“Nothing, Sergeant, more than I can tell you myself. I hope you won’t have to call the boy. He’s going back to school to-morrow.”
“That’s all right; he’ll not be wanted. And now, sir, I shouldn’t say more about the affair than you can help. Just keep the discovery of the body quiet and content yourself with the story of finding the crate.”
Mr. Morgan promised and the sergeant wished him good night.
His visitor gone, Sergeant Nield handed a carbon of the statement to Manners, promising to let him know how the affair progressed. The coastguard being got rid of in his turn, Nield telephoned the news to Superintendent Griffiths at Llanelly. The superintendent was suitably impressed and in his turn rang up Major Lloyd, the chief constable at Llandilo. Finally the latter gave instructions for Nield to arrange a meeting at the police station for nine o’clock on the following morning. Both the superintendent and the chief constable would motor over, and the local police doctor was to be in attendance. The body would then be removed from the crate and the necessary examination made. Meanwhile nothing was to be touched.
Glad to be relieved from the sole responsibility, the sergeant made his arrangements and at the hour named a little group entered the courtyard of the police station. In addition to the chief constable and superintendent, the sergeant and two of the latter’s men, there were present two doctors—Dr. Crowth, the local police surgeon, and Dr. Wilbraham, a friend of Major Lloyd’s, whom the latter had brought with him.
After some preliminary remarks the terrible business of getting the remains from the crate was undertaken. Such work would have been distressing at all times, but in the present case two facts made it almost unbearable. In the first place, the man had been dead for a considerable time, estimated by the doctors as from five to six weeks, and in the second his face had been appallingly maltreated. Indeed, it might be said to be nonexistent, so brutally had it been battered in. All the features were destroyed and only an awful pulp remained.
However, the work had to be done, and presently the body was lying on a table which had been placed for the purpose in an outhouse. It was dressed in underclothes only—shirt, vest, drawers and socks. The suit, collar, tie, and shoes had been removed. An examination showed that none of the garments bore initials.
Nor were there any helpful marks on the crate. There were tacks where a label had been attached, but the label had been torn off. A round steel bar of three or four stone weight had also been put in, evidently to ensure the crate sinking.
The most careful examination revealed no clue to the man’s identity. Who he was and why he had been murdered were as insoluble problems as how the crate came to be where it was found.
For over an hour the little party discussed the matter, and then the chief constable came to a decision.