THE SPECTRE IN THE FLASH-LIGHT.
At ten o'clock on this night, Dr. Pye was employed looking over a
number of manuscripts, setting some aside and burning others, keeping
a jealous eye upon the fire as he watched them moulder to ashes. Upon
the table were a bottle of wine and two glass goblets of ancient
manufacture and design. There were quaint stems to these goblets, one
representing a serpent, the other a satyr, whose upraised face seemed
to be trying to reach the rim. Priceless treasures of the antique.
That the wine was precious, and that Dr. Pye so considered it, was
evidenced by the disposition of the bottle, which lay in a basket
lined with thick blue felt; the glasses were Venetian. These and the
wine were in harmony with the taste displayed in the gathering
together the costly and unique collection of articles which adorned
the room. One might have expected to see such an apartment in an old
palace, for the beautifying of which centuries of treasure had been
collected through many generations, but scarcely in a street in
Islington where wealth was not abundant, and where the residents, for
the most part, were toilers of the humblest kind. Secluded as was the
room--its door closed, its one window so closely shuttered that not a
chink of light could be discerned from without--the hum of crowded
life from the outer street penetrated it and droned like an exhausted
bee. Dr. Pye listened, smiled contemptuously, and gazed around upon
the precious bronzes and ivories, the rare _bric-à-brac_, the
exquisite enamels, the books with jewelled bindings, which were so
arranged that their beauties were seen at a glance. Not one of these
examples was of the new school of art; all belonged to times when form
and colour were either better understood and valued than now, or
received from the artist that whole-souled and loving labour which
in this age of hurry-scurry no artist dreams of bestowing upon his
work--and thus misses perfection and immortality. In the world of art
to-day it is the merchant-author who displays his wares and touts for
patronage.
His task completed, Dr. Pye put into a drawer the papers he had set
aside, and with extreme care poured out a glass of wine and held it up
to the light. His anticipated enjoyment of the precious draught was
heightened by the deep ruby colour which shone through the delicate
glass, and he gazed long at it, and at its almost living reflection in
a jewel on his white hand. He drank it slowly, and drank a second and
a third in the same leisurely manner. Then he rose and went to the
window, in the closed shutter of which was a small revolving panel. On
a bracket within reach of his right hand was the box containing the
flashlight, of which he had spoken in his evidence at the Coroner's
Court, and within reach of his left was a tap which controlled the
gas. This tap he turned, and the room was in darkness. Then he turned
the revolving panel, and through the exposed circle of glass looked
out upon the night. All was dark in Catchpole Square. Its silence, its
gloom, the utter absence of movement, were in keeping with the tragedy
which had made its name a household word.
Lifting the box from the bracket he opened it, and, pressing a spring
which ignited the magnesium wire, threw a flashlight on the house of
Samuel Boyd. For one brief moment the walls and windows were
illuminated, as though lightning had struck them. Then all was
darkness again.
With thoughtful brows Dr. Pye closed the revolving panel and turned up
the gas. Placing the box on the table, he took from it a film which he
laid flat on a square of sensitised paper, and poured a liquid over
it. Holding it up to the light a photograph of the walls and windows
of the house he had illuminated appeared. No living face or form was
visible in the picture, nothing but lifeless stone and wood and glass.
As he was replacing the box on the bracket, the sound of footsteps on
the stairs caused him to look towards the door, which presently opened
and admitted Dr. Vinsen.
"According to my promise, my friend," said the visitor; "always
faithful, always a man of my word." His eyes fell upon the bottle of
wine, and without invitation he filled a glass, and was about to drink
when he paused, as if a sudden suspicion had crossed his mind. Dr. Pye
smiled, and refilling his own glass, drank, his example being followed
by Dr. Vinsen.
"A rare wine," he said, smacking his lips, "but too
seductive----altogether too seductive. Am I mistaken in supposing that
you have been testing the flashlight?"
"You are not mistaken," said Dr. Pye.
"Without result, of course?"
"Without result."
Dr. Vinsen stepped to the shuttered window, and Dr. Pye, lowering the
gas almost to the vanishing point, turned the revolving panel, and
peered through the exposed glass at the windows of the house opposite.
"Look!" he whispered, clutching his visitor's arm. "What do you see?"
"Nothing but a mass of shadows," replied Dr. Vinsen.
"Look again--closer, closer!"
"I see nothing," said Dr. Vinsen, testily. "What do you see?"
Dr. Pye did not answer, but bringing forward the small box, opened it,
and sent a flashlight straight into the opposite window.
"God in heaven!" he cried, falling back affrighted.
In that brief moment of light he had seen at the window the face and
form of Samuel Boyd!