Milford passed his hand across his forehead. "I don't know, sir; I was that mazed I can't rightly say what I did think. I just stood there and stared at the master without saying nothing. So far as I can remember, it seemed to me I was dreaming."
"What did he do, then?"
"He told me to sit down on the bed, sir. Then he started talking very slow and quiet. First of all, he told me that he was Prado. From what he said, it seems that he'd gone out from England when he was almost a boy, and that everyone in San Luca believed him to be a South American. He'd escaped from the palace just before they'd blown it up, and he thought at the time he'd got away without being seen. Of course, me being a steward in the Blue Star, sir, I'd heard all about the way he'd made himself President, and I didn't need to be told that there were plenty of people ready to shove a knife into him if they had half an idea he was still alive. Well, that was what the trouble was, sir. Somehow or other, it had come out that he hadn't been killed in the explosion, and the San Luca people had got on his track. He wasn't a coward, the master wasn't,—he couldn't have made himself President, or saved my life as he did, if he had been,—but he knew well enough that he was done for unless he could manage to get out of London. The people who'd come after him belonged to some secret society that he'd pretty near wiped out, and so long as they could get even with him they weren't the sort to mind much what happened after."
Milford paused, and again took a brief sip from the glass of water. I stole a quick glance at Maurice's face. He was staring at the witness-box with an expression of nervous apprehension that pleased me intensely. I was not the only person who felt anxious as to what Milford might bring out next.
"Go on," said the magistrate.
"It was then, sir, quite by chance, that he'd come across Mr. Burton. It was that night he went out in the taxi, sir. He'd gone to sign some papers at his lawyer's, and coming back along the Embankment he passed Mr. Burton standing on the pavement. He saw the likeness at once, sir, and it suddenly struck him that this might be a way of escape if he could work it properly. Anyhow, it seemed a chance, so he stopped the cab and got out and spoke to Mr. Burton."
With the re-introduction of my interesting personality into the story, I again became the centre of attraction. Everyone present leaned forward to stare at me, one or two of the ladies going so far as to produce miniature opera-glasses. It was a trying business, but I put my hands in my pockets and bore it as serenely as I could.
"He asked Mr. Burton to supper with him at the Milan, sir. According to what Mr. Northcote told me, they had a private room. I suppose the hotel management can say whether that's correct, sir."
The magistrate nodded. "Yes, yes. It has already been confirmed in yesterday's evidence."
It was at this point that the counsel for the police jumped to his feet and began to protest against what he described "respectfully" as the "utter irregularity of the proceedings."