Why I looked inside it I don't know. I had some sort of wild idea that I must find out who he was. Mind you, though, I should have given the alarm at once, but there wasn't a soul in the street.
There was a man lurking in the entry and I chased him, unsuccessfully.
When I came back, the body was still there and the street empty. Ilooked inside that pocket-book, which would have been in the possession of his murderer but for my unexpected appearance. I saw the notes there. Once more I went out into the street. I gave no alarm, - I am not attempting to explain why. I was like a man made suddenly mad. I went back to my office and shut myself in."Bellamy pointed to the glasses silently. The waiter came forward and refilled them.
"Bellamy," Laverick continued, "your career and mine lie far apart, and yet, at their backbone, as there is at the backbone of every man's life, there must be something of the same sort of ambition.
My grandfather lived and died a member of the Stock Exchange, honored and well thought of. My father followed in his footsteps. I, too, was there. Without becoming wealthy, the name I bear has become known and respected. Failure, whatever one may say, means a broken life and a broken honor. I sat in my office and I knew that the use of those notes for a few days might save me from disgrace, might keep the name, which my father and grandfather had guarded so jealously, free from shame. I would have paid any price for the use of them. I would have paid with my life, if that had been possible.
Think of the risk I ran - the danger I am now in. I deposited those notes on the morrow as security at my bank, and I met all my engagements. The crisis is over! Those notes are in a safe deposit vault in Chancery Lane! I only wish to Heaven that I could find the owner!""And the document?" Bellamy asked. "The document?""It is in the hotel safe," Laverick answered.
Bellamy drew a long sigh of relief. Then he emptied his tumbler and lit a cigarette.
"Laverick," he declared, "I believe you.""Thank God!" Laverick muttered.
"I am no crime investigator," Bellamy went on thoughtfully. "As to who killed Von Behrling, or why, I cannot now form the slightest idea. That twenty thousand pounds, Laverick, is Secret Service money, paid by me to Von Behrling only half-an-hour before he was murdered, in a small restaurant there, for what I supposed to be the document. He deceived me by making up a false packet. The real one he kept. He deserved to die, and I am glad he is dead."Laverick's face was suddenly hopeful.
"Then you can take these notes!" he exclaimed.
Bellamy nodded.
"In a few days," he said, "I shall take you with me to a friend of mine - a Cabinet Minister. You shall tell him the story exactly as you've told it to me, and restore the money."Laverick laughed like a child.
"Don't think I'm mad," he apologized, "but I am not a person like you, Bellamy, - used to adventures and this sort of wild happenings.
I'm a steady-going, matter-of-fact Englishman, and this thing has been like a hateful nightmare to me. I can't believe that I'm going to get rid of it."Bellamy smiled.
"It's a great adventure," he declared, "to come to any one like you.
To tell you the truth, I can't imagine how you had the pluck - don't misunderstand me, I mean the moral pluck - to run such a risk. Why, at the moment you used those notes," Bellamy continued, "the odds must have been about twenty to one against your not being found out.""One doesn't stop to count the odds," Laverick said grimly. "I saw a chance of salvation and I went for it. And now about this letter."Bellamy rose to his feet.
"On the King's service!" he whispered softly.
They walked once more to the cashier's desk. A stranger greeted them.
Laverick produced his receipt.
"I should like the packet I deposited here this evening," he said.
"I am sorry to trouble you, but I find that I require it unexpectedly."The clerk glanced at the receipt and up at the clock. "I am afraid, sir," he answered, "that we cannot get at it before the morning.""Why not?" Laverick demanded, frowning.
