have to get a statement from you too.’
‘Of course I’ll go,’ Mr Morgan assured them. ‘I’ll see the thing through now.’
The constables having arrived with the handcart, it was wheeled down the slip, and all five men got round the crate and with some difficulty lifted it on.
‘By Jove!’ Mr Morgan exclaimed. ‘That’s some weight. Surely there must be something more than a body in it?’
‘It’s certainly heavy, but it’s a very solid crate. We shall see when we get it to the station.’
With a good deal of pushing and shoving the handcart was got up the slip and the little party moved off along the mole and across the sidings to the town. On reaching the police station the crate was wheeled into a small courtyard in the rear and Nield invited the others into his office.
‘On second thoughts, Mr Morgan,’ he explained, ‘I’ll not unpack the crate until I have reported to the superintendent and get hold of a doctor. Meantime, sir, I’d be glad to get your statement in writing.’
For the third time Mr Morgan told his story. The sergeant took it down, read over what he had written, and got the other to sign it.
‘That will do, sir, for tonight. You will, of course, be required at the inquest tomorrow or next day.’
‘I’ll be there all right.’
‘Then about your son, sir? Has he anything to say that might be of use?’
Mr Morgan looked distressed.
‘Nothing, sergeant, more than I can tell you myself. I hope you won’t have to call the boy. He’s going back to school tomorrow.’
‘That’s all right: he’ll not be wanted. And now, sir, I shouldn’t say more about the affair than you can help. Just keep the discovery of the body quiet and content yourself with the story of finding the crate.’
Mr Morgan promised, and the sergeant wished him goodnight.
His visitor gone, Sergeant Nield handed a carbon of the statement to Manners, promising to let him know how the affair progressed. The coastguard being got rid of in his turn, Nield telephoned the news to Superintendent Griffiths at Llanelly. The superintendent was suitably impressed and in his turn rang up Major Lloyd, the chief constable at Llandilo. Finally the latter gave instructions for Nield to arrange a meeting at the police station for nine o’clock on the following morning. Both the superintendent and the chief constable would motor over, and the local police doctor was to be in attendance. The body would then be removed from the crate and the necessary examination made. Meanwhile nothing was to be touched.
Glad to be relieved from the sole responsibility, the sergeant made his arrangements, and at the hour named a little group entered the courtyard of the police station. In addition to the chief constable and superintendent, the sergeant and two of the latter’s men, there were present two doctors—Dr Crowth, the local police surgeon, and Dr Wilbraham, a friend of Major Lloyd’s, whom the latter had brought with him.
After some preliminary remarks the terrible business of getting the remains from the crate was undertaken. Such work would have been distressing at all times, but in the present case two facts made it almost unbearable. In the first place the man had been dead for a considerable time, estimated by the doctors as from five to six weeks, and in the second his face had been appallingly maltreated. Indeed it might be said to be non-existent, so brutally had it been battered in. All the features were destroyed and only an awful pulp remained.
However, the work had to be done, and presently the body was lying on a table which had been placed for the purpose in an outhouse. It was dressed in underclothes only—shirt, vest, drawers, and socks. The suit, collar, tie, and shoes had been removed. An examination showed that none of the garments bore initials.
Nor were there any helpful marks on the crate. There were tacks where a label had been attached, but the label had been torn off. A round steel bar of three or four stones weight had also been put in, evidently to ensure the crate sinking.
The most careful examination revealed no clue to the man’s identity. Who he was and why he had been murdered were as insoluble problems as how the crate came to be where it was found.
For over an hour the little party discussed the matter, and then the chief constable came to a decision.
‘I don’t believe it’s a local case,’ he announced. ‘That crate must in some way have come from a ship: I don’t see how it could have been got there from the shore. And if it’s not a local case I think we’ll consider it not our business. We’ll call in Scotland Yard. Let them have the trouble of it. I’ll ring up the Home Office now and we’ll have a man here this evening. Tomorrow will be time enough for the inquest and the C.I.D. man will be here and can ask what questions he likes.’
Thus it came to pass that Inspector Joseph French on that same afternoon travelled westwards by the 1.55 p.m. luncheon car express from Paddington.
Dusk was already falling when a short, rather stout man with keen blue eyes from which a twinkle never seemed far removed, alighted from the London train at Burry Port and made his way to Sergeant Nield, who was standing near the exit, scrutinising the departing travellers.
‘My name is French,’ the stranger announced: ‘Inspector French of the C.I.D. I think you are expecting me?’
‘That’s right, sir. We had a ’phone from headquarters that you were coming on this train. We’ve been having trouble, as you’ve heard.’
‘I don’t often take a trip like this without finding trouble at the end of it. We’re like yourself, sergeant; we have to go out to look for it. But we don’t often have to look for it in such fine country as this. I’ve enjoyed my journey.’
‘The country’s right enough if you’re fond of coal,’ Nield rejoined with some bitterness. ‘But now, Mr French, what would you like to do? I expect you’d rather get fixed up at an hotel and have some dinner before anything else? I think the Bush Arms is the most comfortable.’
‘I had tea a little while ago. If it’s the same to you, sergeant, I’d rather see what I can before the light goes. I’ll give my bag to the porter, and he can fix me up a room. Then I hope you’ll come back and dine with me and we can have a talk over our common trouble.’
The sergeant accepted with alacrity. He had felt somewhat aggrieved at the calling in of a stranger from London, believing it to be a reflection on his own ability to handle the case. But this cheery, good-humoured-looking man was very different from the type of person he was expecting. This inspector did not at all appear to have come down to put the local men in their places and show them what fools they were. Rather he seemed to consider Nield an honoured colleague in a difficult job.
But though the sergeant did not know it, this was French’s way. He was an enthusiastic believer in the theory that with ninety-nine persons out of a hundred you can lead better than you can drive. He therefore made it an essential of his method to be pleasant and friendly to those with whom he came in contact, and many a time he had found that it had brought the very hint that he required from persons who at first had given him only glum looks and tight lips.
‘I should like to see the body and the crate, and if possible have a walk round the place,’ French went on. ‘Then I shall understand more clearly what you have to tell me. Is the inquest over?’
‘No, it is fixed for eleven o’clock tomorrow. The chief constable thought you would like to be present.’
‘Very kind of him: I should. I gathered that the man had been dead for some time?’