Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery

"We will now turn to another branch of the subject. In reply to a question I put to Mrs. Death she expressed her belief that her husband had no enemies: but a man carrying on such a business as Mr. Samuel Boyd transacted must have had many. However harsh it may sound, there is in my mind very little doubt that he must have inflicted great wrongs upon a number of persons. The tactics pursued by moneylenders of his class are so tricky and unscrupulous-they are so entirely oblivious of the claims of common humanity-that they must perforce breed animosity and resentment in the breasts of those whom they entrap. I am referring, understand, to that class of moneylenders whose nefarious practices have made them a danger to society, and I am happy to see that the strong arm of the law is being stretched forward to protect the unwary and unsuspecting victims who fall into their clutches. On the other hand, there are, of course, among such a man's customers some crafty borrowers who would trick the moneylender as he would trick them, men with doubtful reputations whose characters are no better than his own. It is for your consideration whether Mr. Samuel Boyd has fallen a victim to a cunningly laid plot on the part of a band of these men; the abstraction of the books and papers in which their names would appear favours this presumption. We have no evidence presented to us that affords a clue to the discovery of such a plot, but it will be as well not to lose sight of its probable existence.

"Returning to my argument concerning Mr. Samuel Boyd's movements within his house on the night in question, we behold him still alone at about eleven o'clock, his office business finished, the visit of Mr. Abel Death disposed of, and he preparing for bed. And here Mr. Reginald Boyd comes into the picture.

"We have heard from his lips his account of what took place during his interview with his father, and we have to accept or reject it. They were alone together, there were no witnesses, and we have only Mr. Reginald Boyd's word to go upon. You must not allow this to militate against him. In the circumstances of the case it is hardly possible that there could have been witnesses to corroborate the account he gave, and I have no hesitation in declaring that his bearing in the witness box bore the impress of truth. It has been objected to that in the course of this inquiry private domestic affairs have been dragged into the light which seemingly had no connection with it, but painful as this must have been to certain of the witnesses, it has established more than one point which, in the opinion of some of you, may be of importance-such, for instance, as the nature of the relations which existed between Mr. Samuel Boyd and his son, and the fact that the latter was in extremely straitened circumstances. I do not think that any blame is to be attached to the son for having renounced the name of Boyd two years ago, when the strained relations between him and his father led to his leaving, or being turned from, his home in Catchpole Square. It is not an instance without parallel; men have changed their names for motives less powerful than this. Mr. Reginald Boyd's bearing while giving his evidence here, was that of a high-spirited, independent young gentleman, who held in abhorrence the business tactics and practices of his father, and it is not unnatural, when the connection was severed, that he should resolve to be quit of a name which carried with it a disreputable stigma.

"Nor was it unnatural that Mr. Reginald Boyd should have believed himself to have been tricked out of the fortune his mother left him, and that, being now a married man, anxious to provide a home for his wife, he should have made an effort to obtain restitution. In my reference to these matters I am not wandering from the issue, for what you have to consider is, not one incident, circumstance, or act, apart from the others, but all the incidents, circumstances, and acts in relation to each other. What in the former case may seem suspicious may, in the latter case, be robbed of its suspicious complexion.

"And do not forget that there was not a single question put to Mr. Reginald Boyd, whether pertinent to this inquiry or not, which he refused to answer. He evinced, indeed, an anxiety to disclose everything within his knowledge which cannot be regarded in any other than a praiseworthy light. He even went so far as to voluntarily mention small incidents leading to the asking of questions, his answers to which may be unfavourably construed. I observed him narrowly while these questions were being asked and answered. There was no confusion in his manner; he answered unhesitatingly and frankly. His demeanour was entirely that of a man who was giving his evidence with honest intention."

"Interrupting you here, Mr. Coroner," said the Juror, "was not the evidence of Dr. Pye given in a manner which invited entire belief in his honesty and straightforwardness?"

"I was coming to Dr. Pye," said the Coroner. "Yes, there was nothing in his conduct in the witness box that would warrant a belief that he was not speaking truthfully. It cannot be denied that the evidence he gave threw a startling suspicion on Mr. Reginald Boyd, and were it not for the evidence of Mrs. Abel Death which, in point of time, is in direct conflict with that of Dr. Pye, I should be addressing you in different terms, so far as Mr. Reginald Boyd is concerned. Here we are confronted with a most singular discrepancy. Dr. Pye states that he saw a man issue from Mr. Samuel Boyd's house a three o'clock in the morning. Mrs. Abel Death states that she was in Catchpole Square from half past two till half past three on the same morning, and that during the whole of that time the door of Mr. Boyd's house was not opened. I do not see how these conflicting statements can be brought into reconcilement. The presumption that Mrs. Death may have been mistaken as to the time of her visit to, and her departure from, Catchpole Square is disposed of by her further statement that, while she was in Catchpole Square, she heard the hour of three struck from a neighbouring church clock. And we have evidence that the chimes of Saint Michael's Church can be heard in the Square."

The Juror: "Might she not have been mistaken, Mr. Coroner? It may have struck two. If Mrs. Death reached Catchpole Square at half past one and remained till half past two, the discrepancy would vanish."

The Coroner: "Just so; but it is not for us to alter the statements of witnesses in order to make them fit in with one another. We have to take the evidence as it is presented to us, and draw our conclusions from them. I asked Mrs. Death if she was certain that the church clock struck three, and she answered that she was, and that she counted the strokes. However, gentlemen, there is the discrepancy, and you must place your own construction upon it.

"With respect to the night on which the murder was committed we may safely assume that it was Friday night. Mrs. Death's repeated knocking at the street door would surely have aroused the inmate had he been living. Mr. Boyd was in the habit of going out daily, but from that fatal Friday night he was not seen alive.

"So much of the morbid interest attaching to this case has been centred upon Mr. Reginald Boyd and Mr. Abel Death, that there is a danger of matters being overlooked which have an important bearing upon the inquiry. The disposal of the body in bed and the composing of the limbs after a violent life and death struggle had taken place, the orderly condition of the rooms after the confusion into which this violent struggle must have thrown their contents, direct our minds to a consideration of the kind of men responsible for the murder and the robbery. That so much trouble should have been taken to remove and obliterate all signs of the struggle, and to make it appear that a ruthlesss and brutal deed had not been committed, would seem to point to the probability that the men are not experienced members of the criminal classes; while the skill and cunning of the plot, and the cool and deliberate way in which it was carried out, denote that they are men of infinite resource and daring. I use the plural because I share the belief that the deed and all that followed it were not the work of one hand. A master mind there certainly must be, and I can conceive no greater danger to society than that such a man should be at large, watching this case and guarding against its consequences.

"Undoubtedly the leading motive was robbery, but behind this leading motive were others as to the nature of which we have no clue. For what reason were the books of accounts and the private papers of the murdered man removed? Valueless in a commercial sense, why should the robbers have encumbered themselves with articles of considerable bulk, the carrying of which, by night or by day, would have drawn attention upon them? Some ulterior motive there must have been. The close and secret manner in which the deceased conducted his business, the circumstance that he admitted no man into his confidence, serve, in the present aspect of the case, as a stumbling block to justice. The criminals must have been familiar with the premises and with the habits of the deceased. They must have known where the key of the safe was kept, they must have known that it contained property of value. It is difficult to understand why a sum of money was left in the pockets of Mr. Boyd, but it is only one of many circumstances which it is difficult to understand.

"And mark the hardihood, confidence, and patience with which the plot was carried to issues not included in the original plan of the crime. On Saturday morning Mr. Boyd lies dead in his bed, and the criminals, if not still in the house, have free access to it. I am following this out now because it is quite likely to have escaped you in the multitudinous incidents and circumstances of the mystery which it is necessary for you to bear in mind. On Monday Lady Wharton recollects that Mr. Boyd, when he received the fresh acceptances signed by Lord Wharton and endorsed by Lord Fairfax, omitted to hand back the old bills for which the new ones were given in exchange. She writes to Mr. Boyd, she being then in Bournemouth and he lying dead in London. In her letter she requests him to bring the old bills to Bournemouth, and also requests that the loan of £1,000 already arranged between them, for which she had deposited jewels as security, should be increased to £1,500, promising, for the additional £500, to hand him other jewels as security when they meet in Bournemouth. The letter written and posted, is left by the postman in the post box of Mr. Boyd's house in Catchpole Square. And here we are brought face to face with the unparallelled audacity of the criminals. Having access to the house they obtain possession of the letter, and they conceive the idea of personating the dead man for the purpose of getting hold of these additional jewels. No illiterate, uneducated criminals these; past-masters in forgery as well as in murder, who shall say what undiscovered crimes may be laid at their door? I have no hesitation in declaring that no parallel exists in criminal records to the expedient they adopted and carried to a successful end. You have heard the astonishing story from Lady Wharton's own lips, you have heard it corroborated by her brother, Lord Fairfax. It is an extraordinary revelation, more like a chapter from the dark pages of romance than a chapter from real life. The closer the attention we devote to the many-sided aspects of this mystery, the longer we consider it and turn it this way and that in the endeavour to grasp a tangible clue, the more bewildering does it become. One moment suspicion rests upon one person, the next moment upon another, the next our suspicions fade away; while behind those whom we already know as being connected-and bear in mind, as likely as not innocently connected-with the awful tragedy lurk others whose identity up to the present moment is a sealed mystery.

"It has been my desire to place the matter before you in as clear a light as possible, and I am fully sensible of the difficulty of your task. Justice demands that this mystery shall be cleared up, but be careful that you do not take a false step, for at the same time justice demands that you do injustice to no man because of some theory or prejudice you may have in your mind."

CHAPTER XLIX

LITTLE GRACIE DEATH ON THE TRAIL

While her mother was being examined in the Coroner's Court, little Gracie Death, glowing with gratitude to Aunt Rob and her family, and solemnly impressed with a sense of the importance of the task she had undertaken, set out on the trail of Dr. Vinsen. She clearly understood that she was serving Dick's friends as well as Dick himself, but it was of Dick she thought most, and it was him she most ardently wished to serve. The attachments formed by children, and the ideals they create, are often stronger and more binding than those of men and women; and no stronger attachment was ever formed by a child, and no more lofty and beautiful an ideal created than those which reigned in Gracie's soul for Dick. Her heart throbbed with pride to think that the man she loved best in the world next to her father had taken her into partnership, and had entrusted her with a mission. There was no indication of this on her quiet, sallow face, or in her black eyes. When passion is demonstrative it is far less enduring than when it lies hidden in the soul.

Gracie intended to fulfil the mission entrusted to her. Dick had said that between them they would make Scotland Yard sit up. Well, they would. Inspired not only by the kiss which he had given her for good luck, but by an absolute reliance upon herself, Gracie pondered upon her course of action. She must go somewhere. Where? She had no idea in which direction Dr. Vinsen lived, and she was not the kind of girl to flounder about without something to guide her. Once she set eyes upon him she would stick to him like a limpet to a rock till her purpose was achieved. She turned her face homeward; he might by chance be there.

He was there. She heard his voice as she was ascending the stairs, and she paused to listen. He was asking the children for their mother, and a chorus of voices informed him that Mrs. Death had gone to the "inkage," which was the nearest approach the little ones could make to "inquest." Gracie thought it was a curious question for him to ask, because she had heard him and her mother speaking of Mrs. Death being a witness in the inquiry. She crept up a step to hear what further he had to say.

"And Gracie," he said, "where's our little Gracie-our lit-tle Gra-cie? Has she gone to the 'inkage' too?" Who could doubt that it was out of mere playfulness he gave their pronunciation of the word?

"Oh, no," answered the most forward of the children, "she can't get in, she can't. And mother didn't want her to."

Other questions of no importance were asked and answered, and then the door of the room was opened, and Gracie saw Dr. Vinsen's legs on the landing. Down she slid, as noiselessly as a cat, out into the mews she sped, and from the recess of a neighbouring front door watched him issue from the house. He stopped and exchanged words with a woman whom Gracie knew, and with whom she was a great favourite; they were close to her hiding place, and Gracie heard what passed. He was very gracious, he smiled blandly, spoke in a smooth voice, and pushed his hat to the back of his head to wipe his brow, thereby affording a glimpse of his halo. To Gracie's surprise he was inquiring for her again, and the woman could not inform him where she was.

"She's a busy little thing, sir," said the woman; "she runs in and out as if all the world and his wife was depending on her. We all like little Gracie Death."

"I trust she is deserving of it," said Dr. Vinsen, with a number of amiable nods. "Sharper than a serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child."

"If that's a dig into little Gracie," said the woman, with spirit, "it's what she don't deserve. Beggin' your pardon, sir, I won't have little Gracie run down."

"One for him," thought Gracie, with a chuckle. "Give it him hot. You're a good sort, Mrs. Thomson."

"Dear me, dear me!" said Dr. Vinson. "Run our little Gracie down-our lit-tle Gra-cie down! No, no, indeed! The sweetest child, the sweetest child!"

"That she is, sir," said the woman, "and I beg your pardon again for speaking so hasty."

"No offence, my good creature, no offence," said Dr. Vinsen; "where none is meant, none should be taken. Is this your little one?" A sturdy blue-eyed toddlekins was tugging at her apron strings, and he stooped and patted the curly head. "Here's a penny for lollypops. Good day-good day!"

He raised his hat, which caused the woman to stare, and strolled out of Draper's Mews. She gave a start when Gracie glided from behind the door.

"I didn't want him to see me," said Gracie. "Thank you ever so much for sticking up for me."

And she, also, strolled out of Draper's Mews, and followed Dr. Vinsen at a distance so carefully and warily, and apparently with so much unconcern, that no one would have suspected that she was engaged upon the most important task she had ever undertaken. "Now I've got you," was her thought, "and I don't let you go." She kept her sharp eyes fixed upon him. When he stopped she stopped, when he lingered she lingered, when he walked slowly she walked slowly, when he quickened his steps she quickened hers. It appeared as if he were undecided as to the course he should pursue, for now and then he looked about him, and seemed to debate which way to turn. It was evident that he had no definite business to attend to, and no definite goal to reach. Passing a public house of a superior kind, he had gone a dozen yards beyond it when he turned back and entered the private bar. Grace made a rapid survey, to see how many doors there were by which he could leave. In point of fact, although of course it was a corner house, there was only one, but of this she was not aware, so she posted herself on the opposite corner and watched all the doors, and if there had been twice as many she would have had eyes for them all. He remained a long time in the private bar, and when he made his reappearance he was still as undecided as to his course. It may have been out of mere idleness that he entered a chemist's shop and purchased something, which he put into his pocket as he came out. In this aimless way he and Gracie strolled on through Park Street, Islington, at one part of which he crossed the road and looked up at the windows of a house. It was the house in which Reginald had lodged. Gracie noted the number, and would not forget it. So they strolled on, past the Grand Theatre, past Sadler's Wells, through Clerkenwell into Holborn, where he hailed a bus for Charing Cross, and got inside. "It's a good job Dick gave me some money," thought Gracie, as she scrambled to the top without being observed by the gentleman she had been following.

CHAPTER L

EZRA LYNN, THE MONEY-LENDER

At Charing Cross Dr. Vinsen alighted, and Gracie descended from the roof in the manner generally adopted by females, with her back instead of her face to the horses, which is by far the more dangerous way of the two to climb down from an omnibus. But, Gracie being a girl of unusual sharpness and penetration, it may be that she got down that way for the purpose of keeping her eye upon Dr. Vinsen, and if this were so she was quite successful, for she did not lose sight of him for a single moment, despite the busy throng of people hurrying in all directions, and the bewildering entanglement of vehicles of every description, which render this part of London at mid-day one of the most marvellous demonstrations of the civilised life of a great city that can be met with all the world over.

It was now one o'clock, and the newsboys were shouting out the early editions of the evening newspapers, for if there is one thing upon which modern journalism especially prides itself, it is that it can take time by the forelock and can hurry the rising and the setting of the sun. In these shouts and cries Dr. Vinsen-still lingering with the uncertain air upon him by which his previous movements had been distinguished-appeared to take great interest, listening to them intently and scanning such portions of the contents-bills carried by the boys as were visible in the midst of the hurly-burly. The familiar cry of "The Great Catchpole Square Mystery!" was as potent a bait as ever to purchasers, among whom Dr. Vinsen was not the least eager. Gracie saw on the contents-bills such headlines as "Emphatic Statement of Mr. Reginald Boyd," "The Coroner's Reproof to the Juryman," and "Mrs. Abel Death under examination," and she herself expended a halfpenny in literature, but did not stop to read the paper, her whole attention being required to watch her game and to elude detection.

At the corner of Parliament Street Dr. Vinsen entered a bus that crossed Westminster Bridge. There was no room on the roof for Gracie, and she dared not get inside, so she ran along the pavement, her breath coming thick and fast; there was plenty of space in this wide thoroughfare for the vehicle to put on a spurt, and the horses galloped smartly on. Luckily for Gracie there was a stoppage at the top of Parliament Street to enable passengers to get in and out, and she could recover her breath; and when the omnibus started again the traffic on the bridge was crowded, so that she trotted along quite comfortably, and had no difficulty in keeping her game in view. At the end of the bridge Dr. Vinsen got out and sauntered on past St. George's Hospital and the shabby old site of Astley's Theatre, haunted by memories of Ducrow and Ada Menken-names strange to the rising generation, though once upon a time they made all London ring-and past a medley of mean shops, till, on the opposite side of the road, he called a halt before a warehouse where portmanteaus and travelling trunks were manufactured.

Under a verandah in front of this warehouse were a number of trunks, a few of which bore on their lids the names or initials, newly painted in white, of the customers for whom they had been made. Two bore the same name, Signor Corsi, and it was these which had the greatest attraction for Dr. Vinsen. They were of large size and special make, far superior to the ordinary travelling trunk. Entering the warehouse, he came out presently accompanied by a man, either the proprietor or one of his salesmen, who opened one of the trunks and pointed out its exceptional features. It was of peculiar construction; the interior was padded, and there were receptacles lined with soft material, in which articles could be deposited with little fear of breakage. The interest which Dr. Vinsen took in the trunks and the long conversation between him and the salesman, whetted Gracie's curiosity, and she burned to know the why and the wherefore; but being compelled to keep at a safe distance, she could not hear a word that was spoken. Finally, Dr. Vinsen entered the warehouse again, and did not make his reappearance for twelve minutes by a clock in the shop near which she was lingering. He and the salesman stood chattering at the door for another minute or two, and it seemed to Gracie as if he had given an order, for he made an entry in his pocketbook; then he turned his face Kennington way and hailed a tramcar. Gracie scrambled up to the roof, where she opened her paper and read the report of the inquest up to the time of going to press. Folding the paper carefully, she put it in the bosom of her frock.

Dr. Vinsen did not leave the tram till it had reached its terminus. This part of London was new to Gracie, and they were now some miles from Draper's Mews. "If he lives here," she thought, "it's a long way for him to come to us." That he did live there was proved by his stopping before a house of decent pretensions and opening the door with his own private latchkey. There was a little brass plate attached to the side of the door, and creeping past it Gracie read on it the name, "Ezra Lynn," and beneath it in smaller letters the announcement, "Sums of from £5 to £15,000 advanced at a low rate of interest on promissory note alone, without any sureties or security whatever, and without any beforehand charges. The strictest privacy and secrecy observed." Gracie's eyes dilated at the magnitude of the sum, £15,000, and for a moment her idea was that Dr. Vinsen had gone into the house to borrow that amount; the next moment she fell to speculating upon the strange circumstance that Dr. Vinsen should possess a private latchkey to such an Aladdin's Cave. "I wonder!" she said to herself. It was sufficiently expressive for her understanding, but it went no farther in speech.