less conviction. He thought quickly. If, as Miss Magill said, Malcolm had suffered losses during the linen depression, if the old man was not liberal about money, if Malcolm was to a considerable extent his heir … Added to all that curious business at Whitehead … French decided to bluff.
‘I rather gathered,’ he said, with a sidelong glance and bending forward confidentially, ‘that relations between Sir John and his son were just a trifle strained?’
‘An exaggeration,’ Breene answered promptly. ‘Admittedly they didn’t see eye to eye about money matters. But to say that relations were strained is untrue.’
French chuckled inwardly as he bluffed again.
‘Probably you are right. It was this money question that I had in mind all the same. I wish you’d explain just what took place about it.’
‘There’s no mystery about that,’ Breene declared. ‘Major Magill, as you doubtless know, was in difficulties in connection with his business. Linen has been having a bad time in Ireland lately and more than one old and respected firm has gone down. As far as I understood it, the major was faced with having to close down, which of course he didn’t want to do. He wrote asking Sir John to put some more capital into the concern, so that he might install some new and more efficient machinery. But Sir John wouldn’t. He took the line that when he was in charge he had had to meet difficulties and that the major could do the same. It was not perhaps very reasonable, as the slump was due to conditions the major had very little control over; mostly it was the result of the War. But there it was. Sir John wouldn’t move. The major came over to see him a couple of times, but it was no good. But they were perfectly friendly and all that, for I saw them together.’
‘Quite,’ French agreed. ‘I suppose you cannot tell me where I could find Sir John’s will?’
‘I don’t even know if he made a will, though I suppose he must have.’
‘What does he keep in the safe? Can you open it for me?’
‘No. Sorry I can’t help you there either. Sir John keeps the key himself and only on one occasion did I see inside. It seemed to contain only papers, but there may have been objects of his collection too valuable to leave unprotected.’
It suddenly occurred to French that here was rather a serious difficulty. Though he had not actually gone the length of formulating the words, ‘The Case Against Malcolm Magill,’ he realised that the formulation on such a phrase was by no means an impossibility. From the information gained in Ireland Malcolm was a priori the most likely person to have disposed of Sir John’s body, and now here seemed the beginnings of a theory of motive. For to Malcolm’s unprosperous condition must be added the fact that he stood to gain by his father’s death.
French pulled himself up sharply. This would never do. Cases were not conducted in such a way, at least not successful cases. Let him get his facts before jumping to conclusions. At the same time … He turned to Breene.
‘I understand that Sir John went to Ireland about some invention?’
Breene agreed. Sir John was always working out some idea. He was very ingenious and worked as if brought up to the trade.
French nodded.
‘Do you happen to know the exact nature of this Belfast business?’
Breene took out a cigarette case and automatically selected a cigarette, as an afterthought handing the case to his companion.
‘To a limited extent only,’ he answered. ‘Sir John warned me to say nothing about it, but I suppose I’m free from that now. Not that it seems of any importance.’ He twirled his flint and held out the lighter. ‘For some years Sir John has been working on one invention which really would be valuable if he could bring it off. He has been trying to find an improved way of combining artificial silk with the finest linen. He thinks it might be possible to produce a fabric which would be as light and smooth as silk, while strong and uncreasing and giving good wear. He believes such a fabric, if cheap enough, would supersede both real and artificial silk. A jolly fine idea, if he could only do it. There’d be an immense future for such a product. Incidentally it would set the Ulster linen trade on its feet again, make it boom, in fact.’
‘Incidentally also it would make the inventor a millionaire—if he handled his cards well.’
‘Quite. Well, Sir John had found a name for his new product; he was going to call it “Sillin,” a portmanteau of “silk” and “linen,” you understand. But unfortunately that was all he had found. The product itself eluded him. His visit to Belfast was in connection with it.’
‘Just how, can you tell me?’
‘I can’t. He told me he was going to see an engineer in Belfast about it and as he might want to enter into an agreement with him he would like me to go over to take the necessary notes. Also he said something about a possible patent. It looked to me as if either he or the engineer thought they had solved the thing, though he did not say so.’
In answer to French’s questions Breene repeated the story M’Clung had already told. He, Breene, had crossed via Liverpool, gone out on arrival to his brother’s at Comber, breakfasted and returned to Belfast in time to be at the Grand Central Hotel at half past ten, the hour at which he was to meet Sir John. There all that day and night he had waited fruitlessly for the old man. Next morning he had determined to go up and see Major Magill at the mills, but just as he was about to leave the hotel the major had entered. Since then he had made a statement to the Belfast police, and after consulting the major, had returned to London.
‘I suppose, Mr Breene, you have no idea who Sir John had the appointment with?’
Breene had no idea. He had at first supposed it might be a firm of engineers named M’Millan & Maxwell, as these people were constantly doing work for Sir John. This view had been supported by the fact that their works were in Sandy Row, to which Sir John had driven. But when the police had gone to this firm they were told that Sir John had not been to them. So far as Breene knew Sir John had not written to anyone in Ireland before leaving.
‘You’re wrong there,’ French pointed out. ‘He wrote to Major Magill asking if he could put him up.’
Breene hadn’t known about that. He certainly hadn’t written such a letter. Nor, he said in answer to French’s further questions, had he met or heard about a caller from Belfast named Coates, nor could he imagine who this might be.
‘Who arranged Sir John’s journey, Mr Breene?’
He did it himself except for the actual taking of the tickets. In the ordinary course I should have done that and gone with him to Euston and seen him off. But as I told you I crossed that night by Liverpool, which meant my leaving Euston nearly two hours before him. Nutting therefore saw him off. Nutting is the chauffeur.’
French nodded.
‘There is just one other thing,’ he concluded. ‘I want you to tell me about the relations between Mr Victor Magill and the family here.’
‘There was nothing remarkable about their relations,’ Breene answered. ‘As a matter of fact I have not seen a great deal of Victor, though of course I know him quite well. He has visited Sir John occasionally since I have been here, but I don’t know whether on business or as a friend.’
French bluffed again.
‘I
