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."