The Pit Prop Syndicate - Freeman Wills Crofts (best books to read in your 20s txt) 📗
- Author: Freeman Wills Crofts
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“We might try it,” he admitted, without enthusiasm. “It couldn't do much harm anyway.”
They returned to the garage, opened the secret lid beneath the lorry, and with a cloth moistened with petrol cleaned the fittings. Then after a look round to make sure that nothing had been disturbed, they let themselves out of the shed, regained the lane and their machine, and some forty minutes later were in Bordeaux.
On reconsideration they decided that as Raymond might have obtained Willis's description from Captain Beamish, it would be wiser for Laroche to visit the distillery. Next morning, therefore, the latter bought a small writing block, and taking an inside leaf, which he carefully avoided touching with his hands, he drew a cross-section of a wood-burning fire-box copied from an illustration in a book of reference in the city library, at the same time reading up the subject so as to be able to talk on it without giving himself away. Then he set out on his mission.
In a couple of hours he returned.
“Got that all right,” he exclaimed, as he rejoined the inspector. “I went and saw the fellow; said I was going to start a distillery in the Ardennes where there was plenty of wood, and wanted to see his plant. He was very civil, and took me round and showed me everything. There is a shed there above the still furnaces with hoppers for the firewood to go down, and in it was standing the lorry—the lorry, I saw our marks on the corner. It was loaded with firewood, and he explained that it would be emptied last thing before the day-shift left, so as to do the stills during the night. Well, I got a general look round the concern, and I found that the large tuns which contain the finished brandy were just at the back of the wall of the shed where the lorry was standing. So it is easy to see what happens. Evidently there is a pipe through the wall, and Raymond comes down at night and fills up the lorry.”
“And did you get his finger-prints?”
“Have 'em here.”
Locking the door of their private room, Laroche took from his pocket the sketch he had made.
“He held this up quite satisfactorily,” he went on, “and there should be good prints.”
Willis had meanwhile spread a newspaper on the table and taken from his suitcase a small bottle of powdered lamp-black and a camel's-hair brush. Laying the sketch on the newspaper he gently brushed some of the black powder over it, blowing off the surplus. To the satisfaction of both men, there showed up near the left bottom corner the distinct mark of a left thumb.
“Now the other side.”
Willis turned the paper and repeated the operation on the back. There he got prints of a left fore and second finger.
“Excellent, clear prints, those,” Willis commented, continuing: “And now I have something to tell you. While you were away I have been thinking over this thing, and I believe I've got an idea.”
Laroche looked interested, and the other went on slowly:
“There are two brandy-carrying lorries. Every night one of these lies at the distillery and the other at the clearing; one is being loaded and the other unloaded; and every day the two change places. Now we may take it that neither of those lorries is sent to any other place in the town, lest the brandy tanks might be discovered. For the same reason, they probably only make the one run mentioned per day. Is that right so far?”
“I should think so,” Laroche replied cautiously.
“Very well. Let us suppose these two lorries are Nos. 1 and 2. No. 1 goes to the distillery say every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and returns on the other three days, while No. 2 does vice versa, one trip each day remember. And this goes on day after day, week after week, month after month. Now is it too much to assume that sooner or later someone is bound to notice this—some worker at the clearing or the distillery, some policeman on his beat, some clerk at a window over-looking the route? And if anyone notices it will he not wonder why it always happens that these two lorries go to this one place and to no other, while the syndicate has six lorries altogether trading into the town? And if this observer should mention his discovery to someone who could put two and two together, suspicion might be aroused, investigation undertaken, and presently the syndicate is up a tree. Now do you see what I'm getting at?”
Laroche had been listening eagerly, and now he made a sudden gesture.
“But of course!” he cried delightedly. “The changing of the numbers!”
“The changing of the numbers,” Willis repeated. “At least, it looks like that to me. No. 1 does the Monday run to the distillery. They change the number plate, and No. 4 does it on Wednesday, while No. 1 runs to some other establishment, where it can be freely examined by anyone who is interested. How does it strike you?”
“You have got it. You have certainly got it.” Laroche was more enthusiastic than the inspector had before seen him. “It's what you call a cute scheme, quite on par with the rest of the business. They didn't leave much to chance, these! And yet it was this very precaution that gave them away.”
“No doubt, but that was an accident.”
“You can't,” said the Frenchman sententiously, “make anything completely watertight.”
The next night they went out to the clearing, and as soon as it was dark once more entered the shed. There with more powder—white this time-they tested the tank lorry for finger-marks. As they had hoped, there were several on the secret fittings, among others a clear print of a left thumb on the rivet head of the spring.
A moment's examination only was necessary. The prints were those of M. Pierre Raymond.
Once again Inspector Willis felt that he ought to have completed his case, and once again second thoughts showed him that he was as far away from that desired end as ever. He had been trying to find accomplices in the murder of Coburn, and by a curious perversity, instead of finding them he had bit by bit solved the mystery of the Pit-Prop Syndicate. He had shown, firstly, that they were smuggling brandy, and, secondly, how they were doing it. For that he would no doubt get a reward, but such was not his aim. What he wanted was to complete his own case and get the approval of his own superiors and bring promotion nearer. And in this he had failed.
For hours he pondered over the problem, then suddenly an idea which seemed promising flashed into his mind. He thought it over with the utmost care, and finally decided that in the absence of something better he must try it.
In the morning the two men travelled to Paris, and Willis, there taking leave of his colleague, crossed to London, and an hour later was with his chief at the Yard.
CHAPTER 19. WILLIS SPREADS HIS NET
Though Inspector Willis had spent so much time out of London in his following up of the case, he had by no means lost sight of Madeleine Coburn and Merriman. The girl, he knew, was still staying with her aunt at EASTBOURNE, and the local police authorities, from whom he got his information, believed that her youth and health were reasserting themselves, and that she was rapidly recovering from the shock of her father's tragic death. Merriman haunted the town. He practically lived at the George, going up and down daily to his office, and spending as many of his evenings and his Sundays at Mrs. Luttrell's as he dared.
But though the young man had worn himself almost to a shadow by his efforts, he felt that the realization of his hopes was as far off as ever. Madeleine had told him that she would not marry him until the mystery of her father's murder was cleared up and the guilty parties brought to justice, and he was becoming more and more afraid that she would keep her word. In vain he implored her to consider the living rather than the dead, and not to wreck his life and her own for what, after all, was but a sentiment.
But though she listened to his entreaties and was always kind and gentle, she remained inflexible in her resolve. Merriman felt that his only plan, failing the discovery of Mr. Coburn's assassin, was unobtrusively to keep as much as possible in her company, in the hope that she would grow accustomed to his presences and perhaps in time come to need it.
Under these circumstances his anxiety as to the progress of the case was very great, and on several occasions he had written to Willis asking him how his inquiry was going on. But the inspector had not been communicative, and Merriman had no idea how matters actually stood.
It was therefore with feelings of pleasurable anticipation that he received a telephone call from Willis at Scotland Yard.
“I have just returned from Bordeaux,” the inspector said, “and I am anxious to have a chat with Miss Coburn on some points that have arisen. I should be glad of your presence also, if possible. Can you arrange an interview?”
“Do you want her to come to town?”
“Not necessarily; I will go to EASTBOURNE if more convenient. But our meeting must be kept strictly secret. The syndicate must not get to know.”
Merriman felt excitement and hope rising within him.
“Better go to EASTBOURNE then,” he advised. “Come down with me tonight by the 5.20 from Victoria.”
“No,” Willis answered, “we mustn't be seen together. I shall meet you at the corner of the Grand Parade and Carlisle Road at nine o'clock.”
This being agreed on, both men began to make their arrangements. In Merriman's case these consisted in throwing up his work at the office and taking the first train to EASTBOURNE. At five o'clock he was asking for Miss Coburn at Mrs. Luttrell's door.
“Dear Madeleine,” he said, when he had told her his news, “you must not begin to expect things. It may mean nothing at all. Don't build on it.”
But soon he had made her as much excited as he was himself. He stayed for dinner, leaving shortly before nine to keep his appointment with Willis. Both men were to return to the house, when Madeleine would see them alone.
Inspector Willis did not travel by Merriman's train. Instead he caught the 5.35 to Brighton, dined there, and then slipping out of the hotel, motored over to EASTBOURNE. Dismissing his vehicle at the Grand Hotel, he walked down the Parade and found Merriman at the rendezvous. In ten minutes they were in Mrs. Luttrell's drawing-room.
“I am sorry, Miss Coburn,” Willis began politely, “to intrude on you in this way, but the fact is, I want your help and indirectly the help of Mr. Merriman. But it is only fair, I think, to tell you first what has transpired since we last met. I must warn you, however, that I can only do so in the strictest confidence. No whisper of what I am going to say must pass the lips of either of you.”
“I promise,” said Merriman instantly.
“And I,” echoed Madeleine.
“I didn't require that assurance,” Willis went on. “It is sufficient that you understand the gravity of the situation. Well, after the inquest I set to work,” and he briefly related the story of his investigations in London and in Hull, his discoveries at Ferriby, his proof that Archer was the actual murderer, the details of the smuggling organization and, finally, his suspicion that the other members of the syndicate were privy to Mr. Coburn's death, together with his
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