Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery
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CHAPTER XXV.
LADY WHARTON AT THE FOUNTAIN.
A fine starlight night, and the weather fair all over England,especially in Bournemouth where, in their beautiful estate, TheGables, Lord and Lady Wharton are giving their yearly ball. The air issoft and balmy in this favoured southern retreat, and though it is tooearly yet for the rhododendrons, the gardens are bright with flowers.Guests are riding to The Gables from all parts of the county, for thisannual function is eagerly looked forward to by the belles and beausof Hampshire. At eleven o'clock they begin to arrive, and by midnightthe nineteenth century revelry is at its full height; at which hour myLady Wharton, deeming that she has done her society duty, ceases toreceive at the top of the grand staircase, and strolls into thegrounds to welcome her tardy friends. Lord Wharton, happilyconvalescent, but still weak, and, as some whisper, not so strong inhis intellect as he might be, is in the card room, where, propped upby cushions, he is entertaining a few choice guests by dropping hisguineas to them. My lady's brother, Lord Fairfax, has also contributedto their entertainment, and, feeling that he has done _his_ duty, healso strolls into the grounds, and flirts. He is in his fourth decade,a handsome gentleman with a blonde moustache, and has not yet made hischoice in the matrimonial market; therefore he is gladly welcomed byall the spring beauties here assembled. But he is not an assiduouscavalier, and being weary of most things, is soon weary of languishingglances. Standing by a tiny fountain my lady watches him until hejoins her there.
"They do these things better on the Continent," he says languidly.
Some hostesses would have misunderstood him, but she knows he refersto the fountain, and she nods assent. His conversational powers arenot remarkable, so he allows her to rattle on for his amusement,putting in an occasional monosyllable as his contribution.
"Did you leave Wharton in the card room?" she asks.
"Yes," he drawls, and hazards three consecutive words. "Your friendarrived?" It is not a question in which he seems to take more than amomentary interest. He does everything languidly; even when he raiseshis white fingers to caress his moustache, which has been the businessof his life, it is done as though the effort were a tax upon hisphysical powers. This, to many of the opposite sex, is one of hischarms.
"Not yet," my lady answers.
"By the way," he says, and either forgets what he was going to say, orfinds the effort of a long sentence too great.
"You were going to speak about the old bills?" she asks.
"Yes."
"I wrote to him to bring them to-night. I can't imagine how I forgotto ask him for them when I gave him the new acceptances you andWharton signed."
"Not--business--woman," he observed, with a pause between each word.
"Don't be ridiculous, Fairfax," she protested, with a merry laugh."Not a business woman? I should like to know what would become ofWharton if I were not."
"Floored," said Lord Fairfax.
"Indeed he would be. And don't I manage _you?_"
"Difficult?" he asked.
"Not at all. You are the dearest fellow! I shall be almost ashamed toask you for another cheque to-morrow."
"Don't. Stumped."
"Next week, then?" He nods. She casts a critical look around. "Ourmost brilliant gathering, I think."
"Jolly," he says, and, being by this time exhausted, he leaves her atthe fountain, where, presently, she is joined by other guests, withwhom she carries on an animated conversation.
The grounds, with their thousands of coloured lights, are dotted withthe attractive dresses of the ladies and the soberer costume of thegentlemen. Pleasure shows its smiling face, and doors are shut uponblack care. No face brighter than that of Lady Wharton, none more freefrom the least suspicion of anxiety. Her hearty voice rings out, aninvitation to mirth and gaiety. And yet as time wears on there is ananxious thought in her mind. "Why does the man not come?" she thinks."He promised to be here faithfully, and it must be now nearly oneo'clock." She consults a jewelled watch. "Yes, it is--one o'clock."The fact is, my lady is pressed for money, and she is expecting toreceive a thousand pounds to-night in ready cash, half of which mustgo to her dressmaker in the morning. For, come what may, my lady mustbe dressed. So she stands at the fountain, and taps her footimpatiently. Soft gleaming lights, fair sky with its panoply of starsand bright moon shining, sounds of rippling laughter, gay formsgliding and flitting through the lacework of the trees: a fairy scene,made not less beautiful by the dark spaces wherein the pines, theirtopmost branches silvered by the moon, stand apart, picturesquesentinels of the night.
To my lady a liveried footman, who presents a card. She moves into thelight to read it.
"At last!" she says. "Where is the man?"
"He is waiting to see you, my lady."
She follows the servant, and steps into the shadow of a cluster oftrees.
* * * * *
What connection is there between that gay scene in Bournemouth andthis more sombre scene in Samuel Boyd's house in Catchpole Square,where, an hour after midnight, Dick moves in search of the body ofAbel Death? The invisible links are in the air. Will they ever bebrought to light and united to form another chain in the mystery?
Dick's search has lasted two hours, and has been conducted with careand patience. It is not alone traces of Abel Death he seeks for; hesearches for anything in the shape of incriminating evidence againstReginald, his intention being to take possession of it, and by-and-by,perhaps, destroy it. That by so doing he will be committing afelonious act and frustrating the course of justice does not troublehim. He is working for Florence.
The first room he lingers in is that in which Samuel Boyd lies. Nochange there. The bed is still occupied by that silent, awful figure,cold and dead. Incapable of aught for good or evil as it is, itexercises a powerful influence over him. He dreads to approach it, andit draws him to its side. He steals from the room, shuddering, and,closing the door, breathes more freely at the barrier between them;but ever and anon, for some time afterwards, he casts a startled lookover his shoulder, as though expecting to see a phantom standingthere.
The ghostly moon shines through the windows which are unshuttered, andknowing now, from what Inspector Robson said, that an intermittentwatch is being kept upon the house, he dare not in those rooms carry alight. In the rooms with shuttered windows he risks a lighted candle,but holds it close to the floor and moves it warily from spot to spot,and shades it with his hand, in order to lessen the chance of itsglimmer being seen from without. This makes his task more difficult,and there are moments when he almost regrets having undertaken it.
The wax figure of the Chinaman is still in its chair, holding in itshand the stick of the reign of Charles the Second. The chair isold-fashioned, too, having a grandmother's hood to it, so that theChinaman sits, as it were, in a cosy alcove, only those standing infront of the figure being able to obtain a full view of its face.
Dick finds no further incriminating evidence against Reginald thanthat which he appropriated on his last visit. He makes, however, acurious discovery. He has examined every room with the exception of asmall room on the same floor as the office, against the outer wall ofwhich is placed the grand piano. The door of this room opens into thepassage, and it is locked. His diligent search is rewarded by findingthe key of the door, which he opens. The room is simply furnished, atable and two wooden chairs being all that it contains. A largecupboard with folding doors is fixed to the wall, and by pressing aspring he loosens one of these doors. The cupboard is bare of shelves,and affords ample space for a man to stand upright in. There is asliding panel at the back, about three feet from the floor, and justwide enough for a man to squeeze through. He is surprised to see thatthe sliding panel leads to the interior of the grand piano, which isquite hollow and contains no wire or wood-work of any kind. The openspace is large enough for a man to lie down in, though not withoutdiscomfort. The key of the piano is in the inner part of the
lock, andby removing this any person concealed there could see into the office,and could certainly hear any sounds of voices or movements madetherein, the watcher being so shrouded in darkness as to be quite safefrom observation. "Another of Samuel Boyd's tricks," thinks Dick, "forspying upon his clerks." To verify this he returns to the office, andsatisfies himself that he has arrived at the correct explanation.
As he stands pondering over this curious discovery, which in the endhe dismisses from his mind as of no importance, he finds himselfmechanically counting the bottles of wine stacked against another partof the wall. It is done idly, and without meaning, but he does notforget that there are seventy-six bottles, with the crusted dust ofyears upon them. "Port wine, I should say," he thinks. "I should likehalf a pint." But he does not yield to the temptation.
At three in the morning his search is at an end. He can do nothingmore. He has met with no traces of Abel Death, and he has not found anadditional clue.
"I must keep my own counsel," he mutters. "If Abel Death turns up willit be for good or ill? His absence lays him open to suspicion, but itis altogether a case of circumstantial evidence. Supposing him to becaught, tried, and convicted, and he an innocent man----!"
He cannot pursue this supposition to its just conclusion. The image ofFlorence presents itself, her hands stretched out, appealing to him tosave Reginald.
With a sinking heart, and using every precaution to escapeobservation, he succeeds in getting out of the office by the frontentrance. Oppressed by the conviction that he must now wait for thecourse of events, and that he is powerless to direct them, he iswalking out of Deadman's Court when the voice of Constable Applebeefalls upon his ears.
"I thought it was you, sir," said the constable. "Have you beenlooking at the house?"
"Yes," replies Dick, pulling himself together, "from the outside."
"Of course from the outside, sir," says Constable Applebee. "I shouldlike to have a look at it from the inside. People are beginning totalk about it. It's seven days now since anybody's set eyes on Mr.Boyd, and seven days since Mr. Abel Death disappeared. That's what Icall a coincidence. I hope it's nothing more than that. Hope you'recomfortable in your new lodgings, sir."
"Quite comfortable, thank you. I must be off to them now. Good night."
"Good night, sir."
Dick is by this time thoroughly tired out, and when he reaches hisroom is glad to tumble into bed.