Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A MysteryFarjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
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Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery
Farjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
Detective and mystery stories; London (England) -- Fiction
"And you ain't the first as wishes me to tell you. There's been two
detectives 'ere, and three newspaper men. 'Do you recollec',' they
ses, 'wot time Friday night young Mr. Boyd come 'ome?' Your own words,
sir, as if they wos turned out of a mould. 'No, I don't,' I ses to
them. 'I went to bed at ten, when Mr. Reginald was out. I knocked at
his door,' I ses, 'to see if 'e wanted anythink, but he didn't answer,
and I jest peeped in to make sure 'e was out. Which he wos.' 'Oh,' ses
they, 'did 'e keep 'is door unlocked?' 'Yes, 'e did,' I ses, 'and
everything else as well. 'E wos always as open as open can be. I wish
all wos like 'im, but that can't be egspected, because it takes all
sorts to make a world.' They wanted to go up to 'is rooms, but I ses,
'No, you don't. I know my duties as a landlady,' I ses, 'and I won't
'ave no pokin' and pryin' in a gentleman's private apartments.' Would
you believe it, sir, they orfered me money to let 'em go in, but they
couldn't wheedle me. I ain't one of that sort."
"Try and remember," urged Dick, earnestly, "whether, after you were in
bed you didn't hear him come in on Friday night."
"If I tried ever so 'ard, sir, I couldn't recollec' wot I don't
remember. Why should a gentleman be spied upon when 'e pays 'is rent
reg'lar? Mr. Reginald 'ad 'is own street door key, and wos free to
come and go. 'E might 'ave come 'ome any time in the night without me
knowin' it.
"It is a very important matter," said Dick, greatly disheartened.
"Perhaps your servant may recollect something."
"I'll ring for 'er, sir, and you can arsk 'er yourself."
In answer to the bell the servant came up, a heavy lumbering girl of
twenty, in a chronic state of sulks, with whom Dick fared no better
than he had with her mistress. She did not know what time she went to
bed, nor what time she got up. Sometimes she awoke in the middle of
the night, and sometimes she didn't; she generally didn't, and if she
did she did not know what time it was. She did not recollect when
Friday night was, she could not think so far back as the week before
last. All she knew was that it wasn't her night out, and if the
gentleman kept talking to her all day long how could she get her work
done? So Dick reluctantly let her go, and took his departure himself,
no wiser than when he came. 'Reginald's statement that he had returned
to his lodgings before midnight was of no value in the absence of
corroborative evidence. Thicker and blacker grew the clouds around
him.
From Park Street he proceeded to Draper's Mews, and there he met with
another disappointment. Mrs. Death opened the door for him, and he saw
a change in her. She was embarrassed, suspicious, sorrowful, angry.
The old cordiality was gone.
"Is Gracie at home?" he asked, looking around without seeing the
sallow, wistful face.
"No, she isn't," answered Mrs. Death, in a constrained voice, "and I
don't know where she is. I haven't had misfortune enough, I suppose,
that my own child should go against me."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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