CHAPTER II.
SAMUEL BOYD SETS A TRAP FOR HIS DRUDGE.
Abel Death experienced a feeling of relief when he heard the streetdoor slammed in token that Mr. Reginald was gone. Whatever histhoughts may have been with reference to that young gentleman he didnot give audible utterance to them, but an occasional shake of hishead as he worked at the books, and an occasional pause during whichhe rested his chin upon the palm of his hand in reflection, were anevidence that though Mr. Reginald was out of sight he was not out ofmind. At first he worked rapidly to make up for lost time, but at theend of an hour or so his pen travelled more slowly over the paper, histask being nearly completed. He had lighted two candles stuck incommon tin candlesticks, and had pulled down the blind, for night wascoming on. The feeble glimmer of these candles, which were long andthin, threw light only upon the desk at which he was working; thedistant spaces in the room were in deep shadow, and an occasionalshifting of a candle seemingly imbued many of the objects by which hewas surrounded with a weird and fitful life. This was especially thecase with the wax figure, which was that of a Chinaman who might havecome straight from the Chamber of Horrors, so ghastly was its face inthis dim light. Being not quite firm on its legs any hurried movementin its direction caused it to quiver as though it were set on wires;and once, when Abel Death threw a heavy ledger from his desk on to thetable, the oscillation of the figure was sufficiently fantastic tohave engendered the fancy that it was preparing to leap upon theliving man and do him violence. Neither Mr. Samuel Boyd nor Abel Deathcould have informed a curious inquirer who the figure was intended torepresent. It came from the house of a modeller in wax, to whom Mr.Boyd had lent a small sum of money, and who, when he was pressed forpayment, himself brought it to Catchpole Square as the only asset hecould offer in discharge of the debt. "It is all I possess," said theman mournfully, who had hoped to soften the heart of his creditor byhis tale of distress. "Then I'll take it," said Mr. Samuel Boyd."You'd take my blood, I believe," cried the man savagely. "I would,"retorted Mr. Boyd, "if there was a market for it." "Keep it, then,"said the man, flinging himself from the room. "It's brought me nothingbut bad luck all the time I have been at work on it. May it bring thesame to you!" Mr. Boyd laughed; he did not believe in omens, nor insentiment, nor in mercy to any person in his debt. He believed only inMoney.
The day's work over, Abel Death sat awhile so deep in thought and sostill and quiet that he might have been taken for one of the inanimateobjects in this strangely furnished apartment. He had removed thecandles from the desk to the table, where they flickered in thedraught of a broken window, into which some rags had been thrust tokeep out the wind. Within the radius of the flickering light theshadows on the walls and ceiling grew more weird and grotesque, eachgust of air creating insubstantial forms and shapes as monstrous asthe fancies of a madman's brain. Catchpole Square was a blindthoroughfare--being, as has been elsewhere described, like a bottlewith a very narrow neck to it--and was therefore undisturbed by thetumult of the city's streets; and the prevailing silence, in whichthere was something deathly, was broken only by the sobbing andmoaning of the rising wind which, having got into the Square, wasmaking despairing efforts to get out. These sounds were in unison withthe spectral life within the house, which seemed to findinterpretation in the mystic voices of the air. It might have been soin very truth, for what know we of the forces of the invisible worldthrough which we move and play our parts in the march from the cradleto the grave? Unfathomable mystery encompasses and mocks us, and noman can foretell at what moment he may be struck down and all hiscastles overturned, and all his plans for good or evil destroyed.
Abel Death started to his feet. A stealthy step was on the stairs. Theman coming up paused three or four times either to get his breath orfor some other purpose; and presently he entered the room.
Mr. Samuel Boyd was a tall man, and bore a close resemblance to hisson in certain expressions of countenance and in certain littlemannerisms of gesture which in the younger man were indications of anopen-hearted nature, and in the elder of a nature dominated by craftand cunning.
"You're back in time, sir," said Abel Death, in a cringing tone.
Mr. Boyd made no immediate reply, being employed in lookingdistrustfully around to convince himself that nothing had been removedor disturbed. Even when he was assured of this the look of distrustdid not die out of his eyes.
"Are the letters all written?" he inquired, seating himself at thetable.
"They are, sir."
"Have you posted up the books?"
"Yes, sir. Everything is done."
"Has any one called?"
"No one, sir," promptly replied Abel Death.
"Any knocks at the street door?"
"No, sir."
"You lie! There was a letter in the box."
Abel Death's lips shaped themselves into the word, "Beast!"
"What did you say?" demanded Mr. Boyd, upon whom no movement on thepart of his servant, however slight, was lost.
"I was going to say that the postman was no business of mine."
"You are getting too clever, Abel Death--too clever, too clever! Themen I employ must do their work without spying, without blabbing,without lying."
"You have never found me unfaithful."
"I have only your word for it. When did you know me take a man'sword?"
"Never, sir."
"And you never will. So--you did not go down to the postman when heknocked?"
"No, sir."
"And you have not been out of the house during my absence?"
"No, sir."
"Nor out of this room?"
"No, sir."
"Ah! Is that so--is that so? You have your office coat on, and youroffice slippers. Had you not better change them?"
"I was going to do so, sir," said Abel Death. Mr. Boyd's keen eyeswere upon him while he made the change. "May I hope, sir, that youwill grant the request you kindly promised to consider? It may be amatter of life or death, it may indeed. It means so much to me--somuch! I humbly beg you, sir, to grant it."
"Let me see. You asked me for a loan."
"A small loan, sir, of ten pounds. I have trouble and sickness athome, I am sorry to say."
"It is inconceivable," said Mr. Boyd coldly, "that a man in regularemployment should need a loan unless it is for the gratification ofsome unwarrantable extravagance. Your wages are paid regularly, Ibelieve."
"Yes, sir. I don't complain, but it is not an easy task to keep a wifeand family on twenty-two shillings a week. I don't know how it is,"said Abel Death, rubbing his forehead as though he were endeavouringto rub some problem out of it, or some better understanding of asocial difficulty into it, "but when Saturday comes round we havenever a sixpence left."
"Very likely. It is the old story of improvidence. Thrift, Abel,thrift. That is the lesson the poor have to learn, and never willlearn."
"Ten pounds, sir, only ten pounds," implored Abel Death.
"Only ten pounds!" exclaimed Mr. Boyd. "Listen to him. He calls tenpounds a small sum. Why, it is to millions of men a fortune!"
"It is truly that to me, sir."
"And if I lend it to you," said Mr. Boyd, with a sneering smile, "youwill call down heaven's blessing upon me, you will remember me in yourprayers?"
"Yes, sir, yes," replied Abel Death confusedly.
"There is the question of security, Abel."
"I am a poor man, sir, but I will do anything you wish. I will giveyou a bill--I will sign any paper you write out--I will pay you anyinterest you like to charge. You can deduct five shillings from mywages every week till the debt is cancelled. I shall be eternallygrateful to you, sir." His agitation was so great that he could notproceed.
"Gratitude is no security," said Mr. Boyd, still with the sneeringsmile on his lips. "Prayers and heaven's blessing are no security. Nobusiness man would lend a shilling on them. They are not Property. Youremarked a moment ago that I had never found you un
faithful. I willput it to the test. Let me see the slippers you have taken off."
"My slippers, sir!" stammered Abel Death.
"Your slippers. I wish to see them." Puzzled by the singular request,and with inward misgivings, Abel Death lifted the slippers from thefloor. "Lay them on the table before me, soles upward."
Ruefully wondering what connection there could possibly be between hisfrayed and worn slippers and the question of unfaithfulness which Mr.Boyd had raised, he obeyed the order. His wonder increased when Mr.Boyd proceeded to examine the soles through a magnifying glass.
"That will do," said Mr. Boyd, leaning back in his chair. "You canpack them up with your office coat, and take them home with you."
"But I shall want them to-morrow, sir."
"Not in my office, Abel Death. I discharge you."
"Sir!"
"I discharge you. Here are your wages for a half week. You can claimno more. The conditions of your engagement with me were that in theevent of the slightest violation of my orders you were to beimmediately discharged without further notice."
"In what way have I violated your orders, sir?" cried Abel Death,despairingly. "Good heavens! This will be the ruin of me!"
"You have brought it on yourself. It is an ungrateful world, Abel, anungrateful world. Robbery on all sides of us, treachery whichever waywe turn. Do not send to me for a character; it will not assist you toobtain another situation." Abel Death gazed at the hard taskmaster inspeechless consternation. "I have suspected you for some time past,Abel----I beg your pardon, you were about to speak."
"I was not."
"You were. Come, come--be honest, Abel, be honest. It is the bestpolicy. I have found it so."
"It was in my mind to say, sir," said Abel Death, in a shaking voice,"that you suspect everybody."
"It is the only way to protect oneself from being robbed. Keep thisaxiom before you; it is as good as capital, and will return you goodinterest. Suspecting you as I have done I laid a trap for you thisafternoon--a simple, artless trap. Observe this thin piece of brownpaper, observe this little piece of wax which I place upon it. Anyperson treading on it will carry away with him on the sole of his shoeboth the paper and the wax. Do you follow me?"
"Yes, sir," said Abel Death, staring at the paper and moving histongue over his dry lips.
"Before leaving the house this afternoon," continued Mr. Boyd, "Ideposited on the stairs eight very small pieces of this paper, eachwith a very small piece of wax on the top of it, and placed them onthose parts of the stairs which a person coming up or going down wouldbe most likely to tread. Is this quite clear to you?"
"Quite clear, sir."
"It is a singular thing, Abel, that upon the soles of your slippers Ido not see one of those pieces of paper or any trace of wax."
"It proves, sir," interposed Abel Death eagerly, "that I spoke thetruth when I declared that I had not left the room during yourabsence, and that I did not go down the stairs."
"But it does not prove, you dog, that no person came up the stairsduring my absence!" Abel Death fell back, confounded. "Upon my returna few minutes ago I examined the stairs, and found only two of theeight pieces of paper I deposited there so carefully--so verycarefully! Six pieces of the eight I placed there had affixedthemselves to the soles of the shoes or boots worn by the person whoentered this room while I was away. I asked you if any one had called.You answered no. It was a lie, a deliberate lie, a lie not to beexplained away."
"If you will listen to me, sir," said Abel Death, reduced to a stateof abject fear, "I think it _can_ be explained away."
"I am listening, Abel Death."
"I made a mistake, sir--I confess it."
"Oh, a mistake, and by such a clever man as you are!"
"I am not clever, sir--far from it. Every man is liable to error. Aperson _has_ been in this room, but I did not open the door to him. Heopened it himself."
"What!" cried Mr. Boyd, starting from his chair in mingled anger andalarm.
"Yes, sir, he opened it himself. How could I help that, sir--I askyou, how could I help that?"
A few moments elapsed before Mr. Boyd spoke; and during the silence hetook a revolver from a drawer, which he unlocked for the purpose. Thenhe said slowly, "Who was the man?"
"Your son, sir, Mr. Reginald."
"My son! He was forbidden the house!"
"I can't help that, sir. He knocked three times at the street door,and bearing your instructions in mind I did not answer the knocks.When he came into the room I asked him how he had got in, and heproduced the key he was in the habit of using when he lived here. Hewanted to see you, and I told him you were not in. He said he wouldwait, and I begged him not to, because I knew you would be angry ifyou saw him here. Then he said he would call to see you later, and Ibegged him not to mention that he had been here; he gave me thepromise and left the house. That is the whole truth of the matter,sir."
"Why were you so anxious that this visit should be kept a secret fromme?"
"I feared you might suspect that we were in--in----" He could not hitupon the right word.
"In collusion," said Mr. Boyd, supplying it in accordance with hishumour to place the worst construction upon the interview. "In leagueto rob me. A fair and reasonable suspicion which the explanation Ihave dragged out of you does not remove. Have you anything more tosay?"
"Nothing more," replied Abel Death, in a hopeless tone.
"Take up your money. You can go."
"But you will withdraw the discharge, sir--I entreat you to withdrawit. Think what it means to me--what it means to my family! Starvation,sir, starvation!" He wrung his hands in despair.
"You have lied deliberately to me. Go--go and starve!--and never setfoot inside this house again."
Convinced now that any farther appeal would be unavailing, the look ofmisery in Abel Death's face changed to one of fury. He made a steptowards the man who had doomed him to ruin, and who, thus threatened,held the revolver straight before him, with his finger on the trigger.Muttering, "God help me!" Abel Death took up the few shillings whichMr. Boyd had placed upon the table, and backed out of the room,followed by his employer, still armed with the revolver, and holding acandle above his head. Thus they went down to the street door, whichAbel Death slowly opened. But before he left the house he turned andsaid,
"Do you believe in God?"
"No," snarled Mr. Boyd, "I believe in nothing!"
"Men have been struck dead for less," said Abel Death, pointing ashaking finger at him. "Remember that, Samuel Boyd!" And went his waywith misery in his heart.
Mr. Boyd, undisturbed and with a smile of self-approval on his lips,closed the door and put up the chain. Then, with deliberate steps, andwith no misgivings, he returned to his room.
Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery Page 3