Mystery on Southampton Water

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  About two o’clock a motor boat came out of Cowes harbour and headed for them. It brought Major Considine and he came on board and showed a good deal of interest in their progress. Once again he shook his head on hearing Captain Soutar’s gloomy prognostications as to the time the search might take, but before he could give expression to any opinion there was a shout from the stern. Another sunken object had been hooked.

  As if for Major Considine’s benefit, the previous operations were repeated. Anchors were dropped and Kendrick put on his dress and went down. Again there was a considerable delay, and the others waited anxiously for news. But again they were disappointed. There was a wreck all right, but it was the very ancient remains of a sailing ship, a brig.

  As if it was all part of the day’s work—as indeed it was—Soutar got his anchors up again and restarted the sweeping. Major Considine soon found he had had enough of it and departed in his launch, leaving the others carrying steadily on.

  Presently daylight began to wane and O’Brien once more had recourse to his coloured lights. And then, just as it was getting on to quitting time another object was fouled.

  ‘We’ll get Kendrick to have a look at it,’ Soutar decided, much to French’s relief. ‘If it’s what we want we might get back tonight.’

  The tedious preparations were once more made and Kendrick went down. He had with him the powerful electric light, which at first glowed mysteriously in the water, disappearing gradually as the man got deeper. There was less delay than previously and then the telephone sounded.

  ‘He’s on to it this time, sir,’ reported the assistant. ‘There’s a big hole blown in the stern.’

  ‘Fine!’ said French warmly. ‘That’s really good.’

  The skipper thought it was a better bit of luck than they deserved. ‘We might have looked for that for a fortnight,’ he said. ‘So small, you know.’ Then to the assistant. ‘Is he going to make his examination now?’

  Kendrick, it appeared, was already engaged on it. ‘That’s all right,’ Soutar grunted. ‘We’ll get home after all.’ Then again to the assistant. ‘Tell him when he’s done to have a talk with the Chief-Inspector before he comes up.’

  Twenty minutes passed slowly and then there was a call from below.

  ‘He wants an inch-and-quarter spanner sent down,’ the assistant explained.

  ‘Inch-and-quarter spanner to Kendrick,’ Soutar directed.

  A man hurried off and returned in a moment with the tool. It was quickly tied to a cord with a slack loop round the diver’s life-line, and after telephoning down, was dropped overboard.

  ‘He’s got it,’ said the assistant in a moment.

  There was a considerable further delay, and then the telephone sounded again.

  ‘He says he doesn’t need to speak to the Chief-Inspector,’ the assistant explained. ‘He can explain better when he comes up.’

  Soutar nodded, and in due course the illumination appeared once again in the water, and the diver came aboard.

  ‘It’s the boat all right,’ he said when his helmet was lifted off. ‘There’s a big hole in the stern. I’ll just get this blessed dress off and then I’ll be able to talk easier.’

  ‘Come to my cabin when you’re ready,’ said Soutar, moving back to the bridge with French. ‘Now,’ he went on, ‘you can have this place to yourself to discuss your business. I have things to do below. Make yourself at home.’

  French thanked him and sat down with Carter. Presently the diver made his appearance and took his place opposite them. French handed over his cigarette-case.

  ‘Well,’ began Kendrick, ‘there was something there all right, but it wasn’t what you expected, Chief-Inspector.’ He gave a slightly sardonic smile. ‘Not by a long way,’ he added, with apparent satisfaction.

  ‘Tell me,’ said French.

  ‘I’ll tell you, sir. I found the boat at once: the ladder was nearly on her. There’s no one knows his job like the skipper, I will say. Well, I worked round to the bows and made sure of the name to start with. She was your boat all right.’

  ‘Pretty lucky that, from all you people have told me,’ French commented.

  ‘We might have got her in a week and we mightn’t have got her in a fortnight, and here we’ve got her the first day. I’ll say you’re lucky. But we aren’t.’ He grinned. ‘We might have made a pot out of you.’

  ‘I expect you’ll do that in any case.’

  ‘Not as much as we’d have liked. Well, then I had a look at the stern, where you said the explosion had been. And it had. There was a hole three feet each way in her bottom, just in the stern sheets. The propeller shaft even was bent a bit, so it must have been a tidy shot.’

  ‘Could you tell where the explosion had been placed?’

  ‘Yes, easy enough. The bottom planking was blown downwards, and the false bottom boards above the shaft were blown upwards, so the charge must have been between the two.’

  ‘We thought that would be the likely place. It wouldn’t have been seen there.’

  ‘Not unless someone lifted the loose board to get at the bearings.’

  ‘Which was very unlikely at that time in the evening.’

  Kendrick nodded. ‘I daresay that’s so. However, that’s nothing to do with me. Then I had a look up in the bows for the switch or press that you were expecting. There wasn’t one.’

  ‘There wasn’t one?’ A feeling not far removed from dismay took possession of French.

  ‘No, nothing like it.’

  ‘And no wires?’

  ‘Not in the bows. There was nothing.’

  French thought ruefully of his theory about Samson. If this were true, as of course it must be, it looked as if that theory was a wash out.

  ‘Do you think the switch and wires could have been washed away?’ he went on.

  ‘Sure they weren’t.’

  ‘Why so sure?’

  ‘I’ll tell you. Because I found the real cause.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, diver, go ahead with your story. What did you find?’

  For answer Kendrick took a small object out of his pocket and set it gingerly on the table. ‘I found that,’ he said, then relapsed into silence.

  French stared in bewilderment. It was a strange enough looking little piece of apparatus. First there was a small piece of iron about three inches long, one end of which was flattened into a narrow plate with a hole in the middle. The other end was shaped into a spindle of about half an inch diameter, and on this spindle worked an arm, also about three inches long. The arm stood out at right angles to the spindle, and could be rotated about it. A wire spring, however, tended to prevent this rotation and to press the arm in one direction. It was like part of a turnstile, in which the upright post in the centre corresponded to the spindle, and one of the four rotating members represented the arm.

  But it was not so much on the spindle and arm that French’s attention was concentrated, as on what the arm held. Clamped to its free end was a push bicycle cyclometer. The toothed operating wheel at the end of the cyclometer had been removed, and its place was taken by a round wheel, its rim covered with rubber. The wheel was about an inch and a quarter in diameter; that is, it stood out beyond the barrel of the cyclometer. From the opposite end of the cyclometer came two insulated electric wires about two feet long and with broken ends.

  ‘What in the name of goodness is that?’ French said. ‘And where did you find it?’

  ‘Aye, that’s the question to ask,’ replied Kendrick, who was evidently going to make the most of his story. ‘It’s where I found it that matters, for that shows what it was put there for. It was on the propeller shaft. That hole that you see in the bracket plate was slipped on to the holding down bolt of one of the shaft bearings and the nut put back on top of it. That held it in position, you understand. The wheel of the cyclometer was pressed against the shaft by this spring, and when the shaft revolved it revolved too. So the turning of the propeller shaft operated the cyclometer. From the cy
clometer these wires led towards the hole in the bottom of the boat. So you see it now, sir?’

  For a moment French did not quite follow, and then the horrible plan stood completely revealed. ‘You mean that the running of the boat would work the cyclometer until—’

  ‘That’s it,’ Kendrick interrupted, determined not to be forestalled with his climax. ‘There’s an electric contact on the cyclometer and when the reading gets to a certain figure the contact’s made and the current passes. I found the affair fixed to the shaft at the thrust bearing beside the motor, and close by was a low tension battery for the spark to work the detonator. So there’s the whole thing, clear as day.’

  French swore weakly. So his theory was wrong and Samson was innocent! The thing, after all, had been set beforehand by the murderer to go off at a prearranged moment. Not indeed after a certain time had passed, but after the launch had travelled a certain distance! The call at Hamble would therefore have made no difference. So that was the explanation! Why hadn’t he thought of it before?

  ‘Did you bring up the battery?’ he asked presently, and the question sounded to him as an anticlimax.

  ‘Yes, I have it outside. Now is that all you want from below? Because if it is we can get away.’

  French thought it was everything. ‘You’ll have to give evidence, you know,’ he added.

  ‘It won’t be the first time,’ Kendrick returned as he went in search of the Captain to tell him the job was done.

  ‘Hi!’ French called after him suddenly. ‘Did you find that grappling out of place?’

  ‘Yes, sir, I did. I intended to mention that. It was lying out of its chocks, and the paint was scraped where it had been slapping about.’

  French thought this was final. Samson’s tale was true, and he was innocent of the murders. With a sigh French signified that the interview was over.

  21

  French Gets Help from his Wits

  As they pushed their way up the dark stretch of Southampton Water towards the growing cluster of lights at its head, French’s thoughts remained busy with his case. At first sight the proof of Samson’s innocence seemed clear, and the obtaining of such proof an important and welcome step forward. But second thoughts showed him that this admitted progress by no means cleared the affair up. In fact it left it more puzzling than ever. If Samson were innocent, who was guilty? This fundamental problem remained as much a problem as ever.

  He returned again to the old question: Where could the apparatus have been placed in the launch?

  Certainly not at Joymount: there had been no opportunity. And in the nature of the case, not during that halt at Hamble. It looked therefore as if it must have been done at Chayle. This need not now be ruled out. The use of the cyclometer would have made it possible.

  But this assumption stopped short at the crucial point. It didn’t indicate who was guilty.

  French wondered if one of the Joymount men could have visited Chayle secretly. Here at all events was a line of investigation to be explored. Could the launch have been got at by an outsider? If so, how and when? Could the Joymount men account satisfactorily for their movements during such periods? He must go into this matter at once.

  Then it occurred to him that he had been wrong in concluding that this discovery of the cyclometer eliminated Samson. Might Samson not still be guilty, and foreseeing the possibilities, either that the launch might not sink at all, or that if it did, a diver might be called in, might he not have planted the cyclometer as a blind? The cyclometer need not have been used to explode the charge. Samson could have done it by means of a second circuit, the wires of which he could have pushed out over the side before operating the switch. By this means they would have gone down clear of the launch. Yes, Samson was by no means eliminated.

  But the fixing of the cyclometer and charge was not limited to the Joymount men and Samson. Anyone could have done it. French, now grown despondent, seemed as far away from a solution as at the beginning of the case. One thing at all events was clear: a very much more complete investigation would be needed of the personalities and conditions at Chayle.

  There was of course one new clue, the cyclometer. If the purchase could be traced, it might prove invaluable. But if it had been bought at, for instance, some small shop in the East End of London—where probably such an alert criminal as he was dealing with would have obtained it—the chances of tracing it were not rosy.

  On reaching Southampton, French rang up Major Considine and Hanbury to tell them the news. Then next morning he called on Goodwilly and got him to put him in touch with an expert who would examine and report on the cyclometer. This man took the ingenious little apparatus to pieces and showed how the contact had been soldered to the ‘hundreds’ wheel, so that on the latter moving to the figure 1—indicating one hundred miles—contact had been made. Otherwise the expert had nothing to report, except that the change from the toothed driving wheel to the rubber edged disc had been made by a skilful workman.

  While discussing the affair with the expert a new idea flashed into French’s mind. He believed he saw a test which might be applied to Samson, and which, if the engineer were guilty, might surprise him into some involuntary movement or gesture. Such a reaction would not, of course, be legal evidence, but French thought it might help him to make up his own mind on the man’s innocence or guilt.

  Once again therefore he and Carter set off down Southampton Water, reaching in due course, first Cowes and then Chayle. Once again Samson was in his office and saw them immediately.

  French began with generalities about the case, passing on to a discussion of their activities of the previous day, of which he felt sure his victim would have heard. Samson was obviously interested, and asked what the diver had found. French described the damage to the launch, but avoided all mention of the cyclometer. Then during a somewhat halting and aimless discussion he slipped in the significant remark.

  ‘You’ll be interested to know that we’re just about on to the criminal, Mr Samson,’ he said in confidential tones and with a slightly lowered voice. ‘Don’t repeat it, but we believe we’ve traced the cyclometer.’

  Unobtrusively but keenly French watched the engineer. If Samson had placed the apparatus, French didn’t believe he could avoid some indication of emotion. But save for a slight look of mystification, the man’s manner gave nothing away.

  ‘Cyclometer?’ he repeated. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We found a cyclometer on board which we’re now engaged in tracing. What could it have been doing there, Mr Samson?’

  Samson said he was hanged if he could tell, which occurred to French as an unpleasantly apt statement of the case. ‘Where did you find it?’ Samson went on.

  ‘In the bottom of the boat. I thought you might know something about it.’

  ‘Not a thing. Never saw it. Never heard of it. Was it just lying there?’

  French made a non-committal reply. He could not be absolutely sure, but his strong impression was that Samson knew nothing about the affair. And if not, who under heaven did?

  He and Carter had stood up to leave when a further point suddenly occurred to French. He thought rapidly. Yes, there might be a clue in the affair which up to now he had missed.

  ‘By the way, Mr Samson,’ he said, ‘I’ve been entering up some details of your launch in our records. Can you add to them for me? What was her speed?’

  ‘About ten knots in normal weather.’

  ‘And her motor revolutions per minute?’

  Samson seemed surprised. ‘What’s that for, Chief-Inspector?’ he asked. ‘I don’t see how that comes in.’

  French shrugged. ‘You may thank your stars you’re not connected with the C.I.D.,’ he said confidentially. ‘You wouldn’t credit the amount of red tape that’s insisted on. Your launch was concerned in this affair, so all details, relevant and irrelevant, have to be entered up. I’ve got her length and beam and draught and general construction. I want her revs. still, and details of her en
gine—type, horsepower, and so on—even down to the diameter of her propeller shaft.’

  Samson looked as if his respect for Scotland Yard had dropped many points. However after shrugging with the air of a man who has granted his questioner a fool’s pardon, he gave the information. French made a point of noting the replies, but he had really only wanted the answers to two questions, the motor’s revs. and the diameter of the shaft.

  For French’s idea was very simple.

  The chances, he thought, were in favour of a new cyclometer having been used. Few men in the position which the murderer probably occupied would own a bicycle from which an old one could be obtained. Even if he did, he would be unlikely to take it off, lest it should be missed. Still less likely would he be to steal a cyclometer from someone else’s machine.

  But if a new cyclometer had been used, it would be registering 0 miles when it was fixed on board. The explosion took place when it was registering 100. Therefore between the time it was put on and the disaster, the mileage indicated had increased from 0 to 100 miles. Obviously this didn’t mean that the launch had travelled 100 miles; the drive from the propeller shaft was quite different to that from the wheel of a bicycle. French now wondered could he calculate the actual distance the launch would travel while the cyclometer registered 100 miles? If so, it would give him where the apparatus was fixed.

  He thought that, with the information he had just obtained, he could do so, at least approximately.

  He began on reaching Cowes by visiting a cycle shop and asking to see some cyclometers. From this he learned that the original toothed driving wheel had five teeth. He learned also that cycle wheels averaged 26 or 28 inches in diameter. Then he went on to the police station and put through a couple of telephone calls. One was to the makers of the motor and propeller which Samson had used in the launch, asking them for the average revs. during normal full speed—as a check on Samson. The second was another check, to ask Diver Kendrick if he had measured the diameter of the propeller shaft.