"I wonder how far," she asked, "you will be inclined to reciprocate?""I reciprocate!" he exclaimed. "But what can I do? What do I know of these things?"She stretched out her hand lazily, and drew towards her a wonderful gold purse set with emeralds. Carefully opening it, she drew from the interior a small flat pocketbook, also of gold, with a great uncut emerald set into its centre. This, too, she opened, and drew out several sheets of foreign note-paper pinned together at the top.
These she glanced through until she came to the third or fourth.
Then she bent it down and passed it across the table to Laverick.
"You may read that," she said. "It is part of a report which I have had in my pos session since Wednesday morning."Laverick drew the sheet towards him and read, in thin, angular characters, very distinct and plain:
Some ten minutes after the assault, a policeman passed down the street but did not glance toward the passage. The next person to appear was a gentleman who left some offices on the same side as the passage, and walked down evidently on his homeward way. He glanced up the passage and saw the body lying there. He disappeared for a moment and struck a match.
A minute afterwards he emerged from the passage, looked up and down the street, and finding it empty returned to the office from which he had issued, let himself in with his latchkey, and closed the door behind him. He was there for about ten minutes. When he reappeared, he walked quickly down the street and for obvious reasons I was unable to follow him.
The address of the offices which he left and re-entered was Messrs. Laverick & Morrison, Stockbrokers.
"That interests you, Mr. Laverick?" she asked softly.
He handed it back to her.
"It interests me very much," he answered. "Who was this unseen person who wrote from the clouds?""I may not tell you all my secrets, Mr. Laverick," she declared.
"What have you done with that twenty thousand pounds?"Laverick helped himself to champagne. He listened for a moment to the music, and looked into the wonderful eyes which shone from that beautiful face a few feet away. Her lips were slightly parted, her forehead wrinkled. There was nothing of the accuser in her countenance; a gentle irony was its most poignant expression.
"Is this a fairy tale, Mademoiselle Idiale?"She shrugged her shoulders.
"It might seem so," she answered. "Sometimes I think that all the time we live two lives, - the life of which the world sees the outside, and the life inside of which no one save ourselves knows anything at all. Look, for instance, at all these people - these chorus girls and young men about town - the older ones, too - all hungry for pleasure, all drinking at the cup of life as though they had indeed but to-day and to-morrow in which to live and enjoy.
Have they no shadows, too, no secrets? They seem so harmless, yet if the great white truth shone down, might one not find a murderer there, a dying man who knew his terrible secret, yonder a Croesus on the verge of bankruptcy, a strong man playing with dishonor? But those are the things of the other world which we do not see. The men look at us to-night and they envy you because you are with me.
