that you were passing through Paris," Iexplained, "so it was my duty to call and pay my compliments."
"We've just been on a flying visit to Italy," he said. "I had somerather pressing affairs to attend to in Rome. To-night, however, we goback to Studland."
"Mr Leaf is also crossing with us," remarked his daughter.
"Oh! excellent!" exclaimed the man whom I had last seen cramming thoseill-gotten notes into his pockets, his face flushed with the eager lustfor wealth, his voice raised loudly in angry protest against an equaldivision of the booty. "We'll meet at the Gare du Nord, eh?"
Calm, grey-faced, distinguished-looking and of gentlemanly bearing,surely no one would have ever dreamed that his character was such as itreally had been proved to be. He offered me a cigarette, lit onehimself, and all three of us went out for a stroll along the Boulevardand the Rue de la Paix. We lunched together in one of the littlerestaurants in the Palais Royal, but neither by word nor deed did Millerdisplay any fear of recognition.
I wondered in what direction Gavazzi had fled; and would have given agood deal to know how they had managed to get through those formidablebars which I had believed unbreakable.
Lucie's father being with us the whole time, I had no opportunity ofspeaking to her alone. At three o'clock I left them at the hotel, andat nine that evening joined them in the night-mail for Calais andLondon.
On board the steamer, Miller went below, while I got Lucie a deck-chair,wrapped her in an oilskin borrowed from a seaman, and sat beside her.
The night was a perfect one, with a bright full moon shining over theChannel, and as we sat we watched the flashing light of Calais slowlydisappearing at the stern.
"Your father seems to be returning quite unexpectedly to England," Isaid presently, after she had been admiring the reflection of the moonupon the glittering waters.
"Yes. I was quite surprised. He gave me no warning. Poor old dad isalways so very erratic. He told me to meet him at the Metropole inMilan, and hardly gave me time to get there. I had to leave the housewithin an hour of receiving his wire."
"Did he telegraph from Rome?"
"No. From Ancona, on the Adriatic."
So he had escaped at once to the other side of Italy without returningto Rome.
"What has Ella told you in her letter?"
"Nothing more than what I have already explained. She makes no mentionof--of the man whom we need not name."
"I am now going home to expose him," I said determinedly. "I have fullyconsidered all the risks, and am prepared to run them."
"Ah!" she cried, turning to me in quick alarm, "do not do anything rash,I beg of you, Mr Leaf! There is some mystery--a great mystery which Iam, as yet, unable to fathom--but to speak at this juncture wouldassuredly only implicate her. Of that I feel sure from certaininformation already in my possession."
"You've already told me that. But surely you don't think I can stand byand see her go headlong to her ruin without stretching forth a hand tosave her. It is my duty, not only as her lover but also as a man. Thefellow is a thief and a scoundrel."
When we love much we ourselves are nothing, and what we love is all.
"I only beg of you to be patient and be silent--at least for thepresent," she urged.
Was she in fear, I wondered, lest any revelation I made should implicateher father? Was it possible that she had any suspicion that he was atthat moment seeking asylum in his comfortable English home?
All the disjointed admissions which she had made regarding heracquaintance with the dead Minister for Justice, her appeal to him tospeak the truth and clear her of some mysterious stigma, and her mentionof the Villa Verde out at Tivoli crowded upon me. When we suffer verymuch everything that smiles in the sun seems cruel.
Beneath that beautiful face, pale in the bright moonbeams shining uponit, was mystery--a great unfathomable mystery. Was she not daughter ofone of the cleverest thieves in Europe? And, if so, could she not mostprobably keep a secret if one were entrusted to her?
For some ten minutes or so I was silent. The engines throbbed, the darkwaters hissed past, and swiftly we were heading for the lights of Dover.
At any moment Miller, who had gone below to get a whisky and soda with afriend he had met, a gentlemanly-looking Englishman, might return. Iwondered whether it were judicious to tell her one fact.
At last I spoke.
"You recollect, Miss Miller, that you once mentioned the Villa Verde, atTivoli, where, I think, Nardini lived the greater part of the year?"
"Yes," was her rather mechanical answer. "Why? What causes you torecollect that?"
"Because--well, because the other day I learnt something in confidenceconcerning it."
"Concerning the villa!" she gasped, starting and turning to me with achanged expression of fear and apprehension. "What--what were you told?Who told you?"
"Well, probably it is a fact of which you are unaware, for only thepolice know it, and they have hushed it up," I said. "After the flightof Nardini the police who went to search the villa and seize his effectsmade a very startling discovery."
"Discovery! What did they find?" she inquired eagerly, her face nowblanched to the lips.
"The body of a young woman--the young Englishwoman who was your friend!"I said, with my eyes fixed upon her.
She started forward, glaring at me open-mouthed. She tried to speak,but no sound escaped her lips. Her gloved hands were trembling, herdark eyes staring out of her head.
"Then the police have searched!" she gasped at last.
"They know the truth! I--I am--"
And she fell back again into the long deck-chair, rigid and insensible.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.
AN EVENING AT HYDE PARK GATE.
When Miller returned and found his daughter conscious but prostrate, henaturally attributed it to _mal-de-mer_, and began to poke fun at herfor being ill upon such a calm sea.
She looked at me in meaning silence.
Then, when he had left us to walk towards the stern, she said in a low,apologetic voice:--
"Forgive me, Mr Leaf. I--I'm so very foolish. But what you have toldme is so amazing. Tell me further--what have the police found at thevilla?"
I wondered whether she had seen in any of the Italian papers an accountof the second discovery--the man who had been so brutally done to death.
"Well, from what I gather the police found a dead woman locked inNardini's study."
"And has she been identified?" she asked eagerly.
"I believe not. All that is known about her is that she was yourfriend."
"Ah, yes!" she sighed, as though she had previous knowledge of thetragedy. "And they know that--do they? Then they will probablyendeavour to find me, eh?"
"Most probably."
"Perhaps it is best that I should return to England, then," sheremarked, as though speaking to herself. "I wonder if they willdiscover me here?"
"I understand that they know your name, but are ignorant of where youreside. Besides, in England your name is not an uncommon one."
"I hope they'll never find me, for I have no desire to answer theirinquiries. The affair is an unpleasant one, to say the least."
"The police have some ulterior object in view by hushing it up," Iremarked.
"Yes. But how did you know?"
"A friend told me," was my vague reply. She, of course, never dreamedthat I had been in Rome.
"He told you my name?"
"He was an Italian, therefore could not pronounce it properly. Thepolice evidently do not know, even now, that Nardini is dead."
"No, I suppose not," she said. "But--well, what you've told me isutterly staggering."
"Then you were not aware of the mysterious affair?"
"Aware of it! How should I be?"
"Well, you were Nardini's friend. You were a frequent visitor at theVilla Verde. You told me so yourself, remember."
She did not reply, but sat staring straight before her at the stream o
fmoonlight upon the rolling waters.
Whether she were really acquainted with the details of the tragic affairor not, I was unable to decide. She, however, offered me no explanationas to who the unknown woman was, and from her attitude I saw that shedid not intend to reveal to me anything. Perhaps the mere fact that Ihad gained secret knowledge caused her to hold me in fear lest I shouldbetray her whereabouts.
The situation was hourly becoming more complicated, but upon one point Ifelt confident, namely, that she held no knowledge of the second tragedyat the villa--a tragedy in which her father was most certainlyimplicated.
The tall grey-faced man in the long overcoat--the mysterious Mr Millerwho was carrying thousands of pounds in stolen notes upon
The Mysterious Mr. Miller Page 42