The Ponson Case

by Freeman Wills Crofts

  The Inspector sent messages to Plymouth, to Exeter, and to some of the principal stations beyond, explaining that the bearded man of the previous wires had had himself shaved. Then he looked at his watch.

  ‘Quarter to eight. Can I catch the 7.50? Phone to hold it while I run across.’

  He jumped into the car and drove to the South-Western Station. There he caught the train for Exeter with a minute to spare.

  He leaned back in the corner of a first-class compartment, and slowly drew out and lit a cigar, while he turned over in his mind the next step to be taken. He thought that at all events he should go on to Exeter. The 5.22 from Tavistock, by which Douglas had travelled, reached that city before his wire about the shaving had been sent out. Therefore it was hardly likely that the man would have been detained en route. Tanner, of course, recognised that a freshly shaven chin was unmistakable, but he did not think a village constable would have the sharpness to deduce what Douglas might have done, and act accordingly. But from Exeter in what direction would the quarry head?

  There seemed two possibilities. Probably he would try either to reach London, or to get abroad. London, as Tanner knew, was perhaps the safest place in the world for a criminal to lie hidden. But many ill-doers had an overwhelming desire to put as great a distance as possible between themselves and the scene of their misdeeds. If Douglas were of this class he would try to get out of the country, and if, as the hotel porter had stated, he spoke like an American, would he not be likely to try to reach the country in which he might most easily pass for a native? There was, of course, no means of knowing, but at least it was clear that the approaches to London as well as the ports should be closely watched.

  In any case, whatever the fugitive’s goal, he would be almost certain to pass through Exeter. It was true he could double back to Plymouth, but the probabilities were he would keep away from the district in which he was known. As Tanner’s train ran into St David’s Station, Exeter, he felt sure his victim was not far before him.

  A tall efficient looking sergeant of police was waiting on the platform. This man, sharply scrutinising the alighting travellers, promptly fixed on Tanner.

  ‘Inspector Tanner, sir?’ he questioned, and as the other nodded, continued, ‘they phoned us from Plymouth you were coming through on this train. We have inquiries in hand both here and at Queen Street, the other station. So far we have heard nothing of your man.’

  ‘What exactly are you doing?’

  ‘We have a man at each station working the staffs—booking-clerks, ticket collectors, porters, refreshment rooms—the usual thing. Another man is going round the hotels, another the restaurants open at that hour, and another the garages, in case he might have gone on by car. Is there any other line you would wish taken up?’

  ‘Why no, sergeant. I think you have covered all the ground. Have you advised your men that the fellow got shaved?’

  ‘Some of them, sir; some of them we couldn’t get hold of. We advise them as we can get in touch with them.’

  Tanner nodded again.

  ‘Well, we had better go to headquarters and wait for news.’

  For a considerable time Tanner remained, chafing and impatient, until, just as eleven was booming from the town clocks, a constable appeared accompanied by a tall, fair-haired young man in a leather coat and breeches, and a peaked cap. The latter explained that he was a taxi owner, driving his own vehicle, and he believed he knew something that might be of value.

  It appeared that he had been at St David’s Station when Douglas’s train had come in. He was engaged by a small, elderly, clean-shaven man with grey hair, dressed in a tweed overcoat and a cloth cap. The man seemed nervous and excited, and told him to drive to any ready-made clothes store which would be open at that hour. He took him to a shop in the poorer part of the town. The man went in, returning in a few minutes dressed in a soft, grey felt hat and a khaki coloured waterproof, and carrying a bundle. He re-entered the taxi and told the driver ‘Queen Street Station as quick as you can.’ He drove there, and the man paid him and hurried into the station, and that was all he knew.

  ‘What time did you reach Queen Street?’ asked Tanner.

  ‘Going on to half-past seven.’

  ‘We’d better go to Queen Street and find out what trains leave about that hour.’

  Their visitor’s car was waiting outside, and engaging it, they drove rapidly off.

  For those who do not know Exeter, it may be explained that the Great Western and London and South-Western Railways, both running from London to Plymouth, form a gigantic figure 8, the centre where the lines cross being St David’s Station, Exeter. In the same town, but a mile nearer London on the South-Western, is Queen Street Station. While therefore St David’s is joint between the two Companies, Queen Street is South-Western only, and these facts seemed to indicate to Tanner the probability that Douglas was going for a South-Western train bound Londonwards.

  A glance at the time table at Queen Street supported this view. A train left for London at 7.32.

  ‘Your constable saw the booking-clerk, I suppose?’ Tanner asked.

  ‘Yes, sir. But of course he gave the wrong description. He did not know the man had changed his cap and coat.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Tanner assented. ‘We had better see him again.’

  The booking office was closed and the clerk had gone home. With considerable difficulty they obtained his address from a watchman. Then stepping into their waiting taxi, they were driven to it.

  The house was in darkness, but their third thunderous knock produced a sleepy and indignant householder. Tanner, who was a past-master in the art, soothed his ruffled feelings, and he brought them in and civilly asked their business.

  ‘You have been troubled about this before, I’m afraid,’ the Inspector began. ‘I shall explain the affair in a word and you’ll see its importance. A murder has been committed, and we have traced the suspected man to Queen Street Station. He drove up in a great hurry just, before half-past seven this evening, and we imagine he must have travelled by the 7.32. Now you will see why we want your help. If you can recall the man and recollect where he booked to, it would be of material assistance to us.’

  ‘A clean-shaven man in a brownish cap and coat?’ the clerk replied. ‘But I have already answered that. I saw no one so dressed.’

  ‘We have just discovered that he had bought a waterproof and a grey felt hat. Can you recall him now?’

  The clerk made a sudden gesture.

  ‘Why yes, I can,’ he cried excitedly, ‘I remarked him because he was in such a fuss, and I told him he was time enough. I should have thought of it when the constable asked me, but the description put me off.’

  ‘Quite naturally,’ Tanner assured him smoothly, ‘but now if you can tell us where he booked to, you’ll do us a very great service.’

  ‘I can do so. His excitement drew my attention to him. He took a third single to Southampton.’

  ‘Southampton! Just as I expected,’ exclaimed Tanner. ‘Making for the ships!’

  The other nodded and Tanner went on:

  ‘Where would he get to from there? Would he catch the night boat for Havre?’

  ‘No,’ answered the clerk as he fetched a time table and rapidly turned over the leaves. ‘The 7.32 gets to Salisbury at 10.52, and there’s a train on to Southampton Town at 11.00. It, doesn’t go to the Harbour. But the connection at Eastleigh is bad, and you don’t get to Southampton till 12.30. The Havre boat leaves at 11.30.’

  ‘And what time do you get to Eastleigh?’

  ‘11.37.’

  ‘And from there to Southampton is how far?’

  ‘About seven miles to the docks.’

  ‘So that if he had taken a motor at Eastleigh he could have been there by midnight?’

  ‘Yes, I should say about that.’

  Tanner looked at his watch. It was five minutes to twelve. In from five to thirty-five minutes Douglas would probably reach Southampton. Would there
be time to intercept him there?

  Hastily thanking the clerk, the two men jumped once more into their taxi and drove to the police station. There the Inspector hurried to the telephone to call up the Southampton police. But there was a delay in getting through. For thirty minutes he fumed and fretted. Then at half-past twelve he got his connection.

  ‘I’m afraid the train will be in,’ replied the distant voice, ‘but if it’s late we’ll get your man if he’s on it. If we miss him there, we’ll go on to the Docks. There’s a Union Castle liner due out at five o’clock. He may be going for that. What about the warrant?’

  ‘Hold on a minute,’ said Tanner, then turning to the sergeant, he spoke rapidly:

  ‘A liner leaves Southampton at five for South Africa. Can I get there with a good car? There are no trains, of course?’

  ‘None, sir. It’s about a hundred miles and you should do thirty miles an hour—say three and a half hours. If you left here at 1.00, you should be there by 4.30.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ Then turning back to the telephone: ‘I’m leaving here now by road for Southampton. You may expect me at the Union Castle berth about 4.30. I’ll have the warrant.’

  The taxi-driver they had been employing being unfamiliar with the surrounding country, they drove to the nearest garage and after some difficulty succeeded in knocking up a sleepy manager and hiring a powerful car and a man who knew the road, at least as far as Salisbury. But there were delays in getting away, and though the manager did his best, it was nearly half-past one when the big vehicle swung out of Exeter, eastward bound.

  The night was fine but dark. As they purred swiftly along the smooth road, Tanner lay back on the comfortable cushions and let the cool air blow in on his heated forehead, while he took stock of the position.

  He was perfectly aware that he might be on a wild-goose chase. The taking of the ticket to Southampton might have been a blind, and Douglas might not have done the obvious thing in making a bolt to the most convenient port. After the ruse the man had employed at Myrtle Cottage, Tanner felt he would not do the obvious thing unless he was impelled to it by some strong consideration. But such a consideration existed. There was the element of time. The man would realise that on such a journey he must inevitably be traced, but he would hardly imagine he could be traced in time. Before his pursuers could reach Southampton he would count on having been able to adopt a new personality, and put hundreds of miles of sea between himself and them. The more Tanner thought over this possibility, the more likely it seemed. If he were in Douglas’s position it was the view he himself would have taken.

  They were running well. Tanner watched the whirling hedges, lit up by the strong headlights, and blurred by the speed into quivering smudges, and judged they must be doing well on to forty miles an hour. It was, of course, breaking the law; moreover, it was by no means safe, but Tanner did not let such considerations weigh against the chance of checkmating the man who had duped him. He had informed the chauffeur he would be responsible if there was trouble.

  He fell to reckoning distances. He was not very well up in the geography of the district, but he knew there were two roads, north through Yeovil and Salisbury, and south through Dorchester and Poole. He imagined neither of these was quite direct, but he did not know if there was a good road lying between them.

  In about half an hour they slackened for a town, after which the road rose for some miles. Then in half an hour more it fell again and they ran through another town, whose name appeared on several buildings—Chard. ‘The Salisbury Road,’ thought Tanner. Forty minutes later they left Yeovil behind and at 4.10, nearly three hours after leaving Exeter, they turned out of Salisbury on the Southampton road.

  ‘Not bad going,’ thought Tanner. ‘If we can keep it up we should be at the boat at twenty to five.’

  But alas! the driver’s knowledge of the road which had served them so well up to Salisbury, now failed them. They had to reduce speed at cross roads and run more cautiously. Fortunately, it was now fairly light, or their progress would have been still slower.

  Tanner, was getting nervous. It was going to be a near thing. He held his watch in his hand and counted the mile-posts as one after another they dropped behind. Now it was half-past four, and still they had nine miles to go.

  At last they came to the town. But here matters instead of mending, grew much worse. Neither Tanner nor the driver knew the streets, and precious minutes were wasted trying to puzzle out the way from the rather inferior map the latter had brought.

  Quarter to five. Tanner was in desperation. And then to his relief his eye fell on a policeman. It was the work of a moment to call him over, explain the situation, and get him up beside the driver. Then their troubles were over. The streets were empty and they made fine speed.

  It wanted ten minutes to five as the car pulled up at the docks, and Tanner leaped out and raced to the berth of the great liner. A man whom he instantly recognised as a policeman in plain clothes stood near the bottom of each gangway, while a third was sauntering along the edge of the wharf beside the boat. Tanner spoke hurriedly to the latter.

  ‘He’s not on board, sir,’ the man answered. ‘We were here before he could have got down from the Town Station, and besides we made inquiries.’

  ‘The other side of the ship?’ queried the Inspector.

  ‘We have a man rowing up and down.’

  Tanner grunted.

  ‘Who’s in charge?’ he asked.

  ‘Sergeant Holmes. He went to phone the station. He’ll be back directly.’

  Tanner was woefully disappointed. He felt that if Douglas was not already aboard he would never risk it now. Had the man, he wondered, been sharper than he had counted on, and once again given him the slip? Fortunately, he had taken the obvious precaution of wiring all the stations at which the 7.32 stopped, so that, even if Douglas had alighted elsewhere, he would almost certainly be spotted. But had Douglas travelled by the 7.32 at all? Was his haste with the taxi and his purchase of the ticket another trick, and was he lying low in Exeter, intending still further to alter his appearance and make a bolt elsewhere? Or was he walking all night with the object of joining a train at some quite different station in the morning? Tanner could not guess.

  Three minutes only remained and Tanner grew more and more anxious. It was now or never. Then, as the gangways were being hoisted, a sergeant of police appeared and went up to one of the plain clothes men. Tanner hurried forward.

  ‘Mr Tanner, sir?’ said the sergeant. ‘I’m very sorry, sir, but you’re late.’

  ‘Late?’ Tanner cried sharply. ‘What do you mean, sergeant? There’s plenty of time to go on board still.’

  The sergeant shook his head.

  ‘He’s not there, sir. He’s gone. I’ve just learnt that he left by the Vaal River. She sailed at four o’clock.’

  ‘Damnation!’ cried Tanner angrily. ‘What were you thinking about, sergeant? How in hell did you let him slip through your fingers?’

  ‘The man I sent down, sir, missed him. I can’t imagine how he did it, but you’ll hear what he has to say yourself. After I had all—’

  ‘I’ll see him,’ said Tanner grimly. ‘How did you find it out?’

  ‘I posted the men, sir, first, then I went round them myself. I got to the Vaal River’s berth as she was sheering out. I made inquiries at the office. There is no doubt the man booked.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Tangier, sir.’

  ‘H’m—Morocco, and there’s no extradition from there. Where else does the boat call?’

  ‘Lisbon, Marseilles, Naples, Suez, Delagoa Bay and Durban.’

  ‘I’ll get him at Lisbon. Show me the office.’

  They hurried down to the East Africa Line Quay office. There Tanner interviewed the booking clerk and satisfied himself that Douglas really had sailed. He had booked under the name of Walter Donnell.

  ‘Lisbon is the first call?’ asked the Inspector.

  ‘Yes. She’s due t
here about six on Thursday morning.’

  ‘And this is Tuesday. That’s about a fifty hour run?’

  ‘About that.’

  ‘I must get there before her. How am I to do it?’

  The clerk stared.

  ‘I’m afraid you can’t,’ he answered slowly. ‘She’s not a specially fast boat, but there’s no other leaving soon enough to pass her.’

  ‘Overland?’

  ‘No. There’s not time. If you had caught the Havre boat last night you could have done it. You can’t now.’

  ‘Let me see the time table.’

  The clerk produced a Continental Bradshaw.

  ‘Here you are,’ he said, turning to the ‘Through Routes’ on page 6. ‘You see there are two trains a day from Paris to Lisbon. One, the ordinary, leaves Paris at 10.22 at night. It gets to Lisbon at 12.33 two nights later—that is, about a fifty hours’ run. That’s out of the question, and you’ll see the other is too. It’s a special fast train, the Sud Express, and it leaves Paris at 12.17 midday, and reaches Lisbon at 10.50 the following evening—that is thirty-four hours and a half. Now if you could catch that train today you’d be all right, But you couldn’t. Even if you could catch the 8.00 a.m. from Victoria, which you couldn’t. That would only bring you into Paris at 5.29—five hours late.’

  ‘How long does your boat lie at Lisbon?’

  ‘About four hours. She’s due away about ten on Thursday morning.’

  Tanner felt he was up against it. So far as he could see it was impossible for him to reach Lisbon before 10.50 on the Thursday night, and by that time the man he wanted would already have left some twelve hours. And if he missed him at Lisbon, he would miss him for good. He could never get him once he was ashore at Tangier. Nor was it any more possible for another officer from the Yard to go in his place.

  Of course, there were the Portuguese police. Tanner had never been in Portugal, and knew nothing whatever about its police, but he had the not uncommon insular distrust of foreign efficiency. As he put it to himself, he would rather rely on himself any day than trust to any of these foreign chaps. But there seemed no other way.