“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.”
XXXV. 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 reconnected 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 illused 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 diningroom 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