CHAPTER XXXVII.
[DR. PYE MAKES A STATEMENT.]
There was an interval of almost breathless suspense as, upon the Coroner's instructions, an officer left the Court. Dick looked forward to the entrance of Dr. Pye with no less curiosity than the other spectators, but mingled with this curiosity was an element of alarm. Dark forebodings crossed his mind; he feared he knew not what, but still he smiled confidently at Florence when she turned imploringly to him, for she also was in that state of tension which made every fresh feature of the inquiry a terrifying presage. Presently the officer returned, followed by Dr. Pye.
The new witness was tall, with a slight stoop in his shoulders, his face was ashen gray, his brows knit and concentrated, his eyes habitually downcast, but, when raised, irradiated with a keen steady light, giving one the impression that the pupils might be of steel, which was indeed their colour, his mouth with its thin long lips compressed, his hands long and nervous, his voice calm, clear, and deliberate, his manner altogether that of a man of supreme moral strength and self-possession, who could hold his passions in control, and make them subservient to his will.
"In volunteering a communication which may have some relation to your inquiry," he said, addressing the Coroner, without bestowing a glance upon the spectators, "I am impelled simply by a sense of public duty. As to its value you will be the best judge. What I have to offer to the Court is merely the narration of an occurrence which came under my observation on the night of Friday, the 1st of March, when I was making some experiments in chemistry in a room at the back of my house in Shore Street, the window in which looks out upon Catchpole Square, and commands a front view of the house in which Mr. Samuel Boyd resided. It is my habit to work late, and it was not till three in the morning that my labours were at an end. At that hour I was standing at the window, gazing aimlessly into the solitude of Catchpole Square, when my attention was arrested by movements at Mr. Boyd's street door. It was gradually opened, and the form of a man emerged from the house. The night was dark, and what I saw was necessarily dim and uncertain in my sight, but it appeared to me that the man, halting on the threshold, lingered in the attitude of a person who wished to escape observation. This impression impelled me to a closer scrutiny of the man's movements. I have in my room a device of my own construction in the shape of a small box containing a coil of magnesium wire. By withdrawing the curtain from a glass globe set in this box, and by pressing a spring, I can, upon lighting the wire, throw a powerful light upon objects at a great distance, remaining myself in darkness. There appeared to me to be something so suspicious in the shadowy movements of the person at Mr. Boyd's door at such an hour that I brought my box to the window, and threw the light upon the Square. It was the work of a moment, but in that moment I had a clear view of the man's features. They were of deathlike paleness, and seemed to be convulsed by fear, but, I argued inly, this might have been caused by the fright occasioned by the sudden glare of light falling upon him--resembling in some respects a flash of lightning, and calculated to startle the strongest man. In his attitude of watchfulness--which I may call the first stage of my observation of him--he stood holding the street door partially open, thus providing for himself a swift retreat into the house in the event of a policeman entering the Square. The second stage was his fear-struck appearance, from whatever cause it proceeded. The third stage--occurring when the light was extinguished--was the shadowy movement of a man gliding out of the Square. Then his final disappearance."
The Coroner: "You say, Dr. Pye, that you had a clear view of the man's features. Did you recognise them?"
Dr. Pye: "No, sir, the man was a stranger to me."
"There appears to be some kind of connection between the death of Mr. Samuel Boyd and the disappearance of a clerk in his employ, Mr. Abel Death? Have you any knowledge of this clerk?"
"No, I never saw the man."
"Were you acquainted with Mr. Samuel Boyd?"
"Very slightly."
"If you saw the man again, could you identify him?"
"I think so."
"Have you ever seen any other man in Catchpole Square leaving Mr. Boyd's house in the middle of the night?"
"Never. It was the unusualness of the incident that attracted my attention."
As he uttered these words he raised his eyes and slowly looked around. When they reached the spot where Inspector Robson and his family were seated his gaze was arrested. The eyes of all the spectators, following his, were now fixed upon the group. A wave of magnetism passed through the Court, and, to a more or less degree, affected the nerves of every one present. Aunt Rob clutched her husband's sleeve, and Florence's eyes dilated with a nameless fear. The long pause was broken by Dr. Pye, who murmured, but in a voice loud enough to be heard by all,--
"It is a very strange likeness."
"To whom do you refer?" asked the Coroner.
"To that gentleman," replied Dr. Pye, pointing to Reginald. "He bears a singular resemblance to the man I saw leaving Mr. Samuel Boyd's house in Catchpole Square in the middle of the night."
Reginald started to his feet with an indignant protest on his lips, and there was great confusion in Court, in the midst of which Dick gently pulled Reginald down to his seat. "It is easily disproved," he said, in a low tone. "You were home and in bed before midnight. Be calm, Florence, there is nothing to fear, nothing to fear." But his heart fell; he saw the net closing round those he loved.
The Coroner (to Dr. Pye): "The gentleman you are pointing to is Mr. Samuel Boyd's son."
Dr. Pye: "I did not know. I say he resembles the man."
"Are you sure?"
"Who can be sure of anything? In hundreds of my experiments all my calculations have been overturned at the last moment. I have been sure of success, and the crucial test has given me the lie. It is the same in human affairs, and in this case I can do no more than record my impressions. In spite of the conditions under which I saw the man his likeness to this gentleman is very striking; but I would impress upon you that great wrongs have been committed by accidental likenesses, and there are cases on record in which men have been condemned to death, the proof of their innocence coming too late to save them." Florence shuddered and closed her eyes. To her fevered mind her beloved husband was on his trial, surrounded by pitiless judges. Dr. Pye continued: "There is a notable instance of this in Charles Dickens's story, 'A Tale of Two Cities,' where, happily, a life is saved instead of being sacrificed. The incident, strangely enough, occurs also in a court of justice."
The Coroner: "That is fiction. This is fact."
Dr. Pye: "True. If you have nothing more to ask I shall be glad to retire. The atmosphere of this Court is unpleasant to me."
The Coroner intimating that he had no further questions to put, Dr. Pye retired, and the inquiry was adjourned till the following day.