The Lost Million

by William Le Queux

Certainchapters of my eventful life must be for ever hidden, even from you, whoare acting as my friend. This I greatly regret, but to reveal all mustonly bring unhappiness upon one who is innocent. For that reason I diecarrying my secret with me.

  "How long I shall continue to live after penning this request I cannotknow. Therefore, I will make matters as plain as possible, andearnestly request you to act as follows:--

  "To be present at the railway station of Totnes in Devon at five o'clockon the evening of the 20th of June next, and there meet a certain manwho will come in secret in search of you. He will wear a red tie, acarnation in his coat, and will carry an ebony walking-stick. He may bewatched, therefore do not approach him unless he unbuttons his glovesand removes them. To him hand the enclosed letter, and if you wishfurther to serve the interests of one who herein expresses his deepestand most heartfelt gratitude, watch him, become his helper, and act ashe directs--but do not trust him implicitly.

  "Some of the circumstances may strike you as extraordinary andunwarrantable, but I beg of you not to attempt to solve mysteries whichmust, for ever, be hidden. The person in question may be in sore needof a friend to give assistance and advice, therefore rest assured thatsuch favour shown to him will not go unrewarded.

  "As regards the bronze cylinder, be extremely careful of it, and in allsecurity hold it unopened in trust for me until six months from the dateof this letter--namely, on 3rd November--when you will hand it withoutquestion to the person who comes to you and lays claim to it.

  "What is enclosed addressed to yourself please accept as a triflingtoken of the great esteem in which you have been held by the lonely andforgotten man who, in later life, was known as--

  "Melvill Arnold."

  I tore open the envelope addressed to myself, and therein found fourBank of England notes for five hundred pounds each. My mysteriousfellow-traveller who had money to burn had presented me with the sum oftwo thousand pounds.

  The other enclosure, a letter secured by three seals of black wax, wasaddressed to "Arthur Dawnay, Esquire."

  My trust was indeed a strange one, increased by the dead man's requestthat I should befriend a man who was friendless, and at the same timewarning me against placing too great a trust in him.

  I tried to conjure up in my mind what kind of person I was to meet somysteriously away in Devonshire. Why, I wondered, could not MrArnold's affairs be settled in a proper manner by his lawyers? Butperhaps, so mysterious was he, that to trust solicitors would be toreveal his identity. One thing, however, was evident. He had alreadymade a secret appointment with Mr Dawnay. In all probability he hadtravelled to England expressly to see him.

  From him I should probably learn something concerning the Man fromNowhere who had made me that very welcome present of two thousandpounds.

  That the grey beard was not his own, and that he was somewhat youngerthan the age he had assumed, were, in themselves, facts which caused mea good deal of deep reflection. He was a complete mystery, and morecould not be said.

  Many times had I taken the ancient cylinder in my hand wondering what itreally contained. As far as I could judge it was of metal, half an inchthick, for the cylinder was well made, and had apparently been drilledout of a solid block. The welded end had been very carefully and neatlyclosed, and it had evidently lain in the damp, or more probably underwater, for many years, judging from the rough corrosion upon it.

  My instructions were to guard it with all zeal, yet I was to hand itwithout question to whoever, on the 3rd of November, should ask for it.

  I turned it over in my hands time after time, wondering what could bethe nature of this, the greatest treasure of a man, who had undoubtedlybeen wealthy.

  I confess to you that I entertained certain misgivings. Out of merepity I had made the acquaintance of Melvill Arnold, never dreaming thatI should be led into so strange an executorship. Again, there being nowill, I began to wonder what was my actual position in law.

  The mystery surrounding the dead man had been increased both by thediscovery of his disguise and by the frankness of his letter, in whichhe plainly admitted that he was not what he had represented himself tobe. Why had that letter been sent to him threatening revenge for thesentence upon the adventuress who called herself Lady Lettice Lancaster?What connection could he have had with such swindlers?

  The whole affair formed a complete enigma. Perhaps I had acted veryfoolishly in mixing myself up with a perfect stranger, and as daysucceeded day this thought became the more and more impressed upon me.

  I suppose in order that you should understand matters aright I oughthere to say something concerning myself.

  I, Lionel Kemball, was aged twenty-seven. My father, a well-knownLondon surgeon, who had been knighted for his services in the interestsof surgical science, had died two years ago, leaving me with acomfortable old house, called Upton End, near Newport Pagnell, inBuckinghamshire, and an income of about a couple of thousand a year.Three years prior to his death he had retired and given up the house inCavendish Square, preferring life in healthier and quieter surroundings.I had studied medicine, and had passed my preliminary examinations atEdinburgh, when I found myself troubled slightly with my lungs, and hadbeen advised to take a trip to Australia. To my satisfaction I hadreturned in the very pink of health and perfectly cured.

  I had visited Ceylon, the cities of Sydney, Brisbane, and Perth, hadwitnessed some of the wonders of New Zealand, and now, on my return, hadbecome involved in this most curious and perplexing romance.

  The day on which I opened Mr Arnold's strange letter was the 8th ofJune, therefore twelve days had to elapse before I could go down toDevonshire to meet the mysterious Mr Dawnay.

  Those were hot, exciting days. Such blazing weather in June had notbeen experienced in London for years. It was hot by day, succeeded byoppressive, breathless evenings, with that red dust-haze seen only inour great metropolis. The Derby had been run and London hotels werecrammed. The colossal Cecil, at which it was my habit to stay, wasfilled to overflowing by crowds of Americans, and the West End ran riotwith gaiety and extravagance, as it always does each season.

  Perhaps fortunately for me, for it prevented my mind being too muchconcentrated upon my remarkable trust, I found myself involved in sometrouble concerning some land down at Upton End, and I had a number ofinterviews with my late father's solicitors. A lawsuit was threatened,and it looked much as though I should be the loser by several hundreds ayear.

  My mother died when I was but ten, and though I was fond of a countrylife, yet, somehow, since my father's decease, I had not cared for theloneliness and solitude of the quaint old house. It was certainly adelightful old place, with several oak-panelled chambers, and clingingto it were all sorts of quaint legends of Roundheads and Cavaliers. Itsold bowling-green and its gardens ablaze in summer with crimson ramblerswere charming; yet it was, after all, only a white elephant to me, abachelor. So I had kept on a couple of the old servants, who togetherwith Tucker, the head-gardener, and his assistant, kept the placegoing--for I had secret thoughts of letting it furnished.

  My trouble over the ownership of the piece of land forming a portion ofthe farm attached to the house, and several other matters which had beenneglected owing to my absence in Australia, kept my hands pretty full;nevertheless, I found time one evening to take a taxi up to HighgateCemetery in order to see that the grave of my dead friend had beenproperly closed and put in order.

  It was about six o'clock in the evening when I arrived, and there weremany friends and relatives tenderly watering the flowers on the gravesof their loved ones. Without much difficulty I found the newly mademound of brown earth, but to my surprise I also saw that a magnificentcross of white flowers had been laid upon it.

  This I eagerly examined, but no card was attached.

  Surely whoever had placed it there had mistaken the grave, for MrArnold possessed no friends, and I had been the only follower. Hisdecease had not been advertised; therefore surely none could k
now of hisdeath.

  For a few minutes I stood there, gazing upon the emblem, and pondering.

  Suddenly I saw the cemetery-keeper, and walking up to him pointed outthe grave and asked him if he knew anything of the cross that had beenplaced upon it.

  "Oh, you mean Mr Arnold's grave, I suppose, sir," exclaimed the man.

  "How do you know it is Mr Arnold's!" I asked.

  "Well, sir, the day after the funeral a young lady came to me andinquired where a Mr Melvill Arnold had been buried. So I looked it upin the books and told her. She's been here every day since, and putfresh flowers there."

  "A young lady! What was she like?" I inquired. "Oh, well, she's abouttwenty, I should say--pretty, with dark hair, and dressed in mourning,"he replied. "She comes each day about five, generally in a privatemotor-car--a big grey car. The flowers cost her a tidy lot, I shouldthink, for they're not common ones."

  "About five