"It is but a commencement of the storm," he said presently, in a calmer tone, turning from the window. "There is still something further to explain. You accused me of concealing a design from you."
Dr. Vinsen fortified himself with brandy before replying. His nerves were shaken, and the liquor gave him courage.
"Why have you had two travelling trunks made, and inscribed with the name of Corsi?"
"Ah, you have discovered that. It is the name I shall assume when I leave these shores for another country. The trunks, as you have doubtless observed, are specially constructed for the safe transport of works of art."
"I forbid you to remove them," cried Dr. Vinsen. "They no longer belong to you."
"How so?"
"How so?" echoed Dr. Vinsen. "You will not deny your signature?"
"No, I will not deny it."
"By this document," said Dr. Vinsen, taking a paper from his pocket-book, "which I had duly stamped on the day you signed it, they became my property if, in six months from that date, you had not discharged your debt to me. The six months expired to-day."
"Pause a moment before you open it. When did you read it last?"
"Yesterday, and put it in my pocket-book to bring here to-night."
"If my memory does not play me false, the date was the 18th of September, 1897. I did not approve of the document you asked me to sign, and you wrote another at this table, worded somewhat differently. One hundred and eighty-three days have elapsed since then. I am curious to see if I timed it correctly. Open the paper."
Dr. Vinsen unfolded it, and started in amazement. The paper was blank, nothing appearing on it but the red Government stamp.
"It was a vulgar trick," said Dr. Pye. "You wrote and I signed, not in ink which gradually fades, but which suddenly disappears at an appointed hour. Content yourself, my worthy friend, and thank me for saving you from a danger which would have sent you to the hulks. Had you attempted to dispose of these gems to a dealer in any European city you would have been immediately arrested. They have been bought with blood, and there is not a police court that has not a list of them. Priceless treasures! Here are vases, medallions, and bronzes of Benvenuto Cellini, for which collectors would give thousands of guineas, and every one known throughout the civilised world. That wondrous artificer saw visions, as I do, and his progress was marked with blood, as mine has been. Content yourself, I say; when I make my fortune you shall be paid, and if we discover the jewels to-night you shall have the lion's share. Now, follow me, if you have the courage."
* * * * *
Noiseless footsteps on the dark stairs, noiseless footsteps in the passages-the footsteps of men in their stocking feet. They reach the landing on which Samuel Boyd's bedroom and office are situated.
The storm rages without, tearing through the Square with fierce, shrieking moans and cries, like a forest of wild beasts in pain. There is a leak in the roof of the house, and the men within it, when there is a lull, hear the raindrops falling, pat, pat, pat. One of the men shudders at a terrifying thought, born of the memory of a night when a murder was committed there. If a human being were on the roof, stabbed to the heart, so might his life's blood drip through the aperture. In the terrified man's fancy he sees the red stains on the floor, sees them spread through the air, though nothing is visible in his actual sight. A muffled cry escapes him.
"Hush!" From the other man. "Do not raise your voice above a whisper."
"Why not?" From the trembling man. "There is no one here but ourselves."
"Fool! The house may be watched. Why do you shrink from me? Are you afraid?"
"No." But the speaker's lips and face are white. "Can we not have a light?"
"Not here. I have matches and a candle with me. There is a screen in the office-here is the door-step in, softly, softly! Now, help me move the screen before the window. Come, ghost, spectre, or vision, show yourself!"
"For God's sake, stop!"
"Coward! Ah, that lightning flash! And now the thunder! Listen to the rain. It is a deluge."
They stoop and light the candle, crouching by the writing-table.
"Keep the light near the ground. The window is masked, but if the candle is raised its glimmer might be seen from the Square. Move this way. Nearer to this dumb image of wax in its hooded chair. It would be a rare achievement to breathe life into it, to compel it to speak, and reveal where the treasure we seek is hidden."
So low are their voices that it would be impossible for any person acquainted with the speakers to recognise them by that sound. They are standing at the back of the hooded chair, and the waxwork figure of the Chinaman, with its fixed and pallid face, stares straight at vacancy.
"Speak!" whispers the bolder of the two, in savage derision, and shakes the chair-so violently that the Charles the Second cane it holds in its hand slips and falls to the ground.
"I recall a story," he continues, picking up the stick, and still in a whispered voice, "of a treasure of great value being concealed for generations in a cane like this. If this were hollow it could be used for just such a purpose. What are these protuberances round the rim? Hold the light closer, closer! A circlet of old English letters."
By accident he presses one of the letters, and as he does so is conscious of a movement in the silver knob at the top of the cane. Bending over it he sees that the letter he pressed is B, and that the pressure has caused the figure 2 to spring up on the surface of the knob.
"B, the second letter in the alphabet, stands for 2," he whispers excitedly. "The last words written by Samuel Boyd on the memorandum which would send his son to the gallows if it were found, were 'Notation 2647.' The sixth letter in the alphabet is F." He presses the letter, and the figure 6 appears on the knob. "Ha, ha! The fourth letter, D." He presses that, and the figure 4 appears, the figures now ranging 264. "The seventh letter, G. The notation is complete-2647!"
Such perfect control did the speaker have over himself that even in that moment of excitement his voice does not rise above a whisper. Both men are now in a standing posture, the discoverer of the simple cryptogram holding the cane.
"Now for the test," he says, and with the ball of his broad thumb he presses hard upon the four figures. A click is heard. The silver knob springs up.
"The jewels!" he whispers, exultantly. "They are here-they are here! See!"
In the utterance of the word a vivid flash of lightning illumines the room, and one man utters a startled exclamation, the other a frenzied shriek, for in that momentary flash they see the figure of the Chinaman rise suddenly from its chair. The candle is dashed to the ground, enveloping them in black darkness, and the cane, with its concealed treasure, is plucked from the hand that held it!
CHAPTER LIX
CONSTABLE APPLEBEE DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF
Constable Applebee, seeking shelter from the storm beneath the roof of Deadman's Court, kept his face and his thoughts in the direction of Samuel Boyd's house, for such complete possession had the mystery taken of him that lightning, wind, and rain were powerless to drive it from his mind. Besides which, as he afterwards informed his wife, he had a presentiment that "something was going to happen." The latest flash of lightning caused him to clap his hand instinctively upon his eyes; the crash of thunder that followed caused him to drop his hand. Then, as though the elements had exhausted themselves, there was a sudden hush, for the sound of the fast-falling rain was faint in his ears after the deafening thunderpeal. So faint, indeed, that, in the belief that the storm was spent, he stepped into Catchpole Square and looked around, distinguishing only the outlines of the buildings because of the darkness of the night. Almost on the instant the door of Samuel Boyd's house was violently opened, and a man rushed out, slamming it behind him. With such frantic haste did he run that he came into collision with the constable, and both were nearly upset.. They recovered their equilibrium simultaneously, and before the man could get his breath Applebee proved himself equal to the occasion.
"Easy, there!" he exclaimed, and with one hand caught the man by the throat, while with the other he raised his whistle to his lips, and blew a loud and vigorous summons for assistance.
"Let me go!" cried the man, struggling to get free. "Come into the house with me-quick, quick, or the murderers will escape!"
"You don't escape," said Applebee. "Keep still, or I'll knock you on the head." And he tightened his hand on the man's throat.
At this moment his summons for assistance was answered by the respectable mechanic who had twice inquired the way to Holborn. "What's up?" he inquired.
Applebee pulled out his bull's eye lamp, and turned its light upon the new arrival. "Oh, it's you," he said. "I call upon you in the Queen's name to assist me in arresting this man."
"Right you are," replied Lambert, in the half tipsy voice of the mechanic.
"Are you mad?" cried the man. "They will escape, I tell you! Come with me into that house!"
"Keep still!" growled Applebee, shaking his captive roughly.
"What do you charge him with?" asked Lambert, keeping up the fiction.
"Murder," said Applebee. "The murder of Samuel Boyd!"
"That's a find," said Lambert. "Let's have a look at him." And to the constable's astonishment he also pulled out a bull's-eye lamp.
"Who are you?" demanded Applebee.
"My name is Lambert," said the detective, dropping his disguise.
"I might have guessed it; but don't forget that I made this arrest."
"You shall have the credit of it." The light of two bull's-eye lamps was thrown upon the man's face. "By George! It's Dick Remington."
"Absent on business," observed Applebee, sarcastically. "The murder's out. What's that he's dropped?" Lambert picked it up. "A mask!"
It was the mask of a Chinaman's face; and moreover, Dick's outer garment was that of a Mongolian, resembling the garment of the wax figure in the office from which but a few minutes ago he had escaped.
"Look here, Mr. Lambert, look here, Applebee," said Dick, eagerly-
"Stop, Dick Remington," interrupted Lambert. "Don't you think you had better shut your mouth? We're bound to take you to the station, and charge you. When you're brought before the magistrate you can tell your story if you like. Take my advice."
"So far as my story is concerned I will," said Dick, "but in that house are the murderers of Samuel Boyd. For heaven's sake don't leave the place without arresting them!"
"If he gets us into the house," remarked Applebee, "we're done for."
"We shall be three to two," urged Dick, despairingly.
"If your story's true," corrected Applebee, "we shall be two to three. What's this in your hand? A sword-stick?"
"No," said Dick, and his heart fell; he was beginning to realise the danger he was in, "it is not a weapon. I will explain everything at the proper time. Mr. Lambert, I implore you to search that house."
"Constable Applebee has spoken like a careful and sensible man," said Lambert, "but we'll see if we can equalise matters." Taking his police call from his pocket he sent his summons through Deadman's Court. "Blow yours, too, Applebee."
The first to answer the call was Constable Pond, to whom the affair was hastily explained; and presently they were joined by another officer.
"I see no harm in humouring Mr. Remington," then said Lambert. "Pond, you and this officer keep watch in the Square while we go into the house. There's only one way out of it, and there's only one way out of the Square."
"There's the wall at the back," said Dick.
"Which they've got over before this time-"
"Supposing," Applebee put in, "there was anyone to get over it."
"Yes, supposing that. When daylight comes we shall be able to ascertain if there are any fresh marks of a grapnel there." Dick set his teeth; his rope and grapnel were under the bed of his room in Constable Pond's house. "You wish to go into the house with us, Mr. Remington?"
"Yes."
"We must handcuff you. Give me the stick." He took possession of it, and Dick, with a groan, held out his hands. "Behind your back, Mr. Remington. I am sorry for the necessity, but there's no help for it. There, that's comfortable. Have you the key of the street door?"
"In my trousers' pocket."
Lambert put his hand beneath Dick's outer garment, and took the key from the pocket. Then he showed his revolver. "If we're attacked, Applebee, I'll account for the two men. Now, then." He opened the door. "You go first, Mr. Remington. Applebee, keep behind me, and be prepared."
Throwing light upon their way with their bull's-eye lamps the two officers, preceded by Dick, ascended the stairs to the office. No person was there, nor in the bedroom. They went through all the rooms in the upper part of the house, with the same result. Lambert's experienced eye sought diligently for some sign of the presence of the men Dick had spoken of, but without success.
"A trumped-up story," said Applebee aside to him, "but I knew that all along."
Lambert made no reply, but turned to Dick, "Anywhere else, Mr. Remington?"
"The bottom of the house," replied Dick. Hope was dying within him. He knew that he would be searched at the police station, and that, in addition to other incriminating evidence, there would be found in his pocket the last words written by Samuel Boyd, the production of which would be fatal to Reginald. "Fool!" he thought. "Why have I kept it about me? Why did I not destroy it?"
"Is there a cellar?" asked Lambert.
"Yes."
"I draw the line at cellars," objected Applebee.
"We will go there," said Lambert curtly, and the constable was compelled to accompany them.
"There is a trap door leading to the cellar," said Dick, hopelessly, when they reached the kitchen, for he saw that it had not been disturbed since he had last lifted it himself. Lambert raised it, and let himself down; ascending, he shook the dust from his clothes.
"A regular rat hole," he said. "There's no one there."
"Nor anywhere else," said Applebee, sulkily. "We're only wasting time. Let's get to the station."
Caught, as it were, in a trap of his own preparing, Dick conveyed to Lambert, in one of those secret glances which to an intelligent mind are as good as speech, an entreaty for a private word.
"Remain outside a minute, Applebee," said Lambert, as they stood in the passage leading to the street door. "There's something I wish to ask Mr. Remington."
Applebee would have refused if he dared, but Lambert's standing in the force was too high, and the part he had played in the mystery too conspicuous, for him to venture opposition, so, with a dissatisfied mind and a discontented face, he walked slowly forward, and waited in the Square by the street door.
"This is a bad business, Dick," said Lambert, becoming familiar. His kind tone brought tears into the young man's eyes.
"It is even worse than it appears," said Dick, "as you will discover when we reach the station. You might take the handcuffs off, Mr. Lambert. I'll go quietly." Lambert instantly released him. "Thank you. Handle that cane gently, and carry it upright, if you don't care to entrust me with it. You will know why soon. It is worth more than its weight in gold. Do you think I have been lying?" Lambert stroked his chin. "It is an unfair question, perhaps. Ill answer it myself. As I hope for mercy from our heavenly Judge I have spoken the truth."
"Who were the men you left in the office? Don't say unless you like, and don't speak one word that will tell against yourself. Understand me-I sha'n't use anything to your disadvantage unless I have the best of reasons for it. And don't misunderstand me. I intend to do my duty without regard to consequences. After all, the proper course is silence."
"I must speak. I don't know for certain who the men were. You see my dress and the mask I dropped. I had it made in Covent Garden, and partly helped to make it myself. I have been in this house since Friday night last, and have sat in that Chinaman's chair whenever I heard a sound outside the room, made up to resemble him. I acted another part, too-I could smile at it if it wasn't for what I see before me. There's new misery in store for those I love best in the world, and it is I who will bring it home to them."
"Be a man, Dick, be a man."
"It is because I am a man that I feel it as I do. I have been working to save them, and as likely as not I have brought destruction upon them. I waited for my chance in this house, and to-night it came; and it has been spoilt at the last moment by a-"
"By a man who was doing his duty," said Lambert, persuasively. "I am sure that is what you were going to say. Did you not see the men?"
"I could not. They were at the back of the hooded chair all the time, and of course I didn't dare to turn my head, or they'd have stuck a knife in me. Do you think I'm clever enough to have invented the story?" he asked pathetically.
"I think you are clever enough to invent anything," replied Lambert. He had great admiration for the young fellow, and great sympathy with him; notwithstanding which he would not commit himself. "Be quick. I've no time to listen to a long story; Applebee will be getting impatient. Didn't you hear their voices?"
"I could not distinguish them. They spoke in whispers, and I only caught a word here and there. But I suspect-I suspect-"
"Yes?"
"I more than suspect. I believe them to be Dr. Pye and the wretch Vinsen, who is no doctor, but a money-lender named Ezra Lynn, in league with that scoundrel of a juryman, Rawdon."
"I know all about Ezra Lynn and Rawdon. How did the men you suspect get out of the house?"
"I cannot tell. There is some awful mystery yet to be brought to light. I hoped to do it, but now I shall be deprived of my liberty-" He groaned, and clasped his hands convulsively. "Mr. Lambert, our only hope is in you. You want to see justice done, don't you?"
"I will see it done," said Lambert, sternly.
"Don't be misled-don't be thrown off the right track! However strong appearances may be against me, and against Reginald Boyd, I swear, by all we hold most sacred, that we are both innocent!"
"Isn't it time we were moving, Mr. Lambert," called Applebee, from without.
"In one moment, Applebee."
"Must I be taken to Bishop Street Station?" asked Dick.
"We daren't take you to another," replied Lambert, gravely. "It will be a terrible shock to Inspector Robson."
"My poor uncle! I would give my right hand if it could be spared him. What will he think-what will his dear wife and daughter think?" Dick was suffering physically as well as mentally; he had not tasted food for twenty hours.
Again Applebee's voice was heard from without.
"A last word," said Lambert, hurriedly. "My duty will be performed, whatever happens; no consideration will be allowed to interfere with its proper performance. There will be a search warrant. I don't ask you if there is anything in your room in Pond's house that will tell against you-don't speak; I will not listen-I don't ask you that. If anything is found it will be brought forward without fear or favour, and evidence given in a straightforward manner. But it may console you to know, quite privately and confidentially" – Dick nodded-"that I am working up a case against the men whose names you mentioned, and that if I succeed you may not be the worse off for it. Give me your word that you will keep this to yourself. Enough said. We're ready, Applebee."
Pond and his fellow constable, reporting that no person had passed through the Square, received instructions to keep watch, one in the front, the other at the back of the house until they were relieved, and to arrest all suspicious characters. Then Lambert, Applebee, and Dick, walked to the Bishop Street Station.
Inspector Robson's face was worn and anxious, and when he saw Dick and heard the charge it became haggard. He held up his hand, as if imploring a short respite of silence, and they averted their eyes until he spoke. Raising their heads, a dead white face confronted them, its lips sternly compressed. He did not avoid their glance, but it was noticeable that not for a single moment did his own rest upon his nephew. "That is a man," thought Lambert, "who would go straight to his death at the call of duty. It makes one proud to be an Englishman." They were all very grave as, without faltering, he took down the charge at the dictation of Constable Applebee.
"Before I am searched," said Dick, "I may be allowed to speak, I suppose."
"I would not," advised Lambert.
"But I will, if I am not prevented by force. To be silent would be an admission of guilt, and I am innocent. I wish all in this place to hear my story, every word of which is true."
There was no one in the office except those immediately concerned, Lambert, when they entered, having taken the precaution to order the constable in attendance outside. In a voice shaken by emotion, but weak from want of rest and food, Dick related as briefly as possible the particulars of the part he had played in the mystery. He himself emptied his pockets, and handed the document falsely incriminating Reginald to his uncle.
"I kept these matters to myself," he said, "because I saw that there was a strong case of circumstantial evidence against Mr. Reginald Boyd, and that the knowledge I had gained would strengthen it. Had I revealed at the inquest what I knew nothing could have prevented a verdict of wilful murder against him being returned. Convinced of his innocence my aim was to spare him and those he loved the agony which this additional evidence would have caused them. I felt that time was required to bring the guilt home to those who had committed the crime, and to that task I bent all my energies. I may have erred, but I acted for the best, as I believed, and as I still believe; for even now I do not despair that the truth will be made known. As to what that hollow cane contains I am as ignorant as yourselves, except that before I snatched it from the hands of the men who were searching the room I heard one of them say, 'The jewels! They are here-they are here!' If I had been left at liberty I should have hunted the wretches down, but now-"
He had spoken under the influence of intense excitement, but sleepless nights, hunger, and the consciousness of the torture which his uncle Rob was undergoing, overpowered him here, and with a pitiable endeavour to continue, he broke completely down. A long deep sigh escaped him, and he sank into the arms of Lambert, who had expected and was waiting for the collapse. In this state he was conveyed to a cell.
An examination of the contents of the cane made Applebee open his eyes wide with astonishment. Lambert had in his pocket a list of the jewels which Lady Wharton had given Samuel Boyd on the night of the murder, and he ticked them off as Inspector Robson entered them on the charge sheet.
"You will understand, Constable Applebee," said Lambert, when the business was concluded, "that what passes in Inspector Robson's office is not public property. The arrest is not to be spoken of outside. I have heard it said in high quarters that there is too much babbling and boasting among certain members of the force. If it continues severe measures will be resorted to."
"I understand, Mr. Lambert," replied Applebee, with the air of an injured being. Before they reached the police station he had been inclined to regard himself as a hero, but his reception had not pleased him, and he returned to his beat in a state of mind not exactly amiable. He soon consoled himself, however. "It's jealousy, that's what it is," he said to himself. "He's riled because he didn't make the arrest, and can't claim the reward. If it belongs to anybody it belongs to me, and if they try to do me out of it I'll go to law with them. There's nothing that I know of in the regulations to keep it from me. Anyway, there's the reward for the jewels, and it's me that found them. Her ladyship wouldn't be mean enough to go from her word." Thus did Applebee muse, and thus does Mammon poison many a man's nature. For Applebee had always been an inoffensive, harmless, kindly man, but the glare of gold had brought into play the baser part of him.
Despite Lambert's warning, which had been given partly out of consideration for the feelings of Inspector Robson, a whisper of the arrest, and, more or less true, of the incidents connected with it, did get about, and the excitement in the neighbourhood of Bishop Street Police Station, where great numbers of people congregated in the hope of catching sight of Dick, was no less than on the preceding Friday, when proceedings against Reginald were commenced.