The Hog's Back Mystery

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  It hinged on one question, a question which could only be answered by a certain firm with a headquarters at Kentish Town. French immediately walked down to the station and took the first train to Town. In due course he found the firm’s office and saw its principal.

  To him he put his question. The principal sent for an assistant. Books were looked up. The assistant answered the question. Satisfactorily.

  Full of a great happiness French returned to Farnham. No longer was there any doubt as to the correctness of his theory! All the same he would give a good deal for some more direct proof. Was such quite unobtainable?

  His theory postulated that a certain car had passed along certain roads at certain hours on the night of Earle’s murder. If so, surely someone must have seen it?

  He thought the matter would be worth a further effort. Part of his hypothetical itinerary lay outside the area Sheaf had already explored, and fresh enquiries might produce something of value.

  French put his back into it and on the third day he received his reward. He found a young man who had been keeping a tryst behind some bushes along one of the roads in question. This man had seen a car—the car; he had noted its number—drive up and stop fifty yards beyond the gate of a certain house. A man, whom he believed he had recognised, had alighted and gone up to the house, returning in three or four minutes and driving away.

  This French considered complete confirmation, though still he knew his case was thin for court. However, he had no doubt that further proof would become available.

  With deep satisfaction he walked to the station and called on Sheaf. Sheaf would be a surprised man! On the last occasion on which they had discussed the case, French had been unable to hide his despondency. Sheaf, French knew, believed that he, French, was going to fail in the case. How delightfully his mind would be disabused! French was looking forward to the interview with delight.

  Sheaf nodded his greeting as French entered. “I’m glad you came in,” he said; “I wanted to talk to you about one or two things. But take your own business first. You wanted to see me?”

  “As a matter of fact I did, super. I’ve got something to tell you.”

  Sheaf looked up, struck by something in French’s manner. “Well?” he grunted distrustfully.

  “The result of two days and two nights of solid thinking: I should say, just sweating myself with thought. No sleep and all that sort of thing.” French grinned. “Do you know, super, that I had in my possession every single bit of information that was required to solve this problem; and until a couple of days ago I didn’t know it! And what’s more, super, from my reports you have in your possession at this moment every single bit of information that you require to solve it too! And as for proof: I went up to a certain firm in Town and asked them a question, and the answer gave me all the proof I wanted. More than that, a certain car was seen in a certain place at a certain time, which clinches the thing.”

  Sheaf stared as if he couldn’t believe his ears. He blinked at French, then he said heavily: “But I don’t know your question and its answer, nor yet about your car; so these won’t help me.”

  “You’ve enough without them to work out what must have happened. You’ll then think of the question and want to ask it yourself. And when I tell you now that the answer is satisfactory, you’ll know what it is. Same about the car.” French paused for a moment grinning. “Listen to me, super.” He bent forward and began to speak rapidly and in a low tone, as if imparting the most profound secret. Sheaf, disparaging at first, grew more and more interested as the tale progressed, until finally a suspicion of actual excitement appeared on his somewhat heavy features.

  “I declare, French,” he said at last with a strange but efficient sounding oath, “that’s a neat bit of work! You’re right; you’ve got the thing at last! And you’re right also that I knew everything you’ve used to get it; everyone connected with the case knew it, but we just didn’t think of what the facts involved. Congratulations, and all that!”

  “Just a bit of luck, super. I got it because I had nothing to do but think of it, while you and the others were busy with your ordinary work. However, we’re not out of the wood yet. I take it, you’ve got to decide now what you’re going to do.”

  “I guess,” returned Sheaf, “I know what I’m going to do. I’m going to act. With all that information of yours I daren’t do anything else.”

  French nodded. “I hoped you would take that view. You realise that my proof would scarcely do for court.”

  “You’ll get the rest. What about going out as soon as possible?”

  “I’m on.”

  “Then I’ll get some men and we’ll go.” Sheaf looked as nearly excited as French believed he had it in him. “This’ll cause a sensation, French,” he declared. “I tell you it will.”

  He pressed his bell and gave some orders. “That’ll do,” he went on, “I’ll get the papers. Well, French, the sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll be there. What about ten o’clock from here?”

  “Right, super. I’ll be ready.”

  It was with difficulty that French possessed his soul in patience while Sheaf was making his arrangements. He hated what was coming, and yet it was an experience with which he was only too familiar. Many a time the climax of a case had come under more difficult and dramatic circumstances. He recalled his expedition up the Cave Hill with the Belfast Police on that dreadful night of storm, when in the inky darkness of the dripping trees he and his friends fought for their lives against the Sir John Magill gang. He remembered also standing in the saloon of a launch in Newhaven Harbour, in an atmosphere charged with petrol vapour, expecting every moment that a shot from his quarry’s automatic pistol would turn the whole air into flame. And he seemed even yet to feel the desperation with which he had clung to a Mills bomb, from which the pin had been extracted, while the wanted man struggled further to dislodge his grip so that both might be blown to atoms. To-night there would be nothing of this kind. What they had to do would be done quietly, if equally relentlessly.

  Ten o’clock arrived at last, and presently two cars left the police station at Farnham. In the first were French and Sheaf, in the second Sheepshanks and three men. All were in plain clothes and all were excited and on the stretch.

  Though French did not lack the courage of his convictions, his excitement was not unmixed with uneasiness. This expedition was being undertaken at his suggestion, and though the final decision necessarily lay with Sheaf, it was French who would be primarily held responsible if anything were to go wrong. He was the expert. He had advised Sheaf, and Sheaf was only carrying out his advice.

  Sheaf also felt doubts gnawing at his mind. French’s theory sounded well and was probably true, but Sheaf was now realising more and more that it hadn’t been proved, and well, unless a thing is absolutely proven, there is always the chance of error. And if error occurred it would not help with that promotion to which Sheaf was so anxiously looking forward.

  The night was dark but fine as they took the now familiar road along the Hog’s Back. French sat watching the black road as it streamed towards them in the beam of the headlights. To the left the white concrete curb and the grass edging quivered as they rushed past. Outside the area of the lamps was impenetrable blackness. They were running at a good speed on this stretch of straight smooth-surfaced road. No one spoke. Each was fully occupied with his own thoughts.

  Reaching the by-pass bridge, they slackened speed and turned down the Compton road. A little short of Polperro they drew up and the two officers and two men descended. They walked up to the house and French rang.

  The butler opened the door. He recognised French with apparent surprise.

  “I want a word with Mr. Gates,” said French. “Is he in?”

  “Yes, sir, he’s in the study. I’ll tell him.”

  “And Mrs. Frazer?”

  “Gone up to Town, si
r.”

  French nodded. “Thanks, we’ll just go in.”

  Paying no attention to the man’s somewhat scandalised expression, French and Sheaf pushed past him, and tapping at the study door, threw it open and entered. Gates was reading at the fire and as he looked round and saw the intruders he swore a blustering oath.

  “Damn you, inspector, that’s not the way to walk into a man’s house. What in hell do you mean? And who’s this you’ve got with you?” He rose slowly to his feet and scowled at them.

  Sheaf stepped forward closely followed by French, while the forms of police constables became visible in the hall.

  “Arthur Gates,” Sheaf said solemnly, “I am a police officer. I hold a warrant for your arrest on a charge of conspiring to murder John Duncan Frazer, Helen Nankivel, James Earle and Ursula Stone on the 22nd September and the 9th and 23rd of October respectively, and I have to caution you that anything you say will be used in evidence. Be a wise man, Mr. Gates, and come with us quietly. There are four of us here.”

  For a moment Gates seemed stupefied with surprise, standing staring with wide-opened eyes at the others. Then instantaneously he roused himself. Like a flash his hand flew to his pocket, came out and rose to his mouth. Like flashes also French and Sheaf threw themselves on him. French gripped his wrist in both hands, while Sheaf, throwing his arms round him from behind, sought to pinion him. Gates, however, had the strength of a giant. He shook Sheaf off, big man as the superintendent was, and turned to grapple with French. But French held his grip of the wrist, and before Gates could transfer what he held to the other hand, Sheaf was on to him again. At the same moment a constable laid hold, and in a few seconds Gates was handcuffed and helpless. From his hand they took a tiny sealed package of some powder.

  “Potassium cyanide, I expect,” French panted as he put the unbroken package into his pocket-case.

  Sheaf was panting too. He nodded briefly, then turned to Sheepshanks. “Take him back with two men in one of the cars,” he ordered. “The inspector and I want the other.”

  Gates, now pale and broken, was led out. French called the butler.

  “Tell Mrs. Frazer, will you,” he said in a low voice, “what has happened. We’re very sorry, but what could we do? Tell her he’ll get every chance to prove his innocence. You better ring her up if you know her address.”

  “What—what’s it for?” stammered the man, himself pale and trembling.

  French hesitated. “Well,” he said, “it’s this case of Dr. Earle,” and hastened out after the superintendent.

  “Come along, French,” Sheaf called from the car. “This is a beastly business; let’s get it over as soon as we can. Go on, driver.”

  The other car had driven up again towards the Hog’s Back, but French and Sheaf, with the third constable, moved off in the opposite direction. Through Compton they went along the Peasmarsh road, turning presently to the left towards Binscombe. At the Red Cottage they drew up.

  Here the same distressing scene was enacted. French, enquiring for Campion, was told he was in his workshop. He and Sheaf and the remaining constable went round there at once, and after getting so near Campion as to prevent any attempt at suicide, Sheaf arrested him for conspiring with Gates to commit the four murders. Campion grew very pale but made no reply. But in the car he tried the same trick as Gates. Unnoticed his hand stole slowly to his pocket, was withdrawn, and was flashing towards his mouth when French seized it. Handcuffed, Campion had no chance against the two officers. From his fingers was taken a little paper package of powder similar to that Gates had tried to swallow. French’s guess was afterwards found to be correct—it was potassium cyanide; a dose large enough to kill a dozen persons.

  So to an end came the dreams and the schemes of two miserable men.

  Chapter XXII

  French Propounds a Theory

  (Note.—For the benefit of the reader who takes his pleasures sadly, references have been inserted into the following exposition, indicating the pages on which have been given each fact that French used to build up his conclusions.)

  A couple of days later a little party assembled in Sheaf’s room at police headquarters at Farnham. French was there and Sheaf, and at French’s special request, Sergeant Sheepshanks. Also there was no less a person than Chief Inspector Mitchell of the Yard. Mitchell had been down on business at Alton, and on his way back to Town had halted at Farnham with the express object of being present at the gathering.

  Its purpose was to hear French tell the story of how he had arrived at the truth. He had already given a rough synopsis of his results to Sheaf, but now he proposed to recount the actual steps of the reasoning by which he had reached his conclusion. All four men were eagerly looking forward to the coming demonstration, French with the desire of the artist for recognition, the others with keen personal and professional interest.

  “Now, French,” said Mitchell, when pipes and cigarettes had been lit and trial and error had revealed the best way of dealing with the superintendent’s somewhat spartan chairs, “I don’t know about the others, but I want to get home to-night. Wire in and get the thing off your chest. The sooner you begin, the sooner you’ll be done, and the sooner we can relax and enjoy ourselves.” His eye twinkled. “What do you say, super?”

  Sheaf, if the truth were to be told, was so much interested in the case that he didn’t care how long French took. However, he stolidly agreed with the chief inspector, thus indicating that the elucidation of a complex murder mystery by Scotland Yard experts was one of the normal experiences of his life.

  French, on his part, knew that these preliminaries were mere camouflage to conceal the eagerness of both men, which it would not be proper to reveal in the presence of a professional inferior. He smiled internally therefore and took up his parable.

  “I need not go over the early history of the case: you all know it as well as I do. I will pass over its gradual unfolding, as shown in the disappearance of Earle, the identification of Nurse Nankivel, the discovery that she also had disappeared, the vanishing of Miss Stone, the finding of the secret safe, the discovery of the bodies, and finally the proof that Frazer was also murdered. Instead of dwelling on these, I will start where I started a few days ago, and give you the steps of the argument as they then occurred to me. I shall of course have to go back on facts and arguments previously mentioned, but only as required to build up my case.”

  At this beginning the chief inspector assumed the painfully cheerful air of the conscientious martyr. He tried another experiment with his chair, but did not speak. French went on.

  “I explored every line of argument I could think of again and again and again, but without success. Though I knew that there was necessarily a perfectly complete explanation of the facts, I couldn’t find it.

  “Before I go on to explain how at last I began to make progress, I should like to remind you of two sets of facts, as these, though not appreciated at the time, afterwards proved fundamental.

  “The first set concerned the murder of Ursula Stone in the study and the finding of the safe. You remember the details? The depressions in No. 1 Thicket (p. 179) and the trail of blood leading to the corner of the study beside the safe (pp. 180-183), the sandy footsteps in the same corner (p. 183) and behind the tree (p. 181), the fact that from Miss Stone’s window a watcher behind the bush could be seen from the house (p. 176), the finding of the safe (p. 212), and finally of No. 2 Depression (p. 188) and the marks of the car in the road near by (p. 189). You remember also my theory that Ursula Stone, looking out of her window, had seen the watcher behind the bush approach and enter the study and had gone down to give the alarm; that she had found him at the safe, and to hide his actions he had struck her on the chin, carried her insensible body out to the nearest thicket and there murdered her (p. 214 and 238). Probably he had returned to the study to see that all was right, and had then carried the body to No. 2 Thicket, whe
re he or an accomplice afterwards removed it in a car (p. 189). Also, of course, you remember that I assumed that Miss Stone’s murderer was also the murderer of Earle, and that when discovered he was attempting to remove from the safe proof of that former murder (p. 247).”

  “Even I remember all that,” said Mitchell, “and I’m sure the super is sick of the sound of it.”

  “I’ve heard it before,” Sheaf admitted.

  “Must just mention it, gentlemen,” French pointed out with a grin, “as it leads on to what I’m coming to. Well, that was one set of facts. The other was about the finding of the clay in Slade’s car (p. 199), leading to the discovery of the bodies (pp. 217-242).”

  “We remember that too,” the chief inspector said hastily.

  “Yes, sir. Well, it was from this point I began to go ahead. First of all I was at a deadlock. The clay in the car proved that Slade had run the body to the by-pass, but he had an alibi which proved he hadn’t. This was of course the usual alibi deadlock and I expected I had been diddled over the alibi. But I couldn’t see how. I stuck at this point for a long time, then the simplest idea occurred to me. This was the idea which put me on the right track.”

  French here made the first of those pauses which afterwards brought down so heavily the shafts of Mitchell’s wit. However, this time none of the others made a remark, and presently he resumed.

  “This idea was simply that my dilemma didn’t exist. Both premises might easily have been true: that the body had been carried to the by-pass in Slade’s car, and that Slade’s alibi was sound. Suppose the car had been borrowed by the real murderer, borrowed without Slade’s permission?”

  “You think that possible?”

  “I think so, sir. I admit that such a thing would have been impossible before six o’clock. From the time that Slade got it out, until he reached the golf club at six, the car was either under observation or there would not have been time to borrow it. Similarly after eleven it could scarcely have been taken without the chauffeur’s knowledge. But between six and eleven the circumstances were different (p. 197).