CHAPTER XXXIII
SCENES IN COURT
The Coroner: "I cannot allow the proceedings to be interrupted by any of the spectators, and I must request the person who spoke to preserve silence."
The Lady (rising): "My name is Lady Wharton, and I know what I am saying. It is not in the nature of things to be silent when so monstrous a statement as that is made. I say again, it is impossible."
The Coroner: "The witness has given his impression-"
Lady Wharton: "He cannot be in his right senses, or he must have some motive-"
The Coroner: "You are impeaching the witness and delaying the proceedings. Unless you resume your seat it will be my duty to have you removed-"
Lady Wharton (indignantly): "Have me removed! Is this a court of justice?"
The Corner: "I hope so. Kindly resume your seat."
Lady Wharton: "I insist upon being heard."
The Coroner: "You compel me to do what will be disagreeable to you." (To a Constable.) "Officer-"
Mr. Finnis, Q.C.: "One moment, I beg." (To Lady Wharton.) "Please observe the Coroner's directions. At present you can be heard only through me." (Lady Wharton, who was accompanied by her brother, Lord Fairfax, resumed her seat in great agitation.)
Mr. Finnis: "It is a point of vital importance, and I ask the witness-upon whom neither Lady Wharton nor I cast any imputation-whether he positively swears that the body is that of Mr. Samuel Boyd?"
The Coroner (to the witness): "Do not reply to any question except those put to you by me or the jury."
Mr. Finnis: "You will understand, Mr. Coroner, when Lady Wharton is examined, why the statement of the witness appears to her incredible. Our desire is to prevent a miscarriage of justice."
The Coroner: "It is the desire of all of us."
A Juror: "There can be no harm in asking the question again. With your permission, Mr. Coroner, I will put it. Inspector Robson, do you positively swear that the body you saw is that of Mr. Samuel Boyd?"
Inspector Robson: "So far as a human being can be positive, I swear it."
"And that you formed the idea that he had been dead several days?"
"That is certainly my impression."
The Coroner (after listening to a whispered communication from the juror): "It has been suggested to me to ask whether you have any personal interest in the death of Mr. Samuel Boyd?"
Inspector Robson (with warmth): "I do not understand you."
The Coroner: "We are aware, Inspector Robson, of the high character you bear, and of the deserved estimation in which you are held. It is probable that in the course of this inquiry questions may be asked which may not seem to have any direct bearing upon the investigation, but which may eventually lead to issues of more or less importance."
Inspector Robson: "I am giving my evidence as inspector of police."
The Coroner: "Not entirely. You are a witness in this case, and are here both as an official and a private citizen. If you have an objection to answer the question I will not press it; but I would point out to you that your refusal may leave an unfavourable impression on the minds of the jury."
Inspector Robson (after a pause): "Will you put the question in more direct terms, Mr. Coroner? I would prefer my private affairs not being imported into this case, but I should be sorry to lay myself open to misconstruction."
The Coroner: "In plainer terms, then, is there any relationship between you and the deceased?"
Inspector Robson: "He is my son-in-law's father."
The Coroner: "You were, of course, aware of this when Mrs. Abel Death reported the disappearance of her husband?"
Inspector Robson: "No, Mr. Coroner, I was not aware of it."
The Coroner: "Was the marriage between your daughter and Mr. Reginald Boyd quite recent?"
Inspector Robson (with evident reluctance): "No, they have been married two months."
The Coroner: "There is a strange discrepancy here. How could you have been ignorant of the relationship when Mrs. Death came to the Bishop Street Police Station?"
Inspector Robson: "At that time I did not know that my daughter was married. As what passes in this court will be reported in the newspapers, I wish to add that no blame attaches either to her or her husband, for whom my wife and myself have the highest regard."
The Juror: "He is the only son of the deceased?"
Inspector Robson: "Yes."
The Juror: "In point of fact the heir-at-law, unless he is dispossessed by will?"
Inspector Robson: "Yes."
The Juror: "Has any will been found?"
Inspector Robson: "Not to my knowledge."
The Juror: "Has search been made for it?"
Inspector Robson: "It is now being made."
The Juror: "By whom?"
Inspector Robson: "By my son-in-law's attorney, Mr. Richard Remington."
The Juror: "Your nephew?"
"Yes."
The Juror (to the Coroner): "Will Mr. Reginald Boyd be called?"
The Coroner: "Not to-day. It appears, from a letter I have here, which is accompanied by a doctor's certificate, that he went yesterday to his father's house in Catchpole Square to identify the body, that he has been very ill, and that the exertion was too much for him. It is hoped that on Wednesday, to which day the inquiry will be adjourned, he will be well enough to give his evidence."
The Juror: "How long has he been ill?"
Inspector Robson: "Since last Saturday week."
The Juror: "The day following that on which Mr. Abel Death disappeared?"
Inspector Robson: "Yes."
The Juror: "Can you inform us whether Mr. Reginald Boyd was on good terms with his father?"
Inspector Robson: "I do not think it is a question I should be called upon to answer."
The Juror: "Very well, Inspector Robson."
The next witness was Mr. Richard Remington, who gave his answers generally with rapidity; but occasionally there was a slight hesitancy before he replied, as though he were considering the form of words in which he should reply. Asked if Inspector Robson was his uncle, he answered that he was proud to own it. Asked if he followed any occupation, he described himself as a Jack of all trades. "And master of none?" queried a juror jocosely. "I won't say that," replied the witness, quickly. "There are some things I can do thoroughly."
"You accompanied Inspector Robson when he entered the house of the deceased on Saturday?"
"I did."
"You saw the body?"
"Yes. It is the body of Mr. Samuel Boyd."
"You were acquainted with him?"
"Intimately. I was in his service nearly three months, and saw him daily."
"So that you can speak with confidence on the point?"
"With perfect confidence."
"Can you inform us whether the room in which the body was found was Mr. Boyd's regular bedroom?"
"It was. He always slept there."
The Juror: "Is it the only bedroom in the house?"
"No; there is another bedroom on the second floor."
The Juror: "Occupied by any person?"
"By no person during my service with the deceased."
The Juror: "But at some time or other occupied by another person?"
"I believe by Mr. Reginald Boyd when he lived in the house."
The Juror: "Under what circumstances did he leave his father's house?"
"It is hardly a question that should be put to me."
The Juror: "You think it would be better to ask Mr. Reginald Boyd?"
"That is for you to decide."
The Coroner: "You were in the house yesterday?"
"Yes."
"We understand you are searching for a will?"
"Yes."
"And have found none?"
"None."
The Coroner: "I am now going to put a question to you which I put to Inspector Robson. When you saw the body did you receive any impression as to the length of time Mr. Boyd had been dead?"
"Yes. He must have been dead four or five days at least."
Lady Wharton: "They are stark staring mad!"
The Coroner: "I assure Lady Wharton that if she persists in these interruptions she cannot be allowed to remain in Court."
The evidence of Constable Applebee, who was the next witness, was then taken. Catchpole Square is within the radius of his beat, and not a week passed without his seeing Mr. Samuel Boyd two or three times. He was positive that the body was that of Samuel Boyd, and he would not admit the possibility of his being mistaken.
"Did you see any suspicious persons about on the night of the 1st?"
The witness answered "No," and happened to glance in the direction of Lady Wharton, upon which another scene occurred. Her ladyship exclaimed, "Gracious Powers! I am in a hornet's nest! Does the man suspect me?" It was with difficulty that she was calmed, and it was only upon her giving her promise that she would not speak again that an order for her removal was not carried out.
Mr. Finnis: "Her ladyship visited Mr. Samuel Boyd on the night of the 1st upon a matter of business, and the witness probably saw her."
The Coroner: "That is no excuse for these interruptions, Mr. Finnis." (To the witness.) "On any subsequent occasion did you see any suspicious persons about?"
"Yes, on the night of the great fog something occurred. The fog was so thick that I missed my way, and by accident I stumbled upon Constable Pond, whose beat joins mine. We were close by Catchpole Square, and we went into it. As we were moving away I saw a woman trying to steal from the Square into Deadman's Court. I ran and caught the person by the arm, but somehow or other she slipped through my hands and escaped."
"Did you see her face?"
"No, she was too quick for me."
"At what time did this take place?"
"I can't say exactly, but it was past midnight."
"Is it usual for people to be in the Square so late?"
"Quite unusual."
"That is all you can tell us?"
"That's all, except-" Here the witness hesitated.
"Except what?"
"Well, it has nothing to do with the case, but it come into my mind that two nights last week I met Mr. Richard Remington near the Square."
"You must have met many persons. What is there special in your meeting Mr. Remington?"
"Only that both times it was two or three o'clock in the morning. It isn't worth mentioning."
"The smallest incident in connection with a case of this description is worth mentioning. Did you have any conversation with him?"
"Oh, yes. The first time we had a long talk together."
"Did he say what brought him out so late!"
"Well, he said he was looking for a lodging."
"What! At two or three in the morning?"
"Yes, that is what he said."
"It sounds like a joke; he can hardly have been serious."
A Juror: "Perhaps Mr. Remington would like to explain."
Mr. Richard Remington (from the body of the Court): "I am quite ready to explain."
The Coroner (to Constable Applebee): "We have nothing further to ask you."
Mr. Richard Remington was recalled.
"You have heard what the last witness said in reference to yourself?"
"Yes; he spoke the truth. I met him on two occasions last week, in the middle of the night, and we had a chat. Of course it is absurd to suppose I was looking for lodgings at that time, but I intended to do so next morning, and I mentioned it to Constable Applebee, thinking it likely he might know of a place to suit me. In point of fact he did know, and it was upon his introduction that I took a room next day in the house of Constable Pond in Paradise Row. You might like to hear why I went in the direction of Catchpole Square on the night of the fog. Well, I was in the Bishop Street Station at about midnight when Mrs. Abel Death reported the disappearance of her husband and asked the assistance of the police. As I had been in the employ of Mr. Samuel Boyd I took an interest in her story, and, my time being my own, I thought I would have a look at the old house."
The Coroner: "Thank you, Mr. Remington."
The last witness called was Mrs. Jewel, a charwoman, whose evidence was mainly interesting from the insight it afforded of the singular domestic habits of the deceased. She was the only female servant employed by Mr. Boyd, and her services were not requisitioned for more than two half-days every week. The witness described the deceased as the hardest master she ever had. When she swept out a room or made a bed he grumbled at the way it was done, and made it an excuse for beating her down to the last farthing. She did no cooking for him; he took his dinner at some cheap eating house, and prepared his own breakfast and tea. "He'd skin a flint," the witness remarked. The value of Mrs. Jewel's evidence lay in her intimate familiarity with the personal appearance of the deceased. She swore positively to the body, and laughed at the idea of her being mistaken. Some amusement was caused by her being hard of hearing, and she resented this by giving short snappy replies to the questions put to her, and declining to be moved by so much as a hair's breadth from any statement she made. The last of these questions were put by the juror who had taken so prominent a part in the proceedings, and who resisted every effort made by the Coroner to abbreviate his inquiries.
The Juror: "You worked for the deceased during the time his son, Mr. Reginald Boyd, lived in the house?"
Mrs. Jewel: "Of course I did, and Mr. Reginald's a gentleman."
"Were they on good terms with each other?"
"No," she answered, "old Mr. Boyd was always quarrelling with Mr. Reginald. He stormed a lot, but Mr. Reginald was very quiet, and hardly answered his father. At last he went away, and I don't blame him."
Nothing further was elicited from the witness, and the inquiry was adjourned till Wednesday, when, the Coroner said, important evidence would be laid before the jury.
CHAPTER XXXIV
GATHERING CLOUDS
"There's trouble coming, there's trouble coming." This was the dominant thought in Dick's mind as he emerged from the court. Reporters, hurriedly gathering their sheets of notes and sketches, were hastening to their respective offices, and persons who had been unable to obtain admission were eagerly asking for news of what had taken place. The jurymen filed out, with a judicial weight on their brows, and the man who had put and prompted so many questions gave Dick a searching look as he passed. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Remington," said a cheery interviewer, "I belong to 'The Hourly Inquirer,' and if you would give me a few minutes-" "No time for interviewing-nothing to say," interrupted Dick, and hurried on. Of which the interviewer made a quarter of a column. Dick was not in the mood to impart information or impressions; he had more serious matters to think of. It seemed to him as though sinister forces were at work inimical to Florence and Reginald. "I wonder," he thought, "what kind of evidence Lady Wharton has to give-she seems terribly in earnest."
Clear of the crowd he felt a light touch upon his arm; looking down he saw it was Florence.
"Reginald sent me," she said; "he is very anxious. Is it over?"
"Not by a long way," he replied. "People are staring at us. Let us walk on."
"What has been done, Dick?"
"Evidence of identification has been taken, and a lot of stupid and unnecessary questions asked. You will read all about it in the papers, one part true, and three parts fiction." He spoke with a light air to relieve her mind. "Reporters make the most of everything; it is their business to lay on colour pretty thickly. There is one rather vexatious thing-your visit to Catchpole Square on the night of the fog."
"Has my name been mentioned?" asked Florence, in alarm.
"No, but it may be, and we must consider what we ought to do. Don't look distressed; a straightforward explanation will set it right. Docs Uncle Rob know you went there?"
"No."
"Aunt Rob?"
"No. There was no harm in my going-"
"None whatever, dear."
"And none in my not speaking of it. There has been so much else to think of."
"Indeed there has, and you have done everything for the best; but in this unfortunate matter Uncle Rob is very delicately and peculiarly placed; he is not only privately but officially connected with it. You see that, don't you?"
"Yes, Dick."
"People are so uncharitable that a false step, though taken quite innocently, may lead to trouble. I am afraid you will read many unpleasant thing in the papers, and I want you to be prepared for them." She gave him a startled look. "You must have courage, Florence."
"I will."
"That's right. Now go home and tell them about your visit to Catchpole Square, and why you went. I will be there in an hour or so. And don't for one moment lose heart. There are some unhappy days before us, but before long the clouds will clear, and all will be well."
She left him at the entrance to Deadman's Court, and he gave her a bright smile to cheer her; but when she was out of sight he murmured again, "There's trouble coming, there's trouble coming." He feared he knew not what; every hidden danger seemed to grow, and the dark clouds to deepen. How to ward this danger from Florence? This was his aim and hope, and to this end he was continually nerving himself.
Up to the present nothing but perplexity and mystery had attended his search in the house of the murdered man. There were the bottles of wine. On the first occasion he had mechanically counted seventy-six bottles, on the second occasion seventy-five, and now there were but seventy-four. "Either I am out of my senses," he thought, "or some person has been twice in the house since I forced an entrance into it." Wildly improbable as was the suggestion he found it impossible to reject it. True, he was not the only person who had been there these last two days. Scotland Yard was astir, and had sent detectives and policemen, to whom free access was granted by Dick. These officials made themselves very busy, but for the most part kept a still tongue. Plans of the room were drawn, and every inch of the walls and floors and staircases was examined. When it was proposed to photograph the blood-stained footprints made by Dick, he looked on calmly, and assisted in the preparations.
On this Monday afternoon the undertaker's men were waiting for Dick in the Square, and they followed him upstairs with the coffin. It had been a gruesome task, and he felt as if he could not breathe freely till the body was taken to its last resting place.
Then there was the safe, of which he had found the key. During his service with Samuel Boyd this safe had been the receptacle of all the documents of value and of all the record books belonging to the dead man-bank book, bill book, ledger, mortgage deeds, undue bills, etc.; he expected to see these articles in the safe, but to his astonishment it contained only a few unimportant papers.
At five o'clock the undertaker's men had departed, and Dick with a last look around also took his departure. As he pulled the street door behind him he heard a familiar cough, and a little hand was slid into his. Gracie's hand.
"Oh, I'm so glad to see you, Dick," she said, clinging to him. "I've been everywhere to find you."
"Has your father come back?" he asked, in sudden expectation that she brought him news of the missing man.
"No such luck. You didn't come to see us yesterday."
"I was too busy, Gracie. Are you any better?"
"Ever so much." Her pallid face and the sunken rims round her large black eyes did not confirm the statement. "I can't rest, Dick, I can't rest. Is he caught?"
"Who, Gracie?"
"The man that murdered Mr. Boyd?"
"No; and God knows when he will be."
"If God don't catch him," said Gracie, slowly, "and you don't, I
will. You just see if I don't. I've got to, because of what they're saying of father. Dick, if I was a man I'd tear 'em to pieces. Poor father! It's too bad, ain't it?"
"Altogether too bad."
"There's mother fretting herself to skin and bone. She gets up in the night, and goes down to the Mews, and when she thinks nobody sees her she cries and cries fit to break her heart; but I see her, and I feel like killing somebody!"
Not a trace of emotion in her dark little face; no kindling light in her eyes; no tremor in her voice. The passion which agitated her was expressed only in the clinging of her fingers to the hand of the friend in whom she trusted and believed.
"I dreamt of father last night, Dick," she continued. "He was running as hard as he could, and there was a mob of people after him. I kept 'em back. 'If you dare,' I cried, 'if you dare!' So we got away together, and where do you think we got to?"
"Couldn't say for my life, Gracie, dreams are such funny things."
"Yes, they are, ain't they? We got into Mr. Boyd's house in Catchpole Square, and we went all over it, into every room, creeping up and down the stairs, looking for the murderer. 'You didn't do it, father?' I said. He swore a big oath that he was innocent, and he cried to me to save him and catch the murderer. I'm going to. I promised I would, and I'm going to."
"It was only a dream, Gracie."
"It was real. I can hear him now, I can see him now. I've promised to catch the murderer, and I'm going to."
They had reached Aunt Rob's house, and Dick stopped.
"I must leave you now, Gracie. My friends live here."
"You won't throw us over, will you? You'll come and see us?"
"Yes, I will come."
She raised her face; he stooped and kissed her and she went away with a lighter heart.