‘And how far from the shore?’
‘A mile, I should say. Not less, possibly more.’
‘Here?’ French made a cross at the place. ‘Now, how was the tide running?’
‘Flowing, but the current was running out. You see, we have rather peculiar tides here. The run in and out doesn’t exactly correspond with the rise and fall.’
‘I didn’t know that ever obtained.’
‘Oh, yes. It’s caused, of course, by the configuration of the coast. It’s a bit confusing at first. For about two and a half hours after high water the current continues to run up the estuary, though the actual level is falling. Then for some eight hours it runs out. Now on that Monday night it was high water shortly after one o’clock, summer time. After that the tide level began to fall, but the current was still running up towards Southampton. About three-thirty in the morning the current changed and began to run out towards the sea. Low water was about seven-thirty on Tuesday morning, but the current continued to run out for another four hours. That’s roughly what happens, though if you want stricter accuracy you would say “westerly and easterly,” instead of “up and down the estuary.”’
‘I think I follow you. At what time did you find the body?’
‘About seven.’
‘Then if I have understood you correctly, when the body was found about seven, the tide current was running seawards, and had been since three-thirty?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Now, Mr Munn, this is where I want your help. Rightly or wrongly I have formed the opinion that the body was placed in the sea at some time between three and five that morning, most probably about four o’clock. Assuming that is so, where do you think it might have been put in?’
History seemed to French to be repeating itself as he asked the question. It was not long since he had sat on the stones at the end of the pier at Burry Port in South Wales and asked stout Coastguard Tom Manners how the tides ran in the Burry Inlet, and where a crate which had been found off Llanelly might have been dropped into the water. If this went on, he thought, he might set up as a tide specialist. He only hoped that today’s inquiries would have as satisfactory results as those on that former occasion.
Like Tom Manners, Munn hesitated over his answer, whistling the while under his breath.
‘I should say,’ he replied at last, ‘a short way above Lee. Perhaps at Lee, perhaps at Hill Head, probably somewhere between the two. It’s not easy to say with any degree of accuracy.’
‘That’s good enough, Mr Munn. You see what I’m after? If I search the coast where you suggest I may find some kind of clue.’
Munn shook his head. ‘I rather question it,’ he answered slowly.
French’s eyes narrowed. ‘Now just why do you say that?’
‘I’ll tell you. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but your question suggested it. I don’t believe the body was put in from the shore at all.’
‘But—’
‘I think it was too far out,’ Munn went on. ‘I don’t mean that the tide runs exactly parallel to the shore. It doesn’t. But an object put in at the shore near Hill Head or Lee would not have got so far out from the land in the distance to Stokes Bay.’
French nodded.
‘I follow you. You mean that the body must have been thrown in at some considerable distance from the shore?’
‘Either that or it must have been thrown in earlier and come down from nearer Southampton.’
‘It couldn’t have been much earlier,’ French objected. ‘Remember the poor girl was alive and well in London at eleven-fifteen that night.’ He paused in his turn, then went on: ‘Any chance of getting a boat along there?’
Munn gave him a sharp glance.
‘On compulsory loan? Yes, I believe that would be possible, Inspector. Several of the residents along the shore have boats which lie out at night in the summer. I should think one could be borrowed. But your criminals couldn’t get any oars. They’re always taken in when the boats are out of use.’
‘That may prove an additional clue,’ French declared. ‘I’m sure I’m greatly obliged, Mr Munn. Thanks to you, my next move is clear. I shall search this stretch of coast in the hope of finding that a boat and oars were tampered with. If I am lucky enough to find them, it may lead me on to something else.’
The day was living up to its early promise as he took leave of Munn and set off on foot along the shore. The prospect was charming. Across the blue, sparkling waters of the Solent lay Cowes, peeping out behind the Osborne Woods, while upstream, on the opposite side of Southampton Water, the long, low coastline rose dark and tree-clad from shore to serrated horizon. The sea was dotted with the white sails of pleasure craft, and close under the Island a great liner moved rapidly up towards Southampton. At intervals along the road were villas, opposite many of which were boats. To ‘borrow’ one of these during the hours of darkness should certainly be easy.
But how was he to find out whether or not it had been done? He could see but one way and that long and tedious. He must make house to house inquiries as to whether, first, any trace had been found of the taking out of a boat, and second, if anyone had been heard or seen on the shore about the time in question.
Soon he found his premonition justified. A longer or more tedious job he had seldom tackled. At house after house he called, waited interminably until some responsible person could see him, talked that person into a sympathetic frame of mind and then put his questions. With one inquisitive and voluble householder after another he searched boats, investigated the hiding places of oars and questioned servants. All to no purpose. Nothing helpful was to be learnt. He carried on while the day wore slowly away, growing more tired and dispirited with each fruitless repetition. At last, only one group of houses was left and he began rather despairingly to wonder what he would do if he did not get news at one of them.
But just as he was losing hope the luck turned. In this case the owner was at home and on learning French’s business became interested. He had, he said, been shocked to read of the murder and would be glad to do anything to bring the criminals to justice. He at once called the members of his household that French might put his questions. And when this led to no result, he went down with French to examine his boat.
It was moored off the end of a slip. A short painter was made fast to the bight of an endless rope which passed through pulleys fixed to the end of the slip and to a pole driven into the beach some eighty or a hundred feet farther out to sea. This arrangement enabled the boat to be kept clear of slip and pole, while by pulling on the rope the painter could be drawn to the slip. A cord, lapping the parallel parts of the rope at the pulley, prevented accidental movement.
The moment the owner, Mr Farrar, saw this cord he exclaimed; ‘Hullo! Someone has been here! I never left that cord like that!’
‘No?’ French answered, his spirits rising with a bound. ‘How did you leave it?’
‘I don’t know if you know anything about knots,’ Mr Farrar went on. ‘If you do you will see that this is an ordinary clove hitch such as a skilful landsman might make. Now I always use what is called a ratline lock. It was shown to me by a Norwegian sailor whom I once met.’
‘Pretty conclusive,’ French admitted. ‘How long is it since you had the boat out?’
‘Must be over a week,’ Farrar said. ‘I have been in town for the last four days and I am sure it was four days before that.’
‘Very satisfactory. Might we have the boat in? I should like a look at it.’
Farrar loosened the cord, and pulling on the rope, drew the boat in to the slip. It was about twelve feet long and strongly built and wide in the beam. A good sea boat, French thought.
He got in and began one of his meticulous examinations. Almost at once his efforts were rewarded.
Caught in a splinter of one of the stern bottom boards was a tiny scrap—little more than a thread—of fawn-coloured material. It was just the shade of Miss Darke’s coat and skirt and Fr
ench had not the slightest doubt that it would match the slight tear he had noticed.
‘That fixes the matter, I fancy,’ he said as he put his find carefully away in an envelope. ‘Part of the dead girl’s skirt. I noticed it had been torn. Now let’s see if there’s anything else.’
Never since it had left the builder’s hands, if then, had that boat had such an examination as it got that afternoon. But it contained nothing else which might form a clue, nor could French find any fingerprints.
This matter of the boat seemed to him to supply the answer to a question which had puzzled him from the first. If the criminals’ object had been to dispose secretly of the body, why had they chosen a landlocked piece of water like the Solent, particularly one so alive with shipping? The answer was evident: the boat. On no part of the open coast could they find boats so conveniently placed for ‘borrowing.’ The ease of getting the boat would clearly outweigh the increased risk that the body might be found.
He rejoined Farrar on the slip.
‘That’s really excellent,’ he said with ill-repressed delight. ‘It shows that I am on the right track.’
‘But I don’t see how finding this will help you. There is nothing here to indicate who used the boat.’
French did not feel called on to deliver a dissertation on the science of detection.
‘It may be a help. You never can tell,’ was his summary of the situation. ‘By the way, what about oars? Where do you keep yours?’
‘They couldn’t have got the oars. They are never left in the boat. We take them up to the house when we’ve finished with them. The criminals must have stolen oars elsewhere or brought their own.’
‘One other question. You’ve told me you didn’t see anyone about on that Monday night or hear a car. Now can you suggest anyone who might possibly have been out?’
Farrar shrugged.
‘How could I?’
‘Well, who are the doctors in this part of the world? Was there a dance in the neighbourhood? You see what I mean?’
Farrar saw, but couldn’t help. He gave the names of four medical men, anyone of whom might have been called in by residents in the district. But he didn’t know if anyone had been. And then suddenly he slapped his thigh.
‘But I do though, after all,’ he exclaimed. ‘Findlay’s wife had a son that morning! You bet Findlay was out for the doctor. You should go and see him; he’s an architect in Portsmouth. Or if you like you can come back to the house and ring him up. I’ll introduce you.’
French accepted gratefully and in a few minutes the call was put through. Findlay was equally ready to help. Yes, his wife had been confined on the night in question and he had gone for the doctor shortly before four—Dr Lappin, of Lee. But he had met no one on the road nor had he seen a car.
‘A call on Dr Lappin seems to be indicated,’ French declared as he once again thanked Farrar for his help.
‘Well,’ said the latter with a sidelong look, ‘since you mention it, do you know why I told you about Findlay?’
‘Why?’
‘For this reason. I know something about the police and I may tell you that you’re the first officer who has ever come to ask me a question in what I may call a really civil way. It is generally: “Tell me or it’ll be the worse for you.” But when you treated me as a friend who might be able to help you, why, I thought I’d do it.’
‘I don’t think our people are as bad as you make out, Mr Farrar. But I’m much obliged to you all the same.’
After a hurriedly snatched cup of tea, French presented himself at Dr Lappin’s door. The doctor was just going out, but he turned back with his visitor.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘I left here shortly after four. It is about five minutes’ run to Mr Findlay’s and I should say that I got there about four-fifteen.’
‘And did you notice a car?’
‘As a matter of fact I did. Now, let me see where it was. Yes, I remember it distinctly. It was about half a mile on the Hill Head side of the wireless station, where the road turns inland. I can show you the very place if you wish me to.’
‘It passed you there?’
‘I passed it. It was standing at the side of the road and the driver was working at the engine. He had the lid of the bonnet raised and was bending over it. I slowed up and called out to know if there was anything wrong, but he replied only a dirty plug and that he had got it right.’
This was good news. French felt that he was on the trail once more. With his interest aroused to the keenest pitch he went on with his questions.
‘There was only one man there?’
‘I saw only one. The car was a fairly large one, a saloon. It was not lighted up and there might have been others inside, but I didn’t see anyone.’
‘Was there a moon?’
‘No, but dawn was breaking. I could see objects fairly clearly, but no more.’
‘Now, what about the man outside? Could you describe him?’
‘Not well. He was muffled up in a coat and had a soft hat pulled down over his eyes. As far as I could see he was a tallish, thin man with a pale face and a small moustache. But I couldn’t be sure of that.’
‘Anything peculiar about his accent?’
‘It occurred to me that he had a sort of inflection in his voice such as you hear in Ireland or South Wales. I don’t know about North Wales, as I’ve never been there.’
‘High pitched or low?’
‘Rather high of the two.’
Better and better! If this was not Style, French would, so he said to himself, eat his hat.
‘I see. Now, doctor, can you describe the car more fully?’
‘I really don’t think I can, except that it was a middle-sized, grey saloon. Possibly a Daimler, though really I have no right to give such an opinion. But it seemed rather that shape. Of course, that’s the shape of a lot of other makes as well. But I saw the number.’
‘The number! Why, sir, you did well. What was it?’
The doctor smiled thinly.
‘I’m afraid I don’t deserve as much credit as you seem to think,’ he protested. ‘It happened to be the number of my own car, less one figure. Mine is 7385 and this one was 7395—one figure different, you see. But whereas my car is registered in Hampshire, this one had a Surrey initial.’
‘This is valuable information, Dr Lappin,’ French declared. ‘Now, before I go, do you think there is anything else that you can tell me? You didn’t see anyone on the road, for instance?’
Dr Lappin had not noticed anyone. The facts he had mentioned he was sure of, but he knew no others. When he had returned about seven the car was gone. He promised French to give any evidence that might be required and that in the meantime he would say nothing of what he knew.
On his return to Portsmouth, French drafted a police circular. It was believed that a middle-sized, grey saloon car, possibly a Daimler and possibly registered in Surrey and numbered 7395, had travelled from London to Lee and back during the night of 18th-19th inst. Had anyone seen or heard of such a vehicle? Three persons were believed to have been in the car—here followed descriptions of Westinghouse, Style and Gwen Lestrange. Had these persons been noticed? Had anyone been seen taking out or replacing a boat between Lee and Hill Head during the same night?
From the police station French went to interview the coastguards, but unfortunately without result.
Delighted with the result of his first day’s work he went early to bed and slept the sleep of the weary.
6
The Supreme Appeal Court
Though self-congratulation is not precisely the same thing as pride, common experience teaches us that it is usually followed, if not by a fall, at least by a disappointment. French’s satisfaction at his rapid progress was no doubt natural, but its sequence proved an illustration of this unhappy principle.
After his first day’s achievement there followed a period of stagnation. It was not that he did not show energy and industry. On the contrary, no one co
uld have done more. Rather was it as if the Fates disapproved his frame of mind and withheld the success which his efforts deserved.
And yet the second day began well. On reaching the Portsmouth police station the next morning, news was awaiting him, news moreover which at first sight seemed valuable enough. Shortly before four on the morning of the crime, a motor car resembling in every respect that described in his circular was seen passing through Titchfield in the direction of Lee. It was driving fast, but not fast enough to provoke the interference of the constable who observed it. There being nothing to call the man’s special attention to it, he had unfortunately omitted to note its number. But he had noticed on the left running board an object some four or five feet long by six inches in diameter, tied up in canvas and not unlike a bag of large golf clubs.
A second report had come from Fareham. At about five or a little later, a similar car had passed through the town. It had been seen twice, first approaching from the direction of Gosport, and a few minutes later leaving on the road towards Bishop’s Waltham. Both the men who had seen it believed that it contained two persons besides the driver, and both had seen the canvas package.
That this car had carried the body of the murdered girl, French had little doubt. It was true that Dr Lappin had not observed the package. But French believed that this was for the excellent reason that when the doctor passed the car it was not there. For he felt sure that he knew what that package contained. In this carefully planned crime, the murderers knew that though they could ‘borrow’ a boat there would be no oars in it. French had little doubt that beneath the canvas cover lay a pair of oars divided into two by some form of socketted joint.
After it had left Fareham, the car seemed to have vanished into thin air. In spite of French’s most persistent inquiries, no further trace of it could be found. Nor did a single one of the vast army of men who were on the look-out ever identify anyone as a possible actor in the terrible drama.
The clue of the car number had also petered out, though as French had not expected much from it, he was the less disappointed. Inquiries had shown that that bearing the number seen by Dr Lappin belonged to a well-known Surrey resident of unimpeachable character. There was, moreover, ample proof that the car had been in the owner’s garage during the entire night of the crime.
Inspector French and the Box Office Murders Page 6
