INSPECTOR FRENCH: MAN OVERBOARD!
Freeman Wills Crofts

Copyright

Published by COLLINS CRIME CLUB

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain for the Crime Club

by Wm Collins Sons & Co. Ltd 1936

Copyright © Estate of Freeman Wills Crofts 1936

Cover design by Mike Topping © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008393168

Ebook Edition © June 2020 ISBN: 9780008393168

Version: 2020-05-18

Epigraph

While in no sense a sequel, this book might be called a companion to my Sir John Magill’s Last Journey. It dealt with one approach to Northern Ireland, this with another.

F. W. C.

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Epigraph

1. As Pamela Grey Saw It

2. As Pamela Grey Saw It

3. As Pamela Grey Saw It

4. As Pamela Grey Saw It

5. As Philip Jefferson Saw It

6. As Chief Inspector French Saw It

7. As Chief Inspector French Saw It

8. As Chief Inspector French Saw It

9. As Pamela Grey Saw It

10. As Detective-Sergeant M‘Clung Saw It

11. As Philip Jefferson Saw It

12. As Chief Inspector French Saw It

13. As Detective-Sergeant M‘Clung Saw It

14. As Chief Inspector French Saw It

15. As Pamela Grey Saw It

16. As Pamela Grey Saw It

17. As Pamela Grey Saw It

18. As Pamela Grey Saw It

19. As Pamela Grey Saw It

20. As Pamela Grey Saw It

21. As Chief Inspector French Saw It

22. As Chief Inspector French Saw It

Keep Reading …

Footnotes

About the Author

Also in this series

About the Publisher

1
As Pamela Grey Saw It

From the drive outside Pam’s window there came a sudden crunching of car wheels on gravel, the squeak of a too forcibly applied brake, and a toot—in code—on the horn.

Pam started up, called ‘Coming!’ through the open window, glanced hastily at herself in the crooked little wooden mirror, hurriedly smoothed an errant curl, and ran down the steep winding stairs and through the narrow hall to the car standing in front of the door.

Though her expression had not indicated what she thought of her reflection, she had every reason to be satisfied with it. Pam was not exactly pretty, and she was not beautiful at all. All the same she was a sight to gladden tired eyes. The overwhelming impression she gave was of what used to be called wholesome. She was young, little more than twenty, with a small, finely formed body and movements graceful as a faun’s. In her face there was character; intelligence in the broad forehead and the grey eyes which looked so steadfastly out on the world, a fastidious humour in the small mouth with its delicately twisted lips, strength in the firmly rounded chin. The glow of health shone in her creamy complexion and her expression radiated good humour and the joy of life.

At that moment indeed Pam was looking her best. An eager excitement had brought colour to her cheeks and a flash to her eyes. It was evident that something thrilling as well as delightful was about to happen.

One cause, though by no means the chief, was that waiting for her in the car was her fiancé, Jack Penrose. For a year or more they had been engaged. At first it had looked as if marriage was very far off. Jack was not yet earning anything like enough to set up house on, and Pam’s people were poor and could allow her nothing. But Jack’s prospects were good and the couple had perforce to wait.

Jack Penrose, tall, fair and typically Nordic, was a budding solicitor. At present he was a clerk in his father’s office in the neighbouring town of Lisburn, but he was soon to be taken into partnership and then a marriage would be arranged. Old Mr Penrose’s business was prosperous enough, and there would be sufficient for the moderate establishment the two young people wanted.

All this had been the idea at the time of the engagement, but recently a wonderful vista had opened out before them, a vista so marvellous that at first it seemed wholly incredible. Indeed even now it still appeared infinitely too good to be true. Suddenly and unexpectedly there had come a promise of money. Not a little money—not even a competence. What was dazzling their bewildered gaze was the prospect of a vast fortune: wealth almost infinite: utterly beyond ordinary limits: staggering in its magnitude. And now the journey they were about to take would bring that wealth appreciably nearer.

Pam climbed into the rather elderly Vauxhall. ‘When did you hear?’ she asked as Primrose let in his clutch.

‘Rang up half an hour ago. Said he was ready any time, but I couldn’t get away before.’

‘What did he sound like?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Can’t tell much about a chap from half a dozen words on the telephone.’

‘Oh, yes, you can! What did he say?’

‘Why just that: he’d done his other business and could come down when I was ready.’

‘Sounds all right if that was the way he put it.’ She paused, and then gave an ecstatic little wriggle. ‘Oh, Jack, I’m so excited! I shall simply faint when I see him!’

‘Nice way for an engaged young woman to talk about a strange man.’

‘I’ll just throw myself at him. I’ll make love to him without stopping, all the time he’s here.’

‘If I see you as much as throw an eye in his direction I’ll cut both your throats.’

‘To think of all that’s happened in the last six months! Isn’t it just incredible? There we were and not a bean anywhere. And now! I can’t believe it even now.’

‘Haven’t got it yet.’

‘Fancy enough money to do anything we want! Just fancy! Anything!’

‘Only money? What about a spot of matrimony?’

‘Money of course! You don’t imagine you matter, do you?’

Pam was intoxicated with the amazing prospect of wealth. But Pam could not foresee the future. She didn’t realise that very often Fate offers her benefactions with her tongue in her cheek. They come as promised, but not alone. Some ingredient is added which robs them of their value. Pam didn’t know that a day was coming—was even then on them—when she would have given everything she had if only she had never heard of the fortune or of any person or thing connected with it. She didn’t know that instead of bringing joy and freedom to herself and Jack, the whole affair should grow into a ghastly horror whose memories threatened to stay with them during every remaining moment of their lives.

Jack Penrose and Pamela Grey lived in the little town of Hillsborough in the County of Down, that county which forms the south-eastern corner of Northern Ireland. It is scarcely a town as the word is understood in England, being little more than a collection of grey slate-covered houses fronting both sides of a single steeply falling street, with the church in the middle and the castle at the top. But though small, it is a town of honour in the province, for in the castle lives no less a personage than the Governor—or lived, till a recent fire necessitated his removal. Its street moreover is no mere village street; it is part of the main highway from Belfast to Dublin, and though the unhappy division of the country has reduced the flow of traffic between the two cities, Hillsborough still rumbles by day and night with cars and buses and great lorries grinding their way north or south.

Hillsborough is some dozen miles from Belfast, to which city Jack and Pam were now bound. The road is good, comparatively straight and level, broad and with an excellent surface. At that time, five o’clock in the afternoon, traffic was not heavy, the evening homeward rush having scarcely started. Jack made good speed and they expected to pick up their visitor and be back at Hillsborough well within the hour.

It was early in September and had been a day of gorgeous sunshine: if anything too hot. Now as they drove swiftly along Pam subconsciously feasted her eyes on the colours of the great trees beneath which they passed, dark with the full maturity of summer, but not yet beginning to turn to the reds and browns of autumn. The air through the open roof blew cool and pleasant on her face as she thought over the coming meeting or exchanged a word, half chaff, half earnest, with her companion.

How well she remembered that marvellous evening when ‘the affair’ had begun! As Jack threaded through the traffic of the Lisburn Road she pictured again the scene.

It was almost exactly six months earlier, at the end of February. She was sitting with her father and mother after supper, her father reading the paper, her mother knitting silently and herself with a book. She could remember every detail of the scene, her father sitting crosswise in his chair to get the light more directly on his page, the rubbed patches on the old brown velvet jacket he wore in the evenings, his two sticks placed within easy reach of his hand. She could see again the steel grey of the wool her mother was using, the dancing blue flames from the beech log on the fire, the luxurious abandon with which the large tabby lay extended on the hearthrug. And she remembered her own feelings of unrest and expectancy, of disappointment and of hope—not that she would have admitted these to any living soul.

Her worry was that Jack was overdue. He had promised to come in about eight, and it was now getting on towards nine and there was still no sign of him. Some question of amateur theatricals was to be talked over. They were doing The Yeomen of the Guard in aid of local charities, and she and Jack were taking part. The affair required a lot of discussion. Almost every night some point arose which had to be thrashed out. And until now Jack had never failed to turn up to do it.

Nine came and half-past nine, and then Mr Grey went to bed. He had been in the linen business, owning his own mill and being at one time quite well off. But he had met with an accident. His car had been run into by a lorry and he had been left crippled and an invalid. He had had to retire, and as the depression was then beginning, he had not sold his business to much advantage. The slump had played havoc with his investments, and now the family was tightly pressed for money. Had it not been for Mrs Grey they would have fared badly indeed. She took their financial cares on her shoulders and her unfailing cheerfulness made things run comparatively smoothly. She went to help her husband to bed and Pam was left alone.

Annoyed as Pam was by Jack’s defection, she could not refrain from putting down her book and letting her thoughts centre on him. How splendid he really was, so straight and decent, and in spite of his being late tonight, how utterly dependable! Not too brilliantly clever perhaps, but such a dear! He was like a great dog, strong and brave as a lion, though perhaps none the worse for a little gentle suggestion as to the direction his energies should take. Pam smiled dreamily as she told herself that in future she should be the person to provide that suggestion. She could indeed make him do anything she liked, except where his ‘not done’ code was involved: then he could be as pigheaded as anyone. Never mind! She loved him the better for it.

Then at last at nearly ten o’clock came the quick step on the gravel and the ring on the front door bell. Pam had an urge to rush out, snatch open the door and fling her arms round Jack. But she restrained herself, deliberately even sat for a few moments before going to the hall. Jack must not be spoiled. He must make proper explanations and apologies before he could be received into full favour.

But Jack, when at last the door opened, was evidently thinking of neither of the one nor the other. Without ceremony he caught her in his arms and squeezed her to him, then planted a rather hasty kiss on her lips, put her down, and pushed his way in as if taking her joy at seeing him for granted.

‘I thought you were coming at eight o’clock,’ Pam said rather primly.

He brushed the suggestion airily aside. ‘I know. Couldn’t get away. Look here, Pam, I’ve something to tell you. Come out for a walk, will you? I can’t talk here in the hall.’

She looked at him more critically. He was unduly excited. Something had certainly happened.

‘You can come into the sitting room, I suppose?’ she suggested coolly. The apology she considered inadequate.

He looked in and saw it was empty. ‘Yes, I suppose so. Your father gone to bed?’

‘Yes. Is it the costumes? Have they not turned up?’

He made a gesture relegating costumes to the limbo of the forgotten. ‘Of course it’s not the costumes,’ he declared. ‘Costumes!’ he repeated in a voice of ineffable scorn. ‘I’ve got something more interesting to talk about.’

‘You’re very mysterious,’ she said thawing.

‘It’s nothing now,’ he returned as he dropped into Mr Grey’s arm chair and pulled out his cigarette case. ‘But it’s what it might become.’ He held out the case. ‘There seems to be no end to the possibilities.’

‘Incidentally you might mention what you’re talking about.’

‘Isn’t that what I’m doing? I don’t think I told you, but two or three days ago I met M‘Morris. As a rule, you know, I haven’t much use for M‘Morris, but this time he stopped and began to talk. Said he’d just been coming to see me to know whether he could interest me in a scheme that he was pretty much interested in himself and that he wanted some help with. He said if the thing was a success there would be pretty big money in it for all concerned.’

Pam looked doubtful. ‘I never cared much for Ned M‘Morris,’ she declared. ‘What’s the scheme?’

‘Something chemical: I haven’t got the details yet. They think they’ve made some discovery that’ll simply ooze money. But they want to do some more working out first to make sure everything’s O.K.’

‘They?’

‘Yes, M‘Morris and his friend Ferris. I’ve just been seeing them. That’s what kept me.’

‘And what do they want you to do?’

‘Us.’

‘Us?’

‘Yes, it’s you they want particularly. I’m only a cog: you’re the mainspring that everything depends on.’

Pam was getting annoyed. ‘For pity’s sake will you explain the thing so that I’ll know what you’re talking about. What under the sun have I to do with it?’

‘Well, you’re a chemist, aren’t you?’

‘I’ve done some chemistry at Queen’s, if that’s what you mean.’

‘They want a chemist to help with the experiments.’

‘And what are you going to do? You’re no chemist.’

‘I’m to look after the legal side and the correspondence and so on. And I can give a hand with the experiments too if I’m shown what to do.’

Pam gurgled happily. ‘A fat lot of use you’d be. “What’s this muck in this jug? Well, let’s shove in some of this bottle and see what happens,” and the whole thing goes up in the air. I can just see you in a lab.’

‘My legal advice is what is really wanted,’ Jack said with dignity.

This time Pam fairly hooted. ‘They may be fools, but they couldn’t be as bad as that. Go on; tell me some more.’

‘I don’t consider your conversation at all seemly. It’ll have to be dealt with.’

The discussion was interrupted while Jack took his tribute with kisses and Pam retaliated by boxing his ears.

‘You were saying?’ Pam suggested when the interlude was past.

‘They want us to lunch with them tomorrow. At the Station Hotel. They’re doing the thing in style. At this lunch they’ll tell us the whole story. You’ll come, Pam, won’t you? Do be a sport and come.’

‘Of course I’ll come.’

So the fateful meeting was arranged.

Next day shortly after one o’clock Jack called with the car and drove Pam into Belfast to the L.M.S. Station. In the lounge of the hotel two young men awaited them with an air of subdued excitement.

Edward M‘Morris and his friend, whom he introduced as Fred Ferris from the city of Newry, were contrasts in almost every particular. M‘Morris was tall and thin, taciturn and of gloomy disposition: Ferris was short, stout and jolly. M‘Morris was pale with long lank yellow hair and normal though undistinguished features: Ferris was swarthy of skin with thick dark hair and unusual ears, which had small well-formed upper portions and quite disproportionately long lobes. M‘Morris if anything looked rather stupid and was evidently considerably under his friend’s influence: in Ferris’s little black eyes the sharp twinkle indicated a particularly wide awake and dominating mind. Both seemed a trifle ill at ease and were obviously on their best behaviour.

Though M‘Morris had never been a special friend of Pam or Jack, they had known him for years. He lived about a mile from Hillsborough in the direction of Glenavy. He was, like them, a member of several of the local organisations, the tennis and badminton clubs and the dramatic society, and they had met at the houses of mutual friends. He was a technical assistant on the staff of Messrs Currie & M‘Master, the analytical chemists, of Howard Street, Belfast. So much Pam knew, and after what Jack had told her, she was not greatly surprised when Ferris was introduced as another technical assistant in the same firm. He, it came out in the course of conversation, was unmarried and lived in rooms in Belfast.

After cocktails they went in to lunch. The brunt of the conversation fell on Ferris and Jack. M‘Morris had not much to say, and what he did say had rather the effect of bringing the efforts of the others to a standstill. Pam was not quite at her ease. She felt a little distrustful of the whole affair, and she feared she might be let in for something she would dislike.

The business of the meeting was not mentioned till lunch was over and they were sitting over coffee in a corner of the deserted upstairs writing room. Then M‘Morris opened the ball.

‘I told Penrose last night, Miss Grey, that Ferris had made a chemical discovery and we think it is one of the most important made in this century. But I think he could tell you about it better himself, so I suggest he does so.’

‘Lazy pig,’ said Ferris with a slightly deprecating smile and his black eyes snapped with excitement, ‘you might occasionally do something for your keep.’ Then to Pam. ‘Well, if he won’t tell you, Miss Grey, I will. But that’s right, what he says. We’ve made a discovery and we think it’s a very big thing. For the matter of that, we know it’s a very big thing. I don’t want you to think it’s complete, for it isn’t, but if we could complete it, it would be one of the biggest things ever anyone got hold of.’

He paused, watching them shrewdly. Then as neither spoke, he went on.

‘You’ll be thinking I’m putting it on the high side. Well, I’m not, as you’ll see when I tell you what it is. If we could get it properly completed there’d be more money in it than all the lot of us together could handle. More money than we could estimate. A fortune for everyone connected with it. Now see, here’s what we want.’

Again he paused and again neither Jack nor Pam spoke.

‘What we want,’ he continued, ‘is to work at the thing and see if we can’t get it completed. But as things are, we can’t, and you’ll see why easily enough. We’re not millionaires and we’ve got to live on what we earn. We’d like to get some help. We wondered if you, Miss Grey, and Penrose would come into the thing and help us on a share the profits basis?’

‘How could we help you if we did?’ Pam asked.

Ferris looked at M‘Morris as if for inspiration. ‘We thought if we could raise the necessary cash that M‘Morris and I would devote our whole time to the thing,’ he went on. ‘There would be too much for two, and so we wondered if you would agree to work with us. We know of course you’ve done chemistry.’

‘Not enough for that, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, yes, quite enough. I would fix up a programme of work.’

‘And what about the spot of cash?’ Jack put in.

Again Ferris looked as for help to his silent friend. ‘We think that might be met. We think there might be someone found who would finance us, of course on the share the profits basis. However, let’s leave that for the moment. Might I—eh—ask if you would feel disposed to come in?’

Pam looked at Jack. ‘We couldn’t say, could we, without knowing something more about it?’

‘Ah, sure that has answered my question,’ Ferris interposed swiftly, ‘or anyway I hope it has. Certainly you’d want all details, and it was to give these we suggested this meeting.’

He paused while a waiter came in, glanced about him, and then disappeared with the coffee cups. It was very silent in the room, which they still had to themselves. The bulk of the hotel lay between them and the trains, and on a Saturday afternoon there was little more than an occasional tram passing outside the windows in Whitla Street. Pam glanced at the three men’s expressions; Jack stolidly expectant, M‘Morris anxious rather than sanguine, Ferris, master of himself and the situation and with his eyes twinkling more shrewdly than ever.

Whatever the result of the afternoon’s deliberations, Pam was enjoying herself. Whatever she was to hear, it couldn’t fail to be interesting. And the prospect held out was alluring. She was fond of chemical work, particularly of research, and there was nothing she would have liked better than to join in perfecting some process, particularly if there was a chance of money at the end of it. She hesitated because—she didn’t like to admit it even to herself, but she wondered whether she entirely trusted those two? Ferris’s eye was very sharp, and he was very polite. Almost oily. Was he too polite to be quite wholesome? Then his voice interrupted her thoughts.

‘There’s just one preliminary,’ he was saying with some slight appearance of embarrassment. ‘You’ll understand that the story is confidential. If a whisper got about as to what we’re after, chemists over all the world would be tumbling over each other to forestall us. We’re not wanting to risk that. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to keep what I’m telling you to your two selves.’

‘I promise, of course.’

‘Thanks. And you, Penrose?’

‘Wouldn’t think of mentioning it.’

‘Sure I know I needn’t have asked. Still maybe it was as well. Right then, I can go ahead.’

He settled himself more comfortably in his chair and began his story, speaking with a certain amount of gesture and in a way that compelled interest and attention.

2
As Pamela Grey Saw It

‘It was six months or more ago,’ Ferris went on, ‘that Currie, one of our respected principals, was reading a paper before some society and he asked me to do some experiments to illustrate his remarks. It was on polymorphism and he had—’

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Pam broke in, ‘but if you’re going to be understood, you must translate. Jack knows nothing of chemistry.’

‘I’m not a chemistry fiend,’ Penrose admitted judicially, ‘but if you can talk English, I’ll understand it.’

‘Right-o. I’ll talk in words of one syllable. Polymorphism means that certain substances can exist in more than one form. We have, for example, water, steam and ice. Speaking roughly, all three forms are composed of the same elements in the same proportions, but some people think that the atoms of each have a different arrangement.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Jack.

‘I wish I could,’ Ferris answered. ‘Anyway, several substances besides water occur in different forms, having different properties. Many of these are due to different crystalline arrangement, when they are called allotropic modifications. I needn’t go into it. There’s red and yellow sulphur, for example, and many others.

‘Going back to water, there’s a fourth form, besides water as we know it, steam and ice. There’s what has been called heavy water: water of the same elements as ordinary water, but with some of the elements in their heavy form. This liquid is heavier than ordinary water bulk for bulk. Its properties are different in other ways from ordinary water. Again I needn’t go into it?’

‘We’ll take it as read,’ said Jack.

‘All I’m trying to make clear is that polymorphism or this change in the form of a substance is a common thing in nature and every year they’re finding out more instances of it.’

‘I did a little of that in my chemistry course,’ said Pam.

‘That’s great. Then you won’t have any difficulty in following what I’m going to tell you. Well, Currie had a theory about heavy water that he wanted to put up in his paper, and I was working on it. I needn’t describe my experiments, but they were connected with passing various radiations through the water. I was working with a small quantity of water, about a tablespoonful, I should say. Ordinary water, I mean: not heavy water. I had the water in a test tube before I went for lunch, ready for me to begin work on it when I got back.

‘It happened that day M‘Morris had met some friends for lunch and they had got a bit jolly. You wouldn’t think it to look at M‘Morris, but it did happen. When he got back to the lab the idiot side of him was uppermost: and there’s a good deal of it, though again you mightn’t think it.’

‘Shut up, you silly ass,’ M‘Morris grunted. ‘Don’t mind him, Miss Grey. There’s not a word of truth in it.’

‘All right, you were perfectly normal and serious in what you did. Not through any joke but in perfect seriousness, as he now tells you, it occurred to him that it would be a wise and intelligent act to remove the water from my test tube and substitute petrol, which he happened to be using to fill a lighter. You wouldn’t believe it, but that’s what he did. Might have blown the whole place sky high.’

‘Rot! It couldn’t have done any harm at all, that little quantity. I’m not saying it was a very high type of humour, but some of us thought it would be interesting to see what Ferris would do when he didn’t get his reaction. Great new discovery in physical science made by Mr Fred Ferris and all that. Besides, see what the result has been.’

‘No thanks to you that any of us are alive. However, we needn’t pursue that side of it.’

‘Take it as read too,’ put in Jack.

‘Well, I don’t mind telling you that I was altogether done down by it. I got back from lunch and started on what I thought was water. And then I got the shock of my life.

‘It didn’t react as water should, but a pretty queer thing did happen. When the rays passed through it began to shrink. The volume decreased. It decreased till it was about two-thirds its former size.

‘I couldn’t make head nor tail of it. I kept the radiation on till all the shrinking seemed to be done. I thought I had somehow vaporised part of the water, but I hadn’t seen any steam. Then I wondered if I’d got some new form of heavy water. You understand I’d never carried out the experiment in quite the same way before. Certain unusual features were present which I needn’t go into. I can tell you I was fairly excited, but I decided to keep the thing to myself till I would find out more about it.

‘I next took the liquid from the apparatus and began to test it to see whether it really was heavy water. I found it extraordinarily inert. It had neither smell, taste nor colour, nor could I get any reaction from it of any kind or sort. It was clearly not ordinary water, nor the usual form of heavy water, and I thought I had come on still another polymorphic form.

‘Then I tried to repeat the experiment, and I was bothered worse than ever. I couldn’t repeat it. I couldn’t get the new liquid again.

‘I puzzled and puzzled, but couldn’t get any light. Then M‘Morris’s questions made me suspicious. He seemed to know too much. I pressed him till he admitted what he’d done.’

This story was quite unlike anything Pam had expected to hear. She was listening with immense interest, but still she couldn’t see what was coming or where the tale was leading. Jack was obviously interested, too. The others were clearly delighted with the way the tale was going.

‘You can imagine my next step. I tried again with the petrol and I got the same result as before. I was able to turn petrol into a new form, a new liquid I might say, a heavier liquid of smaller bulk, and so far as I could find, completely inert. Certainly it had lost all the properties of ordinary petrol.

‘Though I didn’t see then what this might involve, I swore M‘Morris to silence, and when we could, both of us worked at the affair. We learnt a good deal about the stuff, its atomic weight, and things like that, but nothing more of real interest. Except this—that I was able to prove that what I had was a dimorphic modification and not a new chemical form.’

‘By which,’ Pam added for Jack’s benefit, ‘I presume you mean that what you had was still petrol, though in another form, and not some other chemical compound?’

‘That’s putting it absolutely correctly. Well, by this time I had begun to look at the thing from the practical side instead of considering it a mere scientific curiosity. And I soon saw, as I expect you’ve seen by now, that there might be simply tremendous consequences in it. The great objection to petrol was its danger. Petrol in the new form was inert and therefore safe. It could be carried and handled and taken up in aeroplanes in complete safety. Being smaller in bulk, it could be transported more cheaply.

‘But obviously all these advantages could not be obtained if petrol proved to be monotropic. I mean’—he glanced at Jack—‘if the modification could only be made in one direction. Ordinary petrol could be changed into this inert liquid, but that was no use practically unless the inert liquid could be changed back again into ordinary petrol. If it could, and if it could be done simply and cheaply, I seemed to see cars and planes filled with safe, inert liquid, which just as it reached the motor was changed into the power stuff we know. You follow me?’

Pam certainly followed him. She sat motionless, trying to take in the vastness of the idea, and rather overwhelmed by it all. Why, if what Ferris was hinting at proved possible, there would simply be no end to the profits. Everyone would use the new stuff. Probably it would be made illegal to take the old explosive variety on to a public road or to fly with it. A safe petrol was one of the things the world most wanted. She almost gasped as she envisaged the possibilities.

‘Jolly fine notion, what?’ Jack pronounced, obviously also impressed.

‘Go on,’ Pam murmured to Ferris.

Ferris was clearly having the time of his life. His face was wreathed in smiles and his black eyes snapped with delight. He had probably been looking forward to this moment for weeks past. He settled himself in his chair and continued in a slightly more consequential manner.

‘You can imagine my next step. I again swore M‘Morris to secrecy, and we began going back to the lab in the evenings and working at the problem. Then I thought that if we were found at this, my results might be claimed by the firm, so we scraped up some money and took a room and worked there instead.

‘I needn’t tell you what we did, the hundreds, the thousands of attempts we made to solve the problem. For five months we spent practically every evening and weekend in that cursed room, trying one idea after another till both of us were sick and tired of the sight of the place, and were getting badly knocked up. I don’t mind admitting that I was considering giving up the job and getting what kudos I could out of reading a paper on what I had already done. And then, just a week ago, I solved it.’

‘Solved it?’ Pam repeated.

‘Solved it!’

‘You mean you turned the inert stuff back into ordinary petrol?’

Ferris grinned delightedly. ‘That’s just what I do mean. I’ve proved the stuff’s dimorphic; I can turn it backwards and forward from one form to the other just as I want to.’

Pam gave a great sigh while Jack murmured disjointed congratulations. Ferris sat smiling and rubbing his hands, the embodiment of delighted self-satisfaction. Already he was beginning to taste the triumph for which he had worked so long. Even M‘Morris looked happy.

‘Go on,’ Pam said again. ‘Let’s hear more details.’

Ferris’s face changed. ‘That’s the best side of it I’ve told you,’ he continued. ‘That was the great difficulty, and it’s been overcome. But I don’t mean that the whole problem has been solved. Not by any means. There’s a whole lot still to be done. If I tell you two further points, it’ll let you know just how the affair stands.’

‘It seems to me utterly wonderful,’ Pam interjected. ‘It’s so big and far reaching. It looks like a glimpse into a new world. There’s simply no end to what it may involve.’

‘That’s what M‘Morris and I think. I’m glad you agree—gladder than you’d believe. Well, let me tell you.

‘There are two further points, and one of them is as much for us as the other is against us. The first is that if you start the stuff changing, it’ll go on doing it till it is all used up. I mean, suppose you have a litre of petrol. Well, if by radiation under special conditions you can start a cubic centimetre to change, you can cut off your radiation. The change will creep over the whole litre. It’s like several other cases which you know. Take chlorate of potassium and picric acid powders. A drop of sulphuric acid will explode any amount of the mixture—not only the place where the drop falls, but the whole of it. The chemical change seems to creep from the point it starts at over the whole mass. It’s the same with this. The point is that with a tiny initial expenditure of power, an infinitely great quantity of the stuff can be changed. That means cheapness.’

‘I should say so,’ agreed Pam. ‘Do you mean in both directions?’

‘Yes, in both directions. Once ordinary petrol is started to change, the whole volume will turn. And the same is true of turning inert into ordinary.’

‘It’s—it’s overwhelming. I simply can’t take it in.’

‘Now,’ went on Ferris, ‘for the bad point—the snag. Once you start changing the stuff, you can’t stop it—not till the whole volume is changed. It goes on in spite of you. I mean you can’t change half of a litre. If you start with the litre at all the whole thing will go.’

Pam thought. ‘But I don’t see that that matters. Why should you want to stop?’

Ferris drew back and shook his head knowingly. ‘As far as I see, it matters quite a lot. In fact, it matters so much that unless we can get over it we can’t get very far with our scheme. You see, take an aeroplane. You change your petrol into inert stuff to carry in your tanks, so that if there’s an accident there’d be no fire. Now, to use it in your motor you must change it back again. But you only want to change just enough for one stroke. You see? You don’t want to change back all you’re carrying. If you do, the whole advantage of the inert stuff is gone. But that’s just what you can’t do—so far. If you change enough for one stroke of the motor, say, in the carburettor, it’ll creep back through the feed pipes and change all that’s in the tanks.’

‘And if that happened you might as well not have started in to do anything?’ Jack interrupted. ‘Yes, I’ve got that. Then what do you propose?’

Ferris moved uneasily. His self-satisfaction grew less in evidence. This was clearly not so congenial a part of the interview.

‘Well, it’s like this,’ he said with a sharp glance at M‘Morris. ‘Suppose we represent the total work that’s wanted to make this affair a gold mine by a hundred per cent, we’ve already done ninety or ninety-five. What I mean is that so much has been done, that comparatively little more should finish it up. M‘Morris and I have worked at it on and off for nearly six months. If we could only get at it for a bit longer, particularly if we had Miss Grey’s help, I believe a short time would do the trick.’

‘Then why not do it?’

Ferris laughed. ‘Food,’ he said shortly. ‘Food and lodging and a spot of clothes. I mean we can’t carry on two jobs any longer—it’s too much for us. And we can’t afford to give up the one we’re paid for. You can be pretty sure, Penrose, that if we could have worked the thing alone, we should not have invited anyone into it with us, not even you and Miss Grey. But we can’t go on without help.’

Jack looked over doubtfully. ‘I dare say Pam would agree to help,’ he said; ‘and I certainly would if I was any use. But I mean help with our hands. Neither of us can put up any cash. At least I can’t.’

‘I would help,’ Pam declared. ‘I’d love it. But, as Jack says, it could only be with my hands. I couldn’t put up any cash. I haven’t got any to put.’

Ferris made a gesture of understanding. ‘You’re very good, Miss Grey,’ he said with some warmth. ‘And you, too, Penrose. You’re already giving us as much as we could expect: encouragement and an offer of technical assistance. But there was something else we had in mind; and, to tell you the honest truth, I’m not particularly wanting to mention it.’

Jack lit another cigarette. ‘Get along,’ he invited. ‘We’re here to hear the whole story, aren’t we?’

Once again Ferris changed his position. Then he looked at M‘Morris with a crooked grin. ‘Your turn, old man,’ he declared. ‘I’ve been talking too much.’

‘Just do your own dirty work,’ M‘Morris returned indignantly. ‘You’ll want the lion’s share in the square-up. Just go ahead and earn it.’

The others laughed and Ferris, with some show of embarrassment, returned to the subject.

‘We were thinking, M‘Morris and I, that if we could find some wealthy man who was interested in inventions and so on, he might care to come in on this. There would be a certain risk, of course. He might lose every penny he put in. But, on the other hand, he might make a hundred per cent, perhaps a thousand per cent. And he wouldn’t lose much if we did fail. Not enough to make any difference to him. Much less than many a man would put on a horse at one race. Far from doing us a favour, we should be giving him a chance that nine men out of ten would jump at.’

Jack grinned. ‘But could he be made to see that?’

‘I think so. After all, M‘Morris and I are not altogether fools in the way of chemistry, and we’d be showing our belief in the thing by giving up our jobs—the only thing we have to live by. I think a reasonable man could be convinced easily enough.’

Jack shook his head. ‘He’d be darned suspicious that you wanted some of his money for nothing, I’m afraid. Anyway, where would we find such a man?’

‘That’s the point—you’ve got to it now.’ Ferris glanced quickly up, and his eyes almost crackled. ‘We think we’ve found him.’

‘You’ve found him? Who is he?’ from Jack.

‘Do we know him, Mr Ferris?’ from Pam.

Ferris bent forward and spoke much more seriously. ‘Yes, you know him, both of you. You know him very well, Miss Grey. You mustn’t mind what I’m going to say. It’s Mr Whiteside.’

‘Oh,’ said Pam, and relapsed into silence.

Instantly she felt a wave of disappointment sweep over her. She had at first and unwillingly suspected an ulterior motive—and here it was. It was not her chemical knowledge and help these two wanted, still less was it Jack’s legal knowledge. It was George Whiteside’s money. She saw now the true inwardness of the whole manœuvre. Jack was approached only because they wanted to get hold of her, and she was wanted simply that she might act as a channel to George Whiteside, so that they might get money out of him. Interested as she had been, she had never wholly trusted either Ferris or M‘Morris. Now she saw that she had been justified.

William Grey, Pam’s father, and George Whiteside were first cousins. Old Mr Whiteside had occupied a high position in one of the Belfast shipyards, though he had retired some years earlier. He was now far advanced in the seventies, though he was still hale and hearty. He was a rich man and certainly could do what Ferris suggested without feeling it. He and Pam were close allies. Indeed Pam was treated as one of the family.

The Whitesides, father and two daughters, lived at Carnalea, near Bangor, on the Co. Down shore of Belfast Lough, and Pam spent a good deal of time with them. Mrs Whiteside had been dead for some years, and the girls ran the house for their father.

For a moment annoyance and a slight disgust filled Pam’s mind, then there came a reaction. She wondered whether she was not misjudging Ferris. After all, Cousin George was just the man to be interested in a thing of the kind. He had himself taken out many patents, and he liked nothing better than to be in the forefront of discovery and invention. And the amount of money Ferris wanted would be the merest bagatelle to him; he simply would not notice it. Even if he lost it all, Pam believed he would willingly pay it for the interest which the scheme might give him. And his life since his retirement was dull enough. It might indeed be worth putting the thing up to him. Besides, he was very far indeed from being a fool, and he knew something about chemistry. If these two hadn’t a really genuine proposition, he would pretty soon find it out.

Pam was also impressed by Ferris’s own argument that he and M‘Morris believed enough in their idea to give up their own job for it. In these times of unemployment that was, after all, a fairly severe test. No, perhaps she had been wrong in jumping too quickly to a conclusion.

‘And you want me to ask him?’ she said at length.

‘We wondered would you?’ Ferris answered. ‘You may think, Miss Grey, that our taking you and Penrose into our confidence was just a trick to get an approach to Mr Whiteside. Well, maybe it was. But you can judge of the proposition we want to put up. If you think it isn’t a suitable one, then don’t go further with it. We want to leave the decision entirely to yourself.’

This was straightforward and direct enough. She had judged too quickly. There was a lot to be said for the case Ferris had made out. But he was speaking again.

‘Perhaps I should tell you what was in our minds about dividing up any moneys we may get out of it. I thought—M‘Morris agrees with me—that if you and Penrose and Mr Whiteside come in we ought to divide our profits into seven parts. Two parts each to M‘Morris and myself, and one part to you other three. That would be subject to Mr Whiteside being first paid back what he advanced. We think it’s fair to ask double shares for ourselves, as the idea is ours, and because of all the work we’ve already put in. But,’ he smiled crookedly, ‘we would be open to reconsidering this if it be thought desirable.’

‘It could only be reconsidered to give you and Mr M‘Morris a larger share,’ Pam returned. ‘No, I think that’s a very handsome suggestion. What do you say, Jack?’

‘Quite all right. And I think they’re right about Mr Whiteside, too. He’d love it. You go down tomorrow and ask him, Pam. Or I’ll drive you down now.’

Keen delight shone in Ferris’s eyes at this sturdy support for his proposal. Obviously nothing could have pleased either him or M‘Morris better. ‘That would be splendid if Miss Grey would agree,’ he said tentatively. ‘If Mr Whiteside could be sounded, we would be available to put up our case at any time that he might arrange.’

‘If he goes into it at all, he’ll want to go into it at once. I’d suggest your coming, too, but it might look as if we were trying to rush him. Better stay near a telephone, so that we can get you if you’re wanted. Do you agree, Pam?’

Pam thought the arrangement was admirable, and they proceeded forthwith to put it into practice. She and Jack left at once for Carnalea, while the others remained in the hotel, so as to be in reach of the telephone. Whatever was arranged with Mr Whiteside, Jack was to let them know without delay.

The Penrose car bore two excited people from the station out into Whitla Street.

3
As Pamela Grey Saw It

The short February day was already drawing to a close as Jack and Pam drove out along the Bangor road. It was fine with a clear sky, but a bite in the air suggested frost. There was but little traffic, and Jack drove quickly. They soon passed through the rather drab streets on the east side of the Lagan and out into the comparative country of Sydenham. Then came Holywood and the rich, well-timbered estates leading up to Craigavad. An occasional glimpse of the Lough, the tiny village of Crawfordsburn, and finally Carnalea and the turn to the sea.

They passed the railway at Carnalea Station and went on down the road to the shore. The Whitesides lived in a red brick house of many gables standing in its own ground, one boundary being the beach itself. The space between the house and the beach had been levelled and turfed, making a lawn with a couple of tennis courts in the centre. Low evergreen shrubs where the ground sloped down to the shingle made the place private, but left the view open to the sea. In summer the outlook over the Lough was charming, with the ever changing colours of the water and the undulating line of the Antrim coast stretching from the dark square tower of Carrickfergus Castle to the bluff cliffs of Black Head and the Gobbins. On specially clear days the faintest trace of the far off Mull of Kintyre showed to the right of the Gobbins, an ethereal blue band above the hard black line of the sea. But in winter the view had to be paid for, when wild nor’-westers snorted in over a Lough of lead flecked with white, and masses of spindrift were carried across the grass and up to the windows of the house itself. Pam loved the sea in all its moods, whether it roared in its fury or, as it was now, dark and silent, though with a faint reflection from the still luminous western sky.

As they approached the door it opened, and a young woman appeared. She waved her arm.

‘Hallo!’ she cried. ‘Good business! We’re all alone, and were hoping someone would turn up. Tea’s just coming in, and after it we might try the new ping-pong table.’

This was Dorothy Whiteside, commonly called Dot. Between her and her sister Daphne there was the same contrast as between Ferris and M‘Morris. Dot was short, dark, energetic, and inclined to be stout; Daphne was tall, fair, thin and languid. As they invariably went about together, it was perhaps inevitable that the ‘p’ of Daphne’s name should be turned into an ‘s’, and that she should be called Dash. Dot and Dash made a formidable combination socially, and were in constant request by hostesses. Wherever games or dancing were to be found, there usually were the sisters.

‘We’d love some tea,’ Pam answered, ‘but I’m afraid we can’t stop to play. We really just dropped in for a minute to ask Cousin George a question. Some technical thing Jack’s interested in.’

‘Oh, rot. What’s the hurry? Dad’s in his room. Go and ask your question and then come back and have tea and a game.’

With the first part of the programme Pam was in full agreement. She murmured a reply and then moved on towards the library.

George Whiteside was seated in a deep armchair before the fire with a technical shipping journal open on his knees. Though retired, he liked to keep himself up to date in his former profession. He was a long-faced old man with a spikey nose and a clever, whimsical mouth. He loved a joke and the last word in an argument, and for relaxation read three detective novels a week. He greeted Pam and Jack jovially, but pointed out that they had come to the wrong room, as he didn’t suppose it was to see him that they were there.

‘Oh, but that’s just where you’re wrong, Cousin George,’ Pam retorted. ‘It’s you and nobody else we came down to see.’

He pretended to be overwhelmed by the honour, adding darkly that he expected there was a reason.

‘Of course there’s a reason. Jack’s legal mind, you know. You won’t catch him doing things from impulse.’

For a few minutes they sparred amicably in accordance with the old man’s mood, then Pam came to business.

‘We’ve got rather an interesting thing to tell you,’ she began with guile. ‘It interested us, who are not scientific, but it’ll simply thrill you. The very latest and most wonderful discovery, and we know the man who made it.’

Whiteside allowed himself a little sceptical chaff, but Pam could see he was interested, and when she went on to say that she and Jack had been sworn to silence, and that he must pass his word before she could go on, she saw that she had him properly hooked.

‘If you’re sworn to silence, why are you telling me?’ he asked.

‘Because we’re going to make you an offer. We’re going to let you in on it—if you want to come, of course—and, of course, on terms. You’ll find it the most fascinating thing you ever took up—far more interesting than that old stuff.’ She indicated the shipping journal with a disparaging gesture.

The old man chuckled. He liked Pam and was pleased to have her come and talk to him. ‘Ah,’ he said, ‘terms! What a weight of meaning there is in the word! You remind me of poor old Magee. You could see the point of his funny stories about an hour before he got there himself. And what is it I’m to have the privilege of paying for?’

‘You won’t get anything at all if you don’t treat it more seriously,’ Pam said severely. ‘I can tell you you’ve no idea how important this is.’

‘Absolutely correct. How did you know?’

‘I’m afraid he’s in an unpleasant frame of mind. Come, Jack, we won’t waste our time on him. We’ll go elsewhere with our offer.’

‘Not if I know you,’ Whiteside shrugged. ‘Come on,’ he added, resigned, ‘let’s hear the worst.’

Pam grew serious. ‘Really, Cousin George, it’s the most wonderful thing. There’s simply no limit to the possibilities. There may be a dozen fortunes in it, besides the extraordinary benefit to the world. I just don’t know how to begin to tell you.’

‘Perhaps I can help you,’ the old man jeered. ‘What was the first you heard of it? Begin with that.’

‘It was through a man called M‘Morris, who lives at Hillsborough, that we heard of it. He met Jack,’ and Pam told of M‘Morris’s tentative inquiry and invitation to lunch, the meeting with Ferris, the story of Ferris’s discovery, and finally the suggestion that Whiteside might care to finance the remainder of the research.

The old man listened with an interest which grew keener as the story progressed. When Pam had finished he didn’t speak for some moments, evidently thinking over what he had heard.

‘Either of you know anything about these two fellows?’ he asked at last.

‘M‘Morris and his people have been living at Hillsborough all the time we’ve been there,’ answered Pam. ‘I’ve met him at games and so on, but I don’t know very much about him, really. Ferris I never saw before.’

‘M‘Morris has been there for ages,’ Jack added. ‘So far as I know, he’s all right.’

‘I note your overwhelming enthusiasm. Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go in to these fellows’ room where they do their experiments, and they can show me the petrol changing. If it really does what they say, I’ll finance them. What could be fairer than that?’

‘Nothing, Cousin George. You are a dear.’ She got up and impulsively brushed his cheek with her lips. ‘When will you come?’

‘Practical beneath the sentiment,’ he informed a non-existent audience, though obviously delighted with his payment. ‘I’ll go now—at least after tea. Is that soon enough?’

‘For that you’ll get another kiss. Will you come with us?’

‘No, there’s a contributory negligence clause in my life insurance. I’ll have M‘Dowell and the Daimler. I suppose I can get back in time for dinner?’

They reassured him—on somewhat inadequate grounds, as they had no idea how long a demonstration might take. But Pam believed in striking before the iron began to cool.

While old Mr Whiteside was getting ready, Jack passed on the splendid news and obtained the address of the ‘room’. Ferris and M‘Morris would return there immediately and prepare for the experiment.

An hour later the inhabitants of Warren Street, a rather sordid backwater running from the Lisburn Road down towards the Great Northern Railway, were thrilled by the unwonted spectacle of the arrival at No. 46 of two large motors, one a scintillating Daimler with a real chauffeur in livery. Such an event had never before been known in the street, and the passing of the travellers from the vehicles to the house was watched from the pavement by an admiring circle of infants and from adjoining windows by their seniors.

Ferris was a good host and did the honours creditably. He was respectful to Whiteside without obsequiousness, and his politeness to Pam was tempered with just the right amount of familiarity due to a prospective partner. M‘Morris silently seconded him.

The room proved to be a large attic at the back of the house, which was inhabited, so Ferris explained, by a railway guard. It was so full of chemical and electrical apparatus that there was little space for anything else, but by dint of piling a lot of their stuff into a corner, the two men had made room for three chairs, which they had borrowed from the guard’s wife. The visitors sat down.

‘What we have to show you, sir,’ went on Ferris, ‘can be done very easily, but you’ll forgive us if at this stage we don’t explain the whole of our method. If we are lucky enough to have you join us, we can then give full explanations. At present we want simply to show you what we can do.’

Whiteside nodded, and the others could see he approved the caution and the direct way in which it was admitted.

‘We’re also wanting to give you every safeguard against possible misunderstanding or’—Ferris smiled twistedly—‘fraud on our part. I hope we’re going to ask you to put money into this thing, so it’s only your due. No feeling, of course; it’s a matter of business. We propose, therefore, to ask you to supply the sample of petrol that we use. Here is a glass syringe, which you can see is empty. Maybe you’d ask your chauffeur to fill it from the tank of your car.’

This was quickly arranged, and when Whiteside had examined the filled syringe, he passed it on to Ferris.

‘I now pour the petrol into this graduated dish,’ Ferris explained, suiting the action to the word. ‘You’ll see that it’s standing on one pan of a scales. I now get the scales balancing, see.’ He manipulated. ‘Now, I want you to please note the volume of the petrol; you can read it off on the scale.’ He paused. ‘Got a note of it? Good. Then I put into it what I call my plus converter, that is the converter that changes from ordinary or active petrol to inert. This is it.’

He took down from a shelf an apparatus of horseshoe shape from the curved portion of which an electric flex stretched away to a wooden box on a side table. A second flex connected the box with a wall plug. At the end of each leg of the horse shoe was a small square metal box. There was a space of about quarter of an inch between the boxes.

‘In here,’ Ferris demonstrated, laying his hand on the large wooden box, ‘is a transformer which gives me the current I require. This current is carried down to the converter’—he touched the U-shaped apparatus—‘and there I produce a certain radiation. This radiation passes between the poles,’ he pointed to the metal boxes.

‘I may tell you that there’s more than the radiation in these poles. However, we needn’t bother about that now. For the present it’s enough that you should see what happens. Now please watch.’

He lowered the plus converter into the dish of petrol, supporting it by a lazytongs bracket, so that it did not touch the glass, but was suspended in the liquid.

‘That’s put the scales off, but never mind. You’ll see it’s all right later. I now switch on the current and see what happens.’

He snapped down the switch at the plug. Immediately a few faint bubbles appeared between the poles of the apparatus. But it was not upon them that the watchers’ gaze rested. The petrol was shrinking! They watched it go down the graduated scale on the side of the dish until it occupied only about two-thirds its previous volume!

Ferris switched off the current, then raised his plus converter from the liquid. ‘Steady,’ he said. ‘Watch the scales.’

On the removal of the converter the pans once again exactly balanced. Though the petrol had shrunk, its weight, as Ferris had said, remained constant.

Ferris then picked up the dish and handed it to Whiteside, asking him to smell it. The old man did so.

‘Bless my soul!’ he exclaimed. ‘It has no smell!’

‘No smell, no taste, no chemical power, no nothing!’ Ferris declared in triumph. ‘Look here!’

He lit a match and held the flame to the liquid. Nothing happened. Then he put the match into the liquid. It was immediately extinguished.

‘You could pour that form of petrol over red-hot metal, as M‘Morris and I have done, and nothing happens. It doesn’t even vaporise. With it in one’s tank there’d be no danger of explosion or fire if one’s car or one’s plane crashed. Would you like us to do the hot-iron test?’

‘No,’ Whiteside returned. ‘I’ll accept that. Carry on as you’re going.’

‘That’s the first thing I have to show you,’ Ferris went on. ‘The second is to turn that lot of inert petrol back to the active stuff. The process is somewhat the same, but here heat is wanted, also. You may have noticed that that last conversion gave out heat? The dish was slightly warm after it.’

‘Yes, I noticed that. And now you have to put back that heat as well as whatever else you do?’

‘Yes, sir, that’s right.’

As he spoke Ferris removed the U-shaped apparatus from the liquid and disconnected it from the wooden box. Then he took another horseshoe-shaped affair, not unlike the first, and connected it in its place, dropping the ends into the liquid as before. Beneath the pan of the scales he put a Bunsen burner, and in the liquid a thermometer.

‘We’ll have only to wait for a slight heat,’ he explained, ‘and there’s a tiny loss from evaporation, which I’m ignoring. While we’re waiting till it’s warm enough I’d like to tell you just what still remains undone and what we should like to do about further research.’

He went on to point out what he had already told Pam and Jack—that the discovery was useless unless they could convert only a limited quantity of any given volume, that he believed this would be found possible, and that he wanted to concentrate on the problem. By the time the point had been discussed he announced that the petrol was warm enough for returning it to its original form.

Having put out the Bunsen, Ferris switched on the current. Immediately the liquid began to swell. It increased in volume till it reached that of the original amount, and when he removed the converter and the thermometer the scales again became balanced. Now again the liquid smelled of petrol, and when Ferris put a few drops on another dish and put a match to them, they flared up as petrol does.

The three watchers were convinced—utterly and absolutely convinced. Indeed, of all those present, Mr Whiteside had become the most enthusiastic. ‘I’ll finance you,’ he declared warmly. ‘I don’t mind what it costs. Get ahead with it, the lot of you. If I was twenty years younger I’d help you with my own hands.’

The atmosphere grew slightly electrical. Ferris and M‘Morris seemed overwhelmed with their good fortune, while Pam felt thrills of excitement passing down her spine. Even Jack fidgeted and grinned.

‘What’s the next step?’ went on Whiteside. ‘Let’s hear you plans.’

Ferris and M‘Morris exchanged glances, then Ferris answered. ‘I’ll tell you what M‘Morris and I’d like, but of course you and the others may not agree. We’d like first to form a sort of small syndicate to develop the thing. We’d like to have proper deeds drawn up, and all sign them. We thought that we four would put in our labour and professional knowledge, and that you, sir, as you have so kindly promised, would put in the capital to keep us going during the research. For what we do in the future we thought we should all share the profits equally, but for supplying the idea, and for what M‘Morris and I have already done, we suggest that we two are entitled to an extra share each. That is, divide our profits into seven parts, give two each to M‘Morris and myself, and one each to you three.’

‘That sounds fair. I agree. What about you two?’ Whiteside looked at Pam and Jack.

‘We agree,’ Pam said promptly. ‘If anything, it’s too liberal towards Jack and me.’

‘Very well. Suppose we instruct Penrose to get the necessary documents drawn up. That’s to be his job, isn’t it?’

‘His principal job,’ Ferris amended with a grin. ‘There’s no reason why he shouldn’t help with the research when he has time.’

‘Of course he’ll help,’ Whiteside returned seriously. He was enjoying himself now, taking the lead and giving directions as he had done in the shipyard before his retirement. ‘Very well: that’s our constitution dealt with. What are your detailed proposals for carrying on the research?’

‘We’ve thought of that, too. There’s a small cottage to be had by the week near Hillsborough. If we could get that I could live in one room and the remainder could be used for the work. It would be handy for the others, who all live close by. Water is laid on, but not electricity. However, the distributing line passes the end of the lane, and a connection wouldn’t cost much. Of course, electricity is absolutely essential.’

‘Where is this cottage?’ Jack asked.

‘Near your gate. It’s the first cottage in Sloan’s Lane. That is,’ he looked at Whiteside, ‘it’s on a lane off the Lisburn Road, about a mile from Hillsborough. It’s a mile or a bit more from Miss Grey’s and about the same from M‘Morris’s.’

‘Is it a little cottage with four rooms and a porch and a holly tree just at the gate?’ put in Pam.

‘That’s the place. I’ve been over it, and I think it would do all right, and it’s not dear. In fact, it’s the only place near Hillsborough that either of us have heard of.’

Pam nodded in approval. ‘It would be convenient, because the buses pass the end of the lane a hundred yards away. And it’s very secluded and private. We could work there without being overlooked or interrupted.’

Whiteside indicated with a gesture that the point had been sufficiently discussed. ‘Well,’ he said to Jack, ‘you go and arrange its hire. Take it for six months. By that time you should know whether or not you’re going to succeed?’ He glanced at Ferris.

‘I hope we’ll succeed long before that, sir. However, nothing could be better from our point of view.’ The others nodded their approval.

‘Next item?’ Whiteside persisted.

Again Ferris and M‘Morris exchanged glances. For the first time Ferris hesitated and seemed ill at ease. ‘Well, I’m afraid there are our personal expenses—mine and M‘Morris’s,’ he said with a deprecating smile. ‘What I mean is, we have to earn a salary to live on. If we do this research we have to give up our jobs and our salaries stop. We shouldn’t want very much, but we should want something.’

Whiteside waved this point away also. ‘That’s understood,’ he declared. ‘I shall make each of you an allowance equal to your present salaries, and any extra expenses that you may incur in the research.’

‘That’s very handsome of you indeed, Mr Whiteside,’ Ferris declared, and M‘Morris murmured his agreement.

‘I think, then, that that finishes our business, and in a better way than we could have hoped. Unless any of you wish to bring up some other point.’

But this no one did, and the meeting terminated.

Jack then became immensely busy and important. He spent hours in looking up large and musty tomes in his father’s office and in discussing with Pam draft clauses in which the words ‘the said enterprise’ figured largely. But from these fragments eventually evolved a formidable document tastefully typed in quintuplicate on vellum, to which, with a little ceremony in which a bottle of champagne figured, the partners of the said enterprise affixed their various signatures.

Jack also took Wayside, the cottage in Sloan’s Lane, for a period of six months, obtaining immediate possession. Ferris and M‘Morris left their firm and brought their Warren Street plant down to Hillsborough. There work on an intensive scale was begun. Ferris and M‘Morris spent their full day and most of their spare time on the job. Pam helped nobly, putting in most of her day at the cottage, while Jack came in and did what he could in the evenings. Ferris had worked out a programme of systematic experiments, and these were carried out in regular order. Occasionally Mr Whiteside drove down to give the activities his blessing.

At first Pam found it enthralling, but as time passed and no apparent headway was made, she grew tired of it. Ferris and M‘Morris were also obviously feeling the strain. After two months they had a meeting, and decided that they were knocking themselves up. They fixed definite working hours which normally they would not exceed, and which gave time for reasonable relaxation and amusement.

After this things went better. They settled down to steady, persevering work, but dropped the killing effort to accomplish everything at once.

So passed another two months of intensive labour, but without registering the slightest advance. All still maintained a front of cheery confidence, but in Pam’s mind horrid little whispers of doubt were now beginning to arise. They had nearly worked through Ferris’s programme, and it he had made as comprehensive as he had known how. Suppose they completed it without having reached the goal at which they aimed? What would they do then? Had Ferris another string to his bow—a series of further tests as yet untouched? Or were they going to have to confess defeat?

And then one morning in the fifth month Ferris gave a cry of triumph. Pam and M‘Morris left their benches and ran across the room. Ferris’s excitement had grown so that he could scarcely speak. But a glance at his face was enough. It was clear that at last he had succeeded!

When he was able to talk coherently he explained that he had connected two vessels of inert petrol by a tube in which he had placed both his converters. He had found that switching on both produced the two petrol forms simultaneously, each in the vessel next its own converter. By this mean active petrol remained in one vessel and inert in the other, no matter what flow took place between the two.

This obviously solved the problem, as inert petrol in the tank of a car or plane could be kept inert, while that taken from the tank could be changed to active at the carburettor.

Though there was wild excitement and delight, including the drinking of another bottle of champagne with Mr Whiteside, all realised that they were as yet by no means out of the wood. The somewhat cumbersome apparatus had to be simplified and cheapened. The power required had to be reduced to what a car battery would easily supply. The plus and minus converters had to be combined in one small fitting.

However, success seemed to stimulate Ferris’s brain. His ingenuity and resource grew even more impressive. One by one the difficulties were overcome, and by the middle of August the new apparatus was complete. It had shrunk to a small brass casting housing some not too intricate mechanism, which was inserted on the feed pipe just in front of the carburettor and which was supplied with current from the batteries.

Now Ferris metaphorically sat back and wiped his brow while Jack Penrose became the star turn. Directly success seemed assured, they had begun to consider the firm to which they would offer their invention. It had been realised that patenting would give away their ideas, and that manufacture could only be by secret process. Now Jack was entrusted with the preliminary negotiations. Communications passed, with the result that the firm of Wrenn Jefferson & Co. of Bristol and Avonmouth was provisionally selected as the most suitable. These people expressed themselves as interested, and Jack and Ferris then went over for an interview. The result was that the firm agreed to send their representative, Mr Reginald Platt, to Hillsborough to witness a demonstration of the new process. If he reported favourably the managing director and some of his staff would then come over, and if things still went well, a firm agreement to work the scheme under licence would be entered into.

It was to meet this Mr Platt that Jack and Pam were now driving to the Grand Central Hotel in Belfast.

4
As Pamela Grey Saw It

Belfast, more perhaps than most towns, has a well defined city centre. It is familiarly known as ‘The Junction’, and there its principal streets meet—Castle Street, Castle Place, Royal Avenue and Donegal Place, radiating respectively north, south, east and west. It was to The Junction that Jack headed, for the hotel was situated in Royal Avenue close by. He pulled in to the pavement opposite the door and asked Pam if she was coming in with him.

‘No,’ she said, ‘I’ll wait for you.’

Jack disappeared, and she got out of her seat in the front of the car and moved in behind, so as to let their visitor sit with Jack on the return journey. She felt thrilled and excited, though she told herself that this was absurd. Mr Platt was in all probability a perfectly ordinary individual. Except on grounds of common politeness, it didn’t really matter whether or not he was pleased with his reception.

And yet did it not? He certainly had immense power. On his opinion, approving or condemning, might depend their whole future. If he approved, a sale of the process would almost certainly follow. If he condemned, no deal with Wrenn Jefferson would take place. Of course, in that case they would no doubt do business with some other firm. But even so, it would be a dreadful disappointment if this first deal were to fall through. Pam felt that she had been wrong. It was urgently necessary that this autocrat’s first impression of themselves and the process should be favourable. She prepared herself, therefore, to be as nice to Platt as it was in her to be.

But Platt, when a moment later he appeared with Jack, did not look so very prepossessing. He was youngish, not more than twenty-seven or eight, short and rather stout, with a pasty complexion and a pair of sharp little eyes set close together, which did not squarely meet Pam’s. His expression was rather unpleasant, and the hand he offered was soft and flabby. Pam instinctively resented the glance he gave her, and she instantly had a revulsion of feeling, a sense of disappointment, as if she saw that a pleasure to which she had been looking forward would be denied her. But she greeted him cordially, and in a moment the men got in and they started on their homeward journey.

Jack was never much of a conversationalist, and the burden of such talk as they had fell on Pam. She made the conventional remarks: Had Platt ever been in Belfast before? Had he had a good crossing? What did he think of the country? Platt replied pleasantly enough. She thought he improved on acquaintance. He had crossed the previous night, never having been in Ireland before. He had been greatly struck with the view coming up the Lough and with the kindliness he had already met with in the city. His firm had some business out at Cregagh—did they know it?—and he had taken it first so as to be entirely free to devote himself to their demonstration. He was looking forward to a pleasant stay and hoped their meeting would bear fruit. It was all very amicable and commonplace.

‘We’ve engaged a room for you at the local hotel,’ Jack broke in to this artless conversation. ‘I’ll take you there now and when you’ve had a meal I’ll call and introduce M‘Morris, our fourth member: Ferris you’ve met already. We hope that on a later occasion you’ll dine with us.’

‘Thanks, that’ll suit me first rate. Where is your—is it lab or workshop?’

‘Ah, you mustn’t expect too much,’ put in Pam. ‘We’ve just a couple of rooms in a cottage, a quite temporary rig up. I expect you don’t want to be bothered with business tonight. We’ll show it to you tomorrow.’

Platt looked relieved. ‘That’s very kind,’ he said, ‘but I’m tremendously interested in what I’m going to see. Penrose and his friend certainly impressed my respected uncle when they came over.’

‘Is Mr Jefferson your uncle?’

‘Yes, luckily for me. I’m working through the business now, earnestly hoping to get a partnership later on.’

‘Same here,’ said Jack. ‘I’m doing it too, only in a smaller business. My father’s a solicitor. This now is Hillsborough we’re coming to.’

‘You’ve surprised me with one thing already,’ Platt remarked, ‘and that is your roads. They’re wider and straighter than most of ours and just as good a surface.’

‘Not so old as yours, I should think,’ Jack suggested. ‘Now, here’s the hotel. We’ll leave you for the present.’ He took Platt in and then with a hearty, ‘See you later,’ returned to the car.

‘I wonder how long he’ll stay,’ Pam said as they drove away. She was dining with the Penroses that night, as she did fairly frequently.

‘Probably till tomorrow night or Thursday at the latest. It won’t take long, all we’ve got to show him.’

‘And then you’re going to London?’

‘Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. I had a letter from old Carling this morning. He’ll see me on the day I proposed, Monday. Unfortunately he’s only free in the early morning, so I’ll have to cross on Saturday night.’

‘Why not cross Monday night and see them on Tuesday? Save hanging about on Sunday.’

‘Could scarcely put Carling and Hepworth off so long. They wanted me to go this week, but I thought if this chap Platt was kept at his other job he mightn’t start with us till Thursday or Friday and I’d be better here.’

‘I should think so. Oh, how I hope it’ll all go well.’

‘Oh course it’ll go well. Why shouldn’t it?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. He may want to see more than Ferris will show him.’

‘You mean details of Ferris’s plant? Not if I know it. No details till the agreement is signed.’

‘But he mayn’t sign till he does know.’

‘He has nothing to do with the signing: simply to report to Jefferson.’

Pam was silent for a moment, then she went on. ‘Has it occurred to you that we haven’t seen the details of Ferris’s plant ourselves? If I were asked tomorrow, I couldn’t say how the thing is done.’

‘So much the better, in case Platt tries to vamp you.’

‘But it is funny. We’ve never been shown.’

‘Could you understand it if you were?’ Jack inquired solicitously.

Pam was in a serious mood and ignored this. ‘And Cousin George doesn’t know,’ she went on. ‘He’s asked me, and I haven’t been able to tell him.’

‘All to the good,’ Jack declared as he pulled up at the door. ‘I’ll leave the car here and we’ll drive down later.’

The Penrose family consisted of four members, of whom only three lived at home. Mr Penrose, the solicitor, was a man of about sixty, though he looked younger. He was tall and strongly built like his son, and carried himself well. A shrewd man, he was a hard fighter in business, though at the same time kindly and scrupulously honest. In both his professional and private capacities he was universally respected. His hobby was cattle farming and he was always slipping across to England or the Continent to study the life history of cows in countries other than his own.

Mrs Penrose was a pleasant motherly woman who had taken Pam entirely to her heart. If she had been allowed to select her daughter-in-law, she would have chosen Pamela Grey. Pam already felt as if she had lived in the Penrose household all her life. She pretended to share secrets with Mr Penrose, much to his delight, and was adored by the tiny staff of the establishment, which latter Mrs Penrose said was ‘a good sign.’

‘Well, and has the great man arrived?’ Mr Penrose asked as they began dinner. He took a keen interest in the scheme and closely followed its somewhat spasmodic evolution.

They discussed Platt and his mission and Jack mentioned that they were all going to the hotel for a chat later. Whereupon Pam declared unexpectedly, ‘I’m not.’

‘You’re not?’ Jack looked up in dismay. ‘But you said you would.’

‘I’ve changed my mind. It would be better for you four men to get together. After all you’ll not discuss business tonight. I’ll go to the cottage in the morning when the tests begin.’

Though Jack dutifully protested, he secretly felt that she was right. He promised to take her home on his way to the hotel and to call in after the meeting to tell her how it had gone.

But when about eleven he appeared, he had nothing of interest to report. They had had a perfectly normal evening, simply chatting to the accompaniment of drinks and smokes. Ferris was to call for Platt with his small car about nine-thirty in the morning, and on their arrival at the cottage the demonstration would commence. Jack was going to take two or three hours off in order to be present.

Next morning Pam reached Ferris’s cottage to find only M‘Morris there. Ferris had gone for Platt and Jack had not yet turned up.

Sloan’s Lane was a narrow winding cartway connecting the diverging roads from Hillsborough to Lisburn and Glenavy respectively. Its hedges were overgrown and its surface was rough. Some hundred yards from the Lisburn Road end stood Wayside, as the cottage was called. It was not a structure of high architectural pretensions, consisting simply of a cube of whitewashed plaster covered stone surmounted by a perfectly plain roof of purple slates, with, in the centre of the front wall a porch of the size and shape of the average sentry box. The windows were small and evenly spaced, five in front and five behind. Inside, the door led into a narrow hall from which a single flight of steps, steep as a ladder, led to the rooms above. On each side of the hall was a room, one with a tiled floor fitted with an old fashioned American stove and sink, the other with a wooden floor and a small open fireplace. The two other rooms were overhead. The house was damp, dark, dirty and uncomfortable, but it had served its purpose. One of its great assets was its privacy. It was set well back from the lane, and the hedge and shrubs which separated it therefrom were so overgrown and ill-trimmed as to form a complete screen. Besides, there was practically no traffic along the lane, which was really a farm track to certain fields.

Ferris slept and lived upstairs, using the two lower rooms for the great work. What had been the sitting room was now reserved for the demonstration, the kitchen forming an annexe in which apparatus was made and stores kept.

Presently Jack arrived and on his heels the other two men. A few words of explanation as to what was to be done, a little good humoured chaff all round, and the great moment had arrived.

Ferris had shrouded the electrodes of his U-shaped apparatus in opaque screens so that nothing could be seen of their construction. Platt at once took exception to this.

‘You mustn’t mind,’ he explained, ‘but I’ve been sent over here with the special object of picking holes in your scheme: not of course that we don’t wish it well, but simply to make sure that it stands criticism. If you begin by hiding all the essentials from me, I shall not be able to do my job.’

‘What we want to show you,’ Ferris returned, ‘is that we can produce at will an inert form of petrol, and that we can at will turn that inert form back again into the ordinary active form, and that at a trifling cost in both cases. We do not propose at this stage to give the exact details of the process.’

‘But that’s just it,’ Platt persisted, ‘I don’t see how you can convince me of the one without showing me the other.’

‘Oh, yes we can. Just you look at what I’m going to show you and you’ll be convinced right enough.’

‘It’s this way, Platt,’ Jack added. ‘You’re a business man as well as a scientist. If you were in our position you wouldn’t give away your assets until you had made an agreement with the other fellow. We’ll show you what we can do. Then if you like it we’ll ask you—or your people—to sign a conditional agreement saying that provided our claims as to method are established, you’ll do this and that and the other.’

Platt shrugged good humouredly. ‘I ask your lordships to note my objection,’ he declared. ‘Right. Carry on.’

But though Platt gave way in this pleasant manner, he soon showed he was taking nothing on trust. Ferris did his stunts as he had for Mr Whiteside and Platt admitted his surprise and admiration. But he did not leave it at that. Every step of the process, it appeared, was to be ruthlessly questioned and tested.

He began with the obvious difficulty. ‘You won’t let me see what’s at the end of those things you stick in the petrol,’ he pointed out. ‘How am I to know they’re not pumps which suck the petrol up into one leg and discharge an inert liquid from the other?’

‘Observation will tell you that,’ Ferris returned. ‘The vessel is not emptied. If what you suggest were true, it would have first be emptied and then refilled.’

‘I grant you that. What I mean is, how am I to know that you haven’t there some clever conjuring trick which creates an illusion?’ He smiled so that there could be no offence in his words.

‘We can’t show you our process,’ Ferris repeated, ‘but apart from that you can put the thing to any tests you like.’

Platt then settled down to it. He was indeed so thorough and painstaking that he evoked the admiration of the others. First he insisted that he must analyse a sample of the petrol which was about to be used, to make sure that no secret ingredient had been introduced into it. Then he required the U-shaped apparatus to be suspended from a spring balance, so that if it took up any liquid the change in weight would show. He analysed—endlessly—the inert product, and again the recreated active petrol. In fact he went with great care and pains into every point that he could think of.

He was observant, too, Pam noticed, even about matters outside his own particular line. She could see his sharp little eyes passing over the room and its furnishings and following every movement made by the quartet. When Jack mislaid his matchbox, it was Platt who pointed it out on the chimney piece where Jack had put it down. Pam came to the conclusion that there was not much that happened that was not recorded in the man’s brain.

All these experiments and testings took time. They had expected that lunch time would have finished the demonstration, but by lunch time Platt had scarcely got into his stride. By the evening he had only completed his test of the petrol, and before leaving off work he required a complex system of seals to be put on the work he had done.

‘How long do you think it will take you?’ Pam asked as they stood outside the cottage prior to separating for the night.

‘The firm gave me a week,’ Platt replied, ‘but I do not think it will take anything like that. This is Wednesday night and I thought of crossing back on Saturday night, as if I can get done here before that I should greatly like to see something of the country before I go.’

‘We’ll drive you round with great pleasure,’ Pam assured him as they parted.

Pam was amused at the precautions upon which Ferris insisted. Not for a single moment might Platt be left alone, lest curiosity should tempt him to remove the sacred screens. And Ferris saw that the watch was kept.

All Thursday Platt tested and experimented without coming to a definite conclusion, though he admitted he was nearly convinced. A few hours more, he declared that evening, would complete his investigation.

Though by this time Pam felt that she definitely disliked him—there were indications that he was of an amorous disposition and she hated the way he sometimes looked at her—she was anxious that he should be given as good a time as possible. This was partly out of sheer good nature, but admittedly it was also to bias him as much as possible in their favour in the coming negotiations. With these objects in her mind she took a step on that Thursday evening which afterwards she bitterly regretted. In fact, if she could only have foreseen where it was to lead she would have cut off her hand rather than make such a move.

She rang up the Whitesides and asked them if they would have the party down for the next afternoon.

Mr Whiteside was anxious to meet Platt and the girls were always on for any kind of party or game. The suggestion was therefore hailed as an inspiration.

‘Come down and we can have tennis or golf, or go fishing,’ Dot invited and Pam tentatively agreed.

Later she put the idea to the others. Jack, whom she rang up, was sorry he couldn’t get away. ‘I want to come to the cottage on Saturday morning when Platt’s fixing up finally. Couldn’t get both times,’ he explained, and though she was sorry not to have him at Carnalea, she felt he was right. Ferris and M‘Morris were both pleased with the idea, and Platt expressed himself as delighted.

‘What would you rather do, Mr Platt?’ Pam asked. ‘We’ve been offered a choice of tennis, golf and sea fishing.’

Platt was all for fishing. Tennis he could get at any time, and he was a poor golfer, but sea fishing would be a rare treat. So it was arranged. Pam rang up Dot and told her.

They were in high spirits when on that Friday afternoon they set off. They squeezed into Ferris’s Austin Seven, Platt in front with Ferris and Pam and M‘Morris behind. All were wearing their most disreputable clothes, Ferris and M‘Morris in blue jerseys and Platt in an old waterproof of Ferris’s. The weather smiled on them. The sun was warm and bright, the atmosphere was clear and there was no wind. It was an ideal day for their purpose.

On reaching Loughside, the Whitesides’ house, they were welcomed with wavings and vociferation by Dot and Dash. The girls then took Ferris and M‘Morris down to the shore to get the boat out, while Pam and Platt went in to see Mr Whiteside. The old gentleman was in a particularly good humour and joked with Pam and pulled Platt’s leg mercilessly.

‘They’re taking you out to drown you,’ he told him solemnly. ‘They think you’ve got their secret and they’re not going to let you out of the country alive.’ And when Platt gasped and looked at Pam for enlightenment, he chuckled wickedly and added that if he were in Platt’s place, nothing would induce him to enter the boat.

‘You mustn’t mind him,’ Pam explained as they presently followed the others down to the beach. ‘He loves a joke and he thinks that sort of thing is funny.’

The boat was moored a little distance from the shore by an ingenious arrangement common in that neighbourhood—and doubtless elswhere. The painter was attached to an endless rope, the loop of which was passed through pulleys on the end of the slip and on a post some hundred feet farther out to sea. By pulling the rope the boat could be drawn in to the slip or out halfway to the post, where it could swing about in safety. M‘Morris under the direction of Dot had untied the rope and was engaged in pulling in the boat. Dash with Ferris was at the boat house, where Ferris was grovelling for the key in a hole beneath the step, where it was kept hidden. The lines had been prepared and all that was necessary for the start was to get the oars from the boat house. ‘We’ll not take the sail,’ Pam heard Dash’s voice. ‘There’s no wind, and besides when there are so many of us the lines would get foul.’

It is not necessary to describe their afternoon. One sea fishing expedition is very like another: a joy to those who like it, an interminable misery to those who don’t. It is enough to say that they had good sport and came in about six o’clock with a basket full of grey and silver trophies.

Except for one thing Pam enjoyed the excursion, and that was that Platt became rather too friendly on more than one occasion. It happened that they were together in the stern, Dot and M‘Morris being in the bow and Dash and Ferris amidships. Platt was for ever swinging over so as to lean against Pam and continually touching her hands as he manœuvred his line. Once or twice she determined to exchange places with one of the others, then she thought Platt would be leaving the next day and it would be better to avoid unpleasantness. Of the others, she thought that only Ferris, who saw everything, had noticed it.

They all dined with the Penroses that evening, Platt behaving with exemplary discretion. All, even Pam, were pleased with his visit and with the hints he dropped that his report would be favourable. Afterwards Ferris and M‘Morris drove him to the hotel, where, as Pam afterwards learnt, he insisted on their going in for drinks.

Next morning, Saturday, there was to be a final meeting at the cottage to agree on tentative details of an agreement for submission to Messrs Wrenn Jefferson. Jack had produced a rough draft and they were to discuss its various items with Platt.

It was at this meeting that an incident happened which, though trifling in itself, yet had terribly serious consequences. It occurred, Pam told herself, through her failure to take action during the fishing excursion on the previous day, and for a long time she was inconsolable about what she thought had been her fault.

She walked to the cottage rather more quickly than she had intended, arriving a few minutes before the appointed time. Platt and M‘Morris had however already turned up, and were chatting with Ferris. Jack, who had gone into Lisburn to his office, had not yet returned.

When Ferris heard Pam’s step he came out quickly from the ‘demonstration’ room and met her in the porch. ‘Want to talk to M‘Morris,’ he whispered. ‘Keep Platt from being too inquisitive,’ then went on in his usual loud cheery voice, ‘Hallo, Pam. You’re in good time. Any sign of Jack?’

Pam nodded and answered in her ordinary tones, ‘I haven’t seen him. I came straight from home.’

They joined the others and for a moment chatted in a somewhat forced and perfunctory way. Then Ferris beckoned M‘Morris. ‘Come and let’s get those blessed notes fixed,’ he said, adding with a touch of his usual sardonic humour. ‘Miss Grey will do the honours while we’re away.’

‘I’m sorry to be leaving, Miss Grey,’ Platt said when they were alone. ‘I’ve had a pleasant time here.’

Pam thought this a graceful remark. ‘I’m so pleased you’ve liked it, Mr Platt,’ she said cordially. ‘But if our agreement goes through you’ll probably be over again before long.’

‘I hope so, I’m sure. It’s been such a pleasure meeting you.’

This wasn’t at all what Pam wanted, but after all he was going in a few hours. ‘I hope our agreement will go through,’ she returned with the idea of changing the subject. But Platt did not take it as a change of subject.

‘So that I may come back? Do you really mean that—Pam?’

Annoyed now in reality, she turned to annihilate him. But before she could speak it had happened: she never knew exactly how. Platt had been toying with his handkerchief and now he dropped it. He lunged forward to catch it as it fell and brushed against her. The next moment she found herself in his arms.

‘Mr Platt: let me go!’ she cried in a low tone as she struggled to get free. ‘Let me go at once!’

If the affair had ended there, probably no harm would have been done. With Ferris and M‘Morris within call, Platt would doubtless have let go as soon as he realised that he had made a mistake. But as evil chance would have it, at just that moment Jack walked into the room.

For a moment he stood speechless, gazing with a sort of incredulity at Platt. Platt had released Pam and was beginning a muttered apology. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, but got no further.

With a hoarse roar Jack sprang forward and hit him on the point of the chin. It was not a savage blow, but Platt went down like a ninepin. He crashed back against the work table, knocking it over and sending the objects it bore flying. He brought up on the floor, where he sat nursing his wounded jaw and apparently very sorry for himself. Pam flung herself on Jack.

‘Stop! stop!’ she cried, twisting her arms round him. ‘Don’t make things worse!’ As she spoke Ferris and M‘Morris ran in crying out to know what had happened.

Jack struggled, but could not free himself from Pam’s arms. ‘Get up and get out of this before I kill you!’ he shouted angrily to Platt, who still sat on the floor.

‘No, no! Don’t speak like that!’ Pam insisted. ‘There’s no harm done.’ Then with an appealing look at Ferris she added, ‘Take him next door. It’ll be all right.’

Ferris quickly took in the situation. ‘Come into the next room, you,’ he said roughly, catching Platt by the arm and helping him up. M‘Morris took the other arm and they hustled him away. Jack tried to unclasp Pam’s arms. ‘Let me go, will you?’ he cried. ‘I’ll soon settle him!’

‘Not till you promise to be quiet. Oh, Jack, do control yourself. Fighting won’t help anything. And—and—it was partly my fault. I tried to be decent to him and he misunderstood.’

Jack was of a passionate disposition. His anger flared up suddenly on small provocation, but it died down almost as quickly. He never harboured a grudge.

While Pam, almost sick with annoyance, struggled and reasoned with Jack, the scene seemed to be burnt in on her memory. There was a long table of planks on trestles on which the demonstration was set out, occupying one entire wall of the room. Before it were the three chairs on which she and Jack and Platt had sat while Ferris and M‘Morris dealt with the apparatus. And there, on its side was a small table of accessories that had been at Ferris’s hand. She noticed even the smallest details. Ferris’s notebook, open and upside down, a small condenser that he sometimes used, with one wire torn off it, M‘Morris’s green pencil case on which someone had stepped, breaking off the clip and slightly flattening the top which carried the india-rubber, and three empty test tubes and a pipette, all broken. She saw the wide joints of the stained uneven floor, the patches of discolouration on the faded wallpaper and the broken tile at the back of the fireplace. Had she been playing the memory game, she would have won with flying colours.

M‘Morris came back into the room. ‘No harm done?’ he asked, looking curiously at the others.

‘Of course not,’ Pam answered him. Then trying to speak lightly, she added: ‘Except to your pencil and all that glass.’

Before he could answer, Ferris looked in. ‘Look here, you two,’ he said. ‘The man wants to apologise. He’s upset about what’s happened. You’ve knocked him down, Jack, and that should square the thing. I suggest you cry quits and forget it.’

‘Yes,’ Pam cried eagerly, ‘that’s what I want too. You will, Jack? To please me?’

Jack, breathing threatenings and slaughter, was by no means out for conciliation. But at last he suffered himself to be persuaded, Platt muttered regrets, and the subject was dropped. The suggested agreement was discussed on a strictly business basis and as soon as might be Pam and Jack took their leave. Ferris went with them to the door.

‘We’ll look after him this afternoon,’ he announced. ‘We’ve promised to take him to the Mourne Mountains. And we’ll put him on board the boat tonight. Don’t you worry about him any more.’

‘We’re not going to,’ Jack returned drily.

It was then that Pam remembered that Jack was crossing by the same steamer.

‘He’s going by Liverpool, isn’t he?’ she asked Ferris.

‘Yes, by Liverpool.’

‘So are you,’ she turned to Jack.

‘By Jove, so I am! I forgot that for the moment.’

‘Oh?’ said Ferris with a sharp glance. ‘You’re crossing tonight, are you?’

‘Yes: I’ve a legal appointment in London on Monday morning.’

‘Change your route and go by Heysham,’ Pam suggested.

‘Not I,’ Jack answered. ‘Do you think I’m going to have my plans upset by that wretched fish? Besides I’ve engaged my berth.’

‘Well, you won’t want to see him on the journey, I expect!’

‘I’ll not see him. I’ll go in latish and go to bed when I get on board.’

Ferris nodded. ‘Sorry about this. I suppose there’s no use in my offering you a lift?’

‘No,’ said Pam. ‘I’ll drive him in. That is, Jack, if you’ll let me have the car.’

‘Will you? Good girl. You hear that?’ he looked at Ferris.

‘Right,’ said Ferris as they parted.

The boat left at eleven on Saturdays, and Pam arranged to go round to the Penroses’ after dinner, so that they might start when they felt inclined. ‘About quarter to ten, I suggest,’ Jack said. ‘Then you’ll be back about half-past. Not too late for you? Because you have to walk home.’

‘Of course not: don’t be silly.’

This programme they carried out, but not in its entirety. One unexpected factor slightly upset their plans. When at quarter to ten they went out to the car, they found that one of the tyres was flat.

‘Curse it,’ Jack growled. ‘It’s a back wheel and it’s the very mischief to get a jack in under the axle with all this overhang of luggage carrier and so on behind. And there’s no room to work here. We’ll have to push it out and chance cutting the tube.’

‘Will you have time? Would it not be better to ring up for a taxi?’

‘Might be long enough before we’d get one at this time of night. No, we’ll be all right if you’ll lend a hand.’

It was a small job to change the wheel, but it took a good deal more time than they had expected. Pulling the car out of the garage and getting it jacked up by the light of torches proved no joke, and to make matters worse about ten o’clock it began to rain. Before they had finished Jack wished he had taken Pam’s advice and rung for a taxi. Then he found himself hot and dirty and he had to take further time to wash and change. Instead of getting away about quarter to ten, it was nearer half-past when they started.

As the day passed Pam had grown more and more to regret that Platt’s visit had been marred by the morning’s unfortunate little incident. Particularly she was sorry that the relations between Jack and Platt had become so strained. If the deal went through, as she now expected it would, they would have further dealings with the man, and it would be a thousand pities if there should be continued friction. Besides on general grounds she hated an atmosphere of ill feeling.

‘Jack,’ she said suddenly as they turned out of York Street towards the Liverpool berth, ‘I want you to do something for me. Will you?’

‘What is it, old thing?’

‘No: you must promise first. It’s a very little thing and you can do it easily. Will you—to please me?’

‘It must be something rotten if you make such a song about it.’

‘It’s not, I assure you. If you don’t, I’ll be really hurt. Do promise, Jack.’

‘Oh, all right. What is it?’

‘You do promise?’

‘I do promise.’

‘I want you to make friends with Platt.’

Jack frowned. ‘I never want to see the blighter again.’

‘But that’s just it. We’ve got to work with him and we don’t want everything spoiled by friction. Besides, I don’t like it. Go to him on board and ask him to have a drink. You needn’t say anything about what’s happened and you needn’t spend any time with him. It’s just to show him that the thing’s over and forgotten.’

‘It’s not forgotten so far as I’m concerned.’

‘But it must be. As I said, if you won’t do this for me, I’ll be really hurt. Besides you’ve promised.’

‘Oh, all right; I’ll do it. But it seems to me you’re making an unholy fuss about nothing.’

‘I’m not. You know perfectly well I’m in the right.’

Further discussion was cut short by their arrival at the boat. They had cut it fine and there was only five minutes to spare. Pam set Jack down outside the Liverpool shed and drove quickly back.

She was glad Jack was going to make peace, even though the unpleasant little episode was such a trifle. The really great thing was that Platt had been convinced as to their claims about the inert petrol. The next step would undoubtedly be that the managing director and his technical experts would come over and a firm agreement would be signed. Then all their work and stress would be over. Money would soon begin to pour in, and what mattered more than anything else, her marriage could take place at once. Oh, how utterly glorious that would be! Pam pressed the accelerator in her eagerness.

The car bounded forward. Fortunately the road was straight and there was no traffic.

5
As Philip Jefferson Saw It

Precisely at 9.30 on the Monday morning following, Mr Philip Jefferson, senior partner of Messrs Wrenn Jefferson & Co., Ltd., of Carfax Street, Bristol, entered his private room at the works and sat down at his desk.

Jefferson was tall and well built, with a shrewd, thoughtful face and a quiet manner. He was a good business man and he was also a good employer. These terms in their strict meaning are synonymous, because the man who is considerate to his employees gets more out of them. But in the narrow sense they mean two distinct and often contrary policies. Jefferson was both keenly alive to the profits of his firm, and he treated his staff well.

Wrenn Jefferson dealt in oils, at least, mainly in oils. They imported and distributed paraffin and crude oils of various kinds. They did a certain amount of refining, producing lubricating oils of all types from thick green stuff for the sight feed lubricators of locomotives to the transparent, almost watery fluid used by watchmakers. They had a fair sized works at Carfax Street, and a larger depot on the Bristol Channel near Avonmouth. They were in a large way of business, outstanding even among Bristol firms. Their reputation was like that of their senior partner: keen but straight in business, prompt with their customers, just with their employees.

Jefferson began the working day by glancing over his mail, which had been removed from the envelopes by his secretary, Miss Beecher, and left on his desk with the relevant papers attached. On the top was a note in the girl’s own hand to say that the Belfast Steamship Company’s Liverpool office had been on the phone and wanted him to ring them up as soon as possible. ‘That blessed oil,’ thought Jefferson as he laid the memo aside. They had supplied the company with a large consignment of lubricating oil which had not proved up to specification, and negotiations for replacing it were in progress. A very annoying affair it had been and Jefferson feared it would end in a heavy loss. Then there was a letter from the secretary of the Bristol Harbour Board about crude oil for their Diesel engines. That was a satisfactory deal; there was money in it all right. An advice from their representative in New York: one of their tankers had been in collision. There was not much damage done, but she would be delayed in dock for a week or more. Harrison Stoker of Bath were ready for the next lot of petroleum. And so it went on.

Jefferson’s interest quickened as he picked up another letter. Platt wrote from some God-forsaken place in Ireland that he would be back that morning. ‘I have seen the demonstration these people put up,’ he wrote, ‘and I must admit it looks convincing. But until some kind of preliminary agreement was signed they wouldn’t let me see the exact process. Unless there was some extraordinary clever jugglery or something of that kind they can do what they say. At all events they’ve got an inert liquid which undoubtedly has the chemical composition of petrol. I’ll give you all particulars on seeing you on Monday morning, but my recommendation will be to go into the matter further.’

Jefferson sat back, and for a moment gave himself up to dreams. What an amazing story the whole thing was! Of course they had taken Platt in. It couldn’t be true. It was too utterly unlikely. But if it were true … Jefferson swore below his breath. If it were … If it were true it would mean money beyond counting or estimating! These Irish people claimed that the stuff could be rendered inert for a farthing a gallon or less, because it appeared that once the change had been started in a large volume, it would creep on through the whole quantity without further application of power. And they claimed to be able to re-energise it for a little over three farthings a gallon—a halfpenny to cover the installation of the plant on each given car or plane, and a farthing for the current necessary to operate it. One penny a gallon extra for absolute immunity from the fear of fire! The air lines would all use it immediately. Most private drivers would use it. Probably it would become compulsory in buses: probably eventually in all vehicles using a public road. If only it were true! Well, he would get rid of these papers and then he would have Platt in and hear his story.

Jefferson touched his bell. ‘Take these letters, Miss Beecher,’ he said as his pretty secretary entered. He dictated quickly and without hesitating for words. The pile of papers decreased, vanished. Miss Beecher stood up to go.

‘Get the Belfast Steamship Company for me, will you, and then send in Mr Platt.’

The girl withdrew, but reappeared in a few moments. ‘The line’s engaged, Mr Jefferson, and Mr Platt has not come in yet.’

Jefferson nodded. How like Platt! Always unsatisfactory. If he wasn’t his wife’s nephew, he, Jefferson, would have kicked the fellow out long ago. Enjoyed the pleasant air of Ireland, he supposed, and wanted another day or two’s holiday. It was really too bad. After he had been given this specially pleasant and interesting job the man might have bucked up a bit. Jefferson decided there would be some plain speaking when Platt did condescend to put in an appearance.

Platt had always been rather a worry. Even at school he had had a bad reputation. But his mother was Jefferson’s sister-in-law. She was also a widow, and in very poor circumstances, and Jefferson, at his wife’s earnest plea and against his own better judgment, had taken the boy into the business. Platt had not done well. He had not done badly enough to sack, but not well enough to promote. There had, however, been a period in which Jefferson felt that he would have to sack him. The wretched youth had begun gambling at cards and had got badly into debt. But because of his wife and for the sake of the family Jefferson hadn’t sacked him. Instead he had paid up. Platt had had a lesson and so far as Jefferson knew there had been no more high play. And now he had been given this important job, and here he was, disappointing again.

The strange thing was that the man had real ability. He was a thundering good chemist and as clever and ingenious as they are made. But so far his cleverness had not been put to the uses which Jefferson would have liked. He would invent a new method of doing something, if thereby he were saved trouble: but he would make no similar effort for the benefit of the firm.

Jefferson had nothing to reproach himself with in his treatment of the young man. He had offered him a home—again to please his wife and against his own desires. To Jefferson’s secret satisfaction Platt had refused the offer. Not offensively, it was true: he had seemed really to appreciate the kindness and had spoken nicely about it, but he had obviously preferred the freedom of lodgings in Bristol. He was extraordinarily secretive: Jefferson never knew what he did in his free time or who were his friends. Jefferson’s efforts to befriend him were always defeated by the man himself. Jefferson felt he could do no more, that—

His reverie was cut short by his telephone buzzer and Miss Beecher’s voice, ‘You’re through now, Mr Jefferson.’

‘The manager of the Liverpool office of the Belfast Steamship Company speaking,’ came another voice. ‘Is that Mr Phillip Jefferson?’

‘Speaking,’ Jefferson returned.

‘I want to ask you if a Mr Reginald Platt is connected with your firm, and if he was crossing here from Belfast on Saturday night?’

‘Yes, to both questions.’

‘Might I ask if Mr Platt has returned to his home?’

‘Not that I know of. He was expected here in the office this morning, but he hasn’t turned up.’

‘Then, Mr Jefferson, I’m afraid I have bad news for you. Mr Platt came on board our steamer at Belfast on Saturday night, but he was not seen at Liverpool.’

‘Not seen?’

‘No sir, I greatly regret to inform you that he is missing. In due course his cabin was opened and his luggage was found there, but there was no trace of himself. From examining the luggage we found your firm’s address.’

This was wholly unexpected news. Jefferson was upset. Surely nothing serious could have happened to Platt?

But his surmisings were cut short by the manager’s voice. ‘We tried to get in touch with you yesterday, but were unable.’

‘I was from home for the weekend and the house was closed.’

‘That explains it. I’m sorry to say that we fear an accident and in duty bound we have informed the police.’

The police!

‘What exactly do you fear,’ Jefferson asked in a somewhat altered voice.

The manager seemed to hesitate. ‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘in such cases there must be the obvious fear that through some accident he has fallen overboard.’

‘Good God!’

‘I wondered if you would be good enough to communicate with his people,’ went on the voice. ‘We couldn’t find any reference to relatives in his papers. I would suggest that perhaps some of his relatives would care to come to Liverpool and see what is being done.’

‘He’s a connection of my own. His mother is my sister-in-law. I’ll probably go myself. I’ll let you know later.’

The manager murmured regrets. He would be glad to see Jefferson and meanwhile everything possible would be done.

As Jefferson replaced the receiver, he felt slightly stunned. Platt, whom he had been expecting to walk into the office any moment, whom he was intending to call over the coals for being late, Platt perhaps was dead! Dreadful!

If the news were true his wife and her sister would take it hard. Not though either of them had seen so much of the young man in the recent past. Still he was nephew to one and son to the other. If he were dead his faults would be forgotten, his good points remembered. And rightly so.

Jefferson reached for a Bradshaw. He would go to Liverpool. Even if he had not wished to do so for his own peace of mind, he would have had to for the sake of his wife and sister-in-law. He wondered if his sister-in-law would want to go too. Far better for her not to, if only she would be satisfied to remain at home. She lived at Gloucester and if necessary he could pick her up on his way.

Then he thought the best thing to do would be to tell his wife at once and let her go to Gloucester and stay with her sister. He would go to Liverpool and keep them advised by telephone of what was being done. Mrs Platt was not on the telephone, but his wife could stay at an hotel and so remain within call. By letting his wife break the news it would be easier for Margery Platt, and the question of her going to Liverpool would not arise.

As these thoughts passed through his mind, he was turning over the pages of Bradshaw. There was a train from Bristol at twelve-twenty, which got in at five twenty-three. That would suit. He rang for Miss Beecher and Lewis, his assistant manager.

‘I’ve had rather disturbing news,’ he said when they appeared, and he repeated what the steamship company’s manager had said. ‘I’m afraid I shall have to go to Liverpool at once. Will you just carry on. I think you’d better put off that shopmen’s deputation, but you can handle everything else.’

Both were obviously thrilled, but though they expressed a dutiful sympathy, he could see that neither had cared for Platt. They were interested in the dramatic side of the affair, not in the man’s possible fate.

‘Well,’ said Jefferson, ‘I’ll be off. I want to go home and tell my wife before getting the train.’

He broke the news to Mrs Jefferson and then drove on to Platt’s rooms and saw the man’s landlady. But Mrs Russell could tell him nothing. Platt had sent her a card from Ireland saying that he expected to be back on Sunday night, but he hadn’t turned up. She could not think what had kept him.

After sending wires to the steamship company’s manager in Liverpool and to Mrs Platt, Jefferson and his wife left Bristol. At Gloucester Mrs Jefferson got out and Jefferson went on alone.

He scarcely realised it himself, but he had come to believe that Platt was dead. Though he did not see how on a calm night anyone could fall overboard from a cross Channel boat unknown to others on board, he supposed that in some way the accident had happened. The only other alternative, suicide, was unthinkable. Platt had no motive. Though perhaps not a favourite at the works, he had a comfortable enough billet there and was decently treated. The man had quite a good time, and excellent prospects, if only he would make an effort to embrace his good fortune.

All the same Jefferson began to wonder whether he himself had been at all lacking in his duty towards his nephew by marriage. The youth had been irritating enough at times, and Jefferson had never hidden his opinion of him. On the other hand he had treated him better than would most employers. No he could not see that he had been in any way to blame. If he had come short in what he might have done, it was because Platt himself was too secretive and distant in his manner to permit of anything else.

In due course Jefferson reached Liverpool and a few minutes later was shown into the manager’s office. Mr M‘Kinstry was a tall raw-boned Ulsterman whose manner was forceful and direct, but behind whose shrewd expression a real kindliness peeped out. He wrung Jefferson’s hand in a powerful grip and asked him to be seated.

‘I was sorry for having to send you bad news, Mr Jefferson,’ he began, ‘but you were the only person whose name we could find. But we didn’t know then that you were a relative of Mr Platt’s. The letter we found was from you as head of the firm, not as his—uncle, I think you said?’

‘Uncle by marriage.’

‘Uncle by marriage, is it? Well I’ll tell you just what we know and then you’ll be able to judge the position.’

‘Thank you; I wish you would.’

‘Mr Platt left Belfast on Saturday night by our motor ship Ulster Sovereign. He was travelling on the return half of a third on rail and first on boat ticket. The purser records the numbers of all through tickets, so that our company may get its share of the fare. There was one for Bristol, and this may have been Mr Platt’s. Mr Platt had written two days before to our Belfast office to reserve a single berth cabin for the Saturday. There was an excess on this, which he paid to the purser.

‘In accordance with our custom Mr Platt was given the number of his cabin and he showed his ticket and berth card to his cabin steward. The steward remembers him well and says Mr Platt told him he did not require any tea in the morning, or to be specially called.’

Jefferson nodded.

‘The check of our passengers,’ continued Mr M‘Kinstry, ‘is not like that on the Southern lines to France. We make it on embarkation: that is, no one can go on board our ships without a ticket. There is no absolute check of travellers leaving the ship. At the same time, as you can guess,’ a certain dryness crept into the manager’s tones, ‘it is usual for the cabin stewards to see those whom they have attended before they go ashore.

‘Now when the boat berthed at Liverpool there was the usual watch over the passengers. Mr Platt was not seen. When it was nearly time for the bus to leave for the stations his cabin steward went to his cabin to remind him of the time. Mr Platt was not there. His berth had not been slept in. But his luggage was there, unpacked.’

‘You surprise me. His berth had not been slept in?’

‘No, and I’m afraid that’s one of the worst features of the affair. If he wasn’t in his berth during the night, where was he? I mean he’d certainly have been seen about the ship—if he had been on board. But no one saw him.’

‘Could he have gone ashore at Belfast for some reason and been left behind?’

‘I’m afraid not. As I said, a careful check on the passengers is made at Belfast. The man who was on the job has been questioned, and he states positively that every-one who went aboard the ship with a through ticket sailed.’

Jefferson nodded. The more he heard of the story, the worse it looked.

‘It is of course possible, though unlikely, that he reached Liverpool and went ashore unnoticed. As I’ve said, there’s not the same systematic check on disembarking. But in this case his berth surely would have been slept in, and his luggage would have disappeared.’

‘It would seem so,’ Jefferson answered unwillingly. ‘Well, then, what did you do?’

‘The cabin steward reported to the purser and a search was made of the ship. Then the captain was informed and a more complete search was made. At last I heard of it. They rang me up at my home. I came up and had a chat with the men, and decided I must inform the police. An inspector was sent over and he searched Mr Platt’s luggage and found a letter to him on your firm’s paper and signed by you. We then tried to get in touch with you, but failed till this morning.’

‘I know. We were away and the servants had gone home. And that’s all that is known?’

‘That’s all, I’m afraid. The thing was kept out of the papers this morning, but it’ll be in the evening ones.’

For some time Jefferson continued discussing the the affair, but without learning anything fresh. If Platt had not gone ashore in Belfast and been left behind—and it was difficult to see either why he should have done so, or if he had, why he should not have wired the fact—it looked increasingly like as if in some unknown and mysterious way he had fallen overboard shortly after the start. But how such an accident could occur was very far from clear.

‘I think I’ll go to the police station and hear what they have to say,’ Jefferson decided, which course M‘Kinstry warmly advocated.

But when a few minutes later he was sitting in the superintendent’s office he soon found that the officer’s object was to obtain information, not to impart it. Superintendent Shepherd was extremely polite, but as close as a clam. They were looking into the matter, yes, but unfortunately they had as yet nothing to report. Mr Jefferson might rest assured that every possible step would be taken to clear the affair up, but so far there had not been time to ascertain all the facts.

But in the meantime Mr Jefferson could help their efforts by answering a few questions. He, the superintendent, presumed that Mr Jefferson would have no objection to that?

Mr Jefferson, on the contrary, was only too anxious to assist.

Then would Mr Jefferson please tell him—and an interrogation of extraordinary completeness followed. Who was Platt? What relation was he to Jefferson? What was his history? Was he a member of the firm? What position did he hold? First came questions whose answers gave a sort of general Who’s Who of all concerned.

Then followed others on more special points, and some of these Jefferson found extremely suggestive. Was Platt addicted to strong drink, or drugs? Was he happy in his life? Was he in any difficulties? Any financial tightness? Any betting or gambling? Any entanglement with a girl? Any unpleasantness at the works? Any unpopularity? What was behind the questions was pretty obvious.

Superintendent Shepherd then turned to Platt’s mission to Ireland. What had he gone for? Jefferson gave him the outlines of the petrol affair, which seemed to interest him a good deal. It was a secret process and might be valuable? Immensely valuable, if genuine? Quite. And Mr Platt thought it was genuine? Quite.

The superintendent thought over this for some moments, then asked if Platt had a note of the process on him. Jefferson thought not. He wasn’t sure? Jefferson wasn’t sure, but suggested that if they rang up the people in Ireland they would tell them. The superintendent nodded and said he would do so. The interview seemed to be drawing to an end.

‘Tell me,’ Jefferson said, as Shepherd indicated that he had got all he required, ‘what do you think about the thing? You must have a lot of experience of cases of this kind and I should like to know whether—whether you think the young man is alive or dead?’

But Jefferson might have saved himself the trouble of asking. Shepherd was not going to commit himself. He said there was scarcely sufficient evidence as yet to come to a conclusion on the matter. It certainly looked as if Platt might have fallen overboard in some way shortly after leaving Belfast, but this was by no means proved and it would be very unwise to make any assumption on the subject. Jefferson should wait till they made some further inquiries, the result of which would be immediately conveyed to him.

‘I’ll wait till you have an answer from Ireland at all events,’ Jefferson replied, to which the superintendent agreed without enthusiasm.

From his hotel Jefferson rang up his wife saying that while there was no evidence of what had taken place, things did not look well. He was waiting over till the next day and would ring up again.

On the following morning he presented himself once again at police headquarters. Superintendent Shepherd saw him again and was slightly more communicative.

They had made inquiries, he said, through the police of Northern Ireland. An officer had gone down to Hillsborough and seen the Mr Ferris whom Jefferson had mentioned. He, Ferris, had stated that Platt had with him detailed proposals for an agreement between the Hillsborough party and Messrs Wrenn Jefferson. He had also superficial notes of the production of the inert petrol, but Ferris was satified he had none of the actual details of the process.

‘There’s not a great deal of help there,’ Shepherd remarked. ‘It may be difficult to get evidence of just what has happened. We shall continue to make inquiries and if and when we learn anything, we shall let you know.’

Shepherd stood up and his manner indicated polite dismissal so strongly that Jefferson could do no other than to take his leave.

Greatly worried about the whole affair, he took the next train back to Bristol.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.