These were the first two things of which Laverick assured himself.
Without any doubt, a savage and a terrible crime had been committed.
A hornhandled knife of unusual length had been driven up to the hilt
through the heart of the murdered man. There had been other blows,
notably about the head. There was not much blood, but the position
of the knife alone told its ugly story. Laverick, though his nerves
were of the strongest, felt his head swim as he looked. He rose to
his feet and walked to the opening of the passage, gasping. The
street was no longer empty.

About thirty yards away, looking westwards, a man was standing in
the middle of the road. The light from the lamp-post escaped his
face. Laverick could only see that he was slim, of medium height,
dressed in dark clothes, with his hands in the pockets of his
overcoat. To all appearance, he was watching the entry. Laverick
took a step towards him - the man as deliberately took a step further
away. Laverick held up his hand.

"Hullo!" he called out, and beckoned.

The person addressed took no notice. Laverick advanced another two
or three steps - the man retreated a similar distance. Laverick
changed his tactics and made a sudden spring forward. The man
hesitated no longer - he turned and ran as though for his life. In
a few minutes he was round the corner of the street and out of sight.
Laverick returned slowly to the entry.

A distant clock struck midnight. A couple of clerks came along the
pavement on the other side, their hands and arms full of letters.
Laverick hesitated. He was never afterwards able to account for the