CHAPTER XL.
THE SPECTRE IN THE FLASH-LIGHT.
At ten o'clock on this night, Dr. Pye was employed looking over anumber of manuscripts, setting some aside and burning others, keepinga jealous eye upon the fire as he watched them moulder to ashes. Uponthe table were a bottle of wine and two glass goblets of ancientmanufacture and design. There were quaint stems to these goblets, onerepresenting a serpent, the other a satyr, whose upraised face seemedto be trying to reach the rim. Priceless treasures of the antique.That the wine was precious, and that Dr. Pye so considered it, wasevidenced by the disposition of the bottle, which lay in a basketlined with thick blue felt; the glasses were Venetian. These and thewine were in harmony with the taste displayed in the gatheringtogether the costly and unique collection of articles which adornedthe room. One might have expected to see such an apartment in an oldpalace, for the beautifying of which centuries of treasure had beencollected through many generations, but scarcely in a street inIslington where wealth was not abundant, and where the residents, forthe most part, were toilers of the humblest kind. Secluded as was theroom--its door closed, its one window so closely shuttered that not achink of light could be discerned from without--the hum of crowdedlife from the outer street penetrated it and droned like an exhaustedbee. Dr. Pye listened, smiled contemptuously, and gazed around uponthe precious bronzes and ivories, the rare _bric-A -brac_, theexquisite enamels, the books with jewelled bindings, which were soarranged that their beauties were seen at a glance. Not one of theseexamples was of the new school of art; all belonged to times when formand colour were either better understood and valued than now, orreceived from the artist that whole-souled and loving labour whichin this age of hurry-scurry no artist dreams of bestowing upon hiswork--and thus misses perfection and immortality. In the world of artto-day it is the merchant-author who displays his wares and touts forpatronage.
His task completed, Dr. Pye put into a drawer the papers he had setaside, and with extreme care poured out a glass of wine and held it upto the light. His anticipated enjoyment of the precious draught washeightened by the deep ruby colour which shone through the delicateglass, and he gazed long at it, and at its almost living reflection ina jewel on his white hand. He drank it slowly, and drank a second anda third in the same leisurely manner. Then he rose and went to thewindow, in the closed shutter of which was a small revolving panel. Ona bracket within reach of his right hand was the box containing theflashlight, of which he had spoken in his evidence at the Coroner'sCourt, and within reach of his left was a tap which controlled thegas. This tap he turned, and the room was in darkness. Then he turnedthe revolving panel, and through the exposed circle of glass lookedout upon the night. All was dark in Catchpole Square. Its silence, itsgloom, the utter absence of movement, were in keeping with the tragedywhich had made its name a household word.
Lifting the box from the bracket he opened it, and, pressing a springwhich ignited the magnesium wire, threw a flashlight on the house ofSamuel Boyd. For one brief moment the walls and windows wereilluminated, as though lightning had struck them. Then all wasdarkness again.
With thoughtful brows Dr. Pye closed the revolving panel and turned upthe gas. Placing the box on the table, he took from it a film which helaid flat on a square of sensitised paper, and poured a liquid overit. Holding it up to the light a photograph of the walls and windowsof the house he had illuminated appeared. No living face or form wasvisible in the picture, nothing but lifeless stone and wood and glass.
As he was replacing the box on the bracket, the sound of footsteps onthe stairs caused him to look towards the door, which presently openedand admitted Dr. Vinsen.
"According to my promise, my friend," said the visitor; "alwaysfaithful, always a man of my word." His eyes fell upon the bottle ofwine, and without invitation he filled a glass, and was about to drinkwhen he paused, as if a sudden suspicion had crossed his mind. Dr. Pyesmiled, and refilling his own glass, drank, his example being followedby Dr. Vinsen.
"A rare wine," he said, smacking his lips, "but tooseductive----altogether too seductive. Am I mistaken in supposing thatyou have been testing the flashlight?"
"You are not mistaken," said Dr. Pye.
"Without result, of course?"
"Without result."
Dr. Vinsen stepped to the shuttered window, and Dr. Pye, lowering thegas almost to the vanishing point, turned the revolving panel, andpeered through the exposed glass at the windows of the house opposite.
"Look!" he whispered, clutching his visitor's arm. "What do you see?"
"Nothing but a mass of shadows," replied Dr. Vinsen.
"Look again--closer, closer!"
"I see nothing," said Dr. Vinsen, testily. "What do you see?"
Dr. Pye did not answer, but bringing forward the small box, opened it,and sent a flashlight straight into the opposite window.
"God in heaven!" he cried, falling back affrighted.
In that brief moment of light he had seen at the window the face andform of Samuel Boyd!
Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery Page 41
