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 imagine,” said he, “that it was a whim. It must have been a whim.”
XXI. MADEMOISELLE IDIALE’S VISIT
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
