Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery

This was the state of Dick's mind when he submitted himself for the third time to the Coroner.

The Coroner: "Since you were examined on Monday, have you continued your search in Mr. Samuel Boyd's house?"

Dick: "Yes, I have carefully searched every room, every cupboard, every drawer."

"Have you found any jewels?"

"None."

"Any bills of acceptance?"

"None."

"Nothing of any value?"

"Nothing."

"Look at this visiting card which was presented to Lady Wharton on Thursday night in Bournemouth. Do you recognise it as one of Mr. Samuel Boyd's regular visiting cards?"

"It is exactly like. There are thirty or forty similar cards in a drawer in the writing table."

"You are doubtless familiar with Mr. Boyd's handwriting?"

"I was very familiar with it, but that is some time ago. I may err in my recollection of it."

"So far as your recollection serves is this letter received by Lady Wharton on the 6th of March, and dated the 5th, in his writing?"

"It cannot be his writing because on the 5th of March he was dead."

"Confine yourself strictly to answering the questions put to you. Should you say it was in Mr. Samuel Boyd's handwriting?"

Dick examined the letter with great care. He had in his pocket at that very moment proof positive in the shape of the incriminating document written by Samuel Boyd only a few hours before he was murdered, the production of which would have caused Reginald's instant arrest. The writing on the letter was like it, and he would have given much to be able to compare them. After a long pause he said, "It looks like his writing, but I am not an expert in caligraphy."

The Coroner made a gesture as if he had exhausted his questions, and Dick was about to step back, when the Juror interposed.

The Juror: "Have you found a pistol of any kind in the house?"

"Now, who is prompting you?" thought Dick, as he confronted the Juror, a sallow-faced, pock-marked man, with an aggressive voice. "No," he answered aloud, "I found no pistol."

The Juror: "The detective officer who has been examined spoke of a recently fired bullet which he extracted from the wall of the office. How is it that in your evidence on Monday you said nothing of this bullet?"

Dick: "In the first place, because I was not asked. In the second place, because on Monday nothing was known about it."

There was a titter in Court at this, and the juror flushed up and was silent.

The Coroner: "When was the bullet found?"

Dick: "Yesterday."

"It had escaped your notice before the detective officer pointed it out?"

"It was I who first pointed it out. We were examining the wall together when I said, 'What is this?' My question led to the discovery of the bullet."

The Coroner: "Call Mr. Reginald Boyd."

A firm pressure of Florence's hand, and Reginald faced the jury. Dick moved a little nearer to the young wife, whose heart was throbbing violently. Reginald was very pale, and traces of the sickness he had passed through were visible in his face, though he bore himself with composure.

The Coroner: "You have been ill, and probably would like to be seated."

Reginald: "Thank you, Mr. Coroner, I prefer to stand."

"As you please. We understand that you went to your father's house in Catchpole Square to see the body of the deceased?"

"Yes, I went there on Sunday.'

"You saw the body?"

"Yes."

"And identified it?"

"Yes. It was my father's body."

"In the teeth of the conflicting evidence that has been given, you are positive?"

"I am positive. I wish with all my heart and soul that there was room for doubt."

"We recognise that your position is a painful one, and we should, of course, wish to hear all the evidence it is in your power to give, but I consider it right to say that you are not compelled to answer every question put to you."

"There is no question that I shall decline to answer. I am a willing witness in a most unhappy tragedy."

"When did you last see your father alive?"

"On Friday the 1st of March."

"Before that day were you in the habit of visiting him regularly?"

"Before that day I had not seen him for two years. I regret to say we were not on friendly terms."

The Juror: "What was the cause of the disagreement between you?"

The Coroner: "We cannot have that at this point of the inquiry."

The Juror: "The witness states that there is no question that he will decline to answer, and the inquiry will be incomplete unless we arrive at all the facts of the case."

Reginald: "I am willing to answer everything."

The Coroner: "We will proceed in something like order. The last time you saw your father alive was on Friday the 1st of March. Did the interview take place in his house in Catchpole Square?"

"Yes, on that day I paid two visits to the house, the first in the afternoon, the second at night."

The Juror: "How did you obtain admittance in the afternoon?"

The Coroner (to the Juror): "I must request you not to make these frequent interruptions; they tend to confuse the issue."

The Juror: "With all due respect, sir, it is the jury who have to return the verdict" —

The Coroner: "Under my guidance and direction."

The Juror: "Not entirely. We are not simply machines. You can advise us, and clear up knotty points, but you cannot dictate to us. Otherwise you might as well hold this inquiry without our aid. The question I put to the witness is a very simple one."

The Coroner: "Very well." (To Reginald.) "Did you obtain admission into your father's house on Friday afternoon in the usual way?"

Reginald: "No. I knocked at the door two or three times, and receiving no answer, admitted myself with a private latchkey I had in my pocket."

The Juror: "You see, Mr. Coroner, I had an object in asking the question."

The Coroner: "How did you become possessed of the latchkey?"

Reginald: "It was one I used when I lived in Catchpole Square with my father. When I left the home I took it with me."

"Having let yourself in, what then did you do?"

"I went upstairs to the office in the expectation of seeing my father. He was not at home. The only person in the house was his clerk, Abel Death."

"You were personally acquainted with Abel Death?"

"Yes."

"And on friendly terms with him?"

"Yes."

"Why did he not open the street door for you?"

"He had been instructed not to admit anyone during my father's absence."

"Not even to go down to the door to see who it was who sought entrance?"

"Not even that. He was ordered not to stir out of the office."

"Was your father a very strict man?"

"Very strict."

"Had you a definite object in view when you paid the visit, apart from the natural desire to see him?"

"I had. My circumstances were not good, and I went to see if I could not improve them. My mother had left me a small fortune, and had appointed a trustee to administer it. This trustee had given me to understand that when I was of age I should come into possession of £8,000. I spent my youth and early manhood abroad, and when I returned home my trustee was dead, and my father had the disposition of my inheritance. He wished me to join him in his business, but I had a distaste for it, and we had many arguments and discussions on the subject."

The Juror: "Quarrels?"

"I suppose they would be considered so. We were equally firm, and the consequence of our disagreement was that there was a breach between us, which ended in my leaving his house."

"Voluntarily?"

"He sent me away. Before I left he asked me what I intended to live upon, and I answered that I had my inheritance. Greatly to my surprise he informed me that all the money had been spent upon me during and three or four years after my minority. He showed me a statement of accounts which I did not understand."

"Interrupting you here, has that statement of accounts been found among your father's papers?"

"No statement of accounts has been found. Shall I proceed?"

"If you wish."

"It is hardly my wish, but I certainly desire to anticipate questions which might be put to me by the jury."

The Juror: "Quite right. It will save trouble."

Reginald: "I questioned the correctness of these accounts, and my father said he was ready to prove their correctness in a court of law. Such a course was repugnant to my feelings, and we parted, my resolve being to carve out a path for myself. I was not fortunate, and on the day I visited my father I was practically penniless. I was then married, and I desired to make a home for my wife, which in my then circumstances was not possible. It was this which drove me to making another appeal to my father to restore money which I believed was rightfully mine. On the occasion of my afternoon visit I remained only a short time with Mr. Abel Death, and before I left I informed him of my intention to come again at night. I paid my second visit at about ten o'clock, which I thought was the best time to find my father alone. I knocked at the door, and he came down and asked who was there. He recognised my voice when I answered him, and he refused to admit me. I told him from without that I was determined to see him, if not that night, the next day or night, and if not then, that I would continue my efforts until I succeeded. Upon that he unlocked and unbolted the door, and I entered and followed him upstairs into the office, where I explained the motive for my visit. I informed him that I was married, and that it was necessary I should provide for my wife. We were together half an hour or so, and he refused to assist me, and denied that any money was due to me. I offered to accept a small sum, and to sign a full quittance, but he turned a deaf ear to all my appeals, and at length I left him. Mr. Coroner, I am aware that in this disclosure I have touched upon matters which do not come strictly within the scope of your inquiry. I have done so because I wish to avoid the suspicion of any reluctance on my part to make known to you and the jury all my proceedings with respect to my father. Private matters have already been introduced which affect me closely, and while I dispute the justice of the direction which this inquiry has taken I recognise that more mischief may be done by silence than by a frank and open confession."

The Coroner: "Your statement is a voluntary one, and much of it is not pertinent to the inquiry. You say that you visited your father at about ten o'clock?"

"At about that hour."

"You left the house before eleven o'clock?"

"Certainly before that hour."

"Were you and your father quite alone?"

"Quite alone."

"Did any one apply for admission while you were with him?"

"No one."

"There was no other person except yourselves in the house?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Did your father accompany you to the street door?"

"I do not think he did."

"Cannot you say with certainty?"

"No. I regret that, as regards the last few minutes of the interview, I cannot entirely depend upon my memory. I was deeply agitated, and my mind was in confusion. I have endeavoured in vain to recall every incident and word, and it has occurred to me that the fever from which I immediately afterwards suffered, and which kept me to my bed for several days, may have been upon me then. I have a recollection-not very clear-that as I went downstairs I felt in my pocket for the latchkey."

"For what reason? You did not need the key to open the door from within?"

"I cannot say why I did it. I can only tell you what is in my mind."

"Have you the latchkey now?"

"No, I have lost it."

"Where?"

"I do not know where."

"Have you searched for it?"

"Yes, without success."

"Between your two visits to your father on that Friday did you come into communication with Mr. Abel Death?"

"No."

"Did you not see him in Catchpole Square, or in its vicinity?"

"I repeat that I did not see him, and had no communication with him."

The Juror: "Angry words passed between you and your father?"

"I am afraid so."

"Threatening words?"

"Not on my part."

"On his?" (A momentary pause.) "I do not insist upon a reply."

"Oh, I will reply. My father threatened to bring an action against me for a balance of £1,200, which he said was due to him on the account."

"You disputed the correctness of the account?"

"Certainly I disputed it."

"Did you accuse your father of fraud?"

The Coroner: "Order, order!"

The question was not answered.

The Juror: "Is it true that during these last two years you have been living under an assumed name?"

"I have been passing as Mr. Reginald. Reginald is my Christian name."

"Was it as Mr. Reginald you introduced yourself to the family of Inspector Robson?"

"I was introduced to them by that name."

"They did not know you were the son of Mr. Samuel Boyd?"

"They did not."

"And you did not inform them?"

"Not for some time-not, indeed, till I was married."

"That is quite lately?"

"Yes."

"Have you any objection to inform us why you suppressed the name of Boyd? Were you ashamed of it?"

"You are pressing me rather hardly."

The Coroner: "I quite agree. Many of these questions are totally irrelevant."

The Juror: "Surely, Mr. Coroner, it is of importance that we should be made acquainted with the true state of the relations existing between Mr. Samuel Boyd and his only child. Putting aside Lady Wharton's statements and impressions, and assuming that the medical evidence is correct, the witness is the last person who saw the deceased alive."

Reginald: "That is not so. Some person or persons must have seen him after I left him on Friday night."

The Juror: "Well, the last person who has given evidence in this Court?"

Reginald: "Yes."

"Have you taken out letters of administration?"

"Yes."

"As matters stand at present you are the only person who has benefited by the death of your father?"

The Coroner: "I will not allow questions of this nature to be put to the witness, who has given his evidence very fairly, and has shown every disposition to assist the Court."

Reginald: "I should like to explain that I did not know my father had not made a will. My impression was that he had made one, disinheriting me. Even now, although no will has yet been found, one may be forthcoming."

The Juror: "Extremely unlikely. There has been plenty of time for its production."

The Coroner: "You have heard the evidence respecting the bullet in the wall. Is it within your knowledge that your father kept a pistol by him?"

Reginald: "During the time I lived with him he always had a loaded pistol. It was a Colt's revolver. I do not know whether, during the last two years, he continued to keep it."

"Did your father ever fire the pistol?"

"Never, to my knowledge."

"On what day were you taken ill?"

"On the day following my visit to my father. I recollect feeling giddy and light-headed when I returned home that night. I went to bed about midnight, and the next morning I was too ill to rise. The circumstances of my marriage have been made public in the course of this inquiry. I was living alone in Park Street, Islington, and I had intervals of consciousness during which I wrote from time to time to my wife, who was living with her parents. Eventually she came to nurse me, and then the secret of our marriage was at an end. She has related how, being alarmed at my condition, she went to Catchpole Square last Tuesday night to inform my father, and, if possible, to bring him to me. I am deeply, deeply grateful to her for the love and devotion she has shown towards me, and to her parents for their kindness and consideration."

"Where were you on Thursday night?"

"Ill in bed. For a week, from Saturday to Saturday, I did not leave my room."

Reginald's loving look towards Florence, and his tender accents in speaking of her, made a strong impression upon the spectators as, his examination concluded, he retired to his seat by her side.

The Coroner (to the jury): "An hour ago I received a communication from a gentleman who stated that he had evidence of importance to tender which he thinks we ought to hear with as little delay as possible. This gentleman, I understand, is in waiting outside. It may be a convenient time to examine him. Call Dr. Pye."

CHAPTER XXXVII

DR. PYE MAKES A STATEMENT

There was an interval of almost breathless suspense as, upon the Coroner's instructions, an officer left the Court. Dick looked forward to the entrance of Dr. Pye with no less curiosity than the other spectators, but mingled with this curiosity was an element of alarm. Dark forebodings crossed his mind; he feared he knew not what, but still he smiled confidently at Florence when she turned imploringly to him, for she also was in that state of tension which made every fresh feature of the inquiry a terrifying presage. Presently the officer returned, followed by Dr. Pye.

The new witness was tall, with a slight stoop in his shoulders, his face was ashen gray, his brows knit and concentrated, his eyes habitually downcast, but, when raised, irradiated with a keen steady light, giving one the impression that the pupils might be of steel, which was indeed their colour, his mouth with its thin long lips compressed, his hands long and nervous, his voice calm, clear, and deliberate, his manner altogether that of a man of supreme moral strength and self-possession, who could hold his passions in control, and make them subservient to his will.

"In volunteering a communication which may have some relation to your inquiry," he said, addressing the Coroner, without bestowing a glance upon the spectators, "I am impelled simply by a sense of public duty. As to its value you will be the best judge. What I have to offer to the Court is merely the narration of an occurrence which came under my observation on the night of Friday, the 1st of March, when I was making some experiments in chemistry in a room at the back of my house in Shore Street, the window in which looks out upon Catchpole Square, and commands a front view of the house in which Mr. Samuel Boyd resided. It is my habit to work late, and it was not till three in the morning that my labours were at an end. At that hour I was standing at the window, gazing aimlessly into the solitude of Catchpole Square, when my attention was arrested by movements at Mr. Boyd's street door. It was gradually opened, and the form of a man emerged from the house. The night was dark, and what I saw was necessarily dim and uncertain in my sight, but it appeared to me that the man, halting on the threshold, lingered in the attitude of a person who wished to escape observation. This impression impelled me to a closer scrutiny of the man's movements. I have in my room a device of my own construction in the shape of a small box containing a coil of magnesium wire. By withdrawing the curtain from a glass globe set in this box, and by pressing a spring, I can, upon lighting the wire, throw a powerful light upon objects at a great distance, remaining myself in darkness. There appeared to me to be something so suspicious in the shadowy movements of the person at Mr. Boyd's door at such an hour that I brought my box to the window, and threw the light upon the Square. It was the work of a moment, but in that moment I had a clear view of the man's features. They were of deathlike paleness, and seemed to be convulsed by fear, but, I argued inly, this might have been caused by the fright occasioned by the sudden glare of light falling upon him-resembling in some respects a flash of lightning, and calculated to startle the strongest man. In his attitude of watchfulness-which I may call the first stage of my observation of him-he stood holding the street door partially open, thus providing for himself a swift retreat into the house in the event of a policeman entering the Square. The second stage was his fear-struck appearance, from whatever cause it proceeded. The third stage-occurring when the light was extinguished-was the shadowy movement of a man gliding out of the Square. Then his final disappearance."

The Coroner: "You say, Dr. Pye, that you had a clear view of the man's features. Did you recognise them?"

Dr. Pye: "No, sir, the man was a stranger to me."

"There appears to be some kind of connection between the death of Mr. Samuel Boyd and the disappearance of a clerk in his employ, Mr. Abel Death? Have you any knowledge of this clerk?"

"No, I never saw the man."

"Were you acquainted with Mr. Samuel Boyd?"

"Very slightly."

"If you saw the man again, could you identify him?"

"I think so."

"Have you ever seen any other man in Catchpole Square leaving Mr. Boyd's house in the middle of the night?"

"Never. It was the unusualness of the incident that attracted my attention."

As he uttered these words he raised his eyes and slowly looked around. When they reached the spot where Inspector Robson and his family were seated his gaze was arrested. The eyes of all the spectators, following his, were now fixed upon the group. A wave of magnetism passed through the Court, and, to a more or less degree, affected the nerves of every one present. Aunt Rob clutched her husband's sleeve, and Florence's eyes dilated with a nameless fear. The long pause was broken by Dr. Pye, who murmured, but in a voice loud enough to be heard by all, -

"It is a very strange likeness."

"To whom do you refer?" asked the Coroner.

"To that gentleman," replied Dr. Pye, pointing to Reginald. "He bears a singular resemblance to the man I saw leaving Mr. Samuel Boyd's house in Catchpole Square in the middle of the night."

Reginald started to his feet with an indignant protest on his lips, and there was great confusion in Court, in the midst of which Dick gently pulled Reginald down to his seat. "It is easily disproved," he said, in a low tone. "You were home and in bed before midnight. Be calm, Florence, there is nothing to fear, nothing to fear." But his heart fell; he saw the net closing round those he loved.

The Coroner (to Dr. Pye): "The gentleman you are pointing to is Mr. Samuel Boyd's son."

Dr. Pye: "I did not know. I say he resembles the man."

"Are you sure?"

"Who can be sure of anything? In hundreds of my experiments all my calculations have been overturned at the last moment. I have been sure of success, and the crucial test has given me the lie. It is the same in human affairs, and in this case I can do no more than record my impressions. In spite of the conditions under which I saw the man his likeness to this gentleman is very striking; but I would impress upon you that great wrongs have been committed by accidental likenesses, and there are cases on record in which men have been condemned to death, the proof of their innocence coming too late to save them." Florence shuddered and closed her eyes. To her fevered mind her beloved husband was on his trial, surrounded by pitiless judges. Dr. Pye continued: "There is a notable instance of this in Charles Dickens's story, 'A Tale of Two Cities,' where, happily, a life is saved instead of being sacrificed. The incident, strangely enough, occurs also in a court of justice."

The Coroner: "That is fiction. This is fact."

Dr. Pye: "True. If you have nothing more to ask I shall be glad to retire. The atmosphere of this Court is unpleasant to me."

The Coroner intimating that he had no further questions to put, Dr. Pye retired, and the inquiry was adjourned till the following day.

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 in the 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 inquiry exchanged but few words on the way. Dick was plunged in thought, and Florence clung more closely to Reginald. Inspector Robson and Aunt Rob exchanged disturbed glances; she was wildly indignant, but his official experience warned him that Reginald was in peril.

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