by E.
He explained in a few sentences the possibility.
Inspector Kenway hurried back to the Yard. Doctor Manson heard his report with a face over which crept the alertness that was a sign to his Yard colleagues that he was seeing a possible way out of an impasse. He looked long and searchingly at the inspector.
“You and I will go down to Burlington in the morning, Kenway,” he said.
CHAPTER XX
THE LAST CLUE
The scientist’s visit to the seaside resort had, however, to be postponed. Barely five minutes before he and Inspector Kenway were on the point of leaving, the telephone bell in the Laboratory rang out a shrill demand. Wilkins, the Laboratory attendant, answered it.
“For you, Doctor,” he announced.
Manson took the telephone. The voice of Professor Simpkins, of the College of Metallurgy, greeted him.
“You wanted to know, Doctor, what amounts of indium there are in the country, and for what it is used. Well, the only amount I know of this side is about half a pound and we have it here. It’s very little known, you understand. As for the use of it, I can’t imagine why you are inquiring, but so far as I know it is not used over here for anything. That is, by any engineering concern in their manufactures.
“There is, however, a possible explanation of a small quantity—a very small quantity—in this country.”
“Now, Professor, you are getting interesting,” retorted Manson. “I have found traces of it in very peculiar circumstances, and I cannot account for its presence. Anything you can tell me that will put me on the track will be, indeed, exceedingly valuable. What is the possible explanation of which you are speaking?”
“This, Doctor. Our engineering department tells me that the American car makers who turn out the Splendide automobile have been experimenting with indium as a lining for pistons or for sleeves in the cylinders. It was purely an experiment, but had been found satisfactory. I gather that some two hundred cars have now been so fitted. Now, there may be two or three of those cars over here, and the metal you say you have traced might, conceivably, have come from the cylinders. Say a car thus fitted has been rebored over here. The garage obviously could not have acquired any supply of indium, and must have used some other metal, probably aluminium. The old sleeves would, therefore, have been thrown away. That is the only suggestion that I can think of.”
The scientist, after a word of thanks, rang off; and immediately dialled the Yard’s motor expert.
“Who handles the Splendide car over here, Soames?” he asked.
“Alliday and Alliday, Pont Street, Doctor.”
Once more the scientist called the telephone into play. He asked for the general manager of Alliday and Alliday. Mr. Alfred Appleton inquired what service he could do the caller.
“I understand that the Splendide car has recently been fitted with indium-lined cylinders, Mr. Appleton. Is that so?”
Mr. Appleton replied that one type of car had been so fitted. “It is our twelve-cylinder model, Doctor Manson,” he explained. “Not many have been lined with the metal you name. Why? Do you want one?”
Doctor Manson chuckled. “I’m afraid not, Mr. Appleton,” he rejoined. “I am interested in the metal more than the car. Tell me, have you any of that model over here?”
“Quite a lot of Splendides, Doctor. They are exceedingly popular, you know. But if you mean the indium-lined, then I’ll have to look up the records. There aren’t many. It’s an expensive car, the twelve-cylinder one. Costs about £3,000. And only the 12 has the indium. Hang on for a moment, and I’ll have a hunt in the books.”
The manager was back within two or three minutes. “Are you there?” he called.
The scientist assured him that he was listening.
“Well, then, so far as I can see, Doctor, only three of those cars have been sold over here. We have, until recently, been servicing all three. One we have in the garage at the moment undergoing a three-monthly check. One is on the Continent on a tour, and the third is still in London.”
“Who has it, Mr. Appleton? Who is the fortunate fellow?”
“A Mr. da Costa, a City gentleman.”
“I see.” The scientist thought for a moment. Then: “Can you tell me when the second of the cars went over to the Continent?”
“I can, Doctor. We serviced it just before it went. It is about three months ago.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Appleton.” Doctor Manson rang off without satisfying the waiting curiosity of the manager.
He turned to the waiting inspector. “We’ll have to put off the trip to Burlington for an hour or so, Kenway,” he announced. “Do you know whether the block of flats in which da Costa is housed have a garage, or garages?”
“I don’t, Doctor. But I’ll soon find out.”
He telephoned the flats, and was connected to the hall porter.
“Have you garages attached to your flats?” he inquired.
“Private lock-ups, yes, sir,” was the reply.
“Ask him if da Costa has one,” whispered Manson.
“He hasn’t,” was the porter’s reply. “Cos why? Cos his big car won’t go in any we’ve got. See.”
“Where, then, does Mr. da Costa garage his car?” queried Kenway.
“In the Sun garage just round the corner,” was the reply.
“Many thanks.” Kenway rang off. He looked at the scientist.
“This, Kenway, is going to be a ticklish business,” he said. “I think you had better do the job yourself. Go to the Sun people and find out when da Costa’s car was last serviced. I want to know when the sump of the car was last drained, and what became of the oil. They’ll probably say that they have never drained it. If so ask them when da Costa last bought oil in a drum, or something like that. But, most important of all, I want you to arrange for someone there to drain the car sump, and keep the oil for me. It is strictly under the rose, of course, and we shall have to pay for the engine to be filled up again with new oil. But make sure that they use a perfectly clean container for the sump oil. That is most important. No suspicion must, of course, leak out. I should think that the best time to do the business will be after da Costa has come in after his night’s carousal in the West End. Anyway, see what you can do.”
Inspector Kenway departed, and the scientist sat down impatiently to await his return. It was not so prolonged as he had anticipated. In a little over half an hour the inspector made his reappearance. He carried a petrol can in his right hand.
“Easy, Doctor,” he announced, gleefully. “We had a bit of luck. The lighting and speedometer of da Costa’s car went wrong yesterday, and the thing is in for repair. Da Costa went off into the country by train. I got hold of the manager and he had the sump drained at once. Gave me this petrol can to carry the oil away in. Absolutely new can, so to speak.” He handed over the prize.
Doctor Manson took off his jacket, and slipped on a white laboratory coat in its place. He stepped to the centre table and arranged an assortment of test tubes, beakers and other impedimenta. Having lighted a Bunsen burner, and arranged in the dark-room a spectroscope, he placed a chair for Inspector Kenway, and told him to sit down and keep quiet.
For an hour and a half the scientist worked with the aid of Merry and Wilkins. At the end, Manson and the deputy scientist, Sergeant Merry, compared notes. Finally, from his dossier the sergeant took out the results of the tests carried out on the ashes taken from the Shepherd’s Bush fire, and he and the scientist went carefully over them together. Point by point, they checked the dossier with the results obtained by their chemistry analysis just completed, looking at the two sets of results for the precise contents of the ashes and the oil.
At the end, they looked across at each other and smiled.
The scientist divested himself of the white coat, and donned his jacket once more. He turned to Kenway.
“Now, Ken way, we will proceed on our journey to Burlington,” he said. “We’ll stop on the way for lunch.”
The pair got into the Doctor’s big Oldsmobile, and began the new hunt. Of the results in the Laboratory, Doctor Manson said no word. And the inspector knew better than to ask for information which was not given voluntarily. He made the journey in a very curious and puzzled state of mind.
Inspector Bradley, looking up at the opening of his door, greeted the pair with enthusiasm. He had made arrangements, as requested, for Enora to be retained in hospital for the remaining short period which Doctor Manson had said would be sufficient for him to complete the case of the poisoned Panto Star. He had been puzzled at the delay, but since the affair was in the hands of the Yard, he had to obey instructions. Now, he said, the time had come to get some movement and tangible result from their investigations. He would, of course, share in the credit of the affair, and had worked with the great Doctor Manson of the Yard. He moved forward and waited for the news that the scientist was bringing.
Doctor Manson waved him to his chair and he and Merry seated themselves on two others brought in by an anticipatory constable.
“Now, listen, Inspector,” he said. “I take it that the stage-door-keeper at the Pavilion now is still the same man who was there during the pantomime?”
Inspector Bradley nodded.
“Well, first of all I want to see him. I’ve one question to ask.”
“Let’s go,” said Bradley, with alacrity.
They went.
The stage-doorkeeper, told that he was wanted to give extra information, waited for the question. So did Inspector Bradley. Doctor Manson addressed the man.
“You were on the door here, I take it, on the night that Miss de Grey died?” he queried.
The man agreed that he was. He had also been on the door, he said, every night for the past three years.
“Now, do you know, if any of the girls were absent from the company on that particular night?” Doctor Manson asked him.
The man scratched his head. He threw his thoughts back to the night of the tragedy.
“Well, sir,” he said at length. “I can’t recall having reported any of ’em, so I supposes they must all have been here.” He proceeded to explain. “You see, sirs, I has a day book what belongs to the manager of the company. I keeps it here on the ledge of me box, and when the chorus girls comes in they has to sign on, same like as any man working in a factory has to sign on. Now, if there was one what hadn’t signed, I has to report her, see.”
“Does that go for the local girls—the girls engaged for the pantomime?” asked Manson.
“Yes, sir, goes for all the girls what ain’t principals in the company.”
“And you can’t recall any of them missing?”
“Not to my remembering, sir. But the day book would show if there was. The manager of the company could tell you from seeing the day book.”
“We’ve already seen the day book in London,” Doctor Manson replied. “It shows that all the girls signed on. I suppose you knew most of the local girls by sight. Did you notice if they were all the same that night as on other nights?”
“Bless you, sir, I shouldn’t know. I don’t see half of the girls come to the theatre. Mebbe I’m busy with something in me box here. So long as they signs, that’s all that worries me. If I found there was somebody short, I has to tell the stage-manager. But I don’t inspect ’em all as they comes in.”
“Right. Then I’m afraid you can’t help us much more than you have already done.”
Outside the stage door, the scientist turned to Inspector Bradley. “Now, Inspector, I want all those girls who took part in the pantomime gathered together. It’s too late, I dare say, to get them tonight, but I’d like to see them first thing in the morning. I’ll arrange a private room in the hotel to see them. Shall we say ten o’clock. I’ll leave it to you to arrange. But there must not be any absentees. If work is the trouble send round and tell their employers that they have to see me, and that they must be given time off.”
Inspector Bradley nodded, glumly. The enthusiasm with which he had begun the expedition had faded gradually away, and it was with a disappointed air that he left the Scotland Yard couple to return to his police-station.
Sergeant Merry chuckled. “You’ve hit him hard, Harry,” he said. “I think he’d a blank warrant in his pocket.”
Manson answered with another chuckle. “I know, Jim, but he doesn’t know what we know, and I don’t want him to until our man is safely in the bag. Any chance talk now might spoil the whole bag of tricks. Come along, and let us have a wash and a brush-up before dinner. That is, if we can get a couple of rooms in the hotel here, or one of them.”
They dined, and spent an evening’s relaxation in the local music hall. At the time that they were chuckling over the knockabout comedy duo that had the premier place on the bill, Inspector Bradley was bemoaning the fact to his chief constable that they had ever called in the Yard at all. He had gone to his chief with his tale of woe, immediately after he had sent out a couple of constables to round up the girls and summon them to appear at the Royal Hotel by ten o’clock the following morning, no excuses to be accepted.
“I can’t see the point of it, sir,” he grumbled at the end of his recital of the afternoon’s peregrinations. “He said himself that only the cat could have done the murder—he admits it was murder—and there’s only two cats. It’s got to be one of them. So what has one of the girls being away to do with it? Why waste any more time? The stage-doorkeeper says he can’t remember anybody being away. The day book kept by him has been seen by them in London, where the company is now, and that shows everybody signed in, so what’s the use? These Scotland Yard men spend too much time following minor details when the course is obvious.”
The chief constable regarded his inspector with doubting mien. “Well, Inspector, I don’t say you are wrong,” he said at last. “But this Doctor Manson is a pretty big man in the Yard, and he’s had very few failures. In fact, I don’t believe he’s had even one failure. If he wants to see the girls, then I feel that there must be something behind it. However, if nothing transpires after he’s interviewed the girls tomorrow, I’ll see him and suggest that the case is not so complicated as he seems to think. I don’t suppose I'll be thanked for it, though.”
With that the inspector had to be content. He returned to the station, to wait what the morrow might bring forth.
It produced eight girls in a room in the Bull Hotel, all in varied stages of emotion, fright or expectation. They chatted nervously together, and mostly in undertones, until the Doctor and Inspectors Kenway and Bradley entered. At the unexpected appearance of three arms of the law, the eight were frozen into silence. Inspector Bradley, being a local man, they, of course, knew, it was the two strangers that produced in them a sense of foreboding, however much they searched their consciences and found them without blemish.
Doctor Manson, who was no mean student of psychology, let them wonder in silence for a few moments, then addressed them.
“I understand that you are the ladies who were engaged locally to dance in the pantomime during its stay last Christmas in Burlington,” he said. “Is that correct? You are the same girls—all of you?”
The eight nodded in their turn, as he eyed them individually.
“Now, you all know the dreadful thing that happened during the pantomime. Miss de Grey, the Principal Boy, died on the stage. It is about that that I want you to help me if you can. It is very important, the thing that I want you to tell me.”
He paused, and then put the question:
“On the night that Miss de Grey died, were any of you girls missing from the theatre?”
There was a momentary silence before a chorus of ‘noes’ came from the combined eight.
Doctor Manson eyed them. “Even missing for no more than an hour or so,” he added.
“If they were missing at all, Doctor, it wouldn’t be for an hour. They would either be missing or not missing. They could not walk in late, and get away with it,” put in Inspector Bradley.
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bsp; The scientist regarded him with a frown. “Will you let me put the question in my own way, Inspector,” he said, tartly. “Anyone could have been in at the start, missing for a time, and then re-appear. Was there anything like that on this night?” he asked again.
There was again a chorus of ‘noes’. But Manson, watching the eight closely, thought that he detected a slight hesitation in the rejoinder. He said nothing, but continued to look at the company, as though pondering his next question.
He noticed that the eyes of one or two of the girls strayed embarrassedly from his gaze, and generally towards one other of their number. Inspector Kenway noticed it, too, for he bent forward and spoke to the scientist.
“I think there’s something doing with that girl second from the end on the right, Doctor,” he suggested.
Doctor Manson nodded. After a pause of a minute or two he turned to the girl.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Mary Sinclair,” she replied.
“Well, Mary, I rather think you are hiding something, are you not, and the others are trying to cover you up?”
The girl blushed uncomfortably.
“There is no need to be frightened. There is no question of any punishment being meted out to you, and there is no reason why the theatre people should know anything about it, if you are afraid that you will not be given another job on the stage next pantomime. All I want to know, or to be sure about, is that you were or were not absent that night. Now were you here, or were you, indeed, away?”
“I was away, sir,” came a whisper.
“There, now, that is exactly what I thought.” He looked at Inspector Bradley. “These other girls can go into another room, Inspector,” he said. “I will talk to Miss Sinclair without them.” As the girls left the room he drew up an armchair and installed the guilty party in it. Then, taking a chair himself, and motioning Ken way and Bradley to others, he set himself to probe the girl’s absence from the cast.
