The Loss of the Jane Vosper Read online

  ‘Got those details?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, sir. There’s not much but the size of the thing and the shape of the notches.’

  ‘Height of tie-beams from the floor?’ ‘I’ve got that, sir.’

  ‘Well, we’ve done enough here in the meantime. There may be nothing in this; so far we’ve come on nothing suspicious. We’ll go down to that Kelvin Hotel and have a word with the manager. Then if it still seems worthwhile we’ll find Rice’s new yard and see Rice.’

  ‘There’s certainly nothing here to worry about,’ Carter returned. ‘There’s just what you’d expect in a shed hired temporarily by a builder.’

  French agreed, and they let themselves out.

  The Kelvin Hotel was a small, dingy establishment, of which the bar seemed to be the most important adjunct. But when the two men went inside they found that in a rough way it was not uncomfortable. French asked to see the manager, and a man with the cut of a retired butler appeared and said that his name was Smith and that he was the proprietor.

  ‘Then I want your help, Mr Smith, if you please,’ French said in a friendly way. ‘You’ll see who I am,’ and he produced his official card.

  Smith seemed impressed. ‘Come into my room, gentlemen,’ he invited, leading the way into the recesses of the building. ‘Will you,’ he hesitated slightly, ‘take anything?’

  ‘Not when we’re on business, thank you,’ French answered, and went on to explain that he was making private enquiries about Mr James Rice, who he understood had stayed for some time in the hotel.

  ‘That’s right,’ Smith agreed. ‘He was here for ten or eleven weeks, off and on.’ He twisted his head on one side and screwed up his eyes knowingly. ‘Anything wrong?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ French said stolidly, ‘but we want to trace him, as we think he was a friend of a man who’s disappeared, and we hope to get some information from him.’

  Smith nodded. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘in that case I’m afraid I’m not going to be of much use to you. He’s gone and he didn’t leave any address.’

  ‘I wish you’d describe him, Mr Smith, to be sure it’s the same man.’

  ‘He was a big, heavy man, with a heavy face. Fairish hair and blue eyes, and clean shaven, except for a small moustache.’

  ‘That’s the man. Has he left you long?’

  The proprietor turned over the leaves of a book. ‘On the 17th, last Thursday. He’d been here since–’ Again he turned over the pages. ‘Monday, the 29th of July. About eleven weeks off and on.’

  ‘Off and on? Perhaps you’d give me the dates?’

  Smith did so, and French continued. ‘And you say he left no address? Tell me, how did he leave?’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I mean, did he walk or get a taxi?’

  Smith smiled. ‘He took his bag in his hand and he walked on his two feet,’ he said. ‘We don’t see many taxi folk down here.’

  ‘A man might have luggage,’ French pointed out. ‘Well, he hadn’t. Not more than he could carry.’ ‘What sort of man was he? I mean sociable or silent, or what?’

  Smith smiled again. ‘I’d say that sociable is about the last word you’d use to describe him. A very silent man was Mr Rice. Kept himself to himself. Never came and had his pint in the bar with the others. Not that I had any fault to find with him, you understand. He was easy to attend to and paid on the nail. But he was close. I never even got to know what his business was.’

  ‘A builder,’ French explained. ‘Partner in a small firm.’

  ‘Ay, he would just be something like that. Well, he must have had an office, for none of his letters came here.’

  ‘I was just going to ask you that. No letters at any time?’

  ‘None. I don’t think a single letter came.’

  ‘Telephone messages? Telegrams?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘Or callers?’

  ‘Not a caller, either.’

  ‘Not what you’d call expansive,’ French commented. ‘I wonder if you have his signature? Could I see it?’

  There was, somewhat to French’s surprise, a visitors’ book, and Rice had signed it. French compared the signature with those given him by Duckworth. They were obviously the same.

  ‘Well,’ said French, ‘I don’t suppose I’ll learn more than what you’ve told me, but when I’m here I might as well see the servants who attended him, and if his room’s not occupied perhaps I might have a look at it.’

  Smith had no objection, and French interviewed the waitress and chambermaid, though without gaining any additional information. Then he examined the room Rice had occupied, which was still unlet. But here again he found nothing of the slightest interest. Presently, thanking Smith, he and Carter took their leave.

  ‘That’ll do for tonight,’ French said as they sat in a District train, bound for Westminster. ‘I don’t know that all this is getting us anywhere. So far we’ve come on nothing suspicious. I’ll think it over tonight, and decide whether to carry on with it tomorrow.’

  But all that his cogitations led to was that, though this line might not be profitable, it was the only one he had to work on. And, after all, the fact that Sutton had been suspicious was a fairly strong argument for continuing. Sutton was no fool, and though he had not had the training of the Yard, he was a skilful detective. French returned to the Yard in the morning determined to carry the matter a stage further.

  The most important thing seemed to be to find and interview Rice, and he began by putting some men on the first of these two jobs. They were to begin by examining the London and Telephone Directories, though, if the new yard had just been opened, it was unlikely that it would be in either. The telephone people, however, might have had an application for a phone, and this was to be the next enquiry. Finally, if these efforts led nowhere, the police in Town were to be circularized, and the various rating and other authorities were to be approached, as plans for new buildings would probably have been submitted.

  While these enquiries were in progress French went down again to Duckworth & Crozier’s office to ask one or two further questions. Mr Duckworth he found in a chastened mood and ready to give him any further help he could.

  But his information didn’t amount to very much. There was electric light and a telephone in the shed when let, this being taken into consideration in the price. Duckworth, however, knew of no runway. If one had been there Rice must have had it installed and removed on his own responsibility, a thing, Duckworth pointed out indignantly, which he had no right to do. Not only had the tie-beams been cut into and thereby weakened, but a weight might have been suspended from them which they had not been designed to carry, and the man might have brought down the entire roof. Scandalous!

  Asked if he had any idea what Rice could have been doing with timber, cement and clay, Duckworth grew superior and said, ‘Perhaps his business.’ French let it go at that.

  When he reached the Yard he found that three ‘Rice Bros, Builders & Contractors’ had been located – in Stepney, Kennington and Camden Town respectively. He and Carter spent the afternoon visiting one after another, but in each case a short investigation proved that not one of them could possibly have had any connection with the man who had stayed at the Kelvin. French returned to the Yard and got on to the men who had turned up these names.

  ‘No, sir,’ all of them declared in reply to his questions. ‘There’s no other firm of the name in London. No builder’s yard had been taken under the name, and none has been given up. All sources of information have been covered, and if there had been such a firm we should have got to know.’ And when French went in detail into what they had done, he was forced to the conclusion that they were right.

  But, if so, it threw a very significant light on the whole affair. If this tale of Rice’s about wanting the shed temporarily till his firm’s yard was ready for occupation were a falsehood, the whole business immediately became definitely suspicious. Sutton’s opinion became confirmed, and the mat
ter would have to be probed to the bottom. French decided that for the present, at all events, he must carry on.

  -10-

  THE ELECTRIC RUNWAY

  Next morning, no further information having come in to the Yard, French and Carter set off to the telephone exchange to which the shed was connected. French on the previous evening had made a list of all the enquiries he could think of which might conceivably throw light on the affair, and this visit to the telephone people was his first item.

  His question here was a simple one. The installation numbered 4237 was in a certain shed in which the police were interested. Could he get a note of any numbers which had been in communication with this installation during the last eleven weeks?

  The district manager said he was anxious to help the chief-inspector in any way in his power, but he doubted whether the information was available. As the chief-inspector doubtless knew the individual numbers of subscribers using the service were noted only in the case of trunk calls. These were kept until the accounts were made up and were then destroyed. There was therefore a chance that a record of trunk calls to or from the yard might be in existence. In the case of local calls the individual numbers of the subscribers involved were not noted, and no information could be given.

  As he spoke the manager pressed a button, and a young woman appeared. She, it seemed, was in charge of the account in question, and he asked her to produce all details she had for the required period.

  French, however, was out of luck on this occasion. After a short delay the girl reappeared to say that for the last three months there had not been a single trunk call to or from the number. There had not, in fact, been many calls of any kind, though there had been a few local ones.

  Another of the routine lines of approach had petered out! Though he hadn’t expected much, French was disappointed. He looked up his book, ticked off the first item, and noted the second. This was a visit to the electricity station serving the area containing the shed.

  Here he had slightly more success, though the information he received was not of great value. Like his predecessor in the telephone exchange, the manager rang up for an assistant as soon as he understood what was required. This time the summons was answered by a young man.

  ‘I think, Parkington, you dealt with that man Rice, who wanted the power point in his shed in Redliff Lane? This is a chief-inspector of police, and he would like to hear all about it.’

  The young fellow, obviously thrilled, said that he could give all details.

  ‘This man Rice called here in person,’ the manager went on, ‘and asked to see someone in authority. I saw him myself. He said he had rented a shed in Redliff Lane for three months, and he wanted to install a temporary travelling lifting apparatus. He thought a pair of electrically-operated blocks on a runway would suit, and he wanted a point put in from which he could get the power. I discussed the simple business formalities required, to the terms of which he agreed. I then called Mr Parkington here, and he went down to the shed with Rice. Tell them, Parkington, what took place.’

  ‘I went down to the shed with him, sir, and he showed me where he wanted the runway. It was to go right round the shed in a sort of oval. I thought a single power point in the centre, connected with the motor by a flexible cable, would suit. Mr Rice agreed, and we had a plug put in. The flex, he said, would be supplied with the motor, so we had nothing to do with that.’

  ‘Can you tell me the capacity and the maker of the runway?’ French asked.

  ‘Mr Rice said it was to lift a ton, but he didn’t say where he was getting it. He said he only wanted a temporary job, as it was not his own shed, and it would be coming down in two or three months when he moved to his own premises.’

  ‘Then,’ the manager continued, ‘we had a letter from Rice saying he was giving up the shed. The current was cut off, a bill was sent Rice, he paid it, and the transaction closed.’

  ‘Did he pay by cheque?’

  ‘No, he called and paid cash.’

  ‘On what date was the matter closed?’

  ‘Tuesday week, the 15th instant.’

  This seemed to be all the information obtainable, and after asking for a description of Rice and finding he was undoubtedly the man he had heard of elsewhere, French took his leave.

  The next item on his list was ‘More intensive search of shed’, and he decided he would go on with this. Stopping at a street telephone booth, he put through a call to the Yard. First he wanted all the firms who sold runways to be circularized, in the hope of finding the one who supplied Rice. Secondly, he required Boyle and Cooper, fingerprint and photographic experts respectively, to meet him at the Redliff shed immediately.

  ‘You stay by the door and let them in. Carter,’ he directed, when they themselves reached the place. ‘I’m going ahead in the office.’

  Reaching the hut, French began a meticulous search. There were more old newspapers than he had realized, and lifting them out to the carpenters’ bench, he began to go through them one by one.

  Painstakingly he turned over each page, only to find that if any old letters, accounts, or other documents had slipped in between them, they had been carefully removed. The papers consisted of Daily Telegraphs and Evening Standards, about a dozen or more of each, of varying dates within the last couple of months, but they bore no marks to give them an individual interest.

  Before French had finished with the newspapers, the men arrived from the Yard. He set them to work at the office, to get all the fingerprints they could. There were not many available, as most of the woodwork was too rough to take impressions, but they got about a dozen clear prints. These were duly photographed.

  ‘That’s all right,’ French said when Cooper indicated they had finished. ‘Then get on to the rest of the shed.’

  Having completed his newspapers, French turned back to the office. There were scraps of paper in the desk and in some of the drawers, but nothing in the slightest degree helpful. Most of these papers were leaves torn from catalogues, principally of building materials. There was no writing on any of them, except some cabalistic figures, apparently dimensions. French kept all such, though he doubted they would be helpful.

  When he had completed the office he stood for a moment in the doorway, wondering if there could be anything he had overlooked. Then he noticed that the desk, though a fixture, did not fit close to the wall. There was a narrow space along the top.

  With scant consideration for Messrs Duckworth & Crozier’s client’s property, French seized a piece of wood and levered the desk clear. Behind it was a piece of crumpled paper. He smoothed it out.

  It was a label, dirty and covered with cobwebs, but new and unwritten on. It contained a modernistic representation of a factory in green and crimson, and the words, ‘From the Corona Engineering Company, Ltd, Claygate, Surrey, England.’ The back was gummed and its size was about four inches by six.

  French heaved a sigh of relief. Here at long last was a clue! To get an unused label from this Claygate firm betokened a certain amount of intimacy with them. An application to them would surely lead him to Rice.

  He put the label away and continued his search. But he could find nothing else in the slightest degree promising. Nor could Boyle, the fingerprint man. Nowhere about the shed was there any surface smooth enough to retain clear impressions.

  As the telephone in the shed was not in use, French went out to the nearest street booth. He would fix up an appointment with these Corona people and go down to see them at once.

  But when he asked for the name from Directory Enquiries he was told that none such was on the register. He therefore rang up the Claygate police station instead.

  ‘The Corona Engineering Company, sir?’ replied the sergeant in charge. ‘I never heard of it.’

  ‘It’s probably a new firm,’ French explained. ‘Are you sure there’s none of that name just opened or about to open?’

  ‘I’m sure there’s not, sir. I never heard of it, at all events.’
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  French suddenly became much more interested. ‘Well, sergeant,’ he said, ‘that’s curious, because I have their label here. I wish you’d make a few enquiries for me, will you? Slip round to the various house agents, and so on, and find out if any ground has been sold to these people for building. Also find out if there is a firm in the neighbourhood named Rice Brothers. Do what you can for me.’

  The Corona Engineering Company, French imagined, was a new name for Rice Brothers, and the new premises Rice had spoken of were at Claygate. If so, it would account for his not having been able to trace the place. He had not counted on a change of title. And, if the alteration was quite recent, the Corona name would not yet be generally known.

  At the same time it was obvious that another and more sinister explanation was possible. Suppose Sutton were right, and that Rice Brothers were up to no good? In this case there might easily be no Corona Engineering Company, and the title would simply be required to help on whatever crime or fraud was in progress.

  This was a plausible suggestion enough, but when French tried to go a step further he found it a good deal less easy. Was this assumed evil-doing connected with the loss of the Jane Vosper? Was the crime to sink the ship, and the fraud to obtain insurance money which was not due? If so, where would a bogus Corona Engineering firm come in? French could not form any idea.

  On the other hand, if the crime were not connected with the Jane Vosper, then he, French, was more completely at a loss than ever.

  However, the matter was not entirely exhausted. One further enquiry still remained.

  In small type at the bottom of the label was the printer’s name – Hale & Hardy of Angel Street. Angel Street, French knew, was near St Paul’s, and in a short time he and Carter were at the place. It was a small establishment with old and dilapidated premises. And the owner whom they saw was old and dilapidated also. The firm was clearly a survival, and one which looked as if it would not survive very much longer.

  Mr Hardy, however, was willing to tell all he knew. It appeared that some couple of months earlier a Mr Rice called to say that his firm required some labels and that he would like to see one or two designs. Rice gave the wording he wanted, and explained that some kind of factory illustration was to be worked in with it. He gave the address of the Kelvin Hotel, Commercial Road, and said he would call again in three or four days.