The Box Office Murders

through his window. A good omen, he thought, as he gazed out on a sea just as blue and sparkling as the Mediterranean had looked from the hotel in Nice at which he had stayed when investigating the wanderings of the Pyke cousins. With luck he would make progress today.

A short journey through Portsmouth and Gosport brought him to Lee-on-the-Solent, a pleasantly situated little town of new houses, stretched out along the shore. Five minutes later he was turning in at the gate of Mr. Austin Munn’s neat villa.

There the first instalment of his luck materialized. Mr. Munn, clad in white yachting flannels, was reading the paper on a rustic seat in a shady nook. French went over to him.

“Oh,” said Munn, getting up. “You’re the inspector, aren’t you? Lovely morning. Do you wish to see me?”

“For a few moments, if you please.”

“Certainly. Shall we sit here or would you rather go into my study?”

“I can’t imagine anything better than this. A delightful place you have here, Mr. Munn.”

“Not too bad on a fine morning,” Munn admitted. “Will you smoke, Inspector?” He held out a gold cigarette case. “Terrible business about that poor girl.”

“That of course is what I want to see you about,” French returned, selecting an opulent looking Turkish cigarette. “The local police have called in Scotland Yard and I’ve been put in charge of the case. I want to ask you for some help.”

“Only too glad if I can do anything, but I’ve already told all I know.”

“I’m in hopes that you can help me all the same. First I’d like to fix just where you picked the body up. I have an Ordnance map here and perhaps you could mark the spot.”

French unrolled the six-inch map he had brought from London. Munn bent over it.

“It was about here,” he pointed, “to the east of Stokes Bay almost off Gilkicker Point.”

“And how far from the shore?”

“A mile, I should say. Not less, possibly more.”

“Here?” French made a cross at the place. “Now how was the tide running?”

“Flowing, but the current was running out. You see, we have rather peculiar tides here. The run in and out doesn’t exactly correspond with the rise and fall.”

“I didn’t know that ever obtained.”

“Oh, yes. It’s caused, of course, by the configuration of the coast. It’s a bit confusing at first. For about two and a half hours after high water the current continues to run up the estuary, though the actual level is falling. Then for some eight hours it runs out. Now on that Monday night it was high water shortly after one o’clock, summer time. After that the tide level began to fall, but the current was still running up towards Southampton. About three-thirty in the morning the current changed and began to run out towards the sea. Low water was about seven-thirty on Tuesday morning, but the current continued to run out for another four hours. That’s roughly what happens, though if you want stricter accuracy you would say ‘westerly and easterly’ instead of ‘up and down the estuary.’ ”

“I think I follow you. At what time did you find the body?”

“About seven.”

“Then if I have understood you correctly, when the body was found about seven the tide current was running seawards, and had been since three-thirty?”

“That’s right.”

“Now, Mr. Munn, this is where I want your help. Rightly or wrongly I have formed the opinion that the body was placed in the sea at some time between three and five that morning, most probably about four o’clock. Assuming that is so, where do you think it might have been put in?”

History seemed to French to be repeating itself as he asked the question. It was not so long since he had sat on the stones at the end of the pier at Burry Port in South Wales and asked stout Coastguard Tom Manners how the tides ran in the Burry Inlet and where a crate which had been found off Llanelly might have been dropped into the water.2 If this went on, he thought, he might set up as a tide specialist. He only hoped that today’s inquiries would have as satisfactory results as those on that former occasion.

Like Tom Manners, Munn hesitated over his answer, whistling the while under his breath.

“I should say,” he replied at last, “a short way above Lee. Perhaps at Lee, perhaps at Hill Head, probably somewhere between the two. It’s not easy to say with any degree of accuracy.”

“That’s good enough, Mr. Munn. You see what I’m after? If I search the coast where you suggest I may find some kind of clue.”

Munn shook his head. “I rather question it,” he answered slowly.

French’s eyes narrowed. “Now just why do you say that?”

“I’ll tell you. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but your question suggested it. I don’t believe the body was put in from the shore at all.”

“But⁠—”

“I think it was too far out,” Munn went on. “I don’t mean that the tide runs exactly parallel to the shore. It doesn’t. But an object put in at the shore near Hill Head or Lee would not have got so far out from the land as the distance to Stokes Bay.”

French nodded.

“I follow you. You mean that the body must have been thrown in at some considerable distance from the shore?”

“Either that or it must have been thrown in earlier and come down from nearer Southampton.”

“It couldn’t have been much earlier,” French objected. “Remember the poor girl was alive and well in London at eleven-fifteen that night.” He paused in his turn, then went on: “Any chance of getting a boat along there?”

Munn gave him a sharp glance.

“On compulsory loan? Yes, I believe that would be possible, Inspector. Several of the residents along the shore have boats which lie out at night in the summer. I should think one could be borrowed. But your criminals couldn’t get any oars. They’re