Inspector French and the Sea Mystery
From the Collins Crime Club archive, the fourth Inspector French novel by Freeman Wills Crofts, once dubbed ‘The King of Detective Story Writers’.THE BODY THAT CAME FROM NOWHEREOff the coast of Burry Port in south Wales, two fishermen discover a shipping crate and manage to haul it ashore. Inside is the decomposing body of a brutally murdered man. With nothing to indicate who he is or where it came from, the local police decide to call in Scotland Yard. Fortunately Inspector Joseph French does not believe in insoluble cases – there are always clues to be found if you know what to look for. Testing his theories with his accustomed thoroughness, French’s ingenuity sets him off on another investigation . . .
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FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS
Inspector French and the Sea Mystery
Published by COLLINS CRIME CLUB
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by Wm Collins Sons & Co. Ltd 1928
Copyright © Estate of Freeman Wills Crofts 1928
Cover design by Mike Topping © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
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 authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008190675
Ebook Edition © January 2017 ISBN: 9780008190682
Version 2016-12-09
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Mr Morgan Meets Tragedy
Chapter 2: Inspector French Gets Busy
Chapter 3: Experimental Detection
Chapter 5: Messrs Berlyn and Pyke
Chapter 6: The Despatch of the Crate
Chapter 10: Londonâs Further Contribution
Chapter 11: John Gurney, Night Watchman
Chapter 14: French Turns Fisherman
Chapter 18: On Hampstead Heath
The Burry Inlet, on the south coast of Wales, looks its best from the sea. At least so thought Mr Morgan, as he sat in the sternsheets of his boat, a fishing line between his fingers, while his son, Evan, pulled lazily over the still water.
In truth the prospect on this pleasant autumn evening would have pleased a man less biased by pride of fatherland than Mr Morgan. The Inlet at full tide forms a wide sheet of water, penetrating in an easterly direction some ten miles into the land, with the county of Carmarthen to the north and the Gower Peninsula to the south. The shores are flat, but rounded hills rise inland which merge to form an undulating horizon of high ground. Here and there along the coast are sand-dunes, whose greys and yellows show up in contrast to the green of the grasslands and the woods beyond.
To the south-east, over by Salthouse Point and Penclawdd, Mr Morgan could see every detail of house and sand-dune, tree and meadow, lit up with a shining radiance, but the north-west hills behind Burry Port were black and solid against a setting sun. Immediately north lay Llanelly, with its dingy coloured buildings, its numberless chimneys, and the masts and funnels of the steamers in its harbour.
It was a perfect evening in late September, the close of a perfect day. Not a cloud appeared in the sky, and scarcely a ripple stirred the surface of the sea. The air was warm and balmy, and all nature seemed drowsing in languorous content. Save for the muffled noise of the Llanelly mills, borne over the water, and the slow, rhythmic creak of the oars, no sound disturbed the sleepy quiet.
Mr Morgan was a small, clean-shaven man in a worn and baggy Norfolk suit, which was the bane of Mrs Morganâs existence, but in which the soul of her lord and master delighted as an emblem of freedom from the servitude of the office. He leaned back in the sternsheets, gazing out dreamily on the broad sweep of the Inlet and the lengthening shadows ashore. At times his eyes and thoughts turned to his son, Evan, the fourteen-year-old boy who was rowing. A good boy, thought Mr Morgan, and big for his age. Though he had been away at school for nearly three years he was still his fatherâs best pal. As Mr Morgan thought of the relations between some of his friends and their sons, he felt a wave of profound thankfulness sweep over him.
Presently the boy stopped rowing.
âSay, Dad, weâve not had our usual luck today,â he remarked, glancing disgustedly at the two tiny mackerel which represented their afternoonâs sport.
Mr Morgan roused himself.
âNo, old man, those arenât much to boast about. And Iâm afraid we shall have to go in now. The tideâs beginning to run, and I expect we could both do with a bit of supper. Letâs change places and you have a go at the lines while I pull in.â
To anyone attempting navigation in the Burry Inlet the tides are a factor of the first importance. With a rise and fall at top springs of something like twenty-five feet, the placid estuary of high water becomes a little later a place of fierce currents and swirling eddies. The Inlet is shallow also. At low tide by far the greater portion of its area is uncovered, and this, by confining the rushing waters to narrow channels, still further increases their speed. As the tide falls the great Llanrhidian Sands appear, stretching out northwards from the Gower Peninsula, while an estuary nearly four miles wide contracts to a river racing between mud banks five hundred yards apart.
