There was another point. The difficulty of laying a secret land wire would be so enormous that in the nature of things the line must be short. It must either lead, Willis imagined, to the southern bank of the estuary or to somewhere quite near.
But if both these conclusions were sound, it followed that Archer himself must be found in the immediate neighborhood. Could he learn anything from following up this idea?
He borrowed a directory of Hull and began looking up all the Archers given in the alphabetical index. There were fifteen, and of these one immediately attracted his attention. It read:
“Archer, Archibald Charles, The Elms, Ferriby.”
He glanced at his watch. It was still but slightly after ten. Taking his hat he walked to the police station and saw the sergeant on duty.
“Yes, sir,” said the man in answer to his inquiry. “I know the gentleman. He is the managing director of Ackroyd and Holt’s distillery, about half-way between Ferriby and Hassle.”
“And what is he like in appearance?” Willis continued, concealing the interest this statement had aroused.
“A big man, sir,” the sergeant answered. “Tall, and broad too. Clean shaven, with heavy features, very determined looking.”
Willis had food for thought as he returned to his hotel. Merriman had been thrilled when he learned of the proximity of the distillery to the syndicate’s depot, seeing therein an argument in favor of the brandy smuggling theory. This new discovery led Willis at first to take the same view, but the considerations which Hilliard had pointed out occurred to him also, and though he felt a little puzzled, he was inclined to dismiss the matter as a coincidence.
Though after his recent experience he was even more averse to jumping to conclusions than formerly, Willis could not but believe that he was at last on a hopeful scent. At all events his first duty was clear. He must find this Archibald Charles Archer, and obtain prints of his fingers.