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‘Any physical peculiarities?’
‘I had better show you my report. It will give you all I know. In fact, you can keep this copy.’
French ran his eyes over the document, noting the points which might be valuable. The body was that of a middle-aged man five feet ten inches high, fairly broad and well built, and weighing thirteen stone. The injuries to the head and face, were such that recognition from the features would be impossible. There was only one physical peculiarity which might assist identification, a small triangular birthmark on the back of the left arm.
The report then gave technical details of the injuries and the condition the body was in when found, with the conclusion that death had probably occurred some thirty-five to forty days earlier. French smiled ruefully when he had finished reading.
‘There’s not overmuch to go on, is there?’ he remarked. ‘I suppose nothing further is likely to come out at the inquest?’
‘Unless someone that we don’t know of comes forward with information, nothing,’ the sergeant answered. ‘We have made all the inquiries, that we could think of.’
‘As far as I am concerned,’ Dr Crowth declared, ‘I don’t see that you have anything to go on at all. I shouldn’t care for your job, Inspector. How on earth will you start trying to clear up this puzzle? To me it seems absolutely insoluble.’
‘Cases do seem so at first,’ French returned, ‘but it’s wonderful how light gradually comes. It is almost impossible to commit a murder without leaving a clue, and if you think it over long enough you usually get it. But this, I admit, is a pretty tough proposition.’
‘Have you ever heard of anything like it before?’
‘So far it rather reminds me of a case investigated several years ago by my old friend Inspector Burnley—he’s retired now. A cask was sent from France to London which was found to contain the body of a young married Frenchwoman, and it turned out that her unfaithful husband had murdered her. He had in his study at the time a cask in which a group of statuary which he had just purchased had arrived, and he disposed of the body by packing it in the cask and sending it to England. It might well be that the same thing had happened in this case: that the murderer had purchased something which had arrived in this crate and that he had used the latter to get rid of the body. And, as you can see, doctor, that at once suggests a line of inquiry. What firm uses crates of this kind to despatch their goods and to whom were such crates sent recently? This is the sort of inquiry which gets us our results.’
‘That is very interesting. All the same, I’m glad it’s your job and not mine. I remember reading of that case you mention. The papers were absolutely full of it at the time. I thought it an extraordinary affair, almost like a novel.’
‘No doubt, but there is this difference between a novel and real life. In a novel the episodes are selected and the reader is told those which are interesting and which get results. In real life we try perhaps ten or twenty lines which lead nowhere before we strike the lucky one. And in each line we make perhaps hundreds of inquiries, whereas the novel describes one. It’s like any other job, you get results by pegging away. But it is interesting on the whole, and it has its compensations. Well, doctor, I mustn’t keep you talking all night. I shall see you at the inquest tomorrow.’
French’s gloomy prognostications were justified next day when the proceedings in the little courthouse came to an end. Nothing that was not already known came out, and the coroner adjourned the inquiry for three weeks to enable the police to conclude their investigations.
What those investigations were to consist of was the problem which confronted French when after lunch he sat down in the deserted smoking-room of the little hotel to think matters out.
In the first place there was the body. What lines of inquiry did the body suggest?
One obviously. Some five or six weeks previously a fairly tall, well-built man of middle-age had disappeared. He might merely have vanished without explanation, or more probably, circumstances had been arranged to account for his absence. In the first case information should be easily obtainable. But the second alternative was a different proposition. If the disappearance had been cleverly screened it might prove exceedingly difficult to locate. At all events, inquiries on the matter must represent the first step.
It was clearly impossible to trace any of the clothes, with the possible exception of the sock. But even from the sock French did not think he would learn anything. It was of a standard pattern, and the darning of socks with wool of not quite the right shade was too common to be remembered. At the same time he noted it as a possible line of research.
Next he turned his attention to the crate, and at once two points struck him.
Could he trace the firm who had made the crate? Of this he was doubtful: it was not sufficiently distinctive. There must be thousands of similar packing cases in existence, and to check up all of them would be out of the question. Besides, it might not have been supplied by a firm. The murderer might have had it specially made, or even have made it himself. Here again, however, French could but try.
The second point was: How had the crate got to the bottom of the Burry Inlet? This was a question that he must solve, and he turned all his energies towards it.
There were here two possibilities. Either the crate had been thrown into the water and had sunk at the place where it was found, or it had gone in elsewhere and been driven forward by the action of the sea. He considered these ideas in turn.
To have sunk at the place it was thrown in postulated a ship or boat passing over the site. From the map, steamers approaching or leaving Llanelly must go close to the place, and might cross it. But French saw that there were grave difficulties in the theory that the crate had been dropped overboard from a steamer. It was evident that the whole object of the crate was to dispose of the body secretly. The crate, however, could not have been secretly thrown from a steamer. Whether it were let go by hand or by a winch, several men would know about it. Indeed news of so unusual an operation would almost certainly spread to the whole crew, and if the crate were afterwards found, someone of the hands would be sure to give the thing away. Further, if the crate were being got rid of from a steamer it would have been done far out in deep water and not at the entrance to a port.
For these reasons French thought that the ship might be ruled out, and he turned his attention to the idea of a row-boat.
But here a similar objection presented itself. The crate was too big and heavy to be dropped from a small boat. French tried to visualise the operation. The crate could only be placed across the stern: in any other position it would capsize the boat. Then it would have to be pushed off. This could not be done by one man: he doubted whether it could be done by two. But even if it could, these two added to the weight of the crate would certainly cause disaster. He did not believe the operation possible without a large boat and at least three men, and he felt sure the secret would not have been entrusted to so many.
It seemed to him then that the crate could not have been thrown in where it was found. How else could it have got there?
He thought of Mr Morgan’s suggestion of a wreck from which it might have been washed up into the Inlet, but according to the sergeant, there had been no wreck. Besides, the crate was undamaged outside, and it was impossible that it could have been torn out through the broken side of a ship or washed overboard without leaving some traces.
French lit a fresh pipe and began to pace the deserted smoking room. He was exasperated because he saw that his reasoning must be faulty. All that he had done was to prove that the crate could not have reached the place where it was found.
For some minutes he couldn’t see the snag, then it occurred to him that he had been assuming too much. He had taken it for granted that the crate had sunk immediately on falling into the water. The weights of the crate itself, the body, and the bar of steel had made him think so. But was he correct? Would the air the crate contained not give it buoyancy for a time, until at least some water had leaked in?
If so, the fact would have a considerable bearing on his problem. If the crate had been floated to the place he was halfway to a solution.
Suddenly the possible significance of the fourteen holes occurred to him. He had supposed they were nail-holes, but now he began to think differently. Suppose they were placed there to admit the water—slowly, so that the crate should float for a time and then sink? Their position was suggestive; they were at diagonally opposite corners of the crate. That meant that at least one set must be under water, no matter in what position the crate was floating. It also meant that the other set provided a vent for the escape of the displaced air.
The more French thought over the idea, the more probable it seemed. The crate had been thrown into the sea, most likely from the shore and when the tide was ebbing, and it had floated out into the Inlet. By the time it had reached the position in which it was found, enough water had leaked in to sink it.
He wondered if any confirmatory evidence of the theory were available. Then an idea struck him, and walking to the police station, he asked for Sergeant Nield.
‘I want you, sergeant, to give me a bit of help,’ he began. ‘First, I want the weights of the crate and the bar of iron. Can you get them for me?’
‘Certainly. We’ve nothing here that would weigh them, but I’ll send them to the railway station. You’ll have the weights in half an hour.’
‘Good man! Now there is one other thing. Can you borrow a Molesworth for me?’
‘A Molesworth?’
‘A Molesworth’s Pocket Book of EngineeringFormulæ. You’ll get it from any engineer or architect.’
‘Yes, I think I can manage that. Anything else?’
‘No, sergeant, that’s all, except that before you send away the crate I want to measure those nail holes.’
French took a pencil from his pocket and sharpened it to a long thin evenly rounded point. This he pushed into the nail holes, marking how far it went in. Then with a pocket rule he measured the diameter of the pencil, the length of the sharpened portion, and the distance the latter had entered. From these dimensions a simple calculation told him that the holes were all slightly under one-sixth of an inch in diameter.
The sergeant was an energetic man, and before the half hour was up he had produced the required weights and the engineer’s pocket book. French, returning to the hotel, sat down with the Molesworth and a few sheets of paper, and began with some misgivings to bury himself in engineering calculations.
First he added the weights of the crate, the body and the steel bar: they came to 29 stone or 406 lbs. Then he found that the volume of the crate was just a trifle over 15 cubic feet. This latter multiplied by the weight of a cubic foot of sea-water—64 lbs.—gave a total of 985 lbs. as the weight of water the crate would displace if completely submerged. But if the weight of the crate was 406 lbs., and the weight of the water it displaced was 985 lbs., it followed that not only would it float, but it would float with a very considerable buoyancy, represented by the difference between these two, or 579 lbs. The first part of his theory was therefore tenable.
But the moment the crate was thrown into the sea, water would begin to run in through the lower holes. French wondered if he could calculate how long it would take to sink.
He was himself rather out of his depth among the unfamiliar figures and formulæ given on the subject. The problem was, how long would it take 579 lbs. of water to run through seven one-sixth inch holes? This, he found, depended on the head, which he could only guess at approximately one foot. He worked for a considerable time, and at last came to the conclusion that it would take slightly over an hour. But that his calculations were correct he would not like to have sworn.
At all events these results were extremely promising, and gave him at least a tentative working theory.
But if the crate had floated from the coast to where it was found, the question immediately arose: At what point had it been thrown in?
Here was a question which could only be answered with the help of local knowledge. French thought that a discussion with the coastguard might suggest ideas. Accordingly he left the hotel and turned towards the harbour with the intention of looking up Manners.
3 (#ulink_4afe72e7-8674-5d01-9b98-016722982b27)
Experimental Detection (#ulink_4afe72e7-8674-5d01-9b98-016722982b27)
Tom Manners was hoeing in his little garden when French hailed him. He was not a native, but the course of a long career had led him from Shoreditch, via the Royal Navy, to Burry Port. In person he was small, stout, and elderly, but his movements were still alert and his eyes shone with intelligence.
‘I want to have another chat with you about this affair,’ said French, who had already heard the other’s statement. ‘Just walk down to the end of the pier with me while we talk.’
They strolled down past the stumpy lighthouse to where they could get a view of the Inlet.
Again it was a perfect afternoon. The sun, pouring down through a slight haze, put as much warmth as was possible into the somewhat drab colours of the landscape, the steel of the water, the varying browns of the mud and sand, the dingy greys and slate of the town, the greens of the grass and trees on the hills beyond. Some four miles away to the right was the long line of Llanelly, with its chimneys sticking up irregularly like the teeth of a rather badly damaged comb. Fifty-three chimneys, French counted, and he was sure he had not seen anything like all the town contained. Beyond Llanelly the coastline showed as a blur in the haze, but opposite, across the Inlet, lay the great yellow stretch of the Llanrhidian Sands, rising through grey-green dunes to the high ground of the Gower Peninsula.
‘Let us sit down,’ French suggested, when he had assimilated the view. ‘I have come to the conclusion that the crate must have been thrown into the sea at some point along the shore and floated out to where it was found. It would float, I estimate, for about an hour, when enough water would have got in to sink it. Now what I want to know is, where, along the coast, might the crate have been thrown in, so as to reach in an hour the place at which it was found?’
Manners nodded, but did not reply. French unrolled his map and went on: ‘Here is a map of the district, and this is the point at which the crate was found. Let us take the places in turn. If it had been thrown in here at Burry Port, would it have got there in time?’
‘It ain’t just so easy to say,’ Manners declared slowly. ‘It might, if the tide was flowing, and then again it mightn’t. It might ’ave started ’ere or from Pembrey—that’s ’alf a mile over there to the west.’
This was not encouraging, but French tried again.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Now what about Llanelly?’
Llanelly, it appeared, was also a doubtful proposition.
‘It’s like this ’ere, Mr French,’ Manners explained. ‘It’s all according to ’ow the tide ’appens to be running. If the tide was flowing and that there crate was dropped in at Llanelly, it would go farther up the Inlet than wot you show on the chart. An’ if the tide was ebbing it would go farther down. But if the tide was on the turn it might go up or down and then come back to the place. You see wot I mean?’
French saw it and he sighed as he saw also that it meant that there was practically no part of the adjacent shores from which the crate might not have come. Then it occurred to him that both his question and Manners’ reply had been based on a misconception.
The murderer’s object was to get rid of the crate. Would he, therefore, choose a rising or half tide which might drift it back inshore? Surely not; he would select one which would take it as far as possible out to sea. French felt that only ebb tides need be considered. He turned again to Manners.
‘I suppose a good ebb develops some strong currents in these channels?’
‘You may say so, Mr French. An average of five knots you may reckon on. A deal faster than you could walk.’
‘Five knots an hour?’
‘No, sir; five knots. It’s like this ’ere. A knot ain’t a distance: it’s a speed. If I say five knots I means five sea miles an hour.’
‘A sea mile is longer than an ordinary one?’
‘That’s right. It varies in different places, but you may take it as 6080 feet ’ere.’
French made a short calculation.
‘That is about five and three-quarter English miles per hour,’ he remarked, as he scaled this distance up the Inlet from the position of the crate. And then his interest quickened suddenly.
A little over five miles from the point at which the crate had sunk the estuary narrowed to less than a quarter of a mile in width. At this point it was crossed by two bridges, carrying respectively the main road and the railway between Swansea and Llanelly. Had the crate been thrown from one of these?
French saw at once that no more suitable place for the purpose could be found. Objects pushed in from the bank would tend to hug the shore and to be caught in backwaters or eddies. Moreover, even if they escaped such traps they would not travel at anything like the maximum speed of the current. But from a bridge they could be dropped into the middle of the stream, where the flow was quickest.
‘What about the bridge up at Loughor?’ he asked. ‘If the crate was dropped off that on an ebb tide, do you think it would get down all right?’
Manners was impressed by the suggestion. Given a good ebb, about an hour should carry the crate to where it was found. French rose with sudden energy.
‘Let’s go and see the place. How soon can we get there?’
By a stroke of luck a train was approaching as they entered the station, and twenty minutes later they reached their destination.
Loughor proved to be a straggling village situated on the left bank of the estuary where the latter made a right-angled bend towards the north. The two bridges ran side by side, and a couple of hundred yards apart. That carrying the road was a fine wide structure of ferro-concrete, fairly new and leading directly into the village. The railway bridge was lower down stream, considerably older and supported on timber piles. Both were about three hundred yards long, and built with short spans and many piers. The tide was out, and the usual wide mud banks were exposed on either shore.
Directly French saw the spot he felt that here indeed was what he sought. On a dark night it would have been easy to drop the crate from the road bridge in absolute secrecy. Nor, as far as he could see from the map, was there any other place from which it could have been done.
He had assumed that the criminal would select an ebb tide for his attempt in order to ensure the crate being carried as far as possible out to sea. For the same reason French believed he would choose the time of its most rapid run. That time must also be in the dead of night to minimise the risk of discovery from passing road traffic. From 2 to 4 a.m. would probably best meet the conditions, as the chances were a thousand to one that the road would then be deserted.
French wondered if he could get anything from these considerations. He turned to Manners.
‘I suppose it takes a bit of time to get up a good run in an estuary like this? How soon after high water would you say the current was running at full speed under the bridge?’
‘From one to two hours, more or less.’
One to two hours previous to the period 2 to 4 a.m. meant between midnight and 3 a.m.
‘Now, Mr Manners, can you tell me whether high water fell between twelve and three on any night about five or six weeks ago?’
Manners once more produced his tide table.
‘Five or six weeks ago,’ he repeated slowly. ‘That would be between the 16th and the 23rd of August.’ He ran his stubby finger up the pages, then read out: ‘“21st, Sunday, 0.5—” that’s five minutes past midnight, you understand. “22nd, Monday, 1.23 a.m.; 23rd, Tuesday, 2.55. a.m.” ’Ow would that suit you, sir?’
‘All right, I think,’ French answered, as he noted the three dates. ‘Any of those top springs?’
‘No, sir, you don’t get ’igh water of springs at night. ’Bout six or seven o’clock it runs. Those dates wot I gave you are about dead neaps.’
‘But there is still a strong flow at neaps?’
‘Oh, bless you, yes. Not so strong as at springs o’ course, but plenty strong enough.’
All this seemed satisfactory to French, and he felt a growing conviction that the small hours of the 21st, 22nd, or 23rd of August had witnessed the launch of the crate. But this was mere theory, and theory is popularly admitted to be worth only one-sixteenth of the value of practice. Could he not arrive at something more definite?
Suddenly he thought he saw his way.
‘You say it was neap tides on those three dates in August? What rise and fall does that represent?’
‘’Bout eighteen feet.’
‘How soon shall we have that again?’
‘Not for nearly a week we shan’t. Say next Monday.’
‘I can’t wait for that. What’s the rise tomorrow?’
‘Twenty-one foot eleven.’
‘And what hour is high water?’
‘Eight o’clock in the morning.’
