Freeman Crofts – Inspector French: Sir John Magill’s Last Journey (страница 5)

French bowed slightly.

‘You will understand, madam, that I know nothing about the case and must therefore begin at the beginning. But I shall be as brief as possible. Tell me first, please, a little about your family and household. Just a word about each member.’

The lady paused, evidently to arrange her thoughts, Then began:

‘Our family consists of only five members, my father, my brother Malcolm, my sister Beatrice, myself and our cousin Victor. My father, my sister and I have lived here since we moved from Belfast about seven years ago. At that time my father gave over the direction of the mills to Malcolm. I should have said that he owned large linen mills in the Shankill district of Belfast. Malcolm lives with his wife and two children in Ireland, near Larne. He is now the managing director, indeed the virtual owner, of the mills and he goes there to business every day.

‘My father and sister and I have lived here very quietly. Beyond visiting a few friends we don’t go into society. Though at one time my father took a good deal of interest in parliamentary and municipal affairs, he ceased to do so when we left Belfast. During these last seven years he has indulged his two hobbies, mechanical invention and the collection of silver, specially old silver. You see what he has in this room, and the collection in the music room is even finer.’

‘I was admiring it before you came in. I’m not an authority, but even to me a lot of it looks almost priceless. You mentioned a cousin, a Mr Victor; is it Mr Victor Magill?’

‘Yes, he is the son of Arthur Magill, my father’s younger brother.’

‘Tell me about him, please.’

‘My Uncle Arthur was in partnership with my father in the mill until he died in—I’m not quite sure of the year, but it was about 1901 or 1902. Victor was at school in Belfast then and it was intended that he also should go into the business. But after my uncle’s death his wife moved back to Reading; she was the daughter of a manufacturer of that town. She took Victor from school in Belfast and he went to some English school. From there he went into the regular army. He was invalided out after the War had lasted a couple of years and is now agent for a firm of motor car manufacturers. I believe he does very well out of it too.’

‘I follow you. Now, Miss Magill, I want to ask you a straight question. Do you know, or can you suggest anything, no matter how trifling, which might in any way throw light on Sir John’s disappearance?’

Miss Magill made a despairing little gesture.

‘Absolutely nothing!’ she declared emphatically. ‘The whole thing is utterly puzzling. My father is the last person to be mixed up in anything abnormal.’

‘His health is good?’

‘His health is excellent. For his age it is even remarkable. If you had seen him sawing or planing in his workshop you wouldn’t ask. He is as hale and vigorous as a man of forty.’

‘I suppose I need scarcely ask this either, but still, what about his mind? Any signs of old age showing there?’

There were none. His mind was as clear as French’s own. Even his memory, whose decay first announces the sere and yellow leaf, remained clear and strong. Nor was there any mental weakness in the family. Nor yet, so far as Miss Magill knew, had he any trouble or worry on his mind. French tried again.

‘Can you tell me if Sir John has any enemies?’

He had none. Miss Magill was positive. Sir John was somewhat retiring in disposition, not given to making friends easily, but in a quiet way he was popular. No one, she felt sure, harboured ill feelings against him. Business rivals? No, she was certain there were none. Political? Nor political either. French would get no help that way. He turned to another point.

‘Do you happen to know why Sir John went to Belfast?’

‘Something about one of his inventions, he said. I’m afraid I can’t tell you the details. He’s always working at some invention. As I think I said, he has a workshop fitted up at the back of the house with a lathe and other quite big tools. He’s certainly extraordinarily clever with his hands and makes the most beautiful things in both wood and metal. The work has been a splendid outlet for him and I’m sure has helped to keep him fit.’

‘Hobbies have kept many an elderly man alive,’ French declared oracularly, ‘and constructive hobbies are the best of all. Now, Miss Magill, I have heard that Sir John is a rich man. Is that so?’

‘That’s a comparative term, isn’t it? I don’t know exactly what his income is, but he must be pretty well off. The linen business in old times was very profitable and during and immediately after the War he made a lot of money. Of course it’s different now. Linen has been passing through a bad time lately.’

‘So I’ve heard. But that wouldn’t have affected Sir John, since he has given over the mills to Major Magill?’

‘No. Poor Malcolm has the loss and the worry, I’m afraid. However, things are supposed to have turned the corner now.’

‘I hope they have. Could you tell me the terms of Sir John’s will?’

Miss Magill glanced at him almost reproachfully. The question brought home to her the dread conclusion to which she was evidently so unwilling to open her mind. But she answered calmly enough.

‘Only in a general way. My father has great pride of race and a strong desire to perpetuate the family name. After comparatively small legacies to myself, my sister and my cousin Victor, the remainder goes to my brother Malcolm for his lifetime. If Malcolm had a son it would go on to him. If Malcolm had no son it would go on Malcolm’s death to Victor for his son.’

‘And has Major Magill a son?’

‘No. My brother has two daughters, but no son. On the other hand Victor has two sons, but no daughter.’

‘I follow. Let me see if I’ve got that right. As things are, the bulk of Sir John’s money goes to Major Magill. Owing, however, to its being entailed, the major will only have the life use of it. At his death it goes to Mr Victor Magill in trust for his eldest son.’

‘I believe that’s correct, though I’m not absolutely sure. My father is reticent in disposition and we did not care to question him on such a matter.’

‘Naturally. Can you tell me who is Sir John’s legal adviser?’

‘Messrs Hepplewhite, Ingram & Ingram, of 71B Chancery Lane.’

‘Thank you. Now, Miss Magill, Sir John crossed to Belfast via Larne and Stranraer on the night of Wednesday, the second instant. Do you know who took his tickets and arranged his journey? Did he do things like that for himself?’

‘I expect Mr Breene did that. Mr Breene is his secretary.’

‘Ah, then I should like to see Mr Breene. Who else is there in your household?’

‘Just Myles, the butler, Nutting, the valet and chauffeur, and three women servants.’

‘All reliable?’

‘So far as I know, absolutely.’

‘Thank you, Miss Magill. I’m sorry for having had to give you this trouble. I’m afraid I shall have to see your servants now and also to go through Sir John’s papers.’

She raised her hand.

‘Just a moment. Now, Mr Inspector, you’ve been asking me a lot of questions and I’m going to ask you one in return. Quite honestly, what do you think has happened to my poor father?’

French was accustomed in such circumstances to this demand. He always answered it as truthfully as he could.

‘Honestly, Miss Magill, I don’t know. I haven’t enough information to say. Everything is being done to find out.’

‘Still,’ she persisted, ‘you must have some idea?’

French shrugged. He was sorry for this kindly lady, who evidently felt her position so keenly, yet who had eased his task by so sternly controlling her feelings. There was real sympathy in his voice as he replied: ‘Well, we must admit things don’t look too well. I don’t want to buoy you up with false hopes; all the same I don’t think you need necessarily accept the worst.’

She nodded.

‘I suppose that’s all you can say, and thank you for saying it.’ She rang the bell. ‘Do everything you can to assist Mr French,’ she told the butler. Then shaking hands with French, she left the room.

‘Well, Myles,’ French began, ‘this is a sad business about Sir John.’

The butler closed the door and came forward, standing respectfully before French.

‘I have heard no details, sir, except that he has disappeared. I should like to know—Sir John has been a good master to me—I should like to know if anything further has been learned?’

‘I’ll tell you all I know myself, which isn’t much,’ French said kindly. ‘But first, I wonder if you could give me a little information.’ He unpacked the hat and held it out. ‘Did you ever see that before?’

‘Sir John’s!’ the man said instantly. Then he took the hat and examined it carefully. ‘Yes, sir,’ he declared firmly, ‘there is no doubt whatever about it. It is the hat Sir John was wearing when he left here. I brushed it for him and I am quite certain.’ He turned it over and stared at the blood stains. ‘This is terrible, sir,’ he went on in a lower tone. ‘Does this mean—an accident? That he is dead?’

French shrugged.

‘It certainly doesn’t look too well, does it?’ he admitted. ‘It was found on a lonely road a mile from where Sir John was last seen.’