The Pit-Prop Syndicate | Page 3

do not remove, alter or modify the etext or this "small print!"
statement. You may however, if you wish, distribute this etext in
machine readable binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form,

including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- cessing or
hypertext software, but only so long as *EITHER*:
[*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and does *not*
contain characters other than those intended by the author of the work,
although tilde (~), asterisk (*) and underline (i) characters may be used
to convey punctuation intended by the author, and additional characters
may be used to indicate hypertext links; OR
[*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at no expense into
plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent form by the program that displays
the etext (as is the case, for instance, with most word processors); OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at no additional
cost, fee or expense, a copy of the etext in its original plain ASCII form
(or in EBCDIC or other equivalent proprietary form).
[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this "Small
Print!" statement.
[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the net profits
you derive calculated using the method you already use to calculate
your applicable taxes. If you don't derive profits, no royalty is due.
Royalties are payable to "Project Gutenberg
Association/Carnegie-Mellon University" within the 60 days following
each date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) your annual
(or equivalent periodic) tax return.
WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU
DON'T HAVE TO?
The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, scanning
machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty free copyright
licenses, and every other sort of contribution you can think of. Money
should be paid to "Project Gutenberg Association / Carnegie-Mellon
University".
*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN

ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*

This Etext prepared by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer.

The Pit Prop Syndicate
by Freeman Wills Crofts

CONTENTS

PART ONE THE AMATEURS
1. The Sawmill on the Lesque 2. An Interesting Suggestion 3. The Start
of the Cruise 4. A Commercial Proposition 5. The Visit of the Girondin
6. A Change of Venue 7. The Ferriby Depot 8. The Unloading of the
Girondin 9. The Second Cargo 10. Merriman Becomes Desperate 11.
An Unexpected Ally
PART TWO THE PROFESSIONALS
12. Murder! 13. A Promising Clue 14. A Mystifying Discovery 15.
Inspector Willis Listens In 16. The Secret of the Syndicate 17. "Archer
Plants Stuff" 18. The Bordeaux Lorries 19. Willis Spreads His Net 20.
The Double Cross
CHAPTER I
THE SAWMILL ON THE LESQUE
Seymour Merriman was tired; tired of the jolting saddle of his motor
bicycle, of the cramped position of his arms, of the chug of the engine,
and most of all, of the dreary, barren country through which he was
riding. Early that morning he had left Pau, and with the exception of an

hour and a half at Bayonne, where he had lunched and paid a short
business call, he had been at it ever since. It was now after five o'clock,
and the last post he had noticed showed him he was still twenty-six
kilometers from Bordeaux, where he intended to spend the night.
"This confounded road has no end," he thought. "I really must stretch
my legs a bit."
A short distance in front of him a hump in the white ribbon of the road
with parapet walls narrowing in at each side indicated a bridge. He cut
off his engine and, allowing the machine to coast, brought it to a stand
at the summit. Then dismounting, he slid it back on its bracket;
stretched himself luxuriously, and looked around.
In both directions, in front of him and behind, the road stretched, level
and monotonous as far as the eye could reach, as he had seen it stretch,
with but few exceptions, during the whole of the day's run. But whereas
farther south it had led through open country, desolate, depressing
wastes of sand and sedge, here it ran through the heart of a pine forest,
in its own way as melancholy. The road seemed isolated, cut off from
the surrounding country, like to be squeezed out of existence by the
overwhelming barrier on either flank, a screen, aromatic indeed, but
dark, gloomy, and forbidding. Nor was the prospect improved by the
long, unsightly gashes which the resin collectors had made on the
trunks, suggesting, as they did, that the trees were stricken by some
disease. To Merriman the country seemed utterly uninhabited. Indeed,
since running through Labouheyre, now two hours back, he could not
recall having seen a single living creature except those passing in motor
cars, and of these even there were but