MILBURGH'S STORY
"I do not intend," said Mr. Milburgh in his best oracular manner,
"describing all the events which preceded the death of the late Thornton
Lyne. Nor will I go to any length to deal with his well-known and even
notorious character. He was not a good employer; he was suspicious,
unjust, and in many ways mean. Mr. Lyne was, I admit, suspicious of me.
He was under the impression that I had robbed the firm of very
considerable sums of money--a suspicion which I in turn had long
suspected, and had confirmed by a little conversation which I overheard
on the first day I had the pleasure of seeing you, Mr. Tarling."
Tarling remembered that fatal day when Milburgh had come into the office
at the moment that Lyne was expressing his views very freely about his
subordinate.
"Of course, gentlemen," said Milburgh, "I do not for one moment admit
that I robbed the firm, or that I was guilty of any criminal acts. I
admit there were certain irregularities, certain carelessnesses, for
which I was morally responsible; and beyond that I admit nothing. If you
are making a note"--he turned to Whiteside, who was taking down the
statement in shorthand, "I beg of you to make a special point of my
denial. Irregularities and carelessnesses," he repeated carefully.
"Beyond that I am not prepared to go."
"In other words, you are not confessing anything?"
"I am not confessing anything," agreed Mr. Milburgh with heavy gravity.
"It is sufficient that Mr. Lyne suspected me, and that he was prepared
to employ a detective in order to trace my defalcations, as he termed
them. It is true that I lived expensively, that I own two houses, one in
Camden Town and one at Hertford; but then I had speculated on the Stock
Exchange and speculated very wisely.
"But I am a sensitive man, gentlemen; and the knowledge that I was
responsible for certain irregularities preyed upon my mind. Let us say,
for example, that I knew somebody had been robbing the firm, but that I
was unable to detect that somebody. Would not the fact that I was morally
responsible for the finances of Lyne's Stores cause me particular
unhappiness?"
"You speak like a book," said Whiteside, "and I for one don't believe a
word you say. I think you were a thief, Milburgh; but go on your own
sweet way."
"I thank you," said Mr. Milburgh sarcastically. "Well, gentlemen, matters
had come to a crisis. I felt my responsibility. I knew somebody had been
robbing the house and I had an idea that possibly I would be suspected,
and that those who were dear to me"--his voice shook for a moment, broke,
and grew husky--"those who were dear to me," he repeated, "would be
visited with my sins of omission.
"Miss Odette Rider had been dismissed from the firm of Lyne's Stores in
consequence of her having rejected the undesirable advances of the late
Mr. Lyne. Mr. Lyne turned the whole weight of his rage against this girl,
and that gave me an idea.
"The night after the interview--or it may have been the same night--I
refer to the interview which Mr. Tarling had with the late Thornton
Lyne--I was working late at the office. I was, in fact, clearing up Mr.
Lyne's desk. I had occasion to leave the office, and on my return found
the place in darkness. I re-connected the light, and then discovered on
the desk a particularly murderous looking revolver.
"In the statement I made to you, sir," he turned to Tarling, "I said that
that pistol had not been found by me; and indeed, I professed the
profoundest ignorance of its existence. I regret to confess to you that I
was telling an untruth. I did find the pistol; I put it in my pocket and
I took it home. It is probable that with that pistol Mr. Lyne was fatally
shot."
Tarling nodded.
"I hadn't the slightest doubt about that, Milburgh. You also had another
automatic pistol, purchased subsequent to the murder from John Wadham's
of Holborn Circus."
Mr. Milburgh bowed his head.
"That is perfectly true, sir," he said. "I have such a weapon. I live a
very lonely kind of life, and----"
"You need not explain. I merely tell you," said Tarling, "that I know
where you got the pistol with which you shot at me on the night I brought
Odette Rider back from Ashford."
Mr. Milburgh closed his eyes and there was resignation written largely on
his face--the resignation of an ill-used and falsely-accused man.
"I think it would be better not to discuss controversial subjects," he
said. "If you will allow me, I will keep to the facts."
Tarling could have laughed at the sublime impertinence of the man, but
that he was growing irritable with the double strain which was being
imposed upon him. It was probable that, had not this man accused Odette
Rider of the murder, he would have left him to make his confession to
Whiteside, and have gone alone in his hopeless search for the taxicab
driven by Sam Stay.
"To resume," continued Mr. Milburgh, "I took the revolver home. You will
understand that I was in a condition of mind bordering upon a nervous
breakdown. I felt my responsibilities very keenly, and I felt that if Mr.
Lyne would not accept my protestations of innocence, there was nothing
left for me but to quit this world."
"In other words, you contemplated suicide?" said Whiteside.
"You have accurately diagnosed the situation," said Milburgh ponderously.
"Miss Rider had been dismissed, and I was on the point of ruin. Her
mother would be involved in the crash--those were the thoughts which ran
through my mind as I sat in my humble dining-room in Camden Town. Then
the idea flashed upon me. I wondered whether Odette Rider loved her
mother sufficiently well to make the great sacrifice, to take full
responsibility for the irregularities which had occurred in the accounts'
department of Lyne's Stores, and clear away to the Continent until the
matter blew over. I intended seeing her the next day, but I was still
doubtful as to whether she would fall in with my views. Young people
nowadays," he said sententiously, "are terribly selfish."
"As it happened, I just caught her as she was leaving for Hertford, and
I put the situation before her. The poor girl was naturally shocked, but
she readily fell in with my suggestion and signed the confession which
you, Mr. Tarling, so thoughtfully burnt."
Whiteside looked at Tarling.
"I knew nothing of this," he said a little reproachfully.
"Go on," said Tarling. "I will explain that afterwards."
"I had previously wired the girl's mother that she would not be home that
night. I also wired to Mr. Lyne, asking him to meet me at Miss Rider's
flat. I took the liberty of fixing Miss Rider's name to the invitation,
thinking that that would induce him to come."
"It also covered you," said Tarling, "and kept your name out of the
business altogether."
"Yes," said Mr. Milburgh, as though the idea had not struck him before,
"yes, it did that. I had sent Miss Rider off in a hurry. I begged that
she would not go near the flat, and I promised that I myself would go
there, pack the necessary articles for the journey and take them down in
a taxi to Charing Cross."
"I see," said Tarling, "so it was you who packed the bag?"
"Half-packed it," corrected Mr. Milburgh. "You see, I'd made a mistake in
the time the train left. It was only when I was packing the bag that I
realised it was impossible for me to get down to the station in time. I
had made arrangements with Miss Rider that if I did not turn up I would
telephone to her a quarter of an hour before the train left. She was to
await me in the lounge of a near-by hotel. I had hoped to get to her at
least an hour before the train left, because I did not wish to attract
attention to myself, or," he added, "to Miss Rider. When I looked at my
watch, and realised that it was impossible to get down, I left the bag as
it was, half-packed and went outside to the tube station and telephoned."
"How did you get in and out?" asked Tarling. "The porter on duty at the
door said he saw nobody."
"I went out the back way," explained Mr. Milburgh. "It is really the
simplest thing in the world to get into Miss Rider's basement flat by
way of the mews behind. All the tenants have keys to the back door so
that they can bring their cycles in and out, or get in their coals."
"I know that," said Tarling. "Go on."
"I am a little in advance of the actual story," said Milburgh. "The
business of packing the bag takes my narrative along a little farther
than I intended it to go. Having said good-bye to Miss Rider, I passed
the rest of the evening perfecting my plans. It would serve no useful
purpose," said Milburgh with an airy wave of his hand, "if I were to tell
you the arguments I intended putting before him."
"If they did not include the betrayal of Miss Rider, I'm a Dutchman,"
said Tarling. "I pretty well know the arguments you intended using."
"Then, Mr. Tarling, allow me to congratulate you upon being a
thought-reader," said Milburgh, "because I have not revealed my secret
thoughts to any human being. However, that is beside the point. I
intended to plead with Mr. Lyne. I intended to offer him the record of
years of loyal service to his sainted father; and if the confession was
not accepted, and if he still persisted in his revengeful plan, then, Mr.
Tarling, I intended shooting myself before his eyes."
He said this with rare dramatic effect; but Tarling was unimpressed, and
Whiteside looked up from his notes with a twinkle in his eye.
"You hobby seems to be preparing for suicide and changing your mind," he
said.
"I am sorry to hear you speak so flippantly on a solemn subject," said
Milburgh. "As I say, I waited a little too long; but I was anxious for
complete darkness to fall before I made my way into the flat. This I did
easily because Odette had lent me her key. I found her bag with no
difficulty--it was in the dining-room on a shelf, and placing the case
upon her bed, I proceeded, as best I could, for I am not very familiar
with the articles of feminine toilette, to put together such things as I
knew she would require on the journey.
"I was thus engaged when, as I say, it occurred to me that I had
mistaken the time of the train, and, looking at my watch, I saw to my
consternation that I should not be able to get down to the station in
time. Happily I had arranged to call her up, as I have already told you."
"One moment," said Tarling. "How were you dressed?"
"How was I dressed? Let me think. I wore a heavy overcoat, I know," said
Mr. Milburgh, "for the night was chilly and a little foggy, if you
remember."
"Where was the revolver?"
"In the overcoat pocket," replied Milburgh immediately.
"Had you your overcoat on?"
Milburgh thought for a moment.
"No, I had not. I had hung it up on a hook at the foot of the bed, near
the alcove which I believe Miss Rider used as a wardrobe."
"And when you went out to telephone, had you your overcoat?"
"No, that I am perfectly certain about," said Milburgh readily. "I
remember thinking later how foolish it was to bring an overcoat out and
not use it."
"Go on," said Tarling.
"Well, I reached the station, called up the hotel, and to my surprise and
annoyance Miss Rider did not answer. I asked the porter who answered my
'phone call whether he had seen a young lady dressed in so-and-so waiting
in the lounge, and he replied 'no.' Therefore," said Mr. Milburgh
emphatically, "you will agree that it is possible that Miss Rider was not
either at the station or at the hotel, and there was a distinct
possibility that she had doubled back."
"We want the facts," interrupted Whiteside. "We have enough theories.
Tell us what happened. Then we will draw our own conclusions."
"Very good, sir," replied Milburgh courteously. "By the time I had
telephoned it was half-past nine o'clock. You will remember that I had
wired to Mr. Lyne to meet me at the flat at eleven. Obviously there was
no reason why I should go back to the flat until a few minutes before Mr.
Lyne was due, to let him in. You asked me just now, sir," he turned to
Tarling, "whether I had my overcoat on, and I can state most emphatically
that I had not. I was going back to the flat with the intention of
collecting my overcoat, when I saw a number of people walking about the
mews behind the block. I had no desire to attract attention, as I have
told you before, so I stood waiting until these people, who were
employees of a motor-car company which had a garage behind the flat,
had dispersed.
"Now, waiting at the corner of a mews on a cold spring night is a cold
business, and seeing that it would be some time before the mews would be
clear, I went back to the main street and strolled along until I came to
a picture palace. I am partial to cinematograph displays," explained Mr.
Milburgh, "and, although I was not in the mood for entertainment, yet I
thought the pictures would afford a pleasant attraction. I forget the
name of the film----"
"It is not necessary that you should tell us for the moment," said
Tarling. "Will you please make your story as short as possible?"
Milburgh was silent for a moment.
"I am coming now to the most extraordinary fact," he said, "and I would
ask you to bear in mind every detail I give you. It is to my interest
that the perpetrator of this terrible crime should be brought to
justice----"
Tarling's impatient gesture arrested his platitudes, but Mr. Milburgh was
in no way abashed.
"When I got back to the mews I found it deserted. Standing outside the
door leading to the storerooms and cellars was a two-seater car. There
was nobody inside or in attendance and I looked at it curiously, not
realising at the moment that it was Mr. Thornton Lyne's. What did
interest me was the fact that the back gate, which I had left locked, was
open. So, too, was the door leading to what I would call the underground
room--it was little better--through which one had to pass to reach
Odette's flat by the back way.
"I opened the door of the flat," said Mr. Milburgh impressively, "and
walked in. I had extinguished the light when I went, but to my surprise
I saw through the transom of Odette's bedroom that a light was burning
within. I turned the handle, and even before I saw into the room, my
nose was assailed by a smell of burning powder.
"The first sight which met my gaze was a man lying on the floor. He was
on his face, but I turned him over, and to my horror it was Mr. Thornton
Lyne. He was unconscious and bleeding from a wound in the chest," said
Mr. Milburgh, "and at the moment I thought he was dead. To say that I was
shocked would be mildly to describe my terrible agitation.
"My first thought--and first thoughts are sometimes right--was that he
had been shot down by Odette Rider, who for some reason had returned.
The room, however, was empty, and a curious circumstance, about which I
will tell you, was that the window leading out to the area of the flat
was wide open."
"It was protected with heavy bars," said Tarling, "so nobody could have
escaped that way."
"I examined the wound," Milburgh went on, nodding his agreement with
Tarling's description, "and knew that it was fatal. I do not think,
however, that Mr. Thornton Lyne was dead at this time. My next thought
was to stanch the wound, and I pulled open the drawer and took out the
first thing which came to my hand, which was a night-dress. I had to find
a pad and employed two of Odette's handkerchiefs for the purpose. First
of all I stripped him of his coat and his vest, a task of some
difficulty, then I fixed him up as best I could. I knew his case was
hopeless, and indeed I believe," said Mr. Milburgh soberly, "I believe
he was dead even before the bandaging was completed.
"Whilst I was doing something I found it was possible to forget the
terrible position in which I would find myself if somebody came into the
room. The moment I saw the case was hopeless, and had a second to think,
I was seized with a blind panic. I snatched my overcoat from the peg and
ran out of the room; through the back way into the mews, and reached
Camden Town that night, a mental and physical wreck."
"Did you leave the lights burning?" asked Tarling.
Mr. Milburgh thought for a moment.
"Yes," he said, "I left the lights burning."
"And you left the body in the flat?"
"That I swear," replied Milburgh.
"And the revolver--when you got home was it in your pocket?"
Mr. Milburgh shook his head.
"Why did you not notify the police?"
"Because I was afraid," admitted Mr. Milburgh. "I was scared to death. It
is a terrible confession to make, but I am a physical coward."
"There was nobody in the room?" persisted Tarling.
"Nobody so far as I could see. I tell you the window was open. You say it
is barred--that is true, but a very thin person could slip between those
bars. A woman----"
"Impossible," said Tarling shortly. "The bars have been very carefully
measured, and nothing bigger than a rabbit could get through. And you
have no idea who carried the body away?"
"None whatever," replied Milburgh firmly.
Tarling had opened his mouth to say something, when a telephone bell
shrilled, and he picked up the instrument from the table on which it
stood.
It was a strange voice that greeted him, a voice husky and loud, as
though it were unused to telephoning.
"Tarling the name?" shouted the voice quickly.
"That is my name," said Tarling.
"She's a friend of yours, ain't she?" asked the voice.
There was a chuckle. A cold shiver ran down Tarling's spine; for, though
he had never met the man, instinct told him that he was speaking to Sam
Stay.
"You'll find her to-morrow," screamed the voice, "what's left of her. The
woman who lured him on ... what's left of her...."
There was a click, and the receiver was hung up.
Tarling was working the telephone hook like a madman.
"What exchange was that?" he asked, and the operator after a moment
supplied the information that it was Hampstead.