the major was mostly alone.’
‘Quite; I’m not criticising. I was merely wondering about the major himself. Motive and opportunity, you know. We don’t know if he had notice, but he certainly seems to have had opportunity. You considered that of course?’
M’Clung smiled.
‘We did that, sir. But we thought he was all right. They’re a well-thought-of family and of good position. Major Magill is well in with the Northern Ireland Government set, a friend of the Prime Minister’s and all that. It’s hardly likely he’d be guilty of murder. Of course we can’t say for sure, but we don’t think there’s anything to be got that way.’
‘There was no bad feeling, I take it, between father and son?’
‘Not that we ever heard of.’
‘But you said that Sir John had not been over for seven years. That doesn’t look like friendly relations.’
‘It’s not the whole story, sir. If Sir John didn’t go over to Belfast the major came over here. He said he’d been in London with his father within the last month.’
Once again Mitchell nodded slowly. He paused in thought, then resumed his questions.
‘Well, Sergeant, there’s one thing clear at all events. Sir John Magill reached Ireland safely and it was in Ireland that this mysterious affair happened. Now you’ve come across to consult us. Just what do you want us to do?’
‘Well, sir, it seemed to Superintendent Rainey that this wasn’t a local crime at all. He thought it had likely arisen out of something that had happened over here. And if so, it would take you to go into it. He wasn’t going to suggest what you might do, but he thought you might look up Sir John’s history.’
‘If your superintendent is correct the matter would certainly have to be dealt with from here. I suppose he hadn’t anything more definite in his mind?’
‘No, sir. He said that of course the immediate thing was to get the hat identified. Then he suggested that we should check up the motive for Sir John’s journey and get a list of the people who knew he was going to travel. He thought it would be worth while trying to find whether anyone had an interest in his death. Also he wondered if the old man had much money on him and if so, who would be likely to know about it.’
Mitchell smiled.
‘I see that your superintendent’s ideas are very like our own. Those are the lines we should go on, eh, French?’
‘That’s right, sir. It seems the kind of case you’d get to the bottom of from routine work. Who had an interest in his death? Who of these people were in Northern Ireland at the time of the crime? It seems to me we wouldn’t have to go much further than those two questions.’
‘I agree and I’m afraid it’s you for it. You see, we pretty well must act, whether we want to or not. The Belfast authorities have put in a formal application for assistance through the Home Office. Everything is in order and you may take over as soon as you can. Will you go over to Belfast?’
‘I don’t really know, sir, as yet. I think I should get what I can here first at all events and then be guided by circumstances. What do you think, Sergeant?’
The sergeant grinned.
‘We’ll be very glad to see you in Belfast, Mr French, if you decide to come over. But I think what we want mostly lies in London. However, as you say, you’ll know better later on.’
For some time further they discussed the case, finally deciding that French should carry on as suggested. M’Clung not being required in London, he was to return that evening to Belfast, keeping French advised of developments there and undertaking to meet him should he decide to go over.
It was with mixed feelings that French settled down to consider his new case. As a rule he disliked working with a strange police force. In spite of the invariable fact of his having been invited to assist, jealousies arose. Those whose work he was doing felt that they had been weighed in the balance and found wanting. Hence he was frequently met by a veiled opposition, the overcoming of which took half his energies. Moreover with the best will in the world strangers could not give him the help he was accustomed to from his own trained staff.
On the other hand, if he had to go to Ireland, here was a new and by all accounts a very pleasant country to explore. It was true he had once before been in Belfast, but on that occasion his job had occupied all his time and he had been unable to see anything of the place. Now he promised himself at least a Sunday in Portrush and a trip round the far-famed Coast Road, should these delights prove at all possible.
Of course it was by no means certain that the case would take him to Ireland. Indeed he felt he would be surprised if the matter should not prove to be wholly Irish. Sir John had spent his life in Northern Ireland and his connections there must be of the closest. A successful business man usually makes enemies. One who takes a strong lead in politics invariably does so. Who could tell what old enmity might not have flared up as a result of this last visit?
But with these possibilities French saw that he had nothing to do. Rightly or wrongly Scotland Yard had been asked to intervene and that intervention had crystalised into the making of certain inquiries by himself. He had his instructions and the sooner he carried them out, the better for all concerned. A visit to Sir John Magill’s house seemed to be his first move, and he therefore put aside the routine work he had been engaged on and set off to Knightsbridge.
71 Elland Gardens proved to be a comparatively small double house in an old-fashioned but aristocratic-looking terrace. The door was opened by an elderly butler who might have stepped out of a play, so incredibly true was he to type; in fact the whole scene of French’s arrival and announcement might well have been taken from the stage of a theatre. Sending in his official card, French asked for either or both of the ladies.
Inside the house the evidences of wealth were more apparent. Even the entrance hall contained costly objects of art, and the library, into which French was shown, was a veritable museum. Silver predominated, and tables and shelves bore almost priceless examples of the skill of the old craftsmen. Books lined the walls between the ornaments, and the light reflected from them and the walnut furniture was mellow and restful. In the centre was an old-fashioned desk, closed, a table bearing a half-completed model of some machine stood in a window, and deep armchairs were placed here and there on the thick carpet. In one corner was a built-in safe.
French had scarcely taken in these details when the door opened and a lady entered. Slightly below medium height, she was plain of feature and rather stern of expression. But her manner was gracious enough as she advanced towards French.
‘Detective-Inspector French?’ she said, glancing at the card in her hand. ‘We were expecting a representative from Scotland Yard. My brother, Major Magill, wrote that the Belfast police were consulting you. Won’t you sit down?’
She spoke calmly, but French could see that her nerves were on edge and that she was holding herself on a tight rein.
‘We had a communication from Belfast this morning,’ he answered with the
