Laverick remembered the look and shivered.
"What has this to do with Morrison ?" he demanded.
Once more the waiter looked around in that half mysterious, half terrified way.
"Mr.Morrison, sir," he said, dropping his voice to a hoarse whisper, "he followed the other chap out within thirty seconds.

A sort of queer look he'd got in his face too, and he went out without paying me.

I've read the papers pretty careful, sir," the man went on, "but I ain't seen no word of that pocket-book of bank-notes being found on the man as was murdered." Laverick threw the end of his burning cigarette away.

He walked to the window, keeping his back deliberately turned on his visitor.
His eyes followed the glittering arc of lights which fringed the Thames Embankment, were caught by the flaring sky-sign on the other side of the river.

He felt his heart beating with unaccustomed vigor.
Was this, then, the secret of Morrison's terror?
He wondered no longer at his collapse.