The Loss of the Jane Vosper (16 page)

It was with a deepened feeling of depression that French left the docks. The momentary satisfaction he had experienced at having obtained his immediate object was quickly dispelled by the knowledge that it left him no further on with his case. In fact, he was now in a worse position than before. What had seemed a promising line of research had gone west. The one theory he had developed to account for Sutton’s disappearance had been proved false, and he had no other left to take its place.

Admittedly there was still no actual proof that Sutton had parted from Hislop at Baker Street with the intention of going to Waterloo. But now that the major part of Hislop’s statement had been proved true, it was very unlikely that he should have lied about a non-essential detail. French felt he must accept the story in its entirety.

What, then, must be his next step? He was by no means sure. The only thing he had thought of was to repeat the investigation Sutton had been engaged on, in the hope that he might come on whatever had led the man to his doom. It wasn’t a very promising line, but he could see no other.

Finally he decided, as it was Saturday and it would be impossible to reach the people he should want to interrogate, to leave this new enquiry over till Monday, and spend the afternoon in another call on Mrs Sutton. It was conceivable that she might have heard her husband speak of a call at Waterloo, or have some idea of why he had gone there.

Accordingly he let Carter return to the Yard, while he himself went to Victoria. Getting some lunch at the station, he took an early train to East Croydon.

He was rather shocked at Mrs Sutton’s appearance. Her face had gone a pasty white and her cheeks had dropped in, while her hair showed streaks of grey. Altogether she looked ten years older. She greeted French with an eager question, but she read its answer in his face, and turned away to hide her disappointment.

‘I’ve traced him to Baker Street, as I think you’ve already heard,’ French told her a little later on, ‘and I think to Waterloo, but I can’t find out where he went to at Waterloo. I was wondering if you could help me there? Did you hear him speak of Waterloo, or do you know anyone that he might have gone to see in that neighbourhood?’

Mrs Sutton had no idea. If she had, she would have mentioned it long before. Her husband must, she thought, have got on to some clue, and been led into a trap. She said directly that she had no doubt that he was dead, and that he had been murdered by someone whose guilty secret he had penetrated.

French did his best to comfort her, but as he really agreed with her, his efforts were not very successful. As soon as he could decently do so he took his leave, feeling that the interview was painful to them both.

On Sunday he spent three hours reading over his notes and considering his next move. He did not, however, gain much light from the proceeding. More and more he became convinced that his fundamental conclusions were true, but that their proof, so far, was beyond him. He felt satisfied that the
Jane
Vosper
had been sunk deliberately, probably by the owners for the insurance on the ship, that Sutton had discovered this dangerous secret, and that he had been murdered because of it. But personal belief was no good to him or to anyone else. He
must
get proof. But how to get it he didn’t see.

A weekend of desultory thought left French with the conviction that his most hopeful line of progress lay in the repeating of Sutton’s enquiry. This, with luck, might lead to results in two separate directions. First and more important to French personally, it might reveal the fate of the missing man. Second and more important, perhaps, to the community at large, it might clear up the mystery of the
Jane Vosper
.

On Monday morning, therefore, he set off with Carter to begin the work. According to Sutton’s own statement, he had checked the loading of the sets at Weaver Bannister’s and their stowing in the
Jane
Vosper’s
hold in the London Docks, and was about to trace their journey from one place to the other. French must now do the same in his own way and as if it were his own enquiry.

Once more the chase led to Weaver Bannister’s at Watford. It was a charming morning, one of those autumn days when summer seems to have come back and the sun has regained his former heat and brilliancy. French, looking out of the train at the rows of houses and builders’ ‘estates’, thought them almost cheerful in the warm light, and felt heartened by what seemed a good omen for his success.

On reaching the works he asked to see Bannister. He was sorry, he explained, to trouble him again, but the situation he had foreshadowed in his previous interview had materialized, and he was going to have to repeat Sutton’s enquiries in the hope of forming the contact which had led to the man’s disappearance. He had called to request Bannister’s good offices in the matter.

‘What do you want me to do?’ Bannister asked.

‘I want you, if you will, sir, to give me a note to your employees, asking them to assist me with any information in their power. Of course, you understand I can’t demand this officially, but it would be a considerable help to me if you could see your way to do so.’

This was a request French frequently made under similar circumstances. Not only would such a letter be of practical value in dealing with the staff, but the principal’s willingness or otherwise to give it would be to a very real extent a test of his guilt or innocence. If he were guilty he would not willingly take such a risk.

Bannister, however, agreed without hesitation. Calling in his secretary, he dictated a letter, telling the girl to have it typed at once.

While the typing was in progress, French continued talking about the case. ‘Tell me, sir,’ he asked, ‘why you chose the Southern Ocean Company to carry your sets? I should have thought that with such a valuable cargo you would have employed one of the big liners, instead of this comparatively small
Jane
Vosper?
’

‘That,’ Bannister answered, ‘I cannot answer officially, as I had nothing to do with the choice. It was Mr Dornford’s business, and he settled it. But,’ he went on dryly, ‘I can form an opinion as to the reason. Freights are naturally less on small cargo boats than on the large passenger liners; and, as far as safety is concerned, in a way the matter doesn’t greatly interest us. Our stuff, as you know, was covered by the Land and Sea Insurance people, and it was up to them to be satisfied as to the safety of the ship before issuing the policy.’

‘I understand that, sir,’ French agreed.

‘But, as a matter of fact,’ Bannister went on, ‘I don’t think a small cargo boat is a bit more likely to go under than a liner. Look at the great ships that have gone down, from the
Titanic
and the
Waratah
to the
Vestris
and that Ward Liner; I’ve forgotten her name. However, that’s only an opinion, and doesn’t affect your enquiry.’

‘The line that was chosen doesn’t really affect my enquiry, sir,’ French admitted. ‘I was asking only out of curiosity.’

This, however, was not strictly true. French wanted to be sure there was no guilty understanding between Weaver Bannister’s and the shipping company. He therefore determined to put the question to Dornford also.

He continued chatting about sea disasters till the letter appeared. Then, thanking Bannister for his help, he asked if he could see the export manager.

To Dornford he explained his call as he had to Bannister. He produced his letter as evidence of the latter’s sympathy with his efforts, and asked if he might have all the details about the shipping of the sets.

‘What exactly does that mean?’ Dornford asked.

‘The history of the affair from beginning to end, sir, if you please. The choice of the shipping firm, the negotiations which passed between you, the arrangements about getting your stuff on board: everything connected with it.’

‘The man Sutton asked for and obtained something like that,’ Dornford answered. ‘But we’d better have Hislop in. It was really he who handled the business.’

‘Thank you. I should be obliged.’

Dornford spoke through his desk telephone, then turned again to French. ‘I don’t know if you’re aware that I’m retiring shortly and Hislop is succeeding me. He is therefore carrying on under my general supervision, so that he may be quite qualified to take charge when I leave.’

‘I gathered so, sir, but I hadn’t heard it officially.’

Further talk on the subject was interrupted by the entrance of Hislop. He nodded to French and asked was there something fresh on the carpet? French explained again.

‘Yes,’ Hislop said when he had finished, ‘Sutton asked for all that information. He got it, too. I don’t suppose he was actually entitled to it, but we realized his position and were anxious to help him.’

‘Then I hope you will help me in the same way,’ French suggested.

Both men seemed agreeable to do what they could. Hislop’s statement, supplemented by the answers to a few questions, gave French all the information he wanted.

It seemed that for years the Weaver Bannister firm had been sending its products to South America, though this was the first occasion these particular sets had been dispatched. They were indeed a new line which had just been got out, and a special representative had been sent to South America to introduce them. The resulting order of 350 was in the nature of a trial, and if the sets gave satisfaction there would be large repeats.

For years the firm’s stuff had been carried by the Southern Ocean Company. It had been chosen in the first place because its freights were lower than those of the passenger lines, and secondly because it had a good name for the careful handling and prompt delivery of its cargoes.

This good name had been amply justified so far as the Weaver Bannister people’s experience went, and the question of changing the shippers had not therefore arisen.

The correspondence which had taken place was perfectly normal and commonplace. Hislop had advised the Southern Ocean Company that they had 350 cases, of about 2 feet by 2 feet by 4 feet, and weighing about 15 cwts apiece, for various South American ports, and asked for a quotation. This was received, it being pointed out that it included stowage, but excluded delivery on the quay of the London Docks. The price was agreed to, and then Hislop went into the question of transport between the works and the docks. He obtained quotations for road and rail transport, and found the rail was slightly the cheaper. This LMS quotation he had asked for in two forms, one for delivery on the quay and the other for delivery at the nearest LMS goods station, which proved to be that of Haydon Square. The reason he had done that was that he had had a canvass from a firm of carriers, Messrs Waterer & Reade, of Otwell Street, Cannon Street, soliciting a trial order. He thought the present would be a good case in which to see what they could do, so he asked them to quote for the carriage of the sets between Haydon Square and the quay. Their quotation was lower for this cartage than that of the railway, therefore the order was given to them.

‘That is to say,’ said French, ‘the LMS Company picked up the stuff here in the works on your private siding, and carried it to their Haydon Square Goods Station, then Waterer & Reade carted it from there to the London Docks and handed it over on the quay to the Southern Ocean people, who loaded it on the
Jane
Vosper?’

‘That’s correct,’ Hislop answered. ‘I made the actual arrangements, but each particular item of it was submitted to Mr Dornford and received his approval before action was taken.’

‘I understand, sir. Now I’d like to get the dates of all that before we go on.’

‘The dates of the correspondence we can supply without difficulty,’ Hislop answered. ‘Here they are.’ Then when French had got what he wanted, he went on, ‘The dates on which the stuff was actually moved I can’t give you here. You’ll have to go to the dispatch sheds. I’ll take you down presently.’

‘I think I may go at once,’ French returned. ‘You’ve very kindly told me all I want. Did Sutton get any more information than I have?’

‘Not as much,’ Hislop answered. ‘He didn’t ask about dates, for instance.’

‘Dates are useful for pulling a story together,’ French said easily. ‘I’m sure I’m obliged to you for what you’ve told me.’

‘Well, will you come along?’

French found himself conducted downstairs to a large shed containing two railway sidings with a platform beside each, roadways for lorries and vans, Decauville tracks leading back into the buildings, and over all a large travelling crane. Goods and crates were everywhere, and a number of men were transshipping from the Decauville trucks to lorries and wagons. Hislop called up an elderly man in dungarees.

‘This is Holmes, the foreman packer,’ he explained. ‘Holmes, give Chief-Inspector French all the information he requires. If you want me again, chief-inspector, I shall be upstairs.’

Hislop discreetly vanished, and French wished the foreman good day. ‘I’m enquiring about Mr Sutton,’ he went on – ‘you know, the man who disappeared. I understand that he made some enquiries from you?’

‘Yes, sir, he was interested in a consignment of petrol sets we had sent out to South America.’

‘Quite. I’m repeating his investigation in the hope of finding that he went somewhere or did something that will explain his disappearance. Now will you please tell me just what you told him?’

Holmes was willing enough. ‘First, sir, he asked to see a sample set and the case it was packed in. If you’ll come along I’ll show you.’

The man led the way back into the depths of the building, following a Decauville track. Here, in another shed, the actual packing was going on. Machines of all kinds were being lifted into crates, or strengthened for transport with wooden frames. In one corner two men were packing sets. These consisted of an extremely compact-looking petrol motor, directly connected to a dynamo, both on the same base plate, and a separate switchboard. The cases were of 11⁄8-inch deal of good quality, very strongly jointed and bound with hoop-iron rings. The packing was shavings and sawdust.