The Sea Mystery

and the meals made a break. He had his dinner about six, started work at seven, and had his first meal about eleven. His second meal he had about three, and he was relieved at six.

On the night in question he had his first meal at the usual time. Until then he had felt perfectly normal, but he had scarcely finished when he found himself growing overpoweringly sleepy, and the next thing he remembered was being wakened by the fireman at six the next morning.

“It’s clear that your supper was doped,” French said. “Now think, did nothing in any way out of the common happen between six and eleven?”

Gurney began a denial, then stopped.

“There were one thing,” he said, slowly, “but I don’t believe as ’ow it could have ’ad anything to do with it. A little before ten there were a ring at the office door. I went to open, but there weren’t no one there. I didn’t think naught of it, because children do ring sometimes just by way o’ mischief. But there weren’t no children there so far as I could see.”

“How far is this door that you opened from the boiler-house?”

“At t’other end o’ the building. Two ’undred yards, maybe.”

“Is that the only door?”

“No, sir, there be a gate near the boilers for lorries, but people going to the office use the other.”

“Is the large gate locked at night?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who keeps the key?”

“I do. There’s a key in the office that any o’ the gentlemen can get if they wants, but I carry one with me.”

For some moments French sat thinking, then a fresh point struck him.

“What did your supper consist of on that night?”

“Tea an’ bread an’ butter and a slice o’ meat. I have a can o’ tea. I leave it on the boiler and it keeps ’ot.”

“You mean that you don’t make your tea separately for each meal? You drink some out of the can at the first meal and finish what is left at the second?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“And the same with food?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now on the night we’re talking about you had only one meal. You slept through the time of the second. What happened to the tea and food that was left over?”

“We ’ad it for breakfast, my wife an’ I.”

“That is what I wanted to get at. Now did either of you feel sleepy after breakfast?”

A mixture of admiration and wonder showed in the old man’s eyes.

“Why, no, we didn’t, an’ that’s a fact,” he said in puzzled tones. “An’ we should ’ave if so be as wot you think is true.”

This looked like a snag, but French reminded himself that at the moment he was only getting information and his theorising could wait till later. He continued his questions, but without learning much more.

“Now, Gurney,” he said at last, “under no circumstances are you to mention what we have been speaking of⁠—not to your wife nor to Mr. Fogden nor to anyone. You understand?”

“I understand, sir, right enough.”

“Very good. Now I’m anxious to go into this matter further, and I’ll call at the works tonight.”

“Right, sir. I’ll be on the lookout.”

It was dark as French rang at the big gate of the works. Gurney soon appeared at the wicket and French followed him across the yard to the boiler-house, a distance of perhaps forty yards. It was a fair-sized shed, housing five Babcock & Wilcox water-tube boilers with mechanical stokers and the usual stoker engines and pumps. On a ledge of the warm brickwork near one of the ash openings stood the old man’s can of tea, and his basket of food was placed on the repair bench close by. French took in these details and then said:

“I want now to try an experiment. Will you lend me your key of the wicket. I will go out, lock the wicket behind me, and go round to the office door and ring. When you hear the ring you go and open. Repeat everything exactly as you did that night so as to get back here at the same time. In the meantime I shall let myself in again by the wicket and see if I should have time to dope your tea and get away again before you appear. You understand?”

This program was carried out. French went out and rang at the office door, then ran round to the large gate, let himself in through the wicket, found the can of tea, opened it and counted ten, closed it and relocked the wicket. Then he began to time. Three minutes passed before Gurney appeared.

So that was all right. Anyone who had access to the key in the office could have doctored the watchman’s food. Moreover, the fact that the Gurneys had breakfasted without ill effect on the remainder was not such a difficulty as French had at first supposed. The criminal might have doped the tea on his first visit and during his second poured away what was over and replaced it with fresh. In fact, if he were to preserve his secret he must have done so. The discovery of the drugging would have started an enquiry which might have brought to light the whole plot.

Though French was enthusiastic about his discovery, he saw that it involved one disconcerting point. What about the theory of Berlyn’s guilt? The ring at the office door had come shortly before ten. But shortly before ten Berlyn was at Tavistock. Therefore some other person was involved. Was this person the murderer and had he made away with Berlyn as well as Pyke? Or was he Berlyn’s accomplice? French inclined to the latter supposition. In considering the timing of the car he had seen that it could have been used to carry the body to the works provided an accomplice was ready to drive it back to the moor without delay. On the whole, therefore, it looked as if the murder was the work of