Mystery on Southampton Water

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  Once again King stood thinking, then he seemed to come to a decision.

  ‘You get in, Brand, to the seat alongside the driver. Leave the door open behind you. Look sharp like a good chap. That’s right. Now start her up. Good. Now listen to what you have to do. Get her going at a walking pace, then get her into second—still at a walking pace. The ground’s sloping a little down and she won’t stall. You follow? Then get out—sharp, and shut the door. I’ll accelerate with the hand throttle and steer her into that railing. She’ll go through it and down into the stream below. A drop of petrol will do the rest.’

  So that was King’s scheme! A faked accident! Well, it was a good one, if not very original.

  Fearful of the appearance of a police patrol, Brand did not stop to think. He climbed into the car and started the engine. Then leaning over on that ghastly figure, he pushed over the gear lever, slipped her into first, and let in the clutch. She moved off at a crawl, King walking beside her on the other side and steering through the window.

  ‘Now second speed,’ King called, and Brand made the change. The speed increased, but King was able to run alongside. ‘Out!’ King shouted, and Brand leaped out, slamming the door.

  Immediately he heard the engine roar and the car bounded forward. It left them as an arrow leaves a bow, and still accelerating strongly, rushed ahead. The two men ran after it as fast as they could.

  Events now happened quickly. Immediately ahead of the car was a sharp right-hand bend on an embankment approaching a bridge, the edge of the slope being protected by the railing to which King had pointed.

  The car, now travelling at thirty miles an hour, did not round the bend, but carried straight on against the railing. There was a crash and the sound of ripping wood, and the car vanished downwards. Further crashes came from below, then all was still.

  ‘That may have been heard,’ King breathed. ‘The petrol, quick!’

  Brand raced back to the Triumph, and picking up the tin of petrol, rushed forward again to where the ‘accident’ had taken place. King was bending over the wreck.

  ‘Just as well it didn’t go on fire at once,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ve set the controls as they would have been if this had been a genuine smash. I was bothered about that point, but I couldn’t see how to meet it.’

  As he spoke he was hammering with a stone at the connections to the carburettor. ‘This’ll account for the fire,’ he went on. ‘Pour that petrol of yours over everything. Anything that could give us away must be burnt.’

  By the time the body and cushions were soaked in petrol, the carburettor was broken off. Petrol was running out there also, the tank being above the dash. King, who seemed to have foreseen everything, pulled a short length of fuse from his pocket and laid it with one end in the spirit. There was the scrape of a striking match, and a moment later the two men were running silently to the Triumph. Brand started it up instantly and they began to glide slowly south.

  Suddenly there came a burst of light from behind, and looking back, they could see the tops of flames rising above the bend in the road.

  ‘That’s done it!’ King cried. ‘Now back as fast as you like!’

  They returned the way Brand had come, through Thornhill Park and Bursledon, stopped at the point at which they had started up the engine, and pushed the car back to Brand’s garage. Then creeping across the yard, they climbed the rope ladder to King’s room. King drew in the ladder, hiding it in his wardrobe.

  Next morning, King having seen that the coast was clear, Brand left King’s room for the bathroom, returning from there to his own room. When they met at breakfast both were satisfied that not the slightest suspicion of their nocturnal activities had leaked out.

  One or two small matters still required attention, and before going to the works King carried them out. He cut up his wooden and rope ladders and burnt them in the fireplace in his workshop. He also burnt their rubber gloves and the pad of sacks they had used to cross the wall at Chayle, melted away the wax key impressions and broke up their mould cases, buried the remainder of the keys he had made, and in fact destroyed every trace that remained of their adventure.

  ‘I’m thankful to hear that everything’s gone,’ said Brand when King explained afterwards what he had done. ‘Please goodness that’s the last of the whole ghastly business. If I was only sure of that I would take the closing down of the works without a grouse.’

  ‘The works won’t close down,’ the amazing King replied. ‘I got the process as well as the money that night.’

  PART II

  Detection

  8

  French Gets an Outside Job

  Chief-Inspector Joseph French threw down wearily the file of papers with which he had been occupied, and rising from his desk, moved over to the window of his room for a moment’s relaxation. This room to which he had moved on his promotion—Chief-Inspector Mitchell’s old room—was one of the most pleasantly situated in the whole building of New Scotland Yard. Instead of his former view of the brick walls of a courtyard, he now looked out upon open space; the Embankment beneath, then the Thames with its constant stream of traffic, the London County Council buildings across the river, and to the right Westminster Bridge, seen partly in plan and partly in elevation. It was a larger room moreover than his old one and more comfortably furnished; in fact it was altogether more in keeping with its occupant’s new status.

  Over a year had passed in French’s life since that tremendous event which had entitled him to write the word Chief before his former designation of Inspector. It had been an event long hoped and waited for. However, now that it had come and passed, it seemed to him less important than formerly. His life indeed had not changed so much as he had imagined it would. He was a little nearer the upper ranks of his superiors and a little further from the uniformed men, whose salutes, when given, were more punctilious and respectful. But alas he was also a little further from his former colleagues, Inspectors Tanner, Willis and the rest. He had tried in every way he could to prevent that slight feeling of restraint from creeping in between himself and these old friends, but without success. He found, as scores of thousands have before him, that a rise in position means a corresponding increase in loneliness.

  His work also, though different from what he was accustomed to, was not greatly different. There was less investigation, but more consideration of the investigations of others. There was the reviewing of several cases simultaneously, rather than the concentrating on one. There was more allocating of work, with the puzzle of keeping several men busy, while still available for instant use in emergency. There was the constant solving of the problems of his subordinates and the straightening out of the tangles in which they not infrequently became involved. There was more money and a better position, with correspondingly more responsibility and less chance of leaving his troubles behind him when he went home. Though French remained entirely delighted with his promotion, he had found that the extra money and standing exacted their full cost.

  One thing however he did miss, and that was his country jobs. Since his promotion, except for the blissful time of his holidays, he had not been away from the Yard for even one day. As he stood now by the window watching a tug pulling a flotilla of barges up against the ebbing tide, he wished he could once again get out on some special job. Indeed the gorgeousness of this brilliant July morning made the allure of the countryside and sea seem almost irresistible.

  Was it a coincidence, he afterwards wondered, that just as this thought should be passing through his mind, the Assistant Commissioner’s bell should ring? French liked and admired Sir Mortimer Ellison, particularly since he had come so closely in touch with him in that business of the murders on the launch in the Channel. Sir Mortimer indeed had been a good friend to French, and his kindly manner and the full recognition he always gave his subordinates, made it a pleasure to work under him.

  French hurriedly left the window, and stepping along the passage, knocked at the Assistant Commissioner
’s door.

  Sir Mortimer made a gesture with his rather elegant hand which French knew meant, ‘Come in, close the door, sit down on that chair, and listen to me.’ French did all these things.

  ‘Joint application from the Chief Constables of Hants, the Isle of Wight and Southampton, for a man,’ began Sir Mortimer. ‘Some rather involved case which I’m afraid I haven’t read with the care it doubtless merits, but it sounds like a burglary plus the Rouse car case over again. Four hundred pounds were stolen from a safe in a cement works on the Isle of Wight and a man was found burnt in an Austin Seven near Eastleigh. Apparently there’s some connection, not obvious on the face of things. The local police however think there’s more in the affair than meets the eye: they don’t say what.’

  ‘I saw about the burning of the car in the paper, sir.’

  ‘I did too. Well, the information we’ve got is not very illuminating, but there’s one point which makes me think it must be important, and that is that I happen to know Colonel Tressider intimately—that’s the Chief Constable of Hants. He’s what’s referred to in certain circles as a downy bird, French. If he thinks something wants looking into, you may take it from me that it does.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ French returned, not knowing a better comment.

  ‘In fact,’ Sir Mortimer went on in his somewhat dreamy voice, ‘I think so much of his opinion that I should like to do him proud.’ He smiled sardonically. ‘What about going down yourself?’

  Instantly the interview took on a new significance to French. ‘If you think so, sir, certainly,’ he said promptly, but not too promptly. Was this already the answer to his wish?

  ‘What do you think?’ Sir Mortimer returned bluntly.

  French hesitated with discretion. ‘The only thing that I’m handling that’s urgent is that Cromer affair, but I’m nearly through with that and if it would be time enough to go to Hampshire in the evening, I could finish it. All the other cases are allocated and the men concerned can push ahead by themselves.’

  Sir Mortimer nodded. ‘A few hours can’t make much difference. Yes, go down in the evening. You’re to report to Superintendent Goodwilly, of Southampton, who will give you all the particulars. If you could see him tonight it would be an advantage, as you could get to work in the morning before every clue is lost. Right then, I’ll reply to Colonel Tressider and Company and you can ring up Goodwilly.’

  French was filled with delight as he returned to his office. This job would just give him the change of work and that breath of the country—and possibly even the sea—for which he so greatly longed. With considerable eagerness he finished his Cromer work, put his papers about other cases in order, and handed them over to a colleague. That evening he set off with Detective-Sergeant Carter by the 6.30 from Waterloo.

  It was a good train and they reached Southampton on the tick of eight o’clock. A few minutes later they were being shown into Superintendent Goodwilly’s room at police headquarters.

  Goodwilly was a comparatively young man only recently promoted to his present job. French took to him at once. He had a determined face with a pleasant and kindly expression and a pair of extremely intelligent eyes. His manner was direct and unassuming, but at the same time competent. French felt that he would get from him loyal support and that small minded jealousies would not hamper the conduct of the case.

  ‘The three Chief Constables concerned had a conference and fixed up this application, Chief-Inspector,’ said Goodwilly after the usual greeting and preliminaries had been gone through. ‘You’ll see them later. In the meantime I am to tell you all I can about the case.’

  ‘I shall be glad to meet them,’ French returned politely. ‘But as to the facts of the case, I’d much rather have them from you, Super.’

  Goodwilly was pleased, as French had intended him to be. He settled himself more comfortably in his chair and went on.

  ‘The case is really not a Southampton case at all. It’s divided into two parts, and part of it is being handled by the Cowes men and part by the Eastleigh staff. It just happened that both asked me to have some enquiries made, and the result of those enquiries proved that the two cases were connected. I can therefore give you a general outline of what has taken place, but you will have to go for your details to Cowes and Eastleigh.’

  ‘We gathered from the Chief Constables’ letter that the two different events were connected, but we could not understand how.’

  ‘I’ll tell you that now. Will you smoke, Chief-Inspector?’ Goodwilly held out a pouch and a box of cigarettes. French filled his pipe and Carter took a cigarette.

  Goodwilly had produced a file of papers, but he evidently knew the facts by heart, for during the whole course of his story he only looked at them once. He spoke easily, putting the events into more of a narrative form than officialdom usually achieves.

  ‘The first thing was a telephone message from the Super at Cowes, asking me to have enquiries made for a tall thin man with a pale clean-shaven face and a limp, dressed in certain clothes and so on. Here,’ Goodwilly handed over a paper, ‘is the description. It is, as you can see, pretty complete, except that no photograph was available.’

  French glanced over the paper and nodded. ‘Quite good that,’ he admitted.

  ‘The message came in at eleven-five on last Monday morning and gave a skeleton of the events which had occurred. It was supplemented later by further details. Briefly the facts were as follows—’

  The Super interrupted himself to get a map of the district, which he spread on the table.

  ‘Here, on the Isle of Wight just opposite the mouth of the Beaulieu River, is situated the Chayle Rapid-Hardening Cement Works, owned by Messrs Haviland & Mairs. It’s a medium-sized works, with a small harbour on the Solent,’ and Goodwilly gave a short description of the place. ‘Mairs is the partner who looks after the finance. On Monday morning he went as usual to his accountant’s room and in due course opened his safe. At once he saw that some money was missing. He checked up his figures and found it amounted to £415. He locked the room, told Haviland of his discovery, and phoned for the Cowes police. Superintendent Hanbury went out himself and conducted an enquiry.

  ‘The first thing he learned, after the immediate circumstances of the theft, was that the night watchman had disappeared. No one had seen him that morning and his supper, uneaten, was laid out in his hut. Hanbury sent at once to the man’s rooms—he lodged close by—but he had not returned that morning. It was believed that he usually had his supper between one and two in the morning, so whatever had happened to him had probably happened before that hour.

  ‘All concerned naturally assumed that these two events were connected and that the watchman, Clay, had robbed the safe and disappeared with the swag. Hanbury’s first step was, therefore, to obtain this description of Clay which you have seen, and to send it round the Island, as well as here and to Portsmouth, and other points along the mainland.’

  ‘Do I understand you to say that the accountant opened the safe with his keys?’ French asked. ‘I mean, was the safe opened with a key to abstract the money, or broken open.’

  ‘The safe was not damaged in the least, so it must have been opened with a key.’

  ‘I suppose there is no doubt that it was really locked when Mairs left it on the previous working day?’

  ‘I understand that Mairs is positive that it was, and also that he unlocked it on the Monday morning before making the discovery of the theft. Besides we think we’ve found the key that was used, as I’ll tell you later. But in all this I have only hearsay evidence. You’ll have to get those sort of details direct from the persons concerned.’

  ‘Naturally,’ French agreed, ‘but the more information I can get now, the better for me.’

  Goodwilly nodded. ‘I understand that all right, Chief-Inspector,’ he agreed. ‘Well, that’s really about all I learned from Cowes. Oh, I’m wrong. There was one other point.

  ‘Mairs was able to say that he had got the money fro
m the London and Southern Bank in Cowes at various times within the last couple of weeks, and that it consisted principally of single notes, though there were a number of fives and a few tens also. The Super went to the bank and was able to get the numbers of the fives and tens. There were four tens and fifteen fives, the remaining £300 being in singles. These are the numbers of the fives and tens,’ and the Super passed over another paper.

  ‘Those should be useful,’ French commented.

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ Goodwilly returned, ‘I don’t think they will be, as you’ll probably agree when you’ve heard the rest of the tale. Well, that all took place on Monday and referred to the Chayle works.

  ‘On Tuesday morning another case was reported, this time from Eastleigh. At first it seemed totally separate from the other, and it was only later that we found the two were connected. Superintendent Crawford stated that a man had been found burnt to death in an Austin Seven. The man could not be identified and all that was known was the car number, OU 0091. As OU was the registration combination for Southampton, Crawford asked me to have the number traced.

  ‘I sent a man to the County Council Registration office in Civic Square and he learned that the car belonged to a Mr James Norman, of an address in the suburbs. My man went to the address and saw Norman. He said that the car had been his, but that a month previously he had sold it to Messrs Fisher, garage proprietors, who do a big motor trade in the town. The man went on to Fisher’s and they told him something that brought him back at the double to report.

  ‘They said that about nine o’clock on the previous morning, Monday, a man had come in and asked if they had a small second-hand car for sale. He was a middling tall man, thin, clean-shaven and with a very pale face and a limp, and spoke in a high-pitched voice. He was dressed in rather poor clothes—well, I needn’t go on. He answered the description of Clay in every respect. He had been shown two or three cars, and had finally bought Norman’s old Austin Seven at thirty pounds.