Before they left the train at Euston French put the first stage of his new scheme in operation.
‘I want,’ he said to Carter, ‘to meet Victor Magill accidentally. You get along to his office and find out his movements so that I can have a chat with him without suspicion of ulterior motive.’
Later in the day Carter returned to the Yard. He reported that in the guise of a rate collector he had called at Victor’s office. Victor was out, but by judicious pumping of the staff Carter had learned that he was going to Plymouth by the 10.30 Cornish Riviera Express on the following Monday morning. This was Saturday.
‘It’s the devil of a distance,’ French grumbled, ‘but I suppose that’s not your fault. All right, that’ll do.’
For once French went off duty and that afternoon and the next day he spent in the bosom of his family. But on Monday he was early at Paddington. He saw Victor arrive, unexpectedly accompanied by Teer.
At first French swore, thinking that Teer’s presence would spoil his experiment. Then he realised that so far from spoiling it, it would vastly increase its value. In good heart, therefore, he shadowed the two men to their compartment, afterwards putting his own things in another carriage. Finally he sought out the restaurant car attendant and purchased his help.
‘Come down the platform,’ he said confidentially. ‘Now,’ he went on when they were close to the other compartment, ‘walk on there and glance into that second compartment as you pass. You’ll see a small man in grey clothes in the far corner and a big dark-haired man opposite. I want you to fix it that I sit with them at lunch. A four-place table, you understand. I sit down and when those two come along you put them with me.’
The attendant, mindful of past favours and hopeful of others to come, promised to do what he could. As a result, some hours later Victor and Teer were shown to the table at which French had already taken his place.
‘Hullo, Inspector, this is an unexpected pleasure!’ said Victor as he sat down. ‘I didn’t see you join the train.’
Teer muttered a short greeting and looked annoyed.
‘Nor did I see you gentlemen,’ French returned mendaciously as he also murmured his surprise and delight at the meeting.
‘What’s it now?’ went on Victor. ‘Some new tale of blood and agony?’
French smiled.
‘Nothing so dramatic,’ he declared. ‘Merely a visit to the prison at Princetown.’
Victor shook his head.
‘Ghastly place,’ he murmured. ‘It should be closed. No poor devil has gone far enough wrong to deserve that hell.’
‘That may be, Mr Magill. It’s a thing I have no say in. But it’s not as bad as it was. As you know, there’s been a deal of improvement in prison conditions in recent years.’
Victor said it was not before it was due and they discussed the penal systems of this and other countries for some minutes. Then after desultory conversation in which Teer took a small and sulky part the talk came round to the Magill case.
‘I suppose,’ Victor said, ‘that you people have pretty well given up hope? You’re not doing anything about it, are you?’
This gave French his opportunity.
‘We are and we aren’t,’ he answered, leaning forward and speaking confidentially. Though the speed was high, the coach was running silently, and French could talk without fear of being overheard. ‘We’ve got a number of clues which have almost led us to what we want, but they’ve all just stopped short of doing it. The most promising is what I may call the Cave Hill clue, because it really is likely to lead us to something.’
In spite of themselves, a startled glance passed between the two men. French watched them unobtrusively. Victor covered his emotion by a slight fit of coughing, while Teer found a bone in his fish which required his attention. The bone removed, Teer asked disinterestedly for further details.
‘I don’t know how much you’ve heard,’ French went on. ‘I suppose Rainey told you of our find on the Cave Hill?’
‘Not a word,’ said Victor.
‘Probably he hasn’t seen you since we made it. It seemed an important enough discovery, but really instead of clearing the case up it makes it even more mysterious. We found that Sir John spent the day on the Cave Hill.’
‘Good Lord!’ Victor exclaimed. Both men registered surprise with commendable efficiency, but French could have sworn their real emotion was relief.
‘He was seen both going up and coming down a rough path which leads from the Antrim Road to the top; the Sheeps’ Path, it’s called.’
Victor nodded with obvious interest.
‘I know every inch of it,’ he declared. ‘Many a time I’ve climbed it when I was a kid. You’ve heard me speak of it, I’m sure, Teer?’
‘Well, we made a search and we found that Sir John had camped out in a clump of shrubs in a field adjoining the path. There was a rough bed of soft twigs in a small trampled clearing. He must have spent the day there from 10.30 in the morning until after seven at night.’
‘But whatever for?’ Victor queried with an air almost of incredulity, while Teer suspended mastication and stared bovinely at French.
‘Ah,’ the latter answered, ‘if we knew that we’d be a few steps further on. We think that for some reason he may not have wished to meet any of his old Belfast friends. We made another very strange discovery that suggested to some of my colleagues that he was present at a meeting of some secret society, though I do not myself share their view. In searching round we came on what looked like a tiny grave. We opened it and we found, what do you think? You’d never guess.’
‘If so there’s no use in our trying,’ said Victor, whose temper seemed to be wearing a trifle thin under the strain.
‘I don’t think there is,’ French agreed. ‘We found a brown cloak with a cowl and a short piece of rope ladder. The cloak was just what one might expect some order of masons or orangemen to wear—I’m neither a mason nor an orangeman so I may be blaspheming the orders—and the ladder is, I believe, a symbol in both fraternities. This secret society theory may be correct enough, though it seems to me to be far-fetched. But I admit it’s very difficult to account for these things on any other hypothesis.’
Victor shook his head helplessly.
‘I’m blessed,’ he declared, ‘if that isn’t as queer a business as I ever heard of! The more you think about it the stranger it seems. A cowled cloak and a ladder! Good Lord!’
‘Darned odd,’ said Teer woodenly.
French was delighted. There was now no question as to the relief of both. With satisfaction he recognised that his foundation had been well and truly laid and that he might now proceed with the superstructure.
‘Ah, but that’s not the important clue,’ he went on, leaning forward and speaking with increased interest. ‘Sir John buried something else up there which we’ve not found, but which we hope to get in the course of the next four or five days. I’ll tell you about it.’
He paused to heighten his effect.
‘Some time ago a constable belonging to the Belfast force was making inquiries into this affair on the Cave Hill when he heard a story of a boy having seen something being buried near the Sheeps’ Path. He called at the boy’s home, but found he had been knocked down by a bus on the Antrim Road and was now in hospital. The constable therefore went to the hospital. There he saw the boy, who confirmed the story. He had been, he said, up the hill side near the Sheeps’ Path, when among some bushes he saw a man burying a box. From the description there could be no doubt that it was Sir John. The only thing that puzzled the constable was that the date didn’t agree; it was three or four days too late. However he assumed that the boy had made a mistake. After the man went away the boy found the place and tried to dig up the treasure trove. But he couldn’t do so with his fingers and he ran home for a shovel. But his eagerness proved his undoing. He crossed the Antrim Road without looking where he was going, with the result that he was struck by the wing of the bus. Fortunately he’s getting all right and the doctor has promised to let Rainey carry him up the Sheep’s Path on Thursday next, so that he may point out Sir John’s second hiding place. Whether the box will contain anything to help us remains to be seen, but we are living in hope.’
Victor and Teer were still simulating a surprised interest, but French could see that they were profoundly impressed by his story.
‘I’m surprised that Rainey didn’t tell you all this,’ he said to Victor. ‘When were you last in Belfast?’
‘Not since that day we met in the superintendent’s office.’
French nodded.
‘That explains it,’ he said easily. ‘Rainey would have told you if he had seen you, but I expect he didn’t care to put the thing in writing. You can realise that in our business it is better to be sure than sorry.’
Victor agreed and after lighting cigarettes they continued their discussion. French talked round the subject with an air of the utmost candour, but actually he gave away no further information At last by slow degrees he led to his second point.
‘Yes,’ he said in answer to a remark of Teer’s, ‘it certainly has been an exasperating case. And perhaps one of the most exasperating points in it, is that we have been quite unable to find X.Y.Z.’
‘X.Y.Z.?’ Teer repeated doubtfully, while Victor looked up sharply.
‘Yes.’ He turned to Victor. ‘You saw the letter, didn’t you, Mr Magill?’
Victor shook his head.
‘Don’t even know what you’re talking about,’ he declared.
It was now French’s turn to show surprise.
‘But, bless me, it was when you were with us in Rainey’s office that it arrived.’ He paused as if to consult his memory. ‘No, I beg your pardon, I’m wrong. We didn’t get it until later that day. You had gone, of course, so you didn’t see it. All the same I’m surprised that Rainey did not tell you or at least Major Magill.’
‘Perhaps he told Malcolm. I’ve been back in town for some time.’
‘Probably that’s it. Still I should have thought you would have heard about it.’
Teer drew the attention away from Victor.
‘But what is the letter anyway?’ he growled.
French became even more confidential. He glanced round, then bent forward and spoke in a tone which could just be heard above the murmur of the train.
‘It was that very day that Mr Magill was in with us or the following, I’m not sure which, that we got a most interesting letter. It was addressed to Rainey, and it said,’ and French went on to give its contents.
Both men dutifully registered the necessary amazement.
‘And you could find no trace of the writer?’ Victor asked.
French made a gesture of annoyance.
‘That’s just the trouble,’ he explained. ‘We made the most detailed inquiries, but all to no purpose. We’ve never had the slightest hint as to the writer’s identity. Nor could we find that any car had passed along the road that night. I can tell you, gentlemen, that these seemingly simple things are the very devil when they go wrong. You keep on worrying and worrying and feeling what a fool you are and you can’t get to the bottom of them.’
‘It must be annoying,’ Victor agreed. ‘What you tell us is certainly very extraordinary, but I don’t see why it is so immensely important. You’ve got your information. Of course it would be interesting to know where it came from, but why does it really matter?’
This was what French wanted
‘Why,’ he said, ‘don’t you see? The object of the letter was clear; at least both Rainey and myself thought so. It was not written by a disinterested passer-by whose sole concern was to aid justice. No, sir.’ French brought his finger down on the table with meticulous accuracy. ‘That letter was written by the murderer. And why? That surely will be clear to you, Mr Magill. The murderer wanted the body to be found there on Major Magill’s ground, so that suspicion against the major might be clinched. You remember suspicion was already aroused by the finding of the hat. Well, the murderer wanted it clinched. And why again? Obviously because if the major was found guilty he himself would be safe.’
Victor had another troublesome fit of coughing, while Teer took a gulp of hot coffee. This view, put forward so resolutely, clearly disquieted them. They expressed a suitable interest and then Victor turned to the crucial point.
‘I follow you,’ he admitted. ‘But of course it’s only a question of time. You’ll get the writer all right.’
Here again was just what French had been angling for.
‘There’s no of course about it,’ he declared. ‘There’s no clue to the man.’ He paused, then as a sort of afterthought added: ‘That is, except one. But it won’t help us to find the man. It’ll convict him if we find him, and we must find him first by other means.’
As French had hoped, Victor pricked up his ears at this. But it was with an air of elaborate unconcern that he answered. ‘That sounds a trifle involved,’ he remarked, carefully knocking the ash off his cigarette. ‘And what, if it’s not a secret, is the clue?’
‘It’s not a secret to you or Mr Teer,’ French returned, ‘but don’t let it go any further. The man made a blunder; a bad one for him but a good one for us. He used an old typewriter.’
Victor looked anxious, but puzzled.
‘It was a Number Three Corona,’ went on French, ‘and the type was worn. The script is therefore quite individual; there is only one machine in the world that could have typed it. Now look at it this way. We can scarcely believe that the writer would have been so mad as to use his own machine, therefore he’d buy one for the occasion and destroy it when used. If we had it, an advertisement in some of the trade journals would soon find the shop where it was sold. From the shop we’d soon get the description of the man who bought it. We’d also get the address of the man who had sold it to the shop. This last would certainly have something typed on it, which would enable us to prove it was the right machine. That’s all straightforward; it’s the sort of thing we’re doing every day. If therefore we had the machine we’d not be long till we’d found X.Y.Z., and if we had X.Y.Z. it wouldn’t be long till he’s hung.’
There was now no question of Victor’s emotion. Though he was evidently trying desperately to hide it, actual panic showed in his eyes. Teer, though he covered it better, was obviously also frightened. French was well satisfied. So far he had played his cards well. It was now, he assured himself joyously, up to Victor to do the rest.
During the remainder of the conversation French was careful to show just the same amount of interest in the subject as he had up to then. He felt that neither man must be allowed to imagine the climax of the interview had been reached and passed. So they discussed L’Affaire Magill until the waiter’s uneasy hoverings became too pronounced to be further ignored.
It was characteristic of French, that at Plymouth he really did take a train for Princetown and visit the great convict prison. He saw that if he did not do so and if by some unlikely chance Victor or Teer discovered the fact, his entire scheme would fall through. What was worth doing …
He was careful also to let the two men know his movements. His business at the prison, he explained, would occupy him four or five hours. He feared that he would therefore be unable to catch the 6.20 p.m. from Millbay, but he hoped to travel by the sleeping car express, leaving at 12.15 a.m. Perhaps he might meet Victor or Teer on the way home?
Victor and Teer were sorry that as they were going into Cornwall he would not have that pleasure. He therefore shook hands cordially and wished his enemies bon voyage.
At the prison French got busy. First he rang up Chief-Inspector Mitchell at the Yard, explained his plan and asked that Joss and Mallace should be shadowed and that the Great Western trains should be watched for Victor’s and Teer’s return to London. If any member of the quartet was seen to start for Ireland the shadowing might be dropped, but the news was to be wired to Superintendent Rainey.
Next French rang up Rainey. To him he merely explained that things were going well, that he was crossing to Belfast on the following day and would arrive at 9.35 in the evening, and that on arrival he would like an interview.
On reaching Plymouth on his return journey, French called to see his old friend, the local superintendent. It was not so long since they had met in connection with the search for Mrs Berlyn’s bicycle, the discovery of which had formed so useful a clue in the Berlyn-Pyke case. From him he heard of a couple more old friends. Maxwell Cheyne and his pretty wife were still living at Dartmouth, and there was now a diminutive Maxwell, of whom the young man was even more proud than of his bestsellers.
Promptly at 7.10 next morning the night mail pulled into Paddington. French, hurrying to the Yard, did what he seldom found necessary; he adopted a disguise. A few tiny lines on his face and he added twenty years to his age. A well-fitting wig and his dark locks became white. Clerical garb, tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles, a stoop and a hesitating manner completed the transformation. When he had finished he was satisfied that it would take a sharper-eyed man than Victor to penetrate his disguise.
He had just time to catch the 8.30 a.m. from Euston. With great care he lived up to his rôle of an elderly clergyman. In the matter of a disguise, risks could not be taken. To hide one’s identity ineffectively was worse than not hiding it at all.
In spite of his eager, though repressed excitement, French enjoyed his journey. At two o’clock they reached Holyhead and transferred to the Scotia. From the deck he watched the rugged Welsh coast retreat, and the gently-rounded, well-wooded Irish country grow. Shortly after five he landed at Dun Laoghaire and a few minutes later the train ran into Amiens Street Station in Dublin.
There was a short wait for the Great Northern train and French employed the time by a drive through some of the principal streets. He had not been over since the troubles and he was impressed by the air of smartness and prosperity which the city wore. It seemed cleaner than before and the new buildings made O’Connell Street a really imposing thoroughfare.
A quick run brought him to the Northern capital. At police headquarters he found Rainey and M’Clung waiting for him.
‘Hullo, your reverence?’ said the former, after a keen look at the clerical collar and the white hair. ‘Quite venerable, isn’t he, M’Clung? What’s usually known as a whited sepulchre. Well, you’re bringing it off.’
‘How do you mean, sir?’
‘How do I mean? Why, what I say. You’ve got things moving anyway. That is, if you’re at the bottom of it, as I presume you are.’
French looked his question.
‘Just had a wire from the Yard,’ Rainey explained. ‘There’s to be a gathering of the clans. Victor Magill and Teer left London this evening at 5.55 en route for Liverpool, Teer travelling first-class and Victor third. Joss left a quarter of an hour later, in the Ulster Express for Heysham, and Mallace is in the 7.40 for Stranraer. Are you responsible?’
‘I hope so,’ said French, rubbing his hands in high delight. ‘I pitched my yarn to Victor hoping to bring him across, but I never expected an exodus. Were you able, sir, to give the news to Malcolm?’
‘Yes, I met him—also by accident—and told the tale. He showed no special reaction. Interested of course, but nothing more.’
‘I’ll be surprised if he knows anything about the affair. However with luck we’ll soon know.’
‘I hope so. Now, French, M’Clung and I are both anxious to hear your adventures, so suppose you start in and let’s have the tale.’
French, accepting a cigar, at once told his story. Evidently the bait had been swallowed, but he was surprised at his large catch.
‘What on earth those other three men are coming over for beats me,’ he ended up, glancing questioningly at the others.
Rainey had been listening with close attention.
‘I don’t think that’s so difficult,’ he declared. ‘It’s the honour among thieves which doesn’t exist. These precious beauties don’t trust one another. They suspect a trap, and one isn’t going into it without the others. They’re going to see also that no one’s going to get off by turning king’s evidence at the others’ expense.’
‘It might be,’ French admitted. ‘But if they suspect a trap do you think they’d come over at all?’
‘Bound to. That’s where I congratulate you upon your scheme. You’ve shown that we know so much that it’s absolutely vital to them to get that machine away.’
French deprecatingly admitted that this had been his aim.
‘By the way,’ he added, ‘were you able to bury another Corona at the place?’
‘Yes, that’s been done. They’ll not suspect anything till we close in. Now, French, what we’ve got to do is to make sure they don’t still diddle us. They’re a brainy crowd, and we mustn’t make the mistake of underestimating them. First of all, they must be shadowed?’
‘Of course, sir, and not only Victor’s crowd, but Malcolm as well.’
‘I agree, and I’ll see to it. Have you any other ideas as to what we should do?’
French was full of ideas and the meeting resolved itself into a committee of ways and means.