Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery

by B. L. Farjeon

  CHAPTER XLV.

  CROSS PURPOSES.

  Dick recognised him instantly, and scented danger. The man who peeredup at him, with all the leering muscles of his face at work, was theman of whom he had bought the rope and grapnel. With assumedcarelessness he said,

  "You'll know me when you see me again, old fellow."

  "Shouldn't wonder," said the old man. "My name's Higgins. What mayyour'n be?"

  Dick had not quite finished sticking the first bill. Whether from notbeing used to the business, or from inward perturbation, he was makingrather a bungle of it. Under any circumstances, however, he would havebeen ready to admit that there is an art even in bill-sticking.

  "Let's make a guess, shall us?" said Mr. Higgins, with a cunning look,plunging into doggerel. "Riddle-me-riddle-meriddle-me-ree, first comesa, then b c d; riddle-me-riddle-me-riddle-me-rye, the letter we stopat next is i; riddle-me-riddle-me-riddle-me-rick, a c and a k willmake it spell Dick." Mr. Higgins was so enamoured of this impromptuthat he chuckled to himself, "Will make it spell Dick, will make itspell Dick."

  "Look here," said Dick, an uncomfortable feeling spreading over him,"what do you want?"

  "Quartern o' rum," replied Mr. Higgins, suddenly descending from theheights of Parnassus.

  "All right," said Dick, "at the first pub we come to."

  "Pub over there," said Mr. Higgins, twitching his head at the oppositeside of the road. "Throat dry as a bit o' rusty iron."

  The bill was stuck, and people were stopping to read it. Even in thesedays of huge and startling advertisements on the walls--not the leastconspicuous of which are the lank figures of blue or scarlet femalesin outrageous costumes and impossible postures, the product of amischievous school of impressionists--even amidst these monstrousparodies of art a double-demy poster offering a reward of AL500 for thediscovery of a Murderer is certain to command an audience. So it wasnatural enough that a little crowd should gather, and that eagercomments and opinions should be exchanged.

  "That's a big reward. AL500!" "Ought to have been offered before.What's that picture on the top? Justice, eh, holding the scales? Ifshe's anything like that, _I_ don't think much of her. Anyway I wish Iknew where to lay hands on the man that murdered Samuel Boyd. Set meup for life it would." "Murderers you mean. When the truth comes outyou'll find there's a regular gang, with Abel Death at the head of'em." "Well, _I_ don't believe he's in it. I heard a detective sayyesterday----" "Oh, a detective. Much good _they_ are!" "I say, don'tyou consider it a rum go that Mr. Reginald Boyd should be offering thereward? Why, there's any number of people says _he_ did it." "How canthat be when he says he's willing to pay AL500 for the discovery andconviction?" "Ah, but that might be a plant, you know. They've beenthat cunning from first to last that there's no saying what theymightn't be up to." "What comes over me is what they've done with LadyWharton's jewellery. Nice lot the ladies of the upper suckles,borrowing money secretly of such a cove as Samuel Boyd. I s'pose it'stheir gen-teel way of putting things up the spout. Now, what are theygoing to do with it when she can swear to every bit of it?" "Do withit? Take it to Amsterdam or New York. Easy to get rid of it there.""Why go so fur? Ain't there plenty of fences in London?" "Never catch'em, never! There's no clue." "No clue! How about that bullet in thewall, and the blood-stains on the floor?" "But the old man wasn't shotor stabbed. What d'yer make of that?" "Why, that they had a barneyamong theirselves when they was dividing the swag. Another manmurdered, most likely." (Delicious suggestion.) "What did they do withhis body?" "Carried it to the river, tied a big stone to it and sunkit. When the reward gets known they'll be dragging the water fromGreenwich to Windsor." "Well, of all the mysterious murders _I_ everheard of this Catchpole Square one takes the cake." "Queer move, ain'tit, offering a reward before the inquest's over? What's the verdictgoing to be? There's a cove on the jury seems to know as much about itas most people."

  To this and a great deal more Dick listened, and Mr. Higgins listened,without either of them saying a word. Dick lingered because he wishedto find out what would be the probable effect of these bills on thewalls; and Mr. Higgins, pulling at his under lip, listened becauseDick listened, and watched the young man's face cunningly to see whatimpression the various arguments made upon him. There was malice inhis bloodshot eyes, and Dick did not like the look of things. Whilethus ruminating and listening, Mr. Higgins touched him on the arm withhis empty pipe.

  "Fine day, Mr. Higgins," he said, in his free and easy way.

  "Beastly day," growled Mr. Higgins. "I'm shaking all over."

  "What's good for the complaint?"

  "Quartern o' rum, to commence with."

  "I have to work for my living," said Dick, brightly, "and if youinsist upon my standing you a quartern of rum you'll have to carry thepaste pot."

  "See you--hanged first," said Mr. Higgins, with a mirthless laugh.

  "Think better of it," said Dick, insinuatingly, holding out the pastepot.

  After a moment's hesitation Mr. Higgins thought better of it, and tookthe paste pot, with a grimace, to the imminent risk of the contents.Then Dick dismissed the printer's boy, and with the bundle of dampbills under his arm walked over to the publichouse, Mr. Higgins,carrying the shaking paste pot, and following close at his heels.

  "Where will you have your rum," he asked, "at the bar, or in a privateroom?"

  "Private room," said Mr. Higgins. "Better for all parties."

  They were soon accommodated, and liquor supplied, bitter ale for Dick,and rum for the old man, which he disposed of in one gulp. He thendemanded another quartern, which Dick called for, and disposed of itin an equally expeditious manner.

  "You've got a swallow," said Dick. "Now, my Saint Vitus friend, what'syour little game? Leave off your damnable twitchings, and begin."

  Mr. Higgins fumbled in his pockets, and produced three crumplednewspapers which, after much difficulty, he straightened out upon thetable, a corner of his eye on Dick all the time he was thus employed.With tremulous forefinger, long a stranger to soap and nail brush, hepointed to a sketch portrait in an account of the inquest, which Dickrecognised as intended for himself. It being evident that Mr. Higginsexpected him to offer an observation on the libel, he said,

  "Who may this individual be? It's only a head and shoulders. Is itsupposed to be a man or a woman?"

  "Yah!" was Mr. Higgins's sarcastic comment. "What are you giving us?Can't you read what's underneath?"

  "Can't you?" retorted Dick.

  "No," snarled Mr. Higgins, twitching, not with shame, but resentment."Neglected as a kid, jumped upon as a man. But a worm'll turn whenit's trod on, won't it?"

  "Not being a worm, can't say. Take your word for it."

  "And even a man that's been jumped on all his life can see a bit o'luck when it's ahead of him. Look here, young fellow; take the adviceof a man old enough to be your father."

  "Say great grandfather," interrupted Dick, saucily, "and get it overin once."

  "Smart you are, you think--smart; but you'll find that cheek don't payin this shop, Mr. Dick Remington. D'ye twig the name printedunderneath this portrait. 'That's a face I've seen afore,' says I tomyself when it meets my eye. I looks at another paper." Mr. Higginsturned over the sheet and brought into view another portrait ofDick--"and strike me straight!' Why, there it is agin,' I says. 'Andhere it is agin,' I says." He turned over the third sheet, "andunderneath 'em all the name of Dick Remington. 'What luck!' says I tomyself. 'What a slice o' luck for a second-hand dealer in odds andends as tries hard to get a honest living, and as everybody putsupon--with trade that bad that it couldn't be wus--taking down yourshutters and putting 'em up agin to the tune of two and sevenpence,which won't as much as half pay your rent.'"

  "Stop your whining," said Dick, "and cut it short. What is it youwant?"

  "Quartern o' rum."

  The answer seemed to be so settled a formula when a question of thiskind was put to him that it mechanically popped out
like a bullet froma gun. Pending compliance with his demand, as to which Dick did nothesitate, and the pouring of the liquor down his throat, as if it werethe mouth of a vat, there was an interval of silence. Then, with awandering finger on the portrait, Mr. Higgins "cut it short" in twowords.

  "True bill?"

  "True bill," replied Dick, with an assenting nod, "and what of it?"

  "What of it?" cried Mr. Higgins, with venom in his voice. "Rope andgrapnel of it!" He thrust his twitching face forward to within an inchor two of Dick's.

  "Oh, that's the game," said Dick, concealing his uneasiness. "And whata game it is--oh, what a game it is! Says I to myself, when I getsdetective Lambert's evidence read out to me--'there's a man for you!with eyes all over him, and one to spare'--says I to myself when Ihears that evidence, 'rope and grapnel over the wall--by the Lord,he's hit it!' Then I asks the boy that's reading the paper to me, 'Andwho may that be the picture of?' 'That,' says he, 'is the picture ofMr. Dick Remington, nephew of Inspector Robson, and cousin of theyoung lady as goes and marries the son of Samuel Boyd on the sly.'He's a sharp little boy, almost as sharp as you, Mr. Dick Remington.'O-ho!' says I to him, 'and does Mr. Dick Remington give evidence atthe inquest?' 'Yes, he does,' says the boy, and he reads it out to me.'You've missed something,' I says. 'You've missed what Mr. DickRemington says about the rope and grapnel.' 'He don't say nothing atall about it,' says the boy. 'It must be in another paper,' I says,and I buys 'em all, and has 'em all read out to me, word for word, andif you'll believe me there ain't a word in one of 'em about the usethat Mr. Dick Remington makes of the rope and grapnel he bought of ahonest tradesman as sweats hisself thin to get a living, and thencan't get it. That's what I call a coinci-dence. What do _you_ call it?"

  "I call it a coinci-dence, too," said Dick, with a searching gaze atthe disreputable figure, "especially when it happens to an honesttradesman like Mr. Higgins." There was a gleam of suspicion and doubtin Mr. Higgins's eye as he twitched up his head at this remark, whichcaused Dick to add, with meaning emphasis on the words, "To such avery honest tradesman as Mr. Higgins! Something got in your throat?"

  "Caught my breath," gasped Mr. Higgins, choking and glaring.

  At any other time the contortions he made to recover it would haveamused Dick, but just now he was not in the mood for any kind of lightdiversion. Still it was with a mocking air that he contemplated Mr.Higgins, and in a mocking tone that he repeated for the second time,

  "Such a very honest tradesman as Mr. Higgins! Get on, will you? Youleft off where you'd been having all the papers read to you."

  That the doubt as to the success of his enterprise which Dick'sindependent manner had introduced was not lessened was apparent, forthough what he said was pregnant enough his tone lost something of itsconfidence.

  "Yes, I gets 'em all read out to me, and it sets me thinking. 'Whatcall has Mr. Dick Remington got to keep it dark?' says I to myself.'Why don't he say nothing about it? There's something in the wind. Hecomes to my shop, and buys a rope and grapnel in a secret sort o'way'--"

  "Wrong, my honest tradesman," interrupted Dick, and Mr. Higginsshifted uneasily in his chair, "I bought it openly. Did I ask you tokeep it dark?"

  "No, you didn't, but did you go out of my shop with the rope hangingover your arm?' O-ho!' says I, 'here's a working man ashamed to carrya rope. He asks for a bit of paper to wrap it up in, he does, and heputs it under his coat, he does. That's a rum sort o' working man,'says I."

  "Clever Mr. Higgins," said Dick, patronisingly, "clever Mr. Higgins!"

  "Do you mean to tell me," said that worthy, driven to exasperation byDick's coolness, "that you didn't use it to get over the wall at theback of Samuel Boyd's house in Catchpole Square, that it wasn't you asbroke the kitchen winder, that you didn't break open the safe--"

  "Hold hard," said Dick, "you've had the papers read wrong. The safewas not broken open."

  "What does that matter?" snarled Mr. Higgins. "Broke open, or openedwith a key, it's all the same. The man as did it helped hisself to themoney and jewels, and made off with the swag--with _my_ rope andgrapnel that cost me its weight in gold--how does that strike you, Mr.Dick?"

  "You old fool," said Dick, with a broad smile, "if you knock your headagainst that brick wall you'll knock out the few brains you possess.If you think I can't reckon up an honest tradesman like you, you werenever more mistaken in your life." And with the forefinger of hisright hand he tapped the side of his nose, and winked at Mr. Higgins.

  But though he spoke and acted thus boldly he fully recognised theseriousness of this new danger. Say that this man laid informationagainst him at the first police station; say that it got to theknowledge of Detective Lambert who was searching everywhere for a clueto the mystery. What would be the consequence? A warrant would beimmediately issued for his arrest, and a search warrant as well. Therope and grapnel, tied up in brown paper, was now under the bed of hisroom in Constable Pond's house, and the key of that room was in hispocket. How could he explain away his possession of the rope? He wouldbe asked why he made no mention of it at the inquest; his silenceregarding it would be a piece of damning evidence against him. And notthe only piece. His prowling about in the neighbourhood of CatchpoleSquare at an early hour of the morning, as testified by ConstableApplebee, was in the highest degree suspicious when taken inconnection with his possession of the rope and grapnel. His knowledgeof the habits of Samuel Boyd, gained during his employment as clerk inthe house, would be against him. One thing was certain. He would bedeprived of his liberty, and the contemplation of this contingencyfilled him with dismay. Everything depended upon his being free tocarry out the plans he had formed, and therefore upon his turning thetables upon the old vagabond who sat leering into his face.

  And in the event of his being arrested, what would be said of him inAunt Rob's home? Was it not probable, aye, more than probable, thatthey would suspect _him_ to be the murderer? He had woven a net forhimself, and if he were not careful he would drag down Reginald withhim. Press and public would say "collusion," and the chain ofcircumstantial evidence be too strong for him to break through.

  Admitting all this, he felt that any sign of weakness in the presenceof Mr. Higgins would be fatal. There was nothing for it but to playthe bold game.

  "I've a good mind," he said, slowly and sternly, "to go and giveinformation against you."

  "What do you mean?" demanded Mr. Higgins, his features twitching morehideously than ever. Dick hailed these signs of discomposure withdelight, and encouraged by the impression his sarcastic references toMr. Higgins as an honest tradesman had produced he was quick to takeadvantage of it. He resembled the gambler who stakes his whole fortuneupon the last throw.

  "Did you ever see the secret books of the police," he said, "with thenames of certain men with black marks against them? Why, we can layour hands upon every thief and fence in London when we want to--do youhear? when we want to." Mr. Higgins winced. "There are some thingsthat lick us for a time, like this Catchpole Square Mystery, but wedon't go to sleep over them, though some people may think we do. Andwhen we're playing a high game we don't show our cards. What I meanis, that we'll have your place searched for stolen goods. How willthat suit you, my honest tradesman? We can bring one or two thingsagainst you that you'll find it hard to explain when you're in thedock. If we let you alone it's because you're not worth the powder andshot, but get our dander up, Mr. Higgins, and we'll make short work ofyou. How does that suit your book? Take care of your precious self, myman, and let sleeping dogs lie."

  It was vague, but effective, and it was Dick's good fortune that thehazardous shot told. Indeed, it had gone straight to the bull's eye.Many were the questionable transactions in which, from time to time,Mr. Higgins had been engaged. Petty thieves in the neighbourhood werein the habit of selling their small spoils across his counter; thismodern Fagin was always ready to buy, and no questions asked. He hadbeen in trouble more than once, and was in mortal dread of gettinginto trouble again. This, of course, w
as unknown to Dick, and it wasonly from his familiarity with the nature of much of the businesstransacted in some of these second-hand shops in mean streets that hehad ventured upon the bold attack. He could have hugged himself whenhe saw the effect it produced upon Mr. Higgins.

  "There is nothing like a good understanding in these matters, Mr.Higgins," he continued, "and I've no wish to be hard on you. I've gotmy own game to play, and it's keeping me pretty busy. Betweenourselves--don't be frightened, there's nobody by--I did purchase arope and grapnel of you, but is it for you to say whether I purchasedit for myself or for another person, and what use I made of it? Imight deny it if I chose, and then, my honest tradesman, who wouldtake your word against mine? Is there any magistrate's court in Londonwhere your oath would be believed, much less your word? What a blindfool you are! Upon my word I gave you credit for more sense. Perhapsthe reporter of 'The Little Busy Bee' used a rope and grapnel, perhapshe didn't. Perhaps it was the one I bought of you, perhaps it wasn't.I'm not going to let you into the know, Mr. Higgins. How would youlike to have the papers down on you as well as the police? How do youknow I'm not acting under instructions to track and catch the murdereror murderers of Samuel Boyd? How do you know"--here he leaned forward,and tapped Mr. Higgins confidentially on the breast--"that I'm not inthe secret service myself? Would you like to hear what is in thesebills that you are going to help me stick on the walls? I've just comefrom the printing office where I've had them printed. You can't read,you say; it is a pity you should be left in the dark, so I'll read itto you." Dick spread one out, and read it aloud, with unction. "Itreads well, doesn't it? I'm rather proud of it. That's a figure ofJustice on the top. My idea. Rather a good idea, I flatter myself. Apretty fellow you are to come and threaten me with your rope andgrapnel! I'll tell you what your game is, Mr. Higgins. Blackmail. Thatis it--blackmail. A dangerous game, old man, and you've got hold ofthe wrong end of the stick--perhaps you see that now. If I hadanything to fear is it likely that I'd be going about in open daylightsticking up these bills? More likely to be sailing on the open seasfor some foreign port. Where are your wits, you clumsy idiot?"

  To judge from Mr. Higgins's appearance, they had gone wool-gathering.He literally gasped beneath the volley which Dick had poured upon him,at the end of which he was sitting in his chair in a state of helplesscollapse. Dick had turned the tables upon him with a vengeance.

  "Now, what have you got to say?" he asked, triumphantly.

  "Quartern o' rum," gasped Mr. Higgins.

  "When we've finished our confab you shall have it, and another one ortwo on the top of it as we go along. Lord bless you, Mr. Higgins, I'mnot an ill-natured chap, if you take me easy, and I have the credit ofgenerally being freehanded when I'm not interfered with. Pull yourselftogether, and listen to what more I've got to say. What we want todo--the secret service, the detectives, the Criminal InvestigationDepartment, and all of us--is to keep this matter as quiet as possibletill the thieves and murderers are nabbed. We're working on the strictq.t., and we've got something up our sleeve, I can tell you. And I'lltell you something more. If any outsider interferes with our game byblabbing about ropes and grapnels it will be the worst day's work _he_has ever done, and he'll live to rue it. We'll wipe him out, that'swhat we'll do. We'll have no mercy on him."

  This was the finishing stroke. Mr. Higgins lay helpless at the foot ofthe conqueror.

  "I made a mistake," he whined. "Quartern o' rum."

  "You would sell your own mother for drink, I believe."

  "No, no," protested Mr. Higgins, feebly, "not so bad as that, not sobad as that. Good for my liver. Keeps me alive."

  "A nice state your liver must be in," said Dick, laughing. "I think weunderstand each other. Take up the paste pot, and carry it steady. Youshall be paid for your day's work. Tenpence an hour, so look sharp."

  Mr. Higgins, completely subdued, had his fourth quartern at the bar,and shortly afterwards the British public had the privilege of seeingDick Remington stick up the murder bills, assisted by an old man inskull cap and list slippers, in that stage of palsy from his recentexperiences that his course was marked by a dribble of paste spiltfrom the pot he carried in his trembling hands. At every freshstoppage a crowd gathered, arguing, disputing, airing theories. Thesechiefly consisted of conjectures as to who the murderer was, how themurder had been committed, how many were in it, who the man was whohad been seen by Dr. Pye coming out of the house in Catchpole Squareat three in the morning, whether he was the same man who had imposedupon Lady Wharton, how the blood-stained marks of footsteps on thefloor were to be accounted for, whether there was any chance of thejewels being recovered, and so on, and so on. At one place there was aconversation of a different nature.

  "What I find fault with in that there bill," said an onlooker, a manwith a forbidding face, dressed in corduroy, "is that no pardon isoffered to any accomplice as didn't actually commit that there murder.Where's the indoocement to peach on a pal, that's what I want toknow?"

  "A white-livered skunk I'd call him whatever his name might be,"remarked a second speaker. "Honour among thieves, that's what I say."

  "Oh, come," said a third, "let's draw the line somewhere."

  "It's what they put in the bills," grumbled the man in corduroy,offering no comment on these expressions of opinion, "and I don't seeno mention of it in that there blooming bill."

  "It's what they put in the Government bills," said the second man,"but this ain't a Government bill. It's a reward of AL500 offered by aprivate individual."

  "A private individual!" sneered the first speaker. "You don't call Mr.Reginald Boyd a private individual in this here case, do you? He's ainterested party, that's what _he_ is. What I say is--and anybody cantake it up as likes--where's the indoocement to peach on a pal?"

  "Well, don't take it to heart, mate," said another. At which there wasa general laugh. "Do you know how it runs in the Government bills?"

  "No, I don't; but I know it's alias there, and allus should be there."

  "I can give you the words, if you wish to hear them," said a quietonlooker, who, meditatively rubbing his chin, was watching the crowdand the billsticker.

  Dick repressed a start. It was the voice of Detective Lambert, withwhom he was acquainted. He turned and accosted the officer, who puthis finger to his lips, thus indicating that they were not to addresseach other by name.

  "Good morning," said Dick.

  "Good morning," said Lambert. "I did not know you were in this line ofbusiness."

  "Anything to turn an honest penny, said Dick, cheerfully.

  "Give us the words, mate," said the man in corduroy.

  "They run in this way. 'And the Secretary of State for the HomeDepartment will advise the grant of her Majesty's gracious Pardon toany accomplice not being the person who actually committed the murder,who shall give such evidence as shall lead to a like result.'"

  "You seem to be well up in it, guv'nor."

  "Fairly well. I did a turn in a Government printing office once."

  "Then you could inform us, perhaps, as a matter of general interest,"said an elderly man, "whether the accomplice, who would be Queen'sevidence----"

  "Yes, Queen's evidence."

  "Would get the reward as well as the pardon?"

  "In course he would," said the man in corduroy, answering for Lambert."That's the beauty of it. Only wish _I_ was an accomplice in this hereblooming murder, with them words in that there bill orfered by theGovernment. I'd touch, mates, pretty quick, that's what _I'd_ do. Butas it stands, where's the indoocement? It ain't 'arf a bill withoutthe indoocement."

  This insistence of the implied merit attaching to an act of treacherydid not seem to meet with the approval of many in the crowd, who edgedaway, with distrustful looks at the speaker. Dick also walked off, andDetective Lambert walked by his side awhile, Mr. Higgins shamblinghumbly in the rear.

  "A bold move," remarked Lambert.

  "A proper move," said Dick. "Anything new stirring?"

  La
mbert rubbed his chin for two or three moments without replying, andfew persons would have supposed that he was paying much visualattention to the man at his side or the man in the rear; but Dick knewbetter. He knew that detective Lambert was one of the shrewdest andthe most observant officers in the service, and that nothing escapedhis attention.

  "Five hundred pounds is a good round sum," he said.

  "It is," said Dick. "Why not earn it?" Lambert gave him a curiouslook, surprised, for one brief moment, out of himself. "If it was aGovernment reward," continued Dick, who also had his eyes about him,"there wouldn't be a chance for you, for the words would run, 'theabove reward will be paid to any person (other than a person belongingto a police force in the United Kingdom) who shall give suchinformation,' etc. Now, this reward doesn't apply in this way. Thereward will be willingly and gladly paid to any person, whether hebelongs to the police or not. Is it worth considering?"

  "Yes," said Lambert, thoughtfully, "it is worth considering. You askedme whether there's any thing new stirring. Well----" But he pausedsuddenly, as if he were about to say too much. "One of these days,perhaps, there will be a case in the papers that, for daring andmystery, will beat even the Mystery of Catchpole Square."

  "Can't imagine one," said Dick. "It wouldn't be fair to ask if there'sany connection between the two cases." He paused; Lambert was silent;Dick turned the subject. "What do you think of my new apprentice? Amodern species of Ganymede, carrying the pastepot instead of the winecup. Nothing like novelty in these days; people run crazy after it.Only you must keep it well advertised; everything depends upon that.Drop your advertisements, and youth grows wrinkled in an hour. Now,what we're aiming at in this mystery"--he flourished his pastebrush--"is that, until we get at its heart, people shan'tforget it. We'll keep it before them morning, noon, and night. Nohole-in-the-corner business. Step up, old man." This to Mr. Higgins,who came shambling forward, his features twitching twenty to thedozen. With the eyes of so sharp an officer as Lambert upon him Dickwas not stupid enough to dream of keeping the old man in thebackground. He knew that any such attempt would end in Lambert'sfinding means of making himself thoroughly acquainted with Mr.Higgins's business and character before the day was out, so he tookthe bull by the horns, and introduced his companion by name, givingalso his trade and address. "There's a specimen of an honest tradesmanfor you. Queer sort of assistant for me to pick up?"

  "There's no denying it," said Lambert.

  "There's a little story attached to the way Mr. Higgins and I struckup a friendship. What's the best thing in life worth living for, oldman?"

  "Quartern o' rum," replied Mr. Higgins. The answer seemed to be jerkedout of him by force of magnetism.

  Dick laughed; Lambert made a movement of departure.

  "Are you off?" asked Dick.

  "Off I am. Take care of yourself."

  "I'll try to."

  Dr. Pye's countenance during his late interview with Dr. Vinsen wasnot more inscrutable than that of Detective Lambert. The trained habitof concealing one's thoughts is part of the stock in trade of morethan one class of men, and shrewd as Dick was he would have found itbeyond his power to divine what was passing in Lambert's mind as hestrolled leisurely away, but a quiet smile on the younger man's lipsdenoted that he was not dissatisfied with the problem he had presentedto the detective. "I've given _him_ something to puzzle over," wasDick's thought, "and I'm a Dutchman if I haven't thrown him off thescent in regard to my friend Higgins."

  "There's a man for you," he said, as he gazed admiringly after thevanishing figure of the detective. "Have you the pleasure of knowingthe gentleman?"

  "Can't say as I have," was the answer.

  "That's the famous Detective Lambert, who gave evidence at theinquest. And what a ferret he is! Search France and England through,and you won't meet his match. He had his eye on you, I noticed." Mr.Higgins shivered. "If ever you get into his clutches look out forsnakes. It's a pleasure to work with a man like that. He and I are onthe same lay."

  Another hour's steady work, and the last bill was pasted on the wallsand the last quartern of rum disposed of. Then he reckoned up what wasdue to Mr. Higgins, paid and dismissed him, and repeated his cautionabout looking out for snakes if it should be his bad fortune to fallinto the clutches of the famous detective.

  "I've about settled _your_ hash," mused Dick, as he saw Mr. Higginsplunge into the nearest beershop. "But how do I stand with Lambert?That's a different pair of shoes. What did he mean about another caseof mystery? I thought he was going to let it out, but he pulledhimself up short. Never mind, Dick. You've had a narrow squeak to-day,and you've got out of it with flying colours. Go ahead, my lad, andstick at nothing."

  Had Detective Lambert followed Dick to the neighbourhood of CoventGarden and overheard what passed between him and certain well knowntradesmen therein he would have had another problem to solve, inaddition to those which were already occupying his attention.