Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery

"What we all see in you," said Aunt Rob, tenderly.

"Oh, of course. Well, it's my opinion little Gracie came away from home this morning without any breakfast-"

Aunt Rob broke in upon him. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself for letting a hungry child stand alone in the cold streets all this time." Out she ran to pounce upon Gracie.

"Do you mean to tell me," said Dick, gazing after her, "that the Lord will allow any harm to come to a woman like that, or trouble that can't be cleared away to come to anyone she loves? No, no; the world wouldn't be worth living in if that were so. Where she is, sunshine is, and love, and charity, and hope-and justice. God bless Aunt Rob!"

And "God bless Aunt Rob!" they all said, with something shining in their eyes.

Back she came, holding Gracie by the arm. They all looked kindly at the child.

"Any trouble to get her here, aunt?" asked Dick, cheerily.

"Not a bit."

"It's all right, you know, Gracie," he said.

"Yes, Dick, I know," she answered, solemnly.

There was something so patient and uncomplaining, so piteous and brave, in the child that hearts less susceptible than theirs could not have failed to be touched. Florence stooped and kissed her, and there was a little trembling of her bloodless lips; it was the only sign of emotion she displayed, and it was gone in a moment. The dry, hoarse cough had not left her, and she was not successful in keeping it back. Every time it sounded through the room Aunt Rob shivered.

"You men had best go into the next room and settle your business," she said; "you haven't too much time to spare, and we don't want you meddling with women's affairs." Away they went, meekly. "Gracie, you sit here, and don't be shy with us, my dear, we're only homely people, the same as yourself. Florence, put another spoonful of tea in the pot, and there's the kettle boiling, just in the nick of time. Now, my dear, you make a good breakfast-I want you to drink your tea as hot as you can, it will ease your cough-it's Dick's cup you're drinking out of, you won't mind that, I know-he's told us such a lot about you, and everything that's good-cut some more bread and butter, Florence-are you fond of jam, Gracie? – but what a question! – when I was a little girl I could eat a pot, only they wouldn't give me so much at a time-this is Dick's favourite jam, raspberry-" And all the time the good woman chattered she was putting food before Gracie, and coaxing her to eat, shaking her head at the child's attempts not to cough violently, and shaking her head more when she put her hand on the bosom of the poor little frock, and discovered how thinly she was clad. And all the time Gracie sat quiet at the table and ate, not greedily but gratefully, her eyes fixed now on Aunt Rob, and now on Florence, with the sweet thought in her mind, "Dick's told 'em a lot about me, and everything that's good!"

Breakfast over, they took Gracie upstairs, Aunt Rob saying, "Dick 'll be here when we come down, my dear "; and in the bedroom above they took off her frock and slipped a warm undervest over the bony chest, and another over that, and found a pair of thick stockings that had once been worn by a child, and a child's flannel petticoat, and other things to match-and there stood Gracie, clothed more comfortably and warmly than ever she had been from her birth. And where did Aunt Rob find these garments so suitable and fitting for Gracie? They had been laid aside in a drawer, with many others, and had once clothed her own darling when she was no bigger than the poor little waif to whom they had been so ungrudgingly presented. To listen to the mother's wistful prattle, to witness the tender handling of this and that garment, to see the fond way she put them to her cheeks and kissed them, to note the loving looks she cast upon them as memory brought back the day and hour when Florence first wore them-true motherhood was never more beautifully expressed. And Gracie submitted without uttering a word-no sign of emotion on her sallow face, no sighs of delight, no tears. But when all was done and Aunt Rob sat down to rest, Gracie knelt before her and laid her head in her lap. Florence sat down too, and her hand rested lightly on the child's shoulder. Somehow or other these sweet offices of sweetest humanity seemed to soften the trouble that hung over their heads. Aunt Rob and Florence thought, "God will protect dear Reginald. He will hold His shield before us. Upon His mercy we will rely. He will see justice done, and we shall all be happy once more." While in Gracie's mind was the thought, "I shall find father, I shall find father, and mother won't be angry with me much longer." For quite two or three minutes there was silence in the room, and when Gracie raised her tearless eyes to Aunt Rob's face the good woman stroked the thin cheek and said,

"There, that's done, and now we'll go down to Dick. He'll be wondering what has become of us."

It was then that Gracie spoke.

"Don't you think mother ain't good to us," she said. "There never was a better mother than she's been-and there's such a lot of us," she added, wistfully. "I'd rather starve than have you think mother ain't good to us!"

"Bless your loving heart, my dear," Aunt Rob returned, kissing her. "I'm sure she must be the best mother in all the world to have a loving daughter like you."

"Oh, me!" said Gracie. "I ain't much good. But, mother! – she worries over my cough so that sometimes I wish I was dead, so that she couldn't hear it, and she sets up all night mending our clothes. I've caught her at it over and over agin. She'd starve herself for us she would. You'd believe me if you knew her."

"I believe you now, my dear. We are all very, very sorry for her!"

"You've been ever so good to me, and so's mother, but she can't do what she can't, can she?"

"No one can, Gracie."

"She'll be glad when she sees me with these things on. There's nobody like her, nobody. I wish I could pick up a pursefull of money to give her; but it'll be all right, you know, when we find father."

"The sooner he's found the better it will be for a good many people," said Aunt Rob, with a pitying glance at the loyal child, and yet with a kind of anger in her heart. Tenderly disposed as she was towards Gracie, deep as was her compassion for her miserable state and her admiration for the noble qualities she displayed, Aunt Rob believed Abel Death to be the cause of all this trouble, believed that he had murdered Samuel Boyd, and had basely deserted his family with the proceeds of his crime.

Meanwhile the men of the family had been having a discussion below which had led to the withdrawal of Uncle Rob from the council. The first point discussed was the amount of the rewards to be offered. Reginald wished it to be large, and, supported by Dick, suggested £500 for the discovery and conviction of the murderer, and £200 for the discovery of Abel Death. Uncle Rob opposed this, and contended that much smaller sums would be sufficient, bringing forward instances where the offer of disproportionate rewards had been the cause of innocent persons being accused. His views not being accepted, he had reluctantly given way. Then they came to the manner in which the bills were to be worded, and Dick had gone to his clothes trunk and had fished therefrom a miscellaneous collection of literature, which he placed before them.

"I once tried my hand at writing a sensation novel," he said, "and I got together a lot of stuff to assist me. I made a muddle of the story, and when I was in the middle of it I gave it up. Do you remember this case, uncle?"

He held up a poster offering a reward of £100 for the discovery of a murderer. At the top of the bill was the Royal Coat-of-Arms, beneath it, in large type, the word MURDER, and beneath that "£100 Reward."

"I remember it well," said Uncle Rob. "That was the Great Porter Square Mystery. It caused great excitement at the time, and the papers were full of it. A long time elapsed before the truth came out."

"And then it wasn't due to Scotland Yard," said Dick; "they made rather a mess of it there. There is one curious point of resemblance between that case and ours."

"I wouldn't speak of that now," said Uncle Rob, with an uneasy glance at Reginald.

"Why not? Reginald is prepared for anything that may happen."

"Quite prepared," said Reginald. "Go on, Dick."

"You were abroad when all England was ringing with it, and that, I expect, is the reason that it didn't reach your ears. I saw in one paper yesterday a comparison between the cases. The curious point of resemblance is that the son of the murdered man was arrested by the police as the murderer-"

"They did not know at the time that he was the son," interrupted Uncle Rob, hurriedly.

"That didn't justify them. The beauty of it is that after going through no end of trouble and persecution he was proved to be innocent."

"I see," said Reginald, composedly.

"What do you want the bill for?" asked Uncle Rob.

"As a literary guide. We will word our bill exactly like it."

"But it is an official bill."

"Couldn't have a better pattern."

"Can't you word it some other way, Dick?"

"No, uncle," replied Dick, almost defiantly. "This is the model I intend to use."

Uncle Rob rose. "God forbid that I should do anything to prevent the truth being brought to light-"

"Why, uncle! – "

"But the position I hold," continued Uncle Rob, firmly, "will not allow me to sanction by my co-operation the use and form of official documents. Besides, if it got to be known it would do more harm than good. My dear lads, I'll wait outside till you've done. I doubt my own judgment in this matter; my heart and my head are at odds."

So saying, he left them. He was not the only one whose heart and head were in conflict during this crisis; Dick alone could be depended upon to pursue a certain course with calm, unshaken mind, and now, when he and Reginald were together, he met with no opposition. The preliminaries, therefore, were soon arranged, and they returned to the breakfast room at the moment that Aunt Rob and Florence and Gracie entered.

"Why, Gracie," exclaimed Dick, his face flushing with pleasure at the improvement in her attire, "you look like a princess."

"She did it," said Gracie, pointing to Aunt Rob; "and oh, Dick, I do feel so nice and warm underneath!"

"Never was a fairy godmother like Aunt Rob," said Dick, and was going on when she stopped him abruptly.

"Where's father?"

"Walking up and down outside till you're ready. He didn't agree to something I proposed, and between you and me he ought not to have a hand in what I'm about to do."

"He's in a cruel position. Florence, its half-past ten; we must get ready. You do what you've got to do, Dick, and don't talk so free before Uncle Rob about your plans; it only upsets him."

"All right, aunt." He hesitated a moment, then went up to Florence, who was putting on her hat. "Florence, dear, you must be brave."

"I'll try to be, Dick."

"Keep a stout heart, whatever the verdict may be. It was very dark last night, and I kept my eyes on a star that was trying to break through the clouds. I put a great stake on that star, Florence. I said to myself, 'If it breaks through and I see it shining bright, Florence, after a little while, will be the happiest woman in England.' A great stake, Florence."

"Yes, dear Dick."

"It glimmered and glimmered. A cloud passed over it, another, another, but its light was never quite obscured. Remember that."

"I will."

"And then at last, when there seemed to be no hope for it, the clouds cleared away, and it shone as bright, as bright! – and the stake was won. That is how it's going to be with the trouble that's upon us. You see, Florence, it wasn't only your happiness that was at stake; it was mine as well."

"Yours, Dick!" And now there was a look of pain in her eyes.

"Yes, mine, for if, working with all my heart and soul, I can realise my dearest wish, you will have a long life of happiness with the man you love." He looked brightly around. "Good luck, my dears. Come, Gracie."

CHAPTER XLIV

IN THE CAUSE OF JUSTICE

"Now Gracie," said Dick, as they wended their way to a small "jobbing" printer with whom he was acquainted; he himself had spent a few weeks in a printing office, and, as a Jack of all trades, could do something in the way of picking up stamps. "Now, Gracie, pay particular attention to what I'm going to say."

"I'd like to have a word first, please," she said.

"Go ahead."

"Who is that young gentleman with the white face that the young lady's so fond of?"

"The young lady's husband, the son of Mr. Samuel Boyd."

"Mr. Reginald. I thought so. He don't look as if he could have done it."

"Done what?"

"You know. The murder."

"He did not do it, Gracie. I suppose you heard Dr. Vinsen say he did."

"He was talking to mother, but he didn't say it outright-"

"Ah, the coward! I hope you don't believe a word that drops from his lips."

"I don't; but mother does. Don't blame her, Dick; she can't help it."

"No, poor thing. I pity her from my heart, torn this way and that as she is. But she's not the only one whose heart is aching over this affair. There's care and sorrow yonder." He pointed over his shoulder in the direction of Aunt Rob's house. "Gracie," he said energetically, "I'd pour out my heart's blood, drop by drop, if by doing so I could clear that trouble away!"

"You're fond of her, Dick."

He glanced furtively at the sallow impassive face raised to his. "She is my cousin, and Aunt Rob has been a mother to me. I've lived with them longer than I can remember. The last words I said to her just now were that I wanted to see her happy with the man she loved. That's what I'm working for, her happiness-that, and justice. Shall we go into partnership, you and I?"

"Yes, Dick, please."

"Your hand on it."

They shook hands, and he resumed his old bright manner.

"There never was a successful partnership without implicit confidence between the partners. Do you understand?"

"They mustn't be suspicious of one another."

"That's it. There must be perfect trust between them. I believe in you, Gracie, and I'd trust you with my life." Gracie's black eyes gleamed. "You're what I call thorough, and you've got the pluck of twenty men. We're sailing, you and I, in the ship Endeavour for the port Safety. There's only one captain in that ship, as there must be in all properly commanded ships when they're sailing through dangerous rocks. Now, who's the captain?"

"You."

"Good. I'm captain, and you're first mate, and no captain could desire a better. Says the captain to the first mate, 'Mate,' says he, 'I hear as how your father's disappeared, and as how they're saying hard things of him. That's what oughtn't to be, and we'll mend it. He's got to be found, your father is, and brought for'ard,' says the captain, 'so that he may knock them hard words down their con-founded throats.' 'That's so,' says the mate-it's you that's speaking now, you know" – Gracie nodded-"'that's so,' says the mate, 'and that's what I've made up my mind to do, and what I'm going to do. I've had a dream where he's to be found,' says the first mate-"

"More than one, Dick-captain, I mean," said Gracie.

"Right you are, my hearty, and there's many a dream that's come true, and likewise many that haven't. 'But it isn't because you've had a dream,' says the captain, 'that I shouldn't have a shy at the discovery of him, and that's what I've set my mind on, if so be as you've no objections,' he says. 'Objections!' says the first mate, 'I've no objections'" – Here Dick broke off. "I suppose he hasn't, Gracie?"

"No, Dick, he hasn't. He thinks it more than kind of the captain."

"Love your heart, I knew you wouldn't have. 'And how are you going to set about it?' says the first mate. 'Why,' says the captain, planting his wooden leg firmly on the deck-did I tell you he had a wooden leg?"

"No, you didn't," said Gracie, quite gravely.

"Well, I just remember that he had. 'Why,' says he, planting his wooden leg firmly on the deck, 'seeing as how that good woman, Mrs. Abel Death, and Gracie, and all the other little ones, are more unhappy than words can express because father doesn't come home, and as how it may be to some persons' interests to keep him from coming home, I'm thinking of offering a reward to anybody that can give information as to his whereabouts-in point of fact to find him and restore him to the bosom of his family.' That's what the captain says to the mate-because he wants to act fair and square by him, and not do anything behind his back as might make him doubt that he wasn't acting fair and square-and he asks the mate what he thinks of the idea."

"To find him, captain, not to catch him," said Gracie, slowly, with a strong accent on the two words.

"That is how the captain puts it. To find him, and restore him to the bosom of his family."

Gracie nodded, and pondered before speaking. "If the mate-that's me, Dick-found father, would he have the reward?"

"As a matter of course."

"Who'd pay it to him?"

"It would be paid through the captain."

"Through you?"

"Through me."

"Then there'd be sure to be no cheating, and the mate could give it to mother."

"Could do what he pleased with it," said Dick, dropping his nautical, and coming back to his original, self, "and we're going straight to the printer to get the bill printed."

"How much is the reward, Dick?"

"Two hundred pounds."

"Oh, my!" Gracie caught her breath. "I don't believe father was ever worth as much as that in all his life. That's a big lot of money, ain't it?"

"A tidyish sum. You don't object?"

"You can't do nothing wrong, Dick."

"Then the partnership goes on swimmingly, and you won't mind seeing it on the walls. There will be another bill, offering a larger reward for the conviction of the murderer. All we want to get at is the truth, so that the innocent may be cleared and the guilty punished. I'm of the opinion it will surprise Dr. Vinsen. The slimy reptile! I'd like to twist his neck for him."

"I'd like to see you do it," said Gracie, not a muscle of her face moving.

"You're something like a partner. Have you any idea where the reptile lives?"

"No."

"You could find out, I dare say."

"Oh, yes, I can find out if you want me to," said Gracie, quite confidently.

"That's your sort. Only don't look for him in the reptile house at the Zoo, where his relations live. I want to know ever so many things about him. Whether he lives alone, or has a wife. Whether he has any children, and whether they have little bald heads with halos round them like their venerable parent. Whether he practises as a doctor, and what his neighbours think of him, etc., etc., etc. It's a large order, Gracie."

"I'll do it, Dick."

"You're a brick. Here we are at the printer's. But you mustn't go away without the needful for current ex's. You might want to jump into a bus, and if you keep out all day you'll want something to eat. Hold out your hand-one shilling, two shillings, a sixpence, and some coppers. If you've anything to tell me come to Aunt Rob's house any time between six and eight. I've a particular reason for not wanting to be seen with you in Catchpole Square to-night. Here are a couple more coppers for brandyballs for the babies at home. Now, off with you, my little detective. No sleeping partners in our firm. You and I, working together, will make Scotland Yard sit up. We'll beat the Criminal Investigation Department, even if it has a dozen Dr. Vinsens to back it up. Here's a kiss for good luck, Gracie."

"Thank you, Dick," said Gracie, and away she scudded, proud of the task entrusted to her.

Neither of them had noticed that they had been followed in a shambling sort of way by an old man in list slippers with a skull cap on his head, sucking at a pipe which, in his close observance of them, he had allowed to go out. He was blear-eyed, and was cursed with a spasmodic twitching on the right side of his face, which imparted to his features a ghastly mirth; and close as was his observance of them he had so managed as not to draw their attention upon him. During the last moment or two he had shuffled so near to them as to brush their clothes as he passed, and had heard the concluding words of their conversation.

"'Thank you, Dick,'" he echoed, with a half-tipsy lurch, as Gracie flew away and Dick entered the printing office. "Dick! It's the man himself. Who'll give me a kiss for good luck?"

He laughed and twitched, and with his eye on the door through which Dick had passed, proceeded with trembling fingers to refill his pipe.

There was a fair stock of "jobbing" type in the printing office, and the master, a working printer himself, was the very man Dick needed for the job in hand, trade being rather slack. In imitation of the official announcement of a reward in the Great Porter Square murder Dick had placed a Royal Coat of Arms at the top of his bill, but the printer argued him out of it, being doubtful whether a private individual had the right to use it for the detection of the perpetrator of a criminal offence. But for the better publicity of the reward Dick was bent upon a pictorial illustration, and out of a lot of old woodcuts they fished a rough wood-block of the figure of Justice, blindfold, holding the scales, which suggested the line beneath, "In the Cause of Justice." Within an hour the type was set up, corrected, locked in its chase, and on the press, the paper was damped, the "devil," a young apprentice, was wielding his roller, and the master printer, his sleeves tucked up to his shoulders, was pulling off the posters, which read thus:

At the top the figure of even-handed Justice; then-

IN THE CAUSE OF JUSTICEMURDER£500 REWARD

Whereas, on the Morning of Saturday, the 9th of March, the Dead Body of Mr. Samuel Boyd was Found on his Premises in Catchpole Square under such circumstances as prove that he was Murdered, and Medical Testimony has been given to the effect that the Murder must have been Committed either on the night of the 1st or the 2nd of March. The above Reward will be paid to any Person who shall give such Information as shall lead to the Discovery and Conviction of the Murderer or Murderers.

Evidence may be given to Mr. Lamb, 42, High Street, N., Solicitor to Mr. Reginald Boyd, Son of the Murdered Gentleman, who will pay the Reward, or at any Police Station in the United Kingdom.

The services of a bill-sticker not being immediately procurable, a large tin of paste had been mixed while the bills were being printed. Begging the loan of a pasting brush, and begging also the loan of the "devil" to carry the paste tin, Dick, now more than ever a Jack of all trades, issued forth to stick the bills himself, leaving behind him the copy of the poster offering a reward for the discovery of Abel Death. He was pasting the first of the bills on a dead wall when he saw the figure of the old man in list slippers and skull cap standing by his side.

"Hallo!" he said, peering down at the twitching face, with its expression of ghastly mirth.

"Hallo!" said the old man, peering up at the flushed, handsome face of the bill-sticker.

CHAPTER XLV

CROSS PURPOSES

Dick recognised him instantly, and scented danger. The man who peered up at him, with all the leering muscles of his face at work, was the man of whom he had bought the rope and grapnel. With assumed carelessness he said,

"You'll know me when you see me again, old fellow."

"Shouldn't wonder," said the old man. "My name's Higgins. What may your'n be?"

Dick had not quite finished sticking the first bill. Whether from not being used to the business, or from inward perturbation, he was making rather a bungle of it. Under any circumstances, however, he would have been ready to admit that there is an art even in bill-sticking.

"Let's make a guess, shall us?" said Mr. Higgins, with a cunning look, plunging into doggerel. "Riddle-me-riddle-meriddle-me-ree, first comes a, then b c d; riddle-me-riddle-me-riddle-me-rye, the letter we stop at next is i; riddle-me-riddle-me-riddle-me-rick, a c and a k will make it spell Dick." Mr. Higgins was so enamoured of this impromptu that he chuckled to himself, "Will make it spell Dick, will make it spell Dick."