A couple of hours later he was seated in the police station at Neath, listening to Constable David Jenkins’s story.
It seemed that about , Jenkins was walking along a lane leading through a small spinney some two miles north of the town, when he came on a lorry drawn in close to one side. It was fitted with a crane such as is used for motor breakdowns, and behind the crane was an object covered with a tarpaulin. This object was rectangular shaped and about the size of the crate. There had been engine trouble which the driver was trying to make good. Jenkins paused and wished the man good night, and they talked for a few minutes. The man was slightly over middle height and rather stout, and was dressed as a lorryman—a workingman, evidently. He had reddish hair, a high colour, and glasses, and Jenkins felt sure he would know him again. The man explained that he was going from Swansea to Merthyr Tydfil and had got out of his way in trying to take a shortcut. Then his engine had broken down and he was thus kept very late. But he had now found the defect and would be able to get on in a few minutes. Jenkins had stayed chatting, and in five minutes the man had said, “There, that’s got it,” and had closed up the bonnet and moved off.
“Coming from Swansea, was he?” French said. “Does that lane lead from Swansea?”
“Oh, yes, it leads from Swansea all right, but it doesn’t lead to Merthyr Tydfil.”
“Where does it lead to?”
“More like to Pontardawe.”
That was all right. French was delighted with the way news was coming in. That the constable had seen his man he did not doubt.
At the time, Jenkins went on, it had struck him as curious that a breakdown lorry should be used for transporting goods. But on reading French’s circular he had seen that here was a plant which would lift the goods over the parapet of a bridge. And when he remembered that the tarpaulin-covered object was about the size given, he felt he ought to report the occurrence.
“Quite right, constable,” French said, heartily. “I am sure your superiors will not overlook your action.”
French’s next step was clear. A crane-lorry should not be difficult to trace. He would go back to Swansea and put the necessary enquiries in train.
IV
A Change of Venue
On reaching Swansea French looked up Superintendent Howells at the police station.
“Glad to see you, Mr. French,” the superintendent greeted him. “I’ve known your name for a considerable time and since I heard you were down over this job I’ve been hoping we should meet. That Neath report any good to you?”
“I think so,” French answered. “It sounds promising, at all events. On the strength of it I’ve come in to ask for your help.”
“That’s all right. What do you want us to do?”
“I want to trace the lorry your man saw out at Neath. I’ve got his description of it, and I must say that, seeing he suspected nothing at the time, he observed it pretty closely. A smart man, Superintendent.”
“I’m glad you think so, Inspector. Right. I’ll put through a call to all stations immediately.”
“Splendid. And can you ask Superintendent Griffiths at Llanelly to advise the Carmarthen men also?”
The necessary circular drafted, the two chatted for some minutes until French excused himself on the ground that since he was at Swansea he might as well have a look round the town.
“There’s not much to see in it, Mr. French,” Howells rejoined, “but Mumbles is worth visiting. I should advise you to take a bus there and walk round the Head and back by Langland. If you’re fond of a bit of good coast you’ll enjoy it. You’ll have plenty of time before we get any replies. Sorry I can’t go with you, but I’m full up here.”
French went out, and after a stroll through some of the principal streets got on board a bus for Mumbles. There he took the walk Superintendent Howells had recommended. He enjoyed every minute of it. As he left the houses behind and the road began to rise up the side of the cliff he felt he was having one of the compensations of a country case. He walked up through the long rock cutting until at the top the wide expanse of the Bristol Channel came into view, with the islands and lighthouse off the Head in the foreground. There was some wind and the deep blue of the sea was flecked with white. He stood and watched three outward-bound steamers pitching gently in the swell, the smoke from their stacks trailing away east. Then he took the footpath round the cliffs, rising high round Rams Tor and dropping again to Langland Bay, from which another road led across the neck of the peninsula back into Mumbles. It was getting on towards when he returned to the police station.
“You’ve come at the right time, Inspector,” Superintendent Howells greeted him. “I’ve just had two pieces of news. Your lorry was seen twice. About , the evening in question, it was seen by one of our men passing through Morriston. Morriston is a town some two miles north of Swansea; indeed, it is really a suburb. The lorry came from the Swansea direction and turned east at Morriston towards Neath. It was then carrying the tarpaulin-covered object.”
“Then it started from Swansea?”
“Looks like it. And it looks as if it finished up at Swansea also. It was seen again on the following morning. About a patrol saw a breakdown lorry coming towards Swansea along the Pontardulais road. It corresponded with the description in every respect except that it was carrying the tarpaulin only.”
“By Jove! Superintendent, that’s good. It won’t be long till we
