The Daffodil Mystery

  CHAPTER XXXI

  SAM STAY TURNS UP

  "I have seen you somewhere before, ain't I?"

  The stout clergyman in the immaculate white collar beamed benevolently atthe questioner and shook his head with a gentle smile.

  "No, my dear friend, I do not think I have ever seen you before."

  It was a little man, shabbily dressed, and looking ill. His face wasdrawn and lined; he had not shaved for days, and the thin, black stubbleof hair gave him a sinister look. The clergyman had just walked out ofTemple Gardens and was at the end of Villiers Street leading up to theStrand, when he was accosted. He was a happy-looking clergyman, andsomething of a student, too, if the stout and serious volume under hisarm had any significance.

  "I've seen you before," said the little man, "I've dreamt about you."

  "If you'll excuse me," said the clergyman, "I am afraid I cannot stay.I have an important engagement."

  "Hold hard," said the little man, in so fierce a tone that the otherstopped. "I tell you I've dreamt about you. I've seen you dancing withfour black devils with no clothes on, and you were all fat and ugly."

  He lowered his voice and was speaking in a fierce earnest monotone, asthough he was reciting some lesson he had been taught.

  The clergyman took a pace back in alarm.

  "Now, my good man," he said severely, "you ought not to stop gentlemen inthe street and talk that kind of nonsense. I have never met you before inmy life. My name is the Reverend Josiah Jennings."

  "Your name is Milburgh," said the other. "Yes, that's it, Milburgh. _He_used to talk about you! That lovely man--here!" He clutched theclergyman's sleeve and Milburgh's face went a shade paler. There was aconcentrated fury in the grip on his arm and a strange wildness in theman's speech. "Do you know where he is? In a beautivault built like an'ouse in Highgate Cemetery. There's two little doors that open like thedoor of a church, and you go down some steps to it."

  "Who are you?" asked Milburgh, his teeth chattering.

  "Don't you know me?" The little man peered at him. "You've heard him talkabout me. Sam Stay--why, I worked for two days in your Stores, I did. Andyou--you've only got what _he's_ given you. Every penny you earned hegave you, did Mr. Lyne. He was a friend to everybody--to the poor, evento a hook like me."

  His eyes filled with tears and Mr. Milburgh looked round to see if he wasbeing observed.

  "Now, don't talk nonsense!" he said under his breath, "and listen, myman; if anybody asks you whether you have seen Mr. Milburgh, you haven't,you understand?"

  "Oh, I understand," said the man. "But I knew you! There's nobodyconnected with him that I don't remember. He lifted me up out of thegutter, he did. He's my idea of God!"

  They had reached a quiet corner of the Gardens and Milburgh motioned theman to sit beside him on a garden seat.

  For the first time that day he experienced a sense of confidence in thewisdom of his choice of disguise. The sight of a clergyman speaking witha seedy-looking man might excite comment, but not suspicion. After all,it was the business of clergymen to talk to seedy-looking men, and theymight be seen engaged in the most earnest and confidential conversationand he would suffer no loss of caste.

  Sam Stay looked at the black coat and the white collar in doubt.

  "How long have you been a clergyman, Mr. Milburgh?" he asked.

  "Oh--er--for a little while," said Mr. Milburgh glibly, trying toremember what he had heard about Sam Stay. But the little man saved himthe labour of remembering.

  "They took me away to a place in the country," he said, "but you know Iwasn't mad, Mr. Milburgh. _He_ wouldn't have had a fellow hanging roundhim who was mad, would he? You're a clergyman, eh?" He nodded his headwisely, then asked, with a sudden eagerness: "Did he make you aclergyman? He could do wonderful things, could Mr. Lyne, couldn't he? Didyou preach over him when they buried him in that little vault in'Ighgate? I've seen it--I go there every day, Mr. Milburgh," said Sam. "Ionly found it by accident. 'Also Thornton Lyne, his son.' There's twolittle doors that open like church doors."

  Mr. Milburgh drew a long sigh. Of course, he remembered now. Sam Stay hadbeen removed to a lunatic asylum, and he was dimly conscious of the factthat the man had escaped. It was not a pleasant experience, talking withan escaped lunatic. It might, however, be a profitable one. Mr. Milburghwas a man who let very few opportunities slip. What could he make out ofthis, he wondered? Again Sam Stay supplied the clue.

  "I'm going to settle with that girl----" He stopped and closed his lipstightly, and looked with a cunning little smile at Milburgh. "I didn'tsay anything, did I?" he asked with a queer little chuckle. "I didn't sayanything that would give me away, did I?"

  "No, my friend," said Mr. Milburgh, still in the character of thebenevolent pastor. "To what girl do you refer?"

  The face of Sam Stay twisted into a malignant smile.

  "There's only one girl," he said between his teeth, "and I'll get her.I'll settle with her! I've got something here----" he felt in his pocketin a vague, aimless way. "I thought I had it, I've carried it about solong; but I've got it somewhere, I know I have!"

  "So you hate Miss Rider, do you?" asked Milburgh.

  "Hate her!"

  The little fellow almost shouted the words, his face purple, his eyesstarting from his head, his two hands twisted convulsively.

  "I thought I'd finished her last night," he began, and stopped.

  The words had no significance for Mr. Milburgh, since he had seen nonewspapers that day.

  "Listen," Sam went on. "Have you ever loved anybody?"

  Mr. Milburgh was silent. To him Odette Rider was nothing, but about thewoman Odette Rider had called mother and the woman he called wife,circled the one precious sentiment in his life.

  "Yes, I think I have," he said after a pause. "Why?"

  "Well, you know how I feel, don't you?" said Sam Stay huskily. "You knowhow I want to get the better of this party who brought him down. Shelured him on--lured him on--oh, my God!" He buried his face in his handsand swayed from side to side.

  Mr. Milburgh looked round in some apprehension. No one was in sight.

  Odette would be the principal witness against him and this man hated her.He had small cause for loving her. She was the one witness that the Crowncould produce, now that he had destroyed the documentary evidence of hiscrime. What case would they have against him if they stood him in thedock at the Old Bailey, if Odette Rider were not forthcoming to testifyagainst him?

  He thought the matter over cold-bloodedly, as a merchant might considersome commercial proposition which is put before him. He had learnt thatOdette Rider was in London in a nursing home, as the result of a set ofcurious circumstances.

  He had called up Lyne's Store that morning on the telephone to discoverwhether there had been any inquiries for him and had heard from his chiefassistant that a number of articles of clothing had been ordered to besent to this address for Miss Rider's use. He had wondered what hadcaused her collapse, and concluded that it was the result of the strainto which the girl had been subjected in that remarkable interview whichshe and he had had with Tarling at Hertford on the night before.

  "Suppose you met Miss Rider?" he said. "What could you do?"

  Sam Stay showed his teeth in a grin.

  "Well, anyway, you're not likely to meet her for some time. She isin a nursing home," said Milburgh, "and the nursing home," he wenton deliberately, "is at 304, Cavendish Place."

  "304, Cavendish Place," repeated Sam. "That's near Regent Street, isn'tit?"

  "I don't know where it is," said Mr. Milburgh. "She is at 304, CavendishPlace, so that it is very unlikely that you will meet her for some time."

  He rose to his feet, and he saw the man was shaking from head to footlike a man in the grip of ague.

  "304, Cavendish Place," he repeated, and without another word turned hisback on Mr. Milburgh and slunk away.

  That worthy gentleman looked after him and shook his head, and thenrising, turned and walked in the other
direction. It was just as easy totake a ticket for the Continent at Waterloo station as it was at CharingCross. In many ways it was safer.