Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery

by B. L. Farjeon

  CHAPTER XXI.

  THE CHAMBER OF DEATH.

  He reeled back in horror, but even in that one moment of discovery thenecessity of preserving self-control forced itself upon him, and hebecame calm. The first real step in the mystery was taken, and all hispowers of sober reason were needed to consider what would follow, andin what way the dread discovery would affect the beings he held mostdear. Fortifying himself with a sip of brandy, and putting into acandlestick the candle he had held in his hand, he turned down thesheets to ascertain how the hard master he had served--the man inwhose breast had dwelt no spark of compassion for any livingcreature--had met his death. There was no blood on the bedclothes, nostab or bullet in the dead man's body. On his face was an expressionof suffering, as of one who had died in pain, and his neck wasdiscoloured, as though a hand had tightly pressed it. But this mighthave been his own act in the agony of the death struggle, and hispresence in his bed went far to prove that his end had been a naturalone. A closer examination, however, dispelled this theory. The markson his throat could scarcely have been made by himself, for his armslay by his side in a natural position. Undoubtedly there had beenviolence done. By whom?

  The first person whose image came to Dick's mind was Abel Death. Theimage immediately suggested a train of circumstance which, in the heatof the moment, proclaimed the absent man guilty. Abel Death had madehis appeal to Samuel Boyd, and had made it in vain. In a paroxysm offury he had fallen upon his master, and had strangled him. Then,searching for money and finding it, he had fled from the house andtaken passage in some outgoing vessel for a foreign land. Presumingthat the murder had been committed on the night of the 1st of Marchthere had been ample time to make his escape, but not sufficient timeto communicate with his wife. Or, perhaps the man, overwhelmed byterror, was afraid to write.

  But upon further reflection this train of circumstance fell apart, andDick perceived how false it was. It was hardly probable that SamuelBoyd had received Abel Death while he was abed, and still lessprobable that in his sleeping attire he would open his street door tosuch a visitor. By no other means than through the door could AbelDeath have obtained access to the house. No, it was not he who hadcommitted the crime. But the man was gone, and the mystery of hisdisappearance was still unexplained.

  But if Abel Death could have obtained access to the house only bypermission of Samuel Boyd, there was another man who had no need toask for it. That man was Mr. Reginald Boyd. He possessed a key to thestreet door, and could obtain admittance at any hour. At any hour? No.Not after Samuel Boyd had chained and bolted the door from withinbefore he went to bed. What was the presumption? That Reginald hadquietly entered before the door was fastened, and had secreted himselfuntil his father had retired to rest. Easy to imagine what followed:his appearance in the bedroom when his father was half asleep, hisdemands for money, the stern refusal and the taunting exchange ofangry words, the hot blood roused, the clutching his father by thethroat, the murder committed, the disposal of the limbs to make itappear that he had died a natural death, the unbolting and unchainingof the street door, and, finally, the frantic flight. But how toaccount for the key being upon the mat? As Dick mentally asked thisquestion his eyes fell upon a key hanging by a cord at the head of thebed. Was it Samuel Boyd's own private key to the street door? So muchdepended upon this that Dick hastened downstairs to settle the point.Yes, it was Samuel Boyd's key. And the second key which Dick hadpicked up? Dropped by Reginald in his frenzy as he flew out of thehouse.

  Dick's heart sank within him. This plausible chain of circumstancefitted the theory that Reginald was the murderer. Horrible! Mosthorrible! And Florence loved this guilty man. He it was who wasresponsible for her flight from her peaceful, happy home; he it waswho, for some sinister reason, had imposed secrecy upon her! It seemedto Dick as if he held the fate of Florence's lover in his hands. Hereturned the second key to its place at the head of the bed, andmechanically--but yet in pursuance of some immature thought--put thekey he had found on the mat into his pocket. Then he quitted the roomof death, and closing the door, sank into a chair, and rested his headon his hand.

  How should he act? What clear line of action did his duty point out tohim? His duty! What if in pursuance of this moral obligation hewrecked Florence's life, and brought upon her despair so poignant asto drive her to her grave? No, a thousand times, no! Anything butthat.

  Why should it be incumbent upon him to proclaim the murder? Let othersdo it. But even then, would that save Reginald? The finger ofsuspicion would be pointed at him, and a clever lawyer would windaround him a chain of circumstantial evidence so firm and strong thatit would be impossible for him to break through it. What were thelinks in this chain?

  The quarrel between father and son some time since, which ended inReginald being turned out of the house, with the stern injunctionnever to enter it again. Proof would surely be discovered to establishthis, and it would be vain for Reginald to deny it.

  Reginald's first visit to the house in Catchpole Square on the eveningof the 1st of March. Abel Death had disappeared, but Mrs. Death wasalive to testify to the fact. In this connection the pitiful image oflittle Gracie presented itself to Dick's mind, and he heard herplaintive appeal, "You _will_ find father, won't you?" He had beenanxious to do this, but he recognised now that Abel Death's appearancein court might be fatal to Reginald.

  The next link was Reginald's second visit to Catchpole Square an houror so before midnight, admitting himself to the house on thatoccasion, as on the first, with his own private latchkey. Who was toprove this? Remote as the Square was from public observation there waslittle doubt that Reginald had entered unseen. No witness existed,except Reginald himself, who could state what took place on thissecond visit, but it was a strong link in the chain that he had "comedown in the world," and was in need for money.

  The murder being made public, Constables Pond and Applebee would bequestioned as to whether they had observed any suspicious circumstancein the neighbourhood on the night of the 1st. Applebee would recallthe visit to Samuel Boyd of a lady in her carriage. Who was the lady,and what was her business with him? This would be traced. Doubtlessthe lady herself would come forward. The constables would furtherrecall the appearance of a woman lurking in Catchpole Square on thenight of the 5th, her evident alarm on being challenged, and herescape from the clutches of Constable Applebee.

  Then came the question of the identity of the woman, in the answeringof which Florence's handkerchief would furnish a clue. But ifConstable Pond confessed how he had found and concealed thehandkerchief it would, in all probability, lead to his dismissal fromthe force. It was therefore to his interest to say nothing about it.Dick had imposed silence upon him and his wife, and the chances werethat secrecy would be preserved.

  He carried this point farther. It appeared certain that the murder wascommitted on the night of the 1st of March. Now, Florence's visit toCatchpole Square--assuming that it was she--was paid on the night ofthe 5th, five days after. What connection, then, could there bebetween this visit and the murder? He argued it out. She was incommunication with Reginald; since his last visit to Aunt Rob's house,nearly a fortnight ago, letters had passed between them, and there waslittle doubt that, without the knowledge of her parents, she had seenand conversed with him. Fearful of venturing himself into the Square,had he sent her to ascertain whether there was any appearance of thehouse having been entered? That would imply her knowledge of thecrime. Every pulse and nerve in Dick's body throbbed in revolt againstthe cruel suggestion.

  "No!" he cried aloud, starting to his feet. "No--no--no!"

  But earnest as he might be on behalf of Florence he could not denythat the evidence, circumstantial as it was, formed a seriousindictment against Reginald. In the midst of his agitation he noticedthat in his starting from his chair he had swept off the table theJapanese paperweight and the documents which had lain beneath it.Stooping to pick them up and put them in their original order he saw
the name of Reginald on one of the sheets, in Samuel Boyd's writing,with which he was familiar. Re-seating himself he immediatelyproceeded to read what was written thereon:

  "_Memoranda for my guidance. March 1st, 9.30 p.m_."

  "I jot down certain memoranda respecting my unworthy son, ReginaldBoyd, to assist my memory in my application to the police to-morrowmorning. Things slip my mind sometimes. This shall not. To the policeI go early in the morning. I do not consider myself safe. My son andmy clerk, Abel Death, whom I discharged from my service this evening,are in a conspiracy to rob me, and I must take measures against them.

  "It is two years since I turned my son out of my house in consequenceof his misconduct and disobedience. I forbade him ever to darken mydoor again, or ever to address me.

  "In defiance of this command he stole into the house this afternoonduring my absence, and though Abel Death endeavoured to keep it fromme, I forced the information from him that this scamp of a son of mineintends to come again late to-night.

  "Impress strongly upon the police that these men are conspiring to robme. Reginald has in his possession a key to the street door. It is myproperty. He stole it from me. If he does not get in through the frontdoor he will find some other way. He is better acquainted with the insand outs of this house than I am myself. He is an ungrateful,worthless scoundrel. They are a pair of scoundrels.

  "To-morrow I will draw out my will. Reginald knows that it is not madeyet. If I were to die to-night all that I possess would fall to him asheir at law, and I am determined he shall have not have a shilling ofmy money. Not a shilling. He is reckoning, I dare say, upon cominginto a fortune. He will find out his mistake.

  "_Shall_ I see him? I should like to tell him to his face that he willbe a beggar all his life, and to tell him, too, that I intend to putthe police upon him.

  "Notation, 2647. S.B."

  The reading of this document filled Dick with consternation. Itsupplied, not one, but several new links in the chain ofcircumstantial evidence. Were it to fall into the hands of the policeReginald's doom would be sealed. There would be only one chance forhim--his being able to prove that he had not visited his father'shouse on the night of March 1st. His bare word would not besufficient; he must produce witnesses, to show how and where he passedhis time on that night. Failing this, the evidence, in the murderedman's own handwriting, would be fatal.

  It could not be that the murder would remain much longer undiscovered.Mrs. Death's application to the magistrate and the publicity given tothe disappearance of her husband, clerk to Samuel Boyd of CatchpoleSquare, in conjunction with the silence and non-appearance of SamuelBoyd himself, would be sure to direct attention to the house, not onlyon the part of the mystery-mongers who have a passion for suchmatters, but on the part of the general public. The probability wasthat in a very short time, perhaps in a few hours, all London would beringing with this new mystery. He saw, in fancy, the show-bills of thenewspapers, and heard the cries of the newsboys as they ran throughthe streets with successive editions.

  Again he had to consider his course of action, and he was not longundecided. He would be silent. It was not Reginald he was championing,it was Florence. Until he saw and spoke with her he would do all thatlay in his power to divert suspicion from the man she loved. Animatedby this resolve, and with a dogged disregard of consequences, hefolded the incriminating document and put it in his pocket. He made noattempt to justify himself; at all hazards he was determined toprotect Florence, and, right or wrong, he would do what he haddetermined to do. The knowledge he had gained he would keep locked inhis breast. Let others make the discovery of the murder. He would notmove a step towards it.

  All this time he had not given a thought to his own safety, to theperil in which he would be placed if his presence in the house ofdeath became known. It was easy enough to devise a train of argumentwhich would cast such suspicion upon himself as to cause most peopleto believe that he was the guilty man. Having no wish to court thisdanger he determined to leave the house as quickly as possible, and topostpone further reflection till the morning.

  A last look into the death-chamber, a swift glance at the awful formlying there, a hurried examination of the papers to see if there wereany other incriminating documents among them--which to his reliefthere were not--a pause before the wax figure of the Chinaman and aweird fancy that it also had met its death at the hand of a murderer,the careful gathering together of all the articles he had brought withhim into the house, and he was ready to go.

  He had a thought of leaving the house by the front door, but there wasgreater risk in that than in going back the way he had come; so hescrambled out of the window at the back, finding it much moredifficult to scramble out than to scramble in, and was once more inthe yard. He listened for sounds of voices or footsteps in thethoroughfare on the other side of the dead wall, and, hearing none,flung his grapnel up. It caught at the first throw, and climbing therope he cautiously peeped over the wall to see if any wayfarers wereabout. No person was in sight. Detaching the grapnel he hung by hishands and dropped to the ground, thinking how foolish he had been inthe first instance not to have adopted this means of reaching theinner ground. Tying the rope round his waist, and buttoning his coatover that and the large bottle, half the water in which he had drankduring his investigations, he proceeded in the direction of hislodgings, nibbling a biscuit as he walked along.

  The faint light of early morn was in the sky. A new day was dawning,to bring joy to some, despair to some, to raise this toiler up, todash this toiler down. No warning of these issues in the peaceful greylight of morn. Majestic nature rolls its allotted course heedless ofthe fret of life. The yellow gas in the street lamps had a ghastlyglare; at the end of a street a cat with green eyes gleaming like eviljewels stood in the middle of the road, and scampered off at hisapproach. A wretched man who seemed to start out of the ground cried,"Hi!" and flung a stone after it, and then, with folded arms and headsunk low on his breast, slinked off with a scowl, as though he hadstruck at the world for its treatment of him; two or three blear-eyedhuman night-birds, shivering in the grey light which, in its promiseof a fair day, brought no solace to them, slouched close to the wallsand houses, and cast lowering glances upon Dick as he passed; aforlorn woman, who had better have been in her grave, said, "Goodmorning, my dear," in a voice so false and hollow in its horriblegaiety that he shuddered as he heard it, and hurried on. But he turnedand threw the degraded creature a sixpence. In his state of mind allforms of misery appealed strongly to him.

  He reached Paradise Row in safety, and got into the house withoutdisturbing his landlady. Locking the door of his room, he threw offhis clothes and went to bed, deeming it wiser to seek three or fourhours' rest in a natural way than to sleep with his clothes on. He waswearied and exhausted, but so excited that sleep did not come readilyto him. Drowsily courting it he found himself dwelling upon the lastwords in the document he had stolen--there was no mincing the matter;he _had_ stolen it: "Notation 2647." What could be the meaning ofthose words? Notation 2647--notation 2647. He repeated it dozens oftimes, and dreamt that the wax figure of the Chinaman was pursuing himover mountain and field, through fire and water, shouting after him,"Notation 2647!" Youth and a healthy physique, however, triumphed overthese disordered fancies, and after awhile he sank into a dreamlesssleep, and arose, refreshed and full of vigour, at half past eight. Heheard the snoring of Constable Pond, and the soft footsteps of Mrs.Pond outside his door. He stepped into the passage, and it was likethe breath of spring to his senses to meet her smiling face.

  "Good morning, sir," she said. "I hope you slept well."

  "Capitally," he replied. "The bed is very comfortable. Did I disturbyou at all last night?" He waited in anxiety for her answer.

  "Oh, no, sir. I'm asleep the minute I put my head on the pillow. Pondsays I should be a blessing to burglars. Can I get you anything forbreakfast?"

  "Nothing, thank you," he said. "I take my meals out."

  The next moment he was
on his way to Aunt Rob. She was expecting hisarrival, and ran to open the door for him.

  "I've been waiting for you, Dick. Have you had breakfast?"

  "Wouldn't stop for it, Aunt Rob," he answered, "I thought you wouldgive me a bite."

  "It's ready laid for you, my dear. I had a letter from Florence thismorning, and one has come for you."

  "From Florence?" he cried.

  "No, it's not her writing." She gave him both letters, and said thatUncle Rob had gone out early in the morning to seek for her. "Wehaven't had a wink of sleep all night," she said.

  He read Florence's letter first. It was to the same effect as herletters of yesterday. She was quite well and safe, and begged them notto be anxious about her. Her dear love to darling mother and father,and to Dick. She would write twice every day, and hoped with all herheart that everything would soon be all right.

  "It is a happiness to know that she is safe and well," said Dick. "Wemust have patience, Aunt Rob."

  "But what does she mean by her 'duty,' Dick?"

  "We shall hear that from her own lips by-and-by," he replied.

  "And isn't it strange," said the anxious mother, "that she doesn'tsay a word of Mr. Reginald?"

  "Yes, it _is_ strange." But in his heart he did not think so. Hebelieved he knew why the name was not mentioned.

  "What is your letter about, Dick?"

  He opened it, read it hurriedly, and did not betray the agitation itcaused him. "A private letter, aunt, from an old friend. Has Uncle Robgot another day's leave of absence from the office?"

  "No; he must go back to his duty to-night. He wanted to see youbadly, but he couldn't stop at home, he's that restless. I wish you'dhave a talk with him."

  "I'll manage it. If I don't catch him here, I'll drop in at thestation."

  He was itching to read his letter more carefully, but he would notarouse her suspicions by running away too suddenly, so he remainedwith her a few minutes longer, and then, saying he would see her againin the course of the day, took his leave.

  "Are you going anywhere particular, Dick?" she asked, accompanying himto the door.

  "I am going to look for Florence," he replied, kissing her. "It willbe hard if we don't soon get some good news. Keep up your heart, dearaunt."

  He did not take the letter from his pocket till he was in a quietstreet.

  "My Dear Dick" (it ran), "The reason that I have had the address onthe envelope written in a strange hand is that I do not want mother toknow I am writing to you. You must not tell her. I feel sure you willget my letter this morning, because you will have heard of my goingaway, and will go to mother's to get some news of me. I need yourhelp, dear Dick. I am at 16, Park Street, Islington, first floor. Comeat 2 o'clock; I shall be looking out for you; and let it be a secretbetween us. I know how true and faithful you are, and I have no fearthat you will betray me. With constant love, my dear Dick,

  "Your affectionate Cousin,

  "Florence."