While the Southern Railway Company and Messrs John Spence & Sons were composing their differences as to the true price of earthwork on the Whitness Widening, Inspector French had not been idle.
He had gone to London on the Monday of Carey’s death to interview that unhappy man’s employers in the hope of picking up some hint of a possible motive for the murder of Ackerley. He had gone, not because he hoped for much result from the visit, but because he had worked out, or was in process of working out, every other vein which he had thought might contain ore. His prognostication had been justified. He had called at the firm’s offices in Victoria Street and seen Mr Hugh Spence, the junior partner. He had put to him all the questions he could think of relative to Carey and Carey’s relations with the other men on the Widening; he had received as complete answers to his questions as he could have wished; and in them all there was not a single iota of information bearing on his quest. Why Carey should have desired Ackerley’s death, if he really had done so, remained to French an impenetrable mystery.
Disappointed, though scarcely surprised, French took advantage of being in town to call next morning at the Yard to make a general report of his progress. Being human, he made the most of the portion which he had solved—that Ackerley had been murdered—minimising the question of who was guilty, upon which, he pointed out, he was still working.
It was while discussing the affair with Chief Inspector Mitchell that he received a telephone call from Rhode, telling him of Carey’s suicide and asking him to return in time to attend the inquest.
This message filled French with chagrin. He believed he understood what had occurred, and it looked bad for him. He had been guilty of the unpardonable sin! He had let his man slip through his fingers. Carey had murdered Ackerley. Carey had seen the net slowly closing. Carey had come to expect arrest, and before it was too late he had taken the only way out!
Though French was careful not to put this view into words, he was uncomfortably satisfied as to its truth. He blamed himself wholly. He had been far too open in his interrogation of Carey. He should not have let the man know that he was suspected. It would have been quite easy to have obtained his information and still kept that essential fact a secret.
French was not in the habit of crying over spilt milk, but this dénouement really worried him. It worried him more than mere failure in the case would have done. This was worse than failure. This was nothing more nor less than inefficiency. Well, it was a warning. He had been inclined latterly to be too pleased with himself. This was the result. He wondered whether or not this suicide of Carey’s would end his case. Was there any use in proceeding with his inquiries? Did Carey’s guilt or innocence now matter? The man was beyond the reach of the law. Suppose French proved him guilty: how would anyone be the better?
Rhode, however, with whom he talked the affair over on arrival, was of a different opinion. Rhode apparently had kept a more open mind and did not accept the guilt of Carey as demonstrated.
‘If you don’t prove it,’ he pointed out, ‘we’ll always have it on our minds that it may have been someone else. I think you’ll have to go on, inspector. Are you quite up against it?’
‘By no means,’ French returned bravely. ‘All my conclusions so far were merely tentative.’ He paused, then went on: ‘It’s true I’ve not got formal proof of Carey’s guilt, as you say. But don’t you think his suicide in itself is proof?’
Rhode shrugged. ‘I think his guilt is likely,’ he admitted. ‘But likely is not enough. I’d be better pleased if there was something more definite.’
French smiled crookedly. ‘Not better pleased than I,’ he declared. ‘I’m perfectly aware that until we can put up a decent motive, the thing remains unsatisfactory.’
Rhode nodded his large head. ‘That’s it, inspector. That’s just what I feel. Suppose you look into it again.’
French thereupon went down to Whitness and attended the inquest on the body of Carey. He took no part in it, simply making sure afterwards from Sergeant Emery that no facts had come out, other than those mentioned at the inquiry.
French, feeling really rather baffled, settled down to try to push a little farther the lines of investigation he had already explored. On the pretext that the boy Langton was his nephew, down for a holiday after measles, he brought him round the Widening, introducing him in turn to Bragg, Parry, Lowell, Pole, and Templeton. He was, however, unable to surprise a flicker of recognition in the eyes of anyone concerned. Next he got Peabody, as a prospective purchaser of a dozen old sleepers, to ring up each of his suspects in turn, in the hope that the man might recognise the voice which had ordered the bicycle: again without result. He made an intensive but fruitless search at Lydmouth railway station for anyone who might have noticed a patron use the telephone box at the time the message to Peabody was put through. He tried unsuccessfully to find someone who might have seen a man with a bicycle going to the cliff beneath which Mr Ewing had taken his walk, or a man without a bicycle returning from it. He chatted with anyone he could find who had known either of the deceased men, in the hope that some word, accidentally dropped, would indicate a fresh line of research, but no such word fell from the lips of any of these persons. In fact, for several days French worked hard and had nothing to show for it.
Then Parry told him of the fraud.
Parry did not volunteer the information. Parry, indeed, was obviously reluctant to give it. But a phrase he used suggested to French that there was here something of which he had not heard. The mere hint of such a possibility was enough for French. Soon he had wormed out all the particulars, so far as Parry knew them.
To French the information was like the rolling away of a fog and the revealing of a landscape, till then invisible, but now clear and sharp in its every detail. Here at last was the key for which he had been searching! This fraud would supply all the motives he wanted to complete his case.
Suppose Carey had learned that Ackerley was making those inquiries into the loading of the ballast wagons which must inevitably lead him to the discovery of the fraud. Such a discovery would mean for Carey disgrace and imprisonment; in fact, utter and complete ruin. Suppose, rather than face such an end, Carey had decided on a bold throw: that Ackerley should meet with a fatal accident. Suppose, the murder consummated, Carey found that in spite of his precautions the fraud, or the murder, or perhaps both, were about to come out. Suppose, indeed, that he believed that French was already on his track. What more likely, then, that he would have recourse to suicide as the only thing left him?
The more French considered this theory, the more adequate it seemed. It certainly covered the facts. True, it had not been proved, but with the information he now possessed its formal proof should not be difficult. Full of these ideas, he went in to have a consultation with Rhode. The superintendent’s first remark took a lot of the wind out of French’s sails.
‘I was just going to ring you up and ask you to come in and talk about it,’ he said. ‘Curious that we should both have heard about it at the same time. Old Mr Ackerley got on to the chief constable about it and Major Duke reacted on me. The rumour appears to be that so large a fraud couldn’t have been carried out by one man; that there must have been an accomplice on the railway side, and that that accomplice was Ackerley. The story has hit the father badly. He was almost in tears to the major, asking him to push on inquiries to clear his son’s name. I don’t blame the old man either; I would do so myself in his place.’
‘Reasonable enough,’ French agreed.
‘From the old man’s point of view, yes; but not from ours, I say. However, Major Duke was sorry for old Ackerley and said that if it would not cost us very much he would like to have a shot at clearing the boy’s name. Another reason, inspector, for your going on and straightening things out.’
French made a gesture of impatience. ‘Surely the fact that Ackerley was murdered clears him?’ he protested. ‘If it had been suicide he might have been guilty all right, but I’m hanged if I can see how his murder and his guilt square up.’
‘I agree with you, but the rumour meets this difficulty. It is suggested that Ackerley must have been party to the fraud because Carey couldn’t have worked it alone. It is next suggested that Ackerley saw it was coming out and to save himself decided to “discover” it himself. Most unlikely, I agree. Still, we’d better have it settled.’
It was in a much more hopeful frame of mind that French withdrew to his room at the hotel to think things over. This business of the fraud was going to make all the difference. It was the hinge on which his entire case turned. Instead of consisting of a couple of isolated acts, the drama was now a complete entity, properly motivated and bound together into a logical whole.
As he began to consider his next step, French saw that he must first settle the question of whether Ackerley was or was not party to the fraud. He did not himself believe in the young man’s guilt, but the matter was fundamental and no progress could be made till it was set at rest. What was the suggestion founded on? Nothing connected with Ackerley himself. It depended wholly on the question of whether Carey could or could not have carried through the fraud alone. If Carey could have done so, there was not the slightest particle of evidence for suspecting Ackerley.
How was he to settle this point? Clearly by getting still more information about the fraud. French decided he would make more detailed inquiries, first from the Railway Company and then from the contractors.
Next morning, therefore, he took an early train to Lydmouth and asked to see Bragg. French had already questioned Bragg on the general situation, and he now turned at once to the fraud. He listened while Bragg explained its details. ‘Of course,’ Bragg ended up, ‘a good deal of it we don’t fully understand. We were not present at the contractors’ inquiry except while giving evidence. But if it’s essential to your case I have no doubt that you could get further information from Messrs Spence.’
‘I shall do so,’ French agreed. ‘Now, Mr Bragg, I want your opinion upon another matter. It has been suggested, as you know, that Mr Ackerley was party to the fraud. What is your view on that?’
Bragg had mentioned many things with an air of doubt, but this time he seemed convinced.
‘I don’t believe it for a moment,’ he declared emphatically, ‘and everyone who knew Ackerley would say the same.’
French hitched himself a little closer to the desk.
‘But surely,’ he went on more confidentially, ‘a fraud like that did really require a confederate on the railway side? This, of course, has been suggested and it seems reasonable to me.’
‘It doesn’t to me,’ Bragg retorted.
‘It doesn’t? You think one man could have done it all?’
Bragg passed his cigarette case to French.
‘I think so,’ he said slowly. ‘But don’t take my opinion for it. Let’s follow the thing through and you can form your own. Now, first, you must understand exactly what plans were in existence. There were the original tracings of these cross sections, filed here in our plan-room, and there were five copies—identical photo prints. Two of these copies were signed and formed part of the contract documents, one being held by our secretary and one by the contractors at their headquarters. One was kept for reference in the office here and the remaining two were on the job, one in our office hut and the other in the contractors’. Of these five sets, only the two on the job were really used. As I have explained, they became progress charts on which the work done was periodically shown, and from which the certificates for payment were made. I tell you all this to show you that only the two sets at Whitness required to be faked, and you will understand that those two would never in the ordinary course be compared with the others. Have you followed me so far?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Very well, suppose somebody wanted to carry out the fraud; Carey, for argument’s sake. How would he do it? He would begin, I think, by making a new set of linen tracings of the sections, putting in the alterations he required as he went along. Then he—’
‘Excuse me, but how long would that take? Would it be a big job?’
‘It would be a fair-sized job, yes, but not overwhelmingly big. The trouble would, of course, be to get the necessary time. He would probably work at night and on Sundays. You understand that he could take a few sheets at a time out of the cover: they’re just held by a Stolzenburg loose-leaf binding.’
‘He could take them home?’
‘He could take them wherever he wanted to.’
‘And out of his own cover, of course? I mean, the contractors’ copy.’
‘Of course. Well, the tracings made, he would require to get two sets of prints on the same paper that we use. “Arcoba, X35” is its trade name. It’s a ferrogallic paper and it’s made by Messrs Redpath & Halliday. Then he would trim these sheets and—’
‘Excuse me again, but where would he get the prints made?’
‘Ah,’ said Bragg with a little shrug, ‘now you’re talking. It would require an apparatus. We have one here and the contractors doubtless have one at their headquarters, but I happen to know there is none at Whitness. You’ve asked a question that I can’t answer.’
‘Are those prints ever done by outside firms?’
‘Frequently, indeed usually. It is only large offices that do their own.’
‘Then I might be able to trace its having been done?’
Bragg shrugged again. His manner suggested that this was not his business, but on French’s direct question he admitted he thought it might prove a profitable line of investigation.
‘Another point,’ said French. ‘Suppose he had access to a printing apparatus, but wanted to get the paper. How much would he have to get?’
‘I can’t tell you definitely, because obviously it depends on the size of the roll, but if he used the size we get, which I think is the usual size,’ Bragg made a short calculation, ‘it would take two rolls. And then there is the tracing cloth.’
‘Ah, true,’ said French, ‘I should have thought of that. By the way, is the cloth the same as the linen you spoke about?’
‘Yes. Some people call it linen and some cloth.’
‘Then I suppose he would want two rolls of tracing linen also?’
‘No. You see, he would only want one tracing for every two prints. Besides the rolls of cloth are longer. One roll would be ample.’
‘Thank you,’ said French. ‘Now we suppose he receives the prints. What does he do next?’
‘His next step would be more difficult,’ went on Bragg. ‘He would somehow have to obtain access to our set down at Whitness. He would have to borrow it, which obviously he wouldn’t wish to do, or he would have to get a key and go into our office at night, or something of that kind. Then he would have to copy on to his prints all the notes or colourings which had been added since the book was made up. There wouldn’t be many, because the essence of his scheme would be to get the fraud going before much earthwork had been done. Simultaneously he’d have to forge his own people’s notes on to his second set. Then he’d simply change the new sets for the old in both the covers and the thing would be done. The fraud would follow automatically as soon as the certificates were made from the faked plans.’
French was considerably impressed by all this. If Carey had not required assistance from a member of the railway staff, the argument advanced for believing Ackerley a party to the fraud had no foundation. As a result of this interview with Bragg, French felt his opinion of Ackerley’s innocence confirmed.
This view was considerably strengthened by a talk which he had with Mayers, of the clerical staff of the office. It was Mayers’ story of Ackerley’s dissatisfaction with the earthwork quantities that had been considered the strongest argument for Ackerley’s guilt. But as French listened to the details of the interview, he saw, as had Parry and others, that they would also bear a very different interpretation. Ackerley had not introduced the subject. The two men had been talking generally about the financial side of the job, and Mayers had remarked that, judging by the money paid, the work must be getting on well. It was in reply to this remark that Ackerley had said that he was satisfied with everything but the earthwork quantities, and told his story about the loading of the wagons. Mayers declared that Ackerley was genuinely puzzled, and scouted the idea that the young man could have been party to the fraud.
Mayers stated also that he had no idea that his report of this conversation had been taken as an indication of Ackerley’s guilt, and declared that nothing was farther from his mind in mentioning it. He had simply hoped it might clear up something about the fraud.
Retiring to the waiting-room, French summarised what he had learnt.
Firstly, the fraud could have been carried out without Ackerley’s help.
Secondly, so far as was known, Ackerley was keen on his job, ambitious and anxious to make a name for himself. He was not financially embarrassed, there being a reasonable sum to his credit in the bank. His bank-book gave no indication that he had been in receipt of more than his salary, of which, indeed, he was not spending the whole. He was not engaged to be married, nor had he any entanglement with a girl. He was not gambling. His life was healthy and normal.
Prior to his death his manner had also been normal. He had shown no signs of worry or excitement or embarrassment.
If the young man had been in such financial straits as to have adopted so desperate a remedy as the fraud, French did not believe he could have hidden the fact. Nor did he believe that under such circumstances his manner could have been anywhere near normal. French, in fact, came to the definite conclusion that Ackerley had had nothing to do with the frauds. He therefore put this problem out of his mind and went on to consider his next move in the case.
If Ackerley were innocent and were about to discover the fraud, as was now certain, and if Carey were guilty of the fraud, which according to Spence was also certain, it followed that the theory that Carey was the murderer of Ackerley was entirely reasonable and satisfactory. French was convinced of its truth, though here again he could not supply formal proof. For the nth time he wondered how this proof might be obtained.
For the moment he could not think of any direct way. He therefore turned to the line of inquiry suggested by Bragg’s statement: the obtaining of the prints. He drafted a notice addressed to all firms who made photo prints of engineering drawings, describing the Widening cross sections and asking for information as to the sale of one or more sets. This notice he sent to the Yard for insertion in all the technical journals to which such firms might have access.
At the same time he wrote to Messrs Redpath & Halliday, the manufacturers of the special paper which had been used, explaining what he wanted and asking if they had sold one or two rolls about the date of the beginning of the work on the Widening to Carey or anyone not a known customer, or indeed to any private individual in the neighbourhood of Lydmouth or Whitness.
Two days later there was an answer to this last letter. Messrs Redpath & Halliday wrote that on the 28th of January previously they had received through the post an order for two rolls of ‘Arcoba X35’ ferrogallic photo printing paper and one roll of 30-inch tracing cloth from a person whose name had not been previously on their books. He was a Mr John Salvington, of 16 King Street West, Drychester. The money, postal orders for the correct sum including postage, had been enclosed. They had duly forwarded the goods, which, so far as they were concerned, had closed the transaction.
Drychester was situated at the apex of a triangle of which the line Lydmouth-Redchurch formed the base. It was about twelve miles from Redchurch, and though rail connection was via Lydmouth, there was a direct service of ’buses. An hour after receiving the letter, French turned into King Street West.
French had expected to find that Mr John Salvington was an engineer or architect who had decided to do his prints himself, or perhaps a stationer who proposed to add photo printing to his other activities. When, therefore, he saw John Salvington’s name above a small tobacconist’s shop, he rubbed his hands. An accommodation address!
Mr Salvington was a wizened old man with a gray goatee beard and a whining voice. When French looked at him he immediately thought that the majesty of the law would be his best suit. With a serious air he produced his credentials and said that he was a police officer from Scotland Yard engaged on a murder case, and that he had reason to believe Mr Salvington could give him some important information on the matter.
Salvington, duly impressed, said he didn’t know nothing of no murder case and that the officer had been misdirected.
‘I don’t think so, Mr Salvington,’ French returned ponderously. ‘We generally know what we’re after. I don’t suggest that you were personally concerned in the crime. I suggest you unwittingly had dealings with the murderer. Tell me, did you,’ he produced and looked up his notebook with the usual overawing effect, ‘on the 29th or 30th of January of this year, receive a parcel from Messrs Redpath & Halliday, Engineering and Optical Instrument Makers, of High Holborn?’
Mr Salvington, who had been showing uneasiness, made a gesture as if a light had broken on him. ‘Was that a wrong ’un?’ he exclaimed eagerly. ‘You wouldn’t never ’ave thought it. ’E was a quiet, civil-spoken man, not noways like a murderer.’
‘That’s the man I mean,’ said French. ‘Tell me what you can about him.’
Salvington spoke willingly enough. It appeared that three or four days before the date mentioned by the inspector, a man had entered the shop and said he wanted Salvington to do him a small service, for which he would pay the usual fee. His name, he said, was Roberts, and he was setting up in Drychester as an architect. He had not yet got rooms, and he wanted Mr Salvington to receive one or two letters and parcels for him. Salvington was not in the habit of giving an accommodation address, but he saw no reason why he should not do so, especially as it would mean sixpence a parcel. Roberts then said he was expecting some stuff from Redpath & Halliday, and would Salvington keep it till he called?
Three or four days later a parcel came, not addressed to Roberts but to Salvington himself. He was about to open it, but seeing the legend ‘Engineering and Optical Instrument Makers’ on the label, he did not do so. It was a long, thin parcel and might easily have been three rolls of paper.
Next day Roberts called. He claimed the parcel, saying that he had made a mistake in ordering the stuff, as he had given his, Salvington’s name to the firm instead of his own. He paid his sixpence and took the parcel away.
So far the affair had not struck Salvington as being out of the ordinary, but he was surprised when the days passed and no letters or other parcels for Roberts arrived. In fact, this was the only transaction in which Roberts had figured, and Salvington had never seen him again.
French, very pleased at this story, now asked his critical question. He took from his pocket a number of photographs which he had managed to pick up, in one or other of which all the engineers employed on the Widening appeared. Handing these over, he asked Salvington if he could recognise Roberts.
Even to so old a hand as French a moment like this was always exciting. He watched the old man with a but slightly veiled eagerness as he slowly turned over the cards, peering short-sightedly at one after another. Then Salvington held up one of the photographs.
‘That’s ’im,’ he exclaimed, pointing with a dirty thumb to a figure in one of the groups.
It was Carey; a good photograph, showing the features clearly.
Here, then, was valuable confirmation of the Spences’ report on their chief resident engineer. This purchase of the printing paper proved that Carey was guilty of the fraud, apart from anything his employers had discovered. It did not, of course, prove that no one else was involved. French, however, felt that his investigation was getting on satisfactorily and that some other line of inquiry would give him that.
As he sat in the ’bus on his way back to Redchurch it occurred to him that he might obtain this remaining piece of information from studying the profits of the fraud. How were these paid? To whom were they paid? Did anyone but Carey participate in them?
This would involve another visit to Messrs Spence’s headquarters. French decided that he would ring them up in the morning and make another appointment.
In the meantime a further line of research presented itself to him. If Carey had obtained the photo paper, how and where had he made the prints?
French was not certain what the process involved, though he believed its principal ingredients were printing in a frame like that used for photographs and washing with water in a bath. Whether a dark room was necessary, and whether chemicals were used, he did not know. He noted to inquire on these points from Bragg, then try to find out if Carey had access to, or could have improvised, the apparatus.
Next day, however, if the Spences could see him, he would go to town.