Freeman Crofts – Inspector French: Sir John Magill’s Last Journey (страница 3)

‘Sir John said he’d had a busy day and hadn’t been able either to call at the mill or to get down sooner to Larne. He was now in Whitehead, where he had gone to look up a man on business. But when he had inquired where his friend lived he had learned that he had moved to Bangor a couple of years earlier. Sir John was therefore stuck in Whitehead, for there wasn’t a train to Larne for an hour. So he wanted the major to take out the car and come for him. If the major could do so he would walk out along the Larne road to meet him.

‘Well, the major was puzzled about the whole business, but he supposed there was some good explanation. Anyway he wasn’t long getting out the Rolls. It’s about ten miles from Larne to Whitehead and his place is four miles on the other side of Larne, say a fourteen mile run altogether. He did it in about half an hour. For the last couple of miles he went slowly and kept a good lookout, but he didn’t see a sign of Sir John. It was dark at the time, but his headlights were bright and he was sure that if the old man had been on the road he would have seen him. When he got to Whitehead he inquired at the two or three telephone places open at that hour. At the station he got what he wanted. The stationmaster told him that an elderly gentleman had come off the Belfast train arriving at 8.47 p.m. He had asked to be directed to a Mr Rimbolt’s house, an engineer employed in one of the Belfast works. The stationmaster knew Mr Rimbolt. He had lived at Whitehead formerly, but a couple of years earlier had moved to Bangor. When the old man heard this he asked where there was a telephone and the stationmaster had shown him the booth on the up platform. The man had gone in and a few minutes later the stationmaster had seen him come out and cross the bridge towards the town.

‘The major went back to the car and searched the roads and made inquiries at houses in Whitehead where his father might have called. But he couldn’t get any trace of Sir John and at last he gave it up and went home. He wasn’t exactly alarmed about the old man, though he thought the whole thing more than queer. Next day he called first thing at the Grand Central Hotel and there he got news that seemed queerer still and that made him think something really was wrong.’

Again M’Clung paused, shifted his position, and drew his dying cigar up to a fervent heat. Neither Mitchell nor French spoke. So far the story did not seem to call for remark and in a moment the Ulsterman resumed.

‘As Major Magill walked into the hotel the first person he saw was Sir John’s private secretary, a man named Breene. Mr Breene, it seemed, was also looking for Sir John and he was more puzzled and upset than the major. He said that on the Monday previous Sir John had told him he was going over for three or four days to Belfast and that he wanted Breene to accompany him. It was about his linen-silk invention. He had an appointment with an engineer, with whom he was thinking of entering into an agreement. He wasn’t sure whether this agreement would come off, but if it did he would want Breene to make a draft to send to the lawyers and also probably to get out details for a patent specification. One day would do the thing so far as Breene was concerned and he might have the other two or three days with his people. It seems that Breene is a Belfast man who had gone over to England with Sir John and his people live at Comber—that’s a small town about eight miles from Belfast.

‘The major immediately asked Breene when he had last seen Sir John. Breene told him in London, for they had travelled by different routes. Sir John had crossed by Larne and Stranraer, as he liked the short sea passage and didn’t require to be in early. That service gets in at 9.10 a.m. Breene had gone by Liverpool, which gets in about 7.30 a.m., as it enabled him to go down and breakfast with his people at Comber before meeting Sir John. Sir John had asked him to be at the Grand Central Hotel at half past ten and he had been there promptly to time. That was on the previous morning. Sir John had not turned up and Breene had waited in the building for him ever since.

‘This story made the major anxious. He feared something must have gone wrong. So he told Breene to wait on at the hotel in case the old man turned up and he himself came along to report at headquarters. He asked us to make some private inquiries. Well, we did so, but from that moment to this Sir John Magill has never been heard of.’

‘Disappeared without trace?’

‘Not altogether, sir. I’m coming to that. Our people started a search at once. They got the local men on the job everywhere and I was sent to Whitehead to try and pick up a trail from there. I wasn’t there an hour till I’d found something.

‘About a mile or less from Whitehead along the road towards Larne there were signs of a struggle. It’s a lonely, deserted place. The road runs on an easy curve between fairly high hedges. There is a grass border at each side with a sod mound and the hedges grow from the back of the mounds. The marks were on the grass, which was trampled and beaten down. Unfortunately none of the prints were clear. Twigs were broken from the hedge. Here and there were traces of blood, very little blood, not more than half a dozen drops. I searched round and I found a hat sticking in the roots of the hedge. It was trampled and there were two stains of blood on it. It was a good grey felt hat stamped with a London maker’s name and the letters “J. M.” I have it there in the parcel to show you. I searched on round for the most of the morning, but there wasn’t another trace of anything, neither of the body if the man was murdered, nor of a car stopping nor of anything at all. And not another thing has been heard of Sir John anywhere.’

‘That sounds a puzzle and no mistake, Sergeant,’ Mitchell commented slowly. ‘I suppose you tried round the houses at Whitehead?’

‘Yes, sir. When we found the hat we thought the thing must be serious, so we made public inquiries. We had a house-to-house call in all the town and surrounding country, but we couldn’t hear of anything.’

‘Was the man in Bangor expecting Sir John?’

‘No, sir. He was absolutely surprised at the whole thing. He had no business with Sir John and hardly knew him.’

‘I suppose your people checked up Major Magill’s statement?’

‘At once, sir. We started men at Larne Harbour to trace the old man’s movements. They found two stewards on the boat, both of whom had been on that service for years. Both had known Sir John when he was living in Belfast and both recognised him again. He had booked a private cabin and went straight to it when he got aboard at Stranraer and stayed there all the time. He didn’t have anything to eat though it was a calm morning and he was quite well. When they were coming into Larne one of the stewards went to call him and found him asleep.

‘He’d gone ashore at Larne Harbour and spoken to the stationmaster about his luggage. “I want this stuff sent to my son’s, Major Malcolm Magill’s,” he had said. “I’m going on to Belfast and I’ll be down again in the evening.” He asked the cost and paid. The stationmaster saw him into the Belfast train.

‘Our men then saw the guard of the train, who happened to be at the harbour. He remembered seeing the man in question talking to the stationmaster and the stationmaster seeing him into the train. Before the train started he collected the tickets and he noticed Sir John alone in a first-class compartment. He noticed him again on the platform at Belfast. He was carrying a medium-sized despatch case.’

Chief-Inspector Mitchell reached forward and carefully removed the ash from his cigar.

‘Bit of luck getting all that evidence surely?’ he remarked, while French nodded emphatically.

‘It was, sir, and yet not so much as you might think. There aren’t many cross by that morning service at that time of year and Sir John was striking-looking enough to have been noticed.’

‘Lucky for you, Sergeant, all the same. Well, you’ve got him to Belfast.’

‘Yes, sir. At Belfast we lost him, but we made a cast round and we soon picked him up again. He had gone to the Station Hotel, that’s at the Northern Counties station where he arrived. He must have gone straight there, for our men were able to check up the time and it was just after the boat train came in. He saw the reception clerk and said: “I’m Sir John Magill. Is there a letter for me?” There wasn’t, and he thanked the clerk and said it didn’t, matter. He sent the hall porter for a taxi and drove off.’

‘That might explain why he didn’t call at the Grand Central, might it not?’ French suggested. ‘He mixed up the hotels and went to the wrong one.’

‘That’s what Superintendent Rainey thought,’ M’Clung returned. ‘Our people saw the hall porter and from him they got the taxi man. He said that Sir John had told him to drive to Sandy Row, where the Donegall Road crosses it. That is in a more or less working-class part of the city. Well, they drove to the place and Sir John paid the taximan. As the man was starting he saw Sir John standing in an uncertain-looking way on the pavement. Except for the stationmaster at Whitehead that night when Sir John telephoned to Major Magill, that was the last time anyone saw him, at least, so far as we’ve been able to learn up to now. The superintendent said he’d ’phone if anything else came out.’