He remembered the night in question, because it was that on which Mr. Berlyn and Mr. Pyke had lost their lives. On that night he had come on duty as usual and had gone his customary rounds. He was very emphatic that no one had entered the works during his period of duty.
Though the man’s character was vouched for by Mr. Fogden and though he made his statement without hesitation, French was conscious of a slight dissatisfaction. His perception of the reliability of witnesses had become so acute from long experience as to be practically intuitive. He did not think that Gurney was lying, but he felt that he was protesting more strongly than the occasion warranted. He therefore took him aside and questioned him severely in the hope of inducing some giveaway emotion. But in this he failed. The watchman answered without embarrassment and French was forced to the conclusion that his suspicions were unfounded. From the boiler-house he saw for himself the effect of turning up the light in the packing-shed, with the result that Gurney’s statement on this point was confirmed. Then he examined the stokers who had been in charge before and after Gurney, but their statements as to visitors were the same as the watchman’s. As far as oral testimony went, therefore, it was impossible that the crate could have been interfered with while it lay at the works.
French next betook himself to the station. But there he learned only what he expected. While no one actually remembered the transaction, its complete records were available. The crate had been received on Tuesday morning, the , and had been unloaded in the goods-shed and put immediately into a wagon for Plymouth. From the time it arrived until it left by the goods-train no one could have tampered with it, two porters being continuously about.
As after dinner that night French wrote up his report, he was conscious of a good deal of disappointment. The attractive theory that the remains were those of Pyke was not obtaining support. He had now gone into two of the four test-points he had considered and the evidence on each of them was against it. Unless he could find some way round these difficulties, it followed that the body must have been put in after the crate had reached Swansea.
The other two test-points, however, remained to be investigated—the cause of the breakdown and the possible running timetables of the car.
French decided, therefore, that unless there was news from Howells in the morning he would carry on with these.
VII
Dartmoor
French saw that in order to get the information he required he must confide in someone who knew the locality. He therefore went down next morning to the police station to consult Sergeant Daw.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” he said, with his pleasant smile. “Do you think we could go into your office? I should like to have a chat with you.”
Daw was not accustomed to this mode of approach from superior officers, and he at once became mellow and ready to help.
“Quite at your service, sir,” he protested.
“I didn’t tell you, Sergeant, just what I was after here. You’ve read about that body that was found in the sea off Burry Port?”
The sergeant looked up with evident interest.
“I just thought that was it, Mr. French, when your phone message came through. Do you mean that the body came from the works here?”
“The crate came from here, all right, but where the body was put in I don’t know. That’s where I want your help. Can you give me any suggestions?”
The sergeant, flattered by French’s attitude, wrinkled his brow in thought.
“Did anyone, for example, leave the place or disappear some five or six weeks ago?” went on French.
“No, sir,” Daw answered, slowly. “I can’t say that they did.”
“What about Mr. Berlyn and Mr. Pyke?”
Daw’s face showed first surprise and then incredulity.
“You don’t doubt they were lost on the moor?” French continued.
“It never occurred to me to doubt it. Do you think otherwise yourself?”
“Well, look here, Sergeant.” French leaned forward and demonstrated with his forefinger. “Those men disappeared on Monday night, the . I say disappeared, because in point of fact they did disappear—their bodies were never found. On that same night the crate lay packed in the works, and next morning it was taken to the station and sent to Swansea. From that Tuesday morning until the body was found at Burry Port we cannot trace any opportunity of opening the crate. You must admit it looks suggestive.”
“But the accident, sir? The breakdown of the car?”
“That’s it, Sergeant. You’ve got it in one. If the breakdown was genuine the affair was an accident, but if it was faked—why, then we are on to a murder. At least that’s how it strikes me.”
Daw was apologetic, but evidently still sceptical.
“But do you suggest that both Mr. Berlyn and Mr. Pyke were murdered? If so, where’s the second body?”
“What if one murdered the other?”
But this was too much for the sergeant.
“Oh, come now, sir,” he protested. “You didn’t know them. You couldn’t suspect either of those gentlemen of such a crime. Not possibly, you couldn’t.”
“You think not? But what if I tell you that the man who claimed the crate at Swansea answered the description you gave me of Berlyn?”
Sergeant Daw swore. “I shouldn’t have believed it,” he declared.
“Well, there are the facts. You will see, therefore, that I must have firsthand information about the whole thing. I’ve read all that the papers can tell me, but that’s not enough. I want to go out on the moor with you and hear your story at the place where the thing happened. Particularly I want to test that matter of the breakdown. How can we get to know about that?”
“Easily enough, I think.” The man spoke with some relief, as if turning to a pleasanter
