Читать книгу Inspector French and the Sea Mystery - Freeman Crofts Wills - Страница 9

Shortly before six o’clock that evening French stepped out of the train at the little terminus of Ashburton.

He had enjoyed his run, particularly the latter portion through the charming South Devonshire scenery, along the coast under the red cliffs of Dawlish and Teignmouth, and then inland through the well-wooded hills of Newton Abbot and Totnes. He was pleased, too, with the appearance of Ashburton, a town T-shaped in plan and squeezed down into the narrow Valleys between three hills. He admired its old-world air and its pleasant situation as he walked up the street to the Silver Tiger, the hotel to which he had been recommended.

After a leisurely dinner he went out for a stroll, ending up shortly after dark at the police station. Sergeant Daw had gone home, but a constable was despatched for him and presently he turned up.

‘I went to the works at once, sir,’ he explained in answer to French’s question. ‘They’re out at the end of North Street. A big place for so small a town. They employ a hundred or more men, and a lot of women and girls. A great benefit to the town, sir.’

‘And whom did you see?’

‘I saw Mr Fogden, the manager. He turned up the information without delay. The duplicator was ordered from London and he showed me the letter. You can see it if you go up tomorrow. There was nothing out of the way about the transaction. They packed the machine and sent it off, and that was all they could tell me.’

Suspiciously like a wild-goose-chase, thought French, as he chatted pleasantly to the sergeant. Like his confrère at Burry Port, the man seemed more intelligent and better educated than most rural policemen. They discussed the weather and the country for some time, and then French said:

‘By the way, Sergeant, the name of this Vida Works seemed vaguely familiar when you telephoned it. Has it been in the papers lately, or can you explain how I should know it?’

‘No doubt, sir, you read of the sad accident we had here about six weeks ago—a tragedy, if I may put it so. Two of the gentlemen belonging to the works—Mr Berlyn, the junior partner, and Mr Pyke, the travelling representative—lost their lives on the moor. Perhaps you remember it, sir?’

Of course! The affair now came back to French. So far as he could recall the circumstances, the two men had been driving across Dartmoor at night, and while still several miles from home their car had broken down. They had attempted to reach the house of a friend by crossing a bit of the moor, but in the dark they had missed their way, and getting into one of the soft ‘mires,’ had been sucked down and lost.

‘I read of it, yes. Very sad thing. Unusual too, was it not?’

‘Yes, sir, for those who live about here know the danger and they don’t go near these doubtful places at night. But animals sometimes get caught. I’ve seen a pony go down myself, and I can tell you, sir, I don’t wish to see another. It was a slow business, and the worse the creature struggled the tighter it got held. But when it comes to human beings it’s a thing you don’t like to think about.’

‘That’s a fact, Sergeant. By the way, it’s like a dream to me that I once met those two gentlemen. I wish you’d describe them.’

‘They were not unlike, so far as figure and build were concerned; about five feet nine or five feet ten in height, I should say, though Mr Berlyn was slightly the bigger man. But their colouring was different. Mr Berlyn had a high colour and blue eyes and reddish hair, while Mr Pyke was sallow with brown eyes and hair.’

‘Did Mr Berlyn wear glasses?’ French asked, with difficulty keeping the eagerness out of his voice.

‘No, sir. Neither of them did that.’

‘I don’t think they can be the men I met. Well, I’ll go up and see this Mr Fogden in the morning. Goodnight, Sergeant.’

‘Goodnight, sir. If there’s anything I can do I take it you’ll let me know.’

But French next morning did not go to the office equipment works. Instead he took an early bus to Torquay, and calling at the local office of the Western Morning News, asked to see their recent files. These he looked over, finally buying all the papers which contained any reference to the tragic deaths of Messrs Berlyn and Pyke.

He had no suspicions in the matter except that here was a disappearance of two persons about the time of the murder, one of whom answered to the description of the man who had called for the crate. No one appeared to doubt their death on the moor, but—their bodies had not been found. French wished to know what was to be known about the affair before going to the works, simply to be on the safe side.

He retired to the smoking room of the nearest hotel and began to read up his papers. At once he discovered a fact which he thought deeply significant. The tragedy had taken place on the night of Monday, the 15th August. And it was on the following day, Tuesday, the 16th, that the crate had been despatched from Ashburton.

The case was exhaustively reported, and after half an hour’s reading French knew all that the reporters had gleaned. Briefly the circumstances were as follow:

Charles Berlyn, as has been said, was junior partner of the firm. He was a man of about forty and he looked after the commercial side of the undertaking. Stanley Pyke was an engineer who acted as technical travelling representative, a younger man, not more than five-and-thirty. Each had a high reputation for character and business efficiency.

It happened that for some time previous to the date in question the Urban District Council of Tavistock had been in communication with the Vida Works relative to the purchase of filing cabinets and other office appliances for their clerk. There had been a hitch in the negotiations, and Mr Berlyn had arranged to attend the next meeting of the council in the hope of settling the matter. As some of the council members were farmers, busy during that season in the daytime, the meeting was held in the evening. Mr Berlyn arranged to motor over, Mr Pyke accompanying him.

The two men left the works at half-past five, their usual hour. Each dined early, and they set out in Mr Berlyn’s car about seven. They expected to reach Tavistock at eight, at which hour the meeting was to begin. After their business was finished they intended to call on a mill-owner just outside Tavistock in connection with a set of loose-leaf forms he had ordered. The mill-owner was a personal friend of Mr Berlyn, and they intended to spend the evening with him, leaving about eleven and reaching home about midnight.

This programme they carried out faithfully, at least in its earlier stages. They reached Tavistock just as the meeting of the Urban Council was beginning, and settled the business of the office appliances. Then they went on to the mill-owner’s, arranged about the loose leaf forms, and sat chatting over, cigars and drinks until shortly before eleven. At precisely ten-fifty they set off on their return journey, everything connected with them being perfectly normal and in order.