Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A MysteryFarjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
General
Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery
Farjeon, B. L. (Benjamin Leopold)
Detective and mystery stories; London (England) -- Fiction
The night was well on by this time, and though he did not intend to
commence operations in Catchpole Square before midnight, there was
plenty for him to do in the meantime. He made his way, therefore, with
all expedition to his lodgings, fortifying himself on the road with a
substantial meal at a cheap restaurant, and purchasing candles,
matches, and half a pint of brandy. His spirits rose at the prospect
of adventure; there is nothing like the uncertain to keep the blood at
fever heat.
Mrs. Applebee was keeping Mrs. Pond company when he put his latchkey
in the street door. Mrs. Pond had told Mrs. Applebee of her good
fortune in securing so eligible a lodger, and Mrs. Applebee had
narrated the conversation which Dick and her husband had had on the
previous night.
"Applebee said he never did hear a young man go on so," said Mrs.
Applebee. "All I hope is he won't give you any trouble."
"What makes you say that?" inquired Mrs. Pond.
"Well, my dear, it was a queer time for a young man to be looking for
lodgings on a night like that, when he couldn't see a yard before
him."
"That was only his joke," responded Mrs. Pond; "he's as nice a
gentleman as ever you set eyes on. I do believe that's him coming in
now. I must give him a candle."
"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Pond," said Dick, taking the candlestick from
her.
"Can I do anything for you, sir?" she asked.
"Well, yes. Perhaps you can oblige me with an empty bottle, a large
one with a cork."
She had one in the cupboard, and she brought it out to him.
"It's had vinegar it, sir."
"That won't matter. Many thanks."
In the room above Dick set about his preparations for an invasion of
Samuel Boyd's house. He made a careful examination of the rope and
grapnel, and was satisfied that the rope would bear his weight and the
grapnel catch on the top of the wall. Everything being ready, he
waited for midnight, deeming it advisable not to go out till then, for
there was no object in his roaming about the streets. He heard Mrs.
Applebee bid Mrs. Pond good night, which was only preliminary to a
long chat between the ladies, first in the passage, afterwards at the
street door. Then he heard the door closed, and listened to hear if
his landlady locked it. No sound of this reached his ears, and shortly
afterwards all was silent in the house, Mrs. Pond having retired to
rest. For a reason which he could not have explained he tumbled the
bedclothes about, as if they had been slept in. He did not possess a
watch, and he had to judge the time as well as he could. When he
believed it to be near the hour he softly left the room, locked it,
pocketed the key, and stepping like a cat, went downstairs and opened
the street door. Hoping that it would not alarm Mrs. Pond he shut it
as quietly as was possible, and, with the rope round his waistcoat and
concealed by his coat, he turned his face in the direction of
Catchpole Square. "I'm in for it now," he thought. "I feel like a
burglar, out on his first job."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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