rapidly during these last few days that he had little enough time
for reflection, little time to realize exactly how he stood. The
long-expected boom in" Unions," the coming of Zoe, the strange
advances made to him by Mademoiselle Idiale, her incomprehensible
connection with this tragedy across which he had stumbled, and her
apparent knowledge of his share in it, - these things were sufficient,
indeed, to give him food for thought. Laverick was not by nature a
pessimist. Other things being equal, he would have made, without
doubt, a magnificent soldier, for he had courage of a rare and high
order. It never occurred to him to sit and brood upon his own danger.
He rather welcomed the opportunity of occupying his mind with other
thoughts. Yet in those few minutes, while he waited for the business
of the: day to commence, he looked his exact position in the face
and he realized more thoroughly how grave it really was. How was he
to find a way out - to set himself right with the law? What could
he do with those notes? They were there untouched. He had only
made use of them in an indirect way. They were there intact, as
he had picked them up upon that fateful night. Was there any
possible chance by means of which he might discover the owner and
restore them in such a way that his name might never be mentioned?
His eyes repeatedly sought that envelope which lay before him.
Inside it must lie the secret of the whole tragedy. Should he risk
everything and break the seal, or should he risk perhaps as much
and tell the whole truth to Mademoiselle Idiale? It was a strange
dilemma for a man to find himself in.

Then, as he sat there, the business of the day commenced. A pile
of letters was brought in, the telephones in the outer office began
to ring. He thrust the sealed envelope into the breast-pocket of
his coat and buttoned it up. There, for the present, it must remain.