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. Ihave admitted, so as to clear the way for anything you have to say,that Mr. Morrison would not care to have his name mentioned inconnection with this affair. But because he left your bar a fewminutes after the murdered man, it is sheer folly to assume thattherefore he is necessarily implicated in his death. I cannotconceive anything more unlikely."
The man smiled--a slow, uncomfortable smile which suggested mirthless 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 meeverything 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 oncemore to a whisper. "It lay on the edge of the counter, close towhere 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."
"One don't possess a knife for a matter of eight or nine yearswithout being able to swear to it," the other remarked dryly.
"Is there anything more?"
"There don't need to be," was the quiet reply. "You know that, sir.So do I. There don't need to be any more evidence than mine to sendMr. Morrison to the gallows."
"We will waive that point," Laverick declared. "The jury sometimesare very hard to convince by circumstantial evidence alone. However,as I have said, let us waive that point. Your position is clearenough. You go to the inquest, you tell all you know, and you getnothing. You are a poor man, you have worked hard all your life.The chance has come in your way to do yourself a little good. Nowtake my advice. Don't spoil it all by asking for anything ridiculous.It won't do for you to come into a fortune a few days after thisaffair, especially if it ever comes out that the murdered man was inyour place. I am here to act for Mr. Morrison. What is it that youwant?"
"You are talking like a gent, sir," the man said,--"like a sensiblegent, too. I'd have to keep it quiet, of course, that I'd come intoa bit of money,--just at present, at any rate. I could easy findan excuse for changing my job--perhaps get away from Londonaltogether. I've got a few pounds saved and I've always wanted toopen a banking account. A gent like you, perhaps, could put me inthe way of doing it."
"How much do you consider would be a satisfactory balance tocommence with?" Laverick asked.
"I was thinking of a thousand pounds, sir."
Laverick was thoughtful for a few moments.
"By the way, what is your name?" he inquired at last.
"James Shepherd, sir," the man answered,--"generally called Jim,sir."
"Well, you see, Shepherd," Laverick continued, "the difficulty is,in your case, as in all similar ones, that one never knows wherethe thing will end. A thousand pounds is a considerable sum, butin four amounts, with three months interval between each, it couldbe arranged. This would be better for you, in any case. Twohundred and fifty pounds is not an unheard-of sum for you to havesaved or got together. After that your investments would be mylookout, and they would produce, as I have said, another sevenhundred and fifty pounds. But what security have I--has Mr.Morrison, let us say--that you will be content with this sum?"
"He hasn't any, sir," the man admitted at once. "He couldn't haveany. I'm a modest-living man, and I've no desire to go shoutingaround that I'm independent all of a sudden. That wouldn't donohow. A thousand pounds would bring me in near enough a pound aweek if I invested it, or two pounds a week for an annuity, myhealth being none too good. I've no wife or children, sir. I wasthinking of an annuity. With two pounds a week I'd have no causeto trouble any one again."
Laverick considered.
"It shall be done," he said. "To-morrow I shall buy shares foryou to the extent of two hundred and fifty pounds. They will bedeposited in a bank. Some day you can look in and see me, and Iwill take you round there. You are my client who has speculatedunder my instructions successfully, and you will sign your nameand become a customer. After that, you will speculate again.When your thousand pounds has been made, I will show you how tobuy an annuity. Keep your mouth shut, and last night will bethe luckiest night of your life. Do you drink?"
"A drop or two, sir," the man admitted. "If I didn't, I guessI'd go off my chump."
"Do you talk when you're drunk?" Laverick asked.
"Never, sir," the man declared. "I've a way of getting a droptoo much when I'm by myself. Then I tumbles off to sleep andthat's the end of it. I've no fancy for company at such times."
"It's a good thing," Laverick remarked, thrusting his hand intohis pocket. "Here's a five-pound note on account. I daresay youcan manage to keep sober to-night, at any rate. That's all, isn'tit?"
"That's all, sir," the man answered, "unless I might make so bold asto ask whether Mr. Morrison has really hooked it?"
"Mr. Morrison had decided to hook it, as you graphically say, beforehe came in for that drink to your bar, Shepherd," Laverick affirmed."Business had been none too good with us, and we had had adisagreement."
The man nodded.
"I see, sir," he said, taking up his hat. "Good night, sir!"
"Good night!" Laverick answered. "You can find your way down?"
"Quite well, sir, and thank you," declared Mr. Shepherd, closingthe door softly behind him.
Laverick sat down in his chair. He had forgotten that he was hungry.He was faced now with a new tragedy.
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