Tarling stooped down and released the cords which bound Milburgh to the couch. The stout man was white and shaking, and had to be lifted into a sitting position. He sat there on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands, for five minutes, and the two men watched him curiously. Tarling had made a careful examination of the cuts on his chest, and was relieved to discover that Ling Chu—he did not doubt that the Chinaman was responsible for Milburgh's plight—had not yet employed that terrible torture which had so often brought Chinese criminals to the verge of madness.
Whiteside picked up the clothes which Ling Chu had so systematically stripped from the man's body, and placed them on the bed by Milburgh's side. Then Tarling beckoned the other into the outer room.
"What does it all mean?" asked Whiteside.
"It means," said Tarling grimly, "that my friend, Ling Chu, has been trying to discover the murderer of Thornton Lyne by methods peculiarly Chinese. Happily he was interrupted, probably as a result of Milburgh telling him that Miss Odette Rider had been spirited away."
He looked back to the drooping figure by the side of the bed.
"He's a little bigger than I," he said, "but I think some of my clothes will fit him."
He made a hasty search of his wardrobe and came back with an armful of clothes.
"Come, Milburgh," he said, "rouse yourself and dress."
The man looked up, his lower lip trembling pathetically.
"I rather think these clothes, though they may be a bad fit, will suit you a little better than your clerical garb," said Tarling sardonically.
Without a word, Milburgh took the clothes in his arms, and they left him to dress. They heard his heavy footfall, and presently the door opened and he came weakly into the sitting-room and dropped into a chair.
"Do you feel well enough to go out now?" asked Whiteside.
"Go out?" said Milburgh, looking up in alarm. "Where am I to go?"
"To Cannon Row Police Station," said the practical Whiteside. "I have a warrant for your arrest, Milburgh, on a charge of wilful murder, arson, forgery, and embezzlement."
"Wilful murder!" Milburgh's voice was high and squeaky and his shaking hands went to his mouth. "You cannot charge me with wilful murder. No, no, no! I swear to you I am innocent!"
"Where did you see Thornton Lyne last?" asked Tarling, and the man made a great effort to compose himself.
"I saw him last alive in his office," he began.
"When did you see Thornton Lyne last?" asked Tarling again. "Alive or dead."
Milburgh did not reply. Presently Whiteside dropped his hand on the man's shoulder and looked across at Tarling.
"Come along," he said briskly. "It is my duty as a police officer to warn you that anything you now say will be taken down and used as evidence against you at your trial."
"Wait, wait!" said Milburgh. His voice was husky and thick. He looked round. "Can I have a glass of water?" he begged, licking his dry lips.
Tarling brought the refreshment, which the man drank eagerly. The water seemed to revive something of his old arrogant spirit, for he got up from his chair, jerked at the collar of his ill-fitting coat—it was an old shooting-coat of Tarling's—and smiled for the first time.
"I think, gentlemen," he said with something of his old airiness, "you will have a difficulty in proving that I am concerned in the murder of Thornton Lyne. You will have as great a difficulty in proving that I had anything to do with the burning down of Solomon's office—I presume that constitutes the arson charge? And most difficult of all will be your attempt to prove that I was concerned in robbing the firm of Thornton Lyne. The lady who robbed that firm has already made a confession, as you, Mr. Tarling, are well aware." He smiled at the other, but Tarling met his eye.
"I know of no confession," he said steadily.
Mr. Milburgh inclined his head with a smirk. Though he still bore the physical evidence of the bad time through which he had been, he had recovered something of his old confidence.
"The confession was burnt," he said, "and burnt by you, Mr. Tarling. And now I think your bluff has gone on long enough."
"My bluff!" said Tarling, in his turn astonished. "What do you mean by bluff?"
"I am referring to the warrant which you suggest has been issued for my arrest," said Milburgh.
"That's no bluff." It was Whiteside who spoke, and he produced from his pocket a folded sheet of paper, which he opened and displayed under the eyes of the man. "And in case of accidents," said Whiteside, and deftly slipped a pair of handcuffs upon the man's wrists.
It may have been Milburgh's overweening faith in his own genius. It may have been, and probably was, a consciousness that he had covered his trail too well to be detected. One or other of these causes had kept him up, but now he collapsed. To Tarling it was amazing that the man had maintained this show of bravado to the last, though in his heart he knew that the Crown had a very poor case against Milburgh if the charge of embezzlement and arson were proceeded with. It was on the murder alone that a conviction could be secured; and this Milburgh evidently realised, for he made no attempt in the remarkable statement which followed to do more than hint that he had been guilty of robbing the firm. He sat huddled up in his chair, his manacled hands clasped on the table before him, and then with a jerk sat upright.
"If you'll take off these things, gentlemen," he said, jangling the connecting chain of the handcuffs, "I will tell you something which may set your mind at rest on the question of Thornton Lyne's death."
Whiteside looked at his superior questioningly, and Tarling nodded. A few seconds later the handcuffs had been removed, and Mr. Milburgh was soothing his chafed wrists.
The psychologist who attempted to analyse the condition of mind in which Tarling found himself would be faced with a difficult task. He had come to the flat beside himself with anxiety at the disappearance of Odette Rider. He had intended dashing into his rooms and out again, though what he intended doing thereafter he had no idea. The knowledge that Ling Chu was on the track of the kidnapper had served as an opiate to his jagged nerves; otherwise he could not have stayed and listened to the statement Milburgh was preparing to make.
Now and again it came back to him, like a twinge of pain, that Odette Rider was in danger; and he wanted to have done with this business, to bundle Milburgh into a prison cell, and devote the whole of his energies to tracing her. Such a twinge came to him now as he watched the stout figure at the table.
"Before you start," he said, "tell me this: What information did you give to Ling Chu which led him to leave you?"
"I told him about Miss Rider," said Milburgh, "and I advanced a theory—it was only a theory—as to what had happened to her."
"I see," said Tarling. "Now tell your story and tell it quickly, my friend, and try to keep to the truth. Who murdered Thornton Lyne?"
Milburgh twisted his head slowly towards him and smiled.
"If you could explain how the body was taken from Odette Rider's flat," he said slowly, "and left in Hyde Park, I could answer you immediately. For to this minute, I believe that Thornton Lyne was killed by Odette Rider."
Tarling drew a long breath.
"That is a lie," he said.
Mr. Milburgh was in no way put out.
"Very well," he said. "Now, perhaps you will be kind enough to listen to my 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.
Odette Rider sat back in a corner of the smooth-running taxicab. Her eyes were closed, for the inevitable reaction had come. Excitement and anxiety had combined to give her the strength to walk to the cab with a firm step which had surprised the matron; but now, in the darkness and solitude, she was conscious of a depression, both physical and mental, which left her without the will or power for further effort.
The car sped through interminably long streets—in what direction she neither knew nor cared. Remember that she did not even know where the nursing home was situated. It might have been on the edge of London for all she was aware. Once, that was as the car was crossing Bond Street from Cavendish Square, she saw people turn and look at the cab and a policeman pointed and shouted something. She was too preoccupied to worry her head as to the cause.
She appreciated in a dim, vague way the skill of the taxi-driver, who seemed to be able to grope his way through and around any obstruction of traffic; and it was not until she found the cab traversing a country road that she had any suspicion that all was not well. Even then her doubts were allayed by her recognition of certain landmarks which told her she was on the Hertford Road.
"Of course," she thought. "I should be wanted at Hertford rather than in London," and she settled herself down again.
Suddenly the cab stopped, backed down a side lane, and turned in the direction from whence they had come. When he had got his car's head right, Sam Stay shut off his engine, descended from his seat, and opened the door.
"Come on out of that!" he said sharply.
"Why—what——" began the bewildered girl, but before she could go much farther the man dived in, gripped her by the wrist, and pulled her out with such violence that she fell.
"You don't know me, eh?" The words were his as he thrust his face into hers, gripping her shoulders so savagely that she could have cried out in pain.
She was on her knees, struggling to get to her feet, and she looked up at the little man wonderingly.
"I know you," she gasped. "You are the man who tried to get into my flat!"
He grinned.
"And I know you!" he laughed harshly. "You're the devil that lured him on! The best man in the world ... he's in the little vault in Highgate Cemetery. The door is just like a church. And that's where you'll be to-night, damn you! Down there I'm going to take you. Down, down, down, and leave you with him, because he wanted you!"
He was gripping her by both wrists, glaring down into her face, and there was something so wolfish, so inhuman, in the madman's staring eyes that her mouth went dry, and when she tried to scream no sound came. Then she lurched forward towards him, and he caught her under the arms and dragged her to her feet.
"Fainted, eh? You'll faint, me lady," he chuckled. "Don't you wish you might never come round, eh? I'll bet you would if you knew ... if you knew!"
He dropped her on the grass by the side of the road, took a luggage strap from the front of the cab, and bound her hands. Then he picked up the scarf she had been wearing and tied it around her mouth.
With an extraordinary display of strength he lifted her without effort and put her back into the corner of the seat. Then he slammed the door, mounted again to his place, and sent the car at top speed in the direction of London. They were on the outskirts of Hampstead when he saw a sign over a tobacconist's shop, and stopped the car a little way beyond, at the darkest part of the road. He gave a glance into the interior. The girl had slid from the seat to the floor and lay motionless.
He hurried back to the tobacconist's where the telephone sign had been. At the back of his fuddled brain lingered an idea that there was somebody who would be hurt. That cruel looking devil who was cross-examining him when he fell into a fit—Tarling. Yes, that was the name, Tarling.
It happened to be a new telephone directory, and by chance Tarling's name, although a new subscriber, had been included. In a few seconds he was talking to the detective.
He hung up the receiver and came out of the little booth, and the shopman, who had heard his harsh, loud voice, looked at him suspiciously; but Sam Stay was indifferent to the suspicions of men. He half ran, half walked back to where his cab was standing, leaped into the seat, and again drove the machine forward.
To Highgate Cemetery! That was the idea. The gates would be closed, but he could do something. Perhaps he would kill her first and then get her over the wall afterwards. It would be a grand revenge if he could get her into the cemetery alive and thrust her, the living, down amongst the dead, through those little doors which opened like church doors to the cold, dank vault below.
He screamed and sang with joy at the thought, and those pedestrians who saw the cab flash past, rocking from side to side, turned at the sound of the wild snatch of song, for Sam Stay was happy as he had not been happy in his life before.
But Highgate Cemetery was closed. The gloomy iron gates barred all entrance, and the walls were high. It was a baffling place, because houses almost entirely surrounded it; and he was half an hour seeking a suitable spot before he finally pulled up before a place where the wall did not seem so difficult. There was nobody about and little fear of interruption on the part of the girl. He had looked into the cab and had seen nothing save a huddled figure on the floor. So she was still unconscious, he thought.
He ran the car on to the sidewalk, then slipped down into the narrow space between car and wall and jerked open the door.
"Come on!" he cried exultantly. He reached out his fingers—and then something shot from the car, something lithe and supple, something that gripped the little man by the throat and hurled him back against the wall.
Stay struggled with the strength of lunacy, but Ling Chu held him in a grip of steel.
Tarling dropped the telephone receiver on its hook and had sunk into a chair with a groan. His face was white—whiter than the prisoner's who sat opposite him, and he seemed to have gone old all of a sudden.
"What is it?" asked Whiteside quietly. "Who was the man?"
"Stay," said Tarling. "Stay. He has Odette! It's awful, awful!"
Whiteside, thoughtful, preoccupied; Milburgh, his face twitching with fear, watched the scene curiously.
"I'm beaten," said Tarling—and at that moment the telephone bell rang again.
He lifted the receiver and bent over the table, and Whiteside saw his eyes open in wide amazement. It was Odette's voice that greeted him.
"It is I, Odette!"
"Odette! Are you safe? Thank God for that!" he almost shouted. "Thank God for that! Where are you?"
"I am at a tobacconist's shop in——" there was a pause while she was evidently asking somebody the name of the street, and presently she came back with the information.
"But, this is wonderful!" said Tarling. "I'll be with you immediately. Whiteside, get a cab, will you? How did you get away?"
"It's rather a long story," she said. "Your Chinese friend saved me. That dreadful man stopped the cab near a tobacconist's shop to telephone. Ling Chu appeared by magic. I think he must have been lying on top of the cab, because I heard him come down by the side. He helped me out and stood me in a dark doorway, taking my place. Please don't ask me any more. I am so tired."
Half an hour later Tarling was with the girl and heard the story of the outrage. Odette Rider had recovered something of her calm, and before the detective had returned her to the nursing home she had told him the story of her adventure.
"I must have fainted," she said. "When I woke up I was lying at the bottom of the cab, which was moving at a tremendous rate. I thought of getting back to the seat, but it occurred to me that if I pretended to be faint I might have a chance of escape. When I heard the cab stop I tried to rise, but I hadn't sufficient strength. But help was near. I heard the scraping of shoes on the leather top of the car, and presently the door opened and I saw a figure which I knew was not the cabman's. He lifted me out, and fortunately the cab had stopped opposite a private house with a big porch, and to this he led me.
"'Wait,' he said. 'There is a place where you may telephone a little way along. Wait till we have gone."
"Then he went back to the cab, closed the door noiselessly, and immediately afterwards I saw Stay running along the path. In a few seconds the cab had disappeared and I dragged myself to the shop—and that's all."
No news had been received of Ling Chu when Tarling returned to his flat. Whiteside was waiting; and told him that he had put Milburgh into the cells and that he would be charged the following day.
"I can't understand what has happened to Ling Chu. He should be back by now," said Tarling.
It was half-past one in the morning, and a telephone inquiry to Scotland Yard had produced no information.
"It is possible, of course," Tarling went on, "that Stay took the cab on to Hertford. The man has developed into a dangerous lunatic."
"All criminals are more or less mad," said the philosophical Whiteside. "I wonder what turned this fellow's brain."
"Love!" said Tarling.
The other looked at him in surprise.
"Love?" he repeated incredulously, and Tarling: nodded.
"Undoubtedly Sam Stay adored Lyne. It was the shock of his death which drove him mad."
Whiteside drummed his fingers on the table, thoughtfully.
"What do you think of Milburgh's story?" he asked, and Tarling shrugged his shoulders.
"It is most difficult to form a judgment," he said. "The man spoke as though he were telling the truth, and something within me convinces me that he was not lying. And yet the whole thing is incredible."
"Of course, Milburgh has had time to make up a pretty good story," warned Whiteside. "He is a fairly shrewd man, this Milburgh, and it was hardly likely that he would tell us a yarn which was beyond the range of belief."
"That is true," agreed the other, "nevertheless, I am satisfied he told almost the whole of the truth."
"Then, who killed Thornton Lyne?"
Tarling rose with a gesture of despair.
"You are apparently as far from the solution of that mystery as I am, and yet I have formed a theory which may sound fantastic——"
There was a light step upon the stair and Tarling crossed the room and opened the door.
Ling Chu came in, his calm, inscrutable self, and but for the fact that his forehead and his right hand were heavily bandaged, carrying no evidence of his tragic experience.
"Hello, Ling Chu," said Tarling in English, "you're hurt?"
"Not badly," said Ling Chu. "Will the master be good enough to give me a cigarette? I lost all mine in the struggle."
"Where is Sam Stay?"
Ling Chu lit the cigarette before he answered, blew out the match and placed it carefully in the ash-tray on the centre of the table.
"The man is sleeping on the Terrace of Night," said Ling Chu simply.
"Dead?" said the startled Tarling.
The Chinaman nodded.
"Did you kill him?"
Again Ling Chu paused and puffed a cloud of cigarette smoke into the air.
"He was dying for many days, so the doctor at the big hospital told me. I hit his head once or twice, but not very hard. He cut me a little with a knife, but it was nothing."
"Sam Stay is dead, eh?" said Tarling thoughtfully. "Well, that removes a source of danger to Miss Rider, Ling Chu."
The Chinaman smiled.
"It removes many things, master, because before this man died, his head became good."
"You mean he was sane?"
"He was sane, master," said Ling Chu, "and he wished to speak to paper. So the big doctor at the hospital sent for a judge, or one who sits in judgment."
"A magistrate?"
"Yes, a magistrate," said Ling Chu, nodding, "a little old man who lives very near the hospital, and he came, complaining because it was so late an hour. Also there came a man who wrote very rapidly in a book, and when the man had died, he wrote more rapidly on a machine and gave me these papers to bring to you, detaining others for himself and for the judge who spoke to the man."
He fumbled in his blouse and brought out a roll of paper covered with typewriting.
Tarling took the documents and saw that it consisted of several pages. Then he looked up at Ling Chu.
"First tell me, Ling Chu," he said, "what happened? You may sit."
Ling Chu with a jerky little bow pulled a chair from the wall and sat at a respectful distance from the table, and Tarling, noting the rapid consumption of his cigarette, passed him the box.
"You must know, master, that against your wish and knowledge, I took the large-faced man and put him to the question. These things are not done in this country, but I thought it best that the truth should be told. Therefore, I prepared to give him the torture when he told me that the small-small girl was in danger. So I left him, not thinking that your excellency would return until the morning, and I went to the big house where the small-small girl was kept, and as I came to the corner of the street I saw her get into a quick-quick car.
"It was moving off long before I came to it, and I had to run; it was very fast. But I held on behind, and presently when it stopped at this street to cross, I scrambled up the back and lay flat upon the top of the cab. I think people saw me do this and shouted to the driver, but he did not hear. Thus I lay for a long time and the car drove out into the country and after a while came back, but before it came back it stopped and I saw the man talking to the small-small woman in angry tones. I thought he was going to hurt her and I waited ready to jump upon him, but the lady went into the realms of sleep and he lifted her back into the car.
"Then he came back to the town and again he stopped to go into a shop. I think it was to telephone, for there was one of those blue signs which you can see outside a shop where the telephone may be used by the common people. Whilst he had gone in I got down and lifted the small-small woman out, taking the straps from her hands and placing her in a doorway. Then I took her place. We drove for a long time till he stopped by a high wall, and then, master, there was a fight," said Ling Chu simply.
"It took me a long time to overcome him and then I had to carry him. We came to a policeman who took us in another car to a hospital where my wounds were dressed. Then they came to me and told me the man was dying and wished to see somebody because he had that in his heart for which he desired ease.
"So he talked, master, and the man wrote for an hour, and then he passed to his fathers, that little white-faced man."
He finished abruptly as was his custom. Tarling took the papers up and opened them, glanced through page after page, Whiteside sitting patiently by without interrupting.
When Tarling had finished the documents, he looked across the table.
"Thornton Lyne was killed by Sam Stay," he said, and Whiteside stared at him.
"But——" he began.
"I have suspected it for some time, but there were one or two links in the evidence which were missing and which I was unable to supply. Let me read you the statement of Sam Stay."
"My name is Sam Stay. I was born at Maidstone in the County of Kent. My age is twenty-nine years. I left school at the age of eleven and got mixed up with a bad set, and at the age of thirteen I was convicted for stealing from a shop, and was sent to Borstal Institute for four years.
"On my release from Borstal I went to London, and a year later was convicted of house-breaking, receiving a sentence of twelve months' imprisonment with hard labour. On my release from prison I was taken up by a society who taught me motor-driving, and I secured a licence in another name as a taxicab driver and for twelve months drove a cab on the streets. At the end of that period I was convicted for stealing passengers' baggage and was sent to prison for eighteen months.
"It was after my release from this term of imprisonment that I first met Mr. Thornton Lyne. I met him in the following manner. I had been given a letter from the Prisoners' Aid Society and went to Mr. Thornton Lyne to get a job. He took a great interest in me and from the very first was the best friend I had ever had. His kindness was wonderful and I think there never was a man in the world with such a beautiful nature as his.
"He assisted me many times, and although I went back to prison, he never deserted me, but helped me as a friend and was never disgusted when I got into trouble.
"I was released from gaol in the spring of this year and was met at the prison gates by Mr. Thornton Lyne in a beautiful motor-car. He treated me as though I were a prince and took me home to his grand house and gave me food and beautiful wine.
"He told me that he had been very much upset by a young lady whom he had looked after. This young lady worked for him and he had given her work when she was starving. He said that she had been spreading lies about him and that she was a bad girl. I had never seen this person, whose name was Odette Rider, but I felt full of hatred towards her, and the more he spoke about the girl the more determined I was to have revenge on her.
"When he told me that she was very beautiful, I remembered in the same gang as me at Wandsworth Gaol there had been a man named Selser. That is the name as far as I can remember. He was serving a lagging [a term of penal servitude] for throwing vitriol in the face of his girl. She had let him down and had married another man while he was serving a term of imprisonment. I believe she was very beautiful. When Selser got out he laid wait for her and threw vitriol in her face, and he has often told me that he didn't regret it.
"So that when Mr. Lyne told me that the girl was beautiful, this idea struck me that I would have revenge upon her. I was living in Lambeth at the house of an old lag, who practically took nobody but crooks as lodgers. It cost more than ordinary lodging but it was worth it, because if the police made any inquiries the landlord or his wife would always give wrong information. I went to this place because I intended committing a burglary at Muswell Hill with a man who was released from gaol two or three days before me, who knew the crib and asked me, when we were at work one day, if I would go in with him on the job. I thought there might be a chance of getting away with the stuff, if I could get somebody to swear that I hadn't left the house that night.
"I told the landlord I had a job on the 14th and gave him £1. I saw Mr. Lyne on the 14th at his house and put the idea up to him. I showed him the vitriol which I had bought in the Waterloo Road and he said he would not hear of my doing it. I thought he only said that because he did not want to be mixed up in the case. He asked me to leave the girl to him and he would settle with her.
"I left his house about nine o'clock at night, telling him I was going back to my lodgings. But really I went to the block of flats in the Edgware Road where this girl Rider lived. I knew the flat because I had been there the night before at Mr. Lyne's suggestion to plant some jewellery which had been taken from the store. His idea was that he would pinch her for theft. I had not been able to get into the house, owing to the presence there of a detective named Tarling, but I had had a very good look round and I knew the way in, without coming through the front door, where a porter was always on duty.
"I had no difficulty either in getting into the building or into the flat. I thought it best to go in early because the girl might be out at the theatre and I should have a chance of concealing myself before her return. When I got into the flat I found it was in darkness. This suited my purpose very well. I went from one room to another. At last I came to the bedroom. I made an inspection of the room, looking about for a likely place where I could hide.
"At the foot of the bed was an alcove covered by a curtain where several dresses and a dressing-gown were hanging, and I found that I could easily get in there behind the clothes and nobody would be the wiser. There were two clothes-hooks projecting outside the curtain just inside the alcove. I mention these because of something which happened later.
"Whilst I was prying around I heard a key turn in the lock and switched off the lights. I had just time to get into the alcove when the door opened and a man named Milburgh appeared. He turned on the lights as he came into the room and shut the door after him. He looked around as though he was thinking about something and then, taking off his coat, he hung it on one of the hooks near the alcove. I held my breath fearing that he would look inside, but he did not.
"He walked about the room as though he was looking for something, and again I was afraid that I should be discovered after all, but by and by he went out and came back with a small suit-case. It was after he had gone that I saw poking out of the pocket of the overcoat which had been hung on the hook, the butt of a pistol. I didn't quite know what to make of it, but thinking that it was better in my pocket than in his if I were discovered, I lifted it out of the pocket and slipped it into my own.
"After a while he came back as I say and started packing the bag on the bed. Presently he looked at his watch and said something to himself, turned out the lights and hurried out. I waited and waited for him to come back but nothing happened, and knowing that I would have plenty of time if he came back again, I had a look at the pistol I had. It was an automatic and it was loaded. I had never worked with a gun in my life, but I thought I might as well take this as I intended committing a crime which might land me in jug for the term of my natural life. I thought I might as well be hung as go to penal servitude.
"Then I put out the lights and sat down by the window, waiting for Miss Rider's return. I lit a cigarette, and opened the window to let out the smell of the smoke. I took out the bottle of vitriol, removed the cork and placed it on a stool near by.
"I don't know how long I waited in the dark, but about eleven o'clock, as far as I can judge, I heard the outer door click very gently and a soft foot in the hall. I knew it wasn't Milburgh because he was a heavy man. This person moved like a cat. In fact, I did not hear the door of the bedroom open. I waited with the vitriol on the stool by my side, for the light to be switched on, but nothing happened. I don't know what made me do it but I walked towards the person who had come into the room.
"Then, before I knew what had happened, somebody had gripped me. I was half-strangled by an arm which had been thrown round my neck and I thought it was Milburgh who had detected me the first time and had come back to pinch me. I tried to push him away, but he struck me on the jaw.
"I was getting frightened for I thought the noise would rouse the people and the police would come, and I must have lost my head. Before I knew what had happened I had pulled the gun out of my pocket and fired point-blank. I heard a sound like a thud of the body falling. The pistol was still in my hand, and my first act was to get rid of it. I felt a basket by my legs in the darkness. It was full of cotton and wool and stuff and I pushed the pistol down to the bottom and then groped across the room and switched on the lights.
"As I did so, I heard the key turn in the lock again. I gave one glance at the body which had fallen on its face and then I dived for the alcove.
"The man who came in was Milburgh. His back was to me. As he turned the body over I could not see its face. I saw him take something out of the drawer and bind it round the chest and I saw him strip off the coat and vest, but not until he had gone out and I came from the recess, did I realise that the man I had killed was dear Mr. Lyne.
"I think I must have gone raving mad with grief. I don't know what I did. All I thought of was that there must be some chance and he wasn't dead at all and he must be got away to a hospital. We had discussed the plan of going into the flat and he had told me how he would bring his car to the back. I rushed out of the flat, going through the back way. Sure enough there was the car waiting and nobody was about.
"I came back to the bedroom and lifted him in my arms and carried him back to the car, propping him up in the seat. Then I went back and got his coat and vest and threw them on to the seat by him. I found his boots were also in the car and then for the first time I noticed that he had slippers on his feet.
"I have been a taxi-driver so I know how to handle a car and in a few minutes I was going along the Edgware Road, on my way to St. George's Hospital. I turned in through the park because I didn't want people to see me, and it was when I had got into a part where nobody was about that I stopped the car to have another look at him. I realised that he was quite dead.
"I sat in that car with him for the best part of two hours, crying as I never have cried, then after a while I roused myself and carried him out and laid him on the sidewalk, some distance from the car. I had enough sense to know that if he were found dead in my company it would go very badly with me, but I hated leaving him and after I had folded his arms I sat by him for another hour or two.
"He seemed so cold and lonely that it made my heart bleed to leave him at all. In the early light of morning I saw a bed of daffodils growing close by and I plucked a few and laid them on his breast because I loved him."
Tarling finished reading and looked at his assistant.
"That is the end of the Daffodil Mystery," he said. "A fairly simple explanation, Whiteside. Incidentally, it acquits our friend Milburgh, who looks like escaping conviction altogether."
A week later two people were walking slowly along the downs overlooking the sea. They had walked for a mile in complete silence, then suddenly Odette Rider said:
"I get very easily tired. Let us sit down."
Tarling obediently sunk down by her side.
"I read in the newspapers this morning, Mr. Tarling," she said, "that you have sold Lyne's Store."
"That's true," said Tarling. "There are very many reasons why I do not want to go into the business, or stay in London."
She did not look at him, but played with the blades of grass she had plucked.
"Are you going abroad?" she asked.
"We are," said Tarling.
"We?" she looked at him in surprise. "Who are we?"
"I am referring to myself and a girl to whom I made violent love at Hertford," said Tarling, and she dropped her eyes.
"I think you were sorry for me," she said, "and you were rather led into your wild declaration of—of——"
"Love?" suggested Tarling.
"That's the word," she replied with a little smile. "You were led to say what you did because of my hopeless plight."
"I was led to say what I did," said Tarling, "because I loved you."
"Where are you—we—going?" she asked awkwardly.
"To South America," said Tarling, "for a few months. Then afterwards to my well-beloved China for the cool season."
"Why to South America?" asked the girl.
"Because," said Tarling, "I was reading an article on horticulture in this morning's papers and I learnt that daffodils do not grow in the Argentine."