the law. As it is, I suppose that he will go free.”
“Well, we must give the police a chance, at any rate,” answered Laverick. “They haven’t had much time so far.”
“No,” she admitted, “they have not had much time. I wonder—” She hesitated for a moment and did not conclude her sentence. “Come,” she exclaimed, with a little shiver, “let us go back to your office! This place is not cheerful. All the time I think of that poor man. It does make me frightened.”
Laverick escorted his visitor back to the electric brougham which was waiting before his door.
“A list of stocks purchased on your behalf will reach you by to-night’s post,” he promised her. “We shall do our best in your interests.”
He held out his hand, but she seemed in no hurry to let him go.
“You are very kind, Mr. Laverick. I would like to see you again very soon. You have heard me sing in Samson and Delilah?”
“Not yet, but I am hoping to very shortly.”
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