Death in the Tunnel (7 page)

The train roared past them, and it was a minute or two before the reek which it left in its wake cleared sufficiently to allow anything to be seen. And then, between the rails of the down line, Merrion saw something glittering. Arnold went forward and picked it up. It was a curved fragment of thin red glass.

This find led to others of a similar nature. As they advanced, step by step, other fragments of glass appeared in the light of their torches. Each of these they picked up, to find that some were red and others green. It was left to Merrion to make the final discovery. Close to the side of the tunnel, and lying on the ground three or four yards apart, he found two brass electric lamp-holders, badly dented and with the porcelain interiors smashed to atoms, but each with a few inches of flexible cord still attached to it. From their comparative cleanliness it was easy to see that they had not lain in the tunnel for very long.

“Well, that settles it,” said Arnold. “There are the lights that Prentice and Haynes saw, or rather the remains of them.” He turned to the ganger. “How do you account for these? Do your men use red and green electric lights when they are working in here?”

The ganger shook his head. “Not that kind, anyhow,” he replied. “The only way they can have got here is for somebody to have dropped them from a train. You'd be surprised if you could see some of the things that passengers do drop in tunnels.”

“I dare say they drop all kinds of queer things,” said Arnold. “But, all the same, I don't believe that these were dropped from a train. I believe they were brought in here by somebody, and thrown down when he had finished with them.”

“Well, sir, you must have it your own way, I suppose,” replied the ganger, quite unconvinced. “We'd best be moving along. Perhaps one of you gentlemen will find the chap you're after still hiding in one of the refuges.”

They paid no attention to this sarcastic observation, but resumed their march in silence. But, in spite of redoubled watchfulness, they found no more. At last, a faint glimmer of daylight indicated the southern end of the tunnel. Before very long they were once more in the open air.

Merrion drew several deep breaths, cleansing his lungs of the fumes he had inhaled. “My word!” he exclaimed. “That confounded tunnel must be as near an approach to hell as human ingenuity can devise. My classics are getting a bit rusty, but wasn't it Hercules who went down into the infernal regions to rescue his pal's wife? Alcestis, that was the girl's name! I never realised before what a plucky chap he must have been. A dozen distressed damsels wouldn't tempt me into that tunnel again. And here's the other signal-box we heard about, I suppose?”

Conditions at the southern end of the tunnel were very similar to those at the northern end. A deep cutting, with vertical walls, and a signal-box commanding the entrance. Here, too, the signalman was positive that nobody could enter or leave the tunnel unobserved.

Arnold looked at his watch. It had taken them nearly two hours to traverse the two and a half miles of the tunnel.

VII

The ganger, to whom tunnels were all part of the day's work, went back to Blackdown by the way he had come. Arnold and Merrion, however, preferred a less hazardous, if longer, route. They made their way across the fields to a neighbouring main road, where they caught a bus. They were back at Scotland Yard shortly after six o'clock.

Arnold laid upon the table the fragments which they had collected in the tunnel, and together they examined them. From their shape, it was easy to see that the bits of coloured glass were all that remained of two electric light bulbs, one red and the other green. The lamp-holders were of the ordinary type, and the flexible cord likewise. There was nothing distinctive about these.

“So there was a man in the tunnel, after all,” said Arnold at last. “I can't imagine, after what we've seen this afternoon, how he got there. It's ridiculous to suppose that he bribed the signalmen not to see him. He had those two lamps with him, and he switched on the red one first, then, when the train had slowed down sufficiently, he switched on the green. He wouldn't want the train to come to a stop, for then investigations would have been made by the train-staff. He would have been found, and made to give some explanation of what he was up to.”

Merrion nodded. “Those lamps prove that Prentice and Haynes are speaking the truth. If they were unshaded, they would show a light all round, instead of in one direction only, as a lantern does. And a powerful electric lamp, such as these appear to have been, would be visible a lot farther than an ordinary railway lantern. As a guess, after seeing the conditions in that infernal tunnel, I should think that to be seen at a distance of half a mile, the lamps must have been of at least a hundred candle-power each. And that raises an even bigger problem than how the chap got into the tunnel.”

“Well, let's have it,” said Arnold. “One problem more or less won't make much difference.”

“Here you are, then. Electric lamps don't produce light of themselves. They have to be supplied with current. Where did the chap get his current from? There's no electric supply main running through the tunnel, you know.”

“I'm well aware of that. The man carried a battery with him, of course. Just as we carry batteries in our torches.”

Merrion shook his head. “The lamps in our torches aren't a hundred candle-power, or anything like it. Being quite small, they take very little current, and a small battery is enough to supply it. But to supply current for these lamps nothing lighter than a fair-sized motor-car battery would do. Have you ever tried carrying one of them about? They're devilish heavy, I can tell you. It would be a terrific feat to carry one into the middle of the tunnel and out again.

“Yet, by using ordinary household bulbs, this man deliberately saddled himself with the necessity for such a battery. Why did he use that kind of lamp? A couple of large-sized torches, or even one, with a movable red and green screen fitted to it, would have done just as well. By means of a lens and reflector a torch is made to give as much light as one of these lamps. But this is done by concentrating the light in one direction only. The only possible reason for using ordinary lamps, with their much greater expenditure of current, would be to obtain the advantage of the light showing all round. But, in heaven's name, why should this chap have wanted that?”

“I haven't the least idea,” Arnold replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Your imagination is leading you away from the point. What reason the chap may have had for using lamps instead of torches can't possibly matter. Here are the lamps, or what's left of them. That's sufficient proof to me that the chap used them, and that he had with him a source of current from which to light them up. And when he'd done with them, he chucked them aside in the tunnel. So much is plain enough.”

Merrion picked up the bits of flexible cord and examined them intently. “Our friend's proceedings strike me as bordering on the insane,” he said. “He burdens himself with a cumbrous battery, when a far lighter torch would have served him equally well. When he has finished with his apparatus, he throws away the lightest part, and keeps the heaviest. For he certainly didn't leave the battery in the tunnel, or we should have found it. And he doesn't just disconnect his flexible. He breaks it violently, as you can see for yourself if you look at it.”

“I'm not interested in details like that,” said Arnold impatiently. “Do look at the matter sensibly, there's a good chap. We know now that Prentice and Haynes weren't imagining things when they saw those lights. Therefore a man had entered the tunnel with the definite object of slowing down the train. Why should he want to slow down the train? Tell me that.”

“So that he could board it, I suppose,” Merrion replied. “Look here, Arnold, have you ever climbed into an English railway carriage when it wasn't standing at a platform?”

“Yes, I climbed into that first-class coach when it was standing in the siding at Stourford yesterday morning.”

“Would you have liked to have done so with a battery weighing at least fifty pounds slung round your neck, and the coach moving?”

“Oh, damn the battery!” Arnold exclaimed. “This chap did it, anyhow. You admit that his only possible reason for slowing down the train was that he could board it. What did he board it for? To get a free ride to Stourford?”

“You think that finding these lamps in the tunnel is sufficient evidence that Saxonby was murdered?”

“No, I don't. By themselves, the lamps are evidence that the driver and fireman were speaking the truth, and no more. But the fact that the train was deliberately slowed down by some unauthorised person considerably strengthens the possibility of murder. We can say now that we have reason to believe that some one got on to the train in the tunnel. We have to find that person, and discover whether he knows anything about Sir Wilfred's death.”

“That's very clearly put,” said Merrion approvingly. “But, you know, all the difficulties which we discussed yesterday still remain. How did the man know that Saxonby was alone, or which compartment he occupied? For he must have entered the train by that particular compartment. You see why. All the others were occupied, and his sudden entry into any of them from the tunnel would have caused at least a mild surprise. Then, what became of him? You'll have to interview those twenty-four first-class passengers, I'm afraid.”

“Marden, down at Stourford, is rounding them up for me. They all live round about there, as it happens. I shall have to go down and see him to-morrow, and hear what he's done. Care to come?”

Merrion agreed, readily enough. The problem fascinated him, since every possible solution presented apparently insuperable difficulties. He had seen for himself the impossibility of entering or leaving the tunnel unobserved. Yet somebody must have entered it, or how could the presence of the lamps be explained? That they had been casually thrown from a passing train was too fantastic a theory to be entertained for a moment.

And how had the man left the tunnel? In the train, or on foot? The former seemed most likely. He had taken Saxonby's ticket, and hid in the lavatory till the train got to Stourford. That was it, undoubtedly. As for the battery, he must have thrown it out of the window, somewhere between the tunnel and Stourford. Since nobody had been allowed to get out of the coach without giving a name and address, it ought to be possible to trace him.

Merrion laid this reasoning before Arnold on their way to Stourford next morning. The inspector saw the force of it, and it was evidently in his mind when they met Marden at the police station. For his first question was, “Have you traced all those twenty-four passengers, Mr. Marden?”

“Every one of them,” Marden replied. “It wasn't difficult for they are all local people, and there's nothing in any way suspicious about any of them.”

“Yes, but are you quite sure that they all got into the train at Cannon Street? That's the point.”

“As sure as any one can be. They have all given accounts of their movements, which can be checked. But the curious thing is that there ought to be twenty-five of them, instead of twenty-four.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Marden?” Arnold asked eagerly.

“Why, so far as I can make out, there was one passenger who got on to the train at Cannon Street who wasn't in the coach when it reached here. I expect you'll like to hear the story at first hand. If so, I'll take you to see a couple of ladies who live close here. Mrs. Clutsam a widow, and her daughter.”

Marden took them to a fine old house on the outskirts of the town, and introduced them to Mrs. Clutsam. She was quite ready to repeat her story, and called her daughter to support her.

“We had been up to London for the day to do some shopping,” she said. “Now that they've reduced the price of day tickets, we always travel first. It's so much more comfortable, and it isn't a very great extravagance. We got to Cannon Street about ten minutes to five, and looked for seats in the train. We never go in smoking carriages if we can help it, for they always seem more crowded. And we found a non-smoker, with only one old gentleman in it.

“He was sitting in the corner seat next to the corridor, facing the engine, and he had put a newspaper in the opposite seat. He kept looking out on to the platform, and then at his watch. He was obviously expecting somebody, we could see that. He got very perturbed as the time came for the train to start, but nobody came. And when the train began to move, we heard him mutter, ‘Dear, dear, she's missed it again!' Didn't we, Betty?”

“Yes, we certainly did,” replied Miss Clutsam. “The poor old boy seemed very much annoyed, or disappointed, perhaps. But after a minute or two he took his paper from the opposite seat, and began to read it.”

“He read it for quite a long time,” her mother chimed in. “I noticed that he seemed very nearsighted, for he held it close to his eyes. Then, after a while, he took out a cigarette-case, chose a cigarette, and was just going to light it when he remembered that he was in a non-smoker. He held the unlighted cigarette and looked at it in such a funny way that I couldn't help laughing. And then I said to him, ‘Please light your cigarette. We don't mind a bit.' Didn't I, Betty?”

“I don't think he liked being laughed at,” replied Miss Clutsam. “He mentioned something about not thinking of inconveniencing us, and that he could easily find a seat in a smoking carriage. And with that he got up and tottered off.”

“We were passing through a station at the time. Blackdown, I think it must have been. And we never saw him again.”

“I wonder if you could describe him, Mrs. Clutsam?” Arnold asked.

“Oh, I should think he must have been about seventy. He was wearing a heavy dark brown overcoat, and he had a short grey beard. I couldn't see much of his face, for he held the paper so close to it. But it seemed to me very much wrinkled.”

“He had a hooked nose, and reminded me of a parrot,” said Miss Clutsam.

“He stooped as he walked, and seemed very tottery on his legs. I told mother that it was a shame to have laughed at him, since it had driven him out of the carriage.”

Neither of the ladies could add anything to this. The two inspectors and Merrion left the house and returned to the police-station. “Now, I'll carry on the story,” said Marden. “As soon as I heard about this old man with the short grey beard, I went round the rest of the passengers again. None of them had seen him. Neither he nor anybody else had entered any of the compartments after the train had left Cannon Street. No stranger, I mean. Three or four of the passengers had left their seats to go to the lavatory, but they had all returned to them.

“Then I went to the railway station, and questioned our friend Cutbush and his merry men. Cutbush is perfectly certain that nobody answering to that description was in the coach when it arrived here. Being thorough by nature, he had ascertained that there was nobody in either of the lavatories. The ticket-collector is equally certain that the old man with the short grey beard did not pass the barrier. Having been here for many years, he knew nearly all the passengers by sight, and he is quite certain that this man was not among them. Now, what about it?”

Arnold shook his head. “It beats me,” he replied. “It seems to me that very remarkable things happen on this line of yours. I'll tell you what Mr. Merrion and I found yesterday.”

Marden listened with interest. “So there was a man in Blackdown Tunnel, after all!” he exclaimed. “That's two men we've got to look for, now. But where can the old chap with the beard have got to? He can't have got out of the train when it slowed down in the tunnel, surely? You heard what Miss Clutsam said about his being tottery.”

“I shouldn't wonder if that, and the beard, and the wrinkles and all were put on,” Arnold replied. “This business will take years from my life. It's impossible for anybody to get in or out of that tunnel without being seen. Yet, on Thursday evening, people seem to have gone in and out at their own sweet will. From what I can make out one must have gone in, and two came out. But how? Merrion, your imagination has never been known to fail. Tell me how?”

But Merrion shook his head. “I wish I could,” he replied. “Unless they had the cloak of the fairy stories, which made them invisible. But I think we should be pretty safe in assuming now that these extraordinary happenings had some connection with Saxonby's death.”

“Meaning that Sir Wilfred was murdered by the man with the beard?” said Arnold. “Well, we've got to try and find the chap, I suppose. But it won't be any too easy. He was obviously disguised, and we haven't the slightest idea what the real man looks like.

“What do we know about him? Precious little. He got into the five o'clock from Cannon Street on Thursday. That job about expecting some one to join him was rather neat. It gave him the chance of watching for Sir Wilfred, and seeing which compartment he got into. Just before the train reached the tunnel, he left his own compartment, and walked along the corridor. We must suppose he entered Sir Wilfred's compartment, and if so he must have had a railway key. He shot him, and put the pistol under the seat where it was certain to be found. Then, when the train had slowed down sufficiently, he dropped off it. We've got to work on that theory, I think. By the way, how did the inquest go off yesterday, Mr. Marden?”