Inspector French: Sir John Magill’s Last Journey. Freeman Crofts Wills
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anywhere.’
‘That sounds a puzzle and no mistake, Sergeant,’ Mitchell commented slowly. ‘I suppose you tried round the houses at Whitehead?’
‘Yes, sir. When we found the hat we thought the thing must be serious, so we made public inquiries. We had a house-to-house call in all the town and surrounding country, but we couldn’t hear of anything.’
‘Was the man in Bangor expecting Sir John?’
‘No, sir. He was absolutely surprised at the whole thing. He had no business with Sir John and hardly knew him.’
‘I suppose your people checked up Major Magill’s statement?’
‘At once, sir. We started men at Larne Harbour to trace the old man’s movements. They found two stewards on the boat, both of whom had been on that service for years. Both had known Sir John when he was living in Belfast and both recognised him again. He had booked a private cabin and went straight to it when he got aboard at Stranraer and stayed there all the time. He didn’t have anything to eat though it was a calm morning and he was quite well. When they were coming into Larne one of the stewards went to call him and found him asleep.
‘He’d gone ashore at Larne Harbour and spoken to the stationmaster about his luggage. “I want this stuff sent to my son’s, Major Malcolm Magill’s,” he had said. “I’m going on to Belfast and I’ll be down again in the evening.” He asked the cost and paid. The stationmaster saw him into the Belfast train.
‘Our men then saw the guard of the train, who happened to be at the harbour. He remembered seeing the man in question talking to the stationmaster and the stationmaster seeing him into the train. Before the train started he collected the tickets and he noticed Sir John alone in a first-class compartment. He noticed him again on the platform at Belfast. He was carrying a medium-sized despatch case.’
Chief-Inspector Mitchell reached forward and carefully removed the ash from his cigar.
‘Bit of luck getting all that evidence surely?’ he remarked, while French nodded emphatically.
‘It was, sir, and yet not so much as you might think. There aren’t many cross by that morning service at that time of year and Sir John was striking-looking enough to have been noticed.’
‘Lucky for you, Sergeant, all the same. Well, you’ve got him to Belfast.’
‘Yes, sir. At Belfast we lost him, but we made a cast round and we soon picked him up again. He had gone to the Station Hotel, that’s at the Northern Counties station where he arrived. He must have gone straight there, for our men were able to check up the time and it was just after the boat train came in. He saw the reception clerk and said: “I’m Sir John Magill. Is there a letter for me?” There wasn’t, and he thanked the clerk and said it didn’t, matter. He sent the hall porter for a taxi and drove off.’
‘That might explain why he didn’t call at the Grand Central, might it not?’ French suggested. ‘He mixed up the hotels and went to the wrong one.’
‘That’s what Superintendent Rainey thought,’ M’Clung returned. ‘Our people saw the hall porter and from him they got the taxi man. He said that Sir John had told him to drive to Sandy Row, where the Donegall Road crosses it. That is in a more or less working-class part of the city. Well, they drove to the place and Sir John paid the taximan. As the man was starting he saw Sir John standing in an uncertain-looking way on the pavement. Except for the stationmaster at Whitehead that night when Sir John telephoned to Major Magill, that was the last time anyone saw him, at least, so far as we’ve been able to learn up to now. The superintendent said he’d ’phone if anything else came out.’
‘The stationmaster confirms the incident?’
‘In every detail.’
The sergeant had evidently reached the end of his story. He made a brief peroration to the effect that when Saturday night came and the affair had not been cleared up, Superintendent Rainey, in consultation with Major Magill, had decided to call in Scotland Yard in the hope of finding a solution of the mystery in London.
All three men shifted their positions as if turning over a fresh page in the proceedings.
‘You certainly haven’t lost much time,’ Mitchell declared. ‘I congratulate you on some good work. It’s not easy to check up a trail so thoroughly as you have done.’
Sergeant M’Clung grinned self-consciously, delighted at the compliment.
‘We would have liked to have done better,’ he protested. ‘We would have liked to find the murderer if it was murder.’
‘I dare say. All the same I don’t think you’ve got much to reproach yourselves with. But so far we’ve been talking about Sir John. Now what about Major Magill himself? Did you check up his statement of his own movements?’
M’Clung gave the other a shrewd glance as if he fully appreciated what lay beneath the question, but he merely answered:
‘The superintendent put a couple of men on it, but when I left they hadn’t finished. They found out that the major left home and returned back there at the time he said and that he called at the station at Whitehead. But when I left they hadn’t been able to get confirmation of the rest of his movements. It wasn’t so easy as tracing Sir John for the major was mostly alone.’
‘Quite; I’m not criticising. I was merely wondering about the major himself. Motive and opportunity, you know. We don’t know if he had notice, but he certainly seems to have had opportunity. You considered that of course?’
M’Clung smiled.
‘We did that, sir. But we thought he was all right. They’re a well-thought-of family and of good position. Major Magill is well in with the Northern Ireland Government set, a friend of the Prime Minister’s and all that. It’s hardly likely he’d be guilty of murder. Of course we can’t say for sure, but we don’t think there’s anything to be got that way.’
‘There was no bad feeling, I take it, between father and son?’
‘Not that we ever heard of.’
‘But you said that Sir John had not been over for seven years. That doesn’t look like friendly relations.’
‘It’s not the whole story, sir. If Sir John didn’t go over to Belfast the major came over here. He said he’d been in London with his father within the last month.’
Once again Mitchell nodded slowly. He paused in thought, then resumed his questions.
‘Well, Sergeant, there’s one thing clear at all events. Sir John Magill reached Ireland safely and it was in Ireland that this mysterious affair happened. Now you’ve come across to consult us. Just what do you want us to do?’
‘Well, sir, it seemed to Superintendent Rainey that this wasn’t a local crime at all. He thought it had likely arisen out of something that had happened over here. And if so, it would take you to go into it. He wasn’t going to suggest what you might do, but he thought you might look up Sir John’s history.’
‘If your superintendent is correct the matter would certainly have to be dealt with from here. I suppose he hadn’t anything more definite in his mind?’
‘No, sir. He said that of course the immediate thing was to get the hat identified. Then he suggested that we should check up the motive for Sir John’s journey and get a list of the people who knew he was going to travel. He thought it would be worth while trying to find whether anyone had an interest in his death. Also he wondered if the old man had much money on him and if so, who would be likely to know about it.’
Mitchell smiled.
‘I see that your superintendent’s ideas are very like our own. Those are the lines we should go on, eh, French?’
‘That’s right, sir. It seems the kind of case you’d get to the bottom of from routine work. Who had an interest in his death? Who of these people were