of
memory. He was a man of unromantic temperament, unimaginative, and
by no means of an adventurous turn of mind. He sought naturally
for the most reasonable explanation of this strange picture, which
no effort of his will could dismiss from his memory. It was a dream,
of course. But the dream did not fade. Slowly it spread itself out
so that he could no longer doubt. He knew very well as he sat there
on the edge of his bed that the thing was truth. He, Stephen
Laverick, a man hitherto of upright character, with a reputation of
which unconsciously he was proud, had robbed a dead man, had looked
into the burning eyes of his murderer, had stolen away with twenty
thousand pounds of someone else's money. Morally, at any
rate,--probably legally as well,--he was a thief. A glimpse inside his
safe on the part of an astute detective might very easily bring him
under the grave suspicion of being a criminal of altogether deeper
dye.

Stephen Laverick was, in his way, something of a philosopher. In
the cold daylight, with the sound of the water running into his bath,
this deed which he had done seemed to him foolish and reprehensible.
Nevertheless, he realized the absolute finality of his action. The
thing was done; he must make the best of it. Behaving in every way
like a sensible man, he did not send for the newspapers and search
hysterically for their account of last night's tragedy, but took his
bath as usual, dressed with more than ordinary care, and sat down
to his breakfast before he even unfolded the paper. The item for
which he searched occupied by no means so prominent a position as
he had expected. It appeared under one of the leading headlines,
but it consisted of only a few words. He read them with interest
but without emotion. Afterwards he turned to the Stock Exchange
quotations and made notes of a few prices in which he was interested.

He completed in leisurely fashion an excellent breakfast and followed
his usual custom of walking along the Embankment as far as the Royal
Hotel, where he called a taxicab and drove to his offices. A little
crowd had gathered around the end of the passage which led from
Crooked Friars, and Laverick himself leaned forward and looked
curiously at the spot where the body of the murdered man had lain.
It seemed hard to him to reconstruct last night's scene in his mind
now that the narrow street was filled with hurrying men and a stream
of vehicles blocked every inch