The Mysterious Mr. Miller

For a few moments she was silent, hesitating to explain. I saw by her face that something had puzzled her. We had so quickly become friends, and our friendship had been cemented by our mutual acquaintanceship with Ella Murray, that we had found ourselves speaking perfectly frankly as though we had known each other for years.

“Well – will you pardon me for asking you a rather impertinent question, Mr Leaf?” she said.

“Why, certainly.”

“You’ll perhaps think me curiously inquisitive, but how long were you with Ella in the avenue after you left last night?”

“About half an hour.”

“Not more?”

“No. I can fix it, because I noted the time by that long grandfather clock in the hall as we went out, and I looked at my watch when I got back to the inn. I was three-quarters of an hour in getting back to Studland.”

“That’s rather strange,” she remarked, with a distinct note of suspicion in her voice.

“Why?”

“Well – because Ella was gone nearly two hours and a half. My father went to bed, and I remained up for her. Wasn’t she with you?”

“Certainly not,” was my prompt answer, much surprised at her statement.

“Then something must have occurred after she left you,” my companion said.

“After she left me! What do you mean?”

“A very long time elapsed before her return,” Lucie remarked. “She may have been alone – but I think not.”

“Who was with her?”

“How can we tell?”

“But what causes you to think that Ella was not alone?”

“By her strange manner when she returned. She was pale and breathless, as though she had been hurrying, and although she had pinned it up I noticed that the sleeve of her blouse was torn, and that her wrist bore dark marks as though she had had a desperate struggle with some one.”

“Was she attacked by some tramp or other, I wonder?” I cried, amazed.

“She refused to tell me anything save that she was rather upset. She seemed in great fear that my father should have knowledge of the affair, and made me faithfully promise not to tell him. Her hair was awry, and some of the lace at the throat was torn as though some person had seized her and tried to strangle her. Indeed, while speaking to me she placed her hand at her throat, as if it pained her. Alarmed at her appearance, I inquired what was the matter, but she would only tell me vaguely that she was not very well. I at once jumped to the conclusion that you had quarrelled.”

“We certainly had no quarrel, Miss Miller,” I quickly reassured her.

“Then it is evident that she was attacked by some one! Yet it is curious that, intimate friends that we are, she would tell me nothing of the incident.”

“She wished to shield her assailant, perhaps,” I remarked, much puzzled.

“It certainly seems so. Seeing her so pale, and believing her about to faint, I took her to the dining-room and gave her some brandy. She sipped it, and a moment afterwards burst into tears. I sat with her for nearly half an hour trying to learn the mystery of her unhappiness. I asked her quite frankly if she had quarrelled with you, but she replied in the negative. Under the light, as she sat in the dining-room, I remarked the great change in her. Her countenance was pale as death, her lips white, and her eyes bore a look of terror in them. She was undoubtedly in great fear. But of what, I am unable to tell.”

“Your surmise is, no doubt, correct. She met some one unexpectedly – some one who attacked her. I wonder who it is?”

“She was evidently followed here this evening, and was, perhaps, seen walking with you. Your conversation, as you walked down to the lodge, might have been overheard.”

“Probably. But surely, Miss Miller, the incidents of last night were very remarkable ones. I followed you and I met my love. And then, just at the moment of my re-found happiness, she has gone again without a word. Indeed, when I reflect, the incidents of last night hardly seem real. I find myself doubting whether it was not all a dream, and would really hesitate to believe in its reality if you, too, had not been present – if you, too, had not seen and spoken with her.”

“Yes, it is curious – very curious. I was quite as startled by her sudden appearance as you were. It is inexplicable. I, too, believed she was dead. I heard so from half a dozen people, and I can’t help thinking, Mr Leaf, that there was some deep ulterior motive in spreading such a report concerning her.”

“She’s a mystery,” I declared; “a complete mystery.”

“She is – and yet do you not find her far more beautiful than in the old days? I do.”

“Perhaps her beauty is fatal – like that of so many women,” I sighed. “The source of many a woman’s unhappiness is to be found in her face.”

“Last night tragedy was written deeply upon hers,” my companion said, in a low, sympathetic voice. “I wonder what has occurred?”

I, too, wondered. Her firm refusal to allow me to kiss her upon the lips showed her either to be in deadly fear of the jealousy of another; or that she was true to the vow she had given, even though she still loved me. Yet who could be this person whom she had undoubtedly met after we had parted? Why had he attacked her? Why had she fled again so quickly? Was she in fear of some one who was still lurking in the vicinity? A sense of deadly chilliness stole over me.

The whole affair was, indeed, a mystery, yet not so utterly bewildering as were certain of the events which followed – events which were so strange and startling that they formed a problem that was for so long beyond solution.

Being so passionately devoted to Ella I determined to follow her, demand an explanation of the attack upon her and seek to discover the identity of her unknown lover – the man whom she had admitted to me she was to marry under compulsion.

I had risen from my chair, expressing my intention of driving into Swanage in the hope that she had not already left, when the door opened, and a dark, well-dressed man about forty, clean-shaven, having the appearance of a naval officer and dressed in a dark grey flannel suit, came forward with extended hand to my companion, wishing her good-morning.

From his easy manner I saw that he was a guest in the house, although on the previous night I had not seen him.

“Will you allow me to introduce you?” Lucie said, and next instant presented the newcomer to me as “My father’s friend, Mr Gordon-Wright.”

The visitor turned to take the hand I extended to him, and raised his eyes to mine.

The conventional greeting and assurance of pleasure at the meeting froze upon my lips.

We had met before – under circumstances that were, to say the least, both startling and strange.

In that instant I recognised how that the mystery had deepened a thousandfold.

Chapter Seventeen

What Happened in the Night

Whether the recognition had been mutual I was unable to decide.

If it had the newcomer made no sign, but extended his hand and greeted me, while I, striving to remain unconcerned, returned his welcome.

“Your father tells me he’s driving over to Swanage at half-past ten, Miss Lucie. Are you coming with us?” he asked, as he lounged with his hands deep in his jacket pockets, and an after-breakfast cigarette between his lips.

“I don’t think so,” was her reply. “I’m lunching with the Strong girls.”

“Oh, do come,” urged the dark-faced man. “You’d be back before one. You promised me yesterday that you’d drive me somewhere.”

“So I will – to-morrow, perhaps.”