Inspector French and the Cheyne Mystery. Freeman Crofts Wills

that’s all there is to it.’ He paused as if to refer to some other matter, then apparently thinking better of it, concluded: ‘You have my address, and if anything should occur to you I hope you’ll let me know without delay.’

      When Speedwell had taken his departure Cheyne sat on in the study, thinking over the problem the other had presented, but as he did so he had no idea that before that very day was out he should himself have received information which would clear up the point at issue, as well as a good many of the other puzzling features of the strange events in which he had become involved.

      Shortly after lunch, then, on this day, the eighth after the burglary and drugging, Cheyne on re-entering the house after a stroll round the garden, was handed a card and told that the owner was waiting to see him in his study. Mr Arthur Lamson, of 17 Acacia Terrace, Bland Road, Devonport, proved to be a youngish man of middle height and build, with the ruggedly chiselled features usually termed hard-bitten, a thick black toothbrush moustache and glasses. Cheyne was not particularly prepossessed by his appearance, but he spoke in an educated way and had the easy polish of a man of the world.

      ‘I have to apologise for this intrusion, Mr Cheyne,’ he began in a pleasant tone, ‘but the fact is I wondered whether I could interest you in a small invention of mine. I got your name from Messrs Holt & Stavenage, the Plymouth ship chandlers. They told me you dealt with them and how keen you were on yachting, and as my invention relates to the navigation of coasting craft, I hoped you might allow me to show it to you.’

      Cheyne, who had had some experience of inventors during six weeks special naval war service after his convalescence, made a non-committal reply.

      ‘I may tell you at once, sir,’ Mr Lamson went on, ‘that I am looking for a keen amateur who would be willing to allow me to fit the device to his boat, and who would be sufficiently interested to test it under all kinds of varying conditions. You see, though the thing works all right on a motor launch I have borrowed, I have exhausted my leave from my business, and am therefore unable to give it a sufficiently lengthy and varying test to find out whether it will work continuously under ordinary everyday sea-going conditions. If it proves satisfactory I believe it would sell, and if so I should of course be willing to take into partnership to a certain extent anyone who had helped me to develop it.’

      In spite of himself Cheyne was impressed. This man was different from those with whom he had hitherto come in contact. He was not asking for money, or at least he hadn’t so far.

      ‘Have you patented the device?’ he asked, reckoning willingness to spend money on patent fees a test of good faith.

      ‘No, not yet,’ the visitor answered. ‘I have taken out provisional protection, which will cover the thing for four months more. If it promises well after a couple of months’ test it will be time enough to apply for the full patent.’

      Cheyne nodded. This was a reasonable and proper course.

      ‘What is the nature of the device?’ he asked.

      The young man’s manner grew more alert. He leaned forward in his chair and spoke eagerly. Cheyne frowned involuntarily as he recognised the symptoms.

      ‘It’s a position indicator. It would, I think, be useful at all times, but during fog it would be simply invaluable: that is, for coasting work, you know. It would be no good for protection against collision with another ship. But for clearing a headland or making a harbour in a fog it would be worth its weight in gold. The principle is, I believe, old, but I have been lucky enough to hit on improvements in detail which get over the defects of previous instruments. Speaking broadly, a fixed pointer, which may if desired carry a pen, rests on a moving chart. The chart is connected to a compass and to rollers operated by devices for recording the various components of motion one is driven off the propeller, others are set, automatically mostly, for such things as wind, run of tide, wave motion and so on. The pointer always indicates the position of the ship, and as the ship moves, the chart moves to correspond. Steering then resolves itself into keeping the pointer on the correct line on the chart, and this can be done by night without guide lamps, or in a fog, as well as in daytime. The apparatus would also assist navigation through unbuoyed channels over covered mud flats, or in time of war through charted mine fields. I don’t want to be a nuisance to you, Mr Cheyne, but I do wish you would at least let me show you the device. You could then decide whether you would allow me to fix it to your yacht for experimental purposes.’

      ‘I should like to see it,’ Cheyne admitted. ‘If you can do all you claim, I certainly think you have a good thing. Where is it to be seen?’

      ‘On my launch, or rather, the launch I have borrowed.’ The young man’s eagerness now almost approached excitement. His eyes sparkled and he fidgeted in his chair. ‘She is lying off Johnson’s boat slip at Dartmouth. I left the dinghy there.’

      ‘And you want me to go now?’

      ‘If you really will be so kind. I should propose a short run down the estuary and along the coast towards Exmouth, say for two or three hours. Could you spare so much time?’

      ‘Why, yes, I should enjoy it. I shall be back, say, between six and seven.’

      ‘I’ll have you back at Johnson’s slip at six o’clock. I have a taxi waiting now, and I’ll arrange with Johnson to call another for you as soon as he sees us coming up the estuary.’

      ‘I’ll go,’ said Cheyne. ‘Just a moment until I tell my people and get a coat.’

      The day was ideal for the run. Spring was in the air. The brilliant April sun poured down from an almost cloudless sky, against which the sea horizon showed a hard, sharp line of intensest blue. Within the estuary it was calm, but multitudinous white flecks in the distance showed a stiff breeze was blowing out at sea. Cheyne’s spirits rose. It was a glorious sport, this of battling with the foaming, tumbling waves in the open. How he loved their blue-black depth with its suggestion of utter and absolute cleanness, the creamy purity of their seething crests, their steady, irresistible onward movement, the restless dancing and swirling of the wavelets on their flanks! To him it was life to feel the buoyant spring of the craft beneath him, to hear the crash of the bows into the troughs and the smack of the spindrift striking aft. He was glad this Lamson had called. Even if the matter of the invention was a washout, as he more than half expected, he felt he was going to enjoy his afternoon.

      Three or four minutes brought them to Johnson’s boat slip on the outskirts of Dartmouth. There Lamson drew the proprietor aside.

      ‘See here,’ he directed, ‘we’re going out for a run. I want you to keep a lookout for us coming back. We shall be in about six. As soon as you see us send for a taxi and have it here when we get ashore. Now Mr Cheyne, if you’re ready.’

      They climbed down into a small dinghy and Lamson, taking the oars, pulled out towards a fair-sized motor launch which lay at anchor some couple of hundred yards from the shore. She was not a graceful boat, but looked strongly built, showing a high bluff bow, a square stern and lines suggestive of speed.

      ‘A sea boat,’ said Cheyne approvingly. ‘You surely don’t run her by yourself?’

      ‘No, a motoring friend has been giving me a hand. I am skipper and he engineer. We hug the coast, you know, and don’t go out if it is blowing.’

      As he spoke he pulled round the stern of the launch upon which Cheyne observed the words ‘Enid, Devonport.’ At the same time a tall, well-built figure appeared and waved his hand. Lamson brought up to the tiny steps aud a moment later they were on deck.

      ‘Mr Cheyne has come out to see the great invention, Tom. I almost hope that he is interested. My friend, Tom Lewesham, Mr Cheyne.’

      The two men shook hands.

      ‘Lamson thinks he is going to make his fortune with this thing, Mr Cheyne,’ the big man remarked, smiling. ‘We must see that there is no mistake about our percentages.’

      ‘If you want a percentage you must work for it, my son,’ Lamson declared. ‘Mr Cheyne must be back by six, so get your old rattle-trap going and we’ll