impulse which prevented his calling out to them. Instead he lurked
in the shadows and watched them go by. When he was sure that they
had disappeared, he bent once more over the body of the murdered
man. Already that huddled-up heap was beginning to exercise a
nameless and terrible fascination for him. His first feelings of
horror were mingled now with an insatiable curiosity. What manner
of man was he? He was tall and strongly built; fair - of almost
florid complexion. His clothes were very shabby and apparently
ready-made. His moustache was upturned, and his hair was trimmed
closer than is the custom amongst Englishmen. Laverick stooped
lower and lower until he found himself almost on his knees. There
was something projecting from the man's pocket as though it had been
half snatched out - a large portfolio of brown leather, almost the
size of a satchel. Laverick drew it out, holding it in one hand
whilst with firm fingers he struck another match. Then, for the
first time, a little cry broke from his lips. Both sides of the
pocket-book were filled with bank-notes. As his match flickered
out, he caught a glimpse of the figures in the left-hand corner -
500 pounds! - great rolls of them! Laverick rose gasping to his
feet. It was a new Arabian Nights, this! - a dream! - a
continuation of the nightmare which had threatened him all day!
Or was it, perhaps, the madness coming - the madness which he had
begun only an hour or so ago to fear!

He walked into the gaslit streets and looked up and down. The
mysterious stranger had vanished. There was not a soul in sight.
He clutched the rough stone wall with his hands, he kicked the
pavement with his heels. There was no doubt about it - everything
around him was real. Most real of all was the fact that within a
few feet of him lay a murdered man, and that in his hands was that