Читать книгу The Riddle of the Rail - Fred M. White - Страница 4

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Inspector Norcliff sat in the corner of a first-class carriage on the Western bound express with a companion seated opposite him. They had the compartment entirely to themselves, so that they could discuss what was already known as the Barnstaple mystery without being overheard. The inspector bore no sort of likeness to the average sleuth of fiction; indeed, he presented an appearance much more like a successful middle-aged business man than a hunter of his fellow creatures. He was tall and rather inclined to slimness, with grey moustache and nearly pointed beard, and his dress was that of a prosperous city man, such as might be seen by the hundred every morning on the suburban lines.

His companion, on the other hand, was insignificant looking, not to say shabby. He wore a blue serge suit, which might have been slept in, and a soft collar that resembled a rag more than anything else. But his keen, intellectual features and his high forehead proclaimed him to the thoughtful observer as an individual distinctly out of the common. And indeed, the man known as Vincent Trumble had more than a passing reputation amongst the ranks of those who are interested in psycho-analysis and medical jurisprudence. For the time being, at any rate, he was more or less attached to Scotland Yard and one of its most valued staff.

"Well, doctor, what do you make of it?" Norcliff asked.

Trumble looked up from the 'Daily Bulletin,' which he had been studying, word for word so far as the railway mystery was concerned, ever since the train steamed out of London.

"Oh, I am not going to commit myself, my friend," Trumble smiled. "All the same, this is a most interesting account. That reporter chap down at Westport must be a bit of a genius in his way. With very little to go upon he hasn't missed a single point."

"Yes, that's all very well," Norcliff said. "But it doesn't get us any further. Was that man murdered?"

"My dear chap, how on earth can I tell? If you ask me, as man to man, I should suggest that he was. Of course, there might have been some reason why he hid himself on the top of that vegetable waggon. For instance, he might be a fugitive from justice. If you accept that view, then there is nothing out of the way in the fact that he was wearing a valuable gold watch and chain and a diamond pin, to say nothing of the fact of his being in possession of some considerable means. The Midland police may have been after him, for all we know to the contrary."

"If they had been, I should have known it," Norcliff said.

"Oh no, you wouldn't, my friend. There has been no time. The hue and cry will not really begin until all the police offices in England have duly digested that sensational column in to-day's 'Daily Bulletin.' A point to me, I think, Inspector."

"One up, doctor," Norcliff smiled. "Go on."

"Oh, well, it is only a game, so far as we are concerned at present," the doctor said. "I am only showing you what might be. The man was getting away from his pursuers, and he hit upon that ingenious method of putting as much ground as possible between himself and those upon his track. Probably, he hoped to reach Plymouth or Falmouth and get passage on some outward-bound boat. And then, instead of a prosaic ending like that, he died suddenly on the way. We may be in pursuit of a phantom, after all."

"Yes, we might," Norcliff agreed, "but if he died a natural death, the post-mortem examination will show that."

"Of course it will. But there is another side to the question. Suppose it wasn't a natural death, and suppose the man was not running away from justice? Don't you think it most extraordinary thing that one who was evidently a professional or high-class business man should know exactly how to get on board that goods train? I mean, he could not have boarded it at the point of dispatch without being seen, because that smart little journalist managed to elicit the fact that the waggon was loaded in daylight. I don't know where he got the information, probably by asking fruit dealers in Westport. At any rate, there it is, and it's a guinea to a gooseberry that the journalistic faculty has not gone wrong."

"But what does it lead up to?" Norcliff asked.

"Well, it leads up to this. That dead man, whoever, he is, must have made a very careful study of railway procedure, so far as goods trains are concerned. He must have discovered that, in certain circumstances, covered waggons and the like might possibly be detained en route between the Midlands and Westport. I mean, he must have been cognisant of the fact that there were certain stopping places especially at this time of year. I take it that, usually, those fast goods trains go right through. They would not be much use for fruit trains if they didn't. But, on this particular occasion, the train was side-tracked on more than one occasion. We have to thank that Barnstaple reporter for that bit of information. Unless my deductions are entirely wrong, the dead man knew pretty well what was going to happen to that particular train. He knew that it could not be relied upon to get through during the Whitsun holiday traffic and that it would be shunted into a siding. And now I will come to an entirely opposite theory to the one I advanced just now. Let us suppose for a moment that somebody else knew all about this. Let us suppose that the other person knew pretty well what was going on and had discovered from the dead man exactly how he was going to escape. He knew, moreover, a particular siding where that train would be shunted. He wanted to get rid of the murdered man—"

"But you said just now—" Norcliff interrupted.

"Oh, never mind what I said just now. There were two of them in some big criminal business. The second man wanted to get rid of the first, and, knowing what his colleague knew about those trains, laid a little scheme to that end. In other words murdered him somewhere in the neighborhood of one of those stopping places and contrived to get the body hidden in the waggon, where it was found. Moreover, by so doing, he would make it almost impossible for you to lay your hand upon the exact spot where the crime was committed. It might have been no further west than Abbotsbury, or, on the other hand, it might have been as far as Bristol. You see, these sidings are some times in very lonely places, so that under cover of darkness it would not have been a difficult matter to handle a body. Of course, the details would have to be carefully planned beforehand and the victim lured to a certain spot, but a really clever criminal could manage that easily. However, we cannot get any further until we find out exactly where that waggon lay each night during the delayed journey between the Midlands and the West."

"Most ingenious," Norcliff said. "You have certainly given me something to think about doctor. Upon my word I shall be almost disappointed if we discover that that man died a natural death."

"Well, it would certainly be like Hamlet with the Prince left out," the doctor agreed. "Still, as King George said about the dumpling 'how the deuce did the apple get inside?' You've got to find out how a well-dressed, apparently prosperous man was discovered dead, hiding himself on the top of a railway truck. And, unless I am greatly mistaken, when you do discover that, you will find yourself on the track of a great criminal conspiracy."

They were still discussing the case from more points of view than one, when, finally, they stepped out of the train at Westport late in the afternoon to find Inspector Grierson on the platform awaiting them. Norcliff wasted no time in making the necessary introductions and then they moved off in the direction of the mortuary.

"I want to see that body, Mr. Superintendent," Trumble said. "I understand that your police doctor is a little uncertain."

"Well, he doesn't like to speak too positively, sir," the superintendent replied. "Perhaps you would like to see him too."

"Later on, certainly," Trumble said. "Meanwhile, I should like to have a chance of examining the body alone."

It was a long time before Trumble, busy in that gloomy little room, began to speak. He had examined the body of the dead man with a meticulous care that left nothing to chance. Then, at length, he turned to the others and proceeded to enlighten them.

"Of course, no one can be quite certain until after the post-mortem," he said. "I may be entirely wrong, but I have come to the conclusion that the deceased was murdered."

"Poison?" the superintendent suggested.

"Well, in a way. Not exactly poison, perhaps, but certainly some very powerful drug. I know the symptoms of most of the great poisoning results, that is, poisoning pure and simple. And yet I can detect no signs on the body of any poison of which I am cognisant. No congestion of the eyes, no contraction of the muscles, but every sign that the victim was at one time under the influence of a drug that rendered him absolutely unconscious."

"And then?" Norcliff asked. "And then?"

"Oh, I am not suggesting that he was placed in the waggon when he was insensible," the doctor said. "I am fully under the impression that he was dead at the time. He was murdered when the drug was at its height, quite simply and in a way that would show no signs of violence. It would only be necessary for his murderer to hold a folded towel over his mouth and nostrils when vitality was at its lowest ebb, and then he would have just faded out of life without the slightest appearance of a struggle. And that, in my considered opinion, is the way he was killed."

"The post-mortem should confirm that," Grierson said. "Then when the facts are disclosed at the inquest—"

Trumble turned on him like a terrier on a rat.

"There must be no such disclosure at the inquest," he snapped. "It would be fatal to our investigations. My idea is to do not more than give simple facts at the inquest and then ask for an adjournment for two or three weeks. And I am quite sure that in this my friend Norcliff will agree with me."