Inspector French and the Box Office Murders

4

French Makes a Start

‘I should like to introduce you to Major Bentley, our chief constable,’ said Sergeant Golightly to French as they left the courthouse.

The major was a small dark man with a rather Jewish cast of countenance. French had noticed him come in late to the inquest and had imagined he was a police official.

‘I was talking over this affair with the superintendent this morning,’ the major began. ‘He’s knocked up at present and I went to his house. That’s why you haven’t met him. In the absence of complete knowledge we rather took the view that the key to the matter lay in London and that Portsmouth came into it only as the result of an accidental selection. I should like to know, Inspector, if that’s your view also?’

‘As a matter of fact, it is, sir. I have some further information which I didn’t think it necessary to lay before the coroner, but which I should be pleased to give to you. It tends in that direction.’

The chief constable smiled.

‘I rather imagined your evidence was, shall I say, bowdlerised. It occurred to me that you were mighty quick in assuming that the girl had disappeared. All the details strictly accurate?’

‘Strictly, sir.’ French smiled also. ‘But if a meaning other than that I intended were taken from what I said, that would not be my fault, would it?’

‘Of course not. Naturally the energies of the police must be directed towards hoodwinking the courts, eh?’

French laughed outright.

‘It has its uses,’ he admitted, glancing with amusement at the sergeant’s scandalised countenance. ‘But this time I fear our adversaries are too wide awake to be taken in by it.’

‘That so? Well, come along, will you, to the sergeant’s office and let’s have our chat.’

When they were seated and had lit up three of the chief constable’s Egyptian cigarettes, French told in detail about his interview with the dead girl and the inquiries he had already made. Both men listened with keen attention and without interrupting.

‘What’s it all about, Inspector?’ Major Bentley said when he had finished. ‘Those three ruffians get these girls into their power, or try to. But what for? Have you any theory?’

‘I’ve not,’ French admitted. ‘At first it looked like an attempt to rob the tills of the cinemas, but all they’d get from that wouldn’t be worth their while. It might, of course, be for immoral purposes, but somehow I don’t think so. In any case the motive for the second murder is clear. This Style believed that the girl Darke connected him with the first crime, the murder of Eileen Tucker.’

‘Possibly they found out that she had gone to the Yard and thought she had given them away?’

‘That’s my view. Probably they shadowed her. If so, they would see that her ability to identify three of their members would make her so dangerous that their only policy would be to make away with her.’

‘Quite. That’s clear enough. But it doesn’t explain the first murder.’

‘It does not, sir. It looks as if there was some game going on to get the cash out of those cinemas, but how it could be done I can’t see.’

‘Nor I.’ The chief constable shrugged his shoulders. ‘Well, that’s all very interesting, but the point about which I really wanted to consult you is this: If the key to the matter lies in London, as I think we are agreed that it must, the matter is one for you and not for us.’

‘The body was found here, sir. It is technically a matter for you.’

‘I know, but that is a detail which can easily be put right.If we apply for help from the Yard you can sail ahead without delay.’

‘That’s true, sir, or at least the Yard can. I should have to report and wait for orders. But as I’m mixed up with the case already, and as I have no other job on hand, I am sure I should be the man sent. Shall I get on the ’phone to the Yard?’

‘I think you should. Tell them we’re applying to the Home Office for help from them, and that I’ve suggested that as you’re here, you might carry on.’

‘Right, sir. I’ll do it now.’

But when French got through to Chief Inspector Mitchell he was surprised by receiving a recall.

‘Come and see me first, French, at all events,’ said his chief. ‘We’ll fix it up then.’

French travelled to Waterloo by the 8.06. p.m. from Portsmouth, and early next morning knocked at the Chief Inspector’s door.

‘’Morning, French,’ Mitchell greeted him. ‘I was a good deal interested by the summary of those proceedings down at Portsmouth. I fancy there’s more in this thing than we’ve got down to yet. Just start in and give me details of what took place at the inquest.’

French obeyed. Mitchell listened without interrupting and nodded his head when his subordinate had finished.

‘I sat here,’ he said slowly, ‘last night for a solid hour after I had received your telephone, trying to remember a name. At last I got it. Does Arundel convey anything to you?’

‘Arundel?’ French repeated. ‘Near Eastbourne that is, isn’t it?’

Mitchell’s eyes twinkled.

‘Eastbourne your grandmother. It’s ten miles east of Chichester and some four miles from the coast. That help you?’

French slowly shook his head. ‘Afraid not, sir.’

‘Well, I’ll tell you. Past that little town there flows a river, the Arun, and in that river one day last October was found the body of a young woman. The medical evidence was that she had been drowned and as there were no signs of violence or other suspicious circumstances a verdict of accidental death was returned. But, French,’ Mitchell leaned forward and became very impressive, ‘she was employed in the box office of a big London cinema!’

French stared.

‘Good Lord, sir! Another one?’

‘Well, what do you think? And there’s more in it than that. This girl, Agatha Frinton, was alone in the world, at least no relatives could be discovered; she was living in a boarding house, and the landlady stated that she had seemed very depressed for some ten days before her death.’

French swore rather luridly.

‘I agree,’ said Mitchell, the slight twinkle again showing in his eyes. ‘It looks to me like the last time your friends wanted a recruit for their little scheme, whatever it is.’

‘That’s what I think. It’s going to be a big case, this. The further you go into it, the bigger it grows. That’s three girls we believe they’ve murdered and goodness knows how many more there may be that we haven’t got on to yet.’

‘I have a man on that,’ Mitchell declared. ‘He’s looking up the files. I told him to go for any cases of the death of girls in box offices of places of amusement, including accidents, suicides and murders. That should cover it?’

‘That’ll cover it all right. But there’s another point, sir. We believe they murdered Thurza Darke because they found out that she had been at the Yard and they suspected she was going to give them away. Had this other girl, this Agatha Frinton, been to the Yard?’

‘Quite right, French,’ Mitchell approved. ‘I have a man on that too. He’s making a list of girls who lodged complaints which might apply. There’s this girl, Agatha Frinton, and also that other, Eileen Tucker, to start with. But it doesn’t follow that they need have actually called here. A first step might have been what Sherlock Holmes used to call oscillation on the pavement. They might have come and looked at the door and their courage might have failed them at the last minute. But if the gang saw them do that it might be enough.’

‘It would indicate what was in the girl’s mind,’ French agreed.

‘True, O king. Now there is another thing. Can we learn anything from the geography of the affair?’

French looked his question.

‘Here we have murders taking place at Caterham, Arundel and Lee-on-the-Solent. As geography doesn’t seem to be your long suit, hand over the atlas and let’s look them up. See,’ he went on when the places had been found, ‘when you add London they make a curve: London, Caterham, Arundel and Lee: something like three, four, five and six on a clock. Anything in that?’

French pondered, then slowly shook his head.

‘Well, bear it in mind,’ Mitchell advised. ‘Later it may give you a hint as to this precious gang’s headquarters.’

‘Then, sir, I am to take up the case?’

‘Certainly. Get right on with it at once.’

‘Very good, sir. I’ll go round to the cinema and Thurza Darke’s boarding house again now I’m here, but I fancy my best hopes are at Portsmouth. There’s quite a chance that they may have left traces when they were getting the body into the sea.’

‘Quite. It shouldn’t take you long to bring them in. You’ve plenty to go on. You have the descriptions of at least three of the gang and you have three murders to go into, for I think we may take it this Arundel affair was part of it.’

‘I’ll get at it immediately. I suppose,’ French hesitated, ‘you’ve no idea what they might be up to?’

‘I’m afraid not. Some way of robbing the cinemas occurs to one at once, but I don’t see how it could be done on a big enough scale to be worthwhile.’

‘That’s what I thought. In fact, I don’t see how it could be done at all.’

‘You’ll get an idea before long, I fancy. Well, get ahead, French. If you get tied up at Portsmouth you can try Arundel, and if you make a mess of that you can move on to Caterham. Between them all you should pull off the job.’

French lost no time in getting to work. Beginning with the boarding house, he interviewed not only Mrs Peters, but the servants and some of the boarders with whom the deceased girl had been on specially intimate terms. Unfortunately, from them he learnt nothing. Nor did a meticulous search of Miss Darke’s belongings give better results. Then he drove to Mr Arrowsmith’s office and interrogated the typist, Jennie Cox. From her he obtained a good deal of information as to the dead girl’s life, but again none of it threw light on his present problem.

By the time he had finished with Miss Cox, the Milan was open, and after lunch he went there to continue his inquiries. Here, after considerable trouble, he learned one new fact, not indeed an important one, but still something.

An attendant whom he had not seen on his previous visit had been on duty in the entrance hall on the night on which Miss Darke had disappeared. About quarter before eleven a young lady had come in. As the show was nearly over he had wondered what she had wanted and he had watched her particularly. She had gone to Miss Darke’s box and a short but animated conversation had taken place between the two ladies. He had overheard the stranger say as she was leaving: ‘Cheerio, then. I’ll wait for you at the corner.’ She was a tall, good-looking girl, stylishly dressed, with a fur coat, and she seemed eager and excited and as if pleased about something. The attendant had noticed also that Miss Darke had hurried away as soon as she could.

In spite of the man’s somewhat meagre description, French had little doubt of her visitor’s identity. That she was Gwen Lestrange he would have bet long odds. He immediately set to work on the clue. After examining the remainder of the cinema staff, he arranged for the interrogation of the police who had been on duty in the immediate neighbourhood on the night in question, and circulated an inquiry among the taximen of the district in the hope that the girls might have engaged a vehicle.

The great machine of the C.I.D. having thus been set in motion in London, he returned at eight o’clock to Portsmouth. Smoking a meditative after-dinner pipe in the train, he set himself to take stock of the facts which he had already learnt, and to see if they would yield any deductions which might indicate the way in which he should go.

He saw at once that the inquiry resolved itself into two separate and distinct problems. There was the immediate question of the identity of the trio who had murdered these poor girls. For French believed with his chief that all three crimes were the work of the same parties. But behind that there was the further problem of motive. What were these three people doing that should lead them to so terrible an expedient?

It did not require much thought to show French that he must concentrate on the first of these questions. Until the criminals were discovered, the second question could scarcely be approached. Indeed, the establishment of their identity might lead directly to the discovery of their motive.

Of the murder of Thurza Darke, therefore, just what did he know?

She had left the Milan at 11.15p.m. in her usual health and spirits, and her dead body was found in the Solent at about 7.00 the next morning. The evidence of her watch tended to the belief that she was murdered at 1.07 and this was supported by the doctor’s statement.

French wondered if he could make a provisional timetable of the happenings on that tragic night. Again and again he had found that nothing had so cleared up his views on a case as the fixing of a duration to each incident. Perhaps in this case also it would bring light.

In the first place he considered the time which he should allow for the actual murder. Even with his case-hardened mind he did not care to dwell on the ghastly details. But he felt sure that it could not have been completed in less than half an hour. When he added the time necessary for the kidnapping, he felt sure a good deal longer would have been required. Assume, however, half an hour. 11.15 to 1.07, less half an hour, was about 80 minutes.

It was evident in the next place that the journey from London must have been made by car. There was no train and the difficulties of using an aeroplane would have been overwhelming. Moreover, the fastest motor launch would have taken too long for a sea passage to have been taken.

He had brought a map and guide book of the district and these gave the distance from London to Lee as something like 78 miles. From the above facts, it followed that the crime could not have been committed at Lee. It must have been done within an 80-minute journey from London.

In 80 minutes French thought it unlikely that more than thirty miles could have been done. With such a freight no driver would have run the risk of being held up by the police for speeding. Thirty miles from London in the general direction of Portsmouth brought him to the district containing Wokingham, Aldershot, Godalming, Horsham, and Ashdown Forest. He thought that a provisional assumption was justified that the murder had been committed either in London or somewhere on the London side of this circle.

Some fifty miles had then to be covered. On these country roads a higher speed might be admitted. Still French did not believe Lee could have been reached before about half past three in the morning.

The remains would then have to be put into the sea, an operation which would also have taken time. Suppose it took half an hour. This would have brought the time to four o’clock. About four it would be beginning to get light, and French was sure the criminals would do their utmost to get away as soon as possible from a place with such dangerous associations.

When the train ran into Portsmouth station, French was smiling contentedly. He was pleased with his progress. From nothing whatever he had evolved the definite conception of a car arriving at a point near Lee at some time between, say, 3.00 a.m. and 5.00 a.m. on the morning of Tuesday, the 19th of June, and of the carrying of the body from this point to the sea. Possibly a study of the shore and currents might enable him to fix that point within short limits. If so, it would be strange indeed if he did not find some further clues. In a hopeful frame of mind he put up at the Splendid at Southsea, his plans for the next day settled.

5

Lee-on-the-Solent

When French woke next morning he found a brilliant sun pouring in through his window. A good omen, he thought, as he gazed out on a sea just as blue and sparkling as the Mediterranean had looked from the Hotel in Nice at which he had stayed when investigating the wanderings of the Pyke cousins. With luck he would make progress today.

A short journey through Portsmouth and Gosport brought him to Lee-on-the-Solent, a pleasantly situated little town of new houses, stretched out along the shore. Five minutes later he was turning in at the gate of Austin Munn’s neat villa.

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