Inspector French: Sir John Magill's Last Journey

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  Mentally French writhed. He could not see his way. Then at last a possible solution occurred to him and he returned to the station and took the first train for Stranraer.

  15

  Kirkandrews Bay

  French’s idea was a very ordinary one after all—publicity. As a general rule the policy of the Yard was to avoid publicity and with this policy he was fully in agreement. But this case was exceptional, firstly, because he could see no other way in which the information could be obtained, and secondly, because his suspects could scarcely have avoided knowing that they were suspects, and publicity could not therefore put them more on their guard than they already were.

  As a result of his further cogitations French called next morning at the police station at Stranraer. For half an hour, he and the sergeant in charge put their heads together, finally producing the following advertisement:

  ‘POLICE NOTICE.—In connection with a recent case of burglary the police are anxious to check up the traffic on the road from Stranraer to Castle-Douglas between the hours of four and seven on the morning of Thursday, 3rd October. They would be glad if any motorist or other person who was on any part of this road between these hours Would kindly communicate with the police at Stranraer (telephone, Stranraer 0271) or with any police station.’

  Copies of this notice were sent to the papers read in the surrounding areas and bills were printed and posted at every policy station, while French enclosed copies to the secretaries of the Automobile Association and the Royal Automobile Club, asking them to draw them to the attention of any of their members who were known to be touring in the district at the time.

  There was nothing then to be done but wait and hope for the best. French, therefore, decided that for a day or two he would remain at Stranraer. With a clear conscience he could make a holiday of his enforced idleness and indulge in some of those long country tramps which he so greatly enjoyed.

  But—on the whole to his delight—his time for exploring the country was soon cut short. On the afternoon of the following day a reply came in.

  He was finishing lunch at the hotel when a telephone message came from the police station, asking him to step across as soon as possible. He did so, to find a hatchet-faced man in purple tweeds talking to the sergeant.

  ‘Here’s Mr Andrew Macpherson,’ the latter explained. ‘He’s come in from three miles oot tae tell us he drove from here tae Carlisle that Thursda’ mornin’. Maybe, Mr Macpherson, ye’ll tell the inspector aboot it?’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Inspector,’ said the hatchet-faced man in nasal tones and holding out a long thin hand like a bird’s claw. ‘I reckon we don’t see a man from Scotland Yard every day.’

  ‘You’re not sorry for that, I dare swear,’ French rejoined. ‘You read our notice?’

  ‘Sure I did, and as I’ve always aimed to be on the side of the cops, I thought I’d come right along and put the sergeant wise to anything I could.’

  ‘Good,’ said French heartily.

  ‘Sure. Well, I’d best explain that I’m a farmer. Been in Amurrica for years, then got tired of it and thought I’d like to see the old country again before handing in my checks. So I came back and started in farming right here. Yuh. Well, sir, on that Thursday I’d business in Carlisle, and, as I wanted to get back that same night, I started early. I left home at five-thirty, long before it was light, and I got to Carlisle round about nine. So I guess I passed that stretch of road between five-thirty and say seven-thirty. Yuh.’

  ‘That’s pretty valuable to us, Mr Macpherson,’ French declared. ‘You can tell us what we want to know in a moment. Did you pass any cars between here and Castle-Douglas?’

  ‘Nope,’ Macpherson returned concisely. ‘Not a car nor a horse nor a hobo nor a cow nor a hen. No, sir; nothing at all.’

  ‘I’m surprised at that. Surely one would expect some traffic at that hour of the morning?’

  Macpherson nodded gravely.

  ‘I certainly was surprised myself. Yuh.’

  French hesitated.

  ‘I’m not questioning your statement,’ he went on, ‘But the matter is too important for there to be any doubt. Are you quite certain you would have noticed a passing car? Might not one have slipped past, seen no doubt and avoided, but not consciously observed? Remember what a frequent thing the passing of a car is.’

  Macpherson nodded approvingly.

  ‘That’s all right, Inspector. If I was you I’d feel the same way myself. Yuh. But I tell you what I say is O.K. I’ve a good memory. I guess if I passed a car I’d have it in mind. Sure I would.’

  French remembered Teer’s story.

  ‘Our information is that there was a broken down car on the road—show me that map, Sergeant—just there. Now we were informed positively that a car stood there, pulled in to the side of the road, from about midnight till nearly seven. Suppose there had been a car there, could you not have slipped past without noticing it?’

  Macpherson’s slow emphasis was convincing.

  ‘Say, quit it,’ he drawled. ‘Guess if I say there was no car there, there wasn’t one, and that’s all there’s to it. Yuh.’

  As French looked at the man’s dependable face with its alert expression, he felt that wherever Teer’s car was at the time, it was not on the road from Castle-Douglas to Stranraer.

  But if not, then where was it?

  He turned again to the map. If Teer had not gone by the main road was there any other route he could have used?’

  ‘You went of course by Newton-Stewart, Gatehouse-of-Fleet, Ringford and Bridge of Dee?’ he asked Macpherson.

  ‘Sure I did; by the main road.’

  ‘There seem to be other possible routes?’

  ‘Yuh, sure,’ Macpherson answered. ‘You could go by Wigton and cut the stretch between Glenluce and Newton-Stewart, or you could cut Ringford by going through Laurieston, or you could cut the whole road between Castle-Douglas and Newton-Stewart by going north through New Galloway. Yuh. And that’s not to speak of byroads that you might be able to work your way along. That O.K., Sergeant?’

  The sergeant agreed and French made a grimace.

  ‘We don’t seem to be so far on as I had hoped,’ he lamented. ‘It looks as if our friend had avoided the main road. I’m afraid we’ve got a bit more work to do before we’re through.’

  When Macpherson had gone, French and the sergeant settled down with the map to make a list of the possible roads by which a driver from Castle-Douglas to Stranraer might have deviated from the direct route. As the car was assumed to have been seen at Castle Douglas at four and as it certainly reached Stranraer at seven they limited themselves to those which could be covered in three hours or less. But even within this limit they found a surprising number of possibilities. Investigation along all these roads would be a big job. French indeed was aghast at the amount of work indicated, particularly as he realised that all this energy might easily go for nothing, Teer, on that night, might never have been near Castle-Douglas railway station, in fact he might have been a perfectly law-abiding citizen and he, French, might be on a wild-goose chase.

  But he determined to carry on with the inquiries for the very good reason that, however doubtful their result, no other line promised any result at all.

  ‘Some work, this, Sergeant,’ he remarked. ‘How on earth are we to do it?’

  The sergeant, with the Scotch equivalent of a shrug, said that ‘gin the warrrk was ordered it mun just be done’ that it ‘wouldna tak so long neither,’ and that the men of the force in these regions were ‘a braw lot o’ boys’ who would do it fine.

  French said he was glad the sergeant thought so and they went into committee of ways and means. The scope of the previous inquiry was to be enlarged to take in all these new roads, and the police, coastguards, doctors and others who might have been abroad during the night, were to be interviewed. French, however, remembered that the similar inquiries already made had not revealed the fact of Macpherson’s journey, and he p
ressed for still more energetic measures. It was finally decided that a house-to-house visitation should be made of those living along selected lengths of all the roads. Someone of all these might have been awake and heard the car. This was not so big a job as it seemed, as most of the roads ran through a sparcely inhabited country.

  French was not hopeful of the result, as his previous difficulty, that of fixing the night on his hearers’ minds, was now greater than ever. For two days he and his band of helpers scoured the roads, stopping at every likely house and questioning its inmates. And then, just as he was doing one of the last stretches and coming to the conclusion that the inquiry would prove a washout, he struck luck and struck it rich.

  How rich he did not at first realise, but when he did so he became lost in wonder. It was not often that so great a lift was vouchsafed him.

  With the local sergeant he was driving along a road which led from Kirkcudbright to Gatehouse-of-Fleet, through the little hamlet of Borgue and along the coast. Near Kirkandrews Bay they came down close to the shore, a grass field alone separating the road from the rocks at the water’s edge. Below, the sea stretched away to the hard line of the horizon, a deep blue plane, flecked with white.

  A few hundred yards before they reached the point nearest the sea they had to slack. A bridge was being rebuilt and only half its width was available for traffic. The place was picturesque in a mild way and as the sergeant steered carefully over the narrow path French turned an appreciative eye to either side. Then it was that the sergeant made a chance remark which as it were touched a reservoir and their luck poured out.

  ‘Gey an’ bad place at night, that,’ said the sergeant casually.

  It was not an illuminating remark, but it gave French the necessary idea. Quickly he swung round and ran his eye over the contractor’s plant.

  ‘Hold on a minute, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘I see a watchman’s hut there. Perhaps we’ll find someone who can check up this road for us.’

  ‘By heck, Mr French, but I should ha’ thought o’ that,’ the sergeant declared as he pulled into the side of the road. ‘Thaur’s been a night watchman on for the last month. There’s no that mony cars pass here but he’ll be able to tell us if yon one o’ Teer’s went by. I’m weel acquainted wi’ the foreman.’ He pulled up and the two men got out and walked back to the bridge.

  ‘Andy aboot, Jock?’ he asked a labourer, evidently also an old acquaintance.

  Jock gave his head an upwards sidelong twist which indicated even to the Londoner in French that his foreman was to be found beneath the partially constructed arch. The latter proved to be an immensely stout man with a round red face like a setting sun. He also gave his head a sidelong twist, but downwards. As clearly as Jock’s upward twist this indicated: ‘Good morning. How are you?’

  ‘You’re gettin’ on fine wi’ the job,’ began the crafty sergeant, looking round appreciatively at the litter of planks and materials with which the ground was strewn.

  The stout man monosyllabically admitted that things might have been worse.

  ‘This is Mr French from London,’ went on the sergeant. ‘Scotland Yard,’ he said impressively. ‘But that’s for yer ain ear, Andy. Don’t you be lettin’ on.’

  A nod without any side twist indicated that the foreman appreciated the situation, was impressed thereby, and would keep it a profound secret.

  ‘We’re lookin’ for a bit o’ information, Andy. Tryin’ to trace a burglar. He got awa’ from up the country wi’ a car an’ we want to know if he passed here. It’s a while ago—early on the morn o’ Thursday, the third o’ the month. Ye had a watchman on then, had ye no?’

  ‘An’ have still,’ the foreman declared firmly. ‘It’s M’Leod. Lives in yon wee house.’ A back jerk of the head fixed it geographically. ‘Ye could see him the noo.’

  ‘Thanks, Andy. We’ll go right on.’

  Another nod did duty as farewell, and the two detectives walked across the fields to a small whitewashed cottage which stood on the side of a hill some half mile away. A knock brought an elderly, decent-looking woman to the door.

  ‘He’s in bed, but he’ll come doon,’ she explained. ‘Come in an’ bide a wee.’

  ‘Thank ye, missus, we’ll no go in. We’ll just sit here on the wall an’ wait.’

  Alexander M’Leod was not overpleased at being awakened, but so soon as he understood the sergeant’s suggestion that his trouble might be productive of siller, his annoyance faded. French listened passively to the conversation, but as he suddenly realised that M’Leod had something to tell, his easy indifference fell from him like a cloak, and he became the Scotland Yard officer at his very keenest.

  Yes, M’Leod had heard a car. In fact he had seen it, though only as a dim shadow passing in the darkness. But he couldn’t tell whether it was on the night the sergeant said. But the sergeant could find that out for himself, for he, M’Leod, minded well that it was the night that Bob MacTavish’s ‘auld red cow had deid.’

  MacTavish lived at the adjoining farm house, and before hearing the details of M’Leod’s story the three men walked across to see the owner of the deceased animal. MacTavish remembered the night well. The death of his best milker had been a serious blow which he was not likely to forget. The date was early on Thursday, 3rd October. To fix this he produced after some search the receipted account from the vet, for a visit to the cow on the previous day.

  So far so good. M’Leod had heard a car on the morning in question. Now for details.

  These, extracted by the sergeant after exhausting and highly praiseworthy efforts, proved much more convincing and far-reaching than French could have hoped.

  It appeared that shortly before five on the morning in question M’Leod was seated in his sentry box thinking of nothing in particular, when he heard the sound of a motor. He thought at first it was an approaching car and he had a special look round to see that his lights were burning brightly. Then he realised that the sound came from the sea. Idly curious, he left the road and walked across the rough grass towards the water. He could see neither the boat itself nor its lights, but he heard its engine a good deal more distinctly than he thought he should. Fearing that the boat had mistaken its position, he hurried forward to shout a warning. But just then the motor stopped. It was calm and M’Leod listened intently. Presently he heard the faint sound of oars. Someone was coming ashore.

  From this it became evident that the strangers were in no danger. M’Leod was a good deal puzzled as to what anyone could want in this bay whose coast was so sparsely inhabited, but he felt it was not his business. His business, however, lay at the bridge and he turned slowly back there.

  When he was still some hundred yards from the road he heard another motor, this time a car. It was coming quickly from the direction of Kirkcudbright. He ran forward as fast as his bad leg would allow, but before he reached the bridge the car passed. It slowed for the lights and got across the bridge safely. M’Leod could not see it in any detail, but he was sure it was a saloon and fairly large. He heard it pass on and saw its red tail lamp. It disappeared round a bend and the sound suddenly ceased.

  M’Leod was surprised that it should get out of earshot so quickly, but he knew how tricky noises were and he supposed the vehicle had gone behind some hill or bank of shrubs which had cut off the sound. All the same he could not think of any such which might have had this effect.

  However, there it was, and he began congratulating himself that no accident had happened while he was away from the job, and thought no more of the car. His surprise, therefore, was considerable when he heard it again. Far away, but quite distinctly, he heard it start, gain speed and slowly die away in the distance.

  He pondered the affair and came to the conclusion that one of the tyres must have picked up a nail when passing the bridge and that the stoppage had been to enable the spare wheel to be put on. He did not at this time connect it with the arrival, of the boat, though what followed suggested this to his mind.

&nbs
p; The car had stopped, he supposed, for some fifteen minutes, and ten minutes or more later he once again heard the boat. Its engine was also started up and the sound of it also died gradually away. He did not hear the row boat return, but he would not in any case have heard this from the road.

  ‘Just whereabouts do you think the car stopped?’ French asked when the story had come to an end.

  ‘Awa’ yonder,’ M’Leod pointed, ‘just there forenenst the auld ruin, Castle Haven, they call it. Ye see the place?’

  ‘Let’s go down.’

  When they reached the spot indicated French saw that, if there really was any connection between the boat and the car, a more suitable place for secret communication could scarcely have been found along the entire coasts of the British Isles.

  Immediately to the west of the ruined castle was a little cove. It was well protected, on the left by the rock on which the castle was built, on the right by another rock which after running straight out to sea, curved round like a breakwater across half the mouth. A sloping beach led up across rough grass to the field. Some hundred and eighty yards from the water’s edge was the road, bounded here by a stone wall. The whole place was extraordinarily deserted. It was true that some distance farther on two or three houses appeared, but close by there was no human habitation.

  French wondered if he dare assume that the car was Teer’s. He had an unhappy feeling that, in this matter of the car, he was gradually leaving the realms of ascertained fact and approaching those of speculation, but he could think of no better way to proceed. In difficult cases, such as the present, truth was more frequently reached by bold assumptions than in any other way. With misgivings, therefore, he decided to complete the investigation in hand, and if no trace of any other car was come on he thought he would be justified in assuming this one to have been Teer’s.