French ran his eyes over the document, noting the points which might be valuable. The body was that of a middle-aged man five feet ten inches high, fairly broad and well built, and weighing thirteen stone. The injuries to the head and face, were such that recognition from the features would be impossible. There was only one physical peculiarity which might assist identification, a small triangular birthmark on the back of the left arm.
The report then gave technical details of the injuries and the condition the body was in when found, with the conclusion that death had probably occurred some thirty-five to forty days earlier. French smiled ruefully when he had finished reading.
‘There’s not overmuch to go on, is there?’ he remarked. ‘I suppose nothing further is likely to come out at the inquest?’
‘Unless someone that we don’t know of comes forward with information, nothing,’ the sergeant answered. ‘We have made all the inquiries, that we could think of.’
‘As far as I am concerned,’ Dr Crowth declared, ‘I don’t see that you have anything to go on at all. I shouldn’t care for your job, Inspector. How on earth will you start trying to clear up this puzzle? To me it seems absolutely insoluble.’
‘Cases do seem so at first,’ French returned, ‘but it’s wonderful how light gradually comes. It is almost impossible to commit a murder without leaving a clue, and if you think it over long enough you usually get it. But this, I admit, is a pretty tough proposition.’
‘Have you ever heard of anything like it before?’
‘So far it rather reminds me of a case investigated several years ago by my old friend Inspector Burnley—he’s retired now. A cask was sent from France to London which was found to contain the body of a young married Frenchwoman, and it turned out that her unfaithful husband had murdered her. He had in his study at the time a cask in which a group of statuary which he had just purchased had arrived, and he disposed of the body by packing it in the cask and sending it to England. It might well be that the same thing had happened in this case: that the murderer had purchased something which had arrived in this crate and that he had used the latter to get rid of the body. And, as you can see, doctor, that at once suggests a line of inquiry. What firm uses crates of this kind to despatch their goods and to whom were such crates sent recently? This is the sort of inquiry which gets us our results.’
‘That is very interesting. All the same, I’m glad it’s your job and not mine. I remember reading of that case you mention. The papers were absolutely full of it at the time. I thought it an extraordinary affair, almost like a novel.’
‘No doubt, but there is this difference between a novel and real life. In a novel the episodes are selected and the reader is told those which are interesting and which get results. In real life we try perhaps ten or twenty lines which lead nowhere before we strike the lucky one. And in each line we make perhaps hundreds of inquiries, whereas the novel describes one. It’s like any other job, you get results by pegging away. But it is interesting on the whole, and it has its compensations. Well, doctor, I mustn’t keep you talking all night. I shall see you at the inquest tomorrow.’
French’s gloomy prognostications were justified next day when the proceedings in the little courthouse came to an end. Nothing that was not already known came out, and the coroner adjourned the inquiry for three weeks to enable the police to conclude their investigations.
What those investigations were to consist of was the problem which confronted French when after lunch he sat down in the deserted smoking-room of the little hotel to think matters out.
In the first place there was the body. What lines of inquiry did the body suggest?
One obviously. Some five or six weeks previously a fairly tall, well-built man of middle-age had disappeared. He might merely have vanished without explanation, or more probably, circumstances had been arranged to account for his absence. In the first case information should be easily obtainable. But the second alternative was a different proposition. If the disappearance had been cleverly screened it might prove exceedingly difficult to locate. At all events, inquiries on the matter must represent the first step.
It was clearly impossible to trace any of the clothes, with the possible exception of the sock. But even from the sock French did not think he would learn anything. It was of a standard pattern, and the darning of socks with wool of not quite the right shade was too common to be remembered. At the same time he noted it as a possible line of research.
Next he turned his attention to the crate, and at once two points struck him.
Could he trace the firm who had made the crate? Of this he was doubtful: it was not sufficiently distinctive. There must be thousands of similar packing cases in existence, and to check up all of them would be out of the question. Besides, it might not have been supplied by a firm. The murderer might have had it specially made, or even have made it himself. Here again, however, French could but try.
The second point was: How had the crate got to the bottom of the Burry Inlet? This was a question that he must solve, and he turned all his energies towards it.
There were here two possibilities. Either the crate had been thrown into the water and had sunk at the place where it was found, or it had gone in elsewhere and been driven forward by the action of the sea. He considered these ideas in turn.
To have sunk at the place it was thrown in postulated a ship or boat passing over the site. From the map, steamers approaching or leaving Llanelly must go close to the place, and might cross it. But French saw that there were grave difficulties in the theory that the crate had been dropped overboard from a steamer. It was evident that the whole object of the crate was to dispose of the body secretly. The crate, however, could not have been secretly thrown from a steamer. Whether it were let go by hand or by a winch, several men would know about it. Indeed news of so unusual an operation would almost certainly spread to the whole crew, and if the crate were afterwards found, someone of the hands would be sure to give the thing away. Further, if the crate were being got rid of from a steamer it would have been done far out in deep water and not at the entrance to a port.
For these reasons French thought that the ship might be ruled out, and he turned his attention to the idea of a row-boat.
But here a similar objection presented itself. The crate was too big and heavy to be dropped from a small boat. French tried to visualise the operation. The crate could only be placed across the stern: in any other position it would capsize the boat. Then it would have to be pushed off. This could not be done by one man: he doubted whether it could be done by two. But even if it could, these two added to the weight of the crate would certainly cause disaster. He did not believe the operation possible without a large boat and at least three men, and he felt sure the secret would not have been entrusted to so many.
It seemed to him then that the crate could not have been thrown in where it was found. How else could it have got there?
He thought of Mr Morgan’s suggestion of a wreck from which it might have been washed up into the Inlet, but according to the sergeant, there had been no wreck. Besides, the crate was undamaged outside, and it was impossible that it could have been torn out through the broken side of a ship or washed overboard without leaving some traces.
French lit a fresh pipe and began to pace the deserted smoking room. He was exasperated because he saw that his reasoning must be faulty. All that he had done was to prove that the crate could not have reached the place where it was found.
For some minutes he couldn’t see the snag, then it occurred to him that he had been assuming too much. He had taken it for granted that the crate had sunk immediately on falling into the water. The weights of the crate itself, the body, and the bar of steel had made him think so. But was he correct? Would the air the crate contained not give it buoyancy for a time, until at least some water had leaked in?
If so, the fact would have a considerable bearing on his problem. If the crate had been floated to the place he was halfway to a solution.
Suddenly the possible significance of the fourteen holes occurred to him. He had supposed they were