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‘I’m sorry to say we have not,’ Rainey answered. ‘We were just checking over how we stood with Inspector French, and we certainly haven’t much to go on. When I got your phone this morning I began to hope that you were going to give us some information.’
‘I?’ Victor Magill shook his head. ‘I should be only too thankful, were I able. But I’m afraid I know nothing that could help you. In fact the thing staggers me altogether. My poor uncle was the last man to be mixed up in anything abnormal. He was so conventional and—respectable is scarcely the word—I might perhaps say that he was a pillar of ordered society. I suppose’—he hesitated—‘you have no doubt that he is dead?’
‘We don’t know,’ Rainey returned, ‘but I must admit it doesn’t look very hopeful.’
Victor shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. If he were alive we would have heard of him before this. I can see that Malcolm has lost hope too. Very sad and puzzling beyond belief.’
‘How did you hear of it, Mr Magill?’
‘Malcolm and my cousin Caroline—Miss Magill, you know—both sent me wires. I have been on a yachting cruise, or rather a motor launch cruise up the west coast of Scotland. I left a list of places where we’d call. It was at one of these, at Oban, that the wires were waiting. That was yesterday morning. I just managed to catch the twelve o’clock train for Glasgow, which brought me in time for last night’s steamer to Belfast. This morning I went up to see Malcolm at the mill and then came straight down to you.’
‘Very glad to have the benefit of your views,’ said Rainey. ‘May I ask if you have formed any opinion yourself as to what might have happened?’
Victor made a gesture of impotence.
‘Not the faintest,’ he declared. ‘The whole thing is utterly inexplicable to me. My uncle seemed so well the last time I saw him. He was in fine spirits and even cracked jokes, not his usual way at all.’
‘When was that, Mr Magill?’
‘On Sunday; Sunday week, that is; the Sunday before he left town.’
‘Four days before he disappeared?’
Victor agreed.
‘And nothing passed at that interview which would tend to explain the disappearance?’
There was nothing—absolutely nothing. Victor would have been only too thankful if he could have made some suggestion, but he could not.
‘He was in unusually good spirits on that Sunday, you say. Do you know of any special cause for that?’
‘Well, I do. He had just pulled off an invention that he had been working at for years and he was frightfully bucked. He was like a child with a new toy.’
‘We had heard that he made a hobby of mechanical work. Do you know the nature of this invention?’
‘Oh, yes, he told me all about it. It was in the park that I met him that Sunday afternoon. I said: “Well, uncle, how’s the magnum opus?” for he had shown me his trial models and I knew he thought he was near a solution. His face broke out into smiles and he caught me by the arm in his eagerness—a thing that normally he would never have thought of doing. “Got it, my boy,” he almost shouted. “I’ve got it at last.” He tapped his breast pocket and repeated: “Got it here. I’m not telling the others, for between you and me they’ve always been a bit superior about my efforts. But you’ve always believed in me,” he said, “and I’ll tell you.”’
‘And he did?’
‘Yes, he showed me his sketch plans. His idea was an improved combination of artificial silk and linen. He said that at last he had found a way of running a very fine linen thread through a solution of the silk so that it came out out coated with silk, same as very fine electric wires are coated with a liquid insulator. He’d got this silk-covered thread all right in his workship, but he didn’t know how it would weave up and he was going to Belfast to get a special loom fitted up to try it.’
‘That’s important news, Mr Magill. We knew that it was about this invention that Sir John had come to Belfast. Do you know who he was going to meet here?’
Victor had no idea.
Rainey nodded, then leaning forward, he spoke more earnestly.
‘I hope you can tell us something more than this, Mr Magill. Do please think carefully. Was there any reason why Sir John might want to disappear? Had he no enemies? Was there no one who wanted his money? We are speaking in confidence. Tell us even your slightest suspicion, no matter how unsupported by evidence. Even if you’re wrong no harm will be done. A hint at this stage might prove invaluable.’
It was no use. Victor would have been only too glad to help, but he knew no more than Rainey.
‘I confess I’m disappointed,’ returned the superintendent, ‘but of course it can’t be helped. You can’t manufacture evidence any more than we can.’
For some minutes they continued discussing the affair. To French, Victor seemed not only shocked by what he evidently believed would prove a tragedy, but he appeared also personally distressed about his uncle’s fate. In fact he presently put his feelings into words. ‘I didn’t see a great deal of my uncle,’ he said, in answer to one of Rainey’s questions, ‘but I had a great respect and indeed admiration for him. And I think he liked me. He was always very decent to me anyway and I should be distressed on personal grounds to think of anything happening to him.’
Presently the conversation swung round to Victor’s cruise, and French, speaking for the first time, began to press for information. It was not likely to be needed, but there was no harm in knowing where Victor had been at the time of the tragedy.
‘That’s a matter, Mr Magill,’ he said, ‘in which I happen to be a good deal interested. A friend of mine has a motor launch and he wants me and a couple of other men to join him in just such a trip. It fell through this summer, but we hope to do it next spring. Would you mind dropping business for a moment and telling me something of your itinerary?’
Victor Magill looked at French with a slight surprise. His manner conveyed delicately that he had expected a more serious consideration for his family tragedy from a representative of Scotland Yard. But he replied politely enough.
‘Certainly. The trip was suggested by a friend of mine named Mallace, who is keen on that sort of thing and has done a lot of it. Mallace has business relations with Barrow and knows the town intimately. He knew of a motor launch there for hire, a fifty-foot boat with good cabin accommodation and he asked me and two other men to join him on a cruise up the west coast as far as Skye.’
‘My friend’s boat is not so large,’ French interjected.
‘Fifty foot is a convenient enough size,’ Victor went on. ‘You want to keep your boat as small as possible for ease of handling as well as economy. On the other hand she must be big enough to stand a fair sea. Among those islands it sometimes blows up so quickly that you can’t run for shelter. This boat suited us well. Normally one person could handle her and she was dry in a sea—full decked and plenty of freeboard. But she was slow. Old and rather clumsy and slow.’
‘Petrol fuel?’
‘No, she had a petrol paraffin set. She was economical in oil, but a bit smelly. That’s the worst of paraffin.’
‘It creeps, doesn’t it? Ends by getting in the beer and the butter.’
Before answering Victor gave a derogatory little cough and his manner made it clear that he intensely disapproved of the line the conversation was taking. But French did not seem to mind, continuing in his pleasantest way to extract information as to the other’s movements.
He and his friend Mallace, Victor explained, had travelled up from London to Barrow on the day express on the Wednesday, three days after he had seen Sir John in the park. They had reached Barrow about eight and had left almost at once for Portpatrick. There next day they had picked up the other two members of their quartet. One of these had been motoring in Scotland and had driven to Stranraer, garaging his car there till the end of the cruise. The other had unexpectedly been detained in London and had been unable to travel to Barrow. He had therefore travelled to Stranraer by the night train on Wednesday, going to Portpatrick on the Thursday.
‘Then,’ said French, ‘he must have travelled in the same train as Sir John.’
Victor stared at him.
‘I suppose he must,’ he agreed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. In fact, I don’t know till this morning how my uncle had travelled. That’s certainly a coincidence. Well, Joss, that’s my friend’s name, can’t have seen him or known he was there, or he would have said something about it. Though on second thoughts, I don’t believe they knew each other.’
‘Then you really didn’t make up your party till you reached Portpatrick?’
‘No. Mallace and I weren’t in more than a few minutes when the others joined us. Mallace had business in Stranraer, so we lay in port all day and that night left for Campbeltown. From Campbeltown we went to Port Ellen in Islay, then to Jura by Oronsay and Colonsay and through the Firth of Lorne to Oban. We were to go on, and the others have gone on, through the Sound of Mull to Skye, round Skye and home by the Sound of Sleat, Staffa and Iona and down the Sound of Jura. Quite a decent round.’
‘By Jove, yes! A jolly trip,’ French declared. ‘I’m afraid we’ll not manage anything so elaborate, but it’s been very interesting to hear what you did.’
There was a pause, then Victor turned to Rainey.
‘Well, Superintendent, I thought of staying over here for a day or two. I don’t suppose you’ll want me, but if there is anything I can do you’ll find me with Major Magill. I’m going down to Larne now. I take it you’re pushing the investigation all you can.’
‘You may rely on us, Mr Magill. Directly we get news we’ll pass it on.’
‘None of that very illuminating’ said Rainey, when Magill had taken his departure. ‘If we find this thing out, we’re going to have to do it for ourselves. Now, Inspector, we’ve talked enough about it. Let’s decide on what we’re going to do and get on with it. Any proposals?’
With the change in the superintendent’s manner French also became more official.
‘If you ask me, sir, I think we should concentrate on finding the body.’
Rainey jerked himself round in his seat.
‘There’s not much doubt about that,’ he agreed. ‘Certainly we should find the body. There’s nothing we’d all like so much as to find the body. But how do you suggest we should do it?’
French also moved uneasily.
‘Well, sir, of course that’s the trouble. I’ve been trying putting myself in the murderer’s place. There he was with the body; fatal evidence which he’d got to get rid of. Now it seems to me that one of two things must have been done. Either the body must have been put into the sea or it must have been buried. And on the face of it the latter is the more likely.’
Rainey looked up sharply.
‘Why do you say that?’ he asked.
‘Only from my general experience,’ French answered. ‘I’ve had a number of cases in which bodies were got rid of in the sea and I’ve never known one successful. The bodies were always washed ashore or seen from a ship or hooked by a fisherman or got hold of in some other way. Of course I know this is not conclusive.’
‘No, it’s not conclusive,’ Rainey agreed, ‘but it’s my own opinion also and I’ve already gone into it. As it happens it’s supported by a further consideration, not conclusive either, but still carrying a certain weight It is this. There are only two places where such a scheme might be attempted. There is the sea on the Belfast Lough side of Islandmagee, that is here’—he pointed to the map—‘and there is the sea along the Coast Road beyond Larne. These two places are on the open sea, for I think we may dismiss Lough Larne from our consideration—no one would be mad enough to try to hide a body in that shallow, land-locked area. Now take these others in turn. With regard to the coast near Whitehead there is nowhere, except in Whitehead town itself, where you could get a car, especially a Rolls-Royce, anywhere near the actual shore. To get the body down would involve carrying it a long way. Further, most of the paths lead past houses and nearly all these houses have watchdogs. Now we have made inquiries, and no dogs were heard to bark that night. So the chances are against Whitehead.’
French nodded without speaking.
‘Now with regard to the Coast Road shore,’ Rainey went on. ‘Here the actual difficulties would be less—the road runs beside the beach and is lonely and deserted. But here with a flowing tide a strong current sets along the coast which would tend to wash the body into the path of shipping approaching Belfast. If Malcolm knew that, and he can scarcely have failed to do so, he would think twice before running such a risk. So that, quite tentatively, your second theory, burial, looks the more likely.’
‘That’s just the way I should put it, sir,’ said French. ‘Well then, it seems to me a matter of eliminating unlikely places and searching the remainder for signs of digging.’
Rainey smiled ruefully.
‘Some job, Inspector,’ he protested.
‘I don’t think it would be such a very big job,’ French returned. ‘From what the sergeant here tells me, I should say that the areas that need be considered are very small indeed. There are no old mines or disused quarries or uncultivated lands in the neighbourhood. In fact, sir, I was going to suggest that somewhere about the major’s own estate would be the most likely. The sergeant said it was sheltered by a wood. Where else could he guarantee the necessary privacy?’
Rainey paused.
‘It’s an idea and you may be right,’ he said dubiously. ‘M’Clung, you have been out at the place. What do you think of the inspector’s idea?’
M’Clung moved uneasily.
‘It might be right enough, sir,’ he answered without enthusiasm. ‘There’s certainly a planting between the Coast Road and the avenue that wouldn’t likely be disturbed. You couldn’t tell what might have been done there.’
‘We’ll have a look at it,’ Rainey decided. ‘Now, Inspector, that’s your theory, and very good it seems as far as it goes. But it does not go far enough. Sir John’s coming to Ireland, his going first to Sandy Row, then to the Cave Hill and then to Whitehead, all seem to me to require some agent besides Malcolm. In short, I don’t see how Malcolm could have arranged these.’
French admitted that no more could he.
‘Very well,’ Rainey went on, ‘that brings us back to my original theory—that the full solution is to be found in London.’
French shook his head. He did not see what more could be learned in London. He was very willing to go back and try again, but he had little hope of the result.
‘I think you’ll have to try,’ Rainey insisted, ‘but wait till we see what this search of Lurigan produces. You might go down there with M’Clung and have a look round. To work properly in London you should know all that’s known here. Of course call in and see me before you go.’
‘We’ll have a bite of lunch, Mr French,’ M’Clung suggested as they left the room, ‘and then get away on down.’
But the start was destined to be delayed. On returning to headquarters for the necessary search warrant they were told that Superintendent Rainey had that moment telephoned that they were to be stopped and sent in to him. They found him leaning back in his chair with a letter in his hand, at which he gazed with an expression of the keenest interest. He glanced up as they entered.
‘Sit down again,’ he directed. ‘Here’s something that’ll surprise you. Look at this.’
5 (#ulink_d8be18f3-901c-58df-870e-d11009542e2e)
Lurigan (#ulink_d8be18f3-901c-58df-870e-d11009542e2e)
Superintendent Rainey passed over a short, typewritten letter. The paper was of medium quality, a sheet torn off one of those multitudinous blocks or pads which are sold in every stationer’s, and which unless through some accident, are so impossible to trace. The typing suggested that the writer was a novice in the art, there being seven mistakes in the lettering and three in the spacing. With some satisfaction French saw that the machine used had worn type. There should be no difficulty in identifying it, were he only lucky enough to come across it. The letter read:
‘Belfast, 7th October.
‘The Chief of Police, Belfast.
‘SIR,—In view of certain rumours which, as you know, are current, I feel it my duty to inform you of the following facts:
‘While driving alone in my car along the Coast Road towards Larne at about 2.30 on the morning of Friday, 4th inst., I felt cramped from long sitting and decided to stop for a moment to stretch my legs. I did so just after passing Ballygalley Head and close to the gates of Lurigan, Major Magill’s residence. Among the trees of the small plantation between the road and the avenue I saw that some operations were in process. At least one figure was moving about and there were occasional gleams of a light. I do not know who was there or what he was doing, nor did I go to investigate.
‘This fact may have no significance—I trust it has not. But for the reason mentioned I think it my duty to report it to you. I do not wish to be brought into the affair, and as I can see that—whether there is anything wrong or not—my evidence is not essential, I am suppressing my name and address.
‘Yours, etc.,
‘X.Y.Z.’
French gave vent to a low whistle as he read this communication.
‘Bless my soul!’ he said, ‘that’s a bit of a coincidence, that is! Here were we talking about possible operations on that night at Lurigan, namely, the burial of Sir John Magill’s body, and here not an hour later comes in a letter to say that such operations were actually seen! Here, Sergeant,’ he went on, obeying a gesture from Rainey, ‘have a look over that. I suppose, sir,’ he turned back to the superintendent, ‘it’s not likely to be a hoax?’
‘A hoax? I should say it is, extremely likely. But we’ll take it seriously for all that. I always do so in such cases as a matter of principle.’
‘So do we, sir. And many a vital hint we’ve got in just such a way. Two-thirty a.m.!’ He paused, then added:
‘What’s to prevent Malcolm committing the murder, arriving home at eleven-thirty, as he says, garaging the car with the body inside, and when his wife was asleep stealing out of the house, getting the body out of the car, and burying it?’
‘Sounds all right, Inspector,’ Rainey agreed. ‘That’ll be something more for you to look into when you’re down there this afternoon.’
‘We’ll certainly look into it. I suppose, sir,’ French went on, ‘we couldn’t get anything from the letter? The paper is ordinary, but the typewriter’s old and distinctive.’
‘Not much good, that, to find our man,’ Rainey returned. ‘Useful to identify him if we had him, of course.’
‘What about finger prints?’
‘I’ll have the paper tested, but the same remarks apply.’
‘The envelope?’
Rainey tossed it across.
‘No help there either, I’m afraid. You see, it’s simply addressed with the same machine to “The Chief of Police, Belfast.” I’ll try the inside of the flap for prints, but there’s not much chance of getting any.’
