‘I agree with that, Mr French,’ M’Clung said in his turn, ‘and also that you’ve got a fine theory, but the worst of it to me is that it’s only theory. They may have done every single thing you say, and probably did, but you can’t prove it. There’s no case so far to put before a jury.’
French smiled.
‘Now, M’Clung, what do you bet that you don’t eat your words inside ten minutes? Proof! Of course there’s proof. And you know what it is as well as I do. Use your brains, man! Here, I’ll give you a hint. Two facts prove it, both given by verbal testimony. I may tell you that was the connection between these two facts that occurred to me that afternoon in Glasgow and that gave me the solution. Think, man! Can you not see it? I’m not saying anything about Carter and Harvey and Ormsby, because I don’t think they know the facts.’
M’Clung’s confusion was only surpassed by the delight of the other three sergeants. But French did not give them long to develop the situation.
‘You don’t see it? Well, look here. The whole crime was given away by Joss, and what’s more—a tragedy for the man, but really poetic justice, I suppose—it was given away unnecessarily. Not knowing what he was doing, he volunteered the damning statement. Now do you see?’
This did not tend to cure M’Clung’s embarrassment, but still he couldn’t grasp French’s point.
‘You don’t get it? Then I’ll tell you. He volunteered about the drugging. No doubt he thought that such a confession would tend to strengthen the remainder of his story. But instead it has done him in. See it now?’
Poor M’Clung had still to confess bewilderment.
‘Don’t you worry about it,’ French said, pitying his confusion. ‘I didn’t see it myself for long enough. The reason the statement conveys nothing to you is that you’ve forgotten to put it alongside the testimony of that doctor at the inquest. You remember what he said? In his evidence he said that in his opinion the sleeping draught had been taken within eight to ten hours of death. That’ll give it to you.’
This time light not only dawned on M’Clung but on the other three also. French gave them no time for remarks, but hurried on.
‘Now, if you think, you will see that the entire case follows from those two statements. Let us run over it. If Joss gave the sleeping draught shortly after leaving London, as he said, and if Sir John was murdered within eight to ten hours of receiving it, death must have occurred before six o’clock in the morning. If this were so it follows absolutely that the murder took place in the train. There is no escape from this conclusion, except by assuming that Sir John got a second sleeping draught on the next evening, a bit too far-fetched a coincidence for real life.
‘Now, if this is correct, it is obvious that it was not Sir John who crossed to Ireland, and therefore that he was impersonated by the traveller to Sandy Row, and second, that in some way his body was removed from the train before the latter reached Stranraer. Where could these changes have been made? The affair at Castle-Douglas at once gives the answer. This view is confirmed by the brown cloak, and the ladder, as well as by the insistence that the sleeping berths should be on the right-hand side of the train, all of which were necessary for the exchange.
‘So much known, we come to the question of the identity of the impersonator. We know that he must have been like Sir John from the evidence of the stewards on the boat, and as only Malcolm and Victor fulfilled this condition, we may assume it was one or other. It was not Malcolm, because at that hour Malcolm was at his home in Ireland. Therefore it was Victor. Victor, it must be remembered, is already suspect as the author of the X.Y.Z. letter.
‘When we examine the details we find instant confirmation in the Tarn Bay call. If this was not to let Victor go to Castle-Douglas, what was it for?
‘There is similar proof as to the removal of the body. It was taken from the train at Castle-Douglas and was buried at Lurigan. How was it conveyed? There can only be one answer. It must have gone by the launch, and the launch must therefore have called at Lurigan.
‘This last point is proved by a second consideration. If Victor went to Belfast instead of Sir John, and, if he reached Campbeltown on the following morning, the launch must have touched the Irish coast to pick him up. There is no other way in which he could have made the journey.
‘You see it now, M’Clung? There is practical proof for every stage of the entire affair. We can and will make a perfectly watertight case to put before a jury.’
French’s hearers were a trifle awestruck. Seldom had they heard so convincing an exposition. They discussed the affair for some time, Ormsby finally expressing the general sentiments.
‘They’re as good as hanged, the whole four of them,’ he declared, ‘and it’s going to be one of the biggest triumphs ever made for you personally, sir, as well as for the Yard and the detective force of Northern Ireland. With your permission, sir, I think we should celebrate.’
French, nothing loath, rang for the waiter and the healths of the two detective organisations were duly drunk. Then French returned to business.
‘Before we separate I want to say a word about motive. I’m inclined to believe that the entire business of the linen-silk plans was an invention of the quartet’s. I doubt that Sir John had any plans; the most careful search has failed to reveal any preliminary sketches, and even if he took the finished plans with him, such sketches must have existed. There is no question Sir John was working at the problem, but I doubt that he had solved it. We have only Victor’s word for it and we know now that Victor’s evidence was tainted.
‘In the meantime I’m disposed to assume that Sir John was murdered by the quartet in order to get Victor’s legacy of £50,000. I think that Malcolm is wholly innocent, but that the others intended that he should be suspected, found guilty and executed. This would have brought Victor the command of £400,000 more. To me this explains the episode at Whitehead and the burial at Lurigan. Admittedly we have no proof of this, but I’m sure we shall get all the proof we want after we make the arrests.’
He paused in thought, then went on:
‘Now, with regard to Malcolm’s guilt or innocence, I’m going to suggest a little test. I suppose, M’Clung, Superintendent Rainey would make a few arrangements for me?’
M’Clung was reassuring on the subject.
‘Very well. Now I want you to go over to the superintendent and tell him this,’ and French gave him detailed instructions. ‘You get my idea? Kind of Mahomet and the mountain. If we can’t get this extra proof ourselves why not get our friends to supply it for us?’
His hearers grinned delightedly. It was a plan after their own hearts. Being what they were, they did not say much, but French read their approval in their eyes.
Excited over what they thought would be the last move in this tragic and lengthy drama, French and the three Yard sergeants returned to town by that night’s boat train, leaving M’Clung to travel by the morning steamer to Belfast.
21
London to Plymouth
Before they left the train at Euston French put the first stage of his new scheme in operation.
‘I want,’ he said to Carter, ‘to meet Victor Magill accidentally. You get along to his office and find out his movements so that I can have a chat with him without suspicion of ulterior motive.’
Later in the day Carter returned to the Yard. He reported that in the guise of a rate collector he had called at Victor’s office. Victor was out, but by judicious pumping of the staff Carter had learned that he was going to Plymouth by the 10.30 Cornish Riviera Express on the following Monday morning. This was Saturday.
‘It’s the devil of a distance,’ French grumbled, ‘but I suppose that’s not your fault. All right, that’ll do.’
For once French went off duty and that afternoon and the next day he spent in the bosom of his family. But on Monday he was early at Paddington. He saw Victor arrive, unexpectedly accompanied by Teer.
At first French swore, thinking that Teer’s presence
would spoil his experiment. Then he realised that so far from spoiling it, it would vastly increase its value. In good heart, therefore, he shadowed the two men to their compartment, afterwards putting his own things in another carriage. Finally he sought out the restaurant car attendant and purchased his help.
‘Come down the platform,’ he said confidentially. ‘Now,’ he went on when they were close to the other compartment, ‘walk on there and glance into that second compartment as you pass. You’ll see a small man in grey clothes in the far corner and a big dark-haired man opposite. I want you to fix it that I sit with them at lunch. A four-place table, you understand. I sit down and when those two come along you put them with me.’
The attendant, mindful of past favours and hopeful of others to come, promised to do what he could. As a result, some hours later Victor and Teer were shown to the table at which French had already taken his place.
‘Hullo, Inspector, this is an unexpected pleasure!’ said Victor as he sat down. ‘I didn’t see you join the train.’
Teer muttered a short greeting and looked annoyed.
‘Nor did I see you gentlemen,’ French returned mendaciously as he also murmured his surprise and delight at the meeting.
‘What’s it now?’ went on Victor. ‘Some new tale of blood and agony?’
French smiled.
‘Nothing so dramatic,’ he declared. ‘Merely a visit to the prison at Princetown.’
Victor shook his head.
‘Ghastly place,’ he murmured. ‘It should be closed. No poor devil has gone far enough wrong to deserve that hell.’
‘That may be, Mr Magill. It’s a thing I have no say in. But it’s not as bad as it was. As you know, there’s been a deal of improvement in prison conditions in recent years.’
Victor said it was not before it was due and they discussed the penal systems of this and other countries for some minutes. Then after desultory conversation in which Teer took a small and sulky part the talk came round to the Magill case.
‘I suppose,’ Victor said, ‘that you people have pretty well given up hope? You’re not doing anything about it, are you?’
This gave French his opportunity.
‘We are and we aren’t,’ he answered, leaning forward and speaking confidentially. Though the speed was high, the coach was running silently, and French could talk without fear of being overheard. ‘We’ve got a number of clues which have almost led us to what we want, but they’ve all just stopped short of doing it. The most promising is what I may call the Cave Hill clue, because it really is likely to lead us to something.’
In spite of themselves, a startled glance passed between the two men. French watched them unobtrusively. Victor covered his emotion by a slight fit of coughing, while Teer found a bone in his fish which required his attention. The bone removed, Teer asked disinterestedly for further details.
‘I don’t know how much you’ve heard,’ French went on. ‘I suppose Rainey told you of our find on the Cave Hill?’
‘Not a word,’ said Victor.
‘Probably he hasn’t seen you since we made it. It seemed an important enough discovery, but really instead of clearing the case up it makes it even more mysterious. We found that Sir John spent the day on the Cave Hill.’
‘Good Lord!’ Victor exclaimed. Both men registered surprise with commendable efficiency, but French could have sworn their real emotion was relief.
‘He was seen both going up and coming down a rough path which leads from the Antrim Road to the top; the Sheeps’ Path, it’s called.’
Victor nodded with obvious interest.
‘I know every inch of it,’ he declared. ‘Many a time I’ve climbed it when I was a kid. You’ve heard me speak of it, I’m sure, Teer?’
‘Well, we made a search and we found that Sir John had camped out in a clump of shrubs in a field adjoining the path. There was a rough bed of soft twigs in a small trampled clearing. He must have spent the day there from 10.30 in the morning until after seven at night.’
‘But whatever for?’ Victor queried with an air almost of incredulity, while Teer suspended mastication and stared bovinely at French.
‘Ah,’ the latter answered, ‘if we knew that we’d be a few steps further on. We think that for some reason he may not have wished to meet any of his old Belfast friends. We made another very strange discovery that suggested to some of my colleagues that he was present at a meeting of some secret society, though I do not myself share their view. In searching round we came on what looked like a tiny grave. We opened it and we found, what do you think? You’d never guess.’
‘If so there’s no use in our trying,’ said Victor, whose temper seemed to be wearing a trifle thin under the strain.
‘I don’t think there is,’ French agreed. ‘We found a brown cloak with a cowl and a short piece of rope ladder. The cloak was just what one might expect some order of masons or orangemen to wear—I’m neither a mason nor an orangeman so I may be blaspheming the orders—and the ladder is, I believe, a symbol in both fraternities. This secret society theory may be correct enough, though it seems to me to be far-fetched. But I admit it’s very difficult to account for these things on any other hypothesis.’
Victor shook his head helplessly.
‘I’m blessed,’ he declared, ‘if that isn’t as queer a business as I ever heard of! The more you think about it the stranger it seems. A cowled cloak and a ladder! Good Lord!’
‘Darned odd,’ said Teer woodenly.
French was delighted. There was now no question as to the relief of both. With satisfaction he recognised that his foundation had been well and truly laid and that he might now proceed with the superstructure.
‘Ah, but that’s not the important clue,’ he went on, leaning forward and speaking with increased interest. ‘Sir John buried something else up there which we’ve not found, but which we hope to get in the course of the next four or five days. I’ll tell you about it.’
He paused to heighten his effect.
‘Some time ago a constable belonging to the Belfast force was making inquiries into this affair on the Cave Hill when he heard a story of a boy having seen something being buried near the Sheeps’ Path. He called at the boy’s home, but found he had been knocked down by a bus on the Antrim Road and was now in hospital. The constable therefore went to the hospital. There he saw the boy, who confirmed the story. He had been, he said, up the hill side near the Sheeps’ Path, when among some bushes he saw a man burying a box. From the description there could be no doubt that it was Sir John. The only thing that puzzled the constable was that the date didn’t agree; it was three or four days too late. However he assumed that the boy had made a mistake. After the man went away the boy found the place and tried to dig up the treasure trove. But he couldn’t do so with his fingers and he ran home for a shovel. But his eagerness proved his undoing. He crossed the Antrim Road without looking where he was going, with the result that he was struck by the wing of the bus. Fortunately he’s getting all right and the doctor has promised to let Rainey carry him up the Sheep’s Path on Thursday next, so that he may point out Sir John’s second hiding place. Whether the box will contain anything to help us remains to be seen, but we are living in hope.’
Victor and Teer were still simulating a surprised interest, but French could see that they were profoundly impressed by his story.
‘I’m surprised that Rainey didn’t tell you all this,’ he said to Victor. ‘When were you last in Belfast?’
‘Not since that day we met in the superintendent’s office.’
French nodded.
‘That explains it,’ he said easily. ‘Rainey would have told you if he had seen you, but I expect he didn’t care to put the thing in writing. You can realise that in our business it is better to be sure than sorry.’
Victor agreed and after lighting cigarettes they continued their discussion. French talked round the subject with an air of the utmost candour, but actually he gave away no further infor
mation At last by slow degrees he led to his second point.
‘Yes,’ he said in answer to a remark of Teer’s, ‘it certainly has been an exasperating case. And perhaps one of the most exasperating points in it, is that we have been quite unable to find X.Y.Z.’
‘X.Y.Z.?’ Teer repeated doubtfully, while Victor looked up sharply.
‘Yes.’ He turned to Victor. ‘You saw the letter, didn’t you, Mr Magill?’
Victor shook his head.
‘Don’t even know what you’re talking about,’ he declared.
It was now French’s turn to show surprise.
‘But, bless me, it was when you were with us in Rainey’s office that it arrived.’ He paused as if to consult his memory. ‘No, I beg your pardon, I’m wrong. We didn’t get it until later that day. You had gone, of course, so you didn’t see it. All the same I’m surprised that Rainey did not tell you or at least Major Magill.’
‘Perhaps he told Malcolm. I’ve been back in town for some time.’
‘Probably that’s it. Still I should have thought you would have heard about it.’
Teer drew the attention away from Victor.
‘But what is the letter anyway?’ he growled.
French became even more confidential. He glanced round, then bent forward and spoke in a tone which could just be heard above the murmur of the train.
‘It was that very day that Mr Magill was in with us or the following, I’m not sure which, that we got a most interesting letter. It was addressed to Rainey, and it said,’ and French went on to give its contents.
Both men dutifully registered the necessary amazement.
‘And you could find no trace of the writer?’ Victor asked.
French made a gesture of annoyance.
‘That’s just the trouble,’ he explained. ‘We made the most detailed inquiries, but all to no purpose. We’ve never had the slightest hint as to the writer’s identity. Nor could we find that any car had passed along the road that night. I can tell you, gentlemen, that these seemingly simple things are the very devil when they go wrong. You keep on worrying and worrying and feeling what a fool you are and you can’t get to the bottom of them.’
Inspector French: Sir John Magill's Last Journey Page 25
