Fatal Venture (21 page)

“That’s all very clear,’ said French.

“Now about four o’clock or a little later on that afternoon – the boy hadn’t a watch and wasn’t sure of the time – he started from his home, here near Dunluce, to walk into Portrush. He went along the road and then turned to the right down the track to the East Strand, opposite McArtt’s Hollow. A couple of hundred yards down, at this point marked X, he met a stranger going up the path to the road. These country boys aren’t always what you would wish about manners, but they’re often sharp enough, and this one had kept his eyes open. He described Stott accurately enough and picked his photograph out of a dozen others. If the boy was right about the time he left his house, Stott ought to have reached the road about four-fifteen.”

“Though you deserved it, that certainly was lucky,” French put in.

“Lucky wasn’t in it. Well, the next step was clear. I sent out some men to comb the area and in less than half an hour they had the body found and me notified. I drove out with the photographer and saw it before it was moved.”

The DI turned again to his map.

“It was lying here,” he pointed, “at the Point A, near the middle of McArtt’s Hollow, and hidden by shrubs and bushes. It lay twisted up on its face, with its arms beneath it. Here are some photographs.”

“Admirable work,” French said. He really meant it. The photographs would not have disgraced the Yard’s best expert. There were two distant views of the body and four close-ups, giving its appearance from every direction. A seventh picture was a very near view, showing the injury to the back of the head. French pointed to this last.

“I see the skull was fractured,” he said. “Was the skin not broken?”

“No, a soft weapon had been used: a sand-bag or something like it.”

French handed back the views. “Yes?” he questioned. “This is very interesting. What did you do next?”

“Keep them: I brought them for you,” Nugent answered with a lordly gesture. He tossed off the remainder of his sherry.

“You’ll have another?” French invited, picking up his telephone.

“Thanks; if you’ll join me.”

“Always glad of an excuse.” French was lying, as he didn’t care for wine, but he thought this admirable tale deserved encouragement. “Take another cigarette, or will you have a cigar?”

“A cigarette, thanks.”

They chatted about the cabin and ship’s service till the steward had brought the drinks, then the DI went on.

“You can well imagine our next step: a careful search of the Hollow. The place was unpromising. The ground was covered with a coarse grass that wouldn’t take prints, and the bushes had no thorns that might have collected fragments of wool or cloth. However, on odd patches of earth we found two footprints.

“One was here at B.” Again he referred to the map. “As you see, it was inland of the body, and pointing inland away from the body. It was a good print, sharp and clear though not deeply marked. It wasn’t easy to see unless you looked at it closely, and I gave a good mark to the man who found it. We made, of course, a plaster cast.

“The second one was here at C, just beside the body. It was partly on a patch of earth, but mostly on grass, and only the middle part of the sole was clear. Unfortunately there wasn’t enough edge for it to be any use as an identification. We really wouldn’t have bothered about it except for one thing.

“In the middle of the flat impression there was a hole about three-quarters of an inch or less in both diameter and depth. The upper half, about three-eighths of an inch deep, was roughly cylindrical, but the clay was broken and torn and gave no accurate impression. But the lower half was as clear as you’d wish it. It was semi-spherical in shape, and covered with a queer kind of irregular pattern. It bothered us all for a bit, and then we saw what it was.

“One of those round buttons covered with plaited leather strips that you’ll see on sports coats had been trampled into the ground and then removed. The bottom half of the hole represented a true cast of the button, and the top half was broken by its being pulled out.”

“You didn’t see the button itself?”

“I did not. I took it that someone had dropped it, trampled on it, missed it, looked for it, pulled it out and taken it away. It wasn’t so easy to get a cast of this, but we managed it, and afterwards we made a positive of the button – or rather of half of it.”

“Excellent,” French approved.

“Unfortunately, that was all we could find. Since then we’ve been scouring the district for people who might have seen anyone near the Hollow that afternoon. But so far we’ve had no luck.”

“There were no footprints on paths approaching the Hollow?”

“There are no paths approaching it except at the entrance from the main road. This was grown over with grass and there were no traces on it. We searched right round the Hollow, but there wasn’t a mark that we could see.”

“That’s extremely interesting,” French declared. “Yes?”

The DI shrugged. “I’m afraid that’s about the end of the story,” he answered. “What I’ve told you has taken up all the time of our small staff. But I doubt we’re not likely to get more.”

“You mean the gentleman with the sports coat was not a local man?”

“That’s what I mean. Chief Inspector. It’s only guess work, of course, but I think someone from this ship went ashore and murdered Mr Stott.”

French considered the point. “At first sight, it certainly looks like it. Tell me, did you form an opinion as to what the deceased was doing there? Are there any ruins in the Hollow?”

“No, none. None nearer than Dunluce Castle, on the sea side of the road.”

“There was nothing helpful in his pockets, of course? But I shouldn’t ask questions like that. You would have mentioned it if there had been.”

“As a matter of fact, there wasn’t. But ask away as much as you like. I’m not above overlooking something.”

“Well, then, here’s another. I see from the photographs that Stott had a camera with him. What about exposed films? Did you get any such developed?”

“I don’t think he’d taken any photographs. The camera was filled, but was set to the first space. However, our photographer has instructions to develop the entire reel, so if there’s anything there, we’ll get it.”

“What about giving me details of the footprint and button?”

“The photographs weren’t ready when I was starting. I’ll send them to you at once with all dimensions. If you wish I’ll make you a duplicate casting.”

“No need for that, thanks; the photos will be enough. You don’t seem to have left much to be done, I will say.”

Nugent smiled. “Not so much, except maybe to find the murderer.”

“And,” French ticked off his points on his fingers, “you think, one, that he’s on board this ship and, two, that you should do the work off the ship and I the work aboard?”

Nugent laughed a little uneasily. “I suppose that’s about the size of it – if you’ll agree.” He paused, then went on: “You see, it’s unlikely that we’d get much by a formal enquiry when the ship was in territorial waters, which is all I could do. The thing’ll want private enquiries that wouldn’t break international law. To make them, I’d have to come aboard, incidentally leaving my end of things. You’ve a tremendous pull over me, anyway, in that you’ve been on board for several days. You probably already know several people with motives for doing Stott in.” He smiled. “I know it’s damned cheek of me suggesting all this, but there it is. What about it. Chief Inspector?”

“As far,” French returned, “as my giving my help is concerned, I’ve already been told from London to do what I can. Therefore, that’s settled. If you ask me, and you have, I will act.”

Nugent sat back as if to indicate a relieved mind. “I’m tremendously obliged,” he declared. “I can’t say how grateful I am. Then if you will look into things here, I’ll do the local work. That’s great.”

“By the way, has there been an inquest?”

“It was to be today. We kept over your quartermaster to give evidence of identification. We were going to apply for an adjournment after that.”

They had a little further talk, arranging among other matters a short code by which they could discuss the case by telephone without mentioning names. Then Nugent went on: “I think I’d be as well away from that dining-saloon. No use in starting talk. What about sending a snack to my cabin?”

To this French agreed. He dined in the saloon as usual, but until the DI left with the morning excursionists, he was seen no more on board. And when he did leave, it was Captain Hardwick who saw him off, with detailed messages to a hypothetical family.

It was with mixed feelings that French settled down to consider the results of his interview with District Inspector Nugent. Firstly, and in a small personal way, he was disappointed at having been unable to go on that day’s excursion, which was reputed to be one of the best on the list. From Mallaranny the party were to drive through Westport, past the sombre Doo Lough and round the head of Killary Bay to Lenaun, ending with magnificent views of the Twelve Pins Mountains, which they would skirt on their way to Clifden. He was sorry to miss all this charming scenery. But this was a comparative trifle. A much more profound disappointment was the fact that practically all hope of success with his original case had vanished. Captain Hardwick on his guard meant that all the ship’s activities would be strictly legal.

His new case, however, was more promising. If Nugent were correct that John Stott’s murderer was on board the
Hellénique
, and French was inclined to think so, too – it should not be difficult to identify him.

For the moment therefore, French realised that he must dismiss the gambling from his mind, and he turned to the steps he should take in connection with the murder. What lines of enquiry suggested themselves?

There were three to begin with. First, there was the general situation. Who wished Stott to be dead? Stott was a man of wealth: who was his heir? Would many people benefit under his will? Who had hated him? Whom had he injured? Who might be jealous of him? These questions must be answered and to answer them would require an immensity of detailed and tedious investigation.

Then he must make a note of all those who could have met Stott at McArtt’s Hollow at the time of the murder. Names which were common to both categories would form his first list of suspects.

Thirdly, there were the actual clues found on the ground; the footprint and the button. Could he make anything from these?

Taking the footprint first, and assuming for argument’s sake that the murderer was on board, it would follow either that the shoe in question was now also on board, or that the owner had thrown the pair away after the murder. He wondered which was the more likely.

No doubt the murderer had been careful not to tread on soft clay in the Hollow. But no matter how careful he had been, he could not be
certain
that he had left no print. Therefore surely his first thought would be to destroy the shoes he had worn? It could be done so easily. All that would be necessary would be to weight them and at night drop them overboard.

French saw therefore that a twofold enquiry lay before him. He would have to slip into the cabins of his suspects and examine their shoes, and he would have to find out if a pair of shoes had recently disappeared from anyone’s collection.

This latter could only be learnt from the cabin stewards. French wondered how he, an ordinary passenger, could put such a question without raising suspicion.

This baffled him for a little, then he thought he saw the way. He rang up the Portrush police and asked them to send by return a pair of second-hand shoes of the kind which might have made the print. Till these arrived, further work on this matter must stand over.

With regard to the button, the procedure was easier. He had simply to observe who wore buttons of the kind in question and see if a button was missing from any of the coats.

This seemed to be all that he had to go on, and then he remembered Nugent’s statement about Morrison’s nervousness. Was there anything in the DI’s suspicions?

Obviously there was enough to make him add Morrison’s name to his list of suspects, though he doubted if the man would prove guilty.

Satisfied as to where he should begin, French telephoned to the Captain for an interview and was told to go up to his cabin then and there.

“I want to start by going through the late Mr Stott’s effects,” he told Hardwick. “Do you authorise the search?”

“Of course,” the Captain returned. “I’ll get you the spare key of his suite.”

“You needn’t. Mr Nugent gave me the keys found on the body.”

French was going out, but Hardwick motioned him to stay. “Sit down for a moment, Chief Inspector,” he said with the nearest approach to uneasiness that the captain of a great liner should show. “I’m in rather a difficulty and I want you to help me out.”

French, surprised, reassured him.

“The matter concerns two of my passengers, and is therefore, of course, strictly confidential. There are, in fact, certain facts which I think you should know. I wish to make it clear that I am not suggesting that these facts have any connection with the murder: I merely say you should know them.”

“I appreciate your reservation. Captain.”

Hardwick nodded. “It’s about an incident which took place when the cruise was being considered. I have to explain that I personally know nothing about it: it was before my time. But you can get first-hand information from Bristow and Morrison. What occurred was this,” and in guarded language he told of Malthus’s journey to Calais and its sequel.

“Were these two gentlemen ashore at Portrush?” French asked.

“Yes. I’ve seen the landing sheets.”

“You don’t know how they spent their day?”

“No, and I’ve not asked them.”

“No: quite so. Well, I’m grateful to you. Captain Hardwick, for this information. I’ll consider it carefully and I assure you I’ll not jump to conclusions.”

French was interested, though not greatly impressed by the story. Hardwick apparently thought that these two men had committed the murder because of that eighteen-month-old dispute. But at first sight this did not seem likely to French. For one thing, if they had been going to kill Stott, they would surely have done it much earlier and, for another, he was sure that they would have acted more secretly. They must have known that to come openly aboard the ship would mean instant suspicion, as it had: a thing which they would certainly have avoided.