Inspector French: Sir John Magill’s Last Journey. Freeman Crofts Wills

a gesture of impotence.

      ‘Not the faintest,’ he declared. ‘The whole thing is utterly inexplicable to me. My uncle seemed so well the last time I saw him. He was in fine spirits and even cracked jokes, not his usual way at all.’

      ‘When was that, Mr Magill?’

      ‘On Sunday; Sunday week, that is; the Sunday before he left town.’

      ‘Four days before he disappeared?’

      Victor agreed.

      ‘And nothing passed at that interview which would tend to explain the disappearance?’

      There was nothing—absolutely nothing. Victor would have been only too thankful if he could have made some suggestion, but he could not.

      ‘He was in unusually good spirits on that Sunday, you say. Do you know of any special cause for that?’

      ‘Well, I do. He had just pulled off an invention that he had been working at for years and he was frightfully bucked. He was like a child with a new toy.’

      ‘We had heard that he made a hobby of mechanical work. Do you know the nature of this invention?’

      ‘Oh, yes, he told me all about it. It was in the park that I met him that Sunday afternoon. I said: “Well, uncle, how’s the magnum opus?” for he had shown me his trial models and I knew he thought he was near a solution. His face broke out into smiles and he caught me by the arm in his eagerness—a thing that normally he would never have thought of doing. “Got it, my boy,” he almost shouted. “I’ve got it at last.” He tapped his breast pocket and repeated: “Got it here. I’m not telling the others, for between you and me they’ve always been a bit superior about my efforts. But you’ve always believed in me,” he said, “and I’ll tell you.”’

      ‘And he did?’

      ‘Yes, he showed me his sketch plans. His idea was an improved combination of artificial silk and linen. He said that at last he had found a way of running a very fine linen thread through a solution of the silk so that it came out out coated with silk, same as very fine electric wires are coated with a liquid insulator. He’d got this silk-covered thread all right in his workship, but he didn’t know how it would weave up and he was going to Belfast to get a special loom fitted up to try it.’

      ‘That’s important news, Mr Magill. We knew that it was about this invention that Sir John had come to Belfast. Do you know who he was going to meet here?’

      Victor had no idea.

      Rainey nodded, then leaning forward, he spoke more earnestly.

      ‘I hope you can tell us something more than this, Mr Magill. Do please think carefully. Was there any reason why Sir John might want to disappear? Had he no enemies? Was there no one who wanted his money? We are speaking in confidence. Tell us even your slightest suspicion, no matter how unsupported by evidence. Even if you’re wrong no harm will be done. A hint at this stage might prove invaluable.’

      It was no use. Victor would have been only too glad to help, but he knew no more than Rainey.

      ‘I confess I’m disappointed,’ returned the superintendent, ‘but of course it can’t be helped. You can’t manufacture evidence any more than we can.’

      For some minutes they continued discussing the affair. To French, Victor seemed not only shocked by what he evidently believed would prove a tragedy, but he appeared also personally distressed about his uncle’s fate. In fact he presently put his feelings into words. ‘I didn’t see a great deal of my uncle,’ he said, in answer to one of Rainey’s questions, ‘but I had a great respect and indeed admiration for him. And I think he liked me. He was always very decent to me anyway and I should be distressed on personal grounds to think of anything happening to him.’

      Presently the conversation swung round to Victor’s cruise, and French, speaking for the first time, began to press for information. It was not likely to be needed, but there was no harm in knowing where Victor had been at the time of the tragedy.

      ‘That’s a matter, Mr Magill,’ he said, ‘in which I happen to be a good deal interested. A friend of mine has a motor launch and he wants me and a couple of other men to join him in just such a trip. It fell through this summer, but we hope to do it next spring. Would you mind dropping business for a moment and telling me something of your itinerary?’

      Victor Magill looked at French with a slight surprise. His manner conveyed delicately that he had expected a more serious consideration for his family tragedy from a representative of Scotland Yard. But he replied politely enough.

      ‘Certainly. The trip was suggested by a friend of mine named Mallace, who is keen on that sort of thing and has done a lot of it. Mallace has business relations with Barrow and knows the town intimately. He knew of a motor launch there for hire, a fifty-foot boat with good cabin accommodation and he asked me and two other men to join him on a cruise up the west coast as far as Skye.’

      ‘My friend’s boat is not so large,’ French interjected.

      ‘Fifty foot is a convenient enough size,’ Victor went on. ‘You want to keep your boat as small as possible for ease of handling as well as economy. On the other hand she must be big enough to stand a fair sea. Among those islands it sometimes blows up so quickly that you can’t run for shelter. This boat suited us well. Normally one person could handle her and she was dry in a sea—full decked and plenty of freeboard. But she was slow. Old and rather clumsy and slow.’

      ‘Petrol fuel?’

      ‘No, she had a petrol paraffin set. She was economical in oil, but a bit smelly. That’s the worst of paraffin.’

      ‘It creeps, doesn’t it? Ends by getting in the beer and the butter.’

      Before answering Victor gave a derogatory little cough and his manner made it clear that he intensely disapproved of the line the conversation was taking. But French did not seem to mind, continuing in his pleasantest way to extract information as to the other’s movements.

      He and his friend Mallace, Victor explained, had travelled up from London to Barrow on the day express on the Wednesday, three days after he had seen Sir John in the park. They had reached Barrow about eight and had left almost at once for Portpatrick. There next day they had picked up the other two members of their quartet. One of these had been motoring in Scotland and had driven to Stranraer, garaging his car there till the end of the cruise. The other had unexpectedly been detained in London and had been unable to travel to Barrow. He had therefore travelled to Stranraer by the night train on Wednesday, going to Portpatrick on the Thursday.

      ‘Then,’ said French, ‘he must have travelled in the same train as Sir John.’

      Victor stared at him.

      ‘I suppose he must,’ he agreed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. In fact, I don’t know till this morning how my uncle had travelled. That’s certainly a coincidence. Well, Joss, that’s my friend’s name, can’t have seen him or known he was there, or he would have said something about it. Though on second thoughts, I don’t believe they knew each other.’

      ‘Then you really didn’t make up your party till you reached Portpatrick?’

      ‘No. Mallace and I weren’t in more than a few minutes when the others joined us. Mallace had business in Stranraer, so we lay in port all day and that night left for Campbeltown. From Campbeltown we went to Port Ellen in Islay, then to Jura by Oronsay and Colonsay and through the Firth of Lorne to Oban. We were to go on, and the others have gone on, through the Sound of Mull to Skye, round Skye and home by the Sound of Sleat, Staffa and Iona and down the Sound of Jura. Quite a decent round.’

      ‘By Jove, yes! A jolly trip,’ French declared. ‘I’m afraid we’ll not manage anything so elaborate, but it’s been very interesting to hear what you did.’

      There was a pause, then Victor turned to Rainey.

      ‘Well, Superintendent, I thought of staying