On the same morning on which Jefferson left Liverpool on his return journey to Bristol, Tuesday, 10th September, Chief Inspector Joseph French was seated in his room at New Scotland Yard, laboriously going through reports on a smash-and-grab raid which had taken place in Bond Street on the previous night.
He was tired and slightly fed up with life in general, and his job in particular. He had had a nasty attack of influenza in the late spring which had left him feeling washed out. A wave of burglary cases about that time had prevented him from getting the few days’ change he would have liked while recovering, and since that his annual holiday had had to be postponed no less than twice. And now that the crime wave seemed to have passed, there had been an outbreak of illness among his fellow officers; not any special epidemic, but a series of minor illnesses of various kinds, which had left them shorthanded at the Yard. French’s holiday had been postponed again.
He completed his study of the smash-and-grab raid reports, formulated his proposals as to the steps next to be taken in the matter, and went in to see Sir Mortimer Ellison, the Assistant Commissioner to whom he was responsible.
‘Ah, French,’ Sir Mortimer greeted him. ‘I was just about to ring you up. More trouble. But what did you want to see me about?’
‘The Bond Street raid, sir,’ French answered. ‘The car has been found abandoned.’
They discussed the matter in detail, and French’s proposals were approved. ‘But you may get Tanner or Willis to carry on with that. There’s something else that would suit you better. What about a trip to the sea?’
Sir Mortimer, while he kept strict discipline, was yet very free and friendly in manner towards his subordinates. He joked with them and pulled their legs. No one had ever been known to take advantage of it, but it meant that routine was carried on more smoothly and with less friction than often obtains in large concerns.
‘I’d like nothing better, sir, if you approve.’
‘I expect you’d like it better still if I didn’t,’ Sir Mortimer returned. ‘However, I’m afraid it’s not very good sea—only Liverpool. You know it?’
‘Fairly well, sir.’
‘There’s no knowing where the trail might lead—perhaps, after hours, even to Southport. I’m sorry about your holidays, but you can take this as a sort of unofficial instalment.’
This was, French thought, exactly like Sir Mortimer. If it were possible to do his men a good turn, Sir Mortimer did it. Without ever sacrificing the work, he would make any adjustments possible to meet the convenience of the workers. It was no wonder that he received the extraordinarily loyal service that he did.
‘Thank you very much, sir. I’m very grateful. What is the case?’
‘I have a letter here from the Chief Constable of Liverpool. A man disappeared from the Belfast-Liverpool steamer on Saturday night. It appears there’s some suggestion of foul play, though I don’t don’t know how far this is justified.’
‘Is it known where he disappeared?’
‘Apparently not.’
‘Then is it necessarily a matter for the Liverpool police? I suppose it’s known he sailed?’
‘Visits to Belfast and the North of Ireland? Well, perhaps it may even come to that. You never can tell.’
French smiled. ‘I hope so, sir.’
‘The Chief Constable seems so sure it’s his business that he’s trying to shove it over on to us. You better go down and see what they have to say. I’ll phone them that you’re going by the next train. What about that Southend affair?’
‘I’ve finished the papers. I think the local men are right, and that it was Peters.’
‘So do I,’ the Assistant Commissioner agreed; and the talk turned to other channels.
An hour later French and Sergeant Carter left Euston for the Mersey. French’s spirits had risen almost to normal, and he was looking forward, if not to a visit to the actual sea, at least to a change of scene and work. It was the first out of town case he had had for some months, and he hoped it would develop into a stay of at least a few days. He had worked with Superintendent Shepherd before, and he knew him for an efficient officer who would not allow jealousy or departmental narrowness to impede work on the case. And if by a stroke of luck he had to go to Belfast—well, he knew the men over there also, and he liked the country, and it would be a better change still.
The journey passed pleasantly, and, on reaching Lime Street, the two men set off for police headquarters. There French had a cordial greeting from Superintendent Shepherd.
‘The chief was sorry he couldn’t wait to see you,’ Shepherd went on. ‘He had some engagement. But he’ll be here in the morning. Been busy lately?’
They chatted for some moments, recalling their last meeting and dealing briefly with the affairs of the nation in general, and of the police services in particular. Then the super turned to the matter in hand.
‘It seemed to the chief that it was only technically a Liverpool case,’ he explained. ‘So far as we can understand it, inquiries will be wanted at Belfast and Bristol as well as here. That’s why he thought it should be handled by the Yard. That is, if there really is any case for inquiry at all.’
‘A man overboard case, isn’t it?’
‘It looks like it. It’s a disappearance, at all events. The man in question, Reginald Platt, is believed to have left Belfast on last Saturday night by the Belfast-Liverpool boat Ulster Sovereign. He went to his cabin in due course, and was never seen again. His luggage was in his cabin, unpacked, but his berth had not been slept in. That seems to cover all the essential details.’
French grinned. ‘If he left Belfast and didn’t arrive at Liverpool, and is not now on the boat, it would certainly be suggestive.’
‘Very,’ Shepherd agreed dryly. ‘And your “if” seems to me to cover the whole of the factual side of the inquiry. As to his motive if he jumped overboard, or someone else’s if he was thrown—well, that’s a different matter?’
‘Any suggestions on these latter points?’
‘None. But the man was over in Ireland on unusual business.’ And Shepherd repeated what Jefferson had told him about the inert petrol.
‘That would be a pretty big thing, surely,’ French commented. ‘That is, if there’s anything in it at all. It sounds a bit far-fetched to me.’
‘I imagined it did to Jefferson also, but he said Platt appeared to have been convinced by what he saw.’
‘Interesting business. If the process is genuine, that young man had a pretty valuable secret in his possession.’
‘That’s another doubtful point. The man in charge on the Irish side, a man named Ferris, said that Platt hadn’t learnt the details of the process, but only its results. I’d better tell you, chief inspector, just what we did and what we’ve learnt, so that you can take over and go ahead on your own lines.’
Shepherd went into details, Carter taking copious shorthand notes, and French entering in his own book those items which he thought should receive special attention. Having discussed these, he turned to a further point.
‘Now tell me, super,’ he said in more confidential tones, ‘why you people thought this required an investigation? Evidently you don’t think it was accident or suicide?’
‘We don’t say that,’ Shepherd returned. ‘What we say is that neither of these appear to be very likely. Take accident. How in hades would a man fall overboard—unless he was trying monkey tricks on the rail? And why should he do such a thing? Consider the night. It was very wet and cold. That would tend to keep people off the deck. Then it was calm; the boat was perfectly steady.’
‘That sounds all right.’
‘With regard to suicide, we’ve less to go on. But so far we’ve found no motive. In fact, it’s all the other way round. Platt wrote to Jefferson, reporting that this petrol affair looked very promising, and said he would be in the office on Monday morning to discuss it. Now, if it was promising it would mean prosperity for the Wrenn Jefferson firm, and so indirectly for Platt. Then we’re informed that there was nothing in Platt’s manner either before going to Ireland or in Ireland to suggest he was tired of life. Rather he seemed excited about this petrol business and anxious to see it through. Not of course convincing, but worthy of consideration.’
French was impressed. The argument did seem pretty strong. He thought for a moment.
‘And you say he hadn’t the details of the process on him?’ he asked.
‘So this man Ferris says. He says that Platt simply knew that the inert petrol could be made. He didn’t know how to make it.’
‘It’s quite a problem,’ said French.
‘That’s what we thought. And we thought, as I’ve said, that it was rather outside our beat. If co-ordination is required between different police forces, you’re the man to bring it about. At least,’ he smiled slightly, ‘that was what the chief thought.’
‘An able man, your chief,’ French declared, smiling as he put away his notebook and slowly rose to his feet. ‘If he wants a problem solved, he knows where to apply. Right, then, super. I’ll start with what happened on the ship and then go on from that to motives. And I’ll call in in the morning to see the chief.’
At first sight French thought his new problem a simple one. It surely should not be difficult to find out the facts. The statements of the ship officers, added to those of persons who knew the details of Platt’s life, should give the required solution.
But was it so very simple, after all? So far, while accident seemed out of the question, there did not appear to be a motive either for suicide or murder. And in the case of a death it must be one of the three.
French pulled himself up. Here he was theorising before he knew his facts, and that after all the warnings he had had of the danger of such a proceeding! Time enough for that later on. Let him get on with his immediate job. Let him find out first what was to be known. Then he could try to build a theory on the result.
The first item on his programme was a call at the offices of the Belfast Steamship Company. There he saw Mr M‘Kinstry, and from him learned that the Ulster Sovereign was in Belfast, but would be crossing over that night.
‘If you want to see what check there is on passengers leaving the ship,’ went on M‘Kinstry, ‘I would suggest that you go aboard her when she berths, and you’ll see how the thing’s done.’
French said that this was good advice, and that he would take it.
‘Then see M‘Bratney, the purser. He’ll give you all information about tickets, and so on, and put you on to the cabin steward who looked after Mr Platt. I personally know nothing about the affair, but if there is any question I can answer, I’ll be glad to do it.’
M‘Kinstry could not, however, tell a great deal. He repeated what he had told Jefferson, and added an account of his interview with that gentleman. There was nothing in this, however, that French had not already learnt from Shepherd.
‘I should be obliged for a copy of the passenger list for the trip,’ French concluded. M‘Kinstry, explaining that it contained only the names of those who had booked berths, promised to send it in.
Next morning French and Carter were on the landing-stage when the Ulster Sovereign came slowly alongside. French, accustomed to the boats running between England and France, was astonished at her size and build. This was not his idea of a cross-Channel steamer: this was a small-scale ocean liner. Her sides rose smooth and sheer from the water to high above the landing stage, and there was no question of going aboard by a gangway stretching to her deck. As with ocean steamers, the gangway was to a door comparatively low down in her towering side. Above this door were two decks, with the end of the navigating bridge showing high above the upper.
Directly the gangway was in place, French and Carter pushed on board, French showing a note he had obtained from M‘Kinstry to the men in charge. The door opened into a reception hall the full width of the ship and long enough to accommodate easily the crowd of travellers waiting to go ashore. From the hall led alleyways to the cabins and companions to the decks above and below, and in it was the purser’s office, the luggage store, and the entrance to the dining room. It was simply but tastefully finished in polished woods, with a rubber floor. Among the crowd were sailors and porters handling luggage and several deck and cabin stewards.
At first sight there seemed to French to be no check whatever on those leaving. There was certainly no one taking tickets or landing slips. Then he began to notice that, while this remained true, there were few passengers who were not, as it were, seen off the premises by stewards. Most of the latter were concerned with their patrons’ luggage, and most of them received a tip. At the same time some travellers, usually carrying their own suitcases, did seem to leave unnoticed by an official.
This was in accordance with what M‘Kinstry had said about the company’s methods of check, and it appeared to show that there could be no absolute certainty as to whether or not Platt had reached Liverpool. Obviously he might have slipped ashore unnoticed.
French waited till the passengers had left. Then he asked for Mr M‘Bratney.
The purser proved to be a pleasant looking man of about fifty, with a downright though courteous manner and a humorous eye. French showed him his card and M‘Kinstry’s letter and explained what he wanted.
‘Come on to my cabin,’ M‘Bratney suggested. ‘I’ll be pleased to do anything I can for you; but I think I’ve already told the local inspector all I know.’
‘I like to get things first hand, Mr M‘Bratney,’ French explained. ‘Again and again I’ve known a misunderstanding arise through taking second hand statements. I’m sorry to trouble you, but I won’t keep you long.’
The purser made a gesture of comprehension. ‘That’s all right.’ He moved to his desk and indicated the remaining chairs. ‘Sit you down, gentlemen, and away you go. I’m through now the passengers have gone ashore.’
French opened his cigarette case. ‘Do you smoke here?’ he asked as he held it out.
‘’Deed do I. There’s not many places I don’t have a pull. But I think I’ll stick to the pipe. Thank you all the same.’
‘I’d rather have a pipe myself,’ French returned, pulling it out. ‘Try this mixture. I get it made for myself in a little shop up in Town.’
For a few moments they talked tobacco, French poking fun at Carter because he stuck so wholeheartedly to cigarettes. Then they turned to business.
‘I want to ask three main questions,’ said French. ‘First, is there definite proof that Platt came on board and sailed from Belfast? Second, is there definite proof that he didn’t go ashore here in Liverpool? And third, are there any facts of any kind whatever which might throw some light on the affair?’
M‘Bratney nodded. ‘Aye, I’d be thinking that would be what you’d want to know. Well, I’ll tell you as far as I can.’
He paused to push the tobacco down in his pipe, took three or four experimental draws with a critical air, was apparently satisfied, and continued:
‘To your first question the answer is yes. I’ll tell you how I know. When the passengers are coming on board we have a man on the gangway. He stands at the shore end of the gangway, and no one is supposed to pass him without showing a ticket. I admit that he has discretion to pass people who are going to see their friends off. But he counts all such, and he counts them again when they leave the ship. If the numbers didn’t tally, he would report it, and the thing would be gone into aboard. I was speaking of the first class gangway, but the third’s exactly the same.’
‘That means that no one could go aboard on the excuse of wanting see a friend off and go on to Liverpool without being spotted?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And also it means that no one who had gone aboard with a ticket could go ashore again without being spotted?’
‘That’s right again. There’d be more go off the boat than were passed on. In this latter case we mightn’t know who had gone ashore, but we’d know someone had.’
‘Quite so. That covers my point. And was this check made on last Saturday night?’
For answer M‘Bratney pressed a button. ‘Send me in Gillan,’ he directed to the steward who appeared, continuing to French: ‘I’ll let you see the man who was on the gangway that night. He’ll tell you what he did.’
A moment later a tall, intelligent looking man in the uniform of a petty officer appeared. ‘This is a gentleman from Scotland Yard, Gillan,’ the purser explained. ‘He wants to ask you some questions. Go ahead, chief inspector. Gillan’ll tell you what he knows.’
The man proved an excellent witness. He spoke quietly, using a minimum of words, and his statements were crystal clear and very definite. He had done this: he had not done the other. Such a thing had happened: such another had not. There was no doubt about it. He was sure.
He had seen the tickets of all the passengers but nineteen. Nineteen had gone on board to see their friends off, and nineteen had come ashore again before the boat sailed. So much was certain.
In response to a question from M‘Bratney, the man further stated that, while he didn’t pay a great deal of attention to ticket holders, he always specially noted those who were not travelling. He believed that not one of the nineteen answered the description of Platt.
‘Did you notice a ticket holder who answered his description?’ French asked.
‘I did not, sir, but, as I said, I wasn’t looking specially at those.’
Gillan said also that in his job you got to know who were ‘right enough’ and who might be trying tricks. He was quite satisfied about the nineteen on Saturday night. All were obviously with parties. If Platt had been one of those nineteen and had gone ashore again, a number of other people on board would know.
‘That means that anyone who came on board with a ticket remained on board,’ commented French. ‘And Platt had a ticket?’
‘Platt had a ticket all right,’ M‘Bratney agreed. ‘That’ll do, thank you, Gillan.’ The big man saluted and left, and M‘Bratney went on: ‘I examined his ticket myself and nipped it. He had written, reserving a single-berth cabin, and the reservation had been arranged. There was a fee due, and he paid it then. I returned him his travel ticket and the cabin ticket and called out the cabin number. The cabin steward came forward and showed him to his cabin. But maybe you’d like to see himself?’
‘Yes, please, I should. But first I should like to know if you remember Platt personally?’
M‘Bratney shook his head. ‘I don’t remember him at all,’ he declared. ‘I’m speaking simply because I did the same thing with all berth tickets.’
‘I follow. Then might I see the cabin steward?’
James Thompson was a sharp-featured young fellow of about thirty. He did not give the same impression of utter reliability as did Gillan, but he also seemed sure of his facts, and was definite in his replies.
He remembered Platt, and believed he would recognise him again if he saw him. He had shown him to his cabin, an outside one on A Deck. He had asked if Platt would have tea in the morning, but Platt said not, that he never had anything before breakfast. Nor did he want to be called. He would, he said, be up early enough. Thompson had wished him goodnight and had withdrawn, closing the door.
In the morning Thompson had kept a good look out for Platt, but had not seen him. With a somewhat sheepish look at M‘Bratney, he explained he was ‘looking for a bob or two off him.’ But there had been no sign of Platt, and when they were approaching the landing stage Thompson had knocked at the cabin door, lest Platt had, after all, overslept. There was no reply, and Thompson looked in. The room was empty. Platt’s suitcase was open on its stand, and his night clothes and a book were lying on the bed, which had not been slept in. Thompson was surprised, but for the moment he could not move in the matter, as he was engaged with other passengers. But as soon as he had a chance he had a look round the decks for Platt. He could not see him anywhere.
‘Had the ship reached the landing stage when you had this look round?’ French asked.
‘She had, sir. She was berthed, and the passengers were beginning to go ashore.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘I was sure Mr Platt wasn’t ashore because of his luggage being still in the cabin. So I kept a watch on the cabin, and then when he didn’t turn up I told Mr M‘Bratney’.
‘It seems to me, then,’ said French when he had finished, ‘that there is no absolute proof that Platt didn’t go ashore at Liverpool?’
‘That’s right,’ M‘Bratney agreed. ‘There’s every probability against it, but there’s no absolute proof.’
‘Well,’ French went on, ‘that disposes of my two principal questions. There is just the third: whether you can give me any other facts that may throw light on the affair.’
The two Ulster Sovereign men exchanged glances. ‘There was just one thing,’ M‘Bratney answered slowly. ‘As a matter of fact, I may admit I forgot all about it when the local inspector was speaking to me, but Thompson has since called it to my mind. And that’s this: There were two men asking for Mr Platt that night.’
‘Oh?’ said French. ‘Tell me about that.’
‘One of them came to the office window before we left and the other after we had started. They both asked if there was a Mr Platt aboard. I said there was, and I put them on to Thompson. Go ahead, Thompson.’
‘They came to me, sir, both of them, and asked me the same question: Which was Mr Platt’s cabin? I said he was in 57, and did they want to see him. The first said not, that he wouldn’t disturb him that night, but he’d see him in the morning. He asked me if Mr Platt was a short, stout, pasty-faced man, and I said he was. That seemed to satisfy him, and he went away. The second man said he’d look in on him presently.’
‘What were they like, these men?’
‘The first was a tall, thin man, and dark. The second was tall, too, but fair. But I didn’t pay much attention to them.’
‘Can you tell me any more, Mr M‘Bratney?’
‘I can not. I was busy, and I’m afraid I scarcely looked at either of them.’
With this French had to be content. He tried to find out from the other stewards where the cabins of these unknowns could have been, so as to learn their names, but without success. And neither M‘Bratney nor Thompson had seen the men again.
French next interviewed the man who had been on the third class gangway, also without result. He stayed chatting for a few moments, then, believing there was nothing more to be learned on board, he went ashore and with Carter returned to police headquarters to see if the chief constable had yet come in.