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."