Inspector French and the Sea Mystery. Freeman Crofts Wills

the clear blue of the sky. Out beyond the Gower Peninsula was a steamer going up to Swansea or Cardiff.

      The chief constable and Superintendent Griffiths were waiting for them at Loughor. Already the tide was running swiftly, swirling and eddying round the piles of the bridge. Moored to the bank at the east end was a broad-beamed boat with Manners in the sternsheets and two oarsmen amidships.

      ‘Good heavens, they’ll never row against that current!’ French exclaimed, aghast at the rushing flood.

      ‘They’re not going to try,’ Nield declared. ‘This is what I’ve arranged with Manners. He has an extra long painter fixed to his boat. We’ll get the end up on the bridge and tie it to the Crate. Then we’ll throw crate and rope over together, and Manners can pull the slack of the rope into the boat and float down beside the crate.’

      ‘Right. Let me get into the boat first and then carry on.’

      French scrambled down the stone pitching of the bank and with some difficulty got aboard. The rope had been passed up to the bridge and was now worked across till the boat was nearly in mid-stream. Even with the help of the oarsmen it was all those above could do to hold on. Then the crate appeared rising slowly on to the parapet. Presently it turned over and fell, the rope being thrown clear at the same time.

      The crate entered the water with a mighty splash, drenching the boat with spray and disappearing momentarily beneath the surface. Then it came up again, and bobbing about like some ungainly animal, began to move quickly downstream. The boatmen rowed after it, while Manners hurriedly pulled in the slack of the rope.

      After the first few plunges the crate settled down on what might be called an even keel, floating placidly down the estuary. They were rapidly approaching the railway bridge, the roar of the water through the piles being already audible. The passage was not without danger, and the oarsmen worked hard to keep the boat clear of the piles and to ensure its passing through the same opening as the crate. Then with a rush they were through and floating in the calm water beyond.

      French enjoyed that unconventional trip down the Inlet. Apart from the interest of the quest, the glorious weather and the charming scenery made it a delightful excursion. Borne on by the current they first hugged the salt marshes of the northern shore, then heading out towards mid-channel, they passed the post on Careg-ddu and rounded the point at the Llanelly rifle range. They kept inside the long training bank or breakwater, and passing the entrance to Llanelly harbour, stood out towards the open sea. From the water the high lands north and south looked rugged and picturesque, and even the dingy buildings of the town became idealised and seemed to fit their setting. French took frequent bearings so as to be able to plot their course on the map.

      The crate had been settling down steadily, and now only about two inches of freeboard showed, every tiny wavelet washing over it. The rope had been carefully coiled so as to run out easily when the time came. Presently the crate was entirely awash, and the air escaping through the upper holes bubbled as the little surges covered them. Then it was below the surface, showing like a phantom under the waves. At last, just one hour and seven minutes after they had left the bridge, it slowly vanished from sight, and the rope began to run out.

      ‘That will do,’ French said as soon as he had taken bearings. ‘That’s all I want. We may haul it up and get ashore.’

      They followed the example set by Mr Morgan, and pulling up the crate until the top was showing beneath the surface, made the rope fast to the after thwart and pulled for the Burry Port harbour. There they beached their burden, the sergeant undertaking to salve it when the tide fell.

      French, delighted with the result of his experiment, hurried to the hotel and plotted their course on his map. And then he was more delighted still. The crate had passed within fifty yards of its previous resting place.

      It was true it had gone nearly half a mile farther, but that was to be expected and was attributable to the greater fall of the tide.

      That the crate had been thrown from the Loughor bridge on the night of the 21st, 22nd, or 23rd of August French had now no doubt. The first problem of the investigation had therefore been solved, and he congratulated himself on having made so brilliant a start in his new case.

      But as was usual in criminal investigations, the solution of one problem merely led to another: how had the crate been transported to the bridge?

      There were three possibilities: by means of a handcart, a horse cart, or a motor lorry. All, however, had the serious objection that it would take at least three men to lift the crate over the parapet. Murders, of course, were sometimes the work of gangs, but much more frequently they were carried out by individuals, and French would have preferred a theory which involved only one man. However, there was nothing for it but to follow the theory which he had.

      As far as he could see the only factor differentiating between the three vehicles was that of radius of operation. If a handcart had been used the body must have been brought from Loughor, Bynea, or some other place in the immediate vicinity. The same remarks applied to a horse vehicle, though to a lesser extent. With a motor the distance travelled might have been almost anything.

      French did not believe that the body could have come from anywhere near by. Had anyone disappeared or left the neighbourhood under suspicious circumstances the police would have known about it. The motor lorry was therefore the more likely of the three.

      He began to see the outlines of an inquiry stretching out before him. Had anyone seen a motor, loaded with something which might have been the crate, in any part of the surrounding country on the night of the 21st, 22nd, or 23rd of August?

      Going to the police station, French rang up the chief constable, reported the result of the experiment, and asked him to see that his question was circulated, not only among the Carmarthenshire police, but also among those of adjoining counties. Then, thinking he had not done so badly for one day, he returned to the hotel for lunch.

      A good deal of the afternoon he employed in speculating as to what he should do if there were no answer to his circular, but next morning he was delighted to find that his labour had not been in vain. Sergeant Nield appeared to say that there had just been a message from the police at Neath, saying that a lorry answering to the description had been seen on the evening of Monday, 22nd August. It was fitted with a breakdown crane and carried a large package covered with a tarpaulin which might easily have been the crate. A constable had seen it about eight at night standing in a lane some two miles north of the town. The driver was working at the engine, which he said had been giving trouble.

      ‘That’s a bit of good news, sergeant,’ French said heartily. ‘How can I get to this Neath quickest?’

      ‘Direct train via Swansea. It’s on the main line to London.’

      ‘Right. Look up the trains, will you, while I get ready.’

      French had little doubt that he was on a hot scent. He had not thought of a portable crane, but now he saw that nothing more suitable for the purpose could be obtained. There were, he knew, cranes—auto-cranes, he believed they were called—which were fixed on lorries and used for towing disabled cars. In certain types the jibs could be raised or lowered under load. With the jib down a load could be picked up from the ground behind the lorry. The jib could then be raised to its highest position and if the load was right up at the pulley it would clear the tail end of the lorry. When the load was lowered it would come down on the lorry. And all this could be done by one man.

      As French closed his eyes he seemed to see the reverse process being carried out; a crane-lorry arriving on the Loughor bridge, stopping, backing at right angles to the road until its tail was up against the parapet—the road was wide enough to allow of it; the driver getting down, taking a tarpaulin off a crate, swinging the crate up to the pulley of his crane, lowering the jib until the crate swung suspended over the rushing flood beneath, then striking out some type of slip shackle which allowed the crate to fall clear. It was all not only possible but easy, and French had not the slightest doubt that it had been done.

      A couple of hours later he was seated in the police station at Neath, listening to Constable David Jenkins’s story.