It was all new ground, or rather new water, to French, and he found it fascinating. He was interested in shipping, and the presence of four of the world’s greatest liners grouped in one small area thrilled him. Then his attention passed to the huge floating dock, empty at the moment, and standing up out of the water like a couple of long and high, but narrow, blocks of buildings. On each was a crane whose jib pointed straight up to the sky: twin spires of this cathedral of commerce. After these mammoths ordinary steamers, yachts and lighters seemed small beer, and French watched the giants till they were out of the immediate neighbourhood of the harbour and well down into Southampton Water.
He was struck by the contrast between the populous area adjoining the city and the lonely shores of the estuary. Except for clusters of houses at places like Hythe and Lee, the country seemed thinly inhabited. Depressing looking shores too, particularly on the west side, which was low and swampy. To the east the ground rose higher and was better wooded. An important feature in the landscape, the great squat circular tanks of fuel oil shone greyly in the sunshine. Then came Calshot, with its group of low sheds surrounding the Martello-tower-like castle. They went close in to the shore here, as they opened out Cowes Roads and the stretch of water where the Solent and Spithead join.
French looked with a thrill on these historic sheets of water, whose names he had known since he was a boy. Far away to the south-east he could see on the horizon two of the three old forts that he knew were there, looking like the tops of round postal pillar boxes projecting from the sea. It brought back tales he had read as a child of ships of the line, frigates and corvettes, lying in Spithead, waiting for the wind that would take them out to meet the French or the Spanish or the Dutch. Then they were crossing Cowes Roads, with Egypt Point on their right and the tree covered slopes of Osborne on their left, till presently they entered the estuary of the Medina and came to rest at the pier in Cowes.
French had rung up Superintendent Hanbury, and as the two men stepped from the gangway a sergeant of police introduced himself. The Super, he said, was engaged and could not meet them, but he would be free by the time they reached police headquarters. It was a short distance, and if they wouldn’t mind walking, he would show them the way.
The sergeant was respectful and sufficiently talkative, but not communicative about the Chayle affair. French therefore dropped the subject till they were shown into Hanbury’s room.
Superintendent Hanbury was a contrast in appearance to Crawford. Also a big man, he was fair instead of dark: with blue eyes, a pale skin and a little turned-up fair moustache. He had a pleasanter expression than Crawford and greeted French in a more friendly way.
‘Sorry I couldn’t meet you, gentlemen,’ he apologised, ‘but our magistates are sitting today and I have to be within reach of the court. You want, I suppose, to go out to Chayle? Or is there anything else you’d like first?’
French said he’d like to begin with a little chat about the affair, to which Hanbury agreed with readiness. He described in detail all he had done, but without adding materially to French’s knowledge, except on the single point that he had tried the key found in the burnt car, and that it did open the safe. He quite saw the difficulties in the theory of Clay’s having robbed the safe, but could suggest no alternative. He was immensely impressed with French’s idea that the car disaster was a fake, but the suggestion that Clay had been murdered did not seem to him to throw any real light on the matter. Finally French, seeing he wasn’t going to get any further information, said he would like to go out to the works.
‘I can run you out, but I can’t stop with you,’ Hanbury offered. ‘I have to be back in court shortly. When you’re ready to come back, ring up, and I’ll send the car out again.’
This was very satisfactory to French. He much preferred to make his own enquiries in his own way. He therefore thanked Hanbury, and said that as he couldn’t have the advantage of his presence, the arrangement would suit him very well.
Hanbury had wished to introduce French to the two partners, Haviland and Mairs, but it happened that both were attending some meeting in Southampton, and would not be back till later. ‘You’d better see Samson,’ the Super thereupon decided. ‘He’s their engineer and a live wire. I expect he can tell you as much as the others.’
French was accordingly introduced to Mr Noel Samson, a tall thin young man with a big nose, a deep bass voice and a discontented manner. After a few moments’ conversation, he asked what he could do for his visitors.
‘First,’ French answered, ‘I want you to please show us round the works so that we may get a general idea of our bearings. Then I want to see the watchman’s room and the safe from which the money was stolen, and anything else that you think might bear on the affair. Then I should like a statement of what you know. Then—’
Samson had begun to smile as he listened to this recital. Now he laughed outright. ‘Steady on, Chief-Inspector: I’m only finite. You want to be shown round the works? Very good: come along. When that’s done we can think of the next step.’
Samson proved himself a good guide. He took his visitors everywhere and explained the various processes in rotation. Then they examined the watchman’s room, where he had sat between his five periodic inspections: at nine, eleven, one, three and five. As they walked Samson told them what he knew of the matter and answered a number of questions on various points of detail.
On the whole French did not learn a great deal more than had been told him by Superintendent Goodwilly. It seemed that Clay was normally on duty from eight to six—ten hours. He was employed to keep a general watch on the premises, in spite of the fact that a small shift worked at night to tend certain machinery, such as the rotary kilns, which ran continuously. He brought two meals with him for the night, and it was known that he had the first between twelve and one and the second about four. On the night of his disappearance neither had been eaten, which seemed to indicate that he had left the works early.
Though in direct discussion French did not learn a great deal from the engineer, he was puzzled by the man’s manner. There was in his every word and action a strong sense of grievance. For some reason Samson was a disappointed man. French noted the fact for future consideration.
‘Well, Mr Samson, that’s fine so far as it goes,’ he said at last. ‘What about having a look at that safe?’
They were sitting in Samson’s office, and without replying the engineer put a call through his telephone.
‘I was asking,’ he said to French, ‘if Mr Mairs had come back, and I find he’s just arrived. As he is our financial expert, and the safe that was burgled was his, I think I’d better hand you both over to him. If you want me again I’ll be here.’
French expressed his satisfaction at this arrangement, and they walked to Mairs’s office. Grosvenor Mairs was a small round-faced man with a headlong way of walking, swinging his head forwards and sideways at each step as if he were a diver about to take a plunge. He had a boisterous offhand manner, but there was something coldly calculating about his eye which suggested that he was very well able to take care of himself. Samson effected the necessary introductions and left them.
‘I’m glad this matter has been put into the hands of the Yard,’ Mairs said. ‘Nothing against our local force, you know, and all that. But it stands to sense that the Yard must be better equipped to deal with serious crime, and both Mr Haviland and I think that this is a very serious crime.’
French was interested. ‘Why do you say that, Mr Mairs?’ he asked.
Mairs hesitated. ‘I think Mr Haviland would like to talk to you about that when he comes in,’ he said. ‘He’ll be here shortly. In the meantime, if there is any other information that I can give you, please ask me.’
This seemed a propitious moment to investigate the matter of the safe. Mairs was obviously anxious to help. He showed French the safe and unhesitatingly answered all his questions.
But here again French found that Goodwilly had told h
im practically all there was to know. The safe was in Mairs’s own office, was large, and of an old pattern, and contained the books of the firm in addition to any cash that might be in hand.
‘Who knew that the money was in the safe, Mr Mairs?’ French asked.
‘Well,’ the junior partner returned, ‘it was probably known by all the staff that we kept money in the works and that the safe in my office was the most likely place to keep it. But that we had four hundred in it on that particular night was only known to myself and the two clerks in our cashier’s department.’
‘They didn’t talk?’
‘They say not, and I believe them, for both are reliable fellows who have been with us for years. But, of course—’ Mairs shrugged.
‘Of course,’ French agreed politely.
‘But there’s one thing which you should know,’ Mairs went on. ‘Our wages come to between two and three hundred a week, and are paid each Friday. The money is obtained from the bank on Thursday, so as to allow time to divide it into the pay envelopes. If the thief had come on a Thursday night he would have found nearly seven hundred pounds instead of four.’
‘And that would be known to all your staff?’
‘All the staff wouldn’t know how much the wages came to, but all would know that we had more money before pay day.’
‘Quite. That’s certainly interesting.’
From Mairs French picked up what further information he could. He got the names and addresses and histories of the clerks and others who knew that money was kept in the safe. He learned the details of Clay’s history, none of which seemed to help, and also that Samson was an exceedingly able man with high qualifications as an engineer and chemist, who had been with them since the start of their works, nine years previously.
As Mairs gave this information a call came through on his telephone. ‘Right,’ he answered, ‘we’ll go now.’
‘That was Mr Haviland, Chief-Inspector. He would like to see you in his office if you will come across.’
He led the way, Carter as usual bringing up the rear like some great dog.
Haviland presented an extraordinary contrast to Mairs in manner and appearance. He was a heavily built man, with a walrus moustache and a deliberate air. He shook hands with French, nodded to Carter, and asked everyone to sit down.
‘I’m glad to see you here, Chief-Inspector,’ he said ponderously. ‘I may tell you that I took the liberty of asking the Chief Constable whether Scotland Yard could be called in. He told me it had already been done. I was much pleased.’
‘It was considered desirable to co-ordinate the different police forces which were dealing with the case,’ French replied.
‘You are discreet, Chief-Inspector,’ Haviland returned. ‘However that’s your business. But I should like to tell you that both Mr Mairs and myself take a very serious view of this affair. I should also like to ask you a question or two if you have no objection?’
French smiled. ‘No objection, sir, but I don’t guarantee to answer.’
‘You can answer these. First, I am informed that the man found in the burnt car really was Clay. Is that so?’
‘Yes, sir, that’s so.’
‘Next, it was hinted that the accident to the car was really not an accident at all, but that it was caused deliberately. Can you tell me anything about that?’
French hesitated. Was anything to be gained by keeping this secret? It would come out at the inquest in any case.
‘There’s reason to believe it was not an accident,’ he said quietly.
‘Ah,’ Haviland glanced quickly at Mairs, ‘we feared it might be so. That rather confirms a very unpleasant idea which occurred to each of us independently. I’ll tell him, Mairs?’
‘I think you should.’
‘Well, Chief-Inspector, I am one of those who feel that there’s no use in calling in your doctor or lawyer and not telling him the whole facts of your case, and I imagine the same obtains in circumstances such as we find ourselves in now. We both feel that there is more in this matter than is apparent on the surface. In short, we feel that this theft would not have been carried out—and murder committed, because I suppose that car business was murder?’
‘We think so.’
‘So should I. Well, we feel that all that would not have been done for four hundred pounds, or rather for the chance of what money might have been in the safe—for we doubt that the thief knew what was there.’
‘You may be right, sir. At the same time there are thousands of people in this world who would commit murder for the chance of such a sum.’
‘Not in these circumstances, I think.’
‘That postulates some other motive,’ French pointed out.
‘It does,’ Haviland returned, ‘and that’s what I’m coming to. There was something more valuable than four hundred pounds in these works. Not in the safe of which we are speaking. But in that one which you see there’—he pointed to a large green Milner safe in the corner of the room—‘there was something worth perhaps hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions. That’s what we’re afraid of, Chief-Inspector.’
French whistled softly, and even Carter sat up and looked thrilled.
‘Tell me, sir.’
Haviland did so. He told of their setting up the works and engaging Samson, a man with a brilliant record, as their engineer and chemist. That was nine years previously. For five years things had gone on without incident, then Samson had come to himself and Mairs to say that he thought he was on to a discovery, which if it worked out as he hoped, would revolutionise the manufacture of rapid-hardening cement. He put his facts before the partners and they authorised him to engage in experiments. These were long drawn and costly, but at length Samson had made his process a commercial possibility. It was an exceedingly simple discovery. Did the Chief-Inspector know anything of the manufacture of cement?
French’s ideas were of the haziest.
Very well, roughly what happened was that chalk and earths of various kinds were mixed and ground with water into a slurry. This was then burnt into clinker in large rotary or other kilns. The clinker was then ground fine, and—there it was: cement. In this process the burning of the dried slurry to clinker was an expensive item, and that was where Samson’s discovery came in. As the Chief-Inspector doubtless knew, there were certain substances called fluxes in existence. These were mixed with, say, metals, to promote fusion when heated. Now Samson had discovered that certain chemicals in certain proportions enormously assisted the fusion of the dried slurry into the viscous semi-liquid which afterwards became clinker. So much so that the slurry could be fused with a very much smaller application of heat than formerly. The Chief-Inspector could see the result of that. With the new process there was a great saving of coal and of the time during which the slurry had to be kept in the kiln. He need not go into figures, but the Chief-Inspector might take it from him that the process meant an enormous thing, running, as he had said, possibly into millions sterling. Now the formula for producing the flux, and the method of using it when produced, being complicated, had necessarily been reduced to paper, and the papers were kept in the safe in that office. What he and Mr Mairs had feared was not the loss of a paltry four hundred, but the loss of their secret. The Chief-Inspector would now understand their anxiety upon the whole question.
French, considerably impressed, agreed that this was an important contribution to the problem. He pondered in silence for a few moments, then began in his slow deliberate way to ask questions.
‘From what you say, the secret formula has not, I take it, been stolen.’
‘No. If it had been, you would have heard something more about it before this.’
‘Were there any signs of the safe having been interfered with?’
‘None. None that any of us could trace at all events.’
‘That doesn’t prevent its having been removed and photographed and replaced.’
‘We realise that only too well.’
‘Who
knew that this document existed and that it was in the safe?’
‘So far as we know, no one but Mr Samson and Mr Mairs and myself.’
For the first time Mairs spoke. ‘Don’t you think we should get Samson in while we’re talking this over?’ he suggested.
‘I think so,’ Haviland returned. ‘What do you say, Chief-Inspector?’
French thought it would be advisable, and Haviland put through a call. Presently Samson looked in.
‘Come in, Samson, and find a chair,’ Haviland said. ‘We were just telling the Chief-Inspector about the process. He wants to ask some questions.’
‘I was asking, Mr Samson, who knew that your notes were in the safe?’
‘No one—except the three of us here. So far as I’m aware, no one even knew that we had a secret. I did the experiments myself and no one knew what I was working on, and when we altered our system we simply said we were adopting a slightly different process. I don’t think anyone realised it was either secret or valuable.’
‘Surely your big wall and your closed gates would have suggested something of the kind?’
‘Oh well, we had to take some precautions. While casual visitors were safe enough, a qualified chemist might have smelt a rat.’
French paused. ‘Tell me,’ he went on presently, ‘are such processes not patentable? Why run it as a secret process?’
The partners exchanged glances. ‘That’s a very pertinent question, Chief-Inspector,’ Haviland answered. ‘It’s one which we considered seriously ourselves. The reason we decided against it was this: We’re producing cement at about eighty per cent of what it costs our rivals. Now if we say nothing about our process, we can sell our product at our ordinary price and take our profit. As a matter of fact we do sell at our ordinary price, but we give a slight rebate for full wagon- or ship-loads. That ensures the sale of every ton we can put out, and it’s not a large enough cut to look suspicious.’
Mystery on Southampton Water Page 12