Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery

  CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  DICK IS OF THE OPINION THAT THE MYSTERY SEEMS IMPENETRABLE, BUT IS STILL DETERMINED TO PIERCE IT.

  In great agitation Reginald and his party left the Court and turned inthe direction of home, followed at a short distance by a few persons,whose appetite, whetted by what had transpired, thirsted for more.Those whose fate seemed to hang upon the result of the inquiryexchanged but few words on the way. Dick was plunged in thought, andFlorence clung more closely to Reginald. Inspector Robson and Aunt Robexchanged disturbed glances; she was wildly indignant, but hisofficial experience warned him that Reginald was in peril.

  With respect to the evidence given by Dr. Pye the one chance for theyoung man lay in his being able to prove that he had returned to hislodgings before twelve o'clock on that fatal Friday night, and did notleave them again. This proof would not only clear him of the suspicionwhich naturally attached to him through Dr. Pye's evidence, but wouldclear him in other respects. But was the proof obtainable? Reginald'ssilence on the point rendered it doubtful. Could he have brought itforward he would have been eager to speak of it.

  When the little party reached the street in which Aunt Rob's house wassituated Inspector Robson, turning, saw Mr. Lambert, the detective whohad given evidence about the finding of the bullet. Telling his peopleto go into the house, and saying he would join them presently, hecrossed over to the detective, and gave him good day, to which theinspector responded. Then they stood a moment or two without sayinganything further.

  "On duty?" asked Inspector Robson.

  "Partly."

  "Anything new stirring?"

  "Nothing new."

  "I won't beat about the bush," said Inspector Robson, "you have beenfollowing us."

  The detective rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  "Come, come, Lambert," continued Inspector Robson, "you and I havebeen friends this many a year, and friends I hope we'll remain. Befrank with me."

  "Is it fair to put it that way, Robson?" said the detective. "Whenduty calls does friendship count?"

  "Perhaps not, perhaps not," replied Inspector Robson, hurriedly, "butyou see the close personal interest I have in this unfortunate affair.Are you shadowing my son-in-law?"

  The detective rubbed his chin again. It was a habit with him whenthere was anything unusually grave in his mind, and Inspector Robsonunderstood the meaning it conveyed.

  "Now, I ask you, Lambert," he said, "could any man in the world havegiven his evidence more fairly?"

  "No man," answered the detective; "but there's the outside of a man,and the inside of a man. We've had some experience of that, I think.If it's intimated to me to take up a case, I take it up. I won't gofarther than that, so don't press me. It isn't often that a case sofull of mystery crops up, and there'll be a lot of credit for the manwho manages to get to the heart of it. It's something more than breadand butter: it's cake, and I don't want another man to get that cake.Now, mind you, I don't offer an opinion, but so far as this case hasgone there are two or three parties to it."

  "My son-in-law for one?" asked Inspector Robson, anxiously.

  "Yes, your son-in-law for one. I don't say that he's not as innocentas the babe unborn, but you've got to convince people. Just you ask ahundred men and women, and half of 'em 'll wag their heads at mentionof Mr. Reginald Boyd's name. The other half 'll wag their heads atmention of Mr. Abel Death's name. I'd give a lot to lay hands on thatchap. He's the second party in the case. That's a queer story LadyWharton told, and of course a true story, only it wasn't the realSamuel Boyd she saw. Somebody made up for him. If it wasn't AbelDeath, it was the third party in the case. What a nerve!" said thedetective, admiringly. "I couldn't have done it better myself."

  "That ought to remove the suspicions against my son-in-law," saidInspector Robson. "There are three or four witnesses who can prove henever left his bed for a week."

  "That's all right, but lawyers will say collusion, conspiracy. We'respeaking confidentially, you know."

  "Yes, and I'm obliged to you, Lambert."

  "No need to be. We've been long in the service, you and me--boystogether, weren't we?--and we can take credit for keeping one thingsteady before us. Duty. The case, you see, doesn't hang only on whattook place in Bournemouth last Thursday night; it hangs quite as muchupon what took place in Catchpole Square the Friday before. A man isaccountable for his actions, and if there's a mystery that's got to becleared up, as this has got to be, and Mr. Reginald Boyd is concernedin it--which there's no denying--the law calls upon him to explain hisactions."

  "There's many a man held responsible and accountable for what, in theabsence of witnesses, he finds it out of his power to explain, andwhich, in the nature of the circumstances, he couldn't reasonably beexpected to explain. But that doesn't prove him guilty."

  "I don't say it does. The hardship to that man is that the law is thelaw, and, in the absence of an explanation that can be proved to betrue, refuses to be satisfied. 'Guilty or not guilty?' says the law.'Not guilty,' says the man. Does the law accept it? No. It proceeds toopen the case. Robson, you've my best wishes, and I hope you and yourswill come well through it. Let us leave it there. We've had acomfortable chat; let us leave it there."

  "Very well," said Inspector Robson, rather stiffly, "we'll leave itthere. If any charge is brought against my son-in-law he will be readyto meet it. I pledge you my word that he'll not run away. Perhaps, ifany decided step is resolved upon you will give me timely notice, forold friendship's sake, in return for my promise that you will meetwith no obstruction in the performance of your duty. It will help meto soften the shock to my dear daughter--our only child, Lambert, thesweetest girl!"----

  He turned his head, to hide his emotion. Lambert pressed his hand, andsaid,

  "You shall be the first to hear of it, Robson. Cheer up. Things mayn'tbe so bad as some people suspect."

  Inspector Robson nodded and left him, and rejoined his family in thehouse. Aunt Rob had seen him talking to the detective from the window,and had been so successful in instilling courage into Florence andReginald that cheerful faces greeted his entrance; the cloud left hisown at this unexpectedly bright reception.

  "We've been talking about things, father," said Aunt Rob in a briskvoice, "and have made up our minds not to mope and mourn because a bitof trouble seems to be coming on us. If it passes all the better, butif we've got to fight it we'll fight it bravely."

  "Bravo, mother," said Uncle Rob, "that's the right spirit to show.Here's my hand, Reginald."

  "And here's mine," said Aunt Rob, "with my heart in it."

  "Thank you both," said Reginald. "I can bear anything rather than thatyou should doubt me."

  "No fear of that, my dear. You've behaved like a man, from first tolast. Never speak ill of the dead, they say, and I'm not going to. Hewas your father, and if his ways were not our ways, we're the betterfor it, and while he lived he was the worse for it. You were right inrefusing to take up his business, right in trying to carve out anhonourable career for yourself, right in going to see him that Friday,and trying to get the money you were entitled to. Not that you _would_have got it--but, there, I won't say anything against one that's goneto where I hope he'll be forgiven. You were right in everything,Reginald."

  "God bless you, mother," said Florence.

  "Right even in falling in love with our dear Florence?" said Reginald,tenderly.

  "Who could help it, bless her sweet face! Give me a kiss, my son, andyou, too, Florence, and you, too, Dick, and you, too, father. And mindyou, lad, I'm as glad as glad can be that you gave your evidence asyou did to-day, and made a clean breast of it. You spoke the truth,the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, with love and innocence inyour heart. Now, father, what did the detective have to say to you?Don't be afraid to tell us. Is he keeping an eye upon Reginald?"

  "He is, mother; and I said if any charge is brought against him he'llbe ready to meet it."

  "Of course he will, an
d we'll stand by him, shoulder to shoulder.Father, you've been thirty years in the service, and you ought by thistime to be pretty well used to the ways of witnesses. What is youropinion of Dr. Pye as a witness?"

  "He gave his evidence in a straightforward manner," replied Uncle Rob,guardedly. "What one has to consider in reckoning up a witness is theeffect he produces upon judge and jury, whether they put faith in whathe says, or throw doubt upon it."

  "Which way would it be with Dr. Pye?"

  "They'd believe every word he spoke."

  "What do you think, Dick?" asked Aunt Rob.

  "I don't trust him," Dick replied.

  "Give your reason."

  "Can't. Haven't any?"

  "Prejudice, then, Dick," said Uncle Rob.

  "Perhaps. Call it that. Aunt, have you never seen a man you disliked,without being able to account for it?"

  "It's happened more than once."

  "And you've found him out afterwards to be a bad lot?"

  "That has happened, too."

  "A kind of instinct, you see," said Dick.

  "What gets over me," said Aunt Rob, shaking her head, as though shehad not made up her mind, "is the way he stood up for Reginald. All heseemed to want was fair play."

  "Yes, seemed to want," said Dick, doggedly.

  "At all events it was honest in him not to be too positive about theresemblance to the man he saw. Do you know anyone, Dick, that answersto the description and that might be mistaken for Reginald?"

  "No one, aunt."

  "Not Abel Death?"

  "Not a bit like Reginald."

  "In the name of all that's mysterious, what is he keeping out of theway for? Did you ever know a case in such a tangle?"

  "Never. I don't wonder that Lambert is keen upon it. It would make hisfortune to unravel the tangle."

  "I mean to unravel it," said Dick. "Oh, you may shake your head, aunt.I've certain ideas I'm not going to speak of just now; you would thinkme mad if I were to tell you what they were. If you keep your mindupon a thing it's wonderful how ideas crowd upon you."

  "Leading too often to confusion," observed Uncle Rob. "The main thingis a starting point."

  "I've a dozen," said Dick.

  "That's the mischief of it. You put a bloodhound on the track. What'sthe consequence unless he gets a scent? He flounders; he might as wellbe a mongrel for all the use he is. Coming back to the evidence thatwas given in Court to-day, might not the man who presented himself toLady Wharton as your father, Reginald, be the same man Dr. Pye saw,who made himself up to resemble you in case any one caught sight ofhim. Such things have been done, you know."

  "Look out!" cried Dick, starting forward, and catching Reginald, whowas swaying forward.

  "We'll talk no more of this miserable business to-day," said Aunt Rob,in a tone of stern decision. "Take him up to bed, Florence, and keephim quiet. If we're not careful he'll be having a relapse."

  Reginald, indeed, had overtaxed his strength, and the caution did notcome too soon.

  "I must be off," said Dick, when Florence and Reginald were gone. "IfI'm not back before nine o'clock you need not expect to see me againto-night."

  In point of fact he had made up his mind to sleep in Catchpole Square,and to keep secret vigil there. But first he must go to Reginald's oldlodgings in Park Street to speak to the landlady. So much dependedupon proof being forthcoming that Reginald's account of his movementsafter leaving his father's house was true that Dick could not restuntil he had questioned her.

  When Dick said to his uncle that he had ideas which would beconsidered mad if he revealed them, it was no mere figure of speech.So weird and grotesque was one of these ideas that, even in the midstof his gloomy forebodings, he could not resist a smile as he ponderedupon it. "It's a game that two can play at," he muttered, "and myshort experience on the stage ought to carry me successfully through.It may be time wasted, but it's worth the trying. We'll see whetherthat flashlight invention of Dr. Pye will come upon the scene again.If it does he'll see something that will astonish his weak nerves."

  He brightened up when he presented himself to the landlady, who notonly welcomed him because he was a favourite with every one, butbecause he might be able to impart something new relating to a mysterywith which, through the fact of the son of Samuel Boyd being herlodger, she was indirectly connected. Mrs. Weevil was one of thosewomen to whom a gossip is one of the most enjoyable things in life,and she gave Dick good day with glad anticipation in her voice.

  "And 'ow's the poor young gentleman, sir," she said, "after 'is day atthe inkwich? I've been readin' about it in the papers, but wot I sayis, if it wos the last word I spoke, it ain't no more like 'im thanchalk is to cheese."

  "What is not like him?" inquired Dick.

  "''Is pictcher, sir, and yours, too, sir,' I ses to Mrs. Porter, the 'amand beef shop across the road, 'It's a shame,' I ses, 'that sechthings is allowed. If a portrait it is, a portrait it ought to be.Actions 'ave been brought for less.' 'Wot you say, Mrs. Weevil, Isay,' ses Mrs. Porter, 'but we're obliged to put up with it. Themnewspaper men don't mind wot liberties they take.'"

  Dick listened with patience to this and to much more to the sameeffect, and then approached the object of his visit.

  "I've come to ask you," he said, "whether you recollect what occurredlast Friday night week."

  "Ah," she said, abstractedly, running her eye along the hem of herapron, "there's them as 'as cause to remember; there's them as won'tforget to their last hour."

  "Meaning?" he asked.

  "Mr. Abel Death, sir, and Mr. Samuel Boyd."

  "His last hour has gone by; he's past remembering."

  "A truer word you never spoke, sir, and it's wot we must all come to.But Mr. Abel Death ain't past remembering, and wot 'e's got on 'isconscience I shouldn't like to 'ave on mine."

  "That is one of the things that has yet to be settled," said Dick,ambiguously.

  "And settled I 'ope it will be, sir, and better sooner than later, forMr. Reginald's sake. You see, sir, I speak of 'im as Mr. Reginaldbecause that's the name he went by when he first come to me. 'Areference, is usual, sir,' I ses to 'im, 'if so be as you'll egscuseme for mentionin' of it.' 'Mrs. Weevil,' he ses, 'I can't give you areference, but I can give you a month in advance.' Wot gentleman couldsay more? A month in advance 'e paid, from first to last, and never aword between us when I give 'im the book on Monday mornin'--puncchual,because 'e said 'e liked to be. When I 'eard 'e wos Mr. Samuel Boyd'sson you might 'ave knocked me down with a feather. I ses to Mrs.Porter, while she wos spreadin' mustard on a sangwitch for a gent aseats six every afternoon of 'is life as the clock strikes three,'Well,' I ses to 'er, 'of all the strange things!' 'That's _my_opinion, Mrs. Weevil,' she ses."

  "Last Friday week," said Dick, taking up the threads of the subject."I wish you to tell me at what hour of the night Mr. Reginald camehome."

  "And you ain't the first as wishes me to tell you. There's been twodetectives 'ere, and three newspaper men. 'Do you recollec',' theyses, 'wot time Friday night young Mr. Boyd come 'ome?' Your own words,sir, as if they wos turned out of a mould. 'No, I don't,' I ses tothem. 'I went to bed at ten, when Mr. Reginald was out. I knocked athis door,' I ses, 'to see if 'e wanted anythink, but he didn't answer,and I jest peeped in to make sure 'e was out. Which he wos.' 'Oh,' sesthey, 'did 'e keep 'is door unlocked?' 'Yes, 'e did,' I ses, 'andeverything else as well. 'E wos always as open as open can be. I wishall wos like 'im, but that can't be egspected, because it takes allsorts to make a world.' They wanted to go up to 'is rooms, but I ses,'No, you don't. I know my duties as a landlady,' I ses, 'and I won't'ave no pokin' and pryin' in a gentleman's private apartments.' Wouldyou believe it, sir, they orfered me money to let 'em go in, but theycouldn't wheedle me. I ain't one of that sort."

  "Try and remember," urged Dick, earnestly, "whether, after you were inbed you didn't hear him come in on Friday night."

  "If I tried ever so 'ard, sir, I couldn't recollec' wot I don'tremember. Why should a
gentleman be spied upon when 'e pays 'is rentreg'lar? Mr. Reginald 'ad 'is own street door key, and wos free tocome and go. 'E might 'ave come 'ome any time in the night without meknowin' it.

  "It is a very important matter," said Dick, greatly disheartened."Perhaps your servant may recollect something."

  "I'll ring for 'er, sir, and you can arsk 'er yourself."

  In answer to the bell the servant came up, a heavy lumbering girl oftwenty, in a chronic state of sulks, with whom Dick fared no betterthan he had with her mistress. She did not know what time she went tobed, nor what time she got up. Sometimes she awoke in the middle ofthe night, and sometimes she didn't; she generally didn't, and if shedid she did not know what time it was. She did not recollect whenFriday night was, she could not think so far back as the week beforelast. All she knew was that it wasn't her night out, and if thegentleman kept talking to her all day long how could she get her workdone? So Dick reluctantly let her go, and took his departure himself,no wiser than when he came. 'Reginald's statement that he had returnedto his lodgings before midnight was of no value in the absence ofcorroborative evidence. Thicker and blacker grew the clouds aroundhim.

  From Park Street he proceeded to Draper's Mews, and there he met withanother disappointment. Mrs. Death opened the door for him, and he sawa change in her. She was embarrassed, suspicious, sorrowful, angry.The old cordiality was gone.

  "Is Gracie at home?" he asked, looking around without seeing thesallow, wistful face.

  "No, she isn't," answered Mrs. Death, in a constrained voice, "and Idon't know where she is. I haven't had misfortune enough, I suppose,that my own child should go against me."

  She dashed away the tears that were gathering in her eyes, and Dickgazed at her in pity and surprise.

  "Go against you, Mrs. Death!" he exclaimed. "No, no. It isn't inGracie's nature."

  "It wasn't," she retorted, "till you stepped between us."

  "You are labouring under some grievous error," he said, sadly. "I havenot seen Gracie. I came to ask how she was--as a friend, Mrs. Death,as a true friend."

  "Oh, yes," she cried, bitterly, "as a true friend! I'm learning themeaning of that word. It's time, it's time. Hush children!" For one ortwo, alarmed at their mother's loud voice, began to cry. They were allhuddled together on the floor, and had looked up eagerly when Dickentered. "If you're not quiet I'll give you a beating all round." Sheturned to Dick. "Come into the next room; it isn't right that theyshould hear us. There, children, there, be good."

  With compressed lips, and eyes that seemed to be inwardly searchingfor an explanation, Dick accompanied her to the adjoining room. Nightwas coming on, but there was still light enough for them to see eachother's face.

  "Be fair to me, Mrs. Death," he said, in a gentle tone. "Whatever youmay think of me now, think of me for a moment as I was, and tell mefirst about Gracie."

  "There isn't much to tell," she returned; and she, also, seemed to besearching inwardly for something she could not understand. "She doesnothing but talk of you. Dr. Vinsen walked home with us from thefuneral yesterday, and Gracie wouldn't keep by our side; she walkedbehind. Two or three times he beckoned to her, but she was rebellious.'What have you been thinking of, child?' he asked when we got home.'I've been thinking of Dick,' she answered. 'Always of Dick, Gracie?'he said. 'Yes,' she answered, 'always of Dick.' 'Never of me?' heasked, and no one in the world could have spoken more kindly. 'Oh,yes,' she said, 'I think of you a lot, but in another way.' 'Now, tellme, child,' he said, 'what you think of me?' 'You'd best not ask,' sheanswered, and ran away. When we were alone I asked her what she meantby behaving so to our best friend. I will not tell you what her replywas; I was shocked and grieved that a child of mine could be soungrateful. She looked out for you yesterday afternoon and evening,and this afternoon, too. 'Why doesn't Dick come?' she kept on saying.'Where's Dick?' It's three hours now that she went away, and I don'tknow what's become of her. That's all I've got to tell you aboutGracie, if you didn't know it before. I want my child, I want mychild! Do you hear, Mr. Remington. I want my child! I have lost myhusband--am I to lose my Gracie, too?"

  "I sincerely hope not," said Dick; "I honestly believe not. She willcome back presently. But there is something else in your mind againstme, Mrs. Death."

  She stepped close to him, and looked fiercely into his eyes.

  "Who killed Mr. Samuel Boyd?" she said, in a hissing whisper. "Tell methat."

  "I wish to God I could!" he replied.

  "I wish to God _I_ could!" she retorted, still speaking in a low,fierce whisper, so that the children in the next room should not hear."But though we don't know, we have our suspicions. I know what mineare. What are yours? Tell me, if you dare!"

  He did not answer her. In the presence of misfortune so undeserved, ofsuffering so keen, how could he breathe a word against her husband?

  "No, you do not dare," she continued. "You haven't the courage to sayto my face that you believe my poor husband to be guilty of the crime;but you can say so behind my back, you can go about poisoning people'sminds against him, and then come to me smiling in pretendedfriendship. Oh, Mr. Remington," she said, with a remorseful sob, andher changeful moods showed how her heart was torn, "I would not havebelieved it of you. You make us trust you, you make us love you, andthen you turn against us. See here!" She pulled up the sleeve of hergown, and bared her emaciated arm to his pitying gaze. "As this is, somy whole body is, and my soul is on the rack. You have seen us in ourpoverty, you know the state to which we have been driven, you havewitnessed how we live. Is it the work of an honest man to oppress andmalign us?"

  "It would be the work of a coward," he answered, "if I had done ahundredth part of what you bring against me. I have done you no wrong,no injustice. I think I know who has instilled these thoughts intoyour mind, but I will not ask you for his name. Doubtless he has laidthe seal of silence on your lips----"

  "He has not," she interrupted. "What he has said to me he would say toyou if you stood before him."

  "I think not," said Dick.

  "He would. He has been kind and generous to us; if it had not been forhim my children would have starved."

  "I would have done as much if I could have afforded it," said Dick,with set teeth. "Has it not crossed your mind, Mrs. Death, that youare being deceived?"

  "How, deceived?" she asked, and despite the warmth of her championshipthere was doubt in her face.

  "In being led to believe that those who are your friends are yourenemies?"

  "I speak as I find."

  "No," said Dick, firmly, "you speak from ideas which have been putinto your head, heaven knows for what purpose. What that man's motivemay be----"

  "Yes, yes, yes," she interrupted again. "Motive, motive, motive. I'veheard enough of motive. What is yours, Mr. Remington? Who is moredeeply interested in the death of Mr. Samuel Boyd, who is moredirectly connected with it, who has more to gain from it, than you andyour friend. You speak of motive. What motive brings you here?"

  "I have told you."

  "You have not told me," she said, violently. "You come to seekinformation about my poor husband."

  "Yes," he admitted, "partly."

  "And," she said, very slowly, "to cast suspicion upon him, if the poordear is alive, and so avert it from yourself and Mr. Reginald Boyd."

  Dick was too startled to reply. No need to ask the source of thisinsidious suggestion.

  "If it happened that you found him here," she continued, "would yougive information to the police? Would you say, 'Go into that house andarrest the murderer of Mr. Samuel Boyd?' Oh, I know, I know! But we donot fear the truth, and we have a friend who will see that justice isdone. That is all we want, and I pray that I may live to see the day."

  She had worked herself into a white heat of passion, and Dick saw thatno good would result from prolonging his visit. "May there come ahappier day for all of us," he said, and passed from her presence.

  Night was coming on as he took his way to Catchpole Square, but he didnot h
eed the falling shadows nor the soft drizzling rain that nowbegan to fall. "This is Dr. Vinsen's work," he thought, "and he doesnot work without a purpose. What motive can he have in fixingsuspicion upon me and Reginald, what motive in taking so deep aninterest in Mrs. Death? The mystery seems impenetrable, but I willpierce it till light comes. I will, I will, I will!" He did not hearpattering feet behind him, and was not conscious that anyone was byhis side till his hand was clutched.

  "Dick!"

  "Gracie!" he cried. "I am glad you are here. Your mother is terriblyanxious about you. Let me take you to her."

  "No," she said, panting, "not yet, Dick. I've been looking for youeverywhere. I've got something to tell you first. Come, come, come!"

  She dragged him in the direction he had been taking, towards CatchpoleSquare.