CHAPTER LVI.
EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF DAVID LAMBERT DETECTIVE OFFICER.
_Thursday, March 15th_, 1896.
Arrested Mr. Reginald Boyd this evening for the murder of his father,Mr. Samuel Boyd, of Catchpole Square. Arrest made at the door of theCoroner's Court. Had a little scene with Mr. Rawdon, the juryman whohas been making all this fuss during the inquiry.
Mr. Reginald Boyd bore his arrest very well. So did his good littlewife, who agreeably disappointed my expectation that she would breakdown. So did not Mrs. Inspector Robson, a brick of a woman, who showedme very plainly what she thought of me. I may say emphatically thather feelings are the reverse of friendly, and from a woman of strongopinions it is just what might be expected. But then she doesn't knowwhat is good for her; she would have to be gifted with second sightbefore she would give me a civil word just now. Poor women! I pitythem. They will have a weary night of it.
If things turn out as I anticipate this arrest will be about thecleverest move I have ever made. Reason why? Because I believe Mr.Reginald Boyd to be as innocent as I am myself.
Why arrest him, then?
In the first place, because he had to be arrested, and if I had notdone it another officer would. Indeed, it is I who am indirectlyresponsible for the issuing of the warrant. More correct, perhaps, tosay for expediting its issue. I could name half-a-dozen men who wereburning to make the arrest. They would have to rise very early to getahead of me.
In the second place, because I wasn't sorry to be able to do InspectorRobson a good turn. A queer way of setting about it, he would say. Butit's true, for all that. And it's as good a thing as could havehappened to the young fellow.
In the third place, because, had the arrest not been made by me, Ishould have no excuse for interviewing Dr. Pye. I hope to havesomething to tell my French brother-in arms, Joseph Pitou, that willastonish his weak nerves. He writes to me from Milan, where he ismaking inquiries, he says. Is sorry he can't come over to London, hesays. I am not. I don't want him yet awhile. Keep away, friend Joseph,keep away, till I send for you. There's plenty to puzzle over in thisCatchpole Square Mystery without having the other mystery of LouisLorenz piled on the top of it--that's what most men would think. I'mnot one of them. It needs something big in the way of sensation towake people up in this year of grace. If all turns out well, they'llget it. Besides take Louis Lorenz out of the case, and what becomes ofDr. Pye?
Dick Remington has a plan of operations already cut and dried--I'lltake my oath of that. It's humiliating to have to confess that Ihaven't a notion what it is. Never mind. I'll back what I know againstwhat he knows, and we'll see who'll get to the winning post first. IfI had a leisure hour I'd ferret out the connection between him andthat old fence Higgins; as it is, I haven't a leisure minute.
Let me see. What have I to do to-morrow? First, the magistrate'scourt, to give evidence of the arrest. Shall have to remain till theremand's granted. There is sure to be a sharp lawyer on the otherside. If they're wise they will engage one of the highest standing.
I don't expect to be free till two or three o'clock, and then I mustsee if I can hunt up the case of Louis Lorenz. There was a descriptionof the man in the papers, but I doubt if I shall be able to lay handson it, as there was no suspicion of the man coming our way. Then therewas a report that he was found dead in a wood in Gallicia, shotthrough the heart. It was in Gallicia he was tried and condemned todeath, and three days afterwards escaped from gaol. Some said hebribed the gaolers. The property was never traced. Friend Joseph Pitoupromises to send a portrait of him, and full personal particulars.
At eight o'clock I present myself at Dr. Pye's house in Shore Street,and send in my card. A welcome visitor? Not much of an open questionthat. Then will commence the tug of war. Strange that I have never seteyes on him. I was not in the Coroner's Court when he gave evidence.Very good of him to come forward, wasn't it, to drive a nail in Mr.Reginald Boyd's coffin.
One o'clock. I must get to bed.
_Friday, March 16th_, 1896.
A busy day. I must set things down, or they will get muddled. Nothinglike system. Order is nature's first law. It is also mine.
By the first post a letter from friend Joseph. I passed it across thetable to my wife to translate. She shook her head. "Why," I said, "youtranslated his other letters." "They were in French," she replied;"this is in Italian. I don't understand Italian." And there therubbish lay on my table, and me staring helplessly at it, exasperatingme to that degree----!
Wasn't it enough to put a man out? What the devil does Joseph Pitoumean by writing to me in all the languages under the sun? English isgood enough for me; isn't French good enough for him? Does it to crowover me, I dare say, to show how superior the foreign detectiveservice is to ours. But I think we could teach you a trick or two,friend Joseph. Off went a telegram to him in French (written, ofcourse, by my wife), requesting him to send me that letter again inhis own native language. And though it is now eleven o'clock at nightthere is no reply. Do you call that business, Joseph Pitou? And whereis the portrait you promised to send?
There is a word in the letter that my wife says means patience. It isrepeated three times. Friend Joseph, no one knows the value ofpatience better than David Lambert; he has exercised it to goodpurpose in times gone by. But when a man that you would take your oathis innocent is in a prison cell on a charge of murder it isn't easy toexercise it, especially when you get letters written in foreignlanguages.
Mr. Reginald Boyd's people have engaged the soundest and best counselin London in a case of this kind--Mr. Pallaret. None of your bulliesor cockchafers, but a man that knows the law and will stand nononsense, and a man that the bench listens to with respect. They couldnot have done better, and he made it pretty plain that he did not meanto allow this case to drag on at the pleasure of the police. They wereall in the magistrate's court, Inspector Robson and his wife, and Mrs.Reginald Boyd, and, of course, the prisoner. Upon my word, it lookslike injustice to set the word against him, believing what I believe,and knowing all the time that the case of the prosecution is as weakas water. I did not give them a glance, but I felt Mrs. Robson's eyeupon me, and I was downright sorry for them. However, it was soonover. Remanded for a week. That gives us breathing time, but to thedevil with your patience, friend Joseph.
I make a mistake when I say they were all there. Dick Remington wasabsent, and it rather surprised me. So when I left the court I made myway to Catchpole Square, just to give him the time of day and see howhe took it. There I met with another surprise. On the door of SamuelBoyd's house is a written notice, saying that Dick Remington is absenton business, and that all communications for him are to be addressedto Inspector Robson.
Now, what is the meaning of that? On my way to Dr. Pye's to-night Imet Constable Applebee, on night duty there. When I see there'ssomething on a man's mind that's as likely as not to be of service tome if I can get at it, I encourage that man to talk. I saw there wassomething on Applebee's mind--you can see through him with half aneye--and I encouraged _him_ to talk. Glad enough he was, and willingenough. And what do you think he asked me? Why, if I knew where DickRemington was hanging out? "In Catchpole Square, of course," Ianswered, quite innocently. "That he isn't," said Applebee, astriumphantly as if we were playing a hand at cards and he had won atrick by fine play. "There's a notice pasted on the door that he's notto be found there; he's gone away on business it says." "Well," saidI, "if he's not to be found in Catchpole Square you'll find him atInspector Robson's house." "No, I sha'n't," he answered, thinking he'dscored another trick. "I've been there, and from what Mrs. Robson saidit's my belief she doesn't know where he is." "That's singular," Isaid, "what do _you_ make of it?" "What do you make of it, Mr.Lambert?" he asked. I considered a moment, and then said I gave it up."But _you've_ an opinion," said I, insinuatingly. "Let's have it."Upon which he volunteered his conviction that Dick R
emington had cutand run. "Why should he cut and run?" I asked, as innocent as anybaby. "That," he answered, solemnly shutting himself up, "I must keepto myself." I laughed in my sleeve. _He_ wants to discover themurderer of Samuel Boyd, and collar the reward, and he has come to theconclusion that Dick Remington's the man. It's comic. I give you myword, it's comic.
But I ask again, what is the meaning of Remington's disappearance? Itmeans something. What? Is he hunting for the tiger, and has he got aclue? It seems to me that I mustn't lose time. That AL500 belongs tome, and I intend to have it.
At eight o'clock I knocked at Dr. Pye's door, and a young woman openedit, a fine upstanding animal from the country. "Norfolk," said I tomyself when she asked me what I wanted in the sing-song voice peculiarto the county. "I want to see Dr. Pye," I said. "Not at home," sheanswered, without a moment's hesitation. "I think he is," I said. Shestared at me helplessly. "That is the answer you've been told togive," I said. "Yes," she said. "To every one?" I asked. "Yes," shesaid. I slipped my card and a sixpence into her hand. "Put thesixpence in your pocket," I said, "and take my card up to Dr. Pye."Willing as she was to pocket the sixpence I think she would have shutthe door in my face if I had left it free, but one leg was inside andone out. "You will get in trouble if you don't do as I tell you," Isaid. "I am an officer of the law--a policeman." I knew the magicthere was in the word to a Norfolk village girl. "Take the card thisinstant to Dr. Pye," I said, in a tone of authority. She vanished, andI waited five minutes by my watch before she came down again. "You cancome up," she said, and I noticed that she had been crying. We wentupstairs together, and she opened a door.
A man was standing at a table, holding a glass containing a liquid upto the gas light. Two other glasses containing liquid were on thetable; the glasses were long and thin, and the liquid of differentcolours. With the exception of these glasses, the table, and twowooden chairs, the room was bare of furniture. The mantelshelf had notan article upon it, there was not a picture on the walls. The house isdouble-fronted, and must contain a great many rooms; the one I was infaced Shore Street; there was a shutter to the window, partly closed.
"Dr. Pye?" I said.
"I am Dr. Pye," he answered. "Do not interrupt me; I am making anexperiment."
I stood still and silent, and waited.
From inquiries I have made no person in the neighbourhood is more thancasually acquainted with Dr. Pye. He has a reputation as a scientificman, but I have been unable to ascertain on what precise grounds. Itis supposed that he is always experimenting with chemicals and gases,and ignorant people go as far as to declare that he is searching forthe elixir of life. He is not on visiting terms with any of hisneighbours; all that is known and said of him is hearsay.
A remarkable looking man. There is a stoop in his shoulders, and atthe first glance he gives one the impression that he has passed allhis life in study. His eyes are the colour of steel, and I shouldjudge him to be possessed of great mesmeric power. His voice is slowand deliberate; his manners, also. A man less given to impulsiveaction I never gazed upon. I must not omit to mention that his hair isiron grey, and his face clean shaven.
Holding one glass in his left hand he lifted another with his right,and mixed the liquids. Then he placed the glasses on the table, andfixed his eyes upon them.
He had not once looked steadily at me, but I recognised in his actionsa magnetic power which, had I been a man of weak nerve, would havecompelled me to follow the result of this experiment with an interestas keen as his own appeared to be, and to the exclusion of every othersubject. To put it more plainly, he would, in a manner of speaking,have emptied my mind of its own thoughts and replaced them with his.This is what did _not_ occur. I followed the experiment with simplecuriosity.
After a silence which lasted two or three minutes he lifted his eyesfrom the glasses, and they met mine. I smiled and nodded at him. Hedid not return my salutation, and there was no change in his greyface.
In the matter of expression I never met a man who seemed so utterlydevoid of it as Dr. Pye. His features might have been carved in wood,his eyes might have been steel balls, for all the indication they gaveof what was passing in his mind. When you have any business on handwith a man of that kind, beware. I had no need of the warning, havingall my wits about me, and having come prepared for possible squalls;and whatever were my feelings regarding Dr. Pye, admiration wascertainly one of them. The prospect of a battle royal with such anantagonist exhilarated me.
We continued to gaze at each other for a few moments, and I wascareful not to change my expression. That he was disappointed in mymanner I did not doubt; I was not exactly the kind of man he wouldhave liked me to be. My mind was my own; he had no power over it.
Presently he turned his attention again to the glasses on the table,timing with his watch some expected change in the liquids he hadmixed. If he was the party I was searching for I needed to look to mysafety, so, though I showed no fear, and felt none, I did not movefrom the spot upon which I had taken my stand on entering the room.The handle of the door was within reach of my hand, so was my prettylittle revolver, which I can hold in my palm without anyone being thewiser.
Opening a cupboard which, in my swift observation of it, containednothing but a few sticks and glasses, he took a slender cane from ashelf, and stirred up the liquid. As he did so it burst gradually intoflame, in which shone all the colours of the rainbow. Tiny streams offire ascended fountainlike into the air, and dropped back into theglass; it burnt, I should say, for the space of three minutes, thecolours all the time glowing and changing. In a small way I haveseldom seen anything prettier. At first I was inclined to regard thislittle performance as a kind of hanky-panky, but I soon correctedmyself, for any person less resembling a vulgar showman than Dr. Pyeit would be difficult to find.
The coruscations of colour died away, the spiral threads of fire hadspent themselves, the liquid had disappeared, and at the bottom of theglass was a small sediment, which Dr. Pye carefully emptied into apiece of white satin tissue paper, which he carefully folded and putinto his pocket. Then he spoke.
"I gave the maid instructions that no person was to be admitted to seeme, as I was engaged upon an exceedingly delicate experiment which ithas taken me some days to prepare."
"I hope it has been successful," I said, politely.
"I cannot tell," he answered. "The small modicum of powder I havecollected is in its present state valueless except as a destroyer."
"As a destroyer?"
"Yes. The minutest portion of it dissolved in a glass of water issudden death. But these are matters in which you cannot be expected totake an interest."
"Pardon me, doctor. To all men of intelligence such matters are of thedeepest interest"--I was proceeding when he waved the subject away.
"It is not of my scientific experiments you have come to speak. I seeby your card"--he referred to it--"that you are a detective officer."
"My name is tolerably well known," I said, and he stopped me again.
"To members of the criminal classes, no doubt. I am behind the age, Iam afraid."
If he thought to mortify me by implying that he had never heard of mehe did not succeed. "It is known to others outside those classes. Youhave read my evidence in the case?"
"In what case?"
"The Catchpole Square case."
"No," he said, "such cases have no attraction for me. I used to takein the daily newspapers, but I found that they distracted my attentionfrom my pursuits, so now I read only scientific papers."
"But you gave evidence at the inquest, doctor!"
"I know I did. A friend mentioned the matter to me, spoke of incidentsconnected with it, and said that the murder must have taken place onthe night of Friday, the 1st of March. I recollected that I was uplate that night, and that, as I stood at my window at three in themorning, some unusual movement in the Square forced itself upon myattention; I recollected that I had used an insignificant littleinvention of mine, a new kind of flash-light, to ascer
tain preciselythe details of the movement. I spoke of this to my friend, who said itwas my duty to come forward and relate what had come under myobservation. In consequence of that remark I tendered my evidence, andwas glad to be rid of the affair."
"But you are not rid of it, doctor," I said.
"How is that?"
"Have you not heard that Mr. Reginald Boyd has been arrested for themurder?"
"No, I have not seen a newspaper this week, and you are the firstvisitor I have had. The young man has been arrested, has he? I trusthe will be able to clear himself. When did the arrest take place?"
"Yesterday evening. I made it. It is news to you, then, that he wasbrought before the magistrate this morning?"
"Yes, it is quite new to me. What was the result?"
"He is remanded for a week. It takes some time to get up a case ofthis kind, and when we take one in hand we don't like to be beaten.I've had to do with many, Dr. Pye, and I've never been beaten yet. Idon't mean to be beaten now."
There was the faintest show of interest on his countenance. "Do youbelieve, in the young man's guilt, Mr. Lambert?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered. "Don't you?"
"How is it possible for me to have an opinion?" he said, and I lookedupon it as an astonishing remark for him to make after the evidence hehad given at the inquest.
"But you saw him leave the house on the night of the murder, doctor,and under most suspicious circumstances, as if he were mortally afraidof being caught. Is not that enough to base an opinion upon?"
"I must be just, Mr. Lambert. When my eyes fell upon Mr. Reginald Boydin the Court I was startled by the resemblance he bore to the man Isaw in the Square. If attention had not been called to my feeling ofastonishment, which I suppose was expressed in my face, I am not surewhether I should have spoken of the resemblance."
"But consider, doctor. You came forward in the interests of justice."
"Undoubtedly."
"Of your own accord. Without being summoned."
"Yes."
"Would it have been in the interests of justice that you shouldconceal this startling resemblance?"
"It is a fair question. It would not. But still I say I might havereflected upon the matter before I gave my suspicion tongue."
"You would have left the Court without revealing the secret?"
"Secret!" he exclaimed.
"Well, it was a matter known only to yourself. May we not call such aknowledge a secret?"
"You argue skilfully, and have drawn me into a conversation which Iwould have perferred to avoid. My time is valuable, Mr. Lambert."
"So is mine, Dr. Pye."
There was a pause; each was waiting for the other to speak, and I wasdetermined he should be the first.
"May I inquire," he said, "your reason for evincing so extraordinaryan interest in this affair?"
Here was an opportunity for a bit of acting; I took advantage of it.Leaning forward I said in my most serious tone, "Dr. Pye, myreputation is at stake. It is a dangerous admission to make, but weare closeted together in confidence, and may say anything to eachother without fear. No one can hear us"--(I was not so sure of that,but it suited my purpose to say it)--"and if either of us were calledupon to give an account of our interview--though there is nothing moreunlikely--we might say what we pleased, invent what we pleased, putinto each other's mouth anything we pleased. That is the advantage ofspeaking without witnesses."
"You are very frank," he said.
"It pays me to be so. I repeat, my reputation is at stake. I havearrested a man for murder, and I am bound to prove him guilty. Thereare jealousies in all professions; there are jealousies in mine. I amsurrounded by men who envy me, and who would like to step in my shoes.They would clap their hands in delight if I let the man I arrestedslip through my fingers. Well, I don't intend to give them thissatisfaction. My present visit to you is partly private, partlyprofessional. Of course, if you say to me, 'Mr. Lambert, I decline tohave anything to do with your private feelings,' the only thing opento me would be to keep those private feelings to myself, and to treatyou, professionally, as a witness who was not disposed to assist me."
"Justice must not be thwarted," he said.
"Exactly. You hit the nail on the head. May we continue theconversation on the lines that will suit you?"
"Well, continue," he said; "it is rather novel to me, and I willendeavour to work up an interest in a matter so entirely foreign tome. You see," he added, and I was not sure whether he intended to behumorous or serious, "there is nothing scientific in it."
"Not in a strict sense, perhaps, but, allowing a latitude, there issomething scientific in the methods we detectives pursue. The piecingtogether of the loose bits of evidence which we hunt up, a bit here, abit there, arguing upon it, drawing conclusions from it, rejectingwhat will not fit, filling up the empty spaces, until we presentthe whole case without a crack in it for a guilty man to slipthrough--that is what we call circumstantial evidence, and it isreally a science, doctor. Where did we break off? I was contendingthat it would have been wrong for you to have left the Court withoutspeaking of the startling resemblance between Mr. Reginald Boyd andthe man you saw coming from his father's house in the middle of thenight. It would have been worse than wrong, it would have beencriminal. Now, doctor, a man of your penetration could not bemistaken. He says he was home and in bed at the time, but it isimpossible for him to prove it. And why? Because there is not a shadowof doubt that he was the man you saw. There must be no wavering inyour evidence on this point; the crime must be brought home to him; hemust not escape. Doctor Pye, you must let no feeling of compassionprevent you from stating the honest truth. You see what is at stake inthis matter."
I may say, without vanity, that I was playing my cards well, and if Idid not laugh in his face--which would have been foolish, though Icould have done so with much enjoyment--I am entitled to my laugh atthe recollection of the scene.
"Your reputation is at stake," he said.
"I don't deny it; and the ends of justice; a much more important thingto a gentleman of your position."
"Am I to infer that my presence will be necessary in a criminalcourt?"
"It cannot be dispensed with. You will be served with a notice toappear as a witness."
"When?"
"Next Friday at the Bishop Street Police Court. There is a cleverlawyer against us, Mr. Pallaret, and my instructions are to make thecase in its initial stages as strong as possible, for he will exertall his powers to break it down."
"I must appear, I suppose," he said.
"And you will maintain that Mr. Reginald Boyd is the man."
"Yes, to the best of my knowledge and belief."
"Mr. Pallaret is a skilful cross-examiner."
"I will be prepared for him."
"He will endeavour to throw discredit upon your statement."
There was just the suspicion of a smile on his lips as he said, "Lethim try."
"It will be the more necessary for you to be firm, doctor," I said,and I was curious to see whether he would fall into the trap, "becauseMrs. Death's evidence as to the time you saw Mr. Reginald Boyd comeout of the house is in direct contradiction to yours."
"Yes, I know."
"She says she heard the clock of Saint Michael's Church strike threewhen she was in the Square."
"She is mistaken. She might easily be, alarmed as she was for thesafety of her husband."
He had fallen into the trap. Here was a man who had stated that I wasthe first visitor he had had this week, and that he had not seen anewspaper, acknowledging in his last replies to me that he wasacquainted with the evidence Mrs. Death had given in the Coroner'sCourt yesterday. If it occurred to him that he had contradictedhimself he did not gather from me that I was aware of it. I rose togo, and kept my face to him.
"I will wish you good night, doctor," I said, and then I lingered. "Bythe way, might I see that clever little device of yours for throwinglight to a distance?"
"I am sorry I
cannot show it to you," he replied. "It is beingrepaired. Good night."
He was anxious to be rid of me, but I still lingered.
"It is from the back windows of your house, doctor, that you can seeinto Catchpole Square?"
"Yes," he replied, and his voice was not cordial; but that I judge itseldom is. I mean, that it was more guarded.
"Would you mind showing me the window you looked out of when you sawMr. Reginald Boyd?"
"I cannot show you the room to-night. It is used as a sleepingapartment by one of the females in the house."
"I beg your pardon; but I should like to see it before next Friday."
"There will be no difficulty. Good night."
"Good night," I said again.
He accompanied me to the street door, inviting me by a motion of hishand to precede him down the stairs. I would not be so impolite. Iinsisted upon his going first, and I followed him, with my right handin the pocket containing my little revolver. Our last salutationsexchanged, he shut the street door upon me.
I walked to the end of the street, and then, on the opposite side ofthe road, slowly retraced my steps till I was within twenty yards orso of the house, and waited till Constable Applebee came round on hisbeat.
"You will remain here," I said to him, "and keep Dr. Pye's house underobservation, without drawing attention upon yourself, till I return. Ishall be back in less than half an hour. Report to me if any personenters or leaves the house during my absence."
When I returned it was in the company of an officer in plain clothes,whom I had instructed to keep watch on the house until I sent anotherman to relieve him. Applebee reported that Dr. Pye's street door hadnot been opened.
Well, the train is laid. When it is fired, if friend Joseph Pitou isnot following a will-o'-the-wisp, there will be a rare explosion. Evenif he is, I think I can promise one.
What annoys me is, that I have been unable to get the particulars ofthe case of Louis Lorenz.
A postman's knock at the door! The telegram!
Yes, here it is: "Letter, in French, to-morrow. Pitou."
Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery Page 57