This led him back to the beginning of the Clay case, for he could not but think the two crimes were connected. Had he been wrong from the beginning in his views on the Clay case? Was it connected, not with any theft of the process, but with something relating to Chayle alone? It was almost beginning to look like it.
French saw that this question, whether or not the presumed time bomb could have been placed during the launch’s stay at Joymount, must be settled definitely. For all the time it would take, it would be well to have the testimony of the crew of the Lucy Jane. He therefore telephoned to the police at Plymouth, asking them to find out if the Lucy Jane would be there on the following day.
The reply was waiting for him at Southampton. It said that the Lucy Jane had discharged her cargo and was leaving for Weymouth that afternoon, in ballast.
French was pleased. Weymouth was a good deal nearer than Plymouth. He found there was a train about four which got to Weymouth about 6.30. When it left, he and Carter were on board.
The Lucy Jane had not arrived by ten that night, but next morning when they went down to the harbour, she was there. French went aboard at once.
He made exhaustive enquiries. The man who was working the steam winch admitted that someone might have passed on the wharf unseen by him—though actually he had not seen anyone, but the tallyman was quite positive that no one had. So also was another man who had been engaged in carrying out some repairs to the port light casing.
French left Weymouth entirely convinced that the evidence was unassailable. No person had tampered with the launch while it lay at Joymount.
In the train back to Southampton he continued puzzling over his problem. He was beginning to accept the time-bomb-put-in-at-Chayle theory. Nothing else indeed seemed possible.
Then suddenly a devastating idea occurred to him. A time bomb could not have been used at all!
He had already noted the fact that if such a bomb had been employed, it must have been by someone who knew the Chayle plans accurately. Samson’s launch ran at about ten knots, and as the distance from Joymount to Chayle was about nine standard miles, the time taken for the journey averaged about three-quarters of an hour. The explosion had therefore to be timed within that three-quarters. Now the time of the stay at Joymount could probably have been estimated fairly accurately. In fact, French thought, had Tasker and company been guilty, they could have arranged the start at any time to suit themselves. But the Chayle party did not return at the time Tasker and company had expected. They delayed at Hamble for no less than forty minutes. If then a time bomb had been set, it would have gone off at Hamble.
The innocence of the Joymount men seemed indeed definitely established by the fact that the explosion had not taken place until some thirty minutes after the launch had left Hamble. If it had occurred immediately after the departure, it might have been possible to argue some inaccuracy in the setting. But as it was, the explosion did not take place till half an hour after the launch had been expected to arrive at Chayle.
The more French examined this idea, the more conclusive it became. The argument was unanswerable. But then—if a time bomb had not been used, he didn’t know what could have happened.
The problem was exasperating. When they reached Southampton he was still puzzling over it. But, on leaving the train, he banished it from his mind. This was the time for action, not theory. Until he had got his facts he needn’t worry over much about fitting them together.
The inquest on Mairs’s body was to be opened that afternoon in Cowes, but as Hanbury had arranged with the coroner that the proceedings would be adjourned after taking evidence of identification, French did not think he was called on to attend. He therefore looked up the list of enquiries he had made, and decided he would devote the remainder of the day to pushing forward one important line of investigation—the effort to find out where the explosive might have been obtained.
This matter was one of those in which he had asked the co-operation of the local men and he was anxious to know just what had been done about it. He began therefore by calling on Superintendent Goodwilly at the Southampton headquarters.
‘The explosive?’ said Goodwilly, when after some general discussion French had put his question. ‘Well, we’ve made a start on it, but we’ve got nothing so far. We’ve been to all the likely shops and dealers in the area and checked up their sales for some weeks past, but without getting anything. We’ve got out a list of all the contractors who use explosives, including all quarry owners, but there hasn’t been time to go round them yet. I’m also going to question everyone who has a licence for firearms. Then, of course, there are the military and naval authorities, though I’m not dealing with them. The Portsmouth men are seeing them, but I don’t know if they’ve done so yet.’
‘You’ve not been idle, Super,’ French complimented. ‘Let’s ring up and see how the others are doing.’
Calls to the superintendents and officers of forces in the surrounding country showed that a vast deal of work was being done on the matter, but so far entirely without result. It looked as if tracing the explosive wasn’t going to be easy.
In arranging what was to be undertaken locally, French had reserved for himself the investigation of what he had then supposed were the two most likely sources of supply—the chalk quarries belonging to Joymount and Chayle respectively. There would, he thought, just be time to visit the Joymount quarry that afternoon, and he decided to get on with it at once.
When at the works on the previous day he had taken the precaution of obtaining a note from Tasker to the quarry foreman, and he and Carter now set off, Goodwilly supplying them with a car.
The quarry was some distance from the works, the quarried chalk being taken there by motor lorry. It represented the usual blemish on the smooth green side of the Downs, an irregular amphitheatre of whitish rock, cut into shelves and ledges and precipices, and strewn over with heaps of broken stones and boulders. From a small shed near the entrance came the coughing of an oil engine, compressing air for the drills. Distributed over the face were men, though what they were doing was not obvious from a casual inspection. Beside the shed containing the engine was another with the word ‘Office’ painted on the door. French pushed this door open and looked in. A man was writing at a rough desk.
‘Good morning,’ said French. ‘Are you the foreman?’
The man somewhat doubtfully admitted it.
‘Then,’ French went on, ‘I want a bit of help from you. I am an officer from Scotland Yard,’ and he went through his little formula, continuing: ‘I’ve seen Mr Tasker about the same matter, and he asked me to give you this,’ and he handed over the note.
The foreman was obviously thrilled. He got off his stool and pushed it under the desk. Having by this means nearly doubled the floor area, he asked French to come in. French did so, as did also as much of Carter as there was room for.
‘It’s about this case of the launch being blown up,’ French went on. ‘We don’t know whether it was petrol or an explosive that did the damage, so we’re trying to find out if any explosives are missing from anywhere in the neighbourhood. We have of course no reason to suspect that any were taken from here. Every quarry foreman is being asked the same questions I’m going to ask you now.’
Taking silence for consent, French then requested the man to explain how their explosives were dealt with.
The foreman was intelligent and gave his information clearly. Summarised, it was as follows:
The explosive used was gelignite, as it tended to shatter the rock, and so reduced the proportion of big stones which had afterwards to be broken up for the crushers. He requisitioned it by the dozen boxes, and when it came it was stored in the explosives shed, a small specially constructed building quarter of a mile away. A cartridge was a cylindrical shaped block of pure gelignite, the most commonly used size being about three inches long by about three-quarters of an inch in diameter. They used bigger cartridges for the deeper holes. Gelignite was a yello
wish compound, stiff like cheese, and each cartridge was wrapped in waterproof paper.
Gelignite could not be exploded by mere heat, and would burn like a stick if put into a fire. It had to be detonated with a small explosive detonator, or it might go off from a sudden sharp blow or a spark. No steel tools were used in working with it, for fear that by striking a flint, a spark might be produced. For exploding it in the holes, detonators were used, little things about an inch and a half long by a quarter of an inch in diameter, something like long thin revolver cartridges. These were set off either by a fuse or an electric spark. If the Chief-Inspector cared to come across to the hut, he could see the things for himself.
French walked over, asking questions on the way. No, the detonators must not be wet, or they would not explode. If they were in water, detonation by a fuse would be impossible, but electrical detonation could be used. The detonators were sold with the necessary wires fixed and waterproofed. Detonators were used by unwrapping the paper from one end of the cartridge, making a hole in the gelignite with a wooden awl, pushing in the detonator with the wires attached, and replacing the paper wrapping. So arranged, the gelignite would explode on the passage of a low tension current.
Before starting for the shed, the foreman had called over one of the workmen, who, he explained, was in charge of the explosives. This man accompanied the party. French now saw that he only had a key to the store. He commented on this.
‘Yes,’ the foreman answered. ‘We’re very careful about the key. There are only two in existence, one that this man has, and one that’s locked up in the safe in the office. No one here can get any explosives except what this man gives out, and he’s responsible for the stock and never leaves the door unlocked.’
This was an important point and French went into it thoroughly. After taking evidence from a number of workmen, he became satisfied on the following points:
1. No one but the charge hand or someone who had access to the office safes could have opened the store.
2. The charge hand had not lent his key to anyone, and no one could have got it unknown to him.
3. The charge hand never left the store while it was unlocked.
4. No one but the charge hand was allowed to enter, or had entered, the store.
5. The charge hand passed out the required explosives, and no one could have removed any unknown to him.
6. The charge hand was obviously a reliable man, and French was convinced that he was telling the truth so far as he knew it.
The remaining point on which French made enquiries was however by no means so clear. He asked the charge hand whether if the door had been opened with another key, and if one cartridge and one detonator had been removed, he would have noticed the loss?
At first the man said he would, but on further consideration he was not so sure. The cartridges and detonators were not counted, and the removal of one of each—particularly of the detonators, which were small—might escape notice.
French left the quarry feeling convinced of three things. Firstly if such a theft had been made, it could only have been done by someone who had access to the spare key in the office safe. Secondly, that almost certainly Tasker, Brand, and King had access to the key and could have robbed the store at night; and lastly, that if they, or any one of them, had done so, the chances of proving it were practically nil.
Not very well pleased with his afternoon’s work, French decided that he would complete this part of the investigation by next morning visiting the Chayle quarries.
Here history repeated itself. The Chayle explosives were dealt with in practically the same way as those of Joymount, and here again it would unquestionably have been possible for anyone who had access to the Chayle safes to obtain the spare key of the store and remove the explosive.
In the case of Chayle, however, a further point had to be taken into account. Someone had obtained a mould of the Chayle safe keys. Admittedly, since then Haviland had had the locks changed, but if it had been possible to copy the old keys, might it not have been equally possible in the case of the new? This consideration widened almost indefinitely the range of French’s enquiry, and he felt rather sick about it.
In a slightly despondent frame of mind he called at the police station in Cowes for a consultation with Hanbury before returning to Southampton.
19
French Gets Help from a Theory
When French reached Southampton his despondency had grown rather than diminished. Hanbury’s report had been completely negative. Not only had the Superintendent failed to learn any new facts, but he had no ideas as to where new facts might be sought. And French found himself in very much the same predicament.
The trouble was not the lack of definite problems to be solved. It was rather that he could not see how the solution of any one of these problems was to be reached. There was the question of whether the process had been stolen, and if so, whether the launch affair was connected with the theft. There was the problem of whether the Clay murder was connected with either or both. And with regard to the launch crime there were the three essential conundrums: Where and how had the explosive been put on board, how had it been made to go off at the right moment, and who was the agent responsible? French chafed as he thought of the amount that was still to be learned. If he could solve even one of these problems it would be an ease to his mind and might well lead to a further advance.
He concentrated on the question of whether the two crimes were connected, and if so, whether both arose out of the theft of the process, or from some other incident or incidents which might have happened at Chayle, and of which he as yet knew nothing. All the evening he thrashed the matter out in his mind and when he went to bed he took it with him.
He couldn’t sleep that night. The problem had taken such a hold on him that he couldn’t rest till he had reached a solution. He must reach a solution, as otherwise he would find himself at a loose end next day. Should he assume the crimes had nothing to do with the process and concentrate on Chayle? Should he go there in the morning and begin general enquiries into the lives of Haviland, Mairs and Samson, in the hope of coming on some fact which would throw light on the situation? If not, what was he to do?
Then he had a revulsion of feeling. Here was a valuable secret, and it seemed incredible that these two crimes should not have been in some way connected with it.
Once again his mind swung back to its former view. There was no evidence of any kind whatever connecting either crime with the process. There was no evidence that the process had been stolen. There was no evidence that the safe which contained it had been opened. The formula was in its accustomed place on the morning after the Clay affair, and there was no sign that either it or any of the other papers in the safe had been disarranged. Most important of all, no other firm was putting out cement at a reduced price. No, it didn’t seem as if the process was the real source of the trouble.
For hours French tossed on his bed, worried and exasperated, racking his brains to try to find a solution. But none came to him. At last he turned his attention to the other set of questions: how exactly had the explosion been brought out? But here again he was baffled. In vain he turned and twisted the facts in his mind. There was no light anywhere.
Suddenly, just as he was feeling that at all costs he must get a little sleep, a fresh idea flashed across his mind. For a moment he didn’t realise its true implication, then a gradually quickening excitement took possession of him.
Yes, here was something he had overlooked! Here was something vital! Here at last was a way by which the explosion could have been caused. The more French thought of it, the more convinced he became that it was the way. Yes, he was sure he was right! He had solved the greater part of his problem. Thankfully he switched off his light, rolled over, and fell asleep.
He was more thankful still as he went downstairs some four hours later. Not infrequently it had happened that conclusions reached during the comparatively fevered watches of the night, looke
d anything but promising when viewed in the more sober light of day. But this time his new theory had stood the test of examination by the critical judgment of morning. By the time he had dressed he had gone over all his conclusions in his mind, and was satisfied that in this puzzling case he had at last reached the essential truth.
His new theory of the crime was simple and obvious, and he was now only puzzled to know why he hadn’t reached it sooner. Once again, he thought, he had gone wrong through failure to follow the facts. He had allowed himself to be led astray by preconceived ideas. He had believed that certain things were likely or unlikely as the case might be, and unconsciously he had allowed his judgment to be warped by these probabilities. Well, it was another lesson to him to build on facts and facts only, leaving probabilities to their proper function of suggesting lines of investigation.
As he ate a practically solitary breakfast—he only talked to Carter when he had nothing else to think of—he reviewed his argument.
First of all, the nature of the explosion proved the disaster to the launch to have been intentional; in other words, it had been deliberately brought about with an object. What was that object?
He had jumped to the conclusion that the object was the destruction of Haviland, Mairs and Samson. It was really this which had led him to connect the affair with the process; to suppose that Joymount had stolen the process; that Chayle had got wise to the theft; and that Joymount wished to blot out what might become exceedingly inconvenient knowledge.
But might not this fundamental assumption be false? Was this not the point at which he, French, had jumped to a wholly unwarrantable conclusion? How did he know the object of the crime had been to destroy Haviland, Mairs and Samson?
He didn’t know it. It was a guess. And it was recognition of the fact that it was a guess that had put him, during the night, on the right lines. He had realised that this assumption of the motive for the affair had simply clouded the issue and prevented him from seeing the truth.
Mystery on Southampton Water Page 22