On pulling out my stick, I found that the water reached to within a few inches of the lid, and that the lids were securely locked. I at once dismissed a vague theory that had formed in my mind that there might be some possibility of hiding within the tank itself and springing out upon the unwary. It was evidently a common, brutal murder, done for the sake of my prospective father-in-law’s purse and gold watch.
One other thing I noticed before I quitted the tank top. It came to me as I was staring over the rail at the surrounding piece of waste land. Yet at the time, I thought little of it and attached to it no importance whatever. It was that the encircling piece of ground was soft and muddy and quite smooth. Possibly there was a leakage from the tank that accounted for it. Anyhow, that is how it seemed to be.
“There ain’t nothin’ much to be seen, sir,” volunteered the policeman, as I prepared to descend the steps on my way back to the road.
“No,” I said. “There seems nothing of which to take hold.”
And so I left him, and went on to the doctor’s house. Fortunately, he was in, and I at once told him the result of my investigations. Then I asked him whether he thought that the police were really on the track of the criminal.
He shook his head.
“No,” he answered. “I was up there this morning having a look round, and since then, I’ve been thinking. There are one or two points that completely stump me—points that I believe the police have never even stumbled upon.”
Yet, though I pressed him, he would say nothing definite. “Wait!” was all he could tell me.
Yet I had not long to wait before something further happened, something that gave an added note of mystery and terror to the affair.
On the two days following my visit to the doctor, I was kept busy arranging for the funeral of my fiancée’s father, and then on the very morning of the funeral came the news of the death of the policeman who had been doing duty on the tank.
From my place in the funeral procession, I caught sight of large local posters announcing the fact in great letters, while the newsboys constantly cried:
“Terror of the Tank—Policeman Strangled.”
Until the funeral was over, I could not buy a paper to gather any of the details. When at last I was able, I found that the doctor who had attended him was none other than Tointon, and straightway I went up to his place for such further particulars as he could give.
“You’ve read the newspaper account?” he asked when I met him.
“Yes,” I replied.
“Well, you see,” he said, “I was right in saying that the police were off the track. I’ve been up there this morning, and a lot of trouble I had to be allowed to make a few notes on my own account. Even then it was only through the influence of Inspector Slago, with whom I have once or twice done a little investigating. They’ve two men and a sergeant now on duty to keep people away.”
“You’ve done a bit of detective-work, then?”
“At odd times,” he replied.
“And have you come to any conclusion?”
“Not yet.”
“Tell me what you know of the actual happening,” I said. “The newspaper was not very definite. I’m rather mixed up as to how long it was before they found that the policeman had been killed. Who found him?”
“Well, so far as I have been able to gather from Inspector Slago, it was like this. They had detailed one of their men for duty on the tank until two A. M., when he was to be relieved by the next man. At about a minute or so to two, the relief arrived simultaneously with the inspector, who was going his rounds. They met in the road below the tank and were proceeding up the little side-lane towards the passage, when, from the top of the tank, they heard someone cry out suddenly. The cry ended in a sort of gurgle, and they distinctly heard something fall with a heavy thud.
“Instantly, the two of them rushed up the passage, which as you know is fenced in with tall, sharp, iron railings. Even as they ran, they could hear the beat of struggling heels on the cemented top of the tank, and just as the inspector reached the bottom of the steps there came a last groan. The following moment they were at the top. The policeman threw the light of his lantern around. It struck on a huddled heap near by the right-hand railings—something limp and inert. They ran to it and found that it was the dead body of the officer who had been on duty. A hurried examination showed that he had been strangled.
“The inspector blew his whistle, and soon another of the force arrived on the scene. This man they at once dispatched for me, and in the meantime they conducted a rapid but thorough search, which, however, brought to light nothing. This was the more extraordinary in that the murderer must have been on the tank even as they went up the steps.”
“Jove!” I muttered. “He must have been quick.”
The doctor nodded.
“Wait a minute,” he went on, “I’ve not finished yet. When I arrived, I found that I could do nothing; the poor fellow’s neck had been literally crushed. The power used must have been enormous.
“‘Have you found anything?’ I asked the inspector.
“‘No,’ he said and proceeded to tell me as much as he knew, ending by saying that the murderer, whoever it was, had got clean away.
“‘But,’ I exclaimed, ‘he would have to pass you, or else jump the railings. There’s no other way.’
“‘That’s what he’s done.’ replied Slago rather testily. ‘It’s no height.’
“‘Then in that case, inspector,’ I answered, ‘he’s left something bywhich we may be able to trace him.’”
“You mean the mud round the tank, doctor?” I interrupted.
“Yes,” said Doctor Tointon. “So you noticed that, did you? Well, we took the policeman’s lamp, and made a thorough search all round the tank—but the whole of the flat surface of mud-covered ground stretched away smooth and unbroken by even a single footprint!”
The doctor stopped dramatically.
“Good God!” I exclaimed, excitedly. “Then how did the fellow get away?”
Doctor Tointon shook his head.
“That is a point, my dear sir, on which I am not yet prepared to speak. And yet I believe I hold a clue.”
“What?” I almost shouted.
“Yes,” he replied, nodding his head thoughtfully. “Tomorrow I may be able to tell you something.”
He rose from his chair.
“Why not now?” I asked, madly curious.
“No,” he said, “the thing isn’t definite enough yet.” He pulled out his watch. “You must excuse me now. I have a patient waiting.”
I reached for my hat, and he went and opened the door.
“Tomorrow,” he said and nodded reassuringly as he shook hands. “You’ll not forget.”
“Is it likely,” I replied, and he closed the door after me.
* * * *
The following morning, I received a note from him asking me to defer my visit until night, as he would be away from home during the greater portion of the day. He mentioned 9:30 as a possible time at which I might call—any time between then and ten P.M. But I was not to be later than that.
Naturally, feeling as curious as I did, I was annoyed at having to wait the whole day. I had intended calling as early as decency would allow. Still, after that note, there was nothing but to wait.
During the morning, I paid a visit to the tank, but was refused permission by the sergeant in charge. There was a large crowd of people in the road below the tank and in the little side lane that led up to the railed-in passage. These, like myself, had come up with the intention of seeing the exact spot where the tragedies had occurred; but they were not allowed to pass the men in blue.
Feeling somewhat cross at their persistent refusal to allow me upon the tank, I turned up the lane, which presently turns off to the right. Here, finding a gap in the wall, I clambered over, and disregarding a board threatening terrors to trespassers, I walked across the piece of wasteland until I came to the wide belt of mud that surrou
nded the tank. Then, skirting the edge of the marshy ground, I made my way round until I was on the town-side of the tank. Below me was a large wall which hid me from those in the road below. Between me and the tank stretched some forty feet of smooth, mud-covered earth. This I proceeded now to examine carefully.
As the doctor had said, there was no sign of any footprint in any part of it. My previous puzzlement grew greater. I think I had been entertaining an idea somewhere at the back of my head that the doctor and the police had made a mistake—perhaps missed seeing the obvious, as is more possible than many think. I turned to go back, and at the same moment, a little stream of water began to flow from a pipe just below the edge of the tank top. It was evidently the “overflow.” Undoubtedly the tank was brim full.
How, I asked myself, had the murderer got away without leaving a trace?
I made my way back to the gap and so into the lane. And then, even as I sprang to the ground, an idea came to me—a possible solution of the mystery.
I hurried off to see Dufirst, the tank-keeper, who I knew lived in a little cottage a few hundred feet distant. I reached the cottage and knocked. The man himself answered me and nodded affably.
“What an ugly little beast!” I thought. Aloud, I said: “Look here, Dufirst, I want a few particulars about the tank. I know you can tell me what I want to know better than anyone else.”
The affability went out of the man’s face. “Wot do yer want to know?” he asked surlily.
“Well,” I replied. “I want to know if there is any place about the tank where a man could hide.”
The fellow looked at me darkly. “No,” he said shortly.
“Sure?” I asked.
“’Course I am,” was his sullen reply.
“There’s another thing I want to know about,” I went on. “What’s the tank built upon?”
“Bed of cerment,” he answered.
“And the sides—how thick are they?”
“About ’arf-inch iron.”
“One thing more,” I said, pulling half-a-crown from my pocket (where-at I saw his face light up). “What are the inside measurements of the tank?” I passed him over the coin.
He hesitated a moment; then slipped it into his waistcoat-pocket. “Come erlong a minnit. I ’ave ther plan of ther thing upstairs, if yer’ll sit ’ere an’ wait.”
“Right,” I replied and sat down, while he disappeared through a doo. Presently I heard him rummaging about overhead.
“What a sulky beast,” I thought to myself. Then, as the idea passed through my mind, I caught sight of an old bronze luster jug on the opposite side of the room. It stood on a shelf high up; but in a minute I was across the room and reaching up to it, for I have a craze for such things.
“What a beauty,” I muttered, as I seized hold of the handle. “I’ll offer him five dollars for it.”
I had the thing in my hands now. It was heavy. “The old fool!” thought I. “He’s been using it to stow odds and ends in.” And with that, I took it across to the window. There, in the light, I glanced inside—and nearly dropped it; for within a few inches of my eyes, reposed the old gold watch and chain that had belonged to my murdered friend. For a moment, I felt dazed. Then I knew.
“The little fiend!” I said. “The vile little murderer!”
I put the jug down on the table, and ran to the door. I opened it and glanced out. There, not thirty paces distant was Inspector Slago in company with a constable. They had just gone past the house, and were evidently going up on to the tank.
I did not shout; to do so would have been to warn the man in the room above. I ran after the inspector and caught him by the sleeve.
“Come here, inspector,” I gasped. “I’ve got the murderer.”
He twirled round on his heel. “What?” he almost shouted.
“He’s in there,” I said. “It’s the tank-keeper. He’s still got the watch and chain. I found it in a jug.”
At that the inspector began to run towards the cottage, followed by myself and the policeman. We ran in through the open door, and I pointed to the jug. The inspector picked it up, and glanced inside.
He turned to me. “Can you identify this?” he asked, speaking in a quick, excited voice.
“Certainly I can,” I replied. “Mr. Marchmount was to have been my father-in-law. I can swear to the watch being his.”
At that instant there came a sound of footsteps on the stairs and a few seconds later the black bearded little tank-keeper came in through an inner door. In his hand he held a roll of paper—evidently the plan of which he had spoken. Then, as his eyes fell on the inspector holding the watch of the murdered man, I saw the fellow’s face suddenly pale.
He gave a sort of little gasp, and his eyes flickered round the room to where the jug had stood. Then he glanced at the three of us, took a step backwards, and jumped for the door through which he had entered. But we were too quick for him, and in a minute had him securely handcuffed.
The inspector warned him that whatever he said would be used as evidence; but there was no need, for he spoke not a word.
“How did you come to tumble across this?” asked the inspector, holding up the watch and guard. “What put you on to it?”
I explained, and he nodded.
“It’s wonderful,” he said. “And I’d no more idea than a mouse that it was him;” nodding towards the prisoner.
Then they marched him off.
* * * *
That night, I kept my appointment at the doctor’s. He had said that he would be able to say something; but I rather fancied that the boot was going to prove on the other leg. It was I who would be able to tell him a great deal more than “something.” I had solved the whole mystery in a single morning’s work. I rubbed my hands, and wondered what the doctor would have to say in answer to my news. Yet, though I waited until 10:30, he never turned up, so that I had at last to leave without seeing him.
The next morning, I went over to his house. There his housekeeper met me with a telegram that she had just received from a friend of his away down somewhere on the South coast. It was to say that the doctor had been taken seriously ill, and was at present confined to his bed, and was unconscious.
I returned the telegram and left the house. I was sorry for the docto, but almost more so that I was not able personally to tell him the news of my success as an amateur detective.
* * * *
It was many weeks before Dr. Tointon returned, and in the meantime the tank-keeper had stood his trial and been condemned for the murder of Mr. Marchmount. In court, he had made an improbable statement that he had found the old gentleman dead, and that he had only removed the watch and purse from the body under a momentary impulse. This, of course, did him no good, and when I met the doctor on the day of his return, it wanted only three days to the hanging.
“By the way, doctor,” I said, after a few minutes’ conversation, “I suppose you know that I spotted the chap who murdered old Mr. Marchmount and the policeman?”
For answer the doctor turned and stared.
“Yes,” I said, nodding, “it was the little brute of a tank-keeper. He’s to be hanged in three days’ time.”
“What—” said the doctor, in a startled voice. “Little black Dufirst?”
“Yes,” I said, yet vaguely damped by his tone.
“Hanged!” returned the doctor. “Why the man’s as innocent as you are!”
I stared at him.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “The watch and chain were found in his possession. They proved him guilty in court.”
“Good heavens!” said the doctor. “What awful blindness!”
He turned on me “Why didn’t you write and tell me?”
“You were ill—afterwards, I thought you’d be sure to have read about it in one of the papers.”
“Haven’t seen one since I’ve been ill,” he replied sharply. “By George! You’ve made a pretty muddle of it. Tell me how it happened.”
This I did
, and he listened intently.
“And, in three days he’s to be hanged?” he questioned when I had made an end.
I nodded.
He took off his hat and mopped his face and brow.
“It’s going to be a job to save him,” he said slowly. “Only three days. My God!”
He looked at me and then abruptly asked a foolish question.
“Have there been any more—murders up there while I’ve been ill?” He jerked his hand toward the tank.
“No,” I replied. “Of course not. How could there be when they’ve got the chap who did them!”
He shook his head.
“Besides,” I went on, “no one ever goes up there now, at least, not at night, and that’s when the murders were done.”
“Quite so, quite so,” he agreed, as if what I had said fell in with something that he had in his mind. He turned to me. “Look here,” he said, “come up to my place tonight about ten o’clock, and I think I shall be able to prove to you that the thing which killed Marchmount and the policeman was not—well, it wasn’t little black Dufirst.”
I stared at him.
“Fact,” he said. He turned and started to leave me.
“I’ll come,” I called out to him.
* * * *
At the time mentioned, I called at Dr. Tointon’s. He opened the door himself and let me in, taking me into his study. Here, to my astonishment, I met Inspector Slago. The inspector wore rather a worried look, and once when Tointon had left the room for a minute, he bent over towards me.
“He seems to think,” he said in a hoarse whisper, and nodding towards the doorway through which the doctor had gone, “that we’ve made a silly blunder and hooked the wrong man.”
“He’ll find he’s mistaken,” I answered.
The inspector looked doubtful and seemed on the point of saying something further when the doctor returned.
“Now then,” Dr. Tointon remarked, “we’ll get ready. Here,” he tossed me a pair of rubbers, “shove those on.
“You’ve got rubber heels, inspector?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Slago. “Always wear ’em at night.”
The doctor went over to a corner and returned with a double-barreled shotgun, which he proceeded to load. This accomplished, he turned to the inspector.
The William Hope Hodgson Megapack Page 10