"That's her name, my dear, and a pretty girl I'm told. She's a lucky one. Applebee says if Mr. Boyd hasn't made a will her husband'll come in for everything. Mr. Boyd must have been worth piles of money. Let's hope it'll do somebody good; it never did while he was alive. It's curious that your lodger, Mr. Remington, is mixed up in it, too. He's Inspector Robson's nephew, you know; him and Miss Florence was brought up together. He's been hanging about Catchpole Square a good deal the last week or two; in the dead of night, too. Applebee says he'd like to get hold of that woman that slipped through his hands on the night of the fog. He's got an idea that she must have something to do with the murder."
"But doesn't he think Abel Death did it?" asked Mrs. Pond, faintly.
"Oh, yes, he thinks that, as everybody does, but the woman might be mixed up with it somehow. Just listen to those boys shouting out another edition. What are they calling out? Fresh discoveries! I must get a paper; that'll be the third I've bought to-day. Perhaps they've caught Abel Death. The man on 'The Illustrated Afternoon' took Applebee's portrait, and I'm dying to see it. I wouldn't miss it for anything."
There was, of course, but one subject in Aunt Rob's mind when Dick presented himself. She told him that Reginald was in a terrible state.
"I couldn't stop the boys coming into the street," she said, "and Reginald heard them. Florence ran down to me all in a flutter, and asked if I didn't hear them calling out something about a murder in Catchpole Square, and what was it? Then she caught sight of the paper that I was trying to hide, and when she looked at it she was frightened out of her life. We did all we could to keep it from Reginald, but he couldn't help seeing from our faces that there was something serious the matter. At last there was nothing for it but to tell him, and we did it as gently as we could. But the shock was dreadful; he sobbed like a little child. Then he cried that he must go to the house, and we had almost to use force to prevent him leaving his bed. Florence threw her arms round him, and begged and implored so that he had to give in. We tried to comfort him by saying that it mightn't be true, that it might be another man who was murdered, and that you and Uncle Rob had gone to see about it. I'm afraid to ask you if it's true, Dick."
"It is too true," he replied, and rapidly related all that had passed since he and Uncle Rob had left her. She listened horror-struck, and when he finished could hardly find voice to ask who he thought was the murderer.
"I don't know what to think," he said.
"There can be only one man," she said, but he stopped her from proceeding.
"Don't let's talk about it just now, aunt. There are a dozen men who would rather see Samuel Boyd dead than alive. He had plenty of enemies, and he deserved to have. If Reginald knew I was here he would want to see me."
"He made me promise the moment either of you came back to bring you up to him."