Freeman Crofts - Inspector French and the Sea Mystery

On reaching Swansea, French looked up Superintendent Howells at the police station.

‘Glad to see you, Mr French,’ the superintendent greeted him. ‘I’ve known your name for a considerable time, and since I heard you were down over this job I’ve been hoping we should meet. That Neath report any good to you?’

‘I think so,’ French answered. ‘It sounds promising at all events. On the strength of it I’ve come in to ask for your help.’

‘That’s all right. What do you want us to do?’

‘I want to trace the lorry your man saw out at Neath. I’ve got his description of it, and I must say that seeing he suspected nothing at the time he observed it pretty closely. A smart man, superintendent.’

‘I’m glad you think so, Inspector. Right, I’ll put through a call to all stations immediately.’

‘Splendid. And can you ask Superintendent Griffiths at Llanelly to advise the Carmarthen men also?’

The necessary circular, drafted, the two chatted for some minutes until French excused himself on the ground that since he was at Swansea he might as well have a look round the town.

‘There’s not much to see in it, Mr French,’ Howells rejoined, ‘but Mumbles is worth visiting I should advise you to take a bus there and walk round the Head and back by Langland. If you’re fond of a bit of good coast you’ll enjoy it. You’ll have plenty of time before we get any replies. Sorry I can’t go with you, but I’m full up here.’

French went out, and after a stroll through some of the principal streets got on board a bus for Mumbles. There he took the walk Superintendent Howells had recommended. He enjoyed every minute of it. As he left the houses behind and the road began to rise up the side of the cliff he felt he was having one of the compensations of a country case. He walked up through the long rock cutting until at the top the wide expanse of the Bristol Channel came into view with the islands and lighthouse off the Head in the foreground. There was some wind and the deep blue of the sea was flecked with white. He stood and watched three outward-bound steamers pitching gently in the swell, the smoke from their stacks trailing away east. Then he took the footpath round the cliffs, rising high round Rams Tor and dropping again to Langland Bay, from which another road led across the neck of the peninsula back into Mumbles. It was getting on towards five when he returned to the police station.

‘You’ve come at the right time, Inspector,’ Superintendent Howells greeted him. ‘I’ve just had two pieces of news. Your lorry was seen twice. About five o’clock on Monday evening, 22nd August, the evening in question, it was seen by one of our men passing through Morriston. Morriston is a town some two miles north of Swansea; indeed it is really a suburb. The lorry came from the Swansea direction and turned east at Morriston towards Neath. It was then carrying the tarpaulin covered object.’

‘Then it started from Swansea?’

‘Looks like it. And it looks as if it finished up at Swansea also. It was seen again on the following morning. About ten o’clock a patrol saw a breakdown lorry coming towards Swansea along the Pontardulais road. It corresponded with the description in every respect except that it was carrying the tarpaulin only.’

‘By Jove! Superintendent, that’s good. It won’t be long till we run it to earth. I take it there are not many breakdown lorries in Swansea.’

‘Give you a list in half an hour.’ He touched a bell. ‘Here, Thomas, start in and ring up all the local garages and find out how many have repair lorries—you know what I mean, fitted with cranes. And see here. You needn’t worry about any with fixed jibs: only those that can be raised and lowered. Got that?’

The constable saluted smartly and withdrew. Howells turned to French and was beginning a remark when his desk telephone rang.

‘Yes. Superintendent Howells speaking … Yes … Gorseinon … Yes … What time was that?… Very good, I’ve got you.’ He rang off. ‘There’s another, Mr French. I think you’re all right this time. At half-past twelve that same Monday night a patrol found your lorry in another lane, also hidden by trees. It was a mile or so east of a little place called Gorseinon: that’s about five miles north-east of Loughor. It was standing in the lane and the driver was working at his engine. Our men stopped and spoke, and the driver said he had been on a job out beyond Llandilo and was returning to Swansea. The description matches and the crate was then on the lorry.’

‘Fine!’ French exclaimed. ‘That settles it. He was evidently going round killing time until it was late enough to throw in the crate. Could we fix his course from all those places you mentioned?’

‘Pretty nearly, I think. Here is a map of the district. He seems to have just made a circle from Swansea to Loughor via Morriston, Neath, Pontardaw, and Gorseinon: say twenty-five miles altogether. Goodness knows how he returned, but it may have been through Bynea and Pontardulais. We may take it he made another detour anyhow.’

‘He made a blunder going with the lorry in that open way,’ French said grimly.

‘I don’t see what else he could have done. But I bet he wasn’t worrying much about being seen. He was banking on the crate not being found.’

‘You’re right, and on odds he was justified. It was by a pretty thin chance that it was discovered. I was saying that to Nield: how the one unlikely chance that a man overlooks or discounts is the one that gets him.’

‘That’s a fact, Inspector, and it’s lucky for us it is so. I remember once when—’

But French was not destined to hear the superintendent’s reminiscence. The telephone bell once again rang stridently.

‘Got it in one,’ Howells observed, after listening to the message. ‘There is only one lorry in Swansea fitted with a movable crane, and it is owned by Messrs Llewellyn of Fisher Street. Moreover, it was hired about four o’clock on the afternoon of that Monday, 22nd August, and returned next morning. Will you see them now? If so I’ll come along and show you the place.’

They soon reached Fisher Street, where there was a large garage bearing the name: ‘The Stepney Motor Car Co.’ The superintendent, entering, asked for Mr Llewellyn.

The proprietor looked thrilled when he learned French’s business.

‘By Jove! you don’t say that that crate was carried on my lorry!’ he exclaimed. ‘I read about its discovery and a dam’ good tale it made. How did you find out so much?’

‘I’ve not proved anything,’ French replied. ‘The whole thing is pure suspicion. But you may lead me to certainty. I’d be obliged if you would tell me what took place.’

‘Surely; I’ll tell you all I can, but it won’t be much.’ He opened a day-book and ran down the items. ‘The 22nd of August,’ he went on. ‘Yes, here it is. We hired out the lorry on that date. But it was ordered beforehand. We got a letter several days before from London from one of the big hotels, signed Stewart, asking if we had a breakdown lorry for hire, and if so, at what rate. It particularised one with a movable jib which would pick up a load from the ground and set it on the lorry table. The machine would be wanted on the afternoon of the 22nd for one day only. If we agreed, the writer’s man would call for it about four on that afternoon and would return it before midday on the 23rd. As the writer was a stranger he would be willing to deposit whatever sum we thought fair as a guarantee. The lorry was wanted to pick up a special machine which the writer was expecting by sea from London, and carry it to his place in Brecknock, where it was to be lowered on to a foundation. As it was part of an invention he was perfecting, he didn’t want any strangers about. He made it a condition therefore that his man would drive.