French wondered if he could not narrow the issue. The coins definitely reached the garage because observation showed that they were not taken out of the car in the streets. Though it was by no means demonstrated, he inclined to the opinion that when Welland left the garage he did not take the coins with him. The man seldom carried anything in his hand, and so bulky a package could scarcely have been placed in the pocket without causing a bulge. But no bulge had been observed. It certainly looked, therefore, as if the coins were being left in the garage.
Though his examination had been exhaustive, French again racked his brains as to whether he could not have overlooked some means of access to the garage. Then suddenly an idea occurred to him which filled him once again with the eager enthusiasm which every forward step in an investigation produced.
The drain! Could the drain be a fake? Could it represent the communication he wanted? He determined that that very night he would examine it again.
Accordingly next morning saw him repeat with Sergeant Ormsby the proceedings of three weeks earlier. Waiting until the policeman had turned out of Tate’s Lane, they swarmed over the coachbuilder’s wall, and creeping to the garage, let themselves in with Ormsby’s key.
“I’m not satisfied about this drain, Ormsby,” French explained. “I want to make sure that there is nothing more here than meets the eye. Let’s have this cover up again.”
They raised the manhole cover and Ormsby got into the inspection chamber and prepared to examine the three pipes in turn. French, lying down in the pit, was able to put his eye to that connecting the pit to the chamber. Ormsby’s torch lit it completely, so that every inch was visible. It was a perfectly clear connection without any break or junction and French had to admit that nothing was to be learned from it.
The second pipe from the chamber was the outfall with the intercepting trap attached. Here also investigation showed that everything was as it should be. The trap was full of water, and on Ormsby’s removing the disc sealing the pipe immediately above it, a rush of offensive gases came out, proving that the connection to the sewer was genuine.
There remained therefore only the ventilating pipe and this, it was obvious, passed under the floor to the vertical shaft and so to the roof.
“That is all right, Mr. French. You needn’t worry about it. It is just an ordinary vent pipe,” Ormsby declared.
But French still was not satisfied.
“I must make sure of the connection,” he said. “Couldn’t you get up on the roof, Ormsby, and pour some water down and see if it comes out here?”
The pipe passed out through the roof at the back of the garage, opposite the door. With some difficulty Ormsby climbed on the wall between the yard and the adjoining property, then shuffling up the roof, poured down the pipe the canful of water which French handed up. A gurgling sound followed by a rush of water into the inspection chamber showed immediately that the connection was good.
“Curse it all,” thought French in disgust, “this darned thing is no good either. I suppose it must be that confounded office after all.”
“Did it come all right?” said Ormsby, reentering the garage and looking into the inspection chamber. “I thought you wouldn’t get anything there, Mr. French. The thing is perfectly normal.” He climbed down once more into the inspection chamber and began pushing his rule up the ventilating pipe.
French watched him idly while he stood racking his brains over the problem. Then a sudden exclamation from Ormsby attracted his attention.
“What’s the matter?” he asked sharply. “Got anything?”
“I’m not so sure, Mr. French. Here’s a queer thing and no mistake.”
“What is it?” said French, bending over the chamber.
“Why, here.” Ormsby measured the distance along the floor from the chamber to the vertical pipe. It was just three feet four.
“Now see here,” he said.
Again he got into the chamber and pushed the rule into the horizontal pipe. French watched breathlessly as the three-foot rule disappeared and after it the man’s entire arm!
“There you are, Mr. French,” Ormsby declared. “That pipe goes through. The vent pipe is only fixed on to a tee, not a bend. Let’s find how far it goes.”
Eagerly Ormsby went out, and looking round the yard, brought in some thin laths. One of these he pushed up the pipe, then tying on the others, like the lengths of a fishing rod, pushed the whole in. It made a length of about ten feet—three times the distance to the vertical vent pipe. At the end of the ten feet it brought up against something hard.
“What’s the idea, Ormsby? What can that pipe be for?”
“Not for ventilation, Mr. French, I’ll swear. If it only went a foot beyond the vertical pipe I shouldn’t be so sure, for the builder might have an old tee that he wanted to use. But this has been carried on deliberately for at least another five feet.”
“Through the wall?”
“Through the wall. I’d like to see the end of that pipe in the next lot.”
French swore delightedly.
“So you shall, Ormsby,” he chuckled. “We’ll get across now and have a look. Get your sticks out and this manhole cover on so that the place’ll be as we found it.”
They removed the traces of
