The Pit Prop Syndicate Part 18

"Now you have a cargo of about seven thousand props. Suppose you a.s.sume one per cent of them are faked, that would be seventy. We don't know how many they have, of course, but one out of every hundred is surely a conservative figure. Seventy props means 2,800 pounds profit per trip.

And they have a trip every ten days--say thirty trips a year to be on the safe side--84,000 pounds a year profit! My eyes, Merriman, it would be worth running some risks for 84,000 a year!"

"Risks?" cried Merriman, now as much excited as his friend. "They'd risk h.e.l.l for it! I bet, Hilliard, you've got it at last. 84,000 pounds a year! But look here,"--his voice changed--"you have to divide it among the members."

"That's true, you have," Hilliard admitted, "but even so--how many are there? Beamish, Bulla, Coburn, Henri, the manager here, and the two men they spoke of, Morton and Archer--that makes seven. That would give them 12,000 a year each. It's still jolly well worth while."

"Worth while? I should just say so." Merriman lay silently pondering the idea. Presently he spoke again.

"Of course those figures of yours are only guesswork."

"They're only guesswork," Hilliard agreed with a trace of impatience in his manner, "because we don't know the size of the tubes and the number of the props, but it's not guesswork that they can make a fortune out of smuggling in that way. We see now that the thing can be done, and how it can be done. That's something gained anyway."

Merriman nodded and sat up in bed.

"Hand me my pipe and baccy out of that coat pocket like a good man," he asked, continuing slowly:

"It'll be some job, I fancy, proving it. We shall have to see first if the props are emptied at that depot, and if not we shall have to find out where they're sent, and investigate. I seem to see a pretty long program opening out. Have you any plans?"

"Not a plan," Hilliard declared cheerfully. "No time to make 'em yet.

But we shall find a way somehow."

They went on discussing the matter in more detail. At first the testing of Hilliard's new theory appeared a simple matter, but the more they thought it over the more difficult it seemed to become. For one thing there would be the investigations at the depot. Whatever unloading of the brandy was carried on there would probably be done inside the shed and at night. It would therefore be necessary to find some hiding place within the building from which the investigations could be made. This alone was an undertaking bristling with difficulties. In the first place, all the doors of the shed were locked and none of them opened without noise. How were they without keys to open the doors in the dark, silently and without leaving traces? Observations might be required during the entire ten-day cycle, and that would mean that at some time each night one of these doors would have to be opened and shut to allow the watcher to be relieved. And if the emptying of the props were done at night how were they to ensure that this operation should not coincide with the visit of the relief? And this was all presupposing that a suitable hiding place could be found inside the building in such a position that from it the operations in question could be overlooked.

Here no doubt were pretty serious obstacles, but even were they all successfully overcome it did not follow that they would have solved the problem. The faked props might be loaded up and forwarded to some other depot, and, if so, this other depot might be by no means easy to find.

Further, if it were found, nocturnal observation of what went on within would then become necessary.

It seemed to the friends that all they had done up to the present would be the merest child's play in comparison to what was now required.

During the whole of that day and the next they brooded over the problem, but without avail. The more they thought about it the more hopeless it seemed. Even Hilliard's cheery optimism was not proof against the wave of depression which swept over him.

Curiously enough it was to Merriman, the plodding rather than the brilliant, that light first came. They were seated in the otherwise empty hotel lounge when he suddenly stopped smoking, sat motionless for nearly a minute, and then turned eagerly to his companion.

"I say, Hilliard," he exclaimed. "I wonder if there mightn't be another way out after all--a scheme for making them separate the faked and the genuine props? Do you know Leatham--Charlie Leatham of Ellerby, somewhere between Selby and Boughton? No? Well, he owns a group of mines in that district. He's as decent a soul as ever breathed, and is just rolling in money. Now,--how would it do if we were to go to Charlie and tell him the whole thing, and ask him to approach these people to see if they would sell him a cargo of props--an entire cargo. I should explain that he has a private wharf for lighters on one of those rivers up beyond Goole, but the approach is too shallow for a sea-going boat. Now, why shouldn't he tell these people about his wharf, saying he had heard the Girondin was shallow in the draught, and might get up? He would then say he would take an entire cargo on condition that he could have it at his own place and so save rail carriage from Ferriby. That would put the syndicate in a hole. They couldn't let any of the faked props out of their possession, and if they agreed to Leatham's proposal they'd have to separate out the faked props from the genuine, and keep the faked aboard. On their way back from Leatham's they would have to call at Ferriby to put these faked ones ash.o.r.e, and if we are not utter fools we should surely be able to get hold of them then. What do you think, Hilliard?"

Hilliard smote his thigh.

"Bravo!" he cried with enthusiasm. "I think it's just splendid. But is there any chance your friend would take a cargo? It's rather a large order, you know. What would it run into? Four or five thousand pounds?"

"Why shouldn't he? He has to buy props anyway, and these are good props and they would be as cheap as any he could get elsewhere. Taking them at his own wharf would be good business. Besides, 7,000 props is not a big thing for a group of mines. There are a tremendous lot used."

"That's true."

"But the syndicate may not agree," Merriman went on. "And yet I think they will. It would look suspicious for them to refuse so good an offer."

Hilliard nodded. Then a further idea seemed to strike him and he sat up suddenly.

"But, Merriman, old man," he exclaimed, "you've forgotten one thing.

If they sent a cargo of that kind they'd send only genuine props. They wouldn't risk the others."

But Merriman was not cast down.

"I dare say you're right," he admitted, "but we can easily prevent that.

Suppose Leatham arranges for a cargo for some indefinite date ahead, then on the day after the Girondin leaves France he goes to Ferriby and says some other consignment has failed him, and could they let him have the next cargo? That would meet the case, wouldn't it?"

"By Jove, Merriman, but you're developing the detective instinct and no mistake! I think the scheme's worth trying anyway. How can you get in touch with your friend?"

"I'll phone him now that we shall be over tomorrow to see him."

Leatham was just leaving his office when Merriman's call reached him.

"Delighted to see you and meet your friend," he answered. "But couldn't you both come over now and stay the night? You would be a perfect G.o.dsend to me, for Hilda's in London and I have the house to myself."

Merriman thanked him, and later on the two friends took the 6.35 train to Ellerby. Leatham's car was waiting for them at the station, and in a few minutes they had reached the mineowner's house.

Charles Leatham was a man of about five-and-thirty, tall, broad, and of muscular build. He had a strong, clean-shaven face, a kindly though direct manner, and there was about him a SUGGESTION of decision and efficiency which inspired the confidence of those with whom he came in contact.

"This is very jolly," he greeted them. "How are you, old man? Glad to meet you, Hilliard. This is better than the lonely evening I was expecting."

They went into dinner presently, but it was not until the meal was over and they were stretched in basket chairs on the terrace in the cool evening air that Merriman reverted to the subject which had brought them together.

"I'm afraid," he began, "it's only now when I am right up against it that I realize what appalling cheek we show in coming to you like this, and when you hear what we have in our minds, I'm afraid you will think so too. As a matter of fact, we've accidentally got hold of information that a criminal organization of some kind is in operation. For various reasons our hands are tied about going to the police, so we're trying to play the detectives ourselves, and now we're up against a difficulty we don't see our way through. We thought if we could interest you sufficiently to induce you to join us, we might devise a scheme."

Amazement had been growing on Leatham's face while Merriman was speaking.

"Sounds like the New Arabian Nights!" he exclaimed. "You're not by any chance pulling my leg?"

Merriman rea.s.sured him.

"The thing's really a bit serious," he continued. "If what we suspect is going on, the parties concerned won't be squeamish about the means they adopt to keep their secret. I imagine they'd have a short way with meddlers."

Leatham's expression of astonishment did not decrease, but "By Jove!"

was all he said.

"For that reason we can only tell you about it in confidence."

Merriman paused and glanced questioningly at the other, who nodded without replying.

"It began when I was cycling from Bayonne to Bordeaux," Merriman went on, and he told his host about his visit to the clearing, his voyage of discovery with Hilliard and what they had learned in France, their trip to Hull, the Ferriby depot and their adventures thereat, ending up by explaining their hollow pit-prop idea, and the difficulty with which they found themselves faced.

Leatham heard the story with an interest which could hardly fail to gratify its narrator. When it was finished he expressed his feelings by giving vent to a long and complicated oath. Then he asked how they thought he could help. Merriman explained. The mineowner rather gasped at first, then he laughed and slapped his thigh.

"By the Lord Harry!" he cried, "I'll do it! As a matter of fact I want the props, but I'd do it anyway to see you through. If there's anything at all in what you suspect it'll make the sensation of the year."

He thought for a moment, then went on:

"I shall go down to that depot at Ferriby tomorrow, have a look at the props, and broach the idea of taking a cargo. It'll be INTERESTING to have a chat with that manager fellow, and you may bet I'll keep my eyes open. You two had better lie low here, and in the evening we'll have another talk and settle what's to be done."

The next day the friends "lay low," and evening saw them once more on the terrace with their host. It seemed that he had motored to Ferriby about midday. The manager had been polite and even friendly, had seemed pleased at the visit of so influential a customer, and had shown him over the entire concern without the slightest hesitation. He had appeared delighted at the prospect of disposing of a whole cargo of props, and had raised no objection to the Girondin unloading at Leatham's wharf. The price was moderate, but not exceptionally so.