“How soon shall we have that again?”
“Not for nearly a week we shan’t. Say next Monday.”
“I can’t wait for that. What’s the rise to-morrow?”
“Twenty-one foot, eleven.”
“And what hour is high water?”
“Eight o’clock in the morning.”
“That’ll have to do. Look, here is a bus labelled ‘Llanelly.’ Let us get aboard.”
At the police station they found not only the superintendent, but Chief Constable Lloyd.
“Glad to see you together, gentlemen,” French greeted them. “I’ve been going into the matter of tides and currents in the Inlet with Mr. Manners here, and now I want your help in trying an experiment. Manners informs me that about six weeks ago, the time at which the doctors believe our man was murdered, it was high water in the dead period of the night. To-morrow, Thursday, it will be high water at eight A.M. The maximum run out to sea, Manners says, will begin between one and two hours later, say at nine-thirty. Now, gentlemen, I want to load the crate with a weight equal to that of the body and throw it into the estuary from the Loughor bridge at nine-thirty to-morrow morning. Will you help me?”
While French had been speaking, the three men had stared uncomprehendingly, but as he reached his peroration something like admiration showed on their faces.