Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery

CHAPTER XXXVI
THE CONTINUATION OF THE INQUEST

These words, spoken loudly and emphatically, acted like a spark upon gunpowder, and it was not until the Coroner threatened several times to clear the Court that order was again restored. From Lady Wharton the attention of the audience was turned to Reginald, whose head was bowed in shame. Some pitied him, some condemned him, and all were feverishly curious to hear the outcome of Lady Wharton's disclosures. The only crumb of comfort Reginald received was expressed in the close clasp of Florence's hand. Fearlessly and indignantly the young girl faced the eyes that were directed towards her and her husband; her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, as though crying shame upon those who seemed to be mutely accusing the man she loved. Dick looked contemptuously upon these silent accusers, and Aunt Rob glared at them; it was with some difficulty that Uncle Rob prevented her from addressing Lady Wharton in terms of indignant reproach. "Keep still, mother, keep still," he whispered, "you will only make matters worse." So she held her tongue, and nursed her wrath in bitterness of spirit. During the course of this drama of human passion and emotion Mr. Finnis, Q.C., rose and addressed the Court.

"Lady Wharton," he said, "has suffered a grievous wrong, and however strongly she may express herself, it cannot for one moment be doubted that she is speaking what she believes to be the truth. An endeavour has been made to prove that Mr. Samuel Boyd was murdered on the Friday or Saturday night of the week before last. We do not impeach the witnesses, we do not say that they have spoken from interested motives. What we do say is that they are in error. That Mr. Samuel Boyd did not meet his death at the time mentioned is proved by the fact that Lady Wharton saw and conversed with him five or six days afterwards. Her testimony is supported by that of her brother, Lord Fairfax, who is now in Court, and who also saw and conversed with him. As you may gather from her evidence we go farther than that; we say that Mr. Samuel Boyd has not been murdered. Her ladyship, as you will presently learn, has had, unfortunately for herself, some business transactions with Mr. Samuel Boyd, and in view of the strange mystery which surrounds the case, I have advised her to make these transactions public. I ask you now, Mr. Coroner, to permit her to relate her story with as little interruption from yourself as possible; and I would also ask Lady Wharton to control her feelings, and to refrain from strong language. There are persons in Court related to Mr. Samuel Boyd, to whom such epithets as she has applied to him must be extremely painful."

The Coroner: "The extraordinary turn this inquiry has taken renders it imperatively necessary that a full disclosure be made of all that has passed between Lady Wharton and Mr. Samuel Boyd. Now, if your ladyship pleases."

Lady Wharton: "And kindly do not interrupt me. I have mentioned that I paid Mr. Samuel Boyd a visit on the evening of Friday, the 1st of March. On that occasion I gave him bills for a considerable amount in renewal of bills shortly to fall due, and I foolishly forgot to ask him for the return of the old bills. In the course of the interview I requested him-(it is perfectly abominable that I should be compelled to speak of it, but I suppose it cannot be prevented) – I requested him to advance me a thousand pounds for my personal use, quite apart from the business between him and Lord Wharton. With some idea of the character of the man I was dealing with, I had brought with me as security for the loan certain articles of jewellery of great value, for which I had no immediate use, and which I handed over to him. After inspecting them he consented to advance the money, but said he could not let me have it immediately-which, of course, was a trick and subterfuge. I told him that I was going out of town, to our place in Bournemouth, and he said he would bring the sum to me there on Thursday night-last Thursday, you know-in bank notes. With that understanding I left him. Two days afterwards it was brought to my recollection that Mr. Boyd had not returned the old bills, and I wrote to him about them. At the same time I mentioned that I needed a much larger sum for my private personal use than we had arranged for, and I requested him to bring £1,500, promising to give him further security in the shape of additional jewels, for there is only one way of dealing with these Shylocks: they must have their pound of flesh. He replied that he would bring the money and the old bills on Thursday night. We were giving a ball on that night, and as I did not wish such a person to mix with our guests I decided to finish the business with him in a retired part of the grounds, and I instructed my servants to that effect. He had the assurance not to present himself till one in the morning, when a servant brought me his card. I went to the spot I had appointed, and there I saw Mr. Samuel Boyd. I asked him if he had brought the money; he answered that he had, and he produced a small packet, which he declined to part with till I gave him the additional jewels I had promised as security. The scoundrel assumed an air of saucy independence which completely deceived me The jewels were in the house, and Lord Fairfax happening to be passing at that moment I called to him and requested him to remain with Mr. Boyd while I went to fetch them. When I returned I gave them to Mr. Boyd, who then handed me the packet, saying that it contained the £1,500 in bank notes and the old bills. As I could not count the money in the grounds I went to the house again, accompanied by Lord Fairfax, and opening the packet, discovered that I had been robbed. There were no bills inside, and no money, nothing but blank paper cunningly folded to make it feel like bank notes. I hurried back, with the intention of giving the thief into custody, but though search was made for him in every direction he was not to be found. I want to know what has become of him and of my property."

The Coroner: "This is a strange story, Lady Wharton, and is in direct conflict with the evidence that has been tendered."

Lady Wharton: "The evidence that has been tendered is in direct conflict with the facts of the case. In all my life I have never heard such a tissue of misrepresentations and delusions."

"May you not yourself be labouring under a delusion?"

"You had better say at once that I am not in my right senses."

"Pray do not speak so excitedly. May you not have been deceived by an accidental likeness to Mr. Samuel Boyd in the person who presented himself?"

"It is an absurd suggestion. There is no possibility of my having been mistaken. I tell you it was the man himself."

The Coroner: "Did you keep a copy of the letter you wrote to Mr. Boyd?"

Lady Wharton: "I am not in the habit of keeping copies of my letters. I leave that to tradesmen."

"Have you the letter you received from him?"

"I have brought it with me."

Lady Wharton handed the letter to the Coroner, who read it aloud:

"Mr. Samuel Boyd presents his compliments to Lady Wharton, and will have the pleasure of waiting upon her ladyship on Thursday night with the bills which he forgot to return last Friday evening, and with the additional advance her ladyship requires. Mr. Boyd hopes that her ladyship will be prepared with the jewels she speaks of, and that they will be adequate security for the increase in the loan.

"Catchpole Square, N., 5th March, 1896."

Lady Wharton: "And people come here and swear that at the time the man wrote that letter he had been dead five days! Can anything be more preposterous?"

The Coroner: "We shall have witnesses before us who are familiar with Mr. Boyd's handwriting, and this letter will be submitted to them. Have you the visiting card Mr. Boyd gave your servant in Bournemouth?"

"Here it is."

"Could you identify the jewels?"

"I can swear to them, if they are fortunately recovered."

"That is all I have to ask you at present, Lady Wharton. If Lord Fairfax is present perhaps he will come forward."

Lord Fairfax (advancing from the body of the Court): "No objection."

"You have heard the account given by Lady Wharton of the visit of a person last Thursday night who announced himself as Mr. Samuel Boyd?"

"Quite true."

"You saw that person?"

"Yes."

"Have you had any dealings with Mr. Boyd?"

"Happy to say, no."

"Then you are not acquainted with him?"

"Not the pleasure."

"Then you cannot say it was Mr. Boyd."

"Take Lady Wharton's word for it. Her ladyship presented him. She said, 'Mr. Samuel Boyd, Catchpole Square.' I said, 'Ah.'"

"You conversed with him?"

"He conversed with me. Fifty words to my one."

"What was the subject of the conversation?"

"Money. Asked if I wanted it. I said every fellow wanted it. Said he would be happy to oblige. I said, 'Ah.'"

"When Lady Wharton returned did you remain with them?"

"At her request. Saw her give him jewels. Saw him give her packet. Saw her dismiss him. Glad to be rid of fellow."

"You went back to the house, and was present when she opened the packet?"

"Yes. Blank paper. Infernal scoundrel."

"Was information given to the police?"

"Wanted to. Lady Wharton said no, go to lawyer. Went to Mr. Finnis Saturday. Then, surprising report in papers. Man murdered, or supposed to be."

"That is all you know, Lord Fairfax?"

"All I know."

The Coroner (to the jury): "Before we call Mr. Reginald Boyd I wish to ask Mr. Richard Remington a question or two, arising out of Lady Wharton's evidence."

The profound amazement with which Dick had listened to this evidence was not reflected in his countenance as he stepped airily forward. Never in his life had he so strongly felt the need for dissimulation as at the present time. It was forced upon him-by the discoveries he had himself made and by the testimony of the witnesses who had been examined-that in this mystery another agency was at work the existence of which he had hitherto only dimly suspected. The person who had presented himself to Lady Wharton as Samuel Boyd and had committed the fraud upon her must have been intimately familiar with the business operations of the murdered man, and must have had free access to the house in Catchpole Square. He must also have a talent for disguise to have so imposed upon Lady Wharton. He could think of but one person who had the knowledge requisite to carry out the deception-Abel Death. But to do what Lady Wharton had described needed courage, coolness, skill, and an evenly balanced brain; none but a master of resource, and one who had perfect command over himself, could have brought to a successful issue a task so difficult. Dick could hardly believe that Abel Death was equal to a man[oe]uvre so daring, a scheme so full of peril, in which a single false step would bring destruction upon him. Dick felt as if every hour added a new mystery to those that lay unsolved. He had one cause for deep gratitude, and he gladly welcomed it. These disclosures helped to dispel the cloud of suspicion that hung over Reginald. Whatever else he might have done, he could have had no personal part in the duplicity and in the robbery of the jewels. How far this would help to clear him in the minds of others who might suspect him had yet to be seen. They might argue that he was in league with another man, and that the imposition practised upon Lady Wharton was part of a cunningly laid scheme, all the details of which had been carefully considered and mapped out beforehand. There was, indeed, but little light in the cloud that hung over Florence's husband.

This was the state of Dick's mind when he submitted himself for the third time to the Coroner.

The Coroner: "Since you were examined on Monday, have you continued your search in Mr. Samuel Boyd's house?"

Dick: "Yes, I have carefully searched every room, every cupboard, every drawer."

"Have you found any jewels?"

"None."

"Any bills of acceptance?"

"None."

"Nothing of any value?"

"Nothing."

"Look at this visiting card which was presented to Lady Wharton on Thursday night in Bournemouth. Do you recognise it as one of Mr. Samuel Boyd's regular visiting cards?"

"It is exactly like. There are thirty or forty similar cards in a drawer in the writing table."

"You are doubtless familiar with Mr. Boyd's handwriting?"

"I was very familiar with it, but that is some time ago. I may err in my recollection of it."

"So far as your recollection serves is this letter received by Lady Wharton on the 6th of March, and dated the 5th, in his writing?"

"It cannot be his writing because on the 5th of March he was dead."

"Confine yourself strictly to answering the questions put to you. Should you say it was in Mr. Samuel Boyd's handwriting?"

Dick examined the letter with great care. He had in his pocket at that very moment proof positive in the shape of the incriminating document written by Samuel Boyd only a few hours before he was murdered, the production of which would have caused Reginald's instant arrest. The writing on the letter was like it, and he would have given much to be able to compare them. After a long pause he said, "It looks like his writing, but I am not an expert in caligraphy."

The Coroner made a gesture as if he had exhausted his questions, and Dick was about to step back, when the Juror interposed.

The Juror: "Have you found a pistol of any kind in the house?"

"Now, who is prompting you?" thought Dick, as he confronted the Juror, a sallow-faced, pock-marked man, with an aggressive voice. "No," he answered aloud, "I found no pistol."

The Juror: "The detective officer who has been examined spoke of a recently fired bullet which he extracted from the wall of the office. How is it that in your evidence on Monday you said nothing of this bullet?"

Dick: "In the first place, because I was not asked. In the second place, because on Monday nothing was known about it."

There was a titter in Court at this, and the juror flushed up and was silent.

The Coroner: "When was the bullet found?"

Dick: "Yesterday."

"It had escaped your notice before the detective officer pointed it out?"

"It was I who first pointed it out. We were examining the wall together when I said, 'What is this?' My question led to the discovery of the bullet."

The Coroner: "Call Mr. Reginald Boyd."

A firm pressure of Florence's hand, and Reginald faced the jury. Dick moved a little nearer to the young wife, whose heart was throbbing violently. Reginald was very pale, and traces of the sickness he had passed through were visible in his face, though he bore himself with composure.

The Coroner: "You have been ill, and probably would like to be seated."

Reginald: "Thank you, Mr. Coroner, I prefer to stand."

"As you please. We understand that you went to your father's house in Catchpole Square to see the body of the deceased?"

"Yes, I went there on Sunday.'

"You saw the body?"

"Yes."

"And identified it?"

"Yes. It was my father's body."

"In the teeth of the conflicting evidence that has been given, you are positive?"

"I am positive. I wish with all my heart and soul that there was room for doubt."

"We recognise that your position is a painful one, and we should, of course, wish to hear all the evidence it is in your power to give, but I consider it right to say that you are not compelled to answer every question put to you."

"There is no question that I shall decline to answer. I am a willing witness in a most unhappy tragedy."

"When did you last see your father alive?"

"On Friday the 1st of March."

"Before that day were you in the habit of visiting him regularly?"

"Before that day I had not seen him for two years. I regret to say we were not on friendly terms."

The Juror: "What was the cause of the disagreement between you?"

The Coroner: "We cannot have that at this point of the inquiry."

The Juror: "The witness states that there is no question that he will decline to answer, and the inquiry will be incomplete unless we arrive at all the facts of the case."

Reginald: "I am willing to answer everything."

The Coroner: "We will proceed in something like order. The last time you saw your father alive was on Friday the 1st of March. Did the interview take place in his house in Catchpole Square?"

"Yes, on that day I paid two visits to the house, the first in the afternoon, the second at night."

The Juror: "How did you obtain admittance in the afternoon?"

The Coroner (to the Juror): "I must request you not to make these frequent interruptions; they tend to confuse the issue."

The Juror: "With all due respect, sir, it is the jury who have to return the verdict" —

The Coroner: "Under my guidance and direction."

The Juror: "Not entirely. We are not simply machines. You can advise us, and clear up knotty points, but you cannot dictate to us. Otherwise you might as well hold this inquiry without our aid. The question I put to the witness is a very simple one."

The Coroner: "Very well." (To Reginald.) "Did you obtain admission into your father's house on Friday afternoon in the usual way?"

Reginald: "No. I knocked at the door two or three times, and receiving no answer, admitted myself with a private latchkey I had in my pocket."

The Juror: "You see, Mr. Coroner, I had an object in asking the question."

The Coroner: "How did you become possessed of the latchkey?"

Reginald: "It was one I used when I lived in Catchpole Square with my father. When I left the home I took it with me."

"Having let yourself in, what then did you do?"

"I went upstairs to the office in the expectation of seeing my father. He was not at home. The only person in the house was his clerk, Abel Death."

"You were personally acquainted with Abel Death?"

"Yes."

"And on friendly terms with him?"

"Yes."

"Why did he not open the street door for you?"

"He had been instructed not to admit anyone during my father's absence."

"Not even to go down to the door to see who it was who sought entrance?"

"Not even that. He was ordered not to stir out of the office."

"Was your father a very strict man?"

"Very strict."

"Had you a definite object in view when you paid the visit, apart from the natural desire to see him?"

"I had. My circumstances were not good, and I went to see if I could not improve them. My mother had left me a small fortune, and had appointed a trustee to administer it. This trustee had given me to understand that when I was of age I should come into possession of £8,000. I spent my youth and early manhood abroad, and when I returned home my trustee was dead, and my father had the disposition of my inheritance. He wished me to join him in his business, but I had a distaste for it, and we had many arguments and discussions on the subject."

The Juror: "Quarrels?"

"I suppose they would be considered so. We were equally firm, and the consequence of our disagreement was that there was a breach between us, which ended in my leaving his house."

"Voluntarily?"

"He sent me away. Before I left he asked me what I intended to live upon, and I answered that I had my inheritance. Greatly to my surprise he informed me that all the money had been spent upon me during and three or four years after my minority. He showed me a statement of accounts which I did not understand."

"Interrupting you here, has that statement of accounts been found among your father's papers?"

"No statement of accounts has been found. Shall I proceed?"

"If you wish."

"It is hardly my wish, but I certainly desire to anticipate questions which might be put to me by the jury."

The Juror: "Quite right. It will save trouble."

Reginald: "I questioned the correctness of these accounts, and my father said he was ready to prove their correctness in a court of law. Such a course was repugnant to my feelings, and we parted, my resolve being to carve out a path for myself. I was not fortunate, and on the day I visited my father I was practically penniless. I was then married, and I desired to make a home for my wife, which in my then circumstances was not possible. It was this which drove me to making another appeal to my father to restore money which I believed was rightfully mine. On the occasion of my afternoon visit I remained only a short time with Mr. Abel Death, and before I left I informed him of my intention to come again at night. I paid my second visit at about ten o'clock, which I thought was the best time to find my father alone. I knocked at the door, and he came down and asked who was there. He recognised my voice when I answered him, and he refused to admit me. I told him from without that I was determined to see him, if not that night, the next day or night, and if not then, that I would continue my efforts until I succeeded. Upon that he unlocked and unbolted the door, and I entered and followed him upstairs into the office, where I explained the motive for my visit. I informed him that I was married, and that it was necessary I should provide for my wife. We were together half an hour or so, and he refused to assist me, and denied that any money was due to me. I offered to accept a small sum, and to sign a full quittance, but he turned a deaf ear to all my appeals, and at length I left him. Mr. Coroner, I am aware that in this disclosure I have touched upon matters which do not come strictly within the scope of your inquiry. I have done so because I wish to avoid the suspicion of any reluctance on my part to make known to you and the jury all my proceedings with respect to my father. Private matters have already been introduced which affect me closely, and while I dispute the justice of the direction which this inquiry has taken I recognise that more mischief may be done by silence than by a frank and open confession."

The Coroner: "Your statement is a voluntary one, and much of it is not pertinent to the inquiry. You say that you visited your father at about ten o'clock?"

"At about that hour."

"You left the house before eleven o'clock?"

"Certainly before that hour."

"Were you and your father quite alone?"

"Quite alone."

"Did any one apply for admission while you were with him?"

"No one."

"There was no other person except yourselves in the house?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Did your father accompany you to the street door?"

"I do not think he did."

"Cannot you say with certainty?"

"No. I regret that, as regards the last few minutes of the interview, I cannot entirely depend upon my memory. I was deeply agitated, and my mind was in confusion. I have endeavoured in vain to recall every incident and word, and it has occurred to me that the fever from which I immediately afterwards suffered, and which kept me to my bed for several days, may have been upon me then. I have a recollection-not very clear-that as I went downstairs I felt in my pocket for the latchkey."

"For what reason? You did not need the key to open the door from within?"

"I cannot say why I did it. I can only tell you what is in my mind."

"Have you the latchkey now?"

"No, I have lost it."

"Where?"

"I do not know where."

"Have you searched for it?"

"Yes, without success."

"Between your two visits to your father on that Friday did you come into communication with Mr. Abel Death?"

"No."

"Did you not see him in Catchpole Square, or in its vicinity?"

"I repeat that I did not see him, and had no communication with him."

The Juror: "Angry words passed between you and your father?"

"I am afraid so."

"Threatening words?"

"Not on my part."

"On his?" (A momentary pause.) "I do not insist upon a reply."

"Oh, I will reply. My father threatened to bring an action against me for a balance of £1,200, which he said was due to him on the account."

"You disputed the correctness of the account?"

"Certainly I disputed it."

"Did you accuse your father of fraud?"

The Coroner: "Order, order!"

The question was not answered.

The Juror: "Is it true that during these last two years you have been living under an assumed name?"

"I have been passing as Mr. Reginald. Reginald is my Christian name."

"Was it as Mr. Reginald you introduced yourself to the family of Inspector Robson?"

"I was introduced to them by that name."

"They did not know you were the son of Mr. Samuel Boyd?"

"They did not."

"And you did not inform them?"

"Not for some time-not, indeed, till I was married."

"That is quite lately?"

"Yes."

"Have you any objection to inform us why you suppressed the name of Boyd? Were you ashamed of it?"

"You are pressing me rather hardly."

The Coroner: "I quite agree. Many of these questions are totally irrelevant."

The Juror: "Surely, Mr. Coroner, it is of importance that we should be made acquainted with the true state of the relations existing between Mr. Samuel Boyd and his only child. Putting aside Lady Wharton's statements and impressions, and assuming that the medical evidence is correct, the witness is the last person who saw the deceased alive."

Reginald: "That is not so. Some person or persons must have seen him after I left him on Friday night."

The Juror: "Well, the last person who has given evidence in this Court?"

Reginald: "Yes."

"Have you taken out letters of administration?"

"Yes."

"As matters stand at present you are the only person who has benefited by the death of your father?"

The Coroner: "I will not allow questions of this nature to be put to the witness, who has given his evidence very fairly, and has shown every disposition to assist the Court."

Reginald: "I should like to explain that I did not know my father had not made a will. My impression was that he had made one, disinheriting me. Even now, although no will has yet been found, one may be forthcoming."

The Juror: "Extremely unlikely. There has been plenty of time for its production."

The Coroner: "You have heard the evidence respecting the bullet in the wall. Is it within your knowledge that your father kept a pistol by him?"

Reginald: "During the time I lived with him he always had a loaded pistol. It was a Colt's revolver. I do not know whether, during the last two years, he continued to keep it."

"Did your father ever fire the pistol?"

"Never, to my knowledge."

"On what day were you taken ill?"

"On the day following my visit to my father. I recollect feeling giddy and light-headed when I returned home that night. I went to bed about midnight, and the next morning I was too ill to rise. The circumstances of my marriage have been made public in the course of this inquiry. I was living alone in Park Street, Islington, and I had intervals of consciousness during which I wrote from time to time to my wife, who was living with her parents. Eventually she came to nurse me, and then the secret of our marriage was at an end. She has related how, being alarmed at my condition, she went to Catchpole Square last Tuesday night to inform my father, and, if possible, to bring him to me. I am deeply, deeply grateful to her for the love and devotion she has shown towards me, and to her parents for their kindness and consideration."

"Where were you on Thursday night?"

"Ill in bed. For a week, from Saturday to Saturday, I did not leave my room."

Reginald's loving look towards Florence, and his tender accents in speaking of her, made a strong impression upon the spectators as, his examination concluded, he retired to his seat by her side.

The Coroner (to the jury): "An hour ago I received a communication from a gentleman who stated that he had evidence of importance to tender which he thinks we ought to hear with as little delay as possible. This gentleman, I understand, is in waiting outside. It may be a convenient time to examine him. Call Dr. Pye."