The Mysterious Mr. Miller

by William Le Queux

that you'vehad a very narrow escape. Whatever made you do such a thing?"

  "Do what?" I asked.

  "Take poison."

  "Take poison? What do you mean?"

  "Well, sir," exclaimed the constable, in a not unkind tone, "I found youthe night before last on a seat in Kensington Gardens. There was thisempty bottle beside you," and he held up a small dark blue phial.

  "Then you think that I attempted suicide!" I exclaimed, amazed.

  "I didn't think you'd only attempted it--I believed you'd done thetrick," was the man's reply. "You've got the 'orspitel people to thankfor bringing you round. At first they thought you a dead 'un."

  "And I do thank them," I said. "And you also, constable. I suppose,however, I'm in custody for attempted suicide, eh?"

  "That's about it, sir. At least that's why I'm on duty 'ere!"

  "Well," I exclaimed, smiling, "I wonder if you'd like me to make astatement to your inspector. I could tell him something that wouldinterest him."

  "Not now, not now," protested the nurse. "You're not strong enough. Goto sleep again. You'll be better this evening."

  "Well, will you ask the inspector to come and see me this evening?" Iurged.

  "All right, sir. I'll see 'im when I go off duty, and tell 'im what yousay."

  Then the nurse shook a warning finger at me, and gave me a draught,after which I fell again into a kind of dreamy stupor.

  It was evening when I awoke, and I found a grey-bearded inspector at mybedside.

  "Well?" he said gruffly. "You want to see me--to say something? Whatis it?"

  "I want to tell you the truth," I said.

  "Oh! yes, you all want to do that. You go and make a fool of yourself,and then try and get out of it without going before the magistrate," washis reply.

  "I have not made a fool of myself," I declared. "A deliberate attemptwas made upon my life by an American named George Himes, who had a flatat Hyde Park Gate. I never went into Kensington Gardens. I must havebeen taken there."

  "Oh!" he exclaimed, rather dubiously. "Do you know what you're saying?Just tell me your story again."

  I repeated it word for word, adding that I dined at the American's flatwith my friend James Harding Miller and his daughter, who were stayingat the Buckingham Palace Hotel.

  "I want to see Miss Miller. Will you send word to her that I am here?"

  "You say then that she and her father can testify that you dined at HydePark Gate. Can they also testify that you were given poison?"

  "No. They left previous to Himes giving me the whisky."

  "And why did he do it?"

  "I think because he mistook me for another man."

  "Poisoned you accidentally, eh?" he said, in doubt.

  "Yes."

  "Very well," he answered, with some reluctance, "I'll make inquiries ofthese people. What's your name and address?"

  I told him, and he wrote it down in his pocket-book. Then he left, andso weak was I that the exertions of speaking had exhausted me.

  My one thought was of Ella. I cared nothing for myself, but was filledwith chagrin that just at the moment when I ought to be active inrescuing her from the trap into which she had fallen I had been reducedto impotence. Through the whole night I lay awake thinking of her.Twice we were disturbed by the police bringing in "accidents," and thentowards morning, tired out, I at length fell asleep.

  My weakness was amazing. I could hardly lift my hand from the coverlet,while my brain was muddled so that all my recollections were hazy.

  I was, of course, still in custody, for beside my bed a young constabledozed in his chair, his hands clasped before him and his tunicunloosened at the collar. Just, however, before I dropped off to sleepanother constable stole in on tiptoe and called him outside. Whether hecame back I don't know, for I dozed off and did not wake again until thenurse came to take my temperature, and I found it was morning.

  I was surprised to see that the constable was no longer there, butsupposed that he had gone outside into the corridor to gossip, as hevery often did.

  At eleven o'clock, however, the inspector came along the ward, followedby two men in plain-clothes, evidently detectives.

  "Well," he commenced, "I've made some inquiries, and I must apologise,sir, for doubting your word. Still suicides tell us such strange talesthat we grow to disbelieve anything they say. You notice that you're nolonger in custody. I withdrew the man at five this morning as soon as Ihad ascertained the facts."

  "Have you found that fellow Himes?"

  "We haven't been to look for him yet," was the inspector's reply."But--" And he hesitated.

  "But what?" I asked.

  "Well, sir, I hardly think you are in a fit state to hear what I think Iought to tell you."

  "Yes. Tell me--tell me everything."

  "Well, I'll do so if you promise to remain quite calm--if you assure methat you can bear to hear a very extraordinary piece of news."

  "Yes, yes," I cried impatiently. "What is it? Whom does it concern?"

  He hesitated a moment, looking straight into my eyes. "Then I regret tohave to give you sad news, concerning your friend."

  "Which friend?"

  "Mr Miller. He is dead."

  "Miller dead!" I gasped, starting up in bed and staring at him.

  "He died apparently from the effects of something which he partook of atthe house of this American."

  "And Lucie, his daughter?"

  "She is well, though prostrated by grief. I have seen and questionedher," was his answer. "She is greatly distressed to hear that you werehere."

  "Did you give her my message?"

  "Yes. She has promised to come and see you this afternoon. I would notallow her to come before," the inspector said. "From her statement, itseems that on leaving the house in Hyde Park Gate she and her fatherwalked along Kensington Gore to the cab-rank outside the Albert Hall,and entering a hansom told the man to drive to the Buckingham PalaceHotel. Ten minutes later, when outside the Knightsbridge Barracks, MrMiller complained of feeling very unwell, and attributed it to somethinghe had eaten not being quite fresh. He told his daughter that he had astrange sensation down his spine, and that in his jaws were tetanicconvulsions. She grew alarmed, but he declared that when he reached thehotel he would call a doctor. Five minutes later, however, he was interrible agony, and the young lady ordered the cab to stop at the nextchemist's. They pulled up before the one close to the corner of SloaneStreet, but the gentleman was then in a state of collapse and unable todescend. The chemist saw the gravity of the case and told the man todrive on here--to this hospital. He accompanied the sufferer, who,before his arrival here, had breathed his last. The body was thereforetaken to the mortuary, where a _post-mortem_ was held this morning.I've just left the doctor's. They say that he has died of some neuroticpoison, in all probability the akazza bean, a poison whose reactionsmust resemble those of strychnia--in all probability the same as wasadministered to you."

  "Poor Miller!" I exclaimed, for even though he were a thief hepossessed certain good qualities, and was always chivalrous where womenwere concerned. "Could nothing be done to save him?"

  "All was done that could possibly be done. The chemist at Knightsbridgegave him all he could to resuscitate him, but without avail. He hadtaken such a large dose that he was beyond human aid from the veryfirst. The doctors are only surprised that he could walk so far beforefeeling the effects of the poison."

  "It was a vendetta--a fierce and terrible revenge," I said, in wonderwho that man Himes might be. That he owed a grudge against Miller andhis accomplices was plain, but for what reason was a mystery.

  "A vendetta!" exclaimed one of the detectives who had been listening toour conversation. "For what?"

  "The reason is an enigma," I replied, with quick presence of mind."When I accused him of poisoning me, he merely laughed and said he wouldserve all Miller's friends in the same way. It was the moreextraordinary, as I had not known the fello
w more than four or fivehours."

  "And you were not previously acquainted with him?" asked the detective.

  "Never saw him before in my life," I declared.

  "Well, you've had a jolly narrow squeak of it," the plain-clothesofficer remarked. "Whatever he put into Miller's drink was carefullymeasured to produce death within a certain period, while that given toyou was perhaps not quite such a strong dose."

  "No. I only took one drink out of my glass. Miller, I remember,swallowed his at one gulp just before leaving. It was his final whisky,and Himes mixed them both with his own hand."

  "He had two objects, you see, in inducing you to stay behind, first toprevent you both being struck down together, and secondly he intendedthat it should appear that you had committed suicide. Miss Miller doesnot recollect the number of the house--do you?"

  "No. I never saw the number, but would recognise it again. Besides,Hyde Park Gate is not a large place. You could soon discover thehouse."

  "He probably lived there under another name."

  "He had only recently come over from America, he told us," I said.

  "And in all probability is by this time on his way back there," laughedthe detective. "At any rate we'll have a look about the neighbourhoodof Hyde Park Gate and gather what interesting facts we can. We want himnow on charges of wilful murder and of attempted murder."

  "How long will it be before I can get out?" I asked. "Well, the doctorlast night said you'd probably be in here another fortnight, at theleast."

  "A fortnight!" What might not happen to Ella in that time! WouldMiller's death change the current of events, I wondered?

  For poor Lucie I felt a deep sympathy, for she had regarded her fatheras her dearest friend, and had, I think, never suspected the dishonestmanner in which he made his income.

  Himes was a clever scoundrel, without a doubt. He had thoroughly misleda shrewd, far-seeing man like Miller, as well as myself, by his suavemanner and easy-going American _bonhomie_.

  "And now you'd better rest again," said the inspector to me. "Don'tworry over the affair any more to-day. Leave it to us. When we findthis interesting American, who gives his friends poisoned whisky, we'lllet you know."

  I thanked all three, and they withdrew.

  A moment later, however, the detective who had spoken returned to me,and leaning over the bed said in a low, confidential whisper so thatnone could hear:--

  "The dead man--Mr Miller--he bore rather a bad reputation, didn't he?Was a bit of a mystery, I mean? Now, tell me the truth."

  "What do you mean?" I asked, in feigned surprise.

  "Well, you know what we mean when we say that," he exclaimed, smiling."I don't know how intimate you were with him, but the fact is that thebody's been identified as that of a man we've wanted for a very longtime. He was generally known as Milner, and lived on the Continent agood deal. The French police sent us his photograph and descriptionnearly three years ago. This is it." And he showed me in secret anunmounted police portrait taken in two positions, full face and sideface.

  "This surprises me," I said. "Of course I've never had anything to dowith his business. Indeed, although I knew his daughter well, I onlyknew him very slightly."

  "Oh, his daughter's all right. We have no suspicion of her."

  "Then for her sake I hope you won't reveal to her the truth concerningher father. If he is wanted she need never know. What use is it torevile the dead?"

  "Of course not, Mr Leaf," replied the officer. "I've got a daughter ofher age myself, therefore if the truth can possibly be kept from herI'll keep it. Rely on me. Now," he added, lowering his voice, "tellme--did you ever suspect Miller of being a thief?"

  "Well," I said hesitatingly, "to tell you the truth I did. Not so muchfrom his actions as from the friends he kept. Besides, a friend of mineonce declared to me that he was a black sheep."

  "My dear sir, if our information is true, he was wanted upon twentydifferent charges, of fraud, forgery, theft, and other things. A reportfrom Italy is that he was chief of a very dangerous international gang.Himes may have been one of his accomplices, and quarrelled with him. Infact that's my present theory. But we shall see."

  "Remember your promise regarding Miss Lucie," I urged.

  "I'll not forget, never fear," was the detective's answer, and he turnedand rejoined the other at the end of the ward.

  I had only admitted my suspicions in order to make friends with theofficer, and in the hope of preventing him revealing the truth to poorLucie.

  About six o'clock that evening I opened my eyes and found my neat littlefriend, pale and tearful, standing by my bedside.

  She tried to speak, but only burst into a flood of tears.

  I took her hand and held it, while the nurse, realising the situation,placed a chair for her.

  "You know the terrible blow that has fallen upon me!" she faltered, in alow voice. "My poor father!"

  "They have told me," I answered, in sympathy. "How can I sufficientlyexpress my regret!"

  She shook her head in sorrow, and her great dark eyes met mine.

  "Blow after blow has fallen upon me," she sighed. "This is theheaviest!"

  "I know, Miss Lucie," I said. "But you must bear up against theterrible misfortune. We were both victims of an ingenious blackguard.What did you know of the fellow? I was under the impression that he wasyour friend?"

  "Friend!" she echoed. "He always pretended to be--and yet he killed mypoor father in secret, and tried also to take your life."

  "He believed me to be a friend of your father's," I said, "He told me sowhen I accused him of having poisoned me--he said his intention was tokill all your father's friends, one by one."

  "He said that!" she gasped. "He actually told you that!"

  "Yes. He admitted that he had poisoned me, and laughed in my face," Ianswered. "But who is he? Where did you know him?"

  "He was once my father's most intimate friend."

  And while she bent over my bed, her blanched, haggard face near mine asshe spoke, another figure came between myself and the light.

  I turned, and saw that it was my friend the detective, while Lucie alsorecognised and greeted him instantly.

  "As I was passing, I thought I'd just drop in and tell you, feeling sureyou'd be interested," he said, addressing me; "the fact is that thisafternoon we've made a most amazing discovery. Perhaps you will be ableto throw some light upon it. At present it is a complete and profoundmystery."

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

  NEEDS SOME EXPLANATION.

  "What is it?" I asked anxiously.

  "Well," said the officer, looking meaningly at me, "I would rather speakwith you alone."

  "You mean that you want me to go away," exclaimed Lucie quickly. "Haveyou discovered anything further regarding my poor father's death?"

  "No, miss. Unfortunately not. I want to consult Mr Leaf in private--only for a few minutes."

  "Certainly," she said; and, rising, passed along the ward and out intothe corridor.

  "Well?" I inquired. "What is it?"

  "Something that closely concerns yourself, Mr Leaf," he said, with acurious expression upon his face. "Perhaps you will explain it."

  "Explain what?"

  "The reason the Italian people have sent an agent over here to apply foryour arrest and extradition upon the charge of murdering a policeofficer in a villa at Tivoli, near Rome."

  "They've done that!" I gasped, recollecting, however, that I had showedmy revolver licence to the carabineer, and therefore they knew my propername and description.

  "Yes. And there is a second point which requires clearing up," he said,rather severely. "You told me that you were only slightly acquaintedwith this man Miller, whereas it has been established by the Italianpolice that he was at that villa with you."

  "How established?"

  "It appears, as far as we can gather from the police agent sent fromRome, that a young man of very bad character was seen
in the vicinity ofthe villa on the night of the affair, and was afterwards arrested inRome. He gave the description of one of his accomplices, an Englishman,and it proves to have been the man Miller, whom the Italian police, likeourselves, have wanted for a long time. So you see what a seriouscharge there is against you."

  "I quite see it," I answered, utterly amazed that I should find such anallegation against me, after I had congratulated myself upon my cleverescape.

  "The Italian police ask for the arrest of both yourself and Miller."

  "Well, they won't arrest him, at any rate," I said. "And I doubtwhether they will arrest me when I tell the whole story. You say theyhave made only one arrest in Rome?" I added.

  "Only one."

  Then Dr Gavazzi was still at liberty. He had decamped and was in someplace of safety with those packets of bank-notes with which his pocketshad bulged.

  It certainly seemed as though I was to be placed under arrest a secondtime. Formal application had been made to Scotland Yard, and the factthat I had admitted acquaintance with Miller, a known thief, did notallow them any alternative but to obey.

  The detective told me that, whereupon I asked to speak with the ItalianAgent.

  "I'll bring him to you in an hour's time, or so," was the inspector'sanswer, and when he had gone Lucie returned to my side.

  "You are upset, Mr Leaf. What has he discovered? Anything startling?"

  "No," was my response. "Only a fact that surprises me. Really nothingwhich has any important bearing upon the affair. Ah!" I sighed, "how Ilong to be strong enough to leave this place and to see Ella. Will youendeavour to see her? Tell her I am here. I must see her--must, youunderstand."

  "I'll go straight to Porchester Terrace," she promised. "But if you seethat man Gordon-Wright say nothing. Do not mention me, remember."

  "I quite understand." And as the nurse approached, Lucie took my hand,bending for a moment over my bed, and then left me.

  An hour later my friend the detective was again at my bedside,accompanied by a short, thick-set, black-bearded little man, typicallyItalian.

  "I hear you have been sent to England to effect my arrest," I exclaimedin his own language.

  "That is so, signore, though I much regret it."

  "You need not regret. You are only doing your duty," I said. "But Imerely wish to assure you that I have no intention of trying to escapeyou. In fact, I couldn't walk the length of this room at present tosave my life. I'm too weak. But before you place a constable on dutyhere, I would ask you one favour."

  "What is that?"

  "To convey a letter for me to the secretary at the Italian Embassy inGrosvenor Square. He will give you instructions regarding me."

  "Then you are known at the Embassy!" the police agent exclaimed, insurprise.

  "I think you will find that I am."

  The nurse brought a pen, ink and a sheet of paper, upon which aftergreat difficulty I wrote a note recalling my confidential visitregarding Nardini's death, and explaining that the police were in errorin thinking that I had any hand in the death of the guardian of theVilla Verde. I had been at the villa, I admitted, but out of curiosity,as I had watched the action of Miller and his companions. If any onewere sent to me from the Embassy, I said, I would make a confidentialstatement.

  When I had sealed the letter, the police agent took it, and next morningI received a call from the official with whom I had had a chat on theoccasion of my visit to the Embassy. To him I explained the wholecircumstances in strictest confidence, and described the secrethiding-place in the dead man's library where were concealed a number ofofficial papers that were evidently of great importance.

  He heard me to the end, and afterwards reassured me by saying:--

  "We have already given the police _commissario_ instructions not to takeany further steps against you, Mr Leaf. We quite accept yourexplanation, and at the same time thank you for this further informationyou are able to give us. A search shall be made at the spot youindicate."

  And then I took a piece of paper and pencil, and drew a plan of theconcealed cupboard and how to open the panel.

  Shortly after the Embassy official had left the police agent againvisited me, presented his apologies for having disturbed me, and thenthroughout the day I remained alone with my own apprehensive thoughtsregarding Ella.

  She was prevented from coming to me on account of that man in whom shewent in such deadly terror. Nothing had yet got into the papersconcerning the dastardly attempt upon me, for the police had been verycareful to keep it from those inquisitive gentlemen-of-the-press whocalled at the hospital every few hours to gather news of the latestaccidents or tragedies. But if Lucie had told her I knew how alarmedand anxious she would be. She loved me--ah, yes, she loved me. Of thatI felt confident.

  Yet would she ever be mine? Was it the end--the end of all? Was theold sweet life of that summer beside the sea dead and gone for evermore?Should I never see a red rose, her favourite flower, bloom upon itsbush without this sickness of soul upon me? Should I never smell thesalt of the sea, or drink the cornfields' breaths on a moonlit nightwithout this madness of memory that is worse than all death?

  Was she lost to me--lost to me for ever?

  I forgot that the inquest upon Miller was to be held that afternoon, andthat Lucie was the principal witness. The Coroner, a sharp-featured,grey-bearded man, came to my bedside, and with a clerk and the foremanof the jury, put me upon oath and took my evidence--evidence to theeffect that I had dined in company with the deceased at the American'sflat. I explained how our host had mixed those final drinks--draughtsthat he intended should be fatal.

  Then when I had concluded by declaring that I had no previous knowledgeof Himes, the Coroner made me sign the statement, and returned to wherethe jury awaited him.

  The Coroner's officer, a police-sergeant in uniform, told me that theywere taking precautions to keep the affair out of the papers, as theyfeared that the publication of the evidence might defeat their effortsto trace Himes.

  Shortly after five o'clock Lucie came again, looking pale and agitatedafter the ordeal of giving evidence. A verdict of "death from poisonwilfully administered" had been returned.

  The Coroner and jury had questioned her closely regarding her father'smode of life and his recent movements. Of the latter she was, ofcourse, unaware. She only knew that he had been called unexpectedly toRome, and had returned direct to England. Of the reason of his flyingvisit to Italy she was entirely unaware. He seldom, she said, ever toldher about his own affairs, being naturally a close man regardingeverything that concerned himself.

  "They asked me about the man Himes," she said, as she sat by my bedside,"and I was compelled to tell them how he had once been poor dad's mostintimate friend."

  "Did he ever meet Ella, do you think?" I asked suddenly.

  "Never to my knowledge. Why?"

  "I was only wondering--that's all. Perhaps he knew Gordon-Wright."

  "I believe he did. They met one night when we were living in rooms atFulham, if I recollect aright, and about six months later they went fora holiday together in Germany."

  "Did you ever meet that Italian doctor Gennaro Gavazzi who lived inRome?"

  She looked at me with a quick suspicion that she was unable to disguise.

  "Why do you ask that?" she inquired, without reply to my question.

  "Because he was a friend of your father's. You told me so. I once knewhim slightly," I added, in order to reassure her.

  "And you didn't know much good concerning him, eh?" she asked, lookingat me apprehensively.

  "He was private secretary to Nardini, I believe, was he not?"

  "Yes, and his factotum. He did all his dirty work--a scoundrel of thevery first water."

  "And yet your father was very friendly with him. He has been staying inRome with him."

  "I believe he did. But I could never discover why poor dad was so fondof that man's society. To me, it was always a mystery."
And then shewent on, in a low, broken voice, to describe to me all that had occurredat the inquest.

  "There was a short, dark-bearded Italian present who asked me quite anumber of questions regarding poor old dad. I wonder who he was."

  "One of your father's Italian friends most probably," I said, reassuringher, for I did not wish her to learn that the man was a police agentfrom Rome seeking to establish the dead man's identity. "But," I added,suddenly changing the subject because she had grown despairing, "youhave told me nothing of Ella. Did you go to Porchester Terrace lastnight, as you promised?"

  "I did, but she has left London with her father. She returned toWichenford the day before yesterday."

  "Gone! And where is Gordon-Wright?"

  "All I've been able to find out is that he is absent from London. Icalled myself at his rooms in Half Moon Street, and his man told me thathe was out of town--on the Continent, he believes, but is not certain."

  "Or he may be with my love," I remarked bitterly, clenching my hands inmy fierce antagonism. For me nothing lived or breathed save one life,that of my love; for her alone the sun shone and set.

  The days dragged wearily by, for I was still kept in the hospital. Theshock my system had suffered had been a terrible one, and according tothe doctors it had been little short of a miracle that my life had beensaved.

  The funeral of Mr Miller, attended by his sister and three otherfriends, had taken place, and Lucie had accompanied her aunt back toStudland, taking with her all the dead man's effects.

  She had said nothing about the large sum in Italian bank-notes