The Mysterious Mr. Miller

“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.”