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- Author: Freeman Wills Crofts
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“I say,” Hilliard remarked when later on that same evening they sat in his rooms discussing their plans, “I believe we can find out about the Girondin now. My neighbor on the next landing above is a shipping man. He might have a copy of Lloyd's Register. I shall go and ask him.”
In a few moments he returned with a bulky volume. “One of the wonders of the world, this, I always think,” he said, as he began to turn over the pages. “It gives, or is supposed to give, information about everything over a hundred tons that floats anywhere over the entire globe. It'll give the Girondin anyway.” He ran his finger down the columns. “Ah! what's this? Motor ship Girondin, 350 tons, built and so on. 'The Landes Pit-Prop Syndicate, Ferriby, Hull.' Hull, my son. There we are.”
“Hull! I know Hull,” Merriman remarked laconically. “At least, I was there once.”
“We shall know it a jolly sight better than that before we're through, it seems to me,” his friend replied. “Let's hope so, anyway.”
“What's the plan, then? I'm on, provided I have a good sleep at home tonight first.”
“Same here,” Hilliard agreed as he filled his pipe. “I suppose Hull by an early train tomorrow is the scheme.”
Merriman borrowed his friend's pouch and refilled his pipe in his turn.
“You think so?” he said slowly. “Well, I'm not so sure. Seems to me we can very easily dish ourselves if we're not careful.”
“How so?”
“We agreed these folk were wide-awake and suspicious of us. Very well. Directly our visit to them is over, we change our plans and leave Bordeaux. Will it not strike them that our interest in the trip was only on their account?”
“I don't see it. We gave a good reason for leaving.”
“Quite; that's what I'm coming to. We told them you were recalled to your office. But what about that man Morton, that was to spy on us before? What's to prevent them asking him if you really have returned?”
Hilliard sat up sharply.
“By Jove!” he cried. “I never thought of that.”
“And there's another thing,” Merriman went on. “We turn up at Hull, find the syndicate's depot and hang about, the fellow in charge there sees us. Well, that's all right if he hasn't had a letter from France describing us and enclosing a copy of that group that Captain Beamish took at the chateau.”
Hilliard whistled.
“Lord! It's not going to be so simple as it looks, is it?”
“It isn't. And what's more, we can't afford to make any mistakes. It's too dangerous.”
Hilliard got up and began to pace the room.
“I don't care,” he declared savagely. “I'm going through with it now no matter what happens.”
“Oh, so am I, for the matter of that. All I say is we shall have to show a bit more intelligence this time.”
For an hour more they discussed the matter, and at last decided on a plan. On the following morning Hilliard was to go to his office, see his chief and ask for an extension of leave, then hang about and interview as many of his colleagues as possible, telling them he had been recalled, but was not now required. His chief was not very approachable, and Hilliard felt sure the subject would not be broached to him. In the evening they would go down to Hull.
This program they would have carried out, but for an unforeseen event. While Hilliard was visiting his office Merriman took the opportunity to call at his, and there learned that Edwards, his partner, had been taken ill the morning before. It appeared there was nothing seriously wrong, and Edwards expected to be back at work in three or four days, but until his return Merriman was required, and he had reluctantly to telephone the news to Hilliard. But no part of their combined holiday was lost. Hilliard by a stroke of unexpected good fortune was able to spend the same time at work, and postpone the remainder of his leave until Merriman was free. Thus it came to pass that it was not until six days later than they had intended that the two friends packed their bags for Hull.
They left King's Cross by the 5.40 p.m. train, reaching their destination a little before eleven. There they took rooms at the George, a quiet hotel in Baker Street, close to the Paragon Station.
CHAPTER 7. THE FERRIBY DEPOT
The two friends, eager and excited by their adventure, were early astir next morning, and after breakfast Hilliard went out and bought the best map of the city and district he could find.
“Why, Ferriby's not in the town at all,” he exclaimed after he had studied it for some moments. “It's up the river—must be seven or eight miles up by the look of it; the North-Eastern runs through it and there's a station. We'd better go out there and prospect.”
Merriman agreed, they called for a timetable, found there was a train at 10.35, and going down to Paragon Station, got on board.
After clearing the suburbs the line came down close to the river, and the two friends kept a good look-out for the depot. About four and a half miles out they stopped at a station called Hassle, then a couple of miles farther their perseverance was rewarded and they saw a small pier and shed, the latter bearing in large letters on its roof the name of the syndicate. Another mile and a half brought them to Ferriby, where they alighted.
“Now what about walking back to Hassle,” Hilliard suggested, “and seeing what we can see?”
They followed the station approach road inland until they reached the main thoroughfare, along which they turned eastwards in the direction of Hull. In a few minutes they came in sight of the depot, half a mile off across the fields. A lane led towards it, and this they followed until it reached the railway.
Ferriby to Main Road
* Fields * * * * *
* *
* *_*|
* * [-]Ackroyd & Holt's
* cottage |
* Lane * | |
Railway * * * * * * * * * * * * * | | to Hull
#################################################################
from Ferriby [ ]Syndicate's Depot ()signal box
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~to the sea~~~
River Humber
There it turned in the direction of Hull and ran parallel to the line for a short distance, doubling back, as they learned afterwards, until it reached the main road half-way to Hassle. The railway tracks were on a low bank, and the men could just see across them to the syndicate's headquarters.
The view was not very good, but so far as they could make out, the depot was a replica of that in the Landes clearing. A timber wharf jutted out into the stream, apparently of the same size and construction as that on the River Lesque. Behind it was the same kind of galvanized iron shed, but this one, besides having windows in the gables, seemed the smaller of the two. Its back was only about a hundred feet from the railway, and the space between was taken up by a yard surrounded by a high galvanized iron fence, above which appeared the tops of many stacks of pit-props. Into the yard ran a siding from the railway. From a door in the fence a path led across the line to a wicket in the hedge of the lane, beside which stood a “Beware of the Trains” notice. There was no sign of activity about the place, and the gates through which the siding entered the enclosure were shut.
Hilliard stopped and stood looking over.
“How the mischief are we to get near that place without being seen?” he questioned. “It's like a German pill-box. There's no cover anywhere about.”
It was true. The country immediately surrounding the depot was singularly bare. It was flat except for the low bank, four or five feet high, on which lay the railway tracks. There were clumps of trees farther inland, but none along the shore, and the nearest building, a large block like a factory with beside it a cottage, was at least three hundred yards away in the Hull direction.
“Seems an element of design in that, eh, Hilliard?” Merriman remarked as they turned to continue their walk. “Considering the populous country we're in, you could hardly find a more isolated place.”
Hilliard nodded as they turned away.
“I've just been thinking that. They could carry on any tricks they liked there and no one would be a bit the wiser.”
They moved on towards the factory-like building. It was on the inland side of the railway, and the lane swung away from the line and passed what was evidently its frontage. A siding ran into its rear, and there were connections across the main lines and a signal cabin in the distance. A few yards on the nearer side stood the cottage, which they now saw was empty and dilapidated.
“I say, Hilliard, look there!” cried Merriman suddenly.
They had passed along the lane until the facade of the building had come into view and they were able to read its signboard: “Ackroyd & Bolt, Licensed Rectifiers.”
“I thought it looked like a distillery,” continued Merriman in considerable excitement. “By Jove! Hilliard, that's a find and no mistake! Pretty suggestive, that, isn't it?”
Hilliard was not so enthusiastic.
“I'm not so sure,” he said slowly. “You mean that it supports my brandy smuggling theory? Just how?”
“Well, what do you think yourself? We suspect brandy smuggling, and here we find at the import end of the concern the nearest building in an isolated region is a distillery—a rectifying house, mind you! Isn't that a matter of design too? How better could they dispose of their stuff than by dumping it on to rectifiers?”
“You distinguish between distillers and rectifiers?”
“Certainly; there's less check on rectifiers. Am I not right in saying that while the regulations for the measurement of spirit actually produced from the stills are so thorough as to make fraud almost impossible, rectifiers, because they don't themselves produce spirit, but merely refine what other firms have produced, are not so strictly looked after? Rectifiers would surely find smuggled stuff easier to dispose of than distillers.”
Hilliard shook his head.
“Perhaps so, theoretically,” he admitted, “but in practice there's nothing in it. Neither could work a fraud like that, for both are watched far too closely by our people. I'm afraid I don't see that this place being here helps us. Surely it's reasonable to suppose that the same cause brought Messrs. Ackroyd & Bolt that attracted the syndicate? Just that it's a good site. Where in the district could you get a better? Cheap ground and plenty of it, and steamer and rail connections.”
“It's a coincidence anyway.”
“I don't see it. In any case unless we can prove that the ship brings brandy the question doesn't arise.”
Merriman shrugged his shoulders good-humoredly.
“That's a blow,” he remarked. “And I was so sure I had got hold of something good! But it just leads us back to the question that somehow or other we must inspect that depot, and if we find nothing we must watch the Girondin unloading. If we can only get near enough it would be impossible for them to discharge anything in bulk without our seeing it.”
Hilliard murmured an agreement, and the two men strolled on in silence, the thoughts of each busy with the problem Merriman had set. Both were realizing that detective work was a very much more difficult business than they had imagined. Had not each had a strong motive for continuing the investigation, it is possible they might have grown fainthearted. But Hilliard had
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