‘I follow.’
‘Now suppose we patent the process. At once the engineers of the world are at work to modify it so as to evade our monopoly. Quite likely someone discovers a better process. Then we’re down and out. Even if we fight and hold our rights—a ruinously expensive business—we should be forced to allow other firms to use the process on licence, prices would come down generally, and our profits would be correspondingly reduced. I don’t know whether I have made myself clear?’
‘Quite clear, sir.’ Again French paused. ‘Now you say that only you three gentlemen knew of the existence of the secret process. But if you’re right that this affair represents an attempt to steal it, you must be wrong in that?’
Again the partners exchanged glances. ‘I think we all see that difficulty,’ Haviland admitted. ‘It certainly does look as if someone knew, but how anyone could have found out we can’t imagine.’
‘Then, with regard to the stealing of the money, you think it was only a blind?’
‘We imagine so. We suggest that the thief was in search of the process and that he left, or thought he had left, some trace of his presence, and decided to take anything he could lay his hands on to make it look like an ordinary burglary.’
‘And do you think Clay was party to the affair?’
Haviland shrugged. ‘Clay was a man of good character. I should have said he was quite honest. Of course you never know …’
‘If you’re right in all this,’ French said after another pause, ‘there seem to me two lines which will have to be gone into carefully. The first is, Who would have benefited by stealing the process? And the second, Who could have got hold of the keys of your safes?’
Haviland made a gesture of agreement. ‘That’s it, Chief-Inspector; that’s exactly what we thought ourselves. But there you’ve got us. It mightn’t be difficult to say who would have benefited by stealing the secret, but your second question is unanswerable.’
‘Well, let us take the first question first. Who in point of fact would have benefited?’
‘We think,’ Haviland returned slowly, ‘only a technical man—someone with a technical knowledge of cement manufacture. Mr Samson tells us that no outsider could have understood the formula.’
‘Have you any such in your works?’
Haviland looked at Samson.
‘Not to my knowledge,’ the engineer answered.
‘Then as to possible suspects outside your works?’
Haviland shook his head. ‘That’s a hopelessly big question, I’m afraid. There must be hundreds. Given the unlikely fact that the existence of our process was known, there are literally hundreds who could make a fortune out of it.’
‘You mean that anyone finding the formula would sell it as his own?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
Once again French sat silent, lost in thought.
‘Those rebates you give for full loads,’ he said presently. ‘Are you sure they haven’t give you away?’
Haviland shook his head. ‘That we’re giving the small rebates is of course known, but we don’t believe the discovery could suggest that we had a process. We think the rebates would be explained in one of two ways: either that we’re selling at a loss to keep our plant running, or that we’ve got better scientific management than other works.’
Haviland paused, then went on: ‘As a matter of fact I put up a story to meet the difficulty. I gave out that Mr Mairs had come in for a fortune and was spending a little to make up the loss on our sales, so as to keep our works going through the bad times.’
French nodded. ‘Very ingenious, sir. How did you give that story publicity?’
‘I told Mr Tasker. It was he who spoke of our rebates. He’s the managing director of the Joymount Works, over at Hamble.’
‘What is their business?’
‘Cement of the ciment fondu type, same as ours.’
‘Oh,’ said French. ‘Are there many similar works round here?’
‘No, only the two, Joymount and ourselves. The big works on the Medina make an improved Portland cement, and wouldn’t be interested.’
‘And was Mr Tasker,’ French asked slowly, ‘the only person to whom you told the story?’
‘Yes, he was the only one who mentioned the rebates.’
French hesitated. ‘His question, I suppose, didn’t seem to you suggestive?’ he said at last.
All three men stared. ‘Suggestive?’ Haviland repeated. ‘You mean?’
‘I mean,’ French answered, ‘that here is a firm which would be vitally interested in your discovery; a firm located on your threshold, so to speak—much nearer than any of your other rivals. They have discovered you are underselling them—because that’s what you’re really doing—and their managing director tries to pump you on the matter. I asked whether you found it in any way suggestive?’
Once again the three men stared, this time in silence.
11
French Gets Down to It
It was Haviland who presently broke the silence.
‘I wonder if I quite understand you, Chief-Inspector? Are you suggesting, to put it bluntly, that Tasker or some of his people stole the process?’
‘I’m asking if you thought so,’ French returned with a smile.
Haviland shook his head decidedly. ‘I certainly did not,’ he answered. ‘And I don’t think—?’ He looked at Mairs and Samson.
‘Such a thing never entered my head,’ Mairs declared.
‘Nor mine,’ Samson added.
‘I don’t think there’s any evidence for such a view,’ went on Haviland. ‘In fact I think Tasker’s speaking of the rebate cuts the other way. If he were contemplating the theft, he wouldn’t have drawn attention to himself like that.’
French nodded. ‘I simply asked for your views, because you gentlemen seem to have given the affair such close thought.’
‘I don’t see,’ Haviland went on, ‘how Joymount could have discovered that we had a process. Nor do I see how they could have got the keys of the safe.’
‘Someone got them,’ French pointed out. ‘Why not Joymount?’
‘Well, how could they have?’ Haviland persisted.
‘What about an accomplice among your own staff?’
Haviland shook his head. ‘I don’t know who it could have been.’
French was not convinced of Joymount’s innocence, and he noted the matter as one to be gone into thoroughly. There was however no need to say so.
‘You’re probably right, sir,’ he went on smoothly. ‘I see difficulties in the theory myself. Now about the keys. I understand there are only two in existence?’
‘Yes,’ Haviland answered, ‘and that applies to each safe, the one the money was stolen from and that one in the corner. Mr Mairs, who acts as our accountant and cashier, has one pair of keys, and I have the other.’
‘How do you keep them?’
‘I keep mine on a ring, fastened to my trousers with a chain. I only undo the chain at night, and then I put the keys under my pillow.’
‘You’re satisfied that no one could have got at them?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘And you, Mr Mairs?’
‘I keep mine in the same way. When the question of the process arose we discussed this matter of the keys and agreed as to what we should do. I’m also satisfied that no one could have got hold of mine.’
‘What keys altogether were on the bunches?’
‘So far as the works were concerned, the same on both,’ said Haviland. ‘Besides the two safe keys there was a key of the wicket in the outside gate, of the two new sheds where we have our new small kilns, and of the office block, and each of us had one for his private room. In addition I had one or two private keys connected with my house.’
‘That is true in my case also,’ Mairs added. I had three private keys on my bunch as well as those belonging to the works.’
‘Well,’ said French, ‘from that it seems obvious that the keys couldn’t have b
een taken away for long enough to open the safe. Therefore they must have been got hold of momentarily and an impression taken. Now when could that have been done?’
Haviland shook his head. ‘That’s just it,’ he remarked.
‘Let’s get down to it,’ French returned. ‘Suppose one of you gentlemen opened the safe and had occasion to turn back to your desk for a moment. Suppose a clerk or other person was present. Could not he have snatched out the key, taken a wax impression of it, and replaced it without your notice?’
Again Haviland shook his head. ‘Impossible,’ he declared. ‘You’ve overlooked the chains. If either of us had unlocked the safe and wished to return to our desks, we should have had to lock it first and remove the key. We never took the chains off, except at night.’
At this Mairs nodded emphatically and French had another try.
‘You’re both absolutely positive you didn’t lend the keys to anybody. Your private keys, for instance, which were on the same bunch?’
Neither man had done so. Neither would have done so on any account whatever.
‘Then it looks as if they must have been taken at night,’ French went on. ‘A mild sleeping draught, not strong enough to arouse suspicion, but enough to keep the patient quiet while the operation was in progress? What about that, gentlemen?’
Once again the partners shook their heads. They were positive that nothing of the kind had occurred.
French was silent. This certainly was a bit of a teaser. If these men were correct, it was beginning to justify Hanbury’s expression that the impossible had happened. Well, French had been up against that difficulty before. If statements proved that the impossible had happened, the answer was: so much the worse for the statements. For the first time French began to wonder if these Chayle people knew more than they had admitted. How, he wondered again, could he find that out?
Haviland moved suddenly as if an idea had occurred to him. For a moment he seemed to be considering it, then hesitatingly he spoke.
‘Your talking of a sleeping draught has just suggested something to me. I can’t believe there’s anything in it, but perhaps I ought to tell you.’
‘Please do, sir,’ French invited, while Mairs and Samson stared with surprised interest.
‘It was last Friday,’ went on Haviland. ‘I had been in Town for the day and I came down by the 4.50 to Portsmouth; via Ryde, you know. Well, the whole story is simply that I fell asleep in the train. There was nothing in that: it has happened, I’m afraid, many times. But on this occasion I slept very soundly—I didn’t wake when we stopped at Portsmouth. In fact the car attendant seems to have had trouble waking me. But when he did so I was at once all right.’
‘One can generally tell if one has been drugged,’ French pointed out. ‘Did you imagine that on this occasion?’
‘No,’ Haviland said with decision. ‘I thought it natural enough. I had had a heavy day in Town, and if you remember, last Friday was very hot, and the car was hot and stuffy.’
‘You didn’t then think you had been drugged,’ French went on, ‘but now in the light of our discussion are you equally sure?’
Haviland hesitated again. ‘No,’ he said at last, ‘that’s why I’ve mentioned it. It has occurred to me that the tea had a slight taste. I remember thinking it wasn’t as good as usual.’
French nodded. ‘Were there many other passengers in the car with you?’
‘I don’t think so; I really didn’t observe. As I said, I was tired, and while I was awake I was reading.’
‘No one sitting at your table?’
‘No one.’
‘Nor across the alley way?’
Haviland hesitated again. ‘I think there was a man, but I didn’t look particularly at him.’
‘You can’t give me any description of him?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t. I had no reason to look at him.’
French tried hard to get a line on the passenger, but without success. Then he reverted to the case generally. In spite however of all his efforts he failed to learn anything further.
There was just one other thing to be done at Chayle. Having taken Haviland’s and Mairs’s fingerprints, French carefully tested the insides of both safes and satisfied himself that no prints other than those of the partners were to be found. He had not indeed expected to find any, owing to the fact that the man who had broken the carburettor of the Austin Seven had worn gloves. However the search had to be made. Having completed it, Carter rang up Hanbury for the car, and when it arrived the two men took their departure.
French was well satisfied with his progress as he and Carter travelled back to Southampton. He had triumphantly solved his first problem—whether there was or was not a case for investigation. He had shown that murder had been done, and he had initiated enquiries which he hoped would soon lead him to the murderer. Certainly a good day’s work!
But it was not French’s way to linger over the past. Now, as at all times, it was the future that mattered. What was to be his next step?
He wondered if he had enough data to form a tentative theory of the crime. He was afraid not, and yet in the course of his interview with the Chayle partners, two possibilities had emerged.
The first was that the Joymount people had learnt of the process and were trying to steal it—or had stolen it. This would involve their having bribed Clay to help them, and when they had got all they could out of him, having murdered him to preserve their secret. This idea met the inherent possibilities of the situation, and was to some slight extent supported by Tasker’s question.
The second possibility was that the Chayle partners had themselves murdered Clay. No motive had been indicated, but one could easily be imagined. Suppose, for instance, they had found that Clay had discovered the process and was about to sell it. This suggestion also met the facts, and was supported by the fact that the Chayle statements involved an impossibility, and must therefore at some point be incorrect.
French saw that he was skating on extraordinarily thin ice, and yet thin ice was better than no support at all. Suppose one of his possibilities were the truth. Was there any test as to which it might be?
He thought so. The sleep in the train! That train journey had been, so far as he could find out, the only occasion on which moulds of the Chayle keys could have been obtained. Had Haviland been drugged on that occasion? If so, it would remove the contradiction in his evidence—that the keys could not have been copied—and also prove the existence of an outside criminal. French saw that an early investigation into that tea-car episode was indicated.
But though these ideas seemed reasonable enough as starting-off points, French was far from satisfied with either. As the little steamer pushed its way along past Calshot and the Hamble he went back again over the facts. Then something more likely flashed into his mind and he gave a little sigh of satisfaction.
Suppose some outsider had penetrated into the works with the object of stealing the process—a representative of Joymount or some other person. Leave out for the moment how he came to suspect its existence, and also how he got the keys. Suppose he did suspect and had the keys, and had entered the enclosure to make a search. Very well.
Suppose now that while he was making his search he had been challenged by Clay. Suppose he hit Clay over the head and killed him.
This seemed very promising to French. He pursued the idea.
If he were right so far, what would now happen? Well, there would be the intruder with a body on his hands. His immediate and overwhelming need would be to get rid of that body. How would he do it?
He could scarcely leave it where it was. This would call attention to the murder too quickly. Nor could he bury it nor throw it in the Solent. In each of these cases discovery would be too likely. What would he do? Obviously stage an accidental death—if he could. And how better could this be done than by a car accident and fire?
This was a startling theory, but it looked as if it might be the truth. What would it involve? F
irst it would involve the murderer buying the car. He would have to impersonate Clay. And here at once a clue was suggested. A man’s face could be whitened and he could walk with a limp and speak in a high-pitched voice. But he couldn’t to any considerable extent change his height or build. Therefore the murderer would have to be a thinnish man of slightly over middle height. That would be something to go on.
This theory would explain that really almost insoluble problem: how Clay came to be mixed up in the affair at all. It would explain the reason for the car accident. It would explain the buying of the car with stolen notes of five and ten pound denominations, for an essential of the scheme would be that it must be believed that Clay himself had bought the vehicle. In fact, it presented the first really intelligible theory of the crime.
Of course the murder of Clay at Chayle would work in with either of French’s tentative possibilities—the guilt of Joymount or of the Chayle partners. As a touchstone of these two he had already thought of the sleeping in the train. Was there any corresponding enquiry which might indicate whether Clay had or had not been killed in the works? For some time he considered this point, then he thought that there was.
Could he find out how Clay reached the mainland?
If it could be shown that the watchman was alive when he made the crossing, that of course would be an end to his idea. If on the other hand the man’s crossing could not be traced, it would tend to support it.
Here then was plenty to be getting on with: the getting of details of Haviland’s sleep in the train, of how Clay crossed to the mainland, and of who could have impersonated Clay when buying the car. Incidentally French noted that the latter could not have been either Haviland or Mairs—Haviland was too stout and Mairs too small, but so far as size and build were concerned, it might easily have been Samson.
On reaching their hotel, French got Carter to ring up Hanbury. French was sorry, but he wanted two things. First, could the Super find out how Clay had crossed to the mainland? and second, could he get him a photograph of Samson, if possible without this being known?
Mystery on Southampton Water Page 13