The Mysterious Mr. Miller Part 45

"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 a.s.sure 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 gla.s.s. 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.