CHAPTER XLI.
HOW A MURDERER MIGHT HAVE BEEN DISCOVERED.
Dr. Vinsen vainly seeking in the darkness for the cause of Dr. Pye'salarm, could not utter a word. In his listening attitude, with thewhite fear depicted on his countenance, he presented a terror-struckappearance, and seemed to be waiting for advancing footsteps, or forthe sound of voices in the street without, demanding admittance. Butthe silence was not broken.
"Can't you speak?" he then said in a whisper to his companion. "Whatis it? Is there anybody in the Square? Turn up the light."
His hand was groping for the tap that controlled the gas when Dr. Pyeseized his arm and held him back. Dr. Vinsen winced and impatientlyendeavoured to free himself, but the fingers that had fastenedthemselves upon his muscles were more like rods of steel than fleshand bone.
"Let go!" he muttered. "You are crushing my arm."
"Do not stir," replied Dr. Pye, releasing him. Then he masked theshutter, and brought light into the room.
It was characteristic of this man that, short as had been the intervalbetween his startled exclamation and the lighting up of the apartment,he had regained his self-control, and that on his features no trace ofhis recent agitation was visible. There are moments of unexpectedsurprise when the fixed habits of a carefully trained life slip theirhold, and the mind becomes as unquestioningly receptive as that of achild. Such a moment had come to Dr. Pye when he beheld the vision ofthe man the mystery of whose death was on every tongue. It held himonly for the moment; before the passing of another his dominant willhad reasserted itself, and his face resumed his impenetrable calm.
"Now, what is it?" again demanded Dr. Vinsen. His eyes travelled roundthe room, and colour came into his cheeks when he saw they were alone.
"You did not see it?" replied Dr. Pye.
"See what?"
"The figure of Samuel Boyd standing at his window?"
Dr. Vinsen stared incredulously at his host, and then a long deepbreath of relief escaped him. "Only that!" he exclaimed. "I thought itwas something worse."
Dr. Pye repeated his question. "You did not see it?"
"I saw nothing. The dead do not rise from their graves. Dead once,dead for ever. But you can convince me by producing ocular proof. Youringenious device takes an instantaneous picture of any object uponwhich it flashes its light. Produce me the picture of the dead andburied Samuel Boyd."
"I cannot. The last film has been used, and I omitted to put inothers."
"Very unfortunate," said Dr. Vinsen, dryly. "Suppose you supply theomission, and try again."
Dr. Pye acted upon the suggestion. He placed an automatic arrangementof films in the little machine, again turned down the gas, againopened the circular lid in the shutter, again threw the flash lightupon the house of Samuel Boyd. The blank walls and windows confrontedthem, and no sign of life, physical or spiritual, was visible; andwhen the film was removed and developed it showed no face of man orspirit.
"I did not expect a result," said Dr. Pye; "there was no form at thewindow."
"You saw none on the first occasion."
"As clearly as I behold you now I saw the shadow, spirit, orreflection of Samuel Boyd. I was not under the spell of a delusion; mysenses did not deceive me. My pulse beats steadily; there is no feverin my blood. I saw it."
"And I refuse to believe it. My friend, you do nothing without design,and if I doubt your protestation I but follow the excellent exampleyou set me. I have no faith in _diablerie_, nor am I a child to beinfluenced by a goblin tale. Who thinks me so, mistakes mycharacter--mis-takes my cha-rac-ter; and that might lead to moreserious mistakes."
There was no indication that Dr. Pye paid heed to these words, or thatthey produced any impression upon him; he seemed to be absorbed in atrain of thought which he was endeavouring to follow to a logical end.
"I recall a singular case," he said, musingly, "of a man who wasbrutally murdered in his own apartments while he was engaged in makingexperiments in photography. It occurred in a foreign country, and thepolice, investigating the case, had their suspicions directed to aperson who had had dealings with the murdered man, and who had beenseen entering his apartments within an hour or two of the murder. Theyfollowed up the clue, and arrested the suspected man, whoenergetically proclaimed his innocence. The evidence at the trial wasentirely circumstantial, but it was considered conclusive, and the manwent to the scaffold, protesting his innocence with his dying breath.Some years afterwards business of a private nature brought me intocontact with a man who had but a short time to live, and on hisdeathbed he confessed to me that he was the murderer. In proof of thishe had, by a strange fatuity, carried about with him during all theseyears a certain piece of evidence which, had it been presented to ajury, would have been fatal to him. The circumstances were these: Onthe day of the murder he had entered the apartment of his victim atthe moment that a prepared plate had been placed in the camera. Aquarrel took place between them, which culminated in the murderersuddenly plunging a knife into the heart of the student photographer.Death was instantaneous, and as he fell to the ground his eyes werefixed upon the face of his murderer. There he lay upon the ground,dead, his eyes wide open. The murderer was himself a photographer, anda whimsical fancy seized him to take a picture of those staring eyes,in which a wild horror dwelt. He acted upon it. Focussing the deadface he exposed the plate, and, the picture taken, stole away from thehouse with the negative in his possession. He subsequently developedthe picture and enlarged it, and there, under the lens of a powerfulmicroscope, was the portrait of the murderer upon the pupils of thedead man's eyes. It had been his last living vision, which had fixeditself upon the retina. I have the picture by me now, and since thatday have been much interested in the photographic art, in which I havemade some curious experiments. Later researches have proved that wecan photograph what is invisible to the eye, what is even concealed ina box. The photographs of shadows and the spirits of the dead can betaken. The image of Samuel Boyd being in my mind, found its reflectionin a window in a moment of light. Why should we not be able tophotograph a vision created by the imagination?"
"Or," said Dr. Vinsen, with a touch of sarcasm, "the thoughts of men."
"Or," said Dr. Pye, with an assenting nod, "the thoughts of men. Itwill be done; and when it is accomplished it will open the road togreater discoveries."
"Ah," said Dr. Vinsen, shrugging his shoulders, "greatdiscoveries--_your_ great discoveries, ending in visions."
"To you, visions; to me, reality. The age of miracles is not yet past.It is my intention to get out of this country, and return to Italy,where there is light, where the sun shines. This atmosphere, theseleaden skies, these black nights, are fatal. I must release myself. Mypurpose is fixed."
"And mine."
Both spoke in a tone of decision, and both had a motive-spring whichhad yet to be revealed.
"Let us come back to earth," said Dr. Vinsen, "and above all,let us be practical. There are accounts between us which must besettled--pray do not forget that."
"I will not."
"You were at the inquest to-day," said Dr. Vinsen, rather uneasily,for there was a menace in Dr. Pye's tone. "The papers report youfully. Your warning to the jury not to be led away by a resemblancethat might be accidental was a masterstroke. It produced a goodeffect, but will it assist Mr. Reginald Boyd? We shall see--we shallsee. Justice is slow. Were you to formulate a code you would make itswifter, surer--eh, my friend?"
"I would make it swift as sudden death to all who stood in my path,"said Dr. Pye, and now there was a cold glitter in his eyes as helooked at his visitor.
"No doubt, no doubt, and no feeling of mercy would restrain you; butwe cannot break through the meshes. Sentinels stand at every corner,and slow as justice is in these mean streets, of which you have sopoor an opinion, its eyes are never closed. It is fortunate for somethat it can occasionally be hoodwinked by a master mind, to which"(here he bent his head, half in mockery, half
in sincerity) "I paytribute. That poor woman, Mrs. Abel Death, has had no news of herhusband--singular, is it not? Her strange little child Gracie, Iregret to say, views me with disfavour. It is some compensation thather mother regards us as her benefactors; and in some respects wedeserve to be so regarded. The expenditure of money in that quarterhas not been entirely thrown away--not en-tire-ly thrown a-way. It hasassisted me to direct public opinion, and to keep watch upon my friendRemington, whom I would like to plunge to the bottom of the Red Sea,to rot with the bones of the Egyptians."
That a man so mild in voice and so bland in manner should break intosudden malignity was surprising.
"He is better where he is," said Dr. Pye; "his living presence isnecessary. People shoot wild when there is no target to aim at, and achance shot might hit the mark."
"Always profound," said Dr. Vinsen, admiringly, "always, alwaysprofound. A target--yes, a target. It is a thousand pities, my dearfriend, that you are not in all things more practical and lessimaginative. Take, for instance, these gewgaws by which you aresurrounded, these flasks and vases, these jewelled trifles, thiscuriously wrought work from some Eastern country--of what avail arethey for the true pleasures of life?" Dr. Pye was silent. "You maysay, perhaps, they feed the artistic sense. As I believe only in whatI see, so do I believe only in what I feel. Better to feed thematerial senses--far more rational. If what you have presented to myview in your character is genuine, and not the outcome of a deliberateintention to deceive--in-ten-tion to de-ceive--it is composed ofsingularly contradictory qualities. In a certain sense, unique, forwho would expect to find Alnaschar dreams floating among the fleshpotsof Egypt? Your taste in wine is not to be excelled--I approve of it;it is a passion you carry to an excess which I consider as ridiculousas it is unwise--still, in the main, I approve of it. Good winenourishes the tissues, helps to prolong life. Hippocrates and manylong-headed ancients have something to say on this head. But theselifeless memorials of a dead past, in which there is no vitality,which are eternally the same, dumb and expressionless----My dearfriend, I fear you are not listening."
"My thoughts are elsewhere," said Dr. Pye, rising and approaching thewindow. Dr. Vinsen followed him, with suspicion and discontent on hisface. For the fourth time on this night the room was plunged indarkness; for the fourth time the circular lid of the shutter wasdrawn aside.
"There, there!" whispered Dr. Pye. "What do you see?"
Dr. Vinsen peered into the night. "I see nothing."
"Stand back."
Swift as thought he threw the flash-light upon the windows of SamuelBoyd's house. Then he masked the shutter and turned on the gas.Accompanied by Dr. Vinsen, who jealously watched his every movement,he stepped to the table, withdrew the film from the little machine,and developed it. And there before them came gradually into view thepictured presentment of the face and form of Samuel Boyd, standing atthe window of his house in Catchpole Square.
Dr. Vinsen's face was pallid, his eyes dilated, his teeth chattered.Dr. Pye's face was thoughtful, introspective.
"Do you believe now?" he asked in an undertone.
Dr. Vinsen passed his hand confusedly across his brows.
"We had certain plans," continued Dr. Pye; "are they to be carried outto-night?"
"Not to-night; not to-night," replied Dr. Vinsen, turning towards thedoor.
The next moment Dr. Pye was alone.
Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery Page 42
