Inspector French and the Cheyne Mystery

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  Following his usual procedure under such circumstances, French next asked for interviews with all those of the staff who had come in any way in contact with his quarry, but in spite of his most persistent efforts he could not extract a single item of information as to the man’s business or movements.

  Baffled and weary from his journey, French took his hat and went out in the hope that a walk through the streets of the fine old city would clear his brain and bring him the inspiration he needed. Crossing beneath the trees of the Place Verte, he passed round the cathedral to the small square from which he could look up at the huge bulk of the west front, with its two unequal towers, one a climbing marvel of decoration, ‘lace in stone,’ the other unfinished, and topped with a small and evidently temporary spire. Then, promising himself a look round the interior before leaving the town, he regained the tramline from the Place Verte, and following it westwards, in two or three minutes came out on the great terraces lining the banks of the river.

  The first sight of the Scheldt was one which French felt he would not soon forget. Well on to half a mile wide, it bore away in both directions like a great highway leading from this little Belgium to the uttermost parts of the earth. Large ships lay at anchor in it, as well as clustering along the wharves to the south. This river frontage of wharves and sheds and cranes and great steamers extended as far as the eye could reach; he had read that it was three and a half miles long. And that excluded the huge docks for which the town was famous. As he strolled along he became profoundly impressed, not only with the size of the place, but more particularly with the attention which had been given to its artistic side. In spite of all this commercial activity the city did not look sordid. Thought had been given to its design; one might almost say loving care. Why, these very terraces on which he was walking, with their cafes and their splendid view of the river, were formed on neither more nor less than the vast roofs of the dock sheds. French, who knew most of the English ports, felt his amazement grow at every step.

  He followed the quays right across the town till he came to the Gare du Sud, then turning away from the river, he found himself in the Avenue du Sud. From this he worked back along the line of great avenues which had replaced the earlier fortifications, until eventually, nearly three hours after he had started, he once again turned into the Place Verte, and reached the Carillon.

  He ordered a room for the night, and some strong tea, after which he sat on in his secluded corner of the comfortable restaurant, and smoked a meditative cigar. His walk had done him good. His brain had cleared, and the weariness of the journey, and the chagrin of his deadlock had vanished. His thoughts returned to his problem, which he began to attack in the new.

  He puzzled over it for the best part of an hour, without, making the slightest progress, and then he began to consider how far the ideas he had already arrived at fitted in with what he had since learnt of Dangle’s movements.

  He had thought that the nature of the articles on Dangle’s list suggested a sea expedition. He remembered the delight with which, many years earlier, he had read The Riddle of the Sands, and he thought that had Dangle contemplated just such another cruise as that of the heroes of that fascinating book, he might well have got together the articles in question. But since these ideas had passed through his mind, French had learnt the following fresh facts:

  1. From a fortnight after obtaining the tracing, Dangle had been paying frequent visits to Antwerp.

  2. He had on these occasions put up at the Carillon.

  3. His last visit had followed immediately on the failure to murder Cheyne, with its almost certain result of the calling in of Scotland Yard.

  4. He had on this last visit remained at the Carillon for two days, leaving about 2-0 p.m. on the Thursday, the previous day.

  5. He had carried his hand-bag from the hotel, without calling for a taxi.

  At first French could not see that these additional facts had any bearing on his theory, but as he continued turning them over in his mind, he realised that all but one might be interpreted as tending in the same direction.

  1. Dangle’s visits to Antwerp. Supposing Dangle had been planning some secret marine expedition, where, French asked himself, could he have found a more suitable base from which to make his arrangements? Antwerp was a seaport: moreover, it was a great seaport, large enough for a secret expedition to set sail from without attracting notice. It was a foreign port, away from the inquisitive notice of the British police, but, on the other hand, it was the nearest great port to London. If these considerations did not back up his theory, they at least did not conflict with it.

  2. Why had Dangle put up at the Carillon? The hotels near the station were the obvious ones for English visitors. Could it be because the Place Verte was close to the river and the shipping? This, French admitted to himself, sounded far-fetched, and yet it might be the truth.

  3. The dispersal and disappearance of the gang immediately on the probability of its activities becoming known to the police looked suspiciously like a flight.

  4. Could it be that Dangle’s arrival in Antwerp was ahead of schedule, that is, the flight brought him there two days before the expedition was to start? Or could it be that on his arrival he immediately set to work to organise the departure, but was unable to complete his arrangements for two days? At least, it might be so.

  Lastly, had he carried his bag from the hotel for the same reason as he might have chosen the hotel: that he was going, not to the station, but the few hundred yards to the quays, thence to start on this, maritime expedition? Again, it might be so.

  French was fully aware that the whole of these elaborate considerations had the actual stability of a house of cards. Each and every one of his deductions might be erroneous and the facts might be capable of an entirely different construction. Still, there was at least a suggestion that Dangle might have left Antwerp by water shortly after two o’clock on the previous day. It was the one constructive idea French could evolve, and he decided that in the absence of anything better he would try to follow it up.

  It was too late to do anything that night. After dinner, therefore, he had another walk, spent an hour in a cinema, and then went early to bed, so as to be fresh for his labours of the following day.

  17

  On the Flood Tide

  French was astir betimes next morning, and over his coffee and rolls and honey he laid his plans for the day. As to the next step of his investigation he had no doubt. He must begin by finding out what vessels had left the city after 2-0 p.m. on the previous Thursday. That done, he could go into the question of the passengers each carried, in the hope of learning that Dangle was among them.

  At the outset he was faced by the handicap of being a stranger in a strange land. If Antwerp had been an English port he would have known just where to get his information, but here he was unfamiliar with the ropes. He did not know if all sailings were published in any paper or available to the public at any office moreover, his ignorance of both French and Flemish precluded his mixing with clerks or dock loafers from whom he might pick up information. Of course there were the Belgian police, but he did not wish to apply to them if he could carry out his job by himself.

  However, this part of his problem proved easier of solution than he had expected. Inquiries at the post office revealed the fact that there was a shipping agency in the Rue des Tanneurs, and soon he had reached the place, found a clerk who spoke English, and put his question.

  When French wished to be suave, as he usually did he could, so to speak, have wheedled his best bone from a bulldog. Now, explaining in a friendly and confidential manner who he was and why he wanted the information, he begged the other’s good offices. The clerk, flattered at being thus courteously approached, showed a willingness to assist, with the result that in ten minutes French had the particulars he needed.

  He turned into a café, and calling for a bock, sat down to consider what he had learnt. And of this the very first fact filled him with
delight, as it seemed to fit in with the theory he had evolved.

  On Thursday it had been high water at 2-30 p.m. By 2-30 the dock gates had been opened, and it appeared that, taking advantage of this, several steamers had left shortly after that hour.

  This was distinctly encouraging, and French turned to the list of ships with a growing hope that the end of his investigation might be coming into sight. In all, eleven steamers had left the port on the day in question, between the hours of 2-0 and 6-0 p.m., the period he had included in his inquiry.

  There was first of all a Canadian Pacific liner, which had sailed from the quays at 3-0 p.m., and at 3-30 a small passenger boat had left for Oslo and Bergen. The remaining boats were tramps. There were four coasters, two for Newcastle, one for Goole and one for Belfast, a 6000 tonner for Singapore and the Dutch Islands, another slightly smaller ship for Genoa and Spezia, and another for Boston, U.S.A. Then there was a big five-masted sailing ship, bound with a general cargo for Buenos Ayres and the River Plate, and finally there was a small freighter in ballast for Casablanca.

  Of these eleven ships, the wind-jammer at once attracted French’s attention. Here was a vessel on which, if you took a passage, you might easily require three dozen tins of peaches before you reached your journey’s end. He determined to begin with this taking the other ships in order according to the position of their offices. Fortunately in each case the clerk had given him the name of the owners or agents.

  His first call, therefore, was at an old-fashioned office in a small street close to the Steen Museum. There he saw M. Leblanc, the owner of the wind-jammer, and explained his business. But M. Leblanc could not help him. The old gentleman had never heard of Dangle nor had anyone resembling his visitor’s photograph called or done any business with his firm. Moreover no passengers had shipped on the wind-jammer, and the crew that had sailed was unchanged since the previous voyage.

  This was not encouraging, and French went on to the next item on his programme, the headquarters of the small freighter which had sailed in ballast for Casablanca. She was owned by Messrs Merkel & Lowenthal whose office was farther down the Rue des Tanneurs, and five minutes later he had pushed open the door and was inquiring for the principal.

  This was a more modern establishment than that of M. Leblanc’s. Though small, the office ran to plate glass windows, teak furniture, polished brass fittings and encaustic tiles, while the two typists he could envisage through the small inquiry window seemed unduly gorgeous as to raiment and pert as to demeanour

  He was kept waiting for some minutes, then told that M. Merkel, the head of the business, was away, but that M. Lowenthal, the junior partner, would see him.

  His first glance told French that M. Lowenthal was a man to be watched. Seldom had he seen so many of the tell-tale signs of roguery concentrated in the features of one person. The junior partner had a mean, sly look, close-set, shifty eyes which would not meet French’s, and a large mouth with loose, fleshy lips. His manner was in accord with his appearance, now blustering, now almost fulsomely ingratiating. French took an instant dislike to him, and though he remained courteous as ever, he determined not to lay his cards on the table.

  ‘My name,’ be began, ‘as you will have seen from my card, is French, and I carry out the business of a general agent in London. I am trying to obtain an interview with a friend, who has been staying here, off and on, for some time. I came on here from Brussels in the hope of seeing him, but he had just left. I was told that he had sailed with your ship, the L’Escaut, on Thursday afternoon, and if so I called to ask at which port I should be likely to get in touch with him. His name is Dangle.’

  While French spoke he watched the other narrowly, on his favourite theory that the involuntary replies to unexpected remarks—starts, changes of expression, sudden pallors—were more valuable than spoken answers.

  But M. Lowenthal betrayed no emotion other than a mild surprise.

  ‘That iss a very egtraordinary statement, sir,’ he said in heavy guttural tones. ‘I do not really know who could haf given you such misleading information. Your friend’s name is quite unknown to me, and in any case we do not take passengers on our ships.’

  This seemed an entirely reasonable and proper reply, and yet to French’s highly developed instincts, it did not ring true. However, he could do nothing more, and after a little further conversation containing not a few veiled inquiries, all of which, he noted, were skilfully parried by the other, he apologised for his mistake and withdrew.

  Though he was dissatisfied with the interview, he could only continue his programme. He recognised that the secret might be located in Canada or the States, and that Dangle might have booked on the C.P.R. liner. Or he might have gone to Norway—indeed, for the matter of that, he might have signed on on any of the ships for any part of the world.

  But after a tedious morning of calls and interviews, French had to confess defeat. He could get no farther. At none of the offices at which he applied had he obtained the slightest helpful hint. It began to look as if he had been mistaken as to Dangle’s sea expedition, and if so, as he reminded himself with exasperation, he had no alternative theory to follow up.

  He strolled slowly along the pleasant, sunlit streets, as he reviewed his morning’s work. He was satisfied with all his interviews but the one. Everywhere save in M. Lowenthal’s office he felt he had been told the truth. But instinctively he distrusted the junior partner. That the man had lied to him he had no reason to suspect, but he had no doubt that he would do so if it suited his book.

  French felt that it was unsatisfactory to leave the matter in this state, and he presently thought of a simple subterfuge whereby it might be cleared up. It was almost the lunch hour, a suitable time for putting his project into operation. He hurried back to the Rue des Tanneurs, and turning into a café nearly opposite Messrs Merkel & Lowenthal’s premises, ordered a bock and selected a seat from which he could observe the office door.

  He was only just in time. He had not taken his place five minutes when he saw M. Lowenthal emerge and walk off towards the centre of the town. Three men clerks and the two rapid looking typists followed, and lastly there appeared the person for whom he was waiting—the sharp-looking office boy who had attended to him earlier in the day.

  The boy turned off in the opposite direction to his principal—towards a quarter inhabited by labourers and artisans, and French, getting up from his table, slipped quietly out of the café and followed him.

  The chase continued for some ten minutes, when the quarry disappeared into a small house in a back street. French strolled up and down until some half an hour later the young fellow reappeared. As he approached French allowed a look of recognition and slight surprise to appear on his features.

  ‘Ah,’ he said, pausing with a friendly smile, ‘you are the clerk who attended to me this morning in Messrs Merkel & Lowenthal’s office, are you not? A piece of luck meeting you! I wonder if you could give me a piece of information? I forgot to ask it of M. Lowenthal this morning, and as I am in a hurry, it would be worth five francs to me not to have to go back to your office.’

  The youth’s eyes had brightened at the suggestion of financial dealings, and French felt he would learn all the other could tell him. He therefore continued without waiting for a reply.

  ‘The thing is this: I am joining my friend, M. Dangle, aboard the L’Escaut at the first opportunity. It was arranged between us that one of us should take with him a couple of dozen of champagne. I want to know whether he took the stuff, or whether I am to. Can you help me at all?’

  The clerk’s English, though fairly good, was not quite equal to such a strain, and French had to repeat himself less idiomatically. But the boy grasped his meaning at last, and then at once dashed his hopes by saying he had never heard of any M. Dangle.

  ‘There he is,’ French went on, producing his photograph. ‘You must have seen him scores of times.’

  And then French got the reward of his pertinacity.
A look of recognition passed over the clerk’s features, and he made a gesture of comprehension.

  ‘Mais oui, m’sieur; yes, sir,’ he answered quickly, ‘but that is not M. Danggalle. I know him: it is M. Charles.’

  ‘That’s right,’ French returned, trying to keep the triumph out of his voice. ‘His name is. Dangle Charles. I know him as M. Dangle, because he is one of four brothers at our works. But of course he would give his name here as M. Charles. But now, can you tell me anything about the champagne?’

  The clerk shook his head. He had not known upon what business M. Charles had called at the office.

  ‘Oh, well, it can’t be helped,’ French declared. ‘I thought that perhaps when he was in with you last Wednesday you might have heard something about it. You don’t know what luggage he took aboard the L’Escaut?’

  The clerk had not been aware that M. Charles had embarked on the freighter, still less did he know of what his luggage had consisted. But as French talked on in his pleasant way, the following facts became apparent: first, that Dangle for some weeks past had been an occasional visitor at the shipping office; second, that on the previous Wednesday he had been closeted with the partners for the greater part of the day; third, that the L’Escaut had evidently sailed on an expedition of considerable importance and length, for a vast deal of stores had gone aboard her, about which both partners had shown very keen anxiety; fourthly, that not only had M. Merkel, the senior partner, himself sailed on her, but it was likely that he intended to be away some time as M. Lowenthal had moved into his room, and lastly, that the L’Escaut had come up from the firm’s yard during the Wednesday night and had anchored in the river off the Steen until she left about 3-0 p.m. on the Thursday.