When French reached the Chichester Street headquarters next morning, news had already come in. Victor, Teer and Joss had arrived, and all had left the city by early trains. Victor had taken the 8.25 a.m. by the Great Northern, booking to Londonderry. Teer had also booked to Londonderry, though travelling by the 9.30 a.m. on the Northern Counties line, while Joss had gone to Newcastle by the County Down train leaving at 7.30 a.m.
This information had scarcely been assimilated when a further report came in. Mallace had arrived by the Stranraer boat train, had driven across town and had taken the 10.15 a.m. train for Newry.
‘They’re killing time till tonight,’ Rainey suggested shrewdly. ‘They don’t want to leave tracks in Belfast, so they’re going to spend the day travelling elsewhere. Curse it, the glass is dropping and it’s blowing up for a storm. It’ll be a dirty night.’
Both these prophecies seemed to French likely enough of fulfilment. He remained at headquarters, smoking impatiently and reading the reports as they came in. As the day wore slowly on Rainey’s perspicacity became demonstrated. On reaching Londonderry, Victor and Teer had strolled about the city, lunching in different hotels and taking the 3.40 and the 4.00 o’clock trains to Belfast by their respective lines. Joss, at Newcastle, had climbed Slieve Donard, the highest and most easterly peak of the Mourne mountains, and was returning to Belfast by the 4.25 p.m. train, while Mallace had killed time in Newry and Warrenpoint, and was now coming back by the 4.27 train to Belfast. All these trains reached the city before seven o’clock.
‘I bet you,’ said Rainey, when this last item came in from Newry. ‘I bet you they’re going to act at once. You see, the Cave Hill would be as deserted at seven or eight o’clock as in the middle of the night. Besides in weather like this there’d be no one out of doors who could help it. They’ll act at once and make their getaway by the boats at nine and nine-fifteen. We’d better get busy.’
He began telephoning, with the result that eight men came into the office. To them he gave his instructions.
‘Grey and M’Keown, get away to the Northern Counties Station and meet the 3.40 from Derry. Teer’ll be on it. Take over his shadowing from Reid. Victor Magill is coming up from Derry by the G.N. mail. You, M’Clatchie and Brown, take him over. Joss left Newcastle at 4.15. Walker and M’Candless go and get on to him at the County Down. Ferguson and M’Nulty relieve the men who are on to Major Magill. He is still at the Shankill Road mill. Get along now, all of you. Shadow your men till they get the typewriter and be ready to close in and lift them when I give the signal. If you get no signal shadow them till they leave the country. Keep in touch with headquarters as far as possible and if you let either see you or give you the slip you needn’t come back here.’ He turned to French. ‘You and M’Clung and I will watch for Mallace coming in from Newry. He hasn’t seen M’Clung or me and you can keep in the background.’ Rainey slipped a revolver out of a drawer. ‘Have one?’ he offered. ‘These men will be ugly customers. That’s all, I think. If you’re ready, we’ll get along.’
The train was due at 6.15 and they had just time to meet it. The weather had fulfilled all Rainey’s evil prophecies, and now the rain was falling heavily on the glistening pavements while a squally wind howled and eddied round the corners of the buildings. The shops and offices were just disgorging their staffs and the streets were full of hurrying figures trying to balance dripping umbrellas and to keep dainty shoes out of pools. Trams packed to the steps clattered past while buses and cars sent the water flying in sheets from their spinning wheels.
‘A dirty night for us, but a good one for our friends,’ said Rainey as their car ran into the cab rank between the main arrival platforms at the Great Northern station. ‘We’ll stay in the car and as soon as you pick up Mallace you can get in. M’Clung will take over and keep him in view.’
French was still the elderly, amiable clergyman and he fell to pacing the platform, peering benevolently at those waiting for the train. He was intensely excited as to their quest. Its success or failure would be his own. To take these four—or five—as it were in the act would clear up his case and clear it up with immense credit to himself. Though there could be no doubt as to its correctness! The very presence of the quartet was a guarantee of success. A little care now and all would be well.
At 6.20, five minutes late, the train drew slowly in. For a moment French felt at an unwonted loss as he gazed at the throng of descending travellers. Then with a throb of relief he saw Mallace. The man had followed French’s own example and adopted a disguise. He also had become a clergyman and wore a dark overcoat showing the clerical collar, glasses and a soft round clerical hat. Behind the glasses French felt sure there was a pair of exceedingly keen and watchful eyes. After the first glance he was careful to turn his back till the other had passed. Then indicating the man to M’Clung with an almost invisible gesture, he moved over to the car while the sergeant took up the chase.
Mallace boarded a tram outside the station and M’Clung, dropping behind, was picked up by the car. They kept the tram in view and at Castle Junction, the City Centre, watched the quarry alight and walk to the tramway halt at the beginning of Royal Avenue. This was the point at which trams bound for the Antrim Road started, and French and Rainey exchanged satisfied glances. Once again M’Clung slipped out of the car, and mingling with the crowds waiting for trams, kept Mallace in view.
To their delight the man took an ‘Antrim Road—Gray’s Lane’ car. This was eminently satisfactory. Just a few yards beyond Gray’s Lane was the end of the Sheeps’ Path. M’Clung according to instructions boarded the car, going inside as Mallace mounted to the top. If Mallace alighted before reaching Gray’s Lane, M’Clung was to shadow him wherever he went. If not, he, M’Clung, was to get out at the stop before the lane, walking after Mallace to the path and following him up. In the meantime Rainey and French were to drive on, and leaving the car, secrete themselves in the bushes alongside the Sheeps’ Path.
This programme was duly carried out. Just before reaching the path Rainey parked the car, then watching till the road was deserted, the two men walked to the path and turned up. Away from the street lamps it was pitchy dark. There was no moon and the thick pall of clouds cut off all light from the stars. It had become a wild night. Though sheltered to some extent by the trees, the wind was even here powerful and flung the rain against them in almost solid sheets. With difficulty they pushed on, feeling their way by the dripping bushes, stumbling blindly over the rough stones of the path and slipping in the muddy earth at its sides. Some noise they could not avoid making, but they were not afraid of being overheard. The hiss of the rain and the roar of the wind swallowed up every other sound.
To avoid losing him in the dark Rainey was holding on to French’s wrist. He drew him close.
‘We’ll turn aside here,’ he said aloud, pushing between the bushes which lined the path.
They bent down behind the shrubs and remained motionless. They expected to have to wait about ten minutes, reckoning the difference in speed between the car and the tram. But the ten minutes passed and still they heard nothing but the noise of the storm. Crouching there in the wet and dark and with their minds on the stretch, time seemed at a standstill. Another five minutes dragged slowly by and then another. Rainey stood up suddenly.
‘Curse it, we’ve missed him,’ he said sharply. ‘Come, French, we may go back.’
As Rainey moved, French’s hand closed on his arm. Both men stood tense, looking down.
Below them on the path was a glimmer of light. Slowly it approached, dancing like an up-to-date will-o’-the-wisp, faintly illuminating a tiny circle as it moved.
Standing rigid as pillars of stone, French and Rainey watched the flickering light draw abreast and then pass slowly on. They could hear nothing, nothing but the howling of the storm, and the solid hiss of the rain. They could see nothing, nothing but the faint splash of light on the muddy path and the scarcely visible sparkle of the drops falling through the illuminated cone. There was something eerie in the ghostly movement of that dim radiance, as if a disembodied spirit were hovering past on the road to Valhalla.
While it was yet in sight French and Rainey relaxed their stiff attitudes, and creeping back through the bushes to the path, began to follow. As they expected, the slow chase led up until the unknown was opposite the clump of rhododendrons. There it stopped and the pursuers froze into immobility. Then guessing what was about to happen, they slipped off the path on the opposite side to the clump and took cover behind its bordering laurels. With the utmost care they crept upward parallel to the path until they were opposite to the unknown. Then turning, they edged slowly forward until they were within some six feet of their victim.
Had it not been for the rain and wind they would not have ventured so near, but they thought that should the man raise his torch the swinging of the bushes would mask their movements and the noise of the storm would cover any sounds they made.
They had scarcely taken up their position when another flitting light warned them that someone else was approaching. A shadow loomed up out of the darkness and Mallace’s voice called softly: ‘That you, Teer?’
There was an acquiescent murmur and then in louder accents, ‘Damn this blasted weather! I’m wet through already. How long have we to wait for those other two?’
‘They should be here any time. Half an hour should see the thing through.’
‘Got the trowel?’ came Teer’s voice.
‘Got it here.’
‘A helluva place and a helluva night,’ Teer growled.
‘I guess we’ll have earned our money by the time we’re through,’ came Mallace’s voice in return. He crossed the path. ‘I think there’s a bit more shelter under these shrubs.’
French’s heart missed a beat, as Mallace stepped up against the bush under which he and Rainey were lying. The man stood not more than two feet away. Fortunately he had put out his torch. Teer slowly joined him. He had scarcely done so when another flickering light appeared.
It was Joss. He also cursed the weather, and shutting off his torch, took up his stand beside Mallace. By putting out his hand French could have touched him. Both he and Rainey lay scarcely daring to breathe.
‘Helluva nuisance, this whole business,’ Teer grumbled. ‘If that blasted fool Magill had had the wit of a sheep he’d have seen he wasn’t overlooked and we’d have been saved all this. Darned idiot, if ever there was one!’
Joss murmured some reply.
‘Where’s the fool got to now?’ went on Teer’s voice. ‘I suppose he’s going to keep us standing here in this infernal rain till we get our deaths.’
‘He can’t be long now,’ Mallace answered shortly.
‘That’s right,’ came Joss’s voice. ‘I wish to heaven, Teer, you’d give over your endless grouse. Things are bad enough without that confounded whine going on all the time.’
Teer gave a savage snort.
‘A confounded whine, is it?’ he answered harshly. ‘Curse you, Joss! Let me tell you, you’re getting above yourself. Don’t you forget who’s boss of this outfit. I’ll grouse when I want to and you’ll hold your blasted tongue. See?’
‘All right; all right,’ Joss returned irritably. ‘Nobody’s questioning your position—and responsibility.’
‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ Teer questioned in louder tones. ‘Responsibility!’ He emitted a torrent of blasphemy. ‘You’re a nice one to talk, you are, and you with murder on your soul! And easy to prove it too. Who bought a rubber tube with a closed end? Who bought shotgun cartridges? Cartridges for a man without a gun! You hold your blasted tongue or—’
‘Steady on, Teer,’ Mallace interposed with evident relief. ‘Here’s Magill. Now we’ll get a move on.’
Teer’s further threats were lost in the arrival of Victor. He followed his companions’ example and began by wholeheartedly cursing the weather.
‘For heaven’s sake, Magill, cut that and get on with the job,’ Teer snarled. ‘Where’s the damned place?’
Victor subsided suddenly. ‘This way,’ he said sulkily, moving towards the clump.
‘Then Malcolm’s not in it,’ Rainey breathed, and even in his lowered voice French detected satisfaction. ‘You go ahead while I collect the men.’ He vanished instantly.
Having climbed the paling in the wake of the others, French dropped on his knees and began to crawl slowly across the grass. Out of the comparative shelter of the bushes the wind whirled down, booming in off the open mountain side above. That he was in danger French was well aware. If that flitting torch were turned in his direction a bullet would doubtless end his earthly career, and it was therefore with a lively satisfaction that at length he reached the clump. The quartet had withdrawn into its shelter, but he could see their torches flickering ahead and he pressed on after them. He was already wet, but as he crawled slowly through the dripping leaves he was soon soaked to the skin. But he had no time to think of such trifles. The four had halted and he went on till he was within seven or eight feet of them. There he lay down under a clump of lowgrowing bushes, and motionless as a log, set himself to watch and listen.
‘It should be about here,’ Victor was saying. ‘Naturally I didn’t mark the place, so it’s a bit hard to find.’
For the second time that evening French’s heart stood still, while bitterly he cursed himself for his rashness. All four began flashing their electric torches on the surrounding ground. He pulled his hat down over his eyes, and lowering his head so that no light could reach his face, began carefully to back away. He could not hasten lest he should attract attention, and as the search extended he realised that death was close beside him. With a sickening anxiety he watched the little circles of light advance and retreat. They flitted away, came back, veered sideways. Suddenly he gave himself up for lost. A beam flashed on the ground not a foot from his head. It began to creep slowly nearer. And then, just as the rim of the circle touched his hat there was a cry from Victor a dozen yeards away.
‘Here it is,’ he called. ‘We’re all right.’
Despite the cold, the sweat was dripping from French as the other three turned towards Victor. Dimly he could see them crowd together, gazing at the ground. He heard Teer’s voice: ‘Well, start in and get the infernal thing opened,’ and digging began.
French, his panic over, began crawling nearer, but just then a hand closed on his ankle and he heard Rainey’s voice.
‘That the place?’ he breathed. ‘I have seven men there besides ourselves. They’re going to surround it and converge to the centre and when I fire we’ll close. You push in straight ahead. I’m going to the right.’
French slowly wormed his way forward, then lay still. He listened to the howling of the gale and watched the faint radiance ahead, obscured at intervals by the dark silhouettes of the men as they bent over their task. This ghastly business would surely end the case! After such a giveaway no jury would fail to convict. French felt he should be thankful, but he was not. For some reason his nerves were all on edge. As he lay waiting time itself seemed to be standing still. But for the four men ahead he seemed to be absolutely alone in the universe, and yet he knew that eight others, palpitating with life and energy and fierce determination, were there close beside him, hidden in the inky blackness.
He moved slightly forward to get a better view of the quartet. Victor was now digging and for five minutes he worked in silence. Then suddenly he stooped forward.
‘Got it!’ he said in relieved tones, and stooping down he drew a black box from the hole.
‘About time,’ came from Teer. ‘Get that infernal hole filled up and we’ll get away. Hell! What’s that?’
A sharp crack had come from Rainey’s pistol. Instantly the surrounding foliage became alive with moving figures.
‘Hands up!’ Rainey shouted. ‘You’re all covered. Anyone who moves is a dead man!’
Teer gave a bellow like that of a wounded bull.
‘Down with your lights, you fools!’ he yelled, and in a moment inky blackness reigned.
But only for a moment. From all round electric torches converged on the four as with a shout the police officers dashed forward. Teer was fumbling desperately in his pocket and as French bounded towards him his arm flew up. A bullet whistled past French’s ear. But it just missed him and instantly he closed with Teer. At first the other three members of the quartet seemed paralysed with amazement, but in a moment they also sprang to life, pulled out revolvers and began firing. But Rainey’s men closed in quickly and in a couple of seconds four groups were struggling confusedly in the darkness. Round and round they crashed, reeling and stumbling over shrubs and bushes, the sobbing of their breath rising above the howl of the storm. Teer was a bigger man than French and he succeeded in getting a left-hander on French’s jaw which made the latter go sick and faint. As had happened before, French saw death very near as with all his might he concentrated on keeping Teer’s right hand with its automatic pistol turned away. He gripped the man’s wrist with both hands and clung on for dear life. This left him undefended from the blows Teer began raining on him, and the end would have been a foregone conclusion had not M’Clung seized hold in the darkness, and enveloping the couple in his mighty arms, stopped the shower of blows. French gasped out the situation and M’Clung, at last distinguishing friend from foe, threw his weight into the balance. In a few minutes Teer was thrown, disarmed and handcuffed.
By the time French was able to stagger panting to his feet, the battle was over. All four members of the gang were secured. And at comparatively small cost. Rainey had a nasty cut over one eye, one of his men was winded and temporarily knocked out, while a couple were bleeding profusely from mouth and nose. Soon they were able to make a move for headquarters, and within an hour all four prisoners were lodged in the cells.
A short further investigation enabled French to clear up the few points which still remained doubtful. The case, when thus completed, proved to be practically as he had outlined it to the sergeants at Stranraer.
The first thing demonstrated was that the entire responsibility for the crime lay with the quartet, Malcolm Magill and Breene being absolutely innocent. Malcolm’s apparent connection with it had been carefully engineered by them in the hope that he would be suspected and executed, thus bringing his £400,000 into Victor’s hands. The circumstances which brought Breene under suspicion were in themselves wholly fortuitous and his predilection for Miss Magill, which was the only real justification for that suspicion, was proved to have been only another figment of Teer’s facile brain.
The second discovery was that the root of the whole ghastly affair lay in Victor Magill’s inordinate love of gambling. This proved to have been a much greater factor in his life than had been realised. Beginning in a small way, he had gradually increased his commitments until at last he had become irretrievably involved. Ruin stared him in the face and for a time he hovered on the brink of suicide. Then an evil chance befell him. Circumstances gave him an opportunity, as he thought, to recover himself. While in Teer’s rooms one day he found an unused cheque. At the moment he had in his pocket a cheque of Teer’s for a small amount together with some betting memoranda in Teer’s handwriting. In a moment of desperation and madness he lost his head and forged a cheque for £3000. But he never presented it. Teer discovered the affair and in the presence of Mallace and Joss taxed him with it. From that moment Victor’s last chance of happiness vanished. He soon found that he had given himself over, bound hand and foot, into the hands of a cruel and unscrupulous trio. Teer’s crafty and scheming brain was just the instrument for meeting such a case. He immediately realised the advantage he had got and he worked out a plan for its utilisation. He and his friends were hard up. Victor’s uncle was rolling in money. Very well; a redistribution was the idea. Old Magill was to be murdered by violence. His heir, Malcolm, was to be murdered judicially. The money, which would then come to Victor, both directly and through Malcolm, was to be shared equally among the quartet. Even Victor was to get his share. In this Teer of course only showed his wisdom and knowledge of human nature. He recognised that if Victor was pushed too far he would commit suicide and the money would be lost. All four were therefore to be bound together by equal responsibility and equal reward.
At first Victor declined absolutely to have anything to do with such a plan, declaring that he would rather go to prison. But Victor was inherently weak and in the hands of a man like Teer he was as wax. Fear and familiarity with the idea had their effect, and at last he agreed to join in. This point settled, the details were worked out by Teer. This was four months before the actual crime.
The first thing was to pay Victor’s debts and to make him a substantial allowance. There must be no question of poverty to back up any breath of suspicion which might be aroused. So Victor appeared with plenty of money in hand, his explanation being that his uncle had once again come to his help.
Though Teer had completed the rough outlines of his plan before approaching Victor, there was a lot of detailed work to be done on it. This was carried out at intervals by all four concerned, every detail being rehearsed again and again before the great moment arrived. The plan was practically as guessed by French, its essentials being the tricking of Sir John into the Stranraer boat train, his murder therein, the removal of the body and its burial at Lurigan, with Victor to personate him in Ireland and throw dust in the eyes of possible investigators. French also was correct in his assumption that the legacy and the legacy alone was the goal sought. There were not and never had been any plans for the linen-silk machinery. Sir John was working in the problem, but he had not solved it. Teer had simply used his interest in the subject, firstly, as a bait to get him to Ireland, and secondly, as an explanation for Joss of his conduct in connection with Sir John.
Curiously enough, what proved the greatest difficulty to the conspirators, was what had at first sight seemed a mere trifle: the finding out on which side of the sleeping car the berths would be on the fatal night. Though in the end their choice proved to some extent a lucky shot, they had done their best to meet the difficulty. For some weeks on one pretext or another they had gone to Euston and examined the make-up of the train both on its arrival and departure. Thus they learned how the sets of carriages were dealt with. By this they were enabled to hazard a good guess as to the conditions on any given night. Unfortunately they found their guess was not always correct, but it was so, seven or eight times out of ten. To provide, however, for disappointment, they had devised an elaborate system of telegrams whereby on the pretext of Coates’s sudden illness Sir John’s journey and all that hinged on it could be postponed from night to night, until a coach of the right type appeared on the train.
The little additional evidence required for the trial was easily obtained. The chemist was found who supplied Joss with the trional sleeping draught, and Victor’s purchase of the white wig—for an amateur theatrical performance—was traced. Mallace had bought the velvet cloaks for a similar purpose, and Teer, as airplane equipment, had had the rope ladder made.
There is little more to add. Thanks to the skill of both French and the police of Northern Ireland, murder received its just reward and justice and right were vindicated.
There was some little difficulty in deciding where the trial should take place. It was not known where the actual murder had been committed, though this was believed to have been between Dumfries and Castle-Douglas. Eventually the case was tried in Belfast, a coroner’s jury of Northern Ireland already having adjudicated thereon. As a result Teer and Joss paid the supreme penalty, the other two receiving sentences of penal servitude for life.
As for French, in addition to the kudos gained in yet another brilliantly successful case, he found himself the richer by a number of warm friends in Northern Ireland, together with a fresh hunting ground for exploration when the time for his next holiday should come round.