As he cycled slowly into Ashburton he kept turning over in his mind the question of whether there was any way in which he could test the truth of Colonel Domlio’s statement. Frankly, he did not believe the story. But unbelief was no use to him. He must prove it true or false.
All the evening he puzzled over the problem, then at last he saw that there was a line of research which, though it might not solve the point in question, yet bade fair to be of value to the enquiry as a whole.
Once again it concerned a timetable—this time for Domlio’s presumed movements. Assume that Berlyn and Pyke reached the point at which the car was abandoned about . To convince Pyke of the bona fides of the breakdown, Berlyn would have to spend some time over the engine, say fifteen minutes. In the dark they could scarcely have reached Torview in less than another fifteen; say that by the time Domlio had admitted them it was close on . Some time would then be consumed in explaining the situation and in getting out the car; in fact, the party could scarcely have left Torview before . Running to the works would have occupied the most of another half hour; say arrive . Domlio reached his home about , which, allowing half an hour for the return journey, left an hour unaccounted for. In this hour Pyke’s murder must have been committed, the duplicator taken to pieces and the parts left in the store, fresh tea put into Gurney’s flask, Pyke’s clothes and the small parts of the duplicator got rid of, and the magneto on Berlyn’s car changed.
French wondered if all these things could have been done in the time. At last, after working out a detailed timetable, he came to the conclusion that they could, on one condition: that the clothes and duplicator parts were got rid of on the way to Torview; that is, if no time were lost in making a detour.
Where, then, could this have been done?
French took his map and considered the route. The Dart River was crossed three times and a part of the way lay through woods. But he believed that too many tourists strayed from the road for these to be safe hiding-places, though he realised that they might have to be searched later.
There remained two places, either of which he thought more promising—the works and Domlio’s grounds.
The fact that elaborate arrangements had been made to get Pyke’s body away from the works indicated that the disposal of it there was considered impossible. Nevertheless, French spent the next day, which was Sunday, prowling about the buildings, though without result.
This left Domlio’s little estate, and early the following morning French borrowed the sergeant’s bicycle and rode out to his former hiding-place outside the gates. History repeated itself, for after waiting for nearly two hours he saw Domlio pass out towards Ashburton.
As the car had not been heard by either Coombe or Mee on the night of the tragedy, it followed that it had almost certainly entered by the back drive. French now walked up this lane to the yard, looking for hiding-places. But there were none.
He did not see any of the servants about and he stood in the yard, pondering over his problem. Then his glance fell on the old well, and it instantly occurred to him that here was the very kind of place he was seeking. There was an old wheel pump beside it, rusty and dilapidated, working a rod to the plunger below. He imagined the well was not used, for on his last visit he had noticed a well-oiled force pump a hundred yards away at the kitchen door.
The well was surrounded by a masonry wall about three feet high, coped with roughly dressed stones. On the coping was a flat wooden grating, old and decaying. Ivy covered about half of the wall and grating.
French crossed the yard and, leaning over the wall, glanced down. The sides were black with age and he could distinguish no details of the walls, but there was a tiny reflection from the water far below. Then suddenly he noticed a thing which once again set him off into a ferment of delight.
The crossbars of the grating were secured by mortar into niches cut in the stone. All of these bore signs of recent movement.
Satisfied that he had at last solved his problem, French quietly left the yard and, recovering his bicycle, rode back to the police station at Ashburton.
“I want your help, Sergeant,” he said as Daw came forward. “Can you get some things together and come out with me to Colonel Domlio’s tonight?”
“Of course, Mr. French.”
“Good. Then I want a strong fishing-line and some hooks and some twenty-five or thirty yards of strong cord. I should like also a candle-burning lantern and, of course, your electric torch. I want to try an experiment.”
“I’ll have all those ready.”
“I want to be there when there’s no one about, so, as the Colonel sits up very late, I think we’ll say . That means we ought to leave here about . Can you borrow a second bicycle?”
The sergeant looked completely mystified by these instructions, but he answered, “Certainly,” without asking any questions. It was agreed that they should meet in the evening at his house, sitting up there until it was time to start.
Having explained at the hotel that he had to go to Plymouth and would be away all night, French started out for a tramp on the moor. About he turned up at Daw’s cottage, and there the two men spent the next couple of hours smoking and chatting.
Shortly before three they reached
