Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery

by B. L. Farjeon

  CHAPTER XX.

  DICK MAKES A DISCOVERY.

  His familiarity with the regulations and movements of the policehailing from the Bishop Street Police Station was of assistance tohim. He knew that one end of Constable Applebee's beat was close toCatchpole Square, and his design was to watch for that officer'sapproach, and to remain hidden till he turned in the oppositedirection. This would ensure him freedom of action for some fifteen ortwenty minutes, time sufficient to enable him to mount the wall. Heexperienced little difficulty in the execution of this design.Constable Applebee sauntered to the end of his beat, lingered a momentor two, and then began to retrace his steps. Dick now prepared foraction. "I really think," he mused, "that I should shine as aburglar."

  There were few persons in the streets, and none in the thoroughfare onwhich the dead wall abutted. The first step to be taken was toascertain if any person was in the house. He turned, therefore, intoCatchpole Square, and looked up at the windows. There was no light inthem, and from the position in which he stood he could discern nosigns of life within. No long neglected cemetery could have presenteda more desolate appearance. He knocked at the door, and his summons,many times repeated, met with no response. Dick did all this in aleisurely manner, being prepared with an answer in case an explanationwas demanded. So absolutely imperative was it that he should beconvinced that the house was uninhabited before he forced an entrancethat he kept in the Square fully a quarter of an hour, at theexpiration of which he passed through Deadman's Court, and was oncemore in front of the dead wall. Stealing to each end of thethoroughfare to see that no person was in view, he unwound the ropefrom his body, and fixed upon the spot to fling the grapnel. The firstthrow was unsuccessful; and the second; but at the third the grapnelcaught, and Dick pulled at it hard in order to be sure that it wasfast. Then, moistening the palms of his hands, and muttering, "Now,then, old Jack and the beanstalk," he commenced to climb.

  It was not an easy task, partly in consequence of his inexperience atthis kind of work, and partly because of the bulging of the largebottle of water under his waistcoat. But Dick was not to be beaten;not only were all the latent forces of his mind in full play, but allthe latent forces of his body, and though his hands were chafed in theexecution of the task, and the perspiration streamed down his face, hereached the top of the wall in safety, and with the bottle unbroken.

  "Bravo, Dick," he gasped, pausing to recover his breath. "HumptyDumpty sat on a wall, I hope Humpty Dumpty won't have a bad fall. Takecare of yourself, Dick, for my sake."

  Drawing up the rope he reversed the grapnel, fixed it tight, let therope drop on the inner side of the wall, and slid nimbly down.

  He looked around. There were windows at the back, most of them maskedwith inside shutters, as they had been for years. To each of the sixhouses there was a back yard, and each yard was separated from itsneighbour on either side by a wall as nigh as high as that whichenclosed them all in the rear. Thus Dick found himself shut out fromthe world, as it were, with little likelihood of his movements beingdetected from any of the houses except the one he intended to breakinto--and that was as still and lifeless as death itself.

  "Now, my lad," he said, "just to put life into you, for this desert ofSahara is enough to give any man the blue devils, I'll treat you to adrink. Is it agreed to? Passed unanimously."

  Then came the difficult task of unhooking the grapnel, for it wouldnever do to leave it on the wall. He made several futile attempts toloosen and bring it down, and had he not discovered in a corner aforked pole which at some remote period had probably been used as aclothes' prop, there would have been nothing for it but to leave itthere and run the risk of discovery. With the aid of the pole,however, he succeeded in unhooking it, so suddenly that it fell to theground with a crash and nearly gave him a crack on the head.

  Gathering up the rope and slinging it over his arm, Dick searched fora means of effecting an entrance into the house. From the evidences ofdecay all around he judged that no use had been made of the back ofthe premises for a considerable time past; during his service withSamuel Boyd he had had no acquaintance of the rooms which looked outupon the yard, his duties confining him to the office in which thesecretarial work was done. Above a door, which he tried in vain toopen, was a small window which seemed less secure than the others; andwhen he reached up to it (standing on a rickety bench against thewall), this proved to be the case; but though the frame rattled whenhe shook it he saw no means of getting out of the difficulty except bybreaking a pane of glass. Half measures would not serve now, and headopted this bold expedient, pausing to listen, when the shatteredglass fell upon the floor within, whether the crash had raised analarm. There was no indication of it.

  Passing his hand through the aperture he managed to unfasten thewindow and to raise the sash. Much more difficult was it to raise hisbody to the level of the window; he had no safe foothold, the ricketybench upon which he stood threatened every moment to fall to pieces,and indeed in his violent efforts this actually happened, and he wasleft clinging to the window-sill by his fingers and nails; by adesperate effort he got his knees upon the sill, and tumbled orscrambled into a small dark room. He could not now proceed without alight, and he congratulated himself again on his forethought inbringing candles and matches, for Dick was not a smoker, and thesearticles might easily have been overlooked.

  Having obtained a light he took a survey of the room. The walls werebare, and there was no furniture in it. Casting his eyes upon thefloor he was horrified to see it stained with fresh red blood uponwhich he was treading. He was so startled that he involuntarilypressed his left hand upon his heart, and raised his right hand, inwhich he held the lighted candle, in anticipation of a sudden attack.Then he discovered that he had cut that hand, and that the blood onthe floor was his own. In his excitement he had not felt the pain ofthe wound. Wrapping his handkerchief round it, and drawing a deepbreath of relief, he opened a door at the end of the room, and emergedinto a passage, with a staircase leading to the rooms above.Ascending, he passed through another door which shut off thisstaircase from the better parts of the house, and found himself on alanding with which he was familiar, for on this floor was situated theoffice in which he used to work, another staircase at the end of thelanding leading down to the front entrance. He knew now where he was,and in which direction to proceed.

  All his movements had been made with extreme caution, and almost atevery step he took he paused and prepared for a surprise. But he wasnot interrupted in any way, and there was nothing to indicate that hewas not master of the situation. It troubled him to observe that hisfootsteps left traces of blood behind them; these dark stains conveyeda suggestion that he had been engaged in a guilty deed. "Do I looklike a murderer?" he thought. "I feel like one."

  Before he entered the office he descended to the ground floor passageto ascertain if the street door was fast, and he was surprised to seethe key lying on the mat. It was a sign of some significance, for hadSamuel Boyd left his house for any length of time he would mostcertainly have locked the door from the outside and taken the key withhim. But, assuming that this was not the case, why was not the key inthe lock, and assuming, further, that Samuel Boyd had retired to rest,why was not the door bolted and chained?

  Confused by the thought, Dick turned the key in the lock, opened thedoor an inch or two, and looked out upon Catchpole Square. All wassilent and still. Dark clouds were scudding across the sky, with aheavy-hearted presage in them; such was the impression the gloom ofnight produced upon Dick. He reclosed and locked the door, andreturned to the passage above.

  When he turned the handle of the office door and entered the room inwhich he used to work he could hear the beating of his heart. In thedim light he could almost fancy that his skeleton was sitting on theold stool at the desk; but no being, human or spectral, with theexception of himself was there. Against the walls and in the cornerslay the strange medley of articles which gave so singular a
characterto the apartment. There were no signs of confusion or disturbance;everything was in order. The drawers in desk and tables were closed,the safe in its old position, and to all appearance untampered with;beneath a paperweight of Japanese metal, representing a hideous mask,lay some papers which Dick did not stop to examine. Some of thearticles in the collection had not been there during his term ofservice. The wine and the grand pianoforte were new to him. But whowas that sitting in a chair, dressed in a flowered gaberdine?

  "I beg your pardon," stammered Dick.

  The figure did not answer him, and approaching nearer with stealthysteps he beheld the wax figure of the Chinaman, in an attitude ofcollapse, as it had fallen into the chair on the night of the 1st ofMarch, when it was shot through the heart.

  "In heaven's name how came _you_ here?" muttered Dick. "Speak up likea man, in pigeon-English if you like."

  He could scarcely have been more amazed had the figure lifted its headand addressed him. A sense of tragedy weighed heavily upon hisspirits, and the air seemed charged with significance and dreadfulimport. The occurrences of the last twenty-four hours: thedisappearance of Abel Death, his wife's agonised appeal at the policestation, Florence's flight from home, the discovery of herhandkerchief in Catchpole Square, even--unreasonable as was theinclusion--the visit of Dr. Vinsen to the Death family--all seemed toconverge to one point in this room, with its deathlike stillness, andto the strong probability of their explanation being found there. Itpartook more of a fancy from a madman's brain than that of a saneperson, and yet Dick, candle in hand, peered in all directions for aclue to the elucidation of these mysteries. That he saw none did notweaken the impression under which he laboured. The dusky figures ofknight and lady in the hangings of tapestry, the quaint carvings ofman and beast on the mantel and fireplace, the paintings of flyingangels on the ceiling, mocked and gibed at him whichever way heturned, and tended to increase the fever of his blood.

  There were three communicating doors in the apartment--one leading tothe passage, one to Mr. Boyd's bedroom, one to a room which had alwaysbeen kept locked. Against the wall between that room and the officethe grand piano was placed, and Dick recollected that in his time alarge screen had been there, covering the space now occupied by theback of the piano. Very cautiously and slowly he opened the door ofthe bedroom. Wrought to a pitch of intense excitement it was notsurprising that his hand shook--to such an extent, indeed, had he lostcontrol of himself that the candle dropped to the ground and wasextinguished. He was plunged in darkness.

  In the brief glance he had directed to the bed he fancied he had seenthe outline of a sleeping form, and as he knelt to search for thecandle he called aloud, "Mr. Boyd!" and trembled at the sound of hisvoice. "Mr. Boyd! Mr. Boyd!" he called again in louder tones, and hisheated fancy created a muffled echo of the name, "Mr. Boyd! Mr. Boyd!"Finding the candle he relighted it, and rising to his feet, slowlyapproached the bed.

  A dumb form was there, its back towards him. The bed was in the middleof the room, the head against the wall. Treading very gently he passedto the other side, and bending forward, with the candle in hisupstretched hand, he saw a man's face--the face of Samuel Boyd, coldand dead!