by Miles Burton
Of course, his expedition was sheer folly, he knew that. His master could not possibly have left any traces which would not have been obliterated by the intervening tide. But it was something to do, at all events. The physical exertion entailed in rowing two miles to Vane Sand and back again might woo his mind from its queer sense of insecurity. He felt unaccountably anxious, and the encounter with this strange dinghy, drifting so mysteriously in the open sea, had not tended to decrease his anxiety. It was not Alisette’s dinghy, certainly, but Newport could not rid himself of the conviction that it was somehow connected with his master’s movements.
Under the powerful strokes of his oars the dinghy made rapid progress towards Vane Sand, Newport glancing over his shoulder from time to time until he made out the rounded form of the shoal just appearing above the water. In the moonlight the surface of the sand shone like silver, and Newport, having run the dinghy aground, stepped out and surveyed the lonely scene with eager eyes. There was nothing on the sand, of course. What should there be? What could he possibly have expected to find? He was about to re-enter the dinghy and row back to the shore, when something caught his eye. The receding waves were washing round something that looked like a small rock. No, it couldn’t be a rock, it was of too regular a shape for that. Newport walked up to examine it. It was the iron box that Merrion had found on the previous tide.
Newport pushed his cap back and scratched his head thoughtfully. Now, what in the world could this mean? His ready logic set to work to grapple with the problem. Mr. Merrion had set off for Vane Sand in order to find what had been dropped by the Belgian vessel. This remarkable box was not a natural object of the sea-shore and, since it showed no signs of rust, could not have lain where it was for long. The natural assumption was that it was the object dropped from the vessel. Why, then, had Mr. Merrion not taken it away with him? Only two reasons suggested themselves to Newport. Either he had never landed upon Vane Sand at all, or, having landed, he had missed the box in the fog, which at that time had been very thick.
It was very fortunate that he had obeyed his unreasoning impulse, Newport thought. Although Mr. Merrion had somehow failed to find the box, he could repair his oversight. He bent down, picked up the box, and hoisted it on to his shoulder. He had not gone many paces towards the dinghy when his feet struck a small hard object, almost completely buried in the sand. The kick it received unearthed it and, with a sudden exclamation, Newport bent down and picked it up. It was Mr. Merrion’s pocket compass.
So his master had landed on Vane Sand, after all. But the discovery of the compass made his actions still more inexplicable. The spot where the compass lay was not half a dozen yards from the box. If Mr. Merrion had dropped it where it lay now, he could hardly have escaped seeing the box, even had the fog been at its densest. Why, then, had he left it behind? And how was it that he had not noticed the loss of the compass, which he certainly would have required when he left the sandbank?
There was something inexplicable about all this, and Newport’s anxiety returned more strongly than ever. He carried the box and the compass to the dinghy, pushed off, and rowed back to the lagoon. Surely Mr. Merrion should have returned by now; it was past midnight. But there was no sign of living soul anywhere on those deserted shores, nor had Alisette’s dinghy returned to the yacht.
Newport put his hands to his mouth, and uttered a long drawn-out hail. The echoes of it resounded among the dunes, dying away to leave a silence undisturbed by their clamour. But no answering hail came to his ears, and once more Newport felt the urgent need of action. If only there were somebody whom he could consult, who would advise him how to act in this disturbing situation! And then he remembered that Mr. Merrion had told him that Inspector Young would be at the Rose and Crown that night.
His mind was made up on the instant. He would go to the Rose and Crown at once, and see the Inspector. Very possibly he would find his master there too, in which case he would merely be called a fool for his pains. Never mind, his relief would be so great that he would willingly put up with much worse than that. And, if Mr. Merrion were not there, the Inspector would find him in no time. Newport had an unbounded faith in the powers of the police.
Once more he took to the oars and rowed up the river, taking the box and the compass with him as evidence. In spite of the agitation of his mind, he kept his eyes open for any signs of activity upon the river bank. But everything appeared to be in its normal state of peacefulness. He passed Hollesley’s five-tonner, securely riding at her moorings off Elder House. A little further on he passed the speed-boat, also moored as usual. He was approaching the village now, and he glanced fearfully towards the churchyard. But all was quiet there too, there were no ghostly forms gliding among the graves. He reached the quay, made fast his dinghy, and climbed ashore, the box on his shoulder and the compass in his pocket.
The village, as he passed through it, was deserted. Two or three prowling cats glided stealthily out of sight at his approach, but, with this exception, the straggling street was empty. Here and there a dim light burned behind a curtained window, that was all. He walked rapidly to the Rose and Crown, shifting his burden from time to time from one shoulder to the other. At last he reached the inn, and uttered a sigh of relief as he saw a light burning in the bar.
He knocked at the door, which was immediately opened by Inspector Young himself, who stared at Newport for a second before he recognised him. “Hallo!” he exclaimed, as he remembered where he had seen the face before. “You’re Mr. Merrion’s man, aren’t you? Come in. Have you got a message for me?”
“No, sir, I haven’t,” replied Newport, entering and laying his box on the table. “I came to ask you if you’d seen anything of Mr. Merrion to-day.”
Something in the tone of Newport’s voice caused Young to glance at him sharply. “No, I haven’t,” he said. “I’ve only been here three hours or so, and I’m waiting for him now. Why, has anything happened?”
“I don’t know, sir,” replied Newport. “I last saw Mr. Merrion about eleven o’clock this morning, and he hasn’t turned up since, though I was to have met him this evening. I can’t help feeling that something queer is in the wind, sir.”
It was obvious to the Inspector that Newport was more anxious than he cared to own. “Sit down and tell me what you know,” he said.
Newport obeyed him dutifully. He told him of his master’s visit to Vane Sand, and of the reasons which inspired it. He then went on to repeat the instructions which he had given him before his departure, and recounted his own actions since that time. The Inspector listened with the utmost eagerness and, when he had finished, nodded approvingly.
“You were quite right to come to me,” he said. “I believe I know where Mr. Merrion is, though I confess that I expected his return long before this. But I can’t understand about this box. You say you have reason to believe that it was dropped overboard on Vane Sand, and that on a previous occasion you saw Mr. Hollesley and his butler recover something from the sand at low water. This morning they were observing a vessel which crossed the sand and made a signal, and Mr. Merrion went out to investigate. You went out just now and found the box. Is that right?”
“That’s right, sir,” replied Newport. “What I can’t understand is why Mr. Merrion left the box there instead of bringing it away.”
“It certainly seems curious,” agreed Young. “Still, now that we have the box here, we may as well see what’s inside it. The landlord and his wife have gone to bed, but there’s a box of tools in the kitchen, I know. Wait here a moment while I fetch them.”
He left the room, and returned with a very serviceable looking spanner. Between them, he and Newport unscrewed the nuts which secured the lid of the box, and prised it open. The greatest care had obviously been taken to make the box watertight. A rubber washer had been placed under the lid and, when this had been removed, a tin container, exactly fitting inside the iron shell, was exposed to v
iew. They tipped this out, and found that the container had been carefully soldered up.
The Inspector disappeared again, to return this time with a tin opener. “This will do the trick,” he remarked, as he began to cut a hole in the top of the container. “It won’t be long now before we see what Mr. Hollesley’s little game is.”
Inside the container were a number of tin boxes, carefully packed in sawdust. Young drew them out one by one, and laid them in a row upon the table. There was no need to open them, for each bore a boldly-printed label. And the names on the labels were those of the very drugs which had been found in Faxfleet’s room.
The Inspector gazed at them with a light of under-standing in his eyes. “Well, I’m damned!” he exclaimed softly.
Chapter XXVI
For many seconds Inspector Young continued to stare at these sinister tins, as though fascinated. But his thoughts were working swiftly, in spite of his seeming abstraction. He had discovered a part at least of the secret of this mysterious village. But how did this amazing discovery, important enough in itself, bear on the murder of Whitehead?
It was plain enough that Hollesley, with the assistance of Thorburn, alias Gregson, the ex-convict, had been engaged in a scheme for smuggling drugs into the country. But, as his investigations during the last few days had shown him, there were many links in the chain of distribution between the smuggler and the consumer. He had found, most unexpectedly, the beginning of the chain. Was it possible that Whitehead had formed one of the links? In that case, had he been murdered because he had in some way become a danger to the organisation?
This was possible, certainly, but as yet Young realised that he had nothing with which to substantiate his theory. The immediate question concerned the steps that he should take. And on this point his mind was swiftly made up. He would obtain a warrant for the arrest of Hollesley and Thorburn, and take them into custody. The evidence against them which could be supplied by Merrion and Newport would in itself be sufficient to obtain their conviction. But it could be made even more conclusive. He could secure the arrest of the master of the vessel which had dropped the box and, by the exercise of a little tact, it would probably not be difficult to extract the whole story from him. Merrion, no doubt, would be able to give him the information necessary for this second step.
But what could have become of Merrion all this time? He had expected his appearance, long before this. However, Merrion must wait. He would undoubtedly turn up in the morning. And by that time he must have Hollesley and Thorburn under lock and key. He dared run no risks of allowing them an opportunity to escape.
He turned abruptly to Newport. “You’d better come with me,” he said. “I’m going to apply for a warrant to arrest Hollesley and Thorburn. We’ll go and call up Constable Viney, and then go on to the Hall and see Sir William Owerton. He’s a magistrate, and by applying to him I shall save time.”
“I don’t think it is much good going for the policeman, sir,” ventured Newport. “When I was up here last night I heard that he was ill. It was one of the things Mr. Merrion wanted to know.”
Young’s face darkened. “Well, if that’s the case, you’ll have to take his place,” he said. “I don’t anticipate any trouble, but I may want some one to help me. We’ll go straight along to the Hall in that case.”
“And Mr. Merrion, sir?” ventured Newport.
“Since he hasn’t come up here, I expect that he’s gone back to the yacht long ago,” replied Young. “I’ll get you to go and find him later. Come along.”
They walked swiftly to the Hall, taking a short cut which avoided the village. The place was wrapped in darkness, and they had some difficulty in making anybody hear. But at last the door was unbarred, and Christy appeared, in his shirt sleeves and apparently not more than half-awake. He blinked at the intruders, and seemed disposed to shut the door in their faces.
“I am Detective-Inspector Young of Scotland Yard,” said the Inspector. “Here’s my card. I must see Sir William Owerton at once upon a matter of the most urgent importance.”
Christy still seemed doubtful, but a glance at the card which the Inspector produced reassured him. “You’d better come in, sir,” he said. “This way, if you please. If you’ll wait in the library for a few minutes, I’ll call Miss Mavis. I don’t like to disturb Sir William myself, sir.”
Young nodded, and he and Newport followed the old servant to the library. Here Christy left them. They could hear his shuffling step slowly ascending the stairs. And then, a few moments later, they heard him return, apparently in the most desperate haste. He burst into the room without ceremony, a picture of frightened bewilderment. “Miss Mavis isn’t there!” he exclaimed feebly.
“Not there! What do you mean?” replied Young with a frown. “In that case you must wake Sir William yourself. I must see him at once.”
But this insistence was lost upon Christy. “I can’t make it out,” he rambled. “Miss Mavis isn’t in her room, and her bed hasn’t been slept in. I daren’t tell Sir William, I don’t know what he’ll say—”
Young realised that it would be impossible to get the man to the point until the matter of his mistress’s absence was settled. He interrupted him sharply. “When did you last see Miss Mavis?” he asked.
“After dinner, sir, in this very room. She and Sir William dined together, and I served them with coffee in here afterwards. I didn’t come in again, sir, till I went to bed at ten o’clock. But Miss Mavis seemed restless, sir, ever since the gentleman left this afternoon.”
“What gentleman?” demanded Young.
Christy hesitated. “Well, sir, I didn’t ought to tell you about it. Miss Mavis told me to say nothing to anybody, even Sir William. But, seeing as she’s not here, and you’re from the police, perhaps there wouldn’t be any harm in my telling you, sir. She brought Mr. Merrion here about half-past three this afternoon, sir. He was soaking wet, and looked as if he had fallen into the water. Miss Mavis asked me to find some of the master’s old clothes for him to put on. I’ve got Mr. Merrion’s shirt and trousers drying in my pantry at this very moment, sir.”
The Inspector and Newport exchanged a rapid glance. “What time did Mr. Merrion leave?” inquired the former.
“About seven o’clock, sir. Miss Mavis saw him out, and then returned just as Sir William came back from Gippingford. And, as I say, sir, Miss Mavis didn’t seem herself all the evening.”
For a moment Young made no reply. He was completely puzzled by this new complication. Was it possible that Merrion had applied to this girl for assistance in the task which he had set himself for that night, and that she had slipped out of the house to meet him somewhere? It seemed the only way of accounting for her disappearance. However, the necessity for the immediate arrest of Hollesley and Thorburn was upper-most in his mind.
“I don’t think you need worry about Miss Owerton,” he said soothingly. “Mr. Merrion is a friend of mine, and if, as seems likely, she has gone to meet him, it is for some good purpose, you may be sure. Now then, go and call Sir William, quickly, please. There is no need to inform him of his daughter’s absence.”
Christy tottered off, and Young turned to Newport. “Well, what do you make of this?” he asked.
Newport shook his head helplessly. “I don’t know what to make of it, and that’s a fact, sir,” he replied. “But I’d give a good deal to know where Mr. Merrion is, sir. There’s something about this place I don’t like.”
“There are several things about it that I don’t like at all,” agreed Young. “I wish I had had a couple of men sent down here to-night. It’s devilish awkward there being only two of us. Hush, here comes Sir William.”
The door opened and Sir William appeared, attired in dressing-gown and bedroom slippers. He glanced sharply at Young. “You want to see me, Inspector?” he asked. “We met at the inquest upon poor Whitehead, I remember. I take it that something very urgen
t accounts for your visit at this time of night?”
“It does, sir,” replied Young gravely. “I would not have troubled you unless it had been absolutely necessary. I have to apply for a warrant for the arrest of Mr. Hollesley, of Elder House, and of Thorburn, alias Gregson, his butler.”
Sir William went suddenly white, and grasped the edge of the table for support. He stood thus for a moment, and then let himself slip into a chair. “The arrest of Laurence Hollesley!” he managed to stammer at last. “But that’s ridiculous! Mr. Hollesley is a personal friend of mine. What charge do you bring against him, may I ask?”
“The very serious charge of being engaged in trafficking in dangerous drugs, sir,” replied the Inspector steadily.
Sir William, huddled up in his chair, gazed for a moment uncomprehendingly before him. Young’s words seemed to have deprived him of the power of speech. His hands drummed idly on the table before him. Then, after a long pause, during which he seemed entirely unconscious of the presence of his visitors, he spoke, in a queer croaking voice.
“But it’s impossible! I can’t grant a warrant on your word alone, Inspector. Laurence Hollesley is a man of considerable standing. He cannot be arrested upon such an absurd charge. Besides, he is in London at the moment. I saw him this morning, and he was on his way there then.”
Young did not seem in the least disconcerted by Sir William’s attitude. “Mr. Hollesley went to London this morning, you say, sir,” he replied. “Can you give me his address there?”
“He usually stays at the Coronation Hotel, I believe,” replied the magistrate, who seemed to be collecting his wits. “If you care to arrest him there, it is of course no business of mine. You will be able to procure a warrant for the purpose elsewhere, I have no doubt.”
“Would it be possible for you to verify the fact that Mr. Hollesley intended to stay at the Coronation Hotel to-night, sir?” persisted the Inspector.
