French received M‘Clung’s letter by the afternoon post on the following day. M‘Clung on hearing from French had been impressed with the amount of work which the London police had done in a short time. Now it was French’s turn to recognise the efficiency of the men of Northern Ireland. The finding of Roberts should materially advance the case. Indeed it might end it.
Though a holiday at the sea did not now seem to be materialising, French determined that as he had begun the case, he would carry it on. He would go himself to Harrow and interview Roberts. It would probably be best then to bring him in to the Yard, where he could be detained while his story was being tested, and where he would be available should a warrant for his arrest be decided on.
Before starting he rang up the police at Harrow to know where Maidon Road was and whether they knew anything about Roberts.
‘Maidon Road?’ returned the officer in charge. ‘I’m afraid, chief inspector, there’s some mistake there. I never heard of it. Will you hold on a moment while I make inquiries?’
French experienced the sudden thrill of the hunter who comes on a lion’s fresh spoor. If Roberts had given a false address, it surely meant that he was their man. If so, it was very satisfactory from his own point of view. It was due entirely to him that this line on Roberts had been discovered. Better than that, he had reached it by pure deductive reasoning. It was the sort of coup he loved to bring off: the highest form, he told himself, of the detective art.
But the Harrow officer was calling again. His first idea, he said, had been correct. There was no such road in or near Harrow, and neither he nor anyone in the station knew anyone of the name of Roberts.
Though this was entirely gratifying from one point of view, to French personally it had an obvious drawback. It meant that his work was by no means done. Roberts must be found, and that meant trouble and worry and possible disappointment. However, it was all in the day’s work, and the sooner he got on with it, the sooner it would be done.
Fortunately there was an avenue of approach to the problem. Mitchell! If Mitchell had sent the man a message, he must know who he was. An immediate call on Mitchell seemed indicated.
With Carter, French set off once again to the New Kent Road. Mitchell was in his office and saw them after a short delay. His greeting was not effusive.
‘Sorry to trouble you again, Mr Mitchell,’ French began, ‘but another question has arisen in this Platt case. I want you please to give me the correct name and address of the man calling himself Roberts, who crossed from Belfast on the same ship as Platt and who stayed for the few previous days at Hillsborough.’
Once again Mitchell bluffed. So French had got hold of another mare’s nest, had he? Well, he, Mitchell, had something better to do than waste his time with such nonsense. He knew nothing about any Roberts.
‘I didn’t say his name was Roberts,’ French returned. ‘I said he called himself Roberts when he stayed in the hotel at Hillsborough.’
‘What’s that to me? If that’s all you want, I’d be glad to get on with my business.’
‘I’m afraid this is your business, sir,’ French said sweetly. ‘I have to get a written statement, signed by you. Do you wish it put on record that you don’t know that a certain man was staying at the hotel in Hillsborough on the Saturday of Platt’s death, and that he there called himself Roberts? Let me suggest,’ he held up his hand as Mitchell would have spoken, ‘that you consider before replying. Statements taken in this way can be put in evidence should a case go to court.’
‘Go to hell! I’ve told you I know no Roberts and we’ll leave it at that.’
‘I’m afraid we can’t. Look here, Mr Mitchell, I’m not threatening in any way, but I want you to realise this is a murder case, and that it’s a risky thing to prevaricate in a murder case. There’s such a thing as accessary after the fact, you know.’
Mitchell grew more indignant. What did French mean by saying he was not threatening? That was a deliberate lie. He was threatening. But he, Mitchell, would let him know that that sort of thing wouldn’t work in England. This wasn’t Russia or Germany. His statement was that he knew no Roberts and French could either take it or leave it.
French bent forward. ‘Then it’s only fair to tell you that your telephone message to the hotel is known. You asked for Mr Roberts, so you can’t pretend you didn’t know the name. I don’t say it was the man’s real name and haven’t yet. But if you can’t explain the affair for me now, I shall take you to Scotland Yard, where you’ll be detained till it’s cleared up.’
Such straight talking was evidently quite unexpected. Mitchell considered in silence, then at last gave way.
‘I’ve not said a word that’s not the strictest truth,’ he declared. ‘I told you I didn’t know any Roberts, and that’s the fact. I do know a man who took the name temporarily for his own purposes, but I never said I didn’t.’
French made an easy gesture. ‘We’re not going to quarrel over a split hair,’ he pointed out. ‘What I want is the truth. Perhaps I had better repeat my formal warning that what you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence, though I have already told you this. Now, if you please.’
Hate showed unmistakably in Mitchell’s small close-set eyes as grudgingly he began to speak. But there was fear also. And the fear was the stronger. Whether his statement was true or false French didn’t know, but it was certainly plausible.
‘There doesn’t seem to be a great deal that I can tell you,’ he began unpleasantly: ‘you appear to know it all already. You say I telephoned on that Saturday afternoon to Hillsborough. Well, I did. And I’m not ashamed of it. There was no harm in it, and even you can’t make any.’
‘That’s all right, Mr Mitchell,’ French declared. ‘I’m not out to make trouble. All I want is that the suspicious circumstances should be cleared up.’
‘The man I telephoned to had gone to Ireland on my business and it was on my business I spoke to him. He is a man called Herd, one of my own clerks in the works here. He does any confidential work that I may require at a distance.’
‘Full name and address, please.’
‘Robert Herd, 76 Glamorgan Villas, Findown Road, Pinner.’
‘Thank you. And why did he use a false name? Or don’t answer that. Just tell me the story in your own way.’
Again Mitchell looked the personification of hate. ‘It was about the petrol affair,’ he went on with every appearance of resentment. ‘When Platt came to me with his story about the inert petrol, I just didn’t believe him. I knew Platt and I felt I couldn’t trust him. I thought it was a put-up job to get money from me. All the same I could see that if the story was true, the process would be a very big thing. So I thought I couldn’t afford to take chances. If Platt was trying on some swindle I wanted to keep myself clear of it. But if his story was true, I wanted to make a firm deal with him that he couldn’t go back on. That clear?’
‘Quite.’
‘How was I to find out the truth? I thought of Herd. Herd was a good man who had served me well and whom I could trust. I would send Herd across to Ireland to keep an eye on Platt. He would just watch what went on and give me confidential reports. If the thing was genuine, he would get to know.
‘I had a word with Herd about the affair and he told me he believed he could find out all I wanted to know. So I sent him over to Ireland. He had a perfectly free hand to carry on as he thought best, and I was paying his salary and expenses and a bonus as well.’
‘Quite,’ said French again. ‘Yes?’
‘He went over on the same night as Platt, but of course Platt didn’t know him. He stayed in the same hotel as Platt in Hillsborough and kept his eyes open. He reported that so far as he could see Platt’s story was true.’
‘And then?’
‘Then I had the wire you know about from Platt, saying that he had got the goods, by which I understood he had made his deal with the inventors, and that he was returning to London that Saturday night. I naturally wanted to make sure that he did return, so I rang up Herd to tell him to come back too and to have an eye on Platt on the way. You seem to know all about it.’
‘Did Herd do so?’
‘Herd did so as far as he could. He traced him on board the boat at Belfast, but he never saw him there. He missed him at Liverpool and hung about till he heard Platt had disappeared on the passage. But he didn’t believe it. He thought Platt had given him the slip. He waited about till the afternoon, then came to Surbiton and reported to me.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘What could I do? I did nothing. I supposed Platt had got some better offer elsewhere and had given Herd and his own people the slip. I was surprised when I read that the body had been found.’
The identity of Herd and the cause of his being sent to Ireland and recalled now seemed clear. But French was still profoundly sceptical as to the part Mitchell had played in the affair. That the man knew he was buying stolen property he had little doubt, though of course French was quite unable to prove it. That Herd had murdered Platt with or without Mitchell’s connivance seemed also likely, but here again there was no proof. However his own next move was obvious. He had to reassure Mitchell and he had to interview Herd before Mitchell could communicate with him.
‘Thank you, Mr Mitchell,’ he said, ‘that’ll do as far as you’re concerned. I must now see Herd. You said he was one of your clerks. Is he in the building at present?’
‘I think so. I’ll ring for him.’
‘Better sir, if you didn’t communicate with him direct. You’ll see the advantage for yourself. If you let your secretary send for him, we could see him next door.’
‘’Pon my soul, you’re not polite, chief inspector.’
‘You can see for yourself that it would be better for both of you that no one should be able to say there had been collusion. I’m not suggesting there would be, of course. But it might be alleged.’
‘Oh, all right. Have it your own way.’
Five minutes later French and Carter were seated with Herd in a waiting room. Herd exactly answered the description of Roberts, even to the slight scar on the cheek where the cut had been. He proved of a different calibre to Mitchell. Obviously panic-stricken when he learnt French’s business, he put up no kind of bluff whatever, but agreed with the utmost readiness to tell everything he knew.
French realised that from this kind of witness an exhibition of stern officialism usually produced the best results. He therefore began by a harsh warning that Herd was not bound to answer any questions which might incriminate himself, and that what he said would be taken down and might be given in evidence. He made a good deal of Carter’s notebook and the fact that the notes taken in it would have to be signed, and contrived to refer in passing to detention at the Yard as a preliminary to arrest. When he had finished Herd was as completely deflated as a burst rubber balloon.
‘Now,’ went on French, ‘it’s a matter for yourself, of course, and if you prefer it you can come to the Yard and wait to answer my questions till a lawyer is present; but subject to that allow me to advise you to be candid. Unless a man’s guilty, the truth never hurt him. What do you say? Will you make your statement here or come to the Yard?’
Herd, as French expected, was pathetically anxious not to go to the Yard. He swore to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He was so much upset that French was inclined to believe him.
‘Very well,’ French went on. ‘Now just start in and let me have your statement in your own words about this whole matter of going to Ireland to shadow Platt about the petrol business. I may tell you that Mr Mitchell has already told us his share of the matter, so you need not be afraid of giving him away.’
At that Herd seemed faintly relieved, but he evidently found it hard to begin. French therefore helped him.
‘Well, now, let’s get down to it,’ he said in a pleasanter voice. ‘What was the first you heard of the affair?’
A little prompting brought out the story. But it was very much what Mitchell had already stated.
On Monday morning, 2nd September, Mitchell called Herd into his office and said that he was considering going into a new line of business and that he wanted certain information as to the bona fides of the man with whom he would deal. Platt, whose description he gave Herd, had offered him a new process for producing inert petrol which was now the property of a syndicate in Northern Ireland. Platt had informed Mitchell that he was negotiating with this syndicate for the purchase of their product, and he had offered to resell to Mitchell. Mitchell was doubtful about the whole affair: whether such a process really existed and whether Platt was in a position to dispose of it. In fact, he didn’t trust Platt. Herd was to follow Platt to Ireland and keep an eye on him, though without allowing Platt to suspect his mission. He was to keep Mitchell advised of what went on. This, Herd considered, was a reasonable and natural precaution for Mitchell to take and he had no objection whatever to doing the work for him.
That night Herd crossed to Belfast. He saw Platt leave the boat in the morning, but he had no skill as a shadower, and he soon lost his quarry. He then decided to go direct to Hillsborough, in the hope that he would find where Platt was staying. To his satisfaction Platt put up at the same hotel. He kept what observation he could on him and satisfied himself he did really spend his time with Ferris and the others. He so reported to Mitchell. He found nothing out about the process itself: that wasn’t his job.
He had understood that Platt was likely to return about the end of the week, and by Mitchell’s instructions he held himself in readiness to receive a message. It came on the Saturday afternoon: a telephone from Mitchell saying that Platt was crossing back to England that night and to keep him under observation. Herd accordingly went aboard the Liverpool boat and watched for Platt. But he hadn’t seen him. He had therefore asked at the office if Platt were travelling, and was told he had come aboard. This he later confirmed by an inquiry from Platt’s cabin steward. Platt presumably had embarked just at the moment when Herd was being shown to his cabin.
When he heard that Platt was in his cabin he, Herd, troubled no more about the matter, except to take up his position at the gangway and see that Platt didn’t go ashore again. Next morning at Liverpool he was on deck before the ship berthed, and watched for Platt. He didn’t see him and he hung about as long as he could—till the Ulster Sovereign left the Landing Stage for the dock. He waited till she got into the dock and then asked some of the stewards who came ashore if all the passengers were off her. They said they were, and then he, Herd, came to the conclusion that Platt must have given him the slip. He waited about the dock entrance for some considerable time, but soon realised he could do no more and returned to London and reported to Mitchell. It was not till later that he had seen in the papers that Platt was missing, and he had then supposed it to be a case of voluntary disappearance.
When later still he learnt from the same source that Platt’s body had been found, he was not only horror-stricken, but completely puzzled. Platt had seemed to him to be in good spirits, and suicide was the last thing of which he had expected to hear.
In answer to further questions, Herd repeated very emphatically that he had not gone to Platt’s cabin, nor had he seen him on board at all. Equally firmly he denied knowing the details of the process or having tried to find them out. He admitted having looked at Ferris’s cottage one evening, but this was in the hope of seeing whether Platt was there, not of trying to learn his secret.
Questions on points of details were answered so promptly by Herd that French was inclined to believe in the general truth of the statement. He satisfied himself as far as it was possible, then turned to the crucial point still remaining.
‘You remember the details of the crossing, I suppose, Mr Herd?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘Very well, will you just give me an account of your actions between, say, eleven and twelve o’clock?’
The man hesitated. ‘When the boat left I went to the smoking room and had a drink. Then I was asked to play a hand at bridge and I did so. We broke up and I went to bed shortly after twelve.’
French wondered if this statement were true. If it were, it looked very like an alibi for Herd. From the place in which Platt’s body had been found, it was certain that the man had gone overboard before twelve, so that if it could be proved that Herd was in the smoking room till past that hour, he could not have been guilty of the murder. But could such proof be obtained?
‘Who were you playing with,’ went on French.
Herd shook his head. ‘I have really no idea,’ he declared. ‘I didn’t hear any of their names.’
‘I don’t suppose I could expect that,’ French admitted. ‘All the same describe them.’
Again the man paused in thought. ‘One,’ he said at last, ‘was small and stout with a round, red face. A horsey looking man in checks with a loud voice and laugh. Another was tall and thin and stooped, with a pale face and a big domed forehead. Looked like a scientist or something of that kind. The third had a short toothbrush moustache and horn-rimmed glasses. He might have been a professional man, I thought.’
‘Tell me, did you leave the smoking room during that hour from eleven to twelve?’
‘For a moment only. Once while I was dummy I went out just to stretch my legs and look at the night. I remember it was cold and raining hard.’
‘About what time was that?’
‘I don’t know exactly. Perhaps about half-past eleven.’
Just the time the murder must have taken place, French thought. He wondered if he could get evidence as to the length of time Herd was away from the others. It should not be difficult. The chances were that all those who had joined in the game had booked berths and their names would therefore be on the passenger list.
He sent Herd to have a photograph taken, then got out a circular to all the men on the list, asking if they had played bridge. In due course there were three answers. One was from London, from a Professor Brackenbury. Taking some photographs, among which was Herd’s, French set off to the College of Science to interview the professor. He was tall and thin and stooped, just as Herd had described. French asked if he could remember any of the persons with whom he had played bridge, and if so, were any of them represented by these photographs?
The professor, it appeared, remembered the trio clearly. There was a rather stupid little bounder who, as his partner, had twice trumped his winning card, and a doctor who played a good game. The third was a dark nondescript individual who was neither good nor bad.
‘Any of them among the photographs?’ French persisted.
The professor slowly examined them. When he came to Herd’s he laid it aside and continued with the remainder. Then he handed the lot back.
‘This is the dark nondescript individual,’ he declared. ‘I noticed a cut on his cheek and there you see the scar.’
So far, so extremely good. But the professor was not positive as to the answer to French’s next question. The man had left the group between eleven and twelve but he could not say for how long.
‘How long does it take you to play a hand of bridge after the bidding is complete?’ he asked French. ‘I never timed it, but from three to five minutes, I should think.’
Five minutes—three minutes indeed—would have been ample time in which to commit the murder, provided two things obtained: first, that Platt had been ready waiting at a deserted part of the deck, and second, that the crime had been committed by simply picking him up and hurling him overboard.
But under any other circumstances French did not believe the thing would have been possible. There certainly would not have been time to summon Platt to the place, nor to have made him unconscious with chloroform.
To French it was incredible that Platt should have been waiting for his enemy, for the simple reason that Herd could not possibly have known at what hour he would be dummy. And it was really next thing to incredible that anyone could have thrown Platt overboard without first rendering him unable to struggle or cry out.
This evidence was strongly—indeed he believed overwhelmingly—in Herd’s favour. It tended to confirm his own opinion that the man was not of the stuff of which murderers were made, and he felt inclined to acquit him in his own mind. In any case it was clear that with the information he had obtained, a conviction would be out of the question. And subsequent application to the other two members of the bridge party only confirmed his opinion.
As he sat at his desk considering how he might reach complete certainty on the matter a quite fresh idea leaped suddenly into his mind. He gasped slightly as he took in its fundamental probability. Yes, he believed he had at last got the truth! What a pity it wasn’t really his case! He could have made something spectacular out of it. But it looked like as if the advantage was to go to the police of Northern Ireland.
Suppose Platt had stolen the secret and the theft had been discovered, not by Herd, but by Ferris or M‘Morris? Suppose Ferris or M‘Morris were guilty of the murder?
Here would be motive, wholly satisfying and adequate! After all their precautions to keep the secret safe, they now find thay have lost it and lost it irrevocably. No agreement has been signed. They have no redress. A theft of the kind is almost impossible to prove, particularly where the pretence of independent discovery can be supported by manufactured evidence. They would see that if Platt were allowed to get out of the country alive their profits would be gone. The fortunes they had been building on would have vanished. Instead of wealth they would have debts. Yes, here was all the motive any prosecution could possibly want.
But neither Ferris nor M‘Morris had crossed to Liverpool. French considered. Had they not? How was it known? Then he saw that it wasn’t known. The movements of the party on that Saturday night had never been gone into. Penrose, of course, had crossed and it would be necessary to weigh the case against him. However, French did not think Penrose the kind of man to commit such a crime. Ferris or M‘Morris was much more likely.
Satisfied that in his own mind he had at last reached the truth in this puzzling case, French went on to consider his own consequent action. One thing was clear. Further investigation on these lines was not for him. It would be a job for the police of Northern Ireland. To the formal statement of his discoveries which he was sending to Superintendent Rainey, he decided to add a personal note mentioning his idea. He would then leave it to Rainey to follow it up or not as he liked.
As he posted his letter he felt that at last he was rid—and satisfactorily rid—of the case.