Two Mysteries.

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,............