nking of that parcel of mysterious bank-notes
deposited in his keeping on the morning after the tragedy...
Laverick was a strong man, and his moment of weakness, poignant
though it had been, passed. This was no new thing with which he
was confronted. All the time he had known that the probabilities
were in favor of such a discovery. He set his teeth and turned to
face his visitor.

"This is a very serious thing which you have told me," he said.
"Have you spoken about it to any one else?"

"Not a soul, sir," the man answered. "I thought it best to have a
word or two first with Mr. Morrison."

"You were thinking of attending the inquest," Laverick said
thoughtfully. "The police would thank you for your evidence, and
there, I suppose, the matter would end."

"You've hit it precisely, sir," the man admitted. "There the matter
would end."

"On the other hand," Laverick continued, speaking as though he were
reasoning this matter out to himself, "supposing you decided not to
meddle in an affair which does not concern you, supposing you were
not sure as to the identity of your customer last night, and being
a little tired you could not rightly remember whether Mr. Morrison
called in for a drink or not, and so, to cut the matter short, you
dismissed the whole matter from your mind and let the inquest take
its own course,--Laverick paused. His visitor scratched the side
of his chin and nodded.

"You've put this matter plainly, sir," he said, "in what I call an
understandable, straightforward way. I'm a poor man--I've been a
poor man all my life--and I've never seed a chance before of
getting away from it. I see one now."

"You want to do the best you can for yourself?"

"So 'elp me God, sir, I do!" the man agreed.

Laverick nodded.

"You have done a remarkably wise thing," he said, "in coming to me
and in telling me about this affair. The idea of connecting Mr.
Morrison with the murder would, of course, be ridiculous, but, on
the other hand, it would be very disagreeable to him to have his
name mentioned in connection with it. You have behaved discreetly,
and you have done Mr. Morrison a service in trying to find him out.
You will do him a further service by adopting the second course I
suggested with regard to the inquest. What do you consider that
service is worth?"

"It depends, sir," the man answered quietly, "at what price Mr.
Morrison values his life!"

CHAPTER XVII

THE PRICE OF SILENC