‘Can you tell me if Sir John has any enemies?’
He had none. Miss Magill was positive. Sir John was somewhat retiring in disposition, not given to making friends easily, but in a quiet way he was popular. No one, she felt sure, harboured ill feelings against him. Business rivals? No, she was certain there were none. Political? Nor political either. French would get no help that way. He turned to another point.
‘Do you happen to know why Sir John went to Belfast?’
‘Something about one of his inventions, he said. I’m afraid I can’t tell you the details. He’s always working at some invention. As I think I said, he has a workshop fitted up at the back of the house with a lathe and other quite big tools. He’s certainly extraordinarily clever with his hands and makes the most beautiful things in both wood and metal. The work has been a splendid outlet for him and I’m sure has helped to keep him fit.’
‘Hobbies have kept many an elderly man alive,’ French declared oracularly, ‘and constructive hobbies are the best of all. Now, Miss Magill, I have heard that Sir John is a rich man. Is that so?’
‘That’s a comparative term, isn’t it? I don’t know exactly what his income is, but he must be pretty well off. The linen business in old times was very profitable and during and immediately after the War he made a lot of money. Of course it’s different now. Linen has been passing through a bad time lately.’
‘So I’ve heard. But that wouldn’t have affected Sir John, since he has given over the mills to Major Magill?’
‘No. Poor Malcolm has the loss and the worry, I’m afraid. However, things are supposed to have turned the corner now.’
‘I hope they have. Could you tell me the terms of Sir John’s will?’
Miss Magill glanced at him almost reproachfully. The question brought home to her the dread conclusion to which she was evidently so unwilling to open her mind. But she answered calmly enough.
‘Only in a general way. My father has great pride of race and a strong desire to perpetuate the family name. After comparatively small legacies to myself, my sister and my cousin Victor, the remainder goes to my brother Malcolm for his lifetime. If Malcolm had a son it would go on to him. If Malcolm had no son it would go on Malcolm’s death to Victor for his son.’
‘And has Major Magill a son?’
‘No. My brother has two daughters, but no son. On the other hand Victor has two sons, but no daughter.’
‘I follow. Let me see if I’ve got that right. As things are, the bulk of Sir John’s money goes to Major Magill. Owing, however, to its being entailed, the major will only have the life use of it. At his death it goes to Mr Victor Magill in trust for his eldest son.’
‘I believe that’s correct, though I’m not absolutely sure. My father is reticent in disposition and we did not care to question him on such a matter.’
‘Naturally. Can you tell me who is Sir John’s legal adviser?’
‘Messrs Hepplewhite, Ingram & Ingram, of 71B Chancery Lane.’
‘Thank you. Now, Miss Magill, Sir John crossed to Belfast via Larne and Stranraer on the night of Wednesday, the second instant. Do you know who took his tickets and arranged his journey? Did he do things like that for himself?’
‘I expect Mr Breene did that. Mr Breene is his secretary.’
‘Ah, then I should like to see Mr Breene. Who else is there in your household?’
‘Just Myles, the butler, Nutting, the valet and chauffeur, and three women servants.’
‘All reliable?’
‘So far as I know, absolutely.’
‘Thank you, Miss Magill. I’m sorry for having had to give you this trouble. I’m afraid I shall have to see your servants now and also to go through Sir John’s papers.’
She raised her hand.
‘Just a moment. Now, Mr Inspector, you’ve been asking me a lot of questions and I’m going to ask you one in return. Quite honestly, what do you think has happened to my poor father?’
French was accustomed in such circumstances to this demand. He always answered it as truthfully as he could.
‘Honestly, Miss Magill, I don’t know. I haven’t enough information to say. Everything is being done to find out.’
‘Still,’ she persisted, ‘you must have some idea?’
French shrugged. He was sorry for this kindly lady, who evidently felt her position so keenly, yet who had eased his task by so sternly controlling her feelings. There was real sympathy in his voice as he replied: ‘Well, we must admit things don’t look too well. I don’t want to buoy you up with false hopes; all the same I don’t think you need necessarily accept the worst.’
She nodded.
‘I suppose that’s all you can say, and thank you for saying it.’ She rang the bell. ‘Do everything you can to assist Mr French,’ she told the butler. Then shaking hands with French, she left the room.
‘Well, Myles,’ French began, ‘this is a sad business about Sir John.’
The butler closed the door and came forward, standing respectfully before French.
‘I have heard no details, sir, except that he has disappeared. I should like to know—Sir John has been a good master to me—I should like to know if anything further has been learned?’
‘I’ll tell you all I know myself, which isn’t much,’ French said kindly. ‘But first, I wonder if you could give me a little information.’ He unpacked the hat and held it out. ‘Did you ever see that before?’
‘Sir John’s!’ the man said instantly. Then he took the hat and examined it carefully. ‘Yes, sir,’ he declared firmly, ‘there is no doubt whatever about it. It is the hat Sir John was wearing when he left here. I brushed it for him and I am quite certain.’ He turned it over and stared at the blood stains. ‘This is terrible, sir,’ he went on in a lower tone. ‘Does this mean—an accident? That he is dead?’
French shrugged.
‘It certainly doesn’t look too well, does it?’ he admitted. ‘It was found on a lonely road a mile from where Sir John was last seen.’
‘And there was no sign of the body? Excuse me, sir, but as I said, Sir John was a good master to me indeed, if I might say it without presumption, a good friend. I should be sorry if anything were to happen to him.’
There was genuine feeling in the man’s tones and French at once told him all that was known.
Myles was a good deal upset by the recital. That Sir John was the victim of foul play he seemed to have no doubt. ‘I hope you’ll get them, sir,’ he said earnestly. ‘I hope they’ll hang, whoever did this. He was a good master.’ He shook his head sadly.
‘Well, Myles, the best thing you can do to help that on is to answer my questions. And first of all, can you get me a photograph of Sir John? And, wait a minute, of Major Magill and Mr Victor as well?’
‘Certainly, sir. He left the room and in a moment returned with three cabinet portraits. One showed the head of the house of Magill as a rather fine-looking old man with a large nose, jaws bordering on the nutcracker, a high forehead and very intelligent eyes. Between him and his son and nephew as well as Miss Magill there was a certain family resemblance, on which French commented.
‘Yes, sir, all the family are somewhat alike in appearance. But it’s coming out more strongly in the second generation. Mr Victor’s son is Sir John over again.’
‘Wonderful thing, heredity,’ French remarked, and he went on to question the butler as to the family relations and to possible enemies of Sir John. But he did not get much information.