ARRESTED FOR MURDER.
"A moment, Reginald," said Uncle Rob, in a low tone, laying his hand
on the young man's arm.
As the men fell back a pace or two they came face to face with Mrs.
Death. In his heart Reginald believed Abel Death to be innocent, and
even in the midst of his own trouble he would have addressed a word of
comfort to her, but she, distracted by grief and indignant horror,
held up her hands as if to ward him off, and brushed past him into the
open. She had been present during the whole of the inquest, but her
mind was in too agitated a state to pay close attention to any of the
evidence except those parts which affected her husband, and she had
therefore, until she heard the Coroner's address to the jury, missed
the significance of the contradiction she had given to the statement
of Dr. Pye as to the hour he had seen a man come from Samuel Boyd's
house in Catchpole Square. In justice to her it must be said that even
if she had recognised it when she was under examination she would not
have withheld it, for she was a fair-minded woman, and was still
grateful for the kindness the young man had once shown them. But it
seemed to her now that in weakening the case against Reginald she had
strengthened it against her husband, and it was this that caused her
to reject with horror the advances which Reginald had made towards
her.
"She believes me guilty," thought Reginald, as she disappeared through
the door of the court; and then, turning to Uncle Rob, he said, "What
is it?"
"Detective Lambert is waiting outside," said Uncle Rob in a low tone.
"For me?"
"For you."
Reginald could not help being startled, though he had been all day
inwardly preparing himself. Stepping to Aunt Rob's side he said, in a
tone of assumed lightness, "We are full of secrets just now. I have
one for you; Florence won't mind." Drawing her away he whispered,
"Take Florence home."
He had not time to say more, for Florence, although she had not heard
what had passed had caught its sense, and she now glided swiftly to
his side, and clung close to his arm.
"Go home, dearest," he said. "I am going to walk with your father to
the station."
"We will walk with you," said Florence, and then in an imploring tone,
"Do not send me away from you till the last moment!"
"Why, Florence, my love," said Reginald, as if in surprise, but here
Aunt Rob interposed.
"There must be no more secrets. Don't keep anything from us, father.
Tell us the worst; we can bear it."
Uncle Rob looked at Reginald, who nodded, and passed his arm round
Florence's waist.
"Lambert has been talking to me," said Uncle Rob; "he has behaved very
considerately, and asked me to break it to you." His voice faltered.
"He has a warrant for Reginald's arrest. Courage, my dears, courage!"
This little party, at whom so terrible a blow was dealt, now stood
apart and alone, and what they said could be heard only by themselves.
Aunt Rob drew a long breath.
"It's what we've been waiting for," she said, "and it had to come.
Reginald will face it like a man, and will fling the lie into their
faces. Keep a stout heart, my lad."
"If I suffer," he replied, "it is because of the grief I have brought
into my dear Florence's life."
"It is not a grief of your creating, dear," said Florence, "and you
have brought nothing into my life which has not strengthened my love
for you. I put my trust in God." She bent down, and pressed her lips
upon his hand; the night had fallen, and those at a distance could not
see the action. "Oh, my dear, my dear! He will not allow the innocent
to suffer."
"Be brave, for my sake, dearest."
"I will be. I am." And in her heart was the prayer, "God shield my
beloved! God protect him!"
They issued into the open air, and stood by Lambert's side in silence.
The only movement he made was to beckon to a constable, and,
whispering a few words to him, to point somewhat conspicuously to the
juror who had shown himself so inimical to Reginald. All the other
jurymen had taken their departure; this man alone was waiting.
If Lambert's aim was to arouse in him the aggressive spirit of which
he had given frequent instances during the inquest, it was gained, for
the juror walked up to the detective, and inquired if he had pointed
at him with any particular design, and if so, what it was and what he
meant by it. Lambert stroked his chin and did not answer.
"The road's free to all, I suppose," pursued the man, nettled at
Lambert's silence; his voice was loud and offensive.
"Now you mention it," observed Lambert, slowly considering the
proposition, "it is."
"I thought so," said the man, and was at a loss what next to say, for
Lambert had fallen into a meditative mood, and to feel for a pimple on
his chin seemed to be of assistance to him.
The appearance of another person upon the scene, who halted, however,
at a distance of a dozen yards or so, with her black eyes fixed upon
the juror, was not noticed by any of them, except perhaps by the
meditative detective.
"Move on," said the constable whom Lambert had addressed, and some
idlers, who had shown a disposition to linger, sauntered away. The
juror held his ground, but was not at his ease, for he felt that
Lambert's eye was on him, and to be thus meditatively observed by an
imperturbable detective was enough to make any man uneasy. Presently
Lambert roused himself from his brown study.
"Which direction are you going to take?" he said to the Juror.
"Why do you want to know?" asked the man.
"Because I will take the other, and I've a hundred things to attend
to."
"Who's hindering you?"
"You, Mr. Rawdon. That's your name, I believe."
"I'm not ashamed of it," said Mr. Rawdon, with a slight start.
"Why should you be?" remarked Lambert quietly. "It's the name you were
born to. I'm not ashamed of mine; to tell you the truth, I'm rather
proud of it. What we've got to do with our names, whether we like 'em
or not, is to make 'em a credit to ourselves and our families. And
we're born, not only to names that stick to us, but to tempers that
stick to us. Now, when I see a man showing a nasty temper, I cast
about in my mind for something that will soothe his ruffled feelings.
That's what I've been thinking about. 'What can I do,' says I to
myself, 'that will soothe Mr. Rawdon's ruffled feelings?' And it's
come over me to put it in the shape of a question, if you've no
objection."
"Let's hear what it is," said Mr. Rawdon, upon whom the detective's
words did not seem to have a soothing effect.
"It's a question," continued Lambert, "that I wouldn't put to you
publicly if it wasn't that we're playing a sort of game, you and me, a
sort of trying to tire one another out, because, you know, Mr. Rawdon,
there's many a thing in a man's life he'd prefer to keep to himself.
As for tiring me out, you couldn't do it, Mr. Rawdon. It's well known
that Detective Lambert is the most patient man in the whole police
force, and it's well known, too, that he never mixes himself up with
other people's private affairs unless he has the best of reasons for
it."
"Aren't you losing sight of your question?" asked Mr. Rawdon sullenly.
"No, I'm not; I'm coming to it; but I'm naturally a slow man--slow
_and_ sure. It's happened on occasions that I've been a long time
taking aim; but then I never miss; and I never do anything
definite--anything definite, mind--or say anything definite (which is
what I'm going to say now), without a motive. Now, _do_ you understand
that?" No voice could be more persuasive than that in which he
explained himself to Mr. Rawdon.
"Oh, I understand it," said that individual.
"And so could a blind dog, if it was put to him forcible. It eases my
mind; I give you my word, it eases my mind. Pay particular attention
to the question, Mr. Rawdon: there's a lot hanging to it that the
present company--my friend Inspector Robson and his good wife, and my
friend Mr. Reginald Boyd and _his_ good wife--haven't the slightest
understanding of. Which makes it all the more comfortable for you and
me, because it's between us. Are you ready, Mr. Rawdon?"
"Quite ready, Mr. Lambert."
"Well, then. What is the amount of the judgment obtained against you
by Mr. Ezra Lynn, how much do you owe him altogether, and what
arrangement has lately been made between you? And if that's three
questions instead of one I hope you'll excuse me."
So saying, Detective Lambert rubbed his chin, and shed a genial smile
upon Mr. Rawdon, whose perturbation was so great that he seemed to be
deprived of the power of speech.
"If you want time to chew it over," continued Lambert, "take time.
There's been many a knotty point raised in this inquiry into the
Catchpole Square Mystery; one or two more or less won't matter much.
Take your time, Mr. Rawdon, take your time. Go home and chew it over."
In obedience to a motion of his eyebrows imperceptible to all but the
constable, that official bustled forward with his "Move on, please,
move on"; and as though he were glad of an excuse to set his limbs in
motion Mr. Rawdon moved slowly away, in the opposite direction to the
Bishop Street Police Station. The other person, little Gracie, who had
been watching the group, moved stealthily after him, and in a moment
or two the man and the girl had turned the corner of the street.
Lambert smiled in self-approval, and the next moment became grave as
he touched Reginald on the arm. "Now, Mr. Boyd."
Florence quivered as though she had been stung, but instantly
recovered herself.
"I am at your disposal, Mr. Lambert," said Reginald. "You have a
warrant for my arrest."
"I have; and I'll read it to you at the Bishop Street Police Station.
I would take you to another, but as I've already explained to the
Inspector it is the proper station to take you to, as the charge will
have to be heard at the Bishop Street Police Court."
"Will it be heard to-morrow?"
"To-morrow. It will be merely formal, and there'll be a remand, for a
week I should say. That is what will be asked for. I am acting under
instructions." He turned to Florence and Aunt Rob. "I hope you'll not
take it amiss, ladies. Duty's duty, and it's hard to do sometimes. Mr.
Boyd and I will walk quietly to the station with Inspector Robson.
I'll keep people off while you say good-bye." He turned his back to
them, from motives of delicacy, and to serve as a screen.
"Would there be any objection, Mr. Lambert," said Aunt Rob, "to our
walking with him as far as the station?" She spoke stiffly and
severely: despite the manifest friendliness of the detective she could
not forgive him.
"None in the world, if you wish it."
"We do wish it," said Florence, timidly.
"Give an arm to the ladies," said Lambert to Reginald. "The Inspector
and I will walk on behind. You would hardly believe it, but at this
time every Thursday night I get a singing in my ears that makes me
quite deaf. An old complaint; had it from childhood; it comes on
suddenly; I've got it now."
He fell back with Uncle Rob, and no person meeting them would have
supposed that a man was being arrested for murder. Within two or three
hundred yards of Bishop Street Dick ran up to them, and he saw
immediately what was transpiring.
"You have come in good time, Dick," said Reginald, pressing the
friendly hand. "Florence and Aunt Rob have no one to take them home.
You see what is going on." Dick nodded. "Now that the suspense is over
I feel relieved. I have something to face, and I can speak out
boldly."
"He must have a lawyer, Dick," said Aunt Rob.
"It is being attended to, aunt."
"I would have preferred to defend myself," said Reginald, "but I
suppose it would be unwise."
"It would be folly," said Dick. "I saw your solicitor this afternoon,
and we have agreed upon the barrister, Mr. Edward Pallaret. He ranks
high, and is generally on the right side."
"On the just side, Dick."
"That is what I meant, aunt."
"Did you expect this, that you have gone so far?" she asked.
"I have been expecting it all along. Is Lambert acting on his own
responsibility?"
"No, under instructions, he says."
"Ah. Do you approve of Mr. Pallaret, Reginald?"
"Yes. He is an honourable man."
"He is; and a man that judges and magistrates listen to with respect.
That is not the case with all lawyers. There are black sheep among
them that damn a case the moment their names appear in it. I have a
pair of solicitors in my mind now, a couple of sharp, sneaking
scoundrels who never yet have had the handling of a reputable case.
Mr. Lamb is not a very eminent solicitor, but he is a respectable man,
and it was he who suggested Mr. Pallaret. Don't be faint-hearted,
Reginald; we'll pull you out of this with flying colours. Have any of
you seen little Gracie Death to-day?"
No, none of them had seen her.
"She'll be at your house to-night, aunt, with news, perhaps. Here we
are at the station."
He made a secret motion to his uncle as they entered, and saying to
the others that they would join them presently, he and the Inspector
retired to a small room at the back of the office, where the latter
kept his accoutrements, which he now proceeded to put on for the sad
duties of the night.
"Do you remember the talk we had together, Dick," said the Inspector
mournfully, "on the night of the fog, when Mrs. Abel Death came in
with her little girl, and told us of the disappearance of her husband.
We argued it out together, and the thought of a murder done was in our
minds. It's little more than a week ago, and it seems a year. We
didn't think it would come to this."
To Dick, also, it seemed as if months had passed instead of days, and
as if he himself were a different being. Aimless, purposeless, then,
with no object in life to lift him out of the lethargic state into
which he had fallen, the hours now were all too short for the strange
and desperate task to which he had set his hand, the strangest and
most hazardous part of which had yet to be performed.
"Lambert speaks fair," continued the Inspector, "but you are the rock
upon which we must lean for safety. Oh, Dick, my lad, save my Florence
if you can from life-long misery!"
"I'm bound to do it, uncle," said Dick, "or sink. Something whispers
to me that I shall succeed. And now let me tell you--I may not have
another opportunity. I'm going to see Florence and Aunt Rob home,
where I've asked little Gracie to come and have a chat with me. After
to-night it's on the cards that I shall disappear----"
"Disappear!" cried the Inspector, catching his nephew by the arm.
"Hush! They must not hear us. I mean that neither you nor they will
know where I am for a few days. There will be a notice stuck up on the
house in Catchpole Square to the effect that all inquiries for me are
to be made at your house, and that all letters for me are to be left
there. If any inquiries are made, tell Aunt Rob and Florence that
they're to say they are expecting me home at any moment, and don't
know where I have gone to. Nothing more than that. I must leave this
to you, for I cannot confide in them. I am bound to keep my secret,
and I could not answer the questions they would put to me in their
anxiety."
"But, Dick----"
Dick held up his hand. "There isn't a step I've taken in this affair
that hasn't been taken with only one end in view, the end we are all
praying for, and perhaps there are things I've kept from you because
it would never have done to tell them to a police inspector. There was
your duty as a public officer, and there were your feelings as a
father. Would it have been right of me to bring these into conflict?"
"I see that, my lad, I see that, and it has been a torture to me."
"Look me in the face, uncle." He moved into the light, so that it
could be clearly seen. "Is it an honest face?"
"Yes, my lad."
"A face you can trust?"
"Yes."
"Then trust it, and act as I desire. You ask me to save Florence from
misery, and, with God's help and my own wits, that's what I feel I
_shall_ do if I'm left free to follow out my plans. If I am hampered
in any way Reginald will lose his best defender. I've been in danger
once to-day, and my wits saved me. We must get back to them, or
they'll be suspecting something. If you are satisfied with what I've
said, uncle, give me your hand."
They clasped hands, and returned to the front office. Inspector Robson
stiffened himself, and walked to his desk. Then Lambert, who held the
warrant in his hand, read it aloud, but in a low tone, and advised
Reginald to say nothing.
"I am not afraid to speak," Reginald answered, with a proud, defiant
look. "Until my innocence is proved I will proclaim it to all the
world."
"Well said, my son," said Aunt Rob.
Inspector Robson did not utter a word, but with a set face entered the
charge. Then Detective Lambert bade the Inspector good night, and
passed out of the scene. He offered no good-bye greeting to the
others, and seemingly took no notice of Aunt Rob's action when she
held her skirts aside, so that he should not touch them. It was not in
her heart to forgive him for the part he had played.
When all the formalities were concluded Florence and Reginald, clasped
in each other's arms, exchanged tender words of comfort and hope.
"God bless you, my beloved husband," said the girl-wife. "He will make
your innocence clear."
"I have no fears," said Reginald. "God preserve you?"
"Good night, my son," said Aunt Rob.
There was not a tear in their eyes; each strove by outward calmness to
sustain the other in this bitter trial. Inspector Robson never raised
his eyes from the charge sheet.
"Take care of her, Dick," said Reginald.
"Trust to me, Reginald," said Dick, with a bright smile.
So they left him, and proceeded through the dimly lighted streets to
Aunt Rob's house, and there they found Gracie waiting outside for
Dick.