"There's villainy at the bottom of it," cried Aunt Rob. "Dick, you're our guardian angel, and that poor little girl, that I'd like to hug, is another. I knew that wretch on the jury was against us from the first. There was a sly, wicked look in his eyes every time he turned towards us, and when he began to speak I felt as if some one was cutting a cork; he set all my teeth on edge. Ought such a monster to be allowed to sit on a jury?"
"Who's to prevent it?" said Uncle Rob, thoughtfully. "He's there, and has to be reckoned with, though I doubt whether we can do any good. Likes and dislikes, when there's nothing tangible to back them up, count for nothing; and feelings count for nothing. When people shiver and grate their teeth at the squeaking of a cork other people who don't mind it only laugh at them."
"There's nothing to laugh at here, father," said Aunt Rob, impatiently.
"I know that as well as you do, mother; I don't think any of us are in a laughing humour. I'm trying to reason the matter out, and to do that fairly you must take care not to let prejudice cloud your judgment. When little Gracie Death overhears Dr. Vinsen say, 'You act up to your instructions, and I'll keep my promise,' what proof have we that it has anything to do with the juryman's duties on the inquest?"
"No proof at all," said Dick, "but doesn't it look like it?"
"Such an inference may be drawn, but an inference won't help us. It's no good mincing matters. Dr. Vinsen is on the right side of the hedge, and we are on the wrong, and that makes all the difference; he has the advantage of us. Reginald has put it clearly, and we must be prepared. Every hour a fresh complication crops up, and there's no telling what the next will bring forth. You see a man with an open newspaper in his hand; peep over his shoulder to find out what he's reading. It's the Catchpole Square Mystery, and he's running his eyes eagerly down the columns to see if anybody's caught, if anybody's charged. It scares me to think of it."
"What do you mean, father?" asked Aunt Rob.
"Have you ever seen a bull-baiting without the bull?" said Uncle Rob, gravely. "The public's waiting for the bull, and they won't rest satisfied till he's in the ring. That's where the danger is. They don't care a straw whether it's the right bull or the wrong bull; they want something to bait."
Reginald compressed his lips; he understood the drift of Uncle Rob's remarks.
"Do you mean to say that they don't want to see fair play?" said Aunt Rob.
"I don't mean that. What I'm driving at is that Dick's prejudice against Dr. Vinsen, whatever it may be worth, won't help us."
"It will," said Dick, in a positive tone, "and I'm going to follow it up. Just answer me this. Do you consider that the inquest is being properly carried on? Do you consider it fair that private family affairs should be dragged before the public in the way they have been?"
"I don't consider it fair."
"Well, then, who is chiefly responsible for it? Who but the juryman that little Gracie catches conspiring with Dr. Vinsen?"
"Conspiring!"
"That's the word, conspiring, and I don't care who hears me. The jury on the inquest are sworn, like any other jury, and if it can be proved that, before the inquiry is opened, before any evidence is taken, there is on the part of one of them an arrangement with an outside party to return a certain verdict, that I should imagine is a conspiracy, and the law can be made to touch them." Uncle Rob shook his head doubtfully. "Well, anyway, there's a free press, and the making of such a conspiracy public would influence public opinion, and there would be no baiting of the wrong bull, even though he was in the ring. 'Hold hard a bit,' the public would cry, 'let us see fair play!'"
"Not badly put, Dick," said Uncle Rob, and Florence pressed the young man's hand.
"As things stand," he went on with enthusiasm, "it looks very much like a match between me and Dr. Vinsen--or, at all events, that's the way I view it, and if he were standing before me this present moment I'd fling my glove in his face, and be glad if it hurt him. How does that juryman fellow become so familiar with our private affairs? It's through him you're compelled to tell all about Florence's marriage. It's through him that it's been drummed into the public ear that Reginald is the only man who benefits by his father's death. Bull-baiting is nothing to the way some of us have been treated in court; and the prime mover of it all is Dr. Vinsen, who stands behind and pulls the strings."
"But what has Dr. Vinsen to gain by it?" asked Uncle Rob, bewildered, and yet half convinced by Dick's intense earnestness.
"That's to be found out, and I'm going to, as little Gracie says. If he has given me something to ponder over I've given him something that'll set his wits at work, unless I'm very much mistaken; and I haven't half done with him, nor a quarter. Don't ask me what my plans are; it would be the spoiling of them if I let you into the secret--and I mustn't forget that an inspector of police is in the room, who would do his duty though it should break the hearts of those who are dearest to him." These words were spoken with exceeding tenderness, and caused more than one heart in the room to throb. "If cunning is to be met with cunning, watching with watching, spying with spying, trickery with trickery, Dr. Vinsen will find that I am ready for him. Look here. What makes him start up all at once and go to Mrs. Death, and on the very first night he sees her give her a couple of sovereigns? Benevolence? Charity? That for his benevolence and charity!" Dick snapped his fingers contemptuously. "What makes him tell Mrs. Death a parcel of lies to poison her ears against me? What makes him tell me at your father's funeral, Reginald, that his heart is large, that it bleeds for all, and that it would be better for some of us if we were in our graves? What do I care for his bleeding heart, the infernal hypocrite? I'd make it bleed if I had my will of him, with his fringe of hair round his shining bald head! As for Dr. Pye, that mysterious gentleman keeps himself in the background till he sends a letter to the Coroner, saying he has evidence of great importance to give. We heard what that evidence was, and we've a lot to thank him for, haven't we? Did you notice him as he looked round the court till he stopped at Reginald? Accident? No! Premeditation!" They started. "I repeat--premeditation. I don't know for what reason, but Iwillknow. I don't know what tie there is between Dr. Pye and Dr. Vinsen, but Iwillknow. There's black treachery somewhere, and I'll ferret it out. Uncle, Aunt, Florence, Reginald, don't think I'm mad. I give you my word I am in my sober senses when I say that behind the mystery of this dreadful murder that has brought so much sorrow into this happy home there is another mystery which I'm going to solve if I die for it! I'll leave no stone unturned--for your dear sakes!"
His earnestness, his sincerity, the fervour of his voice, the loving glances he cast upon them, sank into their hearts--but it was upon Florence's face that his gaze lingered, and he trembled when, murmuring, "Dear Dick, you fill us with hope!" she gave him a sisterly kiss.
"Dick," said Aunt Rob, tearfully, "there was a time when I thought you had no stability, and when I said as much to Uncle Rob. I take it back, my lad, I take it back!"
"Don't be too hasty, aunt," he said, with a light attempt at gaiety. "Wait and see if anything comes of it. Reginald, I've something more to say. There's no mistake, is there, about your having got to your lodgings last Friday night week before twelve o'clock?"
"I am certain it must have been before that hour," replied Reginald. "As I told them at the inquest yesterday, I cannot entirely depend upon my memory. It frequently happens that when there's an important subject in one's mind--as there was that night in mine--a small incident which has no relation to it impresses itself upon the memory. That was the case with me. I can distinctly recall taking out my watch when I was in my bedroom, winding it up, looking at the time, and putting it back into my waistcoat pocket."
"Did any person see you enter the house? Think hard, Reginald."
"No person, in my remembrance."
"When you put the latchkey in the door the policeman might have been passing?"
"He might have been. I did not see him."
"No one saw you go upstairs?"
"Not that I know of. The house is always very quiet at that hour."
"I paid your landlady a visit last night," said Dick, "and she does not know what time you came home; neither does the servant, who doesn't seem blessed with a memory at all. It is most unfortunate that we cannot get a witness who could testify to the hour of your return to your lodgings. It would effectually dispose of Dr. Pye's evidence, so far as you are concerned, for he says he threw his flashlight at three in the morning. By Jove!" Dick exclaimed, looking at the clock on the mantelpiece, "it's ten o'clock, and the Coroner's Court opens at eleven. I sha'n't be there till late, unless there's a warrant out against me"--Dick laughed lightly, as though a warrant were the least thing they had to fear. "There's the printing to see to; I don't intend to leave the printing office till the reward bills are out. Now let's settle how they're to be drawn up; we've got just half-an-hour. Aunt Rob, I wish you'd do a kind action for once in your life."
"What is it, Dick?"
"Little Gracie is just round the corner, waiting for me; you won't see the tip of her nose unless you turn the street, for I told her to keep out of sight. She's my shadow, you know, and I haven't the heart to order her not to follow me about. What the child sees in me to haunt me as she does is more than I can understand."
"What we all see in you," said Aunt Rob, tenderly.
"Oh, of course. Well, it's my opinion little Gracie came away from home this morning without any breakfast----"
Aunt Rob broke in upon him. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself for letting a hungry child stand alone in the cold streets all this time." Out she ran to pounce upon Gracie.
"Do you mean to tell me," said Dick, gazing after her, "that the Lord will allow any harm to come to a woman like that, or trouble that can't be cleared away to come to anyone she loves? No, no; the world wouldn't be worth living in if that were so. Where she is, sunshine is, and love, and charity, and hope--and justice. God bless Aunt Rob!"
And "God bless Aunt Rob!" they all said, with something shining in their eyes.
Back she came, holding Gracie by the arm. They all looked kindly at the child.
"Any trouble to get her here, aunt?" asked Dick, cheerily.
"Not a bit."
"It's all right, you know, Gracie," he said.
"Yes, Dick, I know," she answered, solemnly.
There was something so patient and uncomplaining, so piteous and brave, in the child that hearts less susceptible than theirs could not have failed to be touched. Florence stooped and kissed her, and there was a little trembling of her bloodless lips; it was the only sign of emotion she displayed, and it was gone in a moment. The dry, hoarse cough had not left her, and she was not successful in keeping it back. Every time it sounded through the room Aunt Rob shivered.
"You men had best go into the next room and settle your business," she said; "you haven't too much time to spare, and we don't want you meddling with women's affairs." Away they went, meekly. "Gracie, you sit here, and don't be shy with us, my dear, we're only homely people, the same as yourself. Florence, put another spoonful of tea in the pot, and there's the kettle boiling, just in the nick of time. Now, my dear, you make a good breakfast--I want you to drink your tea as hot as you can, it will ease your cough--it's Dick's cup you're drinking out of, you won't mind that,Iknow--he's told us such a lot about you, and everything that's good--cut some more bread and butter, Florence--are you fond of jam, Gracie?--but what a question!--when I was a little girl I could eat a pot, only they wouldn't give me so much at a time--this is Dick's favourite jam, raspberry----" And all the time the good woman chattered she was putting food before Gracie, and coaxing her to eat, shaking her head at the child's attempts not to cough violently, and shaking her head more when she put her hand on the bosom of the poor little frock, and discovered how thinly she was clad. And all the time Gracie sat quiet at the table and ate, not greedily but gratefully, her eyes fixed now on Aunt Rob, and now on Florence, with the sweet thought in her mind, "Dick's told 'em a lot about me, and everything that's good!"
Breakfast over, they took Gracie upstairs, Aunt Rob saying, "Dick 'll be here when we come down, my dear "; and in the bedroom above they took off her frock and slipped a warm undervest over the bony chest, and another over that, and found a pair of thick stockings that had once been worn by a child, and a child's flannel petticoat, and other things to match--and there stood Gracie, clothed more comfortably and warmly than ever she had been from her birth. And where did Aunt Rob find these garments so suitable and fitting for Gracie? They had been laid aside in a drawer, with many others, and had once clothed her own darling when she was no bigger than the poor little waif to whom they had been so ungrudgingly presented. To listen to the mother's wistful prattle, to witness the tender handling of this and that garment, to see the fond way she put them to her cheeks and kissed them, to note the loving looks she cast upon them as memory brought back the day and hour when Florence first wore them--true motherhood was never more beautifully expressed. And Gracie submitted without uttering a word--no sign of emotion on her sallow face, no sighs of delight, no tears. But when all was done and Aunt Rob sat down to rest, Gracie knelt before her and laid her head in her lap. Florence sat down too, and her hand rested lightly on the child's shoulder. Somehow or other these sweet offices of sweetest humanity seemed to soften the trouble that hung over their heads. Aunt Rob and Florence thought, "God will protect dear Reginald. He will hold His shield before us. Upon His mercy we will rely. He will see justice done, and we shall all be happy once more." While in Gracie's mind was the thought, "I shall find father, I shall find father, and mother won't be angry with me much longer." For quite two or three minutes there was silence in the room, and when Gracie raised her tearless eyes to Aunt Rob's face the good woman stroked the thin cheek and said,
"There, that's done, and now we'll go down to Dick. He'll be wondering what has become of us."
It was then that Gracie spoke.
"Don't you think mother ain't good to us," she said. "There never was a better mother than she's been--and there's such a lot of us," she added, wistfully. "I'd rather starve than have you think mother ain't good to us!"
"Bless your loving heart, my dear," Aunt Rob returned, kissing her. "I'm sure she must be the best mother in all the world to have a loving daughter like you."
"Oh, me!" said Gracie. "Iain't much good. But, mother!--she worries over my cough so that sometimes I wish I was dead, so that she couldn't hear it, and she sets up all night mending our clothes. I've caught her at it over and over agin. She'd starve herself for us she would. You'd believe me if you knew her."
"I believe you now, my dear. We are all very, very sorry for her!"
"You've been ever so good to me, and so's mother, but she can't do what she can't, can she?"
"No one can, Gracie."
"She'll be glad when she sees me with these things on. There's nobody like her, nobody. I wish I could pick up a pursefull of money to give her; but it'll be all right, you know, when we find father."
"The sooner he's found the better it will be for a good many people," said Aunt Rob, with a pitying glance at the loyal child, and yet with a kind of anger in her heart. Tenderly disposed as she was towards Gracie, deep as was her compassion for her miserable state and her admiration for the noble qualities she displayed, Aunt Rob believed Abel Death to be the cause of all this trouble, believed that he had murdered Samuel Boyd, and had basely deserted his family with the proceeds of his crime.
Meanwhile the men of the family had been having a discussion below which had led to the withdrawal of Uncle Rob from the council. The first point discussed was the amount of the rewards to be offered. Reginald wished it to be large, and, supported by Dick, suggested £500 for the discovery and conviction of the murderer, and £200 for the discovery of Abel Death. Uncle Rob opposed this, and contended that much smaller sums would be sufficient, bringing forward instances where the offer of disproportionate rewards had been the cause of innocent persons being accused. His views not being accepted, he had reluctantly given way. Then they came to the manner in which the bills were to be worded, and Dick had gone to his clothes trunk and had fished therefrom a miscellaneous collection of literature, which he placed before them.
"I once tried my hand at writing a sensation novel," he said, "and I got together a lot of stuff to assist me. I made a muddle of the story, and when I was in the middle of it I gave it up. Do you remember this case, uncle?"
He held up a poster offering a reward of £100 for the discovery of a murderer. At the top of the bill was the Royal Coat-of-Arms, beneath it, in large type, the word MURDER, and beneath that "£100 Reward."
"I remember it well," said Uncle Rob. "That was the Great Porter Square Mystery. It caused great excitement at the time, and the papers were full of it. A long time elapsed before the truth came out."
"And then it wasn't due to Scotland Yard," said Dick; "they made rather a mess of it there. There is one curious point of resemblance between that case and ours."
"I wouldn't speak of that now," said Uncle Rob, with an uneasy glance at Reginald.
"Why not? Reginald is prepared for anything that may happen."
"Quite prepared," said Reginald. "Go on, Dick."
"You were abroad when all England was ringing with it, and that, I expect, is the reason that it didn't reach your ears. I saw in one paper yesterday a comparison between the cases. The curious point of resemblance is that the son of the murdered man was arrested by the police as the murderer----"
"They did not know at the time that he was the son," interrupted Uncle Rob, hurriedly.
"That didn't justify them. The beauty of it is that after going through no end of trouble and persecution he was proved to be innocent."
"I see," said Reginald, composedly.
"What do you want the bill for?" asked Uncle Rob.
"As a literary guide. We will word our bill exactly like it."
"But it is an official bill."
"Couldn't have a better pattern."
"Can't you word it some other way, Dick?"
"No, uncle," replied Dick, almost defiantly. "This is the model I intend to use."
Uncle Rob rose. "God forbid that I should do anything to prevent the truth being brought to light----"
"Why, uncle!----"
"But the position I hold," continued Uncle Rob, firmly, "will not allow me to sanction by my co-operation the use and form of official documents. Besides, if it got to be known it would do more harm than good. My dear lads, I'll wait outside till you've done. I doubt my own judgment in this matter; my heart and my head are at odds."
So saying, he left them. He was not the only one whose heart and head were in conflict during this crisis; Dick alone could be depended upon to pursue a certain course with calm, unshaken mind, and now, when he and Reginald were together, he met with no opposition. The preliminaries, therefore, were soon arranged, and they returned to the breakfast room at the moment that Aunt Rob and Florence and Gracie entered.
"Why, Gracie," exclaimed Dick, his face flushing with pleasure at the improvement in her attire, "you look like a princess."
"She did it," said Gracie, pointing to Aunt Rob; "and oh, Dick, I do feel so nice and warm underneath!"
"Never was a fairy godmother like Aunt Rob," said Dick, and was going on when she stopped him abruptly.
"Where's father?"
"Walking up and down outside till you're ready. He didn't agree to something I proposed, and between you and me he ought not to have a hand in what I'm about to do."
"He's in a cruel position. Florence, its half-past ten; we must get ready. You do what you've got to do, Dick, and don't talk so free before Uncle Rob about your plans; it only upsets him."
"All right, aunt." He hesitated a moment, then went up to Florence, who was putting on her hat. "Florence, dear, you must be brave."
"I'll try to be, Dick."
"Keep a stout heart, whatever the verdict may be. It was very dark last night, and I kept my eyes on a star that was trying to break through the clouds. I put a great stake on that star, Florence. I said to myself, 'If it breaks through and I see it shining bright, Florence, after a little while, will be the happiest woman in England.' A great stake, Florence."
"Yes, dear Dick."
"It glimmered and glimmered. A cloud passed over it, another, another, but its light was never quite obscured. Remember that."
"I will."
"And then at last, when there seemed to be no hope for it, the clouds cleared away, and it shone as bright, as bright!--and the stake was won. That is how it's going to be with the trouble that's upon us. You see, Florence, it wasn't only your happiness that was at stake; it was mine as well."
"Yours, Dick!" And now there was a look of pain in her eyes.
"Yes, mine, for if, working with all my heart and soul, I can realise my dearest wish, you will have a long life of happiness with the man you love." He looked brightly around. "Good luck, my dears. Come, Gracie."
"Now Gracie," said Dick, as they wended their way to a small "jobbing" printer with whom he was acquainted; he himself had spent a few weeks in a printing office, and, as a Jack of all trades, could do something in the way of picking up stamps. "Now, Gracie, pay particular attention to what I'm going to say."
"I'dlike to have a word first, please," she said.
"Go ahead."
"Who is that young gentleman with the white face that the young lady's so fond of?"
"The young lady's husband, the son of Mr. Samuel Boyd."
"Mr. Reginald. I thought so. He don't look as if he could have done it."
"Done what?"
"You know. The murder."
"He did not do it, Gracie. I suppose you heard Dr. Vinsen say he did."
"He was talking to mother, but he didn't say it outright----"
"Ah, the coward! I hope you don't believe a word that drops from his lips."
"Idon't; but mother does. Don't blame her, Dick; she can't help it."
"No, poor thing. I pity her from my heart, torn this way and that as she is. But she's not the only one whose heart is aching over this affair. There's care and sorrow yonder." He pointed over his shoulder in the direction of Aunt Rob's house. "Gracie," he said energetically, "I'd pour out my heart's blood, drop by drop, if by doing so I could clear that trouble away!"
"You're fond of her, Dick."
He glanced furtively at the sallow impassive face raised to his. "She is my cousin, and Aunt Rob has been a mother to me. I've lived with them longer than I can remember. The last words I said to her just now were that I wanted to see her happy with the man she loved. That's what I'm working for, her happiness--that, and justice. Shall we go into partnership, you and I?"
"Yes, Dick, please."
"Your hand on it."
They shook hands, and he resumed his old bright manner.
"There never was a successful partnership without implicit confidence between the partners. Do you understand?"
"They mustn't be suspicious of one another."
"That's it. There must be perfect trust between them. I believe in you, Gracie, and I'd trust you with my life." Gracie's black eyes gleamed. "You're what I call thorough, and you've got the pluck of twenty men. We're sailing, you and I, in the ship Endeavour for the port Safety. There's only one captain in that ship, as there must be in all properly commanded ships when they're sailing through dangerous rocks. Now, who's the captain?"
"You."
"Good. I'm captain, and you're first mate, and no captain could desire a better. Says the captain to the first mate, 'Mate,' says he, 'I hear as how your father's disappeared, and as how they're saying hard things of him. That's what oughtn't to be, and we'll mend it. He's got to be found, your father is, and brought for'ard,' says the captain, 'so that he may knock them hard words down their con-founded throats.' 'That's so,' says the mate--it's you that's speaking now, you know"-- Gracie nodded--"'that's so,' says the mate, 'and that's what I've made up my mind to do, and what I'm going to do. I've had a dream where he's to be found,' says the first mate----"
"More than one, Dick--captain, I mean," said Gracie.
"Right you are, my hearty, and there's many a dream that's come true, and likewise many that haven't. 'But it isn't because you've had a dream,' says the captain, 'thatIshouldn't have a shy at the discovery of him, and that's what I've setmymind on, if so be as you've no objections,' he says. 'Objections!' says the first mate, 'I'veno objections'"--Here Dick broke off. "I suppose he hasn't, Gracie?"
"No, Dick, he hasn't. He thinks it more than kind of the captain."
"Love your heart, I knew you wouldn't have. 'And how are you going to set about it?' says the first mate. 'Why,' says the captain, planting his wooden leg firmly on the deck--did I tell you he had a wooden leg?"
"No, you didn't," said Gracie, quite gravely.
"Well, I just remember that he had. 'Why,' says he, planting his wooden leg firmly on the deck, 'seeing as how that good woman, Mrs. Abel Death, and Gracie, and all the other little ones, are more unhappy than words can express because father doesn't come home, and as how it may be to some persons' interests to keep himfromcoming home, I'm thinking of offering a reward to anybody that can give information as to his whereabouts--in point of fact to find him and restore him to the bosom of his family.' That's what the captain says to the mate--because he wants to act fair and square by him, and not do anything behind his back as might make him doubt that hewasn'tacting fair and square--and he asks the mate what he thinks of the idea."
"Tofindhim, captain, not tocatchhim," said Gracie, slowly, with a strong accent on the two words.
"That is how the captain puts it. To find him, and restore him to the bosom of his family."
Gracie nodded, and pondered before speaking. "If the mate--that's me, Dick--found father, wouldhehave the reward?"
"As a matter of course."
"Who'd pay it to him?"
"It would be paid through the captain."
"Through you?"
"Through me."
"Then there'd be sure to be no cheating, and the mate could give it to mother."
"Could do what he pleased with it," said Dick, dropping his nautical, and coming back to his original, self, "and we're going straight to the printer to get the bill printed."
"How much is the reward, Dick?"
"Two hundred pounds."
"Oh, my!" Gracie caught her breath. "I don't believe father was ever worth as much as that in all his life. That's a big lot of money, ain't it?"
"A tidyish sum. You don't object?"
"You can't do nothing wrong, Dick."
"Then the partnership goes on swimmingly, and you won't mind seeing it on the walls. There will be another bill, offering a larger reward for the conviction of the murderer. All we want to get at is the truth, so that the innocent may be cleared and the guilty punished. I'm of the opinion it will surprise Dr. Vinsen. The slimy reptile! I'd like to twist his neck for him."
"I'd like to see you do it," said Gracie, not a muscle of her face moving.
"You're something like a partner. Have you any idea where the reptile lives?"
"No."
"You could find out, I dare say."
"Oh, yes, I can find out if you want me to," said Gracie, quite confidently.
"That's your sort. Only don't look for him in the reptile house at the Zoo, where his relations live. I want to know ever so many things about him. Whether he lives alone, or has a wife. Whether he has any children, and whether they have little bald heads with halos round them like their venerable parent. Whether he practises as a doctor, and what his neighbours think of him, etc., etc., etc. It's a large order, Gracie."
"I'll do it, Dick."
"You're a brick. Here we are at the printer's. But you mustn't go away without the needful for current ex's. You might want to jump into a bus, and if you keep out all day you'll want something to eat. Hold out your hand--one shilling, two shillings, a sixpence, and some coppers. If you've anything to tell me come to Aunt Rob's house any time between six and eight. I've a particular reason for not wanting to be seen with you in Catchpole Square to-night. Here are a couple more coppers for brandyballs for the babies at home. Now, off with you, my little detective. No sleeping partners in our firm. You and I, working together, will make Scotland Yard sit up. We'll beat the Criminal Investigation Department, even if it has a dozen Dr. Vinsens to back it up. Here's a kiss for good luck, Gracie."
"Thank you, Dick," said Gracie, and away she scudded, proud of the task entrusted to her.
Neither of them had noticed that they had been followed in a shambling sort of way by an old man in list slippers with a skull cap on his head, sucking at a pipe which, in his close observance of them, he had allowed to go out. He was blear-eyed, and was cursed with a spasmodic twitching on the right side of his face, which imparted to his features a ghastly mirth; and close as was his observance of them he had so managed as not to draw their attention upon him. During the last moment or two he had shuffled so near to them as to brush their clothes as he passed, and had heard the concluding words of their conversation.
"'Thank you, Dick,'" he echoed, with a half-tipsy lurch, as Gracie flew away and Dick entered the printing office. "Dick! It's the man himself. Who'll givemea kiss for good luck?"
He laughed and twitched, and with his eye on the door through which Dick had passed, proceeded with trembling fingers to refill his pipe.
There was a fair stock of "jobbing" type in the printing office, and the master, a working printer himself, was the very man Dick needed for the job in hand, trade being rather slack. In imitation of the official announcement of a reward in the Great Porter Square murder Dick had placed a Royal Coat of Arms at the top of his bill, but the printer argued him out of it, being doubtful whether a private individual had the right to use it for the detection of the perpetrator of a criminal offence. But for the better publicity of the reward Dick was bent upon a pictorial illustration, and out of a lot of old woodcuts they fished a rough wood-block of the figure of Justice, blindfold, holding the scales, which suggested the line beneath, "In the Cause of Justice." Within an hour the type was set up, corrected, locked in its chase, and on the press, the paper was damped, the "devil," a young apprentice, was wielding his roller, and the master printer, his sleeves tucked up to his shoulders, was pulling off the posters, which read thus:
At the top the figure of even-handed Justice; then--
IN THE CAUSE OF JUSTICE.MURDER.£500 REWARD.
Whereas, on the Morning of Saturday, the 9th of March, the Dead Body of Mr. Samuel Boyd was Found on his Premises in Catchpole Square under such circumstances as prove that he was Murdered, and Medical Testimony has been given to the effect that the Murder must have been Committed either on the night of the 1st or the 2nd of March. The above Reward will be paid to any Person who shall give such Information as shall lead to the Discovery and Conviction of the Murderer or Murderers.Evidence may be given to Mr. Lamb, 42, High Street, N., Solicitor to Mr. Reginald Boyd, Son of the Murdered Gentleman, who will pay the Reward, or at any Police Station in the United Kingdom.
Whereas, on the Morning of Saturday, the 9th of March, the Dead Body of Mr. Samuel Boyd was Found on his Premises in Catchpole Square under such circumstances as prove that he was Murdered, and Medical Testimony has been given to the effect that the Murder must have been Committed either on the night of the 1st or the 2nd of March. The above Reward will be paid to any Person who shall give such Information as shall lead to the Discovery and Conviction of the Murderer or Murderers.
Evidence may be given to Mr. Lamb, 42, High Street, N., Solicitor to Mr. Reginald Boyd, Son of the Murdered Gentleman, who will pay the Reward, or at any Police Station in the United Kingdom.
The services of a bill-sticker not being immediately procurable, a large tin of paste had been mixed while the bills were being printed. Begging the loan of a pasting brush, and begging also the loan of the "devil" to carry the paste tin, Dick, now more than ever a Jack of all trades, issued forth to stick the bills himself, leaving behind him the copy of the poster offering a reward for the discovery of Abel Death. He was pasting the first of the bills on a dead wall when he saw the figure of the old man in list slippers and skull cap standing by his side.
"Hallo!" he said, peering down at the twitching face, with its expression of ghastly mirth.
"Hallo!" said the old man, peering up at the flushed, handsome face of the bill-sticker.
Dick recognised him instantly, and scented danger. The man who peered up at him, with all the leering muscles of his face at work, was the man of whom he had bought the rope and grapnel. With assumed carelessness he said,
"You'll know me when you see me again, old fellow."
"Shouldn't wonder," said the old man. "My name's Higgins. What may your'n be?"
Dick had not quite finished sticking the first bill. Whether from not being used to the business, or from inward perturbation, he was making rather a bungle of it. Under any circumstances, however, he would have been ready to admit that there is an art even in bill-sticking.
"Let's make a guess, shall us?" said Mr. Higgins, with a cunning look, plunging into doggerel. "Riddle-me-riddle-meriddle-me-ree, first comes a, then b c d; riddle-me-riddle-me-riddle-me-rye, the letter we stop at next is i; riddle-me-riddle-me-riddle-me-rick, a c and a k will make it spell Dick." Mr. Higgins was so enamoured of this impromptu that he chuckled to himself, "Will make it spell Dick, will make it spell Dick."
"Look here," said Dick, an uncomfortable feeling spreading over him, "what do you want?"
"Quartern o' rum," replied Mr. Higgins, suddenly descending from the heights of Parnassus.
"All right," said Dick, "at the first pub we come to."
"Pub over there," said Mr. Higgins, twitching his head at the opposite side of the road. "Throat dry as a bit o' rusty iron."
The bill was stuck, and people were stopping to read it. Even in these days of huge and startling advertisements on the walls--not the least conspicuous of which are the lank figures of blue or scarlet females in outrageous costumes and impossible postures, the product of a mischievous school of impressionists--even amidst these monstrous parodies of art a double-demy poster offering a reward of £500 for the discovery of a Murderer is certain to command an audience. So it was natural enough that a little crowd should gather, and that eager comments and opinions should be exchanged.
"That's a big reward. £500!" "Ought to have been offered before. What's that picture on the top? Justice, eh, holding the scales? If she's anything like that,Idon't think much of her. Anyway I wish I knew where to lay hands on the man that murdered Samuel Boyd. Set me up for life it would." "Murderers you mean. When the truth comes out you'll find there's a regular gang, with Abel Death at the head of 'em." "Well,Idon't believe he's in it. I heard a detective say yesterday----" "Oh, a detective. Much goodtheyare!" "I say, don't you consider it a rum go that Mr. Reginald Boyd should be offering the reward? Why, there's any number of people sayshedid it." "How can that be when he says he's willing to pay £500 for the discovery and conviction?" "Ah, but that might be a plant, you know. They've been that cunning from first to last that there's no saying what they mightn't be up to." "What comes over me is what they've done with Lady Wharton's jewellery. Nice lot the ladies of the upper suckles, borrowing money secretly of such a cove as Samuel Boyd. I s'pose it's their gen-teel way of putting things up the spout. Now, what are they going to do with it when she can swear to every bit of it?" "Do with it? Take it to Amsterdam or New York. Easy to get rid of it there." "Why go so fur? Ain't there plenty of fences in London?" "Never catch 'em, never! There's no clue." "No clue! How about that bullet in the wall, and the blood-stains on the floor?" "But the old man wasn't shot or stabbed. What d'yer make of that?" "Why, that they had a barney among theirselves when they was dividing the swag. Another man murdered, most likely." (Delicious suggestion.) "What did they do with his body?" "Carried it to the river, tied a big stone to it and sunk it. When the reward gets known they'll be dragging the water from Greenwich to Windsor." "Well, of all the mysterious murdersIever heard of this Catchpole Square one takes the cake." "Queer move, ain't it, offering a reward before the inquest's over? What's the verdict going to be? There's a cove on the jury seems to know as much about it as most people."
To this and a great deal more Dick listened, and Mr. Higgins listened, without either of them saying a word. Dick lingered because he wished to find out what would be the probable effect of these bills on the walls; and Mr. Higgins, pulling at his under lip, listened because Dick listened, and watched the young man's face cunningly to see what impression the various arguments made upon him. There was malice in his bloodshot eyes, and Dick did not like the look of things. While thus ruminating and listening, Mr. Higgins touched him on the arm with his empty pipe.
"Fine day, Mr. Higgins," he said, in his free and easy way.
"Beastly day," growled Mr. Higgins. "I'm shaking all over."
"What's good for the complaint?"
"Quartern o' rum, to commence with."
"I have to work for my living," said Dick, brightly, "and if you insist upon my standing you a quartern of rum you'll have to carry the paste pot."
"See you--hanged first," said Mr. Higgins, with a mirthless laugh.
"Think better of it," said Dick, insinuatingly, holding out the paste pot.
After a moment's hesitation Mr. Higgins thought better of it, and took the paste pot, with a grimace, to the imminent risk of the contents. Then Dick dismissed the printer's boy, and with the bundle of damp bills under his arm walked over to the publichouse, Mr. Higgins, carrying the shaking paste pot, and following close at his heels.
"Where will you have your rum," he asked, "at the bar, or in a private room?"
"Private room," said Mr. Higgins. "Better for all parties."
They were soon accommodated, and liquor supplied, bitter ale for Dick, and rum for the old man, which he disposed of in one gulp. He then demanded another quartern, which Dick called for, and disposed of it in an equally expeditious manner.
"You've got a swallow," said Dick. "Now, my Saint Vitus friend, what's your little game? Leave off your damnable twitchings, and begin."
Mr. Higgins fumbled in his pockets, and produced three crumpled newspapers which, after much difficulty, he straightened out upon the table, a corner of his eye on Dick all the time he was thus employed. With tremulous forefinger, long a stranger to soap and nail brush, he pointed to a sketch portrait in an account of the inquest, which Dick recognised as intended for himself. It being evident that Mr. Higgins expected him to offer an observation on the libel, he said,
"Who may this individual be? It's only a head and shoulders. Is it supposed to be a man or a woman?"
"Yah!" was Mr. Higgins's sarcastic comment. "What are you giving us? Can't you read what's underneath?"
"Can't you?" retorted Dick.
"No," snarled Mr. Higgins, twitching, not with shame, but resentment. "Neglected as a kid, jumped upon as a man. But a worm'll turn when it's trod on, won't it?"
"Not being a worm, can't say. Take your word for it."
"And even a man that's been jumped on all his life can see a bit o' luck when it's ahead of him. Look here, young fellow; take the advice of a man old enough to be your father."
"Say great grandfather," interrupted Dick, saucily, "and get it over in once."
"Smart you are, you think--smart; but you'll find that cheek don't pay in this shop, Mr. Dick Remington. D'ye twig the name printed underneath this portrait. 'That's a face I've seen afore,' says I to myself when it meets my eye. I looks at another paper." Mr. Higgins turned over the sheet and brought into view another portrait of Dick--"and strike me straight!' Why, there it is agin,' I says. 'And here it is agin,' I says." He turned over the third sheet, "and underneath 'em all the name of Dick Remington. 'What luck!' says I to myself. 'What a slice o' luck for a second-hand dealer in odds and ends as tries hard to get a honest living, and as everybody puts upon--with trade that bad that it couldn't be wus--taking down your shutters and putting 'em up agin to the tune of two and sevenpence, which won't as much as half pay your rent.'"
"Stop your whining," said Dick, "and cut it short. What is it you want?"
"Quartern o' rum."
The answer seemed to be so settled a formula when a question of this kind was put to him that it mechanically popped out like a bullet from a gun. Pending compliance with his demand, as to which Dick did not hesitate, and the pouring of the liquor down his throat, as if it were the mouth of a vat, there was an interval of silence. Then, with a wandering finger on the portrait, Mr. Higgins "cut it short" in two words.
"True bill?"
"True bill," replied Dick, with an assenting nod, "and what of it?"
"What of it?" cried Mr. Higgins, with venom in his voice. "Rope and grapnel of it!" He thrust his twitching face forward to within an inch or two of Dick's.
"Oh, that's the game," said Dick, concealing his uneasiness. "And what a game it is--oh, what a game it is! Says I to myself, when I gets detective Lambert's evidence read out to me--'there's a man for you! with eyes all over him, and one to spare'--says I to myself when I hears that evidence, 'rope and grapnel over the wall--by the Lord, he's hit it!' Then I asks the boy that's reading the paper to me, 'And who may that be the picture of?' 'That,' says he, 'is the picture of Mr. Dick Remington, nephew of Inspector Robson, and cousin of the young lady as goes and marries the son of Samuel Boyd on the sly.' He's a sharp little boy, almost as sharp as you, Mr. Dick Remington. 'O-ho!' says I to him, 'and does Mr. Dick Remington give evidence at the inquest?' 'Yes, he does,' says the boy, and he reads it out to me. 'You've missed something,' I says. 'You've missed what Mr. Dick Remington says about the rope and grapnel.' 'He don't say nothing at all about it,' says the boy. 'It must be in another paper,' I says, and I buys 'em all, and has 'em all read out to me, word for word, and if you'll believe me there ain't a word in one of 'em about the use that Mr. Dick Remington makes of the rope and grapnel he bought of a honest tradesman as sweats hisself thin to get a living, and then can't get it. That's what I call a coinci-dence. What do you call it?"
"I call it a coinci-dence, too," said Dick, with a searching gaze at the disreputable figure, "especially when it happens to an honest tradesman like Mr. Higgins." There was a gleam of suspicion and doubt in Mr. Higgins's eye as he twitched up his head at this remark, which caused Dick to add, with meaning emphasis on the words, "To such a very honest tradesman as Mr. Higgins! Something got in your throat?"
"Caught my breath," gasped Mr. Higgins, choking and glaring.
At any other time the contortions he made to recover it would have amused Dick, but just now he was not in the mood for any kind of light diversion. Still it was with a mocking air that he contemplated Mr. Higgins, and in a mocking tone that he repeated for the second time,
"Such a very honest tradesman as Mr. Higgins! Get on, will you? You left off where you'd been having all the papers read to you."
That the doubt as to the success of his enterprise which Dick's independent manner had introduced was not lessened was apparent, for though what he said was pregnant enough his tone lost something of its confidence.
"Yes, I gets 'em all read out to me, and it sets me thinking. 'What call has Mr. Dick Remington got to keep it dark?' says I to myself. 'Why don't he say nothing about it? There's something in the wind. He comes to my shop, and buys a rope and grapnel in a secret sort o' way'--"
"Wrong, my honest tradesman," interrupted Dick, and Mr. Higgins shifted uneasily in his chair, "I bought it openly. Did I ask you to keep it dark?"
"No, you didn't, but did you go out of my shop with the rope hanging over your arm?' O-ho!' says I, 'here's a working man ashamed to carry a rope. He asks for a bit of paper to wrap it up in, he does, and he puts it under his coat, he does. That's a rum sort o' working man,' says I."
"Clever Mr. Higgins," said Dick, patronisingly, "clever Mr. Higgins!"
"Do you mean to tell me," said that worthy, driven to exasperation by Dick's coolness, "that you didn't use it to get over the wall at the back of Samuel Boyd's house in Catchpole Square, that it wasn't you as broke the kitchen winder, that you didn't break open the safe--"
"Hold hard," said Dick, "you've had the papers read wrong. The safe was not broken open."
"What does that matter?" snarled Mr. Higgins. "Broke open, or opened with a key, it's all the same. The man as did it helped hisself to the money and jewels, and made off with the swag--withmyrope and grapnel that cost me its weight in gold--how does that strike you, Mr. Dick?"
"You old fool," said Dick, with a broad smile, "if you knock your head against that brick wall you'll knock out the few brains you possess. If you think I can't reckon up an honest tradesman like you, you were never more mistaken in your life." And with the forefinger of his right hand he tapped the side of his nose, and winked at Mr. Higgins.
But though he spoke and acted thus boldly he fully recognised the seriousness of this new danger. Say that this man laid information against him at the first police station; say that it got to the knowledge of Detective Lambert who was searching everywhere for a clue to the mystery. What would be the consequence? A warrant would be immediately issued for his arrest, and a search warrant as well. The rope and grapnel, tied up in brown paper, was now under the bed of his room in Constable Pond's house, and the key of that room was in his pocket. How could he explain away his possession of the rope? He would be asked why he made no mention of it at the inquest; his silence regarding it would be a piece of damning evidence against him. And not the only piece. His prowling about in the neighbourhood of Catchpole Square at an early hour of the morning, as testified by Constable Applebee, was in the highest degree suspicious when taken in connection with his possession of the rope and grapnel. His knowledge of the habits of Samuel Boyd, gained during his employment as clerk in the house, would be against him. One thing was certain. He would be deprived of his liberty, and the contemplation of this contingency filled him with dismay. Everything depended upon his being free to carry out the plans he had formed, and therefore upon his turning the tables upon the old vagabond who sat leering into his face.
And in the event of his being arrested, what would be said of him in Aunt Rob's home? Was it not probable, aye, more than probable, that they would suspecthimto be the murderer? He had woven a net for himself, and if he were not careful he would drag down Reginald with him. Press and public would say "collusion," and the chain of circumstantial evidence be too strong for him to break through.
Admitting all this, he felt that any sign of weakness in the presence of Mr. Higgins would be fatal. There was nothing for it but to play the bold game.
"I've a good mind," he said, slowly and sternly, "to go and give information against you."
"What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Higgins, his features twitching more hideously than ever. Dick hailed these signs of discomposure with delight, and encouraged by the impression his sarcastic references to Mr. Higgins as an honest tradesman had produced he was quick to take advantage of it. He resembled the gambler who stakes his whole fortune upon the last throw.
"Did you ever see the secret books of the police," he said, "with the names of certain men with black marks against them? Why, we can lay our hands upon every thief and fence in London when we want to--do you hear? when we want to." Mr. Higgins winced. "There are some things that lick us for a time, like this Catchpole Square Mystery, but we don't go to sleep over them, though some people may think we do. And when we're playing a high game we don't show our cards. What I mean is, that we'll have your place searched for stolen goods. How will that suit you, my honest tradesman? We can bring one or two things against you that you'll find it hard to explain when you're in the dock. If we let you alone it's because you're not worth the powder and shot, but get our dander up, Mr. Higgins, and we'll make short work of you. How does that suit your book? Take care of your precious self, my man, and let sleeping dogs lie."
It was vague, but effective, and it was Dick's good fortune that the hazardous shot told. Indeed, it had gone straight to the bull's eye. Many were the questionable transactions in which, from time to time, Mr. Higgins had been engaged. Petty thieves in the neighbourhood were in the habit of selling their small spoils across his counter; this modern Fagin was always ready to buy, and no questions asked. He had been in trouble more than once, and was in mortal dread of getting into trouble again. This, of course, was unknown to Dick, and it was only from his familiarity with the nature of much of the business transacted in some of these second-hand shops in mean streets that he had ventured upon the bold attack. He could have hugged himself when he saw the effect it produced upon Mr. Higgins.
"There is nothing like a good understanding in these matters, Mr. Higgins," he continued, "and I've no wish to be hard on you. I've got my own game to play, and it's keeping me pretty busy. Between ourselves--don't be frightened, there's nobody by--I did purchase a rope and grapnel of you, but is it for you to say whether I purchased it for myself or for another person, and what use I made of it? I might deny it if I chose, and then, my honest tradesman, who would take your word against mine? Is there any magistrate's court in London where your oath would be believed, much less your word? What a blind fool you are! Upon my word I gave you credit for more sense. Perhaps the reporter of 'The Little Busy Bee' used a rope and grapnel, perhaps he didn't. Perhaps it was the one I bought of you, perhaps it wasn't. I'm not going to let you into the know, Mr. Higgins. How would you like to have the papers down on you as well as the police? How do you know I'm not acting under instructions to track and catch the murderer or murderers of Samuel Boyd? How do you know"--here he leaned forward, and tapped Mr. Higgins confidentially on the breast--"that I'm not in the secret service myself? Would you like to hear what is in these bills that you are going to help me stick on the walls? I've just come from the printing office where I've had them printed. You can't read, you say; it is a pity you should be left in the dark, so I'll read it to you." Dick spread one out, and read it aloud, with unction. "It reads well, doesn't it? I'm rather proud of it. That's a figure of Justice on the top. My idea. Rather a good idea, I flatter myself. A pretty fellow you are to come and threaten me with your rope and grapnel! I'll tell you what your game is, Mr. Higgins. Blackmail. That is it--blackmail. A dangerous game, old man, and you've got hold of the wrong end of the stick--perhaps you see that now. If I had anything to fear is it likely that I'd be going about in open daylight sticking up these bills? More likely to be sailing on the open seas for some foreign port. Where are your wits, you clumsy idiot?"
To judge from Mr. Higgins's appearance, they had gone wool-gathering. He literally gasped beneath the volley which Dick had poured upon him, at the end of which he was sitting in his chair in a state of helpless collapse. Dick had turned the tables upon him with a vengeance.
"Now, what have you got to say?" he asked, triumphantly.
"Quartern o' rum," gasped Mr. Higgins.
"When we've finished our confab you shall have it, and another one or two on the top of it as we go along. Lord bless you, Mr. Higgins, I'm not an ill-natured chap, if you take me easy, and I have the credit of generally being freehanded when I'm not interfered with. Pull yourself together, and listen to what more I've got to say. What we want to do--the secret service, the detectives, the Criminal Investigation Department, and all of us--is to keep this matter as quiet as possible till the thieves and murderers are nabbed. We're working on the strict q.t., and we've got something up our sleeve, I can tell you. And I'll tell you something more. If any outsider interferes with our game by blabbing about ropes and grapnels it will be the worst day's workhehas ever done, and he'll live to rue it. We'll wipe him out, that's what we'll do. We'll have no mercy on him."
This was the finishing stroke. Mr. Higgins lay helpless at the foot of the conqueror.
"I made a mistake," he whined. "Quartern o' rum."
"You would sell your own mother for drink, I believe."
"No, no," protested Mr. Higgins, feebly, "not so bad as that, not so bad as that. Good for my liver. Keeps me alive."
"A nice state your liver must be in," said Dick, laughing. "I think we understand each other. Take up the paste pot, and carry it steady. You shall be paid for your day's work. Tenpence an hour, so look sharp."
Mr. Higgins, completely subdued, had his fourth quartern at the bar, and shortly afterwards the British public had the privilege of seeing Dick Remington stick up the murder bills, assisted by an old man in skull cap and list slippers, in that stage of palsy from his recent experiences that his course was marked by a dribble of paste spilt from the pot he carried in his trembling hands. At every fresh stoppage a crowd gathered, arguing, disputing, airing theories. These chiefly consisted of conjectures as to who the murderer was, how the murder had been committed, how many were in it, who the man was who had been seen by Dr. Pye coming out of the house in Catchpole Square at three in the morning, whether he was the same man who had imposed upon Lady Wharton, how the blood-stained marks of footsteps on the floor were to be accounted for, whether there was any chance of the jewels being recovered, and so on, and so on. At one place there was a conversation of a different nature.
"What I find fault with in that there bill," said an onlooker, a man with a forbidding face, dressed in corduroy, "is that no pardon is offered to any accomplice as didn't actually commit that there murder. Where's the indoocement to peach on a pal, that's what I want to know?"
"A white-livered skunk I'd call him whatever his name might be," remarked a second speaker. "Honour among thieves, that's what I say."
"Oh, come," said a third, "let's draw the line somewhere."
"It's what they put in the bills," grumbled the man in corduroy, offering no comment on these expressions of opinion, "and I don't see no mention of it in that there blooming bill."
"It's what they put in the Government bills," said the second man, "but this ain't a Government bill. It's a reward of £500 offered by a private individual."
"A private individual!" sneered the first speaker. "You don't call Mr. Reginald Boyd a private individual in this here case, do you? He's a interested party, that's whatheis. What I say is--and anybody can take it up as likes--where's the indoocement to peach on a pal?"
"Well, don't take it to heart, mate," said another. At which there was a general laugh. "Do you know how it runs in the Government bills?"
"No, I don't; but I know it's alias there, and allus should be there."
"I can give you the words, if you wish to hear them," said a quiet onlooker, who, meditatively rubbing his chin, was watching the crowd and the billsticker.
Dick repressed a start. It was the voice of Detective Lambert, with whom he was acquainted. He turned and accosted the officer, who put his finger to his lips, thus indicating that they were not to address each other by name.
"Good morning," said Dick.
"Good morning," said Lambert. "I did not know you were in this line of business."
"Anything to turn an honest penny, said Dick, cheerfully.
"Give us the words, mate," said the man in corduroy.
"They run in this way. 'And the Secretary of State for the Home Department will advise the grant of her Majesty's gracious Pardon to any accomplice not being the person who actually committed the murder, who shall give such evidence as shall lead to a like result.'"
"You seem to be well up in it, guv'nor."
"Fairly well. I did a turn in a Government printing office once."
"Then you could inform us, perhaps, as a matter of general interest," said an elderly man, "whether the accomplice, who would be Queen's evidence----"
"Yes, Queen's evidence."
"Would get the reward as well as the pardon?"
"In course he would," said the man in corduroy, answering for Lambert. "That's the beauty of it. Only wishIwas an accomplice in this here blooming murder, with them words in that there bill orfered by the Government. I'd touch, mates, pretty quick, that's whatI'ddo. But as it stands, where's the indoocement? It ain't 'arf a bill without the indoocement."
This insistence of the implied merit attaching to an act of treachery did not seem to meet with the approval of many in the crowd, who edged away, with distrustful looks at the speaker. Dick also walked off, and Detective Lambert walked by his side awhile, Mr. Higgins shambling humbly in the rear.
"A bold move," remarked Lambert.
"A proper move," said Dick. "Anything new stirring?"
Lambert rubbed his chin for two or three moments without replying, and few persons would have supposed that he was paying much visual attention to the man at his side or the man in the rear; but Dick knew better. He knew that detective Lambert was one of the shrewdest and the most observant officers in the service, and that nothing escaped his attention.
"Five hundred pounds is a good round sum," he said.
"It is," said Dick. "Why not earn it?" Lambert gave him a curious look, surprised, for one brief moment, out of himself. "If it was a Government reward," continued Dick, who also had his eyes about him, "there wouldn't be a chance for you, for the words would run, 'the above reward will be paid to any person (other than a person belonging to a police force in the United Kingdom) who shall give such information,' etc. Now, this reward doesn't apply in this way. The reward will be willingly and gladly paid to any person, whether he belongs to the police or not. Is it worth considering?"
"Yes," said Lambert, thoughtfully, "it is worth considering. You asked me whether there's any thing new stirring. Well----" But he paused suddenly, as if he were about to say too much. "One of these days, perhaps, there will be a case in the papers that, for daring and mystery, will beat even the Mystery of Catchpole Square."
"Can't imagine one," said Dick. "It wouldn't be fair to ask if there's any connection between the two cases." He paused; Lambert was silent; Dick turned the subject. "What do you think of my new apprentice? A modern species of Ganymede, carrying the pastepot instead of the wine cup. Nothing like novelty in these days; people run crazy after it. Only you must keep it well advertised; everything depends upon that. Drop your advertisements, and youth grows wrinkled in an hour. Now, what we're aiming at in this mystery"--he flourished his paste brush--"is that, until we get at its heart, people shan't forget it. We'll keep it before them morning, noon, and night. No hole-in-the-corner business. Step up, old man." This to Mr. Higgins, who came shambling forward, his features twitching twenty to the dozen. With the eyes of so sharp an officer as Lambert upon him Dick was not stupid enough to dream of keeping the old man in the background. He knew that any such attempt would end in Lambert's finding means of making himself thoroughly acquainted with Mr. Higgins's business and character before the day was out, so he took the bull by the horns, and introduced his companion by name, giving also his trade and address. "There's a specimen of an honest tradesman for you. Queer sort of assistant for me to pick up?"
"There's no denying it," said Lambert.
"There's a little story attached to the way Mr. Higgins and I struck up a friendship. What's the best thing in life worth living for, old man?"
"Quartern o' rum," replied Mr. Higgins. The answer seemed to be jerked out of him by force of magnetism.
Dick laughed; Lambert made a movement of departure.
"Are you off?" asked Dick.
"Off I am. Take care of yourself."
"I'll try to."
Dr. Pye's countenance during his late interview with Dr. Vinsen was not more inscrutable than that of Detective Lambert. The trained habit of concealing one's thoughts is part of the stock in trade of more than one class of men, and shrewd as Dick was he would have found it beyond his power to divine what was passing in Lambert's mind as he strolled leisurely away, but a quiet smile on the younger man's lips denoted that he was not dissatisfied with the problem he had presented to the detective. "I've givenhimsomething to puzzle over," was Dick's thought, "and I'm a Dutchman if I haven't thrown him off the scent in regard to my friend Higgins."
"There's a man for you," he said, as he gazed admiringly after the vanishing figure of the detective. "Have you the pleasure of knowing the gentleman?"
"Can't say as I have," was the answer.
"That's the famous Detective Lambert, who gave evidence at the inquest. And what a ferret he is! Search France and England through, and you won't meet his match. He had his eye on you, I noticed." Mr. Higgins shivered. "If ever you get into his clutches look out for snakes. It's a pleasure to work with a man like that. He and I are on the same lay."
Another hour's steady work, and the last bill was pasted on the walls and the last quartern of rum disposed of. Then he reckoned up what was due to Mr. Higgins, paid and dismissed him, and repeated his caution about looking out for snakes if it should be his bad fortune to fall into the clutches of the famous detective.
"I've about settledyourhash," mused Dick, as he saw Mr. Higgins plunge into the nearest beershop. "But how do I stand with Lambert? That's a different pair of shoes. What did he mean about another case of mystery? I thought he was going to let it out, but he pulled himself up short. Never mind, Dick. You've had a narrow squeak to-day, and you've got out of it with flying colours. Go ahead, my lad, and stick at nothing."