Death on the Way

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  What added to his despondency was the fact that an interview with Rhode was overdue. And if there was one thing French hated more than another, it was to have to report failure.

  He was hanged if he would report anything of the kind! He would go over the case again. Dash it all, there must be some way to clear it up.

  16

  Light at Last

  In the privacy of his room in the hotel, French once again sat down to consider his position.

  He took out his list of possible suspects and went over the names, weighing carefully the evidence against each person. The operation did not make him feel any happier. The more he considered the case against each, the thinner it seemed. He found himself at last forced to admit that though the guilt of one of them appeared unquestionable, for the simple reason that any other hypothesis seemed absurd, the evidence stopped wholly short of indicating which of them it was.

  But if he felt doubt as to the guilty man, there was something else of which he had no doubt at all, and that was that not one of his suspects could be taken into court. He did not believe that he could put up a case that would even pass the grand jury. And the worst of it was that he couldn’t think of a single person outside his list against whom there was any suspicion whatever.

  For some time he sat gazing vacantly at his gas fire, feeling horribly up against it. Then he pulled himself together. This would never do. He dare not admit defeat. This was not the first occasion on which failure had stared him in the face; no, not by many! Again and again he had been in a precisely similar position, and again and again in the past light had come. The thing was difficult, but that was its glory. If it hadn’t been difficult he wouldn’t have been called in. He had been sent for because other people couldn’t do the job. Very well; he would do it; he must. His jaw took on a more determined set and his hands involuntarily clenched. He decided he would go on thinking the thing over till he saw his way clear. He wouldn’t leave it till he got some light; not if he sat in that confounded room every day for a month!

  This very decision helped him. He felt brighter, more confident, more certain of ultimate success. But he was going to neglect no chances. Physical condition was an enormously important item. He rang, and ordered strong coffee.

  For upwards of three hours he sat in his chair or paced his room, but the longed-for idea failed to materialise. Then, feeling himself stale, he went out for a six-mile tramp. He rested for an hour at the pictures, had dinner, and settled down once again to his problem.

  It was an hour after his usual bedtime when a possibility which he had also frequently considered recurred to him with a new force. Could it be that he was wrong in one of the ideas which he had been holding as fundamental to the case, and that therefore all the reasoning built on it was false? From the moment at which he had learned of the death of Carey and of the existence of the fraud, he had assumed that these events were connected, not only with each other, but also with the murder of Ackerley. To this assumption he had clung with a tenacity which he now saw might be nothing more nor less than an obsession. Suppose he had been wrong. Suppose these three crimes were independent, or at least suppose that the two murders were independent. Where would that lead?

  The only person known to gain by the fraud was Carey. Very well, why assume that anyone else was involved? Suppose that Carey, and Carey alone, had engineered it. Suppose further that Carey had learnt that Ackerley was about to find it out, and suppose that Carey had murdered Ackerley.

  This part of the theory was, of course, not new. But in passing, French noted once again how convincingly it was supported by no less than five facts:

  1. That Carey could have carried out the fraud alone, and that Messrs Spence’s opinion, founded on inquiry, was that he had done so.

  2. That Carey had received all the profits, whatever he might or might not have done with part of them.

  3. That in his conversation with Mayers, Ackerley had shown that he was on the track of the fraud.

  4. That Carey could have murdered Ackerley.

  5. That Carey had (or might have) attempted a fraudulent alibi, by stating that he was at the Whirlpool Cave at the time of the murder. He had at least produced a forged letter as evidence for the statement.

  French saw that every fact in the case up to Carey’s murder was covered by this theory, with the one exception of Carey’s cashing of those half bonus payments. Admittedly, however, this was not inconsistent with his sole guilt in respect of the fraud.

  How, then, could Carey’s murder be accounted for? Simply, French now thought, that Carey had been murdered for something quite unconnected with the fraud. Was there any such thing?

  Of course there was! This was where French felt he had been so stupid. Of course there was! There was the rivalry about Brenda Vane. Could Lowell have murdered Carey to put him out of the running? This theory would do no violence to the probabilities. Such things were constantly happening.

  This was the second line of reasoning which had led to Lowell. To substantiate the first, that Lowell had been Carey’s partner in the fraud, no evidence could be found. French wondered if there was evidence for the second.

  He had of course not forgotten Lowell’s alibi, founded on the loss of the rule. But though on investigation French’s reason had told him that the alibi was watertight, his instinct had bade him distrust it. The suspicion was inevitable that the rule had been planted for the purpose for which it had been used.

  There was nothing for it but to try again. First he must estimate the strength of the passions evoked by the love of these two men for Brenda Vane. Then, if these proved really serious, he must re-test Lowell’s alibi.

  Much cheered by the prospect of productive work, French set off next morning for Whitness. His principal business would be at ‘Serque’, but he did not want to call there too early. He therefore went to the contractors’ yard and began operations by interviewing Parry.

  Parry was not communicative, principally because, French imagined, he had hearsay evidence of a disquieting nature, but knew nothing at first hand. He did, however, tell French something of importance: that Brenda and Lowell were engaged; moreover, that the engagement had taken place just after Carey’s death.

  Pole, however, knew more of the matter. Pole was most unwilling to speak, and it was only when French bluffed him with all the terrors of the law, that he answered his questions.

  It was true, he said, that relations between Lowell and Carey had been strained. For several weeks they had scarcely been on speaking terms. It had been because of Brenda Vane. Both men were very much attached to her. On two occasions shortly before Carey’s death their feelings had come to the surface. Once in the office and once at ‘Serque’ they had had a row. Pole had heard their voices, not much raised but, as it were, very intense and evil. No, on neither occasion had he heard the words; only their tones.

  French had a shrewd suspicion that Pole knew more than he had stated, but the young man would make no further admissions, and French had left him and walked down to ‘Serque’.

  He was more pleased than otherwise to find that Brenda Vane was out. Though it might eventually prove to be his duty, he hated the idea of trying to get from her information which might hang her lover. Instead, he saw first her sister, and then her mother.

  He did not learn much from either. They both ‘believed’ that there had been strained relations between Lowell and Carey, but neither knew anything from her own knowledge. They would have been glad to have helped the inspector, but as it was … The inspector would understand …

  The inspector understood very well; and asked to see the servant.

  Kate turned out to be a Cornish girl, deliberate and sensible-looking. French, rapidly sizing her up, made no attempt to bluff. In the quietest way he told her his business and pointed out that though she was not then bound to answer his questions, eventually she would have to do so, and it would save trouble all round if she would do it at once. She answered as quietly
that she knew that, and what did he want to know?

  She admitted readily that Carey and Lowell had scarcely spoken to one another during the six or eight weeks prior to the former’s death. Everyone knew the cause; they were both in love with Miss Brenda. Miss Brenda had been a good deal upset about it, and Mrs Vane had wanted to get rid of them both. But Miss Brenda would not agree to that. Oh, yes, the men had had ‘words’ over the affair. She had unwittingly heard some of their remarks. Yes, each had threatened to kill the other. No, she couldn’t remember Mr Lowell’s exact words, but it was to the effect that Miss Brenda was his, and that if Mr Carey didn’t keep off he’d do him in, if he swung for it.

  The girl made her statement in a matter-of-fact, unemotional way which carried conviction. French saw at once that she would make an admirable witness. He knew the type. Under severe cross-examination she would probably smile good-humouredly, make no damaging admissions, and stick like a leech to her previous statements.

  French’s next job was to re-test the alibi of the rule. As he lunched in a Whitness restaurant he racked his brains over the question of how this was to be done.

  Not very clear as to his ultimate proceedings, he walked out once again to Bridge 892 and asked to see the workman who had found the rule.

  ‘Sorry to trouble you over this thing again,’ he said pleasantly, ‘but I think I must have made a mistake when I spoke to you before. I said, I think, that the rule had been lost on the night before you started concreting?’

  ‘That’s right, mister.’

  ‘I meant the following night,’ French lied. ‘That would be the night before you found it, wouldn’t it?’

  The man reacted more satisfactorily than French could have hoped. He stood silent for some moments, evidently thinking in his slow way, then expressed the opinion for which French had been fishing. This explained what he had been quite unable to understand; how he had come to overlook the rule on that first day of concreting. He had gone over the entire reinforcement, and if the rule had been in the corner he would have seen it. He had only admitted that he had overlooked it because he had been assured that it was there, and he therefore supposed he must have done so. Now, however, the affair was cleared up. He had looked over the work on both days. When the rule was there he saw it, and when he didn’t see it, it was because it wasn’t there. That was clear at last.

  French realised that the workman probably would say something of this kind in any case, to prove his alertness. But the man’s satisfaction was so obviously genuine that French could not but accept his statement. The point, of course, was much more important than the man could imagine. If he were right, the rule had been placed under the bars on the night after, not before, Carey’s murder. This meant two things: first, that Lowell need not have been at the bridge during the fateful hour and therefore could have killed Carey, and second, that the very fact that he had afterwards thought it necessary to fake an alibi, practically proved his guilt.

  French wondered how he could find out when Lowell really had been at the bridge. Had anyone been along that stretch of line between 5.45 and 6.45 on the night in question, the hour for which Lowell had tried to account?

  French stood for some time chatting with the foreman, and in a discussion of overtime managed to slip his question in. But it produced nothing. At five o’clock, the closing time, the men had left off work and assembled with the members of other gangs at Downey’s Point. There a train had stopped for them and taken them into Whitness. After that train the line had been deserted.

  French walked slowly back to Whitness, stopping at each gang and chatting to the ganger. Four of these men were unable to help him, but from the fifth he learned something which filled him with a sudden eagerness.

  This fifth gang was working on the rocky shelf near the tunnel. The ganger stated that on the day in question a post office squad was engaged in carrying out some repairs to the telephone wires which here ran along the railway. The ganger knew the boss of this squad, a man named Downes, who lived in the same street in Redchurch as himself. The two men had a little talk and Downes told the other that he was on a hurry job and that they would have to work late to finish it. They evidently did so, as they had remained behind when the railwaymen left, and had not turned up again on the following morning.

  Wondering if he had hit on anything valuable, French took the first train to Redchurch and at the post office asked the address of the district telephone engineer. Quarter of an hour later he was seated in his office.

  ‘You want to see John Downes and his men?’ the engineer repeated. ‘That’s easily done. Have you a car?’

  ‘I can hire one.’

  ‘Then hire one and drive out about three miles on the main Drychester road. You’ll find them along the road there. You can’t mistake them because they’re the only squad in that neighbourhood.’

  French had noticed a garage close by and he quickly obtained a car. Downes proved to be a reliable-looking man and he made no difficulty about answering French’s questions.

  On the afternoon in question some small repairs became necessary to the telephone wires near the tunnel, and he had been sent to carry out the work. He had been told to finish the job that night, if an hour or two’s extra work would do it. He had started at half-past four and had gone on till after seven. They had worked with acetylene flares.

  He knew Mr Lowell, as he had met him in connection with the alteration of the telephone wires on the Widening. He was positive that Mr Lowell had not passed along the railway while he was there.

  French was impressed. ‘Here was something vital at last! As Lowell could scarcely have reached the bridge without twice passing along that piece of line, he no longer felt any doubt as to his guilt. However, he must make things as sure as possible. Systematically he interviewed every man of the squad. None of them had seen Lowell, and about half were positive he had not passed.

  Incidentally French noted that the mere fact that the squad had been there in itself strongly suggested that Lowell was lying. Lowell obviously realised the importance of establishing his alibi, and if he had known that these men were present he would have mentioned it to French. The fact that Lowell had said nothing about them seemed to French almost certain proof that he didn’t know they were there.

  As he returned to Redchurch, French was extraordinarily pleased. At last this long drawn out struggle showed signs of coming to an end. At last he was on to something tangible, something which should lead him to a satisfactory solution of his problem.

  But he realised that he had not yet reached that solution. This evidence he had obtained was merely negative. Before he could take his case into court he must have positive proof. How could he get it?

  It was obvious that the rule could not have been planted during the day, as, if so, the men who were concreting would have seen Lowell. Nor could it have been done on the Wednesday evening. There was ample testimony that Lowell spent the whole of that evening at ‘Serque’. If, therefore, Lowell had faked the alibi, he must have gone out and planted the rule during the Wednesday night. French saw that if he could prove this his case would be practically complete.

  He went down once more to ‘Serque’ and once again asked to be allowed a glance round Carey’s room. It then seemed less unreasonable to beg for a glimpse of Lowell’s and Pole’s also. In Lowell’s he crossed to the window to admire the view. Instantly he saw that without a rope no one could have entered or left by the window. Moreover, there was nothing in the room to which a rope could conveniently have been made fast.

  Next he had a look at the front door. In the daytime it was closed by a Yale lock, but at night a heavy finger-bolt was also shot. French tried them both. He was satisfied that with care they could be operated noiselessly.

  Again he went upstairs. The house was solidly built and the stairs did not creak. He started a new inquiry: had anyone heard sounds of movement in the house on that Wednesday night?

  Mrs Vane now remembered that she h
ad. She had been so much disturbed that she had got up, opened her door, and listened for a few moments. But as everything remained still, she concluded she had been mistaken. That was about three in the morning. She had mentioned the matter next day, but none of the others had heard anything. It was because of this discussion that French was able to fix the date.

  French’s problem now took on another and very familiar form. Who could have been along any part of the route between ‘Serque’ and Bridge 982 in the small hours of that Thursday morning?

  He settled down to it. He felt despondent about the inquiry, but it was his only chance. In vain he made the usual inquiries. None of the police or coastguards could help. The various doctors were approached, without result. The district nurse had not been out. There had not been, so far as could be learnt, any dance or late party. The night watchman at the contractors’ yard had been in his hut during the period in question. Drivers and firemen of late trains had not seen anyone …

  For a couple of days French worked on at the problem. At last in despair he called at every house overlooking the route. There were not a great number, only seventeen in all. At one after another he pursued his hopeless task, till at the very last, the seventeenth, he got more than he could have hoped for.

  This seventeenth house was actually on the opposite or Whitness town side of ‘Serque’, but from its side windows there was a view of the entrance gate. It appeared that here a child was seriously ill. On that night its mother had sat up with it. The lady, sleepy and tired, had happened to go to the window in her room, throw open the lower sash, and stand for a few moments breathing in the fresh air. It was not very dark, and while standing there she had seen a man hurry up to the gate of ‘Serque’ from the direction of the tunnel, and pass quickly in. She was almost sure it was Lowell. He was walking stealthily, and had it been anyone else she would have assumed something was wrong. As it was, however, she remembered Lowell’s job and supposed he had been working late on the Widening, as she knew often happened. The stealthy walk she thought natural enough; he would be anxious to move silently so as not to wake anyone in the house.