"This is a very serious thing which you have told me," he said. "Have you spoken about it to any one else?"
"Not a soul, sir," the man answered. "I thought it best to have a word or two first with Mr. Morrison."
"You were thinking of attending the inquest," Laverick said thoughtfully. "The police would thank you for your evidence, and there, I suppose, the matter would end."
"You've hit it precisely, sir," the man admitted. "There the matter would end."
"On the other hand," Laverick continued, speaking as though he were reasoning this matter out to himself, "supposing you decided not to meddle in an affair which does not concern you, supposing you were not sure as to the identity of your customer last night, and being a little tired you could not rightly remember whether Mr. Morrison called in for a drink or not, and so, to cut the matter short, you dismissed the whole matter from your mind and let the inquest take its own course,--Laverick paused. His visitor scratched the side of his chin and nodded.
"You've put this matter plainly, sir," he said, "in what I call an understandable, straightforward way. I'm a poor man--I've been a poor man all my life--and I've never seed a chance before of getting away from it. I see one now."
"You want to do the best you can for yourself?"
"So 'elp me God, sir, I do!" the man agreed.
Laverick nodded.
"You have done a remarkably wise thing," he said, "in coming to me and in telling me about this affair. The idea of connecting Mr. Morrison with the murder would, of course, be ridiculous, but, on the other hand, it would be very disagreeable to him to have his name mentioned in connection with it. You have behaved discreetly, and you have done Mr. Morrison a service in trying to find him out. You will do him a further service by adopting the second course I suggested with regard to the inquest. What do you consider that service is worth?"
"It depends, sir," the man answered quietly, "at what price Mr. Morrison values his life!"