Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery

"Yes, I spoke purposely," he answered.

"Reginald said you did, and that you looked as if you had a suspicion of him. But you didn't know he was Mr. Boyd's son?"

"I did know it," said Dick.

"Why did you keep it to yourself?" she asked, with a troubled look.

"It was for your sake, Florence," he answered quietly. "It wasn't for me to pry into your secrets."

"Thank you, dear," said Florence, putting her hand into his with a tender smile, "it was like you."

"Did Reginald carry out his idea, Florence?"

"I can't tell you; he said nothing more about it to me. Last Saturday I received a letter from him saying he wasn't very well, and couldn't come to mother's on Sunday, and asking me not to call and see him till I heard from him again. What day of the month is this, Dick?"

"The 7th. Last Saturday was the 2nd," said Dick, and thought, "The day after he went to his father's house late at night, the day after Abel Death went there in the night in the hope that Samuel Boyd would take him back again, the day after the murder!"

"Yes, Dick, the 7th. I didn't go to Reginald either on that day or on Sunday. You can imagine how miserable I was. On Monday morning I received another short letter, in which he asked me again not to come and see him. The next letter came on Tuesday night when mother and I were sitting together."

"That was the night of the great fog. Aunt Rob told me you went out in the afternoon in the thick of it. What did you go out for?"

"I came here to inquire after Reginald. The landlady said he wasn't well, and that she had just posted a letter to me from him. 'May I go up and see him?' I asked, and she answered, calling me 'miss,' that he had given orders that no one was to be allowed up, and that when I had read the letter I might know what to do. I was far from happy, Dick, as I walked home through the fog, and a great deal unhappier when the night postman brought the letter, for there was something in it-I hardly know what-that made me feel I ought to go to him. I couldn't ask advice of mother because of my promise to Reginald, which I wouldn't break; and even if anyone had advised me against what I believed was right I shouldn't have listened to it. I went to my bedroom early, and so did mother, and I got out of the house at ten o'clock and came straight here. In the streets I put on my wedding ring, which I had not worn at home, of course, only putting it on and looking at it when I was alone in my room, and I took care that the landlady should see it when I told her I was a relation of Reginald's and had come to nurse him. It was time I did, for he was wandering in his mind, and hadn't called in a doctor because he couldn't afford to pay for one. Thank God I had a little money in my purse, and I've got thirty pounds in the Post Office Savings Bank which I've given notice to take out. Reginald didn't know me, and I was in the most dreadful trouble about him. All his wandering thoughts were about me and his father, and I thought what a shocking thing it would be if he were to die without seeing him. Oh, Dick, my heart was breaking, but I wanted to do what was right, and I thought it likely, if Mr. Boyd saw Reginald in the state he was, that his heart would soften towards the poor boy. I tried to get at his wishes. Bending over him I said, 'Do you want to see your father?' I said it three or four times, and then he said, 'Yes, yes, my father, Catchpole Square. The end house in Catchpole Square. My father-my father!' I called the landlady in, and asked her if she would stop up with Reginald while I went to fetch some one he wanted to see. She consented, and I went out. It was very late when I got to the house in Catchpole Square, and I knocked and knocked without anyone answering me. 'He can't be there,' I thought, and I was creeping out of the Square when two men came into it. One of them had a bull's eye lamp in his hand, and I saw they were policemen. My anxiety then was to get away from them, but they saw me and called out to me to stop, and laid hands on me. How I escaped I don't know, but I tore myself away and ran for my life, and in a minute or two I was alone and free. Then I managed to find my way back here, and sent the good landlady to bed, telling her that the person I had gone to fetch was out of town. Yesterday morning early I sent for a doctor, and he said that Reginald would have died if he hadn't been called in, but that there were hopes for him. Oh, how I thanked God for the good news! and how grateful I was when Reginald last night opened his eyes and recognised me! He didn't blame me, poor boy, but spoke so sweetly of everybody! I told him how I had run away from home, and I begged him to allow me to end this mystery and to make things right with father and mother. He thought a little, and said, 'Send for your cousin Dick, and do what he advises.' I cried for joy, and I sat down at once and wrote to you. Now you know all, dear. Will you go and tell them everything, and ask them to forgive poor Reginald and me?"

"I will, Florence," said Dick, "the moment I go from here. It will be a happiness to me to relieve their suspense. But I want to ask you a question or two first."

"Yes, Dick."

"How long has Reginald been ill?"

"Since Saturday."

"Has he been in bed all the time?"

"Yes."

"May I go into his room?"

"What for? If he's asleep" – she opened the door and peeped in-"yes, he's asleep. You won't disturb him, Dick?"

"No, I will not speak to him. I've got my reasons, Florence."

"Very well, dear," she said, her eyes following him as he stepped softly to the bedroom, and closed the door behind him.

His purpose was to examine Reginald's boots, and he saw them the moment he entered the room. Reginald having been in bed since Saturday they could not have been worn since his visit to Catchpole Square on Friday night. Dick took them up, and discerned on the soles traces of the waxed paper which Samuel Boyd had set as a trap. With his penknife he carefully scraped off these tell-tale evidences of the visit, and returned to Florence.

"Do you know," he asked, "when Reginald saw his father last?"

"No," she answered, "it must have been a long time ago."

He did not disabuse her. "He is sleeping quite calmly," he said. "Did the doctor say when he would be able to get up?"

"In two or three days, he told me, if the opiate he gave him had the desired effect. It is having it, Dick."

"No doubt of that. By the way, Florence, in your haste to escape from the policemen in Catchpole Square did you lose or drop anything?"

"How clever you are to think of it, Dick! I lost a handkerchief."

"With your name on it?"

"Yes. All my handkerchiefs are marked. I think I had it in my hand when I was in the Square, but I can't be sure. It is of no consequence. There are plenty of girls named Florence. How did you cut your hand?"

"With some broken glass. That's of no consequence. It is only a scratch." The exertion and haste he had made in scraping the wax off Reginald's boots had started the blood.

"Let me bind it up. Oh, Dick, you are our good angel! Dear Dick! Reginald likes you so much! But he had an idea that you didn't care for him."

"I care for him very much, Florence."

"And do you know," she said, almost gaily, so happy was she in the prospect of Reginald's speedy recovery, and of removing the cloud of misery she had brought upon her parents, "he had another idea-but I won't mention that."

"Yes, do, dear. Remember, you are to hide nothing from me."

"Well, he had an idea that you were fond of me."

"He is right. I am very fond of you, Florence."

"I know that, dear. But in another way, he meant. You understand."

"Yes, dear cousin, I understand."

"I told him that we had been brought up together, and that he wasn't to be jealous of my dear cousin Dick. Foolish of him, wasn't it?"

"Very foolish. How could such an idea have got into his head?"

"Well-perhaps-it-was-natural," she said, with an arch pause between each word. Ah, if she could have read his heart at that moment! But he did not betray himself. "There! I am sure your hand must feel more comfortable. I hope your feelings won't change towards me now that I'm a married woman."

"My feelings will never change, Florence, dear."

"A married woman! How strange and beautiful it sounds! To think of the time when we were playing together as little children! Such changes, Dick, such changes! It is almost as if we were not ourselves. My dear cousin! Do you think dear mother and father will come to me?"

"I will answer for them. Now, I must go. Every moment saved is a moment of happiness gained to them."

"Go, Dick, go quickly."

They kissed, and he was gone. When he was in the street he looked up at the window, and saw her standing there, looking out after him. She threw the window open, and kissed her hand to him. He returned the fond sign and hurried on.

"Steady, Dick, steady," he said.

CHAPTER XXIV

DR. VINSEN TAKES AN INTEREST IN DICK

The admonition was needed, for his brain was in a whirl. The disclosure of Reginald's movements made by Florence, his statement to her that he had an idea for improving his circumstances which he intended to carry out "whatever came of it," his silence regarding his visits to the house in Catchpole Square, his fevered ravings about his father-were, as Dick said with a groan, "so many nails in his coffin."

"No doubt can exist," he argued, "that Samuel Boyd was murdered either by his son Reginald or by Abel Death. If what I know were made public Reginald would be immediately arrested and charged. Poor Florence! She little knows what is in store for her, and what can't be hidden much longer. But where, where is Abel Death? Is it possible that he also has been murdered? That would make things worse for Reginald. I'll search the house from top to bottom to-night in the hope of not finding his body, for then the chance of his being the murderer would still be open. If Florence's husband is put in the dock we'll make a fight for his life."

Having thus relieved his mind he struck a bee-line for Aunt Rob's house, and his knock at the door was instantly answered by her and Inspector Robson.

"I bring good news," said Dick, in a cheery tone.

"You have found her!" cried Aunt Rob, quivering with excitement.

"Yes, I have found her."

"Thank God-oh, thank God!"

Inspector Robson, pale as death, grasped Dick's hand, and in a husky voice asked, "Is she well?"

"Quite well-and waiting to see you."

Aunt Rob threw on her bonnet and mantle. "Here's your hat, father," she said, almost breathless, "we must go to her at once. Come, Dick, come."

"Stop a minute," he said, laying his hand on her arm, "I have something to tell you first."

"I don't want to hear anything," she cried, sternly. "I want my child!"

"Let Dick speak," said Inspector Robson.

Then Dick related all that Florence had told him, and their joy at recovering their daughter was so great that they had no word of reproach for her. The dear child was found, and they would be once more re-united. What more could they desire?

"They must come here this very day, father," said Aunt Rob. "This is their home till they get one of their own."

He nodded, and the fond parents, accompanied by Dick, hastened to the dear one, with love and forgiveness in their hearts. When they were all together in Florence's room he stood apart, a silent witness of the joyful meeting. How the parents embraced and wept over their child, how she clung to them and kissed them, and entreated them to believe that her love for them was stronger than it had ever been! Aunt Rob's tearful eyes shone with gladness; her one ewe lamb was restored to her; a sacred joy stirred their hearts at this re-union.

Then, when their agitation had somewhat subsided, and they had stepped in softly to see Reginald, who was still asleep, came the question of his removal.

"It must be left to the doctor," said Uncle Rob. "When do you expect him, Florence?"

"He is coming to-night, between eight and nine o'clock," she answered, and added, with a wistful look, "we are very poor, father."

"You share with us, my dear," was his ready response. "All we have is yours. Mother, it is hardly likely he can be removed for a day or two. You will stay with Florence to-night."

"And every night," said Aunt Rob, "till we get her home. I don't let her out of my sight. Dick, what are you looking so glum for?"

"Am I looking glum?" he said, striving to speak cheerfully. "I was not aware of it."

"Dear Dick!" said Florence, stepping to his side. "How can we thank you?"

"That will do, that will do," he said. "As if anybody in my place wouldn't have done the same! I must be off now-a thousand things to attend to."

"Pop into the office between eight and nine for a chat," said Uncle Rob.

"All right, uncle, I'll be there," answered Dick, waving goodbye to the happy group.

He was glad to get away, to think of the work before him. The search in Samuel Boyd's house for the body of Abel Death must be made to-night; it might be the last opportunity he would have to do so secretly.

"I must dodge the police, and I must get in early," he thought. "At nine I will have a chat with Uncle Rob, at ten I'll be in Catchpole Square. My mind is in a state of muddle. Let me see how the case stands in respect of dates and the consecutive order of events. To save confusion I will jot them down."

Taking a small memorandum book from his pocket he halted at a street corner, and made the following entries:

"Friday, 1st March. – Abel Death discharged by Samuel Boyd. He pays a visit to Catchpole Square at about ten o'clock to beg Boyd to take him back into his service. Reginald's two visits to the house, the first in the afternoon, the second late at night, hour unknown. In his haste to get away on the second occasion he drops in the passage the key of the street door. Samuel Boyd murdered. Query-Did Abel Death and Reginald meet? Would it be advisable, when Reginald is in his right senses, to ask him about this?

"Saturday, 2nd March. – Mrs. Death goes to Catchpole Square to obtain news of her husband. Unsuccessful. Good reason for it. Dead men tell no tales. Reginald back in his lodgings, in bed, delirious. The events of the previous night being fresh in his mind, it is likely he raved about them. Query-Who attended to him? His landlady. Did she hear anything that would furnish a clue, and will this occur to her when the murder is discovered?

"Sunday, 3d March. – Mrs. Death repeats her visits to Catchpole Square. Same result. Same reason for it.

"Monday, 4th March. – Mrs. Death continues her visits to Catchpole Square.

"Tuesday, 5th March. – The day of the great fog. My conversation with Uncle Rob in the police station. Mrs. Death and Gracie are brought in. Her story. Florence leaves home secretly to nurse Reginald. Fearing that he is dying, and gathering from his ravings that he wishes to see his father, she goes to Catchpole Square after midnight. She is seen by the police and drops her handkerchief, which Constable Pond picks up. My conversation with Applebee. He tells me that Pond has a room to let. I reconnoitre Samuel Boyd's house, and determine to force an entrance next night. Only one way of getting in, by means of rope and grapnel.

"Wednesday, 6th March. – At the police court with Mrs. Death and Gracie. I write par. for 'L. B. B.' I take lodgings in Pond's house, and obtain possession of Florence's handkerchief. Visit Aunt Rob, and learn particulars of Florence's flight. I purchase rope and grapnel. I visit Mrs. Death. No news of her husband. Make the acquaintance of Dr. Vinsen. He gives Mrs. Death two pounds. Why should he be so generous? At one in the morning I get over dead wall, and into Samuel Boyd's house. Discovery of the murder. Find Samuel Boyd's written accusation of his son. Pocket it. Find Reginald's key to street door. Pocket it. Things look black.

"Thursday, 7th March-Visit Aunt Rob. Receive letter from Florence. Go to her. Fetch Aunt and Uncle Rob. Leave them together. Things look blacker."

Replacing the memorandum book in his pocket he became conscious that he was being observed. Looking up he saw the sleepy eyes of Dr. Vinsen fixed upon him.

"My dear young friend," said the doctor, with an amused smile, "I have been observing you for quite three minutes, and wondering what engrossing task you were engaged upon to make you oblivious of passers-by. An effort of literature-a poem-an inspiration? I envy the literary character. So free, so untrammelled by the ordinary circumstances of our prosaic existence! It soars on the wings of imagination into fairy realms-in-to fai-ry realms. Who knows that you have not in your pocket" – he tapped Dick's breast with a light finger-"something that will open our minds to noble truths? Who knows-who knows?"

"I know," said Dick. "If an account of how many socks, and collars, and handkerchiefs I have sent to the wash will elevate mankind I am sure I have no objection."

"A washing account," said Dr. Vinsen, with a gentle laugh. "Dear, dear, dear! But romance and mystery may be found even in commonplace matters. Look around. Observe the men and women who are passing us. What secrets are hidden in their breasts? In yours? In mine? It occurs to me at this moment to inquire whether mystery is the offspring of romance, or romance the offspring of mystery?"

"You can take your choice," said Dick, attempting to shake Dr. Vinsen off.

"Can one take one's choice?" said Dr. Vinsen, walking by Dick's side, and ignoring his companion's distaste for his society. "Is it open to us to do so? Are we free agents? Are we not rather like boats on a strange sea, with hidden currents that whirl us on, and occasionally bring destruction upon us-des-truc-tion up-on us? Do you happen to be aware if the missing man has returned to the bosom of his family?"

"I am not aware of it. I should consider it very unlikely."

"Then you have a theory concerning his mysterious disappearance." Dick shook his head sullenly. "No? Perhaps you are right not to trouble yourself. I perceive that you are not in the mood for conversation. My dear young friend, I take my leave. If I can be of any service, pray command me."

So saying, Dr. Vinsen raised his hat, affording the world a view of his bald head and his halo, and slowly ambled away.

"Confound you!" said Dick, looking after him. "Why did you raise your hat to me? I am not that kind of man, you know."

His mind was in a state to magnify and distort the simplest matters. To such an extent that the voice of a newsboy shouting in an adjoining street caused him to hurry in that direction to buy a paper. There was nothing in it touching the murder, and he crumpled it up and threw it into the road So he idled away the time until a few minutes before nine, when he entered the Bishop Street Police Station, where his uncle expected him.

"Well, Dick, my lad," said Inspector Robson, "things have taken a turn since our talk the night before last."

"They have, indeed," returned Dick, and thought, "If you knew all!"

"It has been a terrible time," said the inspector, "and we owe you what we can never repay."

"You make too much of it, uncle. What did I do but go to Florence when she asked me? Did you stop long with her?"

"Till the last minute. Had tea there. It's a blessing the mystery's over; it almost drove me mad. It isn't a pleasant reflection that Reginald is the son of such a man as Samuel Boyd, but it would be hard lines to blame children for the faults of their parents. Have you seen Mrs. Death and her little girl?"

"Yes," replied Dick, "I have been twice to their lodgings, and they have heard nothing of the missing man. They are in great poverty-there are seven little children-"

"Poor creature! How's the little girl?"

"There's a chance of her getting well. A friend has unexpectedly turned up, and a doctor is attending her."

Then he related all that he knew of Dr. Vinsen.

"Have you ever heard of him, uncle?"

"Never; he must be a kind gentleman, and I'm glad such a piece of good fortune has fallen to Mrs. Death's share. I wish we could find her husband for her. Dick, now that Reginald is connected with us, a watch ought to be kept on the house in Catchpole Square. Constable Applebee says it looks as if it was quite deserted. If it remains so a day or two longer I shall consider what is best to be done. Abel Death and Mr. Boyd are mixed up together in my mind, and some steps should be taken to clear the mystery. You remember what you said about murder-do you still hold to it?"

It was an awkward question, and Dick gave an evasive reply.

"You might have a look round Catchpole Square yourself, Dick."

"I will do so," said Dick, and soon afterwards took his departure.

CHAPTER XXV

LADY WHARTON AT THE FOUNTAIN

A fine starlight night, and the weather fair all over England, especially in Bournemouth where, in their beautiful estate, The Gables, Lord and Lady Wharton are giving their yearly ball. The air is soft and balmy in this favoured southern retreat, and though it is too early yet for the rhododendrons, the gardens are bright with flowers. Guests are riding to The Gables from all parts of the county, for this annual function is eagerly looked forward to by the belles and beaus of Hampshire. At eleven o'clock they begin to arrive, and by midnight the nineteenth century revelry is at its full height; at which hour my Lady Wharton, deeming that she has done her society duty, ceases to receive at the top of the grand staircase, and strolls into the grounds to welcome her tardy friends. Lord Wharton, happily convalescent, but still weak, and, as some whisper, not so strong in his intellect as he might be, is in the card room, where, propped up by cushions, he is entertaining a few choice guests by dropping his guineas to them. My lady's brother, Lord Fairfax, has also contributed to their entertainment, and, feeling that he has done his duty, he also strolls into the grounds, and flirts. He is in his fourth decade, a handsome gentleman with a blonde moustache, and has not yet made his choice in the matrimonial market; therefore he is gladly welcomed by all the spring beauties here assembled. But he is not an assiduous cavalier, and being weary of most things, is soon weary of languishing glances. Standing by a tiny fountain my lady watches him until he joins her there.

"They do these things better on the Continent," he says languidly.

Some hostesses would have misunderstood him, but she knows he refers to the fountain, and she nods assent. His conversational powers are not remarkable, so he allows her to rattle on for his amusement, putting in an occasional monosyllable as his contribution.

"Did you leave Wharton in the card room?" she asks.

"Yes," he drawls, and hazards three consecutive words. "Your friend arrived?" It is not a question in which he seems to take more than a momentary interest. He does everything languidly; even when he raises his white fingers to caress his moustache, which has been the business of his life, it is done as though the effort were a tax upon his physical powers. This, to many of the opposite sex, is one of his charms.

"Not yet," my lady answers.

"By the way," he says, and either forgets what he was going to say, or finds the effort of a long sentence too great.

"You were going to speak about the old bills?" she asks.

"Yes."

"I wrote to him to bring them to-night. I can't imagine how I forgot to ask him for them when I gave him the new acceptances you and Wharton signed."

"Not-business-woman," he observed, with a pause between each word.

"Don't be ridiculous, Fairfax," she protested, with a merry laugh. "Not a business woman? I should like to know what would become of Wharton if I were not."

"Floored," said Lord Fairfax.

"Indeed he would be. And don't I manage you?"

"Difficult?" he asked.

"Not at all. You are the dearest fellow! I shall be almost ashamed to ask you for another cheque to-morrow."

"Don't. Stumped"

"Next week, then?" He nods. She casts a critical look around. "Our most brilliant gathering, I think."