Death on the Way

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  The torn sheet showed Sections 48 and 49. Parry turned to the sheet in question.

  The page in the book was complete.

  Parry laughed. ‘Why, you cuckoo,’ he said, ‘it’s your own copy that’s torn.’

  ‘No, it’s not, Parry,’ Lowell rejoined. ‘I looked it up first thing. Our page is complete, too.’

  Parry shrugged. ‘Well, it’s simple enough, isn’t it? A third copy must have been sent down which we didn’t know about; that’s all.’

  ‘I never heard of it.’

  ‘Nor I.’

  Lowell seemed dissatisfied. ‘But look here, Parry,’ he went on; ‘did Ackerley write his note twice?’

  ‘Eh? His note? What do you mean?’

  ‘That pencil note about the position of Bridge 986.’

  Parry’s expression changed. He seized the torn sheet and laid it beside the one in the book. ‘By Jove!’ he said.

  There on both pages was the note, written in the same hand and at precisely the same place; in fact, the two notes were identical, as if they had been traced.

  ‘I say,’ said Parry presently, ‘look at this.’

  Near the centre of the book sheet was a note in Bragg’s upright and rather crabbed handwriting: ‘Field drain at 48.56 to be piped to watertable.’ The tear on the other sheet had gone through the place where the word ‘table’ was written, and the fragment bore in pencil the identically shaped letters ‘-ble’!

  ‘Did Ackerley write his note twice?’ Lowell repeated.

  ‘He might have,’ said Parry, ‘if they were changing the sheet. But it’s strange that the two notes should be so exactly similar. I say, Lowell, I don’t understand this a little bit. Somebody has made a duplicate, but for what?’

  The plans indeed looked identical, with one exception. Both were coloured with the original faint red, the conventional indication of cutting. But whereas the copy in the book also had the later colours, showing the amount done on various dates, these colours had not been added to the torn copy.

  Suddenly Parry gave an exclamation. ‘See,’ he pointed, ‘they’re not the same. They’re not even printed from the same tracing. Look at the original ground level.’

  It was true. There was a difference of a foot between the two copies. The original ground level shown on Section 48 was 52.74 on the fragment and in the book 53.74, while the similar figures for Section 49 were 50.26 and 51.26 respectively.

  ‘Let’s check them over in detail,’ Lowell suggested.

  They did so. Lowell read from the fragment, Parry following in the book. Then they looked at each other with mystified faces.

  Every figure on the sheets was identical on both copies except that which they had already observed: the reduced level of the original ground at the centre line. On both sections the original ground was shown one foot lower on the fragment than in the book. Moreover, in the drawings, the corresponding lines representing the original surface varied similarly.

  ‘What on earth does it mean?’ said Lowell.

  ‘Blessed if I know.’

  Silence fell as the two men pondered. Then Parry asked: ‘Which figure is given on your copy?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Lowell answered. ‘I’ll slip over and see.’

  He was back in a few moments with the book. ‘This is the same as your book,’ he reported.

  ‘It’s very strange,’ Parry said presently, ‘but I’m hanged if I see that it matters.’

  ‘It wouldn’t worry me one iota,’ Lowell declared, ‘if it wasn’t for the pencil notes. I must say I don’t like the look of that.’

  ‘Nothing in it,’ said Parry. ‘I bet you I know what has happened. A sheet of these sections was made and found to be wrong, and a new sheet was made to replace it. The old print, instead of being destroyed, got lying about and was stuffed into Carey’s drawer. Someone then amused himself by copying on the notes, sort of absent-mindedly, as one sometimes makes nonsense sketches on one’s blotting paper.’

  Lowell looked relieved. ‘I suppose that’s it,’ he answered slowly, and then more happily, ‘Of course, that must be it. Funny that the incorrect sheet should have got down here all the same.’

  ‘Well,’ Parry went on, ‘it’s not so funny after all. We supplied you with a book, didn’t we? Very well; what’s to prevent the old incorrect sheet getting into that book before we sent it out? That would account for the whole thing.’

  ‘That must be it,’ Lowell agreed again. ‘I thought it funny at the time, but of course it’s all right. I say, Parry,’ he went on nervously, ‘do you know—er—that is, you didn’t hear that—eh—Brenda and I— We’ve fixed it up.’

  Parry sprang to his feet. ‘Splendid, old man,’ he cried warmly, holding out his hand. ‘Best congrats and all that. She’s one of the very best. I’m frightfully glad. Look here,’ he went again to the cupboard, ‘we must celebrate. Say when.’

  He produced the bottle of whisky and two tumblers, and they solemnly drank to the success of Lowell’s new contract. Though he never took too much, Parry was fond of celebrating. When callers came to the office his idea of doing the honours was to produce the bottle, and experience had shown that it usually made its appeal.

  ‘I’d better go,’ Lowell said when the ceremony was complete. ‘I don’t want to be party to your being found blind on the floor.’

  Parry began the tracing of his pencil drawing. It was easy mechanical work and left his thoughts free to rove where they would. For a time they lingered on Lowell and Brenda. Presently they returned to the matter of the torn sheet.

  On this problem they lingered for some time. Then Parry turned to the telephone, got through to the Lydmouth office, and asked for Bragg.

  ‘I say, Bragg,’ he went on when he heard the other’s voice, ‘I want you to do something before you come down. Lowell has raised the question of the levels of the original ground on the centre line at Pegs 48 and 49. Apparently there’s some mistake about them on our prints. Will you look up the figures on the originals—on the tracing, please, not on a print? And if a revised section was made, will you note what is the correct figure? Have you got that? … Ha, ha, you’re right there … What? … Yes, it’s a mystery here, too. Too long to explain over the ’phone. I’ll tell you when you come … Right-ho.’

  Parry finished his tracing, lunched, and got ready a small file of papers to be taken over the Widening. Then, as it wasn’t worth while starting anything till Bragg turned up, he lit his pipe, put his feet on the stove, and settled to read the paper.

  Presently Bragg came in.

  ‘Hullo, young Parry. Busy as usual? You know, if you’re not careful you’ll crack up from overwork.’

  Parry got up slowly.

  ‘Curse you, Bragg, for interrupting me. I was in the middle of the serial. The heroine had just found another body.’

  ‘You can tell me about it as we walk. Have you got those papers about Nelson’s right of way?’

  ‘Yep. And about that man of Mellon’s stopping the 3.45, and from the post office about those three poles that are sliding down the bank at Cannan’s Cutting, and—oh, two or three other small things. I have them in order and I’ll bring them up as we walk.’

  ‘Right. Then let’s get on.’

  ‘Did you look up those levels?’

  ‘Oh, yes, by the way, what’s the excitement?’

  ‘What are they, Bragg?’

  Bragg took his notebook from his pocket and began turning over the leaves.

  ‘You’re darned mysterious about it, I will admit. Here you are. Original ground level; Section 48, 52.74 and Section 49, 50.26. That what you want?’

  These were the figures given on the torn sheet, not those in the book. For answer Parry silently put the book down before Bragg.

  ‘Well, what about it?’ Bragg returned irritably. Then as Parry still did not answer, he looked more carefully, referred again to his notebook, then whistled softly.

  ‘Found a mistake, have you?’ he said. ‘Well, w
hat about it again? I guess you’ll find a darned sight more before this job is through.’

  ‘There’s more in it than that, Bragg,’ Parry insisted. ‘Look here; what tracing was that printed off?’

  ‘What tracing? Good Lord, how do I know? I suppose someone made a mistake and made a second tracing and you’ve got the wrong prints. Things like that have happened before now in railway offices.’

  For answer Parry took out the torn print and laid it beside the other.

  ‘What’s that?’ said Bragg. ‘There you are. That’s the correct print. Where did you get it?’

  ‘Lowell found it in one of Carey’s drawers.’

  ‘Well, what if he did? It accidentally got into the book we sent them. I don’t see what’s worrying you about it, Parry. What’s in your mind?’

  ‘Those notes of Ackerley’s,’ Parry went on. ‘Would he have written them twice?’

  Bragg made a gesture of impatience. ‘Of course he would. He had the note on the wrong sheet. The revised sheet was sent him. Naturally he would copy his note on before destroying the old sheet.’

  ‘Did you write your note twice?’

  ‘Eh? What do you mean?’

  Parry pointed to the final ‘-ble,’ appearing in Bragg’s writing on the torn sheet.

  Bragg for the first time looked impressed. He put the two sheets side by side and compared them carefully. ‘It’s a bit funny, that,’ he admitted presently. ‘Someone evidently wanted to keep the change dark, so he copied the notes. That accounts for my not having heard of the revised sheet being got out. Someone had made a mistake and wanted to correct it without giving himself away. Darned silly fool, if so. There’s nothing wrong with making an occasional mistake, provided you own up to it and then correct it. I’ll make inquiries about the thing when I go back. Not that it matters. An error of a foot in two sections on a job of this size is neither here nor there, as poor Carey would have said. Give me that torn sheet. Right. Now, if that’s all, we’ll get on.’

  They walked through to Redchurch, inspecting progress, interviewing foremen and gangers, settling the hundred and one tiny problems which arose, literally from hour to hour, discussing grievances with adjoining farmers, and between times mixing their shop with a good deal of gossip.

  At Redchurch they parted, Bragg going on to Lydmouth, while Parry returned with a sheaf of notes to Whitness. Most of these, however, he left over till the next day, attending only to such as were urgent.

  Next morning Bragg rang him up. ‘I say, young Parry, I want you to come up to the office and bring all those sections with you.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Parry glanced at his watch. ‘I’ll be there at 10.50.’

  ‘Right.’

  Parry, on reaching Lydmouth, turned into a doorway off No. 1 Platform and ascended a couple of flights of dark and steep stairs. These led to a corridor, imperfectly lighted by skylights and with doors at intervals at both sides. Through one of these he pushed his way.

  It led into a fair-sized room with a continuous window along one side. In front of the window stretched a drawing-desk arranged for three draughtsmen. At two of the three spaces young men were working. A small fire burned in the grate and there was a smell of smoke in the air.

  ‘Gosh!’ said Parry. ‘What an atmosphere! Don’t you blokes ever open the windows?’

  ‘Here,’ returned the nearest draughtsman, ‘who asked you to come in? The room’s bad enough without that.’

  ‘If I didn’t look in occasionally, you’d never do anything at all. Is Bragg next door?’

  ‘Yes, but old Horniman is with him,’ answered the second man. ‘What on earth brings you here? We thought we’d been lucky and got rid of you permanently.’

  ‘A cheery crowd, you are,’ Parry remarked as he hung up his coat. ‘What’s the great work now, Bolton,’ he went on, moving to the nearest draughtsman and looking over his drawing.

  ‘Nothing really; only a new footbridge for Lydwater.’

  ‘The usual thing?’

  ‘No. You see, these steps—’ and Bolton launched out into a dissertation on his work, of which he was evidently extremely proud.

  Parry was interested and they discussed the traffic requirements of Lydwater till Bragg put in his head and wanted to know if that was what Parry had come up for, as, if so, he might as well have saved himself the journey.

  ‘Must do something while I’m waiting for you to get a move on,’ Parry retorted as he followed Bragg into the other office.

  Bragg shut the door behind them.

  ‘I was thinking over those sections in bed last night,’ he said, holding out his cigarette case, ‘and I began to agree with you that the whole thing was a bit queer. I thought just for curiosity’s sake we’d have a look over one or two other pages.’

  Parry nodded. ‘Right-ho. But what’s the big idea? I understood you were satisfied enough yesterday that it was just some small mistake?’

  ‘I was,’ Bragg returned, ‘and am still. All the same, seeing these sections are being worked to, I thought we’d better make sure there are no other errors.’

  ‘Right-ho,’ said Parry again. ‘Shall we start with No. 1 and go through them?’

  ‘Yes. Here’s the office copy. We’ll try the original levels on the centre line first. You read, “Section So-and-so” and the reduced level off your copy and I’ll check off these.’

  After leaving Redchurch the line ran for some half-mile along level ground. For this stretch there were four and sometimes six sections to the sheet. Parry began at No. 0 and read steadily on. When he came to No. 24 he stopped.

  ‘That’s two dozen of them,’ he pointed out, ‘all correct and proper. Do you really think we must go on through the lot?’

  ‘Do a few more at all events,’ Bragg decided.

  Parry continued. Now the ground rose and the railway began to get into cutting. Section 25 checked out right, as did 26, but at 27 Bragg called a halt.

  ‘Read that again,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Twenty-seven; thirty-eight point two-nine.’

  Bragg looked queerly at Parry.

  ‘Twenty-seven; thirty-seven point two-nine, my copy says,’ he declared. ‘I say, Parry, I don’t like this. There’s another.’ He seemed strangely moved. ‘I was just a bit afraid of it, you know,’ he continued. ‘However, don’t let’s be too quick. Carry on and see if there are any more.’

  Parry expressed his astonishment at this development, then continued reading.

  ‘Twenty-eight: forty point one-seven.’

  ‘Twenty-eight: thirty-nine point one-seven. There’s another. Go on.’

  As they continued, the affair did not get any simpler. In each one of the next six sections, 29 to 34 inclusive, there was an error of a foot. Bragg was now looking very grave.

  ‘Go on,’ he said as Parry stopped to give vent to his feelings.

  ‘Thirty-five: fifty-three point two-one.’

  Bragg gave a little gasp. ‘Good Lord,’ he said in awe-struck tones. ‘Thirty-five: fifty-one point two-one. Two feet of an error.’ He looked blankly at Parry.

  Parry stared equally helplessly.

  ‘But bless me, it couldn’t be,’ he objected. ‘Let’s see.’ He examined Bragg’s copy for himself. ‘Fifty-one it is. What on earth does it mean, Bragg?’

  Bragg shook his head. ‘I’m afraid it means trouble,’ and there was still that suggestion of awe in his voice. ‘It looks as if what occurred to me last night was true.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘Wait till we’ve finished and I’ll tell you. Go on through the lot.’

  They checked through the remainder of the sections and then settled down to collate their results. And very strange results they were.

  Out of the 188 cross sections, 89 had an error of one foot and 42 an error of two. There was no greater error than two feet in any section.

  ‘Now,’ said Bragg, ‘if my theory is correct, these errors will o
ccur only in cutting of definite depths. Let’s try that now.’

  This took a considerable time, as to get the depth of the cut at each section, the reduced level of the new formation had to be deducted from that of the old surface. These depths of cutting had then to be filled into one of three columns, corresponding to correct sections and errors of one and two feet respectively.

  But at last it was done. The results were at least interesting. All the cutting of a less depth than 15 ft. 0 ins. was shown correctly. Cuttings between 15 ft. 0 ins. and 30 ft. 0 ins. deep were shown with one foot of error, and cuttings over 30 ft. 0 ins. with two feet.

  ‘But what does it all mean?’ Parry repeated for the nth time. ‘What’s your theory, Bragg?’

  Bragg again shook his head.

  ‘Just that we’ve tumbled to a fraud, young Parry,’ he said grimly, ‘and a damned serious fraud at that. This’ll be a matter for Marlowe, and I expect after him, for the police.’

  11

  Fraud!

  Parry stared as if Bragg had taken leave of his senses.

  ‘Good Lord, Bragg,’ he questioned, ‘what on earth are you talking about? A matter for the police?’

  Bragg was in no humour for answering questions. ‘Look here, Parry,’ he said, ‘you keep your mouth shut about this. See? Now, we’ve got to report to Marlowe. You go and catch him in case he should go out. I’ll follow when I get one or two of the tracings. Here, take your book of sections.’

  When Bragg was in this state of mind Parry knew that it was best to do what he wanted without comment. He rolled up his book, went down the passage, and after tapping at another door, opened it and passed through.

  It led into a small room furnished in a rather better style than the drawing-offices. At a typewriting desk sat a good looking young woman with a pearl necklace and gold bangles.

  ‘Hullo, Miss Amberley! Chief in?’ Parry grinned at her.

  ‘I’ll find out.’

  She disappeared through a door in the side wall, leaving Parry standing before her desk. He was keenly interested in this cross section affair and glad that Bragg had not taken it entirely out of his hands. It would have been rather like Bragg to do so. He was inclined to get particulars about things from others and then shove them in to Marlowe himself. Not unfairly exactly: he gave credit where it was due. All the same—