French Makes a Start
“I should like to introduce you to Major Bentley, our chief
constable,” said Sergeant Golightly to French as they left the
courthouse.
The major was a small dark man with a rather Jewish cast of
countenance. French had noticed him come in late to the inquest and
had imagined he was a police official.
“I was talking over this affair with the superintendent this morning,”
the major began. “He’s knocked up at present and I went to his house.
That’s why you haven’t met him. In the absence of complete knowledge
we rather took the view that the key to the matter lay in London and
that Portsmouth came into it only as the result of an accidental
selection. I should like to know, Inspector, if that’s your view
also?”
“As a matter of fact, it is, sir. I have some further information
which I didn’t think it necessary to lay before the coroner, but which
I should be pleased to give to you. It tends in that direction.”
The chief constable smiled.
“I rather imagined your evidence was—shall I say?—bowdlerized. It
occurred to me that you were mighty quick in assuming that the girl
had disappeared. All the details strictly accurate?”
“Strictly, sir.” French smiled also. “But if a meaning other than that
I intended were taken from what I said, that would not be my fault,
would it?”
“Of course not. Naturally the energies of the police must be directed
towards hoodwinking the courts, eh?”
French laughed outright.
“It has its uses,” he admitted, glancing with amusement at the
sergeant’s scandalized countenance. “But this time I fear our
adversaries are too wide awake to be taken in by it.”
“That so? Well, come along, will you, to the sergeant’s office and
let’s have our chat.”
When they were seated and had lit up three of the chief constable’s
Egyptian cigarettes French told in detail about his interview with the
dead girl and the inquiries he had already made. Both men listened
with keen attention and without interrupting.
“What’s it all about, Inspector?” Major Bentley asked when he had
finished. “Those three ruffians get these girls into their power, or
try to. But what for? Have you any theory?”
“I’ve not,” French admitted. “At first it looked like an attempt to
rob the tills of the cinemas, but all they’d get from that wouldn’t be
worth their while. It might, of course, be for immoral purposes, but
somehow I don’t think so. In any case the motive for this second
murder is clear. This Style believed that the girl Darke connected him
with the first crime, the murder of Eileen Tucker.”
“Possibly they found out that she had gone to the Yard and thought she
had given them away?”
“That’s my view. Probably they shadowed her. If so, they would see
that her ability to identify three of their members would make her so
dangerous that their only policy would be to make away with her.”
“Quite. That’s clear enough. But it doesn’t explain the first murder.”
“It does not, sir. It looks as if there was some game going on to get
the cash out of those cinemas, but how it would be done I can’t see.”
“Nor I.” The chief constable shrugged his shoulders. “Well, that’s all
very interesting, but the point about which I really wanted to consult
you is this: If the key to the matter lies in London, as I think we
are agreed that it must, the matter is one for you and not for us.”
“The body was found here, sir. It is technically a matter for you.”
“I know, but that is a detail which can easily be put right. If we
apply for help from the Yard you can sail ahead without delay?”
“That’s true, sir, or at least the Yard can. I should have to report
and wait for orders. But as I’m mixed up with the case already and as
I have no other job on hand I am sure I should be the man sent. Shall
I get on the phone to the Yard?”
“I think you should. Tell them we’re applying to the Home Office for
help from them, and that I’ve suggested that as you’re here you might
carry on.”
“Right, sir. I’ll do it now.”
But when French got through to Chief Inspector Mitchell he was
surprised by receiving a recall.
“Come and see me first, French, at all events,” said his chief. “We’ll
fix it up then.”
French travelled to Waterloo by the 8.06 p.m. from Portsmouth, and
early next morning knocked at the Chief Inspector’s door.
“Morning, French,” Mitchell greeted him. “I was a good deal interested
by the summary of those proceedings down at Portsmouth. I fancy
there’s more in this thing than we’ve got down to yet. Just start in
and give me details of what took place at the inquest.”
French obeyed. Mitchell listened without interrupting and nodded his
head when his subordinate had finished.
“I sat here,” he said slowly, “last night for a solid hour after I had
received your telephone, trying to remember a name. At last I got it.
Does Arundel convey anything to you?”
“Arundel?” French repeated. “Near Eastbourne that is, isn’t it?”
“Eastbourne your grandmother. It’s ten miles east of Chichester and
some four miles from the coast. That help you?”
French slowly shook his head. “Afraid not, sir.”
“Well, I’ll tell you. Past that little town there flows a river, the
Arun, and in that river one day last October was found the body of a
young woman. The medical evidence was that she had been drowned and as
there were no signs of violence or other suspicious circumstances a
verdict of accidental death was returned. But, French,”—Mitchell
leaned forward and became very impressive—“she was employed in the box
office of a big London cinema!”
French stared.
“Good Lord, sir! Another one?”
“Well, what do you think? And there’s more in it than that. This girl,
Agatha Frinton, was alone in the world, at least no relatives could be
discovered; she was living in a boarding house, and the landlady
stated that she had seemed very depressed for some ten days before her
death.”
“It’s another case of the same,” French declared with an oath. “As
sure as we’re alive, it is! Don’t you think so, sir?”
“It’s certainly suggestive. It looks to me like the last time your
friends wanted a recruit for their little scheme, whatever it is.”
“That’s what I think. It’s going to be a big case, this. The further
you go into it, the bigger it grows. That’s three girls we believe
they’ve murdered and goodness knows how many more there may be that we
haven’t got on to yet.”
“I have a man on that,” Mitchell declared. “He’s looking up the files.
I told him to go for any cases of the death of girls in box offices of
places of amusement, including accidents, suicides, and murders. That
should cover it?”
“That’ll cover it all right. But there’s another point, sir. We
believe they murdered Thurza Darke because they found out that she had
been at the Yard and they suspected she was going to give them away.
Had this other girl, this Agatha Frinton, been to the Yard?”
“Quite right, French,” Mitchell approved. “I have a man on that too.
He’s making a list of girls who lodged complaints which might apply.
There’s this girl, Agatha Frinton, and also that other, Eileen Tucker,
to start with. But it doesn’t follow that they need have actually
called here. A first step might have been what Sherlock Holmes used to
call oscillation on the pavement. They might have come and looked at
the door and their courage might have failed them at the last minute.
But if the gang saw them do that it might be enough.”
“It would indicate what was in the girl’s mind,” French agreed.
“Quite. Now there is another thing, French. Can we learn anything from
the geography of the affair?”
French looked his question.
“Here we have murders taking place at Caterham, Arundel, and
Lee-on-the-Solent. As geography doesn’t seem to be your long suit,
hand over the atlas and let’s look them up. See,” he went on when the
places had been found, “when you add London they make a curve: London,
Caterham, Arundel, and Lee: something like three, four, five, and six
on a clock. Anything in that?”
French pondered, then slowly shook his head.
“Well, bear it in mind,” Mitchell advised. “Later it may give you a
hint as to this precious gang’s headquarters.”
“Then, sir, I am to take up the case?”
“Certainly. Get right on with it at once.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll go round to the cinema and Thurza Darke’s
boarding house again now I’m here, but I fancy my best hopes are at
Portsmouth. There’s quite a chance that they may have left traces when
they were getting the body into the sea.”
“Quite. It shouldn’t take you long to bring them in. You’ve plenty to
go on. You have the descriptions of at least three of the gang and you
have these three murders to go into, for I think we may take it this
Arundel affair was part of it.”
“I’ll get at it immediately. I suppose,” French hesitated, “you’ve no
idea what they might be up to?”
“I’m afraid not. Some way of robbing the cinemas occurs to one at
once, but I don’t see how it could be done on a big enough scale to be
worth while.”
“That’s what I thought. In fact I don’t see how it could be done at
all.”
“You’ll get an idea before long, I fancy. Well, get ahead, French. If
you get tied up at Portsmouth you can try Arundel and if you make a
mess of that you can move on to Caterham. Between them all you should
pull the job off.”
French felt a small glow of appreciation for his chief as he left the
room. Mitchell was certainly a man to work for. He knew his job from A
to Z and his power of getting straight to the heart of things was
little short of uncanny. He was as straight as they are made and when
he could legitimately do so he always supported his men. Moreover he
made allowances for human weakness and beneath his somewhat short
manner there was a very real vein of kindliness. French had never met
anyone whom he would rather serve under.
He lost no time in getting to work. Beginning with the boarding house,
he interviewed not only Mrs. Peters, but the servants and some of the
boarders with whom the deceased girl had been on specially intimate
terms. Unfortunately from them he learnt nothing. Nor did a meticulous
search of Miss Darke’s belongings give better results. Then he drove
to Mr. Arrowsmith’s office and interrogated the typist, Jennie Cox.
From her he obtained a good deal of information as to the dead girl’s
life, but again none of it threw light on his present problem.
By the time he had finished with Miss Cox the Milan was open and after
lunch he went there to continue his inquiries. Here after considerable
trouble he learned one new fact, not indeed an important one, but
still something.
An attendant whom he had not seen on his previous visit had been on
duty in the entrance hall on the night on which Miss Darke had
disappeared. About quarter before eleven a young lady had come in. As
the show was nearly over he had wondered what she wanted and had
watched her particularly. She had gone to Miss Darke’s box and a short
but animated conversation had taken place between the two ladies. He
had overheard the stranger say as she was leaving: “Cheerio, then.
I’ll wait for you at the corner.” She was a tall, good-looking girl,
stylishly dressed, with a fur coat, and she seemed eager and excited
and as if pleased about something. The attendant had noticed also that
Miss Darke had hurried away as soon as she could.
In spite of the man’s somewhat meagre description, French had little
doubt of the visitor’s identity. That she was Gwen Lestrange he would
have bet long odds. He immediately set to work on the clue. After
examining the remainder of the cinema staff he arranged for the
interrogation of the police who had been on duty in the immediate
neighbourhood on the night in question, and circulated an inquiry
among the taximen of the district in the hope that the girls might
have engaged a vehicle.
The great machine of the C.I.D. having thus been set in motion in
London, he returned at eight o’clock to Portsmouth. Smoking a
meditative after-dinner pipe in the train, he set himself to take
stock of the facts which he had already learnt and to see if they
would yield any deductions which might indicate the way in which he
should go.
He saw at once that the inquiry resolved itself into two separate and
distinct problems. There was the immediate question of the identity of
the trio who had murdered these poor girls. For French believed with
his chief that all three crimes were the work of the same parties. But
behind that there was the further problem of motive. What were these
three people doing that should lead them to so terrible an expedient?
It did not require much thought to show French that he must
concentrate on the first of these questions. Until the criminals were
discovered the second question could scarcely be approached. Indeed,
the establishment of their identity might lead directly to the
discovery of their motive.
Of the murder of Thurza Darke therefore, just what did he know?
She had left the Milan at 11.15 in her usual health and spirits and
her dead body was found in the Solent at about 7.00 the next morning.
The evidence of her watch tended to the belief that she was murdered
at 1.07 and this was supported by the doctor’s statement.
French wondered if he could make a provisional time-table of the
happenings on that tragic night. Again and again he had found that
nothing had so cleared up his views on a case as the fixing of a
duration to each incident. Perhaps in this case also it would give
light.
In the first place he considered the time which he should allow for
the actual murder. Even with his case-hardened mind he did not care to
dwell on the ghastly details. But he felt sure that it could not have
been completed in less than half an hour. When he added the time
necessary for the kidnapping he felt sure a good deal longer would
have been required. Assume however half an hour: 11.15 to 1.07, less
half an hour was about 80 minutes.
It was evident in the next place that the journey from London must
have been made by car. There was no train and the difficulties of
using an aeroplane would have been overwhelming. Moreover, the fastest
motor launch would have taken too long for a sea passage to have been
taken.
He had brought a map and guide-book of the district and these gave the
distance from London to Lee as something like 78 miles. From the above
facts it followed that the crime could not have been committed at Lee.
It must have been done within an 80-minute journey from London.
In 80 minutes French thought it unlikely that more than thirty miles
could have been done. With such a freight no driver would have run the
risk of being held up by the police for speeding. Thirty miles from
London in the general direction of Portsmouth brought him to the
district containing Wokingham, Aldershot, Godalming, Horsham, and
Ashdown Forest. He thought that a provisional assumption was justified
that the murder had been committed either in London or somewhere on
the London side of this circle.
Some fifty miles had then to be covered. On these country roads a
higher speed might be admitted. Still French did not believe Lee could
have been reached before about half past three in the morning.
The remains would then have to be put into the sea, an operation which
would also have taken time. Suppose it took half an hour. This would
have brought the time to four o’clock. About four it would be
beginning to get light, and French was sure the criminals would do
their utmost to get away as soon as possible from a place with such
dangerous associations.
When the train ran into Portsmouth station French was smiling
contentedly. He was pleased with his progress. From nothing whatever
he had evolved the definite concept of a car arriving at a point near
Lee at some time between, say, 3.00 a.m. and 5.00 a.m. on the morning
of Tuesday, the 19th of June, and of the carrying of the body from
this point to the sea. Possibly a study of the shore and currents
might enable him to fix that point within short limits. If so, it
would be strange indeed if he did not find some further clues. In a
hopeful frame of mind he put up at the Splendid at Southsea, his plans
for the next day settled.