The Green Rust

p from the table the leather case which the doctor had taken from his pocket. There were four little phials and one of these was unc

and van Heerden, fearful of having his villainy exposed, stabbed him to the heart under the pretext of assisting him to lie down."Something different occurred at the Grand Alliance Hotel. A man swoons, immediately he is picked up by the doctor, who gives him a harmless drug--that is to say, harmless in small quantities. In five seconds the man is dead. At the inquest we find he has been poisoned--cyanide is found in his pocket. And who is this man? Obviously the identical person who witnessed the murder of John Millinborn and whom we have been trying to find ever since that crime.""Van Heerden won't escape the third time. His presence will be a little more than a coincidence," said the superintendent.Beale laughed."There will be no third time," he said shortly, "van Heerden is not a fool.""Have you any idea what the secret was that he wanted to get from old Millinborn?" asked the detective.Beale nodded."Yes, I know pretty well," he said, "and in course of time you will know, too."The detective was glancing over the newspaper account."I see the jury returned a verdict of 'Suicide whilst of unsound mind!'" he said. "This case ought to injure van Heerden, anyway.""That is where you are wrong," said Beale, stopping in his stride, "van Heerden has so manoeuvred the Pressmen that he comes out with an enhanced reputation. You will probably find articles in the weekly papers written and signed by him, giving his views on the indiscriminate sale of poisons. He will move in a glamour of romance, and his consulting-rooms will be thronged by new admirers.""It's a rum case," said the superintendent, rising, "and if you don't mind my saying so, Mr. Beale, you're one of the rummiest men that figure in it. I can't quite make you out. You are not a policeman and yet we have orders from the Foreign Office to give you every assistance. What's the game?""The biggest game in the world," said Beale promptly, "a game which, if it succeeds, will bring misery and suffering to thousands, and will bring great businesses tumbling, and set you and your children and your children's children working for hundreds of years to pay off a new national debt.""Man alive!" said the other, "are you serious?"Beale nodded."I was never more serious in my life," he said, "that is why I don't want the police to be too inquisitive in regard to this murder of Jackson, whose real name, as I say, is Predeaux. I can tell you this, chief, that you are seeing the development of the most damnable plot that has ever been hatched in the brain of the worst miscreant that history knows. Sit down again. Do you know what happened last year?" he asked."Last year?" said the superintendent. "Why, the war ended last year.""The war ended, Germany was beaten, and had to accept terms humiliating for a proud nation, but fortunately for her Prussia was not proud, she was merely arrogant. Her worst blow was the impoverishing conditions which the Entente Powers imposed. That is to say, they demanded certain concessions of territory and money which, added to the enormous interest of war stock which the Germans had to pay, promised to cripple Prussia for a hundred years.""Well?" said the detective, when the other had stopped."Well?" repeated Beale, with a hard little smile. "Germany is going to get that money back.""War?"Beale laughed."No, nothing so foolish as war. Germany has had all the war she wants. Oh no, there'll be no war. Do you imagine that we should go to war because I came to the Foreign Office with a crazy story. I can tell you this, that officially the German Government have no knowledge of this plot and are quite willing to repudiate those people who are engaged in it. Indeed, if the truth be told, the Government has not contributed a single mark to bring the scheme to fruition, but when it is working all the money required will be instantly found. At present the inventor of this delightful little scheme finds himself with insufficient capital to go ahead. It is his intention to secure that capital. There are many ways by which this can be done. He has already borrowed L40,000 from White, of Punsonby's."Superintendent McNorton whistled."There are other ways," Beale went on, "and he is at liberty to try them all except one. The day he secures control of that fortune, that day I shoot him.""The deuce you will?" said the startled Mr. McNorton."The deuce I will," repeated Beale.There was a tap at the door and McNorton rose."Don't go," said Beale, "I would like to introduce you to this gentleman."He opened the door and a grey-haired man with a lean, ascetic face came in.Beale closed the door behind him and led the way to the dining-room."Mr. Kitson, I should like you to know Superintendent McNorton."The two men shook hands."Well?" said Kitson, "our medical friend seems to have got away with it." He sat at the table, nervously drumming with his fingers. "Does the superintendent know everything?""Nearly everything," replied Beale."Nearly everything," repeated the superintendent with a smile, "except this great Green Rust business. There I admit I am puzzled.""Even I know nothing about that," said Kitson, looking curiously at Beale. "I suppose one of these days you will tell us all about it. It is a discovery Mr. Beale happed upon whilst he was engaged in protecting Miss----" He looked at Beale and Beale nodded--"Miss Cresswell," said Kitson."The lady who was present at the murder of Jackson?""There is no reason why we should not take you into our confidence, the more so since the necessity for secrecy is rapidly passing. Miss Oliva Cresswell is the niece of John Millinborn. Her mother married a scamp who called himself Cresswell but whose real name was Predeaux. He first spent every penny she had and then left her and her infant child.""Predeaux!" cried the detective. "Why you told me that was Jackson's real name.""Jackson, or Predeaux, was her father," said Kitson, "it was believed that he was dead; but after John Millinborn's death I set inquiries on foot and discovered that he had been serving a life sentence in Cayenne and had been released when the French President proclaimed a general amnesty at the close of the war. He was evidently on his way to see John Millinborn the day my unhappy friend was murdered, and it was the recognition of his daughter in the pal