CHAPTER IX.
THE DISAPPEARANCE OF ABEL DEATH.
She spoke in a hoarse voice, and very slowly, a scraping, gratingcough accompanying her words. "Mr. Samuel Boyd, sir, of CatchpoleSquare," might, according to her utterance, have lain in acharnel-house among the bones of the dead when she fished him up forthe information of Inspector Robson. Such a rasping cough, forcingwhat little blood she had in her poor body up into her pallid face,where it stood out in blotches of dull, unhealthy red! Such a wearing,tearing cough, as though some savage, malignant beast, lurking in herchest, was clawing at it in sheer devilry, and scraping it clean tothe bone! But she did not seem to mind it, nor, by her manner, did sheinvite pity for it. The cough was an old companion, "and goes on so,"she said to a juvenile friend, "when it takes me unawares, that italmost twists my head off." This was not said in a tone ofcomplaining; it was merely a plain statement of fact.
The name of Samuel Boyd had scarcely passed the girl's lips, whenInspector Robson darted forward to catch the woman, who, but for histimely help, would have fallen to the ground. Assisted by Dick he boreher to a bench, and there they succeeded in restoring her toconsciousness.
The attitude of the child was remarkable for its composure, whichsprang from no lack of feeling, but partly from familiarity withsuffering, and partly from a pitiful strength of character whichcircumstances had brought too early into play. Too early, indeed, forshe was but twelve years of age, and had about her few of the graceswhich speak of a happy child-life. How different is the springtime ofsuch a child from that of one brought up in a home of comparativecomfort, where the pinching and grinding for the barest necessaries oflife are happily unfelt! What pregnant lessons are to be learned froma child so forlorn--say, for instance, the lesson of gratitude for thebetter fortune and the pleasant hours of which we take no account!
But Gracie Death did not murmur or repine. She simply suffered, andsuffered in dull patience. It was her lot, and she bore it.
The introduction of the name of Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Squarebrought a startled look into Dick's eyes, and he glanced at InspectorRobson to see if it made any impression upon him. The Inspector gaveno indication of this, but devoted his whole attention to the woman,who, the moment she revived, was in full possession of her senses.
"My husband!" she moaned. "My husband!"
"Has he run away from you?" asked the Inspector.
"No, sir, no," replied Mrs. Death. "He was too fond of us for that.The best husband, the best father! If you have any mercy in you, findhim for me! What shall I do without him? What will the children dowithout him?"
"We shall starve," said Gracie, answering the question, coldly andimpassively.
Inspector Robson coughed behind his hand, and his cough awoke thedemon in Gracie's chest to emulation so strong that it straightway setto work, and the spectators had a practical illustration of herstatement that it was "enough to twist her head off."
"The child has a bad cough," said Inspector Robson, with a look ofpity; "she oughtn't to be out on such a night."
"I _would_ come with mother," said Gracie. "It ain't her fault, it'smine."
The Inspector coughed again, and Gracie's demon followed suit.
"Did your husband drink?" asked the Inspector.
"No, sir, no," said the woman, reproachfully. "How can you ask it?Gracie will tell you. Did father drink, Gracie?"
"Yes," she answered. "Tea. Very weak. I like it strong," and added,"when I can get it."
"I wish I had a cup to give you," said Inspector Robson.
"So do I," said Gracie, "and a cup for mother."
"If there's anything you wish to tell me," said the Inspector,addressing the woman, "I will see what can be done. Take your time,and don't hurry. He was employed by Mr. Samuel Boyd, you say."
"Yes, sir, of Catchpole Square. He was Mr. Boyd's clerk, and a hardtime he had of it. We did the best we could upon his miserable salary,but what with one thing and another we were worried out of our lives."
"Did I worry you, mother?" asked Gracie. "I'd stop coughing if Icould, but I can't. If it didn't worry mother, gentlemen, I wouldn'tmind. It ketches me that tight that I can't hold it if I try ever so.I _do_ try, mother!"
"You do, my dear. A little while ago"--to the Inspector again--"weborrowed three pounds of a money-lender and signed a paper, and thoughwe've paid it twice over he makes out that we owe him more than we didat the beginning. Our bits of furniture aren't worth much, but it'sall we have, and every time he comes he threatens to sell us up."
"I wish he'd sell my cough up," said Gracie, with a queer littlelaugh, "I'd let it go cheap. It wouldn't fetch much, I reckon, but hecan have it and welcome, because it worries mother."
"That's the way she talks of it, sir. She never thinks of herself."
"Oh, don't I, though? You mustn't believe everything mother says,gentlemen."
"Let me go on, dear, and don't interrupt, or you'll make the gentlemenangry."
"I'd be sorry to do that. You _will_ help mother won't you, please!"
"We'll try," replied Inspector Robson, kindly and patiently.
"Then I won't say another word till she's done," said Gracie.
"Last Friday night he came home in a terrible state," continued thewoman, fondling Gracie's cheek with her trembling hand. "He hoped toget the loan of a few pounds from Mr. Boyd, so that we could pay themoney-lender off, and buy a chest protector for Gracie, and a littlewarm clothing for the other children."
It was as much as Gracie could do to refrain from protesting that shedidn't want a chest protector, or any nonsense of that sort, but whenshe passed her word she was not in the habit of breaking it, so shecontented herself with shutting her thin white lips tight, and lookingdefiantly at the mist that filled the room. Which revenged itself bytickling her throat to such a degree that she almost choked.
"He went out in the morning full of hope," said Mrs. Death, when thefit of coughing was over, "and came home full of despair. Instead ofgetting the loan which was to set us free and give the children achance, he had been discharged. Discharged, gentlemen, discharged, ata moment's notice! It came upon me like a thunder-clap, and when I sawmy husband sitting at the table with his face hidden in his hands, Iwondered what we were sent into the world for. Look at my littleGracie here, gentlemen. She doesn't weigh half her proper weight, andshe hasn't an ounce of flesh on her bones. She's more like a skeletonthan anything else, and so are we all. Look at her, and look at me,and think of our little children at home almost at the point of death,and you'll understand why my poor dear husband was filled withdespair. Oh, it's bitter cruel, bitter, bitter cruel! One tries, andtries, and tries, and never a spark of light to comfort us. Nothingbut misery, nothing but misery, nothing but misery!"
It was terrible to hear the repetition of her words, terrible towitness her agony and her just rebellion against her cruel fate.Gracie did not speak, but slid her little hand, cold as ice, into thehand of her mother, who clasped it convulsively. Quietly andimpassively the child watched the faces of the listeners to note theeffect the appeal had upon them.
"Would it be a breach of duty to introduce a mug of hot tea into apolice station?" asked Dick of the Inspector.
"No, it would not," said Inspector Robson. "There's a can in thecupboard there. Here's a shilling. Get it filled."
"I must stop and hear the end of this story," said Dick. "I've areason for it. The constable can go, can't he?"
Inspector Robson nodded, and the tin can and the shilling being givento the constable, he departed on the errand.
By this time the woman had sufficiently recovered to proceed.
"There my poor husband sat, the picture of misery, and never said aword, and I hadn't a word of comfort to give him. To tell him to bearup--what would have been the use of that? I put before him what littlefood there was in the cupboard, but he pushed it away and wouldn'ttouch it. All at once he started up and said, 'I'm going out.' 'Whereto?'
I asked, and I put my hand on his arm to keep him at home, forhis face was dreadful to see, and I was afraid of--I don't know what.He guessed what was in my mind. 'No,' he said, 'don't think that ofme. You've got enough trouble to bear as it is; I won't bring more onyou. I'll fight on to the bitter end.' You know what was in my mind, Idare say."
"Yes, I know."
The woman resumed. "'Where are you going?' I asked him again. 'ToCatchpole Square,' he answered. 'I'll make another appeal to Mr.Boyd.' I didn't think there was any hope for us, but I knew it woulddishearten him if I said as much, and I let him go. As near as I canremember it was half past nine, and I expected him back before eleven,but at eleven there was no sign of him. I did not dare to leave thehouse, for the children hadn't got to sleep yet, and if he returnedwhile I was away it would put everything in confusion. I waited andwaited till I could bear it no longer, and then I went out to look forhim, thinking that perhaps Mr. Boyd had relented, and had given myhusband work to do which kept him in the office all night. It was pasttwo when I reached Catchpole Square, and looked up at the windows.There's never any life to be seen there, and I didn't see any then.There was a bell-pull at the door that wouldn't ring, so I knocked andknocked and kept on knocking without any one coming. I hung about theSquare for an hour and more, and knocked again and again as loud as Icould, and at last I came away and ran home, hoping to see my husbandthere. Gracie was awake, and said nobody had come while I was away.Can you understand my feelings, sir?"
"I can," replied Inspector Robson, as the constable entered the officewith an empty cup and the can of hot tea. "Take a drink of this beforeyou go on. It'll warm you up." He filled the cup with the steamingliquid and gave it to her.
Gracie's eyes glittered, but she did not move, and when her motheroffered her the mug she said, "No, mother. After you's manners," inquite an elegant way, as though their mission to the police stationwas to take afternoon tea with the Inspector. Mrs. Death, too wellacquainted with her child's character to attempt any persuasion,therefore drank first, deep sighs of satisfaction betokening hergratitude. Refilling the cup Inspector Robson handed it to Gracie,who, before she put it to her lips, said, in her best society manner,
"To you and yours, sir, and gentlemen all, and may none of you everfeel the want of it. The Lord make us truly thankful! Hallelujah!"
A form of grace which, but for the pathetic side of the picture, mighthave caused some amusement to those who heard it.
Nothing of Gracie's face could be seen except her coal black eyesglittering like dusky stars above the white rim of the mug as shetilted it, and though the tea scalded her throat she made no pausetill the last drop was finished. Then she sidled up to her mother andstood quietly there, her child-soul filled with thankfulness which wasnot expressed in her thin, sallow face.
"Saturday passed, sir," said the woman, pressing Gracie to her sideand resuming her story, "and he didn't come home, and nobody couldtell me anything about him. It was the same all day Sunday and allyesterday; I was never off my feet. Half-a-dozen times every day haveI been to Catchpole Square, knocking at the door without being able tomake anybody hear. What am I to do, what _am_ I to do? If somebodydon't help me, I shall go mad!"
"The only thing I can suggest just now," said Inspector Robson, "isthat your husband's disappearance should be made public. Come to themagistrate's court to-morrow morning at twelve or one o'clock. I willbe there, and will see that you get a hearing. Some of the reporterswill take notice of it, and it will get into the papers. It's the bestadvice I can give you."
"I'll follow it, sir," said the woman, but it was evident that she hadgiven up hope. "Thank you kindly for listening to me so patiently.Come, Gracie, we'll go home. Will it be sure to get into the papers,sir, if I come to the magistrate's court?"
Inspector Robson looked at Dick, who nodded. "I think I can promisethat. Now get home as quickly as possible, and put your little girl tobed. Her cough is dreadful."
In a voice as hoarse as any raven's, and quite composedly, as if theInspector were the object of compassion, Grace said, "Don't let itworry you, please. _I_ don't mind it, not a bit." She drew her breathhard as she added without any show of feeling, "You _will_ findfather, won't you? Mother'll never forget you for it. You've been everso good to us. I never tasted such tea, and, oh my! wasn't it hotneither? Come along, mother.
"You had better leave your address," said Dick, who had listened tothe woman's story with absorbed attention.
"We live at Draper's Mews, number 7, second floor back." While Dickwas writing it down Inspector Robson slipped a sixpence into Gracie'shand. Then, patting her shoulder, he gave her an encouraging smile,which she acknowledged, as she did the sixpence, though her fingersclosed quickly and tightly over the coin, with the same gravity asdistinguished all her movements. Emerging into the street she began tocough with great violence, and gasped and fought with her littlefists, as though the demon in her chest, now that he had got heroutside, was bent upon tearing her to pieces. The men in the policestation listened compassionately until the child and her cough werelost in the fog through which she and her mother were slowly creeping.
Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery Page 10