The Mysterious Mr. Miller

by William Le Queux

so."

  "And that he has been travelling on the Continent the whole time?"

  "I believe he has," was her reply, whereupon he remained in silence forsome moments, as though reflecting deeply. Was it possible that, afterall, he had recognised me as the man who he had intended should be hiscat's-paw in the Blenkap affair?

  I felt certain that he was endeavouring to recall my face.

  "Your father knows nothing of my friendship with Miller?" he askedsuddenly, with some apprehension.

  "I have told him nothing, as you forbade me."

  "Good. He must not know. It's better not."

  "Why?"

  "Well, because your father has a long-standing quarrel with Miller, hashe not? If he knew we were friends he might not like it. Some men havecurious prejudices," he added.

  His explanation apparently satisfied her, but he, on his part, returnedto his previous questions regarding myself.

  "Tell me," he urged, "who is this fellow Leaf? If you were fond of himI surely have a right to know who and what he is?"

  "He's a gentleman whom I first knew years ago, soon after I came homefrom school."

  "And you fell in love with him, like every school-girl does, eh?"

  She nodded in the affirmative, but vouchsafed no further information.

  "Well," he said, in a tone of authority, "you will not meet him againunder any consideration. I forbid it. Remember that."

  She was silent, her head downcast, for in that man's hands she was aswax. He held her in some thraldom that I saw was as complete as it wasterrible. His very presence seemed to cause her to hold her breath, andto tremble.

  "Last night," he continued, "you crept downstairs after you had gone toyour room, and you listened at the door of the smoking-room, where I wastalking with Miller," and he laughed as he saw how she started at hisaccusation. "Yes, you see I know all about it. The faithful Minton,who saw you, told me," he went on in a hard voice. "You overheardsomething--something that has very much surprised you. Now there's anold adage that says listeners never hear any good of themselves.Therefore we must come to a thorough understanding as soon as we can geta quiet half-hour alone together."

  "I think it is perfectly unnecessary," she said, with some attempt atdefiance.

  "There, I beg to differ," he answered. "You have learnt a secret, and Imust have some adequate guarantee that that secret is kept--that nosingle word of it is breathed to a living soul. You understand, Ella,"he added, in a low, fierce half-whisper, lowering his dark clean-shavenface to hers. "You understand! _My life depends upon it_!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

  AT DAWN.

  The dark-haired woman who had accompanied Ella in the motor-car cameforth and joined the pair, preventing any further confidences, and a fewminutes later the dinner-gong sounded, and all three went in to join MrMurray and his companion.

  The windows of the dining-room were closed almost immediately, thereforeI neither saw nor heard anything more of that strange household.

  My one desire was to see Ella alone, but how could I give her news of mypresence?

  I turned on my heel and strolled slowly back down the dark road in thedirection of the village. The first suggestion that crossed my mind wasto send her a telegram making an appointment for the following morning,but on reflection I saw that if they had fled in secret, as they seemedto have done, then the arrival of a telegram would arouse MrGordon-Wright's suspicions. Indeed he might actually open it.

  I was dealing with a queer fish, a man who was a past-master inalertness and ingenious conspiracy. As Minton, at the Manor, was in theconfidence of Miller, so that round-shouldered old fellow was, no doubt,Gordon-Wright's trustworthy sentinel.

  A dozen different modes of conveying a note to her suggested themselves,but the one I adopted was, perhaps, the simplest of them all. Ireturned to the inn, scribbled upon a small piece of paper a few linesto my well-beloved asking her to meet me at a spot I indicated at sixo'clock next morning, and then I called Gibbs, took him into myconfidence, and gave him instructions to take the pair of lady's gloveswith fur gauntlets that I had found in one of the pockets of the car, goboldly to the house, ask to see "the young lady who had just arrived bymotor-car," and tell her a fictitious story how he had found the gloveswhere they had stopped at Plymouth, and as he was passing through UpperWooton on the way to Launceston he thought he would like to restore themto her.

  "She'll, of course, at once deny that they are hers," I said. "But inhanding them to her you must contrive to slip this little bit of foldedpaper into her hand--so," and I gave him a lesson in pressing the smallnote, folded until it was only the size of a sixpence, into her palm.

  He quickly entered into the spirit of the adventure, and three-quartersof an hour later re-entered the low-ceilinged little sitting-roomannouncing triumphantly that he had been successful.

  "At first, sir, their man said I could not see the lady, as she was atdinner, but on pressing him that I wished to see her particularly, hewent an' told her," he explained. "My request seemed to create quite ahubbub among 'em, for as I stood in the 'all, I heard the conversationsuddenly break off, and a chap with a clean-shaven face come to the dooran' had a good straight look at me. Seein', however, that I was only achauffeur, he went back, and a minute later the young lady herselfappeared alone. I told 'er the story, slipped the bit o' paper into herhand, and gave her the gloves. The instant she felt the paper in herpalm she started and looked at me, surprised like. Then, carryin' thegloves into the drawing-room, as if to examine them, she glanced at whatyou'd written, and when she returned a few seconds afterwards, shewhispered: `Tell the gentleman all right'. Then, sayin' aloud that thegloves wasn't hers, she thanked me, an' dismissed me."

  I congratulated him on his success. So far, so good. I had to wait inpatience until six o'clock on the following morning.

  That night I slept but little, but when daylight came a certain hope andgladness came with it. At half-past five I went out, and strolled alongto the cross-roads I had noticed between the "Glen" and the village.The roads traversing the highway were merely green lanes leading toadjoining fields, and with high hedges on either side were admirablyadapted for a secret meeting.

  Not without fear of being noticed by some yokel on his way to work, Iidled there until the clock from the old ivy-clad church tower belowstruck the hour. For the first ten minutes I saw no sign of her, andevery moment increased my peril of being noticed and my presencecommented upon. The villagers were certainly not used to seeing agentleman wait at the cross-roads at six o'clock in the morning.

  Presently, however, my heart leaped with sudden joy, for I saw her in afresh pale blue cotton dress hurrying towards me, and in order not to beseen meeting her in the main road I withdrew into the lane.

  Five minutes later we were standing side by side, in a spot where wecould not be observed, she panting and breathless, and I full of eagerquestions as to the reason of her flight.

  "So you actually followed me all the way here, Godfrey!" she exclaimedanxiously, turning those dear eyes upon me, those eyes the expression ofwhich was always as wondering and innocent as a child's.

  "Because I am determined that you shall not again escape me, Ella," wasmy answer, grasping her hand and raising it with reverence to my lips.

  Are we ever truly read, I wonder, save by the one that loves us best?Love is blind, the phrase runs; yet, I would rather say Love sees as Godsees, and with infinite wisdom has infinite pardon.

  What was it I felt? I hardly know. I acted without knowing--only stunginto a bitter, burning, all-corroding jealousy that drove me like a whipof scorpions.

  "You should never have done this," she answered calmly, though her voicetrembled just a little. "Have I not already told you that--that ourmeeting was unfortunate, and that we must again part?"

  "But why?" I demanded fiercely.

  "It is imperative," she faltered. "I can never be yours."

  "But you shall--Ella!" I crie
d fiercely, "in this past twenty-fourhours I have discovered a great deal. Unknown to me there was a manstaying with Miller at Studland. The real object of your visit therewas to speak with him in secret. You did so and left by motor car,while he travelled here by train. Your father has no idea that he andMiller are friends nor has he any idea of his true identity. Hebelieves him to be Gordon-Wright, yet I know him under the name ofLieutenant Harold Shacklock."

  "You--you know him?" she gasped.

  "Yes. After you left the Manor I called, and Lucie introduced me--asthough I needed any introduction to him," I laughed bitterly.

  "Then where have you met him before?" she asked,