‘If so, I know nothing about it.’
‘Well, Mr Breene, I’m much obliged to you. That’s all I want, except to look through Sir John’s desk. I have Miss Magill’s permission.’
‘So she told me,’ Breene returned dryly. ‘Here are the keys. I suppose you’ll not want my help? I’ve an appointment down town shortly.’
French reassured him with secret satisfaction. Solitude was the very thing he wanted. He would see the other servants and then get along with the search of the desk.
Nutting, the chauffeur, was the first comer. He was able to tell very little. He positively identified the hat as that Sir John was wearing on the night in question. He had driven him to Euston, taken his tickets for the journey and the sleeper, and seen him into the train. The berth had been engaged and the attendant was expecting him.
More as a matter of form than otherwise French saw the maids, though from them he learned nothing. Then locking the library door, he settled down to go through the desk.
It did not take French, long to see that Sir John, or Breene, whichever of them used the desk, was a man of method. The top was clear, save for a tickler file open at the current date and a small pile of papers evidently awaiting attention. The three lower drawers on each side had been made into one, and contained a modern vertical correspondence file. Separate drawers held neatly docketed papers relating to various subjects, bills, receipts, investments. But nowhere could French find anything to help his quest.
His eye strayed longing to the safe. It was quite on the cards that inside lay Sir John’s will, and a sight of Sir John’s will, he felt, was vital to his investigation. However, at present at all events, he had no power to have the safe forced. He could only go to the solicitors in Chancery Lane and hope for the best. But he greatly feared that in spite of the persuasiveness of his tongue, of which he had a not inconsiderable opinion, they would be unwilling to let him see the document.
Wishing, as he so often did, that the men of the C.I.D. were as well favoured in such matters as their confreres in other countries, he rang for Myles, and having handed him the keys of the desk, was shown out.
French’s researches at Elland Gardens had occupied him during the whole of that Monday afternoon, the first of his new inquiry. It was not, therefore, till the following morning that he was able to call on Messrs Hepplewhite, Ingram & Ingram, Sir John Magill’s solicitors. From them, unfortunately, he learned little. Mr Ingram, senior, whom he interviewed, admitted that he had drawn up Sir John’s will, but on its completion he had sent it to Elland Gardens, in accordance with the old man’s request. For this reason he found himself unable to state its contents, though so far as his memory went its terms were as suggested by the inspector. This was the extreme limit to which Mr Ingram could be induced to go, and with this French had therefore to be content.
At his next visit, to the motor agency for which Victor Magill acted as representative, he drew almost as complete a blank. It was true that he did not expect to learn much. But as a matter of routine, it was necessary to see everyone who might in any way throw light on the case.
Messrs Hopwood & Merrythought were agents for a number of the most expensive makes of luxury cars on the market. Mr Hopwood, the senior partner, when assured of the gravity of the affair, proved willing to tell French all he knew about his travelling agent. But it did not amount to much. Victor Magill had joined the firm some five years previously and during this period had proved himself an excellent salesman. In private life he mixed with a smart crowd, belonging to at least three exclusive clubs. This gave him opportunities of doing unobtrusive business, which he utilised so tactfully that while selling an ever-increasing number of cars, he was accepted by his clients as their benefactor rather than as the unmitigated nuisance such salesmen so often are. He was paid a retaining fee of £500 a year, with a large commission on results. This commission had grown every year until in the previous year it had amounted to over £1500. From Victor’s mode of life Mr Hopwood imagined he must also have considerable private means.
As a result of French’s routine, but probing questions, Mr Hopwood admitted that at one time Victor had seemed very short of cash. For the most of half a year stringency had obtained and there had been hints of gambling and serious debt. Mr Hopwood had been a good deal worried about the affair, though he had not had sufficiently definite information to justify him in taking the matter up officially with Victor. Then suddenly, some four months previously, things had come right. Whether Victor had made a lucky venture with the Goddess of Chance or whether he had come in for a legacy, the senior partner did not know, but Victor was again evidently flush and the ugly rumours of debt died down.
With regard to Victor’s personality Mr Hopwood had little to say. In the senior partner’s view Victor was a thorough man of the world, suave, polished and excellent company in any society. He was at present on holidays, a yachting cruise up the west coast of Scotland, and was not expected back for another two or three weeks.
As French returned to the Yard he felt rather up against it. Had he been acting alone he would unhesitatingly have gone to Ireland. Not only did he believe that the solution of the mystery lay there, but he felt that he had done all that was necessary in London. He smoked a couple of pipes over it and then went in and put his views before Chief Inspector Mitchell.
The chief inspector heard him without comment.
‘If that’s your view,’ he said at last, ‘better go over and say so. See their superintendent and have a chat with him. And see here, French. Do anything you can for them. If they want you to stay and lend a hand, do so. Better ring them up now and go over tonight.’
From the tone of the Belfast superintendent rather than from his actual words, French sensed that he would be a welcome visitor. Evidently they were getting no further with the case, and equally evidently they were worried about it. French would have expected a resentment at his appearance in Ireland, but nothing of the sort was suggested by the superintendent’s reply. It was finally arranged that he should cross via Larne and Stranraer and that Sergeant M’Clung would meet him at the station in Belfast.
It did not seem possible that anything could have occurred during Sir John’s journey which might have borne on his subsequent fate. At the same time French determined to travel as the old gentleman had done and to keep a careful note of his surroundings so as to visualise the other’s experiences.
He began therefore by engaging a sleeping berth at Euston. On inquiry he was directed to a stationmaster’s office on No. 6 platform. There a clerk made the reservation, handing him a voucher. This voucher he presented at the booking office when taking his tickets, a first-class return for the journey and a single for the sleeping berth.
The train left at 7.40 p.m. from No. 12 platform. There he found that all arrangements had been made for his reception. His name was on the list on the window of the sleeping coach and the attendant was expecting him and showed him to his stateroom. Immediately after starting the man came to him for his tickets. He was most civil, making a point of addressing French by his name and fixing up when he should call him next morning.
For a time French sat watching the lights flit by, then thinking he would be more comfortable in bed, he undressed, switched on his reading lamp and became immersed in a novel. At the end of a couple of hours this palled and he turned off the light and composed himself to sleep.
