The Lake District Murder

by John Bude

  Then for some minutes nothing happened. Prince lit a cigarette (“A dangerous policy,” thought Meredith), and lounged back against the door of the cab. Although he couldn’t see him, Meredith imagined that Bettle was still seated at the wheel. Wick, for some unearthly reason, had retired again into the cottage!

  After a short period the proprietor emerged once more and made a quick signal with his hand. Prince must have been waiting for this signal, for he went forward, at once, and shut off the petrol valve. Again Meredith glanced at his watch. 10.53½. So far, so good, he thought. What now?

  But if he was expecting any sensational action on the part of the men, he was destined to be deceived. Prince strolled over to the garage and disappeared with Wick, presumably into the office. Five minutes later they reappeared. Prince with a blue-covered book in his hand; Wick with a single sheet of paper.

  The lorry-man then uncoupled the pipe, stowed it away, locked the metal box at the rear of the tank, replaced the cap and padlock on the intake pipe and dropped the manhole lid into place. The three men then held a desultory conversation (none of which Meredith could catch) at the conclusion of which Prince swung over the starting-handle and climbed up into the cab beside Bettle. Then with a grinding of gears the bulk-wagon slowly gathered way and lumbered out of sight round the corner. Wick returned, at once, to his office.

  Knowing that No. 4 was booked for a round of the coastal towns, Meredith decided that he need keep no further watch on the Lothwaite until 4.30 that afternoon. He, therefore, executed a cautious retirement through the larch wood, mounted his motor-cycle out of sight round the corner, and made for Keswick.

  On the journey he occupied himself with an analysis of the facts which had now come to light. He was highly delighted with the results of his observation, though as yet quite unable to set value on what he had learnt. First, he dealt with the time factor.

  Prince had opened the valve at 10.44 and closed it at 10.53½. The delivery had therefore taken exactly 9½ minutes to discharge. Meredith was puzzled. Calculating on a basis of 100 gallons flow in 3½ minutes, it meant that No. 4 had discharged something in the region of 270 gallons into the Lothwaite tank. But why the odd amount? Ferriby had assured him that most petrol firms, including the Nonock, delivered a minimum of 200 gallons from the tank and that thereafter the amounts ascended in hundreds. But here was a delivery which obviously did not comply with the rule. What was the explanation? There could be only one. The delivery was outside rules and regulations—in brief, a fraudulent delivery.

  Wick’s strange behaviour was his next consideration. Why had the man disappeared into the cottage at the sound of the lorry’s approach? And why had he reappeared some minutes later and signalled Prince to turn off the petrol valve? Did it mean that there was a second tank inside the cottage, connected by means of a secret pipe to the genuine intake pipe under the pump? That, at any rate, would offer a reason for Wick’s singular behaviour. There was probably some form of gauge fitted to this illegal tank and as Wick wanted to avoid an overflow, it was necessary for him to disappear and take a reading of the level. When capacity was nearly reached he naturally came to the door and signalled Prince to stop the flow. That would account, too, for the odd gallonage discharged. But if this was so—what was the idea? Why a second tank? Why should Wick throw himself open to risk of discovery when he had a perfectly genuine storage place under the registered Nonock pump. Weymouth was concerned solely with the pump itself. Once the tank had been certified correct and sealed, it was not examined further by the Inspector of Weights and Measures.

  Still wrestling with this problem, Meredith drew up outside the Keswick police station. Railton was in the outer office.

  “Well, constable, anything to report?”

  “Nothing, sir. She went right by the Derwent. No sign or anything.”

  At one o’clock Dancy’s report came through from Penrith. It was the usual disheartening message—“No surplus”. It gave proof, however, that no advance order had been cancelled overnight. The lorry was, therefore, out on the road again with a capacity load.

  “Then how, in the name of thunder,” was the Inspector’s inward demand, “could she have delivered an extra 270 gallons at the start of her run?”

  This point had struck him forcibly. The Stanley Hall delivery had been made after the advance orders had been dealt with—the Lothwaite’s before! Did it mean that the general report that evening would announce a non-delivery at one of the four garages on Dancy’s list?

  But the problem was not to be solved as simply as that. When, shortly after seven, Meredith took in the final report over the phone, he realized that all the advance orders had been accounted for. And more than that—the scheduled amount to be delivered at each place coincided exactly with the observer’s notes as to the time taken for each discharge.

  “Confound it, Meredith!” exclaimed the Superintendent. “The more we go into this, the more impossible it seems. Here is a 1,000-gallon bulk-wagon, delivering on consecutive days, amounts of 1,200 and 1,270. I don’t see how the devil it can be done! We know they don’t deliver short. Weymouth has more or less knocked that theory on the head. As far as we know they don’t collect extra petrol en route. I know we haven’t absolute proof of this—but, even so Meredith, what would be the point? I don’t see how they could make a profit that way, do you? Finally we have come to the conclusion that it would be impossible to conceal a large amount of petrol in a secret tank on the lorry. What are we left with? Nothing. The whole thing’s a mystery from start to finish. You agree?”

  “I must,” said Meredith tersely.

  “Any suggestions?”

  “What about an examination of the bulk-wagon?”

  “To-night?”

  “Why not? If you could ring Mr. Weymouth, I’d get Sergeant Matthews on to Dancy. We could then meet at the depot and run our eye over No. 4. I shan’t feel really satisfied until we’ve done this.”

  “Very well, Meredith. A forlorn hope, I feel, but better than inaction.”

  Twenty minutes later the necessary arrangements had been made and within the hour Thompson and Meredith were shaking hands with Mr. Weymouth, on the deserted road outside the Nonock depot. Weymouth had picked up Dancy at the Penrith police station. Instructing the police chauffeur to run the car up a side-turning, some hundred yards down the road, Thompson got Dancy to unlock the entrance gates. In conspiratorial silence the little group filed in, whilst Dancy closed and locked the doors behind them.

  “The lorries are over here in the garages,” said Dancy. “I’ve got the keys all right.”

  “Good,” answered the Superintendent in low tones. “Lead the way. We’ll follow.”

  Dancy repeated his actions of the moment before, and as soon as the garage doors were closed and locked behind them, Meredith flicked on a powerful pocket-torch and shone it over the line of blue and scarlet bulk-wagons.

  “Here we are, gentlemen,” he said. “This is No. 4—see, there’s the number on the hood of the cab.”

  “Now what exactly do you want me to do,” asked Weymouth, obviously thrilled by the adventurous outing. “Take a dip, I suppose?”

  Meredith nodded.

  “That will satisfy us, at any rate, as to the genuine capacity of the tank, Mr. Weymouth.”

  “That’s all very fine!” countered Weymouth. “But we’re up against a nasty snag. The tank will be empty. I can’t take a dip of an empty tank, can I? There’d be no level.”

  “Anything to suggest, Dancy?” was the Superintendent’s brusque demand.

  “’Fraid not, sir,” replied Dancy with a slow shake of his head.

  “I suppose we couldn’t run in a full load and then run it back into the storage tanks?”

  “Impossible, sir. We couldn’t get at the discharge valves. They’re in this locked box at the back of the lorry here. Bettle holds the key.”


  “No duplicates?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Confound it!” exclaimed the Superintendent with irritation. “We must do something!”

  “I think I can see a way out,” put in Weymouth, who had been making an external examination of the tank. “I can measure up the circumference, length and diameter of the tank and get a fairly close estimate of the cubic contents. If we remove one of the compartment lids I can also get the thickness of the plates and make due allowance. See how I mean? By deducting the thickness I shall get an inside measurement.”

  “Excellent!” was the Superintendent’s observation. “Let’s get to work.”

  While Weymouth and Thompson were running over the bolt with a 60˝ flexible steel rule, Meredith made an exhaustive examination of the lorry itself. Dancy had produced a lantern, so Meredith was able to wriggle under the chassis and search out every nook and cranny with his torch. But, if he hoped to unearth some cleverly contrived secret tank, he was doomed to disappointment. The stout wooden base, into which the tank fitted, was innocent of any appendage. The engine, too, appeared to be bedded into its framework in a perfectly normal manner. Meredith made a further examination of the other five lorries, but in no case did he find any discrepancy between their design and that of No. 4. Satisfied, at length, that everything was in order, he joined Thompson and Weymouth who were now crouching over the repair bench.

  Weymouth had already covered a page of the Superintendent’s note-book with a mass of tiny figures. His pencil flickered here and there with lightening rapidity, adding, dividing, subtracting, and in a few minutes he straightened up with the declaration that he had arrived at a total.

  “And that, sir?” asked Meredith eagerly.

  “The expected total!” was Weymouth’s flattening reply. “1,000 gallons. I don’t say my figures work out exact to that amount—but near enough that it doesn’t matter. That tank’s in order. Can’t deny it! If it hadn’t been I guess I should have seen it at a glance. But since you gentlemen wanted proof…well, there it is!”

  And he thrust the note-book into Thompson’s hand.

  “What about you Meredith?” asked the Superintendent.

  “Nothing, sir. As far as I can see there’s nothing abnormal about the lorry at any point.”

  Weymouth’s blue eyes twinkled.

  “And a 200-gallon tank is hardly a thing you would overlook, is it, Inspector?”

  Meredith responded to his broad grin and broke into a laugh.

  “I know—that’s the whole point. Here we are, arriving at the most exact calculations, when a glance should tell us if anything was wrong. It’s beyond me, Mr. Weymouth. I can’t see—”

  “You don’t think,” broke in Mr. Weymouth suddenly, “that your precious gang is dealing with something quite different from petrol?”

  “But what, Mr. Weymouth? What?”

  “Well, that’s your business to find out. There are plenty of possibilities, surely? Counterfeit notes, perhaps.”

  “Then how would you explain away these extra petrol deliveries?” was Thompson’s immediate query.

  “Perhaps they’re a blind. Bettle and Prince may need a plausible excuse for stopping at certain garages, so they couple up and pretend to make a delivery.”

  Meredith whistled. “Pretend!” This point hadn’t struck him before. He turned with a questioning look to the Superintendent. “What do you think, sir?”

  The Superintendent rubbed his chin reflectively.

  “It’s an idea, Weymouth. Though at the moment we haven’t the smallest scrap of evidence which points to counterfeiting. The opposite, in fact. Everything points to a petrol fraud. Still it’s a theory, and in my opinion, a good one. You agree, Meredith?”

  “I do and I don’t, sir,” answered Meredith cautiously. “If Rose is counterfeiting the notes and passing them out through the garages, he might use the lorries as a go-between. On the other hand it’s a trifle elaborate and clumsy, isn’t it? I mean as a method of transport. I can’t help feeling that a motorcyclist would meet the case better, Again it would be easy to trace the counterfeit notes to the garages, the moment we got to know they were in circulation. So with all due respects, Mr. Weymouth, I’m rather doubtful about your theory.”

  “I wonder,” concluded the Superintendent after a short silence, “if there is any way of making sure that No. 4 does actually run out the petrol when it couples up with certain of the pumps. It might prove extremely interesting to find out!”

  Chapter XVI

  The Bee’s Head Brewery

  Over the week-end Meredith thought more than once of Mr. Weymouth’s theory. Although he recognized the possibility of a pretended delivery, he was still sceptical about the idea of counterfeit notes. He was doubtful, too, as to whether there was any means of making sure that petrol actually flowed through the feed-pipe when No. 4 connected up with certain of the garages. For all that, early on Monday morning he got in touch with the constables covering the Stanley Hall and the Filsam and instructed them to get as near as possible to the lorry if any extra delivery should be made. He had an idea that it might be possible to hear the petrol passing through the pipe. The Filsam was to be covered by a motor-cycle instead of from the derelict barn, so that the constable would have a natural excuse for appearing on the scene when the bulk-wagon was coupled up.

  But for all these elaborate preparations Meredith was doomed to further disappointment. On Monday’s round No. 4 completely ignored the Stanley Hall and the Filsam. In fact an entirely new line of investigation was opened up.

  Dancy had taken a copy of Monday’s advance orders whilst Weymouth was working out the cubic capacity of the tank. He had thrust the paper into Meredith’s hand just as he was leaving the depot on Saturday night. For the first time since Meredith’s scheme had been put into action, the lorry was not travelling with a capacity load. Advance orders totalled 800 gallons—four orders for 200 gallons each. This left room for a surplus 200 in the tank.

  After an abortive watch on the Lothwaite, Meredith returned to Keswick, where at one o’clock the usual phone call was put through from Penrith. Dancy’s message ran as follows—“Surplus of 200 run in to make up capacity load.”

  Meredith therefore anticipated that No. 4 would call at a number of garages in the hope of discharging this extra petrol.

  But a surprise awaited him. When all reports had come in he found that the lorry had only called at five garages. No more. Four of these were the places accounted for by the advance orders. The fifth was The Admiral Hotel in Whitehaven. The constable posted to watch the place had noted down the time taken to deliver. It was exactly seven minutes. In other words exactly 200 gallons had been discharged at the pump.

  “Which means”, put in the Superintendent, “that to-day’s deliveries are all above board, Meredith. The full 1,000 gallons has been accounted for.”

  Meredith nodded.

  “All above board, sir, except for one rather curious fact. Instead of going round to a number of customers, the lorry makes straight tracks for The Admiral Hotel. What I want to know is, how did Bettle and Prince know that the hotel were in need of this 200?”

  “Perhaps they rang through to the depot early this morning before the lorry left, suggesting that if there was a surplus 200 they’d like to have it.”

  “Well we can easily make sure about that, sir. Dancy should know something about it. Suppose I get through to Penrith and ask them to get the information straightaway?”

  Twenty minutes later Penrith replied.

  “Report from Dancy, Inspector. He says no phone message came through this morning before No. 4 left the depot. Further neither Bettle nor Prince mentioned The Admiral Hotel. In his opinion they had no idea as to where that extra 200 was to be placed when they set out on their round.”

  “Good. That’s just what I was after.” Meredith rang off an
d swung round on the Superintendent. “So that’s that, sir! It seems pretty obvious to me that No. 4 made straight tracks to The Admiral because the whole business was prearranged.”

  “Suggesting, of course, that this hotel is ‘in’ with the gang?”

  “Exactly. Which rather kills our idea about the isolated garages. I happen to know The Admiral, and it’s in one of the most thickly populated districts of Whitehaven.”

  “You know, Meredith,” said Thompson, in measured tones, breaking a long silence, “I’m beginning to think that we’ve been barking up the wrong tree. All along we’ve adhered to the supposition that Rose and his little crowd are out to diddle Ormsby-Wright. Let’s return again to that conversation you overheard at the Lothwaite. Because the expression ‘O.W.’ didn’t fit in with your theory, you twisted it round to mean ‘Old William’. In other words, a reference to Rose himself. But suppose your original interpretation was correct? Suppose ‘O.W.’ does actually refer to Ormsby-Wright? Where are we then? Surely it means that the gang is trafficking in something quite different from petrol. Weymouth suggested counterfeit notes. But over that I’m inclined to agree with you. The only reasonable way to get rid of false notes is to unload them over a large area. The question we’re up against is this—if the gang is not concerned with petrol or counterfeit notes, what is their racket?”

  “And I’d like to have a ready answer to that question, sir,” put in Meredith with a faint smile. “It’s the crux of the whole business.”

  “Well,” said the Superintendent quietly. “I think I have got an answer to the question. It was to-day’s fifth delivery which first gave me the idea. The Admiral Hotel. Why an hotel? Does it suggest anything to you, Inspector?”

  “I don’t quite see—” began Meredith with a frown.

  “Well, let’s put it like this. The major profits of a place like The Admiral come from the sale of intoxicating liquors. The hotel is really a side-line. A minute ago, while you were phoning, I looked up The Admiral in the A.A. book. It’s a 2-star concern with a dozen bedrooms. On the other hand, if memory serves me right, it’s got very large public and saloon bars. Now consider its position. It’s in a coastal town. There’s a good bit of shipping passing up and down just off the coast at that point. A lot of it, as a matter of fact, puts in at the Scotch ports on the Solway Firth. Now, Meredith, can you see any immediate connection between shipping and intoxicating liquors? Does it suggest any form of illegal traffic to you?”