Fatal Venture

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  “There were no footprints on paths approaching the Hollow?”

  “There are no paths approaching it except at the entrance from the main road. This was grown over with grass and there were no traces on it. We searched right round the Hollow, but there wasn’t a mark that we could see.”

  “That’s extremely interesting,” French declared. “Yes?”

  The DI shrugged. “I’m afraid that’s about the end of the story,” he answered. “What I’ve told you has taken up all the time of our small staff. But I doubt we’re not likely to get more.”

  “You mean the gentleman with the sports coat was not a local man?”

  “That’s what I mean. Chief Inspector. It’s only guess work, of course, but I think someone from this ship went ashore and murdered Mr Stott.”

  French considered the point. “At first sight, it certainly looks like it. Tell me, did you form an opinion as to what the deceased was doing there? Are there any ruins in the Hollow?”

  “No, none. None nearer than Dunluce Castle, on the sea side of the road.”

  “There was nothing helpful in his pockets, of course? But I shouldn’t ask questions like that. You would have mentioned it if there had been.”

  “As a matter of fact, there wasn’t. But ask away as much as you like. I’m not above overlooking something.”

  “Well, then, here’s another. I see from the photographs that Stott had a camera with him. What about exposed films? Did you get any such developed?”

  “I don’t think he’d taken any photographs. The camera was filled, but was set to the first space. However, our photographer has instructions to develop the entire reel, so if there’s anything there, we’ll get it.”

  “What about giving me details of the footprint and button?”

  “The photographs weren’t ready when I was starting. I’ll send them to you at once with all dimensions. If you wish I’ll make you a duplicate casting.”

  “No need for that, thanks; the photos will be enough. You don’t seem to have left much to be done, I will say.”

  Nugent smiled. “Not so much, except maybe to find the murderer.”

  “And,” French ticked off his points on his fingers, “you think, one, that he’s on board this ship and, two, that you should do the work off the ship and I the work aboard?”

  Nugent laughed a little uneasily. “I suppose that’s about the size of it – if you’ll agree.” He paused, then went on: “You see, it’s unlikely that we’d get much by a formal enquiry when the ship was in territorial waters, which is all I could do. The thing’ll want private enquiries that wouldn’t break international law. To make them, I’d have to come aboard, incidentally leaving my end of things. You’ve a tremendous pull over me, anyway, in that you’ve been on board for several days. You probably already know several people with motives for doing Stott in.” He smiled. “I know it’s damned cheek of me suggesting all this, but there it is. What about it. Chief Inspector?”

  “As far,” French returned, “as my giving my help is concerned, I’ve already been told from London to do what I can. Therefore, that’s settled. If you ask me, and you have, I will act.”

  Nugent sat back as if to indicate a relieved mind. “I’m tremendously obliged,” he declared. “I can’t say how grateful I am. Then if you will look into things here, I’ll do the local work. That’s great.”

  “By the way, has there been an inquest?”

  “It was to be today. We kept over your quartermaster to give evidence of identification. We were going to apply for an adjournment after that.”

  They had a little further talk, arranging among other matters a short code by which they could discuss the case by telephone without mentioning names. Then Nugent went on: “I think I’d be as well away from that dining-saloon. No use in starting talk. What about sending a snack to my cabin?”

  To this French agreed. He dined in the saloon as usual, but until the DI left with the morning excursionists, he was seen no more on board. And when he did leave, it was Captain Hardwick who saw him off, with detailed messages to a hypothetical family.

  14

  FRENCH GETS BUSY

  It was with mixed feelings that French settled down to consider the results of his interview with District Inspector Nugent. Firstly, and in a small personal way, he was disappointed at having been unable to go on that day’s excursion, which was reputed to be one of the best on the list. From Mallaranny the party were to drive through Westport, past the sombre Doo Lough and round the head of Killary Bay to Lenaun, ending with magnificent views of the Twelve Pins Mountains, which they would skirt on their way to Clifden. He was sorry to miss all this charming scenery. But this was a comparative trifle. A much more profound disappointment was the fact that practically all hope of success with his original case had vanished. Captain Hardwick on his guard meant that all the ship’s activities would be strictly legal.

  His new case, however, was more promising. If Nugent were correct that John Stott’s murderer was on board the Hellénique, and French was inclined to think so, too – it should not be difficult to identify him.

  For the moment therefore, French realised that he must dismiss the gambling from his mind, and he turned to the steps he should take in connection with the murder. What lines of enquiry suggested themselves?

  There were three to begin with. First, there was the general situation. Who wished Stott to be dead? Stott was a man of wealth: who was his heir? Would many people benefit under his will? Who had hated him? Whom had he injured? Who might be jealous of him? These questions must be answered and to answer them would require an immensity of detailed and tedious investigation.

  Then he must make a note of all those who could have met Stott at McArtt’s Hollow at the time of the murder. Names which were common to both categories would form his first list of suspects.

  Thirdly, there were the actual clues found on the ground; the footprint and the button. Could he make anything from these?

  Taking the footprint first, and assuming for argument’s sake that the murderer was on board, it would follow either that the shoe in question was now also on board, or that the owner had thrown the pair away after the murder. He wondered which was the more likely.

  No doubt the murderer had been careful not to tread on soft clay in the Hollow. But no matter how careful he had been, he could not be certain that he had left no print. Therefore surely his first thought would be to destroy the shoes he had worn? It could be done so easily. All that would be necessary would be to weight them and at night drop them overboard.

  French saw therefore that a twofold enquiry lay before him. He would have to slip into the cabins of his suspects and examine their shoes, and he would have to find out if a pair of shoes had recently disappeared from anyone’s collection.

  This latter could only be learnt from the cabin stewards. French wondered how he, an ordinary passenger, could put such a question without raising suspicion.

  This baffled him for a little, then he thought he saw the way. He rang up the Portrush police and asked them to send by return a pair of second-hand shoes of the kind which might have made the print. Till these arrived, further work on this matter must stand over.

  With regard to the button, the procedure was easier. He had simply to observe who wore buttons of the kind in question and see if a button was missing from any of the coats.

  This seemed to be all that he had to go on, and then he remembered Nugent’s statement about Morrison’s nervousness. Was there anything in the DI’s suspicions?

  Obviously there was enough to make him add Morrison’s name to his list of suspects, though he doubted if the man would prove guilty.

  Satisfied as to where he should begin, French telephoned to the Captain for an interview and was told to go up to his cabin then and there.

  “I want to start by going through the late Mr Stott’s effects,” he told Hardwick. “Do you authorise the search?”

  “Of course,” the Captain re
turned. “I’ll get you the spare key of his suite.”

  “You needn’t. Mr Nugent gave me the keys found on the body.”

  French was going out, but Hardwick motioned him to stay. “Sit down for a moment, Chief Inspector,” he said with the nearest approach to uneasiness that the captain of a great liner should show. “I’m in rather a difficulty and I want you to help me out.”

  French, surprised, reassured him.

  “The matter concerns two of my passengers, and is therefore, of course, strictly confidential. There are, in fact, certain facts which I think you should know. I wish to make it clear that I am not suggesting that these facts have any connection with the murder: I merely say you should know them.”

  “I appreciate your reservation. Captain.”

  Hardwick nodded. “It’s about an incident which took place when the cruise was being considered. I have to explain that I personally know nothing about it: it was before my time. But you can get first-hand information from Bristow and Morrison. What occurred was this,” and in guarded language he told of Malthus’s journey to Calais and its sequel.

  “Were these two gentlemen ashore at Portrush?” French asked.

  “Yes. I’ve seen the landing sheets.”

  “You don’t know how they spent their day?”

  “No, and I’ve not asked them.”

  “No: quite so. Well, I’m grateful to you. Captain Hardwick, for this information. I’ll consider it carefully and I assure you I’ll not jump to conclusions.”

  French was interested, though not greatly impressed by the story. Hardwick apparently thought that these two men had committed the murder because of that eighteen-month-old dispute. But at first sight this did not seem likely to French. For one thing, if they had been going to kill Stott, they would surely have done it much earlier and, for another, he was sure that they would have acted more secretly. They must have known that to come openly aboard the ship would mean instant suspicion, as it had: a thing which they would certainly have avoided.

  All the same, French headed his list of suspects with Malthus’s and Mason’s names. Hardwick was at least correct in suggesting that the matter must be investigated.

  Ten minutes later French had locked himself in Stott’s rooms. He was impressed with their size and luxury and for a few minutes moved about in sheer wonder that any individual could reserve such a place for himself alone. Then with a shrug he set to work.

  A general inspection revealed nothing of interest and he presently settled down to go through the papers in the man’s office. The desk was locked, but the key was also on the deceased’s bunch.

  There was a vast deal of stuff to be examined and it took French practically the whole day. Hour after hour he worked, taking out papers and books, glancing through them, putting them away again, and occasionally – far less often than he would have wished – making a note. He did not find much that he thought would be helpful, but there were some items.

  First, he learnt the name of Stott’s solicitors, Messrs Granger, Hill and Granger of Chancery Lane. This was important, as there was no will or indication of where the deceased’s fortune was to go. Next he found a number of letters abusing Stott on various counts, mostly for sharp business practice which had caused loss to the writers. These he put aside for subsequent study, should this prove necessary.

  There were a number of family letters, irrelevant in themselves to his quest, but containing enough general references to shed a good deal of light on relations between the members.

  First, from the genealogical point of view, it was clear that the connections assumed in the smoking-room gossip were correct, but some dates were given of which the smoking room was unaware. John Stott was the uncle of Wyndham, and Margot, Wyndham’s daughter, was therefore John’s great-niece. Margot was born in 1910, making her now twenty-eight. In 1912 her mother died, and it was evident that as the girl grew up, she and her father had been devoted companions. Then in 1933, when Margot was twenty-three, Wyndham had married for the second time. Elmina Luff was a widow with a nineteen-year-old son, Percy. It was evident that Elmina was jealous of Wyndham’s affection for his daughter and that Margot resented having to give up to Elmina the first place with her father. Also it was evident that from the first Percy had been a thorn in the flesh to all concerned; except to his mother, who appeared to dote on him. French came on the carbon of a letter from John Stott to Wyndham, complaining of Percy having disgraced the family in a drunken row and threatening to allow Wyndham only the life use of his money, so that he couldn’t leave it to his wife or stepson. How this particular episode, which was recent, had ended, French could not discover, but he could find no instructions to John’s solicitor as to the altering of his will.

  It was clear that not a single member of the family liked John and his feelings towards them were equally cold. In the case of Percy Luff, it looked indeed as if there was real hate between the two. All the members, therefore, went down on French’s list of suspects, with Percy’s name underlined as a first choice.

  Curiously enough, there was less among the papers to indicate the deceased’s relations with the personnel of the Hellénique. There were three notes from Captain Hardwick, couched in increasingly stiff terms, about various semi-nautical matters in which Stott had apparently interfered. The Captain had summarily refused the freedom of the navigating bridge to Stott’s friends, and had turned down equally forcibly suggestions that officers should be allowed to dance with passengers when off duty, and that engineer officers should be excluded from the dining-saloon. From Bristow there was a rather sadly worded complaint that his agreed percentage of the ship’s profits was overdue, the answer to which French couldn’t find, and from the Chief Engineer an indignant refusal to dismiss his Fourth Officer, because that young man habitually abstained from saluting Stott when they met. Altogether relations between Stott and the staff seemed slightly strained, though there was no evidence of a feeling likely to lead to murder.

  Lastly, there were private ledgers giving the man’s financial dealings, or some of them, as well as the profits of the cruise. French was astonished at the figures. He had known the deceased to be wealthy, but he had not realised to what extent. John Stott had been either a millionaire or a colourable imitation of one.

  Particularly surprising were the figures of the Hellénique venture, which, apparently, Stott had kept to himself. Paying was scarcely the word for it: the profits were absolutely enormous. By the time it had been running for a year its entire original cost – purchase and alteration of the ship, gambling installation, flying boats and subsidiary services – had been paid off. For the past six months every penny earned, less the comparatively small cost of running, was profit. Stott, indeed, had been making a second fortune on the top of his first. More than ever important, French thought, became the matters of his will and heirs.

  When that evening, with a sigh of relief, he replaced the last of the papers and relocked the suite, French’s tentative list of suspects had been opened. Already it bore ten names: Malthus, Mason, Wyndham Stott and Percy Luff, with Elmina and Margot as secondary figures. Captain Hardwick, Mackintosh, the Chief Engineer, Bristow and Morrison, and his further enquiries into the writers of aggrieved letters would probably add to the number.

  Before turning in, he wrote to the Yard asking for a man to be sent to Stott’s solicitors, Messrs Granger, Hill and Granger of Chancery Lane, to try to obtain from them the terms of Stott’s will.

  Next morning when he went on deck the ship was still cruising between Innishark and Slyne Head. A party was going ashore at Clifden to drive south through the Joyce’s Country, Galway and Lahinch, and he told himself that observation of that landing party might be helpful.

  Accordingly, he took up an unobtrusive position above the ladder to the boats, from which he could watch the embarkation. It was some little distance down to the ladder, but still he could see all he wanted.

  Sports coats, he noted with some embarrassment,
were fairly common, and a good many had leather covered buttons. He noted eleven men who wore the latter. Ten of these caused him no quickening of the pulse, but the eleventh did. It was Percy Luff. Luff’s was the last boat for the shore and French, suddenly changing his mind, raced for the lift and joined it. He was just in time, and as luck would have it, was able to find a vacant seat opposite his quarry. As long as Luff sat still, he could not see what he wanted, but when presently the young man took a cigarette case from one side pocket and a lighter from the other, each sleeve became exposed in turn. None of the buttons was missing.

  French experienced a sharp disappointment. In principle, he hated to find anyone guilty of murder; but when he became engrossed in a case he no longer considered personal implications – only the efficient carrying out of his work. It would have been gratifying on this second day of the enquiry to have identified the owner of the dropped button, though, of course, he couldn’t expect to have miracles arranged for him.

  His thoughts reverted to the other ten leather buttoned jacket wearers. Now it would be necessary to go into the history of these and find out where, if at all, their lives had touched that of Stott. A long job and tedious, especially working under the confounded handicap of the Hellénique’s ownership.

  He happened to glance again at Luff, and as he did so, he felt once more that little thrill of excitement with which he was so familiar. The man was looking at something ashore and had raised his arm to shade his eyes. His sleeve and its buttons were more clearly visible than before, and now French noticed that the end button was slightly smaller and slightly lighter in colour than the others. A new button or he was a Dutchman!

  While continuing to chat with his neighbour, French’s thoughts were busy. If Luff had lost a button at the Hollow, where could he have obtained a new one? At Portrush? At Derry? At Sligo?

  Possibly, but more probably at the ship’s own shop. As sports coats were so much worn on board, it would be almost certain to keep these buttons. If, on taking off his coat after the day at Portrush, Luff should have missed the button, so elegant a young man would surely have had another put on at the earliest opportunity.