“I’m afraid, Mr. French, they’ve been one too many for you this time. A Mr. and Mrs. Vane did book passages and even came on board at Liverpool, but they left the ship almost immediately and didn’t turn up again. I assumed that some accident had prevented their return, and that they would follow by Southampton as you did, but from what you tell me it looks as if they had learned you were on their track and made a bolt for it. But we had better see the purser. He will tell us details.”
French was aghast. Once again had happened to him what he had so often previously experienced. When he was most sure of himself and most confident of success, that was the time of failure! How often had he taken a sporting chance, doubtful of himself and his ability to meet a situation, and the occasion had resulted in a brilliant coup. And how often, alas, had his certainty of success ended in disaster!
By the time the purser arrived, he had to some extent recovered his equanimity. “Mr. Jennings—Inspector French of the C.I.D.,” the Captain introduced them. “Sit down, Jennings, and hear what the Inspector wants. It’s about that Mr. and Mrs. Vane that came aboard at Liverpool and left again before we sailed. Ask him what you want to know, Mr. French.”
Mr. Jennings was a shrewd, efficient-looking man of about forty, and as French began to speak he felt a comfortable assurance that at least he would receive in answer to his questions concisely-worded statements of accurately observed facts.
“It’s this way, Mr. Jennings,” he explained. “These Vanes are wanted for murder and robbery. I traced them to your ship, and crossed last night from London, hoping to arrest them here. But the Captain tells me I have missed them. Perhaps you’ll give me any information you can about them.”
“There’s not much to tell,” the purser answered. “They came aboard about noon on Thursday, and Mr. Vane showed me their tickets and asked for their stateroom. The tickets were singles from Liverpool to Manáos, all OK. An upper deck stateroom, No. 12, had been reserved at the London office, and I gave the number to their cabin steward and saw him leading the way there with the luggage. About half an hour later they came back to my office and asked what time the ship sailed. I told them three o’clock. Mr. Vane said they had to go ashore to complete some business, but would be back in good time. They then left in the direction of the gangway.”
“Did you actually see them go ashore?”
“No, you can’t see out on deck from the office.”
“Yes? And then?”
“After dinner their cabin steward asked me if I knew anything about them. He said they hadn’t been down for dinner, and he couldn’t find them anywhere about the ship. We had a look round, and then I spoke to Captain Davis, and he had a thorough search made. They have never been seen since, and they’re certainly not on board now.”
“They couldn’t have hidden somewhere and slipped ashore here in Havre?”
“Quite impossible. There’s not the slightest doubt they missed the boat at Liverpool.”
“Intentionally or unintentionally?” the Captain interjected.
“I don’t know anything about that,” Mr. Jennings replied, “but they certainly did not sail with us. Perhaps, Inspector, they learned when they went on shore that you were after them?”
“Impossible,” French declared. “I did not myself know where they had gone until last night.”
He felt ruefully sure that the whole thing was part of the elaborate laying of a false trail, but he did not see that anything was to be gained by discussing this with the ship’s officers. He pushed his papers towards the purser.
“Can you recognise the parties from those, Mr. Jennings?”
A glance at the photograph sufficed. The original was undoubtedly that Mrs. Vane who had for a brief half-hour boarded the Enoch. And the description was that of Mr. Vane also. French was forced to the conclusion that his quarry had indeed, in the Captain’s words, been too many for him. He swore bitterly beneath his breath.
“You say they left some luggage in their stateroom,” he went on. “Could I have a look at it?”
“Of course. But, you know, they may still be here. On several occasions I have known passengers to miss the ship at Liverpool and follow on here. They may turn up at any minute.”
“If they do, so much the better,” French answered. “But I won’t bank on it. If you don’t mind, I’ll have a look at the luggage now. What time do you sail?”
“In about half an hour.”
“That will just give me time. Meantime I have a man at the gangway, and he’ll spot them if they come along.”
There were four large suitcases in the roomy and comfortable stateroom set apart for the Vanes, as well as a number of articles of toilet and apparel which might well represent the first hurried attempt at unpacking. The suitcases were locked, but French soon opened them with his bunch of skeleton keys. And here he got confirmation of his theory that all this journey to Manáos was merely a carefully thought out plan. The cases were empty. Dummy luggage, brought in to bolster up the trick. But there was nothing in the cabin to give any hint of where the fugitives had really gone.
“I needn’t wait for them to turn up,” French said grimly. “Those empty suitcases give the show away.”
“I’m afraid it looks like it,” the purser admitted. “Sorry we didn’t know about it sooner.”
“Can’t be helped. That’s what we Scotland Yard men are up against all the time.” He bid the friendly purser good day and slowly left the ship.
But he did not leave the wharf. Though he thought it unlikely, there was still just a chance that the quarry had missed the ship and were following on. He would make sure.
But though he
