Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery

by B. L. Farjeon

I make a mistake when I say they were all there. Dick Remington was absent, and it rather surprised me. So when I left the court I made my way to Catchpole Square, just to give him the time of day and see how he took it. There I met with another surprise. On the door of Samuel Boyd's house is a written notice, saying that Dick Remington is absent on business, and that all communications for him are to be addressed to Inspector Robson.

Now, what is the meaning of that? On my way to Dr. Pye's to-night I met Constable Applebee, on night duty there. When I see there's something on a man's mind that's as likely as not to be of service to me if I can get at it, I encourage that man to talk. I saw there was something on Applebee's mind--you can see through him with half an eye--and I encouraged him to talk. Glad enough he was, and willing enough. And what do you think he asked me? Why, if I knew where Dick Remington was hanging out? "In Catchpole Square, of course," I answered, quite innocently. "That he isn't," said Applebee, as triumphantly as if we were playing a hand at cards and he had won a trick by fine play. "There's a notice pasted on the door that he's not to be found there; he's gone away on business it says." "Well," said I, "if he's not to be found in Catchpole Square you'll find him at Inspector Robson's house." "No, I sha'n't," he answered, thinking he'd scored another trick. "I've been there, and from what Mrs. Robson said it's my belief she doesn't know where he is." "That's singular," I said, "what do you make of it?" "What do you make of it, Mr. Lambert?" he asked. I considered a moment, and then said I gave it up. "But you've an opinion," said I, insinuatingly. "Let's have it." Upon which he volunteered his conviction that Dick Remington had cut and run. "Why should he cut and run?" I asked, as innocent as any baby. "That," he answered, solemnly shutting himself up, "I must keep to myself." I laughed in my sleeve. He wants to discover the murderer of Samuel Boyd, and collar the reward, and he has come to the conclusion that Dick Remington's the man. It's comic. I give you my word, it's comic.

But I ask again, what is the meaning of Remington's disappearance? It means something. What? Is he hunting for the tiger, and has he got a clue? It seems to me that I mustn't lose time. That £500 belongs to me, and I intend to have it.

At eight o'clock I knocked at Dr. Pye's door, and a young woman opened it, a fine upstanding animal from the country. "Norfolk," said I to myself when she asked me what I wanted in the sing-song voice peculiar to the county. "I want to see Dr. Pye," I said. "Not at home," she answered, without a moment's hesitation. "I think he is," I said. She stared at me helplessly. "That is the answer you've been told to give," I said. "Yes," she said. "To every one?" I asked. "Yes," she said. I slipped my card and a sixpence into her hand. "Put the sixpence in your pocket," I said, "and take my card up to Dr. Pye." Willing as she was to pocket the sixpence I think she would have shut the door in my face if I had left it free, but one leg was inside and one out. "You will get in trouble if you don't do as I tell you," I said. "I am an officer of the law--a policeman." I knew the magic there was in the word to a Norfolk village girl. "Take the card this instant to Dr. Pye," I said, in a tone of authority. She vanished, and I waited five minutes by my watch before she came down again. "You can come up," she said, and I noticed that she had been crying. We went upstairs together, and she opened a door.

A man was standing at a table, holding a glass containing a liquid up to the gas light. Two other glasses containing liquid were on the table; the glasses were long and thin, and the liquid of different colours. With the exception of these glasses, the table, and two wooden chairs, the room was bare of furniture. The mantelshelf had not an article upon it, there was not a picture on the walls. The house is double-fronted, and must contain a great many rooms; the one I was in faced Shore Street; there was a shutter to the window, partly closed.

"Dr. Pye?" I said.

"I am Dr. Pye," he answered. "Do not interrupt me; I am making an experiment."

I stood still and silent, and waited.

From inquiries I have made no person in the neighbourhood is more than casually acquainted with Dr. Pye. He has a reputation as a scientific man, but I have been unable to ascertain on what precise grounds. It is supposed that he is always experimenting with chemicals and gases, and ignorant people go as far as to declare that he is searching for the elixir of life. He is not on visiting terms with any of his neighbours; all that is known and said of him is hearsay.

A remarkable looking man. There is a stoop in his shoulders, and at the first glance he gives one the impression that he has passed all his life in study. His eyes are the colour of steel, and I should judge him to be possessed of great mesmeric power. His voice is slow and deliberate; his manners, also. A man less given to impulsive action I never gazed upon. I must not omit to mention that his hair is iron gray, and his face clean shaven.