Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square: A Mystery. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

closed the young man's fingers over it, holding the hand tight in his to prevent the money being returned. In the execution of a ruthless action the Inspector's muscles were of iron.

      "If you drop it, or try to give it me back," he said, "I'll lock you up and charge you with loitering for an unlawful purpose. What will Florence think when she sees your name in the papers and my name charging you? Be sensible for once, Dick, if you've any feeling for her."

      The blood rushed up into Dick's face, and he staggered as if he had been struck; but he recovered himself quickly, and was the same indolent, easy-mannered being as before.

      "Thank you, uncle; I'll keep the sovereign. Before the week's out I daresay I shall get something to do. The mischief of it is, there's nothing stirring; stagnation's the order of the day. If I could hit upon something startling and be first in the field, I should get well paid for it. Would you object to my dashing on the colour in an article headed, 'A Night in an Inspector's Office.'? I think I could make it lurid."

      Before the laughing Inspector could reply a constable entered, holding by the arm a poorly dressed woman of woebegone appearance. Her gestures, her sobs, the wild looks she cast around, were those of a woman driven to distraction. Clinging to her skirts was a little girl as woebegone and white-faced as her mother.

      Inspector Robson instantly straightened himself; he was no longer a private individual, but an officer of the law prepared for duty in whatever complicated shape it presented itself.

      "She's been here half-a-dozen times to-night, sir," said the constable, "and last night as well, and the night before. She's lost her husband, she says."

      "My husband-my husband!" moaned the woman. "Find him for me-find him for me! He's gone, gone, gone! Merciful God! What has become of him?"

      Inspector Robson saw at a glance that here before him was no woman maddened by drink, but a woman suffering from terrible distress; and by a motion of his hand he conveyed an order to the constable, who instantly took his hand from the woman's arm.

      "What is your husband's name?" asked the Inspector in a gentle tone.

      "Abel Death, sir. Oh, for God's sake find him for me-find him for me-find him for me!"

      Tears rolled down her face and choked her voice. Every nerve in her body was quivering with anguish.

      "How long has he been gone?" asked the Inspector.

      "Five days, sir, five long, long days."

      "Was he in employment?"

      "Yes, sir, yes. Oh, what can have become of him?"

      "What is the name of his employer?"

      The agony the woman had endured overcame her, and she could not immediately reply.

      "Mr. Samuel Boyd, sir, of Catchpole Square," said the child.

      CHAPTER IX

      THE DISAPPEARANCE OF ABEL DEATH

      She spoke in a hoarse voice, and very slowly, a scraping, grating cough accompanying her words. "Mr. Samuel Boyd, sir, of Catchpole Square," might, according to her utterance, have lain in a charnel-house among the bones of the dead when she fished him up for the information of Inspector Robson. Such a rasping cough, forcing what little blood she had in her poor body up into her pallid face, where it stood out in blotches of dull, unhealthy red! Such a wearing, tearing cough, as though some savage, malignant beast, lurking in her chest, was clawing at it in sheer devilry, and scraping it clean to the bone! But she did not seem to mind it, nor, by her manner, did she invite pity for it. The cough was an old companion, "and goes on so," she said to a juvenile friend, "when it takes me unawares, that it almost twists my head off." This was not said in a tone of complaining; it was merely a plain statement of fact.

      The name of Samuel Boyd had scarcely passed the girl's lips, when Inspector Robson darted forward to catch the woman, who, but for his timely help, would have fallen to the ground. Assisted by Dick he bore her to a bench, and there they succeeded in restoring her to consciousness.

      The attitude of the child was remarkable for its composure, which sprang from no lack of feeling, but partly from familiarity with suffering, and partly from a pitiful strength of character which circumstances had brought too early into play. Too early, indeed, for she was but twelve years of age, and had about her few of the graces which speak of a happy child-life. How different is the springtime of such a child from that of one brought up in a home of comparative comfort, where the pinching and grinding for the barest necessaries of life are happily unfelt! What pregnant lessons are to be learned from a child so forlorn-say, for instance, the lesson of gratitude for the better fortune and the pleasant hours of which we take no account!

      But Gracie Death did not murmur or repine. She simply suffered, and suffered in dull patience. It was her lot, and she bore it.

      The introduction of the name of Samuel Boyd of Catchpole Square brought a startled look into Dick's eyes, and he glanced at Inspector Robson to see if it made any impression upon him. The Inspector gave no indication of this, but devoted his whole attention to the woman, who, the moment she revived, was in full possession of her senses.

      "My husband!" she moaned. "My husband!"

      "Has he run away from you?" asked the Inspector.

      "No, sir, no," replied Mrs. Death. "He was too fond of us for that. The best husband, the best father! If you have any mercy in you, find him for me! What shall I do without him? What will the children do without him?"

      "We shall starve," said Gracie, answering the question, coldly and impassively.

      Inspector Robson coughed behind his hand, and his cough awoke the demon in Gracie's chest to emulation so strong that it straightway set to work, and the spectators had a practical illustration of her statement that it was "enough to twist her head off."

      "The child has a bad cough," said Inspector Robson, with a look of pity; "she oughtn't to be out on such a night."

      "I would come with mother," said Gracie. "It ain't her fault, it's mine."

      The Inspector coughed again, and Gracie's demon followed suit.

      "Did your husband drink?" asked the Inspector.

      "No, sir, no," said the woman, reproachfully. "How can you ask it? Gracie will tell you. Did father drink, Gracie?"

      "Yes," she answered. "Tea. Very weak. I like it strong," and added, "when I can get it."

      "I wish I had a cup to give you," said Inspector Robson.

      "So do I," said Gracie, "and a cup for mother."

      "If there's anything you wish to tell me," said the Inspector, addressing the woman, "I will see what can be done. Take your time, and don't hurry. He was employed by Mr. Samuel Boyd, you say."

      "Yes, sir, of Catchpole Square. He was Mr. Boyd's clerk, and a hard time he had of it. We did the best we could upon his miserable salary, but what with one thing and another we were worried out of our lives."

      "Did I worry you, mother?" asked Gracie. "I'd stop coughing if I could, but I can't. If it didn't worry mother, gentlemen, I wouldn't mind. It ketches me that tight that I can't hold it if I try ever so. I do try, mother!"

      "You do, my dear. A little while ago" – to the Inspector again-"we borrowed three pounds of a money-lender and signed a paper, and though we've paid it twice over he makes out that we owe him more than we did at the beginning. Our bits of furniture aren't worth much, but it's all we have, and every time he comes he threatens to sell us up."

      "I wish he'd sell my cough up," said Gracie, with a queer little laugh, "I'd let it go cheap. It wouldn't fetch much, I reckon, but he can have it and welcome, because it worries mother."

      "That's the way she talks of it, sir. She never thinks of herself."

      "Oh, don't I, though? You mustn't believe everything mother says, gentlemen."

      "Let me go on, dear, and don't interrupt, or you'll make the gentlemen angry."

      "I'd be sorry to do that. You will help mother won't you, please!"

      "We'll try," replied