Inspector French: Sir John Magill’s Last Journey. Freeman Crofts Wills
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may rely on us, Mr Magill. Directly we get news we’ll pass it on.’
‘None of that very illuminating’ said Rainey, when Magill had taken his departure. ‘If we find this thing out, we’re going to have to do it for ourselves. Now, Inspector, we’ve talked enough about it. Let’s decide on what we’re going to do and get on with it. Any proposals?’
With the change in the superintendent’s manner French also became more official.
‘If you ask me, sir, I think we should concentrate on finding the body.’
Rainey jerked himself round in his seat.
‘There’s not much doubt about that,’ he agreed. ‘Certainly we should find the body. There’s nothing we’d all like so much as to find the body. But how do you suggest we should do it?’
French also moved uneasily.
‘Well, sir, of course that’s the trouble. I’ve been trying putting myself in the murderer’s place. There he was with the body; fatal evidence which he’d got to get rid of. Now it seems to me that one of two things must have been done. Either the body must have been put into the sea or it must have been buried. And on the face of it the latter is the more likely.’
Rainey looked up sharply.
‘Why do you say that?’ he asked.
‘Only from my general experience,’ French answered. ‘I’ve had a number of cases in which bodies were got rid of in the sea and I’ve never known one successful. The bodies were always washed ashore or seen from a ship or hooked by a fisherman or got hold of in some other way. Of course I know this is not conclusive.’
‘No, it’s not conclusive,’ Rainey agreed, ‘but it’s my own opinion also and I’ve already gone into it. As it happens it’s supported by a further consideration, not conclusive either, but still carrying a certain weight It is this. There are only two places where such a scheme might be attempted. There is the sea on the Belfast Lough side of Islandmagee, that is here’—he pointed to the map—‘and there is the sea along the Coast Road beyond Larne. These two places are on the open sea, for I think we may dismiss Lough Larne from our consideration—no one would be mad enough to try to hide a body in that shallow, land-locked area. Now take these others in turn. With regard to the coast near Whitehead there is nowhere, except in Whitehead town itself, where you could get a car, especially a Rolls-Royce, anywhere near the actual shore. To get the body down would involve carrying it a long way. Further, most of the paths lead past houses and nearly all these houses have watchdogs. Now we have made inquiries, and no dogs were heard to bark that night. So the chances are against Whitehead.’
French nodded without speaking.
‘Now with regard to the Coast Road shore,’ Rainey went on. ‘Here the actual difficulties would be less—the road runs beside the beach and is lonely and deserted. But here with a flowing tide a strong current sets along the coast which would tend to wash the body into the path of shipping approaching Belfast. If Malcolm knew that, and he can scarcely have failed to do so, he would think twice before running such a risk. So that, quite tentatively, your second theory, burial, looks the more likely.’
‘That’s just the way I should put it, sir,’ said French. ‘Well then, it seems to me a matter of eliminating unlikely places and searching the remainder for signs of digging.’
Rainey smiled ruefully.
‘Some job, Inspector,’ he protested.
‘I don’t think it would be such a very big job,’ French returned. ‘From what the sergeant here tells me, I should say that the areas that need be considered are very small indeed. There are no old mines or disused quarries or uncultivated lands in the neighbourhood. In fact, sir, I was going to suggest that somewhere about the major’s own estate would be the most likely. The sergeant said it was sheltered by a wood. Where else could he guarantee the necessary privacy?’
Rainey paused.
‘It’s an idea and you may be right,’ he said dubiously. ‘M’Clung, you have been out at the place. What do you think of the inspector’s idea?’
M’Clung moved uneasily.
‘It might be right enough, sir,’ he answered without enthusiasm. ‘There’s certainly a planting between the Coast Road and the avenue that wouldn’t likely be disturbed. You couldn’t tell what might have been done there.’
‘We’ll have a look at it,’ Rainey decided. ‘Now, Inspector, that’s your theory, and very good it seems as far as it goes. But it does not go far enough. Sir John’s coming to Ireland, his going first to Sandy Row, then to the Cave Hill and then to Whitehead, all seem to me to require some agent besides Malcolm. In short, I don’t see how Malcolm could have arranged these.’
French admitted that no more could he.
‘Very well,’ Rainey went on, ‘that brings us back to my original theory—that the full solution is to be found in London.’
French shook his head. He did not see what more could be learned in London. He was very willing to go back and try again, but he had little hope of the result.
‘I think you’ll have to try,’ Rainey insisted, ‘but wait till we see what this search of Lurigan produces. You might go down there with M’Clung and have a look round. To work properly in London you should know all that’s known here. Of course call in and see me before you go.’
‘We’ll have a bite of lunch, Mr French,’ M’Clung suggested as they left the room, ‘and then get away on down.’
But the start was destined to be delayed. On returning to headquarters for the necessary search warrant they were told that Superintendent Rainey had that moment telephoned that they were to be stopped and sent in to him. They found him leaning back in his chair with a letter in his hand, at which he gazed with an expression of the keenest interest. He glanced up as they entered.
‘Sit down again,’ he directed. ‘Here’s something that’ll surprise you. Look at this.’
Superintendent Rainey passed over a short, typewritten letter. The paper was of medium quality, a sheet torn off one of those multitudinous blocks or pads which are sold in every stationer’s, and which unless through some accident, are so impossible to trace. The typing suggested that the writer was a novice in the art, there being seven mistakes in the lettering and three in the spacing. With some satisfaction French saw that the machine used had worn type. There should be no difficulty in identifying it, were he only lucky enough to come across it. The letter read:
‘Belfast, 7th October.
‘The Chief of Police, Belfast.
‘SIR,—In view of certain rumours which, as you know, are current, I feel it my duty to inform you of the following facts:
‘While driving alone in my car along the Coast Road towards Larne at about 2.30 on the morning of Friday, 4th inst., I felt cramped from long sitting and decided to stop for a moment to stretch my legs. I did so just after passing Ballygalley Head and close to the gates of Lurigan, Major Magill’s residence. Among the trees of the small plantation between the road and the avenue I saw that some operations were in process. At least one figure was moving about and there were occasional gleams of a light. I do not know who was there or what he was doing, nor did I go to investigate.
‘This fact may have no significance—I trust it has not. But for the reason mentioned I think it my duty to report it to you. I do not wish to be brought into the affair, and as I can see that—whether there is anything wrong or not—my evidence is not essential, I am suppressing my name and address.