sake, - another must go through all the days with the price of blood
upon his head - a murderer - a haunted creature for the rest of his
life. And there on the table were the spoils. Laverick tried to
think the matter out dispassionately. He was a man of average moral
fibre - that is to say, he was honest in his dealings with other
men because his father and his grandfather before him had been
honest, and because the penalty for dishonesty was shameful. Here,
however, he was face to face with an altogether unusual problem.
These notes belonged, without a doubt, to the dead man. Save for
his own interference, they would have been in the hands of his
murderer. The use of them for a few days could do no one any harm.
Such risk as there was he took himself. That it was a risk he knew
and fully realized. Laverick had sat in his place unmoved when his
partner had poured out his wail of fear and misery. Yet of the two
men it was probable that Laverick himself had felt their position
the more keenly. He was a man of some social standing, with a
large circle of friends; a sportsman, and with many interests
outside the daily routine of his city life. To him failure meant
more than the loss of money; it would rob him of everything in life
worth having. The days to come had been emptied of all promise.
He had held himself stubbornly because he was a man, because he had
strength enough to refuse to let his mind dwell upon the indignities
and humiliation to come. And here before him was possible salvation.
There was a price to be paid, of course, a risk to be run in making
use even for an hour of this money. Yet from the first he had known
that he meant to do it.

Quite cool now, he opened his private safe, thrust the pocket-book
into one of the drawers, and locked it up. Then he lit a cigarette,
finally shut up the office and walked down the street. As he passed