"She remained with her father all night, being afraid to leave him because Dr. Pye, when he passed through the cellar shortly before she entered it, had threatened to come back and force him to take something which would send him into a sleep from which he would never wake. In daytime very little light can penetrate the cellar, and by this dim light Gracie Death saw the door which led to the upper parts of the house. She tried it, and found it was locked from the outside. She knew that Dr. Pye had to attend the police court to-day to give evidence in this case, and she thought it best to wait till he was gone, and then to get back to the house in Catchpole Square through the tunnel, and go for assistance to release her father. He was so securely tied, and the ropes that bound him were so thick, that she could not undo them, and there was nothing in the cellar with which she could cut them. No food was brought to Mr. Death this morning, which perhaps was fortunate, as it would have led to the discovery of Gracie. The little girl had to judge the time at which Dr. Pye was due in this court, and it happens that she did so very accurately, for the detective who was watching Dr. Pye's house informed me that it was a little after eleven o'clock when he saw her running up and down Shore Street in search of a policeman. He went up to her and told her who he was, and having heard her strange story, first sent me a note which was delivered to me in court shortly after I had given my evidence, and then endeavoured to obtain admission into Dr. Pye's house. To all appearance it was empty, for no one answered his knocks at the door, and matters were at a standstill until my arrival. As we could not break open the front door I obtained a ladder and set it against the back window that looks out on Catchpole Square, the window through which Dr. Pye said he threw the flashlight. There was a shutter to the window which I forced open; Gracie had followed me up the ladder, and I assisted her into the room, in which I observed two new travelling trunks. I did not stop to examine them, but ran down to the street door, and admitted two constables I had sent for. I may state here that there were no servants in the house. Then we hastened to the cellar, the door of which we forced, and found Mr. Abel Death, as his daughter has described. When we got him into one of the better rooms, and took the ropes off him, he was so weak that it was impossible to bring him to the court, and I despatched a line to the counsel for the defence giving him certain information, and saying I hoped to be in attendance with the two new witnesses in the course of an hour or two. While restoratives were being given to Mr. Death I searched the house, and found a mass of account books and documents which had belonged to Mr. Samuel Boyd. I found also some articles of clothing which I believe will be found to have been worn by him. There was one complete suit of gray, and an overcoat with a fur collar. Lady Wharton will perhaps be able to say whether the man who visited her in Bournemouth wore a suit of that colour and a coat of that description."
Lady Wharton (from the body of the court): "He did." Detective Lambert: "One of the trunks was packed and locked, and it appeared to me that preparations had been made for flight. The other trunk was only partly packed, and was not locked. This I opened and searched. At the top, in receptacles which must have been made expressly for them, were a number of works of art in bronze, ivory, and porcelain, which I should judge were very valuable. At the bottom of the trunk was a packet which I unfastened. It contained deeds and acceptances of various kinds, some signed by Lord Wharton and Lord Fairfax, also some jewels answering to the description of those which were obtained from Lady Wharton by fraud at Bournemouth. By the time I had made this cursory examination Mr. Death was sufficiently recovered to be brought to the court with his daughter Gracie. I left two constables in charge of the house, and hastened here at once." Mr. Pallaret (to the magistrates): "Upon the evidence presented to you I now apply for the discharge of Mr. Reginald Boyd and Mr. Richard Remington."
The Magistrate: "Has the counsel for the Crown anything to say?"
Mr. Marlow: "I offer no opposition. There were circumstances of grave suspicion against the accused which warranted their arrest, but the light thrown upon the case appears to leave no doubt of their innocence."
Mr. Pallaret: "I thank my learned friend."
The Magistrate: "The accused are discharged."
Florence and Aunt Rob rose from their seats in joyful agitation, the tears streaming from their eyes, and their arms stretched forth to embrace the young men, whose progress was impeded by the throng of sympathising spectators eager to shake hands with them. In the midst of the confusion the piercing voice of the French detective, Joseph Pitou, was heard, calling for a doctor. A sudden hush fell upon the Court, and all eyes were turned upon the detective, who had resumed his place behind Dr. Pye. Upon leaving the witness box Detective Lambert had stepped to the side of Dr. Vinsen, and had laid his hand upon the miscreant's arm. Detected, and in the power of the law, the wretch now stood in an attitude of abject fear.
One of the spectators recalled that while Detective Lambert was giving his evidence he noticed that Dr. Pye gave a sudden start, and that a moment or two afterwards he shuddered and drooped his head. He ascribed this to the agitation caused by the revelations that were being made.
"A doctor-a doctor!" screamed Joseph Pitou.
The physician who had been attending Abel Death and Gracie pushed his way with difficulty to the French detective, and raised Dr. Pye's head. There was a faint smile on his lips, expressive both of triumph and contempt.
"Well? Well?" cried Joseph Pitou to the doctor.
The physician unclasped the silent man's fingers, and took from his hand a small bronze instrument in the shape of a ball. A pressure on one end of this ball released three needles, still slightly damp with the liquid which had flowed to the points. With a grave look the physician smelt the liquid, and, with his hand upraised for silence, placed his ear to the heart of the man. An examination of his wrist showed several minute punctures, caused by the needles. In this way the deadly poison had been injected into his veins.
"Well, well?" cried Joseph Pitou again.
"He is dead," the physician replied.
* * * * *
Despite this tragic incident there was a scene of unparallelled enthusiasm when the principal actors in the day's proceedings were leaving the Court. The news had spread with the rapidity of lightning, and crowds of people flocked to the spot; it was with difficulty the police kept the approaches from being congested. As regards Gracie the enthusiasm assumed the proportions of an ovation. Cheers were raised for her, men and women stood on tiptoe to obtain a glimpse of her. Lady Wharton stooped and kissed her, and pressed a bank note into her hand. Gracie lifted her eyes gratefully, and gave the note to her mother. Aunt Rob and Florence, the happy tears still in their eyes, with Uncle Rob and Reginald and Dick, fluttered about her.
"Will you come home with us, Gracie?" asked Aunt Rob, with a tender caress. "And you, Mr. and Mrs. Death?"
"No, thank you, ma'am," said Mrs. Death. "We must go to our little ones."
"They haven't seen father for ever so long, ma'am," added Gracie. "Did they ask for me, mother?"
"Yes, my darling, every day, over and over again. How glad they'll be! How happy and grateful I am!"
"I will take you home in my carriage," said Lady Wharton, and then energetically to her brother, "Fairfax, what do you think of her?"
"Little brick," said Lord Fairfax.
Lady Wharton turned to the men and women who were pressing round them. "Do keep off, good people, and let the child have air. You'll be the death of her with your kindness."
"Dick!" said Gracie, putting her hand in his.
"God bless you, Gracie!" he said, kissing her.
"You'll come and see us, Dick."
"I am coming to-night, Gracie."
With her arms round his neck he carried her to the carriage.
A beautiful light shone in her eyes.
CHAPTER LXV
FROM "THE LITTLE BUSY BEE."
"The sensational incidents in the Bishop Street Police Court to-day, where two innocent men were charged with the murder of Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square, were in keeping with the startling developments of this monstrous crime which we have recorded from day to day. A full report of the proceedings appears in our columns, and we challenge the masters of sensational fiction to produce a story so remarkable and extraordinary. Writing at high pressure, we have neither the time nor the space for a careful consideration of all the features of this Mystery-murder-no longer a mystery, thanks to the doings of the child-heroine, Gracie Death, and of Richard Remington, who, with the son of the murdered man, almost fell a victim to one of the vilest conspiracies in the history of crime. To-morrow we shall go fully into all the details; to-day we must content ourselves with supplementing the report of the police court proceedings and incidents by such further particulars as have come to our knowledge.
"Mr. Ezra Lynn is in custody, and will be brought before the magistrate on Monday. There are rumours that he intends to make confession, with the view of showing that he was not the actual perpetrator of the horrible crime. We make no comment upon this rumour, confident that justice will be done.
"Dr. Pye, otherwise Louis Lorenz, is dead. Upon his body were found the brands mentioned by Pitou, proving him to be the notorious criminal, Louis Lorenz. Of this monster's character it is difficult to speak; from the little that is known of it a strange study is presented to the psychologist. Undoubtedly a man of high attainments, it seems to be certain that he was an earnest student in the science of alchemy, which, vague and imaginative as it has been proved to be, is the parent of that higher and positive science of chemistry, to which mankind owes so much. The times are past when astrology, magic, and alchemy were seriously considered. Religion and philosophy once acknowledged them, but does so no longer. But there are still in the world dreamers with diseased imaginations, and one of these appears to have been Louis Lorenz, who, with his love for ancient art, regarded even the most horrible crimes as but a means to further his visionary ends. We shall at present say no more of him except that it is to be deplored that he has escaped justice, and does not live to expiate his crimes on the scaffold.
"What shall we say of little Gracie Death? History supplies no sweeter and more touching example of courage and devotion. In saying this we but echo the public voice, for so great was the enthusiasm when she issued from the police court that the people would have carried her through the streets on their shoulders. This was sensibly avoided, and she and her parents were taken to their humble home in Lady Wharton's carriage. All honour to this brave child, at whose feet we lay our tribute of admiration. Let some recognition of the noble qualities she displayed be made in our modern manner. Let us lift her family from poverty. We are already in the receipt of letters anticipating our wishes in this direction. The correspondence will appear in our to-morrow's issues, but we append a list of the donors, their contributions ranging from the modest sixpence to the regal sovereign. We esteem it a privilege to head the list with a contribution of five pounds."
CHAPTER LXVI
JOY
There was joy almost too great for utterance in two London homes that night. After partaking of a wonderful meal provided by Lady Wharton, Gracie's little brothers and sisters had the treat of sitting up late to look at father, who, weak as he was, would not go to bed, but reclined in an armchair lent by a sympathising neighbour-ah, how sweet and beautiful is the kindness of the poor to the poor! – and with Gracie's hand in his, gazed with gratitude upon the dear ones to whom he had been almost miraculously restored. It seemed as if the dark clouds which had hung for so many weary years over his life had vanished, and that there lay before him the sure promise of better times. Lady Wharton had asked him if he would not like to live in the country with his wife and children. There was, she said, a cottage large enough for them all, and a garden, and she offered to find employment on her estate for the poor London clerk. A vision of paradise-fairy scenes, with good food, and decent clothes, and flowers, and grass, and trees, and heaven knows what wonders. In fancy they heard the birds singing, and saw the white lambs in the meadows. But nothing was settled, it was only talked about.
"And if you don't care to live in the country," said the kind-hearted lady before she left them, "we'll find something for you here in London."
Then, with a silver shilling to each of the children, she and her brother bade them a merry good night. The treasure was now hidden in six little hot palms, which every now and then were opened just wide enough for a peep-to make sure that it had not spread its wings and flown away.
* * * * *
There was a prayer in the hearts of Aunt Rob's family as they sat round the tea table, and joyful tears that would not be repressed. For here was Aunt Rob singing and crying at the same time, and breaking down, and kissing Florence and Reginald and Dick and Uncle Rob, and then singing again with a happy sob in her throat, and saying in the midst of it all.
"Oh, Dick, Dick, how shall we ever repay you!"
If Gracie was the heroine in her humble home, he was the hero in Aunt Rob's, but both of them were inclined to rebel against this hero-worship, and made little of what they had done.
Certain things had been discussed, and certain plans laid, by Aunt Rob's family, which needed to be carried out that night, and carried out they were. At eight o'clock they walked up the stairs in Draper's Mews, and being admitted were gladly welcomed by Mr. and Mrs. Death and the children. Not because of the store of food and wine and jellies they brought with them, but genuinely for their own sakes. Where they all found room to sit is one of those wonders which are never to be explained, but find room they did, and they talked and talked, and the children listened and listened, and Gracie sat by Dick's side on the poor bed, and wine was drunk by the elder people and tasted by the younger, and Abel Death's eyes brightened, and Dick, suddenly recollecting, pulled out a bag of brandyballs, which he gave to the youngsters. And then Reginald put a piece of paper into Gracie's hand.
"What is it?" she asked, and looking at it, trembled so that she had to hold Dick tight. "Mother-father-look!"
"It will be paid at the bank to-morrow," said Reginald. "Dick will go with you to get the money."
"Two-hundred-pounds!" gasped Gracie.
"For finding Mr. Abel Death," said Reginald. "And, oh, Gracie, how thankful I am to pay it!"
Gracie hid her face on Dick's breast. When she raised her head there were no tears in her eyes, but the same beautiful light in them that Dick had seen once before that day.
"You'll be all right now, father," she said, giving him the cheque.
"God is very good to us!" murmured Mrs. Death, and then all the foolish women in the room began to sob.