Death on the Way

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  ‘I think so,’ he said slowly. ‘But don’t take my opinion for it. Let’s follow the thing through and you can form your own. Now, first, you must understand exactly what plans were in existence. There were the original tracings of these cross sections, filed here in our plan-room, and there were five copies—identical photo prints. Two of these copies were signed and formed part of the contract documents, one being held by our secretary and one by the contractors at their headquarters. One was kept for reference in the office here and the remaining two were on the job, one in our office hut and the other in the contractors’. Of these five sets, only the two on the job were really used. As I have explained, they became progress charts on which the work done was periodically shown, and from which the certificates for payment were made. I tell you all this to show you that only the two sets at Whitness required to be faked, and you will understand that those two would never in the ordinary course be compared with the others. Have you followed me so far?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Very well, suppose somebody wanted to carry out the fraud; Carey, for argument’s sake. How would he do it? He would begin, I think, by making a new set of linen tracings of the sections, putting in the alterations he required as he went along. Then he—’

  ‘Excuse me, but how long would that take? Would it be a big job?’

  ‘It would be a fair-sized job, yes, but not overwhelmingly big. The trouble would, of course, be to get the necessary time. He would probably work at night and on Sundays. You understand that he could take a few sheets at a time out of the cover: they’re just held by a Stolzenburg loose-leaf binding.’

  ‘He could take them home?’

  ‘He could take them wherever he wanted to.’

  ‘And out of his own cover, of course? I mean, the contractors’ copy.’

  ‘Of course. Well, the tracings made, he would require to get two sets of prints on the same paper that we use. “Arcoba, X35” is its trade name. It’s a ferrogallic paper and it’s made by Messrs Redpath & Halliday. Then he would trim these sheets and—’

  ‘Excuse me again, but where would he get the prints made?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Bragg with a little shrug, ‘now you’re talking. It would require an apparatus. We have one here and the contractors doubtless have one at their headquarters, but I happen to know there is none at Whitness. You’ve asked a question that I can’t answer.’

  ‘Are those prints ever done by outside firms?’

  ‘Frequently, indeed usually. It is only large offices that do their own.’

  ‘Then I might be able to trace its having been done?’

  Bragg shrugged again. His manner suggested that this was not his business, but on French’s direct question he admitted he thought it might prove a profitable line of investigation.

  ‘Another point,’ said French. ‘Suppose he had access to a printing apparatus, but wanted to get the paper. How much would he have to get?’

  ‘I can’t tell you definitely, because obviously it depends on the size of the roll, but if he used the size we get, which I think is the usual size,’ Bragg made a short calculation, ‘it would take two rolls. And then there is the tracing cloth.’

  ‘Ah, true,’ said French, ‘I should have thought of that. By the way, is the cloth the same as the linen you spoke about?’

  ‘Yes. Some people call it linen and some cloth.’

  ‘Then I suppose he would want two rolls of tracing linen also?’

  ‘No. You see, he would only want one tracing for every two prints. Besides the rolls of cloth are longer. One roll would be ample.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said French. ‘Now we suppose he receives the prints. What does he do next?’

  ‘His next step would be more difficult,’ went on Bragg. ‘He would somehow have to obtain access to our set down at Whitness. He would have to borrow it, which obviously he wouldn’t wish to do, or he would have to get a key and go into our office at night, or something of that kind. Then he would have to copy on to his prints all the notes or colourings which had been added since the book was made up. There wouldn’t be many, because the essence of his scheme would be to get the fraud going before much earthwork had been done. Simultaneously he’d have to forge his own people’s notes on to his second set. Then he’d simply change the new sets for the old in both the covers and the thing would be done. The fraud would follow automatically as soon as the certificates were made from the faked plans.’

  French was considerably impressed by all this. If Carey had not required assistance from a member of the railway staff, the argument advanced for believing Ackerley a party to the fraud had no foundation. As a result of this interview with Bragg, French felt his opinion of Ackerley’s innocence confirmed.

  This view was considerably strengthened by a talk which he had with Mayers, of the clerical staff of the office. It was Mayers’ story of Ackerley’s dissatisfaction with the earthwork quantities that had been considered the strongest argument for Ackerley’s guilt. But as French listened to the details of the interview, he saw, as had Parry and others, that they would also bear a very different interpretation. Ackerley had not introduced the subject. The two men had been talking generally about the financial side of the job, and Mayers had remarked that, judging by the money paid, the work must be getting on well. It was in reply to this remark that Ackerley had said that he was satisfied with everything but the earthwork quantities, and told his story about the loading of the wagons. Mayers declared that Ackerley was genuinely puzzled, and scouted the idea that the young man could have been party to the fraud.

  Mayers stated also that he had no idea that his report of this conversation had been taken as an indication of Ackerley’s guilt, and declared that nothing was farther from his mind in mentioning it. He had simply hoped it might clear up something about the fraud.

  Retiring to the waiting-room, French summarised what he had learnt.

  Firstly, the fraud could have been carried out without Ackerley’s help.

  Secondly, so far as was known, Ackerley was keen on his job, ambitious and anxious to make a name for himself. He was not financially embarrassed, there being a reasonable sum to his credit in the bank. His bank-book gave no indication that he had been in receipt of more than his salary, of which, indeed, he was not spending the whole. He was not engaged to be married, nor had he any entanglement with a girl. He was not gambling. His life was healthy and normal.

  Prior to his death his manner had also been normal. He had shown no signs of worry or excitement or embarrassment.

  If the young man had been in such financial straits as to have adopted so desperate a remedy as the fraud, French did not believe he could have hidden the fact. Nor did he believe that under such circumstances his manner could have been anywhere near normal. French, in fact, came to the definite conclusion that Ackerley had had nothing to do with the frauds. He therefore put this problem out of his mind and went on to consider his next move in the case.

  If Ackerley were innocent and were about to discover the fraud, as was now certain, and if Carey were guilty of the fraud, which according to Spence was also certain, it followed that the theory that Carey was the murderer of Ackerley was entirely reasonable and satisfactory. French was convinced of its truth, though here again he could not supply formal proof. For the nth time he wondered how this proof might be obtained.

  For the moment he could not think of any direct way. He therefore turned to the line of inquiry suggested by Bragg’s statement: the obtaining of the prints. He drafted a notice addressed to all firms who made photo prints of engineering drawings, describing the Widening cross sections and asking for information as to the sale of one or more sets. This notice he sent to the Yard for insertion in all the technical journals to which such firms might have access.

  At the same time he wrote to Messrs Redpath & Halliday, the manufacturers of the special paper which had been used, explaining what he wanted and asking if they had sold one or two rolls about the
date of the beginning of the work on the Widening to Carey or anyone not a known customer, or indeed to any private individual in the neighbourhood of Lydmouth or Whitness.

  Two days later there was an answer to this last letter. Messrs Redpath & Halliday wrote that on the 28th of January previously they had received through the post an order for two rolls of ‘Arcoba X35’ ferrogallic photo printing paper and one roll of 30-inch tracing cloth from a person whose name had not been previously on their books. He was a Mr John Salvington, of 16 King Street West, Drychester. The money, postal orders for the correct sum including postage, had been enclosed. They had duly forwarded the goods, which, so far as they were concerned, had closed the transaction.

  Drychester was situated at the apex of a triangle of which the line Lydmouth-Redchurch formed the base. It was about twelve miles from Redchurch, and though rail connection was via Lydmouth, there was a direct service of ’buses. An hour after receiving the letter, French turned into King Street West.

  French had expected to find that Mr John Salvington was an engineer or architect who had decided to do his prints himself, or perhaps a stationer who proposed to add photo printing to his other activities. When, therefore, he saw John Salvington’s name above a small tobacconist’s shop, he rubbed his hands. An accommodation address!

  Mr Salvington was a wizened old man with a gray goatee beard and a whining voice. When French looked at him he immediately thought that the majesty of the law would be his best suit. With a serious air he produced his credentials and said that he was a police officer from Scotland Yard engaged on a murder case, and that he had reason to believe Mr Salvington could give him some important information on the matter.

  Salvington, duly impressed, said he didn’t know nothing of no murder case and that the officer had been misdirected.

  ‘I don’t think so, Mr Salvington,’ French returned ponderously. ‘We generally know what we’re after. I don’t suggest that you were personally concerned in the crime. I suggest you unwittingly had dealings with the murderer. Tell me, did you,’ he produced and looked up his notebook with the usual overawing effect, ‘on the 29th or 30th of January of this year, receive a parcel from Messrs Redpath & Halliday, Engineering and Optical Instrument Makers, of High Holborn?’

  Mr Salvington, who had been showing uneasiness, made a gesture as if a light had broken on him. ‘Was that a wrong ’un?’ he exclaimed eagerly. ‘You wouldn’t never ’ave thought it. ’E was a quiet, civil-spoken man, not noways like a murderer.’

  ‘That’s the man I mean,’ said French. ‘Tell me what you can about him.’

  Salvington spoke willingly enough. It appeared that three or four days before the date mentioned by the inspector, a man had entered the shop and said he wanted Salvington to do him a small service, for which he would pay the usual fee. His name, he said, was Roberts, and he was setting up in Drychester as an architect. He had not yet got rooms, and he wanted Mr Salvington to receive one or two letters and parcels for him. Salvington was not in the habit of giving an accommodation address, but he saw no reason why he should not do so, especially as it would mean sixpence a parcel. Roberts then said he was expecting some stuff from Redpath & Halliday, and would Salvington keep it till he called?

  Three or four days later a parcel came, not addressed to Roberts but to Salvington himself. He was about to open it, but seeing the legend ‘Engineering and Optical Instrument Makers’ on the label, he did not do so. It was a long, thin parcel and might easily have been three rolls of paper.

  Next day Roberts called. He claimed the parcel, saying that he had made a mistake in ordering the stuff, as he had given his, Salvington’s name to the firm instead of his own. He paid his sixpence and took the parcel away.

  So far the affair had not struck Salvington as being out of the ordinary, but he was surprised when the days passed and no letters or other parcels for Roberts arrived. In fact, this was the only transaction in which Roberts had figured, and Salvington had never seen him again.

  French, very pleased at this story, now asked his critical question. He took from his pocket a number of photographs which he had managed to pick up, in one or other of which all the engineers employed on the Widening appeared. Handing these over, he asked Salvington if he could recognise Roberts.

  Even to so old a hand as French a moment like this was always exciting. He watched the old man with a but slightly veiled eagerness as he slowly turned over the cards, peering short-sightedly at one after another. Then Salvington held up one of the photographs.

  ‘That’s ’im,’ he exclaimed, pointing with a dirty thumb to a figure in one of the groups.

  It was Carey; a good photograph, showing the features clearly.

  Here, then, was valuable confirmation of the Spences’ report on their chief resident engineer. This purchase of the printing paper proved that Carey was guilty of the fraud, apart from anything his employers had discovered. It did not, of course, prove that no one else was involved. French, however, felt that his investigation was getting on satisfactorily and that some other line of inquiry would give him that.

  As he sat in the ’bus on his way back to Redchurch it occurred to him that he might obtain this remaining piece of information from studying the profits of the fraud. How were these paid? To whom were they paid? Did anyone but Carey participate in them?

  This would involve another visit to Messrs Spence’s headquarters. French decided that he would ring them up in the morning and make another appointment.

  In the meantime a further line of research presented itself to him. If Carey had obtained the photo paper, how and where had he made the prints?

  French was not certain what the process involved, though he believed its principal ingredients were printing in a frame like that used for photographs and washing with water in a bath. Whether a dark room was necessary, and whether chemicals were used, he did not know. He noted to inquire on these points from Bragg, then try to find out if Carey had access to, or could have improvised, the apparatus.

  Next day, however, if the Spences could see him, he would go to town.

  13

  The Drawn Blinds

  After dinner that night French settled down in his room at the hotel to bring his notes up to date and to take stock of his position. He always found that the careful revision of his conclusions in the quiet of his office or bedroom, was worth while. Frequently a flaw which he had overlooked in the hurry of the day’s work, or an additional clue or deduction, would then occur to him, perhaps saving him from falling into some serious error or from wasting time in unprofitable inquiry. Even more valuable was the writing down in sequential order of the various points of the case. An argument set out on paper, the logic of which was intrinsically sound and each premise of which had been carefully checked and re-checked, was much more powerful than if it were merely carried in the mind. Moreover, it represented an invaluable preliminary to that concise and convincing report which it was always French’s object to achieve.

  His notes of the present case were already growing pretty voluminous, and to them he had added copies of everything that had been put in writing by the police at both Redchurch and Whitness, as well as the depositions of the witnesses at the inquests. Experience had taught him that these apparently irrelative documents were worth studying as a source of fresh ideas. Many a clarifying flash of insight had come to him in just that way.

  He finished writing and arranging his notes and then began to read through the other papers. He skimmed the various police reports and the papers relating to the inquest on Ackerley. Finally he took up the records of the Carey inquest, intending when he had run through them to put the case out of his mind and turn to a novel.

  Suddenly he stopped reading, and wrinkling his brow, sat gazing in front of him into vacancy. Here was something rather curious.

  He was going over the depositions of the witnesses, recalling to himself their appearance and even the tones of their voices. He had reached the evidence of
Albert Bradstreet, the assistant storesman, and it was a statement of his which had attracted his attention. This Bradstreet was the man who had found Carey’s body. He had stated that when he had gone into the office the blinds were down as they always were; that he raised them to obtain light to set the fires; and that when he had done so he had seen Carey hanging from the roof.

  French put down the papers and lay back in his chair, thinking intently. This certainly was a very surprising statement. How was it possible that no one had noticed its strangeness? How had he missed it himself? The more he now considered it, he more puzzled he became. With some faint dawning of actual excitement, he picked up the dossier again to refresh his memory as to the position in which the body had been found.

  Carey was hanging by a rope from one of the beams of the roof, and the office stool, on which he had evidently stood to fix the rope round his neck, was lying kicked aside on the ground at his feet. French pictured the entire scene, then once again he pushed away the papers and sat rapt in profound thought.

  Here was something which he certainly ought to have noticed before. Though every moment it seemed to grow more and more important, the whimsical idea shot through French’s mind that it was the kind of point which would have appealed to Sherlock Holmes, as it would have enabled him without leaving his sofa to surprise Watson with a new and startling theory of the crime.

  If Bradstreet had raised the blinds in order to obtain light to set the fire, it followed that the electric light was off. French now saw that he should have known this, as, had it been on, the fact would have been mentioned. But, and this was what was giving him so furiously to think, if the electric light was off, how had Carey seen to make those last terrible arrangements with the rope and stool?

  Could he have done it in the dark?

  Upon this question French pondered. For Carey, the getting of all the details right would have been of the very first importance. He could not afford any bungling. He could not risk merely hurting himself. If he were going to commit suicide, nothing mattered but the encompassing of his death. It was obvious that without light the rope could not have been taken off the bundle of pegs, nor could it have been tied to the beam and the noose made and adjusted to the proper height. It would not have been possible without light to have moved the stool to the exact place required. But would the dreadful final scene have been possible? Would Carey have attempted in the dark to climb the stool, adjust the rope round his neck, and kick away the stool?