two mysteries.
my first recollections were of endeavouring to see through a blood-red cloud that hid everything from my distorted vision.
the pains in my head and through my spine were excruciating, while my throat burned as though it had been skinned by molten lead poured down it. i tried to speak, but my tongue refused to move. i could articulate no sound.
i felt the presence of persons about me, people who moved and spoke softly as though in fear of awaking me. my eyes were, i believe, wide-open, and yet i could not see.
some liquid was forced between my teeth by an unseen hand, and i drank it eagerly, for it was deliciously cold and refreshing.
then i fell asleep again, and i believe i must have remained unconscious for a long time.
when at last i opened my eyes, i found myself in a narrow, hospital bed. a row of men in other beds were before me, and a nurse in uniform was approaching from the opposite side of the ward.
i turned my head, and saw that a rather plain-faced nurse was seated beside me, holding my hand, her finger, i believe, upon my pulse, while on the opposite side sat a bald-headed man in uniform—a police constable.
“where am i?” i managed to ask the nurse.
“in st. george’s hospital, and you may congratulate yourself that you’ve had 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 you the night before last on a seat in kensington gardens. there was this empty 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 the trick,” was the man’s reply. “you’ve got the ’orspitel people to thank for 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 a statement to your inspector. i could tell him something that would interest him.”
“not now, not now,” protested the nurse. “you’re not strong enough. go to sleep again. you’ll be better this evening.”
“well, will you ask the inspector to come and see me this evening?” i urged.
“all right, sir. i’ll see ’im when i go off duty, and tell ’im what you say.”
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 my bedside.
“well?” he said gruffly. “you want to see me—to say something? what is 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,” was his reply.
“i have not made a fool of myself,” i declared. “a deliberate attempt was made upon my life by an american named george himes, who had a flat at hyde park gate. i never went into kensington gardens. i must have been 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 flat with my friend james harding miller and his daughter, who were staying at 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 hyde park 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 of these people. what’s your name and address?”
i told him, and he wrote it down in his pocket-book. then he left, and so weak was i that the exertions of speaking had exhausted me.
my one thought was of ella. i cared nothing for myself, but was filled with chagrin that just at the moment when i ought to be active in rescuing her from the trap into which she had fallen i had been reduced to impotence. through the whole night i lay awake thinking of her. twice we were disturbed by the police bringing in “accidents,” and then towards 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 constable dozed in his chair, his hands clasped before him and his tunic unloosened at the collar. just, however, before i dropped off to sleep another constable stole in on tiptoe and called him outside. whether he came back i don’t know, for i dozed off and did not wake again until the nurse came to take my temperature, and i found it was morning.
i was surprised to see that the constable was no longer there, but supposed that he had gone outside into the corridor to gossip, as he very often did.
at eleven o’clock, however, the inspector came along the ward, followed by 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 tales that we grow to disbelieve anything they say. you notice that you’re no longer in custody. i withdrew the man at five this morning as soon as i had 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 i ought to tell you.”
“yes. tell me—tell me everything.”
“well, i’ll do so if you promise to remain quite calm—if you assure me that 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 to have 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 at the house of this american.”
“and lucie, his daughter?”
“she is well, though prostrated by grief. i have seen and questioned her,” was his answer. “she is greatly distressed to hear that you were here.”
“did you give her my message?”
“yes. she has promised to come and see you this afternoon. i would not allow her to come before,” the inspector said. “from her statement, it seems that on leaving the house in hyde park gate she and her father walked along kensington gore to the cab-rank outside the albert hall, and entering a hansom told the man to drive to the buckingham palace hotel. ten minutes later, when outside the knightsbridge barracks, mr miller complained of feeling very unwell, and attributed it to something he had eaten not being quite fresh. he told his daughter that he had a strange sensation down his spine, and that in his jaws were tetanic convulsions. she grew alarmed, but he declared that when he reached the hotel he would call a doctor. five minutes later, however, he was in terrible agony, and the young lady ordered the cab to stop at the next chemist’s. they pulled up before the one close to the corner of sloane street, but the gentleman was then in a state of collapse and unable to descend. the chemist saw the gravity of the case and told the man to drive on here—to this hospital. he accompanied the sufferer, who, before his arrival here, had breathed his last. the body was therefore taken 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 neurotic poison, in all probability the akazza bean, a poison whose reactions must resemble those of strychnia—in all probability the same as was administered to you.”
“poor miller!” i exclaimed, for even though he were a thief he possessed certain good qualities, and was always chivalrous where women were concerned. “could nothing be done to save him?”
“all was done that could possibly be done. the chemist at knightsbridge gave him all he could to resuscitate him, but without avail. he had taken such a large dose that he was beyond human aid from the very first. the doctors are only surprised that he could walk so far before feeling the effects of the poison.”
“it was a vendetta—a fierce and terrible revenge,” i said, in wonder who that man himes might be. that he owed a grudge against miller and his accomplices was plain, but for what reason was a mystery.
“a vendetta!” exclaimed one of the detectives who had been listening to our 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 would serve all miller’s friends in the same way. it was the more extraordinary, as i had not known the fellow more than four or five hours.”
“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-clothes officer remarked. “whatever he put into miller’s drink was carefully measured to produce death within a certain period, while that given to you 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 to prevent you both being struck down together, and secondly he intended that it should appear that you had committed suicide. miss miller does not 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 the house.”
“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,” laughed the detective. “at any rate we’ll have a look about the neighbourhood of hyde park gate and gather what interesting facts we can. we want him now on charges of wilful murder and of attempted murder.”
“how long will it be before i can get out?” i asked. “well, the doctor last night said you’d probably be in here another fortnight, at the least.”
“a fortnight!” what might not happen to ella in that time! would miller’s death change the current of events, i wondered?
for poor lucie i felt a deep sympathy, for she had regarded her father as her dearest friend, and had, i think, never suspected the dishonest manner in which he made his income.
himes was a clever scoundrel, without a doubt. he had thoroughly misled a shrewd, far-seeing man like miller, as well as myself, by his suave manner and easy-going american bonhomie.
“and now you’d better rest again,” said the inspector to me. “don’t worry over the affair any more to-day. leave it to us. when we find this interesting american, who gives his friends poisoned whisky, we’ll let 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 that none 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 the body’s been identified as that of a man we’ve wanted for a very long time. he was generally known as milner, and lived on the continent a good deal. the french police sent us his photograph and description nearly three years ago. this is it.” and he showed me in secret an unmounted police portrait taken in two positions, full face and side face.
“this surprises me,” i said. “of course i’ve never had anything to do with his business. indeed, although i knew his daughter well, i only knew 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 concerning her father. if he is wanted she need never know. what use is it to revile the dead?”
“of course not, mr leaf,” replied the officer. “i’ve got a daughter of her age myself, therefore if the truth can possibly be kept from her i’ll keep it. rely on me. now,” he added, lowering his voice, “tell me—did you ever suspect miller of being a thief?”
“well,” i said hesitatingly, “to tell you the truth i did. not so much from his actions as from the friends he kept. besides, a friend of mine once declared to me that he was a black sheep.”
“my dear sir, if our information is true, he was wanted upon twenty different charges, of fraud, forgery, theft, and other things. a report from italy is that he was chief of a very dangerous international gang. himes may have been one of his accomplices, and quarrelled with him. in fact 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 turned and rejoined the other at the end of the ward.
i had only admitted my suspicions in order to make friends with the officer, and in the hope of preventing him revealing the truth to poor lucie.
about six o’clock that evening i opened my eyes and found my neat little friend, 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 a low voice. “my poor father!”
“they have told me,” i answered, in sympathy. “how can i sufficiently express 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 the heaviest!”
“i know, miss lucie,” i said. “but you must bear up against the terrible misfortune. we were both victims of an ingenious blackguard. what did you know of the fellow? i was under the impression that he was your friend?”
“friend!” she echoed. “he always pretended to be—and yet he killed my poor 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 so when i accused him of having poisoned me—he said his intention was to kill 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,” i answered. “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 as she spoke, another figure came between myself and the light.
i turned, and saw that it was my friend the detective, while lucie also recognised and greeted him instantly.
“as i was passing, i thought i’d just drop in and tell you, feeling sure you’d be interested,” he said, addressing me; “the fact is that this afternoon we’ve made a most amazing discovery. perhaps you will be able to throw some light upon it. at present it is a complete and profound mystery.”
