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(New York Public Library)
SAMUEL BOYD
OF CATCHPOLE SQUARE
_A MYSTERY_
By B. L. FARJEON
Author of "The Iron-Master"
_NEW YORK_
NEW AMSTERDAM BOOK COMPANY
_LONDON_
HUTCHINSON AND CO.
1899
* * * * * * * * *
_Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, London and Aylesbury, England_.
CONTENTS.
* * * * * *
CHAP.
I. ABEL DEATH AT WORK.
II. SAMUEL BOYD SETS A TRAP FOR HIS DRUDGE.
III. A LADY OF FASHION PAYS SAMUEL BOYD A VISIT.
IV. SILENCE REIGNS.
V. CONSTABLE APPLEBEE AND CONSTABLE POND FOREGATHER.
VI. IT WAS GONE! THROUGH DEADMAN'S COURT.
VII. IN BISHOP STREET POLICE STATION.
VIII. AUNT ROB THINKS FLORENCE OUGHT TO MARRY A MARQUIS OR A
PRINCE.
IX. THE DISAPPEARANCE OF ABEL DEATH.
X. UNCLE ROB AND DICK ARGUE IT OUT.
XI. DICK REMINGTON REVIEWS THE PAST.
XII. DICK CONFESSES HOW HE BEHAVED HIMSELF IN THE SERVICE OF
SAMUEL BOYD.
XIII. A LIGHT IN THE HOUSE OF DR. PYE.
XIV. THE LADY'S HANDKERCHIEF WHICH CONSTABLE POND PICKED UP IN
CATCHPOLE SQUARE.
XV. DICK COMES TO AN ARRANGEMENT WITH CONSTABLE POND.
XVI. LETTERS FROM FLORENCE.
XVII. THE LITTLE WASHERWOMAN.
XVIII. DR. PYE'S FRIEND, OF THE NAME OF VINSEN.
XIX. DICK PREPARES FOR A SIEGE AND COMMENCES SERIOUS
OPERATIONS.
XX. DICK MAKES A DISCOVERY.
XXI. THE CHAMBER OF DEATH.
XXII. DICK RELIEVES GRACIE'S FEELING BY ONE EXPRESSIVE WORD.
XXIII. FLORENCE AND REGINALD.
XXIV. DR. VINSEN TAKES AN INTEREST IN DICK.
XXV. LADY WHARTON AT THE FOUNTAIN.
XXVI. "THE LITTLE BUSY BEE" GETS AHEAD OF ITS RIVALS.
XXVII. "THE LITTLE BUSY BEE" ENLIGHTENS THE PUBLIC.
XXVIII. THE BURSTING OF THE CLOUD.
XXIX. A MODERN KNIGHT OF CHIVALRY.
XXX. REGINALD'S MAN OF BUSINESS.
XXXI. SCENES IN CATCHPOLE SQUARE.
XXXII. "THE LITTLE BUSY BEE'S" REPORT OF THE INQUEST.
XXXIII. SCENES IN COURT.
XXXIV. GATHERING CLOUDS.
XXXV. LADY WHARTON STARTLES THE COURT.
XXXVI. THE CONTINUATION OF THE INQUEST.
XXXVII. DR. PYE MAKES A STATEMENT.
XXXVIII. DICK IS OF THE OPINION THAT THE MYSTERY SEEMS
IMPENETRABLE, BUT IS STILL DETERMINED TO PIERCE IT.
XXXIX. GRACE MAKES A DISCOVERY.
XL. THE SPECTRE IN THE FLASH-LIGHT.
XLI. HOW A MURDERER MIGHT HAVE BEEN DISCOVERED.
XLII. A FAMILY COUNCIL.
XLIII. AUNT ROB PLAYS THE PART OF FAIRY GODMOTHER.
XLIV. IN THE CAUSE OF JUSTICE.
XLV. CROSS PURPOSES.
XLVI. "THE LITTLE BUSY BEE'S" REPORT OF THE CONTINUATION OF THE
INQUEST.
XLVII. "THE LITTLE BUSY BEE" CONTINUES ITS REPORT OF THE INQUEST.
XLVIII. THE CORONER'S SUMMING-UP.
XLIX. LITTLE GRACIE DEATH ON THE TRAIL.
L. EZRA LYNN, THE MONEY-LENDER.
LI. A DEAD LOCK.
LII. ARRESTED FOR MURDER.
LIII. GRACIE RELATES THE STORY OF HER ADVENTURES.
LIV. EXTRACTS FROM "THE BUSY BEE" OF FRIDAY, THE 15TH OF MARCH,
1896.
LV. CONSTABLE APPLEBEE ON THE WATCH.
LVI. EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF DAVID LAMBERT, DETECTIVE
OFFICER.
LVII. DETECTIVE LAMBERT CONTINUES HIS DIARY.
LVIII. THE DISCOVERY OF THE CRYPTOGRAM.
LIX. CONSTABLE APPLEBEE DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF.
LX. FROM THE DIARY OF DETECTIVE LAMBERT.
LXI. FROM "THE LITTLE BUSY BEE" OF THURSDAY, MARCH 21ST.
LXII. AT THE MAGISTRATE'S COURT.
LXIII. CONTINUATION OF THE TRIAL.
LXIV. A STARTLING DENOUEMENT.
LXV. FROM "THE LITTLE BUSY BEE."
LXVI. JOY.
SAMUEL BOYD
OF CATCHPOLE SQUARE.
* * * *
_A MYSTERY_.
* * * *
CHAPTER I.
ABEL DEATH AT WORK.
At six o'clock in the evening of the first day of March, in the year
of Grace, 1898, Abel Death, a man of middle age, with a face
appropriate to his name--which should never be given to any living
human being--was sitting at his desk, employed in the task of writing
the last of a number of letters, in accordance with the instructions
of his employer, Mr. Samuel Boyd, of No. 6, Catchpole Square, in the
North district of London. The letters all referred to Money: to Money
due for principal and interest, and to warnings and threats of what
would be done in case prompt payment was not made at such and such an
hour on such and such a day. Uncompromising and relentless to the
point of cruelty, debtors were told in plain terms that ruin was their
portion if Mr. Boyd's demands were not complied with.
Abel Death appeared to be just the kind of man for the task he was
executing, being hollow cheeked and sunken eyed; his hands were long
and lean, his movements eager and restless. Clad in shabby and badly
fitting clothes, he did not belie the position he occupied, that of an
ill paid drudge working long hours for a hard taskmaster.
The room in which he sat, and in which his daily duties were
performed, could scarcely be called an office. From the number of
singular articles it contained it might have been a curiosity shop, or
the store-room of a dealer in the miscellaneous goods of the earth to
whose net everything that presented itself was more or less marketable
fish. Here was a massive safe fast bedded in the wall and securely
locked; here a grand piano, locked; here weapons and armour of all
nations, and pictures in which lay dumb stories of fruitless genius
and disappointed ambition; here pieces of valuable china and
_bric-à-brac_; here some dozens of wine of a rare vintage; here
hangings of old tapestry; here (the oddest feature in the
heterogeneous collection) a waxwork figure, holding in its
outstretched hand a cane stick of the reign of Charles the Second;
and, scattered in all directions, but still with some kind of method
in the order of their disposal, a great variety of other oddments: all
taken for debt, and all representing, in different degrees, despairing
hopes and reckless extravagance and prodigality which had come to a
bad end.
The apartment was large and lofty, with panelled walls and doors of
oak. The ceiling was covered with paintings of flying angels, and
nymphs, and festive landscape-scenes after the style of Watteau,
barely discernible through the accumulated dust of years; the mantel
and fireplace were richly carved in many a quaint and curious device,
the beauty of which was defaced by smoke and ill usage and neglect.
The house itself was very old, and these evidences of decay forcibly
illustrated how low it had fallen from its once high estate. For
assuredly in years long since passed by it had been inhabited by
persons of wealth and fashion and good taste. Time was, indeed, when
these walls resounded to gay music and revelry, when satin-slippered
feet glided over the polished floor, and bright eyes smiled, and bold
lips murmured into beauty's ears. Here shone the sunny aspects of
life; here gladness reigned; here all the luxurious ways of fortune's
favourites were in their outward show at their best and bravest.
Nothing of this was apparent now. The men and women who had trod these
flowery paths were dust and ashes, and the dwelling was the abode of
one who held fashion and good taste in contemptuous disregard, and
whose principal aim in life was the driving of hard bargains and the
making of money.
Having finished the last letter Abel Death descended from his stool to
stretch and refresh himself. From the pocket of a threadbare coat
which hung upon a nail he took a paper containing a couple of
sandwiches, and cast a longing look at the bottles of wine, a thirsty
movement of his lips betokening the nature of his thoughts. But he did
not venture to lay his hand upon them, knowing full well that strict
account was kept, and that if he appropriated but a single bottle the
offence would be detected the moment his employer entered; so he took
his fate in his hands by extracting from his coat a twisted paper of
tea and another twisted paper of brown sugar which he emptied into a
teapot. A very small fire was burning, and he stood and watched the
boiling of a tiny kettle of water. As he poured the water into the
teapot he heard a knock at the street door, which he did not take the
trouble to answer.
"A trap," he muttered, pouring the tea into a chipped cup. "No, no,
Mr. Boyd. You don't get me to open the door for you."
He suspected a ruse. He had received instructions not to answer a
knock, nor to admit any person into the house during Mr. Boyd's
absence, and the conditions of his engagement were strict and onerous,
the most trifling transgression of the rules laid down being visited
with a fine. When, therefore, the knock was repeated a second time he
shook his head with a smile, and proceeded with his scanty meal.
It did not take him long to get to the end of it; and presently, when
he heard the opening and the shutting of the street door, followed by
steps on the stairs, he mounted to his stool, and bent his head over
the books.
"Is that you, Mr. Death?"
He almost fell off his stool, for it was not the voice he expected to
hear.
A young man of gentlemanly appearance confronted him with an
ingenuous, open countenance; with an honest eye and a graceful manner.
In the teeth of these advantages there was an expression of anxiety on
his face which denoted that his errand was one upon which grave issues
depended.
"You, Mr. Reginald!" exclaimed Abel Death, staring open mouthed at the
visitor.
"As you see, Mr. Death," replied Mr. Reginald. "You are still in the
old place."
"Yes, Mr. Reginald, yes, still in the old place."
Mr. Reginald's eyes travelled round the room. "Where's my father?" he
asked.
Abel Death answered in Irish fashion.
"How did you get in?"
Mr. Reginald held up a key.
"You don't mean to say----" stammered Abel Death.
"That I stole it?" said Mr. Reginald. "No. It is the old key which I
took away with me when I left this house----"
"For ever," interposed Abel Death.
"Not exactly, or I should not be here now."
"That is what he told me."
"That is what he told _me_."
"His word is law in this house, Mr. Reginald."
"We will not discuss the subject. I ask you again, where is my
father?"
"Out."
"When will he be back?"
"I don't know--I can't tell you. He has his ways. He likes to leave
people in uncertainty."
"Is he well?"
"Yes, Mr. Reginald. As well as ever. There is no change in him--no
change!" He said this in the tone of a man who would not have grieved
at a change for the worse in his employer's health.
Mr. Reginald drew a silver watch from his pocket. "It is six o'clock.
My time is my own. I will wait."
"I earnestly beg you not to, Mr. Reginald."
"Why?"
"It would be difficult for me to get another situation."
"I understand. I have no wish to injure you. I will call later."
"I should not advise you. Earnestly, I should not advise you."
"I don't ask your advice. I must see him, I tell you. I intend to see
him."
"Then I give it up. I am sorry you have come down in the world, Mr.
Reginald."
The young man looked at the clerk with a curious contraction of his
brows. "How do you arrive at that conclusion?"
Abel Death tapped his waistcoat pocket. "It used to be a gold one."
"Now I call that clever of you," said Mr. Reginald, half merrily, half
lugubriously, "but _your_ lines have not been cast in pleasant places;
you should know something of the process."
"I do," said Abel Death, in a dismal tone.
"If the watch I now wear is an indication of my having come down in
the world, why, then, I _have_ had a tumble. Am I interrupting your
work?"
"I have the books to make up."
"I'll leave you to them. Would it be unfair to ask you to tell my
father that I will call again at ten o'clock? He is sure to be
disengaged at that hour."
"Very unfair, Mr. Reginald. I wouldn't venture to tell him that I'd
seen you."
"In that case I'll not trouble you."
"And if you do call again, Mr. Reginald, I beg you, as a particular
favour, not to mention your present visit."
"You have my promise." He turned to go, but paused to glance at the
strange collection of goods in the room. "My father gets plenty of odd
things about him. I see stories of wreckage in them."
"Not our wreckage, Mr. Reginald."
"No," said Mr. Reginald under his breath as he left the room, "other
people's."