Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery

"How is it," asked Dr. Vinsen, "that that accusation has not been produced?"

"There are more ways than one of accounting for it. The man who made the burglarious entrance into the house may have seized the papers we left upon the table, in the expectation that he could turn them to profit, to discover later that to produce them would be putting himself into the criminal dock; or it may be that Mr. Richard Remington appropriated the document and destroyed it, out of regard for Inspector Robson's family, and probably also because he believes in Mr. Reginald Boyd's innocence. Hark! Do you hear the thunder? A storm is approaching. All the better for our purpose. It is two o'clock, and we have little time to waste. I will make short work of the conclusion of that night's proceedings. At your suggestion we placed the body of Samuel Boyd comfortably in its bed, and cleared away all traces of the struggle. Your argument was that, as it would become known that Mr. Reginald Boyd visited his father that night, it would be supposed he had adopted the expedient to make it appear that the murdered man died a natural death, and so avert suspicion from himself. It was a lame argument, for the marks of our fingers were on his throat, but I humoured you, as we humour a child who asks a harmless question. The last thing we did was to carry Abel Death from the house. Some days afterwards we learned that Mr. Richard Remington was taking an active interest in the disappearance of the clerk, and for the purpose of ascertaining to what extent he was in communication with Mrs. Death you introduced yourself to her under the false name, by which you are known to her and to him. I raised no objection to the plan; the risk was yours, and I was willing that you should run it. You used my name without my authority, and I understand why you did so. It was to make me a partner in the risk, was it not?"

"Yes," replied Dr. Vinsen, sullenly.

"An honest confession. You feared that I should shirk the consequences of our crime-let us call it by its usual name-to which you attach so much importance. You are mistaken; I am ready to meet them, always, always ready. I have overcome greater dangers, have steered my way safely over rocks and quicksands far more perilous. Shall I recapitulate the particulars of a later incident in this affair? That it chanced that one of the men summoned on the jury was a person who owed you money which he could not pay; that you held him so completely in your power that you could bring worldly ruin upon him; that you entered into a conspiracy with him to use his influence with his brother jurymen in order that a verdict of wilful murder against Reginald Boyd should be returned; that you-"

"Enough of that," interposed Dr. Vinsen. "Surely it is not necessary to go into these details."

"A statement of them refreshes the memory; it is important not to lose sight of the smallest incident in this complex matter-but as you will. And now, my worthy partner, before we proceed to the house that faces this window, explain what you mean by saying that your patience is exhausted, and by your threat with reference to the art treasures I have gathered, which I value as I value my life?"

"You have had a large sum of money from me," said Dr. Vinsen, doggedly. "I claim my own. The debt must be discharged."

"And if payment is impossible just now?"

"I cannot wait any longer."

"Shall we say you will not?"

"You goad me to it. I will not."

"But it happens that you must wait my pleasure-aye, must! Ezra Lynn, you little know the man upon whose fate yours depends, and who would have no more compunction in striking you dead where you sit than in plucking the leaves from a rose. You would rob me of my treasures-the treasures I have purchased with blood. Not while I live-not while I live. Here is beauty that I can worship, the work of the great masters of the past, exquisite colour and perfect form, in the production of which genius toiled with a divine end in view. If my history ever becomes known the world will read the story of a man who greatly dared, of one who loved beauty in its every shape and form, of one who, unblessed with wealth, stopped at no crime to gain it, in order to follow his star, and who, when all was lost-if such a fate befall him-defied his enemies and defeated them in the moment of their victory. You start at the word crime. It is a common word, and I use it in the common sense, but not in the sense in which I view it. All things are justified to men who dare as I have dared. What is the sacrifice of a human life in the endeavour to wrest nature's sublime secrets from her breast? Man wars with man, and strews the battlefield with the slain. Is that called a crime? We glorify it, we sing hymns to it, the church cries 'Hosanna!' and its priests praise the Lord of Hosts who crowned our banners with victory. If victory crown mine-and it may yet, in the teeth of all obstacles-so shall I be praised and glorified. Crime! There is no such word to the victor. I laugh at the law that would make a criminal of a hero. Not for the first time shall I have successfully defied it."

He paused, and smiled scornfully as a flash of lightning pierced a chink in the window, which he instantly unshuttered.

"We may be seen!" cried Dr. Vinsen, catching his arm.

He took no heed of the warning, but stood at the window, and smiled again at the peal of thunder at the lightning's heels. Whether the words he had uttered were or were not the ravings of a madman, it was clear that he was terribly in earnest.

"It is but a commencement of the storm," he said presently, in a calmer tone, turning from the window. "There is still something further to explain. You accused me of concealing a design from you."

Dr. Vinsen fortified himself with brandy before replying. His nerves were shaken, and the liquor gave him courage.

"Why have you had two travelling trunks made, and inscribed with the name of Corsi?"

"Ah, you have discovered that. It is the name I shall assume when I leave these shores for another country. The trunks, as you have doubtless observed, are specially constructed for the safe transport of works of art."

"I forbid you to remove them," cried Dr. Vinsen. "They no longer belong to you."

"How so?"

"How so?" echoed Dr. Vinsen. "You will not deny your signature?"

"No, I will not deny it."

"By this document," said Dr. Vinsen, taking a paper from his pocket-book, "which I had duly stamped on the day you signed it, they became my property if, in six months from that date, you had not discharged your debt to me. The six months expired to-day."

"Pause a moment before you open it. When did you read it last?"

"Yesterday, and put it in my pocket-book to bring here to-night."

"If my memory does not play me false, the date was the 18th of September, 1897. I did not approve of the document you asked me to sign, and you wrote another at this table, worded somewhat differently. One hundred and eighty-three days have elapsed since then. I am curious to see if I timed it correctly. Open the paper."

Dr. Vinsen unfolded it, and started in amazement. The paper was blank, nothing appearing on it but the red Government stamp.

"It was a vulgar trick," said Dr. Pye. "You wrote and I signed, not in ink which gradually fades, but which suddenly disappears at an appointed hour. Content yourself, my worthy friend, and thank me for saving you from a danger which would have sent you to the hulks. Had you attempted to dispose of these gems to a dealer in any European city you would have been immediately arrested. They have been bought with blood, and there is not a police court that has not a list of them. Priceless treasures! Here are vases, medallions, and bronzes of Benvenuto Cellini, for which collectors would give thousands of guineas, and every one known throughout the civilised world. That wondrous artificer saw visions, as I do, and his progress was marked with blood, as mine has been. Content yourself, I say; when I make my fortune you shall be paid, and if we discover the jewels to-night you shall have the lion's share. Now, follow me, if you have the courage."

* * * * *

Noiseless footsteps on the dark stairs, noiseless footsteps in the passages-the footsteps of men in their stocking feet. They reach the landing on which Samuel Boyd's bedroom and office are situated.

The storm rages without, tearing through the Square with fierce, shrieking moans and cries, like a forest of wild beasts in pain. There is a leak in the roof of the house, and the men within it, when there is a lull, hear the raindrops falling, pat, pat, pat. One of the men shudders at a terrifying thought, born of the memory of a night when a murder was committed there. If a human being were on the roof, stabbed to the heart, so might his life's blood drip through the aperture. In the terrified man's fancy he sees the red stains on the floor, sees them spread through the air, though nothing is visible in his actual sight. A muffled cry escapes him.

"Hush!" From the other man. "Do not raise your voice above a whisper."

"Why not?" From the trembling man. "There is no one here but ourselves."

"Fool! The house may be watched. Why do you shrink from me? Are you afraid?"

"No." But the speaker's lips and face are white. "Can we not have a light?"

"Not here. I have matches and a candle with me. There is a screen in the office-here is the door-step in, softly, softly! Now, help me move the screen before the window. Come, ghost, spectre, or vision, show yourself!"

"For God's sake, stop!"

"Coward! Ah, that lightning flash! And now the thunder! Listen to the rain. It is a deluge."

They stoop and light the candle, crouching by the writing-table.

"Keep the light near the ground. The window is masked, but if the candle is raised its glimmer might be seen from the Square. Move this way. Nearer to this dumb image of wax in its hooded chair. It would be a rare achievement to breathe life into it, to compel it to speak, and reveal where the treasure we seek is hidden."

So low are their voices that it would be impossible for any person acquainted with the speakers to recognise them by that sound. They are standing at the back of the hooded chair, and the waxwork figure of the Chinaman, with its fixed and pallid face, stares straight at vacancy.

"Speak!" whispers the bolder of the two, in savage derision, and shakes the chair-so violently that the Charles the Second cane it holds in its hand slips and falls to the ground.

"I recall a story," he continues, picking up the stick, and still in a whispered voice, "of a treasure of great value being concealed for generations in a cane like this. If this were hollow it could be used for just such a purpose. What are these protuberances round the rim? Hold the light closer, closer! A circlet of old English letters."

By accident he presses one of the letters, and as he does so is conscious of a movement in the silver knob at the top of the cane. Bending over it he sees that the letter he pressed is B, and that the pressure has caused the figure 2 to spring up on the surface of the knob.

"B, the second letter in the alphabet, stands for 2," he whispers excitedly. "The last words written by Samuel Boyd on the memorandum which would send his son to the gallows if it were found, were 'Notation 2647.' The sixth letter in the alphabet is F." He presses the letter, and the figure 6 appears on the knob. "Ha, ha! The fourth letter, D." He presses that, and the figure 4 appears, the figures now ranging 264. "The seventh letter, G. The notation is complete-2647!"

Such perfect control did the speaker have over himself that even in that moment of excitement his voice does not rise above a whisper. Both men are now in a standing posture, the discoverer of the simple cryptogram holding the cane.

"Now for the test," he says, and with the ball of his broad thumb he presses hard upon the four figures. A click is heard. The silver knob springs up.

"The jewels!" he whispers, exultantly. "They are here-they are here! See!"

In the utterance of the word a vivid flash of lightning illumines the room, and one man utters a startled exclamation, the other a frenzied shriek, for in that momentary flash they see the figure of the Chinaman rise suddenly from its chair. The candle is dashed to the ground, enveloping them in black darkness, and the cane, with its concealed treasure, is plucked from the hand that held it!

CHAPTER LIX

CONSTABLE APPLEBEE DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF

Constable Applebee, seeking shelter from the storm beneath the roof of Deadman's Court, kept his face and his thoughts in the direction of Samuel Boyd's house, for such complete possession had the mystery taken of him that lightning, wind, and rain were powerless to drive it from his mind. Besides which, as he afterwards informed his wife, he had a presentiment that "something was going to happen." The latest flash of lightning caused him to clap his hand instinctively upon his eyes; the crash of thunder that followed caused him to drop his hand. Then, as though the elements had exhausted themselves, there was a sudden hush, for the sound of the fast-falling rain was faint in his ears after the deafening thunderpeal. So faint, indeed, that, in the belief that the storm was spent, he stepped into Catchpole Square and looked around, distinguishing only the outlines of the buildings because of the darkness of the night. Almost on the instant the door of Samuel Boyd's house was violently opened, and a man rushed out, slamming it behind him. With such frantic haste did he run that he came into collision with the constable, and both were nearly upset.. They recovered their equilibrium simultaneously, and before the man could get his breath Applebee proved himself equal to the occasion.

"Easy, there!" he exclaimed, and with one hand caught the man by the throat, while with the other he raised his whistle to his lips, and blew a loud and vigorous summons for assistance.

"Let me go!" cried the man, struggling to get free. "Come into the house with me-quick, quick, or the murderers will escape!"

"You don't escape," said Applebee. "Keep still, or I'll knock you on the head." And he tightened his hand on the man's throat.

At this moment his summons for assistance was answered by the respectable mechanic who had twice inquired the way to Holborn. "What's up?" he inquired.

Applebee pulled out his bull's eye lamp, and turned its light upon the new arrival. "Oh, it's you," he said. "I call upon you in the Queen's name to assist me in arresting this man."

"Right you are," replied Lambert, in the half tipsy voice of the mechanic.

"Are you mad?" cried the man. "They will escape, I tell you! Come with me into that house!"

"Keep still!" growled Applebee, shaking his captive roughly.

"What do you charge him with?" asked Lambert, keeping up the fiction.

"Murder," said Applebee. "The murder of Samuel Boyd!"

"That's a find," said Lambert. "Let's have a look at him." And to the constable's astonishment he also pulled out a bull's-eye lamp.

"Who are you?" demanded Applebee.

"My name is Lambert," said the detective, dropping his disguise.

"I might have guessed it; but don't forget that I made this arrest."

"You shall have the credit of it." The light of two bull's-eye lamps was thrown upon the man's face. "By George! It's Dick Remington."

"Absent on business," observed Applebee, sarcastically. "The murder's out. What's that he's dropped?" Lambert picked it up. "A mask!"

It was the mask of a Chinaman's face; and moreover, Dick's outer garment was that of a Mongolian, resembling the garment of the wax figure in the office from which but a few minutes ago he had escaped.

"Look here, Mr. Lambert, look here, Applebee," said Dick, eagerly-

"Stop, Dick Remington," interrupted Lambert. "Don't you think you had better shut your mouth? We're bound to take you to the station, and charge you. When you're brought before the magistrate you can tell your story if you like. Take my advice."

"So far as my story is concerned I will," said Dick, "but in that house are the murderers of Samuel Boyd. For heaven's sake don't leave the place without arresting them!"

"If he gets us into the house," remarked Applebee, "we're done for."

"We shall be three to two," urged Dick, despairingly.

"If your story's true," corrected Applebee, "we shall be two to three. What's this in your hand? A sword-stick?"

"No," said Dick, and his heart fell; he was beginning to realise the danger he was in, "it is not a weapon. I will explain everything at the proper time. Mr. Lambert, I implore you to search that house."

"Constable Applebee has spoken like a careful and sensible man," said Lambert, "but we'll see if we can equalise matters." Taking his police call from his pocket he sent his summons through Deadman's Court. "Blow yours, too, Applebee."

The first to answer the call was Constable Pond, to whom the affair was hastily explained; and presently they were joined by another officer.

"I see no harm in humouring Mr. Remington," then said Lambert. "Pond, you and this officer keep watch in the Square while we go into the house. There's only one way out of it, and there's only one way out of the Square."

"There's the wall at the back," said Dick.

"Which they've got over before this time-"

"Supposing," Applebee put in, "there was anyone to get over it."

"Yes, supposing that. When daylight comes we shall be able to ascertain if there are any fresh marks of a grapnel there." Dick set his teeth; his rope and grapnel were under the bed of his room in Constable Pond's house. "You wish to go into the house with us, Mr. Remington?"

"Yes."

"We must handcuff you. Give me the stick." He took possession of it, and Dick, with a groan, held out his hands. "Behind your back, Mr. Remington. I am sorry for the necessity, but there's no help for it. There, that's comfortable. Have you the key of the street door?"

"In my trousers' pocket."

Lambert put his hand beneath Dick's outer garment, and took the key from the pocket. Then he showed his revolver. "If we're attacked, Applebee, I'll account for the two men. Now, then." He opened the door. "You go first, Mr. Remington. Applebee, keep behind me, and be prepared."

Throwing light upon their way with their bull's-eye lamps the two officers, preceded by Dick, ascended the stairs to the office. No person was there, nor in the bedroom. They went through all the rooms in the upper part of the house, with the same result. Lambert's experienced eye sought diligently for some sign of the presence of the men Dick had spoken of, but without success.

"A trumped-up story," said Applebee aside to him, "but I knew that all along."

Lambert made no reply, but turned to Dick, "Anywhere else, Mr. Remington?"

"The bottom of the house," replied Dick. Hope was dying within him. He knew that he would be searched at the police station, and that, in addition to other incriminating evidence, there would be found in his pocket the last words written by Samuel Boyd, the production of which would be fatal to Reginald. "Fool!" he thought. "Why have I kept it about me? Why did I not destroy it?"

"Is there a cellar?" asked Lambert.

"Yes."

"I draw the line at cellars," objected Applebee.

"We will go there," said Lambert curtly, and the constable was compelled to accompany them.

"There is a trap door leading to the cellar," said Dick, hopelessly, when they reached the kitchen, for he saw that it had not been disturbed since he had last lifted it himself. Lambert raised it, and let himself down; ascending, he shook the dust from his clothes.

"A regular rat hole," he said. "There's no one there."

"Nor anywhere else," said Applebee, sulkily. "We're only wasting time. Let's get to the station."

Caught, as it were, in a trap of his own preparing, Dick conveyed to Lambert, in one of those secret glances which to an intelligent mind are as good as speech, an entreaty for a private word.

"Remain outside a minute, Applebee," said Lambert, as they stood in the passage leading to the street door. "There's something I wish to ask Mr. Remington."

Applebee would have refused if he dared, but Lambert's standing in the force was too high, and the part he had played in the mystery too conspicuous, for him to venture opposition, so, with a dissatisfied mind and a discontented face, he walked slowly forward, and waited in the Square by the street door.

"This is a bad business, Dick," said Lambert, becoming familiar. His kind tone brought tears into the young man's eyes.

"It is even worse than it appears," said Dick, "as you will discover when we reach the station. You might take the handcuffs off, Mr. Lambert. I'll go quietly." Lambert instantly released him. "Thank you. Handle that cane gently, and carry it upright, if you don't care to entrust me with it. You will know why soon. It is worth more than its weight in gold. Do you think I have been lying?" Lambert stroked his chin. "It is an unfair question, perhaps. Ill answer it myself. As I hope for mercy from our heavenly Judge I have spoken the truth."

"Who were the men you left in the office? Don't say unless you like, and don't speak one word that will tell against yourself. Understand me-I sha'n't use anything to your disadvantage unless I have the best of reasons for it. And don't misunderstand me. I intend to do my duty without regard to consequences. After all, the proper course is silence."

"I must speak. I don't know for certain who the men were. You see my dress and the mask I dropped. I had it made in Covent Garden, and partly helped to make it myself. I have been in this house since Friday night last, and have sat in that Chinaman's chair whenever I heard a sound outside the room, made up to resemble him. I acted another part, too-I could smile at it if it wasn't for what I see before me. There's new misery in store for those I love best in the world, and it is I who will bring it home to them."

"Be a man, Dick, be a man."

"It is because I am a man that I feel it as I do. I have been working to save them, and as likely as not I have brought destruction upon them. I waited for my chance in this house, and to-night it came; and it has been spoilt at the last moment by a-"

"By a man who was doing his duty," said Lambert, persuasively. "I am sure that is what you were going to say. Did you not see the men?"

"I could not. They were at the back of the hooded chair all the time, and of course I didn't dare to turn my head, or they'd have stuck a knife in me. Do you think I'm clever enough to have invented the story?" he asked pathetically.

"I think you are clever enough to invent anything," replied Lambert. He had great admiration for the young fellow, and great sympathy with him; notwithstanding which he would not commit himself. "Be quick. I've no time to listen to a long story; Applebee will be getting impatient. Didn't you hear their voices?"

"I could not distinguish them. They spoke in whispers, and I only caught a word here and there. But I suspect-I suspect-"

"Yes?"

"I more than suspect. I believe them to be Dr. Pye and the wretch Vinsen, who is no doctor, but a money-lender named Ezra Lynn, in league with that scoundrel of a juryman, Rawdon."

"I know all about Ezra Lynn and Rawdon. How did the men you suspect get out of the house?"

"I cannot tell. There is some awful mystery yet to be brought to light. I hoped to do it, but now I shall be deprived of my liberty-" He groaned, and clasped his hands convulsively. "Mr. Lambert, our only hope is in you. You want to see justice done, don't you?"

"I will see it done," said Lambert, sternly.

"Don't be misled-don't be thrown off the right track! However strong appearances may be against me, and against Reginald Boyd, I swear, by all we hold most sacred, that we are both innocent!"

"Isn't it time we were moving, Mr. Lambert," called Applebee, from without.

"In one moment, Applebee."

"Must I be taken to Bishop Street Station?" asked Dick.

"We daren't take you to another," replied Lambert, gravely. "It will be a terrible shock to Inspector Robson."

"My poor uncle! I would give my right hand if it could be spared him. What will he think-what will his dear wife and daughter think?" Dick was suffering physically as well as mentally; he had not tasted food for twenty hours.