The Loss of the Jane Vosper Read online

‘I don’t know. He told me about it. I couldn’t confirm it, but I’m going into it now.’

  ‘We know the ship was old, but they said at the enquiry she was in good condition?’

  ‘And that was true. She had a good name as a well-built and well-found ship, a fine sea boat and with comfortable quarters. And there’s no doubt she’d had her overhauls and had been kept in first-rate order.’

  French turned to the last item on his notes. ‘Did Sutton say anything about Waterloo?’

  ‘Waterloo?’

  ‘Yes, the station.’

  Murphy shook his head.

  ‘Because he told Hislop, one of the men at Weaver Bannister’s, he was going to Waterloo. It’s the last thing that’s been heard of him.’

  ‘He must have been on to something after I saw him. He said nothing to me about Waterloo.’

  When Murphy had left French sat on alone, thinking over what he had heard. He was a good deal disappointed by his interview. Really he had learnt little or nothing from Murphy. The affair was growing more and more mysterious. Here were two trained detectives, both convinced that they were investigating a fraud, and yet neither of them could find any evidence to support their belief. All the detailed information they had acquired tended to show that they were wrong.

  But this was all in connection with the Jane Vosper mystery, which to French was really only a sideline. About his own case, the disappearance of Sutton, he had learnt from Murphy nothing whatever. And his own investigation had been equally unproductive. Waterloo Station had been thoroughly combed, but had yielded nothing. Enquiries had been made at all hospitals within a reasonable radius, without result. No unidentified bodies had been found. Practically all the police and detectives in the country had been looking out for Sutton, but none had seen him. His wife had heard nothing. It was practically certain he had not left the country. French was beginning to feel at a complete loss.

  As he walked slowly home his thoughts turned back to the last occasion on which the man had been seen. He had travelled with Hislop to Baker Street, then going on to Waterloo.

  The only evidence for this, French reminded himself, was Hislop’s statement. He began to think about Hislop.

  Hislop’s appearance and manner showed that he had force of character, determination and ability. He was a man, French felt sure, who would not hesitate to take a risk if he thought the result worthwhile. And a decision to take that course once made, he almost certainly would not be put off by difficulties from carrying it out.

  But there had been no corresponding suggestion of high moral traits. French believed the man would take the expedient way, without worrying much as to what codes might or might not be infringed. Was it possible that the story about the parting at Baker Street was an invention, put forward to cover up some more sinister tale?

  Suppose Weaver Bannister were guilty after all? Suppose Sutton had stumbled on the truth. Suppose Hislop were one of those involved? Suppose Hislop had learnt of Sutton’s discovery? Could these suppositions be true, and could Hislop have taken the only certain way of preventing Sutton speaking?

  It didn’t seem likely. There was the difficulty of the firm’s reputation. There was the further and greater difficulty that Sutton had gone into the point and on the day before his disappearance had told Murphy – and Jeffrey – that the sets had definitely been sent out of the works, and were up to standard. No, it didn’t seem likely. And yet…

  From French’s point of view the idea was certainly attractive. Suppose, instead of travelling from Watford to Baker Street, the two men had gone somewhere else? Suppose that in some way Hislop had killed his companion and succeeded in disposing of his body in some place as yet undiscovered?

  Not a very hopeful assumption. There weren’t so many places in which bodies could be hidden, even in London. And such a murder would require time – quite a lot of time. Hislop couldn’t account for that time were he asked.

  No, the more French thought over the idea the less promising it seemed to grow. However, it was the only possibility he could think of which might explain the affair. He felt he must look into it. It shouldn’t take long. If Hislop were innocent, he should have no difficulty in proving it.

  Next morning when French reached the Yard there was still a complete absence of news. He was unable, therefore, to improve on his plans of the night before, and as soon as he had gone through his letters he and Carter started off again for Watford.

  The same blue-uniformed porter was in charge of the office entrance. He saluted when French bade him good morning. He had the cut of an old soldier, and, as he was lame, French diagnosed War service.

  ‘I wonder,’ said French in a friendly way, ‘if you could help me to clear up a small point? I dare say you know I’m a police officer from Scotland Yard, trying to find out what has happened to Mr Sutton?’

  The man saluted again. ‘Yes, sir, so I heard.’

  ‘I’m trying to find the hour at which he and Mr Hislop left here on Tuesday last. Mr Hislop tells me it was after lunch, but he cannot remember the exact time. You’ll understand it’s important to clear up the point, as Mr Hislop was the last person to see Sutton.’

  ‘I understand, sir.’ The porter hesitated. ‘I’m afraid, sir, I’m not very sure of the time. I saw them go out after lunch, but it was a busy afternoon, with a lot of people in and out, and I didn’t take any particular heed to the time.’

  Here was practically all that French wanted – confirmation of Hislop’s statement that the two men had gone off together. At the same time it would be valuable if he could find not only the hour at which they started, but that at which Hislop had returned.

  To obtain this information was little more than a routine job, and French settled down to it. Who else had come in and gone out during that afternoon? Of the A, B, C, etc, whom the porter remembered, who had passed before Hislop and Sutton and who after? Because, as the porter would see, enquiries from these people might fix the time they had passed, and so the limits of that required would be narrowed down till it became fixed.

  As French had hoped, this detailed examination brought back small incidents to the porter’s mind, which enabled him to supply the answer without recourse to anyone else. He had noticed that as Hislop and Sutton turned out of the main entrance they had all but run into a man who had swung quickly round the corner to meet them. That man proved to be a Mr Adair, who had mentioned that he had an appointment with Mr Bannister for three o’clock.

  ‘That’s very good,’ French said encouragingly. ‘Now, if you can fix Mr Hislop’s return, it will be all I want. Of course, you understand that this has nothing to do with Mr Hislop personally? It’s simply that I have an estimate of how long he was away, and the time he returned will therefore check that of his departure.’

  To French’s surprise, this proved an easier question. A very little help brought it to the porter’s memory that the time must have been about 5.40, for he, Hislop, arrived just after Mr Bannister had left for the day, a matter of importance of which the occurrence was noted.

  Only one more enquiry was needed. French saw Bannister to ask whether on the Tuesday a man named Adair had called to see him, and, if so, at what hour? On being assured that this information was required in connection with checking up Sutton’s day, Bannister said that Adair had had an appointment for three, and had been punctual.

  So far nothing could be more satisfactory, and French and Carter left the works well satisfied with their progress.

  The next point was to try for confirmation of the men’s having travelled by rail. The enquiry was simple but tedious, and consisted in interviewing each member of the station staff in turn, asking if the man knew Hislop, and, if so, whether he had seen him on the previous Tuesday afternoon. For some time the officers worked away without result, and then Carter signed to French.

  The ticket collector who had been on duty at the main entrance had seen Hislop. He knew him well as a frequent though irregular traveller. On this
occasion his attention had been called to him by the fact that Hislop had arrived as the train was just about to start, and he had had a sharp run to get on board. He had been accompanied by another man, but the collector had not specially observed the latter’s appearance. Nor could he say what train it was the travellers had caught, though he thought the time was not long after lunch.

  Though this testimony was not as complete as French would have liked, he had to admit that it was unexpectedly good fortune to have got any information at all. So many people passed in and out of the station that the officials could not be expected to remember isolated passengers. The fact that Hislop and Sutton had run for their train was just a piece of undeserved good fortune.

  But the next step in the enquiry was less simple, and French could scarcely hope for two strokes of luck in succession. Could he find out at what hour Hislop had reached St Katherine’s Docks? He considered what he had to work on. Hislop had stated that he had gone down in reference to the sending of some refrigerating machinery which was being shipped to Stockholm. It didn’t seem much upon which to trace the visit, yet French thought it might do.

  Taking the next train, he and Carter went to Mark Lane. He had timed the walk from the works to the station, and now he timed the run from Watford to Mark Lane, and the farther walk from thence to the entrance to the docks. He made it 67 minutes altogether.

  At the docks he consulted the policeman on the entrance gate as to steamers to Stockholm, and was advised to apply to Messrs Jacks & Wilkinson, who, the officer thought, were agents for the line in question. Five minutes later French and Carter were seated in the tiny wooden office of Jacks & Wilkinson’s quayside manager.

  ‘My business,’ French began after showing his official card, ‘is only very indirectly connected with your company. It’s about a recent consignment of refrigerating machinery sent to Stockholm by Messrs Weaver Bannister of Watford.’

  The manager nodded. ‘I know it,’ he admitted. ‘You mean for the Aktiebolaget Ohlsson?’

  ‘That’s it,’ French agreed, glad to have got over this fence so easily.

  ‘I remember about it. What did you want to know?’

  ‘Did you have any communication about it from Messrs Weaver Bannister on Tuesday afternoon last?’

  ‘Tuesday?’ The manager thought. ‘Yes, I remember now. It was on Tuesday afternoon that Mr Hislop called. He wanted to fix up details about the loading – date and time the stuff should be here, and so on – and also whether he would give us the carting or fix that up himself. What about it?’

  French could scarcely hide his satisfaction. Obtaining just this information might have been overwhelmingly difficult; in fact, it might have proved impossible. And here, almost without effort, French had got what he wanted.

  ‘I’ll tell you, sir,’ he went on. ‘What I want is connected neither with your company nor with Weaver Bannister’s, nor with Mr Hislop personally, but only with the hour he arrived with you and left on that afternoon. I needn’t go into a long explanation, but I want to find the time at which he parted from a man named Sutton at Baker Street while on his journey here. That’s the Sutton who’s disappeared - you may have seen about it in the paper. Now Mr Hislop can’t remember the time, so I’m trying to check it up from his other movements. Can you help me?’

  The manager expressed keen interest. ‘Is that the way you people work?’ he commented. ‘Making what you call a reconstruction?’

  ‘Yes, that’s one of our methods,’ French agreed. ‘You will understand, for example, that if we could get the time Mr Hislop left his own works and that at which he arrived here, it would give us the time he must have passed Baker Street. Then we’d be in a position to search for taxis or question the men on duty about Baker Street. You follow? One thing leads to another in our business.’

  ‘I understand that. It’s very interesting. Well, I think I can help you there. Mr Hislop came about quarter past four, and he didn’t go away till half past. I remember that, because I have a cup of tea about that time, and I was wishing he’d go so that I could get it.’ The manager smiled and French did the same.

  ‘I’m afraid, sir, I can only be pleased that your tea was delayed, as otherwise I mightn’t have got my information. Thank you very much. You’ve helped me quite a lot.’

  French could scarcely wait till he was out of the office to commence the reconstruction of Hislop’s timetable. It was completed in a few seconds, and very convincing it proved.

  Hislop had left the works about 3.00 and reached the dock office about 4.15, which gave a total time for the journey of 75 minutes. French’s timing of his own journey had been 67 minutes, plus about 3 from the dock entrance to Jacks and Wilkinson’s office, say 70 minutes altogether. But he, French, had taken the actual travelling time only, allowing no margin for variation in their respective speeds of walking, incidental delays, or inaccuracy of the hours given in Hislop’s case. From these facts, added to that that Hislop and Sutton had been seen getting into the train at Watford, it followed beyond any possibility of doubt that Hislop’s statement was true. He could not have murdered Sutton, for the simple reason that he would not have had time.

  The return journey did not really affect the case, but French worked it out as a check. Hislop had started back about 4.30 and arrived about 5.40, thus taking 70 minutes. This was 5 minutes less than the outward journey, but exactly French’s own time – a very complete and overwhelming check.

  It was with a deepened feeling of depression that French left the docks. The momentary satisfaction he had experienced at having obtained his immediate object was quickly dispelled by the knowledge that it left him no further on with his case. In fact, he was now in a worse position than before. What had seemed a promising line of research had gone west. The one theory he had developed to account for Sutton’s disappearance had been proved false, and he had no other left to take its place.

  Admittedly there was still no actual proof that Sutton had parted from Hislop at Baker Street with the intention of going to Waterloo. But now that the major part of Hislop’s statement had been proved true, it was very unlikely that he should have lied about a non-essential detail. French felt he must accept the story in its entirety.

  What, then, must be his next step? He was by no means sure. The only thing he had thought of was to repeat the investigation Sutton had been engaged on, in the hope that he might come on whatever had led the man to his doom. It wasn’t a very promising line, but he could see no other.

  Finally he decided, as it was Saturday and it would be impossible to reach the people he should want to interrogate, to leave this new enquiry over till Monday, and spend the afternoon in another call on Mrs Sutton. It was conceivable that she might have heard her husband speak of a call at Waterloo, or have some idea of why he had gone there.

  Accordingly he let Carter return to the Yard, while he himself went to Victoria. Getting some lunch at the station, he took an early train to East Croydon.

  He was rather shocked at Mrs Sutton’s appearance. Her face had gone a pasty white and her cheeks had dropped in, while her hair showed streaks of grey. Altogether she looked ten years older. She greeted French with an eager question, but she read its answer in his face, and turned away to hide her disappointment.

  ‘I’ve traced him to Baker Street, as I think you’ve already heard,’ French told her a little later on, ‘and I think to Waterloo, but I can’t find out where he went to at Waterloo. I was wondering if you could help me there? Did you hear him speak of Waterloo, or do you know anyone that he might have gone to see in that neighbourhood?’

  Mrs Sutton had no idea. If she had, she would have mentioned it long before. Her husband must, she thought, have got on to some clue, and been led into a trap. She said directly that she had no doubt that he was dead, and that he had been murdered by someone whose guilty secret he had penetrated.

  French did his best to comfort her, but as he really agreed with her, his efforts were not very success
ful. As soon as he could decently do so he took his leave, feeling that the interview was painful to them both.

  On Sunday he spent three hours reading over his notes and considering his next move. He did not, however, gain much light from the proceeding. More and more he became convinced that his fundamental conclusions were true, but that their proof, so far, was beyond him. He felt satisfied that the Jane Vosper had been sunk deliberately, probably by the owners for the insurance on the ship, that Sutton had discovered this dangerous secret, and that he had been murdered because of it. But personal belief was no good to him or to anyone else. He must get proof. But how to get it he didn’t see.

  -8-

  THE DISPATCH OF THE SETS

  A weekend of desultory thought left French with the conviction that his most hopeful line of progress lay in the repeating of Sutton’s enquiry. This, with luck, might lead to results in two separate directions. First and more important to French personally, it might reveal the fate of the missing man. Second and more important, perhaps, to the community at large, it might clear up the mystery of the Jane Vosper.

  On Monday morning, therefore, he set off with Carter to begin the work. According to Sutton’s own statement, he had checked the loading of the sets at Weaver Bannister’s and their stowing in the Jane Vosper’s hold in the London Docks, and was about to trace their journey from one place to the other. French must now do the same in his own way and as if it were his own enquiry.

  Once more the chase led to Weaver Bannister’s at Watford. It was a charming morning, one of those autumn days when summer seems to have come back and the sun has regained his former heat and brilliancy. French, looking out of the train at the rows of houses and builders’ ‘estates’, thought them almost cheerful in the warm light, and felt heartened by what seemed a good omen for his success.

  On reaching the works he asked to see Bannister. He was sorry, he explained, to trouble him again, but the situation he had foreshadowed in his previous interview had materialized, and he was going to have to repeat Sutton’s enquiries in the hope of forming the contact which had led to the man’s disappearance. He had called to request Bannister’s good offices in the matter.