The longer he brooded upon it the stronger grew his conviction of Dick's complicity in the crime, and the more firmly was he resolved to make the arrest when he had the chance. Little did he dream of the kind of success that was to attend his zealous efforts and the startling developments which were to follow. CHAPTER LVI. EXTRACTED FROM THE DIARY OF DAVID LAMBERT DETECTIVE OFFICER. _Thursday, March 15th_, 1896. Arrested Mr. Reginald Boyd this evening for the murder of his father, Mr. Samuel Boyd, of Catchpole Square. Arrest made at the door of the Coroner's Court. Had a little scene with Mr. Rawdon, the juryman who has been making all this fuss during the inquiry. Mr. Reginald Boyd bore his arrest very well. So did his good little wife, who agreeably disappointed my expectation that she would break down. So did not Mrs. Inspector Robson, a brick of a woman, who showed me very plainly what she thought of me. I may say emphatically that her feelings are the reverse of friendly, and from a woman of strong opinions it is just what might be expected. But then she doesn't know what is good for her; she would have to be gifted with second sight before she would give me a civil word just now. Poor women! I pity them. They will have a weary night of it. If things turn out as I anticipate this arrest will be about the cleverest move I have ever made. Reason why? Because I believe Mr. Reginald Boyd to be as innocent as I am myself. Why arrest him, then? In the first place, because he had to be arrested, and if I had not done it another officer would. Indeed, it is I who am indirectly responsible for the issuing of the warrant. More correct, perhaps, to say for expediting its issue. I could name half-a-dozen men who were burning to make the arrest. They would have to rise very early to get ahead of me. In the second place, because I wasn't sorry to be able to do Inspector Robson a good turn. A queer way of setting about it, he would say. But it's true, for all that. And it's as good a thing as could have happened to the young fellow. In the third place, because, had the arrest not been made by me, I should have no excuse for interviewing Dr. Pye. I hope to have something to tell my French brother-in arms, Joseph Pitou, that will astonish his weak nerves. He writes to me from Milan, where he is making inquiries, he says. Is sorry he can't come over to London, he says. I am not. I don't want him yet awhile. Keep away, friend Joseph, keep away, till I send for you. There's plenty to puzzle over in this Catchpole Square Mystery without having the other mystery of Louis Lorenz piled on the top of it--that's what most men would think. I'm not one of them. It needs something big in the way of sensation to wake people up in this year of grace. If all turns out well, they'll get it. Besides take Louis Lorenz out of the case, and what becomes of Dr. Pye?