Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery

"Look here," said Dick, an uncomfortable feeling spreading over him, "what do you want?"

"Quartern o' rum," replied Mr. Higgins, suddenly descending from the heights of Parnassus.

"All right," said Dick, "at the first pub we come to."

"Pub over there," said Mr. Higgins, twitching his head at the opposite side of the road. "Throat dry as a bit o' rusty iron."

The bill was stuck, and people were stopping to read it. Even in these days of huge and startling advertisements on the walls-not the least conspicuous of which are the lank figures of blue or scarlet females in outrageous costumes and impossible postures, the product of a mischievous school of impressionists-even amidst these monstrous parodies of art a double-demy poster offering a reward of £500 for the discovery of a Murderer is certain to command an audience. So it was natural enough that a little crowd should gather, and that eager comments and opinions should be exchanged.

"That's a big reward. £500!" "Ought to have been offered before. What's that picture on the top? Justice, eh, holding the scales? If she's anything like that, I don't think much of her. Anyway I wish I knew where to lay hands on the man that murdered Samuel Boyd. Set me up for life it would." "Murderers you mean. When the truth comes out you'll find there's a regular gang, with Abel Death at the head of 'em." "Well, I don't believe he's in it. I heard a detective say yesterday-" "Oh, a detective. Much good they are!" "I say, don't you consider it a rum go that Mr. Reginald Boyd should be offering the reward? Why, there's any number of people says he did it." "How can that be when he says he's willing to pay £500 for the discovery and conviction?" "Ah, but that might be a plant, you know. They've been that cunning from first to last that there's no saying what they mightn't be up to." "What comes over me is what they've done with Lady Wharton's jewellery. Nice lot the ladies of the upper suckles, borrowing money secretly of such a cove as Samuel Boyd. I s'pose it's their gen-teel way of putting things up the spout. Now, what are they going to do with it when she can swear to every bit of it?" "Do with it? Take it to Amsterdam or New York. Easy to get rid of it there." "Why go so fur? Ain't there plenty of fences in London?" "Never catch 'em, never! There's no clue." "No clue! How about that bullet in the wall, and the blood-stains on the floor?" "But the old man wasn't shot or stabbed. What d'yer make of that?" "Why, that they had a barney among theirselves when they was dividing the swag. Another man murdered, most likely." (Delicious suggestion.) "What did they do with his body?" "Carried it to the river, tied a big stone to it and sunk it. When the reward gets known they'll be dragging the water from Greenwich to Windsor." "Well, of all the mysterious murders I ever heard of this Catchpole Square one takes the cake." "Queer move, ain't it, offering a reward before the inquest's over? What's the verdict going to be? There's a cove on the jury seems to know as much about it as most people."

To this and a great deal more Dick listened, and Mr. Higgins listened, without either of them saying a word. Dick lingered because he wished to find out what would be the probable effect of these bills on the walls; and Mr. Higgins, pulling at his under lip, listened because Dick listened, and watched the young man's face cunningly to see what impression the various arguments made upon him. There was malice in his bloodshot eyes, and Dick did not like the look of things. While thus ruminating and listening, Mr. Higgins touched him on the arm with his empty pipe.

"Fine day, Mr. Higgins," he said, in his free and easy way.

"Beastly day," growled Mr. Higgins. "I'm shaking all over."

"What's good for the complaint?"

"Quartern o' rum, to commence with."

"I have to work for my living," said Dick, brightly, "and if you insist upon my standing you a quartern of rum you'll have to carry the paste pot."

"See you-hanged first," said Mr. Higgins, with a mirthless laugh.

"Think better of it," said Dick, insinuatingly, holding out the paste pot.

After a moment's hesitation Mr. Higgins thought better of it, and took the paste pot, with a grimace, to the imminent risk of the contents. Then Dick dismissed the printer's boy, and with the bundle of damp bills under his arm walked over to the publichouse, Mr. Higgins, carrying the shaking paste pot, and following close at his heels.

"Where will you have your rum," he asked, "at the bar, or in a private room?"

"Private room," said Mr. Higgins. "Better for all parties."

They were soon accommodated, and liquor supplied, bitter ale for Dick, and rum for the old man, which he disposed of in one gulp. He then demanded another quartern, which Dick called for, and disposed of it in an equally expeditious manner.

"You've got a swallow," said Dick. "Now, my Saint Vitus friend, what's your little game? Leave off your damnable twitchings, and begin."

Mr. Higgins fumbled in his pockets, and produced three crumpled newspapers which, after much difficulty, he straightened out upon the table, a corner of his eye on Dick all the time he was thus employed. With tremulous forefinger, long a stranger to soap and nail brush, he pointed to a sketch portrait in an account of the inquest, which Dick recognised as intended for himself. It being evident that Mr. Higgins expected him to offer an observation on the libel, he said,

"Who may this individual be? It's only a head and shoulders. Is it supposed to be a man or a woman?"

"Yah!" was Mr. Higgins's sarcastic comment. "What are you giving us? Can't you read what's underneath?"

"Can't you?" retorted Dick.

"No," snarled Mr. Higgins, twitching, not with shame, but resentment. "Neglected as a kid, jumped upon as a man. But a worm'll turn when it's trod on, won't it?"

"Not being a worm, can't say. Take your word for it."

"And even a man that's been jumped on all his life can see a bit o' luck when it's ahead of him. Look here, young fellow; take the advice of a man old enough to be your father."

"Say great grandfather," interrupted Dick, saucily, "and get it over in once."

"Smart you are, you think-smart; but you'll find that cheek don't pay in this shop, Mr. Dick Remington. D'ye twig the name printed underneath this portrait. 'That's a face I've seen afore,' says I to myself when it meets my eye. I looks at another paper." Mr. Higgins turned over the sheet and brought into view another portrait of Dick-"and strike me straight!' Why, there it is agin,' I says. 'And here it is agin,' I says." He turned over the third sheet, "and underneath 'em all the name of Dick Remington. 'What luck!' says I to myself. 'What a slice o' luck for a second-hand dealer in odds and ends as tries hard to get a honest living, and as everybody puts upon-with trade that bad that it couldn't be wus-taking down your shutters and putting 'em up agin to the tune of two and sevenpence, which won't as much as half pay your rent.'"

"Stop your whining," said Dick, "and cut it short. What is it you want?"

"Quartern o' rum."

The answer seemed to be so settled a formula when a question of this kind was put to him that it mechanically popped out like a bullet from a gun. Pending compliance with his demand, as to which Dick did not hesitate, and the pouring of the liquor down his throat, as if it were the mouth of a vat, there was an interval of silence. Then, with a wandering finger on the portrait, Mr. Higgins "cut it short" in two words.

"True bill?"

"True bill," replied Dick, with an assenting nod, "and what of it?"

"What of it?" cried Mr. Higgins, with venom in his voice. "Rope and grapnel of it!" He thrust his twitching face forward to within an inch or two of Dick's.

"Oh, that's the game," said Dick, concealing his uneasiness. "And what a game it is-oh, what a game it is! Says I to myself, when I gets detective Lambert's evidence read out to me-'there's a man for you! with eyes all over him, and one to spare'-says I to myself when I hears that evidence, 'rope and grapnel over the wall-by the Lord, he's hit it!' Then I asks the boy that's reading the paper to me, 'And who may that be the picture of?' 'That,' says he, 'is the picture of Mr. Dick Remington, nephew of Inspector Robson, and cousin of the young lady as goes and marries the son of Samuel Boyd on the sly.' He's a sharp little boy, almost as sharp as you, Mr. Dick Remington. 'O-ho!' says I to him, 'and does Mr. Dick Remington give evidence at the inquest?' 'Yes, he does,' says the boy, and he reads it out to me. 'You've missed something,' I says. 'You've missed what Mr. Dick Remington says about the rope and grapnel.' 'He don't say nothing at all about it,' says the boy. 'It must be in another paper,' I says, and I buys 'em all, and has 'em all read out to me, word for word, and if you'll believe me there ain't a word in one of 'em about the use that Mr. Dick Remington makes of the rope and grapnel he bought of a honest tradesman as sweats hisself thin to get a living, and then can't get it. That's what I call a coinci-dence. What do you call it?"

"I call it a coinci-dence, too," said Dick, with a searching gaze at the disreputable figure, "especially when it happens to an honest tradesman like Mr. Higgins." There was a gleam of suspicion and doubt in Mr. Higgins's eye as he twitched up his head at this remark, which caused Dick to add, with meaning emphasis on the words, "To such a very honest tradesman as Mr. Higgins! Something got in your throat?"

"Caught my breath," gasped Mr. Higgins, choking and glaring.

At any other time the contortions he made to recover it would have amused Dick, but just now he was not in the mood for any kind of light diversion. Still it was with a mocking air that he contemplated Mr. Higgins, and in a mocking tone that he repeated for the second time,

"Such a very honest tradesman as Mr. Higgins! Get on, will you? You left off where you'd been having all the papers read to you."

That the doubt as to the success of his enterprise which Dick's independent manner had introduced was not lessened was apparent, for though what he said was pregnant enough his tone lost something of its confidence.

"Yes, I gets 'em all read out to me, and it sets me thinking. 'What call has Mr. Dick Remington got to keep it dark?' says I to myself. 'Why don't he say nothing about it? There's something in the wind. He comes to my shop, and buys a rope and grapnel in a secret sort o' way'-"

"Wrong, my honest tradesman," interrupted Dick, and Mr. Higgins shifted uneasily in his chair, "I bought it openly. Did I ask you to keep it dark?"

"No, you didn't, but did you go out of my shop with the rope hanging over your arm?' O-ho!' says I, 'here's a working man ashamed to carry a rope. He asks for a bit of paper to wrap it up in, he does, and he puts it under his coat, he does. That's a rum sort o' working man,' says I."

"Clever Mr. Higgins," said Dick, patronisingly, "clever Mr. Higgins!"

"Do you mean to tell me," said that worthy, driven to exasperation by Dick's coolness, "that you didn't use it to get over the wall at the back of Samuel Boyd's house in Catchpole Square, that it wasn't you as broke the kitchen winder, that you didn't break open the safe-"

"Hold hard," said Dick, "you've had the papers read wrong. The safe was not broken open."

"What does that matter?" snarled Mr. Higgins. "Broke open, or opened with a key, it's all the same. The man as did it helped hisself to the money and jewels, and made off with the swag-with my rope and grapnel that cost me its weight in gold-how does that strike you, Mr. Dick?"

"You old fool," said Dick, with a broad smile, "if you knock your head against that brick wall you'll knock out the few brains you possess. If you think I can't reckon up an honest tradesman like you, you were never more mistaken in your life." And with the forefinger of his right hand he tapped the side of his nose, and winked at Mr. Higgins.

But though he spoke and acted thus boldly he fully recognised the seriousness of this new danger. Say that this man laid information against him at the first police station; say that it got to the knowledge of Detective Lambert who was searching everywhere for a clue to the mystery. What would be the consequence? A warrant would be immediately issued for his arrest, and a search warrant as well. The rope and grapnel, tied up in brown paper, was now under the bed of his room in Constable Pond's house, and the key of that room was in his pocket. How could he explain away his possession of the rope? He would be asked why he made no mention of it at the inquest; his silence regarding it would be a piece of damning evidence against him. And not the only piece. His prowling about in the neighbourhood of Catchpole Square at an early hour of the morning, as testified by Constable Applebee, was in the highest degree suspicious when taken in connection with his possession of the rope and grapnel. His knowledge of the habits of Samuel Boyd, gained during his employment as clerk in the house, would be against him. One thing was certain. He would be deprived of his liberty, and the contemplation of this contingency filled him with dismay. Everything depended upon his being free to carry out the plans he had formed, and therefore upon his turning the tables upon the old vagabond who sat leering into his face.

And in the event of his being arrested, what would be said of him in Aunt Rob's home? Was it not probable, aye, more than probable, that they would suspect him to be the murderer? He had woven a net for himself, and if he were not careful he would drag down Reginald with him. Press and public would say "collusion," and the chain of circumstantial evidence be too strong for him to break through.

Admitting all this, he felt that any sign of weakness in the presence of Mr. Higgins would be fatal. There was nothing for it but to play the bold game.

"I've a good mind," he said, slowly and sternly, "to go and give information against you."

"What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Higgins, his features twitching more hideously than ever. Dick hailed these signs of discomposure with delight, and encouraged by the impression his sarcastic references to Mr. Higgins as an honest tradesman had produced he was quick to take advantage of it. He resembled the gambler who stakes his whole fortune upon the last throw.

"Did you ever see the secret books of the police," he said, "with the names of certain men with black marks against them? Why, we can lay our hands upon every thief and fence in London when we want to-do you hear? when we want to." Mr. Higgins winced. "There are some things that lick us for a time, like this Catchpole Square Mystery, but we don't go to sleep over them, though some people may think we do. And when we're playing a high game we don't show our cards. What I mean is, that we'll have your place searched for stolen goods. How will that suit you, my honest tradesman? We can bring one or two things against you that you'll find it hard to explain when you're in the dock. If we let you alone it's because you're not worth the powder and shot, but get our dander up, Mr. Higgins, and we'll make short work of you. How does that suit your book? Take care of your precious self, my man, and let sleeping dogs lie."

It was vague, but effective, and it was Dick's good fortune that the hazardous shot told. Indeed, it had gone straight to the bull's eye. Many were the questionable transactions in which, from time to time, Mr. Higgins had been engaged. Petty thieves in the neighbourhood were in the habit of selling their small spoils across his counter; this modern Fagin was always ready to buy, and no questions asked. He had been in trouble more than once, and was in mortal dread of getting into trouble again. This, of course, was unknown to Dick, and it was only from his familiarity with the nature of much of the business transacted in some of these second-hand shops in mean streets that he had ventured upon the bold attack. He could have hugged himself when he saw the effect it produced upon Mr. Higgins.

"There is nothing like a good understanding in these matters, Mr. Higgins," he continued, "and I've no wish to be hard on you. I've got my own game to play, and it's keeping me pretty busy. Between ourselves-don't be frightened, there's nobody by-I did purchase a rope and grapnel of you, but is it for you to say whether I purchased it for myself or for another person, and what use I made of it? I might deny it if I chose, and then, my honest tradesman, who would take your word against mine? Is there any magistrate's court in London where your oath would be believed, much less your word? What a blind fool you are! Upon my word I gave you credit for more sense. Perhaps the reporter of 'The Little Busy Bee' used a rope and grapnel, perhaps he didn't. Perhaps it was the one I bought of you, perhaps it wasn't. I'm not going to let you into the know, Mr. Higgins. How would you like to have the papers down on you as well as the police? How do you know I'm not acting under instructions to track and catch the murderer or murderers of Samuel Boyd? How do you know" – here he leaned forward, and tapped Mr. Higgins confidentially on the breast-"that I'm not in the secret service myself? Would you like to hear what is in these bills that you are going to help me stick on the walls? I've just come from the printing office where I've had them printed. You can't read, you say; it is a pity you should be left in the dark, so I'll read it to you." Dick spread one out, and read it aloud, with unction. "It reads well, doesn't it? I'm rather proud of it. That's a figure of Justice on the top. My idea. Rather a good idea, I flatter myself. A pretty fellow you are to come and threaten me with your rope and grapnel! I'll tell you what your game is, Mr. Higgins. Blackmail. That is it-blackmail. A dangerous game, old man, and you've got hold of the wrong end of the stick-perhaps you see that now. If I had anything to fear is it likely that I'd be going about in open daylight sticking up these bills? More likely to be sailing on the open seas for some foreign port. Where are your wits, you clumsy idiot?"

To judge from Mr. Higgins's appearance, they had gone wool-gathering. He literally gasped beneath the volley which Dick had poured upon him, at the end of which he was sitting in his chair in a state of helpless collapse. Dick had turned the tables upon him with a vengeance.

"Now, what have you got to say?" he asked, triumphantly.

"Quartern o' rum," gasped Mr. Higgins.

"When we've finished our confab you shall have it, and another one or two on the top of it as we go along. Lord bless you, Mr. Higgins, I'm not an ill-natured chap, if you take me easy, and I have the credit of generally being freehanded when I'm not interfered with. Pull yourself together, and listen to what more I've got to say. What we want to do-the secret service, the detectives, the Criminal Investigation Department, and all of us-is to keep this matter as quiet as possible till the thieves and murderers are nabbed. We're working on the strict q.t., and we've got something up our sleeve, I can tell you. And I'll tell you something more. If any outsider interferes with our game by blabbing about ropes and grapnels it will be the worst day's work he has ever done, and he'll live to rue it. We'll wipe him out, that's what we'll do. We'll have no mercy on him."

This was the finishing stroke. Mr. Higgins lay helpless at the foot of the conqueror.

"I made a mistake," he whined. "Quartern o' rum."

"You would sell your own mother for drink, I believe."

"No, no," protested Mr. Higgins, feebly, "not so bad as that, not so bad as that. Good for my liver. Keeps me alive."

"A nice state your liver must be in," said Dick, laughing. "I think we understand each other. Take up the paste pot, and carry it steady. You shall be paid for your day's work. Tenpence an hour, so look sharp."

Mr. Higgins, completely subdued, had his fourth quartern at the bar, and shortly afterwards the British public had the privilege of seeing Dick Remington stick up the murder bills, assisted by an old man in skull cap and list slippers, in that stage of palsy from his recent experiences that his course was marked by a dribble of paste spilt from the pot he carried in his trembling hands. At every fresh stoppage a crowd gathered, arguing, disputing, airing theories. These chiefly consisted of conjectures as to who the murderer was, how the murder had been committed, how many were in it, who the man was who had been seen by Dr. Pye coming out of the house in Catchpole Square at three in the morning, whether he was the same man who had imposed upon Lady Wharton, how the blood-stained marks of footsteps on the floor were to be accounted for, whether there was any chance of the jewels being recovered, and so on, and so on. At one place there was a conversation of a different nature.

"What I find fault with in that there bill," said an onlooker, a man with a forbidding face, dressed in corduroy, "is that no pardon is offered to any accomplice as didn't actually commit that there murder. Where's the indoocement to peach on a pal, that's what I want to know?"

"A white-livered skunk I'd call him whatever his name might be," remarked a second speaker. "Honour among thieves, that's what I say."

"Oh, come," said a third, "let's draw the line somewhere."

"It's what they put in the bills," grumbled the man in corduroy, offering no comment on these expressions of opinion, "and I don't see no mention of it in that there blooming bill."

"It's what they put in the Government bills," said the second man, "but this ain't a Government bill. It's a reward of £500 offered by a private individual."

"A private individual!" sneered the first speaker. "You don't call Mr. Reginald Boyd a private individual in this here case, do you? He's a interested party, that's what he is. What I say is-and anybody can take it up as likes-where's the indoocement to peach on a pal?"

"Well, don't take it to heart, mate," said another. At which there was a general laugh. "Do you know how it runs in the Government bills?"

"No, I don't; but I know it's alias there, and allus should be there."

"I can give you the words, if you wish to hear them," said a quiet onlooker, who, meditatively rubbing his chin, was watching the crowd and the billsticker.

Dick repressed a start. It was the voice of Detective Lambert, with whom he was acquainted. He turned and accosted the officer, who put his finger to his lips, thus indicating that they were not to address each other by name.

"Good morning," said Dick.

"Good morning," said Lambert. "I did not know you were in this line of business."

"Anything to turn an honest penny, said Dick, cheerfully.

"Give us the words, mate," said the man in corduroy.

"They run in this way. 'And the Secretary of State for the Home Department will advise the grant of her Majesty's gracious Pardon to any accomplice not being the person who actually committed the murder, who shall give such evidence as shall lead to a like result.'"

"You seem to be well up in it, guv'nor."

"Fairly well. I did a turn in a Government printing office once."

"Then you could inform us, perhaps, as a matter of general interest," said an elderly man, "whether the accomplice, who would be Queen's evidence-"

"Yes, Queen's evidence."

"Would get the reward as well as the pardon?"

"In course he would," said the man in corduroy, answering for Lambert. "That's the beauty of it. Only wish I was an accomplice in this here blooming murder, with them words in that there bill orfered by the Government. I'd touch, mates, pretty quick, that's what I'd do. But as it stands, where's the indoocement? It ain't 'arf a bill without the indoocement."

This insistence of the implied merit attaching to an act of treachery did not seem to meet with the approval of many in the crowd, who edged away, with distrustful looks at the speaker. Dick also walked off, and Detective Lambert walked by his side awhile, Mr. Higgins shambling humbly in the rear.

"A bold move," remarked Lambert.

"A proper move," said Dick. "Anything new stirring?"

Lambert rubbed his chin for two or three moments without replying, and few persons would have supposed that he was paying much visual attention to the man at his side or the man in the rear; but Dick knew better. He knew that detective Lambert was one of the shrewdest and the most observant officers in the service, and that nothing escaped his attention.