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."
"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.
"Five hundred pounds is a good round sum," he said.
"It is," said Dick. "Why not earn it?" Lambert gave him a curious
look, surprised, for one brief moment, out of himself. "If it was a
Government reward," continued Dick, who also had his eyes about him,
"there wouldn't be a chance for you, for the words would run, 'the
above reward will be paid to any person (other than a person belonging
to a police force in the United Kingdom) who shall give such
information,' etc. Now, this reward doesn't apply in this way. The
reward will be willingly and gladly paid to any person, whether he
belongs to the police or not. Is it worth considering?"
"Yes," said Lambert, thoughtfully, "it is worth considering. You asked
me whether there's any thing new stirring. Well----" But he paused
suddenly, as if he were about to say too much. "One of these days,
perhaps, there will be a case in the papers that, for daring and
mystery, will beat even the Mystery of Catchpole Square."
"Can't imagine one," said Dick. "It wouldn't be fair to ask if there's
any connection between the two cases." He paused; Lambert was silent;
Dick turned the subject. "What do you think of my new apprentice? A
modern species of Ganymede, carrying the pastepot instead of the wine
cup. Nothing like novelty in these days; people run crazy after it.
Only you must keep it well advertised; everything depends upon that.
Drop your advertisements, and youth grows wrinkled in an hour. Now,
what we're aiming at in this mystery"--he flourished his paste
brush--"is that, until we get at its heart, people shan't
forget it. We'll keep it before them morning, noon, and night. No
hole-in-the-corner business. Step up, old man." This to Mr. Higgins,
who came shambling forward, his features twitching twenty to the
dozen. With the eyes of so sharp an officer as Lambert upon him Dick
was not stupid enough to dream of keeping the old man in the
background. He knew that any such attempt would end in Lambert's
finding means of making himself thoroughly acquainted with Mr.
Higgins's business and character before the day was out, so he took
the bull by the horns, and introduced his companion by name, giving
also his trade and address. "There's a specimen of an honest tradesman
for you. Queer sort of assistant for me to pick up?"
"There's no denying it," said Lambert.
"There's a little story attached to the way Mr. Higgins and I struck
up a friendship. What's the best thing in life worth living for, old
man?"
"Quartern o' rum," replied Mr. Higgins. The answer seemed to be jerked
out of him by force of magnetism.
Dick laughed; Lambert made a movement of departure.
"Are you off?" asked Dick.
"Off I am. Take care of yourself."
"I'll try to."
Dr. Pye's countenance during his late interview with Dr. Vinsen was
not more inscrutable than that of Detective Lambert. The trained habit
of concealing one's thoughts is part of the stock in trade of more
than one class of men, and shrewd as Dick was he would have found it
beyond his power to divine what was passing in Lambert's mind as he
strolled leisurely away, but a quiet smile on the younger man's lips
denoted that he was not dissatisfied with the problem he had presented
to the detective. "I've given _him_ something to puzzle over," was
Dick's thought, "and I'm a Dutchman if I haven't thrown him off the
scent in regard to my friend Higgins."
"There's a man for you," he said, as he gazed admiringly after the
vanishing figure of the detective. "Have you the pleasure of knowing
the gentleman?"
"Can't say as I have," was the answer.
"That's the famous Detective Lambert, who gave evidence at the
inquest. And what a ferret he is! Search France and England through,
and you won't meet his match. He had his eye on you, I noticed." Mr.
Higgins shivered. "If ever you get into his clutches look out for
snakes. It's a pleasure to work with a man like that. He and I are on
the same lay."
Another hour's steady work, and the last bill was pasted on the walls
and the last quartern of rum disposed of. Then he reckoned up what was
due to Mr. Higgins, paid and dismissed him, and repeated his caution
about looking out for snakes if it should be his bad fortune to fall
into the clutches of the famous detective.
"I've about settled _your_ hash," mused Dick, as he saw Mr. Higgins
plunge into the nearest beershop. "But how do I stand with Lambert?
That's a different pair of shoes. What did he mean about another case
of mystery? I thought he was going to let it out, but he pulled
himself up short. Never mind, Dick. You've had a narrow squeak to-day,
and you've got out of it with flying colours. Go ahead, my lad, and
stick at nothing."
Had Detective Lambert followed Dick to the neighbourhood of Covent
Garden and overheard what passed between him and certain well known
tradesmen therein he would have had another problem to solve, in
addition to those which were already occupying his attention.