The Mysterious Mr. Miller
Page 41
you?" he asked, fixing me with his keen dark eyes, whilethe two detectives, who had evidently been expecting my arrival andidentified me from the telegraphed description, stood by watching.
"My name is Sampson--Samuel Sampson," was my prompt reply, for duringthe whole of the previous day I had gradually concocted a story inreadiness for any emergency.
"Oh!" exclaimed the _delegato_ in disbelief. "And what are you?"
"Under-steward on board the _Italia_ of the Anchor Line between Naplesand New York. I landed yesterday morning at Leghorn, and am going homeon a holiday to London. Why?" I asked, with feigned surprise.
"You left Rome yesterday," he said, "and your name is Godfrey Leaf,"--hepronounced it "Lif."
"Oh!" I laughed, "that's something new. What else? If you doubt mehere's my passport. It's an English passport with the Italian vise, andI fancy it ought to be good enough for you."
And I handed him Sammy Sampson's passport which had been in thewriting-book in my suit-case for close upon a year--ever since he and Ihad taken a short trip to San Sebastian, over the Spanish border.
The police inspector opened the document, glanced at the visa of theItalian Consulate-General in London, and carefully spelt the name ofSampson.
"There is no description or profession," he remarked dubiously.
"Well," I said, "I suppose that is not the first English passport you'veseen, is it? But I don't think you have ever seen one different, orwith fuller detail than that!"
"Then you are not Godfrey `Lif'?" he asked, still dubious.
"I'm what I've already told you. What do you suspect of me? I'm anEnglishman travelling home, I've committed no crime or offence againstthe law, and I don't see why I should suffer this indignity! But if youdesire to be satisfied, you are perfectly at liberty to search me and mybelongings." And I handed him my bundle.
"We've already seen it when it was examined in the _dogana_," remarkedone of the detectives.
My revolver licence, card-case, cigarette-case and other articles thatmight betray me I had been careful to put in my trunk which wasregistered through to London. Therefore I had thoroughly assumed myfriend's identity. English passports are so vague and lax that thegreatest abuses are often committed with them.
I was quick to notice that my prompt reply to the questions rathernonplussed my interrogator. He took the official telegram from thetable, read what it contained very carefully, and then looked long andearnestly at me.
I remained firm and unmoved, well knowing that all my future happinessdepended upon my calm indifference. Yet indifference at such a momentwas a matter of extreme difficulty.
He began to put other questions to me, in the hope, it appeared, ofmaking me commit myself to a falsehood. But I was now thoroughly on thealert, and gave quick, unhesitating replies.
Had the inspector been an Englishman he would probably have detected bymy speech that I was not an under-steward, but being Italian he was thushandicapped. Indeed, so circumstantial an account did I give of gettingtwo months' leave from my ship to visit my mother in London, and inaddition presenting a passport perfectly in order, that just before thetrain was leaving for France he and his companions, filled with doubt asto whether I was actually the person wanted, allowed me to walk outagain upon the platform--a free man!
Five minutes later I had mounted into an empty third-class compartment,but I dare not breathe before the train slowly moved away in the"direction de Paris."
The terrible anxiety of those moments will surely live with me until mydying day, for I had both love and life at stake; my own love, mywell-beloved's life!
After thirty hours of slow travelling and constant stoppages andshuntings I arrived at the Gare de Lyon, and again resuming the luxuryof a collar and cravat I purchased a ready-made suit of blue serge, ahard felt hat and a few necessaries, for no longer I needed the disguiseof a workman.
Contrary to my usual custom of going to the Grand, I put up at theAthenee, which is greatly patronised by Americans, and where I had a NewYork friend staying at that moment. Then, after dinner, I telegraphedto Leghorn to Lucie Miller telling her that I had left Italy, and thatif she wished to communicate with me she should write or telegraph. Myidea was that if her father had been arrested, as he most probably hadbeen, she would certainly require the assistance of some friend, andmight probably prefer me. Of course she would not willingly admit to meher father's disgrace, yet by her own actions I should be pretty wellable to judge what had taken place.
I was eager to be back near Ella, yet before I crossed to England Idetermined to await a reply to my message to Lucie.
For three days I remained in suspense, idling with my American friend incafes and restaurants, and showing him Paris in a mild kind of way.
I had searched the French and English newspapers diligently to learn anydetails of the affair at the Villa Verde, but in vain, until one eveningin the reading-room of the hotel I came across a copy of the _Corrieredella Sera_, the journal of Milan, in which was a long telegram fromRome, headed: "The Escape of the Minister Nardini: Mysterious Tragedy atthe Villa Verde."
In breathless eagerness I read how the police, on going in the morningto relieve the guard placed at the villa, found the unfortunate manlying dead with a knife-wound in his heart. Thieves had evidentlyentered the house by the window of the study which looked out upon theroadway, for the iron bars had been filed through and a space madesufficient to admit a man. Nothing, however, had been taken, as far ascould be ascertained. The study was in complete order, and the policetheory was that the man in charge, hearing the noise, had entered theroom only to be confronted by several men. He then fled across thehouse intending to get out and raise the alarm, when he was overtaken inthe passage and stabbed.
The theory was, of course, quite a natural one.
The thieves had, it seemed, before their escape placed the room inorder, closed the secret cupboard, replaced the panel, and put down thecarpet as they had found it. The action of reclosing the panel had, ofcourse, released the bolts that held the door, but they had already, bysome means or other, cut through the bars. Probably they escapedwithout knowing that the door had been automatically released.
In any case they were clear away with a sum amounting to many thousandsof pounds sterling--probably the greatest haul Miller had made in allhis career.
There was, however, a second telegram which stated that two carabineerspatrolling the road near the villa had stopped and questioned amysterious Englishman who was now suspected to be one of the assassins,and after whom the police were in active search.
Miller and his companions were actually scot-free--and with theirenormous booty!
No word was published regarding the mysterious discovery previously madein that house. The police were still hushing up the affair that was soshrouded in mystery, yet at the same time they evidently connected thetwo curious circumstances, and regarded them as a problem altogetherbeyond solution. Little, however, did they dream that the missing man'ssecret hoard had been carried off in its entirety!
Next morning, when the waiter brought my coffee, a telegram lay upon thetray. It was from Lucie, despatched the previous day from the Swissfrontier at Chiasso, announcing that she and her father were on theirway to Paris and would arrive that night at the Hotel de Grand, whichproved to be a modest little place in the Rue de la Michodiere, near theBoulevard des Italiens.
Miller was escaping with those thick packets of thousand-franc noteswhich I had seen him secure, though Lucie was, of course, in entireignorance of what had occurred.
Next morning I anxiously sought her. She came to me in the little salonof the unpretending hotel, a neat figure in her blue sergetravelling-dress and smart little toque. Greeting me enthusiastically,she exclaimed:--
"How suddenly you went from Leghorn! I sent down to the Palace Hotel,for I wanted to see you again, but you had gone. I wanted to tell youthat I've heard from Ella. The tenant of Wichenford has been recalledsuddenly to America, and
she and Mr Murray are back there for a littlewhile. I thought you would like to know this."
"Know it? Of course I do. I shall leave Paris to-night," I said, gladto have news of my well-beloved.
"We also leave to-night. We are on our way back to Studland. Fatherwired me to meet him in Milan, and I did so. Then he explained that wewere going home again, and that we should not return to Italy till thespring."
He would probably never return to Italy, I thought, though I saidnothing, except to congratulate her upon the prospect of spending a fewmonths in Dorsetshire at the old home she loved so well.
At that moment Miller himself entered, surprised to find me there, butshaking my hand warmly said:--"Why, my dear Leaf! who would have thoughtto find you here? I believed you were in England."
"Miss Lucie sent me word