Chapter Seven: Dartmoor
French saw that in order to get the information he required he must confide in some one who knew the locality. He therefore went down next morning to the police station to consult Sergeant Daw.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” he said, with his pleasant smile. “Do you think we could go into your office? I should like to have a chat with you.”
Daw was not accustomed to this mode of approach from superior officers, and he at once became mellow and ready to help.
“Quite at your service, sir,” he protested.
“I didn’t tell you, Sergeant, just what I was after here. You’ve read about that body that was found in the sea off Burry Port?”
The sergeant looked up with evident interest.
“I just thought that was it, Mr. French, when your phone message came through. Do you mean that the body came from the works here?”
“The crate came from here, all right, but where the body was put in I don’t know. That’s where I want your help. Can you give me any suggestions?”
The sergeant, flattered by French’s attitude, wrinkled his brow in thought.